#thank you for the ask !!

[pinetreespants]

Hey, been enjoying your take on the lamb and I was wondering if there's a masterpost on your lamb's lore (and why they sign? I think its a really awesome take)

dreams of the past...

Ah! I'm so happy you're enjoying my take on the lamb ahhh unfortunately i dont have a master post just yet... lol im still kinda getting into the groove of having my own au and what not :)c

[justmeinadaze]

Sexy (Eddie X Plus Size Reader)

Someone sent me a message with a personal ask about a plus size reader who's a bit insecure about her body with a praise kink with Eddie so I bare you this. Remember, you are beautiful inside and out <3.

Warnings: Mentions of insecurities with being a plus size girlie; Eddie is comforting as always <3

Word Count: 902

“Fuck, baby, that feels so good.”, Eddie exhales as he licks his lips and his palms squeeze into your meaty hips as you roll them against him, pushing his cock deeper inside of you. “B-Bounce, sweetheart. I want to see you dripping all over my dick.”

At his words, your rhythm gradually came to a stop causing his eyes to snap open as he pushed up onto his elbows. 

“What…what’s wrong, babe? Everything…ok?”

“Yeah, um, can we…can you be on top?”

Blinking up at you, your boyfriend suddenly noticed that your eyes weren’t filled with lust anymore but pain. 

“Yeah, baby, sure. Does it hurt? Do we need to take a break or—”

Your lips cut off him off as you cup his face in your hands. You had been dating Eddie Munson for a few months and you loved everything about him. While in school he liked to come off as “mean and scary” but with his friends or alone with you, he had the sweetest heart you had ever seen. 

While the other kids made you insecure, he made you feel beautiful. The first time you were intimate with him, he took control which is honestly the way you preferred it and he never seemed inconvenienced by your body in any way. 

It always lingered in your mind through. 

When he would rest his head on your chest and wasn’t able to wrap his arms all the way around your stomach like you could with him. When his lips would travel along your flab you wished you could have abs like he did. When people would snicker as he held your hand, a part of you felt like it was your fault and you should let him go to be with someone who visually was more appealing. 

But you loved him so much…

Which is why when he flipped you both over till you were on top of him you didn’t protest. You wanted to make him feel as good as he made you feel but you struggled to get out of your head to enjoy it yourself. 

“No, Eddie. I just…”

Wrapping his arms around you to hold you in place, he shifts his body till he was sitting up and leaning against the headboard so he could give you his full attention. 

“Talk to me, princess. You know you can tell me anything.”

“I just…I feel like…when I’m on top or I bounce…I look gross.”

The metalhead’s eyes widened as if you had said the most shocking thing he had ever heard.

“But you don’t. You’re extremely gorgeous, Y/N.”

“Pfft, thanks.”, you giggle. “But from this angle you can see my double chins and then my stomach and boobs are like…jiggling and I just…”

“You say these things like they’re bad.” 

Eddie smiles when your eyes playfully narrow but when you extend your arm to lightly punch his chest he grabs your wrist and pulls you forward till your nose is hovering just above his. 

“Seriously though. Y/N, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in my entire life. The first time I saw you I thought one of my campaign princesses came to life. These things here?” He pauses as he gently pinches your thighs, tummy, and cheeks. “They make you, you.”

Eddie smirks when your forehead falls on his and your arms circle around his shoulders. 

“You like that, baby? You like it when I compliment you?”, he murmurs against your lips as your hips start to roll against him again. “Because it true. I never say anything I don’t mean. Fuck, my good girl.”

“Eddie.”

“Does my beautiful girl like to be praised? Of course she does. Focus on me, sweetheart. L-Let me focus on your body and how sexy it is when you ride my dick.”

Placing your hands below his ears, you cling to him as you begin to utilize your knees to bounce up and down on his lap, mewling as his thick cock stretched and hit every button inside of you. 

“That’s my good girl. Shit, just like that. Your little pussy takes me s-so well.”

“Fuck, Eddie.”

“That’s…that’s it, pretty girl. I love the way my name sounds coming out of those…sexy lips. I love that your mine.”

“Oh my god. Say it again.”

Your boyfriend breathily laughs as his palms roam your skin. 

“Your beautiful face, these perfect tits, your tummy, t-these eatable thighs, and this gorgeous ass…”, he recites as he smacks your behind. “…are mine. You are mine, Y/N.”

Feeling your body begin to tremble, he immediately cups your cheeks in his hands. 

“Open your eyes, baby. I want you to look at me as you cum.”

“Fuck.”

Rolling your waist, your gaze never leaves his as you cling to one of his wrists and your jaw falls open as you come undone. 

“Good, good girl. That’s my girl.”, Eddie chants as his grip on you tightens and spills into the condom. “Fuck, that was amazing. I love you, sweetheart.”

You smile weakly as you fall against his chest and he gently pets your head, playing with your hair. 

“I love you, baby. I’m sorry for being…me.”

“Hey, you never have to apologize for that. It wasn’t just a heat of the moment thing, Y/N. I meant what I said. I love you and your body. You and this sexy ass are safe with me.”

