#defo no plot weight

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

hey real quick?

Oh fyi this is for DSB and will 100% have an effect on the next chapter SO

ALSO for true neutal- I am Cowards choice- so BETTER just have one vote/jk

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

Celebration - Professor!Logan x F!Reader (NSFW)

Summary: You celebrate your gratuation with your friends at a small pub, when Professor Logan Howlett comes in. Your plans are forgotten, when your friends make you go talk to him.

Warning: SMUT, like almost Porn with no plot (40% plot/60% porn), sub!Logan (if you squint), but defo dub!Logan, Age gap (not described but there is). So please do not interract if you're under 18.

AN: So I aske dyou all a question a while ago what you'd prefer Professor!Logan or Professor!Peña, and democracy won, choosing Logan :) No beta read all the mistakes are my own... And I am not a history know it all, so apologies if I messed something up. I listened to an amazing Steven Rodriguez writing this, so I recommend this: Like you mean it

Words: 12 875 (let's just establish I can't write anything short, ok?)

The pub hummed with life as you stepped inside, your friends at your side. It was a cozy space, nestled between two old bookshops, with wooden beams that creaked under the weight of a hundred conversations and warm, amber lights casting shadows over shelves lined with bottles of spirits. The smell of hops and laughter filled the air, carrying with it the sweet release of months of hard work and sleepless nights. You, Kate, and Ethan found a booth near the window where the noise was lively but not overwhelming, and you could savour the first celebratory drinks as newly minted graduates.

Kate slid into the seat across from you, her auburn hair falling in waves that shimmered under the pub lights. She raised her glass, eyes glinting with mischief. "To history—and making it ourselves!"

Ethan, ever the practical joker with his sharp grin and mop of dark curls, added, "And to you surviving Professor Logan Howlett’s class with an A, of all things. Who does that? Seriously, cheers to the legend sitting right here."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up with a mix of relief and triumph. The past year had been a marathon of research, late nights in the university library, and the constant weight of expectations. But tonight, it felt like the world had paused in recognition of your efforts.

The conversation flitted between shared memories, plans for the future, and teasing hints of freedom that came with finishing your master’s. Then Kate’s eyes flicked over your shoulder, and she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't look now, but the Professor is here."

Your heart stumbled, then thudded in your chest. Professor Logan Howlett. You didn’t have to turn around to conjure the image: intense hazel eyes that seemed to strip the world down to its truths, sharp cheekbones, and that perpetual five o’clock shadow that gave him a rugged, almost cinematic presence. He was a paradox, embodying the kind of strength that could either crush or uphold.

Ethan smirked, nudging you with his elbow. "Go on. Say hi. He can’t be that scary now that you’ve graduated, right?"

A pulse of panic and excitement washed through you, your fingers tightening around the condensation on your glass. Talking to Professor Howlett outside of the academic halls was like stepping into a new, unscripted world. You'd spent two years working under him, first as a student, then as a teaching assistant—your admiration morphing into something deeper, something unspoken.

“Do it,” Kate urged, her eyes wide and teasing. “Or we’ll drag you over there ourselves.” As you sat there and glared at them, the memories of your first class with him came floating around in your head. 

The lecture hall was cavernous, its high, vaulted ceilings making the room feel more like a courtroom than a place of learning. Afternoon light slanted through the tall, arched windows, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the heavy silence. Students settled into their seats, shuffling notebooks and pens, whispering speculations about the infamous Professor Logan Howlett.

You were seated in the second row, close enough to see the fine lines etched at the corners of his eyes when he entered, but not so close as to draw unwanted attention. He walked in without hesitation, his stride confident and direct, the leather-bound notebook in his hand looking worn and familiar. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms marked with faint scars, as if he had spent years grappling with more than just books. A single glance from him silenced the low murmur of conversation.

“History,” he began, the timbre of his voice deep and almost harsh, “is not a collection of anecdotes to pad out your evenings or score points at a dinner party. It is humanity’s attempt to interpret its own mistakes and, if we’re lucky, avoid repeating them.”

The air seemed to thicken with each word. He scanned the rows, eyes sharp and assessing, daring anyone to interrupt him. Some students shifted uncomfortably; a few glanced at each other, already regretting their choice of elective. You, however, felt your pulse quicken, a spark of defiance lighting somewhere inside you.

“Let’s start with a question,” he said, placing the notebook on the lectern and crossing his arms. “The Treaty of Westphalia. Why is it heralded as the cornerstone of modern statehood, and why is that view so fundamentally flawed?”

A heavy silence followed. It stretched on, pregnant with challenge, and you saw a flicker of annoyance cross his face. Without giving it much thought, your hand rose.

His eyes landed on you, their intensity making you feel momentarily pinned. “Yes?” The single word carried the weight of expectation.

You swallowed, your voice steadying as you spoke. “The Treaty of Westphalia is praised for ending the Thirty Years’ War and introducing the concept of state sovereignty, but it didn’t resolve the deeper conflicts. It merely froze them, ensuring that the problems would fester beneath the surface for years.”

A few heads turned, eyes widening at the audacity of challenging the professor in the opening moments of his lecture. Logan Howlett’s brows lifted, but it wasn’t disapproval that shone in his eyes—it was interest.

“Go on,” he said, the room holding its breath.

You sat up straighter, emboldened by his response. “The Treaty was a political bandage, not a cure. It shifted power among nations but ignored the religious and economic fractures that had fueled the conflict. It set the precedent for power politics without addressing the human costs.”

A silence, sharper now, fell over the room. He stepped away from the lectern, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back as if appraising a painting. A smile ghosted across his lips, subtle and fleeting.

“Interesting perspective,” he said, a challenge threading through his words. “But you’re missing the other side of the argument. Yes, it wasn’t perfect. Yes, it allowed the wounds to fester. But it also introduced diplomacy as an alternative to the perpetual war that defined earlier centuries. Would you rather the conflict had raged indefinitely, bleeding nations dry?”

The corner of your mouth twitched, a thrill running through you as you realised he was inviting the exchange. “Diplomacy born out of exhaustion isn’t sustainable. The treaty was signed not out of genuine reconciliation but mutual weakness. It was a temporary truce, not a triumph of peace.”

He nodded slowly, the light catching in his hazel eyes as if amused by your boldness. “Well argued. But if history were only about pointing out what didn’t work, we’d all be critics instead of scholars. The point is to study why such measures are taken and how they shape the world that follows.”

The room seemed to exhale collectively, but you held his gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. In that moment, you knew two things: this class would not be easy, and you were more than ready for it.

Your heart thudded in your chest as Kate's nudge sent a jolt through you. The warmth of the pub, with its golden glow and the chorus of laughter and clinking glasses, faded into the background as you glanced over at him—Professor Logan Howlett. Logan. The name still felt too intimate to think, let alone say, but tonight, that barrier seems thinner.

He stood at the bar, broad shoulders relaxed in a rare display of ease as he listened to a colleague recount some story, whiskey glass cradled in his hand. The way the light caught in his hazel eyes, illuminating flecks of green and gold, tugged at something deep inside you. He was an enigma: a man whose severity was legendary in lecture halls but who, behind closed doors, revealed glimpses of something more. Something human and achingly real.

You respected him, profoundly so. He wasn’t just another academic; he was the academic, the kind of professor whose passion for history electrified a room. His lectures weren’t just lessons but challenges, daring students to question and confront the world’s recorded past with new eyes. He had inspired you to follow in his footsteps, to envision a life dissecting history’s layers, guiding minds through its labyrinthine tales. You’d spent long nights thinking about that future—lecturing, debating, shaping students’ perspectives the way he had shaped yours.

Yet somewhere along the way, between debating treaties and arguing over the nuances of your thesis, your admiration had blurred into something messier. It was during the late hours of grading papers together, the silence punctuated only by his dry humour and the scratch of pens, that your heart began to betray you. He was different in those moments. Still grumpy, yes, but there was a warmth that surfaced—a sardonic smile when a student’s essay was especially absurd, a teasing jab at your meticulous note-taking. And once or twice, when the moon hung low and the world outside seemed distant, you could have sworn he flirted with you.

But that was impossible. Why would a man like him—sharp, captivating, deeply passionate about his work—pay attention to you in that way? It was foolish to even entertain the thought.

Kate’s voice brought you back. “Go on, before he leaves.”

You glanced at Ethan, who shot you an encouraging grin. You took your glass with you, fingers trembling just enough to make you clench your fist to steady them. The walk to the bar felt long, every step magnifying the flutter of nerves in your chest. You’d faced him in debates, you’d defended your research under his unsparing gaze, but this felt different. This wasn’t a controlled environment; this was the unpredictable space of real life.

He turned as you approached, his expression shifting from neutral to surprised, and then softening in a way that made your breath hitch. His eyebrows lifted just slightly, a fleeting look of recognition followed by something you couldn’t quite name.

“Congratulations,” he said, the rough edge of his voice sending a thrill down your spine. His eyes caught the light, making them appear warmer than usual, and for a moment, you felt like the only two people in the room.

“Thank you,” you managed, feeling a rush of relief that you hadn’t tripped over the words. “It’s… good to see you, Professor.”

“Logan,” he corrected, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile, but enough to suggest amusement. He glanced at the empty space beside him and shifted, subtly making room. “Join me?”

You didn’t need more than that. You slid into the space, feeling the heat of his presence like a tangible thing. The din of the pub receded just a little, replaced by the thrum of your pulse and the stolen glances that spoke of memories shared late at night over half-empty coffee cups and stacks of research papers.

Logan signalled to the bartender, his hand briefly brushing against yours on the counter as he gestured toward your half-empty glass. “A gift,” he said, his voice smooth, low, and rich with that unmistakable rasp, “for making it through the gauntlet and surviving me. Some people never do.”

His eyes lingered on yours, his gaze sharp but softened by the teasing glint that rarely broke through his usual stern demeanour. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, even as the warmth spreading through your chest made it harder to breathe evenly.

The bartender placed a fresh drink in front of you, and you stared down at it for a moment, letting the hum of the pub—the chatter, the golden glow of the lights, the low thrum of music—blur into the background. But it wasn’t the atmosphere that anchored you; it was Logan, his quiet confidence and magnetic pull, the way his focus never wavered.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He raised his glass, taking a measured sip of whiskey, the motion deliberate as if he were savouring it. His eyes never left yours, the intensity behind them making your skin tingle. “So,” he began, his voice carrying that heavy, deliberate weight, “what’s next? I can’t imagine someone like you doesn’t have the next step planned out.”

You couldn’t suppress the grin spreading across your face. “What makes you think I have a plan at all?” you teased, arching a brow as you lifted your glass to your lips.

The laugh that followed was deep and unrestrained, the sound warm enough to melt the tension in the air while simultaneously sending a shiver down your spine. He set his glass down and leaned forward, his broad frame angling toward you, his focus entirely on you.

“Because I know you,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost conspiratorial. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, amusement playing in the depths of his gaze. “And knowing you means I’d bet you’ve got the next thirty years colour-coded and cross-referenced.”

The heat in your cheeks was immediate, and you looked away, biting the inside of your cheek to hide the bashful smile tugging at your lips. It was ridiculous how well he knew you—how effortlessly he could strip away your defences with a single comment, leaving you feeling both exposed and undeniably seen.

“You shouldn’t look so smug about that,” you muttered, though your voice lacked any real bite.

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, resonating somewhere deep in your chest. “You’re right,” he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping an octave that sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “But it’s hard not to be. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

The words hung in the air, sinking into your skin, making your pulse quicken. His eyes, dark and steady, locked with yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to blur into irrelevance.

“It’s why I asked you to be my TA,” he added, his tone softened but no less intense.

The memory of that moment surged forward, vivid and sharp like it had happened just yesterday.

***

His office had been its usual state of organised chaos—books stacked high, papers scattered across the desk, and the faint scent of leather and cologne clinging to the air. The room had always felt like an extension of him: commanding, unrelenting, but with a quiet depth you couldn’t help but admire.

You had entered cautiously, the soft creak of the door announcing your arrival. Logan hadn’t looked up immediately, too engrossed in whatever notes he was reviewing, his brow furrowed in thought.

When he finally lifted his gaze, his sharp, assessing eyes pinned you in place. “Close the door,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. You obeyed, your pulse quickening with a strange mix of excitement and apprehension.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, leaning back in his chair with a creak of worn leather. His fingers tapped against the desk, his eyes studying you with a piercing intensity. “I need a teaching assistant next term. But not just any TA. Someone who won’t nod along to everything I say and write my lectures in their sleep.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of his words. “Me?” you stammered, half incredulous, half hopeful.

“Yes, you.” A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, softening the edge of his expression. It was a rare sight, one that made your stomach flutter. “I don’t usually need help,” he admitted, leaning forward, elbows resting on the desk. “But you challenge me—and that’s not something I’m willing to waste.”

The weight of his words hit you, their meaning sinking in. This wasn’t just an offer. It was an acknowledgment, an admission that he saw something in you worth nurturing.

“It would be an honour,” you said, your voice coming out softer than you intended, tinged with a reverence you couldn’t mask.

“Good.” He stood, crossing the room until he stopped just shy of your personal space. His presence filled the room, his gaze holding yours with a quiet intensity that made your breath catch. “Don’t make me regret this,” he said, but the teasing edge in his tone softened the warning.

“I won’t,” you had promised, the conviction in your voice leaving no room for doubt.

The way he looked at you then—like he believed you entirely, like he knew you would surpass every expectation—was something you’d carried with you ever since.

***

The memory slipped away like smoke, fading into the background as Logan’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the pub. “You know,” he said, his tone carrying that familiar teasing lilt, “most people would kill for a compliment like that from me. And yet, here you are, blushing as if it’s the first time anyone’s told you you’re remarkable.”

The flush in your cheeks deepened, and you ducked your head, trying to hide the effect his words had on you. “It was more than an honour,” you murmured, voice shy but unwavering. “Working with you made me realise how much I wanted to teach. Your classes… They made me sure of what I wanted for my future.”

Something flickered across his face then, a shadow of pride mixed with something you couldn’t quite name. He got closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the subtle warmth radiating from him. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice dropping into a tone both playful and low. “I’m glad to hear it. If I inspired even half of what you’re capable of, then I’d say I did something right.”

His words sent a warmth curling through your chest, but it was the way he looked at you—steady, unflinching—that made your pulse flutter. He wasn’t just paying you a compliment; he was studying your reaction, watching you with a heat that felt almost tangible.

The smoky scent of his cologne teased your senses as he leaned in, close enough that the noise of the pub faded into a faint hum in the background. “Careful,” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Blushing like that could make a person think you’re flustered.”

“I’m not,” you shot back, though the warmth blooming across your cheeks betrayed you.

He laughed softly, a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. “Good,” he said, his eyes lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. “Because I like seeing you off your game.”

You swallowed hard, torn between embarrassment and exhilaration. “You’re impossible,” you whispered, trying to muster some semblance of control over the situation.

“And yet,” he said, his voice a low drawl as he raised his glass and tapped it lightly against yours, “here you are.”

