#critical reader insert

[petrichorium]

Readers learn to compliment an x reader author without being weird and backhanded as fuck challenge (impossible apparently???)

[a-menagerie]

Maybe something with “25 - finding comfort in their scent” being about Ashton

Ashton doesn’t smell like much tbh. Just a bit earthy and metallic, not in a bad way, and you have to be really sniffing to notice. In its own way, it’s nice.

But one day you notice, after a fight, Ashton’s pressing their face into your neck, holding you to themself and you hear…a deep inhale, followed by another.

At first you think it’s just Ashton centering himself, calming themself down. Because it begins to happen that way after every fight.

But then you begin to notice him leaning into you throughout the day, against your hair, your shoulder, pressing into your belly when he uses your lap for a nap

“Are you…sniffing me?” You ask. Ashton had hid his face in your hair to hide how harshly he was rolling his eyes at whatever conversation had been going on. But they’d lingered there, even as the other dispersed, and you could swear you heard him.

“Does it matter?” Ashton replies, (very carefully) bumping his forehead against you. You pull back and turn some so you can look at them.

“You can just tell me I’m stinky.” You stick your tongue out at them. Ashton rolls his eyes and pulls you back against him.

“You smell good.” Ashton mumbles quietly into your neck, following it up with a quick kiss. “I like breathing you in. Helps me remember….you’re here.”

[chaoticrage99]

The Veil Between Love and Death 1.5 (Percy’s POV)

CW: angst, mentions of de@th, Percy is possessed for a bit, Percy uses The List aka his pepperbox

Whitestone.

Once a beautiful and thriving place and home to my family and I, now a place of death and filled with dread and sorrow. The Briarwoods took everything away from me and have done this to the people of Whitestone…they will pay for their crimes against us.

Managing to start a revolution with my dear friend Archie to help restore faith and hope to the people of Whitestone and two names removed from the barrel of my gun, the party, my sister, and I had made it into the dungeons of Whitestone castle.

After seeing Ripley and having my body taken over by the smoke and the deep-seated urge to kill her on the spot, I was lucky enough to have Y/N snap me out of it along with my sister. Y/N has always been able to help me in a bind or whenever I need to calm myself it seemed like they knew how to help. Granted I still wanted her to pay for what she had done all these years but we continued our way to the zigguraut to finish this once and for all.

What I didn’t expect was the sudden betrayal of the one who was most important to me and who I hold dear.

My sister.

As soon as I had gotten her she suddenly was taken from me by those blasted Briarwoods again. Oh, they would certainly pay for ever hurting my family and their blood will be spilled by my hands or my name isn't Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III.

We will make sure of it Young Percival. Let’s finish what we have started.

That voice that I’ve come to know since the day I built this gun. I told the party about my past and what happens when I see someone from my dreaded past and the smoke appears. They think that something is corrupting my soul but as of right now, I can’t think about that. We have something we came here to do and it will be finished, one way or another.

The fighting at the ziggurat ended with Sylus being burned by Keylth’s sun with help from the Suntree and Grog.

That was supposed to be our kill! They took it from us! They will not take this one away, Percival.

Delilah tried to bring him back and summoned a black orb that canceled any and all magic, almost killing Keyleth in the process. Luckily, the further away we were from the orb, our magic came back and Vax and Scanlan were able to bring her back from the brink of death.

I dragged Delilah all the way back to the once acid-filled room and began interrogating her. The black smoke had begun enveloping me and the voice mixed with my own. The party had noticed that there was something happening with me and tried to help me, Vex’ahlia included. She took off my mask and I remember hearing her to come back to us but the voice…that damned voice wouldn’t allow it and suddenly I was enveloped in smoke and darkness, my body not moving on my own accord.

My subconscious going through people who had betrayed me and turned against me, and seeing my sister be shot from behind as we had been running away from the Briarwoods. I shot at everyone and anyone that I saw whose name was inscribed on my gun.

I suddenly heard my sister’s voice and aimed my weapon at her, my hand shaking a bit. I heard her talking about how she wanted to help and Vex and Y/N appeared next to her. They were trying to help me break free from Orthrax’s hold on me. My gun kept spinning showing different names branded on the barrel and suddenly I shot when I saw movement. I looked up and saw who I had shot.

