#healing factor would be nice though

[snottyshawty]

As a kid I was like “aw man it must suck for Wolverine because to use his claws he has to have them stab through his skin :( ”

Well guess what younger me, we now have CONSTANT RAGING ECZEMA FLARES on both hands so when I make a fist my skin breaks on the back of my hand and it’s kinda the same shit and I can say now that it ain’t that bad after a while. You get used to it and boss up

[boltwrites]

I need a Logan/Wade/Reader fic where reader is dating Wade (before movie) and meets Logan, sees how he acts with Wade, and makes a ton of “just fuck already” jokes that Wade (ofc) encourages and it pisses Logan off until he does one day (reader included lol) 😏

A/N: i'm going to have to make a part 2 for this, since this is pretty much solely humor and reader making fun of wade and logan. i will be making a part 2 for the smut, though. mark my fucking words.

some things to note: reader is stated as polyamorous and LGBT (no specific label is mentioned). also, lots of sex jokes and fourth wall breaks lmao.

You were used to Wade bringing around some strange characters. Usually, they thought he had drugs or something (which he did, most of the time. Until they all mysteriously went missing right before his birthday party. Almost like his unsavory lifestyle was suddenly sanitized for wider consumption. Hm. Weird.) Sometimes they wanted money - other times it seemed more likely that Wade was holding them for ransom and relapsing into his merc days. But that wasn't really your business.

The point to your opening statement was: you didn't really want to fuck Wade's friends. Astonishing, really - you went to high school with a group of weird kids that all turned out to be some flavor of L,G,B or T and as such, you either wanted to or did fuck most of them. But Wade's friends? They just lacked a little something-something. Al was too old and too high most of the time. Yukio and her gruff girlfriend were far too young for you. Colossus was too Russian. Vanessa was Wade's ex - which would have been hot, honestly - but you weren't the biggest fan of how the two of them handled the post-breakup, and therefore she was off limits. But Peter... maybe...?

No. No, if you fucked Peter, Wade would never let you hear the end of it.

So, you were typically relegated to Wade, and Wade alone, which was more than fine by you. That insane healing factor meant the man could go all night, and he was naturally (or, unnaturally. Mutantly?) ribbed for your pleasure. Nice.

So when he came back from his most recent world-saving (multiverse saving?) adventure, you expected him to bring back maybe some kind of bright-eyed teenage sidekick, or a wacky off-the-wall team up, like Dopinder.

Ah, right, Dopinder. God, you would have fucked him. Sadly, the man was staunchly monogamous like some kind of fucking freak.

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, when you walked into Wade's unbirthday party? He had company. And the company? Hot. Old. Man.

Oh no. Your fucking weakness.

You'd really never forgive Wade for evaporating Cable before you had a chance with him.

Maybe this was his make-up present.

And said present - or, man, shouldn't objectify - could not take his damn eyes off Wade. Glaring at him, huffing a little half-chuckle when Wade insulted someone with a joke, rolling his eyes as Wade recounted some story of their conquests with exaggerated arm movements and wild, unnecessary additions.

Oh my god. Oh my god? Did Wade fuck him before you could? That bitch!

You scoffed to yourself as you threw your jacket on the coat rack - or was that Peter? Who gives a shit. You were on a mission. You sauntered straight up to Wade, no greeting or preamble, and tossed your arm around his shoulders, setting your ass down right in his lap.

"Oh, hell yeah! There's my sugar ass-" Wade grinned at you, and you just rolled your eyes and planted a big kiss on his bald forehead. Thank god, he'd stopped wearing that dumbass hair. It made him look like a social studies teacher. And not a good one - like one of the ones that just took the job so that he could coach the JV boy's soccer team, and he's not even very good at that. Anyway.

Wade wrapped an arm around you, and you adjusted yourself on his lap, hazarding a glance over at the man sitting next to him. His eyes flit from Wade to you, then to Wade again, brow scrunched a little closer together than when you'd first seen him.

"Wolvie, meet my little discord kitten. And you-" he broke the fourth wall, just to look you straight in the eyes. "This, is the big bad wolf. Er-ine. Yeah. Yeah, that works."

"Wade," you replied, trying not to think about the fact that he just looked into your eyes like you were a camera on the Office. "You never told me you were bringing home a third. I would have brought the nice strap."

The man - Wolvie? Wolverine? Whatever - choked on his beer, and shot Wade a confused, accusatory glare.

"What about the-"

Wolvie gestured in the direction of Vanessa, and Wade's eyes widened, his mouth actually fell open. And this time, it wasn't fake or sarcastic shock, but actual, genuine emotion.

"Oh, no no no - that metal skull of yours really is dense, isn't it, peanut?" He knocked on Wolvie's forehead with way more force than he would use on any normal human, and the man batted Wade's hand away like a pissy tom cat, lip curled over his teeth in a growl.

That was. Hot. Ok.

Wade continued talking anyway - as he always did.

"No, Vanessa? Lovely lady, don't get me wrong - but that ship sailed loooong ago, my temporally-challenged friend," Wade sighed, squeezing the arm that was around your shoulder. "No - that relationship was, as the kids say - 'lacking in communication and emotional openness' - oh, and she made me feel like chicken shit for not being a superhero!"

"Babe, you did that to yourself," you shook your head at him. Really - Vanessa and Wade had just grown apart. She'd looked into more gainful employment, and Wade had followed, struggling to integrate into whatever the fuck "proper" society was. What really happened was that Wade blamed himself for her death and tied way too much of his self-worth to their relationship. And Vanessa - well, she just didn't feel safe with him anymore. It wasn't her fault; it was the PTSD. But it still hurt him. It was better for the both of them to part ways. You always knew Wade still held a torch for her, but you didn't mind much in a relationship sense. You were polyamorous - your man loving multiple people didn't bother you. What did matter was the fact that for Wade's mental health - or what little of it remained - he shouldn't be trying to get with that woman again.

"Yeah! I know! I was getting to that - shh," he pressed a finger to your lips and you kissed it, which made him go "aww" before returning to his rambling. "Anyway, while I was on this beautiful journey of self-discovery, I realized so many things, buttercup."

He sighed, cupping your cheek. "The Avengers are absolute booty ass - without their mainstay former drug addict, I'm afraid they lost out on the crowd of little white girls that want to fuck older men, and we all know that demographic is vital to the longevity of a franchise. Furthermore, the Honda Odyssey fucks hard, which means I have to re-examine my vehicle-related inherent biases. Oh, and also - I'm not a hero. Can't pretend to be some kind of 'normie.' So I'd rather be a freak with the rest of the rejects."

Wade gestured to the rest of the party, and your grin widened, arms wrapping tight around his neck and pulling him in for a stupid, sloppy kiss. God, that's what you'd been trying to tell him for goddamn ages. Thank fuck, the whole multiverse just had to be threatened for him to realize it. You should have expected it - that's just kind of how men are.

Wolverine cleared his throat, and you pulled away, patting Wade on the chest. The older man looked at the both of you with trepidation, like he might be interrupting something. Your heart skipped a little - he really did like Wade, didn't he? Well -

"That's great, baby," you patted Wade's cheek. "Glad you had to experience whatever is closest to death for you to realize what's really important. That's so incredibly healthy and absolutely viable in the long-term."

Wolvie chuckled, grinning at both you and your boyfriend. Oh no - not only was he hot, he was pretty. That stupid little cat ear hair wasn't helping, especially not when he was laughing at your joke.

You took the opportunity to raise your leg just enough to brush your calf along the inside of his knee, and his eyes immediately flicked to yours, smile faltering as he calculated whether to lean into it or shy away.

"Thank you, I so appreciate you, baby-boo-" Wade nuzzles his nose against your cheek and you giggled, biting your lip to quell your laugh as you tried to watch both boys. "But if I remember correctly, before we went on this plot-hole addressing rant, you said something about the good strap?"

He waggled his hairless brows, and your gaze flicked between the two of them again - Wade, eager and grinning; Wolvie, tense and most certainly blushing.

"Yeah," you sighed dramatically, waving your hand in the direction of the refreshments table. "Unfortunately, the food at this party isn't bottom friendly. Shame."

"Fuck!" Wade cursed, head snapping forward in frustration. "I knew Peter forgot something! That insensitive metrosexual!"

You snorted, shook your head as your gaze pulled to Wolverine, you dragged your leg just a little higher.

"Oh, don't worry about it. If your friend here wants, we could recreate your favorite Lonely Island music video."

Said friend's brow knit, his jaw clenched as he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, as if you'd translate your Wade-speak for him.

Thankfully, your boyfriend did it for you, with an exaggerated gasp for comedic effect.

"3-Way (The Golden Rule) (Featuring Lady Gaga & Justin Timberlake)?" He cried, leaning over so that he could smush his face closer to yours. You waggled your eyebrows suggestively.

He all but squealed, kicking his feet to the point where he almost launched you straight out of his lap.

"You hear that, Logan-boy? It won't even be gay - with a honey in the middle there's some leeway," he gestured to you dramatically, jazz-hands and all.

"It might be a little gay," you whispered in Wolvie - Logan's? - direction.

Either way, it seemed like something one of you said made the poor man short-circuit. He was just looking at the two of you like Wade was regrowing a baby head.

"It is, like, a genuine offer," you clarified for him. "We're not fucking with you - well. Wade's always fucking around."

"Oh, but I am so serious about this, babygirl. Wanna find out if that 207th bone is also adamantine, let me tell you-"

"Shut your whore mouth," Logan hissed at Wade, and you heard the man's teeth click as Wade's jaw snapped shut. What?

"Hey, did he just listen to you when you told him to shut up?"

Logan raised an eyebrow, but gave you a curt nod as answer. Your head whipped from one man to the other.

"You two definitely fucked already!"

"Oh-"

"What did he tell you?" You cut in, finger raised as Wade tried to speak. His eyes widened, and his lips closed like he had no control over them. Your jaw fell open. You turned to Logan like he was some kind of evil sex magician. Which - maybe he was. Or maybe that was a different man from the same movie that no one knows how to write because someone actually gave him an accurate accent. How would you know?

"We didn't fuck," Logan clarified. "We fought. Hard."

"It was the only way around the Hays Code censor!" Wade cut in, words spilling out like he only had a few seconds before Logan shot him another look that had his mouth shutting and his pants tightening.

You rolled your eyes. "Sweetie, the Hays Code was abolished in 1968," you patted his cheek like you were talking to a child.

"Tell that to the mouse!"

"Well," you did your best to get this trainwreck back on track. "Anyway. What do you think, hmm?"

You directed your question at Logan-Wolvie-Wolverine. It was so hard to learn somebody's actual name when Wade just threw nicknames out like candy.

But still, the man frowned, lips pursed as he considered the proposition. His lips twitches as he swirled the bottle of beer in his hand, like he could find the answers in the foam that swelled there. He shook his head, then took a sip, smacking an "ah" before the bottle hit the table with a thump.

"Eh. What the hell."

Oh. Fuck. Yes.

[ghostaholics]

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂

➸ PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x gn!Reader ➸ TAGS/WARNING(S): none ➸ BANNER CREDIT: cafekitsune & benkeibear

Detail-oriented, exceptional manual dexterity when it comes to sewing him up. Your movements are careful and controlled – meticulous with regards to everything that you do but especially focused on how the edges line up so that they don’t overlap. Other medics – they'll rush. Botch it. A shoddy job like tectonic plates of skin forced to converge on each other, because in his line of work, stitches are an afterthought when there's another bloke with a sucking chest wound whose deep in the throes of respiratory distress and the only immediate threat about Ghost's own injury is the small amount of blood he'll lose. Whatever will get it closed. Nobody else cares much about the cosmetic factor. But you do. Painstakingly so. It's a thankless job to spend three times longer than it should to get it right, but he makes sure to express his appreciation for the consideration you put into every single graze/cut/gash (even more diligent if the injury's to any part of his arm that could mess up his tattoo sleeve). They always heal nicely.

