#and because I'm fairly good at character descriptions

[x-press-it]

Devilish Desires 2/9?

Dangerous Temptations, Irresistible Touch 🎞️❤️‍🔥🌹🖤💻🖱️

Sub!Logan Howlett x Dom!OC (They/Them)

Summary: Logan, typically guarded and dominant, finds himself captivated by E, a mysterious being with a devilish allure and ancient presence that challenges his control.

Context: This story unfolds 'within' the "Days of Future Past" new timeline, during Logan's early years as a history teacher at Xavier’s School. It’s set well before his consciousness from the original timeline reconnects with him in 2023, as seen at the film’s end.

Content Warnings (for the whole story): Smut 18+ (Dry humping, Edging, Unprotected p in v.) - Dom!Logan into Sub!Logan - Pet Names (Good boy, pretty boy, pet, pup, amongst others...) reversed age gap (Logan is younger) - OC Notes: Established name, backstory, powers, fighting style, female body but gender fluid character (Logan misgender them at first because he doesn't know, even in the descriptions) - Fluff with Dark Undertones: Emotional tension and possessive affection - Worship Themes: Religious imagery, reverent language and awe - Ancient Mysticism: References to otherworldly or demonic presence - Mental Health: Power dynamics, personal vulnerabilities - Trope: Rivals to lovers. I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Got very inspired by sub!Logan and repeated listening of "Between wind and water" by Hael. Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post. If you know who made the picture, tell me so I can credit them - Click on the divider to find the creator. Also this was meant to be an imagine turned into a full story. Just so you know, some chapters are very short, other are long. I'm in the process of editing/writing/rewriting parts so I'll post a chapter everytime I have one fully edited. Get ready for some push and pull.

Previously: in Devilish Desires

Chapters: 2/9?

Word Count: 5.1K / 30K+ for now

The smell of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air, thick and rich. Logan leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his usual black drink steaming beside him. This was his morning ritual—his quiet moment before the mansion came to life. It was the one part of the day he could claim as his own, a sliver of peace amid the chaos.

Then he heard her before he saw her. The soft click of polished shoes on the tile floor, a subtle shift in the air, and a scent that was both unfamiliar and intoxicating. It unsettled him, that scent—it reminded him of something dangerous, something he couldn’t quite place, out of time, ethereal.

E stepped into the kitchen, moving with that effortless grace that always put Logan on edge. Their sharp blue eyes scanned the room before they approached the coffee pot, casual, composed, like they belonged in every space they entered.

Logan’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure what it was about her that got under his skin. Maybe it was how she moved, like a predator—silent, sure, and entirely aware of her surroundings. Or maybe it was the way she didn’t acknowledge him with the same apprehension or deference others showed. No fear, no caution. Just… presence.

They poured their coffee—black, just like his—and took a long sip, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of their lips as they leaned against the counter opposite him. The air between them thickened. For a second, their eyes met, and Logan felt the weight of her gaze, heavy and searching, like she was peeling back his layers one by one.

He grunted, turning his attention back to his mug, refusing to acknowledge the sudden prickle of heat crawling up his neck. But E didn’t need him to say anything. They felt it—the way his focus shifted, however briefly—and they drank it in. It was like fuel to them, feeding something deep inside, something dark and hungry.

“You always this quiet in the mornings?” E finally broke the silence, their voice smooth, too smooth, like they were toying with him, testing boundaries he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

Logan’s grip on his mug tightened. He didn’t like how she talked, like she knew something he didn’t, like this was a game and she already had the upper hand. “When I got nothin’ to say,” he muttered, keeping his eyes trained on the dark liquid in front of him.

E made a soft sound, almost a hum, taking another sip of their coffee. Their eyes never left him, as if they were studying him, waiting for something. “Strange. You strike me as someone with plenty on their mind.”

Logan’s gaze flicked up, his eyes meeting hers for a moment longer than he intended. She was watching him with an intensity that made the back of his neck tingle, amusement dancing in those bright, unflinching blue eyes. “You don’t know me,” he muttered.

“Don’t I?” E’s voice dipped lower, almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of something deeper, something more dangerous. They set their cup down, the movement deliberate, controlled, before stepping closer. Too close. Logan’s muscles tensed instinctively, his body coiled, ready, but for some reason, he didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

“You don’t like people seeing through you, do you, Mr Howlett?” Their voice was soft now, yet sharp enough to cut through the thick air between them. “It makes you uncomfortable.”

His brows furrowed, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as an old, familiar defense mechanism kicked in. “I don’t care what you think you see,” he growled, his voice gravelly, rough.

But E’s smirk widened, a flicker of something wicked glinting in their eyes. “Oh, but I do see plenty and it’s fascinating, really.” They leaned in even more, their voice a low purr, words wrapping around him like a net. “The way you try so hard to keep that mask up. Makes me wonder… what happens when it finally slips?”

Logan swallowed, his pulse quickening despite his best efforts to stay calm. He didn’t like this feeling—being out of control, the way she so easily slipped under his skin and played with his instincts. But damn if he wasn’t drawn in, hooked by something primal, something he hated to admit.

E’s eyes flicked over him, slowly, deliberately, as though they were savoring the conflict bubbling beneath his surface. “Don’t worry,” they whispered, leaning in closer, their breath warm against his ear. “I won’t bite. Not yet, anyway.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, every muscle in his body taut, every instinct telling him to move, to get away. But he stayed rooted to the spot, caught in whatever spell she’d cast over him. His breath hitched—barely noticeable, but E caught it. Of course they did. Their smirk deepened, a silent acknowledgment of their victory.

And just like that, they pulled back, their composure perfectly intact, as if the entire exchange had been nothing more than idle conversation. They picked up their coffee cup, taking one long sip, their eyes never leaving his.

“See you around, Logan,” they said, voice lilting with amusement as they turned to leave the kitchen.

Logan stood there, fists clenched, heat still simmering beneath his skin. He watched her go, tension radiating through his body as he tried to shake off the lingering effects of her presence. But he knew, deep down, that this wasn’t over. He was in deeper than he wanted to be—and he wasn’t sure if he could get out.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting warm golden rays over the garden, and for a moment, it almost felt peaceful. Logan jogged down the stone path, his muscles loose from the run, sweat clinging to his skin. The garden wasn’t a place he came often—too many damn flowers. But here, in this quiet stretch of the grounds, he could think. Or rather, try not to think. Fewer people, fewer distractions.

His boots hit the stone in a steady rhythm, the soft whisper of the breeze the only other sound. The air was fresh, almost cool, and he welcomed the solitude. For days now, he’d been trying to shake this nagging tension that had settled between his shoulder blades. It gnawed at him, an itch he couldn’t scratch, a restlessness that no amount of running seemed to ease.

As he rounded a corner, his steps faltered. She was there.

Sitting on one of the wrought iron benches, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders, a thick leather-bound book resting on her lap. The sun kissed her deep, radiant skin, glinting off the small obsidian bumps above her hairline, and for a moment, it seemed as if the light itself was drawn to her. Logan’s breath hitched—just for a second, but enough for her to notice. His senses sharpened, every instinct firing off in a way he couldn’t quite control, as if she was a predator waiting, calculating, and he’d just stepped into her line of sight.

She didn’t look up. But he knew she felt him. The air shifted around her, just the faintest change in posture. It was subtle, deliberate—the kind of thing he’d notice in the heat of a hunt. Her fingers turned the page slowly, like she wasn’t in a hurry. Like she had all the time in the world. Like she knew he was watching.

Logan gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep moving. His boots thudded against the ground louder now, as if the noise could drown out the unsettling quiet that coiled between them. He wouldn’t get drawn in again. Not today.

But as he passed, they tilted their head just enough to catch him in their peripheral vision. It was barely a glance, but it hit like a shot of whiskey straight to his gut. A shiver crawled down his spine, one he tried and failed to ignore. Against his better judgment, he glanced back. A mistake.

Their eyes met his, sharp and knowing. They didn’t smile—they didn’t need to. A flicker of something—satisfaction? amusement?—crossed their face, gone as quickly as it appeared. But it was enough to make Logan’s pulse quicken, enough to unsettle him.

“You always in a hurry, Logan?” Their voice slid into the air between them, smooth and teasing, like they already knew the answer. Their eyes had returned to the book, fingers trailing over the page, as though this conversation was just a casual aside to whatever had their attention.

Logan’s jaw clenched. He kept moving, even as something in his guts told him to stop. To engage. “Just trying to get some air,” he muttered, not slowing his stride, not letting her pull him in.

“Air, huh?” Their voice held that same amused lilt, like they were playing a game only they knew the rules to. “Funny, considering how tense you look.”

Damn it.

Logan stopped. He couldn’t help it. His muscles tightened under his skin, irritation flaring hot in his chest. He should’ve kept going, should’ve ignored her like he’d been trying to do since they first crossed paths. But there was something about the way she spoke, the way she prodded at him—casually, confidently—that made it impossible to walk away.

He turned slowly, narrowing his eyes at her. “What’s your point?”

Their eyes finally lifted from the book, locking onto his with an intensity that made his skin prickle. And there it was again—that hum in the air, electric, thick with something unsaid. Their gaze wasn’t just piercing; it was probing, searching for the crack in his defenses.

“My point…” they said softly, closing the book with a soft thud and setting it aside. They stood with deliberate ease, every movement slow, unhurried, as if they knew exactly how much space to take, how close to get without pushing too far. “…is that you seem restless. Distracted, even.”

Logan snorted, crossing his arms over his chest like it could shield him from whatever she was about to say next. “You think too much, sweetheart.” The nickname came out sharp, deliberate, as if he were using it to keep her at arm's length, a verbal wall meant to keep her at bay.

But they ignored it and took a step forward instead, their smile small but dangerous. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re the one thinking too much.”

Another step, and Logan could feel the heat of her presence, the air between them charged with something he hated to admit was getting under his skin. She stopped just shy of invading his personal space, but close enough that the tension between them was palpable, a tight wire stretched too thin.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Their voice dropped lower, softer, like a secret meant only for him. “That tension… the way the air shifts when we’re in the same space.”

Logan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He hated how right she was. Hated how much he noticed her, how much his body reacted without his permission, as if some primal part of him recognized the threat—and the allure—she posed.

“I don’t feel anything,” he growled, the words rougher than he intended, betraying the lie he was trying to sell. He knew it. Hell, she knew it too.

Their lips curved into a knowing smile, slow and deliberate. “You’re lying.”

They didn’t need to step closer. Didn’t need to touch him. Just the way they said it, with that quiet confidence, made Logan’s blood simmer. His fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body coiled tight, ready to spring—but he couldn’t move. Not yet.

“Maybe one day,” they murmured, their voice dropping to a purr, “you’ll stop fighting it.” Their eyes never left his, watching, waiting for that crack in his armor, for the moment when he’d let something slip. And damn it, they were close. Too close.

Logan’s heart hammered in his chest, his pulse thudding in his ears. He wanted to walk away, to tear himself free of whatever hold she had on him, but his feet wouldn’t move. His fists clenched tighter, knuckles white.

“Don’t talk like you know me,” he muttered through gritted teeth, almost a growl.

Their smirk widened, just enough to send another shiver down his spine. “Oh, Logan,” they whispered, their tone dripping with something dark and sweet. “I know you better than you’d like to think.”

With that, they turned, their movements as smooth and deliberate as ever, leaving Logan standing there, chest tight, blood pounding, the weight of their presence lingering in the air like smoke after a fire.

He stood frozen, his breath coming in ragged pulls, his body still tense with that simmering heat they’d left behind. It took every ounce of willpower to shake off the feeling, to force himself to move again. But as he walked, the itch—the pull—they’d left behind only grew stronger, gnawing at him with every step.

