#social papers anyone?

[blacksheep28]

Pleasantview Community News

Vol 1

A newsletter bringing you the latest in news about our neighborhood Pleasantview! We are starting this off with a historical overview of our neighbors and who they are.

Oldies

A beloved old couple, Coral and Herb raised Mary Sue Pleasant into the wonderful driven woman she is today. They are looking forward to spending their retirement getting to know their grandchildren and spending time with their daughter.

Burbs

Jenny is the sister of Daniel Pleasant, a woman with a workaholic drive. John is more than happy to stand by her side and support her with all his heart. Their little daughter Lucy hasn't decided what she wants in the world yet, but is looking forward to what she finds in Pleasantview.

Broke

Brandi Broke is the mother of Dustin and Beau. A friend of Darren Dreamer's, she had been happy in her marriage with Skip before his tragic pool accident. Brandi is devoted to her children and wants to give them the best that she can, but even before Skip died the family was poor. Brandi has found herself unable to work, as she has to look after her toddler Beau, leaving teenage Dustin as the sole bread winner of the family. He's found work as a runner for a local gang, but dreams of something larger than a life of crime, more secure. Angela Pleasant, his girlfriend, has all the luxuries he dreams of, and believes if a good girl like her could love a bad boy like him, it may just be possible.

Goth

The founding family of Pleasantview, the Goth family is an ancient lineage steeped in wealth. They have always experienced life closer to southern gothic horror than others may imagine, with mad men, tragic deaths, and more plaguing their history. Mortimer himself was a mad scientist, and a successful one. He married the beautiful Bella, and had two children with her, Alexander and Cassandra. The horrors that stalk the family struck again however, with Bella vanishing and leaving the family in their grief. Cassandra found herself dreaming of a true love that would sweep her away, and thought she found it in Don Lothario, the town's cassanova. They even became engaged! Alexander has clung tightly to his father as his closest friend in his childhood, and watches with caution as Dina Caliente courts his father for possible marriage.

Lothario

A man of pleasure, Don has two goals in life: love as many women as possible, and be admired as a musician. He has successfully seduced his neighbors, the Caliente sisters Dina and Nina, his maid Kaylynn Langerak, and the daughter of the Goth family, Cassandra. Sure Cassandra is far more serious about their relationship than he cares for, but he's sure he can handle it!

Caliente

The mysterious and beautiful Caliente sisters! Both are adoring of Don's love making skills. Nina is more than happy with their relationship as is, she doesn't want to be serious anymore than he does! As long as he gives her enough love she's happy to let him be and focus on her dreams of being a star athlete. Dina of course has always been more monetary focused. Her marriage to Michael Bachelor certainly helped set the pair up with their current lifestyle, but his death has her hunting again. Luckily she knew Michael's sister Bella, and about the Goth family through her. With Bella gone, Dina has her eyes set on a particularly large catch. Don is a far better lover, but Mortimer Goth is where the money's at.

Dreamer

Darren Dreamer is a creative man with big dreams. With his wife Darleen he had his son Dirk. It was a tragedy when his wife died a couple years ago. Slowly they've moved on from there. Darren fell in love with Cassandra Goth, though Cassandra hasn't noticed it, and has been close with Brandi Broke as they shared plans for how to work on a small budget. The family is struggling. Dirk found an escape from this in Lilith Pleasant. She is struggling just as much with life as Dirk is, but together they have found sweet moments of reprieve.

Pleasant

Mary Sue and Daniel Pleasant married some time ago and had baby twin girls. At the start of their relationship, Mary Sue and Daniel were madly in love. Daniel swept Mary Sue away in a wave of passion, and Mary Sue's melting under his attention was addicting. Of course, that changed when the twins were born, and they had to focus on the world beyond each other. It was clear to Mary Sue and Daniel that Angela was a good girl, and Lilith...was not. Of course they didn't do anything bad, they aren't terrible people or anything. They simply left Lilith mostly to herself, instead pouring their hopes and love onto Angela alone.

