#I love the overgrown vibe

[happyheidi]

x - x - x - x

[lilflowerpot]

nintendo really dropped some TotK gameplay without warning and I’m-!!!!!!!!!!! forgive me while I scream but it’s //so beautiful// I mean BotW was already gorgeous but with the addition of all those skylands (with seemingly unique flora?) and, by the looks of it, potential for the pre-established stables to perhaps start building and expanding as settlements, it feels like it’s really shaping up to be an absolutely //stunning// sequel that pays homage to SS in the best way and i’m sososo h y p e d

[the-very-little-things]

Ok I'm watching ABC's 30th anniversary of beauty and the beast and I have so many thoughts, please enjoy.

[planet4546b]

was running around in the cosmodrome (beloved <3) last night to grab refs and now am thinking a lot about how the general like design philosophy specifically for environments has changed between d1 and d2 (especially d2 as is now). thinking about d1 as being very rooted in its own post apoc aesthetic (almost every planet you were on you were running around ruins) and how d2 just feels concretely different than that especially with places like the dreaming city and throne world as much as i absolutely adore those places. not sure what the point of this is im just Considering

[svnny-day]

my mom randomly messes with my hair ONE TIME-

[determunition]

i took the switcheroo week as an excuse to finally try my hand at some scrybeswap designs! got a bit carried away as you can see, i love doing character design so much

decided to keep their species/major design elements fairly consistent (e.g. grimora's makeup, mag being vague and indistinct, leshy having nonhuman legs, p03 only having one arm) while still switching up their aesthetics as needed; super happy with all of these as a result!

design notes for each scrybe under the cut! def open to any further questions or curiosities, i always think way too hard about characters while designing them lmao

P03:

scrybe of the dead: i went for a possessed tv vibe; he's still mechanical but those bones do have a living soul trapped in them...also shoutout to @squid-hug for suggesting the x-ray machine, i was very tickled by that lmao

scrybe of beasts: overgrown old bot was kind of a given for this one, but i was also thinking that the plants are part of what's keeping him running somehow

scrybe of magicks: the magic eye is the core powering that top monitor, and the two side monitors display what he's seeing with that eye at any given time

grimora:

scrybe of beasts: she's a witch! like a chill terry pratchett kind of witch, she works with a lot of herbs and such; also her makeup is meant to mimic blood drops

scrybe of magicks: magick grimora is more of a warlock type, her magic is a lot more sinister and she almost never opens her eyes (whereas her third eye is basically always open)

scrybe of tech: tech grimora is kind of a wacky machinist-flavored dr. frankenstein; she inscribes by writing on circuitboards!

leshy:

scrybe of the dead: this leshy is a gargoyle/vampire hybrid! i thought a mirror would be fun for him bc you can get two different cultural refs; medusa (bc stone gargoyle), and the idea that vampires don't appear in mirrors!

scrybe of magicks: i decided to make him a bird guy (kinda harpy-esque) bc he's basically a more whimsical baba yaga hermit; the baba yaga thing carries over from slavic folklore obvs. also he has polycoria!

scrybe of tech: tech leshy was super fun, bc he's steampunk! rather than animal legs i gave him digitigrade robot legs, but other than that he's the most like, normal human guy here probably lmao; despite his well-adjusted appearance though i still think he's got a bit of freaky wonk in him

magnificus:

scrybe of the dead: this one was very ring-inspired lol, got those clump of hair you found in the shower drain vibes

scrybe of beasts: bush magnificus real! i think he'd be a bit more quirky trickster fae in this form

scrybe of tech: one of my favorites; tech mag is an emaciated cyborg draped in so many loose cords and wires that you can't tell what he looks like anymore. a lot of those cords are connected to him, and he plugs them in wherever as needed! he also has a drawing stylus, making him just an average art student tbh lmao

[mediumgayitalian]

Nico really fucking hates capture the flag.

Well, not always. Last week was fun. Last week was the annual Everyone Against The Stolls (to atone for their crimes), and Nico got to chase Connor around at top speeds, cackling, committing his shrieking and begs for mercy to memory. That was nice. That almost made him forgive the fucker for digging a trench under Nico’s unwelcome mat for him to fall into at seven thirty in the godsdamn morning.

But tonight’s game is boring.

He’s been standing, alone, at the base of the flag for the past forty bajillion hours. He’d raised a few dozens skeletons to spar with at first, since animating them to fight himself isn’t technically against the rules, but that got dull fast. (It isn’t much fun sparring with a partner who doesn’t have a brain. He already has to do that enough with Percy when he comes to visit camp.) He’d climbed the various trees around the clearing, or at least he tried until he got reamed by the dryads for climbing on a manner that was too annoying (?), and tried his hands at a few summoning spells. Nothing held his interest long.

And now he’s just standing, doing nothing, and he’s not allowed to leave. He has to stay in this stupid spot on the off chance that someone comes stumbling over to fight him for the flag.

“You’re our best swordsman, she said,” he says mockingly, beaming the nastiest vibes he can manage in Piper’s vague direction. “We need you on our defensive line, she said. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”

His checks his watch. He groans. He looks critically over the grass, looking for a softer patch, and when he locates it he throws himself dramatically upon it, groaning louder.

“This sucks!” he yells, to no one.

“Will you shut up!” shouts back the dryad he pissed off earlier. “For the love of photosynthesis! Fuck!”

He bites his tongue hard to hold back laughter. (If he can avoid getting his entire cabin overgrown with prickle bushes again, that’d be great.) “Sorry,” he calls, trying with everything he has to sound contrite. Convincing his father to fight the Titan War was easier, actually. Acting is not his calling.

“Hmph!”

At least listening to see if she’ll come out and yell at him again provides something to ease his boredom. Yes, he’s going to regret bothering her, but in his defense, solo guarding is cruel and unusual punishment. He’d rather sit by an outlet with a fork and see if he can poke and let go fast enough to avoid dying. That at least would be interesting.

A rustling of leaves recaptures his attention, and he pauses.

“Holly?”

When no one answers, which is odd because she’s taken every opportunity in the last hour to either insult him or pelt him with stones, he lifts his head.

“You’re not going to scare me, dude. I had my fear glands surgically removed to become a better soldier.”

Not true. Obviously. But a fun bonus of being the camp weirdo is that no one doubts anything he says. He’s working on convincing everyone younger than him that he needs weekly tributes of chocolate delivered to his door every Friday or the dead are going to take over the world. So far, it’s working.

“Look, Holly, I’m sorry about the zombie, okay, I promise it didn’t mean to sneeze part of its brain on you —”

The rustling sounds again, only this time Nico can see that it’s not Holly’s tree, and in fact she is nowhere to be found. Alarmed, he jumps to his feet, shifting so he’s balanced on the balls of his feet, poised to attack. Is Piper’s plan failing? Has someone actually managed to make it all the way over here without getting (gently, probably, although they lost the last game and Piper gets cranky without dessert) maimed?

The rustling sounds for a third time. This time, an armoured someone stumbles out of the underbrush, tripping over their own foot and nearly landing flat on their face.

Nico has his sword at their throat in a millisecond.

“Wo-oah, Morbius. That’s probably my least favourite sword you could stab in me.”

Nico goes bright red. “I have never wanted to stab you more than right this second.”

Will, chest plate skewed to the right, quiver completely empty, and black paint smeared under his eyes, snickers. He puts a finger on the tip of Nico’s sword and pushes it away from his neck.

“The opportunity was right there, babe. I couldn’t not.”

“You really, really could. In fact at all times, you should remember these words of wisdom: shut up.”

“…Damn. Inspiring.”

Nico rolls his eyes, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the smile on his face and the obvious pleasure in his expression. He’s even feeling merciful enough to accept Will’s kiss, although his sword keeps a good amount of distance between them. (Will’s on the blue team, after all. It would be unprofessional to be fraternizing with the enemy.

…Well, too much, anyway.)

“What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the other archers, sitting in trees and causing havoc.”

Will shrugs, grinning lazily. “I quit. This game is senselessly violent and I’m Against It On Principle. I’m a pacifist, you know.”

“Uh huh.” Nico raises an eyebrow. “I assume this doesn’t count you choking Cecil out in a headlock, this morning.”

Will opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He closes it again.

“Cecil is my mortal enemy,” he grudges after a moment. “He doesn’t count.”

“‘Course not. Not like you cried for two hours when he went to visit his mom last weekend or anything.”

“Will you — stop saying I cried. I barely teared up, okay. Barely.”

Nico can’t quite force down the stupid grin that pulls across his face, matching Will’s, nor can he resist grabbing the leather straps of his boyfriend’s armour and hauling him close.

“You better not be here to distract me,” he mumbles, leaning close and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Will hums, settling his hands on Nico’s hips.

“Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Drama queen.”

“Excuse — I am the least dramatic, I’ll have you know. I’m a pinnacle of solemnity. I am a shining beacon of stoicism. I am — mmfh,” He trails off. “Okay, doing this now, mhm.”

Nico smiles triumphantly into the kiss. Will, he has found, is very easy to shut up, despite his long-running nickname of Motormouth. It’s almost like he has an off button that can be accessed only by Nico sticking his tongue in his mouth. Nico is doing his civic duty, honestly. He should be compensated for his service.

(‘Course, doesn’t hurt that Will smells, like, really good, all the time, and his lips are soft as hell and he is actually quite the kisser, in fact. That is definitely a fun bonus.)

He smooths his hands over Will’s shoulders, travelling up the sides of his neck and settling in his hair. Will keens, slightly, when he wraps a finger around a frizzy golden curl and tugs, slightly, when he scratches his nails along his scalp. The rush of power at the feeling makes Nico dizzy, and his sword clatters to the ground as he busies himself with more interesting — and important — things.

Like pulling more of those sounds from his boyfriend’s throat. Or making his knees buckle, again, like he did the other night — gods, that was good, it made Will flush scarlet and Nico feel like he was fuckin’ floating, to have Will so needy and touchy and totally at his mercy —

“Free line to the flag! Go go go go!”

