#didn't help but at least i got more done

[jedi-bird]

Dug up more grass this evening and planted the rest of the wildflower seeds (California mix and water wise mix). Still have a few more patches to go before I'll stop; mostly need to get the areas that are going to get the new raised beds before the heat hits. The rest is just going to get mowed down until next year when I can hopefully install gravel between the raised beds and the house (for a mini fire break per insurance) and a paved path from the gate into the yard.

Spring flowers. The freesias are still going strong and the first of many irises opened. The chocolate daisies are coming back. The first wildflower seeds are starting to sprout. Both the lime and the yuzu trees are covered in flowers and buds, so hopefully it'll be a productive fruit year. And one rogue pumpkin seed decided to sprout in a plumeria pot, left over from two years ago.

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Haven

I am back with my BS AGAIN :D @spotaus You know the drill friend come over :D I can not be stopped. I have grown too powerful!! (just played dnd. Checked the chapter to upload tomorrow for my main au and i wrote a bit on a new story. I AM POWERFUL!) <- says the woman who will probably crash in under an hour lmao.

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

We got no beta and no editing as we just go! maybe that is why these drabbles for going so well. me just kinda going and not worrying too much about the in between bits or mistakes or grammar. I just write and say that is done.. huh... writing lesson i guess. ANYWAY! back to the family :3

*---------------------*

Cross hums as he finishes cutting another wood board in the right size. He puts it with the others on the pile before checking the list he made before hand.

Cross nods as he looks towards the house "Got them all ready for the downstairs!" Cross grins as he takes a moment to just look at the house. Their house!

When Horror had returned with the news their new acquaintances had secured them a house they had all been sceptic at best, Dust had been downright suspicious.

But it was the truth! aparently they had managed to build up a good enough reputation that they had been trying to figure out a solution. An empty and abandoned farm and ground? That was too small for most to do anything with? hidden mostly by a forest?

Perfect for them!

They had gone to check it out and it is amazing! It is secure and easily to defend! Sure it is an old building but Cross and Horror can fix up the house easily enough! Dust had handed Nightmare over to Killer and had started looking around the house to inspect it.

long story short? He thinks he can fix most things.

With a hopeful plan they spend the inspection day also cleaning. That had been yesterday.

today? They took most of the old construction wood Crop and Straw had stored away and they got to work. Dust is cleaning and fixing what he can while Horror and Cross himself did contruction work.

Killer is on Nightmare watching duty. Mostly because Killer doesn't have nay skills in construction. Neither of them mind as they had been exploring their new area and territory together. Hoenstly it was adorable to see Killer walk by with Nightmare on his shoulders.

Horror walks out of the house as he takes the planks "Thanks. Walls?"

Cross grins proudly "All of them. Including the walls and the new banisters for the roof."

Horror blinks before grinning "great. thanks Oreo." nad he chuckles as Cross sputters.

May be because horror isn't wearing a shirt. Which kinda makes sense! Becuase horror is pulling a lot of old wood away and rebuilding stuff. the chances of him ripping his few good shirts is rather high. Still Cross is trying very hard to just focus on his face and skull. it is fine! No one notices!

Cross turns back to the pile he still has. it has been reduced quickly which sucks. He looks through it with a frown.

Crop stops by him with a knowing smile "Hey Cross!" he grins wider "Getting heated?"

Cross glares at him "Well the late autumn sun is rather warm!" and he goes back to shifting through his pile.

Crop nods "It is it is..." then the grin falls and he frowns "You guys already that low?"

Cross shifts through it more "Yeah but it is okay! I can probably use this to make the cabinets for the kitchen still..." still they will need to get more materials for everything else.

Crop frowns and must have made the same conclusion "Hopefully Straw gets back soon with more stuff."

Cross rubs his neck "You guys really didn't need to help this much... we already own you big time..."

Crop shrugs "That is how a community works Cross. We all help each other. We will eventually pay it back with helping them back." he smiles "We are only a tiny town and only have ourselves to count on. You heard how the deal with the repair service from the big city went. People are quick to think off us as dumb or naive. We gotta stuck together."

Cross shoots him a grin "We will try to ffigure something out... eventually." he groans "we don't even know what type of farm to make yet!"

Crop shrugs "You guys will have to test some stuff. See what works for you and your land..." he grins again "I don't think a diary farm fits you guys though."

Cross glares at him "Not funny. I swear Betty knew she freaked me uot."

Crop nods "Oh absolutely! Cows are really smart."

Just makes them more terrifying in Cross's opinion and he has no doubt that thought is clear on his face.

Crop laughs but a honk of a car pulls them out of their conversation. and. That is a giant truck. much bigger than Straw and Crop's truck.

Crop blinks "Dani and Ellie?" he raises to his feet and waves.

The truck stops and Ellie leans out "Hello! Your lovely neighborhood lesbians have brought you." she puts ahand under her chin and wiggles her eye brows "the wood."

Dani chuckles as she jumps out "Straw told everyone around town. Most people are grabbing their stuff but this was all stuff we were planning on giving to the community anyway." she shrugs "tree farmers after all."

Ellie grins as she waves them over "Come! lets see what you need! We have all types of trunks with us. They will still need some work and treatment but Dani is amazing with her magic!"

Dani grins as she gives a thumbs up "figure out how to treat wood with magic instead of the slow treatment. Most still want the traditional work but i figured you guys would be okay with this help."

Cross is unsure how to react. People don't just help them. People hate them and what they do. Tehy hadn't expected this much help and it is overwhelming "I... I... I don't know how to... We don't have money?" he is lost.

Dani shrugs again as Ellie smiles "Hey. We have been where you guys have been... well not exactly but people werent'exactly welcoming of us either... as soon as we graduated we grbabed my old car and just left. we foudn thsi place and people were nice enough to take a chance on us." she grins "We now pay that forwards. We are doing this!" she grins and winks "Will just have to invite us over for a prime tour of the farm once you guys are all done!"

Dani nods as she starts untying the many trunks "What Ellie said. the Danielle's are at your service. Now what do you need?"

Cross is still lost when Horror joins them curiously. no doubt hearing all the noise. He pauses as he takes in the sight before tilting his skull "What?"

Cross just kidna waves at the two "We... euh.. got help? And thinks? Do you know what we need?" his mind is in shambles at the moment.

Hroror sees it and smiles as he walks past. patting his shoulder before going over to the dog and bunny and having a short conversation. Horror hears their whole speech and smiles. he thanks them and explains what they need for what. The two woman listen closely before nodding and starting to organise the brought materials with practised ease.

Horror joins his side again and grabs Cross's lists. He takes a pencil and writes some tree names by a few of the items before handing them back "They will help prepare the materials. They are nice." and he disappears back inside.

Welp!! If Horror says that that means they are nice and most likely trustworthy! They get over to him and Cross explains the system he had and what they had calculated to need for each area. The two monsters nod and ask if they should start on the porch while cross continues preparing stuff for horror. Which Cross thanks them and agrees wiht.

They are hard at work when Killer nad Nightmare return. Killer laughs "Criss Cross! you are not going to believe this! The like east area just has a tiny field at the edge of the forest and part of that forest is still in our little area! better yet that means some of the forest animals are like right there!" then he notices the guests and grows quiet "oh... hello." His hold on Nightmare's leg tightens.

Ngihtmare tilts his tiny skull at the two monsters "Dani and Ellie... right?"

Ellie coos as Dani grins "Good memory. I can't imagine remembering all the new faces you meet only once is easy." and she finishes her spell on a piece of wood which Ellie pulls over to cut.

Nightmare shrugs as he hugs Killer's skull "good memory..."

KIller nods as he glances at Cross "Sooooo... Hello Lovely ladies!" he grins "What brings you here?"

Dani raises a piece of wood "Neighborhoodly friendliness." and she continues with her task.

Killer stares at him and Cross grins "They brough over some wood" he ignores the eye brow wigglign "after they heard from STraw that we are getting the house fixed up. aparently it is a community thing that everyone helps everyone." he shrugs at the doubting look "Don't look at me. it is new for me too. Horror said it is fine though."

Killer blinks "I mean... if Horror said it is fine..." he looks at Nightmare "What do you think tiny boss?"

Nightamre shrugs and hugs his skull.

Killer nods "notion accepted. Got it." he grins at them "We are going to look at some of the other stuff Straw and Crop brought along. See what is in there."

Cross nods "Good idea!" and he watches Killer walk off with Nightmare.

Dani chuckles and looks over "Not good at construction?"

Cross groans loudly "Killer is good at a lot of things... not construction." he shrugs "It is fine. We don't want Nightmare near this stuff anyway." he is too small to lift everything and could too easily get hurt. it doesn't matter he is technically a god he is not going to have to work. They don't agree with child labor.

