#but also referring explicitly to my girlfriend

[timblrdrake]

hey girl are you a super-vampire because i’m trying to get in that krypt tonite

[not-neverland06]

n a s t y d o g I logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've never felt this way about a fictional character before. Every gif I see of him has me gnawing and biting at the bars of my enclosure. I want to bite him. If Hugh Jackman ever discovered what thoughts lurk inside my rotted brain about him he'd get a restraining order. This isn't OKAY Anyways... Summary: You'd thought you'd had a good thing going with Logan. You weren't officially anything to each other, but you were getting close. You truly saw a future with him, but he made it incredibly clear he did not feel the same 18+ HATE FUCKING (MDNI)

(one chance please, just one chance with him)

“Are you sure this isn’t totally clingy girlfriend of me?”

Ororo gives you an irritated look and Jean laughs. “Not at all, Scott loves it when I surprise him like this.” You’re all huddled in your room, each of you in varying stages of getting ready. Jean is finishing off her eyeliner at your vanity, Ororo is putting on her boots, and you’re trying to decide between a skirt and a dress. 

You’re not entirely sure how, or why, Logan and Scott decided to go to the bar together tonight. You suspect it has something to do with Jean. She wants them to start getting along so there’s less friction when you’re all around each other. 

At Jean’s idea, Logan had muttered, “When hell freezes over,” in your ear before he had left for the night. You’d gotten a little antsy without him to entertain you and had mistakenly blurted out the idea of going to visit them. Ororo had been dying to get out of the house and Jean was a little worried about her boyfriend as well. They’d agreed to go along with you and you’ve felt a weight in your stomach ever since. 

Your relationship with Logan was relatively new. Hell, a month ago you’d thought he’d hated you the same he did Scott. You’d, of course, been proven wrong when you’d had a few drinks with him and things had taken a very physical turn. 

You weren’t sure if he’d just wanted a one-night stand or something serious. But when you’d tried to sneak out the next morning and he’d muttered a grumpy, “Where’re you going?” You’d gotten your answer. 

You hadn’t been on any real dates, there didn’t ever seem to be time for them. But you spent most of your days together. Sometimes just silently enjoying each other’s company, other times you would be holed up in one of your rooms cuddling. The thought always brings a stupid lovesick grin to your face. 

It’s one of your first real relationships and you’re worried that things are moving a little too fast. At least on your end. You can already tell that you’re falling for him. Headfirst into the deep end of love. And it’s terrifying because you truly cannot tell what he thinks about you. Clearly, he likes you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t let you follow him around like a lost puppy. 

But he’s never truly said anything to you. There’s no official label as to what you two are. You say girlfriend off-handly and you usually don’t mean it when you reference yourself. You’ve never outright said he’s your boyfriend and he’s never really claimed you. He’s made it explicitly clear he doesn’t want you sleeping with other men, and you’ve said the same to him about women. You both agreed on that, but…

You kind of drive yourself crazy trying to figure this out. He’s not vocal about his feelings and everything’s still new so you don’t like pressuring him. You also worry that if you push him too far he’ll just get tired of you and move on. It’s not fair to assume that of him, and you know everything would be better if you just talked to him. But you’re scared. You’re scared the conversation will take the wrong direction and everything will blow up in your face. 

Jean calls your name and your head shoots up to see both Ororo and Jean looking at you expectantly. You flush when you realize they must have been talking to you and you’d just completely zoned out thinking about Logan. 

“Huh?” You blurt out, cringing at how dumb you sound. 

Jean gives you a concerned look, “I can practically taste your anxiety.” The telepath frowns and offers you a comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it, I promise, Logan won’t mind at all.”

“You’re fine,” Ororo adds, because clearly the look on your face screams, I need constant validation. They’re not wrong, but still, you hate feeling like an exposed bundle of nerves. “Think of it as girl’s night, the boys just happen to be there.” 

You force a smile on your face and give your most enthusiastic nod. You change into the dress and finish up with your hair. You finally start chatting with them again, engaging so it might disguise just how nervous you feel. 

There’s this clenching feeling, traveling from your stomach up to your chest. It makes you sick, makes you hurt. And it’s not because you think Logan will be upset with you for crashing. He’d be relieved, if anything. There’s something else. Premonition isn’t one of your abilities, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that now. 

The bar is loud when you walk in. The soles of your shoes immediately start to stick to the floor and your nose screws up in disgust at the loud laughter coming from around the pool tables. You glance around, trying to see if you can spot Logan. 

You’d say you could spot him in any crowd. But has a propensity to hunker down and try to attract as little attention as possible so people don’t bother him. “There he is,” Jean taps your shoulders and points to the two men at the end of the bar. 

Like you’d thought, Logan is hunched over his whiskey, glowering down at the wood under him like it had insulted him. You almost want to laugh at the sight. Some of the earlier anxiety eases its grip on you and you feel your shoulders begin to untense. 

Before you can walk over Ororo grabs Jean’s wrist. “Gotta go to the bathroom,” she tugs Jean behind her. 

Jean looks over her shoulder at you and smiles encouragingly, “Go to them, we’ll catch up in a second.” You give her a tentative nod and slip through the crowd. There are more people here than you thought there would be. 

You’re happy not to spot any kids in the crowd. You’ve had a few too many nights out crashed by kids who thought they were good at sneaking out. 

It’s easy enough not to spot you or the other women in the crowd. Mutants have gotten good at blending in with the people around them. Makes it easier to get around. It’s probably why neither Logan nor Scott stop their conversation as you approach. “So,” Scott draws the word out, fingers tapping against the glass of his beer. 

“Don’t,” Logan warns. You want to laugh at his grumpy demeanor, but someone’s accidentally elbowed you and you find yourself stumbling a few steps back. It’s taking entirely too long to get to them, the bar isn’t even that big. There’s just that many people here. 

Scott ignores him and rolls his eyes. “Look, we’re stuck here for a while. Try and pull that stick out of your ass.”

“How about I put one in yours?” Logan’s claws come out slightly. But then they both share an odd look and Scott smirks. “Shut the fuck up,” Logan grouses, “not like that.”

“Right,” Scott huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He picks up his bottle and takes a long drink. You’ve nearly reached them now. You stop, though, when you hear Scott say your name. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. Eavesdropping now is just asking to get hurt. 

You drop back into the crowd, hoping the smells of others will stop Logan from discovering you lurking behind them both. Scott continues, “How’s that going?”

You crane your neck forward, trying to hear them better over the karaoke happening behind you. Someone is butchering Britney Spears but you couldn’t care less right now. Logan shouldn’t answer. Since when has he ever shared anything with Scott?

So, imagine your surprise when his answer isn’t immediately telling him to fuck off. “Eh,” he shrugs, downing the rest of his whiskey. Your face drops in irritation. Seriously, all this skulking around for an Eh? That’s bullshit. 

You keep yourself from stepping forward, forcing your feet still, and ignoring the little voice in the back of your head telling you this is a bad idea. You’ve committed this much, you’re seeing it through. Scott whistles lowly, “That bad, huh?” Oh, fuck off, Summers. 

Logan shakes his head and for a moment you have a brief feeling of hope lifting you up. “Nah, not bad. It’s just, I don’t know.” Logan sits up and signals the bartender for a refill. Your snooping senses go off and you briefly see Ororo and Jean exiting the bathroom. Desperate for something to keep them at bay, you flick your wrist. The man in front of them tips his drink down Jean’s shirt, slurring out apologies. Jean huffs and Ororo brings her back into the bathroom. 

Scott and Logan somehow missed the whole interaction and you promise yourself that you’ll pay for Jean’s dry cleaning. You’re definitely not going to. “Think she wants something I don’t,” Logan tells Scott, and your heart plummets to your feet. You can practically see it deflate, all the lovesickness draining out of it and onto the floor of this grimy bar. 

“Like, she just wants to fuck around?”

Logan shakes his head and downs another glass of whiskey. He’s just swallowing it down like it’s water. At a certain point, the bartender gets sick of it and just leaves him with the bottle. “No, she wants something real. Like a real relationship.” Scott’s brows furrow and Logan shrugs. “Not interested.” 

It’s the way he says it that really bothers you. There’s nothing wrong with wanting something different in a relationship. It happens all the time. But he says it so dismissively. He knows that you want something real with him, something secure and loving. He knows that, continues to fuck you and lead you on, and then speaks as though you’re an idiot for ever being interested in that. 

Hurt hasn’t set in yet. You’re staring wide-eyed, jaw agape with shock as you stare at Logan’s back. You’d thought a conversation needed to be had. But you didn’t think that he thought of you like this. You’d thought you meant something to him. 

Scott seems to share the sentiment, his lips tugged down into a frown. He leans against the bar, surveying Logan with a disbelieving look. “What?” Logan snaps.

Scott raises his hands in surrender, shaking his head and backing off. “Nothing, man, I just thought you two were serious about each other.” You miss whatever Logan says as an arm slings itself around your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” A husky, seductive voice whispers against the shell of your ear. You jump in shock, glaring at Ororo as she grins at you. She lets her arm slide off your shoulders and glances over at Jean. “I think she was spying.”

Jean nods, nudging you forward. “Definitely spying. Hear anything good?”

You fortify your mind against her probing fingers before she can find out. “Nope,” you blurt out. You hope the racing of your heart is dismissed by your constantly frazzled nature. You hope the look on your face is explained by your earlier boredom and anxiety. You pray that none of them notice the way you lean away from Logan when the men finally turn around and notice you all. 

Scott breathes out a dramatic sigh of relief and slumps onto Jean. “Thank god, I thought I was going to die trying to talk to this brick wall.” his eyes flick towards you in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. There’s a brief pitying look before he grins. “Come to get your boyfriend?” There’s a heavy emphasis on the word that you never would have noticed had you not heard their conversations. 

It’s clearly a petty dig at Logan. And you would appreciate it if you didn’t feel the sudden urge to vomit up your dinner. “Thought you might need saving from Logan.” You tell him, a chuckle hiding the slight tremor in your voice. 

You’re not sure if he does, but you hope Logan notices how you avoided the word boyfriend. You hope that he hurts the same way you do. But you know, deep down, that he doesn’t care. He’s probably relieved that you didn’t use the title. 

Logan gets off his stool, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, and pulls you into a brief hug. His lips press against your temple before he dips down to whisper, “Thank you,” in your ear.

Asshole, he’s not allowed to smile at you the way he is. If you weren’t in such a crowded place and already overstimulated, you’d shove him away. If your friends weren’t watching you’d take his arm and slam it down onto the bar until you hear his fucking adamantium bones break. 

That might have been too far. Maybe you’re not that angry, but you’re hurt.

You place your hands against his chest, a thin smile on your lips while you hum a simple, “Mhm.” He doesn’t seem to notice the way you push away from him. It’s easily dismissed by you cheekily stealing his seat at the bar. 

He comes up behind you, hands bracketing you and keeping you stuck against the bar while you order your drink. One of his hands drifts down, laying against your thigh. You know this isn’t sexual, this is him comforting you. 

He shouldn’t know how horrible you feel in such busy places. He shouldn’t know that and know that his touch is grounding and then help you. Not if he doesn’t want something serious. If he didn’t want to be your boyfriend, didn’t want to be anything but a fuck, then why do this to you? Did he not think this was leading you on? Is this just him caring for you?

You’ll drown in a sea of unanswered questions before the night is over if you linger too long. You tip your head back, let your shot burn its way down your throat, and turn towards the others with a smile. You feel your worries fade and your focus loosen as you simply drift further into your mind. 

You must have disassociated or something. By the time you realize you’re no longer hearing bad karaoke and your elbows aren’t sticking to the bar, you’re already home. You stare in the mirror, hand pausing as you brush your teeth before you quickly finish. 

You didn’t drink much, you never do. It fucks with your abilities and causes migraines. You rinse your mouth out and glance into your bedroom. Logan groans and stretches. His back bows, muscles flexing and you rip your eyes away. You can’t let yourself be distracted by the chest you want to drape yourself across. 

You need to talk to him. It’s never been more clear. You wipe your mouth and toss the towel onto the rim of the sink. You take in a deep breath, trying to get rid of the nerves plaguing you. It’s never worked before, it’s not going to suddenly cure you now. 

You give up on the thought and instead, shove down the anxiety until you have enough confidence to speak. It takes a little while, Logan peaks an eye open, eyebrows quirked when he sees you just staring at him. “Something up, bub?” he flexes, on purpose, and you roll your eyes. You grab his shirt out of your hamper and toss it at him. 

“Put this on. Can’t think when you look like that.”

He chuckles, “That’s the point.” at your pointed glare his smile drops and he tugs the beater on. It barely does anything to deter you. If anything you’re having more trouble paying attention. Especially now that his full attention is on you. The humor is gone from the room, a thick tension replaces it. Logan seems to feel it, sitting up straighter and glaring at you like he’s trying to read your mind. “What’s wrong?” It’s a demand more than a question. 

It’s hard to look at him. But you refuse to let yourself cower now. You take in a fortifying breath and let your gaze bore into his. You put all the hurt and anger you feel into it, willing yourself to be firm. “We need to talk.”

“‘Bout what?” He’s brusque, but there’s a slight concern to his tone. 

There’s no point hiding this. And maybe you had misheard, maybe there was a conversation prefacing the one you’d heard. And you’ll talk it out and everything will be okay. “I heard you and Scott talking at the bar.”

The hope you had, as minimal as it was, is dashed at your feet. He sucks in a deep breath and the look on his face has you crestfallen. You can feel your chest cave in. You feel so stupid all of a sudden. Constantly following after him, even before you started dating him. Looking at him with stars in your eyes and latching onto his every move and word. 

You’d worshiped him, put him up on a pedestal he didn’t deserve. Superhuman or not, at the end of the day he was still a man. And they’ve done nothing but disappoint you. You suck your teeth, gaze dropping to your feet as you fight back the tears in your eyes. “Right,” you whisper, stepping back from him. 

“Look,” he starts. You force your eyes up and watch as he rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck. He takes a step towards you and you shake your head, stepping away from him. His arms fall to his sides and he sighs. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“That’s it?” You demand, tone incredulous. You weren’t some great love or anything. But that’s seriously all he has to say.

He opens his mouth, eyes softening as he stares at you. Then he snaps it shut, something covers his face and his expression is borderline cruel as he sneers at you. “Not my fault you got in over your head, kid. Never said I wanted anything more with you.” He points at you, and you suddenly feel like a little girl getting scolded. You’ve never had a partner make you feel this small, especially not Logan. “You were just convenient.”

