#💕X TAG💕

[dolls-self-ships]

is this anything

[bakug0uzb1thc]

Part two of fem reader and bakugo cuddling pls (longer Version please)💗

eekkk i didnt think it would get so much attention here you go!!

PT 2 OF THIS !! :3

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“kat-" you tried to voice your complaints again, but it was short-lived by the same sleepy blonde telling you to 'shut up.’ He just wasn't letting up and you just knew someone saw.

"but- i just know someone saw us, oh were gonna be so screwed." you said franticly playing with his hair, only causing him to groan. "you're so paranoid, stop focusing on other people for once..." he mumbled from where he laid on your chest.

he could hear the way your heart rate increase, only further proving your concern with the position you laid with him. He was flush against your body with his weight slowly suffocating you.

"I'm sorry its just ugh.. never mind." you tried to calm yourself down from your cloud of worry but it didn't stop your nerves from being on edge.

your face felt hot with his attitude towards the situation you had found yourself in. how nonchalant he was being about this made you squirm, did he not care at all? (he didn't.)

he knew you weren't huge on PDA and you liked to keep your close relationship private but it was messing with his beauty sleep and his temper grew even shorter then when he was fully awake.

he got up, which made you calm down a bit but before you could let out your sigh of relief he grabbed your waist and threw you over his shoulder causing you to squeal.

You weren't sure what would cause your classmates to freak out more; The two of you cuddling or you thrown over his shoulder with a hand full of your ass.

"ah- kat what are you-" you held on tight to his compression shirt from the back, scared of being upside down and the possibility he might drop you if you complained about his actions. "I'm tired and I'm sick of your whining. you need to learn to shut up." he fought a yawn as his hand trailed from the dent behind your knee to your lower ass, not anything sexual it was just where he found his hand resting.

"uh-" you didn't know what to tell him or throw back to defend yourself, you just held on tight curious on which room he was headed to.

"yer lucky you're getting your way." he scoffed making his way to his room, not feeling the hassle of accidentally bumping into anyone on your floor. it took him about 2.5 seconds to put you in the same position you were in on the commons couch.

he loved the soft cushion of your chest, built in pillows for all his tired mind could think as far of. "now are you gonna be quiet or am i going to have to smother you with a pillow, brat." he was unique in the way he shows his love towards you, you knew his words had no ill intent behind them but it did make you giggle from his groggy state.

"nono I'm done i swear." you smiled, pushing your head deeper into the pillow that felt like was pre-fluffed just for you. (it was.) "good." he mumbled before closing his eyes and resuming what you had so rudely interrupted. "you're so needy.." you whispered, thinking he was asleep.

"i will suffocate you don't try your luck." he countered which made you laugh before kissing the top of his head. You loved your 'best friend.' ;p

[ddragonqueenn]

Aventurine wants you to think his love language is gift giving, considering he's constantly giving you gifts and doing things for you. He's a bold spender, 15,000 on a ring, 100,000 for a new, custom designed coat, and whatever other jaw-dropping amounts of credits he can spend on you, he will. It seems to anyone else that Aventurine really loves giving gifts, he showers you in presents more than anyone else- and he's a pretty big spender for anyone.

But, really, his love language is physical touch and quality time. Just having you near, being in your company, it's enough to make his heart skip a beat. Actually being able to touch you, have a hand against your shoulder- or waist- pulling you close enough that you're practically squished against him, whatever annoyingly couple-y stuff he can do, he will do so.

