#cw relationship problems

[redactedkin]

"Are you sick of me? Would you like to be? I'm trying to tell you something . . Something that I already said"

[incognitopolls]

No "depends" or "I'd find a third option."

In this hypothetical, both the stranger and your closest person are in front of you, restrained/incapacitated and unable to fight back. You have absolute certainty that killing this stranger will save your closest person; otherwise, your closest person will die. You do not know the stranger in any capacity (other than that they are an adult), but you have to personally kill them in order to save your closest person– stab, strangle, poison, etc; no indirect methods like "leave them to starve."

–

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[faramirsonofgondor]

i love you season 1 of the flash

[kacievvbbbb]

Look I don’t know what to tell you. Michael is 19 and Lucifer, Gabriel and Raphael are middle aged. Yes he is their older brother, No it doesn’t make sense, Yes those still are the vibes. I don’t know what to tell you the vibes told me themselves…..

AU Michael us 40 tho

(Also Im a adams body didn’t physically age so he still looks 19 truther and a two body truther (sorry) and I like them being the same age)

[qoldenskies]

NEUROTIC FLOOR TURTLE??

That's beautiful anon.

But I love how you made him feel more comfortable sleeping on the hard floor, cuz it does make you feel grounded when you're that damn traumatized. I, too understand the need for neurotic floor time, Donnie...

it's actually something he does because of the laundry room :( it grounds him and it doesnt,,, because its definitely a response to him feeling unsafe. he spent an ambiguous amount of time just laying on the cold hard floor dissociating. in the closet, too. it's a mix of that and the fear that he doesn't "deserve" soft, pleasant things, and him not even wanting to develop attachment because his room was ransacked... it's unfamiliar and sometimes just too much.

he'll go to the laundry room if its really bad, even in the new lair, but otherwise he'll just sleep on the floor of his own... and there's really no way to stop him, but it's one of the biggest reasons they regularly went to stay with him in cw, outside of the night terrors. it wasn't good on his body when he was recovering. he doesn't do it as much but there's a billion little things to overcome in his recovery that just wax and wane depending on his mindset. all they can really do is try to make it comfortable for him.

[what-have-i-unleashed]

dark crink ahead

(cw: unhealthy relationship, manipulation)

so in underverse ink meets cross after timeline x ended, and xtale has been rendered into a white void. i think since ink has fear of emptiness, he wouldn't stay in xtale for too long. instead, in this scenario, he brings cross with him to explore the wonders of the multiverse, teaches cross about the in-and-outs of it, and helps cross to manage his newfound abilities after merging with xchara.

of course, ink is still keeping that promise with his old friend xgaster, but having a new friend wouldn't hurt, right? and ink revels in cross' attention and adoration - he's just so easily enamored with everything the multiverse has to offer. ink can't help getting closer with cross, eventually showing cross his art. cross doesn't understand the importance of this gesture, but he still greatly appreciates it and showers ink's creations with fascination. cross asks ink to teach him how to draw and ink eagerly complies. they just have a great time honestly.

that is, until the honeymoon ends. ink eventually tells cross that he can't help him restore xtale. he's the guardian of creation. he himself cannot create a universe - that is the duty of the creators themselves. hearing this is like the wake-up call to cross. he has forgotten what he has to do all along, his responsibilities. xchara is so vindicated - he knows that nothing about ink can be trusted after all. cross has fallen for the biggest trick in the world. is the time with ink so wonderful that cross is prepared to abandon his empty universe, abandon his friends and family? will he choose ink over them?

... but what if he can have both? he can have ink, and he can find ways to restore his universe? ink wouldn't listen, but cross/xchara can make him listen. they have a power that they haven't experimented on a live being yet - the hack knife. and eventually, ink becomes the first test subject for it. and it's easy, because it's just like a betrayal kill, something that cross is not unfamiliar with, no matter how terrible it makes him feel. but this is for the greater good after all, and ink is too much of a valuable ally (... or something even more) to lose.

and that's how cross and xchara find out about xgaster's plan. imagine how mad they are. but it's fine, really. with ink under their control, they don't have to worry about that old coot anymore. xchara wants vengeance, but cross wants to keep ink. i imagine they don't know about ink's immortality yet, so xchara agrees that ink will be under cross' care. cross is a little bit irate that xchara treats ink like a misbehaved pet, and they argue a lot about it. ink is just so small (he's canonically 3ft8 what), he's vulnerable and cross has to protect him, especially from that damned destroyer who keeps interfering with their plans.

now imagine if cross and xchara meet nightmare and killer. the things killer would comment about how nightmare and cross are so similar with their "pets" and all.

[scarameownya]

wow toxic yaoi

[tear-stained-lenses]

It's always “sorry sorry sorry”. But you never change. Fuck. You piss me off. You don't fucking realize how hard it is to love you when you never fix your mistakes it's always just “I'm sorry”. I fucking said I don't want apologies. Ugh. Fuck this. Fuck you. Fuck everything.

[dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes]

Title: The Repercussions of the Newly Mated (Sequel to “Bite”)

Rated: Explict

Relationship: Alpha James “Logan” Howlett/Omega AFAB Reader

Warning: Explicit Sexual Content, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex (F! Recieving), Feral Reader, Mate Telepathy Goes Wrong, Best Friend Wade Wilson, Soft Logan, Hurt/Comfort (sort of), Angst and Fluff and Smut, Omegaverse Adjacent, Happy Ending, Logan’s Rage

Ao3 Link (please note there were some edits on this version. Also, color font is not an option so the format is slightly different.)

Summary: It's been a month since Logan and you have been mated. You two are still working out the kinks in your relationship and how you two communicate. Oh, and there is Wade too. ;)

A/N: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this. I really enjoyed writing this. Thank you to one of my best friends, Winchesterfields67, for beating my fic too.

Please be aware for those who are not a fan of Poolverine, you might not want to read the end. I'm not sorry. I'm a big fan of Poolverine and a fan of poly ships and poly relationships.

You woke up to Logan’s tongue encircling your clit. You quickly awakened to fingers sliding into your drenched entrance. You gasped and thrusted against his fingers. “Mornin’,” his rough sleep voice teased. You hummed before moaning as his fingers found that delicious spot inside.

Panting, he rapidly pushed you over the edge. Your body tensed, your toes curled, and arched your back as your sleep-filled, hoarse voice moaned. He thrusted in and out, and in and out riding out your orgasm until your channel calmed some. He slowly removed his fingers which made you open your eyes with a pout on your lips. He chuckled, sucking all your juices off his fingers before crawling up your body to box you in with his. “Got one more in ya?”

You huffed and quirked a brow. ”Dude, I just woke up, and as much as I’d love to continue this.” You frowned. “I’m still mad at you about last night.”

He rolled on his back with a heavy sigh. “We talked about this.” You sat up and turned, getting off the bed. “No, you talked at me last night and didn’t listen, let alone address any of my issues I brought up to you. You didn’t even apologize.”

He sat straight up. “I need to apologize. You were the one who had a drink in one hand and let two guys rub up all over you,” he growled. He jumped out of bed and stalked over to the bathroom.

Toothbrush in hand, you began to explain. “First of all, I had my jacket on and covered the majority of my skin—“

“So you planned that?” He accused loudly.

“No!” You turned back to the mirror, turned on the water, and got your toothbrush wet.

“No,” you spoke quietly.

“I did not know what to expect last night so it was a precaution. You invited me out with the X-Men. You ignored me most of the night—“ He huffed incredulously.

“Most of the night you were talking to your X-Men buddies other than us reaching out and needing to connect…to touch. Don’t act like you didn’t know how I felt. We’re mated, Logan.”

He walked out of the bathroom throwing up his hands. You stepped out and looked at him to continue. “You knew I felt lonely and like a third wheel. I even sat and tried talking. It was Kitty who told me you fell out of the fucking jet and she saved you with her phasing. You didn’t even tell me!”

He turned around, tilted his head, and sighed. He softly addressed, “Nothing happened, sweetheart. I didn’t even get hurt—“

“You could have. That’s my point. You don’t talk to me. You just want to fuck and cuddle. I want to understand you. I don’t understand why you have nightmares or what they're about. I want to know your triggers to support you if they happen. I want to know why you have metal on your claws. I want to know how you got the name Wolverine. I want to know about your parents and your childhood. Did you have siblings? What you’ve been doing before the X-Men! I just want to know the person I’m spending the rest of my life with, Logan! Or do I call you James, which I didn’t even know until Ororo was going over paperwork with me? Where did ‘Logan’ come from?!” You realized you were yelling, and yelling never communicated what anyone needed. Your mind suddenly felt strange, alone. “Did you just block me out?!”

He scowled at you.

You put on the jeans you wore yesterday, grabbed your teddy bear Logan had given you that smells like him, and his favorite flannel before walking out of your shared room. You scowled at anyone who looked at you. Walking over to the student dorms, you headed over to Laura’s room. When you knocked and received no answer, you headed over to Yukio's, a level down. You knocked and Yukio’s chipper voice answered. “Come in.”

When you walked in, Ellie looked at you so confused. “Who died?”

You looked at Laura. “Your Dad is a possessive asshole.” She huffed a laugh. “Yeah.”

“He won’t listen to me or even consider my feelings at all.”

“Sounds right for an Alpha male,” Ellie said, chewing her gum while she looked at her phone.

“I’m sorry it’s such a rocky start,” Yukio sympathized.

You look at them as you speak. “You know, I get this is some fated, destiny thing and it’s basically an arranged marriage but you’d think he’d try harder.”

“He is,” informed Laura, quietly.

You looked at her with a quirked brow.

“He blocked me out,” you gritted through your teeth, seethingly.

Laura raised her eyebrows and eyes wide.

