#but idk little things like this are so cute

[ellecdc]

hello elle!! i saw you asking for pregnant reader/ dad marauders and i was thinking maybe one about one of them reading about baby’s and music and they’re all discussing what kind of music they wanna play if they want classical or baby music and tiny baby who cannot care any less just starts crawling towards the vinyls and picks something like bowie or queen?? i can imagine sirius losing his mind about it, i just know it would be funny!! i love the ones you’ve made so far i’m obsessed, you’re so talented <3

aaah so cute! thanks for the request!!! <3

dad!marauders x mum!reader who try to musicify their child [850 words]

CW: kid fic, written as fem!reader but no gender is specified - Remus calls you dove, one slightly dirty joke if you want it to be, fluff [I tried to avoid naming their kid for this one but it didn't feel right. I know I like to have Sirius' daughter's name to be 'Aurora' but idk what to do with poly fics yet]

You’d long since given up on trying to spare your child from their father’s nonsense. You have a feeling that Remus had too, though he couldn’t always help but stoke the coals of nonsense where he saw fit.

“I think it’s fine she’s not said her first word yet!” Sirius commented from the floor, sitting cross legged with his arms held aloft should he need to catch your daughter if her chubby little legs gave out on her. “Some say that if it takes them a long time to start speaking, then they’ll just start speaking in full sentences.”

“Yeah?” Remus commented sceptically as he sifted through the mail. “Who’s they?” 

“The books! The baby books!”

“The baby books?” Remus deadpanned, shooting you wink to let you know he was taking the piss.

“Yes! That’s why we need to start her on music now.” Sirius proclaimed, earning him a scoff from James who was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, also supervising your toddlers toddling. 

“Oh? We need to start her on music now? But when I wanted to start her on music back-”

“You didn’t want to start her on music, Jamie.” Sirius scolded. “You wanted to start her on ABBA.” 

“You take that back.” James demanded, pointing a severe finger at Sirius.

“Okay, okay.” Remus commented with his hands up placatingly. “Let’s all just take it easy, alright? There’s no need for this to escalate.” 

Sirius and James stared each other down a moment longer before they relented. 

“But we should probably get her started on Beethoven or Motzart.” Remus added as he disappeared into the kitchen, earning him ‘oi’s of protest from his two most theatrical partners.

“You’re trying to make my daughter boring.” Sirius accused.

“No.” Remus argued as he returned with a frozen teether for said daughter, moving to sit on the couch next to the chair you were situated in. “I’m trying to make our daughter intelligent.” 

“Y/N.” James whined then, causing you to look up from the book you were only pretending to read. “Moony’s trying to turn our daughter into a swot.”

“Remus.” You drawled in your most bored tone.

Remus played the part of a beat down suburban father. “Yes dear?” 

“Stop trying to give our daughter a fighting chance in McGonagall’s advanced transfiguration course.”

“Yes dear.”

“Thank you.” Sirius professed, smiling greatly at the child when she gurgled something around the teether. “Is that right, sweet girl? That almost sounded like the Arabic in the bridge of Bohemian Rhapsody!” 

“No,” James argued, “that sounded like the opening notes of Super Trouper.” 

“It sounded like the poor thing is cutting another tooth.” You countered as you held your arms open, earning you a slobbery smile around the teether she refused to spit out, watching as she took two unstable steps towards you before falling onto her bum. 

“Our little lovie won’t let that slow her down though, will she?” James cheered, earning him a squeal from his daughter as she took off crawling in the opposite direction.

“What would be her first words if she started speaking in full sentences, though?” You pondered aloud as you watched her stand on her knees in front of the record collection, banging her teether against the legs of the turntable. 

“Probably reminding Sirius to ‘use a sodding coaster’.” James chuckled.

“Or the common conciliatory ‘okay, moons’.” Remus snorted. 

“No! It should absolutely be ‘I solemnly swear I am up to no good’!” Sirius interjected.

“That’s kind of a mouthful for a wee babe.” Remus considered.

“You’re kind of a mouthful.” Sirius muttered.

“What about ‘mischief managed’?” You offered then, causing all three boys to sigh sentimentally. 

“No.” Sirius decided after a moment. “Her first word will definitely be ‘dove’.”

“I agree.” James added with a nod in your direction. “That’s probably the most said word in this house.”

“That’s not true.” Remus argued; his cheeks dusted with the faintest pink. 

Any further teasing at Remus’ sake was curtailed by an excited squeal from the child who was now standing at her full height with a record in one hand and its sleeve in the other.

“No way!” Both James and Sirius chorused, though it was James in excitement and Sirius in devastation. 

James all but launched himself at his daughter and scooped her up into his arms, eliciting even more delighted squealing as he placed the record of her choosing on the turntable and hit play. 

And what started playing from your well-used record player but Side Two of ABBA’s Greatest Hits Vol. 2.

“You can dance! You can jive! Having the time of your life; ooooh!” James sang horribly out of tune to his daughter's delight and Sirius’ chagrin as you and Remus shared a look. 

“She’s not going to stand a chance in advanced transfiguration, is she?” 

“Perhaps not,” you offered as you watched James sing loudly at Sirius who beamed up at James and their daughter from his place on the floor, forgoing any act of irritation as he sang and bobbed along for your baby's sake, “but at least she’ll know how to dance.”

[machveil]

HEY IM BACK TO BOTHER UU

OK IMAGINE THIS

simon seeing how you always coo at babies you see in public (grocery store, shopping, park, etc) and he decides then and there that you WILL be the mother of his children. and like maybe he never even wanted kids but after this happens one or two times he is SET on it.

idk just a thought that i had to share!

I am listening so hard

Simon gets hit with baby fever hard, he doesn’t even know what baby fever is - he just sees you with chunky little babies and snotty kids and something in his brain goes off. he just gets the itch to make you a mom, the urge to buy those stupid little baby shoes that look so fucking cute and why don’t you have a baby now—

Simon isn’t subtle either, he’ll silently guide your shopping trips so you end up in baby aisles, little onesies and pacifiers on display. you don’t even have a kid, but Simon picks up a cute little ducky pacifier and sets it in the cart. “Simon? We don’t need tha—”, turning his back to you, he just sets off out of the aisle, “Might.”, he mumbles

Simon who empties your guest your room one day, paint buckets in hand. he claims to just be ‘redoing’ the room, also lovie, if a box for a crib gets delivered call for him - Simon will sign for it! he’s like a man possessed, just mutters something about, “Could ‘ave a permanent guest…”, and it leaves you chuckling. he’s even got the 141 over to help, Gaz helping Simon paint while John squared try to assemble the crib

Simon who acts shocked when you tell him you’re pregnant, pretends to be innocent, “Really? How could tha’ ‘ave happened?”. he’s extremely excited even though he’s keeping a straight face, but you can tell - his fingers are tapping against his thighs and he’s bouncing his leg a little. and what a coincidence, Simon somehow predicted you’d need a nursery! good thing he converted that guest room, right doll?

