#launch escape system

[lonestarflight]

Recovery of the Apollo Boilerplate Command Module (BP-06) and Launch Escape System motor of Pad Abort Test 1 following its successful launch and landing. The spacecraft was lifted to 5,193 feet in 16 seconds by the LES (Launch Escape System) solid fuel rocket motor, landing 4,657 feet from the launch pad.

Date: November 7, 1963

NASA ID: 63-Apollo-227, 63-Apollo-228, 63apollo231, PA01-03 no ID, link

[barfscarf]

he looks like he's doing an evil jedi mind trick like 'you want to bring me a fresh coffee' lmaooo

“And how do you plan to deal with this delay, Lord Vader?”

tbh I really don’t know how to headcanon obi-wan’s position in the empire if he was a sith. He would have more power over Vader (not necessarily by rank), that’s for sure.

[insanitize]

results of tumblr vs 4chan war

thousands of SJWs lost in Tumblrs army due to conflicts within the ranks about fanfiction censorship

thousands of Neo-Nazis lost in 4chans army due to being arrested in "real life", a higher plane that few can access and is rumored to maybe not be real

underground advanced trade system established to covertly deliver memes between parties with minimal contact, which facilitates the transfer of language. tumblr notably begins to publish content written in "Greentext", a dialect originating from 4chan

Tumblr splinters into hundreds upon hundreds of sub-factions, though the two most powerful are the Darkly Chics and the Bluey Adults. the factions are largely in opposition to eachother, but none of them agree to leave Tumblr

4chan splinters a more violent and intense clique, whom after many heated conflicts with 4chan's main userbase are run out of 4chan and seemingly disappear into the cold mist for years

the 4chan splinter clique becomes its own nation while nobody is looking, choosing to be called the Soyjacks (based on a popular style of abstractionist art that originated in 4chan but quickly spread elsewhere)

earlier in the war, Tumblr's governing body, known as "Staff" (possibly originating from the name for a type of halting rod used by level 25 and above wizards), issued a ban on all pornography, leading to many notable artists fleeing to a neighboring site known originally as Twitter. later in the war, Twitter would enter the infamous X Period, and users from Tumblr either rejoined or moved to the newly formed Bluesky

several large scale rifts between Tumblr Staff and the common people occur, causing widespread fear and doubt about the longevity of Tumblr. talks about Bluesky and its success begin circulating, though most remain skeptical

out of basically nowhere, the Soyjacks launch an attack on 4chan's entire main perimeter of operation, which turns out to have actually been very poorly guarded, and reinstate the board they were thrown out of before taking down 4chan. those who were able to escape in time reported the last words they heard being "CHICKEN JOCKEYYYY". this is said to have been a message from God

the Soyjacks, after bringing 4chan to its knees, reveal that spies have been collecting information from within 4chan in the time since their banishment, and several private logins of members of 4chans governing force (known as the "Janitors") are leaked, effectively spelling the end of the site as it once existed

result: tumblr wins by doing nothing

[nasa]

Artemis Astronauts Have Drills, Too!

Chances are, if you have ever spent time in a school or office building, you have experienced a fire drill. Well, astronauts practice emergency drills, too!

Since we began sending astronauts to space, we have used systems and drills to practice moving people safely away from the launch pad in the unlikely event of an emergency during the countdown to launch.

Early Mercury and Gemini programs in the 1960s used a launch escape system in the form of a solid rocket motor that could pull the astronauts to safety in the event of an emergency. However, this system only accounted for the astronauts, and not other personnel at the launch pad. NASA’s emergency systems have since improved substantially to include everyone.

Artemis II will be NASA’s first mission with crew aboard the SLS (Space Launch System) rocket and Orion spacecraft. Artemis II will fly around the Moon and come back to Earth. Beginning with the Artemis II mission, we will use a track cable to connect the mobile launcher — the ground structure that supports the rocket before and during launch — to the perimeter of the launch pad. Picture a gondola ski lift beginning at the top of the rocket and ending all the way down to the ground. In case of an emergency, astronauts and support crews move from the capsule into the crew access arm, climb into one of four baskets waiting for them, and ride down to the ground.

There, members of the Pad Rescue team are ready to scoop the astronauts up and whisk them to safety. Think of the Pad Rescue team as spaceflight knights in shining armor. Except instead of saving crew from a fire breathing dragon, they are whisking the astronauts away from a fully loaded skyscraper-sized rocket that’s getting ready to lift off.

The Artemis II mission will also introduce several new ground systems for the first time – including the new and improved braking system similar to what roller coasters use! Though no NASA mission to date has needed to use its ground-based emergency system during launch countdown, those safety measures are still in place and maintained as a top priority.

So the next time you practice a fire drill at school or at work, remember that these emergency procedures are important for everyone to stay safe — even astronauts.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[describingcolours]

"well youve had it 6 years that's a good amount of time for that kind of thing to work"

"you should be grateful you got 3 years of use out of that thing, I'm lucky if mine last a year haha"

listen, in 1977 nasa launched the voyager spacecrafts to take advantage of a planetary alignment that takes place every 175 years. These 2 crafts were planned to flyby the outer planets of our solar system and gather data on them to send back to us. Voyager 2 launched first on the 20th of August despite its name because it was planned to reach our gas giants after its counterpart voyager 1, which launched a little later on the 5th of September.

The voyager mission was planned to end 12 years later in 1989. In that time, voyager 1 and 2 passed by Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. They discovered new moons, confirmed theories about Saturn's rings, found the first active volcanoes found outside the earth, and they take close-up images of planets only seen at that point from telescopes.

On the 25th of August 1989, voyager 2 encounters Neptune, the last planet in our solar system the voyagers will meet. And that was that. End of mission. Now obsolete.

~

Less than 1 year later on valentine's day in 1990 voyager 1 looked back on the planet that had built it and sent with it a world's worth of hopes and dreams and took a picture. We called it the solar system family portrait and in it, we see ourselves. The pale blue dot nestled in the darkness of space

And then commands were sent to shut down their cameras. Preserve fuel.

35 years after launch, in 2012 voyager 1 sent back to us data about interstellar space. The very first manmade object to enter it.

41 years after launch voyager 2 did the same. Still operational, still going. Still sending back to us invaluable data, teaching us about our own solar system and the suns influence in our local bubble of space.

They are expected to continue to operate until the year 2025 - almost 50 whole years after they were launched and 36 years after their mission was supposed to have ended.

48 years of harsh space travel, battered by solar winds, pulled by gravity but fast enough just to escape, pelted by who knows how much space dust and radiation.

And even after that, they still have a purpose. Each craft was given a golden record. A disc filled with human knowledge and knowledge of humans and the planet they live on. Greetings and well-wishes to any prospective extraterrestrial life that could potentially pick it up. Co-ordinates, an invite. Samples of our music, the things we love, sounds of the earth, a story of our world. The surf, the wind, birds and whales, images of a mother, our moon, a sunset. Long after the voyager spacecrafts go dark, probably long after we are gone, they will still be doing their job; educating a species about our very tiny corner of the galaxy.

They are nasa's longest-running operation.

And it was all done using 70s technology.

So excuse me if I want a phone that lasts more than 2 years or a vacuum cleaner that doesn't break down after 6, or god fucking forbid, a refrigerator that will keep my food cold my entire fucking lifetime.

[yet-another-heathen]

On conditioned whumpees...

Y'know, I think one of the things that people get wrong with conditioned whumpees is their rules. Specifically, when a whumpee was in long term captivity/training and they later get released or escape.

Most people write them as latching onto a caretaker or new whumper, and begging for new rules so they know they're doing something right. A new set of laws to live by, a new framework to behave to.

And that's... not really how conditioning works.