You rear back like he slapped you. You think it might have hurt less than that. To know you wasted so much time on such a fucking dick makes you want to throw up. Or scream, or cry. You can’t decide on one. But your powers can, the walls are shaking, knick-knacks falling off your shelves as energy pulses from you. 

You’ll face the hurt, the sadness, the horrible ache of rejection later. Right now, you need him out of your face before you bring the whole mansion crumbling down around you. “Out.” You grind the word out, turning away from him and clutching your hands to your chest. You take in quick, rapid breaths, trying to think of anything other than how horrible you feel. 

You haven’t lost control like this in a long time. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of being the reason you get put on probation again. He whispers your name, coming up behind you like he’s going to touch you. 

You want to lash out, want to hurt him like he’s hurt you. But you’ll only cause more damage than necessary. He’s not worth hurting the kids in the rooms around you. You shove past him, ignoring the way he shouts your name. 

You dart out into the hall, grateful there are so few people milling around. Nearly everyone’s asleep, just a few stragglers finishing up their homework for tomorrow. A few of them give you odd looks that turn concerned when they see Logan chasing after you. Your bones are practically vibrating by the time you make it outside. 

You rush towards the grove of trees at the back of the mansion. Your knees give out under you before you can make it very far. Energy pulses out of you in an explosive circle. You hear bark crack and turn into nothing but dust as the air around you trembles. 

It’s a relief, like going to the bathroom after holding it all day. You feel it drain away from you, a plug pulled out as the energy rushes from you. It slows after a minute, feeling more like a leak than a steady stream. 

Your hands shake by your sides as you lay trembling on the grass. Your eyelids flutter shut and you try and keep them open but it’s hard. All of your energy had been spent keeping yourself in check until you made it out of the mansion. 

“I’ve got you,” a voice mutters near your ear. Familiar strong arms dip under your knees, lifting you up and pulling you into a sturdy chest. You recognize the body, recognize the uncomfortable warmth coming from him. But your tongue won’t work and you're passing out before you can try and push him away. 

You’re in your own bed when you wake up again. You’re briefly comforted by the warm feeling of the sheets around you before you realize how cold the other side of the bed is. You’re so used to the feeling of someone being beside you that it’s jarring for no one to be there. You sit up, a spark of anxiety lighting up inside you before it’s being quelled by an outside force. 

“I think it’s best if we keep that under control.” You’re not surprised to hear Charles’s voice. You can’t be, not when he’s actively keeping you calm and placid. You lean back against your headboard. You tilt your head lazily, looking at him while he looks out the window. 

“That tree was a hundred years old.”

You wince, face screwing up when you remember the large oak tree you obliterated last night. “I can remake it,” you promise. 

“You could,” he corrects, “but whatever happened last night between you and Logan is causing your powers to be volatile.” He finally turns towards you, the motor of his wheelchair a dull buzz as he smiles at you. There’s no resentment in his gaze at least. You’d known he wouldn’t be mad at you. He was used to accidents like this. Had you hurt another person, however, this would be an entirely different conversation. 

There’s a dull ache in your chest at the mention of Logan, but it’s quickly covered by another wave of calm from Charles. He smiles and holds out two metal bracelets. They’re thick, something red inlaid into the black metal. They look like handcuffs more than anything. His lips quirk up at your thought and you frown. 

“That’s what they are, right? Cuffs.”

“You’re not a criminal,” he assuages, his tone gentle as you take them from him. There’s a small silver button inside that you click and the metal springs open. You place your left wrist inside and it snaps shut, it’s a snug fit. It won’t be moving around anytime soon. You put the right one on and feel Charles’ hold on your mind ease the second it's closed. Every horrible feeling from last night crashes down on you and you nearly choke on it. 

You wonder how Charles managed to keep you asleep for so long without the roof crumbling. He chuckles, the noise tired. “Jean helped me. It took a while for the cuffs to be ready.”

The way he says that causes alarms to go off in your head. “How long?” He takes in a sharp breath and shakes his head, attempting to dismiss the question. “Charles,” you snap, voice bordering on a shout. 

“Two days,” he says. You gasp and slump back against your sheets. He says your name but you get to your feet and pace. You don't know what to do with yourself. There’s energy buzzing under your skin, but the cuffs are keeping it at bay. It feels wrong like your pores are being clogged with acid. 

“Two days.” You look over at him, horror painting your face and you can see why he was so apprehensive to tell you. “It’s never been that bad before.”

“No,” he starts cautiously, “It hasn’t. Which makes me wonder, what transpired between you and Logan that destroyed my grandfather’s tree?” 

You cringe at the mention of the tree. He’s never going to let go of that. Even when you recreate it, he’s still going to hold it over your head. His teasing eases you out of the spiral you were heading down and you glance over at him. “You’ve been in my head for two days. I’m sure both you and Jean already know.”

He smacks his lips together and shrugs, clasping his hands in front of himself. “Simply seeing if you wanted to discuss it, my dear.”

You vehemently shake your head and sit back down on your bed. “No, I don’t want to talk about him. I don't want to see him.” Charles gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you and you hate it. You truly don’t want to see Logan again. Just thinking about him makes you want to explode. He was a pig and you regret ever wasting your time on him. 

There’s a shriveled part of your heart weeping somewhere, but you crush in your fist until it shuts the fuck up. “Right,” Charles nods. “I do believe it’s best for your recovery that we keep you two separated for a while.” He rolls past you and places a comforting hand on yours. “Rest, you’ll feel more like yourself soon.”

You nod and watch him leave. Exhaustion suddenly seems to drop its heavy weight on your shoulders. Two days being restrained by telepaths probably wasn’t very restful. You lay across your comforter, rolling over and hoping when you wake up your heart will be healed. 

Two weeks. Two pathetic, snot-filled, and disgusting weeks of sobbing over Logan. You felt like a sixteen-year-old again, crying over the boy that didn’t like you back. It was awful, especially knowing that the entirety of the mansion knew what was wrong with you. 

Your students would leave your class and you would lock your doors, hiding under your desk as you wept. Those with superhearing or telepathy would bake you cookies and leave gifts at your door. It was sweet, but honestly made you feel ten times worse. You felt like your sadness was a burden you were forcing everyone to carry. 

Your mother would be so disappointed in you. She’d always told you that you mourn a relationship half the amount of time you were in it. Of course, hers never lasted more than a few weeks. And she’d had more boyfriends than you could count on three hands. 

Besides, you were allowed to wallow for a while. This was someone you were starting to fall for. To be so blind going into and leaving the relationship was awful. Having the rug ripped out from under you had been cruel and needless. You’re resentful and grateful he’d been so horrifically honest with you. On one hand, if the relationship had just ended, you’d be pining after him. Wondering what you’d done to lose such an amazing guy. 

But being faced with the brutal truth, knowing he was a piece of shit, it makes you hate yourself. You should have seen it. Should have known that he didn’t want you like you wanted him. But there were never any signs. You’d run it through your head a million times. Every interaction you’ve ever had with him. None of it shows you where he’d been lying to you or using you. You can’t even trust yourself anymore. 

There’s a loud knock on your door and you sniffle, tossing another tissue in the trash as you go to answer it. “Hello?” You croak. You can barely see, eyes puffy and so swollen your vision is blurry. 

“Holy hell,” Ororo scoffs and shakes her head. She pushes into your room and slams the door shut before anyone can see how awful you look. To be fair, you keep yourself relatively put together during the day. But it’s after hours now, you’re allowed to be a mess. 

“You look like shit.” 

Neither of you are prepared as you begin to blubber. Your lips tremble and your voice shakes as you begin to sob. “I know,” you wail. “I hate it.” Ororo’s eyes widen in horror and she quickly pushes you into your desk chair, grabbing a box of tissues and shoving it in your hands. 

“I feel,” you stutter, having to take in a few shuddering breaths before you can get the words out. “He tore out my heart and ripped it up with his stupid fucking claws.”

“Okay, okay,” Ororo runs her hands over your arms, trying to soothe you. “I know, sh, it’s okay.” She groans, “Stop crying,” she pleads under her breath. 

“I’m trying!” You snap at her, running hands over your wet cheeks and trying to swallow down the rest of your tears. 

“Look,” she steps back and shakes her head. She glances down at you, disgust poorly hidden on her face. She’s really fucking bad at comforting someone. “This is awful, I can’t take it anymore. You two keep dancing around each other and you’re putting everyone on edge. You won’t stop crying and he keeps going off,” she holds her hands up and shakes her head. “I just can’t do it anymore.”

You frown, brows turning down in confusion. “What?” You didn’t think Logan would be mad. You pictured him skipping through a field of daisies, happy to finally be rid of you. It only made you hate yourself more that you were still crying over it all. 

“He’s kind of losing it,” she seems reluctant to relent the information. “Look,” she kneels in front of you and snatches the tissue box from your hand. She tosses it to the side and forces you to meet her eyes. “He’s in love with you. We all know it, Jean’s confirmed it. He loves you, he needs you, he’s just terrified to admit it. He’s afraid of what's going to happen if you two become real.”

Your eyes widen with the realization. She nods enthusiastically as you connect the pieces. You can’t deny what’s so plainly laid in front of you when she assures you that even Jean knows. Jean knowing means she just did a nosy dive into his head. 

You can picture what could happen. With rom-com levels of nauseating romance, you run to find him. You tell him you don’t care that he’s afraid. You don’t care he pushed you away and you do love him. He’s not going to lose you. Nothing can rip you apart. You ride off into the sunset on Scott’s bike blah blah blah. 

This isn’t a fucking romance. And you’re not going to cry over a man who's too much of a pussy to admit he has feelings. You like men who have emotional depth deeper than a teaspoon. “Are you fucking kidding me?"

Ororo’s face blanches and she slowly backs away from you as you stand. “No,” she answers slowly, like she’s not sure of herself now. 

“That’s what I’ve been crying over?” You feel upset for an entirely different reason. You never misread the signs. You never missed a hint that he didn’t feel what you did. He did! He was just happier letting you doubt yourself and the love you held for him than admitting he felt something. You tear off the depression hoodie you’ve been living in for the past two weeks. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

You don’t know where you’re going. Normally, you’d run into a forest to let out a blast of energy. It drained you enough that you wouldn’t have to feel anything. But with these cuffs on, you can’t do anything. 

You storm out of your room and stomp down the stairs, uncaring who you wake up. You’ve wasted so much time on Logan, you refuse to stay in your room and cry for another fucking night. 

“I want to see her,” Logan growls. He tries to move around Charles, but he stops him with his mind, holding him in place while Jean disappears inside your room. Logan watches her go and glares at her retreating back as the door closes behind her. 

It’s been a day already, you’ve never needed to be out for more than a few hours. He doesn’t want to think that there’s anything wrong with you, that he might have permanently broken something inside you. 

That talk at the bar with Scott had been stupid. He would have said anything to get him to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. He didn’t really mean what he said, he just wanted him to back off. And saying that your relationship wasn’t anything was quicker than pouring out every thought he’s had of you. 

It was easier lying than it was to admit just how much he wanted you. Just how far he would go for you. But then you’d overheard, and you brought it up. And there’d been faith on your face. Like even you couldn’t believe what he had said because you could see through the bullshit. 

But all Logan had seen was a way out. This was an opportunity to finally get out of the suffocating clutches of something he didn’t want to admit was love. He took the chance before he could think. It’s what he was used to. Taking the easy way out, especially when it came to shit like emotions. 

He hadn’t thought you were going to explode, though. Because that’s exactly what you’d done. By the time he’d caught up to you, you’d burned a crater into the ground and had destroyed Charles’ stupid fucking tree. 

Seeing you like that, laying there lifeless, it terrified him. He didn’t want to live in a world that you weren’t in. There was no fucking point. It was sobering, realizing that, and then realizing that he was the reason you were like that in the first place. 

He didn’t want to live without you and he certainly would never be able to come to terms with being the reason you were dead. But it didn’t matter, whatever realizations he was coming to. Charles and Jean were completely blocking him from your room. They weren’t even giving him a chance to look at you. And he was about five seconds away from ripping the old bastard’s head off and just barrelling inside. 

He didn’t care what they said, he needed to see that you were okay. “I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to see her for a very long time.”

“Stay out of my head,” Logan growls, glaring down at the man. “What are you talking about?” He presses, finally processing the rest of his sentence.

Charles sighs and rolls away from him. Logan glares at his back but ultimately follows. “You were the cause of this, yes?” Reluctantly, Logan nods, there’s no point in hiding it. He’s sure Charles already knows. “For her own safety, the two of you will need to remain separated.”

That had been it. There was no arguing about it. No fighting Charles. It was for your safety that he stayed away from you. No matter how much he wanted to explain himself, he wouldn’t risk another meltdown like that. 

You didn’t deserve to get hurt because of someone like him. He wouldn’t be able to stand hurting you again. 

But two weeks seemed like a lot. At a certain point, he’s sure you’re just avoiding him. He knows he can’t blame you. He’d been a fucking idiot. But that didn’t make him any happier. If anything, he was getting more and more pissed off every day. 

He had less patience for mistakes. Was lashing out at the kids more often and don’t even get started on the petty fucking fights he was picking with Scott. How long did you fucking need before you talked to him again?

He knows you’re upset, your crying keeps everyone up at night. Something he’s sure you’d be mortified to learn about. Why won’t you let him comfort you? Why do you have to be so petulant, running around the corner every time you see him? Pointedly ignoring him when you’re in the same room together. 

He could fix this, make this all better. But you’re just not letting him. He knows this is why he loves you. It’s why he was so drawn to you. You seem like a bundle of nerves, constantly flitting around and keeping yourself small. It had been off-putting at first. And then he’d seen you training with Scott, kicking his ass more like. A switch had been flicked in his head. 

He could finally see you for what you were. He finally realized that it was your abilities you were keeping small. You were a fucking spitfire and you didn’t hesitate to tell him off, he loved it. Loved arguing with you just so he could see you get all pissed off. 

But that stubborn attitude he loved was really biting him in the ass right now. 

There’s a knock on his bedroom door and he doesn’t even get to pretend it’s going to be you. He smells Jean’s perfume and rolls his eyes. He puffs on his cigar and contemplates ignoring her.

“Don’t be a jackass, open the damn door.” 

Fuckin’ telepaths. “What?” He snaps at her the second the door is open. Her face screws up when she smells the smoke from his cigar. He knows she wants to put it out, and can see it in the twitch of her fingers. He raises a brow, a silent challenge to try him. He’s itching for another fight and she can feel it. 

She lets out a sharp breath, choosing her battles wisely and backing off. He’s almost disappointed. “We need to talk. This whole thing between the two of you is ridiculous. You’re a mess, she’s a mess…”

Her voice trails off into nothing more than the annoying pitch of a fly. Logan can’t be bothered to listen to her scold him. He’s not a fucking kid, and maybe if you were acting like an adult, they wouldn’t be having this problem. 