[romugh]

HISTORY IN THE MAKING - nerd!NR

pairing- nerd!natasha romanoff x reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, gp!bottom!natasha, handjob (n rcv), blowie (n rcv), missionary, praise kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie? muaha... shy daddy!nat UGHH, kind of orgasm control & slight edging if you squint

wc- 5.4k

a/n- drabble turned fic as i worked my way through these exact history shenanigans a few days back... in the same INTIMATE STUDIES universe! might make this a cute lil thing :) this is very much NOT my best work, i might rework it a little bit just to make it flow a lil more! apologies if there are any repetitions, i tried to catch them, but my brain is fried :/

synopsis- natasha's helping you study russia's history, and the rest is history?? idk it's too late rn guys i'm going to sleep

taglist- @lost-mortemanghel ♥︎, @idkwhatever580, @elliecoochieeater, @left-and-right-up-and-down, @deadlesbianwitches, @lizziewitchy ❀, @simpforlizzie, @riyaexee

You’re sitting cross-legged on Natasha’s bed, staring down at a jumble of Russian history notes that you’re certain might as well be in Cyrillic themselves. The words swim on the page, stubbornly refusing to click in the way chemistry formulas or physics equations do. You press the back of your pen to your lips, glancing over at the figure hunched over the desk in the corner of the room.

Natasha is fully engrossed in her game, brows furrowed in concentration as her fingers fly across the keyboard. The light from her monitor casts a soft glow on her face, highlighting the curve of her cheek and the gentle bite of her lower lip. She’s wearing a simple white blouse tucked into a plaid skirt, her usual attempt to dress professionally for class long since abandoned in favour of cosy socks and a messy bun.

You can’t help but smile a little. The contrast between Natasha’s outward shyness and the intensity in her focus has always been something you found endearing. You met in the class you were currently trying to study for, back when you’d shown up late to Russian history, fumbling through an awkward introduction as the professor sighed and directed you to sit in the last free seat beside her. It had taken a few study sessions for you to get past her initial stammering, but now, you could ask her about anything and her eyes would light up, eagerly launching into whatever story or fact you were struggling to understand. But right now, that focus is directed entirely on her computer screen.

You clear your throat. “Natasha?”

“Hm?” She barely looks up, eyes quickly darting back to her screen.

“Nat,” you repeat, with a hint of a smile. “I need help with the comparison of Russia until 1917 and the West-European’s Ancien Régime. And… pretty much all the details, too.”

She gives a little sigh, half-distracted. “Mm. Yes, the parables are… very interesting, baby. Give me one second. I’m doing really well.”

You hold back a laugh. “Right, but I’m failing Russian history. Melina and Alexei will both kill me. So can you take a break?”

Her eyes don’t leave the screen. “I will, I promise. Just a few more minutes. I’m close to beating this level.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at her single-minded dedication. Her stubborn innocence, the way she always seems to be pulled between her gentle nature and her intense focus, has you mesmerised. But she can’t honestly think you’re going to wait forever.

“Natasha,” you say softly, standing and crossing over to her desk. Her gaze flicks up to you on her side, her big, doe-like eyes widening with an almost bashful look as you lean against the desk. “You’re seriously not going to help me?”

She blushes, biting her lip. “I really want to help,” she whispers, almost apologetic, “but, really, just a little longer? Please?”

There’s something about the sweet innocence of her pleading that has your heart racing. Her earnestness always has a way of drawing you in, those wide, round eyes like they’re begging for permission to keep playing, and her lips slightly parted in concentration. You tilt your head, taking in every detail of her—the slight blush dusting her cheeks, the faint glimmer of anticipation in her eyes, and the way her fingers clutch the keyboard just a little tighter, like she’s holding onto the game but secretly hoping you’ll take control.

You smile softly and reach for her chair, turning it around so she’s facing you. Her hands hover in the air, a brief look of panic on her face as she loses her place in the game. She opens her mouth to protest, but before she can say anything, you’re sliding onto her lap, straddling her, feeling the warmth of her strong thighs under you.

“Wait! You made me fall off the map!” Natasha squeaks, her voice a mixture of exasperation and a hint of excitement. Her hands instinctively find your hips, holding you as if she’s afraid you might slip away.

You give her a gentle smile, leaning in so that your faces are mere inches apart. “I thought you were going to help me study,” you murmur, your voice dropping to a soft, coaxing tone. You press your hands to her shoulders, letting your fingers trail along her collarbone, feeling the way her heartbeat quickens under your touch.

“I… I was,” she stammers, her cheeks flushing a deep pink, and you catch the slight tremble in her voice. “I just… my game.”

You tilt her chin up, making her meet your gaze, and she blushes even deeper, her fingers tightening their grip on your hips as her eyes grow wide, almost vulnerable. “Natty,” you say, your voice laced with playful patience, “I really need you to focus on me now. History, please.”

Her mouth opens slightly, as though she wants to argue, but all that comes out is a breathy whisper. “Okay.”

You hold Natasha’s gaze, the intensity in her eyes gradually overpowering her initial shyness. Her fingers rest on your hips, hesitant and yet possessive, as though she’s still trying to find some control in this position. Her breath catches each time you shift even slightly, and you can feel her heartbeat racing beneath your touch, each little change in her demeanour making her even more endearing.

You run your thumb along her jawline, feeling the delicate skin beneath, and she lets out a soft breath, her lips parting as she unconsciously leans into your touch. Her eyes flicker from yours to your lips, as if she’s desperately waiting for some kind of signal, a sign that she’s allowed to give in completely.

“Natasha,” you murmur, bringing your face close enough to feel her breath mingling with yours, “what are the key similarities, and how do the t<o regimes differ?”

She hums, her cheeks a soft shade of pink, but words seem to fail her. The hand on your hip trembles slightly, as though she wants to pull you closer but doesn’t dare to, not without permission. You feel the tension building, a mix of her nervousness and desire, and it only makes you want to pull her in even more.

Finally, you press a feather-light kiss to her cheek, just next to her ear, and whisper, “Come on, Natty. Think, please. Need your pretty self to explain it to me.”

She shivers under your touch, swallowing as she tries to remember the words. “Um… right, the… they didn’t have religious freedom,” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper. The fingers on your hip dig in just slightly, a mix of nerves and need as she fights to keep her focus. “Orthodoxy– uh, there were lots of violent riots… against Muslims, but mostly Jews. Those were called pogroms and… oh…”

Her wordds trail off as you tilt her chin slightly, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her blush deepens, and you feel the way her body responds, her tension giving way to a faint tremor as she tries to keep talking.

“You’re so good at this,” you whisper, guiding her with gentle encouragement. “But I’m going to need a little more focus from you if we’re going to get through all this history.”

Her breath catches, and she nods, biting her lip as she tries to concentrate. “I can focus,” she whispers, more to herself than to you, as though she’s trying to convince herself as much as you. Her gaze stays locked onto yours, her wide eyes full of innocence mixed with a yearning she can’t quite hide.

