#puppet stubble

[sailing-on-a-puddle]

@womble1 you've got me looking for puppet stubble gifs now and for me nothing beats Gordon's 'I've been on a boat with this tool who tried to murder my brother for far too long now. I'm angry, stubbley and it's taking all my effort not to punch him in the face' 😂

So you know how this scene happened and we were all wondering what Gordon would have looked like with facial hair? We may never know… but at least we have this:

[sailing-on-a-puddle]

@womble1 couldn't find a gif of this one so here's some more puppet stubble from my favourite tos episode!

[autumnfangirler]

got tagged by @m3k-fhr and @thecryptidenthusiast to use this picrew! this picrew was so cute so of course i did all of my steps and their puppets

tagging @silvery-bluish @euelios and @gonesoft-ish if any of you are interested?

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 14 - make-up sex

ghoap x f!reader | 1k words cw: established throuple, blowjob, masturbation, brief mention of piv a/n: can you write makeup sex without mentioning what the argument was about? yes. very lightly edited, written on mobile. went off list for this. summary: making ‘em kiss. aka, playing the mediator. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

The heat always puts them in shitty moods.

Since you separated them after dinner, after their yelling match, they’ve sat on opposite ends of the living room, partly absorbed in their phones. But their frustrations are palpable things, simmering in the way they move and the way they avoid looking at each other. Every slight sound or movement—Johnny setting a glass down too hard, Simon sighing a little too loud—seems to deepen the divide.

It’s alien, seeing them like this when they’re usually so in sync, each functioning as an extension of the other. Wrong.

Eventually, the sun dips below the horizon, the air cools, and everything starts to feel lighter. If the temperature can break, you think, so can the tension. They just need a little guidance.

It takes some coaxing, more Simon than Johnny, but you corral them to the bedroom. Make them face each other as you undress the few layers they wore in the day. Let them talk it out in stunted, strained sentences as you help them along, knelt between them, each fist curled partway around a cock. Rogue droplets of sweat trickle down their chests to their abs and over the planes of their stomachs. Evidence that the heat is not entirely gone.

It’s Johnny who tries to puppet you toward his leaking head first, breaking the conversation to urge your mouth onto his dick with a few sweet words. You don’t fall for it.

“You want your cock sucked, MacTavish?” You bat away his hands, then give him a little scritch through his happy trail with a small smile. “Ask Simon nicely. Apologize.”

Johnny whines when you pull away and perch on the edge of the bed.

Simon stares down his nose at your other boyfriend, uncrossing his arms and rolling his wrists. He huffs like a bull through his nose, looking undecided and unimpressed when Johnny turns back with a sheepish look.

He rubs the back of his neck and grumbles. “Sorry for how I spoke to ye. Didnae mean it.”

A beat of silence passes before Simon reaches and pushes a hand over Johnny’s mohawk, his palm coming away slightly damp before he wipes it along the stubble on his cheek. It’s tender until—

“Yeah? Sure you don’t just want to get off? Use me like you always do?”

“Hey.” You correct, eyes narrowing. “Do we need to step back to talk more?”

Both men return their attention to the other, and an entire second discussion transpires without words. Neither of them seem keen to use much of them anymore, especially as Johnny grips the base of his cock, and shudders.

“Simon…”

The big man rolls his eyes skyward, raking a hand over his own face, smothering some muttered version of can’t say no to that face. When his knees hinge, and his weight starts to drop, you and Johnny both hold your breaths and do so until Simon is on his knees in front of Johnny.

“C’mere,” he grunts, grabbing Johnny by the ass cheek and hauling him closer. His mitt wraps around the cock in front of him, fingers closing without issue in a firm grip. “You’re gonna give me another apology, aren’t you?”

“Mm, f-fuck, yes,” Johnny groans, hips bucking further into Simon’s hand. “Use your mouth? Please?”

Simon doesn’t answer or comply immediately. He meets your eye first, lip tugging up when he spies you snaking a hand into your shorts. He chuckles. It’s a filthy sound. “Always gets what ‘e wants…” 

Your fingers slip inside as Simon’s mouth closes around Johnny’s cock. The latter lets out a prolonged, deep moan, cursing up a storm as his hands slide over Simon’s buzzed scalp.

It’s a sight that’ll never get old. Your boys making up in their favorite way. 

You come once around your fingers when Simon pops off Johnny’s cock to nuzzle, then suck the sensitive skin of his sac into his mouth, stretching it just enough to get the Scot to squeal. He kisses the tested skin, pumping his fist lazily along Johnny’s cock once more. 

Johnny’s a moaning, blubbering mess. The vein at his temple throbs, probably from restraint. You know he’d love to just fuck Simon’s face like this. He chokes up when he speaks. “I…I dinnae want to use ye. I’m just–what do ye want me to say–”

Simon laughs again, nuzzling the base of Johnny’s dick. “Fuckin’ rare to find you at a loss for words. Got a suggestion for our boy?” He eyes you over the length in his hand, mouthing it idly.

You pause from licking your fingertips. Looking between the men, you swallow. “Say ‘thank you’ first,  Johnny. Then apologize again.”

He nods, complying at once with a stuttering whine when one of Simon’s fingers wedges between his cheeks. 

“That’s a good boy,” Simon rumbles. “You can come any time. Use me, Johnny.”

You tense up and find yourself rubbing your sensitive clit yet again. Lip caught between your teeth, you shudder as Johnny slides home into Simon’s mouth again.

This time, he fucks him. You don’t let him do it to you, afraid he’d break your nose with his speed and force—but Simon’s made of tougher stuff. Made to take Johnny in all meanings of the words. He doesn’t gag, doesn’t push. He absorbs the rough thrusts into his face with a few grunts and swallows around Johnny when he comes howling.

