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finniestoncrane · 1 month

Note

Pleaseeeee can I have a softer Cooper who worries a lot about his girlfriend having to deal with people looking at them weird all the time, but who would be happy to yell "THIS IS MY MAN!" to anyone who would listen?

Willingly

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 1.5k i am already on the soft cooper train oh no lmaooooo just a little bit of soft boyfriend cooper, or as soft as i imagine he can get, being defended by his partner 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: guns, blood, violence, good old fashioned trope fic!

Cooper struggled against your gentle grip, his gloved hand pulling away from yours, fingers no longer entwined with yours. You looked to him, noticing he was avoiding your inquisitive gaze, and then noticed the crudely painted sign on the wall ahead of you. The gates to the nearest settlement were just ahead of you. Your last stop before you headed on to the next job.

“What? Are you embarrassed to walk in here holding my hand, Coop?”

His easy, charming smile seemed a little off as he spoke to you, still looking straight ahead.

“You kiddin’? Darlin’, this is for your benefit. Not many settlements are alright with folks like me at the best of times, but with you on my arm? We’d both be in danger, and I can’t keep spendin’ all my time savin’ you.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“I can hold my own. You know that.”

There was no response, but you knew better than to keep fighting your corner in this particular arena. So instead, you sighed, placing your hands which now felt so incredibly cold and empty, back into your pockets to keep them from mindedly grabbing Cooper’s hands again. You couldn’t be too annoyed. For someone as stoic and cold as he could be, the fact he tolerated holding your hand at all was a pleasant enough gesture. But his willingness to offer up any form of physical affection dwindled completed when there was a risk of running into people. He became reserved, quiet, well-behaved almost. It was something you hadn’t expected from him, to be shy or to allow someone else’s opinions to hold him back. And admittedly, a lot of the time, you had worried that it was because he didn’t want to be seen with you. But you knew it was the other way around in his mind. He was afraid of how people would look at you.

As though he could hear your thoughts, knowing you well enough after all this time together, Cooper spoke finally as you sidled up to the gates.

“You wake up to this face smiling. You call me handsome. You say I’m charming. Good lookin’ I might be in your books, but there ain’t a lot of charm left in these old bones, sweetheart. I couldn’t talk my way out of an argument, and since you keep remindin’ me that I’m not allowed to cause problems everywhere we go…”

He tapped his thumb against the barrel of his holstered gun.

“… Then I just better not give anyone any more reason not to like me.”

“Well, I like you, Coop.”

“And I will forever question your judgement on that, kid.”

Smiling, you both passed through the open gate of the settlement and separated with a nod to get the supplies you needed. Quicker, and safer, to go separately. But still, you kept your head down, Cooper with his ragged mask up and his hat brim tipped to cover as much of his face as possible. Quiet, subtle, nondescript.

It didn’t stop them though, three of them. Pointing towards you, setting their beer bottles down on the stained and rusting bar top as they rushed to follow you.

“Hey! Hello there, pretty lady! You all alone?”

Turning, you spotted the colour of the uniform first, immediately recognising that you had made a mistake in even acknowledging them. That telltale burnt orange jumpsuit. The arrogance in their smug smiles. The Brother of Steel.

“No. I’m not alone.”

“Sure looks like you are… you know, maybe you could come on over and we’ll by you a cola?”

They laughed amongst themselves as you walked on. That one answer and a quick disappearing act was all you were willing to give them, turning quickly back and trying to lose them in the crowd as they slapped each other’s backs and spat to the ground.

And you thought you had been successful. You found a trader with everything you needed on your list before you returned to wait just beyond the gate for Cooper, no further interruptions to your day from the louts at the bar. But the entire interaction had out you on edge, so much so that when Cooper appeared behind you, leaning in without you noticing to whisper in your ear, you jumped out of your skin. Luckily, he was quick, and managed to grab your wrist before your fist struck the side of his face.

“Jumpy, aren’t you? Maybe you don’t think I’m so handsome after all.”

His wink made you blush, it always did, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning like a fool.

“You surprised me is all, smartass.”

Cooper smiled, tightening the grip on your wrist and pulling you closer to him. You feigned some resistance, pretending to put up a fight against his grin, his charms, his strength. But you were following his pull, your lips almost touching his before the blow was landed.

Cooper’s body was knocked completely off balance, his body falling to the ground in a cloud of dust. Turning in the direction he was hit from, you found yourself staring down the three members of the Brotherhood from the market. Holding back some of the choice words you had for them, you managed to narrow it down to one question simple enough for even them to answer.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Shocked by your ungrateful attitude, one of the men, the largest of the three, stepped forward and pushing your shoulder with his finger.

“We’re saving you from assault, lady! This monster had its hands all over you, but don’t worry, we’ll take care of it. And you’re welcome.”

You scoffed, face going red with rage as you knelt to help Cooper up.

“You’re not saving me, asshole! You’re ruining the fucking vibe, you dweebs.”

Again, a far more polite term than you had wanted to use, but that didn’t seem to make the men any less aggressive towards either Cooper or now you. The largest of the men grabbed your arm, pulling you back up and away from the hand that Cooper had held out to you.

“Oh… you’re one of those freaks! No wonder you turned down some good old-fashioned heroes like us then.”

One of the others nudged you to the side, the other pushing Cooper back down to the ground with a kick, turning around as all of them converged on you until your back was against the wall. Nowhere to go. Trapped by them as they made their disgusting comments.

“Why would you waste your time on some abomination like that, huh? You into freaky stuff? Cos I could sure show you a thing or two. What’s he got? Like two cocks or something weird like that?”

You spat out your retort, well aware of the repercussions, but not caring.

“He could be feral and I’d still let him touch me before I even thought about letting any of you near me.”

Bracing for impact, you squeezed your eyelids shut, opening them again moments later when you realised you hadn’t been hit yet. Instead, all three of the Knights were on the ground, Cooper kneeling over them as he tightened the lasso and added the long length around their wrists for measure.

“Oughta keep ‘em long enough for us to make our escape, hm?”

You nodded, smiling, surprised still at how effective he was at handling anything the Wasteland threw at him.

“And I did it all without too much violence and noise, like you asked.”

“My hero.”

You swooned playfully, watching him as he made his way to stand beside you, both of you looking down without an ounce of pity at the men who writhed before you in the dirt.

“And look at you, shouting all those kind words about me for anyone to hear.”

“I keep telling you, Coop. I can hold my own, and I don’t care what people think.”

“You sure about that, darlin’? The likes of these fellas don’t put you off none?”

His eyes darted towards the Knights, now trussed up and struggling against each other on the ground, straining their necks to move their heads out of the line of Cooper’s gun.

“What? You think I’m put off by the Brotherhood? Yeah… and the rads put me off stuffing tin after tin of delicious cram down my throat.”

Cooper grabbed your hand in his, initiating the contact for the first time, and pulled you away back onto the cracked road. He knew he’d let go before you hit the next settlement, but he felt a little bit better about the risks associated. Especially since he had to admit, you could hold your own. And you were determined to do so when it came to him. It was nice to feel like he could let the affection be reciprocated.

#fallout #fallout amazon #x reader #finnie writes #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout fic #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard fanfiction #cooper howard one shot #cooper howard smut #cooper howard imagine #fallout tv #fallout tv series #walton goggins #cooper howard x fem!reader

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sinisterexaggerator · 9 days

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Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

6.8k+

Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren. Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company.

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends.

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment.

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action.

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.”

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you.

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around.

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed.

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high.

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part.

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger.

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth.

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner.

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose.

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose.

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable.

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds.

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints.

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud.

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown.

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life.

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin.

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance.

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm.

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes.

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center.

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl.

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit.

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it.

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings.

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time.

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption.

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin.

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking.

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again.

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips.

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous.

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection.

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return.

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss.

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

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halfagone · 4 months

Text

A Mandalorian Halfa Jedi?

I am thinking... about my Danny Phantom x Star Wars AU again. I mentioned this in the Haunting Heroes discord server, but imagine this:

Danny gets lost in the Star Wars universe, maybe they're part of the same universe, maybe not. We know that Earth technically exists there, so it's possible. Nonetheless, Danny gets lost and is eventually picked up by the Jedi. It is during the Clone Wars era, at the height of the war. Ectoplasm either functions the same as the Force out in larger space, or it easily passes off as the Force. Therefore, Danny is considered Force-sensitive and brought to the Jedi council.

He's far too old, older than even Anakin was, but he already displays some skill with the blade (thanks to his mom's training), and he's far too powerful with the Force to leave for the Sith or Dark Side users running about to find him. Those like Count Dooku or Asajj Ventress or whoever Dooku's master is (and, depending on the timeline, Maul and his brother Savage as well).

It's decided that Obi Wan should train him, since he did well with Anakin despite Anakin's older age for a youngling and lack of familiarity with Jedi customs and culture. As well as Obi Wan's own young age as a Padawan himself at the time. Surely, Obi Wan could whip him into shape and they need all the help they can get on the field.

