#its hard to explain this one but i hope it makes sense

[a-smol-storm-gt-nomfs-blog]

What lies beneath

An au Roman started, I got interested, so here's something I wrote, might not be au cannon to what they imagine though so don't take my story as true. as per usual nomfs, thoughts of death, hard vore mentions? (Dunno he just thinks he's gonna die) Thalasaphobia

Grian sat at the edge of the tank, his hands shaky, He was between feeding the leviathan and not. On one hand, if he fed him Grian might not be eaten, and maybe it would show goodwill, but on the other hand. It might put the leviathan into a food response. It’s more of a reptilian thing: with gators and snakes expressing it the most. Grian knew nothing about the leviathan, besides he was often fed things Grian’s size and larger, no wonder he ate people. He decided to throw the container of chum in, he hoped the poor leviathan wasn’t being starved, it would explain the people eating too. The vet looked down, watching the shiny fish slowly fall farther into the water. He almost lost sight of the fish parts before he saw a shadow move, swallowing the fish down. It was large, orca-sized at minimum, but Gem, if to believed, said he was larger. Maybe whale-sized, but this didn't feel like a healthy whale-sized tank. That could also explain its aggression. “Do you have more for him?” “What? Why would I do that?’ “Do you want me to be eaten?” “Why would he do that, he's been fed.” “This thing isn’t Mumbo-sized; it's larger. Do you think that's going to fill its stomach? Besides you fed it human hybrids, and it's well, eaten people? Doc sighed. “Yeah fine, give me a bit.” Grian nodded and looked down, the fish disappearing into the dark void below. Lights had been there in the beginning. It's possible it bit the cords due to hunger, or maybe it just didn’t like the light, either one made sense. “Hey- hey, buddy?” Grian said softly into the water with, unsurprisingly, no response. “I- uh, I’m Grian, I’m here to check up on you, and- uh, I know you’ve eaten people before so- I hope you won’t with me? I- I’m sorry if you’ve been treated poorly.” No response. “I’m getting you more food, if you didn’t hear, I hope it's enough, I uh- i-if you want to come up and talk it might make it easier.” Grian thinks he saw the shadow down there, maybe waiting for more food. Grian could or thought he saw him, he could see the shadows giving enough of a color difference, but his outline wasn’t visible. The leviathan was supposably eel-like, Grian couldn’t see any of that. All he could tell was that it was a different shade from the background. “I—Can you not eat me, please? I just want to make sure you feel good, feel happy, and make your body feel happy.” He tried, but maybe the leviathan didn’t know English well. There was some movement. “Uhh, but yeah food in a bit, then I’ll go in okay?’ A bit more movement. “Does anything hurt?” There was no movement at that. “Any wounds? Injuries?” No movement. “Uhhh, guessing that's a no.” He paused for a bit. “Are you hungry?” Movement. “Are you going to eat me?” Grian couldn’t make out if the leviathan was moving in response or not, he hoped it wasn’t The next tub of fish showed up and so Grian got down, taking the tub in his arms he then started back up. It was full of whole fish, which was likely better than sending something bloody down. So Grian dumped the fish in—only two tuna, a cod, and a salmon. This was not what Grian was expecting; he was hoping for more, but the mers weren’t necessarily taken good care of in the first place.

  The fish disappeared, swallowed by the shadow, literally. Grian watched, getting his suit on to prepare for his journey down. “I’ll get Skizz, he has the arm strength and the ability to help you, don’t go in till he’s here.” “I won't!” Grian shouted back. Grian checked his air canisters, they were back up, if the air tube he had attached to him got bitten, or it was too short he’d be able to switch to his mask.

He could hear the keys shifting as skizz ran over. “Hey G!” he waved up, he looked behind seeing Doc wasn’t there he asked. “You sure? I- uh- I can go down instead, just tell me what to do?”

Grian shook his head no. “I’d hate for you to be injured or worse because of me skizz, I don’t know if I’d be able to handle myself for that.”

“And I’d feel just as bad if you disappeared, not to mention poor Mumbo.”

Grian’s heart sank at the orca mer’s name.

“Oh Mumbo,” Grian said, voice shaking.

He took his goggles off for a bit.

“If… God. If anything happens to me, make sure Mumbo stays sane please?”

“Nothing gonna happen!” Skizz said trying to stay positive.

Grian stayed quiet, he wouldn’t consider himself a pessimist, but this was the most dangerous thing he had done in his life.

The vet fixed his mask back on, his body, his breaths shakier than his body.

Grian stood at the edge, his fingers barely touching the platform under him. He couldn’t get himself to move.

The adrenalin sent his heart and head off, running miles an hour while his body couldn’t move an inch. “G”? Skizz had made his way up the latter. The vet turned to meet his gaze, his terrified eyes shown through the goggles. Skizz’s heart dropping was visible on the security officer's face. “You don’t have to do this, no one would call you a coward for backing out.” “Yeah, but what- what if he's hurt? Malnourished? Starving? We can’t see that from up here, or down there.” Skizz sighed. “I get you’re a vet and all, but- it wouldn’t count as you or gems incompetence if that was the case it would be on Doc, he had a dangerous thing that had been known to kill humans, and sent a vet down that- I- ugh, It’s not sitting right with me.” Grian leaned on Skizz’s arm, it felt comforting being with the officer, his arms were large, but not enough to save him from this. Nothing was big enough to save him from this. If Grian let the leviathan die he’d blame himself for not going in, but if he died, he’d die thinking about his friends he’d be leaving behind. Jimmy, the small scared wyrm, and his giant wyrm ‘boyfriend’ Tango. The two separated were so nervous, but together they had this sense of calm, compassion, and a friendship that would be more. What if Grian wasn’t around to see it grow? Gem and Impulse were teasing. Those two were always trying to scare people with horror stories. Skizz tried to get in on it, but he was bad at it; his expressions gave him away. Speaking of Skizz, He was part mer, small amounts, it showed in his eyes, his teeth, and some small fins behind his ears and on his elbows, but beyond that, he was a normal guy, a caring one. And finally Mumbo, oh Mumbo. When Grian first met him he was on the brink of death, wounds, stress, and likely more had the mer in a terrible position. Grian helped him, spending hours with him, talking to him, he broke down the mers walls, watching him heal. Mumbo was one of the best things Grian had. Not that the others weren’t but the two were like siblings, a pod. Grian put a hand on his face, or well his goggles as his eyes shed his fears.

  Skizz wrapped an arm around the vet, pulling him into a gentle hug and letting him cry it out.  The guard stayed silent, Grian preferred it that way.

After a bit, Skizz rubbed his back and hummed something.

Grian listed, half there, half out of it, his mind preparing him for his possible death.

He took his goggles off to wipe his face once the waterworks stopped. He took some deep breaths in, calming himself some.

He pulled his head back, and Skizz’s arm released.

Grian looked up meeting Skizz’s worried gaze, he then looked down as he put his mask on, telling wordlessly his decision.

The vet caught the guard’s sad expression out of the corner of his eye.

Skizz came in for one last hug from behind. “You’ll make it,” Skizz said trying to stay positive. “You’re a smart guy.”

Grian let out a huff of appreciation. “Thanks skizz.” He said slipping the breathing tub over his mouth.

The guard backed off as Grian slid into the tank.

Skizz did a check with the current equipment, running some things over with Grian.

The vet gave a thumbs up, everything was okay on his end.

Skizz gave one back, but there was a nervous expression on his face.

Grian went under trying to avoid second-guessing himself now.

He let the weights do most of the work, helping him sink.

The vet, despite the situation, was slow in descending, after 5 minutes he could barely make out skizz, he was just a movement of different colors.

Grian decided it was a good time to turn on his headlamp.

The beam showed through the water, it was bright, but even then all he could make out was water, no walls, no ground, just dark deep water. He swallowed nervously but then let himself sink some, taking in usual breaths, he had to refrain from panicking, but he couldn’t breathe too deep, which would take more oxygen. After a bit Grian paused to to make sure the pressure wouldn't get to him, looking up he could barely make out the surface, he was passed the spot where the fish were grabbed, he supposed that was a positive. The vet glanced around, but couldn’t make out anything besides a possible rock ledge, nothing on it. Grian sank a bit more, he aimed the light down below him and could make out the sparkling of some shells and probably sand. He landed softly, lifting some sand, and he looked around. His light landed on some metal-wrapped cords, he could see scratches, and claws rather than teeth. None looked enough to kill the power till he saw an end of it, the other half wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The vet crouched down, it was likely teeth, and looking up he could make out lights. He wondered how bright they were. If Gem was right about their biology, and to be fair Grian trusted her far more than any other source, they liked it dark. He wondered if the leviathan had injured himself during that process. It wouldn’t be surprising. He hoped it wasn’t shocking, though if it was it didn’t kill it, but that could leave a nasty wound. Why would you even put lights in a tank? That could cause so many electrical problems. Not that the place was run well anyway, it was cheap, barely avoiding any laws. Grian was just counting the days where he could buy the business from Doc. The vet checked along the walls for anything possibly dangerous, the leviathan likely needed some UV, that, or some oranges, but he was not sure how much a giant eel would appreciate orange juice. Grian looked up and jumped back, but he managed to make out Gem, he put a hand on his heart and pressed his head to the tank. He could make out the shapeshifter laughing. Once she looked up Grian flipped her off making her crouch over, hands on her legs as she kept laughing. Grian eventually snickered. “Big fish?” Gem asked with her hands as best she could. Grian shrugged and signaled crossing over his eyes, their way of not seen.

Things are mixed here, what comes up goes down Hellens: convergent

Gem hummed and put a finger to her chin for a little. “How are you?” She asked The human vet gave his best nervous back. He got what he guessed was a “fair.” In response, from reading Gem’s lips. The two snapped-in-half cord. Gem looked at it and nodded at his discovery, before writing it down on her small notepad. Once looking back up, Grian did his best to mention the sun or vitamin D. It was a struggle. Grian at first tried to make a sun with his arms, but when that failed he pointed at himself. Gem was confused. He tried instead pointing at Gem, then her hair, she was called ‘redheaded’ but it was orange. Gem played with her hair, looked at it, then glanced with confusion up at Grian. He spelled out the color, and she clocked it. She hummed as she thought about oranges, then wrote something down on her pad, before showing it to Grian. “Vitamin D?” Grian gave a thumbs up and she nodded, scratching off the question mark. The human hummed, looking down and around him. He thought he heard something from the other vet, and after a bit, he looked up.

Gem started shouting, her arm pointing out behind Grian frantically.

The vet turned around and, as he did, saw the leviathan. It paused, eyes near shut as it adjusted to the bright light. 

After some blinking it opened them slowly. 

Grian locked eyes, but as far as he knew the creature didn't know he had done so.

Grian's chest sped up, thankfully he still had the tube near his face, so his increased heart rate wasn't using up the tanks on his back.

All were still, the leviathan's eyes locked on Grian, Grian still doing much the same.

The human started slowly moving downwards, trying to look small. 

Gem must have made some swift movements behind him. 

It was a poor decision. The leviathan taking it as a sign of aggression,dashing at Grian, mouth wide. It’s teeth slammed into the tank's side, and the beast moved sideways, likely misjudging the strike due to the blinding light coming from Grian's head. 

Thankfully the glass seemed fine, it just took more scratches. The breathing line somehow wedged between two teeth, resting against the upper tooth, close to being sliced. 

Grian's eyes were focused elsewhere though, as his light shown directly down the leviathan's mouth, into its throat. 

The human vet was stuck in shock, watching muscles move. The muscles were green and black colors, which reminded him of an orca with the pattern.

Some tapping from the tongue and pulling on the air tube forced Grian back into his senses. He looked towards the direction of the nozzle and made a mad dash through the open area of the leviathan's mouth, missing the teeth by less than half an inch. 

He also pulled a risky, but successful, move pulling the tube out from the leviathan's teeth as he escaped the jaws. 

He swam up as fast as he could. Behind him, he could hear the leviathan pulling back from the glass. It likely turned to chase him, but Grian kept going. 

There were 2 problems… 

Or… Well, 3. The Leviathan was built for the dark, for swimming in the dark while Grian wasn't. The large eel could also stand the pressure change better than him.

Regardless, Grian fought it, he'd rather take a couple of days off work with a scolding than a death. 

In his panic, though, Grian was late to notice another mistake: he hadn't stuck near to the glass. 

A second, for the fact he had left his weights on. 

For a third, he could feel the headache coming on.

Grian looked to the side to see the wall, then up, he could make out the sounds of shouting, and what he likely imagined to be the silhouettes of skizz and gem before jaws came over him and snapped. 

separating the breathing cord from Grian. The vet stayed calm enough to pull off the old mask, letting bubbles out of his mouth while he changed to his air tanks. 

Almost as soon as he did he was splashed around, smacking against some teeth, thankfully his tanks held. Grian groaned looking around he saw something reflective stuck in the leviathan’s gums.

He took his chance, swimming down by the tooth he grabbed onto it, feeling the serrations on his fingertips, then wriggled the shiny piece of mettle side to side soon pulling it out.

He tossed it out through the small gap that appeared between the teeth. Then swam up to the roof of the mouth, before pushing up on the leviathan’s hard pallet.

He wasn’t sure if it worked, but the mouth opened to suck water in sending Grian back some.

He fell back onto his tongue. Grian could feel the bumps from the taste buds through his gloves. That’s gross.

Grian got back up again, not for long, as the tongue pressed him to the roof before a swallow.

The vet slid some, so he attempted to wrap his arms and legs around the muscle.

