#they decide i’m not giving them what they need and go to the person THEY SHOULD HAVE GONE TO IN THE FIRST PLACE

[k1tty5]

I would like to make it clear that I do NOT want anyone’s firstborns, but I will ramble. for you.

rambles about the process and other thoughts under the cut! I talk a LOT, so… view at your own risk?

I originally had this idea a couple months ago, I think when I first heard the song. I had made a little test for it, which I didn’t end up doing anything with because I thought it didn’t really make much sense. Which, I’m not sure I did that great of a job making this make sense, but you know. Whatever.

this is the original drawing i made for it back in early august, very rushed and not a big fan of it.

I liked the black background & grayscale palette, as well as the way the string kind of . Twirls around the text? BUT, I went into this without any planning, mostly just me doodling and then threw the lyrics on for fun. No plot or whatever, very short.

After I made this, I was kind of just keeping this idea in mind for later, but I held back on trying to do it as I just wasn’t really sure where I wanted to go with it. I’m very bad at planning and tend to rush into things a lot, which ends up hindering the quality of a lot of my art. and since this was something I actually liked the idea of, I wanted to give it my all.

There was also the fact that because I liked the idea, I wanted the best outcome. This kind of ends up in a sort of paralysis where I don’t want to work on something because I’m not good enough for it, but I did realize that I will likely never consider myself good enough for it, so why not just go for it?

Anyway ,

I did not end up keeping the black background for the reason that I decided that this time around I wanted it to have a more traditional vibe/look? Like perhaps it was scrawled over some roughed up paper, hence the sketchy style and limited palette.

And as for why I didn’t keep the string looping around the pages, I just thought that would add too much red to the pages, sort of ruining the vibe. So I instead just kept it inside the panels!

these are the original thumbnails/sketches! most of them I kept the same, but I did end up pretty much entirely changing the third page, because I decided there was already too many panels of just their faces with somewhat unsettled expressions .

thoughts on individual pages - don’t expect me to be organized or this to be well thought out, by the way,,

on page 1 ,

I started with a shot of the relationship, mostly to just… set the scene. I am NOT an expert on comics, and went into this with very minimal planning, so this work in general is more of the vibes than it is a storyline, but I did try to vaguely get it to resemble something comprehensible.

the second panel of Etho brushing Joel’s cheek is very much no thoughts for me lol, not very happy with how it looks. I do picture Etho as the more lonely affectionate one (though i can see it both ways). BUT, to match with the lyrics, you could say that the first panel paired with “it’s hard to tell which elements of this are real” could be resembling that the boat is something tangible and physical, whereas the second panel paired with “and which are chemically enhanced” is referring to whatever feelings they have. Asking themselves if this is really real, or if it’s just the game.

no notes on the third panel lol. like i say this was not well thought out, the story is somewhat there, but it’s VERY much up to interpretation and I did intend it to be that way. I have ideas about what is happening, but I want to keep it up to the viewer.

on page 2,

“But it’s not easy to tell what I want from what I need” OH BOY !!! manic red joel. blinded by the bloodlust and rage and adrenaline. he needs this. he needs it, doesn’t he?

“I am more scared of myself than I am of anyone else” okay okay okay. I don’t headcanon he has any real remorse for killing anyone. this is a death game, you’re not meant to be a good person, this is built on lies and manipulation and blood and hurt. headcanon they’re all insane people doing bad things (with a forced hand or not). BUT !!! big fan of “i break everything i touch” kind of thing (its kind of a pattern in ships i like OOPS). so much angst. regretful of your violent nature, wishing to be gentler so that you can cradle his face without digging your nails into his skin, unwanting to break the only thing you’ve learnt to love.

but. etho doesn’t care !!! he doesnt care. his hands are just as bloody as yours, don’t you see?

on page 3,

panel one is just a continuation of the last scene which i just talked about blah blah blah

panel 2!! thats a portal. we all know what happened in the portal :)

on page 4.

ending the mini comic thing with the ship burning, while it started with a shot of the ship in its prime. before and after, how it started and how it ended.

all in all, I !! AM !!! INSANE!!! about them. I could ramble for hours probably but this is already long so ending with a couple final thoughts.

this is definitely meant to be set after they’ve gone red, when in that timeframe is up to you, though. in my vision the lyrics are kind of correlating to c!joel’s thoughts/feelings/whatevers, but it can definitely go both ways - or neither way lol. This song is really just like. THEM. To me.

anywho, thank you to anyone who has put the augh’s and ough’s in the tags, they’re very gratifying haha <3

the simplest words

[verstappenf1lecccc]

heyooo could you write a long one shot where Fernando is readers mentor when he “retires” teaches her everything she needs to know.: however then he returns to F1 and can’t mentor her anymore is instead a rival but pushes her off the track accidentally he thought it was ocon.. and he retires the car .. because along the way he’s fallen in love with her… again lots of angst and fluff I’m down for it ahah

comments are always appreciated:)

Red Flags and Green Lights

When Fernando retired he himself thought that it was the end of his career especially towards Motorsport. His last season was gruesome and frankly disappointing. McLaren had let him down big time it was almost as if each race was a joke. Poor strategy Poor performance Poor car.

At the end of the season Fernando knew he couldn’t take it much longer and had decided to draw the curtains up towards his impressive career.

To get away from the cameras and the journalist Fernando had decided to seek refuge in a small Spanish town just off the cost. The salty Spanish air made the Spaniard thrive. He had no intention of ever going back to anything related to Motorsport.

Beginnings

The first time Fernando Alonso had seen you on track, he had raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t the usual dismissive look he gave young drivers—those hungry, wide-eyed rookies trying to make a name for themselves. No, you weren’t like them. You were different.

You had come from the junior ranks, a rising star in a new generation of drivers, but there was something about you that intrigued him. Your precision, your ability to adapt to a car almost too quickly. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way you handled yourself off the track—there was a steeliness to you, a quiet confidence that made him think: This one, she’s got it.

Fernando had never been a particularly warm person, but he’d learned the hard way that talent alone wasn’t enough to succeed in Formula 1. Mentorship—that was the missing ingredient. He’d had great mentors, but his relationship with them had been less than ideal. He was determined to be better. To be the mentor that you didn’t know you needed.

And so, he took you under his wing. At first, it wasn’t obvious what he was doing. He wasn’t the type to sit down and give long speeches about racing. Instead, it was in the small moments, the subtle lessons.

“Don’t overdrive the car,” Fernando would say, tossing you a casual glance during a debrief. “The car doesn’t care about your ego. It’s about balance.”

At first, you’d bristled at his bluntness. But as you spent more time together, you realized he wasn’t being harsh—he was just pushing you in the only way he knew how. And you respected that. In a world of flashy trainers and corporate personas, Fernando was real. He demanded nothing less than your best.

But there were softer moments, too. When he’d see you frustrated, or exhausted after a long race weekend, he’d quietly hand you a bottle of water with a knowing smile. “You’re getting better,” he’d say. "But don’t burn yourself out. It’s a marathon, not a sprint."

Sometimes, after a race, when you’d sit on the pit wall, Fernando would join you. The two of you, silent, watching the crowd disperse, the paddock buzzing around you. He’d stare into the distance, and you could see the weight of his years in the sport, the regret, the battles won and lost.

“You’ll be in my shoes one day,” he’d say, almost absentmindedly. “Just... don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

You’d always chuckle. "I'll try not to." But deep down, you knew exactly what he meant.

You were learning not just the technical side of racing, but the psychology of it—the mental toughness that could make or break a driver. How to handle pressure. How to handle failure. Fernando was a master of that.

The Return

It had been a year since Fernando had “retired.” You were now racing for a mid-tier team, working your way up. You had started to gain attention, but it wasn’t easy. Racing was still a brutal sport, and no one cared how much potential you had if you didn’t win.

It was late in the season when the rumors first started. Fernando was coming back. You tried to ignore it, but it was everywhere. You told yourself it was just gossip. He’d never actually return.

Then, one afternoon, you were sitting in the debrief room, eyes glued to the telemetry, when your phone buzzed. It was a message from your PR manager: "Fernando's back. Announced this morning."

The room around you seemed to close in. It hit you harder than you thought it would. Fernando Alonso, your mentor, your friend, your rival. You had always admired his fiery passion for racing, but this—this felt different. He was coming back *to take your spot.*

The news hit you hard, but you swallowed it. You had worked too hard to let it defeat you. Yet, the sting of betrayal wasn’t easily ignored. He hadn’t told you. He hadn’t warned you. He was coming back to take the very thing you had worked so tirelessly for.

For days, you were a mess. Racing weekends became a blur of frustration. Every time you saw Fernando’s name on the timing sheets, every time you heard the roar of his engine in the distance, something inside of you twisted.

Rivals

The first time you went head-to-head with Fernando on track was at the Monaco Grand Prix. The streets of Monte Carlo, narrow and unforgiving, had always been a playground for him. You had grown up watching him win here, his aggressive style perfectly suited to the challenge. But now? Now, he was your competition.

The tension in the paddock was palpable. You hadn’t spoken much to Fernando since his return—an awkward, strained silence had settled between you both. He was now racing for Aston Martin, and you were still with your current team, fighting for every point.

Race day arrived, and as you suited up, your heart pounded in your chest. The press had been relentless, comparing you to Fernando—asking if you were nervous, asking if you felt the pressure. You couldn’t let them see you break.

As you lined up on the grid, your eyes drifted to Fernando’s car. He was in his familiar spot, just a few rows ahead of you. When his eyes met yours, you felt a twinge of something—regret, longing, but also something else. The rivalry. You had to put it all aside now. You weren’t his protégé anymore. You were his equal. And that meant you had to beat him.

The race was a blur of tight corners, full-throttle accelerations, and the constant threat of losing grip. Fernando had a knack for reading the race, for making late-breaking moves that left you on edge. Lap after lap, he pushed you, forcing you to respond with everything you had.

But it wasn’t just the pressure on the track that had you on edge. It was the way his presence haunted you. Every time you braked too late or took a corner too aggressively, you could almost feel him beside you, his voice in your ear.

Don’t overdrive the car. Control your emotions.

And then, it happened.

It was the final lap, and you were battling for position. You had the inside line heading into the chicane, the tires on your car worn and your concentration slipping. Fernando, pushing hard from behind, wasn’t giving an inch. You could feel his car getting closer, so close that his rearview mirror almost felt like it was inside your helmet.

You took the corner too sharply, trying to block his line. And that’s when it happened.

Fernando’s car clipped your rear tire. The next thing you knew, your car was spinning, the track blurring around you, the world upside down.

In an instant, you were off the track. The gravel crunched under your tires as you skidded to a halt. For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

"Shit! Are you okay?" Fernando’s voice crackled through your radio, panic in his voice.

You gripped the steering wheel, a lump in your throat. He didn’t mean to do that. It was an accident. But it didn’t change the fact that it was him the man who had once mentored you, the man who had taught you everything you knew, the man who had now put you in the gravel.

You sat there for a long moment, trying to regain your composure. The race was over for you. But it wasn’t over for Fernando.

You heard the engine roar as his car raced past. And then, as he crossed the line into the pits , he was the one who had retired without any reason to.

The Apology

The days after the incident were heavy. The press had made their usual spectacle of the crash. But you were quiet. You kept your distance, kept your head down. Fernando had won, of course. The car was still fast, even if he had been a little too aggressive.

He didn’t come to you right away. It wasn’t until the next race in Austria that you finally saw him, walking through the paddock, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. His eyes met yours, and for the first time since Monaco, you both stopped.

