#also before anyone gets on my ass about this

[innerfare]

Shanks Relationship Headcanons 

Summary: A random collection of Shanks relationship headcanons

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

Shanks can’t stand you at first. You get under his skin without even trying. Worse still, you don’t take his bait- you don’t bicker with him, you don’t argue, but you also don’t laugh at his jokes, and it drives him absolutely insane. He’s never met anyone he couldn’t drag down to his level and he doesn’t know what to do about that. 

You also rebuff his advances initially, and he panics because nobody rebuffs his advances. He could bed Akainu if he wanted to, he’s certain of it, so why can’t he bed you? He becomes consumed by his desire to have you, not just in his bed but in his company more generally, eating at his table and sharing a drink and some gossip with him. 

He never shuts up about you, constantly complaining to Beckman, who realizes what is going on almost immediately. Beckman doesn’t bother trying to illuminate Shanks as to the annoying predicament that is love, just laughs to himself.  

Starts writing down and rehearsing his absolute best material before he sees you. When you don’t laugh, he becomes convinced you’re withholding your laughter just to be mean to him. He almost blows a gasket when Lucky Roux tells him, “you know, Captain, maybe your sense of humor just isn’t for everyone.” 

This eventually culminates in him blowing up and kissing you one night. To his utter surprise, you kiss him back. From that point forward, the two of you are going steady, which is uncharted territory for Shanks. 

When he does finally identify your sense of humor, it’s one of his proudest moments. He’s merciless from that point forward, drawing as many laughs from your lips as possible. He'll even resort to tickling you just to hear that musical sound.

To his surprise, you relationship quickly becomes his temple. You’re the person he’s actually serious with, the person with whom he shares his fears and ambitions, with whom he is raw and vulnerable. When he has nightmares, you’ll be the one to comfort him, and when he has doubts, you’ll be the one to reassure him. 

There’s much more to him than meets the eye. He isn’t just a drunken layabout or a prankster, but a complex man with great ambition, and the foundation of your relationship is your ability to unravel these complexities. 

That being said, if he does eventually make you a little less mature, a little more petty, a little more childish, he’ll view it as one of his greatest victories. 

So dramatic. Tells you things like, “I would cease to exist if we were parted,” and, “you fill in the cracks in my soul,” and he means them 100%. Naturally you don’t realize he means them 100% until you find yourself in a life-threatening situation and he drops literally everything to rescue you, apologizing profusely for allowing a hair on your head to be harmed. It’s in that moment you realize the gravity of receiving the affection of an Emperor. 

Brings you flowers, usually a bundle of cheap supermarket flowers with a lot of different colors (he can't actually identify any of the flowers but thought they were pretty). He’s the sort to throw rocks at your window and serenade you with a guitar (he’ll sing but he’s bad at it), but only after you’re in a relationship so it makes you laugh more than it makes you swoon. 

Will order Beckman to reroute the crew’s course so far out of their way it’s comical because he wants you to try a restaurant on an island he visited a decade ago because they served your favorite food in a unique and delicious way; naturally when you get there the restaurant has closed. Shanks makes it up to you with a bowl of ramen, though. 

Got you a massive stuffed strawberry from a carnival (he lost the game but stole the prize anyway when the carnie wasn’t looking, delinquent ass boyfriend), gets very upset if he walks into your room and it’s not on your bed. Now likes to call you strawberry. Other nicknames include red panda or just panda and even my sake cup. Also refers to you in conversation as the crown jewels. 

Tipsy walks down the beach at night, your fingers intertwined, that end with him chasing you through the shallows, catching you in his arms, and spinning you around. He loves a good came of chase, or even hide and seek. Also, strip poker. 

Would never admit it, but he’s often the little spoon. He’ll collapse on top of you after a night of drinking with the boys. Also, he can’t fall asleep without a fistful of something, and since the two of you became an item, that something is usually your hair or shirt (at least to keep it SFW 😉). 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[purplestanleypinkblanket]

Cookies:

Pairings: (DP3 Vers.) Logan Howlett x Reader

Summary: In an attempt to finish smoothing things over between you and Logan, he suggests going out to a bar. He says it’s to help you and Logan bond- but it’s actually so he can watch Vanessa work. Wade, knowing exactly what kind of drunk you are, takes advantage of your kind hearted nature to the point that you get hammered. Poor Logan finds himself taking care of you after Wade decides to try his hand at pole dancing.

Warnings: Heavy mentions of drinking, cursing, a few insults sprinkled in, Wade pole dancing, drunk reader.

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 1,647

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“Come on guys!” Wade whined, throwing his arms over you- interrupting the scowling match between you and Logan. “It’ll be fun!”

You had work the next morning and drinking around an alcoholic Wolverine didn’t exactly sound thrilling. It didn’t exactly help that he clearly hated you. Sure, you didn’t help with your sarcastic comments and matching his glares. Hell, your friends with Wade- how could you not rebuttal Logan whenever he snapped at you?

“I can’t, I have work early tomorrow.” You stated, trying to pry yourself out of Wade’s arms.

“Bullshit.” Wade remarked. “I’ve seen you get shit-faced then hop back up like it’s nothing the next day. You’ll be fine!”

Damn. He had gotten you there. But you were also a much more responsible drinker than Wade gave you credit for. But it came at a cost…your a light weight.

“Good! It’s decided! We’ll all go out tonight! Get your best bar hopping panties on ladies, cause we’re gettin it on.” Wade cheered.

“Wade.” You huffed out, “I ain’t flashing anyone my panties.” You finally cracked a smile, finding it hard to resist his odd sense of humor. As odd as it was, though, you always found yourself cackling.

That’s how you ended up here, in a sleazy bar, wearing a dress that, frankly, shouldn’t warrant all the eyes of shameless men on you. You let out a huff, head resting in your hands as you sipped your alcoholic beverage. Logan sat next to you at the dark oak bar. It was the spot Wade had insisted he take. The partying lights of the dance floor low as Vanessa danced on a pole. You watched as Wade basically threw the same one dollar repeatedly at her, rushing to scurry it back up before throwing it again.

The air between you and Logan, who was sipping at a glass of beer, was less than welcoming. Your eyes analyzed him, the way he looked. He seemed so tired, so defeated, yet alive. Even more so these days as he grew accustomed to life with Wade.

Despite the various martini’s and strong drinks Wade had left not-so-subtly on the bar by you, you had done a fairly decent job at pacing yourself. It wasn’t until Wade’s hand was snatching the water glass from your hand and replacing it with a martini that reeked strongly of booze that you finally guessed his game. He wanted you drunk. And he only brought you two here to see Vanessa dance. You moved to dismiss the drink.

“Wade, I don’t-“

“Drink!” Wade adamantly flashed you his puppy dog eyes, knowing full well if you were tipsy enough you’d fall for it. With a sigh, it turned out you were as you brought the martini to your lips. The more Wade handed you drinks, the more you drank. The more you drank, well, hadn’t everyone heard the story? Needless to say, it wasn’t long before you were slumped over on the bar, giggling to yourself as you looked past Logan to watch Wade try to dance on a pole. He had finesse, but you didn’t miss the way his foot failed to land.

Logan watched you, eyes filled with judgement. He couldn’t believe all it took was a few drinks. His eyes scanned the bar, scowling at anyone who looked at you. He didn’t know why he suddenly hated every man in this bar that looked your way. He told himself it was because you were clearly shit-faced, hell, it looked like you were about to fall off your fucking chair. Logan sure as hell wasn’t about to let some weak ass man who didn’t know how to talk to a woman worm their way into your skirt. Which, by the way, looked bloody amazing. He even found himself struggling not to look at you.

Your voice broke through the tense situation as he glared at any man he could see, “L-,” you hiccuped, “Logan. Why do you hate me?” Your question caught him off guard, a look of confusion passing over his face as he tilted his head. Logan’s eyes looked down at where you rested against the bar, face flushed from alcohol, head resting on your arms. Your cheek was smooshed slightly from where it rested between your arm and the bar top.

“I don’t hate you.” He huffed out, looking away as he brought the beer glass to his lips.

“You act like it.” You couldn’t help the drunk pout on your lips, eyes analyzing Logan from where you rested. His jawline, with the mangy beard that somehow looked damn good.

Logon scoffed. He couldn’t help that he didn’t like you. You were bitchy, and sarcastic, and- his thoughts were interrupted by you suddenly leaning into his side, an exhale on your lips.

“I wished I knew what I did to make you hate me so much, Logan.” You drunkenly confided to him, drawing his attention to you once more. Suddenly, he was aware of the closeness between you two. Of how easily you were to banter with, even if it was in an argument. And you were funny. Logan loved when you would call Wade out. His hand moved to rest on the back of your barstool, his hand resting next to your shoulder in case you happened to fall over.

“I don’t hate you, doll.” Logon sighed, looking down as you lifted another drink to your lips.

“I want cookies.” You stated, not paying much mind to his words. Your mind wandered too fast to truly pay much attention. Not like it could anyway, Wade made sure you were drunk. He knew how you got when you were wasted, you were honest, idiotic, and incredibly cuddly.

“They don’t have cookies.” Logan grumbled, hand moving to rub his face in irritation after it set the beer down.

“They should.” You adamantly decided, head slumping against his chest as you looked towards where Wade and Vanessa pole danced together.

Logan mumbled a rough ‘Hm’, his gaze analyzing your flushed face as you watched Wade and Vanessa. He watched you lean forward, reaching for the shot some creep had bought you. Logan reached for it, taking it from you and sliding it to the side. “Alright, that’s enough, princess.”

“What, no, hey!” You pouted with a drunk huff, reaching for the shot. However, Logan’s hand grasped your wrist after he set the shot down, pulling it away.

