#it's almost certainly okay for you as an individual

[last-flight-of-fancy]

hey, hey, quick internet fandom ettiquete lesson; X has two hands jokes only vibe if you are talking to someone who is ALSO already talking about how X has two hands. Okay? Okay. It is in fact very rude to go onto other people’s posts where only one set of hands is involved to evangalise about two hands. When seeing ship art/fic of only half your ot3, it is proper ettiquete to simply enjoy the art/fic as it is, and if so inspired create/commission/seek out the ot3 content of your choice. This has been your quick internet fandom lesson, thank you for your time.

[starpros-sunshine]

seb. seb hes not smiling. and has a fatui background................

I knowwwwww he's still everything to me you do not know how smitten I am with Lyney as a character

[fabiansociety]

da2 isn't the best dragon age game *because* it's openly a tragedy, but being a tragedy forces a level of narrative coherence that the other games in the series don't have, and *that's* what makes it a better game.

okay, so. dragon age 2 runs on nested foreshadowing and a limited set of themes that almost every character and plot beat fall into: love is not enough, wealth is not enough, power is not enough, good intent is not enough. the problems you run into are structural, rather than individual, and your ability to resolve them as one person is strictly limited. the arishok is a central figure for this, because he prefigures every other tragedy and makes the game's thesis statement as clear as possible. he doesn't want to be in kirkwall, but he is compelled to remain until he gets back what was stolen. he doesn't want to lead a coup attempt, but he is compelled by qunari codes of justice to act. he does not want to die and fail his duty, but but he is compelled to by the other two impossible demands. every tragedy in kirkwall is the result of too many people with wildly different definitions of justice crammed into one place specifically designed to maximize human misery and suffering, and so you get a wonderfully nested narrative onion where each quest reinforces that idea, where there are no good options, just positions you can take — even the affinity system plays into that, where constantly gassing up your friends or constantly pushing them to change are equally correct ways to go, but ones that won't ultimately make a huge difference in their lives or characters, because no matter how much they like you, they're not under your control.

this coherence is even justified by the framing device. of *course* the moral of the game is "insisting on a dogmatic, narrow idea of justice destroys individuals and societies," it's a yarn being spun by varric the con artist to a chantry cop!

neither origins or inquisition play with that sort of narrative complexity. origins is a jaundiced hero's quest, certainly, but it's still basically a hero's quest; inquisition has a number of characters who question what you're doing and why, but the multitude of voices pulls the game in too many potential directions. DA2 was so constrained in its production that it pulled on decidedly ancient theatrical traditions, and it worked so, so well

[madrivervalleyicelandics]

@mylittlehony gonna reply to you here so I can type more haha (everyone read replies on this if you wanna know what we are on about)

Okay so yes! There is a TON we don’t know or understand about exactly how gaitedness works & it’s probably lazy to use the DMRT3 mutation as a shorthand for describing gaitedness because it probably is more complicated than just that mutation & I’m sure the more we look into that the more we will find. Rn it’s just the gene test we have for it. So, noticing prevalence of connective tissue disease in breeds that also have that gene mutation, that’s interesting - correlation isn’t causation, but could there be some connection between gaitedness & connective tissue disorder? That may be a better way to phrase the question.

ESPA is believed at this stage to be hereditary. But that’s really all we know so far, and really even that is a guess until we know more. Every vet I talk to about this is like, “my kingdom for a gene test!”

I’m continuing to talk about it even without KNOWING answers because for a long time the message has been, Icelandic horses are a hardy, healthy breed.

We kind of just keep parroting this but in reality, the past 10 years especially have shown us quite a few health issues the breed is prone to, or at least not immune to.

My GUESS is that’s because enough time has passed for the breed to get a real foothold in countries outside of iceland that have different expectations of horses than iceland has. In iceland, horses tend to have long breaks from training each year on pasture, which means that they’re ridden less, cumulatively over a lifetime, than we expect to ride our horses on average in the US for example. Rides in iceland also tend to be short - yes, even on treks, riders historically bring spare horses & switch frequently. I have ridden Vigri in TWO 100 mile competitive rides - most folks in iceland are simply not putting that kind of mileage on a single horse. We also expect to ride our horses for as much of their natural lives as possible, & while of course some people ride horses into their old age in iceland, many horses go out to pasture or retire for breeding or have their careers scaled back significantly at younger ages than I think most Americans would like. We just have different expectations here, and we also tend to do a lot more diagnostic tests and therapies to keep horses going where in iceland they might just retire the horse. I’m not saying one is better over the other, just that the sets of expectations are different, & now that we are enough generations into the breed existing outside of iceland, I think more has come to light than would have been discovered in iceland alone.

When we’re honest & open about these problems - like we were with genetic spavin - the breed community is incredible at collecting data & making improvements. Genetic spavin was a big issue for a while, now not so much because breeders started screening & soft culling (not breeding those horses).

ESPA is WAY harder to deal with even in concept because we don’t have a way to screen for it in asymptomatic horses - it’s progressive & that progression is inconsistent. You can have individuals fully crippled or incompatible with life as youngsters, like Sirius & Sylgja, or you can have horses living natural lifespans & dying of unrelated causes in old age, never diagnosed (that would almost certainly have been Vigri - I doubt he’d have been diagnosed at all if I hadn’t had the other cases and gotten obsessive about this lol).

So one of the arguments I’ve heard from breeders is that, if it doesn’t affect them into old age, why does it matter. Which I don’t think is a GREAT attitude, but I do wonder how pervasive this disease is. If it’s found to be very pervasive in populations across breeds or specific to certain breeds, maybe some degree of it IS normal - how could we know if we are only able to test the most symptomatic horses? That’s sort of what we’ve come around to with ECVM, right - that there has always been this range of what’s “normal” & we assumed it to be a problem because only symptomatic horses were getting diagnosed - we had no idea how many asymptomatic ECVM horses existed until recently.

And then there is of course also the reality that all horses will eventually break down and die of SOMETHING. We can’t prevent that, no matter how perfect we make our husbandry & breeding.

So the question then becomes, what range of mobility is normal, when does it become hypermobile, where is the line between aspirational & dysfunctional, & who decides that. And those are all questions I SUPER don’t feel qualified to answer. But I do know that in the gaited horse world, certainly in the Icelandic horse world, we all tend to toe the line when it comes to hypermobility. We select for huge gaits, extreme leg action, & a lot of the training for sport intentionally destabilizes the horse to increase the snap-&-fling action that everyone seems to love.

What I’ve been saying for a while is, we’ve got to stabilize these horses. The training has got to refocus towards stabilization & away from exaggeration. I think that’s likely been what’s saved Vigri so far, is that he’s had a lifetime of stabilization work with me - even when I used to show him in sport, I spent all my time in between shows stabilizing him so that he could cope with those performances a few times a year, because I knew the toll they took. When THAT’S the gait standard, & we are judging the horses for breeding at age 3-5 usually, & then breeding them to this standard, I think there’s a LOT of room for a progressive disease like ESPA to be passed on before it’s detected or symptomatic. It happened to me with Skvísa & I know for a fact it’s happened to others.

If people know to test this breed when they start to have “weird” problems like I did with my mares, I think we will start to get a better picture of what this looks like. We can diagnose ESPA with ultrasound, at least after a certain amount of disease progression, & if more people knew that, & knew all the weird ways it can manifest, they might choose to test. Right now, most people don’t know it’s a possibility. There’s too much misinformation about the disease itself, but also about hypermobility in horses - and a great deal of THAT misinformation is held in place by denial / willful ignorance to protect current gait standards. If we acknowledge that we may be breeding horses that are successfully meeting our standard BECAUSE their connective tissue is diseased, that calls quite a few things into question that a lot of folks would prefer not to examine. In all sports, human and equine, it’s hard to go backwards from an extreme, isn’t it? That’s a tough sell. I don’t think that many people who are winning under the current standard like the idea of horses moving more conservatively in the future.

I think that’ll make it hard for ESPA research to get the funding or attention it deserves, is what I’m getting at, but we’ll see what happens. In the meantime, I feel like the best we can do is just keep talking about it & ultrasound horses that we have questions about.

Since my two mares got ESPA diagnosed in 2023 I feel like everyone I know has ESPA dx’d or suspected in Icelandic horses. So all I’m gonna say here is that if you have weird mystery sensitivity, the horse is kind of reactive & weird some days & fine others & you’re ruling out a lot of common causes of pain & can’t really find muscular or chiropractic causes & the horse isn’t lame on one leg or neuro but something is just weird about the horse…..

Ultrasound those suspensories, bestie!

We just did Vigri this Fall & found that he has early signs of degeneration of his suspensories, too, but at 16 & sound this is “normal” progression of the disease (as opposed to the serious degradation of the tissues we noted in Sylgja at age 5, & her mom at 13 - I still think Skvísa probably would have progressed more slowly had I not bred her, which I’d never have done if I’d known she had the disease). Since he isn’t a mare, won’t be bred, & the current best practice for treatment is consistent, appropriate exercise, I’m responding to this DX by slowing down his workload, riding him myself less, ponying him more, having my child (who is very light) be his primary rider when ridden, & keeping up with the shoe package that’s been keeping him sound & comfy with his rotational deformities up to this point. Vigri is more comfortable / happy when in an exercise program so this makes sense for him at this level of progression, but we will be monitoring closely & re-checking. This comes w perfect radiographs (zero arthritic changes to hocks, fetlocks, etc) - we literally only US’d bc when I pulled him barefoot last winter I THOUGHT I noticed his fetlocks dropping slightly more than usual, & I wanted to see if I were crazy or not 🤡

But where I’m at w this now is I think it is FAR more common in the breed than previously reported & warrants serious examination certainly for anyone who wants to breed these horses. The prevalence in Standardbreds, pasos (disease was first discovered in pasos) etc has a lot of vets curious if there’s a connection between the DMRT3 mutation & this connective tissue disease. Worth noting as well that Vigri is of no relation to my other horses, & is actually not even from the same breeding farm. Looking back, I wish I could US Glæta… I have a lot of questions about past “complicated” horses I worked with that could be answered by this disease.

It’s super worth paying attention to because of the connective tissue involved w internal organ suspension. A friend just attended a dissection of an (suspected) ESPA horse in which the liver was found to be detatched. I know quite a few Icelandic horses that were “fine” until they suddenly died of some weird medical event involving digestion. Was it colic or something else…..?

We know this disease can affect the cardiovascular system, vision, etc. I’m certainly curious if Vigri’s intermittent difficulty pulsing down - even when his resp returned to normal right away - could be related to subclinical presentation of this disease. I’m even curious if his rotational deformities at birth might have been the earliest sign! I’m quite sure it explains his unusually sensitive skin, which rubs & chafes so easily. All of which is to say, this disease goes beyond workload / performance expectations, it’s not just a (potential) soundness problem. It’s potentially something that can negatively impact organ function.

Another interesting thing I’ve learned more recently is that research is suggesting that the bodies of these horses lay down layers of fat in unusual / unexpected places to compensate / protect the lack of healthy connective tissue. On dissection that’s apparently really interesting to see, sometimes the horses don’t even palpate or look especially fat until you get into the layers of the body. My ESPA mares did have an unusual amount of body fat & it actually complicated the muscle biopsies we did to rule out PSSM2….

Anyway this is sort of a disorganized dump of random ESPA thoughts but I haven’t had the energy or time to make more coherent thoughts for Instagram / FB & I know Tumblr doesn’t care.

Bottom line is if you’ve got gaited horses & they’re having “mystery” health or behavioral issues, you might want to consider a connective tissue disorder as a possible contributing factor! & certainly if you notice hypermobility or unusual flexion of the joints.