Mary Sue grew more distant as she became more and more involved with her career, working towards the coveted position of a board holder, while Daniel grew bored and frustrated from his wife always being busy. Daniel turned to the family maid, Kaylynn Langerak, to romance, and enjoy. It was easy to be happy when he could make Kaylynn forget her work under his touch, just like Mary Sue used to when they were younger.

Angela found a reprieve from the expectations of perfection her parents unknowingly placed on her in bad boy Dustin. She does her best to keep Dustin clear of her family, she needs to keep her good girl image up after all. Lilith is bitter from years of her parents favoring her sister over her, and Angela picking on her and claiming everything Lilith tries to claim. She dreams of a life far from her family, perhaps as a chef of some sort. Dirk Dreamer was the first person she can remember to look at her and really see her, Lilith, and not just a poor copy of her sister.

[chiimeramanticore]

if we are mutuals and you aren't into animatronics I'm sorry

[dalermessi]

On August 6th, 1936, Josep Sunyol made a mistake that cost him his life. The Republican president of FC Barcelona, a proud Catalan, was executed by Nationalist forces in the midst of the Spanish Civil War, after saluting troops he mistakenly identified as part of the Republican resistance by yelling, “Viva la República,” (Camino, 2014). The assassination of Sunyol symbolized the beginning of an oppressive era where regional cultures were restrained in Spain, particularly the autonomous community of Catalonia. The most publicly admired and respected representation of Catalanism, Futbol Club Barcelona, colloquially known as Barça, faced countless hardships during the fascist dictatorship of Francisco Franco from 1939 to 1975. The club rapidly became one of the only ways the Catalan people could freely express themselves and fight against Franco, especially by playing the team that became the face of the regime, Real Madrid. In the present day, Barça continues to symbolize hope and freedom for Catalonians. Amid the rise of Francoist Spain in the mid-1900s, escalating tensions between Catalan club FC Barcelona and centralist Real Madrid transformed their rivalry into a political product representing the struggles of the Catalan people, illustrating how football transcends the limits of sport to reach social and political issues, particularly through the ambience of stadiums.

Throughout Spain, football stadiums became an essential place of solace for oppressed fans, where they were free to speak out on the issues that plagued their lives. People could openly express their identities in the stands, as matches between teams of different regions often represented a conflict larger than the game itself. One example of Catalonians using football for this purpose dates back to the pre-Franco era, when “the Spanish national anthem was played to a chorus of boos before a match at Les Corts, FC Barcelona’s stadium in 1925” (O’Brien, 2013). Even prior to Catalonians being officially repressed under Franco, it was clear that they valued their regional identity more strongly than their national one.

As the dictatorship grew stronger, regional teams like FC Barcelona faced the brunt of the nationalist policies. In promoting a unified Spain, the regime heavily cracked down on aspects of localized culture. The Catalan language, in all forms, was banned in public, and only Castilian Spanish was permitted (Shobe, 2008). An order passed in 1941 required that the Catalan name of “Futbol Club Barcelona” be renamed to the Spanish “Club de Fútbol de Barcelona” (Kassimeris, 2012). The Catalan senyera flag was also banned, and so the senyera in FC Barcelona’s coat of arms was replaced with the newly created flag representing the fascist state (Shobe 2008). Under the severe Castilization of their environment, the people of Catalonia were being stripped of their identities right in front of their eyes. With essentially no power, the Catalan people “threw their cultural pride into Barça. At a Barça match, people could shout in Catalan and sing traditional songs when they could do it nowhere else” (Shobe, 2008). Inside the stadium was where it was openly acceptable to oppose the restrictions of the regime and where liberation felt most realistic.

On the other side of the country, Real Madrid was thriving as the favorite club of the regime. Franco believed the Spanish national team was not gaining enough traction internationally, as they did not qualify for the World Cup multiple times in a row and performed poorly the years they did. Fortunately for him, “the image of the Spanish national team was blurred by the prevalence and success of Real Madrid in European Football from 1956,” effectively thrusting the club into the international spotlight (Goig, 2007). Real Madrid won five consecutive European Cups from 1956 to 1960, and their recognition both in and out of Spain surged with each victory (Quiroga, 2015). The relationship between the team and the regime was undoubtedly symbiotic. Real Madrid portrayed a positive image of the dictatorship to international audiences, while Franco gave them his full-fledged support and funds. In the 1960s, as television ownership grew across the country, Real Madrid was the most broadcasted team (O’Brien, 2013). The increased public exposure to the club acted as justification for the actions of the fascist regime, because people started paying more attention to football than to the government. Supporters of Real Madrid, known as madridistas, had no idea what was happening politically behind closed doors, nor did they seem to care.