The room goes quiet after, save for all three of you breathing heavily.

Except, you’re still going—still chasing your own orgasm. Greedy and unashamed.

Simon pops his neck when he stands and herds Johnny closer to you. The men loom. You watch their glassy eyes sharpen in real time as they watch you touch yourself, and it’s a team effort when they join you on the bed. Simon nudges your knees open, and Johnny settles beside your head.

Johnny strokes your cheek and coos at your pinched brow before snatching your hand away from your swollen clit. He kisses your fingertips, tongue flicking out to taste.

“Yer owed an apology too, aren’t ye, hen.”

Your breath hitches as Simon’s cockhead presses in. A blissful delirium slips over your face. You beam up at him.

“We made you worry, yeah? Therrre’s a girl—We’ll make it up to ya. Give you a few big sorrys.”

Later, sandwiched between them, your sweat and other fluids cooling in the long stretch of night, you belatedly count their apologies. Dizzying.

[bunny-extract]

please can i request feral konig with a breeding kink

i've written and posted this before, but i'll have something new this weekend B^) feel free to throw more ideas in my inbox!

König x f!reader / 18+! MDNI / breeding, dirty talk, size kink.....filth.

You push the head down, lower and lower until it notches back into place, right inside of you. König’s eyes find yours, mutterings finally silenced.

“Again,” you tell him, but he’s searching, sure that he heard you wrong, even if his body understood. His heavy balls pat against your ass when he tries find sense in your demand. "But. But, what if--"

You push your arms over your head in a stretch, your breasts arching up to tease your nipples against the scruff on his chin. You want him to put his mouth back on you. He does too, but the hand that rubs the space below your navel makes his concern clear. You tilt your head at him. “But what? What if it takes?”

And just the words being out in the open has him reeling. His eyes snap back to yours, wide, caught. You meet him with a smile, pressing his hand down lower, firmer until it’s over the bump where his cock bulges from within you. “Isn’t that what you want?”

And it’s deserved, really, when König rips himself out of you just long enough to toss you onto your stomach, hips dug into the bed when he re-enters you in a swift, embarrassingly loud stroke. He pumps you twice before letting his weight sink him lower, deeper into you.

“You have no idea what I—want.” 

The moans that he punches out of you are obscene, and you’re thankful you can smother them in the mattress. König rarely takes you from behind, always wanting to look at you. Was obsessed with your expression, the bounce of your breast, the view of him bulging your stomach, but flat on your front like this his cock kisses the very end of your cunt and threatens to fuck you right to your womb. It’s the deepest he’s ever been, the tip of him feeling like it would reach your throat if he kept pushing it in. Every slap of his hips has your ass shaking in response, and all you can do is let him bludgeon your little cunt, head shaking as he grabbed your shoulder for better leverage. “I’ve worn the shape of my cock into you, Liebling. It feels so good. I can feel your guts when I’m this deep.”

He’s bent over you, one hand gripping the head board hard enough that his tanned knuckles blanch white, the other lifting your face from where you’d burrowed it. You’re drooling, eyes unfocused until you look up and, oh lovely. It’s his black-smudged eyes that meet you, upside down. His face splits in an almost frightening smile. Now he can fuck you stupid and watch.

König meets every moan from you with the slap of his heavy balls to your clit, his head coming down to rest against your shoulder. The briefest prickle of stubble when he leaves open-mouthed kisses across your neck. It has you tightening, fingers twisting around the hand he’s used to prop himself up on. You can feel him smile against your pulse, the only warning before he bites into it. 

When he pulls back you can feel his spit warm at your neck, the tender start of a bruise blooming beneath it. He’s snaked his arms around you in a gentle headlock, squeezing once just to laugh and let go. Another time, he promises. You’re buzzing, and that’s before his other hand takes one of yours, guiding it beneath your stomach to frame his cock. It’s hard to wrap your head around how big it is, how it disappears inside of you. 

“Play with yourself. I want to feel it,” he urges, puppeteering your fingers with his own to roll your clit. You take over, but his hand stays, ghosting along with you. 

“That’s it. I want to see you fat with my child, your little body taken with me. I’ll sow my seed until it’s deep, Liebling. Are you sure you want me to? Tell me that, please.”

You’re cock drunk, absolutely ruined off of this man. Not even sure what you’re sobbing out until it reaches your ears: desperate, pathetic little cries of fill me, fill me, fill me. 

His thrusts are sloppy but no less accurate, the head of his cock grinding too perfectly into your squishy g-spot and sending you halfway off the edge. You’re spasming around him, the wet clutch you have around his cock outright crude, and he laughs, muttering almost to himself, “Messy girl, you always make such a mess.”

He’s pulling apart your cheeks, getting his fill of the sight of you speared on his cock.

“How are you still hard,” you whine, aftershocks wracking you. He can feel them, you’re sure.

König slurs against your neck, almost laughing. His hips snap back down into you, and your pussy welcomes him home. 

It’s hours and hours later, when you’d been fucked half to sleep, sated and full with König resting inside of you. He’s spent, but the more come that leaks out, the more he has to put back in. When his hips shift, you don’t even stir. 

Quietly, he whispers into the outline of his teeth pressed to your shoulder. “Your little quim can take more, Liebling. I’ll fuck you until you are full with a whole litter.”

[lisenberry]

Ngl I feel like price has a size kink… he loves how big his hands look splayed across your waist. His hand completely encompassing the nape of your neck!!!! Don’t get me started on how tight you feel around his thick fingers….

