#man's built like a brick shithouse ok
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my toxic ffxiv fan trait is that i will see v nice zenos art and seethe abt it all day because they made him so, so skinny.
#i have also drawn him too skinny i am doing penance for it as we speak#if i reblog a v twink zenos know that i did it under duress.#man's built like a brick shithouse ok#or a Really Big And Kind Of Obnoxious refrigerator
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Confidence
Hey hey everyone :), such busyness happened I didn't have time to write something new. Time to change that, me and my bestie @callofdudes came up with this idea a while ago for the story you're about to read. so without further ado. Let's begin. Word count:1K
When you first joined the 141 and met Simon your first thought was "Holy shit he's built like a brick shithouse" Yes Simon probably had muscles on muscles. But nevertheless you continued to build your friendship with him and in due time becoming the best of friends.
Simon had scars and burns all over his upper body from his years in the military, these made him very self-conscious about himself, but when he showed you his scars and told the stories behind them. You didn't judge. This made him happier than you could ever know, But usually he doesn't show them to the others. Opting to wear long sleeve shirts every time, no matter the setting. But you helped boost his confidence to gradually go down to short sleeve shirts.
Today he felt super confident, more than usual. You told him to meet him in the gym for a much-needed workout after a long mission. As you two started your workouts, Simon took off his shirt and began his workout. Revealing the scars and burns.
"Feeling confident today Simon??" you smiled at him.
"I guess you can say that. You helped me feel this" He smiled back under his mask. He was really grateful for the friendship he has made with you. You didn't see him as the ghost that the people are afraid of. You saw him for only Simon. so for that was why you were his best friend.
As you two were going about with your workouts. you heard voices reach the base gym, loud and rowdy recruits entered intending to do their workouts. But from the looks of it, it was like they were their just to talk loudly.
It wasn't until one of them spotted Simon shirtless and saw all his scars and burns.
"Oh Ho man check out the freak show." They pointed to him so their friends can see.
"Oh shit your right look at that, he belongs in the circus"
"Fucking hell no one would ever go near him."
Simon tried to ignore them and go back to his workout but he couldn't help but feel shame and self-conscious again for how they were reacting. He slowly stopped lifting the weight and went to put his shirt back on. But this was when you stepped in.
"Si hang on, can you all shut up and leave him alone. He's just doing his workout."
"Oh come on really look at him, he's a fucking freakshow, no one would ever go near him" They smirked at him.
"Yeah honestly I bet he scared you when you saw those ugly ass scars"
"Oh yeah, the only ugly asses I see here are you all. Judging someone based on their appearance, plus that's your lieutenant your talking too so I suggest you best shut the fuck up."
"Oh yeah, what are you gonna do. stand up to your ugly bff"
This struck a nerve with you, stepping off the machine glaring at them as you made your way forth to them.
"I suggest you choose your next few words very very carefully" You warned
"You can't do shit, you're just a sergeant. Even if you did you'll be hearing from my lawyers"
"Ah yes R/N, they warned me about you before. Spoiled brat, Onto the sparring mat."
"Oh, you're gonna regret saying that" They cracked his knuckles and pumped his chest to the group before joining you on the mat, readying your sparring positions you began to battle it out.
But as all meatheads do, they only think with their muscles rather than their head. so you had the upmost advantage of easily taking them down every single time. Time and time again you knocked them to the ground every time.
"Ok Ok, I'm sorry !!!!" They screamed as you pinned him to the ground.
"Let this be a lesson for you, All of you" You got off of him and they left. Huffing you then turned to Simon who just looked sad from the comments replaying in his mind."
"Si ??" you walked over to him and rubbed his back.
"They're right, I'm a fucking freak..." He looked like he was about to cry.
"Simon no, your not a freak. they were the freaks."
"Oh yeah ?? have you ever seen this many scars and burns on a human body before ??, Have you ever been scared of how they'd react if they saw you like this ??"
"Simon...."
You then got him up and brought him to the gym mirror.
"You know what I see ??"
He remained quiet.
"I see an extraordinary person, someone who had gone through so much but still comes out on the other side still standing tall. These scars and burns, help tell the story of what happened. Of how you save millions of people every day, of how you fight for what's right. You, Simon Riley, are an amazing soldier and also my best friend, I see you for you. Not what those freaks saw you." You smiled up at him.
He gave a wobbly smile under his mask and pulled you in for a bear hug. By god was he ever so grateful for you. You helped him since the day you two first met. Whatever happens he hopes this friendship will last forever, he wouldn't know what to do without you.
"Thank you y/n"
"Anytime buddy" You smiled at him as he ruffled your hair
Turning to the mirror, you were right, He wasn't a freak. He was Simon and only Simon, his confidence climbed back as he started flexing in the mirror. You gave him the boost he needed.
"There you go" You smiled wide.
"Check this out." He smirked as he started pumping his chest like the Rock. This made you laugh as it was just a pure funny sight.
"Cool party trick buddy, But I'm hungry now" you laughed as you went back to your gym bag
"You're right, I’ll meet you in the mess hall after I shower and we’ll get something to eat." He smiled brightly.
Whatever happens, He'll always have his BFF to defend him from people who see him differently. You, Y/n were his best battle buddy.
Important message to love the body your in, you are perfect just the way you are 😄😄
#simon ghost riley#platonic#cod mw2#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley platonic#simon ghost riley x reader#reader insert#call of duty#call of duty x reader#call of duty imagine
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god the Three Pure Nobles/Three Emperors of Iliaster are so fucking funny. what if you were on your deathbed and you begged your best friend/old man boyfriend/the other last living person on earth to make robotic gijinkas of the three most horrible traumatic events of your life and use them as purveyors of his will and so your friend was like “well, shit. ok???” and then he makes them and all three of them FUCKING HATE EACH OTHER but your friend is still like “i need you guys to help perform the grave and necessary actions to help prevent a completely fucked sideways apocalyptic future for me” even though one of the Trauma Gijinkas is like 12 and another one is like 19, both notoriously fantastic (/s) ages for handling any sort of important high stakes responsibility.
so there’s just these three photocopies of Some Dying Old Man in the Future’s Absolute Worst Moments of Being Alive running around and one of them is roller skating around everywhere and one of them A.) has a sword and B.) is part motorcycle and one of them is an old old old man who’s also like 10 feet tall and built like a brick shithouse and also none of them seem to fully know they’re all 1/3 of a guy until your aforementioned bestie turned that .exe back on for them.
and THEN on top of EVERYTHING ELSE they can steven universe fuse back into a copy of YOUR ancient-future dead old man ass so now you get to live again in a mechanized form but also you’re built like a giant jacked monster-angel-werelion and this is NEVER elaborated on in the text proper. your best friend you begged to kickstart this whole thing kills you, also.
#AND THEY PLAY CARD GAMES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YUGIOH#i like these guys a Completely Normal Amount I'm Definitely Not Constantly Thinking About Them (lying)#ygo posting#iliaster#yugioh 5ds#iliasterliker9000#dana's ygo bible study
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Do you think if Jason tries to sneak attack on a group of women but they find him attractive? So they tease him and feel his muscles but Jason is too scared and nervous because he never encountered a group like this and is unable to kill them.
Oh ho ho ho, Ok be prepared because the answer to this one is going to get X-rated.
Female x Jason Voorhees SMUT 18+ only!
On a particularly hot summer day Jason was a little too dazed to patrol the campgrounds, the heat at the camp gets fairly muggy due to the nearby swamp and despite Jason being a supernatural being the heat still fogged up his brain and made him a bit slower than usual in his movements.
A group of three very wild women had snuck past the old gates and because of Jason not patrolling, he missed them entering and swimming in his lake. The women went into the lake in tiny bikinis, they were splashing around and having fun; One of the women says "Hey wasn't there a reason the camp is abandoned?" another woman chimes in "Yeah some crusty old man walked on by us and said we were all going to die or something, he was probably just a freak" they all laugh and splash around for a while.
Jason hears the splashing and immediately perks up infuriated that he let intruders slip by into his territory. He sneaks up on the group and they all look to be in their late 20's and early 30's, these aren't the usual teenagers Jason is used to... all their bodies are fully developed and vary greatly in size and shape. It must be the heat but Jason couldn't help but gawk at the vixens of every color in his view.
With his machete in hand Jason went into the deep and started sneaking up on the women swimming around, the view under the water was just as mesmerizing as the view from above and he slowed his swimming speed. Jason had never felt so strange before especially when it came to intruders and it bothered him that he would even hesitate to move in for the kill.
Jason slowly rose out of the water behind them wearing only his usual tore up pants and tattered tank top due to the hot weather, the women haven't noticed the monster looming behind them making his way up to the nearest woman ready to strike when she turns around and... doesn't scream? This is a first for Jason, usually people wail in horror or immediately swear at him and try to attack him but this woman looked at him and smirked! The woman then turned around and said "Hey girls, I think we found the reason this campground is empty" The women all turn around and smile.