Conditioning means automatic reactions. Your body doing something that was trained into you without consulting your brain first.

There is no decision making. There is no choice. The trigger hits, and you are immediately performing the correct action regardless of anything else.

You're told to kneel? Your knees have already hit the ground. You're supposed to be standing in one part of the house when a certain noise is made? You've launched into movement before you even realize what you heard.

These rules are woven into the fabric of your body. And they are insurmountable. The conditioning overrides emotion, internal conflict, hesitation, beliefs, wants... everything.

Your whumpee may very well hate what is being done to them, and after the moment has passed they're cursing themself and their whumper. They're still a person on the inside. And that person is still very much alive. Most of the time, they will have some level of awareness that what's being done to them is wrong. They'll be angry. They'll be hurt. And they will hate that there is nothing they can do about it.

But the next time that trigger occurs, the response still hits them exactly the same.

So now take your whumpee out of that situation. They ran away, were rescued, were sold. They got out. Now they're with new people, a new caretaker, a new whumper. Or they're on their own and trying to make their own way in the world.

But those conditioned responses are still there.

There's no turning them off. You don't just replace them with new rules. They are in your every fibre. They have been built into the very framework of who you are.

The next time someone says the word "kneel", your knees are on the ground again. No matter where you are, or who you're with. The response happens before you can stop it. If they don't know why, everyone looks at you like you're insane. And you feel like you are.

Deconditioning is an agonizing process that takes more effort than I can even begin to describe to someone who's never experienced it.

Every time they hit that trigger, that response will still be there. Over, and over, and over, and over.

Breaking those rules down takes YEARS. And it is a constant effort that the whumpee has to choose to undergo every single time. Progress is measured milimeter by milimeter. You're told to kneel, and you kneel. You're told to kneel, and your mind catches up with the fact that you already did it— but a little sooner than it did before. Then a split second sooner. Then as you're doing it. Then you feel the impulse just before your knees hit the ground. Then you have a split-second of resistance before you go down. On and on and on and on, inching toward progress despite the fact that you're fighting with all your might. And that progress is anything but linear.

You don't just start obeying new rules. You don't latch on to your caretaker's new way of doing things and drop everything that you were conditioned to do before. These rules don't just get replaced.

Conditioning is not a belief system. It's a flinch response. Programmed deeper than the instincts you were born with.

You can be ordered not to obey the old command, and moments later when the trigger comes, you will anyway. Because in conditioning, the action comes before the choice.

These rules, these laws of your existence, come above everything else. And if your new whumper wants to replace them, they are going to have to beat the new rules into you so often and so severely that the pain becomes stronger than the old conditioning. At which point, the newly desired response will very, very slowly start to take over.

You're not swapping out new rules. You're layering new, worse conditioning on top of the old. And your brain will spend time stuck in that split-second between both responses before one finally grows stronger than the other. And even then, the change will not happen quickly.

That is what your conditioned whumpee is up against. That is what makes it such a horrible—HORRIBLE— and powerful tool.

[wyvernest]

mating szn

PART 2‼️ (part 1)

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!gf!reader

warnings: horny miguel, smut, fluff, dryhumping, unprotected p-i-v, breeding kink, scent marking, primal play, rutting miguel, possessiveness, reader is ovulating, descriptions of oral sex (f!receiving), rough sex

summary: miguel comes home feeling extremely needy

Stumbling and yelping in sync with his heavy footsteps catching up fast, you reach the first floor.

Before you get to offer yourself a fraction of a second to decide your next move, the hallway carpet curls up under your feet, slipping behind as your arms instinctively shoot forward for you to catch yourself.

Bringing one knee to your chest, you're prepared to launch yourself forward like an olympic runner. 

Too bad.

Miguel's broad hands grip your waist from behind, once again sending jolts of adrenaline throughout your entire system.

You scream in delight through playful giggles, calling out his name breathlessly and maliciously arching into his hold. 

You're getting wetter by the second seeing just how horny he is.

He pushes you down, forcing you on both knees. The deep pants from the chase quickly turn into something else as you feel his weight on your back, feel him get on one knee behind you. 

His grip on your waist tightens. He brings his crotch up to your ass, grinding his erection up and down your clothed slit.

His hips roll slowly, rubbing the thick shaft of his hard-on lazily and mindlessly, the motions shallow and enticing.

"Ah, come on, baby", He leans forward, nuzzling his face into your soft hair, basking in the slightly-sweet, flowery scent of your shampoo. With a messy kiss to your neck, he speaks, raspy with need,

"Can't help it." More wet, sloppy kisses to your neck, more thrusts of his rock hard cock against your drenched folds through the thin material of your panties and his boxers. "I need, I need - ugh" the words fail to form as his hot breath hits the back of your neck, followed by more kisses and bites.

He brings a hand to the meat of your right thigh, grabbing harshly. He then lets it slip up over the mound of your pussy, cupping you and pushing two fingers over your folds, still stopped by your panties. You shiver at the feeling of his huge, warm palm touching your core so pervertedly, so desperately. 

He can feel the wet patch on the cotton fabric, proof of reciprocated desire.

His senses once again catch the unmistakable, ever so dearly intoxicating aroma of you, so ready for him. His eyes roll back with a silent inhale, his bare chest rising and falling on your back. 

He wants nothing more than to bury his face between your plush thighs and lap at your essence, pussy-drunk and keen on overstimulating you; licking and sucking at your clit, circling around your damp folds with his tongue until you're pushing him away, begging for a break, swollen and exhausted.

He can almost imagine you, tangling your fingers in his hair, pushing and pulling, either smothering him into your velvety cunt, needy and on the edge, or trying to escape his grip. He'd only hold you down, burly arms curling around your legs, just so he could make you come again, to feel you pulsate, feel your juices coat his mouth.

But with the way his cock twitches, begging for friction and stimulation, he can't think straight. 

He feels an overwhelming urge to shove himself inside you and fill you with his cum, to see his cock rearranging your guts through your belly, to empty his balls in your womb and watch his seed dribble out of you, and push it back in with his still hard cock, hold it there so that it takes.

His warm, eager hands travel down to your panties, and in their loose hold as he attempts to drag them down your thighs, you once again snake away, giggling with a sardonic grin that doesn't do well in covering up the desire evident on your features.

"¡Mierda!" He grunts, and you enter the bedroom, reaching the balcony door and turning around. You catch the sight of Miguel clawing at the door frame to take the turn and come in faster. 

Before you can react and take your eyes off the enormous bulge in his shorts, the defined shape of his dick protruding erotically against the material, he pounces, caging you against the wall, distancing your legs far apart with one knee.

His palms slip to your sides, not missing the savory opportunity to settle on the sides of your tits. He fondles their softness with the heels of his hands, pushing them together, pressing his whole body into yours.

You let out a barely audible moan as he corners you, almost squeezing you between his muscular frame and the wall behind you, and he almost loses all that's left of his sanity.

He kisses your temple, full of yearning. Although, he's instantly reminded that his scent has worn off of your feverish skin.  

"Por favor,-" a deep groan vibrates in his chest against you, making you quiver.

"He estado cachondo todo el día," (I've been horny all day). He holds you tight against him, your tender breasts pressed flush against his pecs.

"No podía pensar en nada más que en ti" (I couldn't think of anything but you.) 

You finally give in and offer a smidge of relief, sliding your hand down to grab his clothed hard cock. The second he feels you palm him tentatively, he reflexively starts rubbing himself on your hand like an animal in heat, groaning ruggedly.

"That's it." He rasps, fed up, and it's almost a threat.

He slowly walks over to the bed with you secure in his arms, but when his knees hit the frame, he doesn't drop you like he normally would. No. He's not giving you another chance to flee. A part of him loves the cat-and-mouse game he knows you enjoy so much, but the other part can already feel his fat, full balls turning blue.

