#but i wish i did

[phantom-of-the-501st]

I have hair envy when I look at Crowley

Not the colour (I'm a natural redhead), just the fact that it looks so damn perfect all the time

(Also a big fan of Aziraphale's, but if I dyed my hair white, I would look less like an angel and more like an anaemic ghost)

[thepersassiest]

I feel like it’s 2012 and I have a cardboard cutout of josh hucherson in my room again

[coldbrewarts]

Self portrait

Glasses version

[thrumbo]

I’m still on hiatus

BUT PULLED BRIEFLY OUT OF HIATUS BY CATEGORY 5 JIMMY INSANITY MOMENT AAAAAAAAAHHH I CAN’T PUT IT INTO WORDS my mind is just animal I need him to be put down I HAVE TO WORK TOMORROW AND EVERY DAY AFTER FOREVER AND IT SUCKS ALL MY MENTAL ENERGY OUT I wish it was still April and I was watching yaoi be drawn in a basement

[infisonicosm-moved]

I wonder how many people have come to my blog thinking I’m actually josh. Sorry for the disappointment. Take this picture as my apologies.

[queerstudiesnatural]

me looking at guy i had a crush on in middle school and high school and pretty much my whole life and is still very very pretty: you're lucky i know i'm aroace now and i just like being your friend because i have a hard time making friend but it was always easy with you, because if i wasn't i'd really wanna kiss you rn

[good-night-space-kid]

It’s -9*F I’m so excited to go work my job in produce when my hands are already frozen so excited for this to last 8 hours

[twinkinspector]

another show i shouldn’t watch is hq……… i have a Thing for twins :(

[7outerelements]

My wife set up an amazing birthday hang session for us and our friends. We went to a new board game cafe in town and played Wyrmspan all night. It was a great time, but this isn't really about that.

When my friend went to the cafe counter, the guy working there said he recognized me. I didn't know who it was, but later on he came to our table and introduced himself.

He had been my bully in middle school. Somehow, we stopped being bully and victim and were friends for what felt like a day. Then we had never really interacted again. One exception: he had spotted me on the sidewalk while he was driving and pulled over to say hello, years and years ago. He had been jovial and warm then, too.

Anyway. He seemed to remember me fondly. I responded in kind. For some reason, I can't stop playing the interactions over in my mind - the childhood terror, the growing ease, the sense that I was well remembered.

After we left, I told my friends a truncated version of our history. They were outraged on my behalf, and I think I failed to impress upon them my point. I wasn't trying to tell them about my bully, but about a friend I wished I had made.

I'm partially preoccupied by a sinking feeling that he may have somehow stuck around and overheard my retelling, a prospect I find too embarrassing to ignore. But I think I'm also distracted by the possibility that young teen Me had maybe the first inklings of a misguided crush, and processing that is taking up a lot of brain space. It's also embarrassing for an entirely different set of reasons.

Obviously it's all irrelevant in the here and now, but I've always been vulnerable to feelings of regret. And maybe a little self-recrimination, as he's the one who keeps recognizing me, and I'm the one who keeps being surprised.

[sceletaflores]

You still remember discovering the small polaroid kept in the inside pocket, tucked away from sight yet pressed to his heart. It was you. Dressed up for the very first time. Storm took the photo on a whim, Logan stole it from her study two days later. You'd later ask him about the messy heart drawn on the bottom white strip—a scribble of the word sweetheart placed underneath.

tumblr user moonlight-prose you just murdered me in cold blood with that…

this was so amazing and sweet i’m losing it 😭💞 the way you write logan just gets me so good!

nameless as a river undiscovered underground

a/n: i really wish october could last longer than a few weeks, because i simply want to keep writing spooky stories and logan fics. i keep posting them late, but i'm doing them last minute (bad i know). this one is more a drabble than a fic, but i loved the idea of logan and his leather jacket. especially the thought of him loving you wearing it.

logan promptober: day eighteen - leather jacket

summary: his leather jacket remained a tie between your love and his. the weight of it, the smell of your intertwined scents, all revolved around a relationship he never thought would happen.

word count: 1.2k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, p in v sex, reverence, love, fluff, the soft vibes of logan being in love.

You were clad in his leather jacket—swallowed by the heaviness of it—the first time he kissed you. In the rain a mile out from the mansion, beside a broken down car and cell phones that wouldn't work. He'd never seen true beauty until you smiled at him. Drenched to the bone, laughing, and luminant in the dark of a night gone wrong.

At one point in the past, he swore to himself he was safer never falling down that unknown pit. That heart devouring thing that made his insides twist and heart turn inside out. It terrified him. Knowing he could one day lose it all in the blink of an eye—become a shell of himself without the presence of another. Solitude kept him safe, kept him from causing destruction to innocent people hell bent on showing him love.

But then he kissed you.

Mid laughter, with eyes still alight in that angelic glow, Logan Howlett put his heart on the line and pressed his lips to yours. The rain pelted your faces in a cold icy wave of brutal weather. Yet neither of you cared. You dug your hands into his hair matted down with too much water and dragged him close enough to give life to that ache in his chest.

You kissed him without conviction. Instead putting your faith—your entire being—on the steady beat of your heart that echoed loudly in his head. The heat of your mouth, the wet slide of your tongue, killed him on the spot. He was a dead man walking—a corpse without a soul.

All because you decided to steal it away with a grin before kissing him once again.

The leather jacket became a comfort in your relationship with a man who ran hotter than a radiator. He didn't need the heavy weight of it, but he liked it. The color, the detailing, the story encased in the frayed thread that lined the insides.

