you write headcanons?
I don’t but I’m open to writing anything! Send a request of your idea and I’ll see what I can do (:
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Girl I'm new here there are people that hate you? And make whole posts about hating you.
Love it you do you and make a bunch of 13 yr Olds mad! I'll never reach the point of fame to actually have haters so mad props to you 💕
I'm fairly certain its grown women, and I feel like now is as good of a time as any to remind people not to send me that stuff if they see it slash it actually does hurt my feelings and I'm not too proud to admit that. I personally am very over how some people are so determined to make this as unpleasant an experience for everyone else because hating certain ships/books/characters has brought them attention and validation they so desperately crave.
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Anyways I’m not dying from illness anymore so I’m active again
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rip hood family i miss them so much🥹
YOU KNOW WHAT?? Me too. I miss them too. Send me a request? Maybe I’ll try to write something this weekend? 👀
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so yeah, to clarify from my last post:
please feel free to re request or request anything by from marvel/dc/star wars/stranger things! i currently plan to work on a marvel fic and i should be able to get any requests out sooner.
requests are open! :) feel free to check out my prompts list too
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Ghost would come walking (definitely not running) into your room because you called him at 2 a.m., screaming that there’s a bug flying around.
The guy’s pissed, alright? You gave him a heart attack, it’s a long day tomorrow, and he had to change into his uniform and put on his mask. Also, you could have handled this alone, being a soldier yourself. You know how to eliminate targets; you could have used your slipper in this situation.
On the other hand, he could have stayed in bed and let you deal with it. Hell, he didn’t even need to answer that call. He cares, though he’d rather endure five consecutive hell weeks than admit it.
And then he’d just stand at the door and stare at you being all frantic. You’re running around, tugging at your clothes and shuffling your hair.
He finds it amusing; You’re not in real danger, and that bug is smaller than your big toe. Plus, you didn’t receive any reports of hazardous predatory insects in the area, so it’s safe to assume that this little guy cannot eat human flesh.
But you’re almost in tears, and beg him to stop standing there and do something. He notices how distressed you are and understands that he stalled a little too much. He waits for it to sit still and stomps on it or smashes it with his hand if it’s on the wall.
And then he’d pick it up with a tissue and, instead of throwing it away, he’d just show it to you—indicating that it’s okay and you can calm down—murmuring something like, “this is why you woke me up for; remember it next time you whine about a surprise wake-up call.”
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alastor | your cracks are showing.
picture this, if you will.
you, having had enough of his antics, finally snapping, telling him you see through him. his mask, that too-wide smile, is imperfect.
"your cracks are showing, alastor."
you spit his name like a curse and he feels his gut twist with something foreign. there you are, you, defiant, arms crossed over your chest, denying him his precious persona.
who the hell do you think you are?
before you know it, his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you to him, until you meet the hard planes of his chest. he's all lean muscles you find out, writhing against him, trying to break free.
he tilts your head back with one gloved hand. the leather is thin enough for you to feel the warmth of him. if you shiver, lips parting, you'll deny it.
"careful, my dear."
with that, he kisses you, sickeningly sweet. too sweet. too much. your eyes widen at the feeling of his lips against yours, of his teeth nipping against your flesh. you taste blood. fucker bit you -
he growls, the sound rich and deep, sinking into your marrow like he does in your mouth, tasting you. you find yourself clinging to him, fingers tangling in his curls, lightly tugging at his scalp.
he lets you go, tongue darting to lick the remnants of your lifeblood on his lips. he chuckles at the sight of you - kiss-swollen, panting, pupils blown wide in furious desire.
his thumb presses against your lower lip, right where he bit you. you hiss, sweet pain settling low in your gut.
"you'll cut yourself on my edges if you get too close."
somehow, you don't mind.
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