Placing you down, hands still gripping your waist viciously, he gets on the bed, the mattress sinking down under his weight.

You feel your clit throb as he traps you with his thighs, taking your shirt off. His touch leaves goosebumps over your silky skin.

Under your hazy gaze fixed on his movements, he hovers above you, skipping the usual looks of adoration. Not that the sentiments were gone by any means, but he was far too needy to wait any longer.

The kiss he suffocates you with is fiery, full of all the pent up tension he had to endure.

As his mouth moves against yours eagerly and messily, you notice how it lacks his characteristic expert, methodical approach.

His lips were just as soft as ever, but devoured your every moan and breath with a fervor unfamiliar. His tongue slips past the liplock, dominating you in no time, and right when you start to adjust to the new strategy, catching up with his movements, he parts from you, breaking the kiss and sucking your soul out of you with it.

He continues his attack down your throat, biting and licking hurriedly, marking you as his. 

Groaning freely, he reaches your breasts, taking them in his mouth, one after the other. His hands squeeze, roam and play with them, making you bite down on your lower lip and whine beneath him.

He suckles on the perked nipples, releasing them to catch his breath with another gravel moan. When he's done, your chest is coated in his spit; fresh, hickies already blooming over your tender tits.

The weight of his cock settles on your thigh, pressed snugly and oozing precum through a dark spot on his boxers. 

Your own hands attach to his silky dark hair, caressing and brushing wild strands away from his forehead, clinging and pulling occasionally when he latches onto your breasts again after taking a few deep breaths.

Sliding lower, impatiently licking and biting over the line of your stomach, he finally gets to your panties. 

He kisses the soft lips of your pussy through the fabric, the scent of your arousal driving him mad. He groans again, words slurred through the desperate, obscene licks, "Eres.." He extends his tongue, lapping up at the dampness, "..tan bonita." (You're so pretty)

Your heels are digging into his shoulder blades as you squirm and moan under his sultry touch. Through half lidded eyes, you see him bare his pearl white fangs, as if prepared to sink them into your sensitive skin.

You gasp, a little above a moan.

"Miguel! Don't - ah" You whimper as he grits his teeth around the elastic of your panties, tearing them in two with the help of one hand.

He grabs your thighs, kneeling between your legs.

Shoving his hand in his shorts, he takes his dick out, its mushroom head glistening mauve. He begins to stroke it more violently than you thought he would've taken pleasure in.

Mouth agape, pupils blown wide, he looks downright primal. Solely focused on claiming you, on stuffing you full of his potent seed, of draining his fat balls in your warm cunt until you're begging him to stop through ablaze overstimulation.

Cock in hand, incontestably massive encompassed by his proportionally large fingers, he slaps the hard, angered, heavy shaft on your tender folds, groaning at the wet sound of flesh against flesh. He rubs it over your lips, drenching it in your juices.

You notice his thighs flex, already insanely sensitive. When he eases the head in, he moans, rough and low in his throat, brows creased in pained pleasure. You whimper his name, legs quivering faintly on each side of his waist.

Using his weight to press your body down into the mattress, forcing you onto him, he slides his arms underneath your knees, throwing them over his shoulders and bending you in half.

A shiver bursts through you at the sensation. You clench around him, forcing a strangled groan out of his throat.

He braces himself down on his forearms, face nestled in the crook of your neck. Pushing in, the bulbous tip of his cock kisses your cervix as he bottoms out and gets straight to a tireless pace, not giving you the ritualistic second to adjust. 

The bed creaks and squeaks with the way he's throwing himself into your cunt, pounding you into the soft cushions relentlessly. 

His hips gyrate roughly against yours, his tense abdomen waving into you, dipping his meaty cock in your juices with an obscene, wet squelching, finishing each delicious swing with a quicker entry, more forceful and animalistic. His pubes brush harshly against your engorged, swollen clit, sending jolts of electricity through your core.

Skipping the tension, the build-up of speed, he drives straight to the euphoric rhythm of a release chase. His balls slap onto your ass, his pelvic bone nearly delivering bruising slams against your own.

“Ugh, oh Miguel-,” you gasp for more air, struggling to form a coherent sentence through delirium, your breaths and moans rhythmically timed by his rough thrusts. 

You curl your arms around his neck, nails digging into his back and shoulders. He looks down at you, watching your breasts bounce in his face, and starts rutting harder into you, every ridge and vein of his fat cock brushing against your sensitive spots perfectly.

Each time you call for him, it's a melody, a rapturous chant that has him on his knees, his mind in cobwebs, his heart aching; and for the time being, his cock throbbing as well.

"I'm - ah! Cumming!Ugh, M- Mig- uel- !" You moan sharply, your orgasm rapidly threatening to burst like fireworks.

He frowns, panting, shallow breaths hot over your face. You convulse under his massive body, arching your back, squeezing your tits flush against his feverish skin. 

He feels your pussy flutter around his cock, milking him and sucking him in. He groans loudly in your ear, pace faltering ever so slightly. The headboard of the bed keeps slamming against the room wall, spurring your orgasm on with the reminder of the force of the man above you.

With one final thrust, his whole body tenses. He pushes forward, burying his cock in your soft, warm cunt, dumping his load in much slower and shallow rolls of his hips. You feel his dick pulsate inside you with each new spurt of cum, the remnants of your own climax making you clench around him reflexively.

He stills, relief washing over him. Meeting your gaze, he watches how you come back to your senses, the blinding lust replaced by love and admiration.

He grabs your waist and pulls you down with him, laying you on his chest, his softening cock still inside you.

You close your eyes, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

Dinner long forgotten.

divider by @cafekitsune

a/n: did my best here. the tags deadass took longer than the writing

TAGS

@thel0velykey190 @allysunny @weirdothatwritess @animechick93 @6thhokageswife @spookydragonsong @aisyakirmann @playmatenextdoor @skulfan1 @sat10 @2joos2cry @2099hitmylineyline @aiyaaayei @holographicang3l @heartfairy @cyberbugg @freehentai @acrazybiotch374 @theywhowriteandknowthings @shinyberry69 @pluviophilis @barely-thriving23 @realalpacorn @thekidscallmebosss @hrlzy @m4dyy @cringeycookies @tendoswifi @greatheartattacks @reborn-rekall @darksidescorner @yehet-moi-ohorat @poeticmoonspirit @kth137

[distuff]

I going to assume this is where we ask the requests so may I request a Saja boys x reader(separate but all of them) where they’re jealous after reader did something and how’d they react?

Answer: LMAO aye aye! Thx to ya I made all the changes at the beginnin for makin it esier for others to have a better idea, so thank you~ It was funny how you and were right after the other readershi who wanted to see these boyz jealous xDD Your wish is my command though ! I hope you enjoy it.

📍Requests: Please check HERE

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Demon Boys' And Jealousy

Featuring: Jinu Saja, Abs Saja, Romance Saja, Mystery Saja, Baby Saja Reader: Gender neutral

Jinu Saja

🐦‍⬛ Jinu personally didn’t think he was a jealous person...

🐦‍⬛ He looked up, turning to blink at the tiger. The tiger didn’t blink back. It sat there, staring through him with the unsettling stillness of something that knew. As if it could peer into the hollow cavity where his soul used to be.

🐦‍⬛ With a shaky breath, Jinu tore his gaze away and dropped it to the notebook in his lap, trying - trying - to focus on another one of Saja’s newer songs.

🐦‍⬛ Where was he? Right - He liked to think he could manage the sparks of jealousy. That he was above it. That he could smother it with rational thought before it ever had the chance to claw its way to the surface. But that was a lie. And the tiger - of course knew it.