Nico startles, whirling towards the sudden cacophony of noises. To his horror, what looks like half the camp, helmets shining with plumes of blue, comes pouring into the clearing, weapons raised, voices mixing in one long, victorious shout. He lunges for his sword, but before he can grab it, two strong arms tighten around his torso, pinning his hands to his side.

Immediately, he knows he’s been set up.

“Oh, you — fucker!”

He feels the curve of Will’s grin against his neck. “First shower privileges for a whole month, baby.” He noses along his jaw, pressing an apologetic kiss to his cheek. “Couldn’t resist.”

Nico struggles, aghast, watching the once-red flag shimmer in Lou Ellen's hold to a bright, shining blue. “I am breaking up with you, you traitor, you Iago, you vixen — ”

Will snorts. He ducks down and pecks Nico on the lips, again, and again, and then shifts to his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his temples, his forehead, and all over his face, making louder and louder mwah sounds until Nico is laughing, punching his shoulder and shoving him away.

“Okay! Okay. Let me go, you villainous toad. We will discuss how much you’ll have to grovel for my forgiveness after Piper finishes yelling at me for getting distracted.”

Will presses one last kiss to his nose, smiling cheekily before stepping away, heading towards his boasting team. “Enjoy that lecture! Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nico rolls his eyes, resting his aching cheek in his hand. “Love you too, asshole.”

[morallyinept]

Sleazy Santa - A Dieter Bravo One Shot

Summary: Have you been naughty or nice? Sleazy Santa Dieter will find out... Come sit on his knee, baby, and tell Santa what you really want for Christmas. If you've been good, he might just give it to you. T'is the season to be sleazy...

Pairing: Sleazy!Dieter Bravo x MenaceF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.) Reader is referred to as 'Cookie' on occasion. You'll see why when you read... and has hair long enough to pull.

Word Count: 5.3k of Christmas sleaze

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Explicit - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral M & F receiving/drug use/anal play/lots of smutty dirty talk/verbal degradation - Dieter calls you a whore & slut and you love it/(im)proper use of a candy cane/Dieter being absolutely lewd and trashy whilst being a mall Santa. Reader is up for this and wants it all. Dieter is not an actor in this story. Just a dirtbag.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: (I intended to get this out on the 1st Dec, but this week has completely run away from me, so better late than never! 🫠) I just know Dieter would be the trashiest Santa. So here he is. Ho(e). Ho(e). Ho(e). 🎅🫦

☝🏻This is not a direct follow on from Back Alley Bang, but is the same Sleazy!Dieter.

Read Back Alley Bang!

I wrote this a little while back in prep for my Christmas stories to release throughout December. Since then, the lovely @cerridwen007 dropped a Frankie fic called Candy Cane, which you should totally read because it's bloody amazing! And hot! 🔥 Seeing as both our stories mention some lewdness with Candy Canes, I want to shout about hers, because it's epic. And so is she. 🥰🖤

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

🎄MASTERLIST🎄

Enjoy! 🖤

“Come sit on Santa’s knee, baby.” He smirks at you under the grizzle of greying, scruffy facial hair, sprawled across his jawline like a patch of overgrown weeds in a neglected alley.

Each bristle of his moustache seems like a picket in a fence, guarding the secrets of his expressions, a formidable barrier to anyone attempting to decipher the stoic visage he wears, despite the adept grin crook shanking it's way out from underneath it at you now.

You joust a sharp glance at him, sitting back lazily on the throne, manspreading and reaching down to adjust the swell of his cock inside his red velour pants, brazenly.

In a worn-out wife beater, that's seen one too many spin wash cycles, tinged grey with sweat around the hem and underarms, braces dangle loosely over Santa’s broad shoulders, contributing to a somewhat dis-reputational vibe.

Boots, covered in dirt and scuffs, complete the unkempt look, and a lingering rolled cigarette, possibly a joint by the herbal stench emanating from it and how tightly it’s tobacco stuffing is packed into the thin papers, add a touch of nonchalance to the unconventional ensemble.

The once jolly twinkle in his tired and bloodshot eyes he had for the children and parents queuing up all day to meet him excitedly, now carries a mischievous, darkening glint polluting the soft browns into a deep onyx as he regards you.

You can feel the heat, running moist and sticky across your body in all those fleshy crevices, as his eyes traverse all the curves and shapes of you gluttonously and leaving you stained.

It feels as if he devours you with his gaze, eyes chomping through your bones; each hungry look a bite into the forbidden fruit of your supple skin, leaving you with a sense of exposure that’s both invasive and titillating.

You feel it pulse on the end of your clit and bite back a wayward groan as you squeeze your thighs together.

You pull off your elf's hat, ruffling your hair out of your tight pony that’s been threatening to scalp you all day, and smirk at him suggestively. 

He leers back, through full lips chapped pink, under that greasy moustache hidden behind a fake silvery beard all day. A sly grin twists those pert smackers up as he looks you up and down in your cute fuzzy elf ensemble, complete with annoying bells that jingle when you walk.

A crude name tag is pinned to your lapel, flecked with glitter that says Cookie. And you can't help but wonder at how he'll make you crumble.

The Grotto’s decor transports visitors to a whimsical realm where the spirit of Christmas thrives in a rammed-down-your-throat abundance. Faux snow covered branches, adorned with twinkling lights that frame the entrance, complete with fibreglass reindeer with beady eyes, creates an archway that beckons families into the enchanting space within the hustle and bustle of the shopping mall. 

Inside the main cabin, the walls are adorned with festive murals depicting scenes of Santa's workshop; his cheerful elves, and his sleigh chock full of presents for all the good boys and girls.

Glittering ornaments in hues of red, green and gold hang from the ceiling, casting a warm and festive glow as they twirl and sway. Garlands of pine branches intertwine with fairy lights, adorned and wrapped around every available surface, filling the air with the invigorating scent of Christmas pine to the point you want to choke.

Eager youngsters, with their big awe-struck eyes, gravitate around your knees all day and hearing Let It Snow play on repeat is starting to grate on your last nerve by lunch time.

A two bit job in a shopping mall Grotto for the season to help pay the rent on your shitty apartment, isn’t exactly the high point of your mundane life, but being assigned as Santa’s personal elf in the Grotto this year seems to have an unexpected appeal. 

Especially when under the hat and beard Santa is a fucking grimy feast for the eyes, in all of his sordid, dirty appeal. 

“Oh, he’s kinda hot.” You whisper to the other elves, Sugarplum and Cinnamon, when you overhear them talking about him. “In a scummy sorta way.”

You watch as he chortles and pushes crudely taped gifts with lopsided bows into tiny, waiting hands. 

“I saw him out of the suit having a smoke round back. He looks like he spends all day injecting.” Cinnamon the elf remarks, wrinkling her nose. 

Sugarplum snorts distastefully in agreement as she pushes another child through to meet the magic man himself. And you can’t help but grin.  

Who is this guy? 

He stands out like a sore thumb in the mall full of Christmas card perfect families, with two point four bratty children, not the type to be cast in the role of Santa. He looks like he shouldn’t be anywhere near the vicinity of children at all. 

He’s an obvious stain on the holly-jolly, a blot; a malignant smear with his dark appearance and equally dark aura that radiates and flashes in neon green above his head like a Sims character, that he’s a bad, rotten egg. 

And yet, there’s something about him that piques you and your pussy’s interest as you can’t look away. 

You wonder where they hired him, possibly off the street by the way he looks; hair a fluffy mess as he runs a giant paw through it when he takes off the Santa hat for a reprieve. Slick with sweat around the neck and ears after being swamped in the furry suit all day.

But amidst the cheerful chatter and the jingling of bells, you and Santa start to engage in risqué repartee through exchanging heated glances, hidden within the joyful chaos that swarms around you both.

He watches as you bend to greet the children, deliberately pointing your ass, clad in tight, striped hosiery, in his line of sight, and throwing him a steely glance over your shoulder as you smile innocently around your glittery lipstick. 

You suck on candy canes to rile him up as he waits for the next toddler to enter the Grotto, and tease him with how far you can get it down your throat. 

You can see the effect it has on him all day as he has to adjust to himself constantly and refuse that any more kids sit on his lap, opting to just talk to them on their level instead.

Your eyes often fall onto that heavy bulge between his legs as you lick up the red striped cane suggestively. 

You, the teasing little elf, pretend to inspect a list of wishes, shooting Santa a sultry look. "I must say, Santa, you're on everyone's 'Nice' list, but I can't help but wonder what it would take to get you on the 'Naughty' list for a change…"

And he takes that as a direct challenge. 

After the Grotto is closed to the public for the day, you see him head into it and follow, lured like he’s dropping gingerbread crumbs for you to snort up.

Lights are out in the Winter Wonderland area; a few amblers doing their late night Christmas shopping still linger around the mall, but no-one would obviously know you're heading in as your toes jingle with your quick steps in the shadows. 

And it’s where you find him now, sitting back in Santa’s grand throne, legs akimbo and waiting for you as he tokes; running his thick mitts around the chintzy scruff of his real beard.

His eyes crinkle with mirth as you shut the Grotto door behind you. You reach into the basket of candy canes and he watches as you unwrap one, sucking on the stripey end of it as you step up towards him, when he pats his thick thigh again at you. 

Perching on him, dwelling inside the mist of hazy smoke that lingers above your heads and makes you feel lighter as you breathe it down into your lungs, you flutter your eyelashes as you take him in. 

Thick arms, speckled with tattoos of triads that look coloured in with a Sharpie, speak of a past etched with both labour and skirmishes. His hands, large and calloused, possess a certain coarseness, evidence of a wayward journey through life's grittier back alleys with short, chewed on nails. With shoulders that may slump a touch, he carries an weight of shady roughness on them; his belly and thighs telling stories of indulgence, and perhaps a few late night brawls.

Thick fingers are stacked with silver rings that are covered with Santa’s cotton gloves throughout the day. His hawkish nose adds a touch of defiance, completing the image of a man with a scuffed exterior, rough around the edges, yet somewhat intriguing in his lived-in authenticity. An unpolished diamond in some scummy rough. 

But who needs a diamond, when a zirconia is just as good, right? 