“Princess.” He roughly warned, hand on the back of your barstool moving to push your shoulder subtly, causing you to lean back into him.

You melted into his touch, relishing the almost body-heater warmth of him.

“Your warm.” The drunk words were out of your lips before you could really stop them.

Logan nodded with a hum, “I know.”

“I want cookies.”

“I know.”

Silence fell over the two of you. Logan didn’t want to admit it, but he felt rather content with you leaning against him- even if it was because of Wade getting you hammered. He enjoyed how it felt, having a gorgeous woman by his side. It was also nice knowing the sight of you leaning into him scared off anyone who thought about approaching you.

The moment was ruined when the song ‘Tragedy’ by The Bee Gees began playing. It seems everyone had been impacted by the release of the latest Beetlejuice movie.

“I love this song!” You drunkenly erupted, grinning as you moved to hop off the barstool, practically falling as you did so. Logan was quick to move, his hand wrapping on your arm to prevent you from falling.

“Where in hell do you think you’re going?” He growled at you, unamused.

“I’m going to dance!” You giggled, hands grasping his as you tugged him to the dance floor. Logan, despite his grumbles, let you pull him along. He didn’t need some creep coming over when you’re less than aware. When you two got to the dance floor, his hands instinctively wrapped around your waist. You were practically next to the stage that Wade and Vanessa pole danced on.

You jumped, you swayed, you did every move you knew- most of which Logan just assumed you made up on the spot. Your arms in the air, by your sides, in front of you, behind you. Logan was almost certain he watched you do the Macarena at some point. He kept a hand on your waist at all times.

“Why ain’t you dancing?” You asked, facing him with a frown, swaying slightly.

“I don’t dance.” He huffed back, unamused.

You flashed Logan your best, and visibly drunk, puppy eyes. After a moment of internal battle, his hands gently rested on your hips, swaying with you just slightly. It was the best you’d get and it’d be a lie to say you weren’t satisfied with the awkward sway. It didn’t fit the music. Not even close, but you got the Logan Howlett to dance with you!

After a moment, your arms moved to drape over his shoulders, closing any distance between the two of you as your head rested against him.

“Lo?” You mumbled softly against him. It was a new nickname, something you had never used before. He felt his heart hammer in his chest for a split second when he looked down at you.

“Yes, princess?” He asked, forcing his tone to be less rough.

“Can we get cookies later?” Your voice was muffled as you drunkenly held him tighter. His heart clenched and he found himself wishing he had cookies with him right then.

“Of course.” He murmured as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your head.

It was a lie to say he hated you. In fact, he liked the way you irritated him. He only hoped that you continued to banter with him. Lord knows he didn’t feel like he deserved it.

[pressureplus]

HEYA HELLO HI

first, i want to genuinely thank you guys for the account's existence and your hard work. reading through the posts is often the highlight of my bleak days, and im immensely grateful for you providing those moments of joy :]

SECOND UH ID LIKE TO ORDER A SPECIFIC KINDA HEADCANONS LIST IF NO ONE MINDS AND IT HASN'T BEEN WRITTEN ALREADY ALRIGHT YEAH

a nonbinary reader who is pretty similar to Seb's stubborn, independent and sassy persona but WOMP WOMP, they're suddenly head over heels for him. NEITHER WANTS TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE FEELINGS (aka "HE'S FUCKING MARRIED, IT'S NOT MUTUAL AND IM BUSY WITH NOT DYING, BUT I CANT GET HIM OUT OF MY HEAD" & "I HAVE A WIFE AND THEY'RE JUST SOME EXPENDABLE BASTARD, GET OVER IT, SOLACE"). the distracting, unnecessary, painful pining. how do both cope and who's gonna break first? and most importantly, is either gonna throw their ego and rationality out the window to confess despite the fear of looking pathetic?

oooof i hope it's not too much and it's not breaking any rules. thank you in advance if you find it interesting enough for writing! :D

Awww, thanks so much! Although I should make it very clear the wife in question will remain vague and is NOT BASED ON ANYONE! Thanks for the request ❤️

♡Married! Sebastian Solace x NB! Similar! Reader Headcannons♡

Warnings: Sebastian is Married and Y/N is technically an Affair Partner

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

He had found you interesting from the moment you opened your mouth and got sassy with him, mostly because most people don't have the balls to do it

Despite finding this slightly irritating, he also found it refreshing, so he didn't immediately shoot you if only for his own entertainment

A terrible mistake he'd soon find out

He developed some definitely unhealthy feelings the first time one of your comebacks had an almost flirtatious undertone

It was an accident on your part, but it got him thinking

He was a married man fawning quietly over you, how awful is that?

I mean of course he’s flashed the wedding band, and of course he's mentioned his wife when others flirt with him, but that doesn't change his feelings

If you flirted with him, would he really reject you?

Could he?

He hadn't known the touch of his wife in years, the softness of her hands, the warmth of her kisses

After everything that's happened he couldn't even remember her name. He should be able to remember his wifes name right?

Does he really even care about her? Does he love her now? Did he love her then?

It comes with an odd sense of guilt he doesn't like to look at. Especially when you do something that makes his heart flutter.

You, on the other hand, probably didn't develop any real feelings until he actually saved your ass.

You'd been running for your life and he’d snatched you up and into the vents, tossing you easily into his shop and shutting it behind you

His gaze transfixed on said vent, a hand on his gun. Something about him choosing to save your life while also putting up with your attitude was a little attractive…

Okay, insanely attractive

Sure, Sebastian’s guilt for being attracted to you is bad, but so is yours

You’re attracted to a married man who has absolutely gushed about his wife in front of you before. Even if it was only because someone tried to get a little flirty, what does that matter?

Honestly the mutual attraction makes it hard for you both to focus

Everything about that man is intoxicating, his smile, his laugh, his attitude. Can you really be judged for this?

Neither of you can focus on anything but each other whenever you’re both in a room.

It’s led to Sebastian getting surprised whenever another person buys something off him because he had no idea anyone else was in here

Its also led to you freaking out whenever one of the other expendable touches your shoulder without you having realized anyone was standing behind you

You hide it well…at least you hope you do?

The longing glances and quiet staring on both sides is unbearable though

Especially considering you’re both making those dolly eyes at each other, batting lashes and daydreaming

It’s cute but it’s also incredibly wrong of you two and you’re painfully aware of it

No amount of sharing food and acting like it’s not a date will make it less of a date

He’s already long since decided that he’s going to offer you come with him so you both can leave together

And though neither of you will have the heart to confess for quite a while, I think he’d do it on your way out. Something about you almost dying when you both escape makes him desperate to tell you how he really feels

When that ‘I think I’m in love with you’ slips out while he’s bandaging your arm that’s been cut by glass, how can you refuse?

Especially when you’re in love with him too?

He’ll toss that ring into the ocean once you reach the surface, his wife never loved him like you did anyway

[fuck-customers]

Desert County Lob Jot person again. I just really have two customers that I had to get off my chest. First the Mattress Karen and then let me tell you about Moldy Spoon Lady.

This lady comes in constantly and tries to return things that she found laying around her house that she doesn't want anymore. Doesn't matter if it a) came from us b) was purchased in the last 30 days or even this year c) is damaged beyond saleability or d) is apparently covered in a thick, stinky layer of mold.

She walks up to the service desk and I've already had an issue with her where she told me not to ring up a box of cookies because she "forgot it yesterday so I already paid for it" and of course she had no receipt that time either. So got upset when I said unless I have proof of this like having management watch the security cameras, I have to charge her for it or she has to leave without it. Shocker: she didn't want the manager doing that.

So this time she has a reusable bag, and so I call out asking if she has a return. She says yes and ohmyGOD when she took her hand off the top rim of the bag and it starting opening...I almost had to run to the bathroom from the smell. It was beYOND foul. Inside the bag was a completely molded wooden cooking spoon. She thought all she had to say was "for some reason this spoon I got from you for $6.99 (I'm sorry...seven dollars for a spoon? In THIS place? Not possible) is completely covered in mold. I can't use it. I need to return it for $6.99". I immediately say we can't do that. I told her we can't take items that are not in resellable condition and she doesn't have the receipt or item tags, so I can't even look it up through her member card. I even tried and showed her my screen to demonstrate. I also informed her that wooden spoons shouldn't be left soaking in water in the sink because this is what happens. I didn't realize that wasn't common knowledge but I've been running into more and more people that didn't know wooden spoons are porous and absorb water still. So I just thought it was harmless advice in case she didn't know, but of course she was insulted.

"You know, I always have problems with you and I've NEVER had problems with anyone here" (she had problems with everyone here)

I tried to just say sorry but I can't take a spoon without proof it's even ours.

"You know, you're bad at your job. EVERYONE says your bad at your job."

Idk what possessed me but I gave a short laugh and said "no they didnt"

"Yes they did!!!" God, what are you, a toddler?

I knew she'd take it more seriously from a manager, so I call an assistant manager over the intercom.

"What if I find the spoon and come up with the bar code?"

I shrug and say "sure go do that". She walks off and when the assistant manager gets up to the desk I tell her the situation and she laughs when she hears who the customer is. She is a regular and a massive pain in the ass. Certifiable. She's been a problem here for a long time apparently and everyone dreads when they see her come in the door.

Moldy walks back up and not only does she have a sort of similar wooden spoon in one hand, she has a 10 pack of wooden spoons in the other. The single is $1.99, the pack was $5.99.

"I can take this $5.99 pack as an exchange for it and then you just give me the dollar back." She was ALREADY putting the pack in her fucking bag. I grabbed it before it could touch the moldy one still in the bag and said nope, she can't have those because we have no proof the original spoon cost $6.99. We definitely wouldn't price it that high.

I and the assistant manager both had the thought to say just take the $1.99 spoon this time but that if she doesn't have a receipt and it's damaged, we can't do anything next time.