############

Eddie Asks/ Donate to Me

[thesightstoshowyou]

the ghoul catches a glimpse of you from behind bathing?🫣

he can’t remember the last time he’s seen the silhouette of a woman like you, unblemished and perfect. had to be at least a hundred years? the curve of your ass, where your waist dips in…you’d feel silkier than butter under his fingers

Deliberate

It was an honest mistake.

Not much about the Ghoul is honest these days, so it seems necessary to point out integrity when it comes.

Fresh water, enough to drink, let alone enough to bathe in is a luxury in the Wasteland. So, when the two of you stumbled across a functioning water pump, you wasted no time partaking in the miracle. Being the gentleman he is, he allowed you first dibs and the gratitude in your eyes had almost stirred something in his chest.

He waited for his turn. And waited. The Ghoul had no doubt you’d had enough time to finish a decent shower and dress, so what the hell was keeping you?

After far too much time had passed, he’d come to check on you (give you shit about lingering in one place for too long). Some smart ass remark poised on the tip of his tongue, he rounded the corner only to stop so fast his boots skid.

You face away from him, oblivious to the way his throat has gone drier than the desert air. Your bare skin is damp, little droplets glistening as they trickle over your curves. His eyes trace the perfectly smooth expanse of your back, the beautiful dip of your waist, the tantalizing rise of your ass, and the gorgeous stretch of your legs.

He should leave, should turn on his heel and scurry away, tail tucked, belly on fire, but he can’t tear his gaze away. Beauty—like clean water—is a scarcity in this place. It ought to be admired.

You must feel his eyes on you because you turn your head to peer over your shoulder. He expects you to scream or curse or cover yourself. He doesn’t expect the small smile that pulls at the corner of your mouth.

“Yes?” you question, feigning innocence. In his chest, his heart pounds.

You’d planned this. This “accidental” discovery was intentional.

Deliberate.

The Ghoul’s chin dips, the brim of his hat throwing a shadow over whiskey-colored eyes.

The water on your lips is the freshest he’s tasted in years.

[meanbossart]

How did your DU drow react when he got told he had to kill his spouse? and then when he went to wake up Astarion and get tied up? I think I just wanna know how your DU drow mentally/emotionally is doing during and after that part, and when talking to Astarion afterward, I'm a sucker for hearing about those deep kinds of moments (hopefully that makes sense?) Also, how did your DU react when you met Kressa Bonedaughter and learned all about what was done to him (again, I know none of the companions really comment on literally something horrible being told such a shame, honestly) but how would you say or think that Astarion and Shadowheart might have reacted hearing that info? Again, thank you for all your art and for answering these questions! PS: (I really don't care if your answer is super long; I WILL EAT IT UP)

Sooo for the first question, I wanna preface by saying that I personally don't think their relationship was that in depth yet, at that point. Yes, DU drow enjoyed Astarion's company and relied on him in a similar way which he relied on Shadowheart. And also yes, Astarion saw DU drow as the first person who ever took him and his agency seriously - but I think feelings were still in their infancy. DU drow's mind was a mess through and through; he drank constantly to keep his urge at bay, he kept his distance from everyone most of the time, and when he did seek out comfort in either Shadowheart or Astarion (the non-sexual kind, they didn't really fuck at all), it was a kind of primal instinct and desperate longing for companionship - if you asked him if he was in love with anyone, however, he would have said no.

Similarly, while I think Astarion's act 2 confession is sincere, I also think that he's being sincere when he says that he doesn't know what you are yet. You're not really a lover, but you aren't a victim, either; what you are is a person who he would rather not have to murder eventually, and as someone who has had their empathy squeezed out throughout the course of two centuries, that's meaningful enough. He may fantasize about the best case scenario for you two - but he has no expectations that whatever this is will last. But it is nice, for the time being.

So the "murder your darling" scene, rather than a proof of love and trust, is to me the turning point where:

A) DU drow has to come to terms with the fact that he doesn't have as much control over the Urge as he thought, and B) When Astarion snaps out of his care-free, just-go-with-the-flow nature around his plan and this relationship. They both realize they bit off more than they could chew and are now caught in each other's crossfire.

Which is to say that I don't read Astarion's words of comfort to him as entirely honest - specially when you compare it to certain dialogue deliveries later in the game. I think he's still, to a degree, telling you what you need to hear so that you hold out for just a bit longer and kill Cazador. You probably can't be together forever as he idly fantasized about once or twice, when he let his mind wander - but god damn it, he needs to at least be free, and it seems like you have bloodlust to spare to make that happen.

Meanwhile, DU drow finally comes to confront the fact that he is not in control. Doesn't matter how hard he tries or how much he drinks, the urge will do to him as it will, and when it wishes. It stops being fun and it gets scary, from that moment on.

But here's who did stop it: Astarion. Where alcohol fell short and his willpower failed, Astarion stepped in.

So, more interesting than the scene itself to me, is how from that point on DU drow would have no choice but put his trust entirely on the vampire to control him. He ties him up, he keeps an eye on him, he has full spoken-word permission to kill him if necessary - he is forced to be as vulnerable at humanly possible under his hand, every night. Regardless of whether or not DU drow realizes that Astarion is doing it for his own reasons, he doesnt care, because Astarion has now become his rock and his bondage - hell, if Astarion does have a reason to keep him alive that's all the better; someone else might just slit DU drow's throat and be done with the concern altogether.

