#but i have been frustrated with myself for not thinking through how materials like the sign up form don't reflect the like spirit of how we

[moregraceful]

Tagged by @soyouwinagain to post 6 photos from my camera roll in the past week, thank you comrade, I was hoping someone would tag me 🫡🫡 except then I had to go back a couple weeks otherwise all six photos would have been my dog at a cocktail garden.

Ivan Fedotov and Erik Johnson at Flyers training camp, Fedotov in full Russian saint mode; a flower outside of an Indian restaurant; Yankees outfielders running away from each other and I'm so mad I only got them running back to position bc they were being SO cute while a reliever was warming up; Keats at the aforementioned cocktail garden, he was sweatin'; giant rotting boat outside of Ikea; boxes containing all of my earthly possessions.

[not-neverland06]

Hey! Your writing is amazing! I’ve been checking daily for new fics lmao

I was wondering if your requests were open would you be able to write some angst with a happy ending w/ Peanut?

Perhaps a Shy!Reader who has flirty banter with Logan. They’re on a mission and Logan has to make a quick decision on who to save — Reader or Jean and he saves Jean without thinking. Reader ends up surviving with a few injuries but her and Logan’s relationship starts to deteriorate. Logan’s not good with verbal apologies so he does acts of service — bringing reader food/drinks etc. reader is stubborn and Logan starts to get frustrated. He eventually proves himself to reader.

I’m sorry if this is confusing!! I’m not creative enough to write it myself and you’re really really skilled. Love your work x

a/n: I read this request and then read them together and my brain imploded because I loved it so much, no smut in this one Summary: Logan saves Jean on a mission and it's the wake-up call you desperately needed to understand that you will never be her. You can't stand to look at him anymore and he doesn't understand why you've stopped talking to him.

“What’re you thinking of doing after this?”

You shrug, leaning back on the uncomfortable bench seats and looking over at Logan. “Not sure, got any plans?”

Logan smirks and you immediately know whatever he’s about to say is going to send you spiraling. “Yeah, whatever you’re doing, sweetheart.”

Oh. My. God!

You know you’ve got it bad when something as simple as that has you swooning. It’s so easy to fall into this routine with him, to pretend you’re more suave than you actually are. Despite your usual tendency to fade into the background, you find it nearly impossible to do with him. 

Where someone else might let you stay quiet and go ignored, he seeks you out. He makes you feel seen and heard. Some days you don’t know if you appreciate it or despise it. You laugh a little, trying to hide just how affected by him you are. “Sounds good, Lo.”

He smiles and leans back on the seat, his arm coming around the back to rest lightly over your shoulders. You can tell from the look on Storm’s face that she’s trying not to laugh at you. You can’t blame her, you’re sure your eyes have tripled in size and you look absolutely stunned. 

Flirting isn’t out of the usual for you and him. Lately, though, he’s upped the game. Touching you more than usual, spending more one-on-one time together. You can feel it all building up to something. You’re shy, not stupid, you know when a guy’s going to ask you out. 

But it feels like he’s dragging it out longer than necessary like he’s enjoying teasing you a little too much.  “Alright,” Scott stands up and moves towards the back of the jet. “We’re almost there, get ready.”

You, very reluctantly, pull away from Logan and get to your feet. He walks past you, briefly squeezing your hand before joining Scott by the ramp. You grin, flexing your hand by your side and trying to memorize the feeling. 

The ramp lowers to the ground and Scott and Logan lead the way out. You’re expecting this to be simple. Stake out the area, find some information about the people running the warehouse, and figure out what exactly it is that they’ve been doing. 

The air is bursting with moisture. It’s suffocating, how humid it is, how it makes the material of your suit cling to your skin. You know the rest of the team can feel it. That it’s irritating them just as much. 

None of you want to be out here in the peak of summer, trying to be stealthy in these ridiculous costumes. Your thighs squeak every time they rub together. It’s beyond embarrassing. You know that that’s what has you all distracted. 

You’re struggling through ankle-deep mud and sweating buckets. So none of you are paying any particular attention to the area around you. Technically, you shouldn’t have to, you’re still about a mile out from where you need to be. 

You duck, hands coming up to cover your ears as Charles’ voice screams through your mind. It’s a trap!

Even with the warning, there’s no time to prepare. The ground around you explodes, grass and dirt flying through the air. Logan grabs your arm, he shoves himself in front of you and takes the brunt of the bullets. Splatters of blood hits your cheeks and he runs you both behind a tree for cover. 

The other three have all found their own cover and they’re struggling to figure out where the shots are coming from. You spot something in the underbrush and scream, “Behind you!”

It’s more of a warning to duck than it is to move. You throw your hands up, shoving the man away from them and sending him flying into the trunk of a tree. You swear you can hear the snap of his spine as it hits the bark. 

You look to Jean and nod towards the small clearing of trees. “Don’t,” Logan warns. But you’re already slipping out of his grip and solidifying the air in front of you. It provides enough of a cover, absorbing the bullets, and giving you all time to figure out a plan of attack. 

Jean moves beside you, eyes narrowing on the perimeter of your cover. “There are too many of them, more than I can count.” 

“How did they know we were coming?” Scott snaps, keeping an eye on the area behind you. 

Your arms struggle under the weight of your power. The more bullets they shoot into your cover, the harder it is to keep up. You’re forced to absorb their energy, push it out tenfold to try and keep the blockage solidified. 

“Guys,” you snap, “we need a plan. I can’t hold it much longer.” You grit your teeth, taking a step forward to try and push against the strain. It does nothing but make your bones ache. Logan shoots you a concerned glance, coming up behind you like he wants to take the weight off your shoulders. But there’s nothing he can do. 

There’s movement behind you, a boot snapping a twig in two. You can’t risk looking back but you can hear the worry in Jean’s voice. “Ten of them-”

You can tell by the sounds of their movement that the others don’t give her much of a chance to finish. Ororo, Scott, and Logan all shoot forward to deal with the threat. Ten isn’t much to worry about. But that doesn’t change the fact that the men in front of you haven’t let up and you’re about to weep from the weight of keeping the wall up. 

Jean stays beside you, brows furrowed in concern. She places her hand on your shoulder and closes her eyes. A second later you feel something like a cool blanket laid over you. The tension in your arms and core eases just enough for you to stop clenching your jaw so hard. Some of the strain eases away and you know she’s sharing it with you. 

But just as quickly as the relief was given, it’s yanked away. Jean jumps back with a gasp, “Flux, we need to move!”

“I can’t,” you shout, fighting to be heard over the sound of bloodshed and gunshots going off in front of and behind you. The others are steadily moving through the people surrounding you, but their numbers are still overwhelming. “It’ll all come crashing down,” you tell her. 

She glances towards the bullets, finally spotting the way they’re slowly, but steadily, moving through the thickened air. The second you let go you’ll be riddled with holes. “Shit,” she hisses. “Look, we can’t stay here much longer-”

She’s cut off by a loud bang. You’re so disoriented by the noise your hands drop to your sides. At the same moment, you hear wood splintering and cracking beside you. What has to be the largest tree in the forest creaks before it begins its descent down towards you both. 

You don’t what happened, or what they used, but it doesn’t matter. The wall in front of you is fading. You have seconds to get out of the way of the bullets and the tree, you’re not sure either of you is going to make it. 

“Jean!” There’s a flash of brown hair and Jean’s being tackled to the ground, safely out of the way of the tree and bullets. You feel something stinging against your shoulder and know the first bullet’s made its way through. 

You also see the tree is almost over top of you. You’ve always been a fight response in flight or fight scenarios. But when there’s nothing to fight, when you have nothing to go up against, you freeze. It’s horrible, you know it, but there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Even as you’re desperately screaming at yourself to just fucking move, all you can do is watch as the tree topples down on top of you. “Flux, duck!” The words trigger something in your brain just soon enough to drop to the ground. 

Scott releases a red beam, blasting through the tree and knocking it off course. You don’t even register the smell of burning flesh as you lay in the mud. Your blood is rushing so fast in your veins, there’s so much adrenaline pumping through you, you can’t focus on anything except the sound of your heartbeat. 

You let out a breath of relief, slowly lifting yourself up to your knees. You don’t hear any more fighting and you figure whoever they hadn’t taken down before, the beam took care of the rest. 

You look down, checking yourself for any bullet holes or serious damage but you can’t find anything. Something warm trickles down your shoulder, it drips across your arm and down your hand. 

You look at the blood curiously, it seems to steady a flow from the simple bullet graze you’d had earlier. “Oh my god,” Jean whispers your name and you turn around with a concerned look. 

You want to ask her what’s wrong but your eyes are trained on the way Logan’s arms are bracketing her. He’s practically on top of her, only now getting up to check on you. You get it, it was a stressful situation, he acted fast. 

But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow the lump in your throat. It doesn’t ease the burn of betrayal. He saved her, not you. He chose her even though she doesn’t want him. The anger you’re feeling only makes it harder to be aware of your surroundings. 

It’s not until Scott kneels behind you a presses a gentle hand against your back that you lurch forward with a loud cry. The pain slams down on you all at once. The wind blowing gently against your back feels like someone’s dug razor blades in your skin and ripped. 

Feet rush towards you, someone kneeling beside you and grabbing your shoulders. Logan forces you up and makes you look at him before his gaze turns to your back. “What the fuck did you do?” He practically growls, lunging towards Scott. 

He grabs him by the collar and shoves him into the dirt. Ororo and Jean leap forward, trying unsuccessfully to rip him off. You try and keep your eyes open, try and stay focused. The pain is too much, you don’t want to be awake for this anymore. Every nerve on your back feels like it’s being forcefully exposed and plucked at. 

Your brain forces a shutdown and you slump into the mud, the world going black. 

When you wake up, you’re on your stomach. You’re a little dazed, not fully remembering how you got here. You try and sit up but there’s a steady grip around your wrists stopping you. “Don’t move,” Jean warns from somewhere behind you. 

You try and look for her but you can’t move much. Your head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, stuck to the pillow beneath you. “What happened? Why can’t I move?”

Her shoes appear in front of you and then she’s kneeling down, a slightly worried look on her face. “We needed to make sure you didn’t roll over in your sleep.” Her brows crinkle and she frowns, “You don’t remember?” You shake your head minutely. She sighs, lifting her hand to your face and pressing her chilled fingers to your temple. 

The images rush towards you. You see it all from her eyes. The way Logan had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground, checking over her and not once looking at you. How Scott had tried to stop the tree from breaking your spine. His beam had just barely grazed your back as you had ducked. But it was enough for there to be serious damage. 

Through her view, you can see the way your skin had bubbled up and blistered. How horribly damaged it was. You have limited healing abilities, but it was enough to stop the nerves from being permanently damaged. 

She lets you go and you groan, the pain slowly registering in your brain. It’s dulled and you don’t know if they’ve given you drugs or if your abilities are still working to help you. “How’s Scott?” 

She chuckles and shakes her head while she undoes the restraints around your wrist. “He feels awful. He keeps coming by to check on you.”

The thought of him sitting beside you while you were strapped down to the bed makes you feel a little bad. It wasn’t his fault, he’d helped you. It was more than Logan had done for you. 

You frown, hating yourself for being bitter. If he hadn’t helped, Jean might not be here next to you. He had saved your friend. The thought didn’t bring much comfort, though. “I’m not mad at him.”

Jean eases you onto your knees and slowly helps you sit up. It causes minimal pain, but it’s still uncomfortable enough to grit your teeth and dig your nails into your palms. “I know, but he’ll probably be coming down here a lot to check on you.”

You almost ask her if anyone else has visited. If Logan had, but you don’t think her answer would make you feel any better. “He did,” she tells you and you click your tongue in irritation. 

“Out of my head,” you warn. She releases you with a small grin. “I don’t care,” you tell her, trying to appear nonchalant. 

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing on you. “Yes, you do. And I don’t need telepathy to know.” She walks towards your IV bag, fiddling around with something on the line. “He was here whenever he could be, practically lived beside you.”

“Don’t care,” you tell her again, but there’s less conviction this time. 

Jean frowns and you hate how guilty she looks. It’s not her fault he’s desperately in love with her and not you. You can’t force someone to love you or choose you. And you don’t want to. You want someone to love you for who you are, not because they couldn’t have their first choice. 

“Don’t,” you say lowly. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.”

She doesn’t get a chance to say anything before the door bursts open, both Logan and Scott sliding into your room. Scott lets out a relieved breath when he sees you. He breathes out your name and approaches with a guilty smile, “You’re awake.”

“Charles told us,” Logan informs. You offer him a brief glance before diverting your attention to Scott. 

Petty, you’re aware. But you don’t want to see Logan right now. You’d put so much effort and time into your friendship with him. It doesn’t even matter if he doesn’t feel the same way about you. You two are best friends, and he didn’t even try to help you when you needed him the most. 

So, you smile at Scott. You forgive him and you tell him you're fine. You chat with him and Jean while Logan just stares at you from the other side of your bed. You can’t make yourself face him. You don’t want to look at him, it makes you sick to your stomach.

Eventually, Scott’s guilt is slightly assuaged and he and Jean leave for the night. Logan is a heavy presence beside you, one you no longer can ignore. You shift around, pretending to fluff your pillows until he grabs your hand. 

“What’re you doing?”

You look at his hand and then at him. Whatever look is on your face is enough for him to release you and back off. “Getting comfortable,” you spit out, more venom in your voice than necessary. Something clicks for him, you can see it as it happens. 

He backs up and narrows his eyes down at you. “Right.” He frowns and sucks on his teeth, nodding his head silently. “I’ll come back when you’re feeling a little better.” You don’t miss the hidden dig underneath it all, the way he’s calling out you’re unusual behavior. 

“I think that’d be best.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, slamming the door behind him as he leaves. You jump at the noise and it makes you hiss as a twinge of pain shoots down your spine. You feel slightly guilty about the whole interaction. Then, you remember the way he’d been cradling Jean and you feel slightly vindicated. 

You’re sure he doesn’t even give a shit. He’s probably pouting in his room, wishing Jean was in bed beside him. 

What the fuck?

It’s all that’s been playing through Logan’s head since he returned from your room in the medbay. He’s waited days for you to wake up, so he can finally take a breath and let go of the anxiety that’s been plaguing him. 

He’d thought that he’d lost you in that forest. When he’d gone for Jean, he’d assumed you’d just be able to use your powers to knock the tree out of your path. Or make it melt around you. 

Honestly, he can’t put a finger on what exactly he was thinking. But he knew that you could protect yourself and that would be your priority. So he’d moved without really thinking and grabbed the person who would be collateral damage if your powers went haywire. 

And then you hadn’t saved yourself and all he could smell was your burning flesh. The smell has been stuck in his nose since you were brought back to the mansion. He can’t escape it. Everywhere he goes, he sees you burning and hears your screams. 

He’d thought that you were dead and there was a moment where he genuinely was so lost he could do nothing but watch as the others swarmed you. He couldn’t move, couldn’t help you. He could only stare at your still body and pray to anybody who could hear him that you weren’t dead. 

He didn’t know what he would do if he lost you before he ever got a chance to love you. 

He’d, irritatingly, imagined all the different ways he would finally tell you how he felt when you woke up. He’d prepared himself for every possible reaction, except this one. He hadn’t expected you to reject him before he ever got the chance to confess. 

Anger stews within him as he paces through his room. He knows that it’s unfair to be upset with you. You’d gone through something horrific and there had been doubts about your recovery. Of course, you’d act off. 

Except, you only seemed to be directing that at him. Had you been just as dismissive to Scott, the person who actually hurt you, he would have looked past it. He’s tempted to go back down and see you again, maybe try and make you see some sense. 

Instead, he decides to give you both some time to calm down. He doesn’t want to do anything he might regret while he’s pissed off. He’ll see you tomorrow and, hopefully, you’ll be back to normal. 

You’d thought Logan might have gotten the hint with how you behaved earlier. That was not the case. He’s back today and you can smell the breakfast food he’s brought you. The smell is wafting deliciously from an inconspicuous brown bag. 

But you know it’s from the restaurant that’s twenty minutes out of his way. You’re not petty enough that you can’t appreciate the forty-minute round trip he’d taken for you, but you still aren’t excited to see him. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles at you despite your clearly hostile energy. He tugs the chair towards your bed, ripping open the bag and pulling out enough food for the both of you. 

You think it should be considered a form of manipulation to call you that while you’re pissed at him. He has such a clear effect on you. You know he’s aware of it. He knows that when he calls you something sweet like that it makes your heart race and stomach flip. 

You turn your gaze towards your blanket. You pretend the thread pattern is the most interesting thing in the world so you don’t have to look at him. You’re sick of giving your all to men who couldn’t care less about you. 

You’re tired of being the second, third, fourth choice. You want someone to choose you first for once. And you genuinely thought Logan would be the man to do that. But he’d chosen Jean. You should have known. 

“Alright,” he huffs, crossing his arms and glaring at you. You’re pissed off that he’s acting like he’s the one who was hurt. “What the hell is your problem? You’ve never been this mad at me before.”

It’s his tone of voice that really grates on you. He genuinely does not understand what he’s done wrong. He doesn’t even comprehend the possibility that you might be mad he left you to die. Have you really become such a doormat?

Yes, you’re shy and generally reserved with the people you meet. But he is so different. You two met and it was an instant connection that you thought was reciprocated. You hadn't realized that you'd become so complacent in the relationship he thought he could get away with something like this with no repercussions. 

“You left me to die,” you snap at him, voice taking a pitch it never has before. You’ve never truly gotten angry at him. Pissed off sometimes when he teased you a little too much. But you’d never plainly shown anger at him. “You fucking left me behind and expect me to, what,” you scoff and shove the food back towards him. 

“You think some shitty breakfast is going to fix this?” His face contorts. It screws up into something like hurt and you worry you might have been too harsh. He doesn’t know how you feel about him. He doesn’t know that this would hurt you so bad. 

But, it doesn’t matter. You’re still his friend. You should have at least warranted a little concern. 

Just as quickly as it appeared, the hurt is washed away by his own anger. “I thought you could take care of yourself. Isn’t that what you’re always bitching at us about?”

If you weren’t so upset you might find it funny how quickly the two of you turned on each other. Clearly, there was something repressed between the two of you. Some brewing resentment that neither of you had ever acknowledged. The words are coming quickly now, without thought.