You still remember discovering the small polaroid kept in the inside pocket, tucked away from sight yet pressed to his heart. It was you. Dressed up for the very first time. Storm took the photo on a whim, Logan stole it from her study two days later. You'd later ask him about the messy heart drawn on the bottom white strip—a scribble of the word sweetheart placed underneath.

He turned fifty shades of crimson the second you brought it up, but the photo still remained in place. Stuck to his body whenever he wore his jacket—a familiar piece of his heart whenever you wore it instead.

Tradition was embedded in the stolen item of clothing. The way he draped it over your shoulders on nights out, the times he spent bundling you up when you conveniently forgot your own sweater in his bedroom. You'd burrow your face in the collar, breathing in the musk of his cigars. He'd drop his head against his shoulder at the fragrant scent of your perfume still stuck to the lining.

Each of you placed your mark on the fabric, intent on leaving small reminders of who wore it last. But his favorite memory still remained in the pocket that still held a little rip on the outer edge—the time he clawed at it to grasp you close until the audible echo of destruction turned pain into laughter.

"You're gonna be the fuckin' death of me," he grunted, fingers sharply pressed into the bare skin of your hips.

You smiled, half lidded eyes glazed over in a cloud of darkened lust. "I thought the Wolverine couldn't be killed."

"That wasn't for you to test."

"Can't say you don't like me like this baby," you sighed, leaning back against the kitchen table placed in your very own house.

A home shared with him.

The cracked groan brought satisfaction right to the top of your chest—love beating its own drum in the depths of your body. Logan came home early to a welcome surprise of you in his jacket...and nothing else on. The plan was to get dinner, go walk the city to find a bit of romance tucked away in the corners of cafes and the lowlights of bars.

Neither of you made it to the car.

"It'll smell like you," he gasped, dragging his cock through your dripping cunt. The head nudging against your clit with each stroke. "I'll smell like you."

"Logan–" You clawed at his shoulders, lifting your hips in the hopes of enticing him to move. To put you out of your misery and slide home.

"It'll drive me crazy." A messy kiss overflowing with the love you felt flicker to life in your chest was pressed to your lips. Messy and needy and filled with the soft moan of his gravelly voice.

You sucked his tongue into your mouth, grinning at the brittle sound that cracked at the base of his throat. "Now you know how I feel."

Sinking into you felt like home. The hot slick grip of your walls clamping down around his cock broke something in the back of his mind. A wire that connected common sense with intellect. He watched it unravel before his very eyes—your lips coated in his spit curling into a grin. A smile that left him breathless and begging for more.

You were rapturous. The embodiment of what he believed hope looked like; the light at the end of his cracked and unstable road.

"So fuckin' pretty," he muttered, his eyes flickering between where he thrusted into you and your breasts covered by his jacket. "Should dress like this all the damn time."

"I'd get cold," you laughed, slinging an arm around his neck.

"You got me to keep you warm."

A harsh thrust sent you higher up on the table, pulling free a high pitched moan that sunk into his skin with a warmth that bloomed towards his chest. He wanted to pour out each emotion and watch you drink it down like the ichor of the gods. The life he led before suddenly felt as if there was a purpose to all the suffering he endured—all the pain that still lingered in phantom wounds long since healed.

You were the purpose he sought.

The person he was always meant to find.

He'd do it all over again if given the choice as long as you were there waiting for him—holding out a hand to bring him home.

You came with a garbled shout of his name, your walls sucking his cock back into you to keep him close. Each stunted thrust lit a fire in his body, his hands gripping any bare part of you he could reach as you fell back against the table. Your eyes glazed over and your mouth parted in a silent scream.

A few more sharp thrusts and he followed you quicker than he expected—practically toppling onto your body as he fucked his cum deep. Enough to have it spilling out and coating the inside of your thighs. He was half tempted to drop to his knees and clean you up, but the tight grip you had on his shoulders kept him in place. The close proximity of his body all you craved in the rolling aftershocks of your orgasm.

"All mine?" you whispered, still gasping for breath.

He smiled, lips brushing across yours. "All yours sweetheart."

This was how he loved you.

Thoroughly, harshly, yet with every part of his being.

[captainjonnitkessler]

You know I used to think "tumblr's absolute refusal to actually engage with the Trolley Problem in favor of insisting that there must be a third, morally pure option that doesn't require them to make a hard decision and anyone who asks them to make a binary choice is just a short-sighted idiot is really fucking annoying, but I guess it's not actually doing any harm".

Anyway that was before we asked tumblr at large to decide between "guy aiding a genocide but making progress elsewhere" and "guy who would actively and enthusiastically participate in a genocide and would also make everything else much, much worse for everyone elsewhere" and the response was that there must be a third, morally pure option that doesn't require them to make a hard decision and that anyone who asks them to make a binary choice is a short-sighted idiot.

[mausolealdrift]

its baffling seeing people on here being all shocked about how other ppl didnt have sex or do drugs or drink or go to parties etc etc in high schools like. sorry i was too busy getting bullied to do all of that stuff i guess. why are you surprised that there’s losers on the cringe loser website

[aq2003]

christopher eccleston do you know that i would die for you (1 2)

[chickenhoops]

Currently obsessed with this gay pigeon couple up for adoption and I think tumblr will be obsessed with them too.

[katsinspats]

Thematically appropriate comic for Make a Terrible Comic Day!!

I saw the original post this morning and it made me get out of bed to make something, so thank u Pseudonym Jones mission accomplished

[letmedownslows]

i don't think i could live long in england (or like the uk in general)

if someone called me "love", even as a joke i'd be like... down bad for them.

i have a soft spot for this nickname. i adore it so hard i even like it in my language (which is rare)

anyways this is just some random midnight thought i had