#writing anonymously

[raining-anonymously]

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[literaryvein-reblogs]

Words to describe blood without saying crimson or blood?

Blood—the fluid that circulates in the heart, arteries, capillaries, and veins of a vertebrate animal carrying nourishment and oxygen to and bringing away waste products from all parts of the body

Arterial - relating to or being the bright red blood present in most arteries that has been oxygenated in lungs or gills

Body fluid - a fluid or fluid secretion (such as blood, lymph, saliva, semen, or urine) of the body

Carmine - a vivid red

Cerise - a moderate red

Claret - a dark purplish red

Clot - a coagulated mass produced by clotting of blood

Cruor - obsolete: the clotted portion of coagulated blood

Ensanguine - to make bloody; crimson

Geranium - a vivid or strong red

Gore - blood, especially: clotted blood

Hematic - of, relating to, or containing blood

Hematoid - resembling blood

Hemoglobin - an iron-containing respiratory pigment of vertebrate red blood cells that consists of a globin composed of four subunits each of which is linked to a heme molecule, that functions in oxygen transport to the tissues after conversion to oxygenated form in the gills or lungs, and that assists in carbon dioxide transport back to the gills or lungs after surrender of its oxygen

Hemoid - resembling blood

Ichor - a thin watery or blood-tinged discharge

Incarnadine - bloodred

Juices - the natural fluids of an animal body

Maroon - a dark red

Plasma - the fluid part of blood, lymph, or milk as distinguished from suspended material

Puce - a dark red

Ruddle - red ocher (i.e., a red earthy hematite used as a pigment)

Russet - a reddish brown

Sanguine - bloodred; consisting of or relating to blood

Scarlet - any of various bright reds

Vermilion - any of various red pigments

Word Lists ⚜ Blood ⚜ Exsanguination ⚜ On Blood ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[incognitopolls]

This poll is asking about voluntary use of generative AI. For the purposes of this poll, do not count instances where you were required to use generative AI (e.g. for a school assignment, job required it, etc).

We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

[lazylittledragon]

if i had a nickel for every au spawned from twitter that i SWORE i was going to be normal about

[starmocha]

Oh oh oh since we're sharing pregnant mc hcs, how about one where they got a bit carried away, they did it, she got pregnant, he "died", by some miracle she didn't lose the baby, she's an excellent, doting, badass mom. then when he comes back he finds the love of his life with a little 1 year old baby girl that could be considered mc's perfect clone except for the eyes. the eyes are his. IMAGINE THE ANGST THE HURT THE TEARS THE LOVEEEEE!!!!!

🫵 are you guys using my Caleb-addled brain to sneak around my “I don’t take requests” condition. /lh 😔 this is who I am now, I guess. I see Caleb, I cave… 🥺

Endless Summer

It was an ambush, another attempt on his life.

It was the thirteenth time in three months, as a matter of fact. Caleb had thwarted all of the previous attempts with ease, always on guard, untrusting of those who claimed to have vowed their loyalty to him as their colonel.

As you learned, you couldn’t trust anyone in Skyhaven, much less the Farspace Fleet. Dark secrets surrounded this seemingly elite entity and though it appeared like the place ran like a machine with perfect precision and efficiency, there was still an insidious side that Caleb refused to let you see.

It wasn’t just his life they were after. They were after yours as well, using you as the ultimate pawn to get to him. Little do they suspect, while you may be his greatest weakness, you were also his strength, his sole reason to persevere.

This was to be a fatal lesson for many to learn.

It was supposed to be a celebratory banquet, thrown in honor of the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel’s latest achievements. There were no deceptions by the hosts, but a traitorous group seized this opportunity to trap the young colonel and all doors within the banquet halls locked, keeping many of the guests hostages in the process.

Within the center of the room, Caleb calmly eyed all of the familiar faces that loomed overhead on the second floor as all around, innocent guests rushed to the exits, banging and screaming for help. He tried to push you away, get you to safety.

They were after him, after all. You didn’t need to be in the crossfires.

You didn’t have time to react, hearing that first gunshot that led the way for the onslaught of bullets.

Something in Caleb snapped that night. The barrage of bullets that came at him and you from all directions would have taken down anyone, but they all froze midair only because of his Evol freezing them in their track and keeping them suspended as if time had frozen at this very moment. He soon, however, learned it was merely a distraction.

Ca…leb…

The moment he saw the crimson blood seeping from your side, that knife pulled out quickly, and you were falling, eyes closing, as he ran toward you yelling your name. His Evol flared out of control, the gravity in the room suddenly immensely heavy, as dozens of men were pulled to their knees in futile struggles.

Open your eyes, he pleaded, his uniform soaked with your blood. His face twisted in pain, a million thoughts rushing through his mind, all of the memories of the past resurfaced in quick successions. All of those years of smiles and laughter that transitioned to pain and distrust only to slowly return to some semblances of the past were now coming to an end before his very eyes. He couldn’t lose you like this, not when he had promised that he would make things right again, to be the man that you deserved. Please…please…

You struggled to breathe, the pain unlike anything you had experienced in your life. As he watched you teetered closer to death, he was filled with wrath, an anger that could not be calmed by any forces in this world.

Caleb held his hand out, and a gun laying on the floor levitated before it rushed into his grip from across the room, and without a thought or any remorse or even hesitancy, he fired bullet after bullet into each man’s head, a clean shot straight through the center, not flinching even as the surrounding guests screamed and huddled to the floor, covering their ears from that violent, horrid sound.

When the last traitor fell, Caleb dropped the gun with a clatter, and his arms wrapped entirely around you, pulling you closer to his body for warmth. Your breathing had weakened even more, but he could still save you. He hadn’t failed you. Not yet, not ever. You were going to live. He would make sure of it.

Even if he now realized you were safer away from him.

Colonel Caleb, you had only slept for four hours last night, the robotic voice of an OTTO said with some semblance of concern in its artificial vocal. It levitated after its owner as the young colonel adjusted his uniform. The robot continued, explaining, An adult man of your age requires ei—

“I’ve slept enough,” he interrupted firmly, ignoring the robot, whose monitor quickly displayed a digitalized look of concern. Caleb had thought often of shutting down the robot and dismantling it, but he could never carry through, remembering that he had purchased this robot for you.

In this cold, monotonous so-called-home of his in Skyhaven, Caleb had few things that reminded him of you. A few plushies you two had won together sat on his living room couch, some snapshots you two had taken together at a photobooth, and perhaps a few furniture pieces you had ordered to be sent directly to his home. You had been in the process of bringing warmth and life into this place when everything came to an abrupt stop.

If he hadn’t taken you to that banquet that night nearly two years ago, Caleb wondered how things would have played out. You wouldn’t have gotten injured that night, but he feared perhaps it would just delay that same outcome. That night, he found himself at a fork in the road, forced to make a decision that would change the course of both of your lives.

Keep you by his side, where he had foolishly believed you would always be safe under his protection, or, let you go, let you believe that whatever had happened that night, he was the one who had died, finally taken away by Death himself. It was better to let you believe he had actually died this time, to keep you from searching for him, to keep you far away from Skyhaven—to keep you from him.

Since that night almost two years ago, Caleb’s nightmares had worsened. He relived the dreadful night, but he had also had other terrifying dreams so horrendous, he would wake up screaming in cold sweats, completely disoriented, unsure if he was trapped within another layer of the nightmare, or if he was truly awake.

“She’s safe, she’s safe,” he would often mutter to himself, an attempt to convince himself that he had made the right choice, that setting you free was the only way he could keep you safe. As long as you lived, he would bear the weight of his sacrifice, even if it meant never seeing you ever again.

It was sunny in Linkon, not a cloud in the sky, and the weather warm and inviting, but to Caleb, it was a place he had forbidden himself from ever stepping foot in again, out of fear that your paths would cross. In all of those times since he had distanced himself from you, allowed you to believe he was dead, he had managed to avoid any reason to step foot in the place that was once his home.