He cleared his throat, stepping closer to you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. “I thought it was Ocon.”

You blinked, trying to hold back the flood of emotions rushing to your chest. The apology wasn’t much, but it was enough to make the walls you’d built around your heart begin to crack.

“Fernando,” you said softly, “I know. I know it wasn’t intentional. but” You cut yourself off, swallowing hard. “You could’ve hurt me. You could’ve ruined everything we worked for.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, he wasn’t the driver who had taken your spot. He was just Fernando the man who had shown you how to drive, how to fight for everything you wanted.

“I didn’t mean for it to go like this,” he said quietly. “I’ve been a fool.”

You were silent, looking at the ground, feeling the weight of the last few years crash down on you.

And then, finally, you looked up at him. “You taught me how to race. But you also taught me how to let go. Maybe... maybe it’s time for it for us to let go.”

Confessions

Months had passed since the Monaco incident, and the tension between you and Fernando, once thick and palpable, had slowly faded into a quiet understanding. The rivalry had not diminished the bond you shared, but it had forged a new dynamic. There were moments when you'd catch him watching you, his gaze steady, his usual cocky demeanor softened by something deeper.

It was after the Italian Grand Prix, a race that had been as unpredictable as the season itself, that everything finally came to a head. You had managed to finish in the points, a small but significant victory for you and your team, while Fernando had taken a step back from the podium, frustrated with his own performance. As you made your way through the paddock, you saw him standing near the garage, his eyes distant. You walked over, unsure of what to expect, but the warmth in his gaze when he saw you took you by surprise.

“Not bad today,” he said, his usual teasing tone absent, replaced by something genuine.

“Could’ve been better,” you replied, glancing at his tired eyes. "But you, you’re still a threat on the track, Fernando. Always will be."

He chuckled softly, then fell quiet. The noise of the paddock, the usual chaos of post-race analysis, faded as the two of you stood in that small, private bubble. It was strange, how it had always been with him. Every time you were around, you felt seen—truly seen, in a way that no one else could.

“You’ve come so far,” he said, his voice unusually soft. “I don’t think you even realize how much you've changed, how much you've grown since I first saw you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk pulling at your lips. “It’s all thanks to you, isn’t it?”

He looked down at the ground, almost as if hesitating. The silence between you stretched, and then Fernando looked up, his eyes locking with yours. “Maybe... but it’s not just that. There’s something I need to say to you.” He took a deep breath, his hands gripping the edge of the pit wall.

You felt your heart skip a beat. "What is it?"

“I never meant for things to get so complicated between us,” Fernando started, his voice low but clear. “I’ve been trying to convince myself that it was just the rivalry, that it was all about racing. But the truth is I’ve been holding back for so long. Holding back from telling you what I really feel.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You knew what he was about to say, and yet, hearing it aloud made the words seem more real than ever.

“I care about you," he said, the words tumbling out, raw and honest. "Not just as a driver or a mentor, but... more than that. You mean more to me than I’ve let on."

For a moment, all you could do was stand there, staring at him, your heart racing. The past few months had been a whirlwind conflict, growth, understanding but now, in this quiet moment, everything felt clear.

“I care about you too, Fernando,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I’ve been so focused on proving myself, on being the driver you helped me become, that I never realized how much you meant to me until now.”

There was no dramatic confession, no grand gesture. Just two people, who had been through so much together, finally acknowledging the feelings that had been there all along.

Fernando smiled, a warmth in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. “So, we’re not just teammates anymore?”

You shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Definitely not.”

He stepped closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. It wasn’t a rush or a need to act on anything. It was just a simple, unspoken connection—one that had been building for so long, and now, at last, it was out in the open.

“You’re incredible,” he said softly, his voice filled with admiration. “I’ve always known that. But now I get to see it up close. I’m lucky to be here with you, to be a part of your journey.”

You smiled, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. The competition, the doubts, the uncertainty—it all melted away in that moment. You were no longer just a driver fighting for recognition. You were someone with a future. A future that, for the first time in a long time, didn’t feel quite so lonely.

“We’ll see what happens next,” you said, your heart lighter than it had been in years. “But I’m ready for it. Whatever it is.”

Fernando nodded, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder, a silent promise between the two of you.

The next race came and went, and although the rivalry remained on track, it had transformed into something deeper something that was no longer just about the competition. And when the season came to an end, it was not just your achievements that filled your thoughts, but the quiet moments shared with Fernando: the conversations after races, the supportive glances across the paddock, and the realization that you were no longer fighting alone.

In the end, it wasn’t the checkered flags or podiums that defined your journey. It was the person who stood beside you, someone who had seen you for who you were and who you could be. And for the first time, you weren’t just racing for yourself. You were racing for both of you.

[sillyboycam]

“I would bring you rings of gold, I’d even sing you poetry!”

“Oh would ya’?~”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I told you they’ve been on my mind.

Oh yeah, I also watched one of my favourite movies httyd2 and y’know… got a little into it as usual..

I’ve had this idea in my mind for a while, definitely before I watched httyd2 but AFTER watching season 2 of Arcane I decided “Man, this would make a GREAT drawing” .

And here we are!

Anyways this is a sort of “Au” I’ve made, Viktor as Valka, leaving and everyone thinking he’s “dead”.

While I put Jayce as Stoic, because, in retrospect they’re both people of power. Leaders that have a pretty tough life, along with losing their loved one(s). Also, Jayce finally got a beard and you know what Stoic looks like.

Since Valka and Stoic obviously had Hiccup, in my mind I think Jayce and Viktor both adopted a kid to be theirs. (Also to be the next chieftain, since they’re both men of course.) His name is Jekkel, and he’s similar to each of them in terms of appearance. His personality leaning a little towards Viktor’s rather than Jayce’s.

They’d also adopt a little girl named Viyati. (They were especially happy with the name since they picked it themselves) Viyati is the youngest dragon rider of her tribe so far. Her personality is definitely more like Jayce’s as she’s always putting herself and her brother out there. With, of course, boundaries kept in place as Jekkel isn’t usually one to actually want to be out there.

So Viyati always respects him and his needs.

>>>>>>

Viktor’s dragon would be a LightFury,

Jayce’s would be a TimberJack,

Jekkel’s would be a DeathSong,

And (ironically) I think I’d give Viyati a Screaming Death. (ie, smallest little dragon rider gets a big ass scary looking dragon, and it loves her)

>>>>>>

In this Au neither Jayce nor Viktor would die, but, would come super duper close to it many, many times.

>>>>>>

Viktor’s clothes consist of a big white hood rimmed with white tipped red fur, and lots of designs traced onto the hood itself in an off-white.

A black Viking tunic with purple embroidery along the edges and the neckline adorns him, with armour on his chest. Black and scaled.

His arms would be wrapped in white leather from the forearm down, tied in neat bows.

Giant white fur boots with black pants is what he wears on the daily. A spiky belt adorns his sleek waist.

Last thing, he has black scaled arm warmers! In which the white leather wraps around. In a cute bow of course.

>>>>>>

Jayce’s outfit would be a bit more complex, as well as the kids, so if you’d like me to go more in depth I’d be happy too! (Just not in this post, I’m not one to make long descriptions lol)

>>>>>>

Viktor is actually married to Jayce in this one! Their wedding was beautifully done (weeps…) and their rings were gorgeous. This means, the whole family is a Talis!

So that’s; Jayce Talis, Viktor Talis, Jekkel Talis, and Viyati Talis. Also Jayce’s mother, Ximena Talis. She’s a very important figure in the village, a wizard with talents for medicine.

>>>>>>

I have tons of more ideas and I’d love to tell you them all. If you’re interested, let me know!

Anyways this might’ve already been done… but I’m not sure. If it has do let me know! I’d love to chat with that person ;]

Okay,

I hope you enjoy this one!

Love you all

as always art is by me —————> @sillyboycam

[twentythree-yearoldlizard]

so based off the poll results, majority wanted me to write these one shots for a Marauders' Band AU. So here's the first one:

Remus Lupin does the BuzzFeed Puppy Interview:

Remus shoots the camera his shy smile that makes people’s stomach do the thing. “Hi there, I’m Remus Lupin and I’m here with Buzzfeed to answer some questions with puppies.”  

He’s wearing an all-black outfit: a black knit sweater that looks warm, paired with black trousers and sturdy black boots. His right wrist is adorned with bracelets; a plain black one with the word ‘moony’ next to a full moon, a beaded one with a star and moon on the centre and a band that reads ‘The Marauders’ with a wolf, dog, deer and rat. His left wrist is free, but he has multiple rings on those fingers.  

“I’m really excited and also a bit nervous, because I love dogs. I really do. But I want them to love me too, so,” he ends with a chuckle.

“I don’t know if they’re going to like me.”

Cuts to a clip of a puppy licking his entire face.

“I don’t know if we’ll connect.”

Cuts to a clip of Remus carrying two puppies, with another in between his legs.

“And I doubt I’m going to be able to answer your questions in any form, when I’m-Oh my god!” He’s cut off as a golden retriever runs towards him.

“Hi,” he says, letting the puppy smell his hands.

Remus coughs out a breathy laugh as the golden retriever jumps into his lap. Just then, a pair of corgis start nibbling on his shoelaces, to which Remus laughs and mutters, “You two are trouble, aren’t you?” They reminded him of James and Sirius.

Remus laughs for ten seconds as a Jack Russel walks slowly towards him and wastes no time on laying his head on Remus’ thigh and starts to fall asleep.

 “Hi loves, I’m Remus” he says, as one of the corgis joins the golden retriever on his lap.

Question 1- What’s your favourite thing about meeting fans?

“It’s just this…really nice feeling I get. Like I feel giddy, whenever a kid waves at me or some fans who’ve said that our songs helped them in tough times. It just gives this sort of nice feeling,”

“No..no,” he says as a corgi pulls on his sleeves, “this is one of my favourites, you can-okay then.” He finishes in defeat, as it manages to pull out a string.

Question 2- What’s the hardest part of being in a band?

“No privacy,” says Remus, he himself startled by how fast he answered. “I mean like...” he says, rubbing the Jack Russel’s belly, “When you live with James and Sirius, who have co-dependency issues, and Peter, whose love language is physical touch, you’ve got to throw personal space out the window.”

Question 3-Describe the way you see your bandmates.

Remus is quiet for a while, as if he’s thinking, while letting the puppies climb all over him.

“There’s James, who I connect with like a brother. He is a ray of fucking sunshine and if I am insecure or sad, he makes me listen to all the 764 reasons for why he loves me. And then there’s Peter, who is like the calmest person I know. He is the friend you need when you just want someone to listen to you. He is always there for you, even if he never says it, you’ll still know that he’s there for you.”

He smiles as the golden retriever settles on his shoulder and one of the corgis has decided to take a nap on top of Remus.

Remus starts with a smile, “And well there’s Sirius, who is one of the most beautiful souls out there. He’s one of the first people that made feel valued and always looked at my scars like they were some kind of treasure. He’s also made me realize a lot of things about myself and uh…yah, our bond is a bit more…special than the rest, and we’ve come a long way, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.”

“I am scared to move,” he whispers, as the Jack Russel snores loudly on top of his thighs, golden retriever asleep on his shoulder, a corgi on his belly and the other held within his arms.

Bonus puppy stuff:

The corgis start fighting with each other. “Am I supposed this stop this or something?” Remus asks, looking lost. Just then one of the corgi trips and falls on the sleeping Jack Russel. It opens its eyes, confused. Remus bursts out laughing, which ends up making his face as red as a tomato (and that's a win for all the video editors out there).