Your anger was beginning to increase dramatically. “I hate this. I’m glad my shit is over with those fucking violent urges but what the hell am I supposed to do with an alpha who just wants to—“ You growled suddenly. Eyes changed to amber, tore the teddy bear in half, and changed into your wolf, shredding the clothes you were wearing. You ran out of the room and down the stairs. Your wolf-self grumbled out the front door of the dorm before running toward the woods.

You ran and ran and ran until you were out of breath. The anger in you was turning to red-hot rage and you didn’t understand. Your wolf and human sides were battling. The loss of control makes you shift back to your human form, naked and boiling rage in your veins. Your fangs lengthened and nails grew as you clawed into the closest tree trying to expend this rage within you.

Meanwhile, Laura was nearly at your room when Logan turned a corner. She stopped and held out the pile you left in Yukio’s room. He frowned and grew angry at the ripped teddy bear.

“You have to talk to her, Logan. She feels everything you do, and right now, she suddenly raged,” Laura explained, frowning.

“Shit,” he quietly exclaimed. “Would you see—“ he began holding the teddy bear out to her.

“Si. Vámonos.” She smiled and headed back to the student’s dorms. He paused right before the stairs and went back to your room to grab sweatpants and a shirt, seeing you shred your clothes.

Once outside, Logan followed your scent, easily tracking you. When he found you, he opened his mind back to you, only to be onslaught by your inner turmoil. You appeared human, naked with bloody hands, tears rolling down your freckled cheeks, flecks of small cuts scattered on your skin, growling, shredding a tree to bits, before you pushed at it.

In your mind, your wolf was in control and wholly confused. It lashed out at everything nearby, including him. A headache began to form that he ignored. You were most important right now.

As the tree fell, he didn’t realize how strong you were. The loud thud he felt and crashed on the forest floor did nothing to your mood. You began to kick and punch at it before falling to your knees. When you screamed, he felt his rage reflected to him. His eyes widened at the realization. Somehow, you had tapped into his feral rage and this was the outcome. You were attempting to rid yourself of nearly two centuries of pain and white-hot rage within him. He couldn’t even do that.

He slowly stepped closer and closer, and then he heard you whisper. “Stop, stop, stop. Please just stop.” You sobbed and returned to punching the tree trying to expel all of Logan’s pent-up rage you were feeling. You were feeling all of it with no understanding as to what or why.

He knelt next to you and whispered, “I’m sorry.” You turned to him, face flushed, amber eyes, and then he noticed the blood you were leaving on the tree. “We need to get you to Hank.”

“Fuck off, Wolverine,” you snarled at him before returning to the tree. You’ve never called him anything other than Logan in anger. “I’m not in the mood for your alpha bullshit.” Logan could feel your exhaustion beating at you but the rage fueled your body’s adrenaline nonetheless.

He knew if he could get you to stop for just a minute, exhaustion would win. “Let’s get you dressed, darlin’?”

He slowly got behind you, quickly wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you back laying on top of him faced away. You growled and wriggled before clawing at his arms. You dug your toenails into his legs, shredding his calves and the blue jeans he had on.

You screamed, suddenly, your head going side to side as you did. He repeated over and over again “I’m sorry. I’m sorry” as he held you. He pushed his emotions, showing his sincerity for hurting you and allowing you to experience this alone. He was sincere and remorseful.

“Lies! You’re lying! You’re lying. You left me alone,” you screamed and he felt your abandonment. The rage was consuming you. You and your wolf were losing control. Logan did the one thing he hoped would snap you out of this: terrified, he opened his heart and showed that he loved you, deeply. Within seconds you stopped moving, tears fell heavily, and you slowly went pliant in his arms. He wrapped his love around you like a warm blanket and himself with it. You held on to him and his heart as you slowly drove the rage into a corner of your mind for now. You opened your own heart to show that you love him in return, pushing memories to him of every action you had witnessed that caught your heart before you two were ever mated. Tears fell from his eyes, he didn’t know he could experience this. That this could be done. You revealed that you knew this because of his nightmares but never said, not wanting to expose him or trigger him when you saw what he experienced without any further context. You didn’t want him to feel guilty or bad for seeking comfort and support in his darkest, most vulnerable time when he had no control over his mind demanding to process these traumatic events.

You sobbed, shoulders shaking. “I hate this!” You sniffled.

“I’m sorry you experienced this…my rage,” he hesitated on the last two words.

“I don’t care,” you breathed. “I don’t care. I just…want…you.” You wiggled slightly. “Could you loosen up? My arms hurt.”

He did as you asked, knowing you weren’t going to attack him. You turned a full 180, laying chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis as your exhaustion began to take over. He could hear your breathing and heartbeat begin to slow. He held you as he sat up. “You need clothes.”

You hummed, questioning, nearly asleep. He grabbed the flannel, carefully pulling one of your arms in, and then the other before button a few buttons to mostly cover your chest. He repositioned you onto a bridal-style pickup. Your head resting on his bicep as he got the sweatpants on you one-handed. “Let’s get you inside,” he quietly cooed. You hummed acknowledgment. Your red-rimmed, puffy eyes closed, tear-stained, red cheeks cooling, and your head nuzzled against his chest.

