#casual prompt event

[love-bokumono-fics]

July 2024 Casual Prompt

This month we're putting away the cows and sickles and bringing out the dragons and swords because the winning casual prompt is...

🧚‍♀️🐲✨ Fairy Tale AU ✨🐲🧚‍♀️

It's time to step away from the farm (at lease the ones we're familiar with) and take a trip to a land of magic.

Maybe you'll stick to the familiar farm life, but with more mythical denizens around town. Maybe your favorite pairing will find themselves in a Brave Knight's tale, rescuing their trapped love from a vicious dragon or an evil witch. Maybe you'll tell the story of royalty longing for a different life. Maybe someone will take a fantastical trip into the world of the fey or they'll outsmart a big, bad wolf.

This is the perfect prompt to let your imagination run wild! Just remember, all fairy tales start out 'Once upon a time...'

This being a very casual event, you can create whatever you want based off the prompt. Write a long fic or a short fic. Draw a sketch, or a comic, or paint a whole canvas.

Whatever strikes your fancy!

Make something that you want to make, something you can have fun with! Flex your muscles, stretch your wings, try something new, experiment, go wild! Or use this as a soft landing ground, a place for you to come back and rest in your comfort zone while you work on other projects. Fill the prompt once, fill it twice, do it a dozen times if you’re feeling up to it! There are no rules, just have fun!

You don’t even have to put in in the Bokumono fandoms. If you’re inspired for something else then go for it!

And hey, if one of the other prompt choices for this month inspired you more, you can do that one instead! Write for the prompt that most inspired you.

Or for an additional challenge, try and combine multiple prompts!

And if you fill the prompt and want to share, tag the blog so I can reblog it, or drop a link to it in the submissions. I want to share and I can’t wait to see what you all come up with!

Final poll results under the cut

[averlym]

,,, sun-dappled sheets...

[mellowwhumps]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 8: Migraine | Light & Sound Sensitivity | “I can close the curtains…”

OCs: Verrill, Nivae/Twelve

@whumperless-whump-event

——————

He’d been living with the possibility of being overwhelmed by sound for his whole life, naturally born with the talent to etch anything heard onto the crevices of his mind. Even so, rarely was it ever so bad.

His head spins. He can barely think properly: the pain bombarding his mind and pounding repeatedly at its crevices, the spots in his vision making it difficult for him to rely on his sight any longer. It’s much too bright for his liking, though a couple hours earlier he would have more than preferred going out and enjoying the afternoon sights. 

He closes his eyes, covers his ears and waits for it all to be over. 

Preferably sooner than later.

Abruptly, the lights in his house turn off. It almost never occurred to him that there was someone else in his house, only recently having invited the almost-ghost present as a guest in his living room. He opens his eyes to check and immediately shuts them, still too bright for his liking. 

Nivae, observant as always, notices his reaction. “Not enough? I can close the curtains…” They breach the length of the room before Verrill gets the strength to object, sliding the curtains together and blanketing the room in darkness.

“Y…you won’t be able to see without light.” Verrill finally keeps his eyes open, heaving a too-big sigh of relief. Even his own voice makes his head throb like it’s going to break open. He’s thankful Nivae’s voice isn’t too jarring or loud, something peaceful amidst the chaos rampaging his senses.

“Used to it, remember?” Nivae tilts his head, nearly unnoticeable with the lack of any source of illumination. Right. He’d forgotten where they came from, not that he wanted to remember. It’s already past that, anyways. He should be the one taking care of them, not the other way round. They shouldn’t need to care so much about him.

“Does it still hurt?” They ask once more, waiting by his side like something much too eager to help.

“Mmmhm.”

The other begins playing with a strand of hair, clearly a nervous habit. Verrill hastily fixes his sentence, realising his mistake, “I mean! Pain’s better now. You’re helping, no need to worry at all. It’s been a whole morning, it should be over soon…”

“Oh. Okay.” They settle down by his side, leaning against him. The weight by his shoulder is something easier to focus on than anything in his vision, and slowly, he drifts into dreamless sleep, his breaths acting as a guide. In, out and over.

[divinekangaroo]

either way you take the pill - pettiot - Peaky Blinders (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Between S4-E4 and S4-E5. A slice of Michael's thoughts during the night after he chooses not to warn Tommy of Luca and Polly's ambush.

Michael was a quick study: brother, son, accountant, obedient child. Only Michael never really knew what Tommy wanted him to be. At least he thinks he knows what's to be done to be a good son.

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Michael Gray & Tommy Shelby, Mentions of Mrs Johnson, Mr Johnson, Henry Johnson's Brother, Father Hughes | Resentment, Fear, Disassociation, The Lasting Legacy of Catholicism, Regret, Post-Rationalisation, Symbolism, Dysfunctional Family, Triple Drabble

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[once-and-future-alaskan]

My general stance on art is don't be a dick about how someone's drawing looks at any arbitrary age. Some people started drawing later in life and haven't had the time to develop to some arbitrary standard set at a given age. Some people have brain shit going on that makes it harder to apply that effort consistently to continually develop that skill. Sometimes making art of the highest possible technical standard isn't even their goal and they're really just doing whatever because it makes them happy!!

Sometimes even all 3! Or even other things!!!

Shut the fuck up and let people draw their goofy pictures in whatever way they want without being a dick about it!

[atthebell]

what if i run an mcyt hanukah event

[emeraldhazeart]

Bokumono Casual Prompt Event March 2023

Prompt: “Sunrise” by @love-bokumono-fics

The moment I saw this prompt, I thought of this scene that I cut from Wildflower.

It happens immediately after Claire’s nightmare in Chapter 7. I loved how it turned out, but it didn’t fit the flow of the story, so it unfortunately got cut.