Dani nods "I get that. best to have a child safe corner for them to sit in." she turns back to the next trunk and gets to work as Ellie cuts pieces.

They work for a long time and the sun is well past midday when more people come by. They deliver some older looking furniture and more tools and items for them to use.

Most don't stay for long aside from dropping things off or asking if they needed anything specific. Some brought over some premade food for them and other snacks because aparently 'breaks are important!'.

Crop and Straw, when he returned, work on clearing the road betweent eh main road and the farm and getting some clear markers on where to go.

Dani and Ellie leave later in the afternoon and by the end of the day their group of skeletons looks back at their progress. They aren't done yet but it starts to look more like a house than an actual falling apart piece of junk.

Dust is covered in ashes and when they look at him he just says 'fireplace' which probably means he found a challenge of somekind. Then again Cross thinks he spotted Dust on the roof once or twice but each time he had looked back to check he hadn't been there.

They are packing up when Killer and Nightmare return. Killer looking very proud and Ngihtmare looking a bit more nervous as he fidgets.

Horror and him share alook as Horror looks at them, now once again fully dressed "yes?"

Killer grins "Remember how we were told most farms have a name?"

Cross give shim a look "We are aware. we also agreed we would take time to think about it."

Killer grins "True. But! Nightmare thought of one and I figured it was perfect and fine!" Ngihtmare shoots him a glare and crosses his tiny arms.

Dust tils his skull "fact. Waht is the name?"

Cross wants to disagree but also if nightamre wants to clal it something specific he is fine with it. Nightmare never complains about them deciding stuff so why would they complain about this.

Nightmare mutters something but when he sees everyone looking and waiting he speaks louder "It was just an idea... Killer got excited..." still staring and he rubs his arm looking embarresed "It is silly... I thought... I figured Haven would fit. Haven Farm."

Cross stares at Nightmare and feels a bit of tears try to form as the meaning sinks in and what it implies and means. He can't stop it as he picks nightmar eup and hugs him close. Purring much too loud as he speaks "I agree it is perfect!" their home. their safe place. their hide out. their haven.

Killer grins wider and nods "Which i agreed with. So!" he pulls out a board from behind his back.

It is a name plate. It spells Haven but the letters are a bit croaked and nailed to the backboard. it are all different sizes and different colours nad Cross fucking loves it!

Killer grins "We made it together." he rolls his eye lights "don't worry i did the cutting and nailed it all together. Ngihtmare was my supervisor."

Dust looks appeased as he nods "Seems good."

Horror nods as he takes the plate and puts it by the door, too hang later "Will need a bigger one for the gate at the enterance."

Cross grins as he feels ngihtamre relax at the approval and start to purr himself. Cros sjust nuzzles the babybones.

They still have a lot of work ahead of them but that is fine. It will be all so very much worth it once it is done and they have their house to finally just be them.

*--------------------*

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

[20001541]

it's so disappointing that we didn't get more of tomura and afo interacting after that huge revelation about afo being involved in his life from the very beginning. he had his dad giggling and kicking his feet. he even encouraged him to have another child. tomura thought afo finding him that day on the street was a coincidence, but it wasn't. none of it was, he was even given the quirk that killed his family then told he wanted every single one of his family members to die and that was born twisted for years after. he even thanked afo for making him for who he is today in previous chapters!

I wanted there to be an actual encounter between them where he is distraught that the man who he thought was his savior has been planning his downfall since before he was even born. I wanted more of afo telling him to his face how he has meant nothing to him and his usefulness begins and ends at him being a possible vessel for himself, and how he's never had any control over his life. then have tenko argue back against his words. to finally stand up to everything afo has tried to ingrain in him. to cast aside the name of tomura shigaraki which was the name he gave him and tell afo how he doesn't need him anymore. that he finally sees him for the pathetic man he truly is. I want to see afo's reaction to losing control over him permanently. izuku would also be helping him through this encounter as well, might write a fic about it tbh.

oh well best I can hope for now is tenko discussing his feelings about what was revealed in 419, that is if he survives. I have a feeling something will happen that will bring him back in some way based on how only the name tomura shigaraki was said but not tenko which is an important distinction to make. a tomura dies, tenko lives situation if you will.

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

.

[nexus-nebulae]

another childhood bucket list item obtained: i finally have a snuggie

[vvelegrin]

another funny thing is how every single thing produced or written by a doctor on something that is not commonly diagnosed is like, come on, we're trying!!!! remember that we're trying!!! if a doctor doesn't have the information you need, it's not necessarily their fault, they're working with whta they have :(((( come oooonnnn, it's probably that doctor's birthday, he's just a little doctor birthday boy. you're going to be mad at him on his birthday? wow. did you know every doctor was born on the same day so when you are mad at one you're mad on ALL of our birthdays? we're trying!!!! remember that we're trying!!!! we don't have the resources!!!! and we're not going to look for them <3

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

i feel like life right now is me trying to juggle approximately 127 different things, and none of them are life-or-death but they’re all equally important to me, so those 127 things are like simultaneous balls in the air that i am holding up while the adderall shortage makes it harder to remember what they are let alone keep from dropping them, and at this point even my to-do lists have lists which got so out of control that i stopped even keeping lists but also i’m so tired every day that i’m lucky if i get a single thing done and if i don’t set alarms then i depression-sleep for fourteen hours because oh yeah my adderall was also the only thing that helped my bipolar meds work all the way so i’m crying and thinking about everything that makes me sad 24/7 while i try to keep juggling

[agirlinthegalaxy]

Okay, but one of the things that annoyed me about s2 of Locke & Key was that Jackie’s death seemed entirely bc of Tyler’s short-sightedness. The other thing that annoyed me was how the show treated Eden, which I am remarkably less forgiving towards. (Look, the entire show kinda has the Lockes as dumbasses, but there isn’t an in-universe excuse for the second one.) So alternate suggestion:

When Kinsey and Scot use the Head Key on Eden, we see that she’s still in there. Eden, our Eden, the human Eden, the Eden who had enough of a heart of gold to risk her life to help the people she bullied who in turn magically controlled and manipulated her body, she’s still there. The darkness and the mannequins are slowly overrunning her head, but it’s still Eden’s head.

So consider instead if Kinsey and Scot escape and tell the others about their realization. The Savinis and the others are like :/ well that tracks but Scot asks how they’re going to save her and the others are kind of just like 😬😬 Eden? Eden who is like a total raging bitch that one? Jackie, as Eden’s best friend, insists that they have to do something and they’re still kinda like ehhh but Kinsey finally speaks up. This is our fault. Eden wouldn’t have been involved at all if it wasn’t for us, we have to help her.

And so the thing is that there isn’t. really a way to save someone from demonic possession. Erin points out don’t you think we’d have done that if there was a way? Maybe something about a journal from Ellie or one of the Keepers of the Keys researching ways, a note about how they wish they could have saved Lucas. And so they realize that they have to create a way now.

Blah blah, Dodge creates the Demon Key and Tyler realizes that he can create a key and they trap Eden at some point. (Look this isn’t a full season rewrite, I’m not doing all that rn.) But anyways, Tyler, with Erin dead trying to reach Lucas and Jackie confused and worried about Eden with the loss of her memories, creates the Alpha Key. 

Meanwhile, Jackie confronts Kinsey and Bode and demands to know what the hell is going on and they restore her memories and she catches up to speed and has the realization that her best friend is a demon and possessed Eden is spitting all these things at her about how you didn’t even notice, too wrapped up in your new magical life and boyfriend and friends and so much for being best friends, right Jackie? just full on demonic tormenting with Eden’s body and voice.

Tyler comes back and reveals that he has the key, but they’re worried about using it on Eden bc what if it goes wrong? And they’re arguing over it while Eden laughs at them and then Dodge attacks and everyone is scrambling and Jackie goes missing in the midst of it all and then it’s over and Tyler is yelling for her, fear and panic in his voice, when she reappears, quiet and solemn. Tyler desperately hugs her and she just leans against him and says softly Eden was one of my first friends y’know. One of my only friends and she tearfully laughs and Tyler is starting to get worried and Jackie just looks up at him and her expression goes vaguely demonic for a second and he tries to draw back in horror at what happened but she grabs his arms and demands use the key on me. If it works, then we can save Eden. If it doesn’t... I don’t want to end up like her, Tyler.

And without really any other options bc Eden is significantly farther along the corruption process that they really can’t say what Eden would want, Jackie is here and okay for at least a minute and like the show, they think it works and they celebrate and even demon Eden is quiet for a minute before the tears start and Jackie dies in Tyler’s arms and in between Tyler’s breakdown about her, Eden, the real Eden, comes through for half a second to call out for her, breaking down in tears before the demon regains control.