Jason stood there ready to strike but for some reason he was frozen in the moment, one of the beauties swam up next to the closest woman and said "This guy is massive, I wonder if its all anatomically correct?" they both giggle and wave over the other woman. Jason is just standing there frantically looking around at the sirens surrounding him, one of them gently removes the machete from his hand while another comes close up to his torso and gasps "He is built like a brick shithouse, I think he needs to relieve some tension from these huge muscles" she giggles and places her hands up towards his pecs "He is quite the specimen, come feel these things"; Jason looks around but doesn't move, he has never been touched so softly before and it felt really nice. The women were feeling all over him and giggling and praising his body, he had never known behavior like this and he was extremely confused as to why they were doing this to him, he is to be feared! One of the shorter women comes up and hops up onto his chest, she wrapped her legs as best as she could around his torso and held onto the back of his neck, her breasts were rubbing against him and he couldn't stop looking at them, one of the women noticed this and said "Oh I think this boy wants to see more!" that same woman then goes behind the shorter girl and pulled off her top exposing her chest, she laughs and Jason's eyes widen she notices this and starts bouncing on his torso "I think he likes us babes!".
Suddenly the women start getting real close to Jason and feeling him up everywhere, he wonders where his mothers guiding voice is but she hasn't said anything since the heat rose to unbearable levels, he is on his own. As the women circled him like hungry wolves he decided to grab one by the neck so that he could at least control one but she let out a moan! These women were terrifying to Jason but he couldn't bring himself to stop them as they rubbed their bodies on his and felt all his muscles. Jason could feel a pulsation in his groin and hoped the water could hide his shame but one of the women reached into his pants and squealed "This guy has a python in his pants!" another woman looked over at her and laughed "We better release it then!". Before he knew it Jason's pants were opened up and the women were all squealing, they moved Jason into more shallow water and started rubbing his shaft, he was fully erect now and didn't know what to do but didn't want it to stop.
The women were voracious and had all started unclothing their already barely covered bodies, one of them put her mouth on the tip of Jason's rock hard penis. The feel of her mouth was unbelievable and warm, the other women went down to where the one woman's mouth was and they all starting putting their mouths on him while sucking and stroking his shaft. Jason was unable to control himself and a feeling started bubbling up inside him when suddenly he heard a gasp and giggles, he had cum all over their faces and chests. The women start licking his fluids off his cock which remained hard, two of the women whisper to the third one and she is suddenly exposing her pussy at him, he has never seen one before but the desire to be inside of it was strong. The two women grab his dick and guide it into her hole and it was like something snapped in Jason, he let out a growl and grabbed her hips and started thrusting into her; With each pull the woman let out a moan until she said "omg, im cumming! Im cumming!" she dropped off Jason and lay in the water with a smile on her face but he was still throbbing. He grabbed one of the other women and hoisted her up in the air and slid her onto his erection like a human kebab, she screamed in pleasure, he held her in the air and pushed into her as deep as he could, she breathed heavily and said "fuck! fuck! FUCK! Oh fuck im cumming!" her body went limp and she smiled as she was lowered to the lake waters. Jason turns his head and grabs for the other woman but she laughed and ran off saying "You are going to have to come get me big boy!".
Jason felt a familiar instinct to chase his prey, the woman started sauntering off but before she could get past the grassy area Jason grabbed her leg and pulled her up to him, she made a playful scream and lifted her ass up towards him. His cock was ready to blow again but he wanted to release his load inside one of these women and this last woman teased him to the point of near rage. He grabbed her hips and eagerly slipped himself inside her wet folds, he let out a gasp and she moaned leaning her body into his to get all of him inside her. Jason grabbed her by the hair and lifted her torso up to his, he thrust into her with slow deep pulses; His hands were now around her neck, and she moaned into the air and told him "I bet you want to cum inside me huh?" his thrusts started getting faster and between gasps she said "I want you to fill me up... Jason". His eyes widened and he was shocked, how did she know who he was? His name never sounded so good coming out of someone's mouth before, her moans became sharp and she said "That's right, ah, I have been waiting to get you inside me, haaaah, I needed your cock", with this revelation Jason put his other hand onto her breasts and felt the soft skin under his calloused hand. The woman was now starting to lose stamina so Jason bent her over and pushed her face into the grass and pressed himself into her as deep and hard as he could, then she said "Jason, I want you to cum for me like a good boy" and with that Jason erupted inside her, his head thrown back and semen spilling out from where his pulsating cock remained between her legs.
The women came to collect the lady filled with Jason's cum, and they laughed as they carried her away saying "We will be back again!" and Jason just fell onto his back huffing and puffing.
Whew this took me a while to write for some reason, my ADHD has been bad lately. I hope you enjoyed it!
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Ok so senditothemoonn put Ireland in Mac's place and England in Dee's in that Always Sunny meme redraw, so naturally my first thought was the episode 'The Gang Finds A Dumpster Baby' (Can't remember if Wales or N.Ireland is in Frank's spot, but I can't really imagine Wales telling them to 'put it back' soooo...)
ahahaha I haven't watched that season in ages!
@senditothemoonn did an absolutely stellar job with their art (and just in case someone's missed it you can find it here. Tequila in sunscreen bottles doon at Troon Beach at the Jersey Shore for all. It always gives me a good laugh.)
as for elaborating on my own Always Sunny AU, I can't stay it sticks to canon all that much!
Arthur is in practice the owner, having inherited the pub from his former boss after he died childless. In Arthur's opinion it has been well-earned after years of backbreaking labour trying to keep the business afloat while the old man fucked off with a new sweetheart every other weekend. Was Arthur serving drinks before he was legally sound to do so? perhaps. And are some most of the supply dealings and receipts stamped with a forged signature? maybe so. The point is that the pub is in the black for the first time in it's entire 100-year-existance and Arthur is not above murder to keep it that way.
Daffyd is his first official hire and just brutally slow at his job. It's naw like he'd ever asked for a cocktail but he takes pint pouring with a seriousness it was never intended to have. He also has the vexing (to Arthur) need to make conversation with everyone and their mother and no, he will not interrupt any patron's riveting account on today's weather just because you're wanting to order. He's also been known to 'lose count' of pints and hand out a half on account of a not-even-particularly-well-crafted sob story. It drives Arthur up a wall.
Alasdair has been a regular for so long Arthur can't quite remember when he walked in for his first drink. There's even a good chance he might have been coming in long before Arthur even started pouring them. He was some kind of boxer,— or sailor, or soldier, or something, fat chance of anyone finding out— allegedly, and now serves as their handy man and bouncer. He seems to know anyone and everything and is also tragically farsighted (or perhaps just suffering from the effects of one too may concussions, and more than a little daltonic). He refuses to get glasses or hear anything about it. In any case he is built like a brick shithouse and does his job well so Arthur leaves him to it. (Favouritism? in this pub?? it's more likely than you think.)
Sean and Ross are in theory the co-owners. As highlighted, theory is a key word. They are the root of most of the pub's issues but more often than not also the solution, and the regulars love them. Cannae impress that onto you enough, they are the customer's darlings, their good time boys. They are the lads (said with an affectionate chuckle).
Every time Ross comes into the back office with a sheepish smile and lacking his worst half Arthur knows that something's gone amuck and it takes his misanthropic self every fibre of his being not to cry.
And so it goes! Welcome to O'Connor's, have a seat and have a pint and gnore the shouting coming from the back office. Don't mind the sheep of the towering man carrying it out on his shoulders.
(The running gag much like Charlie and Frank in the og Always Sunny are the hints that they are all related, only it's in increasingly obscure ways. They're cousins, then second cousins, then third cousins once removed. Then Sean's mammy was Arthur's cousin's godmother, who in in turn was Alasdair classmate two years down. And so on and so on, the way people find connections with each other when yous all come from small towns that grew exponentially over a couple of decades.)