And deep down, he knew this wouldn’t be the last time.

The sound of fists pounding against the heavy bag filled the gym, echoing off the walls, mingling with Logan’s low grunts as each strike landed. Sweat trickled down his back, soaking through his shirt, but he welcomed the burn in his muscles. It was another way to keep his head clear—pushing his body until he couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything but the raw force of each hit.

He shifted his stance, throwing another punch, harder this time, letting out a sharp breath. Just as he pulled back for another strike, the gym doors opened, drawing his eye.

There she was again.

Logan’s fists slowed, his attention shifting against his will as she walked in, crossing the room with purpose until she stopped at the bench press. He kept throwing punches at the bag, though his rhythm faltered. She eased under the bar, wrapping her hands around it before lifting a weight that would make most people hesitate, her body moving with a sleek, powerful grace that tugged at something deep in his chest. The bar rose and fell smoothly, muscles straining under her skin but never faltering, her breathing steady and focused.

He wasn’t easily impressed, but there was something about the way she moved—so precise, so damn effortless—that made him pause.

For a moment, he just watched, his brow furrowing slightly. Most people in the mansion wouldn’t touch that kind of weight, but she handled it like it was nothing. A flicker of surprise ran through him. Admiration, even.

He quickly shook it off.

E finished their set, their chest rising and falling as they sat up and wiped the sweat from their brow with the back of their hand. Logan felt the pull before he even realized it, his eyes meeting hers across the gym. Her blue eyes were sharp, sparkling with an intensity that sent a jolt through him. It felt like he’d stepped into her space—invaded it—even though he’d been there first.

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he forced himself to look away, turning back to the heavy bag. He swung again, his fist connecting with more force than necessary, trying to drown out the sudden spike of heat that had crept up his neck.

But it was too late. They’d already sensed it. That brief flicker of admiration—of unspoken curiosity—it rippled through them, feeding that bottomless hunger that simmered just beneath their surface.

Logan could feel it in the air, thick and electric, as if the room itself had shrunk around them. He could sense her gaze lingering on him, watching him, but he refused to meet it. His knuckles slammed into the bag again, harder, trying to force the tension out of his body. But all it did was stoke the fire that had been building for days now, ever since they first locked eyes.

Footsteps padded softly across the gym floor, and Logan cursed under his breath. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. She was getting closer—he could feel the heat of her presence, the way it shifted the air around him, making it harder to focus.

He kept his fists flying, trying to ignore the growing need that tightened in his chest, in his gut, making it damn near impossible to keep his head straight.

“Nice form.” Her voice was smooth, that teasing, silk-like tone threading through the space between them. Close enough now that it was impossible to ignore.

Logan didn’t respond, didn’t stop. His fists continued to pound the bag, but the rhythm had faltered, his focus slipping. He could feel her just behind him, standing too close. Close enough that he caught the faint scent of her sweat, her skin, mingling with his own.

“What is it about you that makes you go quiet every time I try to talk to you?,” they continued, circling slowly, casually, as if they weren’t even trying to get under his skin—but they were. Every move they made, every word, was deliberate. And it was working.

Logan finally stopped, his fists lowering as he exhaled sharply, his chest heaving. He still didn’t turn around, but he could feel her at his back, her gaze searing into him, making the hairs on his neck stand on end.

“Not in the mood,” he growled, his voice rougher than he intended.

“Oh, I think you are.” Their voice dropped deeper, the teasing edge more pronounced now, hinting at the heat pooling in his lower stomach. They stepped closer, just a fraction, but enough for Logan to feel her body heat at his back, enough to make his muscles coil with tension. “You’ve been in the mood for days now. Haven’t you?”

Logan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. Every ounce of reason urged him to move, to put some distance between them, but his feet stayed planted. His instincts—the feral part within him—wanted nothing more than to pull her closer. Damn it. Why the hell was it so hard to walk away from her?

“You’re real sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Logan bit out, finally turning to face her. His eyes were hard, but his chest felt tight with something else—something that felt like surrender, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.

They were standing close, too close, their lips quirking into that infuriatingly confident smile. “I’m sure of what I see,” they replied, their gaze flicking briefly to his chest and shoulders, before locking back onto his eyes. “And I see a man who’s barely hanging on by a thread.”

Logan’s breath hitched, his hands flexing at his sides. “You got no idea what’s goin’ on in here,” he muttered, tapping his temple with a rough finger.

Their smile widened just a fraction, head tilting as they stepped in closer, their voice dropping to a soft, lingering murmur. “Maybe.” They paused, closing their eyes for a heartbeat before looking back at him, deep satisfaction dancing on their face, as if savoring the richest taste. “But I can feel this.” Their gaze roamed over him once more, a spark of hunger lighting up their features as their hand rose—slowly—hovering just above his lower belly, palm not quite touching but close enough to stoke the fire burning in him through his t-shirt. “That delicious tension building inside you.” The words rolled off their tongue, each one deliberate, dragging out the moment. “The want…” Their voice dropped even lower. “The need…” Tantalizing. “I know exactly what you crave, Logan.” Their eyes locked onto his, piercing and intense, the heat coiling tight in his abdomen until his breath turned shallow.

Logan swallowed hard, knuckles white, his throat suddenly dry. His pulse raced, blood pounding in his ears. He should’ve pushed her back, should’ve told her to get lost—but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not when each of her words sent a shiver down his spine, not when the air between them was thick with tension, every inch of space charged with the unspoken need that he was trying—failing—to ignore.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he growled, but even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. Weak.

They leaned in just a little, their breath ghosting over his jaw. “Liar.”

And with that, E pulled away, their gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before turning back to the bench press. Logan stood there, rooted to the spot, watching them walk away, a noticeable bulge in his sweatpants. His fists were clenched at his side, his jaw tight, throat dry, heart hammering in his chest. Every muscle in his body was taut with the effort of holding himself together. The heat pooling low in his gut and that tension between his shoulder blades were getting worse by the second.

And he knew—damn it, he knew—they were right. He was losing control.

Logan’s boots barely made a sound as he moved through the library, the soft thud against the polished floors blending into the quiet. His intention had been simple—find Marie—but that goal dissolved the second he saw her. Seated under the warm glow of a desk lamp, she was surrounded by a stack of documents—papers, brown files—engrossed in whatever work she was doing.

The library, once expansive and peaceful, seemed to shrink in around him. Logan paused mid-step, his gaze lingering on the curve of her neck, tracing the line of her arm, down to the way her fingers moved with precision across the papers. Every gesture felt purposeful, calculated—yet there was an ease to it, a control that pulled him in.

He knew he should move. Keep walking. Find Marie and get the hell out of here.

But then E’s eyes met his. Calm, but laced with that flicker of hunger he knew too well. It twisted something deep inside him, tightening his gut, stirring up emotions he wasn’t ready to confront, stoking the fire he tried so hard to put down when he saw them. And the smirk—barely there, just a hint at the corner of their lips—felt like they’d caught him in the act, exposed something he hadn’t meant to reveal.

Logan’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as he snapped his gaze away. He turned quickly, moving deeper into the rows of shelves, needing space. Needing air.

But even as he tried to put distance between them, he couldn’t shake the feeling—the awareness that her eyes were still on him. It was like she had a direct line to whatever was churning inside him, pulling on it, drawing it out even when he was trying his damn hardest to push it down.

Behind him, E leaned back in their chair, fingers drumming lightly on the wood. That brief exchange had sent a ripple of satisfaction through them, a confirmation of something they’d suspected. Despite the tough act Logan was putting on, his resolve was breaking, little by little.

And that? That only made the game more interesting.

They returned to their papers, but they weren’t really focused. Not fully. They were waiting, ready for the next time his eyes would drift back their way, because they knew it was only a matter of time.

The kitchen was quiet, the soft hum of the fridge filling the space as Logan stepped inside, his eyes scanning the cabinets. It was late, the mansion long since settled into its usual nighttime lull, but for him, sleep still felt a long way off. He reached for an apple on the counter, rolling it between his fingers, the cool skin grounding him for a moment.

That’s when he caught it—familiar and unmistakable.

Spice wrapped in smoke.

His senses sharpened as he turned slightly, watching E glide into the room, moving around him with a deliberate ease. They flowed effortlessly, brushing against him just enough to send a jolt through his veins, lingering close as they reached for a cup from the shelf, not even looking his way. Each movement was unhurried, a silent dance that seemed to say the world outside could wait as long as they wanted it to.

Logan’s heart raced, the tension thickening in the air. He tried to focus on the apple, but his gaze kept drifting back to her. Finally, she poured steaming water over the tea leaves, the fragrant scent of jasmine lazily curling through the air, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. Their hair, still damp from a recent shower, fell in loose waves over their shoulders, glistening under the soft kitchen light, revealing the smooth, rounded tips of their obsidian horns that rose just above their hairline, looking a tiny bit longer than he remembered.

"Late-night snack?" Their voice, soft yet intimate, broke the stillness, the sound of it sending a faint shiver down his spine, already igniting the flames in him. She hadn’t even turned to look at him, but Logan knew she was aware of every move he made.

He grunted, biting into the apple with a sharp crunch. "Somethin' like that."

E stirred their tea, the metal spoon chiming softly against the mug, their attention fixed on the swirling liquid as if it held all the answers. Then they turned to face him, and their eyes met his. For a moment, Logan couldn’t look away. There was something unsettlingly perceptive in the way she watched him, as if she could see right through him, past the gruff exterior and down to the parts of himself he kept locked away. His chest tightened in response, and for just a moment, he hated it—hated how easily she could get under his skin without even trying.

"You seem restless." They took a slow sip of their tea, never breaking eye contact, their voice smooth, drawing him in like a riptide.

Logan shrugged, leaning against the counter, trying to shake off the weight of her gaze. "Got a lot on my mind."

They raised an eyebrow, a faint smile teasing the corners of their lips. "I bet you do."

The air between them thickened, heavy with tension that seemed to wrap itself around Logan, holding him in place. He could feel it—the pull she had on him, like an invisible force drawing him closer even though she hadn’t moved a muscle. It gnawed at him, that frustrating desire to pull away while feeling stuck, as if she held onto something deep inside him, a red thread connecting them, so tight she could pull at it whenever she wanted.

E set their cup down and stepped closer. It was subtle, just a shift in their stance, but Logan felt it—the warmth of her body, the way her presence seemed to fill the room. The soft, floral scent of jasmine with a hint of honey drifted between them, mingling with the heat of their closeness, and Logan’s grip on the apple tightened.

"You ever think about finding a way to… relax?" Their voice dropped, soft and teasing, the question hanging in the air like a tempting offer.

Logan narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching. He didn’t trust easily, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to start now. But the way she said it, the way those words curled around him, made him wonder if she meant every word that escaped her lips—innuendos included.

"I relax just fine," he muttered, taking another bite of the apple, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. Even he didn’t believe it.

E smiled, stepping even closer now. They leaned against the counter beside him, their fingers brushing the surface near his hand, not touching but close enough that Logan could feel the warmth radiating from her. His pulse quickened, a heat pooling low in his belly as his body betrayed him, reacting to her proximity.

"You keep playin' with fire," Logan warned, his voice rougher than usual, like he was fighting to keep himself together. But the usual edge was missing, softened by the heat building between them, the struggle to maintain his composure growing harder by the second.

Their eyes darkened, something deeper flickering beneath the surface as they held his gaze. "Maybe," they murmured, the words dripping with challenge. "Or maybe I’m just waiting to see if you’ll give in."