The matches between FC Barcelona and Real Madrid, termed el clásico, were expectedly controversial. Spanish media outlets moved quickly to polarize the two sides, with newly-created “Marca” pushing for Real Madrid and the dictatorship, while “El Mundo Deportivo” supported FC Barcelona and ultimately the oppressed people of Catalonia (O’Brien, 2013). The politicization of the sporting rivals is seen best in a famed clásico played in June 1943, the second leg of a knockout round in the Spanish Cup. FC Barcelona had won the first game 3-0 and were on track to advance to the next round, until police officials entered the Catalan locker room before the game. Flash forward a few hours, and Real Madrid won the game with a score of 11 to 1 (Shobe, 2008). The interference by the Francoist police no doubt played a significant role in Barça losing so severely. While it is not known what exactly was told to the Barcelona players in the locker room, it can be inferred that they were threatened to purposefully lose the game, otherwise, they could lose their lives.

As the dictator fell ill, FC Barcelona worked to reverse the impacts of his policies and reclaim their Catalan identity. During the 1973-1974 season, they shed the Spanish name of “Club de Fútbol de Barcelona” and went back to the Catalan version it currently holds (Shobe, 2008). Additionally, in 1975, the club switched the official language back to Catalan, thus once again proudly representing the people of Catalonia (Quiroga, 2015). After Franco’s death, the effects of the regime collapsing were felt immediately in stadiums across the country. One clásico played just a month after Franco’s death in 1975 experienced the largest public emergence of senyera flags since the Civil War, and in Basque Country, a similarly tyrannized region of Spain, a game between two local teams “witnessed the spectacle of both captains carrying the Basque flag on to the pitch before the game” in early 1976 (O’Brien, 2013). Events that would have been inconceivable just months earlier were now reality, as stadiums reflected the transition back to a more accepting nation.

These bold representations of cultural unity at football games did not cease in the years after Franco. In fact, they have grown stronger in the 21st century. In the 2009 Spanish Cup final between Basque side Athletic Club de Bilbao and FC Barcelona, the crowd vehemently booed King Juan Carlos I and the Spanish national anthem before kickoff (Ortega, 2015). Decades later, supporters have not forgotten the unjust treatment they were put through and are still vocal about it during matches. A fan of Celta de Vigo, situated in once-repressed Galicia, proclaimed that “On going to a match we never forget Galician prisoners, repression, the secular subjection of Galicia... Spain limits the ways in which we can fight, so football is a way of voicing our demands” (Spaaij & Viñas, 2013). While fans of teams in marginalized regions use every opportunity they can to bring light to the maltreatment and discrimination of their pasts, for the most part, Real Madrid supporters do not follow the same path. In 2010, when Real Madrid beat FC Barcelona 1-0 in the Spanish Cup final, a large group of madridistas gathered in downtown Madrid, carrying Spanish flags while cheering “I’m a Spaniard, Spaniard, Spaniard” (Ortega, 2015). It is incredibly telling that in choosing to reaffirm their national identity rather than regional, madridistas see themselves as representing the entire country. As Franco’s Spanish Nationalist movement saw its triumph over Republican forces as a victory for Spain, madridistas still see a Real Madrid victory over a formerly oppressed team as a win for the whole nation.

