#beware the friendly stranger

[phahadhcss]

So, let's talk about the beautiful clown AU. I'm by no means abandoning it, it's just that after the release of chapters 3 and 4, it will be on hold for a while, maybe a month. I'm in the middle of my final exam prep period now, so I won't be able to write anything for the whole of June. I still love this absurd ship and want to further develop their story, maybe even do something else on it, but because there will be some pretty creepy and gruesome parts of the story, I, with a full head of exams, just can't take it. Anyway, thank you for your understanding and anticipation!

[rastronomicals]

5:43 PM EST March 2, 2024:

Boards of Canada - "Beware The Friendly Stranger" From the album Geogaddi (February 13, 2002)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

File under: Spooky Electronic Stuff

[ancientcharm]

A guy wrote this:

" My two brothers and I left tour with backpacks of wine and thought we would stay the night In Pompeii. But after dark, the dogs turn into wolves and we had to kick them to get to front gates and let locals mock us before they let us out. A lot of dark ancientness. "

I just read it, and I felt outraged (I adore Pompeii and its dogs).

Only archaeologists who take photographs, and historians who make documentaries, allowed into Pompeii at night with special permission. Tourists have never complained; The dogs are used to seeing a lot of people during visiting hours and are friendly with everyone. But suddenly they saw three strangers breaking into the site in the middle of the night. If strangers breaks into your house and you have a dog, your dog turn into wolf, too. For the dogs who live there, Pompeii is home; They have behaved like good dogs. You and your two brothers behaved like morons. Pompeii is an archaeological site, a World Heritage Site, not a place for nighttime adventures.

You and your bros should be grateful that none of the adorable dogs living in Pompeii today, are even half the size of the dog that lived in the Pompeian domus known as 'House of the tragic Poet'

CAVE CANEM: BEWARE OF DOG. Entrance to the House of the Tragic Poet, Pompeii. Photo by Sailko/CC BY-SA 4.0/Wikimedia Commons

Thanks to all the dogs of Pompeii for looking after the heritage

[rainyorca]

Flowers Don’t Bloom In Winter ❀ Logan Howlett x Reader

Content Warnings: F!reader, angst/no comfort, character death, kissing/make out, implied smut, mild gore, strangers to friends to lovers.

Summary: “Are you scared?” he asks, voice low but there's genuine curiosity in the gentle cadence of his voice. Your eyes meet his. “You could never scare me.” 

You'll wilt, all flowers die. But he'll bloom again.

Notes: I’ve been a wolvie fan since i was suppperrr young and I am so glad him (and hugh) are getting attention again. This is my second-ish time writing for him, I just got done rewatching the movies for the first time in a while so hopefully I did him a little justice. His hair in origins will forever be my favorite but in this you can think of him from any movie, there is no set one, no set timeline wolvie.

Words: 6,121

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

You're not a weapon. 

You’re more human than everyone else.

Human was a funny word, to Logan at least. Being human meant a lot of things, mutant wasn’t one of them. Stuck as a mutant with the heart for a human, what a tragedy. Actually, did he even have a heart? Oftentimes he would spend nights trying to find his own heartbeat, a hand laying on his chest while he stared up at the ceiling. 

When he met you he wondered if you knew what he was, the way you stared at him when he came in and sat down at the bar made him curious. Most don't know, he looks normal on the outside, so how would you know? But he did have a hard time keeping his eyes off you too, you smelled human but there was something so sweet about your scent, it made you different from others. 

Wisteria, sandalwood, jasmine and maybe a hint of vanilla, he couldn't really pinpoint what you smelled like (however it reminded him of forests, nature, his old home) all he knew was that he wanted the scent to last forever, like a candle he could buy over and over again. He would only watch the stage when you got up there and when you're done, he would be too. 

You came to the bar shortly after to get yourself a drink, your eyes resembled a rabbit’s; innocence and beauty all in one, and they immediately found him. There was something else in your eyes, deep within like you were trying to figure him out. When you got closer to him your scent got stronger, so strong it was almost overwhelming. No human has ever had that effect on him before, at least not enough to make him physically react like he did, squeezing his glass a little tighter. 

“Hello,” you smiled brightly, like a blooming flower, voice gentle whilst you greeted him. 

“You must be new, I haven't seen you at the bar before.” 

“Just figured I’d try out a new place,” he responds, an attempt to try and be friendly despite his intimidating looks. You smile again, swallowing down the remains of your liquor and then putting the dish in the sink. “Glad you came to us,” your eyes travel down to his somewhat empty glass, “you want another?” 

Your kindness was obvious, but no one that kind is ever really okay. There was something off about you, something deep down was bothering you or maybe you just had some other problem he couldn't figure out. You're kind but in a calming way, not overwhelming. What's the word? Tranquil? That's what he thought of you. 

You knew Logan wasn’t human when you first met him. He looked human just like a majority of the rest of the mutants but you had a keen eye for finding them. It was a talent to some people, being able to point out who was ‘real’ and who was not. Logan was no exception, you could practically see that mutant blood underneath his thick skin as if you had x-ray vision. 

A human trying to befriend a mutant, what an odd thing to most of the world. You should be scared of him. People would say, many warning you to beware the mutants, stay away from the entities wearing human skin. He's only going to hurt you, stay away from him. 

Logan wasn’t an entity, he had a human heart just like the rest of them. But to you, he was a little more human than the others. To you, he looked like a winter flower, strong and capable of handling whatever comes its way, but flowers don't bloom in winter. He was too good to be true. 

You don’t really remember the details of how you met Logan (besides making small talk that first time), but what always stays in your head is what happened a few months later upon meeting him. 

