#i do not have to keep my blog clean and neat and safe is my home my diary my blog and I'm a complicated person I'm gonna do complicated

[cowardlycowboys]

blocked anon get off your self-righteous high horse

also my therapist said I could say kill yourself a long time ago so

[your-space-brain]

Would You Say I’m Worthy?

Harry “Opie” Winston x Reader - One Shot

Gif does not belong to me.

Hey guys! It’s Blaire from @spacedbrainnn . Just moving my writing onto a main blog!

You were head over heels for the man and there was no stopping it. He was all brooding, troubled and mysterious and you could do nothing to stop yourself from the head first dive that you’d taken since you met him.

He hardly spoke, but he left you notes here and there. You’d been assisting SAMCRO for the longest time since Chucky arrived, who was a good friend of yours, and you’d caught one another’s eye. After that, it was subtle glances and a smile here or there, or even a wink if you were lucky.

‘Have a good day.’

‘Here’s a shitty daisy like flower.’

‘I hate the color of this sticky note.’

‘How’s our two fingered friend doing?’

‘I’m keeping this pen.’

Those intimate sticky note letters were barely legible and hardly anything to scoff at. What he thought was just a running joke, you enjoyed, and kept each one in a little container beneath the bar top. He didn’t know the effect he had on you, or anyone for that matter, since he lost both Donna and his kids.

“What’s it say today?” Chucky was the first one to ask as he began to wipe down the top of the deep mahogany bartop.

“‘What’s the sky look like from your end?’” You read to Chucky with a little laugh. “He asks me these questions but doesn’t give me a place to reply to them at.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want you to.” Chucky offered as he shrugged, getting back to work on making the bartop shiny and clean.

“How would you put it? ‘I accept that’?” You teased, earning a smile out of the chipper, barely fingered man.

A roar of bikes signaled that some of SAMCRO’s finest had returned, making both Chucky and you raise your heads slightly to peer through the window.

Opie was trailing Jax and Bobby as they pulled up, his long hair flicking beneath his helmet as he pulled into the drive. He stopped a bit after his parking space and backed it in, before hitting the kill switch and discarding his helmet on the handle bars.

He didn’t speak when he came in, all leather and hair being smoothed out below silver ring clad fingers. “Hey darlin’.” Jax greeted as she threw him a wave, ignoring his charm, but Opie didn’t stay long and disappeared down the hallway.

“He doesn’t speak too much, does he?” You asked Jax, and he shook his head.

“Nah, not too much. It’s been a while since he spoke freely.”

—

Every Friday night was a Crow Eater party. It was a time when you would come for a while, before things got too terribly wound up, and then you would leave. You were sipping a beer, leaned on the bar, looking around but there was a pair of familiar eyes missing.

“Where’s Ope?” You asked Chucky, who shrugged.

When you didn’t get a reply, you handed the amber bottle over to Chucky for safe keeping before you wandered off down the hall to see if he was in his dorm.

Lo and behold, through a crack in his dorm door, he was kicked back in bed, still fully clothed minus his boots, an arm over his eyes with only the lamplight on. He looked peaceful, until you disrupted that by lightly knocking with one knuckle.

“Come in.” It was a slurred mumble as his eyes finally opened again. They were dark and swirling as you stepped into the meticulously neat room, the only thing out of place being a couple of motorcycle parts out on the desk.

“Hey, not joining the party?” You asked as you came to sit in his wooden desk chair.

“Nah. Not my scene.” He replied as he grunted, moving to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and sit up, his back popping while his muscles protested wickedly.

“Oh, that’s fair.” He nodded as you said it, having been half asleep, but he just yawned quietly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

He wasn’t prepared for what you were going to ask him next. “Why don’t you ever give me a chance to reply to your notes?” The man, for once, looked absolutely dumbfounded. He ran a hand over his beard as he thought about a reply, before clearing his tatted throat.

“I guess… I didn’t think you’d want to.”

This shocked you. Your brows knit for a moment as he calculatedly watched him, a frown on your lips. “Why wouldn’t I want to?”

Several reasons popped in the burdened man’s head. He was a killer, he lost everything he loved to this club and if he let you in, you were pretty much signing your own death warrant to Mr. Mayhem. You were putting a black listed card in your own hands.

Finally, he gave a heavy sigh and replied, his eyes dropping to his socked feet. “If I let you in, you very well could be ending your life by picking me.”

This caused you to recoil a bit. “So you’re not even giving me a choice?” You asked him.

“No. I’m not worth anyone getting themselves killed or hurt.”

He seemed so cut and dry with this response, as if this was already made up in his head, as if he didn’t want to risk being the sole reason another life dropped for loving him. He already beat himself down to know he wasn’t worthy.

“You don’t get to make that choice. You don’t… get to pick what’s best for me.” You told him with a shake of your head. “Why can’t you let me try?”

The words were stuck in Opie’s throat as you reached out and caressed his beard. He swallowed carefully, before he pressed his lips to your palm.

“I can’t make your decisions for you. I can only advise you that this might not be best.” He murmured, before you made him look you in the eyes.

“I’m picking you.”

— end —

[hollownoire]

Instead of ghosting people when I get nervous I really could just be forward with them. I really don't know why I feel like I can't just be honest. Yeah, I really just want to be comforted and spoken to. I can admit I'm a fragile person without fearing people will never interact simply because sometimes I just need a little affirming, which is just what you would already do with a friend. I've really built up this idea of like...proper...friendship, using experiences that were not so, and I'm only now really realizing that. Maybe I just need more friends. Maybe I don't talk to people enough, of course I get stupid anxious speaking with people, I don't have the practice. I haven't gotten used to the idea of normality, of not needing to conform to make someone like me, what I thought was an ideal was just...normal. The answer always doubles back to needing an olive branch from others, but the question is how do I ask? I want to say the answer is obvious, just ask, cause it is that simple, but just because it's simple doesn't mean it's easy. I want to be reminded to take care of myself more often. Just...cared for generally. I want to know someone wants to be my friend, even if it's some amount of effort. To know I'm in someone's thoughts, in absence of my presence, and to make those thoughts real and lived by reaching out to me and showing me I can be close to people again. That it doesn't need to be scary. That I'm not above having a group of friends that knows me, truly knows me, issues and all, and still loves me for it. I want my weirdness to be a part of my value, a part of my worth, as my life, as my daily, and finally feel safe in a space with people I don't have to worry about misinterpreting my distance for something else. To be close enough to someone that they know I just need a bit of love and kindness. Attention. That I'd talk with anyone for hours if they reached out to me, that I'd answer every and any question asked of me because I want to be known and heard. I've made an unapproachable monster of an image of myself in my head, one bereft of my gender, of my needs or wants or boundaries, and the only real way to show myself I'm not what I think I am is through repetition and living as the person I am and not who I fear myself to be. Skulking alone, reinforcing this idea of unapproachability and inability to bond with others or make lasting connections just makes a feedback loop of...garbage! No wonder I'm only really now feeling like a girl 5 years into my transition, I don't talk to people enough to hear my pronouns be used often. Hear my name. Just be treated like a sweet girl, I don't know. Really want my needs being met to be normal, and be something that people want to do because I matter to them. When people make note of something, and go out of their way to remember it, I notice. I also notice when people say they'll do something for me and they don't. Imagine my surprise when someone both notices me and casually gives me something I desperately need. A small, innocent, everyday suggestion. A stranger tells me to keep making art, saying please, even. "Please keep going." Mutuals who interacts with me, talk to me, and cares enough to...show me they care. That they know I'm an actual person. People who want to see what I'll do, what I'll make. What I have made. What I've shared. The clean, the messy, the embarassingly authentic, cringey... I don't know. I originally had a point to all of this, some neat way to tie my thoughts up into a bow to be presentable to people on this blog or to my mutuals, but I'm starting to believe I don't really need to do that, do I? It might be presumptuous, but I feel like I know a few people, maybe more, who've actually cared enough to read through my sloppy, nonsensical rambling, that will have read all of this, somehow. You didn't have to, but you did. You did, and...it means a lot. A lot, a lot. I'm a stranger to kindness, but...uh...you're...making it more familiar, I suppose. My dms are open, everyone. I always need more friends, if you wanna talk.

[gauze-valley]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 1

Prompt: Emergency first aid, self done stitches

Finished my first post for @whumperless-whump-event's first prompt a liiittle late but I did it! This snippet is a precursor to. The only other thing I've written on this blog, which you can find here and here (in order!)

If u like the whole "caretaker has to care for themselves and suck it up so they can be there for people" trope, this might be for you!!

my stuff for this event probably won't be too polished, sorry about that! I'm just here to actually get myself to write :')

CW: Graphic description of self-suturing a wound, needles, graphic description of pain, laceration

[~1 and a half pages, 3rd person POV, OC/non-fandom]

If nothing else, at least the wound is only leaking. The stasis spell has held up surprisingly well, but the mirage-like waves in the magic aura around the wound tell Ira that he's made the right call in deciding it needs to be properly dealt with now, if the pain hadn't said as much already.

But he's exhausted. His limbs ache and there's a weight pulling on his body. He hasn't been off of his feet since early in the morning. A small reckless part of him says to recast the spell and lay down for a bit- what's the harm? He'll be closing this thing himself, and surely he could do it better with a little rest.

That'd be stupid, though. The overuse of healing magic is a risk for most already, let alone someone like Ira, whose mixed essentia halfway wants to reject every bit of holy magic that enters his body. He'll already be feeling the effects of this tomorrow, he's sure, and a second cast could put him entirely out of commission.

It's with a slow reluctance that he goes about cleaning the wound, sterilizing the area and wiping away the topmost layer of blood so he can actually see the edges More begins to seep out in response, but it's slow- the spell is still holding, and it's far more long than it is deep, so it seems safe to close. Unfortunately, the pain suppression is beginning to wear off, but that's all the more reason to get this over with.

Staring into the bathroom mirror, he tries to steel himself, conjure the motivation. He's done things like this before, in fact, he's done much worse procedures on himself than stitching a simple laceration, but his head is pounding and he just wants today to be over. Not that tomorrow will be any better. He's still needed- he won't be resting unless this gets much, much worse, and he intends not to let that happen.

Pushing the needle through the skin is easy. His hands are steady despite how worn and heavy they feel. They always are. Gritting his teeth through the pain, trying not to let the feeling of thread dragging through the punctures disrupt his focus, is much harder. Every sharp tug makes his skin crawl with disgust.

Ira resists the urge to rush it, because he's smarter than that and it's difficult enough to keep it neat considering the awkwardness of having to look down or look in the mirror for guidance, but fucking hell, every time this process is prolonged by having to clear away the blood again, he wants to scream.

Finally, he ties off the sutures, giving a relieved sigh that he immediately regrets as a dull pain shoots through his entire side. He carefully cleans the remaining blood once again and properly dresses the wound before throwing on a loose T-shirt. Now all he needs to do is clean up here before Six and Joy get back.

A ringing from the other room interrupts his thoughts. His phone. Muttering curses to himself, he walks over to snatch it off the bed and answers.