But now I can bring it back as a fluffy one-shot for this prompt :)

  When morning finally came, Claire felt groggy and sore. A headache thumped behind her temples, and her throat felt like sandpaper. Despite how tired she was, she hadn’t been able to get back to sleep last night. Experience told her it was futile to try, so instead she’d wrapped herself in a blanket and sat in front of the tv for the remainder of the night, watching a marathon of Life on the Farm. The soft noise and white light helped numb her fractious mind.

  At around 5am Claire flicked off the television, stretched her aching limbs and ventured outside to freshen up in the cool river. A pale, watery sun was just starting to peek over the horizon to the east. The inky-blue sky was gradually fading to a soft pink, bathing the earth in a gentle spring dawn.

  Out towards the sunrise, the Poultry Farm and Yodel Ranch stood like the frontlines of an army, facing down the approaching daylight. The buildings cast long, defensive shadows in the direction of her meagre farm, but their forces were no match for the rising dawn. Already, daybreak was overpowering the dark, creeping forward to push back the night, bit by bit, until it was forced to retreat like a wounded foe.

  As the light touched down on the dew-filled grass, sparkles glittered across the water droplets scattered across the ground. It was as though the Harvest Goddess herself had sprinkled magic over the surface of the earth. Across at the neighbouring property, a rooster warmed up his vocal cords with the first crow of the new day. Morning had officially begun.

  The world was a completely different place in daylight. Where danger and malevolence lurked in the darkness, now there was hope and reassurance. The sunrise felt like the smile of a kindly parent, gentle and loving and full of promises of a better day ahead.

   For the first time in far too long, Claire just stood and watched the sunrise, giving herself permission to just exist.

[purrvaire]

I don’t really go here but steddie with 3 from the idiots in love prompts?

[ * dumps 1.5k words of absolute nonsense on your desk * thanks my dear for always sending me prompts, at this point you're single-handedly fueling my motivation to write :') hope you like it <3 ]

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3. And why do you think i’d ever like them? I have taste

Eddie maybe is going soft in his old age - just turned twenty one despite the attempts of the Upside Down to keep him away from drinking legally. Not that underage drinking is the most illegal thing he’s ever done, but still. It’s either that or admitting that he’s largely underestimated the munchkins' ability to meddle combined with their total disregard for the word no.

Either way, he fails to recognize he’s being ambushed long after he’s allowed Max inside the trailer and fed her the rock-hard cookies Wayne baked the day before in a burst of culinary inspiration. To her credit, she doesn’t even flinch when the first bite threatens to dislocate her jaw.

At that point, anyhow, Red has gotten nail polish apparently out of thin air and is waving her slender, little hands in front of his face expectantly.

“Don’t you have other people to harass in your free time?”

Max levels him with an unimpressed stare. “As if me being here is not the highlight of your day.”

Eddie sniffs. “Lies and slanders. I was busy.”

“Wanking is not being busy, Edward.”

Eddie gasps outraged. “I am appalled by your language. Where is the respect for your elders?”

“I thought you believed in challenging the authority”, Max says, her voice saccharine.

Eddie jabs a finger at her. “Not when the authority is me. Now, let me do your hands and then go be annoying elsewhere.”

Max hands him a periwinkle blue bottle and extends her hand with a sigh. As if she is the one doing Eddie a favor in letting him paint her nails.

The nerve.

“You know,” Max says, a couple of brush strokes in. “You’re starting to sound just like Steve.”

Eddie snorts. “I absolutely am not. Don’t speak jock just yet.”

Max waves her other hand impatiently. “I’m talking about the whole parenting schtick you inflict on us. Respect your elders. Don’t go where I can’t see you. Behave or else.”, she lists in a poor impression of his and Steve’s voices.

“Quit wriggling”, Eddie mutters. “I won’t be held accountable if my chef d’oeuvre gets messed up.”

Max cocks an eyebrow, as if he just proved her point - which, Eddie can admit, he kinda did -, but, blessedly decided to keep still. “Anyway”, she resumes, “I’m right. Steve even says we’ll make him go gray before his time, geez.”

“Can’t say he’s wrong. You dipshits are a handful.”

“I think Steve would make a gorgeous milf", she muses. "Don’t you?”

For a moment, Eddie actually contemplates the thought of an older Harrington, his luscious, thick hair all gone silver gray. The idea should be hilarious, it really should.

But, as his brain unhelpfully supplies, there’s no realm of possibility in which Steve Harrington is not painfully attractive.

When he comes back to his senses, he sees Max grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Shut up”, he says immediately. He starts on her other hand with renewed focus.

Coming to his house just to put the virtual image of silver-fox Harrington in his brain.

Rude.

Max bats her lashes from behind the thick frame of her new glasses. “So, you do think Steve would make a gorgeous milf.”

“Never said such a thing.”

“But you thought it.”

“Did not.”

“You liiiike him.”

“And why do you think I’d ever like Steve?” Eddie drawls, feigning disinterest. “I have taste.”

Max snorts loudly. “Dude, you have many qualities but taste in men is not one of them.”

Eddie throws his hands in the air. “You don’t even know who I dated!”

Of course, calling it dating is a bit of a stretch. Living in a conservative little town in the middle of nowhere Indiana has never done wonders for his lovelife, and that was even before the murder charges.

“I saw the posters in your room”, she points out. “Besides, you and Steve are both lame, so it’s a match made in heaven.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Geez, thanks. I’ll make sure to tell him the next time I see him. Maybe I can’t get him to disown you.”

“And what would I inherit anyway? Your joint collection of hairspray cans?”

Eddie, with a surprisingly good aim, throws the dripping brush right at her nose. Max scrambles away with a shriek before retaliating with what remained from her half munched cookie.

Ten minutes later, they’re both lying down on the floor. Max’s nails are messed up beyond repair, crumbles are scattered in every corner of the room  and Eddie has got nail polish in his hair.

He inspects the raggedy carpet Wayne had installed some years ago in front of the sofa.

