#starting with some smaller stuff to ease back into posting

[sceletaflores]

SINK IN ME WITH YOUR DOG TEETH!

ೃ⁀➷ pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

ೃ⁀➷ wc: 7.0k

ೃ⁀➷ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, feral nasty unhinged logan yes god, logan only slightly losing his humanity but like it’s a lot less sad than it sounds, maybe some toxic relationship dynamics but who cares it’s porn, predator/prey dynamics, p in v, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, HEAVY scent kink (like don’t make me say it…but beware of some very subtle armpit stuff), pain kink, biting is just another form of sexual penetration guys, blood, so much come and come talk, creampie, squirting, this is just gross, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

ೃ⁀➷ nat's note: hi…hi y’all…so here’s the winner of the poll and i need everyone to just hear me out for a second! walk with me! this is probably the most unhinged thing i’ve ever written, like omg those tags. this upsetting depravity was inspired by this post by @stupidfuckingwindow and this post by @monimccoythings which both altered the chemical balances of my brain so fiercely i blacked out for a while and when i came to this was in front of me. merry christmas and happy holidays! take this not at all christmas themed fic as my present to you my precious angels. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

you notice a strange shift in logan...

There’s something off with Logan.

The changes were subtle, but you’ve been with him long enough now to pick up on them. And while he's always had a raw, untamed edge to him, a sort of wildness simmering just beneath the surface, this feels different.

It started with the way he would go quiet for longer than usual, like his mind was too far away for you to reach—lost to somewhere distant.

Logan has always been quiet, but this was a different kind of silence. Conversations that used to flow with ease now hang in the air, unfinished. All of his responses reduced to nothing but low grunts and clipped words.

And he was more territorial over you, so much more.

His hand has started to linger at the small of your back or the curve of your waist for a lot longer when you’re in public, his strong grip firm enough to remind you—and anyone nearby—that you’re his.

He would fume at even the slightest hint of someone else's interest in you, a low warning growl escaping his throat to anyone who spared you a second glance.

It wasn’t just the physical closeness, though. It was also in the way Logan has started to watch you—his sharp gaze a never ending constant. An all imposing, heavily looming shadow.

There were even times late at night when you thought he was asleep, that you’d find him staring at you in the dark.

Not the usual, protective gaze he’d have when he thought you were vulnerable, but something deeper, more intense. His breathing would be slow, measured, but there was this energy, this tension that hummed between the two of you.

The nights he did manage to sleep, he’d hold you close to him, his grip iron-tight, his face buried in your hair. If you tried to shift away, even for a second, he’d stir, his arms pulling you back with a quiet, possessive growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

There were bite marks on your neck when you'd wake up, small enough to pass off as nothing—at least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself, but each one felt like a brand. They were deeper, more deliberate.

Then there was the scent—his scent.

You swear it’s gotten stronger, more potent. It clings to you like a second skin, lingering in your clothes, your sheets, even your hair. An intoxicating blend of leather and pine and musk that makes your head spin.

Each time you left the house without him, he’d pin you to the mattress and rub himself all over you before begrudgingly let you walk out the door. His hands or his face running along the delicate skin of your neck, of your stomach, of your wrists.

Everywhere.

He was claiming you in ways—new ways—that left you both exhilarated and confused.

There were other things too, smaller but no less odd things that were starting to add up.

More and more of your clothes have slowly started to go missing over the past few weeks. Each morning when you open any of your dresser drawers, it seems like there are less and less filling them.

Shirts, shorts, socks, bras, panties. All things you’ve found shoved under his side of the mattress or tucked under his pillow. The most memorable hiding place was the front pocket of his leather jacket, your favorite pair of panties haphazardly stuffed inside.

You haven’t said anything about it yet, unsure if you should be concerned or amused.

It isn’t like he’s truly hurting anyone.

He’s just acting…strange.

A part of you can’t help but be drawn to it—the new intensity, the new rawness. There was something undeniably magnetic about the way he clings to you, like you're his anchor in a world constantly shifting beneath his feet.

You’ve seen Logan at his worst—bloody, broken, and lost. But this? It’s never been like this before.

Whatever it is, it has its claws in him deep, and by extension, you.

You just got home from a run, barely walking through the door and kicking your shoes off when a call of your name rings out from the bedroom.

Logan’s tone stops you in your tracks—low and rough, like gravel crunching underfoot.

Your reaction is nearly instant, breath hitching in your chest, heart skipping a beat as a warmth that has nothing to do with the temperature outside starts to pulse through you steadily.

It’s like you’ve become reprogrammed to respond to him this way, your body reacting before your mind can even catch up as his deep, familiar voice rolls over the sweaty expanse of your skin.

You drop your bag at your feet and slowly make your way to the bedroom, a bead of sweat trailing down your temple as you push the door open.

All the curtains are closed, the only light in the room a yellow glow that shines from your bedside lamp. 

Logan is sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his palms, but there’s nothing casual about his posture.

His gaze is locked on you, dark and intense, tracking every step you take, like a lion stalking a gazelle as it drinks from a watering hole.

“Didn’t tell me where you were going.” His eyes gleam as the lamp’s rays reflect off of them, his pupils dilated so he can see you better in the darkness that shrouds your room.

You swallow hard, trying to be as nonchalant as you can as your feet carry you to your dresser. “I went for a run,” you reply, your voice a little too steady, a little too casual.

You tug open the top drawer, rifling around for a clean shirt with a little more focus than necessary to distract yourself from the way his eyes burn a hole into your back.

“You didn’t tell me,” Logan repeats, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “You know I don’t like it when I don’t know where my girl is.”

There’s a sharp edge to his words, but it’s not anger—it’s something far more primal.

The energy in the room crackles like a storm about to break, and you feel it in your bones, in the way your skin prickles under his gaze.

"I was only gone for an hour," you say, your voice measured, careful. "You were still asleep when I left, I didn’t want to wake you." 

You chance a glance over your shoulder, and the sight of him steals the air from your lungs.

Logan hasn’t moved an inch from his perch on the edge of the bed, but the sheer force of his presence keeps you rooted in place, heart hammering in your chest.

“Hmm, that’s real sweet, baby,” he drawls, sitting up straighter now, leaning forward.

The motion makes him seem larger somehow, shoulders broad and imposing in the dim light. His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip, and the way his gaze rakes over you feels like a physical touch, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

Your fingers still in the drawer, fabric slipping from your grasp as your pulse pounds in your ears. You can’t bring yourself to look away from him, caught in the snare of his sharp, predatory focus.

You turn slowly, arms falling to hang limply at your sides. "I wasn't gone long."

Logan tilts his head, a low, amused sound rumbling in his chest as he rises to his feet with a fluid, deliberate ease that makes your stomach flip.

“Didn’t feel that way to me, darlin’.” His voice is a deep, gravelly purr. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Felt like forever.”

His eyes never leave yours as he crosses the room, the green completely swallowed by the dark black of his pupils as they seep into the color like oil spilling out over the surface of a lake.

You’ve never seen him like this before, so hungry.

"Logan," you say slowly, back pressed tightly against your dresser. "You're really starting to freak me out." 

Logan hums idly, head cocked to the side as he watches you. "I can hear your heartbeat." 

His tone is calmer now, but there’s still a dangerous edge to it, like a knife pressed just lightly enough against the skin not to break it.

Your pulse races, heat simmering in your stomach despite the slight edge of fear clawing its way through your chest.

He stops in front of you, so close that his scent invades your senses strong enough to make your knees feel like they’re about to buckle beneath you.

“There’s nothin’ to be scared of baby,” he mutters quietly, thick arms coming up to cage you against the dresser. 

Your hold on the wood tightens, your knuckles turning white with the strength of your grip.

It’s almost chemical, the way you can feel your body start to give in to him. The thought fills you with as much arousal as it does unease, a heady combination that churns in your stomach.

You muster up enough will to breathlessly nod in agreement, a quiet submission.

Logan’s lips quirk into the faintest smirk, his heavy gaze dipping to the curve of your neck, lingering on the rapid flutter of your pulse. “That’s my good girl.”

Any words you might say get caught in your throat as you stare up at Logan, wide eyed and steadily leaking wetness into the gusset of your panties. 

His nostrils flare, and a knowing sound rumbles from somewhere dark and low in his chest as his eyes flutter shut on a deep inhale.

Your thighs clench together instinctively, the overwhelming need to be filled wracking through your body like thunder.

When Logan opens his eyes again, there’s no trace of anything but pure animal need. The muscles in his jaw working furiously under his skin in time with the strain of his forearms still caging you in place.

“Yeah…” he trails off slowly, tone both condescending and soothing all at once. “I know you’re not all that scared, honey.”

He leans in, tearing a small whimper from your throat at the way his beard scrapes against your cheek as he crowds you.

His breath fans over the shell of your ear, hot and enticing as they brush against your skin when he speaks again. “I can smell how fuckin’ wet you are.”

Logan’s words send a sharp jolt through you, a broken moan falling from your parted lips as your cheeks heat up so fiercely it’s as if you’ve been slapped.

Your body moves without thinking, pressing up into his hard, unyielding frame like you can’t help it—and maybe you can’t.

“L–Logan…” Your voice trembles, a weak thing that dissolves in your throat as he noses along the skin of your neck.

His hands come down to rest on your waist, palms rough and possessive and warm and a perfect fit where they lay over your curves, anchoring you in place.

“Shhh.” His lips trail down your jaw, leaving wet kisses in their wake. “You don’t gotta say a thing, princess. I know what you need.”

Logan’s hands slip lower, cupping the backs of your thighs with ease before hoisting you onto the dresser like you weigh nothing. The sharp edge of the wood digs into your legs, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about the discomfort.

Your hands go to his shoulders without much of a second thought, nails digging into corded muscle as you try to keep your balance. 

Logan’s hands stay on your thighs, his grip strong enough for you to feel the power behind them without hurting you.

He noses along your sweaty skin like a hot-tempered hound, desperately inhaling greedy lungfuls of your scent wherever he can get it.

Behind your ear, in the crook of your neck, along your collarbone, the exposed swell of your breasts, dangerously close to your underarm.

He groans against your shoulder, a full body shiver jolting his frame. “Smell so fuckin’ good darlin’, drives me goddamn crazy.”

You can’t form a coherent thought, let alone a response. His mouth finally finds yours, claiming you with a ferocity that steals your breath.

Logan's tongue slides against yours, a messy, desperate kiss that has you moaning into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer.

It’s filthy, fueled by nothing but raw need and desperation. Spit drips from your chin to trail down the length of your throat until it gathers in the valley of your breasts. Whether it’s his or yours, it doesn’t matter.

It’s a perfect mix of the both of you, lewd and messy in the way it claims your skin.

Logan breaks the kiss with a low moan, his chest heaving the same as yours as you both inhale harsh lungfuls of air.

His lips are red and raw, swollen in a way that your own must mirror. A string of saliva keeps you connected, drooping thinner and thinner in the space between you until it breaks under the weight of gravity.

Logan doesn’t give you long to catch your breath. His lips trail down your jaw and latch onto the sensitive spot just below your ear, teeth scraping against skin before he sucks hard enough to leave a mark. 

Your head falls back against the wall as his mouth moves lower, dragging the strap of your sports bra down with his teeth.

The way he’s acting—like a man crazed, like he needs you more than he needs air—has you dizzy with need. But there's a part of you that’s still trying to hold onto some semblance of control, to hold onto something familiar in the chaos.

It’s only then that you realize this may be a bad idea. 

Whatever this is, is clearly an accumulation of all the things you’ve noticed over the last couple of weeks.

Maybe indulging Logan will only make things worse, like giving in to him when he’s in such a state could be the tipping point to a much deeper and all consuming issue buried somewhere inside of him.

It can’t possibly be healthy for him to act like this, and it can’t be healthy for you to bask in it as much as you are.

“W–wait.” Your thighs slip shut, hands coming up to push at Logan’s shoulders weakly.

There’s no real force behind your ministrations and you keep your neck bared to him all the while, but he stops anyway, rearing back with a displeased noise. 

His face hovers inches from yours, and for a moment, you swear he looks almost pained—his brows furrowing, jaw tightening as though reigning himself in is a Herculean effort.

His hands remain on your thighs, trembling slightly as he keeps himself rooted in place, clearly fighting every instinct roaring through him to just take what he wants.

“You don’t want me to stop, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, a stark contrast to the restraint in his expression. His thumbs stroke idly against your skin, his touch soothing even as his words drip with pure, feral confidence. “I can smell the way your pussy’s achin’ for it. I can feel it. You’re shakin’ for me.”

You are—your whole body feels like it’s on the verge of unraveling under his touch, your resolve crumbling faster than you’d like to admit.

Everything you were going to say gets clogged in your brain on the way out, leaving you silent as you hold his gaze.

You don’t even have the capability to feel embarrassed at the way you blanch, lost in the way his scent attacks your senses, in the rough drag of his palms over your bare thighs, in the way your lips still tingle from his kiss.

Logan sighs, long and all suffering as his hands come to rest on both of your shut knees. The impatient raise of his brow paired with the dissatisfied curl of his lips is enough to shake you to the core.

“Now, you gonna show it to me?” His fingers drum along your knee, his patience thinning. “Or am I gonna have to make you.”

And it may sound like one, but you know it’s not a question. 

It’s a choice.

Your mind races, hands clenching and unclenching on Logan’s shoulders as you weigh your options. His own hands squeeze your knees, just hard enough to let you feel it in your bones.

You spread your legs.

Logan doesn’t waste a second, dropping to his knees in front of you with a satisfied rumble and a predatory gleam in his eyes. His hands grip your thighs, pushing them even wider. Wide enough to make you feel exposed, vulnerable in the best way. 

Your head dips, chin falling to your chest as you watch the way Logan takes up the space between your legs. Your shorts are soaked, fabric so drenched that it’s melded to the shape of your cunt, your puffy folds on display for his greedy eyes.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes, his voice cracking like a whip in the quiet room. His hands find your waistband, and the dull sound of fabric ripping rings out.

The sturdy cotton tears like tissue paper in his hands, the scraps of your shorts falling carelessly to the floor, leaving you in nothing but the light blue panties you slipped on before your run. 

The way he gazes at the space between your thighs is feral, unrestrained, like he’s a man starving for his next meal—and you’re it.

“Look at that…” Logan mutters, almost to himself as he runs his knuckle along the wet cotton of your panties. His touch is featherlight, barely any pressure at all, but it’s enough.

Your breath hitches, a sharp intake of air at the teasing touch, and your hips instinctively cant forward, silently begging for more. 

Logan's eyes flick up to yours, a dark smirk curling his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you—and how much you're already falling apart.

“Eager fuckin’ thing,” he drawls, voice rough with arousal. He leans forward, his hot breath ghosting over your soaked panties, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “You want me to give your pussy some kisses, baby?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words never make it out. Logan’s lips press against the damp fabric, placing a kiss right over where your covered clit throbs with need.

Your head falls back to rest on the wall behind you, a shocked moan bursting from your lips.

“Logan.” His name is pulled from your mouth like a plea, but he doesn’t let up, the sharp edge of his teeth scraping over the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden beneath the soaked barrier of your underwear.

“Hmm?” He hums against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core. “Thought you wanted me to stop?”

The taunt is maddening, the rasp of his voice and the teasing flicks of his tongue combining to unravel you piece by piece. 

You shake your head furiously, thighs trembling where they rest on his broad shoulders. “N-no—don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Logan chuckles darkly, his hands sliding up your thighs to hook his fingers into the thin waistband of your panties. 

“That’s more like it,” he taunts. With a single, sharp tug, the ruined fabric joins the scraps of your shorts on the floor.

Logan groans at the sight of your bare cunt, slick with your juices and flushed with arousal. His mouth waters, his tongue running along the sharp points of his canines in anticipation.

You’re already so ready for him.

“You smell so fuckin’ good,” he growls, leaning in to drag his nose along the slick seam of your folds. The deep inhale he takes is obscene, sending a ripple of anticipation through your entire body. “Know that you taste even better.”

Logan licks a broad stripe through your folds, groaning like the taste of you is enough to satisfy him completely. His hands grip your thighs tighter, keeping you spread and utterly at his mercy as he begins to work in earnest.

He alternates between laving the tip of his tongue over your clit and dipping down to fuck into you, his beard scraping along the skin of your thighs in a way that’s almost too much. Your head falls back, hitting the wall with a soft thud as your vision blurs.

“God, Logan.” You squirm on the vanity, but he holds you steady, growling low and deep into your core like your moaning only spurs him on.

“That’s it,” he mutters between licks, his words unmistakably smug. “Make those pretty little sounds for me, baby.”

Logan circles your clit with the flat of his tongue, alternating between firm, deliberate strokes and light, teasing flicks that leave you gasping for air.

You cry out, fingers tangling in his thick, unruly hair as he repeats the motions, your thighs starting to tremble on either side of his head.

Every time your hips buck against him, he growls, the vibrations of it sinking into your skin and amplifying the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Stay still,” he orders, his voice muffled against your dripping core but no less commanding. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you in place with an unrelenting grip. “You’re not in charge, sweetheart.”

You whimper, your whole body trembling as you fight the urge to grind against his face. But it’s impossible to stay still when he’s licking into you like a man possessed, his mouth working you over with an intensity that has your vision going hazy.

“I know, you're just so damn needy, aren’t you, baby?” He drawls , pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal. “You love this, hmm? Lettin’ me take care of you?”

You can only nod, words failing you as his fingers replace his mouth, sliding through your spit soaked cunt.

“You’re so goddamn pretty down here.” Logan mutters, almost to himself, spreading your puffy, abused folds obscenely wide. 

He teases your entrance, fingertips dipping into your warm heat only to retract a second later. You whine, high and embarrassing as your hips twitch with want.

Logan watches your face closely, his expression equal parts smug and adoring as he finally sinks one thick finger inside you, curling it just right.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your head lolling back he adds a second finger, stretching you in a way that has your toes curling. He pumps them slowly at first, each deliberate thrust sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body.

