#i need them to be in there i can see you era

[embbarnes]

Goddd sorry this took me so long to reblog! I read this three times and I absolutely adore it. Dofp Logan is one of my favorite eras. I love his attitude and look throughout the film. I was so excited this was the version you went with!!

More below the cut 💕

“Don’t use so much force.” You curse as the tip of the blade impales the target a whopping three inches from the center. By far your worst throw yet, though this one isn’t entirely your fault. You snap your head towards the unexpected but familiar voice, pulling your last dagger from the holster secured around your thigh before chucking it in his general direction. It flies past him, bouncing off the wall behind him. You knew that it wouldn’t actually hit him. And if by some miracle it had, he’d heal in two seconds and then go right back to being a pain in your ass. A good looking pain in your ass, admittedly. But a pain in your ass nonetheless.

This entire bit is perfect. When I was a kid, I had anger management problems. I couldn't really interact with a lot of people because of it so it made socialization hard for me. I really like how you wrote the reader in this one, I can resonate with them.

“As unsolicited as my advice may be,” he says lowly as he pulls your hand back slightly, “I give it because if there is ever a situation where someone's trying to hurt you, and you’re unable to light them on fire for some reason, I would really hope that you could at least impale them.”

Logan, I hope you know, if I had pyrokinesis...that's the first thing I'm doing.

Thick stubble scratches your innermost thighs as sharp teeth and soft lips alternate between kissing and biting the sensitive flesh between your legs. His face is covered in your slick from the three orgasms he’s already pulled from you with his tongue. He lays nestled between your legs, pinning you to the mattress beneath you. Your thighs rest across his shoulders, his hands splayed across your belly. You're putty in his hands. “I've gotta say, the sounds you make when you cum are way cuter than the sounds I'm used to hearing from you,” Logan muses against your cunt. His voice sends a vibration over your already overstimulated core.

SCREAMING at this part 😍😩 I love, love, LOVE how you describe smut scenes sm.

As you approach the end of the hallway that leads from the team member's bedrooms to the kitchen, you hear the soft shuffling of footsteps and see low lighting that spills from the refrigerator. As soon as you step into the kitchen, you come to a halt. You recognize the large frame standing in front of the open fridge right away. Of fucking course it would be him. And of fucking course he wouldn’t be wearing a shirt.

YES....YESSSSS. I love when things like this happen in fics.

“Of course I’m going, Logan. Whether you think I’m good at it or not, it’s my job.” “It’s not that I don’t think you’re good at your job. It’s about experience—” You laugh, cutting him off. You can feel the telltale warmth of fire beginning to form beneath the tips of your fingers, your irritation threatening to bubble over. “Experience?” you exclaim. “Do I need to remind you that I’ve been with this team for three years now? Just because I’m not two hundred years old like you doesn’t mean that I don’t have experience.”

I'm always a big sucker for love-hate or relationships where the pairing isn't super fond of one another at first. The tension builds so well and I love how you incorporate the mutation with their emotions. Because fire is incredibly emotion-motivated, so these little hints are absolutely perfect.

You start to storm past him, to get away from him and go back to your room without another word, when he grabs you by the wrist. You look at him in bewilderment – this is the second time in the last twenty-four hours that he has held your hand in his. “Didn’t know you were so hot and bothered over me,” he says with an amused smirk.

This would actually make me so mad if I was already irritated 😭 Logan knows just how to get under her skin lmao

An eerie feeling creeps into your bones as soon as you step onto the hanger of the jet. You can’t deny that the scenery surrounding the military base is beautiful – from the snowcapped mountains to the frost covered lake, it’s picturesque. But then your gaze settles on the large dam, and you remember what lies beneath. “Can't say that I've missed this place,” Logan grunts, drawing your attention to him. His face is impassive other than his mouth being set in a hard, straight line as he stares out towards the water. It's rare for Logan to elicit feelings outside of burning irritation (and maybe, possibly, sometimes arousal) from you – but right now, there’s a part of you that wishes the dynamic between the two of you were different.

I really liked this bit. It begins to show more depth between the reader and Logan. I admire how you can subtly plant these little seeds throughout your fics, it makes them feel more immersive.

“You and Logan are to inspect the basement,” Charles answers. “I trust that you can refrain from melting any antique personal property until we are back at the mansion, my dear,” he adds with a knowing smirk. “I was planning on paying you back for that,” you mumble. “No,” Charles sighs. “You weren't. It was very expensive.”

You know, technically, she could harness the heat to make a new glass from scratch, Charles. I feel like he'd value something made like that. I can imagine the classrooms full of drawings by the children.

“I think I know what this is,” he murmurs. His stare is locked on one of the daggers strapped to your thigh. He squeezes your hand in his, though you don’t know if it’s to comfort you or himself. “I’ve heard of this before. Didn’t know it actually exists. I came across it once when preparing a lesson on Alkali Lake—” “What is it?” you implore. His eyes finally flicker back up to yours. Images of last night’s dream flash through your mind again. Instead of his hand holding yours, you visualize his slender fingers pumping inside you. You stare at his lips, imaging the feeling of them sucking love bites into the meat of your inner thighs – “It’s a chemical created for breeding experiments,” he answers after a pregnant pause. “They – Weapon X – wanted super mutants. Some of the subjects were… less than compliant. This made it so that they weren’t able to fight it.”

This situation is 100% believable. Things like this absolutely happen and you set it up perfectly. I love the approach and how you describe the fog, how it effects her body and makes her feel all the things at once.

“Besides, it’s not like you haven’t dreamed about this. Or were you moaning about someone else who just happens to have the same name as me last night?” Your eyes shoot open at the revelation that not only had you said his name in your sleep, but he’d fucking heard you. And has the nerve to tease you about it at a time like this.

Logan knows how to drive me insane holy shit.

He's smirking down at you. His smugness irritates you often, but right now it’s enough to cause the tips of your fingers to burn hot. You jerk his hand away from your face, causing him to hiss when your fingers wrap around his wrist. He chortles, his eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation. The reaction fills you with annoyance – of course he would have a fucking pain kink. As much as it pisses you off, it also spurs you on. Blame the influence of the chemicals that you’re currently under, but the fact that he can so easily tolerate and even enjoy something that would have anyone else running in the opposite direction does something to you.

I can literally see his expression rn.

He rips the fabric of your bra away from your breast, immediately attaching his mouth to your nipple. He rolls it between his tongue and teeth, causing you to arch your back into his touch. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, pinning yourself to the mattress with his body. You mewl at the feeling of your pebbled nipple in his warm mouth. His other hand attempts to free the opposite breast, but the fabric is too tight and restrictive. He let’s out an annoyed growl, pulling back to unsheathe his claws and snip the material in between your tits, letting them spill free.

This would drive me INSANE.

“You don’t want me to suck your dick?” You ask with raised brows. “S’not about me right now, bub. I said I was gonna take care of you, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Now lay back down for me.” You aren’t going to argue with that. You return to your original position on the mattress, pulling him down with you. He hovers above you, using one arm to support himself on the bed. He takes his cock in his free hand, stroking his length a few times before nudging his head through your folds until he’s lubricated in your juices. “Don’t you worry, though,” he murmurs against your lips. He teases his tip at your hole. “If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I'll let you.” “Oh, you’re so thoughtfu—” He sheaths himself inside you, turning the end of your retort into a gasp. He fills you entirely, stilling to allow both of you time to adjust to the sensation. The stretch is damn near blinding, making your eyes roll back into your skull. You glance down between your bodies, halfway expecting to see him jutting out of your stomach.

Girl you're literally killing me 😭😩

He pushes himself off the dresser, walking the few feet to where you perch at the edge of the mattress. He sits down beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. He smells of Old Spice deodorant and spearmint toothpaste, and it makes you the room spin around you.

The sliver of scent I can get from him ughhh that's such a good combo.

“I said something I didn’t entirely mean yesterday,” he whispers, out of breath. “What?” you ask, sitting upright and looking down at him. “You aren’t going to let me suck your dick?” “No,” he chuckles. “God, no. I meant that. If you still want to, that is—” “What is it, then?” you interrupt with a playful nudge to his chest. “I said you could go back to tolerating my existence. But I hope you wanna do a little bit more than just tolerate me.” You laugh under your breath, leaning down to press your lips to his once more. “I could see myself doing a little bit more than just tolerating you.”

LMAO this was so funny and such a good ending!! I loveeed this fic so much! It was so well done, just like all your other stuff! You did such a good job with the personification of everyone and I loved all the dialogue with reader and Logan.

Perfect, as always 💕

where the lines overlap

logan howlett x reader (dofp!logan x mutant!reader)

word count: 8.7k

summary: no one gets under your skin quite as much as logan howlett - and he knows it, too. sex pollen trope.

warnings/tags: 18+ only mdni, smut, sex pollen so dub con, frenemies to lovers? they aren't enemies but logan and reader don't really get along, reader is a mutant with pyrokinesis, reader is afab, reader is described as being smaller than logan, no use of y/n, wet dream, fuck or die situation, oral, pet names (bub, princess), brief pain kink for logan, unprotected p in v, cream pie

author's note: takes place after the events of days of future past - so everyone's alive, charles is old af, and logan has a pretty streak of silver in his hair. not proofread super well so please ignore any errors.

There's certain things that you like to think about when you're pissed off. It’s a coping mechanism that you learned in therapy at the ripe age of eleven.

Go to your happy place or whatever.

For you, that's the mansion's courtyard after a fresh snowfall, and having the library all to yourself on a rainy day, and the comfort of your bedroom on one of the rare days that you aren’t teaching, or training, or on a mission.

At this point in your life, you’ve forgotten just about everything you were taught in that therapist's office. It's not like you had wanted to be there, but your parents had been worried and scared – and rightfully so. With the unexpected emergence of your pyrokinetic abilities came multiple accidental house fires born out of preteen angst.

So they did the only thing they knew to do at the time – stick you in therapy in hopes you would acquire some anger management techniques.

These days, you have a pretty good handle on your powers. With a lot of time and effort, you learned to control them – and not just control them, but yield them in a beneficial and productive way.

All of that progress comes dangerously close to going out the window anytime you're in close proximity to Logan Howlett.

Maybe all is an exaggeration – but no one else makes your fingertips burn hot with fire that threatens to break through the barrier of your skin quite like him. From his bossiness to his arrogance and attitude, you’ve clashed heads since the first day you met him.

Today is no different.

“Don’t use so much force.”

You curse as the tip of the blade impales the target a whopping three inches from the center. By far your worst throw yet, though this one isn’t entirely your fault.

You snap your head towards the unexpected but familiar voice, pulling your last dagger from the holster secured around your thigh before chucking it in his general direction. It flies past him, bouncing off the wall behind him.

You knew that it wouldn’t actually hit him. And if by some miracle it had, he’d heal in two seconds and then go right back to being a pain in your ass.

A good looking pain in your ass, admittedly. But a pain in your ass nonetheless.

He looks at you with an amused expression. “See? Too much force.”

“I didn’t know that having giant forks for hands made you an expert on throwing knives.”

He exhales a breathy laugh, staring at you for several seconds before turning to pick the dagger up from the ground. He then proceeds to collect the rest of the knives that you had previously thrown from the body of the practice target.

In heavy silence, he struts over to you with the daggers in hand. He turns to face a wooden target board, finding the balance point of the knife before sending it flying through the air.

Bullseye.

“A long time ago, when I first joined this team, Charles made me practice a non-power related method of self-defense, too.” He pauses, lining the second dagger up with the practice dummy. To no surprise, it’s another perfect throw.

“Wanna guess what I chose?”

You snatch the remaining knife out of his hand.

“How to annoy someone by sneaking up on them and giving them unsolicited advice while they are minding their own business?”

You position your feet once again, holding the knife up in preparation to take aim. Your eyes dart back and forth between the blade and the target ahead of you. You hesitate, feeling nervous under his gaze.

Logan moves from standing beside you, to standing behind you. Your breath catches in your throat as his large figure looms over you. If he were to took a step forward, his chest would brush against your back.

He uses the tip of his boot to nudge your heel forward half an inch, adjusting your stance. He takes your right hand in his, and you have to consciously remind yourself to breathe.

A wave of annoyance washes over you that he’s able to fluster you so easily. It makes you as pissed at yourself as it does him. He’s barely touching you – his hand dwarfing yours is the only point of physical contact, but you’d think that he were pinning you up against a wall with his body.

You tell yourself the sudden light-headedness and increased heartrate is because of the newfound closeness, and nothing more. You’re used to being around Logan – the two of you live together and work together. His general presence is nothing new. But the intimacy of your current predicament is.

And maybe the fact that notes of tobacco and bourbon are infiltrating your senses doesn’t help.

“As unsolicited as my advice may be,” he says lowly as he pulls your hand back slightly, “I give it because if there is ever a situation where someone's trying to hurt you, and you’re unable to light them on fire for some reason, I would really hope that you could at least impale them.”

He tightens his hold on your hand, and then snaps both of your wrists forward. Surprisingly, your brain registers to release your grip just in time. When the tip of the blade impales the center of the target perfectly, he drops your hand.

But he doesn’t move from behind you.

“Much better. Now come back upstairs. Charles needs to see all of us in his office.”

••••••

You and Logan are the last people to enter Charles’ office.

Storm, Scott, Jean, Marie, and Bobby have all found places to sit throughout the small room. Logan chooses to lean against the door that clicks shut behind him, while you exhale in relief at the sight of an empty chair on the opposite side of the room, next to Marie.

“Ah, how nice of you two to join us,” Charles greets. “I was starting to think that Logan got lost on his way to retrieve you.”

You force out a laugh, earning a side-eye from Marie as Charles launches back into whatever he had been in the middle of before you two interrupted.

“Everything okay?” Marie murmurs to you. “You looked a little sick when you walked in.”

“Oh, yeah,” you shrug her off without looking at her. You keep your eyes on Charles. “Yeah, I'm just tired. Been training all morning.”

What were you supposed to tell her? That you were thankful to be wearing a tactical suit so that Logan couldn’t see all of the goosebumps that bloomed across your skin when he was practically breathing down your neck less than five minutes ago? Or that the walk back up to Charles’ office was filled with a loaded silence in place of your usual bickering and banter?

Marie might be one of your closest friends, and you trust her, but Logan is something of a fatherly figure to her. There’s no way you’re letting her hear those words come from your mouth.

You try your hardest to focus on all of the information that Charles throws at you. You’re all to leave on a mission early tomorrow morning. When he explains where you’re going and why, chills run down your spine.

Alberta, Canada – more specifically, Alkali Lake. All of your friends seem to tense up at the mere mention of the place.

You dig your teeth into your lower lip, fighting the urge to sneak a glance to try to gauge Logan's reaction. You’ve never been to Alkali Lake before, and you’re far from excited about going – you can only imagine how he feels, given his history with the abandoned military base.

After no word of any activity surrounding the base for years, Charles had been made aware that the recent disappearance of a group of young adult humans had been traced back to Alkali Lake – to a modern day subsidiary of the group Weapon X.

The same group responsible for Logan’s skeleton being made from adamantium.

This, of course, is where all of you come in.

After a detailed rundown of the goals for tomorrow – the main one being safe extraction of the humans – Charles dismisses all of you to rest for the remainder of the day.

When everyone stands up, you finally risk glancing at Logan, but he’s already opening the door to Charles’ office and strutting away.

••••••

Thick stubble scratches your innermost thighs as sharp teeth and soft lips alternate between kissing and biting the sensitive flesh between your legs.

His face is covered in your slick from the three orgasms he’s already pulled from you with his tongue. He lays nestled between your legs, pinning you to the mattress beneath you. Your thighs rest across his shoulders, his hands splayed across your belly.

You're putty in his hands.

“I've gotta say, the sounds you make when you cum are way cuter than the sounds I'm used to hearing from you,” Logan muses against your cunt. His voice sends a vibration over your already overstimulated core.

You can only guess that the sounds he’s referring to are annoyed sighs and you telling him to shut the fuck up, but right now, you don't care enough to ask for any clarification.

“Yeah?” You yelp when his tongue flicks against your swollen clit. “Maybe if you spent less time pissing me off you’d get to—”

You're cut off by him plunging the tip of his index finger inside you. You writhe against him, your walls constricting around the digit.

“Less time pissing you off, more time letting you fuck my fingers and face. Got it.”

The slamming of a door somewhere outside of your room causes you to bolt upright in your bed.

You open your eyes to darkness except for the red glow of the numbers on your digital alarm clock that read 12:26 in the morning. Your heart feels as if it’s going to beat right out of your chest, and your skin is clammy with a thin layer of sweat. You throw your covers away from you in an attempt to cool yourself off.

“What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck—”

You whisper the three words to yourself over and over again until your breathing resumes a normal pattern.

You’re alone, of course. In the comfort of your private room, where you had fallen asleep several hours ago. The difference between now and then is an uncomfortable pool of wetness between your legs, soaking your underwear.

You can’t even recall the last time you had such a vivid sex dream. It felt utterly lifelike – you reach down between your legs, trailing your fingers over the skin of your inner thighs where you had felt his beard tickle and tease you.

How the fuck are you supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, when you’re having to work together to rescue humans from Alkali Lake? How are you supposed to come up with smart-ass remarks for his endless taunting and teasing when you’re going to be trying your hardest to not replay the images of his hazel eyes looking up at from between your thighs?

“Get a fucking grip,” you whisper hiss to yourself.

It’s Logan. The same Logan who acted like he was too good to say more than ten words to you the first half a year that you were with the team. The same Logan that tries to get you benched for the dumbest, smallest reasons he can think of. The same Logan that condescendingly calls you kid or princess every chance he gets because he knows it gets under your skin.

You need a glass of water. And some fresh air, and a cold shower—

You start by picking up the pair of sweatpants that you’d discarded before falling asleep a few hours ago. You step back into them, deciding to trek to the kitchen for some ice water. Your mouth feels as dry as cotton.

As you approach the end of the hallway that leads from the team member's bedrooms to the kitchen, you hear the soft shuffling of footsteps and see low lighting that spills from the refrigerator.