PS: Its my first draft btw. i guess ive done good. lmk if its bad, i need honest feedbacks. also gonna put this on ao3, which is my first time ever. and this is set in pre-wolfstar period or they are established but hiding it from public (choose whichever you want)

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

part i

“Spencer, it’s almost as though you’re the piece of my life that I never knew was missing until now. It seems that you’ve been a part of it for much longer than this competition, and while I don’t yet know just what form that will take, signs point to you continuing to be in it for some time to come. Congratulations - you’re the first through.”

“Delphine, I entered this competition hoping to find a partner. And I’ve found one in a completely different sense than what I was expecting, because you’re now also one of my best friends. But we have potential to be something else alongside that too, and you’ve given me enough to be sure of that while still wanting more. You are already very special to me - and you’re the second through. Well done.”

“Tiago, you are just a joy to be around. But with a surprising amount of ambition, and you’re good for the deeper talks too. And you’re also skilled at - well, this is supposed to be the family friendly segment of this show, so I won’t elaborate further. You are unapologetically yourself, don’t ever change. You’re the third through - and I hope to get to know you better still.”

“Mister, you surprised me. In person you have such an approachable, playful masculinity - and a wholly genuine, decent nature in spite of your party vibe. What’s no surprise is how femme sims are drawn to you - and I’m no exception. You worked hard, played hard, and were always happy to help out. Congratulations - you scored highly, and scored in - well, I’ll see you next round.”

“Pauline, apparently you had live chat buzzing when you teleported your way onto that lot, and I was right there with them. You have a demeanour cool enough to freeze even that Dine Out pack over, and yet a sweet and sometimes goofy, vulnerable side to go with it. I’m so glad to have met you, and I really want to see what more you have to offer. Here’s my literal strawberry for now.”

“Jerrod, you intrigue me. You are a man of many parts and I just want to know what makes you tick. You add just the right amount of unexpectedness and keep me on my toes - especially when you scream at me then proposition me in your very next breath. I never know which version of you I’m going to get - and for once that’s not a turn-off. I want to give you the opportunity to surprise me yet again.”

how scores were calculated

So here are our Top Six! In the end I decided to pad out the posts not to be mean, but to give people a chance to react to each one and for their pixels to have their moment. (Also I need to edit the rest lol) Contestants 7-12 will be up early afternoon (I need that sleep and that panadol lol) while contestants 13-18 will be up in the evening. A reminder that the bottom three will be going home 🥺

@akitasimblr @changingplumbob @simsfvr

@igglemouse @invisiblequeen @simstagramsomeone

[oldestenemy]

Scion, At Rest - in which trust is unshakeable

welcome to me deciding to ignore time order for a moment and post a piece from the epilogue/companion series to Forever Onward, Scion Read on ao3 here <3

Eurydice Nightshade is in the midst of teaching a class about the important difference between historic names, titles, and true names. It’s one of their favorites. Something they remember fixating on for months when it had first been introduced to them—long ago as that now was.

“Professor?”

“Yes—Ironglade isn’t it?” One of Dorothy’s students, only recently starting to pick up Conjuration as a secondary.

“Do people have true names?”

“Everything has a true name—living or dead, though the dead are often unresponsive to non-necromantic influence outside specific circumstances—I can cover the intersections between the two another time—the living on the other hand, do have true names.”

“And they work the same?”

“Using a persons true name would give you complete control over them—similar to that of your summons to the monsters used in battle—assuming you have the power of will to exert that control.” A handful of the students go wide eyed before they finish, making the same jump that always gets made, that the everyday names they use could somehow be used against them. “Fortunately, given names and true names are not the same. A living person’s true name is more than just a word, it’s more than a summons, you must learn even your own through study and meditation. If I were to ask any of you what your true name is, you wouldn’t be able to answer me. It is also exceptionally difficult to acquire a true name belonging to another person without their permission and cooperation.”

“Do you know any?”

A pause while they consider Ironglade’s question, glancing around the class and realizing the little triad of chaos happens to be entirely present. If they feel up to dealing with the inevitable consequences—technically there was an opportunity for demonstration here.

Eurydice nods slowly before they speak, “Opalkeeper, go collect Professor Grimwater for me?”

“Dog what?”

“Darana.” They resist the urge to roll their eyes. This will be worth it.

“I’m going—I’m going!”

~*~

The door to Duncan’s classroom is swung open at full speed, revealing Darana Opalkeeper leant halfway in across the frame. “Daaaaaad—Professor Nightshade wants you for something in their class. The lesson is on True Names, so, what they call you in the privacy of your own home is not the subject of today”

“I’m not your father, Darana.” The response is an ingrained habit at this point, so often does some form of that joke leave the Conjuror’s mouth. He doesn’t grace the latter half of their statement with a response. Which is usually the correct choice. “Mistsong, keep an eye on your classmates until I’m back, no summoning anything until I am back in this room—I’ll know if you’ve lied to me.”

“Do you hear this shit?” Darana crows over their shoulder as Duncan moves past them into the courtyard, “Disowned! Orphaned even!”

“Nobody fucking believes that Daz!” Allison Ashwraith yells back, only to have Darana flip her off before they slam the classroom door, needing to jog to catch back up.

Duncan just shakes his head, taking a breath and training the slight smile back off of his face before Darana is close enough to see it. Titans sake, was this really a good idea? Out of every class this could have been for—was it necessary to choose one Opalkeeper was present for?

…though given their timeline, he wasn’t sure there was a class of Eurydice’s they weren’t in.

~*~

“I take it you have a good reason for interrupting my lecture, Professor Nightshade?” Duncan asks, voice carrying the level of exasperation they’d expected given the request.

Eurydice smiles and doesn’t answer, simply waits for Darana to get back to their seat, “Class, watch carefully.”

And the sound that leaves their mouth is not entirely a word, not fully, not in any language their students can absorb, and they reach out to Duncan’s mind. The pieces that make him up sitting at the forefront of their own, lining up and twisting with their own like puzzle pieces slotting together.

There is a moment of resistance, a soft telepathic really, Eurydice?

Their smile shifts into more of a smirk. You brought this on yourself.

There is a split second where they see a flash of annoyance in Duncan’s expression as they refuse to back down—it’s expected, there was no satisfaction if he didn’t push back at least a little—before his eyes unfocus, pupils blown so wide the grey had nearly disappeared behind them, then they return to normal and he’s given in. They feel his body like an extension of their own. The sharp edges of resistance where part of him is still trying to fight back, not exactly on purpose, more out of instinct. Self preservation.

The room is deathly silent.

None of their students daring even to breathe. Someday they may well regret this particular display falling during a class when they have all three of their most chaotic pupils there to witness it. But not right now.

When they speak again, Duncan follows suit in perfect time. Their words overlapping, not repetition, but complete unison. “True names are as much about respect as they are willpower and control. Especially with living things. The mind of a human person does not like being bent into shape by outside forces.” The odd sensation of sound vibrating through two heads, their own and his. One of the closest things they’d ever experienced to matching that internal echo Raven’s words used to carry. “You have to understand what, and in the case of a person—who—you are commanding. In the case of monsters and myths, you can study them to find answers, you can summon and entreat them outside the confines of battle, build your understanding, as you saw with our lesson on the Minotaur.”

A pause, they tilt their head slightly, one hand outstretched just to help with the focus. Words are easy, actions though—actions required a little more thought. There is more pushback, resistance like heavy duty elastic. “However,” just their own voice now, “once that control has been claimed—”

Admittedly, the spin looks more graceful than it does in their minds eye. Duncan is, after all, not a polar bear in a tutu. But the motion is still the same. Something they can pull from that is both easy to convey—and unlikely to happen under any normal circumstance.

“—it is exceptionally difficult to break from.”

“Holy shit.” Eurydice chances looking away just so that they don’t miss the wide eyed expression on Darana’s face. It’s worth it. On either side of their friend, Zinnia Thunderwhistle and Brecken Bittersweet seem equally enraptured by the display.

“There are, obviously, exceptions.” Eurydice continues, setting their focus back to Duncan, having him come forward until he’s level with them in front of their desk. “For example—impossibilities, I cannot ask him to sprout wings and fly expecting compliance. It’s not that I lack the drive to put behind the order—he simply lacks the ability to follow it.” A pause as they pull their sword from where it is typically sheathed on their hip. An older piece. Fitting here. Belonging to one of the paladins roaming the Labyrinth. “Another being something that would override the mind’s usual faculties—life or death, fight, flight, and freeze reactions do not play well with any form of compulsion—which is often what using the true name of a living person is closest to.”

A breath.

They are perfectly aware he’s capable of breaking this.

But this in particular is just on the edge of nerve wracking.

One strike, aimed well for the side of Duncan’s throat.

A feeling like glass shattering inside their skull.

The hand that catches the blade wreathed in Shadow, a sliver of the Sentinel called up to block it from his skin. A sharp twist and it’s wrenched fully from their grip. Grey eyes narrowed in irritation and focus.

“Welcome back, Professor Grimwater.” Eurydice has to bite back on the grin trying to break through their controlled expression. Settling into what is maybe an approximation of respectable mirth. “That was all, you’re welcome to return to your own classroom—provided you leave my sword behind.”

Read my other wiz fic here <3

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

out of my league | pedri gonzalez [part v]

🎓 synopsis: It’s like everyone’s decided for you – your friends are ready to meet Pedri, and his are curious about you. You’re both excited, but happy to take it slow. It’s a little nerve-wracking, but there’s something comforting about knowing you’re taking one step at a time. tags: nerd and jock trope, emotional vulnerability, overthinking. (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) | (around 2.5k words)

you can read the first part here, or go to the masterlist.

The guys are already at their usual table by the time Pedri grabs his food. He slides in next to Ferran, who’s in the middle of a story, something about a fight breaking out at a party last weekend. Pedri half-listens, nodding at the right moments, but his focus keeps drifting. He sneaks a look at his phone. Nothing. No new messages. He’s already sent you a good morning text hours ago, and he keeps checking, almost out of habit now.

“Hey, earth to Pedri,” Pablo’s voice breaks through, and Pedri looks up to see all three of them staring at him, grinning. Ferran raises an eyebrow.

“You okay, man?” he asks, teasing in his voice. “You’ve been weird lately. Like, distracted.”

“Yeah, way distracted,” Hector chimes in, reaching across the table to nudge Pedri’s shoulder. “Ever since you started seeing that girl. What’s her name again?”

“Don’t even start,” Pedri cuts him off, but he can’t help the smile tugging at his lips. He picks at his food, trying to ignore the way Pablo’s smirk gets even wider.

“See?” Ferran laughs. “Look at him! He’s gone soft, I’m telling you. That girl’s got him whipped. Never seen you like this, man. Not even when you were with Melanie.”

Pedri just rolls his eyes, shoving a forkful of food into his mouth to avoid saying anything. Mentioning Melanie stings a little, but he knows they don’t mean anything by it. It’s just the way they are. He’s used to it. They all go back to arguing about the latest club in town, which one has the best music. The conversation is loud, rapid-fire, overlapping voices.

“What about this weekend, huh? Who’s going out?”

They all start talking about who’s got a hookup for a VIP spot, who’s bringing which girl. Pedri zones out, half-listening while his hand drifts to his phone again. He taps the screen. Still nothing from you. He feels a small knot tighten in his chest. It’s stupid, he knows – he doesn’t need to hear from you every second of the day – but there’s something about the silence that makes him uneasy.