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. Logan could feel it—the tension tightening around them, pulling him in closer, like invisible threads wrapping around his resolve, threatening to snap it in two. He knew he should walk away, retreat to the safety of distance, but once again, he stood rooted to the spot, his body betraying him at every turn. The rational part of him screamed to break the moment, to turn away and shut her out like he always tried. But another part of him, the part that felt the heat of her body and the way her gaze made his heart pound, wasn’t so sure anymore.

E stepped back just enough to let the moment unravel, lifting their cup for a slow sip, their eyes holding his, unyielding. "I’m headed to bed," they whispered, casual words wrapped in something heavier, something that lingered in the space between them like an unspoken invitation. "You should too…" Their voice trailed off, hanging in the air for a couple of heartbeats before they finished, softer, almost suggestive. "Might do you some good."

Logan’s jaw tightened, his knuckles turning white around the apple. His eyes tracked her every movement as she turned and walked away, her hips swaying in that same deliberate, confident way they always did. But this time, there was a slowness to it, a knowing in the way she left him standing there, like she was daring him to follow.

And for a split second, his body nearly obeyed. His muscles tensed, his feet itching to move, to follow her down the hallway and give in to the pull that had gnawed at him for weeks now. But then he caught himself, stunned by how close he’d come to losing control, to how easily she had him dancing in the palm of her hand, right on the edge of giving in.

Instead, his eyes followed her, glued to the way she moved, the heat in his chest simmering as desire coiled in his gut.

As they disappeared into the hallway, Logan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His resolve was breaking, little by little, and each time it slipped, he found himself caring less and less about stopping it.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

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🔖 @quillycrow

[transingthoseformers]

Actually talking of primes, I'm remembering my post about possible primes that aren't teeeechnically ocs as they're prime-ified versions of canon characters, and wondering if I should make more ocs yes of course more ocs that are simply dead primes for the sake of having dead primes, and stories of said primes

[pastabaguette]

sorry for all the posts today, but this one is very important: alternian video game edits.

i actually have reasonings for all of their blood types, and a few classpects, so i'll dive into them here:

monika: i'm thinking that early in the game, during acts 1 and 2, she maybe masqueraded as a jadeblood or higher. only during act 3 does she reveal herself as a fuchsia to the protagonist.

gordon and alyx: gordon is probably a tealblood, or somewhere around there. fairly high, but not too high, i think. alyx is an olive, and eli is an indigo. azian was probably a gold. (or lime?) i did have to keep gordon’s orange HEV suit, though. surely you understand. okay, troll half life lore: i think on alternia, all the main characters in the half life franchise are like, olive or above. the rebels in follow freeman and the guards are all lowbloods, so that the player doesn't feel too bad about sacrificing them, or something like that. i think this would be something that would happen in an alternian video game, at least.

agent 47: 47 is actually a mutant, due to being manufactured in a lab. he's a weird ice-blue color. he's still got that piercing stare. i felt a little sad changing his iconic red tie, but i do have some thoughts on that as well. obviously, red in human culture tends to symbolize passion, among other things, and in this case, violence and aggression, because it's the color of blood. however, because trolls all have different blood colors, i think they might have different meanings attached to colors than humans typically do. i think that typically, the colors that would most commonly represent aggression in alternian culture would be blue (cobalt and indigo) and purple. now, i know that the sea dwellers exist, but since the vast majority of trolls are lowbloods, they would have a lot more contact with the land-dwelling highbloods, rather than the fish. so, 47’s tie is blue. (i also just think it looks cool matching his eyes)

chell: I made chell a bronzeblood. she’s a test subject, but not one of the special ones (astronauts, olympians, etc). she’s just another lab rat. (also, a lot of her outfit is orange…)

now for classpects! i only have two i’m sure of as of now:

gordon freeman is an heir of hope. this one is fairly obvious to me. a common belief is that heirs have the ability to become their aspect, in a way. in half life 2, gordon quickly becomes the main symbol of the resistance on earth. for the rebels, he himself IS hope.

agent 47 is a prince of life. again, it’s a common interpretation that princes are themselves void of their aspect, and they destroy that aspect in others. this is really literal, obviously, but as a hitman, 47 kills people. literally destroying life. as for his own lack of life in himself, it’s pretty simple as well. 47 is almost always described as entirely void of emotion and empathy. others often remark on his soulless stare, a lack of life behind his eyes. so, as a prince, he fulfills both criteria there.

holy hell, that was a lot of words. i didn’t intend to talk this much. feel free to add your own thoughts; i’d like to hear what others think. these descriptions were a bit rushed, and i don’t really consider myself to be very good at communicating my thoughts, so a lot of things may have been lost in translation. i’d be happy to try and elaborate on my reasonings for any of them.

(oh, also, please no alyx spoilers. i haven’t played it yet!)

[bamfkeeper]

NSFW Headcannons: Nightcrawler // Sex

a/n: I'm almost out of ideas for headcannons, I wanted to pump out a few more just because they're easy for me to write and get used to writing specific characters. I promised more of our favorite blue teleporter so, here he is. These are fairly basic, for more descriptive or specific things they won't be in this format, more as actual fics instead of quick headcannons. Written as a gender-neutral reader. I hope you enjoy <3 Not edited please ignore grammar mistakes.

Minors DNI. 18+ under the cut.

Whether it's your first time in general or not, the first time sleeping with Kurt is something he takes very seriously. He wants to make sure you enjoy yourself, and he wants to make sure he doesn't hurt you.

He likes to make sure the set up is all done before you even come into the room. He goes all out for your first time, no hasty habits. He will keep in mind any preferences, but he will probably do something along the lines of candles or any scents you like in the room, soft mood lighting, and making sure everything is perfect.

"I did my best, liebling. Perhaps I have gone overboard..." he would mutter, a little embarrassed, but it was from the good of his heart.

Kurt likes to take his time with you, he begins with massaging you, wanting you to completely relaxed with him. His hands are soft yet firm and know just the right amount of pressure to do when he rubs you. "Relax, I will make sure you enjoy yourself tonight...just melt into me, ja?"

When he turns you on your back, he will lean down, softly kissing you. His lips are gentle and slow, feeling yours without the need to rush. Sensual kisses fill your senses as he continues to press into yours, his tongue shyly caressing your bottom lip before he pushes it inside.

His tongue explores your mouth, your tongue fights his with little force, you let him take the lead. He smiles against your lips as you try to playfully press against his tongue, finding it cute.

When he pulls back, those kisses increase and begin to travel down your body. He leaves hot kisses along your jaw and neck, suckling and biting lightly where he can, but being mindful of his sharp teeth.

The foreplay lasts a long time, he makes sure you have at least one orgasm before moving on to the main event of the night.

His cock is beading, gently rubbing himself up and down your entrance. "Are you ready for me?" he questions, placing a kiss to your temple, his cock head positioning and slowly pressing into you.

He inches slowly, hissing at the tightness, his cheek pressed against yours while his arms hold onto you. His tail cradles you as he sheaths himself to the hilt, he twitches and throbs inside you.

"Ah - mein Gott! You are squeezing so tight..." he rasps softly into you, his hips staying still for a few seconds so you can adjust to him before he pulls back and experimentally gives you one thrust. When he hears you moan, he takes that as encouragement and continues his thrusting at a steady speed.

His hands caress your hips and hold them as his own snap into yours. He lets out soft moans and pants, his thrusts are slow enough for you to feel every inch of him moving in and out of you. The feeling of him stretching you as he moves at such a perfect speed is intoxicating.

He leans over you, his legs press into the back of your thighs as his hips are driven a bit more, his cock pushing inside at a slightly rougher pace. He will go rougher and a little harder after a few minutes, or if you as him to.

"So needy, you have a gluttonous hole, you swallow me..." he looks down and watches himself disappear with each thrust. "You know, mein kleiner schatz, gluttony is a sin~"

He grins as he finds himself driving more and more into you, "Fret not, for I am a priest and I am more than capable of forgiving you of your sins..." he purrs, his fuzzy body gently grinding into yours as his thrusts increase.

He may flip you to a new position, he may not, depending on how intense the sex is becoming. For the most part, he does like to watch your face contort in pleasure, watching you blush and whine for him. He also likes getting the opportunity to kiss you whenever he can.

He makes sure you cum first. He will rub you or jerk you however he can. His hands gently massage your body and find those sweet spots that make you jerk beneath him. He goes until those pretty whines come from your lips and then he keeps it up until you are shaking through a powerful orgasm.

When he finally orgasms, he buries himself inside you and releases there, his jaw slack and his curly hair messy atop his head, his indigo cheeks blushed purple. Those pretty yellow eyes barely open as he stiffens with his orgasm, his back straining as he becomes rigid.

Two panting bodies, he looks down at you and smiles. His nose brushes yours as he shows you affection and love. "Ich liebe dich." he whispers, slowly pulling out and wrapping his arms around you, carrying you to the bathroom.

After some heavy clean up, he gives you a moment alone to do anything you might want privacy for, and he will make sure to ready the bedroom and clean up anything.

"This way, liebe...you were so wonderful...let me take care of you now." he whispers, guiding you to a clean bed and laying you down. He loves to hold you after everything is done, his hands rub up and down your body, any sore muscles taken care of by his gentle massages.

He can be quite fussy after sex, asking if you need a drink or something to eat, if you're comfortable, if you need anything at all. But you like how he is, it makes you feel all the more loved.

Eventually, the evening ends with you two sleeping with one another, you are tucked into his body as he holds you, his arms keeping you cradled against him, his nose buried in your hair or crook of your neck, and of course that tail is always wrapped around you somehow.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[noodle-is-unstable]

What size and look are the JJK Characters 🍆

(Head Cannons)

Ft ~ Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryoumen Sukuna, Choso, Takuma Ino, Shiu Kong, Uraume, Yuki Tsukumo, Shoko Ieiri, Mahito

Synopsis ~ What size and look are the JJK Characters 🍆

Content Warning ~ 18+, 🍆 descriptions. Idk adult stuff (Picture of monster 🍆 for reference)

BEFORE I START!

We are being (semi) Realistic here. Smut writers are out of control with the sizes. Here is a visual representation next to my forearm. This is 12 inches (30.48cm), basically my entire forearm and hand.

I'm a monsterfucker along with a lot of you but lets still be a little realistic here. No one is taking a foot long, subway sandwich length dick and not heading to the hospital after. This is an 8 inch monster cock and it is huge. 8 Inches (20.32cm) is BIG

Also while I'm at it GOJO DOESN'T HAVE 6 INCH (15.24cm) FUCKING FINGERS! WHO STARTED THAT?! He would look like salad fingers! fucking Slenderman ass fingers. Just no! Andre the Giant didn't even have 6 inch (15.24cm) fingers! He was 7'1" (2.24 meters)! Stop the Gojo finger LIES

Anyhoodle, that's my rant and information now enjoy the head cannons 💖

Gojo~

Size: 7.5" (19.05cm) Long. Not super thick but not awkwardly skinny either. Very middle of the road thickness

Description: Pale like him, blue veins can be seen all over it. The veins are very tactile and pop out a lot. Tip is also fairly pale but a blush pink. Leans slightly to the left

Geto ~

Size: 7" (17.78cm) Long. Thicc with two C's

Description: Two toned, darker at the base and more pink on the top 1/4th. Thick vein running underneath. THICK tip. Curves up

Nanami ~

Size: 7" (17.78cm) Long. Not terribly thick but a good girth

Description: All the same colour. Very aesthetically pleasing with one prominent vein up the right side. Tip is the same colour as the shaft. No lean, very straight

Toji ~

Size: 8" (20.32cm) Long. Thick too. He's a tanky man and his cock is the same

Description: Darker tone than the rest of his body. Fat veins running along it, very prominent. Tip is slightly lighter but still more tan than pink. Sharp right lean

Sukuna ~

The Twin Terrors are exact twins so this applies to both.