It was so slippery, the leviathan didn’t even swallow and Grian could feel himself sliding.

The human whimpered and tried to pull himself back up.

It was no use though, the leviathan lifted up and swallowed.

Grian tried desperately to grab onto anything, but it was nearly if not impossible to do such.

He let out panicked words through his mouthpiece and once stopped by the throat muscles shakily tried getting his gloves off.

The vet felt his head smashed up into the roof but no swallow.

Seeing as there was no water or at least a level he removed his mouthpiece.

“Wait, wait, don’t.” Grian panicked. “I—if you eat me, you won't be able to digest my suit, and you’ll get sick.” Grian put the mouth part back over.

Almost all the leviathan’s movements halted at his words. The throat relaxed, and the walls came in on the vet, but it wasn't forceful, unlike before. He took the mouthpiece off again to beg. “Please let me up, I- I won’t bother you again.” He heard a deep rumble that echoed through the muscles around him. “Look I- I’m sorry I don’t know what people have done to you, but I- I don’t want to hurt you, please let me out.” Grian’s voice broke, a slightly higher pitch coming out at the end of the sentence. He put the mouthpiece back on after, just in case. There was a noise similar to a sigh.

Then a swallow.

The vet panicked, his hands reaching up and grabbing at the throat uselessly, his body was smushed and shuffled around a little due to the force of the muscles.

Grian’s movements have been stopped again, but his hands still reach up at the throat.

The leviathan seemed annoyed as the throat walls came in, his body waved around a little.

Grian’s eyes shut and he let out a scared “Mmmm.”

After a bit it stopped, the vet panted, possible tears in his eyes, his body shaking horrendously with adrenalin that wouldn’t be able to help.

The leviathan seemed happy with that as Grian felt himself moving down.

The human’s hand curled weakly on the throat, his face doing down behind his second arm.

Grian felt a couple of pauses, and how the throat moved with the breathing, he swore he could still feel air running over him but he didn’t think it possible.

The throat shook as a worried coo sounded.

The vet's eyes half closed at that, feeling a bit depressed now.

He took the mouthpiece off again “Please?” He begged again, his voice so broken.

Something pressed in on his side, Grian fought back a whimper, his hands clutching some of the muscle around him, but soon let go not wanting to pain the leviathan.

There was a soft purr from the large beast, the rubbing seeming centered around him. Grian wasn’t confident he was in a stomach, but he supposed he could be. That was until he was pushed down, and another, a 3rd, and finally he slid into a more open area. Something in him snapped as he did, he ran to the sides pressing in on the walls trying to upset his stomach. There was a confused “rrrrrr.” that echoed around Grian then the walls came in and compressed him. Grian struggled more not wanting to be digested. After a bit, he was just dropped. A noise echoed, a bit confused and upset. The vet covered his ears not because it was loud, but because he didn’t exactly want to pity the leviathan. After seemingly no effect he looked around frantically with his light. There wasn’t much he could see that would help him out.

He did find where he fell in, but it was about another half of him higher. Grian wasn’t an athlete, and he knew climbing was impossible. But on the brink of death, you’ll try everything, even if it's stupid to try.

Grian stepped back, his feet in the puddle and he tried to run, but the slippery floor just sent him down.

And for a while Grian lay there, pulling a hand to his face as he looked at it. His mind raced with apologies that he’d never be able to say, especially to his co-workers who had all watched it happen.

He remembered the funny memories with them, just the day before how Gem and him got into a tickle match over Grian putting mac on his tuna sandwich.

The vet laughed, it turned to sniffles, then to cry.

Grian curled up and hugged his knees to his chest as he sobbed.

The leviathan must have heard it because after a while he felt rubbing again.

He wanted to yell at it, but he refrained. Grian sobbed for a while, the leviathan possibly purring at his distress. Once the vet stopped he reached up to grab his mouthpiece out, only to realize he hadn’t put it back in since his last begging. How was he still breathing? Grian looked around again, panicked breaths. There was no stinging, weight on his lungs, or other signs that could tell him he was struggling to breathe. The vet managed to calm down a little, was it possible the leviathan had a brood pouch like the mers? He realized now too that no fish were on the bottom, or well maybe a tail but he supposed it cou;d have gotten stuck. Grian moved over and picked it up. As he lifted his head he saw a black sleeve, which looked like a diving suit. The vet swallowed nervously and reached down, pulling at it. He watched a second throat area open. Grian gasped and fell back, letting go of the sleeve, there was no skeleton, except a finger. The vet swallowed his nerves, and went in, pulling out the bone in case it was irritating, throwing the fish’s tail down as well, then came back up tugging the suit part out, it took a bit but then he was flung back, panicking to get out of the puddle he landed in. Grian tasted some on accident, but it tasted like- salt water like was in the aquarium. There was a purr that shook the walls soon after Grian got up, then they moved in. He panicked as he got smushed, and moved. He was disorientated from stress and wasn’t sure what way he was going. He pushed around, stopping to put his mask on when the water hit his back. Thank god he did as he was thrown out the leviathan's mouth, his half the suit in hand. Grian held himself in the water, mostly in disbelief. Eventually, he looked up at the leviathan, it looked back for a little before turning and swimming away slowly. The vet took no time starting to swim up, he paused and looked down, to make sure his pressure change wasn’t too much. He checked his oxygen too, it looked pretty okay. So Grian slowly made his way up, letting out some startled gasps as he broke the surface. The group had gone, likely thinking Grian had died, to be fair he’d had thought the same for himself. The vet pulled himself up, his mind hazed, he was out of it, but he managed to take off his flippers, before heading down. Once on the ground, Grian removed his air canisters, and goggles, before moving and dragging his feet. He wasn’t sure where to but Grian ended up cleaning his head enough to recognize their grieving voices. Someone shouted his name, and the vet locked eyes with a couple of them. Doc himself was sitting on a table, looking shocked, like he’d seen a ghost. Grian felt something smack into, and hug him. It took him a while to look down, Gem had her arms strongly around him as if he’d disappear. It took a lot longer for Grian to raise his hand to put it against her head as she sobbed. “G what happened?” Scar asked. Grian couldn't find himself to answer, his mind still in that moment. He wasn’t even sure if he was alive himself. “Grian?” Skizz asked, a hand finding its way to the human vet’s shoulder. He blinked a couple of times. “I-.” He started but stopped not sure how to continue, but tears started falling from his eyes as his head fell into Skizz’s chest.

Skizz hugged both of them, and Scar hugged Gem, Grian, and Skizz. After a little, their boss, Doc, spoke. “Alright soo, you look as pale as a ghost, and from what I’ve heard you at least were in its mouth.” Grian nodded, wiping his eyes. “I’ll give you 4 days, of paid time off, on me, if you need to extend it to a week, tell me.” Grian blinked in surprise. “I’d normally not do this, but, since you’ve come around the mers seem happy and healthier, so I’ll allow it. Besides, I have a feeling you’d call in sick tomorrow anyway.”

Gem bore her teeth behind Grian, he felt bad for the poor selkie. Doc only did this with Grian because he was human.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Grian said softly. “Would you guys be okay?”

Gem nodded slowly to Grian, Scar, and Skizz joining in soon.

He hugged them tightly. “Thanks.”

[kerizaret]

Old wxs main story edit for @the-one-that-weeps <3

Song: "Od nowa" by Kwiat Jabłoni (beloved)

[majorshatterandhare]

I started a piece of art today which is based on some plant species* that I think would be good to colonize Tim in @gunpowder-tim’s headcanon of the Persephone Tim headcanon; so it’s art based on a headcanon of a headcanon of a headcanon 😅 [sweat simle emoji].

It’s gonna take a long time I think, but I am planning on posting it here even though it’s just gonna be plants and no Tim (because I am much better at drawing these little doodle plants than drawing people).

*so the art is basically of real species we have on Earth, but I maintain that they wouldn’t have the same plants on the City, so in my brain his plants are just similar to these ones.

[weneeya]

Hello!! I don't know if you like that idea, but would you make haikyuu boys with the tiktok trend “a boy who's jacked and kind”? I thought this would fit so many of them (iwa, ushijima, bokuto… SO MANY 😭)

jacked and kind pt.1 / pt.2 m.list | rules

pairing. haikyuu x reader

characters. iwaizumi, ushijima, bokuto, kuroo

note. OMG YOUR BRAIN?? you're a genius i love this idea sm ofc i'm gonna do it!! hope you'll enjoy it, don't hesitate to do requests guys <3

⎯ Iwaizumi Hajime

You were laying on the couch of your living room, scrolling on your phone through the different trends on TikTok right now. You were a bit bored, until you noticed your boyfriend, Iwaizumi, entering the room. He sat next to you, completely silent, and you decided that it was time to have some fun.  You began to scroll through the videos of the “jacked and kind” trend where guys put their girls on a shoulder. Yes, you secretly hoped that Iwaizumi would do this with you, but you also knew he would never say yes if you asked him to do the video with you. You needed to be more tricky. 

After a few videos with the same sound, your boyfriend glanced at your phone. When he noticed the video playing on your screen, a light frown appeared on his face, putting his own phone to the side. He was interested ; good for you. 

“What are you looking at?” he asked, leaning closer to you to have a better look at the screen. You looked at him, and explained the trend to him. He shrugged his shoulders, not convinced even a little.  “Doesn’t seem so hard, why is he struggling so much?” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, glancing at you. Great, it was exactly what you wanted.  “You think you wouldn’t struggle?” you asked him, and you noticed the way his eyebrows furrowed slightly. He stood up from the couch and motioned you to do the same. He was never saying no to a challenge.  “Let me just…” You put your phone in a good position so it would be able to capture the scene perfectly. You walked back to him, turning around to face the camera. He put his hands on your waist, and in a silent agreement, he picked you up like you weighed nothing. He put you on his shoulder, and you stayed there for a moment before he put you back on the floor.  You cut the video, putting it in your drafts. No one other than you needed to see how strong your boyfriend was. His flexed arms were only for you. You turned around to look at him, andIwaizumi had his arms crossed and a grin playing on his lips.  “See? Wasn’t so hard.” He really was a proud idiot, and it made you roll your eyes with an amused smile. You could not deny it though ; it really seemed to be a piece of cake for him. 

⎯ Ushijima Wakatoshi

Ushijima was a dense man, the type who does not understand simple things because it simply did not make sense to him. And those trends? They were far from anything he could understand easily. You tried a few times, but your boyfriend did not seem to get it. But this time, it had to be different, because you really wanted him to do this one. Jacked and kind? It was perfect for him, he could not escape it.  He was busy with a book, laying on the bed, when he heard you enter the room. He almost immediately looked up from his book to meet your eyes. He slowly raised an eyebrow when he noticed how excited you seemed to be. Ushijima put his book to the side, sitting back up on the bed and waiting for you to begin your explanations.  “Can you just follow me, please? I want to try something!” You told him, and as he was not the type to complain, he just stood up and walked behind you as you led him to the living room.  Your phone was already in its place, ready to keep in memory the moment forever. You stood up in front of your boyfriend, back facing him, and led his hands to your waist. You glanced at him from above your shoulder, and you saw the loss on his face.  “I need you to pick me up, and put me on your shoulder. You think you can do that?” You asked, and his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he still did not understand what you were trying to do. Yet, it disappeared quickly and he nodded at your words.  In no time, you were sitting on Ushijima’s shoulder who was holding you there like you were nothing more than a feather to him. He looked at you, almost like it did not ask him for any effort.  “You can put me down now,” you told him, and he did as you say, your feet gently meeting the ground again. You cut the video, looking at it for a moment. He was so adorable with his lost face, but his arms were sending mixed feelings in your stomach.  You walked back to him, leaving a soft kiss against his cheek. You thanked him with a smile, and Ushijima did not need more than this. He did not understand a single thing but if you were satisfied and happy, he could not ask for better.

⎯ Bokuto Koutarou

“I want to do this!” said Bokuto when he saw the video playing on your phone, looking at it from above your shoulder. He had his arms wrapped around you, keeping your back pressed against his chest. He even held you a bit tighter before of how excited he was at the idea of showing off how he could pick you up so easily.  You could not deny anything to this boy when he was so happy. Well, you could never deny him, but especially not when he was like this. You put your phone on record mode, placing it a bit far so it could capture your two figures better.  Bokuto stood up behind you, putting his hands on your waist, already ready to pick you up. He glanced at you to ask if you were too, and your small nod was everything he needed. He pulled you in the air, and the second after you were sitting on his shoulder while he held you there. He was so proud of himself, you could tell by the large smile on his lips.  He laughed a bit, before he began to do small spins with you on his shoulder, showing off how strong he was. It made you chuckle seeing how excited he was, before he put you back down on the floor. You moved away from him to turn off the camera, and he was impatiently waiting behind you to see the video.  “Was I good? I was, right?” He asked, and you swore he looked like a cute puppy who wanted to hear how much of a good boy he was. You looked back at him with a smile, nodding softly.  “The best.” You replied, and you could not say anything else because he picked you up once again to carry you around the room, all happy and overexcited. Bokuto really loved to have you in his arms, there was no doubt about this.