Why does this particular chain have the most braindead, absolute lunatics for customers? I've been in retail for 15 years and have never seen people pull the things I've seen here. It's incredible what customers try to get away with here. And it's a BARGAIN OUTLET. We are literally cheaper than anything else around and people still try to get cheaper?

And if they can't get it cheap, they steal it. Whatever. The only theft that bothers me is when people open up food and eat a couple things out of it and put it back on the shelf. Because then that means I have to throw that food out. The amount of food items I constantly have to throw away because people opened them up or take a few bits out of it makes me so angry. Seen as how I've been overdrafting the past couple months I get that everyone is beyond poor now, but jfc do you have to make another poor person deal with your shit? I can't wait to be out of here. Besides the customers having soup for brains here, the past couple days have shown me the underbelly of the management side of things and I don't like it. Definitely won't be coming back.

Posted by admin Rodney

[irasamu]

𓍯 LOVE IS THE PROFOUND SENSATION, I AM OF UNYIELDING PASSION ; a dazai osamu fic snippet.

summary. you came. he left. dazai left. the man you were dying to reunite with left without even glancing back at you and you might just go mad.

tw. breakdown (minor), mori and reader having a manipulative/abusive dynamic, reader showing signs of her fucked up mental health.

𓍯 . imagine having such bad luck that you miss the last chance ever to meet dazai by just five fucking minutes.

five minutes ago, he left.

five minutes later, you came.

after years of being away, you finally came and he isn't here because lo and behold-- that bastard left.

he left.

you just missed the last chance to reunite with him.

behind you stands chuuya who looks as betrayed by that man but chuuya doesn't get it. no one will.

no one will. no one will. no one will. no one will --

"hey, come on, don't dwell on that bastar --"

"it's impressive how he was able to escape. man, never thought anyone would be able to escape but it's a given since its him -- he did create most of the security arrangements here-- we need to get rid of it. every person he appointed too. all his ideas and plans --"

"... hey--" chuuya kisses his teeth as you do not listen, staring out of the ceiling length windows from mori's office as you go on and on.

"-- that kid akutagawa? i'll take him in. oh we can't get rid of him. he's too valuable. my room -- i need a new one-- i need to tell mori-sama i need a new room and my hair? i need a new hairstyle. also -- fuck." you curse as your shoulder blade cries out in pain, looking straight to see chuuya's arm pinned against your neck as he keeps you pinned against the wall and your shoulders slump. "right. we need to get rid of you as well."

chuuya's eyebrows rose as he stared right into your dazed eyes, hiding the panick and worry very well as he stares at you so coldly it makes you clench your jaw.

"he left. mori-sama sent me away and -- and because of that -- i-- why did he sent me away?" you look pitiful in chuuya's eyes, almost on the verge of a breakdown and over who? someone like dazai? oh lord...

yet why does he feel more sympathy than disgust or pity for you? why does he remember all those poems written by those lovesick poets?

"he won't die. you are underestimating that bastard." chuuya offers comfort, comfort which is mockery to you. it makes you see red because he does not get it.

"i am! because i didn't get time to go on many missions with him! i didn't know him like you did! i don't even know if he still likes sweets or not!" you scream out, a sob ripples out of your throat next as you shakily grab chuuya's jacket and cling to it as if it's your lifeline. "why did you guys sent me away!? i didn't even get to spend much time with him!" you cry.

because chuuya spent time with him to know this much about him. because everyone else except you got to see him everyday while you lived in memories of him. because you worked your ass off everyday in hopes of one day meeting him again and when that day came, he left.

"listen --" yet chuuya stops speaking, your neck feels a piercing pain spread through it before you close your eyes and fall limp in chuuya's arms, a syringe stuck on your neck which chuuya gently pulls out and looks behind to see elise -- more matured and grown as she sorrowfully stares at your unconscious form -- and mori who has a blank look on his face but chuuya knows better than to assume the boss isn't fazed because from his prodigy leaving and his assumed heir breaking down, mori's original plans crumbled. and even as chuuya stares at mori now, he knows the older man is making new tactics and strategies, adapting to this surprising new situation.

you didn't have time to register the pain in your throat, the throbbing in your head, the burning behind your eyes or the emptiness clawing at your heart as you stare directly at the man. his stare is blank but it makes you uncertain about yourself. his stare is the kind which makes you unconscious and makes you feel as if you don't fit in your skin.

"you must be exhausted from your journey... and then suddenly learning of dazai leaving... i assume it was a lot for you to take." he speaks so kindly and warmly. tears gather in your eyes again.

mori gets up from his place on a stool next to your bed, he approaches you and places a hand against your forehead to check if you have a fever or not.

"but that's disappointing." mori clicks his tongue as he leans down to whisper against your ear, his scarf brushing against your jaw as he does so, "you of all people should not be so easily affected. it's really disappointing. you failed me on the very hour you came back. should i send you away again or am i wasting my time on you? remember unless you have made a name for yourself -- which you haven't yet-- you are replaceable. and it won't take me more then five minutes to find eager candidates who'll be eager to take your place." and he leaves.

your eyes stay glued to his disappearing figure, heart thumping violently in your chest as you ponder over his words and somewhere along the way, the fear of being replaced is so real it's making your body shake as if you are in some kind of delirium. this is one hell of a welcome back.

you snicker. would you have worked just as hard if you knew you were never gonna meet dazai? would you really go shopping and buy all those items which reminded you of him?

you clasp your hand over your mouth before doubling over, cackling. it's all so pitiful that it's making you laugh. he hurt you in a way no one ever can. no. he made you mad. mad in love. a mad woman living in her delusions. and now suddenly reality is slapping you. the seductive amd tempting delusions leave. unless you meet them daily by indulging in alcohol.

maybe you are actually going mad because as you laugh, you imagine the warmth his cold fingers would provide if he were to hug you from behind right now, he would probably lay his cheek on your head, his fingers slowly dragging up your arms and towards your shoulders before he wraps it around your neck and kisses your head.

you might be going mad. actually. laying your head down on the soft pillows, you laugh at yourself. "fuck you. fuck you dazai osamu."

like a wanderer with no definite destination to go to, you feed your emptiness with worldly pleasure. till how long can you go on pretending as if dazai osamu isn't a religion you are the devoted follower of?

[theotherpacman]

got s1 is really a very faithful adaptation of agot, with only minor divergences. sometimes I really love the little details in the book that the show doesn't have room for, but sometimes I like the decisions the show made differently.

things I appreciate about the book:

the fact that jon is 14 makes his naivete regarding the wall hit so much harder. he's just a little boy and he's willing to sign his whole life away bc he believes he can be a part of something noble... neither his father nor his uncle nor anyone else tells him that to take the black is a grim sentence steeped in shame

ned hearing that bran's direwolf saved his life and being like "holy shit I killed one of them... what the fuck did I do"

sandor just whole ass traumadumping on 11-year-old sansa completely unprompted and then when he realizes he's just made himself vulnerable for literally no reason he goes "if you tell anyone about this I'll fucking kill you"

mormont thinks jon will be disappointed that bran is now a cripple but jon is so ecstatic bran's alive that he picks up tyrion lannister and spins him around (tyrion is startled by this) and then proceeds to cheerfully make friends with a guy who hates his guts bc jon kicked his absolute ass in training

tyrion and bronn starting to become friends on the way to the vale <3

THAT SINGER BITCH i love him

"whatever you may believe of me, lady stark, I promise you this -- I never bet against my family" screaming crying throwing up

jon going to maester aemon and convincing him to let sam take his vows!!!! using the metaphor of the maester's chain to make his point about how just bc sam is different that doesn't mean he's useless!!!!!!!

TYRION FIGHTING IN THE BATTLE AGAINST ROBB'S MEN!!!!! THE SHOW DID HIM SO FUCKING DIRTY i get that they didn't have as big a budget back then but come on man ToT

"when the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. when the seas go dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves. when your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. then he will return, and not before." LET THE BARRENNESS BE PART OF THE CURSE why did they cut that

when tywin says "because you are my son" tyrion fucking Hates him for that bc he knows that if jaime were he tywin wouldn't spare him a second glance, he's only Tywin's Son now that jaime is prisoner and might die at the hands of the starks

things I appreciate about the show:

arya shooting a bullseye from behind bran. queen

jaime being a dick to everyone all the time for no reason. just going around starting shit. also that scene outside robert's bedroom where he talks to jory. jaime in general

ROS!!!!! MY GIRL ROS MY ABSOLUTE QUEEN ROS

"she's our guest." "she's our prisoner." "do you find the two to be mutually exclusive in your experience, my lord?" lmaooooo get his ass maester luwin

"sometimes possession,,,,, is an abstract concept"

THE DRINKING GAME!!!! first of all it gives us more insight into shae as a person who is so different from tyrion's established worldviews, secondly tyrion is always going around saying offensive shit and he thinks nothing of it bc a) people say offensive shit to him all the time and that's one of the ways he deals with it and b) he's usually right BUT when he makes all those assumptions about shae he's totally wrong and she stands up for herself, but my favorite part of that scene is that tyrion is hesitant to share this traumatic story from his past but he's just made bronn and shae confront their traumas so now he has to share too. and I think that's beautiful

all of varys and petyr's bitchy conversations when they're alone in the throne room

this only covers the first book/season I might make more of these as I keep reading

[cryptfile]

Ꮺ˖˚₊ leeches, [ logan howlett x vampire!reader au ]

summary — logan howlett lacks of patience (and he can also be a nice little blood-bag while losing his temper). 8k+

warnings — EXPLICIT 18+ mdni, fem!reader implied, blood kink (keep in mind you’re a vampire! not twilight but more of a true blood kind?) downright filth im sorry, dead dove do not eat, smoker!reader, endless tension, manhandling, praise kink, kind of porn without plot (LIES CAUSE IT HAS ONE THO??? LET !! ME !! BE !!) my boy's into paaaaaain can't help it it's canon, age-gap at first (reader is her 20's but again, vampire), public sex (it just happened), daily reminder to wrap it before you tap it PLEASE, p in v, choking, filthy mouth, pet names,

side notes — thought this could take place after days of the future past? au cause why nottttt ,,currently on ovulation season so bare with me,,, been a little missing cause i’m surviving going through the worst semester of my life at uni? interships are breaking my ass currently so well, here i am just existing, also, english’s not my first language and everyday i’m grateful for it, so any mistakes i’m not sorry in advance lol i’m also too lazy to correct once published.