“Dude, this will be hell to clean later”, he complains, inching away from the bright pink stain and getting more comfortable on the floor.

“Tough luck”, Max replies unbothered, her head propped up on his legs. Then, more softly, she adds: “You know, it’s okay if you do like Steve.”

“I don’t”, Eddie replies weakly. Max ignores him.

“Sure, he’s lame and sometimes he nags too much, but he’s good, you know. Safe.”

She quiets, letting her words sit for a while between them. The late afternoon sun filters through curtains, making Max’s hair shine red gold. The noise of tires scratching on the gravel coming from the window temporarily fills the silence.

Safe, Eddie thinks. That’s a word he wouldn’t think he’d ever apply to Steve Harrington.

And yet.

“Yeah”, he says. “He is.”

He feels more than see Max nodding. “And also he’s hot”, she adds through a smirk.

Eddie laughs, pulling a little at her hair. “My, my, what would Lucas say if he knew you go around calling other boys hot.”

“What I say is my business”, Max replies dryly. “And you’re not denying it. You liiiike him.”

“Not this shit again!” he groans, but he can feel the smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

“And you think Steve is…”

“You think I’m what?”

Eddie scrambles up so fast that Max shrieks and almost bangs her head on the floor.

Steve looks at them both with a bemused expression on his face.

Eddie blinks up at him. “Harrington, what- what are you doing here?”

“The door was open”, Steve supplies unhelpfully. “And I’m here to pick up Max, didn’t she tell you?”

Max, still half sprawled on the floor, has the audacity to smirk.

“It must have slipped my mind.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. What the fuck did you do? he tries to convey.

Watch and learn, dumbass, Max’s lazy grin says back.

“Steve, actually, I think I might head home, after all”, she says, with an apologetic tone that would fool no one who has spent more than a minute in her company. “I’m tired and my hip feels funny”.

Eddie would gasp at the audacity of pulling the I-barely-survived-the-monster-fucked-up-dimension card if he was not worried about her next move.

Steve, bless his kind soul, falls for it. “That’s what you get for sitting on the floor without pillows and shit”, he grumbles, but he crouches down and bodily picks Max up and helps her on her feet.

Which, mind you, it’s not that difficult since Max is skin and bones but Eddie might need a minute or two here to recover from this image.

Thank fuck, he’s already on the floor or he would have swooned.

Then, Max goes in for the kill. “Well, since you’re already here you could hang out with Eddie instead. Be lame together or whatever.”

Eddie’s eyes pop so wide open that they threaten to fall on the floor beside him.

He kinda wants to scream so that was your plan all along! while dramatically clutching at his fake pearls or something.

Harrington looks down at him, a half smile on his face. “Well, if Eddie doesn’t mind, why not”, he shrugs.

Eddie doesn’t know if it’s wishful thinking or not, but he thinks Steve looks almost hopeful.

“Yeah, sure, whatever”, he manages to say.

“Cool.” Steve claps his hands. “I’ll take Mayfield home and then we can hang out.”

“I live literally next door, Mom.”

Eddie watches them walking all the way to the Mayfield’s trailer and very pointedly does not freak out at his evening prospects. Max shoves Steve rather forcefully for someone who had just claimed that her hip hurt and he ruffles her hair.

He hears them bickering until their voices fade and he goes inside in search for a movie to watch with Steve. 

***

(“Are you sure he doesn’t know that we set this up?”

“We? I did everything while you stood there looking dumb.”

“That’s what you told me to do, actually.”

“Whatever. And yes, I am. God, you’re both so besotted with each other it pains me.”

“Robin said the same thing.”

“She’s right. I don’t know why I don’t hang out with her instead of you idiots.”

“God forbid. You’ll start ganging up on me worse than you already do.”

“Scared, Harrington?”

“As every wise man should.” A pause. “So… you’re sure he likes me.”

“Positive.”

“100% sure?”

“Yes. God.” A shove. “Go get your man.”

Steve smiles and ruffles her hair. “Will do, Mayfield. Will do.”)

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send me a prompt from this list <3

[haven-gum-rockrose]

Yo yall should ask me about my character playlists. I have 4

Sigma (15 songs), Atsushi(13 songs), Dazai(11 songs), and Yosano (I only just started it today tho so it's only 5 songs still)

There's also my Kenji one but I couldn't ramble about most of those songs

[ramshacklehousewarden]

Arriving at the Savannah

Upon arriving in the Sunset Savannah and seeing the statue that was made in honor of Cheka's Birth was amusing. The very image of it invoked the many times Yu has watched the Lion King he could practically hear "Circle of Life" playing in his mind. Simba being raised high presenting by all those in the Pridelands.

The human found himself staring at the statue before being harshly snapped out of his gaze by Leona. Tasked with keeping an eye on Grim all the human had to do was bribe the cat with good tuna and he should be good. Just like when they went to Noble Bell

Thinking about the concept of the Sunset Warriors and what was described Yu recalled a concept in his world. The Second Prince of the Savannah employs a group to defend the Kingdom. That sounded familiar...

The Lion Guard

After everything with Jack happened. They added Kalim to the group and with everyone preparing for the "Catch the Tail" event. Yu found himself looking out the window of the Villa they were staying at.

His eyes widen at the large expansive space beyond the city and what his eyes stopped dead on was

Pride Rock

Or whatever it's called here. Straight from the movie he couldn't help, but be allured by the sight. He wondered if it was possible to go there? Maybe the next time he comes back here he'll check it out. Yu also wondered if he'll see Cheka show up to cheer on his uncle or perhaps maybe the King himself? Even thought Leona says it won't happen, who knows. Luck or in Leona's case Bad Luck he'll make an appearance

Yu's has always be curious about what this world's version of Mufasa, Farena? Maybe if he wished hard enough it would happen. Guess he'll have to wait and see what happens as the others prepare for the event. Yu did get to meet this world's Zazu, Kifaji and he is almost spot on, only human? Maybe?