🐦‍⬛ Above him, Magpie let out a sharp, mocking cackle from where it was perched on the long lamp looming over the couch. Jinu groaned, flinging his arms over his head, notebook still clutched in one hand, pen dangerously close to poking him in the eye.

🐦‍⬛ “Oh, spare me!” he said to the two ungrateful creatures, barely restraining the urge to launch the notebook at the smirking bird.

🐦‍⬛ This whole situation had started because of his irrational jealousy. That was the root of it. The spark. So how could anyone expect him - when his entire state of existence was now practically constructed from jealousy - not to act on it!

Jinu wasn’t as active as Abby when it came to exercising, but he also wasn’t as lazy as Baby or Mystery - those two practically had to be dragged outside just to get some fresh air, otherwise they’d dry out and be utterly useless later on. He enjoyed a simple night walk. Disguised, of course - nothing elaborate, just enough to avoid the eyes of their “fans.” He kept the concealment on until he reached the outskirts of the main city, where the air quieted and the streets thinned, and he could shed the disguise and just… breathe. The peace never lasted long. Sooner or later, he’d have to wear the idol’s mask again - or worse, the face of a soul-devouring demon. He never quite understood the thrill the others got from feeding. For them, devouring a soul was euphoric, intoxicating. For him, it just felt weird. Off. The leftover emotions from their human prey rushed through his system like a poison. More than once, he’d fought the urge to purge the very essence he’d had to consume - because if he didn’t feed, he’d weaken. And if he weakened, someone would overpower him. Whether that was another demon or one of his brothers in rank didn’t matter. Either way, hesitation meant death. The night walks were his one escape. They helped him clear his head, helped him pretend - for just a while - that he was nothing more than some delinquent climbing rooftops, finding a quiet place to perch where no one could see him. A place where the honmoon wouldn’t be provoked too easily. It had always been just him… until you came along. You introduced yourself into his life, unknowingly giving him peace of mind even in daylight. And when it was just the two of you? Those walks became something more. He enjoyed them far more than he should’ve - far more, given the countdown ticking overhead like a guillotine waiting to drop. He didn’t know how yet, but there had to be a way to keep your soul anchored to you. To protect it from the old King’s greed. If not… if no other way revealed itself… he’d be forced to devour you himself. And he wouldn’t be allowed to hesitate if the others were to watch. One moment of weakness and they'd either take you for themselves, or kill him where he stood. Or both. For now, they stayed away. You were his prey. His claim was clear enough, and no one dared challenge it yet. But that didn’t mean you were safe. If he slipped up - if he showed even a crack - they’d descend without mercy. To you, the two of you were a pair. Something sweet and in your head lasting. To them, you were just a meal he was taking his time savouring. Jinu didn’t want to think about any of that tonight. Not now. Not when he was getting ready to head out for his - yours - usual evening walk. Pulling on his leather jacket to make it look he was warding off the autumn chill, he turned and called your name. A second later, with nothing from you, he strained his ears only to wince right after - his hand flying to his right ear as a sharp sound pierced through him. The TV. Of course, Jinu winced inwardly. Jinu grimaced. Even at low volume, that thing buzzed like a mosquito in their ears. But the volume was up a notch higher now, which could only mean one thing: you were there. Still massaging his ear, he muttered curses under his breath and stepped out of the hallway, peeking around the wall to get a clear view of the living room. Mystery sat on the couch, somehow watching the screen through the thick fringe of his hair. His posture was unnervingly straight, hands placed neatly on his lap. Abby sprawled lazily, a bored expression in place as he stared at the Tv screen. His right arm stretched casually across the back of the couch - resting behind you. You sat in the middle of them, leaning forward slightly, eyes glued to the screen. Jinu’s eyes narrowed.

He was no stranger to the feeling that made his shoulders round, made his neck itch with the urge to crack his neck, called him to march over, and wedge himself between you and those two. Ideally, pulling you into his lap and acting as a living barrier. Jinu inhaled deeply, rolled his shoulders, and sauntered forward. One hand rubbed the back of his neck, easing the tension in the muscle before he gave it a soft crack. Without a word, he came to stand in front of you, arms folded across his chest. You didn’t notice him at first - too busy leaning over to watch whatever Mystery was so intensely obsessed with this time. So Jinu snapped his fingers in front of your face, prompting you to blink up at him. Your eyes lit up the second they met his unimpressed stare. A bright grin broke across your face. “Juni!” His shoulders eased at the sound of your voice, your use of that nickname - though the calm didn’t last. His gaze flicked to the two demons seated beside you. Thankfully, they were too absorbed in the screen to notice how much of an effect you had on him. You tilted your head, your eyes curious. “Is something the matter?” He tried not to focus on how casual you sounded - how you didn’t seem to register your shared evening walks as habit. Crouching down in front of you, Jinu angled himself so he didn’t have to look down at you anymore. “Ah… remember?” he asked, gesturing to the large window that framed the darkened sky, city lights already flickering beneath it. “Evening walk?” Your gaze followed where he pointed, then returned to him. You drew in your shoulders and pressed your lips together, looking hesitant. You sucked in your bottom lip and Jinu’s unease deepened. “Well…” you trailed off, making a vague gesture with your hand as if that should somehow explain everything.

Jinu squinted at you. He was this close to just slinging you over his shoulder and marching out the door. Baby had given him more than enough practice in how to secure a squirming body. You, being human, wouldn’t be able to put up nearly as much of a fight. Seeing he wasn’t going to let this go easily, you finally sighed in defeat. You spread your legs slightly, leaned forward, and rested your arms on your thighs with a pleading look. “The new season of my favourite series will come out tonight,” you whispered, eyes wide with excitement. “And Mystery said I could watch it on your big TV!” You gestured dramatically at the TV set up behind him - an admittedly expensive set by human standards. Jinu gave the screen a sharp glare. It was just an animal documentary. Lions, apparently. Tearing into something. He turned back to you with disbelief. “You do know you can watch it any time - after we come back.” He spoke at his usual volume, only to be immediately shushed. Jinu shot a look at Mystery. “Did you just—” “Shhh.” Mystery shushed him again. This time, Abby joined in, both of them leaning forward with fingers to their lips. Jinu blinked at them, visibly perplexed. He opened his mouth to object - there was literally no dialogue on screen, just lions snarling over a bloody gazelle - when your hand touched his shoulder. He glanced back at you. Your sheepish smile softened his frown. “Yeah, but…” you whispered, eyes flicking briefly to the side before settling on him again with quiet determination, “it’s different when you’re watching air live.” Jinu honestly wanted to ask how it was different. What possibly changed. But just as he parted his lips to question your frankly ridiculous logic, a wave of demonic aura seeped into the air from either side of you. Abby and Mystery, without moving much at all, made their warning perfectly clear. Jinu had two choices: sit down and shut up, or get out. He sighed. Reaching for your hand, he offered a weak smile and gave a small nod before lowering himself to the carpeted floor. He slid between your legs and leaned back against the couch, letting you slot him into place. The documentary continued. Lions tearing into thier dead prey. Blood everywhere. Jinu flexed his hands on his lap, resisting the urge to grumble. This was not how his night was supposed to go. He was being replaced. Not even by the TV - by a series. He sighed again, heavier this time, shoulders slumping as he glared at the screen, only to perk up when your hand slid into his carefully styled hair. You ran your fingers through it, scratching his scalp gently, easily messing it up without a care in the world. Jinu shivered. Instinctively, he leaned into your touch. Then your other hand slid down to his throat, beneath his chin. You tipped his face up and he let you, head tilted back slightly- His eyes widened as your lips brushed his, soft and warm. He blinked, startled for a split second - then relaxed into it, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed back. Yeah… maybe you could skip your evening walk just this once. As long as he got more attention than the dammed television. Not that he’d ever dare damage the thing. Just imagining what Mystery would do if he touched it sent a very different kind of shiver down his spine. And that had nothing to do with your touch.