“Oh, come on!” Pablo laughs, leaning over to catch a look of Pedri’s screen. “You’re not even listening, are you? She hasn’t texted you back yet, huh?”

Hector snickers, Ferran shakes his head, and Pedri feels his face warm as he shoves his phone back into his pocket. “Shut up,” he mutters, though he can’t help but laugh, too. They’re right, after all.

“He’s got it bad,” Ferran says, “Seriously, man, what happened to you? I remember when you were one of us.”

“Hey, you should invite her to the next party,” Pablo says, Ferran’s head snaps up with interest, and Hector chuckles.

Pedri hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he says slowly, looking around the table. “With Mel around us like a hawk... it’s just –” He pauses, remembering the scene from the other week, his face twisting with annoyance. “You should’ve seen her the other day. She made a scene, called her ugly right in front of the whole campus, basically.”

“Is she?” Ferran cuts in.

Pedri blinks, confused. “What?”

“Is she ugly?” Ferran repeats, his expression too innocent, and Pablo nearly chokes on his drink.

“No!” Pedri says, his face flushing.

“It’s okay, Pepi,” Pablo says, slinging an arm around Pedri’s shoulder and giving him a mock-sympathetic pat. “You’re ugly too.”

“Shut up,” Pedri mutters, his cheeks burning as he glares at them, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck. He ducks his head, a little embarrassed, but also smiling despite himself.

“No, but for real,” Ferran says, “Mel’s not gonna back off as long as she thinks she’s got a shot with you. Maybe if she sees you out there with someone else... it’ll make her chill.”

Pedri goes quiet, thinking about it. He knows Ferran’s right. Melanie’s always been possessive, always close enough to remind him of what they used to be. She’s not exactly subtle.

“I don’t want to make it a whole thing,” Pedri says, shaking his head, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.

“Sometimes you have to make it a thing,” Pablo says, shrugging. “Show her you’ve moved on.”

“And,” Hector adds with a sly grin, “we wanna meet the new girl.”

Pedri rolls his eyes, but his mind’s already racing, thinking about you, about Melanie, about what it would mean to show up with you, to make things public. There’s a part of him that wants it so much, more than he’s willing to admit to them, to himself.

“Maybe,” he says, playing it off with a casual shrug, but his heart’s beating faster in his chest. “We’ll see.”

part 2

Ever since that first night together, it’s like a switch flipped. All that careful pacing, all that patience, is gone. Now it’s like you’re two magnets, completely incapable of staying apart. Your room, his room, your shower, his shower – it doesn’t matter. Every interaction, every conversation, somehow turns into a mess of lips and hands and whispered things that make your cheeks burn even thinking about them now. It’s insane.

And it makes sense, doesn’t it? The floodgates are open, and you’re not exactly in a hurry to close them. But it’s also... distracting. So distracting. You didn’t even answer his good morning text today, not because you didn’t want to, but because you knew the second you did, you’d spiral. Your brain would go there – straight to him and the way his hands feel on your waist, or how his voice drops when he’s close to you. And you just couldn’t let that happen because you really needed to study.

You told yourself a few hours apart would help, give you some distance to focus. But of course, it didn’t. 

You’re sitting at your usual table in the library, textbooks open, a half-empty coffee cup pushed to the side. Your head’s drifting between project deadlines and the endless string of chemical formulas you’re supposed to have memorized by now. It’s not going great, and honestly, your brain is two seconds away from a complete shutdown.

“Be honest, are you embarrassed of us?” Alexia’s voice cuts through your haze.

“What?” you ask, blinking at her, your mind still clinging to the last remnants of molecular structures.

“How come you haven’t introduced us to your boyfriend yet?” Ana chimes in.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you say automatically, sitting up straighter. “Guys, we’re taking things slow. He just got out of a relationship.”

“So?” Alexia asks, raising an eyebrow.

“And you guys keep saying you hate him,” you add, pointing a finger at them accusingly.

“What? No, we don’t!” Ana says, looking genuinely scandalized.

“Yeah,” Alexia admits, “we don’t say it. We just drop hints.”

You groan, leaning back in your chair, ready to end this conversation before it spirals out of control.

“And for the record,” Alexia continues, “we don’t hate-hate him. We just think he and his friends are pretentious jerks who care too much about appearances and not enough about academic success. Sorry.”

“Not helping,” you mutter, but a small laugh that escapes, despite how defensive you’re feeling.

Arthur, who’s been oddly quiet this whole time, finally clears his throat. “I have to admit something,” he says, his voice unusually serious.

Everyone turns to him, sensing a shift in the room.

“I like football.”

The whole table freezes, staring at him like he’s just confessed to a crime. “What?” Alexia’s the first to break the silence. “Since when?”

“Since I was a kid,” Arthur says, shrugging like it’s no big deal, even though the confession is clearly costing him. “And I go to all of his games. And... I think he knows I’m friends with you. He waved at me once.”

There’s another beat of stunned silence before Ana gasps, her jaw dropping. “Arthur! You traitor!”

“I can’t believe this,” Alexia says, shaking her head. “You’ve been hiding this from us this whole time?”

“It’s not like I keep it a secret,” Arthur defends, though his cheeks are starting to turn pink. “I just... didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Maybe I can talk to him, then,” you say, your voice so soft it’s almost lost under the chatter of the library. The words feel heavy, awkward, and you regret even saying anything. But now, all three of your friends are staring at you.

“What?” Alexia asks, leaning forward like she didn’t quite catch it.

“Just... bring it up,” you mumble, scratching the back of your neck, your eyes fixed on the table. “Casually. See what he thinks. And... maybe we can think of something for you guys to meet.”

Ana gasps, practically vibrating with excitement. “Finally!” she exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. 

“Wait, hold up,” Alexia says, her brow furrowing as she looks at you skeptically. “Are you sure?"

“Of course. Well, I mean...” you start, still avoiding eye contact, “it is kind of not not a big deal.”, you say, busy thinking about how you’d even bring this up to him. Just casually? Like, “Hey, my friends want to meet you. No pressure, though.” It feels impossible.

“So,” Ana cuts in, “what’s the plan? Like, are we thinking a big group thing? Or a small hangout where we can all judge him quietly?”

“Please don’t do that,” you say, dragging your hands down your face as you sigh. “I don’t know yet. I’ll have to talk to him first.”

Arthur leans on the table. “You’re really overthinking this, you know. If he’s half as into you as I think, he’ll agree to whatever.”

“I’ll figure something out,” you say, trying to sound more confident than you feel. 

“Good,” Alexia says, leaning back with a small smile. “And remember, we don’t actually hate him. We just like to keep you on your toes.”

Ana grins. “Yeah. We’ll be nice. Probably.”

“Probably,” Arthur repeats.

part 3

You lean against the wall, your fingers tracing the rim of a coffee cup, lost in thought. It’s been a whirlwind, everything with Pedri, the way it’s evolved so quickly, so intensely. You didn't expect this – any of this. When you first met him, it was like a spark, like a connection you just couldn’t ignore, but now? Now it feels like something much deeper.

You take a sip of your coffee, but it’s lukewarm now, and you don’t really taste it. Your mind drifts back to the last few days, the way Pedri’s presence has become so constant, so consuming. It should feel overwhelming, but instead, you find yourself craving more. More of him, more of the way he makes you feel alive in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s scary, how fast it’s moving, but you don’t want to stop it.

Now, thanks to your friends and their constant teasing, your head isn’t just swimming with heated memories of him, now it’s anxiety. Like, full-blown, stomach-twisting anxiety about him meeting your friends. Which makes sense, every time you take a big step with him, it feels like there’s always a bigger one waiting just around the corner. It’s normal, sure, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying. 

Do I really want him to meet them? The thought makes your stomach turn a little, not because you don’t want him to, but because you’re not sure what will happen once they meet. You sigh, rubbing your temple. Then, you stand up, shaking off the thoughts, deciding that overthinking isn’t going to get you anywhere.

So when you know your schedules match up, and you’re both going to be in the same building, you don’t even think twice. You find him, and just seeing him, you feel ridiculous about it, but it’s like your heart relaxes for the first time all day.

You just walk up and wrap your arms around him like you’ve been apart for weeks, not just a few hours. He doesn’t even hesitate, pulling you in just as tight.

“Sorry for not texting back,” you mumble, your cheek pressed against his chest. Your voice comes out weird, quieter than you meant it to, and there’s guilt sitting heavy in your stomach.

Pedri just holds you, his hand moving slow and steady down your back. “It’s okay,” he says, “You’re here now.”

And there’s that feeling again. Like everything else doesn’t matter for a minute. Just him, holding you, making everything in your world feel less... scary.

“My friends want to meet you,” you say, still pressed against him, your voice muffled against his shirt. You don’t even lift your head; it’s safer here.

“Sorry, what?” Pedri leans back, just enough to break the hug, one hand moving to your cheek, tilting your face up to his. His thumb brushes your skin like he’s trying to soften whatever has you so tense. His eyes flicker between yours, then settle on your lips, focused, waiting for you to say it again.

“My friends want to meet you,” you repeat, even quieter this time, but clear enough.

He smiles, wide, surprised, almost laughing. “My friends want to meet you!” he echoes, like it’s the most hilarious thing in the world.

Then, softer, his hands find their way into your hair. “What do you think?” he asks, his hands slide into your hair, petting softly, his fingers careful like he’s trying to calm your nerves. He looks entertained by the idea, maybe even excited, but there’s a carefulness too, the way he’s always so careful with you.

“I don’t know,” you say after thinking for a moment, your voice small. “It’s just... they’re my friends. And they’re kind of –”

“Protective?” he offers.

“Judgmental,” you correct, half-laughing but mostly serious.

He chuckles, leaning closer, the warmth of his breath brushing your forehead. “They can’t be worse than Ferran and Pablo. And you don’t have to decide now,” he adds, his tone more serious. “I’ll meet them when you’re ready. Just say the word, okay?”

The way he’s looking at you makes your chest ache, all that patience and care. It’s overwhelming sometimes, how good he is at this – at making you feel like you can take all the time in the world.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice almost breaking, but it’s not a bad feeling. It’s relief. It’s gratitude.

“Now, come on, let’s get out of here,” he says, his hand sliding back to your waist, pulling you flush against him in one smooth motion. He leans in, his lips brushing just under your ear in a quick kiss before whispering, “I missed you.” Another kiss, softer this time. “I’m not mad you didn’t text. I know you’re a good girl.” And then he bites, just the faintest tug at your earlobe, all very fast.

“But now,” he murmurs, his voice casual, like he’s barely trying, “I think I deserve a reward.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, narrowing your eyes like you’re annoyed, but the corner of your mouth betrays you. “You’re getting spoiled,” you tease. “I’ve been rewarding you so much, you’re starting to think it’s a given.”

He smirks, tilting his head like he’s considering that for a moment, but his grip on your waist tightens. “It is a given,” he says, completely confident. “Because I’m always going to deserve it.”

And with that, you’re already giving in, rolling your eyes but laughing anyway. “Fine,” you say, trying to sound exasperated, but it’s no use. “You do deserve it.”

[thefatesofspring]

It’s quite ironic that you’re talking about putting all the cards on the table when you’re the one doing the opposite of that…😩

So let’s look at what you’ve put & I’ll give the context which puts everything “on the table”.