[finartin]

ROCK STUDY ROCK STUDY

[love-bokumono-fics]

Casual Prompts May 2024

The polls are closed and the results are in. This month's casual prompt is...

Rarepairs!

You know them, you love them, those ships that are near and dear to your heart, but there's so little love for them, you might as well me alone in a rowboat. Well now's the perfect time to show them some much-needed love, and potentially lure your mutuals and readers into the trap of shipping your faves together.

Spread the love for your favorite rare pairs this month! And if you can't think of one, there's always the fun game to play, where you pick two characters at random and figure out how their ship would work. Your definition of a rarepair might vary, but try and use characters that have fewer than 5 works made for them on AO3. Just to really get into the rarity of the rarepairs.

This being a very casual event, you can create whatever you want based off the prompt. Write a long fic or a short fic. Draw a sketch, or a comic, or paint a whole canvas.

Whatever strikes your fancy!

Make something that you want to make, something you can have fun with! Flex your muscles, stretch your wings, try something new, experiment, go wild! Or use this as a soft landing ground, a place for you to come back and rest in your comfort zone while you work on other projects. Fill the prompt once, fill it twice, do it a dozen times if you’re feeling up to it! There are no rules, just have fun!

You don’t even have to put in in the Bokumono fandoms. If you’re inspired for something else then go for it!

And hey, if one of the other prompt choices for this month inspired you more, you can do that one instead. I won’t stop you.

And if you fill the prompt and want to share, tag the blog so I can reblog it, or drop a link to it in the submissions. I want to share and I can’t wait to see what you all come up with.

Final poll results under the cut

[misconceivedcapricorn]

DAY 27: TALIA

Decided to draw two Talias! First one is how I usually design her and the second is the more accurate version I did via how she usually appears via musical

[prentissluvr]

three seconds — sam winchester

for : 200+ followers event [ closed ] ➖⟢ pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : fluff ➖⟢ cw : light swearing, accidental cuddling, casual mention of marriage between sam and reader (it's just dean teasing tho lol), idiots friends to lovers, kissing, barely edited ➖⟢ wc : 1.2K prompt : sleeping in the same bed, as they’d often do, but one morning waking up cuddling

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

to be truthful, this isn’t the first time you’ve woken up with yours and sam’s limbs entangled with each other’s. it’s just far less common for his hand to be so gloriously attached to your waist or his face to be tucked all sweet and warm into your neck. your own hands are placed in his hair and on his broad shoulder blade.

waking up like this is heaven; first, in the moments before you can process exactly what is happening, and second, once you realize and can bask in the splendor of having him so intimately close and vulnerable with you. then it comes crashing down as you remember that this isn’t quite how it’s supposed to be, and that you’ll never, not for a moment, be able to get this feeling out of your head, your body.

which means every moment after you untangle yourself from him will be full of a pure, undying, taunting want, maybe even need, to have him like that again. such a feeling is a general inconvenience as one considers that sam is your best friend, that he and his brother are just about all you have, and that you’d rather die than lose them to the fact that you’re in love with him. so clearly, it’s better he never knows, it’s just that constantly thinking about cuddling with him tends to lead to you making heart eyes at him or your cheeks flushing hot when he looks at you a moment too long.

then there’s the realization that sam is still asleep, the steady rhythm of his breath tickling your neck is both comforting and terrifying all at once. what if he wakes and jerks away, uncomfortable with your proximity? should you push him away before he even realizes the position you’re in? it’s not as if sam doesn’t enjoy physical affection; he pretends he doesn’t, but you’re convinced that he’s a cuddlebug at heart. maybe that’s an overly cute way of putting it, but you can feel how much he loves hugs, how much he enjoys having his head in your lap when you get a rare movie night. you’re just worried that this is too much, too close for even him.

and yet, you’re feeling selfish, because what if you never get him like this again? so you close your eyes again and just revel in the way it feels to have the tip of his nose pressed to your neck and his forehead against your jaw. his hands on you, so steady and sure in his sleep. his hair, soft between your fingers and the muscle of his back under your palm. his leg, tucked between yours. just the weight of him, pressed against you all solid and real and almost immovable until he wakes.

you hear dean stir a few feet away and you pray he won’t be able to tell you’re not asleep. breath even and eyes still gently closed, you hear dean move about, mumbling to himself. he’s digging around in a bag, pulling something out. then you feel him move closer and you swear he’s hovering at the foot of the bed.

then you hear a click, like that of a camera shutter, and you realize dean’s taken a picture of the two of you like this. pictures of the three of you are rarer, and dean being the one to take it means it’s special. you suppose blackmail is special in its own way and beg to no one that dean didn’t hear your breath hitch as you realize this moment is now immortalized by a picture that dean’ll print out someday and shove in your faces to make fun.

then dean’s mumbling to himself again, now close and loud enough for you to make out his words. “these two,” he sighs, tone practically chastising as if he sees something glaringly obvious, but the both of you can’t seem to quite get there. “i swear, the heart eyes from across the room, the longing gazes. god, they’ll be the death of me.” 

he really, truly thinks you’re asleep. he talks like this when he doesn’t know you can hear him. though usually not about you and sam, not like this. “they’re both such idiots. idiots in love,” he laughs humorlessly to himself, then turns away, stuffing the camera back in the bag he dug it out from. “maybe i should lock them in a closet,” he considers, voice so low you can barely catch his words, “see who caves first. then they’ll probably only thank me for that or the puke-inducingly cute photo once they’re married, those ungrateful asses. kids these days.” he lets out a huff of breath as he heads to the bathroom, seemingly done with his ranting about … about what? you and sam being in love with each other? what the hell was he saying, married? you and sam? you have to hold back from letting out a lovesick sigh.

you’re so caught up turning dean’s words over in your mind that only sam’s hand lightly squeezing your side brings you back to the present. your eyes shoot open and you pull your hand out of his hair. sam parts from you, barely. how long has he been awake? you’re almost too scared to look at sam, who hasn’t even attempted to untangle himself from you. he’s still got his hand on your waist and his leg tucked between yours and your eyes catch his without you meaning to. it’s always like that; your eyes will wander until they find his face, every time. it’s habit, instinct, unavoidable.

he looks at you long, and something about his pretty eyes turned green from the morning light and the color of the sheets keeps you holding his gaze, taking him in as he does you.

when sam finally speaks, his voice is hushed, but there’s this barely contained joy to it, begging to be released. “think we should save him the trouble?” the playfulness in his voice tugs at the corner of your lips. when he sounds happy, you can’t help but feel that way.