And so, it's only from that point on that DU drow truly starts to see Astarion as an equal, and even a partner. He's thinking that, if his whole life has to be like this, at least he has someone who can handle it.

Astarion, meanwhile, I believe only comes to truly consider (and wish for) DU drow's freedom after he's free from Cazador - and after he bestows that freedom upon his siblings and the other spawn. That's when he finally understands the length of DU drow's devotion to him and the value of freewill as a concept- and how he wants it for both of them, instead of being content with his own.

Not to mention... I think in Astarion's mind he was 100% not going to survive Cazador LOL so when he succeeds he's like "oh shit I guess anything is fucking possible huh. Yeah fuck it lets go fight your dad, also I've decided I want you for realsies, now."

Anyways, can you believe I thought this was gonna be a short ask. Here have a doodle I made while thinking about all this bullshit:

As for Kressa, I got an ask about that before but I can't find it now LOL to summarize; he was pissed, angered, and in a far more personal level embarrassed to have had his dirty laundry aired (AKA, victimized) in that way in front of the others - but this isn't something he would have expressed outwardly, and I think both Shadowheart and Astarion would have known better than to inquire him about it. It's not really something he would have sought out comfort for in anyone, so, I think the subject died as soon as Kressa did. In this case, their lack of commentary was completely appropriate - If they had reached out in any way (which would have been, in my opinion, completely out of character) DU drow would have shut them out with a quickness.

[ink-n-shadow]

I’m wondering what did angel do to become fallen??

amazing wonderful stunning question, anon

so angel isn't actually fallen! angel is still very much an angel, but they're broken.

angel was roaming the human realms one morning (as they often did) and ended up hurting one of their wings, rendering them unable to fly and therefore unable to go back up to heaven with the rest of the angels.

demon!ghost, on the other hand, is very much fallen—but angel doesn't know how or why ghost ended up fallen in the first place. it seems like a sore subject to him, something that makes him tense up and become snippy anytime angel even attempts to bring it up for ask.

maybe i'll tell you guys what happened to poor demon!ghost sometime soon...

link to all my works in the demon!ghost au can be found here

[twisted-bunkbot772]

Shrimpo with a flame thrower

he would be unstoppable

[missrosiesworld]

Hi, thank you so much for your Von Lycaon headcanons and blurbs and fic snippets because you just get his character so well and I can actually imagine him saying and doing the things he’s doing in your writings, so all love and appreciation to you! And another big thank you for making the fics M4A as well!

That being said, am I able to request headcanons and/or blurbs about how Von Lycaon would act while the reader is sick? Thank you in advance and I can’t wait to read more of your writing! ♡

Thanks so much for your kind words! Having you say I've captured Von Lycaon's character means a lot. The idea of imagining how he would behave in a variety of situations is something I enjoy exploring, so I'm glad it rings true with you. I'm so happy you can picture him so clearly through these headcanons and snippets, and I appreciate your appreciation. Once again, thank you for your support! 💛

I can absolutely write about this! If Lycaon's partner fell ill, he would be deeply concerned and provide unwavering care. He’d stay by their side, ensuring they had everything they needed, from warm meals and tea to hydration. His gentle nature would shine through as he offered comforting words and tender touches. Lycaon would make sure they rested properly, following any care routines, and he would refuse to leave their side until they were fully recovered.

Headcanons for Lycaon When His Partner is Sick:

Attentive Caretaker: Lycaon would immediately shift into caretaker mode, ensuring his partner is as comfortable as possible.

With his brow furrowed in concern, Lycaon gently tucked the blankets around his partner. "Are you warm enough? Do you need another blanket?" he asked, his voice low and soothing. As he spoke, he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from their face and tucking it tenderly behind their ear, his touch soothing them gently. "I'm okay, really," they replied softly, meeting his gaze with a small smile. Lycaon nodded, still concerned but respecting their comfort. "I’ll be right here if you need anything," he promised, sitting down beside them, his presence a constant, calming reassurance as he remained ready to respond at a moment's notice.

Reluctant to Leave Their Side: Lycaon would be hesitant to leave his partner’s side, wanting to be there for every moment.

As his partner lay in bed, struggling with a fever, Lycaon sat by their side, his hand never leaving theirs. "You should rest too," they whispered, their voice weak but concerned as they noticed exhaustion in his gaze. Lycaon shook his head gently, squeezing their hand with a reassuring grip. "I’m fine," he replied, his voice steady and filled with quiet determination. "You’re more important. I’ll rest when you’re better." As the hours passed, Lycaon refused to leave their side. Whenever they stirred, he offered a soft smile and a comforting word. "I’m right here," he would murmur, brushing a cool cloth across their forehead. While his heart ached to see them in pain, he knew his presence was the best comfort he could provide. So he stood silent, protecting them from all discomfort, unwilling to let them go it alone.

Gentle Encouragement: Lycaon would encourage them to take their medicine and follow any necessary care routines, though he’d do so with patience and gentleness.

