#they fit him sure but they remind me of old anime

[metamorphmigus]

Of course he'd contract Hanahaki disease. Always keeping those cards close to his chest.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ it's a gift (you keep those) ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ giving him a plushie that reminded you of him┊1k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: fluff, crushes, probably ooc but he’s so cute & wade is hard to write for, written for dp&w logan so idk if he got gifts in xmen, i forgot about laura, they are in touch and have a wonderful father-daughter relationship, i’m so sorry, edited

➤ author's note: i have so many thoughts but too incompetent to write

logan’s never sure who will appear when he opens the door as wade’s quite the extrovert, either vanessa or one of his many other friends whom he’s now become somewhat acquainted with, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to meet the familiar eyes of the cute neighbor who lived a few doors down. he nervously scratched the back of his head, suddenly becoming aware of his shabby appearance, “uh, are you looking for wade?”

“no, i was actually looking for you!” god, your smile is so bright, it’s blinding. he normally hates perfume of any sort as it’s so overpowering to his heightened senses, but the one that you wore smelled so lovely like always. is that a new shade of lip gloss you’re wearing? it really suits you. (why on earth is he noticing all of these details out of the blue? he needs to snap out of whatever spell you put on him after being introduced when he first showed up and only interacting in passing since then).

“looking for me?” he repeated, in disbelief, trying his best not to allow his surprise to slip into his voice. considering he isn’t from this dimension and not the most agreeable person to be around, he had no friends of his own yet and hasn’t been visited by anyone since he got here. a beat of panic struck him, thinking that he was in trouble for something and you came to complain. he really couldn’t think of any other reason you were here for him even though you were so cheerful.

you were carrying some shopping bags with you, dropping them on the ground before reaching into one and pulling out a large fuzzy plushie of a gray cat hidden under layers of glittery tissue paper, “i saw this cutie when i went shopping with my friends and thought it looked like you!” you held it out for him to take, looking so proud of the stuffed animal.

he hesitated for a second before accepting it, trying to take in the fact that you were reminded of him in your day-to-day life. it made his heart flutter, and he found himself dumbfounded by the feeling. he was frequently teased by his roomate about his little “crush” on you, claiming that it was oh so obvious and that the sooner he accepted it, the better, but he never realized until now how pathetic he was when it came to you. was the wolverine really getting butterflies like a fucking schoolgirl in his old-ass age? thank god no one was home right now to bully him about it, he would never hear the end of it.

“it does not look like me,” he scoffed playfully after a quick examination.

“no, it definitely does! it’s a big, grumpy kitty—” you took a step closer to hold it with him, pointing at all the similarities you observed, although it was clear you were exaggerating for laughs. “see the little frowny face and ears? it could be your identical twin separated from birth! willy mentioned that you act like a cat most of the time, and i think it fits perfectly!”

the smile he didn’t realize was plastered on his face faltered at the last piece of information, grateful that you didn’t notice. that idiot has been talking about him to you? he might as well forget about any chance of getting with you, because knowing how he yaps without a filter and loves to play matchmaker, you probably think he’s a freak of some sort. “only good things, i hope…”

you giggled, the sweetest sound he ever heard. “of course, he’s really fond of you… well, maybe a bit too fond, but you already know about that!” you opened your mouth to continue the conversation or say something else, but your phone started ringing and you excused yourself, looking a little shy as you grabbed up your bags. “i’ll talk to you later!” you sounded so excited about the prospect of it before leaving, your voice and footsteps becoming fainter as you walked back to your place.

“wait, you didn’t take back the cat—”

“it’s a gift! you keep those!”

“oh… right…”

he lingered for a moment, unable to say much in response since you left in such a rush. when was the last time someone gave him a present? staring at this brand new item, he still couldn’t see the resemblance in any way, but knowing that it was a gift from you gave him a rare feeling of happiness which returned every time he looked at it from then on among his few possessions. 

“oh my goodness, what is this adorable thing?!” wade exclaimed when he saw it sitting on the couch where logan slept, picking it up to gawk at before tossing it up in the air and catching it before it hit the floor. “ooh, let me guess, it’s a gift from her, isn’t it?” 

the mutant groaned at his mocking tone. “put it down before you ruin it with your grubby hands,” he commanded, snatching it from his grasp (rough enough to make his point clear, but carefully enough not to tear it apart). his roommate didn’t even bother pretending to be offended like he usually would as he was simply overjoyed that his “ship” was coming true. “it doesn’t mean anything, don’t make it weird.”

“it doesn’t mean anything?! how can you say that when it’s going to be the first gift you give to your first child together—”

“first what??”

“nevermind, what are you gonna name it?”

“i have to name it?”

“have you never owned a stuffed animal before? you have to name it! how heartbroken is she going to be when she asks what you named it and you say that you haven’t done that?! she’s gonna think that you don’t value her gifts!” you would think the world was going to end if he didn’t do so if you heard the way he was speaking.

“fine, i’ll name it…” he looked deeply into the toy’s soulless eyes, noting how soft the outer material was against his calloused hand, “... fluffy…”

“that’s such a shitty name—”

“shut the fuck up, it’s been decided.”

[fallbhind]

‘OH SWEET 'N SOUR LEMONS’ RAFE CAMERON

genre smut wordcount 2k

“we can work on it”

content warnings ,, dilf!rafe, old!rafe, young!reader, fem!reader, unprotected sex (wrap that shit 'fore you tap it), oral (m! receiving) p in v, slight tit play, more of 'make up' or 'i'm sorry' sex rather than it coming from real emotions, aftercare tho.

per usual, another fucking (typical) stupid argument with rafe because you wanted to hang out but he had his kids that weekend, so he was busy. sure, you typically wouldn't mind, but his ex-wife was totally slacking on her duties, and maybe you thought that because you were almost a decade younger than rafe, but he'd been stuck with the kids for almost a month with no break.

it wasn't fair. but you knew that bitch-of-an-ex was doing it out of spite because he found someone younger, hence, you.

you were helping the kids to bed, in the maze of tanneyhill, you led them to their bed room. "in your beds." you said softly, tucking them both in one at a time. you pressed a soft kiss onto his little girls head.

with a flick of the light, the dark room was instantly lighted with the ladybug night light plugged into the wall, "night." you muttered to the two, leaving the door cracked. you were a good stepmother, a stark reminder in you and the children's relationship. you'll never be able to replace their real momma, but you can try.

rafe was rewinding after a long day. flicking through every channel as you settled on the couch, the couch dipping underneath your weight. rafe constantly fiddled with the ring on his finger, which reminded him more of his dad every. single. day. after a few minutes of dwelling on the animal planet channel, he switched it, before deciding to switch off the tv. you both saw your reflections. rafe's pouting expression, and your even poutier expression.

he turned the tv back on, disliking the fact he could just see his reflection in the tv, as well as yours as the screen went to black. the soft flicker of the tv coming back on, you drew your attention to it.

"mm." rafe said gruffly, a poor attempt to start even the slightest conversation with you. you let out a soft grunt back, initially saying he could continue. "'m sorry about earlier." he said quietly, not to mention quickly.

you nodded softly, turning to look at him as he scratched his fingers into his freshly shaved buzz cut. not even going to lie, he looked oh so good in his blue-white button up shirt. "me too." you whispered back, going back to whatever was playing on tv, feigning you were actually interested.

you nervously played with the drawstring off your jacket. you were more of a carefree person with a hobo-ish style. and it fit rafe just fine. "nothin' good is on." you said admittedly, turning your head towards rafe, unconsciously moving closer to him.

he shifted slightly, his arms welcoming you in his hold. you leaned into him, closing your eyes as you took a deep breath. rafe's arm calmly laid across your shoulder, weighing you down slightly. you pulled your legs off the ground, pulling yourself closer to rafe. that was the main difference between rafe and his ex and you and rafe. you and him got over arguments, while rafe and his ex tended to go with out talking. maybe it was just your attachment issues with him you couldn't stay mad, or you didn't want him to say he wanted to break up because sure, the sex was good, but at the end of the day, you always wanted to be a mother to his kids rather than leaving.