“of?” you ask, thinking you know what he means, but wanting to be sure.

“of locking us in a closet. sounds like a bit of a hassle, if you ask me,” he smiles at you, and his words plus the sight of his dimples has got you grinning without restraint. you wonder again how long sam was awake, but completely without apprehension this time. all the two of you needed was a few playful words exchanged, and now you know. though you wouldn’t have without dean’s unwittingly overheard grumbles, so you supposed you will have to thank him after all.

“i don’t know,” you say with a false air of careful thinking, “seems like it could be fun, y’know? it’s been too long since we’ve played a good trick on dean, don’t you think?”

sam doesn’t have an answer for that because he’s been too busy staring at the way your lips move, still pulled into a smile as you talk. you take another good look at him and wonder, how in the world did i miss it? the way he looks at me?

if he doesn’t kiss you within three seconds flat, you’ll do it yourself. it takes him those three seconds exactly, and you move in such synch it’s possible that your lips meet right in the perfect middle of the barely-there space between you.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Just looking through some of your work and MA'AM. Not to be a straight woman, but oh m y god ohm yg od oh my g od-

So prompt: Logan is pretty good at casual possessive gestures. I wanna read a reaction to reader's possessive gestures towards him.

I'm thinking hand on thigh, hand on waist, staring, putting space between someone else and him, sky's the limit

You could make it a 5+1 format (I am a sucker for those)

Five Times You Were Possessive of Logan, and the One Time He Was Possessive of You

1. Hand on His Thigh

The first time it happens, it’s completely unplanned. You’re at the bar, sitting next to Logan as the two of you chat with some friends. He’s his usual stoic self, gruff but present, the warmth of his body a comforting presence next to you. As the conversation continues, you notice someone across the room eyeing Logan with more interest than you’re comfortable with.

Without thinking, your hand moves to rest on his thigh under the table. The action is instinctive, a way to ground yourself and subtly remind whoever’s watching that Logan isn’t available. The moment your fingers curl around the muscle of his leg, you feel him tense ever so slightly, the briefest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t say anything, just glances down at your hand before looking back at you with a raised eyebrow.

You offer him a small, almost shy smile, as if to say, This okay?

Logan’s lips twitch into the barest hint of a smirk, and his large, rough hand covers yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t move your hand away, doesn’t ask any questions. But there’s a look in his eyes that’s both amused and a little bit surprised, like he’s pleased with your boldness.

He leans in close, his voice low in your ear. “You don’t gotta worry, darlin’. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

2. Hand on His Waist

The next time it happens, it’s at a crowded event. Some kind of gathering at Xavier’s that’s brought in mutants and allies from all over. You and Logan have been mingling for a while, but the room is packed, and you find yourself getting separated from him as people move between you.

You spot him across the room, chatting with Jean and Scott, and feel an inexplicable urge to be close to him. Navigating through the crowd, you slip between the bodies until you reach his side, where you slide your hand around his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Logan stiffens slightly, glancing down at you with an unreadable expression. For a second, you worry that you’ve overstepped, but then his arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side. He continues the conversation without missing a beat, but you notice the subtle way he shifts his stance, positioning himself just a bit more protectively between you and the crowd.

His hand lingers on your shoulder long after the conversation ends, thumb tracing idle circles against your skin.

3. Staring

It’s been a long day, and you’re sitting in the common room, watching Logan across the space. He’s talking with Ororo, something serious by the look on their faces. You know it’s important, that they’re discussing something related to the latest mission, but you can’t help the way your eyes linger on him.

He’s all rough edges and raw power, yet there’s something about him that’s magnetic, something that draws you in despite the gruff exterior. Maybe it’s the way he’s always so intensely himself, unapologetically so, or maybe it’s the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention—like you’re the one thing in the world that makes sense to him.

You realize you’ve been staring when Ororo glances over at you and raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Logan follows her gaze and finds you looking right at him, your eyes soft, full of something you can’t quite name.

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze narrowing as if he’s trying to figure you out. For a moment, you think about looking away, but you don’t. You just keep staring, letting him see that he’s the only one in the room you care about.

Eventually, he huffs out a low chuckle, shaking his head before turning his attention back to Ororo. But he’s watching you out of the corner of his eye, and you can tell that he’s more focused on you than whatever they’re discussing.

4. Putting Space Between Him and Someone Else

It’s a lazy afternoon, the kind where everyone at the mansion is doing their own thing. You and Logan are sitting outside, enjoying the fresh air, when one of the younger mutants—someone new and a bit too eager—approaches him. They start talking, standing a little too close for your liking, and you can see the way Logan shifts uncomfortably.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re on your feet and moving towards them. Sliding yourself between Logan and the newcomer, you offer them a friendly smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Hey,” you say, cutting in smoothly. “Logan and I were just about to head out. Maybe you can catch him later?”

The newcomer looks a bit surprised, but they nod, glancing between you and Logan before backing off with a mumbled apology. You watch them leave, then turn to find Logan looking at you with an expression that’s both amused and impressed.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” he teases, but there’s a warmth in his tone that tells you he doesn’t mind one bit.