I apologize. That sound you heard was my brain screeching to a halt and coherent thought leaving me for a few days as I pictured John's hand on your hip. 

Nsfw. Smutty smut smut. Bossy, handsy Price.

His fingers gripped you dead center, just above your pubic bone.  His thumb circled around to graze the opposite polarity.  Massaging deep circles where your ass met your spine.

You'd never thought of yourself as small.  No one ever called you 'little' or commented that you would fit so nicely over their knee.  Not until him.

Not until you watched from the mirror above the cold, stainless steel sink as his other massive paw circled your neck.  He made you feel like a doll.  A toy.  A mouse trapped in the jaws of a great beast.

"Just for me, aren't you?"  He raked teeth and stubble along your cheek.  "I need one more."

"No, I c--can't.  Not again."

You were boneless now, even more pliable under his strength.  The hand at your neck trailed lower, and your head rolled back against his shoulder without its support.

"Can't?  Of course, you can.  I've got you."

It didn't stop, only paused to cup your breast.  There was a primal hitch in his breath as he admired the way he could cover it all.  A stiff, darkened peak notched between his knuckles as he gave it a squeeze.

So small and yet he looked at it like it gave him purpose.

He was big enough to swallow the moon.  Eclipse the sun.  Envelope you into darkness.  Nothing but the stars bursting behind your eyelids as his palm slunk lower.

As stealthily as an avalanche of rocks and sand.  Abrading and disrupting everything in its path until it settled down to the core of you.

"Please."  You whispered, whimpered, on some foreign tongue that felt too big, to thick, to be yours. 

It's because he was in your mouth.  Lips against yours.  Skin on your skin.  Body against yours from behind.

You felt the root of him buldge on the other side of layers of fabric.  Yours and his.  You weren't even naked.  Military issued canvas and cotton stood between you.

But he still had his hands.  His fingers.  His tongue.

The grip you had on the sink felt strong enough to leave marks.  Dents.  Tiny little divots like prints in the snow.

"Open up, darling.  If you ever hope to fit the real thing, you still need some practice."

He found you wet, a small accommodation as you muttered a silent thanks to your nature.  Your heart desired him, and your body did its best to oblige.

"I want it.  Let me feel it." 

"Next time, love.  Show me how good you can be."

His long, thick fingers disappeared three at a time, to the gnarled and swollen knuckles before your hazy eyes in the mirror. 

The cry that slipped from your lips would wake up the others if you weren't careful.  The reverant moan from his could conjure magic.  Gods and monsters.  Things best let lie dormant.

He liked it like this.  Where you both could see in the stark, fluorescent reflection.  The dark hair of his hand reemerging from your depths silky and dripping with slick.

It was the barrier that left you both satisfied as he circled those same fingers and curled them inside, tormenting your most vulnerable weakness.  The heart of you.

He felt on top of the world.  And you were his puppet on a string.  Brought to life.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wasted 1

Warnings: drug dealing/use, violence, noncon, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far.♥♥♥♥

Part of The Club AU

The lights smear in your vision, music pulsing through your body, senses both dulled and magnified by the alcohol. You sway and rock to the rhythm, like a puppet dancing on unseen strings. You let the night guide you, shrugging off the stress as you let drunken ambivalence take over.

You drain the last of your vodka and tap the plastic cup. You signal to Faye and Heidi that you need a refill, offering to get them one in another gesture. Heida shakes her head, showing her unfinished cooler and Faye gives an eager nod. You wink and whirl away, weaving between the bodies that crowd you.

You leave your empty cup on a random table and hope down the single step from the dance floor. You cross over to the glowing bar and sidle up between two other patrons as you wave to the bartender. It’s busy and the voices of those clustered around the counter nearly overwhelm the bassy music.

You're a bit unsteady, a bit buzzed. You feel good and you want to hold onto that. Forget the world, burn it all.

As you try to get the attention of the burly blonde mixing drinks behind the bar, you’re caught in the crush of the impatient club goers. A man bulls in next to you, keeping his back to you as he forces you close to the stool on your other side. What a dick. Totally oblivious.

You stare at the wide shoulders that stretch the dark fabric of a bomber jacket beneath his short ponytail. Typical.

“Hey, what can I get you?” The bartender taps your arm, still floating above you, forgotten.

“Oh, uh, vodka cran and er… gin and soda,” you holler above the raucous noise.

The man goes to work and you fish around in your wallet for a bill. You should really not be spending all your money like this. You look up and watch him pour the drinks, blond strands coming loose from his low bun. His button-up is undone to the middle of his chest. He must get killer tips. Hmm, bartending might be a good idea for a new gig.

The man beside you shifts on his heel, further smothering you. You keep your arm firm until your elbow jabs in his back. You wish he’d get the fucking hint. Did he just come over here to have a fucking conversation? Go somewhere else.

You pay for the drinks and leave a tip. The blond man grins at you. He’s pretty damn cute but a bit too busy for your liking. You grab the cups and slowly raise them over the lip of the bar. The man to your right turns and his arm hits yours, the vodka exploding across your front. You look down at your shimmery dress and gasp, a spritz of cold liquid up your neck.

“What the hell, dude? Why don’t you watch where you’re fucking going?” You shout and drop the empty cup on the bar, “FUCK!” 

The guy looks at you and scowls. He wipes a spray of alcohol from his sleeve as if you did it on purpose. What the hell is his problem?

“You owe me a drink, jackass," you sneer at the stranger.

His dark hair is drawn back from his face, a scruff of stubble along his chiseled jaw, and bright blue eyes. He's not half-bad on the eyes, if not a total asshole.