In the twinkly lights, the grazed hair on his face appears not as distinguished silver, but rather a mishmash of unkempt greys woven in, like shadows playing on a weathered canvas or someone forgetting to water their garden in patches.

His cocoa bean eyes, though sharp, carry a glimmer of adept slyness, a snake waiting to strike and latch it's fangs to your calf, as if they've witnessed more than their fair share of venomous dealings. 

The pierced ear, with its slightly tarnished hoop you're longing to suck into your mouth, feels less like a statement and more like a relic of some practised rebellion; a declaration of nonconformity, a middle finger raised to polished appearances.

And it's here where your eyes settle, on his fingers as he brings the joint up to his lips to inhale again, and you marvel at their thickness, their startling turgidity, clenching internally.

He inhales on the end of the blunt, smoke billowing around his face in misty, gossamer trails that beckon you further into him, and his eyes, dark and beguiling with blown pupils, are still on yours.

“Have you been a good girl this year?” There’s a coarse texture to his speech, a visceral quality that mirrors the scuffed exterior of a life lived on the fringes.

He’s watching your lips around the candy cane as though hypnotised by the talent of it. You pull it out of your mouth, sticky - the red bleeding into the white - and smile sweetly.

“I’m always a good girl,” you remark with a minty grin. 

Santa shakes his head. “I hear differently. I hear you’re a very naughty girl.” 

You mock pout as he leans forward and sucks the end of the candy cane you’re holding into his own mouth. He smacks his lips around one another after tasting it and hums out. “Filthy,” he adds. 

“Dirty.” You confirm with a singular nod. 

“I like ‘em dirty.” He agrees, looking up at you, chin jutted out in a provocative challenge. 

You stroke under it, scritching your nails in the softly coarse hairs there.

He flicks your name tag and smirks. “Cute.”

“What’s your name?” You ask curiously. 

“Dieter,” he exhales again, and you can taste the smoke settling on your tongue. “But you can call me Santa, baby.”

You nod willingly. 

“Santa wants to touch you, Cookie. You gonna let him?” He queries.

You nod again, smiling. 

“Say it, baby. Say you want Santa to touch you.”

“Touch me, Santa.” You simmer. Your body tenses waiting for his hands - those giant, fucking hands - to get acquainted with you.

He finishes the joint, before squeezing the end to extinguish it, and plops it on the floor. “You gonna let Santa fuck you too?”

“Yeah," you nod again like you can't stop. "I want Santa to fuck me with his big, hard cock.” You reach down and give it a squeeze over the velour Santa pants, and he hisses. “Mmm, so big.” You say, sucking on the cane again, hooking your finger around the curved end of it.

“Fuck, baby. You want it bad don’t you? Slutty little elf…” He states.

Dieter runs his hand up your thigh, your stomach and stops at your breast giving it a good squeeze over your outfit; a grunt of approval rippling low in the back trench of his throat and he massages and gropes.

Clawing his fingers of his other hand over your thigh and grabbing at the pliable skin of your ass cheek, he squeezes a generous handful of it, pulling and smirking at you. 

“Lemme get a look at these tits, fuck.” Dieter says, immediately running his tongue over them as you pull off your elf top. He yanks down your bralette, tearing at the flimsy material making you gasp around the candy cane. 

Mouthing and licking around your nipples, flicking them with his hot, wet tongue, you moan and trail your fingers through his greased up hair. And Santa can’t help himself but to motorboat them, making you giggle as you squirm in his lap. 

“Fuck, look at these,” He says groping them in his giant hands. He brings them together moaning and groaning as he licks and sucks them some more. Running his scruffy jaw over them, greedily like all his Christmases have come at once. He bites down on one and you hiss, feeling it fizz between your legs. 

“How ‘bout a little kiss for Santa, hmm?” He croons at you, craning his face into yours. "Mmm, my lil' sugar cookie..."

You lean in, slipping your cool, sweetly sticky tongue inside his mouth as he kisses you. He strokes over your breasts, squeezing more and groaning as you suck on his tongue. 

He tastes of weed, and something else strong and tart laced around his teeth. But you devour him, feeling that long tongue search around your mouth tasting you, and filling you with his muffled grunts.

“You know, Santa can fill your stocking with whatever you want, right?” Dieter smirks at you as he runs his fingers up down the striped nylons.

You grin, as you pop the candy cane back in your mouth.

With both hands, he tears open your pantyhose from your apex, and smirks at the damp patch there between your legs. You can feel it, all wet and sticky between your thighs. 

You’ve made a mess of yourself all day watching and lusting after him, and now he can see it and knows exactly what he does to you. Knows how you've been craving that filthy dirtbag - who looks like he rolled out of the gutter - they hired to play dress up for the kids.

God, you wanna ride him so fucking hard. 

“You been this wet for me all day?”

You nod. “Drenched.” You tease. 

“Fuck…” he husks approvingly. 

“You make me so wet, Santa.” You say, still innocently sucking on that darned candy cane.

His fingers swipe over the front of your panties, feeling it and pushing the damply soiled material against the folds of your swollen pussy lips. 

He groans as he feels that warm slick seep through onto his fingertips. He brings them up to his nose and sniffs before putting them in his mouth and sucks them, looking at you the whole time as you flare.

Then, he runs them all over your seam again, pressing in and applying pressure to the protruding, swollen bump of your clit. Those grubby, filthy hands pawing greedily all over you, just as you wanted.

“Mmm,” you whine as he strokes and circles over your clit that’s buzzing and pulling tight. A tinge of an ache that makes your thighs tense in the most delicious of ways as he strokes over it, lewdly.

“Santa’s little slut, aren’t you?”

You nod, smirking.

He takes the candy cane from you, and slots it in his own mouth, sucking on it as he inspects between your legs like a letch. You hear it clack against his teeth as it rolls from side to side across his mouth. 

Sucking on it, the stripy tip turned fully white now, he runs it in your folds, and you gasp at the coolness of the mint.

He dips it in, sliding the candy cane into your hole and pulls it out, sucking it back into his mouth, tasting you around the peppermint treat. 

"Mmm, you taste so good." He praises.

He does it again, fucking you slowly with the candy cane and watching as you bite your lip as he slides it in as deep as it’ll go, before holding the sticky treat out for you to taste.

You eye him as you suck it clean of your slick, your tongue lapping down the length of it, and he groans.

“So fucking nasty,” he says with a glint in his eye.

You crunch on the end of it, breaking off a chunk into your mouth as you chew and he discards the rest onto the floor, breaking into pieces that scatter upon impact. 

“Let me get another look at that pussy.” He wrenches your panties aside again, and spits on his fingers, rubbing them over your dripping cunt. 

“That feel good?” He slides up and down your folds, teasing your clit with slimy circles of your slick and tapping it. 

“Yeah. I want those dirty fingers in me.” You whine. 

“All the way in?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s get those panties off. Santa wants you spread open on his lap, baby.”

You lift your ass up as he tugs them down and you watch as he stuffs them into his pocket with a cockamamie smirk. You can only imagine all the sordid things he'll do with them later.

“Oh my God…” You gasp as he slides in two thick fingers, thumb running over your clit. 

“You like being a dirty little slut for Santa, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod.

“Look at you, spread wide with my fingers in your cunt.” He looks down at the wet patch on his pants where you cream for him. 

“I love it.” You nod. "I love being your slut, Santa."

“Yeah you do. Kiss me again, baby. Gimme that tongue.”

He sucks on your tongue before he pushes in a third finger, and you moan at how full you feel. He pumps them in and out of you, garnering a tempo that leaves flames licking down your spine as you writhe against them. 

“Such a tight little cunt,” he whispers, pulling on your bottom lip and sucking it. 

“Mmm, yeah… that feels so good.” You mewl.

You can hear your slick squelching around his fingers and leaving them shiny as he pulls them out. You watch as he separates them, leaving strings to break before he sucks them in his mouth. 

“Santa’s got a gift for you in his sack, baby.” He reaches down into a bag, just as dirty and grimy as he is, and pulls out a battery powered wand with a bulbous head. 

You’re stunned as you giggle, and he raises his eyebrows. 

“You carry that around with you all the time?” You say, bewildered. 

A filthy grin lances across his face, the type that could impregnate women. And looking at him, he probably has. A harem of single mothers waiting on alimony cheques that’ll never come.

He clicks the wand on and pushes it to your cunt. 

“Oh fuck!” You drool as you feel it pulsing deliciously against your clit immediately. He sucks your nipple back into his mouth, whining at the taste of your skin. 

The vibrations, like soft, tingly ripples, spread from the device and explore every facet of your nerve endings. Tiny electrical pinpricks; a bubbling conduit of glittery bursts that intensify the more pressure he applies against you.

"That feel good?" You hear him graze at you.

“Mmm, I feel like I could come right now.” You sigh, gripping onto his broad, tan shoulder and enjoying being so close falling off the ledge already.

“This little toy gonna make you come, baby? Make you come for Santa?” You watch as he tongues your nipple, flicking it back and forth fast.

“Yeah. I’m almost there.” You shudder. "Mmm, fuck." You grab a hold of his hand, pushing the wand tighter against you. You can feel it pulsing in the centre, a deep winding sensation behind your abdomen; bunching and tightening. 

He clicks it up a notch, the vibrating head faster and louder against your clit. 

“Oh fuck. Yes, yes, yes!” Nails digging into the back of his hand as you grind against the wand head.

“Yeah. Come for me, baby. I wanna see Cookie come for Santa like a good slut.”

“Feels so nice like that… fuck!” You say your eyes rolling back, jaw tight and teeth clenching as you shudder and burst. Eyebrows furrowing and biting down on your lip as you come around the wand’s head. “So good, Santa… fuck, so, so good,” you pant. 

His eyes flash with wild encouragement, yet they contain a sense of addictive danger as he kisses across your breasts that taste salty with sweat and glittery fragments that stick to you as you shake.

“Such a good little elf, coming for Santa aren’t you, baby?”

He glances at you as he suckles and kisses your nipple, and pulls your face towards his for a swamping kiss that tastes acidic and makes you dizzy with it all. 