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Just didn’t like the way they were crowding you.”

Logan’s smirk widens, and he reaches out to pull you close, his hands resting on your hips. “Gotta admit, I kinda like it when you get all protective.”

5. Hand on His Chest

The fifth time is more deliberate. You’re out on a mission, tensions running high as you and Logan work together to neutralize a threat. When it’s finally over, you’re both exhausted, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

As the team regroups, one of the other mutants—someone who’s always been a bit too friendly with Logan—sidles up to him, laying a hand on his arm as they talk. You feel a sharp pang of something hot and possessive in your chest, and before you can second-guess yourself, you’re right there beside him.

You place your hand on his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath your palm, and lean in closer than necessary. “You alright, Logan?” you ask, your voice laced with concern.

Logan’s eyes flicker with surprise, but then he smiles, his hand covering yours as he nods. “Yeah, I’m good,” he replies, his gaze never leaving yours.

The other mutant quickly excuses themselves, and Logan turns his full attention to you. “You know,” he says, his voice low, “I’m startin’ to think you don’t like sharin’.”

You give him a sly grin. “Maybe I don’t.”

Logan chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that sends shivers down your spine. “Good,” he murmurs, pulling you even closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “’Cause I don’t either.”

Logan’s Turn

The one time Logan decides to return the favor, it catches you completely off guard.

You’re in the kitchen, chatting with Bobby as you wait for your coffee to brew. The conversation is light, filled with jokes and teasing banter. Bobby’s always been a bit of a flirt, but it’s harmless, and you’re laughing at something he’s said when Logan walks in.

Before you can even greet him, Logan is suddenly right behind you, his arm wrapping possessively around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. You can feel the solid heat of him, the way his grip is firm, almost claiming. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “What’s so funny?”

Bobby’s eyes widen slightly as he takes in the scene, and you can see the flash of understanding in his expression. “Uh, nothing, man. Just talking.” Bobby backs away with a nervous chuckle, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll, uh, catch you later.”

As Bobby quickly exits the kitchen, you turn to look up at Logan, still caught in his embrace. There’s a look in his eyes that’s both playful and intense, and you realize with a start that he’s the one feeling possessive now.

“Logan?” you ask, a bit breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

He just grunts, the sound more of a satisfied hum than anything else, and his hand tightens on your waist. “Just didn’t like the way he was lookin’ at you,” he admits gruffly, but there’s a hint of vulnerability in his voice, like he’s not used to feeling this way.

A slow smile spreads across your face as you lean into him, your own hand finding its way to his chest, fingers tracing the familiar contours. “Guess we’re both a little possessive, huh?”

Logan huffs out a low laugh, his gaze softening as he looks down at you. “Yeah,” he agrees, his voice rumbling against your skin. “But I’m not complaining.”

You stand there together, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away as you both realize just how much you mean to one another. In that moment, it doesn’t matter who’s being possessive or why—what matters is that you belong to each other, and neither of you would have it any other way.

[ohdeerfully]

K hear me out, a wife! Reader x Alastor and Charlie finds out they had a kid when they were alive. (I don’t mind what the kids name is but make them young and passed due to Spanish flu, dark I know)

omg this has been sitting in my drafts so long, i love requests like this </3 im sorry if it seems rushed, i really wanted to finish it!

Mourning Dove

Alastor x Reader (angst, slight comfort at end) TW: CHILD DEATH, child sickness, reader referred to as a woman but doesnt effect story too much join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

You sat yourself unceremoniously at the bar in the hotel lobby, shoulders slouched and cheek squished against the cold countertop. You weren’t one for alcohol, but you didn’t mind the company of Husk. He didn’t say much unless prompted, but that didn’t bother you. It was nice, honestly, after a day of dealing with the others.

“Somethin’ the matter?” Okay. Nevermind about him not saying much.

“Hmm?” You responded, barely peeking up from your finger that dragged patterns in the surface you laid against. “I’m good.”

“You don’t look it,” Husk observed, and you knew he was referring to the discoloration of your eyes and the residual dampness of your cheeks from crying. Your hair was a mess, too. Yeah, you looked like shit. “Tough day?”

“I guess, yeah,” You sighed, pushing yourself up and leaning back in a stretch while your fingers gripped the countertop to steady yourself. “Just thinking about… Y’know.”

He didn’t pry, and you were thankful for that. Husk did know a little, actually, and knew better than to push for more details. After being stuck with Alastor for so long, with the guy owning his soul and all, he inevitably learned some deep shit about him and, by extension, you. He just grunted in response and went back to spot cleaning his bottles of booze.

“(Y/N)!” A chipper voice called your name, and you squeezed your eyes shut in frustration. You thought you were done with all of this for the day, and you were so ready to just go to sleep. “I wanted everybody to join me for dinner today! We have a few new residents, so I want everybody to meet each other.”

You squeezed your lips to prevent a harsh word from responding to Charlie’s invitation. You were so tired. You feigned a weak smile and looked at her. You wanted to say no, to say you needed to sleep, but those huge, pleading eyes of hers caught the rejection in your throat. You tried to reason with yourself that Charlie doesn’t host stuff like this very often. It would just be one night. You’ll survive.

“Okay.” 

She clasped her hands together and jumped on the balls of her feet, thanked you, and took off to find the next resident to invite. You held your head against your hand and you sighed dramatically. Husk looked at you from the corner of his eye, but opted to remain silent. You stood up after a few more minutes of quiet sulking, deciding you should fix yourself up for dinner.

In your room, you gently fixed your hair and threw on a casual outfit. Nothing super nice, just in case food started flying–knowing the antics of some of the hotel residents, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

You slowly made your way to the banquet room, which Charlie had installed for events like today. You could already hear the low murmur of small talk, and you were surprised to see a few new faces. Not a whole lot, just about five, alongside the familiar faces of your friends. Charlie’s hotel was, slowly but surely, becoming more successful.