He could swear the mansion got ten degrees hotter when you came in.

It’s inevitable. It’s this thing you carry, the way you move — Graceful, elegant, almost compelling as the air fills the room. It’s not public knowledge that you’re not a mutant itself, yet you’re presented like one, like you have healing factors and age painfully slow, but human after all, a subtle lie, one that can harm no one.

It’s safe to say you catch his attention in the most annoying way: How couldn’t you? All you do is this weird seduction he’s appealed to, whether you’re conscious or not it’s just captivating, an invisible force that even when you ignore it is there, there waiting for the perfect moment to flood every time you happen to be in the same room.

Captivating. That’s the word.

The room becomes smaller after, the air grows thicker, and it’s almost like a ticking bomb, the way you wouldn’t even look at his face while he’s noticeable pinning after Jean Grey, the mystery that surrounds you and he cannot seem to resolve no matter how much time he puts into it.

It’s like he's the plague. You don’t really try to exchange more than just a few words, only when it's needed and you cannot avoid him any longer, and he didn’t say anything at first, keeping his distance too cause he don’t see how you’d become friends, cause after all, what he could have in common with a girl that doesn't surpass the twenty years?

But soon he's upset about it, even when he doesn't really say anything out loud, it's a spike he cannot reach under his skin. You seem to become friends with anyone but him, mutant kids in your history lessons, the rest of the team, even the damn mailman when he delivered a package — You'd say hello like it's a long time lover or so, greeting people like they mean the world to you.

He has students now that are asking for a transfer from his class to yours cause it seems you're fun to be around, more like he is, and he fucking hates it.

It's fair to say it's been getting into his mind lately. That thing you do with your hair, twisting it in your index finger on a lock as you speak, the subtle red glow in your eyes he always catches by mistake, not enough fast to stop looking at you, pretending he didn't even see in your direction at first.

Tension. Logan just happens to hate tension.

In fact. He's almost sure your problem is personal, that you might hate him enough to act like he didn't exist at all, enough to avoid him like he was not there.

That's why it's just so weird.

When he finds himself walking down the hallway to the kitchen and he smells this cherry-scented aroma that settles under his nostrils, he changes the direction he's walking to, to instead, follow the path to the person that was silently smoking outside. Hiding. Maybe, a student he'll have to scold like the old man he was turning into.

No smoking in the mansion!

However, as the night is just settling, he doesn't recognize a little mutant, but instead happens to recognize you in the middle of the gardens of the mansion, close to the maze; escaping the comfort of the inside to enjoy a self-rolled cherry tobacco he has smelled before in the air. He's a victim mostly, cause his legs move on it's own as his mouth go dry, approaching you in silence.

"What do you want?" you ask when he's halfway there. And your tone is just cold as ever, not an ounce of feeling as he contemplates your side profile, the way the tobacco sticks out of your parted lips, seated on a bench hidden between bushes and trees — "Is Scott bitching about the smell going into the mansion already?"

No. He's not. But he doesn't have enough reasons to explain exactly why he's outside if you asked, why, all of sudden, he followed the scent of cherry knowing it was you the only one who carried a colts package in the pocket of every single jacket you wore, constantly asking Storm if she could hold on to the bag of filters for you while you rolled in the worst moments.

It's distracting, to say the least.

"Yeah," he quickly says, lying cause in reality he hasn't seen the guy in the whole day, yet it sounds like something he would say. "Do you happen to have another one of those to share?"

You don't talk much, hand reaching his as you offered him from your tobacco without a single word, the same that was placed between your lips and now was on his in what seemed to be something more intimate than what he'd like to admit, the cherry taste filling his lungs as they weirdly enough, shared a cig.

"Aren't you too young to be smoking?"

You laugh, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine cause he has never heard a sound quite like it, nothing that resembles that throaty, raspy sound that came out of your lips in amusement thanks to his words. He, out of all people, has never seen you like that — "And how old you think I am?"

He seems to think about it for a second, carefully picking his next words. Logan knows that women and their age are a tricky thing, you cannot say a number that's too compromising, nor act stupid and say something that's clearly not correct — "Not a day over twenty-two."

The answer pleases you, and he just knows he's wrong, but you don't seem bothered by it, instead, you nod pretending he's right, like he just got the answer right away.

He can see why everyone's switching classes now. Cheeky bastards.

"Twenty-two is not young at all, but i'm twenty-seven though," you say, and he scoffs at the statement, seeking for any change in your heartbeat, any sign of a lie. The strange thing happens when he cannot pick any heart at all, any sign of pulse.

"You are pretty young still," he says, against his age, you’re just starting out living—. "You don't look like you are twenty-seven at all."

"Cause I age slower than the rest," it's a practiced lie. One you know from repeating the same explanation over and over again, the priced answer of why you haven't changed a single bit in the past few years and made you a mutant — "I never looked my age."

Such a fucking liar. He doesn't need any heartbeats to confirm it cause deep down you are a terrible actress, he can see it so clear, how you're calculating every answer, thinking about the correct thing to say, the normal thing to say.

"Is that your thing?" he asks, playing pretend almost as bad as you do. Tilting his head to the side as he questions you — "Age slowly?"

"I have healing powers," you explain as he tossed you the joint once again. "My saliva kinds of help healing wounds. It's pretty boring."

"Boring" Logan repeats. The word itself sounds so damn fun in your lips it's contradicting. "That doesn’t sound really boring."

There's a moment of silence after that. Where you smoke in silence taking in the taste of the cherry, and he is having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that your lips also touched the side of the cigar he was smoking before, the plain lies you've been repeating over and over the last ten minutes.

It's almost infuriating. Makes his blood boil without question, he surely endures your treatment of silence, but being lied to? That's a whole different level.

“How old are you, kid?”

Your brows furrow in response, a clueless face. You are pulling out this show once again Logan don’t buy for a damn second. Something about the scrunch in your nose, the way you dismissed your own powers as if they weren’t enough. He knows it’s all a lie. He knows it even when he doesn’t really know you at all, when it’s the first time you’re truly speaking to him after your arrival to the mansion almost a year ago.

“How old you really are?”

You laugh at the question once again, and he just knows it, knows it when he sees you barely illuminated by the dim light of the moon, the act you always keep up, a web of tangled lies you have to be into— “Told you i'm twenty-seven already, didn't you hear?”

“Is it now?” he asks, amused by the sass, exhaling the smoke of the low-quality tobacco he doesn't understand why you're so invested in when passed it to him—. “Cause you don’t seem very convinced, it really sounds like bullshit to me.”

You're almost offended. By the look you give it's like the worst mistake he could ever make, yet you remain silent, not giving the satisfaction of an honest answer yet. Testing his patience like he did have one to begin with.

"Is that why I can’t hear your heartbeats, darlin'? Cause you age so slowly?”

The nickname scratches a part of your brain, and you hate him for it. The word rolls out of his tongue with an accent, smoking your cherry tobacco cause you happen to be nice.

“You can’t?” you’re good at faking it suddenly, at least, that's what he thinks when your brows furrow in alleged curiosity, stiffening your back, uncomfortable. “How weird.”

“Damn right it is” that's when you realize he knows you are lying. Even when you don’t talk much, even when you act all stiff and bothered when he’s close, he knows that you are fully invested in lying. In whatever twisted little lie you've planned, like it was your real life and not something you made up. “Are you going to tell me truth, then or do I have to find out? Does the professor know that you're lying?”

The smoke lingers in the air.

“How old are you?” he asks once again, demanding an honest answer this time — "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

You find his questions annoying, mostly cause he won't stop until he gets an answer, one that pleases him enough to leave you alone, the other part cause you happen to like the playful banter you two keep going, dangerously much. You don't hate attention it's clear, what you do hate it's the way he seemed to see pass the lie, to demand more even when he has no right to.

He enjoys being the one who's right though, Logan cannot help it. He's pleased to catch that look on your face who says everything but nothing at once, to have you where he wanted, almost at the edge of admitting a truth.

Is it payback because you've been stealing all of the little mutants from his class? He's jealous cause kids like being around you? It does not make much sense, but he is fully invested. Questioning all.

Even when you're outside, it seems like the air grows thicker. And Logan finds himself seeking for your breathing, cause he don't know nothing, nothing about you more than the fact you don't seem to have a heartbeat, or pulse and now, breathing.

“If you really are that eager to know, i'm a hundred and twenty-seven” the words float in the air for a while, and he's sure you're just messing with him, cause there's no way a pretty little face like yours had endured a century. “I've been alive for quite a while.”

He doesn't fully believe it first. Of course he doesn't. Logan's sure you're messing with him also, distracting him about your real age.

“And I supposed this do come from you slow aging powers” He tries to give you a point there, but it's difficult to be serious when you're just playing with him—. "How so?"

To be honest, you do have a little temper yourself, you've learned to stand up for yourself most of the time, so when you happen to notice he's teasing you, that he doesn't really believe you, you adopt this attitude of defense he notices as you shift over the wood you're seated in.

