#( ⬛ ) verse — krakoa.

[fferal-archive]

Krakoa, Year ?? (2+ Years After the Salt)

Finally--! They've finally got "it" going. Found the mood. Got their groove back. Recovered their mojo--although Woolf thinks she heard somewhere it's not actually appropriate to use 'mojo' that way anymore.

Fuck it. Because--

She has Fang bent over the open window, his legs spread apart and his ass bouncing as she rams that vibrating strap-on into him over and over, and it's good, and they're alive, and she's laughing, breathless and dizzy--

In the instant before she sinks her teeth into the back of his neck, she hisses, "you like what I have for you?" Her hips judder as the vibrating 'nub' brushes against her clit. "Mm--gonna--you gonna take every fucking inch? Let me fill you up with my big, fat cock--"

Yes. Fuck. Yes, he is, and right before she sinks her teeth into the back of his neck, she tells him as much--

Their All-Purpose X-Alarm Bleats out a warning, strobing a bright white to demand all hands on deck. This is a serious situation, mutants! Time to defend the Island.

Woolf screeches. Then she swears. Then she curses Charles Xavier with every ounce of bottled up sexual frustration inside her, beating her closed fist above the window frame beside Fang's head. "Fuck!"

THUD. "Fuck!" THUD. "FUUUCK!"

Thank you, empathetic mutants, for the mass-coordinated therapy following a certain horrific tragedy and/or public health incident. He can actually have something in him without feeling like, well. You know the Salt.

( It's so good to be fucked by someone Fang, well, actually loves. And for them to finally be in the moment instead of in their head, or wallowing in grief. )

His fingers of his right hand dig hard into the windowsill, jerking forward with those quick-hard thrusts of that vibe inside him, scraping all the good bits, leaving him so full while he fucks his cock with a lube-drenched hand. Makes his toes curl and even scrabble, where he's trying not to just fly out of the window from Woolf's pace. And all the while, he's laughing, gasping keening, babbling dirty talk.

"Fuck yeah, fuck, I fucking love your cock Woolf, you're gonna make me cum so --," BLARING ALARMS. He jumps, startled, and then immediately bumps his head into the upper part of the open window. "ow!"

All that building desire dissipates in a single whoop of an alarm, and he pulls himself off of her with a straightening of his hips to standing, desperately clutching his head.

"No! No fucking way! They did this on purpose! They knew! It's a -- cock-blocking telepathic conspiracy!"

[fferal-archive]

"Oh, Fang! Carry me away to the semen pool and then fill me with your throbbing member! Let's do it like monkeys, only hotter and in florid prose!"

Krakoan beast-milk drips from Fang’s lips down to whiten his beard, in the frozen second that he stares at Woolf. He’s visibly upset over his ultra-delicious future cereal.

“What the fuck, Woolf? Do you mind? I’m trying to eat breakfast.”

[fferal-archive]

@themckaytriarchy sent an ask:

"You don't have a skin tag," Woolf murmurs, squinting at the salt and pepper hairs on the back of Fang's neck as she feels around with her fingers. "It doesn't match your power set." There's a lot of body hair to pick through, isn't there? More every day. She squints harder, leaning in. "Then again, your dad grew that big thing on his forehead." She brushes her thumb along the skin and--aha. There it is, a loose bit of skin too flat to be a zit or a wart. "Huh!" She huffs out a sound that's not quite a laugh, disbelieving. "I'll be g-ddamned."

Flick flick. She fiddles at his brand new skin tag with her thumbnail. "Hey, let's keep it in a jar when you're done cutting it off. I'll punch a hole in the top and feed it crickets."

Time comes for all. Yes, even them.

Logan is solidly heading into 'Old Man Logan' territory, Romulus is senile, and he, well. Fang misses when his skin was flawless, rather than holding onto the onset of wrinkles and stubbornly re-forming moles. And, ugh, the greys. He's tried plucking. It doesn't work.

"I knew I felt it," he sighs, both in relief -- that it's there -- and in disappointment -- that it's there. "Sure, whatever. It's probably going to be less hungry than that big-ass melanoma my father sliced out of himself."

With that, he pulls the robe over the nape of his neck, turning back to her with a pretty rough sniff. Another thing: Nosehair. "Want me to do yours? Do you know you have, like, ten cherry angiomas on your back?"