Anakin does not like Danny at first. Not at all. He might have joked all he liked beforehand about Obi Wan getting another padawan, but seeing it happen is an entirely different experience. Danny gets along well with Obi Wan, with his dry, witty humor and his tendency for unorthodox strategy. Worse still, Ahsoka likes Danny. These two are peas in a pod, partners in crime. It feels like he's been forgotten and replaced and by someone seemingly better.

And then one day, when the 212th and the 501st are stationed together, he finds Danny shaking with night terrors, the Dark Side so strong in him Anakin is literally freezing from the cold. It's only then that he understands Danny a little bit better, and sees himself in this kid. Danny fights the Dark Side within him just like he does, and he never lets it consume him. Maybe for once, he can learn a little something from this kid too, and not let it overwhelm him.

And here is the part where I realized a golden opportunity:

What if the Jedi think Danny is a Mandalorian that was cast out for being Force-sensitive? Danny has an affinity for weapons beyond the blade, like cannons and guns and snipers. He talks about how his family taught him to use these weapons, that he's known this all his life. He talks about how his family wears suits all the time and hardly ever takes them off. He talks about always being afraid to reveal his powers to his parents, and how ultimately he ran away because of them.

Oh all the scenarios that could come out of this~

But now I'm also thinking about how strong Danny would feel in the Force. How much Danny could do on the battlefield because now he doesn't have to hold back. Droids might have more intelligence than a lot of sentients give them credit for, but if it's between the very alive, flesh and bone, clones of the Grand Republic Army and the Separatists' metal droids, Danny is absolutely going to be ruthless if it means the clones are safe.

Danny can literally control the weather. Imagine what happens when Danny creates an electrical storm for the first time to take down an enemy starship and the clones just look between themselves, whispering about how: "I didn't know Jedi could do that." "Is that how the Force works?" "Kriff if I know-"

And that's another thing! Clones! Danny would be absolutely appalled that so many clones were created and their freedom at the end of the Clones Wars is still up in the air.

It also ties beautifully with his love for space and now he's living the dream! Except space isn't what he thought it would be. And there are planets out here that have barbaric standards. It's the adventure of a lifetime! But there's a part of him that still wants to go home.

Just- all the possibilities and shenanigans this could bring. ✨

#danny phantom #danny phantom crossover #star wars crossover #halfagone rambles

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rorichuu · 9 months

Note

Hello Rori!! <33

May I request Sniper, Medic and.. hmm, maybe Scout or Pyro with comforting the reader?

To be more precise, if it's alright:

Reader is sweet and always trying to keep everyone happy as well as the vibes up around the base- always making sure everyone is appreciated and cared for, but maybe they're starved for affection themselves? Maybe they're afraid of being too overbearing or 'bugging' everyone. So one day they go up to (merc) and ask if they're being too much and that's when they get comforted? Maybe some comfort cuddles and such- whatever you think suits the character!

A drabble would be preffered, please!

-@simp999 ♡

(Also, thank you for being so kind and sweet to interact with!! I'm so glad I found your blog- lots of respect for all the effort put in as well!)

shy away ; mercs x reader

pairing: sniper/medic/scout x gn!reader

authors note: hello! and thank you!! your words mean soso much, i love this ask!! - also i apologize for posting so late :(

disclaimer: none! pure fluff, mentions of spy/engi in scout's. :)

SNIPER:

The battle neared its end, BLU considerably pushed back this time around and it was unbearably visible. Y/n was shooting around; running up to any merc who needed the assistance they needed. Sniper took a seat at the table in the rec room, observing you. You had just gotten water for Heavy and were conversing with Demo, his slurred mouth pouting from their loss as you kindly spoke praises to lift his mood.

Of course, everyone noticed how sweet and considerate you were, it was your best trait... and they appreciated you deeply for it. But Sniper had always wondered if you had been taken care of all the same.

As the room began to file out, you let out a heavy sigh, knowing you did the best you could. Sniper stood, making you turn your head; you send a smile at him. "Didn't notice you were here," you say. Sniper nods, sending a small smile in return. "I have some water I grabbed from the supply room. I know today was... rough. Is there anything that you need?" You asked with your eyes pointed up with question. The New Zealander shook his head, shifting the rifle on his shoulder.

"No, roo. I'm alright," With his head tilted down, he about walked off before you opened your mouth; the sound of you shifting your shoe against the pavement lifted his ears. Sniper looked behind him, eyes on yours. You stood small, shoulders low, and eyes the sweetest he's seen. His eyebrows furrowed now. "Well, on with it then..." He spoke, turning his body to you.

"Am I too much sometimes?" Sniper was caught off guard by this. "Like, when I'm always checking it... I can understand if it's annoying or overbearing when I'm always asking." With every word you spoke, Sniper felt his heart sink just a little bit more. The team needed someone like you. They needed your tender heart when the battle was unforgiving. Your gentle hand when the rough of the gun scarred and tore theirs. They needed someone like you.

Sniper huffed, walking over as he placed both hands on your shoulders, leaning to meet your eyes. "You've never been," you gulped, feeling your cheeks warm. "You mean more to this team than ya' believe, mate." You dip your head to hide your face, Sniper smiles before wrapping his arms around you.

"This is… nice." You laughed as you melted in his hold, comfort washing over you.

"You deserve the care and attention just as much as we do."

. . .

And as time passed, he rubbed your back as you held him. Frequently, he'd sway, but only to find your eyes closed. Sniper then took that as his cue, one hand on your shoulder and the other taking his hat off. The Aussie laid it on top of your head, leaving you looking up at him.

"Let’s go watch a movie.”

MEDIC:

You were helping Medic pick up, politely asking where goes where and what does what... curiosity always found in the dusted books and pristine tools that scatter his room. It was nearing the end of the day; time had settled and nearly everyone was asleep. The clock is sung at 12AM, letting you know it is time for you to head to bed as well.

You have always helped clean up and provide assistance to those who need it... especially with Miss Pauling. Always lending out a hand when it's needed. The day was long, the mercs were exhausted, and you sure as hell were too... but you could always get sleep the next coming hour, right?

Medic let out a hefty sigh with a rub at his temples, your instincts kicked in. "Medic?" You hummed in question, the man looking up with tired eyes.

"Ja?" His voice croaked, his eyebrows now raised with inquiry. As you started to place his surgical tools neatly on his steel table, you began:

"Are you alright?" You look up at him, and the man huffs a small smile. His, then leaned stance, against his operation table was left to approach you.

"Yes, mein freund," (my friend) he puts a hand on your shoulder as he takes the rest of his tools from you. "Go get some rest. You need your 8 hours!" He chirped despite his sluggish posture, not convincing you enough. You noticed the eyebags that slumped, the movements that slowed, the yawns that escaped... undeniably, he was tired.

"Well... what about you?" You ask, leaving Medic slightly confused as he turns his shoulder, glasses falling to the tip of his nose.

"How do you mean, Y/n?" You take a deep breath and cross your arms. Medic raises an eyebrow, his free hand pushing his spectacles up to their original place.

"You should get some sleep... I can pick up the rest. I know it's been a tough week, so I can help!" and in response, Medic's lip quirks humorously. "Really, I can!" As much as you try to persuade him, he doesn't budge.

"I know you can," fondly, he looks at you. "But doctor's rules, Y/n." He walks past you and continues to aid to his unkept office. You were left biting your lip, hands clasped together in front of you as you continued to let your mind race. Perhaps you were pushing Medic towards something he didn't want? Maybe he was annoyed with your continuous advances of lifting the heavy load of his job... what were you to say about what he can and cannot do?

With a knitted brow, your mouth gapes open with the intention to speak. "Hey," you nearly whispered, intimidated by your own question. The German man's head pops out from his desk, a small 'Ja?', making you aware of his reply. "Am I too much sometimes?"

"Wie bitte?" (Excuse me?) Medic, caught off guard entirely, lifts from the floor with his palms leaned against his workspace. You swallowed hard, his tone higher than usual.

"Like... when I try to help or ask if you're doing alright," you timidly voiced. "I understand how it can be draining with my constant check-ups and stuff." The doctor sent you a small smile, whether you saw it or not with your chin tucked close to your chest... he let out a laugh, walking towards you with both hands now placed on your shoulders. You look up at him, cheeks flushed with his sudden hold.

"As a doctor, nobody checks up on me. I'm always delighted by your check-ups, Liebling." With every word he spoke, your lip curled into a pout, your heart softening. Medic patted your head. "You always do the best you can for everyone, but remember to take care of yourself, ja?" Suddenly, Medic is met with a breath-losing hug. Though his chuckle is shallow, his arms wrap around you just as tightly.

"Thank you."

"No," he shakes his head, hands now cupping your face. "Thank you!" He cheeses, leaving you a small laughing fit of his big smile. "You're help is always deeply appreciated, schatz." (Treasure).

Coo

"Ooh, even Archimedes thinks so!"

SCOUT:

Scout was... undeniably, very beat up. He groaned and whined as you gently pressed alcohol swabs against his injuries upon his arm. "Ow! Y/n, is this really necessary?" You sighed, throwing the swab in the trash and retrieving a large bandaid in turn.