Her fingers finally slide up your sides, settling on the dip of your waist with a delicate grip, as though she’s terrified of doing too much, yet completely unwilling to let go. You smile softly, placing a hand over hers, squeezing in silent encouragement, and her blush deepens, her eyes darting away for just a second.

But you don’t let her break eye contact for long. Tilting her chin back to you, you brush your lips over hers in a kiss so soft it’s barely there, and she lets out a faint sigh, melting into the touch. Her grip tightens again, and you feel her breath hitch as you deepen the kiss just slightly, enough to make her toes curl beneath her chair.

“Tell me more,” you murmur, pausing just inches from her mouth, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating between you. “About the razzias. I want to hear you explain it.”

Her lips part, her mind clearly racing to catch up, but she manages a shaky breath. “They just were um, a…,” she stammers, her voice a mix of strained focus and barely-restrained excitement. Her hands start to relax, as though she’s finding confidence in your guidance. “They… uh– it’s a reckoning against religious ideals.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum in approval, your thumb tracing gentle circles on her cheek. “And then the revolution happened?”

Her eyes flicker down to your lips, and she swallows, her voice barely more than a whisper. “There were two revolutions, technically. First, the February Revolution, and then the radicalised October Revolution.”

Her words start to blur into soft breaths as you lean closer, the warmth of her skin against yours heightening with each delicate touch. You feel her legs shift under you, and a soft gasp escapes her when you shift your weight in her lap, pressing yourself against her in a way that’s both innocent and electric. Her lashes flutter, and her eyes grow hazy, the careful focus she was trying to hold onto slipping with each passing second.

“Good girl,” you murmur, your voice soft and affectionate. Her lips part in a faint, breathless smile, and you feel her chest rise as she takes in a shaky breath, her grip on you tightening just a little more.

You tilt her head back, keeping her gaze locked on yours, letting your fingers trail down her throat, feeling the rapid thrum of her pulse beneath your touch. Her eyes widen, a mixture of awe and anticipation in them as she watches your every move, her hands moving under your sweater like she’s trying to ground herself.

“Do you want to keep going?” you ask softly, running a finger along her jawline, watching the way her breath catches in response.

She nods, unable to find words, her cheeks flushed a deep pink. Her eyes hold that same innocent, almost pleading look, as though she’s begging you to take control, to guide her wherever you want.

You smile, letting your hand drift down from her jaw, fingers grazing along her collarbone, before you slowly trail down to her chest and stomach, where you can feel the rise and fall of her shallow breaths.

“Okay, baby,” you murmur, your words soothing yet commanding as you press a gentle kiss to her neck, feeling the way her pulse quickens under your lips. She shivers, a barely audible whimper escaping her lips, her wide eyes softening as she watches you, her gaze full of innocent trust.

“Natasha,” you whisper, drawing out her name like a gentle caress, “let me help you focus.” Her breath catches, and she gives a shaky nod, her hands tightening their grip on the chair. You slowly lower yourself from her lap, letting your hands slide down the smooth skin of her thighs, feeling the way her body tenses under your touch only to relax as you continue, inching her knees apart.

Her blush deepens, and you can feel her shyness mingling with anticipation as her skirt rides up, revealing the growing hardness pressing against the fabric of her boxers. You let your fingers trace along her inner thigh, watching the way she trembles slightly at each delicate touch. Her wide eyes remain fixed on yours, that blend of vulnerability and desire making your own heart race as you take her in.

“Relax for me,” you murmur, running your hands gently along her thighs. You reach up to brush your fingers over the fabric straining to hold her in, and her lips part in a soft, involuntary moan, her cheeks flushing even deeper as she squirms in her seat.

With slow, deliberate movements, you slide her underwear down, watching the way her member springs free, her blush turning crimson as she looks away for a moment, a mixture of nervousness and excitement flickering across her face. You press a gentle kiss along her inner thigh, easing her legs further apart and taking in her reactions, savouring each shiver, each small gasp that escapes her lips. When you move your mouth closer to her length, you look up at her, waiting until her gaze meets yours.

Once it does, you bring your mouth to her, pressing a feather-light kiss along her shaft, and her reaction is instant—her hips jerk slightly, and she lets out a trembling breath, her fingers clutching the arms of her chair as she tries to stay still. Her breath hitches with every movement, her wide eyes looking down at you, filled with both awe and that same sweet shyness that makes her all the more endearing.

Slowly, you take her into your mouth, your tongue gliding over her, humming at the way she gasps, her fingers gripping the chair so tightly her knuckles turn white. You can feel her body tense under your touch, the warmth of her length in your mouth, and the way she squirms with each gentle movement. Her breathing becomes ragged, her cheeks flushed as her lashes flutter, struggling to keep eye contact.

“Just relax, Natty,” you murmur between gentle caresses, pausing only to offer soft words of encouragement, letting her feel the warmth of your breath against her sensitive skin. “You’re doing so well.”

Her eyes soften further at your words, her lips parted in a soft, breathless smile as she gives a faint nod, her entire body melting under your touch. She lets out a quiet, shaky moan as you continue, her hips shifting involuntarily, her breath hitching each time your mouth moves a little deeper. The look in her eyes—vulnerable yet trusting—only fuels your desire to take her further.

You increase your pace just slightly, watching the way her eyes grow hazier with each passing second, her fingers now reaching out, finding your shoulder as if she needs something to hold onto. The desperation in her gaze, the slight whimpers that escape her lips, all signal how close she’s getting. You pause, pulling back just enough to look up at her, watching the way she struggles to catch her breath.

“You’re so good, Natasha,” you murmur, words muffled by her heat in you, enjoying the way she shivers under the praise. “But don’t let go just yet. I want to take my time with you.”

Her blush deepens at the command, and she nods, swallowing hard as she holds back, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tries to control herself. You press a soft kiss to her length, smiling at the way she bites her lip, her fingers still clutching your shoulder as she gives herself over to your touch.

With her breaths growing more ragged, you let your hand slide down her thigh, resting at the base of her length as you ease back, switching from the warmth of your mouth to the gentle grip of your hand. Natasha whimpers softly, her lashes fluttering as she watches you with that wide-eyed, innocent gaze. Her hands grip the arms of her chair for stability, her cheeks flushed and lips parted as you begin to stroke her slowly, savouring each reaction.

“Does that feel good, Natty?” you murmur, watching the way her eyes flutter closed for a moment as she nods, her entire body leaning toward your touch.

“Yes,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with a need she’s struggling to hold back. You watch the way her chest rises and falls, each shuddering breath making her more vulnerable, more open to your every move.

You increase the pressure slightly, your hand moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm that has her toes curling, her wide eyes looking down at you with unguarded adoration. You can see how close she is, her face a mix of tension and awe as she clutches at her chair, her mouth falling open in a soft gasp when you switch back to your mouth, taking her in once again.