When his adjutant, Liam, had informed Caleb that his schedule required him to attend a conference meeting in Linkon, the young colonel stiffened, the atmosphere in the room stifling almost as if he was using his Evol. He suppressed his initial instinct to yell, knowing Liam was well aware of Caleb’s situation and had in the past made the necessary arrangements to prevent him from having any reason to step foot in that city.

It seemed he couldn’t stay away from Linkon forever, so he resigned to this situation, still remaining vigilant in his stance. Linkon was a big city, and there was no reason for your paths to cross. He would make do with this troublesome situation for the time being.

Now, Caleb had intended to return to Skyhaven the moment the meeting ended, and yet, against his better judgment, he found himself wandering down familiar streets, lost in memories of happier times. As he walked, before his eyes, he saw the silhouettes of him and you as children running down the street after school to your favorite little vintage grocery store.

Caleb, you dummy, you can’t use your Evol!

Don’t blame my Evol because you can’t run fast on those short legs, pipsqueak!

Caleb chuckled. He couldn’t help it. The memories of those years seemed so much more carefree. He often wished to go back to that time when the only things that weighed on yours and his shoulders were school or silly childish arguments.

As he approached the old grocery store, closed just a few years prior, he was surprised to learn that it was now under new ownership. The familiar place of his childhood was now a small trendy café, popular with college students and young couples.

To his astonishment—and, perhaps, also relief—the vibrant hydrangea garden in the back remained. Bushes of the white, blue, and pink flowers bloomed in the garden, showing that its new owner took well care of the plants. They looked like the hydrangeas of his childhood, of those long summer afternoons that never seemed to end as he and you made this place just another secret hideout only you two would ever know. As he walked down a beaten path, distracted, he was stirred out of his nostalgic thoughts when he felt something bumped into his leg. He peered down, surprised to see a little girl in a light orange dress, the same color as the sunset he used to see in his airplane when he was a pilot, was clinging to his leg. He looked around, not seeing any adult in sight to indicate they were the child’s guardian.

He furrowed his brows, a little in annoyance, as he was not prepared to suddenly be grappled with the responsibility of a lost child. He knelt down lower, and immediately, he startled as he took in the little girl’s appearance, a near perfect carbon copy of you, but the eyes—he stared into sweet little violet eyes that mirrored his own, seeing his shocked face reflected in these orbs. The girl looked up at him with curiosity, the wind swaying her short bob while a little yellow chunky cartoon airplane hairclip held her side bangs in place.

Suddenly, she started tearing up, breaking Caleb out of his trance and for the first time in a while, he felt panicked, unsure of what to do. The girl started to cry and Caleb immediately lifted her up, her head resting onto his shoulder as he rubbed her back and soothed her.

He shushed her gently, his caregiver instinct reignited after years of dormancy. “Why are you crying, sweetheart?” he asked her gently, his soothing voice a complete opposite to the tone he used as colonel.

The girl sobbed. She looked so young, Caleb realized, surmising that she probably had barely started learning to speak.

“Are you lost?” he asked in that same tender tone despite knowing the child would be unable to answer him. He continued, “You miss your mommy, don’t you?”

He rubbed her back again, wondering with trepidation if this child’s mother was who he thought it would be. For just a second, his heart stopped when he felt the little girl gripping the fabric of his uniform with her small hands. Quickly, he recomposed himself.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, his hand smoothed the back of her hair. “Let’s go look for your Mommy, alright?”

“Ma...ma…” the girl struggled to say. She rubbed her face against Caleb’s shoulder, and he smiled gently, unbothered that his once pristine uniform was now covered in a child’s snot.

“Okay, mama,” he repeated, “I’ll help you find your mama, sweetheart.”

When he was just about to turn around to head back to the café, he froze again, hearing a familiar voice he hadn’t heard in years. He could feel his heart beating against his chest, actually feeling every heavy thump as the seconds passed and the voice grew closer, a name cried out—the little girl’s.

The child in his arms wriggled, and cried louder, seeing her mother over Caleb’s shoulder. “Mama! Mama!”

Stiffly, Caleb knelt lower and gently set the girl down to her feet, barely registering as the child toddled passed him to her mother.

A completely different feminine voice called out, angry. “Were you trying to kidnap a child in broad dayli—”

Caleb stood up and turned around, his face pale.

“Cale…Caleb?” You stared in shock, feeling like you were seeing his ghost again. Again.

“Mama…Mama…!” Your daughter nuzzled her face against your chest as you held her. You broke out of your trance and instantly redirected your attention to your child. You quickly soothed her, well aware that Caleb’s eyes were locked on you, his face just as shocked as yours but for entirely different reasons. Once the little girl calmed down you passed her off to your companion, saying, “Tara, take her back to the café.”

Tara looked at you worriedly, her eyes darting to Caleb with suspicion. One look into Caleb’s eyes, seeing that same, perfect shade of purple, and the young woman quickly understood the situation. She nodded quietly and took the girl from you. “Come on, sweetie, auntie Tara is going to buy you a cupcake, okay?”

You waited until Tara and your daughter were out of sight. You couldn’t look at him. You wanted to look at him, to make sure your eyes were not deceiving you, to make sure that this was not an illusion, not a cruel, mocking figment of your imagination. But you couldn’t. You felt cowardly in that instance, being afraid of the truth. Afraid of his reaction. Of everything.

“You were…you were pregnant?” he questioned, feeling a wave of guilt washed over him.

Just hearing those words made you realized this was him. This was Caleb, the man you thought was taken away from you. Again.

Suddenly, you broke down crying and you looked up at him with tears running down your cheeks.

“Caleb, you dummy,” you sobbed, “You fucking dummy!”

He gasped, unprepared when you rushed at him and started beating his chest half-heartedly with your small fists as you continued to sob and curse him over and over again. He let you carry out your anger, let you punished him as you saw fit in this moment, but when the punches weakened, he gently grabbed your wrists, lowering them to your sides before his arms wrapped around you in comfort, his apologies immediate.

“Yeah,” he agreed in that ever familiar soft and gentle tone reserved only for you, “I am a fucking dummy.”

You sniffled against his chest, gripping tightly the lapel of his coat.

The afternoon passed slowly, initially tensed and awkward, but eventually all of the missing pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and you both struggled to come to terms with the picture of the missing years. You peered at the man to your side, seeing Caleb hunched over, his cap in his lap, looking much like a sinner struggling to come to terms with his wrongs.

“You didn’t know,” you whispered after a while, wanting to break this stifling silence. You reached for his arm, but he tensed before his shoulders slumped again.

“That’s no excuse,” he said, looking up at you. He started to reach for your cheek, hesitating at the last second, as if he was afraid that you would recoil from his touch. He started to pull back but you grabbed at his hand, guiding it to your cheek. He stared in shock as you nuzzled your face against his palm, and you gazed at him with glistened eyes.

“You’re not allowed to die again,” you scolded him. “Promise me that.”

He nodded numbly, his voice clear and steady. “I promise,” he said, repeating in a more hushed, firm tone, “I promise.”

He leaned forward, guiding your lips to his, his words still repeating in between breath. You let him drown you in his kisses, let yourself dizzied and relent to his feverish promises. When your lips parted, just a few centimeters, his warm breath grazed over your trembling lips before he pressed another kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I... will you…”

You looked up, seeing the struggles in his violet eyes. He appeared to hesitate again, unsure of what right he had to seek your forgiveness, wondering if he was overstepping the boundary between the two of you.

You gently coaxed him, seeing relief washed over his guilty features. “Will I what?”