The moment stretched between you, heavy with unspoken possibilities. It was a tension you’d never dared to acknowledge until now, and yet, sitting here beside him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

***

The night unfolded slowly, the warm glow of the pub sinking deeper into the evening. Despite the bustling crowd, you remained anchored in the space beside Logan at the bar. Each shared glance, each quiet laugh between the two of you, felt like the room itself was narrowing its focus, pulling you closer together.

When you reminded him, more than once, that you could buy your own drinks, he waved your protests away with an easy smile. “Consider it back pay for the TA work,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “And believe me, you earned it. I’m still convinced you deserve a medal for grading that batch of essays on European revolutions. I don’t think I’ve ever seen ‘Napoleon’ spelled with so many variations.”

You laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. “To be fair, some of those students were probably just guessing who led the French army.”

“God help them,” Logan muttered, taking a slow sip of his whiskey before his eyes found yours again, softened by amusement. “How’s the thesis holding up under post-graduate scrutiny? Still proud of it?”

“Mostly,” you admitted, swirling the liquid in your glass thoughtfully. “There are a few parts I’d tweak if I could go back. But it did the job, right? Even impressed you.”

“‘Impressed’ might be underselling it,” he replied, his voice quieter now, rougher. “It was ambitious. You could’ve played it safe like most do, but you didn’t. You took a risk. That takes guts.”

The warmth in your chest grew at his words, a kind of pride that felt almost too big to contain. “I learned from the best,” you said softly.

Logan’s lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. For a moment, the din of the pub seemed to fade entirely, leaving only the sound of his voice and the unspoken connection hanging in the air.

The conversation drifted easily between you, shifting from the late-night research sessions you once shared to the quirks of students you’d both encountered. You told him about the time a student had submitted a paper on the American Revolution that inexplicably included a section on The Beatles. Logan nearly choked on his drink, his deep laugh drawing a few glances from nearby patrons.

“Still proud of the next generation?” you teased, grinning.

“Barely,” he muttered, shaking his head before his smirk returned. “So, what now? What’s next for you outside of history?”

“Outside of history?” you quipped, leaning closer, the bubble of energy between you tightening. “Is there anything outside of history? I don’t know, Logan. I’ve spent so much time buried in books, I might as well be a mediaeval monk.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement, but the way he leaned toward you, just slightly, was enough to shift the atmosphere again. “A monk, huh?” he said, his voice low. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

The weight of his words sent a spark racing down your spine, your breath hitching slightly under the intensity of his gaze. Whatever barriers had once existed between you felt thinner now, more fragile. And for the first time, you found yourself wondering what it might mean to finally cross them.

Logan smirked, his sharp eyes tracing the contours of your face, lingering just long enough to make your heart race. “Here’s a real question,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Any current boyfriends? Partners? You know, so I can adjust my expectations for the night.”

The question landed like a spark, setting your pulse racing. You hadn’t expected him to go there, but the weight of his attention and the soft buzz of the evening’s warmth had lowered your defences.

“Ha,” you laughed, sharper than intended, but his grin didn’t waver. “Uni didn’t leave much room for that. Most of the guys in my classes weren’t exactly my type—more interested in keg parties than real conversations.” You hesitated, the alcohol nudging your tongue loose. “And, well… let’s just say it was usually me and my hand at the end of the day. Boys are boys, after all.”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up, his lips twitching in amusement before he burst into laughter. The sound was deep, rich, and genuine, drawing curious glances from nearby patrons, but you didn’t care. Watching him like this—relaxed and utterly unrestrained—made your chest tighten with something unfamiliar.

“God, I wasn’t expecting that,” he said, shaking his head and wiping at the corner of his eye. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

“Is that so?” you countered, emboldened by the way his attention seemed to orbit you entirely.

“Oh, it is,” he replied, his voice dipping into something quieter, more intimate. He leaned closer, and the space between you buzzed with an almost electric anticipation.

His hand rested on the bar, the slight movement of his fingers brushing against your arm in a touch so casual it felt deliberate. Your skin prickled at the contact, the warmth of it lingering far longer than it should. Logan was watching you now, his gaze steady and careful, testing your reaction, waiting.

The moment stretched, the tension building with every heartbeat. His fingers moved again, this time trailing lightly over the back of your arm, and the sensation sent a spark straight to your core. You inhaled sharply, your eyes meeting his, and the unspoken words between you hung heavy in the air.

“You know,” Logan said, his voice dipping lower, rougher, “I’ve always liked that you never missed a chance to challenge me. Kept me on my toes.”

“I didn’t think you liked being challenged,” you said, your voice softer now, unable to mask the tremor of excitement beneath it.

“Only when it’s you,” he replied, his tone stripped of humour. There was no teasing in his expression now, only the kind of intensity you’d once seen when he was deep in thought, dissecting an argument. But this was different. This wasn’t about academics or debates—this was about you. His hand moved deliberately, resting fully on your arm, his touch grounding and possessive all at once.

Your heart thundered in your chest as the realisation hit you. Logan Howlett—your professor, the man you’d admired from a distance for so long—was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room. Like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as you had, even if you’d never dared to hope.

“Why now?” you whispered, the words slipping free before you could stop them. “Why tonight?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Because tonight, you’re not my student.” His voice was a low rumble, rough and magnetic. “And I’m done pretending I haven’t noticed the way you look at me.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words settling over you. His touch, his gaze—they made you feel exposed in the best way, like you were finally being seen for exactly who you were.

“And how is that?” you managed, your voice trembling under the intensity of his stare.

Logan leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours, so close you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. The scent of whiskey mixed with something distinctly him—earthy, warm, untamed. “Like I’m not the only one who’s been waiting for this,” he murmured.

The tension snapped, and before you could respond, he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss was warm at first, almost hesitant, as if testing the boundaries of something unspoken. But as you leaned into him, your hands finding their way to the back of his neck, his restraint faltered.

Logan groaned softly, the sound vibrating through you, and the kiss deepened. His hand moved from the bar to your waist, gripping firmly as he pulled you closer. The heat between you was undeniable, every brush of his lips against yours igniting something that had been simmering for far too long.

“I want you,” he whispered, his voice raw and full of intent.

His hand slid down your side, his fingers splaying against your hip, and his lips pressed into the curve of your neck. The scrape of his stubble sent shivers down your spine, each touch deliberate, each kiss a promise.

Logan pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze darkened with hunger. “Want to get out of here?” he asked, his voice low, tinged with urgency.

“Yes,” you breathed, the answer spilling out without hesitation.

A satisfied smile curved his lips, and he stepped back to let you grab your phone, quickly messaging your friends. Logan signalled the bartender, his impatience visible in the set of his shoulders as he paid the tab.

Outside, the cool night air was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your skin. Logan hailed a taxi with ease, opening the door and guiding you in with a hand on your hip, the touch lingering.

The ride to his apartment was both too long and too short. The tension simmered between you, heightened by his hand resting on your thigh, his fingers pressing with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. You let your fingers trail up his arm, teasing, testing, and the muscle in his jaw flexed as he exhaled sharply.

“You’re going to drive me insane before we even get there,” he muttered, his voice gravelly and laced with heat.

“Good,” you whispered back, leaning in to brush your lips against the edge of his jaw.

His groan was low and full of promise. “Just wait until we’re alone.”

When the taxi finally stopped, Logan paid quickly, his hand never leaving you as he guided you up the steps to his apartment. Inside, the air seemed to shift, the quiet intimacy of the space wrapping around you as Logan closed the door behind you.

Instead of pulling you close again, he surprised you, walking to the kitchen. He returned moments later with a glass of water, handing it to you with a touch that lingered, his eyes scanning your face

“Drink,” Logan said, his voice softer now, the usual teasing edge replaced with something deeper, more serious.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “Logan, I’m fine. I’m not—”

“I know,” he interrupted, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smile, though his eyes stayed steady, sincere. “But I need you to be completely sure. About this. About us. I don’t want any second thoughts in the morning.”

The weight of his words hung between you, settling like a tangible thing in the air. His expression, open and earnest, made your chest tighten. There was no bravado now, no teasing grin or cocky smirk—just Logan, stripped bare of any pretence, laying everything out in front of you.

You reached for the glass he offered, taking a small sip. The cool water was calming, but more than that, it gave you a moment to breathe, to steady yourself under the intensity of his gaze. He watched you closely, his posture relaxed yet commanding, a quiet possessiveness in the way he moved a step closer as you placed the empty glass down.

“I’m sure,” you said, your voice quiet but firm, the truth ringing clear in your words. “I’m not going to regret this.”

Logan exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing as relief softened the edges of his expression. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Because I want you to remember this. All of it. How I’m going to make you mine.”

Your breath caught at the promise in his words, your pulse quickening as his head dipped closer. This kiss wasn’t like the ones before. This one was unrestrained, searing, filled with the hunger that had been simmering between you both for far too long. His hands found your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you flush against him, your body moulding perfectly to his.

Your fingers slid into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly, and he groaned into your mouth, the sound reverberating through you. The kiss deepened, and he guided you back, his movements steady but urgent, until the edge of the couch met the back of your knees. You sank down, pulling him with you, and he followed without hesitation.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, lingering there before moving lower, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. When his teeth grazed your skin, you gasped, the sharp sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

Logan paused, pulling back just enough to take in the flushed look on your face, the way your chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. His dark eyes roamed over you, full of intent and unmistakable hunger, and he shook his head slightly, as if marvelling at the sight before him.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice raw and gravelly.

His hand slid down your side, his fingers splaying out at your hip, the weight of his touch grounding you. He pressed a lingering kiss to the curve of your neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin, followed by the faintest pressure of his teeth. The shiver that coursed through you drew a satisfied growl from him, low and primal.

Every movement, every touch, every whispered word was deliberate—each one a promise. One you felt to your core.

The room buzzed with a charged energy, electric and palpable. Logan’s eyes met yours again, and in that moment, the world seemed to slow. The way he looked at you—like you were something he’d been waiting for his entire life—made your breath hitch and your heart race.

His hands tightened at your waist, his fingers pressing into your sides as he leaned down once more. The kiss that followed was a heady mix of tenderness and intensity, his lips moving against yours with an urgency that left no room for doubt. Logan kissed like he fought—fiercely, unyieldingly, and with everything he had.

Your hands explored his shoulders, tracing the firm muscle beneath his skin, feeling them shift and flex as he braced himself above you. His weight was a steady presence, comforting yet thrilling, a reminder of his strength.

When his lips left yours, they travelled lower, down the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, and lower still. His mouth and hands mapped out your body with an unhurried reverence, like he wanted to memorise every inch of you.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice hushed but commanding, his lips brushing against your skin. His eyes met yours again, dark and unwavering, filled with a determination that made your pulse quicken all over again. He was waiting, giving you the choice, the control, his intensity balanced by the care in his gaze.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, surprisingly soft despite its wildness. You bit your lip as his mouth moved along your neck, his lips warm and insistent, nibbling with a mix of playfulness and purpose. You instinctively arched toward him, seeking more of his touch, and he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

There was a soft smile tugging at his lips, a tenderness that contrasted beautifully with the raw hunger in his eyes. Then, without a word, he buried his face back into the crook of your neck, the scrape of his beard sending shivers down your spine.

His lips lingered on every inch of your skin, his kisses deepening the sensations until you were lost in him. A sharp nip at the sensitive curve of your neck made you jump, a small cry escaping your lips. His low, rumbling chuckle reverberated against your skin as he soothed the spot with a gentle lick.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” you whispered, your voice light but breathless.

He pulled back just enough to smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “And it won’t be the only one,” he replied, his tone low and gravelly, full of promise.

Logan’s hands slipped beneath your shirt, his roughened palms gliding over the soft warmth of your skin. When his fingers reached the clasp of your bra, he let out a quiet growl, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. With one smooth motion, he lifted you effortlessly, holding you against him as though you weighed nothing. The sheer strength in the gesture left you breathless, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“I need you in my bed,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice thick with longing. “Comfortably sprawled out... while I take my time with you tonight.”

His words sent a flush rising to your cheeks, and you pressed your face into his neck, both embarrassed and exhilarated. Logan laughed softly, the sound a low, rich rumble that sent heat pooling in your core.

“Oh, this is going to be fun, darlin’,” he teased, clearly revelling in your reaction.

“You’re being mean,” you mumbled in protest, your words muffled against his skin.

“Mean?” he repeated, his smirk widening as he felt the soft kisses you pressed to his neck in retaliation. His grip tightened on you just slightly before he laid you down on the bed, his movements controlled yet brimming with urgency. His leg slid naturally between your thighs as he leaned over you, pressing his weight into you just enough to draw a delighted squeal from your lips.

His gaze roamed over you, slow and deliberate, his eyes darkened with desire. There was something primal in the way he looked at you, as if nothing else in the world existed but this moment. His hand moved to your waist, trailing up your side with maddening slowness, leaving a path of warmth and tingling anticipation in its wake.

You shivered beneath his touch, your own hands finding their way to his broad shoulders. The firm lines of his muscles tightened under your fingertips as you explored the expanse of him, marvelling at his strength and the way it contrasted with the tenderness in his movements.

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. The tenderness was fleeting, quickly giving way to something deeper as the kiss intensified. His hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your head to deepen the connection. Each movement was deliberate, like he was savouring every second, and when he finally pulled back, his lips hovered a breath away from yours, his voice rough and low.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his tone heavy with need. “Every look, every touch... it drives me wild.”

His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt again, the calluses on his fingertips grazing your skin in a way that sent sparks dancing across your body. He pushed the fabric higher, his lips following the path his hands had traced, leaving feather-light kisses along your abdomen. Each touch, each kiss, built the tension inside you, the anticipation becoming almost too much to bear.

You arched into his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his hands and mouth explored you with reverence. Slowly, he worked his way back up, his lips brushing along your collarbone, up the curve of your neck, and finally capturing your lips again. His kiss was firm and consuming, leaving you dizzy with want as his hands continued their journey, touching you in ways that made you feel cherished, adored.

“I want you to relax,” he murmured, his rough hand gently cupping your cheek as his eyes locked with yours. The intensity in his gaze was grounding, reassuring. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

A shiver ran through you at the quiet promise in his words, and you gave yourself over to him completely. He continued his slow, deliberate exploration, his lips and hands igniting a fire that burned through every nerve in your body.

With a slight shift of his weight, he pulled your shirt over your head, his movements unhurried but filled with purpose. His eyes roamed over your newly exposed skin, darkened with desire but soft with tenderness. You’d never felt so completely seen before, so utterly appreciated.

Logan’s hands returned to your sides, his touch brushing over your ribs as he leaned down again, capturing your lips in a kiss that made your heart race. His movements were deliberate, savouring the moment like he had all the time in the world to worship you.

When his lips left yours, they continued their journey, trailing kisses down your neck, along your shoulder, and lower. Each press of his mouth sent a spark of warmth radiating through your body, the sensation heightening with every touch. His hands followed, his touch both firm and gentle, exploring your curves with a possessiveness that made you feel treasured.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered against your skin, his voice hushed but heavy with intensity. His gaze locked on yours, searching, waiting for your answer, his expression promising he would give you anything.

The vulnerability of the moment made your heart stutter, the quiet intimacy of it wrapping around you like a warm blanket. “I just need you,” you murmured, your voice trembling as the words spilled out, barely audible.