“Takin’ me so well,” Logan murmurs, his thumb brushes over your clit, drawing tight circles that make your thighs tremble. “So tight and wet for me. You’re makin’ me crazy, darlin’.”

Your moans grow louder, unrestrained, as he picks up the pace, his fingers plunging into you with a rhythm that has your skin burning hotter and hotter.

Logan’s mouth returns to you with renewed fervor, tongue and lips working in perfect tandem as he drags you closer to the edge. 

He shakes his head back and forth like an animal, his nose rubbing up against your clit deliciously as buries his tongue as deep in your cunt as it’ll go. The coarse hair of his beard scratches the sensitive skin of your inner thighs red and raw.

You can’t think, can’t breathe, your entire world narrowing down to the feel of his mouth on you. 

“Logan—” Your voice cracks, your head falling back against the wall as the spring of pleasure inside you winds tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. “I’m—fuck—I’m so close—”

“Good,” he growls, pumping his fingers in time with the flicks of his tongue. “I can feel you squeezin’ me. I want you to come for me, baby. Wanna taste every fuckin’ drop.”

You’re powerless to resist.

You cry out, thighs clamping shut on either side of his head as you come on his tongue. Your body shakes so violently you knock a few things off the vanity, the distant sound of glass shattering hardly registers. 

Logan growls, low and dragged from the back of his throat in such a way that makes it reverberate in the space between your legs. His own arms come up, grip strong and encouraging as he forces your legs around his head even tighter than before.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, licking and sucking and pumping his fingers to drag you through the aftershocks like a man obsessed. 

When you finally come back to yourself, panting and trembling, Logan’s holding your shaking thighs apart, his mouth still pressed to you in soft, languid strokes.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, voice rough and gravelly as he presses a final kiss to your oversensitive clit. 

Logan’s hands slide up to your hips, gripping tight as he rises to his feet, towering over you with that same dark, predatory gleam in his eyes. 

His lips are even redder than before, swollen and slick with your juices. His beard is damp and shining in the low light, and the smug, satisfied smirk on his face sends another pulse of heat through your already spent body.

“Good girl,” he purrs, not even bothering to wipe his mouth before leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss that’s all heat and possession. 

You can taste yourself on his tongue, the salt and musk mingling with the raw hunger. It’s filthy and intoxicating, and it leaves you gasping for air when he finally pulls away.

But Logan’s far from finished.

His hands slide under your ass, lifting you off the dresser with ease. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries you to the bed and tosses you on it with little preamble.

Your back hits the mattress hard enough to have you bouncing on it once, twice, three times before Logan is crawling up to blanket your body with his. 

The heavy weight of his metal laced bones sink you into the soft plushness, keeping you stuck beneath him with nowhere to go.

Which you know is exactly where he wants you.

He slots his hips between yours, dragging the straining jut of his cock along your sensitive cunt. You can feel the warmth of him even through the thick material of his sweats, a scalding plane of heat that makes your cunt ache with need. 

You can feel the damp patch where his clothed tip nudges against your clit, and you know from that alone he’s already soaked through the cotton with pre-come. His cock leaking like a faucet in the harsh confines of his bottoms while he ate you out.

“Feel that?” Logan asks, voice hoarse as he buries his head in your neck. “That’s all ‘cause of you, baby. Got me drippin’ like I busted a damn pipe.”

The sharp intake of air you suck in at his words does nearly nothing to help your breathlessness, your desperation bleeding through as your frantic hands push at the waistband of his bottoms. “Off. Off.”

Logan huffs a rough laugh against your neck, his warm breath skating across your skin as his lips ghost over your pulse. “So fuckin’ bossy.”

He doesn’t move to help you, not right away, savoring the way your hands fumble and tug, your frustration bubbling over in breathy little gasps.

“You want it that bad, huh?” he teases, the rough timbre of his voice a stark contrast to the gentleness of his lips pressing along your jaw. “Look at you, so damn needy. Can’t even wait for me to get my cock out.”

You only tug harder, patience nonexistent as your fingers curl into the waistband. “Please, Logan. Don’t tease.”

“Alright, alright.” Logan finally gives in, sitting back just enough to push them over his hips, freeing his cock.

It springs free, slapping against his stomach heavy and slick with pre-come, the ruddy tip glistening in the low light.

The sight alone has you clenching around nothing, a devastatingly desperate noise falls from your lips as the ache between your thighs builds to an almost unbearable throb.

He makes quick work of ripping his shirt over his head, carelessly tossing it behind him before he’s back on you.

This time, when he bullies his hips in between yours, there's nothing separating you.

You feel every inch of his cock as it grinds along the seam of your cunt. The velvety skin is almost scalding as it drags against your own, the drool of pre-come only adding more to your own wetness.

Logan presses you into the mattress harder, rutting against your cunt almost desperately as he noses along your damp, overheated skin.

His mouth is everywhere. Sucking marks where the junction of your neck meets your shoulder, lapping up the sweat that pools in the valley of your breasts, licking a filthy stripe across the side of your face that has your cheeks burning.

He buries his nose in the sweaty skin of your underarm, whining and panting like a surly dog all over again. Each breath is hot and wet against you, and it only seems to make him hungrier, greedier. His cock blurts even more pre-come onto your skin with every inhale he takes.

It should gross you out. 

It should be utterly mortifying, but the sight of Logan like this only leaves you thrumming with want. 

His desperation, the raw, unfiltered way he takes you in—like he can’t get close enough, can’t have enough of you—has your pulse racing and your mind spinning out of control. 

You feel his nose press harder against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over you as he groans, a deep, guttural sound that reverberates right through you. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice gravelly and broken. “You smell so goddamn good. Can’t help it. Can’t fuckin’—” His hips jerk, the weight of his cock sliding slickly against your cunt, bumping up against your clit in a way that makes you shiver. 

“Logan,” you whimper, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing the friction, the relief, the unbearable stretch you know only he can give you. “Please, I can’t take it anymore. I need you—need you so bad.”

He smirks, his lips curling against your skin as he nips at the curve of your jaw. “Need me, huh?” he murmurs, his tone dark and teasing. “Need my cock inside you, stretchin’ you open? Tell me, baby. Tell me how bad you need it.”

“So bad.” Your hips tilt up instinctively, desperate for him to push inside. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, the blunt pressure sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “Need you so bad it hurts. Please—please don’t make me wait.”

Logan growls, a feral sound. “Such a good girl when you beg for me.” he snarls, big hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise so he can flip you on your front, gently manhandling you until you're on all fours. “Gonna fill you up, princess.”

His hands knead the soft flesh of your ass as he lines himself up behind you. The weight of his cock presses against your entrance, slick and ready, and for a moment, he just stays there, teasing.

Your arms shake beneath you, elbows locked as you force yourself to stay still, patient.

The head of his cock nudges against you, spreading your slickness, and your body trembles in anticipation. He sinks himself into you in one deep, unrelenting thrust.

The stretch is instant, the burn delicious as he pushes inside, inch by inch, filling you in one fluid, devastating stroke. A choked gasp spills from your lips as he bottoms out, his cock seated so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck.” Logan stills, his cock pulsing inside you as he lets you adjust, but the restraint is fleeting. 

His hands glide up your back, palms rough and grounding as they map every curve, every quiver of your body. He starts grinding his hips in slow circles, pressing every inch of his cock along your velvety walls. 

Your head drops between your arms, brows pinched together as you take in greedy lungfuls of air. You’ll never get used to this, the way Logan fills you so perfectly, no matter how many times it’s been.

“Come on, baby.” Logan leans down to press a soft kiss between your shoulder blades, his lips fever hot. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you could hardly wait. Now’s your chance, fuck me.”

It takes a few long seconds for his words to cunt through the molasses clouding your mind, the small thrust of his hips hinting at what he wants you to do.

You let out a pitiful whimper, hands digging into your bed’s puffy comforter as you start rocking your hips. 

You start slow, letting yourself build up a nice, steady rhythm as Logan purrs words of encouragement from behind you. His hands never leave your hips, thumbs rubbing soft circles over your skin as you start to pick up the pace.

“That’s it,” he encourages darkly, giving the rippling muscle of your ass a sharp swat. “Find the fuckin’ spot, baby. Write your name on this cock, tell everyone who it belongs to.”

You cry out at the sting of his palm, bouncing yourself on his length impossibly faster. Your arms burn under the strain of your movements, but you can’t stop chasing the high of pleasure that shoots up your spine.

The sound of skin on skin fills the room, a lewd slap slap slap as you fuck yourself on Logan’s cock like he’s a replacement for the cheap suction cup dildo collecting dust in a box hidden away in your closet—like he’s nothing but a expertly shaped lump of silicon molded solely for your pleasure.

You can feel yourself getting close to the edge, and in nearly no time at all. The telltale coil buried deep in your belly winding tighter and tighter as you work yourself on Logan’s cock hard enough that the cheap frame of your bed thumps against the wall.

It might be embarrassing if you weren’t so far gone already, so fuck drunk that the too loud moans falling from your lips hardly phase you.

It's like there's nothing but the feel of Logan inside you, bumping against that spot inside you that has stars shining behind your closed eyes. 

“Close already?” Logan taunts from behind you, voice just the tiniest but breathless, but the way his cock pulses and jerks where it’s sheathed in your cunt lets you know he’s right there with you. “I know you are, honey. I can feel how she’s squeezin’ me, so damn tight.”

His hands dig into your hips, not even waiting for a response as he starts thrusting in time with your bounces. He pounds into you, hips snapping against your ass hard enough to sting.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come too baby,” he bites out, the rhythm of his hips getting sloppier. “Gonna come so fuckin’ hard, fill you up so good. Shit–”

Logan pulls out enough that only the thick tip of his cock stays sheathed in the warmth of your cunt, his body falling to hunch over yours as he pumps his come into you with a feral growl.

You whine at the feeling of his release filling you, painting your insides with spurt after spurt of thick come. It’s so much, it’s always so much. A rush of warmth that floods your insides each time without fail.

And just like that, the feeling alone has you coming.

Your back arches as your cunt gushes over the tip of his cock, drenching his thighs and the rest of his shaft in your essence. You think you may scream, but it’s hard to tell over the white noise rushing through your ears.

Your arms finally buckle under you as Logan helps you ride out the last few tremors of your orgasm with a few slow rocks of his hips, and your spent body collapses onto the mattress.

Logan’s low noises of pleasure barely register as your chest heaves almost violently, your lungs desperately trying to get as much air as they possibly can.

But you barely have time to catch your breath before Logan plants his knees back firmly on the mattress and starts thrusting, again. 

“Logan!” Your hands scramble for purchase on the mussed sheets of your bed, the overstimulation making your legs kick out frantically.

“You thought we were done?” Logan asks, his tone equal parts amused and mocking. “You popped twice already, baby. S’only fair that you let me catch up.”

With no warning, he takes you in his arms, pulling his cock out just long enough to flip you on your back. He throws your legs over his shoulders before plunging back inside your fucked open cunt with a filthy squelch. 

He feels even bigger like this, yet your body swallows his cock like it’s nothing. The spongy warmth of your walls melding to the shape of him like it’s what you were made for. 

The coarse hair of his happy trail drags across your clit each time he thrusts, adding to the blistering feeling where the knife's edge of too much too much too much meets not nearly enough.

His come stuffed in your trembling cunt only makes it all the more filthy, his cock plunging inside you and coming back out slick and wet on every thrust. 

Your lips fall open on a broken moan, eyes screwing shut as you work your cunt around him, feeling the way his release gets fucked deeper and deeper inside you.

Logan notices, of course he does.

A dark chuckle rumbles against your own as he leans down enough to whisper into your slack mouth. “You like havin’ someone come in your pussy, baby?”

You moan into his mouth unabashedly, loudly. Both of your eyes burning as tears threaten to fall down the flushed skin of your cheeks, your throat going dry and scratchy in the best way possible. 

“Shit–” Your hands claw at the rippling muscles of his back desperately, nails digging into his skin hard enough that you feel the unmistakable slickness of his blood coating the tips of your fingers.

The pain spurs him on, his head tips down on a low groan and his eyes squeezing together for a split second before he’s spewing filth again.

“You want some more?” Logan asks, tone going dark like he already knows the answer as his hips speed up impossible faster. “You want me to come again?”

You don’t respond, you can’t respond. You can barely make a coherent thought. 

All you can manage are whiny moans that fall from your slack lips, broken little uh uh uh’s that get punched out with each new thrust. Your nails rake down his back mercilessly, leaving behind deep red welts that heal as you go.

“Yeah, I know you do.” He turns his head to nip at the skin over the delicate bone of your ankle where it bounces near his head, sharp teeth digging in enough to have you whining pitifully. “You love havin’ a messy fuckin’ pussy, don’t you? Love being stuffed so full of my come you can’t even hold it all, huh?”

His words hit you like a physical blow, lighting up your body from the inside out. Your thighs shake where they’re wrapped around his hips, ankles locking over his lower back so he couldn’t pull out if he wanted to.

His come mixes with your juices to coat his cock, completely drenched all slick and shiny in the dull light of your bedroom. It drips down almost leisurely compared to the near feral snap of his hips, trailing all the way down his length to his heavy balls. 

“Yes.” He groans, reverent. “Give it to me, baby. Wanna feel you come on my cock again, feels so fuckin’ good. Can’t ever get enough—”

You’ve never heard him like this, so high of pleasure that his speech slurs and his words all meld together into one filthy stream of ramblings that has you sinking your nails even deeper into his back and coming on his cock with a loud wail.

Your cunt convulses around him, shaking with the force of your release, milking him. 

“Fuck, princess.” Logan pitches forward, his sweaty torso covering yours as he keeps fucking into your shaking body, desperately chasing his own release.

Finally, with a muted roar of your name, he sinks his teeth into the tender skin of your neck and comes for you.

You cry out at the sharp sting of his teeth bearing down hard enough to draw blood, your vision whiting out with the pleasure of being claimed in every way imaginable.

Logan’s hips only stop when he’s drained of every last drop, his body shaking where it lays over yours. He laps at the broken skin of your neck, a soft gesture that isn’t quite an apology for making you bleed—because you know that he isn’t sorry whatsoever—but it’s nice nonetheless.

Your arms come up to circle around his neck, eyes fluttering shut as the exhaustion hits you all at once. You get lost in the steady rhythm of Logan catching his breath, in the way his heart pounds against his ribcage where his chest is pressed to your own, in the way his fingers twitch and flex on your hips.

The last thing you hear as you drift off, his come starting to leak down your thighs in thick streams of white, is a hushed whisper of “I got you, baby. I’m right here, I’m always right here.”

It puts you at ease, all the worry you felt over the last few weeks slipping from your mind like grains of sand through your fingers.

Maybe, this new side of Logan isn’t so bad after all.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[revelboo]

Are your shoulders tired from carrying the entire Transformers fandom right now, Rev?

Your fics are also inspiring a bunch of people?!? Nice. Love your fics, dying from the angst, but now I'm writing fluff fics while waiting for you to post hahaaha *dies*

I just started writing TF fics because I couldn’t find what I wanted to read 😆 but I’m loving that more people are starting to write stuff, too! I’ve been trying to pester a writer friend (one of the ones that convinced me to start writing TF smut originally to create a Tumblr and share her stuff, too)

Everything Is Alright Pt 107

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Your palm resting against his own, fingers lined up with his servos drives home how much smaller you are even when he’s mass displaced. How fragile. And yet you can still entrust yourself to him as he curls his other arm around you and tries to explain what he knows of how Cybertronians are sparked. How that spark can become transferred into a waiting protoform. But a hybrid spark? He has no idea if it will still work the same way. You’re so small, will the spark stay your size? Smaller than a true Cybertronian? As defenseless as you are? It’s a struggle to keep his tone calm, to pretend he’s not as scared as you are. As unsure.

• Laying your head against him as he talks, some of your tension eases at the confidence in his rasping voice. Because you really need to believe that one of you has a clue what you’re doing. And there’s still Megatron, who even though he knows you’re no pet, seems determined to force you to keep up the act and play one for his amusement. He’s dangerous. Know that, but speaking to him? You think he’s also lonely and more than a little tired. Hating that he can startle a laugh from you when he wants to, that those big hands are so gentle. That you like those rare smiles and- you like him. Stiffening in Star’s arms, you press your face against his neck, because you can’t possibly like Megatron, public enemy number one and the biggest threat to your life. “What’s wrong?” Starscream asks. What is wrong with you? You have Star and Soundwave. You’re happy with them. You can’t like Megatron, too.

• Wings flaring slightly when you don’t answer him, he takes your shoulders in his hands and pulls you back, not liking when you avoid his optics, face heating. And then hiding your face in your hands as he vents. Another weird human thing? Or something you just don’t want to talk about? Optics narrowing, he rests his helm against your forehead and waits. “It’s nothing. Really,” you murmur, head tipping to brush your mouth against his, trying to kiss away his frown. Wants to trust that, but knows you. Knows you rarely complain or ask for anything. And right now that bothers him. How can he take care of you when you won’t tell him you need something? Resting a palm against your throat before sliding it down to rest over the steady beat of your heart, his optics shutter. Grounding himself in the feel of you. Of home and hope. Won’t push, because he knows he’s terrible at this, too. But he wants to get better. To be better. For you to trust him.

• Megatron can feel Soundwave’s optics on him through the visor. Can also feel the tension in his old friend and he vents softly. “I’m not going to hurt your little human, but you’ll still bring them to me.” But what Soundwave is hinting at, proposing in veiled, cautious words? That he make his own claim upon you just to force Starscream into stopping his attempts to ursurp him is clever, because it’s tempting. And his second in command will despise it. But he knows Soundwave, knows how protective he is of his cassettes and can imagine that protective instinct extends to you as well. If you’re tied to all three of them? Shared between them? You’d be guaranteed safety. “I’ll consider it,” he adds on a growl, annoyed with himself. But when he remembers those angry eyes, the way you’d defended Starscream, arguing with him? You’d challenge him while being no real threat, a little, affectionate mate to sit at his peds while he’s on his throne. Respected and safe because you belong to him. And he remembers the way you’d looked under Soundwave. The sounds you’d made.

