#the thing is i don’t even feel like i’m that knowledgeable about most things I'm just decent at articulating myself sometimes

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓

Let's get this one off the ground! I'm very excited for some Christmas angst!

You get the first Eddie POV sneak peak!

102 for 🐓:

---

It’s not all bad. He has to look at it that way. It’s not all bad. At least he’s able to be here, close to his son. At least things aren’t worse. 

He didn’t end up buying a new place down here, before he moved. He didn’t want to miss Christmas. So he rented. Has a six month, short-term lease on a two bedroom apartment. First floor, for Chris. He did manage to sell the house back in Los Angeles. So he’s not hurting financially. He starts his new job with the El Paso Fire Department in January. 

It’s all fine. He’s lucky. He’s near his son again.

Not that that’s all smooth sailing either. If anything, it’s been mostly choppy weather, with the occasional let up. Something that Eddie wishes wasn’t so discouraging for him. But he’ll admit it. He’s fucking discouraged. 

At first, Chris had been happy to see him. Which felt amazing. He smiled and hugged him and told him he missed him, and for a moment, it just felt like Eddie had been gone on a long trip and was now home. Like maybe time really did heal all wounds and Chris was ready to be a family again.

Then Eddie told him he wasn’t leaving. 

It hurts a little. Eddie really was honest and raw with him. Fair, he thought. 

“I’m not expecting things to be changed overnight, I’m not expecting anything to be fixed,” he’d told Chris. “But I can’t continue to be where you aren’t. You’re my son. Home is where you are.”

“So you moved to El Paso? And got an apartment?” Chris had replied, face tight. 

“I did. Yeah. At least now we’re close, and we can-”

“Why would you do that?” Chris had demanded. 

“Why would I want to be in the same city, let alone the same state, as you?” Eddie replied, feeling frustration rising in his chest. 

Christopher’s face had gone bright red. Like Eddie had said something to embarrass him. He hadn’t.

“I don’t want you to be in El Paso. I don’t want to spend time at your stupid, sad apartment. I don’t want to talk to you!” Chris had shouted in response. 

And he hadn’t, for a bit, after that. Complete silent treatment, just like back in May and June, during the worst of it. Eddie panicked. Spiralled. Felt that he made things worse, all the while ruining what had still been good in his life. But after a brief pity party, Eddie remembered why he came here. To do whatever it takes to make sure the gap between himself and Christopher doesn’t get wider. So whatever. Chris can be mad. He can be silent. But Eddie is here. 

So Eddie had kept seeing him anyway. Fought with his parents about, and came to the resolution that Eddie gets two evenings with him a week, minimum. More if Chris wants, which… Well, maybe he’ll start wanting. Hasn’t yet, but at least he’s no longer silent. Quiet and grumbly. But not silent.

Each dinner or forced quality time activity seems to be slowly making a difference. Like crack by crack Eddie is getting through to him. But he honestly doesn’t quite understand why he has to. They’d been doing so much better. Why is Eddie’s proximity such a problem? Maybe… Maybe Chris really doesn’t want him around. Maybe he was calling Eddie or answering Eddie’s calls out of obligation, but really, he was done. Maybe he’s happier the farther Eddie is from him. Maybe all Eddie is to his son is a source of pain.

So being near Chris again makes him happy. But… But it’s not an uncomplicated happiness. It’s tainted. Tainted with the knowledge he might just be being selfish. That he might not be the best thing for Christopher, after all. 

And that is a sort of agony. 

All this to say, Eddie spends five of seven days a week alone. And even the days he does see Chris, it’s not the full day. It’s a handful of hours at most. Sure, he manages to spend a lot of time visiting Abuela when he can. But other than that, he’s on his own. It’ll be better when he starts working, he thinks. He’ll have a team again. They won’t be the 118 - no one ever could be. But maybe they’ll at least care about him. Right now, other than Abuela - who  is aging and doesn’t need Eddie’s stress - no one here really gives a shit about him. His parents have made that much clear. 

As Christmas draws nearer and nearer, Eddie struggles with the loneliness. He knows, in his core, that he’s miserable. He doesn’t want to say it out loud. Can’t call Buck or Bobby or anyone to admit it. That he’s done the wrong thing for himself. Again. It’s too… It’s too shameful. He’s always filled with so much shame. 

And honestly, maybe he could call Bobby. Bobby who is patient and full of grace and understands that shame better than anyone. Maybe he could even find a way to call Father Brian. He certainly can’t talk to the priests at his family’s church. He knows that from a childhood of bullshit. But… He really can’t call Buck. Not about this. Eddie knows Buck took him leaving hard, even if he tried not to show it. And now he sort of hardly communicates with Eddie at all.

[eebie]

lots of fun today. Im worn the fuck out from socializing but i had a good time. on our walk my friends gave me the low-down on everything that happened while i was away and among several humorous anecdotes (for example one of our friends getting into a physical fight in class) told me that my favorite history teacher this big soft-spoken black guy was back after what i thought was just him just straight up leaving. I was very open about my beliefs because he was extremely chill & apparently he keeps bringing me up to them and he wants me to come into class specifically to talk politics. god i miss him.. the most distinct thing i remember was him leaving a note on the grade for one of my assignments where he said he hoped i would find my crowd. he actually cared and would call shit out. one time a group of my classmates made a video where they tried to be funny playing as racial stereotypes and of course came across as tonedeaf & offensive, so he sat everyone down and leveled on how something like that would affect others. it was common sense but he was really patient in explaining it. the craziest thing is that he’s a pastor and also pro-choice

[reidrum]

I can't stop thinking munch!spencer x reader who's insecure about having thick thighs (it's me, I'm reader)

take a seat | s.r

hi thank u for requesting!! i tried to be ambiguous about reader’s size but if it doesn’t come across that way lemme know and ill fix it!!!

wc: 1.7k

cw: 18+ smut minors dni, afab reader, face sitting, munch!spencer my beloved, insecure!reader who i took to be a little self indulgent sorry, fluff, hurt comfort but no hurt lol

this is also not proofread sorry

_______________________________________________

the thing about spencer is if you have any fear or qualm about anything, his main verbal form of comfort is information. and it’s not a bad thing, not at all. finding comfort in the facts is what spencer hopes to achieve when he spews his tidbits. it’s just, sometimes it’ll do more harm than good, or even worse, do nothing at all.

that’s where you’re at right now, sitting in spencer’s room with your legs tucked under you while he sits up at the head of the bed. the top buttons of his dress shirt are undone, tie strewn somewhere in the room. you’re still fully clothed albeit in a loose t shirt and some panties. the want in his eyes is undeniable, his question still lingering in the air.

you weren’t exactly the most confident person, but was anyone really? did people really wake up in the morning, look at themselves in the mirror and say, ‘wow, i look beautiful today.”? tell themselves they’re going to have a good day because they said so?

so when you’d spent your whole life living in the shadows trying to blend in and just do your job, one day an ever observant spencer reid saw you struggling to carry your coffee and your bag into the bullpen and came to your rescue before it could spill all over you. you were a mumbling mess, uttering thank you’s and i’m so sorrys and i’ll be more careful next time. but his gaze on you was unwavering, even in the face of your uneasiness, and firmly but softly told you nothing was wrong, and suggested that maybe you and him should get coffee before work to avoid this rush next time.

falling in love with him was too easy after that.

spencer never failed to make you feel cherished, loved, safe, always going above and beyond to care for your needs and wants. the trust you had in him was immense and you knew he would never steer you astray.

so sitting in front of him on his bed while he adorns a small smirk asking, no telling, you to sit on his face, made you falter a bit.

“you want me, to sit on your face?”

he nods, “yeah.”

any thought you’ve ever had vanishes from your brain, “b—but, won’t it be uncomfortable? for you?”

“not at all.”

seeing spencer be surprisingly calm about this is having the opposite effect on you, creating the unsettlement in your gut. like he’s been thinking about this for while, has wanted you at his mercy in a way you haven’t experienced before, has thought through all the facts and possibilities and ruled with absolute certainty that this was what he wanted, needed. and right now your body is betraying your mind as the heat pools between your legs.

but that brain of yours, a blessing with its vast knowledge but a curse at how easily a single thought can send you into a deep spiral, is working overtime to convince you that this isn’t really what he wants.

he can see the cogs working overtime and scoots closer to you and places a comforting hand on your thigh to rub soothing shapes with his thumb, “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“nothing i-“ you stop before you can get too deep.

his eyes look at you expectantly, luring you to continue.

“what if i hurt you?”

“that is literally impossible.”

“what if i suffocate you?”

“then that would be a great way to go out.” he chuckles.

you lightly slap his leg, “stop that.”

he gestures you closer to sit curled into his side, a comforting arm smoothing you up and down. “if you really don’t want to do it that’s okay i don’t want to push you, just want you to feel good s’all.”

you ponder for a minute, “…you would tell me if it’s too much right?”

“i would,” he nods, “but i won’t need to.”

he squeezes your hand in reassurance, and you remember that spencer reid would never lie to you.

which is why you say, “okay.”

his eyes light up like a carnival, “yeah?”

you take a deep breath, “yeah.”

“come here,” cupping your cheek to bring in and kiss you.

it starts off slow, deliberate. like he wants you to know how much he appreciates you placing your trust in his possession, and how gently and carefully he’s going to take care of it.

you hike a leg over his lap to straddle him and wrap your arms around his neck, letting his lips mark you like a road map. he moves down your jaw and uses his nose to nudge your neck away, giving him better access to litter the skin with love bites.

the moans spilling from your mouth spur him on, he starts subconsciously bucking his hips up causing you to grow restless for more.

he senses this and motions for you to lift up on your knees above him so he can slide his body down flat between your legs. the warm palms of his hands rest where your thighs meet the swell of your ass.

you look down at the sight of him laid out for you, and catch his shit eating grin staring back. the dichotomy this position gives you with a sense of power to be over him like this but the vulnerability at feeling so exposed caused a swirl of emotions for you.

“hey,” he squeezes his palms laid on your ass, “if this is a lot, that’s okay.”

“no, no.i think i want this. i’m just scared.” you softly admit.

“nothing to be scared of, angel. it’s not like i haven’t eaten you out before, it’s just a different position,” his hands move closer to your core, “let me make you feel good, please.”

you stare into his eyes once more, being met with nothing but trust and lust for you. with a deep breath, you nod your head.

he smirks again, “alright sweetheart, take a seat.”

you slowly inch your body up his own, hearing him outwardly groan as your cunt came into his line of sight.

“jesus fuck, you have the prettiest pussy.”

you preen at his words once you’ve reached the position, and you hover in hesitation. he wraps his arms under and around your legs and gently pulls you down.

and he attacks you like a man starved. his tongue licking a full stripe up your cunt, letting it swirl around your clit. the feeling is so intense in this position you have to lean forward and brace yourself on the headboard.

with a gasp you whine out his name, “oh my god, fuck.” he continues to use his tongue to barrel you towards your peak, knowing exactly where to touch and lick to rile you up.

he can tell you’re still holding back, feeling the tense muscles in your upper thighs harden under his touch. with a sharp tug he pulls you to be seated fully on his face, and he lets out a deep groan that vibrates through your whole body.

you’re fully at his mercy now, held down by his large hands and his mouth working so hard to make you see stars. the pleasure is overtaking all of your senses, when you look down to meet his eyes they’re staring right back at you, reveling in your ecstasy. a languished moan leaves you as you tangle your hands in his hair and pull.

he laps up your arousal with urgency, tongue moving in such a delicate and intricate way you would think he’s writing a love letter with it.

the coil in your gut starts to tighten and you can feel your peak coming fast, “spence…” you whine.

he hums in response, silently acknowledging what you mean. one more slow lick up and down your slit was all it took to push you overboard. the endorphins rush over you like a tsunami as you try to ride out the wave of your orgasm.

spencer doesn’t stop his motions and continues to work your overly sensitive clit, gripping your legs tighter to him as he prevents you from escaping.

“shit, oh god baby, you need to st—stop.” you brokenly moan out. you tug on his hair hard as you try to release his grip on you, and after a few minutes he takes pity and lets you go.

you let out a big and tired sigh as you flop to the side of him, one leg still draped over him as you’re both panting heavily, attempting to come down from the heat of the moment.

he smoothes out the leg over him with his hand and turns to face you, face plastered with a stupid grin and glistening with you.

“see? that wasn’t so bad.”

you scoff breathlessly, “i think maybe you’re trying to kill me.”

“maybe,” he laughs, “ but you liked it right?”

you nod bashfully, “did you…like it?”

his eyes widen, “are you kidding? you looked so hot it drove me insane. you’re always so beautiful but having you like that…i like making you feel good, it makes me feel really good, and that is a win-win.”

you smile at him and move closer to fit under his arm and into his side, your hand resting on his chest. he tightens his arm around you and whisper, “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you say through hooded eyes. your hand starts trailing lower, “must have been really good for you seeing how painful this looks.” you softly say, gesturing to the aching bulge in his boxers, the dark patch stained by precum.

his breath hitches as you inch closer, “baby, no it’s okay. you don’t have to do th—“ the sentence gets cut off when your hand gives him a tentative squeeze.

“i don’t have to, but i want to. i should thank you somehow for making me feel so good,” your voice dropping an octave in lust, “will you let me show my thanks, honey?”

you stare at him with the sultriest doe eyes he’s ever seen, and he’s thoroughly convinced in that moment that you are, in fact, trying to kill him.

still a great way to go out, he thinks.

[subjectsix]

KIP'S BIG POST OF THINGS TO MAKE THE INTERNET & TECHNOLOGY SUCK A LITTLE LESS

Post last updated November 23, 2024. Will continue to update!

Here are my favorite things to use to navigate technology my own way:

A refurbished iPod loaded with Rockbox OS (Rockbox is free, iPods range in price. I linked the site I got mine from. Note that iPods get finicky about syncing and the kind of cord it has— it may still charge but might not recognize the device to sync. Getting an original Apple cord sometimes helps). Rockbox has ports for other MP3 players as well.

This Windows debloater program (there are viable alternatives out there, this one works for me). It has a powershell script that give you a little UI and buttons to press, which I appreciate, as I'm still a bit shy with tech.

Firefox with the following extensions: - Consent-O-Matic (set your responses to ALL privacy/cookie pop-ups in the extension, and it will answer all pop-ups for you. I can see reasons to not use it, but I appreciate it) - Facebook Container ("contains" Meta on Facebook and Instagram pages to keep it from tracking you or getting third party cookies, since Meta is fairly egregious about it) - Redirect Amp to HTML (AMP is designed for mobile phones, this forces pages to go to their HTML version) - A WebP/AVIF image converter - uBlock Origin and uBlacklist, with the AI blacklist loaded in to kill any generative AI results from appearing in search engines or anywhere.