[syluses]

you are such a talented writer—literally art through words

i have got to ask: how was/is sylus during your pregnancy? how does he feel seeing your body change to accommodate growing his big babies?

also, does she end up giving him a girl? do they end up having even more? 🤭

ohhh thank you dear thats so sweet to hear!! 🥹💖 pls take this lil drabble as a long answer lol :,) [based off this fic] CW: slight yandere, pregnancy, suggestive, dubious feelings

hehe OKAY so sylus is super attentive to mc we’ve established that!! also i don’t wanna say he falls more in love with you bc that’s quite literally impossible- he’s already down atrocious. but that’s not to say something inside him doesn’t soften and melt into a puddle whenever he sees your belly bump or rubs it reverently with his hand. your pregnancy both reminds him to be strong, to be that one grounding force in your life, the thing both you and your blossoming family can lean on- but at the same time it brings the epiphany that he’s just a man at the end of the day… and if one thing will make him weak, it’s his wifey <3

but to concisely answer your question: sylus is possessive, yes- hawk-like in the way he watches over you, but he’s also very soft. he knows and hates that he can’t be around the base all the time for you (if life was simpler, he’d be glued to your side 24/7), especially when you’re at your most vulnerable, too big to properly move, hormonal and requiring some sort of aid- emotional or physical- around the clock.

luke and kieran help where they can and sylus silently entrusts that they’ll hold the fort down while he’s gone, but even then, papa isn’t the keenest on the idea of the boys lingering around you for long periods of time,… especially when he isn’t there as well. it’s not that he worries they’ll make some sort of move on you or anything (God knows they’d sooner wish death upon themselves than to lay a hand on sylus’s girl), but more so that you’ll grow a little too lenient on them. he’s not an incredibly jealous guy,.. but the streak is certainly there.

sylus thinks there’s something undeniably intimate in it as well: his beautiful wife pregnant with his kin, relying solely and fully on him. it deepens your bond, and your trust in him (and ultimately your affection, he hopes).

oh and seeing your body change and reshape itself to accommodate his kids ABSOLUTELY drives him crazy. you’ll be insecure and whatnot, subconsciously trying to wrap yourself in baggy clothes (his massive wardrobe making that very convenient), walking around the manor with a blanket draped over your shoulders, not meeting his eyes when sylus inevitably can’t keep his hands off for any longer and brings you to bed. but he’ll kiss away those tears you can’t help from falling and croon at your ear, his hands will appreciatively roam over all those new curves you loathe and he’ll be super super gentle when he fucks you... tell you the sweetest things- purring reassurance in that velvety, deep voice of his as his lips meld lovingly with yours.

seeing you a lil plump, extra soft and vulnerable- round with his children- makes it near impossible to keep a level head around you but he does his best. you’re always the priority, even when it feels like he’ll cum in his pants like a teenager when you slot yourself in his arms and bashfully guide his big hands toward your aching, swollen breasts. someone is standing at attention immediately.

ahem. also… this outcome can be imagined in another way, that’s completely fine wit me— but in my head, sylus DOES end up getting the precious baby girl he wanted. is he satisfied? oh one hundred freakin percent. for… how long? eh. maybe anywhere from half a year to twelve months before that baby fever kicks right back in and puts reader on her ASS. poor exhausted woman is furious at him for constantly nudging her towards having a bigger family; but to be fair, sylus won’t actually voice those returning wants until weeks or months down the line, for that exact reason. he doesn’t wanna piss her off too bad haha.

this time around he’ll try to cushion the blow by saying ‘oh but we have two boys and only one girl- we need just one more to tie the numbers up. our little sweetheart will hate us if we don’t give her someone to play dolls with, dont you think?’ or some nonsense like that. im sorry but to me, sylus wants a big family. i dunno i just think that man WANTS DESPERATELY for mc to domesticate his crazy ass!!! a bunch of trifling lil toddlers scampering around his home seems like a great way to do that! i mean, if not, what else would his house be so massive for? honestly, you’d both just be wasting the space otherwise :(

in any case, your mean pouty face can’t fool sylus. you absolutely adore those little ragamuffins he gave you and will give you. there’s no denying that. <3

[lewkwoodnco]

L&C x high school yearbook superlatives

LOCKWOOD & CO. (2023)

[devondespresso]

barista!eddie drawing a pentagram or whatever with the table cleaner while closing and accidentally summoning demon!steve, who's absolutely stoked to see a cozy little coffee shop for the first time

[jollyhunter]

The Potato Summoning *1

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETIE !!! This is for you 🧡 ENJOY!