#hws uk bros#it's always sunny AU#hws england#hws wales#hws ireland#hws scotland#hws northern ireland#Alasdair Campbell#Arthur Kirkland#Daffyd Owens#Sean O'Cléirigh#Ross O'Cleary#found dysfunctional family my beloved#Arthur and Alasdair do the Devil’s tango in the supply closet#Ross is scarred forever#the supply closet is disgusting and a disgrace and an affront to civility#just like them
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thinking the weirdest thoughts abt this guy i dont even know that well. just singing his praises basically
theres this guy i kinda vaguely know (i consider him a friend but i dunno if he feels the same) and he literally towers over me. hes like 6’6 n built like a brick shithouse and hes such a pretty boy but hes also so so yummy like i wanna stroke his hair n give him butterfly kisses omg i cant think clearly
for context i am 5’0. thjs man is a FOOT AND A HALF as in EIGHTEEN INCHES taller than me
AND HE WRESTLES!!!! HE DOES WRESTLING!!!!!! so he has like the teddy bear physique, like he has a bit of chub, not a problem, just more pillow for me, BUT THEN HE LITERALLY DOES THE MOST MUNDANE LABOR AND I CAN SEE HIS MUSCLES STRAINING AND I SWEAR TO FUCKING AAAAAGGHHH IF THAT ISNT THE HOTTEST THING
ok so i have evidence that he is the perfect guy ok.
hes nice and he helps me with stuff when i ask, and even when i dont
hes hot. like ik we just went over that but you dont understand. hes like rly pale but not like ginger pale, just enough that he has a lot of freckles on his face, and he has the most GORGEOUS EYELASHES
honestly hes cuter than he is hot if im not being horny
hes so much BIGGER THAN ME talking to him is like interacting w one of those massive ass mountain dogs and ur like ‘coochie coochie cooooo whos such a big boy yes u arewwww’
generally i am into ppl that are much bigger than me, much taller than me, much stronger than me, etc. so the fact that he could just pick me up and manhandle me, like legitimately, is SO HOT I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH
when he smiles his eyes close so he has that rly innocent smile that makes u wanna pinch his cheeks n give him a lil kiss
we worked at a summer camp together this year and i was helping in the kitchen n i was like ‘phew it is hot in here’ and he was like ‘oh yeah bc im in here’ i just acted like i didnt know what he was talking abt to preserve my outward appearance of naivety n innocence but i wanted to agree w him so bad just to see how hed react
HE HAS A DEEP VOICE ARGHHAGGAGAAHHRGGAHHAGRGH
its like kinda soft but kinda not and if he wanted to he could make me go FERAL with ONE SENTENCE
like just lower your pitch just a lil bit baby boy and you already got me halfway there (woa-oh, livin on a prayer)
we were talking once and he was like ‘yk yume? youre kinda like a puppy’ and i didnt quite hear him so i TILTED MY HEAD TO THE SIDE LIKE DOGS DO? and he chuckled n was like ‘see you just proved my point…youre just like a puppy’ ok so im absolutely feral rn
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my brother and my niece on the baby monitor last night. he ran into the room last night to get her to go back to sleep after she woke up… <3
#my sister and I last night looking at this and trying to stifle our laughs in the hallway just outside#we were watching a movie and she woke up and nick said he’d go in to try to get her back down so Mia wouldn’t have to miss the movie#and Mia said—ok—just pick her up and rock her a little and she’ll go back to sleep#but my brother#who is this huge#6 ft whatever giant man built like a brick shithouse#didn’t really know what to do so he just went in there and laid down next to her and held her close to him and my sister and I just went#🥺 oh my godddd#it was so fucking sweet#captain's log
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#119
“No come on in and have a seat on the couch. I’ll get the door. I’m glad you could stop by. I know you boys like to get out of school as soon as the last bell rings on a Friday afternoon. So the last thing you probably want to do is a visit with the Wrestling Coach. Move over, I need to sit down too. I’ve been on my feet the entire day. I didn’t bring you here to talk to you about wrestling or PE. Let me get right to the point. I understand that you are a cum-guzzling faggot....
"He he he. Boy, I should have had a camera set up to capture your look right now. Don’t waste our time denying it. I’ve seen the video. Oh yes there’s a video. It’s you in a booth at Ruby’s Adult Bookstore on your knees taking cock after cock through the glory hole. And not just any of Ruby’s stores, but the one 45 minutes across town right off the interstate near the docks.
"So, yes, I know. Really, I suspected you were queer when you came to my gym class checking out the other boys. I’ve seen that look before. But don’t worry, I have no reason to tell anybody. So don’t do something stupid to give me a reason. Why do you go to that one? Ruby’s Bookstore? There are others closer and in a much better neighborhood. Seriously that area is not safe for a young man like you. You are what, 140 or 150 pounds? The men that work in that area are twice your size. They will chew you up and spit you out. Unless, you want that kind of man. You like big men? Don’t answer. I can see it on your face. You are so easy to read. I like that. So you like to give hard working men blowjobs before they head home.
"I know the owner of Ruby’s, and he tells me that you are there quite often. You take care of construction guys, truckers, iron workers, and so on. When he showed me the ninety-minute video of you blowing cock after cock, I was amazed. You know what impressed me? You didn’t spend much time jacking off. You certainly didn’t cum. That tells me that your focus in on pleasing men not yourself.
"Yes boy, I do play. I play hard. I play long. And I play dirty. So you were probably going to Ruby’s tonight. That’s changing. You are coming with me, and no, we are not going to spend the evening messing around with each other.
"You and I have similar tastes in men. I love big hard-working blue-collar men too. When they get done work and I get them naked, there is no feeling in the world as feeling their assholes try to accommodate my beer can dick. The thing is that I really get off on straight guys who reluctantly allow me to fuck them. That rarely happens these days. They need to be coaxed into it.
"This is where you become useful to me. I’m going to use you as bait. There are places where I am going to take you where you will be banged by a bunch of men, dirty porno theaters, rest areas, public bathrooms, and so on. Your 18-year-old cute boy looks always attracts the right crowd. Guys love that dad/son feel. While you are being the whore you are, I will find the man I want to fuck from the guys who show up. And you take care of the rest.
"A few things, first, you never interfere with my pursuits. Second, keep your socks and shoes on. You will have money secured in them to get back home when you are done, should I desert you. Third, you follow all orders men give you no matter how vile or disgusting. My orders take precedence. You’ll probably get slapped around, just deal with it. Remember, you are a filthy cunt; live up to it. Finally, you address me as Dad. I’m going to play up that you are my son for what it’s worth, and it will get guys interested in it. I would ask you if you are ok with all this, but your pecker is pitching one hell of a tent.
"From this point on, I am in control of everything. Tonight is special. The reason why I didn’t wait two more weeks for you to graduate and done with this place is because a truck driving buddy of mine is coming through town. The man is built like a brick shithouse, and I need to get my cock in him. I told him last night that I would have a ginger boy for him to fuck. He’s hot for you, like I knew he would be. He’s going to be spending the night at the vista point ninety minutes south of here, the one past the rest area. Mostly truckers and the local farm workers go there for relief. When I introduce you to him, you are going to beg to eat his ass. Sound desperate about it. He’ll probably take us up to his cab. Eat his ass good. Slather it with spit. That’s what I am going to use for lube on him. When you feel my finger trying to go in, move to blowing him. I’ll maneuver in place. When he howls from me shoving myself into him, quietly climb out of the cab and go to the other men who will probably need your services.
"How’s your ass eating? Nevermind. I am so fucking horny right now. Hell, I’m horny all the time. Get naked and between my legs. Right here. Right now. No one will come in. And just because I get hard at the thought of fucking masculine men, doesn’t mean that I will turn down your holes. You are going to give me a deep rim job and then give me one hell of a blow job. Just like you did to me at the glory hole at Ruby’s. Yeah, my beer can was one of the cocks in your video. Fuck son, I think this relationship is going to work out good for both of us. Now get your tongue in my sweaty shithole.”
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y’know fat gender non-conforming amab dean or trans man dean with TITS and nipple piercings is all very well but as an emergent trend it’s reached the saturation point of tipping over into being genuinely uncomfortable. for one thing, if he’s fat and amab, he’s almost always ALSO drawn in a way that emphasises his breasts, put in tight lil tops, harness bras, or just topless with a zoom in focus on the t i t s, and it’s just this men having breasts due to their weight automatically meaning they get put in the gender non-conforming/explicitly feminine box... not sure on this one. there are a few exceptions to the rule, built like a brick shithouse dean has BEEN around, but i don’t trust like that when it comes to specifically ‘dean with big tits’, the trope that is often paired with derogatory language. like i know as a trans fan of supernatural we’re bringing our own baggage, but this is a character whose bodily autonomy was often denied, and now we have a new bodily paradigm just PUT on him because it’s the dean winchester derangement of the week, i guess. WHILE calling him a fruit, slut, whore. like it’s not intrinsically fetishising to draw a fictional character with your body type and project on them and enjoy trans man, trans masc, trans non binary, trans woman, trans fem, non binary or just gender non conforming dean headcanons but as with anything that starts within the desticule, what starts kinda ‘ok, if you must’ becomes exaggerated in an often gross way with speed. with haste. because everyone wants to join in the new thing. but not everyone is doing it with the same sensitivity. it becomes a giddy free for all in a way that really sucks. i just… sometimes think we’d be better off letting dean be dean. just as he is. if you have to change him so much to relate to dean ‘i’m good with who i am’ winchester to make yourself feel ok, to get likes online, idk seems like a pointless endeavour. seems like a you problem, not a dean problem.
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Ghost OC Week - Day 1
A thanks to @ghostbcfandomevents for putting this together!
Both of us have decided to join in on the fun with this so this post might be a touch long as it includes our main four OCs that we’re currently writing fics for behind the scenes. Are they all chaotic bisexuals in relationships together? Yes. And we love them. Their descriptions are below the cut.