"Yes, Scout... I can't have you getting infections or something, it's a pretty big gash," You spoke as you placed the wrap on the lower part of his elbow. "I can't have you whining all hurt like this."

"And Scout, please keep drinking your water."

The man scowled as he took a large sip from his cup, the swirly straw found from the back of the cabinet in the kitchen. (Scout likes the swirly straw, wink wink... but tell no one.)

. . .

As time passed, and Scout continuously cursed at the sting of the alcohol... he was finally all patched up. You lifted from your arched position, back cracking as you stretched. "Alright, you're done." You huff in exhaustion. This boy knows no boundaries when it comes to the battlefield...

The Boston boy leaped from the couch and placed his cup down, water splashing out with a plat; Scout was thankful he was done. "Are you feeling okay? If not I can get some painkillers, I bet Medic has some..."

"Y/n! C'mon man, I'm good!" His balled fist hits your shoulder playfully, rolling his eyes as he checks out the bandaids on his arm. "Stop worryin' over little ol' me, it'll save you from getting greys... take Spy for example! He's just as bad as Engi being a helicopter mom... god, how did they even become a thing."

You chuckled softly, hand holding your shoulder as you listened to him ramble on again. For as long as he talked, he hadn't realized you weren't listening, your eyes spacing off. The boy tilted his head. "Y/n?" ... "Y/n!" Your head perked up at the sound of your name.

"Hm? Yeah?" You hummed. Scout read you like a book; your hand placed at your shoulder, spacing off, sad face... that's 'anxious Y/n face'; he somethin' was up.

"You good? You seem kinda off." He asked, furrowed eyebrows as he leaned forward... arms crossed as he looked you over to see if anything was upsetting you.

You shook your head, waving a hand as you backed away. "Oh, yeah! I'm good, just. Oh, just thinking." You turned and immediately started to pick up the first-aid supplies and his half-finished cup. But before you could lift the glass from the table, Scout's hand surrounded yours to keep the cup where it was.

"Talk to me."

Scout was a sweet boy. He may talk a lot, and may not think much of what he says... but when he knows when to listen, he does. You take a deep breath, pulling your hand away from his. "Do you ever get annoyed by me? Genuinely..." You ask, biting the inside of your cheek nervously. Scout blinked.

"Huh?!"

"Well, you know what I mean!" You exclaim in response, shrugging. "Y'know I'm always making sure you're alright and if you need anything... people can get annoyed when I'm always checking in." You frown, and Scout places his hands on his waist now before approaching you.

"Which people?" He asks and you tilt your head.

"Wha-?" Your nose scrunches in confusion.

"Which people find you annoying when you check up on 'm?" There was a moment of silence, your head slowly lowering in thought. The boy lifted his hand and tapped your chin, motioning for you to look at him. "Y'know I'd beat them up in a millisecond if someone said somethin'!" With a swift lift of his arm, he flexed. You huff, worry still washed over you. Scout eased up, turning to slump down on the couch. He patted the seat next to him. "C'mon, sit."

You sighed and followed, sitting down next to him, only to have an arm wrapped around your shoulders... You were now leaning completely against him. Scout shook you slightly. "You really don't know, do ya?" he finally speaks, your head turned to look at him. You blink. "Oh boy..."

"'Oh, boy,' what!" You frown, your heart picking up a pace as you tense in his hold. The Boston boy chuckled.

"Everybody loves your help!" He chimes, looking up at you brightly. "You remember the other day when Pyro was yabberin' off about something?" "Yeah..."

"They were upset because they messed something up on their drawing. They immediately thought of you, Y/n." Your heart begins to warm.

"Oh, and Spy needed your help on whatever the hell he was doing. Kept saying, 'Where's Y/n? Where's Y/n?' It was like he was a broken record, pfft, embarrassing."

"That was... you, Scout." Your lip curls into a smile, and Scout blushes.

"Well, whatever! Moral of the story," he waves his hands in a dramatic flare. You chuckle. "People love ya! And we're always there for you as you are for us." He pats your shoulder as you lean against him once more. "But that also means you gotta take care of yourself too... you're just as important. Ya always will be."

Sniffle.

"Aaalright, c'mere," swiftly, Scout grabs the blanket from the arm of the couch, wrapping you up. "Take a nap, Y/n. You deserve it."

And you did. With a warm heart and a proud Scout, life was pretty good.

rorichuu!

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 sniper #tf2 scout #tf2 medic #tf2 mercs #tf2 x reader #team fortress 2 x reader #sniper x reader #tf2 sniper x reader #medic x reader #tf2 medic x reader #scout x reader #tf2 scout x reader #rorichuu!

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libraryraccoon · 3 months

Note

Kk so I am too lazy to write on my own but I have come up with a pretty good day dream scenario that you can write for ( I might also do it but maybe not).

But a police officer with a strong sense of justice goes to hell and starts trying to organize after spawning in one of the worst areas in hell, even the overlords are hesitant to go in there. But as they gain more and more power the area to clean up expands.

Their really not a bad person , one of the only reasons their there is because they had premarital sex . ( They banged someone's wife when drunk).

Was killed by the husband by a shot in the chest. Now resemble a fox because of their wit and inganuty.

( in sry if it's too specific but you can cut out anything u don't want)

Gender : GN

Pronouns : None

Message from Raccoon : I try to write a police officer!reader, but i'm pretty sure it's bad.

TW : Reader is in Hell 2 years before the series, 🟣 (one time mentionned), violence.

General Headcanon

In your lifetime you were a police officer, and a good one at that.

But unfortunately, one day you died and arrived in hell.

The person you loved was cheating on their partner with you. They didn't like it and killed you.

You are now in Hell.

Hell sorely lacked justice, but it's okay, you will rectify it.. :)

Vox didn't like you. Like, really.

He heard about you after you nearly beat Valentino to death.

Why did you beat Valentino ? Because he was a 🟣, forcing people to prostitute themselves, and more.

You also beat Velvette a bit because she created the love potions.

So yes, he didn't like you.

He start to hate you when you broke his head/tv when you saw him manipulating people..

It's hell ! What did you expect ?! Everyone manipulates !

A violent police officer. This is what you were.

You killed everyone who did things against your morals... in one month you killed more than the exterminators ever did.

Adam sees you as a sort of rival/person on his level.

Alastor find you entertained.

You were the only one in Hell with a moral, so you were interesting.

He also finds it very interesting that you manage to beat 3 Overlords and that 2 Overlords (Carmilla and Zestial) consider you their equal.

He wanted to come talk to you, but he decided not to after seeing you kill a demon with an angelic weapon because they were cannibals.

Compared to what you might think, he have a sense of self-preservation.

When you arrived at the hotel, as part of security, Alastor was a little scared..

Especially when you pointed your gun at his forehead, where the hunter had shot, killing him when he was alived.

Bonus point if you are a dog demon, he is really scared and wonders if you want to reproduce his death.

Husk love you and love the fact that you can scared Alastor, he live for seeing that man being your victim.

Niffty love you, she think you are a real bad boy ! RIP

You and Vaggie get along well, you both know that not everyone can be redeemed (looking at Alastor from a distance) and you know how fucked up Hell is.

But you help Charlie because some still have a chance to redeem themselves (looking discreetly at Sir Pentious).

Sir Pentious was afraid of you at first, but in the end he start to like you.

You always get him out of the worst situations, I can imagine that you saw Vox try to use his power on Sir Pentious when he was a 'spy', and you directly destroyed the watch by throwing a knife at it.

Sir Pentious didn't even notice you were here-

After that, a long conversation followed about why we should not harm the Hotel and its residents and avoid the Vees.

Sir Pentious thanked you very much for that by the way.

After that Vox received a little visit from you..

If it wasn't for Charlie stopping you from killing him, he would have died instead of just being injured/broken.

Vox spent a week in repair/hospital.

Angel Dust adores you.

Every time you accompany him to work, strangely Valentino gives him the day off..

Yeah, he takes you with him whenever you can.

Even if you hate the Overlords, you are one of them.

Overlord D/N (demon name), the Police Officer of Hell.

Carmilla loves it when you are at meetings, the other Overlords (*cough* Vees *coughs*) are always calm when you are here.

You 🤝 break into Lucifer's house.

Yeah, because well before the hotel, 3 days after your arrival, you break into Lucifer's house.

Why ? Because you found unacceptable that he didn't manage Hell and let the demons do all they want.

You didn't expect to find yourself faced with a depressed father whose wife left 5 years ago and who he no longer really has contact with his daughter.

You had to play therapist and friend.

Literally you were giving him therapy sessions in exchange of him letting you stay at his house.

You don't even have a degree in therapy.

Lucifer considers you as his lifeline. He clings to you for dear life, metaphorically and literally.

Hurt this man and the next day you will find his corpse-

Is this a healthy friendship ? No, but are you going to ignore this fact and pretend everything is normal ? Yes.

You have changed his point of view on demons, in the sense that some, not all but some, can be redeemed.

I headcanon that you repaired Charlie and Lucifer's relationship, and that before the series.