Size: 12" (30.48 cm) Long. Equally as thick as a forearm (He's a literal monster. Fight me.)

Description: Slightly pale compared to his body. Veins aren't super visible and don't poke out much. Tip is a deep pink in contrast to the rest. Tattooed circle at the base. Both gently curve up but sag because of the weight

Choso ~

Size: 6.5" (16.51cm) Long. Not thick or thin

Description: Prettiest cock you'll ever see. Same tone as his body. Deep blue veins that don't pop out much. Baby pink tip. No lean, very straight

Ino ~

Size: 6" (15.24cm) Long. On the thicker side

Description: Lighter than his body. One dark and thick vein running up the right side. Pretty pink tip. Small, almost invisible, left lean

Shiu ~

Size: 7" (17.78cm) Long. Slightly thicker than average

Description: Slightly darker than his body. One fat, light blue vein on top, doesn't pop up much. Tip is only a slighter shade of pink. Small right curve

Uraume ~

Size: Unknown

Description: It's unknown what happens between the ethereal beings legs and I won't be speculating. It's a portal to a different dimension for all we need to know

Yuki ~

Size: Everything from 3" (7.62cm) to 15" (38.10cm) Long and any thickness can imagine

Description: Yuki is a collector and has every kind of cock shape known to man or monster. Her dildo collection is unmatched

Shoko ~

Size: 5.5" (12.70cm) Long. Most average thickness

Description: Shoko prefers a very average sized dildo. Not too big, not to small. just average

Mahito ~

Size: Anything

Description: Just say what size, shape, colour, curve, thickness and Mahito will provide. Get ready for things to get weird because you can literally fuck any monster with him

[bacchicly]

A few imperfect thoughts about writing fat characters respectfully

By me :

A short (5'2"), fat (approx 300 pounds), middle aged (turning 42 thank god), married to not a fat man, mother of a pre-teen, white, CIS, Anglo, Canadian, upper-middle class woman who writes fic (including smut) about a character who is fat by TV and Hollywood standards (Penelope Garcia)

Note: fat hate or debates about whether being fat is healthy or not will not be tolerated on this post. That is not what this post is about. This is about giving some insight into what writers may want to consider when trying to respectfully include more fat characters in their work and generally moving towards writing doing less harm to fat people.

This post started with me wanting to respond to someone honnestly asking "how do I write good descriptions of fat people" because they wanted to write more fat characters and write them authentically (and I assume in a way that would be respectful to fat people) which is an awesome! ...Or maybe it started a few months ago when a writer friend asked about whether a fat character in a fic borrowing a shirt or hoody from her fit boyfriend made sense. ...Or maybe it started way back when I started writing my first fan fic featuring Penelope Garcia partly in response to being irritated about how so many writers wrote her as a young woman and were often silent on her size or spent a lot of time on her insecurities about her body... anyhoo that's where I come from... doesn't make me an expert except maybe on my own unique experience with a fat body...rather more a fellow muddler / fat character writer enthusiast.

THE BASICS

This first part is a quick list of basics you'll read in other posts about writing characters in general - but we'd better get them out of the way because they apply:

Every character is unique and they way they act and think and feel tends to be a product of some mix of what they look like, how their body works or doesn't, how their brain works and doesn't, their "personality", what they were taught, their unique experiences, and the situation/society they are currently in. There are patterns (which is why we get tropes) but the fun thing is that small things can make big differences. So to write an authentic character, it helps to have a fairly clear sense of at least some of those elements and do some imagining about how all of that would funnel into the moment your writing.

The amount to which you describe character bodies and the style which you use to describe them tends to depend on genre, what the heck is going on in your story, the pov you're writing from, the reason you're writing etc. So their are no hard or fast rules. There may be norms for certain styles of fiction, but then it's up to you to decide if it's stronger for you to lean into those norms or to write "against" them at a particular moment.

In order to be more respectful and less harmful to fat people (especially if you see value in actively challenging the anti-fat status quo), you may have to change how you describe all bodies in your work, as well the attitudes both fat people and non fat people have about bodies in general.

Now that that's out of the way... let's get specifically to my thoughts on writing fat characters. I'm going to divide this part into tips for DESCRIBING FAT BODIES, FAT BODIES IN SPACE, and THINKING AND FEELING IN A FAT BODY.

TIPS FOR DESCRIBING FAT (OR OTHER) BODIES

I would say that both consistency and diversity across the work is important, by this I mean :

Consistently describe bodies in about the same amount of detail across your work for the same type of character regardless of body type. So protagonists should get about the same depth and breath of body descriptions as each other regardless of body type. Same goes for vilalns, supporting characters etc. Sometimes people are mute about the look and shape of "strait sized" character bodies (because what's to describe - they are just "normal") but then spend a bunch of time on "other sized" bodies or vice versa (in this case, the fat body is erased usually because of some form of internalised fat hate or phobia paired with "if you can't say anything nice" don't say anything at all.) If you're doing either of these things, I'm not saying it's wrong and has to be fixed- I'm just saying it's a flag that you may want to think about why you are writing differently about different body types and what your work is saying about what bodies have value and which don't.

Diversity Bodies in the real world come in a lot of different shapes and sizes (I know I know obvious woman strikes again) but if you are writing stories with fairly large casts and everyone has the same body type - there better be a good reason for it within the narrative. Truthfully there are cases where this does make sense to some degree... if you're writing about a group where there are physical requirements and standards for the folks in that world (ballet dancers, fire fighters, cops, soldiers, fbi agents) there may or may not be less diversity in body type and more homogeneous attitudes to body norms within the group - and certainly those who are outside of the norm may be commented on or feel like they are "other". But if you are in a more free setting - if you write without a diversity of body types - especially in settings where there is diversity - that is probably a clue that you're not thinking enough about what your various characters look like and may be "normalizing" one type of body over others. Similarly, if you are writing about a real time and place where there is evidence that there were fat bodies and you have none...that's another flag to ask yourself why.

The magical tools in your toolkit for describing fat and other bodies: Body neutrality and POV

Body neutrality is about not loving bodies and not hating bodies just accepting bodies as they are....or in this case describing them as they are. No poetic language. No judgement. Just this is what this character looks like. If you're struggling to do this, I suggest doing a body map for at least two characters with different body types - possibly one that you find easy to think of positively (in this case likely someone thin or at least fit) and one that you find more difficult to describe positively (in this case someone fat).

Describe them head to toe, naked and then clothed, in detail - acurately but not poetically. Start with their feet and then work up bit by bit. Pay attention to things like hair, scars, shape of joints, acne, tightness or looseness of skin, colour of skin, nails, fat, lack of fat, muscle tone, where do they hold their stress, what's in the bowels, how well they do or don't work, do they have their appendix, what they ate last, proportions (is their torso long or short compared to their legs), lungs - how much do they hold, are they healthy? - now describe their throat, shoulders, hands, hair, then end with face.

The only rule is no positive or negative connotations to anything. it's neither good nor bad that they have stretch marks - they just do and they have faded to silver. Now that you "see them' clearly - now look at them through the eyes of someone who loves them in a familial way...what do they see most? what words do they use? now through someone who is attracted to them sexually and love them and aren't ashamed...what do they see most? what words do they use? Now through the eyes of someone who hates them or wants to change them? or a child? or a dog? Now... how does your character feel about these descriptions? Now you have a variety of words you can draw on to describe the body and you also should have a fairly good idea of what is a more skewed view of the body and a more realistic view.

Also...it can be helpful to remember there are no consistently good or bad words to describe bodies - it depends on context and who is using the words. It's a lot like how sick can be used to describe something negatively or positively depending on the agreed upon meaning of the word by a group.

DESCRIBING BODIES IN SPACE/MOTION

Ok here's the thing - for every activity you can think of - there is a fat body that does it well and a fat body that can't do it easily or at all and there are a lot of reasons for both. Often it has to do with the fact that a lot of equipment is built for people who are 250lbs or less; and anything for bigger people tends to cost a premium. Also, if it's not an easy new skill to acquire with the body you've got...it may take longer and more bravery to keep pushing through to achieve mastery. People may try to discourage you from pursuing things. Sometimes out of prejudice, sometimes out of impatience, sometimes out of caring.

So deciding what your character's body can do easily and what it can't and why is more important than me giving you a list of words for how to describe fat movements.

My suggestion is: do your research. What sorts of body types have done the activity in the real world? What are the exceptions? What changes? So for example if a fat person is climbing a mountain - do they need more help? Different equipment? A different route?

Things to consider:

- equipment / things that can have weight limits: bunk beds, roller coasters, scooters, waterslides, camping chairs, elevators, trampolines, some bikes, life jackets (finding one that fit was a nightmare), exercise balls, airline seats (learning to ask for the seatbelt extender without second thought or shame was a lifesaver)

- not all fat people have pain, those who do will move taking into account the specifics of the pain - same as a lean person

- when I was pregnant I just got more cylindrical and did not get a classic belly. I moved well and easily all the way through my pregnancy, I had none of the back pain or ankle pain some people get. I stood for a lot of my labour. I gave birth on my hands and knees. Other fat people will have had different experiences of pregnancy...but that was mine.

- clothing can have a huge impact on what bounces or jiggles and what doesn't

- most (but not all) fat people I know are particularly sensitive to appearing sweaty or smelling bad

- how winded someone gets is not directly correlated to body size, neither is heart rate or breathing style; I have theatre training and grew up swimming - I breath very slowly and very deeply normally - so when I talk a slow deep breath...it is very slow and deep indeed. I have always been fat but can swim forever - I have always gotten winded and kind of dizzy running... Other fat people may be opposite.

- people do not "see fat" consistently. People regularly underestimate how fat I am (by 100+ pounds or many clothing sizes) because I am short, well spoken, proportioned in a way that is seen as fairly typical, and very mobile and very light on my feet. Someone who weighs less than me but is slower moving, dull witted, in a sour mood, is illl, or poorly dressed may be perceived as much heavier than than someone the same weight or heavier who is behaving/clothed differently (which can change how much fat hate someone experiences) and definately heavier than they are. Height also changes how people perceive weight.

- many stores still don't carry plus sized clothing, but eventually i sort of got used to it - although some days it makes me angry and other days sad

- chairs with arms or the occasional booth can be uncomfortable or just plain impossible to sit in, it's probably partly my ADHD but I often forget this until it happens; for taller and fatter people than me this can be a much more regular occurrence.

- once (if) a character figures out how to dress/move their body in a way that feels comfortable and meets general standards (or at least theirs) of respectability - they may not think that much about their body...or at least until something external draws attention to it

- I don't like feeling like I'm squishing people, so I will make myself small and still on buses or at the theatre, I also don't like sitting on laps or being lifted or carried.

- I often feel much taller than I actually am - except when I am standing right beside someone taller or am trying to reach something on a high shelf. The same principle applies - I feel larger next to smaller people and smaller next to larger ones.

- clothing and what I'm carrying also changes how I move (just like my lean counterparts)

- I don't lounge, my car seat is set almost straight but I sit further back than my brother in law who has a similar height and weight - he leans the seat back but pulls closer. I don't nap. My leaner husband both lounges and naps.

- some fat folks eat, walk, and move quickly - some slowly; figuring out which your character does, when they behave "out of character", and why these are their preferences will go a long way to creating an authentic feeling fat character

- acne is a thing and learning to accept ones rolls and tummy aprons (and thus take care of them properly) is a common challenge; although many do it naturally without thinking much of it. You lift your breasts and wash underneath - you lift you belly and wash underneath.