“Tamlin heard Feyre vomitting & pretended to be asleep”

- So the likelihood of Tamlin “pretending” to be asleep is very UNLIKELY & he was HIGHLY LIKELY to have been in a trauma induced state of SLEEP PARALYSIS, we do not have a Tamlin POV so stated Feyre’s POV as if it’s fact about why Tamlin never woke can’t really be used.

“Tamlin locked Feyre inside the house even though he she didn’t want to”

- When this particular one gets brought up I always let out a long sigh because I’m entirely confused as to what you think he should have done in that moment, what other options did you think were available to Tamlin & Feyre in that moment. Feyre had repeatedly expressed after UTM that she could not be around blood & gore, could not be around violence, Feyre had told Ianthe that the sight of red made her feel as if she was back UTM seeing all that blood, hence why she was scared of being near Lucien because she admits Lucien’s natural hair colour reminds her of Amarantha, the red rose petals at the wedding reminded her of blood. Feyre then was not eating or sleeping properly & hadn’t fully adjusted to being in her new fae body so she was a liability to herself & others around her, Feyre told Tamlin to his face that she was going to follow him to a place of conflict, a place that had blood & gore & like I said bare in mind she had previously told Tamlin she could not handle the sight of any of that, she then proceeded to shut down any other compromises Tamlin gave her, Feyre still had free reign in where she wanted to go in The Spring Court the only issue was that she wanted to go where Tamlin & his sentries were going which was rife & highly active in danger, Tamlin had expressed to her he did not have enough sentries to keep her safe, him safe & themselves which tells you that Tamlin contemplated on it but ultimately decided not to let her come because there was too much of a possibility that she should would be kidnapped & taken back to Hybern which is why the conflict was happening there in the first place! Hybern wanted Feyre, he wanted to know how Feyre got the power of all 7 high lords & Tamlin told Feyre to her face that Hybern was tracking her through the use of her magic & Tamlin knew that whoever was left from Amarantha’s court were intending on going back to Hybern & Taking Feyre with them. When Tamlin said to Feyre she would need a personal guard she lost it & admitted to Tamlin that she didn’t care if those sentries lost their lives protecting her…again she’s this to Tamlin…a male who cares deeply for his people…imagine hearing that come from the mouth of the person you love that they don’t care about people that are now supposed to be Feyre’s people as well, that’s a giant slap in the face. Then we get to the moment just before Tamlin seals Feyre in where she tells him she’s going to follow him & his sentries right into the war zone regardless of what Tamlin says…Feyre could have gone anywhere in The Spring Court…literally ANYWHERE but she was trying to choose to go to the very place where she would likely be kidnapped or killed, she refused having her own personal guard so what other options did Tamlin have? He had to think quick in that moment, so I’m genuinely curious to know what options you thought would be available to both Tamlin & Feyre in that moment now knowing all of that?

“Tamlin simply ignored and let Feyre suffer everything she experienced at Amarantha’s hand”

- This is honestly such a weird statement to make tbh & I’m unsure if you’re referring to their time UTM or after or both…but regardless, let’s assume you’re referring to their time UTM & a bit after.

Tamlin had no choice in the matter. Tamlin risked the world for Feyre by sending her back home over the wall & when Feyre decided to come back that was all on her, everything that happened to her was on her & she knew or at least had some kind of inclination that this was not going to be easy, however when the trials begin neither Tamlin, Feyre, Rhysand or Lucien could predict them or how Feyre was going to be treated & I’d remind you that part of Feyre’s trauma from UTM was caused by her very own now mate, husband & father of her child, Rhysand was the one adding to Feyre’s suffering & regardless of how she views it now FEYRE SUFFERED AT THE HANDS OF RHYSAND TOO! How Feyre felt back then about Rhysand & the situation HE had her in & experiencing is just as important to how she feels about it now. The fact is both Lucien & Rhysand had told Feyre it was going to be nearly impossible for Tamlin to get near Feyre because of the heavy surveillance he was under, not just that but look at what Amarantha did to Clare Beddor when she assumed Clare was the one who loved Tamlin & Tamlin loved, thanks to both Rhysand & Feyre selling her & her family out, what did Amarantha do?? Oh yes…she tortured Clare for days on end, she had Clare’s entire family slaughtered over the wall & then their home burned down, Rhysand let Clare be tortured for days knowing full well that she wasn’t Feyre & then when Amarantha decided she had had enough of Clare she killed her & only then did Rhysand decide to take her pain away & guess who had to watch that whole thing happen??…TAMLIN. He had to watch Amarantha do that to a woman she thought was his love & you really think that when Feyre actually comes to claim Tamlin he’s going to put her in even more danger than she’s already in??…like what?! Then when they do finally get a moment together sure he could have told her he loved her & said something to her as to why he couldn’t express his love in front of Amarantha but he decided to show her instead & again I’ll remind you Tamlin was ONLY KISSING FEYRE, it was Feyre who was trying to have sex with Tamlin. During Feyre’s time UTM we only know what she’s going through we have no idea what she’s doing to Tamlin but I can guarantee you it was bad, likely worse than what she was doing to Rhysand & that itself was terrible, then before they’re free from UTM Tamlin watched Feyre be brutally killed (further adding to his own trauma) AFTER Feyre had just STABBED HIM IN THE HEART with the ashwood dagger & then she actually dies in his arms after HE kills Amarantha. Then they get home to The Spring Court & he doesn’t even get a chance to confront his own trauma & suffering let alone Feyre’s, why?? Because being a high lord unfortunately has to come first right now, getting his court stabilised & his people safe & protected had to come first, he wasn’t fortunate like Rhysand to walk back into a city untouched & un-ransacked by Amarantha & her goons. Feyre had said it was a mutual unspoken agreement for the both of them not to talk about what happened to the both of them UTM & then (if memory serves me correctly) the 1 or 2 times Tamlin actually did try to speak about UTM Feyre shut it down & changed the subject. Tamlin isn’t responsible for Feyre’s suffering, Feyre isn’t responsible for her suffering, it was a difficult & terrifying time for the both of them but you blaming one of them is ridiculous & ludicrous & it shows your lack of literacy, the fact that you can see & know that 2 people suffered but blame one & not the other, to victimise one & then villainise the other is insane. You have no problem seeing Rhysand as a victim but you can’t for Tamlin?? You can’t see how all 3 are victims to Amarantha & aren’t to blame for their suffering? You can’t understand that not everyone handles their trauma/PTSD/suffering the same way or “correctly”?? It’s the stans like you that ultimately are the worst of the fandom because of your own hypocrisy. You have canon text at your disposal & still you refuse to see this from a wider perspective…the illiteracy is yours.

Reasons why I still like Tamlin and prefer him over Rhysand and I always will, day I DON'T KNOW!

OMG I don't remember if I posted today 😅

Just in case:

- Tamlin asked Feyre to dance while he played the fiddle just for the girl's amusement.

- Rhysand forced Feyre to dance and drink until she threw up.

[shima-draws]

Grips my shirt and tears it apart so that all the buttons go flying and SCREAMS I love Law and Cora so much what the FUCK!!!!

[kaleidoscope-ize]

love having to run a whole goddamn press tour just to make sure I don’t lose any friends over one person intentionally using their influence to lie about me

[spockulative]

treating myself after a difficult morning to tbb on my lunch break 🥰

[fingertipsmp3]

I did have a productive day tbh. I did all my work shit, I made two appointments and I went for a run for the first time in 5 days :)

[lilgynt]

no i don’t care that most of my moms commutation to me especially to direct question is just straight up ignoring me or some other form of non verbal communication. like grunting or vague pointing. the glass i broke outside is unrelated

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

ROOM FOR RENT

PAIRING: logan howlett x female reader

RATING: explicit (18+) | WORD COUNT: 5.3k

SUMMARY: logan finds a new roommate.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i have logan howlett brain rot and i’m not sorry. big smooch to everyone who let me yell about this to them including @eupheme @pedgito @wannab-urs @chaotic-mystery @kedsandtubesocks @undrthelights and @murder-wife 💕

WARNINGS: post deadpool & wolverine, variant!logan howlett, able bodied reader, reader being picked up (enhanced strength babyyyy), roommates to lovers trope, meddlesome pet cat, a splash of canon typical violence - mentions of blood and knife wounds, wade wilson/deadpool appearances, mild angst, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact) - dirty talk, pain kink, biting, pet names, praise kink, oral sex - m & f receiving, a little dacryphilia during a blowjob, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, begging, size kink. if i’ve missed any, please let me know!

LINKS: masterlists | support for palestine

If Logan has to wake up to Wade's constant yapping for the rest of his life, he's going to go insane. Every morning he's jolted awake by Wade singing in the kitchen. When he notices Logan is awake, the singing stops and the one-sided conversation begins and doesn't end until Logan finally gets up from the couch and leaves the apartment with nothing but the clothes on his back.

Today, with some money in his pocket from a few odd jobs he's picked up, he finds solace in a quiet coffee shop. Sat beside a bulletin board, he scans the postings.

Art show, art show, yard sale, job opening, roommate wanted, art show--

Roommate wanted? Logan tears the paper from the pin.

Room for rent in 2 bedroom/1 bathroom apartment. One cat. Laundry on site.

He folds the ad up and stuffs the paper in the pocket of his jacket before gathering his empty coffee cup and tossing it in the trash on the way out the door, an uncharacteristic spring in his step.

Your phone rings with a number you don't recognize. You consider sending it to voicemail, already exhausted from fielding similar calls about your room for rent, but ultimately decide to answer.

"Hello?"

A man clears his throat on the other end of the line before responding with, "This the number for the rental?"

"Yep," you reply. "Were you interested in seeing it or have any questions?"

"How much is it?"

"Your half would be $950.”

"And it's a whole bedroom?"

"As opposed to a half bedroom?" You laugh at your joke but the man remains quiet and you wince. "I mean, yes. It's a whole bedroom."

"I'd like to come see it, if you've got the time."

"Sure, how's this Friday sound?" You suggest. "What's your full name?"

"Why do you need to know that?" The man's tone grows defensive and alarm bells ring in your head.

"Well, I'd like to make sure you're not, like, a wanted criminal or something," you tell him with an awkward laugh. He's quiet and for a moment you think that he may have hung up on you. "Hello?"

"Yeah, 'm still here," he sighs. "Name's Logan Howlett."

"Logan Howlett," you repeat. You give him your name in return, though he doesn't do much but grunt in acknowledgment. "Alright, well, do you have something to write down the address?"

"Just tell me, I'll remember."

After listing off the address, he ends the call with a rough goodbye. You get to work on your personal research, entering his name into a search engine.

No results.

You refresh the page, thinking that must be an error, but the same message appears.

No results.

You try spelling his name differently.

No results.

You set the phone down, anxiety starting to creep up your spine. It's hard to believe that there's absolutely nothing online about this man, who now has your full address, name, and phone number.

A sharp meow shakes you from your thoughts and you find that your cat has taken up residence on your lap, staring at you intently as his tail flicks back and forth. You run your hand over his head, scratching beneath his chin.

"You'll protect me, right?" You ask.

He leaps from your lap and struts away, fluffy tail disappearing down the hall that leads to your bedroom. You sigh.

Hopefully you haven’t just done something stupid.

Logan's attempt to leave the apartment unnoticed does not go as planned. Althea is sitting on the couch, a re-run of a talk show playing loudly, when he tries to make a run for it. He's distracted, watching her too carefully that he doesn't realize Wade has just returned from god-knows-where.

"Whatcha doin', twinkle toes?" Wade asks, startling Logan, who slams into the kitchen table with a curse.

"Fucking hell," Logan curses, rubbing his hip. "When did you get in here?"