April 3rd - Introductions - Who is this character? What do they look like? What inspired you to make them?
Vesper Harley
Pastoress of a small monastery located in Lozère, France. Though initially from California, she was transferred around a lot after her training due to her background in botany and the clergy’s need for difficult to cultivate herbs for summoning rituals. Her monastery is essentially a farm and small no pressure rehabilitation retreat. The retreat was initially created in response to overindulgent ghouls whose excessive lives brought them far too close to a permanent death. These days the monastery is also open to siblings of sin and the general public who wish to combat addiction without the religious guilt that comes with certain rehab groups. Their monastery is rather self-sustaining and even manages to bring in a bit of a profit with their booths at local farmers markets where they sell their jams, jellies and honey. She is currently married to a large golden retriever of a man who happens to be a cardinal.
Appearance wise she screams stereotypical innocent girl next door. She’s all red hair and freckles, petite as all get out and a good foot shorter than her husband. She rarely wears her formal church clothes due to the time she spends in the gardens or working with the more unstable newly summoned ghouls. She only really puts all that on if she’s doing official church work, dressing to impress or helping with their stands at the local markets.
Not gonna lie, made her as a trap for Copia. The plot involving her and her husband revolves around the very much a Catholic priest at the time Copia who gradually comes to acknowledge and accept the growing feelings he has for the couple as he deals with how they conflict with his current faith. Did I mention it’s also partly a horror story? The farm isn’t entirely what it seems.
Varg Viking
Cardinal and not originally of the Church of Ghost, Varg and his unfortunate name resides with his Pastoress wife in Lozère, France. Varg was originally sworn into another satanic church, but through a series of visits to foster good relations with the Church of Ghost, he came to join the latter and climb the ranks, ultimately reaching the rank of Cardinal. Beyond his clerical and administrative duties, he helps run his wife’s monastery, keeping ghouls in check and running the farm connected to the monastery. When he’s not locked in his office he can usually be found tilling the fields or teaching ghouls how to behave.
Varg looks the Scandinavian stereotype. Blond, blue eyed, so white he glows in the sun, built like a brick shithouse covered in shag carpet, he very much lives up to his surname. While he might seem intimidating at first glance with his tattooed arms, barrel chest, beer keg belly and wild, braided hair, he’s incredibly chill and kind. His wife has him wrapped around her finger, and he likes her too much to really object or put up a fight. Occasionally Varg’s cheerful disposition slips, however, and he’s the emotional type.
He’s a self-insert ok. That's it. He’s the ideal me but souped up and indulgent as fuck. I’m not ashamed to admit this. Sue me.
Lola Sotelo
Just your everyday broke librarian using what little knowledge she has of book repairing to make an extra buck. Essentially she’s bounced around from small town library to small town library before deciding she’d had enough of her home country. She booked a one way flight to Sweden and left all her troubles behind. Unfortunately, things don’t always work out like they do in the movies and she’s starting to run out of cash fast. After seeing a vague wanted ad in the local paper she found herself at the Church of Ghost to repair some books in some serious need of some love. She has no idea that the church is Satanic and just believes that they’re a secretive order of some Catholic sect and slowly over time comes to realize that not all is what it seems.
She’s pretty average when it comes to her looks. Brown hair, dark eyes, glasses, thick as all get out but pretty much flat chested. Tanned skin due to her Hispanic lineage. Her professional dress is essentially corporate goth while her more casual attire leans towards punk.
I uh wanted to make her because I am a librarian and I am somewhat tired of the usual sexy librarian stereotype and endless library sex, especially in this fandom. You all have never had to pry deli meat out of books or clean unknown, hopefully chocolate based brown stains off books and it shows. Besides that, the stereotype has genuinely negatively affected my life (Seriously, it leads to a lot of sexual harassment of librarians. Like I’m not trying to guilt anyone I just want to point it out) and I just want to see a librarian that is having none of that. Seriously there will be no fucking in this library. No bodily fluids on the books, you heathens. She’s a self insert too.
Tefra
Ghoul twice summoned, once by brute force, the other actually intended. Unusually quiet and collected for a ghoul of the hotter element, he’s one of the older ghoul-kin to be found in the Church.
He was summoned in his current form by Papa I, and has since worked his way from being a lowly multighoul, doing menial tasks such as cleaning and cooking, to being in charge of the kennels. Given his origin, he has a natural command over the… guard dogs, kept at Borgholms Slott to ensure the Papas and their progeny are protected. Tef has a reputation of being one of the more friendly ghouls, the type siblings of sin can safely associate with without risking accidental dismemberment or getting dicked into oblivion. And, given his responsibilities, Tef is often assigned to escort visitors and to make sure no-one that’s not supposed to be in the castle is in the castle. He does his best to understand humans so he can socialize with them, but there are still many aspects of human behavior and customs he doesn’t quite understand. He’d old, leave him alone.
Tefra looks like any other ghoul, depending on the era. Physically he’s large, rivaling Aether, with enough muscle to control and contain several dogs at once. He is Beef Incarnate (can you tell I have a type). Big boy. Chunky. T H I C C C C C C.
Tef was originally made to be the ghoul companion to Lola, but I’ve managed to flesh him out a bit more, to fit our AU/imagined canon type deal.
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The Reader's Guide to Avoiding Redfly (and how to have a good time doing it)
“How’re you doing, kid?” Tom murmured in your ear. Your skin hadn’t started crawling yet, but it definitely would soon.
“Redfly, leave the girl alone.”
A third voice - the voice of God himself, if it meant that Tom would let you go.
Summary: Your friend Dina is dating Benny Miller, and drags you along to one of his fights before a night at a bar. His friends meet you there - Tom ‘Redfly’ Davis, who is too busy trying it on with you to think about his wife; Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia, who is a god made flesh; and Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales, who agrees to help keep you out of Redfly’s clutches. But Frankie is not without his own charm...
Relationships: Frankie Morales x reader, side Santiago Garcia x Original Female Character, side Benny Miller x Original Female Character
Rating: First chapter is Mature, but it will be getting Explicit after that...
Author’s note: I saw Triple Frontier last week for the first time and it has occupied my every waking thought since then. This is my first ‘x reader’ fic, so feedback is appreciated. Benny is my darling boy and I want to write him a loving af relationship even if it’s in the bg of this fic. I also don’t mean to step on toes but Redfly is the worst man and deserved to die a lot earlier than he did in the film. I am also obviously obsessed with Frankie Morales. Sorry if the formatting is fucked, this is the first fic I’ve posted directly to Tumblr in many’a.
Warnings: 18+ for frequent language, she/her pronouns, future smut but this chapter is just teasing.
Read on AO3.
Chapter One
The Fight
“The fight ends at 9pm, so we’ll be good to get to the bar by 9.30,” Dina said, leaning to within a hair's breadth of the bathroom mirror. Your arms twitched, hands opening and closing as you watched the safety pin come even closer to her eyeball.
“Dina, do you have to- the fight?”
“Yes, I need to separate my eyelashes, and yes, the fight.” She said, tongue peeping out between her lips. “Benny is fighting and he’s going to come with us to the bar afterwards.”
Your heart sank, just a little. Benny was a great guy, and you were happy for Dina, but it was always harder to get into bars when Benny ‘Brick Shithouse’ Miller rocked up with facial wounds and an ego after inevitably winning the fight.
Apparently their post-fight sex was insane.
“So it’s you, me, and Benny?” you asked flatly, and she rolled her eyes in a way that made your hands clench into fists, with a vivid mental image of the pin sinking into her eyeball. She ignored you, of course, and started on the bottom lid.
“No, you prick,” she said, teasing each lash apart. She paused, and winked at you through the mirror “Ha. Prick! Get it? Sandy, Amy and Kelly are joining us - and Benny is bringing his friends.”
“William and Tom?” You were trying so hard not to be a downer, you really were, but you’d met William and Tom before and it was not a great experience. William - Benny’s brother - was aesthetically pleasing, and a lovely guy, but way too earnest about the purity of combat, while Tom was… a douche. A douche who clearly enjoyed his nights away from the wife a little too much. “Great.”
“Not just Will and Tom,” she chided, finally putting down the pin and fluttering her eyelashes at her reflection. “A few of his old squad guys are coming too.”
“OK then,” you said, and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” Dina called.
“To get another drink.”
Based on the MMA prelude, you decided to rethink your outfit to something a bit less… showy, and had poured yourself into a skintight skirt with a shirt that helped accentuate your decolletage just right. So right, in fact, that you’d forgone a sensible coat in favour of a leather jacket that didn’t even close properly. The clothes did little to shield you from the cold, which explained why you had chugged nearly half a bottle of Smirnoff in the cab over.
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Dina looked every inch the fighter’s girlfriend, she really did. You didn’t even know she owned a faux-fur coat. Her meticulously-separated eyelashes were currently fluttered together, shielding her eyes from her cigarette smoke.