And maybe they still can’t save Eden, but at the very least, they can take the literal demonic parasite off of her soul before she dies and she also doesn’t fucking die by getting thrown down a well!!!

[beeseverywhen]

I mean like. Not to bring the mood down but... you guys know that's because American media is everywhere right? Like the world is unable to avoid some version of American accent on a regular basis. Of course ppl find it easy to mimic. This is absolutely not restricted to ppl in the UK, its really common for ppl who learn English as a foreign language to have perfect 'American actor' accents (cause the reason everyone's so good at the American accent that's expected of them as actors is cause at large there's little distinction between regions in the 'Hollywood accent' that ends up on TV and films and stuff. You guys have massive regional differences in pronounceation, but what makes it on to TV (in 9/10 cases) is a very standardised version of American English.)

But yeah. It's not just actors lol. Most British ppl can speak in a passable american accent, as can loads and loads of people worldwide. I'm not saying this to be like 'you should feel guilty! 😡' but it does always stun me when Americans are unaware of the impact their country has worldwide on all versions of English (and even on use of native languages. Many countries are using English more and more over their native languages and dialects , and yeah, historical colonialism has had an impact there.)

But in the last few decades things have progressed way way faster and that, is thanks to the impact of anglo/american/ect lead capitalism. I'm in no way dismissing the impact the UK has on this, but in recent years, its the US that is largely pushing that train .While the UK and several English speaking commonwealth countries are very involved in this kind of capitalist imperialism, there's a reason that more and more people are speaking American English. Not one of the many UK dialects, not Australian English, or NZ English. Across the world more and more people are increasingly speaking in the same standardised american dialect that's in so much of the media you export. Hollywood based media, with that standardised accent/ dialect and the standardised 'normal american life', has a stranglehold on the world and I just find it crazy that a lot of you guys don't even know.

It's stupid stuff like. So many countries are importing american cars and are widening their roads/ changing town planning to account for it (this is less of a thing in the UK but I see it more and more when I travel). Its the food becoming avaliable everywhere. Its the influence that for profit healthcare has even on countries with socialised health systems. Its houses being built to account for American style appliances. Fashion trends. Worldwide, everything is slowly evolving to be closer and closer to this 'American standard' which honestly? I really don't think actually represents the lives of real American people either. You've been turned in to products, the system has taken an unrealistic snapshot of 'American life' and it's being sold to you all day in day out, but it's also being sold to the rest of us. It's being pushed on us all.

Kids in the UK go through phases of talking only in American accents. Anyone born later than the 90s is carrying round 2 sets of spelling and vocab, cause we're all so used to the American way, that you barely know which one you're using half of the time. In the UK we have always had really strong regional accents yeah, and dialects differ between areas that seem tiny to you guys, I know. But like. Those dialects are being lost cause all UK accents are evolving to become closer to this standardised american and yeah not great, but at least we share a language! US American society is largely rooted in the same foundations as UK society, largely we have the same flaws! But oh my god. What about the rest of the world.

It's global. This impact continues to be seen, steamrollering ahead, in places that had completely different starting points. UK culture isn't that dissimilar to that of the US, so we aren't losing nearly as much as cultures that had something completely different. So much is being lost.

Languages and dialects and everything else is just being wallpapered over so we all meet the same ideal of the 'American life' and it's not even real! It's just a product based on how ppl were actually living in the US, manipulated until it's the most marketable mould. You guys are victims of it as well but like. It's based on your culture so you don't lose as much if you conform to it. Just like how in the UK, if we conform, we lose more than US, but nowhere near as much as countries that had languages, dialects and cultures that were so so different to UK/US culture. The less like the US, your starting point, the more there is to lose.

And look. I said it to start with. I'm not having a go. That's not what this is. But you guys really need to be aware, you need to make an effort to understand the impact that this plastic Hollywood american culture is having on the rest of the world. You need to actively look for it, and make an effort to not pay in to it. Because when Americans see other cultures represented in media and say its not relatable, when you guys go on holiday and make no effort to learn local customs, and try and pay in dollars and spend your time abroad like you're still in America, when you see cultural differences and immediately argue that the American way is better and of course everyone should have giant cars and never dry laundry outdoors and live in American style homes, without any kind of critical thought. Just 'this is how we do it so why wouldn't everyone else do it this way. This is the only way. The American way is obviously best.' When you guys do that you are individually feeding in to this absolute bulldozing of cultures (including American ones!) to allow for better marketability.

It isn't any one individual American citizens fault that things are the way they are, and you guys are victims of the same system, but you need to have some self awareness when it comes to the fact that as individuals you are unknowingly, helping driving this forwards and as individuals, there are things you can do to limit your personal impact (and no arguing that you have no culture is not it!!! Being all self deprecating doesn't do shit. Take some responsibility and accept that individual Americans didn't create this system, but currently, individual Americans really are doing their bit to keep promoting it, to keep pushing it on the rest of the world.

And I've already rambled for an age so I'll stop here but I just want to make clear as an ending note here, that this really isn't about piling on Americans and being all 'boo it's all America's fault. They should apologise. Their culture isn't worth anything.' Not at all this is the opposite of that. The fact that millions of Americans have been convinced you have no culture, all while a mimicry of American culture is plastered on to the rest of the world, and while you as individuals are encouraged to help that happen, often without even realising what you're doing; is a crime. You've been wronged, as have we all.

And America is not the problem. The problem is imperialism and it didn't start with you guys. It started in Europe, and Europeans, particularly British ppl, have a responsibility to push back and be self aware, take some fucking responsibility and not inadvertently keep feeding in to that system, just as you guys do. The US didn't start the fire, imperialist capitalism is a fire that started burning long before the United States was even considered, but its on all of us, to do what we can to not feed that fire. And right now? You guys are the face of it.

This idea of what America is, is the face of imperialistic capitalism, and that means that even if you don't mean to, you guys are feeding that fire more so than the rest of us. You're responsible for spreading it, more so than the rest of us. And if you don't step up and take responsibility, accept that you're gonna get it wrong sometimes and you need to try to do better; if we don't all do that. There will be nothing left. They'll paper over it all, the lives of real Americans just as much as those in Scotland and India and the Netherlands, and 100 other cultures, that are at risk, thanks to this fire, that's currently, largely coming from America.

So yeah. It's absolutely not just on you guys and ppl who act like there's no racism or wealth divide in Europe or anywhere else for that matter are complete idiots, however, this Americanisation of the world (and I hesitate to call it that. Because its not a representation of real American lives. Its simply wearing an American face.) Its real. It's happening.

And we don't tell you about it to make you feel guilty (those of us who aren't dicks at least) ,we are telling you. We are kicking up a fuss. Because it isn't fair. It's not right and while individual Americans ignore that and refuse to take responsibility where they can (small apples. We aren't asking for you to call a violent revolution in our names. Just take some time to learn about the rest of the world. Stop assuming America is always right and examine your biases. When you find them. Stop personally pushing them.) , while that is happening, as individuals, you are contributing to this. It's not even altruism. This system is hurting Americans too. It's hurting us all. All we ask is that you do what you can to not personally contribute, and keep an open mind, be aware. That's all any of us can do.

when a british actor does an american accent everyone’s like “i didn’t even know they were british until they were on colbert.” but when americans do a british accent everyone’s like “they’re supposed to be from east cocksford but their glottal e’s are north dicksford. shameful.”

[inmirova]

"it's easier to leave an abusive situation than it is to stop an abuser" :^( but it's not easy :^(

[jedi-bird]

All the drawers and shelves are finally installed in the closets. Now I just have to get more boxes to fit the shelves and start organizing everything. Aside from the boxes of craft books, I'll finally be able to unpack the rest of the stuff and start having a functional room. I hurt too much to keep going today but building all the stuff is the hardest part anyway.

Also, Groot the avocado is now over six inches tall and on his way to being a tree. My partner keeps asking what we're going to do with an avocado tree (meaning where are we going to put it because we're running it of room for big plants). I honestly don't know but I'll figure it out.

[arolesbianism]

I love drawing Aris as sif so much she's so cutsies. It almost makes up for the horrors of having to draw her as sif. Almost.

[screambirdscreaming]

Look, I get where you're coming from, but I think you've swung too far in the other direction here. NSAIDs and acetaminophen are, in most places as far as I'm aware, the only options available for non-prescription pain medications. They're available without prescription because, if used infrequently and within the recommended dosages, they are relatively safe and low in side effects. HOWEVER. it is very difficult to get a prescription for pain medication, and even if you do, those medications also come with dose limits and side effects. So the bottom line is that many, MANY people are relying on NSAIDs and acetaminophen for the primary management of chronic pain. And in that context, it is absolutely possible to severely hurt yourself. Which I think people absolutely deserve more knowledge and awareness of - even if they find it somewhat alarming.