"Yes?"

"Chaplain Stepford, um, I'm sorry to bother you, but Chaplain Hart is busy and so is everyone else and-" Ira pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, it's Clea. Can the acolytes not go an hour without his supervision?

"Is it urgent?" He interrupts, his tone short and exasperated.

"Not… exactly right now, but it could be. I think Lane's making a bad call about something and he won't listen to me."

"About what exactly? Spit it out." God, he knows he should be receptive to his students coming to him for help, but just once it'd be so nice if literally anyone else could deal with it.

"He wants to completely seal a wound, because he thinks-"

That's all he needs to hear. Lane should know better, but of course he doesn't. Of course he'd not only overestimate his own skill but completely disregard all warnings about only using drastic magic when it's completely necessary. "No. No, absolutely not. Tell him that if he does that without my approval, I'm releasing him from my mentorship."

"I already tried telling him that that'd probably happen. He said I'm just upset because we have different ideas. Can you come talk to him?"

"I'll be there in less than ten. Make it very clear to him that his ass is expelled from the program if I get there and that wound is mended shut. He's far from skilled enough to attempt that, I don't care how much he's read about it. If he insists on being a moron before I can get there, find another chaplain immediately."

"Okay, thank you-" Ira hangs up before Clea can finish. Really, he should probably thank her for bringing this to his attention, but all he can think about right now is how much worse the pain is getting, and how long it'll be before he can collapse into bed, and the utterly overwhelming thought of being on his feet all day again tomorrow, but this time with a fresh wound.

Forcing himself to struggle back into his robes feels like a monumental task. He doesn't even bother to take off his casual clothes first, he just wants to get this over with quickly and without bending his side, as much as he can avoid it.

He pops a couple of over-the-counter painkillers before he leaves, hoping that'll be enough for now.

[keeping-clean-with-carmilla]

hi!

This is a blog dedicated to all the neat cleaning tricks I've been collecting over the years. This is going to be half an advice blog, half a way for me to work through some bad feelings I have regarding owning things, cleaning, and messiness.

Things to get out of the way

Carmilla is not my real name: it's a cover name I use for all my internet stuff, so I can keep myself safe. This is my main blog, I mostly reblog things and don't usually talk as much on there (@therealqa). I use any pronouns, and multiple names, but I have no preference for any

i have issues when it comes to hording: which I am trying to fix, but it comes from both a familial place and a traumatic one, so this is a method I've found helps. I will not insist you need to get rid of everything you own to keep a clean environment; that's honestly: silly

I have an odd relationship with religion and spirituality: oftentimes I'll put at the ends of posts "if you're spiritual/use runes(sigils, symbols, whatever you call them)/religious, ____" and give a tip of what I do to keep my home, environment, family, and items safe. You by no means need to follow this, but I still think it's worth putting into posts

Askbox will be open for if/when you want me to cover something specific, including (but not limited to)

ways to make cheap cleaner

Organizational tips for people with/who live with ADHD/or anything of the sort

Taking care of rugs, mattresses, bedding, pillows, etc

gardening, keeping your garden clean and pest-free, and ways to keep your indoor plants healthy

Managing a clean environment with disabilities

managing The Big Clean after a depressive episode

And anything you can think of

Happy cleaning!

[animeomegas]

Omega!Sasuke - Domestic headcanons

Anon: I love your omega sasuke writings!! Their sooo cutee!Could I ask for fluffy domestic headcannons with omega sasuke and his mate pleeasee!

(Thank you so much! My omega!Sasuke writings have become something of a feature of this blog heehee. This ask is the oldest one I have, so I apologise for the wait <3<3 Enjoy)

Warnings: None.

Sasuke is not the most domestically skilled (although he’s not bad either), but he is definitely a homebody.

Sasuke is just the happiest when he’s at home. There’s no pressure, no judgement, no expectation, and for those reasons, it’s his favourite place to be.

And to share that space with someone he loves and cherishes makes him very happy. 

I want to write this by taking a look at a perfect day at home when neither Sasuke nor his mate has to work. 

Morning

Sasuke has always been an early riser. Never in his life has he been able to sleep in. Whether it was following his brother around, training, nightmares, or missions, Sasuke considers 7:30 am a lie in. Most people disagree with him. 

But something that has changed compared to all those times, is that now he likes to spend a few extra minutes in bed, taking in his alpha’s scent, and revelling in the warmth of another person. (He also sometimes leaves a few kisses on his alpha’s face but will deny it if he’s caught.)

Sasuke gets out of bed, gets dressed and goes downstairs silently. He always makes a pot of tea. 

Sasuke finds a great interest in tea as he gets older. He enjoys finding rare blends and brings back tea whenever he goes travelling. 

He sits and enjoys his tea on the porch in the peace and quiet of the early morning.

When he’s done, he waters the plants in your garden, mainly tomato plants.

He had started a small tomato garden after prompting from you and his therapist. Sasuke thought it was stupid, but you convinced him to give it a shot. After experiencing so much death, curating life was like a breath of fresh air. 

As an introvert, Sasuke enjoys spending this time by himself in the mornings.

When he’s done, he heads back into the kitchen and starts to cook breakfast for the both of you. 

And he can never keep the smile off his face when he feels your arms snake around his waist.

“Morning,” you whispered, leaning you head on Sasuke’s shoulder and watching him fry some fish. 

“Morning.”

“Did you sleep okay?” 

Sasuke hummed in the positive as you started to place kisses on his neck. You buried your face into his neck and took a deep breath. Sasuke huffed and pushed your face away.

“Go be useful and lay the table.”

You laughed and pulled away from him to do as you were asked, but not before giving him a slap on the behind. Sasuke rolled his eyes at your behaviour and swatted you away.  

Sasuke is the sort of cook who is very good at cooking a small collection of meals and as such, tends to lean towards traditional meals, the kind his mother used to make for him. For breakfast, he always makes fish, rice and miso soup.

You both always eat breakfast at your dining table. If you ever suggest eating it in bed or on the sofa, Sasuke will judge you heavily. He’s a dining room table only kind of guy.

Sasuke is very traditional in a lot of ways, and his mother and father always taught him that meals were eaten at a table.

 Afternoon:

The afternoon, the perfect time for errands and cleaning. According to Sasuke, anyway.  

As long as he doesn’t bump into anyone he knows, he actually finds running errands pretty relaxing.

Unfortunately, he almost always bumps into someone he knows, so you’re on errand duty, and Sasuke will stay safe inside his own house and clean.

He gives you a list of things to pick up. The list is very extensive and specific. And Sasuke will be grumpy if you buy the wrong kind of thing.

While Sasuke doesn’t have the largest repertoire of meals he can cook, he’s very good at cleaning.

He likes to keep a minimalist, traditional style, very similar to the style of the house he grew up in. This style only works with a tidy and clean house.

Sasuke gets stressed if his home space is messy, so he tidies and cleans every day unless he’s on a mission.

If he is on a mission and the house isn’t at least mostly clean when he gets back, he gets salty about it.

 “Sasuke!” you called out. “I’m back, can you help me with the bags?”

 He immediately shunshined next to you.

 You swore in surprise, dropping the bags that you had cradled in your arms.

 Sasuke was unperturbed, catching them smoothly with a muttered, “Don’t drop the bags,” before sweeping them into the kitchens.

 You stared after him from a moment.

 “’Don’t drop the bags’,” you mocked him under your breath.

 “I heard that.”

 You ignored him, walking into the perfectly clean kitchen. He managed to clean everything before you were done shopping? You shook your head in disbelief. Before you lived together, you would never have pegged Sasuke as the neat freak type, but he absolutely was. You can still remember the horror on his face when you spilled wine all over the tatami mats in your bedroom. You laughed lightly at the memory.

 “Did you pick up the aubergines?” Sasuke asked, rifling through the bags.

 “Yes, of course.”

 “And the green tea?”

 You huffed out a laugh and rolled your eyes.

 “I got everything you put on the list, Sasuke, I promise,” you put your hands on his shoulders, leaning down to kiss him to shut up his nagging.

 Sasuke sighed quietly into the kiss, bring his arms up to wrap around your waist.  Eventually, you broke the kiss, but continued to rest your forehead against Sasuke’s.

 “The house looks amazing by the way, thanks for cleaning it,” you whispered.

 “If it was up to you, we’d live in squalor, so someone has to do it,” he grumbled, trying to cover up the pleased blush covering his face at your compliment.

 You just shook your head, leaning down to steal another kiss from your grumpy husband.

 Evening:

Evenings with Sasuke are very calm.

He enjoys an evening of coexisting while working on different tasks.

Maybe you’re sewing something and Sasuke is reading a book, his head on your lap.

Or perhaps you decide to do some writing while Sasuke gets some work done, shoulder brushing together.

He’s not one for talking, but casual physical affection with his alpha is something Sasuke loves.

Evenings like this after long missions, Sasuke often falls asleep on your shoulder, leaning instinctively into the warmth and comforting smell.

If he’s in a good mood, sometimes you can hear a few purrs escape, which is the cutest thing ever of course.

Sasuke’s purr is very quiet generally, but it’s a lovely sound. Every time he does it, it just fills you with a warm feeling.

Peaceful coexistence really it Sasuke’s bread and butter.

 You sat as still as possible on the sofa, supressing a smile as you felt Sasuke’s head get heavier and heavier on your shoulder. He was falling asleep.

 When you had first met, he wouldn’t have trusted you to tell him the time correctly, but now? Now, simply being in your presence put him at ease enough that he simply fell asleep.

 You turned ever so slightly to press a gentle kiss to his head. His hair was still slightly damp from his bath. He smelt clean and a little sweeter than normal. Sasuke had tried out a new shampoo when the shop had run out of his favourite one. You made a note to tell him that you preferred this one; it mingled much better with his natural scent.

 You looked out the window briefly, noting how dark it had become. You had to get yourself and Sasuke into bed soon, but you just didn’t have the heart to wake him up.

 The silence was suddenly broken by a quiet purring sound.

 Sasuke was purring into your neck.

 Well, now you definitely couldn’t wake him up.

 You could feel the vibrations from Sasuke’s chest on your arms, while his steady breathing tickled the hairs on your neck. You sighed in resignation. Guess you were stuck here for a little longer, not that you were complaining, of course.

 You grabbed a book from the side table to entertain yourself while Sasuke slept peacefully on your shoulder. Peaceful rest didn’t come often for Sasuke, so you weren’t going to be the one to ruin it.

[arcadejohn127-9]

Heyyy, I hope you’re doing ok! I love ur blog and I know we’re strangers who will possibly never meet but Recently, the little things have pushed me over the edge and close to an anxiety attack I presume but I’ve been using knitting and crochet to cope. It sounds weird Ik, but may u do the brothers and Undateables with an MC who does that and MC just ends up making so much stuff in one day that she gives it away to them. I’m so sorry if it’s weird, pls feel free to choose whether to do it or not but this blog has made me a little happier than before, thank you for reading and being here!