Not that it helped. Your buzz was fading fast with every second you stood out in the freezing cold parking lot.
Sandy hadn’t bothered to change her outfit - “Fuck it, it can’t be any dirtier than the bar.” - and was leaning against the arena wall wearing a mini dress that practically showed what she had eaten for breakfast. The woman had legs up to her neck, and more than one man had slowed his passage into the arena to get a good look. Sandy, with legs that long since she was fifteen, and a face that had been beautiful her whole life, flipped each one off with a casual laziness you could never hope to emulate.
The three of you were standing outside the arena waiting for Tom and the others to arrive. The crowd was known to get rowdy, and Benny had been very firm with Dina about going in with his friends. William was already inside with Benny, prepping him for the fight.
It was so cold you were nearly tempted to ask Dina for a pull of her cigarette, just to feel some warm air, when -
“Dee!”
Your face locked into a grimace, and you looked down to kick a loose pebble from under your shoe, trying to regain control of your facial muscles by the time Tom got close.
“Tommy!” Dina yelled. “You’re late, what the hell?”
“Don’t blame me,” Tom said, “Blame these assholes.”
Two sets of denim-wrapped legs stepped into your view, and you huffed out a little sigh before looking up. Tom was standing in front of you, with his friend on his right.
His friend. Who was the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. He smiled at you, and you felt a small laugh escape you.
What was that face? He looked like a Latino George Clooney. How did he get taken seriously in life?
“Hey, tiger,” Tom said to you, his lopsided smile showing a little too much teeth on one side.
“Hey… Tom.” you replied, raising a hand in greeting. He made a little ‘pfft’ sound and pulled you in for a hug, enveloping you in the smell of… dear god, was that Axe?
You heard the crunch of gravel, and a movement out of the corner of your eye told you that the devilishly handsome man was currently introducing himself to Sandy.
Probably wouldn’t have worked out with us anyway.
“How’re you doing, kid?” Tom murmured in your ear. Your skin hadn’t started crawling yet, but it definitely would soon.
“Redfly, leave the girl alone.”
A third voice - the voice of God himself, if it meant that Tom would let you go.
“This is my girl right here, Frankie.” Tom said, and the proprietary tone in his voice made your stomach turn. You should have just met them at the bar.
“Crazy, I thought your girl was sitting at home looking after your daughter and -” the second half of the sentence was in mumbled Spanish, and you heard a bark of laughter from the handsome man. A quick, rough pat on the back and Tom released you, already walking into the building as if nothing had happened.
The speaker was standing in front of you; a tall-ish man wearing a blue plaid shirt over a grey tank top, with a beat-up baseball cap on his head. Just as the phrase ‘hillbilly trucker’ crossed your mind, every thought in your head promptly vanished on looking up into his face. A pair of warm brown eyes were gazing down at you, creasing gently at the corners. He wasn’t built like Tom or William; they slanted more towards beefcake, where this guy was toned and slim. He was older than you - not a surprise, William and Tom were in at least their mid-40s - but it was a very manageable older. Unruly, curling brown hair peeked out from under his cap, and the man smiled, a shadow of a dimple appearing on his cheek.
The other guy was crazy good-looking in a movie-star way, the sort of hot that had made you laugh because it was almost unreal. This guy was the perfect side of handsome, mortal enough to take your breath away just a little and not make you feel stupid about it.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m Frankie.”
Maybe it was the dimples, maybe it was the fact that he had just saved you from a fate worse than death, or maybe the cold had finally gotten to your brain. Whatever it was, you barely knew what you were saying until you’d said it:
“And I am so fucking yours.”
So much for not feeling stupid. His smile widened, and your heartbeat quickened just a bit.
“Ignore Redfly,” he said. “He just doesn’t have good manners.”
Another burst of Spanish from behind you, from the dark-eyed Adonis near the door, and Frankie replied in kind, with an evocative hand gesture that you were pretty sure meant ‘fuck off’.
You finally turned to get a good look at the other man. He was standing in front of your friends, angled towards Sandy in a way that boded well for her. He was terribly good-looking.
“Hey, how’re you doing?” he leaned toward you, and took your hand in his. “Santiago Garcia.”
The man was on another level. You felt like you were meeting a politician. You told him your name as if in a dream.
“That’s a beautiful name,” he said, looking into your soul, and you felt that laugh bubble up again. This was too much all at once.
Dina blew out one last plume of smoke, and threw her cigarette butt on the ground.
“Come on guys, it’s fucking freezing out here.”
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The arena was chaos. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but he could have been standing two feet from you and you wouldn’t have seen him. He could have been behind you.
As the thought crossed your mind, a hand came to rest on your hip and you jumped sideways, ready to kick Tom in the fucki-
It was Frankie, hands suddenly up and visible, mouth framing a ‘whoa’ that you could never hear over the din of the crowd. You grimaced, mouthing sorry.
He gave you a tight-lipped smile, uncomfortable, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He craned his neck to look over the crowd, toward the ring, and you stepped quickly toward him. Your hand raised, like you had the right answer in a classroom, and you tilted your mouth up towards Frankie’s ear. He scrunched his face and bent his head towards yours.
“Sorry,” you said into his ear, trying not to deafen him at this range. He smelled warm, and clean, a welcome respite from the arena’s smell of old beer and sweat. “I thought it might be…” one of your best friends, whom I loathe. “... a creep.” you finished lamely.
When you pulled away, he was looking at you so intently that a blush started to creep up your neck. Hands still in his pockets, he rocked back and forth on his heels as he processed what you said. His tongue worked in his mouth, pushing out his cheek, before he winked ever so slightly, and nodded.
He knew. He damn well knew.
Frankie grinned and pointed towards the ring, to where your friends had disappeared, before nudging you forward.
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Dina and the others were sitting ringside, by Benny’s corner. Dina had shrugged her coat in the sticky closeness of the arena, and was adjusting her top for maximum cleavage. Beside her was Sandy, deep in conversation with Santiago, and Tom sat beside Santiago next to an empty chair.
The single empty chair.
Fucks sake.
Tom saw you both coming, and had a look of fake disappointment on his face that your hands twitched to slap off. He held his hands up in defeat, before patting his thigh. A quick scan showed that this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in the arena; the place was jammed so tightly that you counted at least seven people on laps in this section alone. A fire hazard, and a pain in the ass.
You’re fucking kidding me.
You went to take a step, and felt a hand grip your arm. Frankie was sliding past you on your right, pivoting to sit in the empty chair. A shit-eating grin slid onto Tom’s face, and he patted his thigh again.
You’re fucking kidding me.
Frankie still held your arm loosely in his left hand. Reaching over Tom, he nudged Santiago, who broke off from his conversation long enough to pass him a beer. Settling back into his seat, Frankie spread his legs a little too wide and steered you into the space between them.
He looked up at you under the brim of his cap, his face out of Tom’s eyeline. The corners of his mouth curved downward and one shoulder shrugged, as if to say ‘Why not?’.
Lightheaded, floating on a mental chant of fucking hell fucking hell fucking hell fucking hell, you perched on Frankie’s knee, your knees pressing against his other leg. A quick glance at Tom’s face nearly made you yelp. The ham-coloured man was staring sullenly out over the ring, lips pursed around his mouthful of beer. The smile was nowhere to be seen.
Frankie shifted slightly, and with one hand on your waist pulled you closer until you were sitting mid-thigh. When he was satisfied, his hand moved to settle against your lower back, keeping you upright. The shape of the seat had his body angled away from you, allowing you to sit upright without being nestled against him. He leaned towards Tom and said something in his ear, something you could barely hear over the din. It was as if he’d forgotten you were there.
But not quite. Slowly, as if you were a wild animal he was trying to tame, his hand started to move in gradual, broad strokes, forward and back, forward and back.
Your stomach muscles locking tight was your only visible reaction, and you thanked baby Jesus and all the angels in heaven that Frankie couldn’t feel the way your pulse had suddenly picked up. Though that might not be far off; there was a warm throbbing between your legs that definitely hadn’t been there two minutes ago.
Forward and back. Forward and back.
This was totally normal. This happened to you every day. Every day you met hot guys and sat on their laps. Every day you got mildly turned on by hot guys stroking your back.
Looking over at Dina, the two of you locked eyes. Her grin was positively wolfish.
Fuck off, you mouthed.
You looked around, hoping that the people-watching fodder available would help take your mind off the hot man you were sitting on and what his hand was -
As if Frankie could hear your thoughts, the rhythm of his strokes changed. Now, instead of moving forward and back, his palm started sliding up and down, with every pass downward bringing his hand closer and closer to the curve of your ass.
For a fraction of a second, your breath caught in your throat, and the pulse between your legs kicked up a notch. Trying to keep your cool, you casually - so casually! - looked over at Frankie.
Still absorbed in conversation with Tom. Fine. He clearly had no idea what he was doing, no idea of the effect he was having.