Greatest dad didn't happen, sorry everyone.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x gn reader #hazbin hotel x male reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel vaggie #vox hazbin hotel #valentino #hazbin hotel velvette #husk #husker #niffty #alastor #angel dust #hazbin hotel adam #Raccoon is writing

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sky-fire-forever · 6 months

Text

To the people who say that Ed never harmed the Kraken Crew:

I am genuinely so confused by this take. First of all: Ed is shown to be violent even if that's not directed at the Kraken Crew specifically. He threw Lucius overboard and thinks he killed him in cold blood and he tortures Izzy by mutilating him. Even IF he never physically harms Jim, Frenchie, Fang, or Ivan directly, he is still behaving violently. He is killing people and taking out his depression on both Izzy and the innocent people (ish, they're still naval officers) that they are raiding.

Even if Izzy (and Lucius, remember) are the only direct victims of his physical abuse... they are still victims of that abuse? No matter what Izzy has done, be it threaten him, verbally lashing out at him, or even abuse of his own if you interpret it that way justifies how Ed physically takes him apart and makes him EAT parts of himself. That is beyond abuse. That is both physical and mental literal torture

And remember, Lucius was entirely innocent. He was actively trying to HELP Ed and that did not stop Ed from behaving violently towards him.

If you say since we see no signs of Ed abusing the Kraken Crew, I will remind you that the way Ed led the Kraken Crew got Ivan killed. Ivan DIED due to decisions made during Ed's time as captain of The Revenge, likely due to the constant raids making them exhausted and weakening their ability to fight.

We don't know enough about Ivan's death for me to really say that for certain, so it's speculation. But if Ivan died during a raid, the responsibility still falls on Ed's shoulders. He is their captain, it is his job to protect and defend his crew and we are explicitly told that he did not bat an eye when Ivan went down. We even see Ed kill a member of his own crew during his suicide attempt. A crew member falls overboard and we see Fang reach for them. This is directly caused by Ed sailing into that storm.

He points a gun at his crewmates and they have NO IDEA if he's going to shoot him. They're clearly afraid that he might. Fang starts crying and they all tense up. Frenchie expects Ed to kill him when he finds out that he's been hiding Izzy. They are afraid of their captain, they believe he does not care about their lives and that he could kill them at any moment.

This is abuse. I genuinely do not care if it is physical towards anyone but Izzy or not, it is abuse plain and simple. Ed behaves in an abusive manner towards his crew. That abuse actively puts their lives in danger. Constantly forcing them to go on raid after raid after raid for no reward (because he makes them dump the treasure that they believe they are earning for themselves, as Frenchie flat out asks Izzy if they're receiving "their cut") and exhausting them in the process makes them more likely to be killed on the field. Fighting while exhausted and demoralized is fucking difficult!

And before anyone says that's just life aboard a pirate ship, isn't Ed supposed to be better? Isn't he supposed to be better than Hornigold? Even Ed remembers having good times on Hornigold's ship with Jack. And the Kraken Crew appear constantly exhausted and terrified, carving out their own moments of joy just like Ed had to while under Hornigold

I have seen posts claiming that Izzy fans have a disconnect between interpretation of a character and their actual actions, but the lengths I have seen (certain, not all) Ed fans go to to completely absolve Ed of his cruelest actions absolutely baffles me. Like... Ed made Fang kill his dog and that's BEFORE he became the Kraken.

Ed is a dark character. He does twisted shit. Is that not INTERESTING to you? Does it not fascinate you that a man perfectly capable of torturing his crew and driving them harder and harder and harder until some of them die fueled by his own desire to make himself irredeemable STILL at his core is a man who wants nothing more than to be loved? Do you not find it somewhat beautiful and that this man with so much blood on his hands is still told "someone will love you. You are not a monster, but a person despite your cruelty"? Do you not think the story of a man so completely consumed by all he has done realizing that he can not erase the damage of what he did isn't a good tale to tell? Do you think there is a fundamental difference between the man who tells Stede not to kill and the man who has killed for himself?

I feel like stripping him of his horror takes away so much of who he is. So much of what makes him interesting. He CHOOSES to leave Stede's crew on an island to die of exposure or starvation. He CHOOSES to basically kidnap Frenchie and Jim. He CHOOSES to hurt those closest to him in horrible ways

And he chooses to come back from that. Chooses to try to do better. To learn. To grow. To love.

I have issues with season two, but if we had more time to watch Ed come back from this, to see him make amends with the crew he so horribly damaged, I would have thought this was the best arc ever. Redemption stories are my favorite because it shows that everyone is capable of both good and evil. Ed is capable of both too. I really wish people would see his growth for what it is: a man so entrenched in violence with a nonlinear recovery that hurts people and still keeps trying anyway. Rather than someone who never hurts anyone at all

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta #our flag means death meta #edward teach #izzy hands #the kraken crew #kraken crew #queue-no steel

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mschievousx · 2 days

Text

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

n. interlude: violet

violet has always been a strong woman. to take care of seven children and another one on the way, there was no questioning her abilities. just like how a wise wife makes for a strong husband, a loving husband makes for a happy wife.

and violet is beyond happy with her family right now.

with the addition of the silvas, she found a new friend of her own. the adults met in a ball hosted by the queen. the silvas were fairly new in central london just months after arriving from the countryside with a thirteen-year-old boy and a four-year-old little girl.

the patriarch is a military general, she learned. it must be hard for the children and his wife. and so, she bonded with the viscountess silva—sharing her worries and moments in the married life and vice versa.

the boy, she has met. he was an outgoing child and played with her two eldest sons the most. lance was a smart one—very knowledgeable about politics and its science but not offending. he would join her sons whenever their father would discuss about the duties of a viscount and all that it entails.

the little girl, she only met after a year. violet expected her to be a shy, reserved child. oh, how wrong she was.

on their first meet, loraine had no problem in directly asking why she has six children. she was not offended, of course. the girl was simply curious, and violet answered that it is what happens when two people love each other so much.

she did not expect, however, that little loraine would turn to her parents and ask them, do you not love each other so much? violet did not know how to react. fortunately, armand ruffled his daughter's hair and replied, you should thank the heavens the walls are thick.

his wife slapped his arm immediately with a laugh of her own. oh, how quirky the silvas are.

the peculiarity of the said child did not end their as they currently find themselves at the bridgerton's garden. the now six-year-old girl neared the viscount and viscountess on the side as she lost in the game against the bridgerton daughters. the sons and lance were playing cards on the next table.

raine sat on the grass as she looked up to the adults, "lady bridgerton, your husband is lovely."

violet smiled, reaching for her husband's hand as the man laughed at the child's remarks.

"I want to get married." she added with a pout.

"oh? who do you have in mind?" the viscountess asked the little silva.

raine looked up and away as if contemplating hard, "someone like your husband."

edmund laughed at her response as he brushed her hair, "darling, i am afraid there is only i."

the girl clicked her tongue and let out a small groan, mimicking an adult, "no one alike at all?"

"well," he began, trying to think of who could possibly be like him, "my eldest is probably the most similar to me."

at the mention of the eldest, raine grimaced immediately, "anthony? eugh..."

she did not think twice to express her disgust despite the fact that they were just on the adjacent table. the said son turning to her and spoke in a teasing tone.

"as if i would marry a cheeky brat like you."

"as if i would marry an old rake like you." she did not miss a beat in replying, sticking her tongue out to mock.

the adults were nonetheless shocked at the girl's words, their brows raising followed by a soundful laughter from edmund.

"raine!" lance called her for a scolding. he has no problem of her sister calling them rakes because they honestly are. it is only because of the parents present.

anthony placed his cards down instantly and stood up, set to chase the girl as the latter scrambled to run herself, using benedict's seat as a shield.

"ben! stop your brother!"

he snickered at the panic of the little one facing his eldest brother, "oh, no. you are not involving me on—"

"have you no guts?!" she challenged and he immediately found himself putting an arm in front of her to block anthony away with a laugh.

violet, on the other hand, laughed at the whole exchange as well before whispering to her husband, "are we going to ignore how the girl knows the word?"

edmund only chuckled with a nod to their third son, "she learned it from colin."

the viscountess had to close her eyes. of course she would learn it from her own sons. yet, a smile was tugging at the ends of her lips.

her family was quirky as well in their own way.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

with nothing to do, most gathered in the drawing room: violet having her tea while listening to her daughter, francesca learning the pianoforte, eloise reading a fairytale, daphne teaching francesca, colin and his newspapers, and benedict with his paint and canvas.

out of all of them, raine took interest in whatever the second eldest son was doing.

"ben, what are you doing?" she said as she peered from his front behind the canvas.

"i am trying my hand at painting." at the mention of art, she immediately went to his side to see him in action.

upon observing the canvas though, she frowned, her face contorting almost in disgust.

"rubbish. it's just messy lines."

"it's—" benedict turned to violet at once for help, "mother, do you hear her? are you letting the child talk like that?"

just to tease her son, she chuckled with the girl, "loraine's not wrong, dear. they are lines."

he sneered at his mother, "i am getting to it. this is the process."

raine continued to observe his piece in a very contemplative and serious manner, putting her fingers on her chin in thinking. in just no more than fifteen seconds, she shook her head sidewards disapprovingly.

