[fevvor]

ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ ꜰᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʙʟᴏɢ ✦ ​ ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ✦ꜱᴘʀᴏᴀᴅɪᴄ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛʏ ​✦21 ᴘʟᴜꜱ

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴋʏʟᴇ ʀᴀʏɴᴇʀ ꩜ ɢʀɪᴇᴠᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʙᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ

✦•┈🅾🅽 🅲🅾🅼🅼🆂 ┈•✦ @audaciiae ✦ @mutatiio ✦ @diaboluse✦ @apotheotica ✦ @talessculpted ✦

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✦ ​ᴄᴀʀʀᴅ ✦ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ​ ✦​ʀᴜʟᴇꜱ ✦ ᴍᴜꜱᴇꜱ ✦

[fevvor]

I have been pressuring myself a lilll bit to be more consistent here than I have time for this week, which is not fair to myself but also makes me a bit unreliable and I keep incidentally leaving people hanging. Please trust y’all are on my mind, I’m just getting unpacked still and scrambling to make money in this slow season so taking any last minute calls I get. My schedule is a bit insane at the moment. I will be more available Friday-Sunday ish, and might just start utilizing the queue for once until then so I can get some stuff out. If I haven’t answered your DM or discord messages yet, I will as soon as I have a free moment— just want to give them my proper attention. 🥀

[starspilli]

bestie

[1skittler1]

Sherilyn Fenn 🤍 Two Moon Junction (1988)

[fevvor]

Trans fem Amara……. tweet and send

[audaciiae]

Ah, Richard's being odd again. Francis thinks it's more amusing than anything. It's very typical of Richard, isn't it? He watches him as he looks over his hand, not wanting to admit that it makes his heart thump oddly in his chest. Richard is so far in the closet that it physically pains Francis. Really, he wishes he could get him to be more honest. As plain and unassuming as he is, Richard tends to not be very truthful about things, doing and saying whatever he thinks will impress someone. It's a little sad. Francis might even pity him a little.

"Why are you being so paranoid? I never look at you like that." Maybe he looks at him with amusement or a questioning gaze, but he's never thought that Richard was any stranger than the rest of them. That's why they're all in the same class taught by the same man for hours out of the day. They are all strange in their own right. Richard is just shiny and new. That's all.

Even still, the question takes him off guard. Francis laughs and flops onto the couch next to Richard, leaning close to him. "Hmm, I don't know. I was thirteen, I think. There was a boy in my class at school. We kissed behind the bleachers on the soccer field. Why?"

[fevvor]

Francis' weight on the couch beside him pulls his attention. His body never knows what to do beside someone else's. He fidgets with his fingers, pulls at a strand of his hair before he looks at him, too practiced like he's just now noticing he's here. The veins of Francis' arm are so blue beneath his delicate, pale skin. He wonders how he's never seen him burn. It's another untrue of this reality, his watercolor friends, painted into the scenery.

Why is he being paranoid? Is he? He feels so certain of the strangeness, feels it creeping down hallways after him. This is, of course, until he opens his mouth to address it, and then suddenly the world is mundane around him— his brain making exhaust of the threat.

"Francis," he hums, nervous. "You're looking at me that way now." '

His eyes fall to his lips, red and perfectly pursed, so pigmented they look almost bloody against his powdery skin. Not like a girls, no, but more like a girls than some. Like a girl's in the way he feels a heat pulling at his chest, curious. He could lean in. What would that be like?

"Why?" he echoes, but the inflection is different, his own question, not a repeat. "Why did you kiss him?" he clarifies.

[arrowmade]

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎THIS CLOSET WAS DEFINITELY way too small for two grown men. not that he minded the close proximity, but still. at least kyle was providing enough light to make it slightly less ( ? ) awkward.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎all the air escapes from his lungs at one word : donna. his expression drops for a moment, mask crumbling before he can do his best to scrape it back together into something convincing.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎he still wasn't ready to talk about her. luckily, there's an easy out with a dumb joke. roy snorted, “ don't think i was ever in the closet to begin with. m'just hiding from dick -- ”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎aaand he knew exactly how that sounded. “ okay not like that -- the man, not the - you get what i meant. ”

[fevvor]

Kyle watches the pain panic over Roy's face, and he feels the weight of his own grief spasm in response. He has nowhere to put it down, certainly can't shoulder it onto Roy. He thins his lips at him in a way he hopes is sympathetic but it's unconvincing, not when his eyes are so evocative, betraying his deeper sentiments.