Wade shrugs. "Sometime around the start of your 007 impression."

"My what?"

"Nevermind," Wade sighs. "You look snazzy. Got a hot date?"

"No," Logan grunts.

"A cold date, then?"

Logan pinches his nose. "No."

"Well, care to share, sugar plum? What's got you sneaking around like the Black Widow?"

"The who?"

"May she rest in peace," Wade says, tone suddenly somber.

"He's tryin' to move out," Althea chimes in. Wade's mouth drops open in shock.

"You're abandoning us?!" he exclaims. "After all we've been through?"

"Let the man do what he wants," Althea says. "Damn co-dependent freak."

"Harsh," - Wade places a hand over his chest, -"you know I have daddy issues. And mommy issues. And abandonment issues. And--"

"Enough," Logan snaps. "Yes, alright? I'm looking for a new place. I can't sleep on that couch forever."

"Is it because it smells like old people?" Wade whispers, pointing an accusatory finger to Althea, who flips him off.

"Look, this is your universe. Your timeline. Mine is gone and it's time I start making this whole thing less temporary."

Wade tilts his head and places a hand on Logan's shoulder. "My little Wolvie, all grown up," he says, wiping at a fake tear. Logan shoves his hand away, storming past him for the door.

"Remember to smile! Give 'em the ol' razzle dazzle!" Wade shouts as he slams the door behind him.

You pace your small living room and check the stove clock for the hundredth time in the past five minutes. Logan is due to see the apartment and your nerves have gone from a simmer to a full blown boil waiting for the mysterious man with no digital footprint to show up. Your cat is lounging on the windowsill, blissfully unaware of your inner panic.

Three sharp knocks at the door cause your pulse to skyrocket. You take a deep breath before crossing the short distance to the door, pulling it open with a smile.

"Hi! You must be--“

Your greeting dies on your tongue as you take in the man crowding your hallway. He's wearing a leather jacket over a white tank top that stretches tightly across a broad chest and jeans that highlight thick thighs. His dark hair is cut shorter on the sides than on the top of his head, the ends fanning out in a manner that reminds you of a cat's ears and he's sporting an impressively thick beard.

"'m Logan," he says in the same deep voice you heard over the phone, holding a hand out towards you. You slip your palm against his much larger one and you're surprised by how warm his touch is.

"H-hi," you stutter, shaking his hand. You clear your throat. "Sorry, hi. Uh, come on in."

You move aside to let him through the doorway, not missing the fact that his shoulders practically brush the frame as he steps inside. Your apartment opens up directly into the living room and kitchen with a small dining area set in between and you gesture around.

"Well, this is most of it, to be honest. I know it's not much but--"

"It's quiet," Logan interrupts. "Ain't used to quiet."

"Where, uh," -- you twist the hem of your shirt -- "where are you coming from? Exactly?"

"Kind of a long story. Right now I sleep on a couch in a shitty one bedroom apartment shared by an asshole who doesn't shut the fuck up and a blind cocaine addict."

"Oh," you reply, nodding despite your lack of understanding. "Yeah, it's just me here. Well, and Dumpling."

"Dumpling?"

As if summoned by his name, your cat appears, making a swift beeline for the newcomer. He twists around Logan's legs, butting his head against his shins. You bend down, scooping him up in your arms.

"This is Dumpling. He's cute, but he'll knock over any plants so I wouldn't recommend you take up indoor gardening if you decide to live here." Logan eyes Dumpling warily before holding a hand out. Dumpling sniffs his fingers daintily and rubs head against his palm. "I think he likes you."

Logan huffs, the sound close to a laugh, and it makes you smile. He looks up at you and for a moment you forget that you're complete strangers who have just met. He feels inexplicably familiar, his presence comforting, and you're surprised by it.

"Let's look at the bedroom," you finally say, breaking the moment. You turn, heading for the hall and he follows behind you, steps surprisingly light for such a large man. You take him to the last door at the end of the hall and enter the empty room. "This is it. It's kind of small, but all the rooms in New York are pretty much shoe boxes. It's got a closet and access to the fire escape, though.”

"Better than the couch," he says, looking around the room. "You said $950?"

"Plus half of the utilities," you add. He nods.

"Look, I'll be honest. I'm...between jobs right now." He sighs. "And my schedule can be...unpredictable."

"Oh," you mumble. You think about it for a moment. Renting the apartment to Logan would be a risk but...you can't help but notice that exhaustion in his eyes, how it's clear he's trying to get back on his feet in one way or another. "That's okay. We can work something out."

He raises an eyebrow at you. "Really? You sure about that?"

Were you?

"Yeah," you reply. "I'm sure."

Having a roommate is...an adjustment.

Logan is great. He does his dishes in a timely manner, doesn't leave any clothes on the bathroom floor, and even cleans Dumpling's litter box from time to time.

But he drives you insane and it has nothing to do with his qualities as a roommate and everything to do with how unbearably attractive he is. He could be doing the most mundane activity and suddenly you're more turned on than a faucet on full blast. On top of it all, he's surprisingly sweet for such a gruff man.

Currently, you're watching him pour himself a glass of whiskey. You know he's probably preparing to take the drink to his room so that he can have a cigar on the fire escape, but you find yourself wanting his company.

"Logan?" you ask. He looks at you over his shoulder.

"Yeah, bub?"

"Would you...want to watch a movie? With me?"

He turns to fully face you, leaning against the counter and taking a sip of his drink, dark eyes on you over the rim of the glass. You swallow nervously, prepared to retract your offer and hide out in your room for the rest of eternity, but he puts you out of your misery.

"Sure." He comes over to the couch, taking a seat that's a respectable distance away. "What are we watching?"

"Have you seen The Greatest Showman?"

A musical. He's sitting through a goddamn musical.

"You kinda look like that guy," you say from beside him. Logan tilts his head.

"I don't see it."

"It's the bone structure."

"I'm bigger than him." You mumble something under your breath that he doesn't quite catch, though he thinks it sounded suspiciously like yeah, you are. "You say somethin'?"

"Huh?" You shake your head. "No, nope. Didn't say anything."

Logan relaxes against the back of the couch, settling in. You're curled up against the armrest, a blanket covering your legs and your arms wrapped around a throw pillow. You look relaxed, at ease, a stark contrast to how you had been when he first moved in. You spent more of your time hidden in your room and he's happy to see you're getting more comfortable around him.

It's also torture. You're like a drug that he can't get enough of, a high that doesn't last long enough. He clings desperately to every smile you grace him with and falls asleep with the sound of your voice echoing in his head. He wakes up looking forward to seeing you, even if it's just in passing before you head out for your very normal job as part of your very normal life.

That's what gives him pause. You're not like him, not built for violence, and he would never drag you into that life. He thinks about Vanessa and Wade and the wedge that was driven between them they're working to repair and he can't bear the thought of having you just to lose you.

Logan's so lost in his own thoughts he doesn't realize that the movie has ended and you haven't moved. Your head is angled in a way that has to be uncomfortable, your mouth dropped open as you breathe slowly and deeply. He grabs the remote from the coffee table and turns the TV off, plunging the room into darkness as he stands and quietly approaches you.

He slides one arm beneath your knees and using the other to support your back, lifts you from the couch. You settle your head against his chest but otherwise your sleep remains undisturbed as he carries you down the hall into your room.

It's not the first time he's been in your personal space. One time he woke up to Dumpling clawing at his chest and he marched the animal back to your room for the night, barging in on you while you had been up reading. He remembers the queen sized bed in a wooden frame and a dresser with a drawer that won't shut take up most of the space, the plain white of your walls replaced by a soft blue. You've installed what he first thought were regular shelves but later learned are meant for Dumpling to use for late night acrobatics that he can sometimes hear from his room.

Logan sets you gently on your bed and pulls the quilt up to your shoulders. Before he can think better of it, he reaches a hand toward your face, tracing his thumb over the high point of your cheek. You turn towards the sensation, chasing his touch, and his chest grows tight. He sighs, stepping back and turning for the door.

Dumpling sits in the doorway, flicking his tail. Logan steps around him into the hallway, the cat's gaze following him.

"Shut up," he whispers.

Dumpling meows in return.

You're disoriented when you wake the next morning. The last thing you remember is being on the couch with Logan and watching The Greatest Showman, but somehow you've ended up in your room. You turn over in bed to find Dumpling on your other pillow, curled in a ball.

"Morning, Dumpy," you murmur, scratching his head. "How'd we end up here?"

Dumpling blinks unhelpfully at you before uncurling from his spot and hopping from the bed, leaving through your open door. It's then that you notice that you can hear grunting noises coming from the living room.

You get up to investigate and stop dead in your tracks, mouth dropping open when you find the source of the noise is a shirtless Logan doing push ups on the living room floor. The broad muscles of his back ripple with each movement, each push accompanied by a small grunt that makes your thighs clench together, imagining him making that noise when--

Logan stops, jumping to his feet and you shake your head free of the salacious image it began to create. He turns, giving you an uninhibited view of his thick chest that's covered in dark hair that trails down over defined abs before disappearing beneath the elastic of his sweatpants. You have to say something, anything, but your brain is full of static, unable to operate when he's standing there looking like that.

"Morning," he says.

"Good morning!" you reply, voice pitched higher than usual. You walk past him in a way you hope is casual, heading for the kitchen and prepping the coffee machine. "You got any plans today?"

"Got a friend who needs my help with something. Don't know when I'll be back." His voice is much closer than you expected and you turn from the counter to find him right behind you, a scant few inches of space between your bodies.

"Oh?" you whisper, keeping your gaze firmly on his face. "Is everything okay?"

"It will be."

He drifts impossibly closer, chest nearly brushing yours. Your heart pounds in your chest, a frantic rhythm that's become familiar ever since Logan entered your life. Reaching above your head, he grabs two mugs in one large hand, setting them on the counter behind you before taking a step back and turning to head for his room without another glance in your direction.

You sag against the counter, a wave of lust addled adrenaline crashing over you and leaving you breathless. The last thing you need to be doing is getting involved with your roommate, no matter how tempting he may be.

Dumpling jumps up on the counter beside the coffee pot and stares at you, likely waiting for food, but it feels more like judgment in his green eyes.

"Shut up," you whisper to him.

Dumpling meows, batting you with a paw.

You're sitting on the couch when there's an unexpected knock at your door. Logan is still gone, helping a friend and you're not expecting anyone, so you’re not sure who it could be. You check the peephole before opening the door and see the distorted image of a man in a red suit and mask supporting the weight of your roommate against his side.

"What the fuck?" you ask as you open the door in a panicked rush. The masked man waves his fingers at you.

"Hi there! I've got a very," -- he grunts, adjusting his grip on Logan -- "heavy delivery."

Logan's eyes are closed, head flopped back on the masked man's shoulder. Blood stains his t-shirt in spots that look suspiciously like knife wounds and you gasp.

"What happened to him?!" you shout. "Oh my god, he needs to go to the hospital--"

"He just needs a little power nap," the man says. "I'm Wade, by the way. You mind if I just--"

Wade drags Logan through the apartment, depositing him on your couch with a huff, wiping his hands together. He looks around and you're shocked when the eyes of the mask seem to move, as if mimicking his facial expressions.

"This is a nice place," he says. Dumpling meows and Wade gasps. "You have a cat?! I wish I could pet you, sweet kitty, but Dogpool would put me in the dog house. Ha! Get it?"

"I'm confused," you manage to say. "My roommate is bleeding out on my couch after being dropped off by some wanna-be Avenger--"

"Ouch!"