• Inclining his head respectfully, some of Soundwave’s tension eases. Betting on Megatron’s own loneliness. That he’ll keep demanding you be brought to him, speak with you and come to know you. Doesn’t really hope that Megatron will love you, only arranging a mating for convenience. To keep you safe whether you want it or not. Telling himself that this is necessary as Megatron strides away, but there’s a shadow of doubt in his spark. Afraid that you’ll hate him for this, won’t understand that he’s doing this all for you. For a future he’s desperate to have.

Previous

Next

[chaos-chloe]

Hiii :)

I'd like to request a droid x fem reader where she's the guest in the clooless podcast and she's sat between droid and pezzy, droid manspreading (and also being so beefy) so much reader can barely fit so they're constantly touching and by the half hour they're Totally comfortable with each other, droid has an arm around reader, she rests her hand on his thigh that kind of stuff, and also for some reason they keep talking about freaky stuff like always (they always do end up in the freakiest conversations fr) i would like you know, flirtiness, maybe some sexual jokes, if possible obv, whatever you're comfortable with darling, thank you so much :)

Also I have this weird feeling of deja Vu, if I've already requested something like this I'm sorry 😭

No no its al good lovie! Whatever you are wanting ill try my best to bring to life into my writing! Hope you're doing well <3

( I accidently posted this earlier, aka i fat fingered, so you guys can be double fed today, whoops, sorry!)

Unique Podcast Experience

Summary: Being a guest on Clooless, hmmm?

TW: anxiety, nerves, personal bubble being busted,

The studio was smaller than I imagined, more intimate. The harsh glare of the camera lights amplified the feeling of being on display, but the guys from the Clooless Podcast were disarmingly welcoming. Puffer, perched on his throne-like chair to the right, adjusted his headset and gave me a warm smile. Grizzy, on the opposite end in his own armchair, offered a nod and a quick, "Welcome to the chaos."

The real chaos, however, was unfolding on the couch. ElasticDroid, a mountain of a man with a surprisingly gentle face, was already sprawled across the three-seater, leaving me a precarious space next to him. Pezzy, ever the diplomat, squeezed in on the other side of me, flashing a reassuring grin.

"Alright, everyone settle in!" Puffer's voice boomed, signaling the start of the show. "We've got ____ with us today, and we're ready to dive deep into the… uh… depths of their mind." He winked, and the little red "ON AIR" light flickered to life.

The initial minutes were a blur of introductions and standard interview questions. I talked about my work, my hobbies, anything to avoid the palpable awkwardness radiating from my left. Droid, bless his heart, was completely oblivious. He was manspreading like he owned the couch, and I was acutely aware of every point of contact: thigh brushing against thigh, shoulder bumping shoulder, upper arm pressing against mine. I tried to subtly create some distance, but the fabric of the couch offered no escape.

Pezzy, sensing my discomfort, kept throwing me knowing glances, his eyebrows dancing with amusement. I shot him a tight smile, desperately wishing for a personal bubble the size of Texas.

The conversation flowed, albeit a little stiltedly on my part. We talked about pop culture, current events, and the absurdity of online trends. Gradually, the tension eased. Droid, warmed up by the conversation, shifted slightly, inadvertently pinning me more firmly against his side. I took a deep breath and decided to lean into it, literally. What was the point in fighting it?

Around the half-hour mark, something clicked. I made a joke about a particularly ridiculous dating app, and Droid erupted in a hearty laugh, his entire body shaking. He playfully nudged me, and I found myself laughing along, a genuine, unforced laugh. The physical contact, once a source of anxiety, started to feel… normal.

Encouraged, Droid casually draped his arm around my shoulders. It was a surprisingly comfortable weight, and I found myself relaxing further into the curve of his side. Our thighs were now fully connected, a solid, warm presence. Without thinking, I rested my left hand on his thigh, a gesture of comfortable camaraderie.

The shift in dynamic was noticeable. The air felt lighter, the conversation flowed more freely. Even Puffer seemed to relax, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk.

And then, the torpedo hit.

Grizzy, fueled by caffeine and a mischievous glint in his eye, steered the conversation into dangerous territory. "So, ____," he began, his voice dripping with faux innocence, "what’s your take on… bedroom dynamics?"

My eyes widened. Oh, boy.

Pezzy choked on his water, and Puffer leaned forward, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Droid, however, seemed unfazed. He simply raised an eyebrow, waiting for my response.

"Bedroom dynamics?" I repeated, stalling for time. "That's… broad. Are we talking music choice? Lighting? The strategic placement of throw pillows?"

Grizzy snorted. "We're talking… freaky stuff."

The studio fell silent. My heart hammered against my ribs. I glanced at Droid, who remained impassive, his arm still draped around my shoulders.

"Freaky stuff?" I repeated, my voice a little shaky. "I'm not sure I'm qualified to comment. My bedroom is usually occupied by a cat and a pile of unfolded laundry."

Puffer chuckled. "Come on,____, don't be shy. We're all friends here."

And that was the cue for the floodgates to open. The next thirty minutes were a relentless barrage of innuendo, double entendres, and frankly, slightly disturbing anecdotes about the guys'… adventures. Pezzy recounted a story involving a blindfold and a questionable use of whipped cream, Grizzy confessed to a penchant for role-playing as a medieval knight, and Puffer… well, let's just say his stories involved props I didn't even know existed.

All I could do was smile, laugh, and shake my head in disbelief. I was simultaneously mortified and strangely entertained. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion, a train wreck filled with questionable life choices and an abundance of confidence.

But amidst the chaos, a strange thing happened. I started to play along. Emboldened by the absurdity of the situation, and perhaps by the comforting presence of Droid’s arm around my shoulders, I began to throw in my own jokes, laced with subtle sexual innuendo.

"Speaking of kinks," I interjected at one point, winking at Grizzy, "I've always been fascinated by the power of good communication."

Grizzy choked on his coffee.

Later, when Pezzy was describing a particularly… adventurous… date, I leaned forward, lowered my voice, and said, "Sounds like someone needs a safe word." I winked at Puffer, who nearly fell out of his chair.

The guys ate it up. They lapped up every suggestive comment, every playful wink, every hint of scandalous behavior. And with each passing minute, I felt myself becoming more comfortable, more confident, more… daring.

The apex of my transformation came when Droid, in the middle of a particularly graphic story about a "misunderstanding" with a feather boa, paused for breath. Without thinking, I gently leaned my head against his shoulder.

His muscles tensed for a fraction of a second, and then he relaxed, his arm tightening slightly around me. I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, the steady rhythm of his breathing. It was a surprisingly intimate moment, a shared acknowledgment of the absurdity of the situation, and the unexpected connection we had forged.

The rest of the podcast was a blur. I continued to laugh, to joke, to flirt (albeit playfully) with the guys. I kept my head nestled against Droid’s shoulder, my hand resting on his thigh. The initial awkwardness had completely evaporated, replaced by a sense of camaraderie, of shared silliness, and yes, perhaps a hint of genuine attraction.

Finally, Puffer announced that they were out of time. The red "ON AIR" light flickered off, and the studio fell silent.

The guys all stretched, groaning and laughing. Grizzy clapped me on the back. "You were amazing,____! You definitely held your own."

Pezzy gave me a wink. "I think you might have broken Grizzy's brain permanently."

Puffer approached me, hand outstretched. "Seriously, thank you for coming on. You were a fantastic guest."

And then there was Droid. He slowly removed his arm from around my shoulders, and I felt a sudden, unexpected pang of loss. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable.

"Thanks for… putting up with me," he said, a hint of awkwardness creeping back into his voice.

I smiled. "The pleasure was all mine."

As I walked out of the studio, I couldn't help but wonder what would happen next. Had I just experienced a fleeting moment of podcast-fueled insanity, or had I stumbled upon something real? Only time would tell. But one thing was for sure: I would never look at a feather boa the same way again. And I definitely wouldn’t be forgetting the surprisingly comfortable, and unexpectedly electrifying, presence of ElasticDroid anytime soon.

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

SFW version ::: Dating THE fucking Katsuki Bakugo

Part II (NSFW version ::: Dating THE fucking Katsuki Bakugo)

A/N ::: I'm absolutely feral delulu (god I hate that word but it's really all that can describe accurately how insane I am) for Katsuki right now.

C/W SFW ::: Brief language. Sweet Katsuki on date with ChubbyF!reader // you // y/n, new relationship, testing the waters, sweet Katsuki. Sorry. Had to say it twice. Soft touches here and there, sweet kisses. NSFW stuff will be posted soon.

I edited this many many many many times. So if I missed anything gross, lmk.

Thinking about a fourth date with Katsuki that goes really, really well.

He picks you up in his Black Jeep that has green and orange interior (yeah, it sure does). It's a stick, too. And the gear shifter cap is a custom made piece; a black grenade. Anyway, he gets to your house and walks up to the front door wearing those fucking sexy ankle pants that fit him just perfectly. And a long sleeved polo shirt with that little alligator on it. The collar is popped up around his neck. Not because it's cold or anything. He was told by a friend of a friend of yours that you thought it was incredibly sexy that he wears it like that. Too bad his friend was fucking with him, though. You don't think it's unsexy. But you do have a hard time taking your eyes off of it. Just wondering why he wears it like that.

He holds his arm out for you as you open the door of your place and see him standing there. Looking all sorts of frickin’ handsome. You take his arm with your much smaller hand and he stops for a second to double-check your door is locked up tight. He smiles and tells you that you can never be too sure. There's a lot of crazies nowadays. It warms your heart at how considerate he is about your safety. I mean, he IS a hero. It's kind of second nature for him to be like that. But it's still sweet, though.

You're walking to his Jeep and he opens the door for you and holds your purse while you buckle up. He makes sure your feet are inside the vehicle so he doesn't slam the door on your freshly painted toenails. He'd feel like an absolute asshole if that happened. Like, how do you come back from something like that when you're just starting out dating? Nah, he knows better. He makes his way around to the driver's side, still holding your purse. He hops in, he doesn't climb in. He's so damn tall that his legs allow him to ease his sweet, tight little ass right onto the seat. Handing you your purse, he buckles up too.

His feet get into position; on the clutch and the brake, and he starts it up. The radio was on. From what you heard, it sounded like a motivational/self-help thing. You heard the words 'believe in yourself and you can accomplish anything. You … deserve to be loved, too.' He moved to turn it off so fast that it looked like he was beating it up. 

You put your hands on him. One on his shoulder, the other on his thigh, and leaned over to give him a single, self-denying kiss on the cheek. He smiled at you and you know his eyes were screaming thank you for not saying anything about this.

On the drive to the restaurant, he asked you about your week. It was hard to catch up with him throughout the week sometimes. He has a busy schedule. Still, you appreciated him asking you about how yours was. You talked about how quickly the time went by and how happy you were about that because you were looking forward to your date with him tonight.

He looked over at you at a red light and put his right hand on your thigh and gave the fat on it a tight squeeze. Your skin filled out nicely in his hand. The light turned green and you immediately  missed his fingers digging into your flesh as soon as he put them back on the shifter. It was just nice to feel his touch after not seeing him for 5 days. Though you talked, it wasn't the same as being with him.

The restaurant he's taking you to for dinner has valet parking. He pulled up to the front and tossed his keys to the valet like some kind of cool guy. It made you giggle. You saw him slip a $20 to the kid as he pulled them in close and told them if they so much as got an extra speck of dirt on his Jeep he was going to rip them a new asshole via their belly button. The kid looked at you and all you could do was shrug your shoulders at them and flatten your lips, nodding.

Katsuki walked around to your side again and stuck his elbow out for you to take. You proudly took it and the two of you walked into the restaurant and were blown away by the fanciness of it. Like, ballgown/tuxedo fancy. You looked at each other and the back at the space around you. Slowly backing away, you asked him what happened. He said he didn't know. Nothing was mentioned about super dress code attire and how do you feel about getting something on the pier?

Honestly, you didn't care if you had to eat peanut butter and jelly in a back alley with a decomposing body. You really just wanted to be with him right now. Though you reconsidered the decomposing body and swapped it for a huge dumpster.

The valet brought his Jeep back. Scratch free, and you two did the whole door dance and he drove down to the water. The lights along the walk were beautiful. Soft and white. It made his usually sharp features fuzzy and warm. You couldn't stop looking at him. At his lips. You wanted him to kiss you. Just one. Nothing too heavy. 

As luck would have it, he caught you looking at him when you thought you were being sly. Without saying a word, he cupped your cheek in his hand and leaned down to give you the one, sweet kiss you had been craving since you last were together.

It left your cheeks red, blood hot, and your body dizzy. Your eyes fluttered at the gentle gesture. He let his lips hover just out of reach for a few seconds afterward. You wondered if he was testing the waters. To see if you'd lean in for more. And oh my god, you wanted to. You wanted to kiss him everywhere. But as this was only your fourth date, you managed some self-restraint. Though you'll never know how you did. He looked so sexy tonight. He looked so sexy every time you saw him. 

The two of you made you way down the walk to some vendors and he ordered for the both of you. Some noodles and toppings you've never tried before. They were so good. You enjoyed your time there with him more than you would have at some stuffy old, high maintenance restaurant. He offered to get you a dessert but you declined.

That set him off. "You not eatin' in front of me or some shit like that? Goddamn it, you're sexy as hell. EAT SOME DESSERT!" But you told him you were still full from dinner and you'd love some dessert later. He blushed at his overreaction. You blushed, too. But for an entirely different reason.

A little later into the walk, you took a chance and reached out for his hand, taking it into your own. His palm was sweaty, and he apologized for being a little nervous. He doesn't date - like, ever. Except for you and it's still so new that everything is just a bit scary. Despite his sweaty hand, you held it anyway and laid your head against his bicep as the two of you walked further down the pier to look out over the water.

You walked all the way out to the end and leaned over the railing, dropping a few pebbles into the water that you'd picked up along the way.

"Be careful, don't fall in dum- I mean, just be careful." He almost called you a dumbass but he caught himself. It's an adjustment being around you. One that he's growing to like more and more the longer this almost ruined date goes on.

"I won't fall in," you laughed. "And even if I do, I have the best hero there is to rescue me." You blew him a kiss after you said that and he started toward you, catching it.

"I think you lost something, just now, miss. Does this belong to you?" He put his arms on either side of you and leaned over to kiss your cheeks. So. Softly. You found yourself leaning into him just to get more pressure from his lips. Pulling his head back, he looked at you. Bright red eyes looked over your face to read your expression.

"I didn't lose it, I gave it to you. 'Dumbass'." Smirking, you reached up and brushed the hair away from his forehead. "You're getting a little long up here. I've never seen - um, well, I like it either way."

Tilting his head quizzically to the left he held his breath for a second. "You've never seen ... what? You've never seen my hair this long? How long you been watchin' me, woman?" Katsuki put his hands in his pockets and kicked his feet like you told him he was the most handsome, brilliant man on the planet. 

He thinks so, so why not?

It was adorable to watch him, THE Katsuki Bakugo, squirm. And no, you weren't going to let it slide.

"Yeah, ok. So what? I watch - tuh (sounds like watched but you broke the word apart so he wouldn’t hear you openly admit you had been watching him) you. I have watched you, throughout your career. Ok, ok. God! Twist my arm. I look for things about you. Updates ... and ... well, stuff. Ok? I - I've car- been interested in you for some time." You rolled your eyes. "Are you happy now? You got me to spill my g- mmm!"

Katsuki was in front of you in no time. Kissing you before his feet had even stopped moving. His hands rest gently against the deep curve of your waist. He bent at the knees so he could be a little more face-to-face with you. You're still about 6 inches shorter than he is so the kiss had you standing on your tiptoes.

It made you feel like you were in a movie; The tall handsome blonde Pro Hero bending over to kiss the shorter (hair color) haired girl in the flowing dress at the end of the pier built out over the water. The sunset behind you seemed too overkill until the rain-pregnant clouds drowned it out, if you were being honest. But this had been the perfect evening.

Even when it started to pour down rain it was like you had been caught up in a romantic monsoon. It was a full 5 minutes that you stood there. Lip locked. Hands wondering. Hands wandering. It was one of the first instances in your life that everything slowed down. Your first slow-mo moment. And you couldn't have asked for it to be with anyone else than Katsuki. 

Taglist ::: @darkstarlight82 @arlerts-angel @millennialmagicalgirl

[arachniee]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ “I’m Their Cure!”

༘✿ Synopsis: Unfortunately, you’ve fallen ill. You didn't tell your lover as you didn’t want to be a burden, so you decided to just let your friend take care of you. And trust me, your boyfriend was NOT having it.

༘✿ Notes: this has been in my drafts long before i created my other series. I needed to get the dust off this and post it lol. This is just purely chaotic fluff that may or may not have grammatical errors. Characters; Lucifer, Vox, and Adam.

‧₊˚✩彡 Lucifer M.

Let’s be honest, this man would have NO idea until you’re coughing up your lungs. It’s either he’s really fucking dense, or you’re just that good with hiding your sickness. He’d literally think that everything was normal until the day he didn’t see you at the hotel at all.

He’s asking everyone his eyes land on, asking them if they knew where you were. Most would just shrug and say no (lies), but just as when he was about to lose hope, his daughter saved the day by telling him.

You were at your friend's apartment?? Why?? That was genuinely the first thing that came to his mind. As he knocked on the (hopefully) right apartment door, he was conflicted when he saw a man with just a t-shirt on with a wet towel in his hands.

His mind went in all directions except the right one. His mind filled up with (horrifying) negative thoughts as he stuttered and asked if you were inside. And when the man in front of him said yes, he was instantly red.

He literally started attacking your poor friend with his much smaller frame, accusing him of doing things to you. The commotion was so loud that you heard the cat fight from your room, thus urging you to sluggishly make your way to them.