As soon as you step into the kitchen, you come to a halt. You recognize the large frame standing in front of the open fridge right away.

Of fucking course it would be him. And of fucking course he wouldn’t be wearing a shirt.

You clear your throat to announce your presence, not quite trusting your voice to speak. He looks at you over his shoulder, a bottle of beer pressed to his lips.

You walk over to the cabinet beside him, keeping your eyes off of him entirely as you get a glass.

“What's got you awake at this hour?” He closes the fridge, leaning back against the edge of the countertop. The only light in the room now comes from the small, dim bulb above the sink.

If he only fucking knew, you think. If he only knew that the real reason you are out of bed right now is because you’d just woken up from an extremely graphic, jarring dream of you riding his face.

You fill the cup up with cold water from the kitchen sink and take a large swig before once again turning to face him.

“Could ask you the same thing,” you answer with a vague gesture to his half-dressed form and beer bottle.

He takes in your appearance, too. His eyes trail from your exposed feet, to your baggy sweatpants, and up to your even baggier t-shirt before settling on your face. You feel particularly vulnerable under his gaze right now. You compare how you look to how he looks – with his stupid abs that look like God himself chiseled them from stone and his sweatpants that hang just a little too comfortably.

You sip on your water just to keep from biting your lip.

“Guess we were both thirsty,” he shrugs as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Guess so,” you hum, and because you don’t want to fall into an awkward silence and it’s the only thing you can think to add, you say, “Nervous about the mission?”

His expression darkens and posture tenses at your question. “I am,” he admits. “And if you knew as much as I do about that place, you’d be nervous, too.”

You huff. Your grip tightens around the glass in your hand at the mere insinuation that he knows your feelings. “Who says that I’m not?”

“If you’re going, you’re not nervous enough.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You take a deep breath, knowing damn well the direction that this conversation is headed. You’d heard it all from him before – anything to keep you as far away from him as possible.

“Of course I’m going, Logan. Whether you think I’m good at it or not, it’s my job.”

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re good at your job. It’s about experience—”

You laugh, cutting him off. You can feel the telltale warmth of fire beginning to form beneath the tips of your fingers, your irritation threatening to bubble over.

“Experience?” you exclaim. “Do I need to remind you that I’ve been with this team for three years now? Just because I’m not two hundred years old like you doesn’t mean that I don’t have experience.”

“I’m very aware of how long you’ve been with this team, bub,” he says calmly, which makes you all the more heated.

“For three years you’ve spewed every bullshit reason you can think of to keep me on the sidelines,” you laugh. “I wish you’d fucking admit that you just don’t like me. It’d be a lot more respectable than acting like you’re worried about—”

Logan’s gaze drops to the glass in your hand, making you come to an abrupt pause. You follow his stare, realizing that you’ve managed to melt the glass where your fingertips grip the glass. Water begins to leak out from the holes, spilling onto your sweatpants and the floor below you.

There’s no visible flames emanating from your fingertips. Your anger hadn’t progressed to full on fire, just intense heat, but still. No one else makes you come as close to losing control as him.

No one. And he seems to know it, too. You can tell by the smug look on his face.

You dump what little liquid is left into the sink before chucking the distorted glass into the garbage.

You start to storm past him, to get away from him and go back to your room without another word, when he grabs you by the wrist. You look at him in bewilderment – this is the second time in the last twenty-four hours that he has held your hand in his.

“Didn’t know you were so hot and bothered over me,” he says with an amused smirk.

You rip your hand away from him, an exaggerated look of disgust on your face. Your recent dream pops into your head and you have to remind yourself that he’s not Jean or Charles – he can’t read your mind.

“You're lucky that you've got those handy healing powers,” you spit as you once again begin exiting the kitchen. “If I thought there was a chance of it actually shutting you up, I’d burn more than just Charles’ vintage glassware.”

You hear him say your name, but you’re already speed walking back to your room and playing your list of happy place thoughts on a loop in your head.

The soup that Storm makes when everyone at the school seems to get sick at the same time. One of your younger students picking you a flower. The smell of fresh laundry, the crisp pages of a new book.

Finally, your bedroom door clicks shut behind you.

You would have been better off just enduring the discomfort of a dry throat, you think. You don't know what's worse – not being able to sleep because you're rattled from a wet dream about him, or not being able to sleep because you've once again allowed him to get under your skin.

You crawl back under your covers, hoping that when you close your eyes, you don't see his face again.

••••••

Logan doesn’t make any more appearances in your dreams for the rest of the night, but that doesn’t stop him from being the first thing you think of when you open your eyes in the morning.

And as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, the only thing on your mind the entire flight from New York to Alberta.

From the tension that filled the air when he corrected your knife throwing technique yesterday morning to the warmth of his calloused hand when he grabbed you by the wrist in the kitchen last night, you're fighting a losing battle with no one but yourself.

As far as you can tell, he’s utterly unaffected. The fact that he chose to sit directly in front of you on the jet instead of any of the other empty seats says as much.

Not even ten minutes into the flight, you're staring at the tufts of his hair and his broad shoulders when you have to remind yourself that there's two telepaths occupying this jet with you. Though you trust both Charles and Jean to not read your mind without cause, the mere possibility of either one of them accidentally tuning into your thoughts and seeing a replay of your most recent dream or hearing you think about what it would be like to tug on those stupid fucking tufts of hair that resemble kitten ears is enough to mortify you.

You find yourself grateful that you brought a book and headphones with you to distract yourself for the duration of the trip.

An eerie feeling creeps into your bones as soon as you step onto the hanger of the jet. You can’t deny that the scenery surrounding the military base is beautiful – from the snowcapped mountains to the frost covered lake, it’s picturesque. But then your gaze settles on the large dam, and you remember what lies beneath.

“Can't say that I've missed this place,” Logan grunts, drawing your attention to him. His face is impassive other than his mouth being set in a hard, straight line as he stares out towards the water.

It's rare for Logan to elicit feelings outside of burning irritation (and maybe, possibly, sometimes arousal) from you – but right now, there’s a part of you that wishes the dynamic between the two of you were different.

As much as he infuriates you, you still care about him. You wish you could say that you didn’t, but the fact that you feel the urge to reach out and give his hand a reassuring squeeze makes that pretty hard to deny.

That urge dissipates as quickly as it comes over you. The bitter chill of the mountain wind and your teammates voices pull you back to reality. You awkwardly fiddle with one of the daggers strapped to your thigh instead.

“Jean and Scott, the two of you take the west side of the building,” Charles instructs when the group nears the discreet entrance. “Bobby and Rogue, clear the east wing. Storm and I will be keeping watch outside to make sure that no one tries to escape with the humans.”

“What about us?” you ask with a slight nod towards Logan. The fact that neither of you had been given instructions yet leaves it to be assumed that you’ll be paired up together.

You and Logan working as a pair was nothing out of the ordinary, and although that typically comes with a lot of annoyance, right now you can’t help but feel a little relieved by it.

Even if you are still irritated at him for his behavior and choice of words in the kitchen last night and even if you do think of him between your thighs every time you look at him for more than five seconds, he’s still more familiar with this place than anyone else here.

And no matter how much he makes you want to tear your hair out, there's never a time that you feel unsafe when he's near.

“You and Logan are to inspect the basement,” Charles answers. “I trust that you can refrain from melting any antique personal property until we are back at the mansion, my dear,” he adds with a knowing smirk.

“I was planning on paying you back for that,” you mumble.

“No,” Charles sighs. “You weren't. It was very expensive.”

Logan snorts, earning curious glances from everyone other than you and Charles. He does get a nasty side-eye from you – a silent promise to deliver on last night’s threat to find something to burn other than vintage glassware.

Your teammates split up into their respective groups upon entering the base, leaving you to follow Logan's lead towards the lower levels.

It’s unsettling just how silent it is. The only sounds are that of yours and Logan's boots against the ground. You'd be able to hear a pin drop from across the building.

And it's cold. The kind of cold that makes your bones ache. You instinctively flex your fingers, focusing on the warmth that radiates from the tips.

As the two of you make your way through the dark, seemingly endless basement, checking each room for signs of life, you can't help but think of Logan being here under much different circumstances.

You don't know the full extent of his time here – even he only remembers bits and pieces. But you know enough to know that this can’t be easy for him.

The fact that he's being uncharacteristically quiet only reaffirms that. He makes none of his typical taunts and jabs, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

You find yourself damn near wishing he’d make some snide comment about how you’re walking too loudly and how being partnered up with you feels like babysitting duty – if he did, maybe then you wouldn’t feel this annoying, persistent worry over his mental well-being.

“Logan,” you begin quietly as the two of you approach a large set of hospital style double doors at the end of a corridor. “I know being here can't be easy for you. I'm sorry that you have to be.”

He huffs a laugh under his breath, not meeting your eyes as he slowly pushes one of the doors open, peaking into the room before stepping inside and holding the door open for you.

“Just part of the job, bub,” he sighs. “I know what I signed up for.”

You enter, walking past him into the dark room. You shine your flashlight around the cramped space. Right away, you can tell that it’s vacant, as all of the other rooms you’ve checked have been. But it’s different – whereas most of the rooms have been completely empty, this one contains multiple twin sized beds. No frames, no pillows, just plain white sheets on each one.

“I know you do. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and he shines his own flashlight around the room from right behind you.

“It’s okay, princess,” he snorts. “I’m a big boy. You don’t gotta pretend to be worried about me.”

Princess. Your fingertips tingle as soon as the pet name leaves his lips.

“I’m not pretend—”

The sudden, loud clicking of a deadbolt echoes through the room, silencing you. You and Logan stare at each other for a brief moment, startled and confused, before he turns around and pushes on the double doors to no avail.

He slams the full weight of his body against the metal, but it doesn't budge.

“What the fuck,” he growls in between repeated strikes against the doors.

“Logan and I are locked in a room in the basement,” you say as you click on the communication device in your left ear. “The door automatically locked after we came inside. We can’t get it open—”

You’re met with white noise.

“My fucking comm isn’t working.” Panic begins to set in as you yank the device out of your ear to inspect it. There’s a small green light indicating that it is on, but for whatever reason, it isn’t getting signal.

“Scott? Storm? Can anyone hear us?” Logan says as he messes with his own communication device. “Nothing,” he grunts after a moment of silence.

“Professor? Jean? If either of you are listening, now would be a great time to poke around in our brains and let us know.”

Nothing indeed.

“Okay,” Logan says as he backs away from the double doors. “Blast them.”

“Blast them?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “They’re industrial metal doors. They’re like two feet thick. These walls are made out of concrete.” You bang your first against the rock solid wall for emphasis. “What the fuck do you think fire is—”

“I don’t hear you suggesting anything!”

“How about not setting the room we are trapped in on fire? Only one of us has regenerative—”

A loud hissing noise sounds from above, causing you and Logan to both point your flashlights up towards the ceiling. You squint, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. Large vents make up well over fifty percent of the ceiling, releasing what appears to be a fog like substance. It quickly transforms the air above you into one large, milky looking cloud.

“Charles! Storm! Scott – we need help. Quickly, we need help. I don’t know what’s going—”

You continue to shout into the communication device while Logan alternates between punching the door with his fists and throwing the full weight of his body against the metal, but all of your efforts are futile. The doors don’t budge, and you hear nothing but static from the comm.

You frantically glance around the room, looking for another escape route. There’s no other doors, and no windows. You’re completely enclosed by the four concrete walls and the impenetrable metal doors.

“Hold your breath!” Logan shouts as the fog descends upon the two of you, but it’s too late. The sickeningly sweet smelling mist encompasses you, making it impossible to see anything other than the thick silver vapor. It infiltrates your nostrils, causing you to gag. You cough, desperately trying to clear your airway of the substance.

It burns – your throat, your nostrils, your eyes and skin. Anywhere that it comes in contact with you feels like pins and needles.

You’re vaguely aware that Logan is somewhere to your left, asking if you’re okay in-between coughs and gags of his own. You can’t catch your breath well enough to answer him.

His hand clasps around the top of your arm. Your vision goes fuzzy and you collapse into him, light-headed from the profuse coughing.

“I think it’s dissipating,” Logan whispers in a strained voice, still supporting you so that you don’t fall to the floor. You risk cracking your eyes open the slightest bit, and realize that he’s right. There’s still a veil of mist surrounding you, but it’s no longer so opaque that you can’t see even two inches in front of your face.

You take deep breaths, making no effort to step away from him as you attempt to regain control of your breathing. Your lungs feel like they are on fire and your throat feels like you haven’t had any water in days.

“What the fuck was that?” Your voice comes out as a croak.

“Can you stand?” he asks you. You nod, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace.

As soon as he steps away from you to see if the doors are still locked, the momentary relief that you felt when the fog began to dissipate is replaced with renewed terror. The room, which was previously dark except for the light from your flashlights, suddenly glows a deep red color from the ceiling that now emits crimson fluorescence.

You open your mouth to call out for Charles or Jean again, when a throbbing sensation radiates throughout your gut. You clutch your hands over your abdomen, gasping at the sudden and awkward feeling.

Logan turns his attention away from the doors and back to you as soon as he notices how you’re hunched over. You stumble over to the bed that's closest to you, the world blurring around you in shades of red.

“Something is wrong,” you gasp out. You know you're stating the obvious – something has been wrong since the moment that the doors locked behind you.

He's next to you in two long strides, kneeling beside the bed and looking up at you in concern. The ache in your lower belly seems to worsen with his close proximity. Your skin feels feverish, making you want to peel your tactical suit off of your body.

“Tell me what you're feeling,” he demands. Other than obvious confusion and fear, he appears physically fine. You piece together that whatever that shit was, it’s effecting you much differently than it is him – undoubtedly due to his healing abilities.

You can't form a coherent sentence – all you can focus on is the way that the discomfort in your abdomen travels down to your groin, making you clench your thighs together. You have the inexplicable desire to reach out and pull him to you, as if having him as close as possible to you is the only solution for every uncomfortable thing happening to you.

“You gotta talk to me, bub. Tell me what’s going on,” he says when you don’t answer him. He puts a hand just above your knee and you have to hold back the whimper that threatens to break through your lips. He notices your pained expression and quickly withdraws his hand from your thigh.

“No!” you gasp, grabbing his hand in yours out of desperation to maintain some level of physical contact with him. “I – I don't know how to explain what’s happening. Just – I just need you to keep touching me. Please. Whatever that fog was, it’s making me feel like…”

You trail off, realizing that you must sound every bit as insane as you feel. You don’t know how to begin articulating what’s happening to you, because it makes no sense. When the silver mist first started to rain down from the ceiling, the last thing on your mind was Logan pinning you to one of these mattresses and railing you until you until you see stars. Now, you think that if he so much as stops holding your hand, you'll fucking die.

A look of clarity washes over Logan’s face – with a hint of something else that you can't quite pinpoint, too.

“I think I know what this is,” he murmurs. His stare is locked on one of the daggers strapped to your thigh. He squeezes your hand in his, though you don’t know if it’s to comfort you or himself.

“I’ve heard of this before. Didn’t know it actually exists. I came across it once when preparing a lesson on Alkali Lake—”

“What is it?” you implore.

His eyes finally flicker back up to yours. Images of last night’s dream flash through your mind again. Instead of his hand holding yours, you visualize his slender fingers pumping inside you. You stare at his lips, imaging the feeling of them sucking love bites into the meat of your inner thighs –

“It’s a chemical created for breeding experiments,” he answers after a pregnant pause. “They – Weapon X – wanted super mutants. Some of the subjects were… less than compliant. This made it so that they weren’t able to fight it.”

You let his words sink in. It’s not something you’ve ever heard of, but you don’t doubt that what he’s saying is true. How could you, with the way that your pussy is throbbing at the mere sound of his voice? Under normal circumstances, you might not read too far into that. But right now? On a mission, locked in a creepy basement, unable to get in contact with your teammates?

“Weren’t able to fight it,” you repeat slowly. “You're saying there’s only one way out of this.”

He doesn’t answer – just looks at you with sympathy. With pity.

“No,” you shake your head. You yank your hand from his grasp and move back across the mattress as the gravity of the situation hits you. To distance yourself from him feels like ripping air out of your own lungs, but the alternative is borderline unthinkable.

“I can’t – won’t ask that of you,” you declare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that laughs at you, as if saying it’s cute that you think you have a choice. The pain and longing grow with each passing second, threatening to consume you from the inside out.

“You’re fine. It would be different if it was both of us. But you shouldn’t have to do this just because you're stuck here with me.”

“Have to? You make it sound like it would be a punishment for me,” he chuckles darkly. He finally rises from where he had been kneeling next to the bed. He stands beside the mattress, looming over you in the maroon lighting.

“Let’s not overcomplicate this, princess,” he murmurs. He grasps your face in his palm and tilts your head to look up at him. His touch is a balm – it feels like running a burn under a cold stream of water.

“I'm gonna take care of you, and then you can go right back to tolerating my existence.” He runs the calloused pad of his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip. Your eyes flutter shut, reveling in the sensation of the singular digit against your flesh.

“Besides, it’s not like you haven’t dreamed about this. Or were you moaning about someone else who just happens to have the same name as me last night?”

Your eyes shoot open at the revelation that not only had you said his name in your sleep, but he’d fucking heard you. And has the nerve to tease you about it at a time like this.

He's smirking down at you. His smugness irritates you often, but right now it’s enough to cause the tips of your fingers to burn hot. You jerk his hand away from your face, causing him to hiss when your fingers wrap around his wrist.

He chortles, his eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation. The reaction fills you with annoyance – of course he would have a fucking pain kink.

As much as it pisses you off, it also spurs you on. Blame the influence of the chemicals that you’re currently under, but the fact that he can so easily tolerate and even enjoy something that would have anyone else running in the opposite direction does something to you.

You’re past the point of finding it in you to care about consequences. You’re no longer thinking about how you’ll be able to look him in the eye when this is over, or how you’ll pretend like everything is perfectly normal when the two of you are back on the jet with your teammates.