A few doors down he can hear you shouting, then the door to your room slams open. He darts off his bed, opening his own door to see what you’re doing. He only sees the back of your head as you angrily stomp down the stairs. 

Enough is fucking enough, he was finishing this now. He was sick of your side of the bed being empty and the stupid fucking glare on your face every time you saw him. He doesn’t even bother saying anything to Jean as he leaves, just chases after you. 

Jean watches him go with a perturbed look. She steps out of the room and glances down the hall. Ororo steps out of your room and walks towards her. “Well?” Jean probes. 

Ororor shrugs, “She’s over it.” Jean smiles but it’s quickly wiped off her face by Ororo’s expression. “Not in the way we wanted.

Jean clenches her eyes shut and takes in a deep breath. She needs you two to figure your shit out or she’s never going to be able to get a good night’s sleep again.

You find yourself in the gym. It’s not your favorite place in the world, you don’t usually get to train with the others. You’re stuck with telepaths, mainly the ones who can shut your powers down if you get too out of control. That hasn’t been a problem since you got the cuffs, but you’ve been too sad to test them out. 

Now you find yourself obliterating a punching bag. You wrap the energy around your fists and let it protect the thin skin as you pummel into the bag. You don’t know what else to do. You can’t have energy meltdowns anymore. You have to try and funnel it all out physically, but it’s not working. Nothing is. 

“Imagining it’s me?” You pause midswing. You glance over to the door just in time to see Logan stalking towards you. He unzips his jacket slowly. So slowly it almost seems provocative. He tugs it off and tosses it onto a nearby bench. 

You scoff as you watch him. “Do you ever have a shirt on?”

He shrugs and moves towards the ring in the middle of the gym. His movements are lithe and fluid as he hops onto the ring, every bit a wild animal. You watch as the muscles in his torso ripple and force your eyes off of him. You try and focus your attention back on the bag, but all your earlier energy is gone. Your mind is completely wrapped around Logan. 

Which you’re sure is exactly what he wants, or he wouldn’t be staring at you so smugly as he leans against the ropes and waits for you to acknowledge him. You suck on your teeth, irritation blooming in sporadic bursts throughout your body that has you nearly shaking. Finally, you give in. 

He smirks the second your eyes meet, “I can take it, sweetheart. A lot better than that little toy of yours can.” He nods towards the punching bag but the insinuation isn’t lost on you. You and Logan had been very active in your relationship. You could barely go a day without tasting each other. 

You’ve been pent up since the breakup. You’d given in a few days ago, pulled out your old vibrator, and tried to bring even a semblance of joy back into your life. But nothing could compare to Logan. 

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he waits for you to react. He’s standing there, staring down at you with all the surety in the world that you’re going to fuck him. It makes you want to dig your nails in and rip him apart, bit by bit. 

You can already picture it in your mind, using your abilities to pick him apart until he’s nothing but molecules dispersed through the air. He’s lucky you have the cuffs on, without them you’re sure he’d already be dead. 

You smirk and move towards the edge of the ring, your voice drops as you purr up at him, “You wanna play, Logan?”

He grins and moves off the ropes, starting towards you as you make your way onto the ring. You’re slightly less graceful than he was, but you’re too focused on wiping the smug look off his face to pay attention. “Come on kid,” he taunts, voice as low as it usually is when he’s fucking into you. “Let’s see what you got.”

You’re not stupid enough to just outright swing at him. You feint to the right and bring your knee up into his ribs. He only needs one hand to wrap around your thigh and drag you forward. His other hand goes to your hip, tugging you closer until you’re practically grinding against each other. You grit your teeth and glare up at him. 

“Come on, sweetheart, that can’t be all you got for me.” Energy wraps around your head, blurring the air around you. You slam your temple against his, it provides enough of a distraction for you to yank your leg out of his grip. You throw your right fist into his ear, bouncing back with a grin as he shakes his head. 

He practically growls as he reorients himself. You shrug and smirk, “What, don’t tell me that’s all you got, wolvie.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” he grumbles. You open your mouth, prepared to taunt him again. But he’s lunging towards you and you just barely have enough time to dart out of his way. You know he’s going easy on you. He could have had you just then if he really wanted this. 

But he’s dragging this out. Forcing you to spend as much time with him as you can. It only pisses you off further. You plant your foot on his back and kick him forward. He barely even stumbles and it only further confirms your suspicions. “Stop fucking holding back,” you yell at him. 

He turns around slowly. You almost expect there to be a sneer on his face, something angry. Instead, he looks fucking thrilled, like this is all just foreplay for him. He laughs, so low you can barely hear it, and his chest flexes as his claws come out. 

“You sure?” It’s a taunt, a dare, he knows you aren’t going to take the bait. You’d be stupid to, you don’t heal like he does. Once those things get in you, you’re screwed. But right now, you’re too pissed off to try and care. 

You don’t say anything, you just duck under his fist as he swings at you. You know he made it easy for you, giving you an opening to fall into. He’s treating you like you’re something fragile. And maybe you are. One wrong move in this fight and you might not make it through the night. But anger is making you blind to logic. 

Him playing fair just makes you want to play dirty. You use the opening he gives you, letting energy form around your fist and pulling back just enough to slam into his ribs. He coughs, doubling over as you hear bones crack under your hit. He’ll heal in seconds, you can’t bring yourself to feel too bad for him. 

Maybe if he ever took you seriously you might not be such a bitch. But he didn’t think you were good enough to be honest with and he still was treating you like a plaything. In your opinion, he deserves whatever you give him and more. He doubles over and you swing your leg around, bringing it down across his face. 

You hear a crack as your socked foot connects with his face, something crunches underneath you. And when your sole hits the mat again you see the blood leaking from his nose. You almost apologize. Almost, then you see the look on his face. His pupils are swallowing the hazel of his eyes, lips parted as he pants through his teeth. He looks fucking animalistic. 

You have no warning as he pounces on you. His lips smother your own, moving over you with little to no grace. There’s nothing romantic or gentle about this. His fingers are digging so hard into your shirt, you’re sure you hear the seams rip. But you can’t bring yourself to care. 

One of your hands goes to his hair, tugging at the roots until he’s groaning into your mouth. You rake your nails up his back roughly. He cusses against your lips, hand traveling up to your chin so he can roughly jerk you back. 

He stares down at you, a silent question on his face. You’ve barely nodded before he’s descending upon you again. Lips and teeth clash borderline painfully as he lowers you onto the mat. You’re missing all the usual love and tenderness he treats you with, but you don’t care. 

You want to be rough. You want to hurt him like he hurt you, make him ache for you the way you do him. You wrap your legs around his, lifting your pelvis until you have enough leverage to flip him. Your thighs straddle his waist and you grind down against the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. 

He groans into your open mouth, large palms grabbing at your ass and spreading you so he can thrust between your clothed thighs. You can’t help but moan at the friction. It’s just enough to keep you on edge, he pulls back every time you think you might be close to something real building. 

You rip your mouth off his. He glares up at you as you grab his hair and yank his head back. You slam his head hard enough into the mat for it to echo through the room and he growls against your grip. You grin down at him as you slowly get off him. You make a show of stripping, enjoying the way his eyes track your movements. He looks like a dog, panting and waiting for his treat. 

You’re tempted to get yourself off, making him watch, and then leave him straining against his sweatpants. But you need this bad, need him to scratch the itch you can’t reach so you can finally get him out of your head. Neither of you are patient as he jerks his sweatpants down just enough for his cock to pop out. 

It’s already leaking from the tip like a faucet. You kneel, straddling his waist again. You don’t have to do much to slick him up. You pump him a few times before he’s gripping your wrist and jerking your hand away. “Get up here,” he commands, voice rough as he grips your hips. You don’t even get a chance to protest before he’s flipping you over. 

He grabs your thighs and wraps them around his waist. Your ass is off the ground, hovering above his lap as he lines up with your slit. You moan when the tip rubs against your clit. “Whose teasing now?” You grit out, glaring at him. 

His lips curl up, that insufferable smirk on his face before he slams into you. The attitude is practically fucked out of you as he starts pumping in and out. You groan, raking your hands down his chest. He fucking moans at the pain, blood blooming under your nails and immediately closing the further down you go. 

Neither of you are giving up this fight, you don’t want to lose, not even while you’re fucking. He pulls out of you and flips you over so fast you don’t even have time to whine. He’s back in you before you can blink, hips slapping into you in a way that you know is going to leave bruises tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to sit for a week and he knows it. His hands are groping at the skin of your ass, pulling you apart and watching the skin ripple as he fucks into you. 

You’re not going to last long. You’ve been too desperate, too pent up while you’ve been pissed off at him. He leans over you, draping himself across you lazily. You groan at the added weight, it only adds to the sensation, only makes you want him deeper inside you. “Thought you didn’t want me anymore, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear and you flutter around him as his hand snakes around your waist, rubbing tight circles on your clit. 

You open your mouth but all that comes out is disjointed moans. You know there’s something sarcastic in there, and he must know too because he laughs at your pathetic mumbled sentence. “I don’t know,” he leans back and watches as he makes room for himself inside you. “Seem to need me real bad now.”

Your nails dig into the mat, energy leaking through your fingertips and warming up the canvas beneath you. You can feel it fluctuating, fighting against the cuffs the closer he brings you to the edge. “Fuck you,” the words escape you at a particularly deep thrust and you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

He pauses and you nearly cry at the loss of movement. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you. What’d you say? Stop?”

You glare over your shoulder at him  “Don’t you fucking dare, Logan.” You let your power push up against his back, forcing his hips to move again. He chuckles at the move, fingers creating figure eights on your nub. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” he protests, voice innocent. “Ah, fuck,” his voice is nothing more than low grunts and groans in your ear the closer the both of you get to your release. You can’t speak anymore, can’t think. You can feel it cresting higher and higher inside you. 

Your abilities are rising with your release. They’re pushing against the cuffs, fighting desperately against the control the foreign metal has on your powers. You can feel it, heat building up under your skin, like a tingling on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t reach. It’s Logan’s release that finally tips you over the edge. 

The way his breath catches and his hips stutter in their perfect rhythm as warmth floods you from the inside out. You can feel it, him, dribbling down your thighs and staining the mat beneath you. It has you clenching around him, pushing your hips back weakly while you let the feeling overwhelm you. You nearly black out. Two weeks without him hadn’t felt long until you remembered what you were missing. 

You lose your sense of time, dropping to the mat like your bones have gone liquid, dripping out of you. You can feel Logan draped over you still, his weight a comforting blanket that nearly has you drifting to sleep. Naked, in the middle of the boxing ring. He pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss. 

He shushes you, rubbing a hand up your spine and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your temple. He wraps his arms around you, laying down and pulling you back into his chest. It takes a few minutes of quiet cuddling for you to remember what exactly led you down to the gym in the first place. 

You feel disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. It’s clear what his plan had been. And you’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. You’d barely even fought against him. Of course, you could reason that you needed to get the tension out. This was the perfect way to funnel out your built-up energy. 

But you’re disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. You just disregarded dignity and self-respect for a chance to get him between your legs. You were such a fucking idiot. No wonder this is all he wanted you for. 

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to pull yourself out of his grip. Your eyes widen as his arms tighten around your waist. He tugs you back down until he’s got you in what essentially feels like a headlock. He could easily pass it off as spooning, but it feels a little more demanding than that. “Logan,” you warn, the silent peace of the moment officially shattered. 

“Don’t,” he gripes. You can fight against him for as long as you want, but you’ll only tire yourself out. His arms are literally metal bands around you. “Let me talk and then you can run off.” You huff and wait, but he never speaks. Finally, you look over your shoulder and glare at him. “Well?”

You roll your eyes, “Fuck’s sake,” you mutter. “Alright, speak.”

You can feel his grin against the back of your head. If he didn’t have you in such a tight grip, you’d elbow him in the gut just to be petty. “I made a mistake,” you scoff and he keeps going. Stopping you from interrupting him with something bitchy. “You weren’t just something convenient to me, sweetheart.” he pauses and chuckles, “You’re a huge fucking pain in my ass.”

“Is this your idea of an apology?” You snap, “Because this is pathetic.” 

He doesn’t say anything and you’re tempted to snark at him again. But then the world is flipped on its side as he jerks you around and forces you to face him. Your chests rub together, the sweaty skin sticking together and bordering on uncomfortable. “You ever shut up?” He asks, but there’s no heat to the words. If anything he looks fond of you, and it makes you shift around, trying not to look him in the eye. But there’s nowhere for you to hide, you’re both naked and bare before each other. 

You’re as physically vulnerable as he must feel emotionally. And as much as this is a horrible way to display how he’s feeling, you’re starting to understand him a little better. You know why this conversation is so hard for him, why he can’t accept that someone truly loves him and he loves her back. 

But that’s not going to get him out of it. He’s still yet to say the words. Maybe if he manned up and said something real you’d consider forgiving him. You give him an expectant look and he sighs, forehead pressed against yours as he slumps over you. You want to pretend you’re annoyed at the contact, but you’ve been craving it since you ran away two weeks ago.

You’ve been desperate for this warmth that only he can provide you. Without realizing it, you nuzzle further into his chest, hands drifting up to wrap around his bare waist. Logan feels the tightness in him ease slightly at the way you curl into him. He’s got a shot, even if you try and tell him he doesn’t.  

It’s silent for a while, while you linger in the emotions of what just happened and he tries to find the right words. He leans down, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and smiling against the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he whispers. 

You’d told yourself you’d only consider forgiving him if he said those words. But that’s only because you’d never thought he would actually say it. You didn’t think he was capable of admitting that to himself. It seems so out of character for him. But, maybe, you don’t know him as well as you thought you did. 

He pulls back, hand landing on your jaw and gently guiding your head out of his neck. He gives you an expectant look but you’re finding it hard to meet his eyes. You’ve been waiting for him to say that, but now it feels like you can’t. You’re still struggling to forgive him. He put you through so much unnecessary hurt just because he couldn’t face his own feelings. 

And now you’re struggling to do the same. “I want to say it back,” you tell him. “But how am I supposed to trust that the next time things get hard, you won’t lash out again?”

He frowns, an irritated huff of breath shooting out his nose. But you know it’s frustration towards himself. For letting you both get to this point because he couldn’t just say three words. “I’ll wait,” he promises. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait.” 

You smile and nod, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. You’re sure you’ll be saying it sooner rather than later. But what’s the harm in making him squirm a little? He deserves it. 