“Will you…let me make things right?” he asked, “Let me…earn your forgiveness. I…please…”

He almost wanted to say, I can’t lose you again but the words died at his lips. He, of all people, had no rights to utter such words in your presence. He looked so defeated, beaten down to the point he no longer recognized himself anymore.

You took his hand, just like you always seemed to do, and you pulled him to his feet, to his surprise. He gazed at you questionably, his heart stopping at your words.

“Caleb,” you said his name so sweetly, “I want you to meet…our daughter.”

The summer air was warm even as the sky darkened, and stars after stars appeared above to illuminate the world below. The gentle breeze ruffled Caleb’s hair as he stared down at the sleeping girl in his arms. Maybe it was because she was still so young and impressionable, or perhaps she could already sense who he was to her, but the girl clung to him immediately, already feeling safe and protected in his presence.

His heart felt heavy, overwhelmed by guilt, a feeling of failure, and also of self-loathing, but as he gazed down at his daughter, another feeling stirred, just as intense but much more forgiving. He didn’t think he could feel such love as he did now as he peered down at the sleeping girl, nuzzled against him on his lap, peacefully slumbering away.

He wondered what she was dreaming of as he admired how much she resembled her mother. Hesitantly, he let his finger caressed her cheek, in complete, silent awe at how soft and delicate her skin was. He was almost afraid of hurting her, feeling a need to protect her just as he protected her mother. He looked up at you, his cheeks and ears reddening when he realized you had been laughing at his expense.

“It’s alright,” you told him amid your giggles.

“You’re laughing at me.”

“You deserve it, you big dummy.”

He let out a huff, in mock annoyance, but he agreed with you. “Alright,” he conceded, “I deserve it.”

“Do you want to begin your path to seeking forgiveness from us?” you asked him, a playful, teasing lilt in your voice, unmissed by Caleb as he raised a brow in curiosity.

“Just like that?” he questioned, confused by your leniency with him.

You nodded. “You still love me, right?”

“I’ve never stopped,” he said, his solemn words had you blushing against your better judgment, your heart quickening when he looked at you so lovelorn. You quickly composed yourself, returning to your mischievousness from seconds ago.

“You love her, right?” you asked, your eyes shifting to your sleeping daughter in his arms.

He sighed, mesmerized. “So much already,” he whispered, and again, you found yourself softening, touched by his sincerity.

“Okay, we’ll forgive you,” you answered, catching Caleb’s attention as he looked at you almost bemused by your easygoing attitude. “First step.”

“Which is?”

“You have to make us your specialty,” you said, laughing at Caleb’s look of complete bewilderment unfit for a colonel of his status. Clearly, you had blindsided him completely with this first condition. You clarified with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, “You have to make your braised chicken wings.”

He stared at you as if not comprehending your words. You laughed and leaned closer to him, your head resting on his shoulder. “I ate a lot of braised chicken wings while pregnant,” you said, reminiscing to that lonely period in your life without his presence. You reached over and brushed your daughter’s flyaway hair out of her face, continuing softly, “But they weren’t as good as yours.”

Caleb let out a huff of breath, a soft, resigned laugh as he readjusted his arm, letting it wrapped around you as he pulled you closer into his embrace. He leaned over and kissed the top of your head. “Okay,” he answered, “I take it she also likes braised chicken wings then?”

You leaned into him, nodding once. “She’ll love yours more,” you said, and then looked up, your heart quickening again as you gazed into his beautiful violet eyes, grateful that your daughter had chosen to inherit this sole feature from her father. Breathlessly, you uttered softly, your words for his ears only, “She’ll love you.”

“And you?” he whispered back, that same hesitancy still prominent in his tone. He looked at you expectantly as he asked, “Do you still love me?”

“I’ve never stopped,” you echoed his words back to him, continuing in that same hushed tone, “I’ll always love my dummy Caleb.”

“Alright,” he said, his voice resigned, holding you just a bit tighter, as if he was afraid this was a cruel, taunting dream he would wake up from.

As Caleb watched your eyes closed, he looked down, eyes darting from you to his daughter, and he wondered if he deserved any of this. In the warm summer night, surrounded by the blossoming blue and pink and white hydrangeas, he silently apologized for his mistakes, promising that for the remainder of his life, he would become a better man, deserving of both of you.

Just like the little boy from long ago, once he had made a promise to you, he would never break it.

He swore it on his life.

[deimostes]

Imagine they take a picture of Two and flip it.

[context]

at least they tried?

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Ooo you’re doing Pressure!!

May I request an artist reader who, throughout the journey found some paper, pencil and made a little makeshift sketchbook and when later bought Sebastian’s document decided to try and draw him? Like maybe both when human and current (and maybe the monsters)? 

Perhaps he saw them sketching, got curious and decided to look through it when reader left it somewhere or just straight up snatched it and held it out of their reach and sees those sketches of him. Could be hurt/comfort or angst/fluff.

Of course you’re free to change any of the details but please keep it platonic TwT

Aw love this idea! And it works considering all the paper and notebooks in the drawers of the blacksite.

............

"Great, [y/n]. One moment, you're doing some harmless graffiti on a brick wall nobody cares about. And the next, you're risking your life for a stupid crystal in hopes you'll get a federal pardon.."

Sighing, you held onto the overhead handles within the sleek black submarine, feeling it shake and rumble as it breached the water's surface. And after hearing the chime, the door hissed and opened up, the platform extending out onto the dock of a place already familiar to you: Hadal Blacksite.

'No place like home..' As you stepped out of the submarine, you could hear HQ over the PDA system informing you of your objective in reaching the crystal and collecting any "loose assets" you find along the way...

As if you needed any reminders of what you were doing here.

Immediately, you unlocked the first door with the keycard and began your journey to room 100. Along the way, you found a good handful of research data. Nothing too special aside from folders, USB drives, and a couple blue DNA vials.

Then after narrowly dodging the Angler in one area and avoiding Eyefestation's gaze in the next, you reached a room requiring yet another keycard to exit. You checked the nearby office cubicle, finding it in the first drawer you opened.

But that isn't what made your eyes light up. Rather, it's what was right next to the card that did:

A brand new pencil to go with the sketchbook you've been carrying with you.

Because you weren't given the luxury of doodling while sitting in jail for over 90 days, you felt your creativity flames being snuffed out, leaving you itching to draw something again.

Before all of this, you had a decent following on social media with your art skills, and you could imagine that they're worried sick over your sudden absence. But you hoped that, if you survive and succeed in this mission, you'll be able to come back and reassure them that you're very much alive.

And perhaps show them what Urbanshade has been hiding from the public...that is to say the sea monsters that have taken up residence in the Blacksite since its lockdown, freely roaming and haunting nearly every room you step into.

With the makeshift sketchbook you had (and somehow kept even after death), you've filled its pages with simple and detailed sketches of each creature you encountered.

But you doubt that they would let you leave with physical evidence of entities nobody else in the world should know about...unless you somehow convinced the guards that they were "original characters" that so-happened to look like them, but you had a feeling that excuse wouldn't fly.

Regardless, they've given you tons of artistic inspiration, despite your many close-calls with them in pursuit of studying their features from afar.

Thanks to the files Sebastian Solace has shown you, you've learned how to safely observe the Angler from a distance and better remember their details. They were merely a grotesque face surrounded by smoke, so you didn't have to worry about drawing any limbs or tails (assuming they had those).

You encountered their variants so many times that you could recall the little things that made each them unique--like how Pinkie had four pupils, how Blitz was missing pupils in one socket completely, how Froger was..well..a big frog with lots of needle-shaped teeth, and Chainsmoker was a sluggish blobfish through all that smoke.

Making eye contact with Pandemonium was a death sentence..as you've already learned after trying (and failing) to safely observe him through a glass window. So you draw him as you see him in his file.

The Squiddles' "intimidating" faces were scary in the dark when you least expected them, but they served as amazing inspiration. You even had a page full of what faces you'd think they make up to frighten others. It's too bad you couldn't show them, however, as that required you getting in their personal space.