Handbrake for ripping DVDs— I haven’t used this in awhile as I haven’t been making video edits. I used this back when I had a Mac OS

VLC Media Player (ol’ reliable)

Unsplash & Pexels for free-to-use images

A password manager (these often are paid. I use Dashlane. There are many options, feel free to search around and ask for recs!). There is a lot that goes into cybersecurity— find the option you feel is best for you.

Things I suggest:

Understanding Royalty Free and the Creative Commons licenses

Familiarity with boolean operators for searching

Investing in a backup drive and external drive

A few good USBs, including one that has a backup of your OS on it

Adapter cables

Avoiding Fandom “wikias” (as in the brand “Fandom”) and supporting other, fan-run or supported wikis. Consider contributing if its something you find yourself passionate or joyful about.

Finding Forums for the things you like, or creating your own*

Create an email specifically for ads/shopping— use it to receive all promotional emails to keep your inbox clean. Upkeep it.

Stop putting so much of your personal information online— be willing to separate your personal online identity from your “online identity”. You don’t owe people your name, location, pronouns, diagnoses, or any of that. It’s your choice, but be discerning in what you give and why. I recommend avoiding providing your phone number to sites as much as possible.

Be intentional

Ask questions

Talk to people

Remember that you can lurk all you want

Things that are fun to check out:

BBSes-- here's a portal to access them.

Neocities

*Forums-- find some to join, or maybe host your own? The system I was most familiar with was vbulletin.

MMM.page

Things that have worked well for me but might work for you, YMMV:

Limit your app usage time on your smartphone if you’re prone to going back to them— this is a tangible way to “practice mindfulness”, a term I find frustratingly vague ansjdbdj

Things I’m looking into:

The “Pi Hole”— a raspberry pi set up to block all ads on a specific internet connection

VPNs-- this is one that was recommended to me.

How to use computers (I mean it): Resources on how to understand your machine and what you’re doing, even if your skill and knowledge level is currently 0:

This section I'll come back an add to. I know that messing with computers can be intimidating, especially if you feel out of your depth. HTML and regedits and especially things like dualbooting or linux feel impossible. So I want to put things here that explain exactly how the internet and your computer functions, and how you can learn and work with that. Yippee!

[cryptfile]

Ꮺ˖˚₊ leeches, [ logan howlett x vampire!reader au ]

summary — logan howlett lacks of patience (and he can also be a nice little blood-bag while losing his temper). 8k+

warnings — 18+ mdni, fem!reader implied, blood kink (keep in mind you’re a vampire! not twilight but more of a true blood kind?) downright filth im sorry, dead dove do not eat, smoker!reader, endless tension, manhandling, praise kink, kind of porn without plot (LIES CAUSE IT HAS ONE THO??) my boy's into paaaaaain can't help it it's canon, age-gap at first (reader is her 20's but again, vampire), public sex (it just happened), daily reminder to wrap it before you tap it, p in v, choking, filthy mouth, pet names.

side notes — thought this could take place after days of the future past? au cause why nottttt ,,currently on ovulation season so bare with me,,, been a little mia cause i’m surviving aka going through the worst semester of my life at uni? internships are breaking my ass currently so well, here i am just existing, also, english’s not my first language and everyday i’m grateful for it, so any mistakes i’m not sorry in advance lol i’m also too lazy to correct once published,, feel free to send more logan requests since i've basically been a slut for him for a while now (i'm rotting in hell).

He could swear the mansion got ten degrees hotter when you came in.

It’s inevitable. It’s this thing you carry, the way you move — Graceful, elegant, almost compelling as the air fills the room. It’s not public knowledge that you’re not a mutant itself, yet you’re presented like one, like you have healing factors and age painfully slow, but human after all, a subtle lie, one that can harm no one.

It’s safe to say you catch his attention in the most annoying way: How couldn’t you? All you do is this weird seduction he’s appealed to, whether you’re conscious or not it’s just captivating, an invisible force that even when you ignore it is there, there waiting for the perfect moment to flood every time you happen to be in the same room.

Captivating. That’s the word.

The room becomes smaller after, the air grows thicker, and it’s almost like a ticking bomb, the way you wouldn’t even look at his face while he’s noticeable pinning after Jean Grey, the mystery that surrounds you and he cannot seem to resolve no matter how much time he puts into it.

It’s like he's the plague. You don’t really try to exchange more than just a few words, only when it's needed and you cannot avoid him any longer, and he didn’t say anything at first, keeping his distance too cause he don’t see how you’d become friends, cause after all, what he could have in common with a girl that doesn't surpass the twenty years?

But soon he's upset about it, even when he doesn't really say anything out loud, it's a spike he cannot reach under his skin. You seem to become friends with anyone but him, mutant kids in your history lessons, the rest of the team, even the damn mailman when he delivered a package — You'd say hello like it's a long time lover or so, greeting people like they mean the world to you.

He has students now that are asking for a transfer from his class to yours cause it seems you're fun to be around, more like he is, and he fucking hates it.

It's fair to say it's been getting into his mind lately. That thing you do with your hair, twisting it in your index finger on a lock as you speak, the subtle red glow in your eyes he always catches by mistake, not enough fast to stop looking at you, pretending he didn't even see in your direction at first.

Tension. Logan just happens to hate tension.

In fact. He's almost sure your problem is personal, that you might hate him enough to act like he didn't exist at all, enough to avoid him like he was not there.

That's why it's just so weird.

When he finds himself walking down the hallway to the kitchen and he smells this cherry-scented aroma that settles under his nostrils, he changes the direction he's walking to, to instead, follow the path to the person that was silently smoking outside. Hiding. Maybe, a student he'll have to scold like the old man he was turning into.

No smoking in the mansion!

However, as the night is just settling, he doesn't recognize a little mutant, but instead happens to recognize you in the middle of the gardens of the mansion, close to the maze; escaping the comfort of the inside to enjoy a self-rolled cherry tobacco he has smelled before in the air. He's a victim mostly, cause his legs move on it's own as his mouth go dry, approaching you in silence.

"What do you want?" you ask when he's halfway there. And your tone is just cold as ever, not an ounce of feeling as he contemplates your side profile, the way the tobacco sticks out of your parted lips, seated on a bench hidden between bushes and trees — "Is Scott bitching about the smell going into the mansion already?"

No. He's not. But he doesn't have enough reasons to explain exactly why he's outside if you asked, why, all of sudden, he followed the scent of cherry knowing it was you the only one who carried a colts package in the pocket of every single jacket you wore, constantly asking Storm if she could hold on to the bag of filters for you while you rolled in the worst moments.

It's distracting, to say the least.

"Yeah," he quickly says, lying cause in reality he hasn't seen the guy in the whole day, yet it sounds like something he would say. "Do you happen to have another one of those to share?"

You don't talk much, hand reaching his as you offered him from your tobacco without a single word, the same that was placed between your lips and now was on his in what seemed to be something more intimate than what he'd like to admit, the cherry taste filling his lungs as they weirdly enough, shared a cig.

"Aren't you too young to be smoking?"

You laugh, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine cause he has never heard a sound quite like it, nothing that resembles that throaty, raspy sound that came out of your lips in amusement thanks to his words. He, out of all people, has never seen you like that — "And how old you think I am?"

He seems to think about it for a second, carefully picking his next words. Logan knows that women and their age are a tricky thing, you cannot say a number that's too compromising, nor act stupid and say something that's clearly not correct — "Not a day over twenty-two."

The answer pleases you, and he just knows he's wrong, but you don't seem bothered by it, instead, you nod pretending he's right, like he just got the answer right away.

He can see why everyone's switching classes now. Cheeky bastards.

"Twenty-two is not young at all, but i'm twenty-seven though," you say, and he scoffs at the statement, seeking for any change in your heartbeat, any sign of a lie. The strange thing happens when he cannot pick any heart at all, any sign of pulse.

"You are pretty young still," he says, against his age, you’re just starting out living—. "You don't look like you are twenty-seven at all."

"Cause I age slower than the rest," it's a practiced lie. One you know from repeating the same explanation over and over again, the priced answer of why you haven't changed a single bit in the past few years and made you a mutant — "I never looked my age."

Such a fucking liar. He doesn't need any heartbeats to confirm it cause deep down you are a terrible actress, he can see it so clear, how you're calculating every answer, thinking about the correct thing to say, the normal thing to say.

"Is that your thing?" he asks, playing pretend almost as bad as you do. Tilting his head to the side as he questions you — "Age slowly?"

"I have healing powers," you explain as he tossed you the joint once again. "My saliva kinds of help healing wounds. It's pretty boring."

"Boring" Logan repeats. The word itself sounds so damn fun in your lips it's contradicting. "That doesn’t sound really boring."

There's a moment of silence after that. Where you smoke in silence taking in the taste of the cherry, and he is having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that your lips also touched the side of the cigar he was smoking before, the plain lies you've been repeating over and over the last ten minutes.

It's almost infuriating. Makes his blood boil without question, he surely endures your treatment of silence, but being lied to? That's a whole different level.

“How old are you, kid?”

Your brows furrow in response, a clueless face. You are pulling out this show once again Logan don’t buy for a damn second. Something about the scrunch in your nose, the way you dismissed your own powers as if they weren’t enough. He knows it’s all a lie. He knows it even when he doesn’t really know you at all, when it’s the first time you’re truly speaking to him after your arrival to the mansion almost a year ago.

“How old you really are?”

You laugh at the question once again, and he just knows it, knows it when he sees you barely illuminated by the dim light of the moon, the act you always keep up, a web of tangled lies you have to be into— “Told you i'm twenty-seven already, didn't you hear?”

“Is it now?” he asks, amused by the sass, exhaling the smoke of the low-quality tobacco he doesn't understand why you're so invested in when passed it to him—. “Cause you don’t seem very convinced, it really sounds like bullshit to me.”

You're almost offended. By the look you give it's like the worst mistake he could ever make, yet you remain silent, not giving the satisfaction of an honest answer yet. Testing his patience like he did have one to begin with.

"Is that why I can’t hear your heartbeats, darlin'? Cause you age so slowly?”

The nickname scratches a part of your brain, and you hate him for it. The word rolls out of his tongue with an accent, smoking your cherry tobacco cause you happen to be nice.

“You can’t?” you’re good at faking it suddenly, at least, that's what he thinks when your brows furrow in alleged curiosity, stiffening your back, uncomfortable. “How weird.”

“Damn right it is” that's when you realize he knows you are lying. Even when you don’t talk much, even when you act all stiff and bothered when he’s close, he knows that you are fully invested in lying. In whatever twisted little lie you've planned, like it was your real life and not something you made up. “Are you going to tell me truth, then or do I have to find out? Does the professor know that you're lying?”

The smoke lingers in the air.

“How old are you?” he asks once again, demanding an honest answer this time — "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

You find his questions annoying, mostly cause he won't stop until he gets an answer, one that pleases him enough to leave you alone, the other part cause you happen to like the playful banter you two keep going, dangerously much. You don't hate attention it's clear, what you do hate it's the way he seemed to see pass the lie, to demand more even when he has no right to.

He enjoys being the one who's right though, Logan cannot help it. He's pleased to catch that look on your face who says everything but nothing at once, to have you where he wanted, almost at the edge of admitting a truth.

Is it payback because you've been stealing all of the little mutants from his class? He's jealous cause kids like being around you? It does not make much sense, but he is fully invested. Questioning all.

Even when you're outside, it seems like the air grows thicker. And Logan finds himself seeking for your breathing, cause he don't know nothing, nothing about you more than the fact you don't seem to have a heartbeat, or pulse and now, breathing.

“If you really are that eager to know, i'm a hundred and twenty-seven” the words float in the air for a while, and he's sure you're just messing with him, cause there's no way a pretty little face like yours had endured a century. “I've been alive for quite a while.”

He doesn't fully believe it first. Of course he doesn't. Logan's sure you're messing with him also, distracting him about your real age.

“And I supposed this do come from you slow aging powers” He tries to give you a point there, but it's difficult to be serious when you're just playing with him—. "How so?"

To be honest, you do have a little temper yourself, you've learned to stand up for yourself most of the time, so when you happen to notice he's teasing you, that he doesn't really believe you, you adopt this attitude of defense he notices as you shift over the wood you're seated in.

"No, it doesn't" you steal the joint from his hands to have a smoke yourself. "You really aren't as smart as I thought you were, huh?"

Do you happen to have a dead wish? His muscles tense beneath his shirt, and in contrast of his problem, you can hear it all. All the sounds his body makes when he's all bothered just by the beat of his heart, that annoying sound his bones make each time he moves.

"What are you?"

"That's it," the praising goes directly into his chest, the tone you use to tell him he's going in the right direction it feels just so right he forgets why he got mad in the first place—. "That's what you should be asking right there."

It's almost a shame having to admit he would also switch classes. That he would also go through all the paperwork himself without a second thought and that right there, is pathetic, but you're smiling at him as if you're encouraging the man to try harder, to find the answer himself, and fuck — He's old, too old, he's tired, he's in a bad mood as fucking usual, and he happens to dig a drink in the quiet of his own room, but he's pulled by something as equal as devastating as the gravity force, shoot towards you in pure need to have some answers even if he has to make you spit them.

"I find it strange, cause when you don't have a heartbeat, you aren't usually alive" Deep down he's fascinated, hazel eyes glues on your face trying to understand. He feels like he has it in the tip of his tongue waiting to leave his mouth as a catastrophic answer, but he doesn't find the right words.

"That's cause i'm not," you state it like it's something obvious. And just as he knows you're lying, this time, he knows you're telling the truth, blowing the smoke in his direction just to bother him — "Why do you think i'm teaching history after all huh?"

He hasn't seen it all, it seems.

Yeah.

He's losing it after that night.

It’s known that Logan has sleeping problems, but that night specifically he thinks about something else rather than what usually torments him, a truth he also has to keep a secret now that he's learned more about it.

See, Logan doesn't expect you to be really dead. Much less to hear what you are and have been hiding this whole time from the rest of the people in the mansion — He also learns that you feed on blood, that vampires are a common thing in the world and that he shouldn't, at least, be that surprised when he's a mutant in a world full of humans himself.

You are a folklore myth on small villages, stories in Rumania and horror character in films, so you don't blame him when as you spoke, he finally understands why you're so damn attractive, so damn seductive as you explained more about your way of living, some memories you've been keeping to yourself since being a vampire was so damn solitary, memories he listens to cause he knows what it's like, to be misunderstood, to be eternal, to be alone as well.

It makes the two of you grow closer by the next weeks. You now talked during broad daylight about random shit at first, about the war sometimes, about your condition as he refers to when people is around, eaves-dropping on what you two are talking so invested in. Friends.

Simple as that.

And it's safe to admit also that in the course of the next days, Logan Howlett is a fucking mess, and he knows it, but he won't do anything about it.