⎯ Kuroo Tetsurou

“I am jacked and kind!” Kuroo was walking right behind you as you shook your head. You glanced at him from above your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. You eyed him from head to toe, before you shrugged your shoulders.  “Maybe jacked, but not so kind,” you teased, and he took an offended face, resting a hand against his chest. You both knew it was nothing serious, only a playful banter as always.  “Rude.” He told you, before he shifted to be in front of you, stopping you in your steps to the kitchen. There was no way he would let you run away from this so easily. He was going to show how jacked and kind he could be if he wanted to.  “Take the video, let the world see how great your boyfriend is.” Kuroo flexed his arms while you were putting your phone in place to capture the moment. You rolled your eyes at his words before you walked back to him.  “Talk less, show more.” You told him with a grin, before a light gasp left your lips. He had suddenly picked you up to put on his shoulder without a warning. A smirk appeared on his lips, and he looked up at you with an eyebrow raised suggestively. Your only answer was a roll of your eyes, crossing your arms.  He chuckled a bit before he slowly put you down, but not to the floor. He carried you in bridal style, so you would be forced to look at him this time. “Not kind, uh?” This bastard, you loved him so much. You pushed his shoulder slightly before he put you down, all giggling because of how proud he was of himself.  You turned off the video, keeping it to yourself. There was no way you would let anyone else see how he made you react when he was like this. He would be too happy to see the reactions of the people on the Internet.

thank you sm <3

[kerizaret]

On souls and love

[meownotgood]

a few anons asked me about an arcane!viktor and league!viktor fic. here it is. the machine herald and the herald of the arcane sandwich.

18+, arcane season 2 spoilers

════════════════════

The recent influx of arcane anomalies is responsible for many, many things; the dysfunction of the Hexgates, the instability in several Hextech devices. And additionally, apparently, messing with anomalies often results in rifts, capable of bridging one universe with the next. 

You're assuming, anyway. It's the only option to logically explain why you're currently sandwiched between two Viktors.

"Are they always this… obedient?" Viktor — the menacing, Hexcore-infused, arcane-touched version of Viktor — hums, his voice deep and distinctive. It rumbles through you, threatening to displace your shaky legs with its boom alone, echoing several times before it settles in your eardrums. 

You take in a sharp breath, one you're sure the both of them can hear. The lack of space within the anomaly's pocket of unreality forces you to fall back against his chest. True to his assumption, when Viktor's hands find your waist, your limbs go limp. You pliantly allow him to lift you, until you're settled on his thigh. 

"It is difficult to tell." Viktor — the other Viktor, all metal edges and mechanical thrums — finds your jaw. With a firm, steel index finger, he guides it, carefully bringing your wandering gaze back to him. His mask is expressionless, glowing orange pools of light examining you blankly. 

But you swear, the thickness to the edges of his muffled accent, the way he grabs your chin hard, keeping you in place when your head threatens to fall back, as his counterpart's fingertips analytically skim your side — It screams jealous. 

Your eyes flicker all over his figure, unsure what to focus on. Unsure what to make of this. And Viktor laughs, maniacal and amused. His third arm, his Hexclaw-hand, reaches down towards your much smaller figure, settles on your head, and ruffles your hair in something of a playful, infantilizing gesture. Or, it would be playful, if his third hand wasn't capable of producing a dangerous, one-thousand temperature Death Ray. 

"I believe," Machine-Viktor starts, "We are intimidating them." 

Arcane-Viktor glides his palm over your chest, approving. His touch is foreign, neither rough, nor smooth. "Precisely." 

So much for trying to hide it. In this situation, how could you not be intimidated? 

Both of them are insanely intelligent, to the point it nearly scares you. They're larger, taller; you have to crane your neck up to continue looking at Machine-Viktor, gaze steady on him like he's instructed. 

And Arcane-Viktor is somehow even taller than his copy. It makes you feel helpless in his arms, with the way his figure dwarfs yours completely. You can practically feel the persistent glow of his eyes, boring into you. Examining you with a sixth sense of perception, that could only be defined as inhuman. 

The Machine Herald and the Herald of the Arcane are inscrutable. They're both impossible to read, you couldn't hope to determine what they're planning if you had a million timelines to do so. There's a strange sense of understanding between them. A form of matched intuition, perhaps, that comes with being one in the same. 

Truthfully, they've been arguing, bickering over every topic to be brought up since you got stuck here. Cosmological theories, conflicting assumptions, defining the line between the mechanical and the arcane — It's all flown over your head, honestly. Literally and figuratively. This is the first time they've focused on you since the moment you became pressed in between them. 

Yet, when you are involved, they seem to be on the exact same page. The Machine Herald gives a single nod towards the Arcane Herald, and without the need for words, they're switching tasks. 

Machine-Viktor takes your thighs, holds them instead, palms splayed underneath them to brace the weight. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, locked at the ankles, his metal armor smooth yet firm against your skin — and Arcane-Viktor steps in closer. Your back presses entirely against his chest, helping to support you. 

His outline digs into your shoulder blades, golden and rib-like. And his hands, purple-hued, rich with power, grasp your face to tilt your head back. To make you look at him, instead. You aren't sure which set of eyes to focus on. The claw jutting out from his back twitches, seemingly regarding you with its own element of sentience. The other Viktor stiffens, for a moment. 

But the position you've been placed in is deliberate; it leaves you wide-open. So, he takes advantage of the opportunity his counterpart has graced him with. His third arm hums mechanically as he moves it. He brings its hand to your mouth, and your lips part to let him press his thumb inside. 

It's more analytical than anything else. 

Arcane-Viktor watches, transfixed, as your tongue swirls around the faux metal digit. It's a curious lesson in mortal instinct. You whimper, your gaze grows misty as you try your hardest to focus on him, but you barely falter. You aren't giving up. Weak and desperate, your whole body shudders, enough to be felt on his palms as a tremble rushes through you. 

Oh, you want to be made to shudder, he realizes. This is a wealth of emotion and excitement and desire for you, an addicting amalgamation of new sensations to experience. Humans love to chase this high. They cannot be distracted by fear, when raw, depraved need clouds their judgement. His machine-equivalent understands this concept, surely. 

Your plush lips meet the artificial joints: welded with clean, steel pivots. Viktor would recognize his own handiwork anywhere. But the intricate assembly around each linkage — the other Viktor has improved the design, he's made each subdivision double-jointed. 

Intriguing. Perhaps he should teach his opposite self about the arcane, as reimbursement. 

Your tongue licks a hot, slow stripe onto the end of the Machine Herald's thumb, and he breathes a half-sigh, half-huff, causing smoke to pour from the sides of his mask. 

There's warmth, coming from both of their figures. Just two different kinds of warmth. For the Arcane Herald, it's electric, like stars and static, racing across your skin. For the Machine Herald, it's more stifling, artificial. Like standing over a hot stove. It's the heat of countless individual parts of machinery, internal and external, all working in unison to support his processes. 

And you're starting to sweat. 

"Marvellous," Arcane-Viktor murmurs, oddly inquisitive. "Are they not?" 

Removing his thumb from your mouth, the metal slick with your saliva, the Machine Herald gives a rumbling hum of approval. 

"Yes. They are." 

Your throat tightens, suddenly dry. From above you, the all-powerful Herald of the Arcane tilts his head ever-so slightly, adjacent to an interested cat. He taps his thumb against your puffy bottom lip, as though he's considering repeating the display himself. Lingering residuals of magic thread through you faintly, tingling on your lips with each idle tap. 

When he decides against it, finally letting go of your face, Machine-Viktor is quick to grasp your chin with his Hexarm. Roughly guiding your gaze back in his direction. Selfishly recapturing your attention. 

Unfortunately, your attention is everywhere. It shifts, placed between the budding heat in your body, the weightlessness of your limbs as you're held in place, the press of metal armor to your thighs, the tracing of confident fingertips up your stomach. Your vision blurs around the edges, you can barely focus when you're this overwhelmed. 

Arcane-Viktor's palm is beginning to trace up your chest, and you wonder if he can feel your heart pounding, if either of them know how much you're enjoying this. Surely, they're well-acquainted. They fucking tower over you, and you're bare, you are pliant. For either version of them, for Viktor, you will always be just as they hypothesized. 

Obedient. 

"They are trembling. How curious," The Herald of the Arcane continues, but the deep, confident vibrato to his voice makes you believe your reaction is far from unexpected. "Theoretically, I could imagine this being too much for them." 

"No," The Machine Herald counters, "It is not." 

The Arcane Herald appears to express as much aversion as an unchanging expression is able to. His palm begins to trace back down, this time. With the same slow, methodical movements; possessive, in a way. Down to your stomach, stopping just above your pelvis. 

"You would truly place confidence in their ability to take us?" 

Hands suddenly grasping your thighs tighter, you're pulled closer, unintentionally grinding you against the ridges of his metal plating — you breathe a quick, pleasured noise, your thighs tremor hard, but you know his iron grip wouldn't let them fall — and the Machine Herald practically scoffs. 

"They will take all we give to them. Such is the essence of their potential." 

The Arcane Herald pauses, before he answers, "I believe in your own lingering sentimentality, Machine Herald, you may be vastly overestimating their limits." 

"It is not sentiment." The Machine Herald's voice is level. His thick accent curls around the words, tone rich with a downright ruthless sense of certainty. "Receptors in my central system have been allocated to measure their breathing. The pattern is not one of discomfort. They are rife with… eagerness." 

His Hexarm reaches for your neck, and your head tilts back submissively. As confirmation, your heart skips, your breath catches. Your gaze is heavy and pleading. He squeezes methodically, until your eyes are rolling back, and your arms are falling limp. 

Precise fingertips find your forehead, they muddle your every thought and function as their prying touch seeks to enter your mind. Your thoughts converge into a singular, tightly knit thread, pounding in echoes of pleasure. A hand brushes between your spread legs, finds where you are slick and aching — 

"Viktor-" 

Your voice is weak, desperate, shuddery from the lack of use. 

And to your delight, both of your overseers react. Machine-Viktor gives your thighs a firm squeeze, he caresses your throat fondly. Arcane-Viktor teases you. His fingertips purposefully prod your waiting entrance, and Gods, they feel like magic incarnate. 

They vibrate from the intensity of their own existence. You can feel every thrum, and each lush wave of the arcane, vibrating mercilessly against your sweetest spot. Then, just as you're beginning to believe you could come apart merely from this, his hand is delicately shifting away, and you're left to quiver around nothing. 

"Fuck," You're swearing, "Please- don't stop…" 

The Herald of the Arcane, as though he wasn't just mere moments away from sinking his fingers inside you, replies in a distinctly composed tone. "Humans can be such demanding creatures." 

The Machine Herald nearly sounds annoyed. "You have forgotten our initial objective. We may switch places, if you are convinced you cannot satisfy them." 

"Whatever occurred in your timeline, it is clear you never learned patience. We have time. Our research will prove most accurate when it is fleshed out to its fullest, not when it is rushed. Unless, perhaps you have discerned a solution to getting us out of this anomaly. Do share, Machine Herald." 

Machine-Viktor remains still. Utterly unreadable, as always. 

"Hold them." 

Everything happens so quickly, so flawlessly, you'd almost swear they planned this — Arcane-Viktor takes hold of your thighs, he keeps them spread while he leans your body against his chest. And Machine-Viktor grasps your face, squeezes your cheeks, his leather glove rough against your chin. He's so close, all you can see is the orange of his makeshift eyes. Bright and intimidating, clouding your view with polychrome shapes, like if you were to glance at the sun for too long. 

His touch is distinctly different, it is steady, resolute, determined. A single thick, metal finger drags through your arousal to first get the steel slick, and then he is pressing it inside; you can feel every small joint and deliberate ridge as he fills you. One of his manufactured digits is essentially the equivalent to three of yours. 

You're left to weakly slump against his copy, completely at his mercy as he fucks you open, completely at their mercy as the two of them watch you attentively. Focused on the way his digit disappears within you, how your chest heaves as you gasp and whine. 

"This is not enough stimulus," Arcane-Viktor ascertains. Matter-of-fact, his echoing voice perfectly stable. "Their thoughts are still clouded. Preferably, we would want them- their mind, and their body- to think only of us." 

"Not enough? I thought you believed they could not handle us both." Machine-Viktor scoffs. 

It's a challenge. An analytical assumption, and if his copy is anything like him, he knows it's a notion they'll enjoy deciphering. Together. With you as the subject. 

"Well?" The Machine Herald hums, "Are you willing to put your hypothesis to the test?" 

[comicaurora]

So uhh. If you feel like talking about it. As someone who lives in the US, how are you being kind to yourself on this upsetting morning <3

Checked in with my loved ones first and foremost.

It's interesting. The vibe I've been getting from my circle is very different from 2016. Much less… dread and horror at a realignment of the understanding of what can and can't happen here, now, in this place and day and age. More "fuck, guys. again? whatever. enjoy your consequences, maybe you'll manage to learn something this time."

Frustration and anger is not the most positive feeling, or even the most fair one to express, but it is a protective one. It hurts a lot less than most alternatives.

And it's quite a shift. It was earthshattering back then. How could this have been allowed to happen? Why couldn't it be stopped? Why couldn't we stop it? Why couldn't I stop it? Why couldn't everyone see what this meant? Why couldn't I make them understand? Did they really not care? What did that mean about humanity as a whole? Were we so thoughtless? How could anyone be trusted?

It seems… much less earthshattering to see it happen twice. Disappointing, sure. Frustrating. But nowhere near as devastating as the first time I saw it unfold. We already knew it could happen. I've already had time to digest the implications. Now I'm just freshly disappointed.

It also feels less indicative of Crushing Truths Of Reality this time. We've seen shit get bad. We've also seen shit get better from here! We know both outcomes are possible, even inevitable. We know hoping for a better future is always worthwhile. This isn't the apocalypse. It's an unremarkably bad turn of events brought on by unremarkably self-centered well-documented human impulses. It's utterly mundane in its unpleasantness. It doesn't need to be dignified with despair.