Logan’s lips curved into a faint smile against your skin, his rough beard scratching deliciously as he pressed a gentle kiss just above your heart. “Then I’m all yours,” he replied, his voice a low, gravelly promise that sent shivers cascading down your spine.

He moved you carefully, effortlessly guiding you to the centre of the bed. His arm stayed firmly around your waist, holding you close as though you might slip away if he let go. Every movement was slow, deliberate, his sharp eyes reading you like a book—every gasp, every shiver, every flutter of your lashes catalogued and responded to with tender attentiveness.

His fingers trailed down your skin, warm and rough against your softness, until they found the waistband of your jeans. With practised ease, he unfastened them, and you instinctively lifted your hips, helping him slide them off. He tossed them to the floor, where your shirt had already landed, and then sat back on his heels, taking you in.

His gaze was intense, primal—darkened by a hunger that seemed endless, almost dangerous. His eyes roamed over your form, lingering on every curve, every exposed inch of skin. That look alone made you feel like you were aflame, a heat pooling low in your belly under the weight of his stare. You swallowed hard, feeling shy and bold all at once in your barely-there panties, ones you’d chosen that morning for a little extra confidence, never expecting they’d be seen like this.

“You’re being mean again,” you teased, your voice soft but playful. “You’re still fully clothed.”

Logan raised a single eyebrow, his lips twitching into that damn smirk that made your knees weak. “Mean, huh?” he repeated again, his voice a teasing rasp. Shaking his head, he reached for the hem of his flannel shirt, starting to pull it over his head.

But before he could, your hand shot out, landing on his arm to stop him. “Can I do it?” you asked, your tone soft, tentative, but unmistakably eager.

His smirk deepened, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back to your eyes. “You wanna take the lead, princess?” he murmured, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a challenge.

With a quick, fluid movement, he grabbed your waist and flipped the two of you, his strength effortless, leaving you straddling his lap. His large hands rested firmly on your hips, holding you in place. You let out a surprised laugh, swatting his shoulder playfully, but the sound faded when you felt the hard length of him pressing against you.

“Then I’m all yours,” he growled, his smirk widening as you shifted your hips experimentally. The deep rumble that escaped his throat made your breath hitch, a quiet growl that sent a thrill racing through you.

Your hands travelled over the hard planes of his abdomen, tracing the lines of muscle that flexed beneath your touch. Slowly, teasingly, you reached the first button of his flannel and began unfastening it, one by one, revealing inch after inch of warm, firm skin. Dark hair covered his chest, trailing downward in a line that disappeared into his jeans, and you couldn’t stop yourself from running your fingers over it, savouring the roughness against your fingertips.

Leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then began a slow, deliberate path downward, your lips brushing along his jaw, his neck, and the curve of his shoulder. Your kisses turned to nips and bites, your teeth grazing his skin in a way that had his hips jerking beneath you. When your lips closed around his nipple, biting just hard enough to make him hiss, a low chuckle rumbled through him.

“You’re trouble,” he growled playfully, though his hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you into a slow rhythm against him.

You brushed his hands aside, smirking down at him. “I’m in control, Professor,” you said, the title falling from your lips like honey.

His reaction was immediate—his eyes widened slightly, darkening further as he twitched beneath you, his arousal impossible to ignore. “Interesting,” you mused, your grin turning wicked as you kissed your way down his chest, tracing the lines of his ribs with your nails, drawing a satisfied groan from him as the faint sting lingered.

Reaching the waistband of his jeans, you unfastened them with the same slow care he’d shown you earlier. Hooking your fingers around the band of his boxers, you gave his hip a light tap, silently urging him to lift, which he did without hesitation. You slid his jeans and boxers down, tossing them to join the growing pile of clothes.

“Looks like we’re uneven now,” he joked, his tone husky, though his focus was entirely on you as your fingers ghosted over his thighs.

“I left your shirt on, didn’t I?” you teased back, flashing him a mischievous smile.

He started to reply, but it dissolved into a groan as your hands moved upward, tracing along the lines of his stomach, stopping just shy of where he was waiting for you, hard and aching. You leaned down, pressing soft kisses to his abdomen, following the trail of hair downward, your lips deliberately avoiding the most sensitive part of him. Each breath that grazed him made him twitch, his hands fisting the sheets as he tried to stay patient.

But Logan Howlett wasn’t a patient man.

His voice was a low, guttural growl. “Princess, if you keep teasing me, I’m not gonna stay still much longer.”

You smirked, brushing your lips lightly along his inner thigh, your eyes flicking up to meet his. “Then don’t,” you whispered, the challenge clear in your tone.

And the way his eyes burned at your words made you feel unstoppable.

"May I remind you, sweetheart, that I’m not a patient man?" His voice was a low, guttural growl, each word strained as his restraint frayed under your teasing. Your lips ghosted up his chest, leaving a warm trail of kisses along the curve of his neck. His skin was taut under your wandering hands, which moved deliberately, sliding over the firm muscle of his chest, down the sculpted planes of his abdomen, until they stopped just shy of their target.

A bead of pre-cum glistened at his tip, a testament to how close you were to driving him over the edge. The sight alone sent a thrill through you—he was teetering on the brink of control, and you loved it. Still, even as his desperation stirred a wicked delight in you, the ache building within your own body was undeniable. You wanted him just as badly. No, more.

Leaning up, you captured his lips in a soft, deliberate kiss, then broke away to whisper in his ear, your breath hot and laced with seduction. "May I suck you off, Professor?"

The sound that tore from him was a low, primal groan—half frustration, half desire—and when you pulled back with a feigned innocence, his restraint snapped. He surged forward, claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss, his hands gripping you with a fervour that made your stomach twist deliciously. He poured his want into that kiss, and you revelled in the way he crumbled beneath your touch.

Your hand slipped lower, wrapping firmly around him, and his sharp intake of breath sent a wave of heat surging through your body. Seeing him bare before you was one thing, but feeling him—his heat, his size, his sheer need—had your own breath catching. The thought of taking him, of having him inside you, sent a shiver of anticipation skimming down your spine.

Pulling back, you locked eyes with him, the dark hunger in his gaze urging you on. Slowly, you brought your hand to your mouth, licking your palm in a deliberately seductive motion. His lips parted as his chest rose and fell heavily, watching every move you made. Your slickened hand returned to him, circling his length with a teasing swirl. His head fell back, a deep groan escaping his throat, as his body surrendered to the sensation.

Experimentally, you brushed your thumb over his tip, collecting the bead of wetness there. Without breaking eye contact, you brought it to your lips, tasting him for the first time. He was salty, heady, but somehow addictive—a taste you could already tell you’d crave. His groan turned guttural as your hand began its slow, deliberate rhythm, stroking him with increasing confidence.

"Logan Howlett," you thought, a flicker of triumph lighting within you. This untamed, commanding man was utterly under your spell, and you hadn’t even begun to show him what you could do.

Leaning in, you pressed your tongue to the base of his throat, dragging it upward in one languid motion. His cock was hot and impossibly hard in your hand, smooth yet throbbing with vitality. You smirked as you murmured against his skin, your voice a sultry hum. "You feel incredible in my hand, Professor. I wonder…" You nipped lightly at his collarbone before trailing down his chest and stomach, closer and closer to where your hand worked him in steady strokes. “…how you'd feel in my mouth."

“Fuck,” he rasped, the word trembling on a breathless moan as you quickened your pace, his hips twitching in response. "You can try it, sweet girl. I bet a good girl like you would love it."

His challenge lit a spark in your eyes. Without hesitation, you trailed your hand to his base, preparing for the length you couldn’t take fully. Then, holding his gaze, you ran your tongue up his shaft in a slow, deliberate stripe, savouring every inch. His breath hitched, and he let out another ragged "Fuck," his head tipping back in unrestrained pleasure.

You smirked around him, your lips brushing against his skin. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long," you murmured, your hand working him with practised strokes as you watched his chest rise and fall, his breathing ragged. His eyes were heavy-lidded with lust, entirely focused on you.

Without breaking your rhythm, you leaned forward and took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling expertly as you enjoyed the weight and heat of him. His reaction was immediate—a guttural groan that made your pulse race. Every sound he made, every twitch of his body, was yours to command, and you planned to make the most of it.

You leaned down, your gaze locking with his as you parted your lips to take him in. The intensity in his dark, lust-filled eyes sent a pulse of heat through you, heightening your desire. Slowly, you enveloped him, letting your tongue swirl around his tip with deliberate, teasing strokes. Every second felt electric, the weight of him on your tongue igniting something primal within you.

Encouraged by the raw, guttural groan that escaped his lips, you took him deeper. The sound spurred you on, your body responding instinctively as you pushed yourself further, the stretch of him filling your mouth almost too much to bear. A choked gasp escaped you as you fought to adjust, and when you pulled back slowly, the suction made him shudder. Your tongue flicked out, lapping up the bead of pre-cum that lingered at his tip, savouring the salty, heady taste with a soft moan.

You let your tongue explore him fully, tracing the sensitive underside of his length with delicate precision. Each movement of your hand at the base added to the sensation, your fingers tightening just enough to draw a deep, unrestrained moan from him. The sound sent a thrill through you, and a smug smirk tugged at your lips. Seeing a man like Logan—always so composed and commanding—reduced to this state of pure need made you feel intoxicatingly powerful.

Unable to resist the temptation, you reached for his clenched fist, guiding it gently into your hair. His hand opened reflexively, his fingers threading through your locks with surprising tenderness. At first, his grip was tentative, his raised brow and the flicker of surprise in his gaze betraying his hesitation. But those eyes—dark, hungry, and more captivating than ever—held a new vulnerability, a raw honesty that made your pulse quicken.

“I want you to show me how you like it, Logan,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry, the deliberate use of his name landing like a spark in the charged space between you.

Something shifted in him. His pupils dilated, and his lips curved into a wicked smirk that made your stomach flip. “Are you sure, sweet girl?” he asked, his tone deep and laden with warning. “I can be... aggressive.” His low chuckle was both a tease and a promise, but the way his hand flexed in your hair revealed just how much your words had affected him.

You felt the heat rising between you, a silent challenge hanging in the air. “I want to make you feel good,” you whispered, your voice trembling with sincerity.

For a moment, his expression softened, the ferocity in his gaze giving way to something warmer. He patted your cheek gently, almost tenderly, before exhaling a shaky breath. “You’ll be the death of me,” he muttered under his breath, before adding in a growl, “Good girl.”

The praise sent a rush of arousal through you, emboldening you as you took him back into your mouth. You started slowly, relishing the stretch as you worked to accommodate him. Your lips strained as you descended further, inch by inch, until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. You paused there, breathing through your nose, willing yourself to relax as you adjusted to his size.

The weight of him was overwhelming, but you welcomed the challenge, pressing forward to test your limits. Your hand moved in tandem with your mouth, stroking the base of his cock where your lips couldn’t reach. Every groan, every strained breath from above you fueled your determination.

When his hand tightened in your hair, a subtle but unmistakable tug, you felt the shift in his control. It wasn’t forceful, but it was guiding, encouraging you to take him deeper. The act of surrendering to his lead sent a wave of heat cascading through you, and you moaned softly around him, the vibrations drawing another sharp groan from his throat.

Logan Howlett, the untouchable, unshakable force of nature, was unravelling in your hands—and you couldn’t have been more proud.

Every sound he made only added to the unbearable ache pooling between your thighs. You were soaked—so much more than you’d ever been before. The slickness, the heat, the undeniable need coursing through you—it was unlike anything you’d felt. Sure, you’d given blowjobs before, but they were nothing like this. This wasn’t a chore or a routine act of pleasure. With Logan, every moment felt electric, every touch feeding the fire inside you.

As your hand and mouth worked together to bring him closer, the growing need within you begged for attention. Slowly, one hand trailed down your own body, seeking some relief, your fingers pressing lightly against the wetness that had soaked through your panties.

But the sharp tug at your hair brought everything to a halt, a high-pitched gasp escaping your lips as you broke away to look up at him. His dark, lust-filled eyes burned with a mixture of amusement and dominance.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his tone laced with teasing authority, though the edge in his voice made it clear he expected an answer.

“I—I just thought—” you started, but the wicked smirk that spread across his face silenced you.

“Pleasuring you is my job,” he interrupted, his words sending a thrill through your body. “Go on, sweetheart. Be a good girl for me, and I promise I’ll reward you.”

A rush of arousal coursed through you at his command. Any other man saying something like that would have earned a sharp slap and a swift exit. But Logan? His voice, his touch, his sheer presence—it left you feeling raw, exposed, and more wanted than ever before. You nodded, a small, breathless smile playing on your lips as you returned your hand to his hip.

Lowering your head again, you let your tongue trace a slow, deliberate path down the length of his cock, sampling the taste of him as you collected the salty pre-cum that had begun to drip. His groan was low and guttural, a sound that spurred you on as you began to bob your head, taking him deeper and deeper into your throat with every motion.

But Logan wasn’t content to let you set the pace. His hand tightened in your hair, pushing you down suddenly and forcing your nose to press against the base of his cock. The sheer size of him stretched your throat, and you pulled back with a coughing gasp, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck!” he hissed, his voice strained. His other hand reached for your chin, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. “You okay, princess?” The damn pet name only made your pulse race faster.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, your voice raspy but eager. “You just surprised me.”

He smirked, but the concern in his eyes was genuine, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “Good. Use your words, pretty girl.”

“I want to feel you again,” you said breathlessly, your hand resuming its slow strokes along his length. Your eyes travelled to his lips, then back to his smouldering gaze as you bit your bottom lip. “I want to feel you come in my mouth, Sir.”

His eyes darkened at the word, his grip in your hair tightening just enough to make you shiver. “Good. Fucking. Girl,” he growled, his voice rough and full of praise. “Go on, then. Show me just how perfect you can be.”

This time, you didn’t hesitate. You found your rhythm, relaxing your throat and taking him even deeper than before. Saliva spilled down his length, glistening in the dim light as you worked him with a messy, unrestrained enthusiasm. The sounds of his pleasure—grunts, groans, and muttered curses—were music to your ears, spurring you to go further, to do more.

Logan’s hips began to move, his thrusts matching the rhythm of your mouth. The hand in your hair guided you with increasing urgency, his movements growing rougher, more desperate. “Oh, right there, princess,” he groaned, his voice strained as his control started to slip. “That’s it. You’re so fucking good for me.”

You moaned around him, the vibration pulling another strangled sound from his lips. He was twitching now, his cock pulsing against your tongue, and you knew he was close. You focused on his tip, swirling your tongue around it before taking him as deep as you could once more.

“C-coming,” he choked out, his voice rough and breathless.

You didn’t falter. Instead, you tightened your grip at his base, hollowing your cheeks and pressing your lips flush against him as he reached his peak. His hips bucked, and with one final thrust, he spilled into your mouth. The taste of him—salty, raw, and uniquely Logan—flooded your senses, and you swallowed every drop, savouring the moment.

With a soft pop, you pulled back, licking your lips and opening your mouth to show him you’d taken everything he had to give. The satisfaction in his gaze made your chest swell with pride.