"your a good co-parent." rafe whispered into your head, referring to when he flew a few not so friendly insults towards you and trying to replace his ex. sure, that's really what you were trying to do, but it didn't mean that it wouldn't hurt when he called you out on it. maybe that was partially you didn't want to face the reality of the doubts you could ever replace his girls mother. but you can try. she wasn't even a good mom in the first place, you thought to yourself, and you weren't wrong.

you nodded softly when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "i know i am." you said back to him. he rollled his eyes at the oh so bratty comment back to what he told you. "brat" he mumbled to you.

after a boring thirty minutes, rafe opted to go lay down, he left you alone in the living room to dwell about really anything. rafe was so frustrating, sexually and in general. you made your way to the bedroom, turning off the light off in the living room. you traveled your way through the dark hallway to your bedroom. you passed the girls bedroom, hearing their peaceful soft snores. you stoped at their bedroom, peaking into their bedroom where the soft ladybug night light flickered gently.

you left their door cracked, walking towards your bedroom. greeted by rafe, "hey baby, c'mere," he said softly, "come lay down." he put his book on the side of the bed.

you changed into your pajama, then you crawled into bed with him. "'m so tired." you whispered, laying right on top of him. you threw an arm around his torso, burying your face into his pillow on his side of the bed.

he nodded, "i know. but i need you to do something for me." he cupped your cheek, his hand tangled in your hair. rafe pulled you in for a gentle kiss, "i've been s'pent up since the kids have been here for weeks 'n know their sleepin'" his hand caressed your face ever so gently. after subtle hinting, you made a face before nodding before he hooked his fingers under his black fancy pants, pushing them down slightly, his boxers coming next.

it was almost gave him embarrassment on how fast it went up. but then again comes the factor of he hasn't been able to request your assistance since his children have been at home. while you enjoyed the bonding with his two daughters, he wasn't the only thing pent up. rather than having sex when they went to bed, the both of you watched tv.

you wriggled your way in between his legs, grabbing the base of his cock before gently licking the precum off his tip. he let out a soft groan, which was more whimper like than anything. you made him so submissive in a way, y'know, like he acts big and bad before sucking him off, but as soon as you lick his sensitive tip he becomes all whimpery, and it turned you on.

you slowly pushed your mouth all the way onto his cock, your plump lips moving up and down on him. he let out a soft noise out of pleasure, one of your hands going to cup his ball, feeling then already tighten.

you let out a whimper as his cock hit the back of your throat voluntarily. and it kept repeatingly hitting the back of your throat, and you let out a gagging noise, showing of your not-so-good-gag reflex. "t's'okay." rafe managed out, "we can work on it." he softly pushed your head down, not letting you up for breath of air, and than when he found himself nearer towards release, he let you up.

after inhaling air, you went back down to finish him. rafe convulsed, his hand falling away from the vice he had on your hair, his eyes rolled back, "fuck." he groaned, his back arching slight as he came in your mouth. "swallow it f'me." he tapped your chin, shutting your mouth for you. he held your chin in satisfaction as he watched you swallow his warm load. he wiped the slight load on the side of your face, which was what didn't go all the way into your mouth.

you sat up, kicking off your pajama shorts that rafe had bought you, than hooking your thumb on the waist band of your underwear, pulling it down. he shuddered, attentively going to touch your shining pussy. he massaged your clit, earning a good and well earned soft moan from you.

he pulled you back onto him, allowing you to insert his cock into your tight hole. you both let out collective groans and moans. your room felt like a fucking sauna the way your body caught fire when you made contact with his body. you rolled your hips, like how your eyes rolled into the back of your head. you let out another moan as your hips rocked back and forth on him.

he grabbed your hips, slowing your pace down by the slightest. rafe held you in a vice, despite your quiet(ish) mewls of protest wanting to rock your own hips (key thing to why he thinks your a brat). "sh, you're a good girl." he whispered insight to your slight protests

you let out a soft moan when he pushed you further down onto him, "rafe!" you cried out, allowing him to rock you back in forth before allowing you to do as you wanted, his hands merely resting on your thighs rather than have your hips in a vice grip.

you rolled your hips, creating friction between you and rafe. the sweat smells filled both your and rafe's nostrils. you started to slowly bounce on his cock, both you and rafe letting out groans and moans at every bounce. he started to unbutton your night shirt to release your tits, they were following each of your bounce. you used rafe's shoulder to provide you stability, whilst he was unclipping your bra from your body.

rafe whispered sweet praises as he and you both neared release. his hands went to cup your titties as they bounced. he massaged your tits when they bounced. they weren't huge, nor were they small. they were perfect for rafe, his hand cupping one and it fit in his hand. he shuddered when you convulsed, and in a moment of breath-taking pleasure, you came around his cock, your hot liquids gushing around his cock. it was a piece of art, really. with your panting and the squelch of your come around his cock, you rested against his chest as he let out yet another string of his load inside of it, combined with your and his come, it looked even better than before.

"maybe you'll get your own kid tonight." he whispered hoarsely, pulling you off his body to go to the walk in bathroom.

he grabbed a rag, running it over cold water to clean you. you laid breathless, spread out on yours and his bed. when he made his way back to the bed, he turned on the box fan in the floor to help cool the both of you off. he took the cool wash cloth, pressing it against your thigh, you body indistinctly flinching from the contrast of your boiling body to the cool rag being moved along your thigh. he gently rubbed your sensitive pussy with the rag to clean up any other liquid that might've found it's way out of your cunt.

"there you go baby." he whispered, gently pressing a kiss against your forehead, your eyes half lidded as you were on the verge of passing out. rafe helped you put on a new pair of underwear, but the same bra and pajamas. he picked your underwear from off the floor, going to throw them in your dirty close basket. he changed into a pair of boxers. the room reeked of sex, and he smelled like it himself. he plugged in your favorite air freshener into the wall before pulling himself to rest. he laid sat up in bed, scrolling on social media as he held you in his arms.

when he found himself dozing off with the phone in his hand, he sat it on the nightstand. he laid his head on yours as he fell asleep for the night, it was a really cute sight, some might say. like something out of silly rom-com, or any romantic movie, really.

TAGS .ᐟ @archiveofvirtue @sematarygirls @beausling @mattsdolll @pr3ttyf4wn

[running-with-kn1ves]

Satin Pillows To Cry On

CW: coercion with money, age gap(7 yrs), transactional marriage, obsessive/yandere behavior

gn! reader

﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀

You’ve got nothing else, no one else to rely on. 

‘You’re something he bought to keep from growing old.” 

Your clothes are worth small countries. Your cars stacked in 3-level garages. Diamonds, emeralds, pearls hanging from your wrists and ears, satchels made of endangered animal skins, different shoes for each day of the year. 

Your boyfriend of three years spat at your feet when you told him what you were doing. 

“His money can’t love you, not like I can.”

The wedding was only two months away when you broke up with him, told him you couldn’t live in his broke-down apartment anymore, that you couldn’t live with debt trailing wherever you went. You went so far as to make him hate you, to tell him that you never wanted to see him again, that you never loved him, that he better not bother showing up to the wedding. You didn’t want him there, you never wanted to see him again. 

“You’re lying to me; he’s making you say these things, he’s using you against me! You’ve known him what-- two seconds, and you’re going to marry this man?! He’s nearly a decade older than you!” 

Seven years of an age gap or not, he was still a thousand times more independent, wealthy, and a safer choice than your boyfriend. You weren’t some fresh college student new to the world, you had graduated over two years ago, still finding no luck in getting a stable income-- forget about whether or not it was in the field of your degree. 

You left in a single day, fitting all of your scavanged belongings into one of your fiance’s awaiting cars. You left anything worth of value with your ex-boyfriend, knowing he’d find more use out of it than you would. You would even leave the rest of your things there if he could find use for them, but you knew they’d just be one more painful reminder of your betrayal. 

He did as you said, not showing up to your wedding, staying clear, never appearing in your line of sight since the day you left. It made it easier…. For both of you that way. 

And now you were happy-- well, maybe not happy, maybe not even content, but you were… safe. You had everything you needed: a working car, a stable job that you felt productive in, a clean and comforting house to come home to, a spouse. Sure, maybe you didn’t get your new job yourself, or your house or your car-- but did that really matter, in this economy? Who wouldn’t trade their life and their independence for this kind of wealth?

And your husband… he wasn’t all bad. He might have only wanted you for the sake of having you at first, like a new jewel or the latest technological invention. But he was doting and caring in his own way. Maybe just a tiny bit too invested in you, in your schedule and who you talked to. A little too hateful towards your ex-boyfriend, the one who had you before he could. But everyone had character flaws, and on good days you could distract him from his grumpy mood and stress and obsessive behaviors by being the loving and oh so perfect spouse you had trained yourself to be ever since he asked to marry you. 

“Colder than all that gold…” You repeated in your mind, the words your family whispered to each other at your wedding reception only a few feet away from you. 

That was over six months now, though… the honeymoon phase never existed, you rarely saw your husband except for his midnight appearances back from the office, and whenever he would whisk you away for a weekend vacation to savor the time he had with you. For someone more sophisticated, much wealthier, and dare you say handsomer than the average man-- you were surprised to find he didn’t have a line of divorces behind him. 

No; he said, he had been “waiting for you.” whether  you or he knew it, he understood right from the moment of meeting you that you were the one he’d have for the rest of his life, even if it killed him. That severity… scared you. But in a sick sense, it made you feel relieved. Forever? This could be yours, forever? Your family would never have to struggle again, you would never have to worry where your next meal came from?

“I cleared your schedule until tuesday; we’re going to the isles. A mini vacation, you might call it. Get your things.”

He was cold, that was for sure. But, was he any worse than your ex-boyfriend, especially when he was offering you an expensive experience on top of that?

“All right..” You acquiesced. 

And now, you lied sunken into the bed feeling his loving, hot breath on your navel. Going so sweetly slow, so oddly and uncharacteristingly lingering with his touches as he gazes into your eyes. You didn’t like this; didn’t like that when he was cherishing you, making love to you, holding you so intimately, he was appearing… like a husband should. Where did he get the nerve to ignore you everyday, to have hardly any time for you, only to come back and beg for your love when it was convenient for him? 