You immediately pulled Lucifer away from your friend, who surprisingly didn't have much scratches, as the little man in your hold visibly brightened upon seeing you. But his gaze soured just as quick as he glanced back at your friend.

“Leave.” He’d order, still fuming (adorably). “But this is my apartme–” And in the end, you managed to convince your friend to leave for a few hours. Apologizing to him as you tried to calm your lover down.

After the whole fiasco has died down, it was your turn to glare at Lucifer, who in return, chuckled nervously. Though, he'd try to defend himself, saying things like “who knows what he could have done to you if I didn't arrive on time?”

Once you explain everything to him, that feeling of uneasiness turns into guilt. He feels stupid. First, he didn't know that you were sick, second, he was so stupid that he wasn't able to take care of you properly (even though you didn't want him to know).

Despite your sickness, he's clinging onto you, mumbling sorry’s. He doesn't care if he gets sick in the process, he WILL take care of you now. You will go back to the hotel and stay in bed. You will not lift a single finger at all. You will be treated like royalty (which you practically are, at this point) and he’d be doing all the work for you.

Hungry? He's got a snickers. Thirsty? Here, have some apple juice. Having trouble sleeping? He's literally right beside you on your bed, snuggling close.

In the end, after you got better, it was his turn to get sick. And he's expecting you to reciprocate what he did when you were sick! (He just wants to be pampered and babied by you.)

‧₊˚✩彡 Vox.

Look, he’s a busy man. So hiding the fact that you were sick would be a piece of cake since you don’t meet that often, even if he desperately wanted to. But he does notice once you finally spend time together after a few days. He watched as you coughed and struggled to do things you’d usually do with ease.

He’d be very concerned about your wellbeing, despite not wanting to admit it, at least not so soon. Since he always has to be somewhere doing something, he’d get his most trusted employee to bring you stuff. Flowers to make you feel better? Right at your doorstep. A new, comfier blanket? Already on your bed, neatly folded. And of course, he never forgets the medicine.

He thought that sending gifts and stuff was enough for you (it was), but he was (not) wrong. At least that’s what he first thought during his visit when he finally had time. His eye twitched in irritation as he watched one of your ‘friends’ help you eat the soup, their hands carefully bringing the spoon to your lips.

He’d cough comically loud to try and get your attention. Come on, he’s literally standing in your doorway and yet you’re pretending as if it’s only you and your friend in the room. Once you finally notice his presence, you’d thank your friend before asking Vox why he was visiting you since you knew he was busy.

He refused to speak on that matter until your ‘friend’ left. Your friend understood (thankfully, Vox thought) and left, telling you to call them if you ever needed anything. Your lover would mock your friend behind their back by saying “ ‘cAlL mE iF yOu nEeD AnYthiNg’, bitch, who do they think they are? I can take better care of you by myself than they ever could.”

He’d instantly ask you tons of questions, why didn’t you tell him you were sick? Oh, you didn’t want to be a burden? Bullshit. He is not accepting that lame excuse. Unconsciously, he’d be pouting, and of course, it isn’t a matter of time until he throws a tantrum.

It took almost exactly 2 minutes before Vox was making a scene, dramatically conveying his hurt that you preferred some other bitch’s care than his. Isn’t he enough for you? He’d be making comments about how your sickness might have affected your brain and your taste. Not just in food, but in people.

What? You prefer some cheap fucker’s company during the time you’re vulnerable more than his? No, we are not going to talk about how he’s busy most of the time. And we are also not going to talk about how he literally threw a tantrum just to visit you.

He’d still be pretty cranky about everything, it’ll take quite the effort for him to consider forgiving you. No, kisses, hugs, and all of your attention when you’re better isn’t enough. He wants, no, he needs everything you have to and can offer.

‧₊˚✩彡 Adam.

At first, he doesn’t catch on that you’ve been more sluggish lately. He would complain about how you might not be doing your job properly, though it’s just a facade of his growing concern. But when you brush him off, saying that it’s nothing, then he’d reluctantly disregard the topic.

Once he finally realizes that you didn’t go to work (where he visits you quite often, well, more like everyday), he’d ask almost everyone that he encounters. Lute (who is tired of his bullshit)? Emily? Sera? Everyone will be questioned about you.

When someone finally gives in to his pestering and tells him that you were resting in your home, he’s sprinting there faster than the speed of light. He’d literally be banging on the door, screaming at the top of his lungs for you to let him in.

You’d groan and cover your ears with a pillow as your beautiful friend, Molly, laughed beside you. She sat upright as you tossed around trying to drown out Adam’s yelling. After realizing that he wasn’t leaving or stopping any time soon, Molly eventually asked if you really didn’t want her to open the door. You’d groan even louder, to which she’d chuckle at.

She was so sweet, cooking for you and making sure you drank your medicine. As she grabbed the empty bowl on the coffee table, she smiled as you finally gave her the green light to open the door for Adam.

She always found the two of you cute, the most adorable couple ever! And as soon as she opened the door, Adam zoomed past her, ignoring her presence completely. Once you finally come into his sight, he’d be scolding you about not telling him that you were sick, did you honestly think he wouldn’t be able to help? Don’t underestimate him, damnit!

He’d only ever acknowledge Molly’s presence as soon as she came into the room with medicine in her hands. To say that he’d be pissed was an understatement. He was (cutely) fuming, not only did you not tell him FIRST, but you also have someone else taking care of you?

Jealousy brewed more in the pit of his stomach as he watched you thank Molly and drink the medicine with a smile. Psshh, she just gave you pills! What’s so special about that? If you wanted medicine, you could’ve just fucking asked him and he would’ve given you a whole dozen of boxes!

The whole time Molly was there with the two of you, he’d literally comment (complain) on everything she does, whether it was to help you or not, her every action will be judged by him.

Though he still tries to help, asking you if you want a drink or a snack, making sure you’re not uncomfortable and other stuff. Don’t get him wrong, he’s still pretty fuzzy about everything. And he’d make his feelings known after your friend has (finally) left.

He’d immediately bombard you with questions that you would rather not answer. He’s being a dick, yes, but that’s because you acted like one first! Why would you not wanna tell him? He’s your lover! Do you not love him anymore?

You’d need to make it up to him because explaining that you just didn’t want to be a burden to him is not enough of an explanation, apparently. He’d make you promise that you’d give him ALL of your attention and time next time, and by ‘next time’, he meant when you’re not sick. Because he ain’t coming any closer than 5 meters with you. Get better first!

[silkenwinger]

lightning crashes

yellowjackets lite, post plane crash (and post getting shot) johnny soap mactavish x reader.

part three. read on ao3

You watch them disappear into the dark wood, Oliver heading the group with the other two flanking him. The forest swallows them whole after a few moments. 

The remaining people at camp keep doing their tasks, this weird normalcy among the abnormal recent events of your lives. Carving out a good piece of wood, to make a bowl, a spoon or a figurine, like the ones in grandmother’s house. Cleaning the fish from any bones, stringing apart the lean meat until only fine strings remain. Obsessively stoking the fire, fearing its quenching like the vestals of old Rome. And cleaning the weapons, even more than once a day. 

You watch Johnny use the thin rod to clean the barrel with an ease given by his experience. While indeed spartan, the previous owner of the house you’re squatting in right now at least knew something about guns, and kept a wide range of accessories to clean them. Solvents and brushes almost outnumbered the amount of food supplies in the cupboard, which was very demoralizing to a starving you when you opened it. Thankfully you know someone who can make use of them.

Johnny sits removed from the group, but not too far, gun pointed towards the void as he works. It’s like a ritual for him: a moment of peace from the nervous chatter, the petulant snipes, the despair in the eyes of others. His head hurts at times too, ghosts of war peeking their way through– he’s good at hiding the pain, but you’ve been attached to the hip for so long now you’ve picked up a lot of his microexpressions. Still, he looks peaceful now, back to you, straight but relaxed, never hunching. It’s now more than ever that he registers as a different entity than the rest of you: a warrior among plebs. For all his joking and protectiveness, you can catch a glimpse of his true nature under the mask. A chaser, someone who stays put the way a lynx waits for its prey. Not a bystander. His reasons for not spearheading the mission-like expedition must run deeper than five scary minutes in the forest.

For the rest of the morning you do little. Check the rudimentary traps close to the cabin (empty, all of them), try to tend to your hair as you can in a small moment of vanity that ends when you remember the remaining shampoo is so little, the less you touch your hair with your hands the less it gets dirty. In the afternoon, you sneak out, almost like a teenager leaving their room on the sly, to do something. Anything. Once the first, unending period of fear ended, and once the hope diminished, as well, boredom started sitting on your bones. On everyone’s, you think. So you keep yourself sane by walking, and doing stuff with your hands. If you find food, even better. There comes a time when hunger is so strong and powerful your limbs can’t move, and you don’t want to reach that point. Ever. 

You make your way through a patch of woods where you’ve previously found some mushrooms (still unidentified, but that you dried and put in a container just in case), the opposite side of where the trio went. Sniffling, you look beneath the plants for any similar luck, moving stems and branches away: but you find only mud and moss. You run your hand on the bark of a fallen tree full of the latter, the touch pleasing and soft. If you close your eyes, and try really really hard, you can visualize the texture of a couch, or a velvet chair, your home or another one. You store the thought in the corner of your mind where the hope resides.

More rustling and checking among the shrubs, and you finally find something worth your time: a bush of blackberries. Exhaling a breath of joyful surprise, you start to pick as many fruit as you possibly can, knees propped on the damp ground. The blackberries are smaller than commercial ones, of course– and you hope their seeds aren’t too big, but beggars can’t be choosers. Halfway through, though, you reckon you probably shouldn’t pick them all in a sitting. Patience and restraint are the key to surviving hardships, and gobbling a new resource the day you found it just feels wasteful. Plus, you will have to share with the others.

At the very start, some had argued everyone should hunt and gather their own food. The extremely individualistic idea never went anywhere: there wasn’t a weapon for everyone, and hunting could also be fruitless for days. At the end, re establishing a minimum of social structure among strangers was the chosen way of living. Everyone contributed with what they could do: and if they didn’t know how to do anything, they learnt from someone who could. You’d taught Martha and a few others the basics of foraging, and a few ways to store food (even though the resources’ limitations made it a challenge). Johnny had taught some not only how to shoot but also how to hunt. When asked about it, he said it just came naturally to him, and there was little difference for him in hunting a stag from hunting a man inside a forest.

Making sure to hold the bag carefully so you don’t smash any fruit inside, you start to make your way out of the woods. There are two landmarks you’ve kept in mind: the fallen tree covered by moss and a big rock just at the start of where the woods start to clear. The sun is still out, but evening falls quite fast here: the moment the sun starts to go down, it’s only half an hour before the sky becomes dark enough not to see further than your feet. You grab a couple of blackberries to munch on as you walk back. 

When you reach the camp again, everyone is huddling around the fire. You can’t see Johnny, though, and it sends an unpleasant spark up your back.

“How’s Aurora?” You ask Martha.

“Way better. Stood up and had a walk before. Where were you?” She asks, tone curious. The light of the fire makes her blonde hair look a lovely amber shade.

The loud, sharp noise of something slamming almost makes your soul leave your body.

“Bonnie! Where the hell were ya!” Shouts Johnny, who apparently was just inside the cabin. You release a breath, and scanning his body, you notice he changed from the morning. He’s wearing that one black sleeveless shirt… Around his neck hang his binoculars, lenses shining. You'd always find it peculiar, how he just had those in his baggage, but after all there's a lot you don't know about him. Maybe he was checking for Oliver and the others?

“I found these,” you tell the group showing them the blackberries. There’s a collective “woo” and “nice”. Johnny leaves the doorstep, and the view of him immediately reaching for you flips your stomach. You smile at him while he walks right next to you, his face pointing towards your bag.

“Want some?” You ask him with a smile, tilting the sachet towards him. Eyes pointed towards the inside, he brushes his arms against yours as he picks a blackberry, fingers almost too big in comparison to the small spheres. He throws one in his mouth with a fluid gesture, and smugly smiles at your slightly impressed expression while he chews.

“Where exactly did you find them?”

“A little past that bit,” you answer, pointing to where you came from.

He hums. Johnny is not the type to pick plants (he could if he needed, but why do it when there’s other people who only know how to do that?) so you don’t know what he will do with that, but if it helps him organize his mental palace, who are you to deny him the information?

You spend the evening sitting at the fire with the others. Everyone gets their share of blackberries, and in return you get some edible flowers and a bit of fish. You would still be starving in normal circumstances, and you do feel a small, almost imperceptible ping; but your stomach and expectations have been restrained, changed, and you don’t suffer as much as you did the first days. 

“And I remember thinking a month or so after, “I should have just gone ahead and told on him”, but in hindsight, everything is easier,” Martha finishes her story, legs crossed. You nod, sipping on water. You brush your knee against Johnny’s almost by accident, almost on purpose. While his eyes were distracted and unfocused a second ago, they seem keenly sharp now as they watch you.

“Should we try planting the little fruit seeds?” Asks Joon, an enthusiastic, if not a bit clueless young man.

“Are you saying we should play farmers? I want to be out of here before the plant can bloom,” mutters Luca, another survivor.

People say their own piece about trying to cultivate, and whether it’s a useless waste of energy, especially now that autumn approaches. 

Meanwhile, Johnny keeps staring at you. It would be uncomfortable in any other situation, you think, a man just keeping his full attention on you. Almost stifling. You look away first, not out of proper embarrassment, but more out of common courtesy towards the people around you. Johnny is far from done, though.

He makes his move when you’re all laughing from a witty banter between Martha and Henry. You can’t even move away from where you’re leaning against his body that he scoops you up in his arms to put you on his lap. You’re so startled and still chuckling that you almost fall face forward in the fireplace, but he grabs you by the neck of the shirt and pulls you against his chest. Breathless, you turn to see his face filled with so much tenderness it sobers you quickly. 

You’ve been feeling so alone. He makes everything better: not only surviving in a physical sense but also mentally, spiritually. Both a tether to the world you come from and a sure thing in hard times like this.

You’re not going away without him.

Linking your arms around his neck, you settle your body so that you can face the others. Your face is on fire, you can feel the blood pooling over; but to your surprise, no one is staring at you and Johnny, like you being in his lap is no big thing.

You run your nails against his arm as another banter session starts.

It must have been an hour outside when it starts to drizzle, little raindrops shifting to bigger ones. Everyone rushes to put most things inside– when it rains, it rains hard, and no one wants their clothes or food spoiled by water of all things. You slide off Johnny’s lap remorsefully and as an apology you pet his hair, almost like you would a cat. He leans happily into it for the one second it lasts.

A brief question strikes your mind– what about Oliver and company? But by yourself you reason they’ll be covered by the high trees.

A thunder wakes you during the night, flash of lighting appearing on the darkness of your eyelid. It’s still raining, heavy water passing through the rudimentary gutters and no doubt flooding the outside corners of the cabin. Beneath the sound of the rain, though, you hear the door opening and closing softly. That wakes you completely. Who in their right mind goes outside with this weather? You think it could be someone who has to go about their business and doesn't want to wake up everyone using the (rudimentary as well) toilet. But still, you will try to wait for them to come back. 

You wait. Still, they do not come back inside. You’re starting to worry now, and even if the rain has ceased to fall as hard as before, you worry they might have fainted or lost their way. You get up and avoid the sleeping bodies on the ground to grab the holy, almost untouchable flashlight on the table. It’s supposed to be used only on emergencies, and the grand council, now attended by just you, has decided this counts as one.

You light it up as you’re near to the window to try and look out of it, but it’s too small to really catch more than what is just outside. You cross over to the door and open it, not yet closing it back as you try to look in front of you. When you hear a sleepy mumble lamenting the cold, you close it behind you. Walking right next to the cabin, hand on the wall to guide you, you keep pointing the flashlight towards the forest, but you can’t see anyone. Starting from the ground, you make several horizontal swipes, trying to catch as much as you can. You circle the whole house, becoming more and more anxious and alert to any and every sound, but you can’t hear anything but the remaining trickling of water. Turning the last corner of the cabin, your light painting finally illuminates a back, and the rush of panic that runs through is so pure it’s a wonder you don’t scream. It’s extinguished in a second, though.

“Johnny! What the fuck are you doing outside?!” You whisper yell to him, and if he’s surprised, he has no external reaction. He turns to look at you as if he was watching a match on tv and not the dark forest at night as it rains. Like this is a very normal thing to do. And God, he’s soaked! Isn’t he cold?

“Thought I would check if they were back on their way,” he says simply, and you almost make a sad, cooing sound in empathy. It’s weird, though. You could have sworn he didn’t really care about them. And it’s been less than a day. Whatever could they have accomplished, even walking for hours? But tired as you are, you don’t really vocalize all of that.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” you sigh, “and they don’t want you getting ill for them. Come inside,” you plead.

He grins a bit too wide.

“Sure thing, love.”

Days pass. There’s this push and pull with Johnny, your own will-they-won’t-they skewing decisively towards will-they, but you’re somehow pushing it back, too. Besides his weird surveillance methods, Johnny is still flirty and touchy-feely, and you’re crushing so hard on him you just want him to not fall sick over worry. You’d like to have a really private moment with him, too, but it’s not happening. Not as the nights pass and there’s no sign of the three men that left, and everyone is growing extremely jumpy and scared.

And the paranoia only erupts when you find George’s ratty shirt by the river one morning.

[tremendouskoalachild]

The Acolyte episode 1 is so fucking good, part 1

(just using the 1 year anniversary as an excuse to talk about how great the premiere is at easing the audience into the setting and genre, laying the foundations for the show's mysteries, as well as rewarding rewatches. also praising other random stuff that occurs to me because i love the show so much)

(also also this was not meant to be a "part 1" kind of post but it got too long lol)

the opening text: immediately tells us this is star wars™ (a long time ago font), but in a different time, and, critically, NOT wartime. both of these pieces of information are told to us simultaneously explicitly in the text and by the lack of crawl and opening fanfare.

the music is creeping and somber, setting the different tone right away.

first component of mystery setup: "a lone assassin risks discovery to seek revenge" - revenge for what?

the pan from starry sky to the action goes right to the ground, putting us directly behind this assassin's back - this is a smaller-scale personal story, not concerned with galaxy-altering space battles. the first shot of the town on Ueda also informs us of some of the aesthetic influences on the show.