[baeshijima]

being married to duke!blade is a feat inconceivable to many.

overseeing the northern region where monster outbreaks are high and temperatures are low, he is feared by many for not only his undeniable battle prowess, but also his cold and dismissive demeanour. from all the stories and rumours passed down from those who battled alongside the duke, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say his mere presence alone is sufficient enough to take on an entire army.

but despite his infamous personality, the young duke had made rounds within high society when he first showed his face. he was handsome, having that rugged appearance expected of a blood-soaked warrior residing on the battlefied, yet beautiful with a haunting allure — those crimson-marigold eyes of his can simultaneously bewitch an unassuming victim and bring the most prideful of monarchs down to their knees.

and, as expected of someone with such descriptors, many of the nobility found themselves drawn to him in spite of the rumours which clung to his very being. noble ladies wished to be the first he ever danced with, while many families seeked to gain even a morsel of his power through arranged marriages. relentless as they were, none succeeded in swaying the stone-cold duke.

and stone-cold he was upon your first meeting, albeit in… less than fortunate circumstances.

having meandered around the foresty northern borders not too far from where your family estate is, you certainly were not expecting to stumble across a rotting corpse smack-dab in the middle of your path! okay, well, rotting may not be the most suitable term, but the slumped body, battered and bruised and bloodied, you accidentally kicked was very much a corpse.

you had contemplated leaving the body there but, upon seeing a bloodied insignia of an all-too familiar ducal household, you decided you wanted to live a little longer. of course, this led to you lugging a slumped, muscle-packed warrior of a man all the way to where your estate was, heaving and huffing with your body trembling under the weight.

(to say you were just about ready to collapse when the family knights spotted your emerging figure was no understatement!)

whisked away into a guest room near your own, your parents called for the family doctor immediately. when the blood was cleaned and his wounds were wrapped, the sight of his injuries mending themselves was sure to be a sight you would never be able to rid your mind of. it was a strange but intriguing phenomenon to see his skin stitched anew, that horrid sight of him collapsed in the forestry almost like that of a dream.

your father immediately sent word to the duke’s estate to notify them of the circumstances. in the meanwhile, the man of the hour was unconscious for three days. seeing as how you were the one to find him, you took it upon yourself to help look after his well-being. changing his bandages, regularly wiping the accumulating sweat with a freshly damp cloth, ensuring the room is well-ventilated — you did the lot!

(sometimes you would stare at his resting face, wondering just how much more handsome he would be with his eyes open; only to retract that sentiment when recalling the tales about how his eyes could burn a man alive. exaggerated or not, he is still a dangerous individual you would rather not further entangle yourself with.)

with his people having retrieved their master from your care, promises of hefty compensation for taking care of their lord ringing in your ears, you were ready to sweep the whole ordeal under the rug and never get yourself involved with a man like him again! after all, he is the fearful duke responsible for your region, while you’re just another noble within his domain.

so, naturally, when you first heard of your soon-to-be marriage, you thought your parents did something to offend him and were sending you as a sacrifice meant to appease his wrath.

because, well, why else would the very same duke infamous for having zero interest in romantic and political marriages be sending a letter for your hand in marriage of his own accord? being unconscious the entirety of the time made him unable to see you, let alone know your family, so of course that meant his staff had filled him in on what happened. but why would he initiate this proposal without even knowing who you are first???

(did you get a say in this? no. would you have refused? yes. did your parents care about you and your well-being? aside from their apologetic gazes at your slack-jawed reaction and somewhat rational reasoning of “his grace may have an infamous reputation, but he is not a cruel ruler nor man,” you would like to deny the parental affection they have given you thus far in favour of objecting the claim.)

well, no matter. there was little time to prepare for his arrival to your estate, as the letter stated he would be arriving to escort you himself.

after much fuss over your clothing and luggage, the day arrived; you were going to see him again, except this time, he would see you as well.

a regal carriage entered the estate’s gates. the door swung open. a black gloved hand was the first to appear, followed by a ducked head of long navy hair, a familiar figure donning a freshly pressed suit and black overcoat, and finally — finally — a pair of burning crimson-marigold met your own gaze.

you weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline of your fight or flight response kicking in or the butterflies which ruptured within you that caused your heart rate to increase, but you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from him.

he stopped in front of you, the features you once saw up close felt more complete than ever with the addition of his eyes open.

and thus, with your palm settled atop his outstretched gloved one, your fate was sealed.

(man. was this the compensation the staff were saying to you as they left…?)

that was two years ago.

savage. cold-blooded. inhumane. brute. monster. these were some of the ways in which duke blade was described. the man who currently sits on the edge of the bed watching you dress his wounds, however, is much different than the public opinion.

ever since exchanging vows at the altar and slipping sacred rings of matrimony onto each other’s fingers, you have come to know many sides of blade you never thought possible.

and while he rarely spoke in the beginning, his actions spoke louder than any voice could ever hope to measure up to. and, eventually, he became more vocal in regards to his feelings for you, just as you have with yours upon witnessing firsthand his true character.

from his battle-haggard, near manic state when on the verge of succumbing to the curse before falling into your healing embrace, to his tender fleeting touches and ever-adoring affection repressed within his gaze when in the presence of others, you have seen it all.

the process of getting to know and understand the intricacies of his life is almost like unravelling layers upon layers of thin bandage wrapped tightly around a gaping wound, hoping to block out the vulnerabilities which could be exposed. it was rocky at first, you being in an unfamiliar environment while he had his own inner battles to deal with first and foremost, but time carved its path for the two of you to partake in talks lasting late into the night, a subtle fondness growing more pronounced as familiarity grew alongside it.

and, of course, the time he returned from a subjugation battle-worn and mind having been overriden with mania. it was the first you’d seen him in such a loss of control. knights were rushing to subdue him while the servants desperately tried to usher your bewildered form some place safe, as though this had been a common occurrence well before you came into the picture. that hadn’t gone as planned, however, as the moment blade’s heaving figure locked eyes with you, a state of chaos ensued the moment he broke through the wall of knights with ease and appeared in front of you. no time was wasted when he lunged, a panic chorus of cries following suit as you remained rooted in place.

while you would never forget the blown-out, near-animalistic look in his eyes as he drew closer at an impossible speed, the gentle — almost reverent — manner in which he embraced you then, rigid body instantly relaxing against you, would forever be the turning point of your relationship, as well as a long-cherished memory of his first true feelings.

a dull sensation poking the space between your brows snaps you out of your thoughts. “stop frowning. i’ll be fine like always.”

your hands pause in their ministrations, hovering over his bare torso where you finished tying up a bandage. a blink and a sigh, another swab of disinfectant is in your hands working at the wound on his bicep.

“but that doesn’t mean i like seeing you return to me wounded,” you mutter bitterly, blatantly ignoring his stare. “i know you can take care of yourself, what with that regenerative ability of yours, but i still worry over you. you can still feel the pain, after all, and not to mention that curse—”

a swift tug forward abruptly cuts you off, your words fizzling on the tip of your tongue as a familiar warmth encases you in its entirety. instinctively, your hands grip onto his shoulders, the coarse material of bandages not unfamiliar to your touch, while blade’s hands are splayed across the expanse of your back as he holds you against his seated form.

his nose nudges along the slope of your neck, the shape of your jaw, the contours of your face, a trail of soft kisses leaving searing imprints in its wake.

a deep breath, a ticklish sensation, a thrumming heartbeat.

and when he rests his forehead against your own, crimson-marigold eyes dyed with devotion and seeping ardour, you think the world will be okay.

(even if it were to burst into flames and be reduced to ash, if it means you would be by this man’s side for a little longer, you think it will be okay.)

[sagaduwyrm]

DCxDP Idea - Tucker x Tim Soulmate AU:

Now on AO3

So the Justice League believes the Fentons and the GIW. Not completely, but enough. That’s the bad news. The worse news is that they have Danny, and are apparently planning to use him in some kind of spell to banish all the ghosts from the living plane. Which, okay, sure, not the worst idea, except that trying to banish a Liminal is a great way to kill them instead, and guess what everyone in Amity Park is? Not to mention what powering such a ritual could do to Danny.

Tucker is not having a panic attack. He might have one later, but right now he has a job to do.

So the thing about the Justice League is that they’re powerful and together they cover each other’s weaknesses, but individually they are, if not manageable, then at least survivable. They can’t take on the entire league, but Ghosts and their ilk have fangs for a reason, and every predator knows how to divide and conquer.

Technus and Skulker are using Lex Luthor’s tech to deal with the Supers. Jazz has got emotional manipulation and FrightKnight’s sword to take down the Flashes. Desiree agreed to start a mage’s duel with the Justice League Dark. Sam, Ember, Johnny, and Kitty hopefully have the watchtower in hand, with Walker playing backup to get Danny free.

Tucker has two jobs. One, work with Technus to take down the Justice League communications without making it look like anything is up. Two, for the love of the Ancients, do not let the Bats realize something is wrong.

And you know what? He’s got this. Duul Aman was the most feared sorcerer of his time. Tucker isn’t him, not really, but he’s no slouch in the magic department. Egyptian magic, the way Duul Aman knew it, was almost like code. Relearning it was as easy as breathing, but the real reason Tucker’s job is to deal with the bats is because he took it further than his last life ever could. Sure, he’s a dab hand at illusions, his curses are almost as nasty as Sam’s, and instant sandstorms are never not useful, but where he really thrives is with tech. Afterall, if ectoplasm can be combined with computers, why can’t magic?

Tucker is the world's first technomage and he’s goddamn proud of it.

It’s his saving grace now. Infiltrating Oracle’s system took weeks, and he still wasn’t able to look at or do anything important, but it was enough of an opening for his magic. He wormed his illusion through every single piece of bat-tech he could reach, whispering in their ear, Gotham needs you. The Justice League is fine. Gotham is where the problems are. 

Weeks of work and sleepless nights, and he still doubts he’ll be able to keep them from noticing anything for more than a few hours. Luckily, by that time Danny will be free and Tucker will be long gone from Gotham.

This confidence lasts until he brushes hands with another guy in the cafe. He can feel the bond snap into place, a soulmark crawling across his body. Tim Drake stares at him, eyes wide but sharp. 

Tim Drake.

Red Robin.

Shit.

Time to see whether fighting ghosts extends to fighting humans, because he is not letting this asshole mess up Danny’s rescue.

+++

The first thing Tim notices when he meets his soulmate is the rage in the man’s eyes.

They’re really pretty eyes. A bright, glowing gold, lined in kohl. Almost certainly a sign of magic. 

They look at him like the man wants to turn him inside out and burn the remains. Tim’s a little offended, beneath the shock and awe.

“Fuck,” the man hisses. Tim’s offense is starting to supersede his surprise. He’s a catch, thank you very much.

He says as much. The man laughs, and it’s almost friendly.  The cafe is empty. The people of Gotham have good instincts, and there’s something in the air around this man that puts Tim’s hackles up.

“You know, I think that’d be more believable if you hadn’t started this.”

Tim’s brow wrinkled. He felt like he’d remember starting something with his soulmate though? What was he supposed to have started, anyway? Saying ‘this’ wasn’t very specific. 

He rolled and dodged to avoid the sudden lash of golden sand. Ah. A fight. He could do that. Figure out why his soulmate was angry later, defeat him now.

He reached up to call for backup and only got static.

Shit.

He was on his own. Time to show this bastard why underestimating a bat was a bad idea.

[glamourscat]

Literally love your Tim Drake works 🙏 so good to see him get some hype!!