Eyefestation, Good People, and the Wall Dwellers were quite..risky to observe, as they had ways of quickly and painfully sending you back to square one if you weren't careful. Even so, you made some pretty damn good sketches..and you wish you could show them off to them, too, especially to the shark who'd probably appreciate a human's drawing of herself.

Even the DiVine, who were always frozen in poses for some reason, joined your ever-growing list of muses. The oxygen gardens were a nice place for you to rest and appreciate the flora for a few moments--before an Angler came along, of course.

Then there was Sebastian.

While he was fully aware of your artistic passions, in the beginning he seemed a bit annoyed whenever you came into his shop just to sketch.....or if you took an unusually long time to reach him. He just assumes you've stopped to "doodle" and wonders if you really care about getting out of this place alive.

He'd remind you that HQ could get suspicious if you're off their radar for too long, but you've stayed in his shop for 10-20 minutes at a time and not once did your diving gear beep. So you reassured him not to fret.

It was kinda sweet that he worried over you, an expendable, although maybe that's because you actually treat him with decency..and don't take his snarky comments to heart whenever you died.

Aside from the occasional eyeroll whenever you brought out your sketchbook, he did inquire about some of the things you've drawn, and you'd show him, bearing a little pride in your work.

All you'd get in response was a "neato" or "wowie, that's how you see them?" and nothing more.

It wasn't insulting, so...you'll take that.

Obviously he was more concerned about how much research data you were willing to fork over in exchange for supplies, and how far that equipment will carry you before your next demise. So you'd eventually close the book and barter with him for whatever wares were on his tail.

Unbeknownst to him, you've actually started sketching him as of late. Now that you've met him dozens of times, it was easy for you to recall his features without needing to stare at him for reference every five seconds.

That would not only be rude, but very creepy.

Then one day, you showed up to Sebastian's shop with enough data to be able to afford his document, which described him as Z-13, "The Saboteur" who the company wanted "dead on sight" if he was spotted or trying to escape.

When you had time to read the file on your own, you learned some..pretty shocking things about how he caused the lockdown, went through torturous experiments, and was falsely accused of nine murders and was proven innocent far too late.

The most upsetting part was that he was never informed of this.

He learned that after presumably stealing his own document.

It made you feel sick to your stomach, knowing he's the reason you're being terrorized by those beasts, but you couldn't find it in your heart to be angry at him.

If anything you were angry at Urbanshade for their "guilty until proven innocent" system--or in his case, being proven innocent didn't matter.

His human mugshot was also included in the file, and even with the black censor bar covering his eyes, he still looked like quite a handsome fellow. You could make out some details, and ended up drawing him on a separate page, too, although part of you wishes you never started.

You doubt he would kill you or rip apart your book for drawing him, but considering how volatile and rude he could be at a moment's notice..you did your best to conceal the sketches when you visited his shop.

You didn't want him to be offended or reminded of his past..and make him resent the one person who he almost considered a genuine friend.

Unfortunately, you'd soon come to realize that your actions were only heightening his suspicions.

And that it was going to come to a head next time you entered his shop.

...............

"Okay, I'm going to bite...what're you really hiding in that little book?"

"Pardon?" Pausing mid-sketch, you looked up at Sebastian, wondering why he appeared so disgruntled. "I'm..uh...just doodling like I always-"

"No, don't give me that "like always" crap." He huffed, flicking the end of his tail as he crossed his two arms over his chest, staring down at you. "Last time, you couldn't stop showing me a stupid face you'd think one of those S-Qs would make...and now you won't even let me have a sneak peak of your next "masterpiece"." He spat the last word, voice dripping with disdain. "Are you really drawing something...or are you secretly writing intel to give to Urbanshade?"

"...wha.." You blinked in disbelief, wondering where he'd get that assumption from. "Why would I ever do that?"

"Oh I dunno, maaaybe because you have access to my file and know my location? I bet you're gonna sell me out to those scumbags once you reach the crystal." He gnashed his teeth. "Did they say you'd get extra cash for leaving tips on my whereabouts, huh?"

"Sebastian, there's no reason for this hostility. I'm not giving any intel to anyone-"

"Then you wouldn't mind me taking a look at this, would you? Yyyyyyoink!" His third arm was quick to snatch your sketchbook away, holding it out of your reach as you jumped up in panic.

You were already dreading his reaction.

This could very well be the end for you.

"Please give that back! You'll tear it!"

"You look frightened. So maybe I should, considering you're writing secrets about.....about...." But as Sebastian finally looked at the page, all he saw were sketches of his current self, and you began to see a shift in his expression.

It went from pure anger, to surprise and confusion, and then to....something unreadable.

"These are...all of me?" His voice became quieter as he flipped the page, only for his breath to hitch upon finding the drawings of his human form.

And for once, he was completely speechless.

The details were immaculate, everything from his hair style to the scar he used to have across his face--given to him from an angry cellmate who thought he really did kill those people and tried giving him a "taste of his own medicine".

But the way you made him look was...incredible.

That's him.

That's really him.

The man--the human--he was before...

Before...

"Yes." Your face was burning with embarrassment, and your heart was pounding with fear of both death and ridicule, now knowing that your fate laid in his hands now. "I-I'm sorry. I should've asked for your permission and I know the details aren't perfect but you didn't let me........huh?"

Ceasing your ramblings, you noticed the tears welling in his eyes, and you were stunned. Then his shaking hands closed the sketchbook and returned it to you. "Um..are you okay? I'm really sorry if-"

"I...a-almost forgot what I looked like before all of this.." He raised a claw to wipe at his watery eyes, sniffling. "They're...good drawings, friend. I'm sorry..I...I-I didn't mean to..." His voice cracked, and he forced himself to stop, bringing his hands to his face. "Why am I crying over something like..t-this..?"

He hated looking so weak in front of you, yet he couldn't help the tears that kept slipping down his cheeks. A certain sadness was weighing heavily on his heart, yet at the same time he felt...honored that you wanted to draw him, putting your heart and soul into every sketch--with him getting the most effort.

You didn't overexaggerate him as the hideous beast he and everyone else was convinced he was, but just him as, well, himself. His smiles when he realizes it's you coming through the vent again, his cheeky grins when you buy up all his supplies, and even the one time he pouted when you died to Pandemonium because you risked it all trying to draw the moldy fish-creature.

The human ones, as you could tell from the way he broke down, especially hit home for him. Just from a mugshot alone, you were able to create a near-accurate depiction of him.

It made him wonder if you two have met before any of this happened.

Sebastian sniffled, struggling to stop the tears and expecting you to make fun of him as he finally uncovered his face. But instead he saw you standing there with your arms opened up. "I feel like you could use one of these. It's okay. I know you miss being human."

".........."

"C'mon, big guy. My arms are kinda hurting--oh!"

Without warning, he accepted your embrace and squeezed you tightly in his hold. Of course he was careful not to crush your diving tanks, and you smiled in appreciation and patted his back. "It's okay, it's alright..I got you. I didn't mean to make you cry."

He sniffled a few times, but otherwise said nothing and tried making sure you weren't supporting all of his upper body weight.

Curse his size. He wishes he could experience a normal hug again.

This one will do, though.

"I-It's...it's fine. Don't worry.." He finally spoke after a few moments, calming down. "As long as you don't tell anyone about this."

"I'll take it to my grave." You chuckled, letting go and stepping away so he could straighten his back out. While he did that, you gently tore a few pages from your book, to which he blinked in confusion.

"What are you doing with-?"

"Keep them." You insisted. "In case this sketchbook falls into a pit or gets waterlogged, I want you to hold onto these. Besides, I can tell you appreciate them a lot. So...consider it a gift."

