#!!! more of mari’s stick figures

[bi-dykes]

This ship dynamic remains superior

[trash-and-trash-accessories]

Fox Mulder doesn't have the "I Want To Believe" poster there because he's crazy. He doesn't have it there to broadcast his beliefs or as a mantra or to remind him to always look for aliens.

Fox Mulder keeps that "I Want To Believe" sign above his desk to remind him of his own internal biases.

That sign hangs above Mulder's desk to remind him of his own shortcomings and flaws. He's aware that he's a hack with dangerous beliefs and prone to flights of fancy and maybe even delusions. He's aware that he's desperately searching for aliens and monsters where there are only men doing bad things. And he has to remind himself of that, constantly.

That's why he's thrilled when he meets Scully and she challenges his beliefs, says that logically aliens don't exist. He's thrilled when she tells him to cut the crap in the pilot episode. He needs someone to challenge him. He needs someone who won't take his shit and put up with his flights of fancy. And he knows it. He's been dealing with himself for years and he feels relief and joy when Scully comes in and says enough of your bullshit. We're doing this my way. With science and logic. He isn't smiling and teasing her because he thinks he's smarter and better than her. He's smiling because she's exactly the person he needs in his life.

That's why he tells her right away that he's a UFO freak with trauma about his sister and a true believer. Not because he's trying to convince her to believe, but because he needs her to understand where he's coming from and what's wrong with him. So she can understand that either he's a dangerous lunatic himself, or he's delving into a dangerous conspiracy and either way she could be collateral damage if she stays with him. He spends the pilot episode reckoning with the idea that either he's a maniac or he's pulling this young fresh detective into danger. When she starts agreeing with him he gets upset, talks her out of it.

Mulder keeps that sign above his desk to remind himself to look into the "reasonable logical" explanations. He keeps that sign on his desk because he knows he's flawed and biased and frankly, dangerous.

He tells Scully exactly what he thinks is happening and about all the crazy stuff he believes not because he's trying to convince her to believe too, but so she can be his sounding board. So she can throw his illogical bullshit back in his face and remind him to look past his own biases and paranoia and quasi-religious zealotry. Because he knows he needs that. He knows he's in a conspiracy brained echo chamber of his own making and having a slow-burn mental breakdown. And he sees Scully as salvation from himself. As another figure in his quasi-religious belief system. The savior.

As the series develops he relies on her more and more to reality check him. Literally reality check him and manage what he worries might all be a delusion.

Mulder pretends he's confident and all the constant criticism and sidelong glances don't get to him and that might be true because he doesn't respect those people but he respects Scully. And he needs someone he respects to tell him when he's wrong, when he's being biased or actively delusional. Scully is his salvation. She's compassionate about his trauma and the reasoning behind his beliefs, but confident and logical enough to tell him when it's all bullshit. She's his savior, his rock, and often his only real connection to material reality.

[ardentpoop]

[emblazons]

WIP WEDNESDAY: → Phoenixflare (Dion x Joshua) - FFXVI aka some 'trapped on what feels like a desert island with your lowkey crush on after thinking you should have died' realness for the people today

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

The thing with the Mari Lwyd, though, is that it's being... I don't know, 'appropriated' is the wrong word, but certainly turned into something it isn't.

Thing is, this is a folk tradition in the Welsh language, and that's the most important aspect of it. I feel partly responsible for this, because I accidentally became a bit of an expert on the topic of the Mari Lwyd in a post that escaped Tumblr containment, and I clearly didn't stress it strongly enough there (in my defence, I wrote that post for ten likes and some attention); but this is a Welsh language tradition, conducted in Welsh, using Welsh language poetic forms that are older than the entire English language, and also a very specific sung melody (with a very specific first verse; that's Cân y Fari). It is not actually a 'rap battle'. It's not a recited poem. It is not any old rhyme scheme however you want.

It is not in English.

Given the extensive and frankly ongoing attempts by England to wipe out Welsh, and its attendant cultural traditions, the Mari is being revived across Wales as an act of linguistic-cultural defiance. She's a symbol of Welsh language culture, specifically; an icon to remind that we are a distinct people, with our own culture and traditions, and in spite of everyone and everything, we're still here. Separating her from that by removing the Welsh is, to put it mildly, wildly disrespectful.

...but it IS what I'm increasingly seeing, both online and in real world Mari Lwyd festivals. She's gained enormous pop-culture popularity in recent years, which is fantastic; but she's also been reduced from the tradition to just an aesthetic now.

So many people are talking/drawing about her as though she's a cryptid or a mythological figure, rather than the folk practice of shoving a skull on a stick and pretending to be a naughty horse for cheese and drunken larks. And I get it! It's an intriguing visual! Some of the artwork is great! But this is not what she is. She's not a Krampus equivalent for your Dark Christmas aesthetic.

I see people writing their own version of the pwnco (though never called the pwnco; almost always called some variant on 'Mari Lwyd rap battle'), and as fun as these are, they are never even written in the meter and poetic rules of Cân y Fari, much less in Welsh, and they never conclude with the promise to behave before letting the Mari into the house. The pwnco is the central part to the tradition; this is the Welsh language part, the bit that's important and matters.

Mari Lwyd festivals are increasingly just English wassail festivals with a Mari or two present. The Swansea one last weekend didn't even include a Mari trying to break into a building (insert Shrek meme); there was no pwnco at all. Even in the Chepstow ones, they didn't do actual Cân y Fari; just a couple of recited verses. Instead, the Maris are just an aesthetic, a way to make it look a bit more Welsh, without having to commit to the unfashionable inconvenience of actually including Welsh.

And I don't really know what the answers are to these. I can tell you what I'd like - I'd like art to include the Welsh somewhere, maybe incorporating the first line of Cân y Fari like this one did, to keep it connected to the actual Welsh tradition (or other Welsh, if other phrases are preferred). I'd like people who want to write their version of the pwnco to respect the actual tradition of it by using Cân y Fari's meter and rhyme scheme, finishing with the promise to behave, and actually calling it the pwnco rather than a rap battle (and preferably in Welsh, though I do understand that's not always possible lol). I'd like to see the festivals actually observe the tradition, and include a link on the booking website to an audio clip of Cân y Fari and the words to the first verse, so attendees who want to can learn it ahead of time. I don't know how feasible any of that is, of course! But that's what I'd like to see.

I don't know. This is rambly. But it's something I've been thinking about - and increasingly nettled by - for a while. There's was something so affirming and wonderful at first about seeing the Mari's climb into international recognition, but it's very much turned to dismay by now, because she's important to my endangered culture and yet that's the part that everyone apparently wants to drop for being too awkward and ruining the aesthetic. It's very frustrating.

[abysshare]

This is your sign to make an OC by the way.

"Its a mary sue" i Don't Care, Make it.

"I Feel cringy" cringe can be cool too btw. Reclaim cringe. Have fun with it.

"I don't know the lore at all / very well" thats okay !!!!

"It doesn't fit the lore" so? Maybe that can be a new story/plotline

"My OC is my Self insert" HELL YEAH!!!

"My OC is not a Self Insert" HELL YEAH !!!

"I don't know where to start" Picrews, dress up games, etc help me as a base. Its okay to take your time and change the design one to multiple times

"I don't know how to draw/write" its fun, you don't have to know everything i promise. Draw a stick figure. Write a few sentences or a quote.

"I'm afraid of people making fun of me" that is very fair and very valid but please do not let other people control you. Life is short, make something out of it.

"My OC is LGBTQIA+/MOGAI/POC/Disabled/Neurodivergent/Fat/etc" FUCK YEAH??? I LOVE YOU /friendly

"My OC is a Kinsona/Furrysona/TherianSona/Systemsona/Charactersona" THOSE ARE SO COOL AND I WISH TO SEE MORE!!!

