cqsuanla

[cqsuanla]

#Natasha’s aesthetic blog

[cqsuanla]

there may be some spice to this one. a lil kick

Iron man the way I love pepper🌶️

#ask #anon

[cqsuanla]

"toxic nat gets dumped but she doesn’t gaf and she just has a huge ego and #trauma and projects it thru sexual fantasies and now that she’s looking for the next pretty idiot that’ll let themselves get fucked over for a chance at her" OH NO, SHES HOT

Listen. Listen size queen nat doesn’t give a fuck how much u whine and beg for it, she’s strapping that monster cock on u and riding her own legs to jelly and then sending u home wet in the crotch of ur jeans: next time - she’s mentioning casually, walking u to the front door - maybe u could give her the sloppiest bj known to man since her cocks so big and you’re a good girl who’s so caring and empathetic and of course u wouldn’t complain at all and help her with that not-small problem, right? RIGHT?

#ask #anon #you: 😑👍

[cqsuanla]

I'll....I'll let it simmer. Cook for us, chef, COOK📢💥

Not u forcing a woman into the kitchen…

#redpilled 🤨 #not me misgendering myself for the laughs #ask #anon

[cqsuanla]

Wouldn’t it have been so fucking funny if she strung him along and only smashed if he was pissed and got his tree trunk out and bc of that, toxic nat gets dumped but she doesn’t gaf and she just has a huge ego and #trauma and projects it thru sexual fantasies and now that she’s looking for the next pretty idiot that’ll let themselves get fucked over for a chance at her……

Normal marvel hater until i watch black widow/hawkeye funny clips on YouTube and then I’m back on my white womens whore shit 😭😭

#🕳️ transgender thoughts 🫷 #txt

[cqsuanla]

BRUCENAT CURSED

I agree but I promise I’m cooking rn

#I had to rationalise it #ask #anon

[cqsuanla]

NOT gonna lie. I want to write size queen nat bc that’s just … canon. To me.

Normal marvel hater until i watch black widow/hawkeye funny clips on YouTube and then I’m back on my white womens whore shit 😭😭

#only explanation for the hulk thing for me. she wanted that man for the girth. why else? why else?? #txt

[cqsuanla]

Normal marvel hater until i watch black widow/hawkeye funny clips on YouTube and then I’m back on my white womens whore shit 😭😭

#free me. #why do u do that pose? echoing in my mind like wind in a fucked up building #txt #anyway. manifesting some writing for me but … finals period approaching so.. we’ll see.

[cqsuanla]

High femme bitch top ……..

[cqsuanla]

My little fucked up OCs which started as a dark nat au LMAO here’s another. Expect me to disappear again 😘

Tw: violence, hints of stockholm syndrome, cigs

“Hi.”

You rouse, blinking up at the static your punisher calls constellations.

She leans over you like an eclipse and waves a tightly bound bundle of grapes over you. “Hungry?”

You clear your throat with a nod. “Y-Yeah. Thirsty too.”

A happy hum. She conjures up a vase of water from somewhere. “Open up, honey.”

You do so, but not without a quick glance downward to the sword wedged between your rib cage. Yep. Still there.

She feeds you with an almost adorable amount of concentration. Adorable were it not for the fact that she had impaled you on some piece of shit antique and left you to rot for a day.

“Can I-” She shoves a grape between your teeth and you dutifully chew and swallow before beginning again: “Can I go home now?”

Home being anywhere but here. The big ugly house she lives in and, you suppose, also you now. Or—a pipe dream, really—home in the distant, clouded lands of your maker. Tabletops full of power tools, blue-papered designs you can’t even fathom. The smell of life and movement, and a view of spilled light, pinpricks of stars. Oh, stars.

You glare up at the static.

She winces at that, cricking her head back in an unnatural way. “Still not right? Damn. What about now?”

The sky suddenly sharpens up as if she had clicked the Smart Sharpen button in Photoshop. “Forget it. Take the fucking sword out.”

Now, she pouts.

“Sorry,” you say automatically, clenching your eyes shut. You feel like you’re made of wax. Maybe you are. Maybe she did that while you were asleep.

A cold hand cards through your hair, nails scraping pleasantly at your scalp. “Forgiven,” she sings mildly—it is quite literally music to your ears. She thinks she’s funny for things like that. “I’ll take you home in a couple more hours. How about that?”

“Hasn’t he seen enough?” And you will freely admit you’re beginning to sound desperate. You can’t even feel the sword. You’re really just going a little stir crazy. “Isn’t this punishment enough?”

She slants you a look. The whole point of this shit is that it’s never goddamn enough. She’s said this to you countless times and you never seem to get it.

“Could I have a smoke, at least?” you finally grumble out.

A long, thin line of tobacco wrapped in delicate pink paper. Blueish smoke spirals away from the tip.

“Come on,” you groan, “enough of this old timey shit.”

And you’re registering the stinging pain of it before realizing she’s slapped you across the face. Then, the agony. The searing red-white-blacking out pain of a sword jammed into your chest. You scream, sweat beading out your pores, limbs locking up in a shock.

It dies as quickly as it came and you feel a small part of you dislodge and follow that pain to the eternal nothing. You wish the whole of you could go. You wish nothing of yours would ever touch those final gates, peering up at the blank eyes above. The glassy eyes above. Something hot splashes across your cheek.

“It’s all I know,” she whispers angrily. Embarrassed. The smoke has been bent, paper jutting out smoothly and impossibly around the corner to patch it up. “It must be enough for you.”

You sigh through ragged lungs. “Okay. Just. Fuck, imagine it shorter and, like, this- this thick.” You hold apart your thumb and forefinger. “The paper is white except the filter, which is orange. No holder-thing, please.”

