#female acting

[twomie]

Hiya!

Are you looking for a voice for your project? My name is Matilda Dahlén and I'm a professionally educated musical theatre artist eager to join projects where I can voice act and sing. I'm also doing voice overs for ads, audio books and other informational voices. I've just started out, but I'm already getting five star reviews, so if you have a project in mind, I'd be happy to help out :) Send me a message through my Fiverr gig, and I'll guarantee quick answers and a quick, quality delivery! As a new up-and-coming voice actor, any help boosting this post would be really apprciated, thank you!! Love, Matilda

[ennabear]

imagine you and sevika still being in that “situationship” stage before you start officially dating, and you’re absolutely dying to feel her touch in any way but she’s still too guarded to let you touch her. so every time you try to grab her hand or intertwine your fingers during a meeting or conversation, she tenses up and shoves your hand away.

this would lead to you finding a loophole— grabbing onto her mech hand instead of her human hand because she can’t feel it. of course you’d have to do it softly because she can still sense something tugging on her arm, but the gentle brush of your human fingers against her metal ones would go unnoticed for as long as you want it to.

from here, 2 things could happen. one being that she notices after only a little while, probably from you pulling her hand too hard and her feeling the tug of it on her shoulder. but she would pretend not to notice, she’d let you hold her hand while she steadies her breathing and tries to focus on anything but the fact that you’re holding her hand. and she’d end up getting used to it, which leads to her admitting timidly that she knows you’ve been holding her hand, and more importantly that she likes it.

OR she doesn’t notice at all, your touch being so delicate that your right hand grabs ahold of her left one discreetly. and eventually you slip up one day, maybe forgetting to let go of her hand before she stands up and realizes that you’re attached to her. or you forget that your covert hand-holding is technically one-sided since sevika can’t feel it, so you accidentally get too bold and lean your head on her shoulder.

she’d internally freak out, thoughts zipping through her brain at a million miles per hour as she just gawks at your hand against hers. the tiniest hint of a blush would creep up against her brown skin, which looks stunning against the dark blue of her scars. your eyes would get starry as you practically melt at the expression on her face, and she’d blush even harder at the way you’re looking at her. and then—

[duckysprouts]

fun fact idk how to do lighting at all

click for better quality

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: In which Arthur catches a glimpse of your intimacy, the vision driving him into madness until he finally decides to give in to his urges. ✦ Warnings: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Masturbation, nudity, voyeurism (reader not aware he's staring), self-depreciation, and lots of shame from this poor man. Arthur's pov. ✦ Words: 2,7k Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. And as always, as English isn't my first language, prepare for some possible misspellings. Read on AO3

Lately, Arthur had a problem. An incessant, disturbing, haunting problem.

He couldn’t sleep at night.

This could have been related to the gang’s precarious situation, being hunted down by the Pinkertons and surrounded by enemy gangs, O’Driscolls and Lemoyne raiders everywhere. Or even because of some older wounds, the loss of Eliza and Isaac amongst others, reminded almost every day by the complicated family portrait John painted with Abigail and Jack. Or the hurtful thought of the life he never had with Mary that was always following him since he had seen her again near Valentine. Life doomed from the start by his inherent violence and the mountain of corpses he was responsible for.

Arthur had plenty of reasons not to sleep at night. But this wasn’t because of any of that.

He couldn’t sleep because of you. 

Not that it was your fault. In fact, you didn’t even know about any of that and Lord have mercy, he was praying that you’ll never find out; because he would never be able to look at you in the eyes then.

A few weeks ago, the gang had settled at Clemen’s Point. A rather pretty spot just near the lake, and not so far from town. But it wasn’t exactly the place that was causing him trouble. It was the unexpected view he was having from his tent.

For some unknown, mystical reasons, Miss Grimshaw while deciding the camp’s ajancement had decided to place your tent right next to his. Not so big of a problem at first sight, right?

Except that you were a night owl combined with the suffocating warmth of the place. Making you get to bed naked.

Oh, Arthur knew you do, because every night, every single one, you let a candle lit to read, or write, or God knows what before sleeping. The light casts your shadow against the tent’s canvas. The shadow of your very much nude body.