“Whatever,” he waves you off as he steps away from the bar.

What? He didn’t even fucking order anything and now you’re covered in wasted vodka! You shake your head and turn back to the bar, once more waving for attention.

“Napkins?” You call out.

It takes a few tries before the bartender gets back to you. He approaches and reaches under the bar, handing over a stack of napkins.

“Everything okay?” He calls over as he works on uncapping a bottle.

“Some guy ran into me,” you roll your eyes.

“Shit, let me make you a new one. No charge.”

“No, it’s fine–”

“No big deal, busy night,” he insists before spinning to grab some smirnoff and some juice.

With your new drink in hand, you carefully back away. You look around before you turn, overly aware of every move and the chaos all around. Maybe you shouldn’t have another drink. Shit is getting real wild.

You make your way back up to the dance floor, balancing your drinks with a considerable effort. Your focus breaks only as you approach Faye and Heidi, handing over the gin before greedily sipping your vodka. Fuck your job and fuck that dude at the bar.

You knock back almost half the drink in a single gulp and fall back into the beat thrumming from the speakers. You spin with your cup held high, sipping as you bop and swing your hips. Your boss ruined your day but no one is going to ruin your night.

[kidwaffle120]

My man has been through the ringer, thanks puppet man. Oh and Spencer too ya sociopath

Jacks

[chrissy-kaos]

If we're too masculine then we're disgusting freaks. They collect the most masculine of us - innocent women minding their own business trying to live a life that was denied to them - and mock us, openly discussing how nobody could ever love us, how nobody could be fooled that we're women.

If we're too feminine then we're stupid men. They find the most tone deaf quotes from trans girls, usually those who have been out for only months if they're out at all. They find these quotes of girls still learning how to be women, post them everywhere as proof that we are just pantomime caricatures of women.

If we are too strong then we are violent and dangerous. We are an unfair factor in sport, evil men just trying to steal victories from real women. We could lose our temper at any moment. We are a risk that cannot be tolerated. If we're too weak then we are to be mocked. They call us failed men who ran to womanhood because we couldn't take it. We're victims of our own masculinity. Poor feminine men to be saved... In the same way that Republicans want to save those 'poor unborn babies.'

If we lose our temper we're back to dangerous men. But if we cry, if our shoulders buckle under the weight of endless, endless, ENDLESS, ENDLESS, ABUSE. Then they mock us again. They share pictures of trans women crying and laugh over it. Of course they make sure to find the pictures where our stubble is showing, our makeup has already run. It's not the way that women are mocked for weakness; it's the way men are. They find videos where are lips are trembling. Where our voice has gone deep because we don't have the energy to keep it at its heightened octave.

If we find ourselves ugly they mock us. But if we're happy with ourselves then we're disgusting degenerates. "Autogynephilic." Medicalized. They find the tweets of newly out girls who said something improper in their tiny moment of not guarding themselves. An awkward, amateurish attempt at roleplay or dirty talk becomes a meme. A woman who likely spent years growing the courage to begin sexual exploration, probably for the first time in her life, sees herself come up every so often in their replies, their threads, their gifs. What happens to these people? Is it even possible for them to ever resume that exploration?

We're trying to trick everyone into dating us. We should be required to show visible identification on us at all times; to be trans without the people around you knowing is deceit. But also, nobody would ever date us, everyone can tell, immediately, always. Everyone knows, the terfs say GLEEFULLY. Reveling in the idea that our subconscious is constantly telling us this. Basking in the thought of our depression and anxiety eating our minds until there's nothing left.

Even the terfs never stay the same for long. One moment it's a wall of 'concerned mothers' with all the passive-aggressive venom of a white woman calling the police because she doesn't want to put a leash on her dog; make ABSOLUTELY NO MISTAKE that these are the same people. The next it's anime-avatar alt righters. The next it's puritanical Christians claiming we are the natural result of the "rainbow agenda." It's lesbians saying that we're destroying lesbianism, following right on the heels of a pastor saying that anything that isn't a man and a woman is unnatural.

Half the URLs are Mumsnet and half are Kiwifarms. How many are bots? Sock puppets? How many really are just transphobic housewives accessing Kiwifarms from their phones? How many took the full plunge? The answer to all of the above is, we don't know, but it's a whole lot more than zero.

Every time we go into a bathroom, there's a chance we'll be the next screen shot pasted over reddit. It doesn't matter whether it's the men's or women's. They are equally unsafe.

If we need a women's shelter, we flip a coin on whether the person running it has already decided she hates us, because of these people.

We cannot upload a picture to facebook without this risk.

We cannot post about our lives without this risk.

We cannot appear at our work without this risk.

We cannot exist without this risk.

Every possible action we could take will be judged. There is no outcome that isn't negative. There is nothing we can do that isn't negative. Masculinine, feminine, pretty, ugly, angry, sad, sexual, frigid, proud, ashamed, strong, weak. Pre-op, post-op, non-op. Vagina, ovaries, chromosomes, fertility: womanhood is defined as whatever we aren't in that particular context.

I don't want to think about how many people this has killed. To call it a moving goal-post is inept, it is a void, an endless mass of hatred that follows us no matter what we do. Nothing is good enough. Everything, every single thing, is just waiting to be weaponized against us.

It has killed so, so many.

It won't kill any more.