“Fuck you, Logan,” you snap back at him. “You didn’t give a shit whether I lived or died. You only cared about your precious Jean.” You spit out her name with so much venom it stings as it leaves your tongue. 

He laughs, getting out of his chair. He shakes his head and glares at you. His anger is always a physical thing. You know he’s pacing so he doesn’t do something worse, like destroy the entirety of the room. 

“That’s what this is, you’re jealous? Don’t blame your fucking incompetence on me.” You hate the way he’s speaking to you. Like you’re a little girl who's incapable of understanding even the most basic of concepts. He has such a patronizing look on his face, you want nothing more than to wipe it off. 

The tables beside you tremble, the vases of flowers rattling against the wood. “I’m your friend, Logan. You could at least pretend like you cared about me.”

He leans against the end of the bed, tilting himself forward until he’s aggressively imposing your space. You shrink back against the pillows, narrowing your eyes in disdain. “Don’t fucking pull that shit with me. I knew that your priority would be to save yourself and I acted accordingly. This wasn’t some goddamn ploy to get into Jean’s pants. Grow the fuck up, Flux!”

You flinch back at the volume of his voice. Unwillingly, tears pool in the corners of your eyes. It’s an involuntary response. Sometimes you just get so enraged that you have no other way to get rid of it than to cry. It’s infuriating to see the moment someone stops taking you seriously and starts to think you’re nothing more than a crybaby. 

Logan’s face pales and he winces, backing away from you. “I didn’t-”

“Enough,” you stop him, voice thick with unshed tears. He never calls you by your X-men name, it’s an unspoken agreement between the two of you. That’s a formality reserved for the other members. To each other, you’re nothing more than two people who care deeply for one another. 

Or, you had been. Before this one moment had blown your life and your back up. 

“I appreciate how much faith you have in my abilities, but the fact that your first instinct wasn’t even to protect me says a lot.” You take in a deep breath and shake your head. “Thanks for the breakfast, but can you please just leave?”

He looks like he doesn’t want to. You know he doesn’t want to leave. You two never fight like this. Even if there wasn’t a lot said, it’s still not normal for you. Maybe that should have been your first hint that things weren’t what you thought. 

It’s healthy to fight, to a certain extent. Sometimes it's needed. You two never have before and you know it’s just been brewing for a while, waiting to blow up. “I-”

“Get out,” you shout, and the tables beside you finally crumble under the weight of your emotions. They drip to the ground in an inorganic form of liquid wood. “Shit,” you hiss, glancing over at them. You wave your hand and they return to their normal state, but it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have lost control at all. 

The door slams and you look up to find the room empty. You sink back against your bed and run your hands over your face. You ignore the way the skin of your back screams in protest. 

You embrace the pain, the fiery shocks running up your nerves as the bandages chafe against the wounds. You focus on that instead of how things have ended with Logan. You always had such high hopes that he might be the one you finally man up and confess to. 

You should have known you were wrong. You should have known that it would never have ended with him picking you over her. 

You’re permitted to leave the medbay the next day. You don’t see or hear from Logan for the following week. You can’t confirm if he’s purposefully avoiding you or not but you have to believe he is. You both live in the same hall. You don’t know how it’s possible to have gone this long without even catching a slight glimpse of him. 

You force yourself to suffocate the part of you that misses him. You picture the side of yourself that longs for his presence and imagine shoving a pillow over her face. You don’t want to ache and cry over someone who doesn’t give two shits about you. 

You keep reminding yourself over and over again that when things got rough he showed you his true colors. But it’s more difficult than you imagined to just completely disregard so much history with him. 

Besides, you hadn’t realized just how little you interacted with the others until Logan was out of your daily life. It’s so difficult for you to bond with people that when you’d connected with Logan you’d latched onto him. 

It’s a little pathetic, honestly. Being grown and eating lunch alone because you only had one friend. You wonder if your feelings for him were genuine or born from a desperation not to be alone. You don’t let yourself linger on the question for long. 

It’s as your training with the students that you finally see him again. 

“Has he made much progress yet?”

Jean shakes her head and purses her lips. She watches as Billy, one of the newer students, struggles with the logs in front of him. He was a firestarter, a very inexperienced one who had only ever set his curtains on fire. 

His powers were more focused on the mental aspect of things rather than the physical. Which is why you and Jean were in charge of helping him. He couldn’t start anything on his own, he only really seemed to be able to activate the ability when he was emotionally stimulated. 

That meant whenever he was mad or sad, or anything in between, everyone in a fifty-foot radius was in danger. He was a risk to the other students and you were both trying to be gentle with him. But you’d been working with him for so long and there was so little progress. It felt like he wasn’t trying sometimes. 

He’d asked Rogue out a week ago and when she’d said no, her hair had caught on fire. You know he could have been hurt and lashed out without thought or malice behind it. But you’d seen the look in his eye. 

You’re fifty percent sure he knows exactly what he’s doing. This little act he puts on is just to get himself out of trouble. You hadn’t brought the issue to Charles yet because you’re trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“Billy,” you call out. His head whips up and he sends you a vicious glare. You can’t help the sneer on your lips. “Just take a deep breath and try again. There’s nothing wrong with struggling, we all did.”

You put on your normal teacher voice, calm and collected. Assuring. But the little shit in front of you isn’t buying it for a second. He gives you a sarcastic little grin, “Right. Sorry, I forgot you’re a fuck-up just like me.”

“Billy!” Jean snaps, taking a step forward to reprimand him. She doesn’t get far before there’s a fireball shooting out of his palms and hurtling towards the both of you. 

There’s no chance to react before something slams into your side and is tossing you to the ground. Your head nearly snaps against the grass but there’s a hand underneath your skull softening the blow. 

You smell something smoking and look up to see a large scorch mark right where you’d just been. Jean’s standing over it, palm outstretched as she keeps the fire subdued. She gives you a worried look, “Are you okay?”

Surprisingly, yes. You glance up to see Logan hovering over you. He backs off when he notices you’re okay, getting to his knees and offering you a hand. Wordlessly, you slip your palm into his and let him help you into a sitting position. 

“You alright,” his hand hovers over your shoulder like he wants to pull you closer. But he resists, backing off and waiting for your answer. You nod your head, still a little dazed from the failed assassination attempt. 

He narrows his eyes, searching your face for any sign of head trauma. When he’s properly assured you’re okay he jumps to his feet. “Billy!” His voice booms across the courtyard and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen that little asshole scared. 

He’s barely on his feet before Logan is stalking towards him, jerking him forward by the scruff of his neck and dragging him towards the mansion. “We need to have a little talk,” the tone of his voice has you a little scared and you’re not even the one he’s mad at. 

Jean walks towards you and helps you to your feet. “Is your back okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod and brush your clothes off. You have to physically shake the shock of what happened off. “Yeah, I’m fine. I can’t believe he did that.”

Jean scoffs and glares towards Billy’s back. Your eyes widen in shock when you see the large scorch mark across his arm. “Jean! He got you, are you okay?”

She glances down at her shirt and frowns. “Yeah, practically a sunburn.” She gives you a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine.”

As shitty as this sounds, you’re not concerned for her. You can only focus on the fact that she was in just as much danger as you and Logan had tackled you to the ground. You glance back towards the mansion, more fucking confused than ever. 

You’re not sure what compels you to follow Logan, but you’re running after him before Jean can stop you. He’s barely got a minute headstart on you, you’re not sure why you can’t find him. You’d gone through every inch of the first floor. 

You don’t know where he would have dragged Billy, but it’s nowhere you can find. After about ten minutes of looking for him, you give up on the hope that you’re ever going to figure out what’s happening inside his brain. 

You let out a defeated sigh, running a hand over your face and trying to shake off the funk of the day. You can’t believe that little shit tried to roast you. You’re not comfortable with the fact that he’s just roaming around inside the mansion somewhere. 

You turn out of the living room and nearly slam into someone. His hands shoot out, grabbing your shoulders and gently stopping you. “Logan,” you give him a strained smile. “I was looking for you.” You glance over his shoulder and frown. “Where’s Billy?”

Logan sighs, his hands linger on your arms for a moment before he takes a step back. “Wheels got to him before I could do anything.”

You laugh a little, the noise involuntary. “What were you planning on doing with the sixteen-year-old?”

He doesn’t find the question amusing if his expression is anything to go by. “He was really trying to hurt you.”

His words sober you up slightly and you drop the flippant attitude. “Yeah, I wanted to,” god, it feels like you could choke on the words. Just last week you were screaming at him for not helping you. Now, you could barely thank him because he had. 

“You’re always my priority.” He tells you before you can struggle any longer. Your head shoots up and you stare at him with confusion. He groans, the noise tired and resigned. “Saving Jean was a mistake. I mean it, kid, I just thought you could handle yourself.”

You open your mouth but he stops you before you can argue. “I know, that’s not the point. I should have saved you, no matter what I thought you could or couldn't handle.”

“No,” you stop him and shake your head. “No, Logan, I shouldn’t. I,” your mouth opens and he stares at you expectantly. What you were going to say gets stuck in your throat. This is a horrible idea. 

“I liked you in a way you didn’t like me and it was unfair of me to push my expectations onto you.” You wanted it to sound better, and more intelligent. Instead, it came out in one rushed breath and you’re not sure he even understood half of what you said. 

His brows furrow in confusion for a moment before a smile breaks out on his face. You’re not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that he’s smiling. You can’t tell if he’s mocking you or about to profess his undying love. 

You don’t have to wonder for long. He moves closer towards you, leaning forward until you’re practically sharing the same breaths. Unconsciously, you’re drawn into him, hands braced gently on his chest as you chase after him. 

“What are you doing?” Your whispered words brush against his lips and he gives you a small smile. His hands travel up your waist. He tugs you closer, his other hand looping around your neck and craning you up. 

“I’m gonna choose you every fucking time, kid.” His lips brush across your own and it’s like a switch is flipped in you both. Your arms twine around his neck, pulling him down until you’re practically melting into him. 

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and so different at the same time. You always thought your first kiss would be after some cheesy first date. He would have taken you out to dinner. Something would have inevitably gone wrong, you spilled something on your dress or the waiter brought the wrong order. 

You would both worry that it was a sign that nothing would work out between you. And then, at the end of the night, he’d tug you into his arms and kiss you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. 

That would be nice, but this is better. He’s not holding you like you’re something fragile or something too precious for this world. He’s kissing you like you’re the very air he needs to survive. He’s greedy with his affections and demanding with his wants. 

You’re being consumed and devoured. And you never want to stop. This is all you’ve ever wanted with him, from him. 

Sadly, you do have to breathe. You’re the one that forces the stop, you’re sure he would have happily suffocated if it meant he could keep touching you like this. You pull back, the air coming in short pants between your parted lips. 

You can already feel them swelling, the slight irritation on your cheeks from his stubble. You don’t mind, you quite like the feeling. He speaks before you can, a pleased smile on his face. “Forgive me yet?”

You chuckle, a little impressed by how cheeky he is, still slightly pissed off. “Why don’t you do that again and I’ll think about it?”

He rolls his eyes but you can see the smile fighting against his firm glare. “You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?”

You smile and nod, leaning into him again. “You’re never gonna hear the end of it,” you whisper before dipping down and kissing him again. You can’t believe you ever doubted just how much he cares for you. 

He didn’t choose Jean over you. He’s just a dumbass. 

a/n: I had to resist putting in a “pick me, choose me, love me” line in there bc that would have just been too much lol

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.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl ♡ 

[ms-demeanor]

Hello,Do you have any tips for recovering from internet brain rot? It's like my patience has dried up and if there's a huge amount of text (even about topics I'm very interested in) that I have to read, I get annoyed and just don't interact with the material at all.

I have multiple tips!

TL;DR (Because of course I generated a wall of text): Take a break from the internet, create a schedule for getting yourself used to reading longer texts, take breaks while reading, and perhaps reconsider how you interact with The Internet and the world in general.

Here are the basic "to reduce the brain rot just don't interact" tips:

Take a break. Give yourself time off from The Internet (for these purposes The Internet is the social media industrial complex; clickbait news, recommended videos, social media sites, etc. You don't have to totally check out of email or your local news site, just get away from the huge time sucks). I'd say to take at least one day a week where you're online for less than an hour a day, and to maybe work up to doing a week-long break from whatever the main agents of rot are.

Once you've identified the main agents of rot, give yourself a time limit or set up rules for yourself. I don't let myself look at social media in bed, for instance; no staying up late on my phone, no scrolling before I get up and start my day. I don't give myself a strict time limit anymore, but for a while there I was very firm about "you only get to go online 4 hours a day" with myself.

Don't comment (or at least only share the things you really want to share). If you feel the need to argue, or if you feel pressured into sharing something, don't. Step back, maybe even open the post in a new tab or send it to yourself, and come back later. If you've been thinking about it and have decided it IS something you care enough to talk about, share it. If you look at the tab and feel stressed out or still feel reactive, close the tab and walk away.

Go out and interact with the real world in a non-work capacity for a few hours a week; take walks or go shopping or go out and take pictures of insects. Touch grass so that The Internet is not the only thing you're doing with your downtime.

Here are the "work on reading longer texts specifically" tips:

Set a reading goal for yourself. Maybe you want to read one New Yorker article a week, maybe you want to read all the way through news articles, maybe you want to read novels like you used to in high school. Figure out what your actual goal is and articulate that goal to yourself.

Set up a practice schedule and gradually increase the amount of time you're reading. Don't go from short tumblr posts to a novella, go from short tumblr posts to slightly longer news articles, then to slightly longer essays, then to a novella. You can do this in literal paragraphs if you want to - maybe your goal for your first day is to read five paragraphs in a row, and the second day is seven, and the third day is ten, etc, until you are comfortably reading for longer amounts of time without counting paragraphs. (Try this with books from gutenberg.org; read a classic you haven't read a few paragraphs at a time and if you find yourself going over your paragraph count, let yourself run with it. If you finish a book, good for you, find another one and start again.)

Set up a maintenance schedule. If your goal is to read longer news pieces, try to read a longer piece every week and try to read to the end of every news article you open. If your goal is to read novels or longer nonfiction, try to read a book a month (maybe setting aside dedicated time each week to read, maybe Thursday evenings are book time now). If you find yourself falling back into old habits, take a break from The Internet and do some more rigorous practice for a while.

If you find yourself getting frustrated while you are reading you can also take a break! Read until you get frustrated and then *instead of switching to a different page or closing the article* close your eyes or look out the window or away from the screen for thirty seconds (count 'em! count out the time in your head) and then continue reading. You can also take a longer pause and sit and think about why you're getting frustrated. Is it the subject matter? Is it just looking at this text for longer than a couple minutes (if you are experiencing FOMO because you're reading for another few minutes instead of scrolling, the harder tips at the bottom are going to be important to you)? Are you comfortable? Are you reading this text to procrastinate from something and the procrastination is making you nervous? Are you trying to read to the bottom of your dash and reading a long post is taking up more time than you want while scrolling? Are you bored? Genuinely and very seriously: are your eyes straining and does your head hurt (if this is the case when is the last time you had your eyes checked or your glasses prescription updated)?

Here are the much harder "examine yourself and reassess your reactions to things" tips:

Work on re-training your attention span.

Identify something that you enjoy and find deeply engaging, and schedule some dedicated time for that thing. Set a literal timer (it can be a short amount of time at first) and sit down and do the thing without switching to a different website or opening up an app on your phone. This can be re-reading or watching a couple episodes of a show you like or listening to your favorite album while you sit down and draw. What's important is to spend a longer time focusing on doing something you DO like before attempting to spend a longer time focusing on something you DON'T like.

When you're starting on things you DON'T like, start with things you mildly don't like, or that feel tedious but aren't actually unpleasant. One way I do this is by transcribing poetry; I look up poems that I connect to and I transcribe them into a notebook that I have for that purpose. I enjoy having the finished product, but I don't enjoy the process, so it takes some effort to stick with it. Maybe there is a boring book you have been trying to get through, maybe you need to detail your car, maybe you've been trying to take up embroidery - these are good things to make yourself pay attention to (having music or a podcast on can help, but avoid watching videos or opening social apps)

When you're okay at that kind of thing (doing something not actively unpleasant) work on your attention span for things you ACTIVELY don't like. I don't think you should be a masochist about this, but you should work on being okay with doing unpleasant things for a sustained period of time. All of us have to do unpleasant stuff sometimes, and it's better to be able to pay attention to it for an hour at a time than it is to put it off forever.

This leads into the next Big Tip which is:

Work on being less reactive

Find something that you dislike; I'm going to use conservative talk radio as my example.

Expose yourself to the disliked thing for short periods of time (under ten minutes, maybe under five minutes).

Work on moderating your emotions during the time spent exposed to the disliked thing. If it makes you angry, work on intellectualizing the anger without becoming agitated by it. If it makes you sad, work on accepting that sadness without letting it drag down your mood. This isn't precisely about becoming numb to stimuli, but it is about being more in control of how your emotional reactions impact you.

Analyze the disliked thing. Why does it make you angry? Is that on purpose by the creator of the thing? Would it make someone else angry in the same way? How would you explain the anger to a neutral third party?

Consider responding instead of reacting. Let's say you're seeing a lot of very sad and upsetting things online and it's making you sad and upsetting you. You re-share these things because you don't feel like there's anything else you can do or you get angry when you see people sharing incorrect information, perhaps you argue with people about this. Now try looking at the upsetting things through the lens of point number four. This has upset you; how has it upset you? And once you've thought about how it upset you and have articulated that to yourself, find out what you can DO. I cannot make conservative talk radio go off the air, but I can support the groups harmed by conservative talk radio; thus there is no point in me getting upset and angry about conservative talk radio when I could be helping the people they target instead.

And that gets us to the last big tip which is:

Ask yourself if you are spending your time in a way that is enjoyable and edifying.

We all have limited time in our days and limited time in our lives. If you are finding yourself frequently frustrated online, it's a good time to consider whether you want to be spending so much time online.

If you feel like The Internet has become a rat race in which you can't read more than a few paragraphs without getting frustrated, there's a good chance that not only are you spending too much time on The Internet, but you're also spending it on doing things that you don't particularly like.

A realization like yours, Anon, that you are getting frustrated with any longer texts, can actually be really helpful because it provides a good opportunity to look at what you're engaging with and consider the questions:

Is this something I enjoy?