“You are fucking perfect,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse. Before you could respond, he pulled you into a searing kiss, his mouth crashing against yours with unrestrained hunger. He didn’t seem to care that he could still taste himself on your lips—if anything, it seemed to drive him wild.

“You’re not done with me yet,” he murmured against your mouth, his smirk returning as he pulled you closer. “Not even close.” 

Once again, Logan shifted your bodies effortlessly, rolling you beneath him until you lay sprawled out, vulnerable and waiting. The weight of his gaze made your breath hitch—hungry, predatory, as though he were revelling in every inch of you before even touching you. For the first time that night, nerves began to creep in, a shiver of uncertainty. You were exposed, clad in nothing but your underwear, your body bared for him in the dim light. But then he looked at you, really looked at you, and the intensity in his eyes made your doubts dissolve like smoke.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, each word laced with longing.

He leaned in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. His teeth found the sensitive spots just below your ear, nibbling gently, drawing a gasp from you as your back arched instinctively toward him. You were already so ready, the ache between your thighs unbearable. Tilting your hips, you sought to close the gap, to meet him where you needed him most.

But his hand came down firmly on your hip, pinning you back against the mattress with a knowing smirk. “Impatient, are we?” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “Looks like I’ll have to teach you some patience. After all…” He leaned closer, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, “…I am a professor.”

The kiss that followed was searing, his tongue slipping past your lips to tangle with yours. His weight pressed down on you, holding you in place, his length achingly close but just out of reach. You whimpered against his mouth, your body trembling with anticipation, your hands clawing at his shoulders in frustration. When he pulled back to look at you, his smile turned smug. He could see it all—the half-closed eyes, the way your lips chased his, your complete surrender beneath him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his tone almost a purr. “So ready. And I’ve barely even touched you.”

His lips found your neck again, trailing hot, deliberate kisses down to your collarbone. Then lower. He lingered at your chest, his hands deftly unclasping your bra. The cool air brushed against your hardened nipples for only a moment before his mouth claimed one, his tongue swirling as he sucked, his teeth grazing lightly. The sensation shot through you like lightning, and a low whine escaped your throat.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin as his hand found your other breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. “So sensitive,” he said softly, his voice full of pride at the way your body responded to him. Switching sides, he made sure to give each peak the same attention, his lips and tongue worshipping you as though nothing else in the world mattered.

His kisses continued their descent, leaving a trail of heat down your stomach. Wet, open-mouthed kisses mixed with playful bites that made you hiss—not in pain, but in sweet, agonising frustration. He paused at your hip, nipping the delicate skin there, and your hand flew to his shoulder, clutching him tightly.

“You’re torturing me,” you whined, your voice a breathless plea.

His response was a soft, almost tender kiss against your lips, a stark contrast to the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Am I?” he murmured, his fingers slipping lower, brushing against the damp fabric covering your core.

“Oh, God,” you gasped, your head falling back against the pillows as his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you.

With one smooth motion, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and slid it down your legs, leaving you completely bare beneath him. He sat back for a moment, his gaze raking over you with unrestrained hunger.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself. “So perfect. So fucking ready.” His lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Does getting me off make you this wet, princess?”

“You’re cruel,” you shot back with a breathless chuckle, only to gasp as he slid one thick finger into you with ease.

“Cruel?” he echoed, his smirk widening. “Oh, sweetheart, we’re just getting started.”

He leaned down, trailing kisses down your stomach and lower, pausing just above where you ached for him most. His tongue darted out, teasing you with the lightest touch, and you bucked against him instinctively. His free hand pressed firmly against your stomach, holding you in place.

“Patience,” he reminded you, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

When his mouth finally descended, the first touch of his tongue against your clit sent a cry spilling from your lips. He groaned in response, the sound deep and guttural as he tasted you. “So sweet,” he murmured against you, his lips brushing the sensitive nub. “So fucking good. Only for me.”

“Only for you,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He growled low in his throat, the deep vibration coursing through you like a shockwave. His tongue moved with practised precision, alternating between soft, teasing flicks that left you gasping and firm, deliberate strokes that made your toes curl. Every movement was calculated to drive you higher, to wring every ounce of pleasure from you.

Then, his lips latched onto your clit again, sucking gently before his teeth grazed the sensitive nub, sending a sharp, delicious jolt through your core. The cry of his name that tore from your lips was almost instinctual. “That’s it, princess,” he murmured against your skin, his voice gravelly, warm, and thick with lust. “Let me hear you.”

You couldn’t do anything but obey. His tongue began to work you relentlessly, each lap and swirl pulling moans and gasps from deep within you. “Logan, oh god, yes!” Your words spilled out in breathless chants, and you writhed beneath him, your body responding to every masterful flick of his tongue. Of course, he was skilled—far beyond anything you’d ever experienced. He wasn’t some fumbling boy trying to impress you. He was a man—a raw, primal force—and tonight, he was yours.

When a third finger stretched you, your back arched off the bed as you screamed his name. His answering smirk was devastating. That damn smirk. It would be your undoing. You could feel him—his arousal, hot and heavy against your thigh, already primed for more. Yet he wasn’t rushing, wasn’t hurrying to take you. He devoured you like a man starved, his fingers filling you perfectly, his free hand pinning you down as you squirmed beneath his touch.

“Be a good girl for me,” he rasped, his tone a dangerous mix of command and tease, “and tell me when you’re about to come.”

The ache inside you built to a breaking point, sharp and all-consuming. The pressure coiled tighter and tighter until it was unbearable, and you whimpered, your voice trembling as you confessed how close you were.

And then he stopped.

The absence of his touch was like being plunged into ice water. You opened your eyes, glaring at him with a mix of disbelief and fury.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you hissed, your voice trembling with frustration.

Logan leaned back on his heels, his broad shoulders shaking with a low, wicked laugh. His smirk deepened as he looked at you, flushed and furious. “You’re adorable when you’re angry,” he teased, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I’m not adorable,” you huffed, your cheeks burning, both from arousal and his taunting.

“You’re even more adorable when you’re flustered,” he chuckled, brushing his thumb along your cheek.

Before you could retort, he kissed you hard, swallowing any protest. Without warning, his hand returned, and he thrust three fingers deep inside you, curling them expertly. He found that perfect, spongy spot with devastating accuracy, and when he pressed against it, you screamed his name so loudly you were certain the neighbours would know exactly what he was doing to you.

“That’s my girl,” he growled, his voice rough and brimming with satisfaction. “Let go for me.”

One more precise swirl of his fingers, and you shattered. The climax hit you like a lightning strike, blinding and all-consuming. Your body convulsed around him, your hands gripping the sheets desperately as wave after wave of pleasure wracked your body. It was different—deeper, more intense than anything you’d ever felt before.

But Logan didn’t stop.

“Logan, stop, I can’t,” you gasped, your voice shaking as your body trembled from the aftershocks. “I…I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he coaxed, his voice soft but insistent. “Come on, give it to me, baby.”

The new pet name broke something in you. Before you could process it, another orgasm tore through you, more overwhelming than the first. Your legs clamped shut around his hand as your body convulsed, your arms falling limp at your sides, too spent to even move.

When the waves finally subsided, you lay there, panting and trembling. “That was… God… That was the best fucking orgasm of my life,” you muttered breathlessly.

Logan grinned smugly, clearly pleased with himself.

“Don’t look so smug!” you protested weakly, swatting at his chest, though the laughter in your voice betrayed you.

He lifted his hand, still glistening with your release, and raised an eyebrow. “No one’s ever made you squirt before, right?”

Your eyes widened, embarrassment washing over you as you shook your head.

“Idiots,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss you softly, his lips gentle and warm against yours. “Seeing you like that…that’s the best damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

His words melted your embarrassment, and you smiled up at him, your hand drifting down to wrap around the hard length pressed against your thigh. His breath hitched at your touch, his control visibly fraying.

“You sure, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice softening, the tenderness in his tone stark against the raw hunger in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt ya.”

His care, his patience, his sheer presence—it all left you breathless. How had you gotten so lucky?

“I want you inside me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. “I want to feel you—and your release—in me for the next week.”

The sharp inhale of breath and the way his eyes darkened at your words sent a thrill through you. “I’m on the IUD, and I’m clean,” you added, and his nod confirmed the same.

Logan leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled softly, “Then let’s make you feel exactly how much I want you.”

Logan sat back on his heels, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing as he pulled off the shirt he still wore. The faint scars scattered across his skin caught the dim light, a testament to his raw strength and resilience. His feral intensity was softened, for a moment, by the way his hands trailed down your legs, spreading them open with deliberate care. His touch sent a shiver through you, not from cold, but from the overwhelming anticipation that coursed through your body.

Gripping his cock, he positioned himself at your entrance, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “I’m not small,” he said with a low chuckle, his voice gruff but tinged with tenderness. He knew his size could be overwhelming; with his usual flings, he wouldn’t have hesitated, but this wasn’t just a night of mindless release. This was different. You were different. He cared about you, and that thought made him slow down, made him want to savour every moment.

The swollen tip of his cock slid easily through your slick folds, and you inhaled sharply at the slight sting of the stretch. He was bigger than anyone before, and for a fleeting moment, the discomfort was sharp—but it faded just as quickly, replaced by a moan of pleasure as he pushed deeper. Slowly, inch by inch, he worked his way inside, letting you adjust to him.

“Fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth when he bottomed out, his forehead dropping to yours. He was buried so deeply you swore you could feel him everywhere, filling you in ways you hadn’t thought possible. “So tight,” he muttered, a small, breathless chuckle escaping him. “Damn near came already.”

He kissed you then, slow and deliberate, his lips trailing down your neck as his hand came up to cup your breast. His thumb flicked over your nipple, drawing a gasp from you as his hips began to move. The first few thrusts were slow, measured, giving you time to adjust.

You looked up at him, and the sight stole what little breath you had left. Logan Howlett was beautiful in his raw masculinity—the glistening sweat on his chest, the way his muscles rippled with each movement, his eyes dark with lust and something deeper. His hands left your breasts, moving to grip your thighs, lifting them to rest on his shoulders as he pressed even deeper inside you. The angle made you gasp, your hands gripping his forearms for stability.

“Faster,” you moaned, your voice trembling with need as you leaned up to whisper in his ear. ”Please”.

He growled softly, his lips brushing against your temple as he pulled back to look at you. “So fucking polite,” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips before his pace shifted.

The next thrust slammed into you, and a cry tore from your throat, your body arching off the bed as he began to pound into you with an intensity that bordered on feral. He moved with precision, each snap of his hips purposeful as though he was searching for something—and then he found it.

Your gasp turned into a strangled moan, your lips forming a perfect O as he hit a spot deep inside you that sent white-hot pleasure ripping through your body. His smirk widened at your reaction, and his hand moved down to your clit, circling it with rough but deliberate pressure that made your voice rise in a chorus of his name, breathless pleas, and mindless cries of “yes.”

“Come on, princess,” he commanded, his voice low and growling. “Come on my dick.”

You shattered at his words, the orgasm ripping through you so hard your body trembled uncontrollably. You cried out his name, gripping the sheets tightly as your walls clenched around him. But he didn’t stop. His hips kept driving into you, harder and faster, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly you knew you’d wear the marks tomorrow.

“Logan, stop, I can’t—” you whimpered, though your body betrayed you, climbing toward another peak.

“Yes, you can,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. “Give me one more, my sweet girl. One more.”

When he murmured your name, it was over. Your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, so intense your legs clamped around him and your arms fell limp at your sides. The sensation of his cock twitching inside you, the warm flood of his release spilling into you, heightened the euphoria.

When he stilled, his chest heaving, he leaned down to kiss you. It was soft, tender, so full of care that it almost brought tears to your eyes. As you blinked them away, his thumb brushed over your cheek, catching the tears before they could fall. He pressed gentle kisses to the corners of your eyes before pulling out of you with a shared hiss.

For a moment, you thought he might collapse beside you, like so many others before him had, but instead, he murmured, “I’ll be back in a sec. Don’t move.”

Too spent to argue, you closed your eyes, letting the haze of exhaustion wash over you. When you felt the warm, damp cloth against your sensitive core, you flinched slightly, startled.

“Relax, baby,” he murmured, his voice full of affection as he cleaned you up with a care that left you speechless. He’d even taken the time to warm the water. Could this man be any more perfect?

“I brought you some water,” he added, holding out a glass as he sat beside you on the bed.

You took it gratefully, managing a soft chuckle. “I don’t think I can move,” you said, half-joking but entirely truthful.

For a brief, vulnerable moment, fear crept into your chest. This was the part you dreaded—the moment where he’d send you on your way, reducing everything you shared to a meaningless one-night stand. You braced yourself for it, but it never came.

Instead, Logan stretched out beside you, his large hand resting on your thigh as he looked at you with those impossibly soft eyes.

“Then stay,” he said simply, his voice rough but sincere. “The bed’s big enough. And not to brag, but I make a damn good omelette.”

The smile he gave you melted every bit of fear in your chest, filling it instead with a quiet joy that made your heart ache in the best way.

You finished your water and curled up against him, your head resting on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your ear.

“I think I like that,” you murmured, your voice drowsy but content.

And in that moment, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[cheriladycl01]

Quirk #9

Here is my ninth quirk idea! Feel free to use this in your fanfics (just give me credit if you directly got it from me) obviously I know however I’m not the only creative person in the world and that some people may have also had these ideas before me!

Quirk: Vanish

She can make herself or anything else vanish in different ways.

This entails:

- This would be an incredibly strong quirk that would just keep growing and growing at every pivotal point. It would start of with simple vanishing techniques such as Invisibility and Teleportaion. Both having the impact of vanishing.

- Then they'd be able to make others and objects invisible or teleport.

- A quirk awakening would or could consist of the user being able to make themselves vanish from the current timeline which could help with fighting. There could also be mental manipulation in respect of making someone think that they arent actually there.

Weaknesses

- They can only teleport to out of eyeline of the person intended, even if its not a place they can see, but this is a weakness in itself as they cant control where they teleport.

- Cool down period on using their quirk as its very versatile but certain ones like invisibility will have a time limit on them.

- When it comes to making themselves unseen by certain people there would be a limit of how many people at once.

Strengths

- Its a very versatile quirk that you could develop with intagibility to make them 'vanish' from the physical plane etc.

- Her quirk would be useful in a lot of scenarios whether that be combat or rescue. Stealth however would be an great route for them.

- She's one of those where you could make her like the user of Twin Impact whose given an incredibly useful and cool quirk but just doesnt know the right wats to use it and thats her development getting stronger with the use of her quirk. Theres so many different routes you could go down with this quirk.

Hero Name: The Unseen Hero: Poof

Zodiac: Sagitarius

Ethnic Background: Japanese/ Austrian

Height: 5ft 7

Weight: 163ibs

Style: Grunge

Physical Traits: She has little sparkles on her skin whenever she uses her quirk and she hates them. Thinks they make her look too girly.

Mannerisms: She’s very cool calm and collected so she isn't one to rage or yell and so she has these long blinks when shes listening intently to someone.