A/N: I don’t write smut, it’s literally in my rules. I think I stared at a gif of him for too long and some horny ass demon possessed me and made me write this. Forgive me, universe, I’m no better than a man.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[you-wanna-save-the-corn-nuts]

Just....thinking about how Van uses humour to mask emotions. Frequently. And by that I mean like. All the time. Do we ever really see Van get upset outside of a group setting? No, not really. We got that one frog/tent scene in ep8 but prior to that? Nothing. And that goes for the adult timeline as well.

But I mean think about it. She gets left in a plane and the next joke she cracks is "You're on fire today Jackie- oh wait...that was supposed to be me, huh?" She's upset she got left in the plane, and reasonably so. But jokes are the only time we see her actually communicate that to anyone verbally. Tai is consistently the ONLY person we see her be genuinely vulnerable with. We see her soften for others a couple times, but rarely does she soften for herself.

I mean hell, she gets almost burnt alive after getting mauled by wolves and how does she talk about it? "Fire?? Really??" and "You killed a wolf for me, which is about the most attractive thing someone could do." neither of these statements are serious- they both have this overtone of humour.

And I mean you could also say that on top of Van writing "I love you" in blood being self sacrifice, its also a testament to her humour. Her Girlfriend just got possessed and drew blood by biting her lip and not only does she affirm that she loves her, she uses the blood from that injury to say that. She's taking the pain she has and making jokes about it in order to make others feel better- and the I love you is the most literal translation of that.

Van shows distaste through humour, its her more subtle way of communicating. Eg, Adult Van "sounds like your hands were really tied there- oh wait, those were her hands." its a joking sentence, but really, its also showing her disapproval. We can see that Van isn't happy with Misty for killing Jessica, but does she explicitly say that? No. Instead she cracks a joke about it.

Even in her arguement with Tai back in season 2, where Van gets annoyed at Tai for trying to walk away without letting her help because "she has to help her after seeing her like this", what does she do during that arguement? Start making references to movies. "I'm mixing up my pop culture metaphors cause I'm fucking upset!!!" Iconic line. But also. Really shows how she copes with bad situations.

Van's reactions to bad things both in the adult and teen timeline have consistantly been humour. Its not exactly deflecting the fact that there's an issue, its more downplaying it. She sees that something is wrong and she doesn't approve of it? Joke about it. She sees that she's hurt physically/mentally? Joke about it. That way nobody worries too much, they get a laugh out of it, and she can tell herself that she at least kind of addressed it.

[love-quinn]

— DEGREES OF SEPARATION

summary — they say each person is only six degrees of separation away from any other person. you’ve just dumped patrick and unbeknownst to you, he’s a lot closer to your new boyfriend than six degrees.

warnings — told mostly from patrick's pov, sex is explicitly mentioned (no smut is written), swearing, patrick being a cocky bastard, mentions of male masturbation (in both the contexts of pat and art), implied that patrick does not give head 16+

pairing — art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader (formerly), canon compliant artrick

pronouns — she/her, reader is referred to as a “girlfriend”

word count — 2.7k

note — i have truly the most amount of art donaldson fics in my drafts, i'm slowly getting through and trying to write them all. this was meant to be a silly little thing but i accidentally made it serious my bad. also lowkey reader isn't in this much, also i switch tenses like nobody's business.

Patrick has no idea what it is about you, but he’s starting to hate you a little bit. 

You were nowhere near the first girl he's dated, you weren’t even his longest relationship. Sure, he prefers not to bother himself with actual relationships, he likes the casualty of just hooking up with someone just fine. Having to be a boyfriend requires a lot of mental energy that Patrick typically reserves for tennis and chain smoking.

He didn’t mind putting in the effort when the two of you were together. You were pretty low-maintenance, he’d go up to Stanford every few months anyway, at least when he was dating you he didn’t have to sleep on the floor. He got to see his best friend, play tennis with someone competent, get some ass and all he had to do was call you once every few days. He didn’t even mind it, he liked talking to you.

Then, of course, you’d dumped him and now he was right back where he started.

He had been at your dorm, he’d spent the last few hours with you between his legs and then he’d gotten a text from Art asking if he’d wanted to hang out. Patrick wasn’t exactly going to say no, Art didn’t even really know he was seeing something. That had apparently pissed you off enough that you’d let him go without even making a comment about how you hadn’t had a turn yet. You’d messaged him an hour later telling him that you didn’t want to see him anymore and that you were keeping the half ounce he’d left in your room in his haste to leave.

It was fine. He got to regale Art with stories of the two of you, not bothering to mention that you were the same girl as six months earlier and that you had been the only girl in that time. 

He almost felt like he had to share every detail of the more intimate parts of your relationship with Art. Art wasn’t fucking anyone, at least not with the regularity that Patrick was (even when the two of you were long distance), he was probably getting some sort of a kick out of hearing about it anyway.

Now, four months later, and things have been flipped on their head.

Patrick isn’t adverse to change; if anything, he thrives in the chaos of change. If things are always changing then Patrick always has a way to have the upper hand. He doesn’t quite feel like he has the upper hand anymore.

He’s on Art’s bed, trying to roll himself a cigarette without getting too much tobacco on Art’s sheets. Art’s at practice, he doesn’t even know that Patrick is here, that he’s used the spare key attached to his keyring to get in, but he’s not going to give a shit. The window’s shaky, but Patrick’s able to shove it open. 

When Art comes in, Patrick’s shoved half the shit off his desk to make enough room to perch on it so he can stick his hand out in the air. Art doesn’t even give it a second glance. “I wouldn’t sit there.”

“I’m sure your textbooks will live,” Patrick waves him off. He picked that side because it had the least amount of dust on it.

Art dumps his stuff on the floor, shaking out his duvet from Patrick’s mess. “I didn’t get the chance to…” he struggles to hold back a smirk as he deliberately avoids looking at his friend’s face; he wants to seem as nonchalant as Patrick always does. “Disinfect it.” He settles.

Patrick hops off the desk, scrubbing the backs of his thighs. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Art looks sufficiently pleased with himself. “Okay, you can’t talk. I was in a hurry.”

Patrick was thoroughly enjoying grilling his best friend. “You have a bed right there. You couldn’t do it there?”

Art didn’t say anything. Patrick dropped his cigarette out the open window from laughing so hard. 

It takes less than a week for Patrick to realise that Art has a girlfriend and that the event back in his dorm wasn’t a one time thing. It was to be expected, Art did always have a harder time letting go than Patrick did. Patrick doesn’t even have to open his mouth before Art is shutting down the unasked question they’re both thinking; no, you cannot meet her.

It doesn’t matter that Art’s hiding you from him though, because he posts about you constantly. Patrick doesn’t use FaceBook a whole lot, and neither did Art really. But Art decides that there’s something about you that decides he needs to take photos of you.  He even considers buying a fancy digital camera but he doesn’t quite have a hundred bucks to drop on one. He settles for his phone camera, which takes blurry but glowing pictures of you in any scenario you let him; photos of you hunched over a spiral notebook with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, of you mid-sip with a smoothie in your hand. Then, as part of Art’s cover photo, a photo of you in a sundress that would’ve undoubtedly had Patrick excusing himself multiple times to the closest bathroom if he’d had the pleasure of seeing it in person. 

Patrick’s scrolling absent-mindedly as he stands outside of Art’s lecture hall when he first sees it. There’s an entire folder on his Facebook dedicated just to you, and he spends the remaining forty minutes of Art’s lecture going through each and every one.

Art finally comes down the stairs and sees Patrick, head between his knees on a metal bench trying to avoid the glare from the sun. “We going?”

Patrick looks up so fast he hears something in his neck align itself. “Yeah.” They had plans to hit the court after Art’s last class. “Just let me go piss first.” Patrick shoves his phone in his pocket and ducks off to the nearest bathroom.

While he’s in there, Art decides to give you a call. He apologised profusely when he brought up Patrick’s arrival earlier in the week. His nose had found your jawline and he’d kissed along the sharp line. “My friend’s coming to visit, I never see him, so I’m probably gonna spend the week with him if that’s okay?”

You’d nodded, palm of your hand on the top of his head, twirling a select few of his curls around your fingers. “Of course, honey.”

He’d pressed a kiss right under your jawline. “Jus’ don’t want you to think I’m trying to leave you for him.”

You hummed and he felt it deep in his chest. “I appreciate that,” you said honestly. Your mind flashed back to texts from Patrick; sorry, not coming. going out. tomorrow? It had honestly been easier to get ahold of Patrick when he wasn’t on your college campus. “You have your own life, though. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Art looked up at you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Not worried,” he corrected gently. “Just thinking of you. Want to make sure we’re on the same page. He’s really important to me but also…” he trailed off.  “He’s my best friend. He’s also a massive asshole. So, I guess I wanted to kind of just… lay it out there,” he laughed. That was the thing about Art. Things that were weighing heavily on his chest would sometimes bubble up with so much force they would bring something else with them. Most of the time, it was laughter. “That I don’t want him to ruin the way you think of me, so I am going to be spending most of this week keeping him away from you.”

You’d laughed at the time and then leaned down and let him kiss you. You’d let him do more than that, too, but then you’d had to run to make it to your afternoon lecture on time. 

You don’t answer but he does get a text a few minutes later, got an essay, want to get a head start. love u, which he sends a heart back to. 

When Patrick gets back from the bathroom, he finds Art smiling down at his phone. “That your girlfriend?” he asks, leaning over to try and see Art’s text history. Art pulls his phone away.

“Stop,” he pushes him. 

Patrick blows out a puff of air, bumping into Art as the two of them walk side by side. “I just don’t get why you won’t let me see her,” he says casually, as if he doesn’t have every inch of your body completely memorised. “I want to see what she looks like.”

“I don’t want you picturing her,” Art says. “You’re not allowed to see her. You’re not allowed to imagine her, and no, you’re not allowed to meet her.”

Art wasn’t the boss of him. Fuck Art. If Patrick wants to imagine you then who is Art to stop him?

Over the next week, Art does his due diligence in not revealing a single important thing about you to Patrick, and it’s driving him crazy. It’s not like Patrick doesn’t know this information, it’s not like Patrick needs to see a photo of you to remember the way your mouth tilts up when he says something stupid. He wants Art to be the one to show you. He wants to see you through Art’s eyes.

He sees traces of you through Art’s spaces. There’s a sticker on his water bottle that he knows was a gift from you. A pink spiral notebook is nestled amongst Art’s books for his classes. There’s clean bedsheets. That’s enough to know that Art has an external influence. 

He doesn’t like this. He’s never been in this situation before. He’s always felt ahead of Art, better at tennis, better with girls. He’s not stupid, he knows how Art would always listen to Patrick’s stories, rapt with attention, half-hard down the phone line. He liked that. He was the one in control.

He liked being that way with you too. You’re soft, you’re sweet, you’re sunshine incarnate and he wanted to ruin you. Ruin you for anyone else, to be the only guy who’s ever been in your bed. Doesn’t even matter that he wasn’t your first. He liked that you don’t play tennis, or that you don’t care when he calls you. He liked you, and he couldn’t have you.

Why the fuck was Art allowed to? 

It’s gnawing at him. For the first time in the six or so years they’ve known each other, slept beside each other, been alive together, Art has something that Patrick wants. And he doesn’t even give a shit. 

It’s the way that Art doesn’t even have to try. You’ve blocked him on FaceBook, but Art posts you often. You like it – being admired. It wasn’t something you got from your last boyfriend. There were a lot of things you didn’t get from Patrick. Good morning texts, soft compliments, his hands exactly where you liked them. 

With Art it’s like everything fell so completely into place. 

The game goes by quickly; Patrick’s not feeling it. He lets Art win. They go back to Art’s dorm as it’s getting dark and Patrick is sitting again on Art’s desk, pointedly not thinking about the image of Art on his knees with you sitting prettily amongst Art’s things. 

Patrick’s smoking, barely trying to get the smoke out the window, blowing it out in lazy sighs. The tension in the air is so thick Art has to wade through it to reach his friend. Patrick tries to think of something to say that isn’t accusatory, but it’s hard when he’s sitting where you once sat. 

Patrick’s never been a yeller, especially not with Art. He’s never had to be. Art’s easy. But now, swirled in bitterness and smoke, he wants to start. To ask him how it feels to have everything he wants and to have it so well. The girl, the ease, the warmth. The love Patrick never realised he wanted. 

“What’s wrong?” Art dumps his stuff on the floor but he has the good graces to do it in a corner where it won’t be in the way. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not,” Patrick snaps, sniffing. He feels like he’s going to explode. 

Art rolls his eyes. He doesn’t take it to heart but he doesn’t let Patrick get away with either. “Either stop sulking or tell me what’s wrong.”

“Why the hell won’t you let me meet her?”

Patrick realises, with humiliating force, that he wants Art to introduce you because he knows you’ll never let him in the same room as you otherwise. This is his only shot. 

Art’s tone flips from casual to cautious. “What?”

“What, for the first time in our lives, you have a girlfriend I haven’t met?” Patrick drops his still-lit cigarette out the window, not bothering to look as it falls down six floors. “You don’t expect me to think that’s weird? You won’t even show me a picture.”

Art watches him the whole time. When he finally speaks, Patrick doesn’t expect him to sound so annoyed. His voice is low, monotone, and unfamiliar. “Because I’m not using her to make you feel better. She’s not a fucking trophy for you to look at whenever you want. I know you Patrick. You want to look at her so you can count all the ways that you could have done better. Because you can’t handle me having something just for myself.” Art got really close. “I’m not sharing.”

Something shifts between them in a way Patrick dreads. Art’s right, of course. Patrick, even now, has never viewed you as anything more than something to have. And right when Patrick needed it the most, he just let Art win 

It’s not about ego, not anymore. He doesn’t want to control you. Make you miserable as long as you’re his. You’re the first person in his life that Patrick wants to give everything to, To wake up beside, to share smiles with, to have the liberty of thinking about every second that he damn well wants to. 

“It’s not that serious,” he says placatingly. He knows how to appease Art, how to flip his anger into amusement. “Come on, there’s a couple hundred girls at this school, she’s just one of ‘em.” His chest hurts. 

“That’s the thing, Patrick.” Art rubs his temples. “She’s not. And I’m not going to let you in my head, fucking me up, fucking us up, for whatever reason you want to. I love you, man.” He steps forward, putting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. He rubs a comforting line along the curve of Patrick’s neckline. “But this one’s different. She’s mine.”

Patrick wonders what it’s like for you; to date Art so soon after being with him. They’re pretty similar - do you hate that? Two sides of the same coin, two sides of the same dorm room. Fire and ice. Which is which?