He slowly walked into the mansion, shushing anyone who was talking. Jean walked away before Logan even got close, only for Hank to come running up with a first aid kit that he gently laid on your abdomen. He smiled at Logan and whispered, “Let me know if you need help.” Logan smiled and nodded before heading up the stairs to your room.

Hank, Charles, Logan, and you discussed the connection Logan and you shared with Charles helping you two build and strengthen your relationship.

Once in your room, he locked the door and laid you on your bed. He set aside the first aid kit on the nightstand. He grabbed a cup of warm water from the bathroom sink with a washcloth and a towel before unbuttoning the flannel and wiping off your chest and all around your breasts. He picked up the first aid kit before using the tweezers to pick out the splinters, wiping each spot clean. Using the dry towel, he gently wiped the water off to keep you warm. He buttoned the flannel back up before continuing. He pushed up the sweatpants legs, one at a time, and wiped each one down, front and back. He continued to check for splinters, removing them, and cleaning the areas before he dried you off with a towel. He even did your feet, carefully removing the few splinters in your heels, before washing and drying them. Saving your face and hands for last, knowing they may wake you from the possible pain.

He rinsed out the washcloth in warm water and replaced the warm water in the cup before he slowly and gently wiped the dirt and sweat off your face. He removed splinters from your face and cleaned it up prior to gently taking the closest injured hand. He slowly wiped your fingernails off first. A grumble came from your sleeping form with a slight tug. He kept your hand in his as he began to examine your knuckles and forearms to find any more splinters. While there were none on your forearms, the knuckles of the top of your hand had several from you punching the tree.

He visually skimmed over your fingertips and inside of your hand, only finding a few on your fingers. Your nails were the most damaged, having broken them clawing at the tree and anywhere else you may have gone. He took out the splinters and slowly washed the palm, and up each individual finger before approaching the knuckles. The splinters were large and more like small pieces of wood. He pulled one out without much issue. The second one was deeper than expected.

You whimper and try to remove your hand from it. He shushes her and kisses the top of her hand. “Almost done,” he coos. He yanks a bit harder and removes it. You whimper. He licks the wound, helping it close and heal. He kisses where the wound is and wipes it off. He sets your hand down next to you. When he switched to the other hand, he examined your palm, finding no splinters and flipped your hand over, finding some on the knuckles at the top of the hand like the other. These were smaller, easier to remove and you hardly pulled from Logan. He wipes each knuckle before kissing each one. His eyes remain on your dozing form. He sees many of the small cuts and scrapes are gone but the bigger ones are still healing.

Setting your hand down next to you, he returns to the bathroom and rinses everything, putting the washcloth and towel in the dirty laundry hamper before returning to the bed. He undresses to his boxer briefs before sliding in on his side of the bed. He gingerly rolls you on your side and pulls you towards his chest. You rest your head on his bicep and nuzzle into his neck. He waits, knowing you overheat easily. Within five minutes, you wiggle around working your clothes off with just a touch of sweat on your brow. “I got you,” he coos at you.

You frown and nod, eyes remaining closed as your mate holds the sleeves taunt for you to pull your arms out, right then left. You hear the shirt fall to the floor. You lay on your back and start shuffling the sweatpants down, only for Logan to finish pulling them off. He then takes off his boxer briefs since you rarely like clothes on either of you two when sleeping. Once he is back in bed, he wraps his arms back around you. Your head returns to his right bicep and nose against his scent gland. Your right arm is thrown over his ribs, and your right leg is thrown over his left hip. He pulls a sheet over you both and watches you fall back to sleep.

“I don’t care,” you whisper.

“About what?” He whispers back, brows furrowed as he tucks a stray hair behind your ear.

“About your past. I don’t care.” Your sleep eyes flutter open, their usual human color. “I love you for who you are right now, Logan.” You turn your head and yawn. He cards his fingers through your hair. Returning your eyes to his. “That’s who I have always loved. That’s why I was so afraid to hurt you, baby.” You hold his jaw in your palm. “I never want to hurt you, ever, but I know I’m going to. I know it can’t be helped. Just means talking to be listened to and listening to hear, to understand, and to adjust as needed. We choose each other every single day. I promise you this, Logan. I promise I will always love you and always choose you every single day of my life no matter what.”

He played with your hair, removing a few tangles and wrapping a few strands around his finger as he listened. He smiles softly. “I promise to always love you and to always choose you every single day of my life no matter what,” he repeated. Your sleepy eyes match the joy in your smile.

“Sleep,” he commanded.

You hummed and returned to your former position around him. He held you close, nuzzling into your hair periodically. He watches the few cuts left on your face and chest heal, using his tongue to wipe the remaining blood spots from you. Enjoying the little tastes of you he can get right now.

As you sleep, he begins to doze himself. He even starts purring, waking you. You shift and look at his chest listening. He opens his eyes at your movement and the purring stops. You pout and whimper looking up at his face. His face is so soft looking at you, only to start purring again. You grin widely and snuggle against his chest, your ear under his collarbone. He wraps both arms around you, holding you in place as you listen and find comfort in the vibrations. You, yourself, begin a returning purr.