He looks for you, after-hours – well late into the night because you were occupied patching up other soldiers. It'd been a grueling mission, lots of WIAs needing your attention. He doesn't even have a good excuse for this. It's a trivial thing, maybe, to bother you. Like asking Atlas for a favour, with the weight of the world on your shoulders and the soul-crushing responsibility of holding lives in the palms of your hands as though you're the last line of defense against death. This is stupid. This is beyond fucking stupid of him. Almost turns around and walks away from the medical tent, because that's how ridiculous it is. But he convinces himself to head in, asking if you can fix the stitching on his mask because the only person he trusts more than himself to do it is you. Though his request is benign, the significance behind it is profound in ways that he won't admit to himself. There are very few people he can count on. And of course, you say yes with a tired smile and a brightness in your eyes that never seems to dull in front of him no matter how exhausted you might be. It's one of the rare instance he lets his guard down, shows his face. He keeps you company the entire time, telling you about why he wears that mask while you restore it back to original condition.

The irony of having an injured medic: Simon's saddled with the pitiful task of having to step into your role because there's a gash on your forearm that needs to be taken care of. He knows how to do a basic stitch – is fairly confident that he can thread the sutures just like you’d showed him a million times by now whenever he’d been looking for a reason to see you ( ❝ Show me how to do it right. The proper way, yeah? ❞ ). And he's admonishing you to hold still, except it's sort of difficult when you're being treated like a bloody pincushion. He'd never let anybody else get away with making fun of him for that but this is you so he lets it slide. After talking him through it (which you find quite odd, considering that he never would've struck you as someone who’d need extra time and help), you inspect his handiwork, mildly impressed.

❝ Oh, you actually... well, you did quite a decent job. ❞ ❝ Of course. ❞ Because he wouldn't settle for anything less than perfecti— ❝ But then again, it is a little off over here, ❞ you point out, just to deflate his pride. There's still smugness to his tone. ❝ Would you like me to start over, then? ❞ ❝ Not on your life, Riley. ❞

He doesn’t mention how phenomenal he is at suturing, doesn’t mention that he sat in on a class for combat specialists early on in his career even though he didn't need to be there and was commended for his technique by the leading instructor. He definitely doesn't bring up the fact that he's been taking long on purpose just because he likes your company.

[thatawkwardmoth]

I'm sorry but if you think Logan would be a bad dad or just straight up not care about his children, read the comics or watch X-Men evolution.

Yes, Logan is a brute and he's 'not nice' a lot of the time. But if you think that this man wouldn't raise Laura, Gabby, Jubilee and all his other little shitheads out in a cabin in Canada, far away from people (but close enough for cell service, he gets it Jubilee, please stop yelling in his ear about Instagram), you're dead wrong.

Gabby's room would have built in bookshelves and she'd have a killer treehouse outside, her bedframe would be hand carved wood with pieces meant to withstand her claw for a while. She'd have plushies and posters and whatever she wanted. Logan could go without food for a while just for her to get the things she liked. She could not go without food and neither could the rest of the shitheads. Yes, Laura is her main adult but Logan won't let Gabby have a lackluster childhood.

Laura's room would be covered. With whatever she wanted. Even if she changed her mind and redecorated a thousand times, it's her room. It's not a cell or some blank white room. She's not X-23. She's his girl, the Wolverine. She can have a small gym set up to train and keep her active, 100%. But she'll come to eat when called and won't overdo it, healing factor or not. Or Logan will lock the door and ground her. He keeps the porch light on for her every night, knowing sometimes she just wants to run, to stretch her legs and feel the freedom she has. He'll wait on the porch, beer in hand and offer her some food when she's back. Tell her Gabby's asleep and she's fine, like Laura can't hear her snoring. She's got his attitude and they butt head but he'll always be the first to remind her she's not an experiment. She can put up a hundred dumb posters and read a hundred dumb books that aren't educational, he doesn't care. He'll even listen with minimal grumbling.

Jubilee's room is more adult than her old one is. It's got a jack and jill bathroom that leads to Shogo's little nursery. It's not used very often, but it's got all the updated supplies, for her and the baby. She's got the whole lawn to use her powers and not deal with complaints (unless it's the people inside the house), a hand made playhouse for Shogo when he gets older. She's got it all, whenever she wants to just run away. Whenever she needs a vacation or just to come see him.

Kitty's got one too, it's not changed. She can be the Red Queen to Krakoa, the fearsome Shadowcat to others but she's still got a room at his cabin with pictures upon pictures lining the walls, plush X-Men toys bought with Jubilee to annoy them, little notes from Rachel and Illyana. It's like a piece of the old Shadowcat Logan refuses to let Kitty Kate get rid of. She's got her own bathroom so she stops phasing through the doors and walls of the other ones without knocking and she's got a little balcony for her plants to die on because she never remembers to water them and Logan also forgets even though he tries to remember.

Logan's got a room that he hardly ever uses. He finds the girls in it (and his sons sometimes) in it more than he is. His bed is the communal 'i had a nightmare but we're not talking about it' place. It's the only reason he's got a TV in there. To turn on whatever dumb thing they want to watch, even if he hates it, he'll sit through nine seasons. There are stickers on his dresser (on most things actually, Gabby's personal signature), a giant plush dog bed for Jonathan the Wolverine, multiple pillows he doesn't use but they do. He even made sure to buy a comfortable blanket set even though he doesn't care at all when it comes to himself. He's survived worse but if it brings them comfort, he's going that extra mile.

He's stunted emotionally and sometimes messes up but this cabin, the one he's fixed up and added onto, he knows he did right by them with this. But he refuses to fix the creaky steps or the painted light switches, the chipped tiles or the old decorations that he shoves in the attic. Those are the character the house has, memories he doesn't want to lose like he's lost so many before.

[strange-dreams-are-made-of-these]

Playing Games With This Old Heart

Summary: You need to make cash fast after losing your job. After stumbling on a job, you can't help but to think about your first customer. And he can't get you out of his head.

Warnings: no smut, no fluff, still MDNI as this will be a planned series, canon typical violence, hints of death of a loved one (prior to story), animal death (bear), angst, Female Mutant!Reader with regenerative healing factor.

A/N: It's been two years since ive poste dont his account, so i hope you guys wont hold that against me. Please take this sample of a fic with our favorite X-Man.

Word Count: 4.7 k words

The days were shifting between the long summer heat and a cooler breeze as the leaves started to change from their usual green and full thick coverings to reds, yellows, and browns before leaving their life-sustaining tree and falling to the ground. There was something subtle about the sound of leaves crunching under ones footstep that somehow felt calming. The ground around your home was littered with the fine needles of the Douglas Fir trees that had a very distinct pine smell to them. It was a welcoming smell for you, having lived the majority of your life in rural Montana, the fresh smell of pine felt like home.

The colorful coat of the Maine Coon cat you owned stood out against the green throw blanket placed on the couch, the place he dubbed his spot. His name was Felix and he had been your fury best friend of nearly six years now. He showed up one day on your doorstep when it was raining with his mother. Not knowing much about cats, but knowing they were hungry, you couldn't help but open the last can of tuna you had in your pantry, draining it of its liquid before setting it out for the mother and son cats to eat. His mother trusted you enough to leave her son with you before leaving, never to be seen again. You often wondered what happened to the little minx of a feline, though you were happy to assure her you could take care of her baby.

"Okay, Felix. I'm going into town. Don't miss me too bad while I'm gone, okay?" You chuckle a little watching him as he stretches out, adjusting your jacket in the process. With keys in hand, wallet in your warm coat, and a fully charged phone, you left your home. Your next-door neighbor was only five miles away, as was his other neighbor. The only thing you had to worry about here were bears, mountain lions, and wolves showing up unannounced during meal times. Thankfully the only time you spotted any of the three was during their migration journeys at quite the distance from your porch to the open land headed out toward the lake where they could get their fill of fresh fish and other small creatures that dwelled there.

You kept your distance, you respected their space, and in turn, they stayed away from you. Just how it should have been.

Hoping into your truck, an old one of your father's, you kick it into gear and leave your driveway. The roads were bumpy as the broken rock and dirt shifted under the weight of the truck, bouncing you a little as you made the drive into town. There were a few things you needed to make it through the week: gasoline, and a refill of your water containers. One was used for cooking and drinking, one was used for bathing, and the third was the backup. Being out in these parts, you had to prepare for the unthinkable. Trees block major routes to give supplies, unpredictable weather, and supply shortages.

Another thing you would have liked to get was a fresh cut of meat for dinner. Depending on what was at the store would determine the dinner in store for you. Grilled fish? sounded nice. A steak could have been as equally nice to eat.

Though, there was another reason for your outing today. Since Mr. Kirkwood had sold his farm, you had been out of a job and had been running low on funds. You had to find a job today, any job. Anything that would provide you cash for hard work to continue to provide for yourself and Felix. Stocking shelves at the only grocery store in town? Perfect! Cutting down trees for the logging company? You're the girl for the job, nevermind you have never cut a vertical tree before, only when they were already grounded.

You just needed any job, one that you can continue to live your life.

--

Parking the truck, you walked to the bed, picking up the water containers, two in one hand and the third in the other. Thankfully there had been a man coming out of the store, seeing your hands full he held it open for you. You thanked him, recognizing him as one of your father's old co-workers. You nodded to each other, letting him go back to his day as you entered the door.

"There she is, I was wondering when you would be coming back. I hadn't seen you in a few days," came the beckoning voice of the store's owner, Mr. Morgan. He was almost like an uncle to all of the younger people in town, being about thirty-five and younger. You were toward the older end of his infinite nieces and nephews, though he would swear you were his favorite.

"I was able to get an extra day or two in on my stock. I call that quite the accomplishment."

"Did you make it last longer, or did you go without longer than usual?" He questioned you, peering over his glass at you as you set the water containers down. He knew what your current situation was, but at the end of the day, he still had a business to run. "I can't do anything for you today until you pay your tab." He was serious, but he had a little glint in his eye as if letting a loved one down.

You looked at him, your once welcoming face now placid. "Mr. Morgan, please. You know I'm good for the money." you fished around in your jacket, pulling out the last thirty-seven dollars and change you had. You knew it wouldn't cover your tab plus what you needed, but you also knew he had a business to run. "I just need a little more time. And some supplies. Please."

It was a plea, a simple one. Though you knew he was the holder behind how the rest of your week was going to go. "I'll stock shelves for you to pay the rest of my tab. I'll scrub the floors with a toothbrush. I'm willing to work."

He took his glasses off, looking at the cash in front of him. He didn't want to see anybody struggling, but he couldn't ignore his debts. He shuffled the money around, taking thirty dollars for himself and handing you the seven dollars and change back. "I can't afford to add anybody else to my payroll, or else I would. You can have one water refill, a full tank of gas, and some cat food. Nothing more."

You stared at him, lips parted as if to protest the money exchange, but the sound of the bells chiming against the door flooded those thoughts. You reached for the cash, scooping the change into your hand. All you could muster was a simple "Thank you." Moving the water containers to the side, you placed two of the containers into the designated area, then took one to the refill station, and filled the water container.