"And you're saying he doesn't need to go to the emergency room?"

"Nope." Wade lifts Logan's shirt. "See? Good as new."

Despite the blood and tears on his shirt, there's no wounds on Logan's body. He shifts, lifting an arm to smack Wade's hand away as he groans, eyes fluttering open. He glares at the man.

"Get out," he growls.

"Now, now, that's not being a very good host, Logi. What, were you raised by wolves?" Wade replies. Logan roars, a ferocious sound that's more animal than man. His hand curls into a fist and sharp metal blades extend from between his knuckles. "Okay, okay, I'm leaving, no need for the murder mittens." Wade looks at you. "You should come to Sunday dinner!"

"Wilson!" Logan shouts. Wade finally heeds the man's warnings, rushing for the door without another word, shutting it behind him. Logan sags against the couch, blades retracting into his hand. He tilts his head back, closing his eyes.

You stand there in shock, trying to make sense of everything you just witnessed. Logan should be halfway to dead by now, but he doesn't even have a scratch on him. He has claws. How does he have claws?

"Can hear you thinking," Logan says, eyes still shut. "Just say it."

"Say what?" you ask. He lifts his head.

"Tell me to get out, scream, whatever it is."

You sit down on the couch, facing him. "Why would I do that?"

"Because that's what you should be doing."

His hand rests on his thigh and you reach for it, lifting it to eye level for a closer look at his knuckles. You trace your thumb over the smooth skin, up over his strong forearm. He watches you, face almost pained.

"I'm not scared of you," you whisper. "You wouldn't hurt me."

"But I could," he bites back.

"You won't." You're certain of that. You set his hand back on his thigh and stand from the couch, intending to grab him a glass of water from the kitchen, but he stops you with a hand around your wrist. His grip is loose enough that you could break free, but you don't.

Logan looks up at you with an unreadable expression, something close to fear mixed with a conflicting emotion that you think -- or hope -- might be desire. He tugs your wrist, bringing you to stand between his legs.

"How can you be so sure?" he asks.

You place your hand on his cheek, the coarse hair of his beard scratching at your palm. His eyelids flutter and his lips part on a sharp inhale.

"You're a good man, Logan Howlett," you murmur. He closes his eyes tightly and takes a deep breath.

His next movements are quick -- a hand on the back of your thigh, dragging you onto his lap, the other wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you close, his lips capturing yours in a savage kiss. You melt into him, meeting his urgency with your own desperation, tongues tangling together and fighting for dominance.

You pull back to trail kisses across his jaw until you reach his neck, sinking your teeth into the tan skin, just over his hammering pulse. Logan groans, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, pulling you tightly against him as his hips buck into yours.

"Fuck," Logan says, voice a deep rumble that you feel to your marrow. "Do that again."

"Do what?" you tease.

"Bite me," he demands. "Make it hurt."

You obey, biting down into his shoulder with greater effort, sinking your teeth in deep until he hisses from the pain of it and you let go, lifting your head to look at the mark you've left behind. It fades quickly, disappearing without a trace.

"Jesus," he says, pulling you in for another kiss, slow and deep, as his hands find the hem of your shirt. "Let me see you."

You allow him to lift your shirt up and over your head, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. His touch makes you shiver despite the heat of his hands as he traces the curve of your waist up to your chest, his thumbs finding your nipples and teasing them with slow circles. You drop your head back with a moan and he takes the opportunity to kiss your neck, your collarbone, moving down until his lips wrap around one taut bud.

"Logan," you whine, digging your fingers into his hair and holding tight. He hums, the sensation making your eyes roll.

"Thought about this," he murmurs, switching to your other breast. "Every time you'd wear those goddamn tight shirts of yours."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"Wanna know what I thought about?" You tug his hair, pulling his head away from your chest. "Sucking your cock."

He raises his eyebrow at you and you take the opportunity to slide from his lap, settling on your knees between his spread thighs. You work his belt loose, followed by the fly of his jeans. He reaches past the waistband to free his cock and your mouth waters at the sight. You could tell he was big while you were on his lap, but he's even more glorious than you imagined. Thick, long, with prominent veins and a slight upward curve that you know will hit all the right places.

You take him in your hand, appreciating the weight of him in your palm as you hold him steady. With your eyes locked on his face, you open your mouth and stick out your tongue to lick from the top of your fingers to the flushed head. He groans, his hand curling into a fist that he presses to his forehead.

"Fuck," Logan hisses. You do it again, this time swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him into your mouth, moving down his length slowly. "God, look at you. Mouth stuffed so full you're drooling, huh?"

He's right. Spit gathers at the corners of your lips and runs down your chin as you use your mouth to pleasure him. The sounds he makes above you are downright filthy, deep moans and filthy praise that have you moving faster, taking him deeper, working to get as much of him in your mouth as you manage without gagging. He cups your cheek with one large palm, thumb tracing your stretched lips.

"Keep going, sweetheart. You can take a little more, can't you? That's it," he says. Tears burn your cheeks with the effort to obey, your throat tightening around the head of his cock. "Fuck, that's a good girl."

You breathe deeply through your nose, maintaining a steady pace and using your hand in tandem with your mouth for what you can't easily take. Logan's hips begin to flex beneath you, his words trailing off into guttural growls. His cock twitches in your grasp and he moans your name before his release floods your mouth and you swallow it down.

You pull off of him with a slick pop, gasping for breath. Before you can say anything, Logan is hauling you to your feet as he stands from the couch, lifting you up with one strong arm beneath your ass and urging your legs around his waist.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"Just getting started."

Logan kicks the door open to your room, startling Dumpling from his perch. The cat races out the door, disappearing into the living area as the door clicks shut. He sets you down on your bed and quickly rids himself of his boots and rest of his clothing before returning his attention to you.

You're lying there in your little sleep shorts that drive him nuts. The fabric barely covers your ass and there's been more than one occasion where he's shuffled into the kitchen in the mornings to see you in them, all the blood in his body rushing south at the sight. He joins you on the bed, on his knees between your spread thighs, and extends a single claw. Your eyes widen, but you don't pull away. In fact, you start squirming, hips flexing minutely against the mattress.

"Scared yet?" he asks.

"I wouldn't say that.”

He carefully slips the blade beneath the hem of your shorts, inching it up until it peeks out above the elastic waistband before twisting his wrist and slicing through the fabric like it's nothing. Claw retracted, he removes your ruined shorts and takes a moment to appreciate the vision you make, legs spread wide and your dripping pussy on display.

"You're a mess," he says, smoothing his hands over the soft skin of your legs. He lifts one of your knees, pressing a kiss to the inside of it before resting it on his shoulder. "Gonna clean you up."

Logan dips his head to your center, dragging his tongue through your soaked sex, groaning when the taste of you blooms across his tongue. Your fingers curl against his scalp, a sharp point of pleasure-pain as he explores your body. He swirls his tongue over your clit, experimenting with broad circles and sharp flicks until you're writhing beneath him.

"Logan," you cry, hips bucking against his face. He dips his tongue into your cunt, nose brushing your clit as he does, and he hums in satisfaction as your thighs tense around his head.

He looks up at you and drinks in the picture you make, gorgeous skin glistening with sweat and your back arched from the bed, chest heaving with desperate breaths. He wants this exact moment burned into his memory, certain it could chase away the dark shadows that linger there.

Logan presses two fingers to your hole, sliding them in with little resistance. You're so warm and tight, squeezing his fingers beautifully, calling out his name as he curls them when he drags them from your body.

"I'm going to come," you gasp. "Oh, fuck, just like that!"

You pulse around his fingers and he slows his movements to work you through it until you collapse against the mattress with a deep sigh. He carefully removes his hand and sits up on his knees.

"Guess I made more of a mess," Logan says. Your eyes squeeze shut with a breathless giggle.

"I'll forgive you," you reply. You reach your arms up for him and he moves to hover over you to accept your embrace. "God, Logan," you murmur, tilting your chin up to kiss him.

In this position, he's able to drag his cock through the slick mess between your thighs and you shiver beneath him, gasping into his mouth. He does it again, more purposeful this time and it drags a moan from you both.

"Please," you murmur.

"Please what, sweetheart? Tell me what you want," he replies. "What you need."

"Need you to fuck me."

Logan reaches between your bodies and positions the thick head of his cock at your entrance, pushing forward. The stretch of him is unreal, almost too much even with how wet you are for him.

"Relax," he says, holding himself steady above you. "You can take it."

You nod and he pushes forward another inch, letting you adjust, and repeating the process until the coarse hair at the base of his cock tickles your sensitive skin. You've never been so full, no other experience compares to this. No other man compares to Logan, in any way.

He starts moving slowly, dragging his hips back until you're nearly empty before plunging back inside. Each thrust puts stars in your vision, makes the knot of want and need coil tighter in your lower belly, until you're moaning his name and begging him to move faster, harder, deeper.

Logan obeys, thrusting into you with enough force that your head board collides with the wall. He sits back on heels, dragging you up with him until you're sitting in his lap and he's able to thrust up into you.

"Feel so fucking good," he says, lips against your neck. "Need you to come for me, baby."

You nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and holding him close, meeting each of his thrusts with a rock of your hips that drags your clit against him, your nerves buzzing with the friction and fullness. While the orgasm he wrenched from you with his mouth felt like a wildfire, this one builds and builds, a wave cresting until it finally crashes and you cry out his name.

Logan leans forward to drop you back onto the bed, reaching a hand up to grip your headboard as he continues to roll his hips into yours, chasing his own release. His thrusts begin to grow more desperate until he presses in deep and you're flooded with warmth as he growls, long and low. The sound of splintering wood breaks through your post-orgasmic haze and you tilt your head back to find that his claws have extended through your headboard, splitting the wood and embedding into the drywall.

"I can fix that," Logan says breathlessly, tugging his hand free, claws retracting. You grin at him.

"Later," you reply, pulling him in for a kiss.

You've got better things to do right now.

Thank you so much for reading! For more of my writing, check out my masterlists!

[strawberryyyenthusiast]

Diabetic Steve who is at a Dairy Queen with Robin after he went with her to an all girl punk band that’s she’s been wanting to see for years. Steve had been feeling weird all day but he didn’t want to bail at the last second because he knew that Robin would just cancel everything to take care of Steve.

(Steve would do the same for her).

Steve plops down into a booth while Robin goes to order them food. He pulls out his pod and winces when he sees his glucose level.

64 and going down. Not a good sign.

Just to be sure he pricks his finger and holy shit, he’s actually at 43. It’s at that moment, when Steve is wiping his finger with the alcohol wipe, that his phone decides to loudly beep to alert him that, “hey you’re crashing pretty hard and fast— take care of it soon!!”

Steve is rifling through his bag while Robin is already trying to rush their orders.

“Shit,” Steve mumbles to himself. “I’m out of fucking juice.”

His hands start to shake and Robin begins to freak out. Steve is always so in control of his diabetes, she’s never seen him like this. So, Robin does what any other person would do and grabs the largest blizzard she has ever seen on the online orders tray and runs over to her best friend.

“Here! Have this, I’m going to try to get you some apple juice!”

Steve just nods his head and slowly spoons some of it into his mouth.

“This tastes like shit, by the way.”

“You’re welcome, dingus. Now shut up and eat.”

The worker behind the counter comes over and starts talking to Robin after she sits in front of Steve. Steve can’t really make anything out right now since he’s trying to focus on making his hands work. But, he thinks he hears the mention of calling 911 and an ambulance.