"do not pursue it, ben." the mentioned man glaring at her intensely.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

it was a fine afternoon, with no issues so far. thank god! she cheered. it was rare to have a moment of silence in their home with her children.

rightly so because just as she was about to take a bit of a biscuit, eloise came running inside with immense hurry.

"mama, come!" she exclaimed, dragged her mother without any warning.

"what is happening?" violet asked with worry.

her daughter exclaimed, "raine climbed a tree!"

"what do you mean she climbed a tree?"

she exited their house, only to be greeted by his sons gathering near the tree. violet looked up and lo and behold—there indeed sits at a branch of quite a high tree a seven-year-old loraine.

"oh god," she placed a hand on her chest in concern.

benedict can be heard persuading the young silva to come down, "raine, get down. it is dangerous."

the girl looked down on them with a cheer in her voice, "have you seen how it looks up here? it's amazing!"

he exhaled tolerantly at her excitement, "yes, i have. come down now."

"no, everything looks more wonderful here." she stubbornly replied.

benedict had no choice but to tap anthony, gesturing for him to position himself directly below the girl. the latter nodded, understanding what he is planning.

he patted the trunk a couple of times, finding where he can settle his grip. as soon as he did, he climbed it with ease, reaching the girl on the left branch. he settled beside her, trying to find the right chance, looking at anthony below them.

"see?" raine turned to him with the widest innocent smile he has ever seen, "this way, you can be a few feet closer to your father."

he paused, not knowing what to respond. it was childish, really, but it was also one of the best things someone has ever said to him. and so, he raised his hand to her head and ruffled her hair.

his warm feelings did not last long though as the girl opened her mouth to speak once again with a grin.

"i doubt you can paint something like this."

he glared at her intensely, "stop talking about my painting."

"stop painting."

he gritted his teeth at that, placing a hand on the young silva's arm, "good bye."

"ben—"

and she was not able to continue what she was about to say when it was immediately replaced with a yelp as she fell. anthony caught her with ease, letting her down as she was struggling against him.

"that was uncalled for!"

violet let out a breath she did not know she was holding during the entire exchange. that trio will be the death of her.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

armand has arrived back from his duties after two months. the viscountess silva wasted no time to invite the bridgertons for a sleepover in theirs. the silvas may be just a family of four, but they certainly had a lot of room in their home.

the bridgertons arrived in the afternoon—violet insisted that they will have lunch at theirs prior because it would be too much for the silvas to shoulder four meals.

after they have settled and dispersed to do their own things while their parents bonded, the eight-year-old marched to where they were in the leisure hall, finding violet's second eldest too with his pad and brush.

"benedict, you fool!"

he turned to her with a look of clear confusion, "what now?"

"why are you using my equipment as models?"

ah, yes. across benedict were raine's glasses, flasks, tubes, and beakers, arranged carefully in an aesthetic manner.

he looked back in front and realised that it was hers. at first, he really thought they were lance's and the latter even allowed him to use them when he asked permission.

he turned back to her and shrugged, "i have been painting flowers and vases and fruits. i would like to try a new one and glasses are perfect to experiment with since they are transparent."

"what did my innocent tools ever do to you..."

she walked towards her things and returned them carefully to their respective places before she turned to grab a stool. the young silva placed it in front of him at the right distance, sitting with her back straight

"now, go on."

benedict raised a brow on what she was tryimg to do, "do you want me to draw you?"

she gave him a sarcastic smile, not wanting to concede, "no, you want to draw and i just happened to be here."

he conceded but not without a shot of his own, "if it comes out plain or unpleasant, know that it is not my talent but you."

she let her mouth fell at his comment, only picking it up when she turned to her mother for support.

"mother! are you really going to let him speak like that?!"

armand, along with the two viscountesses, laughed at their banter.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

it was fairly a normal night, unless you take in the fact that it was the death anniversary of her mother. it has been six years, and while it has been long since she could laugh again, an air of longing still remains.

and so, the fourteen-year-old asked daphne and francesca to play the piano of a concerto they all wrote together—raine wrote most parts, considering that it is a tribute for her mother. she took her violin and stood beside the piano, the family gathering close to hear them play.

it was not a single-themed piece. all throughout the music, you could hear notes that dripped of grief and loneliness, yet of joy and relief at the same time. the three of them were playing flawlessly, embodying every message and emotion they wanted to convey.

"do not look at her like that. she is a child."

violet muttered as small as she chould after noticing her son's gaze at the young silva.

"i am not." he turned to her mother right away, denying what she said with a fearful look at the same time—as if he was caught doing something he should not, "i am simply wondering."

he turned back to their performance, trying to control his expressions as what his mother said shook him even after his denial.

"she is interesting, smart, and funny." he complimented with awe to dismiss the previous idea, "and quite artistic too, it seems."

he laced his voice with a familiar smirk on his lips just as they ended their piece, "god really has his favourites."

the lady in question smiled serenely, walking to her father and hugging him in a comforting manner. with lance away on his duty, it was only him and her. however, right now, the bridgertons are proving to be a good source of solace.

violet pushed the topic behind, following her son's humor, "are you now envious of the child?"

"no," he said, eyes never leaving her form, "i am admiring."

the matriarch could do nothing but trust his son—trust that he knows what to do, understands it cannot be now, and cares to wait for the right time.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

they have gathered at the bridgerton's garden once again for a fine day. this one is surely void of any problems, i assure—if you could just please ignore gregory and hyacinth chasing each other, colin and eloise arguing about social matters, and benedict glaring at anthony's back.

honestly, violet is grateful for at least two children of hers that could converse peacefully with one another.

"stop staring daggers at your brother." she said discreetly, trying not to move her lips in fear of the pair in discussion hearing. she sat with her tea settled on the table, observing her children with benedict beside her, sketching on his pad.

"i am not." he firmly denied once again, eyes going back to his drawing as if invested on it.

she hummed dismissively, completely not believing him this time, "anthony is simply teaching her his duties."

he dropped his pad on his lap and turned to his mother, "what for?"

recounting what the girl's father and her talked about days back, she divulged, "armand will pass the title again to her when she debuts."

benedict was honestly surprised by that. lance, who has been the viscount for three years, died two years past, making armand the viscount again during this time. now—or three years from now, to be exact—he would be passing the title to his child again.

"why? it is not a duty for someone so—" he paused, trying to find the words as he turned to her as if she was the answer itself, "pure."

violet understood what he meant. however, she would also beg to differ. the girl was a bundle of things. she was almost frightening—a jack of all trades and master to all.

"she is quite capable, i can see. if anyone is going to be it, it is her."

lady bridgerton continued as benedict ultimately closed his pad and placed it on the table. before she could do anything, he was already well on his way towards the pair.

they both raised their heads from the papers they were discussing and turned to him, anthony asking him, "what are you doing here?"

he raised his eyebrows, pitch going high as he defended himself, "can't i be interested of my brother's tasks as well?"

"you never are." the elder indifferently shrugging.

he insisted, "well, i am now."

raine narrowed her eyes at the man interrupting what she likes to call as her 'time to be pretentious'. she dismissed as well, "stop bothering us, ben."

benedict scoffed and let out a mocking chuckle at that, "oh, i am bothering you now?"

she nodded with ease, clueless of his internal emotions. she grinned at the idea that just came to her mind.

"unless you are going to marry me... because i would gladly let you whisk me away."

"no!"

benedict firmly rejected after a short pause, retracing his steps back to his mother again. he left them be, but not without tapping his brother's arm in good nature. a gesture that says he is not taking it seriously. yet, there was a grumble in every step he took away from them. his mother, however, knows best.

violet certainly did not miss the way her son's mouth stammered before saying no without conviction.

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x oc #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #violet bridgerton

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pagesfromthevoid · 1 year

Text

Cowboy Like Me | d.d. | 8

Din Djarin x princess!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Din likes taking orders from pretty girls

Author’s Note: I am a SLUT for romance and longing touches. Click here to see the inspo for her dress and the inspo for her circlet

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

The Dress

In the following weeks on Sorgan, Din and her had fallen into a comfortable routine. He picked up work at the common house, typically small things to keep him busy. If he couldn’t find work, he resumed training with the villagers who were still interested in being able to defend themselves.

Today, she trailed behind him, chatting his ear off about wanting to defend herself. Din didn’t think it was necessarily a bad idea, but he didn’t want to embarrass her if she wasn’t great at first.

“Teach me to shoot,” she ordered, standing with her hands on her hips. She had taken to wearing the clothes of the village, though today she wore her travel set and holster once more. “Or are you afraid you’ll hurt my delicate sensibilities?”

The villagers looked between the two, some of them clearly trying to hold back their laughter. However, after giving them a pointed look, they dispersed almost immediately and went on their way. Din narrowed his eyes under the helmet.

“I won’t go easy on you.”

“I would expect nothing less from a Mandalorian.”

The two locked eyes, but she refused to back down as an innocent smile spread over her face. Princess or not, she was defiant and determined to get what she wanted from him. He stepped towards the crate of weapons, picking up a lightweight blaster and looked it over. For a moment, he considered what it meant to present the gun to her –though she ruined the thought by plucking it out of his hands with far too much confidence.