Lycaon sat at the edge of the bed, holding the small cup of medicine in his hand. Weary and reluctant, his partner gazed at him. "I know it doesn’t taste great," Lycaon said softly, gently reassuring them as he held out the cup. "But you need to take your medicine." They grimaced, hesitating as they eyed the cup. Lycaon, sensing their reluctance, smiled encouragingly. "I’ll have something sweet for you after, I promise," he added, gently coaxing. "Just one quick sip, and it’ll be over." Nodding, they took the cup from his hands, trusting in his patient encouragement. Lycaon stayed close, resting his hand on their back as they swallowed the medicine. "There you go," he murmured, his voice full of praise. "You did great." He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to their forehead, his heart swelling with love. "Now, how about that treat I promised?"

Protective Instincts: His protective instincts would heighten, ensuring no one disturbs them, and that they have a quiet and peaceful environment to recover in.

During his partner's rest, Lycaon became acutely aware of every sound and movement around them. When a friend stopped by to check in, he met them at the door, his expression calm but firm. "They’re resting right now," he said quietly, his voice leaving no room for an argument. "They need peace and quiet to recover." The friend nodded, sensing Lycaon's unspoken intensity, and quickly retreated. Lycaon gently closed the door and returned to his partner’s side. Sitting down, he softened his watchful gaze as he brushed a stray hair from their forehead. "Just rest," he murmured, his voice low and comforting. "I’ve got everything under control."

Thoughtful Distractions: Knowing that illness can sometimes bring a sense of boredom or restlessness, Lycaon would find ways to keep his partner entertained.

As Lycaon watched his partner fidget restlessly in bed, he noticed their frustration. Leaving the room quietly, he returned with a book in hand. "I thought you might like to be distracted," he said with a gentle smile, settling in beside them. "How about I read to you?" Nodding, his partner softened his eyes with appreciation. Lycaon opened the book and began reading in a soothing, rhythmic voice. Occasionally, he glanced at them as he read, making sure they were comfortable. "I always loved this part," he murmured, sharing a soft smile as he continued. With the sound of his voice and the warmth of his presence, he offered a comforting distraction, allowing his partner to relax momentarily. They were transported to another world by Lycaon's voice, as his affectionate gaze never strayed from theirs. "You look more at ease," he commented softly, reaching out to gently squeeze their hand. The tension in his partner's body eased as Lycaon's words and presence wrapped around him like a comforting blanket.

Affectionate Gestures: Despite the illness, Lycaon would still find ways to express his affection, from tender touches to sweet words.

Even with his partner feeling under the weather, Lycaon couldn’t help but find small ways to show his affection. As they lay in bed, he sat close, his fingers gently threading through their hair, each stroke a soothing reminder of his love. "You’re doing so well," he whispered, his voice rich with warmth and encouragement. Every so often, he would lean in, pressing a soft kiss to their forehead, the touch lingering with tenderness. His thumb brushed lightly across their cheek, his gaze filled with deep affection. "I’m here, and I love you," he murmured, his words a gentle caress meant to comfort them.

[rollersfataft]

Buffer should meet Swerve

I think they'd make good friends, buffer is a listener and swerves a talker it works out. this was so fun to draw

[the-broken-pen]

Hey hey

Could you perhaps write a snippet where the building hero is in, gets bombed? Its bombed as an assassination attempt to get them, however the people in that building die and hero, succumbed to their injuries couldn't save everyone of them. At last they watched the last ambulance left without them, even as they called for help

Villians villa is just few kilometres away

Thankfu hero's legs aren't broken

They begin walking

The problem? Vil is way to composed and prim and perfect to let all of hero's blood get on their expensive carpets and fabrics. They could even be mad at the hero for reddening their porch if they hero stood their asking for bandages. What now? And the fight the two had yesterday that ended with "never see me again" and "don't ever talk to me"s.....vil was stopping hero from attending the event the building....

Will vil help them? They can just ask for bandages and leave.

What hero doesn't know: vil would literally destroy the world for hero, and there's no way in hell are they leaving hero on their doorstep.

(Anon you were cooking with this ask, thank you!)

The hero realized the building was going to explode a split second before it did, which wasn’t enough time to do anything other than brace.

They tensed, and there was a horrible screeching of metal and brick, followed by a deafening silence that covered them more completely than the rubble did.

The hero coughed once, weakly, pain rocketing through their chest, and shoved a piece of concrete off themself.

From somewhere else in the building, a soft, terrified wail began, broken around desperate sobs.

The hero coughed again, hand rising to their ribs. They didn’t have the energy to be surprised when their fingers came back coated in blood and dust. They grimaced at it, struggling to their feet–

And oh, god. That hurt.

The hero had a surgery once, the kind that resulted in bandages and a care regime and a set of stitches, and when they had woken up in the recovery unit, it had felt sort of like this. A moment of loopy half-awareness, and then a pain that had knocked the breath out of them, hands clenching into the sheets as a nurse tried to figure out if they needed more medication. 

This was worse. Their vision swam, and they blinked it back with a hiss.