“Please,” she whispers, her voice trembling, barely audible. She shifts in her seat, her grip tightening as she fights to stay composed, though the desperation in her voice betrays her.

“You want more?” you murmur, pulling back just enough to look up at her, letting your breath ghost over her sensitive skin. She nods frantically, her gaze pleading, as though she’s ready to beg for you to keep going. Her vulnerability makes your heart race, and you lean back in, pressing soft, lingering kisses along her length before taking her in your hand again.

Each change between your mouth and hand drives her closer to that edge, her quiet, broken moans growing more frequent as her body responds to your every touch. You take your time, alternating between gentle strokes and teasing kisses, watching the way her resolve unravels completely. Her hips move instinctively, seeking more, her breath shallow and desperate.

Finally, you slow your pace, watching the way she shudders in response, her gaze hazy and her body fully at peace yet trembling in your hands. “I told you, Natty,” you whisper, pausing to press a kiss to her thigh, “I’m taking my time with you.”

She lets out a shaky exhale, her hands falling from the chair to clutch at your shoulders, her breathing still erratic as she tries to hold herself back. But you can see the way she’s teetering on that edge, fully surrendered to you.

As you continue to alternate between using your hand and mouth, her wide, vulnerable gaze grows more unfocused, her lips parting as her body instinctively responds to you. But just when you think she’s letting herself fall into your pace, you feel her fingers tangle in your hair, firm but trembling, gently pressing down, silently urging you to take her deeper.

The sudden assertiveness surprises you, but you comply, letting her guide you, feeling the way her grip tightens slightly, the desperation in her touch almost pleading. Her quiet whimpers grow louder, echoing in the room as she watches you, her gaze dark with fascination, completely enraptured by the sight of you surrendering to her need.

“Oh, please…” she murmurs, her voice a breathy whisper, barely containing herself. You feel her body shiver as you take her deeper, her soft gasp filling the air. Her eyes, usually so innocent and shy, are now dark with awe, wide and almost worshipful, as though she can barely believe what she’s seeing. She bites her lip, her face flushed, her expression somewhere between a plea and an apology, completely mesmerised by the sight of you.

Finally, feeling your control slip in her grasp, you tap her thigh, and she releases her grip on your hair immediately, looking down at you with that same innocent gaze, as if wondering if she’s overstepped. Her cheeks are flushed, her gaze shy once again, as she watches you with bated breath, clearly unsure of your next move.

Standing up slowly, you meet her gaze, your eyes smouldering as you reach down and slip off your underwear, letting the fabric fall to the floor before stepping out of it. Natasha’s eyes widen, her cheeks a deeper pink as her gaze travels from your face down the length of your body, lingering on the hem of your sweater as if transfixed by the contrast.

Before she can fully take in the sight, you reach for her, your fingers tangling in her hair as you tug her up from the chair, her body following your movements without hesitation. She gasps softly, her breath catching as she’s pulled to her feet, her wide, adoring eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Strip for me,” you command, your voice low, leaving no room for argument. You release her hair, your touch lingering for just a second as you make your way to her bed, settling yourself atop her scattered history notes, the crinkling of the papers the only sound breaking the silence. She watches, her blush deepening, clearly entranced by the sight of you lying there, completely at ease and in control. Her hands go to the hem of her skirt, her fingers trembling slightly as she begins to undress, her gaze never leaving yours.

Natasha’s fingers tremble slightly as she slides off her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. Her shirt soon follows, revealing the flushed skin of her chest and the slight rise and fall of her breath as she finally stands in front of you, completely exposed and vulnerable. Her eyes flicker between your gaze and your body sprawled out over her history notes, her cheeks flushed with both shyness and desire. You stretch out comfortably, your sweater rucked up just enough to tease her, watching her with that same confident, hungry look that’s left her at your mercy all evening.

“Come here, Natty,” you murmur, your voice firm but soft. She steps forward, her movements hesitant but her gaze locked on you, and you guide her down onto the bed until she’s hovering over you, her body settling between your legs. Her breath catches as she takes you in, her wide, adoring eyes drinking in the sight of you beneath her, looking up at her with that unwavering, confident smile that’s made her melt all night.

As Natasha hovers above you, her body fitting perfectly between your legs, you can feel the nervous tremble in her limbs, her cheeks flushed as she takes in the sight of you lying beneath her, waiting. Her wide eyes, so shy and adoring, sweep over your face and then down, drinking in every inch of your body, as though each glance leaves her more entranced. Her lips part slightly, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she steadies herself, hands resting tentatively on either side of you.

You reach up, cupping her face in your hands and guiding her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, feeling the heat radiate off her skin. She melts into you, her body instinctively pressing down, filling the space between you as her lips respond, moving tenderly yet hungrily, every kiss leaving her more breathless. With a gentle nudge, you guide her hips forward, feeling her length brush against your entrance, and she lets out a soft, broken gasp, her face flushed a deep pink as she begins to press into you.

You hum, running your hands through her hair, tugging gently to pull her closer, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. She gasps against your mouth, her lips parting as you deepen the kiss, feeling her shiver as she responds, her body pressing eagerly into yours. She lets out a soft, desperate moan as she slides inside, her hands gripping the sheets beside you.

“Oh,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper, her eyes fluttering shut as she feels the warmth of your body surrounding her, enveloping her in a way that leaves her trembling. Her breath hitches, and she clutches the sheets beside you, her hands forming tight fists as she adjusts to the feeling, her gaze filled with wonder as she looks down at you.

“Good girl,” you whisper, watching the way her face softens at the praise, her body shuddering as she begins to move, her hips rolling forward in slow, tentative strokes. You feel each careful movement, each deliberate inch of her body pressing into yours, her lips parted in a quiet moan, her eyes half-lidded as she loses herself in the rhythm, her shy gaze growing more intense with each passing second.

With every thrust, her body trembles, her gaze filled with a raw vulnerability as though she’s giving herself to you completely, utterly. She clutches the sheets even tighter, her breathing quickening, her eyes never leaving yours as she moves deeper, her breath coming in soft, desperate pants.

“That’s it, Natty,” you murmur, running a hand along her cheek, feeling the way her breath catches at your touch. “Just like that.”

Her lips part in response, a soft whimper escaping her as her hips begin to move faster, her body pressing into yours with a growing urgency that she can barely control. She shivers, the need and intensity in her gaze building with every touch, every whispered word of encouragement. Her lashes flutter as she looks down at you, her cheeks a deep shade of pink, her expression vulnerable, almost pleading, as though she wants more but can barely bring herself to ask for it.

“Right there, Daddy,” you murmur, your voice soft, just loud enough for her to hear. The word slips from your lips easily, and you watch the way her entire being responds—the tremor in her hips, the widening of her eyes, the soft, desperate whine that falls from her lips. Her face and neck flush a deeper, unmistakable red, and for a moment, she looks at you with pure, unguarded awe, her expression caught between disbelief and overwhelming need.