Roy tries at a joke and Kyle chases the chance, flees the weight of the moment into the fresh air of his absurdity. He laughs, and it's so bright it fills what little room was left between them, eyes dancing with amusement.

"Yeah, Roy. I think I know exactly what you're talking about," he muses, lips twisted into a lopsided smirk. He's spent so little time around Dick himself, though he feels the pull of him reverberating through his friends. It makes him nervous at the prospects of being in his company, the want he seems to draw out of everyone.

"Does he know he's broken all of your hearts, or is he more the blissfully unaware type?"

[dougfromxmen]

@fevvor continued from here

Doug sneezed an embarrassingly tiny kitten's sneeze into his elbow at the sudden pleasant but strong scent perfume, and then he laughed, both out of embarrassment and relief. He had always felt like Amara kept herself at a slight distance from the rest of the team, and he had--perhaps, it seemed, incorrectly--always assumed she didn't want that distance to be broached. He thought he would annoy her, to put it succinctly. He always seemed to annoy everyone else.

But maybe that was exactly why he should have reached out to Amara a long time ago. Was it possible she didn't feel like she belonged, either?

"It's beautiful," he said. He could feel the tips of his ears turning red. Her hand felt warm on his cheek. He wasn't bold enough to do anything but nuzzle his cheek into her palm, his hand folding over hers. "You're beautiful. I have eyes. I've just... I always felt like I would bother you..."

Doug hesitated. Was it wrong to be blunt? Doug had never been good at talking around the issue.

"But I guess I never realized till now... You don't really fit in with the others either, do you?" He stepped back abruptly, realizing he'd been rude, and held up his hands as if that would mend the awkwardness. "No offense. We're both kinda square pegs in round holes."

[fevvor]

Doug is too honest. It's the first thing she notes, how quickly he shows her his belly. Her eyes flash, a curious swell of her irises and she quirks her head to the side at the man. It makes sense, given his powers, his proclivity for communication. It shouldn't be a bad thing, and maybe it isn't for a man raised in the world he was born into. A small part of her worries at the vulnerability of his honest heart, although a larger part finds it distinctly charming. Her eyes flint to his collarbone, where she's now marked him with her scent. She's not possessive of him. Really, she doesn't know him well enough to be, but she's pleased with the way he accepts her touch, her marking. Her thumb slides over his cheek, petting him like a coveted animal. She can imagine what they look like to the rest of the team, and of course she cares. She cares too much, that's always been her problem, but it is easy enough to ignore for the time being.

She's not offended. Something burns through her but it's too frazzled to be indignation, her hand slipping back to her side. When had she become so distrusting? She wonders if Doug is even capable of lying, but the sincere flattery puts her on guard, ill equipped to accept it. Her own face burns, but she's grateful the molten heat only turns in her belly, doesn't rupture through the grove between them. She's getting better, containing herself. She is.

"I fit in somewhere," she argues. It had not been what he'd said, but she feels a rush to defend herself. Worst still, it's a lie. Nova Roma feels like a dream she can no longer step into, the mirage of it's paper walls. Not now. Now that she knows of the world outside, as unsuited for it as she is, she could never really go back. When she'd first joined the team, she might have stumbled over herself to cultivate an intimacy between them. Now she is weary.

"....I do not know what they have in common that I don't share," It's the closest she can get to honest. She means it too. Sam and Beto are worlds apart. Rahne and Dani. Even Illyana, temperamental and strange like her, slotted in with seeming ease. She frowns, pulls away from his eyes.

"Are you happy here?"

[fevvor]

Friends I still owe 68 asks as well as about 30 drafts. I’ve queued a few more and am continuing on drafts but I owe so much I’m just random selecting a different account each time I write a reply but I PROMISE I’m getting to everyone. I’ll finally be back in my own place with my own room I think on the first and will be more consistent but just want everyone to know I’m not ignoring or trying to prioritize anything or anyone over another!🫡

Going to the gym then going to get some more drafts down. I will reply to DMs and discord then as well. Muah.

[talessculpted]

@fevvor said:

“Not his fault he was born woefully fuckin’ unfunny - Jealous Miguel

Networking events are quite important. Good reputation in the industry can make or break a person, and that includes a system analyst like her.

She should be socializing. But Trevor, another system analyst from her company, was one hell of an introvert and was following her around like Xina had grown a second shadow. She didn't mind much. While socially awkward and not the brightest coin in the fountain in group settings, Trevor was kind– raised with three sisters, so he knew not to be prejudiced about a woman in their field, regardless of how rare it was even in 2099.