Can I please request Tim Drake with Gn!reader teasing him about essentially being his sugar baby? Not using him obvi, but like as a broke college student myself, I know he would simply not be able to witness our conditions without stepping in. Idk if he's ever canonically gone to a dorm, but I think explaining the concept of having to wear a "shower shoe" to avoid communal shower fungus would be enough for him to just buy you an apartment for the next 4 years 😭 or looking in the fridge only to see the takeout box, bread, and ketchup combo cause groceries are toooo expensive 😭 The "damn bitch you live like this" meme personified

Sorry this became off-topic ramble-ly lol I just think it's funny how stressed he would be by his partner's early 20's ✨ broke era✨

a/n: when I tell I saw the request and immediately my fingers started writing😭 loved this! thank you so much, I hope it’s what you were looking for <3

cw: slightly suggestive towards the end

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“For the love of—babe?” Tim’s voice rang through your college dorm room.

You looked up from the bed where you were working on some assignments, meeting his eyes as he crouched near the mini-fridge under your desk.

“Yeah, hun?” you said, eyebrows furrowing.

“What in the actual hell is this?” he exclaimed, holding up a few boxes of Chinese takeout and random half-open sauce packets—most definitely “borrowed” from fast food joints and restaurants alike. His face was a mix of shock and genuine concern for you.

“Ah, yeah. That was my dinner yesterday, my lunch the day before yesterday, and my breakfast… yep,” you said casually, shrugging as you went back to your work.

After all, it’s not like you’re the only one in this situation. Sure, you would have preferred to eat a proper meal, but broke students have to survive somehow, right?

“Babe… you are seriously surviving off of scraps? This can barely keep you fed, not to mention the—” he stopped as he looked over at your desk. “Now what in the hell is this?” His voice was slightly high-pitched as he stared at the shower shoes on your desk that you had forgotten to put away before he came by.

“Those? You’ve really never seen shower shoes?” you said with a hint of an amused smile. “Those are shower shoes, Tim. I use them in the communal showers since we don’t have individual ones. To avoid getting shower fungus or athlete’s foot, ya know? Stuff like that.” Your words were so calm, so… like you were used to it.

Tim stared at you with his eyes almost bulging out of his skull, genuinely trying to make his last remaining brain cells understand how this way of living was even possible on college grounds. But more importantly, how the hell were you supposed to live like this for the next four years?

“Where are you going?” you asked, confused, seeing him rush to put his jacket on.

“Put your jacket on. We are going to look at apartments right now. I think I caught something just by thinking of you living here for the next four years, malnourished and worst of all, using communal showers. What if something happened to you? Yeah, fuck that, c’mon” he said frantically, almost dragging you out of your dorm by the hand as you tried not to laugh.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting—”

“No,” he cut you off. His expression was almost comical in how genuinely frantic he was. But, despite that, it was also cute seeing how much he cared for you.

“Tim, I know you’re concerned but, I mean—an apartment is a big thing. I—”

He stopped, turning you to face him in the empty hallway. His hands rested on your waist. “I have the money. You can’t live like this. Let me help my lover, okay? I will still do it, you know that. If not now I’ll gift you an apartment for Christmas since it’s around the corner.” His voice got lower. “Besides, we certainly can’t do anything in here, one moan from me—”

“TIM!” you said, flustered, a small embarrassed chuckle escaping your lips.

“What? It’s the truth. Everyone will be all up in our business…” he whined quietly as he got closer, his soft lips leaving a warm kiss on your neck.

“Besides—” he whispered in your ear, causing shivers to run down your spine, “I can’t sneak in with my Red Robin costume here. And you bet your ass I’m coming over after patrol so we can be together. Soooo, an apartment it is,” he hummed proudly, leaving another kiss, this time a soft peck on your lips. He pulled back with a soft smile that just made you want to squeeze his cheeks for how cute he looked.

“Still, I mean…” you sighed softly. “I feel like your sugar baby, hun,” you said half-jokingly.

“Yeah?” he said with a cheeky twinkle in his eye. “Then that just means I need to spoil my baby more. That’s the bare minimum I can do after all hmm?” He wrapped his arm around your waist, keeping you close as you two walked off giggling to yourselves like fools, yes, but fools in love.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[thespacesay]

hey, I'm hoping this is understood to be in good faith, but this sounds like you're speaking about the notoriously bullshit standard set by BMI (Body Mass Index). the BMI is currently the accepted tool for speaking about appropriate weight categories (ie, medically assigning an individual as "obese" or "morbidly obese"). however, if you look up pretty much any information on the formation of BMI as a scale... it's bullshit from the bottom up, and we don't have any science that really backs up the weight categories it produces as creating health outcomes.

beginning with the history of BMI development: eugenics all around! the creator of the BMI measurement was aiming to discover the socially ideal average man, not in any way connected to health. his work would then be referenced by Francis Galton, a very strong proponent of eugenics and creator of social Darwinism (literally: he was Darwin's cousin and one of the first few believers in evolution in his time and culture). around the 1970s, a paper regarding the search for a test of criteria for obesity determined that it was good enough compared to anything else they'd found - noting that it had significant limitations and was primarily only useful in comparison rather than as a direct measurement. interestingly, when the Big Obesity Scare of the 90s began, it had been reported that levels of obesity had sharply risen in America from the prior year... in between which, the BMI defining obesity was lowered.

as far as BMI's actual science and medical relevance goes, there's quite a lot of opinions! most seem desperate to cling to it despite very, very little evidence that BMI is a useful scale for anyone not in the particularly extreme ranges, and even then, defining "extreme" gets pretty dicey. BMI is not good at indicating what the weight itself is; muscle weighs more than fat, and BMI is not considered to be a good indicator of obesity in non-sedentary lifestyles (aka: anyone who works even a mildly physical job should not be judged by BMI, as it is statistically not a good indicator of their health). in addition, BMI statistically is useful as a comparative tool among specific demographics; my introductory stats class in college can tell you with ease that BMI is not meant to be used the same between different demographics, such as race, sex, and quite possibly many more factors.

further, all the things you hear about as "health" relating to BMI? cardiovascular events, diabetes, all that stuff? we pretty much have scientific consensus right now that studies are indicating an increase in weight as an early indicator of diabetes rather than diabetes being caused by higher weight. a variety of cardiovascular studies have found, to the clear confusion of the researchers and their biases, that cardiovascular events are more likely to be fatal in individuals not considered "overweight". I'd highly recommend checking out the referenced statistics on the Wikipedia page regarding actual health correlations, as well as the limitations of its use.

why is this important?

frankly, popular understanding of what obese, overweight, etc. mean is absolute shit and useless. your health is far better indicated by how you feel. attempting to lose weight when it isn't necessary appears to cause more harm than not - not a single diet has ever been found to consistently reduce weight in individuals for more than a year, while studies point to significant health problems being caused by the stress on bodies undergoing rapid weight change, such as that caused by on/off dieting. in general, our bodies seem to be pretty darn good at regulating to a weight that is best for them unless another medical problem is interfering. in those cases, treating the underlying condition is quite a bit more important for your health impact.

if you're interested in learning more about weight, obesity, diets, and the history of the social movements around them, I'd highly recommend listening to the podcast Maintenance Phase (or reading the transcripts, available via their site!), or reading the book Aubrey wrote - “You Just Need to Lose Weight”: And 19 Other Myths About Fat People. if you listen to Maintenance Phase, I'd say the big episodes to consider are below. all episodes list their sources, and independent research I've done after listening to episodes frequently leads me to believe they're just about understating the problems they've found, due to not having the time to get into some details.

School Lunches, P-Hacking and the Original "Pizzagate"

The Body Mass Index

The Body Mass Index

i hate how people use overweight as a supposedly ~inoffensive~ alternative to just saying fat. like yeah fat has negative connotations but it’s also a literal descriptor of a physical quality. meanwhile overweight by its fucking definition necessitates that we consider there to be an ideal weight and that the person we are referring to exceeds it unacceptably. i’m not over any goddamn weight thanks very much i weigh whatever the fuck i weigh. my body is not for you to fucking appraise

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS PT. 7 ANGELS IN DISGUISE

Hello! Decided to dedicate this observation list to some pretty sensitive placements. If you have any of these placements or know someone that do, I hope you enjoy the list I've created !

Neptune 7th house people have a urgency to help others. Their compassionate healers who walk out into the world and people grasp on to their presence not knowing the reason why. In due time, they'll recognize that neptune 7th house person spirit is like no others. They have this Mother Theresa spirit to them. Very honest and vulnerable to the ones they love, they can almost certainly have a few tricksters walk amongst their path. Although they are incredibly sweet, they're discernment levels are to the T. Its unfortunate when they don't use it, they just want to see the good in you. They have a dreamy like quality to their presence that others notice right away. Captivating, but mysterious. People have no idea what they're getting into when being with them, but they know if they don't act right the cosmic forces in these people don't mind a cute lil revenge. ;)

Moon in Pisces see the beauty in everything. And it reflects back into their beautiful spirits. They're okay with being misunderstood, its just their empathetic bodies take on so many unwanted reactions and energy it's hard for them to feel accepted. They have a honest approach with life, and try their best not to belittle others with this truth. Their honest with themselves however can sugarcoat the truth a little to put less pressure on their wounds and others. therapeutic souls, they naturally attract others to tell them their deepest thoughts. It purifies them. Just being able to converse with moon pisces babes cleanses their auras and makes the skeletons feel a lil dance inside. No more hiding in their, they can take off their masks with them. Moon pisces babes can also be a little too generous with their funds, do not allow others sob stories to be the reason your wallets are being sucked dry. Tell them no. Boundaries are important with this group.

Venus in Pisces have this dreamy, ethereal nature to them its like a fairytale. Their desires tend to realize itself in practical realities more often then they think. When around others, they are like a dream come true. They have unreal personalities.Their gift in this lifetime is to share the joy and beauty of the inner child. They have a love for the universe and in return the universe gives them more than what they could of asked for. It's a beautiful placement. Venus in pisces must be careful because they attract a lot of narcissists in their corner. The narcs can see their beauty, power, and light and know that it can benefit them. Be smart about who you allow into your temple. You are literally a walking God/Goddess.

Mercury in the 1st House ; Believe it or not they have an innocence to them thats hard to ignore. Their like a youthful little child that never grows old. Their charm is impeccable. They can be little tricksters but in a way that it oozes a beautiful quality to it. Its funny. You can talk to them about anything and you can feel your mind soar because your mind gets to expand itself when your with them. They show you the way to relax and just be in the moment. Their a gift to this world when they're just being themselves.

Moon in the 3rd ; Natural healers. They connect with the community in a way that touches every soul they come in contact with. Very empathetic and need more alone time than most. They have to discern people way more than they would like. No matter how stand-offish they can appear, they still have a regal, likeable nature to them that attracts people like flies. We can naturally feel the sweetness off of them no matter what. Boundaries are something that's difficult for this placement, as their auric fields process information when they're not asking for it.

MOON IN THE 1ST are very likeable and are naturally open individuals. They can be secretive, but that mysterious charm is what pulls in others truest feelings towards them. People who do this to them just have a knowing that they will take what they say and not throw it in their face. They have a naturally sensitive personality so they can push others away easily. Its not by force it's just the way things flow. People with this placement can actually be pretty popular. Its the sweetness we feel off of them, and we just want more of it!

Neptune in the 3rd ; Its their voice. Their voice can soothe people. Its meditation for the spirit. They should consider doing asmr or even meditation videos using their voice! Oracles who learn to trust their gut at a young age, they use this gift to help guide others. They are attracted to the unknown, but this darkness is filled with so much light deep inside. The things that scare us can easily be heavenly to them. They walked that path in order to fight the light. It's just what they do.