“You’re going to hurt someone if you keep acting up,” he warned, turning to face her.

“You seem to be under the impression that I’ve never used a blaster before,” she countered, her smile turning into a sly grin.

“Why do I need to teach you to shoot then, princess?”

It had taken about two weeks for him to realize that the title only made her stop talking because she liked when he said it. And when Din finally realized the effect it had on her, he certainly started to drop it in conversation more often. Truthfully, he didn’t know why she liked it when he called her by her title –usually, it was when he was feeling more snarky than usual that he used it –but he also didn’t care.

He liked the way she looked at him when he said it. How she would lick her bottom lip just barely and look away for a moment, flustered. Then when she would turn back to him, the corner of her lip caught between her teeth to keep herself from reacting further.

He loved it.

“Because,” she explained simply, looking over the weapon in her hands. “Just because I’ve used one before does not mean I know how to use it correctly.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

It was her turn to narrow her eyes at him, mocking offense as she stepped in front of him. “Sometimes I think you like riling me up, Mando.”

“It’s easy.”

“Keep it up,” she warned, though she had returned her gaze to the blaster to look over the safety and the trigger. “And you’ll learn that two can play at that game.”

Instead of responding, Din took the blaster from her hands and held it out in front of him. Their flirting took a step back as he began to explain the different pieces of the weapon to her, taking his time to ensure she understood. It was moments like this –where they could be flirting or teasing or whatever seconds before only for her to listen intently to his directions the next –that he knew she was something else. All she wanted was to understand, and ask questions.

He loved that too.

When he held the weapon back out to her, she took it carefully. However, his hand didn’t move from the weapon, instead moving to cover hers as he held it up.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger yet,” he explained, standing beside her with his hand hovering at her elbow. “You need to fix your stance before you do anything.”

“How do I –,”

But Din was kneeling beside her already, spreading her legs apart carefully. His hand pressed against the back of her knee, bending it just slightly, before he pulled one foot back some. He stood slowly, one hand trailing up her thigh over her hip, then up to her elbow. She glanced over her shoulder at him as he positioned himself behind her, one hand on her elbow and the other on her weapon again.

He leaned in close, guiding her aim towards the target. “The more you practice, the better you’ll get at aiming without my help. Which will make it easier to draw your weapon in the moment.” He pushed her finger back into the trigger position, then released his grip on her. “Fire.”

She pulled the trigger, just barely missing the target. Her shoulders sagged, disappointed in herself, as she lowered her weapon. But Din rested his hand on the small of her back.

“Not bad for a first lesson,” he reassured, though he took the gun from her. “You need to get better at your stance and your aim will get better.”

“I think I was distracted,” she admitted, turning to look up at him. That sly grin returned.

“You’ll have to learn to ignore distractions,” he pointed out, stepping away from her to set the blaster back in the crate. “Or you’ll get killed.”

He could feel her stare on his back, and when he turned back around, her arms were crossed over her chest. Her grin had turned into a soft smile, and she shook her head. Din raised a brow under his helmet, tilting his head to the side as she made her way over to him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she promised, standing on her toes and pressing her lips to the cheek of his helmet. “Let’s go find the baby and have lunch.”

Din smiled, offering his hand to her to take. It was a simple motion, one that meant more than outside eyes would understand. But she took it without hesitation, pulling herself close to his side as they returned to the village.

Grogu was with the children, chasing frogs —no doubt trying to eat one. As Din was about to scold him, she laughed and scooped the baby up and rested him on her hip. It was a hell of a sight to behold —her with his son on one hip and her other hand in Din’s. He’d never get used to it, and maybe he shouldn’t, but stars, he adored every second they had together.

Upon returning to their hut, she set Grogu down and pulled out the food that Omera had dropped off for them. They had taken to making their own food most of the time, but when the village came together, Omera would put together meals for the three of them and leave it for them.

She had asked within the first week of living there to be taught how to prepare meals. Din thought it was genuinely hilarious to see Omera confused by her request. They had settled on not revealing her heritage —not because they didn’t trust the people, but because they didn’t want to cause a stir. It was easier to just tell Omera that she had never prepared krill before.

Grogu started going through her bag as she set up dinner, pulling out her dress and circlet once again. Din reached out to stop him, but it was too late as the baby held up the fabric of the skirt over his face.

“That’s not yours,” Din scolded as she walked over with two bowls, setting them on the floor where they had made their makeshift dining space.

“He’s fine,” she promised, moving to gather the kid’s bowl and sitting on the floor. “At least someone can enjoy it.”

Din sat behind her, pressing his back against hers. She faced the entryway, and Grogu dropped the dress to climb into her lap. This became part of their routine —sitting back to back, with her watching the doorway as Din removed his helmet to eat. It was such a small thing, but it meant so much. Maybe it broke the Creed; but he wasn’t willing to admit it just yet.

“You can still wear it,” Din suggested, resting his helmet beside him. “There’s no reason you can’t.”

“Besides the fact that I’m waist deep in a swamp every day while hiding from my mother?” She was teasing, and he could hear it in her voice. But he knew she was being serious.

“Well, yes, besides that.” He lifted his tea to his lips, taking a long sip before he shrugged. “You’re not running right now –or in a swamp. If you wanted to wear it, you could.”

“Are you asking me to play dress up for you, Din?”

“Maybe I am.”

She didn’t respond, other than a soft hum as she sipped her own tea. There was a silence that fell between them, one that often did when they were comfortable and didn’t have much else to add. Din couldn’t deny he was curious to see her, in person, dressed up in her royal regalia. The pastel green color of her gown was lovely, and he was certain it would look beautiful on her. While he was very fond of her civilian wear, he wanted to see his princess as a princess –if only once.

As he finished eating, he set his bowl to the side then took a deep breath before he slipped his helmet back on. Her back moved away from his and the floor of the hut creaked as she stood up. Wynta, Omera’s daughter, came to the door and knocked, poking her head in as Din turned around.

“Can we play with Grogu? My mama is setting up a circle to tell stories.” He glanced at Grogu, who was already waddling his way to the front door. So he simply nodded as Wynta lifted him into her arms and hurried off. “Thank you, Mando!”

Left alone now, with the sun setting, he glanced down at her. She was looking at her dress and circlet, left half pulled out of her bag. There was a longing in her eyes, one that suggested she really did want to wear it again.

“Put it on.”

“Hm?”

“I want you to put it on.”

For a moment, she simply stared at the pile of elaborate fabric, as if she was debating if she would. When she didn’t move, Din stepped around her and lifted the gown into his hands. He had removed his gloves to eat, and decided there was no reason to put them back on. The feel of the material of her dress was something he had never felt before, though it wasn’t nearly as soft as it looked. It caught the dying light of the sun, shimmering like the stars themselves. He held it out to her, though he did not push further than that.

She glanced between him and the gown, taking a breath before she motioned to the clothes she wore. Her voice shifted, as if taking on the role of princess once more. “You will have to help me, then, Mandalorian.”

Din lowered the gown, holding it tight in his fist, before he set it back down on her bag. He stepped forward, reaching out to unbuckle the holster on her thigh. While her clothing was not nearly as elaborate as his armor, he took his time to remove the belt that held the holster. When that was pulled off, he set it down neatly on the floor. Then he kneeled in front of her, running his hands down her legs, until he reached her boots and started to unbuckle those.

They slipped off without a fight, which made it easy to take her socks off next and leave her barefoot in front of him. Her hand tilted his chin up, drawing his gaze up to her for a moment before she motioned for him to stand up. When he stood back up, staring down at her through his visor, she crossed her arms in front of herself –and simply pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor. Then, as if that was not enough to cause every part of Din to short circuit, she unbuttoned her pants and dropped them next.

Standing before him, a thin bandeau and underwear between her being completely bare, Din’s mouth ran dry. But she was not done –she unfastened the bandeau and let it drop next, leaving her with nothing but her underwear left. Thankful for his helmet, which hid the fact that he was looking her over as if he was about to devour her entirely, he reached out, instinctively and longingly, and tried to pull her in. But she swatted his hand away. He swallowed hard, looking at her face finally.

“Give me the gown,” she ordered, nodding to the heap of fabric on the floor.

Din did not hesitate, taking the dress from the floor, and holding it out to her. She looked unimpressed by him, taking the gown from him to slip into with ease. She shimmied it over her hips, pulling the sheer sleeves over her arms. The neckline plunged, deep enough to expose the expanse of her skin. The gold chains that accented the bodice were unhooked, and she stood before him, holding out her wrists.

“Fasten these for me, Din.”

He nodded slowly, taking her wrist in his hands and hooking the chains around her wrists together. Then, he kneeled before her again, fastening the hooks of her bodice. His hands rested on her waist when he finished, staring up at her through his visor with nothing but pure longing. Her hands rested on his shoulders, returning the intensity of his gaze.

“I need my circlet now.”

Swallowing hard, he nodded once and stood, retrieving the piece. The feel of it in his hands was familiar, and he looked it over for a few seconds before he looked back at her. The gold on it was fading, clearly not actually made of it, but the metal underneath was a familiar cadence. Din hesitated, not sure if he should ruin the moment, before deciding against it. Then he set it on her head softly and stepped back.