The first night Arthur had noticed, he had come back exhausted from a job in the middle of the night and laid on his cot without even taking the time to remove his boots or hat. A very usual and typical slice of his life, which lately felt more and more like a terribly used one. As if all these slices were repeating again and again. An accumulation of jobs and missions and robberies and fights; deceiving, lying, stealing, killing. Over and over again, going round and round. At night, he was reduced to a slumbered mind in a spent body, that was definitely becoming old and rusty. Already half asleep, mud and twigs surrounding his tired limbs, his thoughts all tangled up like a ball of wool, he had turned his head to his left, reaching from instinct for his pack of cigarettes on the little table next to his bed. Another slice of bad habits from a bad life.

That’s how his eyes had met with this quite erotic shape displayed on your tent.

Said eyes had grown so big that it had fully woken him up all of a sudden, as quickly as if someone had dumped a bucket of iced water on his shocked face. After half of a second of pure stabbing surprise and incomprehension with his hand hanged in the air, his breath stuck in his throat as if really being punched in the gut, he instantly turned his eyes back to the ceiling of his own tent. Cheeks burning red, heart pounding, as if someone had caught him in the act of doing a terribly shameful thing. Exactly as if he had really seen you naked.

He had feverishly grabbed the cigarette pack without looking at it, gaze refusing to turn again, these two blue diamonds locked on the ceiling of his tent, and had messily pulled one out of it, his shaky fingers fumbling, almost spilling everything on the ground.

He must have looked so damn ridiculous.

The smoke helped him to calm down, its soothing and comforting feeling spreading and burning through his lungs. He had fallen asleep, turned to the other side facing the wagon, trying not to think too much about the peek of your intimacy he had witnessed, telling himself it probably was going to be an isolated incident. 

But of course, of course the Lord had to torment him even in the rare moments of peace he could have enjoyed.

Turns out this was apparently a habit of yours. 

To be honest, he probably deserved to be tormented. But this was years from what he had in mind when it came to the Lord's punishment for his life of crimes.

And Arthur, even though a hardened man in many ways, able to lock lips during torture, kill men with bare hands, and stay emotionally strong in any kind of situation, was still only, after all, a man. A man with needs.

Filthy, disgusting needs.

He had tried to resist. Had tried not to let his eyes slip in your direction like that first night. Sometimes he would allow himself a quick glance, just to check if you were wearing any clothes for once, like a normal person. And maybe the night after would be different? Every evening spent at camp, his pupils would end up brushing the sinful silhouette in just a soft, slight sight, as if not to scare you, as if not to feel too bad about it.

But it was getting harder and harder not to stare. The easy lies about just checking on you or looking at anything else in the same area as your tent to have the chance of winning a glimpse of you would soon not be enough.

Just the mere fact that he knew you were completely bare, only a few meters away from him, singly the thin and superficial fabric of the tent between the both of you, was getting him hard and sweaty, and making his blood boil as a virgin teenage boy would. He could almost physically feel it, like a burning presence in his back when he was sleeping head against the wagon's wall.

The Human mind may be well designed for a lot of things; it forgets an event too hard to carry or can trick you into thinking you're not experiencing any physical pain in extreme situations. But Arthur had learned that it was extremely poorly made when it came to ignoring something. The more he was trying to not think about his unholy urges, the more he ended up being plagued with them. As sure as the seasons always turned in circles, you would come back to his effusive psyche.

And Oh, he was ashamed. Ashamed and revolted by himself. This was absolutely not in his habits, all the contrary. Yes, he was an old miserable bastard who had killed and plundered. But for God's sake, he had never acted obscene towards a lady before.

But the shame wasn't enough for him to stop. On the nights when the guilt was at its lowest —when the tediousness of his days was nibbling at his patience, he had let his eyes wander to your sinful figure, telling himself that maybe if he did, he could just go on with his night and finally rest. Just a quick taste, not too long.

But it only made things worse. It made him dream of you. 

Dream of you stripped, his imagination taking the lead of what the tent’s fabric was preventing him from seeing. Dream of you moaning, taking him so tightly, welcoming him in your warm body and into your arms. Dream of the feeling of your skin under his fingertips, of the sight of your naked body squirming with pleasure. He would now often wake up frustrated and angry, if he had succeeded in sleeping at all, his member hard and throbbing on its own, his heart beating powerfully in his chest as if it had been real. His pants and blanket had even been damped one or two times. 

