#occupation: hustler

[allzelemonz]

Explore: Bill Williamson X Male Reader

Pronouns: he/him, Reader is referred to as ‘hustler’ which is a term used by male prostitutes Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Bill is cute when he’s pining, incredibly gay and closeted Bill, prostitution, Top Bill and bottom Reader, Reader is an experienced prostitute, references to period typical homophobia, mentions of past sexual experiences, exploring sexuality and preferences, not his first time but it might as well be, teaching/learning about sex, anal fingering, anal sex, Summary: Bill finally has the courage to seek out another man and you’re happy to show him a good time.

Men like you are rare, you only know of one other. Being an insider makes it a little easier, you’ve been here long enough that you consider the women sharing your space and occupation to be family. They’ve defended you when the law comes asking, saying you’re one of their brothers or cousins just making sure they’re safe, then they’ll turn their tricks with the law and they stop asking around. They’ve helped cover for you when getting hotel rooms for your own johns, keeping your identities safe when the rooms at the saloon are full. It’s a calculated business, one you couldn’t do without this little family of whores. It was the mother figure, the oldest of the girls, that helped you learn how to be as careful as you are now. She was the first to call you a hustler, a term she’d heard a man like you use so he wasn’t so obvious. She taught you how to tell if men were interested, if they were inclined to you or one of the sisters. You all help each other, reading all of the signs and working to make money in a profession you all find to be very noble.

That’s why one of the sisters introduces him to you. It’s nothing abnormal. The girls will play the floor, finding a john they think wants a nice night. They’ll flirt and laugh, offering their services when the time is right. But sometimes they pick up on certain clues, men that shy away or seem far too disinterested, sometimes they even look at you. The girls will smile and ask if they’d be interested in a friend of theirs. If they’re sure, then you get an easy john. If not, you fish on your own.

But, tonight, they bring you someone different from the norm. Most men that come to you are either very old or just old enough to be considered at all. Most men that come to you are clean shaven, maybe a little rich, maybe escaping a wife they’ve never enjoyed. This one is very different. He’s broad shouldered with a heavy beard on his face and the distinct look of living rough covers every inch of him. Still, as one of the girls leads him over to you, he looks like a nervous animal. His face is red beneath his beard as if he’s unsure of himself. You can guess his story easily, it’s nothing new. He’s never been with a man, only looked and longed. He’s finally worked up the courage and when he talks to you he will either follow you shyly or run away.

She lets go of his arm and joins you, leaning against the wall with a smile on your face. “Bill, this is my friend. I think he might be more suited for ya.”

The john, Bill, looks up at you and his eyes dart the way most first timers’ do. He looks at your face, then below the waist, then to the side. He looks older than he must be, his eyes have some youth in them from what you can catch. Reading johns is important, especially when you’re outing yourself every time you try to make money. Plenty of men have attacked you for who you are once you’re alone, plenty of them have been stabbed by the knife you keep on you for that very reason. You note that this john has a gun, most do, but the way he stands gives you the sense that it’s always on his hip.

“Hello, Bill.” You say, light and calm with a smile.

He meets your eyes for a moment before glancing away again. “H-Hello.”

“So.” You glance at the girl that brought him over and she takes the hint to leave. “You, uh, looking for a nice night?”

Bill shuffles on his feet and rubs the back of his neck. “I-I ain’t so sure about all that.”

You nod. “That’s alright. I’m here for whatever you want.” After a beat of silence it’s clear he doesn’t know what to say. “How about we go upstairs and talk? Just talk.”

He glances over you again, just your face and chest this time. Then he nods. You give him an attempt at a reassuring smile and start towards the stairs. The girls point you to an empty room as Bill sheepishly follows you with his head dipped down to hide his face with his hat. You open the door for him and close it once you’re both inside, locking it as usual. Bill stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking everywhere but at you. Usually you’d want to get paid before anything, but with men like Bill it’s important to make them comfortable. The shy ones are always the type to pay, compliment, and tip all in one. It’s not like you get johns too often anyway, you don’t mind taking your time because a lot of guys that you treat nice come back and it’s much easier than guessing which men might be interested.

“You have any interesting stories?” You ask, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Anything interesting you’ve done?”

Bill snorts a laugh. “Sure I do.”

He seems a little at ease in the privacy of the room, not comfortable by any means, just less on guard. Most men are, they don’t have to hide from you like they do every other man in the building.

“Tell me.”

Bill licks his lips. “Well, uh, when I was in the army we had these boys that’d go around and, uh-” He stops himself as he joins you, sitting as far away as he can on the bed. He swallows his nerves and glances around as he finds his place again. “These boys that went around playin’ jokes. Colonel didn’t like that, captain didn’t mind but the colonel hated it.”

“What kind of jokes?”

Bill smiles, reliving the memories. “They was runnin’ around and putin’ syrup on whatever uniforms they’d find lyin’ around.”

“Syrup?”

Bill laughs. “Anything sticky, just ta annoy folk.”

You smile along with his laugh, putting on that slight flirtatious attitude you try to have with johns. “So you were in the army?”

“Cavalry.” Bill nods.

“Did you like it?”

You’ve had johns that were military before. Most of them were gruff old men that realized things about themselves a little too late. Bill seems different. Uncertain about his desires, but he has enough of an inkling for his eyes to wander over your body when he talks.

“Sure.” He says, nodding. “I suppose.”

He seems nervous again, so you change the subject. “What do you do now?”

“Oh.” He chuckles lightly, shaking his head. “Ya don’t wanna know about all a’ that.”

“Sure I do, you seem like an interesting man.”

Bill’s face goes red again and he looks down, flattered by the slightest compliment. “I ain’t so interestin’. Yer just saying that ‘cause ya have ta.”

You smile. “I don’t have to do anything. I liked your story, that’s all.”

Bill glances up, then right back down as he clears his throat. “How, uh, how does all this work?”

“You’ve never done this before?” You ask, wanting to make sure his experiences align with your guessing.

He shakes his head. “Well, I-I tried. A couple girls, but I never got that far.” He pauses for a moment as his fist grips at the blanket. “There was a feller a few years ago. He robbed me blind afterwards.”

“Well, I’m not gonna rob you.” You say, softly, not wanting to put any pressure or influence on his decisions. “You just tell me what you’d like to do and we’ll do it.”

Bill shuffles in his seat. “Anything?”

“Generally.” You say. “There’s some things I’ll say no to, but I don’t think they’ll be a problem.”

“Can I kiss ya?” Bill asks, faster than he’s talked all night.

You nod. “Of course you can.”

His eyes light up, but his expression is still nervous. He wants this, but he has that hesitation so many men do. The uncertainty forced on them by society that nags them into believing what they want is wrong. You scoot a little closer to him, making it easy. He leans in, keeping his eyes on yours this time until they close as your lips connect. It’s barely a touch, like the feeling of a wind. Then he must feel it, the desire that pushes past the expectations of a man that looks like him, because he leans in more and actually moves his lips against yours.

His beard scratches against you as he grows in confidence, finding a familiar rhythm. His hand moves to rest on your knee, then he slowly moves to lay you back against the bed. His lips don’t leave yours as he positions himself over you, but he stops when his lower half brushes against you.

“It’s alright.” You assure him, a hand slowly reaching to remove his hat. “You do what you want, I’ll let you know if anything’s wrong.”

Your hand goes to his hair, smoothing it down as you try to reassure him. He takes it, leaning back down to kiss you again and his hands move to work on getting rid of your shirt. You help him where he needs, letting him toss the shirt away. He looks down at your chest as his hands run over it, feeling over your pecs and down your stomach then back up. His breath hitches as he does it and he’s not really breathing, just admiring the fact that he’s running his hands over another man’s bare skin. Then he seems to come-to, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it aside as well. You follow now that he seems sure of himself and what he wants, ridding yourself of clothes as he does until you’re both bare.

His eyes move over every inch of you, processing what he sees with a now obvious consequence out in the open. His hands run over your thighs, feeling the warmth as they travel closer to your own obvious arousal. He looks up at you and you give him a nod and a smile, telling him it’s okay to continue. So he takes you in his hand and feels the weight against his palm. His thumb runs over your tip, spreading the pre-cum and it makes you hiss slightly. Bill’s other hand feels at your balls, just running his fingers over your sack and massaging lightly. His wonder as he explores your body isn’t overly unique, men that haven’t done this before often want to touch because they’ve never gotten to feel another man this intimately before. It’s one of the perks.