He won't flirt cause he knows you're a hell of a woman, in every good sense of the word, that he's way too damaged for a vampire even, for all kinds of people out there, and as much as he'd like to say anything, he values your attention, how you switched the attitude of acting like he didn't exist to be a friend, one that you came to share secrets with a cherry aroma glued in their skin.

It gets him insane, to the point he's no longer spending much time with Jean and people start to pick up on it as if he didn't have enough headaches already. He doesn't care. Shit you are not bothered by what people say, and to be honest, he cannot seem to care either.

At first, he's reluctant of keep on talking to you as normal as it is. He's not really invested in religious themes, but he sure admits you're a sin by all meanings, a religious experience of some kind if anyone asked him — He agrees with what he has heard also in the hallways. Innocent conversations of teens and their platonic crush on their teachers. You are pretty hot.

He's so interested in knowing more about you, about the nights you spend in Rumania, when you leave to Canada, the different lives you've lived across the years. He finds himself looking forward to share his stories too, weird enough, cause he's over two centuries himself and he just craves to talk about it with someone who also gets him in a deeper level, that weariness that fills your body when you age so long.

You got the best of immortality, and instead of feeling envious, Logan finds himself attracted to you so much like he's never been in his whole existence. Not at the point it happened with you at least.

By the end of the first month he knows your little treats. You use a lot of sunscreen, and avoid activities outside as much as you possibly can with those classic, tiny black sunglasses that hided you from the rays of the sun, always in the shadow so unapproachable; how you'd usually dismiss food offerings from anyone who's kind enough to even offer you something, and when you haven't fed well during the course of the week, you'd become the most maddening woman he'd ever met.

Maddening.

"What wrong with you, Leech?" Leech. You've been in such a bad mood lately that when he's seating next to you in another random smoking session outside, your fingers twitch, clearly pissed at the nickname after saying multiple times you don't like it.

"I'm not in the mood for plays now."

He can tell from before. When you talked to him that very morning and stared at the collar of his flannel for what it seemed a good, nice minute, he realizes the same moment that you were staring at that pulse point in his neck, where the flesh blood was pumping in his blood flow: You're hungry, as any living creature would be and at your own manner, in constant control as you fight the sense of hunger.

So instead, the mutant ask, like he always does when he’s curious about something that involves you:

"When did you last feed?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

That would explain it. You don't talk much about your meal plan, he knows the professor is in charge of all of that. You've told him about blood bags and hospitals, but he's not really aware of how constant you need to eat, how the blood supplies most of your energy, makes you stronger, gives you vitality, so Logan at first, don't really know what its like to not drink any blood in the course of two weeks.

"What happened with the blood bags from the Hospital?"

The mention of blood out loud seems to triggers you. A groan escaping your lips as you can swear you feel the taste in your mouth — "Don't know. Haven't seen a single one this week, Charles said something about next week, problems in the bank I guess."

You're clearly worked up. It's a new look he hasn't registered before, your hair is tangled in a less-composed look, and there's a slight shake in your hands as if you're going through withdrawal, deprived for what you needed the most.

"And animals?" he questions, trying to find a solution. “Can’t you eat a cat or something?”

"Like shit i'm going to feed from a fucking animal," you're almost immediately grossed out, scrunching your nose at the idea. "I can barely handle being so close to a damn human but animals? I'd rather fucking die this time for real, no waking up."

"That bad huh?" the mutant asks, taking a sip from the beer he sneaked outside, chucking lightly afterwards. "So you're a leech with elegant taste, huh? Of course you are."

"Clean blood is rare," you explain, rolling your eyes. It's inevitable. He knows you hate the nickname so much that he insists to keep on calling you that way just to get a reaction—. "Humans nowadays taste like dirt. They consume drugs among other substances, pills, food supplements, even damn vitamins, don’t get me started about blood diseases cause it gets me in a bad temper. Every single thing affects on your taste, even what you eat. It's all registered there. Clean, good blood is rare to find. Call me elegant, call me picky. It's a damn fact."

"And what about mutant blood?" he questions. And it seems like a mere phrase at first, one with no subtle tones, he’s usually curious about your nature so you don’t pay much attention as he spoke—. “You’re picky about mutants too?”

“No, i’ve never had a mutant before.” The truth is, you hate feeding from people, the act being something so intimate, so damn personal, you refrain yourself. Killing humans, picking a next victim to fed on, is considered now a treat you don't appreciate from your kind, making you steal from hospitals and any kind of blood bank before Charles offered you help. You haven't fed from a mutant, cause you avoided everyone equally, but you don't want to be rude about it. “You all smell different, but i’d be lying. Maybe yes, i’d be picky about it too, feeding is something intimate.”

It's an undeniable admission, and now that he's trying to be in your position, he would also be picky about someone's blood. Logan remains stoic cause he’s suddenly filled by the thought of something else, a glimpse of his own weird creativity he forces himself to push aside, to really suppress now that it's not the time or the moment.

“How do I smell?” It's too late to stop the words from coming out of his mouth when he asks her. And at first, is out of pure curiosity. He has never encountered a vampire in his life until you, let alone had someone talking about the subtle tastes of the blood being undead, so he doesn't want to let the opportunity slip — Of course he wants to know if an over two hundred mutant like himself would be as remotely good as a fresh, clean bag from the hospital.

"You stink like wet dog," he surely deserves it after all the times he’s been calling you a leech — "Like those cigars you tend to smoke, alcohol, and musk. It's similar as wood. That smell you got when you're in a forest and it's not raining but straight pouring."

"Is this a way of telling me i'd taste bad, peach?"

You make a mental note to let him know after you like peach way more than leech.

"If i'd found a human smelling like that, you won't be hearing from me anytime soon" you're just messing with him. A playful banter you enjoy more than ever, the distraction you needed to think in something else rather than the blood bags you craved so deeply — "Hell, i've would just walked the other way."

"So i'm taking you won't be feeding from me anytime soon."

It all takes a dark turn there. You're very aware of the tension the last month now that you talk to him in daily basis, but it’s just mere tension, nothing that ever goes beyond the limit. Logan has never said something to flirt with you despite the million chances he got, and he always remained like a friend, one that you enjoy spending time with now. Cannot be blamed when you're taken aback.

“Cat got your tongue, kiddo?” Man. You're about to whine about the name before you remember he is indeed, older than you are. Vampire or mutant.

"You want me to feed from you?"

He seems so willing when you ask. Even when you teased about his smell calling him a wet dog. He just seems so eager to let you just do it, try a mutant for the first time.

"Yeah," he dismisses it like it's not something so deep — "I doubt Charles is going to let you take a bite since you could clearly kill him, and I'm not sure the others would be pleased with the idea of you sinking your teeth in them, so yes. Me, leech."

Logan Howlett doesn't really smell bad. And you don't know why cause he has all the ingredients to fucking stink, yet, you'd call him interesting. That's what you thought when you find his pulse point again, the vein in his neck you looked earlier in the morning, thinking just as the same you were thinking now.

Of course you would feed from him. Is it a good thing to do? No, in any other circumstances you'd decline. He's your friend.

Now? You’re having a hard time.

"So I'm guessing that you're pleased with the idea, then," Real talk?, you just want to hear him say it. He doesn't talk much usually, but now that he's very vocal about what's on his mind, you have to take advantage of it—. "I'm not sure either. But I do think Storm may be interested too."

He seems content with the response, taking a long sip from his beer before adding — "Please, go and ask her so you're less annoying."

You're almost completely sure he doesn't find you annoying. You also don't care about Storm. And maybe he knows you're not going anywhere, that you're not moving.

"You really want me to bite you?"

"I dunno now, princess" he looks at you pleased now cause he got you where he wanted to, cause he managed to awake all the interest now that you're looking at him "Are you going to pull a Dracula on me?"

"No, i'm not going to suck you dry if that's what you're asking."

Logan chuckles. He's a damn masochist. It's been like that as long as he can remember. It may have to be with his healing powers cause he likes it more than usual, but the idea gets to his head soon enough, all falling so damn fast: Your breathing would be against his neck and he'd take the bite like a damn champ.

"Yeah I can handle you," he says, aroused. "You're not gonna hurt me if you take some blood. I'll be fine and you won't be a pain in the ass."

He acts so gruff about it but you hear the sound of his heartbeat already high enough to wake the entire mansion, his labored breathing since he suggested the idea himself. He digs it, strange enough. Thrives on the idea.

He's a grown man already, and he can take a little leech like yourself.

It's clear you're hungry, cause it doesn't take much for you to accept, nodding like you're defeated, like you just lost the war entirely, cause there's no many options here to take and even if it were, you are now interested in have him more than any other blood bag. In fact. To hell with the hospital.

"Okay."

It's a simple answer, and it sure works with him as you get close to him, the bench you always used to sit now seeming so small as you look around confirming you guys really are alone—. "You won't tell anyone?"

It's something stupid to ask, cause after all that time he has never said anything, keeping your secrets as if they were his own, saving you from weird questions people get sometimes as they didn't know much about you. He's clearly not going to say nothing at all.

"Are you going to stop whining for a second and just eat darlin'? Cause I might change my mind here."

He's feeling overload soon after.

You don’t need a formal invitation to lean closer to his neck.

There's no way to describe it also cause he has never seen something like that, never felt a similar sensation more than when he's fucking, the cold touch of your fingers in his chest, taunting the vein in his neck without a previous warning before leaning in even closer than before—. "Stay still" you demand, face close against his bare skin, only one goal in mind. "Don't move for a minute. Just-"

You cannot finish the sentence, and Logan can experience the sporadic pain of the bite first hand when your teeth finally sink in his neck, piercing the flesh so easily as you let the blood fill your mouth. He grunts at the sharp pain, his face contracting momentarily before it's replaced by a nice wave of pleasure, one that hits him right in the guts as he grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you against him, almost demanding you to be closer, to keep on taking what you want, what you've been craving for two weeks.

When did he turned into this perverted sick? Getting off by something so primal as the fact you're feasting on him.

The feeling of your lips and the clear suck you gave when feeding are sending him into a spiral, and to be honest, he didn't expect to be so devastated by you, by the way your fingers stay against his chest to prevent him from moving, pinning the mutant between the wood bench and yourself so he won’t move, won’t do anything unless you want him to,pressing on the wound to draw more blood out.

"You heal so damn fast," you complain, looking at the traces of your bite with an unpleased face as they disappeared on his skin as fast as you created them.

"Then bite me again. I don't care."

You chuckle before leaning once again, and you can feel how the air grows hotter than how it was usually, the shift on his breathing as you bite him again, pressing on the wounds once again just to suck.

And you’re hungry, it’s the whole deal. His taste differs from what you believe at first, a huge change from what humans taste like, from what you’re used to deal with in hospitals. There’s a subtle taste of alcohol yes, but it mixes good with the sweet taste of honey, the weird taste you cannot put into words. It must be a mutant thing for sure cause it’s thicker than usual, a mix of flavors that explode in your tongue.

The headache you suffered from the whole week seems to dissapear as you drink in, feeding the monster you responded to in your stomach, demanding you to make him bleed more, to satisfy yourself until you can’t have any more.

Logan, on the other hand, is really fighting against his very own war.

You’re already close enough, but he just wants you damn closer, as much as he possibly can. It’s clear that well, it hurts slightly, but he has endured much worse, means nothing when it’s the pleasure that comes with it who strikes on his body, the light sucking, the idea you’re full of his blood, that you are not on trouble as you were before thanks to him. All because of him.

He's not used to acts on his impulses, but he does it anyway.

"C'mere" he says in a strangled voice, Logan's having no trouble moving you around, grabbing you by the hips to make you straddle him, keeping you glued to his neck as he doesn't want to disturb you—. "You really are a pretty leech, huh?”

You hum against his skin, pleased at the contact, and when he realizes you’re not complaining about his actions, he let his fingers grip your tights, keeping you against him.

You can hear him making this sound, quite like a moan but not exactly when you’re licking the holes you left in his skin, he does heal fast and don’t need any of your help when you’re done, but you coat his skin with your saliva anyway just to speed up the process, cause you want to do it, looking down to him after to check if he’s pale or nearly dead. You never really know.

And Logan himself is just fine cause his fingers gather the blood under your lip when he takes the sight of you sitting in his lap as the pearly white rays of moonlight makes your skin shine, and he pushes them inside your mouth so you don't waste any drop of what it can be considered food.

"So what's the final verdict?" he asks as his hands are now grabbing your tights, there's something so intimate about the moment, so personal, hot as he presses his fingers against the flesh of your muscles, he understand what you said before—. "Do I taste like utter shit?"

"Well, i’d need another taste to have my final decision" he laughs, and he don't really laugh often so the unexpected sound sends a shiver down your spine now that you’ve heard the sound quite a while now—. "Not much, just a little."

“Have you fill then, peach” He encourages you. “I want you full so you don’t whine the rest of the week.”

You don’t have any heartbeat, but if you did, it would be ragging in your ears at his words. At the warmth he’s spreading like a disease on her body that, despite being dead and cold, you can feel more than ever.

“I like peach,” you admit, this time pressing a soft kiss before directly hurt him—. “Leech is annoying.”

He’s going to say something, tease you about it maybe but he’s interrupted by the nice feeling of what he considers are your fangs tearing his skin apart, familiarity hitting him all sudden as he moans, a rough sound that comes from the deep of his throat, hands coming down to squeeze your ass, making you gasp against his neck when you experience the aching need physically forming in his pants.

“Still,” you say, concentrated on not allowing the wounds to close. But at the lack of complaints on what he's doing, Logan’s hands kept wandering around, making you move against his now clearly stiffed cock—. “Fuck’s sake I said still.”

“Stop being a damn brat. You can eat while I move you,” he grunts annoyed, shoving you against him, the friction of his jeans against the thin fabric of your shorts is enough to keep you quiet: Feeding from a stranger and feeding from a person you’re attracted to are two different things, especially in the position you find yourself in. “You don’t have to do anything. Quit whining about it.”

In response, your fingers press against the wound, not caring if it hurts or if it bothers him, but just enough to get him to bleed more and prevent the cut from closing, lapping at the blood that gathered over his collarbone, staining his white tank before you could even avoid it.

Your fingers grab the fabric just to pull it slightly down so it won't bother you, and the deep sound his chest make when he mocks about your desperation is stuck on your brain for the next couple of minutes, indulging in his taste, shutting up the rest of the world.

A moan comes out of your lips, muffling it against his skin. You're too zoomed out to hear it, but he's on a hell of a ride too, moaning as he demands more. It's been a while since the last time you did something like that, combine the pleasure of something as primal as eating with a mundane activity like sex, so you kind of forgot how good it felt, blaming yourself from depriving from something so needed.

"Do you always get this turned on when someone bites you?"

"No" Logan answers as you finish. He's rock hard beneath you, and he lets you know it when he's controlling the movement of your hips, working you against him at a slow pace—. "See, the woman i'm trying to seduce don't usually bite me, nor make me their main dinner plate."