[fferal-archive]

The marshmallow-shaped sponges bob on the surface of Fang’s cocoa, puffed up and jolly. Super absorbent. Recently fished from the used menstrual products a certain shifter hasn’t had a chance to wash yet. That’s right: he’s added that special Woolf flavor to a beloved winter treat.

“Oh, my G-d.”

The last time she gawked at him like that was twenty years ago, right after he quaffed her still warm menstrual cup like a frat boy at a kegger.

Oh, yes. Woolf remembers.

Her lips curl in disgust as she tips her head back, nostrils flaring. “Oh, my G-d.”

She reaches out as if to snatch the mug away, then grimaces and spins on her heel, striding from the room. (No. That’s it. She’s done.)

“You’re a freak, Fang!” Woolf calls over her shoulder, and for just a moment, she sounds like—Logan: done. Done, done, done. “Oh, my G-d!”

Fang's got a steel-gripped hold on the mug, and swerves it out of the way when she starts that grabby-grabby motion.

No, his.

"Hey, what're those? Is this some kitschy arts and crafts thing?"

"Ha ha. I'm trying out menstrual sponges, since you can't be trusted around cups."

"Oh. Interesting."

So, really, he's mostly doing this out of childish spite, intentionally doing it in the living room. They bob, a sinister red-brown, in the mug of lukewarm cocoa.

( It does help that he likes it. )

As Woolf charges out with rightfully disgusted outrage, he cups his hand around his mouth and yells, "I'll clean them for you, okay?!"

[fferal-archive]

"I'm just wondering if you're trying to impress someone." By 'someone', he's implying 'not me'.

( He's being a dick again, antagonizing JM. Aurora would know how to play around, tease him back, play the little game of wandering-eye even though they still aren't really exclusive. This is some easy entertainment, being rude to the uptight alter. )

"Anyone you're expecting to bump into?" Fang's arm wraps around her waist, giving her the up-down with his eyes. "That's more skin than usual, for you."

@fferal​ asked: “Who are you all dressed up for?” @ jeanne-marie

✨ – “For myself. Is it a problem, mon ami?” JM looked at him, wondering what was his issue with her outfit. Didn’t he usually like it when she made an effort? She smiled nervously, not sure what he would respond to her words.

[fferal-archive]

@fatummortem sent a meme: "If you want to talk, how about you keep your brand of 'charm' to yourself this time?" (bobby)

Krakoa might have changed Fang ( as it has for everyone ) for the so-called better but some things just stay the same.

Like, for one: Trolling, tormenting and teasing the Iceman.

"No. Come on. You like the attention." He's two steps behind him, perpetually following him as he eats a cone of ice cream. No, not in a sexy euphemism way, just a hungry one.

"So, who're you hooking up with nowadays? Like. Other elementals? That lava guy?" A hand reaches out to touch an icy shoulder. "How about ferals? We're pretty fuckable. You into bear-men?"

[fferal-archive]

Another delivery via Cereal-Vision!

"Don't be like that, Fang. Woolf and I, I being Woolf in this moment, have a long-standing arrangement. If she's indisposed, I'm supposed to take on her share of duties and responsibilities! That includes professing her love and affection for you."

Now, tossing her hair back a bit, she put on her VERY best pout/growl/snarl and pawed at him. "The only thing I want to play with today is you! So eat some breakfast, and then put on those white linen pants that hug your balls so we can get going, Honeybee! Chop chop. Or, is 'Snikt-Snikt' better for you?"

Pawing rejected! He shoves her away. Specifically, full hand-over-face push. "If Woolf actually wanted someone to take her place she'd... I dunno, pay a professional, support the industry. Ask someone who I like. Not -- my 'worstie' upon 'worstie'."

Stands up!

"I'm going to someplace you're allergic to. I dunno. Maybe a monastery, a narcotics support meeting, or a tent city, or somewhere where people's modesty and banality will make you immediately burst into flames."

Yeah, it's his own pod. It doesn't stop him from leaving her in there.

"Byeeee!"

[fferal-archive]

He flings his hands in the air, exasperated at the constant bickering him and his brother seem to be roiled up in. “I never claimed being pristine on my end, you illiterate fucking weasel. Christ. I was pointing out what was the most likely scenario, not flinging out an insult. Maybe you got really fucked up and you brought home someone you’ve never met before. These things do happen.”