You reach down and squeeze his cock as he tosses the wand onto his bag. Stroking him over the red velour pants. He has an oily smirk; slick and fast, matching the tempo of how quickly he gets his cock out for you. Thick, veiny and pink, with a nice fat head, oozing just for you. 

“Is this all for me, Santa?” You marvel at the lack of boxers or briefs under the pants.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got such a big cock. Mmm, that’s gonna feel so good in my tight pussy.”

“Gonna stretch you out, baby.” He takes your hand and wraps it around him, pumping.

“Fill me up.”

“Yeah, Gonna fill this slutty pussy up till you're dripping me down your thighs.” 

Your eyes are drawn to the ominous swell of his cock in your hand, astounding in its size and girth with a puff of grizzly dark hairs at the base of it. You’re trying to understand the science of how the fuck he’ll fit inside of you.

“I feel so fucking good, Cookie. So hard.” He whispers with a beguiling whip around his gritty cadence.

“Mmm,” you say, mesmerised by jerking him off. Watching as he drips for you and smearing it around his head with your thumb. 

“You wanna feel it? Feel it in your pussy, baby?”

Biting your lip you nod and grin. “Yeah.”

In a flash, he sits you on the throne, your legs hanging over the arm rests and spread wide for him.

"Fuck, look at you," he sighs at how spread and soaked you are for him.

Dieter jerks his cock as he runs his tongue up and down your slit, sucking on your clit hungrily. He swirls his tongue round and round, speedily as it flicks across your clit and makes your thighs twitch. 

“God, you taste so fucking good.” He groans.

“Like candy canes.” You giggle.

“Yeah. So sweet.”

You yank his head forward, clutching at the roots of his greying curls. His nose snuffles against the top of your mound as you feel him penetrate your hole with his tongue. 

“Fuck!” You drone as he fucks you with it.

He licks down and then runs back up again, this time gliding his nose in your folds too. Slick gathers on the end of it, shiny as it passes over your clit. 

“God, I wanna fuck this tight, little pussy.” He growls, wiping your juice from his nose and licking it away from his palm. 

Dieter pulls off the pants fully, then stands, crouching with legs spread; thick thighs supporting him as he lines himself up with your slit.

You can see the swell of his belly where the wife beater rides up and you reach forward to stroke it, feeling the galaxy of soft hairs that lead in a trail down to his cock.

You wince as he pushes in, fisting onto the hem of the vest. 

“What, huh? Too big? You can take this big cock. Come on, baby.” He looks down to see he’s halfway in; your cunt sucking him in as he traverses the fleshy, wet walls crushing around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Mmm, God!” You groan, reaching for him as he pushes in all the way, deep into the hilt of you and there he stays for a moment, unmoving, just feeling you pulse and contract around him. 

He wiggles his hips and watches you breathlessly gasp. 

“Fuck me,” you plead. 

He pulls out and then slides deep again, over and over until he works up a tempo that has you panting; clawing at his arms and soaking around him. 

You sit up on the edge of the throne, legs wrapped around his lower calves as he slows into a more laboured pace. Sliding his cock in as deep as he can get it into you. He nips at your neck, running his tongue over the skin and sucking it between his teeth, marking you with purple welts.  

It’s a deep, somewhat brutal fucking, as he flexes his hips and pounds into you with determination. Taking your breath away as the jolts of your body stop you sucking more oxygen in. 

You hold onto the arm rests to steady yourself as he fucks into you. His own breath getting lodged in the back of his throat. 

You look up at him, jaw slack and eyes glazed over in ecstasy as his thighs slap relentlessly against your ass cheeks. His face his taught, veins bulging around his neck and eyes focused on you. Lined forehead coated with a sheen of sweat and you want to taste on your tongue. 

“You like this don’t you, getting fucked by Santa?” He queries with a dark smirk. 

“Aah fuck! Yeah, give it to me!” You wail. 

You can feel the weight of his balls pendulum against your ass as he thrusts relentlessly. 

"Santa fucking his little whore." He puffs.

"Fuck yeah!" You cry.

“Get up baby,” he instructs, wincing as he stands upright and clutching his lower back. 

He sits on the throne and pulls you onto him, but facing away. You hoist yourself up, feet flat on the seat either side of his thighs and lower yourself, squatting onto his cock standing tall and thick beneath you. 

“Oh, that’s it. Sit on Santa’s fucking lap, baby!” He gushes, pulling you all the way down until your cunt is flush with the base of him. 

“Oh shit, Dieter!” You cry as you feel him plunge deeper than he's already been. It forces the breath out of your lungs as you sharply inhale. "Shit, shit!"

"Call me Santa, baby." He teases.

His hands hold onto your waist; thick fingers curling around towards your belly button as you move up and down, using the arm rests to push yourself upwards. 

“Fuck, you’re so deep.” You groan as you work faster with the aid of him pushing your hips. 

“Yeah, fuck my cock, baby.” He grunts from behind you. 

You reach forward and stroke his swollen balls, groping and squeezing gently as he groans in delight. You run your hand across the both of you; feeling him plunge into your pussy, moving up to your clit as he fills you. 

“Yeah, yeah, baby. Oh fuck yeah!” He’s groaning behind you, hissing and puffing. The throne creaks and rocks under you both. 

The burning in your thighs stops you momentarily, and you step down off the throne and ride him harder, leaning forward on his thighs. 

He’s watching, hands on your ass cheeks, splaying you apart so he can see his cock delve deeper into your pussy, shiny and drenched with your slick. 

He sucks his thumb and notches it against your tight, puckered hole. You squeal in delight as he breaks through and hooks it into your ass.

“So fucking dirty baby.” He praises as you tighten around his cock. “Wish we had that candy cane now so I can put it in your ass.” 

“Oh my God…” You sigh deliciously at the seedy thought.

“You gonna come? Come with my thumb in your ass like the dirty slut you are?” 

“Mmm, yeah!” You coo. 

“Fuck yeah!” He hollers as you start to shudder and ripple around him. 

Your voice wanes, becoming nothing but a husked whisper scraping against the back crevices of your throat. But the most fascinating thing of all to him, is the way your body shakes uncontrollably on the end of his cock as he strokes the inside of your ass. 

The dreamy, heady feeling crawls over you like smoke in the dimly lit corridors of the back of the mall, choking you up. The colours of Christmas in the Grotto take on a seedy glamour, as if you're witnessing the world through the tinted lens of a noir film.

It's a sensory whirlwind, where every touch, taste, and sound carries a palpable sharpened edge, laced with a hint of danger that adds to the thrill of the fuck between you both.

His cock bottoms out in you constantly, filling you full of him and you can’t get enough. Panting and whining for more.

The knotting and binding cinches tighter and you start to fall, not into a soft cloud; it's a smokescreen of desire and kinky vice. It's the kind of state where the boundary between illusion and reality blurs, and you find yourself entangled in the gritty allure of forbidden pleasures.

Fucking Santa in a children's Grotto, and you giggle at the absurd, yet vividly decadent rapture, as your orgasm takes you and turns you out. 

“Yeah come all over my cock,” Dieter cajoles as you whine and screech, riding yourself through it until you buck and shake, unable to keep yourself up right on legs that feel like mush.  

Dieter bends you over the throne this time, kneeling on the plush seat as you cling to the back of it whilst he stands behind you, pummelling into you and seeking his own finish.

“You like taking Santa’s big cock like this?” His voice pelts the back of your neck; hair bunched and knotted around his fist.

“Yeah!” You cry out, literally clawing at the gold paint finishing. You’ll find it under your nails later. “Harder.” You whine. 

“Oh, you want it so hard, you greedy cock slut.” Wheezing like he’ll need an oxygen machine for the rest of his life, Dieter speeds up.

Obscene slapping of sweaty skin-on-skin fills the Grotto. If security were to trundle on by, there’s no mistaking you'd both be caught and the thought makes you flare. 

“Spank me, Santa!” You urge over your shoulder. 

“You want me to spank you?”

“I’ve been a very bad elf…” You pout coyly. 

“So fucking bad, baby.” He slaps across your ass, the sting making you moan out as it traverses your body.

“Mmm, yeah! More!”

“More?” He does it again, harder and it leaves a mark where you can feel the burn. 

Another slap has you screaming as you push back on his cock, meeting his every thrust. 

The sweat sheen on your back shines at him and he leans over you running his tongue up your spine to taste it. The action pushes him deeper and you both cry out in unison.

He works his hips, shunting back and forth in small, quick bursts as he fucks that tight, pretty hole and makes you mewl and gasp. 

A savage rhapsody of his unrelenting stamina that pummels you continually; all you can do is take it, whining and groaning and seeing the phosphenes glitter around your vision as he builds you up again.

It’s soaking between your legs, immensely sticky and you can feel it dripping between your thighs. You reach under yourself and stroke your clit that feels like it might explode with the simplest nudge.

It feels so good, too good, and you’re coming again, legs shaking and your back feeling like it might break in half, as he twists and pistons into you with all that he’s got.

“Where’d you want Santa to finish, baby?” He grunts desperately. 

“In my mouth.”

“Oh fuck!”

“Watch me swallow it all down, Santa.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

He pulls out and jerks his cock a few times before coating your waiting tongue with warm, thick spurts of him. 

“Take Santa’s load,” he groans. “Yeah, lick the tip clean, suck it. Oh yeah, that’s it… fuck. Clean me up with that slutty mouth, baby.”

He reaches down, smearing his thumb over your lips that are sticky with his pearly come. Cock in hand still, he strokes the side of your face as you look up at him and run your tongue over his length. 

“Next time, you can fill my ass.” You wink.

“Fuck,” Dieter chuckles. He has a large dimple on the left side of his face when he smiles; an almost perfect crescent, like the moon in its waxing phase. You decide instantly that it's kinda beautiful.

Standing, your hands on his chest - the wife beater drenched with sweat - you kiss him, slipping your salty tongue into his mouth and he whines, groping your ass and crushing his softening cock between you both. 

You feel him pick you up, wincing around his teeth a little, as he strains, hands splayed under your ass cheeks as he plonks you down on the counter where all the treats are kept, namely the basket of candy canes.