Maybe you can fight this drug, or maybe he’s right and there’s no point in trying. Either way, you’ve decided that you're going to have him before you leave this room.

You drop his hand, bringing yours to the zipper at the neckline of your tactical suit. You slowly tug it downwards, gauging his expression as he watches you expose your chest and stomach.

For once, he’s all out of smart remarks.

A part of you feels a sense of satisfaction and wants to continue taking your time with undressing yourself, just to keep him looking at you like this – but every fiber of your being is screaming at you for more.

You waste no more time with shoving the restrictive Kevlar material down your arms, leaving you in only your bra from the waist up. Logan unfreezes at the sight, crawling onto the bed on his knees. You maneuver yourself so that you’re laying flat against the mattress, pulling him down with you.

He rips the fabric of your bra away from your breast, immediately attaching his mouth to your nipple. He rolls it between his tongue and teeth, causing you to arch your back into his touch. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, pinning yourself to the mattress with his body. You mewl at the feeling of your pebbled nipple in his warm mouth.

His other hand attempts to free the opposite breast, but the fabric is too tight and restrictive. He let’s out an annoyed growl, pulling back to unsheathe his claws and snip the material in between your tits, letting them spill free.

“Hey! I loved that bra—”

Your complaint dies in your throat when he slates his lips over yours.

There’s nothing slow or sensual about the way that he kisses you. He slips his tongue past your lips, moving his lips with fervency and urgency – like he needs this as badly as you do.

You buck your hips up into him, desperate for any amount of friction. He grinds down against you, his erection evident even through the thick material of both of your tactical suits.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss to unzip your suit the rest of the way down. He peels it down your thighs, only stopping to discard your boots. When you’re left in only your underwear, he looks at you with a satisfied smirk.

“So, what exactly was I doing in your dream to have you saying my name like that, huh?” he asks as he toys with the waistband of your panties.

You roll your eyes, your patience growing thinner as the ache in your belly grows stronger. He can tease you about that all he wants when you’re back in the safety of the mansion, when you’re no longer under the influence of potentially life threatening chemicals and capable of thinking of a proper comeback.

“Shut up and eat me out.”

His smirk only grows, but he doesn’t tease you any further. He tugs your panties down your legs, tossing them to the floor. He lowers himself onto his stomach, still fully dressed. Under less dire circumstances, you would’ve been eager to get him out of his clothes, too – but right now, your highest priority is feeling his mouth on you.

No wet dream could have prepared you for how euphoric it actually feels for his teeth to nip at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, or the way that his tongue draws lazy circles at your hole before his lips lock around your clit.

You writhe against him, chasing the release that you’ve been desperate for since the second the vapor first came in contact with your skin. He’s more than generous, expertly nursing at your swollen bud as he eases a slender finger inside your cunt.

One finger – that’s all it takes to feel your climax building, the coil in your lower belly tightening. You feel your walls pulse around the digit as your orgasm washes over you. You don’t even try to hold back your cries and praises of pleasure, letting him know how good he’s making you feel.

When he sits back, his lips and beard glisten with your slick in the red glow that encases you both. You push yourself into a sitting position and reach for the zipper of his suit, antsy to shed his clothing now that your physical discomfort had been quelled – at least for the time being.

He helps you, shrugging out of his vest and tugging his undershirt over his head. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but never shirtless for you. You want to dig your nails into the planes of his chest, and run your tongue along the protruding vein that disappears beyond the waistline of his pants –

You undo his belt buckle and pop open the button of his pants before hastily yanking both his pants and boxers down in one movement. His cock springs free, bobbing inches before your face. You start to adjust your position on the bed – to get on your knees and take him in your mouth – when a low chuckle causes you to pause and look up at him.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts, earning a confused pout from you.

“You don’t want me to suck your dick?” You ask with raised brows.

“S’not about me right now, bub. I said I was gonna take care of you, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Now lay back down for me.”

You aren’t going to argue with that.

You return to your original position on the mattress, pulling him down with you. He hovers above you, using one arm to support himself on the bed. He takes his cock in his free hand, stroking his length a few times before nudging his head through your folds until he’s lubricated in your juices.

“Don’t you worry, though,” he murmurs against your lips. He teases his tip at your hole. “If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I'll let you.”

“Oh, you’re so thoughtfu—”

He sheaths himself inside you, turning the end of your retort into a gasp. He fills you entirely, stilling to allow both of you time to adjust to the sensation. The stretch is damn near blinding, making your eyes roll back into your skull. You glance down between your bodies, halfway expecting to see him jutting out of your stomach.

He fucks you similarly to how he kisses you – like this is saving him as much as it is you. It's rough, and fast, and messy – and you dread the moment that it’s over.

No one has ever filled you as completely and perfectly as him. You don’t think anyone else ever will, again.

Each drag of his cock along your walls has you clenching around him, each time his head rams against your cervix you can’t help but cry his name.

He snakes his hand in between you, reaching down to where his body collides with yours. His thumb massages over your sensitive clit.

You rake your nails down his back and he hisses in approval, snapping his hips into you at a brutal pace.

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess,” he grunts before kissing you again.

You don't have time to overthink the sentiment before your second orgasm is washing over you. Logan cums as soon as he feels your pussy pulsating around him, fucking you until he's spilled every last drop of his warm seed deep inside you. When you're both finished, he stills inside you and rests his sweat-slicked forehead against yours as he catches his breath.

“You think it worked?” he grunts.

As if on cue, you hear the deadbolt unlock from the other side of the room. A second later, Storm’s voice sounds from your communication device that had fallen to the floor at some point.

“I don't feel like there’s a ticking time bomb inside my vagina anymore. So, I’d say yeah, it worked.”

He huffs a laugh, and then pulls out of you with a sigh.

“Logan,” you say, stopping him before he can pull away from you entirely. He stares down at you, waiting for you to continue.

You aren’t even sure what to say. Truthfully, you just weren’t ready for the moment to end and for things to go back to normal between the two of you.

“Thank you,” you spit out after a moment of loaded silence. “For… helping me,” you finish lamely.

“Don’t thank me, bub,” he chuckles. “It’s far from the worst thing that's happened to me in this place.”

••••••

You sleep the entire flight back to New York.

And as soon as you've showered and your head hits the pillow after returning home to the mansion, you sleep for another ten hours. Every time you wake up and think that you're finally well-rested, your body says otherwise and you're asleep again within minutes.

You wish you could say it’s a dreamless sleep, but that would be a lie. You see Logan’s face every time you close your eyes.

But it's different than the last dream you had of him. It isn’t images of his head between your thighs or his fingers slipping in and out of you.

It’s just.. him. His presence. The lingering feeling of his lips on yours, the light flavor of tobacco and menthol.

And the echo of the words he spoke as he teased you with the head of his cock and made you cum around his length.

“Don’t you worry, though. If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I’ll let you.”

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess.”

When you wake, the ache between your thighs for him remains, despite the fact that the effects of the drugs had long since faded.

You know you shouldn’t read too far into words spoken while the two of you were locked in that room. But you can’t help but keep thinking that he wasn’t under the influence of chemical subjugation. Which leaves you questioning if he meant the things he said, or if he was just trying to lighten a scary, impossible situation for both of you.

You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

When you finally gather the courage the knock on his door, the sun has set and everyone has retired to their bedrooms for the evening.

You almost dash back into your own room during the few seconds that it takes him to open his door. He wears sweatpants, a plain black t-shirt, and a surprised expression.

“Hey, bub,” he greets you apprehensively. You don't normally make a habit of stopping by his room for late night chats. “Was starting to worry that you’d fallen into a coma.”

He opens his door wider, motioning with his head for you to come inside.

“Felt like it,” you give a small laugh. “Whatever was in that shit wore me out.” You take a seat on the edge of his bed, nervously wringing your hands together.

“You feeling better now?” he asks as he leans against his dresser, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes trail over the large muscles of his chest and shoulders. The memory of his body caging you to the twin sized mattress in the basement of the bunker flashes through your mind.

You nod, hoping that it’s convincing.

“All things considered,” you shrug. “I just wanted to check in with you. Has Charles… said anything?”

What you're actually trying to ask is if Charles interrogated him about where the two of you were during the mission, why no one was able to contact either of you, and why you have been so exhausted that you've done nothing but sleep for the last day, but you trust that he knows what you mean.

“He hasn’t said anything, but..” he trails off, eyes darting around the room to avoid your gaze. “It’s Charles. Safe to assume he knows and is just being decent by not saying anything.”

“Right,” you murmur.

If he doesn’t already know, it's only a matter of time before you slip up and imagine the feeling of his lips on yours or the sounds of his moans in the middle of a mission debriefing.

“And the humans..? They’re all okay?”

“They are,” he assures you with a soft smile. “They’re all receiving medical attention, and most have been reunited with their loved ones.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “No thanks to us, I guess.”

“No,” he laughs. “I suppose not.”

He pushes himself off the dresser, walking the few feet to where you perch at the edge of the mattress. He sits down beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. He smells of Old Spice deodorant and spearmint toothpaste, and it makes you the room spin around you.

“But everyone’s okay. They’re safe. And you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

You nod, not trusting your voice to speak. He’s close enough that you can practically feel the heat from his body. You risk looking at his face, your gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

“Yeah,” you finally agree. “You’re right. Well, I’ll let you get some rest. I just wanted to check in with—”

You start to stand up, when he cups your jaw in his hand and pulls your face to his. He’s hesitant in a way that he wasn’t yesterday – he gives you the opportunity to pull away before he sweeps his tongue across your bottom lip, as if asking for permission.

When you don’t give any kind of indication that you want him to stop, he pulls you flush against him and slips his tongue past your lips. You bring your hand to the back of his neck, twining your fingers through his hair.

He takes his time with you. Whereas yesterday’s kisses were filled with urgency and desperation, todays is tender and sensual. Now, you’re allowed the luxury of taking your time.

He lays down against the mattress, pulling you with him. You straddle his stomach, your lips never once breaking contact. His hands grip the globes of your ass, his fingers digging into the meat through your pajama pants.

You grind against the hard planes of his abdomen, earning a throaty growl from him.

He breaks away, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“I said something I didn’t entirely mean yesterday,” he whispers, out of breath.

“What?” you ask, sitting upright and looking down at him. “You aren’t going to let me suck your dick?”

“No,” he chuckles. “God, no. I meant that. If you still want to, that is—”

“What is it, then?” you interrupt with a playful nudge to his chest.

“I said you could go back to tolerating my existence. But I hope you wanna do a little bit more than just tolerate me.”

You laugh under your breath, leaning down to press your lips to his once more.

“I could see myself doing a little bit more than just tolerating you.”

oooops i accidentally wrote another fic where logan overhears something that he wasn't supposed to 😅🫠 did not originally plan for that to happen hahaha

check out some of my other logan fics -

by the end of the night

dog tags drabble

[jmflowers]

Swarla Kisses Rated [x]

1. "Don't get dressed." (22nd November 2024)

The loud noise that occurred at the moment this kiss aired was the sound of an entire population's proverbial panties dropping. Has there ever been a hotter line spoken? This is the power-necking the soap community taught us about. Swarla started off SO strong it's frankly terrifying. 14/10 Carla knew what she wanted.

2. "Have you?" (29th November 2024)

When the most confident dyke on the cobbles asks you if you've changed your mind about your feelings for her, you are required by law to stubbornly keep your hand on your hip. Even if she pushes your hair back from your face as delicately as humanly possible??? If Lisa Swain ever looked at me like that I would burst into flames. 11/10

3. "Is that better?" (16th December 2024)

We reached the domesticity era of their love in 0.2 seconds flat and I for one am not upset about it. The way Carla nuzzles in? The tilt of Lisa's head? The repetition? I was not expecting more kisses so soon in their story. The only way this could've gotten better is if they'd eaten each other's faces after this had been a clearer angle. 7/10 Carla Connor saying, “I want you.” plays on loop in my head at all times.

4. "Mmm... truffley." (20th December 2024)

The prolonged eye contact???? The dazed look on Lisa's face immediately after?? The fucking giggles???? The sheer power Carla Connor has and wields for good (ie. my own entertainment). Coronation Street said y'all deserve this. 10/10 Carla can hand feed me any day of the week.

5. "See you later." (20th December 2024)

Have you ever seen anyone look so peaceful about a decision before? Carla Connor said, "Today's the day I kiss my girlfriend in the street." I know y'all were waiting for that Live Sally Reaction and it did not disappoint. I hope they kiss each other goodbye constantly forever. 6/10 The way she analyzed Lisa's entire face before leaning forward made me scream both internally and externally.

6. New Year's Countdown (31st December 2024)

If you thought I wouldn't lose my mind over the image of them off in a corner of the pub in their own little world, you were wrong. I need to know if this was a scripting choice, an acting choice, or an editing choice for reasons. I'm never going to get sick of the way Lisa pulls Carla closer by the shoulders (almost) every time they kiss. Lisa closing her eyes like that makes my heart stop beating. 8/10

7. "Ooh, your lip!" (31st December 2024)

You ever just get aggressively snogged by a woman who's falling in love with you (while your lip is busted open from fighting bad guys)? Superheroes really don't get days off but they do get the girl. I miss the power-necking (literally a month ago?!?), but this was still so cute. 9/10 for the sheer fact that Carla needed a New Year's like this considering she dies like 12 hours later.

8. "Won't take that long." (31st December 2024)

Carla Connor isn't the only one who nearly fainted shortly after this kiss. Lisa said let me flutter my drunk eyelashes at you. The way Carla opened her mouth?? The breathy, "You want to go to bed?" from Lisa??? The fucking forehead lean???? I am too goddamn gay for this to be on my screen. How did we get a month into this relationship and already reach 8 kiss scenes? 10/10 thanks Coronation Street for the gay rights.

9. "Please don't leave me here." (1st January 2025)

The fact that Lisa could walk away from Carla in this moment is frankly mind-blowing; her face is the same colour as Betsy's shirt. Lisa, woman, OPEN YOUR DAMN EYES. Someone said Carla looks like she died 3 hours ago and they're not wrong. 3/10 because I'm a sucker for the domestic nature of this but also I want to punch everyone in the face for not protecting our sick baby. Gold star for the Corrie makeup department and their highlighter collection.

10. "Are we okay?" (8th January 2025)

Lisa Swain's affectionate eye roll immediately after Bobby interrupted them is like 1/1000th of how we all really felt. She lingered on this kiss for so long. The hand coming up to cup Carla's head? The forehead lean again? Carla's little smile when she realized what was about to happen? Give these ladies a room that isn't in hospital or full of their children. 9/10 we're watching f/f hurt/comfort fanfiction live on ITV.

11. Comforting Hand (9th January 2025)

We're deep in the trenches of this hurt/comfort storyline now, kids. I hope Lisa plans on sitting vigil at Carla's bedside for the rest of their damn lives (yes I'm wearing my clown makeup while I watch this soap). 4/10 because my self-deprecating baby pulled away from the love and support she deserves.

12. Good Luck (13th January 2025)

As far as kisses go, this barely passes the test, but THEY ARE FAMILY. Carla, proper bricking it. Betsy, also bricking it. Good thing Lisa Swain swooped in to wish her wife girlfriend good luck with the most vanilla cheek peck known to man. Someone get them a room and a dialysis machine whirring to drown out all their kids, stat! 5/10 cause I respect the domesticity.

[ctwinsduo]

woe cwilbur be upon ye. as promised here are my designs for every cwil era/stage/what have you + my reasons behind each design. design breakdown will be under the read more :>

as a disclaimer going forward: these designs are heavily informed by my own headcanons (namely the nature spirit headcanon, which i will only briefly explain here- if you want more of a background on that here's where I first shared the hc and explained it a bit) i'll be honest idk how much of these hcs/analysis abides by canon? so if you prefer to closely abide by canon this may not be for you. having said that, let's get into this. So one question that may initially come to mind when looking over this is "Why a nature spirit?" which is a reasonable question all things considered. I've already gone over the Watsonian explanation in the past, so instead I'll cover the Doylist take- which is more interesting as it pertains to these designs. Wilbur, as I see her, is a character that has many faces- she warps and changes to embody the view of herself she sees as necessary for the situation, whether that be the revolutionary or the villain. Simultaneously he has this core that's deeply eccentric and often difficult for the characters around him to grasp- this can come in the form of benign weirdness to the struggles with mental illness we see him go through throughout his various arcs. There's this push and pull between the person they want to portray and who they are fundamentally that's always at play.

Them being a nature spirit embodies this to an extreme. As a nature spirit their physical form is informed by their self perception (the one that's warped by the role they feel they need to take) and their own mental state, both aspects of the character that are foundational.

Another question that may arise upon reading all of this is "Why not just make him a shapeshifter?" which is also a valid question. Truthfully this one is rooted heavily in my own ideas of the character, so you'll have to take that with a grain of salt. I am, unfortunately, prone to making shit up /lh With that in mind however, the reason I choose nature spirit over shapeshifter is that, the way I interpret it, it's much more... animalistic? Let me explain: the way I tend to see shapeshifters portrayed is either a. having a base form that's relatively humanoid and then multiple other forms or b. having no base form but still presenting as generally humanoid. As a nature spirit Wilbur has a natural (ba-dum-tsss) tie to well... nature, and all that lives within it.

