#feel free to take any of these ideas and run with them

[meticulac]

Naive Rules to Argumentative Fantastical Play

Roles: director, encounter-controller, adventurer-patrons

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Preparation: Together, write a realm sheet. Record: Realm-name Creation-date player-bylines starting social-groups, one per-player, with: group name general aesthetic three common member traits several common names frequent hazard

Encounter-controller: Define enemy characters in relation to common realm traits and frequent hazards. Director: Mock up introduction, outline, formatted for convenient encounter production.

Adventurer-patrons each have: reserve-deck of character-cards spirit deck for dead and retired characters Character-cards are 3x5 note cards made starting with: character-name player-alias creation date three traits, but each from a different social-group

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Adventuring: Director: Present introduction, passing control to encounter-controller.

Encounter-start: adventurer-patrons without a living party member draw from reserve-deck.

Encounter-controller: Present situations, asking each adventurer-patron in turn for character responses. Players argue over applicability of character traits using Septem-Circumstantiae questions. After all responses, roll any dice to determine party luck, then describe outcomes, including any character deaths. Decide if encounter ends. Once per-encounter per-player: Optionally draw from spirit deck for a trophy-assist style summon.

Director: Observe, produce further encounters for encounter-controller as needed, steer adventure to resolve in one or two sessions.

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Session-end: Record each party member's most memorable success and failure (or death) as timestamped traits. Retire character-cards when almost full.

Feel free to archive this game off-site! I also posted this to Pollowfort, and if reasonably practical, I would like for the Pillowfort post to also be linked directly from the archive, but if that seems like it could be a hassle don't worry about it.

The game was completed fairly early on and is being submitted last-minute mainly because I was holding out for anyone to show interest in doing even one playtest of it, I'll maybe consider just skipping that part next year. I did get some feedback from someone proofreading it though, so that was nice.

Anyway, a quick rundown of the ideas here is that having adventuring players help in filing out information about the realm, and having a specifically designated player serve the role of building out encounters while the other game master actually runs them are both meant to reduce pressure to constantly come up with and keep track of everything in the game.

The argument system sort of goes against that a bit, but ideally it should also just take the desire to rules-lawyer and direct that itself toward storytelling by asking adventurers to philosophically justify why what they're doing should work. It's also a nice excuse to name-drop the ancient Greek version of the Five Ws.

It should also be helped by having every character card act as a log of the most notable story events they were involved in. The card system, where characters are initially made via simple templates and dead characters kept in a spirit deck, are both there to make it so running a game where death comes fast and easy is can run as smoothly and painlessly as possible.

If I could easily fit more stuff in this, I would want to expressly make it so new characters can also take inspiration from one random dead character as one of their traits. I also kind of like the idea of having players each design a deity character who they use to add divine intervention moves to the spirit deck, mainly because having that be a player's main character could further help players feel comfortable playing fast and loose with their mortal underlings.

Incidentally, the process of building the realm together out of whatever aesthetics the players think of first kind of resembles how in the Disney Animated version of Peter Pan (1953), the island of Neverland mainly consists of features that the principal characters used as happy thoughts to fly there. I didn't realize I was working that in at first, but it's incidentally something I've been thinking would be cool to design into a game.

Edit for some extra design notes I thought of:

The part where you give each character a new ability each session was something I thought of thanks to an untitled game where you play as possibly-ghosts of mysterious origin that I played on Discord once with some people. In that game you got a new ability basically every other phase of play and that really got out of hand quickly, hence why I reduced it to once per session.

Also designed for speeding things up is the part where you only roll once for the entire party, since performing and interpreting rolls does take up some time, and I figure condensing the overall luck of the party as if they were acting as a single unit wouldn't be too bad for a game where parties are supposed to act as cohesive teams anyway.

200 Word RPGs 2024

Each November, some people try to write a novel. Others would prefer to do as little writing as possible. For those who wish to challenge their ability to not write, we offer this alternative: producing a complete, playable roleplaying game in two hundred words or fewer.

This is the submission thread for the 2024 event, running from November 1st, 2024 through November 30th, 2024. Submission guidelines can be found in this blog's pinned post, here.

[mustainegf]

Omg I was watching this video of James talking about his cars and I had an idea 💡

2019 James x younger wife, who’s a model and she is doing a lingerie photoshoot and someone has an idea of doing in in/on top of James’s vintage cars? And she’s not sure but James is like “hell yes” and then he fucks her on top of the car in one of the pieces from the photo shoot?? Pretty please 🙏 🥹 with ripping the lingerie and daddy kink

𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖

I was left with James in his darkened garage, right after the shoot, with his vintage car collections. The soft clicking of my heels reverberated against the metals as I approached him; a sultry smile played on my lips. Standing tall, with broad shoulders filling out his leather jacket, those steel blue eyes stuck onto mine.

"You really liked that idea, didn't you?" I purred, running a hand along the sleek curve of a cherry red '69 Mustang. "Me getting all dirty on top of your baby?"

James snickered. "Hell yeah, sweetheart. I could think of a few ways we might put these lingerie pieces to good use." His gaze fell over my nearly bare form, lingering on delicate lace barely containing my boobs.

I leaned back against the cool metal of the mustang, my fingers trailing teasingly along the edge of my lacy bra. "Oh yeah? Like what, Daddy?" I ask, nibbling my lower lip. "I'm all yours tonight."

James inched closer, his big hands landing possessively on my hips. "First things first," he growled, before sealing his mouth over mine. His tongue plunged past my parted lips within seconds, stroking against mine as he backed me up against the car.

My breath caught as the cool exterior bit into my skin, a stark contrast to the heat coming off James' body. His hands slid around to palm my ass, squeezing the supple flesh rough as he ground his hardening bulge against my stomach.

"I need you out of those," James rasped against my lips, his voice thick with desire. Before I could get a word out, strong hands clamped onto the flimsy fabric of my bra and panties, tearing them off in one sharp rip. Cool air kissed the newly bared skin, making my nipples pebble into tight buds.

"James!" I gasped, both shocked and ridiculously aroused by his display. He gave a smirk at my reaction, stepping back to survey the view. My naked body lay open for him, each curve and dip outlined under the hard garage lights.

"Fuck, look at you," he groaned in appreciation, palming himself through his jeans. "Those models got nothing on you, sweetheart. You're goddamn perfection."

He lifted me easily and planted me on the hood of the Mustang, and I splayed out on my back in front of him. The smooth cold metal cooled my skin as he gently pressed me to lie back.

"Just relax, baby girl," he whispered, moving one finger down my sternum, between the valley of my breasts. "Daddy's gonna take real good care of you now... just sit there and look pretty."

Arousal pooled hot in my belly. I watched him through hooded eyes, bit my lip, and nodded, giving into whatever he wanted. James took his time exploring my body, cupping my tits, tweaking my nipples until they were stiff

I feel his zipper lowering and then the sound of his belt unbuckling, my breathing coming in pants as I watched him free his impressive length. The thick shaft sprang out veiny, already glistening with precum at the tip.

"Daddy's cock is so needy for you right now," he huffed, guiding the swollen head to rub against my slick folds. I whimpered at the delicious friction, my hips instinctively rolling to meet each pass. "Mmm, you're so wet for me already. Such a good little slut for Daddy's cock."

He teased me without any kind of pity, circling the blunt head around my clit, dipping into my entrance just enough to coat his member in my juices before retreating once more.

James lined himself up with my entrance, the thick head of his cock nudging at my slick petaled folds. With one quick shove of his hips, he buried himself to the hilt inside me, stretching me wide around his girth. A whiny moan tore from my throat at the sudden penetration, my channel squeezing down tightly around him.

"Fuuuuck," he grunted, giving me a very short moment to adjust before setting a ruthless pace. The old car creaked and swayed with us while he pistoned in and out, skin to skin, the wet clap resounding in the garage.

"Yes, Daddy! Just like that!" I cried out, my nails raking down his arms as I clung to him.