You whine at the friction.

He looks down to the cause of all his damn problems just to notice his pants being damped with nothing but a physical form of need, soothing the uncomfortable fabric of his blue jeans — "So wet for me already, you’re making a damn mess, do you always get this turned on when feeding?"

Cheeky bastard.

He's using your own words against you, and you cannot be less bothered as you laugh softly, licking your lips only cause you know there's dried blood in them, drowned in his smell, the honey taste that lingered in your mouth.

“No, I don’t.”

At the sight, Logan's hand grabs your jaw in a rough movement, making you look at him before making you kiss him, deepening the contact as fast as you give him the chance. His tongue is soon invading your bucal cavity as he takes control of it, slow, intense and needy, as if he was holding on so much time before giving in to his own desires.

It is something like that.

You don't need to breathe in daily basis, but there's a burning sensation in your chest of wanting, of infinite lust you've been also experiencing by yourself.

The old mutant can taste his own blood in your mouth, a metallic taste as he keeps on kissing you until your lips are pink and puffed. He has thought so much about it that now that he has the opportunity, he devours as if he's a starved man having his first meal in what seems are ages.

"You didn't tell me if I tasted bad."

You think about it for a second.

"I'm afraid you're a rare breed cause it doesn't make any sense" You don't need any help now moving, cause you're rolling your hips on top of him at your own pace, allowing him to use his hands for something else—. “You have all the ingredients to taste like shit, but it's nothing but the contrary, even better than the fucking blood bags.”

“Sounds like your going to make me your meal plan, darlin. I’m here offering you a hand and you just take everything,” — “Such a greedy little vampire.”

He doesn't seem to care though, same as before he's nothing but willing to let you take everything as much as he tries to bark about it. He's more worried about his hands now that they're sliding down your oversized shirt, tracing patterns over your stomach, his touch so hot against your usually cold temperature.

"Logan," you whine,— "Someone can see us out here."

"Now you care about that?" his hazel eyes are a shade darker when he speaks. "After you're nice and full of my blood?"

His hands are big enough to take your whole cunt, allowing his digits to roam over the fabric of your underwear, almost thanking you for using those loosened pajama shorts he has seen before that very night as he just takes the fabric and pull it to the side.

"Nobody is going to see us. It's late and everyone's sleeping, leech" he teases you, and you cannot bring yourself to care about the nickname at the feeling of his hand taunting you from over the fabric—. "If you can bite me here outside, you might as well take my cock here too."

You cannot battle against that. You're deep in whatever spell he puts you into, giving in to the attraction and the tension that now needs to be taken care of. Logan's fingers touch you in nothing but experience, cause he knows how to please after so much time alive, how much pressure he needs to apply to leave you plain dumb, pliable for him.

"D'you think I need to stretch you out before fucking you?" he asks against your neck after leaving a reasonable-sized hickey in the zone, he likes the idea of people finding out about what you've been doing with him the next morning. "Or you're a big girl and can take me all by yourself?"

He'd like to take your time with you. Thoroughly enjoy you as much as he wants to, let everyone know you're his now, that you're shuddering thanks to him only, but he's too needy for that, too deprived of you to take his time.

"I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours and talk to me," he demands, coming up to look at your face while torturing you, his index and middle finger rubbing your clit from over the underwear—. "I'm not properly touching you yet and you're losing it already, peach. C'mon, you can talk to me still."

"I can take you," you say in a strangled voice. "Please Logan, please."

It's the plea of your tone that gets him, the soft begging of an ache he can only soothe, your face while you ask for more, not aware of anything else but him.

"Please what?"

"Please just fuck me already," you ask in frustration—. "I just need you to fill me up for a damn while."

You are starting to love the sound of his laugh. The deep sound he makes when he’s really enjoying something, his voice in damn general.

"Be a good little vampire" He says in a gentle tone. Logan’s trying to be kind even when his touch is so rough. "Unbuckle my pants and take my cock out. My hands are busy now, and you can do it yourself."

He is busy indeed. Toying with your underwear being the only thing that’s keeping him from the direct contact, pushing the fabric against your hole as it works as a barrier, preventing his digits to fuck you as he’d like to. He’s busy keeping you in place, preventing you from downright melt as your hands came up to unbuckle his belt first, the sound of the metal as it moves filling the air for a couple of seconds before you put all your attention in the button of his jeans, the zipper coming down with the force you’re using.

“Yeah baby,” he praises—. “You’re doing so good, keep going.”

When you pull the fabric of his briefs down, he’s already leaking for you, pink head, slightly curved to the side, moaning, erratically how much he needs your hands on him, how you're wet and ready for his cock. You close your fist around him, stroking slowly as your hips lift up enough to position yourself on top of him.

He’s big. Damn fucking right he is, you’d expected it from before cause sometimes you swear you can see his full length in his jeans, but taking him in your hand is a struggle but itself.

“Are you going to take me yourself or do you need my help? I know you can.”

Despite his words, he does help. Grabbing the black fabric of your underwear to finally make it to the side, the tip of his dick pushing against your clit before he's the one to place it in your leaky hole, forcing himself slowly, giving you time to take him in, inch by inch.

“Good girl," he says, head rolling backwards for a brief moment as he experiences the warm sensation of your walls surrounding him, clenching against his cock as he keeps one hand on your hip, helping you as you lower yourself over him. "Let me look at you.”

His fingers grab your jaw, squeezing you as he makes you look back at him, pushing you once again as you holded a loud moan. He's stretching you at his need.

"One more time," he begs. "One more time and you got it, peach. You're almost there."

Jesus fuck. You can feel yourself getting dizzy. You've drank a lot of blood and you're now overwhelmed by this intense pleasure that formed in your lower stomach, gathering there and waiting for the perfect moment to explode—. "Fuck I-"

Logan's pampering you with kisses as a mere distraction, his lips travelling through your neck to your collarbone before you're finally seated on top of him, a muffled moan you need to shut filling the calm of the night.

"Fuck you're tight," he exhales, and he's lost in the sensation, the way your velvety walls welcome him inside. He stays still for a moment, giving you time to adjust, to make you the one who starts moving on top of him.

You can see his veins popping up. All over his chest and coming down to his shoulders and his arms, and god gracious — He smells so fucking good you’re tempted to ask if you can have a bite again.

The moment feels longer than usual, the seconds pass slowly as you stay there. Logan’s hands are just touching your skin from under your oversized t-shirt, taking in the low moans you gave him, the almost perceptible whispers as you get used to him, to his size.

He likes the intimacy of it, the bliss. Man you look so pretty in his lap when the light of the moon is stripping you all to his eyes, even if you’re fully dressed an he’s seated in a damn bench, he cannot enjoy it more, pulling you in for a needy kiss, one that is rougher than the first one and leads you to move inevitably.

His cock pushes past that nice spot inside, and the friction is enough to make you move again, rocking your hips at a slow pace for a few seconds. The sound of your moans is silenced by his demanding kisses, and now that he knows you can handle him, his grip on your hips turn more firm now, squeezing the skin there so he can control your speed, the rythm of your movements now faster than before.

“Shh, don’t whine” what he lacks of vocal usually, he pours it all in just fucking, talking you through it when he feels you’re being too loud—. “Do you want to wake the others? We can’t have them seeing you like this, all fed up and cock-drunk.”

“Let me bite you again,” you ask soon enough. And it takes a lot to do it, cause you’re doing it out of pure greed, cause you can’t have enough.

“Take whatever you want, leech, just don’t make me faint” he jokes, his panted breathing betraying him as he moans, incredibly interested in the idea—. “Want to be conscious when you cum all over my dick.”

Logan’s sure your eyes glisten in a red color as you lean over his neck. And this time is less affectionate, much less gentle as you finally bite him again, teeth piercing the flesh so easily his hips jolts against you in response of the sharp pain your fangs create, the warm sensation of his blood in contrast of your cold touch, tongue-licking all you get from him.

And fuck it feels good.

He shrudders beneath you, shaking his head just slightly at reflex of pain before continue working his way with you, placing his hand between your tights as he lets his fingers rub on your sensitive clit, just enough to make you bite on his neck harder, the lewd sounds of your cunt taking him between holded moans as you suck on his neck.

“That’s it taking me so good,” He praises — “You like that, princess? Like how you’re full of me?”

You hum against his skin. The blood coates your chin as it goes down through his chest, staining his white tank for a couple of seconds before the holes your teeth made finally closes on their own.

It’s pure ecstasy. He can feel it when you clenching around his cock, cheeks red from his blood going now through your system, his vitality, his energy.

You can feel him fucking everywhere. So when you kiss him it’s all teeth, bite and his blood.

The pleasure’s taking control of you now, and Logan’s dizzy from the blood loss, his body covered now in sweat as his words slur together, not threading any coherent thought.

“That’s it,” he says, making you bounce of his cock. “Gonna’ have you in my room then, all spread out f’me.”

His hand wrap around your neck tightly, keeping the direct contact as he chokes you. Shit. You don’t need to say a word. Logan already got you.

“James-” he’s too deep to question why you’re using that name with him. How you facade is crushing down now as you let go.

When your body trembles on top of him he’s already cumming too, the squeeze on his cock sufficent to fuck him up personally, his bruising grip on your hips shoving you as deep as he possibly can as his release hits him like a brick falling from the damn sky.

He lets you work for it, ride each second of your high, milk him dry as a white circle of his own cum mixed with your juices coated the base of his cock, his underwear now slick with your orgasm.

He’s struggling to breathe, to properly say something as you’re finally coming down from your peak, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“Did you called me James?” he questions, and you’re a damn bad liar, cause he knows imediately you’re hidding something cause of the look on your face—. “Do we know each other? From before.”

You don’t know how to respond at first, at least, cause you cannot lie in a position like that now.

“Well uh. It’s quite a long story here.”

Before you can continue he gets up, making you wrap your legs around his hips before stsrting to walk to the mansion.

“Logan-” you say in a strangled moan yourself, still sensitive as he’s balls-deep inside you.

“It will be less than two minutes, leech” he responds gruffily,— “Need to get you into my room so I can enjoy you the rest of the night, and you can tell me all of it.”

He don’t care if he’s bloody or a damn mess as he squeezes your ass climbing up the stairs, much less if anyone see the two of you in that state.

“I want to hear all the details, Cause I have a weird feeling that this has happened before.”

You cannot find a reasonable excuse to say no as the man’s already reaching the second floor.

Logan’s fucked after that night. When he learned about all that you were before, weirdly connected to you through the decades.

It must be the bite isn’t? Shit. He’s more in sync than ever now that you’ve been feeding from him a lot the last few weeks.

Ah. You fucking leech.

my masterlist

[galedekarios]

i'm reading a new interview tim downie gave about gale and it offers some of tim's own headcanons about gale, as well as tim's thoughts and insights on gale's character:

Nerds & Beyond: I like that you mentioned that the game is full of rounded characters because they are, they all have different aspects that make them feel real. I adore that Gale specifically is so serious and studious, but at the same time he has this really playful side — he often jokes about how he was a mischievous youth, he encourages other people like Arabella to do so, he understands when The Dark Urge first mentions their violent thoughts. There is a lot of nuance and depth there. But the quality that I love with Gale most is that obviously he is very ill when we first meet him – not that we know immediately – and he’s dealing with a lot of chronic pain. I find him incredibly selfless because he takes that day-to-day head on to help the party, which is an aspect I feel continues to show throughout the three acts. What’s your favorite quality of Gale’s, or what did you take away from him? Tim Downie: It’s so interesting hearing you say that, because I had so many different feedbacks about what people take from the character and sometimes things really surprise you. It’s interesting hearing that such and such has taken that particular aspect, because there are broad things like “He’s funny,” and that’s quite nice, that’s a nice trait, though not one you necessarily get to see that much. It’s so interesting hearing other people’s views about what they take from Gale.  The idea of dealing with chronic pain I found really interesting and an interesting subplot to play, and that was the great thing about doing something like this is that it is so unbelievably nuanced. You have so many layers that just keep going and going and going, as much as we all contain multitudes within ourselves. We all deal with these things, but only certain things pop up to the surface at any given point.  What did I take from Gale, though? I liked his studiousness. I would imagine that he was probably bullied as a kid for it, and he was probably a bit of a joker because he was bullied, and he uses that as a defense. But an even bigger defense for him is “I now know stuff that I didn’t before,” and that’s a power. It’s very similar to when you are being bullied and you’re the funny one – that’s your power, that’s your thing. “I may not be able to hurt you in a traditional sense, but I can say things that will make you feel pain,” which is a very different thing because you physically can’t go after them.  That’s the wonderful thing about acting and this character as well is being able to explore all these things that you might not have, that you might have gone, “I’m not gonna look at that again, I don’t want to deal with that,” and then it brings it up again and it’s like, “Oh, this is actually quite cathartic,” to re-explore these these moments of sorrow and loss and how you deal with grief and things like that and heartbreak and how you get over that.  It’s not all just tears, you do try and make a joke of it.

i really like that they are addressing the topic of gale's chronic pain. it's something that doesn't get addressed often, not even in the game itself.

i also found his answer as to why people might connect to gale very nice:

Nerds & Beyond: Gale is the most popular origin character to play as. What is it about him that you think allows so many different players to connect with him to the depths the fandom has? Tim Downie: I really don’t know. I think you’d have to ask the players that, ‘cause I don’t know, to be quite honest with you. He’s a wizard, and who wouldn’t want to be a wizard at the end of the day? I always say the difference between wizards and sorcerers is that sorcerers just pretend – they just assume they know what they’re doing, but a wizard has really learned this trade. And so there’s that kind of weight of knowledge and learning, which I would love to play as and be for a length of time.  I think it’s also the frailties. I like characters, and a lot of people do I’m assuming, that have flaws, otherwise you’ve made them completely unapproachable. To be completely superhuman or completely extraordinary at something then removes the humanity from it because it becomes like, “Well, that’s never gonna happen.” But when there’s a flaw, when there’s, “Oh, I’ve got that wrong, too,” or like, “My knees hurt” as you say, or “I’ve got a bit of a headache. I really don’t want to do this,” “You’re really annoying me, this is very annoying, could you please hurry up?” or “Stop licking the damn thing,” it’s always those moments that are fun because it shows what we’re all thinking at that point, it removes it from almost archetype and stereotype and it becomes human in a way.

gale is approachable and likeable, has flaws, but is genuinely nice. i think that very much sums up his character.

this bit here made me laugh:

Nerds & Beyond: When you’re talking about those different layers in the humanity building, I think one of the most important aspects in this game is the more “background” or passive dialogue, so dialogue that is prompted in the world and not in the cut scenes.  For instance — the first time I made Gale sneak he immediately complained about his knees, and it was such a real moment where he was just like, “Oh, don’t make me do this. This is not what I’m here for, I’ve got bad knees and I’m not made for this.” Did you have any of those background lines or moments that stick out as being particularly fun to craft?  Tim Downie: I remember the first time I ever had to do waiting, I found it infinitely interesting in so many ways. The idea that I did actually just have to wait and just actually, “Hmm…” Those little things I find really funny because they’re probably the closest to me that the character ever gets. His waiting mannerisms are kind of very English – slightly annoyed and I’m not going to show it to you though because we’re all being very nice, but I’ll do it with a huff and a slightly sarcastic, “Well, that’s great. Another 20 minutes. That’s great.” Those kinds of sentiments I found wonderful and incredibly fun, and funny, to do. 

if you want to read the whole interview for yourself, you can do so here!