Y/N…

“Percy…” I heard them speak softy before falling to the ground

No! Not them!

“No!” I say as I shoot my hand and Orthax screeches out and releases from my body. “Y/N!” I race over to her body that had gone limp and the light from her eyes slowly fading. “Gods, Y/N…I’m so sorry…” I say as I hold their body close and trying to stop the bleeding by putting pressure on the wound.

“Percy, we need to get them out of here now, or they will die!” I heard Keyleth say to me and before I knew it, I felt Grog pick up their body and carry them out from beneath the palace along with us following close behind.

The healers came and took Y/N to the med bay to prepare for surgery. I wanted to go with them but I was held back by Vax and Grog, struggling to get past them with tears streaming down my face.

“Percy, let them do what they need to do. If you went back in there now, you would only feel more guilty than you do right now. We’re here for you, and we’re all worried about them, but as of right now, we need to wait,” Vax says to me in a stern and calm tone.

I nod before sitting down in a nearby chair, head in my hands, wondering if they would be alright. My party and sister surrounded me and gave me as much support as I needed but the question that swirled in my head and caused me to stay awake was…

Would they ever forgive me for what I had done to them?

Hey guys! Firstly, @undertale-anomaly20 thank you for the idea for writing Percy’s POV. I hope this came out well. Secondly, i apologize for this getting out really late, I’ve been really busy with work and also kinda writers block. I hope you all enjoy this and I will be writing the next part soon. Also I am getting to requests if you guys have any, slowly but surely. Anyways, I love you guys and I hope you guys enjoy! Also if you would like to see/request other things other than Vox Machina, please send in some requests ^~^

[flowerandblood]

I don't like many of the authors' decisions here – sometimes their tropes, sometimes their choice of how they present events, dialogues, sometimes their characters, relationships between them or their appearance. It's not a bad thing. I have a right to feel this way.

But I would never tell them about it. Not because I don't have the courage to do it but because it would give them nothing, nothing good. You criticise when someone asks for it – when someone doesn't, then you should keep quiet.

Why? Because perhaps someone does not want this criticism and it's their right too. I, for example, don't care and I don't want to know how much someone dislikes something in my work. I don't need the fake appreciation of others, just as others don't need mine.

If I don't like someone's stories, I just leave them alone. God bless all of them! Write and be happy.

No one here is an oracle or judge, and some people feel that way. If you don't like what the authors are writing and their choices, give them a holy peace or else all you'll achieve is that they'll be discouraged from writing – they'll think: maybe nobody wants to read this after all, look at my characters, maybe it's pointless, maybe everyone thinks about me and my writing this way.

Sowing doubt and passive humiliation is very popular here for some reason and I find it incredibly annoying. People don't know when to shut their mouths and when their private opinion to which they are, after all, entitled hurts others, making them uncomfortable.

Our right to free speech should not cut someone's wings and mock them. This is an expression of disrespect and basic culture.

Not everyone has to want to change, to develop if it is not their profession but a simple hobby.

Anonymity does not make malicious gibberish sound any smarter, and a large audience or reactions under posts does not make anyone entitled to post an opinion in which they criticise works of others for their choices.

"Why do you write with only small letters? It's so annoying. This character would never do this, are you dumb? Aemond would never betray his family! Oh nooo, next Visenya on a big dragon? Why these OC's are so boring? Reader insert is just for you because you are desperate to fuck. Why do your OC is fat? Why do your OC is slim? Why do make your OC look like this, why won't you try something new? Why do you put Alys in your story as a third wheel when she is Aemond's real love interest?"

Shut. The fuck. UUUUUUP. GOD.

You say – you don't agree, don't read, I have a right to my opinion. Well, I say: your right does not absolve you from thinking about the feelings of others.

You are hypocrites. You cry and make a hiatus when someone sends you a nasty anon writing that you write crap, but you devote 2,000 words on your blog to why a certain trope doesn't make sense, why other authors don't have a right to make their OC's look the way they want.

What you write is not private, it's public. Who are you writing it to? Is it an expression of your frustration? Those you write it about can read it. They may feel very, very bad about it, they can think to stop writing at all or make themselves to do something against their will. But that's not your concern anymore, right?