When you see Art’s MRTA shirt do you think of Patrick’s hat with the same emblem? When Art took you to see The Devil Wears Prada did it end with you on his lap in the back of the theatre the same way it did when you’d gone to see the new X-Men? When he kissed you did he taste like the cigarettes you hated so much? Did you mind it, coming from Art?

“I’m happy for you, Art,” Patrick says instead. Art has everything Patrick’s ever wanted, and of course he’s happy for him. But for the first time, Patrick feels like he’s lost something. Something that he maybe didn’t realise he wanted until it was gone. He can’t tell what he’s missing more. You or Art.

At least Art can bear to be in the same room as him. And if Art’s as serious as he seems to be, eventually you’ll have to as well. It’s not much, but he’ll take what he can get. 

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

Chaotic Velocity is for sure my new favorite 4 star! It's so cute, my heart was all warm and fuzzy by the end of it! It's also very funny, the banter is so great, and so prevalent throughout – you can tell that the writers have truly found their stride with these two. It also shows relationship progress with them being able to be more direct with each other. On a similar note... is this the first card where MC is explicitly referred to as Sylus' girlfriend? 🥹

Other things I love about Chaotic Velocity is how often Sylus is laughing – it's so obvious how happy he is now –, MC's liveliness and playfulness, her inner monologues when she affectionately imagines Sylus' expressions, the sheer amount of trust she has in him, how Sylus' dragon side comes out with his need to mark – and be marked by – her, the way he says some of his lines in particular– emphasizing certain words, tone becoming warmer/softer or more... suggestive lol, etc. etc.

Really, I adore every single moment of this memory. It's as perfect as it's illustration.

SylusMC have come so far. It's really heartwarming to see how comfortable they are with each other, and how filled with joy and life they are when together. They truly bring out the best in one another. Their love and affection feels genuine and believable, their chemistry sparkling. They are soulmates through and through ♡

[summercourtship]

Seems that we’re all in a Bruce Wayne brainrot era huh?

That being said could i ask for for the prompt 31?

“Pulling away from a kiss, whispering words of love against each other’s lips.”

Thank you for your time!!!

This ended up being slightly different than the prompt but I really liked how it turned out! :3 This one also does have some references to what happened post-STBOTDI, so it could be a mini midquel lmao. It’s explicitly in that universe, though it doesn’t matter if you haven’t read it because it’s not a big deal.

Gossip. | Bruce Wayne x Reader

warnings: none :) | word count: 553 Currently Accepting From This Prompt List: Guess inspired prompt list | send me a character + number for a 100-500 word drabble | character list + rules

Galas were awkward events for you. Even though Bruce’s presence was comforting, it also meant a lot of attention was on you from the moment you arrived until the moment you left. Normally, you were just a decorative piece to conversations, standing to the side and trying to not let your smile become stale on your face as random people tried to make Bruce laugh. 

Tonight, however, a local influencer that you didn’t know clearly wanted to press your buttons. She constantly made snide comments about your status, your looks, your lack of class (which was a bit hypocritical, considering she was the one attacking you for no reason). It was clear to you that she was either doing it to get a rise out of you (for some reason) or to try and turn Bruce off of you. After the first comment, Bruce had raised his eyebrows as if he was going to call her out for speaking about you but you just shook your head. You didn’t need him making a big deal about nothing for you.

But it was when she made a comment about your ex-boyfriend being locked away in Arkham Asylum that you broke. When Jonathan had first been arrested, your relationship to him wasn’t made public. However, when the trial started and it was revealed that Bruce Wayne’s girlfriend was testifying… the media frenzy began. To have someone who didn’t know you bring it up so callously, so casually, as if it was just a fun fact about you to poke fun at, was like a knife in your side. 

Barely thinking, you excused yourself from the ballroom, practically running away to the nearest balcony. You knew what it looked like, but it was exhausting being constantly ridiculed by the upper crusts of society. Especially for something that was ultimately none of their business. 

You’d been outside for only a few seconds when the door opened again. You didn’t need to turn around to see who had followed you- there was only one person at the Gala who cared enough to. 

Bruce’s footsteps were soft as he walked towards you, not saying anything as he came to a stop beside you. His hand rubbed warm circles on the small of your back, a comforting pressure that alleviated any stress you had accumulated in your body over the night. 

“It’s okay.” You said, though your voice was thick and gave you away.

“No, it’s not.” He tilted your chin up to look at him. He pressed a soft kiss against your lips, pulling away before you could return it. “You are one of the best people I know.” Another kiss, equally short. “You are so much more than what they say about you.” This time, when he kissed you, you eagerly returned it, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him close to you. 

“I love you.” You murmured against his lips when you parted, and even though you had said it before (many months before, it didn’t take long) he still smiled like it was the first time. Taking your hand in his, he led you to the door. 

“Do you wanna get out of here?” He asked, holding the door open for you and smiling like he already knew your answer. 

“Oh my god, yes.” 

[amiserableseriesofevents]

Ok so we have DILF!Gale thanks to @avonne-writes and I love him to bits but this au made me think: what about DILF!John?

Single dad John who split with his wife/girlfriend (I'm thinking amicably but it also could've been rough) because things weren't going well anymore but they have a kid and John just loves being a father, he's a proud owner of a "Best Dad in the World" mug and all that.

So he's juggling coparenting a young child and trying to get some kind of social life back now that he's single, and maybe Curt invites him some place one night and he meets Gale.

Gale who's been with Marge for years before coming to terms with his homosexuality and is now rejecting anything that reminds him of a traditional relationship, like marriage and especially children.

Gale and John hit it off right away, and maybe John doesn't explicitly state that he has a kid but keeps referring to them (the decision wether it's a boy or a girl is still pending but I'm thinking girl) with funny nicknames and Gale can't picture John as a father so he just assumes John's talking about his dog — he know he has one because he's showed him pictures, while he didn't show him his child because he's very cautious about that stuff.

So they start hanging out, they have sex a few times, and the thing progresses well so after a while they decide to bring their relationship to the following step; for John, it means introducing Gale and his child.

Gale almost has a heart attack when he finds out John has a child ("How could you not know?? I talk about them all the time!" "You called them my sweet potato how was I supposed to know you were talking about your child and not your dog?!") and at first he backs the hell up because it's not that he doesn't like children, they're nice, but he doesn't want to have one. And being with John would mean have a child too and it's just too much for him right now.

Cue to lots of mutual pining, John's assumption that he cannot be loved (yeah he's always a drama queen), Gale's realization that he can have a family if it's with someone he loves (yeah he's always a bit dumb with feelings)... all that and more, until a happy ending is reached!

Thoughts?

[kl125]

I need to talk about this take. I’ve seen it so many times, and it continuously baffles me.

1. Why is mileven even being brought up in an unrelated fandom? I don’t know anything about Arcane, but I know that there was no reason to bring up ST on an Arcane Confessions account (there were some other posts comparing mileven to a ship in the series, and OP asked what mileven was, resulting in the above explanation).

2. MIKE 👏🏻 AND 👏🏻 EL 👏🏻 ARE 👏🏻 NOT 👏🏻 RELATED 👏🏻! How many times do we have to explain this? They aren’t related by blood or by law in the context of the show (neither are Finn and Millie, but I’m going to keep this to the characters from here on out). Nor have they ever said they see each other as relatives. This is a textbook case of taking things dangerously out of context (which I provide in point five). YOU may see them as “sibling-coded” or think they should be platonic, but that is entirely YOUR choice. Neither the creators nor the writers have ever said people should view mileven as familial/platonic or that the characters only see one another as brother/sister. This is an INTERPRETATION, not a definitive FACT.

3. Considering someone family does not make any relationship between them incestuous. Mike and El were twelve when they met. They’ve had a strong bond from the beginning, but their characterization and understanding of it has grown and changed just as they have. Nothing wrong with that. However, I say again, at no point have they explicitly stated they consider each other siblings in any sense of the word, AND there is a big difference between FOUND family and BLOOD family (neither is inherently better or more valid than the other, just different, that’s all).

4. The writers have an incest kink? Uhh…no? They’ve made it clear from the beginning that mileven is romantic. Mike and El call each other “boyfriend/girlfriend” all the time and have both said “I love you”. Also, categorizing anything related to a ship between two minors as the result of a “kink” from the writers is just disgusting.

5. I’ve seen people use Mike’s words in S1 to support this incest opinion (when he tells El that Nancy will be “like [her] new sister”). When El asked if that would make Mike “like [her] brother”, he IMMEDIATELY shut that down, making sure to distinguish their relationship. Even back then, he knew that what he and El have is unique and precious and decidedly NOT the same as how siblings should feel towards one another. This would be no different than how my brother-in-law feels towards me versus how he feels towards my sister. One is familial and one is romantic, respectively. Two different types of love, both valid, and both perfectly normal. (And I’m referring to my actual, real life sister and brother-in-law, not just using those terms randomly to make a point).

6. Multiple things can be true at once. El can see the Wheelers as her family, understand that she loves Mike romantically, and know that those are two very different types of love. Despite how some in this fandom like to characterize her, she is fully capable of complex thought and emotional intelligence. In S1, she asked Mike to clarify what their relationship is because she had never been shown love of any kind at that point in her life. What she got from Brenner was obsession, not love, and she never knew her mother. She may have started later than expected when it comes to understanding social cues and the complexities of relationships, but she got the hang of it very quickly and currently has no problem distinguishing between her love for Mike and her love for her friends/family.

(I realize some of these points and explanations seem redundant or repetitive, but it goes to show how insane this opinion is. No matter how many ways you try to explain it, this will never be true.)

All this to say, we need to put this “mileven is incest” argument to bed. Please. It makes no sense, it’s categorically false, and it’s just plain weird. If you don’t like mileven, that’s fine, but there’s no need to paint it as some illegal, immoral monolith to justify this viewpoint. I’ve seen ships between canonical siblings get praised (which is a whole issue in and of itself that I do not have time to get into), and yet this ship between two random teenagers is treated as criminal? No thanks. Mileven would very much like to be excluded from this narrative.

(Finally, if you’re sitting there thinking, “it’s not that deep,” please save it. As you can see, it very much is that deep to me.)

Here’s a happy Mileven gif to bring a little optimism while we wait for S5.

[eliotquillon]

I know nothing about the Alex Rider show except it gave Alex an OC girlfriend (?) called Kyra, so I have to ask, how different would the books have gone with her in it?

oh this is such a tricky question...

The thing with Kyra is that she doesn't necessarily replace Sabina so much as she's part of a running addition to the show--which is that Alex is way, way less isolated than he is in the books. (For example, Tom plays an incredibly prominent role in all three seasons; I honestly think his prominence in Nightshade was influenced by the TV portrayal of him.) E.g TV Point Blanc plays out pretty much as a buddy detective story with Alex and Kyra investigating Grief together--James Sprintz still exists, but after he's replaced Kyra sticks around--which does change the vibe, I think; the show version of PB still has that ooky-spooky borderline Gothic atmosphere as the book, but the sense of isolation is, IMO, less crushing because well...Alex isn't alone. Same goes for the adaptation of Eagle Strike in S2 (which is the least faithful out of all three seasons). Not only is it way more understandable that Sabina thinks Alex is crazy for thinking there's a conspiracy related to Cray, because Alex only meets her a day or two before her dad gets blown up (although I've always been on Sab's side for this anyway), but also Alex has Tom and Kyra on his side; that sense of righteous anger about not being believed is still there, but it's definitely lessened and TV Alex, if anything, is really more upset than angry about it.

This is why I was so scared about S3 before it came out: I could not see the Scorpia story working with a version of Alex who had Kyra and Tom on-side, because the reason why Scorpia works is because Rothman preys on Alex's isolation and lack of trust. There was also the fact that Yassen lives in showverse, and that throws a spanner into things, but that is a different post lol. S3 did, I think, just about make it work--but it worked by having Tom and Kyra assume Alex was dead and then being unable to reach him, lol, which basically confirmed my suspicion that the Scorpia arc can't work with Alex having, you know, a support system.

This is a lot of preamble, but what I'm trying to say is that plopping Kyra down into bookverse would be a pretty big ripple effect, just as it is in the show, because her function as a character is basically to be what Alex so sorely lacks in the books: an equal. I like Sabina and Alex together, but she can't be blamed for struggling to see a future with him when they're so different and when Alex doesn't seem to be putting in a real effort to be normal; Kyra, on the other hand, never asks that of him, because she's deeply messed up too. She explicitly says that if she could act normal, she wouldn't have ended up at PB; Mrs Jones refers to her as having problems and being 'not stable'; she says she's never been to an ordinary school before; she's described as having no friends and 'resisting social interaction'--and then there's the fact that she ended up at PB not for simple delinquency, but for hacking the Singaporean stock market, and that her parents are murdered by Scorpia not long after Ian dies. Even in bookverse, where Alex is infinitely more guarded than in the show, it's hard to imagine him resisting the temptation to reach out to her.

Alex probably would still join Scorpia--just as he does in the show--but I think things would go pretty canon divergent after that; I can't see Alex befriending Paul Drevin, for instance, or being so easily convinced by Ash, with Kyra in the background to run intel on everyone. His relationship with Sabina, while still existing--much as it does in the show--would probably be less central to him; I don't think she'd come back to invite him to Scotland for Crocodile Tears, for instance, and should Scorpia Rising play out the same way, I think Alex would campaign to stay with Kyra alongside the Pleasures. And they'd make each other worse, too; TV Alex really helps bring Kyra out of her shell, because he's way more 'normal' even from the outset. In bookverse, I think Kyra would be the influence on him--I think he'd become even more jaded, and probably wouldn't agree to help out Mrs Jones with Nightshade. For the same reason, I actually don't think they'd get together in bookverse; Alex and Sabina work because they're opposites, and show!Alex and Kyra work for similar reasons (although at far less of an extreme), but book!Alex and Kyra would be too similar, and I think very resistant towards the idea of jeopardising their friendship. Basically: it'd be messy and codependent and toxic, but at least they'd have each other.

This is just my reading of things--it's been a while since I've reread the books in close detail lol. I really, really like Kyra; it's a big shame that the show 'chose' her over Sabina and essentially cannibalised Alex and Sabina's connection to give to Kyra, because I think it would've been so compelling to see both of those relationships warring against each other--although ultimately I think Kyra would win out just by virtue of having so much in common with Alex. Ty for asking!!

[kozzax]

Homestuck and Aromanticism: A Discussion

I think it's time we talk about the way Homestuck treats aromantic people, both explicitly and implicitly.

Though I personally have a lot of fun talking about my aromantic headcanons for Homestuck characters, there is very little support in the text for the vast majority of them. In fact, there is clear evidence that the narrative would object to such an interpretation of its characters. Homestuck is a story filled with queer characters, but there is a notable dearth of aromanticism within its text.