ENJOY!

[annabelle--cane]

I guess the thing that makes me not so fond of Jon's addiction allegory is that it's only coherent to a certain extent? Like I think people sometimes forget that he's actively violating these people

anon, through no fault of your own you have accidentally hit upon my sleeper agent trigger phrase. I have layers of answers to this.

so first off, yeah, it's not a 1:1 direct metaphor, it's a soupy dream logic fantasy plot device with flavors of a lot of different things. there's quite a lot of addiction in there, there's some abuse of power, there's some cyclical nature of trauma, there's a dash of disability, there's a few notes of gendered violence, there's a good bit of just. violence violence and being kind of a motherfucker because goddammit it feels good to be an active agent about something in your life, even if it's just choosing to be a worse version of yourself than you strictly need to be. a lot of tma's worldbuilding is very allegorical, but apart from aspects of individual statements nothing really matches up quite 1:1 with a real world counterpart, and if more things did then it probably wouldn't be a fantasy show anymore.

secondly. okay to contextualize this answer a little bit I have a kind of hypothetical video essay project about vampirism and addiction that I like to spend a few hours thinking about every so often but am almost certainly never going to make because the full research burden required is a lot higher than I actually have the time to properly do. but because of that I've spent a lot of time sorting through why framing vampires as addicts really works for me in a way that it doesn't seem to for everyone, and I think a lot of my thoughts on that also apply to jon. there's going to be a bit of a detour here before we get back to talking about tma, but we'll get there, I prommy.

I've seen a lot of people take issue with various paranormal addiction allegories because, a lot of the time, the act that is meant to metaphorically represent the act of use itself is something that is directly and inherently harmful to others, e.g. drinking human blood, handing over power to your hedonistic Evil alter ego, holding the cursed amulet and going crazy going stupid, slurping trauma out of the head of some guy you ran into on a boat to norway, etc., and yeah, I do get that. substance use is not inherently harmful like that to anyone except sometimes the user themself, and addicts are not inherently fucked up and destructive people; those are dangerous stereotypes that often lead to the demonizing of a whole group of sick people.

here's the thing for me, though: those are definitely truths I want explored and represented when it comes to portrayals of non-allegorical actual addicts, but fantasy fiction isn't for showing the world as it is, it's for showing a subjective fun house mirror version of reality where certain aspects are minimized and magnified depending on how it feels to live through it. and yes, absolutely in real life drug use is not an inherently evil act and it does not make you an inherently evil person, but... doesn't it kind of feel like that? sort of? absolutely no one is living their best life nor on their best behavior while experiencing any kind of major mental illness episode, and when it comes to addiction you've got a very clear tangible symbol of when The Episode is happening that it feels like you have much more control over than when it comes to other illnesses. it's also a thing where people are a lot more likely to be openly angry and distrustful of you if they find out it's happening. so you mix together the ideas of "I know I get worse as a result of doing this one specific thing" + "I act less like myself when I'm using, it rearranges my priorities and I care less about hurting people because that's what happens when you're experiencing The Horrors" + "society at large/people directly around me are pretty quick to say that doing this is evil," and you get the subjective emotional result of "I hurt people by using and it makes me monstrous." I tend to respond to those kinds of paranormal allegories like they're just cutting out the middle man of those subjective fears. "using makes me monstrous" -> "using is monstrous."

anyway. jon archivist.

don't get me wrong, I totally understand if this aspect of metaphor doesn't gel for some people and they only like taking it exactly as far as the text explicitly makes them, but I really get a lot out of reading jon's connection to the fears as addiction precisely because he does genuinely awful things to people as a result of it. he's a person in a very bad physical and mental place with little to no support who is constantly being told by both allies and enemies that he's already a monster just by being alive, and he copes with that by secretly falling further and further into an compulsive act of consumption that skews his priorities and makes him care less about hurting people because at least sometimes getting to be the cause of pain makes him feel a little bit less powerless when he has to be the subject of pain the rest of the time. then he's found out and is made to stop, and he has to grapple not just with the physical toll of withdrawal but with knowing there is a not insignificant part of him that will excuse any act of malice if he knows he'll feel better afterwards.

the end of tma is very explicit in the fact that the rules of its world are shaped by the subjective worst fears of those who live in it, it's "an exercise in unreliably reality" as jonny sims put it once, and I think that principle extends backwards in some ways to apply to the rest of the show. I don't think the fact that there are only entities of fear and not hope or love is meant to be a full commentary on the total nature of the real world, it's a reflection of what fear and suffering can make the world feel like. eric and melanie both go to really harsh extremes to extricate themselves from the fears and live peaceful lives, and in both cases something happens that foils their plans (getting murdered + the apocalypse, respectively), but I don't think the intended message is to say that is definitively how real life works, they are metaphors for the limits of individual agency in larger systems and represent two types of worst-case-scenarios. similarly, I don't think reading jon as an addict implies that addiction inherently involves violence or that the reactions of those around him were completely unjustified, it's just a subjective exploration of the kinds of fears that can come with addiction dialed up to 100.

[cloudshuffle]

the seelie court. yan!luocha

fae au

As it turns out, Faerieland is not as dangerous as you'd thought.

It’s more. Much more.

You cling to Luocha's fingers, shying away from bolder individuals who reach their clawed hands out to touch you. The fae are beautiful - beautiful and terrifying. The space shimmers with a myriad of cloth, of mud, of bare bodies, and the eyes that follow you are more often inhuman than not.

More than once, you catch sight of a tongue darting out to wet dry lips.

Your skin crawls. Luocha's walking much too fast for you to keep up, but tugging on him doesn’t seem like the thing to do.

Until your hand slips from his. And the crowd closes in.

There’s a heart-stopping, suffocating moment as the smell of mulch and wet grass envelops you, as fangs flash in toothy grins and the fae pinch at you like picking at wares in a market.

“Not very flashy, this one,” a goat-eyed man sneers.

“I think it’s pretty.” Another inhales deeply, something that could be a stick bug, with black bug eyes and gossamer-like pieces in place of ears. “And sweet.” He grabs your wrist.

There’s a screech and a sharp pain. The stick man is wrenched away, hanging by one gossamer wing, howling and struggling to get free.

The fae mutter and back away from his flailing limbs, lowering their eyes before Luocha - great and dark, the very shadows leaning toward him to emphasise the inhumane hollowness under his cheekbones and the cruel snarl on his lips.

"Move," he commands, and flicks the fae away from him, ripping wing from joint. Golden blood scatters out over the crowd, heads turning like vultures following prey.

Luocha takes your hand in his, distracting you from the sounds of carnage. "Come." His face has returned to the softness you're used to, eyes green enough to be otherworldly but not inhuman. He smiles gently. "Don't be afraid."

If you weren't afraid before, you certainly are now. But something about his grip implies that his words aren't up for debate; not to mention the wet, grisly sounds from behind you are rather deterring you from turning around.

The fae part like an ocean as you make the rest of your way to the foot of the dais. Luocha appears to float, almost, up the tangled root steps, while you cling to his fingers and stumble up, desperately trying not to fall.

"Be careful not to hurt yourself," he says, and you can hear the lilting tease in his voice, bordering on patronising. "Human blood is precious."

"I kind of have a lot of it." You chuckle nervously. Luocha maneuvers you into his lap, snapping his fingers. A fae brings to him a plate of glistening, golden fruit - fae fruit, soft enough to bruise upon the slightest wind but sweeter than the sweetest human candy.

He catches you looking. "Would you like some?"

"Um. No, thank you." You shift uncomfortably, unused to what must be a public display of affection. Yet from this vantage point, you can see much more carnal things going on in the revelry, and not a single eye batting at their shenanigans.

"Don't be afraid, pet." Luocha's voice is suddenly very close to your ear, lips brushing against your skin. "They won't hurt you as long as I'm around. Have a bite. I insist."

"I-" You shiver away from him, and you can hear his light chuckle. The fruit smells heavenly, like homemade pastries and crisp, ripe fruit all at once. Yet something stirs uncomfortably in your gut at the thought of biting into that. "It's... really okay." And for extra measure, you add, "I'm on a diet."

Luocha really laughs then like you've just made the funniest joke on the planet. The whole room flutters, and the fae laugh along with him, every eye trained on you.

He stops, and so does everyone else. The music and dancing resumes.

You want to go home.

"Humans are so amusing. I do enjoy your jokes, pet." He strokes the top of your head like he's soothing a little puppy.

You lower your eyes. And when you do, you see the distinct shape amongst the indistinct roots and brambles on the ground.

The shape of a casket. You gasp, lifting your feet up as if it can burn you.

[dullgecko]

Have a fun little 'Riz is in college and a fucking MENACE to all the right people' story

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

Coffee goblin uploads a new video to his blog, most people who follow the blog dont know his name because he's never actually said it and it's not like he's often having conversations with people (sure, the half-elf thats in a lot of his streams calls him The Ball but that's certainly just a nickname. The goblins in his forest-walk-and-foraging videos are probably calling him by his name but they're never speaking in common, just Ghukliak, and it's pretty hard to pick out names among all the goblin chittering). Its different than his usual videos because he's actually in frame, rather than behind whatever camera he's always using and he looks pretty serious.

"Look, I know i've turned down a LOT of job requests from you guys lately but there's a reason for it." He brandishes a stack of papers at the camera. "You want me to look into why all these frat members have disappeared or dropped out of school so I thought i'd illuminate all of you as to what happened so you'd stop asking."

The video smash cuts to a goblins POV at a party, the camera catching one of the frat bros that had dropped out sneakily dropping a powder into a girls drink when she wasn’t looking. Then cuts to another, and another, until there are a dozen different guys all caught on video doing exactly the same thing over and over again at parties all over campus.

"Don't worry, none of those girls actually drank any of those." A quick series of shots of drinks getting slapped out of hands, stolen, or swapped out for non-drugged versions by tiny green, scarred hands. “But I take issue with incel losers trying to take advantage of people like that so I did something about it.”

The video cuts again, this time the coffee goblin seems to be climbing the outside of one of the frat houses. Getting up onto the roof easily and clambering silently over to a skylight which he uses his claws to pop the latch on before hopping inside. An arm coming up into the view of the camera as he lifted his forearm, the hand already encased in a glove so as not to leave fingerprints, as a small torch beam from his watch illuminating the space.

“Okay kids, today we’re in the Phi Gamma Omega house and THIS-“ He sweeps the torch light across an impressive collection of potion making equipment, arcane machinery and a haphazard collection of boxes and barrels of components. “-is a straight up drug operation.”

The hand disappears for a second, the light apparently coming from some other source now that seems to move around with his head outside of the frame. The camera itself clearly clipped onto his chest somewhere since it doesn’t exactly follow the movement of the circle of light coming from behind it.

It’s almost too quick to follow what he’s doing but he sweeps through the entire place like a shadow, every box and its contents getting caught on camera before its all put back exactly how it was when he found it.

“Okay, I can confidently say this is an ILLEGAL drug operation now. From the components and setup we’ve got here I’d say they’re manufacturing sleeping draughts, aphrodisiacs, and paralysis potions. ALL of which require a licence to make and I can guarantee you not a single person in this house has that, I already checked.”

He stalked further into the attic space, finding a small collection of arcane machines plugged in on the far wall and humming away quietly. “And even if they DID have a licence to make those individual components, it’s SUPER illegal to then mix them together and dehydrate it into a powder.”

A hand came up to pull open the front door of one of the dehydrators, coffee goblin getting in close so the thick, not quite completely dehydrated slurry on a tray was caught on camera before he popped it closed again.