Because someone, somewhere in the wreckage, was crying. And if one person was crying, it meant there was someone who survived. Which meant it was likely there were other survivors–ones too hurt to make any noise, ones knocked unconscious, ones still too shocked to do anything other than lay there–and it was the hero’s job to find them.

It took them far too long to locate the source of the crying. Longer to dig them out, vision going white as the person slammed into the hero’s chest in some facsimile of a terrified hug.

“You’re okay,” they managed, voice like gravel. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out, and you’re going to be just fine. Were you with anyone?”

And then again, and again, and again.

The hero panted, hands on their knees as their body fought them in an attempt to just collapse onto the concrete below. They just–they just needed a minute. Just one, maybe, and then they could–

This time, the hero wasn’t even aware of it before it happened.

The remains of the building shook, then disintegrated into itself in a plume of dust and rock. The hero shielded their eyes with one hand, blinking against the onslaught.

What little air they had managed to get stuttered out of their lungs in something close to a sob. They had done this enough times to know there wasn’t anyone in that building left alive. 

They sagged down against the nearest thing–more rubble, maybe? They didn’t know–and this time when they rested a hand on their side, there was a considerably larger amount of blood.

“That’s…not great,” they said, and their fingers blurred in front of them slightly. There was an ambulance right there. Just a couple feet away. They had already helped most of the survivors, so maybe it would be okay for the hero to–

A paramedic rounded the back of the ambulance, and the hero lifted a hand, reaching–

“Please, wait, I think–I think,” it hurt coming out of their mouth, “help. Please I need–” they trailed off as the paramedic took the step up into the ambulance.

And closed the door behind them.

The hero wasn’t even that surprised when the ambulance began to drive away.

“Help,” they finished weakly, then sucked a breath in through their nose.

They were supposed to be good at this kind of thing. Surviving, no, thriving in catastrophe. A pillar of light. The one with the plan. 

The kind of being that didn’t beg for help on the ground.

The hero wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to get themselves back to standing. It was as easy as that–one moment they were on the ground, gravel embedded in their knees, and the next they were up and shaking but they were up.

“If I stay here, I’ll die,” they murmured. They had hoped maybe the threat would keep their legs from buckling again. It didn’t.

They weren’t near any place that could be trusted. There wasn’t a safe clinic for heroes on this side of the city, and even if there was, the hero wouldn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to.

But as for near…the hero swallowed the nausea as it rose in their throat. There was one place they could go. One person they could go to.

Four miles. They could do four. There was no other option.

Where the hero had had some blurry recollection, or at least, a good guess of how they got to standing, they had absolutely no clue how they made it onto the villain’s porch. They managed a blink, retching slightly as they stared at the villain’s wavering door, then had to freeze just to bite down the pain that had come from the gagging.

They tried to knock and ended up collapsing against the villain’s door, knees giving out entirely as their fingers scrabbled for purchase and left behind smeared bloody marks on the wood.

They weren’t entirely sure how that happened either, or how long it took the villain to answer the door. Just that it hurt—so, so much, it hurt so–and that they managed to shove themself back into some semblance of standing right before the villain pulled the door open.

The villain’s face did a sort of spasming thing as soon as they saw the hero, jaw dropping slightly in what the hero could only really read as shock.

There was a very considerable amount of blood on the door. They were cold.

“I–” the hero tried, but they weren’t really sure where they had been going with that sentence, and after yesterday and the screaming and the fight the villain probably didn’t want to see them at all, didn’t want to ever see their face again, so–their mind blanked. “I got blood on your door.”

They tried to gesture towards it, but that hurt, so their hand simply twitched slightly from where it hung by their side.

They glanced down at their feet, because they didn’t want to see what the villain’s face was doing, especially if what it was doing was anything resembling anger.

“Oh.” There was blood at the hero’s feet. “And on your porch, too, I guess.”

They looked up at the villain, but they were still staring at them, brow furrowed, hand clenching on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a very faint quiver of tears when they said it, and the hero knew better than to hope the villain didn’t catch it. 

Were they saying sorry for the porch or the door or yesterday–

“Holy shit,” the villain finally breathed, and it sounded like it had been punched out of them. The hero froze, panic rising in their chest.

“I’m sorry,” the hero blurted out, stammering. “I’m–I’m so sorry, I’ll go, just–could I maybe have some bandages? Just–just one, maybe, please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they said uselessly, head swimming. They couldn’t even remember what they were doing here. The villain was perfect in every sense of the word, stoic and proper and collected in a way the hero would never be; a marble statue brought to life. The idea of them letting the hero–the personification of a train wreck in motion–in to bleed all over the villain’s soft carpet and nice shoes and cause irreparable damage to their very expensive house was almost laughable. 

If they had had the breath to laugh.

More of the hero’s blood dripped onto the slats of the porch, and they stepped back. “I’m sorry–”

The villain reached for them, and the hero flinched, taking it for the dismissal it was–

The hero blinked, and it stuck for a moment too long as the world tilted, and when they pried their eyes open again the villain was staring at them with something the hero was too out of it with pain and possibly delirium to identify. Their gaze drifted back to the blood smeared on the door, and the villain’s grip tightened on the hero’s bicep–when had they grabbed the hero’s bicep?–until the hero’s gaze returned to theirs.