- fat bodies have the same reactions as everyone else: they tingle, burn, get numb, get goose bumps, like to be touched in certain places and in certain ways, feel the breeze, get hot, get cold, shiver, stretch, relax, get aroused, feel release, hold tension, feel capable and strong, feel weak...no matter who you are sitting in a chair that's too small for you will put pressure on your body and feel uncomfortable or safe ..you can explore what that is like. Sometimes it is a reassuring sensation. Sometimes it is uncomfortable. This is the same for fat bodies. It just may happen more frequently and depending on your character's context and experience the emotional reaction / thoughts that are generated may be a bit different.

THINKING AND FEELING IN A FAT BODY.

I think I touched on some of this in some of the earlier sections...but here I want to talk a bit about my experience of being fat and my thoughts about it - your fat characters may or may not feel similarly...but my hope is that you at least think about options as opposed to only writing one or two types of fat character.

I mainly "feel" fat in moments when it is pointed out to me or I am limited in what I can do because of it

I quite like my body, it is my home and I feel very connected to it's features. In my experience this is unusual for many people in North American society regardless of actual body shape or weight. Sometimes I feel guilty for not hating my body the way "I am supposed to" and wonder vaguely if my body would be different if I could hate it more (although as I get older I doubt it).

I do feel some pressure to be a cheerful "good" fat person as a way to stay safe and survive.

Nothing makes people more uncomfortable than me calling myself fat without judgement or asking for accomodation matter of factly. It took me a long time to feel comfortable doing so, but I do it now all the time and it makes my life better.

I felt some pressure to be the fun friend who people feel comfortable eating whatever they wanted with and I often felt like I was depended on to order dessert so they could too. This may have been all in my mind though.

Fat bellies can be very intimate places.

Not all fat people have dieted, but many have. I was lucky enough to never be forced into a diet. I did try keto once but it was a bit intense and nuts so I stopped. I learned a bunch doing it though.

Medical people not treating you appropriately when your fat is 100% a thing.

Internalised fat hate and fat phobia is a thing for many fat people and it pops up at weird moments.

I don 't.give a damn about being in a bathing suit. As long as it fits and my boobs and butt.aren't.falling out - I am happy and feel very attractive. In fact I am probably at my most comfortable in a bathing suit or naked. My body is mine in both those instances.

To reach the "healthy weight" for my height - I would have to lose half of my body mass. That is a lot of me to loose. Embarking on something like that would be totally different than loosing 5 or 10 pounds. Trying to navigate the various medical opinions about whether being fat is bad or not is exhausting.

For me, being fat and older is easier than being fat and younger. This could easily be the opposite for someone else.

Some fat people are into sex, some are not . Some folks are into sex with fat people and some are not. Some are nice about it. Some are not. Some want nice. Some do not.

Fat people are all around you living their best life or their worst life or somewhere in between. We know we are fat. We sometimes care and sometimes don't.

Ok that's it. I don't know if it will help anyone or if it's just a collection of rambles - but at the end of the day...fat people are just people. We are not going to go away. We are all sorts. We are the heroes of our own stories. We are people who are loved, depended on, hated, ignored, and/or spotlighted.

Some fat people think about being fat all the time. Some rarely. Just please don't erase us or other us.

Just by taking the step to interrogate your own biases and any feelings / assumptions you have about fatness/thinness is a huge step and will help limit the harm you could unintentionally do to fat people...actually to all people. Like all forms of hate and intelorance - Fat hate hurts EVERYONE. I would argue it privileges a few...but even that can be excruciating for the individuals who strive to retain that priviledge. We need to dismantle it.

[endless-summer-soldier]

dr. feelgood - chapter one

pairing: Surgeon!Bucky x SurgicalIntern!Reader

summary: Y/N has a one night stand with a handsome stranger the night before starting her new job as a surgical intern. Little does she know, the handsome stranger also happens to be her new boss

warnings: must be 18+, drinking, some surgery descriptions, smut, self-pleasure, praise kink, very minor character death

word count: 1.2k

series playlist: here (I'm still finalizing this so it might change)

taglist: @sebsgirl71479 @ozwriterchick @notmeddy (message me to be added!)

series masterlist

There was a stranger in my bed. A very handsome, naked stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. I rolled onto my back and tried to piece together the events from last night, but all I could remember was tequila. Too much tequila.

I crawled out of bed and headed for the shower, hoping the stranger would sneak out while I was in the bathroom. Today was a big day and being hungover was not part of my plan. I chugged some water and took a few Advil before I rinsed all of last night off my body.

When I walked back into my bedroom, Handsome Stranger was still in bed, but he was awake, which was progress.

“You forgot to invite me into the shower with you,” he said, sitting up in my bed. I gave him a small smile and said, “Let’s not do this. Last night was really fun, but I need you to leave.”

“Kicking me out already? No breakfast? No morning sex?” 

“I’m starting a new job this morning and I really need to get ready,” I said. I grabbed the stranger’s clothes from the floor and tossed them at him.

“Wow, you really are kicking me out. This is going to impact your rating in my little black book.”

“Do you even remember my name?” I asked.

“Is it Lindsey? You look like a Lindsey.”

I chuckled, “It’s not Lindsey.”

“Okay, well I may not remember your name but I do remember the mind-blowing sex we had last night.”

“Can’t argue with you there.” I walked over towards him wrapped only in my towel and held my hand out, “Y/N”

“Bucky,” he took my hand and gave it a solid squeeze before letting go.

“Look Bucky, I’m sure you’re really great but I can’t do this right now. I have to focus on my career. Yes, I had a great time last night, but this can’t happen again. So I really do need you to go.”

He held both hands up in surrender, “Fair enough, I appreciate the honesty. I will get out of your hair.” He took his clothes from the heap on the bed and started putting them back on. I retreated back to the bathroom to dry my hair and brush my teeth. I let Bucky collect his things and leave without another word, avoiding any further awkward conversation.

I finished getting ready and could swear I smelled coffee, likely just my brain tricking me. When I departed down the stairs I heard the coffee maker brewing and froze, knowing I didn’t start the machine. There was a note scribbled on the white board attached to my fridge that read:

Good luck on your first day. Coffee’s on me :) - B

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered to myself. At least he didn’t leave his phone number because I might’ve been tempted to text him. A new guy was the last thing I needed right now. So I poured myself a travel mug full of coffee and departed for the hospital.

It was strange to be dressed in periwinkle scrubs and a lab coat. All through medical school, I dreamed of this moment, when I would finally be a surgeon. And yet, putting on the scrubs felt wildly underwhelming.

I stood in a group with my fellow interns as our resident, Dr. Palmer gave us a tour of the hospital and a run down of our basic expectations. I exchanged glances with a few of the interns in my group, but we didn’t have an opportunity to talk much.

The first day was fairly routine. We each had a chance to present on a patient and answer questions that Palmer asked us. The cases were all fairly routine which was a relief. Then we were sent off to the ER to complete basic examinations, take blood, and sew sutures. They were easing us in, which was a relief since I was still a little hungover, but I knew in the coming weeks we would be exposed to more and more.

Dr. Palmer introduced us to Dr. Stephen Strange, who was a world renowned neurosurgeon and apparently Palmer’s fiance. It wasn’t uncommon for doctors to be involved with fellow doctors because our work schedules were so demanding. Strange was curt and arrogant, but clearly highly intelligent and it would be a great experience to work underneath him. But I was most eager to meet the Head of Trauma, Dr. James Barnes. I’d read a lot of his articles and respected his resourcefulness as a former doctor for the Army. He had the kind of experience that couldn’t be taught in a hospital and I wanted to soak up as much of his knowledge as he was willing to give.

About halfway through the 12-hour shift, I found my way to the break room for a cup of coffee. The coffee pot was steaming which was fortunate because it meant a fresh pot had just been brewed. I poured myself a generous cup and added just a splash of cream. 

As I took my first sip, a voice called from behind me, “Not as good as tequila, but it works wonders.” 

I spun around and found handsome stranger smirking at me, clad in navy scrubs and a white lab coat. 

I’m sure my jaw was on the floor, but I did my best to cover up my shock, “What are you doing here?”

He walked over toward me and poured himself a cup of coffee, “I could ask you the same thing. Was my coffee this morning so good that you had to come here for more?”

I was too stunned to respond to his sarcasm, “I’m sorry, do you work here?”

He looked at me patronizingly. “What does it look like?” He held his arms out, drawing my attention to his scrubs.

This couldn’t be real. I was about to pinch myself to test out my pain receptors when I caught a whiff of him. Ginger, bergamot, and citrus. The same heavenly scent that I had inhaled when I made my bed this morning.

 “So this is the new job, huh?” he asked me. I couldn’t even formulate a response but he didn’t miss a beat, “Very impressive, truly. This is one of the best programs in the country.” I simply nodded, trying to calculate the quickest way out of this conversation.

Luckily I was saved by my resident. Dr. Palmer entered the break room and interrupted the conversation.

“Dr. Barnes, I see you’ve met one of my interns.”

My heart dropped into my stomach. Handsome stranger was Dr. Barnes. The Dr. James Barnes who I’ve admired for years and was incredibly excited to work with. And I drunkenly slept with him last night without even knowing who he was. I could feel my career slipping through my fingers.

“Yes, I was just about to introduce myself,” he stated. He extended a hand to me, “Dr. James Barnes, Head of Trauma.”

“Dr. Barnes, pleasure to meet you,” I faked enthusiasm. “I’m Dr. Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

“Dr. Y/L/N actually has a special interest in trauma, if I remember correctly,” Palmer added. 

“Is that so?” Barnes said, looking at me with amusement. I merely nodded with a smile and he said, “Well, it sounds like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. If you’ll excuse me, I have to scrub into the OR in about 30 minutes.”  

He walked out of the break room but then popped his head back in, “Looking forward to working with you Dr. Y/L/N.” I could see Dr. Palmer trying to piece together the interaction so I scurried out of the room before she could question me.

next chapter

[howlingday]

I think Jaune might a Breaking Base Character. I have seen people really like and really dislike him. At this point I don't know if I can find a source that fairly tells me the fandoms overall opinion on him. I mean shippers just do what ever and harem. Why does Jaune have a Bully Arc? I feel like that's kinda dumb and focus should have been else were.

Okay, so...

A Base-Breaking Character is "a character in a series that is loved by one section of the fanbase and hated by the other."

By this logic, I deduce the FNDM is divided into the two sides of people who hate Jaune and people who love him. People who love him are then divided into the two sides of people who write him as a soggy piece of wet toast and the side who write Jaune as a gigachad harem god. On the other side, we have people who hate Jaune because they see him as a self-insert of his voice-actor, Miles Luna, or because he "takes too much screentime" in a show that's supposed to be about girls. This is the best I can figure out from FNDM descriptions, and to be honest, I think the people who cry about Jaune being a self-insert are just as bad as the people who make Jaune into a gigachad harem god.

Jaune having a bully arc sets us up to Jaune's past, present, and future in the show. Monty Oum clearly had a plan for him, though I can't exactly ask him what his plan was for having these episodes in Volume 1 because, well, he's kinda been dead for the past ten years. Jaune's past is explained when he explains how he got into Beacon, with his present shown through his constant bullying by Cardin and by his standing up to him to help Velvet, and his future is presented in two-fold by his aura protecting him from Cardin's attack and by his assisted decapitation of the large Ursa. The point of Jaunedice was to help us better understand Jaune's role as a protagonist, main character, deuteragonist, and or other role in the show.

If Jaune didn't have these episodes, his character would probably been flanderized to being... Steve Urkel, Milhouse Van Houten, and or some other character that serves no other purpose than to be the comedic relief whipping boy. Instead, we have Jaune Arc as the John Everyman character who helps us with the human element of the situation, kind of like... Sokka, Krillin, and or Commissioner Gordon.