You can’t help when you buck into his hand as he squeezes you, needing to feel friction. Bill looks up at you and your gaze meets his with a look that makes his mouth go dry. He leans back over you and kisses you and on hand stays to jerk you slowly while the other finds your hair. You press against him, kissing him back and meeting the motions of his hand.

Then he stops, pulling away just and sitting back on his knees. “I, uh, I ain’t sure how ta do the uh…” He gestures downwards.

“Prepping?” You ask.

He nods. “I-I know it hurts if ya don’t do it, I just ain’t sure how.”

“Do you want me to do it or do you want me to walk you through it?”

Bill looks away for a moment as the red on his face comes over his ears too. “I-I wanna learn.”

You take the hand he had near your hair and he watches as you take a few of his fingers in your mouth. His mouth drops open as he watches you and you can tell his dick is doing the thinking as his eyes keep steady on your mouth. You coat his fingers in spit with a skill acquired long ago, then you bring his hand downwards.

“Feel around, it’s not hard to find.” You instruct, voice soft so as not to freak him out in this new situation.

Bill blinks, trying to think clearly as he runs his hand between your thighs until he feels the right spot.

“One at a time, go slow.”

Bill slowly pushes a finger inside of you and you lift your hips with him to give him a better angle. He moves the lone finger around slowly, then he adds another.

“You want to make room for yourself, so spread them out and stretch the muscles.” You say, keeping your voice as steady and clear as you can with Bill’s large fingers inside of you.

Bill follows your instructions, spreading his fingers apart as he rotates them. He thinks of his size, making sure to spread his fingers wide and ensuring you’re stretched until he’s not nervous about hurting you so much.

“Okay.” You say, breath taking up most of your voice. “Okay, that’s good, Bill.”

“S-So I can, uh…”

You nod. “Go on. It’s okay. Just make sure you get some spit on yourself too, it makes it easier.”

Bill nods as he removes his fingers. He spits into his hand and runs the liquid over himself, spreading the pre-cum as well. He feels slick, he thinks, so he aligns himself. You help him, raising your hips so he can come closer and properly have access. He looks at you one more time and you give him a nod, encouraging him. He takes your hips in his hands as he pushes into you, slowly, careful to watch your face for signs of pain. It’s mostly easy, the stretch nothing too new to you, allowing you to relax in the pleasure of the friction inside of you. Bill fully sets himself inside, his balls flush against your skin and his breathing heavy.

You relax into the bed as he moves, letting him explore the feeling for a bit. Bill moves slowly, grinding and circling to figure out what feels good. The men he’s slept with before took control, he’s never had the time to figure out exactly what he likes.

“What was yer name?” He asks, stopping his movements when he realized he never learned it.

You tell him and he repeats it before he starts a solid pace. You let him settle into it before you move with him, earning a groan when you do. Bill’s pace turns faster and you can feel the ache more and more, but he beats you to it as he wraps his hand around your dick and pumps it as best he can in time with his thrusts. You focus on moving with him, trying to get him off because you can feel your own end coming. Bill does cum first, his thrusts faltering but his hand keeps strong long enough for you to follow him. Your eyes find Bill in time to watch as he pulls out of you and leans forward to kiss you again.

It’s heavy, full of a lot of emotion, and unmistakably more than just a kiss. Not just from Bill, partly from you too. It’s not unheard of, johns falling for their hustlers, but the other way around is much less common. Something about Bill has you though. Not just the sex, his demeanor, his seemingly caring nature, his enthusiasm. So you let your hands tangle in his hair as you enjoy the kiss. It lasts for a long time, Bill not wanting to pull away because he knows it’s supposed to be over now. But he does, once his lips hurt and his jaw aches, he pulls away just an inch and rests his forehead against yours as you both catch your breath.

Silently, unconsciously, he nuzzles against your cheek. It makes your heart skip and you press a kiss to his cheek. You’ve never been so affectionate with a john before, but you’re feeling things with Bill. So when he falls onto the bed next to you, you curl into him and rest your head on his chest. He watches you, face red and heart skipping as he puts an arm around you.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption x reader #bill williamson #bill williamson x reader #bill williamson x male reader #red dead redemption x male reader #x reader #x male reader

[yourdailyqueer]

Akira the Hustler (Yukio Cho)

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Gay

DOB: Born 1969   

Ethnicity: Japanese

Occupation: Artist, writer, actor, activist, former sex worker

#Akira the Hustler #Yukio Cho #qpoc #qmoc #lgbt #male #gay #1969 #japanese #asian #poc #artist #writer #actor #activist #sex worker

[octuscle]

Hello chronivac support, I have a bit of a problem. Instead of changing settings or stats they are only added, so right now my occupation is stated to be fitness model bodybuilder actor. I won't state my weight, as you can imagine what happened when I tried changing it, but the different values were added together multiple times. Can you please help?

Excuse me? I've never heard of that before… Can I just reproduce that? Let's take a look at your dick. 11 inches. Not bad. So let's make it a little smaller. Let's make it 9 inches. Wow! What a monster! Holy shit! I think I'm starting to understand your problem. Can I enter negative values…? Occupation "-actor". Okay, that seems to work. You are now only a fitness model and bodybuilder. Let's see if it works with your dick. -5 inches. Perfect, now it's only 15 inches. Still huge. Sorry, I'm getting distracted, I'm having a hard time concentrating with this monster….

Well, we have a workaround. That's a start. But that's really dangerous. What if someone accidentally enters 6 feet for height? Don't worry, I won't. A suggestion: You know, if software doesn't work anymore, often only switching it off and then on again helps. In this case I would try uninstalling and reinstalling to be on the safe side.

As compensation I can offer you one of our normally paid premium packages as an unlimited usable profile. You can choose from the following three:

Leather GILF: Stony rich, still a fantastic body, townhouse with its own leather club.

Luxury hustler: perfect body, horny all the time, can cum whenever he wants. Client list that includes kings and presidents.

Ink-Influenzer: Known worldwide like a colored dog. Invited to every party. Best friend to half of Hollywood.

Once we reinstall Chronivac, the three profiles are preloaded. Please choose one, the others will delete themselves automatically.

Sorry again for the inconvenience. Whereas I don't imagine having a 20 inch monster is such a bad thing….

#inked man #tank top #male tf #leather tf #chronivac #wife beater

[451redirect]

𝙼𝚈     𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙸𝚁𝙴     𝚆𝙰𝚂     𝙰     𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶     𝙸     𝚂𝚆𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙾𝚆𝙴𝙳     𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙻     𝙼𝚈     𝚃𝙴𝙴𝚃𝙷     𝙲𝙾𝚁𝚁𝙾𝙳𝙴𝙳 .

𝘈𝘉𝘖𝘜𝘛

FULL NAME:     aadhya dasari 

NICKNAME(S):   yaya  

AGE:    thirty-one 

OCCUPATION:      cowboys (co-host @ big fish) / the honeybee club (head entertainer)

GENDER: cis woman.   

PRONOUNS: she/her.   

SEXUALITY:   bisexual.   

BIRTHPLACE:   tamil nadu, india.    

RESIDENCE:  a luxury one bedroom apartment in the city. 

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:   single. 

EDUCATION:           high school diploma, college degree.   

CHILDREN:    zero.    

FAMILY:    neisha dasari (mother), yajat dasari (father)

PETS:   none.   

LANGUAGES:  telugu, bengali, hindi, japanese, english, spanish

POSITIVES:  magnetic, clever, resourceful, observant, charismatic, persuasive

NEGATIVES:  self-destructive, cruel, selfish, volatile, short-tempered, materialistic, calculating

HEIGHT:   5′9.     