You groan contently into the seedy warmth of his mouth once more as he latches onto your lips, tongue exploring the wet crevices of your mouth. You cup the back of his head, yielding to the undercurrent of surrender, willingly.

Dieter takes one of the candy canes, unwraps it and slides it into your mouth. You feel his fingers stroking through your wet swollen folds, gathering it and swirling it around the rim of your ass as he puts one of your ankles on his shoulder. 

It's a feeling that goes beyond the physical, a warmth that stirs the echoes of desires you might not want to admit, but have willingly embraced nonetheless.

You want more of him, want more of this grimy bastard filling you up, and judging by how grunts, licking around your teeth and gums hungrily, Santa’s not done yet with you either. 

“Get it nice and wet, baby. That’s it.” He encourages you as you slurp and suck around the candy cane.

He takes it from you, and you bite down on your lip as you feel it pushing against your rim.

“Santa’s gonna make it disappear, baby.” Dieter, the Sleazy Santa chuckles at you, with a sly, twisted grin as you crush his rancid lips to yours once more. 

Thanks so much for reading more of Sleazy!Dieter. I hope you enjoyed him! Stay tuned for more of him in the future.🖤

MASTERLIST

[runnning-outof-time]

There’s Something About These Grounds… | Tommy Shelby x Mrs Shelby & Reader

Request: no - written for @zablife ‘s 2k celebration and @little-diable ‘s 15k celebration

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Mrs Shelby & Reader

Summary: Mrs Shelby takes a walk and stumbles upon a dark secret that is hidden on the grounds of Arrow House. She's given a warning about the future of her family, a warning that makes her new husband wonder if she should even leave the house at all.

Warnings: language, drinking, smoking, paranormal themes, implications of past and future miscarriages (nothing in detail), implications of suicide (nothing in detail)

Word Count: 3317

A/N: I…I’m not 100% sure what this is, but hey, I finished it - I think we’ll call it my best attempt at writing something that’s the complete opposite of fluff haha. I’ve given Mrs Shelby a name…she’s an OC but reader is also present here. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: Lee and Chi - congratulations on your amazing milestones!! I’m so thankful that you’re both part of this amazing community…I can’t imagine it without you! Thanks also to Chi for allowing me to play around with the prompt - it’s bolded/italcized in the story…I hope I still got the gist of it!

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message Me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

The landscape got darker and more overgrown with each step Mrs Shelby took. She wondered why she'd decided to take a walk away from the manor that she resided in. At one point, she even considered abandoning her original idea and turning back to the house. But then she reasoned that anything would be better than being cooped up inside those dark walls for yet another day.

Her marriage to the man who owned the very estate she was walking on, Thomas Shelby, can only be described as a whirlwind. No one in either of their families knew of it happening until after the license was signed and they had taken a trip to Paris. What had bright promises at first now felt like the beginning of a prison sentence for the young woman.

It was Tommy's family that insisted they have the party that was taking place today. The bride was weary about it - she was never one to jump into the spotlight during social events, but Tommy's methods of convincing made it hard to say 'no'. He assured her that she'd be in control; that when she'd say that she'd reached her limit, the party would be over. It eased her worries when she agreed to it, but now that the day of the party was here, she was feeling uneasy once again.

So, in hopes to quell her building nerves, Mrs Shelby decided that she would escape the house and take a walk on its expansive grounds.

The landscape seemed to turn a darker shade of green the further she walked away from the manor, but she reasoned that the worry of being amongst some overgrown trees was affecting her much less than the worry of what would be happening later this evening.

She continued walking until she came upon a pond. The small body of water was surrounded by trees and shrubbery, and the fog that hung low over it added an eerie vibe to the atmosphere. As Mrs Shelby got closer to the pond, she noticed a woman standing in the middle of it.

"Hello?!" she called out, confusing quickly filling her as she walked closer to the water’s edge with caution. "Excuse me," she spoke again when the woman didn't respond or even turn to face her.

From her short distance away, she could see that this lady looked almost white, as if she'd been submerged in the cold water for too long and had lost all color. Her hair was wet and flat on her head, sticking to the skin of her shoulders that could be seen above the water.

Mrs Shelby felt a chill run through her body as she stayed focused on the mysterious woman, who still hadn't moved despite the other making her presence very known. "This is private property, you know," Mrs Shelby tried another direction, hoping that her voice held the authority that was needed to finally make the lady face her. But her words did nothing.

Frustration seeped into her bones as she willed herself to move even closer to the pond's edge. Maybe she didn't hear me, she reasoned as she prepared to call out again. But just as she opened her mouth, the woman completely submerged herself under the water, leaving not a trace of her behind. This made Mrs Shelby frantic. She looked everywhere - even kneeling down on the muddy ground and straining her eyes to see if she could spot her underwater - wondering how the lady could disappear from sight just like that.

The sudden voice that came from behind her made her jump.

"These woods are no one's property, darling." It had to be the woman who was in the water. Mrs Shelby was hesitant to turn and face the person, but when she did, she found the woman, who had disappeared just moments ago, standing beside her. She noticed that she was no longer wet, and was wearing a worn, white slip, something that was too cold to be wearing on a dark, autumn day. "They belong to nature."

"My husband would say differently," Mrs Shelby tried to stay calm, standing up and jutting her chin upwards slightly in hopes it would add to her act of confidence. She didn't want this woman to know that she was actually shaking in her shoes.

"Your husband does not know what he stands for," the woman was quick to say.

"Who-who are you and why are you here?" Mrs Shelby decided to ask, her voice faltering only slightly.

"My name is (Y/N)," the woman responded, "this is my home."

The second part of her statement made Mrs Shelby scoff slightly. "Impossible. My husband and I own these grounds. They've been in his hands for four years now," she spoke in a refuting tone.

"Don't be silly, Eloise. These grounds have changed hands many times," the strange woman countered, uttering a laugh of her own at the face that Mrs Shelby pulled when her name was said.

"How do you know my name?"

"I know things," (Y/N) spoke frankly. "I know things about you, about your husband. I know why your marriage occurred in the manner it did...it's not for the reason you keep telling yourself."

"I don't know what you mean..." Mrs Shelby wasn't sure if she actually wanted clarification.

"Tommy was lonely. He couldn't cope with himself, with his business and its demands. The whores weren't doing it for him anymore, and even though I told him that he could keep coming to see me, it wasn't enough for him. He needed someone who would be by his side constantly. Someone who could appease him physically. It's unclear to me why he chose you...since it seems you'd rather be away from him then by his side." (Y/N) ended her explanation by looking the other woman over, an unimpressed look present on her face.

"He and I love each other," Mrs Shelby tried to be indignant, but she didn't quite believe the declaration herself.

"That's what you try so hard to believe," (Y/N) snorted at the thought.

Mrs Shelby felt slighted by these words. She hastily tried to muster up the ability to take back the conversation, since it was clearly falling into (Y/N)'s hands. "We do. We've spoken of starting a family, of completing our home...a little brother or sister for Charlie." (Y/N) only laughed at what was said. Mrs Shelby scoffed at her reaction. "How dare you react in that way! This is not a laughable matter," she insisted, glaring at the grinning woman.

"You are so naïve to believe that it'll be that simple; that your wishes will be granted," (Y/N) stated, shaking her head. Silly woman, she thought.

"I don't see why they wouldn't be," Mrs Shelby furrowed her eyebrows at the other woman's cryptic statement.

"You've not lived here long enough to know what'll happen...to know what fate befalls every woman that sets foot on this property."

"What are you saying?"

"It's the land, Eloise. It's cursed. It took my babies, and it'll take yours too," (Y/N) words had an ominous tone to them, making Mrs Shelby shiver as she heard them. Nothing could have prepared her for what would come out of the other woman's mouth next: "it kept me here to make sure of it."

A mortified look formed on Mrs Shelby's face while a smirk formed on (Y/N)'s. The former of the two stayed frozen in her spot as the latter slowly retreated back into the trees that surrounded the eerie pond.

Even if Mrs Shelby wanted to, she couldn't ask the strange woman what her ominous message meant because (Y/N) had slipped completely out of sight. She'd practically vanished into thin air.

The conversation left Mrs Shelby reeling; questioning if any of it was even real. She tried blinking her eyes several times, wondering if doing so would do the trick of waking her up. Yes...maybe this is all just a twisted dream. But it wasn't. She was still standing out in the middle of the forest, the fog-covered pond still in front of her; the bottom of her dress still covered in the mud of the bank she kneeled on. So many questions were swirling through her mind as she grappled with what was real and what could possibly be made up.

She knew two things for certain: one, she couldn't stay out here a second longer, and two: she needed to speak to Tommy about this immediately.

Mrs Shelby was completely out of breath when she reached the doors to Arrow House. She rushed inside, squeezing herself through the people who were working hasilty to make sure finishing touches were in place before the party started. She gave them no thought as she frantically looked for her husband, moving so quickly through the crowd that she hadn't noticed he was in front of her until his hands were grabbing hold of her shoulders.

"Where're you running to, love?" Tommy asked, his brows furrowed as he took in the sight of his distraught wife. He watched closely as she took several breaths to calm herself down, and he placed pressure on her collarbones with his thumbs, hoping that it would aid the process.

"Tommy, I...I went out t-to walk and followed the, the path down to the trees, and then I walked further in and I just kept walking until I reached a p-pond, and I, I, I uh I didn't...I didn't..."

"Hey, slow down, Eloise," Tommy cut off his wife's frantic rambles with a steady voice, "catch your breath first before you talk again," he suggested, seeing her nod before he brought his hands from her shoulders up to her cheeks. He caressed them softly as he let his eyes drift over her body. "What's happened, eh? Why is your dress muddy?" he asked, his brows furrowing together again.

"I was telling you, I...I found a pond. And there was a woman in it."

"A woman?" Tommy was taken back by the information.

"Yes. She, she was in the water when I first saw her, but then she came to me and she, she...Tommy, we need to leave. We need to leave here, now," her voice might have been shaky, but she still said the final word with the dire emotion it needed.

"Why would we do that, darling?" he needed to ask, now full of confusion.

"We have to leave here if we want to have the family we talk about. We can't have a baby here, Tommy," the fear filling her body was present in her words.