"No, it doesn't" you steal the joint from his hands to have a smoke yourself. "You really aren't as smart as I thought you were, huh?"

Do you happen to have a dead wish? His muscles tense beneath his shirt, and in contrast of his problem, you can hear it all. All the sounds his body makes when he's all bothered just by the beat of his heart, that annoying sound his bones make each time he moves.

"What are you?"

"That's it," the praising goes directly into his chest, the tone you use to tell him he's going in the right direction it feels just so right he forgets why he got mad in the first place—. "That's what you should be asking right there."

It's almost a shame having to admit he would also switch classes. That he would also go through all the paperwork himself without a second thought and that right there, is pathetic, but you're smiling at him as if you're encouraging the man to try harder, to find the answer himself, and fuck — He's old, too old, he's tired, he's in a bad mood as fucking usual, and he happens to dig a drink in the quiet of his own room, but he's pulled by something as equal as devastating as the gravity force, shoot towards you in pure need to have some answers even if he has to make you spit them.

"I find it strange, cause when you don't have a heartbeat, you aren't usually alive" Deep down he's fascinated, hazel eyes glues on your face trying to understand. He feels like he has it in the tip of his tongue waiting to leave his mouth as a catastrophic answer, but he doesn't find the right words.

"That's cause i'm not," you state it like it's something obvious. And just as he knows you're lying, this time, he knows you're telling the truth, blowing the smoke in his direction just to bother him — "Why do you think i'm teaching history after all huh?"

He hasn't seen it all, it seems.

Yeah.

He's losing it after that night.

It’s known that Logan has sleeping problems, but that night specifically he thinks about something else rather than what usually torments him, a truth he also has to keep a secret now that he's learned more about it.

See, Logan doesn't expect you to be really dead. Much less to hear what you are and have been hiding this whole time from the rest of the people in the mansion — He also learns that you feed on blood, that vampires are a common thing in the world and that he shouldn't, at least, be that surprised when he's a mutant in a world full of humans himself.

You are a folklore myth on small villages, stories in Rumania and horror character in films, so you don't blame him when as you spoke, he finally understands why you're so damn attractive, so damn seductive as you explained more about your way of living, some memories you've been keeping to yourself since being a vampire was so damn solitary, memories he listens to cause he knows what it's like, to be misunderstood, to be eternal, to be alone as well.

It makes the two of you grow closer by the next weeks. You now talked during broad daylight about random shit at first, about the war sometimes, about your condition as he refers to when people is around, eaves-dropping on what you two are talking so invested in. Friends.

Simple as that.

And it's safe to admit also that in the course of the next days, Logan Howlett is a fucking mess, and he knows it, but he won't do anything about it.

He won't flirt cause he knows you're a hell of a woman, in every good sense of the word, that he's way too damaged for a vampire even, for all kinds of people out there, and as much as he'd like to say anything, he values your attention, how you switched the attitude of acting like he didn't exist to be a friend, one that you came to share secrets with a cherry aroma glued in their skin.

It gets him insane, to the point he's no longer spending much time with Jean and people start to pick up on it as if he didn't have enough headaches already. He doesn't care. Shit you are not bothered by what people say, and to be honest, he cannot seem to care either.

At first, he's reluctant of keep on talking to you as normal as it is. He's not really invested in religious themes, but he sure admits you're a sin by all meanings, a religious experience of some kind if anyone asked him — He agrees with what he has heard also in the hallways. Innocent conversations of teens and their platonic crush on their teachers. You are pretty hot.

He's so interested in knowing more about you, about the nights you spend in Rumania, when you leave to Canada, the different lives you've lived across the years. He finds himself looking forward to share his stories too, weird enough, cause he's over two centuries himself and he just craves to talk about it with someone who also gets him in a deeper level, that weariness that fills your body when you age so long.

You got the best of immortality, and instead of feeling envious, Logan finds himself attracted to you so much like he's never been in his whole existence. Not at the point it happened with you at least.

By the end of the first month he knows your little treats. You use a lot of sunscreen, and avoid activities outside as much as you possibly can with those classic, tiny black sunglasses that hided you from the rays of the sun, always in the shadow so unapproachable; how you'd usually dismiss food offerings from anyone who's kind enough to even offer you something, and when you haven't fed well during the course of the week, you'd become the most maddening woman he'd ever met.

Maddening.

"What wrong with you, Leech?" Leech. You've been in such a bad mood lately that when he's seating next to you in another random smoking session outside, your fingers twitch, clearly pissed at the nickname after saying multiple times you don't like it.

"I'm not in the mood for plays now."

He can tell from before. When you talked to him that very morning and stared at the collar of his flannel for what it seemed a good, nice minute, he realizes the same moment that you were staring at that pulse point in his neck, where the flesh blood was pumping in his blood flow: You're hungry, as any living creature would be and at your own manner, in constant control as you fight the sense of hunger.

So instead, the mutant ask, like he always does when he’s curious about something that involves you:

"When did you last feed?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

That would explain it. You don't talk much about your meal plan, he knows the professor is in charge of all of that. You've told him about blood bags and hospitals, but he's not really aware of how constant you need to eat, how the blood supplies most of your energy, makes you stronger, gives you vitality, so Logan at first, don't really know what its like to not drink any blood in the course of two weeks.

"What happened with the blood bags from the Hospital?"

The mention of blood out loud seems to triggers you. A groan escaping your lips as you can swear you feel the taste in your mouth — "Don't know. Haven't seen a single one this week, Charles said something about next week, problems in the bank I guess."

You're clearly worked up. It's a new look he hasn't registered before, your hair is tangled in a less-composed look, and there's a slight shake in your hands as if you're going through withdrawal, deprived for what you needed the most.

"And animals?" he questions, trying to find a solution. “Can’t you eat a cat or something?”

"Like shit i'm going to feed from a fucking animal," you're almost immediately grossed out, scrunching your nose at the idea. "I can barely handle being so close to a damn human but animals? I'd rather fucking die this time for real, no waking up."

"That bad huh?" the mutant asks, taking a sip from the beer he sneaked outside, chucking lightly afterwards. "So you're a leech with elegant taste, huh? Of course you are."

"Clean blood is rare," you explain, rolling your eyes. It's inevitable. He knows you hate the nickname so much that he insists to keep on calling you that way just to get a reaction—. "Humans nowadays taste like dirt. They consume drugs among other substances, pills, food supplements, even damn vitamins, don’t get me started about blood diseases cause it gets me in a bad temper. Every single thing affects on your taste, even what you eat. It's all registered there. Clean, good blood is rare to find. Call me elegant, call me picky. It's a damn fact."

"And what about mutant blood?" he questions. And it seems like a mere phrase at first, one with no subtle tones, he’s usually curious about your nature so you don’t pay much attention as he spoke—. “You’re picky about mutants too?”

“No, i’ve never had a mutant before.” The truth is, you hate feeding from people, the act being something so intimate, so damn personal, you refrain yourself. Killing humans, picking a next victim to fed on, is considered now a treat you don't appreciate from your kind, making you steal from hospitals and any kind of blood bank before Charles offered you help. You haven't fed from a mutant, cause you avoided everyone equally, but you don't want to be rude about it. “You all smell different, but i’d be lying. Maybe yes, i’d be picky about it too, feeding is something intimate.”

It's an undeniable admission, and now that he's trying to be in your position, he would also be picky about someone's blood. Logan remains stoic cause he’s suddenly filled by the thought of something else, a glimpse of his own weird creativity he forces himself to push aside, to really suppress now that it's not the time or the moment.

“How do I smell?” It's too late to stop the words from coming out of his mouth when he asks her. And at first, is out of pure curiosity. He has never encountered a vampire in his life until you, let alone had someone talking about the subtle tastes of the blood being undead, so he doesn't want to let the opportunity slip — Of course he wants to know if an over two hundred mutant like himself would be as remotely good as a fresh, clean bag from the hospital.

"You stink like wet dog," he surely deserves it after all the times he’s been calling you a leech — "Like those cigars you tend to smoke, alcohol, and musk. It's similar as wood. That smell you got when you're in a forest and it's not raining but straight pouring."

"Is this a way of telling me i'd taste bad, peach?"

You make a mental note to let him know after you like peach way more than leech.

"If i'd found a human smelling like that, you won't be hearing from me anytime soon" you're just messing with him. A playful banter you enjoy more than ever, the distraction you needed to think in something else rather than the blood bags you craved so deeply — "Hell, i've would just walked the other way."

"So i'm taking you won't be feeding from me anytime soon."

It all takes a dark turn there. You're very aware of the tension the last month now that you talk to him in daily basis, but it’s just mere tension, nothing that ever goes beyond the limit. Logan has never said something to flirt with you despite the million chances he got, and he always remained like a friend, one that you enjoy spending time with now. Cannot be blamed when you're taken aback.

“Cat got your tongue, kiddo?” Man. You're about to whine about the name before you remember he is indeed, older than you are. Vampire or mutant.

"You want me to feed from you?"

He seems so willing when you ask. Even when you teased about his smell calling him a wet dog. He just seems so eager to let you just do it, try a mutant for the first time.

"Yeah," he dismisses it like it's not something so deep — "I doubt Charles is going to let you take a bite since you could clearly kill him, and I'm not sure the others would be pleased with the idea of you sinking your teeth in them, so yes. Me, leech."

Logan Howlett doesn't really smell bad. And you don't know why cause he has all the ingredients to fucking stink, yet, you'd call him interesting. That's what you thought when you find his pulse point again, the vein in his neck you looked earlier in the morning, thinking just as the same you were thinking now.

Of course you would feed from him. Is it a good thing to do? No, in any other circumstances you'd decline. He's your friend.

Now? You’re having a hard time.