Your awareness was steadily narrowing down to where his hand touched you, to the vague sensation of warmth that each pass left on your skin. Reaching the hem of your jacket, he paused almost imperceptibly, before reaching under the leather to rest on the back of your shirt.
Dear god, were you disappointed he wasn’t touching your ass? Were you actually sad that this stranger wasn’t -
A radiating sensation on your back, so warm and firm, and suddenly you could feel every little movement his hand made, the way his fingers were flexing against your skin so gently -
Air you didn’t realise you had been holding escaped your lungs in a whoosh.
“Getting bored up there, tiger?” Tom’s expression wasn’t as friendly as it normally was, and you were reminded why all of this was happening. This was purely for Tom’s benefit.
“No, it’s fine. It’s…” you looked down at Frankie as he took a sip of his beer. His eyes met yours over the rim of his beer cup, and a smile crept across your face. When the cup left his lips, you took it deftly from his fingers and lifted it to your mouth. Your gaze didn’t leave his. Tom may as well have been part of the furniture.
The beer was not good, but you finished it, and ran your tongue over your lips. Frankie’s eyes tracked the movement, and you felt his hand pause, felt his fingers splay wide across the small of your back.
“It’s great,” you said, winking down at him. “But I think we need another drink.”
You placed a hand on his knee for leverage, and stood. Dina saluted you with her nearly-empty drink, and tapped at the low liquid level with one long fingernail. You nodded, and flashed the OK sign.
A broad chest blocked your view, and the smell of Axe surrounded you. You glanced up at Tom, who was shaking his own empty cup.
“I’ll come too,” he said. “I could do with another-”
“It’s cool, man,” Frankie stood, easily slotting himself between the two of you, and gently but firmly took hold of your shoulders as he turned to the exit. “I got it.”
Empty cups and debris were strewn across the aisle, and you were beginning to regret wearing your heels for what was shaping up to be a fucking obstacle course. But you felt Frankie’s presence behind you, and if you put a little more sway into your walk than normal, so what?
Between a few stragglers at the bar, there was a gap just wide enough for the two of you to lean against the counter. You rested on your forearms, and flagged down the bartender.
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“Two beers, and a whiskey and coke.”
“Make it four,” Frankie said. “I know it may not seem like it, but it is better to get Redfly liquored up. After about,” - his hand made a see-saw motion - “six drinks? He’s going to get real maudlin, start missing his wife, and go home.”
“Oh, yeah,” you replied, “He’s really missing his wife when he’s trying to put his hand up my skirt.”
His eyes flickered up and down your body, and he cleared his throat. One hand came up to scratch at his moustache, before smoothing it back down.
“You know, I don’t blame him,” he said. “That skirt looks great on you.”
A low warmth pooled in your stomach, and you smiled. He smiled back, those beautiful eyes twinkling as he turned around to face the arena, elbows back on the bar.
“If I… go too far, in there,” he said, face suddenly serious. “You can just punch me in the face. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
The bartender laid your whiskey and coke down in front of you, and pulled out two cups for the beer.
“Two more of those, please,” you told her, and took a sip of your drink. You knew you were a bit of a savage for drinking whiskey with coke, but your sweet tooth demanded nothing less. “Frankie, I’m not really OK with the idea of ‘being saved’.”
“That’s fair,” Frankie turned to the bar, and rapped a quick tattoo on the wood. “When we get back in there, you take the seat and I’ll -”
“But,” you raised a finger. “Your lap is pretty comfortable. And if you’re OK with having my ass on your knee all night, then I’m happy to stay there.”
A laugh escaped him, and you found yourself appreciating the way his moustache framed his lips so perfectly.
“I think you’d be hard pushed to find a man who wouldn’t be OK with that deal.”
The bartender laid down four cups of beer. “$25.60.”
Frankie laid out three $10 bills, and pulled the cups closer.
“Do you think you could make sure Tom doesn’t put his hand up my skirt?”
He was intent on arranging the cups in a way he could carry them, to the point that you thought he hadn’t heard you. Just as you were about to repeat yourself, he flashed you a wicked look.
“Well sweetheart,” he smiled, “I’ll just have to get my hand there first.”
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As soon as you sat back down, it was like a switch had flipped. Your conversation at the bar had been light, to the point where you’d nearly forgotten that you’d actually been turned on a little at sitting on Frankie’s lap.
When you got back to your seats, and Frankie had handed off the beers he was carrying, he sat and pulled you down onto his lap in one fluid movement. No more tentative movements; he held your waist firmly, and pulled you even closer than before. And now, not only was his hand stroking your back again - he had put it under your jacket straight away - but his other arm was now resting on your leg. His beer cup sat on your knee, below where the hem of your skirt rode up, and he rotated it gently on your bare skin, almost teasing you with the cool feeling of the condensation on the base.
It drove you just a little short of wild. Though part of you wanted to shift against his thigh, wanted to feel some pressure right where an ache was steadily building between your legs, you kept it together fairly admirably.
A wet patch on Frankies jeans probably wouldn't go down too well anyway.
A murmur from the crowd rolled towards the ring, and Pantera’s heavy guitar riff blasted through the speakers.
Benny was here.
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Ringside seats were… certainly something.
The smell of blood hummed in your nostrils, and you felt the impact of every punch.
Benny was a monster. He had swaggered into the arena, head and shoulders above everyone, and proceeded to hammer the shit out of his opponent once the bell rang. Watching the way Dina was looking at him, you were very, very glad they were going back to Benny’s place tonight.
The six of you were standing at the ring edge, screaming and roaring with the crowd. Your blood was singing. Sitting on Frankie’s lap, his hands leaving trails of fire wherever they touched you, had rattled you something fierce, and the adrenaline from the fight was getting to you too. You didn’t think your pulse had slowed for about ten minutes, and you were breathing like you were climbing a mountain.
It was the last minute of the last round, and Benny was flagging.
You guessed. You really had no idea who was doing better, both fighters were covered in blood and looked tired as fuck.
Santiago, Dina and Tom were rattling the cage, howling through the wire at Benny. The man was intent on his opponent, never taking his eyes off him.
As you watched, Benny did an odd movement, stepping back, rotating his shoulders and head as his feet danced. You heard roars come from your friends, but were completely lost.
“He’s about to kick the guy’s head off his fucking shoulders,” Frankie’s voice was low, and close. You felt his nose brush the outer shell of his ear, and you suppressed a shiver as his breath ghosted over you. He was standing behind you, so close that you felt his warmth up your body from ankle to neck. He reached over your shoulder, and pointed up at Benny’s right foot.
“You see that?”
Benny’s foot was moving in a fan shape on the floor of the ring. He dodged as much as he needed to to evade blows, but whenever he was still his foot moved in that fan shape.
“Why is he waiting?” Turning your head, your nose brushed against Frankie’s jawline. He smiled down at you.
“Not long now, sweetheart,” he said. “Watch.”
He stepped closer until he stood flush against your back, and crossed his arms over your chest to grip his own elbows. His beard brushed against your cheekbone, and you found yourself nestling further into his hold. He was just so warm and solid and -
Benny moved like lightning. His opponent came too close, ever so slightly unguarded, and Benny pivoted on his left foot and -
“Fuck!” you screamed. Benny’s opponent hit the floor, and the arena erupted.
===> Chapter Two
#triple frontier#frankie morales#francisco 'catfish' morales#santiago 'pope' garcia#william 'ironhead' miller#benny miller#tom 'redfly' davis#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#fic#santiago garcia x ofc#benny miller x ofc#The Reader’s Guide to Avoiding Redfly#trgtar
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Ok this may seem like a weird post but
Regarding Techno's character in the dream smp. Like, I love all the fanart where he's drawn as lean and strong, this post is not hating on that!!! I love those designs
bUt I would love to see more fanart of his character being built like a brick shithouse (the only way my brain can think to describe this I apologise but ye that's the jist). I've redesigned my drawings of him to look like this and they should be available on my main by the time this post goes up.
Like, pigs are big man, they're round and huge and strong as fuck. You know those heavyweight champions?
Like these
They are BUILT for power dude. And in a lot of cases they're just agile as all hell.
Maybe this just fits my headcanon of techno carrying around HUGE weapons that are just so fucking deadly but I digress.
Maybe I just want to see physically bigger characters idk
Hopefully this made at least a little sense.
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By the Nine, the man was built like a brick shithouse.
Fate had a funny way of smiling down upon her, and Anne wasn’t certain whether or not it was mocking her or extending her an olive branch after it had been a merciless son of a bitch the past year and a half. Ekganit dying had felt like a dark cloud that still hung over her most mornings, but it was at the insistence of her mother that she should try and get back out there that brought her there. Tinder, she quickly learned, provided her with one of two things: disgust, and amusement.
This particular evening, as she sat in her little arm chair with her son sleeping draped across her lap, she had been surprised with the notification that she’d matched with the cute guy she’d lightly flirted with when drop off rolled around the afternoon.