⋆ ˚｡⋆ CHARACTERS Dean Winchester x @lamentationsofalonelypotato , Sam's also there!

WARNINGS Pure Crack (especially next part), Canon Violence / Swearing, Reader (Lee) is a student at the university, POV's all over the place (imagine it like in an episode)

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY Dean must go undercover at a university to solve a weird case of a series of deaths involving potatoes.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS 2,4k

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J / NOTE Would you believe me if I was to tell you that this was meant to be a drabble or an imagine, but I suddenly imagined it like an episode and just kept going, and now I had to stop myself before your birthday's over and instead make a two part mini series out of this??? Anway, I hope you like it so far, hun! <3

Dean ducks under the police tape, walking up to the body covered by a white sheet, sprawled out in the middle of the campus, while straightening his fake FBI uniform. He's closely followed by his younger brother who almost tore down the tape as he had tripped over his long legs, earning himself an amused smirk of Dean's.

Sam mutters an annoyed, "Shut up, jerk." under his breath, before his focus shifts to the victim in front of them.

"Sure, Sasquatch," Dean quips and leans down to pull back the sheet, uncovering the face of a guy who looks like he's been in his early 20s. The bright sun reflects in eyes wide in shock, the angular face partially framed by middle long, blond hair that's stuck to his sidebuns.

"Isn't that the douchebag who sexually harassed a girl the other day?" Dean asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, Tommie Parsons," Sam huffs through his nose while he flips his notebook open, "That's the third student in two months who dropped dead at exactly 1PM. What do you think? Revengeful spirit perhaps?"

"Or a curse..." - Dean hums and straightens his back to look after a group of female students passing by the crime scene tape, while he continues to mutter, - "Whatever it is, it didn't hop the Blue Line... so it's gotta be tied to the place." His focus returns to Sam, his eyebrows wiggling.

"Looks like we're going back to university, Sammy."

"You mean, I'm going back," Sam retorts with an amused roll of his eyes.

While Dean tries and fails to bite back with some witty comeback, Sam's focus returns to the victim at his feet once more. His eyes roam the poor guy's crumpled body when he suddenly spots something. He tilts his head to the side and crouches down next to him.

"Huh, check this out... Looks like he has something stuck in his throat?" Sam observes with narrowed eyes.

Dean grins smugly while poking the small bulge with the tip of his black leather shoe. It bobs under the pressure and Sam shoots him a side-eye when the surrounding police officers start to watch them with skepticism.

"Ha, I bet he's not used to having something shoved down his throat like that.” Dean stays unperturbed and grins down at the horror-stricken, pale face, “Karma’s a real bitch, huh, Timmy?"

The next Day.

"C'mon, man, couldn't it have been something sexier? Like a sex ed or at least a sports teacher?" Dean grumbles with the phone clasped between his shoulder and ear, fingers fumbling with his tie.

"You wanted the job, don't blame me. It was the only thing available." Sam answers through the phone.

"Yeah but, a - a-" he shifts his phone to his hand and squints at his campus ID "- ‘Expert in South American Household Traditions’, seriously? The hell's that even supposed to mean?"

"You're only a guest mentor. You'll wing it, Dean." Sam sighs on the other side of the call, "Just focus on digging up some dirt on our victims and I'll have a look at our Deep Throater at the morgue."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean mutters while rounding the corner of the hallway, eyes darting around in search of his classroom, "Why can't they label this goddamn maze? This is rid- Agk-" his sentence breaks off into a grunt as he knocks into something.

Or rather, someone.

You land on your ass, papers gone flying across the floor. Wincing and rubbing your forehead which had collided with his hard shoulder.

"Damn, sorry, didn't see ya there," he apologizes and reaches out a hand towards you to pull you back to your feet, "You okay?"

"Yeah, all good," you mumble, patting down your skirt to smooth it out. You notice the scattered papers with a sigh and bend down to quickly collect them and tug them under your arm, "I'm late, sorry-" you mutter without looking at the guy once and about to dash past him when he suddenly interrupts you.