She's this manifestation of the wilderness whose form isn't even naturally human, yet she shapes herself into something presenting as such. As a nature spirit Wilbur occupies this weird nebulous space between human and beast, never fully embodying either. I find this incredibly interesting for a character that wants to feel and to be treated as human so badly, one that also clearly resents being seen as monstrous (despite leaning into that perception of themselves)

TLDR; Wilbur's 50 contradictions in a trenchcoat (literally) and being a nature spirit gives these contradictions/masks/ect. a physical manfiestation Now that we're 500+ words of analysis in, let me breakdown each individual stage :3 /lh

Pre-SMP + L'manburg

The most "human" Wilbur ever gets here- technically these two are different designs/eras but they have similar design notes so I'm lumping them together here

During this stage of his life Wilbur has a fairly good handle on his shapeshifting and is consciously choosing to look more human

Small details like the fangs, pointed ears, claws, and pupils allude to an inhuman nature. I like to think there's something uncanny valley about them- they look human but the longer you look at them the more small discrepancies you notice

Both look relatively generic appearance wise, if you can't tell this was Wilbur's "I am a Normal Human Man era" but with slightly more gender /lh

Decided to stick Wilbur in a different outfit Pre-SMP than the actual skin most people reference, mostly because I thought it'd be fun. The trenchcoat follows her throughout her development

Lots of goofy ass patches and pins on the coat

I personally hc that Wilbur always has some sort of oversized clothes on because it's a bit like a security blanket for him, very grounding and all that- anyways that's what the trenchcoat is here

Limited notes on L'manburg era- main thing is the glasses; they got cracked in conflict and they just never bothered to fix em

Pogtopia

As a result of stress (and personal perception) Wilbur lost control over his shifting entirely

Wilbur views their nature as inherently monstrous, thus when they think of themselves as monstrous or evil they lose most of their human appearance

Much taller in this form than usual, this reflects both how she feels she's perceived and how she perceives herself (monstrous, scary, inhuman, ect. ect.)

Their height also serves to emphasis the claustrophobic nature of the ravine and especially the button room

Eye color changes from brown to red, yet again another thing which reflects his self loathing

Coat is the same one worn pre-smp, just with some adjustments

Pins & patches removed from the jacket (my friend suggested it saying that he "ripped them out because they were too happy" and I find that mental image particularly silly so it stays)

Covered in stains, partially because the ravine is just. awful. and partially because this thing is not taking care of herself even a little bit

Lenses are even more cracked than they were during the revolution

Ghostbur

This section has a lot less points then the others on account of Ghostbur being fairly self explanatory, but shhhhhh

Reverted to "base form" post death, form is extremely fluid as a ghost- she tends to shift depending on the topic of conversation or the person she's speaking with (Explain being: whenever she talks about "alivebur" she becomes more human)

Less of a note and more rambling: fox ghostbur is especially fun to me given the hatred Wilbur has for Ghostbur. Ghostbur physically reflecting the parts of Wilbur that they hate the most in themselves

For Wilbur their base form- just a normal widdle fox- represents vulnerability. It is quite literally a small, fuzzy animal with little means to defend itself and it is also the culmination of everything Wilbur is running from. Ghostbur embraces this form fully yet is seen as more palatable by the people around her than Wilbur ever was

Constantly leaking a jammy, blue substance from his eyes and the cut in his chest, yucky

Especially long sections of "fur" like their tail and the back of their neck are constantly "dripping" little wisps like rain

Post-Revival

Post-revival his shifting is still fucked up (thank the mental illness for that) but he's got a slightly better handle on it, enough to look semi-human

Eyes have reverted back to brown but their lenses are tinted red anyways (often looks red)

The coat makes a comeback, edges are all fucked up from the explosion

That funky little overcoat/cloak/ect. got yoinked by Niki

Disheveled appearance meant to reflect her rancid ass mental state- namely the hair and the facial hair. Hair is grown out because she can't be bothered to cut it (you bet that shit is full of knots)

Nasty awful smeared eyeshadow as a treat <3 (I just think he deserves to be a little cunty yk?)

Got a little tired near the end here which is why the points got a bit sloppy, maybe I'll add more at a later date who knows. If you made it this far I hope you at least enjoyed reading all of this :>

[rhowena]

The core problem of Campaign 3's god debate is that the only real support offered by the anti-god side is "some people are mad at the gods" and no one -- in-universe or out -- seems to realize that the mere existence of people who dislike the gods isn't sufficient to make "should the gods stay or go?" into a hyper-complex morally grey debate, any more than the mere existence of global warming denialists is sufficient to make the factual reality of climate change into a hyper-complex scientific debate. "People who are mad at the gods exist, therefore the current system is broken somehow" is the mentality of people-pleasing: if someone is mad at you, it proves that you're a bad person who did something to make them mad, and you are now morally obligated to internalize everything they say about you and devote all your energy to appeasing them.

I am, personally, of the opinion that it is vitally important for people in positions of power to maintain a healthy awareness of their own fallibility and cultivate lines of feedback from lower down in the chain the way software developers provide bug report forms; however, the reality I encountered when I accepted a forum moderation position years ago is that, if you're an Authority Figure™ of any stripe, for every person with a good-faith criticism of a poor ruling you made while overtired or an outdated policy that needs to be revised, there are a dozen who shake their fists at you because they want someone to be mad at. And when you look at the actual substance of the complaints being made (nearly all of which display a fundamental refusal to grapple with the scale the gods operate on and how that affects their decision-making) and ask "what, if anything, could/should the gods have done differently?" and "is getting rid of the gods actually a viable solution to this problem?", they're all firmly in that latter category.

To go down the list:

Vecna: If we're treating "people who are mad at the gods" as a Marginalized Group™ whose grievances are Good Points™ and Worth Considering™ simply because they are grievances with The People in Power™, then Vecna is part of said Marginalized Group™, seeing as he holds a massive grudge against the gods who helped banish him beyond the Divine Gate and per the campaign books his ultimate goal is to eliminate the worship of all deities other than himself. One can only imagine how hard he's kicking himself for failing to find out about Predathos before his own ascension.

Ludinus: His parents will still be dead whether he succeeds or fails, and preventing the same thing from happening to others is what the Divine Gate is for. Killing the gods would not only not prevent similar tragedies, it would, at least in the short term, actively make things worse: assuming Tharizdun doesn't just eat everything, how does he expect Lesser Idols like Uk'otoa to react to a glorious new age where there are no gods to keep them in check and millions of newly deity-less clerics are stuck watching people die whom they could have saved if they still had their spells? Moreover, what happens when people discontented with his glorious new era swear vengeance on those they blame for taking their gods from them, as Ludinus swore vengeance on those he blames for his parents' deaths, or start idealizing the lost age of the gods and looking for ways to somehow bring them back, as Ashton does with the Titans? Does the perspective of people who like the gods then become Worth Considering™, if they've gone from being Privileged™ to being a Marginalized Group™ who have been collectively traumatized by the loss of something precious to them?

Aeor: One of the major takeaways from Downfall was that Aeor was extremely decadent, corrupt, stratified, and generally dystopian at its height. Their main reason for wanting the gods dead seems to be not liking the existence of anything more powerful than them, and anyone arguing that the gods are Too Powerful To Exist needs to explain why the tiny cabal of mages at the tippy-top of Aeor's societal pyramid, wielding power that 99.9% of Exandrians will never have access to, were not themselves Too Powerful To Exist, especially given their evident imperialist ambitions.

Dorian: I won't downplay the genuine grievance there, but a. Opal was victimized by one of the Betrayer Gods, and what to do about them is a question that Vespin Chloras and Cassida Previn, for all their hubris, approached with considerably more nuance, and b. per the post linked in the previous bullet point, if your ultimate goal is to prevent all ill-advised deals with powerful entities and the unpleasant consequences thereof, where exactly do you stop?

Tuldus and Hearthdell: Plenty of irreligious people across Exandria are living their best lives unmolested, so the whole "you must be religious OR ELSE" isn't something the gods themselves are demanding in a systemic way, and getting rid of them wouldn't prevent all oppression any more than it would prevent all cataclysms and mass deaths. (It might not even stop the oppression committed by those specific religious people; per 'personality predates ideology', the ones who are in it to bully others and feel righteous about it will simply look for a different excuse to do so if their current one is taken from them.) There's a genuine debate to be had about how much responsibility the gods bear for their followers' actions and one could, more reasonably, accuse them of having become too lax and needing to be more stringent about telling their priests to cut that kind of shit out (though that in turn opens the question of how much they can micromanage their followers' behavior before it becomes genuinely smothering and oppressive), but it runs counter to the "the gods have too much control" narrative the Vanguard is pushing.

Liliana: Every parroted accusation she levies at the Exandria's pantheon is something Predathos and its worshippers are far, FAR more guilty of, but Predathos doesn't present itself as a caring, benevolent entity in the same way the Prime Deities do, and she expects us to believe that it admitting that it's bad somehow makes it good. (There's a Slacktivist quote that I think sums up the underlying logic here: "Once you've decided that the Most Important Thing is to avoid the wolf in sheep's clothing, your safest course of action is to embrace the wolf in wolf's clothing.")

Ashton: Essentially blames the gods for refusing to micromanage reality on their behalf and, in focusing so much on his own pain, hasn't stopped to ask what the world would look like if the gods actually felt obligated to micromanage reality on behalf of everyone who petitioned them that way, not just him personally. My dad is an agnostic and specifically doesn't believe in a god who answers prayer because what's a god to do when there's a baseball game and both teams have fans praying for their victory (or when there's a war and both armies include adherents of a given faith)?

Bor'dor: It's one thing to say that the gods have certain obligations to their followers and quite another to say that that the gods are supposed to keep their followers swaddled in bubble wrap 24/7 and prevent them from experiencing any consequences for their own actions whatsoever, and arguing that the Wildmother should have somehow stopped Bor'dor's family's suicide charge from resulting in their deaths is the latter.

Vox Machina: Continue to hold a grudge against the Matron for taking Vax away and would like to believe her being gone would make him mortal again, but when you stop to think about Vax as a person with his own feelings and opinions about his relationship with the Matron, instead of as a passive object to be fought over, the "what if Predathos eats the Matron?" scenario looks a hell of a lot bleaker. There's also the question of whether or not Predathos would consider Vax himself edible; a mere celestial might be one of those half-crushed potato chip fragments at the bottom of the bag in comparison to a god, but when you've been trapped and starving for thousands of years...

Zathuda: Objects not to being told 'no' but to the existence of forces who could potentially tell him no, which to me reads as an asshole whining about how unfair and oppressive it is when people see his assholery and tell him to cut it the fuck out.

[mono-dot-jpeg]

[10:51pm]

a/n; am i back in my hsr fic era or do i just miss platonic fics with my faves?

[platonic] [gender neutral] [child! reader] [ooc sunday?]

when sunday first met you, it was dismissive. not in a rude way. but in the way that would leave you a little confused. he wasn't being mean. he was actually pretty nice. well, more civil than nice.

the first few weeks of staying on the express and meeting you, the resident child of the express, it left him a little hesitant to get to know you.

he wasn't scared of you necessarily. he was scared of how much he saw robin in you.

young, bright, lovely. sure, most of that came with being a kid, but he couldn't help himself. even if he said goodbye to her, it didn't mean his thoughts about his sister would just disappear. that was his family.

there wasn't a day that went by where he wondered about what could've been.

and now he's here. with a sweet kid to look over.

you were persistent, that much he knows.

he watches when you beg for dan heng to let you stay in his room so he reads you a story for bedtime. how you tug and drag the trailblazer's coat in hopes of having a fun bath time in their new bathroom in the party car area. when you try to ask march to let you take a photo in any new environment when the express stops.

you look up at sunday with an impossibly bright grin. a child robin flashes in his eyes before blinking again and seeing you.

you sit by a couch that he stood next to as you ramble on and on about your little found family on the express. you talk about how cool it is to have him around and his wings flutter as he was flustered. children had an honesty to them. an unfiltered honesty that could either be really good or really bad.

and it seems like you were on the good side of things, having learning from himeko and welt about being honest in the right way. though you were still learning to grasp some human nature.

sunday can relate to that in a way. he felt like he was relearning to look at everything differently. he was seeing the galaxy anew and you were as well.

you take a soft cushioned seat next to him with your clockie plush in hand. "do you know how long you're staying, mr. sunday?"

he chuckles at your honorifics towards him and your little clockie plush, "you don't need to call me mister. i think i'm too young for that..." his wing flutters as he speaks, smoothly dodging your question. "you can call me sunday."

"hm.. well, you didn't answer my question, mr. sunday!" he lets out a gentle huff of amusement at your insistence.

"i'm not really sure, little one. why do you wonder?"

"because i think you'd be a really cool big brother to have around!"

he freezes at your words before softening, "i don't know if i'm a very good brother to have.." he said, his voice feather soft and laced with an underlying regret.

"is it because of miss robin?" you look up at him and he see robin again before glancing away.

"something like that, yes." and the conversation halts for a moment as you look out at the window, the galaxy of stars decorate the cold black space before you look at sunday again. his smile is wistful but accepting.

"if i can't call you mr. sunday.." you started. "then, can i call you big brother?"

he pauses, his wings ruffle and lower at your words. but he answers, "maybe not today, but someday."

and instead of seeing robin's bright smile, he sees your own. he's sure that you and robin got along very well in the limited time you've met each other.

[thebreakfastgenie]

I really like fanfiction as a writing exercise sometimes because it allows me to practice certain skills without having to take the time to build a character and world from scratch. I love doing that, but it's a lot of work and takes a lot of time, especially for me because I have terrible perfectionism that I'm constantly struggling to overcome to write anything. With fanfiction I don't have to get bogged down in those details. It's a nice way to practice things like dialogue, action, even symbolism and imagery and stuff like that. It's kind of the other side of the coin of worldbuilding and character creation that don't go anywhere. It's an exercise for a different set of skills. It's not uncommon in visual art to try to copy a style or even copy an entire work as an exercise because you get to practice the technique and learn about some different styles as you develop your own. If I'm going to actually write original fiction I don't approach it the same way as fanfiction, because it's a different thing, but I can apply some of the skills I practice writing fanfiction. And it's also totally fine to just write fanfiction for fun without any aspirations to writing original fiction.

I also agree with you about not going over too much from canon. Good fic is often not accessible to people who aren't familiar with the source, because that's not the audience. A lot of those examples of "fic so good I loved it even though I didn't know the source at all" are actually not very good fic, nor do they establish the characters, they're just written in a style where characterization is irrelevant. That can be because certain blobo archetypes pop up again and again across fandoms so a reader who is familiar with fandom in general will easily recognize them (if you know what "the dynamic" is you may be entitled to financial compensation) which is actually not flattering to how fandoms engage with characters, lol. I think in most cases it's because those fics tend to be heavy on the smut and characterization is often irrelevant in those cases. You don't need to know a lot about the characters or the world they're from to enjoy them having hot hot sex.

I actually hate it when fic spends too long going over information from the source material. Like you said, it's redundant and boring. This is especially true in the era of online fandom when everyone has easy access to the source material and summaries of it. I actually used to see the opposite of what OP is describing on fanfiction.net around 2009-10, where too many fics introduced main characters as if we'd never met them before. It was typically done in the same style as the YA books of the period, because that's what the teenagers writing them were reading so that's what they were most heavily influenced by. It was annoying at the time but honestly I think it's way better than fanfiction writers only reading and being influenced by other fanfiction.

This is also what's behind the phenomenon I like to call "good writing, bad fanfiction" which is when a fic is genuinely very well-crafted but is just bad at being fanfiction because it's so far removed from the source material. This is true of most long elaborate AU fics I've read, but it happens with fics that aren't extreme AUs too, because the tone and/or characterization just don't fit. Sometimes I think writers get so comfortable with a fandom community that they kind of box themselves into writing fic instead of letting themselves fully explore the creativity of some of their ideas.

So I have nothing against fan fiction, I've even done some of it at times.

but I think its important to realize it teaches writers bad habits, namely, when you're writing with established characters you don't have to introduce them, flush them out, characterize them (as much) because that work has already been done, the reader already knows and likes the character thats why they're here for more of a character someone else established.

which is fine, again, totally fine. However, I've noticed more and more in fiction I pick up lately characters seeming, undercooked, and with other stylistic tropes it really seems to be with authors who started off in Fan Fiction.

I do think Fan Fiction is a good starting point for getting an audience and getting feed back and building your confidence, but you have to realize that like there are some things in original work that aren't in fan fiction so you're not practicing them when you write fan fiction.

[firstkanaphans]

'kaitong' is deeply unserious of them lmao

P'Au tried his best to pass this episode off as Moonlight Chicken fanfiction, but I'm not buying it. Alan and Gaipa would never use rude pronouns with each other. But you know who does? First and Khaotung! This is RPF and you can't change my mind.

And not just for FK either! I saw those Saturn World dolls on the couch. I caught all of those references to the EM divorce era. P'Au is P'Aof's protege and since we already know P'Aof likes his RPF, I can only assume he taught P'Au to write what you know. And what P'Au knows is that First and Khaotung need to move into Khao's new house together and fall in love. He is a fudanshi at heart and I cannot wait to see what he does with Cat for Cash.

[wooshofficial]

I’ve been ruminating on this last garages album for a bit, and wondering why I haven’t been sad.

For anyone unaware: The Garages released the last album of the “we are the garages” series, titled We’ve Been The Garages, as our last album before the release of Expansion and the simmering shutdown of the band as we knew it.

I had a huge hand in this album. I wrote two songs for it—one old, one new—and helped on two others. I helped with tracklisting. I put a lot of emotion + energy + work into this, and now that it’s out, I’m left with this feeling of pride and joy.

But from reactions here on tumblr and by friends, it’s clear that feeling just pride is a singularity. A lot of people are grieving the terminal loss of the band and at large, the shocking, sudden loss of Blaseball, the game that started it all. People are left with a hole where it used to be, and it is making them rightfully very sad. I’ve gone through these same experiences with them, so I should be sad, right? Hell, I’m a part of the band that’s ending- I should be distraught. I should be grieving, it feels like.

But I’m not. I can’t find it within myself to be sad about this release, nor can I be sad about the loss of Blaseball, nor that I have to do other things now. This is because of two reasons, one of which is more important than the other:

I’ve always been terrible at handling grief in a healthy or normal way (unimportant)

I have a very different mindset about this particular ending.

For me, this album isn’t a death. This is a graduation.