"I built an entire AU / original universe with my OCs" you're gonna go places i promise /pos

[ma1dita]

james potter x reader please!

so, in this one james and lily survive but they realize that they aren't for each other and decide to get a divorce or whatever it is in the wizarding world. so harry spends half of the week with james, and half with lily and her new partner, mary macdonald (yes, i am a marylily shipper)

so, reader is harry's new primary school teacher and baby boy loves her!

one day, james picks harry up from school and meets harry's favorite “miss pretty,”

turns out, she was in the same class as james (different house, ravenclaw preferably) but he never really noticed her bcs all he ever thought about before was quidditch, his friends, and lily evans

ooooh, harry setting his dad up with reader would be amazing!

james potter x ravenclaw!teacher!reader

wc: 1.8k

a/n: no warnings, unedited. only one ravenclaw mention; thank you for the req love! sorry for the wait

—

Harry J. Potter is undoubtedly James’ son. From his unruly hair that can only be salvaged by a thick swipe of Sleakeazys, to the glasses that slide down the tiny bridge of his nose, and more evidently as of late—the mischief that runs through his veins, there’s really no doubt that this troublemaking 6-year-old is his.

No blood magic or Muggle fraternity… ehem, paternity test needed.

So there he sits in a too-small, sunshine yellow kiddie chair in the hallway of Harry’s classroom because he’s been called in for a parent-teacher meeting. The chair part wasn’t necessary, but Harry’s playing pretend to be a waiter at a 5-star restaurant that his mommy said Lily was taking her partner Mary to. And whatever Harry says, goes for the most part (which is exactly why he’s in this chair in the first place. He could paint a picture of how red Lily’s face got over the phone when she yelled at him over their baby getting called in for misconduct).

It all must’ve been a misunderstanding, or something he’s yet to find out the reason for, such as why little Harry’s pretend Michelin star establishment has the waiter flying food over in an airplane, complete with bumbling engine noises and his arms sticking out as he runs down the hallway. 

Classy.

“H, I ordered extra fries with this burger!” James says in a ridiculously indignant voice, pretending to huff and cross his arms and he almost cracks a smile when his little one comes giggling down the way back to him, “Coming right up, Daddy!” The other, much older parents that pass by the empty hallway are less enthused, but well, James Fleamont Potter and shame don’t belong in the same sentence, much less a lifetime. 

Tiny airplane arms graze the construction paper Hungry Caterpillar that lines the hallway, painted handprints waving back at little Harry as he runs full speed, until the door opens and BOOM!

James hears laughter instead of tears so when he abruptly stands up, knocking the small yellow chair over (and the purple side table he had all his imaginary food on), albeit trying to come off nonchalant, he’s relieved. What he’s more surprised about is the pretty lady that’s whirling his boy around in her arms.

“Harry the hurricane! Just in time to mix things up and sprinkle some energy back into my day huh?”

You’re dressed in a light pink vest and a long skirt that Harry’s hanging off of like the monkey bars at the playground and you seem to think nothing of it as you stick your hand out for him to shake, “Mr. Potter, thank you for coming in!”

“Oh love, James is fine I—” “DADDY! SAY HI TO MISS PRETTY!”

Quite right, he thinks. There’s something charming about you that he finds himself trying to figure out, hair tied messily on your head, different marker stains on your hands, and a stray holographic sticker that says “What a Star!” seems to have found its way to your abdomen. He thinks that if the professors at Hogwarts were this beautiful, he’d actually spend less time in detention.

The tot is grinning ear to ear and almost bouncing as you crouch down and gently take his hands off your skirt and into your own with a velveteen smile, “What did we say, hon? When we’re inside the classroom, we use our inside voices. Soft like a warm breeze, hmm?”

“But Miss Pretty, I’m not in the classroom yet!” Harry says cheekily as he points to his light-up sneakers standing toes away from the doorway. The boy goes running in towards the back of the room to go play with the building blocks and James has to bite his tongue when he watches you pinch your nose before taking your place at the desk in the front of the room.

“Well hello then, Miss Pretty,” he says with a smirk, throwing his blazer over the back of the thankfully adult chair and rolling his shirt sleeves up as he takes a seat. It’s quiet in the room besides the sound of Harry pretending to be Godzilla on a poor imaginary city in the background.

You stare at him a bit sideways, a beat of silence occupying the space between you, and then a snort escapes you—unladylike, but oh, what a woman. 

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

He blinks. Harry’s block towers crash to the ground and it sounds like James’ hopes of this going anywhere outside the classroom, a reverberating sound that drops with his heart falling to his ass, “Say what now?”

“Dear Godric, you’re still the same as back at school!” you scoff, leaning back in your chair and kicking your legs up on the desk (that he admittedly takes a peek at, but anyways); clearing his throat he’s so sure there must be some sort of misunderstanding—how could anyone overlook someone as stunning as you?

“I should’ve known, to be honest, when a mini-me of you walked in here on the first day, oh—the look on my face, I swear Lily’s gonna get a kick of this when she comes by next week, she was worried that you were coming in and not her anyways.”

The furrow in his brow is like a faultline right now, wondering how in the hell all of this has gone wrong in the last few minutes from the door, “Don’t bother with anything that woman says,” and then you’re laughing because, “Funny, from what I remember, you bothered her no matter what she said.”

And look how that turned out 7 years and a divorce later. 

Co-parenting with Lily Evans-McDonald is not for the weak, after all.

“Why am I even here?” James says exasperatedly, eyes flickering to the ceiling and then to his son who’s doing airplane arms as he kicks down his blocks. You cross your arms almost smugly, and he hopes you don’t take offense, which he clarifies by the frazzled look on his face and the hands he runs through his hair—”Your son called me stupid in class yesterday…”

Dear Merlin.

“And he said that his daddy was the one who told him to say it.”

A wheezing noise leaves his chest and he’s in disbelief, eyes whipping between you and his darling boy and the fact that he’s smack in the middle of looking an outright fool when it comes to this parenting all because of—

“You do know I didn’t mean it like that it’s just—”

You’re grinning as he loosens his tie in a panic, “We didn’t learn the alphabet like that back in our day?”

“I MEAN WHO CHANGES THE ALPHABET SONG? Truly!” James blubbers as he tries to cover his ass and somehow he’s the one who feels like he’s in trouble with the teacher. 

Perhaps he is, though this was not the original scene he had in mind walking in here. He takes a deep breath once you give him the same look you did Harry about his inside voice and—Godric you’re good at that—”And obviously…obviously I didn’t know you were his teacher.”

“Oh? Does that make a difference, Mr. Potter?”

You’re biting down on a perfectly plump bottom lip and his eyes are still wide and he can’t do anything but laugh.

“How asinine of me. You’re a Ravenclaw if I remember, right? Used to study with Moony all the time…” James mutters like he’s discovered something monumental and then he whispers your name, and it sounds as soft as you—something unearthed and new. He likes the way it sounds coming from his mouth and by the quirk of your lip, you do too. “How could I forget you?” 

The two of you chuckle like how children share a secret and it’s all too confusing for his bundle of joy that comes bounding past the seats and pushing off his father’s lap. 

“Oof—” James wheezes as he gets the wind knocked out of him, hunching over in pain, “Careful H, holy sh—” He swallows down the rest of his thought as you raise an eyebrow at his language, instead scooping Harry into your arms and sitting him on the edge of the desk.

“Anyways, I just wanted to let you know that at Harry’s age, his brain is like a sponge—there’s a lot for him to learn and he’s obviously a lot like his daddy, so Daddy’s going to have to be more conscious of what he has to say.” 

Oh the irony.

“Daddy will then, yeah?” he chokes out, restraining himself at the joyous look on his kid’s face when Harry says, “Miss Pretty, can you be Daddy’s teacher too?”

You pat the boy’s head and pinch a chubby cheek, “He’s got a lot to learn too, right Harry? Daddy was always in detention when we were little too.”