(it's also insanely pretty)

the very next shot we get a first look at our assumed protagonist. her face is half-hidden, and she is wearing several mismatched protective pieces. we get another idea of possible costume design influences (ninjas, samurai, but also medieval european chainmail), and can assume she has collected her armor from different sources. she is also wearing a purple cape that doesn't look very useful as a disguise and seems like a hindrance in a fight - maybe it's a sentimental object. (after watching the flashback episodes we can connect this garment to Mae's lost home.)

the assassin approaches the settlement and asks a funny-looking alien guy for the location of a jedi. this first spoken line 1. is very star wars; 2. intrigues us - is she looking to fight jedi? seek their help? something else? and 3. tells us something about the galaxy at this time by its phrasing - this tiny place out on the frontier seems to have "its" jedi. perhaps the jedi order of this time period, or at least a portion of its members, is more spread out than we are used to in the films. we also learn that this assassin, while trained in secrecy, is not particularly interested in hiding at this point.

(the shot of Mae approaching the town's gate is also gorgeous)

the assassin enters a noodle shop full of interesting creatures and droids - reminiscent of the cantina scene in A New Hope, but the tone is very different, music mysterious and unsettling.

(that set if fantastic too - it's huge, well lit, plenty of interesting details. that spinning noodle wheel?? what a fun prop they didn't have to include)

we get a first glimpse of our jedi - very Obi-Wan-like, sitting in her robes in the corner, conversing with locals. maybe she's well-liked here and is having lunch with her pals, or maybe people come to her for help. we recognize her as a jedi right away from her costuming.

turns out the assassin knows this specific jedi, but "Indara" does not know her. Indara is immediately characterized as calm, polite, respectful; the assassin seems inexperienced and rehearsed in the way she speaks, and is thrown off-balance by the laughter and Indara's refusal to accept her challenge. the assassin has a strong reaction to Indara's assertion that jedi do not attack the unarmed, denying her and immediately starting a brawl with the other patrons.

the assassin is strong, agile, with quick reaction time and practiced martial arts moves. Indara observes her calmly at first, and then simply dodges her acrobatic attacks with minimal effort. the fight escalates - the assassin takes out a blade, while Indara finally at least removes her hood for more freedom of movement. we see open Force-use for the first time, to stop an attack; we also see Indara's realization that the assassin is a fellow Force-user.

(the physical acting and sound effects sell this really well, too)

on a rewatch we also notice the differences from Indara's look 16 years earlier, and perhaps wonder what her new marking signifies, or even whether there's a connection to Vernestra's similar markings.

(also her white costume is so cool while remaining simple)

once a patron's life is in direct danger, Indara's focus immediately shifts (from passively observing the situation and figuring out whether her intervention is needed) to jumping into action and calling for backup/sharing information with the wider order. all of those things relate to her experiences on Brendok as well, though she is not aware of the direct connection to those events yet.

(the choreography is seriously so awesome. music matching their movements, too. dramatic afternoon lighting. fuck yeah.)

the assassin is clearly no match for the jedi master but Indara continues to simply deflect or try to subdue her and figure out who she is.

Indara recognizes her attacker (and we see her realization Mae survived the fall on Brendok).

the assassin uses the Force in combat for the first time, going on the offensive, and showing herself to be strong enough to slam a jedi master into a wall. with Indara's earlier questioning, we wonder who trained her. (Mae will go on to use the exact same surprise Force-shove on Osha in episode 5, too.)

the revelation and the assassin's renewed attack makes Indara finally take out her lightsaber, giving us an iconic look combined with the first occurrence of a heroic, starwarsy theme in the soundtrack. she is a hero, she is in control, and she is going to end this fight, right now.

(we also can tell she doesn't want to hurt Mae, and see Mae backing away with both fear and resolve. they are both so clearly thinking about their previous encounter and its fallout. you can see acknowledgement, guilt, and acceptance in Indara's every expression for the rest of the scene.)

(seriously, Carrie-Anne Moss conveyed so much in so little time!)

(Mae also, likely unknowingly, uses several sneaky tactics the Stranger will utilize in his confrontation on Khofar.)

(Mae also looks so fucking awesome taking out those knives with the Force, oh my god)

the assassin convinces Indara to power down her lightsaber by leveraging jedi non-violence philosophy (we learn that in her mind, the jedi are hypocrites or liars on this point, but want to be seen or see themselves that way - her Master reinforces just that line of thinking at the end of this episode).

Indara dies not by being overpowered but via trickery and her enemy exploiting her selflessness (and quite possibly accepts her death out of guilt).

(her white shirt, different from other jedi clothes in the show, also provides very nice contrast with her blood)

the assassin has a strong emotional reaction to Indara's death - there is surprise, relief, sadness, cold satisfaction at justice being served, but no glee. (she might be thinking that Indara doesn't deserve her fate but needs to die for justice to be done - her interactions with her were much more positive than with the others, and she didn't witness Indara doing anything wrong afterwards.) mournful music plays, the sun is getting low - this is not a story about the heroes, and Indara's death is not celebrated.

the assassin has no problem killing, but will not execute a child's parent in front of them. (she also freely leaves witnesses behind, differentiating her from the Stranger. she is not quite as ruthless, doesn't care at all about the long-term secrecy and survival of the Sith, and might not care about her own life/freedom beyond enacting her revenge.)

the title is revealed, with sinister, dramatic music. who is the "acolyte"? is it this still nameless assassin? acolyte of who?

anyway, what an opening!! suspenseful, beautiful, the action is fantastic and escalates on multiple levels (of danger, emotion, energy, location). there are seeds of several mysteries already sown, it leaves us curious to know more, characterizes older Indara well enough for the rest of the show, and has so much to be recontextualized after watching the rest of the season. the amount of detail put into the set and characters, never to be seen again, is neat :)

[revelations-persona]

fucked up my hand in the middle of sewing so i won't be able to make progress in a while :') but while i'm here i might as well show what i got done so far. made everything but the tie :3

long ramblings about the process so far below

started working on all this for a bit over month. been alternating between maya and jun's outfits but ultimately switched focus to maya because her stuff was more complex.

this post is mostly about maya but here's the only interesting part of jun's stuff rn

i don't like the stitching on the roman numeral either but who will look. my eyes are Up Here. might paint over the thread so it doesn't stick out as much but who knows. also kind of off topic, it threw me off so bad that jun is a third year but in official art he's always shown with the two on his collar?? had to do some digging to make sure i wasn't crazy for thinking he was a senior.

the rest of his jacket is currently like a very basic looking cardigan with raw edges everywhere, nothing worth showing off rn. i think i'll continue working on it now that i can only work one-handed for the time being since the machine does most of the heavy lifting. as for the pants, i thrifted a pair several months ago. it's actually the reason i wanted to cosplay him lol, the pants were just the perfect color.

side note, my machine is Mischievous and simply refuses to sew down several layers at a time, or even just my beige fabric for some reason. so everything beige is sewn entirely by hand. maybe that's why i got carpal tunnel lol

here's what the sleeves look like on both sides and also on the inside

tbh i never realized it until i looked at her design more closely but she has like these little squares on half of her sleeves, so i tried to recreate that. it's basically just two rectangles sewn together but one of the rectangles is made up of other, smaller rectangles. nothing crazy. however, sewing the trim and elastic to it suckedddd. generally to sew elastic or stretchy fabric, you have to use a zigzag stitch (which looks exactly as you'd imagine). the easiest way to do that is by machine, except i couldn't because of the problems i just described and also the opening is too small for me to properly put it under the machine anyway. i never want to do a zigzag stitch by hand ever again. especially not with having to push through like six layers of fabric like no ty </3

now the corset

side by side of how a half of it looks on the outside vs the inside. both cups on the inside are labeled left and right respectively, in case i forget which boob goes where. currently the trim is just pinned on until i recover and can properly sew it down. i'll also have to figure out how to get the two zippers and the little rectangle that goes at the bottom on it too. the zippers for sure i'll have to cut down bc they're too long (they were the smallest ones the store had :/)

i found a pattern for it and it was easy enough to follow, just took longer than i wanted it to because i had to do it by hand. i also modified the pattern a bit to have it zip up at the front bc by default it closes at the back. had to adjust it twice so it would stop slipping off from being loose (size chart was weird). that little triangle was the result of me trying to ease the transition from the cups to the back of the corset after making the adjustments. it's not very noticeable when i have it on bc that's where my arms rest lol.

you might also be looking at the weird looking foam like why's it look like that. and you're right!

this is leftover from when foam was installed in the ceiling by the landlord to reduce noise from upstairs neighbors! like ten years ago! and she just left it here!! there's a lot more of it not pictured, that's just the amount i used. so kind. had to cut the triangles off and trim some of the thickness off, but thanks to her, i'm gonna have the quietest boobs at the con :)

and the hearts

they're right here :3 i still haven't attached them yet.

the trim is just black fabric cut into 5cm by 1.5m strips attached to other strips to make a super long strip i fold into 2cm pleats and cut as i go to fit the things i need to put it on. the stitching looks messy bc i have to in several times on the machine and only sometimes does my machine want to sew down more than two layers. i bought a yard of the black but i might unfortunately need more? i will cross that bridge when i get there.

the brown zip up undershirt thing i just modified an existing pattern i found online so that the sleeves were longer, it zips instead of buttoning up, and making it cropped. the collar is just that comically large so i suggest adjusting that if you also plan on using this pattern and don't like the collar size.

the skirt is a simple a-line skirt made a few inches wider so after sewing it and it's properly shaped like a skirt, i can go over and fold two sides together for that pleat in the middle of the skirt. i went in by hand to sew the inside of the folds to the fabric behind them so that the pleat stays in place. then i cut a strip of elastic to a few inches less than my waist measurement, sewed the ends down to form a circle, folded the top of the skirt over it twice, and then sewed it down and boom waistband. looks kinda weird all bunched up when it's not being worn, but i didn't really care about making it too pretty. you only really see the bottom part of it lol

i also made legwarmers to wear with the outfit because i refuse to spend money on shoes i will never wear outside of cosplay. they're literally just tubes made of a singular rectangle each with elastic on one of the ends, easiest thing ever. i think those boots fit well enough with the overall vibe so i'll wear them with the outfit.

the beige skirt thing she has i cut out already but really didn't do anything with yet so i have nothing to show for it rn lol

oh also. the brown, black, pink, and teal fabrics are broadcloth, the beige is peachskin, and the white fabric and little things on the front of jun's collar are gabardine (leftover from lisa and elly's uniforms).

if anyone has any questions i'd be down to answer them :3

[visiblenostalgia]

Pluto in Aquarius Resource Pack:

I don't know who needs to hear these, but I think it's best to have these things as of late when concerning the transition into Pluto in Aqua. If AI is increasingly running the show, we must go back to our human ways in order for us to keep ourselves sane. These are but some of the tools I have in stock to help us through it, and I thought I might share. They may become very useful down the line if the internet becomes far more decentralized and local.

(EDIT AS OF 12/12/2024 (gasp! angel number day!)) My request: reshare this and link it to whoever needs it most or is inspired by it most. I think this may help to soothe some stresses and woes. My viewers and those that come across this post are my most important people. Thank you for also seeing my stuff as per usual and give me a follow for more if you're interested (even if I may repost some gravity falls stuff so if you're also keen on that, keep a looskie out for it). I'm so happy I'm making a reach with my stuff and I want to continue. Pluto in Aqua has lit a fire under my ass for content related to it and I hope to be a sort of 'lax-messenger about it to my peeps on the web. Y'all are amazing and thank you for the support!

more under the cut

Literature...

Some books to help you gradually ease into this collective shake up:

Cal Newport's Digital Minimalism (and Slow Productivity) Might I suggest using these texts to help you navigate this digital dark time. One to use for digital regression and one for staying sane in your WFH space.

The Transcendent Brain: Spirituality in The Age of Science by Alan Lightman This one was a quick pick that I channeled while at work. Haven't read it yet, but it poses a good disposition to the Pluto in Aqua transit for some odd intuitive reason.

Trick Mirror by Jia Tolentino It's an anthology that describes to us what the algorithmic design of social media does to its people -- and women namely. If you want a book to capture your attention and also somewhat be part of a send-off to Neptune in Pisces next year, this will be a perfect book to look at.

7 Habits Collection (Of highly effective people and highly effective teens -- Sean & Stephen R. Covey) If you're looking to game up your humanity skills, whether younger or older (both are good refresh books), take a good gander at each for reference. May help you out more than good due to the Saturnian nature of Aquarius.

Originals: How Non-Conformists Move The World by Adam Grant If you're stuck on your capability to innovate, or have art block like a motherfucker, this is a book for those in need of a motivational boost for this Pluto Transit. Highly recommend!

Liberalism And It's Discontents by Francis Fukuyama Knowing that political systems have started to fall apart (communism, capitalism and many others), then this is a good place to start giving yourself ideas on what to support or what parties to make (if you're a political science major, PLEASE read Fukuyama's work I beg you). The systems that we've seen historically do not work anymore. We have to innovate whether we like it or not. Save the nostalgia for culture and at-home indulgences. Involving it with politics kills a system.

Robert Greene's 'The Daily Laws': 366 Meditations on Power, Seduction, Mastery, Strategy, and Human Nature There's an entry a day within this book. The author recommends to read it EVERY DAY. Introspection is also healthy under this Pluto in Aqua transit. You must do so from a detached perspective in order to be successful. If you missed at least 3 days or however many, read however many you've missed. A good challenge for every year. Easy new year's resolution goal or just a good routine add on that shouldn't take you more than 10 minutes to do.

Websites...

Some places online to get you in those smaller, private networks

When it comes to spacehey, you'll find things you'd never be able to on that site. I mainly use mine for blogging books I've read and cooking stuff. I'm in a mom-blogging era put it this way (I'm an auntie of two, a niece and a new half-great-nephew. I love my position in life right now).

P.O.I. (points of interest) concerning Neocities:

In searching by tag: searchengine, japanese, 90s, 2000s, comic, (insert big city name here)

There is a bunch. If y'all want me to make a monthly newsletter on neocities websites and what I've found, i guess i can make another blog for it so I can post my findings there. Keep a look out!

use in tandem with what you've learned from Cal Newport's Slow Productivity

Entertainment...

For those going the economic route:

ROKU's & any true 'FREE Tv Streaming service' available. Good to have these in economically strife-d times.

Ofc YouTube being close second. (not yt. premium)

(START WATCHING LONG FORM CONTENT YALL)

Not to also mention: If you have a video game system that still takes discs for content (like the PS4 and Xbox 360/ONE), you can convert them into a DVD streaming platform. If not that, it's already enabled, start collecting/owning some content of your own. Go to the thrift shops. Go to the supermarket and look for the analog option. Shop eBay. Go on Etsy. ANALOG FTW

If you're going for anything news based, consider also going for newspapers -- make going for a newspaper cool again! Even better if it's local or independent!

SHOPPING:

ofc go for reuseable bags. use the coupon deals at the stores. read the coupons that the cashier gives you and see what you can do with them. tax exemptions don't count sadly enough. get a Costco membership and shop in bulk (still, remember the economic options of going for those deals)

side topic: FOOD & COOKING:

opt for making your own cookbooks and write them somewhere that can be looked back on when you get the chance. It's always useful to have something like that on hand. That way you and neither your family forget the recipes that brought you together.

In a sense:

Stick it to the big man and go for the cheaper, less expensive option (and stick to them)

Learn skills on your own terms

Read, Read, Read, Learn, Learn, Learn

Turn off your phone and laptop, keep them in the office (unless your phone IS the alarm) and opt for the Television or a piece of paper.

Connect with gaming in a communal or skill-based sense. Go for card games. Daily newspaper games too. Think northernlion when he does various trivia games online.

Pluto in Aqua may yet have more in store for us, but in current times, this seems to be (to what I think) is best for us.

Rely on your community, rely on yourself. The world is an infinitely chaotic place, but so as long as we have one another, we'll make it through.

[hmserebusadjacent]

Don't have to be ok

I came up with the idea for this story this morning, and wanted to write and post it within a day to give myself a little boost after a rough start to the week. Reading this back, I realised this story is essentially me projecting my need to be comforted by Emmrich. But I hope you find the story enjoyable nonetheless.

So please enjoy Emmrich comforting Rook, saying that he doesn't have to be ok, that he will always be there for him.

Emmrich Volkarin x Trans Male Rook (Pining, longing, comfort, implied gender dysphoria on Rook's part, cloud gazing).

Word count: 2,677

AO3 link

Rook hadn't been his usual self today. He'd drifted off into the recesses of his own mind so often that each time it felt harder for Emmrich to pull him back. There was so much anxiety stored in the way Rook fussed with his hair or pulled at the fingers on his gloves, all of that energy just pouring out into his aura too.

Emmrich wasn't the only one to notice, of course. Davrin kept on shooting Rook sideways glances and then looking to Emmrich as if he had the answers. For once, Emmrich didn't have many words to give. It was the subtler signs that also gave him pause, like the way Rook fussed with the way his clothes hung around his hips and thighs. The way he had chewed the inside of his lips so much that Emmrich wouldn't be surprised if it was bleeding.

The necromancer couldn't blame their fearless leader for feeling the strain of leadership, helping to keep his team alive and stopping the world from ending. All that would have been enough but Rook also had to worry about not going mad from anxiety, grief, stress, any of the above or indeed every emotion under the sun. 