"Uh- Me too, actually. You wouldn't happen to know where I'm supposed to go?" He shoots you a crooked smile and points at his name tag reading "Dr. Phil. Page".

Your eyes widen, and for the first time travel up to meet his emerald ones, intense and glinting in the harsh light of the hallway.

"You're- you're our guest mentor for our special exhibition?"

"Yep. Households expert and the whole package," he chuckles a bit nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, "That'd be me."

The air gets stuck in your throat for a moment and the heat's rushing to your cheeks. He looks cute. And he's really young for a Dr. Phil.?

"Ah," you snap out of it and continue in a flustered manner, "Follow me, Mr. Page, I'm in your class. We gotta hurry tho!"

"Alright then. Lead the way, sweetheart," he smiles at you and your cheeks take a faint pink at the way he called you. But you quickly avert your eyes before you both hurry down the hallway with Dean following you closely.

Four hours and a very 'interesting' take on 'South American Household Traditions' later, you and the rest of the students flock in the canteen of the university.

Your mind keeps going back to your guest mentor. Despite the fact that he almost broke one of the relics of their special Inca exhibition, most certainly got every single date and object wrong and referred to a staff as a 'pokey stick', you couldn't ignore the fact that he had something charming, intriguing even.

Your circling thoughts are interrupted when a voice behind you has you turn to look over your shoulder, canteen tray in your hands. Behind you standing in line, is no other than your new mentor.

"Hey," he nods at you, lips quirked into a confident smirk, "How'd I do?"

"Uhm," you hesitate, mind racing for a kind way to tell him that he'd managed to butcher traditions worth thousands of years in just four hours.

"It was, uh... quite unique?" Mhm, real smooth. You facepalm internally.

"That bad, huh?" he chuckles and holds his plate out for a sausage, his eyes flickering back to yours as they crinkle, amused, "In my defence, it was my first teaching. And I kept getting distracted, y'know." He winks. Your ears flush and you giggle, trying your best to ignore the fact that it almost seems like your mentor is trying to flirt with you.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks casually and nods at the teacher table in the corner, "Ms. Tingles back there is giving me the creeps.”

Your eyes follow his and a cold shiver runs down your back when they settle on your history teacher. Hawk-like eyes of an elder woman bore into yours, face lined with sharp contours and a beak-like nose. And mostly, feared by all.

"Yeah," you breath with a shudder, voice dropped to a mere murmur, just in case the hold hag had developed super hearing, "Miss Tinkle's a real charmer." Dean chuckles amused at your sarcastic tone.

You hand your plate to the next lady who adds a portion of French fries to your meat. And Dean follows suit once you continue to pick your favourite sauce along the fries.

"Here love," the lady scoops Dean an extra portion onto the plate, "You look hungry," she smiles at him motherly. Dean's eyebrows shoot up, a surprised grin forming on his face.

“Well, ain’t you just a sweet peach,"- he leans in to read her name tag before he looks up again and shoots her a boyish grin -"Susan. You keep feeding me like this, and I might just have to stick around permanently."

You both took a seat at one of the outdoor tables, Dean sliding into the bench across of you. It's a lively place, students chattering around you while the atmosphere is warmed by a sunny spring day.

"You sure you want to sit with me, Mr. Page...?" you ask once you've settled down, afraid that he might have only followed you around because he didn't want you to sit alone. He nods, muffling a " 'course" between the French Frie he's chewing on before he swallows and his tongue darts out to lick the salt off his fingertips, eyes never leaving you.

"But you-"

"Just call me Dean," he interjects, that flirty smile spread across his face again, "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"I'm Lee," you smile sheepishly and stroke one of your brown locks past your glasses and behind your ears. He repeats your name under his breath, his smile widening for a fraction.

Then he clears his throat, his face taking on a more serious note.

"Can I ask you, Lee, did you know a Tommie Parsons by any chance?"

"Parsons?" you echo the name, lips twitched into a disgusted frown, "Yeah, heard plenty of him. He was a real ass. And a pervert." As you speak your mind, you realize what you'd just said and you quickly try to allay any wrong impressions, "Not that he'd deserved to die, of course."