In 2017, Catalonia became the forefront of global news as violence broke out amidst an independence referendum. On October 1st, the autonomous community conducted a vote regarding whether Catalonia should declare independence from the Kingdom of Spain, and the regional government announced that out of 2.25 million votes, about 90% were in favor of separating (Dewan, Clarke, & Cotovio, 2017). Unfortunately, the vote was heavily obstructed by the Madrid government. National forces were sent in from the capital, “fir[ing] rubber bullets at protesters and voters trying to take part in the referendum, and us[ing] batons to beat them back,” injuring around 900 people (Dewan et al., 2017). Predictably, FC Barcelona is often utilized to discuss and promote Catalonian independence, such as in 2010 when a banner declaring that “Catalonia is not Spain” was displayed during a game against English club Arsenal (O’Brien, 2013). When the central government began plans to thwart voting earlier in September of 2017, Barça decided to speak out. The club released a statement on Twitter, expressing that “FC Barcelona...remain[s] faithful to its historic commitment to the defense of the nation, to democracy, to freedom of speech, and to self-determination...FC Barcelona...will continue to support the will of the majority of Catalan people” (FC Barcelona, 2017). In openly showing support towards Catalan citizens’ voting rights and the independence referendum, Barça effectively bridges the gap between sports and politics. This is a two-way street: FC Barcelona stands up for their adherents, just as fans turn to the club to escape injustice time and time again. Coincidentally, Barça had a game scheduled the same day as the vote, which was played behind closed doors in order to eliminate the possibility of violence erupting in the crowd. The opposing team, Las Palmas, wore “special uniforms emblazoned with the Spanish flag,” something very out of the ordinary (Minder & Barry, 2017). Such a display could not tell a more pointed message.

The Franco dictatorship shaped the future of Spanish football forever, with Real Madrid and FC Barcelona at the forefront of the action. Real Madrid’s consistent success found them gaining the trust of the regime, which showcased the club’s victories as a positive interpretation of the fascist dictatorship itself. The desire of a unified, homogeneous Spanish state fueled regional tension, especially in Catalonia. Despite having their language and flag taken away, the Catalan people sought comfort in the stadium of FC Barcelona, where they could freely sing and speak and cheer for their team. In the decades after Franco, FC Barcelona has captivated audiences across Spain and the globe, cementing the club’s status as the most powerful cultural institution of Catalonia. “When the team took the field against FC Valencia in February 2012, nine players from the starting 11 emerged from the club’s Cantera System” (O’Brien, 2013), illustrating the importance Barça places on homegrown players. By providing unmatched talent bred exclusively in the club’s own youth academy, FC Barcelona is ensuring that they are conveying the best image of Catalanism to the rest of the world. As the Catalan struggle for independence continues, Barça was, is, and will continue to be a significant characteristic of the identities of millions of Catalonians. FC Barcelona represented hope in a time where its people needed it the most, and it is still the most influential institution in Catalonia to this day. The club and region are inextricably intertwined, as best seen in the passionate cheer: “Visca el Barça i visca Catalunya” - long live FC Barcelona and long live Catalonia.

References

Camino, M. (2014). ‘Red Fury’: Historical memory and Spanish football. Memory Studies,7(4), 500-512. doi:10.1177/1750698014531594

Dewan, A., Clarke, H., & Cotovio, V. (2017, October 02). Catalonia referendum: What just happened? CNN. Retrieved from https://www.cnn.com/2017/10/02/europe/catalonia- independence-referendum-explainer/index.html

Goig, R. L. (2007). Identity, nation‐state and football in Spain. the evolution of nationalist feelings in Spanish Football. Soccer & Society,9(1), 56-63. doi:10.1080/14660970701616738

FC Barcelona, @FCBarcelona. (20 September, 2017). Communique - Attached Image. [Twitter post]. Retrived from https://twitter.com/FCBarcelona/status/910462298908708864

Kassimeris, C. (2012). Franco, the popular game and ethnocentric conduct in modern Spanish football. Soccer & Society,13(4), 555-569. doi:10.1080/14660970.2012.677228

Minder, R., & Barry, E. (2017, October 01). Catalonia's Independence Vote Descends Into Chaos and Clashes. The New York Times. Retrieved from https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/01/ world/europe/catalonia-independence-referendum.html

O’Brien, J. (2013). ‘El Clasico’ and the demise of tradition in Spanish club football: Perspectives on shifting patterns of cultural identity. Ethnicity and Race in Association Football, 25-40. doi:10.4324/9781315094304-3