There are, arguably, two aromantic characters in the entirety of Homestuck. One of them is explicitly aromantic, the other is very heavily discussed in ways that reference the aromantic experience. I am talking, of course, about Calliope and Jake English respectively.

Neither of them serves as a good representation for aromanticism.

Calliope's aromanticism is confirmed in the epilogues. In Meat Chapter 6, we get this passage:

You weren’t prepared to get passively hit on by the Definitely Not Legal version of a girl you used to have a crush on at the age she was when you first met her, only a few hours after you watched the Actually Legal version of her engage in passionate hand-holding with her possibly aromantic skeleton alien monster girlfriend.

This is the only time the word 'aromantic' is said in the entirety of Homestuck, epilogues and dubious canon included. Rather than being discussed as an identity that Calliope associates herself with, it is included on a list of modifiers regarding her status as Roxy's girlfriend. A list that, otherwise, is made up of exclusively terms that emphasize her lack of humanity and otherness.

Given how Calliope's queerness is treated in the Epilogues, it is safe to assume that the term aromantic was used here in that same vein. They are aromantic, and thus are distanced from their humanity. It is worth noting that the terms are of an increasing level of otherness-- skeletons can be vaguely human, aliens can be sentient, monster implies a lack of personhood. Aromantic is the first part of this list. There is a quiet implication that aromantic people are a subsect of humans that aren't quite human.

Their aromanticism is never brought up again. It is never an obstacle in their relationship with Roxy, is never something the narrative addresses the nuances of or the difficulties of. Instead, it exists as exclusively a modifier on their position as a girlfriend. Their position within a romantic relationship, never discussed with nuance again.

It is a part of who they are exclusively to other them. It is not an inherent aspect of who they are, it is not an identity they consider important, it is not something brought up when their queerness is questioned by the narrative. It only exists to other them, and by extension to other aromantic people as a whole.

What about the other aromantic character, then?

What about Jake English?

Many things can be said about Jake English and aromanticism. He reads, to me as an aromantic person, as incredibly aromantic in nature. Every time his romantic troubles are brought up, I am more convinced of his aromanticism.

He was not intended to be aromantic initially. This, I am fairly certain of. I don't think Hussie knew aromanticism existed at the point Jake was being written.

That being said, there is one piece of evidence to suggest that it is possible Hussie knew the term and was referencing it with Jake:

JAKE: But yeah thats pretty much what the doctor ordered for old jake english. No romantic stuff. No platonic stuff either! JAKE: Ill be like... Mr nonrom sansplat... Or... Oh horsenoodles there has to be terminology that more effectively consolidates my present understanding of myself into a coherent identity i can get enthusiastic about.

This is also the first passage that many people associate with Jake being aromantic. Unfortunately, in context, it is not so simple. Within the context of this conversation, this is Jake putting himself down and abstaining from relationships with the people around him because he hates himself. It is not framed as a sudden bout of self-acceptance, but rather as a regression into his worst traits.

It is walked back moments later, when Tavrosprite suggests making new friends who won't be so difficult to get along with.

The idea that someone wouldn't be interested in romance is framed as nothing more than self-hatred and self-destructive action. Where other queer identities are respected by the text, aromanticism is ridiculed.

Jake's romantic difficulties are framed as the butt of the joke consistently, as is Jake himself. He is consistently sexualized and infantalized by the narrative that surrounds him. He is not allowed to speak for himself and be trusted on his speech.

Despite all of this, he reads as aromantic. He avoids discussing romantic topics, he is apathetic to whoever he gets in a relationship with, it feels like his relationship with Dirk is him trying to recreate that which he sees in his movies. The action hero he is determined to turn himself into always has a romantic partner.

Assuming he is aromantic, he is consistently placed next to his romantic partner and consistently made the butt of the joke. In the Epilogues, he ends one having been mind controlled into loving a man romantically so much that he's having a mental breakdown and the other having been in a dead-end marriage for his entire life trying desperately to raise a son he didn't want.

Assuming he is not aromantic, the only aromantic character in Homestuck is Calliope. Aromanticism is framed as self destructive through Jake and dehumanizing through its only mention, and is only ever framed within the context of the aromantic character being in a romantic relationship.

In either case, it is clear that Homestuck is not a story that treats aromantic people kindly. It is not a story that believes we exist, nor is it a story that is willing to engage with us. Despite that, it is a story that uses us and our experiences to emphasize characters' lack of humanity and agency in their own lives.

There is more I could say on this topic, and I will do so eventually, but I do not have the time to consolidate it all at the moment. It just... frustrates me, that romance is so heavily featured in Homestuck and queerness is so often celebrated in Homestuck, and yet its only usage of aromanticism is consistently negative in nature.

I love this comic. I love this story, and these characters. And yes, I do love the epilogues and postcanon. But I am also aromantic. I love my aromantic identity. It would be a disservice to myself and to my fellow aromantic Homestuck fans not to bring this discussion to the table.

[eightofpents]

A collection of rambling thoughts about London under the cut. spoilers, obv.

The idea that the butterfly's champions Never remember is straight up Canonically not true right? First thing the special says and it's straight bullshit.

The Gorilla grabs Bug Noire's hand to stop her from destroying the door. Can we talk about how stupid dangerous that was? If she doesn't react in time you Die. Bro.

Kagami definitely disapproves of the lying plan, but the "go away ladybug" line, doesn't strike me as angry at her (which is a read i've seen). It feels like Kagami giving her an out before she says something stupid and outs herself, to me.

"And you will need it." The fuck was that Tikki? Oh. Oh you little shit.

"There's no such thing as ghosts." Excuse me you have a fairy literally inside you right now but ghosts definitely DO NOT exist, sure.

Both of Lila's akumatizations being boy shaped could easily be a laudable commitment to disguise. Certainly she's known to be good at it. But. Do you think she has Gender? (also, it was ridiculous (utterly ridiculous) when they tried to play off Kagami's gender as a big reveal. but this is worse. it'd be one thing to they/them akuma!Lila just because the audience knows. but 'Bug says he once and Bunnyx corrects her. they Always assume gender! sometimes incorrectly! (see Kagami) and they commit to it. (is this an english only problem??))

We all love Nathalie for waking up from dead and saying "Time to kill Gabriel again." But she knows she's only awake because he made the wish. She goes down there, crossbow in hand, expecting to find Gabriel And Emilie. (i don't think she coulda killed him in front of her.)

"The light is already on. They were always here." There is only one timeline forever. But then what the hell is Bunnyx's job. Timetagger, yes. A villain gets timeywimey powers, gotta stop em, a reasonable use of time police. "Marinette you made a wrong decision for the timeline (what? how?) and now you gotta stop Chat from blowing up." Stupid. The elder buns knew this was coming. But they still fade. This show has a fixed timeline. But parts of it explicitly involve risking the timeline itself and pretending there's a world where they might lose? Astruc get your shit together.

Using papillon to refer to the new unnamed butterfly holder makes sense. Translating that as Hawk Moth does not.

Marinette: Should I lie to Adrien about his dad? Everyone else: Definitely not. But you're Ladybug and his girlfriend so we trust your decision. (what?) Marinette: Got it. Time to lie.

Calling the lucky charm to get untangled is fucking great. (i'm never gonna be over this actually.)

Completely in love with the London fight. A portal fight is always sick. And the fact that it's Bunnyx in control of the portals, not Chronobug? the team work! And I'm, like, distractingly into the song in the back half. The bug's out here sayin' all this cool shit and I can't hear her cause my brain is Locked In on the music. (and i am not known to notice a soundtrack)

Lila has never interested me. I Love Chloé, and Gabriel and Nathalie are the loves of my life, but Lila's villainy just doesn't do anything for me. (Maybe if she were allowed to be a person, I guess.) But. If Lila's willing to get Fucky with it, poke around with the rules of the miraculous. I think I can get behind her. (a villain with more cunning than gabriel will be fun. the butterfly is immensely powerful and he was too dumb to use it well <3)

[half-in-half-out]

That Olivia Loved Jake

The idea that Olivia didn’t love Jake because she never said the words is such a remarkably simple take on such a complex character that it's astounding. I’ve never been so frustrated with part of a fandom for on-the-whole missing something blatantly obvious just because it wasn’t explicitly spelled out for them. I'm not asking all of you olitzers to convert, just be willing to open your eyes, because I was an olitz fan that just saw how attached the writers were to not committing to what eventually ended up being the better option.

Disclaimer: I haven't watched the last two seasons, only looked into specific plot points, so I might have missed some small detail in a scene or episode. If there's anything that proves what I've said wrong, I would genuinely love to know!

Firstly, we’ve seen what Olivia is like when she doesn’t really care about someone she’s seeing. Edison. Russell. It’s a STARK difference. Enough said.

Secondly, I choose to believe that when Olivia chooses not to correct things that are stated, it is very relevant. Going beyond the numerous times that “Olivia loves Jake” has been thrown around (that Olivia has never once disputed), near the beginnings of Olake in 3x12 we have these moments between Olivia and Fitz where she doesn’t try to assure him that nothing serious is happening with Jake. Of course, there’s Olivia’s “Jake by my side is for me”, but they’re both amped up—especially Olivia—and it’s political. But in a quieter moment, when Fitz calmly asks her if she has feelings for Jake, all she has for him is:

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

I wouldn’t usually put much stock in it considering it’s so ambiguous, but saying that to Fitz? The island hasn't even happened yet. He’s literally the one person she should deny anything and everything to, considering he was fairly convinced at times that he was losing her to Jake, and she wasn’t exactly proving otherwise. In season 4 when she's looking for Jake, she freely claims him as her boyfriend when speaking to Quinn, and later when she calls Fitz he refers to Jake as her boyfriend and she just…doesn't correct him.

Jake too outright calls her his girlfriend to Fitz's face (after she's done everything she can to exonerate Jake + figuratively and literally threatened her relationship with Fitz by refusing to believe that Jake killed his son and her close friend based on nothing other than her faith in him, and also saying that true harm to Jake would be the end of their relationship) and she doesn't so much as shift in Fitz's direction. She is completely focused on Jake in those moments, maybe because it's the first time she hears him say that. Up until this point it's repeatedly always been:

[J]: "I'm not your boyfriend, Olivia." [O]: "I know."

Beyond that, the fact that Olivia didn’t explicitly say “I love you” to Jake doesn’t mean much in my opinion when she’s continuously demonstrated that she’s probably the biggest commitment-phobe on the show. She’ll chase the dream of love and happiness when it’s unattainable, but balks in the face of it when it’s within her reach. She does it time and time again with Fitz. She’s endlessly waiting for when they can be together, but seemingly never ready when they actually can be. Fitz himself comes to that realisation when she seems to be climbing the walls of the White House after moving in:

“Before. I was unavailable before. You liked me unavailable.”

And in another instance again:

Part of the clip’s transcript: [O]: “…so why did you do it (propose)?” [F]: “Because I love you. Because you are what I want. But obviously you don’t feel the same. Some fantasy, right?” [O]: “We’re not ready.” [F]: “You’re not ready, and you know what I think? You never will be.” [O]: “That’s not fair.” [F]: “Then answer the question, Olivia. What is it that you want?”

And when asked, she’s silent. Not because she doesn’t love him. But because for whatever reason, she can’t let herself be happy. Olivia herself knows this (points for being self-aware, I guess):

"When I was with Fitz, I was happy you [Mellie] were around too. With you around, I didn't have to…I had an out. You, you were my out, Mellie. You kept him unavailable. So I left, for the same reason you stayed. Because I was scared."

One incredible user on here @zalrb does a good job of explaining, among so many wonderful things, how there were no real obstacles to the Olitz endgame beyond Olivia herself, simply because of how often Fitz was completely committed to being with her, at which point she'd double down on something being in the way. She will go all in and be open about being in the relationship, declarations of love and all, until she actually can afford to be. Then, she turns to self-sabotage. That’s been the dynamic: Fitz pushes, and she pulls away.

And when else do we see that habit of hers in the show? Enter Jake Ballard and the relationship she can actually be in and doesn't realise she's chasing.

From the absolute start the BIGGEST difference between the relationships, romantic or otherwise, is that Jake is available. He’s present, and he can be. He and Olivia have a connection that could actually be taken further. Any moves she makes will lead to results. She’s not “stealing” any moments with him that he “should” have with someone else, they’re just…being together. She only knows him available, and progress with him probably snuck up on her as a result. Knowing her at this stage, the realer their relationship got the more scared she'd be, and she'd increasingly want to run.

"I thought we could have some dinner and talk about how our days went."

Despite this though, even when they aren’t together, they’re with each other. They're a team, a 'you and me', a 'we'. Fitz might have been her lover, but Jake was her person. They have a foundation to their relationship that stays steady, regardless of if they’re actually involved at that time or not. She confides in him. She trusts him. She brings her walls down with him. She turns to him for comfort and advice. She literally keeps her place stocked with beer just because he drinks it when he’s there. Only him. I ask this genuinely, has she ever made any attempt to accomodate literally anyone else in her life by making room for them?

"Whatever happens next, we will figure it out."

"We are very, very good together."

It’s not to say she never opens up like this with Fitz, but who else besides her "great love" is she consistently willing do this with? And not just be caught in the moment, actually initiate it, like when she actively calls Jake and opens up about them, her mother, and her associated fears about love. Let's not even get started on the number Olivia's father did on her ability to seek and accept love she doesn't need to break herself to pursue, or view as "weak" and mediocre. At one point she's actively concerned about marrying Fitz, and whether she has the ability to be "a married person", and instead of talking about it with, I dunno, Fitz himself, she calls Jake:

“I need to know what to do, you’re who I talk to.”

There's this small moment at Harrison's funeral that really struck me. She's understandably upset, and just before had been grieving Harrison's death with the rest of OPA. But throughout it, she keeps herself composed, instead acting as a rock for Abby. But once they all leave she's stuck in it for a little bit, until Jake simply reminds her that he's there with a touch, and she suddenly loses it completely, and turns to him for support. She allows him to be her rock in that moment. Truly, how often does she just surrender to someone else without it being a battle of wills, like it so often is with Fitz?

"Olivia used Jake." In a way, yes. She was definitely selfish with him, and half the time she was fighting her own defensive instincts to not get too attached. It was so unhealthy for them both for her to continually try to lean on him and keep him close, and hold herself back in often the same breath. But to say that she didn’t care about him just undermines their relationship, in all its forms. I mean, it’s not like the things she used him for were easy-breezy for her, at times it took something out of her.