The villain said something, but there was a roaring that had started up in the hero’s ears. They seemed to take the uncomprehending blink the hero gave them in return for an answer anyways, and guided them down until they were both sitting on the cool wood. A tug, and the hero was resting against their own propped up knees, villain’s hand still firm on their arm.

“How much blood did you lose?”

It was like screaming underwater, the hero reasoned. Or through a mirror. But they heard it nonetheless, and that was their villain, and even in hatred and war they would always answer them.

“Was ‘supposed to be counting?” If they had any more energy–or maybe slightly more blood–in their body, the slur to their own words would have been concerning.

The villain’s lips pursed into a thin line, and the hero felt them begin to run an assessing hand over their injuries, cataloguing them, brow furrowing further with every second.

“M’sorry,” they managed, tongue thick. The villain didn’t pause.

“For what?”

“Bleeding on your door,” they managed. The villain stopped them from raising their head from their knees. “And your–porch.”

“I don’t give a shit about either of those things,” the villain said, simply, easily. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t feel the weight of it as they threw it into the air.

The villain sat back on their heels, clearly having learned what they wanted from the hero’s injuries.

When the hero didn’t immediately look at them, the villain grabbed their chin, gently turning it until the hero faced them.

“How far did you walk,” they said slowly, and the hero had never been more grateful for anything in their life.

“Four miles,” the hero said, and they couldn’t hear their own voice above the roaring, but the villain obviously could from the way their eyes darkened.

The hero wanted no part in making the villain angry again–I never want to see you again, do you hear me? If you ever try to talk to me again I will kill the both of us, I promise you that–, but when they attempted to push themselves up to leave, the only thing they managed was a piteous whine and a stab of pain so intense they forgot to breathe.

“Idiot,” the villain hissed. But oddly, the hero didn’t sense any anger coming from the villain.

They blinked–too long, again–and found themselves in the villain’s arms as they walked through the house. Their head lolled back onto the villain’s shoulder, and the villain glanced down as if–to make sure the hero was okay. That they were conscious, and breathing.

Oh.

Oh.

The villain wasn’t angry.

They were afraid. For the hero.

Which didn’t make any sense, because–

I never want to see you again–

“You’re mad at me,” the hero reasoned, and it came out half strangled and petulant. The villain looked down at them, and the hero caught the tiniest flinch in their jaw.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” the hero whispered, and the villain flinched.

“I wanted to stop this from happening.” The villain settled them onto a bathroom counter, lights flickering on as the hero leaned back against the mirror. Blood began to dry, sticky, between their fingers.

The hero’s mouth went dry, and it caught in their throat when they tried to swallow it.

“You could have just left me there.” Their voice only shook a little bit, but the villain’s head still snapped up from where they had been digging through a drawer.

“What?”

“On the porch,” the hero clarified, clearing their throat. The lump didn’t go away, and they had begun shaking at some point, and they couldn’t stop. “If you didn’t want to deal with me you could have just left me there–”

The villain’s face had darkened into something the hero almost didn’t recognize. 

“I would burn the world for you, and you think I would leave you to die on my porch?”

“You said you didn’t want this to happen.”

“No, that’s not–” the villain rubbed a hand over their brow, and the hero winced at the blood it left behind. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to keep you from going to that stupid event and getting hurt. I knew it was going to blow.”

“I would have gone anyway.”

The villain stilled. “I thought maybe if you never wanted to see me again, and you knew I was there…”

“I would,” the hero repeated. “Have gone anyway.”

The hero watched as the villain’s face rippled through a dozen emotions, settling onto something unidentifiable.

“Why?”

“Because you were there,” the hero said easily, shrugging one shoulder. Because when it came to the villain, it really was that easy. They could scream, and shout, and hold a knife to the hero’s throat, and the hero would still follow them into hell. That was their villain.

The villain looked like the hero had stabbed them, face draining of color. Their fingers went white around the edge of the counter, as if it was the only thing keeping them upright.

“What,” the villain’s voice was hoarse.

“I went because I was hoping you would be there,” the hero said honestly

“Stop,” the villain raised a hand between them, a shield, voice breaking. They sucked in a breath, then another, like they were trying to keep themself from breaking down onto the tile.

“You would have gone to the event no matter what, just to see me,” the villain said slowly, and the hero nodded

“Yes.”

“Even though I screamed at you?”

“Yes.”

“And told you I hated you.”

“Villain, please–”

“Now you know,” the villain interrupted, voice incredibly soft. “Why I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero forgot to breathe for a moment, tongue going numb in their mouth. The villain couldn’t mean–

They blinked for a moment too long, and then the villain was standing between the hero’s knees, hand on their chest.

“You love me,” the hero said a moment later.

“Ruinously,” the villain agreed.

“So you–”

“I was trying to save your life,” the villain’s hands were gentle as they began to patch up the hero’s side. “And now I’m saving your life in a new and unanticipated way. But there is nothing you could ever do to stop me from saving your life.”

The hero’s heart clenched. 

“Really?”

The villain caught their chin, eyes boring into the hero’s. They brushed a piece of hair off the side of the hero’s face.

“Really.”