She stood with her shoulders back, straight and proper, with what could only be described as a royal smile.

“Well?” She asked, bringing her hands together in front of her.

“You are…,” but there weren’t words to describe her beauty. None that did her any justice.

“Leaving the galaxy’s best warrior speechless?” She teased, smiling at him playfully. “Do you know what I miss most about my life on Senex, Din?”

“What?”

She stepped forward, bowing far too formally for someone like him, and then held out her hand. “Dancing.”

“Dancing is a dangerous game,” he pointed out, though he took her hand anyway.

“Not anymore dangerous than what we’ve been doing,” she countered, pulling herself close to him. “Do you know how to?”

“No, but if I’m gonna teach you to shoot, I’m sure you can teach me to dance.”

———

Taglist (CLOSED): @r4iner @sgt-morgan @mingeniee @darling1darling @teriolan-blog @venusfalling @double—take @sunshine96 @demisexuallover @mxtokko @ellesvoid @waddafaknik @c-ms1ut @kokoirne @sl-ut @munsons-queen @intense-sneezing @geekrenaissance @dancealongthelightofday @tizylish @ruleroftides @aheadfullofsteverogers

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandolorian x reader #the manadalorian #din djarin imagine #mando x reader #the mandalorian imagine

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lovethatmakingcoffee · 3 months

Text

what am I? The devil's advocate?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE GIFT OF APPOLLO STRIKES AGAIN FOR ME SPECIFICALLY CAUSE I CALLED OUT THIS CANCELLATION THE MOMENT FOREVER GOT CANCELLED!!!!! Its just so easy! So simple! Of course a male musician is gonna get cancelled and so few listened to me cause you are dumb children because obviously its children who make up the majority audience of a Minecraft roleplay server!!! Ha! At this point its comical! I'm busting a nut on how funny and predictable this all is. Haha, ah sadge. Oh noooos! Are you all gonna burn your merch and delete your art cause you're afraid that u are supporting an abuser creep. Ah waaaahhhh. Like i havent heard that tune the past two months, sing another one. Bitches.

Pft, you all are so pathetic and funny, at this point there really just must be this shadow group or whatever that is trying to destroy the qsmp from the inside out. Like really? Two months, three major creators of the qsmp are targeted by cancellations, and there is plenty of drama in between. So obviously suspicious and coincidental. And it happened so fast and so many people just dogpiled on the accused, i would have to say its almost organized. And that there is just so many jumping the gun, ready to tell these creators to kill themselves, you guys certainly have numbers, holy shit. Ha! I wonder if Forever actually finds and sues that first anti, that he'll be able to figure out who these people are because isnt this also just so conveniently timed? Each cancellation one after another. There is so much drama clouding the qsmp community that how could it not be schemed out at this point? I already predicted that with Forever's downfall and now with attempts I. Cellbit and Wilbur, Im starting to have an inclination that someone approached these girls.

With cellbit's ex it would be easy to deflame him, but i wonder how they got to this sherby whatever. Maybe cause he chose his career over her like i've heard in her video. But being exs is already hot opportunity for scorn of any kind, so its quite easy to jump on one or the other when one of these two accused the other. So really the motive could be anything at this point. anything she said or not said or those requests she asked of him and he never fulfilled. And to me she never delved too deeply in to what those requests were either. Which ok then. Fine, keep your secrets.

But biting is so fucking weird to accuse someone as abuse. Especially physical. Like just biting? That's all. Not that if its true that's not bad, but it would make sense that he was physically violent in any other way at least once. Like hitting, strangling, anything. But no, biting is the best she could come up with when it comes to physical. Mental and emotional abuse is a tricky in cause its not visible and it will always boil down to a he said she said type of shit but if there is no physical text or people witnessing their conversations then good luck with that.

But firstly, if she wants the whole world on her side then physical evidence should be so easy in this scenario. Like as easy as pie! If he bit her so badly every day where he tore skin, or whatever, then damn weren't they in a relationship??? Did they not take couple pictures? Wouldn't these pictures show the obviously horrible bitemarks? That is the first actual physical evidence that she could show that would be so easy to solidify her stance, but no, just hearsay. And nothing like texts either! Maybe a text to a friend complaining about how bad the bitemarks are. But no, nothing. No slideshow of evidence at all, just saying it happened, because words are all she needs to win the internet nowadays.

And then there are her complaints about him financially taking advantage of her, like girl, receipts! Show the receipts at least please, god damn it! Or again, these supposed texts to your girlfriends that he is taking financial advantage of you!!! Anything at all. The male accused is always expected to provide evidence that he did not abuse his ex but the girl isn't expected to show physical evidence that he did it, come on!!!

And I mean the biting in itself is so strange too. Cause like- how did it even start? She says he did it out of nowhere and my brain cant even wrap around that there was no pinpointing starting point. Said that it was a normal affection thing that his parents said was normal. If his family actually said that at all. And that he just randomly introduced it to her like ... Huh? Nothing she could accurately point to and say then, thats when it began. No sexy time or sex or whenever. Just he walked up to her in the kitchen one day and took a bite, huh? Like as far as im aware, to me (and a mutual of mine who pointed this out more accurately) their situation just sounds like a bdsm thing that went south. These two were not on the same wavelength, realized that and went their separate ways. Maybe he didn't follow the safe word every time, maybe she was also mutually into it like Wilbur said. Maybe they just changed their minds on things. Who knows! Not us, that's for sure. Not that their love life should be any of our business, but she yelled abuse so...

And the fact that she acts like biting is such a weird foreign kink. It's tame is what it is. More tame then the feet kinks in my opinion. But if what Wilbur says it's true and it was mutual, 😮‍💨 then fuck, man.

And why would HIM leaking past conversation be power over her? Wouldn't any mutual conversation or evidence they have over each other, negatively effect him in a bad light? Would it not be good if one of these parties showcased a lick of evidence to evidentally prove her right??? Or would it be like Cellbit and explain thoroughly how not everything she said is the truth?

Who knows. There is probably some truth to what she said like he reiterated. About being a slob and that biting happened. But the invasiveness of the bites and the violence of it might not have been accurate. But he needs to absolutely admit it or she needs literally any physical evidence at all to give weight to her claims. But there is nothing because of course there isn't. She could so easily expose him if what she says is true... So why didn't she in her video? If that is what she wants? But then if it is just to bring awareness then she did so in a selfish manner that is only accusatory and not grounded. Ground me Shelby. Show me the bad boyfriend he is. SHOW ME.

But she won't. Will she? :/

Anyway. The qsmp. 👏👏👏👏👏

Like in the past two months, creators have been cancelled or dropped from the qsmp one by one and damn, quackity must be super evil or one unlucky son of a bitch to have hired all these secretly maliscious people. My goodness gravy gracious, how impressive!

I mean come on, really. Like really. Have we not overheard this tune by now? Male creator gets cancelled cause of something to do with a woman, is rushed to answer and is (luckily for cellbit he had an essay on why he was innocent so people are fifty fifty on him at least) then dogpiled by the people waiting to rip his apology or response apart. And then it doesn't matter what they do, anything they do will be seen in a bad light and no one will take into consideration on their stance at all and turn on the male creator. Its crazy how the pattern keeps repeating itself and keeps being successful because everyone is afraid that they are supporting an abuser pedo whatever and have all this time.

It actually makes me sickly relieved that no matter how Forever managed his initial response, he was doomed from the start.

And i mean these younger streamers certainly think they're smart by immediately turning on Wilbur's obviously curated damage control lawyer made response, but ha! That will bite them in the ass soon too. When its their turn. Because its going to be their turn. These cancellers don't care at this point who you are, they just want to see you fall, which is what i predicted and shouted to the heavens months ago! That they should have stayed as a community instead of turning on each other.

Like they think they are so smart responding this quickly, cause the quicker your response to injustice, the more innocent you are 😇. Because if they dont respond immediately (literally hours after the fact), then they will be treated like creators such as Phil and Tommy; be treated like shit and accused for supporting an abuser by the hysterical masses. Because that's who you are if you are against whatever the ex's name is or dont speak up about it at all. And like dont speak up immediately too. You have to have a quick response or there will literally be a ripple effect of cancellations cause if you dont say anything then you are a bad person too. And all i hear from the social media smucks are Wahhhhhh.wahhhhhhhh you're bad if you support so and so! But i already made my side so im a good person wahhhhhhhh

And no, im not even enteraining shit like this anymore when she goes "uwu, i'm finally coming out on social media to spread awareness that my famous ex boyfriend (and it is ALWAYS at the height of their popularity, remember that) used to abuse and bruise me." Like sure- the benefit of doubt for the female victim blah blah but she's like- "oh but this is based on my experience and I'm just here to spread awareness. Anyway, I'm going to hang out with my friends now after dumping that clusterfuck on the internet. Bye~." Like everyone in their collective minds won't go after him and demand answers then judge his response and then turn on him anyways cause lemme be honest, when has an internet open apology ever worked? It never has. And now she has put the spotlight on him, his pr team is scrambling for an escape, he's probably messaging her behind the scenes going what the hell, and his family and friends who wont actively denounce him will be sent death threats. Just like Forever. Forever mi amor. Ah. I miss you bibi.