Do I feel good when I do this thing?

And that's a great way to figure out how to get rid of things that are leading to your background frustration. Maybe that looks like paring down the list of blogs you follow, maybe that looks like unsubscribing from some youtubers and podcasts, maybe that looks like uninstalling apps, maybe that looks like blocking a whole bunch of people and terms on your socials.

I don't think that everything we do has to help us grow as a person or expand our consciousness or anything like that, but I do think it's important to prioritize doing things that you like and doing things that you feel good about.

Like, I'm not doing something *wrong* if I spend an afternoon on Youtube watching drama channels every once in a while, but if I come out of a few afternoons of watching youtube drama channels feeling restless and anxious and like I wasted my time - even if I enjoyed myself while I was watching - it's probably a good idea for me to take a break from drama channels and see if there's something I can do instead that will make me feel better.

ALSO, A NOTE:

You are an animal that requires significant enrichment in your enclosure.

Think about tigers. Tigers in captivity are going to be excited to get high-value treats for any reason. They will eat and enjoy the treats. But if a tiger in captivity is only given the treats and never given any other form of activity to engage with, it is not going to be a happy tiger. If you start putting their treats in a pumpkin or a puzzle feeder or giving them toys to play with, that is going to be a much happier tiger.

Please give your brain things to play with that are more than just treats (though it does need some treats!). Make yourself a happy tiger. Your brain need a puzzle feeder, not a treat button.

[bbunnyyy]

Desire

/dɪˈzʌɪə/ noun A strong feeling of wanting to have something or wishing for something to happen.

!! WARNING !! smutty themes f!reader x aizawa.

☁︎ Aizawa's touch felt like a fresh breath, your bodies flush against each other. ☁︎

Summary: You and Aizawa end up getting stuck in one of the storage rooms in the left wing- not frequently visited. The tension in the air and the lack of space result in something...more.

A/N: hehe :3

A song to enjoy while reading this: if u think i'm pretty ⚬ Artemas

Your eyes fixated on Aizawa's back as his shoulders moved slightly with each step he took. He wasn't in that same old hero attire for once, since there was a press event today. You admired his chiselled figure that was poking through the white shirt and tight pants he was wearing. You swallowed, noticing how much bigger he was than you. The classrooms were running low on paper, which made Aizawa sigh and beckon you to follow him to the storage rooms to grab a few boxes of materials he needed.

Biting your bottom lip, you thought about how the last few weeks with Aizawa had been. Each moment was so warm, yet strangely sensual. It came so easily between you two. Lost in thought, you bumped into a wall- the wall making an 'oof' sound. Since when did walls make those kinds of sounds? Turns out, what you thought was a wall wasn't a wall at all.

"Still sore from yesterday, L/N?" He said smirking, referencing your sparring session. "Maybe." You said dryly, pouting while looking away. Aizawa responded by resting his hand on the small of your back. Your eyes made contact with his inky ones. He maintained the contact, tilting his head as if asking you if something was wrong. Swallowing, he turned away and continued walking in silence.

Aizawa switched on the light, commenting on how dusty it was In there. "Hold the door open for me, need space to get the boxes out," he mumbled, moving to the racks stacked with various boxes labelled with markers in bold lettering. You held the weighted grey door open, waiting for him to grab the materials he needed. Aizawa walked right into a rack, making the boxes tumble.

"Aizawa!" You exclaimed as you lunged forward in an attempt to pull him away. His body stumbled into yours. "I could have taken care of myself, L/N." Aizawa stated, just as a soft click was heard behind you two. You looked at him, whose mouth was slightly open out of shock. Well, this was awkward. You laughed nervously- "Oops?"

"I hope you do remember neither of us have the keys to open this door?" Aizawa stated, rolling his eyes. He tried moving around, your body now facing the door. Aizawa grit his teeth, throwing his head back in frustration. All this moving wasn't helping. The air felt stiff and heavy, the smell of cardboard boxes filling the air. Your chest pressed against the door, and his body clung to yours from behind- no space to move around now. Looking at the floor, you breathed out trying to think while tapping your heels on the floor anxiously.

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. Aizawa breathed heavily into your ear, bringing you back to the present situation. "Stop moving." He commanded, his voice deeper than usual. You tried looking back to take a look at his face, but his fingers dug into the flesh on your hips. "I told you to stop moving." Aizawa breathed out, punctuating each word with a firm silence. He sounded like he was...out of breath? You didn't understand why, opening your mouth to say something sarcastic when you felt something poke your bottom half.

Aizawa pushed you forward, using his body. You pressed your hands on the shut door, trying to support yourself. He pushed into you, almost out of instinct, a moan slipping out of his mouth, smooth like honey. "I'm- sorry." Aizawa said, his hard-on pressed firm into your ass. "There's no space to mo-"

"You don't sound very sorry." You stated, trying to sound confident but just as nervous if not more than Aizawa. "L/NNhh-" Aizawa breathed into your ear, feeling around your pockets for your phone. "I think we're past last names now," you stated, out of breath yourself- unable to believe this was actually happening. Aizawa hummed, his hips pressed into yours as his hands patted your pockets. His breath was hot and heavy, the moment felt so intimate despite the awkwardness and lack of professionalism. Pulling your phone out, you rested your head against his chest as he switched on your phone. "Fuck." There's no signal here.

"I guess we're stuck here for a while then, aren't we?" You joked, pushing back at him.

[gabrielleragusi]

For Artists: My Experience with Commission Platforms and Illustration Agencies

Hi there! I’ve been wanting to compile a list of commission platforms that I’ve personally used for the longest time, and I finally did it! I’ve highlighted the still-active commission platforms in bold and struck those that don't exist anymore so you can jump to the sections that interest you without needing to read my entire story.

Let me start by briefly introducing myself.

I’m Gabrielle, a fantasy illustrator. Since 2014, I’ve been working on book covers and illustrations for publishers, authors, and book subscription boxes. Early on, work wasn’t as frequent as it is now. I had to search for opportunities myself, and even small private commissions were important for building my portfolio and earning some money, which I’d spend on materials, books, and online courses. Like many other artists, I started out by trying my luck with the biggest art community available at the time.

DeviantArt

2009-2018

Once upon a time, there was a virtual haven called DeviantArt. To my teenage self, it was a magical place. I signed up in 2009 and thought I’d never leave!

At first, I created an account just to share my work and learn. I didn’t even think about commissions for four or five years. But when that first inquiry finally landed in my inbox, things took off! My mum swears she remembers my excitement when I got my first commission, but for some reason, I’ve completely forgotten about it. I can't remember what it was or how much it paid. It might have been a portrait of a fantasy character.

Commissions on DeviantArt were fairly frequent, especially considering my cheap prices at the time. I used to offer discounts and post my rates in my DeviantArt journal, or in Commission groups that featured artists either monthly or weekly. After checking out my profile, a client could simply send me a private message and from there, we’d discuss payment, deadlines, and other details, and the platform didn’t take any fees, much like how ArtStation works today. Everything happened through private messages or email, with direct contact between artist and client.

The downside of this process was that there was no dispute resolution system on the platform. I had to handle all issues myself, and unfortunately, problems did arise sometimes: there were clients changing their minds about commissions, asking for refunds after work was delivered, refusing to pay, or just ghosting me. These issues didn’t happen because clients were evil, but rather because I was inexperienced and allowed some to take advantage of my naivety.

However, all that frustration helped me develop my commission process through trial and error (mostly error). And despite the challenges, I can say with satisfaction that most of the commissions I received through my DeviantArt profile were positive experiences.

DeviantArt eventually introduced a commission feature for Core (Premium) users, which came with a platform fee, but I didn’t use it much, and I’m not sure if it still exists.

The real beauty of dA, though, was the connections I made. I was able to meet people, both artists and clients, that I’m still in contact with today, and some of whom I still collaborate with.

I closed my account in 2018 or 2019, but by that time, I hadn’t really used it for a couple of years. The new user interface was a bit of a turn-off for me. I had always loved the geeky, and dare I say cozy, look of the old green and grey aesthetic, with its customisable panels that you could move around and personalise with HTML code... But I digress.

Artists and Clients

2013-2016

While taking small commissions on DeviantArt, I discovered Artists & Clients. It was a nice platform for clients to get things like their D&D characters or groups illustrated for relatively cheap. I think my highest price was $50 for a single character portrait, with the platform taking a 15% cut. I used it for about two or three years before the platform started to change.

As more artists with hentai art styles flooded in, the homepage shifted, and so did the clientele. There’s nothing wrong with drawing naked anime girls, of course, but you can understand that if a client is looking for a fantasy, semi-realistic painting of their female orc character, or a realistic portrait of their spouse, it's more than likely that they won't bother sifting through a sea of anime girls to find the style they want, imagining it isn't here. Let's just say that, at the time, the website took a definite direction that wasn't in line with my genre, but this direction didn't make the different, more realistic art styles stand out either.

Soon, commissions slowed down for me, so I closed my account, but by then I was already working elsewhere.

That said, this platform could still be a useful tool if you’re looking to take on smaller commissions.

DreamUp

2014-2015

DreamUp wasn’t an AI generator back then. It was actually a subsidiary of DeviantArt, where clients could post projects and artists could apply. It was a competitive platform that offered well-paid work–very well-paid. I remember seeing jobs posted that ranged from $300 to $1,200. DreamUp was a very professional platform for clients with a mid to high budget.

I believe I landed my very first book cover commission through this website when I was in my last year of high school. I remember getting the job and going to school the next morning, excited to share the news with my classmates. Everyone was super thrilled for me (we were a really close-knit class!), and I felt like I was walking on air.

Unfortunately, as far as I know, that book was never released, but it didn’t matter because I was moving forward, and fast.

I’m not sure when DreamUp was shut down, but I do know that DeviantArt held onto the copyrighted name, assigning it to something so anti-old DreamUp that it still boggles my mind.

ArtCorgi

Now Artistree

2014-2019

When I received an invitation to join ArtCorgi from its founder, I already had a somewhat consistent portfolio. I was painting portraits and fantasy illustrations, and the clients on this platform were looking for both–your typical wedding and pet portraits, as well as book covers, which were what really interested me. To get to the latter, I had to do the former. Over the years, I’ve painted so many realistic portraits that now I have a strict rule for my own sanity not to do them any more. I have great respect for portrait artists, but it’s just not me.

When I first submitted my prices to the person I was in contact with, she kindly suggested that I raise them... a lot. That was a major step forward in my professional career. I went from charging $50 to $100/$200 overnight. And to my surprise, people actually wanted to commission me at those prices!

From 2014 to 2019, I took nearly every commission that came my way. I never spoke directly with the clients; all instructions and feedback went through my point of contact, which helped maintain a level of professionalism, although now that I’m used to working directly with clients, I’m not sure I’d want to go back to having an intermediary.

Sadly, as with all good things, this chapter came to an end. My point of contact eventually left communication in the hands of someone else, and shortly after, the commission fee changed to, I believe, 30%.

Simply put, 30% is an unrealistic cut for a website like this. For an agent that gets you all kinds of big work in the publishing industry, sure, but since this was not the case I had to stop taking commissions. Despite that, my overall experience with ArtCorgi was very positive.

Today, ArtCorgi joined another platform, Artistree. As far as I can tell, Artistree doesn’t take any fees from artists, with clients covering a small cost instead.

Sketchmob (?)

2016-2020

This was probably the platform I used the most. I’ve lost count of how many commissions I received through Sketchmob. Many. Enough to generate a steady income at the time. With reasonable fees and a variety of art styles available, clients contacted me almost daily. Communication was direct between artists and clients, and payments could be split. The review system also worked very well… for a while.

Once I raised my prices, requests became fewer and farther apart. But by then, I was already working with my own clients.

Is this platform still active? Who knows. The website is still up and the chat feature works, but I’ve seen users complain that money available for withdrawal never arrived via PayPal (the only payment method the platform accepted, if I remember correctly). Personally, I wouldn’t risk completing a job through Sketchmob right now, at least not until they release an update.

If you’ve used the platform recently and successfully received payment within the last six months, please let me know, and I’d be happy to update this section!

Upwork

2017-2019

In 2017, I was determined to break into the book publishing industry. After trying out Fiverr and Freelancer.com with no success (the competition was too fierce for someone just starting out), I decided to give Upwork a shot. The platform looked very professional, and while the process sounded a bit complicated, I wanted to land the interesting projects I saw featured in my category. I really wanted to work with a big client… but big clients didn’t seem to want me, despite having the Rising Talent badge.

In two years of bidding for jobs and submitting proposals, I only landed two projects: a small commission from a private client who actually reached out to me, and another project that I bid on.

Don’t get me wrong, I was ecstatic at the time and truly appreciated every opportunity that came my way. But looking back, I can see why Upwork didn’t work out for me. The platform just wasn’t the right fit for my style and niche, which is fantasy illustration. Graphic design, however, was (and still is) in much higher demand.

The commission process on Upwork wasn’t as simple as on other platforms. For instance, at the time, costs were calculated hourly, which was a challenge for someone like me who prefers working with flat fees (having already calculated my average hours spent on an illustration). From what I’ve seen, this has since changed.

One positive aspect of Upwork is its current 10% cut on what artists earn. I don’t recall if this has changed over the years, but 10% is quite reasonable in my experience. Of course, 0% would be even better, but for a platform as large as Upwork, 10% is fair.

Illustration Agency

2019-2021

By 2019, I had built a solid, consistent portfolio thanks to my personal work and commissions. I had a simple website in place, my Instagram following was growing… I was steadily working toward my goal of illustrating covers for big publishers (which didn't happen until two years ago).

So, when an illustration agency reached out to me one day, I was over the moon. I had always heard that artists were the ones who had to approach agencies, not the other way around.

Well, that should have been my first red flag.

I won’t name this agency because, unfortunately, I have nothing positive to say about it. In fact, the word “nothing” perfectly describes my involvement with them. Nothing came of this barely there experience.

The agency invited me to sign up, not on an exclusive basis, but they assured me they’d get me work. That work never came. Once in a while, I’d receive messages saying they were trying to pitch my portfolio to a French publisher or another client, but... nothing.

Please understand that meanwhile I was already working directly with shops and authors, so I don’t believe my portfolio was the problem. The real issue was something I didn’t realise at the time: some agencies do this. They feature talented artists in their catalogue without having actual clients lined up, just to appear more professional and credible to potential clients. Did this strategy work for them? Maybe. I’ll never know.

In 2021, I politely asked them to remove my portfolio from their website, and that was the end of it.

After that, I never actively sought out an agent again. By the time my portfolio was strong enough to approach a serious agency, I just didn’t need representation anymore.

Hireillo

2019-2022

My experience with Hire an Illustrator, or Hireillo, is mixed. At the time, Hireillo was a platform that hosted artists' portfolios, featured artist-submitted news, provided useful articles, resources, and directories of artists and agents. I joined the site hoping to catch the eye of publishers, but I was mostly contacted by authors and one fellow artist for a graphic novel.

Unfortunately, most inquiries didn’t go beyond the first couple of messages due to budget constraints. I did, however, have fun sharing news about my painting process and projects I landed on my own, which were often featured by the website. Additionally, if I had questions about 'complicated' things like copyright, or just needed advice, I could ask the website’s owner and that was incredibly helpful.

Despite these benefits, I didn’t see any real results, which was a little disappointing. The subscription fee was also... odd, for lack of a better word. $5 per week. In the end I just couldn’t justify the cost, so I stopped using the website altogether.

Reedsy

2019-2022

Finally, we come to the turning point.

I remember stumbling upon Reedsy randomly. It wasn’t very well known at the time, and I think it still isn’t. I was nervous when I submitted my portfolio because their catalogue features the best of the best: designers who’ve created covers for bestsellers, THE bestsellers, people who’ve worked on Stephen King covers, or George R.R. Martin's. Designers, editors, and marketers who are veterans. I didn’t have high hopes for my application. So, I was in shock when it got accepted.

I had an introductory Skype call with a representative from Reedsy, who explained how everything worked. Before the call ended, I remember asking if there was a good chance I’d get work through the platform. The rep laughed and said, “Yes.”

A few weeks in, I understood that laugh.

Reedsy has an overwhelming demand for book covers and commercial projects. For every designer there are many more clients. In peak seasons, I was getting requests almost every day. I’m not exaggerating.

Reedsy transformed my portfolio and my pricing structure. Thanks to the income I earned through the platform, I was finally able not to take everything that came my way but be selective and choose only the projects that really interested me.

The commission process is simple: artists pretty much decide how to split payments, what to include in agreements, and the best part, the most beautiful and helpful feature of all, they can request and adjust deadlines. For someone like me who's terrible with deadlines, this feature was a lifesaver. The admins are also very kind and responsive, available via email or chat.

Unfortunately (this is my last 'unfortunately', I promise), my time on Reedsy came to an end for personal reasons. I’ll explain since it’s no secret.

All my images on Reedsy were watermarked with my signature (my full name), which apparently violated the platform’s rules. Why? Because if a client saw my last name, they could contact me directly and bypass Reedsy, which meant the platform lost potential fees. I’ll admit this did happen a few times, but I had the good sense to redirect the client back to Reedsy.

After three years, an admin finally noticed and asked me to remove my full name from the watermark and any text on my profile. It was a simple and reasonable request, but here’s where the problem started. Profiles on Reedsy are public, and images appear in search engines like Google Images, meaning anyone could download my work and use it without permission. Sure, watermarks can be removed, but uploading my work without one in the first place felt like a bad idea. Btw, not only do I use watermarks, but I also use Glaze to protect my illustrations before sharing them online.

Anyway, for this reason, and also because I couldn’t get over the fact that full names were public at the time, something I won’t get into because, believe me, I tried over email, and my reasons went into the void (now, last names are just initialised, like Gabrielle R. Okay. Sure.), I had to close my account–they would have done it anyway because it was already 'flagged'.

Overall, if you’re willing to overlook the last name conundrum, I can’t recommend Reedsy enough. If you have a killer, solid portfolio and a love for books and editorial projects, go for it!

--------------------------------------------

I hope you'll find this useful! If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask (: Oh, and here's an old article I wrote in 2020, titled:

Tips to freelance illustrators to avoid being screwed over

Who knows, maybe I'll write another 'article' post in four years!