Favourite:

Food: Ice Cream (Specifically Pish Food)

Drink: Oasis Citrus Burst

Colour: Purple

Weather: Clear Skies but Colder

Possession: Her electric guitar

Morning Routine:

She does NOT do mornings, she hates them with a passion and most of the time will be rushing after eventually waking up to alarm number 13 knowing she'll be late if she leaves any later.

Hobbies:

She would 100% consider sleeping or napping as a hobby.

Special Skills:

Very good at practical things like cooking and remembering fine details

Pet Peeves:

Being too woke would piss her off even though she is also the type to comment on titkoks 'this pmo' or 'flying cars they said' and she'd defo troll people on the internet.

Bad At:

She isn't very creative and so struggles to think on her feet and doesn't use her quirk to the best of her ability which would be a really major plot point for her to work on.

Biggest Fear:

The Ocean

Greatest Flaw:

Like said before she isn't very creative and doesn't think well on her feet, so its sort of like when a plan is made she's groovy but when spare of the moment decisions.

Goals:

To become a great hero who doesn't need to rely on others.

Who I see them with:

Guys - DEKU, Dabi

Girls - MOMO, Midnight

[hendolish]

hii girlie I'm just getting so many ideas in my head after scrolling through your Tumblr every single day so pardon me haha. But Marcus/Jesse fic? They had something going on when they were younger but stopped it and Jesse's defo not getting called up again and Marcus misses him so he goes over to his house and they start hanging out and one things leads to another and they have sex which leads to them talking about why things didn't work out (Jesse not ready to settle and Marcus barely seeing Jesse when he left United) and this basically get back together. I know that this isn't really that much plot and like I didn't explain it well but you get the gist right? Thanks so much💗💗.

marcus rashford/jesse lingard - echoes of old trafford <3

St. George's Park was never the same anymore.

Marcus felt the weight of the looming international fixtures. But more than that, he felt the absence of a certain presence - Jesse.

There had been whispers, subtle nods and hints from the coaching staff that Jesse wouldn't be called up again for the national team. The news didn't surprise Marcus, given Jesse's move away from United, but it left an aching void in his heart.

The two had shared more than just locker room jokes and on-field synergy. Years back, in the shadows of Old Trafford, there had been stolen glances, late-night conversations, and those warm nights when boundaries blurred.

A complicated understanding had sprouted between them, only to be cut short. The world of football wasn't ready for their story, and perhaps, neither were they.

Marcus sat in his hotel room, flipping through the photos on his phone. There was Jesse, always by his side, laughing, celebrating goals, or just being there during the tough times.

And suddenly it looms on him why he's felt so miserable lately. He missed that more than anything, even more than their complicated past. On a whim, he decided to see him.

Jesse was kicking a ball around in his garden when he heard a familiar knock. Opening the door, he found himself face to face with Marcus, who was wearing that signature shy grin.

"Hey," Marcus began, scratching the back of his neck nervously, "Missed you."

Jesse smiled widely like no time had passed at all, "Get in here."

Inside, amidst the familiar surroundings of Jesse's Manchester home, the years melted away. They talked about old matches, current teammates, and the general buzz of the football world. Hours passed, the evening darkened, and eventually, they found themselves sitting closer than they had intended, too many beers between them.

Jesse's fingers grazed Marcus', sending familiar shivers down both their spines. Old memories, long suppressed, resurfaced. They were drawn together like magnets, inevitable, lips meeting in a passionate embrace that spoke of years of longing and missed opportunities.

Morning rays found them tangled in bedsheets, gazing at each other with a mixture of regret and hope.

"Why didn't it work before?" Marcus asked, tracing the inked patterns on Jesse's arm; he'd been there almost every time when he'd gotten a tattoo. It made him feel a bit empty inside to see some he didn't recognise.

"We were too young to know what we wanted," Jesse sighed, catching Marcus' gaze before his eyes dart away again, "And after I left United, it just felt like we were worlds apart."

Marcus nodded, "It was like that for me too. But now, right here, I just know that this feels right."

Jesse smiled, his eyes glistening, hopeful, "It does... maybe it's time to give us another shot?"

Marcus pulled him closer, sealing the promise with a gentle kiss.

The football world might not know of their love, but in that moment, nothing else mattered. The two were ready to embrace a future, together.

<3

[bi-bard-reviews]

Movie Review - Nosferatu [2024]

**WARNING: This review contains spoilers**

Robert Eggers had a hell of a weight on his shoulders when making a new adaptation of Nosferatu. The original came out in 1922 and has become horror history. Its impact has been felt by almost everyone, even those whose only exposure to it was a joke made in a random episode of SpongeBob. There was so much anticipation leading up to this film and I knew that I had to find out if it was worth the hype, so I used my birthday as an excuse to go see it in film.

Full disclosure: I have been a fan of Eggers's work for some time now. I fell in love with his work on The VVitch and The Northman. His films just tickle a part of my brain. I'm glad that Nosferatu was no different.

I want to start by praising the cast, as it may be the easiest part of this whole review. I am convinced that everyone in this movie was perfectly cast. There was so much love and care in this film from the cast. You could feel it. Everything was so passionate and intentional. I adored everyone in it.

There are a few standouts that I want to point out quickly (this is a long as hell paragraph, sorry). First is the man of the hour: Bill Skarsgård. He is truly in his element when he's playing something other than a human. His love for the craft shines in this movie. His line delivery to his movements were all done with such thought behind them. It was an incredibly memorable performance, and I hope he earns high praise from those who watch it. Second is Willem DeFoe. Defoe is in maybe half of this film. However, he plays his character so well that it becomes difficult to imagine a time when he wasn't there. He is naturally intertwined with the plot and the world. He is amazing at playing this passionate, if a little mad, man who wants to save the world at the end of the day. Finally, we need to talk about Lily-Rose Depp. I don't think it's out of line to say that she carries this film. Her emotion and dynamic performance force the audience to fully understand everything she experiences. Her love for her husband, her fear of her nightmares, her pain, her desire. Every emotion drags you even closer to her and that makes her tragic and selfless ending even more impactful.

I found the music to do very well at holding the audience in exactly the space they needed to be. Even silence is used carefully. Tension, stark terror, confusion, and grief as all supported by an amazing score that perfectly fits the movie. Robin Carolan, you are a mad genius.

I am not someone who commonly gets caught up on camerawork. I didn't go to film school in any capacity, nor do I consider myself any kind of expert. As such, I don't fully know the vocab or the methods in any great detail. All that I know is that I was obsessed with some of the filming in this movie. There were several scenes where two characters would be having a conversation with the camera simple cutting between two steady shots. I specifically think of the scene featuring the conversation between Thomas (Nicholas Hoult) and his boss (Simon McBurney) in his boss's office. It immediately caught my attention and then I couldn't stop thinking about it. Even in moving scenes, where a camera could easily follow one subject from point A to point B, it would instead sit on a single axis and then quickly turn to follow the actor that way. I think of Thomas riding his horse through the field on his way to see Count Orlok (Skarsgård) or when Orlok's carriage comes to pick up Thomas.

I could write a love letter about the effects and gore and the presentation of different deaths and corpses in this movie. Just to avoid making this a complete essay, I will just say that I found it to be done in a way that balanced the film's tone and gore perfectly.

There was very little that I didn't adore about this movie. Also, the things that I didn't like weren't specifically flaws in the filmmaking, but just my personal preference. For example, I found the coloring of the film to be less effective than it could've been. I do think I understood the point of the different coloring in different scenes, but it still didn't sit with me the way that I wanted it to. Again, this is just my personal preference and isn't an inherent flaw in the project.

Overall, I found Nosferatu to be a fascinating movie with amazing imagery and performances from a perfect cast. Those who are fans of Eggers's other projects will truly love this project. Also, those with a soft spot for gothic horror/Victorian horror (not 100% sure about what the right term is) will likely enjoy this project.

[nrth-wind-a]

Open RP || check tags for Skrael's human disguise description, also important info about plotting w/ me if you want to plan based on this starter ||

Skrael carefully picked up a book that he'd seen a mortal reading in the coffee shop in which Bellroc and he had seen Nari and that infuriating wizard last week. The mortal had seemed enthralled, wearing a gentle smile on their face, not unlike the one which Skrael wore on his own when he was allowed moments of playing with the mortals. It intrigued Skrael, who liked learning of entertaining things; when one lived as long as he and Bellroc had, one couldn't always get their "kicks," as the mortals said, from starting over the world. It would be far too much of a hassle to plan that many takeovers and rebuilds. Therefore, when Bellroc had dismissed him to go searching for Nari and the wizard, and he'd spotted the same book in the library he'd been pacing through, he'd thought, why not? and picked it up.

It was written by a mortal of the name Robert Frost-- Skrael liked the author's last name-- and bore the title "Fire and Ice, and Other Frost Poems". Fire and Ice sounded like an interesting poem idea; it reminded him of himself and Bellroc. He frowned as he read through it, though. The stupid poet preferred fire to ice as a form of world destruction. What a fool. Ice was a much better way to go. The author's resignation to ice being sufficient in the end did little to placate him, as well. Hm. Just another reason that the mortal plane deserved to begin anew. He'd be sure to inflict a healthy respect for ice in the new world they'd create. He sighed and closed the book, ready to place it back on the shelf.

He wanted to get back and remove his stupid mortal disguise that Bellroc insisted upon when they went out into the mortal world for reconnaissance. It was so restricting. He wasn't even allowed to fly anywhere, and he had to wear these odd mortal inventions called sneakers. What a waste of time it must be to make them. In what world was it worth it to add an extra layer of something, when one's feet worked fine without them? He didn't like them.

Yes, the human disguises were certainly infuriating. He wished he could be more free to do as he pleased at any whim that he felt. Still, the poem had been fairly interesting for a moment; he rather enjoyed wordplay, and the opportunities it presented to ellicit all sorts of fun reactions from people. Like fear, in particular. He quite liked getting a fearful reaction from others. It was a shame his pesky human disguise didn't allow much room for intimidation. Ah well, as soon as he got back to their hideout, he could take out his pent-up energy on whatever unsuspecting creature wandered through their campsite in the forest. He hoped they'd be able to rebuild their castle soon, though. He quite missed having the space, and living without the worry of discovery by mortals every few hours.

[macaroki]

bad days ( k. bakugo x gn.reader )

" a headpats a day keep sanity at the bay, " but that's not the problem. the problem was your boyfriend being so grumpy and his attention not even for you, even just for a little.

warning(s) : some swearing word, lack of attention, a very ooc bakugo, not proofread, short drabble if you consider so.

genre : angst if you squint, fluff

pairing(s) : katsuki bakugo x gender neutral reader

a/n : i know it's todoroki's bday yesterday but i can't brainrot myself to write something for him so i am very sorry, please enjoy a very tsuntsun bakugo. and picture shown obv not mine. apologize for any grammar, character personality & story plot error. bcs i defo didnt't write this from 3AM, of course haha.... ⊂((・▽・))⊃

You didn't ask for this, never ever in your life you gonna ask for today. Today has been draining you a lot and just universe messing with you real bad, 'cause nothing seems right today. Your coffee has gone this morning and god-knew-who-tf steal them and you accidently lashed out to Bakugo as he greets you aggresively on the phone.

God, not to mention that Ectoplasm-sensei was explaining something about Mathematic's thing and added another assignment that due this month ( but honestly who would understand maths? ) and Present Mic has assigned two pairs to do some presentation that you couldn't put yout head with what was he talking about. What make it kind off worse was you're paired with Mineta.

Maybe it's not that bad right? Well, not really. But hey, at least Todoroki has warm up your cold tea that was made by Yaoyorozu that you didn't notice, but... We're not focusing about that, instead it's about your.. boyfriend? Significant other? Soulmate? You name it, but he's just being an extra total asshole this whole shitty day of yours.

Don't @ me, he's already an asshole before but today he doesn't seems like your boyfriend at all. His attention all drawn to his phone ( during any free time of his, ) and just ignoring you the whole day. During the recess, he wouldn't touch his favorite food nor throwing jerky remarks to Kaminari's dad jokes.

Okay, maybe he was really mad so who knows after school-period ended he would talk to you again, right? Oh my, jokes on you he didn't. Whenever you initiate a conversation, he would grunts or just hums as reponse. He do walk you to Height Allience like usual, but he didn't say a single thing like his vocabulary was all gone. It's feel like you're dating a mute boyfriend with no social cue right now. He literally took ' a man with few words ' in another level.

" Katsu, can you perhaps by any chances lending me your note? " You asked him as soon as both of you walking in to the common room and thankfully he did verbal response with " which subject? " - " Maths, they sucks. I don't understand today's topic, " you sighed, but somewhat grateful because he can talk afterall. " Alright, " all he said before catching up with Kirishima in the elevator, leaving you confused. Okay, you definitely need to fix something here.

As soon as you arrive to your dorms, your body fall to the comfy bed that at least willing to give you some comfort. Not even a minute passed, there's someone knocking on the door, and you didn't even brother to look up the person as you buried your face on Bakugo's hoodie that you def. didn't steal three days ago. " Oi, here's the note you asked. "

You gestured your hand to your study table, earning another grunts from him. Not too long after, you heard him ranting something about apology or maybe you were just sleepy and hearing things. " Come down for dinner later, " was the last thing you heard before you fall asleep on your beloved tsundere boyfriend's hoodie.

You woke up from the comforting weight on your body, and the hoodie that you cuddled before now replaced by the real owner. You were safely tucked under his chin and your uniform also replaced with your favorite shirt. It's weird, maybe you were high all this time and day dreaming. Maybe that's why your day was super-

" Oi, dumbass. I know you were awake, " -horrible. " I'm .. I'm sorry okay? I didn't notice you have a fucking bad day, " while his hand were mindlessly drawing shapes on your back. Hopefully you didn't mind his rapid heartbeat, cause you just didn't fail to make him blush like crazy. God forbid anyone saw or hear this because he'll be just close only to you, and you.

Maybe you were in heaven right now, or maybe you were hallucinating. But you couldn't help than cherish the moment of vulnerable Bakugo's, even though it's just a dream. Well, a human can only dream. " Are you listening to me? " He snapped you out from your thought while muttering some curse word under his breath. " Oh, y-yeah. Right, sorry. What was that about? " A sigh escaped from his lips, and his hold on your body tighten a bit.

" I said I'm sorry, dumbass. I.. fuck, I didn't mean to. " He stopped a while as he feels your face nuzzling closer to his neck. " I really.... didn't mean to ignore you all day, " he muttered with a few grunts there and there, but seeing him open about his feeling make you feel better all of the sudden. It makes you feel like trusted enough that he's more than willing to show you his vulnerable state, and it's convince you that this relationship is mutual.

Perhaps he said ' I love you ' less, but the attitude - that sounds clichè but cute honestly - where he lends you his note and even tutoring you with no hesistation asked, where he walks beside you on the road side, where he let you tugs on his shirt if you're feeling shitty on the crowd and so much more enough to tell you that he apperciate you and all.

" It's okay, you don't have to feel bad, " you assured him, at the same time cherishing the time you spent with him. " 'm just glad you're here, " and he did too.

He just can't say it but he hopes you see how he still saves you from Mineta bullshit during homeroom, how he still saves your seat on the cafeteria and bring you your favorite drink, and many other minor details that he don't even remember because everything he did with you become a habit, whether it cooking for you during weekend, or hair day on friday night.