And he makes her laugh.

It isn't until he finds some friends from an old job that be unvelcros himself from her side and, just as quickly, is replaced by Miguel.

Xina had noticed him. It's hard not to notice him. But she had been doing her best to ignore him, go their separate ways the way he wanted because if he hadn't wanted that then surely he wouldn't have tripped and fallen dick first into his brother's fiance's pussy.

But resentment is an ugly look on her.

Just one year ago, she would have decked him on sight. Now, she knows better. She doesn't even resent Deana, Dina, Dona, or whatever her name is– not as a bitter ex at least; she only resents her as a woman who watches Gabriel O'Hara grow up, who was there when he learned to ride a bike, who took him home when shit got bad in his house and Miguel would call for her to take Gabe away, who knew how in love he had been with that woman who didn't hesitate to jump into bed with his brother.

For that, oh, she could have slapped her until her face turned as red as that lipstick she wore. Maybe then it would look good on her.

And to add insult to injury, Miguel thought he could have an opinion about who she was hanging out with these days.

"Well, I've taken a page from your book," she hummed, taking a sip from her champagne— not for liquid courage but to lubricate her throat before she insulted him. "Because you were right, dating someone less smart is such an ego boost. It's near orgasmic, really."

Xina and Trevor aren't even dating. Hell, Xina is almost a hundred percent certain that they both play for the same team, but that doesn't stop her from smiling sweetly when their eyes meet and Trevor smiles at her, awkward and apologetic for leaving her, but Xina blows him a kiss to let him know there's no hard feelings— and to piss off the man standing right beside her.

Because the true ego boost is knowing that she could have Miguel back if she so desired, that he wouldn't have given Dana the time of day beyond sex if Xina hadn't left him. That he would throw that woman to the street and crawl five miles on his knees if she told him that's what it took for her to take him back.

THAT is damn near orgasmic.

"How is Donna, by the way?" she took another sip, knowing damn well that isn't Dana's name. "She didn't tag along? I can't feel her eyes glaring daggers at the back of my head."

[fevvor]

The first time Miguel had seen Xina in a dress, she had been a wispy thing, barely filling it out. It had not dawned on him, to think of her that way. She had been around always, and it had not been that she wasn't pretty. Miguel just wasn't supposed to think of her that way. The confusion had followed him for days, the way his mind wandered to her in the absence of thought, the heat he felt at the acute lack of space between them when he'd retreat to the solace of her bedroom window, tuck in beside her in his day clothes. She had not been his then. He could only wonder about her.

Xina was not his now, or she didn't seem to think she was. Miguel's heart was not so willing to surrender. He knows he has no right to be angry, he rarely does. Hadn't this been what he'd intended? It would be too perfect, too convenient to be childhood sweethearts, married and in love. She had known him for most of his life. She knew he wasn't any good, not for that. It was not as though she shied away from calling him on his shit. It had made him mad then, the way she smiled at him like she could trust him, like he was a well trained pet she'd pacified into something sweet and adoring. Miguel was terrified he'd bite her, sick over the day she'd look at him like a stranger.

So he'd chased her into it, so convinced he could break the spell of affection between them. Because he was rotten. Because she challenged him to be better. Only, for all his neurosis, Xina had always pressed back against his self deprecation. He had meant to hurt her, but somewhere in his subconscious he'd relaxed into the notion that she'd never really leave. Miguel had made her his whipping boy, a tool for his own self flagellation. But she had left. It had stunned Miguel, stupidly, even when it had been of his own making. He had meant to show her that she was wrong about him, that he wasn't redeemable, that her faith was misplaced, that she loved him too much. He had not meant to make her leave.

He had lost her, like he always knew he would, and it's no ones fucking fault but his own. He's so tense with fury it takes all his willpower to not break the boy over his knee.

He is so fixated on draining the blood from the man with his eyes alone that his brain slips easily over the dig at Dana. He doesn't care. He does not want to play this game, not anymore. Trevor was a shy, gangly boy. It drips venom into his mouth to even entertain the sight of him beside her. He wipes furiously at his face, and when Xina blows him a kiss, the thin stem of his glass shatters in his hand. He chucks away the shards and hisses, zero regard for the setting, the patronage. He does not care about any of them, only her. His hand pinpricks blood, tucking it away into his pocket. It's harder now, to feign disinterest, an aloof disregard when he arches a cool brow at her.

