#only partially though (mwah)

[saltseashark]

[announcer voice] drumroll please for the inaugural masholes server drawpile final piece! posted very belatedly

take a gander at these crops for further examination of detail <3

more closeups under the cut!

[dizzy-after-dark]

Cauterized | Steve Rogers

BOOM MIC DROP: SMUT FOR THE END OF THE YEAR! Y'all didn't think I would not post once this year, did you. Well, here it is. I TRIED! Mwah; see you in 2024!

Tags: Angst (not really but yeah), SMUT, fluff

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader (Third Person)

Notes: UHHHHH 18+ BUCKOS; this is a continuation of Ignorant, which is the first part and angsty as FUCK but a personal fave of mine if I do say so myself; been really thinking about finishing my requests from over a year ago for Dinner At Dizzy's on my other account, @dizzydancingdreamer (masterlist linked if you're feeling peckish)

Warnings (what to expect, ig): oral (f recieving), fingering, sex (???), uhhhm lack of descriptive writing from a rusty author, sappiness, swearing, bad metaphors, shower sex, alcohol consumption (BARELY), size kink, over-use of the word "Stevie"

Word Count: 4.6k

She pushes the door closed, turning the shower on lazily. Her muscles ache as she twists the knob all the way to the left. Somewhere, sometime she was told about cauterization. You can seal wounds closed with fire— forcibly fuse the skin back together. She has no cuts. Nothing to fuse. And only hot water. However, maybe stepping into the scalding stream might fix the part of her brain that keeps replaying it all, over and over. 

Baby I— 

If anything, it might numb her. She would take that too right now. Hence the bottle on the counter, partially drunk and already open. She takes the first swig, the liquid like fuel to the inferno raging in her stomach, burning the rest of her in the process. The taste is acrid— she’s never been much of a drinker. She just wants to forget it all. Setting it down with a clunk, she strips out of grimey shirt, letting it puddle at her feet. 

Looking at the material, which at one point was a stark white but will now forever be a dingy gray, she laughs. Not really but, yeah, kind of— one of those half amused huffs, anyway. A pity laugh, for the state of her life. That shirt is practically trash. Even if she had the time, energy, or resources to wash it, there’s no way it’ll ever be the same. 

She should just throw it out. 

Is she even talking about the shirt anymore?

She kicks it into the corner, hands falling to the button of her jeans, swollen knuckles screaming as she fails a few times to push the little metal circle through the loop.

“Goddamnit,” she mutters to herself, and to the ghosts, and the spider she saw in the corner when she came in but didn’t have the heart to make the latter as well. 

She’s already made too many ghosts. 

“I, uh, I can help?”

None of those ghosts have ever answered before, though. 

Whirling around, fists balling in front of her face, she readies herself in less than a breaths time to send said ghost straight back to the grave—

“Woah, easy there, baby—”

Only to find Steve, his baby blues wide and a tad panicked but his hand nevertheless peeking through the crack of the door, reaching for her. Mind glazing over with confusion and, well, a fair bit of something russian and label-less, she blinks up at him and the damn door. She closed that— she remembers closing it… right? 

Her eyes flick down and the fire in her belly kindles a little more. 

“Are you kidding me?” She groans, the exhaustion an unwelcome guest in the cavern of her chest.  

His boot, right there in the doorway, holding the measly wooden traitor open. She never heard the damn click. Didn’t even bother to listen for it. Rookie mistake, honestly. She can’t even be mad, really. 

“Please just let me help.” Steve pushes past the door, both arms now extended towards her, but he doesn’t touch her yet. 

He’s waiting. She stays silent. Partly because she has no idea what to say— or what she wants— and partly because he hates it. He absolutely, agonizingly hates when she gives him the silent treatment. She watches his jaw tick, lips pressing together until they go white, and there’s a sick part of her that relishes in the cool satisfaction rushing down her spine. 

You made me like this.

But there’s also a part of her that mourns with him when he clears his throat, crystal eyes flooding over, liquid and glassy, and lowers his arms slightly. Not all the way. He’s hopeful, maybe. America’s sweetheart is always hopeful, that’s one of the things she fell in love with him for. 

That’s still Steve— her Steve. 

“I know—” Steve swallows, “I messed up. I just— you’re hurt, baby. Lemme’ help.”  

She huffs— why is it so fucking complicated? Why can’t they just be normal?

She is hurt. Nothing needs cauterizing but there’s no denying her mottled skin, blue-ish under the crappy motel bathroom lights. Her hands throb, joints screaming at her— when she turns to the mirror, she almost gags at the slight bald patch behind her right ear— fuck, that one had really stung. Absolutely ridiculous the way some people fight these days. 

Her silence is deafening. 

She wants to sob. It’s right there, in the hollow of her throat— she wants to scream. Maybe not at him but in general. She used to live in a penthouse, with all her friends, and the love of her life. Now what? She used to get hurt like this back then too but now it feels purposeless— what are they even doing this for if they have nothing. Have no one. It made sense when she still had him. 

Meeting his gaze in the mirror— disappearing a bit into fogged up glass but there regardless— she still has him. Kind of. But she still doesn’t say anything when she turns back to face him. The frown carved into her face feels vile— deep and disgusting and entirely real— but she can’t make it go away. She can’t stop the sniffle, either. Why can’t she just tell him she misses him?

“Fuck.” 

It’s mumbled under his breath. The Captain America, standing in some rundown wreck of a place off some lonely highway, is swearing. Because of her. Is this hell? It feels like hell. 

But, no, it can’t be, because his hands are so, so gentle as they cup her cheeks, thumbs softly dancing over the bruises, half assessing, half trying. Trying to do what, she doesn’t know. Wipe them away? Commit them to memory? She leans into his touch regardless, conceding ever so slightly. She won’t say it, but he can help. There isn’t a universe in which she would truly deny him. 

The first tear that falls isn’t hers, but his, landing on her forehead right before he buries his face in her hair, wrapping those supersoldier arms around her, trying and, well, failing not to crush her in the process. The tenderness in her broken body is worth it, though, because he smells like home, even if tinged with gunpowder and war. 

“I am so sorry—” he whispers, heartbeat erratic under her ear, chest heaving for breath— “I am so sorry I brought this on you. You’re hurt and it’s my fault.”  

Complicated. She fists his t-shirt as hard as she can— fists in until her hands go numb. It’s not fair how complicated it has to be for them. 

Steve didn’t throw her into the fight, didn’t slam his fist into her eye, or rip her hair out by the handful. Steve didn’t even make her come with him when he left; that was entirely her choice. But he did lose his mind a little bit. Power tripped a little too hard. Focused so much on keeping them all safe that he missed the part where he was just supposed to hug her— and that’s what sucked most— but he is now, right?

That has to count for something? 

He pulls back and her fingers tighten, steeling, tensing. He can’t go, even if she isn’t sure what they are anymore. 

The agony in his eyes when he draws the line from her balled fists holding on for dear fucking life to her own, misty gaze is indescribable. “Baby I don’t know how to fix this. I want to, I—” he clears his throat again and her frown carves even further into her skin, eyebrows drawing together— “I want to so fucking bad.”

He plants his forehead against hers and it aches, the warmth of his skin. “I don’t want to make it worse. I need you to tell me how to help.” 

There’s a stinging in her throat where the words simply don’t manifest. What the fuck is she supposed to say? Nothing, at all, really, because she doesn’t even know how to fix her and she’s not mad so there’s nothing to fix… but isn’t there? Isn’t there something between them that desperately needs mending? Isn’t she mad? 

Is it anger? 

Or is it something much more primal. 

No, there are no words she can tell him. She could show him, though. Maybe that will work.

Letting his shirt go, she watches the breath catch in his chest, stuck and frantic. She knows that feeling well— that icy desperation to keep holding on no matter what. But she’s only grabbing his hands, not leaving him, and he’ll see that soon so she continues to drag him towards the stupid, little button that her useless fingers couldn’t seem to undo. In hindsight, maybe they were just waiting for him. 

Realizing, his forehead is off hers quickly, eyes seeking hers. “What? I don’t—” She flattens his palms against her stomach, engulfing the button, and he breathes the last word out— “understand.” 

Her brows raise, cheeks still on fire but now also burning— yes you do. 

“Are you sure?” He asks but there’s a little click— the same one she hadn’t heard earlier— as his boot clad foot kicks the door properly shut, and she’s pretty sure he knows just how sure she is.

All it takes is her thumbs on his, prodding them towards her arch nemesis— damn you, Levi jeans— and the soldier is moving, not rough in his quick actions, but determined. The button is no match for Steve Rogers on a regular day, but today? Now that he has a goal? A starting place? The button may as well have disintegrated under his fingers. 

Her own hands fly to his shoulders, clinging to him as he tugs the blasted jeans off her legs, trying the best she can not to topple over with the sheer force of him. Material pooling at her feet, his palms smooth so slowly back up her now bare legs, rising goosebumps in their wake. She hasn’t been touched in ages— she feels kind of like an animal waking up from hibernation, disorientated and hungry. 

Grabbing at her hips suddenly, her ass is on the cool countertop before she even has the chance to get dizzy. Spreading her thighs with his own, he works on her bra next— this faded, hole ridden thing that if she wasn’t so engulfed in searing, licking desire, she’d probably be embarrassed about. But it’s gone so soon that she doesn’t have a chance and replaced instead with two, bulky hands that entirely engulf her breasts. 

They squeeze her skillfully— with purpose. Thumbs swiping delicious circles around her nipples, flicking this way and that, exactly how he knows she likes it— exactly the way that should have her as a mewling heap in his hold. But she’s not— she’s contained, even as her very skin thrums alive with anticipation. Is this revenge or is it just fucking complicated?

She can’t decide so instead she bites the moan clawing at her throat into small enough pieces to swallow, all the while tuning into something dark that sparks in his ever watchful gaze. 

She’s caught— he gets it now. 

“Really, baby?” He muses, palming her, squeezing just hard enough to give the touch a slight bite. His tone has her feeling like a deer in his headlights— like a freight train is barrelling directly at her and there’s nowhere to go— and she squeezes her thighs around him, welcoming the collision. “You think I won’t work for it?” 

She only blinks at him. Once… twice… 

Her panties are dropped somewhere into the abyss, long forgotten with the rest of her clothes, and his knees thud heavily against the tiled floor. Replacing his body, his head now hovers right in front of a different button, golden hair tickling her sensitive skin as he pulls her legs over his thick shoulders. His skin is warm but not as much as his balmy breath which hits her clit, teasing her into a mess, hands curling around the edge of the counter. 

Come on, Steve. 