"Of course," Dean repeats with a slightly arched eyebrow, "Mind telling me what you know abou-"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence when all of a sudden a loud noise tears through the lively chattering, followed by a girl screaming in panic.

Dean, hunter instincts kicking in, leaps off his seat and instinctively reaches for the colt hidden at the back of his waist, eyes darting around when they zero in on a guy at one of the tables.

He's pale as a sheet, wheezing and heaving like a cat that's trying to produce a furball. Dean's hand hovering over the colt falters.

"Hey- what's the matter?" he asks as he darts over to the table, eyes snapping back and forth between the guy and what was presumably his girlfriend next to him.

"I- I don't know- he just-" the girl stammers, but gets interrupted by her boyfriend's kecking sounds.

"C-c-an't- b-b-" his voice cracks and he doubles over, retching terribly. Dean's hands hover over his back, cursing under his breath, "Shit - hey, c'mon, talk to me!" Eyes roaming his writhing body, he notices how a bulge at his throat starts to form, bobbing right above his Adam's Apple.

Oh no-

The watch on his wrist reads 12:59.

He looks around the place, eyes narrowed as he scans every face in the forming crowd, like he's expecting a witch or a spirit to hide among them. Sure enough, his gaze meets Miss Tinkle. Watching the entire show from the doorway to the canteen, her eyes cold as they lock with his. Dean's jaw clenches, mind racing.

The hunter's attention is suddenly drawn to a backpack on the floor next to them. He looks up at the girl, voice sharp as he prompts, "Is this his?" She nods, trembling.

Without missing a beat, he lunges for the backpack and turns it upside down, its contents spilling across the ground.

"Come on, come on, where's that damn thing-" he grits out, hands rifling through the contents in vain, "Damn it!"

Standing on the sidelines, you can only watch in horror as your classmate scrambles for his water glass, sending fries flying everywhere as he does so, before his face begins to turn blue - and the next thing you know, he slips off his chair and hits the floor.

His body twitches once or twice.

Silence.

Then the campus gong goes off to signal it's exactly 1 o'clock.

Dean leans against the wall of the deserted staircase in one of the university's buildings.

"There was no hex bag," he mutters into the phone, fingers rubbing the spot between his eyebrows, "I don't get it, man. What the hell are we dealing with here?"

"It wasn't your fault, Dean. There was nothing you could've done to save him." Sam reassures him, voice soft even through the crackling phone.

"I should've. I was right there... Damn it."

"You tried your best, okay? You wanna hear what I found out in the morgue? The thing in the guy's throat?"

Dean sighs and runs a hand down his mouth before he regains his usual tone. "Yeah, hit me."

"A potato."

Dean blinks like he must've misheard him.

"A what now?"

"I'm serious. Like a fully grown, unpeeled, raw potato."

"Oh give me a break."

"Just reporting the news," Sam scoff-chuckles and continues to explain, "It even had the dirt on it still. Like it had just been dug up and magically zapped next to his windpipe."

"O- okay- uh, that's a new one," he comments, still confused, "So how's that fit our theory?"

"I'm not sure," Sam mutters, "I was thinking maybe it has something to do with what they ate. If it's not them who're marked by the curse, maybe it's the food?"

"Food?" Dean mutters.

Then his eyes widen in realization. His throat suddenly feels oddly tight, his hand instinctively rubbing his Adam's Apple.

"Oh no..." he gulps, face scrunched up into a grimace.

"What's the matter?"

"Son of a bitch jinxed the fries."

Sam's silent for a moment, then scoffs.

"And lemme guess-"

" 'Course I did, Sammy! It's friggin' French Fries, man!" he arguments before his brother can even finish his (correct) assumption. He turns on his heels in frustration, gaze passing by the window when his voice suddenly drops to a hushed one, "Hold on-"

Sam's questioning voice is now being muffled as Dean clamped his hand over the phone, his focus drawn to a loud discussion below the window in the staircase.

"Christ on a Stake - Bob! I said 'order one hundred potatoes', not 'enough to feed the entire goddamn town'!" An elder man shouts, hands flailing around.