If you're trans and you're reading this you already know everything I said. We've lived through it. You already know that I've spent time as all of the above because you have too. That when I get SIX HUNDRED COMMENTS calling me a man I want to swing my fists and I want to cry and I want to curl into a ball and I want to scream and I want to end my own miserable existence. The ugly beautiful girl in the mirror is so angry and sad and prideful and ashamed and violent and passive and this constant stream of abuse has torn me apart and created so many ugly things in this mind but if there is ONE. FUCKING. THING. THAT. THEY. WILL. NOT. MAKE. ME.

It is dead.

I will live. I will survive. And I don't even care about justice anymore. These people will get away with all this. Somewhere in that mix of the trans population and the infamous 40% number is a figure of how many people they've killed, but they'd never care. I'll live because all of their jeering and mocking and gaslighting and those goddamn fucking insufferable legions of laugh reacts, they don't do a fucking thing.

That's all it comes down to in the end. It's hard and it's painful and it hurts, it just ENDLESSLY hurts to weather their blows. But my name is Alexia. I am a woman.

You can hurt me all you like, but that won't change, and you can die mad about it.

- Lindwyrm Weisseritter

[adonisbeloveds]

Is it possible if there could be a Wally x reader writing request where the reader is a mermaid that scavenges for food until Wally stubbles onto them? They can speak and communicate through writing but chooses not to because they don’t trust anyone. They also eat puppets and intended to lure Wally in but soon discards that idea and gets closer to him. He has to keep their identity/existence a secret though.

Wally Darling with a merfolk reader

-Reader: They/them + no gender implied -He/him for Wally

Requested: No/Yes

Warnings: None Disclamer: Characters personality, looks, ect may be different from canon due to either hc or author has just forgotten.

A/N: oooo! This one is certainly new! I hope you like it, I really tried my best and had fun with this one because of the new and unique idea but I hope you like it!

-🍎 You where looking around for food when you found out that you ate all the leftovers of the puppets, so you decided to go up to find other food when you heard someone humming beautiful dreamer, confused you slowly popped the top half of your head out of the water to see a...very short puppet painting something. -🍎 You were slightly confused but quickly got rid of that confusion and started making your plan to lure your new food in, you prefered not to talk to the puppet so that was out of the question. -🍎 After sometime of going through your options you figured you would get the trust of the puppet than lure it into your trap, nodding to yourself you quickly swam over to the painting puppet. You made it to the shore and made a splashing sound to get the puppets attention, the puppet perked up at the sound and turned around when they saw you, "oh! hello new friend! you look quite different from anyone I have seen" the puppet said as they turned around, placing the painting supplies down and going closer to you and sitting down infront of you, they looked like they were in thought when they perked up "oh! your one of those merfolk from franks books aren't you?" they asked and you nodded "well my name is Wally, Wally Darling! nice to meet you new friend" After sometime goes past with you talking to Wally you learned that he lives in a neighbourhood with other puppets and lives in a live house called Home? you were slightly confused but didn't mention anything with the stare that he sometimes gave you when he stopped talking, you also learnt his favourite food was apples and all the names of his friends, you slowly but surely got comfortable with Wally and forgot about ever wanted to eat him. "Oh! you should come back with me to Home and the others! everyone would love to have a new friend and neighbour!" Wally said smiling and staring at you, as soon as he ended his sentance you quickly shook your head, even though you did feel comforable and slightly trusted Wally you were Not comfortable with being around others, although Wally was sad that you didn't want to come back with him he respected your wishes and promised you that he will come back and that he will keep your secret!

[krabkrab-wontshutup]

Some of my heartless physical appearance headcanons

Heartless-

- Blood pooling at fingertips and feet

- Bruises easily

- Autopsy scars

Alchemy-

- Lots of moles and freckles

- Black roots, even though theyre a shapeshifter and could just shapeshift the roots away

Flint-

- Slight stubble

- Scar on lip from a fight he got in as a kid where he busted his lip open so bad it had to be stitched up (inspired by my brother except my brother got the injury from a bike accident)

Eira-

- Albino

- Glass eye

- wears compression gloves because of hand tremors (Has to do with his ice magic, makes him shiver all the time)

Doppel-

- Needs glasses but doesn’t wear them

- Bandana has some burn holes and rips

Glass-

- Longer hair than Doppel

- Cracks around eyes

- puppet joints

River-

- ties strings on her fingers to remember stuff

- really short nails, keeps them that way to stop herself from biting them.

[theluckywizard]

Ooooooooo can I maybe get "Oh, your gaze is dangerous" for either Rose/Hawke OR Rose/Cullen like... post Hawke *cough*

Thank you, Ed! Well this is fluffier than I expected lmao but here is Cullen realizing AT LAST that he's maybe a little bit hot. For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1005

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Rose Trevelyan x Cullen Rutherford

Fluff, non-explicit sex

The clatter of the door echoes all around us, the candles all shivering from that little rush of air. I keep my eyes fixed upon the fresh reports left by Josephine, scanning over the diplomatic summaries only enough to glimpse names here and there, but not enough to completely ignore the intractable mule of a man across from me.

“Rose.” Cullen’s voice beckons me, but I knows he’s discovered that new talent of his and I will not be so easily swayed. “Do you really believe investigating some shadowy cabal and their mischief is the best use of our resources right now?”

“And here I thought my word was final,” I murmur, though the corners of my lips curl slightly. Truthfully, Cullen is too pragmatic to chase any proper mysteries, but they’ve yielded results before.

“Darling,” he says. “Look at me.”

“I know what you’re up to,” I say, flipping to a summary of trade agreements with Orzammar and making a meaningless mark to appear occupied. “You’ve learned how to use that gaze of yours.”

“What?” he stammers. “I— really don’t think— really, Rose. This is serious.”