There was a little dispute in the parking lot of your job. Being a dancer doesn't mean you do all the hard work at your job, that's up to the servers and bartenders. But of course you were always the one to go clean up after people. Your coworkers assigned you the role after you broke up a bar fight on your first night, so all the dirty work (dealing with rude customers or fights in and out of the bar) was left up to you. 

Kill them with kindness is an extremely real and full proof method, people find your kindness a little off putting (though you are unsure why). You don’t know what the guys were fighting about but it got messy quickly, they both started swinging at each other and when you tried to split it up suddenly you were the problem. 

Pushing you up against the car, threatening you instead of each other. Your coworkers who were once watching from afar were now safely back inside. You braced yourself for some hits, maybe you would get a cool scar out of the situation, a story to tell to your future children (if you even had any). But all that confidence from before was dropped as soon as the guy got on his knees, grabbing your injured face as you leaned lethargically against the car, making you look at him.

Your bare legs hurt on the asphalt, rocks digging into the softness of your skin, leaving marks. He held a knife up to your ribs, pressing and pressing until you felt a sharpness, the tip of the blade digging into your flesh. The other guy had run off, probably took his chance and instead let you take the beatings. 

You remember him getting ready to stand up, his face getting closer to you while he continued to threaten you, that was until he went silent. There was the sound of flesh ripping, or a knife sheathing you weren’t really sure. Blood splatters onto your face, the only thing you could hear was gurgling and a gruesome choking sound from the man. Slowly opening your blurry eyes, the sight in front of you almost made you scream if your throat wasn't so dry. 

The man had been silenced, three blades stuck out the front of his face, the tips of them so close to yours you could feel them poking into your skin. A shaky gasp escapes your lips when you see him move, his body lifting up. Standing behind him, the man's blood spilling onto his knuckles, was Logan (Haemanthus, in that moment). 

The look of fear on your face was clear in the dark, Logan could see it, hell he could probably smell it. You watch him toss the limp body aside and then he crouches down in front of you. Flinching away, you watch those metal claws slide back into his knuckles, the openings they tear closing almost immediately. Then he cups your face with that same, blood soaked hand, trying to wipe the blood that had splattered onto your face (useless, he was only smearing it). 

That was the first time you ever saw Logan use his powers and it was to protect you. What you should’ve done is run, call the cops or something but instead you stayed, you stayed in front of him, letting him pick you up and carry you back into your job. 

Humans are curious creatures, thirsting for an explanation of something they don't understand, even if that explanation could kill them. So, after that, you would stay after hours on your job, as long as he was there. After you got done closing you would ask him to show you, show you his claws so you could feel them, look at them. Maybe even worship them if you were that kind of person. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, trailing your fingers up the blades. “When they come out?” 

“Every time,” he responds, watching you intently, no one has ever seemed to show this much curiosity over his claws, at least no human has. 

“There’s something sort of humbling about them,” you speak slowly, looking at your reflection on the blades, “the fact that you could so easily kill me, kill anyone, yet you choose not to.” 

Your fingers trail back down the blades until you stop at his wrist, wrapping your hand around it to feel them when they return into his body. You could feel his muscles move every time his bones shift to allow the metal to escape the cavity of his arm. His eyes stay locked on your face, watching every tiny change in expression. 

“Are you scared?” he asks, voice low but there's genuine curiosity in the gentle cadence of his voice. 

Your eyes meet his. “You could never scare me.” 

It was hard to say whether you really liked Logan after what happened, a part of you knows what he did was illegal, but he did it to protect you, maybe you could rule it out as self defense if the cops come searching. You took an interest in him honestly, this was your first time getting to know a mutant, your first time being saved by one too. 

But there was a part of you that wanted to protect him, keep him safe and out of harm from humans and mutants alike. Logan is stubborn but not as stubborn as you. You would do anything to keep him safe, even if it meant risking your own life, although he argues that you shouldn't do anything like that for him. Humans are much more fragile, at least that's what he would say to you. He compared you to a flower, prone to breaking, prone to destruction. He feared that he wouldn't be able to keep you safe. 

It's strange, just a few months into this little friendship and you already feel this instinct to take care of him, to nurture him, treat him like he's the most perfect piece of art in the whole world, and also the most breakable. Like he's the most precious, rarest flower you’ve ever seen. The type that you discovered, not some random traveler. Even a few months in he allows you to meet all the other mutants, the ones he calls his family. You hit it off with Storm pretty quick, she knew how to be your voice of reason, your help when it comes to figuring out your feelings for Logan. 

You also enjoyed staying at the mansion, being able to interact with all the students. This place was wonderful to you, but you didn't like having to stay behind when Logan went on missions. 

Every time you watch him walk out that door you feel like you're left with nothing but desperation, the desire, the need to go with him. All you want to do is help him. But you were also left with fear, strangely enough. No matter how many times he came back, everytime he left it felt like he was never gonna come back. They’re just missions, he’ll be back soon. That's what you always told yourself.

You don't know why you cared so much, you two weren't even dating. But you don't really know what to call the relationship you two had, you were much closer than just regular friends. Yearning was never your thing until you met him. Usually you try to avoid relationships, your fears always making it hard for you to stay with someone. 

I wanna be a part of you. 

You would tell him. Always touching him, that was your thing. He liked that about you, that you felt safe around him, comfortable enough to always be touching him, a hand constantly on his shoulder or fingers wrapped around his wrist. It was something you did every time you were with him, even if you were safe from harm. 

His most favorite thing was that scent of yours, it drove him crazy in all the good ways. He could tell when you had just been in a room and he could follow your scent out of that room if he so pleased. He remembers the first time Charles talked about you after you had left the room just a few minutes before he arrived. 

“She's quite a unique one,” he says, watching Logan adjust to your scent filling the room, “isn't scared of mutants, believes we are all equal. I'm glad you found her, Logan.”