Her hands tremble, her hips stuttering as she takes in the title, her body pressing instinctively deeper as though the sound alone draws her closer to the edge. “Daddy,” you whisper again, watching her face as she loses herself in the word, her expression filling with a blend of shyness and barely contained desire.

“P-please…” she stammers, her voice trembling, almost breaking as she holds herself back, her body trembling with the strain of it. “I… I need…”

You reach up, running your hand through her hair, guiding her gaze back to yours. “It’s okay, Natty,” you murmur, your voice soft, coaxing. “You don’t have to hold back.”

Her wide eyes fill with a deep, unrestrained need, and she lets out a soft, shaky exhale, her hands sliding from the sheets to grip your waist, holding you as though grounding herself. Her movements grow more erratic, her hips pressing deeper, her body responding to every encouraging word, every touch, as though completely under your control.

As she moves, you see the way she loses herself in each thrust, her face flushed, her mouth open as her breath comes in ragged, desperate pants. She looks down at you with that same innocent, adoring gaze, but now, there’s something more—something raw, a hunger she can barely contain. Her hips press forward, filling you completely, her body shuddering as she reaches the edge, her wide eyes pleading, searching your gaze for permission.

“Come for me, Daddy,” you whisper, your voice soft but firm, and you feel the way her body reacts, her grip tightening on your waist as she shudders, her hips jerking forward in a desperate, trembling thrust. Her eyes close as she gasps, her head falling forward as she loses herself completely, spilling into you with a soft, broken moan, her body pressing close, clinging to you as though she’s never felt anything so intense.

As Natasha trembles on top of you, her body pressed close, you feel every soft, shivering breath she takes, the weight of her against you as she finally lets go, spilling into you. Her head dips forward, eyes tightly shut, her lips parted in a quiet, desperate gasp as she comes, the warmth of her release filling you, a slow, deep pulse that seems to steal the breath from her lungs. Her grip tightens on your waist as if she’s clinging to you, grounding herself in the sensation, her face buried in the crook of your neck.

You can feel her chest rising and falling against you, her breaths ragged and shallow as she lets out a soft whimper, the vulnerability in her voice making your heart swell. Her hips press forward with each wave, as though she wants to be as close to you as possible, feeling every inch of her warmth, every pulse, spill into you, marking you in a way that’s both intimate and utterly consuming.

Each pulse of her release sends a shiver through her, her breathing shallow and uneven as she slowly comes down from the high, her eyes fluttering open, looking down at you with a dazed, awestruck expression. She looks at you with a mixture of gratitude and worship, her cheeks still flushed, her lips parted in a soft, blissful smile.

You brush a hand along her cheek, and she leans into your touch, closing her eyes as she takes a deep, steadying breath, her hands still holding you close, as though she can’t bear to let go.

“Natty,” you murmur, running your hands through her hair, guiding her face up to meet your gaze. Her eyes open slowly, her lashes fluttering as she looks at you, her gaze soft, overwhelmed, filled with a raw, unguarded adoration that she can’t hide. Her face is flushed, her lips slightly parted, her expression completely mesmerised as though she can barely believe you’re here, beneath her, accepting every bit of her.

A soft, blissful smile tugs at her lips, her hand moving up to gently cradle your face as she leans in, pressing a delicate, lingering kiss to your lips, her breaths still heavy, warm. She holds you like this, savouring the closeness, the feel of you wrapped around her, the warmth of her release settling within you.

Finally, she shifts, her forehead resting against yours, her eyes wide, her breath still uneven, as though she’s only just starting to come back to herself. She looks at you with a mixture of awe and disbelief, her fingers tracing your jawline softly, reverently.

“I… I didn’t mean to…” she stammers, her face flushing deeper, her shy gaze flicking away for a moment.

But you smile, reaching up to cup her face, bringing her gaze back to yours, your voice soft and reassuring. “Natty… it’s okay,” you murmur, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “I wanted this, too. I asked.”

She lets out a soft, relieved exhale, her body relaxing as she sinks into you, her arms wrapping around you, holding you as though afraid to let go. You feel her heartbeat gradually slow, her warmth enveloping you, her gaze still soft, full of that same innocent awe as she watches you, completely lost in the moment.

As Natasha catches her breath, her fingers lingering on your skin as though afraid to break the closeness between you, she finally shifts to pull out, a soft, satisfied sigh escaping her lips. She watches with wide, almost mesmerised eyes as your bodies separate, and her gaze drops to the way your mixed warmth slowly begins to spill out of you, the evidence of everything you’ve shared glistening in the low light.

Her lips part, her cheeks flushed as her gaze stays fixed, almost transfixed, and she can’t hide the blush that rises as she takes it all in. She’s caught somewhere between admiration and disbelief, her wide eyes drinking in every detail as though this might all disappear any second.

“Take a picture; it’ll last longer, Natty,” you tease, your smirk playful, voice soft, cutting through her daze. She looks up, startled, blinking as she registers your words. But after a second, she lets out a quiet, breathless laugh, her blush deepening as she reaches over to grab her phone, still trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment. She snaps a quick picture, her gaze flicking between the screen and you, clearly savouring every second. The reverence in her expression makes your heart skip, a feeling of pride filling you as you watch her.

Once she’s put the phone aside, she reaches over with a soft, sheepish smile, helping you sit up and adjust yourself. Her gaze softens, that shy, affectionate look taking over as she wraps her arms around you, holding you close, savouring the warmth that lingers between you both.

And then she glances at the bed, a small, nervous laugh escaping as she spots her carefully scattered history notes—now crinkled, a little rumpled, with more than a few slightly smudged edges. Without missing a beat, she moves to gather them, straightening the papers, her cheeks still a warm shade of pink as she moves to tidy up.

a/n- apologies if this is the worst piece i've written LOL i've been surviving on a few hours of sleep for the past few days- big thanks to jess for somehow helping me get through this, i'll let you keep your ps5. sigh. i'd still build a princess castle tho.

[mblue-art]

"—matsukawa, quit pushing me down, asshat!" "nah." "i will kick your shins bro do not test me—"

alt. ver. before the redraw (bc i still kinda like this 😔)

[niceonejames7]

kisses and chicken noodle soup.

remus lupin x reader

words: 914

genre: fluff, sickfic

content: remus comes home to find your passed out on the couch, so he thinks of the best quick aid he can, kisses and chicken noodle soup.

a/n: im writing too many things at once and haven't finished anything that I actually wanted to post. so you get this draft (which kinda sucks) that I wrote a while ago(I think I've posted this before idk) this is all very self indulgent.

...

It had been a long day, too long for your liking. Your feet feel like they don't want to move, at all as you step inside the house. But sadness takes over you as you realise no one's home. You had been wishing that Remus would be home, so you could crash into his arms and fall asleep, but the house is empty. 

Tears prick your eyes because your head hurts too much, and there is no food at home but you power through and make yourself some instant noodles to absolve your hunger. This wasn't going to fill your stomach, but you had no energy left to make anything else. 