I actually use to do knitting, never finished anything and lost interest but it was really calming and fun. Couldn't keep my attention for long as it was very repetitive and got boring quickly but I always just genuinely enjoyed it despite that?

Stress knitting seems like the most wholesome way to handle anxiety and stress, it helps you focus on something else, you're being productive and having fun aswell as being safe! Though do be careful with the needles

And thank you for being here and supporting me, I'm glad I could make you feel even a little bit happier, a small amount of happiness is better than none! So thank you for making my night with how kind you are! Your habit and anxiety relief isn't weird at all, I don't see how it could be weird tbh

Sorry this took so long, I feel stupid now but I got really stumped on some of them on what to make but now I'm laughing at myself due to how obvious they were

Lucifer:

You made him mug holders and now it's all he uses

"It's very useful, I'll take extra care of it - no need to worry."

He can handle the heat but he must use what you've made

You even made a massive sweater and socks for Cerberus

How you got his dogs measurements is beyond him but it was the most prominent things he uses from your biggest pile

But he was no fool, he knew you

He knew your habits and how you've grown more anxious

He isn't always the most available person with his emotions and with his schedule

But he was always willing to listen to your issues

Mammon:

You made him a money pouch - how could he not be happy??!!

He loves jingling it to hear all his latest 'finds'

What was even better you made him a sweater he got to wear for his modeling job and show off to Everyone

That article was an interesting find

"CHECK IT! everyone loved your sweater! I say we can make a bussiness with this."

But when you come handing him a large bag full of your latest projects he can't help but raise a brow

He's greedy, he loves being showered in gifts

But he knew you, he took note on your emotional

He got pouty but he hugged your shoulders

Reminding you that you can always come to him and he'll make you feel better

Levithan:

You made him knitted wrist support, for his long gaming sessions

He wears them pretty much everyday at this point

Not only are they comfortable and helpful

But you made them! Specifically for him! For him to use! YOU MADE IT!

Has bragged to his gaming friends about it one too many times

"My player 2 is obviously better than yours, does yours knit cute things for you? I thought so."

Also you made him a crotchet plush of his favourite animal crossing chatacter, he prefers the Devildom version of the game but he's a sucker for bright cute things

Anything he could he'd either put in on his desk or on his figure cupboards

But when you come in with a massive pile, strained smile he felt himself panic

You both have anxiety, you were comrades in it! So of course he knew how knitting was part of your coping mechanism

He felt annoyed and worried on why you weren't coming to him but quickly calmed himself down, when he saw he patted your head

Explaining you can always come to him because you're in this together

He definitely stole a line or two from his latest favourite media

Satan:

Crotchet chair cat paw socks was his favourite out of the pile

"They're little paws..... I need these for all my furniture!"

His second favourite is the baggy sweater you knitted for him

He's going to cherish these gifts until he dies

Which could be never

Though even in death he'd be keeping what you've made him

Worried about the massive increase as he knows it's coping for your anxiety

He's read books about anxiety so he has a fair amount of knowledge on it

Insists you can always come to him when you're worried

Asmodeus:

He adored everything you made!

The sweater had little holes in them? He doesn't care and even smirks at the holes

"wanting to expose my beautiful skin~? I don't blame you."

Made a scarf? He'll wear that instead of his usual black one

Just knitted squares or unwearable things? Proudly shows off your work

Is concerned you've been so ridden with anxiety

He wants to help as much as he can, he has teas and bath scents for these kind of things

Just say the word and he'll bring all of it out

Beezlebub:

A crotchet layered burger he can take apart because it's velcro-ed together??!

It's like a real burger!

He tries not to bite or chew on it but it has happened before

Would feel awful if he accidentally ripped it

"I love it, are you going to make more?"

Didn't expect for you to actually make more

As time went on he learned that it helps you calm down from anxiety

So he especially didn't expect you to come in with a massive bag full of your latest creation's

He immediately got worried

You wanted to show them off to distract your mind but he just grabbed your head

Gently moving it so you looked at him

He told you he wants to help and he'll be there for you, no matter what and no matter when

Belphegor:

You made him w blanket - you know how young children are normally seen with baby blankets? Just always carrying them around

Yeah that's him

"You can't make me take it off Lucifer-! This is MY gift from (Y/N) and I'm going to make sure everyone sees it!"

Always showing off the blanket you made him by carrying it around or having it wrapped around him

He loves it! He also loves the pillow covers you made! It helps spice up his pillow collection

But you can't hide your anxiety from him, he goes out of his way to give people it

And soon he found out how kitting was a coping mechanism

He felt a little special you were making him things because it calmed you down but also worried about your mental health

The concern RISED when you were in the attic, placing and organising the big pile you had

He hugged you and flopped onto the bed

Telling you that he'll look after you and you can tell him what's wrong, stress naps are always welcomed with him

UNDATEABLES↓

Diavolo:

Didn't expect to find such a huge pile of new stuff in his room

He saw mug holders and mits

Horn warmers

And his favourite- a shawl with tassels, he immediately wrapped it around him and refused to take it off

He's going to wear this everywhere no matter his outfit

"Barbatos can be strict but I'll wear this no matter what, if I even see a spec of dirty on it I'll make sure to get it cleaned with delicate care."

But then it hit him, you become more active with your hobby when you become anxious

He immediately got to you, asking you if you're okay

He's ready to charge your whole class schedule if he has to

Barbatos:

You crocheted desserts and he never felt so much warmth and love in his heart

Almost collapsed from sweetness when he found a knitted pair of gloves in the big pile of your creation's

Appreciates the gifts alot

"these are marvelous, I look forward to see what else you make."

Brings you calming teas as a thank you, understanding your anxiety must be high

Offers a shoulder to cry on and happy to take time out of his schedule to listen to your worries

He asks you to teach him so he can make things like you

He wants to repay you for all the things you've given him

Solomon:

Has a whole room dedicated to everything you've ever made and given him

Whenever he has guests he likes to take them to check out your creations

"Come and admire my collection, My apprentice made these, aren't they neat?"

The potion sacks you've made are extremely useful

Aswell as the coldrain mat

Can sense your anxious energy in the newest creation's and gets concerned

He'll invite you over to talk about what's wrong

Let's you to take your time incase you're comfortable to talk

Simeon:

His favourite amongst the massive pile was a cute crotchet octopus

It was nicely stuffed and felt so nice to rest his head on

Others that peaked his fancy were the long wrist warmers you made, the way you made it made it look like lace

Aswell as a shawl and the very well made bag to store his books in

"You're so thoughtful, I'll treasure them all."

But he noticed just how worked up you've been and knew your anxious habits

Sat you down for tea to ask what how you're feeling and if could help

Also offers to be a guardian angel and make sure you don't get so anxious

If he can he'll wear an entire outfit made out of your knitting

Luke:

Is in awe how much you gave him

Almost died with Happiest when you knitted him a new hat

The crotchet wings you made just made him bounce with joy

He loves everything!!!

"I'm going to wear everything you've made and carry the little crochet puppy with me everywhere! I promise I'll take good care of him!"

Though will always check in on you

Once he's learned you do it more or only when you're really anxious he'll want to do everything he can to help

Has looked up guides on how to help people with their anxiety and panic attacks

He's going to be your guardian angel!

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

Super theoretical, but would there be a way to keep a snake enclosure in a room that a cat had access to (provided, of course, that the enclosure was super secure from the cat being able to get into it)? I figure the trouble there is that they can spook easily, and the presence of a cat looking in could stress them out? Or, would it be possible to have an enclosure set up in like, a closet, as long as all the appropriate heating/lighting is in place? I don't have any rooms I could block off completely from having cats access, but I think it'd be neat to have a snake one day. If that's a dealbreaker, I do understand, and I wouldn't get a snake because I wouldn't want to place undue stress on it!! Thanks for your work running this blog :)

Hello hello - honestly, it depends on your cat.

My instinct here is that the snake will be okay as long as you provide something like a blanket covering the enclosure to help it feel safe, but I'm concerned that you wouldn't be able to remove the cat from the room while cleaning the enclosure or handling the snake. If your cat is the type that's always climbing on things and trying to get where it shouldn't be, that could also be a concern. Aside from stressing the snake, heat lamps being knocked over by a cat is a great way to start a house fire. When I adopted my cat, I specifically went looking for a low-key adult, and I've never had a problem, but I could see a high-strung cat causing issues if it always has access to the snake's room.

As for setting up in a closet, though - that's no problem at all! I actually keep my baby snake enclosures inside my closet. If you can get everything set up in there, the snake won't mind one bit that it's in a closet.

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

NSFW Alphabet (A-M)

Part 1 | Part 2

The Falcon and The Winter Soldier

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Female! Reader

Summary: A-Z of just smut (and some fluff).

Word Count: 2049

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, minors DNI, unprotected vaginal sex, oral (male/female receiving), masturbation (male/female), overstimulation, creampie, multiple orgasms, teasing, slight spanking, sex toys, cursing, language, mention of bodily fluids.

Authors Note: POSTING IN 2 PARTS! Because Tumblr won’t let you have more than 250 text blocks. Happy Birthday to Sam! I love how this turned out and I hope you all do too! Enjoy loves <3

Main Masterlist | Sam Wilson Masterlist

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Credit @ chrishemsworht for the wonderful gif

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s very caring and attentive to you after sex, especially when it was a little more rough than usual.

He would make sure you were ok before he went to the bathroom to get something to clean you off, as well as a cold washcloth in case you were too warm.

After this, he would do one of two things. Either he would bring you close to his body to cuddle up on you as he whispers in your ear all his affirmation his heart held for you.

“Come here.” His arms were open for you to crawl in them to bask in his love and affection after he had fucked you so good.

There was nothing quite like it. The tenderness of his touches as he held you so close to him. “You did so well. You’re so good to me. I love you. Sleep now.”

The softest of kisses being left on you as sleep took over. Himself following soon after.

Or he would run a relaxing bath for the two of you to soothe both of your bodies down. It would end in the two of you in the sheets again, all snuggled up, clean and relaxed.

Since you were a little wobbly on your legs from the event that just was, he helped you into the bathtub. Your back to his chest as his arms enclosed around to keep you that much closer.

The light was dimmed, and just now, you heard the faint sound of music coming from his phone in the bathroom.

His touches and the warm water lulled you to sleep for just a few minutes. He would wake you to get out before proper sleep took over you, “come on, sleepy girl. The bed is more comfortable.”

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves his hands. Fingers, palms, everything that makes it possible to grab onto you in both a loving and sexual way.

The feel of Sams’s hand all over you as you made out on the couch was intoxicating. You could never get enough of his touch on your bare skin.

His lips found their place at your weak spot, your pulse point on your neck, as he kissed and sucked on the skin. His hand traveled more down to the inside of your thighs, ready to snake his hand in your panties any second now.

A whiney plea for him to touch you more ever so softly escaped you. “Please, Sam, touch me more.”

--

“You just love holding my hand, huh?” Sam questioned as your smaller one fit in his for the 10th time today. Everywhere you go, the urge for his touch was immense so finding the two of you holding hands no matter where was no surprise.