Instagram  - ArtStation - Website - Inprnt - Etsy - TikTok

[patscorner]

PROLOGUE: HIT

pairings: paige x oc

contains: angst

word count: 686

a/n: let's try another shot at this series thing... here we go

JUNE 2020

I dribble the ball between my legs before taking a step back and shooting the ball. It's almost midnight, and the thunder claps should've kept me in bed, but it seems like the last thing I can do is sleep. It's been three weeks.

Azzi already got her acceptance letter to Uconn. We'd applied at the same time, yet hers came almost a month ago, and I'm sitting here empty-handed.

What if they denied me? What if they just forgot to send it, and I don't find out until I'm in the middle of Texas? Sure, it's not common for colleges to scout one school and find what they're looking for. But with us, I feel like they could. It's always been us two- Azzi and I- and even Paige, and although Paige and I aren't speaking, I don't think I'm ready to let that go yet.

I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to let that go.

But here I am, letting them slip through my fingers. Letting her slip from my grasp.

How did I get here? How’d it get like this? It seems like these past few months have been nothing but loss, love, and the bittersweet taste of change.

I’m a great basketball player, I know that. But if any coach was scouting me right now, they’d cross me off the list immediately. The way the basketball clangs off the backboard once more causes me to groan in frustration, throwing my head back. I chase after it, positioning myself at what would be the wing.

Basketball is a mindless game. Something I do well without even thinking about it. The movement of the ball, the way it bounces off the court, the way my wrist flicks when it leaves my hands, the swish of it passing through the net, whatever; the motions are fluid. Subconscious, even. Something I can do with my eyes closed without a second thought. But right now, I'm thinking about everything, including her. And as though I'd summoned her…

“Dude, it's midnight, what the fuck are you doing?” a groggy voice calls. I flinch at the unexpected presence, and turn around to see Paige. She's got her hair down, the blonde locs frizzy from her sleeping position.

The house lights illuminate her hair, the yellowish glow casting a shadow on the cement. Her red plaid pajama pants hang dangerously low on her waist, her Nike Pro boxers peeking above the cotton material. She's wearing a Uconn hoodie because, of course, she is.

I roll my eyes. “Just throwing shots up.” I say, holding the ball on my hip. I could practically hear her eyes roll. “No, no, I can see that, I just mean, why? It's literally about to rain.”

“Why do you care? Why don't you go back to sleep?” I huff, shooting the ball up again.

She scoffs. “I'd actually love to. In fact, I couldn't think of anything better to do-” I wince as the ball bounces off the rim again. “-but when all I can hear is a fucking ball bouncing, it's kinda hard to enjoy slumber.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever, I'll be done soon.” I mutter as the ball bounces towards her, internally sighing as she picks it up. I hold my hands out, motioning for her to give it to me. She doesn't.

“Why can't you sleep?” She asked, her voice sounding genuinely concerned. That's the thing. She's pretty fucking good at that.

I sigh. “Can I just get the ball, bro.” She can't make anything fucking easy.

She smirks. “Nah. Not ‘till you tell me why you're playing basketball in the middle of the night when it's about to storm.” I groan.

Don't let her in again.

“Nevermind, I'm tired anyway. Court's yours, asshole.” I say, shoving past her and stomping into the house.

There's nothing more I've wanted to do than break down in her arms and tell her everything that I'm thinking, and have her hold me and tell me everything's gonna be okay.

But I've already done that.

And I'm not making that mistake again.

=======================

taglist: @wintersstan @bueckerrss @lilia22hicks @fake-intelligences @girlokwhatever @pbloverr @breeloveschris-deactivated20240 @cosmopretty @hellokittyfeenie @averagelobotomyenjoyer @elliewilliamsthang @chelisbae @angelscovee @st4rrzynight

[st-hedge]

I said a while ago that for totk’s one anniversary I would write a weird little review of the game in which I throw roses at it while simultaneously slandering it. So I made an attempt which is very abbreviated

Disclaimer: I’m not telling u how u should feel about totk or what’s the right way to feel about it, I’m just trying to make sense of why the game frustrates me and putting it into words. It’s completely fine if u disagree with me, I’m not pitching an argument but just putting words on paper

Totk is one of the best games I’ve ever had the opportunity to play. The mechanics, the music, the designs, the revised world of hyrule, makes me want to curl up on the floor and cry. It is stunning and done with so much love. Where botw had lacked, totk has improved and gone above and beyond. It had frustrated me that botw only allowed us to explore the ground surface, but botw was an exploration into open world games which allowed for totk to happen. The caves, the boats, the islands, and the depths add so much to already such a vast world. I only wish there was also diving but beggars can’t be choosers beh

Although it still doesn’t make too much sense to me why all weapons are suddenly corrupted, I do love the new weapons system. I love how it gives more variety to explore. Materials which previously sat unused in the inventory are now key and nothing feels like a waste to collect. Even rupees have found another use. I’m not the biggest fan of the zonai devices but the addition feels like a love letter to the creativity of the fan base and it feels at place. They help to traverse an otherwise huge and intimidating world. But at times I feel like they give too much leverage and break down too many boundaries and leave little to solve and explore. What im basically saying is fuck the rockets.

I feel that totk doesn’t have enough progress boundaries that make u pause and explore what u have at hand. I found myself just pushing and pushing, forgetting and leaving behind areas I barely touched. It felt too easy getting into the sky and returning to the islands and they lost some of their mystery to me. I think this would have been a great opportunity to reintroduce the loftwings from skyward sword. I’ve talked before about how much this would make sense for totk. The loftwings could be a means to cross boundaries and explore new territories, but it takes time to catch and tame one as a companion. But like horses they should have their limits, presenting new boundaries u need to overcome again

Where the totk’s hyrule begins to confuse and disappoint me goes hand in hand with my main issue (confusion?) with the game. Although botw felt incomplete (the world was a little sparse and one dimensional), the story was comprehensive and clear. Meanwhile, totk has a complete and lively world but it doesn’t have a story to carry

Totk’s story doesn’t have an identity I can grasp and understand. It’s like it doesn’t know what it wants to tell the player, what story it wants to direct them to. On one hand, it seems to want us to know about the origins of hyrule and the mysterious landmarks and characters that are permanent fixtures in this world (castle, ruins, dragons) but at the same time it suddenly wants to do a retelling of OoT and about the sages and these secret stones. But the game never completes any of these stories. Maybe it wants to tell us these stories through the environment, but there is just not enough embedded into the world to grasp and tie together into a narrative. Which is ironic considering how big the world is

We begin to be told the story of the dragons, we suddenly understand how they came to be (the secret stones). But we are never told about the events of their creation (an act of desperation, like Zelda’s) and we are never close to understanding them. Then we are told about the sages, but meeting them tells us nothing new. No new cutscenes, no new items or lore directly related to them. The new sages are found, but didn’t we just discover the divine beasts with them? Suddenly another layer of importance is added to them which makes the ties between legacy and the current sages muddier. I wish there had been focus on them creating their own legacy instead

I think totk could’ve had a very interesting story to tell if it chose what it wants to focus on. Maybe the secret stones were introduced just as a way for Zelda to become a dragon? I dunno

There are so many new places that feel like fantastic opportunities for moments of pause and to uncover lore, unearth memories. But instead they’re brisk puzzles or empty sites. Like the graveyard underneath the desert, the forge islands, the factories, and the fucking poe statues. Tell me as much as u want that I can’t read environmental story telling, but I’ll just keep saying there’s nothing to read into cuz the game doesn’t know what it wants to say. There’s no thread to follow in the way there was with, for example, the graveyard at the spirit temple in OoT. We could’ve been just left with a strange well and a graveyard and told to figure it out, but a thread is laid down that these are the skeletons in the royal family’s closet.

Totk does have amazing moments, like Zelda meeting her ancestors and giving up her identity to become a living legend to revive the master sword, the discovery of the ancient temples, the story of the zonai and their origins. But these are just pieces with many loose ends around them that go nowhere. Even Ganon is left as a loose end where there was so much opportunity to say something worth saying. He seems comically evil with bogstandard bah I want to rule the world lines. If u want to make a case for evil for the sake of evil, u can at least show me a character repeatedly making horrible choices which lead them to the current predicament. Just like totk’s hyrule, he is lovingly designed but he tells absolutely no story

If the reason behind the lack of story is that the devs/writers wanted us to make our own story out of this, then I think this is a case where it was a poor choice. The fans can make theories, hcs, pick up pieces and make AUs, but we also love the stories told by the games and it’s what inspires us to uncover more stories (hey wanna talk about tp and why we hear Malon’s song at night, or what’s up with the empty desert)

I’d love to see totk from the perspective of someone who had never played or known botw. Did it really help to remove any traces of sheikah tech besides the labs and the guardian limbs in the towers. Although the zonai devices and the sheikah tech are from different time periods, totk was a perfect opportunity to marry the two elements together. The shrines and the divine beasts could’ve collapsed into the depths, but instead they have just vanished like erased history

Totk’s story doesn’t have an identity in the same way botw’s does. Even though botw’s hyrule was much smaller and emptier, we found stories there cuz we knew what that game was trying to tell us. If totk is about making sacrifices, then this message feels obsolete by the end. U should make sacrifices, but u will only be happy again if it all goes back to exactly how it was before

As happy and sweet the ending is, it made all the worry and sadness I felt seem pointless cuz of course everything would reset back to the norm cuz how else would this game have a happy ending. What was there to worry about. Yeah so what that Zelda became a dragon losing herself, she was just asleep the entire time and effortlessly she becomes her normal self. So what that link lost his sword arm, of course he would miraculously get it back even though it took him 100 years to recover from a mortal wound. No trace of the things they withstood and lost, no mark, nothing.

I loved the final battle and spectacle of the dragons struggling against each other in the sky. The battle went from the deepest depths to the highest reaches of the sky and I thought it was perfect. But once again how the story concluded and the logic behind it me made me feel like I was chewing on sand and the idyllic ending just made me look about in confusion

TLDR; totk is an amazing game with a stunning world that lacks a comprehensive story to tell

I hoped that I would get a better understanding why I’m so frustrated by totk, but instead I just feel even more confused by it and I think that’s just how I’ll have to leave it

[hippolotamus]

thought i planned for everything (just didn’t count on you) | 1.6k | E (BuckTommy)

Earlier today I promised my wife @bidisasterevankinard an incentive for studying in exchange for making her think about too many WIP ideas. Since husband @diazsdimples is also going through it with schooling, this is for both of you 😘 ps: idk anything about what certs and licenses and stuff Tommy would need. Just roll with it and be nice, yeah? Also, this is unbeta’d so if you see any mistakes, no you don’t.

Tommy scrubs at his forehead, blowing out a frustrated breath. He’s looked at the material in front of him for months now, determined to ace his recertifications. And it had been going well. Really well, in fact. He had a study schedule mapped out, accounting for his shifts and time with friends. He even left a small margin for the unexpected. There was just one factor he hadn’t accounted for. Evan.

The past few years of dating haven’t exactly gone anywhere serious. Some casual dates, one that he thought could go the distance but only broke his heart. So the expectation of having that feeling again? Of having someone thoughtful and caring, who gives him butterflies and makes him want things? Pretty much zero.

But then a hurricane happened. Actual and metaphorical. It tore through his life, upending the idea that love – or anything close to it – just wasn’t in the cards for him. And when everything settled, there was Evan. Evan, who asks how his shift was, tells him when he gets back from a call, and turns a pretty shade of pink as he blushes and says ‘I missed you’.

Tommy doesn’t regret any of it, but he does wish the universe’s cosmic timing could’ve held off just a little longer. At least until the state of California tells him what he already knows and says he’s fit to pilot an aircraft.

A knock on the door gets his attention, but he seriously contemplates ignoring it. He didn’t order anything and he doesn’t have plans. Unfortunately, the first responder in him can’t help wondering if one of his elderly neighbors needs something.

Fine. He sets down the pen he’s been chewing on and reminds himself it’s been too long since he stood up and walked around anyway.

“Evan?” Tommy asks, surprised to see him standing there. He instinctively looks him up and down for obvious injuries or signs of distress, but finds nothing. Only his gorgeous boyfriend, smiling coyly. “I didn’t forget about a date, did I?”

“No, uh, nothing like that. Because you are supposed to be studying.” Evan raises one eyebrow like Tommy is in the wrong for answering his own door after somehow manifesting Evan’s presence.

“And yet here you are.”

“Here I am,” Evan says shyly. “I know I’ve been taking a lot of your time lately and wanted to help.”

For the first time, Tommy notices Evan’s got his hands behind his back and wonders what his definition of ‘help’ is. He’s dressed down, soft and adorable in a hoodie and joggers, so it’s unlikely to be a booty call. Though not completely out of the question. And not that Tommy would complain either.

“Did you bring flashcards or something?”

“As a matter of fact…” Evan steps over the threshold, past Tommy, like he owns the place. While shy, demure Evan is a favorite, confident Evan is by no means a turn off. Especially as he whirls around and proudly holds up a set of blue, yellow and pink index cards. “I did.”

“Evan-”

“A few nights, when I couldn’t sleep, I might have taken some notes of my own. And, like I said, thought I could make myself useful for my hot, pilot boyfriend.” He rocks up on his tiptoes, capturing Tommy’s lips for a chaste kiss before he meanders to the kitchen.

Tommy pushes the door closed, following Evan where he lays the cards down on the table, opposite the books and manuals Tommy has scattered. Evan walks to the cabinets and helps himself to a glass, filling it with water before returning. Next he makes himself comfortable in a chair, sitting slightly back with his legs spread apart.

“So, can I help?”

There’s a glimmer of mischief in the way Evan looks at him now that has his heart racing. Like helping is the last thing Evan plans to do.

Tommy gathers himself enough to sit down in his own seat and flashes Evan a confident smirk.

“Do your worst, kid.”

“I’ll start with an easy one. What is the atmospheric gas composition?”

“Twenty-one percent oxygen, seventy-eight percent nitrogen, one percent other,” Tommy rattles off.

“Well done.” Evan flicks the card down then casually leans over to untie one shoe and slip it off.

“What are you-”

Evan clicks his tongue, tutting in fake admonishment. “Can’t tell you all my secrets, baby. Next question. Each one hundred meter climb in elevation causes a temperature drop of what?”

“One degree Celsius.”

Evan simply grins and removes his other shoe, leaving him in socked feet. Tommy would be lying if he said his dick wasn’t taking interest now that he’s caught on to Evan’s game. It is thoroughly unhelpful.

“PAIP should be implemented how many minutes after an aircraft fails to give its position report or is overdue for arrival?”

“Fifteen. Got anything harder for me?”

Evan’s tongue darts out, licking along his lower lip. “Oh, you bet I do.”

Tommy takes a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure and think about… anything except bending Evan over the table. If only it was that simple.

They repeat the process, volleying questions and answers back and forth until Evan’s stripped down to his boxers, his cock obviously hard and leaking beneath the tented fabric. It’s distracting as hell and Tommy doesn’t know how he’s supposed to concentrate.

“Come on, old man,” Evan teases, palming himself lazily. “Lives are on the line here. You need to be able to think under tense conditions.”

“You’re such a brat.” Tommy’s jeans press uncomfortably on his own straining erection and he doesn’t bother to stop himself from mirroring Evan’s movements.

“Yeah, but I’m your brat.” Evan applies more pressure, letting out an obscene moan as he strokes himself. “Or I could be – ahh – if you get this – mmph – question right.”

“Fuck, Evan.” Tommy undoes his belt and zipper, creating the tiniest bit of relief.

“That’s the idea. Even – oh, fuck – wore the new plug I told you about.”

Christ, Evan’s gonna kill him before they get the chance to see this all play out. And that’s unacceptable.

“Don’t stop,” Tommy orders, stalking off to grab the lube stashed in the couch cushions. When he returns, Evan is still stroking himself exactly like he was instructed. “Good boy, Evan. Doing what I told you.”

Tommy grips his chin and crashes their mouths together in a filthy kiss, delighted as Evan makes the most beautiful whine.

“But, you – ah – didn’t answer me,” Evan protests when they separate.

“Myoglobin.” He leans close to Evan’s ear, nipping at the lobe. “Lesson’s over, kid. Face down over the table. Naked. Now.”

Evan nearly trips over himself, leaping up from his chair and shoving his boxers down. He drapes himself over the piles of papers and index cards, wiggling his ass like he’ll die if he has to go one more second without being fucked.

“Gotta say, I like your methods,” Tommy murmurs, starting to work the plug in and out, tracing his other hand along Evan’s bare skin. “But now I think it’s time for your reward. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, yes. Please.”

“So desperate, my Evan,” Tommy coos. “Thought you would be in control, getting me all worked up. And here you are, laid out so gorgeously for me, just begging for it.”

Tommy pulls the plug out completely, discarding it to the floor. Evan keens and clenches around nothing, just waiting to be full again.

“Don’t worry, baby. I got you.” Tommy shoves his jeans and boxers down to his thighs. He slicks himself up with the lube and smears a generous amount on his fingers, fucking them in and out of Evan’s hole. Just enough to ease the way.

“Tommy,” Evan pants, practically crying when he pulls out.

He lines himself up, gripping Evan’s hips and pushing in without additional warning. He doesn’t pause for adjustments before he sets a relentless pace. It’s unlikely either of them are going to last, but he’s not going for longevity here.

Evan curls his hands around the edges of the table, leveraging it to fuck himself back against Tommy’s cock. It’s stunning and breathtaking, the rhythm they’re creating. A symphony of moans, squelches and skin against skin.

Soon the familiar heat pools in his belly, bringing him closer to the edge.

“Ohfuuuuck,” Evan moans, purposely tightening around him.

Tommy digs his fingertips into Evan’s sides, the world around him being reduced to static and white noise as he comes, filling Evan up. He thinks he might shout Evan’s name, but he’s not really sure, nor does he really care as he slumps forward, draping himself across Evan’s glistening skin.

“Gimmeasec,” he mumbles. “I’ll take careayou.”

“No need,” Evan murmurs back. “All good.”

Tommy presses a lazy kiss to Evan’s spine, enjoying the resulting small shudder. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

He kisses another ridge, and another, before answering. “For taking notes. For caring. Wanting to help out. For being you.”

“It wasn’t too much?” Evan whispers, hesitantly.