"So I'm guessing that you're pleased with the idea, then," Real talk?, you just want to hear him say it. He doesn't talk much usually, but now that he's very vocal about what's on his mind, you have to take advantage of it—. "I'm not sure either. But I do think Storm may be interested too."

He seems content with the response, taking a long sip from his beer before adding — "Please, go and ask her so you're less annoying."

You're almost completely sure he doesn't find you annoying. You also don't care about Storm. And maybe he knows you're not going anywhere, that you're not moving.

"You really want me to bite you?"

"I dunno now, princess" he looks at you pleased now cause he got you where he wanted to, cause he managed to awake all the interest now that you're looking at him "Are you going to pull a Dracula on me?"

"No, i'm not going to suck you dry if that's what you're asking."

Logan chuckles. He's a damn masochist. It's been like that as long as he can remember. It may have to be with his healing powers cause he likes it more than usual, but the idea gets to his head soon enough, all falling so damn fast: Your breathing would be against his neck and he'd take the bite like a damn champ.

"Yeah I can handle you," he says, aroused. "You're not gonna hurt me if you take some blood. I'll be fine and you won't be a pain in the ass."

He acts so gruff about it but you hear the sound of his heartbeat already high enough to wake the entire mansion, his labored breathing since he suggested the idea himself. He digs it, strange enough. Thrives on the idea.

He's a grown man already, and he can take a little leech like yourself.

It's clear you're hungry, cause it doesn't take much for you to accept, nodding like you're defeated, like you just lost the war entirely, cause there's no many options here to take and even if it were, you are now interested in have him more than any other blood bag. In fact. To hell with the hospital.

"Okay."

It's a simple answer, and it sure works with him as you get close to him, the bench you always used to sit now seeming so small as you look around confirming you guys really are alone—. "You won't tell anyone?"

It's something stupid to ask, cause after all that time he has never said anything, keeping your secrets as if they were his own, saving you from weird questions people get sometimes as they didn't know much about you. He's clearly not going to say nothing at all.

"Are you going to stop whining for a second and just eat darlin'? Cause I might change my mind here."

He's feeling overload soon after.

You don’t need a formal invitation to lean closer to his neck.

There's no way to describe it also cause he has never seen something like that, never felt a similar sensation more than when he's fucking, the cold touch of your fingers in his chest, taunting the vein in his neck without a previous warning before leaning in even closer than before—. "Stay still" you demand, face close against his bare skin, only one goal in mind. "Don't move for a minute. Just-"

You cannot finish the sentence, and Logan can experience the sporadic pain of the bite first hand when your teeth finally sink in his neck, piercing the flesh so easily as you let the blood fill your mouth. He grunts at the sharp pain, his face contracting momentarily before it's replaced by a nice wave of pleasure, one that hits him right in the guts as he grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you against him, almost demanding you to be closer, to keep on taking what you want, what you've been craving for two weeks.

When did he turned into this perverted sick? Getting off by something so primal as the fact you're feasting on him.

The feeling of your lips and the clear suck you gave when feeding are sending him into a spiral, and to be honest, he didn't expect to be so devastated by you, by the way your fingers stay against his chest to prevent him from moving, pinning the mutant between the wood bench and yourself so he won’t move, won’t do anything unless you want him to,pressing on the wound to draw more blood out.

"You heal so damn fast," you complain, looking at the traces of your bite with an unpleased face as they disappeared on his skin as fast as you created them.

"Then bite me again. I don't care."

You chuckle before leaning once again, and you can feel how the air grows hotter than how it was usually, the shift on his breathing as you bite him again, pressing on the wounds once again just to suck.

And you’re hungry, it’s the whole deal. His taste differs from what you believe at first, a huge change from what humans taste like, from what you’re used to deal with in hospitals. There’s a subtle taste of alcohol yes, but it mixes good with the sweet taste of honey, the weird taste you cannot put into words. It must be a mutant thing for sure cause it’s thicker than usual, a mix of flavors that explode in your tongue.

The headache you suffered from the whole week seems to dissapear as you drink in, feeding the monster you responded to in your stomach, demanding you to make him bleed more, to satisfy yourself until you can’t have any more.

Logan, on the other hand, is really fighting against his very own war.

You’re already close enough, but he just wants you damn closer, as much as he possibly can. It’s clear that well, it hurts slightly, but he has endured much worse, means nothing when it’s the pleasure that comes with it who strikes on his body, the light sucking, the idea you’re full of his blood, that you are not on trouble as you were before thanks to him. All because of him.

He's not used to acts on his impulses, but he does it anyway.

"C'mere" he says in a strangled voice, Logan's having no trouble moving you around, grabbing you by the hips to make you straddle him, keeping you glued to his neck as he doesn't want to disturb you—. "You really are a pretty leech, huh?”

You hum against his skin, pleased at the contact, and when he realizes you’re not complaining about his actions, he let his fingers grip your tights, keeping you against him.

You can hear him making this sound, quite like a moan but not exactly when you’re licking the holes you left in his skin, he does heal fast and don’t need any of your help when you’re done, but you coat his skin with your saliva anyway just to speed up the process, cause you want to do it, looking down to him after to check if he’s pale or nearly dead. You never really know.

And Logan himself is just fine cause his fingers gather the blood under your lip when he takes the sight of you sitting in his lap as the pearly white rays of moonlight makes your skin shine, and he pushes them inside your mouth so you don't waste any drop of what it can be considered food.

"So what's the final verdict?" he asks as his hands are now grabbing your tights, there's something so intimate about the moment, so personal, hot as he presses his fingers against the flesh of your muscles, he understand what you said before—. "Do I taste like utter shit?"

"Well, i’d need another taste to have my final decision" he laughs, and he don't really laugh often so the unexpected sound sends a shiver down your spine now that you’ve heard the sound quite a while now—. "Not much, just a little."

“Have you fill then, peach” He encourages you. “I want you full so you don’t whine the rest of the week.”

You don’t have any heartbeat, but if you did, it would be ragging in your ears at his words. At the warmth he’s spreading like a disease on her body that, despite being dead and cold, you can feel more than ever.

“I like peach,” you admit, this time pressing a soft kiss before directly hurt him—. “Leech is annoying.”

He’s going to say something, tease you about it maybe but he’s interrupted by the nice feeling of what he considers are your fangs tearing his skin apart, familiarity hitting him all sudden as he moans, a rough sound that comes from the deep of his throat, hands coming down to squeeze your ass, making you gasp against his neck when you experience the aching need physically forming in his pants.

“Still,” you say, concentrated on not allowing the wounds to close. But at the lack of complaints on what he's doing, Logan’s hands kept wandering around, making you move against his now clearly stiffed cock—. “Fuck’s sake I said still.”

“Stop being a damn brat. You can eat while I move you,” he grunts annoyed, shoving you against him, the friction of his jeans against the thin fabric of your shorts is enough to keep you quiet: Feeding from a stranger and feeding from a person you’re attracted to are two different things, especially in the position you find yourself in. “You don’t have to do anything. Quit whining about it.”

In response, your fingers press against the wound, not caring if it hurts or if it bothers him, but just enough to get him to bleed more and prevent the cut from closing, lapping at the blood that gathered over his collarbone, staining his white tank before you could even avoid it.

Your fingers grab the fabric just to pull it slightly down so it won't bother you, and the deep sound his chest make when he mocks about your desperation is stuck on your brain for the next couple of minutes, indulging in his taste, shutting up the rest of the world.

A moan comes out of your lips, muffling it against his skin. You're too zoomed out to hear it, but he's on a hell of a ride too, moaning as he demands more. It's been a while since the last time you did something like that, combine the pleasure of something as primal as eating with a mundane activity like sex, so you kind of forgot how good it felt, blaming yourself from depriving from something so needed.

"Do you always get this turned on when someone bites you?"

"No" Logan answers as you finish. He's rock hard beneath you, and he lets you know it when he's controlling the movement of your hips, working you against him at a slow pace—. "See, the woman i'm trying to seduce don't usually bite me, nor make me their main dinner plate."

You whine at the friction.

He looks down to the cause of all his damn problems just to notice his pants being damped with nothing but a physical form of need, soothing the uncomfortable fabric of his blue jeans — "So wet for me already, you’re making a damn mess, do you always get this turned on when feeding?"

Cheeky bastard.

He's using your own words against you, and you cannot be less bothered as you laugh softly, licking your lips only cause you know there's dried blood in them, drowned in his smell, the honey taste that lingered in your mouth.

“No, I don’t.”

At the sight, Logan's hand grabs your jaw in a rough movement, making you look at him before making you kiss him, deepening the contact as fast as you give him the chance. His tongue is soon invading your bucal cavity as he takes control of it, slow, intense and needy, as if he was holding on so much time before giving in to his own desires.

It is something like that.

You don't need to breathe in daily basis, but there's a burning sensation in your chest of wanting, of infinite lust you've been also experiencing by yourself.

The old mutant can taste his own blood in your mouth, a metallic taste as he keeps on kissing you until your lips are pink and puffed. He has thought so much about it that now that he has the opportunity, he devours as if he's a starved man having his first meal in what seems are ages.

"You didn't tell me if I tasted bad."

You think about it for a second.

"I'm afraid you're a rare breed cause it doesn't make any sense" You don't need any help now moving, cause you're rolling your hips on top of him at your own pace, allowing him to use his hands for something else—. “You have all the ingredients to taste like shit, but it's nothing but the contrary, even better than the fucking blood bags.”

“Sounds like your going to make me your meal plan, darlin. I’m here offering you a hand and you just take everything,” — “Such a greedy little vampire.”

He doesn't seem to care though, same as before he's nothing but willing to let you take everything as much as he tries to bark about it. He's more worried about his hands now that they're sliding down your oversized shirt, tracing patterns over your stomach, his touch so hot against your usually cold temperature.

