𦪠... * BARE BONES: a selection of headcanon questions ... @unpossession
Cheekbone. What makes them smile?
A lover's touch, sunrise swims, ripe fruit, a cat's purr, a bird's coo, her pillow at the end of a long day, the connection that being barefooted allows, her clothes, a warm bath, a warmer cup of tea, warmer yet is the fuzz of a record player, when someone notices something in her, being understood, romance novels, moments of relief in submissiness, being feed, the feeling of her harp strings on her fingertips.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Qualityā Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
@unpossession | Willow said "i don't wanna feel empty anymore."
"I know, sweetness." The kiss Bella draws her into is adoring, cool fingers gentle on Willow's pale cheek.
It had only taken her a few minutes to go fetch the harness and strap it on, but to the younger it probably felt like a lifetime. Bella's hands drift to Willow's waist now, encouraging her to climb onto the vampire's lap and take the toy inside of her - to be full, just the way she wants.
Once she does, and they're chest to chest, Bella smiles - continuing her mission of soft, adoring kisses and roaming hands over Willow's bare chest.
"Better?" She murmurs. "You take me so well, darling. Love spreading you open like this."
@unpossession | Willow said "please cum in me, please, please don't pull out."
"I wouldn't dream of it, baby, I promise."
He's so close. So close.
They play pretty fast and loose with the way he cums in her, to be honest, but at the same time Flynn wouldn't deny her anything. Doesn't want to - he likes the way this feels way too much.
Flynn drops his head, catching Willow's lips with his in a hungry, desperate kiss. He kicks his hips against hers again and again - then he's coming, breath shuddering, hips grinding, filling her exactly the way she wants.
there goes an absent tap on the sternum, a quick hand up in offence. he looks at her for a beat, genuinely weighing up whether to take that personally before deciding he absolutely will. ' this is my personality you're coming for here. '
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Qualityā Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
send me aĀ ā¹ and a fc ;; i'll create a character on the spot !!! || @unpossession sent in Barbie Ferreira! || always accepting!
Mari Marsh-Beaumont
Basics:
Fandom/Genre: Southern Gothic/Crime
Full Name: Marisol Rachel Marsh-Beaumont
Nicknames: Mari, Nana calls her Marisol
Age: 24
Occupation: True Crime Podcaster, in school for a Mass Com. degree
Birth Place: Lafayette, LA
Mari is an independent true crime podcaster, occasional freelance journalist, and part time student. She is the creator and host of the podcast Dead Reckoning, which focuses on cold cases, wrongful convictions, and institutional failuresā specifically the gap between what officially happened and what the evidence suggests actually occurred.
She runs her work on conviction, intuition, and a steady diet of convenience store coffee. The operation is intentionally small: a researcher, a part-time editor, and a P.O. box. That is the entire infrastructure behind a podcast that averages roughly 150,000 listeners per episode and continues to grow.
Mari is the daughter of Diane Marsh-Beaumont, younger sister to Detective Cal Marsh.
Diane left behind a strict religious upbringing, built a stable life with a man of steady habits and unremarkable records, and raised her daughter in a world that appears simple from the outside and is mostly exactly that. She is warm, humorous, and quietly proud of her brother Cal, while also carrying a long-standing unease about what his career in law enforcement has done to him.
Mari grew up visiting her uncle on school breaks. Cal wasn't the most social, but he let her accompany him on non-sensitive errands, answered her questions with a level of honesty that often unsettled her mother, and treated her curiosity less as a phase and more as something to be shaped rather than discouraged.
Mari does not often articulate it, but she credits him with teaching her a foundational principle: official explanations are not inherently trustworthy. (Cal would be uncomfortable knowing this.)
Their relationship now is a balance of genuine affection and persistent friction. He believes she puts herself in unnecessary danger for the sake of stories. She believes he has spent so long working inside systems of darkness that he has lost sight of how much light still exists outside them.
Mari is warm, direct, and unusually comfortable with silence. She understands early that people tend to fill silence when they are given space to do so, and she has built much of her interviewing skill around that principle. She is patient in a way that feels disarming rather than passive.
Her humor is more millennial than she is; lightly self-deprecating, often used to lower defenses rather than dominate a room.
She is genuinely curious about people in a non-instrumental way. She is interested in cases because she is interested in the lives inside them.
Mari is also persistent. Not aggressive or confrontational, but unwilling to accept the first answer as final. This has produced strong journalism, significant leads, and more than one warning she still treats as evidence rather than deterrent.
"Single end's no much but it'll keep the rain off you." As landlord, he does his best impersonation of the comfort she should find in a dwelling that's bedroom-kitchen-and-not-quite-bathroom, elbow jaunty against the edge of the one square window framing the tenement opposite like a faded painting. Outside, it's Halloween and the sky is darkening, perhaps with the beating of wings on which childhood terrors lay, fairies, sluagh, the host of the dead riding. Somewhere below a door slams; somewhere further off laughter rises and falls like it doesn't quite belong to the present.
"Short stay, aye?" He says lightly, though his eyes stay on her form as she passes in front of the bed. It's the shape of a young woman which the neighbours won't forgive her for. "Folk dinnae usually come here for a wee holiday."