But you keep your mouth shut, like you should, if you want to keep eating breakfast in bed, keep wearing silk robes while watching the view of the ocean outside your window.

“So beautiful…you’re like a work of art, the kind no amount of money can buy.” 

That was funny, hilarious even. Enough so to make you cry. 

A familiar face passes by the slightly ajar door to distract you, likely one of the housekeepers leaving for the night. But you swear the man’s figure reminds you of someone from your past, someone you loved and left for good. 

Your husband brings back your attention by placing a gentle kiss to your temple, blindly undoing the clasp of the necklace he bought you.

“I’m so lucky… so lucky to have been the one to catch you, forever. No one could’ve done it, not without what I have.”

He wanted you to kiss and caress back, but sometimes lying still was just enough. It was enough for him to witness you, basking in the glow of everything you wore from him, lying in the Egyptian cotton sheets he paid extra for, your body molded to the diet his personal chefs cooked. 

Even as he pushed a knee between your legs, traveling from your navel to your stomach with open-mouthed sucks and kisses in the rawest form of affection, you couldn’t help but turn your face deep into the pillow. So soft, the soft purple shielding your eyes from his tender gaze.

You might’ve given up love, given up everything familiar and those who you’ve cared for-- but at least you had satin pillows to cry on, and the finest jewelry to wipe your tears with. 

[iid-smile]

inumaki would...

if you were dating them series.

send you the most random screenshots from his games. it can range from those scammy ad games, to fortnite, to animal crossing, and then to gta. when i saw this tweet, i immediately thought of him. he'll be on the minecraft world the two of you play on together, and this is the kind of stuff you get sent when you're not around. sometimes he'd actually send you cute ones, like gifting you the food he made in cooking mama, and he loves making the foods that he knows you like.

replace your phone case with embarrassing ones. this guy has too much time on his hands. when you're out in public and you're not looking, he'd slip something like this or this on and force you to keep it. you'd probably have a whole collection of weird and wacky ones overtime. his personal favourite would be eggplant shaped, and at least two times bigger than the screen of your phone. it doesn't even fit in your pocket??? like, where does he honestly get the money to continuously troll with you like this?

make up a word that specifically means "i love you". two, actually. one is silly, and one would have actual meaning. the silly one would be something you're allergic to, or something that you hate. if it's not that, he'd call you "tomato" so it blends in with the rest of his words somewhat, and it refers to how red your cheeks would get. the one with actual meaning would be something that reminds him of you. it could be anything as well; your favourite flower, where your first date was, etc. one he uses a lot is "pom pom", because you're always cheering and encouraging him whenever he goes on missions. he'll even do a little gesture with his arms to go along with it.

touch foreheads with you all the time. it's his way of subtle affection, or asking for comfort/reassurance. it was easy when he had his first year hairstyle, but when his hair is down, you would move it out the way for him. the one time your hands were full and you couldn't do so, his hair got in his eyes. you felt so bad afterwards that you promised you would drop everything the next time he wanted to do it.

send you full on rants that are paragraphs long. here me out, because inumaki can't communicate in a proper language, imagine how frustrated he would get at the most minuscule yet infuriating situations and he can't (or rather shouldn't) say anything bad. i'm sure his vocabulary definitely isn't the kindest either. the worst one you got was when he stubbed his toe at 3am. he genuinely spent twenty minutes typing out his curses to whatever he hit, swears and all. hell, he's even start typing in a language you didn't even know he could speak (and he probably doesn't. it's most likely insults or just straight gibberish). when he's done, he'd ask you to hop on fortnite. it's 3am and you have classes tomorrow??? if you actually do hop on, he sweats so hard on ten year olds and finds it the funniest thing ever.

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────

[kitkat13001]

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖

>> luka couffaine x reader

>> established relationship, mentions of alcohol, reader is slightly intoxicated, reader and luka are childhood friends, title is from tv girl and jordana’s song “sweet to dream”

“okay, listen. i know for a fact that alix spiked the punch, so maybe it’s that, but also,” you breathe, the words coming so rapidly as you gaze into luka’s eyes. “also, i’m pretty sure you’re my soulmate.”

luka laughs softly, amusement dancing in his deep blue eyes. “is that so?”

you nod probably harder than you should because your head spins and you feel a little dizzy. 

“okay,” luka smiles, his hands warm on your shoulders as he tries to steady you. “you clearly have had too much to drink.”

you giggle, leaning forward to rest against his chest as you look up at him. “can i have a kiss?”

“baby, you are drunk. intoxicated. under the influence.”

“come on,” you whine, “please? just a kiss! i won’ even tell anyone, i promise.”

“oh, just one? you promise?” luka teases. 

“i swear it on my whole heart,” you nod dutifully, words slurring together. 

luka shakes his head and stares lovingly down at you. you try to make your eyes really big and bat your lashes. 

and still, as ridiculous as you must look, luka looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. you’re lost in his gaze as he leans in and you’re almost upset when his eyes flutter closed and you lose the vision of blue. but then his lips are ghosting over yours and your eyes shut too. 

it’s chaste and short and sweet and over before you want it to be. your bottom lip pushes out in a pout and luka just laughs at you again. 

“come on,” he sighs, smile still lingering on his lips as he guides you down the hall. “let’s get you to bed.”

you complain the whole way up but it’s superficial. you’re still floating from the kiss. metaphorically, of course, because your feet catch on every single step on the stairs as you go up to your room. 

“please remind me to never let our friends near the punch ever again,” luka grunts, hoisting you into his arms as you decide that your legs have lost any and all independence. 

you burst into a giggle fit as he heaves you onto the bed, exhaling and blowing a strand of blue hair out of his face, which is flushed from the effort of carrying you up the stairs. 

you try to unlace your shoes but your fingers are wiggling in the funniest of ways and now you’re certain you’re not even touching the laces. luka swiftly undoes them and playfully throws your feet up on the bed. 

“come on, it’s bedtime for you.”

you settle underneath the covers as luka tucks you into them, handing you a stuffed animal like a child. the minute he leans away your heart pauses a beat. “luka?” 

“mm?”

“will you stay?”

“wasn’t planning on leaving, babes,” he chuckles, making himself comfortable on the edge of the bed. one of his hands wanders along the patterns in the blanket, the other reaching to turn of the light. it leaves the room in the dim but warm glow of your salt lamp. 

you hum happily, nestling yourself further into the covers. 

“luka?” you call out softly again. 

again, he hums. “mm?”

“am i your soulmate?”

he chuckles quietly to himself, leaning down to leave a kiss on your forehead. “i’ve known that since i was ten years old, honey.”

his soft and warm voice envelops you and you drift off to sleep with the comforting feeling of him right next to you. 

[adelheidvonschicksal]

JJK crew with Fem Reader that visits their S/O’s home for the first time and meets their S/O’s cute puppy or kitten! If you choose puppy, could you please make it a Golden Retriever? If not, then a kitten’s small meows could pierce your heart!

Yuuji + Puppy

Itadori adores animals especially dogs. He’d always pet the neighbor’s dog to and from school before coming to Jujutsu Tech. He wanted a dog himself; but between his granddad’s bad-temperedness and their financial situation, it was out of the question.

When you finally tell him you have a puppy, he absolutely can’t wait to see it. He also figures you won’t be mean like Megumi either and get mad at him for petting the puppy for a few minutes…or an hour.

Watching him coo over the pup and play fetch, it’s almost like having equally excitable puppies. It takes a gentle reminder to get him serious about the real reason you’re here to visit, which is to meet your parents.

He immediately straightens up but ends up cracking for one more pet. How can he resist when those big brown eyes are watching him and his bright golden tail is thumping happily against the floor.

Megumi + Kitten

Megumi constantly repeats to you how he isn’t really a cat person despite being a fan of animals in general and despite you teasing him about how he apparently “behaves like a cat”. Nonetheless, you reassure him that your cat will definitely be his type.

He listens as you go on about your sweet fluffball of a kitten. You tell him you’ve been taking care of her since you found her as a fresh baby almost four weeks ago. She’s a pure white powder puff with big blue eyes and the most adorable meow that will melt his grumpy heart. Megumi doubts it but not for long when he finally meets your kitten.

She’s too precious, old enough to get around on her own and hold her tail up but still young enough to waddle everywhere, tiny legs hindered by a warm water balloon of a belly, causing her to occasionally take tiny stumbles toward him as she meowed for human attention and pets.

Megumi doesn’t think he’s ever met a cat this friendly, or one that fits and cradles so perfectly in his open hands. You’re trying your hardest to resist the urge to tease him as he offers to help you feed the kitten her bottle.

What you can’t resist is sending a picture in the group chat of Megumi and you kitten snuggled up asleep on the couch together with the caption: ebony and ivory.

 Gojo + Puppy

This man gets so excited around animals. Like Itadori, he wasn’t really allowed to have many pets growing up aside from some koi fish in the pond at the estate, which while pretty could get boring.