Time passes a little slower after that. Steve somehow manages to get down enough of the ice cream that he is slowly rising again.

57 after he pricked. Thank god.

It’s at that moment that Eddie Munson, lead singer of Corroded Coffin, walks in. He went to his best friend’s, Chrissy’s, show and needed a pick-me-up after helping her lug all of her equipment back into their vehicle.

He goes over to the online orders tray and it’s empty. He doesn’t really mind waiting. He walks over to the counter and sees that the worker is extremely frantic as she sorts some shit out.

“Hey,” he starts, his fingers tapping the fake granite counter top. “Just checking, I’m here to pick up an order for Edmundo and it’s not on the tray. Do you know when it will be ready?” He flashes an awkward smile and the worker just points to the table behind him.

“We’re working on it. Your nightmare of a blizzard was needed for something else. Give us five minutes.”

Eddie nods and slowly turned around, where he sees the most gorgeous man eating his blizzard. Reluctantly, he might add. The man has on a light pink t-shirt and brown corduroy pants, thick lensed glasses sliding down his nose. The woman across from him was clad in funky colors and had a dirty blonde bob. She was talking extremely fast and gesturing with her hands a bunch.

Chrissy would love her.

He walked over and tapped the man on the shoulder.

“How’s my blizzard?”

He slowly looks up and Eddie is met with honey brown eyes and beauty marks for days. A straight nose and an angular jawline. Jesus Christ.

The woman looks like she’s about to say something, but the guy beats her to it. “It tastes like if a unicorn threw up in my mouth, but it prevented me from passing out. So… thanks.” He smiles. “I’m Steve.”

Eddie needs to become Steve’s husband immediately.

“And I’m in love.” He pauses and then sees the look of glee on Steve’s face. “EDDIE. My name is Eddie.”

“It’s nice to meet you Eddie. Are you free tomorrow?”

[mrsbarnesblog]

i am not the only one who saw that, right?

masterlist

summary: your friends find out that you secretly dating their enemy, but their opinion might completely change when they see Rafe from another point of view

words count: 2.2k

warnings: secret relationship, pogue!reader, attempted assault, mention of blood, soft and protective Rafe

a/n: inbox is open for requests💘

“You cannot be dating Rafe fucking Cameron, Y/N!” John B exclaimed, burying his hands in his hair and walking all around the place. 

“No, seriously, this is not a good idea.” Sarah looked at you, giving out a nervous laugh. 

You were currently surrounded by your friends, who were all practically yelling at you after they accidentally saw a message from Rafe on your phone. You were one of the pogues; you never hanged out around the kooks, but somehow, when you were visiting Sarah a few months ago, you got into a random conversation with Rafe, and since that moment, the connection between you two has only gotten stronger. 

It was an instant click and as much as you both tried to deny the spark, it was there. As you started going out, secretly from everyone, of course, you decided to keep it private until the right time. 

“Alright, guys, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I knew that this would be your reaction. It just happened, okay?” You rubbed the bridge of your nose, already feeling a headache from the tense situation. All of your friends were standing on the opposite side of you and it felt like they were just attacking you. 

“What were you thinking? You know that he hates people like us, like you. We are pogues, Y/N. How the hell did that even happen?” Kiara was standing with her hands on her hips, as her piercing eyes were studying you. You felt awful looking at Pope, who was the one who always supported you, but he just shook his head and stepped away. 

“I don’t know. It just happened. We talked once when Sarah left, then I accidentally met him a few times in town, and then he texted me. He’s not bad when you know him closer.” You sighed. “Look, I know Rafe was a lot of trouble for us. He did bad things; I know that. But he’s not like that; he’s sweet and caring, and he has never shown any sign of being disrespectful towards me. I just can’t deny my feelings for him.”

“Honey, Rafe is not a good person. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone; he’s evil, selfish and manipulative.” Sarah stepped closer to you, touching your hand. “He’ll play with you, hurt your feelings and just throw you away.”

“And he probably just wants to get into your pants.” JJ grumbled, also taking a defensive position. 

“I haven't even slept with him yet, JJ!” You desperately snapped at him. It felt ridiculous, like all of them turned against you at the same time. Sure, Rafe wasn’t the sweetest person to them before, but they didn’t even give you a chance to say something in your defense. “And you’re wrong too, Sarah. All of Rafe’s actions were just to get people’s attention and appreciation. All it took for me to get on his soft side was to just listen to him and give him some affection. Other people didn’t care enough, including you and your father. He needs someone who he can trust and open up to because he’s hurt.” 

“No, Y/N. If you think that he loves you, then he just got into your head. My brother doesn’t love anyone. It will end badly; I just know that.” 

Tears gathered in your eyes, and a lump in your throat made it difficult to say anything back, so you just stupidly stayed there. You had no strength to fight with all five of them at the same time. You turned around, silently getting back in the car, even though your head was filled with doubt and dark thoughts because of their words. 

For the next few days, it was tough for all of you. You and the rest of the group were still close, and even though they were completely against your relationship, you still met and hung out. The pit in your heart was still there, no matter how hard you tried to act nonchalant and not let their words get into your head. 

Rafe noticed the change in your behavior—that you were upset with something—but he didn’t put any pressure on you and allowed you to decide for yourself when you wanted to open up. 

Pogues decided to go to some party on the cut near the beach and as much as you tried to refuse, Sarah and Kiara managed to drag you there. You all rarely went to such places, preferring to hang out in your little circle, but apparently everyone wanted to clear their heads and saw it as the best opportunity. 

It was pretty fun with a bunch of people you did not know, some music, and drinks, and you mostly hung out with your friends. Though quickly it got overwhelming and made you want to go home or at least go outside of the house to get some fresh air. As you left your friends and wanted out from the backyard to a part of the beach, you didn’t notice the guy who had been eyeing you the whole evening. 

He came out of nowhere from your back, his arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground. You yelled at the sudden and unwanted touch, and your heart seemed to drop into your stomach when you realised that it wasn’t just a joke from JJ, who liked to scare you. You started wiggling in his hands to get free, but he was fighting you back, dragging you up when you fell to your knees on the ground. 

It was such a mess trying to scratch and punch him that you almost did not notice his hand coming into contact with your face several times. You screamed again, this time loud enough, until you saw JJ running towards you. The guy behind you pushed you away as soon as he saw someone, and you fell to the ground with a loud huff. 

“That fucking bastard!” JJ was right near you, helping you to get up as tears streamed down your face. He tried to comfort you, checking your body for any injuries, but you pushed his hands away, wrapping your own around yourself in a defensive way.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” You heard Kiara, along with your other friends, calling your name. “What the hell happened?”

“H-he attacked me.” You sniffed, trying to catch your breath and, with shaking hands, reaching to the pocket of your jeans shorts to get out your phone. All of them looked at each other, questioning your actions, until you pressed someone’s contact button and put the phone to your ear. “Can y-you pick me up, p-please?” You sniffed again, now trembling from the adrenaline. 

“Baby? Are you crying? Where are you?” You heard your boyfriend’s concerned voice through the phone, feeling how JJ tensed beside you. 

“I’m on the cut. Near the beach. There’s a party and... Please, Rafe.” 

“I’m coming, angel. Just wait for me, ‘kay?” You heard the sound of the car engine at the other end of the line. Rafe didn’t ask any more questions, and as soon as you mumbled quiet 'mhm’ he ended the call. 

You all heard him before you saw him. The sound of the tires drifting through the sandy street was loud, drawing attention to the expensive car that was unusual to see at this part of the island. 

Rafe didn’t bother to properly park, turn off the engine or even close the door when he saw you sitting on some old chaise lounge, with his sister and Kie trying to talk to you and your other friends arguing nearby. 

The girls stepped away from you as soon as they saw Rafe running towards you with a furious expression on his face and ready to deal with anyone who made you cry. It looked like he didn’t even care about the pogues, with whom he always had to get into arguments; he was fully focused on your shivering form.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?” He squatted down in front of you, and you started sobbing again. Your hands immediately found their place around his neck, and, before he could even properly look at your face, you pulled him closer to get some sense of comfort from his warmth and smell. Rafe hugged you back, soothingly rubbing your back. His eyes shot towards your friends, who were watching in awe at the interaction. “Which one of you did that?”

“It’s not us, you idiot. Some guy jumped her when she walked outside.” Sarah said, rolling her eyes at her brother. “JJ heard screaming, and when we walked outside, he ran away.” Rafe pulled away, finally taking in your appearance.

Your knees were covered in dried blood mixed with the sand. He gently took your hands to see the palms scratched from you trying to catch yourself before hitting the ground. Rafe’s eyes were burning with fury, showing his side that he rarely revealed in front of you. His hand reached to move your hair from your face, noticing a red, now already turning purplish, bruise covering the side of your cheek.

“Holy shit, sweetheart.” He softly brushed his fingertips along your cheek and you leaned into the touch, closing your eyes. Your bottom lip started quivering and you bit inside your cheek to calm yourself down. “Sh-h im here, okay? You’re safe. Did you see him? What did he look like? Just tell me and I’ll deal with it.” He almost begged, but you only shook your head. JJ suddenly stepped closer, slightly hesitating to actually normally communicate with his longtime enemy,  but he thought that it was the least that he could do for you.

As much as he hated The Kooks King, JJ knew that Rafe was the best option to find the guy who hurt you. 

“Tall, with dark and curly hair. Never seen him before, probably someone new on the island, but I’ll recognize him.” They looked at each other for a moment, and Rafe just simply nodded, turning his attention back to you. 

“I’ll find him, ‘kay? I promise I will.” He gently took both of your hands in his, bringing them to his lips to place a soft kiss on your knuckles. “We should go now. I need to take care of your knees and that bruise, baby. You don’t mind going to Tanneyhill, yeah?”

“Thank you, Rafe.” You whispered, slightly bending forward to ask for a kiss. Rafe smiled at you, his thumbs gently swiped the leftovers of the tears under your eyes, and then he kissed you on your forehead, nose, and gently pecked your lips. 

Your heart flattered at his soft touches and for a second, it felt like you two were in your own little bubble. Rafe's eyes shimmered slightly in the moonlight, and the way he looked at you, soft and caring, made you want to kiss him again and again. You suddenly snapped out of the trance, looking back at your friends, who all had different levels of shock and uncertainty written on their faces. 

“C’mon, pretty girl.” Rafe stood up, lifting you in bridal style without an effort, carefully not to hurt your bleeding knees. He almost walked away, but then sighed, turning back to look at his sister. “You coming home with us or somethin’?”

“Um, no, I’ll be with John B. It seems like I would be third wheeling with you anyway.” She shrugged, not being able to keep a smile when you two met with your eyes. 

Rafe then looked at JJ, thinking his words over. “I appreciate it, Maybank.” 

They exchanged a tight nod, both slightly shocked that for the first time ever, they communicated without biting each other's heads off. You leaned closer to Rafe, comfortably nestling in his protective hands, and looked at your friends, who were still too shocked to say anything. 

“I’ll see you guys later, okay? 

Everyone agreed, saying goodbye to you and asking you to text them when you get there safely. They saw how Rafe made sure to slowly put you into the passenger seat, then circled the car and drove away. An awkward silence fell around them, everyone at a loss for words. 

“Okay, so I am not the only one who saw that, right?” Pope spoke first, looking around the place as if he were trying to find something. “Rafe freaking Cameron just was acting cute and didn’t threaten to do something to us?” His own body physically shrugged at the word ‘cute’.

“I don’t know, dude. We all just probably drank something and it’s messing with our heads.”