Ortega, V. R. (2015). Soccer, nationalism and the media in contemporary Spanish society: La Roja, Real Madrid & FC Barcelona. Soccer & Society,17(4), 628-643. doi:10.1080/14660970.2015.1067793

Quiroga, A. (2015). Spanish Fury: Football and National Identities under Franco. European History Quarterly,45(3), 506-529. doi:10.1177/0265691415587686

Shobe, H. (2008). Place, identity and football: Catalonia, Catalanisme and Football Club Barcelona, 1899–1975. National Identities, 10(3), 329-343. doi:10.1080/14608940802249965

Spaaij, R., & Viñas, C. (2013). Political ideology and activism in football fan culture in Spain: A view from the far left. Soccer & Society, 14(2), 183-200. doi:10.1080/14660970.2013.776467

[i-love-tubbs-the-cat]

i think overall accessibility of information is so incredibly important as well and having that barrier to entry i think can be really dangerous actually

[teleomancer]

.

[loriache]

your kabru meta is sooooo good thx for sharing

omg, thank you <3333333 !

this made me so happy to receive. i'm sooooo glad people like it!! I've been reading the tags and nodding thoughtfully. there's a great little community of Kabru philosophers on tumblr, I'm noticing. he's the people's princess. as he deserves.

he's just so crunchy to me. his motives are well realised and complex, and he's both deeply moral and altruistic, insincere and an incredibly skilled manipulator, saviour complex, othered since childhood, genuine love for mankind and kindness even when it doesn't serve him .... pragmatic to the point of totally sublimating his own desires, but still cares for others.... a ruthless killer........ ohhh it's like he was made in a lab for me actually i'm realising as i'm typing this out. like he fits the mold. allen walker from d.gray-man is the same type and he also made me ill back in the day. still does tbh. i just didn't realise because they're usually white haired anime boys - and he is so much better because he isn't one!!!

dungeon meshi as a whole, particularly the characters, definitely kabru, have got a hold on me such that i'm actually writing my thoughts up and sharing rather than .. or more accurately, as well as .. endlessly ranting at my friends and family about them. There's just so many intricate parts and it fits together so well! such a beautifully constructed manga.... I haven't had this much fun since I was writing my dissertation for my masters. well actually idk if i would call that fun lmao. this is definitely fun!! There Will Be More. you can count on it. and more art too.

Anyway thank YOU for reading my meta and enjoying it and coming to tell me so, you're the best and you made my day. MWAH

[whentherewerebicycles]

also i have probably said this before but i think faculty need to stop telling students that they shouldn’t go to graduate school. yes students should have the information they need to make the decision (including info about the low stipends, the not-so-great culture of many graduate programs, the vanishingly small number of stable academic jobs, etc). but i’ve always felt like some students are going to hear that and think “well, it won’t be me, i’ll work hard and beat the odds!” (typically your well-off students who have a lot of social & navigational capital and an assured sense of belonging in higher ed spaces), while other students are going to hear it and think “i wonder if they’re just saying that because they think i’m not cut out for graduate study.”

[mekatrio]

damn what a coincidence i was literally just researching lolicon phenomenon this week and now theres a kpop controversy abt it

[inkats]

the best place to take nap ? lecture hall.

[nym-wibbly]

Supernatural fandom seems determined to fight with itself. I've been out and about in the Tumblr tags, and hunting down potential fics-to-read on AO3, and every few clicks there's something. My 'ship is more valid than your 'ship. Those people over there are so crappy and wrong while we're great and right over here, why don't those other people stop being horrid about us people. Character X sucks. Actor X sucks. Supernatural itself sucks. Pairing XxX is evil, bad, wrong, toxic, triggering, too popular, going to destroy planet Earth if people don't quit that immediately. Folks projecting fannish drama and headcanons onto the cast and tabloid-style looking for out-of-context quotes and pix to support their vision.