A democratic election, no matter the outcome or the side we're on, makes us all acutely aware of how outnumbered we are by people whose worldviews and priorities are demonstrably incomprehensible to us. And the first time you get outnumbered, it's a shock. Defeat is haunting. It didn't matter how badly you wanted it; by the very function of democracy, you do not have the power to override greater numbers. (insert electoral college caveat here)

The second time through, I find myself focusing on a different facet that has dramatically reduced the amount of spiralling I'm doing. I don't expect this to work for everyone, but for me specifically, it helped to crystallize a few thoughts:

You don't have the power to control anyone else. You don't. You can't share your worldview and your revelations with them. You can't make them think or understand anything. You can lay it all out for them, but you can't make them listen, and you can't make it click. A mentor can't make their student learn a lesson; that's why teaching is so complicated and hard. An active choice must be made by the person to enable themselves to understand, and they must put the pieces together in their own mind before it makes sense to them, and the pieces must have been presented in a way that makes sense to them in the first place. Lead a horse to water, can't make them drink.

These elections highlight a disconnect in what different groups of people care about; and no matter how clearly you explain yourself or how passionately you perform, caring cannot be forced on someone. Understanding and connection cannot be forced. You cannot make anything or anyone matter to someone. They have to choose to see how it matters in order to internalize it. If they choose not to, that is not your failing. You couldn't have made them do it by just Explaining Better. They are not your responsibility. They make their own choices. You can't reach inside their head and connect the dots for them.

I'm a storyteller. I make stories and put them out into the world. I hope people get something good out of them, but I have no control over what that something is. I want people to be thoughtful and kind and compassionate and hopeful and see themselves reflected in stranges, no matter their differences. I can craft stories that I hope encourage this. But that is the extent of my ability and the extent of my responsibility. I control no-one's actions but my own, and so while I am not having the best day, I am at least content that I am doing what I can, and I am not shattering myself against impossibilities trying to control the things I can't.

Sometimes, people make decisions that I think are really bad. I can't make that not happen. All I can do is try to make decisions that will result in things I think are good. Today, that means checking in on people, and not assigning too much dramatic narrative weight to an ultimately mundane set of unremarkable bad decisions outside of my control. We'll take life as it comes and help each other out when and how we can. Everything else is out of our hands.

[savanir]

I found your missing cat

It had taken a lot of work but about a month ago Danny finally got deep enough into A.R.G.U.S to be allowed into its Black Room. and my, what a treasure trove it is.

In the following weeks Danny has spent a lot of time finding all the lost Infinite Realms artifacts he was supposed to locate and return, as was part of his kingly duties. The Observants had been constantly on his ass about this but now that the results of his efforts are actually visible they have finally shut up.

Today though something new has gotten brought in and he’s eager to take a proper look, he could feel the Tyrant king’s influence from a distance emanating from it after all.

While on his way he noticed one of his colleagues, Miss Barbara Minerva if he remembers correctly, talking to who looks to be Wonder Woman. Danny hasn’t had the chance to do so himself yet, he’d love to introduce himself properly but he’s also a little worried about all the knowledge he has on Amazons from Lady Pandora (which he very much shouldn’t have) coming out the moment he tries to have a proper conversation.

Still he hopes nothing bad comes from those two ladies being on friendly terms. Miss Barbara's vibes are all over the place, and most often nowhere good, but who knows, maybe her being around Wonder Woman more will fix that.

He gets to his little section in the compound with the big examination table all decked out and ready for whatever. Today he gets to look at one of Pariah's lost blades, the godslayer sword.

Danny is working on getting all the murderous enhancements off of it and depowering it into something nowhere near so dangerous and deadly when something perks up within the weapon. 

Sensing a kindred protection spirit it leaps up from the blade and into Danny, happily nestling around Danny's core and starts purring up a storm. 

Danny however is violently startled out of his work. It's hard not to notice the sudden claws he feels both on his hands and feet. The spotted fur that covers seemingly his whole body now, his shifted ears, eyes and nose. And the fact he's now sporting a tail of all things. 

The Cheetah may be pleased with this new development but Danny is certainly not. 

Footsteps thunder his way, followed by a shout, "what is wrong!? I heard sounds of distress and- oh!"

"Uuuhhmmm..." What does he say!? How is he supposed to explain all this to Wonder Woman!?

She marches forward and firmly grabs his clawed hands in her own, not worried in the slightest about his now razor sharp nails, "worry not, we shall break this beastly curse that has befallen you, you have my word" 

She gives him what he thinks must be a reassuring smile, "I am Diana of Themyscira and-"

Danny isn't really listening after that, she's probably just giving him more reassurances. It's nice but she's also pretty intense. And Danny is still freaking out a little. 

"- so no need to fret"

Danny blinks,"Uh thanks, I- I'm Danny Fenton" 

"It is most pleasant to meet you Danny Fenton, even if the circumstances are quite unfortunate"

"Yeah uhm, just Danny is fine"

"Very well you may call me Diana" She nods and lets go of his hands.

Diana then wishes to see the artifact that cursed him so, aka the blade (which didn’t curse him), Danny thankfully already fully depowered the damn thing safe for some minor traces of whatever Pariah saw fit to stuff in it. 

By now Steve as well as Barbara have come to take a look themselves and though they appear startled at his new catlike appearance they are mostly just worried once Diana tells them he's cursed. 

Which he's not, this isn't a curse at all. The big cat spirit still tightly curled around his core is clearly a blessing of some sort, that'll make dealing with it all so much more complicated...

But at least Danny got to meet wonder woman right? That's cool.

[mooooonnnzz]

I saw your earlier post on Platonic fics and Im a sucker for them so here u go : father figure stanford headcannons maybe takes place after he comes back from the portal, reader is an adventurous spirit that works at the shack and maybe secretly helped stan get his brother back? Idk im just throwing things here lol

You Know I Love You Still

Stanford x daughter!reader

💗 stanford dad hc!!

💗 i literally saw the request it and started writing and got a lil carried away 😭 its like half story half hc? if that makes sense

💗 requests r so open rn! i def dont have any fav requests… (anything platonic or familial will be the first ones i write i LOVE those types of requests)

💗 the age of the reader is young like 16/17? ik that lowkey contradicts with the time line but wtv STANFORD DAD HC!!

💗 it’s a little bit of everything? like it’s not only just reader and stanford, the twins r also included in some scenarios and also stan

💗 a big happy family 😭

💗 fem reader gulp i completely didnt realize until i was done that i used she/her when referring to the reader

💗 next fic will use gender neutral pronouns I SWUEAR!!

💗2k words

💗 i apologize for rhe misspell and mistakes i didnt catch in advance

Working together with your Uncle Stan to build the portal to bring your dad back to the right dimension was tiresome. Nights were sleepless and many of them were spent in the underground lab, where you and Stan did everything possible to assemble the portal. Trying to keep such a secret away from the twins and Soos was unexpectedly hard. The knowledge of hiding someone so vital to you and to your Uncle Stan was weighing down on you and him. Then came the day where his awaited arrival was promised. You could barely sleep that night. You thought of so many different possibilities and scenarios of how you would greet him. Would he remember you? Did he ever miss you? Does he even love you?!

The next day came in like a tornado and before you knew it, you were protectively standing in front of the button; trying your absolute hardest to prevent the twins from pressing the button.

“Why do you guys want to stop the portal so badly!” You yelled over the loud swirling wind that emitted from the portal. “Because it’s dangerous!” Dipper retorted, using his arm to shield him from the debris whizzing past him. “G-Grunkle Stan isn’t who he says he is!” Dipper said, stepping closer to you.

“Whatever you guys saw or heard isn’t what you think it is! Please, you need to believe me.” You begged, your eyes brimming with tears. You’ve worked so hard to get this portal up and running and you weren’t going to let Dipper or anyone stop you from being able to see your dad.

Soos came up from behind and wrapped his arms around you. “I’m sorry, dude.” He picked you up and took you away from the button. “Soos, no!” You thrashed around his hold. You pound your fists against his arms, hoping it’ll loosen his grip on you but nothing you did worked. No matter how much you begged and fought against him, he didn’t budge. He just held you closer to him, muttering ‘I’m Sorry’ under his breath.

“This all stops now!” Dipper raised his hand, palm flattened out, ready to push the button when Stan appeared at the doorway. “Don’t touch that button!”

He’s hunched forward, hand leaning on the frame of the doorway as he pants. Relief washes over you upon seeing Stan. Silence fills the room for a minute and all you can hear is your heart hammer against your ribcage. Stan walks towards Dipper, beckoning him to not press the button.

“If you just let me explain—“ He’s cut off by his watch repeatedly beeping. Suddenly the ground begins to shake.

The portal powers up and the circle enlarges. The electricity spazzes and travels throughout the room, creating streaks of electrical power. Your feet lift off the ground and soon everyone’s floating up in the air. The wind is fierce and it’s whipping through every direction, pushing you towards the wall.

Dipper yells at Mable to turn off the portal before it causes anymore damage. She tugs herself closer to the button using a stray cable and while she wraps herself around the neck holding up the button, Stan is begging her to listen to him and to not press the button. He’s soon tackled by Soos who pushes him away from Mable. They all fight with each other and you’re watching with a bated breath.

The portal pulses with power, sending you back first into the wall. Stan and Dipper bicker back and forth and Mable is torn with the decision of either believing her brother or her Grunkle. She lowers her hand, eyes closed and you're almost convinced she’s going to press the button when she lets go of the button. She floats up with her arms raised. “Grunkle Stan, I believe you.” She says.

“Mable, are you crazy?! We’re all gonna—!”

The world flashes white and you're immediately knocked out. You awaken to yourself plummeting face first down to the floor. You groan, pushing yourself up with one hand and the other wiping off the dust on your face. Looking around you can see your family scattered around the room, each of them slowly waking up from whatever happened and stumbling back to their feet.

Your head quickly whips towards the portal and your heart lurches into your throat upon seeing a figure step out of it. He stands still, staring straight ahead as he takes off his hood and goggles. And what hid behind them was your father.

After the initial shock of meeting the one behind the three books and the reveal of him being related to Stan was pushed aside, you presented yourself with the help of Stan. “H-Hi, Dad.” You awkwardly greet yourself.

His eyes stop on you and he freezes, eyes blown wide and mouth slightly ajar. He takes a minute to process the absurdity of the situation before he’s snapping back to consciousness. He blinks once, his mouth stuttering as he finds the right words to say. He then blinks again, stepping a cautious step towards you. Your name softly spills out of his mouth and your heart soars hearing your Dad finally utter your name again.

You take a step forward and then another and another until you’re face to face with him. Being closer to him allowed you to see how much he has aged since the last time you saw him. “Dad…” You whisper, throwing yourself into him.

A light wheeze escapes his mouth from the sudden impact of your body crashing on him. Once he recovers, his arms are quickly wrapped around you, hugging you with so much warmth and love you almost sobbed right then and there.

He snuggled his face against your hair, breathing in your familiar scent he missed so dearly while he was away. “We have so much to catch up on.” You say so quietly that he almost lost your words if it wasn’t for you being directly near his ear. He hums in affirmation, cherishing the long awaited reunion with his daughter.

“I feel like this is another part where one of us faints again.” Mable says in utter disbelief at the scene that unfolded in front of her. “Ohoh!” Soos laughed out. “I’m so on it, dudes.” As if on command his eyes roll to the back of his head and he faints flat on his back.

HEADCANON TIME!!

• You weren’t really expecting to talk to him much due to Stan wanting to talk to his brother, but after their fight, he came looking for you. When he found you, you were sitting on the couch that was outside on the porch. You were reading a book you recently purchased from the bookstore. Nose deep in your book, you failed to realize Ford standing beside you. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his trench coat. Quietly he asked, ��Is there room for one more?”

• The night was spent with the two of you getting to know each other. From your favorite color to your favorite show, what food you like to eat and so on. Ford wanted to fully understand and know you as a person. He wanted to make up all the years he lost with you.

• The next day, you awoke to the smell of your favorite breakfast food being cooked. With haste you pushed your blanket off of you and slipped on your slippers and sped off into the kitchen where Ford was buttering the pan. He looked over to you and flashed you a smile. “I made you your favorite.” He said, motioning over to the table where he laid out your breakfast. “You didn’t have to do this.” You scratched your cheek, a small laugh of surprise leaving you. “I’m just doing what I always dreamed of doing.” He shoveled out his breakfast onto his plate using a spatula. “How’s the food, kiddo?” He asks, placing the pan and spatula on the dirty side of the sink. “Actually pretty good for someone who hasn't been in this dimension for over a decade!” You jest, taking another delicious bite from your breakfast. Ford jokingly rolled his eyes, ruffling your hair as he walked past you and sat down on his chair. “Already poking fun at me.” He said, shaking his head.

• Stanford knew he had to focus on his projects, he had so many things he left unfinished that he'd been dying to get his hands on the minute he stepped foot into his dimension. But he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from you. He loved seeing you interact with the twins, he loved watching how pieces of his personality shone through you. Like the way you’re so meticulous with where you put things, or how you were forever curious about the things around you, and even the abundance of questions you’d mutter to yourself as you discovered something new. That’s all of him right there, in front of him and he couldn’t grasp such a thought that you were his!