But, no, he doesn’t give in to her just yet. First, he turns to her inner thigh, sucking her skin into his mouth with bruising pressure before letting it go with a pop. He peers up— nothing. Moving to the other one, he whispers quick kisses over her sex but never lingers, only biting into her flesh once more once across her mound, teeth almost teasing a whimper from her this time but no, she’s not budging. 

That doesn’t mean he isn’t driving her crazy. Inside, she screams— she craves. C’mon baby just give it to me. Outwardly, her hands drunkenly find his hair, tugging at his soft locks. Now, now, now she chants furiously.

He unseals his lips from her thigh, peering up, less dangerous and back to being her ever hopeful boyfriend— is her her boyf— He kisses her folds, spongy lips lingering a moment, rendering her blank and feverish. Angelic— he’s angelic. From under his long lashes he all but begs her, his dark eyes starving and wanting, but his hands are so soft on her hips, massaging deep into her. It’s this mixture of puppy dog pleading and a knowing of sorts— he knows she’s going to cave eventually.

How does he do that? 

“Words? Please?”

She only pouts and, again, the switch flips. “Fine.”

The word is punctuated with the warm, wet stripe he licks up her center, flicking his tongue languidly over her clit. For as rushed as he’d started this mission, he’s truly never been one to speed through his meals, preferring instead to devour her slowly— expertly— tasting her thoroughly like he has all the time in the world. Meanwhile her body pulses, teetering dangerously already on the knife-sharp edge of too much and too little as he masterfully carves her out. 

Her hands, which had moments ago tried to pull him closer, now use his hair as handles to keep herself from toppling off the counter when he slides her closer to him, burying his face fully into her heat. Heels digging into his back, she watches the spot where his shirt rides up intently, consumed not only by the harsh sucking on her clit but also the tanned, muscled skin peeking out and then disappearing below his own jeans, taunting her. Why hadn’t she taken it off him first? 

She doesn’t have time to think much more about it though because he’s ravenous and she may as well be ice cream, sweet and sticky, melting all over him, dripping down the sides of his face and fingers as they begin prodding against her. They tease, pushing into her but not quite far enough— hard enough.  

His gaze on her is overpowering— it’s deliberate. 

“Y’know,” he speaks against her, the vibrations making her tense, “you can just tell me what you want ‘and I'll do it.”

Her mouth is like sandpaper— her brain, uncooperative. This push and pull is becoming lethal, the next few pokes of his tongue honey slow and spine jolting. Please— she wants to beg. She’s so empty. So, so, achingly empty. Would his fingers even be enough? At this point, it’s as though he would need to crawl into her very chest to fill her up the way she needs to be. How could her words even convey something so needy? 

“Anything, baby. Whatever you want.” 

They can’t, so they don’t, but for the sounds she refuses to make, he doubles in his own, moaning his frustrations right against her. If he can’t make her say anything, he damn sure is going to make her do something. That’s probably why he finally caves, pushing his fingers in to the hilt, and she was stupid to think they couldn’t fill her, the slight burn of them not at all foreign but definitely intense. 

As they bury themselves in her over and over and over again, she bucks against his hand, chasing the start of a little ball of electricity growing in the pit of her stomach, getting higher and higher with every twist of his fingers. Combined with the incessant flick of his tongue— she’s a goner. Stifling the moan, her teeth find home in her lip, biting so hard her mouth gains a slight tang that excites her even more. What’s she even doing? 

Wouldn’t it be more fun if she just let loose? Isn’t that what’s been missing the whole time? The fun? 

When she sees the glint in his piercing stare— impish despite everything they’ve been through— she gets it. It’s hopeless— she is and they are but they’re together and the fun isn’t gone— she’s done. He earned it.

“Stevie—”  she finally cries, animalistic; it doesn’t sound like his name but he must know it is because, even with the intense throbbing consuming her entire body, she can feel his shoulders soften under her thighs— “please don’t stop, I’m so close!”

“That’s it baby,” he coos against her clit, voice raw, compliant as he continues to pump his fingers in time to her squirming, “that’s my girl. I missed that pretty voice of yours.” 

At what point the first orgasm turns into a second, she isn’t sure. It’s all one big blur of her whiny moans, wanton and liquid body, and his hushed prayers against her flushed skin, tongue lapping relentlessly against her. More baby; I know you can give me more. She doesn’t so much hear them as she does become them, absorbing them into her skin. That’s it angel— so good, so good for me.

She can feel him drinking in her mumbled, jagged noises, some words but others mere syllables, coaxed out of her by tongue and fingers all the same. Steve— honey— mmph, fuck, right there— oh my— the words pour out now, dam broken beyond repair, and for some reason, or maybe a lack thereof, it spurs her on even more, a freed woman if ever there was one— 

“Oh my god, Stevie!”

It’s maddening— he’s maddening. 

He’s relentless. 

It isn’t until she yanks his still-eager mouth away from her, stomach iron-tense from way too much overstimulation, does he slowly draw his hand reluctantly back from her shuddering body. His other arm unwinds from where it’s been snaked around her knee, anchoring her to him throughout the duration of his worship. Now pushing him upright, holding him just near enough to where she can hear his labored breaths but not feel them, she shivers, cold as ice without his heat. 

He stares down at her, unmoving, and her heart jumps in her chest. She doesn’t understand— he’s just standing there while she shudders, breathless. His shirt is stretched, no doubt from her pulling at it, and in noticing the damage she remembers how she’s completely naked and he’s completely not. Exposed doesn’t even begin to touch how she feels. 

She wraps her arms around her chest, knees drawing up to tuck under her chin. “Steve?” 

She’d forgotten what it felt like to constantly have him next to her— to have his furnace like warmth melting into her skin almost every minute. Now that she’s had her first real taste of him again, she’s de-acclimated to being alone. She needs him.

“C’mere,” she begs, shaking and a bit confused, why isn’t he touching her still, “please, Stevie, come back.” 

When her fingers finally swipe against his shirt, barely snagging it, he flinches, coming back to her. “Sorry baby, I didn’t mean—” 

She flings herself at him, heart off kilter and erratic in her chest as her lips press against his, swallowing his apologies and hoping beyond anything else that he just catches her, like he always does. He does, kissing her back fervently— reverently. His tongue, tinted with her essence, scoops into her mouth the same way he had been between her thighs. She welcomes the way he takes charge, knowing he holds her against him with every ounce of strength he has.

“—’m sorry,” he pants into her mouth, clearly not satisfied with the success of her attack, “so, so sorry baby.” 

He repeats the words deliriously. Presses them into her hair and against her temple, on her chin and both her cheeks. He especially feeds them to her, word for word, against her lips, soft at first and then rough, frenzied. He’s not talking about right now. He’s still back in that apartment; the fallen angel amongst the rubble, wings too broken to just leave it. 

It’s not complicated. And it’s not revenge, because she could never make him feel worse than he already does, nor would she want to. So, in between kisses and apologies, she answers.

“I know, Stevie.”   

“It’s ok— we’re ok, Stevie.” 

“Steve, stop— I love you!”

He stops. He sets her down, bare feet planting unsteady against the ground. He steps back. What?

“Stevie?” She questions, already moving forward, but his arms, sweeping over his head, towing his shirt up and off, halt her in her tracks. 

Oh.  

 Oh. 

This time, when she says his name it's only a breathy moan, fingers searching for his belt loops and hooking him towards her. In the time it takes for her hands to find the button— this one, thankfully, popping open immediately— there must be a god somewhere who didn’t abandon them in the rubble— he’s back on her, one hand carefully threading through her hair, dragging her mouth back to his, while the other pushes the rest of his clothes to the ground.

“I love you, I love— ah, fuck,” he hisses as her hand wraps around him, thumb brushing over his velvety tip.

For the first time, she smiles against his mouth, calm. “Language, Rogers.”

He pulls back, one neat eyebrow flicked up, but there’s humor in his eyes— no more tension. No more worry. Just fun. He leans down, nuzzling his chin down the side of her face, breath fanning her ear. Her hand stutters as it tugs on him, dragging up and down. He’s so hard— it’s been so damn long. 

“Thought I was Stevie, baby?” It’s an absent minded tease, blush lips parted even after the fact, glued to the way she touches him. 

In turn she watches his face, crowned in a mussed up halo of gold, some of which sticks to his forehead but most falling at every which angle, a product of her thighs sealing themselves around him. She can’t say that she’s never seen him this disheveled but she’ll never get used to it. He’s perfect— she makes him so messy. 

Clearly, she hadn’t been the only one enjoying herself, though, if the heaviness of him between her fingers, rutting into her palm is anything to go by. She squeezes harder, testing something, and he groans something almost inhuman against her neck. Guttural. He’s so close already. It fuels her like nothing else, tickling the part of her that just wants to please. She’s making reparations, too. Speeding up, she works him faster. Come on, honey.  

“Stevie—” she echoes and the next thing she knows, he’s pulling her off him, pushing her towards the steam which billows out from behind the curtain. 

From the moment her feet touch the warm, wet surface of the shower floor, everything is a blur. The water sprays over her harshly, but only for a moment, before he overpowers it with his own, massive body, just as searing against her skin. She registers the slick splat of her back against the wall, a grunt— missed this, baby, and her own feral howl as he slams into her. There’s no waiting, no tiptoeing, only his cock sealing them together furiously once more. 

One of her legs is hiked up impossibly far, hinging near his hip where his hand crushes her to him. The other leg holds her up— barely— heel raised, toes splaying for grip as she reaches higher. He’s just so big— so tall and so thick. So impossible to adequately open herself to without him fully lifting her but she wants to try so she does her best to meet his brutal pace, clinging around his neck desperately. 

If his fingers had filled her entirely, his cock is almost unbearable. She relishes it, though, the way she can almost feel him in her damn throat with each and every drag. It’s mesmerizing, the way there’s no need for adjustment— for remembering. He knows her body like it’s his own and it makes her drool with pleasure.   

The slapping of their skin together proves to be louder than the rush of the water, but not more so than Steve whose mouth is working over time, ladeling praises directly into her ear, soaked, stubbly chin grating deliciously against her temple.

“You look so pretty baby,” he hums, staring mesmerized at their bodies to where he slips in and out of her, “ look at you taking me so well.”  

And she does. 

It’s a lewd notion, the way she can see exactly where he is inside her by the way her belly ripples with his plunges, but one that makes her gasp nonetheless, spasming around him which is also visible to both of them. Loosening one of her hands from its vice grip on his shoulder, he places it on the exact spot, urging her to feel just how big he is. With every sloppy push and pull, she does feel it, and it sends her reeling.