<><><>

Abs Saja

💪 Abby wasn’t at all familiar with the term jealousy.

💪 He’d only learned about it after joining Jinu into the human world - first hearing it tossed around on those “sites” where people put pictures of themselves doing absolutely nothing of importance while strangers commented their thoughts underneath. He’d seen it muttered in passing by humans - “fans,” Jinu told him to called them - when he was signing his name on whatever they thrust into his face. And it showed up occasionally in those human dramas that played on the “TV” when he had nothing better to do and ended up beside Mystery on the couch.

💪 Even after picking up a fairly decent understanding of the concept, Abby still didn’t know how it was supposed to make his body react - if he was being honest. Not like he cared. Not really.

💪 There were far more interesting things in the human world than some feeling that, in his view, humans had invented just to make simple things unnecessarily complicated. I don’t like this—let me change it.

💪 That should’ve been enough. But then again, who was he to speak? He was more demon now than man, and his past... well, that was something he preferred to keep buried. If he had the choice, he’d leave it untouched.

💪 Still - Abby should’ve known. Should’ve expected that forming a connection with a human would eventually drag answers to questions he forgot he even asked.

It was one of those overcast days, the sky thick with grey clouds, announcing the rain that lurked just beyond the horizon. Abby could already hear the low, lazy rumble of thunder rolling somewhere in the distance - not quite overhead, but close enough to suggest it would settle in soon. Which meant if he stepped outside now, he might as well go out into the streets shouting that he was a demon here to claim every twitching human soul in earshot. Mystery had explained it to him once - after he’d all but run out of the shower with parts of his demonic features peeking through his supposed human skin, panicking that Gwi-ma was weakening. Apparently, their illusions functioned like layers of paint - carefully brushed over their true forms. And things like water or even a sweat could slowly strip those layers away until reality began to bleed through the cracks. And really - who was he to argue with the older demon? Still, this left him now with two conclusions: one irritating, the other… not so much. The annoying bit was simple: he’d have to exercise indoors. Which wouldn’t have been a problem on its own, except all the humans in the complex had clearly come to the same conclusion. And the shared gym? Cramped and humid. Abby didn’t mind sweating when he trained - he kind of enjoyed it, actually - but when the light hit him just right, his markings shimmered faintly, and his skin paled into that subtle, grey-blue hue. Easy to miss if no one was paying attention, but the wrong sort of eyes - especially hunters - tended to catch on. And then there was you. You’d said you needed a quiet space, somewhere you wouldn’t be bothered, and that ruled out the crowded gym anyway. Which meant Abby, by silent agreement, was stuck training in his own room. Annoying, yes. But also... pleasing. Because you were here. And you’d made it clear that if you ever felt like you were imposing, you’d leave. Which meant that if Abby wanted you to stay - which he very much did - he’d have to make a few sacrifices. Like giving up a chunk of his workout for the day. Oh well. He rolled his shoulders with a slow inward shrug and glanced at you where you sat cross-legged on his bed, fiddling with that magical little rectangle Jinu called a “phone.” He could afford to be lazy for a day. Especially if it meant basking in the warm, soothing presence of your soul - the one he so enjoyed soaking in, surrounding himself with, getting drunk on. Saliva pooled on his tongue just thinking about it. The once-bright blue, was already dimming - stained at the edges with crimson as their demonic influence quietly stirred over your soul. Once his stretches were done, Abby sauntered toward the iron bar fixed to the wall - a brutal little addition his brothers had insisted on after his first attempt at exercising in the main room had resulted in gagging, and Mystery outright fleeing from the scent. His pace was deliberate, loose. He swayed his hips slightly, rolled his shoulders, muscles flexing and pulling the tight tank top over his torso. His legs tensed beneath his sport shorts just as he leapt, hands gripping the bar with ease. He didn’t mind showing off in front of you. If anything, he enjoyed it - savored the look in your eyes when you stared just a bit too long. He knew exactly what his body could do. What kind of effect it could have. And he liked the way you looked at him when he made a point to show it. What Abby hadn’t accounted for was just how fast humans could adapt. Apparently, exposure dulled even the strongest reactions. Their attention drifted easily to new, shinier things. Which was maybe why, after only a few pull-ups, he held himself up - showing off with a smirk, tilting his head just so, flashing those sharp canines beneath a hooded gaze, fully expecting to find your eyes already on him. Only to nearly fumble his grip when he realised- You weren’t looking at him at all. Your eyes were fixed intently on the screen of that damned phone.

Abby’s nose twitched - sensing nothing but your unwavering concentration. It soothed some of the itch in his chest, that gnawing emptiness that never quite went away, no matter how many souls he consumed. Not really. He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what, exactly, could be more interesting than him right now. Even his gaze - heated and focused - didn’t seem to alert you. Abby was just about to whistle to get your attention when your voice suddenly rang out, bright and slightly forced. You held up your phone, smiling awkwardly as you nodded and greeted… someone? Abby froze. His focus had already loosened his grip on the iron bar, and your sudden movement was the final push that made his hold slip. He dropped with a solid thud, the impact rattling a few items on the nearby shelves. But he didn’t flinch. He was already rising, eyes locked on you from the floor like you had lost your mind. Are you alright in the head? he mouthed silently, twirling a finger near his temple before pointing at you. You furrowed your brows at him briefly, then quickly refocused on the phone, offering it an awkward smile as you confidently said, “Present.” Abby tilted his head, expression twisting into something between confusion and mild concern. Could demonic influence make humans go insane? It was a genuine question now. His eyes widened when he suddenly heard other voices - males and a few females, staticky, and invisible. He instantly looked around the room, searching for intruders, enemies, anything. If something was in here - if something was bold enough to challenge him in his own territory - he’d just show them exactly what kind of demon they were dealing with. But… nothing. Not a trace of another presence. No heartbeat, no soul signature, not even a flicker in the air. Just you. He looked back at you, only to jolt slightly as you were now giving him the "Are you okay?" look, eyes narrowed like he was the one acting weird. “What are you- ?” he began, only to fall silent when your eyes widened in panic. You shot him a look that clearly said, Shut up. Now Abby was both intrigued and annoyed. You seemed far more interested in whatever voices were coming from that tiny device than in him. Again. With his brows furrowed, he got up with a grunt, eyes fixed on you as he began to slowly stalk forward. “Yes, yes. Everything will be done by this Friday, I promise you, sir,” you said to the phone, your tone professional but clearly strained as you flicked your gaze between your screen and him. Abby was one second away from snatching the damned thing out of your hands and glaring at whoever thought they could steal your attention from him. But just as he reached out, your hand shot out and curled around his wrist. He looked down at your fingers wrapped around him, then back at you - unimpressed. He could easily pull away. Could do whatever he wanted really. But your touch, soft and sudden, paired with the silent pleading in your eyes… it cooled something in him. Just slightly. That deep, restless need to toss the phone aside, to pin you to the bed and lose himself in the warmth of your soul while you scrambled to hold him back - it didn’t disappear, but it dimmed.