James is stirring in his seat and feeling hot under your gaze as he watches you interact with his son. He kind of regrets letting Lily take the reins with all of Harry’s parent-teacher meetings because clearly, he’s been missing out.

“Daddy was also Head Boy, but okay.” The two of you are giggling at the disgruntled look he gives your comment and James feels outnumbered, but not in a way that bothers him. If he’s being honest, he can understand why Harry was so intent on always getting his homework done right.

A while after, you all walk towards the door and Harry’s proudly walking out with a “Dinomite!” sticker on his forehead as James and you catch up on trivial things and then…

“DADDY! YOU RUINED THE DINNER!”

Harry’s pointing at the overturned table in the hall that he seems to have missed earlier and James cringes as he feels an imminent tantrum—if you call him a hurricane wait until he starts crying like a tornado siren. But you come to the rescue and bend over to shake his shoulders, “It’s okay Harry that just means you can make Daddy dinner again!” The little one is rubbing his eyes and whining a bit more softly and his father is looking at you like you’re an angel on Earth.

“That’s our cue to go,” he laughs, squeezing your arm and shaking his head, “Wish I could bring you hom—That’s not. That didn’t come out right,” he stutters, “I mean that you’re kind of a miracle worker and clearly doing better than how I fare sometimes with him. I think we’re too alike.”

“You’re doing great and he’s an amazing kid,” you reassure him, pulling out a sticker and pressing it onto his lapel. It’s of a triceratops and says “No one tops you!” He reads it and smirks, the famous James Potter smolder coming out to play and you roll your eyes. Harry is tugging at both your hands and when you look down at him, he’s hopeful and looking at you with determination he must’ve got from his mother.

“Since Daddy’s ruined dinner would you like to teach him now Miss Pretty? He’s got a lot to learn like you said.”

You’re at a loss for words, trying to stutter your way out of this one but James thinks it’s the best idea he’s ever heard.

After all, like father, like son.

“Think I could even go for extra credit if I’m allowed, Miss Pretty.”

[heavenlymorals]

Details I've noticed about Arthur Morgan Part 2 cuz you guys seem to be devouring the first one 👍🏼 :

- Him and Dutch share the same sense of humor- dry, sarcastic, and usually at another's expense.

- However, both Arthur and Dutch get really annoyed whenever they direct that same humor to eachother.

-When Dutch and Arthur quick draw, they both turn their bodies to make them a smaller target. They are the only ones in the gang that do this in idle animation.

- Arthur's journal is filled with many half done, not fully rendered drawings. Some pages have one small drawing on them and are then skipped over. Other drawings are just shapes and strokes that represent the schema of an animal or person. It's very realistic to an actual sketchbook and not the Pinterest dream sketchbook.

- Arthur, prior to Hosea's death and Micah overturning his position as Dutch's right hand man, is always there whenever a big decision is being there and is asked for feedback too. Arthur isn't just a member of the VDL gang, he's a leader of it too and people seem to forget that.

- Arthur is very emotionally tough and when I mean very, I mean VERY. He doesn't cry when Sean dies, someone he considered like a little brother. He doesn't cry when Lenny dies, someone he probably saw as a son. He doesn't cry when Hosea dies, someone he saw as a father figure. Of course, they were all in high stress situations that could've stopped an emotional reaction, but even later when he can process things, he doesn't cry.

- There is one time in the game where we see Arthur tear up from emotional pain and that is when he speaks to the nun about his life and what he could've had. Still though, he doesn't cry. It says a lot about him.

- In the final journal entry, though, we see a splotch next to the entry on the empty left page that looks like a tear drop. Take that as you will.

- Arthur's hand writing becomes much more spaced out, messy, and words will be scribbled out more often the sicker he gets. Shakey hands.

- He's very witty and quick with insults, like fascinatingly quick.

- He is pretty intelligent but does allow others to dumb him down like Hosea- as the gang's strongman, this could be so the people they work with would put more emphasis on Arthur's strength so he can be more intimidating.

- The picture that Jack gives Arthur has the male figure wearing a black gambler hat like Arthur and John didn't wear a hat in chapter two. Jack probably saw Arthur as his father figure during that point, not John.

- Does want Jack to learn responsibility ("About time you started to earn your keep" "You got to stick at things, Jack") , but he's very kind, patient, and reasonable considering how young the kid was.

- He doesn't let women carry their luggage if he can do it for them (Mary, the nun)

- He's casually mean or teasing to the younger men and generally polite to the women but he will go off on them in the same way if they anger him enough.

- I wish he was a real person

- I'd like to drink a beer with him

- For I love him ❤️

[woso-dreamzzz]

Playing Favourites V

Leah Williamson x Child!Reeader

Summary: The Euros

The day before the final, you're in tears.

It's all Leah's fault and she sobs too.

They'd had some morning training before Sarina had sent them all off to spend time with their family before the match tomorrow. Leah had slipped out of the hotel as soon as she could, passing Alessia and her little sister on the way and then bumped into Mary taking her own little sister to a café.

It seems that everyone had the same idea to hang out with their little siblings because Leah had that idea too, collecting you from Mum and immediately taking you to the park.

You're still tiny and your little legs get very tired so Leah carries you most of the way until she can sit you on her lap on the swings.

You really like the swings, giggling every time Leah pumps her legs and goes a bit higher.

She doesn't see you too much but it's safe to say that you're still in that stage where you absolutely adore her. You're still at that point where everything Leah does is hysterically funny and cool and you want to do exactly what she's doing, no matter how small you actually are.

Which is probably why you don't tell her that she's pushing you too fast on the roundabout. It's going very quickly and it makes your head all dizzy.

Leah keeps pushing it faster and faster and faster though and your tight little grip on the bars loosens and you shoot off it like a rocket.

The roundabout is still spinning as Leah stares in horror at your little crumpled body. You sit up, bottom lip wobbling and promptly burst into tears.

She swears and leaps into action, brushing the dirt off your clothes before checking your head.

You've got a cut on your forehead. It's not bad or anything, it's barely bleeding but you whine and sob every time she touches it.

"I'm sorry, bean," She coos to you as you try to bat her hand away," Just a second. Just a little more. You're being so big and strong."

Leah's digging in the little backpack she packed for you and pulls out that most outrageously big plaster she can find before sticking it firmly to your head.

You sniffle. "Kiss better," You order.

"You want me to kiss it better?"

"Magic healing kisses," You say," Like Mummy's."

"Okay, bean," Leah says, pursing her lips," Are you ready? Here comes Leah's magic healing kisses." She presses multiple all over the plaster and then several more over your cheeks until you are no longer crying.

"Play more?" You ask, pointing over at the slide and Leah winces at the idea of you falling off it.

She shakes her head. "Let's go meet up with Mum. We're having lunch with her, remember?"

You huff but allow yourself to be led away by Leah before you're hefted up into her arms when another bolt of guilt jolts down her spine at the plaster on your head.

"Oh, what happened, little bean?" Your mummy asks when you both join her at the restaurant.

"Fell," You say with a little shrug, completely over it now as you draw all over your puzzle page," On spiny thing. Splat on the ground."

"I spun it too fast," Leah says sadly when your attention is fully on your drawing again," And she got flung off it. She was bleeding, Mum. It was terrible. She was crying."

"She's little," Her Mum says," She cries when she's a particularly cute puppy. It was probably shock, Leah. She's fine now and that's what matters."

"It was my fault. I'm such a bad sister."

"Leah, you're a good sister. You had today off and what did you do? You decided to take Bean to the park. You're a good sister. She adores you."

Leah isn't really convinced but she settles as you blindly reach out for another crayon.

"Bean, did you have fun at the park with Leah?"

You didn't look up at your mummy's question but you do nod your head. "Played on swings," You say as you scrawl the yellow on the Leah stick figure you've drawn," And fed ducks. Got ouchy but Leah did magic kisses so all better."

"That's nice," Your mummy says," Now, do you know what you want for lunch yet?"