Between James' deep, punishing thrusts, he paused, catching his breath, staring down at where our bodies joined. "Look at you, baby," he praised, "so beautiful, stretched out on my baby like a fuck doll just for me."

The things he was saying only heightened my arousal, I felt like the most wanted woman in the world. I arched my back, thrusting my chest out as he filled me again and again, the car bucking beneath us with each stroke.

"Such a pretty picture," James said lustfully. "Gonna mark you up, leave my cum dripping down your thighs when I'm done with you." His hand snaked between us to circle my clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to send shockwaves of pleasure crashing through me.

"Touch yourself, baby," James growled, pumping into me even harder. I did as told straight away, my hand slipping down to rub my sensitive clit in time with his thrusts.

"That's it, play with that pretty pussy while Daddy fucks you senseless," he growled, his hips snapping against mine. I could feel every inch of his throbbing cock, hitting depths that I never knew existed.

The feeling in my belly tied tighter and tighter, my breaths coming in gasps. "Please, James, I'm so close!" I begged, my fingers flying over my clit in desperate circles.

My orgasm took over me and I let out a wail, my body seizing up in ecstasy. There was a gush of fluid from my core at the same time, splattering across the gleaming hood of the Mustang. The feeling of my release coating James' still thrusting cock only served to push my pleasure forward, waves coursing through me.

I heard James groan low in his throat, the sound plain, my squirting had that effect on him, too. "Fucking hell, you're such a dirty girl, drenching my car like that," he teased, never slowing his hips in their relentless rhythm.

But however mocking the words, I knew he was near climax, his thrusts beginning to shorten and becoming increasingly sloppy.

With one last, pounding push, James yanked himself out of me, and I was empty and burning. I barely had time to understand what was occurring when he started caressing his stiff cock with quick, maddened jerks. "Want to see Daddy cum, baby?" I didn't have more than a nod, my gaze was stuck to the picture of his heavy balls drawing up tight.

With a roar, James blew, shooting rope after rope of the hot sticky seed across my quivering flesh and the pristine hood of the Mustang. It painted my stomach, breasts, and thighs in thick creamy streaks, the musky scent filling the garage.

As the last spurts faded, James slumped against me, panting heavy. "Fuck..."

[short-honey-badger]

Doll 6

Pairings: Shanks x Female Reader

Summary: The crew finally leaves the island, and you realize that you're finally free

Doll Masterlist

As promised, you find Mel the next morning and give the other woman a big hug. She pushes a freshly baked loaf of bread into your hands and tells you to keep it from Shanks and his bottomless pit of a stomach. You laugh and swear to the woman that you'd write to her when you could, but both of you know that it would be difficult to keep in touch with how much you'll be moving around the Grand Line.

Shanks meets you outside the bakery and waves goodbye to Mel. He leads you down to the docks, and the two of you stand before the Red Force. Standing there, staring at the ship, reality crashes into you and you feel frozen, feet refusing to move from the docks and Shanks stays right by your side, a solid, reassuring presence next to you.

Were you really about to do this? Get on this ship with some of the strongest men in the Grand Line? Or would you chicken out and run back to the bar, begging them to take you in so that maybe you could become a ghost among the people who live on this island? Hope that no one would ever recognize you and the brand that is seared into your skin? Or would you get on board this ship and change your life for the better?

“Sweetheart, we can stay another day if you need to.”

Shanks can see the fear that lingers in your eyes, the uncertainty that makes your feet stick to the wooden planks. He steps closer to you, reaching out to curl his hand along your shoulder and squeezing softly. Shanks doesn't want to rush you, but as Captain, he also has to take care of his crew, and they were beginning to get antsy after staying on this island for so long.

You suck in a sharp breath and set your shoulders back. No. You were done running. It was time that you took your life in your own hands and did what you wanted to do. And you wanted to get on this ship with Shanks and sail the Grand Line.

“No. I'm fine. Just got a little nervous is all,” you assure your partner and send him a tilt of your lips. Shanks stares at you for a moment, as if judging if you are being truthful, before he smiles like the sun, eyes crinkled and tugs you up the gangplank.

“Then let’s get on board, Doll,” He sings, and you can't help but laugh at his obvious excitement. The crew is preparing to set sail, bodies shuffling all around the two of you, like a well-oiled machine. Some of them wave to their captain, and others that you hadn't had the chance to meet introduce themselves.

Shanks watches it all with a careful eye. His crew were always respectful, and it gladdens him to see that they welcomed you with open arms. They answered any questions you might have, easily indulging in your curiosity. He snickers when Lucky Roux drags you away to show you how to tie a proper knot.

He feels his first mate beside him before he sees Benn and looks up at the taller man. Benn has his arms crossed, a cigarette hanging from between his lips that he swaps from side to side of his mouth. He is watching her, brows furrowed in concern when he flicks his eyes down to meet his captain's, “Still think this is a good idea?”

Shanks twists his lips and leans against the railing of his ship, “I never said that bringing her would be a good idea, Benn, but I couldn’t leave her behind.”

He considers for a moment and then drops his voice, tone urging, “Look at her Benn, can’t you see what she has?”

The redhead watches his first mate narrow his gaze, dark eyes searching for whatever Shanks is talking about. His sharp intake makes his captain grin, and Benn cuts his gaze back over to him, “She has haki.”

“Yup,” He pops the p, “She has no idea, but I want to train her how to use it so that she can protect herself if I’m not there.”

He watched you turn and look at him, and the pale pink aura that surrounds you flairs for half a second before it dims to something almost clear. Shanks smiles and waves, snickering when she blushes and turns back to the ropes that Lucky Roux is showing her.

“And what about when the dragons find out that one of their escaped slaves has that kind of power?” Benn asks, and Shanks has to temper the rage that bursts inside of him at the thought of the people who owned you using you as a weapon. He clenches his fist and takes a calming breath, eyes shuttering.

“I won’t ever let that happen,” Shanks murmurs and promises himself that nothing like that would ever come to play. They would have to get through him if they even wanted to see you.

“She’ll have a bounty the longer she’s with us,” Benn tells him, and his captains sigh and nod.

“I know. I’m surprised she doesn’t have one already.”

And he isn’t wrong. The Celestial Dragons were a possessive bunch and hated losing anything that they thought belonged to them. Shanks had heard rumors that the worst families would send recovery teams or mercenaries out to recapture their lost slaves. The redhead could only hope that the ones who had owned you weren’t like that. His thoughts are interrupted when Hongo lopes up.

“We’re ready to set sail whenever you are, Captain,” He says, and Shanks nods in thanks, then watches his crewmate lumber off to finish with the rigging. He looks at Benn, “I’ll explain to her about her abilities later. Trust me, yeah?”

Benn sighs and watches his captain lope away, a smile on his face as he goes to hunt the new member of the crew down. Beckman doesn’t have a very good feeling about this, but he’d stand by his captain no matter what.

Shanks finds you near the wheel of the ship, leaning against the railing and staring into the crashing waves. He slides up beside her, wrapping his arm around your back and bumping against your hip, “You ready, sweetheart?”

You lean into his warmth, breathing the salty air in and then nod, eyes alight with that determination that Shanks finds so fascinating, “I’m ready.”

Shanks smiles and kisses the side of your head before he leads you over to the wheel and grips it. You watch with curious eyes, wanting to know everything that your partner shows you.

“Weigh anchor, men! Let’s get outta here!” He shouts, and his crew scrambles to pull up the heavy anchor. The wind catches the sails just right, and you have to steady yourself when the Red Force is pulled out to sea. You close your eyes, the breeze whipping through your hair, and allow yourself to slump. You feel in control of yourself for the first time since you escaped from Marie Geois.

You didn’t have to look over your shoulder, didn’t have to hide away from society like some hermit when you were out here. There was no one aside from Shanks and his crew, and you knew in your core that they would never betray you or their captain. You jump when you feel calloused fingers swipe over your cheeks and open your eyes to see Shanks standing in front of you, a look of concern on his handsome face.