It wasn't until that evening that you two left your room, fully dressed. Laura, Ellie, Yukio, Wade, Ororo, Pietro, Jean, and Scott were downstairs in the foyer chattering away trying to play charades. Laura was up. Logan and you stood at the entrance watching her. “Mountain Lion,” you called out.

“Yes!” Laura grinned, pointing to you two. Logan stood behind you in his usual dark jeans and a matching navy t-shirt fitted to him. His hands are on your shoulders, grinning at his daughter, and a thumb rubbing your mating mark. You were barefoot in a long denim skirt and navy peasant shirt that Logan had bought you.

Amazingly, Logan had even braided your hair, advising Laura lets him practice different braids on her hair. He whispered in your ear that he liked doing it but not to tell her. You had chuckled, making a note to tell her later. You walked in, greeting everyone. Wade was the first to hug you and then Laura.

Laura skipped then walked on the balls of her feet, excited to see you two alright. You glanced at Logan who gave a slight nod, his informed ‘ok’, to your next move. You showered your neck to Laura, while a sign of submission was also a pack symbol of trust. Laura wrapped her arms around your torso and pressed her nose against your scent gland. You grinned and laughed; it was a bit ticklish when Logan wasn’t teasing you. Logan walked around you and waited his turn. Laura rubbed her wrist on the other side of your neck and stuck her tongue out to her Dad before giving him a wide grin and hug. You played with her hair down her back, really rubbing your wrist in between Laura’s shoulder blades as a silly move back, scent marking her with your scent.

You realized Wade was waiting for you three to finish.

Laura stuck her tongue out at you before noticing Logan had shown his neck to her, and she inhaled maintaining space between his scent gland and her—a sign of pack alpha respect.

He rubbed his hand on her hair, a hidden way to scent mark her but not be blatant. When he stood back up, the others were chatting and Wade was hugging you. You nuzzled against his face and rubbed his back, scent marking him. “Hello, sweetie.” You pulled back, still holding him. “How’s the merc business treating you?”

He grinned and shrugged. “Oh, you know, not bad, not bad.”

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger,” Logan said from behind you.

“What can I say? I missed my kitty cats and puppy.” Logan extended his claws and snarled while Wade took out Baby Knife, whispering “Baby Knife”. You looked at Wade and reached out to Logan sensing there was no hostility, only amusement, so you decided to play along. You turned around, back against Wade, and held his hand to your chest. “No, my love. I cannot allow this charade to go on any longer,” exaggerating the drama and your body language.

Laura busted out laughing and bent over, holding her abdomen.

She understood the assignment.

What was the assignment, puppy?

Just play along, dude.

What is with you and the word ‘dude’?

You push Logan away and he takes one step back. His claws retracted and watched you two with amusement. You never let go of Wade’s hand. You turned back to him, throwing your arm over Wade’s other shoulder. “Wade, I love you and to prove your love to me, you must…,” you hesitated trying to think of something silly to do.

“Dance the tango,” called out Ellie who started playing the music, “Dance the tango,” you repeated without thought before your brain caught up. “Wait, what?”

Wade took your hand in his and the other arm wrapped around you, splaying his hand just below your shoulder blade. “Basic,” you stage whispered at Wade.

You tried so hard to stay focused on the drama but kept tripping over Wade’s feet, laughing. Logan stepped in, picked you up, and set you down before taking your place. Wade and Logan kept serious faces and even swapped baby knife from one mouth to the other. It was great. Everyone enjoyed the silliness but they weren’t done. When the two men were done, Logan looked at Laura with a playful grin and a wink. “Flamenco?” Yukio was already prepared and played some wonderful Argentine flamenco music.

You squealed at Logan’s dance moves. Wade watched him for less than a minute before joining in. What surprised you was that Laura and Yukio joined in too. Ellie sat there holding her girlfriend’s phone with a small smile on her face, watching her. You enjoyed the energy and felt Logan’s eyes on you. When your eyes met, he quirked a brow as his thoughts came easily to you.

Join me.

Are you kidding? (You know he isn’t.) I was tripping over Wade. Fuck no.

If you join me, I’ll give you a treat.

Sex is not a treat, Wolverine.

Logan gave you that sexy, flirty smile he does when he has plans to devour you.

Logan (you warned).

Are you sure you don’t want a treat, puppy?

You ass. I hate you. (You love it when he calls you puppy and he knows this so much)

You love me (he retorted).

That’s beside the point.

You watch everyone’s feet and try to work out the movement. He walked over to you and took your hand, walking you both back out. Wade made space for you. Then, unexpectedly, Logan sends images of foot positioning to your mind allowing you to slowly catch on to where you can even stay in rhythm with him. You two dance around each other, clapping.

This went on for another 45 minutes or so before everyone else got tired. You giggled as Logan held you in his arms. Everyone quickly says good night except Wade who tags along to the kitchen.