Presumably the cook, judging by his clothings.

"I- I'm sorry sir, I - I didn't- " the boy stammers while he desperately tries to keep the gigantic pile of potato sacks from burying him alive.

Then a new, female voice cuts through the argumentation, her voice final and yet smooth, like poisonous honey, "Don't be so harsh with the kid, Jeff. I bet it was just a mistake. Besides, it could've been worse, right? Everyone loves potatoes."

Dean shifts behind the window, just enough to catch a glimpse at the new stranger.

His jaw clenches at the familiar face;

Miss Tinkle.

He raises his phone back to his ear, his voice low and tight, "You get the witch-killing bullets ready. I'll scope out the canteen and torch their storage room tonight, just in case... before anyone else eats of this cursed crap."

...

Behind the corner of the last step of the staircase, hidden in the shadows... is you. Pressed up against the wall. Hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your ragged breath. Heart racing along your reeling mind.

Witch-killing bullets? What the hell is he talking about? Is he trying to kill someone? And why does he plan on breaking into the canteen tonight to burn their food..?

J / NOTE @lamentationsofalonelypotato (and anyone else for that matter :D ) You have any guesses what's going on yet? 😏

EDIT: Pls ignore any typos or poor writing, I was high with 3 hours of sleep 😂 I fixed one or two things which I just noticed now, nevermind me lalala

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*Disclaimer: Images and gifs are from Pinterest.*

[stxneflxwers]

aventurine is the kind of guy to ask "will you hold this for me?" and then put his hand in yours

[brotherleigh]

Huh.. Must've been the wind..

[alukaforyou]

eye.... am gonna put the rest of this drawing under the cut because...... eye amb...... embarrassed LMFAO

BYEEEEEE LOL 💀💀💀 ever since i saw this cover illust i was like 😭 y he hand out 😭😭😭 is it for MEEEEEE??? 🫣😵‍💫 also so funny how i totally disregarded the original art style sorry i cant draw like that o)-( source for the cleaned cover art

[pixlatedvampire]

i can only draw stupid people

[malamira]

no shut up roy's most hated parts of riza's body are the burn scars he left her

he hates them because he hurt her, failed her, brought her into a world where she's in constant danger; his choices led to the events that wounded her and he singed her by his own hand in a measly effort to stop the bleeding, stop the pain, stop the avalanche of consequence that he'd inadvertently barrelled into her direction since he took up the study of flame alchemy; he regrets every wrong thing he's ever done in his life when he's faced with her raised, discolored skin

riza was a victim.

but riza, riza doesn't think so—she's never had full autonomy of her own body since when the secrets of flame alchemy were marked into her skin, she's always been a study, a book, a material, as if inanimate with no right to decide how she lived her life; she only found her power of choice when he'd burned her back at her request, freely choosing to follow roy into the amestrian army, into harm's way, up to the doors of death, but this time they were choices she decided to make

roy gave her that power.

her scars remind them of his mistakes while they remind her of his love.

[stellewriites]

wip wednesday

got tagged a little while ago by the amazing @dragonnarrative-writes so here’s a little smth i’ve been working on recently (simon x reader, cyberpunk au)

2184, Earth.

you wiped the sweat from your forehead with your sleeve and let out a heavy sigh through the bandana tied around the bottom of your face. 

the weather never seemed to gentle anymore in the Furrow, always too hot and the air too thick, which made rummaging for hours in the dump yard - something you did most mornings - tiresome and even dangerous if you forgot your water.

the cloth mask your wore over the bottom half of your face made it all the more humid and uncomfortable, but you new better than to go without it for extended periods of time this far from the city’s air filters. pollution had gotten bad enough over the last few decades that the dusty air would catch on your chest for days after without it, especially if you’d been exerting yourself.

it seemed that your trip was all for naught however. you’d barely found anything that would be useful for your work back at the service shop and the sun was high in the sky now, so you knew you’d be needing to head back to open up sooner than later.

you felt the sweat gather and drip down your back and you longed to clean yourself up a little before seeing your first customer, but the urge to do one last lap around the nearest heap, just a quick peek, tugged at you. you could get cassie to cover for you for ten minutes when you got back if needed.

i give you: a lot of build up and exposition with no simon lmao,, but he arrives on the scene pretty quick dw

npt: @pricegouge @ohlawdthebirds @tempfrangit @red5tars @3amfanfiction @soapcloth @syoddeye @pfhwrittes

[a-special-ship-safe-space]

Do you ever think he would bring bucky to do the outro?