“Why are you crying, Doll?” He asks. Shanks had turned to see tears trailing down your face, but you’d looked so content and relaxed that he couldn’t tell what was bothering you. He gently swipes the next set that wells up and drips down away, brows furrowed.

“Happy tears. I’m… just so relieved,” you whisper and reach out, gripping his wrist and holding it tightly. Your voice is thick with so many emotions that you caouldn’t pick them out even if you tried. You meet his gaze, lips trembling even as you smile, “Thank you, Shanks.”

[devildomditzy]

I fear mammon would be the most likely to end up with a strange tattoo. Specifically, one that looks like a mix of MC and Zach Galifianakis.

Anon, I just need you know how old that reference made me feel.

And yes, he would.

But! I actually headcannon this one to be Satan.

Mammon or Asmo would be too predictable. But Satan, well...

Link to the event post

"Hurts, doesn't it?", you question sitting next to the fourth born on his bed as he sits up very slowly, gripping his head.

"Here, take this", you say offering out your hand which held a glass filled with a mystery concoction for him to drink, in which he tries to decline, waving your hand away.

That party at The Fall went on much longer than you or any of the others had anticipated. You hadn't planned on going out, and neither did Satan. But, Asmo's incessant nagging mixed with Mammon's pleas had worn down on the both of you, causing +2 to be added to Team Party.

The booze were free, if you recall correctly. Something about a wrap party on a film that was shooting, and Asmo was good friends with the main actress. You're not going to lie, your head is pretty blurry too. But, what you were feeling looked like seemingly nothing next to Satan's hangover.

You sigh at his refusal, grabbing his arm yourself and forcing the glass into his hands.

"Drink", you command him, maybe not even realizing it was a command.

He sits up further in his bed, squinting his eyes open to stare at the glass of swirling, shimmering silver liquid. His voice comes out strained, "What the hell is that?".

"I'm actually not sure", you look down at the glass almost just as hesitantly. Seeing how heavily it was affecting him, you'd gone to Solomon and asked him to whip up something to help Satan out. You just silently pray to Diavolo that whatever he 'whipped' up that lie in the blonde's hands was a potion and not his attempt at a smoothie or something. That'd surely kill him.

He shoots you a questioning look, to which you respond with the sorcerer's name and a shrug of your shoulders. "But you want to feel better right?".

He gives one more unsure glance at the glass before downing the mixture as quickly as possible, slamming the cup down on his nightstand, shuttering at the aftertaste.

"So", you ask, "now that you're conscious, mind telling me where you ran off to last night?".

One second he sat next to you, accepting another shot from a waitress who brought little glasses around on a serving tray, and the next he was MIA. You swear you only looked away for a minute, so where could he have gone?

Concerned, you grabbed his brothers from the dance floor, having them help you search around the building. When none of you found him, you expanded your search to the downtown area, but there was no sign of the demon of wrath.

Running out of leads, the three of you traveled back to the House of Lamentation with the intention of telling Lucifer about the predicament, only to find Satan passed out in his bed.

"Did you just come home to sleep? Why didn't you tell any of us. I didn't think you were that drunk".

He tries to fully sit up now, interrupting himself with a hiss of pain. "I don't remem-", he grunts now, grabbing his left side, causing you to panic.

"What's wrong?", you begin examining him, a hand falling on his back for support. "Are you alright?".

"I don't know. It feels like my skin's been stung, and"

Once again he stops talking as he lifts that part of his shirt to look at the source of the pain.

Your face falls.

His face falls.

"Satan."

"I have absolutely no idea where this came from."

"How long have you had this?"

"I told you, I have no recollection of ever getting... that.'

You stare at the words emblazoned right above his hip. In a fancy, cursive font, adorned with cat paws and hearts, was unmistakably your name.

"Huh. Well, I'm flattered", you boast, trying your best not to burst out laughing as his face begins glowing in both anger and embarrassment. "So that must have been where you went. I've got to say Satan, I never took you as the tattoo type."

"I'm not!", he yells over sad attempt to hide your giggles, turning his face to the side to hide his very obvious blush.

"But... I guess.... if it were anything... I'm glad its your name."

Now it was your turn to blush. "W-well c'mon, lets go see about getting it removed then", you start as you begin to get up from the bed, flustered.

"Wait", he grabs your arm to stop you from leaving. "I must admit, I kind of like it. Would you mind if I kept it?".

[writingadvicesavingcometcon]

I've recently learned that I can't write smutt unless I focus 100% on the characters, their dynamic and the thematic purpose of the sex scene. I'm currently writing Tucker/Felix from Red vs Blue and the moment I figured out why Felix was doing any of this was the moment I got ideas for scenes. Because while the story is from Tucker's perspective (Felix is too rancid for me to try to write in the headspace of and since my stories always need to have the abuse victim being empowered and breaking free after a period of time in the story under the shitty treatment of the abuser, I find everything just flows better if the focus is on them and how it affects them rather than the perpetrator and what their mental process for doing it is), Felix is the driving force of the story because his goal is to break Tucker because he's bored and Tucker is the shiny new plaything (I still have to understand WHY Felix does what he does and how he sees things, I just don't put the focus on him by putting us directly in his head because it's unnecessary and Tucker's feelings are far more important as the person he's mistreating).

Their entire dynamic is so interesting to me and I found once I focused entirely on how Felix would carefully, delicately escalate - constantly testing Tucker's lines and then casually nudging them a few centimetres further until he gets used to accepting that - I knew exactly what to do because I just had to follow Felix's reasoning, thought patterns and long-game plan to reel Tucker in and make him do what he wants.

The prose itself only comes with practice unfortunately, but I cannot stress enough - especially as a gray-ace person who really struggles with finding sex scenes interesting when it's just a sequence of physical sex acts with no rhyme or reason for those specific characters with that specific dynamic to be doing the same cookie cutter barbie doll bumping bullshit they do in filmed real person porn - how important it is for you to focus on your characters and dynamics and existing themes if you're stuck on what to do, exactly as OP said.

Also one quick addition from me: don't be afraid to toss in some unusual factor into the scene.

Felix draws Tucker in with a card game he turns into basically strip poker and uses that plus the sexual interest he built in Tucker from other scenes previously plus pushing on Tucker's natural competitive nature/wanting Felix to respect and like him and uses all of that as the springboard to pressure Tucker into more and more things until Tucker falls into sunk cost fallacy combined with arousal (as well as being drunk because of course Felix included drinking into his slow reel-in methods) combined with the conditioning Felix has already been building in him to do as he's told via how he runs the card game, with a consistent focus on making it easy to pass off to Tucker and others as his own ideas/he was consenting the whole time because he chose to do things himself etc (and we just 'ignore' the fact Felix outright pressured and manipulated him into every single escalation throughout the scene in some way; of course we don't actually ignore it as I do my best to make it subtly clear to attentive readers what Felix is doing, I just also have Tucker be the unreliable narrator who is lying REALLY hard to himself/falling hook, line and sinker for Felix's bullshit).

All of that being done through the specific lense of a card game ended up giving me something new and interesting to build the scene around, which helped influence some of the physical act choices, which then consistently aligned with the themes of making Tucker 'choose' to do things, consistently handing Felix all of the power in the scene (and him doing things/manipulating Tucker and the situation to take it back again any time he loses it for even a second) and steadily moving those boundaries in Tucker's mind at a snail's pace I think he would reliably accept under Felix's careful pace and fine adjustments as necessary to keep him on course.

I'll be posting it hopefully some time within the next year. I have another story I want to finish and post first which focuses on the fascinatingly similar vibes between BDSM and military culture (the latter being a toxic non-sexual version of the former with a complete lack of self-awareness) and therefore has to involve choices which reflect the characters' start in military behaviours then a shifted interest/focus on consensual and caring dominance/submission between them (instead of the highly dubious consent of the malicious-intent long-game manipulative power imbalance between Felix and Tucker).