[mywitchyblog]

The Coolest Thing About Reality Shifting: DR Memories

What Are DR Memories ? :

One of the coolest things about reality shifting is that you can get DR memories—these are memories from your desired reality (DR). What’s really cool about these memories is that they fill in the blanks, like adding extra content to the story. But what makes it even better is that these memories often answer questions that the original show or movie never explained. It’s almost like having secret insider knowledge that makes the story and characters make more sense and feel more real. These memories can add extra background information, character motivations, or small details that clear up plot holes. It makes the universe of that show or movie feel more complete and satisfying. That’s why I think DR memories are one of the most interesting parts of reality shifting—they add a lot of depth and detail that you wouldn't get otherwise.

Claircognizance and DR Memories :

In case you didn't know, a DR memory is a type of claircognizance. Claircognizance is a psychic ability where you get knowledge or insights without any logical explanation—it's like the information just pops into your head. It’s not like remembering something you already know or imagining something new; instead, it feels like this information just appears in your mind without any effort.

I can tell the difference between a DR memory and a daydream because with daydreams, I actually create them myself, almost like I’m walking through the daydream and deciding what happens next. Daydreams are like a creative process, where I have control over what happens. With DR memories, it's the opposite—the memory just comes to me, almost like downloading information from somewhere unknown. It’s passive, and I feel like I’m just receiving it instead of making it happen. DR memories usually come with a strong sense of certainty that they’re real, which is very different from daydreams, which feel more like imagination.

How I Recognize DR Memories :

That's how I can tell the difference between the two. I'm currently working on developing my psychic abilities, and from what I've learned, claircognizance is the best way to describe what happens when shifters get DR memories. Claircognizance is like getting information from a place you can't see, almost like an invisible source of knowledge.

One reason I value these memories so much is that they make things suddenly make sense, like putting together puzzle pieces that finally fit. They don’t feel random—they come with a clarity and sense of completeness that I can't ignore. I knew it was a DR memory because it came with a strong sense of certainty, a conviction that I wouldn't normally have if I was just imagining things. It’s that feeling of knowing that tells me it’s not something I made up, but something real and meaningful, which makes the experience even more special.

Example: Teen Wolf Filming Locations :

Here's an example that really stood out to me. It's related to Teen Wolf, specifically where they filmed the show. In the first two seasons, they filmed in Atlanta, Georgia, which gave it that small-town vibe and charm. The setting made it feel like a real close-knit community, with overcast skies, thick woods, and an older, worn-out small-town look. But from season three onward, they moved filming to California, which totally changed things.

The new location made the show look different since the Californian landscapes had more sun, wider streets, new architecture, and brighter natural scenery. This change impacted the show's overall tone and feel. The new brightness made everything look cleaner and less gritty, which affected the mood and atmosphere. What always bugged me was that the show never explained in the story why the high school changed so much between seasons two and three. It felt like a sudden, unexplained shift, and it always stood out to me as something inconsistent when I watched the series again.

The DR Memory That Explained It All :

Then I had this DR memory, and it all made sense. Basically, in my DR memory, there was a big renovation. The old high school from seasons one and two was in an older, run-down part of town with outdated facilities and a dull look. The town council realized that the school was no longer meeting the needs of the community, and it couldn't keep up with modern education standards. So, they decided to build a brand new high school—one that was bigger, more modern, and way more functional, with updated technology and better facilities, like advanced science labs, new computer rooms, and bigger athletic fields.

The construction project took about two to three years, and it involved a lot of community effort, planning, and even some fundraising by the local residents. The town was really proud to build something that would be a central part of the community and give students a much better learning environment. By the time summer break was over (like the one at the very beginning of season 3A), the new high school was ready, with modern classrooms, great sports facilities, an upgraded library with digital resources, and a cool, sleek design. It was a huge improvement compared to the old school. So, by the time season three starts, the high school is completely new and very different from the old one.

Better Than Devenford Prep :

What I found pretty funny in the DR memory was that some of the new facilities at our high school ended up being even better than the ones at Devenford Prep, which is supposed to be this elite school with the best resources. The upgrades were so impressive that even some of the prep school students came over to use our facilities, especially things like the athletic spaces and the new multimedia studio (which is, in a way, canon since I think there are scenes of Brett Talbot training at the BHHS lacrosse field). The swimming pool and gym were way nicer than anything Devenford had, which was surprising because private schools are usually thought to have better stuff than public ones.

Finally, I had an explanation for why the high school changed so much between seasons two and three, which the show never actually explained. It was really satisfying to fill in that missing piece because it made the story feel more realistic, like everything fit together and made sense, almost as if it had always been part of the original story.

@shiftingwithmars i think you have a teen wolf DR ? So maybe this lil storty time of mine will make some sense to you.

[am-i-interrupting]

Hello! I'd like to request a little scenario thing with all the hazbin hotel characters you write for. This will probably sound stupid, but I just got my nails done for the first time ever, and I was thinking about how the hazbin crew might react cause I have been so excited to show them off!

If you don't want to do all of the characters, then I totally get it, I mainly want Husk and Vox. (And angel dust, but I'm not sure if you write for him)

Romantic pls!!!! Thank you so much if this is considered!!

You’ve unknowingly poked at an interest of mine. If ya care to know, I’m actually about to start school to become a nail technician next month.

(Part two— the gals)

Alastor

Alastor noticed immediately and was curious.

He’d grab your hand and carefully examine each fingernail.

He’d compliment the color and design.

He might question the shape and length, mainly for function purposes.

If you got acrylics, he would question how you planned to get things done and laugh during your adjustment period.

If you ever poked your eye (especially if you got stiletto nails), he would smile and say something along the lines of “Well, what did you expect, my dear?”

He does love how they make you happy though.

Not enough to not make fun of you when they cause you to fuck something up, but enough to accompany you to the salon a time or two.

He’d hover over your shoulder and watch everything the poor nail tech did, questioning everything with a genuine interest.

He would not help you if your nail broke off despite this though.

His interest is just fleeting and a want for knowledge and once again, “What did you expect, my dear?”

Husk

Husk looked at people’s hands a lot.

He’s a gambler and a slight of hand expert. It’s second nature.

He picks up instantly and makes sure to give you a gruff comment about how they look.

He didn’t expect you to light up and stick your hand in his face but he wouldn’t complain. He likes seeing you happy.

He will be honest with you when you ask for his opinion on the color or design.

Don’t expect him to sugar coat it. If he thinks the colors clash or the design isn’t good past a first glance, he lets you know.

Over time he becomes sort of casually knowledgeable about the subject.

At least to the point where if you ask him for a design idea, he’d give you a pretty damn good one and even be able to decide between if matte or gloss top coat would look better.

His favorite shapes are the coffins.

They’re blunt enough to not scratch but sharp enough to itch.

He will be just attention seeking enough for you to notice when you get him.

Give him scratches between the eyes and bridge of his nose with them and he’s a fucking goner.

Lucifer

He probably wouldn’t notice at first unless you told him or until he grabbed your hand while cuddling.

It’s not that he doesn’t care. He very much does care. However, he’s not the most observant unless it’s an obvious change.

As soon as it’s come to his attention though he is fawning.

He will absolutely gush over your nails.

Compliments everything, the color, the shape, the design, the length. Just absolutely everything.

He’s asking you how they make you feel and listening to you with a love-sick smile.

He would be willing to go get his nails done with you.

Very surprised at how relaxing he found it and how much he liked it. Will go with you again.

Vox

He notices something is up almost immediately.

If you didn’t burst into his office as soon as you walked out the salon, then he noticed when you went to bed. Or more accurately, he went to bed.

He works a lot of late nights to maintain his image so in all likelihood, you were probably asleep when he got home.

Crawling into bed with you, you roll over to cuddle with him, give him a kiss, and rub your hand down his arm or chest.

He’d grab it, feeling something different immediately, even if you just got polish, but you were already back asleep.

The next morning he’d mention them as you both got ready for the day.

I can see him drinking coffee as he watched you talk about your nails, absolutely smitten.

He would always demand to see your nails when you got new ones.

“Alright, what have you got this time?”

He would give his honest opinion on what he thought.

No holding back with this man.

Would provide you with the money to get any style, design, whatever you want.

He just loves seeing you happy.

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : GAME NIGHT : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Stark!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men/MCU

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None! Mentions of (Y/N)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: You and Logan get invited to the Avengers game night by your father, Tony Stark. As usual, Wade tags along.

Part 2 of ‘Meet The Family’ (or can be read as a standalone)

IT WAS A WARM SATURDAY EVENING AT THE AVENGERS COMPOUND, and the living room was already buzzing with chatter and laughter. Tony Stark had decided to host a game night, something rare but always chaotic in the best way possible. Naturally, you and Logan had been invited. Well, more like dragged into it by Tony, who had left you a not-so-subtle voicemail: "Game night. Be there, or I’ll build an Iron Man suit with your name on it. Logan too."

Now, you were sitting on the couch, sandwiched between Logan, who had that same calm, unbothered expression, and Wade, who had somehow found his way into the compound again without being invited.

“Alright, team,” Tony announced, standing at the head of the room like he was about to launch into a company presentation. “Tonight, we’re doing things a little differently. No Monopoly. No Twister.” He glanced pointedly at Thor, who looked almost disappointed. “And definitely no more karaoke. Clint, I'm looking at you.”

Clint snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Hey, my rendition of ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ was iconic.”

“Iconic, yes,” Tony quipped. “Also responsible for me needing to soundproof this place. No, tonight, we’re going to play—wait for it— Avengers Trivia.”

There was a collective groan from around the room. Steve facepalmed, and Natasha narrowed her eyes at Tony. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious, Nat,” Tony replied, a grin spreading across his face. “Jarvis is going to be our quizmaster. Everyone teams up in pairs, and we’ll see who really knows the most about this weird, dysfunctional little family we’ve built.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to you, one eyebrow raised. “Trivia? This what you do for fun?”

You chuckled, nudging him playfully. “Trust me, it gets wild.”

Wade, who was seated cross-legged on the floor like a child, raised his hand. “Ooh, ooh! I call Logan as my partner!”

“Absolutely not,” Logan deadpanned, cutting him off without hesitation.

“Rude,” Wade muttered under his breath.

Tony clapped his hands. “Alright, pick your partners. (Y/N), you’re with Logan. Nat, you’re with Steve. Clint, you’re with—”

“Me,” Wade interrupted, grinning maniacally. “The unstoppable duo is back!”

Clint groaned but didn’t argue. “Great. This’ll be fun.”

Thor was happily pairing up with Bruce, already talking about how their combined Asgardian and science knowledge would be “unmatched in the Nine Realms.”

“Let’s get started!” Tony called, snapping his fingers. “Jarvis, first question!”

The familiar voice of the AI butler filled the room. “First question: Who was the first Avenger to officially join S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Before anyone could answer, Wade leaped to his feet. “Easy! It was Deadpool! Wait, no, I was too cool for S.H.I.E.L.D. It was Cap. Yeah, totally Captain America.”

“That’s correct,” Jarvis responded, and Wade pumped his fists triumphantly.

Steve glanced at Wade in disbelief. “How do you—never mind, I don’t want to know.”

Natasha smirked. “Looks like we’re off to a good start.”

Logan, leaning back in his seat, glanced at you with a smirk. “They’re really competitive about this, aren’t they?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Jarvis continued, “Second question: Which Avenger has the most confirmed hand-to-hand combat victories?”

Thor stood up, beaming with pride. “It is clearly I! Thor Odinson, warrior of Asgard!”

“Actually, the answer is Natasha Romanoff,” Jarvis corrected.

Thor froze, his confidence momentarily faltering. “Ah, well… yes, Lady Natasha is indeed formidable in battle.”

Natasha gave a small, smug wave. “Don’t feel bad, Thor. You’ve got the hammer thing going for you.”

The next few questions flew by, with Clint and Wade bickering over every answer, Steve trying to be diplomatic, and Tony repeatedly congratulating himself for knowing all the answers to his own questions.

Finally, Jarvis posed a question that had Logan sitting up straighter: “What is the most common alias used by Wolverine in the field?”

Wade immediately blurted, “Oh! Oh! It’s Wolverine! Wait, no—Patch! Or is it ‘That Angry Canadian Guy’? Ooh, I know—Hairy Murder Grandpa!”

Logan shot Wade a warning look. “Don’t push it.”

Wade, not knowing when to quit, leaned closer to Clint and stage-whispered, “I’m pretty sure it’s Patch. He wore an eye patch. So mysterious, so dashing.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Is it Patch?”

Logan nodded. “That’s one of them.”

Jarvis confirmed, “Correct. Wolverine has used the alias Patch on numerous occasions, particularly in Madripoor.”

Wade looked smug, puffing out his chest. “See? I know my friends. Not that we’re friends, but you know, friends in a ‘he’ll tolerate me’ kind of way.”

Logan’s gaze met yours, and you couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the situation. “You’re handling this a lot better than I thought you would,” you whispered to him.

He shrugged. “Not my first rodeo with these types. They’re alright. Except him,” he said, nodding toward Wade, who was now debating with Clint whether Deadpool could be considered an honorary Avenger.

After a few more rounds of questions—with your team surprisingly holding its own—Tony stood up, waving his hand for attention. “Alright, alright. Let’s mix things up. I’m bored of trivia. Time for the lightning round: Avengers Charades.”

“Oh no,” Steve muttered under his breath, already looking weary.

“Oh yes!” Tony replied, grinning mischievously. “Everyone, pair up with a new partner. This time, one person will act out an iconic Avenger moment, and the other person guesses.”

Clint clapped his hands together. “This should be good. Wade, you’re on my team. Let’s see if you can manage to not ruin this.”

“Challenge accepted!” Wade chirped.

Natasha swapped with you so that you were now paired with Steve, while Logan found himself paired with Bruce. Bruce looked mildly terrified, but Logan just nodded in his calm, stoic way.

Tony raised his hand again. “Alright, first team up—Logan and Bruce. Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Bruce stood up, nervously adjusting his glasses. “I’ll, uh, act it out. You guess.”

Logan grunted. “Fine.”