< MSG : > u look strong. Can u bench 130?
< MSG : > askin for a friend ;)
< MSG : > its me i’m the friend
< MSG : > ok ok better pick up line
< MSG : > do u have a permit 4 those guns 🔫🔫
< MSG : > ... maybe i should stop talkin
@copiesofme
#copiesofme#copiesofme ft. john wanahton.#[ anne bonny. ] you're out there runnin' just to be on the run.#[ anne bonny / prose. ] you got outlaw blood & a restless weary soul.#[ anne bonny / v: modern elder scrolls. ] we ain't got one word to say.#B>
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11. (It’s totally ok to say Paul)
So this is from the fandom asks (https://princesstillyenna.tumblr.com/post/671856764571025408/fandom-end-of-year-asks) and is
What is your favourite OC you've met this year
And nonnie it's not Paul. Simply because I met Paul long before the rest of you fuckers did and he's been living rent free in my head for longer than a year.
That being said I don't really read fanfic with oc's in, which is hypocritical I know, since I write it, BUT... I am going to answer this is two slightly adjacent ways
The original hockey boy that I met this year and fell in love with is.... Mike Brouwer. (and/or Liam Fitzgerald because you can't have one without the other). They're not fanfic oc's because they aren't from fanfic works but they are hockeys sooooo yeah. There are other YCMAL verse characters I would absolutely die for (vinny, scratch, recently gritty,) but Mike Brouwer is the original character I fell in love with this year and cried a thousand tears over this year
The second way I'm going to answer this is what OCs of my OWN have I "met" this year and fallen for and the answer is obvious because inside my head is nothing but the Max and Ben show these days. Hopefully next year I will get some of Ben's story written and then some of Max and Ben written but essentially these two have my heart right now. I can't tell you a HUGE amount about them without telling you literally everything butttt
Ben Lucas (hockey nickname Lucy... Pronounced like the girls name, full name Benjamin Lucas) is 6'4" d-man who is built like a brick shithouse and is an absolute sweetheart. He loves hurting people in his spare time and kind of hates himself for this. He is actively feminist and working on being anti-racist too and he played in the NHL for EIGHTEEN MONTHS AS A VIRGIN. his teammates think this is peak hilarious BTW. It really is. We love Ben.
Max Markham (full name Maximilien(spelling undecided) although Ben will swear blind his full name is Amaximus... Its a long story, hockey nickname is Marky). Also a d-man but he's 5'10". He's a second generation NHLer, his dad (Josh aka OG Marky) played in the NHL and was a forward/goon. Max has a big sister Amanda (no nicknames please if you call her Mandy she will gut you) who is 3 or 4 ish years older than him and he adores her and they are super close and a baby sister Amelia ("Meals") who is 5 years younger and he hates her and they constantly wind each other up. Max is most often described as "annoying" by his teammates and every single year he played in the OHL his teammates voted him "teammate I would most like to gag"
I'm not going to tell you how they know each other or even how they see each other because that varies wildly depending on where we are in the storyline but I will tell you this: the fastest way (let's be real here one of the few existing ways) to piss off Ben Lucas is to call Max annoying in his earshot. Max is NOT annoying, he's just exuberant.
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“I ain’t no motherfuckin’ redneck, you assholes! Don’t you fucking get it? I’ll never be ok with you being here and disrespecting our gay spaces!” I had shrieked and screamed, and I was being sassy as fuck. But they had darted me, so it was too late for me already. I had been one of the hottest little twinks in Colombia back then. I had such a tight little body, I was non-binary, and I was supportive of my local drag scene. I was absolutely into resisting these fucking fascists and their goddamn bullshit lifestyles, which I couldn’t stand.
That’s how I thought of it all back then, anyhow.
Man, that dart though, it had done its dirty work. I was writhing on the floor of the club, so I didn’t even get to witness the way it transformed me as I went into spasms. It was almost like having a seizure, but I could feel the muscle growing on me, and I could hear my shrieks and wails shift in pitch as I grew on into this whole new, far more masculine body.
I was getting to be built like a brick shithouse really fucking fast, and was taking on more of a mature look. Everywhere I was getting more muscle. I was splitting the seams of my jeans, and my underwear, and felt my back pressing up and splitting my tight pink t-shirt.
When I finally was able to sit up, I was in a daze. I had rendered my clothes asunder. I had bristles of hair all over my face, and the har on my head had grown longer, too, sort of flopping in my eyes. I was a mess.
And then the headache came. I was clutching the sides of my head and moaning, almost screaming in pain out loud, as my twinkish mind collapsed and got replaced by a growing part of me I didn’t even know existed. That part, my friends, is the motherfucking, take-charge redneck stud I am today.
My friends helped me get out of there, and I was still in transition. It takes a good seventy-two hours at least until you can fully collapse one of those weak-ass brains like the one I had before and until a more dominant, superior personality takes over like the one I was starting to get.
So yeah, like I said, I was a mess, and when my friends got me back to one of their apartments, I was still sporadically ranting about how dare those fascists do this to me, they’d never win, this was fucking awful. But as I heard myself talk, there was a growing part of me that was observing myself and thinking “so what? You sound like a raving lunatic. Look at this body! Damn, boy, just look at that muscle!”
Sleeping on it, man, that twink brain of mine must have collapsed even further. I woke up and I just wanted coffee with a splash of alcohol in it, so that’s what I got. Then I added two splashed. I had already stripped out of my shredded pink t-shirt, and my friends had some loose boxers that fit me, but I was just this naked, muscular stud in awe of his own body and trying to come to terms with who I was now.
I was seeing my friends with new eyes, too. They seemed anxious to me, weak, full of nervous, overly feminine motions, jittery, immature, skittish and mostly just kind of fucking annoying. “Those are your friends,” I’d remind myself. “This isn’t you who’s thinking this.”
But that growing part of me was thinking “This is you. This is all you, stud. You’re so much better than them. They don’t even know you’re thinking this, and if they only knew, they’d probably be terrified.” That thought made me want to laugh out loud, so I did.
“What are you laughing at?” one of them asked.
“Oh, nothing man, nothing,” I said, looking away and scratching my head. “These are your friends,” I told myself again, but I didn’t really seem to believe what I was trying to tell myself that morning. “So what if they’re your fucking friends,” my new mind was saying. “They’re fucking losers, man. Don’t let them drag you down. You ought to just get out of here.”
That morning, I was feeling just hornier and altogether more fucked up than I’d ever been. I was thinking, nah, this can’t be the new me. I’m no motherfucking redneck. I don’t think like them. But already I was feeling excited, having this body, having these different feelings, realising that I didn’t feel like such an evil guy like this, not like I thought I would, anyhow. All I wanted to do at that point in time, I felt like, was get the hell away from these people. I didn’t know to where. I borrowed some shoes and a t-shirt that was so tight it hurt, pleading that I had to get back to my apartment. It felt like the shoes would split, and the shirt was riding up on my belly, as I trotted back to my place.
I didn’t know what I was doing or what I was gonna do. When I got home, I felt thirsty, just wanting to drink a little, feeling like that would make this feel better, even though I told myself no, you have to compose yourself, you have to call people, you have to report this. Just one drink, I thought. It turned into shot after shot, and before I knew it, I was drunk, hard in my boxers, having kicked off the shoes and thrown that tight-ass shirt on the ground as soon.
Then I was beating off, and cumming, and the build-up to that orgasm, man, it flooded my brain with some real redneck juice. I wasn’t thinking of the type of guys I usually did. I was thinking about redneck studs, studs like myself, feeling the drool run down my chin as I beat off. As I came, shooting way up on my pecs, rubbing it in with my hand, I was whispering to myself, almost like a confession that I had yet to voice to anyone, “You hot fucking redneck. Holy fuck, you love this, don’t you. You’re a redneck now. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.”
The desire to live for working out and fucking was already growing in me.
Thoughts were just racing through my head then. I knew I didn’t want to be some lame-ass yuppie or some weak-ass queer, man. I felt this powerful attraction to the redneck scene, the working class scene, the country scene, the military scene, the jock scene, you name it, any scene were men were men instead of the glitter fairy I had been before. I couldn’t quite pin it all down at that point yet, but my thoughts were sure racing.
Can you picture me, getting drunk in my apartment, turned on at my own body and swirling thoughts? And then I started to really know, man. I started to know. There was no going back now. The guy I used to be was a loser. I didn’t want to be him anymore. I was pissed off that I ever even was him.
I walked barefoot into the bedroom, checking out his stuff in the drawers and on the walls. Almost none of it would even fit me anymore. His feminine attire and the way his shithole apartment was decorated disgusted me. It made me want to punch the wall, even, so I did that and it felt good. I saw the paint crack and the drywall cave in. This new body had power.