You had to figure something out and fast.

--

A newly filled water container was placed in the truck bed, a full tank of gas in your truck, and a sack of wet and dry cat food sat on the passenger floorboard. Looking around the small main street of the town where ninety percent of the town's businesses resided, you decided to leave your truck where it was. You were on the hunt for a job, and you were damn determined to find employment by the end of the day.

You used your side view mirror to make sure your hair looked fine, adjusting the collar of your jacket and shirt, you straightened up peering back at the main street. The best way to start job hunting was to start at the end of the street and work your way back down, entering every business you spotted. The good thing about small towns was all you needed was to name-drop a couple of people, resumes didn't hold up well.

The bad thing about small towns was that everybody needed work. Store owner after store owner denied your requests. The pawn shop wasn't looking for new employees, the liquor store had too many employees as is, and the antiquities store only hired their family members. The options were dwindling down, and soon you were nervous you were going to have to find a creative way to make money or even worse, entertain the thought of being a lot lizard.

The only two businesses left were the diner on the right side of the street and the motel at the end of the road. Either of them could have positions open, yet they could also deny you a job opening. You had to hope they had an opening somewhere, knowing you were not creative enough to make and sell items for cash. You didn't own many items to sell, beyond the couch, a cot you used to sleep on, and the few little trinkets you received when her father died. The most expensive item you owned was more than likely the truck, and selling it would mean nearly desertion at your home.

Without another thought, you crossed the street as a logging truck passed in front of you. You made some eye contact with the driver, making sure you waited until he drove in front of you before crossing the street.

As you pushed open the doors of the diner, a woman ten years your senior greeted you. "Have a seat wherever you want, sweetheart."

You crossed the room, taking a seat in front of her as she cleaned the counter space. "I know you are busy, and I don't want to take up too much of your time. I'm looking for a job. Mr. Morgan told me you might have something open here?"

The woman looked up from her work, eyeing you down after you mentioned Mr. Morgan. Her ginger curly hair cascaded down her shoulders as she shifted her weight. "Mr. Morgan, huh?" It was hard to tell by her expression, but she seemed to be thinking about something.

The door opened again, and a young blonde woman entered appearing slightly disheveled as if she had just woken up. "I'm here, Rebecca."

The woman in front of you, Rebecca as you read the name tag, turned her body toward the younger woman, then looked to the clock. She placed one hand on her hip. "Only two hours late." She looked between you and the woman, a mischievous look in her eyes. "I told you, show up on time or don't show up at all."

The blonde woman huffed a little, crossing her arms. "It's not like anybody else wants this job."

Rebecca smirked, walking around the counter toward the woman. "Actually she does." She was quick to snatch the apron from the blonde woman. "Clean your uniform and have it dropped by the end of the week, then you will get your check." She then tossed the apron to you, catching it effortlessly.

The blonde huffed, storming out of the diner and throwing a couple of curses in the air. "Your shift starts now. Take a menu, and study it between customers. Orders go to Big Ben. Don't ask us why we call him that and don't make any eye contact. Burgers are made to order, the soup of the day is Italian wedding, and you can give me your jacket."

Her orders came quickly as you stood up, removing your jacket and tying the apron around your waist. There had been a little notebook in the apron and a pen, thankfully saving your ass as you wrote down the notes she gave you. The doorbell rang again, the older woman looked at you with a questionable look. That was your cue, time to work. "Take a seat wherever you want." You nodded, taking a menu in your hands and walking up to your first-ever customer.

--

As his boots made contact with the ground below him, the man took a moment to adjust his shoulders, rolling them a couple of times as he stretched. He could have sworn the truck cabs were getting smaller and smaller, almost feeling his head touch the rooftop. At least he could rest comfortably during his lunch break. He had contemplated having a liquid diet for lunch paired with a cigar, but the smell of greasy burgers filled his nostrils. Tucking the keys of the truck in his vest pocket, Logan walked toward to diner.

He passed by an unruly blonde woman, muttering under her breath about being fired barely filling his ears. He persisted in, entering the diner. Not looking up, he heard the greeting offered to him, hearing two different footsteps filling the diner. One was the small heels clicking against the tile floors. The other was boots muffled against the tile. A small pair of hands moved to set a menu down in front of him, along with what looked like one single-ply napkin and a fork. "What can I get started for you?"

Logan still hadn't looked up yet, looking at the laminated two-sided menu in front of him. "Coffee." He blurted, though wishing he could have an iced beer with his food. The woman left his table, rounding the counter and finding the coffee pot and cups. A minute may have passed by as he scanned the menu. He wasn't that much of a picky eater, as long as it used to have a heartbeat, he was fine.

The mug was set down in front of him, steam rolling off the black liquid. "I'll have the cheeseburger and fries." He picked up the menu, handing it back to the waitress. That was when he finally turned to look at her, remembering her as the woman who crossed the street behind him. She didn't seem to be dressed for work, not like the other woman who was behind the counter now fiddling with some dishes.

"You got it." She left the table, and walked over to the window, setting a ticket in the designated space that the other woman told her about. His hand wrapped around the mug in front of him, looking outside as he silently observed the town. He was in this stretch of land only long enough to get him enough cash to figure out his next move. He didn't like to stay in the same place too long, maybe a year or two at most. He didn't mind the small circles running in this part of the state, but he knew that if he wanted to go somewhere else he would have to figure it out soon before the snow moved in.

What felt like ten minutes had passed before the woman came back, setting his plate in front of him. "Can I get you anything else?"

He shook his head, brushing her off. As she left, she could smell a strong scent of pine around her, as if she herself was a pine tree. It wasn't a disheartening smell, something he actually liked.

Another set of diners came in, sitting a few booths behind Logan. As he ate his food all he could hear was her voice, despite there being a total of seven beings in the diner he could hear. Somehow her voice was the loudest in his mind. Not the heartbeats of the seven people, not his heartbeat, not her heartbeat. Her voice.

As he finished the food in front of him, she walked over to him, leaving his ticket and grabbing the empty plate. "Do you want a cup for the road?"

He reached into his vest pocket, pulling out a billfold. "Yeah, sounds good."

She returned with his to-go coffee, handing it over to him as he left cash on the table, adjusting his shirt collar. "Here, let me get your change."

"Keep it." He walked out of the diner, making a bee-line for his truck, fighting everything in him to talk to her again. Little did he know, that wasn't going to be their only interaction for the day.

--

The daylight began to dissipate, street lights were turning on and the neon signs from the only bar in town began to glow. Rebecca presented to you with a powder blue uniform dress. The diner and the employees looked as if they hadn't left the fifties, just as the regular customers liked to relive. "You did good, peanut. The job is yours. Your next shift is tomorrow, Nine to five, be here no less than ten minutes before clocking in tomorrow. I'll have some shoes for you. Can't have my girls in boots for service."

You took the uniform and hanger, nodding. "Yes ma'am."

Rebecca giggled a little. "Oh darlin', I'm no ma'am. You can call me Becky."

Parting ways with your new manager, you left the diner, uniform in hand and some tips in your apron. You couldn't help but think about the first customer you had that day, a man appearing around your age, how quick your interactions were, but how he almost seemed disinterested in interacting with you. Was it possible he was a regular of the blonde woman? He paid his bill, he tipped you, and you went on about your day. That was all you could ask for.

Returning to your truck still parked in front of the grocery store, you set your items down in the cab. Peering to the bed of the truck, you huff as you realize your water container is missing. At least the thief had the balls to leave your empty gas container. Mr. Morgan's place was closed for the night, so you would have to swing by the store after work. "Cowards." you hum to yourself, getting in the truck and turning over the engine.

Returning home, you fed Felix with the food you acquired today. Becky made sure you had something to eat as well before you left the diner, though Big Ben had made a comment about it. This only solved three of your problems for the day. You still needed to wash up, and without the water container, you only had one choice.

The easiest thing would be to take a bucket to the lake and boil the water before using it to wash up. Not thinking clearly either, you left the house without any type of protection, knowing you were just getting water and heading back to the house. The only light you had to help you was the half-moon above you.

Unknown to you, the man from the diner had followed you home, wondering what you were up to. He wished he could understand what was happening, but your voice was all he could hear and focus on the rest of the day. His truck was parked in the woods opposite your home, and he stood in the tree line listening to the orchestra of insects and animals around the both of you. Foxes howled in the far distance, deer were settling in for the night. But there was another predator within the vicinity, one unbeknownst to you.

You kneeled down to fill the metal bucket with water, you were being watched by a wolverine and a black bear. A bear looking for its next meal, and a wolverine searching for answers, only to find more problems in his way.

The grunt of the bear finally caught your attention. It had been nearly twenty feet in front of you, standing on a rock as it discarded the fish carcass in its claws. He smelled bigger game, and his blood lust was all he could focus on.

Leaving the bucket still in the water, you slowly stood up, keeping your hands to your sides. It stayed on its rock, turning toward you. It must have been fully grown, which spelled danger for you. Black bears did not care and would defend themselves to the death, even if it was not threatened.

Seconds felt like minutes as the bear finally stood up, roaring before falling to all fours and darting toward you. There was no way you could outrun a bear, let alone rely on your home to defend you. Laying down now meant instant death for you. Climbing trees was out of the question.

Your heart pounded in your chest with every footfall, knowing the longer you thought about survival, the more your chances diminished.

The bear caught up to you, pinning you down and tossing you around. Your screams filled the space of the open field around you. Claws tore into your skin and clothes as you felt warm blood escape your body.

Snikt

The bear roared out, turning its attention away from you to something else, attacking it. The sounds of two animals tousling with each other filled the air, but after one minute, the bear grew quiet, a distinct thud was heard as its body fell to the ground.

Something rushed up to you, and before you could react, you felt human hands touching your body. "No, no, no."

You looked up to see the man from the diner hovering over you as his knees collided with the ground next to you. His face was bleeding, but as you watched him, you saw his wounds close and heal within seconds. Almost just like...

He observed you, looking at where your wounds were.

Or used to be.

You sat up, scooting away from him a little. Breathing heavily, the both of, you looked at his tattered clothes and blood stains. yet there was an absence of wounds. "What are you?" You asked hurriedly.

He stared at you, his eyes dancing the same tango where your wounds used to be. "I could ask you the same." He ran a hand over his hair before standing up. He offered you a hand, however you didn't take it. Brushing yourself off from the dirt.

"Nothing happened here, okay?"

Logan turned toward you as he watched you walk back to the lake, picking up the bucket of water.

You realized what you said sounded harsh, and that wasn't your nature. Closing your eyes briefly, you look back at the man. "I have some clothes in my house. I can at least give you something to replace those."

He watched you begin walking toward the cabin you called home. Taking a moment, he decided to follow in your footsteps, quickly matching your pace to walk with you. "I saw you get attacked by that bear. I can see the blood." His eyes scan over your back, where layers of clothes are torn. Not just your jacket, but your shirt, and an undershirt.

You swung open the door of your cabin after walking up the little set of stairs on your porch. "Not to sound like a broken record, but, I can ask you the same."

After both of you were in the cabin, you set the bucket down next to the woodfire stove, pulled some of the water into a pot, then set it on the surface of the stove to boil the water. You then opened up a door, the only closet space in your cabin. There was a box labeled Dad's clothes written in neat handwriting. You pushed it out to the side, then grabbed two jackets. "Here, pick out what you want."

He looked at you, unsure of the idea. There was more to ask now, and he wasn't so sure where to start. He watched as you moved around in the cabin, picking up a little bowl and scooping its contents into a bowl. He could smell the cat, but not see it. He looked around, wondering where it was.