“I just love your touch, ok?”

His other favorite and this may sound strange, is his left peck. It holds a special place to him because that’s where you always rest your head to feel the steady beats of his heart. If it was out and about or just the comfort of your house, you always searched to lay your head on there to feel his love.

“It beats only for you, angel,” would be his words always when you found your home there.

On you? He loves your legs, more specifically your thighs. His hand always finds its place at the top of it, giving a reassuring squeeze now and then.

In the bedroom, he always wants you to sit on his face. Your two beautiful thighs at the side of him as he eats you out and his fingers dig deep into the skin. Thighs shaking and trembling as you’re close to releasing brought forward by his expert tongue and the grip on your thighs adding to that sensation.

It always made you nervous when Sam asked you to sit on his face. The fear that you would crush him was enormous.

“I know what you’re thinking. You will not crush me. Now bring your beautiful thighs over here and sit on your throne.”

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Inside of you most of the time. The need to feel him deep in your pussy is what you live for. His mind goes absolutely crazy as he watches his load seep out of you. Your quivering hole begging for him to fill you up once again. He can't do anything more than comply with your wishes.

“Where do you want it?” His thrusts were deep as the need to release was creeping up on him. “Inside. Always inside Sam,” you whispered in his ear.

He didn’t need more than that to let go. Grunts and moans of your name were like music to your ears as he came inside. The feel of his seed filling you up and his sounds was what brought your own orgasm.

“Again… I need to feel you again.”

You also love to feel his load in your mouth. On your knees, as he pumps his cock, ordering you to stick out your tongue to receive him. His body language and facial expressions just as he’s about to cum are priceless and so fucking hot and will forever be imprinted in your brain.

“Open up. Show me your tongue.” Like a good girl, you complied with his wishes and opened up your ready mouth. Little flicks of your tongue on him as his hand was working his length is what was needed for him to shoot ropes of him cum all over your awaiting and needy tongue.

Once done, he took some time to admire his artwork. “So beautiful. Can you swallow that for me?” It was like second nature for you to do so. You showed him that you had done what he wished for. “Good girl.”

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Sam loves when you dominate him and take control. It’s mostly him that takes the reins in ordering you around in the bedroom, but he doesn’t mind passing the power over to you once in a while.

Whatever you ask him to do, he will do with no questions asked.

Jacking off while you watch? Check.

“Aren’t you going to touch yourself as well?” He questioned as it was only he that was working on himself.

“I don’t think so. Keep doing what you’re doing, Mr. Falcon.”

Not being allowed to touch any part of you as you ride him like a good girl? He´ll try with all the power he has.

“No, Sam.” This was the third time you had to pry his hands from your hips as you rode him. “I don’t want you to touch me. Be good! Just watch and enjoy.”

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Sam knows what he’s doing. He’s been with a few women before, so he’s well known in the pleasing department. It doesn’t take him long to figure out what you like and don't like.

What touch have you begging for more? What kisses have you gasping and whimpering out in pleasure?

It's all about exploring each other to the fullest. He learns it all like it’s second nature for him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position where he can watch your face contour in pleasure. It’s such an ego boost for him watching you fall apart because of the pleasure he’s bringing you with his mouth, fingers, or dick.

His hand will lightly grab your chin to look at him if you ever turn away because of the intense pleasure.

“Look at me, baby. Look at me. I need to see your beautiful face as I make you cum.”

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He can be earnest when he wants to be, but the two of you wouldn’t take yourselves so seriously all the time. Laughs and giggles would fill the air if the bedroom session were more loving and playful than rough and dominant.

But when it was serious business? There would be no joking matter. The only thing on the mind for both of you was to please each other to the fullest with no distractions.

H = Hair (how well are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps it neat down there, and you had never complained, so none of you make a big deal out of it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sam is the best lover you’ve had in your life. He takes care of your needs to the fullest and is never greedy with you. It’s all about you.

It’s safe and romantic as he’s whispering praises and encouragements towards you. His touches are warm and delicate as they trace your skin in the act of lovemaking.

He always lets you finish first, and he’s following right behind you in getting his pleasure as well.

It was one of those days when all you needed was to feel that extra bit of love and pleasure from one another as you were tangled in the silky sheets together.

His thrusts deep but careful as his number one mission was to make you feel good on this beautiful day. Your hands had a firm hold of his back to keep the closeness on one another.

His face buried in your neck to whisper words of encouragement. “Cum for me, baby. I've got you.”

The feel of your tight walls around him was what he needed to let go as well.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Why would he when he has you? Of course, if there were a time you weren’t in the mood or out of town, he would take care of himself.

Those times he would find the few videos that were recorded of you and him getting it on. He would focus on the sounds of your moans, whimpers, and sweet pleas of his name on a continuous loop as he brought himself to an end.

It never felt as good as when you did it, all of your tricks and techniques made him cum in record time, but it would have to do for now.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Make you cum all over his fingers in public. He loved how much you try to keep your composure as his long fingers were driving themselves in and out in a steady rhythm.

How you tried to keep talking to the person you were talking to without making a sound that indicated that something was going on underneath the table.

When he finally had you coming on his fingers, he would pull out of you to clean himself of your juices. It would be in the most casual way possible, and no one ever suspected anything.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Call him old-fashioned, but his favorite place to do it is in the comfort of your bedroom door. It’s just easier and simple to play around and explore with one another in the sheets than in any other place.

But that doesn’t mean you haven’t fucked in other locations. All the surfaces in the house have been blessed by the two of you.

As the guests around the dinner table chatted away, your thoughts wandered to just a couple of hours ago when Sam was taking you against this very table everyone was sitting at.

The memory had you whimper out some and legs clenched together as you felt the heat from you increasing. Sam felt your behavior change as he sat beside you.

“What’s wrong?” He whispered in your ear to shield the words from the rest of the crowd.

“No-nothing… I'm just thinking about what this table was decorated with a few hours ago. Not food or drinks, but the two of us.”

His cocky smirk was pretty evident on his face at your confession. “Don't worry. I'll take you against it again when everyone leaves.”

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Simply you.

Your words, touch, and smoldering looks were the only things needed to turn him on.

Part 2 HERE

Credit @ firefly-graphics for the wonderful divider

Thank you for reading <3 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated if you liked it! As well as a reblog to share it with others!

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Marvel Taglist: @whothehellisbuckybarnes @phoenixhalliwell @x-goddess-of-nature-x @trulysuccubus @skyesthebomb @whoreforsamwilson @natashadeservedbetter @beth-winchester21 @mrs-salvawhore @soldierstucky @missswritings @sariche @claudiaatje @myakai13 @paintballkid711 @ttalisa @teti-menchon0604 @J-e-nster @-im-fantastic- @donut-crazs @tatestripedsweater @feetoffthetablee @uraesthete @mae-black @midnightdragonzero @julia2000love @yvngzxx @midnightzonzz @kaystacks17 @missroro @living-that-best-life @alwaysclassyeagle

Sam Wilson Taglist: @kenbechillin @selenasprompts

Let me know if you want to be added/removed!

If your name is in bold it means I can’t tag you for some reason. My apologies!

[moonlightchn]

~WHOLESOME WEDNESDAY~

Hello this is (not) JYPe and guess who's feeling soft again? this mf 💞 heh I just thought hey it's been a while and I kinda am seeing how a lot of us are falling back on activity and posting less and stuff and I kinda feel like the general activity of the community has come DOWN a lot which I mean it's OK!!!! because we all have lives!!!! right? but also I do kinda WORRY LIKE WHERE YALL AT i guess I just kinda wanna make sure we're all doing good? yall holding on? taking care? sleeping and stuff? I've seen also many bots pop up again recently (STARES AT THAT ONE ADMIN THAT MADE LIKE 3 BOTS IN 2 MONTHS WITH LIKE 10 PPLZ EACH YES YOU PLEASE TAKE CARE) and I know bot can sometimes feel like a job more than a fun relaxing place for some so just take it easy on that too just making sure we all remember that things around here aren't that deep and you can take it at your own pace. this has always been supposed to be a safe, fun place where we make friends and have a blast, so if it doesnt feel like that anymore step back, take a deep breath and then come back if you want but like dont feel like you gotta be here and keep putting stuff out for others

I know school work, uni, real work, family, responsibilities, it can all be too much sometimes and drive us a little bit insane. I personally have a 🤩🤩 fun few days coming 🤩🤩 I hope I don't die 🤩🤩 so yeah maybe I'm PROJECTING RN but yknow how it be, I think its important sometimes to remind ourselves that, yknow, stepping back and taking some time for ourselves it's also ok. I sometimes just log out and not having my phone vibrating and notifs popping up for just a few hours feels refreshing. it's ok. you wont miss out on anything important for treating yourself to one internet free day

we take so many things seriously sometimes dont we? like, sure theres things that ARE important like keeping connections and friends and staying healthy and safe, but also theres so many things that are important for ??? no valid reason ??? or that maybe we wrongly prioritize over other things like for example dont prioritize your bot development over your sleep plz don't do that it's not worth it rip, or dont feel like you need to be around 24/7 when you have other things to do or just don't want to. dont feel like you're neglecting bot because you have to study or feel like going out with friends is pushing you back here. dont feel like being behind in notifs is such a big deal. youre a great admin and you're doing well!

but also like,,,, dont prioritize work and uni over sleep and eating and taking breaks and going out and getting fresh air either. really just prioritize yourself first. sometimes being here just as admin and sharing and talking to friends is good enough. you dont always need to be your character, you don't always need to keep an image or a clean neat blog. you can just enjoy and go around shitposting that's really ok! (bunnies for the soul)

yknow it's really cliche to think about it but sometimes you just gotta sit back and be like what am i doing? why am i doing this? what am I taking from this? is this meaningful or beneficial for my life and my growth and my wellbeing? like tumblr as any social media can be TOXIC it rlly still is just because we don't see shit it doesnt mean it's not going on and just because we don't go through something anymore it doesn't mean it hasnt hurt us or leave us super fucking paranoid around.