“Anyway, all of this is pretty obvious BUT we need proof of who is actually making all this shit so we’re going to sit and wait and hopefully catch them on camera so they can’t argue it was just ONE of them involved and that no-one else knew. So forgive me if the next section of this recording is a bit dry and boring.”

The camera pans around the room as the goblin turns in place before settling for a good spot up in the rafters near one corner. The rogue clambering up into the tight space and shifting until the camera had a good shot of the entire room before going still. The footage is then sped up, thirty, forty, one hundred times until figures enter the attic and start zipping around making new potions, unloading and reloading the dehydrators, smashing up what had already been dehydrated into a powder and portioning it into bags before everyone left. The sun had come up and set again in the time they were up there, evident by the sunbeam tracking across the floor, but eventually the goblin clambered down and left back out the skylight they’d entered in. Every single member of the household had wandered through the attic at some point during their stakeout and it was clear as day on the footage.

Suddenly the footage snapped back to the coffee goblin in his dorm room, looking very serious as he leaned in closer to the camera.

“So, there. You have your answers as to what happened to that Fraternity. I happened and I will keep happening if I see any evidence of this shit going on in this campus again. Understand? And just a warning, not all of them simply dropped out.”

[alexsoenomel]

Agent's Sin (Dean Winchester x Reader smut)

Summary: A handsome FBI agent walks into a bar where you work.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: reader had a shitty childhood and trauma (no details), alcohol consumption, age gap (Reader is 23 and Dean is 41), cheesy flirting and sexy times

Word count: 3.2k

Note: I had a block but not anymore? This happened. Hope you enjoy, I sure did writing it.

Like/ reblog or both if you like it :)  

A Sleazy bar wasn’t your first choice but you had to start somewhere. You were a broke college student with no savings, far away from home and you had to feed yourself. Dealing with drunks was easy, considering your dad was one until he had his last bottle of vodka that killed him one Friday night. The pent-up rage you buried deep inside your soul would resurface every now and then whenever someone decided to be a mean drunk like your late father. You would never get violent, you could never hit a man, but cursing and telling them to leave before you would call Karl to throw some punches – you could and you did that. He was a gentle 6′ 8″ giant; security guard; nicest guy to be around, but a damn beast whenever someone decided to get too touchy with you or just straight up be a dick.

Every day was the same: you would wake up, go to classes and after classes straight to work. You had the same three meals every day, slept for six hours max and didn’t have any time for yourself. The money was okay; tips coming left and right considering the amount of creepy, old men visiting the joint and getting drunk after clocking out. They would tell you how beautiful you were, and you would just give them a fake smile and pour them another one. Your smile wasn’t a million-dollar smile in Hollywood, but it certainly brought in some extra cash. It was exhausting to act like you were flattered by the comments, but considering the state of your bank account, you had no other choice. 

Wednesday was coming to an end and you were ready to clock out when a tall, very good-looking man walked in and sat right in front of you at the counter. He was gorgeous; hedgehog-like hair, freckles scattered all over his face like stars in the sky and hypnotizing green eyes. You swallowed thickly as soon as you saw him eyeing you with a smirk on his face. You told Karl to leave early that day. Poor dude almost got stabbed after trying to defend a woman from a very drunk individual who didn’t understand the meaning of the word no. 

Men made you nervous, you didn’t trust them, but something was telling you that this one was harmless. 

“What can I get you?” You asked. You were a little annoyed since it was almost closing time but chose to stay silent.  The bar was empty anyways, hopefully he would have his drink and leave after a few minutes.

“Whiskey. Any kind. Neat,” he said, before he bit his lower lip, his gaze fixed on you.

His voice was deep and raspy, covering your body in goosebumps almost immediately, before your brain told you to snap out of it and pour him the damn drink. 

“Coming right up!” You smiled forcefully. 

You poured him the best whiskey you had – Rittenhouse Rye Whiskey. You weren’t much of a drinker, but you knew that its distinct and spicy flavor was top notch. You had gotten drunk a couple of times on the job. Dealing with sleazy bastards would sometimes get too much for your brain, so alcohol was the antidote. The handsome stranger immediately took a sip and sighed in satisfaction. 

“Rittenhouse?” 

“Yeah,” you answered him. 

“Good choice.” 

“My favorite,” you lied with a soft smile. It wasn’t your favorite. You hated hard liquor. You would only drink it when you wanted to get drunk – no joys in that whatsoever.

Watching him take another sip you noticed a couple of things: he was much older than you; he looked tired and had a small cut on his lower lip. His red flannel was perfectly wrapped around his frame while the rolled-up sleeves made it hard to look away. Correction, your fascination with vascular arms made it hard to look away. 

He wasn’t subtle either. His eyes scanned your face; he was searching for something. Feeling like the whole world was watching, you decided to turn around and focus on getting the rest of freshly washed shot glasses polished and ready for tomorrow’s shift. Your cheeks were burning as your hands became slippery; your body felt foreign. You felt your fingers go numb as the shot glass you took slipped and hit the floor shattering everywhere.  

“Ugh, crap!” You mumbled. 

“Rough day at work?” You heard him say. 

“You have no idea,” You turned around to face him. His eyes were dark, illuminating in dimmed lights, still watching you. 

You ignored his gaze and went in the back to get a broom and clean the mess you made. When you came back you noticed his glass was empty. 

“Another round?” 

He nodded and raised his glass for you to pour another one. 

“Make it double.”

You registered his demand, but stayed silent. You had a feeling he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. The familiar riff of Don’t Fear the Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult started playing when the whiskey bottle touched his glass. Your head followed the rhythm, moving left and right as you started to hum the lyrics. 

“You look too young to know the lyrics of this song,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. 

“And how old do you think I am?” 

“You’re old enough to serve alcohol, so 21?” 

“Nice guess, but no. I’m 23.” 

The handsome stranger didn’t expect you to be almost 20 years younger than him. His brows shot up in surprise before he said: “Awesome!” 

“There’s nothing awesome about being a broke college student dealing with creepy drunks every night, old man!” You said, not really knowing where the old man comment came from. You desperately wanted to spark-up the conversation with the man in front of you, but you were never the one to break the ice and actually talk to strangers. So far this was great.

“You think I’m old?” He asked with a soft smile on his face. He didn’t seem bothered by your comment. 

“You are definitely older than me so yeah, kinda.” 

“How old?” 

“In your early 40s.” 

The lines around his eyes coming through whenever he would smile and freckles covering his face were a dead giveaway. He probably once was a beautiful young boy – you thought. Once that innocence was taken away, he grew up, but his beauty stayed intact. He was now a beautiful and tormented man.

“41,” he said.

You then exchanged your names. His name was Dean. He was just passing by after finishing a job in Lincoln. 

“What kind of job?” You asked. 

His hand went to the right pocket on his flannel and he showed you his credentials. FBI it said.

“Special agent has a nice ring to it,” you commented and decided, since you were closing soon, to lock the front door. “I promise you I’m going to let you go, I just don’t want any new customers.” 

“When do you close?”

You took your phone from the back pocket of your jeans before answering: “In about 10 minutes.” 

“Have a drink with me then! I promise I won’t tell your boss,” He winked. 

You were taken aback by his invitation that sounded more like a demand. You could feel the tension in the air rising; something about Dean was luring you in even though deep down you knew it was wrong. You had been dating your boyfriend, Dan, for sometime now, but it didn’t seem right. You got along just fine, but something was missing. He was sweet, too sweet sometimes, and yet you didn’t have a sweet tooth. You met through a mutual friend and after a few months of boring dates and sex you were over it. Eventually you told him you needed a break from it all, lying through your teeth, saying you wanted some time alone to focus on upcoming exams. You didn’t have the heart to break his. He was sad but decided to respect your decision.

That was two weeks ago. He would text you every day and you would simply ignore it.

A sigh left your lips before you went behind the counter and decided to pour yourself a glass of whiskey. 

I’m going to regret this.

“Cheers!” Dean said, lifting his glass.

“Cheers, agent!”

Click!

The hard liquor was burning your throat and you pretended to like it and not show how much it actually hurt. Right now you wanted to get drunk as fast as possible; you wanted to feel comfortable around him even though he was a complete stranger.

“You’re going to get me fired, Dean!” You said and chugged the rest of the whiskey from your glass. 

“Woah, you really had a rough day, huh?” 

You wasted no time and poured yourself another. Your throat was on fire, but your brain was slowly becoming numb. It was working. 

“More like rough life! Cheers!” You lifted your glass and took a sip.

The more you drank, the more details you noticed about Dean. His eyes crinkling, his long thick fingers gently holding the glass, his pink lips pressed against the glass… There was a need waking up inside of you with each sip you took. The liquor was dissolving away your sense of restraint and any sanity you had left; all you wanted to do was to crash your drunken lips on his.

“How rough?” Dean asked you. 

“Abusive alcoholic father and a deadbeat mother rough,” you said, now feeling tipsy wanting to sit. You moved an empty wooden crate that was on your left and turned it upside down so you could use it to climb the counter and sit next to Dean. He was fallowing your every move, admiring your legs. 

“So, daddy and mommy issues? That is rough!” 

You shared a look. Up close, he was even more beautiful. You could see every line on his face, around his eyes, lips, and cheek. Every line had a story and perfectly melted into his skin. You quickly looked away, refusing to show him you were completely under his spell.

“Do you work in the Behavior analysis unit? Can you tell I'm chronically searching for approval and acceptance from people but at the same time not giving a shit and trusting no one?”

You weren’t familiar with the branches of the FBI; you just watched too many Criminal Minds episodes.

Dean chuckled. “Not really.”

His hand suddenly went to your thigh as your legs were dangling from the counter. Your heartbeat was in your throat, but at the same time you felt a sense of calm. You knew it was wrong; he was twice your age; FBI agent and yet this was the most excited you had ever been. Your soon to be ex didn't even cross your mind. Something about this man was pulling you in and not letting go.

You finally got the courage you needed to look at him and not look away. He seemed sober, more sober than you at least… 

“Your hand is on my thigh, agent,” you finally said, forcing the last drop of confidence out of yourself. Your walls were crumbling and your desires were resurfacing.

“Tell me to fuck off then,” he suddenly stood up, equalizing the height difference. His other hand went to your other thigh as he gently pulled your legs apart, standing between them. His face was inches away from you, even if you wanted to, you couldn’t look away. 

“You make it hard to, though,” your skin was on fire, burning for the man you met almost two hours ago. You only knew his first name, his occupation and that he had an awesome taste in music. He was a stranger and yet felt so familiar.

Your words weren’t necessary anymore. You knew what you needed and realized he, too, craved the same thing. The life he was living was exhausting and full of lies; he wanted to forget about his fake badge and lies that he told over the years. He cupped your face with his hands and gently pressed his lips on yours. It was a soft kiss at first, which quickly deepened and grew with lust and want. You wrapped your hands around his neck pulling him closer as your legs were wrapped around his torso. You wanted him impossibly close. Light groans and moans filled the bar as you didn’t break away until breathing became a necessity. Panting and red around your mouth from his stubble, you rested your forehead against his.

“I’d invite you to my place, but I don’t think my roommate would appreciate me coming home with an FBI agent.” 

His eyebrows went up before he asked: “Right here?” 

“If you knew how much puke I had to clean just this week…”

Dean’s nose wrinkled slightly. He chugged the rest of his whiskey, feeling a pleasant burn in his throat.

“My car! Now!” He demanded, taking your hand as you jumped off the counter. 