You're on Leah's mind all throughout the match the next day, all the way until the final whistle and all throughout the medal ceremony.

"Look, bean!" Leah says as she pulls you over the barrier.

"Medal!"

"It is!" Leah laughs. She wraps an England flag around your shoulders, tying the corners together so it's like a cape. "Here, put it on."

She slips it over your head and you poke at it, the sudden weight around your neck feels a little weird but Leah is beaming so you smile too.

You don't leave her arms for the entirety of the pitch side celebrations, even when you completely crash out against her. Further up the pitch, Leah can spy Mary swinging her own little sister around while Alessia's little sister is kicking a ball around with her and Ella.

You're exhausted though, knocked out cold in Leah's arms with her medal still around your neck and the plaster from yesterday still stuck firmly across your forehead.

"Hey, man," Leah says as one of the photographers walks past," Do you mind?"

She beams at the camera, adjusting her grip on you so your sleeping face can be seen properly.

It takes a few hours for her to get sent the photo to her phone but it immediately becomes her Instagram profile picture and her lock screen.

It gets hung up in her locker too, so everyone can see you and her together.

[bi-dykes]

Bi kitty cat

[rebelliousstories]

Walking Tropes

Relationship: Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Angst, Brief Strong Language, Brief Suggestive Themes

Word Count: 1,495

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: Being introduced to the merc’s friend and finding that she is just as annoying? Absolutely believable. Liking said annoying friend of even more annoying red suited anti-hero? No way.

In celebration of saving the multiverse, and returning home, Wade proposed holding another party. A do-over for his birthday celebration that was cut short because of the TVA. For the time being, Logan and Laura had taken to living in an apartment that was across the hall from them since it was all they could get on such short notice. Just about everyone was at the party, and Logan was having a surprisingly good time, considering some of the company.

He held the weird little dog-like creature named Mary Puppins while Laura fiddled with her little Mohawk. The girl took the dog from him, which allowed the man to grab his beer from the table and sit back to enjoy a drink. A knock sounded at the door, and he got nervous. Looking to Wade, he did not share in the nervousness, but rather looked excited. The merc got up from where he had been chatting with Vanessa to answer the door.

After some brief conversation, Wade brought in what could only be described as a ray of sunshine. Her clothing was muted, but her smile was not. Logan knew that his eyes were glued to her figure, as much as he tried to pull them away. A nudge at his side brought him out of his staring only to be met with Laura’s impish smirk. He rolled his eyes and took another swig of his beer.

“Peanut, mini-peanut, I want you to meet my friend that introduced me to all the good things in life.” Wade supplied her name, but Logan was not listening. He was only focused on the way she beamed and stuck out her hand.

“Logan.” Short and sweet, and he listened as she rolled his name off of the tip of her tongue.

“Hi. I’m Laura,” she jutted in, sticking her hand in. The woman turned and was happily engaging with the young lady.

“I’m so happy to finally meet you guys. Wade has said nothing but good things about you.” Her chipper voice made it rather difficult for Logan to try and not like her.

Over the course of the party, the mutant was faced with a dilemma. His gruff exterior refused to allow him to do much else except sip his beer and engage quietly with Laura and Al. But he so desperately wanted to talk with this newcomer that Wade had brought. His eyes silently watched her during the evening, and it was confusing for him.

This woman was so happy, so full of life, and held so much sunshine in her. But just could not help himself. She was in the kitchen, fixing herself a drink and a small plate of snack foods. The lukewarm and empty bottle in his hands gave him the perfect excuse to get up and go into the kitchen where she was. Making his way in, she began to make her way out with her drink and plate, but a collision changed everything.

Turning, her body collided with a thick chest. Food spilled across the floor, and her cup fell from her hands, and she was about to join her food. Except, large warm hands spanned across her back and held her close. She let out a squeak. Looking with wide eyes, she was smiling as she gazed up at her savior.

“Hi Logan,” she breathed out.

“Hey bub. You alright?” His voice was soft, and caring as he assessed how she was.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Thank you.” Their eyes were locked together, but after a brief moment she had to peal away to grab the contents of her plate from the floor. She was soon joined by Logan, who came down and began to help.

“You don’t have to clean up my mess, you know?” She quipped, putting a nacho on the plate bound for the garbage.

“Kind of is my fault though. Should at least help you clean up.” He replied, picking up a cookie that looked disgusting now.

“Thank you, then.”

“You’re welcome.”

From that point on, it seemed like she was everywhere he was. Logan did not believe in fate, and he did not want to ever admit to that out loud. And yet, he was starting to feel like something was dong this in the universe. It also probably did to help that she lived on the same floor of the apartment building as Wade and Logan.

All this to say, Logan was seeing her everywhere. At the store, at the mailboxes on the first floor, around town at her favorite coffee shop. She had even invaded his dreams. But the most frustrating part of it all, was that she had no clue how she affected him. Maybe he was not on his game like he had been in his long youth, but he was sure that he was giving her hints as to his feelings.

The stories he had heard through his time around her never ceased to amaze him as well. Somehow this clumsy cutie had almost gotten involved with the mob. She had to be saved by Wade who just came in and got her from getting deeper into the trouble that was brewing. Or the time that she was pulled over in a random search of her car driving home one night with a box of puppies someone had dumped on the side of the road. You would not expect it, but she had led an interesting life.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, peanut?” Logan was brought out of his thoughts by the annoying man he had begrudgingly befriended.

“Nothing.” He grumbled, but that answer would not suffice Wade. Following the older man’s eye line, he was met with the image of the woman of his affections talking with Laura and Vanessa while holding Mary Puppins.

“Oh, I see. Listen, peanut,” he began, “you’ve just gotta tell her you want to put some balls in holes for a ring. She won’t respond well to subtle hints.”

“What are you talking about?”

“All I’m saying is that you’ve got to spell it out for her. She’s a little absent upstairs. Like, the wheel is spinning but the hamster is dead most of the time. And especially being around a hunk like you; that hamster died, came back to life, got off on your image, and then died again.” Now, Logan had turned to face the merc, who was maintaining an almost innocent expression on his face.

“She just doesn’t want me. And I don’t blame her.” They both turned back to the women who were now laughing loudly at their best impressions of the pup.

“I know I make everything a punch line, but listen, Logan. She does. I’ve known that woman a long time, and she has never looked at everyone the way that she looks at you. Now I’m going to get the dog, you go talk to the girl.” Patting him twice on the back, Wade shot the older man a wink before stalking off and taking the three ladies away from his friend.

She made an excuse about needing another drink and went off into the kitchen by herself. Logan followed her with his eyes, and looked nervously back to the wrinkled man. He was mouthing what he only hoped was words of encouragement that looked oddly like, “go get the fucking girl.” Logan pulled a face, but went off in the same direction of the woman that had captivated him. Much like the first time they first properly talked, she was fixing herself a drink and a small plate of food.

“Hey.” A low rumble sounded through the kitchen. The girl at the drink station got spooked by hm, but did not drop everything this time around.

“Hey, Lo. How are you felling today?” She asked, genuinely turning to him.

“I’m doing alright. You good?”

“Yeah, I am.” There was a beat of awkward silence in the room while they both made their drinks.

“Hey, um, would you maybe-” Logan tried to start, but was struggling to find the words. She was just patiently waiting for him to finish his sentence.

“I want to go on a date with you.” He blurted out finally.

“Me? Really?” Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him. There was an adoration that he had not noticed before.

“Yeah,” Logan breathed out, “yeah. I want to take you out. If you’d like.”

“I didn’t think that you liked me like that. I’d love to go out on a date with you, Logan.” Sweet words tumbled out of her, and they sent the man into a state of euphoria. Logan chuckled, and smiled wide enough that he could have split his face. With his arms open, she took that opportunity to throw herself into them which threw Logan off balance. He quickly regained it, but squeezed his arms around her still.

Safe to say, Logan was glad that he saved this timeline.