At first, your puppy doesn’t really like him. A tall, loud guy like him easily sends the puppy into a barking frenzy between angry and terrified. You’re sure Gojo was offended the first time the puppy rejected him, a huffy pout on his face as the dog avoided him.

He becomes a bit more playful once he accepts that the puppy probably won’t warm up to him, always teasing the pup whenever he snaps tiny teeth at him. “Oho, you think you can take on the strongest?” he remarks and goes in for the pet.

Sometimes you wonder if Gojo might actually dislike the puppy when the two get into competition for your attention, but he shrugs it off. “At least I don’t have to worry about you living alone,” he reassures you with a trademark laugh. “Hell, he’s almost as tough as Megumi’s dogs, you should let me take him out in the field.”

After that, you come to realize that Satoru might actually enjoy getting chased around by your puppy, and it isn’t long until you accept that this is how they seem to bond especially as your puppy gets older and starts to become more familiar with Satoru to the point that you think in a strange way that he likes the man more than you.

It especially becomes clear when Satoru spends the night and your big dog – no longer a puppy – decides to sleep in bed right at his feet, making you pout.

When he sticks his tongue out at you and calls you jealous, you decide that his shoulder looks really slap-able.   

Choso + Kitten

Choso is staring at your kitty with the biggest eyes you’ve ever seen on the man. You hold the sweet little gray and white tabby closer to his face, a smile a mile wide as you introduce your family member, expecting for him to return your excitement. Instead he asks, “What is it?”

“It’s a kitten,” you tell him, and he scrunches his face at the little feline with deeper interest.

It dawns on you that this may be the first time he’s ever seen one of the creatures, and you decide that he needs a crash course on pets. You quickly explain to him about cats and why people like animal companions in general. However, it isn’t until your cat reaches out, places the first little paw on Choso’s cheek, and mewls that it really sinks in to him. Smiling approvingly at the action, he takes the kitten from you.

He sits on the couch with your pet, scratching behind her ears and gently squishing her cute little pink paw pads while you head to the kitchen to make drinks. Just when you’re almost done, you hear a call of your name from the other room. You quickly come back to check on the two and notice him looking worried and plain STRESSED, like he did something wrong.

“She made a noise at me,” he explains.

“What kind of noise?”

You step closer and carefully pat the kitten’s head. She immediately stretches out and starts to vibrate and grumble with content.

“That noise.”

Chuckling, you explain. “She’s purring. It means she likes you a lot!”

“I see,” he says, relaxing with your explanation. His smile returns as he gently returns to stroking the kitten’s head with an affection you’ve only seen saved for yourself and his brother. “Purring would be too much for me to do but I like you a lot too.”

[24hrsoda]

BAT AU FAQ (?)

i get a bit of the same questions so i’m gonna try to post some kind of list of answers and hopefully this clears stuff up

is jason a vulture or a turkey?

jason is a vulture. often times in media vultures are depicted as grumpy guys with bright red heads and it reminded me of red hood.

what kind of bird is Dick?

dick is a raven! most people seemed to guess correctly which is nice

what kind of bats are bruce, cass, and damian?

i actually don’t know lol. i just drew a few cute shapes and stuck some ears on them! if you know more about bats than i do (i know next to nothing) feel free to imagine whatever you’d like! there’s no right or wrong answer :)

what is alfred?

alfred is a human! i see him as some kind of caretaker to bruce and his babies! like the old lady from the aristocats

where is duke/steph/babs/other character?

i’m not sure if i should include everyone or what they’d be…

i’d still say i’m fairly new to comics (longer under the cut)

i’ve only been in to dc for about 2 years and have only read the current batman run as far back as the joker war! most of my reading is from anecdotal mini runs, or just seeking out my favorite characters and hopping around from different runs to skim a book or two, and reading what i can find in spanish in physical form.

my knowledge of some of these characters and their personality is limited to none (still learning.) they may not be included in some aus art or writings i make because i don’t know enough about them to know their personalities or what i think “fits” yet

mostly because DC fans have been pretty unforgiving when it comes to batman’s extended universe 😅 asking about their relations to bruce have given answers like “go read a comic” (which is fair) to more harsher things, being called stupid, racist, misogynistic, the r-slur, etc and accused “erasing” character history/family by asking if they are bruce’s family or kids . if i explain i don’t have that knowledge, i’ve even been told i just shouldn’t talk about them if i don’t know anything about them.

i’m sorry if your favorite character doenst get drawn, or is drawn as an animal you don’t like. you are welcome to say what you think they’d be or make your own drawings, i’d be happy to see it! i just don’t have the energy for people to fight with me or each other about what they think is right or wrong. i do this all for fun in what little free time i have 😭

[your-ne1ghbor]

Asha's Animal Side Kick

Now presenting...

the one...

the only...

BONSAI !!!!!!!!!

It was either between a possum, ferret, or a great eared nightjar/type of bird, but either way, I had to go with the possum.

I liked the light brown possum a lot personally since I thought it was really cute yk??

It was also based off of this possum:

OKOK, you may be wondering why I changed Valentino, or Bonsai into a possum.

There are 2 reasons:

Numero Uno:

VALENTINO IS FUCKING UGLY

I think my friend @sewerpalette said it best here:

Nothing can convince me otherwise. His design is just SO ugly to look at. It is not pleasing.

And it doesn't help that I wanna punch his stupid fucking face like it is so punch-able

OKAY SURE, the concept versions of Valentino is cute...but ever but I didn't like how I drew goats in my style. It could be just that I'm not good at drawing them, but I also didn't like my color pallet I did for him, which was a lot like what Bonsai has color pallet wise, and it fitted Bonsai more than Valentino.

Numero Dos:

ESMERALDA HAS A GOAT SIDE KICK.

OR BETTER YET, WE HAVE ALREADY SEEN IT.

It is basically a repeat of what we have already seen, which I didn't like.

Just because you aged down a goat does not make it ORIGINAL.

Its okay to have Asha have a pet goat in the other rewrites though I don't MIND AT ALL. ITS YOUR AU U DO WHAT EVER, IM JUST MAINLY TALKING ABOUT MY ICK WITH THE MAIN FILM. IT JUST REMINDS ME OF SOMETHING ELSE.

What I'm trying to say is that Valentino feels like a refrence to Huntch Back of Notre Dom, which this movie has a thing with adding stuck out refrences instead of making it subtle. I mean I know it was a 100 year aniversary, just make it more subtle though so people can rewatch it and find refrences they didn't notice first time watching.

Anyways....

Some fun Facts about Bonsai:

Bonsai is actually a little dwarf, and the runt of his family. Asha adopted him when she found out Amaya told Charo (Charo is a lynx btw) to get rid of them all since she thought they were rats (even though they are fucking HUGE) (PLUS IT IS TO EMPATHESE ON THE FACT THAT THEY ARE MISTAKEN FOR RODENTS WHEN THEY AREN'T, THEY ARE APART OF THE MARSUPIALS FAMILY AND THEY GET RID OF RODENTS/EAT THEM)😭

(I might actually make him slightly bigger than how I drew Bonsai, but who knows yk?)

So Asha took the responsibility of taking care of the little Possum, since she didn't want the possum to grow up alone, and so that she can have some company.

IT TOOK A LONG WHILE for Bonsai to warm up and trust Asha, but in the end, he saw her good nature and swore to protect Asha like how Asha protected him from getting eaten from Charo. Which is why he dislikes Star Boy A LOT (mainly because he doesn't trust how this creature can literally transform into anything and doesn't want him to end up being something like Charo 😭)

He is just a little guy that wants to make sure his friend doesn't get hurt by a celestial force.

This is basically how I imagine how they both would meet:

(Just wait till he finds out Asha likes him. He is going to be so judgemental)

To get this part out of the way, if I end up having Bonsai speak, it would sound like a child, since I DREADED when the goat started...TALKING LIKE A GROWN ASS MAN LIKE NO PLEASE NO. And it would be more adorable yk?? :3

Lastly, here is the first doodle I did of him.

(JUST IMAGINE HIM TALKING LIKE A CRAZY 7 YEAR OLD LIKE THAT WOULD BE SO FUNNY)

@oh-shtars @annymation @signed-sapphire @chillwildwave @spectator-zee @uva124 @rascalentertainments @tumblingdownthefoxden

I might also go with a different color pallet for Bonsai but idk yet

[satureja13]

Vlad's Therapy Game - Part 4

Good news: Both, Bunny and Vlad survived the night! (And of course Diablo too :)

Vlad slept like the dead (that he actually is) even though he only had a quarter of an inch hay between him and the hard, cold soil. After he woke up, he felt like he'd been hit by a tractor - twice. He moaned and crawled up like an old man. Apparently Diablo woke him.

Diablo: 'Omg, get up already! Finish your job and let's leave this foul place! They devour me with their eyes!' Vlad, barely awake and full of aches: "Sure, pal. Let's get this over with. Keep your distance to the village until I finish work."

Diablo: 'You betcha.'