What was he, a fifteen-year-old boy again? He was so angry and mortified by the physical obsession his body was having with you that he was constantly in a foul and fiery mood;  bitter with everyone, his tension leaking into every movement and every word he spoke. He started missing targets when shooting, getting even more reckless and hot-headed during jobs, jobs often ending up missed or taken care of negligently, yelling at people when they weren’t fast enough, or clever enough, or silent enough, breaking things, breaking rules. The lack of sleep was making his deadly efficiency fade away, replaced by sloppy and messy gestures, stopping enemies from falling dead at his feet like his lethal skills always did, castrating the only thing that was left of his masculinity.

And yet, he couldn’t stop watching you from afar during the time he was at camp, telling himself he knew, or at least had an idea, of what you looked like without these clothes on; feeling a twisted sensation of pride imagining he was the only one who did. On top of that, your sweet personality and beautiful face weren’t helping him at all with his addiction. Filthy old bastard, stop it- he had to mentally slap himself to prevent staring at you for too long, especially staring at your chest that this goddamn dress you had chosen to wear wasn’t covering at all; or your ass these goddamn pants were fitting way too well.

Tonight, Arthur is avoiding going to bed too early. He knows he would just lay in it waiting for you anyway. Instead, he goes for a walk along Flat Iron Lake’s shores, bringing his journal with him. Two entire pages are already dedicated to your shadow. He had no idea a picture exclusively made of black and white flats on a sheet could have such a powerful erotic effect. Or maybe he is a complete degenerate —which, he is sure, is more and more true.

He has to be honest with himself, he could just go to a hotel, or out of camp for a few days to sleep under the stars, and the matter would be settled.

But he doesn’t want to. Because deep down inside, his urges are winning, making him feel like the most foolish and weakest man alive. He enjoys watching you. He enjoys seeing those forbidden plumped curves cast on this canvas. He feels like you're not leaving him any mercy, pitiless, his days dictated by the wait for his taboo rendez-vous, his nights by your sensual apparitions in his dreams.

He is trapped, you have completely tamed him, and irony of it all, have absolutely no idea you are making him feel like this.

This woman is drivin' me insane.

After a few hours on the cold shore's sand, his fingers only capable of creating quick little sketches and scribbles, his feet lead him back to camp. What a surprise. He finds most of the gang's members already asleep, apart from the ones on guard duty and some late campfire enjoyers talking about life, about love, grief, the future, the past. He briefly nods at them without a word and walks to his private space. He already knows what’s waiting for him there, your tent looking like it’s still illuminated, his thoughts and body avid for it.

No, don’t be a fool, Morgan.

He sits down on his cot. Mumbles to himself orders and curses to try and stay reasonable. Takes off his hat, runs a hand through his hair, sticky with sweat and dirt from his busy day, as all the other ones, as always. Scratches his beard and his ears with a sniff, tells himself he needs to take a swim into that lake. That he’s as dirty on the inside as he’s on the outside. Pulls down his suspenders before stretching his shoulders, a pained groan escaping him. A cigarette joins his lips, a match lights it, and he breathes in slowly. He tries to calm down, focusing once again on this homey feeling it brings him. 

But his brows furrows. His lips tighten. He knows he won’t be able to hold on much longer. He needs to sleep properly. Even being the all-mighty Titan he is, he still needs a good night of sleep from time to time to keep the engine of his body turning, and you have kept it from him for days.

He lies to himself promising this is only for his health.

That this is the only way for him to stay focused during the day; the only way to rest properly and be at his best again tomorrow.

That this will be the only time he’ll do that.

His only moment of weakness. 

The still-lit cigarette and his good conscience fall to the ground as he lies on his cot, settled on his left side, his right hand already roaming on his lower belly. 

His eyes drop on the scene he had fantasized about for what seems like years to him at this point.