I’ve known for a long time that Blaseball was finite. It was born of an era that existed only because it had to, and once that era was over, so was the game. TGB put it best when they shut it down- it was unsustainable now that the pandemic had been societally declared over. Blaseball was built in the absence of a thing that was now back, and no one could dedicate their full time to it anymore now that they weren’t locked in their houses indefinitely. When I heard the news, I had a flash of anger on how it ended, but it was quickly replaced by a resolute feeling of knowing this was going to happen eventually. It was always going to end, and it’s a shame that it did so in this way, but it had to. I wasn’t sad about it.

And with the death of Blaseball came the death of the thing that had been the Garages’ muse for so long. How long could a thing last without life support, especially when we, the people behind the band, were subject to the same situation of being needed somewhere else? The Garages’ end was going to follow Blaseball’s eventually, even if it took nearly two years to do so. I knew this and understood this deeply.

I also knew that the end of the band wasn’t going to suddenly kill the bonds I had made with my bandmates, people I have the honor to call friends, best friends and colleagues. None of us were suddenly going to drop dead (knock on wood, you bitches better survive), we were just going to stand there after the lights went out and say “now what?”. There was always going to be an end, but there was also always going to be an after.

A graduation is not a funeral. You can grieve the fact that it’s over, but really, you are meant to reflect on the wonderful (or horrible) things that have occurred in the time since you’ve started. Take all the good and the bad and the deeply complex and turn it into fuel for the new you’re about to step into. Understand just how far you’ve gotten since that initial point, and maybe see how far you can go.

I graduated high school in June 2022, about 10 months into my being a part of the band. They were among the first people I told I was going to college and that I had just thrown my cap. It rained that day, and the venue was outdoors, and I had food poisoning, but when I threw that cap, I wasn’t upset at any of that. I wasn’t upset that high school was over (for a plethora of reasons), nor was I sad that I was going into a new part of my life. I was actually thinking about my graduation cap itself, and how hard I had worked on it the night before, painstakingly painting it and making sure it was perfect. I was so happy that I had done the damn thing, and it had gotten a moment to glimmer in the air, even if a little smeared due to the rain. I walked out of there that day so proud of myself for making it through and making that cap.

And almost ironically, the words I had painted were “I’ll figure it out eventually”. I didn’t know entirely what I was going to do after high school besides go to college, or what I wanted to get a job in, I just knew that there was going to be something there. I knew that I would keep going. All I had to say was “now what?”, because this was an end, yes, but there was always going to be an after.

I don’t know what the band will become after we release the last of our stored works. We have some ideas. We don’t know what our legacy will look like in a year, or five, or ten, or fifty. We don’t know what’s coming for us, but we’ll figure it out eventually. There’s always an after, and we will make it ours.

And I’m not sad about that.

[shivayagojo]

CHINA GP, overrated?

masterlist

PORSCHE'S DEBUT had gone stunningly: a double points finish and a win in Australia. They were proud and comfortable to be leading the constructor's championship coming out of Australia. Better, they were beating Audi by miles. Their beef with the German manufacturer was still soft-launching. Neither side were willing to full out reveal their hatred for the other brand - after all, they were both owned by the same group - but something in Stuggart was telling them the time was approaching.

youtube.com

MONACO IS OVERRATED?? | FLORETTEL EPISODE ONE

Admin: Today, we're playing a game of This or That. I'm going to tell you two options and you're going to pick one side or the other. Ready?

RACE TRACKS or STREET CIRCUITS

Ava: Race tracks. Not a competition.

Seb: Street circuits are fun, but I'll have to go with race tracks.

MONACO or BRAZIL

Seb: Oh.. {intense nerdy Vettel thinking kicks in}. They're both iconic tracks. I'll go with Monaco. It's a tough race and a real testament to your skill.

Ava: ... I'm already going to get a lot of hate for this. I don't like Monaco all that well.

Seb: What?

Ava: Saturdays are amazing, but Sunday is a snooze-fest. Maybe you're different cause you raced in a different era, but no. You can't overtake anyone. It's so boring.

Seb: Still, it's that bad?

Ava: Compared to Sao Paolo, yes.

CHICANE or HAIR PIN

Seb: Chicane

Ava: Definitely Chicane. You can't go wrong with it. So many different overtakes can happen... or crashes if you're Max and Lewis.

Seb: Actually, I thought during Australia, when I was behind them, they were going to take each other out and I can pass on by.

Ava: Brocedes 2.0.

f1

Gabriel Bortoleto has suffered a wrist injury during Free Practice 3 on Sunday. He is ruled out for the Chinese Grand Prix. Felipe Drugovich is set to be his replacement.

see comments below

audif1team: Wishing Bortoleto a speedy recovery. We've got a surprise for you all... 😉

> porschefanatic: Surprise? More like desperation. Heard you're struggling to keep up with development

aston_fan: Wait, isn't he Aston's reserve? What's going on?

> f1insider: Looks like he's leaving AM for a race seat. Big move!

> nando33: Lmao Stroll ain't leaving that soon as long Big Papa is around 🤣

drugovich_br: So proud to see Felipe getting his chance! 🇧🇷 From reserve to race seat, dreams do come true!

am_updates: Wishing Felipe all the best! You'll always be part of the Aston Martin family 💚

> drugovich_fan1: Class act from AM. But why let him go if he's so valuable?

f1

It's Sprint Qualifying time in China. McLaren and Lando have set the pace during practice, and Audi has shocked with a surprising performance. Can Porsche defend their monumental debut?

see comments below

gp2engine: Lando's on fire this season! 🔥 McLaren's back where they belong!

bea: Audi coming in hot! 👀 Didn't see that coming!

> lululemoncalled: Well Porsche cooked them last race so they gotta respond somehow

landonorris_stan: My boy's got this in the bag 🏆 #LN4

> mad_max: All for him to lose Pole by turn 1 🤣

> pawastri: The pole position curse is still going in strong in 2025

f1_memer: Plot twist: Kimi comes out of retirement and takes pole 😂

> nostalgicf1: Don't give me hope 😭

> raikkonen7: "Bwoah, I was having a shit"

teamlh44: Lewis P1, calling it now 🐐

> max33fan: Keep dreaming

totoismyfather: Anyone else think sprint races are overrated?

> boomer: Totally agree. Bring back the old format!

CHINESE GRAND PRIX: The anticipation builds as Formula 1 returns to Shanghai for the second round. Porsche had nothing but a stellar debut in F1. Now, everyone knows they're no longer the dark horse. They're the team to beat. And Audi would love nothing more than to best their German brethren. The team brought an excellent pace into Free Practice and after a terrible performance in Australia, they need jump into the points fast. 

          SQ1 kicked off with a flurry of activity as drivers rushed to set competitive times. Lando Norris immediately stamped his authority on the session, clocking a blistering 1:33.756. The surprise of the session came from the Audi garage, with Nico Hulkenberg and Felipe Drugovich (replacing the injured Borteleto) showing impressive pace, finishing P6 and P8 respectively.

         MEANWHILE, trouble brewed in the Porsche camp. Sebastian Vettel struggled with balance issues, barely scraping through in P15. His teammate Ava Florence fared no better, complaining of understeer in the tight corners.

AVA The car's a handful in these slow sections.

HENRY Copy that, Ava. We're losing too much time in sector two We'll look at adjustments for SQ2.

          SQ2 saw Lando Norris continue his dominance, lowering the benchmark to 1:33.403. The Audis shocked the paddock by maintaining their top-10 positions, with Hulkenberg even briefly holding P2 before being pushed down to P4. Drama unfolded as the checkered flag fell. Sebastian Vettel managed to sneak into SQ3 by the skin of his teeth, claiming P10 by just 0.021 seconds. Unfortunately for Ava Florence...

"We ride on board with last Grand Prix's winner, Ava Florence. Her first sector was not good... and her second sector will be even worse. Martin is what is happening?"

"Here is she comes hard on the brakes again from about 180mph to third gear, for a tight left-hande. Crofty, her car has been struggling in the slow corners. And so perhaps Porsche has found their first problem in F1. We saw how blazing fast she was in Australi's fast corners. Here, not so much."

"Indeed, Martin, and she approaches the biggest braking zone of the track, Turn 14. Spins the car around and fast through 15. She picked up some speed on the straights, but is it enough, slight brake into the final corner and.... NO! SHE DOES NOT! GREEN SECTOR, BUT IT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH TO MAKE IT SQ3!"

HENRY Unfortunately, Ava, that is P11.

AVA F***! Sorry about that. This was a sh** session. Let's do better in the race.

          SQ3 provided a thrilling climax to the qualifying session. Lando Norris completed his hat-trick of fastest times, securing sprint pole with a stunning 1:33.479. The real story, however, was Audi's remarkable performance. Nico Hulkenberg and Felipe Drugovich locked out the second row, qualifying P2 and P3 respectively, sending shockwaves through the paddock.

f1

A Brit. A German. And a Brazilian. What could go wrong? The grid is all ready and lined up for the Sprint Race.

see comments below

racingtheory: Hulkenberg finally gets his moment! Sprint Race front row 🚀

> shoey: Let that Hulkenberg podium come. I don't care if it's a Sprint Race.

> german_speed: About time Nico showed what he can do!

drugovich_fan: Brazilian magic strikes again! 🇧🇷✨

> mclaren_insider: Felipe to replace Bortoleto?

> lelelemans: Hell no. Bortoleto is very good. Doesn't make sense to replace right away.

chaostheory_f1: Three completely different career paths converging in one sprint race. Netflix, you can't write this stuff! 🍿

2025 China Sprint Race Starting Grid

Lando Norris

Nico Hulkenberg

Felipe Drugovich

Max Verstappen

Charles Leclerc

Lewis Hamilton

Liam Lawson

George Russell

Oscar Piastri

Sebastian Vettel

Ava Florence

Andrea Kimi Antonelli

Fernando Alonso

Carlos Sainz

Alexander Albon

Esteban Ocon

Yuki Tsunoda

Ollie Bearman

Pierre Gasly

Lance Stroll

Isack Hadjar

Jack Doohan

AVA SLID ON HER HELMET, and got seated in her striped Porsche. She was staring down her Porsche teammate and the McLaren papaya of Oscar Piastri once again. Except this time, it wasn't for the race win. She was in P11, and with only 8 positions get points, she had to make each of the 19 laps count. Lando was on pole, Audi had a 2-3. Everything seemed against the Porsche. It was getting to the point that people began to wonder.... was Porsche's first a fluke? No, Ava did not think so. She won that race. She knew she had the skills to win that race. She did not win it on luck.

"Welcome to the first sprint race of the 2025 Formula 1 season at the Shanghai International Circuit. After an exciting qualifying session yesterday, we're set for a thrilling 100km dash. Let's take a look at our grid for today's sprint. We've got 16 corners to navigate for 19 laps. Your man on pole position, Lando Norris, for the second time in a row. Followed by the Audi pair of Nico Hulkenberg and Felipe Drugovich, who's filling in for his Brazilian counterpart Gabriel Bortoleto today."

"The Ferraris of Leclerc and Hamilton occupy row three, and I have to say, this is not the greatest start to their season. They were expecting big results this year, and they certainly did get that podium in Australia, but how many times can they rely on their drivers to cover up many places." 

"We will have to see, Martin. And now, it's five lights here at Shanghai International Circuit. IT'S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO... Norris gets a decent start. Hulkenberg gets a better one. Hulkenberg is right there with him. They're side by side into Turn 1, and it's the Audi that gets the better exit as Norris goes wide! Hulkenberg leads into Turn 2 and once again, Lando Norris will fail to capitalize on pole position."

"Certainly, I'm sure he would've improved it from last season. And behind Drugovich, Verstappen and Leclerc are immediately at each other's throats. The Red Bull dives to the inside at Turn 6, but Leclerc holds his line. Verstappen is holding up Hamilton, but he's seemingly falling. And Lawson is going to get a good chance to try and overtake him... Oh, a little too ambitious. Hamilton keeps position."

"Hamilton's driving a lot more defensively this season, not the kind the driving we usually see him do. Behind, Ava Florence lost a position to Antonelli. So, yes, that Porsche is indeed struggling on the first sector."

LAP 3:

TURN 13 - RUS passes LAW on the inside, taking P7

LAP 7:

TURN 11: HAD divebombs STR, taking P20

LANDO NORRIS SETS FASTEST LAP : GAP TO P1 + 1.240

LAP 10:

"Verstappen makes another attempt on Leclerc. He gets a great exit from Turn 13, uses DRS down the long back straight. Leclerc defends the inside, BUT VERSTAPPEN GOES AROUND THE OUTSIDE. Incredible racing from both drivers, but Verstappen sees it through. Meanwhile, Oscar Piastri is all over the back of Sebastian Vettel's Porsche. Seb had a great start, but that McLaren is showing great pace for today."

"That's the difference that experience makes. Piastri is sure is fast, but Seb is holding him down beautifully. Oh, but he's right there. They're inches apart coming into Turn 6."

VETTEL Something doesn't feel right with the engine. I'm losing power on the straights.

RUDI Understood, Seb. We're looking into it. Just keep Piastri at bay.

"Looks like Vettel is having some engine problems. That's exactly what McLaren loves to hear. Oscar Piastri is gonna make his lunge soon... He's so close. He's just waiting, biding his time until Seb's engine gives up."

"I don't think he knows Seb is having engine problems yet. He's still racing him hard on these corners..."

"As Sebastian Vettel begins to slow down, Oscar Piastri gets through easily. Vettel losing speed. Antonelli moves forward, Florence moves forward. It's all going wrong for Vettel here in China."

RUDI Seb, we need to retire the car. Box this lap, please. Box this lap.

"And that is Sebastian Vettel's race over. He was dragging that Porsche through, but unfortunately, he's not going to score anything today. I wonder, Martin, if Porsche will be able to fix Vettel's car in time for qualifying today or will Vettel have to settle for last on the grid."

"Well, Crofty, the good news for Vettel and Porsche is that they'll have some time to work on the car. Remember, this is a sprint weekend, so we've already had our sprint qualifying on Friday. The main qualifying session for tomorrow's Grand Prix isn't until later this afternoon. That gives the Porsche team a few hours to diagnose and hopefully fix whatever engine issue Seb was experiencing."

LAP 13:

TURN 13 - OCO and ALB exchange corners, ALB remains P15

HUL SETS FASTEST LAP : GAP 1.869

LAP 17:

"Hulkenberg is driving the race of his life. Norris is pushing hard, but can't find a way to catch up with that Audi. Hulkenberg, after so many years, has a chance to get a podium on this sprint race. Audi is looking to make some noise today."

"We're looking at the Championship leader here. Ava Florence is having a torrid time. She can't get past Antonelli in anyway. The Mercedes rookie is holding his own, albeit for a non-point position, but this is stuff the team likes to see. Florence is not happy with this."

FLORENCE I have no pace on the corners! This is a joke!

HENRY We understand, Ava. Just keep pushing.

LAP 19:

"And after so long, Nico Hulkenberg is going to take a sprint race win. He had a great start, great pace, and now he will see the fruits of his results. He takes P1! Behind him, Norris, 2.8 seconds behind. And the surprise of today, Felipe Drugovich, his F1 debut, goes stunningly. He takes P3!"

HENRY Okay, Ava. That's unfortunately P11. But we've still got the Grand Prix

FLORENCE Yeah... Let's do better in the race.

CHINA SPRINT RACE RESULTS

1. NICO HULKENBERG (+8)

2. LANDO NORRIS (+7)

3. FELIPE DRUGOVICH (+6)

4. MAX VERSTAPPEN (+5)

5. CHARLES LECLERC (+4)

6. LEWIS HAMILTON (+3)

7. GEORGE RUSSELL (+2)

8. LIAM LAWSON (+1)

9. OSCAR PIASTRI

10. ANDREA KIMI ANTONELLI

11. AVA FLORENCE

12. FERNANDO ALONSO

13. CARLOS SAINZ

14. LANCE STROLL

15. ALEXANDER ALBON

16. ESTEBAN OCON

17. YUKI TSUNODA

18. ISACK HADJAR

19. OLLIE BEARMAN

20. JACK DOOHAN

21. PIERRE GASLY

22. SEBASTIAN VETTEL [DNF]

audif1

THE MAN HAS DONE IT!! NICO HULKENBERG WINS THE SPRINT RACE!!

see comments below

nico: Hulkenberg finally breaks his podium curse! From zero podiums to sprint race winner 🏆

> kachow: I mean, it's a Sprint win. Doesn't get added to his stats.

mclaren_nation: Lando P2, not bad at all! 💪

> norris_fan: Our boy still on the podium! 🇬🇧

> delulu: biggest cope i've ever seen

brazilian_racing: Drugovich P3! Reserve driver making his mark! 🇧🇷✨

> f1_potential: What a debut sprint race!

motorsport

Verstappen gets "no satisfaction" from F1 sprint wins.

"There's no satisfaction to win a sprint for me," Verstappen said when asked by Motorsport.com if sprint format changes would sway his opinion. "You cross the line and say: 'All right, well, tomorrow is the race, the main one'. That's how it goes."

see comments below

blanchimont: One of us, one of us!

> chuckleclerc: When he revenge punted that other guy in iRacing, we all knew he was truly one of us. 

porschef1: Couldn't have said it better Max 👊

> lululemoncalled: OH NELL NAH!

> undercooked_sushi: Audi is playing chess, Porsche is playing 6D tetris.

> helicopter: Even when Audi wins, they lose - Porsche admin probably

QUALIFYING WAS HELL. Once again, the Porsche's struggled in qualifying. Lando continued to dominate the sessions, setting fastest time in both Q1 and Q2. Oscar had also found pace in his face, joining Lando as the second fastest in Q1 and the fourth fastest in Q2. But it was Audi who continued to shock faces. Hulkenberg and Drugovich were consistently top five in both sessions, Hulkenberg being a tenth behind Lando in Q2. No one understood, but the pendulum had swung to Audi's hands. And Porsche hated every second of it.

          SEBASTIAN VETTEL made into the third qualifying session. Changing his turbocharger had given him the slight boost over the other Porsche to make it into top ten. However, Ava's unfortunate fate continued once again.