[bloodibambiidoll]

Pour Some Sugar On Me

(Older!Alpha Eddie x Omega!Reader)

Summary: It’s been four months since you’ve been mated to Eddie in secret. When he takes you to “Lovers Lake” for a picnic and tells you he’s never hooked up there, it’s only right that you remedy that. WK: 1.8K

Warnings: General Omegaverse behaviors, scenting, knotting, biting, unprotected sex, outside sex, pet names, a whole lotta gushy mushy fluff. No physical descriptions of reader besides her outfit but she does have the nickname “sugar” 18+MNDI!

A/N: SURPISEEE SHAWTY!! I know it’s been a minute since I posted a ST fic but I randomly got the spark to write this today! This is set in the middle of Everlasting Sweeheart before Sugar’s dad finds out about them. Older!Eddie edit is by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple.

You’ve been seeing Eddie in secret for about four months now and it couldn’t be more perfect. Aside from the fact that it was a secret. It was hard, having to hide your mate from everyone in your life. The only person you’ve told is your childhood best friend but she lives states away. A few of your employees asked about your mark and you brushed them off, not wanting to go into details. You haven’t seen your dad since that day at the shop, the day you realized that Eddie worked for him. You missed him, and you hate sneaking around behind his back. Even though it was your idea to wait, you were ready to tell him. But your mate? He wasn’t quite there yet. So you decided not to push him for now and to just enjoy your little bubble.

Today Eddie has something “special” planned for the two of you but refuses to tell you where you’re going. He does this with every date, plans something elaborate or something as simple as a movie night at home. But it was always romantic. He put a lot of thought into these dates and it made sneaking around infinitely easier on you. On those days, it feels everything and everyone but you and Eddie cease to exist.

“Alright sugar pie, you ready?” Eddie yells down the hall, you made him leave the room so you could get ready because you had a little surprise of your own. He didn’t tell you where you were going, but he at least told you that you were riding on his bike and not in one of his cars. So you’d know what to wear. And it just so happened you had the perfect outfit.

Thus far he's only seen your softer side, your little mini dresses and Mary Jane’s with ribbons tied in your hair. Which was great for when you worked at the bakery, comfy shoes, easy movement, kept your hair out of your face. But there’s a whole other side to you he has yet to discover. You were raised by a biker, after all. You look at yourself in the mirror and smirk. You had even styled your hair differently and your make up was darker than your everyday look. Eddie was going to shit.

“Yeah baby, I’m ready.” You exit the room and Eddie’s jaw literally drops and his keys that were dangling from his fingers fall to the ground.

“Sugar… you look…” his eyes roam your figure, drinking in every inch, every detail. The glossy leather of your thigh high platform boots. The little black ripped jean shorts. The tiny little white tank top. And last but not least? You’re wearing a fucking leather battle jacket. “Wow. You look so fucking sexy. Did you get new clothes?”

“Nah. This is stuff I’ve had forever. I actually started this jacket back in highschool and have gradually added to or changed it. I feel like you’re forgetting who my dad is, Eddie bear. Have you ever looked in my closet? There’s more to me than you think.” You approach him, running your cherry red fingernail along his jaw, causing him to shiver under your touch.

“You’re telling me my little sugar girl has a bad ass rocker side I don’t even know about?” He grips your hips in his large ringed hands, pulling your body taunt against his.

“Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.” You pull back, shooting him a wink. “You ready to go or are you gonna stand here and ogle me all night?”

“Oh baby, I’m gonna ogle you alright… but, I’m ready to go.” He gives your butt a little pat before leaning down to pick up his keys. “Come on, get your sexy ass out the door.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going. You don’t have to be pushy.” You tease, giggling as you connect his lips to yours.

Eddie drove his bike to the edge of town, turning down a dirt road and stopping when he reached the lake he apparently nicknamed “lovers lake”. He had a whole picnic packed tightly in the seat compartment of his motorcycle with all your favorite foods and treats. He even brought little candles and wine.

“This is nice Eddie, it’s really pretty here.” Your head is resting on his shoulder and you smile up at him sweetly.

“Yeah? I’m glad baby. Used to come out here in highschool in my van. Open up the back and just smoke and think, enjoy the silence. Figured it would be nice.” He smooths a hand over your hair before cupping your cheek, placing a tender kiss on your forehead.

“All by yourself? You didn’t bring any girls out here? That’s why they call it lovers lake, right?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him playfully.

“Ha! No, definitely didn’t bring any girls out here. Teenage Eddie wasn’t very popular with the ladies.”

“Hmm… that’s too bad, seems like a nice place to get your guts rearranged by a hot metal head, if you ask me.” You rest a hand on his chest, looking up at him with hooded eyes.

That’s how you ended up where you are now, bent over Eddie’s bike, your shorts discarded on the ground somewhere, panties pushed to the side and his tongue buried as deep inside you as possible. He insisted you keep the boots and the jacket on because it was “really doing it for him”.

“Fuck baby, you always taste so sweet.” Eddie mumbles against your core, the vibrations causing you to moan out. His skilled tongue pushes you closer to the edge with each passing second. He leans down to take your clit between his lips as his thick digits circle your entrance. He starts to thrust his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right so they brush against your sweet spot with each stroke. It has you seeing stars, your pussy clenching so tightly around his fingers he feels like they’re going to get pushed out.

“Oh my god! Fuck, Eddie! Feels so fucking good, you always make me cum so good. Want your cock.”

“Don’t worry sugar, I’m not fucking done with you yet.” You hear the sound of his belt, followed by his zipper. He pushes his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free, taking it in his hand and running it through your slick folds. “How bad do you want it?”

“So bad alpha, want your knot.” You whimper as you push back against him. He pushes into you in one breath taking thrust.

“Ah fuck, you’re always so god damn tight.” Eddie pushes his hips flush against yours, his tip brushing against your sweet spot. His hands grip onto your ass, the cool night air making his rings cold against your skin. He squeezes the flesh of your cheeks while he starts to rock into you slow and deep, teasing you.

“Eddie, faster, please, go faster.” You bounce back against him, your ass jiggling deliciously in his tattooed hands.

“Yeah? My pretty girl wants it faster?” He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back inside you, the sound of his hips clapping against your ass echoing through the trees. He starts to fuck into you hard and fast, your upper half resting against the plush bike seat and the tips of your boot clad feet are the only thing touching the ground.

“Mmm alpha, I need your cum. Need your knot. You make me feel so fucking full.”

Eddie leans forward, his chest pressing against your back, making his cock thrust even deeper inside you. One of his hands snakes around you to rub your clit while he brings his lips to your neck, leaving sloppy wet kisses along the expanse of your throat. He shoves his nose into your scent gland and inhales, your sugary sweet scent sending his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“You smell so fucking good omega. My omega. My sweet girl.” He nips at the skin of your neck before biting down, latching his teeth to your skin. It’s all too much. It all feels too good. The speed of the circles on your clit increases and that’s all it takes to send you tumbling over the edge.

“Ohmygod! Eddieeee, mmm fuck.” He fucks you through it before leaning up off of you to chase his own high.

“This pussy’s so fucking good. Tastes so sweet. Sucks me in so good. So tight. Fucking made for me.” His eyes don’t know where to settle, his thick cock disappearing into your creamy walls over and over again. The way your back is curved from how you’re bent over his bike. The way those fucking boots hug the top of your thighs.

“Give your cum alpha, fuck a pup into me.”

“Oh god.” His hips slap hard against yours a few more times before he’s pushing them flush against your ass, filling you with ropes of his cum. His knot starts to swell inside you and he goes to pull out so you aren’t stuck in this awkward position until it goes down but you just hook your leg around his, keeping him in place.

“No, I want your knot, Eddie. I’ll stay like this all night just to have it.”

“Jesus Christ.” You let out a little whimper that turns into a loud moan as his knot pops inside you. The feeling sending you into another mind blowing orgasm. Eddie leans his chest down against you again so he can leave loving little pecks against your cheek and rub his nose against your throat.