You observed his behavior, wondering what he was doing. Clearing your throat, you took a stab in the dark. "His name is Felix. He doesn't like strangers. If I had to guess, he is on my bed, or under it."

He smirked a little, knowing his suspicion had been confirmed. He approached the box, opening it to look at the different shirts and pants inside.

You observed him, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the wall. "Why are you out here?" You were thankful he showed up when he did, knowing you didn't have many defenses against the bear beyond how you healed.

Instead of giving a bullshit answer or response, he turned to look at you, a gray flannel in hand. "I was just passing through." He lied.

You shook your head, eyeing him as you lowered an eyebrow. "No, you didn't. Nobody passes through this place." Sighing a little, you felt a tug in your back. "Look, I've had a somewhat normal life here, have my entire life. I don't really have anything else to go to, or the drive to go anywhere else. I'll tell you what I can do, and I can answer any questions you have. Then we can part our separate ways. Sound like a deal?"

Logan stood up, tossing the flannel over his shoulder. He held his hands up to his sides, shrugging his shoulders. "I won't complain." He didn't know where this would lead him, but the thought of getting some answers meant his trip wouldn't be wasted.

Nodding, you rolled the sleeve of your torn jacket up, exposing the lower part of your arm to him. you pulled one of the logs out of the stove, holding the unburned end in your hand. The other side was on fire. You held your arm out in front of you, then pressed the fire to your skin, doing your best to stifle the groans from the injury. Pulling the log away, the third-degree burn healed almost instantly as tissue, muscles, and skin grew back together. After showing him the display of your power, you put the log back in the stove. "I was never sick as a child. injured that should have resulted in broken bones never bothered me."

Logan watched you burn yourself and then heal almost instantly. He hadn't met anyone before who had the same healing rate as he did. What were the odds of meeting another mutant out in the middle of nowhere Montana?

"Can I show you what I can do?" He asked, watching your every moment with precision. As he watched you nod, he moved his right hand to cross in front of him. Slowly, the sound of moving metal filled the air as three long knife-like appendages emerged between his knuckles. You stared in a mix of awe and confusion. He smirked, then sliced the pad of his left hand, showing you his own healing rate.

What caught him off guard was how you began to approach him, though it was a slow approach. On instinct, he retracted his claws, the spaces where they had once been healing up. "Does it hurt?" You ask him, rubbing your own knuckles where the blades would have been.

He didn't know how to feel, knowing that the two of you were just strangers passing in the night. "Every damn time." His voice was above a whisper, as if afraid the tone of his voice would break the sound barrier.

Silent moments passed between the two of you, tension filling the air. He couldn't stand it anymore as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "I should really get going," he spoke, stepping around you. Dazed little you finally felt you weren't the only one anymore.

You turned around to face him as he approached your door. "You know, I have a shift at the diner tomorrow. Maybe you'll happen to forget your lunch and have to stop by the diner?"

He should say no. He should be grabbing his things and heading out of town as quickly as possible. He should put this place in his rearview mirror and forget anything that happened there. But the drum of your heartbeat spoke bigger volumes than his brain did.

"We'll see." He nodded, thanking you silently with a gesture of the shirt before leaving your cabin, and walking toward his truck. He needed out of there as quickly as possible. Another moment with you could have sent him into a coma. How beautiful you smelled, how kind you were. Even though you were quick to block him earlier and run away, you still let him into your home and offered him a simple reward for saving your life.

It was almost too intoxicating to think about. And the promise of tomorrow could never come any sooner.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

What do you think each of the crowd would smell like? Not to be creepy, I just want to smell like Inej Ghafa

Interesting question; I’m afraid that Inej canonically smells of nothing according to Kaz, except for during the bathroom scene when he says that she smells of the hotel soap she just used. Nina does say when on parem that the table where she healed Inej’s stab wound smells of her but it’s strongly implied that the parem gives her the ability to distinguish the scent of one person’s blood from another and it’s the leftover blood she can still smell even after the table has been cleaned and know that it was Inej’s blood.

Nina canonically smells of the perfume that’s used to falsely scent the White Rose’s flower arrangements at the start of Six of Crows, according to Matthias, and later on the Ferolind during the journey to Fjerda smells of the toffees she stashed and has been eating.

During Crooked Kingdom, Nina and Jesper (and Kuwei, if you’d like to include him) canonically smell of coffee because they’re wearing it all the time like perfume to hide from the possibility that the Kerghud soldiers can smell the difference between Grisha and otkazats’ya

That’s all the canon mentions of people’s scents that I can recall off the top of my head, but if anyone remembers any others let me know, and as for headcanons:

Wylan probably spends most of the books smelling of the chemicals he uses in his explosives, Kaz claims that the scent of smoke can cling to people’s shirt cuffs and I expect that would ring true for Wylan. Pre and post canon he probably smells of fancy soap and, if it exists in the Grishaverse, nice curl cream or other products that he uses on his hair, but even if that does exist in the Grishaverse I very much doubt he had access to it during canon.

Jesper most likely often smells of smoke and gunpowder, pre and maybe during canon he probably often had the smell of alcohol on his clothes as well, and perhaps post canon fancy soap and the tinge of engine oil.

The Barrel may smell terrible but that doesn’t mean Kaz has to reduce himself to it and he most definitely won’t; he probably smells of soap and leather most of the time, plus he clearly puts a lot of effort into his suits so you may be able to smell whatever they’ve been so well washed in. Also quite possibly blood. I’m now thinking maybe he would deliberately choose scentless soaps because I read a book where lingering perfume was recognised at a crime scene and he would want to avoid anything that might be recognisable.

We know for a fact that Hellgate was a disgusting smelling place with poor access to hygiene and clean water, but after he was freed I imagine Matthias became hyper aware of cleanliness because of this limited access to hygiene products and kept himself very neat and clean. He probably smells of soap most of the time. Pre canon I imagine there were pretty strict hygiene and general cleanliness rules for the Drüskelle so again he probably smelt quite clean, but also had something of the rugged air and cold Northern winds about him. He also may have had the scent of some kind of shampoo since he had very long hair that the smell would remain clinging to, but I expect that whatever he used was standardised amongst the Drüskelle.

At home Inej probably smelled of spices and perfumes and chalk, and at the Menagerie she probably smelled of cheap, overpoweringly strong perfume. It’s a combination of both of these factors that make me think she was actively choosing to avoid scent during the duology, hence Kaz saying “she didn’t even have a scent”, and choosing scentless soaps. Post canon she probably smells of salt and the sea most of the time, and would maybe pick up a scented soap every now again to practice testing her limits and branching out since we know she actively pushes herself with some of the smaller things like this that she finds difficult

Honestly I’m not sure if i have any particular headcanons about Nina, though I think she would avoid rose-scented perfume post canon

Thanks for the ask! This was pretty fun to think about <33

This has been another episode of DK Finally Gets It Together And Answers Her Asks Because It’s About Damn Time (Working Title), thank you for joining me, if you’d like to see the rest of the series you can find it in the tags or if that isn’t working (again 🤦‍♀️) then in my pinned post <3

[midnight-bay-if]

How would the Ro's react to finding out Mc who is hiding their injuries? (Say it's a bruise rib) the Ro's only found out bc they saw Mc slightly left up there shirt to check the rib. 🫢🫣

(One day, I will learn to do these nicely and quickly, haha.)

S: S sighs. They feel the exasperation pouring from their pores. You have yet to notice they have noticed, so they scrutinise from a distance. How long have you been doing this? It took Taj a great many lectures for them to learn keeping such things hidden only becomes a detriment in future endeavours. How are they supposed to place you in the most advantageous position in missions if they cannot factor in every variable? Wait, no. That isn't the issue. The issue is you're hurt.

Gently, they take hold of your wrist to keep you from pulling away. Then, they slowly raise your shirt. "You shouldn't do this. I understand you have been independent a very long time. Much too long. But there are people around to help you, now. Let us."

Rain: It hurts to see you hurt. It hurts more to see you hiding it. They aren't human like S; they don't know how serious such an injury could be, but they have learned enough to know it will take time to heal.

They broach the subject as delicately as they can: "MC, if you are hurt, it would be best to be seen by a doctor. It isn't wise to hide injuries. They could be more serious than you believe. I would hate if something were to happen to you."

Taj: Taj spots the bruise, and immediately, they are annoyed. "What is that?" They bark, pointing directly at the offending mark.

"It's nothing."

"Bullshit," they snap, irritating, causing their ears to twitch. "You humans always think you're so indestructible. Get it seen to, Koel, otherwise I'll make you suffer a long lecture from S. Then you will be sorry."

They reflect on their anger later on. It shames them a little; there must be a reason you insist on hiding those marks. It's something they understand well. But if the goal was to have you seen by a doctor... Well, that was achieved. So, job done.

N: It concerns them a little, though it would shame them to admit it. Once, with a click of their fingers, they could have snapped that bruise out of existence. Now, they roll their eyes as you desperately try to hide it.

"My dear, that pathetic display is doing you no favours. You should be resting. If you ask very nicely, I will even give you a massage..."

They try not to think too hard about why you insist on hiding such injuries. It wouldn't do to fall too deeply.

Umbra: They hate it. They see it, and they hate it. It isn't fair; it should be their bruise. You don't deserve to carry it.

With misty eyes, they take the hand holding up your shirt and replace it with theirs. "If we hadn't already dealt with the cause of this in that last fight; I would hunt them down all over again."

"I don't want you to hide, MC, but I know why you do."

[heartfullofleeches]

hiii i love you and your work 💕💕💕

i've had horrible brain rot over the immortal yan recently...but i forget his name lol

i do remember he is very orange though💀💀

anyway; what would his reaction be to someone else betraying reader? there was that one post of him basically saying that in order for reader to become immortal, he would have to hurt them horribly...but what if in the process of planning what he could do, or as he almost figured out how to make reader immortal without hurting them, someone ELSE betrayed them, what if it didn't make them immortal? what if it did? would he see it as luck, like 😟😲🫢🤭OH YAY I DONT HAVE TO KILL MY SPOUSE😁😁😁!!!!

also: could him and reader have children? obviously they could adopt but assuming they both had the necessary equipment to have a biological baby could they? would that baby be immortal? if no, or if they adopted a baby, how would they explain that they don't age?

also not only to the kids but also the neighbors, coworkers, teachers etc etc

could they learn sfx makeup and like make themselves age? do they just like disappear one day? do they move around a lot? is it just cartoon logic of ".....it just is that way 🤷🏽‍♀️ no one notices anything is off🤷🏽‍♀️"?

If Devlin's [who I'm 99.9 percent sure you're talking about] Darling was betrayed by someone else and became immortal as a result ol' Devi here would feel like he's won the lottery.

"Your loved one betray and/or murder you - the resulting grief and trauma leading you to become a zombie without all the rotting and hunger for brains? Me too, babes- Let's hit up a bowling alley."

He doesn't have to kill them and they're heartbroken? Jackpot. If Darling felt anything like he did when he was murdered/became immortal- Scared, Hurt, Lost, Alone- they'll be ripe for the picking when he comes along. All Devlin wanted for the first couple of decades he continued to walk the earth was someone like him that knew what he was going through. He hopes they feel the same way when he tells them they have a lot more in common now.

Devlin and Reader could have children, but you might want to wait another century before this dork is ready to be father material. A biological child between Devlin and Reader would not be immortal, but the would have an insanely sped up heal factor to wear things like broken bones would heal in the matter of days.