“Yeah well, I knew she’d be good here,” Logan responds, leaning against the wall. Charles is quiet, but there's a growing smirk on his face. “What?” he asks a bit harshly.

“You like her,” Charles says, “I don't have to read your mind to tell.”

“Yeah well a mutant and a human won't really work out, so forget it,” Logan grumbles, pushing through the doors and leaving the room before Charles could protest.

The dynamic was weird (for a pair that wasn't dating), but considerably normal to the other mutants. Many seek him out for protection too, he's just the type of guy you gravitate to, despite that grumpy face and angry attitude. You know that's not who he is on the inside, he's much more gentle than what others seem to think about him (Hibiscus, a delicate beauty, Gypsophilia, pure of heart).

When Logan was out on missions, you would spend your time distracting yourself with flower hunting or spending money on bouquets just to make you happy. You would leave them around the mansion, around your work. 

You love seeing him in the audience when he returns, usually sitting at the bar. He leans against it, facing the stage, eyes only on you (Sweet daffodil, you're my only one. The sun shines when I'm with you). When you were done for the night you would run to him, wrapping your arms around him, finding so much comfort in those large arms. 

You imagine Logan would be a kind lover, gentle and caring. The type to freak out if he accidentally hurt you. The type to sit you on his lap during dinner even if there was a chair for you. You know he would take care of you, he's said it a million times before. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he says softly one night after you get off work. You're standing behind the bar, watching him drink the last of the whiskey. 

“You can't be near me all the time,” you hum, teasingly, unaware of his seriousness. You figured it was just him being a little flirty. 

“I can if I want to,” he responds, his smile often a little rare to see but present in this moment. 

He made it very hard for you to try and hide your flusteredness. Logan can be very flirty, more unintentionally than not. In all honesty, maybe you did want him, wanted to be with him. For once you can see a future with someone, something rare for you (usually trying not to look ahead). You could see the future where you live in a cabin with him, somewhere in the woods, probably in Canada or somewhere cold. He would get a normal job, you would make him breakfast and then kiss him goodbye before heading to your own job. Maybe it was a sad, pathetic thing to think about at night but you couldn't help yourself, it was the life you always wanted and you finally found someone to have that life with. 

The day you really realized it, was when he came back from a longer mission, longer than usual. For once you didn't work that week, taking a break to give the new dancer a chance to earn some money. You spent that week cleaning your place, organizing, doing the things you didn't usually have time for. That's when you received a call from the mansion, Ororo had called you, letting you know Logan was back. 

You’ve never driven so fast in your life, that long trip turns into a few quick minutes. The snow didn't stop you, instead it only made your adrenaline spike, your excitement. You practically slipped when you got out of the car, running to the front door of the mansion. 

When it opened to his handsome face you felt a tingle in your spine, electricity coursing through your veins. He starts to walk forward, snow starting to stick to his dark hair, his arms open waiting to catch you. 

In that moment, when you ran into his arms, feeling them wrap around you again and cover you in that familiar warmth, that familiar scent, you felt something more. More than fasciation, more than adoration, you felt love (A blooming orchid). 

“Miss me?” he asks with a smile when you pull away, your arms still wrapped around his neck. He sets you carefully back down on your feet.

“Always,” you breathe, tears pricking at your eyes. You don't know why you felt like crying, you blamed it on the fact of how much you missed him, or maybe you were just incredibly overwhelmed. 

You knew the problems with wanting to be with Logan. The major one you realized while rewatching Twilight (Ironic given your situation, Edward a vampire, Bella a human. You a human, Logan a mutant). Logan is practically immortal, honestly you don’t even know how old he is now. You’ll grow old, eventually succumb to your age or maybe even a sickness if you're lucky. Logan will still be living, just older, a little more grumpy. 

You’ll wilt, all flowers die. But he’ll bloom again.

But unlike Twilight, you won’t get your happy ending. Logan can’t bite you and turn you into a mutant like Edward does with Bella. His fangs are dulled, they don’t secrete any special type of life changing liquid. 

Unfortunately you’ll be human forever. What a curse it is to be human or to be living at all. 

… 

The first time you and Logan kissed was outside his place, surrounded by nothing but trees, fresh snow falling to the ground and sticking to your hair. You had embarrassingly fallen on your ass walking up to his house, he quickly rushed out to help you up, dusting you off and asking if you were okay. But when he picked you up you never let go, keeping your arms wrapped around his neck while he held you on your own two feet. There was that buzz in the air, the flutter right before a kiss, that tingly feeling in your spine knowing it’s going to happen. 

And when his lips graze over yours you practically shove his head down to kiss him, pressing your lips against his without even considering the situation. To your surprise, he kisses you back, wrapping his arms around you a little tighter and lifting you up so your legs wrap around his waist. 

It was like something out of a movie, just missing a mushy love song. You wished you could hold that kiss forever but your lips would get sore and you would probably get frostbite. 

When you pulled away he stared at you, eyes piercing into yours before he freed one of his hands. His fingers curl around the chain of his dog tags, and then he pulls them up and over his head.

Then he puts them around your neck, the jingle of them coming to rest on your collar bones makes you shudder, but from warmth, excitement. 

You hide them under your shirt most of the time, always toying with them to make sure they are still safely around your neck. It’s like he transported his warmth with them because they were always warm no matter how cold it was outside. 

Sometimes, if you see him before he leaves somewhere, he’d press a hand to where they hang, rough palm warm against your chest. It was like his little special way of saying goodbye, just in case he didn’t return (which you hated to think about). 

Logan eventually gave you the spare key to his place, allowing you to visit whenever you so pleased. And when he was gone sometimes you would curl up in his bed, inhaling his scent and usually getting the best sleep of your life. His scent brought you comfort, you always wanted to be surrounded by it, drowning in it. 