Lord have mercy…

Your shadow looks so perfect. He takes his sweet time to notice every detail of it, enjoying to the maximum his sinful behavior, now that he had succumbed to it. How you’re laying on your back, reading your book with your legs crossed. The curvaceous shape of your body looks divine to his insatiable gaze. Your hair messily tangled around your head. The silhouette of your chin and throat making him hungrier than any feast he could have attended. Your belly, rising and falling with your chest and breasts, gives the shadow an organic appearance. Your delicate legs, from the base of your thighs to your calves, to your feet, your toes mindlessly curling as you get lost in your story. And of course, the blurry outline of what was between them…

Damn it.

His hand quickly reaches his belt, unbuckles it,  fiddles with his pants, opens them carelessly in an urgent grip. He spits in his palm, lashes out at himself when the desire of it being your wetness instead crosses his mind, and slips it between the buttons of his union suit. It finally wraps around his desperate shaft, gorged with blood, and he wonders if he already had been this hard before.

The moment he feels the pressure of his own fingers around it, he can’t help but sigh deeply through his nose, and has to physically block the groan he was about to let out.

Make no noise, moron.

He bites his lips to stop any other immoral sound from crossing through his mouth. Last thing he needs right now is to get caught. He slowly rubs one languorous time from up to down, then up again, his fingers brushing his swollen head right where he needs to. He instantly knows he won’t last. He had dreamed about this, about you, both during days and nights. His eyes are locked on your tantalizing silhouette, this deiform delicious flesh. Goddess of the night, Queen of his desires.

His hand rubs once again and his muscles tighten. He starts to stroke in a rhythmic pace, his moves are efficient, messy, careless. He masturbates the same way he takes care of himself —quickly, roughly, as if matching his disgust towards his own self. The exact opposite of what he would do to you if he could. This is pure physical relief.

Yes, God, yes…

Your name turns in his mind between blasphemous curses as he pleasures himself, stroking faster and faster, delightful warm sensations spreading through him. Finally. The burning is no longer in his back or mind; it's right there around his erection, flames licking all around it.

He wants to be able to join you there, so badly. He wants to discover the tone of your bare skin in those places you never show to anyone. He wants to whisper sweet things in your ear and you to sigh back, your voice high and softly shaking from pleasure. He wants the lewd intimacy, the shared tension and the electric, exciting touch of two foreign skins discovering each other for the first time. He wants to see your hardening nipples he can only have a glimpse of through the fabric. 

He wants to have you, to take you, consume you, all to himself. He wants you to think about him the same way he is now, wants you to come while thinking of him, only him, your mouth to moan, whimper, scream even, all thanks to him. 

He wants your hand instead of his, around his cock right now, pressing harder, moving faster.

Yes, yes, jus’ a bit more darlin’… -

A movement from you, a real one, makes his pace slow down and his heart stops, afraid you might have by some sort of divine knowledge understood what was happening. But you’re just shifting in your bed, positioning yourself on your belly with your book open against your pillow, and Arthur’s balls spasm; he now has the most perfect view of your ass, its gorgeous, decadent round and plumped contour making his member twitch in his fist.

Ahh, shit… So god damn perfect… 

Pearls of sweat leak from his forehead to his neck. His ears shut close to the outside world, his surroundings completely disappearing. Now, there’s only you and your perfect back beautifully arched ending with your perfect bottom and him, and no one else’s on Earth. His breath is jerky, his entire face completely crimson, his fingers pumping so hard and fast he’s basically fucking his hand —your hand, with those wet and unmistakable noises filling the air.

His breath speeds up as Arthur feels his deliverance coming, blood rushing in his veins. He sees himself behind you grabbing fistfuls of your cheeks, he sees his erection diving deep between them. And it's the last straw. His brows are crunched in an exquisite expression of pure sexual delight, jaws so tensed he’s about to break his teeth, your pleasure-filled voice screaming his name in his head, dragging every sensation out of him. His orgasm hit him with the strength and speed of a thunderstorm, lightning bolts of satisfaction striking every fiber of his body.

 Yes! Yesss  —Damnit! 

He comes hard with a low and throaty growl he forgot to —or couldn't repress, silently repeating your name again and again, his lower lip almost cut open from how hard he had bit himself, an enormous vein on his forehead where sweat covers his skin. His thick, hot cum spills messily in an indecently large amount, the aftermath of having held himself back for so long, leaking on his pants and fingers and staining his cot; a dash of white contrasting with the darkness of what he just did.