"Logan," you whine,— "Someone can see us out here."

"Now you care about that?" his hazel eyes are a shade darker when he speaks. "After you're nice and full of my blood?"

His hands are big enough to take your whole cunt, allowing his digits to roam over the fabric of your underwear, almost thanking you for using those loosened pajama shorts he has seen before that very night as he just takes the fabric and pull it to the side.

"Nobody is going to see us. It's late and everyone's sleeping, leech" he teases you, and you cannot bring yourself to care about the nickname at the feeling of his hand taunting you from over the fabric—. "If you can bite me here outside, you might as well take my cock here too."

You cannot battle against that. You're deep in whatever spell he puts you into, giving in to the attraction and the tension that now needs to be taken care of. Logan's fingers touch you in nothing but experience, cause he knows how to please after so much time alive, how much pressure he needs to apply to leave you plain dumb, pliable for him.

"D'you think I need to stretch you out before fucking you?" he asks against your neck after leaving a reasonable-sized hickey in the zone, he likes the idea of people finding out about what you've been doing with him the next morning. "Or you're a big girl and can take me all by yourself?"

He'd like to take your time with you. Thoroughly enjoy you as much as he wants to, let everyone know you're his now, that you're shuddering thanks to him only, but he's too needy for that, too deprived of you to take his time.

"I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours and talk to me," he demands, coming up to look at your face while torturing you, his index and middle finger rubbing your clit from over the underwear—. "I'm not properly touching you yet and you're losing it already, peach. C'mon, you can talk to me still."

"I can take you," you say in a strangled voice. "Please Logan, please."

It's the plea of your tone that gets him, the soft begging of an ache he can only soothe, your face while you ask for more, not aware of anything else but him.

"Please what?"

"Please just fuck me already," you ask in frustration—. "I just need you to fill me up for a damn while."

You are starting to love the sound of his laugh. The deep sound he makes when he’s really enjoying something, his voice in damn general.

"Be a good little vampire" He says in a gentle tone. Logan’s trying to be kind even when his touch is so rough. "Unbuckle my pants and take my cock out. My hands are busy now, and you can do it yourself."

He is busy indeed. Toying with your underwear being the only thing that’s keeping him from the direct contact, pushing the fabric against your hole as it works as a barrier, preventing his digits to fuck you as he’d like to. He’s busy keeping you in place, preventing you from downright melt as your hands came up to unbuckle his belt first, the sound of the metal as it moves filling the air for a couple of seconds before you put all your attention in the button of his jeans, the zipper coming down with the force you’re using.

“Yeah baby,” he praises—. “You’re doing so good, keep going.”

When you pull the fabric of his briefs down, he’s already leaking for you, pink head, slightly curved to the side, moaning, erratically how much he needs your hands on him, how you're wet and ready for his cock. You close your fist around him, stroking slowly as your hips lift up enough to position yourself on top of him.

He’s big. Damn fucking right he is, you’d expected it from before cause sometimes you swear you can see his full length in his jeans, but taking him in your hand is a struggle but itself.

“Are you going to take me yourself or do you need my help? I know you can.”

Despite his words, he does help. Grabbing the black fabric of your underwear to finally make it to the side, the tip of his dick pushing against your clit before he's the one to place it in your leaky hole, forcing himself slowly, giving you time to take him in, inch by inch.

“Good girl," he says, head rolling backwards for a brief moment as he experiences the warm sensation of your walls surrounding him, clenching against his cock as he keeps one hand on your hip, helping you as you lower yourself over him. "Let me look at you.”

His fingers grab your jaw, squeezing you as he makes you look back at him, pushing you once again as you holded a loud moan. He's stretching you at his need.

"One more time," he begs. "One more time and you got it, peach. You're almost there."

Jesus fuck. You can feel yourself getting dizzy. You've drank a lot of blood and you're now overwhelmed by this intense pleasure that formed in your lower stomach, gathering there and waiting for the perfect moment to explode—. "Fuck I-"

Logan's pampering you with kisses as a mere distraction, his lips travelling through your neck to your collarbone before you're finally seated on top of him, a muffled moan you need to shut filling the calm of the night.

"Fuck you're tight," he exhales, and he's lost in the sensation, the way your velvety walls welcome him inside. He stays still for a moment, giving you time to adjust, to make you the one who starts moving on top of him.

You can see his veins popping up. All over his chest and coming down to his shoulders and his arms, and god gracious — He smells so fucking good you’re tempted to ask if you can have a bite again.

The moment feels longer than usual, the seconds pass slowly as you stay there. Logan’s hands are just touching your skin from under your oversized t-shirt, taking in the low moans you gave him, the almost perceptible whispers as you get used to him, to his size.

He likes the intimacy of it, the bliss. Man you look so pretty in his lap when the light of the moon is stripping you all to his eyes, even if you’re fully dressed an he’s seated in a damn bench, he cannot enjoy it more, pulling you in for a needy kiss, one that is rougher than the first one and leads you to move inevitably.

His cock pushes past that nice spot inside, and the friction is enough to make you move again, rocking your hips at a slow pace for a few seconds. The sound of your moans is silenced by his demanding kisses, and now that he knows you can handle him, his grip on your hips turn more firm now, squeezing the skin there so he can control your speed, the rythm of your movements now faster than before.

“Shh, don’t whine” what he lacks of vocal usually, he pours it all in just fucking, talking you through it when he feels you’re being too loud—. “Do you want to wake the others? We can’t have them seeing you like this, all fed up and cock-drunk.”

“Let me bite you again,” you ask soon enough. And it takes a lot to do it, cause you’re doing it out of pure greed, cause you can’t have enough.

“Take whatever you want, leech, just don’t make me faint” he jokes, his panted breathing betraying him as he moans, incredibly interested in the idea—. “Want to be conscious when you cum all over my dick.”

Logan’s sure your eyes glisten in a red color as you lean over his neck. And this time is less affectionate, much less gentle as you finally bite him again, teeth piercing the flesh so easily his hips jolts against you in response of the sharp pain your fangs create, the warm sensation of his blood in contrast of your cold touch, tongue-licking all you get from him.

And fuck it feels good.

He shrudders beneath you, shaking his head just slightly at reflex of pain before continue working his way with you, placing his hand between your tights as he lets his fingers rub on your sensitive clit, just enough to make you bite on his neck harder, the lewd sounds of your cunt taking him between holded moans as you suck on his neck.

“That’s it taking me so good,” He praises — “You like that, princess? Like how you’re full of me?”

You hum against his skin. The blood coates your chin as it goes down through his chest, staining his white tank for a couple of seconds before the holes your teeth made finally closes on their own.

It’s pure ecstasy. He can feel it when you clenching around his cock, cheeks red from his blood going now through your system, his vitality, his energy.

You can feel him fucking everywhere. So when you kiss him it’s all teeth, bite and his blood.

The pleasure’s taking control of you now, and Logan’s dizzy from the blood loss, his body covered now in sweat as his words slur together, not threading any coherent thought.

“That’s it,” he says, making you bounce of his cock. “Gonna’ have you in my room then, all spread out f’me.”

His hand wrap around your neck tightly, keeping the direct contact as he chokes you. Shit. You don’t need to say a word. Logan already got you.

“James-” he’s too deep to question why you’re using that name with him. How you facade is crushing down now as you let go.

When your body trembles on top of him he’s already cumming too, the squeeze on his cock sufficent to fuck him up personally, his bruising grip on your hips shoving you as deep as he possibly can as his release hits him like a brick falling from the damn sky.

He lets you work for it, ride each second of your high, milk him dry as a white circle of his own cum mixed with your juices coated the base of his cock, his underwear now slick with your orgasm.

He’s struggling to breathe, to properly say something as you’re finally coming down from your peak, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“Did you called me James?” he questions, and you’re a damn bad liar, cause he knows imediately you’re hidding something cause of the look on your face—. “Do we know each other? From before.”

You don’t know how to respond at first, at least, cause you cannot lie in a position like that now.

“Well uh. It’s quite a long story here.”

Before you can continue he gets up, making you wrap your legs around his hips before stsrting to walk to the mansion.

“Logan-” you say in a strangled moan yourself, still sensitive as he’s balls-deep inside you.

“It will be less than two minutes, leech” he responds gruffily,— “Need to get you into my room so I can enjoy you the rest of the night, and you can tell me all of it.”

He don’t care if he’s bloody or a damn mess as he squeezes your ass climbing up the stairs, much less if anyone see the two of you in that state.

“I want to hear all the details, Cause I have a weird feeling that this has happened before.”

You cannot find a reasonable excuse to say no as the man’s already reaching the second floor.

Logan’s fucked after that night. When he learned about you and all that you were before, weirdly connected through the decades.

It must be the bite isn’t? Shit. He’s more in sync than ever now that you’ve been feeding from him a lot the last few weeks.

Ah. You fucking leech.

[kukurubean]

personal update

Hi! Hello! I'm sorry I haven't been very personable lately. A lot of you probably know I have been struggling with my health. Which has been going on for. nearly 5 years now. And I've just steadily gotten worse and worse, lol,

Anyway. I wanted to post an update to say I may have finally hit a breakthrough. 🥲🤞

I have some sort of fun wombo-combo of about 3 or 4 conditions trying to destroy me all at once, so every treatment I've tried (which isn't actually a lot, since there are no real treatments for what I have and most doctors don't want to deal with it) has done nothing and I have also been to just about every kind of medical specialist under the sun. I still get nightmares over the disaster that was traveling all the way to Mayo Clinic and I've been trying to pick up the pieces ever since.