Devlni himself bounces from location to location when he gets bored or he's lived there long enough that people get suspicious that twenty something year old they say ten years ago looks the exact same. There is one town where a ton of weird shit happens that Devlin views as a vacation spot since it is nice to go to a place where everyone knows you and nobody gives a damn you don't age when there's wilder shit happening right across the street. If Reader and Dev had a kid the family might move there at least until the kid was a teen because if one more parent walks up to Devlin or Reader asking what's their secret to looking so young he's throwing hands.

[in1-nutshell]

I love your work and I was wondering if you could do the TFP autobots and deceptions reactions to a Spider- man/woman/person buddy. Either Romantic or platonic if possible :) have a nice day/night and remover to look after yourself ☺️

Thank you for the compliments! Compliments are very much apprenticed! the Cons section is a bit shorter, only because I feel like the Con's would try and kill Buddy on sight because of Arachnid. Lets see how the Bots and Cons fair with Spider Buddy with their powers and shenanigans.

Hope you enjoy!

Autobots and Decepticons reaction to Spider Buddy

SFW, platonic, some mentions of violence of Con's part but nothing graphic or detailed, Spider reader

TFP

Optimus Prime

Oh.

This is new. Buddy has to sit down with him so he can properly understand what is happening.

He is a bit unsettled by the webbing at first but comes to terms that it is a thing Buddy does and it becomes the new normal for him.

“Buddy, I know you enjoy swinging around the base. But if you can please refrain from webbing our frames?”--Optimus

“Got it Optimus!”—Buddy

Buddy demonstrated their ability to climb and stick to the walls by climbing and standing on the ceiling. He was just on edge and ready to catch them if they ever fell. But he is also amazed at Buddy’s powers.

He discovered their strength when Raf accidentally slipped a controller under the couch and Buddy casually lifted the couch with Miko and Jack on it with one hand and grabbed the remote and tossed it to Raf.

“Agent Fowler?”--Optimus

“Prime?”--Fowler

“Is it normal for a human to lift up a couch with other humans on it single handedly?”--Optimus

“Not if they have steroids. Why?”--Fowler

“…”--Optimus

Ratchet

Buddy nearly gave him a spark attack when they showed their power. To be fair Buddy was trying to explain them, but he wasn’t paying attention. So, they web one of his tools and hold it proudly above their head single handedly.

“You need this Ratchet?”--Buddy

“Thank—What! How are you doing that!?”--Ratchet

Ratchet nearly has the attack right there.

He gets very interested in the levels of dexterity and strength the webbings have. He won’t conduct any test on Buddy, not even if he had their permission. He does want to know everything he can about the webbing’s utilities.

“What else can you do with it?”--Ratchet

“Hmmm… Oh! I can shoot long distance web balls! Watch!”--Buddy

Buddy throws a random web ball behind their back.

THWAP!

“BBBBBBEEEEEPPPPPP! (PRIMUS! WHAT IS THIS STUFF! GET IT OFF ME!)--Bumblebee

 He also wants to know if there is any medical thing he should know about. He wants to know so he can be ready to help when they get hurt.

“You don’t need to be worried about that Ratchet. I have a fast-healing factor.”--Buddy

“Did I ask?”--Ratchet

“Well—”--Buddy

“No, I didn’t. I don’t care if your healing factor is faster than a speedster-on-speedster circuits. Now where are the bandages?”--Ratchet

Bumblebee

He remembers the comic hero that Buddy’s powers are slightly based off. He watches a lot of superhero media on TV with Raf and the kids. He is a fan of the powers.

Of course, he found about their webbing the hard way…

“BBBBBBEEEEEPPPPPP! (PRIMUS! WHAT IS THIS STUFF! GET IT OFF ME!)--Bumblebee

“Bee! Stop moving! I’m trying to help!”--Buddy

“BEEEP BEEEEEPP! (WHAT IS THIS!? DID THIS COME OUT OF YOU!?)--Bumblebee

Buddy has scared him multiple times. Buddy has the bad habit of swinging and landing on his shoulder. He does get used to it as time goes on.

He finds it cool that Buddy can pick up stuff that shouldn’t be possible for an average person to pick up.

He does worry about them overexerting themselves though, he always reminds Buddy to take some things easier.

“Pass me the couch.”--Buddy

“Bep. (No.)”--Bumblebee

Arcee

Flashbacks…

One of the longest to warm up to Buddy’s powers. She is fine with Buddy as a person. But their powers…they remind her too much of Arachnid.

Freaked out seeing the webs the first time.

“Jack! Why are you webbed up? Oh, Primus it was Arachnid! She’s here! Hold—”--Arcee

“Nah ‘Cee that was me.”--Buddy

“…What?”--Arcee

“You see Jack over here wanted to see how useful his dull knife in his Swiss army tool kit was. So, I gave him a challenge.”--Buddy

“Yeah. That’s my bad Arcee.”--Jack

“…”--Arcee

“…Arcee?”--Jack

“…I think I involuntarily gave her Vietnam flashbacks…”--Buddy

She does get used to it after some time.

She finds Buddy’s strength cool but doesn’t like to test it. Who knows where buddy’s limit is? What if they accidentally hit it, what would happen then? She doesn’t want to know.

“Hey Arcee, can you pass—”--Buddy

“I’m not passing you the couch.”--Arcee

Smokescreen

He thinks that Buddy’s powers are so cool!

Absolutely eggs them on to do more tricks.

“I’m going to jump!”--Buddy

“BEEP! (Don’t!)--Bumblebee

“Do a flip!”--Smokescreen

Definite instigator. He asks so many questions about Buddy’s powers that Buddy can’t keep up with all of them. So as a compromise Buddy set a limit for questions per day.

“Hey Buddy, how can—”--Smokescreen

“You used your last question 2 hours ago Smokey.”--Buddy

“But—”--Smokescreen

“Wait until tomorrow.”--Buddy

Definitely wants to know how much can Buddy carry. He can never get Buddy to do just enough because someone always comes in when things get interesting.

“Smokescreen have you seen Jackie? I’ve been—BUDDY!”--Bulkhead

“Hi Bulk! I haven’t seen Wheeljack—”--Smokescreen

“Forget that! Help Buddy!”--Bulkhead

“They’re fine. Right Buddy?”--Smokescreen

Buddy holding the couch, TV, and the kids with one hand giving a thumbs up.

Bulkhead

Oh, more flashback!

He doesn’t have good memories with Arachnid just like Arcee, but they aren’t as bad as hers.

He does find the webbing to be weird. Cool, but weird.

Buddy webbing a can of soda and drinking it.

“How did you get so good at catching it?”--Bulkhead

“Oh, I wasn’t always good. But I got better with time. It only took The Curling Iron incident for me to really get the hang of it.”--Buddy

“What incident?”--Bulkhead

“Not important.”—Buddy

He holds out about Buddy’s strength when he nearly fell on one of ratchet’s equipment again bit was stopped mid fall when Buddy webbed his back and was holding him steady.

“Hey Bulkhead, if you don’t mind, can you please get your footing right? This isn’t exactly the most comfortable position ever.”--Buddy

“HOW ARE YOU EVEN DOING THIS!”--Bulkhead

Wheeljack

This goes in the list of weird things Wheeljack has seen, but he likes this.

Like Ratchet, he becomes fascinated by the dexterity of the webbing. But also, on Buddy’s physical strength.

“So, you stopped Bulkhead from falling using these webs?”--Wheeljack

“Yep!”--Buddy

“Do you think it can hold Ultra Magnus down for 5 minutes?”--Wheeljack

“Hypothetically, yes? It should… why?”--Buddy

“… I think we both know…”—Wheeljack

He helps Buddy with their acrobatics. He is always hyper vigilant in case Buddy looks like they are going to get hurt.

“C’mon Jackie toss me higher!”--Buddy

“Any higher you’ll be eating the ceiling.”--Wheeljack

“Like I haven’t done that 27 times.”--Buddy

“…That’s oddly specific.”--Wheeljack

“Don’t question it.”--Buddy

Ultra Magnus

He is not prepared.

Like Optimus Buddy has to sit down with him to talk about their powers so he can fully understand. He understands for the most part. So now all that needs to happen is the demonstrations.

“These are my webbings.”--Buddy

“Interesting.”—Ultra Magnus

“I can do all sorts of things with them. For example, throw them.”--Buddy

Throws a web ball randomly behind them.

THWAP!

“BEEEEEEEPPP BEEEP BEEEEEPPP! (NOT AGAIN! BUDDY! HOW MANNY TIMES ARE YOU GOING TO DO THIS!)--Bumblebee

He finds out about Buddy’s strength the hard way. He had gotten in the crossfire of a game of lobbing and was falling backwards from the force of the ball. He is fully expected to land hard on the ground, but he doesn’t he is inches away from the floor.

“Hey Mags? As much as I would love to keep holding you, can you please get up?”--Buddy

“BY THE ALLSPARK HOW ARE YOU NOT DEAD!?”—Ultra Magnus

“I have no idea. Made it this far on pure accidents.”--Buddy

Megatron

He doesn’t like Buddy.

“Pest.”--Megatron

“Bucket head.”--Buddy

They remind him too much of the traitor Arachnid. He might send other bots to dispose of them. He lets go of that seeing as Buddy always comes back to the Nemesis.

They become the equivalent of an annoying stray that comes by your house at 3 am asking for food.

“Hmmm… its quiet... too quiet…”--Megatron

“Hey Bucket head! You had your daily dose of space meth!?”--Buddy

“For the last time! It’s called Dark Energon!”--Megatron

“All I hear is space meth!”—Buddy

Starscream

He really doesn’t like them.

“Insolent Fleshling.”--Starscream

“Whiney-wannabe-toddler.”--Buddy

Like many others, he is reminded of Arachnid, too much. He has tried to kill Buddy before, but Buddy is too fast and nimble for him. Buddy now has a grudge against him and purposely webs his pedes together at the most inconvenient times.

“Now! Rise my fellow Decepticons! Rise with the new age of Starscream the—”--Starscream

Wham!

“I hate that human so much…”--Starscream

Knockout and Breakdown

It was near death on sight.

“Hey! Hey! Calm down!”--Buddy

“Kill it!”--Breakdown

“Rude!”--Buddy

But after some explanation, the pair realize that Buddy is nothing like Arachnid. They have to sit down for another explanation on Buddy’s powers though. Buddy has made it their mission to protect their new friends from Arachnid.

The pair thinks it is a joke.

It’s not.

“I pushed the spider off of the ship.”--Buddy

“Oh, that’s nice.”--Knockout

Later.

“Knockout! I heard from some Vehicons that Arachnid fell off of the ship!”--Breakdown

Sudden realization

“Oh, boy…”—Knockout

Soundwave

Child. Must have child.

Buddy is now an honorary cassette after they webbed Arachnid and Starscream into a closet.

Soundwave looking at the loud closet. Walks away like nothing happened.

He doesn’t mind Buddy swinging around and their webbing, it’s just an organic thing they do. Yes, he sat down for Buddy to explain everything. He now has a file exclusively just for Buddy’s things. He is willing to protect his new friend against all Con threats on the Nemesis.

Buddy is his now.

“Operation: Buddy safety”

“Arachnid: Threat must be neutralized.”

Dreadwing

He doesn’t mind Buddy being there.

Sees Buddy swinging off a ledge.

“I question where my allegiances are sometimes…”--Dreadwing

He kind of ignores them while they are on the ship. He isn’t that rude though; he’ll acknowledge that they are there maybe a quick chat on what’s happening on the ship but that’s about it.