You held his gaze - steady, firm - until a female voice buzzed through the phone. His ears rang a bit as he winced, and your head whipped away from him as you fumbled to confirm you were, in fact, listening, adding something about thinking you saw something. That made Abby grin sharply, the realisation settling over him like silk across skin. He didn’t know exactly what you were doing - but it was clear you didn’t want whoever was on the other end of that phone knowing he was here. Was he your dirty little secret~? No, that didn’t quite track. Your close friends knew you two were intimate. So then… why? The amusement drained from his features, fading into the pit of something far less pleasant. He couldn’t understand why you couldn’t just let those disembodied voices keep chatting to themselves through that possessed little rectangle and focus on him. On now. Abby didn’t like it. He also didn’t like standing there with all this unspent energy coiling under his skin. And you - you were making it hard to burn through it. So the moment your grip on his wrist started to weaken, Abby was already on the move. Without a word, he reached down and wrapped his hand around your ankle, tugging sharply. You bit your lip to stop any noise that wanted to leave as your posture crumbled, the phone nearly toppling out of your hands as you shifted - now seated with your legs splayed around his knees, trapped in place. Your eyes darted between the screen and the brooding look in his own, trying to hold onto both as if the two didn’t demand your full attention. Abby leaned in, eyes gleaming, lips curling into a smirk that promised far too much. “You,” he murmured, voice low and deliberate, “are going to figure out how to split your attention... with seventy-five percent of it on me… or-” His hand tightened just slightly around your ankle, firm but not painful. “ -I’ll very gladly give 'em a show they’ll never forget.” You flushed - he felt the heat rising off you in waves. Your expression flickered, visibly torn, and Abby knew damn well this shouldn’t even be a choice. You narrowed your eyes at his wicked grin as he began to mouth a countdown. Five... Four... Three... He got to two when you finally jabbed something on your phone, your tone sharp as you gave him a command instead of pleading: “Push-up position. Now.” Abby raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. He’d never been one to turn down a direct order - be it from Jinu, one of his brothers, or you. With a casual shrug, he lowered himself to the floor, hands planted firmly, legs stretched out, posture strong. He was about to glance up and smugly ask what the Royal Highness wanted him to do next - when he stilled. Your weight settled lightly across his lower back. Barely adding any weight. Abby blinked, surprised, and twisted to peer over his shoulder. You were fully focused on your phone again - expression serious, lips in a thoughtful pout like you were mentally juggling tasks - but now your warmth was resting against him. Your body was with him, even if your mind was still split. Abby’s lips pulled into a slow, toothy grin. His canines gleamed. Oh... you little masochist~ He chuckled under his breath and started the push-ups, each one slow and deliberate. Occasionally, he flexed his muscles just a bit more than necessary - earning a soft hiss, a poke of your foot to his ribs, or the delicious sound of his name whispered in mild exasperation. He didn’t care. He’d gotten what he wanted.

<><><>

Romance Saja

🌹 Romance was, by far, the least jealous of the five of them - and he was well aware of that.

🌹 The first time he even heard of jealousy, it was through something called a “comment” under a photo on this... "app" their manager had practically begged them to post. Apparently, posting was important for “engagement.”

🌹 Romance wasn’t sure what any of that meant, but from what he could gather, it involved humans reacting emotionally to pictures - and ducks, if the tiny round icons were to be trusted. Yes. A duck.

🌹 Romance had always known he was good-looking - otherworldly, as some humans had said - but to have a duck be jealous of him? That just felt unfair. He couldn’t, in good conscience, let such a poor creature think so lowly of itself.

🌹 Naturally, he replied to the comment. And for some reason got scolded for it by their manager. To make matters weirder, he was then invited to be some kind of... ambassador for animal rights. Or whatever that meant.

🌹 Weird, reall. Romance thought majority of humans already had rights. But anyway - back to the point.

🌹 He hadn’t understood what “jealousy” even was, so naturally, he went to their beloved human translator, Jinu. Romance had known Jinu for a few centuries now, and not once had he seen his brother react to anything quite so... passionately.

🌹 Either way, Romance had come to a firm conclusion: Jealousy was ugly.

🌹 Useless. Unassuming. Awful. Vile. Plain. Dreadful—

🌹 Aand Mystery snatched the precious book from his hands, muttering something about “thief.” Safe to say, Romance knew he would never think in such a way. Well... That was until he met a human who loved proving him wrong.

🌹 Didn’t you, you precious little worm~ ?

Romance was just putting the finishing touches on his freshly painted nails - this time opting for a daring combination of banana yellow and ocean blue. As expected, it looked fantastic. On him, of course. He couldn't imagine anyone else pulling off the look quite so flawlessly. “Darling,” he called out to you, admiring the now dry shimmer of his handiwork before carefully returning the various nail polish bottles to their rightful place in the box on the coffee table. With the space now cleared, it was your turn to get pampered. Romance wasn’t exactly sure when you’d moved from beside him on the carpeted floor of their shared living room, but he didn’t much care - so long as you responded. Or appeared. But you did neither. Frowning lightly, Romance looked up, perplexed by your silence. He could feel your presence, your soft, warm ripple in the honmoon - a soothing thrum of your soul pressing into the apartment’s atmosphere. Easily tracing the crimson line, his gaze landed on you just a few feet away, practically sprawled across Tiger’s plush belly. The spirit beast lay motionless on its back, all four legs pointed to the ceiling, while you absently patted its furry side. Tiger, in return, stared at you with wide, unblinking eyes - oddly content. The only sign that the beast was enjoying itself came in the form of a loud, rhythmic purring that Romance had only now registered, his demon hearing filtering back in once he emerged from his own head. Perched contentedly atop your back sat Magpie, methodically going through your hair like it was grooming you. Ohhh, he thought with a delighted grin. So that’s what this was. You were feeling lonely with his attention elsewhere. How precious~ He couldn't even blame you. Tiger’s fur did have a mildly intoxicating effect on humans - a fact they’d learned the hard way after you met them all properly... and after Romance almost immediately revealed that he and the others were demons. Not the easiest path in your connection, but you’d pulled through! Good for you. Especially considering Baby had been sharpening his claws at the mere thought of you running. Would Romance have tried to save you from the eager young demon if it came to that...? ... . . . “Darling?” he called out again instead of entertaining the thought any further, his smile dazzling as he partially turned your way. No use pondering things that would never happen - not now that you’d sworn to secrecy. Not when you chose him, in spite of it all.

At the sound of his slightly raised voice, your dazed eyes flicked towards him. You blinked once, then gave him a much softer smile in return. "Yeeah? What’s wrong?" you asked, your voice airy, touched with a lightness that made Romance chuckle as he straightened up slightly. He didn’t love how you were still sprawled across Tiger’s belly, absentmindedly running your hand through the spirit’s fur instead of coming over to him. But Romance didn’t let it show. “Well, for starters - your clothes,” he replied pointedly. You only hummed, smile deepening to yourself as you traced the stripes along Tiger’s side. Magpie peeked from behind your hair to send Romance a very unimpressed look, which he ignored in favour of continuing, “You’ll have fur all over them, mind you love.” He thought that would get you up. Clearly, he miscalculated. You just giggled, pressing yourself even further into the plush creature whose body had begun to vibrate with deep, pleased purrs. “Don’t be silly, Romance! I don’t mind a bit of fur. I can get it off with that... that - ah, that glue wheel!” you beamed, proud of yourself for remembering the term for a lint roller. Even Romance knew what a the "glue wheel" was called! Now considerably less amused, Romance would have usually run a finger gently through your honmoon wave to call your attention to him, but you were so blissed out he couldn’t begin to guess what that kind of contact might do to your human brain right now. He could have walked over and simply dragged you back to sit beside him - but that wasn’t an option either. You were being guarded. Tiger and Magpie’s joint aura radiated around you like a protective cocoon, the kind that would push his energy back the second he stepped too close with his current rattled state. How irritating.