" I'm just really glad to have you here, " you repeat again, that enough to convince him, " but next time you gotta tell me what's wrong, okay? " he muttered so softly and holding you close as he afraid to break you. Honestly, your nods already can put him in ease, knowing that small shit can be solved without arguing.

He love you for that, he truly did. Not everyone can keep up with his shitty attitude all the time, not even Kirishima sometimes, but he glad that you did. You accept him no matter how hot-headed he is, and he accept you for being so adorable and able to take his breath away as he see your figure. Before you could say anything, " now, get ya ass up and eat., " he said, yet still playing with your hair mindlessly.

" 'm tired, don't you want to carry me, hm?, " earning a flick on forehead from your beloved boyfriend. " Gotta get over the laziness dumbass, come on, " and he's right. But honestly, he didn't mind if you cling onto him for dear life, because he finds it cute, but he won't tell you that. Anyway-

Bonus :

" Yo, Bakubro! Can you lend me your phone a bit~ ? "

" Hah? The fuck you want my phone shittyhead? "

" Well, I might or might not saw your google history on how to make your s/o feel bette- "

Can you hear it? It's Kirishima screaming and holding dear life to Todoroki and Bakugo's cursing.

tysm for reading, have a nice day/night <3. don't forget to drink water & eat properly, 'kay?

[40sbarnes]

Medici: Spymasters of Florence

Til Death

(extra)

um,,. have this offering,....

pairing; lorenzo x reader <3

1.6k words; this defo has plot holes idrk whats happening with bianca etc, so just read with a grain of salt pls

Spreading the lip paint across your lips, you half expected it to sting. You pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You felt as though you were playing dress up for a mission once again, as if the reflection staring back at you was just another character. But it wasn’t, for this was your life now.

Your hair was arranged in such a way that the prestigious women you had often tried to mimic would wear their own locks, although no longer were you mimicking, you were. The cream gown sat on your body as if it had been plucked from one of your wildest dreams, and not from a quaint dressmaker in Venice. With a smile you recalled your second visit to the shop, how your betrothed had not held back an ounce of opinion, ensuring that you also spoke up for exactly the dress you desired for your special day. Your mind wandered to the blacksmiths surprise on the same visit, as he was given a healthy lump sum to create the rings that would soon sit on your fingers. Your gaze was drawn to your ring finger now, seeing how the band you had stolen so long ago still sat in its place. It served as an engagement ring you supposed, you couldn’t see yourself without it, and as you slid it off and slipped it into a pocket in your skirts, you vowed silently to replace it as soon as the ceremony was finished.

A gentle rapping at the door echoed throughout the silent room. You stepped back from the mirror with one last glance to cross the room, stopping with your hand around the handle as a thought rose to your mind. “Who is it?”

“Your favourite,” even without his unmistakable voice, you would have recognized the cheek in his tone on your worst day.

“Lorenzo! What if I had answered!” you scolded, your hand falling from the handle to join your other as you crossed your arms across your chest in feign anger.

“Well, I was hoping you would,” the confusion in his voice was clear even with the inches of oak between you both.

“You can’t see me before the ceremony! It’s bad luck,” you informed, not sure how much you believed in it but knowing the both of you didn’t need any more misfortune.

“Never knew you were so superstitious,” he teased, although he respected your wishes, accepting that your conversation would take place with the door remaining between you both.

“You have much to learn about me, Medici,” Lorenzo didn’t need to see your face to hear the grin on your lips.

“And I cannot wait to learn it all, Medici,” your heart sped up at he returned your teasing words.

“Lorenzo!” his mother’s voice floated from outside the door, scorning him. You heard the shuffling of him standing up straight, presumably facing her. “Go! They’re waiting for you downstairs, and you shan’t seen your bride before the ceremony, it’s in bad faith!” Lucrezia pushed her son gently in the right direction, ignoring him as he mumbled something along the lines of ‘so I’ve been told.’

She waited until he was gone from the hall to slip into your room, a wide smile falling across her face as she took in the sight before her, “You look so beautiful.” The corners of her eyes crinkled as she complimented you, and you returned the grin. Although you had been living with the Medici’s for almost two months now, it was only recently you had the fortune of seeing the woman before you truly smile.

“Thank you, Madonna,” you dipped your head slightly, but she caught your shoulder, forcing you back upright. What is it they say about the apple?

“In a matter of moments I’ll be your mother, officially,” she squeezed your shoulder where her hand was, “no need for the formalities, y/n,” her voice was soft. Your mouth fell slightly agape before you nodded in agreement. Her addition of ‘officially’ didn’t go unnoticed by you. You had quickly fallen into the family, in such a tender time they were more than appreciative to have someone to lean on, and in Lucrezia’s eyes no riches could ever repay the way you cared for Lorenzo after the loss of his brother.

The Medici’s, just as the rest of Florence, believed the story that you had been devoted to Lorenzo from the start, and that you had been kidnapped by the Pazzi’s, threatened to go along with their plan. It wasn’t exactly a falsehood, it just simply emitted some of the more dicey facts. There was no rush on your wedding, most of Florence believed you to be already wed, and with funerals, politics and grieving being the core focus at that time, no one was particularly stressed over officialities. But as time passed, Lorenzo had presented the idea of having a proper ceremony and you certainly weren’t opposed.

“Well,” Lucrezia clasped her hands together as she stood away from you, “ready?”

---

To say it was a small gathering would be a gross understatement. It was strictly Medici in its attendance, Lucrezia, Bianca and Father Carlo were stood out in the garden under an arch of rose bush. With fondness, you recalled some of the earlier planning of this day.

“And where? I suppose it would be a tad awkward to do it in the church,” Lorenzo pondered aloud from where he lay across your bed, supporting himself on one elbow. With everyone thinking that this day had already taken place, it proved difficult to make their beliefs true.

Your gaze fell off of Lorenzo and out of the window you sat in. “What about the gardens?” Somehow, they looked even more spectacular as you made your way into the summer months. The flowers appeared brighter, the grass greener.

“A fine venue for a grand wedding,” Lorenzo joked, his eyes surveying the side of your face, “Is there anyone you wish to invite?” the question escaped his lips as soon as it appeared on his mind, he despised the way he lost his smart tongue the minute you two were alone.

You focused your gaze on one of the rose bushes, “No,” you replied simply, hoping to keep any emotion from the answer. There was no one, you had no one. Only Lorenzo.

You looked to him now.

He looked at you as if you were also all he had, but the glint in his eye made it seem as if that weren’t something terrible at all. It wasn’t that you were all he had in this world, it was that you two were the only ones in his.

Goosebumps rose across your bare shoulders, your eyes remaining on his as you carried your skirts over the grass, joining Lorenzo to stand before Father Carlo. His fingers found yours almost instantly, lacing them together in the small space between you both. He only let them go for the exchanging of rings, and you couldn’t help but notice the slight shake of his hand as he slid the band onto your finger. You gave him a grin as you returned the gesture, earning a wide smile in exchange. You didn’t even hear Carlo’s next words as your now-husband cupped your face to pull you into a kiss, and if you had any lingering doubts of Lorenzo’s true intentions for this marriage, they were mercilessly thrown away as you relished in your lips meeting. Your hands had found his own face, and when you eventually pulled away, you stayed holding one another as you both surveyed your new spouse, trying to commit the image before you to memory; if such a thing was possible.

The look he was giving you made your heart swell against your ribcage, giving you the impression that you were holding his own beating heart in your hands instead of his cheeks. The cheers from your small audience almost weren’t enough to remind you that other people existed in that moment, until they turned into displeased gasps. You tore your eyes from your husband to his family, to see Bianca with her hand held out, her eyes on the sky. You followed her gaze to see the grey clouds that had appeared above you, and were beginning to spill down.

“Come along then, before we’re drenched,” Lucrezia glanced back at you as she headed for the house, Bianca and Carlo in tow.

You faced Lorenzo, wondering why he hadn’t moved, to see his gaze still fixed on you. Your hands slipped from his face to grab his own on yours, taking it to your side. “Come on, or do you wish to stare all day?” your tone was far too soft for the jab to hold any weight.

“Since when have you the ability to read minds?” he quirked a brow, although he seemed to be out of his trance now, a grin sat atop his blushed lips.

“Don’t worry, I can only read yours,” your thumb brushed his knuckles as you spoke.

“I suppose I mustn’t tell you how that only worries me further,” the rain was truly beginning to fall now, but neither of you had moved an inch still.

“You mustn’t,” a large raindrop landed on your brow, threatening to fall into your eye, if not for Lorenzo’s gentle fingers wiping it away before it had any chance.

The sky seemed to have little patience for you newlyweds, and opened up without any further hesitance. Lorenzo squeezed your hand before dragging you behind him, both of you breaking into a sprint as the droplets poured onto you. He glanced back as you struggled to gather your skirts, letting a raw chuckle bubble out from his throat, and you were quick to accompany him in his laughter, realizing that maybe running in the rain wasn’t all that bad.

[sab-teraa]

what is your faveorite detail from bolum 9? 😅

Good morning Anon 🌸 I hope you’re having a lovely day! Oooo I have a few!

1. THE PARALLELS! From them at the beach, to them finally smiling at each other at the office, to ozan doing esras work lol, to ozan breaking Esras phone, to them reuniting in the rain 🥺🥺 it was just ❤️

2. In ep 3 Ozan mentioned that he + company are v focused on their employees looking presentable and neat. Idk if it’s just me, but I felt that his outfit choice, hair, and even how he wore his clothes after the week long time jump was v different to CEO ozan! 🙈 he looked kinda messy and not put together - so I think this defo reflected how bothered + unhappy he was that she left … and his inability to function/live without her being around.

3. I’m so so happy to see Ozan eating proper food + drinking drinks other than coffee. I’ve brought it up to friends on here … that I find his eating habits v v ‘worrisome’ 🙈 Even Esra, Musa + Yusuf have brought up his weight + lack of eating. Plus the only times we see him somewhat super keen to eat is with Esra (I.e the sandwich scene + esra making him a meal).

So I think his inability to properly eat for these last few years have to deal with his sadness 🙈 and now that his happiness (esra) is back .. it’s great to see him get his appetite back too! + he has now made an effort to eat … (e.g asking esra if she wants to have dinner)

Tbh, the food one really bothered me lol. I’m the type of person who assigns a lot of love to food, eating, making food etc. so it upset me a bit lol (I’m dramatic ik)

4. Someone on Twitter pointed out that the handbag Esra used in this ep was the same bag used for Caglas party + when ozan helped the Ertens solve the food poisoning drama. Evidently, I think that this bag was used during key shifts in the plot:

a. Ozans jealousy and realization that he could lose her

b. The audience getting a glimpse of how much Esra loves ozan (when she stayed over at his place and told him to stay by her side)

c. Them falling into old patterns (e.g fighting about their mums and working together)

d.AND both of them realizing how much they love + miss one another … leading up to the kiss

5. I love how Musa and Eko refer to esra-Ozan as sister-in-law and bro-in-law respectively … and esra-Ozan don’t correct them anymore lol

6. I love how Menekshe-Yalchins lack of communication was used as an example of what to avoid 😂

7. Eko being THAT sibling 🔥🔥🔥 I love that he recognizes Cinars bad vibes and is upfront about it 😭😂 (esra-Eko remind me so much of my brother and I)

8. Seeing Ozan-Zeyno kinda fall into the pattern of being friends again! It’s like they picked up where they left off! I love it

9. That scene where menekshe-Zumrut were reflecting on loneliness really offered a sneak peak into the real Zumrut 🥺 my heart breaks for Aunty 💔💔

[edasnest]

I have literally lost count of how many times I’ve rewatched toh because I just play it on loop while I draw but I’m gonna point some stuff out I don’t see people talk about as much

Now I know this show isn’t related to gravity falls, but Alex Hirsch is still a creative consultant for the show as well as a voice actor. Given what we know about GF as well as the hidden codes people have already found in every episode (I don’t know how y’all do it, your eyes are amazing honestly), it’s not too far of a stretch to think that there’s heavy foreshadowing and symbolism from the jump.

Eda only runs her Human Collectibles shop on weekends. The rest of the week is devoted to making and selling “only the finest potions and elixirs” to her apparently-reliable client base. If this is the case, why can’t she make her own elixir for her curse? Is it a matter of resources? She’s covenless and checks out a wide variety of books from the library, so we know it’s not because she doesn’t know how or because it’s a magic she’s never learned. She could have very well been the top student at hexside during her time there. She literally created the Secret Room of Shortcuts that leads into various classrooms and hallways, likely for the same reason the Detention Crew used it: to learn multiple tracks. She’s brilliant in terms of magical ability and knowledge, so why can’t she make her own elixir? What does Morton have access to that she doesn’t to the point where her business at his shop is literally the only thing keeping him afloat???

In the Elements episode where they go to The Knee, Luz asks Eda to teach her literally any spell; and clarifies that it can be “the darkest evil”. To which Eda responds with “well I have been reading my texts on Wild Magic.” And proceeds to teach Luz about Wild magic for the rest of the episode. It’s not until WAY later that we understand that there’s a connotation between “wild” and “illegal/strictly forbidden” and that this is quite literally how Luz is learning magic. Not even the Blight kids, from a family of powerful witches, have even heard of what Eda’s trying to teach Luz (“Is this some kind of ‘special’ magic?” And Edric immediately goes to taste some snow. Can you imagine how powerful those kids would be if they knew about Wild magic? Christ, the trouble they’d get into). She’s learning the exact way the “earliest witches” learned and the exact way the Belos has banned in the last half century. He claims to be the only one to be able to speak to the Titan, but Eda sits Luz down on a rock and tells her to “think of what the Island is trying to tell you”. Luz comes to the conclusion that magic is a gift from the island and that it’s everywhere and in everything. She’s also seen quite often to thank the Boiling Isles for whatever fun new magical opportunity is presented to her, which is easily written off as just something a polite person does, but considering the context of the Titan supposedly speaking back?? It could very well hold some weight, especially in disproving Belos’ claims.

Not a huge thing, but something I accidentally found out while writing a fanfic lmao. Lilith’s hair was brighter and even more wild than Eda’s when they were kids. When she’s introduced as the head of the Emperor’s Coven, her hair is pitch black and pin straight. Now I still don’t know if it’s because she was cursed and her appearance was altered like Eda or if she did this of her own volition or if it’s part of some crazy Sorority Hazing to get into the Emporer’s Coven, but I do know that she was Bright and Wild before she joined the coven. And now she’s dull and tamed and nearly as limp in terms of magical ability as she is in her hair. She could barely hold her own against Eda which is saying something considering they were supposedly on equal footing as kids. Just because Eda is “Wild” and knows more magic doesn’t necessarily mean she’s stronger in her ability to cast. I have to wonder if Lilith’s hair will return to normal in the next season, and maybe her magic returning at the same pace? The more she embraces Wild magic, the more Wild her hair becomes? Idk, that’s just a fun thought, they’re really good at continuity in this show so I think it’d be funny to see her hair get slowly poofier and poofier with each episode.