“See that?” He rasps, and she can only nod, mouth agape enough for some of the water falling off his hair to drip into it. 

She swallows it, tongue somehow so, so dry despite everything. Her nerves are on fire, everything so much slower than it should be. 

The agonizing pull of his hand on hers, dragging her own fingers under his to toy with her clit. 

The little circles that take hours to complete but nurture the current running through her veins regardless. 

The fucking torturous in and out of his cock— taunting her, languidly pounding her for what feels like an eternity— she can’t think. She’s in the water but she feels under it, too, foggy and pent up. She just wants to cum—

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna—” 

“—Stevie!” 

She breaks through the sluggish pleasure into electric and all consuming waves, head falling against the wall as his hips stutter against hers, pumping once, then twice, before falling still. Each time, she clenches harder, babbling something gritty and foul and incomprehensible. Something along the lines of holy fucking shit baby but its blurred with searing, pulsing pleasure.

There’s stars behind her eyes and steam in her nose as he falls against her chest, sopping hair tickling her hypersensitive skin. Him pulling feels like what two exposed wires touching must— all sparky and hot. It’s too much. 

“Mmm, careful baby,” she mumbles and he chuckles. 

“Of course.” 

The rest is truly a lull. Steve doesn’t bother gathering their clothes, only her, carrying her limp body to the bed and carefully setting her under the covers, dripping and all, before joining her. If she weren’t so sleepy, she would have scolded him. But she is and her eyes are refusing to stay open, let alone give him that look. It’s all she can do = to seek his warm skin once more, slithering against his body and rooting herself there. 

Cauterized, or something like it. 

[myhairpintrigger]

Can I request something where fem reader maybe has a very unusual ability and everyone fears her except for Aleksander who finds her fascinating, and he trains her annd saves her from ridicule amongst other Grisha? Ambiguous ending, maybe two parts??

hi im so sorry I have been so awol... I've been so busy and such. but i love this request and I love u anon and I love literally everyone who comes across my work. MWAH big kisses for you all.

word count: 5.2k

warnings: mentions of blood I think.. nothing really

Fascination (Aleksander Morozova x fem!reader)

-

Life had altogether not been very kind to you. 

Every wayward turn and harsh awakening in your life had brought you to this very moment. 

Your arms were held tightly at your sides by two very tall and very strong Corporalki in red. You’d given up on fighting them off; it was clear they-and you- weren’t going anywhere. You let them drag you roughly towards a large tent, settled amongst other smaller tents and small stands and groups of soldiers. You sniffled quietly and turned your head down to your shoulder to try and rub tears off of your face against your cloak.  

A particularly hard shove was given to you just as you reached the opening of the large tent, and you stumbled forward, almost falling to your knees. You would have fallen, if the two men at your side weren’t still holding you, leaving you to partially dangle from their grip before you had to stand back up weakly. You had only just gotten back to your feet before you were pushed down to the ground and released. You caught yourself on your hands and you let out a quiet whimper as the gravel ground dug into your palms. You kept your head down for a moment, staring at the dirt, trying to make yourself as small as possible. 

Eventually, you had the nerve to lift your head, and you wished you’d kept it down. A handful of Grisha in colorful keftas stood around a table and stared down at you with something between disgust and disappointment. 

And then there was him. 

Clothed in all black save for the little peek of red around his collar, stood The Darkling. The Grisha’s very own general. 

He looked down at you quizzically, as if you were a puzzle he was yet to finish putting together. No one spoke for a long time. Or perhaps it wasn’t a long time. You weren’t sure, time seemed to be passing so slowly that you could count your heartbeats comfortably without rush. 

“What is this?” 

His voice was dark and it made you look away from him, though you could tell he hadn’t looked away from you. 

“The deserter, Sir. The Siphoner.” Someone answered, and you assumed it was one of the hulking men behind you. 

“I can see that. Where?” He asked. His voice was eerily emotionless, commanding silence and respect from everyone in the room. It practically made you shiver. 

“Attempting to get across the Shu Han border. An informant found her and subdued her until we arrived.” 

The memory made you wince. Being held in a cellar for days with your hands bound apart from one another in the freezing cold. 

It wasn’t like your hands would’ve been of use anyway. You needed your own powers to do that. 

That of which, you lacked. 

You could only siphon through contact and emulate for a short period of time. If you were to touch an Inferni, you could be called an Inferni for a little while. Same with Heartrender, Squaller, Healer, all of it. 

When you were tested as a child, you had clearly tested positive. Your parents had been elated, thrilled that you’d been gifted. Not many parents thought that way, you’d come to realize. From there, you’d been whisked away to train, to advance your abilities. The odd thing was, it didn’t seem like you had any. 

It slowly became evident, though, that you were simply using other’s powers around you. You would hold your friend’s hand and shortly after be able to do what they could. 

It was rare, they said, but not impossible. 

They also claimed it to be dangerous. 

You were labeled to be dangerous. 

Really you weren’t, at least, you didn’t think so. 

After this had become known, no one hardly ever wanted to be around you, and it was like that for years and years until you were enlisted to join The Second Army as a healer. Sometimes. When other healers were willing to let you use their powers. It wasn’t as often as you might think, though. Apparently the process was tiring and painful, though you’d never felt a thing. 

Eventually it had become all too much. The loneliness, the constant ridicule, their constant disdainful stares. 

So you ran. And you had made it nearly. You’d been away for months, hiding away from and avoiding anyone who might turn you in. 

Gravel crunched under a pair of black boots and you lifted your eyes just slightly, pulling yourself back to the present moment. 

“Look at me, girl.” 

The Darkling’s voice chilled you to the bone and you didn’t dare disobey him. You slowly lifted your head to look up at him and he was already staring down at you. He eyed you as if you were a marvel, a creature walking around with two heads. Curiously, fascinated. 

Slowly, like a predator engaging its prey, The Darkling crouched down in front of you and grabbed your chin. He searched your face as if he had to be sure you looked the part. 

Maybe you did. 

Your face was dirty and tear streaked, and your hair was askew. Your clothes were a sight to see, as well, covered in dirt and tears. All in all, you looked exactly like you’d been running for months. 

“Clear the tent. I will question her alone.” He said suddenly and let go of your chin. He stood up and you felt as if you could breathe properly again now that he was no longer touching you. Everyone slowly filed out of his tent and you stayed on the ground, either too weak or too afraid to rise up to your feet. 

When it was only the two of you left in the tent, you slowly willed yourself to look up at him as he still stood over you. You were hardly surprised to see him staring down at you still, his gaze unwavering and hard. 

“Can you stand on your own?” He asked, nodding down at you. 

You couldn’t find your voice, but you laid your hands flat on the ground and shakily pushed yourself up. You stumbled forward a bit and prepared to crash back down to the ground, but The Darkling had reached out and grabbed your upper arms, steadying you enough to regain your balance and stand. 

Now he was fully able to take you in. He looked you up and down and studied your tattered clothes and your frail stature and he folded his arms over his chest. 

“Are you mute?” He asked sharply and you simply shook your head in reply. 

You didn’t dare look into his eyes again. You were terrified already, and looking into his eyes gave you the feeling that you were staring right into a vision of your own death. 

“Y/n L/n. You are being accused of deserting, not to mention you are known to hold an odd little ability that could be fatal to your fellow Grisha. You can stay silent, that is fine by me, but if I were you, I’d start explaining yourself quickly.” He stated grimly. 

You clutched your hands together nervously and you opened your mouth, a very quiet whine escaping your lips. 

“Am I to be killed?” You had meant for it to sound more casual; stronger. Instead your voice wavered and your bottom lip trembled. 

“You are not.” 

You weren’t sure if you were relieved to hear him say that or not. 

You gave him a little nod and he reached out and grabbed your shoulders, none too gently, at that. You winced a little and shied away from him as much as you could in his grip. 

“Answer my questions truthfully and you will not be punished as a deserter. You will not evade punishment entirely, but I will make sure you receive nothing too harsh.”

You gave him a shaky nod and wondered what he meant by ‘nothing too harsh’.

“You ran. Why?” He asked and then he released your shoulders, leaving you to sway just a bit. 

“I just…” burning tears of shame gathered in your eyes and you looked down to the ground and you bit the inside of your cheek, “…I was so tired of being alone here. Everyone avoids me, as if I’m a disease, and when they don’t, they’re often times cruel. I don’t have anything or anyone keeping me here, why is it a crime that I ran? It is not like anyone wants me here, much less you.” You stated and finally looked up at him. 

With your head upright, the tears spilled out of your eyes and down your cheeks, and you turned your head away from him, looking off to the side of the tent. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move. You wanted to look at him, to see if there was an indication of what he might say or do next, but you kept your eyes away from him. 

You sniffled a few times and brought your filthy sleeve up to your face to wipe it, but a hand on your wrist stopped you.  

“Don’t. Your clothes are filthy.” He said, almost as if he were correcting a child. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it into your palm and gave you a nod. 

You stared down at it as if it might grow a mouth and some teeth, but after moment you slowly lifted it up to your face and dabbed your eyes with it. You reached out shakily and offered the handkerchief back to him, but he shook his head. 

“No. Keep it. You’ll likely need it more than I.” He replied and you nodded once, biting down on the inside of your cheek. 

There was more silence and you shifted your eyes downwards to your shoes. You didn’t need to look up to know that his eyes were on you. 

“Siphon from me.” He suddenly commanded, and this had you widening your eyes and turning to look at him. 

“No, Sir, I have been given strict orders to never siphon, it’s not natural, it’s an abomination of the Small Science.” You protested but he simply shook his head. 

“I am in charge, and I order you to. Clearly it’s natural enough. You were born with it. You weren’t the first and you won’t be the last. You’re just very, very rare. Now, do as I say, and siphon from me.” He commanded once more, his tone authoritative. 

You eyed him very cautiously and then you raised your hand up away from your side. Your hand visibly shook as you moved it towards his, and he seemed to get the idea, because he lifted his own hand and moved it towards you. You gave him a little nod and then wrapped your hand delicately around his wrist. His skin was smooth and cold under your touch and you fought back a chill. He just felt like one of the shadows he could summon. 

Slowly, you began to draw his power into your own grasp, and you closed your eyes, focusing on the connection between the two of you now, the ebb and the flow of energy from his wrist to your hand. He stood as still as a statue, and after just a moment, you let go of his wrist and pulled your hand back to your side. 

You looked up at him as he rolled his wrist a bit and flexed his hand, staring at his skin. You almost expected something to be on it, but it was as flawless as it had been prior. 

“That’s all?” He asked and then raised his eyebrow, “You could have taken enough to overpower me and leave the camp and escape. Why didn’t you?” He demanded. 