Taking responsibility for your own words only when it's convenient for you is an expression of immaturity and that's what I see in this fandom – most people here are afraid of adulthood and the clash with it. Because in adulthood everything we do has consequences to face.

But it's easier to say that we simply have the right to express our opinion, no matter how hurtful and unfounded it may be.

I want to be clear – I will see anyone reblogging or write this kind of posts – I will block them. Even if I like you, if you are with me for a long time. I don't want to see this kind of toxic behavior on my wall ever again. Enough is enough.

[ratinayellowbandana]

Hello! Can I request a number 22 "Do you trust me?" "I don't know." from the angst prompt list if this appeals to you at all?

Best of luck with getting back into the grove, I look forward to reading anything new <3

hi! thank you very very much for this prompt - it's delicious. might even reuse it for another idea I have rolling around. i hope you enjoy how this one turned out; it was a great warm-up piece and i got to play around with second person (very sorry if that's not your thing). and on a personal note - I'm a huge fan of yours, so this was a wild ask to wake up to!

cw: mild gore, self-doubt

length: ~1250 words

~~~

You watch as Imogen steps forward. Once. Twice. Her head tilts, and her eyes narrow. Another step. You back away. Your chest is heaving. Why are you shaking? The cold calculation in Imogen’s gaze is unfamiliar. You have been reduced to an object—a threat to be sized up before you are dispatched by those capable hands. And, in a way, you are, aren’t you? A threat. An object. A strung-out puppet without a home.

She is-was-could-be your home, you think. Maybe. She has been. At least, you want to believe that is the truth of it. But how can you be sure? Home has always been an abstraction to you, a thing kept just out of sight, dangled like a lure bobbing just beneath the surface, tempting you up from the depths. It remains just out of reach, it seems. You feel yourself sinking, sinking back into the places the sun cannot reach. It’s safe there, you have learned. The shadows protect you. They are just as much a part of you as the scars that litter paper-thin skin, reminders of rising a little too close to the warm-bright world above.   

Imogen’s stare is piercing, the faint purple glow radiating faintly, only detectable in the darkness. Two pinpricks of violet that bore into you from a safe fifteen paces away. 

Jagged rocks loom, emerge from the ceiling, the walls, like fingers crooking accusingly in your direction. The heel of your shoe catches on a massive hooked chain, snaking and coiling and disappearing in and out of the shadows. Mist curls around your ankles. Hands clutch at a corseted chest as if fabric and boning could freeze the magic leaking from taloned fingertips. 

“This isn’t me,” you swear, and the words sound hollow, distant, echoing, like the air is swallowing them up before they leave your lips.

“It isn’t,” Imogen replies sardonically, but her hands remain pinched at her hips, a faint crimson flickering at her fingertips. “Did you do this?”

Your brow furrows. Three crackling purple spheres appear overhead, and the mist thins. Shriveled corpses sprawl across the stone floor between you. Their skin is ashy and gray, lips dried and drawn back in wild grins that reveal stained, rotting teeth. Bulging eyes too wide for their sockets, bloodshot and unseeing, stare vacantly at the ceiling. Stiff fingers curl into claws, digging into bodies contorted and frozen in expressions of agony. 

“No,” you say, “no, of course not.” You shift back, away, away, and stumble over a red-robed thigh. “I wouldn’t,” you insist. 

“No?”

You repeat, “I wouldn’t. I–”

“How would you know?” Imogen’s tone is cool, “If you did.” She steps over one mangled body, tutting, thunderously calm. A spark flashes in her fist.

“I–”

“You wouldn’t know, would you? If it was you.” She pauses, stares. Her words are biting. “You told me yourself. Maybe it was Delilah.” You shrink back, away, away, until your back hits the jagged wall, and you relish in the pain because it means that something is solid. The fog in your head is thick, clouding, as Imogen stalks toward you. “Is there a difference anymore?” 

A chill runs through you, and the beautiful new corset you wear seems to constrict around your chest, squeezing, strangling. Imogen doesn’t believe you. She doesn’t believe you, and if she doesn’t believe in you, can you believe yourself? She was your home, once, (right?) but the foundation is cracked, leaking ichor and electricity that fries your toes. You need to know. Suddenly, it is the most important thing in the world. Imogen’s confidence in your goodness. That something in you is worth saving. Worth something. (There must be something.)  