This is especially true where people are brushed off by doctors to "just use advil" for pain that is quite frankly, too severe and ongoing for advil to safely handle. The dismissive way in which doctors treat NSAIDs gives the impression that they are harmless, and many people are desperate for relief. This leads people to use NSAIDs heavily and without precautions, causing lasting harm to themselves which could have been averted, or at least mitigated, by taking steps towards safer use - like those outlined in the original post. NSAIDs work on several biochemical pathways at once - they reduce inflammation, relax muscles, decrease pain signalling of nerves, and slightly inhibit blood clotting, and they also increase the production of stomach acid and decrease the production of protective mucus lining the stomach. This function is pretty much baked in, there's no way around it. So it's not an issue of "some people's stomachs are sensitive to NSAIDs," it's an issue of "NSAIDs cause some damage directly to the stomach lining every time you take them". It's not very much damage from one dose, and if that's the only dose you take for a while, it'll heal right back up. But if you keep taking them, multiple doses back to back, for days or weeks on end.... the damage starts to add up. Or even if you don't use them that much, but take maybe a dose every day to help with muscle soreness after work... or a couple times a month, for migraines or period cramps.... point is, if the damage to the stomach lining is happening faster than it can heal, you start to get problems - but you probably won't notice anything is wrong until it gets pretty bad.

Being careless until you get a proto-ulcer, or an ulcer, or acid reflux, or a bleeding lesion in the duodenum - is not a great tactic. And I will tell you, pretty much everyone I know who is careful about taking their NSAIDs with food or antacids, has become careful after suffering AT LEAST one of the above. And many people end up, as OP said, unable to take NSAIDs at all, because the chronic damage to the stomach is too easily aggravated. Which is not great! So it's good to get in the habit of safer use, before you find yourself in a situation of heavily using pain meds without realizing they could cause lasting damage! Because the underlying issue is stomach acid causing damage to the stomach lining, you can: - take NSAIDs with food, or after eating, so the food dilutes the stomach acid - take NSAIDs with an antacid, like tums (although avoid aluminum-based antacids with ibuprofen) - take NSAIDs with an H2 blocker, a relatively fast-acting medicine that reduces acid produced by the stomach - take a daily PPI medication, which reduces acid produced by the stomach over the long term

Now, H2 blockers and PPIs are other (non-prescription) medications which have their own potential for side effects and interactions - so do your research if you want to add either of them to your medication regimen. But they can be very helpful, especially for healing up if damage has already been caused. Now all that being said. Acetaminophen is a COMPLETELY different story. And what pushed me to reply to this post was the way you were lumping together information on max dosages, which I think is dangerously misleading, even if the numbers are not technically incorrect. See, the risk with NSAIDs is chronic damage from long-term use, but they are relatively safe drugs in the acute sense. For Ibuprofen in particular - the bottle will tell you not to take more than 400mg at once, but if pressed a doctor will say you can take up to 800mg and it's perfectly safe if you don't make too much of a habit of it, and hypothetically you could even take a much higher dose than that and not die, although you wouldn't have a very good time. So, while it is certainly not recommended to take more than 800mg at once or more than 1600mg a day to avoid long-term consequences.... it happens. Which can perhaps teach a person the wrong lessons about dose safety. The risk with acetaminophen is acute toxicity. If you take too much at once, it causes liver toxicity, and then liver failure, and then death. This process can be stopped, but not reversed, so survival depends strongly on early diagnosis and treatment. You might think that the toxic dose in enough higher than the treatment dose that it'd be difficult to overdose accidentally - but that's not necessarily the case. From a National Institute of Health summary on Acetaminophen toxicity: "Acetaminophen toxicity is the second most common cause of liver transplantation worldwide and the most common cause of liver transplantation in the US. It is responsible for 56,000 emergency department visits, 2,600 hospitalizations, and 500 deaths per year in the United States. Fifty percent of these are unintentional overdoses." Sure, relative to the total population, overdoses aren't *that* common - but if 50% are accidental, I think people need to be better informed. The major issue with acetaminophen is that it is present as an active ingredient in many, many multi-drug medications, which people often don't realize. So an overdose can occur if, for example, a parent who has already given their child a Tylenol to get their fever down also gives them a dose of cough syrup - each alone at the recommended dose, but it adds up. (Children are at a greater risk of overdose on anything, because toxic dosage is relative to body size, and kids are small.)

So yes, acetaminophen is a great drug and relatively safe if you know how much you are taking. Always check the active ingredients on any medicine you take, especially if you're taking multiple things at once. And for acetaminophen especially, don't take more than the recommended dose at once, don't take more than the maximum dose per day, and wait at least 4 hours between doses - even if the effect has worn off. Don't push it!

Every time I see another ibuprofen post on this site I'm like STOP

STOP

Stop.

Take that after a meal. Take it with a big glass of water. Don't take it on an empty stomach EVER. Don't take it with alcohol. You will destroy your stomach. You will end up with an ulcer. You will vomit blood. I'm not exaggerating.

Yes, you. Yes, it will happen to cute little you. With your cute little bottle of miracles. Ibuprofen really does that to your body.

Love, an adult person over 35 who can't take NSAIDs anymore

[birbtails]

.

[imaginedisish]

Dare (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys. Just wanted to say thank you for all the support I got this morning. All of your comments really warmed my heart. Thank you so, so, so much. I ended up getting this done pretty fast. Went with "Dare" by Gorillaz for the title. Made me feel better to write. I like this one. Hope you do, too. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan finds out you've never been eaten out while playing a game of "Truth or Dare," and he's more than willing to change that.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, softdom!Logan, pussydrunk!Logan (he does not let up, he is starving for you), older!Logan, implied aged gap (reader is in her 20s/old enough to teach at the institute), cocky!Logan, he is an absolute service dom in this, friends to lovers, mentions of mental health/self worth, fluff, some hurt to comfort, some angst, afab/fem!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,235 wowza didn't expect that and oh my god this gif

You’re lying on your floor—the door to your room wide open. Everyone is out anyway. It’s Friday night at the mansion—no one will see you like this. Students’ papers are scattered around you. You stare up at the ceiling, feeling choked up. It had been a bad day—a bad week. Maybe even a bad year. You feel like you’re slipping, losing yourself. 

Teaching the older students had become beyond challenging—possibly because you aren’t much older than them in the first place. Most days, it felt like everyone expected greatness from you, given the strength of your powers, which naturally comes with responsibility, and that can be incredibly overwhelming. It had all been—if you were being brutally honest—an absolutely terrible time. 

So, you’re lying on your floor, feeling numb. You stopped grading papers at least an hour ago, and simply decided to stare at the ceiling, your head spinning. You wanted to calm the noise, to take a breather. Luckily, you’re alone—everyone is on a mission or out given that it’s Friday night. 

Or so you thought. 

“What on Earth are you doing?” A familiar voice cuts through the silence like a knife, jarring you, and forcing you to look up. And there he is, in a white t-shirt and denim jeans, arms crossed tightly against his chest, leaning in the doorway. Logan. You want to roll your eyes at how good he looks. You want to slap yourself for thinking it in the first place.

He smirks at you, his brows furrowed playfully. You let your head fall back to the floor. “Grading papers,” you mutter. You can hear his footsteps as he walks into the room, drawing closer to you. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re grading papers to me,” he teases. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Why aren’t you out with Jean or Rogue?” 

He stands next to you, and you look up at him. “Didn’t feel like it,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit up. You draw your knees into your chest. You decide to turn the question around on him. “Why aren’t you out?”

He sits down next to you, stretching his long legs in front of him, his shoulder bumping against yours as he settles in. He shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you, right?” He jokes, nudging his elbow into your arm. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. It’s impossible to fight it when he’s next to you. Your eyes meet his, and his smile quickly turns into something else—concern. “You’ve been off lately.”

You swallow harshly. “Did Jean or Rogue say something?” You ask. They’d notice, maybe they told Logan. “Did they ask you to stay with me or something?”

But Logan shakes his head. “No. I could just tell,” he says, worry clear in his voice. “Thought I’d hang back with you. All my idea.” He tilts his head, his jaw working, his brows furrowing again. “Is something going on?” 

You take a deep breath, turning away from him. You’re suddenly overwhelmed by his presence, by his kindness and his care. He stayed home for you. “I’m okay,” you mutter, avoiding the truth. 

“Hey,” Logan whispers, tentatively reaching his hand to your knee, waiting for you to shove him away. His palm is warm against your skin, calming and stabilizing. You turn back to look at him, his brows raised incredulously. “I know that’s not true,” he says. He has always been able to read you like a book. “What’s going on?”

You swallow harshly. “I’ve just been having a tough time lately,” you say, distracted by the way his thumb brushes across your knee. “I…” You trail off, letting your eyes fall closed. “Things are hard.”