“Never,” Tommy assures him, dropping gentle kisses over his neck and shoulders, mindful of the mess forming between them as he maneuvers to properly reach. “Never too much, baby.”

He bites back words that are too early to say, even if he definitely feels them. Has felt them building in his chest, creating a near endless chant. He wonders how long he’ll be able to smother them before they burst forth. Hopefully long enough. Enough for Evan to feel them, too. For Evan to want to stay.

“Clean up and nap?” Tommy asks instead.

“Sounds good. Earned it.”

Tommy huffs an amused sound against Evan’s skin before pressing one last kiss there. God, I hope so, kid.

[dadsbongos]

Heyyy (ノ^∇^)

Idk if you write for him, since I barely see any other writers write for him😔, but would you be willing to write for Toshiro? 🙏🙏🙏

I love that man soooooo so fucking much but there barely any concent of him where it's not about his fight with Laios and it's frustrating ngl-😭😭

A thought that has been in my brain for quite some time now, is like— sorta like an arrange marriage type of situation where they started off awkward but then one of them (in this case, Toshiro) started to have fallen head over heels for his spouse who has been secretly falling for him first

Just the thought of him, barely touching his spouse on their wedding night because they just got married to some stranger (probably, or maybe they knew each other but not necessarily close?) to then sharing a passionate night with them❤❤

I'm feral somebody hold me down-

i wanted this to be longer but lately i've been... funky so its some bland honeymoon shiz before i scare the hoes with toshiro bugfucker truthery

1.2 k words / warnings - reader has a pussoi, honestly this is more fluff than explicit but smut is the setting frame, not super proofread ~~~

“Do you…” Toshiro clears his throat, “Would you want to share a bed tonight?”

You paused, blinking up at your new husband stupidly before jerking your head to the side, “I’m not sure…”

“I’ll make a separate place for myself again, then.”

“Well, no, that’s not necessary…”

Black brows furrow down at you, “I’m a little confused.”

“As am I,” you confess, eyes tracing the hardwood floors with a soft sigh, “I’m just concerned with what you’ll think of me after I’m honest with myself.”

For a long while, Toshiro is perfectly still. Then his heart squeezes, blinking at you numbly, “I’m sorry?”

“What if I humiliate myself? Or I’m too eager?”

Oh? 

“How could you be too eager?”

Gaze stuttering from his framing baby hairs to his gentle eyes to his slim waist to his legs. Tender flesh obscured by a jade yogi. Black hair cascades over his shoulders, shining beneath flickering candle light. Cheeks flush and lashes fluttery.

“You couldn’t imagine.”

Oh! 

Toshiro smothers his shock with a hand over his rising mouth, looking away from you, “I don’t think that’s true.”

“You don’t?”

“Not at all,” Toshiro clenches his eyes, even the wrinkle in his forehead captivates you, “I didn’t want to scare or intimidate you by seeming too eager.”

Scandalized, you gasp, “Toshiro!”

“I know… I’m sorry if that’s unsettling to hear.”

“But is it true? You aren’t saying this for flattery’s sake, are you?”

“I’m not.”

“Then we’re both eager.”

“We are,” he confirms, clearing his throat before gesturing to the futon you’re designated to share, “Do you want to share the bed tonight?”

Just asking twice makes him feel uncomfortable, though he supposes the entirety of your engagement has been uncomfortable.

(“I insisted to my father, I’d find my own partner…”

“Sorry, if I’m disappointing.”

“No, no. I just… would have wished to not drag people into our lives.”)

You’re a bit more outgoing than himself. He prefers you to take charge, but suddenly you’re shy. Clamming up and awkwardly shuffling onto the mat. Legs pin straight and boring holes through his skull with a wide-eyed stare.

“Would you mind showing me?” he murmurs, “I feel you’re more… experienced in these matters.”

“Does it bother you that I am?” you frown suddenly, “Maizuru seems to hate it…”

If he hadn’t rushed to tuck his head down, you would’ve caught his vicious eye roll, “Maizuru doesn’t know what I want.”

“So, it doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all. I find you just as pretty.”

Thankfully, his stammered and jumbled admission appears to soothe the tension in your shoulders. Rocking forward onto your knees before apprehensively tugging open the part of his thick robing.

“You might be the pretty one in this marriage.”

He’s forced to choke on his retort as you’re kissing up his freshly exposed thigh. Wandering hands shirking the thick material off his shoulders and combing through silky hair. Uneven pants lace the air, chapped lips parting to wheeze your name. Warm palms cup your cheeks, fingers toying around the bone of your jaw and thumbs rubbing beneath your lashes.

Coaxing you onto your feet, Toshiro cups your cheeks fully and he’s muttering. You’re not sure if he’s meaning to whisper sweet romantics for you, and you’re tempted to ask for clarity when he abruptly snaps you onto your back.

Nose digging into the junction of your neck as Toshiro folds your legs to cradle his waist. 

“Can I speak plainly?” he requests, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs before scaling up your tummy to peel off your own sleepwear.

Jolting shoulders and arms up to make the disrobing easier, you nod rapidly, “Of course!”

Still, his eyes are closed to avoid catching sight of your potential horror or displeasure, “There are many things I want for us to do, but tonight I’d like to stay this way.”

“Look at me,” you pet through his hair, kissing the corners of his downturned mouth and the bunched skin between his eyebrows, “Won’t my husband look at me?”

Slowly, he heeds your command. Long lashes batting your thumb pad. He squeezes the round of your thighs circling his bare waist to strangle the urge to run. To flip himself over and let you do as you please. To not put himself out there and let you see him any less proper.

“I’ve been fond of you since we met,” you crane up to smooch his forehead, the heat from his face searing your lips. You rather like the sensation.

“So long?”

“How couldn’t I be? I like men shy and reserved, though I think I’d like you more if you could break out of your shell when we’re alone.”

Toshiro returns his face into your neck, hips snapping to impress his hardening cock against you. Breath hitching when he’s embraced by wetness, shoulders tensing -- so this is happening.

Loneliness plagued Toshiro his entire life, even following reconciliation with the Toudens -- it isn’t as though he lives in Melini, after all. Instead he’s occupying his father’s place in their family, on Wa. 

Your engagement was his only respite from the gnawing solitude, and now you’re dedicating yourself to sides of him you haven’t even seen yet.

His slow thrusts are stiff and mildly pleasant until you coo and snag fingers into the divot of his tailbone. Pushing his hips to roll into yours, black pubes brushing your clit and curling a real whimper from your lips. Toshiro stares down at you at the sound, fumbling a moment to snare your thighs tighter around him before eagerly repeating the motion.

Canting up to meet Toshiro’s efforts rewards you with a warm stretch and soft squelch as your hole adjusts around him. Huffy pants escape the man above you, chest dying red and hands bruising your hips. 

He’d never liked someone as much as he liked Falin, but he’s thinking -- even through delirium and heat and lust -- that maybe he could love you.

Pitching up on your elbows, you whine quietly into his cheek with more lavish kisses. Toshiro greedily turns his head to capture your lips with his, praying to drown his rhythm-less, virgin embarrassment in your saliva.

You don’t finish. You say you’re okay with that. Toshiro isn’t, it feels selfish.

“Please, let me…” his fingers skim over your stomach before dipping between your thighs and tracing the sloppy, soaked seam of your cunt, “I want to.”

“Do you insist?”

Toshiro feels unnaturally bold, swallowing around syrupy desire. He nods, “I do.”

.

.

.

days prior.

Hands swept tightly behind your back, you carefully observe the way a common copper beetle is ticking around the hanging tree leaves. Fascination blazes your eyes wide, and lips coiled upward.

Toshiro hadn’t meant to actually see you. He wasn’t even aware you were still on the premises, certain that having his fiance so close before their wedding night was some strain of scandal. 

Nonetheless, you’re here. And you’re admiring the fuzzy legs of a mere beetle.

As far as he was aware, people were not fond of beetles. Butterflies or moths, maybe. Not beetles. Hien would squish them instantly, and even Inutade tried maintaining distance. 

You smile upon the creature, paying no mind to the outside world.