“Do you trust me?” Your voice is thick, rattling, when you whisper through dusty cords. 

Imogen is five paces away, now, and moving closer as you press all you can into the wall. Perhaps you could become a fossil for the next generation of adventurers to find. Compressed and hardened between shale and mineral and away, away from piercing violet. Imogen studies you, unmoving, untouching. 

“I don’t know,” she says at last. She brings a hand up to grasp your chin, and you flinch. You have never flinched from her before. (You haven’t.) Her grip is firm. “Should I?”

“Yes,” you say, desperate. “Yes. Please.” Because you need her to understand so badly you could tear your heart from your chest and lay it at her feet if only so she would know it’s there. 

“You hurt us. You hurt your friends, Laudna. Look at them.” She releases your chin and spreads her arms.

Bathed in dim purple light, the corpses wear the clothes of your companions. (Have they always looked like this?) Fearne in FCG’s tattered coat, seafoam hair limp and stringy. Bor’dor, his green shawl stained dark with ichor. Chetney, his throat torn out. Orym, bruised, with Seedling and the Summit Blade fallen at his side. Ashton, arm in pieces.

“I didn’t.” You sound uncertain even to yourself. 

Imogen scoffs. “Running away again?” (Again?)

Always running. You always run. It has always been easier to run. It would be easier to run. (Why can’t you run?) You want to run away. You cannot go far from Imogen. (Can’t you?) The wall is moving. (The wall shouldn’t be moving. Walls can’t move. Why is the wall moving? Are you moving? Are you? A r e  y o u) 

“This is your fault.”

Your tongue refuses to move. It sits limp in your mouth like rotting meat. Sour. Disgusting. Useless, useless. Imogen doesn’t believe you. Doesn’t believe in you. Did you do this? This is your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault

You shudder and gasp, and suddenly, Imogen is holding you, but that cannot be right because she doesn’t trust you and why should she because who are you if you are not yourself and maybe you are just Delilah but how can you be sure and and and 

“Hey, woah,” Imogen croons near your ear. “Hey, you’re all right; you’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Stale cavern air that tastes of death and decay floods your lungs, and you heave. Your hands and knees scrape against the floor. You need to get away, away. Away from her. You need to run. Before you hurt anyone. Before you hurt her. 

“Okay, hey, you’re okay, honey. Dominox got you good, huh?” 

Your vision darkens, and your ears ring, and your teeth lengthen.

“What’d you see?” Chetney crows. 

Imogen’s arms tighten around you, and you stiffen.  

“Give her a minute.” 

You shake your head against Imogen’s chest. Bits of debris lodge in your palm, and you savor the sting. Dark hair hangs in a curtain where it has been torn loose. 

“Take your time,” Imogen murmurs. Her eyes are not glowing; her hands do not spark. They trace small circles along your back where you can still feel the imprint of sharp stone, and you shiver at the dissonance. “It wasn’t real, Laudna. Whatever it was, it was the demon messin’ with your head.” 

A shaky exhale escapes your lips. “Do you trust me?” 

“What?” Imogen pulls away slightly to meet your wide eyes. She hesitates. Her mind presses against yours. You can feel her skimming, paging through your surface thoughts like a stone over water before she settles, bobbing, tempting. 

“Is it her?” Orym asks warily. 

“I think so,” Imogen says, but she remains intently focused, searching.

You repeat yourself through the weight that has settled low in your stomach. “Do you trust me?” 

“I… Why are you askin’ me that?”  

[sad-endings-suck]

and if I said that lots of mizu/akemi shippers are actually mizu/fem self-insert and mizu/fem oc shippers then what?

[pleasantspark]

From Afar Pendleton (Sir Pentious) x Reader Genre: Angst Tropes: Warnings: Sir Pentious being Antisocial, Took forever because I was researching the 1800s, Rewritten HH, Reference to Leaks. AUs Utilized: Hazbin Hotel Rewritten A/N: This is a complete rewrite. I haven't written oneshots in AGES. I tried to work on this because, well. This is a fanfiction and not a full fledged series! Reader is Gen Neutral. Would do both parts with proper pronouns but too lazy. Have a Gen Neutral Reader.

Pendleton looked out his window forlornly. There was several people outside his window, he wished he could be happy with the others. Laugh like the others...

Sadly, he couldn't bring himself to do so, the male adjusted his glasses, and found himself nearly falling over. His eyes dart noticing a person who seemed to be walking slowly. His eyes widened in interest. They seem to be preoccupied in what they were doing almost as if transfixed on something.