INFLUENCES FOR THIS CHARACTER:   charlotte hale (westworld), gabrielle solis (desperate housewives), satine (moulin rogue), lilico (helter skelter), scarlett o’hara (gone with the wind), ramona vega (hustlers)

𝘉𝘐𝘖𝘎𝘙𝘈𝘗𝘏𝘠

    YOU ARE AADHYA DASARI— daughter of the formidable businessman, iham dasari. before this becomes your truth, you are the daughter of one india’s most wanted criminal’s, the de facto king of the indian criminal underworld. the japanese expatriate act introduces iham to newfound opportunities— the chance to remake himself anew, securing his position in a more stable and legitimate industry. 

    you step into the role of the perfect heiress, shedding the skin of a mafia princess. still, it is impossible to fully eradicate yourself from the bloodshed you’re baptized in— forever marred by the lifestyle you’re born into. you’ve always found delight in the wielding power over others— fine tuning your propensity for manipulation and control from a young age. any of your darker impulses are disguised beneath a veneer of sophistication and charm. 

    your father’s rise occurs almost as quickly as his fall from grace— several bad dealings and a debilitating gambling addiction is enough to squander the majority of the family’s fortunes, something that wouldn’t fully be realized until he’s on his deathbed. your job as a co-host at big fish is not one earned out of merit. still, entertaining the viewers with your dazzling looks and wit— secretly relishing in the chaos that immediately followed the announcement of a new bounty. it’s a cozy gig, but certainly not enough to supplement the luxurious lifestyle you’d grown accustomed to since childhood. 

    which is why— when you’re not gliding across the big fish screens— you can be found entertaining at the honeybee club. beneath the glamour and grandeur, you’re almost able to forget that it is you who is left to erase the debt left in your father’s wake. after all, what service was more valuable than your presence and esteemed company? (your promotion to head entertainer certainly only strengthens how highly you regard yourself.) 

    your life was never meant to be like this— you were never meant to bear the burden of your father’s failure. it leaves you increasingly temperamental— your penchant for cruelty only festers over time. something has to give— before you destroy yourself and those surrounding you.

#aadhya : introduction . #credit in source !

[cheekedupwhiteboy]

"It's always what may not be shown that shows the most. Forbidden words are always the most eloquent.

On the shores of Lake Turkana, to go out in public with your foreskin peeled back is an obscenity. In certain cities of the East, a woman may not show her face. Take a picture of your three-year-old in the bath, and people look at you oddly these days.

It changes all the time. In one age, the breast may be shown, but nothing below the navel. In another, the cunt but not the cock. Or the cock, as long as it's not hard. Or hard, but not fully hard. Or fully hard, but not seeping.

In Pompeii, the guide, for a few extra lire, will show you the whore houses, with their peeling frescoes. A man weighs his enormous meat on a scale; a woman seeks refuge on the lap of another, as a whip is laid on her bare back. In the Reading Room of the British Library, you may order up the pornography of an earlier age, as long as you prove your intentions towards it are honorable; that is, you agree that it will mean nothing to you. In any American city, if you know where to look, who to ask, you can always buy the sight of somebody else's intercourse. But none of this must be public. It must be done in whispers. It must be locked away where the women and children will not see it. We must pretend, as we go about the daily streets, that we know nothing about it, nor do we care to know. If any of this comes up in conversation, we will change the subject, or in more sophisticated circles--we'll greet it with a weary sigh: as if to say, how passé, to be aroused; how adolescent.

Only the slaughterhouse and the mortuary have any approximate power: we do not care to know how we came to be on the plate, or how we will look when we are removed from it. But of course the forbidden sight here shows both. The lovers, sapped by the agonies of desire, lie like felled animals on the slimy bed, their eyes glassy. It has raw, red shape, this ecstasy. It brings blood and tears.

Is it any wonder it's put out of sight? Where's the dignity in that? The stench of a lover's room is pleasant only to those who carried it. To the rest of us, it's too close to flatulence. And look at those who make an occupation of it! Look at how they end up, the whores and the hustlers. Gutter and dumpster; that's where they end up. The Devil doesn't take them anymore. They kill themselves, with drink or pills to keep themselves from seeing their holes seeping."

What May Not Be Shown by Clive Barker

[thesugakookittynetwork]

contestants

Meet our contestants!

They are a handful to say the least, but you guys can handle them. 

… Hopefully.

You can check out the more detailed desktop version here.

Full Name: Kim Seokjin House Name: The Worldwide Hottie Occupation: Actor Personality Type: INTP Age: 30 Zodiac: Sagittarius (12.04.1992) Signature: “She gets me... She knows it’s not easy being hot.”

Full Name: Min Yoongi House Name: AgustD Hustler Occupation: Record Producer Personality Type: ISTP Age: 29 Zodiac: Pisces (03.09.1993) Signature: “Yeah, she’s cute... Wait, our money’s guaranteed right?”

Full Name: Jung Hoseok House Name: Jay Occupation: Model Personality Type: INFJ Age: 28 Zodiac: Aquarius (02.18.1994) Signature: “You’re in her DMs. I’m in her guts... We’re not the same bro.”

Full Name: Kim Namjoon House Name: Daddy Long Legs Occupation: Personal Trainer Personality Type: ENFP Age: 28 Zodiac: Virgo (09.12.1994) Signature: “I’ll probably break everything except your heart, baby.”

Full Name: Park Jimin House Name: Pretty Boi J Occupation: Celebrity Stylist Personality Type: Age: 27 Zodiac: Libra (10.13.1995) Signature: “Leave your heels on, love. Height is nothing but a number.”

Full Name: Kim Taehyung House Name: The Shit Starter Occupation: A Dealer? (That’s literally all he wrote on the paper.) Personality Type: INFP Age: 27 Zodiac: Capricorn (12.30.1995) Signature: "If it means that much to you, I'll play nice... for a little while."

Full Name: Jeon Jungkook House Name: The Ass Slapper Occupation: Professional Gamer Personality Type: INTP Age: 25 Zodiac: Virgo (09.01.1997) Signature: “I’ll hold the door for you, baby.”

#contestants

[opulvnts]

   •  •  •    middle child  by  j. cole :    spotted !    if  it  isn’t  malik  calloway  walking  through  the  streets  of  nyc .    people  say  he  looks  like  kofi  siriboe ,    but  i  really  don’t  see  it .    the  twenty-nine  year  old  sports lawyer  is  out  here  making  mommy  and  daddy  proud .    while  they  have  been  known  to  be  maverick ,    we’ve  all  seen  their  haughty  nature  come  to  light .    sources  tell  me  they  remind  people  of  charisma oozing from every pore , a colgate smile that can bring people to their knees , hustler mentality wrapped inside a himbo outer shell  .   /  cisman  /  he  &  him .

♡     ◞        𝐷𝑂𝑆𝑆𝐼𝐸𝑅  ,   𝗍𝗁𝖾   𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗌 .

official   name  :  malik anthony calloway  .   nickname  :  none  .   birthdate  :  march   22nd  ,   1994  .   birthplace  :  toronto , ontario  .   citizenship  :   canadian & american  .   current   residence  :  new york city  .   gender  :  cis   male  ,   he / him   pronouns  .  orientation  :   heterosexual ( closeted bisexual )  .   languages  :  english & some conversational spanish  .   occupation  :   sports lawyer  .

♡     ◞        𝐷𝑂𝑆𝑆𝐼𝐸𝑅  ,   𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 .

faceclaim  :  kofi siriboe  .   height  :   six   foot   two  .   build  :  athletic , muscular .   eye   color  :  brown  .   hair   color  :  dark brown  .   hair   style  :  finger waves or clean crewcut .   signature   scent  :  gucci guilty by   gucci  .   style  :  stylish , up with the current trends , elevated for professional meetings  .   piercings  :  left ear  .   tattoos  :  patchwork on both arms  .   scars  :  none  .

♡     ◞        𝐷𝑂𝑆𝑆𝐼𝐸𝑅  , 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 .

big   three  :  aries   sun  ,   scorpio   moon  ,   virgo   rising  .   mbti  :  entj  .    label  : the   suave  .   traits  :  maverick , vain , haughty , relentless  .   character   inspo  :  loki   (  marvel  )  ,   harvey specter   (  suits  )  ,   joey tribbiani   (  friends  )  ,   will halstead   (  chicago med  )  .

♡     ◞        𝐷𝑂𝑆𝑆𝐼𝐸𝑅  ,    𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘭 .

biological   father  :  tbd calloway  .   occupation  :  hockey coach  .   status  :  alive  .   biological   mother  :  tbd calloway  .   occupation  :  lawyer  .   occupation  :  alive  .    siblings  :  roman calloway  .    children  :  none that he knows of  .