AVA FLORENCE : P13

          ONCE AGAIN Ava was knocked out in Q2. She got out of her car. She wanted to scream and smash something. She knew she was rookie. Rookies were going to make mistakes, especially against the best competitions in the world. But she did not want to lose. Throughout her junior racing career, she rarely lost. F3 was a cakewalk. She was the champion before the fight even began. But not anymore. Ava was no longer the best anymore...

          BUT SHE REFUSED TO LET THAT BE TRUE.

f1

McLaren and Audi. What a surprise? 😱

see comments below

flashy_misery: Please don't bottle this one Mr. Norris 🙏🙏

> rigidinstructor: He's only done it once. I have a feeling he won't do it again.

DM_ME_YOUR_CONSPIRACIES: Incoming Hulkenberg win!

leFerrari: FORZA FERRARI!!

redundantnursery: Ava during qualifying: GP2 ENGINE!

> stroller: Or maybe she's just not that good. 🤷

> filthydepression: lmao ur pfp is Stroll. Why are you talking?

CHINA GRAND PRIX STARTING GRID

Lando Norris

Nico Hulkenberg

Oscar Piastri

Charles Leclerc

Lewis Hamilton

Max Verstappen

Felipe Drugovich

George Russell

Sebastian Vettel

Fernando Alonso

Carlos Sainz

Alexander Albon

Ava Florence

Andrea Kimi Antonelli

Lance Stroll

Yuki Tsunoda

Liam Lawson

Jack Doohan

Oliver Bearman

Esteban Ocon

Isack Hadjar

Pierre Gasly

SUNDAY came fast once again. Normally, Ava is never pressured coming into a race. Yet she couldn't help it. She made the mistake of hitting up social media before the race. And she saw all the comments. Ava wanted to prove them wrong. Badly. She never cared about other people's opinion. But today she did. She wanted to shut them up.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the China Grand Prix here at the Shanghai International Circuit! We've got a stunning race lined up today, with rain on the horizon, potentially shaking things up around the second stint. Let's take a look at the track, shall we? We've got two DRS zones on this 5.45 kilometer track, 56 laps to go for a total of 305 kilometers. The track record here is set by Michael Schumacher at 1:32.238. Now, on to the grid! It's Lando Norris on pole position—his third pole in 2025 and his second here in China, clinched during yesterday's sprint race. But, Martin, we saw what happened in that sprint race..."

"We certainly did, Crofty. Lando might've taken pole, but he lost out to Nico Hülkenberg, who starts P2 today. That Audi is looking mighty quick here in Shanghai, and they're gunning for a historic victory—Nico's first-ever F1 win and his maiden podium."

"Behind him, it's Oscar Piastri in P3, showing the kind of pace McLaren has been craving this weekend. Then, we have the Ferrari duo—Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton—lining up in P4 and P5. And in P6, it's Max Verstappen, the lone Red Bull in the top 10." "And what a performance from Felipe Drugovich! P7 after a stellar sprint race—can he repeat that magic here today? We have to see. But, Crofty, he's got some big names breathing down his neck: George Russell and Sebastian Vettel in P8 and P9."

"Indeed he does. Rounding out the top 10, it's the evergreen Fernando Alonso, but the big story today is Ava Florence. The Porsche rookie struggled in qualifying, didn't she, Martin?"

"She did. Starting down in P13, she admitted she's fighting the car here in China. But keep an eye on her; she's proven she can climb through the pack. We saw her thrilling wet-weather race in Monza in F3. So, with rain potentially falling, she might have some room here to climb some positions."

HENRY Keep calm here Ava. We're betting on the rain.

"Tire strategies are interesting too. Most of the top 10 are on softs, but Leclerc and Hamilton are on mediums, betting on the rain arriving a bit later. Let's see if that gamble pays off. All right—it's five lights here in China... And IT'S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO! Lando Norris gets a blinding start, but look at Hülkenberg! He's right on Lando's gearbox. Is this a repeat of the sprint? Not this time! Lando shuts the door. Lando Norris remains in P1. Hülkenberg holds P2, with Piastri, Leclerc, and Hamilton filing in behind. But wait—look further back. Ava Florence is on a charge! She's already jumped Alexander Albon and Carlos Sainz in one corner!"

"Carlos seemed to struggle off the line, letting Albon close in, and Ava pounced on that opportunity—using Albon's slipstream to sweep past both drivers. She's up to P11!"

"Meanwhile, at the back, it's a scrap between Jack Doohan, Oliver Bearman, Esteban Ocon, and the rest of the midfield pack. Further up, Liam Lawson is locked in battle with Yuki Tsunoda—the former Racing Bull rivals going wheel-to-wheel! Liam dives in... Not enough. Tsunoda holds position into Turn 4, but that fight's far from over."

"Back at the front, Lando Norris maintains his lead through the first sector. Behind him, it's Hülkenberg, Piastri, Leclerc, and Hamilton—all keeping it clean for now."

"And the battle for P8 is heating up—Russell and Vettel going at it hammer and tongs! Can one of them snatch the position before the lap ends? And Fernando Alonso in P10—he's got Eva Florence bearing down on him. She's already gained two positions. Can she make it three before the end of the lap?"

LAP 3:

Turn 14 - LAW passes TSU, moves up to P16

LANDO NORRIS FASTEST LAP : GAP +.475

LAP 5:

Turn 13 - BEA overtakes DOO, taking P18

LAP 9:

"It's Ava Florence right on the gearbox of Fernando Alonso! She needs this position—and fast—if she has any hope of climbing through the field before the rain arrives. Here comes Fernando Alonzo trying to hold off the Porsche. But Ava's got DRS now! She's closing in fast, following Alonso down the straight—hitting 210 miles per hour as they plunge downhill."

"A quick burst of throttle into the kink at Turn 4... she's sticking right with him. Look at her pace, Crofty! Two laps in, and it seems like Ava's found something overnight in that Porsche. She's already a tenth quicker than Fernando through Sector 1, closing in as they approach Turn 6—a short straight, but plenty of room to make a move if you're brave enough."

"Ava dives down the inside into Turn 6. Oh my goodness! What a bold move! Florence just dive bombs into Turn 6, squeezing in that tiny gap. Fernando must've thought he'd covered her off, but Ava committed—absolutely fearless. She saw the tiny gap Alonso left and thought, 'That's enough for me!' Brilliant move."

"Absolutely. She took the risk and it's paid off! Ava Florence up to P10 with a stunning overtake on Fernando Alonso. That was precision racing at its finest."

LAP 19:

NICO HULKENBERG SETS FASTEST LAP : GAP TO P1 +2.345

HENRY Okay, Ava. We're going to take a risk and put slicks on now.

AVA Are you sure? Cause I think Fernando is behind.

HENRY Fernando is 3.6 seconds behind. We're comfortable trying this

AVA I'm coming in.

"And there's Ava Florence being called into the pits. She's going to be the first driver to pit and she's heading out slicks. So, Porsche thinks they can get a jump on these other drivers by pitting first before the rain."

AVA FLORENCE PITS : 3.0 SECONDS | P12

TOM Oscar, we think rain should come in 2-5 laps for now.

PIASTRI Are any drivers coming in?

TOM Ava is the only driver on slicks

PIASTRI I think we should pit.

TOM Your call.

OSCAR PIASTRI PITS  : 2.8 SECONDS | P7

LAP 21 - 35:

RAIN DETECTED - DRIVERS COME INTO PITS

HENRY Ava, you're P6. Be careful of Leclerc coming out of the pits.

"And that's Ava Florence, who's gamble for the early pitstop paid off. Finds herself in P6 as the rest of the field comes in for wet tires. But here comes Charles Leclerc, fresh out of the pits. How will this go?"

"This will be her first fight against the Monegasque. Ferrari vs Porsche. I've got high expectations on this one."

"And I'm everyone else too. Ava is staring down the rear end of that Ferrari. She's alongside into Turn 14! Leclerc has the inside line, forcing Florence wide. Brilliant defensive driving! But Florence is going to have none of that. She's been forced wide one too many in Formula 1, the earlier being by Russell in Australia. She tries again into Turn 6, but Leclerc isn't going to let if fly."

"She's getting better traction out of the corner though. They're side-by-side through Turn 7! But Ava has to back off."

...

"Florence has been patient for a while. Will she make the move? Yes she will. Florence dives down the inside at Turn 1, is ahead at the apex, but Leclerc cuts back. He's got the position again through Turn 2."

...

"Patience must be running thin for the Belgian. She's got DRS. Leclerc under pressure. Florence has the speed, she has the line... She dives in Turn 6 and once again it sticks. Florence up to P5. Leclerc has to back off."

"It's that move again. She's did on Alonso, and it's working for her, just squeezing through an impossibly small gap."

LAP 40 - 50:

LANDO NORRIS SETS FASTEST LAP : GAP +4.560

"Now it's Verstappen in Florence's sights. He's not going to make it easy though. The defending champion. Look at that! He's forcing her wide at Turn 13. Florence has to take to the runoff!"

"Verstappen's defense is brutal. He's chopping across Florence's nose into Turn 1. He's making her go wide. Off the racing line. She has to back out of it in everyone. That's hard but fair racing from the world champion. We saw it last year. He can defend."

...

"Florence tries again into the hairpin, but Verstappen is wise to it. He positions his car perfectly, leaving no gap for Florence to exploit."

"This is a different challenge for Florence. Verstappen's aggressive style is a stark contrast to Leclerc's more precise approach. He races to the extreme limit. But is she going to try the same overtake she did on Leclerc?"

"We'll see, Martin, if it sticks on Verstappen."

...

"Oh my! Verstappen nearly pushed Florence into the wall on the exit of Turn 13. The Porsche driver had to take evasive action there."

FLORENCE What the f*** is he doing?

HENRY Keep your head down. We're faster. Keep racing.

FLORENCE F****** stupid. He almost crashed me!

...

"Florence is not giving up! She's got a great run out of Turn 13 once again, pulls alongside Verstappen, and... she's done it! Florence sweeps around the outside of Turn 14 to take P4! What a move!"

"Incredible, Crofty! Florence has managed to outfox Verstappen. That move took nerves of steel!"

LAP 51-55

"With just 6 laps to go, Florence is hunting down Hamilton. The gap is coming down rapidly."

...

"Florence is all over the back of Hamilton. She tries the inside at Turn 6, but Hamilton closes the door. Not this time!"

...

"This is it! Florence gets a great exit out of Turn 6, pulls alongside Hamilton into Turn 7, and... she's through! Ava Florence up to P3 with just over a lap to go!"

...

"But she's not done yet, Crofty! Look at this, she's setting purple sectors. Florence is pushing for the fastest lap of the race!"

LAP 56

"From start to finish, Lando does the job. He holds pole position, he keeps that car in front. LANDO NORRIS WINS THE CHINA GRAND PRIX! Nico Hulkenberg secures his first podium in second! Behind, Ava Florence coming into view. She was going for the fastest lap. Will she do it?"

"Florence crosses the line and... yes! She's done it! Fastest lap of the race on the final lap!"

"Well, she certainly stole the show today. From struggling in qualifying to a podium finish, it's a remarkable turnaround for the Porsche driver. This young driver has shown incredible race craft and determination today. Ava Florence. That's the name to remember."

HENRY Phenomenal job, Ava! That's P3!

FLORENCE YES! OH THANK YOU SO MUCH!! And a tribute to Bottas... To whom it may concern, F*** you!

CHINA GRAND PRIX RESULTS

1. Lando Norris (+25)

2. Nico Hulkenberg (+18)

3. Ava Florence (+15)

4. Lewis Hamilton (+12)

5. Max Verstappen (+10)

6. Charles Leclerc (+8)

7. Sebastian Vettel (+6)

8. Oscar Piastri (+4)

9. George Russell (+2)

10. Liam Lawson (+1)

11. Felipe Drugovich

12. Fernando Alonso

13. Carlos Sainz

14. Andrea Kimi Antonelli

15. Alexander Albon

16. Lance Stroll

17. Pierre Gasly

18. Oliver Bearman

19. Yuki Tsunoda

20. Jack Doohan

21. Esteban Ocon

22. Isack Hadjar

porschef1

Sprint races are overrated anyway.

tagged: avaflorence

see comments below

illegal_definition: Summoned all of Senna's energy for this drive.

lululemoncalled: THATS MY GIRL!! PORSCHE IS THE ONLY GERMAN WORTH WINNING!! 👑

heturnedintome: First George, now Max. Everyone is trynna kill Ava.

> delulu: But she cooked regardless 🔥🔥

audif1: 🙄

> florence4ever: Stay jealous

> les_blanc: Why would they be? Nico finished higher.

> florence4ever: Check the standings.

convictedcassette: Please give her a functioning car next time so she doesn't have to struggle as much. 🙏🙏

CHINA POST-RACE INTERVIEW

Interview: So, Lando. Great race. Congrats on the win. You had a bit of a lackluster sprint race, but you managed to pull it off today. How was it?

Lando: It was great. I got the start just right and we were quite ahead of the pack when the rain started coming in. So, I held onto that lead.  Maybe it was a bit slow on the first stint, didn't get the happen wanted. But it worked out.

Interview: Nico, this is your maiden podium in Formula 1. How does it feel to achieve this after so long?

Nico: This feels amazing. Like you said, for so long I've been chasing a podium. The sprint win the other day gave me a vote of confidence. And I'm super grateful to the team, to Audi for building a competitive car. And I'm going to enjoy this podium.

Interviewer: Ava, you are the talk of the race. From P13 to podium, incredible strategy, incredible overtakes. How did you do it?

Ava: Firstly, they just give you the most beautiful dresses in the world. It's unfair. I know I'm not supposed to flirt with staff but Seb got away with it, so it's fine. Secondly, yeah, great call by the team to put early. We got a huge jump out of it. And then it was just a game of trying to get past the juggernauts. Leclerc was a good fight. Defenitley thought we had the pace to make it easy, but it wasn't. Max was also tough. I do think he tried to kill me at one point, but we got past anyway. Then it was just a clear track. I wasn't particularly set on passing Hamilton, but more so on closing the gap to see what could happen. And what happened was what you say... so super happy.

CHINA POST-RACE INTERVIEW

Interview: So, Lando. Great race. Congrats on the win. You had a bit of a lackluster sprint race, but you managed to pull it off today. How was it?

Lando: It was great. I got the start just right and we were quite ahead of the pack when the rain started coming in. So, I held onto that lead.  Maybe it was a bit slow on the first stint, didn't get the happen wanted. But it worked out.

Interview: Nico, this is your maiden podium in Formula 1. How does it feel to achieve this after so long?

Nico: This feels amazing. Like you said, for so long I've been chasing a podium. The sprint win the other day gave me a vote of confidence. And I'm super grateful to the team, to Audi for building a competitive car. And I'm going to enjoy this podium.

Interviewer: Ava, you are the talk of the race. From P13 to podium, incredible strategy, incredible overtakes. How did you do it?

Ava: Firstly, they just give you the most beautiful dresses in the world. It's unfair. I know I'm not supposed to flirt with staff but Seb got away with it, so it's fine. Secondly, yeah, great call by the team to put early. We got a huge jump out of it. And then it was just a game of trying to get past the juggernauts. Leclerc was a good fight. Defenitley thought we had the pace to make it easy, but it wasn't. Max was also tough. I do think he tried to kill me at one point, but we got past anyway. Then it was just a clear track. I wasn't particularly set on passing Hamilton, but more so on closing the gap to see what could happen. And what happened was what you say... so super happy. avaflorence

Race tracks are better when they're wet. Thank you China for blessing me today. Onwards to Bahrain.

see comments below

florence4ever: MAMA cooked these bums!

elpadre: Ava, describe your Grand Prix in one sentence

> avaflorence: GP2 ENGINE... GP2 ENGINE!!

> toastedsalmon: 😭😭

lululemoncalled: I love she does not care at all about the swearing rule.

> delulu: They haven't done anything yet. She's that girl.

WORLD DRIVERS CHAMPIONSHIP

WORLD CONSTRUCTORS CHAMPIONSHIP

taglist: @freyathehuntress

[aew-regression-cove]

caregiver agatha harkness headcannons

⋆˖𖤐‧₊☽◯☾₊‧🧹˖⋆ regressor reader

Being a caregiver is super healing for her- after what happened to Nicky getting to be that motherly figure means SO much to her (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)♡

I adore Rio also looking after you with Agatha, however realistically I think she'd be quite cautious to have Rio around you for a while after what happened with Nicky.

If you call her any variation of mum/mama/mummy , anything of the sorts - she absolutely will cry!!!

"baby", "little bunny / bun", "hon"

She wants what's best for you and I can see her trying to keep a steady routine for you despite not even remotely doing so for herself.

If you were interested I think she'd teach you some witchcraft- (or let you sit with her whilst she does stuff!!!)

She 1000% hums to you!!! She needs to get you to sleep? She'll hum. She needs to distract you from something? (like taking medicine or smth.) She'll hum. 🎶

Lots of purple and bunny themed stuff lol

She can read you like a book!!! She knows the moment something is up.

Super gentle with you!!! (⁠/⁠^w^⁠(⁠^•^⁠*⁠)⁠/

Makes the best baby bottles!!!

She's very clingy ( likely because of what happened with Nicky :(( ) — she likes if the two of you can sleep in the same room (specifically loves cuddles because wants you close however she'd struggle to sleep, just in case) , you gotta eat? She'll happily hand feed you!!! Need a bath? She's already run it.

She loves picking out outfits for you!!! She'd absolutely do matching outfits (Senor Scratchy even gets included!!! 🐇)

It doesn't matter how tired she may be, she always has time for you!!! If she doesn't? She'll make time. (⁠っ⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠っ

Proud of everything you do!!! And shes absolutely not above bragging!!! (I'm thinking wandavision era and she's sat with Wanda just gushing about you!!!)

↓ Wanda loves hearing all updates about you but she also after a while is like this as she tries to subtly get Agatha to leave lol

Adores playing with / styling your hair!!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Uses her 'purple' to create fun games for the two of you to play!!! (She's a super interactive caregiver, she always wants to be involved in games and activities!!!)