Logan points to the island. “Sit.” He walks to the fridge and begins pulling ingredients out. “I didn’t know you could dance, baby. Wow.”

“Wait till you hear him sing,” Wade informed confidently. You look wide-eyed at Wade before looking back at Logan. “You sing too?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

“What? I’m just being honest.” Wade rests his elbows on the island and plops his head down on his open palms as he watches Logan and you.

You look back to Wade. “We’ve only been mated like a month, man. We’re still learning each other,” you defend your mate.

“You two are so cute together,” Wade coos. Logan snorts as he mixes stuff in a large bowl.

“So, he cooks too,” you observe aloud.

“He is multitalented,” Wade agrees. You nod and go back to watching Logan with Wade.

“You spending the night?” You quietly ask Wade.

“Not sure yet,” he admitted.

“Not sure because no one invited you or not sure because leaving Ms. Althea alone is a bad idea tonight?”

Wade doesn’t reply but does hold up his index finger.

“We do have a pull-out sofa in our room,” you offer.

A quiet rumble comes from Logan’s chest. You look at the back of his head. “He’s your best friend and you haven’t seen him in nearly two weeks. Sex can wait a night, my darling alpha.”

Wade giggles at your declaration.

You didn’t have to invite him (you can feel Logan pouting).

Again, sex can wait a night.

…

If you’re that frustrated, I’m sure Wade would enjoy being an audience member. (As the thought leaves your mind, you watch Logan’s reaction—the images that flood his mind of Wade in various states of undress and positions disappear as quickly they appear, saying much about Logan’s extreme attraction to his best friend.)

Logan drops the spatula. Wade quirks a brow at him before glancing at your cat-got-the-canary grin. ”That’s not fair. You’re doing the mate telepathy.”

You looked at him with that grin and winked. “Maybe you’ll find out. Maybe you won’t. It’s up to Logan.”

“Peanut, what’s the misses talking about?”

Logan had picked up the tool and got a new one before working on cooking dinner for the three of them. “Nuthin’.”

Oh, my love. It’s something all right. It’s hot (you pushed images of a shirtless Wade, who has come over to swim when it was warmer, sucking and biting Logan’s neck. Biting at his nipples. You imagined Wade sitting in the corner stroking his cock as Logan pounded into you.)

Looking at Wade, you recommended, “Hey, why don’t we watch the Coneheads tonight?”

“Or keep watching Letterkenny,” Wade countered.

You could smell Logan’s arousal but made no word or action about it anywhere. “You have to make the sweet and salty popcorn,” you demanded.

Wade sighed dramatically as if it was such a big deal. “Ok, if I must.”

(You pushed the image of Logan fucking Wade and vice versa a few seconds later.)

“Damn right,” Logan interjected with a grunt. The both of you turned to Logan with your brows furrowed, confused.

“You ok there, Honey badger?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” you deflected and put your hand on Wade’s arm. “Hey, you were gonna tell me about Saskatchewan next time you came over, remember?”

[aro-culture-is]

Aro culture is wanting to scream at your friend to just dump their hateful racist asshole boyfriend, while at the same time knowing that they won't listen to you because they are in love and apparently, that erases their ability for critical thinking

While also not saying any of that because it would be rude

A "hateful racist asshole boyfriend" sounds ripe for a situation in which your friend could be dating someone actively grooming them for domestic abuse.

In those cases, individuals often already have poor boundary control, and it's not the critical thinking actually missing: it's the security that creating boundaries doesn't mean losing someone who they feel cares about them. Judgements on their ability to "think clearly" are both misplaced and encouraged by the abusers, as worsening self esteem leads to an abuse victim seeking comfort... often from the abuser.

I think it's very, very important to recognize that the best thing you can do for them is to be there, continually reaffirm that they can always tell you anything, and rather than pressure them to break up... ask them to tell you about the relationship. You can guide them to red flags, but also try to present possible communication elements. There are guides online by great resources talking about how to best support these conversations.

And, of course, it's always possible it is simply that your friend actually is racist and they put up with the behavior because of that. It's not hard for some bigots to find an in through less overt bigotry. But I strongly encourage folks to realize that "in love with no capacity for critical thought" is a very dangerous warning sign that someone may be unable to recognize healthy boundaries, and worse - to recognize unhealthy boundaries.

[starwarsanthropology]

Heyyy~

Can I ask for OrdoMaze with 43? :3

The stark, neon lighting of the Coursucant night-cycle is an abrupt shift from the muted golden lights in the bar as Ordo slips out to follow after Maze, a few minutes after he leaves. Just enough lag between exits to keep Kal’buir and the RCs off of them. 

He tracks Maze via his comm’s location tag a few blocks over to a quiet, back alley speeder platform about ten feet above street level. Maze is sitting on the edge of it, leaning on crossed arms against the low bumper rail. 

“Null.” He says, looking over Ordo appraisingly.

“Alpha,” Ordo replies, and then clambers up a drainage pipe to join him.