You unlocked the door and saw the only car that was parked, right in front of the bar – black, shiny and beautiful Chevy Impala. You hadn’t seen cars like this for a long time.

You opened the back door and went in. Immediately, you were hit with the smell of leather. Dean followed you and shut the door behind him.  

“Nice ride, agent!” You commented and decided to get up and straddle him. He wasn’t protesting, letting you settle on his lap.

“Thank you!” He sounded almost proud.

You kissed him, feeling the exhale through his nose on your face before he opened his mouth giving you permission to deepen the kiss. The taste of whiskey was still in his mouth and in a strange way you felt like you were getting drunk and losing control with each and every kiss. Dean’s hand went into your hair, pulling it lightly and making knots you’d have to take care of tomorrow. You kissed for a while, your hands roaming, desperately searching for naked skin to touch and explore. Naturally, as you started to grow impatient, your hips started to move, grinding against him. You could feel him getting hard underneath you; he was bigger than you expected. When you couldn't breathe, your lips moved lower, kissing his neck and your fingers started to unbutton his shirt.

"Too bad you're not wearing a suit," you told him, between kisses. "I bet you look hot as fuck while chasing the bad guys." 

Dean chuckled at your comment, not wanting to admit he was flattered. He undid the bottoms of your jeans and his two fingers slid inside feeling your already wet cunt dripping with pleasure. His two fingers slid inside with ease. Your lips parted as you moaned his name. "I bet you look hot as fuck moaning my name, sweetheart."

This man was different. His scent, a light mix between pine trees, whiskey and leather; eyes so green you would think they were little gemstones staring at your soul in the dark; his age…It was a fatal mix, worth potentially getting fired or hurt for.

After taking your sweet time to unbutton his shirt, you could touch his bare skin. His fingers were still there, between your legs, slowly pumping in and out, but you wanted more. 

"Fuck me!" You whimpered. "Please!"

"Needy!" He said, placing kisses above your jaw. 

"Desperate," you corrected him.

It has been too long since you last had good sex. Too fucking long. You forgot what it was like to orgasm without your favorite toy. Your soon to be ex did absolutely nothing for your body and soul. No matter how hard you tried, how much you talked – he just wasn't working for you.

Dean liked the words coming from your mouth, so he decided to stop playing games. He pulled his hand out of your pants and licked his fingers clean. 

"Almost as sweet as you," he exclaimed. 

You felt your cheeks burn. He took off your shirt and soon after, your bra. Your chest was completely bare but you weren't worried about someone seeing you. It was dark outside and the only light that you had were from the street lights surrounding you. He placed gentle kisses on both of your breasts before he told you to lay down. You said nothing and did what he told you. He took off his shirt before pulling your pants down, taking them off without you lifting your hips.

"Damn baby, you're gorgeous," he said in awe. 

He was the one to talk; his upper body was carved by the highest of the Gods and his angelic, yet rough facial features made it hard to not stare. The universe created Leonardo da Vinci's Vitruvian man a couple of centuries later and sent it straight to you. The man undoubtedly had perfect face and body proportions.

"You're making me blush, agent."

He took off his jeans, struggling to find room before kissing you again. It was getting cold in the car since it was late October but his body was now pressed against yours, keeping you warm and safe. Your hand went to feel his fully hard cock before letting him put it in you.

"Please!" You begged again, feeling the desperation in your voice, but not being embarrassed about it. 

"Okay, okay!" He whispered, finally ready to give you what you want.

He moved your panties to the side, being too eager to take them off, and let his cock free as he lowered his boxers. Without warning he entered you, stretching your walls and making you gasp in a weird mix of pleasure and pain. He was big, so getting used to his size was going to take a couple of seconds. Your fingers dug into his shoulder blades as he started to move slowly. 

"Am I hurting you?" He asked worriedly. 

You whispered a no and kissed him as he started to move again. Soon enough, pleasure took over completely and you couldn't leave the sound of his name out of your mouth. His kisses became messy, slowly losing control over his body and movements as his pace became frantic. His right hand wrapped around your neck putting just enough pressure for you to completely fall apart.

The air in the car was hot and stuffy, and steam started to form on the windows. The sound of your wet cunt taking him over and over again mixed with Dean's moans and grunts; you knew you were going to cum. 

"I- I" you tried to speak but nothing could come out. 

Dean's eyes locked with yours in a moment, both completely consumed with each other…

"Come on baby!" He told you, his voice raspy and sexy. You couldn't get enough of it.

Soon enough you came all over his cock, biting his shoulder, trying to muffle the scream of pleasure. He hissed but didn't say anything as he came soon after. You felt his hot seed filling you up completely as you thanked the universe you were on birth control.

You were both panting, sweaty and speechless. Dean rested his forehead on yours, trying to calm down. 

"So…can I get your number?" He asked.

"Only if you wear a suit the next time we see each other."

"Roger that!" He smiled.

[httpscomexe]

Runaway 2

Summary: He’s told to take care of you, and he’s entirely willing.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Logan Howlett x Hybrid!Reader

Warnings: Innocent reader, controlling Logan, manipulation of emotions, Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett, mentions of sex. (Individual warnings per chapter)

Tags: @shybluebirdninja @atomicheartbroken

Word Count: 4090 (Find all chapters here) CH3

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again.

“Wade would love her.” You’re hiding behind Logan. Your tail tucked between your legs, ears pinned down to your head. Honestly, you had every fucking right to be scared. Standing in front of Logan was a man, almost 8 foot tall, and he was built out of steel, his voice thick with a Russian accent. But he was wearing a tutu.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Logan asks, pulling a cigar out of the pocket on his flannel.

“We made the mistake of inviting Wade for a sleepover. This is the consequence.”

“He didn’t even let me take off my uniform.” Eloise walks by Colossus, a pink tutu around her waist, but she was still wearing her yellow suit. “Who’s that?” She nods her head towards you. You looked ridiculous. Hiding behind Logan, hands on his back, forehead leaning on him.

“This is the parasite I’ve been talking about.” He says, turning around, trying to ease you in front.

“She’s a hybrid?” Colossus asks, stepping forward, and you freak out, squeezing Logan from behind.

“Hey come on Bambi…” Logan groans, using the name he’s given you. “You’re okay… Piotr isn’t going to hurt you.” You loosen your grip on him slightly, and look at the large man from behind Logan.

“Hi little one. My name is Piotr.” He holds out his large hand, and you hesitantly move beside Logan, one of your hands still gripping his shirt, while your other hand meets Piotrs cold metal hand, and he shakes your hand gently, but you don’t tell him your name. You’ve settled on Bambi being your new one.

“I’m Eloise.” The girl tells you, but doesn’t shake your hand, instead only giving you a little wave.

“What the fuck?” You quickly scrambled back behind Logan. “And here I thought Negosonic teenage warhead was your first middle and last!” Another man comes into view, wearing a read suit with black eye patches.

“This is Wade, he won’t bite.” Piotr assures you.

“Not unless she asks.” His eyes land on you, and he removes his mask. “Hey there.” He comes a little close, but you feel Logan’s hand instinctively come in front of you, keeping you behind him. “My name is Wade. But with a face like that, you can me whatever you want. Wade, dipshit, fucker, motherfucker, Hal, Jesus, Ryan.” He stops talking, suddenly looking to his left before back at you. “Actually don’t call me Hal, that’s my biggest regret.” You ears twitches, and you tilt your head in confusion before looking up at Logan.

“You need to be tested.” He says.

“For what.”

“Everything.” Logan’s hand is still on you, keeping you behind him, but you’re more relaxed now.

“Well, Bambi is certainly welcome to join our tutu party.”

“Absolutely not.” You’re slightly disappointed. This Wade guy seemed funny.

“Jealous? You can come if you wear one.” He offers and you giggle at the thought of him wearing a pink tutu.

“We’re not coming.”

“Honey, do you let this honey badger make every decision for you?” You nod. “That was supposed to be a joke.” He adds, then turns back towards Logan. “It’ll be fun, we can actually get to know her instead of you hoarding her like she’s your belonging.”

“She is…” he pauses for a moment and looks down at you, “not my belonging. She’s a living being just like everyone here.”

“Then why can’t she hang out?” Eloise wonders, popping a piece of gum into her mouth.

“She said she’s tired. We were going to bed.” He tells them, wrapping his arm around you. “Right?” He looks down at you, and you nod.

“Well does she want a tutu?” Wade asks.

“Why don’t you ask her?” Logan questions.

“Oh sorry. I just thought you were her ultimate decision maker.” Wade reaches for an extra tutu sitting on the table. “Do you want one?” You nod, and he holds it out for you. Then he notices your ears, but doesn’t say anything. “Sleep well, Logan gets hot at night.” You giggle at his comments, and watch as the three walk away to continue their little party, you and Logan making your way back up to his room. The one he was letting you stay in.

He wasn’t lying of course. You were absolutely the most tired being on the planet. And it was because you couldn’t sleep. Logan tried everything to help you, but even when you did sleep, you squirmed and twisted like you were having nightmares. But you were simply uncomfortable. Eventually you both found you had better nights when you slept on the bed with him instead of alone on the couch. But only with his body against yours. So after some careful thinking, he realised it was because you couldn’t sleep in open places. You needed to feel cramped, like you were constantly being held. It made you feel safer when something was against you. Which led to Logan buying you a kennel.

Most nights it sat in the corner of his room. Thick white comforters and a big red heart pillow inside for the utmost comfort. It even had a nice white blanket over top to make it more comfortable, and little fairy lights on the inside in case it got dark.

“You sleeping in the cage tonight?”

“Are you leaving somewhere?” You were already crawling onto his bed. Dressed in you night shorts and a white tank top, a little hole cut in the shorts for your tail to peak out.

“No, I’m staying here tonight, leaving early though.” Your ears pin down a little as you hug one of his pillows, his scent clouding your senses as you lie there.

“When will you be back?”

“I won’t be back until late.” He tells you, sitting next to you on his bed. His fingers gently comb through your hair. “But you’ll be okay, just stay in here and study a little.” Study.

Years of being locked up of course had a toll on your education. You didn’t have a natural instinct for certain things like reproduction or affection. It took forever to get used to eating. So Xavier has you learning that sort of stuff instead of how to use your morph effectively.

“Okay…” You groan, rolling onto your back, his pillow under your chin.

“What’s wrong Bambi?” You groan and shove your face into the pillow.

“Can you braid my hair?”

“Of course, but you’ll have to get up.”

“I don’t wanna move…” You speak into the pillow, and sigh. He sighs in return.

“Alright, I’ll get some ties.” He tells you, and you feel the bed shift as his weight leaves the mattress, the bathroom door opening and closing before you feel his weight on the bed again, and his knees straddle your waist. “How many braids?”

“Just two.” You tell him, and you feel your hairbrush move through your hair, Logan gently pulling out any tangles as he strokes your hair with his fingers, careful not to touch your ears.

He’s learnt the hard way that your ears are sensitive. Just like a bird's wings are their most intimate part, your ears and tails were your most intimate part. It wasn’t that it turned you on, it was because they were sensitive. The slightest pull would hurt. But the smallest pet drove something into you. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. But whenever he scratched you behind your ear, or ruffled your tail to help you dry it after a shower, it felt like euphoria.

You were both quiet as he began tying your hair. Looping one strand over another until they were in long braids. “What are you gonna study while I’m gone?” He asks, trying to make conversation as he pulls the first braid together and ties it.

“I guess I’ll look at the health book.” He hums a nod, and his finger gently moves over the back of your neck as he grabs for one of the bundles of your hair, and your tags wags a little under him. One of your ears twitching slightly.

“Just remember to text me if you need anything. Or Jean.”