I FORGOT I HAD A TAGLIST

Tell me if you wanna get tagged

@maylovesalot

[cervinae-canine]

Imagine dressing up pretty for your F/O's...

Soldier giddily clasping his hands together, with a beaming smile, as you tip the helmet slipping over your eyes up with one hand, as the other holds a rifle over your shoulder. You got the nicest army uniform, with a lovely patch of the American flag or three decorating you. You will be an anti-commie-hippie-nazi force together.

Demo's scrumpy pouring from his bottle to the floor, as he watches you, slack-jawed, in the garb of an ancient Scottish warrior, furs reminiscent of explosions, and a beautiful sword serving as little more than decoration. The thing is heavy, but as he put it, you look bloody mesmerising.

Heavy sighing wistfully, as his eyes study your dress, befitting a knyaz, or a tsar, the hefty jewellery of bullets weighing your neck, head, and hands down, as you try to stand with a straight back, the very model of a painted figure he'd admire on the pages of history books. He's already pretty quiet, but, he is utterly speechless this time.

Engineer whistling lowly, as he admires you from the cowboy hat, down to the spurs, several handsome tools in place of a gun in your holster. Caterin' just to him, that you are, with the proud combo of his spirit and his passions in your clothes. Yer spoilin' him, he says with a shy smile.

Medic gasping softly, as he watches you twirl in your nurse dress, half-laughing half-ooh'ing and aah'ing at every little detail that reminds him of home. The hat, the suspenders, the boots, it's a little silly to most, but to him, you're the best, cutest assistant he could ever ask for! ... Excuse his excitement, schatz, he's just very pleased to see you, is all.

Sniper murmuring "Holy Mother of...", looking at you above his sunglasses, and from under his hat, his face getting even longer - the hunter-esque attire is a personal attack. And the handsome rifle you apparently got as a gift for him, and presented with the rest of yourself? When you already look like Cupid himself gave you an unseen bow to strike his heart with? Crikey, he's in love...

Spy raising his brows, and giving an appreciative "Hmm!", as he nods. The béret? The classy, yet casually appropriate suit? You could approach him anywhere any day, and his focus on the façade of suave calm might dwindle just a little bit. Positively enchanting, he says, eyes fluttering just a tad too dreamily to truly hide how enamoured he is.

Miss Pauling stammering and stumbling over her words, when you catch her off-guard. You look really nice- That's what she's trying to say, yeah, because the way you did your hair, and the shoes, and the tie- Is that a gun in the hidden inner pocket of your jacket? That's, wow, she- Can she look at it? And also generally move closer to you? For no reason at all, you're just so gorgeous- ... Did she say that out loud?

- Penis Anon. (Jumpscare again.)

[inafieldofdaisies]

John Seed x Sabrina Donovan / Calahan Hartley x Mary May Fairgrave

Jacob Seed x Mercedes Sibley / Faith Seed x Leslie Parish

Eloise Morello x Staci Pratt / Oliver McKenzie x Oakley Moore

Ship Meiker: Valentine's Day Edition | ❤️ | Tagged by @ellswips @captastra @neonshrike and @cloudofbutterflies92

Tagging, @socially-awkward-skeleton @derelictheretic @imogenkol @cassietrn @strangefable @voidika @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @trench-rot @purplehairsecretlair @theelderhazelnut @floradellamorte @simonxriley @killyourrdarlingss @direwombat @g0dspeeed @shellibisshe @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @lilywatt @la-grosse-patate @roofgeese and anyone that would like to do the tag 🤍