"Why..thank you." A smile appeared on his face as he took the pages carefully. "Rest assured, they'll be safe and sound." He gazed at them both one more time, feeling a tug on his heart.

But it wasn't as heavy as before.

After neatly folding and stowing them away into his pockets, he saw you already sitting in one of the chairs, your sketchbook opened to a brand new blank page.

"Sooooooo what are you going to draw this time?" He tilted his head, ear fins twitching with curiosity.

"Hm...I did see a vision of a white glowing man a few rooms back. I think he was from...the Mindscape? There was a file talking about him and some floating gears and a white ball."

"Ohh yeah, he's an interesting guy. I'd love to see your interpretation of him." Now Sebastian was 100% invested, as he curled his tail around himself, resting his upper body on it so he could see your book better. "But y'know you won't be able to leave this place with sketches of-"

"I'm well aware of that...I could always change a few things and turn them into OCs."

"Hah. You should."

"Maybe I will." You snickered, grateful that you didn't have anything to fear.

At least somebody in the Blacksite appreciated your art.

[nina-ya]

OK we've seen a lotta romantic stuff BUT... what about something more casual? Got any fwb/fuckbuddies hcs for any of Luffy/Law/Kid/Zoro?

Friends With Benefits Headcanons with Luffy, Zoro, Law and Kid

Synopsis: just like the title says! Pairing: Luffy x reader, Zoro x reader, Law x reader, Kid x reader (separately) CW: NSFW MINORS DNI, vague mention of feelings in laws, besides that just fwb stuffs

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It started with Luffy being as blunt as ever, dropping his casual indifference about sex into a conversation that left you floored. “It’s not that different, right? Just feels like using your hand,” he said with a shrug as if the entire concept was nothing more than a passing thought. You couldn’t stop the sigh that left your lips. “Oh, you have no idea,” you murmured, already scheming. 

The first encounter happened late at night in the empty kitchen when you finally decided to prove your point. His curiosity got the better of him as you knelt between his legs, tugging down his shorts slowly. “Just let me show you,” you murmured, your voice full of promise. The moment your fingers wrapped around his cock, his entire body tensed, a sharp intake of breath the only sound before his lips parted in an unrestrained groan. “Shit,” he hissed, his hips jerking involuntarily as you began to stroke him.

And when your mouth replaced your hand, the realization hit him like a freight train. The wet heat of your tongue gliding along his shaft, the way your lips sealed around him, sucking with the right amount of pressure- it had his head tipped back, his eyes squeezing shut, and a growl ripping from his throat. “What the hell– oh fuck, that’s–” Words failed him, his hands flying to your hair, gripping tight as he lost himself in the sensation. The sheer desperation in his moans was intoxicating, loud and shameless as if he didn’t care if he woke up the entire crew. 

By the time you let him fuck you for the first time, Luffy was insatiable. He’d been begging for it for days, his cock hard and throbbing in his shorts every time he so much as looked at you. “Come on, please,” he panted, his hands already slipping under your shirt, grabbing greedily at your skin. “I wanna know what it feels like. I need to.” His voice was raw and desperate, as if his entire world hinged on you giving in

The moment he pushed inside you, an almost feral sound tore from his throat. “So warm, so wet, so…” he groaned, his hips snapping forward instinctively as he buried himself to the hilt. He didn’t even try to take it slow; he couldn’t if he wanted to. The way your hole clenched around him, wet and hot and perfect, drove him absolutely wild. His pace was frantic and erratic, every thrust hitting deep as his moans grew louder, filthier, until you had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep the entire ship from hearing. He didn’t care, though. If anything, it spurred him on, his teeth grazing your palm as he muffled a growled, “Fuck, you feel so good.” 

After that, Luffy was a man obsessed. He wanted to fuck you every chance we got– in the kitchen, in the crows' nest, on the head of the Sunny, wherever he could get you alone for more than five seconds. Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit, and he didn’t even bother trying to hide it. His neck was littered with your bite marks, his chest and back decorated with scratches that he proudly showed off, oblivious to the crew's exasperated stares. 

With every encounter, his insatiable curiosity drove him to try anything and everything. “Can we do it upside down?” he once asked, completely serious, his head tilted as he waited for an answer. He wanted to explore every inch of you, every reaction he could wring out of you, and he was shameless about it. The moment he found something that made you moan even just a little louder, shudder harder, he’d latch onto it, repeating until you were trembling, begging for more.

It didn’t take long for this fuck buddy relationship to leave him with an insatiable appetite. He grew bold enough to grab you whenever and wherever the urge struck. Leaning over the railing, half-asleep in a hammock, hell, he once tried in the kitchen while Sanji’s back was turned. 

It didn’t matter if the crew gave him shit for the marks littering his skin or the way he’d disappear with you for hours at a time. Luffy wasn’t one to hide what he wanted, and what he wanted was sex with you, and you wouldn’t trade this for anything else. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The crow’s nest was where it all began. You were silently watching Zoro work out until just watching wasn’t enough. “C’mon, how hard could it be?” you quipped, laughing at the way his muscles trained as he hefted one of his absurdly heavy weights. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got,” he challenged, dragging you into his workout routine with a predatory glint in his eye. 

You took the challenge, standing beside him as you began mimicking his movements, your body quickly heating up under the strain. What you didn’t notice was how Zoro’s gaze raked over the sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your chest rose and fell, and the soft, involuntary noises you made when you pushed yourself a little too hard. 

He didn’t even realize he was staring until you caught him, your breathless laugh snapping him out of whatever daze he’d fallen into. “What? Didn’t think I had it in me?” you asked, voice light and playful. Zoro didn’t answer. Instead, he closed the distance between you in a few quick strides, his hands grabbing your waist as his mouth crashed into yours with a force that stole your breath. 

It was raw, messy, and absolutely unplanned. He had you bent over one of the training benches, your hands braced against it as he pounded into you from behind, his low grunts and the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the small space. 

Afterward, Zoro was uncharacteristically quiet. He avoided your gaze as you got dressed, his confidence replaced with a rare hint of awkwardness. You both figured that was the end of it, a one-time lapse in judgment. 

But then it happened again. And again. 

The second time, he didn’t even try to play coy. The moment you walked into the crow's nest, he had you against the wall, his mouth on yours, and his hands already slipping beneath your shirt. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he would admit gruffly, lips brushing against your ear before dragging you to the floor. 

It became your thing– a dirty, addictive routine that neither of you bothered to question. Zoro would have you on your knees, your mouth working over him as he cursed and growled, his finger tangling into your hair as he fucked into your throat. Or he’d have you bent over various equipment, his pace merciless, leaving you shaking and spent while he smirked down at you like the smug bastard he is. 

By the time you’d found yourself tangled in Zoro’s limbs for the fifth or sixth time– not that you were counting– you’d all but accepted that no one else would compare. He was a man of focus and discipline in every aspect of life, and that extended to the way he fucked. There was no half-measure, no hesitation. Every thrust, every touch, every kiss was designed to leave you breathless, shaking, and so completely ruined that the mere idea of someone else trying felt laughable. 

Zoro was a fast learner. What started off as clumsy, heated desperation quickly evolved into him paying attention to everything. When your body tensed, the sounds you made, the way you trembled under his touch. He made sure to take mental note of that for the next time you were with him. 

The man had stamina for days, and his endurance translated perfectly into this. It was never just a one-and-done for him- both of you came undone over and over again until you were overstimulated, tears pricking your eyes as you gasped for breath. “Come on,” he’d taunt as his fingers delved between your legs, spreading you open for him again. “You can take it. Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

Cleanup was an afterthought at best. Zoro never stuck around to cuddle or chat, he wasn't the biggest fan of pillow talk. He’d pull his pants back on, toss a towel at you, and call it a day as he resumed his previous activities. 