Absolutely spoils the heck out of you!!! There are no limits for her!!! If she thinks you'll like something, if you point something out, if she thinks you deserve something? She'll get it for you with zero hesitation!!!

Never lets you believe that your regression is a negative thing or a burden and definitely makes sure you know how much it helps heal her too!!!

(again wandavision era) She'd bring you around Wanda's and whilst the two of them spoke you'd get to chill at hers with Tommy & Billy - lots of chaos is usually the outcome of this lol

^ Wanda also loves spoiling you!!!

Have I said that she loves loves LOVES cuddles!!! ♡⁠(⁠˃͈⁠ ⁠દ⁠ ⁠˂͈⁠ ⁠༶⁠ ⁠)

Listen . . . She can't cook- she tries and physically can make the food- but she is not good at it lmao, it doesnt actually taste very good. (⁠｡⁠ﾉ⁠ω⁠＼⁠｡⁠) Rio however is surprisingly very good at cooking and she has playfully scolded Agatha for ordering food or making more snacky type food rather than what she'd class as a 'proper meal'.

↓ (and here's just some in my opinion mama coded images of her that I wanted to share lol) (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

ⓘ if you want to reblog, let me know and I'll decide to temporarily unlock the post or not <3

[hivemuthur]

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 5.

viktorxfemale!reader mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 5,4K

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: Viktor discovers this thing called feelings and doesn't like it. Also a small tw, as he is a bit mean in this chapter. Another also: if you read my other multichapter, you will discover that Angus and Ambrose travel through all my AUs as cameos :') Besides that, I am slowly learning how to phase out the use of Y/N, so with each chapter there will be less and less.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

You sat cross-legged on your bed, absentmindedly picking at the seam of your pyjama bottoms as Sue knelt by the bed frame, painting her nails. You knew you had to tell her, especially after almost an entire week of brooding, miserable sighs, and coming up with new expert ways to avoid Viktor.

“So… it was about him all this time? I should’ve known,” Sue said, her tone analytical, as though piecing together all of your encounters with Viktor since the beginning of the year. When she thought about it with her science brain, it all slotted together seamlessly, though the crease in her brow betrayed her concern.

You gave a small huff. “Even I didn’t know,” you said quietly, though who were you kidding? You knew—you just didn’t want to admit it. The truth was, Viktor’s rejection had been a big blow. Not because you didn’t handle rejection well—you were usually the one doing the rejecting, as frankly, people terrified you most of the time. You felt bad for underestimating him. You had presumed Viktor was lonely and would welcome someone willing to get to know him better.

You’d been oblivious to all the hungry glances he received in the corridors, the girls giggling as he passed by them with his nose in a book. The way people looked at him when he was flushed from alcohol, his accent slurring slightly, occasionally drawing words in his native language.

You were also oblivious to how all those things about him made you feel, and you kept telling yourself you had a special intellectual connection that came before all of that. And it was a terrible lie, because when you thought of him now, the first things that came to mind were his long fingers, the way he formulated sentences, and his long eyelashes.

“Earth to Y/N?” Sue’s voice snapped you out of the palace of your mind. “Have you tried talking to him?”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips quirked into a reluctant smile. “Yes, and it went dandy. He told me he got carried away, and I told him he was a wanker. We shook on it and lived happily ever after.”

“Y/N, don’t do that with me.” Sue placed her hand on your foot, smearing some of her freshly painted nails on the bedsheet in the process. “I’m sorry I left you alone. I didn’t know it was—this big.”

“I’m only telling you about this now because I’m only able to talk about it now. You wouldn’t have been able to do much before,” you said, offering her a reassuring smile. “Besides…” You trailed off, looking down at your hands. “I’m glad at least one of us is happy.”

“What did Hale say?” Sue asked, curious to know what kind of ancient wisdom Hale had stored up for the event of a heartbreak.

“Oh, he doesn’t know yet,” you whined, hiding your head in your knees. “He has a very scary dad side that I’m not ready to unleash just yet.” Seeing the questioning look on her face, you added, “Sue, I can see him in my head going to Viktor to have a chat about hurting the love of his life. I don’t think I can handle that yet. Besides…” You sighed reluctantly. “It’s Hale who keeps telling me I’m the queen of the world when I’m clearly not.”

“Alright, that’s just unhealthy. You are a fucking queen of the world. Not even a month ago you did an impromptu guest star spot in a musical in front of, like, five hundred people.” It was much less than that, but Sue wasn’t very good with numbers. “And seeing you turning inside out over some sad fart makes my skin crawl.”

“Is that what we’re calling him now? Sad fart?” you chuckled despite yourself. You weren’t entirely sold on the “fart” part, but you couldn’t shake Viktor’s sad image from that evening in the lab. The way he’d looked so tired and flinched every time you snapped at him. The way his brows furrowed, and he lowered his eyes. The way he’d tried to stop you, and you wouldn’t let him.

Sue’s hand moved to your knee. “Yes. Sad fart it is,” she grinned at you shyly. “How long do you need before I take you out, shower you in love and compliments, and find you a cute boy to hang out with to make Viktor’s blood boil?”

“Give me twenty minutes,” you sighed, watching Sue’s eyebrows waggle at you.

She didn’t find you a boy, but the two of you got ridiculously drunk that night and danced around in the courtyard fountain to Kate Bush, still in your pyjamas. A few lights in the building flickered on, including the one in the TA’s office—though neither of you noticed. It was obscenely cold, and a security guard tried to chase you down campus as you hid under the workbench in the lab. You returned to your room wet and giggling, minus one of your shoes.

***

A week later, the pub was packed with students blowing off steam before the next round of assignments loomed. You sipped your cider as Hale leaned across you to steal a handful of crisps, Sue laughing at his antics. You’d run into Viktor, Jayce, and Mel, and decided to act like an adult by accepting Mel’s invitation to your group’s usual spot by the fireplace.

“See, Viktor, this is where you go wrong,” Mel teased from across the bowl of breadsticks, wagging her finger at him. “You never give us the gossip. Jayce and I are still waiting to hear who left that very telling mark on your lip.”

Jayce grinned, raising his pint. “Yeah, man. We were taking bets. I was sure it’d be some PhD student. Mel thinks it was a theatre kid.”

Viktor’s smile was tight, his fingers curling around his glass. “I assure you, it’s nothing worth betting on.” He couldn’t think of anything worse happening in this moment.

“Very mysterious,” Mel sang, her eyes narrowing. “Did you actually kiss someone, or did you just hit yourself in a drunken slur?” She pushed too far this time, as Jayce hissed and pressed a hand to her shoulder, signalling her to back off before Viktor snapped her neck.

You smirked, hiding it behind your drink. It was almost satisfying watching Viktor squirm under Mel’s playful interrogation. Almost. But the mention of it “not being worth betting on” made your stomach twist slightly. Before you could think of a cutting remark to add, a voice interrupted.

“Y/N?”

You turned to see a tall, sandy-haired student standing by your group, his expression nervous but determined. You blinked in recognition.

“Angus, right?” He exhaled in relief, probably because he wasn’t prepared to remind you how the two of you might have known each other. Encouraged, he crouched to level with you.

“Yeah. I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks colouring. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something since Open Days, but I never got the chance.” He hesitated, glancing nervously at your friends.

Hale raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the show. He had learned about the mishap with Viktor shortly after Sue. He’d made a dramatic fuss about being the second to receive the news, swore revenge on the vile "sad fart" who had hurt the love of his life, and promised to keep you safe till the end of his days.

“I was wondering if you’d like to grab coffee sometime?” Angus finished, his voice steady despite the flush creeping up his neck.

Your lips parted in surprise. You glanced at Sue, who gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. “Sure,” you said, smiling. “That sounds nice.” Actually, what the hell. You could have coffee with Angus.

Angus beamed, pulling out his phone. You gave him your number, aware of Mel’s approving smirk from across the table. As Angus walked away, Mel leaned in. “Finally, someone with taste. Well done.”

You laughed lightly, but your gaze flickered to Viktor. His expression was carefully neutral, but the tension in his jaw was unmistakable. A moment later, he stood. “I think I’ll call it a night,” he said, tapping his cane against the floor. “Leg’s acting up.”

“Aw, come on,” Jayce said. “You’ve only had one drink!”

“Some of us value our health, Jayce,” Viktor replied, his tone dry. “I’ll see you all in class.”

As he was leaving, you caught the stiff line of his shoulders and the slight unevenness of his gait. For a moment, you considered following him, but you stayed put.

Viktor walked back to the dorm, the clinking of his cane against the tile floor echoing in the quiet hallway. His mind was far from the dimly lit pub he’d just left behind. No, it was still wrapped around the conversation, the questions, and that damn mark on his lip. The one that made his heart sink the day he woke up to find it had faded completely. It should have been nothing. Nothing more than a harmless tease from Mel, a drunken mistake he could brush off with a wry smile. Yet, it lingered in his mind, gnawing at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Who left the mark on my lip?

The question had come out of nowhere, but it felt like it had pierced right through the veneer of calm he usually wore. Viktor had been careful, so careful about keeping his emotions in check, about staying distant. But every time someone mentioned the kiss—the touch—it reminded him of something he couldn’t define.

He paused outside his dorm room door, staring at the worn wood as his hand hovered over the knob.

What did I expect?

He had spent years learning to shut off the noise, to keep his focus solely on his work. He had indulged in a few distractions in the past, each one a failure. Yet, every time you were near, it was like something else tugged at him, pulling him off course. It had started with your questions in class, your jokes, the way you always seemed to say just the right thing—or just the wrong thing, depending on how one looked at it. You were the kind of person who got under his skin without even trying, and Viktor hated it.

He entered the room, tossing his coat onto the chair by his desk and walking over to the window. The city lights below flickered in the distance, the sounds of the busy campus fading as he closed the blinds. He sank into the armchair by the window, resting his cane beside him.

Angus.

The thought of him—that stupid student asking you out so casually—caused a familiar tightness in Viktor’s chest. There was no reason for him to feel threatened. He didn’t care about your personal life, didn’t care who you decided to spend time with. Yet, the image of you smiling at Angus—so effortlessly, so innocently—made something shift deep inside him.

The way he’d felt leaving the pub, the way his muscles had tightened when you accepted the offer to grab coffee with Angus, was all so... foreign to him. He wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything.

But Viktor had learned long ago that desire wasn’t so easily suppressed.

He closed his eyes for a moment, the silence of the room thick and suffocating. His mind wandered back to the pub, to the way you had laughed with your friends, how your smile had lit up the room when Angus had approached you. He hadn’t expected it to affect him this much. He had expected to walk out, let it go, but instead, he’d felt something stir in him—a jealousy, perhaps? But why? You weren’t his.

The stupid part of Viktor wanted to fight back. To make you squirm and run back to him, so this time it would be him who left a mark on your lips and left you to deal with Mel’s questions. He wanted to make your face go flush red as he teased you about how much you’d enjoyed your performance in the lab with Sue. He would push your buttons, tease you out of your mind—but that was it. Keep you at arm’s length.

Stop this.

But the thought only lasted for a moment before his mind drifted once more to you—your strange talents, your sharp wit, the way your eyes seemed to challenge him whenever they crossed paths. You were a puzzle, a mystery he couldn’t solve. And the more he tried to distance himself, the more intrigued he became.

He pushed himself to his feet, leaning on the cane as he crossed the room to his desk, where his textbooks lay open. The distractions were easy enough to find—work, studies, the endless grind of the lab. But tonight, he wasn’t sure if any of it would be enough to quiet the storm raging inside his mind.

***

You carefully adjusted the pipette, trying to focus, but Sue’s chatter kept sending jolts of disturbance through your brain. You were still a bit jumpy, and avoiding Viktor was still a thing. Unfortunately, today was his class.

“Are you going to tell me anything about Angus, hm?” Sue mused, propping her chin on her hand, her voice drifting in and out as she worked. “He has a slight accent, no?” She set her samples down, waiting for a response from you. When none came, Sue’s mind drifted, and she asked an absent-minded question into space. “I wonder where Viktor’s accent’s from.”

You barely registered Sue’s words as you focused on your task. You set the pipette down, your mind drifting to Viktor because of your friend. All you wanted to do was sigh—the man was still a sad fart.

“Czech,” you muttered absentmindedly, tapping the edge of the flask with a frown on your forehead.

Sue blinked, glancing over at you. “Czech? How do you know that?”

You shrugged, your attention still fixed on the exercise. “I have ears.” Your voice was dry, tinged with something sharper. “And he’s got that... all-knowing, ‘life is hard where I come from’ Slavic man attitude.” You snorted, the bitterness slipping out more than you’d intended.

“I guess that makes sense… oh crap, careful!” Sue instantly wished she hadn’t mentioned Viktor at all.

You didn’t have time to respond before you misjudged the tilt of the vial and knocked over the alkaline solution. Your hand shot out instinctively to catch it, but you winced as it splashed across your skin, a burning sensation searing through your palm.

“Shit,” you hissed, immediately pulling your hand back.

“That’s going to burn.” The voice was cold and precise—Viktor, standing directly behind you. You hadn’t noticed him approach.

He stood there, his cane resting lightly against the counter, his amber eyes fixed on your hand.

“Focus and coordination would serve you better in the lab than... ears,” Viktor said, his tone dry, though not unkind.

You winced again as the pain spread across your hand, and you looked up at him, still trying to shake off the surprise. “Great. Just great.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, glancing at the vial you’d knocked over. “What did you spill?”

“This,” you replied, your voice tinged with frustration as you pointed toward the workbench with your chin. “Sorry, I got distracted,” you sighed, feeling defeated.

Viktor’s lips twisted into something like a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Distracted. Of course.” Is it Angus who keeps you distracted? A snarky thought pushed itself into his brain.

He stepped closer, his movements precise as he gently guided you toward the back room for first aid. You felt a twinge of discomfort as you walked, the sting of the burn reminding you of your mistake. Viktor’s presence was unnerving, to say the least, his focus intense as he prepared the supplies.

When you reached the office, Viktor carefully set to work. He adjusted the temperature and beckoned you to the sink. His hands brushed lightly against your skin as he held it under lukewarm water. You bit your lip, trying to focus on anything but the sensation of his fingers on your hand.

“Should’ve been more careful,” he muttered, his voice quiet but firm as he gently dabbed at the burn. You let out an annoyed sigh and rolled your eyes at him. The cool water on your skin felt like a relief, but the occasional touch of his fingers sent a strange, electric shiver through you. It was all very sudden after days of avoiding each other and pretending there was no elephant in the room.

He hummed lightly, continuing to treat the burn with a careful hand. After a few moments, he glanced up at you. “Why weren’t you wearing gloves?”

“I said, I got distracted,” you repeated, your voice quiet and tight with frustration.

Viktor’s lips quirked into a slight smile. “And what distracts you so? Angus? Or is it my accent?”

“Please stop,” you muttered, your pride and your hand both hurting now. “You’re not funny.”

There was a long pause. Viktor’s touch, though still efficient, had softened. His fingers were careful as he applied ointment to your burn, his movements deliberate, as if sensing the shift in you. He applied pressure to the heel of your palm, then gently played with your fingers.

“Why didn’t you wear gloves?” he repeated, his voice lower now, as if the question weren’t really about the gloves anymore.

You glanced at him, feeling oddly exposed, your heart speeding up slightly. You didn’t know why you had answered so quickly before, but now the silence felt heavy. His fingers were too close, too intimate, and his gaze was locked onto yours with an intensity that made the air in your throat feel thick. Why was he suddenly letting his touch linger longer than necessary? After making sure to push you away—no, not push you away, but keep you at arm's length, as if said arm was the length of the equator.

“I—” you started, your voice catching in your throat. You bit your lip, then involuntarily glanced toward his lips—barely a second, but enough to make your pulse quicken. Immediately, you scolded yourself in your mind. Girl, get a grip. But Viktor was completely unreadable. His face remained a mask of calm, yet you could’ve sworn there was something flickering in his eyes. Was it amusement? You couldn’t tell, and it drove you insane.

The silence stretched between you again, gooey, slow, almost suffocating. You dared not look up at him, but you could feel his gaze weighing down on you like a tangible thing. Your mind was running a mile a minute, trying to decipher his motives, his intent, but it was no use. He was too good at hiding whatever was behind that steady, unreadable exterior.

Viktor took a sharp breath and reached for the bandages, and you almost whined at the loss of contact. You hadn’t realized how much his touch had steadied some part of you until it was gone. Viktor smirked under his nose, amused, seeing the way you visibly relaxed when his hands found yours again.

“How did you know I was Czech?” he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and something more playful, like he was enjoying this little game you’d somehow stumbled into.

You blinked at him in surprise, momentarily thrown off balance by his tone. “I... can recognize some Slavic accents.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly, his amber eyes gleaming with an unreadable expression. “And where are you from, Y/N?” His voice had an edge of genuine curiosity, but a challenge lingered in it. Make her squirm.

You raised an eyebrow, masking your sudden unease with a smirk, feeling a flicker of irritation at how easily he seemed to disarm you. You threw him a bait, not realizing it was he who was the hunter. “Guess. I’ll give you three questions.”

Viktor’s eyes lit up, his lips curling into a small, amused smile. He was clearly enjoying himself now, the opportunity to ask something personal laid before him. “Favourite food from home?”

“Pierogi,” you answered without hesitation, though the word felt like a small, sharp confession. You quickly added, “Don’t overthink it.” It was bizarre that you were talking about this now.

His gaze sharpened as he processed your answer. His eyes narrowed just slightly, and a gleam of realization flashed in them. “You’re Polish.” He thought to himself, I should have known.

Your eyes widened in surprise. You hadn’t expected him to guess it so quickly. “Half-Polish. But yes. Impressive,” you said, leaning back slightly, a bit thrown off. “You’ve got two questions left.”