I'm just one guy, though, so these are obviously my opinions and everything I say should be dismissed. Because I am an idiot. Thank you and good night.

[afurtivecake]

My hot take on AFTG? At first glance, the original series appears to be amateurishly written, but actually it's like that because it's in an autistic POV.

Ok look, anyone who has read AFTG will notice the language is fairly simple, the vocabulary not particularly varied, the phrasing is repetitive, there's a lot of detail about small, seemingly pointless actions, a ton of exposition and hardly any detail on many of the characters or their emotional states. I'm not denying that. I'm saying it's intentional because all of that is how Neil thinks.

Firstly, Neil isn't particularly well-educated. The longest he's stayed in one place is that one year in Millport. I don't know what kind of an education he's gotten on the road, but it surely could not have been consistent. He also doesn't have Andrew's memory so he's not going to be spouting big words and fanciful adjectives where simpler ones will suffice. (Also, Andrew is an intellectual and considers himself as such, which is why he talks the way he does, but that's a whole other tangent) It would be a wildly different character or a different style of POV altogether if it was written in a more literary style.

As for why it feels specifically autistic, it's hard to explain because for me, it's very intuitive and largely based on personal experience and exposure. But I can say that the books read like what some of my autistic friends (and I) have going through their heads. It's the methodical thought processes, the meticulous observation, the internal exposition, the logical reasoning that gets applied to every small thing, the conscious decisions that go into every action. It's also how there's an absence of descriptions of people and their personalities and how sometimes it seems like it suddenly shifts to a complete non sequitur. It reads like we're inside Neil's head and the inside of Neil's head feels really familiar.

Now, I'm not sure how much of it is the author herself and how much of it is just Neil, or if it's a case of Neil being exactly the sort of character Nora Sakavic's natural writing style (at the time) just happened to fit precisely. But my point is that having the kind of flaws English teachers would wag their fingers at doesn't make it a less effective piece of writing. Not all characters and not all humans are going to tell their stories in a way that sounds like what we think of as 'literature' but that doesn't make their story less meaningful or significant or less well told.

EDIT: I should say, there are literary authors who also have a very sparse, simple style, who nonetheless, manage to convey so much sentiment and emotion in simple, short sentences. AFTG has, by no means, the simplest or sparsest writing I've seen. You don't need complex words or sentences to tell a good story effectively!

[beacedocrime]

Art of the characters from @basilthesnakingthing 's Monstrous Children AU. Check it out!

Close ups and explanations of my thought process for some of my decisions under the cut

First of all, Victor Frankenstein. His physical descriptions are sparse, except for how ill he looks. I tried to give him a slightly sickly looking skin tone, but skin in general isn't my forte, so I'm not sure how much I succeeded. Other than that, I always imagined him with black hair and green eyes, and as having somewhat sharp features.

For the colours, idk, I just thought purple would look on him. I wanted the vest to have simple gold detailing on the lapels, but the watercolour wasn't really obvious, and I couldn't be bothered to search for my pencils. He's never described as wearing glasses as far as I'm aware, but I liked how he looked with them better.

After inking him, I could tell there was something I didn't like about his face, but I couldn't pinpoint why. Later, I realized his eyes weren't spaced correctly. I made a quick little sketch to correct this.

Basil said the gravedigger guy was gonna be inspired by some other classics character, but she hadn't given an example and I didn't have any ideas so I decided to make him as generic as possible. I thought he'd look funny among all these fancily dressed children.

When I drew these, I hadn't been told that in this au Jekyll and Hyde would be their first names, so I drew Victor calling out to 'Henry' with Jekyll in mind. However, since this isn't possible in this universe... thoughts on Henry Clerval 👀?

Jekyll! Drew him slightly sleep deprived and did not make good decisions about that vest. Fixed it later. Like Victor, not a lot of physical descriptions, so mostly going off of how I imagined him- brown hair and brown eyes, softer features.

Debated a bit on the colour scheme, before deciding mellow browns and yellows would be a good fit. Don't know why his sleeves are rolled up other than I thought it looked nice.

Not much else to say about his appearance, I was fairly satisfied with him (other than the vest). Though his jawline came out a bit uneven, and the shape of his pants look weird (I was not inking this on a table like a normal person and he slightly suffered for it)

Basil mentioned once that this version of him and Hyde also have the talking in the mirror thing, so I made a small doodle of that.

Hyde! With a quick bonus Dracula.

So, just to say this quickly, I did not think at all about Dracula's clothes, it was just a quick sketch cause I really wanted to draw this scene. Also his proportions are weird, and his skin not pale enough.

Hyde! Similarly to Victor, I did not like something about his face in the first inked version, so I fixed it in a quick sketch. This time it was his chin. His face felt too long, and I wanted it to be rounder.

Like the other two, Hyde doesn't have a confirmed hair and eye colour as far as I'm aware. His descriptions are along the lines of 'pale and short with bad vibes'. I imagined him with reddish brown hair, and the same colour for eyes.

I didn't mean his vest to be pretty much the same colour as his hair, but it happened, and I like it, so. I made his vest the same kind as Jekyll's, just on the other side. He doesn't have a necktie because things around my neck give me sensory issues, and I'm projecting. His button-up is pink because, like many other design choices, I thought it would look cool.

The sharp teeth were one design choice that the creator of the AU wanted him to have.

Other stuff- they all have coats/jackets (not sure which one is the correct term) that I haven't drawn here. I tried to give the colours a slightly washed-out look to fit in with how the creator described the setting to look, though I'm not sure how successful I was. I wanted Creature to be bigger, but by the time I'd realised that it was smaller than I wanted, I couldn't really go back.

[ykiwrite]

behind the scenes

description: georgie was feeling way too comfortable with your girlfriend and emergency was needed

warnings: fluff, angst, suggestive

word count: 1.3k

"And just as we finished shooting that scene, i saw Jenna standing over there looking so terrified 'cause-" said Georgie unable to contain his laugh from escaping.

He was putting all of his weight on one particular person he sat next to.

Jenna.

The apparent height difference, the difference in personalities, both undeniably eye catching people made them look like fairytale couple.

That refers to an untrained eye who knows nothing about who's dating who really.

You watched them while nested in the depths of the couch shared with as well laughing Emma. A fluffy blanket over the two of you did not help with the slumber you were falling into. The feeling of Emma shaking from laughter kept you awake and on standby. Both thankful for it and silently despising it.

Actually, forget it. You couldn't fall asleep even if you wanted to. Georgie and his storytelling was on volume 100, it was too hot in the room, too loud and Jenna was too far away.

Never really the jealous type but today something was in the air. Except you didn't know what exactly.

Perhaps it's because this week's schedule was terrible. Perhaps, you just missed her. Perhaps today's day at work went not so smoothly and you hoped a fraction of comfort for the end of the day could be found on the set with Jenna.

Jenna, who without a second thought saw through all of your complaints over texts demanded you drop by for a few hours.

Turns out everyone was evidently having a blast, you could not relate to that. Maybe it's the part of the acting, the actors high or such. You weren't sure if that was Jenna's attempt of making you feel better. It probably was not, she'd go out of her way for it. It's just how the pieces fell and you ended up on the filming set. If she had the time and space she would do it differently.

Whatever the reason, you picked to withdraw in silence. With not enough energy to speak, drained and drowsy it seemed like the best answer.

Fairly annoyed by the sight of Georgie going out of comfortable bounds with his hand around her shoulder surely reflected on your expression.

"Pssstt..." secretly called out Jenna with no intentions of stopping Georgie's rambling.

Simply looking at her and nodding gave her a green light to continue. In series of polite movements, she removed his hand and leaned over the table. Hoping you will copy her but you didn't made her puzzled. She kept staring, squinting her eyes, trying to figure you out. After a few seconds with no avail that turned into a pleading pout;

"Please?"

With a sigh, you raised yourself with help of hands. Not bothering to fix stoic face of yours, finally eye to eye with her.

"Hey," she whispered with a smile that almost broke you out of character.

"Jenna, i'm not up for jokes."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. You good?" she asked genuinely, swiping a strand of messy hair out of your place.

"Oh wow, you actually noticed? I thought Georgie was more interesting." It's a bitter line and tone Jenna is not used to. Especially coming from you.

She looked at you with invisible question marks above her and continued, "Of course i did but i admit he is a bit too talkative today." She gave him one last glance before her eyes scanned you up and down. She was suspicious of something. One thing in particular she was positive of.

"Hold on, you're not..." she wasn't sure whether to push it or let it slide.

"What?"

"You jealous?" She took a dare and let it be heard.

Were you offended? Not really, more like just shocked and caught red handed. Even from her first try. Not moving an inch, trying to keep what's left of your cool, you told her "No? I'm just wondering is he always like that? No wonder everyone ships you two."

A grin on her face portraying the complete opposite of how you're feeling right now started to bother you. It usually meant she read right through and there was no defense left to use.

Promptly leaving her chair only to kneel next to your figure on the couch. Soft hand rested on your leg supporting her. In not the best position to be, compromising even.

"You know so well i could care less about him," tilting her head, "romantically."

"Romantically?" you repeated to chase what's that supposed to mean.

"He's my friend and we're pretty much forced to look at each other everyday on the set. It's not like i can escape him." A rested hand on your leg was sort of a comfort. Comfort that would last if it weren't for her fingers repeating circles around.

Slightly distracted knowing she would get worse if you let her continue.

With no goal nor energy for fighting about her valid answer, you simply nodded. But would you be her girlfriend if you didn't know that's not a sufficient answer? You are not off the hook.

Mainly because she cares and wanted to make up for it. And because there's a rule no one should go to bed mad.

A grand idea was being forged in Jenna's head while you talked about today's events. Not that she didn't listen, she was just calculating the risks and advantages of the idea while listening.

"Hey Georgie?" Jenna asked loudly, turning to him.

"Yeah?"

"Remind me, how long is our break?"

"Uhh," pondered Georgie while checking time on his phone, "we still got over 20 minutes free. Why?"

"Nothing, just wondering." All of her attention back to you again.

Quickly, without looking shady, she signaled her head over to point out the direction you two were supposed to go. Like it's your secret language, though you had no idea what's she on about.

"Jenna, i don't-"

Being pulled by the hands never allowed you to finish the sentence. Standing on your feet, you offered her unfazed stare.

"We got 20 minutes to spare. That's plenty." She said with confidence, her legs ready to sprint out of the room. The less time wasted the better.

"For what? I know how your set looks already, i had a tour."

It was possibly the most amusing disappointed state you ever saw Jenna in. In disbelief but loving you no less, her hand linked with yours in rush.

"No, i know. It was wild, that's why i told Hunter-", Georgie got startled by his coworker's hurried steps, "Where are you guys going?"

If he let one more second pass Jenna wouldn't have to lose time. "Just around the building."

"You already showed her the entire place three times already." Now Emma sided with Georgie.

As if betrayed by Emma's question, knowing damn well she was the least oblivious one. "So? I forgot to show her something."

Catching your breath, Jenna let go of you while struggling to open the door. Observing the "Dressing room" sign, you smiled to yourself.

Grabbing you by the shirt while pushing the door open with her back was a view, to say at least. It was enough of an adrenaline rush itself.

"Again? Dressing room?" You chuckled, backing your steps away from her who paced towards you.

Stranded in the corner with a body against the wall and no space to left to move.

"Again. It's not like we have any options, really."

"If i recall, you have 20 minutes ticking. I think it's not long enough for you to do the job."

So she took it, and you as a challenge.

Sitting in front of the makeup mirror, Emma let out a gasp.