It's not inside my comfy little curated bubble (other than a bit of Ask trolling), because Tumblr Savior is my personal deity, so this isn't a complaint post. It's got me curious and thinking about why some fandoms strongly feature such conflict over fictional things and others - for the most part - don't. Most of the fandoms I've been part of had far more creativity and positivity than they did wank and negativity. And it's got me wondering if any fandoms ever come out the other side and sort of settle down into the same live-and-let-live, supportive fun other fandoms enjoy from the beginning, or if that's set in stone. Is it cyclical as new waves of fans arrive and others depart? Does the source material influence this aspect of a fandom, shape it somehow, or is it something we create from thin air?

Of my currently active fandoms, it's only Supernatural that's doing fight club in the Tumblr fandom tags. The others are all, hey! crack theory! and shyly proffering some fanart and shitposting and reaction posting and rplay and pointing out the cool bits of canon with diagrams and illustrations and rude emojis. And all the pretty pretty GIFsets, of course, which is 95% of what draws me to Tumblr as a fannish space.

It may be the sheer size and ubiquity of the Supernatural fandom, dragging in a much wider and more varied circle of people-who-actively-engage than a more niche or scope-limited canon, but... Well, I'm startled. That's the point of this post, I guess. It's been a good long while since a fandom startled me in either a positive or a negative way. And even longer since I had to find ways to block 'ship wars and character/performer h*te out of my sphere of consciousness while looking for fannish content to consume and respond to. I think Harry Potter in the noughties was the last time I hit infighting that I couldn't effortlessly avoid? (And yeah, people are still wanking themselves off in public about the relative worthiness of those characters and 'ships, too, which lends itself slightly to my tentative fandom-size-and-cultural-reach thesis!)

[enigmasandepiphanies]

oh i am so mediocre at what i do

[playingonedchess]

339 posts of bullshit i really can never shut up

[kethabali]

hehehehe ever since i decided to drop that stupid class i am fulll of energy i'm so glad i remembered i can do this and didn't go through another semester of constantly avoiding burn out rather than thriving and being able to do many things outside of going to class and doing coursework

[queenpiranhadon]

"The fuck are you doin' up so late, hah?"

"I could say the same to you, Ryo."

The pink haired man in your college dorm rolls his eyes. "I had football practice. You know that. What's your excuse?"

You shrug. "Homework."

He squints at you in annoyance, kicking off his shoes without much care as to where they went, much to your protest. "Didn't you take like a billion AP courses back in high school? Why're you so busy?"

You raise an eyebrow at him. "I still got exams to study for." you yawn, tiredly. "What time is it?"

Sukuna sighs. "12:36."

You blink, your sleep deprived mind trying to wrap itself around that information. "They kept you till midnight?!"

He sighs, discarding his jacket and throwing his sweaty shirt onto his desk chair, joining the accumulating pile of laundry you know you'll have to do later. "We're going against Tokyo tomorrow. Said we needed to work our asses off to beat Satoru Gojo."

You raise your eyebrow. You didn't know much about football, but Sukuna forced you to go to enough games that you had the general idea. "The quarterback? They do realize you're only second to him stats-wise, right? It's very possible you'll beat him. The strongest has a lot of weaknesses too."

Sukuna grins, kissing your head before slipping into the shower.

He's not sure when he fell in love with you. You two were on basically on opposite sides of the spectrum that was college social circles. And then one day he saw you in the library, barely sparing a glance at him and brushing past him to leave.

To be honest, he was kinda shocked. Most girls tended to get extremely flustered or excited when they saw him, and you...you basically didn't give a shit.

But Ryomen Sukuna never encountered rejection - even if indirectly.

He wasn't going to start with you.

Eventually, you started to warm up to him, and you saw a different side to the merciless and arrogant heartthrob that walked through the halls of campus with such confidence it was almost palpable.

The next semester, the two of you became roommates.

Now, where there was you, there was Sukuna. The definition of a power couple, you supplied the brains and he the brawn.

Sukuna never really thought he was one for love, but when he steps out of the shower, finding you slumped over your papers, asleep, he seems to fall in love with you all over again.

You were strong.

Maybe not physically, by the determination and fiery look in your eyes he saw everyday was something he always respected, and eventually, something he fell in love with.

Slipping on a shirt and sweats, he stacks your papers to the best of his ability, before carefully lifting your sleeping form gently. "Damn woman, you're gonna be the death of me...falling asleep on me like this..." he mutters, a soft look in his eyes.