My main doctor right now is a rheumatologist who I think I haunt at night. I've stumped him for what seems like the first time in his life. But he's trying harder than anyone else I've had before. Everyone else sent me away at this point lol

But this update comes after I had a "fuck it" moment and decided to once again apply to the big hospital nearby, because apparently I am somehow on their roster after being rejected over and over for several years now 🤪 (I think it's because of an echocardiogram I did on one of their campuses.)

Anywho, we managed to find a doctor willing to prescribe me a drug could help me feel human again. I've been to about 3 neurologists over this nonsense and no one was willing to jump through the hoops for it because it is, admittedly, an absolute pain in the ass to prescribe. It's called Xywav and it's not only a highly controlled substance but also the only damn drug of its type on the market. So you can only imagine the gerrymandering.

He's sending me to another doctor first, just to see if this other guy can offer any insight into wtf is wrong with me, but if he doesn't suggest anything else I should finally be on track to try it! I obviously don't know if it will work for me but it's the only decent bet I have left. If it doesn't work I am going to cry for about 3 months straight so please help me manifest this

[theoneandonlysemla]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @thequeenofthewinter and @skyrim-forever

Tagging: @ladytanithia @ladytanithia @tiredela @dirty-bosmer and anyone else, I'm tired and can't really think.

So, I'm back from my vacation in Denmark with renewed loathing for my work ( @did3lphis knows what I'm talking about). I'm so awfully tired, could do nothing but sleep and can't find any motivation to write on my chapter or anything else. Also, vibes are off.

Totally unrelated: Does anyone have recommendations for music to write an assassination scene (like witnessing one) to?

Anyway, I did fabricate something in Denmark and have a longer part (because we need context) for you to read. Little info on that: Morotar has arrived at an Inn in Shore's Stone (that I totally made up) and is glad to get a bed after over a week of camping. The inkeeper is not that glad to have a Thalmor in his tavern. Anyway, great chance for Morotar to show that he is, in fact, an ass:

This taproom too was deserted, not a sign of guest or even the innkeeper. A bar stood on the gable end of the dwelling, so he crossed the room, spying into the darkness and strained his ears for any possible sounds. Nothing, only a child’s doll, lay in a corner. Reaching the counter, he peeked around the corner. Light filtered through the gap in an ajar door, a sign of life.

“Hello?” he spoke into the silence, hearing nothing in return.

His hands rested on the countertop, the fingers of his right drumming with impatience. Unconsciously, he lowered his eyebrows and wrinkled his mouth. He wanted nothing more than a warm bed and having to wait now was driving him mad. “Someone there?” His voice echoed in the emptiness of the taproom. A chair scratched over the floorboards; steps sounded. The light strip between door and frame disappeared for a brief moment, then the door swung open. A man stepped out, his hair thinning and his nose the form of a misshaped potato. As his view found his new customer, he stopped and eyed the Altmer before him, eyes narrowed in animosity. “We don’t serve vermin like you here,” he uttered hoarse, mucus stuck in his throat. Morotar closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath. Was he going to have to have the same discussion in the east of Skyrim every time he wanted to rent a room? Long ago he had given up trying to reason with the tavern owners and explain his situation to them. Only clear words were of any use with those kinds of people. Instead of reacting to the man’s offence, he pulled up a barstool and sat down. From under his hood, he glanced at the man. It was difficult to put a finger on, but he may be Imperial of origin. Too short for a Nord, the tone of his skin a touch to much of an olive undertone. “I’d like an ale, if you don’t mind,” he said, his voice bordering on monotony but still housing a friendly undertone. “Piss of to Riften and see if the thieves will give you any,” the man spat, still standing in the frame of the door. “Careful,” he warned him, turning his head to stare directly in his eyes. “How’s the wife? The girl?” All colour left the man’s face and he became as pale as a ghost, staring aghast at the Altmer. It had been easy to make that guess; the doll was a clear indication. But that, the man did not know, and he now thought Morotar knew things about him. That the Thalmor knew about him and his family. “Good,” he breathed and finally got going. He rummaged under the bar, pulled out a bottle of ale and placed it in front of Morotar. As he did so, he kept his distance, his hand trembling. “My, thank you!” He flicked the cork out of the bottle and took a sip. Bitterness and the flavour of hops caressed his palate and he looked at the bottle with satisfaction.          “Anything to add?” he continued, piercing the Imperial with his glare.

[moonchild-in-blue]

Not to get mushy but. Have you thought about how lucky we all are for being here right now? Like, how many of us struggled so hard before, to the point of nearly giving up? And yet we're here??

What are the odds of a bunch of random weirdos all over the world happen to get into the same bands, and be active in a equally weird, supposedly "dead" social media, at the same time? And just happen to be "just" brave enough to talk to someone, and another one, and another one?

I mean really. Have you thought about it? This just doesn't really happen like that. There's so many of you I consider genuine friends. So many of us that have or will meet irl. Like??? Hello ??? This is crazy!! Genuinely bonkers!!! Idk man, I'm super in my feels and I appreciate tf out of you all.

I mean, wow. How lucky I am to be here right now and be your friend. Yall are so neat and cute and interesting and cool and precious, like WOW. I'm glad we made it so far guys. Let's be alive for a long time 🥹💙

[ffc1cb]

i’ve always found it peculiar how during meeting the chargers cutscene the game just assumes your character automatically understands what krem is talking about when he mentions binding (though, granted, it’s all very unsubtle). like, this is a roleplaying game. what if i want to play a character who just doesn’t get it

[socially-awkward-chocobo]

Happy Kagepro Day!!!

[witchspeka]

I dont think Mob is naive as much as he's socially unaware, like the reason why he trusts Reigen so blindly is a bit more complex than just him being naive

Cause Mob reached out to Reigen because he was desperate to find someone like him, someone who understood his psychic specific issues, someone that could truly know what he's feeling and going through and give him guidance and support

Post incident Mob's thinking process was something along the lines of my powers hurt people -> my powers are bad -> my powers (my emotions, my instincts, myself) cannot be trusted

So he lost all confidence and trust in his own actions, resigning to being as passive as possible to avoid any further damage to anyone else, thus he started doubting his own perception of reality too

He's a kid already struggling with being ostracised for being socially inept, who just got traumatised and all of his insecurity increased by the tenfold, he doesn't know how to process what he's going through. He needs help.

And here comes Reigen, seemingly reliable, a responsible adult in a child's eyes, someone who claims he can understand him

Even tho Reigen doesnt. But it doesn't matter, because Mob finds comfort in his words and takes them to heart

Even if Reigen doesn't fully get it, even if he doesn't see the bigger picture, even if his advice isn't always the best

Eventually, Mob grows up, realises Reigen isn't as honest as he seemed through his 11 year old perspective, but like most things, he refuses to acknowledge it on a deeper level

Mob knows, but never tells Reigen, never thinks about what all those lies mean to him (ofc until he forces himself to face those doubts regarding Reigen, to properly acknowledge both of their flaws and accept them as they are, I should scream into the void about Confession Arc more God)

Due to his lack of trust in himself, Mob has relied on Reigen for years now to shape his moral compass, his thoughts, his decisions

Because well, Reigen lies, sure, but he isnt a bad person. When he hurts Mob, it isn't intentional or with ill intent, he still wants the best for him, what's the issue?

Except that it stunts Mob's growth. He doesn't develop as a person, doesn't have goals or wishes or ambitions, can't make choices on his own, he doesn't even let himself acknowledge his own emotions, he refuses to let himself exist

But Mob realises in time that he wants more than that, he wants to become better and be independent and feel again

Still, he puts the acknowledgement of the lies on hold for as long as he can, unwilling to question the way things are

This can make him feel a little naive, he constantly relies on Reigen and trusts his decisions and raises questions rarely until separation arc when he finally puts his foot down

And I do think that moment is the most resounding proof we have that Mob knows and allows himself to be used by Reigen, not wanting to shake the status quo, until he gets fed up

I mentioned the social ineptitude at the beggining but idk if I should even elaborate on that, you've watched the show, you know what I mean

He's blunt and can't read social cues or tonality that well and can't speak in front of crowds and is overall pretty awkward and I do think some people conflate that with naivety

Mob is still a child, he doesnt fully understand how the world works at the ripe age of 14 years old, but some folks take that as him being inherently naive/innocent/whatever which I don't find true

[slurpyboii]

People blaming the leakers for all the misinfo going around about the last chapter but A: their translation wasn't even that off, some bitches just can't read things and comprehend them at the same time and B: obv they're gonna have slight mistranslations did you see the bs that happened with last chapters leaks lmao??? Also it's literally one guy translating everything on the spot the moment he sees it, bro is not a professional and is just doing this because he wants to; some of you people act like you could do better as if the most japanese you speak isn't "kawaii" and "baka"

[sunsetzer]

On one hand, I want a final fantasy 6 remake, because the game is criminally underrated and the amount of fan content (which is all absolutely fantastic btw) is Not Enough for my neurodivergent, hyperfixating brain.

On the other hand, that would inevitably encourage more people to join the fandom, which would be great, except it seems these days the bigger a fandom gets the more toxic it becomes, and I really like what we have going on over here in our little corner. We all just love the game and its characters and nobody fights about who should and shouldn't date who or who you shouldn't like because they're ~problematique~. Nobody's trying to make one ship morally better than another, nobody's calling anyone names or threatening to doxx people who don't agree with their opinions. It's so peaceful and I love that for us. We're just vibing. Moisturized. Unbothered. In our lane. Flourishing.

[whos-hotter-jjba]

Maybe do the PHFB Fugo group with Sheila E, and uh…. oh what’s his name, Murolo? I can’t remember if there was anyone else in the protagonist group. Not sure if it’s worth doing cause I’m 99% sure Fugo would win but I would still vote Sheila E because she’s so underrated as a character and also her stand <3

Sure! That's a great idea :)