I roll my eyes softly and lift them to Cullen’s. His brow lowers, that tawny gaze locking upon me with such force that I feel my insides grow feeble. I blink away, fighting a smile.

“Being aware of your devices must give me some sort of defensive advantage at the very least,” I remark, neatening the stack of papers beneath me as Cullen rounds the behemoth of a table.

“Devices,” he snorts, slipping his arms around me from behind. “Am I to learn that I’ve developed wiles next?” 

“Well, wiles, you see, are advanced skills,” I say, cupping my hand around his stubbled cheek over my shoulder. “And I’d say that you’re a ways off that still.” Cullen’s chuckle hums in my ear as he presses a delicate kiss below it. “And wiles are strictly forbidden in the War Room,” I add hurriedly, as his hand slides across my stomach toward my belt.

“Mm,” he agrees. At least I think it’s agreement. “Well I suppose that precludes you from entering.”

An inelegant snort busts through my nose. “You think I have wiles?”

“You know you do,” he murmurs, turning me to face him in a swift motion.

I practically choke on my disbelief. “If you count fumbling and blushing and smirking and snort laughing as wiles I gue—”

He snuffs out my words with a hungry kiss, looping a finger through my belt and tugging me so close against him that I gasp.

“Maker, no,” I breathe between sweeps of his mouth. “I can’t have you knowing your own allure. You’ll go mad with power.”

“Do you really believe that?” he asks, working his fingers up beneath my jacket and chemise as he walks his lips across my neck. He nudges me against the table with his hips.

“Obviously. You’re a couple dozen smolders away from making me your puppet.”

The War Room door flies open and Josephine’s assistant strides blindly in rattling off details of the security arrangement with the de Launcets in Pont de Chemin. We break apart, both of us hiding our flushes with concerted looks at the map beneath us. In want of some excuse I mindlessly start lining up all our Fereldan figurines along the snaking line of the Imperial Highway across southern Orlais. Cullen’s hand folds around mine when I pick up a fifth or sixth one, the dimple in his cheek taunting me in my periphery.

“Thank you, Everan,” I murmur to Cullen. Everan’s last word stretches while his mind works it out. Cullen’s thumb makes a discreet tour of my palm. When the door closes he leans in close to my ear.

“I hope you were planning to put those back.” His voice skims over me like ermine.

“Or what?” I prod. I shove another handful aside, my impertinent gaze up at him unbending. There’s a hitch in his breath, and he lifts his brow in the faintest scold.

“Lock the door,” he says. I dance my way backward, watching him pull off his gauntlets as I turn the key in the lock.

“Clear the table.” I meet his sudden mood with equal force. 

Cullen purses his lips, glancing back at all his carefully positioned figurines. His bluff teeters there between us. “The floor.”

“I knew you would never,” I answer, walking my fingers up his breastplate and then stroking his jaw. 

“You knew no such thing,” Cullen counters, his lips grazing mine. “There’s precedent.”

All the impracticality of it is buried under the mischief we’ve been cooking up. Neither of us consider the prospect of raw, battered knees and the breathtaking cold of the stone tiles as we fuss with the infuriating abundance of layers between us. I nearly give up on the endeavor when a tiny buckle in a tight spot on his cuirass gives me grief, but he presses me with that gaze of his, that dangerous bloody look, and I apply myself with greater focus. 

Half dressed on the floor behind the war table we fling ourselves at the task, a hasty sprint toward mutual release. He’s flushed and partly disheveled beneath me, all the sharpness in his face lifted away as he’s quickly unraveled. He grips me by my hips and bounces a climax right out of me. Blowing a strand of hair from my face, I brace myself on an arm over him, the thump of my heart out of time with my staggered breath. He drops his head back against the floor, and then lifts it again, gazing at me mostly adrift in euphoria. Cullen laughs.

“See? Mad with power,” I say, painting my thumb over his flushed cheek.

An irresistible smile breaks across his face. “Then allow me to take this moment to remind you that investigating strange chalk markings is a poor use of our resources. I advise we abandon the endeavor at once.”

I bend close, pinching his darling nose before bumping my own smile into his. “A valiant effort. But you’re at least five smolders short for that one.”

****

My Rose x Cullen fics on AO3

[fuzzyhenry]

Revenge

A peculiar form of irony brought me to him, the truck driver who had been the cause of my unexpected demise.

The man was stocky, broad-shouldered, a silhouette of strength curled up in the tin can of his battered truck cab. His hands, large and calloused, gripped the steering wheel, white-knuckled from the shock. His eyes, the color of a stormy sky, darted around in panic, encapsulating his fear and guilt. He was dressed in a plaid shirt that had seen better days, stretched over his substantial belly. His trucker cap cast a shadow on his rough, unshaven face, making him seem even more formidable.

I approached him, drawn by the frenzied energy that surrounded him. I sensed his panic, the raw fear that hung around him like a shroud. I moved closer, the cold of my incorporeal form merging with the palpable heat of his living body. The shock hit him like a bolt of lightning. His hands slipped from the wheel as he gasped for breath, his eyes rolled back in his head momentarily, the sharp flicker of resistance shining through before disappearing.

He slumped back into the seat, a puppet whose strings had been abruptly cut. His arms fell lifelessly to his sides and his muscular legs sprawled out before him awkwardly. His chest heaved with each labored breath as I seeped into him, feeling the powerful rhythm of his heart beneath me, a rhythm I would soon control.

I wrapped myself around his consciousness and started to push. His body shuddered in a last, desperate attempt to resist my intrusion, but it was in vain. Soon, the tremors subsided, his mind fell into a deep slumber, and I took over. I flexed his fingers, feeling the tough skin on his - or rather, my- hands. I ran them across my unshaven face, feeling my stubble prickling against my palms.