“Jean is mean to me.” He sighs. He didn’t believe you whenever you said she was mean. Constantly taunting you or bullying you for your ears and tail.

“Well then there’s Ororo when she isn’t busy. Last resort is Xavier.” You sigh, and his fingers continue looping through your hair. He’s careful not to catch your ear between any of them.

“Why is he last?”

“Because he’s always busy, he doesn’t have time for questions.” He takes another tie and wraps it around the end of your braid to keep it together. Then you feel his index finger behind your ear, gently scratching the same place he knows you love, but he’s careful not to touch your actual ear. A sort of purring noise comes from your throat. And he chuckles. “I think you got more of the animal-like part than the human part Bambi.” He tells you, leaning down to whisper it in your ear and you turn your head to face him. He was still straddling your waist, and his fists were now on each side of your head as he leaned down, both of you staring into eachothers eyes. “Still cute though.”

“I’m not cute…!” You groan. And he finds it adorable.

“You absolutely are.” He tells you, sitting back up but still straddling your waist, his fingers moving back to scratch behind your ear, and he feels your tail moving under him.

“Am not!” You shout, and try to sit up, but his hands move to your waist just in time, his legs now straddling yours to keep you still.

“You so are…” He whispers, keeping you in place as you look over your shoulder at him, your large ear hitting him in the face. “Rude.”

“You’re rude!” Your tail was wagging faster now, working against you to show your excitement to his teasing.

“Such a feisty cute little girl.”

“Stop!” You begin to shout just before his fingers begin moving over your waist and stomach, your hands trying to catch his as he tickles you. “Lo-” You giggle, tail wagging quickly as you try to pry his hands off of you.

“Admit it…” He tells you, fingers still quickly moving over your skin.

“No!”

“Say it!” He chuckles, pushing you back down to your stomach with his body, his hands never stop moving.

“Never!” You giggle, struggling under him as it becomes hard to breathe from laughing.

“Say you’re my feisty cute little girl…” He whispers in your ear, still tickling you.

Of course, you’re too innocent to understand what he’s asking you to say.

“Fine!” You shout, and he pauses so you can catch your breath. “I’m feisty and cute.”

“Nuh uh…”

“What?!”

“MY feisty cute little girl.”

“Hmph…” You slump a little, and the feeling of his fingers ghosting over your skin is enough to make you say it. “I’m your feisty cute little girl.” You say finally, and he’s satisfied, slowly getting up off you to sit next to you on the bed.

“Good girl.” Your tail begins wagging again, the smallest praise affecting you as you crawl next to him just in time for him to turn off his bedside lamp. “Are you ready to sleep, Bambi?” You nod, leaning your weight against his side. “Okay.” He groans as he moves, his hips bucking up slightly which causes the tilt of your head.

“Love you Lo.” You tell him as the both of you begin to settle under the blankets.

“Love you too Bambi, get some sleep tonight.” You lie under the covers, scrunched up against him as his arms hold you as close as you can get against him. One of his hands rests on your tail, gently stroking the fur as he holds you, making your own hips buck forward against his and he groans quietly before both of his hands wrap around you.

She’s too fucking young for you Logan. He tells himself.

“And don’t talk to Wade.”

You wake up early, the feeling of Logan's warmth missing from your side as you sit up, and he’s not there. The sound of students moving through the halls makes your ears perk up, and you hop out of bed, deciding to throw on a tiny black skirt and one of Logan's hoodies, the smell of him would be enough to get you through the day.

You reach into his fridge, taking out one of the bottles of starbucks coffee that he bought for you, then you tie on your sneakers before leaving the room, heading straight towards the library.

Once you get to the library, you find the same health book you’ve been reading through, hiding your drink from the librarian when your eyes find the ‘no food or drinks’ sign in the front of the large room, then you find your spot on a couch in your favourite corner.

Except someone was sitting on one of the couches. Normally, that wouldn’t bother you. But it was Wade. Dressed in his red suit with one leg over the other, a book with a unicorn wearing a tutu in his hands and he flips through the pages.

“Hi Wade.” You say shyly, and he looks up from his book.

“Oh, Bambi. Didn’t see you there. Lose your owner?” He asks, setting the book in his lap before straightening his posture.

“Very funny.” You chuckle, sitting on the other couch. “He’s busy.”

“What’re you reading?”

“Some weird health book. Xavier said I need to.”

“Like a book about sex or a book about how to wipe properly?”

“Sex?”

“Oh that’s why Logan likes you…” He says quietly, leaning forward to place his book on the table in front of the two of you.

“What do you mean?”

“I could give you a hands-on lesson. If you’d like.” You shake your head.

“Logan said I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“But here we are. What’s he gonna do about it?” You think about it, trying to find an answer, but you aren’t exactly sure what Logan would do to either you or Wade. “How about we do something fun?” He asks, reaching up and pulling off his mask. “We could watch a movie, I can show you around town or maybe we could go shopping for new clothes for you?” He throws a bunch of ideas at you, hoping something would hit. “I have a pet dog?” He mentions, and the sound of your tail wagging slowly is enough for him to smile. “Wanna meet her?”

“Where is she?”

“She’s at my house, my maid is taking care of her.” He tells you, standing up and reaching his hand out to help you up as well.

“Okay… Let me just let Logan know-” He stops your hand from texting Logan.

“Or, hear me out. You do something without Logan watching you like you’re his meal.” You think about it. You know Logan won’t be happy that you aren’t listening to him. But you figure there was no harm in hanging out with Wade. He seemed fun.

“Okay, yea. I won’t text him.”

“Good, I’ll call my cab guy, let’s go wait up front.” He begins to pull you by the hand, dragging you to the front doors. “Hey Dopinder, come pick me up at the freak house.”

He opens the door to his little home, it smelt surprisingly good considering the mess of empty bottles, forgotten plates, and dirty laundry. On the couch was a woman, her hair looked like a cloud on her head and she was folding clean laundry, humming a song to herself as Wade stumbled in, you following behind him. Then he slams the door, fist pumping the air as your ears go down from the loud sounds.

“UH!” He pumps his fist excitedly, knee joining in the air. “Knew I could get you to do my laundry, I’m home by the way.” He walks past you, and your ears come back up.

“I could fucking tell.” She looks towards Wade, but not exactly.

“Hey, language, we have company.”

“Last time we had company, he went through every fucking measure to make sure you were dead. There was blood everywhere, and I swear to fucking-”

“This company is a girl, and she’s young, like 20.”

“18. “ You correct him, and he looks surprised.

“Well hi sweetie.” Her tone changes completely and she stands up, using furniture around her to stay standing. “I’m Althea.” She holds her hand out, and you take a few steps forward so you can take her hand and shake it.

“I’m Bambi.”

“Like the deer?”

“Yes?” You tilt your head, unsure of how she knows you’re a hybrid if she’s blind.”

“There’s no way that Wade made a normal friend.” She grumbles. “Do you have really long claws?”

“No.”

“Do you have blue skin?”

“No?”

“Mind control or 7 foot tall?” You giggle a little.

“No… I do not.”

“Well that’s a relief, but I’m still confused. How’d you meet?”

“Through Logan.” You and Wade speak at the same time, and you watch as Wade stuffs an entire cupcake into his mouth.

“Oh see now that makes sense.” She tells you, moving back to do the laundry on the couch.

“Wade said there’s a dog?” You step forward, eyes on Wade.

“Oh yea…” He hums as he takes another cake, and he calls the dog's name. “Dogpool? Mary? Little puppins? Where are you girl?” Suddenly, a little dog comes through an open door, and you move to stand next to Wade as he picks the dog up, showing her to you.

“Aww, she’s cute!” You tell him, putting your hands out so he would hand her to you.

“You can call her Mary. She’s got a licking problem.”

“I like the suit.” You tell him, looking at the dog's red suit that matched Wades almost perfectly.

“Thanks, I made it myself.” He pauses for a moment. “Or at least one of me did, but we don’t talk about him.” You exchange looks, Althea scoffing behind you. “How about a movie? I think I know one you’d like. The title is the same as your name.”

The movie named ‘The Lion King’ plays in the background of you and Wade baking cookies. He at some point changed when the movie Bambi had ended, so he was now dressed in sleeping pants, covered in little unicorn designs, his shirt earlier tossed off after you had accidentally dumped flour on it.

“Okay, does it taste any good?” Wade comes back into the kitchen, wiping his hands as he walks back up to you, picking up a cookie.

“I don’t know, you try it first.”

“No, you try it first.” He tells you, chuckling.

“No you.”

“How about we both try it at the same time?” He suggests, walking closer to you as he breaks the cookie in half, handing you the bigger side.

“Fine.” You’re about to take a bite out of your cookie, then his half is near your lips as he attempts to feed you, so you do the same with your half.

You both take a bite out of the cookie halves, and Wade's eyes roll as he chews his bite.

“Fuck that is amazing.” He says, a mouthful of chocolate in his mouth, then your phone buzzes in your pocket. “Who’s that?” He asks, and you pull your phone out, Logan's name on the screen, and you mentally prepare yourself before opening it.

You sigh a little as you read the last message. You should’ve known better than to disobey him, so now you’d have to deal with the arguing, and you’d have to hope he would forgive you.

“Everything okay?” You look back up from your phone to see Wade stuffing his third cookie down his throat.

“Hey!” You laugh. “Save one for Althea and one for Logan, Wade.” You tell him, grabbing three cookies and walking over to Al. “Here Al.” You hand her a cookie, and she blindly takes it.

“Thank you, hun.”

“Of course.”

“Logan isn’t gonna eat it, he hates sweets.” Wade tells you, trying to get you to hand him Logan's cookie, but you refuse.

“I’ll make him eat it.” You tell him, and open your phone when it buzzes again. “Logan is here, I’ll see you Wade! Bye, Al.” You tell them, blowing a kiss to Mary before walking out.

Logan is staring ahead, not bothering to look at you as you walk to the truck, crawling into the high passenger seat.

“Hey Lo!” You say excitedly, acting as if you weren’t in trouble.

“Hey.” He pulls out of park, and begins to drive.

It’s silent. And you don’t like it. He notices the way your ears fall down after a few minutes of driving, and he sighs heavily.

“I asked you not to talk to Wade. But you’re hanging out with him?” He asks, more of a clarification as he pulls up to a red light.

“I was bored…” You tell him, looking down in your lap at the cookie you brought for him, wrapped in a paper towel.

“What’s that?” He looks down at your lap and you unwrap it a little.

“A cookie… Wade taught me the recipe.” You say quietly, and Logan feels his heart break at your quietness.

“Is it any good?” He asks, pressing on the gas as the light turns green and the mansion comes into view. You nod, but he doesn’t see it and he sighs, assuming you’ve decided to ignore him.

“Want some?” You ask, and he shakes his head, making you look back down.

“Not in the car Bambi. I’ll try it in my room.” He tells you, and the ghost of a smile appears on your face as he parks where he normally does and turns off the truck.

“Will you teach me to drive?” You ask as pulls his keys out.

“Maybe. But let's focus on more important things first.” He tells you, stepping out of the truck and he watches as you get out on the other side, locking the truck before walking beside you, his hand quickly grabbing yours as he leads the way to his room.

Once you’re both inside, he takes off his flannel, draping it over his chair before he sits on the bed, sighing as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Logan?” You say his name quietly, the wrapped up cookie still in your hand as Logan sits on the bed, and you sit beside him.

“Yes?” He looks at you as you sit on your knees, not wanting to sit on your tail.