I JUST AM SAYING that I know many of us maybe feel safe and welcomed and at home here or like we won't get this thing we have here anywhere else but I think we make our own safety and comfort yknow? itd be really sad to see some of you go and the community poof but I also think that for us to keep carrying this thing we have and for us to protect it and for more people to feel welcome and safe we first need to look at ourselves and be sure we can actually keep doing this. I see posts pop here and there about admins feeling sad they get no interactions or how people they talked to has left or how they simply have things going on that makes them sad and unable to be around and I think often we forget, even though we say it ALL the time, that we're all just people behind these. dont forget you're just a person too. I've personally been having quite a hard time coming around with the boys on dms, anyone who talks to me knows that, but as admin? I'm always here. and sure none of us HAS to feel responsible of others, we're not /individually/ responsible of someone's fun or popularity or how long they stick around, but as a whole community we are all responsible somehow of this place's safety and to look ALL after each other. don't forget we're all just people and don't push each other to get things

anyway what im trying to say is that I do fucking love all of you so much and like I worry yknow??? I worry a lot when I see someone upset or I feel like an admin is in a kinda place. it's been just a bit over a year since I've joined this and ive been lucky enough to meet some amazing people that will always live in my heart no matter what and some others maybe I do not really know you or talk to you but I do appreciate your existence yknow you're not invisible and I notice when some of yall delete or when someone I see around makes a new bot and I 👀 or when yall change @s without telling and I have to go through my lists to fix them. maybe it's not enough but I do notice you and I hope you know that. and so because I love all of you I do think that I am a bit responsible of putting at least one smile on your faces throughout the day too be it with a post or a rb or an ask and so I do hope all of you feel a little responsible about someone else's happiness too. I know dash can be hard, I know dms can be hard, and I'm.not saying hey go befriend each other RN but maybe just stopping by someone's bot and "hey this is v cool!", I'm sure that would mean a lot for many people

maybe I just ate too much sugar today. whatever it be, have bunnies I love this kind of art

[pawjamas]

You dont know me but I am a longtime follower of this blog. Its just to say your blog is like my comfort blanket and gives me hope things will get better. I am a cis femalebut think I might be ace. I have learning difficulty's and anxiety/social anxiety, as well as waiting for a assessment for autism/ ADHD.

I live at home with a parent. They are not an abuser but they can be abusive. They say they can't cope and threaten to throw me out and then backtrack before saying it again. They get angry and impatient when I can't understand things right away etc. But they support me financially because I have a very small independent income and they pay for things like food/travel expenses/and other stuff if I run out of money. I have a number of much older half sisters who I dont interact with much. One of them was threatening to me before and she is violent The one closest to my age is either abusive or kind to me sometimes, buying or giving me things, which is very confusing. But its like I have to pay a price for it all

I like drawing, thrifting, writing stories, dresses, dolls, pretty clothes, plushes, romance books, Beatrix potter, cottagecore, cats, calico critters, princesscore, fairies, delicate pretty things, stars, flowers, Edwardian era etc. I have my room which I tried to make pretty with stuff I thrifted or found dumped, and some new stuff. But my parent doesn't like me sitting in there by myself and 'hiding away', and wants me to socialise etc. I have quite long hair and they keep saying I should get it cut shorter because they dont like it. My parent also keeps making remarks that I'm lucky they let me collect 'junk' and that they could stop me collecting dolls/plushes etc. Its like an unspoken threat. But I keep my collections organized. I keep everything clean and neat. I often clear out my collections and donate what I no longer want. But my sister says I hoard and I need to get rid of stuff. She visits the house and goes in my room without permission, criticizing. I also live in a bad area. My aesthetic and interests are very different to my family and everyone else there. Outside I get bullied sometimes for being 'soft' and I hide my mental issues etc to protect myself. I would ideally like to be a housewife and stay at home housekeeping with an independant income to support myself and buy nice things. I'd like to live in a small house by the sea in a quiet seaside town and I would feel safe. I wouldn't worry about money etc

I miss my cat who died at Christmas and nobody understands how much pain because he was my baby. He thought he was my baby. We were very close. My family miss him very much but dismiss how I feel because its not how they feel .

I am sorry for writing such a rambling letter. Your blog gives me hope for a better future and to also have a standard to live by saying its okay to dress pretty and be soft and gentle.

hello lovely, let me first say i am honored to have you as a longtime follower of mine. you sound like you have such a kind heart and are very sweet and care so deeply, please, despite all of which in your life may hurt or make you feel bad - continue to be this sincere and softhearted person, and hold onto the hope both my blog gives you and you also have within yourself. there is so much bravery in being who you are and continuing to love what you do despite having others who try to convince you otherwise and guilt you for it.

i am so sorry you have dealt with and are still currently dealing with so many misfortunes in your life but the passion you have for such beautiful things should not be diminished by those who aren’t willing to understand you and your interests. there are a lot of others who adore the things you like! myself included 💕 and you sound like someone who would be a great friend to have. (if you ever felt comfortable enough to, i would love to talk to you more via dm’s, they’re always open for new friends and i’d love nothing more than to become one of yours ♡)

i wish to reply to your sweet letter more in depth however have had very little energy lately regarding talking to others. but please, please know what you’ve sent truly warmed my heart and i am wishing the absolute best for you - and it means a lot to me to know my blog makes you want to be unapologetically yourself, as you should! you should definitely have hope for a future to be with people who give you unconditional love, who love every part of you - interests and hobbies, everything included. and my offer always stands that if you ever want to become friends, you may send me a message once you feel comfortable to. we share practically the exact same interests as well as plans for the future. despite how many that are currently in your life may make you feel loved insincerely or not at all, you are loved, and will meet others in your future who adore everything about you, there is always hope and i’m happy to be here to provide some for you. ♡ ♡ ♡

[solari-writes-things]

Hello hello :-) Can I ask a SFW alphabet for Buck, or something similar please ? <3

✨ Solari Says: I decided on the SFW Alphabet because I've never done one of those in my writing blog just yet! So I hope that you enjoy it!

gif credit: to the OP.

MORE BUCK | MORE R6S | > MASTERLIST < |

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Sébastien shows affection in small doses. He's not one to latch on, like Tachanka, but he does minor intimacies. An arm around the waist, hand holding, your head on his shoulder. However, that is in public. Should you find yourself in private, there are forehead kisses, cheek kisses, arms bundled around you as he stands behind. He's one to rock back and forth, as you're carrying out your duties, making it much more difficult but much more enjoyable to finish your tasks at hand.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

As a best friend, Sébastien is one of the greatest. He'll be your hype man, minus the loud. He'll be your instigator, your greatest advisor. Whatever you need him to be, he has a talent for it. You want to be encouraged to enact a bad idea, as long as it doesn't put your life at risk, he'll tell you to do it. You want him to encourage you to finish you house work, he'll tell you to do it. Hell, he'll even help.

If you were a recruit to Rainbow, it all started because you started fidgeting with one of the puzzles he left lying around on the mess hall table. He came up to talk to you about it, and you were initially worried that he would be much more confrontational--just for him to be much more laid back and interested on the steps you take to solve it. After all, you were apparently close.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Absolutely. He enjoys to cuddle when you're both alone, having nothing to do. It's one of the ways he unwinds through a hard day, after a mission. Spooning, nuzzling, the whole nine--as long as you're comfortable! That's the only contingency, complete with constant check-ins.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Sébastien is a very neat man. He usually keeps his belongings and his gear very organized, and that reflects to his cleaning. He's, as much as it was a shock to you, a very good cook and he was eager to show off just a bit when you two began to link up. He's open to the idea of settling down, being something he's wanted to do since he's been in the military for such a long time. As much as he enjoys it, the aspect of leaving for something greater does sit in his mind.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He's forward, he's serious, and he's straight to the point. Simple as that. He finds an appropriate time, of course, pulling you to your quarters and letting you down easy. Depending on the reason, he's more than likely to stay friends--unless it's something you don't deserve.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He's very open to commitment. Being someone who's sort of waited around for someone he's wanted to settle with, he has no problem waiting for that right person and the right time. Patience is one of his strongest virtues, and it shows.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He's as gentle as they come. No one expected it from him, considering his laid back and adaptable attitude. But when it comes to you, his significant other, he's mushy. Gentle touches, softer voices, the whole deal.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He absolutely does. As low-key as he is in public, he will never deny an opportunity to give you a really big hug. It's as often as you would prefer, unless he wants one himself. His hugs are gentle and loving, and in a fashion where he makes you as safe as possible.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Not fast at all. He's usually running at your pace in terms of your relationship, but saying that is on his terms. Even so, he's probably the first one to say it--even if it does take him quite a bit.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He's not a jealous person. Even if he ever was, he wouldn't handle it like a child. He'd be straight forward and honest, you can always cout on him to do just that.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are soft and tender, should they last more than a few moments. If it's in passing, it's a a soft one on your temple or your forehead. He enjoys being kissed on his cheek or his temple, but he'll never deny being kissed on the lips.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He's exceptional with kids. Being the middle of three, he's had to take care of younger siblings and knows the ins and outs of doing so. However, he is not one to sit around with them. He'd take them outside, participating in activities.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings are spent one of two ways: in bed or out on a jog. Usually it's the latter. He's an early riser--he can't help it after being in the military. He'll make a hearty breakfast to fuel the morning workout, alone with a smoothie or a protein shake.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights are usually spent keeping busy. Fidgeting with his puzzles while there is soft music or television in the background. He wants to keep his mind going, unless it is time for bed.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He's the kind to reveal as needed. A certain topic of discussion requires a certain answer, he's more than happy to say it. He doesn't hide anything, really, but he won't recklessly speak either.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He's one of the most patient people ever. It comes with working with so many different personalities in Rainbow. So good luck angering him, it ain't happening. Unless something were to happen to you, then that's when he'd be upset.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers pretty much everything. It shocks you, quite honestly, because even you don't remember saying most things. But here he is.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

You went out in the snow together. It was during your time home, and he decided he wanted to just take a small stroll. He made you cocoa in a travel mug, held your hand, and you both just... talked. It was quiet, where you were staying, so the moment felt so intimate as you both opened up to one another about your pasts.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He's fairly protective of you should the time come. Missions, in public, should you end up in danger he's the first to step in your line of sight.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Considering how lax he is about most things, the attention he puts into things is staggering. Everything is done to his liking, but when it comes to anniversaries and gifts he pays close attention to your likes and interests throughout the relationship. You could passively say something is nice, and if he feels you've been thinking about it, he very much might pick it up for you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He doesn't have many bad habits, actually. Maybe that he gets a little too immersed in his busywork should it keep his interest.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He mainly worries about his physique should the time call for it, and focuses a lot on his facial hair. He doesn't let his hair grow past a certain length, either, otherwise it becomes too distracting.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

If it was during a break-up, not necessarily. During your relationship, though, he'd miss you while you were away. Little things would remind him of you and he'd hold onto those.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Whenever he finds time, he usually sits down and watches movies. He's a bit of a cinephile, knowing many little facts about movies that he can get his hands on. If he loves them a lot, he can name directors and dates, and random fun facts.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He doesn't like lying. It's a huge deal breaker for him, and it will immediately give you the boot. He also prefers if someone is honorable, and if they can admit their faults should they be at fault about something.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He prefers to lay down on his stomach, or spooning. He doesn't snore, and he doesn't talk in his sleep. However, he does tend to shift around a lot.

__

Rainbow Six Tag List: @kind-wolf General Tag List: @sazafraz :|: @tsumethedrifter :|: @angelaiswriting​

​if you wish to be added to the tag list, please comment or message me!

[hope-to-hell]

Some of you may remember this one from...god, how long ago was it? Months, at least. A mystery of sorts, told in dialogue, finally completed, collected here all neat and tidy. Conversations With Dead Men, August Walker. Intermittent mild gore (blood and teeth) and mystery, experimental style. Walker’s cleaning crew have never met him, but they know his work.