Now in control, I leaned back into my seat and stretched out. I took a moment to examine my new form. I admired my muscular arms, the ruddy complexion of my skin under the harsh white lights of the cab, the rough texture of the work-worn clothes. The light illuminated my robust figure, the angularity of my face, and the stubble across my cheeks. The panic was gone, replaced by my calm curiosity.

The truck driver who'd inadvertently ended my life was now asleep and I was awake, in charge, and ready to start my next chapter.

[curioussubjects]

Feedback Fest 2024

Since everything I've read for the past 1.5 years has been pilots, all 10 of the fics here are Kara/Lee from Battlestar Galactica. I'm only listing one fic per author, so be sure to check individual author pages if you liked their style.

(go here over on @transformativeworks for more info!)

1. In the Whole World by pennyante (M, ~80K, WIP)

Summary:

The Cylons aren't quite human, and the humans haven't quite forgiven them. Political stability is less certain than ever now that the war is over: Lee Adama finds himself up for re-election, where being defeated will mean a Gemenese theocracy puppeteered by Leoben Conoy. Meanwhile, Kara Thrace has nothing but questions about her death and destiny. The only answers available come in the form of the vision of a temple, and from her hybrid/comatose husband's cryptic ramblings about a sister artifact to the Arrow of Apollo.

There's violence in the air. Civil war looms. Can Lee and Kara save each other, and keep the fledgling colony whole?

Thoughts: The best season 4 fix-it, lives in my head rent free, rewired my brain, etc. Also I've read it, like, 3 times (and I cried).

2. We're Not Friends by ninety6tears (M, ~25K)

Summary:

When two soldiers in the middle of a war can't seem to like each other, baptism by fire is apparently the natural solution. (AU in which Kara never knew Zak and first meets Lee after the fall of the colonies.)

Thoughts: I love a different first meeting AU, and this one takes pilots on a fun rivals to lovers spin that works surprisingly well. They're still very unwell about each other, though, make no mistake.

3. Artemis Rising by clairza (M, ~11K)

Summary:

The next morning Lee makes a few phone calls, and when everything has been organized and his credit card has been used for the first time in three months, and he’s had the pleasure of telling his mother that no, he has plans this week, he tracks Kara down in the quad. 

She's lying on her stomach poking sticks upright in the grass. He sits down beside her, and he can see the tension in her shoulders.

“So,” he says casually, and he’s very proud of the way his voice doesn’t shake at all. “I hear the Aegean Peninsula is nice this time of year.”

“It probably is.”

“I’ve booked a unit.”

“Where are you going with this, Lee?” Thoughts: I have a huge soft spot for fluffy academy pilots and this fic absolutely delivers. Happy baby pilots go to the beach five stars no notes.

4. An Arranged Meeting by lark_ral (E, ~11K)

Summary: Even outside of wartime, you might be surprised by the pressures our service men and women are under. The most effective among them either have, or need a release valve. Thoughts: Lee and Kara are scene partners for years, then the Cylons come. Somehow less messy than the show, but still delicious.

5. Rota by leda13 (E, ~2K)

Summary: The days are arbitrary, in space. Bereft of the guide of a planet's rotation around the sun, they live in slices of time, stealing as many as they can. Thoughts: Emotional support curtain fic of pilots sneaking around.

6. Sufficient to the Day by rachelindeed (T, ~1.5K)

Summary: At the sound of Lee’s voice, she feels her stomach twist and drop. Reluctantly, she opens her eyes and sees him come to a stop an arm’s length away, settling one elbow onto the corner of the bleacher behind her. His jacket is unbuttoned, his hair mussed, jaw ghosted with stubble, and the frakking sun is rising behind him. The look on his face is casual and fond, but he breathes as if he’s been running. Thoughts: Mandatory UB morning after fix-it...sort of. I really like this one because all I wanted was for Lee to get to Kara first. Or for him to call her bluff. This fic is both. It's not a showdown on main street like I enjoy joking about, but it's quiet and it's them (so it's better!).

7. Contrecoup by Fahye (T, ~2.2K)

Summary:

Contrecoup (n): A concussion or shock produced by a blow or other injury, in a part or region opposite to that at which the blow is received, often causing rupture or disorganisation of the parts affected. (One story told right-way-up, the other told upside-down, but both in the same narrative.)

We begin at a single point in time. The present goes forwards. The past goes backwards.

The story is AU-within-canon and set after episode 1x11, "Colonial Day."

Thoughts: I can't say too much because I don't want to spoil the fic. So: a bit angsty, a lot sweet, with a side of Kara's amazing problem-solving skills.

8. Lee's Emo Coffeehouse by haycorn (M, ~2.9K)

Summary: Lee has a bar, and sometimes Kara makes his life more interesting. Thoughts: I love cute modern AUs in general, and I love them even more when there's pining involved. There's not nearly enough of this type of fic for pilots, either! Many thanks to the author for their service. Would read 100K of this 'verse.

9. Breathing Room by callmeonetrack (M, ~12K)

Summary: Kara and Lee adjust to their new, very separate lives on the Pegasus. Badly.

Thoughts: My favorite Pegasus fic! Being on the Pegasus sucks, but then Lee and Kara find each other and things get better. Chef's kiss, peak pilots.

10. And I Feel Fine by hazellazer (M, ~2.4K)

Summary:

“That was… that… why?”

Her hands stay firmly on his face, thumb brushing over his cheek. “I was just thinking—”

Cutting her off, he smirks. “You think?”