Maze snorts gently when a screw pings out of the wall, too much weight put on the bracket holding the pipe secure, and Ordo glares at him as he grabs the edge of the balcony to haul himself up and over. The duracrete has a slightly tacky, powdery feel, a decade’s worth of emissions building up into sediment that feels somehow grimier than actual dirt on Ordo’s bare palms. He tries to wipe them off on his kama once he’s seated next to Maze, and then scowls and pulls out a wipe when that doesn’t work.

Maze just watches him, quiet, and then once he stuffs the wipe back into a belt pouch to throw out later, he leans his warm bulk against Ordo’s side. Coruscant doesn’t have much in the way of natural weather patterns, as climate-controlled as it is, but this close to a major skyroad, the vehicles send strong, cutting winds whistling through the buildings. In his armor, Maze feels like a bulwark. Stable, safe. Somewhere nice to hunker down until he has to move on to the next objective.

“So, Besany?” Maze asks, and Ordo checks him lightly with his shoulder. “She’s a good one.”

“Mm. Kal’buir is very eager about us.” Ordo says. “He doesn’t realize that she’s not romantically interested in men.”

Maze laughs, startled. “He’s not very good with people, is he?”

“He’s great with them when it matters.”

“He thinks Besany is flirting with you instead of trying to adopt you like you’re a feral tooka she found dropping presents on her doorstep.” 

Ordo doesn’t have anything else to say, and appearantly neither does Maze, so they spend a long while simply leaning against each other and watching the debris of a city of trillions get buffeted around in the breeze.

“Maze?” Ordo says, eventually. “How good are you for getting read into something confidential? Off the record.”

Maze looks him over, considering. “Is breaking opsec going to compromise anything?”

“No. Only reputations.”

Maze perks up at that. He’s such a gossip, really. All the Alphas are; nosy bastards to their cores, trained to keep track of all their subordinates like mother hens. 

“Read me in, Ord’ika.” He says, and Ordo is almost ashamed when he opens his mouth and the words spill out.

“General Tur-makan got herself pregnant.”

“No.” Maze gasps, scandalized. 

“Mmhm. Kal’buir is furious about it. Maybe would have killed her if it wasn’t for the fact she’s carrying.” 

“Who’s the father?”

Ordo closes his eyes and takes a deep, centering breath. “Darman.”

“Does he know?”

“No.”

“Don’t think so.”

“That’s karked.” Maze says, awed. 

“Yeah. Kal’buir is shipping her off to Quiilura to wait it out.” Ordo shuffles closer to Maze, who rocks just enough to bump their shoulders before leaning back into him.

“You should tell Dar. Not when it could compromise him, but it’s his to know.”

“Kal’buir is handling it.”

“Skirata is a poor judge of when to share intel. There’s a reason he’s only a sergeant.”

Ordo, suddenly furious, both at Maze for throwing that in his face, and himself, for taking foolish initiative to confide in him, snarls and snaps his fist into Maze’s face. “That’s my father.”

Maze groans from his position knocked flat on his back on the speeder platform, and then snaps upright to slam his forehead right into Ordo’s nose.

Ordo makes a furious, inarticulate noise, hand flying to his face, and Maze just looks him in the eye, steady and calm and ready to drop everything for a fight.

“I’m right. I’m smarter than him. You’re smarter than him. We’re bred to be.”

The bridge of Ordo’s nose aches fiercely, and his nose is gushing after so many strikes to the face in short succession. He pinches it to slow the flow and leans forwards, breathing through his mouth and watching Maze out the corner of his eye. Maze’s nose is bleeding, too, but it’s just a single fat drop slowly traveling down his lip. It shimmers in the light as his breath makes it quiver; Maze’s nose wrinkles up at the ticklish sensation and he wipes it with a knuckle. Ordo is caught by the sight of blood smeared on his lover’s hands and face, almost invisible in the lighting except for how it leaves a damp, shiny smear over his skin. He wants to lick it off. He wants there to be more. He wants, he wants. He doesn’t know what he wants, but it sharpens his teeth and sends off a round of howling hunger in his gut.

He tamps down the feeling.

“I’ll tell Dar, if Kal’buir takes too long.” He concedes, slightly nasal through his bloody nose, and Maze smiles at him, irritated expression melting into something warm and fond. Ordo wants to choke him.

“Good boy, Ord’ika,” Maze says, and instead of choking him, it’s Ordo who chokes on his outrage as Maze tilts up his chin and kisses him, ignoring the blood dripping down his face and into their mouths. He bites him in retaliation, hard enough to split his lip and add Maze’s blood to his between them, and Maze’s hand grips his face and squeezes until he opens his mouth and keeps it open, maintaining a careful threat of pressure at the hinge of his jaw as Maze kisses him stupid.

Ordo is gasping and wheezing by the time Maze pulls away, his nose whistling from where it's clogged with blood. He can taste it down to his lungs, the thick, metallic coating over his airways and mouth and throat. He hopes Maze can taste him in the same way, vindictive or victorious, as he catches his breath, reeling back from the intensity of it.