• He finds himself gazing upon baby photos Stan took of you when you were younger. Even if he’s angry at his twin currently, he’s forever grateful that he documented such beautiful memories in a scrapbook. “Y’know, I used to tell stories about you to her.” A shriek leaves Ford. He jumps forward, the scrapbook tumbling down his lap and onto the floor. “You idiot! Be careful.” Stan sneered, kneeling down to the floor to pick up the scrapbook. “Stanley!” Ford leans his head back, trying to regain his composure. “You scared me!” He says. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” Stan waves him off, grabbing the scrapbook and tucking it in between his arms. They stand in awkward silence, eyes darting around the place uneasily. “Did…” Ford starts, shattering the silence. “Did she like the stories you told of me?” Stan smiles fondly, nodding his head. “She loved them. She thought you were some stupid amazing superhero, no matter what I told her.” Ford furrowed his brows. “Wait, what do you mean by no matter what you told her?” Stan nervously laughed. “Hey, why don’t you keep looking at these photos! Wait here, look at this one. Haha! She’s trying to eat her toes, isn’t that adorable?” “Stanley.”

• Outings between the two of you were very common. He loved being tugged around the town of Gravity Falls by you as you pointed at various different shops and locations. You told him the reasons why you hated them or loved them, and some were tied to stories that happened within the summer. He seriously questioned how you and the twins survived so many times where you were just so close to death. The mall was a place where you and him resided the most. With the money he took from Stan, he paid for almost everything you wanted. Entering the shack with so many bags was a shock to everyone. “Woah! Did you buy the whole mall?” Mable jokes, grabbing one of the bags to help you with the load. “Basically,” you laughed, instructing Mable to rally Soos and Dipper to have a little haul of what you bought. Stan watched with a raised brow as you stumbled into the living room with Mable following closely behind. “Where did you get all the money to buy her all of that?” Stan asks. “Just stole some money from some hobo.” Ford said, walking into the living room to join in on the haul. Stan didn’t understand what he said and opened the cash register. When he saw all the money he had stored the day before gone, it all clicked.

• Adventures out in the woods is a must. Gathering the twins and your dad, all four of you venture out into the woods in hopes to find something new. “Why couldn’t Grunkle Stan tag along with us?” Mable asked as she kneeled down to pluck a flower from the dirt. “Because he’s being a wet towel.” Dipper muttered, scribbling down a rough drawing of the flower Mable was picking in a book you bought him. “So what kind of anomalies you three stumbled upon?” Ford questioned. You and the twins began to dump everything onto him, from when you started seeing them to when Dipper and Mable came. Ford couldn’t truly focus on what they were saying, mostly because it was a jumbled excited mess of words, but partially because he was astonished with the trio in front of him. They went through so much and yet they’re still so headstrong. He could definitely see a little bit of him in Dipper and Mable.

• Stan would find you and Ford fallen asleep on the couch or in his lab, all huddled up together and completely knocked out. Snores filled the room and he found it amusing that you and him both snores the same. Videos and photos were definitely taken by Mable.

• Ford would tell stories of his adventures in another dimension to you. Stemming from how he started from the ground up to him getting banned from many other dimensions for stealing parts. “You’re not so different from Uncle Stan,” You laughed, shaking your head. “What! It was only a few…hundred dimensions.”

• There’s times where you’d wake up in a cold sweat, afraid that your Dad finally coming back was just a painful dream your brain played on you. But when you would get ready to find him, you’d step on his stomach or back. “Ough!” Ford groaned out in pain. Being suddenly woken up from his sleep, he sat up, looking around confused. “What are you doing sleeping on the floor?” You sat back down on your bed, pulling the blankets over you. “Is there a problem with me sleeping on the floor?” Ford asks, looking at you with squinted eyes. “No, no.” You laid back down on your bed. “Go back to sleep. I’m better now,” You say, somewhat amused with Ford sleeping on the floor beside your bed. “Goodnight, I love you.” You brush your fingers playfully across his face to annoy him. He shoves your fingers away from his face, huffing out. “Goodnight,” He shuffles to his side, looking up to you with a small smile. “I love you more, kiddo.”

[00valentina-writes00]

idk if you've done one already but a super protective abby? someone flirting with us at a bar or somewhere and she gets really jealous and so forth. at the end of the night its kinda an angry/possessive fuck? not mad at us but just incredibly annoyed and angry. manhandling etc. hope this makes sense. love your stories!!!!

♡♥︎ Mine to Take ♥︎♡

Warnings: rough sex, possessiveness, jealousy, Abby being a beast, choking, spanking, manhandling, strap-on sex, overstimulation, good aftercare

You didn’t notice the way the guy was looking at you.

Didn’t catch the way his eyes flicked to your lips when you spoke, or the way he stood just a little too close.

You were too focused on the WLF supply run plans, explaining the best route to take through the city ruins.

But Abby noticed.

From across the gym, arms folded over her broad chest, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful—she fucking noticed.

And when his hand brushed your arm, lingering just a second too long? That was it

Heavy boots stormed across the room before you even realized Abby had been watching, and suddenly, a strong hand wrapped around your bicep.

“Done talkin’,” Abby muttered, voice low, dangerous.

You barely had a second to react before she was dragging you out of the gym, her grip firm, unrelenting.

“Abby—what the hell?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t stop.

Not until she shoved you inside her quarters and slammed the door behind her, she stepped out of her pants and pulled on her strap without a word, a scowl across her features.

You barely had time to turn before she was on you, hands gripping your hips, spinning you around, pressing you face-first against the door.

“What the fuck was that?” she growled, her breath hot against your ear.

You blinked, confused. “What—?”

Her hand came down hard on your ass. A sharp crack echoed in the room.

You gasped.

Abby leaned in, pressing her chest flush against your back, her voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“You think I didn’t see the way he was looking at you?” Her fingers dug into your hips, possessive, claiming. “The way he was flirting with you?”

“I—Abby, I wasn’t—”

Another slap.

Your body jerked against the door, heat flooding between your thighs.

“You didn’t even notice, did you?” she murmured, her teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Fuckin’ oblivious.”

Her hands roamed, sliding under your shirt, squeezing your breasts, fingers pinching your nipples just enough to make you gasp.

Abby growled, rolling her hips against you, and fuck—the thick length of her strap was pressing insistently against your ass.

“You let another guy look at you like that?” she murmured. “You let him stand that close?”

You whimpered, shaking your head.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You,” you gasped. “Only you, Abs.”

That was all she needed.

Rough hands yanked your pants down, dragging your soaked underwear with them. She kicked your legs apart and lined up, pressing the fat head of her strap against your slick folds.

She didn’t ease in.

Didn’t give you time to adjust.

She fucked into you, deep and brutal, one hand gripping your throat, the other pinning your hip to the door.

“You need me to remind you who owns this pussy?” she growled, her hips snapping forward.

The stretch burned in the best way, making you keen against the door, your body already shaking.

Abby was relentless.

Her strap filled you, thick and unforgiving, each thrust knocking the air from your lungs.

Her grip on your throat tightened, not enough to hurt—just enough to keep you right there, floating, pliant, hers.

“You take me so good,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your neck, her voice rough with possession. “So fuckin’ perfect for me.”

Your walls clenched around her, your knees buckling, but Abby just held you up, keeping you trapped between her body and the door.

She spanked you again, the sting making you cry out. “Bet that dumbass couldn’t fuck you like this,” she taunted, her breath ragged. “Bet he couldn’t make you this wet just from bein’ put in your place.”

You couldn’t answer—not when you were so close, your body coiling tight, overwhelmed, trembling.

Abby felt it.

Knew exactly how to push you over the edge.

Her hand slipped between your thighs, fingers rubbing tight, desperate circles over your clit.

“Come on, baby,” she whispered. “Cum for me.”

That was all it took.

Your orgasm tore through you, making you shake, cry out, walls spasming around her strap.

But Abby didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down.

She kept fucking you, dragging you through another high, using you until you were wrecked—until you were babbling, whimpering her name, completely and utterly hers.

Only then did she ease up, her hands softening, her lips pressing slow, tender kisses along your spine.

She pulled out gently, turning you around, catching you before your legs gave out.

You collapsed against her, boneless, breathless, your head resting against her chest.

Abby scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the bed, laying you down with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“Easy,” she murmured, wiping the sweat from your forehead.

She cleaned you up with a warm cloth, massaging your sore muscles, her lips pressing soft apologies to your skin.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice quiet now, her rough edges softened.

You nodded, sighing as she curled up behind you, her strong arms wrapping around you, holding you close.

Abby kissed the back of your neck, whispering against your skin.

“Mine.”

And you smiled, pressing your body against hers, completely, undeniably hers.

[st4ringlow]

SECRET SANTA DILEMMA — atsumu miya

pairing; atsumu miya x reader wordcount; 1,116 [rewritten fics]

main masterlist

in the hallowed halls of inarizaki high school, the onset of december brought with it a flurry of festive activities. among them was the annual secret santa exchange, a cherished tradition that turned the mundane routine of academia into a delicate dance of anticipation and surprise.

you found yourself contemplating the small slip of paper you had drawn from the hat earlier. and you swore your luck is toying with you right now.

'atsumu miya'

the name inscribed on it was none other than atsumu miya, the charismatic and enigmatic setter of the school's renowned volleyball team. the wrinkle on your forehead could have stick permanently with the way you furrowed your brow to the extent. you can't do this, you thought.

though your paths often crossed in the shared spaces of your classroom, you and atsumu had scarcely exchanged words, existing in the silent proximity of parallel lines. yeah, you're not doing this. maybe you could exchange it with someone else, maybe even charge them while you do so! which crazy person gonna let this chance of spoiling atsumu miya with their gifts fly away? a sly smile crept across your lips as the idea formed in your mind.

however, a part of you is greedy. you felt a sense of victory, having atsumu miya all to yourself—not quite, but close. that part of you wanted to boast about how fortunate you are, but you quickly discarded the feelings as you folded the piece of paper back into your pocket.

you just hope you dont make a fool of yourself in front of him.

the days leading up to the exchange were marked by a series of clandestine observations and subtle inquiries. you hoped he hadn't noticed, because you sure do feel like a creep. throughout your 'observations for pertinent analysis', you are able to conclude one conclusion, that is— atsumu miya is so different than what people (and you) perceived him to be.

how do you even explain this?

well, firstly, you thought he was just some common typical rowdy teenage boy. but you were proved wrong the moment you noticed atsumu's affinity for unique stationery, often catching glimpses of his meticulously organized notebook adorned with vibrant colors and intricate designs. you think its adorable.

secondly, you thought he's a player. being famous means having a lot of fangirls and having a lot of fangirls means he has a lot of options to choose and date. hence, he's a player— according to your logic. but the wrong buzzer shrieks inside your head, loud and deafening. he doesn't even have a girlfriend! you feel guilty for eavesdropping, but you just happen to be there at the same time as the girl confesses to atsumu, in which he turned her down with politeness utmost to the girl.

" 'm sorry, i appreciate the admiration ya have for me, but i wouldnt be able to return the feelings for ya," he said, the softness in his voice was like a balm, soothing and calming, so tender yet so heavy with emotion. if sincerity were visible to the eye, you would likely be dazzled at this.

holy shit, you can't even be mad if atsumu talks to you like that.

lastly, you thought of atsumu as tough, inside and out— but in a negative way. like lacking compassions and have an unyielding stubbornness. but oh boy the 'wrong' streak doesn't break. you were really questioning if you're the bad guy here for making false assumption about someone you barely know.

you didn't mean to eavesdrop (again). really, you just happened to be there. you can hear atsumu's voice, soft and wavering but laced with choked sobs. and you can't lie that your heart clenches at the raw vulnerability of his tone. "ma... pa... 'm really trying my best," atsumu's voice trembled, barely audible. "but it's so hard, no matter how much i study, the effort just doesn't seem to be paying off,"

you heard atsumu's parents' soothing voices through the phone, though the words were indistinct. gradually, atsumu's sobs subsided, replaced by deep, steadying breaths.

you'll leave him alone for now.

on the day of exchange, mark the end of the operation of observing your gift receiver— or who you call atsumu. you had hoped he doesn't shame your gifts infront of everyone— not that he would, but just in case. during the last few days of analysing atsumu, you had slipped something so crucial out of your mind, and that is atsumu comes from an affluent family. seriously, you really hope he didnt throw your gift away, because you sure did spend a whopping money on it.

as the gift were distributed, the classroom buzzed with excitement and curiousity. you were getting anxious; you couldn't even stay still. what you didn't expect was you and atsumu exchanged presents, a moment of recognition passed between the two of you, a silent acknowledgement of the effort and though each had invested. so that means he's your secret santa too. you don't know what deity blessed you with this luck, but you think you probably has used all your fortunes for this occasion.

"thank you.." you said softly, eyes sparkling with genuine appreciation as you unwrapped a ridiculously beautiful, knitted cardigan. the cardigan was a cozy embrace, its soft, knitted fabric woven with intricate pattern and in your favorite colors too. "you- did you- made this?" you asked, noticing how everything about the cardigan hinted at the craftsmanship behind it.

atsumu looks away, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "yeah... i hope its... not bad to ya,"

"are you crazy? this is the best thing ever!" you exclaimed in happiness, a big smile etched on your face.

atsumu's lips curved into a warm smile. "im glad ya like it. i figured it might be something ya would enjoy," he says, tone delicate yet earnest. as he spoke, his voice wrapped around you like a tender embrace, making you feel cherished and deeply appreciated. "and these are perfect," atsumu added, admiring the aesthetically pleasing journal book with some sticker packs. "i've been needing something like this,"

what began as a simple exchange of gifts, blossomed into a feeling you never thought you'd have for atsumu. it was as fate had gently woven your hearts together with the delicate threads of serendipity. your eyes found atsumu's, and it was like as winter gave way to spring, and the world around you blossomed anew, so did your feelings for atsumu.

you hoped the glimmer of love in your eyes went unnoticed, for fear that atsumu would think you were peculiar— just as atsumu silently prayed you wouldn't notice the same in his.