As you eat the noodles and watch the show ongoing on tv, the fatigue takes over you and you feel your eyes drooping. You adjust your position and as soon as your head hits the pillow, you're out.

… 

Remus comes home to find the door unlocked. A panic set in his stomach and he rushed inside, only to find you sprawled out on the couch, your arms and one leg dangling. He chuckles and sets his bag on the floor to fix your posture.

The top of your nose was already red, your forehead warm to touch. Remus' throat made a cooing sound he didn't think he was capable of making as he muttered to himself, "Poor baby."

His hand caressed your cheek and your hair as he slowly started to wake you up. 

"Dovey, c'mon, wake up."

You could hear a muffled voice and your hands instinctively reached for him, searching his face. Your hands found the nape of his neck, your thumb across his cheeks and you had wanted to smile but a small frown formed on your lips, "Hi, baby." 

Remus chuckles and wraps his hands around yours and shakes your arm once more, "Bub, if you don't wake up you're going to get cold soup."

The promise of soup was enough to open your eyes, but you immediately squinted as your eyes adjusted to the light.

"Oh I'm sorry," he muttered apologetically and scrambled to turn the lights off and switch on the lamp nearby, all the while his hands never left yours.

As he tugged on your arms to get you to open your eyes, it only deepened your frown, 

"What happened? Does something hurt?" Remus asks, his eyes searching for a sign.

"You're blurry." You say in a timid voice and a grin breaks out on Remus' face, and he laughs before leaning into your lips, saying, "You're cute when you're sick." 

You raise your intertwined hands to your face as he gets closer, the frown on your face never leaving, "No, you'll get sick."

At this Remus releases his grip and takes your face in his hands, and kisses your jaw, then proceeds up to your cheeks, a peck on your nose then finally a sweet kiss to your lips.

"I'm supernatural, your germs don't bother me." It was an excuse to kiss you, as if he would leave any chance to do so. And also, one kiss doesn't hurt anybody, Remus decided.

Remus especially didn't regret his actions when a smile, however small, finally bloomed on your face, smoothing out your frown, and he kissed your nose again.

After taking a few seconds to admire you, Remus snapped back to himself and patted your cheek softly to wake you up, "C'mon, I made you chicken noodle soup."

You slowly got up from your horizontal position, which was an awful reminder of how much your body and head hurt. You groaned as your stretched out your limbs, pressing your fingers to your head, trying to relieve your headache.

Remus ran his fingers through your hair, a comforting motion over all the pain in your body. It always made you feel a little bit guilty, when you complained about being sick or being in pain. When Remus goes through so much, and you can't tolerate a headache.

"I'm sorry you have to put up with me," You say timidly, your voice a little hoarse, "One headache is enough to take me down."

This caused Remus to frown, "First of all, you have a fever."

He continues in a stern voice, "No, look at me. You're sick and in pain, I would never think of taking care of you 'putting up with you'. Do you understand?"

A smile again adorned your face, and Remus felt like he had achieved something, a personal victory.  

You nod and he returns your smile, which lights up his face and all you want to do is pepper his face with kisses.

He takes the bowl of soup in his hands, and sits down on the couch, facing you after turning on the TV. He knew he was in for either a sitcom re-watch or a sappy romantic movie, not that he was complaining. 

After you took the last spoon of soup Remus gave you, and made you take your medicines, you immediately cuddled up to him, giving him no time to adjust and wrapping yourself around him. He smelt nice, and so soft. The jumper he had put on was unbelievably soft. 

You could already feel yourself falling asleep as you cozied up in his arms and his lips kissed your forehead. 

"I love you." You say, like a whisper fading away in the air, but Remus doesn't fail to catch and whisper it back to you,

"I love you too." 

....

another thing! can't believe my poly!marauders fic caught on so much traction! thanks guys, honestly inspired me too much and now I have too much to do

[hydrangeapartridge]

My completely biased review and opinion about companions in Veilguard (major spoilers of course)

(Side note : english is not my first langage, I hope I can express myself clearly enough for you all to understand my points)

- Neve

I like Neve, she’s cool. I loved the detail of the noise her metal leg makes when she walks.

Her questline was however a bit bland. We had better portrayals of power hungry blood mages in previous games and Aelia wasn’t that good an antagonist. She lacks charisma and isn’t seen much before the last quest so you don’t really care about her. It could have been more dramatic, like if we had to fight people of Minrathos being controlled, idk. Also not much about slavery.

I get that Bioware tried to make Neve’s quest like detective work, searching for clues and stuff, but for me it wasn’t that exciting, and Venatori are the mobs I like the least, I don’t like the crystals you have to break in order mechanics and stuff.

I chose to make her the hero of Minrathos and it was satisfying.

- Harding

I can’t find it in myself to call her Lace damn it XD

Of course I was happy to see Harding again after Inquisition ! She is a ray of Ferelden sunshine. I really enjoyed her questline with the Titans ; it was mysterious and you really felt the danger in the deep roads, and the potential threat of her newly acquiered magic. I liked the giant oracle and the design of the lyrium caves. It was a nice throwback to the first games.

The end scene of her quest was nicely done, with Rook trying to reach her while the whole cave was collapsing and then a group hug.

I chose the path of compassion.

- Lucanis

His accent was more funny to me than endearing (as is his signature « Mierda ») and I was surprised to find that he was soft instead of suave. I didn’t save Treviso so I feel like I missed a lot of his quest (and the decision at the end) and in the end he was OK but not that interesting to me.

There was also the problem of Illario ; the second he was introduced I smelled the family treason nd so there was no suspense to this quest. It felt like a bad telenovella.

I like that Zara had a literal blood bath in the quest of the same name. It was a cool fight.

I didn’t bring him out much but I enjoyed that he ended up with Neve.

- Bellara

Bellara is adorable. I liked her quirkiness but her dialogues were sometimes terrible. When she talked I felt like she kept repeating the same things phrased differently and sometimes I felt the itch to skip (I usually never skip dialog!).

I had high hopes for her questline because of Anaris and finding that her brother wasn’t dead, but it all flopped in the end when Cyrian got killed by being sent flying away and Anaris didn’t turn out that scary. It felt stupide that Cyrian was not dead and then really dead…

I chose to keep the Archive but that choice felt like the less impactful of all the companion choices.

- Davrin

I didn’t expect Davrin to be so brash ! I enjoyed his banter a lot and the growth of his relationship with Assan. That griffin is an absolute cutie !

His quests were cute for the Arlathan ones and impactful for the one with the Gloom Howler. I enjoyed Isseya’s story and saving the griffins.

I still felt Davrin to be a little too « jock » coded, but his banter with Emmrich and Manfred was perfect ! I enjoyed seeing the wardens again (Antoine and Evka <3) and am glad he was a true Warden this one.

I chose to release the griffin in Arlathan because my Rook was an elven veil jumper.