He’s praying to the Lord and the Devil, any mystical forces known to man, that nobody had heard his final relief sound, especially not you. It was louder than what he would like to admit.

Shit, so damn good…

Using his black bandana, he roughly cleans himself then tosses it somewhere on the floor, his cock finally softening as he shoves it back under his clothes, balls empty. And it feels good. So good a wave of shame and guilt crashes onto him once more. What a pig he was for jerking off while ogling you. What an old bastard he was to mingle you and his filth. But at the same time, he feels like his muscles are thanking him, his restless flesh satisfied, even though he almost hurt himself with how fast he had stroked, lost in his haze.

His bittersweet and contradictory feelings accompanied him as he took a last glance at your tent before drifting off to sleep, his breathing still a bit raspy as if he had run for hours. You had closed your book and taken the candle between your hands to blow on it, the little flame flickering before fading. And then, darkness.

The curtains falling on the stage at the end of this private decadent act.

Eyelids heavy, Arthur knows he will finally sleep tonight.

But he also knows this isn’t the end of his torments at all; the conflicting thoughts paint his mind just as the sun pierces through the dark ebony clouds of a thunderstorm, creating those abruptly dazing shapes and color, pitch black laced with blinding light.

Never in this life or the Other he will forget the form of your naked body, no matter how wicked he feels. Because when it comes to you and only you, Arthur Morgan is, indeed, a very weak man.

tagging : @a-court-of-valkyries and @zae-heeyyy

[lastchristmas]

I am what I am cause you trained me...

[tiredbitchposts]

Speaking of a lesbian Shen Yuan, let's just get it out of the way this woman would NOT know how to act after transmitgation. Like, all it took for a male Shen Yuan to start acting like the world's biggest babygirl was dying and being reborn into a villain's body, what do you think would happen if he was a closeted lesbian who religiously consumed either porn or male centric media? She'd commit war crimes on the poor women who had the luck of interacting with her. This woman would squeeze Liu Qingge's biceps and playfully say she can always depend on her strong shimei to protect her, she'd U-haul a marriageble age Luo Binghe into her side room and treat her as one would a wife, she'd host her sect leader to talk about her peak's budget wearing exactly two layers because it's just so hot and we're all women here shijie, she'd invite Gongyi Xiao to her peak with a smile and too much subtext for it to sound like a simple discipline invite to anyone hearing it, she'd call Zhuzi-lang fascinating to her face with no type of irony or mockery. This woman would would do all that AND still think think someone means lebanese when they say they're a lesbian, again, the system doesn't know what type of evil they unleashed upon the PIDW world

[protagaster]

Odysseus, looking down at his kneeling wife, child, and their patron God: What did you three do?

Penelope, covered in blood: ...

Telemachas, also covered in blood: ...

Ares, trying to hide a couple of bloody spears behind his back: ...

Odysseus: At least tell me this: how many bodies do I have to hide this time?

[sweetpupii]

“so,” powder started, holding your chin and tilting it upward to examine your features under the light of her room. she didn’t want to risk any mistakes with the contouring or the symmetry of your eyeshadow.

doing your makeup for parties had become her thing now.

“do you want me to match your hair like I did with mine, or should I choose another color?” please let me match it to your hair, please let me match it to your hair… “since we're going bold tonight.”

navy melted beautifully into ocean blue across her lids, magenta lit up her inner corners, and indigo traced her lower eyelids in a soft, smoky line—softening her piercing blue eyes. berry colored lipstick and a tiny smile completed the look.

a damn sight for sore eyes—that’s what powder was.

“hm, which one would look better?”

yes! that was an answer she liked. let her do the thinking; you just sit there and let her transform your pretty face with her arsenal of pigments. glitter? the palette was already sprawled on the floor, waiting. natural colors? sure, pretty boring, but you do you! neon colors? oh boy, how she loved those.

“i’ll take care of it. just don’t move. if you mess it up we’ll be late.” like last time.

matte lipstick is not easy to clean up after a few ( whole lot of ) kisses. things got a bit out of control, okay? it’s not her fault you looked good!

…well, technically it was her fault because she did your makeup that day, but still. she wanted to kiss you before that.