You blinked in confusion, taking a half step back. He was right, you could have. But you didn’t want to. Why didn’t you want to?

“I don’t know, Sir.” You answered timidly and wrung your hands together nervously. 

“I do.” He replied. 

You looked at him curiously and then he gave you a smile. 

It wasn’t a nice smile. It was a cold, ostentatious smile.

“Despite being lonely, you don’t want to be truly alone.” 

-

The ride back to the Little Palace was a very uncomfortable one. 

You’d been cleaned up after your meeting with The Darkling. He’d demanded that someone clean you up properly and get you in some clothes that weren’t in ruins. Once you’d been put back together, you sat quietly in his tent before he came back and told you that he was taking you back to the Little Palace. He did not give you a reason as to why, but he did assure you that you were not going to be punished. 

You sat in a carriage with one other Grisha now. He wore a purple kefta and his short brown hair sat on his head messily, falling into his face and around his eyes. He hadn’t spoken more than two words to you, but you didn’t feel any sort of contempt in the way he acted. He quietly read from a book across from you, and you pulled your legs up with you on the seat. 

You didn’t have a kefta, so instead you’d been given a long grey coat and a tan fur cloak to keep yourself warm in. You absentmindedly picked at your already torn up cuticles and you heard a little sigh from the man in front of you.  

“Stop. You’ll make yourself bleed and you’re going to hurt yourself.” He stated and you looked up at him. His book laid in his lap and he was now looking at you, or specifically, your hands. 

“It’s a bad habit.” You answered and looked down at your lap. 

“It is a bad habit, indeed. So I think you should stop. Before you pick your fingers raw.” His tone had a hint of concern in it that you hadn’t heard directed at you for quite a long time, and it was enough to bring your eyes up to his. 

“Well, that’s kind of the point of it being a habit. I can’t really stop.”

“You can. You just have to commit to it mentally.” He argued and then closed his book, setting it aside next to his leg on the seat. 

“I don’t think I have any of my wits about me mentally, so I guess I’ll just have to attempt breaking this habit at a different time.” You said with a very dry chuckle. 

The man flashed a sad little smile at you and then he shook his head. 

“Does anyone have their wits about them, really?” He asked and then looked around the carriage briefly before settling his gaze back on you.

You shrugged at the man and then he leaned forward and offered you his hand. 

“I am David.” He introduced himself to you, and you blinked a few times. 

If he noticed your hesitancy, he didn’t move back or make it known. Instead, he kept his hand patiently in front of you until you reached out to grab onto it gently, giving it a light shake. 

“I’m y/n.” You finally said in return. 

David seemed to be pleased with your interaction, because when you two pulled your hands away, he gave you a kind smile and then picked up his book again. 

“You aren’t in trouble, you know,” David began and then opened up the book once more, “The Darkling wants you at the Little Palace so that he can keep an eye on you. Your safety was no priority at the camp. He didn’t like that very much.” He finished and then buried his nose back in the book. 

David’s words took you by surprise and you blinked a few times, “What do you mean by that?” You asked and eyed the man in front of you. 

“I mean exactly what I said.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t get it. Why does my safety matter enough to bring me to the Little Palace?” You asked, confusedly. The Darkling shouldn’t care about your safety. You’d met him for the first time only eight hours or more ago, and it wasn’t an overall pleasant meeting, and he received you with little to no kindness. 

“Well, you are a Siphoner? Are you not? You can be utilized quite effectively with proper training.” He responded in a monotone, not bothering to look up from his book. 

You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest like an indignant child. 

“You’re mistaken. Trust me. I’ve been told otherwise my entire life.” You stated. 

This pulled his attention away from his book and he glanced up at you briefly. 

“Then you have simply been surrounded by people who don’t understand the use of power.” He replied and then gave you an awkward little smile. 

You didn’t reply to him after he said this, you simply sat back and leaned your head against the wall. You hadn’t realized just how exhausted you were until you were in the carriage, and your eyes now felt heavy and you could feel your surroundings start to feel only half there. You pulled your arms underneath the thick cloak and you let your eyes fall closed, unable to escape the grasp of sleep that pulled you deep beneath its depths. 

-

Days had passed, days mostly spent sleeping and having short and quiet conversations with David. You didn’t realize just how tired you were until you had gotten a taste of sleep. Real sleep. Not just little naps while you were on the run. Days of waiting were not in vain, though, because the second the carriage rolled up in front of the Little Palace, you felt a bit of relief. Now you could sleep in a bed, at the very least. 

The doors opened to the carriage and a tall man, clothed in a bright red kefta motioned for you to get out of the carriage. You carefully clambered out with David following silently behind you and you stood awkwardly at the foot of the steps that led up into the palace. 

A hand pressed itself into your lower back and you spun around to see the Darkling standing at your side. His shoulders were squared properly and his face was as cold and emotionless as stone, eyes reflecting the same expression. He glanced down at you and began to gently lead you up the steps, bringing you into the palace. 

“You have been asleep each time I have come to check on you.” He remarked as the two of you moved down a grandiose hallway. His tone was not accusatory, nor was it annoyed. If anything, he was slightly amused. 

“Well, I don’t think I’ve had a secure situation to sleep in for the last three months so this has been nice.” You replied quietly and looked down at your feet as the two of you walked. 

He hummed and let out a small chuckle, “Secure situation? Meaning…?”

“Meaning your soldiers have been hunting me down for three months and I haven’t had a moment where I haven’t needed to watch my back.” You replied, your tone clipped. You instantly regretted it, too. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment and then he tapped your back just once, and you could barely feel it through your cloak, “Well, you are the one that decided to run. Though you have my apologies for the rough treatment leading up to when you came to me for the first time. Is that a fair trade?” He asked, a thin, forced smile playing upon his lips. 

You studied his face for a moment and felt your mouth go dry. Of course you’d looked at him before but it’s as if this was the first time you were really seeing him. His dark eyes stole the breath right out of your lungs. His face was chiseled by the hands of saints and his skin was flawless. You blinked a few times while you stared at him and then you let out a quiet scoff. 

“An apology, while unexpected, isn’t that fair all things considering.” You replied and then pressed your lips together tightly. 

The two of you came to a door that was across from a set of double doors and he pushed it open, nudging you inside with the hand that was against your lower back. You looked around the room that he’d led you into and you gave an approving nod. There was a large, four poster bed with a canopy and cream colored sheets and beautiful furniture made of deep, rich woods. A bouquet of wildflowers sat in a vase atop a the vanity and you turned to look up at The Darkling. 

“I hope your quarters are suitable.” He murmured as you took a step away from him. 

“They’ll do just fine.” You replied and then rubbed your eyes a few times, still exhausted from your journey. 

You felt a hand on your back again and you slowly turned your head around to see him peering down at you.

“You can rest here. Without fear of being hunted.”

“It’s persecution I fear now.” 

He was silent for a moment and then he let out a small sigh, shaking his head just once.

“I will not allow anyone to speak down to you. You are Grisha, whether your talent is rare or not.” He finally said. 

“Me being Grisha changed nothing before.” 

“Well it changes everything now.” He said sternly. 

“Why? Why are you being… so benevolent?” You asked and then raised your eyebrows, “I’ve spent my entire life being ostracized, persecuted, belittled… all because of this ability I have. And you’re telling me that you never once even heard about me until I ran ? I know that’s a lie. Why am I important now?” You demanded and then made the mistake of locking eyes with him. 

He didn’t say anything for a long time. Instead he kept his eyes on yours unyieldingly. He didn’t let up on his gaze for a while, and when he finally did, you felt a weight lifted off of your shoulders. 

“You’ve always been important. I just never knew to what extent until now. You are of great help to me and I’d like to train you according to your gifts. My sincerest apologies for not being more diligent when it came to your treatment.” 

His voice was low and it demanded your attention. Demanded your reverence. 

“I’d like to sleep.” You whispered, shying away from his burning stare, boring into your face like hot coals. 

“Of course.” 

His voice was as smooth as silk now as he moved away from you and in a few fluid, almost melodic steps, moved towards your bed. He pulled the covers back and motioned towards it, turning his head back towards you. You eyed him cautiously before you kicked off your boots and shrugged off your cloak, leaving them to be the only mess on the pristine hardwood floors. You made your way to the bed and climbed onto it, laying on your side so that you didn’t have to look up into his eyes again. 

He tucked the blankets around your shoulders and then he let out a quiet chuckle; nervousness overcame you like a disease. 

“You are afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” You protested before you could even think. 

“I make you nervous.”

“Don’t you think you make everyone nervous?”

“Not everyone.”

“You’re wrong.”

He thought for a moment after you spoke and then he moved away from your bedside and walked towards the door. 

“Get some sleep, y/n. Come find me when you wake.” He commanded, though his tone was light; nearly on the cusp of gentle. 

As he left the room, you were left with the parting gift of sudden silence. You stared at the wall from your position on the bed and your mind ran wild. What if no one liked you here? What if things were the same? You didn’t want to go back to being alone, and you didn’t want to keep feeling alone. Then of course, there was the Darkling, who was mysterious and ambiguous in all endeavors, who all but promised you that you’d not be lonely. You doubted that highly. 

Though his presence wasn’t overall unpleasant, the air around him was thick and filled you with an odd nervousness. Perhaps it was the fact that he was so regal and matter-of-fact; stone cold. Or maybe, it was how beautiful he was. You didn’t expect him to be so breathtaking, though you’d heard before that the Shadow Summoner was a sight to see. 

Whatever it was, it didn’t allow you much sleep. 

-

“You’re not very good at focusing.” The Darkling remarked as you drummed your fingers against your upper arm. 

“I can focus when I’m intrigued.” You stated quietly and twirled a bit of your hair around your finger. 

“Then we will go again. And again. And again until you’re ‘intrigued’.” 

He was referring to using his power. Power that you’d siphoned from him. He’d been training you- or trying to- for days now. Trying to get you to use what you’d siphoned. It had been easy with other powers. Normal powers. For some reason though, it was much harder to utilize what you’d taken from The Darkling. Nothing seemed to be working, and you were growing bored and frustrated.

You looked up at him as he stood above you while you sat at his desk and you folded your arms over your chest in an insolent fashion. 

“I’m tired and this is getting old. I can’t do it obviously.” You huffed and he let out a quiet groan. 

“You wondered why you had no friends before and I can answer that for you right now.” He snapped, and you looked up at him, shocked. 

“Excuse me?” 

You could tell that he regretted it by the way his face twitched and softened and he let out a sigh, “It’s this damned attitude of yours.” He mumbled, “You’re so negative.”