They had a (medium/long/short) length hair that was fashioned (curly/wavy/straight) they also seemed to wear a masculine outfit. No doubt that they were hiding their frame. Pendleton pushed his face towards the glass. The feeling of being close to someone was apparent.

He sighs when the mystery person left. He turned back to whatever he was doing in the process of his toymaking.

Saint Repentious looked up to Speaker, his eyes glistened with tears.

"I... I sssaw how (handsssome/beautiful/ssstunning). It'sss a ssshame..." Saint Repentious looked away. He seemed to view himself as small. The Speaker smiled gently.

"Don't feel bad, My Child. What happened?" Speaker asked.

"What happened..." Saint Repentious began.

"What happened wasss..." Repentious had a flashback, and it was back to where he was working on another prototype of the "Egg Boiz" and as the prototype exploded he frowned, and then his eyes darted to the window when the people moved about again. He noticed them. This time they weren't alone. A man followed them. He felt his heart thump. Who was this dapper fellow? Why were they following them so close? For the first time in forever, Pendleton leaves the house, and peers the corner where he saw the two of them.

Something regarding the Man didn't sit well with Pendleton, may have been the way he regarded himself or... He felt odd...

"He carried himssself with something sssinissster. Like. Sssomething fissshy wasss at play here. The way he held onto them like that... Didn't sssit well with me... I ssstalked them from my home and all the way towardsss the pub. And, well. They partied. And before you knew it. It wasss midnight..." Repentious explained to Speaker.

Back in the past, Pendleton watches as the man and the person leaves the pub, heading to a lone alleyway. Pendleton's heart races as the man proceeded to pull out something that was shielded from view but he could tell by the glint of the metal that it was a knife. Part of him wanted to scream, do anything. Yell, warn them. But he couldn't. He was frozen and stuck in that moment.

"And... The ssscreamsss. Oh... god. The ssscreamsss, I can ssstill hear their ssscreamsss to thisss day, he ssstabbed them. Over, and over, and over again... He ssshowed no mercy. And I wasss forced to watch." Repentious explained.

Pendleton watches, with a hand covering his mouth as the man stabbed the person who he spent time looking afar and admiring. The person obviously took the blows of the sharp weapon. The weapon piercing them before they were reduced to nothing but a body on the floor. The man obviously retracted his knife and looked down at the corpse of the person he cruelly murdered. Without warning, he fled the scene. Pendleton spent the seconds that followed rushing to the body, and blinking back tears. He tried to contain himself.

"I... Remember, their body... It wasss cold... lifelessss no body like that hasss been that cold... Until that day. They were ssstill alive. They looked up to me. I wanted to help them. But didn't know CPR... And I wasss ssscared that they would blame me blame me for being the killer. The worssst part wasss, that they weren't the only perssson to die by thisss killer. There wasss two women before them. And the knowledge hauntsss me. To thisss day..." Repentious blinks back tears.

Pendleton pulled away, upon knowing that the person was now dead. He gags, and blood was on his body. He was covered in their blood. He resisted the urge to purge. All feeling left his body. That was until, lights blinded him.

"Freeze! London Police! Hands up!" Pendleton had no reason to resist, he was shocked, and didn't have anything more to do. So upon instinct he places both hands up and was arrested. They got him due to his shocked behavior and inability to deny the claims. He was sentenced to hanging. He did his peace and was executed.

Back in the present. Sir Pentious blinks back tears. "I'm sssorry for being weak, and in the moment of my weaknesss I wasss unable to..."

Speaker places a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Don't be sad my child. They don't blame you."

"They don't?" Repentious asked.

"No, they won't, and you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because, they are here too."

[seb-reads31]

Could you write some scenarios where the Vox Machina ladies are trying to listen to their Artificer S/O explain their invention, and just not understanding a word they're saying?

Tw's - me hinting that the reader is a caffeine addict,

Type - head canons

Genre - fluff

Comments - Awww, this sounds cute 🥹🥹 I'll try and work on the other Vox Machina series I started I swear 😭 (this is a gn!reader) let me know if you like the dialog or if it doesn't sound right, decided to try something 🤷