♡     ◞        𝑩𝑰𝑶𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑷𝑯𝒀  ,   𝘵𝘩𝘦   𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 .

toronto was home to malik and his family up until his father got offered a job in new york city . with the job offer being accepted the calloway's made the move to queens .

the move was easier for malik than it was for his brother roman , so often you'd find him tagging along with malik and his friends . malik was fine with letting his brother hang out with him since they were so close .

unlike his younger brother malik didn't have much of an interest in the physical side of sports , he played hockey to appease his dad and understand dinner table conversation , was the star quarterback in high school which gained him a full ride scholarship and liked to mess around playing pick up on the weekends .

beyond hobbies malik wasn't as engrossed with the sporting industry like his father or brother , he had enough interest to make it by but also had interest in his mother's profession as a lawyer .

his parents never once pushed him into anything he didn't want to do and they were supportive the entire way . which made his personality puzzling to those who met him as an adult .

with a practically trauma free life and a silver spoon upbringing it was almost laughable he became a world class douchebag . of course , rarely in front of his loving parents .

college was practically his arena , fraternities , parties , the whole nine yards . malik thrived in every aspect of campus life . taking on studies in law and business .

today malik is one of the top sports lawyers in the industry with an unblemished winning streak and a six figure salary . he deals with all the best and has a reputation within certain circles .

♡     ◞        𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑬  ,   𝘵𝘩𝘦   𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 .

he has raging himbo energy ?? big brains in his career but truly a douchey himbo in every other aspect of his life .

love life ? non existent , very much believing in the bachelor philosophy . which is horribly obvious by his excessive residence and slew of one night stands .

gym bro for life sadly .... will 100% answer the phone while grunting between sets in the weight room . ( yes i hate him too )

if anyone messes with his family he'll bury you so deep that you won't even get mentioned on craigslist . big protective vibes .

is a closeted bisexual , not because of shame or his family but because of the toxic masculinity culture surrounding the sporting industry still to this day .

#malik calloway .

[lit-works]

City in Darkness Pt.1 : Flying horses

I swing through the brightly lit canyons of New York City on a single strand of webbing. Below me the city is ablaze with light, from the powerful spotlights framing it's most famous buildings to the soft glow of hundreds of street lamps and apartment windows. It is clearly summer and the warm weather has most of the population outdoors. Couples stroll along the sidewalks, stopping to watch street performers. Executives out on the town hail taxis bound for the theater district. Musicians sound out hot, muggy tones on saxes and clarinets, providing the soundtrack for the small-time hustlers plying the crowd with games and wagers.

I have a bird's-eye view of it all. Or in my case, a Spider's-eye view. I swing down the street, high above the bustle, my weblines arching from their special wrist-mounted shooters, providing a set of strands to carry me from skyscraper to skyscraper. I've gotta get across town fast–a meeting with the Daily Bugle editor Robert Robertson was supposed to start five minutes ago, and lateness is not a virtue looked for in freelance photographers. Not even when Jolly James Jonah Jameson was in charge.

Of course, when it absolutely, positively has to get there overnight, Web-Slinger express is the only way to travel.

I hit a break between buildings where my lines might not reach the next tall structure. Rather than risk missing a shot and wasting web fluid, I tuck into a roll, straighten at the last instant, and make a perfect two-point landing on a movie marquee.

"Hey, it's Spider-Man!" Shouts a voice from the crowd below. Heads turn and I feel the warm gaze of the admiring public.

"Wow!"

"Cool!"

"I thought he was from a comic book?!"

"George, get out your phone!"

Ah, the trials and tribulations of being a celebrity superhero. Adored by millions, or at least hundreds, capable of stunts only dreamed of by mere mortal men, in reality mild-mannered camera hound Peter–

"Ya lousy bum!"

The last comment breaks through my reverie and catches me by surprise. Not the words of an admirer, even in New York. I scan the crowd below to spy my detractor.

"Yeah, you, Spider-bitch! You're a damned menace to society! I read about it in the Bugle! Jameson says your a crook!" The heckler is a nondescript man, about 30, wearing a tan jacket and a Mets cap. I could pass this guy on the street without ever noticing him.

Beneath my mask, I frown deeply. Ok, Spider-Man, do you really wanna take this kind of grief, or do you wanna teach this loudmouth a lesson?

"According to The Daily Bugle, Ant-Man is the Hulk's tailor," I shout back, already shooting my next web-line. "And if you believe that, there's this bridge I want to sell you." A ripple of laughter runs through the gathering crowd, leaving the heckler red and fuming.

Unwilling to spend a beautiful summer evening arguing with a heckler, I swing off, climbing the web-line as I go.

I only get about a half a block away when I hear the loud, dull whumpph of an explosion nearby. The explosion is followed by the chatter of gunfire, mixed with an electric crackle that sounds like a high-schools science experiment gone wild.

Rob Robertson will have to wait. Something has come up–something that requires the presence of your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

The shots are coming from near by. Swinging around the corner, I get the full picture from three stories above street level.

The center of the street is blocked by an overturned armored vehicle. The truck bears an insignia of a blue horse's head, but otherwise looks like standard US government issue. The truck's massive rear door has been blown off it's hinges and is laying nearby. Army Jeeps, also with the blue horse-head symbol, are pulled over in front and rear of the truck–apparently escorts for whatever was inside the truck.

The occupants of the Jeeps, men and women dressed in blue uniforms, have piled out and are using the vehicles for cover. Their attackers are across the street, crouched in an alleyway: two men, dressed in green body suits, armed with massive weapons that resemble WWII bazookas. These weapons are the source of the unearthly crackling I heard earlier, and the pair are firing random bolts of yellowish lightning at the guards in the Jeeps, keeping them pinned down.

The smoke from the fight clears for a moment, and I see in neat lettering beneath the symbol on the truck, the word: "PEGASUS". Good Gravy! The boys and girls in blue are from Project: PEGASUS.

Project: PEGASUS is an alternate energy source project located in upstate New York, funded by the state department of energy. In the past, the project has investigated alternate forms of energy derived from super-powered criminals, a number of which are former foes of mine. An empty armored truck does not bode well. At least I know who's team I'm on. Whoever would try to knock over an armored truck belonging to PEGASUS has to be up to no good.

I'm not sure why these two groups chose a crowded New York city street to fight in, but it's apparent the guys in green are not too worried about inflicting civilian casualties. This looks like a job tailor-made for the web-slinging wonder, and it might also be a good time to make a few bucks shooting Spider-Man in action.

I find a likely-looking ledge nearby and, drawing my camera out from my belt, mount it firmly with a dab of webbing. I activate the automated timer to continuously snap shots at 5-second intervals.

All these actions come automatically, smoothly developed over years of taking pictures of myself in action. These pictures, sold first to Jameson and the to Robertson at The Daily Bugle, have supplemented my income over the years, and are now my main source of ready cash.

I watch the unfolding battle and notice that the guys in the blue jumpsuits from PEGASUS are taking a pounding from their attackers. There doesn't seem to be a lot of movement from around the truck, one of those heavily armored monsters favored by the military, but fortunately there are no dead bodies, either. The guys with the lightning-firing bazookas look like members of HYDRA, but the green on their uniforms is too washed-out and they are missing the distinctive armband. Could some other flaky subversive group with bad taste have picked up these outfits at a rummage sale and decided to blow up government vehicles?

My fashion analysis is forgotten as my Spider-Sense, the heightened extra-sensory perception that warns me or immediate danger, kicks into full gear. One of the goons in the alley has spotted me, and the way my Spider-Senses are tingling in my head tell me he's got me lined up in his crosshairs.

I dodge out of the way at the last moment, as a massive bolt of electricity carves an equally large gash out of the brick wall, just inches away from my camera. If I wasn't sure before that the guys with the heavy artillery are the bad guys, that little bit of hate mail convinces me. Not only are these fellas dangerous, they're downright unfriendly. Could it be they're friends of that loudmouthed Mets fan, or at least be listening to the same podcasts and reading the same editorials?

My dodging drops me down to just above street level. One of the PEGASUS guards spots me and waves me away. "Get back!!" She shouts, "it's dangerous around here!"

"Surely you jest!" I snap back. "It's more dangerous trying to catch a cab when the theaters and bars let out than this little garden party." I'm too low to web up the bad guys without catching some innocent bystanders. My best move would be to try to get in between the two thugs.