"You're confusing me, Eloise," he bluntly said, hoping she'd get to the point of her worries and stop dancing around the problem.

"To keep them alive, Tommy," she spoke with a sense of urgency, "there's something in the woods...a woman...she said that she's going to take our babies."

Tommy took a few moments to let what was just said sink in. The cogs in his mind were now turning at the second mention of this woman. He knew now that it was no mistake made by his frantic wife. She must've encountered (Y/N). Just the thought of that happening made his blood run cold. He needed to think of a way to deflect this; to make her believe that this was nothing to be worried about. "I think you might have been outside for too long, love. Why don't you go upstairs and change for the party, eh?" he suggested, his eyebrows raised, showing that even though he'd asked a question, his suggestion wasn't actually up for debate.

"But I didn't...I know it wasn't..."

"Go on, love," he cut her off as she fumbled for the words, nodding his head towards the stairs. "Everyone's almost here."

Mrs Shelby bit on her lip as she fought to keep everything inside. It felt like she was on the brink of a breakdown, and Tommy surely had to see that. Why was he trying to diminish the situation? Didn't he care to know more of why she was reacting the way she was? Did he even want the family they had talked about? All of these questions were bouncing around Mrs Shelby's mind as her husband looked expectantly at her. There was no way that she could bring the conversation back now. It was over.

So she nodded her head ever-so slightly, silently agreeing with what he wanted her to do. That was all Tommy needed from her. He dropped his hold from her, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her lips before he mumbled 'good' and left her side. Mrs Shelby stood there for a moment, still overwhelmed from everything that had happened. But there was only one thing she could do now: get ready for the party and hope for the best.

"Fuck," Tommy breathed as he paced the floor of his office. He brought the glass of whiskey up to his lips and drank the rest of it, setting the glass down just as the door to the room opened.

"Frances said you needed me," the voice of his sister called out before she walked in from behind the door.

"Yes, come in," Tommy answered, waving his hand to her even though she'd already entered the room, "shut the door," he said then, fishing the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"What's going on?" Ada decided to get right to the point. She was never one for beating around the bush, especially when her brother was so clearly being affected by something.

"Eloise just returned from a walk. She managed to find the pond," Tommy started, running his hand along the back of his head as he looked to the ground with a huff. His statement may have been vague, but Ada knew exactly what he was getting at.

"Oh, Tommy," she sighed in dismay. She watched her brother then, now seeing the stress and worry that was so clearly etched into his features.

"She told me she met the woman and that she talked to her," he gave more detail, sitting down on the couch with a sigh. "I don't know what I'm going to do to cover this up," he added, bringing the cigarette to his lips to take a long drag.

Ada stood in her spot, her arms crossed as she observed her brother. It didn't take much to notice that he’d already given this problem all of his attention. He may have seemed composed on the outside, but she knew that his mind was working on overdrive. "Maybe it's time you forgot about her," she offered a suggestion a few moments later.

"Forgot about who?" Tommy asked, not even bothering to raise his head from the couch's back.

"(Y/N)," Ada didn't hesitate in saying the woman's name. Hearing it made Tommy's head snap up so that he could look at his sister. He almost looked surprised at the fact that she'd dare say that name. "You have Eloise now. There's no longer a need to visit her anymore."

"She knows too much," he countered.

"Who?" Ada asked for specifics.

"(Y/N). She knows too much. Of me, of this land, of fucking everything. I don't want Eloise speaking to her anymore."

"What're you going to do then, forbid Eloise from leaving the house?" Her question was meant to be a joke, but it was one that made the lightbulb above her brother's head go off. She noticed it in the way Tommy moved, standing from the couch and stalking out of the room, on a new mission. "Fuck," she breathed with a sigh, knowing that his mind that been set and there'd be no changing it.

Ada wondered why Tommy cared so much about this woman; this person who was no longer living and breathing, yet was still chained to this world. He had told her about (Y/N) in depth: about how she lived a very unhappy life, how she'd gotten to the point where she had nothing left, how she went to that very pond and walked into it knowing that she wouldn't be coming back out.

What Ada didn't realize was that Tommy felt like he was connected to (Y/N); like she was the only person who understood everything he'd been through. Tragedy understood tragedy, and both (Y/N) and Tommy's lives had been filled with it.

So would Tommy really insert more control over his loving wife’s life just because she’d stumbled upon a spirit lurking on the grounds of their estate? That question may not be so easily answered.

Despite the events of the day, the party went smoothly. Tommy, while still having to play host alongside Eloise, managed to speak to his wife about the adventure she'd taken earlier. He convinced her that they wouldn't be moving, and even though she didn't quite understand his reasoning, she agreed to never again walk past the gates of Arrow House's garden; thereby relinquishing her ability to leave the immediate property.

Eloise was able to fall asleep the second her head hit the pillow, exhausted from everything that had happened. Tommy was still wide awake late into the evening. He had one more thing he needed to do.

It didn't take him long to find the pond on the property, and it was no surprise that (Y/N) was waiting for him when he reached the water's edge. She waded towards him, a smile gracing her lips as she stopped in front of him. "I knew you'd come back," she said, speaking in that sweet voice that he'd come to find comfort in. But he couldn't let it calm him this time.

"You shouldn't have spoken to her," his words were abrupt, hoping that she'd get the point and they'd move on.

"I just had to let her know," (Y/N) didn't let it go; instead she explained her side. Her smile dropped into a pout as she tipped her head slightly, feigning innocence.

Her look didn’t faze him. "You'll not speak to her again.”

"I'm not sure I'll be able to help it if the option presents itself," her smile returned, and any trace of innocence was gone.

"It won't...she won't be coming down here anymore," Tommy stayed assertive, still not letting her switch faze him.

"So it'll just be you then?" (Y/N)'s eyebrows raised.

"It'll just be me. Forget you ever saw her," he finished off with one more succinct statement before turning to leave her. Even if he wanted to, he knew he couldn't stay out here tonight.

"She knows what'll happen," (Y/N)'s voice stopped him before he could leave. "She knows about the curse. Knows what'll happen if you try..." she trailed off, not even finishing her sentence because he already knew what she meant.

Silence hung in the air as he stared her down, watching for any subtle movements she could make. "Make it so it doesn't,” he said after a few beats, not waiting to turn and walk away from the pond without allowing her to have a chance to respond.

"I'll see you soon, Tommy," she called after him, smiling as she watched him walk away.

He knew that there was no way she could make things change, even if she wanted to. There was something about these grounds...something that was darker than anything he'd ever known. But he'd be lying if he said he wanted to leave them.

Eloise may not like it, but at the end of the day, she didn't have a choice. She'd stay locked inside of Arrow House so that Tommy could ensure that his two worlds wouldn't collide again.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @dlmlufics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @areyenotfondofmelobster @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[bruciemilf]

i love how possessive your jason is over bruce, you got any more scenarios where he is just a possessive overgrown puppy?

Here's the thing; Jason has MASSIVE youngest child vibes and we MUST keep in mind he was Bruce's youngest for a TIME. in my experience, younger siblings are RIDICULOUSLY jealous over parents, and I love that for Jason.

Jason who lost Bruce? Jason who thought Bruce replaced him? Jason who's welcomed back with open arms and heavy hearts by the only father he ever knew? Jason who had everything taken from him by Gotham City?

Yeah, excuse him for being a little clingy.

But he's always been that way; It's this unspoken component of him that Lazarus itself couldn't amplify more if it tried. And Dick probably knew Jason was a jealous prick when they young, and cracked but not broken, and they crafted Bruce father's day cards.

Dick probably knew Jason was a jealous prick when he ripped his own card because Bruce looked at Dick's a little longer, and he stormed off, small feet beating againts expensive floors. " Jaylad! Come back, I love yours too!"

" You love HIS more, so what's the point?!"

Bruce of course glued it back; Jason helped him, sniffing and blushing the whole time, and Bruce laughed, rare but warm, and pressed cotton soft kisses over Jason's cherry red cheeks.

Dick found the whole thing hilarious, and never misses an opportunity to bring it up whenever his Little Wing tries denying the Possessive Baby Bird allegations.

" Boys are always so clingy over their moms."

" This is why Kory left you."

[macravishedbymactavish]

Hugging Headcanons (COD Ghosts x GN! Reader)

TW: Rorke. Mentions of the canon Ghosts ending, illusions to torture (nothing graphic)

| Blog HQ | MW2 Version |

David "Hesh" Walker

As we all know, Hesh is very, very open with his emotions. Both negative and positive, it's very easy to see what he's feeling at a glance.

Which means he is also very open to tell you how he feels for you (after months of pining and annoying Logan about it. Who was ready to spill his brothers secret for him, just so he could have one night without hearing about you)

Not only tells you how much he loves you, but also shows it through his hugs.

Normally quite goofy, a lot of times ending in you laughing while pushing against his chest. Trying to create space between the two of you as he only pulls you tighter.

You two also have your fair share of serious, loving hugs when the moment calls for it.

Loves watching you jump then immediately relax when he surprises you and hugs you from behind. Has almost gotten nailed right in the nose for it though.

Will hug you everywhere and anywhere that it's safe. No regard for who's watching, or your surroundings (the exception being if the surroundings/situation is dangerous)

Hesh has developed the habit of seeking you out when he needs a pick me up. Especially when his head gets a little too loud, and life becomes a bit overwhelming.

Maybe it's the feeling of security when he's wrapped up in you, but he finds it easier to deal with his emotions when being held by you. These moments seem to help him find clarity in his thoughts, and help him gain new perspective.

Especially when he's dealing with problems or topics he feels hopeless and lost about.

Hesh is just all around more level headed when he can hold you and slow his brain down for a few minutes.

Keegan Russ

He's antisocial, appreciates having a decent amount of personal space. So 1 of 2 things happens:

If you're like him, and don't particularly like people being too close. He respects it, and finds it rather endearing watching the journey of you getting a little bit closer to him each day. To the point where standing beside one another comfortably is the norm.

If you're not like him, and love being up close and personal he'll eventually form a soft spot for you. Initially gets annoyed, but holds back the attitude because he does like having you around. But maybe over there.