Vlad shuffled over to the sculptor's shop. From what he sees, he is a master of his craft and he has no idea why no one wanted to work for him. Well, he'll soon find out. Not that he cared much. This is just a game and he dealt with harder tasks. He'd even been to hell and back. So one day working here won't kill him. It's for Ji Ho and Saiwa - and his best friend Jack after all. There was music playing in the shop, so the sculptor is already there too, despite the early hour.

'Enjoy what'chas got, not what you have not 'tis a weak heart lamenting with sorrow When the days seem cursed, it could always be worse Fight depression with sword and arrow'

The Sculptor: "Good Morning! You're early, that's great. Take off your shirt and let's start right away. The queen is eagerly waiting for her statue!"

'When the zeppelinous clouds of trouble abound And thunder is clapping and lightning strikes ground Just when yer thinking this may be your last Throw a lash 'round the mast, hold fast!'

Eh - take off his shirt? He knows this voice. It belongs to the very person who always demands him to take off his shirt!

'When the world ain't right, and it smithes ye with strife Ye can now buckle down, it's a test they call life Very soon you will see what kind of animal you'd be Taking the bite outta life'

Leander! Vlad's nemesis! The very man who never fails to make him lose his composure! The red-haired devil who wanted to marry him. Yeah - he only cursed Vlad and dragged him down to his hell to protect him - but that does not mean he'll ever forgive him that he touched Ji Ho and almost drowned him! (Which actually wasn't Leander's fault either...)

'When they're testing the gallows, yer hung like a dog Or they're marching us out to a firing squad We just smile and recall all the good times we had It's the best 'til tomorrow It's the best day 'til tomorrow'

But of course NPC Leander did not recognize him. Because this is just a game. A stupid game! He'll have a word with Tiny Can when he's back, that's for sure... Leander: "Ah the gods sent you! You're beautiful - the Queen will be pleased! Sit over there."

'No considering surrender when yer down in the dregs If ye look down and notice you still have your legs So stand up and fight you just might seize the day It's the best day 'til tomorrow'

The Real McKenzies - Best Day until Tomorrow If you happen to like punk: this song is really good! I just found it by chance and it fits so well!

And so Vlad took off his shirt (and his pride) for Leander - again... He grit his teeth and tried not to freak out and kill this annoyingly oblivious NPC. And he reminded himself over and over again that this is just a game. And for whom he does this. Ji Ho. Jack. Saiwa. Just. A. Game.

(It seems like NPC Leander ist just as full of himself and annoying as real Leander and therefore the village folks avoids him ^^')

From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest 🕹️ 'Therapy Game' from the beginning ▶️ here 📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28

[starman-jpg]

You Gotta Let It Out Soon

slight tw: verbal abuse and attempted assault. Overall, it's just Steve's dad being a terrible father.

Please be kind to yourself if you choose to read this.

Title from "Daddy Issues" by the Neighborhood (Seemed fitting)

Steve was late.

Dustin is going to give him so much shit.

He didn’t mean to take a nap, honest.

He had to lay down because he felt a headache coming on, and he really didn’t want to deal with it.

Were his eyes closed? Yes.

Did he feel himself nodding off? Well… yeah.

But that’s not the point! He didn’t mean to.

He rushes down the stairs, his keys in his mouth as he awkwardly hops on one foot getting on one shoe before doing the same with the other one. It wasn’t until he looked up that he found he was being watched.

He stands up straight, taking his keys and shoving them in his pocket, keeping a tight grip on them.

“Dad…”

“Steven.”

“W-what are — When did-”

“For God’s sake Steven, stop being an idiot and finish your sentence.” His dad was already done with him.

“What are you doing here?” That’s a safe question.

“It’s my house, Steven. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

Steve shrugs, “You haven’t been here for months. Haven’t seen you since February, it's November now. ”

His dad scoffs, rolling his eyes, “I’m a very-”

“Very busy man, yeah.” Steve finishes that same lame excuse his dad gives him every time, “You mentioned that once or twice.”

“Don’t talk back to me Steven.” His voice went stern, “You have the nerve to act out when the house isn’t even cleaned and the fridge is empty. How are you living Steve, like a goddamn barn animal?” His dad may have a point, the house could use some cleaning, and he definitely needed to go to the store, but honestly, he wasn’t expecting him to be home.

“My bad, I’ve been busy.”

“Do not make excuses Steven-”

“I’m not making excuses!” He talks over his dad, “I work 10-hour shifts and when I’m not working, I’m helping some of the kids I look after.”

“Like a babysitter?” The tone of his dad’s voice is condescending.

“Yeah, like a babysitter, sure.”

“You’re a grown man, Steven. You can’t even take care of yourself.”

“Well, I did though, didn’t I?” Steve crosses his arms, shrugging, “You and Mom weren’t around. Took good care of myself then.”

“Your Mother and I were around enough.”

Steve can’t help but laugh, “Seriously? You’re serious right now?”

“Stop laughing Steven! We are your parents. We raised you to be better.”

Now that caught his attention. “You raised me? Seriously?”

“Of course we did. We gave you a roof over your head and kept you fed-” His dad kept listing things, but Steve just heard white noise.

“You didn’t raise me.” Steve mutters, keeping his eyes down. His father stopped, clearly hearing him.

“Say that again?” He was clearly taunting Steve, and Steve fell for it.

“You didn’t raise me.”

“Steven Richard Harrington, do not talk to your father like that.” Steve cringes at his full name. Especially his middle name. A reminder he’ll always be connected to his father, even without his last name.

“I did though you left when-”

“I did not ‘leave’ Steven. I had work to do, and it was important.” “More important than your son?”

“You were old enough to take care of yourself.”

“I was NINE!” He screams, a tear falling down his cheek as he points his finger at his father, “You left me to fend for myself when I was nine!”  

“Oh boo-hoo, grow up Steven-”

“I have!” He screams again, finally letting out all his pent-up anger, “And you would have noticed if you were around. But you weren’t.”

He gets into his father’s face, “While you were off screwing every woman you laid eyes on and mom was drowning her sorrows at the hotel bar about her pathetic excuse of a husband, I was here. Growing up. I taught myself how to use the stove and how to buy groceries. I taught myself how to fix things around the house. I even taught myself how to drive. You did none of that.”

“I have paid for this life you are living. This house! That car! Those tutors, even though they were useless.” His dad runs a frustrated hand through his hair. It physically makes Steve ill. “God, I raised an insolent, unappreciative son.”

“You didn’t fucking raise me!” He yells, his throat already getting raw from the explosion of emotions.

His father stopped, staring daggers at Steve.

He senses it before it happens. He sees the anger on his father’s face and just knows. As his father’s hand flies up to slap him, he catches it. His nails digging into his father’s wrist, his knuckles turning white. The shock on his father’s face makes him smile.

He leans in close, taunting him, “You can’t fucking hurt me, I have fought worse things than you, and I have always won.”

Steve knows he has to look crazy, he can see it in his dad’s eyes. He’s scared of Steve. Good.

He shoves his father’s arm down to his side and walks by, heading up the stairs. He’s done and he means it. He grabs his duffle bag and shoves a bunch of his clothes and toiletries into it. He grabs his unused backpack and takes down all the pictures everyone hung up, carefully putting them in his bag. He grabs some other miscellaneous items that mean the world to him: like the rock Eddie gave him because it was pretty, the walkie Dustin gave him so he would always know everyone was safe, the little notes Robin would write on post-it notes and slap onto his wall. He took all of it.

With his backpack on and his duffle thrown over his shoulder he grabs his keys from his pocket and goes back downstairs. He sees that his father moved to the living room, so he tries to sneak out quietly.

Of course the Gods didn’t think he deserved a break.

“Where do you think you are going, Steven.”

Steve’s shoulders drop, and he turns to his dad.

“I’m leaving.”

“If you leave this house, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” He challenges. “No, seriously. What will you do?”

His dad looks him straight in the eyes, “I’ll sell this house, and you’ll be on the street. Your mother and I will never come back to Hawkins.”

“Good fucking riddance.”

Steve opens the door and walks out, he knows his dad is yelling at him. Probably calling him all sorts of names, but he was done.

He throws his bags into the passenger seat, gets in his Beemer and drives off. His shoulders relax as he watches the Harrington house get small in his rearview mirror.

---

Steve didn’t have a plan when he left. Just knew he had to leave.

He continued to drive aimlessly around Hawkins before pulling into a familiar trailer park. He parks next to the van and gets out, jumping the stairs and knocking, rather impatiently, at the door.

He hears Eddie mumbling to himself, most likely annoyed he had to get out of bed, before the door swings open.

“Stevie!” Eddie’s once annoyed face instantly lit up, but slowly it fell, “What happened?”

“Huh?” Steve can feel the lump in his throat, and he feels the tears on his cheeks. Shit, how long had he been crying. “Shit.” He furiously wipes away his tears.

Eddie ushers him inside and moves him to the couch. He envelops Steve in his arms, letting him rest his head on his chest, hearing the rhythmic beating of his heart.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Eddie coos.

Steve cries again as he explains what went down with his dad. Eddie comforts him the whole time, letting Steve take his time. When he was done, Eddie was furious.

“He kicked you out!” He softly yells.

“Technically no, I left.”