On occasion but rarely, he would come home to you still in his bed, buried under the covers and sleeping soundly. He’d pull the blanket back gently to see your face, sit down on the edge of the bed and stare at you while he waited for you to wake up. 

But usually you would be gone, his bed would be empty but he would always know you were there. Your scent would seep into sheets, the mattress drinking up your smell. He could smell you, like you were still present (Soft jasmine, beautiful wisteria).

Now the first time you two ever slept together was at his place of course, you were slumped from work, muscles aching, head throbbing. You’ve never been this tired before. You push through the door, unlocked as usual when he’s home. He’s already in bed when you're there, awake but he looks just as tired as you. He sits up when he sees you, turning on the lamp so you can see. You don't even say anything, instead you just drop your things by the doorway, tugging your shirt off over your head letting it pool on the ground. 

He doesn’t seem to care, instead he just watches you as you curl into bed next to him. “Rough day?” He asks a few moments later, turning the lamp off. 

“Don’t even get me started,” you mumble back, voice muffled by his pillow. You can already feel yourself relaxing, his scent like a calming drug (the smell of peaceful lavender).

He doesn’t hesitate, he turns to his side, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. You let out a sigh, melting into his warmth. It started out as a normal night, sleep coming to you quickly. But it wasn’t until you felt Logan stirr, moving a little in his sleep. He lets out a quiet grumble, and then a louder one. 

Then you feel a sharp pain, agonizing, stinging, right in the back of your shoulder. You let out a yelp, jolting up, your movements pulling whatever it was out of your flesh. You look back, reaching a shaking hand back to feel the wounds. “Damn,” you groan when you see blood on your hand, Logan’s claws unsheathed, the tips covered in your blood. You can feel the warmth travel down your back, the sight of the blood trickling down your back and staining the sheets makes you feel dizzy.

Logan stirrs again, sniffing the air, eyes fluttering open at the scent of your blood. He acts as soon as his eyes land on your back, fear and worry clouding his head. “Fuck,” he curses, “fuck, fuck.” 

“I’m okay, I’m fine.” You breathe through clenched teeth, getting up to go to the bathroom. He quickly picks you up, carrying you to the bathroom. He sets you on the bathroom sink, maneuvering around you so he could clean your wounds. You open your eyes, staring at his face. He’s focused, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted as he continues to wipe the blood from your open wounds before finally getting them to stop bleeding. You watch as he slowly starts to wrap you up with the gauze and bandages. 

You reach up, softly cupping his face with your free hand, making him halt his actions. His eyes meet yours, your reflection so visible in his pupils. Unsure of how long you stared into his eyes, he had somehow finished wrapping you up without taking his eyes off you. You could feel yourself inching closer, getting closer and closer to his face until you can feel his breath. His lips graze over yours and you flinch back, as if you haven’t kissed him before. It’s been a few months come to think of it, but still you shouldn’t be nervous. 

Logan just has that effect on you. It only takes a few seconds until your lips meet, kissing him gently, your fingers finding their way to the nape of his neck. Fingertips brush the shore of his hair, almost like an invitation. 

And he takes it, kissing you with a little more vigor. His bloodied hand comes up to your face, smearing a little bit of your blood on your cheek. He’s careful with his movements, gripping your waist with his other hand to keep you up on the sink, to steady you. His kisses are starting to get more aggressive, pressing you a bit further back onto the sink.To make sure you don’t slip in, he reaches underneath you, his large hand coming to rest on your ass as he holds you still. 

You can feel that familiar heat start to pool between your thighs, and he can feel it too, or in other words smell it. Your legs clench around him, squeezing as if you're trying to pull him into you. He frees his hand from underneath you, feeling up the bare skin of your waist, his rough fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours while he stares down at your semi-bare body, debating on unclipping your bra to feel you more. His breathing is rushed but even, mouth open. 

“Logan,” you breathe, coming out more as a desperate plea. He hums, pressing your lips together again, open mouth kisses, tilting his head for better movement and access. There’s a thin string of saliva that keeps your mouths connected when he pulls away. 

He can see it in your eyes, the desperation, not only that but he could smell it too. Your scent was strong, if he got closer to your core it would be overwhelming, and he's not sure he’d be able to stop what he's started.. “You’re hurt,” he says quietly, “I don’t wanna hurt you anymore than you already are,.” 

“You won’t,” you respond, a smile on your kiss bitten lips, “Logan, please.” He kisses you again, slower and softer this time. “I can't,” he whispers against your lips, keeping them close even after pulling away again. 

“Why not?” you speak softly, scratching his scalp with your nails. He hesitates, his thumb rubbing your cheek. “You know why.” He smiles, gentle and small before licking his thumb and wiping the small amount of blood off your face. “C’mon,” he mutters, lifting you off the sink. 

… 

Logan gave you all kinds of nicknames but your most favorite came from you showing up to his place with flowers. You loved orchids, always have so you bought a small bouquet of them to put on his coffee table. He accepted gracefully, and then from then on he started calling you by that name. A simple nickname but it was lovely.

 Orchid, my little orchid. A nickname uniquely your own (Orchids, love, beauty).

It wasn’t long before you two had officially agreed to being in a relationship, having a label. And not long after that you decided to move in with him, a bold move but you spend more time at his place than yours anyways. At night the moon will shine through the windows, lighting up the room with its cool toned glow. You’ll lay your head on Logan’s shoulder, your hand resting on his chest. You’ll both lie awake in silence while you draw circles on his chest with your finger. 