- Taash

In real life, Taash is the kind of person I would have trouble connecting with. They’re obtuse and a bit rude. I felt like I was intruding during the parts with her mother (it is probably the goal of those moments but it made me uneasy). I wanted to be supportive so I was but I didn’t feel like my Rook and them ended up great friends. The identity crisis wasn’t handled that well I think, but it wasn’t as bad as people make it out to be and maybe I’ll get hate for that but they come out at first more Trans than non binary given their problem is being misgendered as a girl mostly or expected to do girly things? They even say it feels right to be called a man I think I remember? (but I respect whatever pronouns she chose in the end)

I really enjoyed the dragon hunt quests however and their last quest was cool too. Their mother’s death was a sacrifice that made sense and it pained me.

Their romance with Harding was cute (mostly because of Harding’s reactions and that height difference XD)

I chose to push them towards embracing the Rivein life, even if I think they could have made peace with both ?

- Emmrich

Of course my favourite. And not only because he is the handsome older man who swept my Rook off her feet.

To give us a scholar necromancer that was the antithesis of the cliché : a man poised but a tad insecure, nerdy, gentle, kind, a bit posh, extremly elegant and whose favourite colour is lilac ! Genius !

The Necropolis had such a distinct ambiance that every quest there felt special, with amazing details and wonders of finding a wisp, a spirit or hearing a dead’s last words.

To me his personnal quests are the ones with the best handled rythm. The first one in the peace and quiet of the beautiful garden sets the tone : serious but poetic, sad but hopeful, and dares to tackle very real and grave subjects. Death and regret but also life and love are perfectly handled in his story and brought me lots and lots of feels.

There is a great antagonist whose motives are simple but dangerous ; a friend turned rival, similar but so different from dear Emmrich. Johanna is simply iconic (her hand gosh and the fact that you keep her skull in the end, brillant). The fights are well balanced, the cutscenes and dialogues perfect for immersion. And don’t get me started on Manfred… I love this little guy to bits.

I chose to revive Manfred and for Emmrich and Rook to live the rest of his mortality together. In Undying Love

[go-to-the-mirror]

so, i've watched a couple POVs of secret life and i've noticed some different reactions to the secret keeper. Scar, and most other people, are like mildly creeped out. The darkness, it's looming, it's their source of survival, makes sense. The thing is creepy.

Grian is like, so friendly to it? He's not freaked out at all, chats about it like it's a cute little thing rather than a looming stone statue with idk the watcher symbol on its face.

Then Martyn is actively hostile towards it which I haven't seen anyone else be. In session 2 he says that he only cashed in his task last time cos he was desperate and that he doesn't want to do it again. In session 4 he talks to the Heart Foundation and says like, are you building a TNT canon to destroy the Secret Keeper, as if it's a common thing that everyone hates it, but it's not.

[kj-yikes]

Do you personally like Andrea Rojas as a character?

I honestly wasn't a huge fan at first, but I think with some rewatches, I've changed my tune.

On my first watch of S5 when she's first introduced, I think I kinda brushed her off. She was fine but not the most compelling to me. She seemed written as kind of a means to add depth to the Kara/Lena rift (Lena needed to get away from CatCo, Lena needed more backstory for why betrayal hurts her so much, the weird way they wove in Lena's magic and how she needed the medallion to stop Lex) and Andrea really shakes things up at CatCo, so I was kind of annoyed about her at first. And then Crisis happened and honestly I fucking hate Crisis because I feel like they handled it so poorly on Supergirl (idk how it was for other arrowverse shows) and she just kind of seemed confusing post-Crisis, so I didn't really give her much attention.

But now that I've watched Supergirl, like, so many times, she's grown on me and I get a little upset about how they introduced her as a character just to totally underwrite all her character development with crisis. Andrea is actually a really tragic character, to me. Here are some moments that really shine for me pre-crisis, and I wish we had gotten a little more depth especially post-crisis:

(putting under the cut because wow, maybe I need to read/write some Andrea fics? I clearly have a lot of Thoughts?)

I do like her backstory with Russell and it adds to her character. Their meet-cute is adorable. And she's definitely a "you jump, I jump" kind of gal even with Russell. "Don't kill Russell, he's useful to you." Andrea is super smart and strategic. We don't get a "please don't kill him, I love him, what you're doing is wrong," change your mind/inspire hope kind of speech like we'd get from Kara. Andrea doesn't know a lot about Leviathan, but she knows enough to realize that showing that Russell could be useful is a better tactic to saving him than begging for his life. And it kind of works, sort of. He's alive.

Andrea fiercely loves. Lena asks her to drop everything and go pretend to be explorers to find some medallion that may or may not exist, during a very tumultuous time in Andrea's life, and Andrea does it. She accepts some mysterious bargain for her father's life, then kills when she has to to continue protecting her father. She reasons with Leviathan for Russell's life. Truly, she will do anything for those she loves.

But that's where the tragedy happens. She loves Lena. She loves Russell. But when she has to choose, she chooses her father first, and it destroys her other relationships eventually. (And the fact that her post-Crisis, Earth Prime father blames her when Obsidian tanks is heartbreaking, but I guess we'll get there.) She says it's the biggest mistake of her life, that she never wanted to betray Lena, that the medallion is a burden. I honestly want to know why the medallion unlocked her powers. What does that mean? I have so many questions.

Andrea pre-crisis is a pretty sympathetic character too. She doesn't kill because she's evil. She does it to protect the people she loves. Yeah, it's for evil Leviathan, but honestly I think that's what makes Eve a sympathetic character to me too. Getting blackmailed to do evil things because you love someone? That's some interesting shit, and I do think we kind of get some payoff on this post-crisis.

The scene where Andrea asks for Lena's help to break into the DEO is delicious to me. Andrea just wants to fix her mistakes. She wants to do good, too. ("Honey, when I look at you all I can feel is pain." Why can't queer people have normal breakups??) Lena says she's tired of people hurting each other. She reluctantly agrees to help Andrea (which is, in a way, betraying Kara for Andrea) and then turns around and betrays Andrea (she seems to be all bark and no bite though. "Russell, put down the scalpel" LOL Katie's delivery is so good there). Lena's hurt (she just wants to be someone's #1 for once) and she lashes out like she normally does. It's so deliciously messy and heartbreaking and makes for a good story. There's no doubt that all three characters (including Kara in this, because it's hard to talk about the theme of betrayal without her) are motivated by love, and they all choose to handle it in such different ways.

Idk. I could go on. They really packed quite a bit into the 7? 8? episodes before crisis and I think it pays off pretty well. And then crisis happens, and Earth Prime Andrea is there and....??? They let us lean on knowing Andrea's character pre-crisis but do nothing to distinguish her or tell us what her Earth Prime backstory and motivations are (this just seems to be the common theme with crisis. Like, how does Kelly react to crisis? I think she gets her memories back, but like, she doesn't even know Kara is Supergirl at this point, so??? Anyway this is about Andrea not Kelly).