Tagging @viking-raider @sometimesiwrite @iwillmakeyoucraveme @its--fandom--darling@mrsaugustwalker @emyearns @indigosaurus @raspberrydreamclouds @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @summersong69 @nuggsmum @wonderlandfandomkingdom @thelastsock @alexakeyloveloki @luthienaliceisilra @sadboyslogic @imneonpanda @october505 @snowyleopard93 @seriouslygoodlookinggents @feralrunaway @hell1129-blog @takemeback-toparadise @harlotforhenry @maximumninjavoid @ashleyskywalker @cavillryarchive @critfailroll @luclittlepond @ladyahiru @pirate-rhino and as always please let me know if you want on or off the tag list.

Walker and his cleaning crew have never met, but they know him. They know his work; they can read his mood in the patterns of gore on the ceiling. So when they’re summoned to the Grand Palais, they’re surprised, to say the least.

This isn’t like him.

Is he okay? Should we send him some soup? A fruit basket?

~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s weird, you know, but I kinda miss him. When do you think he’s coming back?

It’s been almost a year. I don’t think he is coming back. Besides—

What?

I heard something, about that Paris job. About what happened. C’mere.

Are you fucking serious? What? No goddamn way. Not him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That thing in Kashmir, that was him, wasn’t it? Dave was on cleanup, and he said—

I know what he said. Dave’s full of shit.

No, listen. Listen. What if— he said they didn’t—

Oh Jesus Christ. Don’t start this.

He said they didn’t find a body. Not even part of one.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hey. Come look at this.

What? Come on, we’re in a hurry here. Christ, what a mess.

Look. Look at that. The spray pattern— it’s gotta be.

Lemme see. Move. Well, fuck me sideways, you’re right. It’s him. I’d know that work anywhere.

Do you think they know? Back at headquarters?

Man, I dunno. I don’t think any of them have ever actually seen this shit. But look at that. He’s feeling good.

Good, sure. But look at that. Look how far it got. And the teeth. Fuck. What’s he doing?

Listen. You remember Copenhagen? Back in ‘11? After— well, you know. It’s like that.

Oh Jesus. You don’t think…

I do. I think he’s back, and I think he’s hunting.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Look, I’m telling you. Right before we got the call. I swear I saw him.

What makes you so sure? No one’s seen him. Not since Kashmir. Hell, headquarters doesn’t even believe he’s alive.

I’m telling you. Fuck, listen, it was just for a second, but. You’ve seen the pictures, right? Big guy, looks like he could fight a Buick and win?

Yeah.

Well, I saw him going around the corner, I swear to god. And his face— it was— it was bad. But damn if he wasn’t walking like he had the biggest dick in town. And then we got the call. And like—

Yeah. I know. He’s going after agency guys. And this is— fuck. This is something personal. I’ve never seen him leave them in so many pieces before.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Listen. So I was talking to Dave again last night and he says—

The fuck have I told you about Dave? He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

—he says his crew found Benji Dunn. You know, the tech guy? Yeah. Anyway he says they found him in a suitcase on the metro last week.

Jesus.

Yeah. He said it was super clean, too. Not like the others. But there was some kinda weird remote in with him. Dave said the guys from upstairs grabbed it before he could get a look.

The fuck?

You know those IMF guys. Real big on their toys. What do you think it was?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Okay, so listen. You remember that thing I was telling you about the other day? That weird thing they found in with Dunn?

Yeah, you said it was a remote. What about it?

Well, I was taking those teeth up to forensics and I heard them talking about it. Some kind of garage door opener, if you can believe it. And what they found—

Dude. Spit it out. This stain’s gonna set.

Blood. Like, a lot of blood. Sounds like it was a fucking abbatoir. Guess that’s why Dunn was so damn clean, no blood left in him. Poor fuck.

How do you know it was his? Did he—

No, nothing like that. But there was this box with a fingertip in it. Just, like, the last joint. And it matched Dunn’s prints.

Listen, I don’t think this one is him. I know you said you saw him, but. How long have we been doing this? I’ve never seen him do something like that, not even after ‘11. And that was bad. Like, scary bad.

You don’t think—

Listen. I don’t know what to think. Upstairs says he’s dead, but we’re still getting called for jobs that are just like before. And then you see him, and this thing with Dunn happens right after. And why the hell leave the remote with the body, like that room was meant to be found? I don’t like it. It feels like a game, but nobody will tell us the rules.

So what do we do?

Our fuckin job, that’s what. Keep your head down and your ears open, alright?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ok so listen. Fuck, listen. There was another weird one. At the Pines. And guess what?

Dude. Just fucking tell me.

They got him on camera, clear as day. Right on the security feed, only— promise this stays between us?

Yeah. Sure. Promise. Just spit it out already.

His face, man. Just like the pictures. And—

Shit. Wait. Hang on. You said when you saw him, his face was all messed up, right?

Exactly. I swear, when I saw him his face was melted or something. But this was just like his file photo and I don’t think plastic surgery can do that. Not that fast, for fuckin sure.

So what are you saying?

I’m saying it’s him, and it’s not him. How is that possible?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Masks?

Masks.

You’re out of your goddamn mind.

Dave said—

Fuck, fine, what did Dave say?

He says there’s this tech, right? Masks that look just like a real face, voice changers that sound just like whoever you’re pretending to be. So I was thinking—

Don’t tell me.

Dude. It’s gotta be, right? The face? It makes sense.

None of this makes sense. But yeah. I get you.

But why would he? It’s not like anyone else has seen him, as far as I know.

You’re so sure it’s him? Think about it. Dunn was— wrong. Not his work. I think somebody wanted to make it look like his, but somebody who doesn’t know him. Doesn’t know the kind of shit he leaves behind, I mean. Someone who doesn’t know what happened to his face.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. If it’s not him, then who is it? And he’s supposed to be dead, so why pretend to be him? I don’t get it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I saw him again. Fuck. Fuck, man, he was right there, and Dave— Jesus. Oh my god.

Let me guess. He winked and laid his finger aside his nose like fucking Santa Claus.

Listen, man. Listen. I got a call from Dave’s red line, about a rush job— it was when you were out doing that thing in Portland, remember— and he just said meet me at this old apartment. I think it must’ve been one of the old agency safe houses. And he was there.

Dave?

No. You know, him. Big and scary. Walker. And he was talking, and Dave was listening, and Dave was fucking scared, man. Walker said “I know what you’re doing,” and then— fuck. He fucking killed Dave, stabbed him right in the neck, and—

Hey. Hey. Slow down.

He saw me. He saw me, and I ran, and I don’t think he followed me, but I’m scared. I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do.

Okay. Okay. Here’s what you do. You go to headquarters first thing. You tell them everything. Don’t leave until they agree to send you somewhere safe.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hey. Hey, man. I don’t have much time. He’s outside, fuck, he’s looking at me. I went to headquarters, they didn’t believe me. So I went to our old fishing place. I just— Dave wanted people to know, man. People besides us. I don’t know why he thought killing anyone would help. But Dave never saw Walker's work. Not like we did.

So he—

Yeah. Yeah I think so. And— they’re all dead, man. Everyone who was there for the Kashmir fuckup. Even Hunt. I saw his head, man. His head, and— his face. It was half gone, I— oh fuck. Oh fuck. He’s coming. I’m so scared, I don’t know what to— fuck, wait, no, please. Please, I don’t want—

~*~*~*~*~*~

[your call cannot be completed as dialed. please hang up and try again]

[random-mha-thoughts]

Home (Dabi x Reader)

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Someone requested on my Wattpad: “Can I request a Dabi x reader where he is tired and came home and we play him a song in the piano and he falls asleep on our shoulder?”

Genre:  Fluff

Word count: 1,254

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​​ @liviitehe​​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

a/n: Well, the drama from earlier today has passed, so have some soft Dabi.  I’m happy someone requested something for him, he’s probably my favorite of the LoVs.  I wrote this in kind of a hurry, so there might be more errors than usual, and I expected it to be shorter, but it kinda ended up longer than I thought, so enjoy!  Tomorrow I’ll be doing the clingy Todoroki request (FINALLY!!) before I probably take a break until the end of the week to focus on studying for my finals.

Dabi's life as a villain is tough, to say the least.  Being one of the leading members of the League of Villains doesn't allow for much of a personal life.  it definitely wears him out more than he wants to admit himself.  There are even days when he doesn't return home for up to a week.

But, the days when he does come home are the best days.

Home for him isn't really his house or apartment, it belongs to you, his loving sweetheart who he met by chance one rainy day.  He was looking for an empty building to squat in for the night when he met you.  You were on your way back from a friend's house and accidentally bumped into him.  He couldn't place the feeling of why he decided to follow you, but it was a life-changing decision nonetheless.

Dabi managed to sneak onto your floor, picking the lock of the supply closet next door and residing there for the night.  He spread a few sheets onto the cold floor and used a bag of some powdery substance as a makeshift pillow.  While his thoughts were running wild as they do every night, he played with his fire in his hand, flickering on and off in the small room.

And then he heard piano music next door.  The melody flowed slowly, none of the notes too hurried, like a leisurely walk on a Sunday morning.  The minor key implies the underlying dark themes, the song carrying a message of recovery or rebirth.  Dabi drinks the song in, somehow moving the soul he thought was stone cold after certain events in his earlier life.  His eyes grew heavier as the sound lulls him off to sleep.  In the morning, he left a note and slipped in under your door.

"Your music gave me the best sleep I've had in years.  Let's meet tonight."

He thought you would be put off by his half fried appearance, tattered clothes, unkempt hair, and metal piercings, but you weren't.  It was awkward for him to pull off something like a date at a park, but as he spent more time talking to you, the more he felt you two hit it off.  At first, he explained his job as a travelling contractor of sorts, which would explain why he was often absent.  As your relationship grew, he became more and more enamored by you and it filled him with guilt that he was hiding his true nature from him.

One day, he was so badly injured and bleeding, and he was in your area.  Without giving it a second thought, he stumbled through your door with wounds too severe for a construction accident, and he had to come clean.  Dabi thought you would be appalled by his behavior and his lie.  All you did was wordlessly dress his wounds, put your supplies away, before drifting over to the piano on the other side of the room.

"You said my playing gave you the best sleep of your life the first night we met," you said, lifting the cover off and sitting down at the small bench.  "I should play you something else so you can rest again."

The familiar melody caressed his ears, and he hummed along in his head as he pattered over to sit next to you.  As the song drew to a close, you turned to him with a smile of acceptance.  "I like you just the way you are.  I'll be here to take away your weariness, always."

From then on, he found himself coming back to you more often.  The two would talk about the most superficial things as the weather at first, but as the clock ticks down later, Dabi's secrets came out.  You became the only person he would seek out whenever he could.  There's always a part of him that think you hated him for being a villain, but your kind nature reminded him of the warmth of his mother; the child could be the devil himself, but she would always love him.

Now, he would come back to you like it was his dwelling place.  You are his guiding light, his way of unwinding, his safe haven.