“I heard that Arachnid fell off of the ship a few days ago…”--Dreadwing

“Oh no, anyways…”—Buddy

He doesn’t bother Buddy; Buddy doesn’t bother him.

Win-win.

Shockwave

He doesn’t know that Buddy exists.

Why?

Because he doesn’t come out of his lab.

And, because Soundwave, Knockout and Breakdown don’t want him to meet Buddy.

“Why can’t I meet him again?”--Buddy

“I prefer our conversations to happen when you’re not getting dissected on a filthy table.”--Knockout

They firmly believe that Shockwave would dissect their friend in the name of science.

And that he would.

Predaking

He hasn’t had enough time to officially meet Buddy.

Mainly because Buddy is so small and Predaking doesn’t really acknowledge them. They are weak and frail like any other human.

Sees Buddy walking down the hall, turns around and walks away from the ‘filth’.

He does know that Buddy is an enemy to Starscream after witnessing Buddy web his pedes to the ground. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?

Maybe he would try and strike a conversation in the future.

Arachnid

As much as she loves another fellow spider.

She is going to hunt down Buddy.

Which is tough luck for her because Buddy always seems to know where she is at and at time used her own webs against her.

“When I get my servos on you—”--Arachnid

“You mean IF you get them on me, you evil robotic knockoff.” --Buddy

She is making it her goal to have Buddy’s head on a pike in her trophy room.

[crowntism]

Sometimes things that are cliche are good, actually.

Leshy/reader and Kallamar/reader (I figured these two would be the most likely to fight lmao)

(THIS GOT LONGER THAN I INTENDED FOR IT TO I'M SO SORRY.)

You were a healer, or as close to one as you could be. You had some knowledge of diseases and injuries and the Lamb was more than happy to put you to work so they weren't the only one healing others.

You healed anybody in the cult regardless of who they were in the past, and though you were terrified of the minibosses and witnesses you were dutiful in your work.

You were never expecting to heal a former bishop though.

Leshy was the first one you met, as he constantly injured himself by running into things or tripping. He was an absolute terror in the medical tent, refusing to stay still and actively hissing at you when you tried to put salve on his injuries.

He only started respecting you when you had managed to pin the worm down and snarl at him that if he acted out one more time you would rip his leafy coverage out one by one.

Leshy still very much acts out when its the Lamb treating him, but he sits so nicely for you.

Leshy also often brings you lil knickknacks and cool stuff he finds, visiting the medical tent even if he isn't injured or ill and shirking his duties. He makes no indication he actually likes you in any way aside from the fact he doesn't immediately start knocking shit off the shelf like when its the Lamb in the tent.

Kallamar is the next bishop you meet, and he required a vast majority of your attention. The blue crown had made him immune to illnesses and now that he was without it his immune system was extremely weak.

It took days before you could relax and he wasn't on the brink of death, with even the Lamb being exhausted from fetching camellia endlessly.

You weren't entirely sure what to make of Kallamar at first, as when the Lamb was there he was quiet and subdued, but as soon as the Lamb left he'd become demanding and bratty.

He constantly demanded better bedding, complaining it was too hot or too cold, whined about how drab and dreary the medical tent was and it could've used more decoration. All sorts of asinine comments.

It wasn't until you snapped the wooden bowl you were eating from in half did he get the memo to behave.

Once he realized he wasn't a god anymore and couldn't really command anybody around he finally calmed down entirely. He wasn't polite or "nice" by any means, but it was leagues better than how he behaved at first.

Unlike with Leshy, who pretty much crushes on you right after you snap at him, Kallamar takes far longer to gain any affection for you. It takes months of Kallamar getting ill and you caring for him before he even considers you a non threat.

Its during one of his worse illnesses does that affection start to fully bloom. Where he has an extreme fever and can barely keep his eyes open. Every time he returns to consciousness, you're there fretting over him. Ensuring he doesn't dry out or become dehydrated, double checking that he's tucked in cozy, chasing out his siblings that visit if they get too loud. He's never felt so cared for in his life and it flusters him.

He avoids you for a few weeks after that but soon returns like nothing happened.

Leshy and Kallamar aren't aware of the others feelings until they both end up in the medical tent at the same time. Leshy is the one who picks up on it first, as without his eyesight he has become sensitive to other factors. He can sense the changes in his cowardly brother as you treat his wounds, and Kallamar can see the way his chaotic brother avoids twitching or moving as you disinfect his injuries.

They try to avoid petty fights within the medical tent, as they both know you wouldn't hesitate to kick them out. Instead they try their best to be the best damned helpers in the god damn world.

Leshy accompanies you to Darkwood to find camellias, stating he knows the best places to find them (he does). Kallamar on the other hand helps out in the tent itself, as he was the Bishop of Pestilence and therefor- has intensive knowledge on the diseases he wrought.

Gifts aren't really something either consider as you practically live in the medical tent and hate having clutter in there, so any gifts they'd get you are practical in nature.

Kallamar begs and pleads the Lamb to get you a specific book from Shamura's old temple, a book he knows you'd love as its about rare illnesses.

And Leshy finds you rare herbs and ingredients for medicine as gifts.

Their rivalry isn't that violent or extreme, as it is just brotherly fighting, but they still get on your nerves sometimes.

Neither brother even notice when you start spending more time with Shamura.

[mikashida]

u seem like u have a lot of wolverine headcanons pls ... 🤲

you've enabled my rambling just know that you did this to yourself. I do also wanna quickly disclaimer I've not read many of the x men let alone wolverine comics so idk how much of this *is* canon or has been mentioned, I was raised by people who thought comics were evil and would "Turn Me Gay" so I only got to watch the movies because obviously movies can't turn you gay (they did)

most of these are kinda depressing the only funny one is the first one

for like General Headcanons that would apply to all variants i 10000% believe the gruff gravelly voice is fake and he just Does That intentionally. I'm not saying his voice isn't deep but the whole like "ruruuuhughgh. im trhe best at what i do but what i do best aint very nice hnrnrghh..." is overplayed. so when he gets nervous or caught off guard his voice raises like at least half an octave. to illustrate what I mean here's a cutscene from the origins game

I also think he tries to drink to slow his healing factor and not necessarily to get buzzed. this is pretty much canon in Logan, but even outside of that canon he's very often been shown to at Least be fascinated by the idea of being mortally wounded if not genuinely suicidal at times and i imagine drinking consistently kinda fucks with that. like let's say he's physically harmed while intoxicated i figure it would probably hurt more/heal slower than it would if he was sober if that makes sense.

to continue with that i think he's tried to kill himself a lot and not in the funny way that deadpool does (like when he shoots himself in the game to get out of a conversation with colossus lmfao) (not saying that deadpool hasnt Genuinely tried to either though) probably doesn't bother anymore but imagine being like fuckin 20 years old and you cant die and you have So Much ptsd and no way to deal with it because its the fucking 1800s

i generally think his ptsd affects him a lot more than the movies and comics let on, which I understand because it's not easy to write when you don't have experience with it. I think it was written really well in deadpool and wolverine though, I am very tired of the perfect victim trope and I like that this logan is actually. kind of a horrible person (I have more headcanons about that but I will stop with this one). he failed his world and that made him the man that saved the universe, but that doesn't cancel out his wrongdoings, and now that he has people in his life again he has a responsibility to do better for those around him

tldr wolverine has issues and i want to make them worse

[defilerwyrm]

Hey, trans guy here, and while I’m not personally interested in getting bottom surgery, I am interested in writing t4t erotica involving guys who have. Do you have any writing tips on that front or just stuff you wanna see from what I imagine is a pretty underserved niche?

Howdy and that’s awesome!

One thing that would be cool to see represented: not everyone who gets bottom surgery is a top! I’m sure not, though strangely my interest in playing that role has increased since I had the work done. You can be the biggest anal queen this side of Pornhub and still get bottom surgery. Only makes sense, right—if we can accept that having a dick doesn’t automatically make a cis man a top, the same is also true of trans men & transmascs.

Some things about a healed-up phallo dick from my experience, under a cut:

The head is VERY sensitive, and the base is very sensitive. Everything in between that has erotic sensation but in an “Mm that’s nice” kinda way until you add pressure too. Once it’s healed up, it is definitely possible to orgasm from stimulating it. How long that takes will vary, though. I was told it might be up to a year, but I have a crazy healing factor and had it back in like 2-3 months.

If you couldn’t successfully kill the hair follicles on a permanent basis via electrolysis and/or laser prior to surgery, there’ll be hair. (It’s not THAT weird. Plenty of cis men out there have hair on their shafts too!)

If you had a tattoo on your donor site, you’ve got a tattoo on your dick now, lol. It might be unrecognizable depending on where it was originally (especially on the inner wrist/forearm).

There’s a scar up the underside right in the middle and all around the base. The scar up the middle of your scrotum will look similar enough to the natural seam of an OEM scrotum that it’s not really notable.

The scrotum won’t have all the wrinkles an OEM one does at rest.

No foreskin, more’s the pity, but the head looks VERY much like a circumcised OEM penis once it’s healed.

Different donor sites tend to produce different results. The non-dominant forearm is preferred because they take a stretch of nerve with it and it’ll typically have the least subcutaneous fat, so you tend to get the best sensation and shape. With the back or thigh, bigger guys might end up with a Coke can cock, which cis men THINK they want but it’s a different story when it’s always that size.

Yep, it’s always the same size. Which means you’ve got something the size of an average-for-your-height erection at all times.

Without an implant, it’s quite floppy as you can imagine. If you manspread at all, you might have to shake a leg out when you stand up ‘cause your dick’ll go between your thighs, and you’ll notice real quick as soon as you start walking. Masturbation can be awkward depending on how you do it, but “double bagging” (wearing two condoms at once) will keep it stiff enough to top.

There are two types of implants you can get: a flexible rod made of silver encased in biostatic silicone that gets sutured to your pubic bone to make sure it stays in place (how metal is that?!), or an inflatable rod that has a pump & release in the scrotum. Look for “erectile dysfunction implant” if you’re researching these. With the former, you basically always have an erection, but it’s posable; not great if you wear a lot of Speedos, as my surgeon put it. With the latter, you choose when it stands up and when it lies down. These implants, along with testicular implants for those who get them, are always done at least 6-9 months after the initial surgery.

Recovery can be rough. I took 3 months off work and needed it. The first two and a half weeks were the worst because I had a suprapubic catheter in, and dear gods I hated being cathed. Felt like I had to pee at all times, even right after emptying the bag. Worth it, though, absolutely worth it.

If you do radial arm flap, you’ll end up with two scars aside from the ones on your groin: a rectangular graft that goes most of the way around (NOT all the way around; that leads to necrosis!) the forearm from the wrist to about halfway to the elbow; and a less-obvious rectangular scar shaped like an open book on the top of one thigh where they take a split-thickness (meaning, only part of the way down) skin donation for your arm graft. The graft is pretty obvious, especially if you’re chubby, but my leg scar is extremely subtle and continues to get fainter as my skin cycles itself out.

The graft will be forever hairless.

People will probably glance at the graft, and they might stare if they’re rude, but in the…what’s it been, almost two years I’ve had it, exactly one person has actually asked about it and that was when it was still fresh and extra gnarly-looking. I told her “It’s a graft, it’s not as bad as it looks” and there were no follow-up questions.

Because there’s nerve harvested from the inside of the forearm, sensation comes to the penis faster than it comes to the graft. The cut nerve DOES regrow! But for the first…I’d say 6-9 months? Ish? I could only feel pressure on the tissue UNDER the graft. Sensation is still duller there, but at this point I can feel temperature, moisture, and texture well enough.