They get rid of the Russell backstory completely (? I think?). She still has the medallion, so I guess she betrayed Lena, but Lena seems over it because Andrea is useful, so they don't even really get a good reconciliation since Lena brushes it off (not that they ended pre-crisis on good footing, but at least everything was out in the open?).

The only real scene I think has some substance is when Andrea is tasked with killing Supergirl, but even then, I feel like this scene does much more to show Lena's character arc than Andrea's given that we're given practically nothing about Earth Prime Andrea. If you think of it in light of where we know Earth-38 Andrea ended up, it's kind of beautiful to watch Andrea make the choice to be the person she really wants to be (@fazedlight has a really great post about this).

I also think the scene where Kelly finds Andrea crying after the Obsidian debacle to be quite poignant, but only through the lens of knowing Earth-38 Andrea. Earth-38 Andrea sacrificed everything for her father, and her Earth Prime father is so quick to push her under the bus.

I'm getting things a little out of order in my head and I don't have time to go watch, but I think after that, Andrea chooses to kind of rescue herself, make sure she's set up when everything falls apart. I think this is an interesting choice for her. I love that she's choosing herself for the first time, and not doing something self-sacrificial for someone else. But it's still pretty morally gray of her to break into her father's account to buy up her shares of Obsidian. And then, later, she tries reconnecting with Lena for what seems to be the sole purpose of getting a scoop, which Lena doesn't appreciate.

Are those examples of Andrea being who she wants to be? It could go two ways: one, yes, this is her being who she wants to be, and that person is someone who's gonna do anything to get to where she wants to go. I could see it, but it's kind of a sad way for Andrea, who loved so fiercely in Earth-38, to end up as a character. Two, it could be that choosing to do good is hard, and sometimes we slip up. If that were the case, I wish we had gotten more from her as a character at the end of S5 and into S6. Lena and Andrea do somewhat reconcile I think (I’m not quite remembering exactly how, but I remember they’re friendly by the time Lena goes to Newfoundland), but we don't get a lot of them after that.

SO. Do I like Andrea as a character?

Yes? Earth-38 Andrea is certainly an interesting and tragic character. Earth Prime Andrea? Eh. Earth-38 Andrea was kind of set up to be an interesting comparison to Lena and Kara’s falling out and then they were like, well I guess she’s on Earth Prime but we don’t really care to redevelop her backstory. It’s a shame, because I think they could’ve done so much more, especially with her relationship with Lena.

[blu3-ja3]

Civilian clothing? Absolutely and a little Treat as well! Enjoy Lovelies!

O'Connor: Long sleeves and covered neck always, even when hot. Shes insecure about her burn scar and has enough people staring at her for a lifetime. On a very rare occasion does she wear short sleeves and it's ONLY with the 141 around. She likes rich jewel tones and soft fabrics, if it's textured it feels horrible or it's too tight on her skin, she hates how her scar feels. She likes silver jewelry and simple makeup, a bit of gloss and her eyes (shadow, liner, cute wing, and mascara) her nails are always painted whatever colors the sergeants pick. A skirt with nice tights or leggings and a cute boot? Yes. A nice pair of jeans with a cute belt and her old black combat boots, classic. Her hair is up, braided, ponytail, bun or beanie. It's only when she goes somewhere nice does she have it down. Her bag always has her knife, a bandana, and a hair tie along with her phone and wallet.

Price: Lumberjack, lots of well fitting flannels and cable knit short sleeve polos. Nice slacks or jeans with nice combat boots and a well kept leather belt. Nice wrist watch that was a gift from Ghost. Bucket hat that matches his flannels color, he originally only had two but Gaz found a color matched bucket hat for each shirt the man had. He didn't wear them at first but eventually indulged his partner. His beard is always well manicured and trimmed.

Ghost: Mans is unironically fashionable and only wears black. Wears long and short sleeve button ups they're all perfectly tight and hugs his chest and arms well. Soap makes sure of that. Nice jeans or slacks with a black and silver belt and his well worn combat boots. Silver wrist watch, chain necklace, and rings, with black nails. He keeps a face mask on and most times wears a beanie so his eyes and the makeup on them are the only thing seen. There's a difference between Ghost doing his eyes and Soap doing his eyes. Ghost's makeup is what he always does, smeared black nothing fancy. Soap's is intricate with liner and designs, it's still chaotic but in a beautiful way, it's perfect for Ghost.

Gaz: Fashion king, everything he wears is color coordinated with Price. Sweaters with knitted designs or embroidery over a white or black collared shirt. Well tailored black or brown slacks or jeans with a belt to match the sweater main color. Nice pair of chucks customized for Gaz by Soap as a birthday present. Lots of silver jewelry and accessories out the ass.

Roach: Nice acid washed jeans and graphic tees under an unbuttoned flannel. Nice pair of vans and goofy mismatched socks. Patterned belts, multi colored beanies, and chipped nail polish. He keeps his skateboard on him and walks around with his dog Ripley.

Soap: Punk Soap? Punk Soap... Why else the goofy hair cut? He's got a custom leather jacket with hand made patches, studs, and spikes. Graphic or band tees with ripped jeans or colored checkered pants. Well worn black combat boots with custom design embroidery. Chocker with a little ghost charm, rings and layered necklace and bracelets, as well as tongue and ear piercings. Will sometimes wears fake nose and lip piercing jewelry. Nail polish and eye makeup that matches his outfit, wears black lipstick sometimes it drives Ghost crazy.

Lil Treat height and ethnicity ( I think that what its called but idk I'm not smart)

Ghost: 6'7" (British Dad/German Mom)

O'Connor: 6'5" (Irish Mom/Scottish Dad)

Price: 6'4" (Both British Parents)

Gaz: 6'2" (African Mom/ British Dad)

Roach: 5'9" (Spanish Mom/Jewish Dad)

Soap: 5'7" (Both Scottish Parents)

[starrsbby]

i think it’s so cute when i compliment or even just say smth to a customer and then they tell me a story about said thing. it’s so cute, like yes babe tell me about how u haven’t worn overalls since u were pregnant and how that used to be your Thing and ur finally back to it. Tell me how you’ve had that beautiful gold necklace in your family for generations and you don’t know which grandchild to give it to. Tell me that ur kid loves these dolls and this is the one she didn’t have and yeah maybe it’s $40 and she’s only gonna play with it for a week but you’ll buy it for her anyways. tell me, tell me, tell me <3

[gunstellations]

its sonics turn! 👅

[micamone]

hewwo

[spocks-kaathyra]

experimenting w making little trek dolls for the STLV craft swap :))

[potatobugz]

dugon my friend my buddy my pal

[spoiledskullz]

Messy ref of Whimsy's younger designs so I could add them to art fight LOL

[its-haughty]

“I'll kill every one of you who killed Kanna…!!”

(my sorry ass could NOT stop thinking about them and all i can muster is a sketch turned lazily rendered doodle whoops)