Bruce stepped to the middle of the room and began... well, thrashing around. He flailed his arms, growling and making these deep, guttural noises, then pretended to smash something invisible with both hands.

Logan blinked. “The Hulk?”

“Correct!” Tony shouted, laughing. “That was the easiest one! Come on, Bruce, give us something harder next time!”

Bruce, looking sheepish, sat back down as Logan gave him a brief nod of approval.

Next, it was your turn with Steve. You drew a card from the deck Tony had provided and grinned. Oh, this was going to be fun. You stood up, positioned your hands like you were grabbing two handles, then mimed jumping out of a plane with a parachute. Steve’s eyes lit up with recognition.

“Cap jumping out of the Quinjet without a parachute.”

“Correct!” Tony called, and Steve laughed, shaking his head. “I knew you were gonna do that one.”

As the game went on, Wade acted out a scene from Thor: Ragnarok with over-the-top dramatics, pretending to be both Thor and Hulk fighting in the arena. Clint just threw his hands in the air. “I’m not guessing this.”

Thor, of course, took the opportunity to stand up and reenact an exaggerated version of his own scene, complete with an invisible Mjölnir that he swung wildly around the room.

“Another point for Team Asgard!” Thor announced proudly, and Bruce just shook his head.

Finally, it came down to Tony’s team—himself and Nat. Tony drew a card and immediately smirked. He stood up, putting on a ridiculously exaggerated “hero” pose, and then pretended to fire repulsor blasts from his hands.

Natasha crossed her arms. “Really, Tony? You’re just doing yourself?”

“Can you blame me?” Tony replied, winking at her.

Natasha sighed. “Iron Man in literally every movie you’ve been in.”

“Bingo!” Tony grinned, bowing dramatically as if he’d just performed Shakespeare at the Globe.

The night wrapped up with everyone gathered in the living room, laughing and sharing stories. You leaned against Logan, feeling his steady presence beside you as the chaos of your family—both old and new—buzzed around you.

“Well,” Logan said quietly, watching as Thor tried to explain to Clint why throwing Mjölnir wasn’t cheating in charades, “this wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “Told you. We’re a weird bunch, but we’re family.”

Logan looked down at you, a rare softness in his eyes. "Yeah, I can see that."

Just as the moment settled between you two, Wade suddenly jumped up, startling everyone. "Wait! One last round! We can't end game night without one final showdown."

Tony groaned, already halfway out of his seat. "Wade, it's late. And I think we've done enough—"

"No!" Wade insisted dramatically, waving his arms. "It's tradition! And by tradition, I mean something I just made up. The Ultimate Battle: Avengers Pictionary!"

"God, no," Clint muttered, but it was too late. Wade was already tearing open a random box from Tony's game collection, pulling out a whiteboard and markers.

"Alright, alright," Natasha sighed. "One round, Wade. One."

Wade grinned and tossed the marker at Logan, who caught it midair with practiced ease. "You, Logan! You’re up first!"

Logan glanced at the marker, clearly unamused, then at you. "Pictionary, really?"

You shrugged with a grin. "Rules are rules. Besides, I wanna see how good your art skills are."

With a small grunt of resignation, Logan stood and moved to the whiteboard, glancing briefly at the card Wade handed him. His eyes narrowed slightly, and then, without a word, he began to draw.

At first, the lines were slow, hesitant, but as the seconds ticked by, Logan’s rough sketch started taking shape. There was a figure—a man, with claws and an iconic stance.

Tony leaned forward, grinning. "Oh, this one's obvious."

But before anyone could guess, Wade leapt up. "It’s me! Deadpool! No, wait, it’s—"

"Logan," you cut in with a smirk, recognizing the stance. "It's him. Wolverine."

Logan stopped drawing, looked back at the group, and gave a small, satisfied nod. "Yep."

The room erupted into laughter, and Tony threw his hands up. "Okay, that's it. Game night over. Logan wins."

Logan shook his head, placing the marker down. "This was ridiculous."

"Ridiculously fun," Wade chimed in, unbothered by Logan’s usual gruff demeanor.

As the night wrapped up for real this time, you leaned against Logan once more, feeling the warmth of his presence amidst the laughter and camaraderie around you. Sure, game night had been chaotic, but in the end, it was just another reminder that no matter how strange or dysfunctional, this was your family.

And Logan? Well, he was officially part of it now, too.

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8 @birdy-bat-writes @slowlikehoneyyy @wolviesgirl @shybluebirdninja @boomveronika @lanabobana @corvusmorte @seamlessepiphany

If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know!!!

[hannieoftheyear]

Warning Signal (jww) TEASER

Two targets you need to figure out, alongside the one person you most despise, and zero mistakes allowed.

As the lives of your targets get more and more intertwined, and your plan gets more complicated, memories of the past and feelings you thought you could put aside threaten to ruin the mission.

pairing: criminal!wonwoo x criminal!reader

w.c: 915 (for the teaser), full work will be over 20k

release date: tbd

genre: exes to partners in crime to lovers, violence, angst, smut (not in the teaser)

content warnings (for the full work): vague descriptions of what their "job" actually is, criminal acts, stalking, spying, invasion of privacy, use of fake names, fake identities, stealing (both reader and wonwoo do all of the above), mentions of guns, fight scenes, blood, murder, death (not the main characters) | the story will contain flashbacks written in cursive (such as this teaser)

note: this is very different from what i've been posting so far, but i had a dream about a similar story and couldn't get it out of my mind.

on that note, i'm not sure when i'll be able to finish this bc it's taking a lot of time to make sure everything makes sense and for the relationship to be fully fleshed out. it might be done by january (that sounds so weird to say omg)

if anyone wants to be on the taglist, comment this post! (minors or ageless blogs won't be added)

“The bit is over Wonwoo, go home.”

“Let’s just work together, one last time.” His voice reaches closer and closer from behind you until you stop walking and force yourself to face him. 

“Not only do I not need your help, I especially don’t want it.” 

“Look, I’m not asking you to forgive me, just–” He appears to have regretted what he was about to say, and you don’t wait for him to gather his thoughts. 

“Just what? Understand it? We’re way past that don’t you think?” 

“We’re good together,” your brain glitches with astonishment before he corrects himself, “We always worked better when we did these jobs together, you know that.” 

“You have some serious nerve, after last time, the least I should do it rat you out right this second.” 

“You wouldn’t do that, it’s not your style.” 

“To fuck over my partners? No, that’s yours.” 

He's trying to charm his way into your life again, like the past few months could disappear at the flash of a smile, and you'll be damned if you let him.  

“Let’s just see it as a mere trade of information, nothing more.” Neither his voice nor his expression suggests that he’s trying to deceive you, and you hate that you're even considering his offer.  

“And I wouldn’t have to see your face ever again after?” 

“That would be your loss, but sure. One last job and we’d be done.” 

“Are you being serious?” 

It’s hard to trust him. No matter how much he insists it’s his only goal. But it’s true that whatever knowledge he collected on that dude would save you a lot of time and resources, and you have to do this job well to prove yourself to your boss. 

“Dead serious. I promise.” 

A year before… 

The waitress, with purple bags under her eyes and bleach blonde hair tied up in a bun on the edge of falling undone, sighed on the way to tell the same client, for the fourth time in two hours, that it was prohibited to smoke inside the establishment. You saw that man doing countless other illegal things while sitting on that same dark booth the entire night, but the bar drew the line at smoking indoors. 

He huffed at her but ultimately put the cigarette out against the wood table. There were fewer and fewer people the more the time passed, and soon enough, it was going to be too suspicious for you to still be there. You couldn’t be the only customer left in the bar when he left, but the person he was still waiting for was the key to all this, and you couldn’t leave without that information. 

An ‘80s country song started playing on the radio, and the man started tapping his fingers against the table, following the rhythm of the classic. It was almost serene, the way he relaxed at the sound of the familiar tune, but the night started to feel more and more like a waste of time. Whatever the deal was with the person who wasn’t showing up, it was clearly not happening. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” A familiar figure sat in front of you at the secluded booth you kidnapped for the whole night. But the smile that appeared on your face at him quickly dissipated. 

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s too empty.” Besides the staff, you and the old man, there were only three people inside the dusty bar at that time, all alone, too drunk and on the brink of leaving. It was almost impossible not to stand out in that crowd. 

“Don’t worry, I called in a few favors.” Just as Wonwoo finished his sentence, a group of at least ten men, talking loudly and in the mood to celebrate something, walked into the tiny bar, disrupting the serenity but providing you with much needed cover. 

“You’re so... resourceful.” Your words mixed with a giggle as the atmosphere changed from calm and musty to a playful bachelor-esque party inside the bar. “How did you know I was here?” 

“I always know where you are, baby.” A chill climbed up your spine at his teasing smile. “And also, I was waiting for a guy to show up here. He’s supposed to be meeting someone.” 

The loud laugh that escaped you almost beat the drunk shouting of the bachelors in volume. It was easy to connect the dots, and it also wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. 

“You know something I don’t?” Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t stray away from the smile on your lips. 

You just giggled as your eyes darted towards the sketchy old man, who was back to smoking, seeing that the staff’s attention was focused on the new customers. You could feel Wonwoo’s gaze stay on you for a second before following yours, and the realization hit him quickly, the years of working together serving their purpose. 

“Yours?” The amusement in his voice made you nod eagerly, sipping on the mocktail that had been sitting untouched on the table for over an hour. “It’s been a while.” 

This job, the thing that you do for a living, got lonely every now and then. Doing everything on your own, not being able to share it with the people closest to you, can take a toll on anyone, no matter how detached they're able to get. So, when you got a chance to work with the one you love, you were for sure gonna take it. 

“I know, it’s gonna be fun.”  

thank you for reading! i love this story and i cant wait to finish it so you all can finally read it!

remember! if you want to join the taglist, comment on this post ♡

[writingwithcolor]

Any advice for handling race in reincarnation situations?

@swamp-spirit asked:

I'm writing a story that includes characters being reincarnated with completely different appearances. It's a fantasy world, and most of the characters are being reborn in the same region, but I still want a range of skin tones and features in the main cast (this is a comic). I have weird feelings about a character being 'reborn' with notably lighter or darker skin, but it also feels implausible and lazy for people to Just Happen to have a similar appearance when the theology of the story doesn't support it. Characters being reborn, and taking out things specific to real life groups, what are the major things you'd want an author to read up on or take into account? (Note: there is not a 'white' looking ethnic group in this story)

I don’t think it’s a problem as long as the skin tones don’t have any correlation to the circumstances that they’re reincarnated into.

- SK

It’s an interesting question, because in most religions where reincarnation/ transmigration of the soul is a feature of “what happens after death”, remembering one’s past life is not really part of the package deal. From what you’ve written, it’s not clear to me where the “memory” of these characters’ lives are held. Is there a 3rd person omniscient narrator telling the audience who each person is in their next life or do the characters themselves retain memory of past lives?

Assuming this is your typical reincarnation scenario where characters retain no memory of previous lives, it doesn’t much matter. The next life is the next life. Who a person was in their previous life and that identity, in theory, means nothing to them. This also means whatever personality, values, experiences and so on they had in their previous life no longer has meaning. They are, in effect, another person. However, you say you feel awkward about the above which makes me wonder if characters are remembering past lives, in which case…

If you study pretty much any major Asian religion where reincarnation is a part of the belief system, having no memory of the previous life is par for the course. In present-day religions like Jainism, Sikhism, Hinduism and Buddhism, only “special” (I’m using the term very casually here) entities like bodhisattvas, guru, arihant, buddhas, etc. usually get to keep their memories, while the rest of us (literal) mere mortals are supposed to lose our memories between lives as a part of Samsara. In Hinduism, even the gods often forget their previous lives, unless their reincarnation had a targeted purpose (Like being born to defeat an evil entity). 

For most people, it is only through prayer, devotion, meditation and accumulated virtuous/ good/ compassionate deeds that humans are thought to deepen their understanding of the nature of the universe, and thus have the capacity to remember past lives (I’m, again, paraphrasing very loosely here from several years worth of university history+religion courses).  

This is why the isekai genre in Japan is largely regarded as a “cheat”/ parody genre of fantasy. The protagonist, according to common Japanese cultural beliefs, which are quite heavily grounded in Buddhism, is definitively “cheating.” Not to get too ironically biblical, the character’s success often comes from the forbidden knowledge borne of their previous life. 

Thus, there are two ways I look at your characters’ predicaments: 

It’s not technically reincarnation - not by the way most major world religions define reincarnation, anyway. You have people who died now inhabiting other bodies, but that’s not the same as the transmigration of the soul. Also, you want to delve into the weirdness (and maybe heaviness) of “Wow, I went to sleep with one face and woke up with another.” There are certainly stories about people who have had dramatic cosmetic plastic surgery, weight loss surgery, HRT, etc. and then experienced the difference in the “before” versus “after” of how their altered physical appearance makes them feel, as well as how other people treat them. Even if the community your characters are born into now differs from their previous community (Which I guess would make this more a “I traveled between dimensions, and my appearance altered in the process” sci-fi adjacent affair), their new life will still have social environments with differing attitudes towards human physical appearance that will affect your characters’ emotional states. 

Isekai it up and play with the ridiculous contradiction of having past lives and differing memories of one’s appearance. Isekai manga, manhwa and webtoons all make use of this trope heavily, especially with protagonists who experience a “glow-up” (Ex. Going from a Plain Jane OL to beautiful fantasy heroine) or, by contrast, protagonists who end up in very different forms from their original lives (Tensura, I’m a Spider, So What?). I’d be creative and go even more granular. Being able to tan after a lifetime of getting sunburns or no longer needing glasses might be nice, but what if the new body lacks the enzymes to process dairy or alcohol? What about dealing with differences in hair texture? Skincare routines? What about living life as a very tall person after being quite short or vice versa? What if you bumped into an acquaintance from your previous life, and one of you clearly got a more “coveted” reincarnation?  See how far of an extreme you can take this idea until it feels too uncomfortable or ridiculous. 

Marika.

[scary-grace]

hi!! for the prompts: 8 & 28? :D i've only recently found ur shiggy fics and i love them all!! i can't wait to read more from you!! 💗

Hi there! Thank you so much for sending me this prompt. This one is set in an AU I've been kicking around for a little while, with the potential to turn into a longer fic one day -- Shigaraki x reader, no quirks/high school au, zombie apocalypse. I'm still taking prompts from this list if you or anyone else would like to send me another!

'shielding the other one with their body' + ‘feeling for each other in the dark’

“Don’t look.” Shigaraki stands squarely between you and whatever lies half in, half out of the classroom. You try to step around him, and he steps back in to block your view. “Hey. What did I just tell you? Don’t look.”