Viktor studied you for a moment, the mischievous gleam in his eyes never quite fading. He seemed to enjoy how off-balance you looked. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he asked innocently, “And who’s your favourite TA?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the questions. You hadn’t expected him to ask something so pointed. “Uh... despite everything, you,” you said, your voice faltering for just a moment. You quickly averted your gaze, trying to mask the sudden awkwardness that swept over you.

Viktor smirked, clearly delighted by your response. “Flattery won’t get you far,” he said, his tone teasing, but there was a softness to it.

You straightened, meeting his gaze again, your expression firm, though you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “I think I’m being honest.” You chose not to elaborate on why, as it was a revelation to you as well.

Viktor’s amusement flickered for a moment, and his gaze softened slightly. He studied you for a few beats, the tension between you palpable as he took in the way your jaw tightened, the slight flush on your cheeks. Then his expression shifted back to something more serious, more gentle—as if he decided to surrender something in that moment. He took your bandaged hand back into his and began tracing circles around your wrist with his thumb.

“Why are you such a pain in the ass for me, hmm?”

You blinked again, clearly thrown off by the question—again. You felt an uncomfortable tightness in your chest. “Why am I... what? What do you mean?” Your voice had a slight edge to it, as if you were trying to mask the unease building inside you. Why would he do that now?

Viktor didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he continued to trace light, lazy circles around your wrist, his touch almost soothing, though the underlying intent was far from that. His eyes never left yours—sharp, testing.

“Don’t play coy,” he said, his voice low, the corners of his mouth curling up. “You know exactly what I mean. Why do you make things difficult for me, Y/N?”

You felt your pulse quicken, confusion and frustration mixing. You tried to shake it off with humour. “You... reap what you sow?” you said, a weak attempt at deflecting.

Viktor didn’t falter, his gaze still steady, his expression unreadable. “Oh, I think I’m well aware of the consequences. But you seem to enjoy making things... complicated.”

Your heart raced, the teasing tone from him sinking in deeper. Without thinking, you pulled your hand away from his, trying to put some space between you, but Viktor didn’t miss a beat. His eyes narrowed, watching you closely as you shifted.

“Are you fucking with me?” your voice was sharp now, your frustration bubbling over. You crossed your arms, not sure whether you wanted to storm off or stay and challenge him.

Viktor’s lips curled into a half-smile, amusement dancing in his eyes. He leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper, the teasing tone still lingering. “Wouldn’t you like me to?” He didn’t break eye contact, watching you with quiet, unnerving intensity.

“You are so full of yourself,” you scoffed, but the stupid part of your brain whispered a wistful maybe that rang in your skull like a bell. You wanted to deflect, but something about him made you lose your grip. “Is that your attempt at being cruel?”

“No,” Viktor said, his voice dripping with poisonous sweetness, each word calculated to make your skin prickle. He closed the distance between you, leaning over to murmur into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “This is my attempt at getting even.” He scolded himself for giving away his intent, but the heat rising within him was stronger than reason. It was anger, of course.

Your breath caught, your pulse quickening as his words slid into your consciousness, the warmth of his proximity undeniable. Viktor smirked mercilessly against your skin, savouring the moment in which he had almost made you fall apart.

“You can now think about how my hands on your skin made you feel, regardless of Angus,” he continued, his voice a low hum, sending a shiver down your spine. “And how your name sounds in my accent that you studied so carefully, Y/N. And what it would sound like in other circumstances… though I think you had a glimpse.”

Your mind spun, his words wrapping around you like a snake. Viktor straightened up, and for a moment, the room felt too small, too suffocating. The air became sticky, and you couldn’t escape the weight of the silence between you.

“You can take the rest of the class off,” he said, his voice cool and casual now, though the teasing glint never left his eyes. “Just don’t touch anything… unclean with that hand.”

“Eat shit, Viktor,” you spat, the words bitter as they left your mouth. You turned on your heel, eyes filling with hot tears, your lower belly tightening into a burning knot. You didn’t dare look at Sue, your emotions too raw. With one last furious breath, you fled the classroom, your legs carrying you down the corridor as you crumbled against the nearest wall, trying to suppress your sobs.

When you finally got there, you slammed the door to your dorm room shut, leaning against it as your chest heaved with unspent fury and helplessness. The small space felt suffocating, your desk cluttered with books and notes, the unmade bed in the corner serving as a silent witness to the chaos inside your mind. You pressed your hands to your face, the bandaged one brushing against your cheek like a quiet reminder of everything that had just unfolded. You pulled it away sharply, staring at the neat white wrappings with a mix of disgust and shame.

Your mind raced, replaying the scene in the lab. The smug tilt of Viktor’s lips. The unbearable warmth of his fingers brushing your skin. The low hum of his voice, so calm and calculated, deliberately needling you until you unravelled. And that final, infuriating smirk—the one you could still feel seared into your memory.

You flinched, a sharp, involuntary movement, as if you could physically shake him out of your mind. “He is so full of shit,” you hissed under your breath, pacing across the room. Your anger surged, hot and unrelenting. “This is just a game to him. Some cruel, twisted game.”

But then the anger faltered, giving way to something more raw and disorienting. Why had he pushed you like that? Why did he say your kiss was a mistake, only to turn around and toy with you like this? Was he just cruel, or did he mean something more? The uncertainty gnawed at you, twisting your stomach into knots. You hated the way your mind kept circling back to him, as if he’d taken up residence there, smug and untouchable.

You slumped onto the edge of your bed, resting your elbows on your knees and burying your face in your hands. The silence of the room pressed in on you, a heavy, suffocating weight. Your chest felt tight, your thoughts spinning endlessly, looping back to the way he’d leaned in close, his words dripping with venom and something else you couldn’t name. Your vision blurred, and you realized your hands were trembling.

When there was nothing left to pace about, nothing to distract you from the storm of emotions building inside, you let out a shaky breath. A memory surfaced, soft and fleeting: your mother’s voice, calm and steady, guiding you through moments like this. You closed your eyes, the words coming to your lips before you could second-guess yourself.

“My heart is full of love and understanding,” you whispered, the mantra shaky at first, then gaining strength as you repeated it. “My heart is full of love and understanding.”

You said it again, and again, your voice steadying with each repetition, the familiar cadence grounding you in the present. But when the words finally felt stable in your throat, you hesitated, your lips parting as something reckless and desperate rose to the surface.

“Viktor’s heart is full of love and understanding,” you murmured, the words trembling as they left you. The sound of his name in your voice felt foreign, wrong, and yet it lingered in the air like an accusation.

Your voice cracked. Your chest tightened. And before you could stop it, a sob broke free, raw and unbidden. It was as if speaking his name had opened a floodgate, releasing the tangle of emotions you’d fought so hard to contain. Confusion, anger, longing—all of it crashed over you, and you doubled over, your face in your hands as tears spilled onto your lap.

The mantra was supposed to help, but instead, it only seemed to amplify everything you’d been holding back. You cried until your breath came in gasps, your body shaking with the force of it. It wasn’t fair—none of it was fair. Viktor had no right to get under your skin like this, to make you feel so small and exposed.

When the tears finally subsided, you sat in the silence, your breath still uneven, your body heavy with exhaustion. You stared down at your bandaged hand again, the edges of the wrappings slightly damp from where your tears had soaked through. A bitter laugh escaped you, quiet and self-deprecating.

“What a mess,” you muttered, your voice hoarse.

You leaned back against the wall, the anger now dulled to a slow simmer beneath the weight of everything else. And for the first time, you let yourself admit what you’d been avoiding all along: you should’ve probed him more. You should’ve insisted, pressed for answers instead of letting him dictate the moment and twist it into something cruel.

The thought was uncomfortable, prickling like a splinter lodged deep beneath your skin. He was probably doing this because he was hurt, and it wasn’t easy to let that idea settle in your mind. But once it did, it sat there, heavy and unyielding, refusing to be ignored.

[ilikekidsshows]

Aside from Shugo Chara, Spy x Family is also a good alternative for people who got burned out from Miraculous. It's not magical girl genre, but it has a secret identity and reversing gender role theme and Spy x Family do the later 1000000 times better than miraculous ever be.

---

Spy x Family has the perfect justification for its secret identity hijinks. Both our adult leads are operatives used to working alone and think they've married a normal person for the sake of convenience. Like, of course a master spy and an assassin aren't going to be telling their cute, normal spouse about their dangerous night jobs when their lives rely on secrecy. In fact, the fact that these two are adults even justifies the whole “one man/woman mission” thing. They don't need supervision.

Also, like, the relationships in this show are so wholesome despite the dark setup. I mean, Anya is an escaped child experiment who has understandable baggage from that, but she still manages to find joy in life. Like, in general, you can see the entire main cast is better off playing family than they were before despite all the secrets they're keeping from each other for actually valid reasons. Or maybe those valid reasons are why it's working out, since it only takes life or death stakes for them to lie, instead of them going: “Well, this topic makes me uncomfy so I’ll just lie my ass off”.

The irony that this show takes place in a fictionalized version of the Cold War period and yet manages to be more progressive with its gender commentary than a cartoon set in the present day trying to be subversive. A recent thought I had concerning this is that a lot if Astruc’s ideas are outdated and surface deep. He thinks having an idea is good enough and never really commits to anything and his tendency to not rewrite scripts seems to lead to a lot of his ideas being recycled from the concept era ten years ago. But, like, a lot of his subversions wouldn't have been subversive even ten years ago. Plagiarism Man should have plagiarized more stuff instead of just Shugo Chara and Dork Diaries. When you combine ideas from multiple sources instead of trying to blatantly copy one or two popular works, your work actually ends up coming out more unique and original.

Anyway, Spy x Family gets a recommendation from me, too.

[dcdreamblog]

US: *Looks at the list of questions* "Curious one, ain't he?" Me: "You should see my inbox. The curiosity of a scholar and the patience of a saint on this one. Very understanding of me letting other people's questions take a turn" US: "Only way out is through as they say" *He winks* ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

US: "Have you ever had someone...recount a memory to you. From VERY early childhood? Something your entire family remembers. Some embarrassment or other-" Me: "There's a scar on the back of my hand from when a 4 year old me walked CLOSER to Aquaman in a fight and nearly got a glob of liquid glass to the face for his troubles." US: "...I am sure your audience will put a pin in that for a later time. Anyhow. The memory is fresh in the mind of everyone else. And you know it was you in the story, but your conscious memories just...don't exist for it anymore?" Me: "So your previous identities. They feel like a stories about you being relayed TO you, rather than memories of your own." US: "Right but...in here." *He taps his temple with two fingers* "I can bring up the information, even the sensations and feelings. But it feels like something I read happening to someone else. And the Civil War was the worst of it." Me: "A house divided against itself..." US: "I have two sets of memories that don't even feel like they belong to me. At least one image of looking at myself, outside myself, from two different angles. For most eras its like wondering what I was thinking with a bad hairstyle in a photograph. For that era is like having memories for each eye looking at different objects at the same time."

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US: "That was THE plan originally, yes, in my mind's eye. When we discovered the portal it just...ate at me. I couldn't leave it alone. One night I marched down there to go in my own self but well..." Me: "You found your team waiting there for you." US: "Those of 'em who didn't have much of anything to go back to for a while. 'Specially poor Sandra'd been drug through the mud, gave up her baby. Needed to go somewhere things'd be simple again, even if it wasn't a pleasant simple." Me: "You were the leader. You let them come with you." US: "I was the leader in the abstract sense, sure enough. But one thing I learned is that I could tell Sandra Knight anything I wanted until I was blue in the face and there was smoke coming out of my stovepipe. Wouldn't do me any good." Me: "You didn't ask them to come with you at all." US: "No. They made it plain to me that they were coming with. We didn't call anybody else, wouldn't have been fair to ask. We left our last thoughts, could have been last thoughts anyway, and dove in. Smashed the portal behind us. Back in the fight inside an hour, never had time to look back."

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US: *Leans back, looking up like he's trying to recall something* "I have met the Miracles...once, I think? One of those all hands on deck affairs." Me: "A Crisis?" US: "One of them, you'd be shocked how much they blend together. Red skies, shadow demons, a sense no one's getting any sleep for a bit." Me: "So you met" US: "Right, the other thing you'd be shocked about is how much standing around gets done. All of us standing around while the big alien guy yaps. Or getting things assembled for planning. Or breaks in the fighting. Anyway. I was milling about and one of the Flash's youngun's dashed past me. I blundered back like an oaf and nearly crashed right over his Mrs." Me: "For our readers that is the superheroine known as Big Barda." US: "Right. Well I take off me hat and apologize to the lady. 'Course she brushes it off. Seems like she hardly noticed under all that armor, sure enough. But her husband comes over, we swap names for chit chat's sake, shake hands. Can't rightly remember what all we talked about. Was only a few minutes after that the alarm went up and it was back into the ditches. I glimpsed the two of 'em once or twice in the rest of the scrap but beyond that it was the only conversation I ever had with the man. Though what I hear is universally good."

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US: "Not as hard as you would think because not as many people would listen to me as you would think." Me: "You're literally the spirit of America itself." US: "Sure I am, and if people believe that then it still might not overpower the fact that I'm a superhero older than their grandparents. What am I gonna do, take the stump and get the union hall jumping like its 1944 and I'm going to bat for FDR again?" Me: "You don't think you're a persuasive political actor?" US: "I don't see rightly why anyone should have to listen to me when I don't know the first thing about the price of rent, or the state of schooling, or the difference between coal, gas, wind, nuclear or a hole in the ground." Me: "You're exaggerating, you're a very eloquent and educated man." US: "Spirit. I'm an eloquent SPIRIT with a lot of time on my hands. None of my political ideals are mine. By the nature of these things the best I can do is listen to the zeitgeist and try to roll with the right side of it. There are plenty of young people on the pulpit. They can make speeches and make marches while I do what I've always done...take the fascists in the crowd and give them a fresh scar or three." *He punches the palm of one hand* ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

US: "People using my image like that gets my goat anyhow. And from the beard you can see I've got plenty of goat to get." *He runs his beard through his thumb and forefinger* Me: "You can't exactly protect your image, even the way other heroes can." US: "Not rightly, no. My "image" as it is was taken from an old poster. I didn't come up with it, I'm just stuck to it. While I can lean on them if they're using the idea of my endorsement specifically, the "superhero" Uncle Sam, I can't do anything about them draping themselves in the flag." Me: "Which returns us to the operative part of the question." US: "...When I walked over a hill in a town called Stutthof. What's now Sztutowo in Poland-" *Note for readers, both foreign names are pronounced in perfect German and Polish* "...when I saw piles of clothing heaped in ditches, and learned what kinds of things you could make soap out of. When I FELT Polonia. My sister, my blood, what they'd done to her on the wind and all the unquiet dead like they were clawing at my ankles..." *He sits quietly for a long moment, he needs to take a few deep breaths in to steady himself* US: "I learned that I should never NOT be afraid of what men will do if they think its in the best interest of the...the fatherland. A snake will bolt for cover when you pull up the rock...a true believer, a zealot...well never agree to go down alone."

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US: "Never quite got a read on that one..." Me: "For clarity's sake. You mean Father Time, the enigmatic leader of the government agency SHADE." US: "Right. I never quite knew what to make of him. I mean he was a crook, wanted to use implant chips to brainwash the entire American population. Of course until one of his robotic agents got away from him, then, of course, it was up to use to sweep the mess." Me: "Seems pretty cut and dry to me." US: "It should, shouldn't it? And yet no matter how hard I dug I could never find any bit of information about the spook that didn't give me more questions."

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US: "I was basically riding shotgun with that man the entire war and honestly I don't know which story I'd pick." Me: "From a historical perspective he's hard to separate fact from fiction." US: "Any story you could make up would be easy to shoot down. It'd sound too proper." Me: "Pick one and I;ll note it down for posterity" US: "He fought a giant gorilla. Named King Colosso. Three times..." Me: "...well that's." US: "And the third time the giant gorilla used a giant bow and arrow. Because he was being controlled by some guy in black tights calling himself Thunder-Man" Me: "...Ok I can see why you think the made up ones are easier to spot."

Well that's fairly decisive. Nothing's to say we can't get back to Austin's favorite son or the original Clown Princess of Crime once I hit 2 or 300 followers. Now comes part 2: Questions from a curious public (I hope) The victor for my first professional historian interview is Uncle Sam!:

(The museum's modern mural of Uncle Sam) Scion of the Freedom Fighters, one of the unquestioned leaders of the Golden Age hero community, actual living and breathing avatar of the American dream and its patriotic spirit. And actual 6'5" walking billy goat Uncle Sam has been a particular interest for ME over the past couple of months because he keeps showing up at my place of work and he has sent me at least one Christmas card. While Mrs Hunkel DID invest me with his email address when she gave me this idea (Yes, Uncle Sam has an email address. No I am NOT telling you what it is). I figured it was only polite to act neighborly. So during my last lunch break I walked up to him in the Freedom Fighters exhibit and asked him to sit down with us. Being the AWFULLY polite gentleman that he is, he agreed. So, here's the pitch. I need questions. I assume you people HAVE questions. For the next week. That's 7 Days. From 1/6/25 to 1/13/25 on this post you guys can comment or reblog any questions you want me to ask of the American Icon. I will do my best to bring them to his attention and trickle them out to you over the next week while also maintaining this here blog. Basic rules of etiquette apply. Recognize you are speaking to a human being with thoughts and feelings who has been through a LONG life of high emotion and loss. Any disrespect to Uncle Sam or especially the men and women he has served with over his long career will be met...harshly. Don't be a dick to the nice old man AND screw up my professional chances, please? Political questions will be tentatively allowed but PLEASE RECOGNIZE UNCLE SAM IS THE SPIRIT OF AN IDEAL NOT A MEMBER OF THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT. He is not responsible for this or that shitty American policy, that is the cross to bear of mostly the policy makers themselves and to a smaller extent the American electorate. With that out of the way. Bombs away guys and gals, see you in a week.

[trashblog07]

“I can see you” by Taylor swift would have been breagan coded if we could have gotten more of them

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[vulturevanity]

Blorbo moment

(Please don't mention the fact that I forgot Molly's star dandruff aka her second most iconic design element)