I feel it in my heart and my soul and my bones that we’re going to meet the other Heads of the main nine covens next season. They’ve been mentioned in passing in a handful of episodes, but there was defo the slow pan over each Coven’s flags when Luz had her first day at Hexside. Then in the Grudgby episode, their history professor rambles on in the background, but it does start off with the beginning of his lecture being loud and clear. “Over 50 years ago, Emperor Belos appointed a Head to each Coven.” It’s subtle because it immediately drops to Luz and Co. talking about Grudgby, but considering the “Heads of the Main 9 Covens” have been mentioned specifically in a couple episodes prior to that, it feels safe in my heart to say we’ll be learning more about these Coven Heads if not meeting them flat out. Their significance in relation to the plot? No clue. Maybe there’s like...a secret Coven Head Club Lilith used to be in and isn’t now that she’s considered a criminal? Maybe she’ll be spending the season secretly convincing them that Covens are Horseshit and they should join her in rebelling against Belos? One can only dream.

Eda can literally snap her fingers and magic shit to do chores and whatever but she defo took the time and energy to HAND-KNIT Luz’s cape and I’m still crying about it

That’s all I can think of rn because it’s midnight and I’m tired , but let me know what y’all think!!

[your--isgayrights]

Okay i actually have no clue on how tumblr works (hope I'm doing this right lmao) but I'm writing my first fic (I still can't really move on from orv so I decided to make my own content lol.), I really love your writing style, do you have any tips??

Hmmmm tips tips tips tips.... First of all I’m really flattered that you like my writing enough to ask me about it! I’ll try to give my best answer... I think that I used to read a lot of people’s “writing tips” but ultimately I ended up not really understanding them until I started writing a lot? Either way it’s fun to read how other authors think... It’s really cool that you’re writing your first fic and you thought to come to me... did I already say that? Okay long post under the cut.

I don’t think this will be all that helpful, but this is just things that I think about if that’s interesting!

For me a lot of writing is like struggling with motivation (I have ADHD so that’s probs why), I really have to pace myself while writing because I can’t just force myself to do it. If I go in every day and think “I have to write today I’m not doing anything so I should be writing” I can get burnt out really easily, even if I really like the thing I’m writing and know how it’s supposed to go. So one of my big things is that when I’m not thinking about writing I’m not thinking about writing. that gives my brain a break and refreshes me when I get back to my google document.

Something I’ve also struggled with having to remember is that there’s like. Never a perfect way to write. What I end up doing is thinking up ideas and fragments and sentences in my head and the very moment I think of something I like I have to write it down in my notes app. Most of my writing process ends up being like. Filling in the blanks and connecting the dots between scene fragments. 

For fics in particular I’d also just recommend rereading your favorite parts of the og work! I’m the kind of person who has a pretty good reading memory, so people may have noticed that I include a lot of little details referencing the text in my fic. Just reading the work kind of helps you remember the voices of the character and the style of the narration, and if you just like. internalize it. you can probably replicate it pretty well if you wanted to.

OKAY I say that but don’t worry too much about replicating things in the og work perfectly. I find that a lot of times when I’m writing I’m inserting a lot of personal touches and putting things that are a part of me in the work. Writing is always going to be like. an extension of your voice, no matter what you’re writing. I think that when I heard about stuff like that from authors in the past I was always like. What? I’m not writing about things that happened to me. I’m writing about grown adult men having emotional issues, silly. But there’s like a lot more nuance to writing about yourself, I guess. Like you don’t have to have like a self insert or be projecting onto a character to have yourself reflected in something you’ve written.

I’d say that like, whatever you write as your first fic is going to be lovely, but when you grow up as a writer and look back on it, you’re not going to remember who you were when you wrote it. I think that’s why a lot of people look back on their first works and are like “I can’t believe I wrote that, what was I thinking, cringe cringe cringe ugh.” Like I definitely do that sometimes, but I’ve found that the old work I’m happiest with nowadays is the stuff where I can recognize myself in it, even if I’m not in that fandom anymore or if there’s old jokes or typos I don’t remember making. 

With that being said, I’m the kind of person who always gives myself a mission statement when I’m writing. I sort of mentally go, okay, I’m writing this kind of thing, and this is why I’m writing it. It can be something like oh I’m writing this fluff piece because I love this character and wish they had a happier ending, or  oh I want to write this multi chapter fic exploring an issue touched on in the original work but I feel like with my own experiences I could expand on it more than the author did. Just something that tells me why it is important to me to write this thing when I’m writing it.

AAAH I feel like I made that sound more dramatic than it really is, that’s just how I think I guess. I’m the kind of guy where its like things need to have like MEANING to me when I do them. I’m dramatic and gay and that’s my personality I guess 😔.

Hmmm maybe it’s also my BIGGEST writing tip tho. Like kind of just thinking things through when you’re writing is pretty important. When I was first learning to write at all (talking about baby baby me here this is like sort of a side tangent sorry) I think that a lot of times I would copy phrases and developments that I had liked in things that I had read without really fully considering why I would include those things other than the fact that that was just what I thought writing was. It’s important to consider what importance every scene and sentence has to do with the flow of the story. Are they just things that are happening, or is there a reason that the audience needs to know these things? The weight of your words should have some sort of consequence as a result of you writing them. Are you telling the audience information they need to know? Is it about how the character feels? What does this say about the character? Etc.

I suppose that’s sort of my own writing style. You’ll probably notice that I don’t write a lot of descriptive prose if you read my fic. The thing about me is that I never want to write something that makes my audience question why they’re reading it, I guess. I’m sort of self conscious and think about the reading experience a lot. All of the things I choose to describe are usually so that the reader can understand where people are in the scene and what emotions they are having. There’s a lot of emphasis that I put in like. A reader’s ability to read into things, which works against me sometimes because I’m not always certain if people picked up on different things that I put a lot of thought into (the curse of being seen... sob).

ALSO use paragraph breaks. In my first fic (that I’m not going to tell anyone what is even though its on ao3 because im shy) the thing I always regret the MOST is that there are big chunky paragraphs that are hard to read through at the start. Like my eyes get lost. I mentioned I have ADHD before but even though I like. physically can’t read a big chunky paragraph I will always write them that way if left to my own devices. Paragraph breaks don’t have to just be broken up by dialogue they can be wherever you feel like doing them. You need a lot of them. This post should probably have more of them... oh my god it’s so long...

OKAY FOR REAL THOUGH IF YOU COULDN”T SLOG THROUGHT THE REST OF THAT THE MOST IMPORTANT TIP IS RIGHT HERE: 

JUST LET YOURSELF WRITE

I have a lot of like. academic trauma, so maybe this is just me, but the reason I didn’t write fic until I was like 16 was because I was always really scared that whatever I wrote wouldn’t be good enough for some impossible standard I was setting for myself. I was always telling myself that I had certain bad writing habits or that I was terrible for never being able to focus on things for very long and all of my projects were doomed to failure before I even started. But then I wrote my first like 8 chapter fic in the summer of my junior year and I was like... oh. that wasn’t so bad. Like. It’s okay to know your limits, but you don’t really know them until you start writing. Like I wrote an 8 chapter fic, and then a few one shots, and then I tried to take on a very complicated project that ended up being over 40 chapters and I had to put it down because I just wasn’t really at the writing level to finish it. I would advise against writing fics that take so long to write that you start hating the way you wrote the first chapter, basically lol. Know how whatever you’re writing is supposed to begin and end before you start writing it.

Nowadays I always have like. plot outlines in my head when I start a fic. Like okay this needs to happen here this needs to happen here etc. I like making lists if it seems to overwhelming when I’m writing something long, just to organize my thoughts. 

OKAY I JUST TALKED A LOT. SORRY IF YOU DIDN’T WANT TO READ ALL OF THIS BUT I’M A LITTLE CHATTY IF YOU DIDN’T NOTICE.

Defo feel free to dm me if you have like questions or just want to chat about orv or whatever. I’m a lonely little man out here floating on my pile of words, and I’d love to hear what your fic is about!! 

[gottlem]

jan and jackie for 36&40 pleaseee

ahhh, the first of three prompts with 36 (they’re all different ships w different plots though dw!!) sorry these are taking so long to get through, but i will defo finish them all soon :) ps i havent proofread this one so pls excuse any little errors

36. “This is embarrassing but I had a bad dream and back home when this happens I normally just crawl into bed with my mom or sister but since they’re not here anymore can I sleep with you?”

40.”It’s just a nightmare, it’s nothing real”  

Uni was hard. They were a few months in and Jan could already feel herself losing it. She had started her time here so optimistic - ready to learn. Ready to improve. And she was improving, just very, very slowly. And Jan was starting to lose hope.

The only thing she could look forward to was her dorm. She shared a room with a girl called Jackie, who she found quite hard to describe. Jackie was pretty, sure, but she was so much more. She was smart, and ambitious, political, level-headed, flawless. They had clicked almost instantly when they first met, falling into comfortable small talk as they unpacked their belongings during the first few days of getting settled in.

Jan would find herself watching as Jackie studied at her desk, or got ready to see her friends. She would wake up to find Jackie was already up and ready for the day, and would go to sleep with the sound of Jackie softly typing on her laptop. They chatted every now and again, and Jan could safely say they were friends, they just weren’t that close - and maybe it was because Jan was scared that if she talked to Jackie anymore she would fall quickly and deeply in love. Or maybe she was just too busy?

The weight of Uni was beginning to take a toll on Jan. She found it harder and harder to keep up this stupid, joyful facade she had made up when she first arrived just a few months ago. She watches with fascination as her dorm mate goes about her daily life, seemingly unbothered by the crushing stress. Jan was starting to wonder if she was even human.

The nightmares started painfully quickly. Jan should have known they were coming - she knew that whenever things got tough, all her bad thoughts manifested themselves in the form of disorientating dreams that scared her half to death. She started going to sleep later and setting her alarm earlier, almost catching up with Jackie’s alarmingly short sleeping schedule. But not quite.

At midnight, she woke up with a gasp and a cry, a small sheen of sweat coating her body. Assuming her dorm mate was sleeping, she sat up and hugged her knees, taking a few moments to catch her breath. She cried as she tried desperately to calm herself down quietly so as to not wake Jackie, so she became even more startled when she heard the girl’s voice from the other bed.

“Jan? Are you ok, what happened?”

Oh god. Of course she was still up, of course she had to see Jan at her worse. Jan willed herself to wake up again. This was just another demented dream. It had to be. So she sat there, silent, waiting.

“You’re shaking, come here.”

And there was just something about the way Jackie was talking to her that made Jan pull herself out of her own bed and sit on the edge of Jackie’s. She felt a firm hand on her back, rubbing calming circles into it. And maybe it was the way her whole body tingled at the touch, or maybe it was the fact that she felt so embarrassed to be in this situation in the first place, that made Jan choke out a sob.

“This is embarrassing but I had a bad dream and back home when this happens I normally just crawl into bed with my mom or sister but since they’re not here anymore can I sleep with you?” As the tears fell freely out her eyes, Jan was gently pulled down to lie next to Jackie. She felt a soft hand at her face.

“Hey. It’s just a nightmare. It’s nothing real.” Jackie combed through Jan’s hair with her fingers as the girl clung to her body and hid her face in her neck, leaving it wet with tears. She fell asleep listening to Jackie’s whispers telling her that it was all ok, and she was there to protect her. Jackie would keep her safe.

When Jan woke up for the second time, she was back in her own bed, and she couldn’t quite tell if it all was a dream. Jackie could have easily carried her back to her own bed, after all, Jan was light enough and the beds were too small for two people to comfortably sleep in at one time. But it somehow didn’t feel real.

All she knew was that ever since then, Jackie would ask how she had slept every single morning.

[psi-psina]

Best DAI romances are Cassandra, Dorian and Solas.

Blackwall has good content and a GREAT personal quest but he requires mods in order to be romanceable (Im sorry, I have no desire to romance a dude who looks like an alcoholic Ron Swanson? WHO made that decision?). Thank god I have hot Blackwall mods now.

Josie is lovely and sweet, absolutely fine, but she doesn’t have much content and it’s all very vanilla, it’s very hard to pick her over the other three when they all have so much more passion and narrative weight...i just never feel drawn towards her. I also don’t enjoy her personal quest tbh, I find it kinda boring. She’s such a sweetheart though, I just wish she had better content.

I don’t like Iron Bull’s romance because it’s a BDSM relationship by default, which I hate. Pisses me off, you don’t even have the option to say you’re not into that and not do the whole dom/sub thing 😩 inclusivity bullshit ruining an otherwise good romance. I prob wouldn’t really go there anyway bc Iron Bull is absolutely hideous but I totally see why some of you girls are into that lmfao, he has some great scenes.

Cullen is fine but is defo just one for the straight girls, and I support them 100%. I like Cullen’s arc and enjoy flirting with him in Haven every play through but his romance just isn’t interesting enough to me to want to commit to. You just get together, then get married and get a dog and that’s it. And like that’s totally fine but the others are better 😂 it also annoys me that you can only romance him as an elf or human female like I have no interest in playing as a human tbh and the only romances I’ll do as a female elf is Solas (as a mage) or Sera (rogue or warrior).

And Sera...ugh. I found Sera really jarring on my first play through and she also absolutely hated me and was an asshole to my inquisitor constantly but she really grew on me during subsequent playthroughs. I find it very difficult to romance her because she is so young and extremely immature but the actual CONTENT of her romance is so good, it really gives the game a completely different tone. It’s also the best romancing her as an elf. I find the way she reacts to dwarven/qunari inquisitors off putting, but the suspicion she has for an elf is more interesting to me. Winning her over as an elf can be quite challenging and makes the romance more rewarding.

BUT I am also annoyed that she is a companion in the first place, because it honest to god should have been Briala..god I can’t believe it...Briala is also a formidable elven rogue rebel-lesbian who is also based in Orlais, has an entire spy network, access to the eluvian network and deep involvement in the political side of the plot? Like...I can’t believe it. Such a wasted opportunity. She’s my favourite part of Orlesian Ball quest and she is SO perfectly set up to be a companion in The Masked Empire...absolutely kills me.