Once Tucker escapes Felix, I want him to have a recovery fic where he tries to process what happened and take back his control through exploring with Washington, someone who actually cares about him and will do his absolute best not to cause more harm while trying to figure out where the actual lines are with a man who wants to take back control over things a shitty person traumatised him with but may or may not actually be ready for each thing he wants to do. So everything I write for them MUST revolve around that and resolving it and Tucker taking back his autonomy and healing in whatever ways he needs, and Washington trying to help facilitate that while being concerned over making sure he doesn't just retraumatise the poor guy.

But yeah. Everything became actually possible even as a gray-ace when I stopped trying to force myself to focus on SexActsTM and instead put ALL of the focus on the characters themselves and how they interact with each other generally and what they would do within a smutt scene in ways that stay consistent with the entire point of their story.

(Do what you want forever of course, but if you can't write smutt because you don't know what to have the characters do and it's always boring to you and others, a lack of what OP mentions is probably why.)

@saturdaysky Your tags are awesome and so right!!!!

Advice for writing smut???

gonna do bullet-points of things i tend to live by when it comes to smut (this is just my opinion):

don't switch styles: the way you write the smut has to be consistent with the way you write the rest of the story, so if your story is more comedic or romcom-y in nature, the way you write the smut should have those stylings. i personally find it very jarring when authors decide to break the format for the smut, almost like the story has to stop for the sex intermission; if you're writing a horror story, the smut must be informed and influenced by that genre, and if you are breaking genre for the smut portion, tell us why you're suddenly switching gears (it has to be an aesthetic choice you're making on purpose). likewise, if your style in that story is more lyrical, the smut has to be somewhat lyrical too, or if your story is more cormac mccarthy-esque-cut-and-dry, the smut can't suddenly involve an effluvia of purple, sappy prose. integrating the smut in the story and treating it like any other part of the story is key to me. too often i've seen ppl switch to this anonymous pornified style when they get to the smut

which brings me to specificity. i'll talk about het sex, since that's what i tend to write most: not all men are going to be fingering or eating pussy the same way, not all dicks are big and they shouldn't be, not all women immediately get excited by fingering, not everyone moans the same way or makes the same sounds. you're writing about particular characters so it has to be particular to them. i know this is very old advice, but i think it bears repeating

there isn't an exact formula or sequence you have to follow, there aren't precise steps, you don't have to go "well, first he has to kiss down her neck, then reach the boob area, then play with the nipples, then put the nipple in his mouth, then slowly go down on her, then prepare her for entering her etc. etc. etc." this can get boring and repetitive and you start thinking of your characters as these mechanical dolls who have to fuck for your audience. and that can be a vibe too, if you do it on purpose. but sometimes you can get stuck in a porn routine (and ofc, having only the guy show initiative can also get boring)

in order to break that, insert some character moments. what are the characters thinking during this? sometimes they might be thinking of something completely unrelated on the surface, but which has a thematic relevance that can make the scene hotter. likewise, maybe they're doing smth that seems unsexy on the surface, but which, within the context of the story might be really hot. sex doesn't just involve, well, sex, but so much weirdness and humanity and creativity. two bodies (usually) are trying to do this really awkward thing together and they might have a lot of baggage and history to inform it. there's a lot you can do with that.

don't make it glossy and clean, where everyone smells of strawberry shampoo and there is never anything out of sync. the most boring smut tends to be the kind where no one makes any mistakes and everything is super efficient. i imagine it feels like using an industrial pump to milk various farm animals.

and you know what? you can make that hot too. you CAN write a kind of robotic efficient smut and make it really interesting based on the context. let's say you're writing a 1984 AU fic where ppl are forced into intimacy only to procreate and their sex drive is diminished. you can play with that premise and lean into the dehumanizing industrialization of sex, but you have to mean it, aka your narratorial voice must be conscious of these factors.

if you're writing dubcon, make the dubious part present, make sure you draw out the ambivalence and ambiguity. if you're writing noncon, the character whose consent is being violated has to be transformed by this in some way. it can be forced pleasure, for instance, but not only. it has to be a journey for them too, some kind of spiritual pit, or a form of access to terrible knowledge. i know this is a personal thing, but noncon doesn't work for me if the character being noncon'd is just sort of *there*, suffering passively. i think that sort of dead passivity can be done very well too, but the narratorial voice has to persuade me.

that being said, don't be afraid of fear in consensual sex. terror and vulnerability are a part of consensual sex too, imo, and again, depending on the story and the characters, there's a lot you can explore there

i personally find it really hot when the narratorial voice starts discussing some of the ideas that the story wants to convey during the smut. so like, you can characterize person A and outline their worldview and their plans while they're ramming person B, and the thinking & fucking are thus entwined. idk, i dig that

speaking of which, smut can convey world-building details and social/philosophical ideas, not just emotions and character beats

not all smut has to end with mutual orgasm or even one-sided orgasm, it depends what you want to do or where you want to go. again, you don't have to follow a sequence. plus, it's fun (and hot) to write about frustration and failure too.

if you want to mix up the descriptions, resort to the story & characters. you'll find it's easier to describe someone fondling a boob in a new or at least interesting way if you're thinking about that particular character in that particular story, and not just Man X from planet porn (sorry to be snarky, but mainstream erotica is soooo guilty of this)

screaming & really intense reactions are cool but they have to match the characters and the situations

sometimes, it's hotter if an effect is mild or negated, if the usual outcome doesn't happen; mix up the order of events, toy with the usual reactions. it's not about being original, it's about finding out what works for your characters. writing about sex is, in a way, a performance of it, an attempt to go through the sexual motions, to find out what works and doesn't, to engage with the erotics of text (roland barthes entered the chat)

if you are bored by your own smut, that's a problem. i know we all talk about how hard we find writing smut, and IT IS hard, and sometimes it's not enjoyable, because writing itself is often not enjoyable, but even when it's painful and annoying, it gives you that little intellectual kick like "huh, i'm creating this and making these people do this, and ohh look, i can maybe put this unnamable thing into words". but if you become bored, that's a sign you have to look at the language & characters and figure out what's not working for you

last thing i'll underline: pay attention to your narratorial voice. in this ordeal, you are the seducer. not the characters. you have to seduce us with words and context. your voice matters. you have to be confident in your weirdness and particularity. this is your bedroom (so to speak), so invite us in.

[too-many-rooks]

So uhm... Talking about your werewolf River, it's living in my head rent free...

And i was thinking what if during one of his first non-full moon transformations, our dear River gets caught by the Dogs and all dat... The Park seeing this very untrained, very unsocialized, possibly dangerous puppy deciding to lock him up in one of those park's cell and putting a muzzle on him...

Then human River waking up a few dozens of hours later, exhausted, sweaty, (probably soaked in blood because 😊) with the muzzle still on him.

The humiliation he would feel to be nakey, vulnerable, and everything... The humiliation of having to ask(beg) for someone to come in and remove the muzzle..

Or whatever,,, sorry, this AU just makes me go crazy

Anon!!!! I’m screaming this is fantastic.

Paw Patrol out roaming the streets of London, picking up a scent that’s not from one in their pack, and that being an issue,

River in a situation where he has had to turn, has been unable to resist it, maybe having busted out of any locks/handcuffs he tried to restrain himself with. Being dangerous, bc he’s out of control and can’t turn back, and might not have much rational thought. Genuinely posing a risk to people - wanting to hunt, wanting to kill, being dazzled by all the lights and noises and sounds and smells and getting overwhelmed and running for the nearest green space. (Causing a bit of a scene about a ‘lost dog’ on social media, or speculating about a wolf escaping from a zoo.)