"You could do better," he ices back, and no, he does not mean himself, even if it is what he wants. Even if he is all but pleading for her to ask. "Does he need a stepping stool to reach your bed?"

[invulnerablextouch]

"'Course they are," She responds, dropping her hand from his shoulder. They already had the makings of a family before they made their way to her. A group of kids whose only common traits were being mutants and outcasts. "Just don't forget that if they ever do get heavy, there's plenty of people who'd share that burden with you."

His questions about the other team don't upset her. It was only natural to be curious. The way things had went down back at Graymalkin... She wasn't exactly proud of it. All this fighting between them wasn't right. Now more than ever, they needed to help each other. But no one else seemed to understand. It didn't take liking Charles to know that his abilities in the wrong hands was bad. Even now, she still has nightmares about what purely evil people did with the amount of power.

"It's complicated," She began, running a hand nervously through her hair. "Ah think we're all still mourning the loss of the home we worked so hard to make."

That didn't mean that the rift between her and Scott and even Kitty was any easier to swallow. It wasn't just the situation with Charles that upset her. Scott had set up shop in an old sentinel factory, content to just stay up there in Alaska. But her frustrations were not something she planned to vent to Valentin.

"Things right now are still too raw for a lot of us. But we'll all heal eventually."

[fevvor]

He'd hoped he'd find some comfort in her words, and he does, mostly. Rogue had a way of consoling him. She was messy for lack of better words. He'd never call her that out-loud. He knows how it sounds. He just means that her feelings are bold, her speeches at times unpracticed, full of heart. She is so wholly herself, at times confused and scared, and still the power she wields melts through him, comforts him.

It's different than the other mutants he'd encountered, how often power translated to a cold cruelty. Valentin doesn't want to be that way. Cold. He wonders if she'd once been as scared as him, if any of them had, or if they were all just better at hiding it. He pauses, drinks in her words. He hated the word complicated, how it served to shrug him off. He's not that young. He understand a lot more of the world than people tend to think he does. His only solace is that he knows Rogue doesn't mean it that way.

"Ah. Got it." He scratches at the back of his neck and then his mouth twists, like he's suddenly confused by his thoughts.

"But—wouldn't it be easier to heal together?" he doesn't know why he's advocating for all this hand holding. It's not as though he understood much at the heart of friendship. He's new to it. He blinks, tries to picture a world where he'd made this journey without the other outliers. His frown deepens.

Proud of him, she'd said. He holds fast to that feeling, his body suddenly exhausted. It was rare, that he felt the weight of a day in his bone— rare that a blow did anything other than charge him. He drops his head to her shoulder. It's awkward, not quite a hug. He's not sure how to initiate that, how to tell her how safe he feels around her.

"Ya miss them?"

[fevvor]

“Even the moon looks tired of watching me grieve.” for dick

Prompts Prompts Prompts!

This is the water of the womb that congeals between them. There is a star boiling amidst them, a warmth that permeated into performance, but it is not always in joy that Dick finds the Wonder Twins to be most fitting of them. Grief looks the same in her eyes as it does in his own. A hand unfixes the scarf from around his neck, thick cashmere that he wraps around her shoulders. He loops her closer to him, sears his lips against her temple, glueing them back together. Donna was stronger than him. He knew this and he didn't mind. It's only that it's rare sight to find himself of sound mind when she was so clearly struggling.

"I wouldn't take it personally, Wonder Doll, she's seen a lot."

His voice lulls through the deep night, and sometimes Dick really does wish they were the only two voices in the world. He'd be alright with that, he thinks. He'd be happy. Donna is more gilded than him, capable of greater destruction and all the better for her warm heart as a result.

"I'm a better listener, anyhow," he reminds, wheeling her closer to tuck the disheveled fall of her hair behind her ears. For a striking, blurry second, she looks just like his mother. His heart aches, tapping his finger to the tip of her nose. The night is cruel and cold, a broken, indecisive wind that pushes and pulls cold through his bones, ruffling through their hair. It draws the blood to Dick's face, makes him look frantic, or maybe it's only the heavy wait of her weary heart, pulsing through both their veins. He'd take it from her if he could.

"Look at her pale, round face. She's dead on her feet. Talk to me, Donna."