You spotted Alastor quickly–he was hard to miss due to his height. You settled yourself in a chair next to him at a long table that Charlie had dragged into the room for everybody to sit at. You felt your skin prickle with the familiar sensation of static, which increased slightly as his attention turned towards you. He gave you a grin before focusing his eyes on the racket that was already picking up. You watched his smile curl, a bit sinister, as the sound of shouting caught your attention.

“-my fuckin’ business!” You picked up the tail end of Angel Dust fuming at Vaggie, one pair of arms crossed under his chest. He had a third hand on his hip, with his fourth hand jabbing an accusatory point at the woman in front of him.

“Guys, please!” Charlie pleaded, pressing her shoulder against Vaggie’s in an attempt to move her away from Angel. “I don’t want to scare my new guests away!”

“Tell this bitch to keep her nose outta my shit! I can’t have my fuckin’ life on the line because she doesn’t like my job!” Angel spat. There was a dangerous, maybe even frantic, look in his eyes. Before Charlie could say anything, Angel had spun around and stormed to the table. He ripped the chair out and slammed his body down. All four of his arms were crossed now as he glowered at the wooden tabletop.

You sighed, and felt a headache already forming. 

Angel’s spirits quickly changed when Husk sulked into the room. He had his paws stuffed in his pockets, and glared at the air in front of him. He sat down at the other end of the table, but Angel was quick to stand up and saunter his way over to sit next to the cat. You couldn’t quite catch the flirtatious remarks that made Husk roll his eyes. 

You observed them for a while, watching as Husk slowly grew more comfortable in the small talk he and Angel shared. He would never admit it, but you knew Husk didn’t hate Angel’s company. Husk seemingly said something about you to Angel that made him whip his head up to look at you. You quickly averted your gaze.

Charlie had been standing by her own chair, and a cough from her throat made the chatter die down. You didn’t really listen to the overly sappy speech she had started to give, your mind drifting away in absent thought. You picked your nails into the edge of the table, fidgeting with the light cloth.

Alastor caught your attention by lightly nudging his leg against yours. You trailed your eyes up to his, meeting his red gaze. There was a hint of worry in his eyes, and his grin twitched at the edges as he looked at your exhausted face. He tilted his head in a silent question.

You merely shook your head in response, and mouthed a quick “it’s nothing” and hoped that he wouldn’t press. He didn’t, but you knew he’d ask again in a private room.

Charlie sat down again, and Vaggie rubbed her shoulder, murmuring a silent praise. You dragged your eyes across the table, making note of the handful of new faces. None of them seemed to take Charlie very seriously, but that didn’t come as a surprise. They probably just liked free food.

The food in question seemingly materialized out of nowhere, and you chalked it up to her “princess of hell” type powers that she didn’t use very often. You smiled gratefully and, though you didn’t have much of an appetite, you started slowly picking at the plate in front of you.

The room once again began to rumble with small talk, but at some point the multiple conversations began to melt together until the whole table was talking to each other in one. Charlie was doing most of the heavy lifting with keeping the conversation going.

“-the deal with the Radio Demon and that gal next to him?” You perked your ears when you heard this reference to yourself. One of the new guests, some sort of lizard demon, had a finger pointed at the two of you. He had a slight country drawl in his voice. You saw Alastor’s smile widen when the attention of the table turned towards himself.

“My darling wife,” Alastor stated simply, briefly placing a hand on your shoulder. His eyes were closed as he smiled proudly. You silently nodded with a light, polite smiling. “We knew each other in life. It’s only natural for us to remain together. It would have been a shame for death to do us part.”

“Didn’t think you was the type…” The lizard said slowly, eyeing the two of you carefully. You didn’t blame him; what kind of nut job would marry the Radio Demon? Though, as Alastor said, you were married before Hell, and he wasn’t so… infamous back then. He was actually rather sweet, besides the whole serial killer thing–which, in your defense, you weren’t even aware of till he was shot to death.

“Didn’t think ya were the type to have a kid, either,” Angel piped up absently, one arm thrown lazily over the back of his chair. You watched as Husk tried desperately to shut him up as he continued to speak, but you barely heard the words over the sound of your heart picking up pace, and the increased radio frequency of Alastor’s. His body had stiffened and his eyes had shot open, quickly narrowing as his smile strained and curled dangerously, his gums visible in a snarl. His eyes were not on Angel, but on Husk, whose ears were flattened against his head and a nervous look in his wide eyes.

You weren’t really paying attention though, but you felt the intense tension and rapid prickling on your skin. Your breathing became more labored and you pointed your face to the table to try to hide the building tears in your eyes. You had tried so hard, all day, to push back the memories that kept threatening to resurface. What are the chances that on the same day, the topic was brought up, destroying the wall you had built to contain the anxiety, regret, grief…

You were kneeling by the wrinkled, messy sheets of the twin bed your son had been in for the past couple days. Your heart was tight, and you could barely breathe as you looked at him. He gazed blearily at the ceiling, following the path of the rocking fan. Every breath he took scratched at his throat, as if there were pebbles blocking the path. He barely had the strength to cough. His lips were dry and cracked, and his graying skin still had a flush of fever. You used a damp rag to clean the dried snot under his nose.

You had tried everything. Every recommended antibiotic, every treatment, therapy, exercise; nothing had worked. Nobody knew how to treat the illness. You had even tried to work with witch doctors that Alastor knew. You had spent so much of what little money you had trying to save your little boy.

Alastor was often gone during this time, being the one to go out and find something new to try. You never left the room, even when your husband tried to push you to go outside to stretch your legs or take a shower. He promised to watch over your son. But you just couldn’t, not with David laying on these dirty sheets, looking so frail, weak, and small. You had often called him little dove, and it made you sick to think that your nickname was now like a cruel adjective to describe his current state. A sick, frail baby bird. He had barely eaten in the past eight days, and you didn’t want to admit to yourself that any scratchy breath he took could be that last one.