“Right.” You snapped back at him and then turned your head so that he was no longer in your view, “And by the way, I have nothing to be positive about. Deal with the negativity.” You said, irritatedly. 

His hand laid itself on your shoulder and you heard him sigh, “I know this is arduous work. But you can do it, you know.” He murmured, gently rubbing your shoulder back and forth. 

You slowly turned your head to gaze up at him and you shook your head once, “I would’ve done it by now.” You muttered and then leaned your elbows down against his desk.

He pulled his hand away from your shoulder and he reached out and extended it towards you, palm up. 

You stared at his hand confusedly and he wagged his fingers just slightly. 

He wanted you to take his hand. 

You eyed him cautiously and looked him up and down for just a moment before you shifted a bit and laid your hand gingerly in his own. His slender fingers clasped your hand gently and he looked down into your eyes with an almost eager stare. 

“Try now.” He ordered, tone soft.  

You looked him up and down before you eyed your joined hands and then you shook your head, “How is this supposed to help?” You asked quietly, but he didn’t answer. 

His answer came as a feeling, as if his touch was tugging at something within you, that started in your fingers. Only as a tingle. Then, slowly, it spread up your arms and through your entire body. It was electric, it was empowering, and before you knew it, wisps of shadow were rolling off of your fingertips. Slowly at first, but soon it became more rapid, and the shadows grew larger, and larger, and you gasped. You went to push even more shadows out through your fingers, when the Darkling pulled his hand away from yours and looked down at you as if you’d stolen his very breath away from his lips. 

A strange look settled behind his dark eyes and he reached up to take your face in his hand, holding it by your jaw. Gently, he turned your head side to side as if he were examining a rare stone and then he shook his head. Curiously, he brushed his thumb against your jawline and then he let you go. 

“You’re a marvel.” He spoke reverently, his eyes staring down into yours. 

“I hardly think-“

“No. Don’t argue with me. You could be anything. Everything. You’re dangerous.”

You blinked a couple of times and then you shook your head, your hand traveling up to your face, fingers brushing against the spot that he’d just held, “What was that?” You asked and then held your hand up, wiggling your fingers.

He took your hand in his and examined it closely, as if it was the most unusual thing he’d ever seen in his entire life. 

Finally, he let your hand go after a few moments and he looked down at your face, a little smile playing on his lips, “Have you heard of amplifiers?”

“Of course I have.” You retorted, lowering your hand down into your lap. 

He gave you a little nod, but said nothing further before he just shrugged and sat down on the corner of his desk, looking down at you. You sighed, exasperated. Oftentimes, the Darkling left you with more questions than answers. You came to the realization that this was simply one of those times. You slowly rose from the chair you sat in and you smoothed down your grey kefta and cleared your throat. 

“It’s getting late, sir.” You remarked, doing all that you could to evade his gaze, even if you still felt it on you like a thousand suns. 

“Indeed.” Was all he said as he continued to sear you with his stare. 

“Your staring is creepy, you know.” You drawled, drumming your fingers on the sides of your kefta. 

A little laugh fell from his lips and you had to make sure you heard him correctly. You looked up at him, surprised, to see him smiling down at you as if you were the most amusing thing in the world to him. 

“You fascinate me, that’s all, miss y/n.” He said, a playfully lilt in his normally stern tone. 

“Never been told that before.” 

“Perhaps you should get used to hearing it.”

Perhaps you would. 

[slasher-dasher]

Halllooooo

Of you are comfortable can you write headcanons for

Brahms, Billy, Stu, Bubba, OG!Micheal myers, and Jason Voorhees reaction to seeing their s/o with fresh or old SH marks/Scars?

Comfort headcanons with them would be *mwah!* cheifs kiss

(Anon I'm so sorry this took so long, I hope you enjoy!!)

Slashers Reactions to Seeing S/O's Scars

︶꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Brahms:

Hard to hide them (if you are) since his eyes are constantly on you. If you're not, he stares at them before asking questions, (He's very blunt, the only scars he knows about are burn scars for... obvious reasons-)

Speaking of, since he has his burn scars, so he knows how to care for yours, and he is so so careful about cleaning and wrapping them. The last thing you need is a worried Brahms and an infection

Rubs them sometimes, usually when you're asleep or if you two are cuddling. It's always absentmindedly, and once he realizes he's doing it, he stops and hugs you

He wears his mask less around you, generally because he trusts you and partially because he knows you won't push him away. The support goes both ways in this house!!

Wraps you in his cardigan for comfort, especially if he sees fresh marks

Very very mindful about where he clings to you, he doesn't want to hurt you

Billy Loomis:

It takes him a bit to process, but once he does he's looking up as much as possible, but ends up getting frustrated at all the information and just asks what he can do to support you

His biggest tactic on a bad day is distraction, usually by asking to take a walk or watching a movie. If that doesn't work, he gets you a cold water and sits with you. He's much more of a listener than a talker

Will punch anyone who upsets you because of them (and in general). Don't expect to see that person again

If he sees fresh marks, he won't comment on them but he will look at them every once in a while to make sure they're healing properly

Overdramatic kisses, like he's saying "mmmwah" on every scar to make you giggle. He's trying to make sure you feel safe and comfortable around him by knowing he'll never judge you

Stu Macher:

Harm-reduction master. He knows all the techniques and figures out what works best for you

Also helps you figure out any triggers you may have and how to navigate them when he is and isn't home! He wants to make sure you'll be safe either way

Wraps you in a blanket and comforts you on a bad day. Makes you tea, gets your favorite snacks, sets up the TV for your favorite movies/shows, and plays with your hair on the couch all while showering you in support

Tries his best not to look worried but is internally screaming whenever you're hurt, he's a very emotional guy when it comes to you

He trusts you though, and does his best to make sure you know he's always available if you need him

Bubba:

Texas heat means he likely sees them from day one. At first he thinks they were caused by others, but if/when he sees fresh marks he puts the pieces together

He doesn't want you to have a heatstroke while working, but he also wants to make sure you're comfortable, so he'll send his brothers away and stay close to you around the farm

He does technically know how to clean and dress wounds, but he does get a bit panicked because it's you he's helping, not just one of his brothers who got unlucky while chasing a tourist

Makes sure his brothers don't joke about them or use them against you. Drayton made a comment once and he lost his mind.

Happily and regularly checks up on you, he sees it as part of his routine to ask you how you are just in case you need him but don't know how to approach him

OG!Michael Myers:

He's indifferent about them for the most part

On one hand, he's lived around people who had scars practically his whole life, so he's used to seeing them in general. On the other, he wasn't used to seeing them on you, and he took a little longer than usual to process the first time he saw them

Has many of his own, and isn't shy about showing you them if it would help you feel more comfortable around him.

Knows how to tend to his own wounds, so he doesn't mind tending to yours

Support headpats. They're his "I love you/I'm here for you"

Sticks around you more than usual for a while, just to make sure you're alright, you might even get a hug if he's feeling brave. He'll even get in bed and cuddle if you've had a really bad day

Will kill anyone who comments on them in any way that makes you upset.

Jason Voorhees:

Doesn't quite understand them, which makes him very curious.

Always taps your shoulder to get your attention if he wants to see them, and nods and kisses your forehead if you say no

He truly does mean well though, he wants to know how to help you if you're in distress (and in general)

Makes sure to bring you a gift every day! Most of the time it's flowers he found around camp, but he will settle for a nice leaf as well

Tells you you're beautiful/handsome all the time (through sign and body language too). He did this before knowing too, but the guy loves giving you words of affirmation, even if he can't speak them

Kisses them often, his mom always used to do that when he got hurt, and it helped him, so he figures it'll help you a little bit too

[stabbyfoxandrew]

MY BELOVED! happy wipw and happy pride month!

my favourite arsonist has been stuck in a little gay crisis for a week... save the poor guy (or make him worse!) for his sake of course i dont care at all... like whatever...

mwah!

WIP Wednesday (6/5) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 179)

“Pretty,” is the first thing out of 10’s mouth when Andrew picks up. And Andrew immediately short circuits. There’s warmth spreading up his chest and to his ears and he’s acutely aware that his hands have started sweating. It takes him a second to get his voice box working.

“What?”

“The rainbow,” 10 clarifies. Andrew lets out a breath and curses the day he was born— yet again. This fucking idiot has a habit of wreaking havoc on Andrew’s system. 10 must realize his blunder because he coughs. “You look alright, too.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You know,” 10 starts. “You should be careful what you show to strangers.”

Though he’s not visible, Andrew cocks a brow. “Really? A lecture on safety from an arsonist?”

“I’m serious. I could find your apartment based on the view out your window.” 10 says and Andrew bristles.

“Liar.”

“There’s a brick building across the street, a street sign I can partially make out, and a four-way intersection to the right. From our earlier conversations, I know you live near a gym. Need I go on?” 

Andrew swallows. “Creepy, but impressive.”

“Maybe this will be my new thing now,” 10 says with a snort. “Instead of fires, I’ll try to figure out where you live.”

“Stalker.” Andrew says. “There’s at least a dozen gyms around here. Besides… You don’t know I’m at my house right.”

“Where else would you be baking brownies?” 10 asks, rendering him silent. His lack of response only encourages 10 to continue. “Nice chair, by the way. It looked comfortable.”

“Wanna guess where I got it, oh mystical detective?”

“Not particularly. But I know without a shadow of a doubt that it didn’t come from the same company as the chair in my hotel room.” 10 sighs. “Thing’s hard as a rock and looks like it came out of a cartoon. I’m thinking about burning it later. See you there?”

“No.” Andrew says firmly.

“Oh, come on. Bring some hotdogs and marshmallows, it’ll be fun.” 10 says and Andrew can hear his smile through the phone.

“You cannot have a bonfire in a hotel room.”

“You’re mean to me.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “I’m not mean enough to you.”

[imaginecorporation]

*slides in with a rose tuched between my teeth* hello my beautiful besties

can you write some hong lu x reader stuff for me 👉👈 bonus points if its fluff . thannk you i love you forever and ever and ever mwah

Unpolished Jade

First and foremost, you'll have to be patient with him. Hong Lu is hardly used to interpersonal relationships, let alone ones that are so committed from both sides. Not his fault he wasn't loved as a kid--

BUT. Once you do start to properly work things out and slowly but surely communicate and help him ease into personal connections, you can't tell me he'd be anything short of the sweetest lover known to man.

He's used to nothing (physical, at least) being unattainable, so he'll absolutely spoil you with dates and gifts. The best money can buy.

Though, if he's honest, the kind of gift he'd prefer from his lover? Their time. He's not used to that, so even a sliver of personal attention feels like the greatest intimacy. He'll be over the moon every time you take a moment to cherish him verbally, give him hugs and kisses, and just remind him that Yes. You Do Love Him.