“oh, come on, it doesn’t tickle,” she pointed out as your eyes fluttered slightly at the touch of the fine eyeliner brush. experienced hands meticulously painted your eyelids, determined to follow their natural shape and bring out the color of your pupils. “look up at me, gotta do the waterline.”

maybe asking you to look directly at her the whole time was a mistake. the closeness was suddenly too distracting—your lips slightly parted as your eyes went up to meet hers, and she carefully applied the pigment.

that shade of lipstick you picked would look real nice mixed with hers…

focus, powder. just do her makeup.

“what’s with the eyes, sunny?” the blue-haired girl spoke after a while, holding your chin still, almost done with the eyeshadow.

“what do you mean?”

“those doe-y ones you’re giving me right now.”

your scoff only made it harder for her to focus on the task ahead. “pow, looking up because you asked me to doesn’t mean I’m giving you doe eyes. It’s your own thing if you get distracted that easily.”

“distracted? pft, no way. I’m completely focused here,” she argued with an unbothered shrug and roll of her eyes, as if she didn’t care. She dipped her brush back into the shimmering shade, determined to keep her hands steady despite the warmth crawling up her neck.

instead of poking fun at her, you stayed still as her delicate hands worked, her features drawn into a look of concentration that was almost as mesmerizing as the makeup itself. eyebrows slightly furrowed as she focused on making the look even.

“‘kay, done with the eyes,” she announced after a moment, pulling back slightly to admire her handiwork. the colors on your lids blended seamlessly into one another, like a miniature galaxy. “and now for the lips…”

powder reached for the lipstick you had picked earlier but hesitated with a thoughtful sigh, her eyes darting between the tube and your mouth.

“you sure you don’t want me to choose a different color? this one’s nice and all, but…” her voice trailed off.

“but what?”

her manicured nails tapped against the lipstick cap while comparing it to the lipstick she had used on herself. “I mean… this shade’s good, but mine would… y’know, match better. just saying.”

definitely not an excuse to kiss you.

masterlist ♡ taglist — @ananas26t @b3autyist3rror :3

[huntfeld]

A Jealous Heart in The Neon Glow

Pairing: Jinx x Reader

Summary: In the neon-lit chaos of Zaun, Jinx grapples with her growing jealousy as the reader's bond with Ekko stirs possessive feelings she can no longer suppress.

———

The dim glow of Zaun's neon lights filtered into the small hideout, casting the room in a flickering array of pinks and blues. You sat cross-legged on the couch, a makeshift workbench cluttered with mechanical scraps sprawled out before you. Jinx was perched on the armrest, twirling a wrench in her fingers like a baton. Her signature manic grin was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a peculiar tension that made the air feel heavier than usual.

"So," Jinx began, her voice lilting like a razor sliding across silk. "You and Ekko seem real chummy these days."

You froze mid-tweak on the contraption in your lap, the question catching you off guard. "Uh, yeah. I guess. We've been working together on that glider project for a while now."

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the wrench stopping mid-spin. "Oh, glider project. Sounds riveting. Is he, like, your new bestie now or something?"

You set the tool down and glanced at her. The playful edge to her voice was thinly veiled, barely masking something rawer, sharper. You knew Jinx well enough to recognize it: jealousy. It clung to her words like oil to water, a dangerous undercurrent you couldn't ignore.

"Come on, Jinx," you said carefully. "You know it's not like that."

She leaned closer, her face now inches from yours. Her cerulean hair framed her features, the usual mischief in her eyes replaced with something more vulnerable—though she was trying hard to hide it behind a cocky smirk.

"Not like what, exactly?" she asked, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "'Cause from where I’m sitting, looks like you’re getting all buddy-buddy with him, leaving little ol’ me out in the cold."

Before you could respond, a knock at the door interrupted the moment. You glanced over, recognizing Ekko’s voice calling out from the other side. You stood, feeling Jinx’s eyes burning holes into your back as you opened the door.

"Hey," Ekko greeted with a grin, holding a toolbox. "Thought I’d swing by and drop these off for the project."

"Thanks," you said, stepping aside to let him in. The tension in the room shifted palpably as Jinx remained on the armrest, now glaring daggers at Ekko. She didn’t bother hiding her displeasure, the wrench in her hand tapping rhythmically against the leather.