Uh.. That's very nice dear..

Keyleth

- Keyleth, my sweet baby, understands nothing

- She's sitting in a chair or on your bed in your little makeshift workshop, oggling at the contraptions and gadgets all around the room

- She tries to pay attention as you explain your newest invention.. uh.. she knows what it is just give her a second-

- She mostly nods along, trying to keep up with you while you're going a mile a minute, you had obviously had stayed up far too long and drank too much coffee

- She does ask you to repeat several things, but she loves it when your eyes light up when she finally clues in and understands a bit more

- Some things she won't ever understand completely, but she's happy with knowing you're happy with your rambles to her <33

"Hm? Oh- uh, yes! I'm still listening! Just.. uhm.. could you explain this part to me a little better? I uh, didn't get it fully.. hehe.."

Vex'alhia

- She sort of understands?

- She knows enough from Percy getting on a tangent or needing assistance with his gadgets that she can understand your half awake-half caffeinated rambles

- She might even take notice of something that might cause your invention to fail and will point it out

- Or she might not, just to see it poof and see how goofy you are lmao

- But all in all she is probably the best to ramble to

- She definitely looks for parts you mentioned you needed or thinks you might want/need while they're adventuring

"Yes, love, while this new trinket of your looks very great, this component here will cause it to misfire. Hmm, maybe I should be an artificer? That would certainly be handy."

Pike

- Kinda like Kiki, she has no idea what you're talking about

- She does, however, take great interest in your inventions

- She even asks you how to make something, like a music box to start with

- She loves learning about your craft and she adores the happy glint in your eyes when she first asked you if you could teach her

- She loves learning, she's a little nerdy even though she seems super stronk on the outside

- She obviously doesn't make the music box right the first couple of times, but she doesn't let it deter her!

- When she does finish it and tests it, she secretly enlists Scanlan's help to make a little music sheet to run through the music box

"Hmmm.. Hey, starlight? Can you help me with this part here? It doesn't want to fit and I'm a little afraid to break it, hehe.."

[niofo]

once dav comes out i can't wait to see everyone's very specific rooks, the rooks that are deep dives into their respective factions, the rooks that are not canon compliant within their factions to tell a more interesting story, the rooks that aren't even from any available factions at all, modded rooks with backgrounds in orzammar, qun, avvar or ancient elves, recurring wardens/hawkes/inquisitors as rooks. what i don't actually want to see is a flood of untagged reader inserts and y/n.

[rush-the-stars]

i shouldn’t really post this but. as someone who loves and is attracted to women, sometimes fandom is incredibly isolating

[a-menagerie]

If requests are open and your comfortable with this ask, could you give your headcanons on how Fearne, Dorian, Ashton, Molly, Beau and Fjord would kiss reader please? Thanks 💖

ehehehehe

Fearne

Fearne, first of all, has no qualms about PDA or anything like that, so she’s very likely to just swoop you into a hug and kiss whenever she gets the urge

I also think she’s the type to lift you off your feet and press a million kisses to your face (you can protest all you like, she wants to sweep you off your feet)

Her favorite way to kiss you: scooping you up in her arms and then depositing you on a nearby surface, one hand cradling the back of your head while her other hand stays on your hip

Dorian

A romantic and a little shy, he almost Always asks for permission to kiss you

He does however easily kiss your hand throughout the day, whether that be a light brush of his lips across your knuckles or a kiss to the center of your palm, all while maintaining eye contact

His favorite way to kiss you: when you’re cuddling in bed and he can lean in and just enjoy some soft slow kisses, all while his arms are around you

Ashton

I’m not saying they’re shy but I think when it comes to you, who he has real full feelings for, that makes them a bit more nervous

I think Ashton would most often give you a kiss on the temple or cheek, especially around the others, and reserve actual smooching for a more private occasion

But! I think if the Bells Hells tease him about being shy or anything, he’d grab you, yanking you too him via an arm around your neck and kissing you in front of everyone (he’s flipping them off behind your head)