[flowerrpetaled]

( olivia holt, demi female, she/they, fire emblem: awakening ) * &. i know it must be scary for you, olivia after surviving the takeover. to turn into someone like orion “ori” monroe, a twenty-five year old clerk at amy’s, right here in castle town. just remember that you are as artistic as you are self-conscious, and to be wary, be safe, be true to who you are : neutral through and through. ( hylia )

                yes i gave myself awakening rights again bc this is,,, best girl,,, i love olivia sm n im so excited 2 write here bt like owain - all of u be warned bc i haven’t played awakening in a long long time so i’m bound 2 be rusty with her !! / tws : death , kidnapping ( ment ) , anxiety

BEFORE THE SNAP . /  O L I V I A

so OKAY. prior to the events of the game , Olivia was a dancer that traveled around the continent of Ylisse with a theatre troupe -  unfortunately , bc of her popularity , a plot to kidnap her into her career had been set into place , and the west khan of ferox basilio prevented it. this would start off their friendship , which would eventually lead to olivia’s involvement in the plegia-ylisse war. 

her involvement was firstly to rescue chrom’s army post emmeryn’s death , to where she escorted them back to ferox via a carriage convoy. and then afterwards , before facing off against gangrel , she joined chrom’s army as a dancer to invigorate and inspire troops ( aka , if you’re not familiar with the dancer class in fe , olivia’s ur only dancer in awakening and she can basically make ppl move twice one turn )

BTTTT YEAH that’s rly about it ?? my olivia’s not married 2 anyone in particular - kinda just leaving that open ( only flat no is chrom bc chrobin rights ) bt she has her son inigo n she loves him dearly !!

but okay so like ,,,, character-wise , olivia is graceful & considered a perfomance genius. she dances divinely & her singing is gorgeous - however , she possesses extreme stage-fight & anxiety as well as incredibly low self-esteem. she’s very sweet & kind & a lovely person , but she’s also ,,,, honestly this poor girl thinks so lowly of herself n modern-day olivia would probably be behind so many self-deprecating memes

poor baby is startled v easily by surprises and/or strangers - a lot of her supports help her find ways 2 cope with this in one way or another and some of them are ,,,, incredibly sweet ?? like. one of my personal faves is her support w/ stahl where he respects her comfort zone & communicates her with notes bc he knows olivia gets incredibly anxious around confrontation. virion also volunteers to teach olivia a dance from across a room i believe for these same reasons just to respect her comfort zone n it’s INCREDIBLY sweet

one thing For Sure is that her confidence raises as she performs - but almost immediately after , the adrenaline fades n olivia goes back to her shell - n that’s okay. i honestlyyyyy really love olivia sm bc like , i deal w/ a LOT of what she deals with n it was rly cool to see a character like me bc i uh. yeah im an anxious fucker.

i also always feel the need to explain myself n am incredibly shy n need assurance even if my actions were entirely valid.

bt yeah i’m so excited 2 write her n give ini his momma !! she’s my babie,,,, il uv her,,,,

AFTER THE SNAP . /  O R I O N  M O N R O E

SO ORI. ori is an interesting story in itself bc again in some ways it’s a lot of what i dealt with bt also,, you’ll see.

so i’m 90% sure she’s like. the third character i have born to famous parents bt ori was a case where she was the fourth child of a dancer mother, an actor father, and her siblings were performers + producers + directors and ori was expected to fill the same shoes.

however, she didn’t excel like they did - she didn’t excel and was always seen as the “odd one out” and the “disappointment” even tho she was just as talented as the rest of them. she just... didn’t get lucky in her career like they did, and her parents, instead of helping her or pushing her to keep trying, kind of just... used her as their token disappointment bc ig “every family has one” and all that bullshit.

so she was the one who led a more quiet life and for that reason couldn’t take the constant weight her family put on her to succeed when they already accepted she couldn’t. so that’s when ori moved out to castle town, just bc it was quiet and nice and off the map.

and also nobody... connected the dots. nobody saw her as the odd one out that didn’t fit into a family of celebrities. ori was just ori and while ori wanted to pursue her own things, she was made to feel comfortable in her own skin again.

still as shy as ever and definitely quiet & anxious, she’s an aspiring dancer but doesn’t really want to go onstage again just yet. she survived , so yes she remembers, but she’s more comfortable right now dancing in an empty room by herself than in front of other people. bt she’s defo choreographed like a hundred dances just by herself buuut she’s still gotten the “i’m not meant for that stuff” thing stuck in her head when she watches the dancers at ct centre of theatre & dance and she’s scared to audition for those reasons.

she currently works at the makeup counter at amy’s !! bt also on bad days she sometimes works in the stockroom instead w/ permission n it makes her feel better.

so she’s still,,, babie. n she wants to find inigo more than anything even tho she’s honestly scared he won’t remember her when she does : (

ANYWAYS I LOVE HEERRR IM GONNA HOPEFULLY START THINGS ON HER SOOOOOOOOOOn

[rayify]

i’ve been having some Thoughts about ttrpgs recently. mostly some frustration as a GM and game designer (??? idk i don’t feel qualified using that term but it gets the idea across) so i guess it’s a vent more than anything

these are just my experiences with the games i’ve talked about, so take with a grain of salt and not as objective properties of these games

if you like 5e, i’m happy for you, and i hope you keep having fun playing it!! i just don’t enjoy it that much anymore lol and that’s just how i feel

i may have gotten more into ttrpgs because of D&D 5e, and it’s defo a starting point for me. but as years have gone by, my feelings towards it have cooled quite a bit. a few years ago one of my bros introduced me to games and derivatives from the old school renaissance (OSR) scene

it’s kinda hard to summarise what OSR means exactly, esp cuz there’s just. so many different OSR-styled games out there. my attempt is that they’re kind of into a sort of aspiration of gameplay that the first editions of D&D weren’t necessarily played towards when they were first introduced. games tend to be rules lite, have a huge emphasis on problem solving, more incorporation of randomised elements, “unbalanced” encounters, and resource scarcity, just to paint some of the more standout elements with a broad brush. the fun comes not usually from powerful, feature-stacked characters, or playing out overarching narrative and character arcs (tho OSR-style templates can certainly still facilitate that), but from the sense of triumph you earn by making sound choices to survive and succeed despite disadvantageous odds

sooo it’s kinda what ttrpgs would be like if they were arcade games??? i find them really fun to play cuz they make you feel really fucking Smart and Accomplished

they don’t really encourage you to make super in-depth PCs tho lol. they start a bit closer to player proxies than ‘characters’. instead, they sort of transform into characters and you develop attachment over course of play

whereas, the kinds of games i’ve played with 5e that i’ve enjoyed (i’ve just played with some really awful DMs, not necessarily a dig against the game itself) tend to be more character and narrative driven. i’m more there to have a nice time with my friends, make cool characters, and experience the story and character arcs that our DM's threading us through. it’s closer to your typical jrpg experience, but the non-combat sections are more freely interactive, and those are usually interesting

unfortunately i don’t really find 5e’s combat to be particularly engaging, nor do i usually feel as much “weight” behind even combat encounters against major villains. like, even tho i’m enjoying the story, i don’t necessarily feel like i want combat encounters to be there. at least with the jrpgs i’ve enjoyed, i go into major combat encounters expecting a fun test of skill, and if i lose, i can just try again. for me, 5e doesn’t engage a sense of system mastery, or feel that fun, so for me, it feels like it hasn’t served much purpose in the games i’ve played

in the end, the satisfaction i get from a 5e game is almost wholly dependent on my interest in the DM’s content and the company i play with. i just like writing and playing as my silly little OCs with my other friends’ silly little OCs, cuz i already enjoy writing quite a bit

which... maybe would’ve been fine and i would’ve continued doing my weird little game design projects in the vague direction of simplified 5e

but when i GMed Bluebeard’s Bride, and more recently, played MASKS... idk. getting to experience games whose focus was wholly on narrative, and, in MASKS’ case, where combat serves a more tangible narrative function, was pretty enjoyable. in MASKS, conflict isn’t so much a test of skill as it is a collaborative space for creativity, spectacle and intimacy. combat can also be as much of an opportunity to intentionally stir up interpersonal conflict between party members and, generally, in the overarching plot, if you add to the conversation effectively.

i don’t think powered by the apocalypse stuff is useful for all kinds of campaigns, settings or game play goals. imo it feels like they’re better for more constrained stories rather than years long campaigns. with MASKS so far, that gratification from getting to major story beats doesn’t last as long, too. but i can appreciate how elegantly everything is tied towards furthering the narrative, and the ease at which players can influence the narrative.

i like that i’ve learned about different kinds of games and what i like about them. but, because my tastes and game design goals are steadily becoming so hyperspecific, it’s also a bit alienating?

i don’t quite fit in with the older OSR scene cuz i do genuinely enjoy a little bit of narrative railroading (for lack of a less derogatory term lol)

nor do i think i could play/GM many story games long term

but it’s not easy to get on the same page as friends around my age because they have so many preconceptions and expectations gained from playing 5e most of the time that it’s now ingrained in how they play other games too - never mind when it’s very clear that they enjoy very different games to me. i know session 0s are meant to iron those sorts of things out! but they aren’t always perfect on the player’s end either, no matter how clearly you’ve tried to communicate your expectations cuz of habit and bias

(on a slightly separate note, it’s also just. been a weird feeling contributing to and observing ttrpg communities (usually D&D 5e haha) but kinda feeling like a fake member of these communities despite how many characters i’ve drawn and posted. i guess there’s just a bit of petty annoyance over how ubiquitous 5e in particular since i know i’m not going to get as much engagement on posts if they aren’t using all the fuckin D&D related tags i can hhhh)

anyways that’s already frustrating by itself, trying to find the right people to play with and quickly realising you have to cross people off in terms of viability for one reason or another

people aside, it’s been getting complicated for designing my own games, too. i want some elements from OSR-ish games, cuz just knowing those granular choices rooted in the “reality” of the table’s fiction tangibly impact your odds of surviving a life or death situation is a very special kind of gratification i’ve scarcely gotten anywhere else, and i’d really like for more people to enjoy that feeling if it’s something they’re looking for

but properly balancing this puzzle-y arcade feel against more story-oriented elements like non-player proxy characters and even the loosest outlines for character arcs and overarching plot has been kind of challenging. i suppose, part of this conflict is optimisation VS characterisation, and i think resolving that conflict is less up to the game and more up to clear table consensus.

the other thing is that rules and mechanics from powered by the apocalypse and OSR stuff just. Feels Different? how can i put these disparate elements together without my work feeling like it’s having an identity crisis?? 5e is also something i’m still unlearning myself, so that also seeps into how i design stuff in general? like man, i did NOT want to come up with a super in-depth weapons table for a game that actively de-emphasises combat why the fuck did i do that aaarghhh i feel like i could’ve done this a different wayyyyy

either i need to re-examine my existing work with fresh eyes (very probable)

or i just need to give up on this game design hobby that i enjoy but am also immensely frustrated by (kind of alluring, probably not going to actually happen) just cuz what the actual fuck man this is fucking whackkkk

[dastardlydandelion]

aghk! tumblr is stupid and i didn't get notification for this!

i defo think it's possible tai has DID and is the lady in the tree but ngl, i'm hoping that isn't it. tv just has a tenancy to sensationalize portrayals of DID for drama that make me uncomfortable. but i mean, i'll roll with it if that's where we're going. the writing on this show is good enough that hopefully it could portray that scenario without falling into uncomfortable traps.

i've also considered there's more to simone than what we're seeing, that she could be terrorizing sammy when tai isn't around. i'm doubtful of it but so much is ambiguous rn, i wouldn't discount it as a possibility. i also think it's possible a survivor from a rival group tai wasn't in has targeted sammy somehow, or that tai's political opponent has done so weaponizing rumors abt what happened in the wilderness. i also think smth genuinely supernatural/paranormal may be happening but...mm, i hope not. for this kind of show i don't rly want anything explicitly supernatural driving the plot. i wouldn't mind the veneer of supernatural, a touch of smth otherworldly, but...idk, dude. as much as i enjoy otherworldly/supernatural/paranormal eerieness, i don't rly want that in yellowjackets. i'm preferring the character driven psychological horror. but again the writing is p gosh darn good and solid thus far, maybe it would surprise me and carry otherworldly well.

i agree that the cannibalized remains were never found!! i think the public accusations directed at our leading ladies as survivors would be more explicit if there was evidence, plus ur point abt jackie.

i am still trying to wrap my mind around misty. as of now i don't think she's violent but i do think she's dangerous. she desperately needs to be needed. she needs to be involved. like, look how far she's willing to go, sabotaging the flight recorder, her own car, nat's car. idk if i think she kills coach. i think it's possible. she tripped him for handing the knife to shauna (confirmed by sammi hanratty). and she poisoned him for yelling abt her, uh, grabbing at his boner. but it wasn't a lethal poison, it just made him puke. i think it's possible the impending wolves kill coach bc with his injury, he can't exactly run away.

idk if adult!misty is behind errything but she is certainly shady af. she's kinda obsessed with nat rn?? i am leaning toward her not being the one to kill travis tho. travis presumably died a violent death, hanging from that chain. i can't see misty doing that, and his tox screen was clear so we know he wasn't poisoned beforehand. which i could see misty killing someone non-violently like that. poisoning him, getting his body onto a dolly or smth similar to transport his greater weight to stage a hanging. but then, she is a citizen detective, she could've picked a poison not typically screened for. idk, as of now i don't think she killed travis but i do think there's a possibility she's the one who sent the postcards and/or faked the supposed suicide note. it's creepy af what she did with the owl diffuser. 😬

adam, the world's most suspicious man. i like ur theory, that he is a relative of one of the missing/deceased and is digging for info. i think it's possible he's javi too, but as of rn, i'm leaning toward not. i wonder if he's shauna's son, i mean. he seems older than 25 but all the teen character actresses are in their 20s, including shauna's 2021 daughter. actor ages =/= character ages. and then he'd be doing it with his mama but i mean. we have (probable) cannibalism, incest isn't necessarily off the table. maybe adam isn't related at all but is apart of the remaining clan/cult in the forest and on a mission to retrieve the old antler queen. if shauna was antlers?? idk. but i'm throwing it out there as a possibility.

i do believe there was a cult of smth in the forest previously. that symbol was there before the yellowjackets. but again, i rly hope nothing overtly supernatural plays into the plot. a strong gust of wind v well could've opened that window at a suspicious time and lottie reacted the way she did bc she's outta meds. i think maybe the girls develop rituals around the symbol and dedicate themselves to an entity in order to attach meaning to what's going on, to have some kind of order/structure around what measures they may have to take to survive. to give it meaning. so i think it's possible the girls will interpret otherworldiness where there is none. if that makes sense.

as for shauna's bby??? possibly adam. hopefully not. maybe the other girls will attempt a forest abortion. tbh i could see her miscarrying. they're all under a lot of stress and starvation (which the description of ep7 has confirmed) impacts her health, her bod simply may not be able to gestate a fetus. on the other hand, maybe her bby remains in the wilderness. maybe it grows up feral. or one of the rival groups steals her bby, possibly the group that remains in the wild.

these are just ideas tho, i'm not particularly committed to any of the above. i'm still hardcore speculating bc this show is such a trip!!

good evening, fine friend, do u have any misc yellowjackets theories you'd care to share?

Hi, lovely friend! Here’s a pretty wild one, but what if who terrorizes Tai’s family is Tai herself. Maybe she’s dealing with Dissociative Identity Disorder after the trauma of what happened out there. Maybe her other self puts up a costume and does strange things at night. Sammy acts strange around her specifically. Another wild guess: what if Simone is the one, and is only with her to get her secret out finally. Not really a theory, just thinking: I don’t think the others (who were eaten) were ever found, because then the cannibalism would be evident (from knife and bite-marks). Which means, even if we’re told that Jackie’s parents think she’s dead, maybe she’s not and is after the others. And: Misty will most likely cause the death of the coach. Also, I don’t think she’s behind everything, but is definitely behind some of the fuckery in the present. Lastly: Adam has a strange tattoo on his back that looks like the map of the place in the wilderness to me. Just guessing here, but he could be a relative of a victim looking for answers (and a body). I’m really curious of what’s gonna happen with Shauna’s baby. Also if there’s really something occult or it’s just that they are all collectively losing their minds. What do you think?