Don't ask me why, but I get the vibe that while he wants to hug you sooner, he doesn't. For what reason? Nobody, including himself can figure that one out.

The first hug would be work related. Whether that be a heroic "oh shit" moment where he's doing something like the clichè cover your body with his. Except far less dramatic (nobody got hurt).

Or a way to not get caught when trying to go undercover.

No, those aren't 2 Ghosts. Just a couple of overgrown teenagers loving up on one another in that dark alley. It's fine.

After that first time however, he's hugging you during every quiet moment the two of you have together.

If you're shorter than him, he's going to rest his chin on your head and hold you tight into his chest. He always feels like you're this delicate thing that needs to be protected within his embrace (even though you're not and would likely chew him out if he ever said that out loud).

If you're the same height or taller -- he loves pressing his face into your neck. It brings him unlimited comfort doing this, but he'll deny it to no end if anyone asks.

Thomas Merrick

Another guy that gives me bear hug vibes (like Price). Not overly obnoxious, but if the situation or mood calls for it he's holding you tight and considering the idea of not letting go.

Otherwise very casual with keeping physical touch. Arm around your shoulders or waist when you're sitting next to one another or walking together.

While very private about his personal life, he unconsciously wants to keep in some form of physical contact with you.

Has totally done that thing where he rests his cheek on your head, just relishing in the moment.

Especially on long rides back to whatever destination. He's gotten a couple curious looks from the newest Ghosts for this (in his defense, Logan did think it was adorable. Hesh ruined it by showing his clear confusion because Merrick's a softie?!)

They were promptly shut down by one of the other guys giving them a look of warning. Just let the man have his small moments of peace....in peace.

Call him old fashioned, but he loves when he can hold you close and slowly dance with you. Music is totally optional.

He may or may not have imagined the two of you like this on your wedding day (if marriage is in the cards for you two).

While he can come off as hot headed, and loyal/defensive to a fault (literally slamming Hesh into a wall for stepping up at Keegan) I want to say he's actually fairly laid back at home. If he needs to step in and ensure you're okay, he will in a heartbeat.

But otherwise? Totally content just lounging around with you in his arms.

Merrick also appreciates when he's the little spoon. Or being hugged from behind. Something about the feeling warms his heart in ways he can't (and won't) describe.

Logan Walker

In the beginning, you're going to have to initiate most of the hugs. While he loves them, he overthinks it too much and talks himself out of it.

Loves (and I mean LOVES) being hugged by you. Everything in the world just lines up during the time he's being held by you. Nothing bad can happen to him when you're hugging him.

The first time he hugged you (was a "from behind hug" where he rested his chin on your shoulder) you could've swore your heart might've exploded.

His confidence eventually progresses to greeting you (when appropritate, nobody dying for hugs here) with a hug and forehead kiss becoming the norm.

Hear me out on this, beach date with Logan. Hanging out by the water when he hugs you from behind....then promptly dunks you both under the water.

He'd be fully clothed and dripping wet with you, but would have such a mischievous smile on his face for the rest of the day.

That was the most fun I've had in a long time. He would tell you later that day, waiting for the sun to dry you both off.

Little does he know you're probably plotting his revenge.

Post-capture, this would be one of the first things he finds to come back naturally. They wiped most of his mind and memory, but the feeling of you in his arms and vice versa seems to be ingrained in his muscles.

Even when the world becomes a bit too much for him to handle, the comfort of your hugs grounds him and wipes his mind for a second

Elias Walker

Throwing him in here to say it would only happen under 3 circumstances:

1). You become like a third child to him

2). You are in desperate need of some familial comfort

3). You were almost seriously injured/killed on a mission and thank God you're okay. Remember how he pushed Merrick off Hesh in the helicopter scene and immediately went to calm Hesh down? I'm thinking that kind of vibe.

I don't know, he's the dad of the game and I like the idea that Mama Walker was his soulmate. He has no interest in filling that role. He's content with his sons and team filling his heart

No matter what situation causes the chain reaction leading to a hug -- it's filled with comfort and understanding.

Like hugging a parent who truly cares, and wants the best for you. Leaves your conscience feeling lighter and your soul a little warmer

Gabriel Rorke

If you're on hugging tier with this man, you're special. Like....extremely special to him.

Maybe it's my overtired brain (that initiated this idea), but I could see you being the one and only tie he has left to life pre-federation (like with Logan - the feeling of holding you and being held is muscle memory. It evokes an unconscious reaction within him).

If you were by his side on the Federation:

He'd seek you out for some form of comfort, especially after capturing Logan and starting that process. No matter how brainwashed he is and hellbent on revenge, he knows first hand how terrible the conditioning process is.

For a kid he's never met, he feels horrible for doing this to him. But duty calls and you gotta do what you gotta do.

Especially on nights when he can't get the sound of the screams and agony out of his head...and his body aches in the same way it did years prior -- he seeks you out. Relishes in the feeling of you holding him and helping him forget about the atrocities.

If you're not part of the Federation with him:

I feel like you two would cross paths in the battlefield. Which would go 1 of 2 ways:

1). You get spared, he can't quite place the details but he recognizes you as someone vastly important in his life. All he wants in exchange for your freedom is a hug -- because apparently those were really important to him at one point before all this

2). You don't get spared. Again, some part of him screams and deep dives to try and remember who you are. Details are blurry or redacted within his head; but acting on instinct he pulls you close. Despite everything, you get your last moments alive in the arms of someone you once loved.

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @ai-luni @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

[carlyraejepsans]

Oh great The Sans Artist Ever, please give me your wisdom. How do you make Sans look so convincingly middle aged? Try as I might I feel my vibes fall short..

my wisdom, huh? hey, give me some credit. this is highly specialized knowledge, it takes YEARS to master...

just kidding. biscia's middle aged sans guide. attempt numero uno. here we go.

step one. draw sans like you normally draw him. hey, good job. that's a nice picture you have there. but... it sounds like it's not quite hitting the mark, huh? welp. let's set it aside and try something different.

here's some of my "hot tips" for ya

shrink the eyelights, but not the whole 'socket. or, uh, make the eyesockets bigger and leave the 'lights? help me out here.

you see this a lot with official merch art, but they make the sockets droop down at the sides. it's not 100% sprite accurate, but hey, the bloodhound look works pretty well at making him look older. it's not for everyone though, so just give it a shot.

speaking of eyesockets... don't forget your 'bags under your seat. it's funny. with all the time they play that message, you'd figure people would remember, but lots of artists out there leave the eyes at two black circles. who knows, maybe they don't think it's important, but eyebag to differ.

another big thing a lotta artists change is the nose. which is weird, cause technically he doesn't have one. anyway, the ^ shaped ones are nice and all, but they can push the result closer to baby-faced than you intended. pick up the canon sprite again... pretty solid triangle, right? it's also, uh, a lot bigger than most people draw it. maybe try doing that. you might have to space the eyes apart more, and shrink the mouth too. try out different proportions, see what looks best.

make the mouth more angular. trust me, i used to love the bean mouth, but it can shave more than a couple years from his face. that being said, don't forget the cheeks squishing at the corners. not a lot of chances out there to put lines on a face with no skin, but this is one of 'em.

shorter legs, wider shoulders. really get in that pocket sized refrigerator mindset.

now we get to the fun stuff. some people might call this a "beer belly", but actually, it's just overgrown muscles spilling over. huh..? what's that face supposed to mean? it takes a HUGE amount of training to sit at your post and do nothing all day. there's a reason they call it job "crunching", kid. unfortunately, your "mad gainz" aren't counted on your monthly report. don't bother asking. i tried it and they laughed me outta town.

1/4 head to body ratio max. you can push it further, i guess, but it starts to look off pretty fast. when in doubt, go wider, not taller.

welp, that's pretty much it. you're welcome, by the way. let me know how that goes for ya

[jobean12-blog]

Fallen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Werewolf AU)

Word Count: 689

Summary: Nothing will keep you from the love of your life, not your father's blade and certaintly not a seemingly irreversible curse.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing this AU and although it's short I really enjoyed it and hope to revisit! This is for @pupandkisasaesthetics aesthetic challenge! Thank you bunches to @sgt-seabass and @rookthorne for hosting such a cool challange! 💕💕The prompt I was given is shown below. I know it gives a Viking vibe but I figured it would work as them hunting the werewolf- that's where my brain went! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰 I made a moodboard but it STINKS bc I just can't do it, I'm no good at it, but I included it at the bottom just because I wanted you to see some stuff I had in mind LOL 😆

Warnings: some angst during a chase, small mention of i-n-ju-r-y and b-lo-o-d, softness too!

Your fingers dig deep into thick fur as the powerful muscles beneath propel you forward at a pace that has the wind whipping around you and chilling you to the bone.

The forest is dark except for the ethereal glow of the moon as you race through the shadows, clinging to him and silently urging him on through every labored breath.

The flight is born out of necessity, the distant sound of clashing weapons and battle cries echoing through the trees, a constant reminder that danger is still close.

As the terrain changes and becomes more uneven you tighten your grip but your fingers slip through fur matted with blood. Darkness closes in around you, the trees growing denser and forming an almost protective barrier as you weave about the trunks.

You can feel his heart pound in rhythm with yours, his muscles strained and taut with tension. You whisper to him, a soft murmur against the backdrop of the night and with renewed strength he surges forward, carrying you closer to safety.

Just when it seems he can go no further, a clearing emerges ahead, your sanctuary. He surges forward with one last determined stride and collapses on the stone pathway.

The small cottage seems to have sprung from the very fabric of the woods, the weathered stones surrounded by overgrown moss and vegetation, blending in seamlessly within the trees.

You slide from his body, hot tears streaming down your face as you run your hands over his large body. The wound on his hind leg is deep, the dark red blood still seeping out.

“James,” you cry. “Please.”

Bright blue eyes meet yours and he whimpers before nuzzling his nose under your hand.

“Please,” you beg.

He heaves himself from the ground and limps toward the doorway. You rush forward and open it, helping him inside before he collapses again, unmoving other than the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

It’s late into the night when you finally get the bleeding to stop, his wound cleaned and covered. Your hands are stained red but your tears have dried as exhaustion takes over and you lay your head against his fur.