[ramblingautisticman]

Anyone else think about how Logan is in a new universe? That, while it's fundamentally the same, there are slight differences? How that affects him?

Things smell different, taste different, or feel different.

He notices that the grass is a slightly darker shade of green than his own universe as he walks Mary Puppins in the local park, deciding that maybe it was just the lighting or how it had grown. Until he notices it again when they are away on a mission and Logan doesn't quiet know why, but it makes his skin itch alittle.

He notices that the way apples taste is different, a bit more sour than what he is used to. He likes it- don't get him wrong- but it just takes him a minute to get over that. That this is another thing that's ever so slightly changed in this new world he is in. Something no one else would ever notice.

Wade gets a vanilla scented candle in an attempt to help the smell of wet dog (both from Logan and Mary) in the apartment because Al keeps complaining, and Logan can't help but feel slightly wierd when he takes a deep inhale and it smells different than to what he knows as vanilla. It's slightly sweeter, a little hint of wood from the wick, and it sends a wave of confusion over him because- why is this making him feel so strange? Why does it matter that things are a little different?

And it hits him one day as he gets a wiff of something that smells so similar and yet different again, that it's because it means he doesn't belong it. It's because, out of all of these differences, he is the real one. These things aren't slightly off here. This is exactly how everything is meant to be, and it's him that is not meant to be here.

Eventually, he has to say something to Wade because he feels like he is losing his mind. If it were big changes, massive ones that where more than smells and tastes and colours of grass, he thinks he would be more okay with it. That if it was more noticeable this place wasn't his own universe, it would be easier, but its so eerily similar and then suddenly its not, and it makes his stomach flip every time.

"It's stupid- I know it is- but everything feels the same, and then I smell something new or I...I see something that looks a little off..and I don't know why but it's just-just alittle hard, ya know? If it was completely different, if everything was new and different it would be easier, but it's things that have always been the same that have slightly changed, and it's.. it's abit jarring..it makes me more aware that I'm not really meant to be here." He explains to Wade one night when he can't sleep, staring at the TV, trying his best to not feel awkward about talking about this.

He feels stupid for letting it get to him. For letting it make him feel like this- but he can't help it. The idea that he is here and intruding on Wade's life and is going to ruin this universe is weighing on him, has been for so long, and he isn't sure how to fix it.

Wade nods a little, and leans against Logan's side, taking a deep breath before speaking. "I never even really thought of that...sorry- what does smell the same or taste the same? I can maybe make it smell better in here and we can get food you that doesn't taste off to you. Oh! I really hope that those Tacos we get don't taste bad, because they are so good and I don't know if I can stop eating them." He adds on, a small laugh escaping Logan has he listens.

There is a small silence over them for a second before Wade speaks again. "You do know that....you belong here, right? Even if things are a little different here. You aren't the bad change, if that makes sense. I like having you here. Alot. So does Al- I actually think she likes you more than me, which is rude- and Mary Puppins. Also Laura. And all of our friends. They are all glad you're here. Plus, the TVA kind of thought you belonged here, so you're stuck with me."

And Logan isn't really sure what to say, because he hadn't really thought of that. That there were people who thought he belonged here- or that the TVA thought he did too.

It makes him feel better. Alot better. And it makes him think he can get over these stupid changes alot easier than he could before.

"So....it's really your universe's fault for having wierd apples and different grass then." Logan says with a small smile, looking at Wade.

And naturally, that leads Wade to ask a million different question about what is different and what is the same, and Logan answers every single one before it makes him remeber that he does belong here. That just because things are different, doesn't mean he doesn't belong.

[99pansy]

ss/mayo blogspot lore + frerard theory

hi I'm about to drop some insane lore that I don't think a lot of mcr fans/frerard theorists know about. this isn't discussed often so I figured I should write about it here before all the evidence is lost to time.

this is probably gonna be a long one so buckle in! i have gathered as much evidence here as possible but there's no way to be certain about anything. i'm trying to maintain as much journalistic integrity as i can throughout this post (also trying super hard not to insert my opinion too much) because i think a lot of this speaks for itself.

so i have a pretty significant frerard theory but i have to give a lot of backstory and documentation for it to fully make sense. this will not be in chronological order (to best suit the narrative) but i hope it makes sense

many people know about frank's F.T. Willz endeavors which have been proven as him in recent years. however, "ss" or "shitsubou shita" was another blog he had before this which is not widely known

around 2007, there was a major theory in the fandom that gerard and frank were running secret blogspot accounts where they'd post journals, poetry, etc. frank's account was iamthemodernprometheus.blogspot.com and gerard's supposed account was its-mayonaise.blogspot.com. both accounts are still up, though i'm not sure if any posts have since been deleted. this probably sounds crazy so i'll explain everything!

evidence for frank as SS/shitsubou-shita/iamthemodernprometheus

i strongly believe this was frank's personal blog, but you can come to your own conclusions based on this info

frank's supposed original blogspot handle was "shitsubou-shita." once fans realized this was his account, he deleted it pretty much immediately. you can read some fan discussion about the fall out from this in a comment thread here. this comment thread will be linked a few times in this post because most of the screenshots on this post originate from there.

apparently *frank* was posting some very personal thoughts/feelings on this blog that he did not want to be discovered. i'll go over some of the deleted posts in a minute, but first i need to give more a little more context.

at the same time the blog is found, someone comments "your fired" on a recent post. apparently some fans thought the comment looked strangely out of place, and it was one of the last comments left before the account's deletion, on one of the final posts made.

this will be relevant later on, and we'll get into the account's posts soon.

my theory is that someone on the "inside" could have found his personal blog and tried spooking him, which could have been the final straw for him. or, the account being deleted could be completely unrelated to the weird comment. all of this can be found here (same link i posted previously)

months after deleting their blog, shitsubou shita begins posting under a new url "iamthemodernprometheus" (but still under the pen name "shitsubou shita" or "ss" as fans called him)

in his new blog, and similarly to F.T. Willz years later, he still leaves plenty of crumbs for fans to figure out it's him. screenshot sources are below

latin heading: his page had a latin heading that when translated, reads "keep the faith"

bio on blogspot: "industry - chemicals", and "you dont stop playing cos you get old…you get old cos you stop playing" both sound suspiciously personal to frank

his url choice: "the modern prometheus" is the full title of mary shelley's frankenstein. frankenstein is a character that frank has always deeply resonated with due to his namesake, love of horror, and being born on halloween

spelling of wierd: SS and frank both spell "weird" as "wierd"

i think he enjoyed the mystery of having a secret online persona, which eventually led to the creation of F.T. Willz in 2008. it seems like wanted to leave just enough evidence for people to suspect it was him, but not enough to prove it.

here are some snippets of 2007 era discourse about the identity of "ss" and their deleted blog. you can find all of these comments and more context here. this was around the time gerard got married and fans felt like the dynamic on stage was different, and they were concerned about the future of the band. it's a LOT to go over so i would advise reading the comments if you want more perspective

on the next page, an anonymous comment is posted which fans immediately begin to speculate is SS (frank). again, if you click the link you can get way more context than i'm able to provide here.

this insinuates that SS frequented the comments on mayo's blog, which i don't think he would have done without believing/knowing mayo is gerard

there was a lot discussed in this thread including pretty solid evidence that frank/ss wrote the ancient and historic "eliza post"

if you are not aware of the eliza cuts drama, that's a totally different and equally as insane rabbit hole you'll have to research on your own

tldr; she is gerard's mentally unstable ex-fiance who he was engaged to very shortly before lindsey

gerard and eliza got engaged on may 22, 2007 (the last show of the black parade tour) according to this reddit comment.

the "eliza post" went up on june 4, 2007. here is the post in its entirety:

"Hi I felt I had to write to you guys to allay some of your fears regarding the rumours and speculation surrounding Gerard and Eliza and the future of the band. This is the only time I will ever post. I will not be able to respond to your comments or enter into discussion or debate on what I'm about to say. We are aware that this is one of the most popular message boards for MCR fans and we know you guys are the most dedicated and loyal fans in the world. It saddens me to see such division amongst the fans over one woman. If it's any consolation, you guys are not the only ones affected. She is merely tolerated by both band and crew. Believe me, nothing anyone can say will change his mind. She's been the cause of numerous conflicts and while we dont have to like it, we have to accept it, at least for the forseeable future. From day one this woman has had a hidden agenda - her manipulation knows no bounds. Some of you may find this difficult to believe but I assure you I have personally witnessed the two sides of this woman. Her so-called 'good deeds' are nothing more than PR exercises for his benefit. But he does not see what goes on behind closed doors. We have tried to draw his attention to her blatant self-promotion and diva demands. This is a prime example of love being blind. His feelings for her do run very deep. Her feelings for him, however, are questionable at best. Many people believe, including myself, that he is being used as nothing more than a stepping stone. It's disheartening to see someone you care about and have worked with for a very long time change as a person, becoming more detached and causing the group dynamic to change as a result. There have been conflicts and differences of opinions and compromises have had to be made She does not accompany the band on the European legs of the tour. Since being on this current European leg, he seems much happier which suggest she doesnt make him as happy as he thinks. Despite being asked more than once to remain discreet, she blatantly disregards his wish to keep his personal life private by continually fuelling the internet hype. The band has always been about the music and the fans. This will not change. MCR have never endorsed any type of clique as it encourages and promotes the kind of high school mentality that MCR have always fought against. Your continued support is appreciated and rest assured this woman will have no adverse affect on the band and the music. For obvious reasons I am remaining anonymous. Eliza, we know you trawl these message boards and you probably know who I am - but I'd like to see you try and prove it!!!"

it's clear that whoever wrote this had a very strong distaste for eliza and was deeply troubled by the idea of gerard marrying her. based on the language used and style of writing, i strongly believe frank wrote this post. i'll be circling back to this in a minute, because i have a little more to go over.

for more evidence that SS is frank, we can reference this reddit comment made just 9 months ago by someone heavily involved in the blogspot community at the time, kapunua. their username on this post is "ReallyKapu."

if you read through the comment links I provided earlier, you may see their name pop up. they are also mentioned by name on the "iamthemodernprometheus" blog. if you also search "kapunua mcr" on google, you can verify their involvement in the blogspot community at the time.

kapunua is also mentioned in its-mayonaise's post here (no screenshot provided for this one, its just a small mention)

there's also a screenshot of a different comment kapunua made about 9 years ago with similar information. i found the screenshot here.

evidence that "mayo" is gerard

as mentioned in the post above, mayo often used british english syntax in his posts. he also posted about some pretty juicy stuff including a blowjob poem (you can seek that out yourself)

using british english isn't out of the ordinary for gerard. he often used an accent on stage during this time. moreover, he is a writer who has written multiple characters with this type of accent, showing he has a certain appeciation for it. i think his persona for the "mayo" account could been a sort of character he put on to disguise his idenity.

if you decide to view mayo's blog, you'll see each post has nothing but comments from mcr fans exclusively. i find it very interesting that the writer of its-mayonaise never bothered to make a post saying "hey, btw, i'm not gerard" in the 4 years this blog was run for

we have somewhat less definitive evidence that gerard is mayo. however, it is clear that at the very least, they had to have been someone involved with MCR or their crew at the time.

mayo makes a post alluding to their identity here, which you can find in the first screenshot below. this section sounds a lot like something gerard would write:

"I have been asked to reveal myself to you. You all know me. I am whoever you want me to be, I am an artist, a poet, a singer, a motherfucker, and a contradiction, a mouthpiece, a friend, and an enemy, a brother, an informant, a whipping boy, a basket case, a queen, and a criminal...(credit to John Hughes.)"

there are THOUSANDS of comments, many of which speculate the identity of mayo on each of his blogspot posts. you should definitely do your own detective work and see what you think, because there is far too much info to go through here.

a frerard theory

as i previously mentioned, frank had deleted his original blog for shitsubou-shita in late september. however, prior to this, he made and then deleted some particularly turbulent and questionable posts

for context, the frerard fight happened on august 22, 2007, and gerard and lindsey got married on september 3, 2007 (just four months after gerard was engaged to eliza)

gerard and lindsey are married on the last night of the projekt revolution tour.

mcr takes a break for one month after this, where we can probably safely assume that freshly-married gerard and frank did not plan on seeing one another.

i think this was very troubling for frank for many different reasons. gerard had just freed himself of the eliza situation and here he was making the same mistake again. he was on the verge of losing his dearest friend yet again, and i believe that despite his best efforts, he could not get through to gerard.

obviously, gerard and lindsey are still married to this day. however, many fans might be aware of what happened between her and mikey. there's also a lot of other questionable information about lindsey circling the web, but that's a different story for another time.

weeks later, similarly to the eliza situation, shitsubou-shita makes and deletes the following posts on his original blog (this was prior to the creation of iamthemodernprometheus):

Friday, September 21, 2007 Abandon hope, all who enter here... What the fuck happened? Why didn't I see this coming? I made a point to keep out of it this time, but at what cost? I'm trapped between a rock and a hard place, it's a lose/lose situation. I've always been honest with you, shouldn't that work both ways? What's with the double standards? People are starting to notice. I'm not talking about kids, I'm talking about people in their mid 20's and 30's. People with life experience who can see the cracks starting to show. What am I supposed to say? I just dont have the answers. How can I reassure them when I need reassurance myself?