Some nights you’ll sit on his lap while his back rests against the headboard, your hands cupping his face. On occasion, you’ll run your thumb over his bottom lip until he parts them for you, then you’ll feel his abnormally sharp canines, his fangs. You test them, pressing the pad of your thumb into the sharp point to see if it’ll make you bleed but he always stops you before you ever do. When you're asleep he’ll stare at your face till morning, gently rubbing his thumb over your cheek. He stares at his dog tags around your neck, always warm from your body heat and always safe. 

He admires your beauty, especially when the sunlight hits you just right. When you're hiking in that tank top and whatever pants you decided to wear that day, he stares at your backside, your silhouetted figure. And when you bend over to tie your shoe, looking back at him with a smile, his eyes not only fixate on your face, but your scars. The scars he left engraved on your skin. 

The scars you admired, the scars that comfort you, a reminder of him always. 

It’s past 11 pm, you’ve been in the bath for almost an hour now, the water starting to get cold. The room is dark, only lightened by the light seeping through the open bathroom door. You lean back, head resting on the edge of the tub, fingers toying with Logan’s dog tags.

The familiar sound of the front door opening echoes through the silent bathroom, Logan's heavy footsteps can be heard walking around, like he's looking for you. You slide down further into the bath, trying to hide yourself playfully, peaking over the edge while you wait for him. That's when he peeks into the bathroom, a smile creeps over his face when he sees you.

“Hi, gorgeous.” he says in that comforting gruff voice. He crouches down by the side of the tub, dipping his hand into the warm water. “Hi.” You smile, sitting up and resting your head on your hands, holding onto the edge of the tub. He brings a hand up to caress your face, gently rubbing the warm skin of your cheek. 

“What did you do today?” you ask, watching him reach for the loofa and dip it in the water. He grabs your arm gently, rubbing your skin softly with the item. “The usual,” he responds, staring at the suds on your skin while they wash away. You hum, sitting back in the tub again, making him let go of you and get further. “C’mere,” you beckon, tapping the edge of the bathtub. He complies, getting up and sitting down on the edge. He leans down so he could be close to your face. 

“I was thinking about you today,” he says softly, cupping your face, “I always am.” Smiling a little wider, you reach up with both hands, grabbing his face and pulling him down to kiss him. He kisses you back, much to your pleasure. You're quick to part your lips, giving him access to use his tongue. 

It's an aggressive kiss, open mouthed and borderline messy. He pulls away to say something but you block it out, too focused on the feeling of his lips to even notice. You try to pull him back down and you successfully do, he doesn't put up a fight or anything. The kiss becomes more vigorous, more violent but so passionate.

He slips, falling into the tub fully clothed, making the water rise and spill out over the sides. You laugh softly in which he responds with a small laugh too. He’s laying on your side, face inches away from you and just a little lower as he allows himself to slip into the bath more comfortably. Your lips graze over his again, his smile fades as he kisses you and then pulls away. 

You adjust your trapped arm behind his head, scratching his scalp as he gets closer and closer. Then he kisses you again, leaning his whole body forward and cupping your face with a wet hand once again. You close your eyes, but he opens his just slightly while his lips slowly slot against yours. Open mouth on open mouth, his lips never leaving yours. The only noise that fills the space is the quiet sound of water sloshing, soft breaths from the both of you while you kiss until practically sucking the oxygen from each other. 

Pressing his lips against yours a little rougher now, he eases on top of you. Your hands travel up and down his flanks and back, feeling him through his soaked clothes tight against his skin until you tug and pull at the bottom of his shirt. He sits back, breaking the kiss for once and taking his shirt off, immediately returning to your lips. A gasp escapes your mouth when you feel him press his hips against yours, his cock clearly wanting to be freed from the prison of his jeans. He can smell your arousal, your need for him. His lips move down your jaw and to your neck, kissing at the supple area while he struggles to grind against you. His fangs graze over your skin, making your body shudder at the feeling. 

Water spills out the tub with every erratic movement, but you can feel the warmth returning. He uses his other hand to hold the dip in your spine, making your back arch by habit, by command almost. Your eyes go all hazy and the more he presses his bare skin into yours you swear you feel like you're melting into his body. 

“I love you,” he whispers, into your neck. 

…

You loved flowers, always have. You loved what they represent depending on what type they were, you loved how colorful they usually work, how unique they are. You loved how they bloom again even after death, even after they've wilted and lost all their color. The petals turned into something wrinkled and rough, unlike their usual clear, softness. 

Even after they die, they still bloom again in springtime. Daisy, lavender, day lily, aster, they all bloom again. Flowers don’t mourn the dead, they respect it, embrace it. They become one with the dead, seeping into the ground and back into the earth in which a person is buried. 

To him, you were a flower. Delicate and soft, something he wanted to protect, to see everyday. Your color, he couldn't quite describe it but it was uniquely your own. Over 10 million colors and somehow when he sees you  and it's something separate from the million to choose from. When he thinks of you, that's the color he sees. When he thinks of you, he sees an orchid. 

But is a flower still a flower after all its petals have been ripped off, gored and left to rot and wilt on the ground. Is a flower still a flower after it's been torn out of the ground, roots ripped, its purpose gone?

You think of all the times you’ve woken up beside him, smiling when he opens his eyes, murmuring a soft “good morning” as he reaches up to touch your face. You remember the times where he would soothe you on your tough days, running a bath for you and gently rubbing the loofa on your skin. So many good moments, very few bad ones. 

Words of affirmation weren't your love language, at least not usually. But Logan had another super power, and it was exactly that. He knew what to say and how to say it at all the right moments. He was a generous lover, attentive, caring, when you were with him you felt like yourself. 

“Winter came early this year,” you hum, clutching the white orchids in your gloved hands, “my first one without you.” 

“I keep buying orchids for you, whenever I have the time. But even when I don’t you're always on my mind.”