Sleep comes quickly but it’s fitful, plagued by the nightmares of what’s hunting you. When you awake you’re curled up between four legs, your body cocooned and warm in his soft fur.

You stretch your aching muscles and sit up to check on his leg.

“You haven’t changed back,” you say quietly.

“You were shivering in the night,” he answers as his tail settles on your lap, keeping you warm still.

You burrow closer to him and scratch behind his ears.

“Thank you.”

It’s just a whisper, barely audible to human ears.

His body starts to shift, the long back fur receding and bones realigning. Muscles ripple under skin, adjusting to their new form and sharp claws retract, leaving behind long human fingers.

With a trembling hand James reaches out, his blue eyes still holding something wild and feral, but when his skin brushes yours, tender and vulnerable, you fall into his embrace and feel him sag under your acceptance.

“We cannot stay here,” he murmurs. “Your father will never stop hunting me.”

You lift your hand, cradling his cheek, the skin underneath still lined with a shadow of hair, and brush your finger over his lips.

“Then I will never stop running,” you tell him as you lean closer.

His dark hair falls in front of his face and your fingers trace his jaw before you tuck it back behind his ear. He runs his nose along your skin with a deep inhale, down your throat and back up again until he finds your lips, a satisfied growl rumbling through his chest.

“You would leave it all behind?”

His question is gentle, a gasp against your lips as he wraps his large hand around your waist and pulls you closer.

“There is nothing for me there…not without you.”

Your name falls from his parted lips, leaving nothing but the breath between you and when his lips press to yours he consumes you, body and soul.

@book-dragon-13 @goldylions @sebstanwhore @hiddles-rose @laineyreads @beccablogsthings @justkinsey @kmc1989 @lookiamtrying @randomfandompenguin @late-to-the-party-81 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife

[animeomegas]

Oh, fun an open askbox!!!

I gotta know, what's the vibe of aftercare from some of our mha omegas (Bakugou, Todoroki, Kirishima, etc)

Them giving their alpha aftercare? Hmmm....

Bakugou favours physical actions over words, whether that's doing things (like making food, changing sheets, running a bath), or giving physical affection (cuddles etc.) So expect to be physically looked after if Bakugou is giving you aftercare. The vibes are 'stop trying to get up, I'm taking care of it'.

Todoroki is very cuddly if you're close enough to be having sex with him. He's like an overgrown cat, so his favourite way to give aftercare is just to lay directly on top of you until you feel better lol. The vibes are 'crushed with love'.

Kirishima goes with the flow, his style matches whatever you have communicated to him that you prefer. If he had to choose, I think he'd be very good with his words, very reassuring, good at intuiting what you might want even if you don't ask for it. The vibes are very 'whatever you want, babe'.

[breoasis]

just saw that au idea of hermitcraft citizens in empires you’re so right

Hear me out hear me out:

-Doc is definitely a Grimlands citizen and 100% works on those mech suits Fwhip had to chop down trees. It's very obvious but those are his vibes that's what he gets.

-I feel like Scar would love the Overgrown because he is a flower guy, he likes making things pretty and all that, i'm sure he'd enjoy being kind of a garden fairy. Zedaph also lives in the Overgrown because he likes sheep and he's definitely taking care of Katherine's sheep farm.

-For Cleo i'd say Pixandria because i'd love to see her being more of a husk than a zombie under the desert sun and they would see the beauty in the barren landscape that is the desert.

-I was thinking of making Bdubs one of the gnomes from the Undergrove but the guy needs to be a swamp boy, no questions asked, he is a swamp boy from the Cod Empire, swampy creature....

That's all i can come up with at the moment, i'd appreciate any contribution

[cyborg-franky]

Giving OP Chars Haircuts

Simple headcanons [I got the vibe for these] includes Ace, Marco, Zoro and Law.

SFW GN Reader

Ace

Outside enjoying the sunny weather, Ace has his head on your lap, eyes closed as he takes a lazy nap.

Your reading a book, your hand playing with his hair, fingers running through the strands and you realize it takes longer for your fingers to complete the journey.

You glance down at your sleeping boyfriend and notice just how long his hair is getting.

He mumbles, maybe not as asleep as you’d thought. He looks up, brows furrowed at your hesitation in pampering him.

“What's wrong?” You shake your head in response. “Nothing, your hair’s just getting longer..  Do you need me to cut it?”

Ace shifts and turns his head, considering what you’d asked. “Why? Is it bad? Don’t like it long?” 

You sigh and carry on playing with the long black strands before you flicked his nose, causing a cry. He gives you a look as he holds his nose. “It’s not a bad thing, no. I was just offering you quick trim, I know you don’t like putting it up is all.” 

Ace is still rubbing his nose when he shrugs.

Later he's sat in your room, on your chair. You open and close the scissors making a pleasing sound. His arms are crossed, leaning on the back of the chair (You have no idea why he can’t sit normally but here you are)

“Just a bit yeah?” “Yes Ace, don’t worry. You can trust me.” You kiss him on the forehead before you step behind him. Getting a brush and working it through his slightly tangled locks.

Which makes him sit up, arms by his sides as he leans back with the brush. 

The haircut doesn't take long, just trimming the back and the sides. You finish and look at the little pile of black clippings.

“Here,” you pass Ace a mirror and hold up another behind him and he looks back and forth, an unsure expression before he nods, grinning ear to ear. “Thanks,” He turns and wraps his arms around your waist before you have a chance to react.

“Your welcome, firefly!”

Marco

You’ve been watching him shaking his head like a horse trying to swat away flies for a good twenty minutes now. 

Marco rests his elbow on the desk, hand in his hair, pulling at the long strands, and pushing them out of his eyes. He looked like an overgrown weed right now.

You don’t think you’d ever seen him with the pineapple sprout he called hair this long.

Another huff when he put his hand down to shuffle through paperwork as a strand fell into his eyes.

“Let me cut your hair, please.” You reach across the table, hand on his, giving him a frown as you watch another piece of hair fall down, floppy and defiant.

“I guess it is getting a little long huh?” He hummed and blew a puff of hair, displacing it for a moment.

“Just a little…” You said with a smile and looked at the time, you were both off duty as of ten minutes ago. You pushed your chair out, grabbed a pair of scissors, and pulled his chair out, using the wheels to guide him in front of the small mirror in his office.

“How do you know what I want?” Marco asked, staring at you in the mirror with a quirked brow.

“Marco, my love, you’ve never changed your hairstyle in all the years I’ve known you. You fixed him a look back and he laughed, an amused smirk on his face. “Alright, you got me yoi.”

He watched you snip away at the pineapple tuft, you used a comb to make sure it was even, slightly annoyed that it would spring up in a thousand directions.

“There, how’s that?” You asked as you used your fingers to tease through the tuft, fluffing it up.

He turned his head left and right before nodding. “Thank you, it’s great.” You smiled and wrapped around arms around him, kissing him.

Zoro

You didn’t think Zoro really cared about how he looked, he wore whatever was sort of clean and he showered when you nagged him. So when he was at your door with what appeared to be hair clippers, you were confused.

“Nami’s pissed at me and I need a haircut.” He said simply and shrugged his shoulders. “Has Nami been doing your hair all this time?” a mumble and another shrug.

You sighed and let him in, looking at the clippers in his hand, you sighed and took them from him.

He was sitting on the floor as you perched on the bed and ran fingers through his hair, the green hair was softer than you’d imagined.

“It doesn’t seem like it’s gotten that long,” You mumbled, it didn’t seem any longer to you but Zoro muttered “Yeah, I just like how it looks shorter.”

Ah, this was for him, he wanted to feel good about how it looked. Something about that was kind of cute and you couldn't help but adore him even more.

You’d help him, you’d allow Zoro his one little thing he liked about his appearance. “You don’t have to ask Nami anymore, I’ll do it for you if you like how I cut it anyway.”

He nodded, rubbing your leg gently, his own little way of thanking you and showing he appreciated it.

You took a breath and started up the clippers, you hoped you didn’t mess up and ruin the trust he had in you.

It didn’t take long, even with you hesitating in places, and you brushed the little grass-like clippings off his shoulders. “I think this is how you have it..” You said and he stood up, walking to your desk, peering into the mirror, and playing with the tiny flippy bit you’d kept at the front. “Yeah, I like it. I like it better when you do it, thanks.”

You grinned, feeling the warmth from his comment and the accomplishment.

Law

You loved Law but sometimes it was a battle to pry the hat off his head, you wished you could make some sort of no-hats-inside rule but then the entire crew would more than likely have an identity crisis.

So when he came to bed, a book in hand, still wearing that fucking hat you waited till he sat down and snatched the hat from his head.

He fixed you a glare and reached for the hat but you then noticed just how long his hair had gotten.

“You need a haircut, or need to wear the hat less because Law, hat head is a very real thing.” Law snorted in response, still reaching for his hat which you held at arm's length.

“Let me give you a trim and you can have it back,” You tried to convince him. You could see the consideration in his eyes as he looked from the hat, to you and back to the hat. “Fine.”

You sat him in a chair, a towel wrapped around his shoulders, acting like this was your own little salon. “Didn’t Shachi used to cut your hair?” Law nodded. “I forgot I needed one, just kind of let it grow.” You nodded, thinking about how he didn’t even plan to be here, why would he care how long his hair had grown in his time away?

Pushing those thoughts away, you grabbed a comb and started to brush the dark strands, unruly and messy from being smothered by a hat day in day out.

Law closed his eyes and leaned back, he seemed to enjoy the attention, though you knew he’d never say as much.

Snipping away at strands while maintaining Law’s favored hairstyle, you could briefly envision the lecture from Shachi when he saw it tomorrow but pushed through it.

When you were done you slid the towel from around him.

“So?”

He moved, heading to the bathroom to check, no screaming, which could only be a good thing right? He peered around the corner, he’d styled it a little to gauge if he liked it.

“Thank you, I’ll keep on top of it from now on.” You sighed, a smile on your lips as you walked over. “I’ll make sure you take care of yourself, don’t worry.”