Recovery includes physical therapy for the donor arm. The more you move that wrist early and consistently, the less stiff it will be when it heals. I’ll never be able to touch my thumb to my wrist again, but I also can’t do that on the right either now, so I think that’s more to do with my age than the surgery (I used to be a lot more hypermobile, but I am no longer a spring chicken).

Learning to pee standing up is a messy affair that involves cleaning the toilet and doing laundry a lot. Once you’ve got it down, though, it’s pretty awesome.

Chasers will now ghost me the instant they find out I am not biologically available to be their sexual experiment.

There are a LOT of other options for bottom surgery, but I only have passing familiarity with them based on hearing firsthand accounts and what I learned from my surgeon. Personally, I weighed meta vs phallo heavily; being able to get a natural erection with meta or Centurion was a very attractive prospect, but it just doesn’t produce a size that I would find satisfying in terms of my own self-image, so I went with phallo. There was never a question in my mind as to wanting vaginectomy with it. Beyond the unbelievable convenience of being able to pee standing up without an STP device, I fuckin’ HATED my front hole, and I REALLY hated being pressured about having things done to it (mostly by cis men, but not always) all the time.

[lorata]

any particular ideas about the victors and empathy? like are there any that are low/no empathy, or any that are hyperempathetic? it would be interesting to see how empathy or lack thereof would impact their experiences/images both before, during, and after their games (even if panem probably doesn't have a very good understanding of what that entails from a psychology perspective lol)

a fun thing is that both Selene and Petra are low/no empathy, which makes them a fascinating pair. Petra knows she's missing something early and so outsources her sense of right & wrong to The Rules while Selene just does not care and this is a source of conflict for the two of them quite often.

Selene bases her morality around You Are Annoying Me, Personally whereas Petra's is You Have Broken The Rules This Is Bad And Unfair And Wrong which is why they drive each other up the wall

at their first kill tests Selene doesn't feel guilty. she vaguely thinks she should? but she doesn't, and they're here to kill, so, oh well. Petra asks her victim what she did, learns she did something bad, and is like, all right then, I'm good. they have a chat after Selene's about how neither felt bad and it's the one time they're both weirdly sympatico

both Selene and Petra have images that are slightly ... off/wild/feral, in no small part due to this. Selene they have to constantly remind her to pull it back or she'll go full villain (ha ha OH WELL given that she kills her district partner immediately but Misha knows). Petra's original was a bit more on the like ..... off-putting aloof killer vibe, similar to Clove, but with the maces she never got to pull that out so she had to go for the nymphomaniac over the top angle instead.

post-Games it's easy to keep things from Petra re: the state of the world until things explode because she just doesn't think about it. she has enough to deal with re: her own healing and constantly getting re-traumatized and all that nonsense that she doesn't have the mental energy to put towards things like oh what is it like for the districts or the other victors or is the only person who's nice to me actually doing this as part of a giant machiavellian scheme. it all falls apart in canon divergence once she has time to really sit and wrestle with those questions? but boy it takes some time and work and the others (particularly the younger ones) have some choice words for her in the meantime

Callista is also very low empathy, this (ahem) very clearly factored into her image & strategy. She does not care about the other districts and she says what she wants and if you get offended that's on you. Now mind you, while Calli has low empathy and her circle is small, IF you are inside that circle her compassion level is extremely high. Calli knows that Nero is hurting and she wants to do many, many murders on his behalf. She is very angry that she cannot. Ditto with her tributes, most of whom are similarly villainized by the narrative which is part of the reason she keeps choosing them anyway. In the AUs where she does manage to land either Creed or Alec she doesn't get what they're feeling half the time but she will help them regardless and god help anyone who tries to stand between them.

on the flip side we have Devon and Alec, who are both on the hyper-empathy end of things. Devon is able to control and use his fairly well, both in the Games and beyond; Alec has much more trauma and tends to be paralyzed by it for a lot longer before finally managing to work through things as an adult. part of Alec's problem is being unable to make his own decisions or justify his emotions

ironically Claudius is also very high on empathy but has no idea for a long time given that his specific cocktail of trauma and rage responses resulted in him lashing out and hurting people, so his whole "i'm a monster" thing dug in pretty deep and he withdraws. post-games though he can't help it and it lands him in trouble fairly quickly since he can't stop THINKING about other people and it sends him straight to treason town before he's even finished his victory tour, lol. post-canon divergence he winds up being like ... a teen counsellor for ex-centre kids which is the last thing he thought he'd be doing, but there you go. funny enough Eibhlin is the first person to tell him that he's high empathy and he doesn't believe her. but one of the reasons he's so good at 'mentoring' Selene is his ability to get inside her head before she even knows her own feelings really

in general while they don't have official vocab for it the Centre definitely IDs kids who have high empathy and/or compassion and has ways to decentralize that, whether it's giving them a cause or comfort in the rules or helping to carefully dissociate what they do from who they are. for the kids on the other end it's more a question of managing that line so they don't go too far.

[packsvlog]

Hey there lovely! I hope your weekend is going very well 🥰

I love your blog, I was wondering if I could also have a matchmake please?

- as for appearance, I am short (about 5’1”) and on the plus size side (🙈) and I pretty much hate that about myself lol

- i live for making people happy. That’s what gives my life a purpose

- I smile a lot, not because i am that happy but i believe that it can brighten someone’s day if I greet them with a smile

- i am huge on kindness. I don’t see it as a weakness, I think the world is desperately in need of kindness so I’m trying to fill that role

- I am a team leader but big on considering the human factor in all decisions

- I’ve been struggling with depression for over 2 years but I worked very hard to get out of it 💪

- I am an introvert but I get to be the goofiest extrovert once I am comfortable around someone

- I love to crochet and make anime sketches

- i am absolutely addicted to pancakes

- and Nutella

- i hate summer and i LOVE autumn and winter and cold weather

- I have a master’s in psychology

I hope i was not too boring with all these facts, again I love your blog 🥰🥰🥰

hello, angel! you seem such a nice person, i hope your kindness always stay present and you may heal of your depression, just as me, reach if you ever need anyone to talk! 🤍 ps: sorry for only one pairing, i’ll be doing this from time to time unless i get confused on pairings — i have other works to post and the matchmakings are for fun, hope u guys understand.

✶ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: kamo choso

Despite all the negative weight of the world, you still have hope, something Choso learned when he first was introduced to you. He knew, in that moment of first seeing your smile, he would be a hopelessly mess by your side, in the positive way.

Choso may not look like it, but he shares the same ideals as you. Not for the whole world, but for those he care the most, their happiness is his goals to achieve — your name is inked with hearts on the top of his priority list.

So, Choso first catch you staring down at yourself, your body, and it’s not something he can understand. Bodies are unimpressive to him, let’s be real, his brothers weren’t the most normal looking ones and the love he had for them went beyond anything. He doesn’t understand your hate for yourself, specially being you, a gentle happy person. Choso tries to help, in his best naive way, he bluntly tells you how pretty you are everyday. He may seems stoic, is that he much prefers to compliment your soul, but you know he means it all.

Choso wasn’t used to smile much until he became your little shadow, wherever you go, he follows. And if you smile, he smiles at you. But if you leave, his face is back to a neutral one or with a scowl. He is adorable. Sometimes, though, if his mind is elsewhere, he is by your side with an angry resting face and your happy self talking with someone, is quite a scene to be presented.

You love to speak of the goods of the world to him, and he loves to listen to it. He believes in your capability to change it all for the better, it rubs to him and he catches himself being gentle to strangers, helping the ones who are in need — he always runs back to you telling what he did, like a puppy waiting for praises, and you better grant him.

Choso first learned of your depression just months after you started to date, you had to explain very detailed what it’s like for him, and it broke his heart into multiple pieces — how could someone good and pure have a burden like that? He helps, as best as he can, as far as you let him go, what Choso wants its to be your safe harbor, the lightning house in the middle of your storms and waves. If you allow him, is not something you would regret.

You both are the introverted couple, sitting by the side, in your own world and conversations. Yuuji is your extroverted adopted child, basically. He adores you, he is the one to order your food when the three of you go out, just happy to be with you guys. Adorable.

There are many coins in the prospects of having a boyfriend who just sprouted of nowhere — you can gift him anything and it will be his first time having that, or you can have him tasting your favorites, again, for the first time.

You present Choso with an immense amount of crotchets of large jumpers in pastel colors and scarfs big enough for him to hide his mouth, an habit of his you find adorable. He wears whatever you give him, so cute this broad large male with an angry face wearing a pink sweater with proud.

That’s the best way to describe Choso, he is proud of you to an extent you have barely an idea of how big it is, his love for you reach beyond this world, and yours as well. How odd it seems, one could say, that a half curse could repent and be in love with a blessing.

────〃✿ FUN FACTS.

◛ ₊· Choso was introduced to pancakes and nutella by you, he does not have a sweet tooth, but he likes to eat it because it’s your favorite. Every time he senses your depression is growing stronger, he makes pancakes stuffed with nutella for you.

◛ ₊· When you told him of you psychology masters he was intrigued, and as soon as you explained he asked if he could do the same — you both are now making the preparations for his documents so he can start college soon (all payed by Gojo, of course).

◛ ₊· Choso likes to stare at you. Just stare, blank face, mouth shut. At first it scared you, until you noticed his eyes. He couldn’t mask or hide the love he held in his eyes.

◛ ₊· If you try to do the same and stare at him, he will get flustered.

[ch1meraa]

Very much a work in progress, but really happy with how this turned out. It was inspired by an rp I’m doing with a friend. Lena made Victor angry, he’s only just out of surgery after donating parts to save his Cybertronian partner’s life.

While he’s not one for lowering himself to hurt anyone weaker than himself, he still absolutely totalled his computer and some equipment in his lab. Here’s the rp excerpt below;

Enjoy~

Vic (C) me.

———

Lena looked washed out, and stressed as she stormed down to the med-bay, her heels echoing after like the frantic beating of a stricken bird’s wings. With her pen clutched in her fist, her jaw clenched, she felt her anger rising and she tried to imagine what was going to happen before it did. Victor would be lucky if he made it through the next half hour without getting a slap or *worse*.

When Lena got to the med-bay, she stormed the doors with the ferocity of a wild-cat, and her gaze fell immediately upon the ridiculous sight before her. Sky’s unmoving body exactly where it had lain for probably 10 days or so by now. Victor however, was nowhere to be seen. He’d been here, though. Lena closed in on the berth, like a wasp circling food. She saw the IV bags, various pain medications on the table nearby. Had he gone back to the lab? He better had. Lena scoffed to herself at the thought of him limping around in his half-dead state and it took the edge off of her frustration at not getting to yell at him while he was still in bed.

Lena didn’t hang around. She headed straight for the lab, convinced that he’d be there.

—-

Victor was not at the lab. He knew that’s where Lena would find him, and he knew that she’d find out what he’d done, sooner or later. As soon as he felt able enough, he’d gone to his room. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel as terrible as he’d expected, perhaps it was the intrinsic healing factor in his blood, or was it something else? He’d noticed that he felt unusual since he’d woken up, a strange mix of nervousness and nausea that came in waves. The pain wasn’t terrible, either. Vic wanted some proper rest and to avoid everyone for a while, he just didn’t want to be fussed and he didn’t feel like talking. He just wanted to get showered and shaved and feel less like the greasy mess he was. Every now and then, he’d move too quickly and feel a weird twinge deep in his chest, or feel his heart pound for seemingly no reason. It wasn’t scary, but it did make him feel anxious. A nice shave seemed to take the edge off, but it didn’t quieten the noise in his head. He tried not to think about Sky, because it was starting to really get to him. The weight of failure was crushing. What if the surgery had just made her condition worse? What if she died? His hands were shaking, and he swore as the razor slipped, a thin streak of purple blood just under his jaw. The pain was sweet, though. It instantly took his mind off of Sky.