“That was so fucking hot.” You giggle, reaching behind you to tangle your fingers in his hair.

“Yeah, it was, but now we’re stuck like this. So I’m gonna need you to stop laughing or we are going to be stuck here all night.” Eddie chuckles as he leans into your touch.

“Just fall back on your ass, it’ll be fine.”

He leans up, gripping your hips as he lets his ass fall back onto the ground. He lands with you on top of his lap with a gentle thud.

“Guess this isn’t so bad.” Eddie cups your cheek, turning your head to the side so he can connect your lips in a passionate kiss. No matter how many times he kisses you like this you think it’ll still make a bomb filled with butterflies go off in your stomach.

“So… how was your first lovers lake hookup?”

“World altering. Wouldn’t have wanted it to be with anyone else. I love you, sugar.”

“I love you too Eddie, so much.” You giggle fondly, taking his face in your hand.

“You’ve seriously gotta stop with that cute ass giggling or I’m just gonna have to fuck you again.”

“Maybe that’s what I want?” You raise a challenging eyebrow at him, a smirk spread across your lips.

“Ohhh you’re in for it now.” He grabs your hips, manhandling you onto your hands and knees with his knot still inside you. “I can stay here all night.”

Taglist: @eddiesxangel @bimbobaggins69 @fairymunson @artistwhodoesntpost @witchyhippysstuff @djoseph-quinn @freak-of-hawkins

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ エロチックトバー２０２４> MDNI / EXPLICIT CONTENT ⚠️

A DIFFERENT TYPE OF FREEDOM 🍼 SHANKS X F! READER ＫINKTOBER DAY 18: SLAVE/MASTER

🐙 requested by: Anonymous. For ur kinktober list, Day 18: slave/master kink for Shanks if ur still taking requests? Fem reader and for kinks I guess corruption kink (inexperienced fem reader) and whatever kinks u think are right! I think shanks wouldn’t actually own slaves but the red haired pirates would probably rescue one (reader) from being sold and role playing with Shanks would be healing for her in a way? ⚠️ tw: mdni. explicit content. master! shanks, he frees reader from the CD. Slave reader. corruption kink. she is not exactly a virgin, but has little to non exp. oral. vag. 🐙 wc: 1.2k // kinktober 24 masterlist // join the taglist

There’s always a hidden side on each and every person; charismatic, funny, laid back… even to some, a father figure.

To you, those red locks you only see at night, represent a much more different thing… freedom? Maybe… 

“Goodnight, Master” you whisper, always looking down.  “Goodnight, sweetheart. Bring me some sake, please” Shanks commands, laying down an old -pretty used- sofa. 

He is not remotely clean, nor does he plans to shower. The red-haired man only wants to lay and do nothing after a pretty long day. 

As you try to pour the alcoholic liquid on a tiny jar, he snatches the bottle from you. 

“The whole bottle might be a more accurate glass” 

You nod, watching him engulf the sake with no manners whatsoever. Shanks looks stressed, tired… something must have affected him after visiting Marie Joise.

“Do you need anything else, Sir?” you ask, fidgeting your fingers while you try to ignore how hot his masculine unmannered actions are to you. 

“You know (Name) how much you cost me?” he asks, looking at you from the side as he battles for the last drop to fall from the bottle into his tongue. 

You shake your head, yet you are sure you weren’t expensive… Tenryuubitos consider your lives as mere trinkets. 

“Well, you are lucky to be so unaware… you cost me a large amount of berries and not only that, be thankful it was me who took you from Saint Rosward…” he mutters.

A sudden feeling of guilt and devotion sprouts on your insides, causing your knees and palms to hit the ground. 

“I’m so sorry, Master Shanks! I’m grateful for life!! I don’t have wealth nor anything but my body to repay you. You can use me for anything you wish!” you scream, hitting your forehead against the wooden floor of an old, shitty cabin on Sabaody. 

Shanks stands up; those words sounded a little too much.. however, his twitching crotch stops him… “you can use my body” she said? Well… 

“I… You really want to become my slave?” Shanks asks, with a smirk that’s so dark that it is even darker than the Celestial Dragon’s.

You nod, weary. An inexperienced young woman like you still can’t see the consequences of accepting such deal… “Yes, Master Shanks. I know you will be a lot more merciful than any of those bastards” 

But are you completely sure?

“Very well, come here then… do you know how to use your mouth, (Name)?” he asks, flopping back into the couch, patting his lap right after.

“I… yes… I’m not an expert, but I’ll do my best to please you, sir” you answer, crawling on all fours towards him. 

“Don’t worry, I am in fact a lot more interested in having a sweet innocent girl all for me…” he whispers, brushing your hair back before getting his sex closer to your lips. 

You are told to stick your tongue out first, allowing drops of precum to garnish it. 

Shanks sighs loudly when you look up at him with puppy eyes and your mouth full of his arousal liquids; his toes curl… why corrupting someone who has already been corrupted in many other ways, feels -and looks- so delicious? 

It takes almost all of his Haki to stop himself not to bury his dick inside your throat almost immediately; Shanks fights the need to break you, mercilessly… however, you make it so difficult for him. 

You let your blouse of exposed shoulders to fall down your chest. Showing off turgor and anticipation, your breasts exposed, close to his sex, ready to engulf his shaft in between the two of them. 

“That’s… good, babe” Shanks grunts, pleased. His dick slides in between your tits, while he encourages you to press them around it and start moving up and down. 

He brushes your hair back, enjoying the look on your face with your tongue out. Shanks hips accompany your ups and downs, going faster and rougher. It is until he begins to spasm more frequently that he cannot control himself no more. 

Pushing you back, softly but enough to move your body, you fall down. Covering your head with your arms, you try to protect yourself as an instinctive reaction to your traumatic past. 

“No, I won’t hurt you… come here” he exclaims, with pity tinting his words but lust blurring his judgment. 

As you stand up, he turns you around and pins you against an old table. The cracking sound might tell it won’t resist much weight but none of you care. 

Shanks hand lifts the skirt of your dress, finding your non-existent panties covering your sex. He is surprised as intrigued as to why you have no underwear on… however doubts must be cleared once he is over with you… 

“Lift a leg up for me, babe” he orders. 

You comply; left leg up, knee on the side on top of the table. 

“Good girl, please keep it up as you are pretty tight still… ugh, tight and wet…” Shanks trembles, his words make you and him extra horny. 

Shanks isn’t able to take time to prepare your entrance, he just wants to fuck you; just a little bit of your honeys rubbed against his tip will be enough to slide right in. 

“Have you ever been fucked this way, (Name)? he asks in your ear, as your insides engulf his sex with tightness and eagerness. 

“N-no… master Shanks… I- have barely been touched and penetrated, let alone used in such lewd position” you purr, enjoying the manly scent of his sun kissed skin. 

“My sweet innocent slave, I’ve made such a great choice to make you mine… I’ll corrupt you until you are nothing but my perfect little fleshlight” he moans while his hips begin to ram in and out of you so hard. Slapping thighs against ass as the rhythm increases and you become more and more weak for his sex…

Your nails carve marks on that wooden table, your nape becomes sore as he keeps biting on it, sweating on it the more he fucks you… your new life has taken a very interesting turn, freedom and at what cost? 

For sure you have won; Ah, what a pleasure it is to become Akagami no Shank’s slave.