Making Jenna's head look up from her phone in a similar panic, she asked "What?"

"Jenna, our makeup artist will kill you. Of course you didn't take her on the fourth tour around the set. Georgie will have nightmares."

Looking at herself in the mirror, she noticed what Emma did. Her neck to be precise.

"Let him."

notes: at this point idk what i'm writing except my daily delusions that will never happen

*enjoy though! 🖤

*update: removed percy from the fic 20/1

[x-press-it]

Devilish Desires - 1/9?

Dangerous Temptations, Irresistible Touch 🎞️❤️‍🔥🌹🖤💻🖱️

Sub!Logan Howlett x Dom!OC (They/Them)

Summary: Logan, typically guarded and dominant, finds himself captivated by E, a mysterious being with a devilish allure and ancient presence that challenges his control.

Context: This story unfolds 'within' the "Days of Future Past" new timeline, during Logan's early years as a history teacher at Xavier’s School. It’s set well before his consciousness from the original timeline reconnects with him in 2023, as seen at the film’s end.

Content Warnings (for the whole story): Smut 18+ (Dry humping, Edging, Unprotected p in v.) - Dom!Logan into Sub!Logan - Pet Names (Good boy, pretty boy, pet, pup, amongst others...) reversed age gap (Logan is younger) - OC Notes: Established name, backstory, powers, fighting style, female body but gender fluid character (Logan misgender them at first because he doesn't know, even in the descriptions) - Fluff with Dark Undertones: Emotional tension and possessive affection - Worship Themes: Religious imagery, reverent language and awe - Ancient Mysticism: References to otherworldly or demonic presence - Mental Health: Power dynamics, personal vulnerabilities - Trope: Rivals to lovers.

I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Got very inspired by @gothgoblinbabe writing of sub!Logan and repeated listening of "Between wind and water" by Hael. Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post. If you know who made the picture, tell me so I can credit them - Click on the divider to find the creator.

Also this was meant to be an imagine turned into a full story. Just so you know, some chapters are very short, other are long. I'm in the process of editing/writing/rewriting parts so I'll post a chapter everytime I have one fully edited.

Chapters: 1/9?

Word Count: 1.8K / 30K+ for now

The soft click of the office door broke the silence in the hallway. They stepped out, adjusting their suit jacket, their posture elegant and composed, though a subtle tension lingered behind their calm exterior. Their long black wavy hair cascaded down their back, brushing against the fabric as they moved with an effortless grace. Those days, they felt more woman than anything else—their skin a rich, dark brown that gleamed under the soft lights—but it wasn’t always the case.

It had been a few weeks since they’d started working at the mansion, handling the Institute’s legal affairs. Most of the students gave them a wide berth, and the staff kept their distance—there was something about them that made people uneasy, even if they didn’t understand why.

Them on the other hand, they liked it that way.

As they stepped into the hall, their senses picked up something different. A low hum of energy—wild and untamed, charging the space around them. It tugged at their instincts, drawing their attention before they saw him. He turned the corner, boots heavy on the carpeted hardwood, an unshaven jaw covered in scruff, and a bag slung over his shoulder like he’d just walked out of a warzone. Broad shoulders, rough hands, and that look of a man who didn’t take orders from anyone. Not even Charles, from the way he stormed down the hall, barely noticing anything else in his path. His clothes were dusted with travel and grit, and that sharp, brooding look in his eyes didn’t soften even when they landed on them. He was raw power wrapped in flesh, every muscle taut, every movement deliberate.

Logan Howlett.

They’d heard the name whispered by the students, seen it on paperwork, but this was the first time they’d laid eyes on him. And the sight of him made their mouth water.

Logan had been gone for weeks—tracking down some personal leads, putting down problems before they grew too big. He had just parked his bike in the garage when he caught a scent that wasn’t part of the usual mix around the mansion. New. Feminine, with a dangerous edge to it—like spice wrapped in smoke, rich and heady, making his senses bristle. Whoever this was, she wasn’t some harmless new schoolteacher.

He rolled his shoulders, tightening the strap of his bag as he headed down the familiar hallways. The kids were nowhere to be seen, probably off in some class, and that suited him just fine. His boots made a steady, heavy sound on the floor, his mind set on dropping off his report with Chuck and catching a few hours of shut-eye.

He rounded the corner and froze, catching sight of her.

She was walking out of Charles' office, high heels clicking in rhythm with each step, her silhouette sharp and commanding. But there was something else—a flicker of something above her hairline, two subtle obsidian bumps that disappeared under her carefully styled wavy hair.

Horns?

His eyes trailed lower without permission. The plum of her lips, the curves of her breasts and the sway of her hips pulled at something primal in him, something he thought he had under control. There was power in her stride, something that made his instincts fire up in ways he hadn’t expected. Damn. He’d seen plenty of women in his time, but none with this kind of presence. The way her clothes hugged her body, her confidence… it wasn’t just a walk—it was a challenge. Logan’s gaze lingered a little too long, his nostrils flaring slightly at that scent again, his eyes trailed down once more, uncontrollably drawn to the curve of her hips.

Hell, he’d been gone for a few weeks, and he came back to this?

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them felt charged, a crackling tension that made their skin prickle. His eyes swept over them—sharp, assessing, like he was reading them just as much as they were reading him. The way he looked at them was different from what they were used to. Not with the hesitant caution most men wore in their presence, but something else—something hungrier, more primal. Something that resonated with the darker parts of themselves they tried to keep buried.

They shifted, folding their arms across their chest as his gaze lingered a little too long.

The way his nostrils flared slightly, his eyes flicking from their face to the faintest hint of their horns beneath their hair. Not that it mattered. He was focused on something else, too—the curve of their hips, the allure of their heels against the polished floor. They didn’t need to look to know he was watching.

They almost smiled. Almost.

Her scent got stronger as she started walking again, coming closer, sending a ripple through him that he quickly shook off. Whatever game she was playing, he wasn’t about to fall for it. He’d dealt with enough trouble in his lifetime to recognize it when it crossed his path.

But damn, those hips.

He grunted, pushing it all down as she passed by, brushing close enough that the faintest touch of a thin tail coming from under her pencil skirt grazed his leg so lightly he almost didn’t feel it. Almost. The scent grew stronger, messing with his focus, making him forget for a second that he had a report to deliver. He forced his eyes forward, giving his mind something else to chew on, his eyes on the door to Charles’ office, but he couldn’t shake the feel of her.

"Mr. Howlett," her voice was silk, controlled, the hint of a smile lingering at the edges of her lips, like she already knew everything about him. “Welcome back.”

He gave her a quick glance, a low grumble leaving his throat. “Who the hell are you?”

They saw the tension ripple through him as they passed. For all his tough exterior, Logan wasn’t immune to theirs. He wouldn’t admit it, of course, but it was there in the way he set his jaw, the brief flicker in his eyes as they greeted him. He’d noticed more than just their horns. The tail that skimmed his leg had been subtle, but they caught the way he stiffened.

A small victory.

His eyes were a storm—full of warning and curiosity, a predator assessing the situation. They liked that. Liked that he wasn’t some fool who would melt at their feet like so many others. Logan was… different. Stubborn. Dangerous.

But if he thought that would stop them from having their fun, he had no idea who he was dealing with.

When he spoke, asking who they were, his voice was gravelly—rough, like the scrape of metal on stone—and it made her horns itch with anticipation.

They turned fully, eyes locking with his, letting the question hang in the air for a heartbeat longer than necessary. A sly smile curled at the edge of their lips as they put their hand on their hip, her gaze not shying away from him in the slightest, piercing blue eyes steady.

“I’m E,” they finally said as if it was the most normal name in the world, feeling the weight of his stare. The air between them thickened and then their voice came again, smooth, steady. “The new lawyer.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, suspicion darkening his features. He stepped closer, just enough that E could smell a faint metallic scent and the earthiness clinging to him. A wild animal, barely restrained.

“Lawyer, huh?” He grunted, but his gaze didn’t waver from theirs, as if he were trying to dig deeper, to get past the surface. “Ain’t seen a lawyer look like you before.”

E’s smile widened, something dangerous glittering behind their cool expression. “And I haven’t met a man quite like you, either, Mr Howlett,” they shot back, their voice smooth, teasing at the edges of something darker, something far older than this hallway or the mansion, or even him.

Logan’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement passing over his face, though his eyes stayed sharp. “Don’t trust lawyers.”

A smug smile tugged at their lips.

“I’d be disappointed if you did.”

He let out a low, rough chuckle, shaking his head as if dismissing them. But they could feel the tension coiling in him, that primal urge battling with the cool control he tried to maintain. He brushed past them, closer than necessary, the tips of his fingers ghosting near their side. E’s skin tingled at the proximity, their body reacting even though their face remained neutral.

He paused, turning just enough to glance over his shoulder, eyes catching theirs again.

“Don’t care who you are,” he growled softly, a challenge hidden beneath his words. “Long as you stay outta my way.”

Even as he was walking away, they could feel the way his presence lingered in the air, heavy, magnetic. For all the danger that clung to him like a second skin, Logan was… intriguing. His scent still hung around them, earth and steel. But it wasn’t just his physicality that had their pulse racing—no, it was something deeper. Older.

Something that felt almost familiar.

Trouble.

He was going to be trouble, and they knew it.

But then again, trouble had always been their specialty.

Their fingers tapped against their hip as they considered his retreating figure, their thoughts swirling like dark, smoky tendrils. Logan probably thought he was unreadable, a closed book no one could crack. But they’d read men like him before—hungry, guarded, full of secrets they refused to admit, even to themselves.

Still, there was something different there. He wasn’t just another man to be toyed with. No, this one… this one might bite back.

They straightened their jacket again, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as they watched him stop in front of Charles’ office. The muscles in his back flexed under his worn leather jacket as he pushed the door open, and E couldn’t help but smirk.

Yes, Logan was going to be fun.

The door clicked shut behind him, but the scent of her still clung to his senses. He let out a low growl, shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind. What the hell was it about her? That scent, those eyes, those hips… she stirred something in him he didn’t like.

The primal part of him was curious—drawn in by the challenge, by the aura she carried. E. Didn’t matter what the hell she called herself. Something ancient lurked beneath that smooth exterior, something that made his instincts roar to life, like he was staring down a predator disguised as prey.

His claws itched beneath his skin, and not in the usual way.

He grunted, shifting his bag on his shoulder, trying to focus on the task at hand. But hell if his mind wasn’t already circling back to the sway of her hips, the way her voice slithered into his ears like smoke. He wasn’t some lovesick idiot, and yet…

He shook it off.

Trouble. That’s what she was. And he’d be damned if he let himself get dragged into whatever game she was playing.

To be continued...

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don’t forget to comment and spread the love 😊

More on the way!

✨ Masterlist ✨

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[itsclydebitches]

Okay, so I saw this RWBY meme made by a fan and I can't remember it completely but it was about Emerald switching sides. What stood out to me was the language used and how Ruby's group was specifically referred to as "The Good Guys side" and if that doesn't show how broken this show's morality is then I don't know what does. Emerald switched to the side of good, not just Ruby's side. The side that is specifically good because it's Ruby side. You're either with Ruby or against her with no in-between. Compare this to Aang's group in ATLA, affectionately called The Gaang by fans. A term that collectively refers to the group without proclaiming them as THE good guys. We know they're good because their actions show they are good. It isn't just a title grafted on because they're the stars of the show. And while they have an official grouping in the form of Team Avatar. It still isn't used in the same manner as RWBY fans calling all who agree with Ruby "The Good Guys".