Anyway, girlie knew she was setting the hounds on him and acted like she didnt. Like she was just going to say her piece and dip. Like the internet wasn't going to explode. Like what the fuck? Whatever her intentions were, whether she was abused or not, she wanted this. She didnt want to get him before he got famous or even during dsmp. She wanted to do this now. For some reason it had to be now. I guess in her mind the bigger they are...

It's always the same.... goes on social media. Verbally accused with no physical evidence. Leaves. The man is left flounder in the mob of social media. Repeat.

And damn, this really makes me doubt Cellbit's ex now like- im starting to really not believe any of them anymore. Cause these cancellations are just all so convientely timed!!! Forever at the height of his lore, Cellbit's weird ex comes out of nowhere with a heavy hitter accusation, but thankfully my guy predicts this and was able to deflect that one with his PHYSICAL EVIDENCE, and now Wilbur's ex is breaking out the easy 'he abused me~' song. Like why are you all still falling for this? Why? Why? Why? Why?!

And hell, i might be a hundred percent wrong, but you might be too, so might aimsey and ranboo and tubbo. This chick might be a sweet angel that didnt mean to release an innocent criminal accusation on her famous ex, oh no~ but like, i dont even care if im wrong and am acting like a jackass.

They cancelled Forever and my man was not a pedo. I stand by that. I'll stand by it until there is a literal mugshot of him commiting said crime. Or literally any lick or shroud of physical evidence! Anything instead of the basic she said he said nonsense. The Forever texts were gross but i've already determined what I have understood from that girl Sol's response. And I've explained it on my tumblr hear before. Right here :)

-https://www.tumblr.com/lovethatmakingcoffee/739974345599926272/part-1

And these remaining qsmp idiots can be cancelled for all i care at this point. For staying quiet and letting their friend fall into a pit of vipers. I think its hilarious if they all got cancelled. Ive already seperated art from the artist with all of them after what they did to Forever. The only one I didnt do that to WAS Forever.

But they let that shit happen, they let my man get labeled as a pedo, so they reap what they sow.

And yeah i may be a hypocrite and still post qsmp stuff, but like whatever :P. I lost my mind months ago cause of circumstances and Forever was one of the few things keeping me afloat. And i mean like- phaw, these content streamers are funny, what can i say. Even though i dont agree with literally any of the shit they pulled in the last couple of months, they get a hearty chuckle out of me and their character is fun and their lore is (less) interesting. I mean- they are likeable. Thats why they are content creators. Cause they got great personalities. Doesnt mean they are good people though.

And heh, the qsmp really will die soon, i mean really. Just look. Pacfit is cute but it barely holds much in the shipping department, the lore might as well be dead cause many have left or were cancelled or have to deal with the aftermath of their friends being cancelled or leaving. And just it looks like not many people are on and that quackity tried to commercialize it with purgatory 2. Bringing all these new people and having storylines abandoned left and right. Then forever got canceled and quackity chose to throw his friend under the bus (doesnt even matter if forever secretly asked him to) and protect his project which was his first mistake. Now all these creators are getting picked off one by one because of their past relationships. Insteading of standing unified together.

And i will laugh at all of you stupid fucks who whined and cried that ohhh noooo, my favorite creator is a bad person with little evidence, and just the one side talking about it. And it doesnt matter if Wilbur said that was a consensual kink they shared and they met on www.bitemynipple.org, he will be framed as the bad guy, with whatever she said. My god. The fact that everyone takes this shit at face value and dont question anything, and quickly announce that they hate the guy to prove that they are a good person is insane.

Like holy shit, tubbo, ranboo, aimsey, and others. You jumped on him so quickly and literally ranked and ripped apart his apology like it was supposed to win some literary award, the fuck? Why are you so weird?! It's obviously a PR curated response and you are treating it like it is his actual words! The fuck?!

And then y'know, i think there are people who never really were fans and are just part of that well orchestrated alleged anti group that took down Forever and are using what wilbur's ex said to fan the flames. Loudly announcing, 'IM DELETING MY STUFF AND YOU SHOULD TOO UNLESS YOU ARE A BAD PERSON!!!" you want to talk about manipulation? That certainly looks like manipulation to me. Pathetic. Guilting people before the final verdict. My braincells are dead on the floor cause of youm And then the rest of you all roll over, bend your back and just take it. Well lube up your stupid little holes.

But honestly, i called this shit so hard. I more so guessed a fan would damn him later, but its an ex girlfriend who felt like it was a great idea to air out their personal lives to the voyeuristic eye that is the internet. Just peachy. Like this is your own personal shit, and again if there aint even a police report talking about their domestic abuse, i wont take this seriously. It a photo or a screenshot of a text about it. ANYTHING!!!!! The fact she just discreetly brought it up out of nowhere to bring 'awareness'. She knew what she was doing. And if her intentions were to tear him down cause she was angry at him or get her noticed because of his popularity or to use him to lift her agenda of this so called awareness then ok, i guess??????

And what's with this bullshit of not knowing that wilbur is manipulative? That is literally is one of his number one character traits. You can think of it negatively or positively, but unless you are new here, that dude is a manipulative hussy. Like this is a well known fact, how are any of you surprised at this? Its like saying the sky is blue. I mean- if by anything dsmp wilbur is the most manipulative lil bastard ever, obviously he is leaning into a character trait he already knows and has.

But go on, hm, cry. Write your little announcements that you always knew he was a bad person uwu and that you are deleting all your content of him. Go on and do it. Delete your art and fics that you worked so hard on just cause some drama is happening where there is no hard evidence so far except what she said and he said. Heh, I dont stan him. I aint saving this shit. If the art gets deleted, oh well! Too bad, so sad. Thats on all of you who wanted to panic, act out like toddlers and delete your art. Go on. Delete it. Feel sad. Boohoo. Waaaaaaaahhhh. Ask no questions and just side with the 'victim' who conveniently brings this up now.

Who knows. Maybe I'll act up too. Maybe i'll draw Wilbur getting eaten out and bitten and sensually gang banged. Maybe I'll draw art of tntduo chewing on each others' cocks. Bite bite bite. Maybe I'll just make a lot of wilbur biting art just to spite everyone. Who knows?!

Maybe i will also keep the wilbur soot tag alive, like i am doing with the forever, sugarduo, and the 4halo tag. Because you stupid ass bitches just squeal when these creators arent perfect when someone drops dirt on them. Well newsflash you dumb fucks, they all have dirt on them.

Also my next guess on who the cancel qsmp victim will be ... Fit. They havent got anything on Philza yet to my surprise. Maybe the man just surrounds himself with loyal people outside of minecraft server cause obvs those people aint loyal as shit 🤣. And i dont know much about fit outside of qsmp, like i feel a lot of us do. But he totally fits the qualifications. He's a man so he's an easy target. He's older so he has a 'past tm. And he is seen as otherwise good and another pillar of the qsmp. So if he is taken down, many shall follow. It would be another good shock to the community to destroy the server like these antis want. And yeah- i actually think this all stems around the qsmp. Aint no other Minecraft servers are having this level of drama right now, so why is it qsmp that are getting all these leaks and drama bombs at ... At the height of their popularity? I wonder. Or maybe i already know.

But all these pr disaster drama landmines, i even made a funny theory joke in my head that what if the ringleader to these alleged anti groups is actually a pr manager of one of these groups? And thats how they have been destroying everyone from the inside, collecting some OLD dirt, and being able to maybe connect or approach these exs. But that's just a funny theory i have. Like could you imagine???

Could you imagine?

And damn, i just wonder if there is a content creator policy that if one of them is being attacked than the rest have to dogpile on them no matter how they feel or what they think about the situation to save their own assets and finances? Do you think? You think that's in their contract? That would be absurd and hilarious. Imma piss myself from laughing. Look piss.

And no, i will not talk nicely about this. I never should have. You guys all deserve to be spat on and talked shit to. And i mean all. Im talking about everyone. All those that fall hook line and sinker. Dumbfucks

Will i respond to anything from this...? Mm maybe. Probably not. I don't really care what happens :P sucks to suck

(Also yeah this was barely edited, eat my ass)

(And I mean, damn if I'm wrong I'm wrong, but you fucks turn so quick when yeah- there is no physical evidence that she could easily provide)

(to reiterate for those who don't want to read the finer details. I totally think everything that has happened so far as been to rip apart the qsmp and think all these ex girlfriends as well are too conveniently timed. And whether or not they are telling the truth, there are and will always be antis lying in wait to shame and guilt everyone to damn the male accused while no physical evidence is brought forth and that they pressure people to delete their art and fics. Gross)

#Wilbur Soot #Drama #Discourse #Shubble #Shelby #Tubbo #Ranboo #Aimsey #Forever #Foreverplayerg #Qsmp #Quackity smp #Dsmp #Dream smp #Tommyinnit #Philza #Fitmc #Quackity

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