The cigarette transforms accordingly as you instruct it. The little piece of metal she typically uses to grip her smokes dissipates in a mist. She hands you the lit cigarette and straightens up, conjuring up her own to match.

There’s the sensation of muted horror echoing in some part of your mind as you watch her lean on the hilt of your sword. It slices further into the left side of your chest and more blood lurches out. You puff at your smoke, glaring daggers at your own predicament.

“Yum,” she says after a while. Eagerly, she produces another cigarette. “Want another?”

You give her a shaky thumbs up, spitting the butt out from the corner of your mouth.

She puts her cigarette out between your collar bones where a small, red pool has formed. You hear the sizzle, though you don’t feel it. She relights and sticks it in your mouth.

“All right, then,” she says, kissing your cheek. “I’ll see you in a bit.” And she leaves, pixels above you blurring at the edges as her mind wanders away.

#mw #exciting stuff but I’m getting tested today so I can start HRT🥺🥺

[cqsuanla]

Soo

TW: violence

You’re a fuck up. Mailman for a high god, overstepped, attempted some divine espionage, and was caught. You’re sent to some realm unknown to you, rare for a career messenger, and so curious too

It’s a cool, misty place. Grey, mostly, grass brittle from the cold, surrounding water’s dark and murky, and the house that sits on the hill and dominates the majority of your field of view is deeply, inexplicably unsettling to you. But it’s also just a house. Unapproachably victorian, distant in its pretentious grandiosity, and from the uppermost window, a small lofted quasi-tower, there’s a flickering light

Naturally, as a cowardly lower being, you’re going to go for the warmth. Like a moth to light. Like a foot with a compulsion to step on a rake

So you head in, because you’re immortal, right? So what could happen to you, honestly?

Well, the punisher could happen to you

And how is this punishment when the punisher is just some relatively small hot lady, like who cares? What’s she going to do? Call my manager? Please.

Except she is very much not just some random divine Karen. She certainly has the sadistic streak to be one but the powers that be also bestowed upon her the ability to make her dreams a reality. Her dreams just so happen to be very, very dystopian, nightmarish, almost

She’s normal at a first glance. She materializes at the opulent dining table, like an optical illusion that appears to you as you stare longer at it. Seated at the head of a dramatically long table, ashing a too-long, too-skinny smoke into an embossed golden tray. Glancing at you briefly as you peek your head around the door, like you don’t bother her at all. Like she anticipated this encounter with a rather pathetic intruder when she’d woken up this morning

Looks at you in a way that implies an unfathomable power. Looks at you the way the very powerful looks at a subordinate

But you’ve got an ego. You sit your ass down at the other end of the table, all pompous like. “Are you supposed to hurt me now or something?”

She doesn’t really move her facial features. Not yet, anyway. Just turns back to the big ass window she was occupied with before your intrusion. “Why the rush?”

And she sounds hot too. Your divine punishment is being trapped in a nice mansion with a nice woman. Surely, not. Surely.

“Is it just us?”

She hums, looking at you again. No, you do not like her eyes on you. Feels like worms under your skin. Or small, spidery creatures that pinch and gnash and prickle along the interiors of your limbs. “For now.”

“Is my torture just vague answers? That’s pretty torturous, if you ask me.”

Again, a noncommital sound.

Two days later, you’re hauling yourself on your arms, down the steps of the front door, blood seeping out a cut under your eye like a perverse imitation of a sob. Totally naked, you scrape yourself across the grass, legs searing with a bone deep pain. Towards the water, where you’ll surely drown. But that’s preferable.

Your hand grasps at a rock, skittering across the glossy tops of expensive leather. Boots. You groan softly, going limp.

A crunch as the boot steps closer, teasing the tip of your finger with the possibility of breakage.

“Is this torture enough for you, baby? Is this answer enough for you?” A pointy nudge to your forehead, lying prone on the ground like a total fucking idiot. She sounds like she’s smiling which, honestly, fucking sucks for you. You’ve known her for so little time and, already, you wish the worst of the worst upon her. Which is hard to conceptualize, given that she seems to be that very worst of the worst. “Maybe not, huh? I guess I should explain…”

#bark bark bark whatever #mw

[cqsuanla]

OMG WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ?

Ummmmmm just chilling 😭

#SORRY. #Ask #anon

[cqsuanla]

Sessions

Summary: You have a shadow. A presence, a stalker, who has been haunting you. Is this shadow real? Or is it someone your mind has conjured up to help you cope with your mundane reality? With the help of a familiar psychiatrist, you find out if you've blurred the lines of delusion and reality or if your shadow really does exist.

Parings: psychiatrist wanda x female reader

Tags Minors DNI: stalker, dark fic, multiple mentions of mental illness/disorders, mention of weapons (gun, knife), eventual smut (I'll tag that specific post)

Part 1: Get Help

Part 2: Remembering

Part 3: Acceptance

Part 4: Cat and Mouse

Epilogue

A/N: Thanks for reading! Any comments or thoughts are greatly appreciated 💚

#w..wait..

[cqsuanla]

Makima chainsaw man.

#I’m braindead

[cqsuanla]

Sorry baby daddys gonna have a full blown autistic meltdown if i can't beat someone bloody while they cry and whimper and beg. Yeah it's a sensory thing

#t4t/nd4nd .. where r u guys…

[cqsuanla]

#nah.. I love my baby boy butches like hey

[cqsuanla]

Artist is @saagelius on Twitter

#Ayo hold up tho is this . is this that movie LMFAO #Anyway lowkey in my top era what gets me off gets me off..🤭