Being able to calm down some, but still pretty feral, once he’s got grass under his feet, maybe picking up a scent, and selecting a hapless jogger as his evenings prey. The dog catchers having tracked him across the city, way outnumbering him and having training/resources- getting talked and having the wire loop of an animal handling pole tightened around his neck before he can pounce and kill someone, perhaps tranquillising him to get him in the back of a like… emergency animal control response unit van, collaring him, muzzling him, and taking him back to the Park to ride it out.

Waking up hours later in a cell, sweaty and exhausted (and yes, probably covered in blood, bc why neglect the opportunity,) muzzled and locked up - not knowing where he is, not seeing daylight, nor smelling anything natural. Being frightened and alone and not sure if he should call for help, bc whoever comes might be worse that being alone. Eventually breaking, calling for anyone, but not particularly happy to see Hobbs, or Duffy, or whoever it is - though they seem pretty happy to see him, at least - seeing him like this, trapped and captive and muzzled, where he belongs. Being marched down a hallway, naked, in sight of the others and enduring the (literal) wolf whistles and the weird sexualised bullying and harassment only kicking up a notch now. Maybe leading him to whoever it was whose blood he got covered in, holding his arms back and letting them take a claws-out swipe across his chest in retaliation.

Them not being able to keep him this time, bc Lamb’s there to collect his wayward stray (and, in a supernatural AU, Lamb being very clued in to it all, but no one having *any* idea about what he actually is, he’s evidently thoroughly mortal, but everyone thinks he knows too much to just be human, very fun to me,) gets someone to bring him some clothes, because this is meant to be a work place, for Christ’s sake.

But the dogs threatening that this won’t be River’s last time in their kennel - that he’ll be bought to heel soon enough, once old Cartwright’s out of the way, and daddy Lamb can’t always protect him.

(And then, how much more compelling the option of joining Frank’s pack is compared to being muzzled and broken by the Dogs.)

[thefirstknife]

Speaking of weird things in the season already, I'm back with the obsession with names of things in the seasonal activity.

So in Riven's Lair, you get randomly assigned "missions" that change with each run. I believe there's five of them as I've played a lot of Riven's Lair so far and only got these five to rotate. Maybe there will be more in weeks to come!

Anyway, if you look in the top left corner when you start the activity, it will tell you the name of the mission you're on. The names that I've seen so far are:

Polysemy

Apophasis

Synchysis

Enthymeme

Tautology

Long post under:

These aren't random words! They're all related to language and rhetoric, which makes sense with the Ahamkara theme as Ahamkara are very dependent on the way language is used around them.

Polysemy is when words or symbols are capable of having multiple meanings. Apophasis is when you speak about something by denying it or mentioning it by saying it's not required to be mentioned (def check examples on wikipedia if this is confusing). Synchysis is also a way of speaking in a way that deliberately messes up the order of words to confuse or surprise the person you're speaking to. Enthymeme is a type of an argument where you construct a sentence which tells some sort of a fact by omitting the way you came to that conclusion because the fact should be obvious on its own (again, check wiki for examples, it will be easier to understand). And tautology has a meaning in both language and logic; in language, a tautology is a statement that repeats something, adding redundant information and in logic, a tautology is a logical formula in which a sentence is constructed in a way that every interpretation of the sentence is true.

I doubt these words were chosen randomly and there might be more or perhaps more will cycle in during weeks to come. But even with just this, there's a pattern. I'm not sure which meaning of tautology is being used here; possibly the language one because it fits the rest, but the logic interpretation could also be possible.

The first week's mission was also specifically Polysemy:

I assume next weeks we'll probably do other specific ones in some order, which would also mean there should be at least 2 more. I'm wondering if there's some sort of a reason why these specific words were chosen. Obviously they all relate to forms of speaking and language which is the primary way that Ahamkara use to affect reality; speaking in specific terminology and using particular phrases and language forms is important to them and when speaking to them.

But given the involvement of the Vex, it also reminded me of the lore book Aspect in which every chapter is named after grammatical, linguistic and logic terms. Aspect is also specifically related to the Black Garden and Sol Divisive. Not only that, but Aspect deals with, among other things, the fate of the Ishtar scientists and their copies in the Vex Network, and primarily uses Chioma as their main viewpoint, and the whole situation with Neomuna and Veil Logs has returned my interest in this lore book.

I feel like it isn't a coincidence that we've spent essentially the entire year reacquainting ourselves with Chioma and Maya and Ishtar as a whole only to bring back Sol Divisive and the Black Garden back in the final season in this way. As the Veil Logs told us, one of Maya's copies interfered with one of the logs, sending signals, and Chioma, at the end of her life, contacted the Vex presumably to be consumed by the network so she could possibly reunite with one of the copies of Maya in there.

This brought me also to the mysterious signal from Scatter Signal lore tab in which Osiris tracks down some sort of a signal that seems to be talking about the Vex, but spoken in a strange way. So I began thinking that this signal might be coming from Chioma, consumed by the Vex, from the Vex Network, reaching out to the man who's been studying her, living in Neomuna and researching the Veil for months. Specifically, the final Veil Log mentioned a few similar words and phrases being repeated. Specifically, when Osiris mentions that Chioma was researching "the entaglement of Light and Dark" and when Nimbus and Osiris discuss "parallel connections and parallel energy fields;" then in the Scatter Signal message there's mention of how, presumably, the Vex are trying to "move from parallel to entanglement." The Veil Log also talks about how the Witness can communicate through our Ghosts and how that connection might be going both ways; Scatter Signal also mentions "bridging communion with a Voice."

Copies of Chioma and the other scientists (with the help of Praedyth) once tried to use the Black Garden to send a message out of the Vex Network, detailed in Aspect. We don't know if they succeeded (at least in our current timeline). The Black Garden has been a big focus in Lightfall almost out of nowhere in such an immensely world-changing way (with the explanation of the Black Heart), and it will still be important this season with the exotic mission. It's a very pleasing loop of the story; everything started with the Black Garden in D1 and everything just before TFS might end with it. I'm also incredibly intrigued by the fact that the returning weapons from Undying (a season about the Sol Divisive and the Black Garden) have returned with a new perk called nano-munitions: very Neomuna-sounding name. Perhaps certain Ishtar scientists are influencing the Vex or extending a helping hand to us.

The questions that remain: how does this tie back to the Ahamkara? Why are the Vex interested in the Ahamkara? What do the Ahamkara have to do with the Black Garden? What's with all the strange language terminology that deals with double meanings and ways to confuse? Is it just regular Ahamkara shenanigans to trick us? To trick the Vex? Maybe both?

The point is, I don't think this is as simple as Riven just being sad that all the Ahamkara are dead and wanting to secure her clutch. Nothing is ever simple with the Ahamkara and nothing is ever simple with the Vex; and now we're dealing with both. And somewhere in all of this, there is also a concerning involvement of the Black Garden that connects to both of these elements. At the end of it all, there's us, who rely on this specific combination of elements to get through the portal, pursue the Witness and save the universe.

Spreading the brain worms to the rest of y'all to think about. If you spot any other mission names, feel free to share, though I think that if they happen, they might happen in the coming weeks. Also as I mentioned before, I know there's been leaks and lore tabs unlocking early on Ishtar: I've not seen any leaks or cutscenes and have not read any lore tabs that aren't explicitly visible in-game so if there's a really simple answer in that leaked material, I don't know about it and don't want to know about it so please don't spoil to me or to others!

[reidhalstead]

In the back of his mind, there's a voice that coerces him; telling him not to be convinced by the voice of the devil. To listen to the gentle hum of a decaying holy creature that once warned Adam not to eat the apple, instead, there's a demon screaming in the bleachers of the scene, the same one that convinced Eve to commit an atrocity. It's got its claws in his skin and the basic need of fire erupting in cold veins has him refusing to give that up so easily.