It wasn’t romantic, but it was addictively good. The way he fills you, the way he growls your name, the way he pushes you to your limits and beyond until your body nearly gives out. Zoro wasn’t the type to hold back, and you weren’t about to complain, not when he left you a shaking, satisfied mess every single time.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It started off innocently enough– or at least that's the lie you tell yourself every time you feel Law's hands on your body, coaxing sounds from you that would make the devil blush. It had been late at night, the two of you in his quarters with the moonlight streaming in through the window. He was hunched over his desk looking over case studies, his jaw tight with sections, dark circles just a bit more prominent than usual.

You murmured a simple, “You should take a break,” as you watched him rub an exhausted hand over his face. Of course, he snorted in response, lips pulled into a thin, humorless line as he muttered something about not needing a break.

You don’t quite remember how it escalated, but one moment you were standing there, and the next, his fingers were curling around your wrist, pulling you to him. His lips crashed against yours with an intense hunger, teeth scraping your bottom lip as his hands roamed, tugging at your clothes. Fabrics hit the floor in a frenzied blur, and before you could process the shift, the air was filled with your moans and the sinful sound of skin against skin.

Law treats the whole thing like an arrangement, nothing more than a mutual understanding- a transactional escape from the grind of life as a pirate. There’s no romance, no sweet nothings whispered in the dark. Just the bruising press of his body against yours, the deep growl of his voice commanding you to spread your legs wider or hold still while he takes what he needs.

His kisses are demanding– teeth biting at your lips, tongue delving into your mouth, and leaving you gasping for air. His inked fingertips from whatever part of you they can reach– your thighs, your neck, the curve of your waist– digging into you and leaving their mark behind.

Law pays attention to every gasp, every shiver, every time your voice cracks when you beg him for more. He files it all away, exploiting your weaknesses until you’re writing beneath him, your nails clawing streaks of red down his back as you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, desperate not to let anyone hear the depravity unfolding behind doors.

The infirmary quickly became your playground. It was practical, as no one thought twice about seeing you leave together– a crew member seeking the doctor out for medical attention, they’d assume. But the truth was far filthier. 

Late nights became your undoing, the two of you barely remembering to lock the door before he had you pinned to the nearest surface. The cold metal of an examination table was a constant companion, pressing into your bare skin as he shoved your panties down your legs and into his pocket. He’d spread you open slowly, inked fingers teasing over slick folds before his mouth descended, devouring you like a man starved, as if your pleasure was the only thing that could satisfy him in that moment.

“Stay quiet,” he’d growl against your ear, the head of his cock dragging against your entrance before slamming into you, stealing whatever defiance you might’ve had. His voice was a hypnotic blend of filth and control, whispering all the things he was going to do to you, each word leaving your head spinning and your body arching against him as he fucks you toward your first orgasm of the night. 

You’d always leave the infirmary looking wrecked– hair tousled, lips swollen, legs wobbly as you tried, and failed, to regain some semblance of composure. Law, of course, looked immaculate; no one could even tell that he was balls deep inside of you just moments prior, though that smugness in his expression is always there to remind you just how thoroughly he’d ruined you.

And if you looked closely, you’d start to notice the subtle cracks in the walls he’d built around himself. Moments where this simple exchange of pleasure felt like something more. Like the time his breath hitched, and his voice came low and rough as he murmured, “You’re too good at this.” His forehead pressed against yours, honeyed eyes boring into yours in a way that made your stomach flip, as he continued with, “Too good at making me forget everything else.” 

You could pretend it didn’t matter, that it was just an offhand comment in the heat of the moment. But other signs were there if you dared to look. The way his hands lingered, mapping your body like he wanted to memorize every inch of you. The way his fingers didn’t just grip but caressed, a softness in his touch that hadn’t been there before. The way he held you close afterward, his chest rising and falling against yours as if he was reluctant to let go.

You could tell yourself not to overthink it. You could pretend the shift in him didn’t make your chest ache with confusion. But how could you ignore the way he slowed down, how he rolled his hips into you in a way that wasn’t just about chasing release, but about making you feel every damn inch of him? His forehead pressed into yours, his lips brushing over your jaw, and there it was– your name, murmured like a prayer on the edge of a moan.

His kisses grew less frantic, less possessive- more lingering, savoring, as if he were trying to communicate something he couldn’t quite put into words. His voice softened when he guided you through the pleasure, no longer barking commands at you, but soothing encouragements, spoken with a tenderness that left you reeling. He wasn’t just fucking you anymore. He was making love to you in every way but name, the shift so slow and gradual that it felt like you’d accidentally stumbled into it. 

You could ignore the way he was treating you, the way his actions betrayed the very ideal of casual detachment. You could let yourself believe this was just temporary, destined to burn out the way all things do.

And you had a choice to make. You could stay on this path, let him end it when the time came, and pick up the pieces of yourself when it was over. Or you could give in– to him, to this- and let it all become something far messier, far scarier, but infinitely more real. You could let the walls come crashing down and see where it led, knowing full well there might be no going back.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

One too many drinks at a rowdy tavern in some seedy little port town started this relationship. It was the kind of place that smelled of spilled ale and bad decisions. You and Kid were seated side by side, tipsy from cheap booze and a long week that had worn down the two of you. Half-hearted threats and teasing insults transitioned into touches that lingered way too long. 

When his large hand landed on your thigh under the table, squeezing firmly with no shame, no subtly, you leaned into it, your fingers trailing up his arm as you met his challenge with one of your own. “You talk a big game,” you murmured, your voice low and taunting. “Think you can back it up?”

And then came the bathroom. Not the most romantic spot for a first time, the broken blinking lights and the smell of piss certainly added to the ambiance, but neither of you gave a damn. He locked the door with a click, spun you around, and had your face pressed against the cold wall in an instant. 

Clothes barely came off; his hands were too impatient for that. He yanked your pants down just enough to get where he needed, his fingers rough and greedy as they spread you open. The stretch when he finally shoved inside was brutal, the angle unforgiving, and he groaned like a man who’d just found his favorite kind of trouble as he shoved you harder against the wall with every thrust.

By the time he was done, your legs felt like jelly, and the mirrors were fogged up from the heat of it all. Kid looked at you like he wanted to go another round right there, a cocky grin plastered on his face as he zipped up his pants. “You clean up nice,” he said with a smirk, slapping your ass as he turned to leave. 

That set the tone for every time after. No strings attached, no romance, just raw, shameless fucking whenever the need hit. It was about the release, about indulging in the kind of pleasure that left bruises and scratch marks behind.

One of his favorite things was seeing you struggle to keep quiet when he was fucking you in the dead of the night, in a place where anyone could walk in. The way your body would tense, trying to hold in your noises, but failing miserably as his cock hit that one spot inside of you that had you wailing out. He’d of course, laugh at you, a taunting sound that made your stomach flip. “Do you want everyone to hear us?” as for him, he didn’t particularly care if the whole damn world heard.

The best part was that there was no pressure. You could still flirt, still enjoy the random hookups with others on the ship or wherever you went. There was freedom in it. But more often than not, you found yourself seeking him out. He was convenient. He knew exactly what to do to make you feel good, how to touch you without overdoing it. And honestly, his body was just the right fit for yours every damn time. 

You swear that filthy mouth of his could single-handedly unravel you. He’d growl obvious comments like “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” as he dragged his thick fingers through your slick before shoving them into you saying some shit like, “You like being use like this, dont you? You’re made for this.” 

The crew knew; of course, they did. It was impossible not to, with how loud you sometimes would get or the way you left his quarters a stumbling mess with marks blooming across your skin. If anyone dared to stare too long or judge, he would bark at them to mind their own business.

This arrangement works because neither of you tried to make it more than just sex. There was never any pressure, no awkward conversations after he had just busted inside of you, just a shared understanding that you would be there to scratch each other's itch without hesitation. You could, of course, try to make it into something more if you so desired, but you don’t ever have to if you don’t want to, which is such a beautiful thing in all honesty. What you have with him is chaotic, messy, and thrilling, and that was more than enough for both of you. 