I tense my muscles to leap across the street.

Flexing the muscles that give me the proportional strength and agility of a spider, I leap into the fray. A bolt of energy sears across the street, blasting through the wall directly behind me.

If I'd hung around there, I'd be a crispy critter for sure.

I somersault through the air and over the line of PEGASUS guards.

"Hold your fire, ladies and gents!" I shout, bouncing off the hood of the nearest Jeep. "Perforating my uniform with lead violates the warranty and will mess up your civil service record something fierce!"

A blast of lightning-like forces ionizes the air on top of the Jeep where I stood just moments before. Before the flash has dimmed I'm across the street, directly above the goons.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you guys don't like me. You've been reading the editorials in the Bugle, haven't you?" I quip, as I drop between them. "If you surrender now, I'll arrange for Jameson to visit your cell."

"Eat shock-zooka, webspinner!" Says the thug on my right as he fires a blast from his futuristic weapon.

"Shock-zooka!!" I laugh, dodging the fiery blast. "You'd think the people who use these deadly gadgets would at least come up with an original name for them! Sounds like a monster that fought Godzilla for Tokyo."

Before the thug can get in another shot, I rush him, grabbing the battery-operated bazooka and ripping it from his grasp. The goon on my left, a little dumpier than the other, watches in wonderment, muttering "He moves so fast." The second goon seems so amazed by my speed he has forgotten to aim his own weapon at me.

"You guys are just slow as snails," I taunt, lashing out with both arms at the assailants, "And now it's nighty-night time Shnooky-Ookums!"

I catch both goons flush on the jaw. The weapons clatter to the ground, and I'm left the only one standing in the alley.

So why is my Spidey-Sense still ringing in my ears like a three-alarm fire? I scan the empty alleyway, and no one is there. Not even any garbage or trash cans. A suspiciously well-kept New York alley…

Except for that manhole…

My Spidey-Sense shifts to a frantic pitch, and I realize the danger is from the manhole itself! Something nasty's down there, and I don't think I want to be here to find out what it is!

I leap straight up into the air, reaching for a fire-escape ladder hanging twenty feet up. I am no less than halfway towards my goal when the shockwave of an explosion sends me flying even higher! The booming thunderclap comes from below, and the walls shake as flames jet out the mouth of the manhole. The ground is shattered into a crazy quilt of broken asphalt.

The darkness of the alley is brilliantly lit for a half a heartbeat. The ground heaves and cracks run through the walls. I am thrown clear of the mouth of the alley and only avoid injury from a jagged piece of broken flying pipe by curling into a rolling crouch.

I land on the overturned security truck. Smoke drifts through the alleyway. My two playmates are sprawled out at the mouth of the alley. Guards from the PEGASUS protect are already checking them, while others are moving down the alley itself. A tall blonde woman in a blue jumpsuit stands in the midst of the scene, barking orders. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and she seems to be taking the entire situation, explosion included, as a personal affront.

"Get down that alley!" She shouts at a pair of men, "try to find them!"

"Find who?" I ask, jumping down next to her. She glances at me sideways long enough to know that I am still among the living, but doesn't reply. Find who?! I still want to know. I thought I already took care of the crooks involved.

One of the guards approaches me and the blond woman. "I've contacted the NYPD. Paramedics are en route. There's an APB out for 'em."

"All-points Bulletin?! Who are you looking for?" I ask, but again receive no answer. "I only saw two goons. How many more were there?"

Another guard comes out of the alley. "Explosion in the sewers, ma'am. Awful mess. Must've been an arms depot or something. No sign of them. They must have had a vehicle waiting at the other end of the alley."

"Now wait just a minute!" I shout, turning around to face the head honcho. "Who is missing? Who got away? Who are you looking for?"

She stares at me for a moment, as if I just wandered on to the scene."I suppose you would need to know," she says. "You missed seeing them take him away."

"Let's just say, given the fact that I almost had my head handed to me by thugs with sci-fi blasters, I'm more than mildly curious." Mentally, I am counting to ten.

"We were escorting a prisoner from project headquarters to a parole hearing when we were ambushed." She explained. "The prisoner's name is Maxwell Dillon. You probably know him as Electro."

ELECTRO!

Early in my career as the webspinning wonder I first crossed paths with Maxwell Dillon, better known as the villainous Electro. A freak bolt of lightning transformed him from a lineman for Consolidated Edison into a master of living electricity, who promptly turned his newfound talents to crime. Each time he has gone on a rampage, I have hunted him down and caught him, and each time he has found a way to escape.

A wave of rage washes through me. To be so close and let him get away! Electro has never been one to learn his lesson, or even to lie low for a little bit. He'll be around, looking for revenge! And until he makes his move, me and all the people around Spider-Man are targets.

"Spider-Man?" The commander of the PEGASUS security force intrudes on my thoughts, "I would like to thank you for your help. When these guys recover we'll be sure to get some answers out of them."

"Right," I say, shaking my head. "But by that time, Electro will be miles away."

She shrugs her shoulders. "We do the best we can, when we can. Look, these clowns are going to St.Arbogast's Hospital. Is there somewhere you can be reached when they come to?"

"I'll be around."

"Have it your way, then," she says, nodding, "if you have problems, tell them Captain Nash sent you." With that she turns away and starts shouting at her troops. "You men! Clear those Jeeps out of the way! Let's let those ambulances in! Bashfield! You and Lawson help set up the barriers. Have the police brass arrived yet?!"

Just wonderful. Electro on the loose and all I caught werr a couple of small fry. To top it all off, Peter Parker is even later for that meeting. Some days, as the rabbit said, you shoulda stood in bed.

I leap atop the overturned truck, bouncing off the PEGASUS emblem. At the high point of the leap, I loose a single strand of webbing, mooring it against a handy flagpole jutting out from the Empire State Building three stories above me.

Twisting my body, I swing up to the highest point, then fire another strand, and in this fashion swing off into the night, hoping to make it to the Bugle before Robbie gives up hope on me. Behind me, the whine of the police sirens and the shouts of captain Nash are lost in the ambient city noise.

#marvel #marvel comics #marvel characters #comic books #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #l1t3rat1 #my fanfiction #spiderman #peter parker #j jonah jameson #electro #pegasus #marvel fanfic series #aunt may

[ofswordandcrowns]

Here ye, here ye, for (TRISTAN) of HOUSE (GAUTHIER), the (MASTER OF WHISPERS) of (DELE) has just arrived. They are (FORTY-TWO), and look a great deal like (MICHIEL HUISMAN). Their vassals have described them as (CHARMING & SUAVE) but they also claim that they can be a bit (INDULGENT & MANIPULATIVE)

basic info

full name — Tristan Yric Gauthier

nickname - Tris, The Father of Whores

age — Forty-Two

kingdom — Dele

gender — cis male

religion —devout follower of Ezthos

occupation — Lord of Dele & Master Of Whispers - also owns a great many brothels throughout the country that he uses to gain his information as his whores are his sources... but no one knows this.

living arrangements — A manor in Newgarde, but also has several apartments throughout the kingdoms and a room in the royal palace as well.

other information- definitely has a few bastards throughout Aladonia, including a prince potentially

physical info

face claim — Michiel Huisman

hair — dark brown / eyes — blue

height — six foot & four inches

clothing style — robes with intricate designs upon them, colors vary to match his mood, and usually a simple sleep shirt underneath. not very professional for a man on the small council, as morris often scolded him for, but it's what he prefers to wear and he doesn't get complaints from other people.

sexual preference — true versatile. he just loves sex. big ol' ho.

With parents that had struggled to conceive even their first child, Tristan was seen as a blessing when he came several years after his elder brother - Morris. While Morris had already proven to be an impressive man, one that was already earning the respect of the people even as a kid, they knew that it was always wise to have another child or two in case something were to happen... they just didn't expect to wind up with a kid like Tristan. Lessons weren't his favorite things, really, and he often found himself daydreaming when he was supposed to be learning - and when he hit puberty, he found that his lessons became even more boring as all he found himself fantasizing about was sex.