A shameful sound escapes between Reid's lips as Anika finds herself at his chin — at his throat, tracing the length of his jaw like she's a wildebeest set free. Hands tug fervently at locks of messy hair, he doesn't know which of them loosened the buttons of his shirt, but he feels his throat bob, pressing against her mouth where the caramel of her touch leaves him sticky and warm. It's sobering, in a realm of how much easier this would be if he were drowning; he's suffocating in copper and aurulent notes, choking on the idea that she's spidered around his waist, and they're lost in the unkempt pillows of the sofa.

The slur of her words has his tongue veering to drag along his lower lip, to capture the remnants of hers. Roomy. Is that what she thinks they are? Are they? They're practically in college dorms, tiptoeing between rooms like shadows in the night. It doesn't mean anything to them, it's a drunken evening of desire and intimacy. Reid must say, he's not sure he knows the difference; this has every nerve on fire, and they haven't been alive for approaching a decade. How? There's a skewed understanding of normalcy and what he's supposed to be, here. Which one of them will sneak out, before the sun rises, and lay in the other room? He can't leave; he's trapped, with his actions for this night to haunt him. She's okay. She eyefucks him with that haze of whiskey that has any sane man conscious of what line they're crossing.

Reid's lifted the half-unbuttoned shirt over his head, and tossed it somewhere else, anywhere else.

Shit. She can't want this. A hunter, about to hunt him at the pinnacle of satiating a hunger. He's never thought she wanted to dust him like this. She's below him in the next moment; a weight he'd let crush him to ash and bone as drunk mouths search for open skin and tug at the flesh she dares let him nip between his teeth. It stirs a less human sound in the back of his throat, telling him of all the ways this is comparable to something uncontrollable; a want that he simply needs to take and take until she is but a mess below him, unravelled and drained—

She wrestles him to his back, clambering back atop him; a throne that he doesn't mind her sitting on, she might be more comfortable north even — this is the moment; he's stealing a glance for something sharp, and sudden to appear in her grasp. He's only seeing the bare skin of her stomach, her shoulders; wanting to mark and stain, desperate to know what the pale and thinned scars mean; how he might kiss them so she has something else to think about when she stares at them in the mirror. You win, Anika. He's lost; in the bliss, in the fantasy, in the terrible fucking mess that has him reaching up to drag her down against him, hands roaming up her front, until one nestles at the small of her back, hips threatening to roll as he feels the throb in his gums with every new taste of Anika's mouth.

It's a sign to stop. You promised you'd run, he chides himself. And he's facing that dilemma that he's excusing this, because of whiskey, because she's atop him, because she's kissing him like he's oxygen and not decaying leftovers of a man unburied. He's never let himself have this, even in the dreams that will always infected by nightmares.

Swallowing the bulk of his fears, Reid moves his head back against the cushions, separating the kiss. His lips twitch as he has to shove down the monster crawling its way up his chest and strangling the words in his throat. "Anika..." It's said differently this time, in warning — like she's to expect that Halloween is a metaphor for monsters at play. "You're —" he winces, squeezing at her waist in the dark, groaning at himself, for the agony it takes to admit, even though it's whispered; almost inaudible (because it slices the lustful fog with hot, blinding steam) "—You're drunk, you aren't—" You don't want this. And it's ironic considering if it weren't for their clothes, they'd be making messes in the corridor, more than his tongue buried inside. He wants to rest his mouth on her collar, feel the flesh with his teeth and tell himself he can be like the rest of them, he doesn't have to battle the unnatural boner in his mouth, like the one that's evidently pressed against her in his pants. And he doesn't have to hold back like it's some carefully strategic dance in the ballroom. A level of drunk permission is the decent thing to do, so he convinces himself: "I wouldn't, if you're drunk." The excuse, or the morally acceptable thing to say when faced with a hot woman half naked on one's lap. "Fuck, because I'm drunk... too—" Idiotic, blind, hungry — feral, wrestling with a mind that wants to eat her and eat her (But he's sober enough to know the difference).

Fuck everything. She must've lost her mind. It wasn't like Anika to lose herself in the bitter taste of whatever was burning down her throat. It wasn't like her to let lips roam her own, to let another taste her secrets, invite someone close enough to see those green eyes flash with sorrow and longing. If his hands would strip her out of her clothes, he could trace every vile thing that's ever touched her. If his tongue was to press against her scars, he'd taste all that blood still seeping through torn up flesh that hasn't healed right. You've lost your mind. For a woman who prided herself on her wits, she was acting like a goddamn fool. Fuck everything. The promise of a friendship ruined (they never were that close anyway, were they?) and of bags packed all over again, dumped outside her door, because this was only ever going to end up in ruins, and she wasn't sensible enough to meet him in the morning like nothing has ever happened. Because tension has been building up within her for days, thick and adhesive like a dream. And she didn't want to think of faces drenched in daylight, and eyes no longer heady and hands no longer needy — No. Maybe if she snuck out, without him noticing, they'd never see the light of day. Maybe then this would only remain something veiled under that dimmed, amber light. Half-shadow and half-light.

She'd never seen him beg, never heard him say please, but the way her name slipped past his lips felt a lot like a plea — don't let us do this, or ruin me, ruin me, ruin us, please. His kiss tasted a whole lot like the latter. So she obliged — damning them and pressing herself into him, her body moving in perfect rhythm with his own, like in a dance. It was the only thing that had felt right, in so long. She'd call that the whiskey talking, that hissing of unholy offerings in her ear, like a snake — the devil urging her to strip her defenses, to appeare bare and vulnerable, to satisfy that hunger she'd been suffering.

Then they tangled further, like vines on a long, abandoned building. Legs hitched up, hooked around him tight, hands buried in his hair and harshly tugged on the sun-kissed mess, that infuriating scent of his shampoo filling up her nostrils. She could get drunk on that alone. Her lips slit away to melt on his jaw, down his neck and over his throat. They were taking turns, devouring each other, while he guided them away from the cold of the wall, and into the light of the corridor. This time, in the right direction. The one that led to the apartment they shared. Because unlike Anika, Reid wasn't shameless enough, to let them come undone on that nasty floor. She didn't care where they were, or who was watching.

Anika thought breathing was absolutely unecessary in this moment, but he parted them anyway. And she whispered back, "Yeah — I'm okay. You okay, roommy?" a sultry look in her eyes, and a grin to her lips matching the one on his. Her gaze dipped to his mouth then, to take in the sight. Beguiling, she thought. Bodies molded together crashed into the door. Then barreled inside sloppily like a gutterball, headed straight for the dark pit. The world turned upside down in full force, when they went over the couch, and she found her back against the hard surface. That sofa had always felt to her like a pile of fucking bricks. Their mouths only parted briefly, when she hooked her fingers on the edges of her shirt and lifted it over her head. Then gravity pulled the thin fabric into its embrace, and Anika fell back into Reid's.

She flipped them around, so she was straddling him now. A déjà vu. This time absent the knife to his throat, but her kiss was just as deadly. Her tongue could pierce just as sharply, with the same warning of death. But not just that. Her mouth offered a whole lot more than that. The place was still and dark, except for those patches where moonlight had peaked through the giant windows and scattered over. Eyes half-lidded with want went over him spread beneath her, with her lips wet and parted to draw in those raggid breaths and her heated palm to his chest, pinning him down. Like she'd won.

[mtt-burger-emporium]

thinking about chara and the implications of the line "chara hated humanity. why, they never said..." like ok i KNOW something was happening at home. chara baby you didn't deserve that shit i'm so glad you fell down a thousand feet in a cave hole and right into the arms of people who would keep you fed roof over your head and would never raise their hand against you. "eradicate humanity" you're 10 years old how about eradicating your shitfucked surface fam by calling cps first

[evilmagician430]

garten of banban if it was warriorcats be like

GARTENCLAN

LEADER

pancreasstar - former kittypet; red ginger tom with striped ears

DEPUTY

toadstare - dark brown tom

MEDICINE CAT

the syringeon or whatever i havent played garten VI yet but i know he exists

WARRIORS

leena - former kittypet, short white furred she-cat with pink skin that shows through in places

bigjaw - large dark grey (because he cant be green) tom with large paws and skull and teeth

sourbird - light grey tom

slowsight - light ginger she-cat with short legs

woolyfang - grey tom

nettlepool - large ginger tom with a missing eye

spidertongue - dark grey tom

darkcrawl - black she-cat

QUEENS

tallbird - pink (bald) she-cat with grey patches of fur in some places

[fingertipsmp3]

Ughhhhhhh I hate writing and I hate not writing and I hate myself

[buildarocketboys]

Fake fic title: dark as a lake

Oooh....I think this would be a flashback-flashforward fic of Pete "platonically" hanging out with Patrick by the Lakes and remembering his dead boyfriend he used to hang out by the Lakes with...so sad. So angsty.