Just like each night, Dabi uses his key to unlock your door, but he makes sure to knock three times so you know it's him.  You're already home, in the kitchen finishing up dinner for you two to enjoy.  You smile when he wraps his burned arms around you from behind.

"How did you know I'd be here tonight?"  He moves a stray hair behind your ear.

"Because it's been a week since you were last here, and you usually try to come every week," you answer matter-of-factly.

He pulls you away from the stove and sits you two on the couch, still holding your hand just to keep you tethered to him somehow.  "What would you have done if I didn't come?"

"Eat it for lunch tomorrow.  Or I'd just leave it for you to have tomorrow or whatever next day you would return."  You study the worn creases under his scalded eyes, brushing one of them lightly with your thumb.  "Though you look like you need a talk more than food right now.  Spill."

Dabi lays back on the couch in a huff.  "Shigaraki's being a kid again.  Sometimes I wonder just how this whole thing'll turn out when we have a literal ten year old as our leader.  You should've seen this guy destroying Overhaul..."

You look on as he tells his story, wanting to relieve his exhaustion in any way you can.  Starting small, you massage his fingers in your hand, avoiding his metal staples whenever possible.  "Shigaraki needs one good punch in the face when he goes off like that."

"Yeah, and I'd be the one to do it if it weren't for Kurogiri stopping me."  His aqua eyes bore into yours affectionately.  There's no label on this relationship, and in a way, Dabi preferred it that way.  He's obviously attached to you, but trying to put how he feels into a neat box isn't something he'd want.  He already knows what you mean to him and vice versa, and you two act accordingly.

His eyes flicker to the piano just briefly in passing and you already know what he wants.  You guide him by the hand and sit him at the bench with you.  "Same as usual?"

Both of his arms circle your torso and he rests his chin on your shoulder.  "Play whatever you feel."  Dabi already feels his body relax just being near you.

The music fills his ears as your fingers dance over the keys.  His eyes first try to follow your delicate movements as the soft melody plays.  It sounds airy, light, dreamy almost at first, before it takes structure into keeping the same melody and building on it to become slightly more intense and passionate, holding onto the remnant of its original innocence.

All the sensations around fills him completely: the music stirring the small weightlessness from him, your shortened breathing as you play, the warmth and scent from your skin.  It's something he misses whenever he's not around, but more importantly, it's somewhere he feels he belongs.  Even in his childhood, he felt he wasn't welcome in the house he was born.  Dabi knows there will always be a place for him here, right next to you, as he drifts off with a smile on his face.

[flightrules]

Which Kind Do You Want to Be?

Chapter 6: No Promises

Sometimes, a sleepless night is a good thing.

Summary: This is a story about trust and kindness, loneliness and loss, belief and transgression. And two people crossing paths just long enough to find each other.

Previous chapters: I keep hearing tumblr suppresses posts with links. So, visit the pinned post on my blog or the same username on AO3.  

Relationships and characters: Din/female reader (both similar age to Din in canon), Grogu, and a cameo from Peli.

Rating: Mature? Explicit? Anyhow, grown-up sexy stuff. Please be old enough to be reading this kind of thing.

Tags and warnings: Moments of angst, domesticity, kindness, explicit consent, and Din doing his best to be a conscientious parent in the midst of everything. Heads up for descriptions of canon-typical violence, mention of past dubious consent, and a moment of (unintentional) violence between our protagonists. Ending is bittersweet.

Supper is the same as the midday meal, cold rations washed down with tinny tasting water. "You eat like this all the time?"

"I try not to," he says. "He needs real food. I haven't had much chance to go shopping."

The child is sitting on your lap now, as you hold his little tray for him and he picks out bites to eat. He's seemed subdued ever since your game of chase went so wrong. 

It's a bit of a balancing act to manage your own meal while keeping the tray steady and the little body balanced. But you turned down the man's offer to take him.

You should be careful about letting the child think there's something changing here, that you'll be a presence in his life. 

It's just so nice to imagine, for a small moment, that you could be. That a child's laughter could be part of your world again.

There's not much conversation over the meal. You're tired and your body still has that vague achy feeling, like it isn't ready to forget getting thrown to your knees. 

The ration trays get washed in the sink again, and then the child gets a bath in the sink again, too.  

"You don't mind, do you?" he asks first. "He doesn't like the sonic shower. I think it's hard on his ears."

You stay at the table while he pushes his sleeves up past his elbows, pops the child into a mess of warm water and soap bubbles, and lets him splash around a bit. By the time the man lifts him out again, there are bubbles all across the counter and water on the floor. "I've told you not to do that," he says mildly as he wraps the child in a towel and, holding him in one arm, swipes a rag across the counter and then uses one foot to wipe the rag along the floor. 

He crouches to pick the rag up again, a perfectly balanced movement with the child cuddled against his chest. 

"I'll let you get him ready for bed," you say, getting up from the table and resisting the urge to go over there and melt yourself against this man. You are not his family, or the child's, and you need to remember it for yourself as much as for the little one.

The bedtime routine consists of a quiet, one-sided conversation, the man narrating all the little things they did today and the child cooing in response. You take the opportunity to use the ‘fresher while he’s busy in the little sleeping room, then spread out your bedroll, stuffing some clean clothes in a carry-sack to serve as a pillow. It's early, but you stretch out and close your own eyes, letting your back and shoulders rest flat against the blanket. 

There's something comforting about his voice, the slight gravel in it, the way almost everything he tells the child is framed as "we." You've never been sure how much the child understands, but you hope he can at least hear how safe he is in this man's care.

You're almost asleep, yourself, by the time he gets to how he hurt you. "I made a mistake," he says, clear and matter-of-fact. "I'll always protect you, but that doesn't mean it's all right to hurt our friend. I want you to know we can trust her. Don't make the same mistake I did."

*

That's very sweet, you think drowsily. As if the tiny creature could do you any harm. 

"Are you awake?"

You open your eyes to find he's standing a couple of meters away. Earlier today you might have thought that strange, but now you think, Right. No sudden moves.

"May I…" his voice trails off.

You sit up, making room for him to join you. And now it's your turn to ask, as he's left a careful few centimeters space between. "I'd like to touch you."

His voice is quiet, his usual confident tone sounding suddenly half strangled. "I'd like that."

You don't do it right away, though. You look at him, contemplating. There are curls falling over his forehead again. The scruff of beard he had yesterday is gone. Did he shave for you, or is that just something he does every few days? With the helmet covering his face all the time, he certainly wouldn't have to worry about looking neat. 

Loose as it is, the shirt he's wearing does nothing to hide his solid-looking shoulders, and you've already seen the shape of his chest and waist from the t-shirt he had on this morning. Stars, that was so long ago.

You turn your body toward him and reach out, so slowly, to skim your hands over his hips and under his shirt, pushing the fabric up to bare the flat plane of his stomach, and then a little more so your hands are framing the bottom of his ribs. "Help me?" you say, meaning help me get your shirt off, but he's just staring at you, lips slightly parted, not moving at all.

"You tell me if you want me to stop," you remind him, and then get up onto your knees so you can lift his shirt further. The bruises from earlier remind you to move carefully, but you're able to shift your weight so it almost doesn't hurt to kneel.

He has dark hair across his chest. You resist the urge to run your thumb across one nipple, instead asking him more clearly to lift his arms so you can get the shirt over his head.

He does, now, taking over with a single smooth movement and then actually stopping to fold the thing and set it aside. 

There's something about that that makes your heart hurt. That makes you think you could fall in love with him, if you had the opportunity to try.

You do finally have the chance to see what happens when you drag your teeth across his ribs. You start at his collarbone, lining kisses from neck to shoulder, then down over the muscles of his chest. As you do you can feel his breathing quicken, turning to a gasp as you go from soft kisses to the scrape of teeth. You should probably remind him to breathe but now you're tracing your tongue along a pale line of scar where, you realize, the beskar breastplate doesn't reach.

His hands on your shoulders stop you. He's gentle but firm, guiding your body back upright, giving you plenty of time to fight it if you want to. 

You don't want to. 

"Show me how to kiss you," he says. 

"It takes practice." Kissing a new partner's mouth usually starts out clumsy and uncoordinated, until you find each other's rhythm.

"We have until morning," he says. 

It is, indeed, uncoordinated at first. He's obviously got the general idea--you can't spend 40-something years in this galaxy without seeing what people do--but no idea how to actually do it. He's a quick learner, though, echoing back your movements until he's got the hang of it. And then that precision kicks in and he's got your mouth trapped beneath his, tongue at the corner of your lips and then gently opening you up to his warmth, and you're the one who's forgetting how to breathe.

It's new to him and it's been a while for you, and the two of you end up making out like teenagers for a while, his hand against your jaw and your fingers in his hair, and when you need to catch your breath you bury your head in his shoulder until gently insistent hands lift your face to his again.

What stops you is a small sound from the child. You might not even have noticed it, coming from behind the metal door, but he's already turning his head to listen. He kisses your forehead before getting up to trigger the controls.

The noises from the hammock sound like sobs. 

"Hey," the man tells him, sitting on the edge of the mattress, leaning in to lay a hand over the little body. "Whatever it is, I'm here." He turns to you. "He cries in his sleep sometimes. Usually I sing to him."

"Then you should." You get up to go sit beside him on the floor and lean your head against his knee. It's the same lullaby you heard that first night on board the Razor Crest. He can barely carry a tune but that's all right, you don't know the melody anyway and you don't understand the words. You stay there for a while even after the child's cries have stopped, as he continues through a half-dozen verses, you resting against him and his hand against your hair.

*

More of the evening disappears into figuring out his body, into his hands finding confidence in how to touch your skin. 

The last time someone touched you with such reverence, you were probably sixteen years old, trying new things for the first time with a boy you'd grown up with, whose body you'd seen change as you both slipped toward adulthood. He's long gone, that boy, not even buried, just lost in the ash that used to be your home.

Your shirt's off now, too, and he folded it for you, and you can't even explain why that makes you ache inside.

He's tracing your breasts with his fingertips, light against your skin but following every curve. He seems to know, by instinct maybe, to leave your nipples until they're aching for him to touch, and then to follow his fingers with his mouth, with his tongue and then lips and then, so very gently, with his teeth. He's got you panting, your fingers digging hard into his shoulder until you suddenly realize that's the side that was bothering him and you drop your hand. 

He looks up at you, and it takes him a minute to find words. "What's wrong?"

You're slow to make sense, too. "You--you're hurt, I don't want to--" 

He looks down at his own shoulder, the one you were working on together this morning. Then he's pulling you in to him, so very slow again and careful, until you're skin to skin against his body, your breasts pressed up against the muscle of his chest, his head bent down to yours. "Thank you," he says, and it's a whisper against your temple and then just the two of you breathing together for a while, the hum off the ship's engines the only other sound.

You know the shapes of the muscles on his back now. You've run your fingers along the grooves between them. You know now how his skin feels different over scars, and how the burn scar at his neck is different from the knife scar on his side. 