Romance sighed softly, eyes tinged with bitterness as he watched you continue to receive your pampering - and dish it out in equal measure. You looked perfectly at peace, perfectly content… without him. Jealousy? Romance scoffed inwardly. This wasn’t jealousy. Of course not. He could have what you were giving them at any time. Any second. You were just... relaxed. Too relaxed to think rationally. Taking comfort wherever it presented itself. Romance’s lips pulled into a small pout as he turned away. So what? You preferred a motionless cat and a meddling bird over him? Fine. He could play at indifference, too. He ignored the twitch of his fingers, the restrained urge to look at you again. He especially ignored the intrusive thought that maybe he should’ve paid more attention to what you were doing... instead of expecting you to sit beside him and simply look pretty. To enjoy his company quietly, the way he always did with you. His brow furrowed. Quickly, he smoothed it out. He wouldn’t allow a wrinkle to form over something as petty as this. But he also didn’t like the way his mouth tasted with the vile feeling now swimming in his chest. Since when did he crave your attention this much? A quiet huff escaped him - just before he noticed a presence near him. He turned his head - perhaps a bit too eagerly for his liking - only to flinch back when he came nose-to-nose with Tiger’s unblinking stare. Startled, Romance pushed himself away, inhaling sharply, he needed a second to calm his racing breath. His wide eyes shifted to Tiger’s left side - only to find you sitting down beside him behind the coffee table, one hand resting gently on the spirit’s shoulder. You gave him a soft smile, while Magpie now fluttered above the nail polish box, examining the bottles with a critical eye. Romance’s startled expression wasn’t from the Tiger spooking him - it was from not feeling you three come closer. Normally, he’d sense you through the honmoon, but those two? They seemed to have cloaked your energy like snow blanketing grass. Just like when they made tracking Jinu impossible. Just how long were you snuggling them? The thought came out sharp - too sharp. Even in his own head, it sounded accusatory. Before he could linger on the thought, his gaze snapped back to Tiger. The spirit had lifted its right paw, extending it slowly forward with a low, deliberate rawr. Eyes locked. Staring. As if- “I believe it wasn't you to paint its ‘nails’~” you chimed, cheek resting against your palm as you leaned forward across the coffee table, expression expectant. Romance blinked at you, then slowly sat upright again, recovering from all that was suddenly happening. Still trying to brush off the strange, unfamiliar bitterness inside him, he reached for Tiger’s large paw, gently taking it in both hands and pressing into the pads to extend the luminous, jade-like claws. They were already somewhat tinted - but the way you were watching him, eyes bright with amusement and warmth, reignited something inside him. Your attention was back. That was all he needed. If you wanted to give up your seat to Tiger? Romance didn’t care, he would manage to paint the spirit's claws one way or another - so long as you stayed beside him. So long as your eyes were on him.

<><><>

Mystery Saja

🐶 You need to understand something. Mystery despised unnecessary movement.

🐶 The fact that he was already forced to move in sync with the others during their dances, striking poses with highly questionable gestures that were, for some reason, culturally considered “cute” - was bad enough. So whenever he could simply sit still and not move? He took it. Literally.

🐶 Mystery could remain perfectly still for hours if something caught his interest. The first time Abby witnessed this, he’d startled so hard the cereal box he was holding had flown out of his hands - scattering cornflakes across the room. He’d only been chewing on them “to have something to do,” even though he constantly complained about the taste.

🐶 Even then, Mystery hadn’t moved. He’d stayed seated in the same armchair near the window, eyes hidden under his fringe as he focused on the pulsing waves of the honmoon outside. Crimson glimmers occasionally shimmered across the blue surface, moving rebelliously over the barrier.

🐶 He was fully aware of Abby creeping closer to him. Still, he didn’t move.

🐶 When Abby stretched out a single finger to poke his cheek, the response was instant. A sharp crack and Abby yelped, suddenly kneeling on the floor with his arm twisted behind his back. Mystery had only moved one arm, smoothly dislocating Abby’s without hesitation or breaking his focus.

🐶 Abby, ever the pest, just beamed at him from the floor. “So you’re not dead!” he declared cheerfully. Mystery sighed softly.

🐶 So yes - you deciding that taking a walk was a good idea, Mystery was in a foul mood the second he stepped outside the shared apartment.

🐶 Believe him, he had every intention of persuading you to stay indoors by any means necessary... but then you hit him with those enlarged glittering eyes... He sighed again, this time much deeper.

Mystery never understood the appeal of dogs. Or pets in general. The only reason he didn’t mind Tiger and Magpie was because they shared a similar level of cognitive awareness to that of lower-ranking demons if not more. At least with them, communication was stimulating. The same could not be said for Earth’s animals - especially the domesticated ones. Mystery always felt a deep, visceral disappointment whenever he saw what was once a majestic beast reduced to nothing more than a drooling pet, wagging its tail and performing humiliating little tricks for praise and biscuits. He didn’t know why he thought you would be any different. The moment the two of you stepped into the park - your idea, of course - it wasn't long until you got distracted. A dog had spotted you from across the path and ran over, tail wagging furiously. Its owner, lounging on a nearby bench, gave only a cursory glance before going back to scrolling mindlessly through their phone. Like the rest of humanity, Mystery noted dryly. Though, to be fair, Jinu had once accused him of being addicted too to their television. Mystery, however, considered it education. He liked to absorb knowledge in all forms. A self-reading picture book was just another source. Currently, he stood beside you, hands tucked into the pockets of his long coat - an attempt to "blend in", as Jinu had advised. Apparently, heavier clothing was more appropriate for the cooler season. Despite being centuries older, Mystery trusted Jinu’s judgement on modern human etiquette. In terms of human knowledge, his junior was frustratingly competent. He stared at you now, eyes half-lidded behind his fringe, the brim of his cap shadowing most of his upper face. The face mask he'd been wearing had been tugged down earlier, back when the two of you had been talking. Back when he had your attention. Now? Now you were too busy cooing over a slobbering mutt. Mystery blinked slowly, deadpan. Weren’t you the one who invited me out...? He wouldn’t have minded your attention drifting - if he hadn’t sacrificed his only rest day to walk beside you in the first place. If you wanted to spend time with him, then your focus should be on him.

Not the nearest tail-wagger. He stepped forward deliberately. His shadow fell over both you and the dog. He made sure not to step on your wave that was part of the barrier as not to alert you. Instead, his gaze tracked the stray energy line connecting to the mutt - still just wild enough to not be attached to anything, it seemed. With one hand, he reached out and let the white line coil naturally around his finger. With the other, he brushed aside his fringe - just enough to meet the creature’s eyes once he pinched the dog’s line between his fingers. The dog stilled immediately, mid-scratch. You, unaware, kept rubbing under its chin. Its pupils dilated as Mystery's eyes flashed gold for a split second - his pupils slitting horizontally, before returning to their human guise. Mystery tilted his head slowly. The dog mirrored the motion, fur bristling as Mystery let his lips curl into a sharp, canine smile. Hello... friend, he spoke silently. The dog’s ears flattened. You blinked, sensing the change, and opened your mouth to call it. But it was too late. Its attention was no longer yours. With a soft, guttural growl too low for human ears, Mystery bared his teeth. One snap that held many words. The mutt whined, instantly remorseful, and turned tail - quite literally - racing back to its owner without a second thought. Mystery released the energy line. It slipped from his finger like a thread of light, spiralling away to find something else to tangle with. He’d just managed to cover his eyes again when you turned, smiling - only for that smile to fall the moment you spotted his still falling grimace. Oh. Oh noo. Mystery thought, perhaps a bit too smugly. If he had a tail, it might’ve wagged. How hypocritical of him. You immediately began softly scolding him, convinced he’d scared the poor dog because he was scared. Mystery simply began walking ahead, slow enough for you to catch up. You did, naturally. Without complaint, you let him loop your arm through his as you continued your gentle lecture, explaining how animals can sense fear and tension, and how he really shouldn’t glare at dogs, of all things, if he is scared. Mystery hummed noncommittally, eyes half-lidded under his fringe as the two of you passed by the dog and its owner. The mutt lay curled up by the bench now, ears pressed back - but it lifted its gaze as Mystery looked down. He tilted his head, just slightly - enough for his fringe to shift, revealing a glint of golden eye beneath - before nodding once. The dog stared back - and gave a single, slow nod back. A mutual understanding passed between them. Right under your nose. Even if the once-great beasts now barely reached my knees... They weren’t fully loyal to the humans. Not yet. Humans never ceased to amaze him - how easily they could lie to themselves, and worse, believe it. He turned his gaze to you, smiling down gently as he gave your hand a small squeeze. You returned it tenfold, radiant. Seems humans still believed they could tame something far greater than them. Haaah! How amusing.