He'd rather die than have anyone see him like this, but you? You were an exception.

And as the brings you close and feels the soft lull of sleep beckoning him closer, he realizes you always would be.

A/N: This might be ooc shhhhhh this was just rlly cute I love him hehehe

[selfcarecap]

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. 

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. 

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it. 

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it? 

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead? 

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. 

He could give it to you. 

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside. 

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. 

Sappy motherfucker. 

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep. 

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse. 

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks. 

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you. 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. 

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. 

It’s soo stupid. 

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps. 

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you. 

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again. 

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself. 

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist? 

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him. 

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

-

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw. 

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone. 

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw? 

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it. 

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it. 

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.” 

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. 

“Did you draw it?” He asks. 

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

“Secret admirer?” 

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.” 

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended. 

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. 

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” 

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” 

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all. 

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

-

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven. 

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect. 

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?). 

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time. 

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him? 

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

-

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know. 

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight. 

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid. 

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say. 

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that). 

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile. 

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh. 

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him. 

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone. 

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears. 

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is. 

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him. 

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his. 

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long. 

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better. 

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access. 

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide. 

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged. 

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead. 

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath. 

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself. 

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still. 

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head. 

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while. 

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is. 

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

[racefortheironthrone]

Nobody is making anyone go into scriptwriting. No one is born in a Netflix company town where their dad takes them into the script mines at age 12. Fuck writers who want to get paid more than once for the same job. They should only get residuals AFTER all the people who do REAL WORK, like construction, grips, costume, makeup & animators etc. Most of them are much better at their jobs than writers especially for streaming services, and they are what screenwriters can lean on & novelists can't.

People need to realize that the unions for white collar people like WGA or SIEU or NEA (public sector unions are why cops who kill the people they were supposed to serve & protect remain employed get pensions) is not the AFL-CIO or any other historical union fighting for the lives of the people who built the country's industry and made it run, any more than the NRA are the Minutemen of 1775 New England.

First, go fuck yourself, you fucking scab. No, seriously - you don't come to my blog and spout off about what workers deserve unions and decent pay and what ones don't, like it's your fucking decision. The intellectual labor that writers perform is just as real as any other work done on a film set - "all who labor by hand or brain" is the inherent logic of industrial unionism for a reason.

Second, writers aren't asking to get paid more than once: residuals are deferred pay, you absolute moron. In Hollywood, whether it's writers or actors or voice talent or whatever, you get a small fraction up front - it's usually an ok check, depending on the union's day rates and so forth, but you can't make a living off stitching these together - and then most of your pay comes from monthly royalty checks that provide you with the income you need to live off when you're between jobs.

The problem is that, historically in Hollywood, residuals have been structured with a very long "tail" - the payments start out relatively low and then get more generous over time as the show has more seasons and (presumably) goes into syndication. This doesn't work with streaming's new business model, where increasingly shows are getting 2-3 seasons max and streaming services have become increasingly quick to not just cancel shows but yank them off their servers in order to avoid paying residuals.

So what WGA writers are fighting for is a system that ensures writers (but also actors and other creative workers, because the unions pattern bargain) get a fair share of the show's revenue, even if the show is only given 2-3 seasons.

Third, the U.S labor movement would not exist today if it wasn't for white collar workers and public sector workers. About half of the U.S labor movement - 7 million workers - is public sector, and those workers are overwhelmingly women of color, mostly working as either teachers or postal workers. Likewise, about half the U.S labor movement is made up of white collar workers, and we're graduate students and adjuncts and lab researchers, teachers and social workers, administrators and IT departments.

I'm both public sector and white collar, and I'm a member of an NEA union. I'm an adjunct professor who earns $6,000 a course and it's my job to get working adults with jobs and families who've never gone to college or who've been out of higher ed for a decade to graduate with a bachelor's or a master's. If you don't think that's real work, you're free to research and write all the lectures and powerpoints, deliver those in an entertaining and educational fashion, answer a flood of questions from students who need help navigating academia, and then grade all the midterms and finals and research papers.