Sometimes she pushes through her own walls though. I consider it such a big moment when she talks to him about her kidnapping in season 4, because I literally cannot think of a single other instance that she truly opens up about it (bonus, when she was kidnapped, who was it she pictured rescuing her?). The scene is also such a good example of her avoidant tendencies kicking in, because she stays only long enough to say her piece, be vulnerable, then is immediately gone when the recount ends (Jake literally barely says her name before she’s up and leaving).

They had a relationship that was rooted in the day to day moments, in the reality of life, and it was always reality that broke Fitz and Olivia, whose relationship comprised of ephemeral, stolen moments where they were in their own world. She not only lets herself be upset or lost in Jake’s presence (and that’s a huge concession for someone who wields confidence, control and intelligence as weapons), she lets herself be happy. In the absolute midst of another go-around with Eli, she does something we haven’t seen her do, ever: let loose, smile widely, and dance. And it’s Jake she does it with. While they BOTH are actively beefing with her father, they make a moment of joy together. And then we never see them this happy again because she’s traumatised and generally becomes colder.

So many times throughout the show, Olivia puts Fitz on the pedestal of being her great love, the one for her, she can’t be without him, and on and on. BUT throughout the show, Olivia also happens to place Jake in a position congruent to Fitz, and makes it known to BOTH of them.

“I felt something with you last night, and that feels like betrayal.” To Jake

“I know about him the way I know about you.” To Fitz

“I want Vermont with Fitz. I also want The Sun with you.” To Jake

Not only does she group the two of them, she also establishes that some aspects of her relationship with Jake are exclusive to only them, and that no one, not even Fitz himself, can touch them. The fact that Olivia—who is always so quick to remind Jake that she loves Fitz—gets offended when Jake implies that and says:

is not talked about enough. Especially the fact that she doesn't correct his assertion to Fitz that she loves him, but chooses to correct simply referencing someone else with the sun. It’s her putting Jake and The Sun, in a position apart from everyone else (imo “another man” is an insane way to refer to the apparent love of your life, but that’s just me) in a way that almost seems she feels Jake should know better.

Fitz himself makes an observation literally just after this when she's extremely reluctant to kiss him despite them being completely alone:

"You don't want me to kiss you because of Jake. This is interesting. No, really, it is. You don't know what to do. Is it disloyal to want me or is it disloyal to want him?"

In the same way that Fitz was in the middle of her and Jake's relationship, Jake was often in the middle of her and Fitz. Ultimately though, what people (olitzers) forget is that she chose Jake. She literally makes an active decision to be with him in 5x18 when she says:

“I’m ready to be happy.”

That Olivia could admit that? Not only to herself, but to others? Keeping in mind that she started that season with Fitz? It's huge progress.

And the only reason she doesn’t go through with it is because the narrative doesn’t give her the permission to. It’s also not lost on me that the one and only time we hear her discount her feelings, actually say she doesn’t love Jake, is when she’s doing everything in her power to make him believe it so that he isn’t killed. She was devastated as she walked away, visibly sick to her stomach to have done that to Jake, and correcting his understanding was her first priority when she sees him again afterwards. It's also another time she's latched onto him when letting him go would be easier for her and Fitz, but hey.

Towards the end of the show though, the writers truly switched up or went off the deep end or started doing drugs or something, because the 5x18 erasure from the narrative and Olivia's mind was very real. There's jealousy sometimes, sure, but not the kind you'd think would follow a big decision falling through (and she's lowkey highkey always been possessive of Jake). They both stray so far from "the sun", as a pair and individually, despite how much stress they had put on standing there together. The biggest admission I can think that she ever makes to him again is in season 6, when they are far from being a couple. It's an acknowledgement that they both lost something in sacrificing their relationship:

"There has to be a reason, or else why did I do this to you? Why did I do this to myself?"

Look at the way she's looking at him. The way she always looks at him.

'Looks' are one of the biggest ways that Olivia tries to communicate with him, because so often in the place of speaking, she'll just be looking at him. And he gets it. He can read her so very easily.

I don't think anyone else in the show has the same claim to the "partner" title that Jake does, however you want to take that word. We never saw her lean and rely on someone quite like she did with Jake.

Whenever Olivia spoke about "standing in the sun" with Jake, she's talking about the lived experience of their fantasy. Like, yes, Olitz got the big sweeping speeches and the verbal declarations of love, the constant waxing poetic about Vermont and jam and the vague outlines of a future, but truly not the substance.

Would Fitz recognise the taste of the '94 du Bellay, or even know the name? Know what to get Olivia from Gettysburger? Has he even seen her natural hair, or her in anything close to this state of ease?

It says a lot that in order to stop Jake from being a viable option for her future, the writers wiped the closest that Olivia has come to settling on either of them from the narrative, basically assassinated his character and their partnership, and literally made him inaccessible to her by imprisoning only him out of everyone involved.

Yeah, all that they were and could have been haunts me.

[elvisabutler]

who's my princess?

fandom: austin butler rating: m pairing: austin butler x older female reader word count: 2169 warnings: jokes about being a sugar baby. heavy use of the nickname princess and baby boy. praise kink. faint d/s elements but not quite, you'll see in the fic. oral ( female receiving, attempted male receiving. ). public sex acts. no use of y/n. author’s note: welcome to day 4 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, praise kink with austin butler x older female reader. so here's the thing with this fic, i have been struggling to write it— and austin in general for the past week/two weeksa. to the point where i actually skipped ahead to rooster x reader titty fucking that i already posted on another account. i'll post it here once i finish my austin degradation kink day, promise. anyway what i ended up finally settling on with this fic was doing austin with an older female reader. you can read how much older however you like or if you want could ignore my reference to it being an older female reader. it also erred more toward plus size but can still be read a little more explicitly as not plus size. anyway, i hope y'all enjoy this fic even if it's a lil more niche for the fandom. as always, i do enjoy your comments and reblogs and tags and they are my writing life blood to be quite honest. there was also three different versions of this moodboard and i am still not sure i'm in love with this one. also i'm not completely back from my impromptu vacation but i wanted to post this before i tossed it in a fire or something.

"They think you're my sugar baby, you know," you murmur against the shell of Austin's ear, watching as his jaw muscle tenses just so at the implication.

His eyes slide across the room, taking in the looks people are giving the two of you. It's not that he isn't used to the looks, the slight judgment that people pass when they think he's merely just a kept boytoy but this time it hits different. For Vanessa, as much as he loved her and as much as he supposes she loved him there was always quite a kernel of truth there. It rubbed him the wrong way some days but at the same time it allowed him to slowly prove his acting chops without necessarily worrying about if he'd have a place to stay if things went horrendously wrong. But for you? For his gorgeous girlfriend? Oh, he wasn't a boytoy in the slightest. Sure, you could have made it so he was a kept man again. You could have allowed him to live in the lap of luxury and only come up for projects that were artsy and true cinema that he could sink his teeth into. No, instead he told himself he'd treat you, he'd make sure you were taken care of by him. You were older, you didn't need a partner to spoil you and cater to your every want and need. You didn't need these things but he was determined to give them to you. After all what sort of romantic partner would he be if he didn't spoil the love of his life.

"Hm," he hums softly, turning his head just enough to look you in the eyes. "Of course. They know I'm younger than you. They think I found another sugar mama to support me. If only they knew. Think they'd believe us if we told them?"

There's something so inviting and enrapturing about Austin's gaze that has you shivering just ever so slightly in delight and arousal. "About what?"

It's a dangerous game you're playing, teasing him like this but you can't help it. You want to rile Austin up in the same way he has with you on so many occasions. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he bites his lower one. "Is my Princess playing dumb? Is she trying to be coy? Tease me?"

You smile softly and shrug, attempting to look as innocent as can be, "maybe. What are you going to do about it, baby?"

"Baby?" Austin moves to pull turn you around and pulls you closer to him, his hands settling on your plush hips and squeezing. "I think there's only one baby here, and it's not me, Princess. You don't have to tease to get what you want, you know that. My good girl knows that."

A shaky inhale is your only response for a moment as Austin smirks, his eyes dancing with a certain mixture of arousal and amusement that he only gets when he looks at you. Things between you are always a little playful, the joys of being old enough to not care about what other people think of you but it's still a delight to see after failed relationships before him. Maybe that's why you hadn't had a relationship that lasted this long before him. Maybe the universe was just having you wait for him. It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts even as you feel your arousal slowly dripping from your vagina, slowly dampening the underwear you're wearing.

"Your good girl does, but maybe I want to be bad today. Maybe I want you to show me and everyone else how desperate you always are for me," you practically purr out the last words and Austin's grip tightens just that little bit more as he moves one hand down to your behind and squeezes partially as a warning and partially as a promise.

"How desperate I am for you? How drenched are your panties? Would they stick to that pretty little pussy of yours? That pussy that was made for my cock? The one that could never be satisfied by any other cocks before mine?" His words are quiet but so deadly that you can't help the whine that leaves you even as your hand moves to cup the front of his slacks. You're in public but between the two of you, you're making your way to an empty corner with no one the wiser about what's happening. It should be mortifying the way Austin has you acting like a teenager and yet you remember that you're doing the same for him. You're both acting as if you don't have a care in the world, as if Austin and you both aren't at least partially in the public eye.

The thing is in this moment it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because all anyone is going to see is you and him having your hands all over each other because you're so in love and practically obsessed with one another that you're both needy. Even if the way you're needy is subtly different between the two of you.

"Somewhere private." The words tumble out of your mouth when you finally make it to that corner and realize that your hand is trying to undo his slacks and his hand is trying to lift of your dress as if no one would be watching. Austin looks at you with blown pupils and huffs out a breath of air from his nose before he nods, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the room and into regrettably the nearest closet he can find.

You start to drop to your knees, thinking this has to be something quick between the two of you, a quick blowjob that'll ruin your panties that he'll steal and put in his pocket for the rest of the night until you can get home. Except Austin's grip on your arm stops you, pulls you back up into a standing position even as your eyebrow arches upward in a simple unspoken question.

"I didn't ask for you to suck my dick, Princess," he murmurs, leaning over you just enough that he practically pins you to the door. "You want to be good for me, don't you? Make up for how bad you just were?"

In another time and place you'd maybe be embarrassed about how quickly you nod. In another time before Austin you'd have scoffed and shook your head. As it is all you want is to hear Austin tell you how good you are with those plush lips of his. All you want to feel his lips upon your skin, sucking hickies on it, his teeth biting your skin and leaving small indentations. You merely want all of Austin in this moment. "What—what do you want then?"

A simple question and a request for direction. You can't be his good girl, his bestest girl, his flawless girl without direction. You might be accidentally bad.

His hand moves to cup your chin and pulls you in for a featherlight kiss before moving down to your neck kissing there. You don't realize what's happening until you feel his hands cup your breasts as he places kisses along the tops of them exposed by your dress. You see his body starting to inch closer and closer down to the floor as he trails kisses down your body, setting every inch of your skin they touch ablaze with a fire that burns starting from your aching vagina. It clenches around nothing, wanting something— anything— near it and being deprived even as his lips are so close to it that he could tongue you through the fabric of your dress.

"Aus—" you start to whisper his name only to be cut off with a shaky exhale as you feel his fingertips against your calves and against your knees. You feel his fingers press into your plush thighs and bite your lip to stop yourself from whining only to have Austin remove his hands from them. "What—"

"Good girls are loud for their boyfriends. For their baby boys," he smirks and you can tell even in the low light of the closet. Any other time and you might lightly tap his face to smack it off of him but right now it has your thighs clenching together and him laughing. "You're my good girl, aren't you, Princess? My goddess of a woman. The cougar who sunk her teeth into me? I just want to hear you. I want everyone to know that I'm bringing you such immense pleasure with my tongue that you can't help but scream."

You are about to say something before Austin's head is under your dress faster than the words can come out. They're quickly forgotten in the haze and loud groan that leaves your lipstick covered lips as his fingers— those long fingers you've sucked and nipped at before— find themselves buried in your pussy. Austin plays you like a musical instrument, earning sighs and whimpers and every noise in between to form a symphony that bounces off the walls of the closet. You feel your orgasm starting to inch closer and closer before he pulls out his fingers and you keen loud enough that you hear people on the other side of the door wondering what's going on.

Austin chuckles and if you could see his eyes you're certain you would see them blown with arousal but still somehow sparkling with pure mirth. His laughter is a warm gust of air against your thigh but somehow a cool balm against your dripping cunt. Your thighs are sticky with arousal but not release and you almost want to cry before you feel Austin's breath focusing closer and closer to where you want it. "It's like a fountain down here."

The words are said with a bit of awe before he continues, "this all for me pretty girl? All for me, ma'am? If breathe just right can I get another drop?" He teases even as he lets out the smallest puff of air against your clit. "Oh. I can. So responsive. Such a good responsive woman. Couldn't ask for anyone better to be on my arm and in my bed. Maybe I should marry you. Keep you all to myself."

"Austin, please." You plea as your hands move to his hair, ruining whatever hairstyle his stylist had crafted in one fell swoop of your hands clenching at the strands.

"What my Princess wants, my princess gets," he jokes before his tongue finds its way to your throbbing clit.

The noises between your legs sound obscene with his tongue and chin and everything sliding against the arousal between your legs. He eats you out like a starving man, one of his hands moving to curl inside you as his mouth sucks your clt. It's too much and too little all at once. Your thighs tighten around his head as your hands tighten in his hair and you hear Austin moan as he shifts just enough to have his cock press against your calf. He's in control but at the same time so are you. You're making him so desperate he needs to hump your leg to get relief and he has your cunt spasming even though you haven't come just yet. You're sure you're saying words or perhaps it's just gibberish as Austin's fingers curl just so, pressing against that spot that has the coil in your lower abdomen wounding tighter and tighter. His thrusts against your legs are becoming more stuttered and your hands yank at his hair to try and pull him away so you don't come all over his face only to have him use his one free hand to grab your ass and force you grind down on his face. Somehow the brush of his nose against your clit and the way his tongue moves just so in tandem with his fingers against that spot of yours has you shouting his name even as you try and muffle it just a little. Your body shakes with aftershocks, thighs twitching against his head and lower stomach feeling like it's pulsating from the intensity. It takes both of you far longer than you'd like to admit to catch your breath and even as you do, Austin looks every bit as wrecked as you do before he opens his mouth.

"Think they still think I'm just your sugar baby?" The joke comes easily and with a soft smile. "Because that was some loud screaming, Princess. I was proud of you for it."

You can't help but look off to the side in embarrassment before you feel Austin's hand on your chin, forcing you to look at him. You swear you smell your own scent on his hand and you can't help but lick your lips. "Maybe, but I don't— Let them. Because it doesn't change that I'm your good girl, does it?"

"Never."