I screamed then, a roar of pure rage and exhilaration. I punched the wall again, and it felt so fucking good that soon I was ripping all his shit off the walls and throwing it in a corner, ripping that flouncy shit off the mattress and I didn’t stop, screaming the whole while, until the bedroom at least look bare bones enough to resemble something a man would want to sleep in. I’d be damned if I ever let that loser back into this mind.
There were a few flashes, sure, and man was he a crybaby as he went out, as well as one hell of an angry little prick. Lots of hatred in his heart. I’d just laugh and say, “Fuck you!” sometimes out loud as I felt that twink brain collapse forever.
And now, as far as I’m concerned, he’s gone man. No longer a part of me, thank God.
I was nervous at first, when I started trying to hang out with guys I thought I’d have a lot more in common with that my old friends. Would they accept me? I was pretty desperate for acceptance at that point. I starting hanging out at a diner that I knew a lot of them liked to frequent, classic diner that pre-dated even the 1950s, a real antique. But these sexy ass guys would show up there, and soon we got to talking over waffles and hash browns.
Soon I was telling them I was darted, and they were saying that was hot as fuck, wanting to hear the story. Soon I was telling it to them, my legs in the air, sweat dripping down my bearded chin, as I was getting fucked.
Months after that, I was almost fully integrated into the lifestyle, man, and soon I was the one doing more of the fucking, especially after I got these sweet-ass tattoos all over my right arm. Getting fully into it, the desire to be that all I could be as man, hell, it ran in my veins now. I was going to let those commies know that I was better than them in every single way imaginable, and I wanted to show it off. I still get hard just at the thought of that, demonstrating my own superiority in the most tangible -- well, to them, intangible, because I don’t want them even fucking touching me -- methods available to me.
Yeah boys, it meant war for me, just like it had when I was a stupid twink, only this time I was playing for the other side, and it was chess instead of checkers.
Of course, there’s a lot more to life than just that for me, namely having hot-ass sex with all sorts of country studs and military men, hell, being part of that whole network of strong and powerful men who worship and respect other guys who’ve worked for it. I feel like I’m serving my country and being a paragon of virtue for it even when my legs are slung over some guy’s bull neck and thick, rounded deltoids as he plows the fuck out of me with his long-ass rod.
I had never gotten fucked this good when I was a twink.
I do real work with myself now, a man’s work. I dress like a man, I eat like a man, and I live my life like a man. I’m fucking proud of it, too. I love who I am now, and relocated to the other side of town, too, where the action’s hotter and I have way more in common with most folks.
I am sure glad I’m a buff stud with a thick-ass chest these days, and I don’t ever go clean-shaven. Been really into guy’s pits lately, and getting them to flex for me so I can lick those. Yeah, shit, I’ve gotta stop, because here I’ve got a raging boner just telling you all about that right now. I swear I’m way more horny than I used to be. At least seventy-five percent of the time now, I’d bet, I’m a top these days.
I don’t really like bottom boys, either. Their mere existence tends to piss me off, to be honest, so when I do fuck them I tend to be an aggressive power top. A lot of the time I don’t even think of it that way, though. I just think of them as so weak that the same rules don’t even apply to them. Different rules, in a way, because they’re a different kind of guy than me. Much more like women, unable to control themselves, you know how they are. I used to be one of them, and I’m so glad I’m not anymore, that’s for fucking sure.
A lot of the time I prefer to just fool around with guys such as myself. I love topping another top, having to wrestle somebody for hours in a strength and dominance competition. Gets the blood flowing. I like somebody who puts up a fight. C’mon, son, do you have any idea how fucking fun that is for me now? To meet up and hook up with another guy who’s just as manly as I am? That’s the stuff I live for now. I’m ready to just fuck my life away with hot ass guys at this point.
So, yeah, I’m a top who loves to wrestle with other tops and see who can dominate. I must be pretty good at it if I swear I’m scoring a seventy-five percent these days, but that’s just because occasionally I throw in some twink losers. Yeah bud, even some of these leftists get thrown a bone by me every now and again. They need us, and I like them to know they need us. They wouldn’t know what to do without us.
One of these days, I might even check with one of my army friends and see if I can come along on a mission so that I can dart one of them myself. I think I’d laugh my ass off when my dart goes in his neck or his shoulder, wherever it his him. Just to see the look on his face, shit boy. That could turn a guy on just by imagining it, so one of these days I’ll have to make it legit.
Fuck if I care about the loser I once used to be or what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. My life is better now and that’s all that matters to me.
Hot-ass guys, man. That’s what I live for.
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Okay I’m bored, so without further ado, my reactions so far to The Arcana:
Okay I just started playing the Arcana game and I’m not really compelled by any of the characters yet but I just met Julian and he cracks me up.
Nobody:
Julian: Death does not want an abomination like me! Muahaha *leaves*
Ok ok finish the prologue and then do work (Hint: I probably won’t because I’m a dumbass and should probably also get tested for adhd)
I can’t tell if I wanna look like Asra, wanna court Asra, or both. Both? Both. Both is good. (Also this game is causing me to have a crisis and now I’m Tired™️)
Bro I’m so fucking stupid 😭 I tracked him down and what do I do upon finding him? Trip and fall on my ass
CHANGED MY NAME TO MISHA, YES AS IN MISHA COLLINS, BECAUSE I CAN BITCH
“I am thirsty” 👀
Also this is the first mc I’ve played that doesn’t make me wanna rip my hair out so far
So far, my energy/reactions to each Arcana character:
Asra: Completely in love. Friends to lovers. I am an irreparable romantic. We are endgame. It’s gonna give me “am I actually bi” problems for the rest of my life probably but fuck it. I’m weak.
Julian: Bro... are we about to kiss right now, bro 😳 Bro I had a dream that we fucked, gay (sorta, my gender is ?) I wouldn’t fuck you, you wouldn’t 🥺, I mean if you want to...
Nadia: She’s uh... she’s definitely something. There’s something. I mean, that hand kiss tho 😳 and uh, the dress 😳
Portia: Nothing yet, really. Just a few friendly vibes, but nothing substantially romantic or whatever.
Muriel (previously dubbed Weird Hulk-Type dude but I have since learned his name from this wonderful thing called the internet): I have no idea who the fuck you are. You’re handsome. You’ve got pretty eyes. You’re built like a brick shithouse. And you’re really fucking weird. That’s literally all I know about you.
Lucio: He’s an ass. Like I haven’t met him yet, there was just that weird thing in the old palace chamber, but like he seems lowkey like a douchebag who would happily commit genocide. 2/10, would not recommend. And there’s no appeal. So he’s not even a smexy douchebag... (review thing done lmao)
Oooh, ok so I just unlocked the romance path things, and for me it’s between Asra, Portia, Nadia, and Julian. Muriel seems cool, but I know virtually nothing about him so it doesn’t really compel me. And I have like, zero interest in Lucio.
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Well, that’s one way of doing it.
So like the tales feature just became available for me and I’m just thinking so basically every tale is essentially polyamory except for Julian and Portia.
Ok I hate snakes except for Faust. Faust has rights.
LOOK IM NOT POLY BUT LIKE JULIAN AND ME AND ASRA? PEAK IMPLICATIONS
Eeeee, I really like The Arcana and can’t stop playing it, but I’m getting a new phone in a few weeks and we were previously on my mom’s apple account thingy and I don’t wanna spoil most if not all the game for myself and then have to replay it on my new phone, because I’m going to get my own ID and so I can’t transfer my data over. I don’t know why I’m so particular about it I just am. I should probably look into that now that I think about it lmao. Anyways ignore the ramblings of a madman (me) I’m just sleepy
Bro the description of the way Nadia is sitting when I walk in (I just started her romance path thing) is uh 😳
Ok so Nadia is doing her stretches and bends backward and looks at me and like I’m the least flexible person on the goddamn planet so this little comment from me is very accurate-
Asra: *exists*
Me:
Ok, maybe Lucio’s not so bad, the endearingly impatient bastard. Like bro you snuffed out all the light, chill for a sec and I can actually find the spell to make you beautiful again or whatever
Bro I had to say no to petting Mercedes and Melchior but I didn’t want to and Lucio said I wasn’t a dog person and I was like NO 😭 I AM a dog person! It just cost me fucking money to pick that option and I couldn’t cause I’m broke as shit 😭
*singsong* 🎶JULIAN HAD A CRUSH ON ASRA, JULIAN HAD A CRUSH ON ASRA🎶
This man is bi as fuck! Welcome to the team, my man
THESE MEN ARE QUEER 👏 AS 👏 FUCK
Two bros, finding a cure for the plague, five feet apart cause they’re not gay
BRO I KISSED HIM. I KNEW BUYING THOSE COINS AND GOING WITH ASRA WAS THE RIGHT THING. I JUST FUCKING WENT FOR IT. GOD DAMN.
WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT AJDSJ SJSK AAAAAAHH
#she speaks#long post#the arcana game#julian devorak#asra alnazar#nadia satrinava#muriel#lucio montag#portia devorak#mercedes and melchior
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