“Anyway,” he continues, trying to not fly into a rage, “say someone rooted around your messy, depressing hovel while you were asleep. Why? And why would it be a problem? It’s not like killing’s an option. What are you keeping, diaries?“

fferal​:

@defyxoblivion sent a meme: “Listen to me, someone was in my pod last night.” Raze

“Uhuh.” Of course Raze’s brother is utterly and totally uninterested, unconvinced. Instead, he continues tip-tapping away, engaged in a text conversation with Woolf about the best type of loofah/washcloth/exfoliating material.

Slowly, Daken rambles, distracted: “There’s always someone in your pod each night, you village goddamn bicycle. Just because you were too stoned to remember it doesn’t mean they were some nefarious force trying to get you.”

He can’t help the low, animalistic, growl. Okay, he probably could; but he wasn’t going to bother. “Slut shaming, from the slut who’s still got vids online. Classy.”

“I didn’t recognize the scent, you fucking ragged cunt. And remembering scents is what I do.“ You can’t be a truly effective shape shifter without that knowledge. It’s why, in the end, Raze was going to be the most deadly shifter Krakoa had ever seen.

[fferal-archive]

@fiddlingonthetympanic sent an ask: Krakoa, Year 30... ish

She's laughing so hard that her body shakes, knees drawn up to her chest as she wheezes and coughs. "Fang--" she tries, fails, her words snatched away by the need to breathe. "Fang, you're--"

The handful of discarded flowers she'd been sniffing wilts into the mattress.

Managing a half-assed little flapflap of her hand in his direction, she indicates... him. In general. The need for waxing and the Howlett sideburns. His thick, sturdy body. (Little teapot.) "You're a--DILF."

The un-made blanket, currently being hogged by him as a massive, messy faux-pillow, gets immediately thrown over his head in deep, deep shame.

"Nooo." Fang's voice is muffled, sentiment exaggerated by kicks of his bare (hairy) legs bouncing off the mattress. "I don't wanna be a DILF. I used to be so -- so --" Twunky, really. But she's right. He's bearish.

An arm reaches out of the bunch, flinging vaguely in the direction of the small batch of remaining blooms on the nightstand.

"You're literally a GILF," he tells Woolf, before he grabs a fistful and feeds it back into his pile. "So suck on that, mommy -- granny."

[fferal-archive]

@fiddlingonthetympanic sent a meme: ❝  come here.  sit in my lap and tell me what you want,  honeybee ❞

half a century ago.

Daken's cheeks are clamped by those blackened claws, bleeding as their pierce him to the inside of his mouth, scraping at his teeth. Tess' tremendous form dwarfs him, a monster -- without the ability to speak, his eyes tear up in indignant rage as he stares into her deep, dark eyes. A shark of a woman; a living ghost.

She drives words into his gut as gutteral hisses and clicks, barely comprehensible with newfound and terrifying anatomy. The message is clear enough, whispers that send dread and hate running through his veins. Something like:

You are a disappointment to all the women you hurt. Your mother would have hated you. I hate you. I hope they haunt you until the end of your days. You are unlovable, incapable...

now.

Sun filters through the window of his pod, speckling light across Fang's fuzzy, half-clothed body as he lounges on the ground, scrolling through holograms of short story anthologies. Naturally, he perks up when he's called for, jumping to his feet.

Honeybee.

When he straddles Woolf's lap and throws his arms around her neck ( no, not hands like 2010, arms ), he presses a kiss to her cheek before nuzzling his nose into it.

"Can we run a bath, Woolf?" He nearly begs. All he wants is to relax -- with her. "Share a bath bomb. Try one of those lightning weed ones. Please?"

[fferal-archive]

@themckaytriarchy sent a meme: “We have to keep moving. We can’t slow down.” [the salt ]

END-SALT:

They eat him up and down, you know. Passing through slice-by-slice of his body like a fucked-up MRI, moving as a generally concentrated mass all the way up to fit the crown of his head before heading back down, again and again and again.

"I -- fuck, I know, I can't fucking walk, Woolf."

Down to the tips of his toes, they're ( the worms ) already starting their loop back up. At this moment, his bare feet are an eerie white-and-pink: Bone, the thin scraps of lean tissue left on their periphery, and the soft flesh of the writhing flesh-eating wave all over him.

Here Fang sits helpless on his side, resigned, covered in the blood and vomit and mud and shit of it all, more suffering than mutant. What a blessing his powers are, miraculously keeping him alive in this hell when he could sleep soundly in the abyss. There's no ego, here, when he waves her away. For a second it actually isn't about pride.