He couldn't blame Rook for having off days at all. He just wished he knew how to help better. To ease the strain even if he couldn't shoulder any of it. Emmrich did try, he really did. From ensuring Rook slept well, ate well and always being a willing ear if Rook needed to talk to someone about anything or nothing.

It was the least he could do for the man who had given his life purpose, for reminding him that life could be lived with other people rather than with the dead who no longer needed the spark of existence. Rook truly enlivened Emmrich Volkarin, and maybe one day he would have the courage to tell him.

And to tell him that he loved him above all things too. More than he had ever loved anyone before.

And when he held Rook in his arms whilst they hugged, or when Rook linked arms with him whilst they walked, or when they shared those late evenings chatting about everything and nothing over tea, Emmrich knew that this was what he wanted for the rest of his life.

To be his, in whatever form that took. If Rook also wanted to be his? It would be the happiest day of Emmrich’s life if he found out that Rook liked him half as much as he liked him.

When Rook designated their camping spot for the night, Emmrich's heart clenched with just how tired and fatigued Rook looked. Not just emotionally but physically, and the way he dropped his bag to the floor with a final thud made the mage’s heart jump in his chest.

“Will you two be alright setting up the smaller stuff while I have some time to myself?”, Rook asked, gaze almost pleading even as he willed something like a reassuring smile to his lips.

A niggling voice in the back of Emmrich’s mind said that Rook shouldn’t be by himself, even if he needed it. Maybe it was partly his perpetual need to have Rook in sight so that all felt right with the world.

But he also recognised that Rook had done more than enough today. They had walked miles and Rook hadn’t once complained, even with the evidence of his fatigue present in the dark rings under his eyes. If Rook needed time away from he and Davrin to recharge, to remind himself of where he was in the world, then that was what would happen.

“Of course. Do let us know if you need anything, Rook. We’re here for you.”

Rook’s bottom lip trembled at that, as if he might burst into tears and just give in to the reckless abandon of exhausted crying. But instead he smiled and gave Davrin a nod, and his gaze lingered on Emmrich for longer than it had their companion when he said

“Thank you. I won’t be far.”

When Rook had disappeared off with a blanket under his arm, Emmrich turned back to Davrin to find the elf giving him a look he knew very well by this point. All of the others had sent it his way too, and Emmrich felt his cheeks flushing with heat and just how very obvious he seemed to be. Well, obvious to everyone but Rook, apparently.

Trying to push his worries of Rook to the side for a moment (and failing miserably), Emmrich dived into getting their camp set up, casting glances in the direction that Rook had walked off in every so often.

—----

Emmrich managed half an hour before his mind was worrying so much about Rook that he could barely sit still and allow himself to rest. He’d been counting the minutes, every one that Rook spent wherever he was making the mage’s gut clench with nerves.

“Go and see where he is. I think he would appreciate it”, Davrin announced from across the other side of camp, making Emmrich jump as he was pulled from his looping thoughts. That Davrin thought he would be the best one to comfort Rook was gratifying, that other people thought Emmrich himself made Rook feel so comforted and safe. 

He’d never take the trust Rook placed him and the strength he gained from their friendship lightly. If he could always use that power for good, Emmrich would be a happy man.

He also didn’t need to be told twice to go and check on Rook, finding his way to his feet almost instantaneously as the mage’s mind was already far ahead of him planning just what to say to their friend and leader.

It didn’t take long to find Rook, his energy seemingly having given out on him in a nice little clearing in the woods nearby. The clearing was so pleasingly symmetrical, a beautifully wide circle glade filled with all sorts of wildflowers and buzzing bees. In the middle of this haven was Rook, spread out on his blanket, silhouetted by the sun in a way that only made him look more beautiful. Rook looked so at home here, amongst the wildflowers and beauties of nature that he adored so much, one of the other myriad of things he indulged in to help keep himself sane. 

In that moment, Emmrich was visibly reminded of his wish to take Rook to see the gardens of Nevarra City when the lilies in the ponds were in bloom, to marvel at the brightly coloured fish that came up to the water’s surface to snap at insects. If Rook would allow him he would also take him to see some of the gardens in the Necropolis on the higher levels to see the gardens borne of love and kept going by ongoing devotion that Emmrich wished so badly to feel for his own. If Rook would indulge him, Emmrich would tuck a flower behind one of his pointed ears and lead him on a dance in the magelights he would conjure to light their impromptu ballroom. Maybe if he was lucky Rook would allow Emmrich to artfully drape him over the back of his knee at the end of it all, his eyes shining as they both came back together and chanced a glance down at the other’s lips…

“Emmrich? You ok over there?”

Shattered shards of his hopeful visions cracked apart in Emmrich’s mind as he remembered where he was, gaze focusing back on Rook more clearly and the look of soft amusement on his face. Had Emmrich been staring at him slack jawed for a little while then? It wouldn’t be the first time and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Ah, yes! I just wanted to ensure that you were alright. Perhaps ask if you wanted some company?”

The beaming smile Rook sent his way was so utterly bright compared to the thin lipped smiles the rogue had been putting on earlier. Like something had genuinely managed to lift his spirits in the last half an hour and seeing Emmrich again was the icing on the proverbial cake. Whatever the case was, Emmrich was just glad to see the man smiling and looking hopeful again. Maker, he looked pretty.

“You can cloud gaze with me, if you like. Come on over.”

Cloud gazing? Emmrich couldn’t remember the last time he had done that. The last time was probably with his mother, lying down on the ground on a picnic blanket as they both giggled to themselves over heart and nug shaped wisps of clouds. A time before he had come into his magic, even, before the whole world had taken on a different hue and cast different shadows across all of their lives.

“I’d love to!” Emmrich replied cheerfully, already making his way through the tall grass and flowers, trying his level best not to trip over or to disturb the fuzzy lazy bees too much. With every advancing step Rook came into even lovelier focus, a scabious flower to the left of his head making his eyes shine an even deeper blue. It didn’t seem possible that the space could be lightening too, that the rogue was making the sun shine brighter by his very joy at seeing Emmrich approaching him.

By the time Emmrich reached the blanket and the sitting Rook, his heart was beating out a joyous yet nervous rhythm against the inside of his ribs. How the rogue looked so effortlessly beautiful all the time was beyond Emmrich, having decided long ago to simply bask in the man’s magnificence whilst he could.

“Come on then, you”, Rook murmured as he patted the space on the blanket beside him and fuck did Emmrich want to swoon on so many levels. That their closeness meant he was described using such soft words, commanded with such a fond tone of voice. Besotted wasn't enough of a word to describe the feelings Emmrich had for Rook. Maybe there weren't words strong enough.

But if looks could convey even half of those feelings, Emmrich was sure he was showing them now as he gently lowered himself to sit beside Rook, immediately feeling more calm for being in his presence. As he studied the man across from him for a moment, it did genuinely seem that Rook had found solace in this little space. He couldn't take all the credit for this change, of course, but Emmrich hoped that he had contributed a fraction of that ease that Rook now felt within himself.

When Emmrich laid down fully on the comfortable blanket a minute later, he was more than settled in for the pair of them to remain where they were, to bask in their semi closeness where he could easily brush their hands together if they went to point at the same cloud.

But Rook surprised the mage once again by asking an earth shattering question.

“Would you hold my hand?”

Emmrich turned his attention from the sky and was almost immediately disarmed by the fond look in Rook’s eyes, the entire question such an open quest for comfort that Emmrich couldn’t resist. He put his romantic feelings aside for the moment as he nodded, hand inching across the blanket till he could feel Rook’s hand next to his. Emmrich wouldn’t describe himself as a particularly brave man, but the way he gently placed his hand on top of the rogue’s hand and laced their fingers together might be one of the bravest things he had ever done.

And Rook’s smile was more than worth the risk.

After that, it was just a case of both men turning their faces to the sky and watching the world go by. There were a number of clouds available for perusal, all being blown slowly across the expanse by a thermal wind much higher up. A collage of mist and cloud fluff that still couldn’t compare to the beauty of the man next to Emmrich.

Rook offered his first suggestion for a cloud lookalike, pointing upwards and to the left.

“If you squint, that one looks like a nug. I’ve heard that the Divine has all but filled the Grand Cathedral with the little buggers.”

“There’s got to be someone who adores those creatures, I suppose. Lake Calenhad looks a bit like a rabbit if you squint, or so I’ve been told”, Emmrich replied, glad to hear the little huff of a laugh Rook uttered under his breath.

As Emmrich pointed to a cloud to his right, he felt Rook squeeze his hand as if the rogue worried that the mage wanted to pull away.

“That one looks like an Ocularum. Researchers within the Inquisition produced a fascinating paper on them a few years ago”, Emmrich ventured, delighting in Rook’s smile of intrigue.

“I’ll have to look at it one day.”

The two men continued in this way for maybe ten minutes, occasionally lapsing into silence when no new shapes presented themselves. Emmrich was enjoying himself immensely, and it felt good to see that Rook was too. Sure he still had the dark rings under his eyes and his hand lingered nervously near his own hip sometimes, but the rogue did seem to be calmer and more present than he did before. He often squeezed Emmrich’s hand, and Emmrich was all too happy to provide reassurances that he was still there with him and present in the moment.

When Rook had lapsed into a longer silence than the others before it, Emmrich turned his head and found Rook still looking at the sky but with a bit more of a distant look on his face. Emmrich’s heart ached for him, it truly did, and he wanted to be exactly what Rook needed, whatever he needed.

In the end, Emmrich simply said

“Are you alright? You don’t have to be, you know. None of us would judge you for it.”

Rook’s lower lip trembled again as if he was on the verge of tears, the rogue gently biting down on it a moment later to stop it from shaking. A gloved hand went to cover his eyes for a moment as the man took a long, deep breath in and out. He was clearly grounding himself, and Emmrich didn’t want to disrupt that.

Eventually Rook lifted his hand away from his eyes and turned to look at Emmrich once more, a sad sort of resignation in his eyes.

“Today I’m not. But I’m happy to be here with you.”

The man's voice was distinctly wobbly, and Emmrich's heart knew exactly how that feeling felt. That Rook found his presence so comforting, that he was looking at him with such trust and fondness in his eyes was star shattering. That he allowed Emmrich to comfort him, asked him to hold his hand, made Emmrich feel just as safe and treasured in reverse!

Joy beyond description.

“I'll always be happy to be by your side”, Emmrich murmured, deciding to be brave for the second time today as he let go of Rook's hand and opened his arms instead. With something that sounded like a soft sob, Rook was quick to slot himself against the necromancer's side, throwing an arm over Emmrich's middle. With a soft sigh that matched Rook's own, Emmrich gently wrapped his arms around Rook and gave him a soft little squeeze, resigned to the fact that the man in his arms would hear his racing heart.

“I'll always be here, whatever you need. You can always count on me and my affection for you, my dear.”

A delightful giggle from Rook made Emmrich's chest vibrate, and his heart leapt into his stomach as the rogue threw a leg over the mage's own for good measure.

“Thank you, Emmrich. You really are one of a kind, and a true treasure to me.”

If heaven existed on this mortal plain, Emmrich Volkarin would have sworn that this was what it felt like.

[paging-possum]

pls do talk about your projects if you so wish

YOUVE UNLEASHED A BEAST. hold on I'm going to bullet point this because I started paragraphing it and it was literally unreadable.

the big one that I should be working on is Milwaukee protocol (duh) (deadline of expo in April that I applied to and hopppppefully will get to table at but we'll see! it is ever so slowly getting sketched out and I like how it's going so far!! but im shoving those guys out the window right now because they'll get their time.

I'm getting back into animatics (evil decision) partly because I LOVE MUSIC and I love DRAWING PICTURES TO MUSIC and because I need to practice use adobe premiere in a way that does not make me rip my hair out aka by putting together videos of my favorite fictional gay people. anyways.

I'm planning out an animatic to the other side of paradise for naddpod rn....it was originally gonna be like a lyricstuck comic but given the beat it feels like it'd work better actually set to the music...it is giving me grief a little bit since there's a lot of naddpod and I haven't listened to it in a while and it doesn't have a central theme which is usually pretty big for putting them together....its definitely going to have more emphasis on Bev and Erlin (sorry if I just start saying naddpod names at you LMAO) (it's very good though. one of the best ttrpg podcasts out there imo) but I do want it to be about the others as well :] they all get their time. The bridge is the most planned out part (heavy on the hellfire chronicles/chosen saga, those who Know can probably figure some bits out but I will say there will be some stuff with the wraiths) and I want the beginning to be a brief rundown of the earlier parts of the campaign but idk, I might lean into it being heavier on the later half for ease. also realistically it does not have to be entirely linear (guy who is coping) but oughhhh. it feels wrong for it not to be. I'm also hoping to mess with color and style a little bit with it since I'm no longer constrained to flipaclip! I want to get neon with it!! I would like to put a little more movement in it and overall make it a little crunchier and crispier and mess with camera movement maybe. it's very much a fuck around and figure things out project which is nice...

that said I do play favorites I am chipping away at erlin animatic mostly since it'll be easierrr and good practice with adobe in the meantime! who am I if not a guy who draws the kindleafs two billion times everyday. it does feel very repetitive though so I'm trying to change some stuff around (naddpod relisten is helping a bit) and it's getting there!

other smaller projects here and there...I need to actually lock in on my portfolio...if I don't post some muscle/bone/nerve diagrams and maybe a short comic about joints or something in the next month everyone needs to yell at me.

[sichore]

Also 23 for the otp prompts!

tagging @nightklok because they asked for this prompt too! it got away from me a bit... like 2K words a bit.

23. Write about your ship supporting each other through a hard time.

MagJam | mention of MagCharles | 2271 words | post s2. ep. 19 Black Fire Upon Us | non-explicit sex

Mordhaus is attacked and the first thing Magnus feels is worry, sick and gnawing in his gut as he tries to go about the shop as usual. Are they okay? Did they make it out? And the anchorman goes on to say no, they did not. 

All the money and fame in the world didn’t stop them from being infiltrated, invaded like the micronation of shit that they are, and now Charles is dead.

Charles is dead.

Time passes in a haze, swirled and blurred images of life moving on regardless. Nairi notices and asks what’s wrong and he can’t bring himself to tell his daughter the truth. “Nothing. I’m fine. How was class?” And Nairi’s furrowed brow is a mirror of his own, but eventually she stops asking, her hands no longer hesitating as she tells him about her day.

Charles is dead and the hate and resentment that’s built up over the past decade is numbed by a wave of grief so deep that Magnus finds himself visiting the liquor store more and more because he can’t bring himself to touch the bottle of arak in his cabinet. He’s far from sober, but he usually doesn’t let beer bottles collect in his recycling bin this fast. They gather like his regrets and dreams, empty and dusty and sometimes broken before he tosses them out, and then the pile grows all over again.

Two weeks go by. Maybe a month. And then Jimi comes back.

“Oh, hey!” She greets him in a scene like an echo of a time past and it takes his breath away. Jimi, standing in his kitchen with Nairi as they put away groceries, smiling as brightly as she did the first time they did this so many years ago when Nairi was much smaller.

“We were gonna make dinner, but we got a bit carried away at the store,” Jimi apologizes, shrugging, and holds up a takeout container. “How’s Italian sound?”

“Good.” Magnus swallows down the lump in his throat and hopes that eases in the hoarseness in his voice. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“Some stuff came up at work, so…” Jimi shrugs, doesn’t exactly meet his eye. “Here I am!”

Dinner comes from a local Italian spot that Magnus and Jimi had gone to once, together, the evening they decided that no, this probably shouldn’t be a thing. The bread is still soft, the pasta exquisite, and the sun-dried tomatoes far, far sweeter than Magnus remembers.

“There were some changes,” Jimi says, once Nairi retreated to her room for the evening to leave the two of them to polish off the bottle of white wine Jimi had picked up ‘for fun’. Her gaze stays focused on her stemless glass, swirling around her drink. “So I’m finally back here for the time being.”

“For how long?” Magnus ventures, trying not to think about how much his world has shrunk since Jimi started spending more time away at this mystery job than her apartment. Since he was left behind, three times now.

“Mmh, not sure.” And Jimi sets her glass down on the coffee table, curls a leg up onto the couch so she can face Magnus. “How ‘bout you? How have you been?”

Terrible. “Fine.” Spiraling. “Same as usual.”

“You look tired, Magnus.”

He doesn’t have an answer for her.

Jimi is home a lot now. His home, which could have been hers, too. Magnus doesn’t realize how much he’s been slacking on groceries until he starts coming home to the fridge constantly being stocked with more than takeout, leftovers, and beer. Nairi is bright and cheery the following weeks after Jimi takes her on a shopping spree, and frequently sports a colorful jacket from one of her shows.

One evening, Magnus comes home after closing shop to find Jimi asleep on his couch, having been in the middle of folding laundry. She’s not even that good about putting away her own clothes from what he recalls.

He reaches down to brush an errant curl, stops himself, and instead moves her glasses to the side table. It’s enough to wake up the artist.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” she says hastily, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. “I was just –”

“Jimi, what are you doing?”

The way she pauses and her eyes widen in embarrassment makes Magnus kick himself for his lack of tact, but he can’t bring himself to stop. “I mean, you’ve been –”

“Weird, ah, I know. It’s weird. Sorry. I’ll just go–”

“No. Shit, I’m sorry, don’t –” Don’t go, please. She starts to rise and he places his hand on her shoulder and the way Jimi looks up at Magnus makes him jolt. A dormant urge sparks to life and he’s not so quick to snuff it out. “I’m sorry. I appreciate everything you’ve done, really. I know I’m not great at showing it.”

And he pauses, the words sending him down a completely different train of thought. He redirects. “And Nairi’s been really happy to see you again.”

Ignoring the protest in his knees, Magnus kneels down to be more at Jimi’s level, and he sees the way she sucks in a breath, hands clasped in her lap. He tosses his hair over his shoulder with a jerk of his head. “You’ve just got me worried, is all.”