You go silent, tears starting to bubble up in your eyes. “I just- I-” you stutter, voice breaking as you grip the flowers a little tighter. You fall to your knees, snow wetting your pants while your tears run down your face. Your sobs slowly pick up in volume every time you try to speak, only to get choked up and give up. “I just wanna see you,” you sob, pressing your face into the snow below, “I just want to see you.” 

You drag yourself further up the ground until you're met with the headstone, Logan’s name engraved on it, freezing to the touch. You press the flowers into the snow, laying down on top of them while your hands move to clutch his dog tags tightly around your neck. The snow and soil drink up your tears, and you can only hope they reach him.

 He was a flower, a dangerous one on the outside but oh so beautiful on the inside. But you seemed to forget one thing. 

Flowers don't bloom in winter.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

I don't know flowers that well so forgive me flower fans ahaha

[cheese-moustache]

Mlp infection au part 4.

(fixed colouring issues)

[princesssarisa]

Autism headcanon: Snow White (Disney's "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs")

*She loves animals and talks to them as if they were people.

*She's naïve and trusting to a fault. She's friendly and open with everyone she meets and never suspects ulterior motives from them. She assumes the Queen will never find her in the woods, despite the Queen's reputation as a powerful witch who knows everything. Nor, despite having been warned to beware of strangers, does it seem to occur to her not to trust the "old peddler woman" or not to believe what she says about the "magic wishing apple."

*She doesn't always follow social rules. For example, when she first arrives at the dwarfs' cottage and finds it empty, instead of waiting outside until the owners come home, she goes in, cleans the house, cooks supper, and then falls asleep on the beds without permission.

*She constantly sings and hums, which can be seen as a form of stimming, as can her clapping along to the music as the dwarfs sing for her in "The Silly Song."

*Furthermore, music seems to be a special interest to her, and a source of comfort and emotional stability, as is often the case for people on the spectrum. She sings entire songs about how singing can make you feel better ("With a Smile and a Song") and pass the time when there's work to be done ("Whistle While You Work").

*When she interacts with (seemingly) ordinary humans, she often seems shy and withdrawn. She's frightened and runs away from the Prince when he first comes into the courtyard, and even while smiling down at him from the balcony as he declares his love, she doesn't say a word, but non-verbally conveys that she returns his feelings by sending a dove down to "kiss" him. Later, she's clearly intimidated by the strange, overly forward "old peddler woman," though she doesn't seem to suspect that she's the Queen. By contrast, she's outgoing and confident when she's with the dwarfs or the animals; she seems to feel more free to be herself when she's with beings who are smaller than she is and who live outside of normal human society.

*She doesn't have normal egalitarian friendships. With the dwarfs and the animals, she behaves as a leader and a mother figure, while with other people (the Prince, the Huntsman, and the disguised Queen), she's shy and lets them do most of the talking.

*She's a stickler for cleanliness. When she finds a dirty, disorganized house, she can't bring herself to leave it that way, or to allow the dwarfs to come to the table with dirty hands.

*She covers her ears when Sneezy is about to sneeze at the end of "The Silly Song," knowing it will be too loud for comfort.

*Her skill at domestic work – although she learned it from having it forced on her by the Queen – seems like a specialized talent, and cooking in particular seems like a special interest of hers. She uses it as a skill to offer in place of money in exchange for lodging, as a way to help those in need (e.g. when she thinks the dwarfs are orphans), as a way to show affection (e.g. the "Grumpy" pie).

*When she runs through the dark forest, she panics when branches catch on her skirt or when she falls against them, and her imagination runs wild and convinces her that the trees have sinister faces and claws, that the logs in the water are alligators, etc. Now, of course any young girl who's never been in the forest before, and who is fleeing from her home for fear of being murdered yet has no idea where to go, would be equally terrified. But in addition to all this, who can say that the darkness and all the startling, uncomfortable physical sensations she goes through – the wind, the branches "grabbing" her, falling into the water, etc. – don't overwhelm her in and of themselves? The end of the scene, where she spins in all directions only to see scary glowing eyes everywhere, and finally falls to the ground and lies there sobbing, feels familiar to those of us who have panic attacks or meltdowns from sensory overload.

*She's very empathetic, sometimes at the expense of boundaries. When she initially thinks the dwarfs' cottage must belong to seven orphaned children, her compassion for them drives her to clean their whole house and cook soup for them before she even meets them. Once she meets the dwarfs, she wants to be friends with Grumpy despite his rudeness, when other people would have dismissed him as an annoyance. And later, her compassion for the "old peddler woman" makes her ignore all the dwarfs' warnings and bring her into the house. While of course not all people on the autism spectrum are either more empathetic than other people or less so, either highs or lows of empathy are common.

Of course, the Disney writers and animators didn't mean for Snow White to come across as autistic. They just meant to create an innocent, likable young girl. But all the same, she's easy for some of us on the spectrum to relate to.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @themousefromfantasyland, @the-dark-storybook-prince

[reddishuwu]

[divinitybeings]

Beware of the friendly stranger

[phahadhcss]

Yo, is there anyone else alive here? Yeah, yeah, I finally got my exams over and successfully applied for college, so now I have some time for this blog and my fanfic. Yes, I'm not scrapping it and I will continue to develop not only it and but AU in which it take place. After all, while I've been away, I've revisited a lot of things and evaluated them more critically. Also, as the author of Bloody Nirbiry informed me, a lot has changed and changed in her canon, so that's another reason to create a real au.

[theundeadsnake]

Toby x introverted future S/O that lives in a cabin, away from the rest of society

Out of all the inhabitants of the forest, Toby seems to be the friendliest of them all and the least calculating so things will move with him very fast.

He hears you; he sees you; he wants you.

This curious criminal will approach you directly within days of first seeing you.