[raining-anonymously]

THERE IS A FANFIC NOW

did anyone say mouthwashing time loop where they ALL remember? no? well, i did it anyway. every single outfit change has a reason… can you guess them all?

it’s called “rinse & repeat” because i think i’m funny <3

read more for yimpy

[literaryvein-reblogs]

what are some ways to describe people other than eye and hair color

I am assuming you are looking for physical descriptors. Here are some examples. I may just make a different post on psychological descriptors.

Arms: Long, Muscular, Pudgy, Short, Skinny, Thin

Back: Bent, Hunched, Ramrod Straight, Rounded

Build: Anorexic, Athletic, Beefy, Brawny, Burly, Chubby, Coltish, Compact, Fat, Gangly, Gaunt, Gawky, Haggard, Heavy-set, Herculean, Husky, Lanky, Lithe, Muscular, Obese, Overweight, Petite, Rangy, Reed-like, Scrawny, Skinny, Slender, Slight, Solid, Spindly, Statuesque, Stocky, Strapping, Sylphlike, Taut, Thickset, Thin, Trim, Underweight, Voluptuous, Well-built, Willowy, Withered

Cheeks: Blushing, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Disturbed, Glorious, Glowing, Hairless, High (cheekbones), Hollow, Honey, Livid, Pale, Pallid, Pink, Plump, Puffy, Radiant, Reddened, Rosy, Rounded, Ruddy, Shining, Smooth, Soft, Sun-burnt, Sun-bronzed, Sunken, Sun-tanned, Tanned, Tearful, White

Chin: Angular, Bony, Bumpy, Chiseled, Defined, Doughy, Firm, Protruding, Round, Smooth, Soft, Square, Strong

Ears: Jug-like, Large, Protruding, Tiny

Eyebrows: Arching, Bushy, Emphasized, Near, Spaced, Thick, Thin

Eyelashes: Artificial, Beaded, Beautiful, Blinking, Dark, Dark-fringed, Dense, Dusky, Heavily-fringed, Long, Mascaraed, Sandy, Sooty, Sopping, Tear-drenched, Thick, Uplifted

Eyes: Almond-shaped, Bright, Bulging, Expressive, Frightened, Gentle, Languishing, Little, Luminous, Made-up, Round, Shining, Shortsighted, Smart, Stunned, Thin, Wide, Woeful

Face: Baby, Blood-stained, Bold, Chiseled, Contorted, Dead, Expressionless, Fair, Familiar, Fierce, Flat, Frightened, Furrowed, Honest, Indifferent, Little, Pale, Poker, Pretty, Radiant, Rough, Ruddy, Sallow, Square, Stained, Swollen, Trim, Weather-beaten, Wry

Feet: Athlete's, Big, Flat, Pigeon-toed, Small, Sore, Stinky, Stubby, Swollen

Fingers: Gnarled, Long, Short, Stubby

Finger Nails: Bitten, Broken, Claw-like, Dirty, Hooked, Long, Painted, Sharp, Talon-like

Hair: Afro, Bald, Beehive, Braided, Bristles, Bun, Chignon, Coiffure, Combed, Corkscrew, Corn rows, Cowlicked, Crew cut, Curly, Disarrayed, Disheveled, Dreadlocks, Dry, Flattop, Flecked, French braid, French twist, Fringe, Greasy, Grizzled, Knotted, Layered, Locks, Matted, Messed up, Mohawk, Mussy, Muttonchops, Neat, Oily, Page boy, Perm, Pigtails, Plait, Pompadour, Ponytail, Ragged, Receding, Ringlets, Ruffled, Shaggy, Shorn, Shoulder-length, Skinhead, Spiky, Split-ended, Straight, Tangled, Thick, Thinning, Tidy, Topknot, Tousled, Twisted, Uncombed, Unshorn, Untidy, Wavy, Wiry, Wisps

Hand: Big, Elegant, Small

Height: Big, Knee-high, Medium, Short, Shoulder-high, Sky-high, Small, Tall, Towering, Waist-high

Legs: Amputated, Bandy, Bony, Bowed, Brawny, Bulging, Fluted, Gartered, Gouty, Graceful, Hacked, Hairy, Jagged, Knotted, Leaden, Long, Lower, Muscular, Pitiful, Rickety, Shapely, Shivering, Short, Sinewy, Slender, Slim, Spindle, Stockinged, Sturdy, Thin, Thread-like, Tinder, Tiny, Toothsome, Tree trunks

Lips: Blue, Cracked, Cupid's Bow, Downturned, Dry, Fat, Full, Grim, Large, Luscious, Parched, Parted, Red, Ruby, Small, Smiling, Thin, Wet

Mouth: Arch, Ascetic, Baby, Cavernous, Churning, Compressed, Cooing, Coral, Cracked, Cruel, Delicate, Dumpled, Distended, Dry, Fine, Firm, Frothy, Full, Funnel-shaped, Gaping, Grim, Handsome, Hungry, Insistent, Irritable, Large, Luscious, Munching, Musty, Perilous, Puckered, Querulous, Relaxed, Resolute, Sardonic, Sensuous, Serious, Slobbering, Small, Sulky, Sweet, Tender, Thin, Wide, Winsome, Wrinkled, Yawning

Neck: Bullnecked, Elegant, Long, Short, Swan-like, Thick

Palm: Broad, Oval, Rectangular, Square

Skin: Acned, Alabaster, Albino, Apricot, Black, Blemished, Blistered, Blooming, Blotchy, Blushing, Bronzed, Cadaverous, Calloused, Caramel, Clear, Craggy, Cream, Ebony, Fair, Flush, Freckled, Glowing, Greasy, Ivory, Jaundiced, Leathery, Lily-white, Lined, Milky, Mottled, Nut-brown, Olive, Pale, Pallid, Pasty, Peeling, Pimpled, Pink, Pitted, Pockmarked, Red, Rosy, Rough, Ruddy, Russet, Sallow, Scabby, Scarred, Smooth, Splotchy, Spotty, Sun-burnt, Tan, Wan, Waxen, White, Wrinkled, Yellow

Stomach: Bulging, Distended, Empty, Firm, Flabby, Flat, Heroic, Hollow, Lean, Paunchy, Protruding, Unbounded

Teeth: Artificial, Black, Blunted, Buck, Canine, Chattering, Clenched, Clinched, Compressed, Crooked, Dagger-like, Dazzling, Decayed, Deciduous, Extracted, False teeth, Feeble, Ferocious, Filed, Flashing, Fluoridated, Foam-laced, Fractured, Gap-toothed, Gleaming, Glistening, Glittering, Gnashing, Goofy, Grinding, Hooked, Horrid, Ivory, Jagged, Lacquered, Large, Milky, Mottled, Neglected, Pearly, Perfect, Pretty, Protruding, Razor-like, Sharp, Shining, Short, Small, Snowy, Sore, Spaced, Straight, Sweet tooth, Tender, Tiny, Toothless, Toothy, Ugly, Unrelenting, White, Wisdom, Wolfish, Yellow

Hope this helps! If it does, do tag me or send me a link to your writing. I'd love to read your work.

More: On Character Development

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[waitineedaname]

I probably love scum villain the most out of all the mxtx novels specifically because it deals with gender the most out of all of them. The criticism of hypermasculinity is probably the strongest part, but I do also just enjoy maiden-hearted Bingmei and mommy Shen Qingqui. I just think they’re neat.