"Hey, Jinx," Ekko said with an easy smile. "What’s up?"

"Oh, y'know," she replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just watching my best friend here get all cozy with someone else. Super fun."

Ekko raised an eyebrow, his gaze darting between the two of you. "Uh, okay? Didn’t mean to intrude."

"You’re not," you said quickly, shooting Jinx a warning look. "Ignore her. She’s just being… Jinx."

Jinx scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, ignore me. That’s what everyone does anyway, right?"

You sighed, turning back to Ekko. "So, about that glider prototype—"

Before you could finish your sentence, Jinx was suddenly in front of you. Her hands grabbed your collar, yanking you down just enough for her lips to crash against yours. The kiss was anything but delicate—it was desperate, raw, and filled with an intensity that made your knees weak. The world seemed to blur around you, the only thing grounding you being the warmth of her mouth and the tight grip she had on your shirt.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes locked with yours, burning with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. "There. Now you know," she said breathlessly. "You’re mine. Got it?"

You blinked, your heart pounding as you tried to process what had just happened. Unable to help yourself, you smirked and replied, "Yes, ma’am."

Ekko let out an awkward cough from behind you, clearly unsure of where to look.

"Uh, I… should probably go," he mumbled, quickly retreating to the door. "Catch you later."

The door closed, leaving you and Jinx alone in the electrified silence. You stared at her, still feeling the lingering heat of her kiss.

"Jinx," you started, your voice shaky, "what was that?"

She crossed her arms, her bravado faltering as she glanced away. "What do you think it was? I… I can’t stand watching you with him. It’s like… it’s like my chest is gonna explode or something. I hate it."

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in her words. You stepped closer, gently placing a hand on her arm. "Jinx, you don’t have to feel like that. There’s no one else. Just you."

Her eyes snapped back to yours, wide and searching. "You mean that?"

You nodded, your thumb brushing over her wrist. "Yeah. I care about you. A lot. More than anyone."

For a moment, she looked like she might cry, but then her signature grin slowly crept back onto her face. "Well, duh," she said, though her voice cracked slightly. "I mean, who wouldn’t fall for this?"

You laughed softly, pulling her into a hug. She stiffened at first, then melted into your embrace, her arms wrapping tightly around your waist. The faint smell of gunpowder and oil clung to her, mixing with something uniquely hers.

"You’re not getting rid of me now, y’know," she mumbled into your shoulder. "I’ll blow up anyone who tries to take you away."

You pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, your hand brushing a strand of blue hair from her face. "I wouldn’t want it any other way."

The two of you stayed like that for a while, the neon glow painting your world in shades of pink and blue. For once, the chaos of Zaun felt far away, and all that mattered was the girl in your arms and the unspoken promise of what lay ahead.

———

[buckyalpine]

I've always had this acting AU idea where you and Bucky are co-stars in a movie/tv show and your characters are enemies. It makes people feral because you're both so crazy attractive but you just hate each other so much on screen and your story lines have you at each others throats.

Now the part I love with this idea is the press actually thinking you don't get along with him whatsoever and thinking there's drama between the cast because you're never around with them. Whenever they hang out together, literally everyone by you is there. There are so many rumors about how Bucky can't stand working with you and how the cast leaves you out. Natasha even had a thanksgiving dinner recently and the Instagram photo she posted has literally everyone present but you.

Things heat up even more when you barely update your own socials after filming wrapped up. You basically disappeared and it confirms everyone's suspicions. The only time you post here and there is when you're at home alone, doing your own thing. You're never present in any of the interviews. No one ever comments even when they're directly asked about you. There has to be drama.

It's been over a year of near radio silence and people anticipating for the release of this movie.

I love the idea of the movie premier day being full of anticipation and people buzzing over if Bucky would bring a date, if you'd even show up, wondering how you'd interact with everyone else. No one's even seen you but you're one of the main characters so you have to show-

A large black SUV rolls up.

Then Bucky steps out.

Everyone screams. He looks stunning in his all black suit, with his scruffy beard and chestnut locks. Instead of making his way down the red carpet, he stays in place waiting for someone to join him.