Cuddles. Big cuddlebug. Not as much of a cuddlebug as someone like Heathcliff is, but Hong Lu will absolutely whine for cuddles, don't tempt him.

And yes it is partially to sap your warmth. I can only imagine him as having a slightly cooler than average body temperature, so he'll just curl up on you like a cat in a sunspot.

You're the one person he'll, slowly but surely, every so often, drop his happy go lucky attitude around, and be truthful with. He knows you can keep his secrets, and he trusts you so dearly. He hopes you'll trust him in kind.

He'll probably share skills like calligraphy with you, even if you don't ask. I can see him being very passionate about his taught brushwork, wanting to share and teach as a bonding experience. Gentle and soft hands over yours, guiding each stroke to show you how it's done, and happily praising you even though he just did 95% of the work.

[velvetsqwyrme]

I saw ur tags and ran over here. What are ur favorite spicy UF! Papyrus fics?

HELLOOO LMAO you were so quick... sorry this took me a while to get together, but I hope you enjoy ( ù ᵕ ú )

Fair warning that some of these picks will include dub/noncon (and potentially other dubious content? I don't know what I'm going to add yet HAHA) so as always make sure to heed the warnings and read the tags before reading!! I've done my best to label them accordingly though :]

------

READER INSERTS

Edge Discovers the Wonderful World of Subbing

You can tell exactly what this list is going to be like just from the title of this first fic... (title is explanatory, gotta love it!!)

Good EdgeLord

More sub Edge!! 💥💥

Caught in the Act

HELLO?? HELLO. Voyeurism? Low stakes semi-public sex? Double penetration ?? Sign me UP.

Pumped (Kinktober Collection)

Usually I refrain from including individual Kinktober chapters from rec lists BUT I really like this one ( '^' )!! It isn't even that explicit, but it's stuck in my brain because I GASPED when I read it for the first time.

Pyr's Favourite Keeper [DUBCON -> CON]

Love me a snakey boy!!!!!! There's also oviposition 👀!!

Wake

Sleepy sex <3! The bit with the SNAP part killed me and it's also such a fun detail!

Prime Time to Run

Mafiafell... he straight up murders someone in front of you and you fuck about it.

Bound Edge

Sub Edge again!! The reader has a dick in this- a rare but delicious treat !

Fall Out Bones [NON/DUBCON...????]

Technically this is linked to a series featuring both UF!bros, because I think that both are reslly good partially also because I think they're intensely hilarious at times. The titles are also great.

Boned [NONCON]

CLASSIC 2016 PREMISE. Reader is trapped in the fucking shed. (Fucking used as both profanity as well as a descriptive action)

Housekeeping [NONCON]

Weird location (sink)! But it works really well for the fic!!! Violenctce.

To Prove A Point ||| The Origins Of The Pap-wich - (Swap!Pap/Reader/UF!Pap)

Ahhh the good ol threesome ! The reader gets sandwiched between two very sexy skeletons~ !! I'm also a big Swap!Pap fan so this is just. *Mwah* so good!!!!! Double penetration again ~ also one of the few fics with squirting 🙏✨

All Dicks, No skeletons [DUB/NONCON DUE TO DETACHABLE ECTODICK SITUATION]

I cannot put into words how much I love this. It's got detachable ectobits... inconvenience due to detachable ectobits!! In this, Edge has a barbed dick and claws up a tree. It's crack but it's so so good!!!!!! I'm patiently waiting for updates and will ravenously consume the fic for lime the fiftieth time when it does.

OTHER SHIPS

Also! Here are a few fics with UF!Pap in other ships (namely various Papcest configs) because you didn't specify it had to be reader inserts lol

Little Wet Bones (Papcest: Farm/Underfell)

Bitty!Edge is soooo cute... and horny!! He's so self assured I love it.

Pepper Heat (Papcest: Edgepuff)

Heat fic! Heat fic!! Chili peppers is one hell of a heat scent... the only person who can handle a Papyrus is another Papyrus ;] The naming scheme here is also very funny when you realise what went on.

A Fallen Knight and his King (Papcest: Edgepuff)

MORE SUB EDGE ! This one delves more into the his exploration of dom/sub dynamics and it's so so good!!!!

Three Chance Meetings (Papcest: Spicyhoney)

Swap!Pap is (secretly) a prostitute and Fell!Pap finds out and shills out the money to spend a night with him. I looooove the character dynamics in this one too.

Taste of Blood and Honey (Papcest: Spicyhoney)

I forgot about this and was delighted to discover it again because ohhhhhh my god the premise is so good... also there's mirror sex and first times and those are always fun :3c

Mutt Lost a Bet (Papcest: SpicyBBQ)

Mafia AU setting where SF!Pap and UF!Pap make and lose bets resulting in sexual escapades. The second chapter is my favourite because it involves gloryholes and aphrodisiacs <33

Bro's Replacement (Papcest + Sanscest : Spicyhoney + Cherryberry)

LAMIAS AGAIN 💖 Honestly the setup is what gets me... but the smut is delicious so I'm adding it here :3c

Heat (Papcest - Spicyhoney) [HEAT INDUCED MUTUAL NON/DUBCON]

Why are there so many lamia fics in this list, I do not know, but heeeeeeey enjoy the snakeys! In this one the non/dubcon is due to UF!Pap being in heat, and both of them regret it after. Things get better though!!

------

Anyway, that's all for now! Hope you enjoy some ^^!!!

[amenalyme]

Since everyone else is doing it, here's mine!!

Didn't have much time to draw during the second half of the year because of university, so the selection for stuff to put in was pretty small

My schedule for next semester is lighter, though, so I will hopefully have more time for art again

Honestly, despite everything going on in the world, I had a pretty great year and I'm proud of how far I've come as a person

For the past several years, I've been stuck in friendships that honestly were not the best at times, but it's always been hard for me to go out and meet new people so I didn't exactly have anywhere else to go back then without just ending up completely alone. But this year I was finally able to properly let go of some, mend others and make new connections with people I actually feel wanted and cared for by

I would like to give a special mention to my dear friend @kotikaleo. While we first met last year, we didn't really start talking until this year. During that time we have become very very close and she is one of the sweetest most understanding people I've had the pleasure of knowing. Mwah.

Besides that, I also got the chance to meet someone I've known online since 2018 in person for the first time. And it went well! We only got to spend two days together but we had a great time. Hope to see them again in the future.

This year I also graduated high school and started university, which also meant partially moving out of my parents' home and renting an apartment with some other friends! This new beginning has definitely been rough, but so far I have managed...albeit without much free personal time.

In addition, I made a lot of progress in my journey as an artist alley and etsy seller. I sold at a con outside of my own country for the first time, massively expanded my table and found some great success in online sales. I also got to connect more with other sellers in the area, partially thanks to joining the Solanum community.

The only thing I am slighly bummed about is my failure to make connections in the Rain World fandom. Despite being semi-active in the community for the entire year, I have unfortunately yet to make any friends through it. I do hope to be more active next year and hopefully talk to people more, but only time will tell how that works out.

Looking forward to what the next year has to offer! <3

[ddejavvu]

miss daisy miss mei!! how r u honey!! <3

is there any way i could get my heart won’t change something along the lines of-

‘you just get anything you want, huh?’

‘you could say no to me, harrington, i can take the disappointment’

‘no, i never wanna say no to you…’

maybe during a best friends to lovers confession? maybe during an argument? playful, temporarily angsty because you and steve are both idiots, all that fun stuff </3 only if you want lovey!! but i hope you like this and that it appeals to you, whether u write something or not ❤️mwah mwah

come celebrate 5.7k with me!

My heart won't change - send me a line of dialogue and a character and i’ll write it into a scenario! (ex. “why are you naked?!” with peter parker)

you melt my heart every time you call me that, you're so cute :D <33 i'm doing okay!! how are you, sweetheart?? i'm so sorry i tried so hard to get this to be partially angst but i totally bombed!! this is just plain fluff, but it is best friends to lovers :') i hope you like it anyways! <33

--

The frown that overtakes your face when you notice the CLOSED sign on the ice cream parlor's door drags the mood in the car down. Steve can feel your distress, turning to face you with a sad smile.

"Sorry honey," He braced his hand on the back of your seat, the other still on the wheel, "I guess they closed early tonight."

"But- but they can't do that!" Your brows are furrowed impossibly low on your face, a pout bunching up your lips, "That's not fair!"

"We can get some tomorrow after lunch?" He proposes, your weekly sleepover typically extending well into the evening the day after.

"But I want some now." You whine, throwing your head against the seat behind you, "I was all pumped up for cookies and cream!"

He purses his lips sympathetically, patting your thigh where it rests on the seat, "I've got brownies at home, I think."

"No, I want ice cream." You sigh glumly, then your eyes light up and Steve knows he's in trouble.

"Wait! There's that new place that just opened up! Sugar and spice, the one with all the weird flavors!"

"Y/N that's a thirty minute drive." Steve chuckles, "It's late, we should just head home."

You say nothing, only staring at him imploringly.

"No," He finally catches on, "Absolutely not." Then, when you puff you lower lip out, "No!"

"But Steve!" You gripe, leaning over slightly so that your face was closer to his, your chin tilted up towards him, "Please?! You get ice cream out of this too, y'know!"

"Yeah, but I don't want, like, pickle ice cream. That place is weird." Steve protests, a grimace creeping over his face.

"They have normal stuff too!" You inform him excitedly, your eyes shining once more, "Come on, for me?"

He hates the blush that rises to his cheeks. He hates the tingling he gets in his hands. He hates the way that his heart flutters. He groans, covering his face with his hands against the steering wheel and rubbing them exasperatedly down his features, "You just get anything you want, huh?"

He hears you huff, "Fine, you can say no to me, Harrington, I can take the disappointment."

"Ouch," He cringes teasingly at your cold use of his last name, heaving a long sigh, "No, I never wanna say no to you…"

His admission comes out more dreamy than he'd have liked, fondness and adoration evident in his tone. He blushes harder at the realization, keeping his face planted firmly in his hands so that he doesn't have to see your reaction.

You're not having it, though.

You grip the wrist closest to you, tugging it away from his rosy cheek and leaning in to press a kiss to the soft skin there.

"Thank you!" You shriek, readjusting yourself in your seat so that you're ready to ride, "Can we listen to my music on the way?"

Steve usually fights you on that. He would normally gripe about your terrible taste in music, but now he finds himself incapable of denying your request, a new precedent set after he'd caved to your earlier demands.