Their favorite way to kiss you: Ashton likes to pin you between him and anything (a wall, the couch, the bed) and just take his time kissing you, like dammit he’s gonna enjoy this as long as he wants! He likes resting a hand on your neck so he can feel your pulse with his fingers

Molly

Molly is all about enjoying what he has in life and the best thing he has is you, how is he supposed to keep his hands or his lips to himself?

Molly is the most likely to just stop and kiss you during the day, no matter what you’re doing, camp chores, shopping, fighting. If Molly gets the whim to kiss you, he will

His favorite way to kiss you: when you’ve been teasing and taunting each other and he finally caves, using his tail to catch one of your wrists, one hand catching your other hand and his other hand holding your chin, so he can kiss you

Beau

Beau honestly lets a lot be determined by her partner. If you’re cool with a lot of PDA, you can expect smooches a Lot through the day. If not? Shell reserve that kind of affection for more solitary moments

If she gets excited about something though, she won’t really be able to hold back. Finishing a tough fight or putting together an answer to whatever mystery she’s trying to solve, she’ll run up to you with a wide grin, grab your face in her hands, and kiss the fuck out of you

Her favorite way to kiss you: she loves coming home from work and greeting you with a big smooch, throwing her stuff to the floor in order to wrap her arms around you

Fjord

Gods bless this man, who tries so hard to be suave and collected but blushes hard anytime there’s a ~moment~ between you too

He can generally hold himself together if he’s just kissing the back of your hand but anymore than that and he’s obviously a little flustered

His favorite way to kiss you: when you’ve said or done something to fluster him and he’s trying to sputter out a response and you lean in and give him a quick kiss - but he grabs you by the front of your shirt and pulls you back to him

[c-duceusclay]

Percy: *just trying to live his life*

Taliesin: Woe be upon you *sends Prism to steal from him*

[chronicallystupidasparagus]

The first time you met the Batman was on the dark streets of his city. Your small, shivering form - devoid of the winter coat the season called for - stepped backwards. Your eyes flittered to the men on the ground. Their bodies lay unmoving, a result of his prior actions, those of which still fresh in your mind. Your breath rapidly entered and exited your lungs as you cowered at the man before you.

Eight years old was no age to die, you knew that much. Though the costumed man had taken care of the strangers that had tried to take ahold of you, you were still frightened of him. His body towered over yours, only remedied when he crouched in front of you.

"Why are you out so late?"

His deep monotonous voice bore into your mind. As your brain scrambled to make up a response, your body continued to shake. You had been conditioned to be careful of what you say - especially around adults. Warnings from your late mother constantly haunted you; dictating what you say when people ask about the state of you and your home life, lest you be taken away from her.

"I-I," your quiet voice stammered.

You swallowed. "I'm lost..." Your cautious tone and soft words barely made it out of your mouth. Your lip began to wobble when he reached a hand out to rest on your head.

"Where are your parents?"

Your eyes watered. Your quick breathing never let up and you were beginning to get lightheaded. The street lamp above the both of you buzzed, filling the silence.

Your mind struggled to form a complete sentence and ended up with a half-formed thought. "I don't have... I... No parents." They were gone and dwelling on the fact never helped how you felt. Talking about it like you were now only made you more uncomfortable.

It was hard to tell with his mask on but you swore his eyes softened.

He asked who you were living with.

"Ms. Nana, my neighbor,"

Your voice was more steady as your fight-or-flight response started dying down. When the Bat offered to walk you home after you gave him the address (engrained in your mind by your mother, who always, always worried) your shaking almost entirely went away. Traveling with the Batman meant you were traveling safe.

And safe you were. He held your hand as you walked, which you didn't mind. You felt like you could finally breathe again, knowing that even if people tried to stir up trouble, he would take care of it. Your body relaxed- shoulders slumping, eyebrows unfurrowing, and your previously cowering form no longer tensed. His presence was freeing. Being on alert was and always will be a requirement for living in Gotham. With Batman alongside you however, you had a reason to be unafraid.

When he dropped you off after Ms. Nana opened the door, you silently wish you could see him again. Feeling safe in this city is a luxury even the wealthy couldn't always afford.