Most people thought that by the time he became an adult, his fascination with sex would have diminished - but it didn't. Known to be a bit of a scoundrel, Tristan developed a healthy habit of finding a new partner for his bed every day - though that didn't mean he simply threw away the ones that he had bedded either - and it got to the point where Morris had grown furious with him to the point he knew he needed to punish him. And thus he forced a marriage upon him and told him that if he wished to not be banished, he would be sure to continue the family line.

And Tristan did... He put a baby in his husband's belly, but soon after the babe was born, he and his husband divorced as his husband had grown distraught with constantly finding Tristan in bed with some whores from a local whorehouse. But, technically, Tristan did as his brother had asked. He had a legitimate son, and he wasn't even the one to call the marriage off. And just when Morris was about to denounce him, Tristan told him something utterly clever - that because of his friendships with whores, he's began to learn a lot of important information. Information that came from important men from all over, men that began to speak too much after being pleasured like they had never been before, and he said that he could be an asset to his brother if he allowed him to live as he pleased.

And that was how, reluctantly, his brother had named him the Master of Whispers.

Many often wonder how Tristan is able to garner the information he has, but over the years, Tristan has expanded beyond simple friendships with whores. Using the money he has amassed as frequent gambler and hustler, he began to buy up whorehouses throughout the country and, as promised, he had placed the friends of his that were whores to be the ones in charge of the buildings. No one is aware that Tristan is the one that owns the buildings, everyone simply believing that the whore that manages it is the owner, but all of his friends deliver the pillow talk they hear to Tristan. He took care of them, so they take care of him.

With his brother's death, though, he has been working hard to ensure that his whores try their best to get the answers required... To find out who wanted his brother dead, to find out who may be next, and to find out why they had done this... But so far, he has yet to yield any answers. And he's worried that if he doesn't find any, his nephew may decide that he was no longer an asset to the throne.

#(about tristan)

[angryobjectyouth]

11 "Faux Pas" That Are Actually Okay to Make With Your abela danger

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[jsewilsns]

✦ ᴅᴀᴄʀᴇ ᴍᴏɴᴛɢᴏᴍᴇʀʏ, ᴄɪs ᴍᴀʟᴇ, ʜᴇ/ʜɪᴍ ✦ 𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍 the 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 year old has been in Hidehill for 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 and was a 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 to Jade Parker, the missing person . Whispers on the streets are that the 𝐅𝐈𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 & 𝐂𝐎𝐁𝐑𝐀’𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐗𝐈 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 who lives in 𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊. He is said to be 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 and 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 but I guess we’ll find out for ourselves. { ɴᴏᴠᴀ, ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ, ᴀsᴛ, sʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ. }

hey demons it’s ya gorl nova, coming in hot with this rootin tootin doozy of a dude!!  jesse’s a long time muse of mine that i’ve neglected for far too long, so i’m super stoked to get behind the wheel again and begin writing with all of you!  feel free to hmu if you’d like to plot, or give this post a like and i’ll hop into your ims xo

———— ◽️ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒

full name.    jesse eugene wilson

nickname.    jess

birthdate.    october 22nd  ( scorpio )

gender.    cis male  ( he / him )

sexuality.    straight

relationship.    complicated

familia.    wayne wilson  ( dad, deceased ) ,  rachel wilson nee baker ( mom, in jail ) ,  judith baker ( g-ma, bingo hustler ) ,  wanye jr. ( older brother, estranged ) ,  jocelyn ( older sister, manager of the playpen ) ,  maisie ( younger sister, college out of state ) ,  blake ( younger brother, high school student )

occupation.    driver for cobra’s taxi & lifeguard at fig beach

traits.    boisterous, combative, dauntless, eccentric, evasive, loyal, protective, reckless, stubborn, volatile

inspiration.    jason stackhouse ( true blood ) ,  jj maybank ( outer banks ) ,  lip gallagher ( shameless )

———— ◽️ 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐏

the wilsons have a reputation of being a wild bunch, very loosely based on the family dynamics of the gallaghers (shameless) and fez's fam (euphoria). raised in hadley park, they definitely weren’t financially well off and were notorious for having the cops show up at their trailer.

their dad, wayne, was an obnoxious and sometimes violent drunk, so he was in and out of custody a lot, while their poor mom worked tooth and nail to keep their family afloat but was understandably spread incredibly thin, so .... she had a pretty short fuse when it came to being patient with the kids. 

TW: death, murder.  long story short, their mom finally cracked after enduring all she could and shot their good for nothing, abusive dad point blank. this resulted in rachel serving life behind bars for the last ten years, which left the kids to be raised by their maternal grandma, judith.

in total, there are five siblings; three brothers, and two sisters. the first (wayne jr.) married into a rich family abroad, took his wife's last name and skipped out on them, embarrassed to even be associated with his own blood. the fourth (maisie) has been attending college out of state, which is a huge deal in their family, but she periodically visits during holidays and breaks. the fifth (blake) is in high school and he still lives with their grandma.

jesse was a troublemaker growing up and lowkey still is pretty rowdy. as a kid, he got into all kinds of shit and pressed every button he knew to set off a reaction in his parents, most likely just looking for attention. as a teen, it only got worse, especially when he tried to intervene whenever his parents got into physical altercations. multiple suspensions from school for getting into fights, abusing whatever he could get into his body at parties (which usually also ended up in a fight), and disregarding any sort of curfew or rules set at home. he simply did not give a fuck.

his mom’s breakdown and dad’s death shook him up a bit. he was used to the chaos in the wilson household, figured it was normal; that every home was toxic in one way or another. but he never imagined something so tragic would be a result of it. he visits his mom when he can get the time off work and make the trip to the state prison, more so out of obligation and guilt than him actually wanting to see her.

while packing up and leaving hidehill in the dust is a tempting ideal, jesse feels his legacy is in his hometown. his family, the trailer park, the community of hidehill in general is important to him. if you asked him, though, he’d never admit to it. in fact, he’d call it a shithole, like the rest of them. 

———— ◽️ 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒

played football in high school just to be able to tackle and get into fights with rival teams. also played guitar in a garage band. they disbanded soon after graduating though, barely having time to practice once they started working or studying in college, etc. but jesse still occasionally shreds some wicked solos on his old electric guitar when the mood hits.

pretty big fan of motorized toys. drives a red 1984 ford bronco, which he regularly hotboxes when he’s not working. also has his dad’s old dirt bike in his possession, which he rips around on the outskirts of town. 

one of the best drivers employed with cobra’s taxi because of the small amount of time it takes him to whip around hidehill’s streets. however, he’s known to be a little unhinged behind the wheel, so he gets mixed reviews.

the main reason he signed up to be a lifeguard was to get paid to chill at the beach lmao. but he’s like a fish out of water and quick to pull a baywatch run when needed.

because of the past abuse / trauma within the family, he has reoccurring night terrors, cold sweats, the whole shebang. potentially suffering from undiagnosed ptsd, and he thinks he does well to keep it under wraps with his boyish charm, but boy’s got some ugly anger issues.

frequents big guns, fast gas, dave’s liquor store, late night slice, and the playpen. definitely favors the nightlife hidehill has to offer.

smokes like a chimney, if that wasn’t already obvious lmao. tobacco or weed, he doesn’t discriminate.

wanted connections: a best frenemy, childhood friends / enemies, former bandmates, workout buddies, party buddies, cousins / aunts / uncles, ride or die, partner in crime, former flings / hook ups, good influences, bad influences, regular taxi customers, open to anything!

#hidehillintro #death tw #abuse tw

[nolareignudaku]

“Most little girls are made from sugar, spice & everything nice. But Nola? Nola was a chaotic mix of crystals, hood, and wish a nigga would, and that shit had me stuck..” - Darnell “Stunna” Jeffries

To say that my parents were prepared for my arrival would be a stretch. Hell, I don’t even think Oshun knew the magnitude my presence would have on the world when I arrived that warm Friday morning in May of ‘92.

I was an only child, born in New Orleans, LA to Haitian-American Giséle Devereaux and Bahamian-Jamaican Leonard Baptiste. We lived a comfortable life, my mother being a pediatric nurse at Tulane Medical Center and my father an entertainment attorney. If I could describe my childhood in one word, it would be diverse. From old nursery rhymes to books about our independence and freedom, my parents made sure that my island heritage was thoroughly ingrained in me. So much so that by the time I was 5 years old, I was fluent in not only English, but French, Spanish, and my family’s regional dialects of Haitian Creole and Jamaican Patois.