“Hello, I’m Toby” he will greet you with a wide smile and an open palm. A weird skinny man, suddenly showing up in front of you and acting far too friendly, will raise some red flags for you. As it should.

Nevertheless, your hesitance won’t make him back down. You will see him again over and over again; he won’t take the hint.

The more distance you will try to establish, the more effort he will put into getting close to you. This is ironic. You have to spell out your dislike for humankind. And even then, he won’t be staying away for long.

He will try for sure but his desire to see you, hear your voice, the way you move, that productive little organized stranger in the woods will grow on him. And so will his curiosity.

Expect to find yourself waking up to a stranger in your house, a stranger that is slowly crossing the line into an acquaintance, then a friend, and maybe even a lover. He helps you up in the morning, makes you an oddly sweet breakfast, and brightens up your day. You wonder how he has so much time – how you can get him out of your life? Yet his persistence and constant presence in your life will become a norm for you every day.

And then you start finding out about his own little quirks, his ticks and you get to find out a bit about the anxious mess that’s hiding behind that overly confident outgoing mask.

This is the Toby most others don’t know.

The inner self of a person who grew up having to contain an act of being “normal”, an act he was never able to maintain enough to please his parents, something they used against him to hide him away. To try to fool him into accepting it all.

And slowly you begin to realize that the “Toby” you met is an illusion for the shell of a person that lost someone very dear. You are allowed to see behind the pretend and meet the reckless, possessive, revenge-focused man that he is.

An odd combination of honesty, sweetness, and cruelty.

Lucky for you, he thinks of you as someone he likes, someone he will protect. Your isolated forest life remains mostly the same. You have an extra layer of protection.

While he can visit his favorite person almost as often as he would like.

Though, beware Toby has not had many close ones that stayed, he won’t tolerate that happening again. He will not let you leave.

You’re now his little hidden obsession.

[objectstore]

Beware The Friendly Stranger

[tai-janai]

Would you care to elaborate on the different faces of the Wary Stranger... the girls...

just for you, strix.

beware, this is kind of spoil-y. i think?

we got main girl here. the most-so like the prisoner (who the stranger was swapped with). Wary, but not afraid. to-the-point, but understanding that you may not know much, either.

You asked her for clarification and support; this gave you her:

the supportive. one of many ways hero can be in the main game. there for you, happy to help. she's just glad you're here. kinda mostly like final fight/cabin hero.

you then said something weird and awkward to answer. this kinda annoyed her.

why would she have an answer? she doesn't know anything, either. a little more hostile, a little less friendly, back more on the prisoner side. she doesn't want to be in the dark, either. like whenever hero gets annoyed at a voice.

then, you tried to make her aware of the strangeness.

this scared her. back to a more og hero side. he gets like this a lot. nightmare and spectre hero were who i pulled from specifically, but also when you are mean to him at the mirror with the "that awful feeling is so much worse now!!"

(then you asked a stupid question and got the displeased lady again)

Then you asked something that could hurt. something she doesnt know, and she doesnt like that she doesnt know.

she isn't mad at you for asking, but it does make her uncomfortable because she doesn't have an answer. she's very defensive; about as in-between the Hero and the Prisoner as any of the sides. think like him following another voice's lead, like in prisoner or beast. uneasy but can't do much anyway.

and then you try to do something.

the tower, and the moment of clarity. where options mean nothing. where there is nothing left. when nothing matters. her, you, the world. it will end, and she'll either be gone or shattered. it can't end well.

[eye-may]

Any Demeter headcanons??

of course!! demeter is intimately woven into the fabric of my cats continuation

her backstory is pretty grim and sad, and I'm gonna reference issues like abandonment, animal neglect, and relationship toxicity and abuse (i.e., manipulation, false imprisonment) so beware if you're sensitive to such things.

I think Demeter was born to a feral alley cat in one of the more troubled areas of London. mom, like many unsocialized and neglected feral cats, is in poor health. a trash man happened to find the inchoate family and kindly took them in, off the cold and wet cobblestone --- he took care of the kittens for a while and then tried his best to find homes for them. ultimately, Demeter was given to a friend of his, a man with a wife and a couple young kids. being separated from her mother and siblings was difficult for Demeter in particular, who deeply valued closeness and touch, and had constantly been in search of tactile interactions with her littermates.

unfortunately, the home she ended up in just wasn't right for her. the humans cared for her adequately and gave her a collar, but there were already pets that had been living with them --- and, unfortunately, they did not take kindly to Demeter's attempts at soliciting tactile comfort. the human children were loud and unpredictable, not very suited to cuddling themselves. the adults were kind enough, but had their hands full between work, family, and pets, and so they didn't have much wherewithal to devote to baby Demeter's specific emotional needs.

not long after being homed, the adult human male seemingly "disappeared," and the animals (especially Demeter, the newest addition, and seemingly more "independent" than the dogs...because she's a cat, right??) could enjoy even less nurturing now that the adult human female no longer had her partner. she and the children would leave the house for hours every day, and Demeter often found herself alone with the dogs.

desperate for comfort, she began exiting the house through the doggy doors. At first, she gravitated naturally towards the alley where she had been born, wanting to find the kind garbage man again. alone and naive and young, she struggled with adjusting to her indoor/(mostly)outdoor lifestyle. she didn't know how to approach stranger cats. she'd stumble into cliques and colonies, only to get rejected or ostracized. of course it wasn't ALL bad; Demeter managed to stumble across some friendly cats --- but none that could or would provide the constancy she didn't fully realize she craved.