“You can talk about it if you want,” he says, his voice deep and steady. “I’m here.” 

You sniffle, struggling to keep yourself in check. “I just…” you pause, looking off to the side. “Everything sucks.” You take another deep breath. “And the students are so hard.” You point to the piles of papers scattered around your floor. “And then there’s me, and all my shit. My powers. The responsibilities we have. I’m young, and I’m still learning. And fuck, Logan, this all just feels so impossible sometimes. It…it…” You trail off, finally running out of words, out of steam.

“It hurts.” He finishes your sentence, taking the words right out of your mouth. You turn back towards him, your eyes instantly meeting his. “It hurts a lot.”

You nod. “Yeah, exactly.” He squeezes your knee comfortingly. “You get it,” you murmur. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he soothes, his hand lifting off your knee, his arm wrapping around your shoulder instead. “I’ve got you.” You let yourself lean into his touch, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “Let’s take your mind off things, yeah?”

You nod against him, not wanting to move away, not wanting to separate from him. He feels so nice, so solid. “What did you have in mind?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t involve getting up.

“Wanna play a game?” He offers, turning his head to look down at you. You smile widely, almost mockingly. “What?” He chides. “You think I don’t know how to have fun?”

You laugh softly. “I just don’t see you as a game guy, Lo,” you confess. He chuckles, and you can feel his laughter reverberating through his chest. “Can you even think of one to play?”

Logan’s still laughing, shaking his head. “What about truth or dare?” He ever so slightly pulls you in closer, his lips pressed against the side of your head. 

You giggle, feeling light for the first time in a long time. “Are we in seventh grade?” You ask teasingly. You felt like a teenager, honestly—being next to Logan always made you feel like a love-sick schoolgirl. But you know you and him could never be. You were younger than Logan—everyone was—but you, being in your 20s, assume that Logan doesn’t see you the way you see him. 

He just shakes his head and laughs, pulling you back to reality. “Truth or dare?” He asks, ignoring your middle school comment and officially starting the game. 

You don’t want to get up, don’t want to move an inch, so you answer: “Truth,” hoping it isn’t anything too crazy. 

Logan thinks for a second, his head resting on yours. “Why’d you pick truth instead of dare?” He finally asks. 

You roll your eyes. “Boring!” You tease. “I only picked it because I don’t feel like moving.” And then you realize…perhaps your answer is more revealing than you previously considered. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

Logan hums. “And why don’t you want to move, exactly?” He’s onto you. 

“You asked your question, you got an answer,” you protest, trying to shut him down. “No follow-up questions.” It’s your turn now. “Truth or dare?” You ask. 

“Truth,” he says. “Because maybe I don’t feel like moving either.”

You smile, and you can feel him looking down at you. You’re too nervous to meet his gaze. You think for a moment, racking your brain for a question. “Did you really stay home for me, and was it all your own idea?” You finally ask. You regret the question almost immediately, fearful of the honest answer. 

“Yes,” he responds without a beat. “Jean said you were staying in, and said she didn’t know why, so I stayed too.” He pauses, and you can hear his steady breathing amidst the silence. “I was worried, princess.” The pet name burns a hole through your heart. “Needed to know that you were okay.”

You can feel tears building behind your sinuses. “Thank you, Lo,” you whisper. “That means a lot.”

He presses the ghost of a kiss to the crown of your head—almost not quite there. But you can feel it, hesitant and tentative. “It’s nothing, no need to thank me.” You finally find the courage to look up at him and find him smiling down at you. His lips part. “Truth or dare?” He asks again. 

You can feel some sort of tension brewing, building, thick and heavy. You try to ignore it, try to brush it off. Your heart hammers in your chest. “Truth,” you pick again. “But get a little more creative this time.”

He pauses, the gears in his head turning. And then finally: “Why’s your heart beating so fast? It’s loud, too.” 

Your eyes widen, suddenly remembering Logan’s heightened senses. He can hear everything. “Uh…” You trail off, not sure how to get out of this. “I-It’s not…”

He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. You know that?” His voice is deep and honeyed, smooth. “You gotta answer the question, or I get to ask another.”

“Those are not the rules!” You protest, lifting your head to look at him. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that makes your stomach drop. 

He tugs you into his chest again, his lips at the shell of your ear. “Then answer the question,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. He’s so close. Too close. Your heart is only beating faster, louder now. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. But of course, you know. It’s all because of him. “Just anxious, I guess.” It’s a half-truth—you’re certainly nervous, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him why. 

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” Logan coos, his thumb brushing circles into your shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Yes, exactly, you want to say. It’s you. But you don’t. You try to steady your breathing, try to calm down. “My turn,” you force yourself to say. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says darkly. “And make it good.” You can hear the cockiness in his voice—a sudden shift in his tone. 

“We should just call this truth or truth,” you say, mulling over a question in your mind. It’s hard to think with him this close—hard to breathe. You want to rile him up, to find out what makes him tick—to make him itch the way he makes you. And then it hits you: the perfect question. “When was the last time you…” You stop yourself, suddenly too nervous to ask. 

“When was the last time I what, darlin’?” He asks, cocking his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. 

You huff. You’ve fallen into your own trap. There’s no backing out now. “When was the last time…” You pause again, biting your lip. You close your eyes. “…somebody got you off?” 

“Been a while,” he says simply. Your eyes flutter open, and Logan is completely relaxed, his eyes trained on you. He isn’t annoyed. He’s unbothered, unprovoked, as if you had asked him what the weather was going to be like tomorrow. “But it depends on how you mean. So, what do you mean?” He finishes. 

You’re slightly frustrated by how easy it was for him to answer. “I don’t know,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders. “Whatever the last time was.”

“Few years back, not particularly proud of it,” he huffs. “Girl took care of me in a bar. That was it.” 

You nod. “Must’ve been nice,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a bit disheartened. You catch his drift; you know it didn’t mean anything. You likely didn’t know Logan at that time, having only arrived at the Institute two years ago. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous, shouldn’t care that he was ever with someone else, even for a fleeting moment. You’ve had boyfriends. You’ve been with other people. 

“It was fine. Just a blowjob.” He says it nonchalantly. “Didn’t mean a thing.” You look straight ahead, waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t. “Truth or dare?” He finally asks. 

“Truth.” Your fake, plastered-on smile becomes real when his eyes meet yours. It’s just what happens when you look at him. “And make it interesting.”

The corner of his mouth turns up slyly, and you know he has something up his sleeve. “When was the last time somebody did that to you?” He asks. 

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?” But you already know exactly what he’s asking. And you desperately do not want to give him the answer.

“Got you off, like that,” he husks. “With their mouth.”

Fuck. “Uh…” You trail off. You can feel heat spreading across your chest and up your neck, your skin prickling. “Never,” you say honestly. 

“What?” Logan’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Never?”

You’re suddenly embarrassed. Your skin feels tight—so do your shorts and tank top. “Never,” you repeat, looking down at your knees, still pulled in tightly to your chest. Your heart beats rapidly. “Just hasn’t happened yet,” you choke out. “I’ve been with people, but…”

“Hey,” he whispers, suddenly grabbing your chin and angling you up to face him. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, princess.”

You smile shyly, reveling in his touch. “You didn’t,” you insist honestly. “Just a little embarrassed.”

Logan shakes his head, his eyes softening. “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assures. “You deserve to be taken care of.” His hand slides across your jaw and cups the back of your neck. “Deserve to feel good.”

Your eyes flutter closed at his touch. “Lo,” you whisper, struggling to keep your composure. Heat pools between your thighs. “Tr-truth or dare.”

His forehead presses to yours. “I think we’re done with the game, pretty girl,” he rasps, the arm around your shoulder slipping down to your waist. “Unless I get to give you a dare this time.”

“What’s the dare?” You ask, your eyes fluttering back open. His lips are so close. Your noses touch softly.

He works his jaw, licking his lips. “Let me eat you out, pretty girl,” he pants, his chest heaving against yours. “Let me take care of you like you should’ve been already.” He hates the idea that you’ve never been touched properly, the idea that those younger guys didn’t know how to treat you right. But he can fix that. He can make you feel good.

“Fuck,” you curse, his breath fanning across your lips. “A-are you sure?” You ask. “I don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad for me or—” “You think that’s what this is about?” He cuts you off, pulling you closer so that your body faces his, your thighs slotting together like puzzle pieces. “You think I want this just because I feel bad for you?”

“Well…” You search his eyes. “Yes,” you say. 

Logan’s face falls, and he shakes his head. “I want you, pretty girl,” he pants, his knee rubbing against your aching core. “Wanted you this whole time.” His palm presses firmly against your back, his other hand gripping your neck tighter. He wants, no, needs you closer. “You ruined me the second I saw you. Haven’t been with anyone since then.”