[medicinemane]

You know, capitalism is another one of those words that sadly is like problematic in that it's functionally useless because people just toss it out and then everyone gets so hung up debating the meaning of the word capitalism that the whole point is lost

That's why I don't ever really use it. It doesn't really matter if it's capitalism or if it's cronyism or... whatever, I think it's bad when companies make record profits while prices go up up up

I think there's probably an issue and it probably needs to be solved (and I'm afraid you can't convince me less regulation is a magic bullet)

I like currency and exchanging currency because it seems like a good way of moving goods and labor around, but I also strongly support welfare and think that any group of more than 50 people is probably starting to get corrupt

Don't trust the government, but sure as hell don't trust corps...

I don't know, my original point is that sadly capitalism gets tossed around too much to mean anything anymore... but I just see too many argumentative people online so I'm tossing out my stances to avoid getting side tracked debating what I mean

What I really really mean is just fucking say what you're saying and don't bother saying capitalism cause you'll just make people argue and miss your point

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

in the refrigerator light

summary: you are somehow unprepared to run into Logan while on the quest for a midnight snack... in the house you both live in. wc: 1.9 k a/n: to be fair I did warn you that this would happen. I have a few more ideas kicking around in my head, but feel free to send requests if you have any! this doesn't take place during any particular movie, fyi, but you and Logan are both teaching at the school warnings: fluffy fluff, mutant!reader, empathic powers!reader, soft!Logan

You should have been asleep. Even after choosing to stay on at the school past your education, you’d had a hard time shaking habits of the past. It still felt strange to walk freely into professor only areas, and you were always in bed by 11:00 pm every night. Sneaking down to the kitchen to steal one of the chocolate bars you knew Scott had stashed deep in the back of a cabinet felt wrong, but the siren song was too strong to resist. 

You’d been quiet, making sure to avoid the creaky stair (third from the bottom on the right) before shuffling into the kitchen. You rubbed at your eyes as you made your way to the proper cabinet. The only problem being that it was much higher up than you remember. It was times like these that made you wish for a more helpful mutation, like telekinesis or at least a few extra inches of height. You struggled for a few moments, on your tippy toes, stretching your arm as far as you could reach before you gave up. You sighed, raking your hands through your hair and making your peace with the fact that chocolate was not in your future tonight. 

“Scoot over, bub.” You jumped and let out a small shriek, before clasping a hand over your mouth. It was rare that anyone got the drop on you these days, your power more finely tuned and emotions tending to be strong around the manor, but your guard was decidedly down in the place you’d called home for so many years. But Logan was an exception to many rules. HIs hand gently gripped your wrist, pulling you against his chest for a brief moment before moving to stand in front of the cabinet. He reached up into the cabinet, the zip up hoodie he wore pulling up to expose a few inches of his stomach before pulling down a few bars of chocolate with ease. He smiled, the crinkles by his eyes more prominent in the low light of the kitchen. You did your best to appear like you hadn’t just been ogling him. 

“How did you know-”

“Scott’s shit at secrets.” He huffed, rolling his eyes. “You think he’d learn by now to not be such a loud mouth in a house full of people with enhanced hearing”. 

Your laugh was quiet, muffled by your hand in the interest of not waking the others. “Well, in that case, I hope one of those is for me.” 

Logan shrugged, eyes full of mirth. “What’ll you give me for it?” 

You blinked, unsure of yourself. You weren’t used to this Logan, yet. He was usually gruff and reserved, always reluctant to give into the kids in his history class that were trying to derail the lesson with a joke or two. He’d been playful a few times in your presence, and it almost always made you worried that the other shoe was about to drop. Seeing him in pajama pants and a soft grey sweatshirt only added to the strangeness situation. 

For the briefest moment, you considered using your powers. A single touch and you would know exactly how he was feeling. It was a blessing and a curse, to be able to be sure of how others were feeling with a single touch. A god-send on intel gathering or stealthy missions, a terrible temptation at midnight alone in the kitchen of the manor with the man you had harbored a crush on for as long as you’d known him. You make to grab one of the bars out of his hand, but he is too fast for you, quickly lifting them over his head. Your eyes narrowed. 

Fine, two can play at this game. You roll your shoulders back, drawing up your courage. “Depends what you want for it.” 

Logan grinned, dropping his arms and holding the bars behind his back. “Well, what I don’t want is to be an accomplice in your quest for cavities. Chuck’d have my head if he found out I had a part to play.”  

“I’m a big girl, Logan. I can take care of myself” You grab for the chocolate, but he’s too quick for you. For a brief moment, the two of you stare at each other, the moment charged. You lunged for the chocolate again, but Logan is already halfway across the kitchen, waving the chocolate around teasingly. 

“Logan, please” you laugh, following around the island. He cocked his head to the side, smirk playing at the corner of his lips. You were seconds away from stomping your foot and demanding he hand the chocolate over, when his smirk grew into a grin. 

“Alright bub,” he made his way around the island, depositing one of the chocolate bars in your hand. “You know I can’t say no to you.” 

You did your best to tamp down the butterflies that suddenly made a home in your stomach, but his smile was so gentle and he looked so soft, it was hard not to feel a little lovestruck. You snapped a piece of the bar off, and held it out to him. You dutifully busied yourself with breaking off a piece for yourself, ignoring the way that his affectionate gaze seemed to never leave you. 

“You’re not usually up this late,” he says, holding his hand out for another piece. You shrug, dropping another section into his hand. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” 

“Welcome to the club.” You knew that Logan had trouble sleeping, he was usually the first one hunched over a cup of coffee in the mornings, steadfastly ignoring inquiries into how he slept. 

“I, um” You hesitated. Usually offers of using your powers didn’t go well. You took a breath, steadying yourself. The worst he could say was no, right? “I could help with that, if you want.” 

Logan reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. You could tell your eyes were the size of saucers, but you couldn’t find words. After a few moments, Logan took a step back, shaking his head slightly. You blinked owlishly, taking a breath to steady yourself. 

“That’s sweet of you, bub. But I wouldn’t want to tucker you out.” It was no secret around the house that although you had a less physical mutation, it still took some of your energy. Sensing emotions was as natural as breathing, but influencing them was newer, and took much more focus. 

You pointedly glanced at the clock over the stove, noting that it was well past any reasonable bedtime, before facing Logan once more. “That actually sounds really nice.” He mumbled something about not wanting to take advantage of you, but the words died in his throat when your hand found his own. You looked up at him through your lashes, hoping that he would be able to see how earnest you were being. “I don’t want to force you, but I want to be asleep more than anything, and I can tell that you are too wound up about something to even begin to fall asleep.” 

His thumb stroked over the back of your hand a few times, before he stepped around you and led you out of the kitchen. You expected him to turn towards the living room, where you’d caught him ‘resting his eyes’ a few times in the middle of the day. Instead, he turned right making sure to skip the creaky stair (third from the bottom on the right) and right up to the door of your room. 

“A bit presumptuous, no?” You asked, before opening the door and walking through. 

Logan rolled his eyes, leaning against your doorframe. “I was there the first time you tried this. Figured it was best that no one has to pick you up off the floor.” 