She swats at his arm, hard enough that it might actually bruise. “I thought you were dead, Lee.” Her gaze is harsh on his, voice rasping, before something softens. “And I should’ve done this the second I knew you weren’t.” Thoughts: Season 1, but Lee and Kara are together. It's nice, refreshing, and plain good.

[ultimateloserboy]

im not sure if the cis dhmis nation will take this very well but i just want yall to know that when i said i cant imagine duck as human i kind of lied. i mean i can see him with a little stubble of a mustache cuz he can’t actually grow anything and a full head of curly hair (cuz hes a fuzzy puppet let him stay fuzzy guys) but the hair is also greying btw. also his face is wrinkled from scowling.

thats all pretty fandom wide but what if i said i invision him as a non-dysphoric chubby tboy with huge bonkers along with everything i just said. im sorry to the old man cistwink lovers but i physically cannot imagine him that way. i never could

[ofduskanddreams]

All That Matters

For @c-e-d-dreamer and @cassianappreciationweek day 4. The request: Nessian. Any setting of your choosing, but how about something soft and sweet?

Nessian ✦ Rated M ✦ 867 words ✦ on AO3

CW: CANON-TYPICAL DEPICTION OF VIOLENCE

They sat on the river bank until the sun was fat and low in the sky, its orange fingers slinking through the willow boughs.

There was only the steady rise and fall of Cassian’s chest at her back, the warmth of him bleeding into her veins, and the I-love-you-s murmured back and forth at the same volume as the Sidra’s soft rush.

“Are you awake?” he whispered against her temple after a longer stretch of silence.

“For now,” Nesta replied, shifting to look at him. “But I’m not sure for how much longer.”

The reality of the last two days was finally settling into her bones now that the adrenaline had evaporated. The Rite, Briallyn, Nyx’s birth… exhaustion was lead seeping into her limbs and weighing them down, trying to draw her wholly into its grasp.

“Let’s go home then.” Cassian stood, then scooped her off the grass and into his arms. He launched them skyward and Nesta closed her eyes.

The next thing she knew, the world had stilled again and Cassian was saying something. “... know you’re tired, but I need you to try to eat something first.”

He sounded so gentle, so worried about her, and Nesta smiled as she opened her eyes. This male—capable of a ferocity to rival the gods, yet wearing his heart for all to see… “I love you,” Nesta told him again, just because she could and it was decadent.

The house delivered them enough food for a small army, and Nesta managed to put away a plate and a half before her yawns began arriving at a frequency that made eating inconvenient.

Cassian noticed, of course he did. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then we can sleep.”

Nesta considered protesting, a testament to the extent of her exhaustion considering that she hadn’t bathed in over a week, but knew she would regret going to bed layered in the residue of the Rite.

Cassian ran the bath as she sat on the edge of the counter and watched him move about the room. He helped her out of her clothes, his touch mindful of the bruises still littering her skin. He joined her in the bath, carefully maneuvering her tired limbs until she was leaning back against him again. 

With a soft cloth, he worked honey-scented soap into a lather and began to clean away the grime. It was all Nesta could do to keep from dozing off.

But her closing eyelids snapped open when her mate took a shuddering breath that turned into a bitten off sob. Nesta turned around so quickly that she sent water careering over the sides.

“I could have killed you,” Cassian whispered in horror, looking down at his hands—they were trembling. 

She took his shaking fingers in her own and squeezed. “You didn’t. You fought her.” Nesta shuddered as she remembered the sight of Cassian plunging that knife into his own chest rather than hers.

He shook his head, “I wanted to hurt you, Nes. It was…” he trailed off, looking to the side and squeezing his eyes shut. 

A crystalline droplet streaked down his stubbled cheek and Nesta caught it with her thumb, coaxing him to face her.

“You weren’t yourself. That feeling wasn’t you—it was Briallyn and the Crown.”

The pain in his hazel eyes echoed through her and she drew him into her arms, holding him as tightly as she could.

“I thought…” Cassian drew a deep breath and held it, blowing it out slowly. “I thought I might never see you again. When I arrived at Emerie’s and you were missing, the smell of those males, of the drugs…” he shivered, putting his nose to her neck and taking another controlled breath. 

“I thought I might have lost you and then to see you on that mountain, to be a puppet, forced to watch myself try to harm you without knowing if I could resist it… gods, Nesta, I was so scared.”

He lost his grip on the rhythm of his lungs, breaths turning shallow again. 

“You did resist her, Cassian. That’s the only thing that matters.” Nesta traced patterns on his back and around the base of his wings as she held him. 

The house kept the water at a steady temperature even as their fingers wrinkled. Eventually, the tide of emotion Cassian had clearly been holding back receded. They took turns helping each other wash. 

A tired yet comfortable silence settled between them as they climbed out of the bath, hastily dried off, and then collapsed into her bed. 

In the darkness, her mouth found Cassian’s, and she kissed him, pouring everything she felt into the touch: relief, gratitude, and more love than Nesta had ever imagined herself to be capable of. 

Her friends and family were safe and healthy. She had her mate, and her home. There were many unresolved problems, sure, but they would still be there in the morning. 

All Nesta cared about now was the steady beat of Cassian’s heart beneath her ear. His even breaths filled the quiet, starlit room and Nesta’s lungs slowed their pace to match as she finally allowed reality to drift as dreamless sleep embraced her. 

✦ ✦ ✦

tagging: @damedechance @itsthedoodle @moodymelanist @areyoudreaminof @octobers-veryown @krem-does-stuff @iftheshoef1tz @moonpatroclus @panicatthenightcourt @thelovelymadone @talons-and-teeth