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @slowsweetlove, @kxnnxy, @meetmeatyourworst, @purejasmine, @stylespresleyhearted, @powerofelvis, @amydarcimarie, @thegettingbyp2, @austinswhitewolf, @richardslady121 and @mrs-butler

[larcenywrites]

Hiii! I really like your stories, thank you for what you do for us <3 You recently wrote that you want to write something clean and I just thought, maybe you want to write my request. But just ignore it, please, if you don't want to write it, it's okay!! I was just thinking about how attentive Tony is to his girlfriend and, you know, I'm obsessed with moles for some reason. I know it sounds weird, but I just want to lie in bed with Tony in the morning while we cuddle and he kisses my moles. I'm a little insecure about my body because of them and I just want to see something soft about this thing. Once again, a huge excuse for such a request 💀💀

Aw omg no it’s cute! And don’t feel insecure, I have a fairly big mole right on my cheek (my face, I mean; but I do also have one on my asscheek 🤣)! I have quite a few moles and freckles everywhere so I get it, but now I love them though I think moles and freckles are super cute 🥰 obviously idk where your beauty marks are, nor anyone else’s, and I’m not just gonna use my own for reference (maybe one or two 🤭), so hopefully there’s a little bit here for everyone? Tbh I do focus on Tony a lot as well tbf! I haven’t written in so long I hope it’s okay 😰

Tony Stark x Reader

Warnings: none except technically Tony and Reader and naked lol but I don’t explicitly say that | no pronouns used or specified for reader | just cuddles and fluff and kisses 😚

Word count: 920

Tracing over his sun-warmed skin, your fingers followed the rise and dip of his back. The morning light shed over him, illuminating your path between each mark and mole, some flat, some raised, becoming more scarce the lower you went. You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he squirmed and arched as your touch drifted down his spine. You settled halfway onto his back, wrapping your hands over his shoulders and affectionately resting your head on the back of his neck.

Your laugh turned into a giggle when he promptly rolled onto his side, throwing you off and backing into you. You only took it as your opportunity to be the big spoon, throwing your arm over his waist and burying a hand in his hair, lining up the dark freckle in the center of your chest to the mole beneath his shoulder blades. Nuzzling into his shoulder, you noticed a group of freckles on his neck and promptly swooped in for a quick kiss.

With a tired hum, he stretched out, tilting his chin to reveal the mole under his jaw that was only visible when he shaved. The back of your finger drifted over his jawline.

“What are you doing?” He mumbled sleepily.

“I don’t know,” you chirped. “You’re pretty.”

With a yawn, he rolled onto his back. You kept your hand on his waist as when he settled on his back and made you move once again. You sat up on your elbow, rubbing over the soft skin of his tummy and thumbing over the dark brown mole near his belly button.

“You’re pretty, too,” he replied with tired eyes that heavily gazed at you from over his chest. The corner of your lips twisted up with an amused huff. You sat up more to straddle his waist. Instantly, his warm hands were on your arms and feeling their way up to your shoulders. Tony’s gaze stayed with yours as he did so. As his thumbs rubbed over your freckled shoulders in an act of comfort, you reached down to peck at the faded freckle on his wrist.

From this angle, his face was hardly freckled or blotched, aside from the redness in his cheeks from lying facing down in the sun, and the tan spot near the corner of his eye that was honestly more like a cherry-on-top. He was naturally perfect, already cleaned up for the cameras.

“What are you thinking about,” he mumbled, poking your side and playfully pinching at your skin, making your stomach tighten from the sudden contact. As his hand settled above your hip, you couldn’t help but use your arms to hide the line of those beauty marks across your belly.

You look down at his chest as you tried to come up with something to say, and at the very least something that wasn’t exactly a lie. “I read somewhere that moles and freckles go away with age,” you quickly recalled, looking back down at him as earnestly as you could. As if he knew where this was going, the hand on your hip was still able to trace over your stomach, as if checking whether or not they were still there. He hummed in thought as he did, still waking up.

“That’s sad,” he mumbled, pausing before looking back up at you with innocence. “I’ll miss the one on your ass,” he said with an exaggerated pout, putting all the energy he’d built up so far to smack your ass.

“Ow,” you pouted back in a drawn-out whine. That innocent look quickly turned into that usual mischievous grin, teeth showing as you fell into his side again. That same hand kept your thigh straddled over him even as you slid off. With you by his side again, he quickly took his chance to steal a kiss. You weren't sure if he realized your insecurity, but he probably wouldn’t understand anyway. He didn’t have very many. A cluster below his ear, the Orion’s Belt on his forearm; a stray below his collarbone, a mole on his shoulder; an array over his upper back. Unnoticeable enough to leave him without a flaw.

He probably didn’t quite get it, why you trace over his skin, but he copied your sentiment anyway. It was your turn to feel his callousing hands drifting down your back and fingertips knowing the paths on your arm. Nose-to-nose and skin-to-skin, you relaxed under his touch.

But maybe the innocence in his unknowingness made it sweeter. He saw the stars on your skin with his natural love for your beauty, and copied you in playing connect-the-dots because he simply associated it with affection. And if he did it long enough, you could probably find his star sign etched into your being.

“I’ll miss that one, too,” Tony softly mumbled, tearing you from your thoughts as lips met the corner of your own. You smiled and opened your eyes, but you still scrunched your nose at the mention of the mole by your mouth.

“You know, all my favorite models have one,” he reassured you in a more suggestive tone.

“Oh, and who’s your favorite model?” You sassed sternly. His reply was another toothy grin that pressed to your lips.

“You,” he finally said pointedly, making you roll your eyes. From this close, you could see another faded brown spot on his cheek. Taking your hand from his chest, he kissed at even the smallest of freckles between your knuckles, but he didn’t need to say anything.

[thecoolerliauditore]

Recently (A couple of months ago I just finished like a week ago) I decided to rewatch all of Scott and Pearl pov and idk why, but I'm getting yandere vibes from Scott and not Pearl. Like isnt it supposed to be the other way around???? Idk maybe it's just because in secret life Scott was more mad that Pearl didn't say "I love you" than Jimmy, and in double life when supposedly Pearl was a 'yandere' Cleo said "I have everything you want" which made Pearl confused for a second of what Cleo meant, until it hit Pearl that it was Scott and replied something like "Wait you think I want Scott?". That's really all I have rn, but idk I feel weird about it cuz Scott is gay.

This is why I'm here cause your the Scott expert, am I delusional or is this vibe no one is talking about?????? (Pls help)

First off being called the Scott expert is wild to me I think of myself at most as a grad student taking notes for my research paper studying his behaviour but this feeds my ego so keep going.

Anyway you are totally insane anon I totally don't agree.

Definitely have not made multiple posts in the past basing my analysis of Scott's character on him being weird about Pearl.

Definitely have not had other ppl in the past happy to hear they're not insane for seeing it too.

Or addressed it feeling illegal to acknowledge this aspect of Scott's character.

don't look under the cut haha nothing is down there

HE'S CRAZY HE'S FUCKING CRAZY HE'S INSANE HE'S THE WORST HE'S LITERALLY THE WORST THE WORSTTTTT THE WORST MAN ON EARTHHHHH UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

LL they were like. Very affectionate but it was just cute to me (I think I was watching with a friend and even remarked that they acted like siblings at one point. oh how naive). Like yay they're besties! Double Life was when I was like. Oh something's. Something's strange here.

The way Scott automatically slaps the "ex-girlfriend" title on Pearl despite that not being true. The way Scott is the one constantly using romantic terms to refer to her while Pearl never does the same for him. The fact that Pearl explicitly said she "felt like (she was) being broken up with" which means she didn't see their relationship as romantic.

Also that's an insane thing for Cleo to say ?? I don't remember this but that's. That sucks. That sucks so bad. If you can give me the episode/timestamp I would thank you forever.

She literally didn't see him in that way anon she literally never did. It was never about forcing Scott to be her boyfriend/soulmate/etc it was about being abandoned and lacking closure. <-- my totally correct opinion.

Maybe slight side note but I really need to study the way people use "yandere" when referring to Pearl because as a weeb and a former yandere enjoyer it's. idk. fascinating to me. The culture I mean. Because the life series fandom is relatively less weeby than what I'm accustomed to I think "yandere" is like. slotted in as a sillier way to say toxic/obsessive female love interest And because at least in fanon Pearl kind of fits the description for your standard yandere which is conventionally attractive weirdgirl but Evil!!!!

And there's like. Something about that and the way like you mentioned if anything it's Scott who possesses more yandere tropes i.e. referring to Pearl as his (ex) girlfriend without her knowledge/consent, fishing for affection from her and even killing her friends.

Just FYI I wouldn't personally consider Scott a yandere and I would definitely do a double take if I saw someone referring to him as one in the wild. But I do think it being completely unacknowledged by fandom is interesting not only as a byproduct of the"scott can do nothing wrong" fanon but also as a reflection of how the yandere trope is approached In General when applied to male characters. I remember there being like a fairly big discussion back in the day within the anime community regarding male yanderes and how they weren't as enjoyable/iconic as their female counterparts because they were "too real" -- lots to unpack there, very fun for me specifically. That sounded sarcastic in text somehow but I'm serious I find that super interesting.

(side side note getting this ask made me really happy. I love that people agree with my opinions whoaaaa. )

[knightbrand]

Why I Think Jake From I'm Thinking Of Ending Things Is A Trans Woman. major spoilers for both the original book and the movie adaptation of said book. not an organized professional essay at all this is held up together with autism glue and hyperfixation sticks.

the title is a lie actually. SOMEWHAT. i think the ambiguity of who lucy is is an intentional part of the book + movie, because i don't think she's meant to represent just one whole thing, and the author has said that every interpretation of the book is correct. she's clearly not meant to be JUST an idealized girlfriend or a thought in jake's head, she symbolizes many things. but i do particularly like a transfem reading of this book and movie, and it's what i'll discuss here because it compels me a lot.

for posterity's sake, im going to refer to the woman/young girl/young woman (that exists in jakes head, at least) as lucy (as she's called in the movie) and im going to refer to younger jake (younger jake in older jake's imagination) as jake, and ill be referring to older jake/the caller as the janitor. i do believe all of these characters are part of the same whole, and not entirely separate from each other. ok time to start Le Essay (i also refer to jake with they/them pronouns for most of this)

the book is, at first glance, about a young woman going on a roadtrip with her boyfriend jake to meet his parents. it is obviously not about this entirely, especially later in the book, when lucy and jake's identity start to merge and it's revealed that lucy was an invention in the older jake's, the janitor's head. the title refers to both lucy thinking of ending the relationship with jake and the janitor thinking of ending his life, committing suicide. at the end, he decides to kill himself, in the book its by puncture wounds from a coat hanger, and in the movie it's ambiguous as to whether it's the same death in the book or if he killed himself in his car.

now, this is where interpretation of this work comes into play. in the book and in the movie, it's explicitly stated that "lucy" was actually a young woman younger jake met at a pop quiz event, but never had the courage to actually follow up on her or get her number. in most interpretations and analysis of the book and the movie, this is where the mystery of lucy's identity and purpose end. a lot of people think that she's ONLY just a potential girlfriend fantasy that the janitor is having before he kills himself, that she has no other relation to janitor/jake at all and is just a thought he has. and this is a perfectly fine interpretation (its literally explicitly stated) i just like to look a little deeper <3 this is where my evidence that jake is actually a closeted trans woman trying to figure out her identity.

my first piece of evidence is that, why would jake not want to tell the story through "his" point of view if it's a fantasy about having a girlfriend. the book is explicitly through lucy's point of view, even when it's revealed she's not real. why is jake putting himself in lucy's shoes, instead of indulging in "his" part of the fantasy, having a girlfriend?

time to go through the actual passages that reveal there's more going on than just "lucy is the imaginary girlfriend fantasy of older jake"

in the book, the caller is the janitor, aka the older version of jake. it's sort of implied that the janitor is taking on a female voice because they're telling the story to themselves and is narrating lucy, and lucy somehow hears herself being narrated. but it's one of the first indications that jake is not *just* having a fantasy about a girlfriend, they're getting explicitly in character (only from lucy's perspective, i might add. jake never tries to switch the pov entirely, even when it's revealed that lucy is imaginary)

this is one of the most obvious lines to me. jake wants to be comfortable being themself. that they want to be themselves. they're saying this while imagining being a woman in the fantasy they've created. HMM SUSPICIOUS.

^ in this scene, lucy notices a photo of a child, and asks who it is. jake says it's them, but it LOOKS like lucy. Hmm Suspicious.

^ in this scene, lucy and jake are playing an imitation game for jake's parents. lucy puts on the performance of jake, but it's clearly awkward and forced a little bit. she describes herself as embarrassed and not wanting to play "this game." the parents' reaction is pleased, like they enjoy her acting as jake.

when jake imitates lucy, it's not forced or stilted or anything. it's described as too natural, jake taking it too seriously. it's not mocking, it's mimicking. more specifically, jake completely immerses themself in the "performance" of lucy. the parents' reaction is evident here, they think it's a joke, they think it's something to laugh at.

the meta of this scene is obvious when you consider my thesis. lucy is "acting" as a man, as "jake" but it's forced and stilted, but the parents seem pleased and happy. but when jake acts as a woman, as "lucy", they're serious, completely serious, but their parents laugh at them. jake is forced to act as a man to their parents' pleasure, and any attempt to come out as their true self is rejected by their parents, made out as a joke.

^ this is when lucy finds jake's drawings in the basement/cellar. obvious subtext here, jake is trying to find out who they are.

lucy putting on jake's hat, saying its too big, but it fits better than expected. they are obviously the same person.

the end is where it becomes very explicit that lucy is not just a fantasy person constructed in jake's head, she IS jake. they're the same person.

lucy/jake even refer to themselves as separate from the girl they met at the pub pop quiz, clarifying that they weren't meant to be JUST a girlfriend fantasy

(also describing the young woman as "comfortable in her own skin" directly paralelling jake's statement from earlier!)

it's clear that even if you don't subscribe to this specific theory, that lucy ISNT just an "imaginary girlfriend" and that selling her as just that one thing is wrong. she's jake. she is a part of jake, technically taking on jake's suicidal desires.

one theme extremely prevalent in the book is that you can fake actions, and words, but you cannot fake thoughts. thoughts are the only real part of you. jake being a man was a performance, an act, but being a woman, telling the story from a woman's point of view, IS her thoughts. she cannot fake her desire to be her true self, to be a woman.

i actually have way more to say about this + images to share as evidence to support my theory but uh. image limit reached. ill make a followup post soon? maybe? also be niceys to me this was written on a whim because i really like this book and the movie <3