“But he just allowed you! And he almost hit you!”

“But he didn’t. I just was… overreacting or something.” He shrugs it off, but he knows Eddie won’t.

“Stevie, look at me.” Steve does what he is told and was a little shocked as Eddie gently took his face in his hands. “No parent should ever, ever hit you or even attempt to hit you.”

Steve slowly nods, “Yeah, but-”

“No buts. Steve, you can’t keep sticking up for your dad. He’s an asshole. You know it. I know it. Most of fucking Hawkins knows it. Why do you still protect him?”

“He’s my dad, Eds.” He says like that's an explanation. And it is, in some ways, but not the way Eddie is looking for. “We had good times, before the bad. Before he left. And I know he’s capable of that good. He has to be.” He feels himself choking up again, “He was a good dad.”

Eddie pulls him into his chest, letting Steve cry it out.

Steve sometimes forgets that there was good within his dad. That he actually had good memories with him. But that was before the Harrington business picked up.

His dad would take him to play catch in the yard. And shoot hoops with him. As a family they would go on drives and on picnics. They’d watch movies and listen to music and dance around. When Steve had a nightmare his dad would come in and read him stories as he fell asleep. They would get up early and make breakfast for his mom in bed on Mother’s Day, softly laughing as they brought up waffles and coffee for her. There was a time his dad would go to his little league games and cheer him on as loud as possible.

But then his business picked up, and it was like all those good times disappeared.

“Stevie, I’m sorry. I know he’s your dad-”

“You’re right though,” He croaks, “He’s a terrible father now. He’s a completely different man now than he was then. It’s- it’s just… hard to let go.”

Eddie nods, running his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I know, baby. I know.”

They stay on the couch, Eddie comforting him until Wayne gets home. Eddie briefly explains what happened with Steve’s dad.

“You stay here as long as you need to, boy. You got that? This is your home now. And you're safe here.”

Steve nods, another round of tears falling down his face as Wayne hugs him tightly.

Steve slowly puts his stuff around the trailer, not too much though. Just hangs his clothes with Eddie’s and puts his toothbrush in the holder.

He finally feels like he’s in a home.

And when he and Eddie drive past the Harrington house and see a “For Sale” sign in front, it feels like weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

[spaceprincessem]

you and i'll be safe and sound | 50k buddie fic | ao3 link

[or the buddie hunger games au]

“That was very brave,” Josh says and Eddie is startled by how genuine he sounds. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie Diaz.” He hears himself say, his voice carrying over the hushed and horrified crowd.

“Well, Eddie,” Josh says, “was that your brother?”

“Nephew.” Eddie manages.

“How sweet,” Josh squeezes his shoulder and Eddie feels like he wants to crawl out of his fucking skin, “how about we give Eddie a nice big round of applause?”

Eddie watches as the crowd all kiss their three middle fingers before raising them to the sky. An old and rarely used gesture of their district, occasionally seen at funerals. 

It means thanks, it means admiration, it means goodbye to someone you love. Eddie can’t stop the lone tear from falling out of the corner of his eye. 

Everything slips out of focus as Josh moves to call out another name. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool. Another name. Another person Eddie is either going to have to out live or kill in order to survive. 

Eddie’s hunted animals before, but he knows that doesn’t compare to this. To taking another life in front of the entire country as a pawn in a game he doesn’t want to play. He thinks it’s a miracle he doesn’t vomit on stage.

“Our second tribute from District Twelve is Evan Buckley.”

Eddie’s eyes snap up and he’s pretty fucking sure his heart stops beating all together. If he lets his eyes flutter close he can feel the patter of rain, harsh and ice cold, against his skin. The way the air saturates with the smell of burnt bread.

He can see the shape of a boy thrown out into the mud, hands cradling something precious in his hand. The way that bundle was placed in Eddie’s own, shaking palms as a voice whispered, I’m so sorry I can’t do more before he was gone. 

But Eddie doesn’t let his eyes close. He watches as Evan Buckley — Buck, please just call me Buck — ascends the stairs to take his place next to Eddie. 

Not you. Please. Anyone, but you.

Eddie is struck by how much Buck’s eyes remind him of Christopher. So wide and blue and beautiful. Eddie wants to scream. He wants to tear every building apart, brick by fucking brick, with his bare hands. He wants to burn down the Capitol. He wants to cry. He selfishly wants the person standing across from him to be anyone, anyone, except Buck or Christopher. 

No, Eddie thinks as Josh tells them to shake hands, the odds are not in my favor today.

Buck’s hand is soft and warm and fits perfectly in Eddie’s. Buck looks at him with such devastation Eddie isn’t sure how they haven’t both shattered into little, tiny pieces. Because there are two things Eddie knows for certain now that he and Buck are in this together.

He will have to kill Buck to get back home.

Or Buck will have to kill him. 

And that, Eddie thinks, will break him for good. 

read the rest on ao3

tagging everyone that showed interest @alyxmastershipper @shortsighted-owl @ebdaydreamer @spotsandsocks @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @heartbeatdiaz @elvensorceress @colonoscopys @buddierights @cowboy-buddie @prince-buck-diaz @slowlyfoggydestiny @loveyourownsmiilee @thebestbooksaround @too-precious-for-this-worldd @tails89 @thekristen999 @wildlife4life

[bloodycyrano]

Gifts I think the DAO companions would appreciate, outside of giftable in game items! (Pt1, I think this will be a long post if not sectioned)

Sten-

Incense and expensive tea, possibly imported. He talks about how he hates the smell of Ferelden, and misses home; Tea and incense being the most notable scents that stick out to him.

Cookies, or a good recipe for cookies. Everyone in the Fandom has had the dialog where Sten reveals that he enjoys cookies, and that in his homeland, there is no such thing. I think he would greatly enjoy a recipe to be able to bring such a thing back with him- Even if he may not be able to make them himself at home. My memory is fuzzy on qunari custom, but I don't think he'd be particularly allowed to bake.

A wardog of his own- I don't think he'd be permitted to keep it, upon return to the qun. But he has immense respect for Barkspawn, and I think if he were here in 2024, he'd be a great dog dad. I think he'd probably give it to his closest companion upon his return, but he would keep a detailed sketch of it with him always. He'd probably give it a specific title in his native tongue.

This is sort of a separate headcannon, but I think in a modern AU, he'd really like pumpkin spice lattes.- It's always the ones you would never expect.

Shayle-

Obviously, we know they like crystals. They like being pretty, and *sparkling*. So it's not too farfetched to assume they would appreciate gold ore or other shining metals fitted to some of their stone bits- Sort of like.. Magically grafted on with heat? Morrigan could weld them, or I'm sure Sandal could potentially do it.

I think, while they couldn't really read themselves, I think if you brought them books and such, they would enjoy hearing you read it to them. Especially if you manage to find some old records of their own lineage after the orzammar quest line.

I think they would also enjoy being given I big, stone bowl to keep shiny trinkets in- Like a crow, almost. Crystals, cute pebbles, coins, keys, etc. Pretty things for them to look at.

Leliana-

She would love it if you wrote her a poem, regardless of what it was about. I think she'd just be so happy you thought of her and wrote something lovely- I honestly think she'd love it even more if it wasn't the best quality. After all, that would mean you were inspired by her to write something of which you had no prior experience and still tried your best. She'd think it was cute.

I think she'd like it if you gave her one of your own personal favorite books or fables, with little notes on your commentary and theories. She'd love that, honestly.

A ceramic nug. No explanation needed, she loves Nugs. I've got animals I love, too. And if someone gave me a ceramic or plush critter of my choice, I'd be over the moon.

A little on the weird side, I think she'd like a type of porcelain harlequin doll. I can't think of the specific type, but they don't make them the same way anymore.. they're usually from overseas in Germany or Russia or France, you know? The ones that are really glossy and have beautiful line work in the paint? I feel like you found one in the denerim marketplace, imported from Orlais, and it would remind her of another experience she had there or even just of her time as a bard. After all, they weren't *all* unpleasant memories.

Alistair-

A golem doll. Like a little poppet. I don't think it's rare dialogue, but the other day is the first time I noticed it since I first played the game rented from a family video over a decade ago, so.. Yeah. Point is, Alistair mentions in front of "Wonders of Thedas", that Arl Eamon (I think) once bought him a little golem doll as a child, and how he adored it and wondered if there would be one like it at the wonders of thedas.

A griffon figurine. He's a Grey Warden, I think he'd like it. The wardens have always been his real home, and it's truly where he belongs. I think a memento of that is something he'd hold dear.

A book of poems about honoring fallen soldiers. I feel like it may bring him to tears, and perhaps make him confront some extra grief after ostagar, but perhaps it could also bring a sort of comfort. Maybe he isn't the most religious, maybe he has a bit of trauma from the chantry.. But I think he still prays, if only for the ones he's lost.

Again, I think he'd like a war dog. I'll never let him take Barkspawn, but he'd love a pupper of his own. If you gave it to him as a puppy to raise and train all his own, he'd probably be overjoyed.- Off topic, but I headcannon that all companions to the wardens have an extended lifespan, and live and die with their humanoid counterparts if they don't die in battle, kind of like the animal companions do with the avatars in ATLA. Far fetched, and backed by absolutely no real lore as far as I know, but I like to think it's true.