The way Jimi presses her lips together and her eyes harden, he expects her to challenge him right back, because he knows the bags under his eyes haven’t gotten much better since she first asked about them. That the recession is hitting everyone hard, the shop hasn’t been doing its best, and Jimi just seems to be biding her time while making sure Nairi has everything she needs.

And Magnus is grateful, even if his pride is wounded a bit. It’s really not a talk either of them wants to have. “Listen, if you need to come back to the shop for a bit, it’s not a problem–”

“It’s not that,” Jimi interrupts, then sighs, looking away. Her hands twist in her lap and this time Magnus doesn’t hesitate to take one. He watches Jimi’s shoulders sag, and the fight leaves her body, replaced with an emotion he can’t identify that’s gone as fast as a ripple. “I’ve just got a lot of time on my hands. Maybe I should go back to school. Actually finish this time.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Mmh.”

He forgot how small her hands were compared to his, long and knobby and weathered as they are. Jimi holds his hand much more carefully than he handled all those bottles he knocked back. She looks at him now and her eyes are dark as midnight in the summer. He can see the glitter of stars, feel the warm breeze in his hair, the blades of grass on his skin.

“... hey, Magnus…”

“Yeah?”

Jimi squeezes his hand, worries her lower lip with her teeth. Soft, plush lips that he remembers should be treated delicately. “... Lemme finish up here.”

He’s not sure what he was expecting. He should be used to disappointment. “Right, yeah. Okay.”

Weeks and months pass and Magnus remembers feelings other than grief and monotony and apathy. Even tragedy can’t stop Dethklok from flaunting their wealth before the world and that familiar sneer of disgust curls Magnus’ lip, before he changes the channel away from news of that damn statue.

Charles is dead and Jimi’s back and the need for revenge still burns in his chest and Nairi is healthy and well. It’s not exactly his normal, because he’s missing more than he usually is, and maybe some part of him really did believe that negotiating his royalties wouldn’t be the last time he spoke to Charles. It was the band, the rest of those selfish assholes who cast him out, and Charles wasn’t much better than himself, casting away his heart in favor of reaching his goals.

Magnus feels like he’s on the verge of waking from a dream, like maybe he’s getting to the acceptance phase, when Jimi turns to him and says Nairi’s gone for the weekend.

And he snaps out of whatever haze he was in. “Oh?”

“Yep,” Jimi chirps, shrugging. She’s more relaxed as of late, did actually take up classes again. Went to see her family. Said work had slowed down, but it was fine, apparently. “Told her and Haséyá to go have some fun.”

That would explain the text he got from his daughter. “I see.”

“She won’t be back until Sunday afternoon.”

Jimi smells really nice today. “Uh huh.”

“So… I thought we could watch movies, or something.”

“... Oh.”

She does not want to watch no damn movies.

It’s Friday night and Magnus is not alone and he doesn’t really need to concern himself with opening the shop tomorrow. Or for the whole weekend. Jimi is dressed simply in a shirt and sweats and what seems to be little else, now that he takes a good look at the dips of her chest. Jimi is turned towards him on the couch, same as the first night she returned, only this time she’s not asking how he’s doing.

The offer has stayed open all these years and now she gives him an answer. Yes, now, because if not, when? Magnus’ breath catches, and her fingers brush his knee, and the walls he had started building up again atop his mound of grief come crumbling down.

Jimi’s hand is small against him. Her skull, too, feels tiny cradled in his hands as he threads long fingers into her thick hair to draw her face near. Magnus only sees half as well as he used to, yet he plainly sees that beneath the care and sweetness that is Jimi is a pain he can’t identify. He asks if she’s sure and she nods her consent. The last time they kissed outside of the holiday season was on that doomed date. Kissing her feels like tasting the rain after a long drought, only it pours, and pours, and pours.

Magnus pulls back from the deluge and the whimper Jimi lets out takes the rest of the air from him. He takes her hands in his own, kissing her palms and fingertips, unsure if they are promises or apologies. Jimi accepts them all the same. She accepts his touch everywhere; rough calluses over smooth skin, a vice grip on her soft hip, and his longing into the aching core of her.

For her, he tries to be a gentle lover, but Jimi doesn’t let him. She doesn’t look at him much, but they both have a lot of hair in the way, and with him having only one eye, Magnus isn’t sure if he wants to glimpse anything other than whatever pain drove her back here. This, at least, is familiar territory to him, so when she claws at him and holds him tighter, closer, he ducks his head down, and gives it back tenfold.

He buries himself in her and with it he tries to bury that grief, that guilt, the ‘what-ifs’ and ‘could be’s’ that haunt him every time he looks into the mirror and sees that pale ghost staring back at him. It’s far less than she deserves, but Jimi takes it all the same, and in turn does not allow him to ride the bliss that follows release. No, she drags more from him with biting nails and pleading cries, with a voracity that shatters any illusion of innocence he may have still held towards her.

Jimi’s arduous cries turn to shouts, turn to sobs, and eventually, their mingled, labored breaths. In the wake of the storm there is stillness, and silence, and for a while, there is no loneliness.

It’s been twenty years or more since Magnus has shared a bed with anyone through the night. He never did with Mari, and the last person he remembers doing so with is dead. But Jimi stays with him until morning and it’s not as strange as it could be when he wakes up and she’s smiling at him. Wearing his shirt. Pushing his hair from his face and chiding him for not tying it up.

He doesn’t ask if she was thinking of someone else, too, in the dark. In the morning light, she’s looking at him, kissing him, swinging her legs over his hips and sinking down onto him. Jimi moves like the waves and Magnus lets her pull him under.

Afterwards, once she’s cleaned up and he finally manages to rouse himself from bed and do the same, he finds Jimi in the kitchen. The tea she claimed she’d make is unbrewed. Instead, she stands at the sink, the water running over her fingers as she stares with an unreadable expression.

It’s the crack in the otherwise perfect image of her standing in his kitchen, in his shirt, still wearing his scent. Maybe this will only last the weekend. Maybe this is all he’ll ever have. But he had nothing before, has nothing with Charles dead, so he’ll hold onto what little he has, however long he has.

“Hey,” Magnus says softly, jolting Jimi out of her trance.

“Oh, hey.” Her smile is weary. “Sorry, I guess I just kinda zoned out there.”

Magnus says nothing at first. Just closes their distance and wraps his arms around her. With their height difference, her face presses to the center of his abdomen. “It’s okay.”

Jimi’s arms wind around him, too. For a moment, he feels the gravity of a collapsed star, and his raspy voice fills the void. “It’s okay.”

[Soft OTP Prompts]

[requirecookie]

What Happens When You File Off Serial Numbers

Ok, had a couple of people ask about this, so figured I'd just make a big, self-indulgent post.

Hi. So. I'm Stormy, and in 2003 I wrote a Matrix fanfic. Then like 40 more. It started pre-Reloaded, and was intentionally already massively canon-divergent, so the content of the sequels didn't really matter to what was going on (though exiles are eventually introduced).

It came from the basic concept of: Rebels recruit humans, why wouldn't Agents?

So, started off with that. Had Smith recruit an OC, Stef, who is the main character of the series, so we have someone new to everything to experience this through.

The Agency is basically split into three - Field (Smith), Combat (Jones) and Tech (Brown).

(*I...fucked up at the beginning and switched Brown and Jones' names, but will refer to them by canon names for ease of understanding - this, however, comes back later.)

Stef goes into Field, and she's this really smart hacker who I wanted to sort of model off Spider-Man in the quippy one-liner sense (as befit her hacker name of "Spyder"). She hears both sides of things, but genuinely wants to protect the Matrix with the attitude of "just because it's code, doesn't mean it's not real", "if I'm nice to someone, that's real, if I'm mean, that's real, reality is a formality".

Oops. She fuckin' dies and gets upgraded to an agent.

Time goes on, I add a co-writer, we add more OCs, I start to really just love the stuff I created and it's already so wildly divergent, I go "lol, how about I just rewrite this as original content?".

Lots of worldbuilding happens. I do a bunch of full/almost complete first drafts playing with various degrees of cyberpunk and other genres - the original versions were the closest in that it was a simulated world, but as compared to the Matrix, a benevolent one.

Earth is dead, and the only thing known to be reamaining there are a bunch of server farms with various sims showing sections of human history (Stef's world would run from like 1850-2050, then reset).

But that still felt too close, and I did keep getting the urge to play with other genres, and since it wasn't necessary the "simulated world" part of things that I wanted to keep, I let myself start to go "ok, well, where else can something like the Agency work?".

But...fantasy.

So iterated, rebooted a few times, and as of 2025, this is where we're at.

The Agency has offices in most major cities around the world, and outposts in smaller locations (these satellites report to their closest major city, and its Director). Their job is to "protect the masquerade", ie, to stop humans from finding out the fae, Faerie and anything weird exists.

This is achieved with a combination of information supression, misinformation, "yeah, it's fucking real, but don't tell anyone", memory modification, and fae usually wanting to avoid bringing uncessary attention to themselves while they're on Earth, as that only brings danger.

The Agents are still program people - for brevity's sake, we'll just say that what became the Agency as we know it grew out of something set up by god/aliens that may as well be the Q from Star Trek. (This history has very little impact on the day-to-day of the stories, however).

They're made of a nanite solution called "blue", and in System territory, are pretty much immortal (with magic/magic weapons still being dangerous), in areas more saturated with magic ("blackout zones") or in Faerie, they're as vulnerable as humans to even normal guns.

Agents can "Require" - conjure pretty much anything they can think of or imagine (*some restrictions apply, you need special clearance for a lot of medical stuff or weapons outside of the norm), and "Shift" - teleport themselves anywhere within System territory.

Fanfic Tangent: Both came from the fic days - it always bugged me that it seemed like Agents couldn't get request whatever from the System on an as-needs basic. ("You're empty"/"So are you" - Why the fuck can't he just require another clip and headshot Neo right then and there. Respawning obviously gives an agent a full loadout - new gun, new sunnies, fresh suit - and spawning even one more bullet into the clip should only take a fraction of that time, so, mechically, I couldn't understand/didn't like that, so invented requiring).

Shifting. While I do get that it both increases the fear factor of looking at a Bluepill, and that it might make rebels more hesitant to shoot, knowing a civilian will be sacfriced, there's...just not always going to be a Bluepill available when and where you need one, so...just open up Google Maps in your head and reposition yourself?

Personality and personhood-wise...while there's variation, every Agent is capable of emotions, though some naturally develop less, whereas some get an excess.

There's also a...deadening of it, in that while you can experience the wonder and beauty of life or sadness and grief, it's expected that you won't let it interfere with your Duty, so they (tend to, are programmed to, don't always) get over things faster - sadness over a break-up lasts a day, not a week; you could lose a recruit, and still turn up for work the next day. Duty first, always, freedom where you've got time for it.

"Break-ups?" Yep. Most Agents have romances or families - also, the vast majority of them are queer (both in gender and sexuality) (Examples later).

The Agency fights The Solstice. The Redpills/Rebels have a valid point of view, The Solstice do not. They hate magic, they think it's dangerous, needs to be destroyed, and spend their days and nights trying to achieve that, generally by lying to their new recruits, and presenting themselves as something more akin to monster slayers/the BPRD. A lot of people join, because they want to be heroes, want to protect their families, and, at least until they've bought into the rhetoric, are only shown the horrific side of magic, and the least human-looking fae to just drive in that "this is different, this needs to die".

The Agency Org Chart - for a major city Agency, it generally looks like this:

1 Director

1 Field Agent + 1 Aide (Recruit)

1 Tech Agent + 1 Aide (Recruit)

1 Combat Agent + 1 Aide (Recruit)

1 Medical Agent + 1 Aide (Recruit)

1 Liaison Agent

Some miscellaneous staff agents

Well. Uh. Brisbane* has. Uh. Some of that when the first book starts.

Brisbane, as an Agency is...the kind of place that ends up towards the bottom of "Top 100" lists and gets a "Oh. Them." kind of reaction. They are not well-regarded, their scores and metrics are usually pretty bad, and more than once, there's been at least the idea of just tearing it down and starting from scratch.

(*Sue me, I wanted to set my book series where I was born, and where I was living until a few years ago :P).

They have:

1 Director (Comatose for decades at this point)

1 Field Agent/Acting Director

1 Combat Agent + Aide

1 Tech Agent

2 Medical Agents (Twins) (Menaces)

1 Liaison Agent (Asshole)

Some miscellaneous staff

So let's meet our babies.

Agent Ryan (Field Agent/Interim Director)

So, whatever charcterisation we had for Smith just...took a flying leap at some point, and this man became 100% Pure Dad. Not Daddy. Dad. Cut him open and you'll just find his code says "I want to look after people"/"I'd love someone to mentor"/"Please, I just want to read fairy tales to someone".

The beating heart of the series is the fact that Ryan looks at Stef in book #1, goes "this is the saddest fucking creature I have seen in my entire life, It's Free Daughter" speedruns Found Family, and loves someone who's never been loved before.

He's stressed out, he's overworked, he's given up any semblance of a personal life juggling the two roles without the assistance of an aide (when, at minimum, he's entitled to two). Just trying to hold things together enough so that his little, unimportant Agency stays just functional enough so that he and his fellow agents don't get recycled for parts.

Grey-Ace. Divorced. Much happier by himself than essentially having his father-figure/director encouraging him into relationships and basically..."comp allo"? (Yikes, Director, yikes).

(I have other art, but this piece of fanart remains one of my favourite depictions of him).

Agent Taylor (Combat Agent)

I mean, one look at Agent Jones and you go "well, that's the party tank", so that's what I made Taylor. He's the angriest goddamn redhead to have ever lived, and someone recruits make Chuck-Norris-style-jokes about.

A bit younger than Ryan...but also not really. About 20 years prior to the series starting, he got horrifically injured and died. As soon as Agents die, their code starts to degrade, dumping data and memories, so that it can't potentially be used against the Agency.

But his friends couldn't stand that he'd died, so immediately tried to start resurrecting him, but in the few minutes he was gone, that was enough for pretty much all of his memories to go, so when he woke up, he was basically starting with a blank slate. Thinks of his past self like the Doctor thinks of his past regenerations, the "that was me, but that's also another person that I am not".

But he'd rather punch people and snap necks and depersonalise to an unhealthy degree than get any amount of therapy.

I generally call him "kratosexual", if you're strong, he could be into you.

Agent Jones/Andrea Jones (Technical Agent)

So, this is where the name fuckery comes into play. For the entire fanfic run, we called Brown, "Jones", and well...it was the one name I couldn't stand to lose ("Jonesy" is so much fun to say), and the one name I decided it was okay to keep.

The youngest of the Agents (as he's a replacement for the previous Tech, who died) at just somewhere around 30, he's a lot of recruits' favourite agent, as they're the least intimidating, especially when she's smiling. While Taylor is terrifying, and Ryan is just...blank-faced and seemingly pretty emotionless, Jonesy is a Gamer who raids with his recruits, holds movie nights, will actually sit and talk to you about your problems, and has multiple recruits who actually contribute little or nothing, because he just wants them to have somewhere safe to live. (This is fine, Agency resources are basically infinite).

Tech is just also full to the brim with queer recruits, who revel in the fact that their boss is a bigender hottie who can basically swap between long-haired bishoenen and sexy librarian with a tap of a button in their HUD.

Agents Parker (Medical Agents)

The only main agents without a direct parallel, but a role I felt was necessary, if I was going to have human recruits - in the fanfic, Parker was a single agent, in the series, I wanted to explore what twin agents would be like.

The answer? Weird.

Twins cannot be created on demand, and only occur as a glitch during agent generation, and are usually amazing at whatever role they were created to do - the function as two halves of an indivudal, so in surgery, it's one person with four hands. They're always in each other's thoughts, and if deprived of this connection (ie, through a blackout or magical interference), they are basically debiliated, and cannot function.

The Parkers (Parker-2, left; Parker-1, right) do show different parts of their personality, with Two being openly brash, hostile, and likely to threaten medical experimentation if you piss him off; whereas One is known for the better bedside manner, and being the "better half" of the couple.

(They make Jamie and Cersei look like amateurs, they're on a level of twincest unimaginable by mortal beings, and that's as NSFW as I want to get).

Stef Mimosa (Recruit/Secondary Field Agent)

So what happens to an OC that you let percolate over multiple variants and twenty years? You get the wibbliest little of anxiety ever put to page.

Anxiety. Depression. Self-harm thoughts. Crippling lack of self-worth. DID. (And that last one's not played for jokes, she's a median system, and it's probably the only reason that she's even as barely functional as she is when she starts the series, because it's the voice in her head that will say "You haven't showered in a week" or "You haven't slept in two days".

Before the series starts, she basically spends all day sitting around writing bits of code, or just staring at the internet and until it's time to sleep again.

And then she meets Ryan (for the second time, there was an incident when she was a child, but you should read the book to find out about that), and...with the first bit of love and encouragement she's ever had in her life, she starts to slowly change and grow a bit.

Curt O'Connor (Field Recruit/Aide)

In the fanfic, about halfway through, a recruit reveals themselves to a rebel plant (a Bluepill working within the Matrix, because you would need some people like that, some people would need to be there full-time).

Hi Curt, Bye Curt. You were just there so I could make a reference to The Lizard, as a companion to Stef's Spider-Man.

Then I started all those drafts that I alluded to all the way at the top of this post. Curt's role got a bit bigger, but every time, maybe a third of the way through the book, he dies, usually being Stef's first kill.

And I just started to feel sorry for him. Like, I'd probably murdered him like twenty times by this point.

So the next time through, I went "Nope, you live this time", but kept the rebel/Solstice thing, and made him someone who had defected to the Agency after seeing the truth of what the Solstice did, and now has to survive with a bunch of recruits who have to keep themselves from attacking him in the hall, working for agents who...don't have much hope that he'll achieve much in his recruit career, as Solstice turncoats usually don't.

But he was useful, because it gave someone Stef to talk to that wasn't Ryan (who can't babysit her all the time, he has work to do), and someone who is surprisingly, imediately able to pick up on "oh, she's not neurotypical" and let Stef go at her own pace, even rigging an emergency AAC board when she has a bad moment and shuts down.