Toshiro wonders if you could smile upon him that way, too.

~~~ yes toshiro starts liking you bc you’re admiring a bug that moment in the manga was so significant to his character and to me and ill be damned if i dont get to add onto it

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

I've been thinking a lot about expectations this week.

A number of years ago, when I was visiting my brother, he criticized me for not doing something that he expected me to do. It was a frustrating talk because he wasn't at all willing to hear my perspective. But what bothered me the most about it was when I said "you can just ask" and he said "I shouldn't have to".

I was doing everything culturally expected of a good guest, I didn't even know what his extra expectations were, and yet he felt entitled to be mad at me for not automatically knowing them, and not living up to them.

It can be so easy for us to let our expectations get ahead of us, to make assumptions based on our own perspectives, and to then feel let down.

And I feel like I'm seeing a lot of this kind of thing in people's experience with media these days. There seems to be a clash happening between expectations and reality. And people feeling genuinely upset when the reality is not what they wanted.

I'm seeing a lot of complaints and "critiques" that seem to fall in to the category of "this is not how I personally want this to go" or "this doesn't resonate with my personal experience".

To be clear, I'm not saying this in a pointing fingers kind of way, because I have 100% done it myself.

When the trailer for Cutie Pie first came out, I got so excited imagining Kuea as some bad boy living a double life. He was going to be so hard to tame, he was going to put Lian through the wringer, and it was going to be amazing.

What I got was something very different from what I expected, and I struggled with the show.

But it was a really valuable learning moment for me. Because everything in the trailer was in the series. It was my interpretation of it, of those few minutes out of hours of material, my assumptions about the moments not yet shown, that caused me frustration.

That was a turning point in my "let's see where the journey takes us" philosophy. And I have to say, engaging in QL has been a hell of a lot more fun since I learned to let go of what I thought should happen.

I still have critiques of shows, of course I do. Nothing is above criticism. But I don't get so personally affronted now when something doesn't do what I expect. I'm more willing to see where the destination takes us before I decide the journey isn't working.

Of course I am still human, and I still get caught off guard sometimes by expectations I didn't realize I had let slip in.

But I have found my experience immeasurably improved by considering a few things when I'm watching a series:

Am I leading with curiosity, or judgment?

What is happening here culturally? What assumptions am I making based on my own background and country of origin? What happens if I step back and look at the bigger picture of how this culture engages with media? Do I even know, or do I have more to learn?

Is this actually bad... or is it just not for me? Is this just not resonating with me? Is it making me uncomfortable? What can this discomfort tell me about myself? Is it a bad show, or just a show I need to walk away from?

Am I more focused on the story I want told, and not paying enough attention to the story that the creators of the series want to tell? What assumptions am I making about their intent?

Am I only focused on what the value is for me as an individual, and not considering how this may be making other people feel seen or be meeting their needs? Can I acknowledge that there can be inherent value in things that do not give value to me personally?

There is value in critique, but there is also importance in self-reflection and understanding why we are feeling the way that we are, and when our own setting of expectations may be playing a role.

It's funny that in some ways this seems to be a reflection of what a golden age of QL we are living in - there are so many options, and time is so scarce, that I can see why people are frustrated when they feel like a show is not living up to what they wanted.

But as someone who has lived multiple decades without this kind of media, and only relatively recently having been able to experience it...there is a lot more to be gained by reveling in what you are loving than over what you are hating.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

🎃 Kinktober 2024: Dream and Nightmare

Dream and Nightmare: Morpheus has always hidden a part of himself from you, and that stings. After an argument, Morpheus finally relents to revealing his darker counterpart: Nightmare.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material, Blood.

To Note: Nightmare!Dream x AFAB!Reader

Prompt: Monsterfucking

Word Count: ~7.1k

You stand in the middle of your shared bedroom within the dreaming, fists clenched. Moonlight streams through the window, casting a pale glow over the room. But the atmosphere is anything but serene. Morpheus stands before you, his expression inscrutable, eyes like distant stars in the void.

"You don't get it, do you?" Your voice trembles with frustration. "I want all of you, not just Dream."

Morpheus tilts his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. "I do not wish to frighten you."

You take a step closer, feeling the intensity of your emotions boiling over. "You think I'm so fragile? That I can't handle who you really are?"

His eyes shift from their usual blue to a deeper shade of silver. "It is not about fragility. It is about... protection."

"Protection?!" Your laugh comes out bitter and sharp. "From what? From you? If I can't have all of you, then what am I even doing here, Morpheus?"

Morpheus remains silent, but the tension in the room thickens like a storm cloud about to burst.

"I want to see Nightmare," you insist, voice breaking through the silence like a crack of thunder. "I want to know every part of you, even the part you're afraid to show."

His posture stiffens. "Nightmare is not meant to be shared in love. He is meant to be endured alone."

You shake your head, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "That's not how love works and you know it. Love means sharing everything—the good and the bad."

Morpheus takes a step back, his eyes now swirling with a mix of white and blue light. "And if Nightmare consumes you? If he becomes too much? I would never forgive myself, beloved. No."

You feel your anger rising like a tide within you, hot and unstoppable. "How dare you decide what I can or cannot handle?" you snap, your voice echoing off the dream-wrought walls of the bedroom. "You're not my keeper, Morpheus. You're my boyfriend and so it he!"

Morpheus's face is a mask of calm, but you can see the flicker of something—uncertainty? fear?—in his unearthly eyes. "I am the master of dreams, but I cannot dream of a world where you are safe from the darkest part of me."

"You think I'm scared of the dark?" You laugh darkly, your own eyes now shining with unshed tears. "I'm more scared of never truly knowing you. Of loving only half the being you are."

His voice is soft, yet it carries the weight of the universe. "To reveal him is to open a Pandora's box, it can never be closed. Once he has a taste, he will always desire more. I have starved him of you since the moment we met, do you think he will woo and romance you as I have?"

You stand there, your heart racing as the gravity of his words sinks in. Nightmare, the alter ego of Dream, has been starving for you. The revelation sends a quiver down your spine, and you realize the depth of the sacrifice Morpheus has made to protect you from this side of himself.

Morpheus watches you carefully, his eyes now a deep crimson. "I have kept him from you, thinking it was for the best. But in doing so, I may have inadvertently caused him to hunger for you even more."

You feel a surge of guilt, mingling with your determination. "I didn't know," you whisper, your voice hoarse with emotion. "I never wanted to cause him—or you—any pain."

A sigh escapes Morpheus, a sound that seems to carry the weight of eons. "Nightmare feeds on fear and darkness, aspects of the human condition that I have always sought to shield you from."

You take a step forward, reaching out to touch his hand, the skin cold yet yielding under your fingertips. "But by shielding me, you've also kept a part of yourself in the shadows. I want to understand, Morpheus. I want to be there for all of you."

Morpheus looks at you, and for a moment, you see the vulnerability he so rarely allows himself to show. "It is not a simple matter," he says softly. "To let Nightmare out, to let him meet you... There is no going back from that."

You nod, your resolve hardening like a carbon under pressure. "I'm not asking for simple. I'm asking for complete. For real. I love you, and that means both of you."

There's a pause, and then, almost imperceptibly, Morpheus nods. The room around you begins to shift and distort, the fabric of the Dreaming responding to his will. The air grows heavy, charged with an energy that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

The transformation is subtle at first—a darkening of his eyes, a sharpening of his features. But as you watch, Morpheus' form changes, growing taller, his skin taking on an even paler hue. His hair seems to absorb the surrounding darkness, becoming a void from which his silver blue eyes shine like twin beacons.

You can't help but stare as Nightmare emerges, a breathtaking and terrifying sight. His presence fills the room, an intensity that is both alluring and intimidating. You feel the pull of his nightmarish allure, a gravity that is impossible to resist.

You stand there, your breath caught in your throat as Nightmare steps forward. His gaze sweeps over you, an unreadable depth behind his silver eyes. The air around him  shimmers with dark power, and you can feel the weight of his presence—a gravity that is both terrifying and intoxicating.

He takes you in with a look of unadulterated reverence, a quiet awe washing over his features. The sight of you, in all your defiant beauty, seems to strike him like a revelation. You can see the disbelief flickering in his unearthly gaze, as if he's questioning whether you are truly standing there, real and tangible before him.

"You are more...  than everyone I have imagined," Nightmare finally speaks, his voice a low rumble that resonates in the pit of your stomach. His words, steeped in raw honesty, send a shiver down your spine. How could he speak so reverently about you when he didn’t even know you?

You can't help but drink in the sight of him—the tall, imposing figure with sharp, angular features, the way his hair floats about like gravity doesn't exist. His skin, almost translucent, seems to glow with an ethereal light. He is both familiar and alien, a being of nightmares, and you are captivated by the sheer intensity of hm.

Nightmare extends a hand, the fingers long and graceful, each one ending in a wicked sharp claw. He stops himself mid-gesture, as if the action of reaching out to you is foreign, a dance step he's forgotten in the solitude of his confinement.

You step forward, your own hand trembling slightly as you reach out to touch the being that is both a part of Morpheus and an entity unto himself. The air between you crackles with an energy that feels ancient and uncharted, a testament to the power that Nightmare holds within his grasp.

Your fingertips graze the underside of his outstretched palm, a shock of cold fire coursing through you at the contact. His skin is smooth, cool to the touch, and yet there's an undercurrent of warmth that seems to pulse beneath the surface, a contradiction that is as bewildering as it is enthralling.

Nightmare's reaction is instantaneous. His eyes widen, the silver irises flaring brightly as he feels the reality of your touch. A soft gasp escapes him, the sound somehow both delicate and powerful, resonating in the stillness of the room. His hand turns over, capturing yours in his grasp, and you can't help but marvel at the contrast between your skin—his pale and ethereal, yours warm and alive.

You look up at him, your breath hitching as you take in the intensity of his gaze. There's a hunger there, a yearning that is as primal as it is profound. He's been starved of touch, of connection, and now that he has you within his reach, he is ravenous for more.

"You are here," Nightmare murmurs, his voice a low, sultry whisper that wraps around you like a velvet cloak. "Real and brave and more beautiful than I have ever imagined."

You respond to Nightmare's awe-struck words with a husky whisper of your own, "And you, Nightmare, are the epitome of dark beauty."

Nightmare's silver eyes flare at your acknowledgment, a visual manifestation of the longing he's suppressed for eons. The air around him vibrates with an energy so potent it's almost tangible, an electric current that courses between you.

He steps forward, reducing the space that separates you into a mere sliver of the Dreaming's ever-changing landscape. His movements are fluid, his form towering over you, yet there's a gentleness in his approach that lurks beneath his fearsome visage.

With exaggerated care, Nightmare extends his other hand, his claws catching the scant moonlight, their sharpness juxtaposed against the tenderness of his touch. His fingers graze the fabric of your clothing, the tips of his claws teasing the exposed skin of your collarbone with a lightness that seems almost reverent.

You can't suppress the shiver that races down your spine as Nightmare traces the contour of your shoulder, the sensation both alien and utterly intoxicating. There's a delicacy to his actions that speaks of his restraint, a thin veneer of control barely concealing the raw power beneath.

He runs the pads of his fingers over the pulse point at your wrist, marveling at the steady, rhythmic throb of your heartbeat—proof of your vitality and the very thing he hungers for. The cold fire of his touch contrasts with the warmth radiating from within you, a yin and yang of sensation that makes your breath catch in your throat.

Emboldened by your responses, Nightmare leans in, his hair, a shifting mass of shadow and starlight, brushing against your cheek. His breath is cool against your skin as he whispers, "To touch you, to be this close... it's more than I've ever dared to dream."

"Can Nightmares dream?" You whisper in questions as his lips ghost over your jawline, you tilt your head back, giving him access to the hollow of your throat. Nightmare's touch travels lower, his claws lightly scoring the fabric of your shirt, tracing patterns of fire and ice as he explores the plane of your chest.

"Our longing echos those of our softer kin," he responds against your throat, Nightmare practically shuddering at the flutter of your heartbeat beneath your tender flesh. Then he beings to kiss your skin.

You feel the cool brush of Nightmare's lips against your jawline, a stark contrast to the warmth of your own skin. His kisses are hungry, desperate, as if he's been waiting an eternity to taste the forbidden fruit of your affection. Each kiss sends a jolt of electricity through you, a sensation that is both thrilling and slightly terrifying.

Nightmare's arms wrap around you, pulling your body flush against his. You can feel the firmness of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen pressing into you. His touch is dominant, an assertion of his power and desire, yet there's a gentleness to it, a reverence that speaks of his deep-seated need to cherish you.

His hands roam over your back, his claws retracted so as not to harm you. The pads of his fingers trace the contours of your spine, sending shivers up and down your body. You can feel the coiled strength in him, the raw power that he keeps in check for your sake.

Nightmare's lips travel from your throat to the sensitive spot just below your ear. He nips at the skin there, eliciting a gasp from you. His forked tongue darts out, tasting your reaction, savoring the saltiness of your skin. You twitch in his grasp and emit a soft moan.

"You are exquisite," he murmurs, his voice a low growl that resonates with the promise of untold pleasures. "Each curve and line of your form is a marvel to witness."

His hands move to your hips, gripping them firmly as he grinds against you. You can feel the evidence of his arousal, a hard length that is both intimidating and enticing. His cock is large, matching his size, but it also feels by no means, smooth. You can feel bumps and ridges, a phallic shape but nowhere near the shape of any cock you've ever had.

Nightmare's hands move with a slow deliberation that sends waves of anticipation coursing through you. His claws gently slice through the fabric of your clothes; the delicate sound of tearing material fills the room, mingling with the soft rasp of your breath. You feel the cool caress of the air as your clothing falls away, leaving you in the intimacy of your underwear.

His silver gaze never leaves yours as he takes a step back, his eyes roaming over your nearly exposed body with an intensity that makes your skin tingle and your heart pound in your chest. You are on display for him, vulnerable and eager, and the way he looks at you—like you are the most precious and desired being in all of existence—makes you feel a surge of ecstasy. All of Morpheus adores you.

He leans in, his forked tongue darting out to trace the contours of your lips, a sensation both alien and erotic. The dual points of his tongue tease your mouth open, and as he deepens the kiss, you find yourself lost in the intoxicating sensation of his claim.

His kisses are a revelation, a symphony of new sensations that leave you gasping for breath. His tongue explores your mouth with a skillful precision, each flick and stroke sending shivers down your spine. You can't help but respond, your own tongue meeting his in a passionate dance that leaves you panting and desperate for more.

Nightmare's hands roam over your body, his touch both dominant and reverent. His claws graze the skin of your back, leaving trails of heat in their wake. He cups your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra, his fingers teasing your nipples into hard peaks. The sensation is maddening, a mix of pain and pleasure that makes you arch into his touch, seeking more.

With a swift, sure movement, Nightmare releases the clasp of your bra, freeing your breasts to his hungry gaze. His hands cup the weight of them, his thumbs circling your nipples as he breaks the kiss to trail his lips down the column of your throat. He takes one taut peak into his mouth, his forked tongue flicking against the sensitive bud as he sucks and nips at it.

A moan escapes you, the sound echoing off the walls of the Dreaming, as Nightmare continues his exploration. His hands move lower, his claws slicing through the fabric of your underwear with ease. The remnants of your clothing pool at your feet, leaving you completely bare before him.

The sensation of his body against yours, coupled with the eroticism of his forked tongue winding itself against your breast, sends you spiraling towards the edge of ecstasy. You feel as though you are falling into the depths of his gaze, a never-ending abyss of dark desire that threatens to consume you whole.

Nightmare's smirk is a promise of wicked things to come. Effortlessly, he lifts you, cradling your body against his as he carries you across the room to the bed that materializes beneath the moonlight streaming in through an ethereal window. The sheets are cool and soft against your skin as he sets you down, your body sinking into the plushness with a sigh.

His gaze rakes over you, a hunger flaring in his silver eyes as they trace the contours of your body spread out before him. You are wanton and willing, your lips parted, chest heaving as your breath comes in short, rapid bursts. The sight of you, stretched out and ready for him, makes a low growl rumble in his chest—a sound that sends electricity coursing through your veins.

Before you can even begin to comprehend his intentions, shadows begin to coil around your wrists and ankles. They are cold and insubstantial, yet unyielding as they pull your limbs taut, spreading you eagle on the bed. You are immobilized, completely at Nightmare's mercy, and the realization sends a jolt of arousal straight to your cunt.

He towers over you, his form silhouetted against the moonlight, casting you in his shadow. You squirm against the shadows holding you down, testing their strength, but they hold fast. Nightmare chuckles, the sound dark and delicious, as he watches your attempts to free yourself.

"You are mine now," he purrs, his voice wrapping around you like a velvet caress. "Every millimeter of your delectable body is for me to explore, to savor."

He begins his descent, his hands skimming over your body with a reverence that only just keeps his dominance at bay. His touch is a contrast of sensations—cool and firm, yet somehow gentle. His claws carefully trace intricate patterns over your skin, mapping every centimeter of you, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Your breath hitches as Nightmare's claws trace a delicate path along the curve of your hip, the sharp tips threatening to break the skin but never quite doing so. He is in complete control, a master of both pleasure and pain, and the anticipation of what he might do is both fearful and arousing.

He leans over you, his hair a halo of darkness against the ethereal glow of the moonlight. His silver eyes are fixed on your face, watching your reactions as he explores your body.

His hands move to your breasts, his claws teasing the sensitive skin of your areolas. You can't help but arch into his touch, seeking more of the exquisite torture he so effortlessly provides. A whimper escaped your lips. Nightmare chuckles, the sound low and throaty, as he watches you squirm beneath him.

"So responsive," he murmurs, his voice a seductive whisper that seems to caress every bit of your exposed skin. "I wonder how much you can take before you shatter beneath me."

He lowers his head, his forked tongue darting out to lap at one taut nipple while his fingers continue to play with the other. The dual sensations are almost too much to bear, and you find yourself tugging at the shadows that hold you fast, desperate for something to hold.

Nightmare's lips close around your nipple, suckling deeply as his hand travels lower, his claws skimming over the soft swell of your stomach.

His mouth is a storm of sensation, a whirlwind of pleasure and pain that leaves you gasping for breath. Nightmare's forked tongue flicks and teases your nipple, each stroke sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. You can feel your body responding to his touch, your hips bucking in a silent plea for more.

"Please," you beg, the word slipping from your lips before you can stop it. Nightmare's silver eyes flick up to meet yours, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he hears your plea.

"Patience, my sweet," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through your very soul. "We have all the time in the night."

His claws trace a delicate path along the curve of your breast, the sharp tips leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You feel a momentary pressure as he digs them in ever so slightly, just enough to draw the thinnest lines of blood to the surface. The pain is sharp and sudden, but it quickly gives way to a pleasure so intense it borders on euphoria.

You tug on the shadows that bind you, your body arching off the bed as you seek to bridge the gap between you and Nightmare. But the shadows hold fast, a reminder of your helplessness and his dominance. He watches you struggle with a predatory gaze, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction at the sight of your surrender.

"You are mine," he growls, the sound reverberating through your body. "Every part of you belongs to me."

His claws continue their exploration, tracing patterns of ownership over your skin. Each red line he draws into your flesh is a testament to his claim, a brand that marks you as his and his alone. The pain is exquisite, a stark contrast to the gentle caress of his tongue as he laps at the blood welling up from the shallow cuts.

You can feel your body spiraling towards the edge of release, each touch, each kiss, each bite pushing you closer and closer to the brink. Nightmare's hand moves lower, his claws skimming over the soft mound of your stomach before delving between your legs.

His fingers tease your entrance, the sharp tips just barely breaching you. You can feel yourself clenching around him, desperate for the fullness that only he can provide. But he denies you, pulling back just when you think you can't take any more.

"Nightmare," you gasp, your voice a mixture of frustration and need. He chuckles, the sound dark and delicious, as he watches you squirm beneath him.

"Yes, my sweet?" he asks, his tone mockingly innocent. "What is it that you want?"

You can't form the words, your mind too clouded with desire to articulate your needs. Instead, you respond with your body, your hips rising to meet his hand in a silent plea for more.

Nightmare's smirk widens, his silver eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "So eager," he purrs, his fingers finally pushing inside you. "So responsive."

His touch is a revelation, a symphony of sensations that leaves you gasping for breath. His claws are careful not to harm you, but the threat of pain only serves to heighten your pleasure. You can feel your body tightening around him, the walls of your cunt clenching as he explores your most intimate places.

His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with a precision that leaves you breathless. Each stroke sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, a relentless onslaught that threatens to overwhelm your senses.

"Come for me," Nightmare commands, his voice a low growl that seems to echo through the very fabric of the Dreaming. "Let me see you fall apart."

And with those words, you shatter, your body convulsing as the most intense orgasm of your life rips through you. Your vision whites out, the world narrowing down to the feel of Nightmare's fingers inside you, his mouth on your breasts, the sting of your flesh from his cuts, his dominance over your body and soul.

As the waves of pleasure begin to ebb, you find yourself panting for breath, your body slick with sweat and blood, marked with the evidence of Nightmare's claim.

"He said I wasn't prepared for you," you pant, your legs and arms still trembling from your orgasm the lingering chill of his mouth and touch. Nightmare smirks, his silver eyes gleaming with an unholy light.

"I've only just begun," he promises, his voice a low rumble that sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins.

He draws his claws down your stomach, the sharp tips just barely grazing your skin. You shiver at the sensation, a mixture of fear and anticipation, knowing that he could easily tear you apart but choosing to tease you instead. His touch is a stark reminder of his power, of the control he holds over your body and your pleasure.

His hand moves lower, his claws skimming over the soft curls at the apex of your thighs before cupping your cunt possessively. "This," he growls, his grip tightening just enough to make you gasp, "belongs to me."