It was also because of my heritage that I was extremely charismatic and a natural born hustler. My paternal grandfather would always joke that I could sell water to a fish and charm a rattlesnake out of its rattles.

“It’s the eyes, I tell you!” He would always say. “Them eyes gone get a lot of men in trouble with this one.”

He wasn’t wrong. One bat of these big ole brown eyes, coupled with a smile from my full lips granted me my every desire each and every time. A blessing and a curse if I were to be honest. When I wasn’t dancing Kompa with my mother or in the studio with my father when he met with clients, I was on the corner of our block selling my homemade Nola honey lemonade. It was a neighborhood favorite and I sold out each and every time I made it. Many of the older women in the neighborhood offered to pay me for the recipe, but I never told. It was a mix that I’d come up with myself and I was quite proud of it. I’d like to think that Oshun was fond of it too, as all of my manifestations came to life whenever I left some on her altar.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” my father remarked proudly, listening as I sang along to one of my mother’s favorite Kompa songs. “Her intelligence is mind-blowing. Do you know she made $4,000 this week from her lemonade? At this rate, she’ll be a millionaire before she goes to high school.”

“She’s far ahead in her studies too,” my mother adds with a smile. “Her counselors project her to be in college by the time she’s 13.”

“And if she follows in your footsteps, she’ll have her BSN or MD by the time she’s 21,” my father says with his chest proudly poked out.

“Actually, I don’t think I want to go to medical school,” I said, alerting them that I had been listening to their conversation. “I want to major in the arts: music, theater, painting. Those are the things that fuel my soul.”

“Well whatever you choose, we’ll support you 1000% my little sunflower,” my father smiled.

“Besides, I hate the sight of blood,” I added with finality, earning a hearty laugh from them both.

Only off by 2 years, I received acceptance letters from Harvard, Yale, and MIT on my 14th birthday. The decision was an easy one, as I had fallen in love with MIT’s campus when we toured the previous summer. I chose to major in Theater Arts with a minor in music. Music was a huge part of my life due to my father’s occupation, and I just knew that I was going to be the next Michael Jackson.

“You can study that here, mon chéri,” my mother whined as my father loaded my last suitcase in the trunk. “Why do you have to go so far away?”

“Mommy, I’m only going to be a 3-hour flight away. It takes longer than that to go see granmé in Saint-Marc.”

“Exactly! You’re going to see your granmé, family. I don’t know those colonizers.”

I playfully rolled my eyes at her antics. She had the nerve to call me a brat, yet here she was throwing a tantrum about me going off to college. Before I could offer a rebuttal, my father’s hearty chuckle rang through my eyes.

“Cut the cord, Giséle. The gyal may be young, but she got a good head on her shoulders. She’ll be just fine. Besides, she know what to do in case somebody mess with her, ain’t that right baby?”

I shot him a knowing grin before twirling my necklace between my fingers. Hoodoo was a major practice on both sides of my family and when I was born, my maternal grandmother blessed a talisman and placed it around my neck for protection.

“I know, baba.”

—

The flight was shorter than I initially thought. I arrived in Massachusetts in 2 hours, opting to take an Uber to campus. I was thankful that I was granted a single room for no additional cost, perks of my scholarship. I chose to decorate my dorm like my room at home. Sunflowers and mirrors donned the wall opposite my bed, an homage to my orisha head, Oshun. Under that was my altar and my meditation corner. I picked yellow and gold decorative pillows to match the yellow cloth of the table and added some sandalwood fans to appease my goddess. The wall behind my bed housed my vinyls and various pictures of my parents and grandparents, as well as the Jamaican, Bahamian, & Haitian flags, homage to my island heritage.

“Now this feels like home,” I said proudly, lighting my favorite cinnamon scented incense to relax my growing nerves. Classes began the next day and I was beyond excited to get started. I was already mentally prepared for the side eyes and snarky remarks when people found out my age and what my first name was. But in the back of my mind, I was ready. I was ready to take on the world and show everyone just what the 5’0 pre-teen had to offer.

I started the next morning with a silent prayer and an offering to my goddess. I left her some of my Nola honey lemonade, 5 peel oranges drizzled with cinnamon and honey, and 5 cowrie shells.

“Asé Oshun,” I said silently before snuffing the 5-day candle. I was thankful that I roomed by myself. Explaining my rituals and ancestral practices is something that I didn’t have the energy for, especially to a non-black person.

I intentionally set my alarm for an hour before my first class so that I may take my time to familiarize myself with the campus. I took in the lush greenery, making mental notes of all the places I wanted to sit for a study session before making my way to the auditorium.

My Script Analysis professor went around the room doing the usual ice breaker activities: name, age, hometown, etc. When it was my turn, she offered me a stool to stand on because I was so small compared to everyone else.

“Whose kid is that?” I heard a male voice call out over the quiet auditorium. I simply smiled proudly and began my introduction.

“Bonjour. Je m'appelle Hennessy.”

#the kompound multiverse #the kompound reboot #nola reign

[wcaringthin]

the bottom dropping out of a box you’re carrying. using your last five bucks to treat someone to an ice cream. plaid shirts with the sleeves ripped off. instant ramen and off-brand cereal. second, third, and hundredth chances. the clinging smell of cigarette smoke. blue jeans and yesterday’s t-shirt. dreaming of a better future. an unearned sense of self-confidence. spilling coffee down yourself. faking it ‘til you make it. skating through life with a wink and a smile. refusing to stay down. always looking for a silver lining. a pile of bills marked ‘final notice’.

statistics.

full name:  andrew colm mclaughlin nickname(s): drew, andy name meaning:  strong and manly (lol) age:  twenty-seven date of birth:  october 8th star sign:  libra place of birth: indianapolis, indiana current location: hawkins, indiana gender:  cis-male pronouns:  he/him sexual orientation:  pansexual religion:  catholic, but not really occupation:  bartender at the hideaway while it lasts family:  francis “frank” collins (father), mairead mclaughlin (mother) siobhan “shiv” mclaughlin (sibling) finn mclaughlin (brother) education level: high school sophomore (dropped out) living arrangements:  lives at the forest hills trailer park with his siblings financial status:  poor spoken languages:  english

inspirations.

nick wilde (zootopia) ferris bueller (ferris bueller’s day off) doug judy (brooklyn 99) the hustler kid (recess) lip gallagher (shameless) jason mendoza (the good place) clint barton (marvel comics)

biography. (parental neglect, abandonment)

Some people aren’t supposed to be parents. That fact would immediately become clear on meeting Frank Collins and Mairead McLaughlin; two people that barely had control over their own lives, let alone that of the newborn they now had to care for.

The family (if you could call it that) relocated to Hawkins from Indianapolis when Drew was three years old, taking up residence at the Forest Hill trailer park, since it was all they could afford. Drew’s parents were rarely home at the same time, and if they were, they were either arguing or... making up. 

When Drew’s first sibling arrived, he was beside himself. He loved having a little buddy to hang out with all the time, even if they were kind of boring at first, because they mostly just slept and pooped. He quickly developed a talent for making baby Shiv laugh, crossing his eyes and pulling funny faces until they stopped crying. He knew how to change a diaper and mix formula before he was five.

Starting school was a challenge. He didn’t like being away from Shiv, and found it difficult to get his head around learning letters and numbers, because god knows his parents didn’t give him much of a framework to go off. He compensated for this by being the loudest voice in the classroom, always ready with a joke and a smile, something to distract people or make them like him.

Frank finally split for good a few weeks after his youngest son, Finn, arrived, and Mairead was already well on her way to checking out entirely. The McLaughlin siblings could often be found wandering around town by themselves: a seven year old boy pushing a baby in a too-large pram with one hand, while a sticky three year old clung to the other. Drew was doing his best to keep his siblings together, and was already a prolific liar, fending off the concerns of other adults with a wave and a smile.

His money-making schemes started early. He took to shoplifting candy and toys from the dollar store, and selling them back to his classmates at a mark up on the playground. When he got caught, he got in a lot of trouble, but it had only been a week, and he’d already made over fifty bucks. It seemed like a fortune to a ten year old, and his path was set.

Mairead vanished the year Drew turned sixteen. He reasoned it didn’t matter all that much, since he was already basically raising his siblings, and he thought they’d probably be a lot happier without having to worry about their mom all the time. He dropped out of high school after finishing his sophomore year, deciding it was more important to dedicate his time to generating some income.