“Just because I’m a girl, you think I can’t –” Rage and stress make you incoherent enough as it is, but beneath it all is fear. Fear because you’ve come to a stop. Fear because you know they’re here somewhere, but you don’t know where, and in the bloodshed that’s unfolded in the halls of your high school since this morning, you’ve learned to fear silence as much as noise. “I can handle it. Let me see –”

“You think it’s because you’re a girl? I wish I hadn’t seen it,” Shigaraki snaps at you. “If I didn’t want to see it, you don’t want to, either.”

For some reason, that argument works on you. “Do you know who it was?”

Shigaraki glances over his shoulder. His jaw clenches, and he looks away fast. “A teacher, maybe. Whoever they were, there’s not enough left of them to reanimate.”

“Good.”

The words feel wrong even as they leave your mouth, but you mean them. With your survival looking increasingly unlikely, the best thing you can hope for is that you don’t come back after you’re killed. “Good,” Shigaraki says. “Let’s go.”

You nod, and inch past the doorway, careful of where you step, avoiding the smears of blood along with everything else. Shigaraki keeps blocking your view the entire way. You’ve been switching off who leads the way, and now it’s your turn. You hold your hand out behind you for the mirror you’ve been using to check around corners and Shigaraki passes it to you, his fingers brushing over yours in a way that would have made your heart skip a beat this morning. Now, with night falling soon, there’s no room left inside you for a stupid crush. All the space is take up by the knowledge of just how quickly things can go wrong.

It started in chemistry class. Everything was fine until chemistry class, even though it’s Valentine’s Day and Valentine’s Day is the worst day of the year for almost everybody. You and your friends did the traditional single-girl chocolate swap, but you brought another small box with you, in case you got up your nerve. And you did. Instead of leaving it in your backpack to be forgotten or in front of his locker to be stolen, you set it down at your lab partner’s seat before he got there.

Shigaraki Tomura isn’t a nice guy. He’s older than you, courtesy of being held back a year sometime in middle school, and while he has friends, every last one of them has a reputation just like his. When you were paired up with him for chem lab at the beginning of the year, most people felt sorry for you, and they said so. But you were determined to make the best of it, not to get off on the wrong foot, and so you were friendly. It took two months for him to start being friendly back.

Maybe that was why you risked the chocolate. You remembered a conversation early on, both of you complaining about couples hanging out in the hallways and blocking you from getting your shoes back, and he’d mentioned something about Valentine’s Day being even worse – everybody and their cat gets chocolate, and I just have to look at it. Writing is your best subject. You read between the lines. And you decided to bring him something way before you admitted you had a crush.

You weren’t sure how you were expecting him to react. Confusion, or interest – you hadn’t signed your name, and if someone gave you chocolate, you’d want to know who it was. But Shigaraki guessed right away that it was you, and when he turned to you, all you could see on his face was rage. It took you three minutes to get your bearings, to respond. Three minutes was enough to get you both sent to the principal’s office.

And it’s a good thing you were there, wasn’t it? In an office with a door that locked and a closed-circuit TV, so when you heard the first screams, you could look into and see exactly what was happening. Your school was devolving into a mess of blood and bodies, and while you refused to say the word, Shigaraki wasn’t shy about it. They’re zombies, he said. And then: We’re fucked.

You made up your mind right then that the two of you were going to survive – and that you were going to finish up the stupid fight you were having in chem class – but as the day’s worn on, it’s gotten harder to hide the truth. The two of you can sneak around the school. You can scavenge food and makeshift weapons. You can use the zombies’ sensitivity to sound to draw them away from wherever you’re trying to go. But you’re still trapped inside the school. You have no idea what conditions are like on the outside, because the school WiFi’s been shut down, and the building’s a dead zone on its best day. And you’re running out of places to go.

Right now you’re moving from the music room, where you spent the afternoon, up into the higher reaches of the building. Going up feels like a bad idea, except the upper levels have fire escapes, which means any room with a window has a way out. You can figure that out in the morning. It’s almost nightfall, and the power’s out. If you and Shigaraki don’t hurry up, you’ll be fumbling your way through a school full of zombies in the dark.

You check around the corner with the mirror. It looks like a straight shot to the stairs, except there’s a couple of zombies knocking around on the landing below your current floor, too clueless to climb up without something to draw their attention. You beckon Shigaraki forward to look into the mirror with you. “Too much open space,” he says, his chapped lips pressed to your ear. “There’s another staircase.”

“On the other end of the school. It’s too far.” You can’t face picking your way back through the sea of bloodstained classrooms the two of you have already crossed. “If we cross –”

“No.”

“If we cross the hall and throw something back the way we came, they’ll clear out and we can go along the wall. As long as we’re quiet –”

The instant the word leaves your mouth, a distant scream pierces the air, and your stomach clenches with horror. There was someone else alive in here – someone else, who’s about to be murdered, and whose cries for help have jarred the zombies on the landing into motion. “Fuck,” Shigaraki mumbles in your ear. “Your idea. Let’s go.”

In the thirty seconds or so it takes the zombies to fumble their way up the stairs to your floor, you and Shigaraki cross the hallway and glue yourselves to the opposite wall. You’ve figured out by now that the zombies don’t see too well. When they pass by, you hold ridiculously still, barely even breathing, and as soon as they round the corner, both of you bolt for the stairs. The stairs are covered in bookbags, backpacks, coats, water bottles, even phones – anything someone would have dropped as they ran for their lives.

You’re careful with where you step, worried not just about sound but about whatever you put weight on sliding out from underneath you. Shigaraki’s not as careful, and it costs him. He stumbles on the strap of a backpack, turns his ankle, curses as he kicks free. The thump of the backpack as it tumbles a few steps down the stairs makes you cringe, but there’s something even worse – a metal water bottle, rolling from the edge of one step. Shigaraki lunges for it, misses. You go for it, and you don’t miss.

But Shigaraki’s off-balance, and with his ankle turned, he can’t catch himself without making noise. A cascade of backpacks and water bottles tumbles down the stairs, jangling and clattering as they go, and you freeze. So does Shigaraki. If there are zombies on the upper floor, you’re both dead, but you don’t hear footsteps above you. What you do hear are the stumbling groans and thuds of zombies coming from every other direction.

You need them to keep going every other direction. You adjust your grip on the water bottle and throw it as hard as you can down the hall, listening to it clang against the tile floors. That should distract them at least a little. Long enough for you and Shigaraki to get to the upper floor. You reach out, offering to help him up the stairs, but he smacks your hand away and gets to his feet on his own.

The two of you can’t use the mirror to check what awaits you at the top of the stairs, but it’s quiet. Shigaraki’s taller, so he stands up straight, peering into the hallway. “Nothing,” he says, when he drops back down at your side. “All the doors are open. We can pick a room.”

The upper floor is weirdly quiet, weirdly empty, weirdly clear of bodies and blood. It’s like everyone got up and left at once. Every time you peer into a room, you expect a nightmare to leap out at you, but the only things moving through the hall are you and Shigaraki. It’s creeping Shigaraki out, too. “Where did they go?”

“We heard the fire alarm go off. People on the top floor would have evacuated down the stairwells.” You remember this morning’s screams, and the way the fire alarm howled for an hour before falling silent. “The zombies wouldn’t have had a reason to come here. How about this one?”

Shigaraki peers into the room you picked. “It’s tiny.”

“It’ll be easier to keep warm,” you say. He gives you a weird look. “The power’s out. The heat will be, too. This has a window and a fire escape.”

“The door doesn’t lock.” Shigaraki turns the handle this way and that. “We’ll barricade ourselves in.”

“We should check the classrooms first,” you say. “People leave their backpacks in a fire drill. Maybe somebody left some food.”

Your idea was to split up, to check the classrooms one at a time, but Shigaraki follows you, and the two of you pick over your dead classmates’ belongings mostly in silence. Shigaraki collects food and water, and you do the same, although you add in other things that might be useful. Portable chargers, assuming any of them are charged. Medicine – allergy pills, ibuprofen, band-aids. A spare pair of socks, a pencil pouch with tampons and panty liners, a toothbrush and toothpaste. The only things you don’t touch are the packages of chocolate your classmates left behind.

Shigaraki doesn’t ask questions until you’re back in your chosen room, the door barricaded and the spoils from your looting spread out on the floor between you. “What did you grab that for?”

“Stuff we’ll need. For when we get out of here.”

Shigaraki scoffs. “You think we’re getting out of here? They left us. They don’t care what happens to us. Once the military gets its shit together they’ll burn this place to the ground.”

“So we’ll get out before then,” you say. “Why did you grab all that food if you think we’re just going to die?”

“We might as well eat good until then.” Shigaraki pokes at a bag of chips, then grimaces. “These are gonna be loud.”

“Maybe that’s how we sort them. Quiet stuff first.” You start rearranging the supplies, and Shigaraki helps without arguing. Outside the window, the sun is setting fast. “We want to be ready to go in the morning.”

“Go where?” Shigaraki shakes his head. “Even if we make it down the fire escape, we’re just going to land in the bushes. Every zombie in the school will hear that.”

“The bushes are right by the student parking lot,” you say. Shigaraki looks up. “How fast can you hotwire a car?”

“Do you think I was in a gang or something?”

“Do you know how to or not?”

“I can do it.” Shigaraki glances out the window, grimaces. The room is so dark that you can barely make out his expression in the dark. “Let’s say we make it that far. Where do we even go?”

“Anywhere,” you say. “Anywhere’s better than here.”

Shigaraki could argue with you. You even know what he’d say – something about how a zombie outbreak would be even worse in a city, how there are plenty of places the two of you could go where you’d be fucked even worse than you are right now. But he doesn’t argue with you. Instead he slides an energy bar across the floor to you. It’s one of the ones you like, one he’s probably seen you eat dozens of times. You didn’t realize he paid attention to stuff like that.

You pay attention, too. You hand him a package of the cookies he always gets from the vending machine, and the two of you settle down to eat in silence.

You’re both night owls – you know that, courtesy of messaging him late about projects and getting an almost instantaneous response – but without light and with the need to save your phone batteries, both of you settle down early. The door’s firmly barricaded. The only other way out is the window and the fire escape, and zombies can’t climb, which means you and Shigaraki are as safe as it’s possible to be. It’s safe for you to fall asleep.

Your mind knows that, but your body doesn’t. Every inch of you is humming with adrenaline, your limbs shaky instead of sure, and no matter how safe your current hideout might be, you know the world outside isn’t. Shigaraki’s right. Where are you going to go, if the two of you manage to get out of here? The zombie virus always spreads, even in zombie movies with happy endings. How many high schools is it in now? How many towns? Even if you live to be a hundred, you’ll never forget what you saw here. What you heard. What you smelled. But you won’t live to be a hundred. You’ll die. Probably tomorrow.

Even though you picked the smallest room to hole up in, the cold still seeps in. Two people’s body heat isn’t enough, especially not when you’re sleeping on opposite sides of the room. But there’s no way you’re cuddling up to Shigaraki in the middle of the night. Given how he reacted to the chocolates you gave him, he’d probably kill you for suggesting it. Why did he react like that, anyway? You never got an answer.

A hand brushes across your shoulder and you startle so badly that your heart goes still in your chest. “Don’t do that.” Shigaraki’s voice is barely a rasp. “You’re cold, too. If you freeze to death I’m never getting out of here.”

“I thought we were dead anyway.” You feel Shigaraki inching closer to you across the tile floors and make what’s probably a stupid decision. “Why not? I guess you need somebody to throw to the zombies to slow them down.”

“Why, so I can make it another five feet on my own? Not worth it.” Shigaraki settles in beside you, until you’re lying back to back. You’re pretty sure that you have to get closer to share body heat with any effectiveness, but you’re not going to say a word. “It’s better to be on a team. I could do a lot worse.”

The urge to ask him about the chocolate boils up again, but it’s faint, transient. There’s something more important you need to ask. “Shigaraki, I need you to promise me something. If I get bitten –”

“I know. Put you out of your misery.” Shigaraki yawns. “I can do that.”

“No,” you say. “That’s not the kind of movie we’re in.”

“Then what? I’m supposed to drag you with me until there’s a cure?”

You grit your teeth. “I need you to promise me,” you try again. “If I get bitten – just let them eat me.”

Shigaraki coughs. “What?”

“Just let them eat me,” you say. You feel strangely calm. “If you kill me after I’m bitten, I’ll come back as one of them. The only way I won’t is if my body’s too damaged to reanimate. So don’t try to save me. Just let them finish it. Save yourself.”

The silence in the small room is deafening, broken up only by the sound of your breathing and the wind outside. Is what you asked of Shigaraki really that big of a deal? You’re not asking him to do it himself, just to let nature take its course. “No,” Shigaraki says after a silence so long that you thought he might have fallen asleep. “Fuck that.”

“Shigaraki –”

“I said it’s better to have a team. My team is you.” Shigaraki rolls over next to you, then yanks at your shoulder until you do the same, and you’re nose to nose in the dark. “I don’t abandon my teammates. We’re getting out of here. Tomorrow.”

His eyes are clear, locked on yours. You look away. “You’ve changed your tune.”

“You were the hopeful one all day. It’s my turn,” Shigaraki says. He yawns, turns his head to hide it in his elbow without lifting his hand off your shoulder. “Go to sleep before you get any other dumb ideas.”

There’s no way you’re going to be able to sleep face to face with him. You roll over again, putting your back to him, and shut your eyes, ordering yourself not to open them until morning or until something important happens. And something important does happen – or at least, something that would have felt important this morning, before the end of the world. Some stretch of time later, Shigaraki’s arm falls deliberately over your waist, pulling you back against his chest.

[thatdeadaquarius]

Genshin Sagau (?) Isekai Brainrot - Language

I've seen like ONE small kinda related Genshin Sagau/isekai idea for this but I wanted more of it so BAD

It’s not the most interesting thing in the world, it’s about our modern vernacular vs. Teyvat's flowery speech

Pls feel free to expand on or add to this pLEASE TAG ME IF U DO IM STARVING OUT HERE :)))

So I saw someone write like one sentence abt this (can’t remember who :( sorry I’ll update if I find them ) or like a brutally honest version??

But I also took inspo from how fucking wordy and long conversations that are in Genshin, even with ppl like Xiao (the rude boy that he is) or even Tighnari who gets to the point pretty quickly

It goes smth like:

So, all of Teyvet, (esp ppl like Zhongli 💀 u know the ones) talk,, flowery.

Like, the whole Pride and Prejudice style speaking, euphemisms, metaphors, for some characters (or Npcs) its full on POETRY. 

Lookin’ at you Kazuha.

.

And going off of any variation of you being the Creator, (or otherwise an older mythical being?), they could have this thing where the older a deity/mythical thingy is, the simpler the speech. 

Kinda makes sense to them y’know? The older beings are serious, commanding, intimidating

And nothing says "I'm ancient as fuck and powerful as fuck" like simple blunt speech.