Confused murmurs start among the screaming.

And then.

He holds his hand out to help you out.

And everyone goes absolutely wild as you step out, seeing your very round baby bump and that ring on your finger. He makes a show of kissing you deeply before walking you down and of course the cast showers you in love and hugs as if you're all in your own little bubble.

They already knew all long. The secret, low key relationship with you and Bucky. You didn't want people to know because it would bring on so much speculation and scrutiny. When everyone bombards you both with what's going on, Bucky only answers one reporters question with a simple "I'm here with my wife"

Seriously, people can't handle it.

A few days after the reveal, Bucky, you and the rest of the cast including Sam, Steve, Nat and so many others post all the outings they had where you were actually present. The "thanks giving dinner" was actually your baby shower. So many pictures where they're holding your bump with "aunt" and "uncle" sashes tied around them. Pictures from the secret wedding. The honeymoon. The cutest pictures of Bucky cuddled up with you; wholesome intimate moments with you and him. Moments with getting mani pedis with Nat and Wanda.

No on can understand how this was all hidden so well. No one would have guessed.

Weeks later you have your babies and this time everyone posts pictures, all of them surrounding you in the hospital.

Seriously, this reveal breaks the internet in a way you'd never imagine.

[maddie-grove]

Honestly I hate the “girlboss” criticisms of feminism more and more each day. A lot of people have rightfully pointed out that feminists had/have very practical reasons to fight for women’s rights in the workplace, but I feel like there’s still an idea that a woman is deluded or morally suspect if she enjoys or takes pride in her work. It’s not just about the money; it’s about not being barred from fully participating in society just because you’re a woman. That is an unfair and degrading thing to do to someone, even if they have other means of financial support.

[bestwitchsam]

i start with this trans diva #ArcaneAct2

Since I had work today, I just finished Arcane Act 2 - Episode 4 - I'm sharing the photos. I cried throughout the episode. Isha and Jinx

[sun-marie]

A moment, some point in late Act 2

(based off the Patch 4 notes mentioning we can now wash the dirt off our companions 💜)

[brighteuphony]

I love Chiyo- and I kind of headcanon her as a Witch of the Woods (Sands???) archetype- a bitter old woman who has sacrificed too much, experienced and committed more atrocities than anyone can imagine, and who knows the truth about what lies in the hearts of men to live among the villages anymore.

In my AU she's got a pretty dark backstory. Back in time when Villages were just getting established, women weren't allowed to be shinobi in the same capacity as men. There was too much warring and death among the clans to risk women, so they were only ever allowed to serve as spies or medics. (Chiyo started off as a medic).

And like any military/fascist dictatorship, serving the state was more important than anything else- so women who were kunoichi were given missions to steal and return with powerful bloodlines. Even before villages, this was a common fear among clans (which is why so many of them have protective measures and inbreed/arrange matches very carefully).

Chiyo was one such woman, who took a X-rated mission in her youth because she was told it would 'serve her nation'. There was a powerful bloodline whose Kekkei Genkai could harden sand to something akin to Steel- something Suna very desperately wanted.

Chiyo succeeded in her mission, but despite the veneer of 'serving your nation', when she returned, she was considered, in her words, "Just another whore."

Then when her son didn't manifest the bloodline- it was worse, but Chiyo was happy because that meant her son was HERS. (This is when she met Enji, and he saved her son's life at great cost- so Chiyo owes him a blood/life debt.)

Then the war came, and they needed women to fight so now serving the nation meant something different, and Chiyo became a full fledged 'shinobi' and turned her healing towards poison and death- especially when she had to fight the Salamander.

Then she sealed Gaara and that was the atrocity straw that broke the camel's back and she dipped out Suna and retired to an oasis. She's still a healer, but adamantly refuses to serve shinobi.

Once again, thank you so much for these asks and all the support for this AU?

@youngpeacearbiter

[creekfiend]

we started watching princess tutu last night and oh my god why is princess tutu so fucking GOOD AND SMART. PRINCESS TUTU IS EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING IMPORTANT IN LIFE I LEARNED FROM PRINCESS TUTU

[stormyoceans]

THE NIPPLE PLAY AND TIDDY SQUEEZE.....