this all took place and went on for the course of about a year or so, and culminated in when she eventually ran into a very tall, very alluring, and very persuasive older cat. his effect on her was immediate; it was like he knew exactly what she had been craving for so long --- physical touch, gentleness, patience, a warm smile, a quiet, soothing voice. she returned to him with increasing frequency. one thing led to another and it wasn't along before her voluntary attachment to him turned into something grimmer; he began not allowing her to leave when she wanted. she started seeing different sides of him; angry, domineering, threatening behaviors surfaced. Demeter, of course, became so desperately confused. but just when she started to pull away --- Macavity escalated his association with her to fullblown captivity and brought her to his 'lair' or whatever you'd call it. a textbook manipulator, his behavior was erratic while he pulled out every crushed-velvet platitude; we were meant to be together, I can't live without you, nobody understands you like I do, I'm the only one who can take care of you, you'll never find someone who loves you like I do, etc. etc. etc. Macavity was the first one who ever seemingly supplied her with the physical affection she had craved since kittenhood, and she knew little else...maybe he was right, and maybe leaving one horrible circumstance would send her careening back into another: into pitch dark isolation and loneliness. was it better to be held and hurt, than to never be held at all?

when she's brought to Macavity's layer is when her story zippers into those of Tugger's, Grizabella's, and Bombalurina's. suffice to say --- Tugger and Bomb, separately, displayed a sort of respect and restraint that she had never known, in a way that was totally different from the way Macavity treated her when their relationship began. Tugger was rough around the edges, as only the younger brother of Macavity could be...but, his eyes and his mannerisms and his scent and even his aura...it was all just so different. he wouldn't capitalize on Demeter's vulnerabilities and insecurities the way Macavity would, even when the latter would encourage him to. he never showed any sign of wanting or expecting anything from her. and yet, he showed every other sign of egoism, of self-motivation, of unsettling grandiosity...Demeter just didn't know what to make of him. but she began to glean that despite all that...he would never hurt her.

Bombalurina was something else entirely. She was Macavity's most constant and most salacious partner. Demeter expected the typical ilk of her previous interactions with stranger cats; harshness, caginess, competitiveness, judgment. but, Bombalurina was none of those things, not to her. instead...she was gentle, soothing, welcoming, and seemingly so...genuine. Demeter saw something in Bombalurina's eyes that she literally had never seen before in any other cat; undistilled, unangled, unadulterated affection. when Bombalurina touched Demeter --- at first, a paw on her arm, featherlight and tentative --- it felt so warm, so real. almost like it was too good to be true.

by now, Demeter's disposition towards physical touch had been cruelly ratcheted backwards. she'd always crave it, but had grown to rue it, to doubt it, to associate the initial relief with inevitable betrayal and pain. slowly and steadily, her friendship with Bombalurina began to reverse that paradigm. Demeter would get away from Macavity only to look forward to the next time she'd get to be in the same room with Bombalurina, who knew and respected her boundaries. if Demeter wanted to fall asleep cuddling her, Bombalurina would indulge that desire. if she didn't want to be touched at all, Bombalurina wouldn't touch her. it felt so strange being...listened to and respected like that.

another of Macavity's perrennial partners was someone who was just as alluring and compelling as him, but she was a little older, and she was ethereally beautiful. Demeter only caught glimpsed of her though; she seemed to enjoy more independence than a lot of the other cats wound up in Macavity's syndicate.

She wasn't a prisoner of Macavity's for terribly long before that eccentric little brother of his approached her one night, beseeching her to make a run for it with him. she was confounded by the sudden development and was almost sure it was a trick; but she had been wanting some semblance of freedom so ardently...what did she really have to lose?

ultimately, it was Bombalurina who helped Tugger and Demeter get away from Macavity's patrolling henchcats...and Demeter was pleasantly shocked, and relieved, when her one true friend ultimately decided to join them. Demeter had seen how Bombalurina and Macavity were with each other; she was certain that Bomb loved him. but she had chosen Demeter over him? was their connection really so poignant?

back on the streets, neither Bombalurina nor Demeter had a clear idea of where to go or what to do. but before Demeter had time to suppose that she'd be wandering the alleyways of London again, aimless if not on the run from Macavity, Tugger told them that he "knew a place" where the three of them could go for refuge and be truly safe. Demeter, as always, was doubtful and afraid. maybe this was just another trick. maybe whereever Tugger would take them would be somehow worse. Bombalurina apparently had her reservations too; but she seemed willing to go along with Tugger, evidently calculating no superior alternatives. and because Bombalurina seemed to trust him just enough, so too did Demeter.

they took a trip a few miles north, away from the water, to a junkyard off a commercial block ablaze with lights and song and dance...and Demeter finally learned about the felinological allegiances and the Jellicle oaths. she might always be skittish, distrustful...but if it didn't feel so right to be called a Jellicle Cat!

At the junkyard too, Demeter would realize that she recognized one of its frequenters --- the same glamorous, beautiful cat that occasioned Macavity's lair. the two developed something of a friendship, or more like an unspoken air of solidarity, a mutual understanding that was seldom elucidated on but understood. Demeter wasn't too sure about this Glamour Cat...this Grizabella...but something about her felt comforting. when she eventually left on bad terms...Demeter felt more heartbroken than she'd ever let on without fully knowing why; it wasn't the least because, however, she made the decision to pledge her allegiance to Macavity. when she returned all that time later, and Demeter could see the way she deteriorated...Demeter looked at her and saw something like a version of herself that would have materialized if she hadn't gotten away.

Demeter, up to the events of the musical (and onward) never fully shed the corrosive aftereffects of her past. she's one of the flightier Jellicles; venturing out when she becomes overwhelmed, when the junkyard communes with other colonies, when someone says or does something that sets her on edge. she sometimes takes the trip back to her humans' house, still wanting to check on them and get the occasional passive head scratch, and indulge in the kibble they offer her. she always, eventually, finds her way back home to the junkyard.

she still misses the garbage man. maybe she'll happen to see him again one day?

[syiy27]

who's that next to basil?