Mazes laughs, breathless, and Ordo snaps a sharp look to him. It just makes Maze laugh harder, and he leans forwards to cup Ordo’s face in his hands and press a kiss against his forehead. 

“You’ve got— a little—” Maze chuckles, and gestures over the lower half of his face. In the dim lighting, he can’t see color very well, but he abruptly registers the slightly darker shades and wet shine over Maze’s mouth, chin, cheeks. He’s covered in blood from their kiss.

“You, too.” Ordo tells him, and dabs lightly at his face to map the limits of the tacky smear over his lips, chin, neck. There’s a spot at his forehead, too,  where Maze had pressed another bloody kiss to his skin.

“Damn. Let’s clean up, and then I’ll take you back to bed?”

“Only if I get to bloody you up again.” Ordo says, and holds his hand out for a wipe.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It looks good on you.”

[tennessoui]

Korkie will stop talking with Anakin in the cheating AU? I thought he kinda accept it because he knew it so early. You mentioned that the twins had later problems with the divorce but I'm surprised that also Korkie had problems with it. Isn't a better life than all these lies?

ah I go back and forth a lot on Korkie’s feelings about the relationship between obi-wan and anakin in the cheating au because obviously he’s old enough to know about it/to figure it out but I can see him getting angry/refusing to talk with either one of them when the divorces actually start happening because that’s a huge change in his life. The cheating, fine that didn’t really affect him as much, but the divorce DOES. so he’s quite like Satine in that way

[hypermoyashi]

~For WIP Weekend for Trigun Ladies Week~

Day 4: Roleswap AU

Relationships: Tesla & Knives

Warnings: Unhealthy Relationships, Poor Parenting

Tesla shifted on the piano bench, her fingers poised above the keys. Nai sat next to her, testing the pedals to make sure they were working properly—she wasn’t tall enough to reach them yet, so he handled them whenever they played. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

Tesla nodded resolutely, and Nai posited his fingers over the piano. He started, leading them with the soft opener of the song. Tesla followed when her moment came, a soft trilling that followed in the wake of his melody. She’d been learning for months, and while her movements were still clumsier than his, she still kept pace now that her fingers had memorized the movements.

This song was her favorite, a riveting duet of opposing but complimentary melodies. It was intense, and it filled the air with the feel of the music, the notes reverberating in her chest. 

But then they finished the song, and Nai listed off another for them to play together. 

She didn’t like this one as much, but she played all the same, following Nai’s lead as he led them both through the melody of the song. Then she played again when he listed off the next song, and again, and again. Until her fingers started to ache, the muscles asking for rest.

So she stopped playing, her part of the duet abruptly cut off. 

Nai played for a moment more, stopping when he noticed her part had stopped. By the time he looked her way, she was already shaking out her aching hands to try and get the ache to go away. 

“Something wrong?” he asked. 

“My hands hurt,” she complained. 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Did you stretch beforehand like I told you to? You knew the time we were planning to play together.” 

“I forgot,” she replied, honestly. She’d been engrossed in a book, and there wasn’t a clock in the suite for her to tell the time by. 

“Then you only have yourself to blame. This is what happens when you don’t listen to me.” 

“I wasn’t not listening to you,” she protested, slinking in her seat on the piano bench. “I just forgot.” 

“Write it down, next time.” He paused, then asked, “Are you ready to continue?” 

Tesla wanted to stop. Her hands felt a little better, but they still ached for rest. She knew they’d already played her favorite song, and Nai didn’t often return to the ones they’d already played that day. Nai wanted to play more, though. 

“Yes,” she said, instead of anything else, positioning her hands over the keys again. 

And so they continued to play. 

[a-bunch-of-rats]

i have a question about something possibly being manipulative/abusive/toxic

our ex (who was the one that helped us come to terms with possibly being plural) used to sometimes ask us "who am i talking to?" in the middle of a conversation. it always felt very anxiety inducing to us and sometimes like they were asking to diminish/negate what we were saying, implying we were triggered and unreliable, etc.

they said it would help them figure out the context of what we were saying. we are autistic so bad at tone , but it felt almost accusatory or in bad faith. we can't tell if our perception of that is true or just a fear response

does this sound like something possibly bad of them to do? or do you think it more likely made us feel unsafe/uncomfortable because we're still struggling with being okay with perceiving ourselves as multiple/struggling with the idea we might be faking, etc ?

[tear-stained-lenses]

Not getting an “I love you” before they left had to be one of the most soul crushing moments. Do you not love me? Did you fall out of love? You can't leave me because I need you. Why didn't you tell me you love me. Why why why why why. I need you to love me so why won't you say it. Why did you leave without saying it. I can't lose you, please still love me. I'll stalk you. Don't think I won't. I'll track you down. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you. You know I will you've seen how I am.

[shitouttabuck]

my mother is like i don’t care if you have a healthy relationship with food and your body i will still do my darnedest best to try and give you an eating disorder by commenting on your food intake when you do eat but also commenting on your food intake when you DONT eat because oops you are so anxious to eat in front of your parents now you simply lose your appetite when you have to have a meal with them