Very First Time I Saw Ghost I Thought He Was Wearing A Hat 👉👈 So I Gave Him A Hat

no exactly

a bit more practice Soaps of different kinds

you know where to find full pics

*lightheaded with lust* yeah he's like a father to me

I’m finally brave enough to start reading Ghoap fanfics and I am actually scared

siphon

john price x f!reader - completed - 9k words part one | two | three | four also on ao3 cw: kidnapping, implied stalking, imprisonment (dog cage), alcohol, noncon/rape, spanking, violence, gore, death

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i love saying “i’m being normal about it” bc i’m actually a filthy fucking liar and i’ve never been normal about anything a single day in my life

something very interesting to me in rdr2 is how arthur is repeatedly referred to using more “feminine” like terms, usually in a negative context. like the most well known one is when he gets called “pretty boy” in the fight with tommy, but emmett granger also calls him “girlie.” both of these times, it’s men who are actively provoking him, masculine men, who are telling him this. however, whenever arthur is talking to algeron wasp, a much more “feminine” man, and wasp asks him if he’d like a corset, arthur’s only real complaint to the idea was that he rides horses and that the whale bone would dig in.

now, arthur’s masculinity is something that he clings to heavily in the game. as progressive as arthur’s ideas are for the time period he’s in, he still holds the basic idea that women need to be protected and cared for, that a man should more of the heavy lifting, etc. in chapter six, he overcomes this idea a good bit, especially with sadie adler and charlotte balfour, but it’s still a core part of his character because it’s the year 1899. arthur’s masculinity is something that he uses to make himself appear, in the words of hosea, “big, dumb, and angry.” he uses this idea of toxic masculinity to make himself appear tough, as one of the gang’s enforcers, as the debt collector, as the one who yells at a grieving family because they’re in his way. arthur hides his journal, one of the few things that shows his softness, which could be perceived as “feminine,” and never lets anyone touch it until he dies. even his art could be considered “feminine,” because, in his eyes, it’s an expression of softness.

then you have charles. charles, who has extremely long hair that he takes great care of, and who i, personally, believe is just a little bit vain (which isn’t a bad thing). charles, who talks about his mother and her people and everything that he loves about both of them. charles, who lived on his own for years and had to take care of himself, be both mother and father for himself in his late teen years.

charles is masculine, yes. he’s tall, and broad, and takes care of others, whether that be through doing brunt work or through more violent means. however, he expresses his own softness frequently. how he only kills when he has to. how he believes arthur isn’t as tough and dense as he acts. how he isn’t afraid to show appreciation for others, shows his appreciation towards animals while both hunting them and caring for them, express his opposition towards dutch as early as chapter 2.

now, back to arthur. as the game progresses, arthur slowly moves away from this idea of toxic masculinity and becomes softer towards others. still masculine, still thinking about the women and children first, still strong (even as he grows sicker and sicker), but softer. he comments, both in his journal, that charles is one of the best men he knows. i think that charles was one of the key points of reference whenever arthur was trying to become a good man. that, even though arthur had it in him the entire time, he still looked to charles as a grounding perspective.

i think that, had arthur lived, maybe he would’ve been able to become that much softer in age and in settling down. maybe even branch out towards more “feminine” traits, take greater care of himself, if only he was told that those things weren’t shameful, if he was told that he wasn’t just big and dumb.

The way Ghost laps at your pussy after coming back from a months long deployment has you on the brink of insanity. Each rub of his balaclava (hastily pulled up to the nose) against your clit burns in just the right way, your soft cries falling on deaf ears. He slobbers at you like a damn dog, devouring with a sense of worship only a man who has known God could. Pushing his tongue as deep inside of you as possible, testing your soft insides with an ebb and flow as your hips buck against his face. It’s only when he moves back up to your clit and sucks that it becomes too much, the soft bite of his teeth coaxing a strangled sound out of your throat as you orgasm. He had missed this.

Daughters with Soft Underbellies; masterlist

john price x fem!reader | outlaw/cowboy and preachers daughter | read on ao3 | pinterest board

All your life, you have known nothing but the Word of God and your father's short temper. Every day, you are forced to turn the other cheek for each minor mistake you make within your father's gaze; the old wounds hardly have time to heal before he gives you new ones. Yet, as a devout follower to God and your father, you have no one else to turn to. When the owner of the saloon tells you about some strangers lurking around town, you decide to take your chances with these wayward men in the hopes that they'll save you. But they are dangerous, conniving bandits; a fact you learn a little too late. You should have known that sheep who stray too far from the flock are at the mercy of the wolves. Better sharpen those teeth of yours, little lamb.

a/n: please heed the warnings on each chapter; overall; religious trauma; domestic abuse; reader is christian; western!au;

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve

extras:

moodboard made by @syoddeye

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they will not leave me alone

more ancient gods

It's been two months since you appealed to the ancient gods in a last ditch attempt to save your village. Two months where soft rains fall every few days, healing the dried, cracked earth. Two months since most of those gone for battle return, scarred but no longer scared. Two months where game have slowly returned to the lands around the village, and barren plants have begun blooming again. Two months where the only death comes at the end of a long life.

You try to find a new rhythm to your days. Three months ago, you were another member of your people, albeit one with more knowledge of the old ways than was considered necessary. Now, though, the village elders have spoken in hushed terms of elevating you to the position of prophetess or seer, believing you have some direct connection to the four gods who saved them. You do not share their faith, but you still bear the initial marks of all four gods on your body.

You still do not know what it means.

In the meantime, the shrines you asked for have been completed, and you've become their de facto caretaker. You keep the altars clean and say prayers to each god in turn. After the way they've blessed the village, you think it might be good to consult the ancient tomes again; perhaps there are other gods whose aid the village could use If only there was a place to pray to them. If nothing else, you could learn how to better show devotion to the four gods who feel so real to you now, though you struggle to explain why.

A fortnight after the first rains fell, a young mother asked if she could make an offering to Gaz for the health of her new baby. Two days later an old man found you and, hesitantly, asked how he could ask the god of death to guide his wife in the afterlife. Two of the men you'd played with as a child bring seeds as an offering to Tav the night before they're set to till and sow the field. The former leader of your people's warriors brings his best weapon to lay on Jon's altar in thanks for bringing him safely home.

At night your dreams are more vivid. You find yourself in fighting leathers, sword in hand, as Jon teaches you swordplay. The god of death reminds you you gave your life to him, and he does not plan to cut you down so young, urging you to learn Jon's lessons. Tav joins you in Gaz's unwalled tent, dishes spread feet from the fertile fields where now both men use your body for their pleasure.

More than whispers of conversation carry from your dreams. Jon telling you the shrines and worship make their presence in your village, and in your life, stronger. Gaz hinting that dreams will no longer be the only place you see them. The god of death talking about the power of names before giving you the one your people had lost to time: Si. Tav commenting on how you'll glow when he can truly show you how powerful your fertility is.

Everything points to a reality you cannot comprehend. Until one day, half a year after that first night, your village is visited by four large men, strangers to all but you.

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