Your second meeting with him didn't come as soon as you had hoped. The Batman sticks to the shadows when he can, and leaves before anyone can really talk to him.

But you knew it would happen again. Too bad it didn't occur until you were in danger again.

[working-dreamer]

It’s wild how shipping culture has changed so drastically over time on the internet.

In the old days people shipped characters who either had only one line of dialogue with each other, never even met, or not even from the same piece of media. It was the wild west and sure some ships were uncomfortable but people had the mindset to just block the tag and stay away from ships they didn’t enjoy.

Nowadays? It’s more like people have to clarify that their ship isn’t canon compliant, character adjacent, and story irrelevant otherwise they get a flood of comments saying “but this character isn’t like this in canon” and some people legitimately get angry if you’re not following the canon.

Like- shipping and fandom culture from what I understand it is about engaging with media in a way that caters to you. And if you don’t like a ship or show just… block the relevant tags and don’t engage in the ships? The internet isn’t supposed to cater to us- we have to cater ourselves to our internet environment. And no matter how many times people may harass others over a fandom or ship they don’t like, those ships are not gonna disappear.

The internet has just been getting worse when people have decided to place morality in their opinions by saying things like “if you enjoy the ship then you support (insert horrible thing here that’s usually completely unrelated to the ship itself)” when it used to be “eh, not my thing” and people just moved on.

And for the record this isn’t about a specific ship or anything- just an observation of how fandom has evolved (and regressed) over the years and I find it fascinating from a sociological perspective cause we still don’t know how having the internet from birth affects the development of kids and how that affects how they interact with others- isn’t that scary?

I know that’s slightly unrelated but the way people engage in media has been changing over the years and that also involves fandom and the maturity level thereof in the internet space and someone smarter than me could probably write a whole thesis paper about fandom culture and how the internet has hindered the social development of people and how that affects community specifically from a fandom lens.

Just- for your sanity younger internet children: it’s not worth harassing others over something as trivial as ‘it’s not canon that this character kisses another character.’ Just find ships you like. Block ships you don’t. And just enjoy your time doing what you like!

You can’t control the internet but you can nurture your little corner of it.

[mightbesmall]

Silly Shrimpy!

Genre: Fluff

Characters: Floyd

Warnings: None

Summary: Floyd has been clinging to you more but you don't know why. This, of course, frustrates him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Floyd, please let me go. I have got to finish this assignment." You sighed for the nth time that day. Said eel in question only stuck his tongue out and held you tighter.

"No can do Shrimpy!" Floyd said cheerfully. He has been clinging to you more than usual, something Riddle is grateful for. It was starting to get a bit annoying.

You sighed again, you were currently in the library trying to study when a certain Leech twin found you and decided to just not let you do well in this upcoming test. At this point you might make a contract with Azul to keep Floyd away.

”Please I’ve got to study for this upcoming test and I can’t do that with you restraining both my arms.” Is this what Jamil feels with Kalim? Poor guy.

”Hmph! Fiiiiinee~” He let you go. Fucking finally now you can-

…

”Floyd. That’s my lap.” You said.

”Hmm~~” The cheeky bastard is resting his head in your lap! You suppose it’s better than being restricted by what Floyd will call a hug, so you just sigh again and continue your work.

You we’re finally done after a couple of hours of work. Floyd stayed in the same position as before surprisingly, you thought he would’ve gotten bored quickly. You looked down at him only to see him fast asleep. 

“Did you really fall asleep?” You asked out loud. You got no response other than soft snoring.

Sighing for what felt like the millionth time, you leaned down and kissed his forehead, watching as he let out a content sigh. Oops guess he isn’t that asleep yet.

[luke-han-leia]

only engaging with media for the purpose of shipping and then claiming that media is poor quality because it didn't cater to your ship is gooner behavior i hope yall realize that