“Logan,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to his neck. “I want you too. Always have,” you confess.

He smiles, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to yours. “Then let me do this for you,” he rasps, almost begging, like he needs this more than you do. “Need to make you feel good, beautiful.” “Please,” you breathe. “Want you so bad, Lo.”

He curses under his breath, his lips capturing yours, harder this time. This kiss is starving, all-consuming. His tongue swipes across your lower lip, and you open your mouth, inviting him inside. He lowers you down carefully, sure not to break the kiss, guiding your back to the wood floor below. 

His thighs rest on either side of your hips as he hovers over you, bracing himself with his forearm. His free hand trails up your body, exploring your curves, hiking your shirt above your breasts. He smirks against your lips at the realization that you have no bra on. 

“Look at you,” he mumbles, rolling a nipple under his thumb, palming your breast. “Fucking perfect.” His fingertips drag to the other side, massaging you gently, taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinching softly. “Can smell you, you know,” he grunts. “Know you’re soaking for me, darlin’.”

His hand slides between the valley of your breasts, trailing down your stomach, until his fingertips bump into the waistband of your panties. He hesitates, looking down at you, waiting for you to change your mind, to tell him to stop. “Please,” you beg. “Need you, Lo.”

Logan smirks, his hand slipping under the hem of your shorts and inside your panties. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart,” he groans. His fingertips flick your clit gently before finding your folds, feeling your arousal. “Barely even touched you,” he tuts. “And she’s already crying for me.”

He prods your entrance, spreading your slick, teasing you. He bites your lips, sucking so hard he might bruise—might draw blood—and you hope he does. You want proof that he was here, proof that he wants you—needs you this badly. You moan as his fingers find your clit again, drawing a few soft circles before pulling away, his hand slipping out of your shorts. 

You grab his biceps needily, impatiently, your nails digging into his skin. “Don’t stop,” you cry out. “Please, Logan.” 

He swallows your moans with another kiss, his lips trailing down to your jaw, then your neck—that sensitive spot just under your ear. “Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he soothes, biting down on your pulse point, licking the hollow of your throat. “Don’t think I could stop if I tried.” He nips at your collarbone, shoving your tank top further up your chest as his lips drag down the valley of your breasts. 

He kisses his way to your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your legs. His palms spread across your inner thighs, yanking them apart. He settles between them, his face just inches from your heat. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit, still all too clothed, hidden behind your panties. 

“Lo,” you whine. He breathes you in, pressing another kiss to your clit. He digs his fingers into the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. 

“Wanna take my time with you, sweetheart,” he grunts, finally throwing your panties to the side. He spreads your legs wider, his face settling back between your thighs. You can feel his breath against your cunt, warm and teasing. “Wanna take care of you.” His lips finally find your clit again, and he licks at you. 

His tongue is soft, warm, wet. He laps at you again, harder this time, and you moan his name. “Fuck,” you curse as he licks a long stripe through your folds and back up to your clit, flicking the bud. Your legs twitch, your hips backing away involuntarily at the newfound pleasure. Logan’s hands slide under your ass, yanking you back to his face. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He mumbles teasingly against you, the vibration of his deep, bassy voice rocking your core. “Not letting you go until I’m done with you, darlin’.”

You curse under your breath as he licks another long, slow stripe through your folds before settling on your clit. His tongue draws gentle circles around the bud, and you can’t hold back the loud moan that falls from your lips. 

“Yeah?” Logan husks between laps. “Feels good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, looking down at Logan, his face buried against your cunt. His eyes are trained on yours, watching your every move, taking in the way you’re squirming for him. “D-didn’t know it would feel this good, Lo.”

“Gonna try something, okay?” He says, his eyes searching yours. You nod emphatically, bracing yourself. His lips wrap around your clit, his teeth lightly grazing the bud as he pulls it into his mouth. And then he sucks, hard. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching off the floor.

He releases the bud, and does it again, sucking harder this time. Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins. “Logan!” You cry out, your nails digging into the floor below, searching for purchase. “Fuck!” He laps at you soothingly, drawing tighter, faster circles around your clit. 

“You okay?” He coos between laps, his tongue swirling rapidly. 

You swallow, meeting his gaze again. The sight of him between your legs, working your clit, his hair a disheveled mess—it’s overwhelming. “Yeah,” you heave. “More than okay.”

He smirks against you and wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking on the bud like hard candy. His right hand slides out from under your ass, trailing up your inner thigh. Your heart thunders in your chest as his fingertips find your folds, spreading your slick, your walls clenching down around nothing. 

“Know you need ‘em, pretty girl,” Logan croons, two fingers nudging your entrance. “Beg for it.”

But he’s sucking on your clit again, making it impossible to say a word. You whimper, your legs trembling. “P-please,” you stutter, choking on air. “Need…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed. You swallow harshly. “Need your fingers, Lo,” you finally manage. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, shoving two fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. 

“Fuck, thank you,” you whine, moaning his name as his fingers stretch you out. You suddenly feel so full, so warm, so close. He pulls out, only to plunge back in, deeper this time. He’s lapping at you with reckless abandon—a man starved, like you’re the air he needs to breathe. Your walls flutter around him, the liquid heat in your lower belly threatening to burst. 

“Tastes so good,” Logan mumbles against you, his long, thick fingers thrusting in and out. He hits that sweet spot deep inside you with every pump. “Such a sweet little pussy. Tastes better than I imagined.” You’re crumbling underneath him. His words alone might push you over the edge. “Nothing compares to you, you know that?”

Your walls flutter again, his fingers sinking deeper inside you. “You like that?” Logan husks. “Like knowing how much I want you? How much I need you?”

“Yes,” you groan, his fingers fucking into you, faster now. His teeth graze your clit as he pulls the bud back into his mouth and sucks roughly. “N-need you, too. Always.” 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, scissoring inside you, dragging along your walls. He laps at you, his tongue stroking your clit. “Not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You curse under your breath. You can feel yourself melting, your walls contracting and releasing. “Lo,” you call. “I’m so close. Wanna…” You trail off, unable to finish. 

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Don’t hold back. Let it happen,” he coaches, rocking into you. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you come on my fingers.” He laps at you between sentences. “Come for me. Know you can do it.” And then everything is white-hot and blazing.

It’s earth-shattering—better than anything has ever felt before. The tension snaps, heat boiling under your skin. Everything is blurry, hazy, dizzied as you let go, and let go hard. You cry out Logan’s name, your thighs shaking as waves of pleasure drag you under. Your bones are burning, scorching. Everything is on fire—overwhelming and greedily all-consuming. 

Logan’s pumps slow, and he carefully pulls out of you. He laves at you, his tongue pushing through your folds, milking you dry, savoring every last drop. 

“Logan,” you whisper, your hands reaching down to his head, digging your fingers into his scalp. 

He hums against you, unwavering as his tongue laps at your folds, tasting your release. 

You’re still shaking, still coming down from your high. “Logan,” you call again, and he looks up this time, lifting his face from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, and he licks his lips clean of you. His eyes are dark, his palms squeezing your thighs possessively. 

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart,” he says, demand clear in his voice. 

Your heart flutters in your chest as he climbs up your body, hovering over you again. His lips find yours. “You taste that?” He mumbles, kissing you again, harder this time. “You taste how sweet you are?”

“Y-yes,” you answer, his hand sliding down your body, slipping between your legs, finding your overstimulated clit. 

He pinches the bud lightly, your back arching off the ground, your breasts pressing to his all-too-clothed chest. “Need more of you,” he husks, his hand dragging back up your body. He sits up and pulls you into his chest, taking all your weight as he hoists you up and stands. You instinctually wrap your legs around his waist. 

He places you in the center of your bed before striding across the room, closing and locking your bedroom door. “They’ll all be home soon,” Logan says, walking back towards you, spreading your legs and settling between your thighs. “Might have to be quiet for me, darlin’.”

“W-what do you—”

And then his face is buried deep inside your cunt, his tongue lapping desperately at your clit. “I told you,” he rasps. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

tags: @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[dawnwriterimagines]

The Guilty Plea

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1) and Innocents Among You (Part 2)

Verdict Due (Part 4) Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: As you're discharged from the infirmary, under watchful eye, you head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Running your fingers along the raised, pink scar across you cheek, the feeling of it...it really looked terrible. A part of you thought it would disappear, hoped it would, but it didn't. It just became severely more noticeable. Looking at this, you knew you'd always have to think of it. You'd sport this reminder for the rest of your life.

Looking away from it, you find your own tired eyes in the mirror, you haven't been sleeping well. Or at all. You can't remember the last time you got 4 hours, let alone 8. Dark circles still surrounded them but at least the bruising and the swelling had gone down.