Taglist of amazing babes: @terrabear2003 @eyes-ofhell @cokou @seoul-is-a-dream @tinydonkeysforlife @appalost @themessedupsonata @ariesbbytings @animesnowstorm @lenablack9919

[headkiss]

anna <3 honey <3 hiii <3 i have a request if you’re up for it?

inspired by your latest shy!reader x eddie fic where it’s her first day at hawkins high— shy!reader being all heart eyes for eddie who pretty much worships the ground she walks on but somehow is oblivious to her feelings even though he flirts constantly just to see her get flustered. he doesn’t notice she’s only all sweet and giggly and nervous around him, though. she’s generally extremely shy so eddie figures that’s why, but it’s truly because she’s head over heels for him 🥹 a cutesy friends to lovers

harmonia my love !!! thank u sm for requesting i hope u like it this one’s for u <333 (the other shy!reader blurb) | 0.7k of fluff and shy!reader

You walk the unfamiliar halls in search of your next class. So far, unsuccessfully.

There’s a debate in your head: is it more embarrassing to be late to your class because you couldn’t find it, or to ask for directions like you’re a tourist in a new city?

You figure that embarrassing yourself in front of a class full of people is much, much worse than just one person. The next part is just figuring out who to ask.

Deciding to avoid any groups (even looking at them makes your heartbeat jump a little), you scan the hall for anyone that looks approachable.

For some reason, you land on the boy with long, dark curls and a tattoo of bats on his forearm. Yeah, super approachable. He’s alone, leaning next to what you’re guessing is his open locker.

You force your feet to carry you towards him.

“Sorry, could you maybe tell me where English is?”

“Wha- oh.” Eddie turns around to find you, a face he's never seen—a pretty one, at that—talking to him of all people. “Hi. Yeah, why don’t I walk you?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Your voice is soft, quiet enough that Eddie probably wouldn’t have heard you if he wasn’t so focused on listening.

“Who’s your teacher?” You tell him, and he smiles, “me too. See, I’m going there anyway. It’s no problem.”

It’s then that you’re hit with the realization of how attractive he is. His eyes and the lashes that frame them, the smile that’s extra sweet compared to his style, the guitar pick that hangs from a chain around his neck.

The best you can do then is nod, untucking your hair from behind your ears to try and hide your face.

“So, why’d you move to Hawkins?” He asks, shutting his locker and nodding for you to follow him.

“Um, for my mom’s work.”

“Yeah? Do you like it here?”

“It’s different.”

You stick to short answers, not because you don’t want to give him better ones, but because you’re terrified of doing something you’ll kick yourself over for days.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he says, sending you a wink.

You laugh softly, a girlish giggle. It’s music to his ears, and he plans to draw the sound from you again and again.

You nod, looking down at your feet in the silence that follows, unsure how to fill the gaps. In your distraction, you bump shoulders with someone. A boy, probably an athlete, because it’s enough to knock you into Eddie.

He holds your upper arm gently to steady you, his hand warm, his rings cool.

“Sorry,” you say quickly.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. You okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine.”

Despite your answer he keeps his hand where it is. He’s not dragging you along, nor is his hold tight. It’s so soft that you peek down at your shoes again to hide the look on your face.

Eddie thinks he might have dreamt you up. You in your sweet dress and mary-janes. You with a small smile he wants to see widen. He thinks you’re adorable, and he plans to keep talking if only to make you cutely flustered again.

He drops his hand from your arm when you make it to the door of your classroom to hold an arm out welcoming you inside. You miss the warmth of it.

You sit down at the back of the class, in the corner closest to the windows, hoping it’s not somebody else’s spot.

Eddie follows you and sits atop of your desk until the bell rings.

The teacher walks in and seems to notice Eddie’s presence right away, “Munson, what are you doing in my class?”

“I thought you had this class?” You whisper. He sends you a wink in return.

“Just visiting, sir,” he says, standing up and letting the attention fall on him. He can tell you’d be uncomfortable if it was on you more than it already is as a new student. Besides, he’s used to it, even if it’s usually in a negative way.

“Get to your own class, won't you?”

Eddie salutes, strolling to the door seemingly without a care at all. You watch him the whole time, and just before he turns the corner, he looks over his shoulder and smiles at you.

Did he really lie about being in your class just so you’d let him walk you? You sink down in your chair and smile at your desk.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

please. please i need house to call me a faggot and a tranny while balls deep in me. please.

YES ANONS GLORY TO THE LAW OFFICES OF SLAMMIN SLAMMIN MCGILL 🫡⚖️

warning: transphobia, homophobia, slurs, degradation, humiliation, fucking medical ethics violations i guess, hair-pulling, drug abuse, mentions of pregnancy, misgendering kinda, not to doxx myself but im using my own medical info for ease of writing specifics

anatomical terms: vagina/pussy/cunt

“Okay, current medications. Let’s see what’cha got…”

Clinic duty was never enjoyable for House. It was really just a slew of NPC’s for him to verbally abuse until someone showed something interesting. A weird rash, an inexplicably high fever, or, in your case, a discrepancy in your suspected genital anatomy.

“This… says you have a birth control implant. So either someone fatfingered your actual prescription on the computer, or—“

“It’s… accurate.” You replied sheepishly, lifting your arm to highlight its location. “I actually do have one.”

The doctor looked perplexed, almost angrily so. Like you’d just spat in his face and dared him to call your bluff. He aggressively limped towards you and gripped your arm entirely too hard. With his other hand, his two fingers prodded around for the implant until he got it.

“Well!” He scoffed, rolling the stick underneath your skin, pressing on either edge to seesaw it within you. “Thank god you’re not reproducing. Imagine some poor preschooler having to bring your fruity little ass in for Mother’s Day. Kid would get turbo-bullied on the playground. Good on you for being responsible.”

He hobbled back over to the computer to return to your file, leaving you stunned, speechless, and sputtering. What is this guy’s fucking problem? What in the actual ever-loving fuck did he just say to you? And why was it... kinda hot, in all honesty?

“Ah, there it is. Testosterone cypionate. Jumped the gun on that one. If only I had scrolled down. Alphabetization makes fools of us all…” He continued reading the details of your dosage. “0.6 milliliters biweekly, self-administered intramuscular injections. Ooh, so you’re a masochist too.”

Your reaction was an unfortunate reflex, on par with if he’d tapped your knee with that dinky little hammer, only much more embarrassing. You had no chance of stopping the pathetic whine that escaped your vocal cords. “Mm~!” You gasped, then coughed, hoping to sufficiently cover the sound, and shouted, “What?! N-No, no I’m not!”

“Oh, please, you are not a good liar.” House tapped his cane on the exam table, right between your legs. Not touching you, not even close. He just wanted to imply that he could. “To administer a masculinizing dose of testosterone in patients assigned female at birth, they can either self-inject, or they can rub themselves with what’s essentially lotion. So why would you choose stabbing yourself in the leg unless you want to stab yourself in the leg? And why would you want to stab yourself in the leg? Because you’re a pain slut. Am I wrong?”

No. No, he was not. Well, that isn't why you chose injections, but you were a pain slut. Of course, you didn’t wanna admit that to him. That’d just make you even more pathetic. Oh well, it’s not like you needed to say anything anyway. The mortified look on your face was proof enough.

“So! What brings you in today? Bruised butt-cheeks from your Daddy taking you over his knee too hard?”

You rolled your eyes at his snarky comment, trying to stick up for yourself and what little shreds of dignity you had left. “My STD test results.”

“Oh, sure. Figures you would need to know that. Can’t have Typhoid Mary taking backshots at the circuit party. What types of sex are you having?”

Used to these questions every time you get tested, you rattled them off nonchalantly. “Vaginal, oral, and anal.”

“Not letting anything go to waste, huh? I like it. How many sexual partners do you have currently?”

Wait a minute. You just needed to hear the results. What’s this guy doing? “Uh… didn’t the nurse already ask me these questions?”

“I’m sure someone did. I just want to hear you answer them.”

You crossed your arms and stared straight through him, silently, baring an expression that sufficiently said cut the shit without the need for any verbal assistance.

Dr. House pouted. “You’re no fun.” He opened the folder he had came in with, what he was initially supposed to give you. He had just been dilly-dallying to kill time. “All negative. You’re clean. Well, in this one aspect, you’re clean. Morally, you’re about the furthest thing from it.” Again, he smacked his cane on the table, in between your legs, this time in rhythm. “Just. My. Type.”