You can feel your body responding to his claim, your hips arching off the bed in a silent plea for more. Nightmare chuckles, the sound dark and delicious, as he watches your reactions with a predatory gaze.

"And to Dream," he adds, his tone almost reverent as he trails the point of his claw to the sensitive skin of your hip.

You grit your teeth when Nightmare's claws press into your hip, the sharp sting of his cuts mingling with the aching throb of your recent release. This cut is far deeper than the rest. His movements are precise, almost ritualistic, as he carves the sigil of the Dream and Nightmare—their sigils interwined—into your flesh.

Tears well up in your eyes, spilling over and tracing hot paths down your temples. You bite down on your lower lip to stifle the whimpers that threaten to escape, the coppery taste of blood mingling with the salty tang of your tears. The pain is intense, a burning reminder of Nightmare's dominance over your body and soul. You can even feel the rivets of blood sliding down your hip!

With each carefully controlled cut, the twin bonds of pain and pleasure twists together, intertwining until they are inseparable. It's a sensation that is utterly terrifying.

Nightmare's silver eyes are focused on his task, the glow in their depths the only indication of his satisfaction. His cock—that alien, textured appendage—stands erect, a visible sign of his arousal. The sight of it, coupled with the feel of his claws etching his claim into your skin, sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins, despite the pain.

Finally, Nightmare pulls back, his claws releasing the grip they have on your hip. You let out a soft whimper, your body quivering with a mixture of relief and lingering pain. The sigil on your hip pulses with a strange, ethereal glow, the stardust imbued in the wound shimmering like a constellation of pain and pleasure.

Nightmare admires his handiwork, his thumb brushing over the sigil with a rare moment of gentleness. The touch is almost reverent, a stark contrast to the pain he has just inflicted. Each pass of his thumb sends jolts of sensation coursing through you, a reminder of the mark he has left upon your flesh—a mark that will never fade. A mark in your soul.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his voice a low purr. "You bear our sigils with grace, my sweet."

Nightmare leans down, his tongue flicking out to taste the sigil he's carved into your body. The rasp of his tongue against your sensitive skin sends shivers of sensation through you, the pain of the fresh wounds mingling with the warmth of his mouth. He moves upwards, his lips trailing a path of fire and ice as he licks away the tears that have escaped from the corners of your eyes. The taste of salt is a delicacy he savors, a flavor that seems to heighten his need for you.

His silver eyes gleam with a hunger that goes beyond the physical. "The salt of your blood and tears is delicious," he murmurs, his voice a low growl that resonates deep within your cunt. "I wonder if you will taste as sweet between your legs."

Before you can fully process his words, Nightmare descends upon you, his mouth claiming your cunt with a voracity that leaves you gasping for breath. His forked tongue parts your folds, delving into your depths with a precision that speaks of his intimate knowledge of your body. The unique texture of his tongue strokes along your inner walls, the twin points of it flicking and fluttering against your g-spot with an expertise that sends you spiraling towards the brink of ecstasy.

The oscillation of his tongue is relentless, a rhythmic dance that has you writhing and crying out beneath him. Your body thrashes against the shadows that hold you fast, the restraints only serving to heighten the intensity of the sensations coursing through you. Each stroke of his tongue, each nip of his teeth, each moan that vibrates against your sensitive flesh drives you closer to the edge of release.

Your body now trembles violently beneath Nightmare's touch, every nerve ending alight with sensation as he expertly manipulates your flesh. His claws graze your skin, tracing patterns of ownership that send shivers of pleasure mixed with a hint of pain coursing through your veins. You can feel the sigil he carved into your hip pulsing in time with your racing heart like a brand.

Nightmare's silver eyes gleam with a hunger that seems insatiable as he gazes up at you, his forked tongue darting out to lick his lips in anticipation. "You're mine," he growls, his voice a low rumble that you can feel against the lips of your cunt. "Every part of you belongs to me, for eternity.”

His mouth descends upon your cunt once more, his tongue delving into your depths with a relentless need that leaves you crying out and twisting against your bonds. You can feel your climax building, a pressure that grows more intense with each passing second. Your legs shake violently against his shoulders, the muscles quivering with the effort of holding back the tide of pleasure that threatens to overwhelm you. But Nightmare's strong hands hold your hips in place, his claws digging into your flesh as he feasts upon your cunt with an insatiable hunger.

His name escapes your lips in a desperate plea, the sound barely more than a whisper as your body convulses beneath him. "Nightmare, please," you beg, not entirely sure if you're asking for mercy or for him to push you over the edge.

He chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh and sending a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins. "Come for me, my sweet," he commands, his voice a low growl that brooks no argument. "Let me taste your pleasure."

And with those words, you shatter, your body convulsing as the most intense orgasm of your life rips through you. Your vision whites out once more, the room narrowing down to the feel of Nightmare's tongue inside you, his mouth pressed against your cunt as he laps up your release. The pleasure is almost too much to bear, a relentless tide that washes over you and leaves you gasping for breath.

Your legs continue to shake violently long after the last wave of your orgasm has subsided, the aftershocks rippling through your body as Nightmare slowly pulls away. So you lay there, spent and trembling, as Nightmare gazes down at you with a look of fierce possession. His cock, an imposing display of twisted lines and bumps, stands erect, pulsing with an otherworldly need. You can't help but feel a twinge of apprehension at the sight of it; it's unlike anything you've ever seen, much less experienced. You don't think he'll fit.

Nightmare sees the hesitation in your eyes and leans down, his silver gaze capturing yours as he whispers, "You are made for me, my sweet. Every inch of you was designed to accommodate both Dream and I.”

His words, combined with the gentleness of his tone, ease your fears. You nod, a silent acquiescence to his claim over your body. Nightmare's lips curl into a satisfied smile as he positions himself between your legs, the broad head of his cock nudging against your entrance.

He begins to push forward, the strange texture of his cock grazing your delicate skin as your body slowly yields to his intrusion. A burning sting emerges as your body struggles to stretch to accommodate his girth. A trickle of warmth—blood—mingles with the wetness between your legs. You grunt out a whimper, your lip trembling and fingers grasping at the shadows still grasping your wrists.

Nightmare stills, allowing you to adjust to the sensation of being filled beyond what you thought possible. His cock throbs inside you, a living thing that seems to pulse in time with your racing heart. You can feel every ridge, every bump as he remains buried to the hilt, rubbing against your inner walls in ways that leave you breathless. It moves on it's own within your walls still struggling to stretch.

Then, with a tenderness unexpected from his monstrous form, Nightmare leans down to capture your lips in a deep, searing kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his cock as he claims you completely, body and soul.

As Nightmare's lips claim yours in a possessive kiss, you feel his cock throb deep inside you, rubbing against hypersensitive walls painfully. You whine into the kiss, your body shuddering with the intensity of the sensations coursing through you. His tongue dances with yours, a wicked prelude to the savage rhythm he's about to unleash upon your quivering cunt.

With a sharp intake of breath, Nightmare pulls back from the kiss, his silver eyes gleaming with a feral hunger as they lock onto yours. His hands, with their lethal claws, move to your throat, encircling it in a possessive grip that sends a ripple of fear and excitement coursing through your veins. His touch is firm yet gentle, a reminder of his dominance and the control he wields over your body.

Nightmare begins to move, his hips drawing back before slamming forward with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. His cock, an otherworldly creation of textures and ridges, rubs against your inner walls, stimulating every nerve ending in a symphony of pleasure and pain. The sigil he carved into your flesh pulses with a cosmic light, the glow intensifying with each powerful thrust.

You can feel yourself being driven towards the edge of another orgasm, the pressure building deep within your core. Your moans grow louder, more desperate, as Nightmare pounds into you with a relentless fervor. His claws tighten around your throat, not enough to restrict your airflow, but enough to heighten the sensation of being utterly and completely at his mercy.

As Nightmare's pace increases, the room around you begins to blur, your focus narrowing down to the feel of his cock impaling you, the sigil that marks you as his, and the hands that hold your life in their grip. You are lost in a haze of pleasure, each stroke of his cock pushing you closer and closer to the abyss.

Your body convulses beneath him as the orgasm crashes over you, a tidal wave of ecstasy that overwhelms your senses and leaves you gasping for air. The sigil on your hip flares with a blinding light, the cosmic energy pulsing in time with the spasms of your cunt as it clamps down around Nightmare's throbbing cock.

With a final, brutal thrust, Nightmare reaches his own climax, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he fills you with his seed. You can feel the warmth of his release spreading through you, a brand that seals your bond to the creatures of the night and dreams.

As the waves of pleasure begin to ebb, you find yourself falling into the abyss, your body going limp as unconsciousness claims you. The last thing you hear before the darkness takes you is Nightmare's deep, satisfied chuckle echoing through the shadowy expanse of the Dreaming.

You awaken with a start, the remnants of a dream—no, a nightmare—fading from your consciousness like mist in the morning sun. Your body aches in places you didn't know could ache, each movement sending jolts of pain coursing through your veins. You wince as you try to shift in the bed, the sheets rubbing against your sensitive skin like sandpaper.

Morpheus is there, his ethereal form hovering over you with an air of concern etched into his stark, pale features. His silver eyes search yours, a frown marring his perfect face. "Tell me you are well, beloved," he implores, his voice a low, soothing melody that does little to ease the discomfort radiating from your core.

With a Herculean effort, you try to sit up, only to cry out as a searing pain shoots from your hip, radiating outwards in waves of agony. Your cry pierces the quiet of the room, a stark contrast to the soft, mournful melody of the wind outside your window.

Morpheus reacts instantly, his eyes widening in alarm as he reaches for the covers that blanket your form. With a swift, almost violent motion, he rips them away, the fabric tearing under his urgency. His gaze roams over your body, searching for the source of your pain.

"Where?" he demands, his voice harsh with worry. "Where does it hurt, my beloved?"

With trembling hands, you grasp the hem of your sleep shirt, dragging it upward to reveal the thin cuts across your breasts and stomach, and the sigil that now marks your skin. The sigil—a complex intertwining of symbols that represent both Dream and Nightmare—shimmers with an otherworldly glow, the stardust imbued in the wound making it appear as if a miniature galaxy resides within your flesh.

The sight of it seems to take Morpheus' breath away. He reaches out, his fingers hovering just above the sigil, as if afraid to touch it. "By the stars," he whispers, his voice filled with awe and a hint of regret. "You bear our marks with more courage than I could have hoped for."

You can't help but wince as the pain from your hip radiates upwards, a stark reminder of the night's events. Morpheus' gaze snaps to yours, concern etched deeply into his features. "Forgive," he murmurs in devastation, his hand finally making contact with your skin. His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the rough handling you received at the hands of his nightmare counterpart. "I told you he can't hold himself back yet I still allowed him to cause such pain upon your body."

As Morpheus hovers over you, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and regret, you reach out and gently grasp his hand, the one that hovers so tentatively over the sigil that now marks your flesh. His touch is cool against your fevered flesh, a soothing cold to the ache that throbs deep within your hip.

"Morpheus," you whisper, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. His gaze snaps to yours, the silver depths of his eyes reflecting the worry that etches lines into his otherwise perfect face. "I need you to listen to me."

He nods, the motion jerky and uncertain. "Of course, beloved. Always."

You take a deep breath, wincing slightly as the movement sends a fresh wave of pain radiating from your body. "I need you to understand that I love you," you say, the words steady and sure. "All of you. Dream and Nightmare, every facet of your being."

Morpheus' eyes widen, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features before he schools his expression into one of stoic neutrality. "But the pain, the marks he left upon you—"

You huff at him with a smirk, the sound sharp in the quiet of the room. "You assume I wasn't into it, Morpheus," you say, your voice firm despite the discomfort that still lingers in your body. His silver eyes search yours, the gears in his mind visibly turning as he processes your words.

Understanding dawns in his gaze, the realization that you welcomed Nightmare's attentions just as much as you welcomed his own. A flicker of Nightmare manifests ever so briefly in Morpheus' eyes, a smugness that mirrors the satisfaction coursing through your veins. You see the corners of his mouth twitch upward in the ghost of a smile, an acknowledgment of the complex desires that you share.

"I see," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that resonates deep within your soul. "It appears I still have much to learn about you, my beloved." His hand traces the contours of the sigil on your hip, the touch tender yet filled with a raw possessiveness that sends a shiver of delight down your spine.

You wince as the motion sends a jolt of pain through your body, a stark reminder of the intensity of the night's events. Morpheus immediately withdraws his hand, his eyes darkening with concern. "I must attend to your wounds," he says, his tone now one of determination.

Morpheus leans down, his silver gaze fixed upon the sigil that now marks your skin. His lips part as he lowers his mouth to the wound. The moment his lips make contact with your flesh, a searing heat rushes through your body, followed by a wave of soothing coolness that washes away the raw, throbbing pain.

You feel the tension in your muscles ease as the intensity of the sigil's ache lessens under his ministrations. His tongue flicks out, tracing the intricate patterns of the symbol with a reverence that borders on worship. The sensation sends a shiver of pleasure coursing through your veins and causes a soft moan to slip from your lips, a stark contrast to the pain that once resided there.

With each passing second, the sigil's glow diminishes until it's nothing more than a faint shimmer beneath your skin. The pain is now a mere memory, replaced by a dull ache that serves as a constant reminder of the night's events and the claim that has been laid upon your body.

Morpheus pulls away, his silver eyes reflecting the satisfaction of a job well done. He gazes down at you, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Better?" he asks, his voice a low, soothing melody that resonates deep within your core.

You nod, your body relaxing into the mattress as the last of the pain fades away. "Much," you reply, your voice barely more than a whisper. The relief is palpable, a tangible force that fills the room and eases the worry lines that etched themselves into Morpheus' perfect face.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gentle caress. "Rest now," he commands softly, the power of his voice wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. "You've been through much this night, and your body needs time to heal."

As Morpheus' words wash over you, a wave of exhaustion crashes over your senses, pulling you back towards the sweet embrace of sleep. Your eyes flutter closed, the events of the night fading into the background as unconsciousness claims you once more.

The last thing you feel before the darkness takes you is the soft touch of Morpheus' lips against your forehead, a tender gesture that fills your heart with warmth. "Sleep well, my beloved," he murmurs, his voice a mere whisper in the stillness of the room. "Dream of us."

"That's the plan," you murmur at him as your conscious is pulled back to the Dreaming.

Date Published: 10/31/24

Last Edit: 10/31/24

Morpheus Masterlist

Kinktober 2024

[clairehood]

𝐃𝐨 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬?

♡ Reader has a bad day at work, good that her boyfriend's always there for her.

Warnings: None, I think.

The day had been long and exhausting. When I finally crossed the door of our apartment, the weight of the problems seemed to have materialized in every corner of the place. The soft sunset light filtered through the curtains, but I could barely appreciate the beauty around me. All I could feel was the accumulated frustration and tiredness. My hands trembled slightly as I let the bag fall to the floor and allowed myself a moment of weakness. Tears began to slide down my face, and I wondered how I had let everything get to this point.

Lando’s sight, already there waiting for me, brought a mixture of relief and pain. He was sitting on the couch, immersed in his thoughts, but as soon as he saw me, his gaze lit up with genuine concern. I raised my hand to clean my face, but he got up quickly, crossing the distance between us in seconds.

“Do I look like a mess?” I asked, the voice and the dry laughter. I knew the answer was stamped in my expression, but I wanted to hear it.

He nodded, the smile on the corner of his lips almost playful, but his eyes conveyed a sincerity that made me feel a little better. “But you’re my mess,” he whispered, his voice soft and protective.

A wave of comfort invaded my chest. No matter how dismeassed I felt, the way he looked at me made everything seem less heavy. Lando always knew how to find the light in my shadows. He pulled me close, his arms wrapping me in a firm and warm hug. I felt his breath in my hair, a comforting sound that seemed to push away the dark clouds that surrounded me.

“Just breathe,” he said, his voice reassuring. “I’m here. Let’s solve this together.”

I allowed his warmth to involve me, and for a moment, the worries of the world outside seemed distant. As I settled in his arms, I realized that, even in the midst of chaos, he was my safe haven. The mess I was seemed more acceptable next to him, and in his gaze, I found a silent promise that everything would be fine.

Lando began to play with my hair, his fingers moving delicately between the locks, and I let out a deep sigh. No matter what happened, he would always be by my side, ready to remind me that, even in my worst hours, I was still the person he chose to love.

[lostyesterday]

As a visually disabled person myself, one thing I wish TNG had done with Geordi is show his disability actually affecting how he functions in his daily life. For example, I can’t remember a single time in TNG where Geordi is shown as needing accommodations in his work environment. You might say that’s because his visor means that he can basically “see” normally and so he wouldn’t need accommodations, but I find this explanation frustrating.

For one thing, real life visually disabled people absolutely require accommodations to do most jobs, so if Geordi’s meant to be any kind of accurate reflection of the experiences of blind people, he should require some accommodations. For me at least, it isn’t some kind of wish fulfillment fantasy to see a visually disabled character who can do anything a sighted person can with no accommodations whatsoever. Instead, it feels like a denial of everything that being disabled has meant to me over my life. Disabled people are disabled. We have more difficulty doing certain tasks than an able-bodied person would – that’s what makes us disabled. We require changes to our environment in order to function well.

Also, literally just based on the in-universe information given about Geordi’s visor, it doesn’t make any sense to me that he wouldn’t require accommodations. Geordi’s visor is not really described as simulating vision, it is described as providing completely different sensory information about the physical properties of the world around him. I like to imagine the visor’s input as a kind of enhanced spatial awareness with a precise knowledge of where certain objects are, what their shape is, and what they’re made of. As TNG mentions several times, Geordi’s visor provides much more information than human eyes do, but, importantly, in the few episodes where the details of how Geordi’s visor works are discussed at all, it’s never described as providing purely visual information such as the color or reflectiveness of an object. I think that if Geordi faces a mirror, his visor will tell him there’s a piece of glass in front of him and he’ll know about how large it is and what material it’s made of, but he won’t be able to see his reflection in it, because the visor doesn’t provide that kind of visual information. This distinction is important to me, because it means that Geordi is still functionally blind with the visor, and it should mean that he interacts with the world differently from a sighted person.

For example, I would have loved if Geordi had been shown to be unable to recognize particular people until they spoke. All his visor tells him is that there’s a person in front of him and about what size and shape they are, but this isn’t generally enough information to determine a person’s identity. He canonically perceives Data as looking very different from an organic person which makes sense because Data is made of fully different material. And maybe Geordi can generally tell different species apart based on different body temperatures or something like that. But I really wish that Geordi had been shown at least a few times to need the sound of a person’s voice or some other cue to tell him who they were.

I also think it doesn’t make sense that Geordi can apparently read text on computer screens. How can he read if the visor doesn’t really provide visual information? A computer screen should just register as a flat piece of material. Geordi should have required some kind of accommodation to be able to use the computer screens. For example, maybe Geordi could use the computer entirely through voice commands, something that obviously already exists in the star trek world. Or he could use some kind of tactile display. The Voyager episode The Year of Hell shows that computer terminals on starships are able to utilize a tactile display that I’m guessing is somewhat similar to braille. I loved this mention in Voyager of tactile displays, because it indicates that Starfleet ships are probably automatically equipped with such accessibility devices. Geordi needing an accommodation as small as this would have gone really far in terms of making him feel like a genuine representation of a disabled character, at least to me.

[transformation4life]

Cop Out

"Put your hands where I can see them!" A Cop got out of his police car to apprehend the vigilante spray painting a public building

Officer Harold had been on the police force for almost 20 years now and has been through all the hate Cops have been given over the years from being called a pig, to the protests, and all the mockery and slander. To him he didn't understand he was just trying to help people!

"Alright PIG, I'll stop," The vigilante Maxwell snarled back.

Harold sighed. Another day of being called a pig. Without much thought he grabbed his cuffs to detain Maxwell and send him to the station.

"Just so you know PIG. You may catch me now but I WILL be back!!!!!" Harold stopped in his tracks as Maxwell spoke again.

"Alright that's it Mister. I'm DONE with people like you. I've been on the force for years!!!! You will NEVER understand what we have to go through. We serve this country and we get treated like shit!! I just wish you would understand. Be in the shoes of someone on the force and then we'll see how you feel!" Harold blurted his frustration out at Maxwell which probably wasn't the best idea but he was his limit.

Maxwell couldn't care less but when he tried to open his mouth to speak more insults he found himself unable to speak. Not to mention something felt odd to him. Like he felt like he should respect Officer Harold despite all his earlier statements.

"O-Okay, sir..." Maxwell spoke in a meek tone.

Harold was a bit surprised to hear Maxwell suddenly respect him, but he appreciated the sudden niceness.

"Alright, I'll let you be just this once! Don't get in the way of another officer like myself and you'll be good in my book," Harold put his cuffs away and bids Maxwell farewell.

Maxwell waves goodbye and for some reason... he wanted to see the officer again. It was against all his bashing of police over the years and he knows it and yet... he yearns for it. He walked home to his meager apartment to sleep it off.

Maxwell woke up groggy as he stumbled his way to his dingy bathroom feeling like an entire weight dropped on him. Making his way to the mirror he looked like his usual self. Blond hair, brown eyes, skinny frame.. He remembered his encounter with Officer Harold and the strange feeling Maxwell got after Harold spoke his heart out. He longed to see him again, someway somehow.

"I wish I could see him again..." Maxwell said without thinking.

Suddenly Maxwell's phone began to rang loudly in his pocket. As a vigilante he always answered calls without question so he picked up the phone.

"Who is this?"

"Hello... Maxwell." a enchanting voice called to Maxwell immediately putting him in a trance that made him not want to hang up.

"Listen to me very carefully..."

"What are you doing?? How do you know my name??"

"You're a strong bodybuilder that's been working out for YEARS,"

"But I'm not-"

"You're a strong bodybuilder that's been working out for YEARS,"