[fevvor]

@arrowmade continued from x

It is never dark around Kyle. Not really. Kyle had been becoming other for some years now, in the vast stretch of space. Being a lantern had gutted him of something crucial to being human. Not his heart, his untempered soul, fiercely affected by life. But there is something....less human, more space about him nowadays. His eyes are still warm, but his pupils are too deep, the vacuum of a galaxy behind glass.

Starlight too, seems to always cling to him, twinkling against his suit, stardust glinting from his hair. He snorts a soft sound, pressed so close to Roy in the tiny closet so that he can feel the impression of his lungs each time Roy inhales, and stars wink through his hair, framing their faces in a gentle glow.

"Supposed to is a strong word, but I got back last night. I— Donna."

Is all he offers, and he winces sympathetically at the confession. Roy was probably the last person he should share this with. He hopes it's enough for him to understand, to drop it. He can smell the soft musk of Roy's sweat, feel his breath on his face. He purses his lips, watches him behind the dark frame of his lashes, face warm.

"I guess I kinda expected you'd be over hiding in closets by now, Roy."

[dxrkeyes]

@fevvor [ angel ] continued from ♠️

The irony was not lost on him that Warren would be the one to offer comfort. His namesake too on the nose for a moment like this, one would have to be to even consider offering grace to someone like him. At least that was what Remy believed.

The source of his ire, those once broken beautiful wings, draped over him with a healing elegance. The contact was ethereal and impossibly tender, somehow making that memory worse. The antithesis—blood, violence and murder—had tainted them so unfairly, it was no surprise it had come for him next.

Remy appeared a shell of his former self. Locks of claret, deficient of their expected lustre, draped over haggard shoulders. The ends frayed and split with remnants of their once ghostly hue. No wicked grin, no flirty remark, just a tired man left to process his mistakes and repulsion.

He hadn't been the one to deal the disfiguring blow, but that never stopped it from haunting him. Many things haunted him about that night. If it hadn't been him to gather the Marauders, Sinister would have hired someone else to do it; the others would always tell him. True, it would have gone that way, but that wasn't the reality they were living in now, was it? He was responsible.

The massacre had only stopped plaguing his dreams because a fresh regret had taken its place, one he had made a conscious choice over. One where the blood was on his own hands and not those of another. Far from coincidence again, Warren also happened to share that same experience, down to the name, down to the change. Horsemen. The difference between them was that one of them was able to come to terms with it, Remy struggled to accept the parasitic entity he now shared a body with.

His eyes fixated on his hands, their tremble over the sheet minute but still noticeable.

"Gon' be doin' dat a lot den," at least awake he had some semblance of control over his experience, "rathe'a keep ma eyes open..."

Warren pressed but didn't corner, wings swathing the same way one would an embrace. He insisted considerately, and while Remy was still reluctantly to follow through, he did give a little.

"I can still feel it tearin' inta ma spine, feel 'im screwin' wit' ma head an'..." He paused, releasing the breath he had been holding, "De pain ain't even de worst part. It's dat I asked him to, wanted t'become Death 'cause I t'ought..."

Again, he couldn't admit his mistake, his miscalculation. It seemed that every time he wished to avoid tragedy and suffering, he had wrought it anyway.

[fevvor]

He had thought death would be easier. Time and time again throughout his life, the heady reprieve of an unending, unnerving sleep seemed....well enough. Easier more often than not, water logged with grief as he so often was. He had thought death would be like slipping into sleep, a faceless mother carrying him in from the car. Nothing. Rest.

Death, it turned out, was a total cessation of life. But this did not mean the absence of breath. He remembers the agony, so immense and unlike anything he'd ever felt before, that his brain deludes and dilutes him on chemicals, trick his body for one heart stopping moment, into mistaking it for bliss. He remembers how wet it had sounded, the crunch of hollow bones, the way his lungs felt too light in the absence of their weight to properly breathe. Yes, it was a total cessation of life, and Warren kept breathing.

It would not be the last time. Death was cyclical, that way. The foreign weight of a metallic substitute had felt like strength, briefly. It had turned out to be bloodless, a meritless imitation of life. Had Warren accepted this? More so than the reality that a rot still ate at his insides, even in the absence of the seed, a wrong that was entirely of his own soul. There is no cure, not for the soul, not for their most faithful bodies, but life is not without solace. Remy finally leans against him and Warren keeps breathing.

"I know."

Remy's wound, for his part, had been well intentioned. That is the lump sum of what he's gathered from the man. His weight is....different against him, than he'd expected. Gambit moved with such ease, such magic, that he'd scarcely imaged he'd weight anything at all. Somehow, he is still startling frail to the touch.