You couldn't recognize yourself. Not really.

This woman looked so exhausted, so frail and so goddamn angry. It was accurate, it was how you felt. All of it. So, you supposed that the mirror's reflection was the truth, this was you indeed.

"If you need another day or two, no one will ask questions."

You glance over towards your psychologist, your fucking therapist, a nice little 'gift' sent over by the bureau to check in on your mental state after your ordeal. Glaring at him through the reflection of your mirror, he sighs, putting down his pen that slaps against his notepad, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"I'm going to Laswell." Ignoring his statement, you speak. "I'm ready. I'll pack up. Get back to base. Vera had me discharged from the infirmary. I can start ov--"

"Vera?"

"My nurse. You met her," you continued, annoyance spiking at the interruption. Your wrist brace squeaking quietly under the pressure of your fist tightening beneath the table.

"Right..."

"Do you listen to a word I say outside of...my 'trauma'?" You wonder, bluntly.

Your psychologist blinks, surprised, before clearing his throat, appalled. "If you feel I can be more attentive to your state of well-being throughout our process, than by all means--"

"Oh, so 'no'?" you lean back into your seat, a strained laugh leaving you. His lips press together and you continue before he can find the words. "Because whenever I mention leaving this fucking team, you either adjust our schedule for another two weeks or suggest hypnotic therapy, as if I need anyone else digging around to fuck up my mental state."

"I never meant to imply--"

"Oh, you implied it," you interrupted, gritting your teeth. "I know what I want. And I want off Task Force 141."

He taps at the leather of his notebook. "Scars heal, just remember that, Ms. (L/n). The reminders of your experience shouldn't have to haunt you."

"It's not the scars, I've had my share way before this," you admitted, rising to your feet. You exhale deeply that tells to the effort of it, the steel gear hinges along your leg braces shift with your change of position. Still getting use to them. "It's the person."

"Has she changed, you think?" the psychologist begins to write, getting somewhere.

"She doesn't exist anymore."

Finally, placing the mirror down and onto the side table, you pushed off of the table, rolling your IV pole along with you. Passing the chair your psychologist sits on, he closes his notebook with a frustrated huff, looking over his shoulder. "Session over for you already, Ms. (L/n)?" he sighs. "We've still got the hour."

"I'm done," you take the knob in your hand. Turning.

In more ways than one.

"You understand that, informing your captain on your leave is required of you. Have you spoken to any of them, in the last few weeks?" he spoke up, quickly. "I'm sure giving them a space to open up, share from their view--"

"Why should I care--"

"--will give you better understanding, better clarity of the situation they were in--

Appalled. "What the fuck?" Jamming the door closed with a loud, shuttering thud, you whip around. "IT'S NOT ABOUT THEM!" you could just rip your hair out. "Who--who says that to someone?!"

Your psychologist sits there, eyes wide in confusion. "What--"

"Christ, can you hear me? Can you--can you see me? I've got metal plates in my spine, braces holding my knees in place and nerve damage that'll never heal! Who gives a fuck about them!" your skin feels red hot, your face twisted in rage. "I gave my life! My life to this! And then I'm tortured, I'm threatened, drugged and beaten by my own team, my f--my family for eight fucking years..."

You continue with a heavy chest. "And I'm supposed to invite them for dinner to talk and listen them bitch and moan about why they thought it was necessary to beat me to death for two weeks?! Fuck you!" you spat. "I don't owe them anything!"

"That's not what I was trying to say, Ms. (L/N). I apologize, I overstepped. Come sit down--"

"Of course you meant it," you interrupted, mock humor. "Don't be a pussy, own up to it. Revel in your truth. Be tter yet--" you snatch a journal from the cabinet. Tossing it his way. "Make a note of it."

Turning the knob, you leave the room with a slam of the metal door.

---

You were officially famous. On the base, you were now a legend.

A story that would be mentioned and told at lunch for months. Probably years.

First, you were a rat. Next, you were innocent. This was the most gossip any of those in service had ever seen in their years of service.

An interesting reminder to those in service that you weren't safe off duty either.

You learned a few days ago that there was an update put into the interrogational unit, something about how to properly go about dissecting evidence and being on the lookout for enemy spies in the militia.

You guessed you had been told about it in an effort to be appeased by the thought that the head of control paid attention to anything beyond their own noses for once. But, you had little to no faith in a system that's nearly killed you on and off the field by now, so it didn't matter.

You doubted the new rules would be followed though, there was a plethora of things they'd done to you in that cell that were both illegal and unsanctioned. Most of all, that were expected towards an enemy, a prisoner of war at best, and not a fellow marine.

You arrive at the housing quarters, swiping your key card, pulling the handle and entering the wing. Immediately, you're greeted by a dozen eyes, conversations stopping short and clothes ruffling to silence, suddenly whispers fill the space and eyes turn away.

"Oh, god, it's her..." says one man in the far corner.

"Shut the fuck up, man!" came a harsh whisper back.

"I didn't know it was that bad..."

All those eyes on you, makes you pause in your step, looking around at all of your fellow soldiers, the men and women you've served with for years. Many you recognized, ate with, fought beside that turned their backs to you now. Out of respect? Out of distaste, morale, nerves, pity, it all didn't matter. It all felt the same.

The wheels attached to your IV pole suddenly sounded much too loud on the polished flooring, as you walked down the hall as fast as you were able to.

Breathing out deeply, you get to an elevator, pushing on the button, once, twice, three times, just open goddamn it.

With a ding, the metal doors open, and suddenly you're aware that people could be in the elevator, they could be in this elevator, he could be in this elevator. Your eyes flicker down to the floor, your grip on the pole of your iv tightens, your shoulders stiffen, waiting for a blow that will never come.

You stand there as the doors open up, the small space empty, the metal walls reflect only her and a streak of lighting from the ceiling.

Looking up slowly, finally taking a breath, before sliding the iv up and onto the elevator, following it as you press your floor number along the way.

The ride up is fast, a little rumble as it stops, and then the doors open. Faster than you were prepared for.

Peeking out down the hallway, luckily no one to bump into, which you were thankful for. But, it didn't make this hall any less haunting. You'd been cornered in this same hall, you could recall being hauled out of the room after the solid handle of a knife hits your temple.

You don't go down fast enough, whipping around as you stumble to take the wrist of your attacker, mostly for balance, it's Price. In shock, you're unprepared as Johnny's arm encircle your neck, locking you into position as you both stumble backwards onto the floor. He blocks your airways, hushing you harshly as you struggle, feet kicking out and your vision blurring as your team surrounds you. Your family.

That was quite the headache to wakeup with afterwards.

You hadn't quite remembered until now. Being back served as a hell of a kickstart to your memory.

Just a few more reasons to get the fuck off of 141.

Getting off the elevators, the metal doors sliding closed behind you, you make your way down the hall. The polished flooring creates a subtle squeak through the wheels of your iv pole, your hand absently running over the fading stitches along your side.

Passing the shadows of your tortured memory, the doorway of the office was closed, locked.

You pass Kyle's room.

Johnny's.

Finally, you rush up to the next room on the left, grabbing the handle, before beginning to twist, but then you're yanking your hand back as if the metal had burned you. Your back ramming into the back wall, catching yourself, this wasn't your room.

It was Simon's.

You'd spent hours, days, in that room. More than your own.

Why wouldn't you? You were about to get married to the man. You had more in this room than you had in yours.

Sharp breaths leave you, shivering in your effort to keep yourself together, your head goes back into the wall, swallowing down the ache in your chest.

You wait, muscles tensed and your body pressing back into the wall, hoping it'd absorb you if that door opens. Listening for every sound, any pin drop, even an exhale from beyond that doorway. Luckily, Simon seemed to be out for the day.

Hurriedly, nearly running, you steady yourself against the wall as you rush down to the corner of the hallway, finally finding your room.

Turning the handle, it's not locked, it's broken. It opens with ease.

Entering the room slowly, pushing the doorway aside, the crackle of glass beneath your boots as you step forwards, clothes and picture frames laying scattered.

The mattress flipped and ripped open, springs and cotton cut from it. Your wall of metals and certificates, from acts of bravery and mementos of valor, discarded, later you'd find them in the trash, one with a bullet lodged into the gold.

Sniffling as you leaned down, picking a specific frame off the ground, the only one that hadn't been broken. Laying along the ruined rug, with no care for the glass digging through your jeans, you stare at the still shot of your family.

The only family you had outside of Task Force 141, your father and his sister, military brats themselves, until their retirement. Your mother had passed, or just up and left, days after your 5th birthday, you weren't completely sure, the story kept changing every year. But, these two were the only family you've ever known, ever had, until you joined the military, following in their footsteps.