You felt your face grow hot, remembering the unmitigated disaster that had occurred the first time Charles suggested that this application of your powers was a possibility. Your chin tilted up, doing your best to project confidence. “Well, it’s been a while since then, I’ve gotten better.” 

If the lighting had been better, you would have seen the faintest pink blush coloring his cheeks. “Rogue’s in my room.” You couldn’t help it, your eyebrows shot up near your hairline. “She and Bobby got into a fight, she wanted somewhere she would be left alone.” His hands were twisting in the pockets of his sweatshirt as he ducked his head down low. 

“Is that why you were prowling around the kitchen?” He rolled his eyes, but nodded all the same. “Well, do you wanna stay here tonight?” He looked like he was about to object, but you held your hand up, effectively silencing him. “You’re doing a favor for Rogue, let me do one for you.” 

“Thought you were already doin’ me a favor, sweetheart.” He protested, all while moving towards your bed. 

You perched on the edge of your bed, consciously doing your best to keep your heart rate in check. The students always joked that between Charles and Jean’s mind reading and Logan being able to hear cheaters hearts speeding up, it wasn’t even worth it to try and cheat in class. It hadn’t occurred to you that if he could hear your heart fluttering, he could definitely hear the measured deep breaths you were taking to mitigate the issue. 

You reached for his hand, and he accepted it readily. His palm was shockingly smooth under yours, it must be from his regenerative powers. Your thumb gently ran across his knuckles, still slightly red from the training session he’d had with some of the students earlier in the day. You tugged on his arm slightly, and he lowered himself down onto the bed beside you. “I thought that it’s important to work as a team, sometimes.” 

“You spyin’ on me, bub?” You sheepishly meet his eyes, but find nothing but tenderness waiting for you. “I’ll try to forgive you.” He drops a kiss on your knuckles, before motioning for you to lay down. “I’ll take the floor.” 

You tightened your grip on his hand. If he really wanted to, he could have broken away easily. Instead, he paused, eyebrows raised and waiting for an explanation. “Not much of a favor if your back hurts in the morning from sleeping on the floor” you shrugged. 

“Only if you’re sure-”

“Just get in the damn bed Logan.” He grinned, pulling back the covers and slipping into the bed. You followed shortly after, and slipped your hand back into his. The both of you laid in silence for a few moments, adjusting to your new arrangement. You were nice and toasty warm, able to feel the heat radiating off him under the covers. You were in the middle of working up the courage to actually use your powers, when soft snores began to emanate from the other side of the bed. You chanced a glance towards him only to find his lashes gently fanned out over his cheeks, and his chest rising and falling with his steady breathing. 

After a few moments, you followed him into dreamland. In the morning, you woke up with his arm firmly around your waist, feeling fully rested for one of the first times in your life. Again, you waited for the awkwardness to come, for your face to flush and your stammer to pick back up, but you were left waiting.

feedback is very much appreciated, as I’ve never written for Logan before! let me know what you think <3

next part

[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC De-Aged Triplets and Their Tired Single Sister

Jason has seen the four of them a couple of times in Crime Alley now. They looked like a family, what with similar facial features- err, actually, the kids looked like carbon copies of each other, but their mom/sister/aunt/cousin looked similar enough to be related to them by blood.

Normally, Jason didn't care for each and every family that moved into Crime Alley. Sure, he cared about all of them as a whole, but there were a lot of people, and he couldn't possibly get elbow deep in every life story he came across. So all he knew about them were three things: a) they were on the run from someone or something, b) they trusted each other and no one else, and c) apparently, they have made it their life goal to never make any kind of sense.

The list of shit they have gotten into included but was not limited to:

• one of the kids biting a gun. Not the hand of the attacker who was holding it, no, the actual gun. And he bit a piece of it clean off, which earned him - or her, actually, Jason knew one of the triplets was a girl but he couldn't tell them apart - a lecture from their... mom? sister? parental figure. The lecture was about how chewing metal does not help with iron deficiency.

• getting kidnapped and creeping out their kidnapper to the point of him returning the kids back home. A few witnesses said one of the kids was actually driving, sitting on the kidnappers lap behind the steering wheel and cheerfully commanding the man to speed up or brake. Their mom actually apologized to the kidnapper for the incident and offered him homemade cookies for his troubles. He ran away without them.

• driving a lady at the laundromat insane by repeatedly walking inside and climbing into one of the washing machines. They never got out of it, just one kid walking into the laundromat, climbing into washing machine, then another kid, looking exactly like the previous one, walking inside, climbing into the same washing machine, then another kid walking into the laundromat- well, you get the idea. The lady claimed she's seen at least five kids do that in a row, but when she looked into that washing machine, there was no one inside.

• casually falling out of windows. Or, better, walking out of them like they were doors, at any given opportunity. The witness - an old man who was helping their mom with groceries - said the mom did not care in the slightest, and when he asked her about it, obviously concerned, she just said, tired and exasperated, 'they like the feeling of free fall, don't worry, they'll come back in a minute'. Sure enough, they did, not a scratch on them. The family lived on the sixth floor.

• eating insane amounts of food. Jason personally witnesses their mom give them her wallet, telling the kids, 'eat until you're full', and promptly passing out on the table, her head on her arms. The kids then proceeded to eat four whole pizzas, three burgers each, then seven brownies and at least five cups of soda. What was interesting about it was not only the amount of food they ate but the way they never left their mom unattended, one of the kids always staying beside her sleeping figure as the other two went to order.

And now, all four of them were standing in front of him. Not Jason Todd him, but Red Hood him. And he was... confused.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, can you watch them for a few hours? Three, maybe four," the mom, Jazz as she introduced herself, was looking at him like it was he who was speaking nonsense, not her. Because asking a crime lord to watch three kids in the middle of the night is not something a sane person would do.

"Why?" He asks, bewildered, because what the fuck else is he supposed to say?

"I need to kill a man, and if they come with me, it will take three times longer," Jazz tells him. Is she saying the kids slow her down or what? Jason can admit he's never been this confused in his entire life.

"You could ask me to kill a man, while you stay with them, no?" He tries to reason, but the girl waves him off:

"No, that will take even longer. Besides, no offense, but you kill people to simply end their life, and I need that man to fucking stop existing forever."

What's the difference he almost wants to ask. But instead of that, he just sighs.

"Why me? I'm sure you could find a babysitter-"

"No babysitter will handle them. The last one told me they have been running laps on the ceiling, which is, actually, not that big of a deal. They are kids. Kids like running around," she huffs, and Jason suspects she is missing the point here, but okay. He gets why babysitters are not an option.

"You do understand what they can witness if they stay here?" He asks, as the last attempt to reason with the girl, but she just nods and leans down, making all the kids turn to her.

"Okay, you menaces, tell me what not to do while you're staying with Mr. Red Hood."

"No eating people," one kid starts.

"No driving people insane," the other one continues.

"No, um, stealing eyeballs," the third one finishes, and what the fuck are those ground rules? Is this girl a mother to eldrith horrors? That would explain some shit.

Jazz turns to him, "See? They're all good."

In what world is that good? Jason debates if he should start running now or when she leaves.

"Do they have names?" He asks instead. The girl nods:

"Danny." His surprise must be evident even through the mask because she sighs and points to each kid, "Diane, Daniel, Dante. Dani, Danny, and Dan. Actually, you know what, let's make this easier," she rummages through her bag and gets a marker out before gesturing to the kids, "Come here."

As they do, she proceeds to draw numbers 1, 2, and 3 on their foreheads. Then she nods to Hood and puts the marker away.

"Okay, that's better. Behave, you monsters, I'll be back soon!"

After she leaves, Jason looks down at the kids. They also look at him, eerie and unblinking.

Finally, one of them - number 2, Dani, if he is not mistaken - asks:

"Do you want teeth? We have a lot."

"She doesn't mean her teeth," number 1 clarifies, "She means other teeth."

...This is going to be some very long three hours.