You were surprised to find the small, circular bump of a contraceptive implant on his arm, and at first you looked at him in accusation. From what he’s told you, he shouldn’t have needed it. But he just shrugged. "When I swore the Creed," he said, "I swore I would care for any child I made. I've never been in a place to be able to care for a child." You could feel your eyebrows go up as you nodded toward his bunk, where the tiny being in his care was sleeping. "I'm still not," he said. "It seemed like a good idea, to make sure it couldn't happen." 

He knows the most sensitive spot on your neck by now, and he knows the way you'll move your head if he kisses you there. He knows that if he runs his hands over your belly you'll jump at first, ticklish, but then lean into his touch if he uses a little more pressure. He's figured out what happens if he traces the shell of your ear with his tongue. 

Right now you're kneeling behind him, one hand on his chest, one finger sliding over a stiffened nipple while the other hand traces the hair that trails down his abdomen to the waistband of his trousers. For the first time, you slide your fingertips beneath the fabric. His hand comes up to wrap around your wrist and hold your arm still.

But he doesn't tell you to stop. 

You tuck your chin over his shoulder and ask him if you should.

He doesn't answer. He's sitting up straighter, though, that uncomfortable posture you'd started to hope he'd left behind.

Carefully, you move your hands from his body, and his fingers slide from your wrist as you do. You shift around to face him. 

Slow. You promised him slow. 

Your own body is edging toward impatience. You've been wet for him for hours and, although you're not complaining about any of this so far, there's a sense of emptiness that your body is letting you know, in no uncertain terms, it would like him to fill.

You check in before you move next, get his permission to settle yourself back on his lap, knees to either side of his hips. It lets you press against the length of him through his trousers, and you find you're shivering as the most sensitive part of you connects there.

His voice is a vibration through your own chest as he says, "I can't."

You know you should let go, move back, but your muscles won't listen to your brain until he speaks again, until ingrained reflex takes over when he says the word "Stop." 

He's keeping his hands to himself now, still breathing a little hard but keeping his body constrained. One hand clenches and then slowly opens, coming to rest at his side.

"If we keep going," he says, "I'm going to want you to stay."

Your heart skips for a second, and you're already thinking, yes.

"I can't let you stay." He's sitting so still. His fingers move again, what seems to be an involuntary tic. It's his right hand, the one that would reach for the blaster that's usually at his hip.

"I can't be distracted. If I had to choose between you and the child--"

He doesn't finish. You don't need him to. You reach over, slowly, slowly, and take his right hand. Slowly, you help him open those clenched fingers, and you place a kiss on his palm. "No promises," you remind him. And then, because there's nothing else you can say: "I'm leaving at Pavotha."

It's still so curious, getting to see his face. How sometimes his expressions are open and sometimes they're unreadable, like in all those years with the helmet on he's lost the ability to mirror certain feelings. Lost the muscle memory.

Right now, though, there's no mistaking that you're looking at pure gratitude.

"Do you still want to stop?" you ask him, and you're asking a little bit for him, but it's mostly because your body is longing to see the rest of his, to touch him in new places. To settle in against him, take his cock inside you, and move together until the rest of the galaxy disappears.

"No promises?" he says.

And, although your whole body is screaming at you not to say it, you tell him again: "Only that I'm leaving."

*

If you were planetside, it would be dawn by now. But here in the dimly lit hold, there's only the chrono to tell you it's near morning.

You're not looking at it though.

You're sitting on his lap again, legs around his waist and feet planted against the floor. His hands are on your hips. You showed him how this position works and now he's helping you move, bringing you down against him so his cock is buried deep inside you, holding you so there's pressure against your clit as he presses closer, then lifting your body so the length of him slides against your opening, setting every nerve on fire. You didn't teach him to pause sometimes, keeping your hips in place against him, and lean up to kiss you. He figured that out on his own.

He lasted longer than you might have expected the first time, when you drew his body over you and slow disappeared when he said "Are you sure?" and you said "Yes." And although you guided him in gently, carefully, neither one of you could stop after that. You bit your own lip so hard, trying not to cry out and wake the child, that there was blood on both your faces by the end.

You're going to have to sleep soon, before the child wakes up and the new day starts. But for now you're going to stay like this, your skin slicked with your sweat and his, the taste of him in your mouth, and the sacredness of trust between you.

[thecrimsonmonster]

Little Character Things

Just a fun little character game. fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by. repost & tag away!

tagged by stolen from: my old blog, edited to be more current

EMOTIONS / FEELINGS:

Indifference. Usually his default emotion in terms of people.

Curiosity. Despite his nihilistic perspective, Kimbley is always in the mood to learn.

Amusement. Life is a joke, might as well have a good laugh.

Desire. Not specifically sexual, but he’s always looking for something to want. And this does not mean for material goods, status, power, etc.—he wants something that moves him.

GREETINGS;

As a man of many faces and personas, the way that Kimbley treats his approach to people varies depending on his relationship with them.

First and foremost, Kimbley believes that making a good first impression is paramount when making new acquaintances. This is because he’s always looking for people to use or manipulate, whether for a specific purpose or just for fun. Therefore, upon meeting a new person, he makes sure to put on a pleasant façade and turn up his natural, practiced charm—come off as a handsome, friendly, helpful man to any strangers that might be wandering around Dublith. He’s all warm handshakes and sweet smiles. (And he’s very good at continuing this charade, if need be.)

Of course, there are some people who are aware of this faux mask. Depending on whether or not they are civil toward one another, his greetings change.

With those that despise him, he ensures indifference in his tone—unfriendliness, coldness, and a condescension that clearly states “I know I’m better than you, and I don’t care what you think of me.” At times his ���hellos” are laced with blatant, smug insincerity, and he won’t hesitate to throw in some passive aggressive yet subtle insults or gross/morbid humor, to further enhance his apathy towards that person’s feelings.

However, with individuals with whom he’s grown fond, his demeanor is a little less flippant. He doesn’t hesitate to crack his patented twisted, sarcastic smirk and let loose a rather witty welcoming retort. He’s not exactly warm about it, but it’s all in good humor.

This, of course, doesn’t change that he’s an absolute monster.

COLORS;

SCENTS;

His scent is always dependent on the time of day or the activities he’s recently been into—many aromas to go with his many faces.

There is his natural scent—musky, woody, a forest after a rain. He dares not wear any cologne or perfume, as it would be too distracting. His olfactory senses are like an assistant in orienting himself, locating and memorizing things and people with relative ease.

He might smell like parchment and ink—a library filled with old books and dust, during his academic phases.

At times he smells very clean—too clean, like a doctor’s emergency room that’s been scrubbed clean. Very surgical, soapy, laced with just a hint of formaldehyde.

It is true, however, that there is always this underlying smell to him. It’s a combination of distinct elements—copper and iron, along with something like charcoal, ashy and burnt. Subtle but nonetheless obviously bitter if you linger close enough. As though it’s seeped into his skin after all of these years.

CLOTHING;

Like his public behavior, Kimbley finds it important that appearance reflect his cold, precise sophistication. He’s often found wearing suits in respectable, neutral colors—various shades of black and grey (though never white, obviously)—or bold, bloody reds. Whatever the case, he makes sure the colors of his overall outfit with matching undershirt and tie are balanced and pleasing to the eye. His shoes are always well-shined and fancy. On trips away from Dublith, his hands are always encased in thin, black leather gloves—practical and fashionable.

Uneventful, casual days call for less strict outfits—a black sleeveless shirt, relaxed slacks. He’s quite fond of suspenders, actually.

Then, of course, there are his many “disguises.” As someone who loves to deceive for the pure pleasure of it, he’s collected quite the collection of wigs, makeup, official uniforms, and silken dresses. Running around like this, however, is not something he regularly engages in—but it never hurts to have distractions on hand when he feels things are growing a little too mundane.

Despite his attire, he has two accessories that he is nearly always found wearing: one of the Red Stones that he keeps on his person, sometimes as a necklace tucked beneath his shirt, and his golden hair ribbon.

OBJECTS;

Most of the objects he deems “important” are ones he keeps in the secret safe in his room. There aren’t very many, but he takes excellent care of them:

The Red Stones that he has been working to develop in his default post-FMA verse. There are several of these stashed away, though he only keeps one on him at a time.

Books—specifically, in this case, two: A green one labeled “BOTANY” in gold letters, the other a personal journal, for taking various notes. The “botany” book appears to be just that, but is in fact a copy of his original alchemy notes he lost after his imprisonment, though much neater and more precise. It’s handwritten and is accompanied by various lovely and detailed illustrations. The journal is brown leather-bound, the pages within a tan off-white. The information therein alternates between the same neat print and loopy, dreadful cursive, depending on how quickly he needed to jot down whatever was on his mind. Notes might include random musings, specific events, or ideas for various narratives.

A photograph. It is of his father and himself when he was just a young boy. He curses his sentimentality for holding onto this.

VICES / BAD HABITS;

Torture and murder. It’s not so much a compulsion as a great source of joy for him, hence why he engages in being a horrible monster on a regular basis. Ask him, and he’ll give a grandiose philosophical reason behind why it gives him such awful pleasure.

Maintaining a horrible sleep schedule. He’s always getting himself into something—whether it’s reading, writing, or having a night of raucous debauchery—so he’s one of those “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” sort of people.

Stealing. Because why not?

Needless cruelty. Just like murder, he doesn’t have any tic compelling him to do it—he simply greatly enjoys it. This will include anything from being a condescending jerk to purposefully lying to hurt someone. Again, because why not?

BODY LANGUAGE;

Every one of Kimbley’s movements is measured and exact in order to reflect exactly what he wants people to perceive of him.

When around people who believe him the charming gentleman, he makes sure his posture is relaxed and disarming—hands casually in his pockets or clasped in front of him, a stance that displays confidence but is not outwardly aggressive.

In the presence of those he intends to intimidate, his poses are much more threatening. He tends to loom quite a bit, hovering in order to make people uncomfortable around him. Making sure the people who would oppose him know that he is maliciousness is, to him, imperative.

Around his familiars, his habits are a mixture of the previous two—displaying his charm and confidence, but also making sure that that air of danger  is unmistakable.

In terms of speaking habits, his hands are often in constant motion; he has a habit of fidgeting, though it’s hardly out of nervousness or impatience. He simply likes putting his hands to work, and often when he is behind the counter at the Devil’s Nest, he spends his time cleaning glasses, the table, even his nails.  These gestures are not grand, of course, unless he is aware he should emphasize a point, in which case, he moves from subtle to exaggerated.

AESTHETICS;

Surgical equipment—pristine, shining in the light, and neatly organized on a silver tray.

The sound of a building collapsing after an explosion.

A starless night, illuminated by a brilliant blood moon.

Libraries filled with poetry, biographies, and anatomy books.

The smell of lilies growing from a rotting corpse.

SONGS;

Escape from Midwich Valley - Carpenter Brut

Taxidermy - Sharon Needles

Operate - Peaches

Humans Are Such Easy Prey - Perturbator

halo - Collide