"Yeah," He takes a deep breath before taking his face out of his hands, biting back a soft grin as he feels those fluttering sensations in his chest grow at the lingering feeling of your lips on his cheek, "Yeah, whatever you want."

[bwabys-scenarios]

hey, so would it be okay for this to just be read and not answered? i want to respect everyone's privacy.

so, i used to be in your old discord you now privated and that's totaly fine! whatever makes u most comfy! i kinda put two and two together with the person u were talking about on here and someone who left that discord like 2 weeks ago. IF its the same person im thinking of, then they are currently being harassed, called a c*nt, delusional, anon is asking for usernames of people, which they refuse to give and dont want to speak about the situation further (they honestly arent even talking about it and seem to be moved on? idk what anon is on about). essentially a very similar message to yours of dont harass anyone or ask questions further, we both will move on etc i saw it and your message that hate wont be tolerated and i really hope whoever the anon is isnt sending you hate either... it's a weird situation and idk what to do other than bring it to attention, even tho i know you want to move on and heal from this person, i also feel strongly about cyberbullying and people who are nosy and want to get involved for no reason. i just wish healing for everyone involved<3 anyway, that's all and i hope that you are doing well regardless! im wishing you a lovely day or night mwah<3

No, anons haven’t sent me any hate at all, this is actually fucking disgusting. Maybe I haven’t gotten the hate yet? Either way I’m assuming it’s someone from my old server or someone sending them hate just to cause more drama between the two of us.

So big announcement, if you’re sending hate to anyone on my behalf, I want you to fucking show yourself. I want you to apologize. I already asked everyone to not send any hate to anyone, it’s not hard at all to do.

I made a mistake making it public(though I did not mention their name once on tumblr), and this is a very harsh lesson to learn. I have the person that’s receiving this hate blocked or I would personally apologize to them, but if they see this, that’s not what I wanted at all. If you find out who is sending you the hate you can contact me and I’ll make sure they get reported. You can also report anonymous messages, and it should still affect their account! I did this in the past and it got someone’s account who was bullying me taken down.

I never mentioned the persons name publicly but I did vent about them in my discord after the big falling out because I was so frustrated. I didn’t want more people to know who they were after I calmed down so I kicked everyone I didn’t trust.

If someone I trusted did this, it breaks my fucking heart. This is not what we do, this shouldn’t be tolerated by anyone. Idc what anyone did in this situation, she didn’t do anything worthy of receiving hate. No one should get that kind of shit. No one.

I would have hoped people had some common fucking decency. This literally pissed me tf off.

It’s a big lesson, even if you think you can trust people with information, you always have to be careful. That’s why I made a whole new server with no drama and no vents or anything to prevent this. It’s partially my fault, even if I didn’t say their username on my tumblr I did say it in my discord server. At the time it only had around 20ish people, but soon after I posted in vent I made the vent channel private and kicked 10 people, the unprivated the vent channel after. Before we had a falling out I didn’t mention them at all, and it should have stayed that way.

I haven’t checked their account since I blocked them, but they should be able to block the anonymous accounts. I’m pretty sure it blocks alts as well? Because when I block someone at least I’m unable to see the account on my alt. Idk about being blocked though. Sorry I don’t usually try to go to someone’s account after I’ve been blocked.

I’d recommend turning off anons for a while, it’s what I did after the fallout because I was afraid of getting bad anonymous asks as well. And at the time before I turned it off I did receive a few nasty asks about me being dramatic etc, but I didn’t really give it much thought.

People enjoy drama and stirring the pot. I think I’ll also turn off anon and limit my messages to people I follow only for a bit just to be safe 😭

If you send anyone hate on my behalf, you are scum. I don’t tolerate bullies, that situation has been over with for nearly a week now, and we both moved on. There’s no reason to send hate to anyone.

I’m sorry, in the future I’ll be more mindful of who I vent to. It’s just not okay, I thought I could trust my server of FULLY GROWN ADULTS to act like adults should, but clearly fucking not. I’m not only disappointed, but also angry and upset.

If you think sending someone hate on my behalf helps me at all, you’re wrong. All it does it hurt others and cause more problems for me. This has brought back all the stress of the situation when I felt like I finally moved on from it.

I’m sorry, again, it’s my fault for trusting the wrong people. I’ll keep my venting between my closest friends from now on. This is just not acceptable behavior, who the fuck sends someone anonymous hate over INTERNET DRAMA? Go outside, touch some grass, interact with someone in the real world!

I offer all of my apologies to the person affected. Not mentioning their name, but I really hope this message clears everything up. I don’t want anyone sending ANYONE hate.

[moraygrotto]

actually. first and foremost "moray rambles" is now going to be my tag for longer posts usually About kink that aren't fully meant to be kinky in and of themselves. such as the post im about to make. feel free to blacklist idm i just have so much fun thinking & hypothesizing about kink stuff

but. that ask got me thinking about my writing style, and i think it does come down to preferences and/or sub-kinks. like okay:

this is a whole ass paragraph that could have been like . an onomatopoeia. or i could have just described reader-chan's reaction. or i could have done so many things!!

but like,, i think i tend to focus on qualitative stuff, body language, similes & metaphors, etc. in my writing bc that's what interests me by far the most—i've seen length/volume/size/etc get emphasized a lot, and ik measuring/size kinks are common in general. focus on power/effect also seems like it could be an orgasm metaphor or overstimulation/loss of control thing. (writers here if any of this applies to you please know i am bringing it up bc it fascinates me and i love you; your contributions to this site r so so valuable never stop being you & writing for yourself ur perfect ur style is perfect mwah ok back to the actual post)

and like . im aspec and tmi but i was super duper sex repulsed for a lot of my formative years and even tho im not anymore, i still have that partiality towards *the little stuff* u can do to be sexy without being too physical, so i tend to extrapolate on lil details that make an image/action fun. like in the above example, jade burping gets a few descriptive phrases, and then when he grabs reader-chan it's a whole Thing, even though others in particular allosexual writers might choose to mention the grab only briefly :0

and yeah this is all speculation; i'm just a nerd who likes analyzing things for fun :P

[grasslandgirl]

11, 17, 36 & 37 <33

mwah wmah mwah mwah mwah to u faun xoxoxo

11. Are you partial to a certain character/pairing or are you more equal-opportunity? If you are partial to any character/pairing, why do you think that is?

i tend to go through phases where i write mostly one pairing (gee i wonder what pairing that could be rn... 😵‍💫) but that said, i tend to write more from story ideas that i want to explore, and then picking a pairing/characters that suit the story i want to tell and working from there!!

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

did you mean everything i write, ever? (coughcough noble pining cough)

more genuinely, almost everything i write comes from a place of something that's interesting and compelling to me, regardless of how i think it will be received/appreciated/understood by other people skjfbnksfb i'm lucky enough to have many friends and mutuals who are willing to read my silly little things regardless of how niche and bizarre they might be <3 but yeah idk. im headfull spiderman!fig atm sooooo

36. Do you visualize what you read/write?

yes!! consistently!! i can't really imagine trying to write without being able to visualize what i'm writing about- the setting, the surroundings, the expressions and body language of the characters, etc- when i'm particularly blocked, i tend to go back and focus on describing the visual and sensory experiences of the scene i'm stuck on, and that usually helps!! honestly a lot of the time i bemoan my lack of visual artistic ability because i have such vivid imagery for scenes in my head that i can't communicate in any way but through words </3

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

ooooh uh. honestly? my gorgug pov slasher follow up 😵‍💫 i think it's really strong and clean and i think it's a really effective sequel to the original slasher fic <3 also my two bad kids anxiety fics which are wholehearted and unabashed self projection but i think they're really fun <3

send me numbers from this fic writer's ask list!!

[quirofiliac]

anonymous asked: What would you consider to be one of the most challenging aspects when it comes to writing your muse?

anonymous ​／ unprompted ／ always accepting.

hewwo anon!! i’m trying to remember what i said previously because i think i’ve talked about this before via an ooc post or something of the like! it’d be kind of sort of a bummer of me (and for u, mwah.) if i just repeated the same thing :~)

i also apologize because i might get a little wordy andor unfairly critical of Certain Things i noticed. we’ll just say it’s because i’m old and bitter ADKFKMGKMF

if i can recall correctly....... i can’t seem to remember, ironically, talking about The Hand Thing™️ which is, in another world, honestly quite impressive LMAO but tbh, it’s under that whole pretense of, like, writing a serial killer with his own, individual modus operandi and the like. i struggle, sometimes, with the outside perception people have in regards to him-- they understand and recognize that he kills, at least partially, for sake of claiming a person’s (usually a woman’s because, yeehaw weird complexes about women let’s gooOOOO!!!) hands but, also, completely sideline the potential that he’s, subconsciously maybe, using the hands as an excuse to kill?

i guess what i’m trying to say is that, yeah kira’s a murderer that also likes hands but he’s also... not... just that? yeah, basically that.

because it’s this whole thing, again, of boiling a character down to their bare essentials and yet, somehow, still managing to even miss that? somehow?? it’s weird because, obviously, kira’s not the only character this happens to. genuinely, it happens to just about every single fictional character you see under the sun, which is... y’know. annoying. FKGKMFGKFJGN because it, honestly, makes whoever is writing that character out of a genuine love (no matter how you define “love” as.) andor intrigue for that particular muse’s experience all the more harrowing and unenjoyable.

for me, i’ve noticed that whenever this sort of thing happens, a lot of the times the person it’s happening to feels like... almost caged in? like they have no choice but to lean into this exaggerated idea about their muse in order to actually receive any sort of feedback. and then it goes into this whole other thing of, “well, i feel like i’ve lost sight of why i actually wanted to write this character and--” blahblahblah. it’s just kind of uncomfortable to see someone get bombarded by That One Thing™️ their character is known for when, by perchance, they want to explore other aspects too-- at least, in my experience, anyway.

i don’t mind writing out kira’s cheirophilia, genuinely! it’s part of why i write the guy (because i love writing genuine freaks and weirdos and creeps and all of that smooth jazz.) but it’s also not the only reason i wanna write him. i love character types like kira because they’re always so fascinating, in my opinion, because it’s this mixture of black comedy (his attempts at living a normal life even though, dude, you’re a serial killer.) and sheer, utter horror (he worms himself into society almost perfectly and can claim victims so easily, so effortlessly.) that really gets me good. if i were to be frank, that is sincerely one of my favorite aesthetics, so i’d like to be able to explore that admiration through writing and the like!