And being closer to the literal creation of the world, language would understandably be less complex (I’m assuming it’s the same as in human cultures in our world's history)

Like literally look at our fantasy typical stories, plenty of them have a dragon or ancient god that speaks in extremes, like so flowery its a metaphor, or so bluntly its startling (ie, "Be not afraid." "I am all powerful." etc etc)

And so, ancient powerful being = direct/blunt speech

..

…

...Y'know,, almost like our modern vernacular.

Like, part of some of our modern day comedy is purely based on a sentence being delivered bluntly for impact

Hell our ads and videos and content in general we always want to get to the point, to say things simply

So with this in mind, even if you try to deny being the Creator, they might still think you are, or at least a more minor ancient deity/creature

 .

(like the Seven Sovereigns/Phanes/Shades/etc. for example would sound eerily modern or at least easy for you to understand bc of this trait lol)

(Also I'm just assuming u know Genshin lore enough to know what I meant by that ^)

____

So, I love the AU where you just,, hitch a ride with the traveler like Paimon bc u start at the "beginning of the game",

And with every person you meet, you're like, "Ok, no, I promise this is just how my country/world speaks, it's not like that, I'm not some ancient deity…" 

And They're all like 🤨🤨🤨 "Well, fine traveler and companions, why does your speech sound so simplistic and sharp? Surely, you do not expect me to truly believe you.."

You: "Please I just talk like this, I'm a regular human."

Them: "Alright, if it is as you say,, you wish to not experience being "known" yes? Fear not, I will keep your secrets close to my chest."

You: "No, for the last time, that's not-" 

.

And it just keeps happening, lol

.

(srry I tried my best at emulate Genshin language + flowery speech idk how to do it)

.

Like maybe you would just sound weird or like a foreigner speaking y’know in simpler sentences bc they don't know the language as well as native speakers, at least that could be how you sound to NPCs and ppl who don’t know abt simpler speech meaning

.

...But the Adepti? Zhongli?? Barbatos maybe??? Even the Aranara??? Those who are old enough to maybe have heard how older beings speak or at least have knowledge of how they should speak/sound??

You couldn’t have predicted how shocked their faces were the second you opened you’re mouth… 

Sumeru scholars would freak tf out i stg, as soon as you meet Haypasia, she's already losing it, first the Irminsul progress, now this ancient being/Creator?? Girlie thinks its a sign lmao

.

(I’m an Aether lover, and also bc I think Lumine looks badass as Abyss ruler, so I’m gonna go with Aether for traveler sorry Lumine mains love yall T-T)

.

You, and Aether being equally confused at first pLEASE 😭 

lets say he speaks a little more fluffy than you at least, after all I’m assuming bc of the outfit that he’s from a fantasy-like place, and his replies can be a little fluffy like Teyvat’s residents, so he kinda fits in, kinda like everybody assumes he's just from another country when he gets to a new nation (at least that’s what I think happens??)

.

Like after (maybe Diluc?) Lisa, Kaeya, Venti, and Jean (who I think would all be knowledgeable, thru diff means, about this enough to maybe recognize the simpler speech = ancient god thing)

ALL reacted shocked as hell at hearing you talk, and would probably explain (or Paimon before then?) in that infuriatingly roundabout way, that you would usually skip a couple dialogue boxes just to avoid bc yOU ALREADY GOT THE POINT or alternatively WHATS THE POINT HERE?? JUST SAY IT, WHATS THE COMMISSION/QUEST FOR/WHAT DO I DO??

(Those blue highlights be savin my impatient life, and i actually like lore stuff 💀)

.

Oh that’s also another frustration. For you.

.

It would drive me crazy if I had to wait like,, 2-3 minutes for ppl to explain what they ate for dinner or sm shit

Like, now imagine that’s everyone, about everything.

You don’t know how anything gets done in battles or wars, like you need faster communication for that right??💀

.

Anyway, you, Aether and Paimon decide you just gotta not talk when you first meet people or like,, make sure you're gonna be around that person for a while so you don’t have to possibly get someone over the shock of your speech every time you guys talk to people 😭 that'd be so miserable I can already tell,,

Like at first, every convo ya’ll have had with people who recognize that direct speech trait as a thing, would take at least 10 minutes to finish talking about it/being shocked,,

It got so old so fast.

.

(Like I already can’t communicate that good with ppl irl bc I misunderstand them, or they do me, or they just dont get what I mean, and as my friends put it, which I think would fit here for any language shenanigans we go thru in Teyvat, "A Shakespearean level of misunderstanding, hilarious but such a downward spiral to watch, it just gets more and more ridiculous as it goes on...")

.

On another note, making fun of someone would be so fucking funny,

I’d like to give myself the benefit of the doubt that many characters, after getting used to your speech, would generally understand you (even if they always notice it, like an accent) and would actually rlly love hearing insults or even just generally how you would put things

(like maybe treating this almost like those vids of ppl with non-native english speaknig relatives/parents and its the most hilarious thing to watch them, usually get pissed 😭, at their kid, if u dont know what I mean look up on tiktok or smth)

And You just come off like those insults where you dont even use cuss words, you just like, drag queen read them into never showing their face again, and you did it in so few words!! 

They're amazed and oh, 

you've become the John Mulaney of Teyvat 

(Bad examples include:

Fontaine inventor: "...And I shall call my invention, crocks!"

You: "I wouldn't even be cremated in those." ) 

*Aether crying laughing in the background bc he never knows what you’re gonna say next, and Paimon's jaw dropped so hard

JFC this post is so long sorry, I probably will spam with a Part 2 but let me know if you’re interested in hearing more anyway!!

Thanks for reading this rambling!!

Or send in asks abt this 👀

Cheers,

🌒🌊🌧Aquarius♒️🌌🌘

[sen-ya]

heart eyes @ Lawlu fam au's Robin + love that Kaya joined the strawhats, i'm curious about the bond she has with the rest of the crew - especially Sanji (👀) and the non-East Blue crewmates!!! also Brook teaching anyone who shows moderate interest in music is so real i love that headcanon!!

Ahhhh I love Kaya I’m sorry if I drone on in random directions here!! Okay okay so the general vibe of how she got there is after Laugh Tale (and whatever happens there I dare not speculate I’m bad at guessing) the Straw Hats eventually make their way back to the East Blue and Usopp stays in Syrup village for a little longer than the rest of the crew and when they come back for him he’s like “uh so hi uh Kaya and I got married” and Luffy’s like “SHE WAS CREW BEFORE SHE’S CREW NOW GET ON THIS BOAT :^))” Then there’s a period of time when her and Usopp decide they want to have a kid (surprise it’s two kids) where they spend a few years in Syrup Village before they rejoin the Straw Hats which I know I mentioned okay but so w Sanji I think before the kids they’re very friendly, Sanji always knew about Kaya and Usopp would write to Kaya and talk abt all the crew but esp Sanji so there’s a bit of that “I feel like I already know you” vibe with them. She does already know the rest of the East Blue crew so she’d probably gravitate towards them at first and out of all of them besides Usopp I think she’d vibe the most with Luffy and Sanji. Her and Chopper are fast friends for obvious reasons, and they start to kind of divvy up doctor-ing duties. Kaya specialized in traumatic injury so she could help Usopp on his adventures and Chopper specializes in internal medicine so she becomes a huge help in the aftermath of battles. First round of treatment from Dr. Kaya and ongoing treatment with Dr. Chopper :^) Add Law into the mix when the Hearts are around and they have a little Doctor Club where the three of them are always exchanging knowledge and books and things they’ve found around the world that are helpful. The three of them are really comfortable friends and like to study in the same room together without talking for like hours. In a similar vein I think her and Robin get along really well and will read quietly together. The way that Robin just says creepy shit Kaya has a way of doing that too, but with such a friendly face and tone it’ll take people a long time to even begin to clock why what she said is fucked up (makes giving Bad Doctor News very easy, she’s a kind of calming that after the fact makes you go ??? How did that work). She spends a fair amount of time with Franky because she likes to hang out in the workshop while Usopp tinkers, and it turns into her learning a thing or two from Franky as well. Brook tried to teach her piano because it seemed like something she’d like but she was low key terrible at it and the lessons went on much longer than they should have because they were both too polite to suggest they stop.

After her and Usopp rejoin the Straw Hats Sanji is immediately obsessed with their kids. Sanji has such “I will parent the shit out of any child” energy okay this guy was born to dad. Ofc it makes Usopp’s heart full to see his kids with his boyf, and Usopp is a very involved dad (he would never be like his own dad), but it just situationally ends up giving Kaya & Sanji more one on one time than they’d had before (switching off parenting duties, Kaya’s not really a fighter so she tends to stay back on the ship if there’s conflict, Sanji esp at first volunteers to stay back with her and the kids to keep watch). All of that plus the fact that Sanji’s always been framed to her as this guy the person she loves loves, it’s only a hop skip and a jump away until “oops I have a crush on my husband’s boyfriend.” Esp cause I don’t think Usopp would be shy about being affectionate with either of them, so all three of them plus the two kids just end up in a pile super often.

ALSO OKAY WE WERE ROBBED OF SHORT HAIRED ROBIN ODA ALMOST GAVE HER TO US AND I WILL NEVER FORGET

[genderqueerdykes]

Hello, I’ve got a long winded request for advise that I’d like to ask from you (if you’ll give me a year in advance to ramble lol).

Would just like to state first off that this was something I spent half an hour on cycling between the thoughts of “this is horribly offensive” and “who better to ask” due to some of your posts and because I commonly enjoy and trust your opinions to be at least honest. I know you aren’t obligated to answer this ask but I’d really appreciate it even if it’s simply just a “AITA?” “YTH” situation.

I’ve had an issue recently where I am being ridiculed for making choices for my body and its appearance. The choice is losing weight. I’ve lived my entire life so far as a fat person, for the last 13 or so years I was well above the “class 3 obesity” threshold, right now I’m sitting in the low end of the first class. I don’t really like it, but when I was in the overweight category (I haven’t been an average weight since I was 5, a little more on that later) I got told that by losing weight I was being inherently fatphobic and making other fat people uncomfortable.

I know dieting and the likes can be an uncomfortable topic in general but I never brought it up except for rare mentions of my weight loss, mostly because I was proud of my progress. I’m not wanting to be “thin, “skinny,” whatever etc etc, I would just like to be in the middle of the average category with some visible muscle mass. I was shamed so much that I put myself back up into the obese category, and I’m all for body positivity but it’s not working for me when I know what I want my body to look like. I’m neutral on my body and its functions in general but I’m uncomfortable with the gain I didn’t want and the knowledge that I was on my way to a point of comfort.

As I said before, I haven’t been an average weight since I was 5. That’s because I developed severe binge eating disorder due to trauma. My weight gain was uncontrollable and made me uncomfortable for over a decade. Now that I have some control and a sense of body neutrality, I would like to lose what I gained from my disorder. Not all of it ofc, I’m an adult now and I want a healthy adult body, but I want to be able to make the choices and changes to put my body back into the average weight that I feel was “stolen” from me.

I suppose those thoughts could be considered fatphobic from a certain viewpoint but to me my binge eating disorder and obesity are/were things that I feel the need to heal from. I don’t have these thoughts about anyone else. I don’t want anyone to lose weight if they don’t want to. I love fat bodies. I just want to have the choice to lose weight myself without being considered a bad person.

Do these thoughts and feelings make me a bad/fatphobic person? Does losing weight make me a bad/fatphobic person? I genuinely just want what I believe is best for my body.

Thank you for your time. Stay well.

i have a lot of feelings on this sort of topic, so i appreciate you sending an ask like this, because it's one of the most nuanced, complicated discussions i've tried to have with people recently and a lot of people do not understand the distinction. i'm going to try to break this down to have it make sense to as many people as possible

first of all, people have the right to choose what weight they want their body to be at, so long as it's not causing genuine harm, especially permanent harm. losing weight is not inherently evil, the thing is, a lot of people either need to lose weight or choose to do so for good reasons. i was very heavy at one point, 360 lbs, and i was starting to get new pain i hadn't experienced before. it was hard to stand for any period of time. i couldn't walk much.

after i started walking around the neighborhood and losing that extra weight, that pain went away. i feel a lot better having less of that weight on me. i gained weight in a very unhealthy manner during this time, mostly by not eating well for my dietary needs, sleeping excessively, no exercise, and so on. the thing is that we have to take care of our total health and not everyone who is fat is unhealthy, but some people can and do put on weight that impairs their functioning or health and it's not good to ignore that this is a thing that can and does happen

you're allowed to decide what you feel your body should look like especially if you are not taking this to extremes. i like to keep my weight below a certain range, myself. i keep a close eye on it. fortunately it's easy to stay around a certain healthy range for my body because i cook a lot of meals at home and i mostly eat vegetarian food and fish due to allergies and digestive issues. i'm still about 311 lbs but it's in a much healthier configuration for my body

weight is a complex conversation. both thin and fat bodies are stigmatized. we need to drop our obsession with body image and let people be the arbiters of their own weight, at least, letting people express what they want and helping them reduce harm and find ways to achieve that goal realistically in a healthy manner. shaming people doesn't work. we've proven this decade after decade. shaming skinny people doesn't work. shaming fat people doesn't work. shaming anyone doesn't work

dieting is a very specific thing. everyone's diet is 100% unique to their body. your digestive system works different than the person next to you's. you may not metabolize nutrients as well as someone else. you may process fats and proteins differently. you may need a lot of electrolytes. you may not be able to digest fiber. you may struggle with fructose, glucose and other sugars. you may not be able to eat any meats at all. you may need lots of fruits. it will depend greatly on who you are

it's best to work with your body than against it. you are allowed to decide what weight range you want to be within. best thing you can do is attempt an elimination diet to see if there are foods that just don't do your body any favors, these can and should be done very slowly with one food at a time. but i'm not a health professional, so that's just a suggestion.

either way good luck, i don't like when people try to boil this down to "this is good" or "This is bad". there are good and bad things to all of this. it's worth discussing both sides of that. i hope this helped you in any way

[christinesficrecs]

Author Spotlight is a Saturday thing now **checks to make sure it really is Saturday** 😋 Enjoy these gems. They are all amazing!!

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Even though he’s making fun of it, Stiles thinks the whole thing sounds awesome and, like most stuff these days, the experience is going to be totally wasted on Scott.

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“I know of him, mostly stories that seem a little fantastical. Shifters exaggerate just like common people. They like their war stories.”

“Tell me of him. Tell me a war story.”

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"Yes."

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"Yes," Derek says again, brows furrowing like he's starting to regret asking.

it's free (and always will be) by kellifer_fic, maichan808 (maichan) | 31.6K | Explicit

Stiles starts looking around, like there's someone who'll rescue him from this painfully awkward situation and Derek can't blame him. All he can think is this is some kind of elaborate prank Laura is playing on him after she'd found his pile of Fangboy back copies last month.

Or, the one where Derek has to marry a human to save Clawbook and it turns out to be Stiles. He's completely doomed.