[deadtwinksdetectiveagency]

hey.... can we get edwin trying to teach charles a new spell? you choose the type, dealer's choice

Yes we bloody well can!!! What a wonderful idea!!! Thank you darling!!!

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Ƿiðymbe; or, against a swarm of bees

“So how long have the bees been in the jar?” Crystal asks.

Charles looks up from his seat on the floor. The contents of his backpack—some of them, at least; there is far more in there than would fit on the floor of the office—surround him, arranged in an incomprehensible radial pattern that reminds Edwin of summoning circles.

“Dunno,” Charles says. “They were a bonus from an herbalist we did a job for about ten years ago. The Case of the Skeletal Shadbush, right, Edwin?”

“Quite right.”

Edwin looks back at his notes from their latest case. All things considered, it had been successful, though he’s not fond of cases involving animal ghosts. Particularly now, when Charles’s pleading brown eyes and hopeful smile are more convincing than ever, and Edwin has exactly zero desire for an office pet, dead or alive.

Although… he has gotten used to Crystal.

Mostly.

“You’re telling me those bees are a decade old?” she says. “And they’re still alive?”

“Well, they’ve been in the bag for nearly all of that,” Charles says. “Pretty sure they’ve only been out for a handful of hours since we got them.”

Crystal snorts. “They ever get out, they’re gonna be real fucking pissed at you.”

“Yeah…”

Charles glumly cradles the jar of bees.

Edwin stands abruptly, his chair scraping on the floor. “Excuse me,” he says, and marches straight through the mirror.

Read the rest on AO3!

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Note: I recently locked all my AO3 fics due to ongoing AI fic scraping. If you need an AO3 invite, I have nine—just send me a message or ask, and I will hook you up if possible!

[bullet-prooflove]

9 Mil. (NSFW) - Alexander 'Tig' Trager x Reader

Tagging: @mortal--soul @yourwinchesterbros @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @nessamc @ritasantosworld @bl4ckt00thgr1n @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @nu1freakshow @oureternalbond

Tig doesn’t do dates, at least he didn’t before he met you. He’s spontaneous, formal settings don’t really suit him, he doesn’t fit in that world, and he doesn’t want to. The last time you spoke you asked for real and standing in the makeshift gun range he’s devised doesn’t get much more real than this. He wants to give you a glimpse into his world, a taste of what you’re in for if you decide to pursue this, because being his old lady comes with caveats. He’s more modern than some of the assholes he runs with, he doesn’t expect you to follow orders, to sit down, shut up and look pretty. He likes a woman with their own mind, someone as untamed and ferocious as he is. He thinks you’ve got that in you, he’s seen a glimpse of it a couple of times.

The night of the party when he’s given you a ride home on the back of his bike, you’d felt just right tucked up against him, body hugging his, he’d popped a stiffy right there on the ride, despite the fact he kept it tame.

When he’d helped you unclip the helmet, he’d seen the wildness in your eyes, the exhilaration. It fucking burned inside of you, bright and vivid, like the most beautiful wildfire he’d ever seen. He’d kissed you then, leather gloved thumb chasing along the line of your jaw tilting your face up to his meet his gaze, his eyes a dangerous torrent of blue that reminded you of the savage sea as his lips descended on yours. An uncontrolled burn swept through your body, setting every single one of your nerves ablaze as you leaned into it, your clothes brushing against the leather of his kutte. You whined as he pulled away, his forehead coming to rest on yours as he cradled your face in his hands.

“You darlin’, are gonna be the death of me.”

The thing about wildfires? They’re deadly, you either survive them or you don’t. Any sane man would be running for the hills right about now, but he doesn’t, instead he walks right into the heart of it because the truth is he’s already in love with you.

And when he sees you with his 9 Mil. in your hand, arms raised, pointing the gun at the porno poster he’s taped to the side of the abandoned barn he knows there’s no going back.

He suspects you’ve fired a gun before, that you know the smell of cordite. He can tell from the way you handle the grip, that this isn’t new for you. Your stance though, it’s all over the place and that gets him thinking. Anyone worth their salt would have taught you the best way to handle a firearm is to adopt the correct position.

“Just gonna help you with your stance.” He tells you, holding his palms up so you can see them. “You ok with me putting hands on you?”

You give him a look, one that makes him realise you’ve been thinking about his hands a lot already. He places them on your hips, gently tilting them so that they face head on with the target.

“Isosceles is best, it naturally centres the pistol with your eyeline.” He informs you. “Spread your legs a little more.”

An apricot flush creeps up you cheeks and he smiles just a little, because yea, you’ve definitely been thinking about him.

“Make sure they’re in line with your shoulders, it gives you a little more balance when it comes to the recoil.” You adjust your position accordingly and he steps back to review your stance, before clapping his hand on your shoulder. “You’re good to go sweetheart.”

There’s no hesitation when you pull the trigger, not the first time and not the second. The rest follow through after that, a string of evenly spaced beats. He watches the holes appear in the glossy poster; a neat cluster close to the centre. It’s not perfect but it doesn’t have to be right now, that’s something the two of you can work on in the future.

“Where’d you learn to shoot?” He asks as you lower the Glock towards the ground underneath your feet.

He picks up the change in body language, the way you’re shoulders tense just a little, the rigidity in your muscles. That suspicion he’s had is becoming fully formed, he’s seen it before, he tends to notice shit, it’s part of his job.

“Self-taught.” You say, flicking the safety back on with your thumb.

“You carry a 22?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest as his ass comes to rest against the seat of his bike.

Your head whips at the comment and he shrugs his shoulders.

“It’s light, less recoil, decent accuracy. Usually a good first gun for a woman.” He comments, his gaze coming to rest on the ragged bullet holes marring the poster. It hurts his fucking heart to know that you have a reason to carry. “They tell you it usually takes two rounds to stop your target when they sell it to you?”

“They did not.” You tell him shaking your head.

You won’t look at him, he thinks it’s because you’re scared what he might see if you do. There’s a level of vulnerability when it comes to talking about shit like this. He doesn’t want to push you too hard but he needs to know the basics, he needs to know how much trouble you’re in, if any. He has to protect the club, despite his feelings.

“But you know that anyway, don’t you?”

You sigh, thumb running over the grip of the weapon as you hold it between your hands. Your gaze raises to meet his. There’s resolution in your eyes, no remorse or regret.

“It took three.” You tell him quietly, patting your chest with a palm. “Three to stop him, one to finish the job.”

He recognises that darkness he sees in you now, the undercurrent that’s been stirring under the surface, the thing that’s drawing him in. There’s a practicality in the way you speak, a dissociation. It comes with trauma, from facing the worst thing you’ve ever had to experience and owning it. He doesn’t ask what the other man did to you, he senses you’re not ready to divulge that detail yet. He knows though, of course he knows, men have been using sexual assault as a weapon against women since the earth started turning.

“Take the 9 Mil.” He says, his voice rough as his palm rubs over the back of his neck because fuck you aren’t the only one that’s endured it. He’d come back to town after he was discharged from the Marines and unloaded an entire magazine into his father for what he’d done to him as a child. The old man was still rotting in an unmarked grave somewhere outside of Charming. “It has a better chance of taking someone down in one shot.”

“Tig…” You begin, reaching out to hand the Glock back to him.

“Humour me.” He tells you, his hands enclosing over yours and wrapping your fingers even tighter around the grip.  “It’s yours.”

“You know most men like to say it with flowers.” You tease, leaning in a little closer until your mouth covers his. It’s a light kiss, a sweet, tender brush of the lips. He isn’t sure how something so soft can be so sensual but it is. His heart thuds against his ribcage as he looks down at you with reverence.

“It’s a good thing I’m not most men.”

**************************************************************

The evening ends with the two of you lying on Tig’s bedroll, staring up at the sky. It’s clear tonight, you can see the stars burning like pinpricks in the darkness. The breeze is light, it rustles the grass around you in the empty field as Tig’s thumb chases along the curve of your jaw. His lips follow suit, causing searing heat to blossom through your synapses as his beard grazes your skin. Your fingers thread in his hair, his tongue flicking over the scar just underneath your collarbone, tracing over the raised flesh.

His fingertips are deft and slow as he undoes each of the buttons on your shirt. He unwraps you like a gift, gracing your flesh with a thousand blistering kisses as he lays the fabric open in front of him.

You’re stunning, he thinks, a beauteous work of art that fits perfectly in his hands.

“Been a long time hasn’t it sweetheart?” he whispers against your skin. “Since you’ve let anyone touch you like this. How long? You can tell me.”

“Three years.” You breathe into the night; it comes out like an exhale as you arch upwards against his mouth.

“Such a long time.” He tuts, the stubble of his cheeks rubbing across the swell of your breast as his teeth catch on the white cotton of your bra. “I’m gonna be so good to you baby, gonna give you everything you need.”