there’d be no point, imho, for me to write him if all i wanted to do was write him lusting over people’s hands nonstop with zero substance otherwise. the idea of that lowkey bores me and, in a way, also burns me out. it also doesn’t help that a handful of people have tried using his cheirophilia as a means of forceshipping with me like, uhhh..... hello? hi, yes, i’m the writer aka a person with sentience and boundaries and feelings that totally doesn’t feel weirded out that you’re only using my muse for land development a ship. like, damn dude, at least take me out to dinner first or something like,, gosh LMAODKMGMKFKM

so, maybe, this also applies itself in the sense that i want to be able to incorporate his cheirophilia while also not just making that his sole character trait? i want to explore his anxiety, his upbringing, his opinions (no matter how invalid some of them are. </3), his dynamics with others, and... well, his overall duality in regards to society as a whole. i like the idea of a guy that seems to be a downright snooze fest (and maybe, also, a goddamned nightmare because of it.) to interact with that, as you dig deeper and deeper, it’s gradually revealed that, oh boy, uh... haha!

he has this weird fascination with hands, and it’s mostly women’s hands, too. a little weird but, hey. don’t knock it til you try it or whatever. as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone then it’s okay-- oh, wait, it actually does hurt people? oh, and you’re also saying that he hurts people because of it? oh. ... oh, wow. huh! well, that’s some rather unfortunate information!

and then you just keep going and going, falling down this rabbit hole of “oh my good god, he’s a freak and not in the good way” which is just so... ngl, to me it’s genuinely fucking hilarious yet, also, incredibly unsettling. it’s that whole “hiding in plain sight” trope that, honestly, can be so cliché yet... when done well? mwah. chef’s fuckin’ kiss right there.

that kind of stuff is fun for me to write. i love writing and i love role-playing-- it’s just an awesome way, hand to god, to bond with people who share the same passion. i love being able to explore those sorts of things (and more.) with people that are also curious about the exploration. i adore the journey and i loooove seeing what other people can come up with. it doesn’t help that i’m naturally a nosy person but, man, y’all can come up with such good shit. deadass. i adore it AKKMFFMKKMDKMD bc ugh 😩 ur minds...................

but, it’s also just kind of like... ough when i’m interacting with someone and i happen to bring up that character’s Very Specific Quirk and im just kinda grimacing to myself because i do not want it to be taken at such face value. keep in mind, this has heavy determinant in vibes and, obviously, intent from the other side and i’ve come to terms with the fact that i’ll just drop those threads like a hot potato if i’m noticing anything that seems generally... y’know, off andor uncomfortable. also i’m genuinely begging people to stop trying to have kira thirst over hands that belong to minors. it’s weird. i hate it. don’t do that. thank yew.

so uhhhhhh, i’m gonna have to say that, yeah, it’s more-so trying to establish that i’m not trying to erase One Of The Core Characteristics of kira but, also, i don’t want that to be all that he’s known for! and, at that point, all i can kinda hope for is that i’m not doing that. because i’d lowkey hate to live enough to become the villain (derogatory.) and so on, so forth... blahblahblah another nolanverse quote here because i love aging myself and making everyone around me realize that i’m nearing my 30s at light fuckin speed LMFAO

BUT-- thank u for the question!! i appreciate these sorts of questions (and asks in general!) because they always get Ye Olde Creative Juices flowin’ <3 i hope u find a... HMMMM... handful of fifty dollar bills on the ground on ur next walk around the neighborhood!! thank u again mwah 💖💖💖

[paris-xoxo]

sooooo now that we're on the topic, could I get a susan pevensie x wife reader pleeease🤭

she doesn't come from any royalty or high class standing. people of narnia don't really approve of susans choice to marry this girl. they think she married her for power and status but that couldnt be further from the truth. r loves her more than anything in the world and would do anything for her.

she's clumsy and shy and loves to dance with her queen. she doesn't like attention from people as she gets nervous so she tends to hide in the back and watch susan do her thing, even though susan always tries to bring her to her. she's even the same with lucy Peter and Edmund, so are her in laws. (whenever she does get pulled up with Susan, she tends to just stand there, against her and nod along) (if you can, could you possibly make her deaf or partially deaf? only if you're comfortable with that though!)

they tease her and she doesn't know how to feel about it (she grew up an only child so she isn't used to that kind of stuff)

ok so this is weird

requesting is always awkward🫠 but the end product is always😗🤌 so must pull through😮‍💨

THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN MWAH🫶🫶🫶

U SHOULD START WRITING and ill definitely work on it

edit: im thinking of making two susan fanfics😍

[knightcallie]

Baldur's Bounties: Star Cheeks

Oh Weichei's freckles... Always a hot topic huh. I give him a kiss on da cheeks, mwah❣️

Bioluminescence was common down in the Underdark, be it in the fauna or the people. Weichei supposed it wasn’t common around Faerûn, or it was, but they didn’t look in the right places. His bioluminescence was shown through his freckles, but it was hardly noticeable in the day and even in the night. At least, until he starts to laugh or was experiencing an emotion that gets his cheeks hot. They seemed to glow brighter when it happens, and Temerity had loved to pepper them in kisses, because “gods you’re too fucking cute,” he’d say between kisses.

He’s not sure what had him laughing so hard, but his cheeks hurt and he’s heavily leaning against the log. His freckles were bright, apparent as the stars against the night sky. There was a sound of awe as his laughter died down. Karlach was close now, eyes sparkling as she carefully ran a finger across his cheek.

“Woah… So that’s why that bloke calls ya starcheeks!” she exclaimed.

Huffing the last of his laugh, he said, “Einar never lies. Should hear what he called the others.”

“I’d say though,” Dame Aylin piped, “Has the Moon Mother blessed you? Has she cried tears of joy upon your face when you were born?”

If he had a nickel for every time someone asked if he was star-blessed in a way, he’d have two nickels. 

Syretia Davina, a star elf-genasi, had queried if he was a child of Helian and Cereus at some point. She had caressed his cheek after having a glass of wine (they were having an intellectual discussion of sorts that he couldn’t recall), their cheeks flushed and warm. It was a tentative romance his husbands had encouraged, but it ended in a mutual break.

“I would dare not make you wait for me, for the time in the stars is different from the time down here. I have cherished my time with you starlight, more than you know. I will still continue to love you, but alas, we cannot be.” 

He remembered how he still cried despite it all, understanding and grieving. His freckles had dulled during those weeks, months? He had unexpectedly fallen hard for the star elf-genasi over the years. Her brilliant mind was what drew him in, having someone who can match his was absolutely exhilarating. Beau would easily point out how excitedly happy he was when he came home, Temerity sliding in to tease if he met someone special. 

He and Syretia still talk from time to time, sometimes the latter visited. He has once been in space for the spelljamming academy, but ultimately decided it wasn’t for him. After dying frozen in a simulation and saving the school from an incoming flaming rochetto and getting somehow charmed by a mindflayer, he decided to call the end of that journey. Syretia had recommended him, but didn’t see her within those months. So, mirror talks and visitations from Syretia from time to time only.

Now, he does flush at the idea of a god tearing up in joy when he was born. He never really thought of himself as something special, just a little drow making cannons. His partners and friends had assured him he was, but he just didn’t want to get too big of an ego about it. Stay humbled, because he’s so sure he’d get bit in the ass for it. He just doesn’t think he was a big deal, that’s all. He pressed a palm against a cheek, trying to hide a bit.

“Nie, nothing like that,” he replied, typically dark purple skin brightening to some dark magenta. His freckles twinkled at such an implication. “Bioluminescence is common down in the Underdark, and from time to time, the races down there get it.” He’s seen partial star maps on some. “Be it like this in some form.” He held up his free hand, the back of it dotted with stars. “Or tattoos.” He’s seen beautiful pieces, he’s contemplating on getting one done.

Maybe this was why some of the companions started trying to get him to laugh, giggle. Astarion was getting a bit more silly and over the top, and it all was just so funny to him. His lips always broke into a smile, freckles glowing.

Maybe this was why Wyll started to wax poetry about being the night sky personified. His cheeks burned and his freckles did so brightly, already shyly hiding one way or another. Wyll was tickled with his squeaking, trying to coax him from hiding so he could pepper those cheeks in kisses.

Maybe this was why Gale had temporarily weaved a crown of stars to set upon his head. A declaration of adoration as the wizard kissed his knuckles, willing to serve under the prince of stars.

[ihateeverything101]

my feelings change a lot but, i don't like him. thinking about being without him scares me but i have to face it. i cant afford this world in my own but i don't want to hop into someone else's life. i could move back to OH but that's not what i want, i enjoy and appreciate having my family close but it is a double edged sword. i don't want my dad close and i love CO but it is more expensive to live.

i wish my partner cared about me. i'm sure if i said that to him he would protest and say, i DO care about you!! he does nice things but i'm forgotten. we don't talk. i don't know him truly and i don't think he knows me. we say the nice-a-ties (idk how to spell) in the morning or through messages but to me it seems fake and i want more. when we msged i wish we could talk about funny things or i don't have a specific topic, but, more in depth than how we talk now. we say i miss you and talk about what we are having for dinner and not much longer until the shift is over!! but it's all surface level, i feel like i'm a checkbox only to be checked then forgotten.

im being dramatic but i honestly don't think so. ya my partner would describe it differently, but does that make me wrong? i feel like a an afterthought. who knows what he is actually thinking but. when he talks to me it is about an objective or task, why did you do it this way, what should we do for dinner? not necessarily bad or wrong questions but sometimes he interrupts me to say these questions, that is when it feels the most rude. i feel like i am constantly failing a test i didn't know i was taking. he's also said to me flat out that things are pass or fail. i'm sure he was talking about something specifically but it makes me discouraged bc that is his attitude, if anything is wrong it is a fail.

after breaking up with Steff we had to change around furniture and living situations. i used to have my own office and we slept in the same room, now my office is in the basement with all of his things and she sleeps separately. this is fine but i don't have any personal space, he is in the basement all the time bc that is his room basically, the bedroom doesn't have anything except for a bed and couch, so good for relaxing but not much else. sometimes he gets upset with me or for whatever reason i have to be in the bedroom, it's ok but i hate being kicked out of spaces. i wish i could exsist (i'm a lil drunk and always a bad speller. i'm going to take more shots after this bc fuck him) why do i have to move around constantly, carrying my things in a backpack like i'm partially homeless / room less. i don't get to pick where i go or what i do.

obviously i do have that choice but it doesn't feel like it. my computer is in the basement so i cant play games or watch anything on a big screen.

grrr grr grrr but also mwah. mwah. mwah. unlock kiss on my hubby!! hehe what would you let me do to you.. and what would i let you do to me rn??? heh being silly and confusing but having fun talking to you in this way. i'm happy i have this with you even though i wish it was different