"Aah! Leave me -- or drag me, but I'm not going to --"

[fferal-archive]

@defyxoblivion sent a meme: “i know that's not the answer you were hoping for.” Wanda

"No? No. No isn't an answer I 'hope for'. And now I'm just supposed to sit around and accept 'no' for an answer, like some useless fucking baby because turning 'no' into 'yes' is apparently totally out of the question, now, because society and me being accepted into it."

Okay, okay, light meltdown. He's here because he was asked to. And the truth is that even back when he used to be scary and forceful he probably wouldn't fuck with the Scarlet Witch, because existing is kind of a priority for him.

"Come on. There has to be something you can give me. A -- signet or a sigil or some other scrabbled bullshit starting with an s. Draw me an elder sign so I can get it tattooed. Do you just not want me to have some sort defense against you magical assholes?"

[fferal-archive]

@hexsreality sent a meme: can i even trust you?

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Or maybe not. I really don't care."

He's intentionally being brusque to Wanda. The real answer, that Fang is well aware of, is: Actually, probably. There's always a probability to backslide into old and nasty habits, but the frequency is totally insignificant.

Here's Fang, on the straight and narrow. Mostly. Enough that he's been volunteered as an escort on a trip to Avalon, without much concern. Please, as if she even needs one.

( And the second he stepped in he's been in ridiculously puffy sleeves under a deeply unflattering cuirass. God, he looks huge. )

"Can you help me with this horse? She keeps -- ow! She hates me!"

Also, he's being kicked aggressively by his ride. Great trip.

[fferal-archive]

Cereal told me to send this, so I am! It's Angela, shapeshifted into Tess. She's kinda fucked off the last bit of it, so it looks JUST like Tess, but her hair is still lemon-lime green. She's lounging across his breakfast table with a... I dunno, nothing but three of those big 'X' patches the original line-up used to wear on their yellow and blue jumpsuits covering her nips and her lady pit. "Come on, Fang. Why don't we... what the fuck do you all do here? Let's go frolic in the field of flowers that make you STD resistant for an hour and a half, and then dunk our genitals on each other. Like we did when we were young!"

"You know, just because you run, like, 5 of Spirit Halloween franchises together doesn't mean you have the invitation to throw her on as a costume."

Fang's grumpy. You can tell because his arms are folded across his chest and him repeating 'fuck you, ugh, fuck off' about twenty times when Ang walked in with the Woolf look.

"Shouldn't you be playing mean girl somewhere? I dunno. A fictional high school full of twenty-somethings playing eighteen year-olds?"

[fferal-archive]

Trying to replace deranged hatred with familial fondness for his father has its good days and its bad days. Today? It's pretty easy. Fang shows up to the Summers' house on the moon and eats stuff from the grill while Logan is distracted with his freckled, uptight beaus. It's just a pity he doesn't get reception up here so he can better distract himself.

He generally prefers not to fuck with space -- which can kill him, easily -- so the Starjammers are a bit of a mystery. That being said... aliens always hold some surprises. Like the scent he's picking up that's more adaptive than the others, as if it were clear and purposeful, almost like speaking. Oh. It's been a while.

Sipping on his beer and catching her form at the corner of his eye, he sends a few signals himself, to the best of his ability: I'm also bored. I'm curious what you're drinking. You're beautiful. What are you?

@fferal liked for Hepzibah

🐈 -- Zee rarely came to earth anymore. After the (temporary) death of Chris at the hands of one of his sons and the fling with the Proudstar boy, she tried to avoid setting foot planetside. It was inevitable at times, such as today.

She stood off to the side as Chris talked with Scott, Alex, and a few X-people. She sipped some alcohol from a flask she usually kept on her, waiting for the chitchat to be over so that they could go on and maybe have fun.

It was lucky none of the humans and mutants could read pheromones, as she was bored and she knew any one of her species would pick up on that. They were very few survivors, and she hadn't seen another Mephitisoid in over a decade.

[fferal-archive]

@hexsreality sent a meme: Do you believe in fate?

"Believe in fate?" Fang balks at Wanda, at the nature of the question. His feet swing over the ledge he's sitting on. Bitterly: "I've met some."

The three, the seers, the Norns. These witch-sisters scorned him -- he'd have killed one, if he could have. Preferably, all of them. But that was a long time ago, another unpleasant memory heaped on loads.

"I hope you don't advertise being prophetic. It's a real... like, a way to really fuck someone, promising the world to them and getting it wrong, or taking it away." "They said I would do terrible, wonderful things. They promised me it."