Decided to start answering backlog asks! We've officially entered the post-RT discussion era. Fun! 😬

You know, RWBY is compared (unfavorably) to Avatar a lot, but this comparison is particularly interesting to me because Avatar is, well... Avatar. That's a title. And it's a title built into the fictional world, one that's so significant it's worthy of being the name of the show. The Avatar is a combined destiny/job description that, in the words of the wiki, is the "human embodiment of light and peace." Obviously free will still comes into play - I'd never ignore the significance behind Aang's personal choice of how to bring balance to the world - but there's an element of fate here, of self-fulfilling prophecy, and fourth wall-breaking knowledge. In-world, benders are (presumably) not chosen if they're unsuited to be this embodiment of peace. Once someone knows they're the avatar, they can more easily find the courage/determination to meet such high standards because this is how it's "supposed" to be (regardless of whether anything cosmic is actually ensuring their success). And the audience knows, by virtue of that title and our opening, how we're meant to view Aang: as the Good Guy of the story. All that already exists outside of the actions he takes within the show, helping to soften anything potentially suspect with a "Well, he's just a kid" or "Well, everyone makes mistakes," or whatever explanation that's technically true in any harrowing story featuring a young protagonist... but continually falls flat with Team RWBY.

Because RWBY didn't do that same work. RWBY doesn't have a handle on its own identity the way Avatar does. It laid some of the groundwork early on but then never capitalized on it, which is why I'm endlessly groaning over the failure of not doing anything with Ruby's status as a SEW/simple soul. Those could have easily been titles the way "Avatar" is a title, something that the people of Ruby's world see as cosmic evidence of her purity and inherent ability to lead them in this war. Instead, it's just a one-off, ambiguous statement and a very badly used skill.

So yeah, Emerald joins The Good Guys, which wouldn't be bad if, as said, the show had shown the group unambiguously being Good people in a war with black and white solutions. Or, if we had some reason to believe that Ruby is The One True Leader, destined/worthy of bearing this burden no matter the number of mistakes she's made. But RWBY even undermines the title aspect by making Ruby herself fairly inconsequential in later volumes. Yeah, the show is also named after this team/our protagonist... and yet that began to feel incidental as the cast grew AND many of the characters brought new - arguably better - perspectives + powers into the fray. Avatar made the simple but VERY important decision to say, "This is the ONLY GUY who can do this job. Sure, he's going to need a lot of help and saving the world is absolutely a team effort, but that team revolves around him because he is, again, the ONE PERSON who can accomplish this." RWBY failed to set that up and (arguably) failed to show the group being The Good Guys, at least to the extent that the whole world would understandably put their faith in a teenager who, frankly, just keeps making things worse. Like, that's a big consideration imo. Ruby's intentions have always been good and most fans are fully on her side regarding justifications for her choices, so in that sense she is absolutely The Good Guy, but beyond that she's just really bad at saving the world. So if she's not somehow ordained to do it and continually shows a severe lack of skill in this regard... why are the characters/the viewer rooting for her again?

[swaps55]

Hi! Sorry if you have already answered this somewhere, I love reading about your writing process for Opus and was wondering if you would talk about how you pick and choose which missions to assign Sam and Kaidan, like Kaidan taking on the Project Overlord mission? Also, lol, will Sam ever have the misfortune of driving a Hammerhead and how much would he hate it?

Hahahahaha, Sam would hate the Hammerhead so much. I will probably spare him that displeasure, given how much else he has to deal with.

This is such an awesome question; thank you so much for asking it, and I am so sorry this answer is probably far more involved than you were looking for.

Stories like Cantata, Fugue, and Kaidan's portion of Mezzo necessitated missions that weren't main plot for the trilogy. But since the codex is so rich and there are so many side missions across the three games, I made it an unwritten rule that I wouldn't make up a mission from thin air if I could help it. Instead I'd pull something from canon and twist it into a new shape. That put less pressure on me to invent something from scratch, and it meant fun Easter eggs for the reader.

This has taken different shapes. In Cantata, the mission where Sam experiences a blood sugar crash in mid-combat was going to be heavy on action, which meant a fairly elaborate "combat chess board." Designing a visual setting is one of my big weaknesses as a writer, so I set it on Benning because I could then use the ME3MP map as a template to craft the rest of the mission around.

The underwater mission Sam does on Proteus is what it is because the codex states that combat diving is part of the N program. I thought that was cool, and while perusing planets in the codex, the description for Proteus included an underwater colony. "Great!" I said to myself. "What if I broke it?"

Virtually every place the Yang Gang visits in Cantata is pulled straight from canon, as well as what they find there. It's something I'm pretty proud of.

(The big exception is the thresher maw on Sharjilla, which is pure artistic liberty, but I am beyond delighted that people have played that mission expecting to find one because of Cantata. At one point I had planned a really great joke where Sam nukes the thresher maw from orbit out of pure spite, so when they come back to Sharjila in ME1 and Kaidan mentions threshers, someone could go, "wait, there's thresher maws down there?!" and Sam would growl under his breath, "not anymore." But I couldn't fit it into Cantata, lol.)

As for all the side missions I've woven in, they provide a neat opportunity to spread the love. They are Shepard's responsibility in the games because Shepard is the player character, so the entire world revolves around them. In fic, I don't have that constraint, so I am free to take missions that have some good narrative potential and give them to other characters.

Side quests like Bring Down the Sky don't offer much to the canon plot, but for Opus it provided an opportunity for some pretty sharp character development while also advancing my reimagined plans for ME3.

In the case of Overlord, I loved the complexity it would add to something like Horizon: if Kaidan got a first hand glimpse at the terrible things Cerberus does right before discovering Shepard on Horizon, suddenly his distrust and anger take on new meaning.

Kasumi became Kaidan's partner in crime because the cast of ME2 is so dense that I went looking for ways to weed down the cast without having to just leave people out or inflict mass casualties. Kasumi's skillset as a thief never made sense to me for something like the suicide mission, but Kasumi herself is a delight. And like Kaidan, she has experienced the death of a partner. They seemed like such a natural fit for each other, and Keiji's role as a double agent with the Alliance also worked narratively in my favor: I got to use him to answer questions like, "how the hell does Cerberus get their hands on the Normandy design docs?"

Fugue also incorporates a few ME2 side missions that, again, just dovetailed nicely into what I was trying to do. Superimposing Keiji over the Cerberus agent in N7: Lost Operative just worked well for what I wanted to do, and N7: Imminent Ship Crash gave me a good segue into it, while also giving me the chance to explore how Kara and Aslany dealt with the loss of the 'Yang.

So how I choose what missions I use comes down to what I need for the story. I have a vague idea of what I need to accomplish, then look for a side mission or DLC that can help me get there. The Hammerhead DLC missions are utterly terrible to play, but there is just enough of an interesting story to them that I was able to weave something useful to future Opus plans while also letting Kaidan grow into his role as a leader.

The DLC and side missions are really fun to work with, and one of my favorite parts of Opus, even if I almost went bald tearing my hear out over N7: Imminent Ship Crash. XD

[utilitycaster]

this comes from @captainofthetidesbreath telling me the reason I, as a person who only knows anything from my dash and discussions with people who play the games, was way more interested in the Veilguard companions than the BG3 crew (and I like the BG3 crew) is because my go-to favorite character type is "people you'd recruit for an urgent continental mission to kill some loose gods."

And the thing is this is correct. I like characters who are competent in their field, do not shirk great responsibility nor leadership, consider their reputation carefully, and, ever-increasingly as I myself get older, have lived something of a life. It's cool that you're all a bunch of randos thrown together by fate or whatever, but I like people who have skills. I like people who choose to be here and commit. I like characters who feel like they'd have inevitably found their way here because it's the right thing to do. Or, if they were dragged into this because of circumstances beyond their control, let them at least be someone who does not hesitate to immediately rise to the occasion.

I've talked a lot about my frustrations with Campaign 3 and Bells Hells from a general narrative level that I hope is as objective as one can be in the field of media analysis, and this is not that. This is very much about my preferences. But I do think they're good preferences. I don't want to watch characters who have never had agency because someone with no agency has no history, and at best a purely theoretical moral code. Someone who has never had to make choices doesn't understand how to, and while I'm glad they have their freedom, I'll take a pass on viewing their dithering.

My favorite characters from the past two campaigns are Vex and Fjord, and I arrived at both these conclusions fairly early on. It would be truly a lie to argue that these are characters who have never experienced oppression, trauma, or powerlessness; but they are people whose response to that was to embrace and wield power as soon as it became an option. They can be abrasive or callous at times in its pursuit; but they do take responsibility as well.

There isn't someone like that in Campaign 3, and it shows. It is not just leaderless, but rudderless, and it is very much a story of people who have a metaphorical tadpole in their head rather than people with the skills one would need. They are not the people you'd recruit; they're the people who were there. They're the main characters of the story because they're who the cast is playing, essentially, but if this were a video game I think we'd all be wondering why you couldn't have Vox Machina or the Mighty Nein or like, Kima on your team instead.

As of late I think some of them have begun to rise to the occasion. Chetney and Orym have always been characters who are competent and responsible, but neither has any interest in leadership, and Imogen has slowly developed leadership and competence from beginnings that lacked them, but it remains a frustration that in a story that, while no doubt wildly different from that of the Veilguard (don't quiz me on Dragon Age Lore, I do not know), shares a similar one-sentence job board posting, the characters available don't fit the description.

[connorjared]

TW: description of death and suicide

the writing for deh frustrates me in tone. suicide and grief is... brutal. it's horrifying. the murphys, three days after connor's body was presumably found, being able to discuss something with connor's (speculated) best friend?

there is nothing innocuous about organ failure—connor's method, being pills, (I presume fentanyl if he got it from a plug) would be an extremely painful and long way to die. he would have been found choking on his own vomit and blood potentially having a seizure with his eyes bulged and glazed. in the book as a ghost be briefly mentions the state of his body, and it's fairly ghoulish, but none of that is even partly reflected in any of the murphy family's dialogue. it's actually kind of despicable to me and I find it genuinely offensive to people who have experienced this type of grief or have been victims of suicide.

in the book he takes his life in his room, meaning a family member found him.

in the musical he is found on his favorite bench by police. the latter makes much more sense for the murphy's reactions, almost distant from his actual death as it's possible they never even saw his body. but the book's version makes the murphy's seem like bizarre caricatures of what the author thinks grief looks like.

especially for a parent. or a sibling.

a good example of this done extremely well is in Hereditary (2018) directed by Ari Aster. the grieving process is diverse, but it's given the weight it deserves in all directions. of course, this is a movie, a horror one at that, so the tone will naturally be different.

while musicals can of course handle dark and macabre or tragic subjects, it's vital to handle carefully with a balance of tone and being sure that your central theme comes across—

Heathers is an excellent example of this. The tone is dark comedy, which can be very hard to balance, but the theme is able to perfectly shine through because it was planned out and prioritized.

The theme for Dear Evan Hansen is... muddy, if I'm being incredibly generous.

If it's that, "No one deserves to be forgotten," well... it was extremely weakly handled considering the character that passes away is neglected by the text and slandered by the dialogue—including the removal of his queerness and neurodivergence.

Let's say the theme is... I don't know. "Teen suicide: Don't do it!" then... that's also very weak considering that the character that *does* commit suicide either A. in the musical, is shown to make a positive impact because he committed suicide and B. in the book, openly discusses his reasoning with little to no refute of that reasoning. There's no "what could he have been." There's no sympathy for Connor as a person. There's not even a mention of the scars that would have been found on his body.

Dear Evan Hansen is a musical and book I would tell people to watch, not because I endorse it or even think it succeeds in whatever it was trying to do, but as an example of how works with so much potential can be rendered mediocre or even damaging by something as simple as a lack of vision and respect for the subject you are writing about.