he says "i made a point to keep out of it this time" which seems like a reference to the situation with eliza i mentioned previously. he alludes to the idea that fans are beginning to notice the band's dynamic is not the same anymore. this was specifically around the time when "frerard" moments came to a pretty abrupt end.

he says "i've always been honest with you, shouldn't that work both ways?" which can be interpreted in a few different ways. he may feel deceived due to his best friend's sudden marriage. however, the intensity of the language used in this post shows he probably had some very intense feelings toward the situation.

it seems like the writer was having a considerably difficult time coping with these feelings. a day later, this post is made:

Saturday, September 22, 2007 Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. Bullshit. I've always been a smart ass, even as a child, although my mom would prefer to use the term precocious. I've always had trouble keeping my mouth shut, I'm an open book, completely ingenuous - secrecy and circumvention are not my style. But then I've never experienced extreme paranoia. So I'm writing this blog. I know you will never read it, I wouldn't want you to. Not everything is about you. This blog is for ME, a perverse catharsis, I need this right now to preserve the small amount of sanity I have left. A blog fuelled by disappointment, frustration, confusion and dejection. I am not laying the blame at your door. The burden of blame is mine. I didn't speak up soon enough. I didn't want to rock the boat, I've been there before. I didn't want to fight or endure days of being given the silent treatment. Its not fair on the others. Why do you always make everyone feel like they have to take sides? If I had been a better friend, I would have stepped in regardless of the consequences. I acted selfishly because I didn't want to lose you, but ironically, I may have lost you anyway. I meant every word I said at the diner and although I didnt show it, your smirk and glib response hurt me more than you will ever know. I don't know who you are anymore. I cant seem to find the right words. Nothing I say seems to reach you. You are wrong. I DO care. I love you. I refuse to give up on you and I refuse to let you push me away. I am going to fight for our friendship, you aren't the only one with a stubborn streak. We are in this together, for the long haul, I promise. I want my friend back. I miss him.

it seems like whatever the writer is feeling toward the subject of this post goes beyond the boundaries of a typical friendship. the final paragraph says everything we need to know.

we can assume that based on this post's mention of meeting a diner, that frank and gerard likely met up during their month-long break to talk about the way things went down

lastly, i know there's at least one interview floating or blog post around where frank says he was a difficult teen and a pain in the ass as a kid, but i can't find it right now. if anyone has the link to that i would love to add it here, because i remember it sounding pretty similar to that first paragraph.

Sunday, September 23, 2007 Is the pen really mightier than the sword? And so you continue to blog, as do I. The difference is, I am not hurting anyone. I'm just trying to gain some perspective while you are publicly making a fool of yourself. Your words are hungrily devoured and dissected by the masses, you seem to revel in the chaos and controversy. At the moment your identity is pure speculation, but have you thought about the consequences if anyone was able to prove your identity? Not just for you, but for all of us? Have you lost your mind? How can you be so selfish? You have become a self obsessed megalomaniac. I know what I get out of writing my blogs - but what do you get out of writing yours? Do you even bother to read the comments? Some of those comments break my heart. These aren't just nameless, faceless strangers, these are real people with real lives and real feelings. These are the people that allowed us to bring our music into their lives. These are the people that we see on tour, the people that wait outside for hours in the cold and rain just to meet us, the people that write us letters and make us scrapbooks, the people who care enough to bake us cookies and brownies, the people that send us birthday cards and bizarre, crazy ass gifts, the people that have given us their love and support, the people that cheer us on, the people that made us. Why are you so hellbent on destroying not only yourself, but everyone who loves you? You wanna see how far down I can sink? Your mom called last night - and I lied to her. After everything she has done for us, I lied to her. How do you think that made me feel? Do you even care?

this last post, for me, solidifies the identities behind each blog. it is so clear through the details in this post. to me, it seems like frank was hurting so bad, and in such a vulnerable place, that he completely let his guard down and made this post.

the mcr lyric included "You wanna see how far down I can sink?" is undoubtedly mind-boggling and speaks volumes to how carelessly obvious frank was (maybe intentionally?) willing to be

there's so much to unpack in this post and i honestly can't even begin to wrap my head around it. i would love to hear anyone's opinion!

later in the post, it seems clear that he is referencing the iam-mayonaise blog and gerard's seemingly wreckless posting. but mostly, i think he was lashing out due to pain of betrayal after losing the closest person to him and someone he deeply loves not once, but twice.

again, it's hard to believe how obvious he was being here, but i really think it was a result of the pain/suffering he felt

if you scroll back up to the first screenshot of this post, you can circle back around to when he removed his entire profile after making this final post, eventually rebranding to "iamthemodernprometheus"

the its-mayonaise account makes this post on september 30, seemingly as a response. the title could apply to frank, who as we all know, was gerard's best friend and right-hand man. the rest of this post can be interpreted in many different ways, so you can make whatever you want out of it:

however, the last paragraph does give me pause... i would love to see/create a full analysis of this post, but i'm trying to stick to facts here so you can form your own judgement

after gerard's wedding and mcr's month long break, they play two shows in mexico (oct 4 & 7, 2007) and then the hoboken show takes place, where frank yells "lie to me" during i'm not okay and seems very low energy and unlike himself

i believe things gradually improved between them after this point, but i'm not sure if their connection was ever completely the same.

conclusion/my opinion

coupled with all of the other available evidence about gerard/frank's tumultuous friendship/relationship/situationship, i think this information strongly alludes to the idea that at the very least, frank had some very intense feelings for gerard that were not fully reciprocated. i would love to hear what anyone else's opinion is on this topic, because it definitely isn't discussed often

i think it's completely heartbreaking (especially with everything else we know) but i do think their incredible connection is a massive contributing factor to mcr's legacy

if you notice any inconsistencies in this post or have any questions, please send me a message! i want to keep this as consistent, comprehensible, and well-sourced as i can!

lastly please follow me if you liked this! i spent months researching and compiling sources for this post and i would so appreciate it <3

[n0cturn4]

Was it worth it?

Character: Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader Summary: In his arms, with the last breath of life Word Count: 948 Music: Hurt Like Hell - Madison Beer

The abandoned building loomed in dark ruins, like a monument to oblivion, its peeling walls and partially open ceiling letting in only scattered drops of the rain outside. The dense shadows of dusk seemed to hold a vigil around us, and the heavy air carried the smell of rust and dampness, so thick it felt as if time itself was trapped there, holding everything stagnant except for the pain.

And then, in the middle of that desolate scene, my eyes found her. She was leaning against the wall, pale, her trembling lips shaped into an expression of exhaustion that no battle could explain, one hand pressed against the open wound on her torso. Blood slipped between her fingers, slow and dark, as if each drop was being pulled from the very essence of her. My heart clenched at the sight, realizing this was no longer one of the many wounds we healed in silence. This was something far deeper, a kind of sacrifice that should never have been hers to make.

She lifted her eyes to mine as she sensed my presence, her face marked by an exhaustion that went beyond the physical, an exhaustion that burned into the soul. Yet still, she managed a tremulous smile—a smile that, somehow, seemed more of a farewell than a greeting. Leaning against the wall, her frail and fading body seemed to struggle against an invisible weight pulling her down, as if the simple act of continuing to breathe demanded every fragment of strength she still possessed.

“Why…?” The question escaped my lips in a whisper barely audible, tearing through the oppressive silence surrounding us. I moved toward her, each step heavy, each movement carrying the weight of what I knew I couldn’t fix. I knelt by her side, my knees pressing into the dirty, damp ground, but none of that mattered. I was so close that I could see the contours of the bloodstains on her clothes, the dark color I knew so well but had never wanted to see there, on her.

She tried to speak, but the sound came out weak, sliced through by the pain. Her lips trembled slightly, and I saw hesitation in her gaze, as if she was afraid to let me know everything that was inside her. I touched her hand, feeling the warmth of life slipping between our fingers as she struggled to find the words. There was something solemn and irreversible in her eyes, as if she had already accepted a fate I still refused to see.

“I… I wanted to protect you, Dad.” Her voice was faint, a breath barely reaching my ears, but every word carried the determination of someone who knew that sacrifice was inevitable. “I knew the risks… knew it would be a one-way road… but I didn’t care. It was my choice.”

I felt my throat tighten, swallowing hard, trying to contain the unbearable weight now crushing my chest. There, in the middle of the shadows, with my daughter fighting for each second of life, the mantle of Batman felt useless. I was nothing but a father, and watching my daughter fade in my arms was a suffering no battle could prepare me for. I held her hand tighter, as if I could anchor her to life, as if I could convince her to stay.

“You didn’t have to do this.” My words came out shaky, almost like a murmur of despair. “I should… I should have protected you… should have stopped you… never should have let you walk down this path.”

She gave a faint smile, that sad and tired smile that bore a courage I had never seen before. Her eyes, even weakened, met mine with a depth that destroyed me inside. She knew, knew everything, and still, she looked at me with an acceptance that felt greater than any understanding I could have.

“Was it worth it?” The question escaped my mouth almost without thinking, a mixture of pain, guilt, and the desperate hope that, somehow, her words could relieve me of this weight that seemed to crush my soul. I needed to believe that all of this wasn’t in vain, that everything she had endured had a greater purpose.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly. Her trembling hand touched my face, a final gesture of affection, and when she spoke, each word came out in a whisper laden with unshakable strength:

“It was worth it, Dad… it was worth it, because I would do it all over again, just to know you’re still here. I was never just your daughter… I am your shadow, and that is my part in your legacy. You gave me purpose. Now, you have to go on, even if I’m not here. You have to keep Gotham safe… that’s the path I chose, for you.”

She closed her eyes, and her hand slipped softly from mine, leaving her last breath to escape her lips. I remained there, holding her in my arms, feeling the weight of loss rooting itself within me, a profound emptiness taking over what had once been a simple desire to fight. The rain outside seemed to intensify, as if the city mourned the loss of a silent heroine, a warrior who had sacrificed herself for something greater than herself.

For a long time, the only sound that filled the space was that of the rain, like a sad melody merging with the emptiness left behind. And I knew, there and forever, that this sacrifice was the greatest Gotham had ever demanded of me—a sacrifice I would carry with me for the rest of my life, a sacrifice that, as she had said, was now an inseparable part of who I was.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

animal

chapter 6

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

warnings: swearing, smut, oral (fem!receiving), unprotected piv, my first time writing smut so i'm sorry if it's horrible

series masterlist │my masterlist

you’ve known three versions of logan so far. the feral, animalistic version of logan that seems to be at the core of who he is - without any memories, that’s the personality he reverted to, those were the actions he took when controlled only by his baser instincts. then there’s the version of logan you imagine he’s created over the years to deal with his pain, the one that drinks himself stupid and fights against his nature to make others more comfortable, terrified to hurt anyone, terrified that he’ll prove to everyone that he’s a monster.

this version of logan though, the one you see before you now, is as close as you’ve ever gotten to knowing the real him. a person's memories and experiences make them who they are, shape them as a person, and the same can be said for logan. but he’s no longer trying to hide what his mutation makes him, at least not as much as before. he’s not the innocent, loving man you’d brought into your home - you doubt you’ll ever get that exact version of logan back - but he expresses himself in a new way now.

he’s explained to you some of the conditions of his mutation, why he acts the way he does. it makes more sense to you now, why his face is always finding its way to your neck, pressed to the spot where your scent is the most pronounced, mixing your scent with his to mark you. it soothes him, to walk by you and recognise that even when he’s not at your side his presence clings to you.

it’s nice, watching him slowly let his guard down, opening up to you. you’re proud of him every time he mutters something about himself or his past to you, quickly and quietly as though he’s partially hoping you won't hear him.

“i love you,” he says, taking a break from kissing you to breathe the words into the shared air between you.

you smile back at him. the words are as easy as breathing. “i love you too.”

he kisses you again, loving and intimate, a hand going to your waist, gripping onto your flesh tightly as if you’ll vanish if he ever lets go. you’ll have bruises in the shapes of his fingers tomorrow, a reminder of his touch, of the way he worships your body. you part your lips for him, gasping lightly when his grip tightens, giving him free reign to explore your mouth with his tongue.

heat grows in your stomach, wetness flooding between your legs, insistent, and you grind down on his lap, feeling him growing hard underneath you. he’s big, you’ve seen him naked enough times to know, but it feels different with you pressed against him, much more imposing.

“need you,” he groans, fingers sliding under the elastic waistband of your sleep shorts, releasing it to watch it slap your skin. you gasp again and he chases the noise with his mouth, catching it on your lips.

he takes his time pulling your sleep shorts down your legs, reverently. there’s always a strange duality to intimacy with logan. he’s intense in everything he does, taking you apart multiple times a night, his gaze almost predatory as he explores your body. and yet he treats you like a queen, taking his time to make sure you feel good before he ever does anything for himself.

he spreads your legs open with his large hands, kneeling between your legs. he kisses up your thighs, so close to where you want him and you squirm.