You squirmed, trying to shimmy backwards away from his cane. You cast your eyes downward, obscuring the profuse blush on your face. He didn’t need to know that he was getting to you. Still, it was flattering. You cleared your throat. “Uh… Thank you? I guess?”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and one more thing. I saw that your chart lists recreational ketamine usage. Is that true?”

“Yeah, actually. Why do you ask? Are you gonna tell me to quit?”

“Ugh, please. I’m a doctor, not a narc. Here, watch.” Dr. House reached into his pocket and took out a jar of pills. He opened it, poured a ridiculous amount of pills into his palm, and dry swallowed them. “See? Now we’re both junkies! But, you do have a point. It’s my Hippocratic duty to look out for my patients’ well-being. The street supply of ketamine can be mixed with dangerous additives like fentanyl or crack, which would put you at risk for overdosing. You want a scrip for the good shit?”

Oh? On god? Ethics and potential felony charges be damned. The weirdly hot doctor wants to hook you up with substances? Weapons grade ketamine? You’d be an idiot to pass it up. “Oh! Sure, thank you!”

“It does come with a pretty hefty co-pay though.”

“Oh…” Your face dropped. “How much?”

“Bend over.”

—

“Ahhh, modern medicine is amazing, isn’t it?”

Dr. House sighed in pleasure as he rutted into you from behind. Your legs were cramping, held apart in an awkward position. Your arms were cold against the metal slab of the table, and so was your face, buried within them to cover your shame and soundproof your moans. Apparently, that “copay" he mentioned was just a euphemism. Some dumb excuse to get you to trade pussy for premium drugs. And you were dumb enough to do it. Just his lucky day. Keep your face down, keep your mouth shut, and just let him use you. The high will be well worth it.

"Hey, faggot," He spat, and yanked you up out of the darkness by your hair. Your eyes stung, shocked by the fluorescent clinic lighting. "I'm talking to you. Are you always this rude to everyone who fucks you?"

"S-Sor—Sorry! I'm sor—fuck! Fuck!"

"Shut the fuck up, whore," House clamped his hand over your mouth, holding you even tighter against him. You couldn't move, you couldn't speak. Your only function was getting him off. "If we get caught, you don't get your ket. Now, mmm, fuck yeah, tell me... Isn't modern medicine amazing?"

Without the ability to verbally agree, you nodded.

"Do you know why I'm saying it's amazing?"

You shook your head.

He chuckled devilishly before growling in your ear,

"Because I can blow my load in a tight little tranny boy's cunt without worrying about knocking him up."

[muffinsin]

muffin! Muffin! I just saw something interesting. Babies ears are more developed by 25-26 weeks and can hear and recognize voices and sounds especially of the parents.

And I got a request if you can, can you do the sisters talking to their unborn child that is still in the womb of their female s/o and how they react when the baby kicks when they hear the sisters voice.

Oh? That’s cool, hon! :) Absolutely🙌 :)

Let’s get into it📝

Masterlists

Bela

Bela is there throughout your pregnancy, every day, day and night

She sticks to your side, helps you through everything that has happened and all that is yet to come

She understands, this is difficult for you and will do all she can to make it easier for you

And really, she is an incredible help, easing pains and satisfying cravings within minutes

But, pregnancy is not only a discomfort

The two of you find the joy in it, too

Of course, both of you look forward to your unborn child

Sometimes, the two of you like to joke around, listing names the little one might receive when they’re ready to come out

Sometimes, your little one joins in on this

Bela giggles every time her voice causes a kick. You two figure it either means the baby loves, or hates the name she proposes

Doing this turns out to be one of your favorite activities

After all, not only does it distract you from your struggles and grants her a break from work, but it also gives you both the opportunity to bond with your little one already

Often, you’re sat up in bed or on a sofa, giggling as she caresses your stomach

“How about….Mary?”, she asks, having already decided the child’s middle name to be Alcina, should it be a girl

No kick, and both of you giggle when your lover pouts

“What abouuuut, Anna?”, she asks playfully

Feeling a kick, you write it down on a list of names the two of you have collected over the past days

“What are we thinking about…ugh, please don’t give us a kick, little one…Daniela?”, Bela asks this time, sticking true to her promise to not immediately rule the name out after her sister woke both of you up in the middle of the night, insisting it would be such a perfect name for your unborn child

You laugh, holding your stomach as a series of little kicks follows

Bela is sure; it’s just because of her voices and playful tone!

Still, you note the name down

“Let’s try Susan!”

No kick, and you quickly turn Bela’s frown into a smile when you pull her in for a kiss

You both smile, whispering gentle love confessions as the little one within your stomach kicks again

Just when she’s about to try another name, you interrupt;

“What if it’s a boy?”

Bela looks shocked for a moment, as though utterly surprised at the mention of the other gender

Ah, yes, she nearly forgot about that

Giggling, she speaks; “Daniel”

Cassandra

When thinking of this particular Dimitrescu, words such as “gentle”, “loving” and “parental” don’t quite come to mind

Alas, this is exactly what the sadistic woman is with you

After all, she does not like pain she doesn’t cause you, of course

But, more importantly, she feels so very strongly towards your unborn child already

She loves them so very much already, feels so protective of them already

She loves you and your little one more than anything else

And your little one loves hers

The sound of her voice seems familiar to them already

Each time she crackles loudly as she chases her sisters or some poor maid throughout the castle, the sound echoing loudly, your little one gives a happy kick

And every time she sleeps by your stomach, her hand and face near to protect you and the baby in all cases, and small purr-like sounds come from her, the baby is blissfully calm

Almost as if they recognize their mother and feel equally calmed by the sound

When you tell Cassandra about this, she immediately takes the opportunity to spend time with you and your unborn child

Often, you need to remind her not to share battle stories

You doubt the small thing can even understand words- in fact are sure of it- but with Cassandra’s DNA…you don’t want to risk it

The two of you also uncover another thing, though:

Cassandra’s voice not only alerts the baby, but calms it, too

Often, the little one will be kicking wildly just around bedtime

It’s frustrating, somewhat painful and annoying when you’re just in need of sleep

Cassandra gets by your side immediately, stroking your hair and stomach, trying to calm the little one down

She speaks calmly, whispers gently as she talks

And it helps

The little one, despite being unable to make out what she says, quiets down at her voice and calm, quiet tone

She jokingly calls herself the baby-whisperer

Daniela

Loving as she is as a partner, you knew she would be just as sweet with your little one

Even in the womb, Daniela already is head over heels in love with the little one

She knows, she will love and care for them forever and protect them for eternity

The first time the two of you find out the baby recognizes her voice, both of you are blown away

You feel so tired, resting in bed, clutching your stomach and whining at the little kicks happening just about every time you close your eyes

You’re at your limit, it seems, whining and groaning

You’re so tired…

You smile exhaustedly as Daniela slips in bed with you, stroking along your bare stomach lovingly

“Hey, little one”, she whispers quietly

“Why don’t we let mama have some rest? Or else she’ll take it out on me”, she adds, giggling when you smack the back of her head playfully

To your surprise though, the sounds of her giggles has the little one kick

“Oh? You like that?”, Daniela coos, giggling more as more kicks follow

“You like when mama smacks me around?”, she gasps playfully, giggling when another kick comes

The two are so precious, you feel as your eyes water already

You love them so incredibly much

“I think they got that from their aunt Cassie”, Daniela whispers, giggling when another kick comes

You feel her adjust your position, allowing you to lay down comfortably

“Now, why don’t we let mama get some rest, you little stinker?”

A last kick, no more follow when Daniela stops talking

She curls up by your side instead, stroking your stomach until you fall asleep

Not wanting to draw another kick from the little one, she stays quiet

Instead, her fingertip trails against your stomach, lightly drawing out a shape

A shape of a little heart