The hero sighed, and the villain caught them as they slumped.

“I thought you hated me,” the hero said, and they hated how raw they sounded. The villain made a choked little noise.

“I’m so sorry.”

The hero sniffed.

“Don’t do it again.”

The villain simply hummed, and smoothed the ends of a bandage down against the hero’s abdomen. The hero could feel their hands shaking.

You scared me.

A second later, their hands settled on either side of the hero’s head, and the villain rested their face into the hero’s hair. They pressed a kiss to the hero’s temple, tension easing from their shoulders.

I’m sorry.

The hero clutched the front of the villain’s shirt between their hands, drawing them closer. The villain went willingly, loose limbed with affection and the rapid draining of terror from their system.

“I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero had never believed anyone more.

[cerealboxlore]

(this is for the divine twitch chat au my beloved)

captain marvel, at 3am: *preparing a goat for an ancient sacrificial ritual in the watchtower kitchen*

jl member of choice who just wanted a quick break from watchtower duty: hey uhh.. cap? buddy? whatcha.. what are you uh doing there?

cap, basically hissing: the voices, they’re winning

queue misunderstandings and rumours spread among the heroes

This ask had me cackling like a mad man ever since I got it, omg 😂😂😂

There's some hilarity in Billy holding a goat 🐐 like the Billy goat, hahahahaha

This is both hilarious and horrifying, bc if a JL member saw that, it'd be an immediate report to HR or batman. Does the JL even have a HR? Oh man

Also

Memes!

The divine twitch chat AU certainly is expanding and I am here for it!

Also, I hope that goat ends up being safe in the end and getting taken care of By Damian.

[mintytealfox]

*slides in*

am back buddy! also I thought of a think not sure you see dungen meshi yet but...

*holds up a chirmea! Norton*

OOOHHH MMYYYYYY GGOOOSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I had to draw this scene I just had to oh my gosh LOL

-SHAKES TABLE- OOHHH MMMYYY GGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[aaeeart]

ur kanan jarrus art is superior

you caused me to giggle and kick my feet and lo and behold I ended up with another drawing of him pfpbfb

edit1: I was told he's not doing his shirt proud, had to fix that of course

[thesightstoshowyou]

I heard Ghoul fuckery is wanted and I am HERE for it. So this was an idea a friend of mine came up with, just a little something, so maybe it'll work for you?

Imagine you were taught to hunt and skin animals so blood and guts aren’t anything to you, so you can imagine the Ghoul getting turned on by you covered in blood ♡

I’m literally kicking my feet and giggling at this prompt 😍 Thank you so much.

~~

Red

Cooper Howard x GN Reader (NSFW-ish)

Warnings: Animal death, blood, gore, knife mention, suggestive themes

~~

The crack of the rifle disturbs the hush of the forest. Crows take flight in alarm, rodents skitter though trees, but the doe doesn’t budge. She hovers motionless for one, two breaths before collapsing in a heap.

She goes down easy, bullet straight through the heart. Clean, painless. A yellowing grin is the only indication the Ghoul gives that he’s impressed, but you don’t notice.

Instead, you’re busy slinging the rifle over your shoulder and picking your way through the brush. That gunshot will have told everything in the vicinity that dinner’s ready. Best get to cleaning before something big comes running.

Your knees hit dirt, dust billowing up to speckle your pants when you kneel and draw your skinning knife. You waste no time in cutting away breast tissue before moving on to open up the pelvis. Bones snap, flesh and sinew part under your blade, and thick crimson wets your hands and soaks into the dirt. The scents of tangy iron and musky game fill the clearing as you diligently work.

Quiet bootfalls saunter up behind you. “Well, if I were a gentleman, I’d offer to do that for ya’,” Cooper drawls, “But it looks to me like ya’ got it handled.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo,” you quip. Gritting your teeth, you grunt with the effort of freeing innards from the doe’s body cavity. Prickling on the back of your neck tells you Cooper’s gaze is intent upon your every move.

Pausing, you glance over your shoulder to cock a questioning brow at the Ghoul hovering over you. Cooper crouches to get on your level. “Yeah, I can see that, darlin.” Leisurely, he reaches one, scarred hand out to pluck one of your blood soaked wrists from the pile of deer viscera.

From under the brim of his hat, he looks directly into your eyes as he brings your dripping hand to his mouth. Gnarled lips part and you squeak when they close around two of your bloody digits. Your teeth dig into your lip when he sucks them clean. They slide free from his mouth with a quiet pop.

He moves onto the next finger, then the next until your cheeks burn and your thighs clench. Cooper hums in satisfaction before finally releasing your wrist. Suddenly, the need for haste doesn’t seem so pressing.

The Ghoul reaches into the bloody mess between you to wet his own fingers. He brings them to your mouth to smear scarlet across your bottom lip. You taste iron when you wrap your lips around his thumb.

“Red’s a good color on you, sweetheart,” he murmurs. You watch the muscles in his jaw flex with his steadying inhale. “Let’s pick up the pace. I got other things than food on my mind now.”