“please, lo,” you beg, your hands in his hair.

he starts off slow, a consistent rhythm that has you begging for more, your moans growing breathier and louder until he can no longer control himself, eating you out like a man starved. his beard burns against your thighs, a delicious pain that only makes the pleasure more intense.

he adds one finger, the thick digit brushing against your walls, pressing against the spot inside you that makes you cry out. his fingers are bigger than your own, longer too, and he’s always much more effective at fingering you to an orgasm, able to give you what you need. he always knows what you need.

he adds a second finger, and that paired with the way his tongue drags against your clit, catching on the tip, has the pressure building inside you. 

your orgasm hits you like a wave, a slow crescendo and then you’re falling. you ride his face as you cum, using your grip on his hair to pull him closer to you, feeling his nose bump against your clit as you press your cunt against his mouth. you shudder as you come down from your high and logan pulls away, mouth and beard glistening with you.

he’s still nearly fully dressed, which you find absolutely unfair, so you pull his shirt off, tossing it aside, making quick work of removing the rest of his clothes until he’s gloriously naked. his cock is hard and proud, flushed and straining.

he needs you, and he tells you so, the words echoing between you, the sentiment going straight to your core.

you wrap a hand around his cock, stroking him a few times, running your thumb over the tip to collect the beads of precum and rub it down his shaft. he groans at the feeling, rutting into your hand. usually this is the part where you take him into your mouth, let him fuck your throat until you’re gagging around him and spit dribbles from your lips around his thick cock.

but you want something different today, you want more. you haven’t taken this step yet, you didn’t feel ready before, wanting to wait until you were at a point where your rocky, unlabeled relationship felt solid. now, you couldn’t imagine not being ready to share this step with him, to give him every piece of you, putting your life and your love in his hands and begging him to keep it, keep you.

“lay down,” you order him, letting go of his cock to shove lightly at his chest, not hard enough to actually move him - you’re definitely not strong enough for that - but he goes willingly, and you smile at how quickly he complies.

you’re not usually the one giving orders in the bedroom, but he’s always weak to your whims, regardless of how small or meaningless they might seem. he wants to make you happy, something he’s told you multiple times when you teased him about how willing he was to do anything you asked of him. you could easily make him submit to you in bed if you batted your eyelashes at him and asked nicely.

he watches you with dark, lustful eyes as you crawl over him, straddling his lap, grinding your leaking pussy against his hard cock. you both moan at the feeling of your wetness sliding against his length, at how ready you both are for this.

“i want you inside me,” you say.

“are you sure?” logan asks, breathless. he wants it, you can see how hard he’s fighting not to rut up into you, but he’s holding back. it makes you feel warm all over, the way he cares so deeply about you, never pushing your boundaries, never wanting to push for more than what you’ll allow. it makes you want him even more.

“i’m sure,” you affirm, “don’t think i’ve ever felt more ready for anything, actually.”

you line him up with your entrance and slowly sink down, feeling the stretch with every inch of him. you're thankful he stretched you out with his fingers, but you have to stop to breathe regardless when he’s halfway inside, the sound of your heavy breathing mixing with his own ragged pants as he fights to let you take the time you need.

finally you sink down onto him, a sigh escaping your lips when he’s fully sheathed inside you. you roll your hips to adjust to the feeling and logan growls, low in his throat. 

you lift yourself up halfway before sinking back down, a new rush of heat rolling over you when you hear the way logan groans. he holds onto your waist as you move, helping lift you so you don’t get too tired, but eventually you start to falter, unable to keep up the steady rhythm. you pout as your movements become slower, annoyed at yourself, but logan takes over the moment you can’t, rolling you over onto your back so he’s hovering above you.

you wince at the feeling of him slipping out of you, but as soon as he has you positioned on your back the way he wants you, he’s lining himself up with your hole again, fucking into you hard and fast.

“this okay?” he asks, though you doubt he needs the answer given how you’re whining and writhing underneath him.

his thrusts are relentless, a steady pace that he could probably keep up for days and days. he has wonderful stamina, something you’d learnt the first time you’d made him cum when his cock immediately hardened again in your hand, your eyes widening as you looked up at him. he’d shrugged and smirked as he explained he didn’t have much of a refractory period. “‘least not when i’m with someone as pretty as you,” he’d continued.

he’s using one hand to grope your breasts and the other sneaks down between your legs, rubbing circles over your clit. he’s hitting that perfect spot inside of you that has you seeing stars, and you can feel your second orgasm approaching, more intense than the first.

“fuck,” logan grunts, “y’feel so good, so tight.”

he looks wild, fucking into you like this, his eyes roaming over your body like a predator assessing his prey. you feel your stomach twist pleasantly at the thought. he keeps up his pace until you’re coming around him and even as you squeeze around him he doesn’t falter.

“logan!” you scream as he continues, overstimulation bordering on painful.

he grunts and growls, and you grip onto his shoulders, your nails digging into his arms. he moans loud when you accidentally draw blood from the intensity of the hold you have on him. you feel the blood welling against your fingertips and then the strange sensation of his skin stitching itself back together until it's smooth again under your touch.

“gonna breed you,” logan growls, and you babble incoherently in response. you’re not quite sure his words are even penetrating your mind. all you hear is the sound of his voice, the rough timbre of it. “gonna make you mine. my mate.”

“yes, yes logan, please, come inside me. need you!” his thrusts get more erratic as he gets closer to the edge, and then they falter for a moment and he’s coming. hot spurts painting your insides as he keeps fucking into you, shallow thrusts that push his cum deeper, closer to your womb.

he presses a kiss to your stomach, nuzzling his head into the soft flesh there. his breathing is as ragged as yours. you feel completely undone, your mind fuzzy and content, like you could stay right here forever and you’d be perfectly happy.

“that was amazing,” you say.

he looks worried now, eyes narrowing like he’s not quite sure he trusts you to be telling the truth, like what just happened wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life.

“you sure?” he asks, “that wasn’t too much?”

“no,” you smile, “i told you, i like when you act like an animal.”

you can feel his cock hardening again inside you, pressing against your walls. he moves his hips so you can feel it shifting with the change in position, at the perfect angle that he knows will make you scream. you watch his lips curl up, a dark smile that matches the darkness in his eyes as he stares at the way you’re trapped underneath him.

“do you?” he says, not a real question. you love when the feral side of him takes control, and you’re watching it happen now, can read what he wants from the look in his eyes.

yeah, you’re in for a long night. and you couldn’t think of anything better.

“you called me your mate,” you comment much later, feeling sated and boneless with your head resting on logan’s solid chest, feeling it rise and fall along with the steady pace of his breathing.

logan hesitates for a long moment. you can feel him tense underneath you, his muscles freezing in place, the smallest hitch in his breath that you wouldn’t have noticed if not for your close proximity. you don’t mind waiting for him to cycle through his thoughts, the words caught in his throat, seconds ticking by in comfortable silence until his frame relaxes once more and he pulls you in closer.

“i did,” is his only reply. short, succinct, waiting expectantly for your response, your reaction to a term that is distinctly animal-like. it’s also the first time he’s put any sort of label on your relationship, other than calling you “mine”, possessively whispering the word in your ear as if you’ll forget if he doesn’t remind you.

“what does that mean for us?” you ask, tracing patterns on his skin, forming each letter of your name with your index finger, “we’ve never actually said what we are, you know. and i can’t say i know the ‘human’ equivalent of the term mate. does this mean you’re my boyfriend? something else?”

“that’s a childish term,” logan says, lines forming between his brows as he frowns.

you smile, leaning in to kiss away the tension there, feeling the slight sheen of sweat that had formed over his skin while he fucked you, not quite dry yet. you should be getting up to shower, rinsing away the salty layer of sweat from your activities, throwing the ruined bedsheets into the laundry to be replaced by clean ones.

but you’re comfortable where you are now, avoiding the mess you’d made of the sheets by curling up on the other side of the bed, wishing you could push up closer to logan despite the fact that you’re already as close as humanly possible. if only you could crawl into his skin, break past his ribs and settle there, protected where no one else could ever reach you, tucked right against his heart.

“what would you want me to call you then?” you ask.

“for now, nothing,” logan says. in his eyes you see a battle, words and thoughts that you wish you could read, that you hope he’ll one day say aloud. “there isn’t a word that’s enough to describe this. one day i’ll be your husband, but until then, just say you’re mine. my girl.”

“are you proposing to me?” you laugh, eyes bright and smile pulling at your cheeks in a way that’s nearly painful.

“no,” he grunts, “when i propose to you it’ll be much better than this.”

and what else can you do but fall into him? your heart feels like it might burst from the warmth that fills you, threatening to spill out from every cell in your body, too much for anyone to properly handle. it’s on your hands when you use them to hold him down, swinging your leg over his lap so you’re straddled atop of him, kissing him in the hopes that it’s enough to express what words will never be enough to express.

he meets you in the middle, mouth hot and demanding. you’ve never felt more wanted, never felt more loved, like you could take on any struggle the universe may throw at you and be fine because logan’s by your side, always there to catch you. you read the promise on his lips, and the word forever is unspoken but you both hear it anyway.

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams @babey-fruit-bat @meetmypointlessaddiction @kneelforloki @deaky-with-a-c @hypermarvellove @littlepeanut03 @the-ruler-of-death @aliengutzstuff @misscrissfemmefatale @mynamesstevenwithav @teaganthemorningstar @blackkatzz @leryg0 @fries11 @forksloree @i5uckersblog @dragovegogrimborn @quillycrow @melday0105 @just-a-little-cellist @scorpiosaintt @akasha157-blog @insanesosciopath @eridektbh @trickstergabriel69 @lord-bingus666

[shalomniscient]

“are you sure you have everything?”

lyney huffs a bit of a strangled laugh, but nods. he’s somewhat used to your fussing, but it still feels a little… not exactly embarrassing, but a warm heat makes its way from his chest to his cheeks nonetheless. he holds the magic pocket bag closer to his chest as you fix the fastenings of his fatui cloak yet again, fiddling with the clips and ensuring they’re secure and not about to fly off in the harbor wind as it blows freely around them all.

“i’m all set,” he assures you, then glances over at lynette. she’s still a little woozy—it is the break of dawn, after all, since father prefers moving under the dense cover of darkness, and though lynette is awake she’s certainly not ecstatic to be awake. as a result, she’s the next target of your fussing; you gently pat her cheeks to wake her up a little more, and she lets out almost a small, mewling noise before snapping out of her drowsy daze.

“you can rest a little more on the ship, lynette,” you say, and the young woman nods. “if you get seasick, i packed some medicine. and i made some food if you get hungry; it won’t last very long on a ship, so remember to eat it, okay? oh—i also packed earmuffs, be sure to wear them if it gets too cold, alright?”

“understood,” lynette answers, leaning into your touch as you pat her hair. she’s always been more physically affectionate with you, though she tempers herself when the familiar sound of boots and metallic heels on stone tiles echo behind all of you.

“i take it everyone is prepared to set off?” comes father’s calm, even tone. behind her is freminet; he isn’t dressed for travel, since he’ll be staying in fontaine, but followed along to see them off. she’s dressed somewhat similarly, but unlike lyney and lynette who seem to drown in their cloaks, father wears it like a mantle—the fur broadens her already broad shoulders, and she looks more like a king than ever. and yet despite that, you simply turn and stride over to her, your hands reaching out to smooth down the lapels of her cloak.

“just double checking,” you hum, though there’s a little bit of a sigh in your voice. “i think i packed everything.”

father offers you a mild look. “the children know how to pack their own things.”

“i know, but i wanted to help,” you reply, and lyney swears he sees the hard lines of her face soften imperceptibly. there’s a slackness to her normally tense posture as you do all your last minute checks—cufflinks? i have them. hand cream? yes. ID? all settled, dearest—and lyney has to marvel on the sway you have over their typically unshakeable father.

“we should head out,” she says gently, taking one of your wrists in a tender, dark hand. a brief flicker of stubborness flashes across your expression, before you sigh.

“ah, before i forget…” you produce a tiny pouch, and then place it into father’s open palm. she regards it curiously, tilting her head. there’s a rustle of plastic inside, but also the clack of a few hard objects hitting each other. “coffee candies,” you explain, “for when you feel sleepy.”

“thank you,” father says, her tone as warm and soft as it always is with you. she accepts the pouch, and slips it into one of her cloak pockets. “i will remember to have them.”

you huff. “you better. i’ve already told lyney and lynette not to let you skip meals, as you’re so prone to do.”

“is that so?” father asks mildly, glancing at them both, and it takes quite a bit to not shiver under her questioning gaze. lyney truly has no idea how he’ll convince father to eat later on this trip, but he figures dropping your name a few time should do the trick. he hopes.

“it is,” you say firmly, and then your tone softens again. you look up at father, and lyney cannot see your expression from here, but he knows the same is reflected in father’s—loving, with a hint of departure’s sorrow. “be safe. come home.”

“alwaus,” father answers, and lyney, lynette and freminet have the sense to look away when she leans down to kiss you chastely. they only look back up when father steps over to them, leaving you and freminet on the other side of the dock. she levels freminet with a look. “do not forget your duty, freminet.”

he nods resolutely, hugging pers a little tighter. “of course, father.”

(just a few moments ago, she’d pulled him to the side and gave him a direct order, as the fourth fatui harbingers and the knave.

“you will protect the house with your life,” she had said, her tone brookering no argument, though it wasn’t as if freminet was looking to argue. and though father has said ‘the house’, freminet had lived long enough there to know the truth of her words.

“yes, father. i won’t let anything happen to mom.”)

and then, with the bellow of a horn, their little ship sets off into morning light. lyney watches father’s face carefully as the dawn breaks, casting the harbinger’s expression in shades of warm gold. she’s uncharacteristically unguarded in this brief flash of a moment—not that she would ever admit such a thing, even upon threat of death. but lyney knows love is most felt when it is leaving, and so even as she turns on her heel to enter the cabin, he knows she’s already counting down the days before she can return home—return to you.