I remain very glad I decided to rescue him from the murder pile.

Our one goddamn straight guy.

Magnolia Hammond (Combat Aide)

Even more so than the Parkers, Mags doesn't really have a fanfic counterpart, and is one of the ones who takes the most advantage of being in a fantasy story, as she's half magpie.

(One of the violent, swooping, will-attack-humans, Aussie magpies, not those cute little things other places have).

Also, because Taylor largely likes to communicate in grunts and glares, she's the public face of the Combat department, and keeps things running.

She's competent to a point where, on more than one occasion, she's basically given an order to Ryan, which he's followed because he's not going to question her area of expertise.

As bisexual as the day is long. May absolutely be in love with Taylor, but isn't going to bother him with that, so keeps it professional.

So...wanna read it?

Happy to read online? Read it on our site, or Royal Road.

Want an ebook? Amazon and Other Retailers (or DM me)

We also have an in-progress audio adaptation, if that's easier.

At the moment, there are three full novels and a handful of short stories - Book #4 is on hiatus at the moment (and has been for some time) while I work on another project. (Which...might also be of some interest, but that's another post for another time).

[tottwriter]

Hi, what's an ML in the context of your novel writing month post and how do you suggest finding these alternative communities? My attempts at google searches only result in NaNoWriMo official stuff or other websites talking about NaNoWriMo even with quotes

Hi! ML stands for "Municipal Liaison" and it's the term for what used to be NaNoWriMo's regional organisers. Back when it started, NaNo was a much smaller and more close-knit event, so it had a very informal site structure. It started as a group of friends, then became a mailing list, and then when it spread to the size of a website, some people volunteered to be MLs to liaise between the original team in San Francisco, and other parts of the world. It was sorta...we would pass on official news, and host physical meetups during November to encourage people to write! I unfortunately don't have a full list of which regions continued as independent writing groups, but you might start by looking up the Country/State/City where you live for writing groups, or "november writing meetups" or such. Some are also specifically rebranding as "novelist" or "novelling" groups, to distinguish from more general writing groups. I know of several groups in the US and UK, and there quite a few elsewhere around the world, but unfortunately the biggest thing we have lost with NaNo is the ease of finding each other. As it is, there were multiple attempts to form a database, but we haven't really seen one of them take off in a big way just yet. I hope that it can happen once we get to November and people are more active. That sense of community was honestly what I loved most about NaNo, and what inspired me to help organise my local region.

I wish you luck in finding your fellow Novellists! If it would help, I'd be happy to put together a list of regions I know of, so that people can see who's still out there.

[ultramagicalternate]

ULTRAMagic Interval Chapter 2

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Master Post - Patreon

“Alright, I’m back with…” Randalph looked around. “Where is everyone?”

“They went to go get ready for the day,” Antonio replied as he started cleaning some of the smaller dishes.

Randalph gave a light shrug. “Fair enough. Anyways, here is Mayhem Highland and Faustus Ashman, two devils I work with regularly. I think they’ll be of great help to all of us.”

The devil dressed in the jester-esque attire gave a dignified bow. “A pleasure to meet all of you.”

“Mayhem and I have been working together ever since the end of the great dispute between the Arbiters of Droom and The Discordant Gods” Randalph pointed out.

“Hey, Will!” the red devil said as went up to him. He had purple, glowing stripes curling up his arms and his eyes were black and purple. “Good to see you again, buddy.” He then gave him a hug.

“Hey, Faustus. Good to see you too…”

“Let me guess; you still don’t fully remember me?”

“It’s all still super hazy, sorry.”

Faustus sat down next to him. “Don’t worry about it, champ. It’ll come back in due time. Either way, I’m hanging around here so we can get this mess sorted out.”

Kyu nodded. “Excellent. Faustus, since you’re here, can you stick around Will while I go do a little research?”

“Fine with me, Mr. #9.”

That made Kyu chuckle. “Thanks. I’ll keep you all posted on whatever I find.” He passed Sam as he went upstairs.

“Alright, I’m going to head out and grab some light groceries,” Sam announced. “Hey, Randalph. Who’s this?”

“Sam, this is Mayhem Highland, a devil I’ve worked with for a long time. Mayhem, this is Samantha Devilfay.”

Mayhem shook her hand. “Devilfay you say? How fascinating. A pleasure to meet you, Sam.”

“You too, Mayhem.” The way he recognized her surname surprised Sam…

“And I trust I don’t need to introduce Faustus?” Randalph asked.

“Hey, Sam!” Faustus cut in. “Good to see you again!”

“Heya, Faustus. Wait, you didn’t bring Mira along?”

He chuckled. “The missus is busy holding the fort, but she’s on speed dial just in case things get too hairy.”

“Got’cha. Alright, I’ll be back soon. And Boyo, I’ll pick you up something to ease your nerves.”

“Thanks, Sam. See you later.” Will turned to Mayhem as she left. “So, Mayhem, what kind of devil are you? Faustus is obviously a fire devil, but I’m not sure about you.”

“Well that’s because I am a chaos devil, a fairly uncommon affinity for devils. And I must say, Faustus has been singing your praises for some time, Will. I’m considering working with you, but first I need to see what you can do before I cast my decision.”

“Does it have to be right now?” Will inquired, a little nervous.

“Oh no no no, it can be whenever you’re ready. If this issue of yours escalates, we’ll obviously have a lot of time on our hands.”

Faustus patted Will on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Champ. Mayhem has got an eye for talent. Also hey, have you gotten outside yet today? Let’s go get some fresh air and catch up a bit.”

Both Will and Antonio went to go get dressed, with Antonio staying over at his house as he needed to tend to personal business. Will hung out with Faustus, walking around and talking. The two had been partners for a long time, but a somewhat traumatic event from Will’s past separated the two. Even if he did not properly remember him, Faustus was happy to be back with Will regardless. He came to view Will as his son after all.

The two were looking towards the valleys below the hill when Sam returned home. “Hey, Boyo! I got you some chocolate milk.”

“The good stuff?” Will asked as he walked up and took the drink.

“As always.” She then handed Faustus a chocolate bar. “Here you go, Faustus. I wasn’t sure what to grab given that I don’t know what they have in Inferno, so I got you one of our favorites.”

“Thanks, Sam. Chocolate with almonds, right up my alley.”

Will was halfway through his drink when he had an idea. “I think I’m going to go for a walk.”

Sam gave him a slightly confused look. “You sure you want to do that after everything that’s happened?”

“I can go with him,” Faustus stated as he helped carry some groceries inside.”

“Alright then, I suppose.”

“Will? You’re still a dullahan, right?” Faustus inquired.

He tossed his bottle into the recycling bin. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Will lifted his head off, causing a ghostly plume of smoke to emanate from his neck.”

“See, a ghost won’t attack a dullahan and his devil, so we should have nothing to fear. You guys call it a curse, I call it a blessing in disguise.”

While still concerned, that was a fair enough assessment that alleviated some of Sam’s worries. The two headed off towards a path through the woods that went all the way to a stream at the edge of the property. Midway through the walk was a large tree stump that served as a resting spot. Faustus really liked it as it created a nice place to observe the forest. It was the beginning of September, so the weather was still nice and the leaves had yet to turn. Things were great up until something at three quarters of the way down the path caused Will to freeze in place.

“Whoa, hey? What’s the matter?” Faustus asked. “Did you see something?”

Faustus looked where Will was looking and saw it. There was a shadowy, black and purple entity standing there. Appearing to be dressed in some kind formal wear, it approached Will, causing Will’s neck to start venting light smoke from the seam where it split. Both Will and Faustus were unsure what to do.

“Run,” the entity instructed.

“Run? Run from what?” Faustus questioned.

Will then saw something terrifying in the distance. His blood ran ice cold as the memory of his nightmare began playing out in his head. There was another ghost, but this one had an aura of malevolence lingering around it. It was gray and ghastly, just standing there… until it started running towards them. Will’s panic kicked into overdrive as he screamed as loud as he could and ran the other way. 

“WHAT IN THE SAM HILL?” Faustus exclaimed as he tried to figure out what to do. Did he go with Will or try to confront the ghost?

Getting a better look at the frightening specter, Faustus felt a similar fear creep into him. He then used his pyromancy to create a cloud of smoke in the hopes of slowing it down. Upon seeing the other ghost jump into the smokescreen, Faustus raced as fast as he could towards Will. Laughter was all around Will as he nearly tripped several times while making his way back to the house. Upon getting inside, he slammed the front door shut, bolted up to his room, and also slammed that door shut. This spectacle caught the attention of everyone.

Sam was startled out of her mind as Faustus came through the front door. “Faustus, what’s going on!? Is Will alright?”

“Hopefully…” he took a second to catch his breath. “...and we’ve got a ghost. A nasty one at that…”

The ghost of a boy emerged from a cloud of mist in the right wall. He looked to be from the 1800s and had blonde hair. “Sam, what’s going on? That woke me from my nap.”

“Trevor, where’s your parents? We got trouble on our hands.”

“One second. Mom!? Dad!?”

Two ghosts emerged from the floor. One was purple and resembled a man from the 1700s. The other was pink and resembled a refined lady from the same era. While overall cheerful, they looked equally concerned.

“Well I say! Those door slams were louder than the first shot of the revolution…” the purple ghost proclaimed.

“Goodness, I hope everyone’s okay…” the pink ghost added.

“Nathaniel, Adelaide? There’s a new ghost,” Sam warned. “Tell them what happened, Faustus…”

After Faustus' retelling of what happened, Trevor could be seen getting visibly angry. “The nerve of some ghosts, thinking they come on to my land and haunt my friends and family!? Dad, let’s go find this intruder. Mom, look after the house.”

“Will do, sweetie,” Adelaide agreed.

“Alright, son, let’s go show this rapscallion one for!” Nathaniel declared with a triumphant laugh as they left.

“Sam?” Kyu called out. “Can you come up here? Will’s freaking out.”

“Coming!” She looked at Faustus. “Can you let everyone…?”

“Already on it.” Faustus then went for the door.

Everybody was on high alert after all of that. Will needed time to settle down, with Sam and Adelaide doing their best to console him. While they watched a movie and played some video games, Faustus and Mayhem guarded the two houses while the others tried to make sense of what happened.

Will finally worked up the nerve to leave his room at around dinner time. Everybody was there in the living room, which made him feel better. “Guys? It was… that was the ghost from my dream…”

Olivia had his communicator ready and was dialing the emergency number. “Don’t worry, I’m already calling Antares.”

“Well that was fast,” Antares’ voice said as Will took the device. “What’s the situation, Private?”

“It’s-It’s the ghost. I saw it. I don’t know if it’s Bethany, but I saw it!” Will took a breath. “It ran after me after Umuka told me to run.”

“That’s not good at all…” It sounded like Antares stepped away for a second. “...alright, Will, this is getting escalated to a full case as we definitely have a type 3 ghost on our hands.”

“Hey, Captain Briggs?” Faustus cut in. “Who’s this Umuka person? I’m not familiar with him.”

“Faustus? Ahem, Umuka is a specter that seems to be connected to Will. He popped up recently and it’s hard to study him given how elusive he is. We’re not worried as he seems to genuinely care about Will, however.”

Randalph spoke up next. “Captain Briggs? I brought Mayhem and Faustus along for assistance.”

“Good call, Randalph…”

Adelaide noticed Nathaniel and Trevor returning. “Oh good, perfect timing.”

“Argh, hold on a second…” Antares requested. “Alright, the ecto-filters are on now.”

Nathaniel heard that as he entered the house and waited a second. “My apologies, Antares. We didn’t mean to mess with your modern science dohickeys. It looks like we got a little punk running around, uncouth and uninvited.”

“Lovely…” Will complained.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Antares replied. “Will, I’m sending Adrien your way to scope out the problem. Once we know what we’re dealing with, we’ll send in a professional. You should be fine given all the protection you currently have. The way I see it is that there are two possible outcomes: Either this is just a random ghost and we can send ANTIMagic Mania in to deal with it, or it's Bethany and we’ll have to move you to M.A.I.G. for protection.”

Anotnio thought about it, as there was something off to him. “Hold up, this Mania person seems like they could take care of it either way. Why would Will need to be moved to M.A.I.G.?”

“If this is Bethany, then someone set her free. That means that there are other people involved and all that that implies.”

“Oh… oh dear, that’s not good…”

“I know how you feel, Antonio,” Will assured him. “Ahem, roger that, Captain… the other stuff.”

“Haha, very good, Private. Keep your fingers on the emergency line just in case anything else happens and do not hesitate to call. Captain Briggs, over and out.”

There was a moment of contemplative silence that was broken by an exasperated sigh from Antonio. “Oh boy, ain’t this a fine kettle of fish? You know what? It’s Friday and it's near dinner time. I’m going to make some food, who’s hungry?”

Everybody was up for a good meal after everything that had transpired. Sam and Randalph lent their help while Kyu and Buster went to pick out a movie for everyone to enjoy. Will, rightfully nervous, went around closing the curtains. It was to be expected, especially considering he was a bit skittish over the unknown. As for dinner, Antonio went with the tried and true hamburgers and hot dogs.

Sam, Kyu, and Faustus stuck by Will’s side, allowing him to relax as the night wore on. Will was still on edge when bedtime rolled around, so Sam insisted he sleep with her that night. Despite being a couple, the two preferred a little personal space every now and then. Plus they had a good deal of belongings between their rooms. Will was more casual with how he organized his belongings while Sam had everything neatly tucked away in specific spots.

Being wrapped up in Sam’s fluffy, fragrant blankets with her made Will feel safe and allowed him to fall asleep. The two talked until they were too tired to do so. Things were going to be bumpy going forward, no two ways about it. Whoever this ghost was not playing around. Being that brazen was unheard of and spelled nothing but trouble. Thankfully being with Sam kept Will’s dreams safe, but there was a lingering feeling that danger was just around the corner, waiting for the two to let their guards down.

Next: Chapter 3

ULTRAMagic Alternate © 2022 William Ford II (ChaoticTempleKnight)

[the-firebird69]

Upcoming bodybuilder!

The subject is what he's posting we got a lot of other stuff out but he wants to get to the subject John remillard this pig above this harming our friends and Gu and Oya spoke to it and he didn't put their name up and it got a little mishmash and it's because of this racist you see here who's getting beat up because he's imitating African Africans in Africa and here is trying to teach intolerance and he is he's a dangerous person and needs to be shut down fully.

We do not approve of his doping. We do not invite it or ask for it or anything like that that he says and we are going to get him. Now we're going to help them more it looks like they use a lot of force to go after them but we have a serious plan to keep them around I want to tell people what they do is disgusting we're going to seek them out and destroy them. Couple of things he and Sean were figuring out what this guy was doing at UMass and it was stopping him and said that he's trying to blame him we're hanging out together and Friends he's trying to ruin it he doesn't see it and we shouldn't let him stay walk up silently they don't look at each other and it works and the dope and just messing with them Non-Stop just started hitting this a****** back then and it was not enough and we need to send stuff back take this guy out and we're doing it and it's working we have a lot of stuff to talk about and this guy is always front and center and he is a loser meaning but we have to make sure that he is so we're going to go ahead and cut him down again what he's doing here is illegal he's pretty big it's not massively strong but he's dangerously strong and he has to work out for a few days to get there and he kept trying and failing and he gets small and big here for like 2 weeks and Sunday he left and started working out solid for the competition he's trying to do it here and others will but he'll try and use it and he gets like at this size he's like 6 ft 7 they're all about that height but that's very big it's about 9 in bigger than they usually are yeah they're 5'8 small little guys. They had some that were real big like 7 ft 5 and they're still there but they are not really in proportion that much but this guy is playing both characters and they can see it and they'll probably disqualify him no that's like five guys doing it so they probably try and kick out the big ones and save it for Kramer and he says why do that let him get big and get beat up. It's actually true they get really big and they suck at it and they shrink they become weak real quick it's their plan to be the smaller ones. At this height above 6 ft 7 in pretty big will pierce was usually 6 ft 9 in and only a couple inches smaller Steve fishel was only 6 ft 3 it was pretty big and very impressive to people this is four more inches and wood dwarf Steve pishel. He can only bench press 400 lb and her son was 165 lb and worked out a lot now they won't let him any bench 300 in this competition this particular character of John remillard weighs about 490 lb he has small little hands and small bones Cancer and a whole bunch of things but he's killing off his people to look good in a competition our son doesn't have much use for it and he's gained a lot of power. Nobody really knows and he can only curl about a hundred pounds and the sun can almost get it up a lot more than others he can curl probably 70 lb and it's not weak 100 lb is a lot of weight it's most of your ladies and some of your men are 100 lb. The black guy in jail is actually black and curl probably 80 lb but he used to curl 100 lb with ease everyone's sucking wind they said and our son says he knows about it...

Just come up with a way to say it to try and light himself up and we agree so we're going to post now

Thor Freya

It's gross we hate it it's wrong it shouldn't be doing this there's a few reasons that they're doing it I can't really say it but they're really mean about things our friend here doesn't care they get into competition they won't be allowed to juice with KJ juice and he could beat the s*** out of them several of them at the same time and some of them will be in his corner yeah a lot of them to be the good guy but yeah he would have a killer punch and they wouldn't harm him his bones are 2.65 times a regular humans from what people say on a recent scan and that was a couple weeks ago

Black widow

His bones are at 2.7 right now

Olympus

We do have a comparison it's kind of tough though but you can see it in movies certain level of fall certain impacts and things like that when I like to show us what Loki is slammed onto the ground and the ship they're saying even at 2.7 he would suffer some injuries but they think his bones would be intact even his head and that makes them mad but they're stupid people he says their frame is small and he could break their frame now and he knows to kick them in the side of the leg and to break their neck cuz their neck is not as strong as two arms it's 17 in yeah he's got a new method of measurement so I want to help post it

Black widow

Olympus