Since then, Drew has been employed at virtually every establishment in town. Each job only ever seems to work out for a few months at a time before something goes wrong and he ends up back where he started. He means well, but he’s not good at anything, and his continued attempts at side-hustles invariably end up getting him into trouble.

He doesn’t really consider himself a criminal, but he’s definitely done some things of questionable legality in the name of trying to support his family. He has been known to steal, and has been an on-and-off drug dealer since high school.

It’s kind of ironic that when the earthquake hit, the McLaughlins’ home was one of the few that survived the destruction of the trailer park. They had so little to lose, even in comparison with their neighbours, that they may have been better equipped to deal with the change in circumstances - but their trailer was miraculously untouched.

All this to say, Drew McLaughlin is a loser. He won’t give up though - one day, he’s gonna make the big time, and everything’s gonna be different. Maybe it’s not his weekend, but it’s gonna be his year!

other things.

drew idolises bruce springsteen. it’s no accident that he dresses the way he does.

he has fallen prey to at least two multi-level marketing schemes in his life. he doesn’t want to talk about it.

his favourite flavour of ice cream is cherry garcia. he goes to scoops ahoy! insisting it’s his birthday every three months or so, relying on staff turn over so he won’t get caught out.

there was a brief period where drew was selling bootleg video tapes. you may own a copy of ‘a stir is barn’, ‘saturday knight fervour’ or ‘plant of the apes’.

drew walks everywhere. never learning to drive is probably the only thing he really regrets, but it’s so expensive!

he has the words ‘never back down’ tattooed on his bicep, and a wonky stick-and-poke smiley face that he did himself on his ankle. 

this is his second time working at the hideaway. he begged the owner to take him back after the earthquake, because the grind never stops. 

he’d rather be barefoot than wear shoes. this is probably because he hasn’t had a new pair in about five years, and the old ones hurt his feet.

#drew: about #what he thinks he is: lovable rogue #what he actually is: memetic loser

[judywilde911]

Nicholas P. Wilde

VO: Jason Bateman

Basics:

Alignment: Neutral (formerly)

Sex: Male

Species: Fox

Zodiac sign: Capricorn ♑️

Favourite food: Blueberries

Trauma: PTSD about being muzzled and not being accepted in society

Occupation:

Hustler (formerly)

Cop (as Judy’s partner)

_________________________________

Family:

Mother: Vivian Wilde

Father: John Wilde (✝️ / M.I.A)

AU:

Wife: Judy Hopps

Son: John

Daughter: Diane Foxington

Son-in-law: Moe Wolf (😈)

In-laws: Bonnie & Stu Hopps

_________________________________

Nicknames:

Nick (by himself and everyone else)

Slick Nick (by Judy)

Officer Wilde (by Chief Bogo and his coworkers)

Nicky (by Mr. Big)

AU:

Mr. Wilde

Dad (by his children)

_________________________________

Family name:

Wilde

_________________________________

Appearance/ personality:

Nick has green eyes and slick orange fur, a bushy tail and pointy ears.

Casual attire:

He normally wears a green Hawaiian shirt with brown khakis and a tie

Work attire:

He wears a blue police uniform and a black tie oftentimes with dark sunglasses

How would you describe Nick’s personality?

* Smug

* Humorous

* Sly

* Persuasive

* Smooth-talker

* Fatherly

* Loyal

* Protective

* Intelligent

#nick wilde #zootopia #jason bateman #VO

[eddysocs]

Introducing: Quinn Anderson

Fandom: Marvel

Face Claim: Ester Exposito

Full Name: Quinn Janelle Anderson

Age: 26

Myers Briggs Type: ENFP

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Powers/Abilities: Able to minorly influence luck

Love Interest: Jeri Hogarth

Occupation: Hustler/Part Time Informant

Collections: Bottle Caps

Style/Clothing: Black, sleek, stylish, tight fitting. That’s what best describes Quinn's fashion sense. And she’s not shy about showing a lot of skin. Short, low cut dresses are aplenty in her wardrobe.

Signature Quote: "What’s the point of taking a gamble without a little luck on your side?"

Plot Summary: Quinn's always been a hustler. She knows her way through every loophole of the law. Or, so she thinks. But an act of self defense lands her in some legal hot water and after calling in a favor from old pal Jessica Jones, she gets acquainted with Jeri Hogarth, lawyer extraordinaire. But when it’s case closed, will the two be able to go their separate ways?

Forever Tag: @arrthurpendragon, @borg-queer, @sunlitscrib, @antonybridgertons, @foxesandmagic, @villain-connoisseur, @fiercefray, @misshiraeth98, @bravelittleflower, @raith-way, @farrradays, @eleanorstulip, @starklore, @hiddenqveendom, @xxfanenbyanonymousxx, @trash0saurus

Quinn Anderson: @adrianas-ocs-and-such

#oc: quinn anderson #fc: ester exposito #fd: marvel

[highhcpess]

Basic Info:

Full name: Marcus "Pills" Thompson

Nickname(s): Pills, Marcus

Age: 37

Date of birth: May 12th

Place of birth: Los Angeles, CA

Height: 6'4"

Weight: 195lbs

Hair: dark brown

Eyes: piercing blue

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Sexuality: heterosexual

Hobbies: Djing, smoking weed, partying and hanging out with his boys, dealing prescription drugs, and picking up girls for a good time (and often times, a good lay)

Languages: English, hood/ghetto slang

History:

- Born and raised in Los Angeles, Marcus grew up in a rough neighborhood, where he learned to navigate the streets from a young age.

- Dropped out of high school due to financial struggles at home and turned to selling drugs to make ends meet.

- Started with small-scale marijuana dealing but quickly moved on to selling pills due to higher profit margins.

- Operates independently, avoiding affiliation with any gangs or criminal organizations to maintain autonomy and minimize risks.

- Became known for his reliability and discretion, building a network of clients through word-of-mouth and discreet advertising.

- Despite the illegal nature of his business, Marcus prides himself on providing quality products and ensuring customer satisfaction.

- Keeps a low profile in his personal life, preferring to blend in with the crowd and avoid unnecessary attention.

-He's known among the lower class, drug community as someone who provides a high-quality product at a fair price. As a result, many people seek out his services and trust his judgement. However, he also has enemies who are envious of his success and seek to bring him down.

Personality:

Marcus "Pills" Thompson is a laid-back, charismatic man who values loyalty above all else. He's a smooth talker and always has a smile on his face, even when he's dealing with his competitors. His friends and clients call him a natural born salesman, and he uses his charm and wit to keep his customers coming back. He can be tough when needed, especially when it comes to protecting his friends and business, but he's usually more than willing to cut a deal rather than fight. He prefers a simple life, free from the complexities and problems of the criminal underworld.

He has an abundance of confidence and charisma, which is backed up by his physical presence and skill set. He's quick-witted and knows exactly how to get what he wants from other people, whether that be information, respect, or something more tangible.

Despite his illegal activities, Marcus operates with a strict code of ethics, prioritizing customer safety and satisfaction above all else. This ensures a constant stream of income and makes him a reliable source for his clients. As a result, he rarely finds himself in dire financial circumstances and lives comfortably off the profits of his business.

He is resourceful and adaptable, always staying one step ahead of the competition and the law.

Marcus is fiercely independent, preferring to rely on his own instincts and abilities rather than seeking alliances or protection from others.

Marcus harbors a deep-seated ambition and drive to succeed in his chosen occupation. He values honesty and loyalty above all else, demanding it from his colleagues, clients, and friends. He believes strongly in the importance of trust, respect, and solidarity between those with whom he does business, both legal and illegal

Marcus "Pills" Thompson is a modern-day hustler, operating out of the cramped studio apartment he rents in the Bronx. He deals prescription drugs - OxyContin, Percocet, and Vicodin, mostly - to the folks who can't afford their high prices from legitimate sources.

Other info:

He drives a 2006 Nissan Maxima in forest green color. He prefers to walk around the city because he thinks it looks more clean and lowkey compared to riding the train or driving a car.

Prefers to smoke blunts instead of joints because they smell better and are made better, at least by him.

He has dead drops all over the city with cash and a gun in case he needs to go on the run.