"I will wake you. I will bring you back," he offers again, a promise to pull him from the ink of terror, the unrest of nightmares. Warren remembers it all too well. He still hardly sleeps. He'd rather like to. What else can he say? He cannot soothe the horror away. He does not know how. His wings are still pillowing them in a softer dark, a room away from rooms, and Warren, who had never expected to touch this man in such an intimate way, lays his head against his shoulder, his voice even and low, a lighthouse attempting to billow him home.

"No. No, the pain is not the worst part, you are right. It's easier to reconcile though, isn't it?"

A false end. Warren had only ever given a feather to one other person. His fingers catch at the soft spot beneath his arm, pulling one of the longer plumes from his wing with a slight wince, a real pain. He presents it to him, a gift, a talisman.

"You are only in this room with me now, Remy. I will wake you, I promise. I will keep the dreams out." He insists, voice wrought with an intimacy they don't have, not yet. A lofty promise.

[fevvor]

I have a day off FINALLY. Going to try and write most of today. As a side bar, I’m almost finished with my side blog for me empath x-men oc and I’m….. very excited. 😬

[fevvor]

I am still going to get caught up here over the next few days! But I’m getting close to being done with my OC over at @ardorador

I should have his bio uploaded by this evening, as well as finish up editing, but if y’all wanted to possibly follow him, you can start doing that now. 👉🏽👈🏽

[fevvor]

• “You smell really, really good… is that new? Or have I just never been this close?”

Doug is usually a little afraid of Amara... Maybe some alcohol is a good way to break the ice?

Prompts Prompts Prompts!

Brazen. That is what Amara has come to find of most of the New Mutant men. Bold, but not mannered in the way of her people. They were often without customs, noble in their own way, but not well informed in chivalry. This is not to say they are without charm. No, if anything, Amara has found herself falling short. So often, she felt like a doll, gaudy and somehow still archaic amidst the other mutants.

Roberto had courted her, or no, nothing quite so formal. He had been silver tongued, quick quipped with flattery, but it had been unserious, and so Amara was left feeling unserious as a result. Sam was kind, but of simpler taste, blunt in his comforts in a way that had her fidgeting, feeling overdressed in her simplest of attires. They were different then the men back home, that was all. Still, she had grown to love them, grown to love this strange new world, even if the term team felt like a loose concession, an after thought they extended to her.

They were not unkind. Time and time again they had come to her aid, even when she did not deserve it. Even when she fled from it. It was only that there never seemed to be room for her here, her oddities, try as they might. She watches Dani talking softly with Rahne, propped up in the long grass as the day descended to an end, nursing a sweltering can in her palm. Amara sips at her wine. Or wine cooler, that is, some sugary concoction Sam had sheepishly offered her, the closest thing they had, he'd said. She did not hate it.

Doug. Doug is something else. Shy, perhaps, soft in a way that left him easy for bruising. Amara does not think this is the same as being weak. Hypnos, the deity of sleep, was said to be soft of temperament and gentler still of voice. Still, he was the necromancer of dreams, wielded power over the susceptible mind. Soft did not mean shallow, and she blinks the resin of her eyes over at him, amber like the settling sun. She suspects there are a myriad of layers to Cypher that none of them knew. Surprise is clear in her gaze, though something softer circled behind her pupils, touched. He seems to actually mean it.

"No, not this close, I don't think. There is no need to stand in my shadow, Doug." She encourages, uninhibited in a way she scarcely lets herself be. She notes the blossoming of red to his face, liquid courage and laughs. It's gone a moment later in the wind, hand finding his wrist to pull him closer. Fingers slip into a carefully articulated pocket folded in her dress, plucks out a vile of her perfume to dab along his wrist, then the soft spot beneath his jaw. Her palm settles against his cheek, like she's trying to console a spooked animal, or maybe just a man who is not so used to being forward.

"There— and thank you. That's kind of you to say."

[fevvor]

To all of my new mutuals— I apologize for having not reached out yet. I am usually pretty good about that but it’s been a hectic few weeks and I’m just now getting back to a few replies a day. I did not want to share more memes when I still owe so much, but know that you can find them under ‘prompts’ on my account and are welcome to initiate interactions that way! I’m incredibly receptive to new interactions and you’re welcome to send stuff for any dynamic! If you’d prefer to jump into my DMs, I’m very approachable and (I’d like to think) kind, so don’t be shy! Happy and open to OCs, duplicates, etc etc!