They'd been so proud when you arrived back after your first assignment, in truth you were heavily traumatized, but seeing them, you just had to smile. Having a family that understood the harsh toll on the line of a trooper, now a lieutenant, it was always easier to bring your troubles to them. But, they were also military nuts so "suck it up" was also a quick go to answer from your aunt, while your father was the smoother talker.

They had met Simon, loved him, his rank, his love for you, his seriousness. They trusted him completely with your heart.

So, when he called them, after the evidence leaked...

They believed him.

"What're you talking about?" You took the handle of the chair in your grip, easing you down into it as your legs do weak at what you were hearing. "I didn't...I didn't do it, Dad."

"Do you know how humiliating and disappointing--how it felt to hear him say that to me, hm?" he says, static crackles on the reciever. "My daughter...my own flesh and blood...working with terrorists--"

"I'm not working with anyone! Are you-" you huff out a breath of disbelief. "Are you even listening to me? I've never betrayed the code. How can you think that way of me?"

For a moment, he's silent. "Alright, then," he began. "Than, what'd you do? huh?"

"What--what..."

"Oh, come on, (Y/n)!" your father yells. "What did you do?! What could they possibly have had on you that made you the most likely target? You had to have had done something, been somewhere, were with somebody you weren't supposed to be with! They didn't just get that information from anywhere."

"What the fuck--" Your expression twists with frustration and misery, running your hand through your hair, pulling at it. "I've sacrificed every part of myself for this job, for this team, what do I have to gain from throwing that all away? They send me everywhere, places you've never heard of, places you'll never hear about and people you'll never have to meet, because of me! Why would you just believe Simon? Why couldn't you just wait to talk to me?!"

Hearing your father scoff at your words was painful. "What reason do I have not to believe him? He knows you, maybe even better than any of us. Besides, he was going to be my son in law--"

"I'm your daughter! Fuck Simon, what about me? You'd believe him instead?"

He sighs. "Listen, you're upsetting Cass. We didn't expect your call. I gotta make this brief..."

"You're upset?" pulling at your hair, sucking in sharply. "I'm the one who's permanently fucking altered here. What do either of you have to be upset about?!"

"Watch your fucking mouth!" he seethes. The anger in his voice isn't new, but the way he spits it at you is. "You did this to yourself, I didn't. Maybe that's what your nightmares were about, am I right? Your guilt?"

Wiping the streaks of tears that had fallen down your face, lips quivering and chest aching with sobs you frustratedly shoved down. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I don't deserve the disgrace that will come with you as my kin, I've lived my part of this war. No daughter of mine should even be in this fucking position," your father spat, disgusted into the receiver. Suddenly, he was the cruel, bitter old man your mother had always known him to be, you wished she had stayed to at least remind you of that. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt as much. "You should be ashamed of yourself, but at least you got yourself out it. The least you could do for us."

"Well--what does that mean?" you spoke, quietly.

"Don't call again..."

"Dad, no--" you break this time, a sob escaping you.

"Me and your Aunt Cass..."

"Daddy please, don't do this--"

"..We've decided to cut ties. We're not taking any heat from this, you're on your own," he finishes, clearing his throat, waiting a moment, listening to the pleads and cries of his only daughter, his once pride. "You take care of yourself. Goodbye, kid."

"Why can't you just believe me? Why?!" you cried.

"Don't come to the house."

"No, no,--" the line goes dead. And staring down at your phone, his caller id going blank and the call disconnecting.

Your phone all of a sudden feels heavy, the device and your hand falling down to your thigh, before the phone slips out of your grip and onto the floor. You sit there silently, until your tears drop up and even after.

Staring at the photo now was haunting in its own way, it was just another painful reminder.

Using the bed frame to stand to your feet, your grip on the frame is painful as you squeeze it, the glass cracks audibly.

"Bonnie..."

Whipping around at the sound of John MacTavish's voice, you back up a few steps at the sight of him, your back hitting the edge of your desk.

He reaches out as you stumble, before his fingers curl back into his palm as you find your balance, his hands receding back to his sides. He doesn't enter the room, just lingering just beyond the doorway, his eyes flickering around the room, guiltily.

"I didn't know--we didn't know you were out," he speaks quietly, as opposed prideful personality that translated into his voice usually.

You say nothing.

In the dark, your eyes are wide and your shoulders are tensed up, he can see the glint of your leg braces, the iv pole at the side, the scar beneath your eye. You looked terrified to see him.

"We were coming back to clean up today, just got back from...from a mission..." he stutters on his words, shifting his feet.

"It's been a week."

His lips press together hearing your voice. "I know..." Johnny glances around at the room he'd let those officers destroy, it hadn't been them, but they might as well had done it. "I know...we just...didn't know it was so bad."

"Really?" your voice is mockingly sweet, drawing out the word. "You didn't know? Well look..." you hold up your family photo, the light in the hallway catching on the glass. "You missed one."

Your hand dropping, the heavy frame comes down just as fast, ramming into the ground, the glass practically exploding on impact.

Johnny flinches, the photo of your family...He looks back to you, surprised. "Bonnie..."

Snatching the next closest thing from your desk, a ceramic cup. "Oh, wow, can't believe you guys missed this one," you chuck it into the wall. It breaks on impact, the remains scatter along the flipped mattress and onto the floor. "That used to be my favorite mug by the way."

The Scotsman worriedly steps forwards, 'Lass, I'm sorry--"

"FUCK YOU!" you spat, coming into the light. You're sure you look deranged, and you didn't care. You could've wrapped your hands around his throat, killed him right on the floor and you wouldn't have blinked. "It doesn't mean anything! 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', over and over and over again! As if you shouldn't be! Your apologies mean fuck all."

"I know...I know," he breathes. "But, I've gotta say it anyway, bonnie. I should've believed you, there was no reason not to. I know that now. I just--"

"Believe me!" you cut him off with a yell. "Trust me! Fucking 'HELP ME'!" you screamed with the same fever as your days in the interrogation room, that terrible cell, the cold, the burn and pain. "I cried it all to you, to all of you, and nobody came. Nobody came for me," you breathe in sharply. "It doesn't matter what you should've done. You didn't do it!"

Johnny's eyes are red, he opens his mouth, closes it and then swallows down whatever chokes him up as he looks at you. "I should've came for you. I wish I did. I wanted to, Bonnie..." he steps forwards, and you recede back away from him, your eyes narrowed with violence. "I'll never forgive myself for not listening to you. For not coming to help you. For laying a hand on you. I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I'm sorry..."

I'll never forgive myself... "That makes two of us," you assured.

Johnny's eyes widen, before they close, his guilt ever consuming. He can't help but understand, to respect your decision, to know things can never be ok again. "(Y/n)...."

Grabbing hold of the nearest thing, a pencil cup, you hurl it at Johnny. He doesn't put his hands up, flinching as it hits him, the metal clinking against his kevlar, eyes closing then opening, he stands still. "I don't forgive. I don't accept your apology. I don't fucking care about it!" with each sentence you throw something else his way, a broken frame, the trash bin, a pillow, the CD player.

His hand has to come up for the knife you unsheathe, a memento from one of your missions, it's rusted, ancient probably. But, you hadn't given it up to a museum or to pawn, you had nearly died on this mission, saving Johnny ironically. You had to keep it.

Seeing the weapon, his defensive position is instinctive but his hands drop just as fast, he understands, you need this. You deserve this. "If you need to..." he speaks. Your eyes flicker up to him, away from the knife. "If you need to, I get it..."

And you need to. You really fucking do.

Your grip on the knife is dangerously hard, it hurts.

Looking at Johnny, he'd been your brother in more than a few ways on and off the field, he had been your comfort, your friend, your family. You had bled with him, held onto him as he carried you from the battlefield, joked, laughed, screamed and cried. You've loved him for years.

He'd had a rough few nights you could see that. He was quieter, reserved. Almost as terrified to see you, as you had been of him.

And you could kill him right now and never bat an eye.

And so, throwing that knife was so fucking easy.

Johnny's eyes close as you do just that, fists clenching and teeth biting down on his tongue to prepare for the pain.

The ancient weapon whiz's through the air, the sound is sharp and he knows it will cut through him like butter.

The thud rings in the room, and Johnny's eyes blow open wide, holding his breath as he collapses to his knees, before turning to you.

You dig into the pile of clothes that had been cast aside, a pair of sneakers and a new shirt. You don't look at him a single time as you take it all, stuffing them in a bag, and leaving the room, passing him completely, a limp in your step.

Johnny releases a pained breath, tears finally leaving him as he looks up, the knife lodged into the frame of the doorway, just barely missing him. The sleeve of his uniform ripped open.

He sits there in the quiet, destroyed room. A testimony to the relationship he's destroyed between you.

Part 4!! OUT NOW