"I'm a strong bodybuilder that's been working out for years," As soon as the words left his mouth Maxwell's body began to grow to fit his new lifestyle. Large pecs, massive shoulders, huge back, killer biceps that would make gods jealous with strong visible veins, a sexy set of abs, thick neck with a prominent adam's apple, and his crowning feature of thick beautiful thighs. His clothes melted away leaving him in his just his underwear as he remembered his years pumping iron and winning competitions. It was all Maxwell cared about.

Maxwell broke from his trance to give a quick bicep flex before the voice lured him back.

"You've been a cop for 10 years and LOVE your job."

"That's preposterous!! Bodybuilding is my only calling and not to mention those pigs-"

"You've been a cop for 10 years and LOVE your job."

"I've been a cop for 10 years and love my job." Years of bodybuilding now mixed with years in police training and Dean proudly showing his badge to any criminals that dared to cross him.

Black pants materialized onto his frame along with an accompanying black belt and black police boots with black socks that wrapped around his big feet. The belt was slowly being equipped with police gear one by one. Handcuffs, knifes, guns, and other miscellaneous things. All the things a cop like himself needs.

Maxwell was getting for work at the moment before this mysterious man called him. He does know he could get him arrested in seconds right? Oh well might as well toy with the fellow at least that's what Maxwell rationalized.

"Of course I'm an officer. Been one for ten years and I of course love doing my part, even the naysayers doubt my squad!"

"That's right Maxwell, oh sorry... Max,"

"Do you know who you're talking to? My name is Maxwell! Always have been always will-"

"Your name is Max Schmidt,"

"My name is Max Schmidt," Max loved his name. Fit his manly exterior and manly interior.

"So what do you want with me? Are you one of those ACAB folks? Trying to make me slip?

"No sir, I only want what's best for the force! And you... Now check yourself out..."

"That's inappropriate behavior unbefitting of an officer! What is your name so I can call the stati-"

"Open the camera app and check yourself out NOW," Max immediately took the phone off his ear and opened the camera app. He immediately zoomed in on his chest and abs and then felt those great abs of his.

While this was happening a black police shirt wrapped around Max's large frame as his hair darkened into a light black and his eyes became darker becoming a black color. Max's hair become more put together and more uniform fit for a police officer. A somewhat expensive white watch appeared on his left arm that he always wore. Max still wanted to obey the caller's comand so he used his hand to lift the new shirt to reveal his abs.

Underneath the tight pants Max's newly enlarged cock was having a hard-on.

"Good... Good... Now how do you love?" Max stopped checking himself out in order to respond.

"Haha! You really think I'd tell some criminal that! I don't have my eyes on anyone! Just hard work as police and muscle!

"That's not right, what about your loving husband... Harold?"

"Harold? My superior? Nah we're just good friends! I respect him a great deal but I'm straight as an arrow! No way I would ever marry a ma-"

"You're married to Harold Schmidt your loving husband,"

"I'm married to Harold Schmidt my loving husband," Max remembers the wedding well. Everyone in the force was there cheering them on as they kissed under the altar. Not to mention what they do in private at the police office. Max's already hard cock got even harder as a shiny ring appeared on his ring finger.

"That's great Max, just great! Just one more thing. How's your age going? Must be hard being 39 years of age,"

"I'm only 25, criminal."

"Nah, You're definitely 39,"

"I'm definitely 39," How could Mike forget his age. He reveled in his almost 40's age while his husband was a good ripe age of 50.

"Amazing, brilliant. My work here is done. Have a good day Officer Max," The call ended.

"...What was that?! I need to report this to the station immediately! Better get to work!" Max made another flex as a name tag with his manly name shined onto him. "M. Schmidt"

Max made his way to his cop car. He always loved throwing those pesky cop haters into the back and hear their screams and cries for help, usually with his husband in the passenger seat. Speaking of his husband he should send a pic to his husband to know he's coming to the station. But first his signature shades!

"Hey Honey, bicep flex for you <3" And sent.

Max's nametag shined in the glistening heat as he adjusted his rearview mirror.

"Lookin' good there, Schmidt." Max said to himself.

Max turned the car engine on and he gripped his strong weathered hands onto the wheel and drove to the station.

The drive was long, but standard for a officer like himself. Along the way he already had to apprehend a couple criminals that shouted the slurs he was oh so used to. It was quite tiring and had him quite parched so a good drink would do him good so he used his meaty hand to gulp down some fresh water from the bottle in the cupholder of his car.

"Honey I'm home!" Max shouted as he opened the door to Harold's office at the station.

"M-Max! Don't say it so loud! People will find out what we do in here!" Harold stammered out before getting hit with a kiss on the lips.

"I know I know, but can't the two strongest police officers on the force have a little fun while on the job?" Max said with a lustful smirk.

"Oh Max, I could never get mad at you. Although... Let's deal with the criminals you arrested first," Harold Nudged to the paperwork regarding the arrests Max was currently holding.

"Right..... forgot about that!" Max promptly threw the papers aside and began to undress himself right in front of his husband much to said Husband's shock.

"Harold! What are you-" Harold was interrupted as a passionate kissed began to form between the two lovers.

Harold's worries washed away as the lovebirds embraces with a passionate and long kiss. What felt like hours passed as they made out all over the room. The rustling of papers, knick-knacks all over the floor, and even a whole phone on the ground.

"I love you, babe." Max muttered

"Love you too..." Harold muttered back before snapping back to reality. The entire office was in disarray but the two of them were happier than ever.

"Say... let's get the boys out for a shooting range!" Max mentioned as he put his uniform back on.

"Sounds like a great idea! Those criminals can wait." The pair left to tell the boys they were about to a wild time.

Two unlikely people now bound together and neither were none the wiser of their old lives.

"Let's get to shootin' boys!"

[kaelidascope]

Fandom and LGBTQ Hostility and My Experiences Trying to Exist in Both Spaces Online

I came into these spaces with a very strict rule that I would not react or do anything cancel-worthy out of an overabundance of caution. Digital footprints are dangerous. The things you say online will follow you around forever. I know that first hand. I’ve bottled up and stayed silent about a lot of things I’ve either witnessed first-hand or experienced because I was trying to maintain a clean online persona. I’m not an ‘airing out dirty laundry’ type person. 

In light of recent events however, it’s gotten so bad that I can no longer sit here and not say something about how I feel. I’m disappointed and frustrated with the experiences I’ve had both in fandom and LGBTQ+ spaces and I can’t be complacent. I’m tired of getting treated like this, I’m fed up and I’m not going to put up with it anymore. I feel it’s important I voice what I’ve been watching and what’s happened and how I’m not going to tolerate it anymore by calling it out first hand. 

This is a two-topic rant. They overlap in some instances, but it directly has to do with how fandoms behave in general towards each other on Twitter and Tumblr, and also how absolutely hostile LGBTQ+ individuals are nowadays to each other on the same platforms. 

I come from a different generation and a different social media platform. I wasn’t on Twitter and Tumblr until last year. I’m not dismissing the fact that I may have missed out on decades worth of culture and social expectation. The places where I come from aren’t exactly fantastic either, but at least here, more queer people are interacting with each other with shared interests much more widely than in places like DeviantArt. The amount of culture and information I’ve absorbed in one year is more than I ever had within the past twenty years. It should be a good thing, and I’m disappointed that it wasn’t. 

This is not the way I wanted to come out online to anyone. I’ve been figuring out where I sit on the gender and sexuality spectrum for a while now. I will not document a specific timeline for anyone because that’s nobody’s business but my own. Within the last year, I took a massive stride forward in exploring things I legally didn’t think I was allowed to. I expected backlash from cishets and the usual thing I see LGBTQ+ folks write essays over, about how the world hates us, but at least we have each other. Shockingly, the backlash didn’t come from straight people. It came from other queers. 

I am 27 years old and I am entirely self-sufficient. I’m mixed Puerto Rican living in a red state. English wasn’t even my first language. I don’t have a network, so I’m teaching myself these things. I'm asking questions. I'm reading materials and expressions of self-experience and self-identity through fanworks and other autobiographical content. I'm actively trying to seek community and support through transgender and non-binary individuals with shared interests and so far all I've been met with is hostility and assumptions. So much so that I've now been made to feel like I'm on a timeline to figure it out so I can have a well-practiced, short introduction to copy and paste to every person who comes across me. And the only reason I even need one is so that they can make the decision to pass judgement over whether or not I'm allowed to speak, write, draw, wear, act, breathe the things I do. I'm disappointed. I'm anxious. I honestly feel more shoved into the closet now than I ever did before and I shouldn't be. Nobody should be treated this way when trying to figure out who they are. I probably won't even get an apology for the things that were said to me, either. I pride myself on the extraordinary caution I take to be politically correct, vetted through reputable sources, and as close to authentic as possible. And yet somehow I’m still getting called things like terf, transmisogynistic, triggering, when I’m fucking trans myself and all of my content gets vetted/REQUESTED by trans individuals. I get promised up and down that people are kind and welcoming in these sorts of spaces and honey, they aren’t. The people you choose to be friends with aren't as inclusive and friendly as you think they are. You don’t even know me and what body parts I have. The fact that you need to know in order to decide whether or not to treat me with respect is telling of an internal issue that has nothing to do with me. 

I have no reference point. I live in a place where laws ban anything gender and trans. I have no local resources or community. I've barely met any LGBTQ people in person. If I have, they never came out publicly. Most of my queer exposure has been online, and the fact that I've seen nothing but angry, mean, exclusive and discriminating behavior without any sort of reasoning why other than selfish defensiveness, I don't know where else I'm supposed to go for support. Something a lot of you guys need to take into retrospect is anyone who identifies as LGBTQ gets shot where I live. We have sundown towns here. If you don’t even know what that is, good, but also that’s telling of your privilege that you need to consider when talking to others not from blue states. I didn’t grow up in an environment where we had these highly liberal culture points and the word ‘gay’ was never allowed to be said out loud. We did not have gay clubs in school. I'm about as fucking late to this as you possibly can get. The only reason I know anything about our history, representation, and barely anything about what's socially acceptable and what's not, is because of the internet. So many of you had the privilege of being exposed to this information as young as under the age of 10. I didn’t. Sue me for not immediately knowing what every gender label means right off the bat. Half that stuff isn’t even legal here. 

I can't believe it's boiled down to the fact that I have to somehow justify my existence on this Earth and give an explanation that fits into predetermined boxes just to do anything to engage with other people. I have no time or space to figure it out. I’m disorganized and overwhelmed because I can’t ask questions about ‘can butches do this?’ ‘How versatile is transmasc/transfem?’ ‘Am I more genderqueer or do I fit under the trans umbrella?’ Gender and identity is fluid and ever changing. I have actually seen people harp and attack individuals for "defaulting" or "detransitioning" when they change their mind after giving this big coming out speech. It’s like support on these platforms is entirely conditional and a one-time thing. Y'all really expect people to wear the first style of shirt they buy for the rest of their life? Are we not allowed to do anything unless we know for sure? How’s college working out for you, for those who believe this mindset?

The vocally aggressive ones who use big words that contradict their statements can do, say, and be whatever they want.  But people like me can't. The ones who have to straight pass in public to keep their jobs and maintain their life safely. Some of us have been on our own since 19 with no family support. Consider the environment someone lives in before assigning your harsh assumptions. I can’t just change myself on a whim without doing significant damage control. Half the jobs I work for don’t even allow unnatural hair colors. If we list our pronouns as anything other than our assigned sex at birth, it causes legality issues with taxes. The way I have to navigate how to explore my identity and also keep a roof over my head and my bills paid may seem highly conservative to most. It’s in no way shape or form meant to reflect disrespect on how others live and express themselves. I am doing the best with the environment I have. The way I do things is not meant to be read as a message of ‘you’re doing it wrong because you’re not doing it the way I do.’ None of us are wrong. That should not be the subliminal message here. 

You know someone actually challenged me on that? Saying I was being harmful for purposefully straight presenting in public? Please research your country and state specific laws before you say that to me. If I could afford to live somewhere safer and queer-friendly, this conversation would be different. I am working on getting the fuck out of this state. But I don’t have a partner or parents money to default on. I’m doing this by myself. It’s not impossible, just a slow process. 

I'm disappointed and fed up. I've reached my limit, and I don't really care anymore if someone uses this essay to try and cancel me 5 or 10 years from now when the world goes through another gender renaissance of terms and identities. I will not put up with being treated like this when you refuse to listen to anyone else other than the sound of your own voice. I’m trying my best to learn, adapt, and express myself. I do not need to be lectured or be called derogatory things just because you think I’m coming from a malicious place.  

It’s not just about the hostility and gate-keeping behavior exhibited in online queer spaces. The same exact thing happens in fandom spaces too. People get pissy about queer headcanons and presentations so much to the point of taking it upon themselves to police the fandom and scrub it clean of “impurities.” I’ve watched y’all go through people's social media pages for any type of ammunition for justification of a personal grievance. It shocks me how much hyperfixation gets put on specific and morally harmless things when there are people out there writing diabolical shit way worse than what I have to offer. And y’all happily support them too but bark at me about what I make cus that author fits your social criteria and you assumed I didn’t. Don't think I'm ignorant to every single scrap of hate mail and harassment I've gotten over the past year and a half in my inboxes. Including the passive aggressive posts about my work, vague tweets, and discussions about me in discord servers. Over what? Have you actually read my work? If it’s actually as problematic as you say it is, provide me with a modern and unbiased example why this particular scene and execution is harmful. And not because you got triggered or disliked the kink, or read the summary/tags and assumed it was something it’s not. I don’t know how much more caution tape, massive warnings, obvious clear-cut tags (that were provided to me by queer individuals to PUT on there in the first place) out of insane amounts of caution I can do. I have always been willing to provide spoilers and explicit details in case someone is unsure how they’ll be affected by something I make. If you already don’t like it based on my warnings, that’s always been more than okay! My work is not for everyone. I’m getting tired of politely and respectfully saying please move on, because the message seems to be getting lost in translation. So let me be clear; 

Get off my pages if you don’t like what I make. It’s not for you. It will never be for you. Dead dove. DO NOT EAT. PREFERRED DEMOGRAPHIC 25+ ADULT CONTENT RATED E FOR EXPLICIT. I can recommend so many other fantastic creators with better suited content for you! If I could hide my content behind a roped off section deliberately keeping you from seeing it, I would. BLOCK ME. 

If your response to this section is ‘well then just don’t write it’. Honey, there’s people out here in the RWBY fandom writing trans incest actively commenting on all your shit and you respond back. A magic grimm-goo strap and monster smut featuring a transfem character (again, requested by literally 3 trans people and WRITTEN by one) should be the least of your worries. 

I have actively chosen not to address the harassment and hate mail, because it's sad that half of you hate me so much you need to make a point of telling me so regularly. I sincerely hope moving on with your lives will grant you peace of mind. Truly.

This is why I barely interact with anyone. Nothing but hostility, harassment, and expectation to behave in ways I cannot emotionally commit to. I am exhausted, uninspired, and have such a bad taste in my mouth it's proving extremely difficult to want to do anything creative. It’s been worse with my recent exploration of my gender identity. Opening one door to write about certain things somehow, miraculously, closes ones I previously existed in. I’m practically getting kicked out if I’m not 100% one way or another. I don’t go out of my way to shove my content down your throats. Why you feel the need to come to me and tell me you dislike my existence because you read it, despite me stating this is not for everyone and probably not for you, doesn’t have anything to do with me. Idk what else I can do. Disappear off the face of the planet, I guess. That seems to be what the overall solution is when y’all find something you don’t like. I can't believe I witnessed grown adults in their mid twenties with self-proclaimed senses of rightness start a trend on Twitter to go through people's mutuals and their likes to see if they’re socially acceptable in Fandom spaces or not. That was fucking ridiculous. And especially not fair to those who had their private accounts leaked and put on blast when it was already behind an vetted follower wall. Believe it or not, people draw weird, lewd, diabolical shit. They’re actually being responsible by putting it behind a paywall, or some type of ‘proof of age before following’ requirement. It falls on the people who go on there, take screenshots, and post them publicly for minors and non-consenting individuals to see without filters what was previously hidden. It’s irresponsible and immature. 

For fear of getting canceled by the Fandom, I moved all 600+ accounts I was following onto a private alt. I don't interact with my main anymore. I went so far into hiding and didn’t dare share anything about liking content made by people I wasn’t allowed to like, because that’s how cruel it is out here. It's honestly stupid I even felt like I had to do that. For what? People glazed over the brief moment of drama within a few weeks and went right back to posting the same shit they always have. They find new things to gossip about on their privs. New enemies to cancel on Twitter. New things to deem problematic and attack. 

I will be heard with this letter. I don’t care to be associated with anyone who treats people like this. I don’t believe in it, I won’t support it, and I’d rather have a small circle of people who won’t be rude or attack other people for existing. I’m not going to sit here and take the abuse any longer. Leave me in peace. There is no reason any of this should be happening. 

This is not meant to undermine the support I have gotten from the few who know what I'm going through and have given me the space to figure it out. I appreciate every question answered and insight provided as much as your abilities allow. I'm so grateful for it. I just wish it wasn't 2 people while everyone else is an asshole.

[tokidokitokyo]

Language Learning Plateau

Recently I have found myself on a Japanese learning plateau and I just feel stuck. I have felt stuck for a long time, like I will never get off of this plateau. Have you ever felt stuck in your learning?

I decided that I wanted to make a real effort to escape from the plateau and to see some real improvement in my Japanese language ability. So here are my collected notes and advice on the process of overcoming the language learning plateau.

What is a Language Learning Plateau?

Your language acquisition was moving along smoothly, and then suddenly everything ground to a snail's pace. The most popular textbooks are too easy, native materials that suit your level and aren't too hard are challenging to find, and making your own study plan seems daunting.

Apparently this plateau is inevitable, because when you first start learning a language you make progress quickly with new vocabulary and grammar and writing systems, but as you learn more and acquire more skills, you naturally slow down. The language learning plateau is most common when learners reach an intermediate level of language proficiency.

The good news is, there are ways to get over this plateau. The challenge is that it will take some work on your part.

Why I have trouble finding resources

To try to overcome my learning plateau and feel like I was moving forward, I started looking for new resources. The trouble is that there are so many resources available online and in print, but the number is so vast that it feels difficult to pick one, and I worry that I will pick the Wrong One.

Reviews: Reading reviews of language learning materials can be endless, or it can be difficult to find a review of a particular book or online resource for anything other than beginner materials. There may also be a plethora of suggested materials, but you might waffle on which ones to pick.

Level: I am not entirely sure of what my level is since it is difficult to measure without an exam, but I think I have an idea of my general level (lower advanced - N3/N2). I have outgrown most early textbooks, and I often pick out JLPT workbooks because it is easier to judge their level. However, JLPT resources tend to be geared toward test taking and therefore sometimes they can be a bit limited. Non-JLPT materials are more difficult to determine the level for, so some may be too advanced and some may be a bit too low level.

Money: I don't have an unlimited budget, so I have to read reviews and try to gauge if I think the resource is worth the investment. Sometimes I purchase a resource and then I don't touch it because I don't have the time to sit down and work through it. I also download lots of apps but I often don't sit down to get used to them and figure out the best way to use them. Free materials are very useful, but I also find myself downloading too much and then I don't touch more than half of them.

Time: I am busy and don't have much time to dedicate to studying, so reviewing resources can be a huge time sink for time that I'd rather spend studying. I can spend so much time looking up resources that I don't actually pick one to use. I also don't have unlimited time to study, so while the JLPT workbooks or non-JLPT textbooks are good resources, I have to break each section into very small chunks to fit them into my schedule and it takes a long time to finish a resource.

How to overcome the Language Learning Plateau

Here are some tips on how to overcome the language learning plateau:

Set clear goals If you don't have a clear goal on what you want to work toward, your studying will be less focused and you might become frustrated with your lack of progress. Set clear goals that are based on what you want to achieve with the language to provide focus. Be realistic with your goals and your current level, and set a specific timeline for them.

Try new methods If you've been relying on textbooks thus far and are burnt out or don't find them useful, try something else. Get creative, and look to see what approach others take. Try immersion, finding a tutor, playing a game in your target language, or downloading a new app.

Focus on problem areas This aligns with setting specific goals. Where do you struggle the most with the language? At the language plateau, bad habits or mistakes become more ingrained, so it's time to correct them. Figure out where you are the weakest and find creative ways to practice those weaknesses. Reading books, finding conversation partners on HelloTalk, and writing a diary could address those weaknesses. If you aren't sure where you are struggling, review things you already know and see where you get stuck. Try a mock JLPT exam near your level and see how you score. Focus on those weak points and strengthen your knowledge. You'll also be moving ahead as you discover new words, grammar points, etc.

Learn more vocabulary Limited vocabulary is one thing that can prevent you from overcoming your language plateau. Try reading books, articles, websites, etc. or find vocabulary flashcard sets that challenge you. Building up your vocabulary will help you to communicate more clearly and concisely in your target language.

Interact with native speakers This may be difficult where you live, but you can always look online for people who want to exchange languages with you. Writing messages or talking via voice calls are both great ways to improve how you think and form sentences in your target language, and you can get feedback from native speakers to help you fix mistakes and improve. Mimicking native speakers is a great way to sound more natural, so you could also try shadowing podcasts or videos.

Don't give up! Most importantly, don't get discouraged. You've come a very long way, and the plateau is a sign that great things are ahead for you. Be confident and make time for language learning in your daily life. Your journey is what you make of it, and with confidence and practice, you can achieve your goals.