His tempestuous blue eyes focus on yours as his tongue traces over the shape of your nipple through the fabric before he sucks it into his mouth. A ragged gasp tears from your throat, hips bucking against his chest.

“Fuck you feel so good.” He mumbles into the dip of your breasts before he lavishes the same attention on your other nipple. “I could spend all night, just on these perfect tits.”  

Fuck he wants to, he wants to spend the next eight hours out here underneath the stars, making love to you on his bedroll. He wants to give you all the pleasure you can take, to hear his name rolling off your lips as he brings you to the brink and holds you there, watching your expression as you come over and over and over again on his cock. He wasn’t lying when he said it would be beautiful, that he’d give you everything you need.

His lips chase lower, his palms coming to rest upon your waist as his thumbs ghosting over the line of your jeans. He unzips the fly slowly, drawing it out before he guides the denim down your hips, leaving you clad in white cotton panties that make his breath hitch in his throat. He can see how wet you are already, the material clinging to your clit. He closes his eyes as he presses his face between your thighs, inhaling the heady scent of your arousal.

“Fuck.” He mutters, his heated breath ghosting over your clit before he presses his tongue against you. That noise you make, Christ, it’s almost enough to tip him over the edge. His fingertips grasp cotton of your panties drawing it taut against your clit before he sucks that sensitive little nub, tongue lapping over it as he draws it into his mouth. He presses his thumb against that needy entrance, tracing over it firmly, exerting just the slightest bit of pressure.

You lose your fucking mind.

Your fingers grip his curls, tugging at the roots as you come. His name emits from your throat like a God damn prayer as you practically scream it into the stars above. He doesn’t stop until he hears your breath even out, until you’re whimpering because you’re too fucked out to take anymore. He peppers your thighs with kisses, taking his time to explore more of you with his mouth in the aftermath. He worships you with gentle caresses, the delicate sweep of his fingertips as he traces over your flesh.

“Fuck Tig…” You mumble as his balmy his lips brush over that deviant spot, the one just underneath the hinge of your jaw.

“Not tonight sweetheart.” He whispers, his thumb smoothing over the blush of your cheek as he looks deep into those beautiful eyes of yours. “Tonight is all about you.”

Love Tig? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[rattledazzlebones]

Everyone is Here Except for Me (Logan Character Study)

Sometimes Logan thought about how old he must be. He had only a smattering of memories before the last thirty years, glimpses of blood and gunfire and the smell of death. He thought about how those glimpses weren’t all that different from the cemented memories he’s managed to hold tight to his chest, selfish and unrelenting.

Despite having only thirty years fresh in his mind, he felt much, much older. Sometimes, in his nightmares, there’d be a flash of angry German voices, the sound of mortars too close. He always woke up anxious and confused, because obviously he had been in a war, but which one? The fact that he didn’t know made him angry; made him cagey and mean to everyone around him the whole day after.

He was old. There was no question about it, despite the lack of wrinkles or gray hairs. He knew, even without the blur of faint memories. Sometimes, the weight of his body was exhausting. The adamantium making him feel sluggish and tired. Sometimes, he tried to pretend it was the metal on his bones preventing him from getting out of bed. Sometimes, he had to admit to himself that it was the weight of his years, pressing him deep into his mattress. He had an irrational thought that there was a Logan-sized shape in the bedsprings, keeping him there and molding itself to him. But then he’d get up, and the mattress would fill back in like he was never there, adamantium skeleton unimportant.

The stinging pain each time he snapped out his claws served as a reminder of what he was. Not who, because a beaten down animal such as him had no use for any sort of concrete identity. Not anymore. Who would it serve?

There were days he considered his amnesia a blessing, because the adamantium-coated weight of thirty years was already nearly too much. But then there would be mornings where he’d bolt upright, gasping for breath and claws held out defensively. Half the time, he didn’t even know what he’d dreamt about. Days like those he wished he had all his memories, just so he could put a face to what made him unable to breathe. To remember why he always kept his back to a wall in a restaurant and why when he walked through buildings with too many windows he felt the hair on his arms and the back of his neck rise.

The more recent nightmares were always worse in their clarity. The older ones, the ones he could remember past his adrenaline-fueled wake up, he always felt like a bystander, watching through muddied glass. The newer ones, he was always in his own body, watching through his own eyes, helpless to do anything. It was a cruel twist of fate to make him a bystander in both scenarios.

He’s only known the X-Men for fifteen years. It doesn’t sound like a long time, with a life-span like his. But considering the other fifteen years fresh in his mind were of him driving aimlessly around the Canadian wilderness and occasionally getting into cage fights for beer money, those last fifteen years felt much longer than they had any right to. He hesitated to call them fulfilling, if only because of the sheer amount of tragedy that has followed in those years’ wake, but they certainly were not wasteful. Not like they had been before Rogue decided to hide under an icy tarp in his busted up trailer.

Fifteen years was hardly a speck. Barely a blip on his radar. He had no way of confirming his suspicions, but he had reason to believe he was over a hundred years old. Sometimes there was a glimpse of a blue uniform ruined with blackened blood in his dreams. Those dreams made him question his estimate of a hundred. Made him afraid of thinking it might be closer to two hundred. He inevitably shied away from those intrusive thoughts, already overwhelmed at the idea that he’d lived through two world wars, the possibility of the American Civil War fitting somewhere in there made his stomach lurch.

Hardly a speck, yet so impactful nonetheless. He wasn’t sure who he’d be without the X-Men. Someone far more turned inward, more aggressive outward. No one to care for. No one to lose. When those thoughts began to sound too inviting, he had to remind himself of another aspect, one he was hard-pressed to lose. No one to care for him.

While the number depleted with each year, due to freak accidents, self sacrifice, or anti-mutant movements gaining too much traction, there still remained a tenacious few. Storm, Hank, Rogue. The other kids who he pretended not to like; the same kids who pretended they couldn’t hear him prowl along the hallways in the dead of night, afraid of another attack like Stryker’s.

The hole in his chest caused by Jean’s death never seemed to shrink, no matter the strength of his regenerative abilities. A similar hole in his mind due to Charles was in much the same state. Each day he ached without them. Each day he missed them so much that they only served to pile more weight on top of the impossible one he already had to carry around because of Stryker.

Hell, he even missed Scott. He mourned the fact that Scott never got to see a life beyond Jean’s death. He praised the fact that he never had to see her fall, even if he had died at her hands. Knowing him, he’d have probably said it was his penance. Logan pretended he didn’t understand.

Sometimes, he dreamed about Sabertooth, though he always looked a bit different. More groomed, for one, though the sharp teeth and claws always seemed to be the same. That vicious glint in his eyes, one to rival Logan’s own fire, never seemed to dull. Unlike his, which guttered and flared at the change in winds.

He dreamed through red-tinted blurs that he would stand back-to-back with another sturdy form, fighting through the exhaustion so far that it would push into heady exhilaration. Then he’d turn around, a foreign grin on his face that showed all teeth and he’d see Sabertooth, grinning right back, sharp teeth bared.

The man was a common theme. He’d see him wearing a blood-soaked mud-splattered blue uniform. He’d see him holding a bayoneted Springfield with a gas mask clipped to his service belt. He’d see him running toward Panzers, his roar faint in his ears due to time.

He’d see himself pulling the man off of civilians, barking at him to leave off, a tinge of panic and desperation burning in the pit of his stomach. The hopelessness that was always ever-present.

There was a woman, too, but the memories of her were the fuzziest of all. When he peered too close, he always caught a whiff of betrayal, but none of his vague impressions of her ever felt truly tarnished. He didn’t know what to make of her, but it didn’t really matter, in the end. She was dead. He knew that much, waking up a blank slate on a burning island, the smell of blood so strong in the air he knew it wasn’t just his. The face of the woman dead on the ground matched the caricature of her he’s built, but anything actually important regarding her was lost. He felt like he should be more upset at those memories in particular being gone, but something told him to be grateful.

Japan was a shitshow. Being summoned by a man he couldn’t remember to say goodbye was already hard to swallow, but it wasn’t all that difficult to pull him away from how he’d been living, swallowed by his grief and drowning in it. The flood of memories he got after seeing the man who had summoned him was unexpected, but explained a little of why he was there in the first place.

It was everything after that that fell apart.

Hanging off the side of that building, suspended only by the broken stubs of his claws with needles drilled deep into the marrow, he found himself, suddenly, inexplicably, afraid to die.

He’s spent so long wishing only for a chance to finally find peace he didn’t deserve, that when he was finally given an opportunity, he realized he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready.

He was not ready to die.

Later, in a hotel room the night before he was scheduled to fly back to America, back to the X-Men, he allowed himself to poke at the thought of his fear.

He was not ready to die. He could not die.

The thoughts didn’t feel wholly like his own. They had the faintest residue of something long thought impossible to feel again. It felt familiar in a place left gaping and vacant.

Despite it all. Despite his reservations and his doubts over the veracity of his own mind; the growing weight of his impossible bones; the years of failure; the pain and the suffering and the hell that seems only to follow him, he knew one thing for certain, even if the object was as of yet unclear:

He had work to do.

Here's the link for this on ao3 :)