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t answer you, only shaking his head in annoyance and sighing. After a few minutes of him not responding, you speak again. “Do you… Wanna try still?” You hold up the cookie, still warmly wrapped up in the paper towel. Your tail was tucked between your legs, barely hidden by your skirt, and your ears were down on your head.

He chuckles. “Sure.” A bright smile appears on your lips, and you open the paper towel, breaking off a small piece of the cookie and bringing it to his lips, tilting your head when he takes it with his teeth, awaiting an answer. Awaiting approval.

“Tastes amazing.” He tells you, chewing the piece of cookie you fed him.

“Wade's recipe…” You sing a little, breaking off another piece, only singing his name in hopes to encourage Logan to like Wade.

“Good thing he taught it to you then, right? Won’t have to see him again.” He tells you, his eyes staring into yours and you sigh.

“He’s fun…”

“He’s annoying.”

“Why do you hate him?”

“I don’t hate him. He’s just a bad influence for you.” You sigh again, looking away from him in annoyance. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t sigh and give me the attitude.” There’s a growl in his voice as he speaks to you, and his comes up to cup your face.

“I’m sorry Logan…” You apologise. Again.

“It’s okay, Bambi.” He tells you, turning on the bed so his entire body was facing you. “Just don’t do it again.” His fingers brush some loose hair from your braids behind your ears.

“I won’t.”

“Good.” He tells you. “Now let's get these braids out, and I’ll brush your hair before bed…”

[crymyeyesout1]

Little Mate

this is part three

Part one / Part Two

poly!marauders

Summary: The marauders are all in a poly relationship with each other and Lily when they all individually become interested in a shy hufflepuff in their year. What about this little hufflepuff makes them all feel complete? Will she return their affections?

Warnings: Poly relationship, mentions of smut, lots of fluff, very shy oc, mentions of child abuse, swearing, kind of a soulmate au but only really for Remus. let me know if there are any more

✩₊˚.⋆✩⋆⁺₊✩

As soon as Lily set her hand on the compartment door it slid open hard, Remus had almost taken the compartment door off its hinges but Moony didn’t care. His eyes immediately searched for his newest mate and found her curled up in James’ arms hiding her face in his chest trying desperately to make herself appear smaller so no one would notice her set on THE James Potter’s hip as if she were a small child. Moony melted at his tiny girl but he growled in annoyance that she was not in his arms. 

Swiftly taking her from James and cradling her in his own arms this time however acting as if she were an actual baby. Which of course she was, she was Moony’s mate therefore Remus’ baby girl.He rocked her gently as she let out a small whimper and again kept her eyes closed and pushed her face into his chest something inside her wanted to stay in this position forever. 

“Mate mine” Moony said in a deep voice and leaned down to press a soft kiss on the side of her forehead. The combination of his words and actions had Abigail confused and finally tore her face from the large boy’s chest. Dull and dark blue eyes met bright piercing yellow ones and let’s just say if Remus hadn’t been holding as tight as he was she would be on the floor with how harshly she jumped, having no idea human eyes could be that color. 

Sensing her stress Moony sat down bringing Abby’s small frame to straddle his lap and pushed her head into his shoulder and gently began to pet her hair. 

“My mate, My baby” he chanted before finally giving Remus control of the shared mindspace. Moony was far beyond content with his current situation, his mate was finally in his arms so he could relax. Light brown eyes replaced the bright yellow. 

“Hey baby, will you look at me?” he questioned his small mate that rested in his lap. She did as she was asked and was just brought more confusion when their eyes met once again.

“y-your eyes they they changed colors” she stated softly, a swirling mix of anxiety, embarrassment and confusion flooded her mind. 

“Yeah they do that sometimes, little mate, but it’s okay you're here with me now and no one will ever hurt you,” He replied trying to ease the anxiety that was coming off of her in waves. 

“M-mate?” Abby asked, struggling to get out of the grip he had on her waist. Was this just another man trying to control her life? Was he just like her uncle? Did he want exactly what her uncle wanted, Abby shivered at the thought, she didn’t think she could handle more of that.

“Yes little one, all of us are Remus’ mates” Lily interjected in an attempt to calm the growingly distressed girl. 

“I-I don’t understand, l-let me go!” Abby pleaded with the four others in the compartment. But the grip on her waist remained firm even as Remus took one hand off and pulled it up to her chin forcing her to look into his eyes once more.

“I would rather not tell you this but it's better for you to know now rather than later. Little mate, I am a werewolf, and werewolves all have mates, usually just one of two but in our case I have four, you baby are my last mate.” Remus explained mentally preparing himself for your inevitable rejection. He expected you to be angry, to yell, to cry, but what he most certainly did not expect was for her to just keep staring at him and just responding with a small “oh” as realization dawned.

“That’s why you're all y’know?” She asked, looking at all of them.

“Together? Yes” Lily responded as Sirius responded as well “Fucking? Yes” 

“Sirius stop it”

“What? She is more than welcome to join!” 

“You're embarrassing her!” Lily and Sirius argued. As Abby’s cheeks just continued to get more and more red. All eyes were on her as she let out the smallest of whimpers at the yelling. It always brought back memories of  her at home with her uncle, where all of his time went yelling and screaming at her along with other things she had forbidden herself to speak about.

“Stop arguing you are scaring my baby” James yelled at his loves. Just causing Abby to hide herself in Remus’ chest once again but this time strictly to hide the tears forming in her eyes, unable to stop them from flowing down her cheeks. 

“Enough!” Remus hissed at his mates “She’s crying” Sirius sprang to his feet and pulled your face from Remus carefully cradling it in his palms. His ring clad fingers leaving a cold sensation of your warm cheeks as his soft thumbs brushed the tears from them.

“Baby doll” he huffed sadly “s’it the yelling?” only receiving a nod in return as you tried to pull your face from his large hands.

“Don’t like it” she mumbled, not really wanting to admit that she was scared of something as silly as yelling to Sirius freaking Black.

“Shh that's okay, now we know not to yell” He reassured her softly, but his attention caught on her full pouty lips. 

“Just wanna try something and If you don’t like it you tell me alright?” He asked and you hummed in agreement, all of your attention now on him as he softly pressed their lips together. Abby froze, Sirius Black was kissing her in front of all his partners. Sensing her obvious discomfort Remus whispered “s’its okay” in her ear allowing her to melt into the kiss. Sirius’ lips were soft against hers but the kiss was firm as he deepened it, his tongue swiping against her bottom lip in a silent question for access. Abby did not grant it though , she had no idea she was supposed to though having never kissed anyone before. Sirius took this as a challenge and slightly nipped her bottom lip with his teeth eliciting a gasp from the small girl. Taking this opportunity Sirius slipped his tongue inside her mouth and began to explore only to be pulled away by a hand in his hair tugging him back, he knew it was Remus by the size of it and that only he or Lily would do that.

Remus didn’t know whether to be annoyed or turned on by the sight directly in front of his face. Annoyed because Sirius should have known that he wanted to be Abby’s first kiss, and turned on because for fucks sake two of his mates were making out literally right in front of his face. He cleared his throat as he pulled Sirius from his smaller mate, any more watching this and he would be able to control the blood rushing south. He didn’t want Abby to have to feel that as he knew by her words and actions that she was inexperienced and knew that his raging hard cock pressing against your clothed core would be too overwhelming.

“Remmy, come onnn!” The black haired boy complained to his boyfriend.

“No that’s enough, see she’s tired” Remus responded but it was weird Abby didn’t feel tired but almost as if on cue she yawned. 

“Lily and I have to attend the prefects meeting as well” He told the group then turned to Abby and told her “You just rest little mate we’ll be back when you wake” as he pressed a loving kiss to her hairline and passed you to James and Lily repeated his actions and told the three of you to “be good” but Abby could tell it was more directed at the boys than it was her. She yawned again and fell into a nice nap and James began to rub her back gently.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added): @chockymilksworld @thoughtfulpandamentality @sydneyle @persephonesalvatore @hcqwxrtss123 @hermionelove @liv2post @fanficlover03 @kxnnxy @noodlesareokah

[httpvomitello]

Pretty Girls Fight Like This! *⁠.⁠✧

April had brought you into the lair one night, insisting you’d be a valuable addition to the team. At first, Donnie thought you’d be like anyone else, but then he saw you.

Your bright, pastel-colored outfit caught his attention immediately, a stark contrast to the dim, industrial tones of the lair. And then there was your hair—long, flowing, and streaked with colors so vibrant it almost looked like a prism.

“Is your hair... naturally like that?” Donnie asked before he could stop himself.

You laughed, brushing a strand behind your ear. “Nope! It’s dyed. I like to stand out, you know?”

Donnie blinked, unsure how to respond. You certainly stood out, that was for sure.

He quickly learned there was more to you than your eye-catching appearance.

One of the first things that caught him off guard was your strength. During a training session, Donnie watched in stunned silence as you easily lifted a heavy training dummy and hurled it across the room.

“Impressive,” he muttered, adjusting his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

You grinned, wiping sweat from your brow. “Thanks! I’ve always been a bit on the stronger side.”

“A bit?” Donnie repeated, incredulous.

“Okay, maybe a lot,” you admitted with a wink.

Donnie didn’t say anything, but he made a mental note to measure your strength later—purely for scientific purposes, of course.

Then there was your appetite.

One evening, Donnie walked into the kitchen to grab a snack and found you sitting at the table with Mikey, the two of you demolishing an entire pizza.

“Wow,” Donnie said, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t think anyone could keep up with Mikey’s eating habits.”

You swallowed a mouthful of pizza and smiled. “What can I say? I love food!”

Mikey laughed, nudging you playfully. “Don’t worry, D. Y/N’s got a black hole for a stomach like me!”

Donnie couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “Of course...”

Despite your quirks—or maybe because of them—Donnie found himself intrigued by you.

Your bright clothes, your boundless energy, your unapologetic individuality... It was all so different from the calculated, methodical world he lived in.

One thing that particularly caught his attention was your socks—or, more accurately, your constant struggle to keep them from slipping. Every time you adjusted them during training, Donnie couldn’t help but notice.

“Why don’t you just get longer socks?” he asked one day, genuinely curious.

“I’ve tried,” you said with a sigh. “But they always fall down. It’s so annoying!”

That conversation stuck with him, and a few days later, Donnie found himself tinkering in his lab. He designed a pair of custom socks with reinforced elastic, ensuring they wouldn’t slip no matter how much you moved.

When he handed them to you, you were surprised.

“They're for me?” you said, holding them up.

“They’re designed to stay up during activity,” Donnie explained, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “I noticed you were struggling with yours, so I thought these might help.”

Your face lit up, and you gave him a beaming smile. “Donnie, that’s so thoughtful! Thank you!”

You hugged him tightly, catching him off guard.

“It’s nothing,” he said, trying to play it cool. But his heart was racing, and he couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face.

Over time, Donnie found himself growing more and more attached to you.

It wasn’t just your strength or your unique style—it was the way you treated him. You didn’t just see him as “the smart one” or “the tech guy.” You saw him.

And you had a way of surprising him with small gestures, like bringing him snacks while he worked or showing genuine interest in his inventions.

One day, you handed him a small bracelet made of colorful beads.

“What’s this?” Donnie asked, examining it.

“A good luck charm,” you said with a smile. “I thought you could use it in the lab.”

Donnie stared at the bracelet, his chest tightening. It was such a simple gesture, but it meant so much to him.

“Thank you,” he said softly, slipping it onto his wrist.

Donnie wasn’t used to feeling this way—flustered, nervous, happy. But with you, it felt natural.

You were a whirlwind of color and energy in his otherwise structured world, and he found himself drawn to you in ways he didn’t fully understand.