FOR REAL!!!! the theme of gender in svsss is so goddamn compelling. I love how much of the contrast between pidw and svsss is that the hypermasculine power fantasy doesn't allow for "feminine" things like vulnerability, and to be a Man™️ is to fuck and kill and conquer. This feels like a "well duh" moment but bingge is a clear example of the way toxic masculinity harms men. He might have achieved everything that's expected of him aa the masculine ideal, but he's unfulfilled and unhappy because at the end of the day, those hypermasculine notions don't actually help anyone

And then in contrast we have bingmei. I know I'm harping on it all the damn time, but bingmei's contrast with bingge is so important to me, especially when that biggest difference -- the thing that's indicative of his relative femininity -- are his emotions. Bingge is the stallion protagonist. He's not allowed to express emotions outside of what that role dictates: he is allowed to be cool and bloodthirsty and seductive, and not much else. Meanwhile it's not like bingmei isn't capable of of those same emotions. He's definitely cool and bloodthirsty on occasion. But he's also allowed a more full range of emotions outside the constraints of masculinity. He's allowed to be tender-hearted and sensitive, he cries to get what he wants and he cries to express genuine emotion, he's allowed to be vulnerable with shen qingqiu if no one else. He's allowed the full spectrum of emotion, both traditionally masculine and traditionally feminine, and it allows him to be more complete. No longer the shallow stallion protagonist, but a whole person. The person shen qingqiu fell in love with

And then don't get me started on mommy shizun, this post is already long enough and if I get into milfzun we'll be here all night

[cookiekissers]

can we please get a buring spice x fragile reader, like they want to help and fight/hunt but physical can't because they are that fragile, simply bumbing into another cookie could cause them to crack!

Do Not Go Gently

[Burning Spice Cookie x Fragile Reader]

I was inspired and tried something a little different with this so I hope you like it! and Burning Spice redemption anyone? B)

The life of a Wild Spice was fraught with constant struggle and danger. If you were weak, you would be ground into dust, either by one of the other tribes or by the Great Destroyer himself. And you happened to be one of the weaker spices.

Delicate and fragile by nature, your main ingredient was parsley. The harsh desert winds of your homeland often left your leaves and dough brittle. The stronger Wild Spices almost always belittled you and your small tribe as you barely etched out an existence. You weren't tough and built with natural armour, like the Pepper Pangolins, or strong like the Saffron Buffaloes. But if there was one thing you were, it was tenacious.

When the Great Destroyer returned, you feared that your inherent frailness only spelled ruin for you and your tribe, soon to join the scattered remains of your ancestors. Despite the risks, you boldly joined the other Wild Spice leaders and offered your loyalty and service to Burning Spice Cookie.

He had looked over you and laughed, calling you weak and pathetic. As you knelt there, showing your sincere devotion, you thought it was all over for you. Still, Burning Spice miraculously passed over you and left you be. The Great Destroyer was not known to spare those he thought weak, so you could only imagine that he saw something in you that you hadn't. Since that moment, you were inspired by the Great Destroyer, not out of fear but admiration. You knew he didn't care for you. With a sweep of his hand, he could wipe your existence from this earth in seconds. But still, you fought hard and trained harder until your dough was cracked and crumbling to show that you had a right to continue living. Burning Spice Cookie had spared you. Your life had to mean something to him.

The little thing kneeling at his feet was pathetic. A Cookie so fragile that their dough cracked at the mildest of strikes was not worthy to be in his presence. And yet, instead of hiding from his inevitable fury, here you were. Burning Spice had to admit, you had guts. He didn't want to waste his time crumbling you himself when he knew you wouldn't put up a good fight. It would be far more entertaining to watch you struggle, only for you to fall to your unavoidable fate.

And yet...

That moment never came. Regardless of how grievous your wounds or the crumbling of your dough, you threw yourself back into battle again and again. Unafraid of the death that awaited you. Burning Spice Cookie found himself almost... fascinated by you.

You were so fragile, doomed to fail. And yet... you fought to cling a little longer to your short, pathetic life.

It reminded him of a time long past.

One day, after Burning Spice had enough of the annoying thoughts of you buzzing around his head, he decided to pay your tribe a visit. All the inhabitants of your tribe weren't as tough as you, which was somewhat of a disappointment. They scurried into their homes, terrified of him, or fell to their knees, grovelling at his feet for mercy. But you... you remained standing, like a resolute warrior, poised as if death were coming to claim you. You were unafraid. You had accepted it, but that did not mean you would go without a grand fight.

He approached you, ignoring the rest of your tribe, and you bowed your head in respect to the Great Destroyer. You didn't bow as deeply as you used to, but Burning Spice let it slide.

You had changed. Your eyes held a solemn understanding, and your dough was now riddled with scars, honourable rewards of fighting to see another day.

Burning Spice Cookie watched you, realizing he had no words. Why had curiosity brought him here to see you? He couldn't come up with an answer. His previous excuse of being amused by your antics had faded into something... else.

You broke the silence and invited Burning Spice Cookie into your humble home, and he accepted. Your tribe was astonished at their leader, who stood fearlessly in front of the Great Destroyer, and he had not razed their village to the ground in retaliation.

"Well, this is a surprise." Burning Spice Cookie mused. It was still surprising to him. Destruction was the end of all things, whether by his hand or not. But you stood in the face of it and fought it. Refusing to meet it on its terms.

"That I'm still here?" You replied bluntly, an amused smile on your face. Burning Spice Cookie would usually have felt excitement upon discovering a Cookie like you - someone who could ignite his passion and provide a worthy challenge now that you had grown stronger against all odds. However, that’s not how he felt at this moment. It wasn't even boredom. Instead, he felt the same solemness reflected in your eyes.

Burning Spice Cookie asked you to be his right hand. The request came so suddenly that it left you momentarily stunned. All the strife and gruelling work you had endured had finally paid off in a way you never could have imagined.

"Yes, I would be honored, my lord. Thank you." You said, quickly bowing your head deeply in gratitude.

Burning Spice Cookie knew that your luck was going to eventually run out and your fragile dough would crumble, slipping through his fingers like the sands of time. Like with all things, it was inevitable, regardless of how hard you fought to cling to your pitiful life.

But he would be there when it happened, he would watch you. He would burn your rage into his mind as you descended into the endless night, fighting and spitting for just one more day.

Once you joined your ancestors, he would remember you. Always.

[llove-r]

my toxic trait is thinking I can learn something I’ve never done before like play guitar or crochet in 2 hours or less and if I can’t it’s simply because I’m just not good at it

[noorpersona]

Can you please do osamu with fav position too? Im on your knees now 🧎🧎🧎

You may rise, fellow simp... I've come 🫡 ------------

Osamu Miya was a man of simple pleasures and needs. So long as had had a roof over his head, some good food to munch on and a bed, he wouldn’t complain.

But for some reason, you were the one thing he could never get enough.

Your legs are wrapped around his hips, Osamu reveling in the way your pussy sucked him whole when he filled you. You were panting in his face, hands clutching at his back for any sort of anchor. He thought you were absolutely delicious like this. Melting at his touch, your eyes drowning in lust, trying to muster up a coherent sentence. Osamu can’t help the groan that rumbles out from his throat, moving his head into the crook of your neck as he leaves kisses and bites all down your neck. “’Samu..!” You squealed at a harsher nip, your pants turning into moans as he licks and suckles at the bite.

“What? I can’t enjoy my meal?” Osamu’s honestly surprised how even his voice sounded, even though he could’ve finished at the way you called his name. He traces his fingers down your chest, circling your nipple before giving it a few flicks. He adored how reactive you were when he did that. You gasp, calling out his name as he continued to fuck you, the room filling with the sound of skin slapping alongside your screams. Your nails claw down his back as you continue to sputter muffled versions of his name. Your orgasm triggers his, and you’re both coming down from a blissful high. You’re both panting, room reeking of sex when you try to get up to get a towel, when you feel Osamu’s hand gripping your arm. Cock still red and hard. “I’m still hungry.”