You stiffened when his head rolled over towards you, and his eyes struggled to focus on you. His cracked lips grimaced for a moment, followed by a sharp, grating cough that made your heart drop and your eyes sting. You reached a shaky hand forward to smooth down his knotted hair.

“Am I going to be okay,” David said weakly. His voice caught on the tightness in his throat multiple times. “I feel really bad.”

“I know baby, but you’re okay,” You said tenderly, continuing to stroke his hair. “Your dad is getting you some new medicine. You’ll be okay.”

You were lying to him, and to yourself. But you couldn’t help but cling on to a morsel of hope–it was all you could do, really. David just looked towards you, his eyes flicking around slightly, unable to truly focus on anything.

“I’m tired.” He said. His breathing was labored.

“I know.”

Your emotions threatened to spill from your eyes as you watched him turn his head back towards the ceiling, eyes shutting. You didn’t want to cry; you couldn’t, not in front of him. You needed to stay strong for him.

You pressed the back of your hand to his burning forehead, and then trailed your hand to his chest, lightly pressing against him to feel his heartbeat. It was slow, and slowing. Your own heart picked up in response. 

You heard the door in another room open, shut, and footsteps quickly pace towards the room. The door cracked lightly, and the tall, thin frame of your husband peeked in. He held a brown back tightly in his fist. With one look into your eyes, he knew something was wrong. Or, well, more wrong than usual. 

You clenched your jaw to prevent any sob from escaping your lips as he sat the bag down on an end table and kneeled next to you, gripping your waist tightly as he looked at David. The boy’s breath had gotten dangerously quiet.

You watched as his eyes opened again.

“I’m tired.” He repeated, weaker this time.

Both you and Alastor leaned towards the bed, his hand on David’s leg as you gingerly lifted the boy’s head into your arms, pulling his light body towards yourself. You shifted yourself up into the bed with him, trying to wrap as much of yourself around your son as possible. You could feel his heartbeat getting slower with every weak breath he took.

“Sleep, then,” your voice trembled. You felt Alastor grip your shoulder, his other hand softly rubbing David’s arm. You couldn’t describe the expression on his face. “I’ll see you in the morning, little dove.” You lied.

“In heaven?” He responded. Your breath hitched at his words. He knew, somehow, that he was dying. How sick it was, for such a young boy to be aware of his impending death. How cruel God was.

“Yeah, I promise,” Was all you could muster. You worried that any more would destroy the dam that held back your tears.

It broke, though, when you felt David’s heart finally stop. You choked on a sob once, twice, before finally you started wailing. Screaming. You held a vice-like grip on the boy, both your arms and legs secured around him. Alastor was still quiet, but he had sat across from you on the bed and pulled you towards him, securing you and David’s still-warm body in an equally tight grip. You could feel his strained breathing and tight jaw against your head. He said something, but you didn’t hear him.

Your mind rushed back to the present when you felt a hand on your back. Your head whipped towards Alastor, who was looking at you. The table was dead silent, and there was still a look of rage in his eyes, but his smile held a softness that was only ever given to you. Your heart still beat strongly, and you struggled to breathe, but you were at least glad that your mind was still back in the present.

Evidently, barely any time had passed. Angel had a nervous look in his expression, which he tried and failed to mask as Husk cursed at him. Charlie was looking at you in worry.

“(Y/N),” She said softly. “...How come you never-”

“Truly, there is no point in speaking of life before death,” Alastor interrupted her, the usual cheer in his voice lilted by a masked emotion. You knew he felt the same grief as you, but he was a million times better at acting naturally. “What a waste of time and emotion.”

Alastor stood quickly, his hand trailing against your shoulders as he walked past you and towards Angel and Husk. Husk’s ears flattened to his skull again as Alastor loomed over them, hands behind his back as a smile twisted his features.

“Husker, my friend,” He said, the cat demon visibly flinching at the mention of his name. “Let’s take a walk.”

Husk didn’t move, and the room grew heavy with tension with every second as the sound of radio frequency got louder and somehow sharper. Alastor bent at the waist, his snarling smile inches away from the panicked expression on Husk’s face. 

“Is the tomcat getting too old to hear?” You barely picked up Alastor’s words, but you definitely heard the threatening tone in his voice.

The cat swallowed hard before standing up. He shot one last infuriated look at Angel, before whipping his head back to attention when Alastor tapped his cane against the ground impatiently. The two of them left the room, and the tension in the air immediately lifted when the door shut.

Charlie startled you when she placed a delicate hand on your upper arm, and she guided you to your feet and out another set of doors. A weak smile touched her expression.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked as you both went up the stairs towards your hotel room. You shook your head silently at her offer. She only nodded back, and said nothing more. She opened the door to your room for you, and waited till you settled down in your bed before saying a string of comforting words that you didn’t really pay attention to. The door clicked softly, and you once again began to sob.

Only a few minutes passed before you felt your skin prickle with a static-like feeling. You had grown to find comfort in the odd sensation, and felt incredibly relieved when you knew Alastor was sitting next to you. You didn’t even hear him enter the room.

He pulled you wordlessly against his chest, lying the two of you down. You twisted yourself in his grip till your ear rested against him, listening to the odd drum of what you assumed was a heart.

“Has David been troubling you all day?” He asked you when your sobs slowed and you caught your breath. You nodded. Alastor rubbed a soothing hand on your shoulder blade. You recognized the tone of grief in his voice as he spoke. “What a pesky boy, even all these years later.”

You wrapped your arms tightly around Alastor’s neck as tears began flowing again.

Though you would never tell him, you often hoped Charlie’s idea of redemption would work. Your husband himself would likely never follow that path; you knew he saw no point and enjoyed the power he held in Hell. But, you wished every day to see your son again. To see your little dove.

You had promised him.