Feeling better now that he was clean, Vic went to roll a smoke and get a coffee. He heard his phone ping several times, heard it buzz as he ignored the calls. Fuck Lena. He would deal with her when he felt like it. As time was wearing on, and he was losing the will to live, he was starting to become increasingly despondent. He didn’t care about his job anymore. What was the point of living if only to be used, abused and always chasing forgiveness? He hadn’t seen the Terrans, or Alex, in months. Marc and May’s jobs seemed as precarious as Vic’s life was here, at any moment the rug might be pulled from under them all. He wondered, did they too begrudge him? Was he a burden on them, like he was on everyone else who got close to him? He contemplated it all in absolute silence. Whilst he smoked, he found himself hunting down old pictures of himself. He only had a few. Some pics of him as a kid, and as a young adult. He wore a smile in every photo. There were none of him as an adult, aside from a single military photo - but he blended in, along with other men whose faces all wore the same hard expression. Many of them were dead now. Some of them had been his close friends. He hated how wasted his best years had been, despite his intellect and potential. He really hadn’t done anything he’d wanted to do, except play the part because it was expected of him. He did it more to hide the fact he was afraid. How could he be the hero he’d always wanted to be seen as, if he was always scared? He always felt out of his depth in the military, like a bird swept out to sea. He was just along for the ride.

He threw the photos down like unwanted post, like they didn’t matter. He wasn’t that man anymore. He knew he’d have to head to the lab soon, so he grabbed his phone, seeing a barrage of texts from Marc and May. He sent a text to their chat group, to let them know he was on his way.

> Vic. Lena’s here and she’s waiting for you. We can’t get rid of her. Are you alright???

> I’m fine. Needed some space. I’m on my way now.

—-

He was barely a day out of cardiac surgery and he was already having to prepare for battle. Grabbing his phone, keys and his baccy tin, he headed down to the lab, yawning and definitely in no rush. He was so bored of the control device project. He was tired of repeatedly asking for specimens, and Lena’s demand for him to pick up the pace. Truth be told, he had *no* intention of delivering on his promise. He’d make the device, but he wasn’t going to make it work like she wanted. Then there was Shockwave hanging around, his intentions were completely unclear. And Megatron still wanted to see him. As much as it pained him to imagine how *that* was going to go, he was curious as to what he’d learn. Or did Megatron simply want revenge?

Vic had been miles away in his mind, and he walked into the lab having almost forgotten the chaos that awaited him. Almost as soon as he stepped around the door, Lena flew over to him, having to crane her neck up at him as he shot an equally scathing glance down at her.

“Been hiding have you, Meridian!? Figures. You know *exactly* how badly you’ve fucked up. Show me what you’ve done. I need to make a note of the damage.”

Victor had walked right past her, beelining for his desk in the hopes she’d just leave him alone if he made himself look busy. He felt her grab his flesh arm, nails digging in as she tried to stop him. She was disgusted at herself for having to even touch him, but the shock of it had the desired effect. She looked at the stapled up wound, callously photographing it with her phone without his permission and as quickly as possible. She looked absolutely furious. Her usually perfectly sleek, scooped back hairstyle now looked so full of static, it was as though someone had plugged her in to the national grid. She stared up at Victor like a sparrowhawk about to pounce on prey. Her lips quivered from the anticipation of scolding him, and she tried not to run over herself with her own words, as the venom that ensued with them was overwhelming. Marc and May watched from nearby, powerlessly.

“Nothing to say, Victor? No sarcastic little quip? no smarmy anecdotes today, then?”

Victor remained calm, sitting at his computer as he pulled up the files. He simply didn’t have the energy to fight today. He took the barrage of insults and provocation, and felt her lean close, her words and the stale alcoholic fume of her breath making him move as far from her as he could.

“I can’t wait to see the Quintessons pull your disgusting corpse out of that armour, like a cooked snail. You know they’ll be angry, Victor, at what you’ve done. Imagine trying to save your loved one and simultaneously condemning her. Hah! Only a man like you could pull that off. Stop trying to play hero, it just doesn’t suit you - You hurt everyone who cares about you, and you don’t even notice, do you? You don’t even care-“

That was it. That was all Vic could take. In a very rare show of sudden and extreme rage, Vic got up, launched the chair across the lab, taking out several lights from the vixen e he’d thrown it with. He then proceeded to utterly obliterate his computer and keyboard, with his fists and claws. Lena moved back so quickly that she tripped over and scrambled back as fast as she could, to get away from him. The whole thing was over in seconds, but the speed, strength and ferocity of his outburst was terrifying. He’d ripped out the top portion of his stitches, and a violet streak of warm blood began to run down his abdomen. His expression was hard, jaw set and clenched. He was panting through gritted teeth and said absolutely nothing, but the sound of his voice huskily growling in his throat was animal, tiger-like. Lena looked horrified. She actually looked *scared*. There was blood dripping off his clenched fists.

Lena shakily got to her feet after just staring up at him for a few moments, and she too had no more words. He looked like a cornered wild animal, completely tense, veins standing up and his tail was lashing and flicking behind him. It was so terrifying to see him like that that even Marc was wary and he stood in front of May protectively, as a precaution. They watched Lena trying to salvage her composure, watching the tense stare down as Lena backed down, and swiftly left. The door to the lab slammed as she left, pride chipped. Shockwave watched silently from the other side of the lab, Marc cautiously approached. The last time he’d seen Vic look that wild, people had died. He could see the adrenaline wearing off though, as Vic began to sag forwards, feeling the pain now. Marc grabbed a first aid kit and went to him, trying to hide his fear.

“….It’s ok, Vic. She’d gone now. C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Vic calmed down quickly, following tentatively where Marc lead. When he saw May’s expression, he felt terrible for her.

“May, sorry you had to see that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

[mafiasliege]

I dare you to let me go

(this is part 6 of my fic. Thought I'd feed y'all a little early. Enjoy reading!)

Part 5 ↓

JAMESON

Oren was here. So was Grayson. After getting yelled at, Avery left. She looked so sad and forlorn, he couldn't bear to look at her. Grayson took the first chance to talk to Jameson alone,

"what are you doing, Jamie? What do you have planned?" Jamie translated that to mean 'when are you going to come home?'

"I have planned, let me check, oh yes! Nothing," he said, using his signature smirk as a shield.

Grayson opened his mouth, then closed it, waited. "Are you breaking up with her?"

The eye contact was more than enough for an answer.

"I need space. I'll come back, don't worry about me."

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

That evening, when boredom overtook him again, Jameson found himself back at the devil's mercy. He'd gotten himself an apartment in London specifically for this reason. He genuinely enjoyed being a member. It was also the one place he couldn't be followed by Avery, or run into her. Zella wasn't here today, neither was Simon or anyone he knew, except Rohan. That bastard would jump at any chance to peeve him.

"I really should have placed a bet on the likelihood of you breaking up with Ms. Grambs. Would've filled my pockets."

God, he was infuriating. Why had Jameson come here?

"And I should have placed a bet on the likelihood of you shutting up, Rohan, would've filled my purses."

"Always the defender, Ms. Sinclair."

Jameson hadn't realised when a woman had come and sat next to him.

She was wearing the same historical garb-like dress every woman around here wore. Her long dark blonde hair fell in waves over her shoulders, which was unnatural around here, considering the few women that were there were too prim and proper to keep their hair as such. It was a minor detail, but one that made him feel she liked to defy.

Jameson spoke for the first time in a while, "Not that you would need the money, anyway, I presume."

The way she answers that was a clear insight into her. Most people here were money-hungry, or power-hungry, or greedy, prideful, meek- many distinguishing factors. Truthfully, Jameson had everyone in the room pegged about 4 seconds after he met them. Not this woman though, and it was unsettling him.

She just looked down at her cards that dealt her in and smiled.

She looked at him, still smiling grimly, then leaned in, "your attempt at trying to read me through my answers is… run-of-the-mill, at best."

That stole Jameson's attention. It surprised him. Things hardly surprised him anymore. It felt nice, except his mind reverted back to a certain ex-girlfriend.

Ex-girlfriend. It still didn't sound right to him.

"You need to read people instantly after you meet them because you're scared they'll show their true colours later, surprise you, and make you feel stupid and ordinary."

That struck him like an arrow. The woman, however, seemed to genuinely regret saying that, "apologies. I seem to have gone too far," she amended.

"A psychologist?"

"Just an underestimated woman, I'm afraid."

Who is she?

"Cinq" she suddenly uttered.

"What?"

"The cards. Cinq. I win." She looked at Rohan who nodded and handed her the chips.

Before he could add to that, she got up, "I'm running late, boys. Like always, I'll see you soon."

She pulled out a card.

"Though I'd like to see you sooner."

She had a mischievous glint in her eye, and before long, it was gone with her.

Jameson put it in his wallet and forgot about it. There was a lot of healing to do before moving on.

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

Jameson dreamt of Avery again that night. Even after saying his goodbye, she still haunted him everywhere he went. Every 5"6' brunette on the street, every coffee cup from her favourite coffee shop in London. He hadn't even changed his wallpaper that was a candid of her laughing.

And that was the problem. She was still… her. So her. Just too burdened. But that wasn't an excuse.

Avery was… calling him. Wait

Avery's calling me.

"Hello?"

"I'm outside."

"Avery, please. Just leave me-" Jameson said, walking toward her standing outside.

With a hot air balloon.

"Hop on."

"We're broken up."

She looked like someone had just stabbed her. How many times was she going to make him repeat the same painful thing?

"One date. Just one, please."

He sighed, "why?"

"Why won't you let me go? The you I've seen the last few years would've been about as interested as a porcupine is cuddly."

"I can't. I can't even think of letting you go. I have so many versions of my dreams for the future, and they all end up with you. I chose you a long time ago. I want to choose you again and make you feel it too."

"Just one date, mystery boy. I'm begging you."

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

Avery might just be better than Jameson at planning dates. It was perfect.

Staring with the hot air balloon ride where he had to take over because she almost crashed them down. Bunjee jumping in Perthshire. Abseiling. An insane game of dares. Ending with them sunbathing on the shore of the cove, with chocolate-covered strawberries and stars in a bottle.

"I liked today. Wait, no. I loved today" he might still have his reservations, but he needed to tell her that. She held his hand and squeezed it gently.

"Me too." After silence and a few more strawberries, "Will you please come back with me now? We really need to be home."

Jameson's relaxed face suddenly adopted a frown.

"Why? What's so important that we need to go back?"

"I can't stay away too long."

"It's been, like, 4 days." Avery said nothing. Jameson abruptly got up. She did too.

"This is just a chore to you isn't it? An inconvenience."

She went pale again, "No. Jameson, no. I came all the way here looking for you, trying to get you back."

"I never told you to. But what your doing right now? It's worse."

"I waited for 5 years before choosing myself for once, Avery, and you're tired in 4 days? Do you think you can get your heart broken with every perfunctory kiss and every interaction merely a formality, and live with it?"

"I did not mean it like that when I said I want us to go home. I just want things to be the way they were, Jamie, please."

"No. You need to leave. For good."