[fevvor]

ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ ꜰᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʙʟᴏɢ ✦ ​ ✦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 am not on hiatus, I am just scatter brained and a little busy. Still working on drafts, but if I haven’t gotten back to your messages, please know I’m not ignoring you! Just lurking between work. muah

annddd tbh I’m over on my Red Rising rp blog a lot more right now 😬

[darrowfortnite]

If my rival instinctually reached out to me in pure terror with the same arm i sliced clean off in a duel because despite everything we've done to each other he finds comfort and safety in me the visual would be so burned into my memory i would not be able to help jackinh off to it until the end of time

[fevvor]

@ycurbellcna 👁️

[urban-caravan]

the bisexual blonde man has harmed me once more

[fevvor]

"Just getting a glass of water." (From Roy to Dick)

@talessculpted

Prompts Prompts Prompts!

Dick never sleeps much. More often than not he loiters in the thread bare veil between awake and not quite awake. The window is wedged open on its rusted track, allowing the sour scent of the city and the blare of disgruntled, late night traffic to lull him like a lullaby into a passive calm. He sleeps with what might closer resemble a sheet than a real duvet, sweats his nerves through the night. He wakes, checks his phone, checks the comms, scalds his skin under the faucet of his shower well into the witching hour, and pours himself back into bed.

When Roy is there, however, death could not wake him. Maybe it is the savored intimacy of his breath guarding the back of his neck, the safety of another set of eyes. He doesn't think it's anything quite so pragmatic, but it's an easier defense than admitting to the dizzy feeling he gets with his face smudged against his damp collarbone, the foggy hint of bargain bin strawberry shampoo and sweat tacking his nose. Whatever is constantly heaving inside of him seems to settle, and so Dick sleeps, black and soundless, and dreams only of burrowing between Roy's ribs, guarding the clot of his heart.

But Dick is too proud to ask for it, and so after a week that started at a break back pace and slugged off into grueling, tedious hours, Roy softly backlit in his window frame by the stain of the city is a reprieve. He cannot feign at pretenses, not now, a knee bowing the second Roy's arm locks around his shoulder and he falls into him, half asleep before they even make it to the bedroom.

Still, the mattress sighing wades him to the surface, and he wakes to the dark, panics for a moment, afraid he's gone blind before the digital red digits of his clock blinks the late hour back at him. Roy's scent is gone from his nose, the heat of his side of the mattress already deflating. Dick spins a leg, catches himself around his torso before he can stand and abruptly becomes an obtuse, dozy sprawl of limbs and dead weight, asphyxiating around the archer.

"No. Or—"

He blinks back slumber, tries to recollect what a proper reaction would be were he not so dead tired, his bones heavy. His nose is slotted against his pulse, strong legs writhing to hook around his waist. He's forgotten what his protest was all about, peeling out an arid yawn.

"Take me with you"

[fevvor]

❛ you came so fast, i barely even touched you. ❜

for jean / from @celebraty!

Prompts After Dark!

Jean is not hard to please. One would think, in becoming a god of sorts, that the simple, sweet pleasures of this world would dull at her fingertips, a mild, grey obsoletion in the wake of cosmos. Not for Jean. Not when it was Alison, daffodil blonde and cloaking the world behind the veil of her hair. It touches, tickles at her face and Jean's chest is a chasm flooded with warmth, shuddering alight with life and fire.

Alison's voice breaks over her like chimes in the breeze, and she blinks through her swimming vision, the marsh of her eyes aglow against her blushing skin. Her hair is a plume pillowed around her, damp over her brow and she is not shy, not for anyone, so why is she still blushing? Her lower lip chatters on the crest of her orgasm, fingertips swiping up through Alison's hair to cradle her jaw, dragging her down into a slow, reverent slide of their lips.

Alison is so human. She knows a myriad of mutants who'd be offended by the comparison, but Dazzler had managed to carve her life into exactly what she'd wanted it to be. No institutes or fathers figures or child soldiers. She is so herself, it makes Jean want to cry, want to burrow against her neck. She does so, dragging kisses up along her pulse, her laughter breathy and warm.

"Do you want me to apologize, my darling? I can think of a few better uses for my mouth." She blusters past the embarrassment, even as her eyes glint with unshed adoration, one of her thighs still damp with her wet circles her waist to flip them over, straddling her waist.

"I forget how beautiful you are. Every time I blink, and then you're there again and it takes my breath away. Then you touch me and I....well I can't help myself can I?"

[fevvor]

drop this sunflower🌻 into the inboxes of the blogs that make you happy ! lets spread a little sunshine☀️

AHHHH???? This has me kicking my feet and giggling. I adore you and I love writing with your Robert. If you recall, I had zero knowledge of this fandom what so ever, but wanted to write with you badly enough to learn. You are a phenomenal writer and a lovely person and I'm so glad we're friends and that I get to write with you! Thank you for being patient with me taking FOREVER. I promiseeeee it's coming. MUAH

[fevvor]

"i've never been so tired in my whole life." — for sam!

Prompts Prompts Prompts!

Sam's smile sparks like flint over his face, brightening the warmth of his features to a fever point. It's a tenderness that sweeps away even his own leaden exhaustion. He can still feel the sweat of the day itching for attention beneath his suit, the glue of grime stiffening his movement. But his hands are clean. They are clean because he has a gift.

He knows better than to go snooping in a girls room. He has sisters, after all, learned hard and fast there's few quicker ways to get your hide tanned. But it isn't quite the same invasion to have caught glimpses from time to time, right? He doesn't know if the plushes are sentimental, important only due to who had given them, or if maybe she was simply decorating. It was hard enough to make most places home, and Sam had the luxury of spending his childhood in this dimensions. Maybe they just... softened the edges of her room.

"Never ever, huh? Ma too, but them no account sobs ain't know what hit em."

No matter, Sam wasn't angling to stick his nose where it didn't belong, but then he'd seen that damned dog and who could blame him? That didn't mean Illyana was going to be receptive to his sentimentality—girls scared him more than sentinels at times—but he was no stranger to whittling a family out of what he had. He leans heavy on her doorframe, the plush comically large even against his exaggerated size.

"Ya ever heard of ah pound puppy?" The stuffy is a hound dog, white and spotted with dark ears and droopy, pitiful eyes. It looks like something right out of the sunday funnies to Sam, and he tinkers with the red fabric of its collar.

"Any-hoo, found this in the rubble, figured he could use ah good 'ome, I reckon. How 'bout it?" A lie, clearly, the fabric too neat, too pristine to be rescued from the debri of their most recent fiasco. He holds it out to her anyhow, his sheepish face peeking around one of its floppy ears.

[fevvor]

Trans fem Amara……. tweet and send

[audaciiaearch]

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."