[fanaticsnail]

how do I convince you to make at LEAST a part 2 to The Sword and Spear?! Cause omg I need more! I wanna know if Mihawk eats his words once reader is dressed more in the way he prefers and then just the aftermath of MIHAWK showing up STARK NAKED to see GARP!!

Please I beg of you- if not a full part then you can do a short little imagine but please at least something to quench my hunger!!

I hope you have a good rest of your day/night! :)

Wine and Warlords

Masterlist Here, Part 1 Here

Word Count: 700+

Synopsis: Celebrating your victory by goading in the arms of a fellow warlord.

Themes: Mihawk x f!reader, warlords, drinking, drunk kissing, swearing, flirty dialogue, name calling, secondhand embarrassment.

Notes: This little drabble was brought to you by a couple of glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon, and by you, beautiful @h0n3y-l3m0n05. Thank you for your ask, it ate at me. Part 2 Drabble to your initial request, @sexc-snail.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @gingernut1314 @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @vespidphoenix

Lulling your head onto his shoulder, his arm draped in a soft shroud over your torso. His smile tickled the shell of your ear, a soft puff of wine-tinted breath beckoned your attention closer.

“Finally got the feral filiform in my arms,” he whispered in a slow and slurred breath, “And in such a pretty black dress.” He swayed in his seat, wineglass laying limply in his hands as he swirled the deep rouge in the ballooned base of the glass stem.

“Such a flatterer, for such a conceited cunt,” your own voice slurred back at him, smiling broadly within the lap of your fellow warlord, “Particularly one who just walked in: balls out and dick swinging in front of the marine council and the world government.”

Joining with his soft laughter, you attempted to lean away from his embrace to collect the bottle of wine atop the bar; only for him to tug at your body to pull you in closer. He reached his left hand down to collect your chin, turning your face with the tip of his index finger. His lips parted, lazily descending to claim yours beneath his own.

“Not so conceited as you may think,” his smile cracked the corners of his eyes in a playful twinkle.

“Still a cunt,” you taunted back, flicking your tongue to brush with the tip of his nose.

Lips engulfed your mouth, whiskered flesh brushing and chafing the soft skin of your face as his hands drew you in closer. Turning in his arms, you braced your hands against him: grasping his opened shirt in clenched fists as you gasped into his mouth. His tongue darted out, rolling lazily with your own and tinting your tongue with the subtle hint of red wine.

His hands wandered over your back, molding the flesh beneath his firm palms and skilled fingertips. Your knee knocked against his crotch, a moan a few times higher than he truly intended falling freely from his lips.

“Let me get the wine, Hawk,” you murmured against his mouth, taking his bottom lip within your clamped teeth and tugging at it, “Let's drink in celebration of my victory. Again.”

“Go and get it then, Hyena,” he taunted you, “And I'll drink as many glasses as you require of me to cement your win. Go on,” he taunted you, his amber eyes fluttering dangerously with an air of danger. His nose scrunched in a small twitch, his lips snarling in a smirk, “Get it.”

“Oh,” you taunted him in return, eyes mirroring a similar dark intensity as his own, “I’ll get something, alright,” you cooed down at him.

Your fingers found his pectorals, the pads of your digits circling the sensitive flesh of his nipples as you descended your lips once again to claim his. Licking, biting and molding your lips atop his, he was held helpless beneath your ministrations.

Uncharacteristic moans, whimpers and cries fled from the world's greatest swordsman as you journeyed your hands over his torso. He cupped the backs of your knees, ushering you to straddle his waist and angled his chin in a circular rotation to deepen the oscillation with his skillful, needy lips.

Snapping your head away from his, arching your back up and offering him a winning smile, you reached for the wine bottle and raised it to your lips. Gulping back a hefty swig, Mihawk's eyes both held mortification and awe.

“You absolute savage,” Mihawk praised you, easing back into the chair and staring up at you with glassy eyes: obs blown with unbridled lust.

Mischief danced over your face, your eyes holding him at ransom beneath your ferocious intensity. Leaning down, you split your lips and fed the deep, red wine to him through your mouth.

He whistled a hum through his nose, shock evident on his features as he gulped down his favorite vintage through the partition of your lips. Humming in momentary bliss, Mihawk cradled your body against himself and humbled himself to be truly at your mercy.

Pulling away from his body, you used your thumb to cast aside the few droplets spilling over his bottom lip. Elevating your thumb, you sucked at the digit as his fingers brushed your thighs dangerously higher.

“Go on, big boy,” you taunted him, snarling with a small smirk, “Show me all the ways you can please a woman.”

Horrified eyes, shocked lips and tense shoulders were littered throughout the tavern. Cadets, marines, generals, admirals and other warlords dare not spare the two of you more than a subtle glance before returning their attention to their tankards.

Not a breath was huffed, nor a murmur mentioned at the prior exposure of Mihawk's bare ass in the sandstone building. Although none spoke it, all eyes held an intense silent understanding they all shared.

Both warlords were in for a wild ride.

[thwackk]

thwackk... you've cursed me with a transformers obsession... I can't stop thinking about them and YOUR🫵 fault

not sorry lmao. hark, optimus slay be upon you

[twisted-bunkbot772]

Do you also have shrimpo as an insomniac?

No, never thought of it. But it is funny to think about