<><><>

Baby Saja

🍼 Baby honestly couldn’t care less about who, where, or when you were hanging out, chatting with, or even casually touching - so long as he was already there. Already leaning against you, draped over your shoulders, or holding your waist like he belonged there. Which, he did.

🍼 As long as some part of him - elbow, knee, hip, pinkie finger, anything - was soaking in that steady, addictive burn of your wavelength, that perfect flicker between blue and red that made the most enticing shade of violet… Yeah. He was fine.

🍼 Mostly. That colour made his teeth ache. The kind of ache that whispered sink them in, take a bite, mark it.

🍼 But still - Baby could behave. He wouldn’t even bully the poor sucker who got too familiar, like you’d told him not to.

🍼 And you knew that. So let’s run it back again, shall we? Why in the name of sweet, unhinged holy Mary would you pull that stupid stunt?

🍼 Hey! If anything happens, that one’s on you, alright?

🍼 Baby had made it very clear: as long as he’s physically near you, you could be on a stupid date for all he cared. Not that the date would go well, mind you. But still - technicalities.

🍼 Free meal for you in the form of food. Free meal for him in the form of that mouth-watering cocktail of emotion you never seemed to run out of - especially when he teased you, and that heat behind your eyes flared up just right.

🍼 Baby guessed… Bon appétit, then?

You two had just come back from Baby’s solo photoshoot, and he was more than ready to drag you to his room, push you onto the bed, and collapse on top of you like a spoiled feline basking in the warmth of your soul. The plan, however, was interrupted by your insistence that dinner came first. Right. Humans needed to eat more than once every few weeks to stay alive. What a hassle, Baby sighed inwardly, stretching his hands over his head until his shoulder blades cracked with a satisfying pop. His body leaned instinctively towards yours, his right side brushing your left as you walked toward the elevator that would take you up. Not to the heavens, of course. He’d already given that realm the finger a few centuries ago. He had to chuckle a bit under his breath, stopping only when the spike of amusement in your wave caught his attention, and he looked down to meet your curious gaze; eyebrow arched in silent question. Instead of explaining, Baby just flashed you a lazy smirk and casually slung an arm over your shoulder, tugging you close. Unintentionally giving better access for your fingers to find his chin, then his cheeks, which you squished with zero shame. “What are you cackling about, hm?” you asked, your arm slipping around his waist. He didn’t flinch, though every nerve under your touch sparked with something soft and crawling. He still didn’t understand why that sensation unsettled him more than outright pain. He shoved it aside, tuning into the velvet edge of your voice just as you reached the elevator. He pressed the ‘up’ button sharply. “Did being around so many people finally fry your brain?” you teased, tone more curious than concerned. Baby shot you a playful glare, voice raspy. “You wish. I could finally understand what you’re blabbering about half the time.” You let out a dramatic sigh, hand to your heart. “Tragic. I thought maybe, just maybe, you were on your way to genius-level intellect like me—ack! Hey!” You slapped his hand away from your side where he’d prodded your ticklish spot, glaring at him with mock-seriousness. “Watch your fingers, mister.” He raised an amused brow, grin sharp as ever. As the elevator pinged its arrival, he leaned down, voice dipping just enough to make your skin prickle. “Why?” he murmured. “You didn’t complain the last time I touched you... hmm?”

The words dripped with smugness as he sauntered into the Gwi-ma-blessed elevator, shooting you a glance over his shoulder just in time to see your flushed face. He traced the violet line of your wave as it reached for him, trailing with your hesitation before you stepped in beside him. All serious now - but he knew better. You gave him a flat look, raising two fingers close to his face in warning. “We’re going to have a very long talk about those kinds of comments in public.” Baby opened his mouth like he might reply - then promptly bit your finger with a smug little smile. You froze, staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights. And before he could escalate the tension - because gods help you, he would’ve - footsteps echoed down the hallway. Baby’s expression dropped flat, the teasing gone in an instant as he leaned back. You looked confused right before the multiple sets of footsteps became obvious even to your human ears. He glanced up, silently willing the doors to close faster. A thin slit remained - and of course, you had to reach out and press the ‘open door’ button. How thoughtful of you, He rolled his eyes, lips twitching in irritation. Your gleaming wave had cooled to an annoying shade of blue. A family of five stepped in. Baby could feel their overlapping energies that pulsed for the huntresses. You greeted them with your usual smile and soft-spoken manners, and Baby tugged his hoodie up to hide his teal hair, too tired and too irritable to deal with public pleasantries. He bowed lazily after you, stepping aside for the mother with a stroller, the baby's line flailing wildly beyond the barrier. It made Baby grimace. The man followed next, guiding a little girl by the hand. The two of them exchanged polite nods. Baby’s was barely there. The little girl waved, and he returned it half-heartedly. But when he glanced back, puzzled as to why no one else - especially you - was stepping in, it finally hit him. The elevator was full. You were left outside, standing with that teen. “Thank you very much,” said the father, pressing a card against the panel to activate the higher floor. Oh, fuck no- Baby moved instinctively, ready to tag the kid out and step back through, but your hands rose in warning. Your eyes met his with a placating smile before you looked over his shoulder at the parents, “No worries! I’ll get him to your floor safely!” You... will do what? His eyes stared blankly at you as the doors began to close. “Thank you again, dear!” the mother called cheerfully. The last thing you saw was Baby’s deadpan expression. The last thing he saw was your sheepish little grin, right before the doors closed. Oh, you were in for it now. Keeping his composure - barely - Baby leaned against the elevator wall, head dipped low as he began mentally counting down the floors. Mystery would’ve been so proud of his restraint. He ignored the whispered chatter from the parents, and the little girl’s not-so-subtle glances. His eyes locked on the stroller. Inside, a small, soft, utterly helpless baby giggled up at its mother. Unlike the older humans, babies hadn’t attached to anything yet. Its soul line was wild, unclaimed, potent. Should I...? His eyes flashed gold. Canines sharpened slightly. His dormant hunger throbbed behind his temples. The only reason he was even hungry was because you’d left him alone - surrounded by humans - so you could chaperone a teenager instead of waiting with him. His frustration spiked. Baby tilted his head, expression unreadable, pupils thinning as he stared down the tiny creature that cooed up at its mother, oblivious to the apex predator in its presence.

... ... Pfff! PHAHAHAHA! Baby laughed internally. The image of your horrified expression flickered behind his eyes, kindling a small flame in the otherwise hollow space in his chest. His gaze dulled back into its more human shade as the glow vanished. Silly human. Babies' souls weren’t even worth the effort. Too bland anyway. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed inside the suffocating metal box, but the elevator stopped on a few floors - each time with waiting strangers who were gently told, by the parents, that it was full. Baby didn’t say a word. Just stood there, quiet and stubborn, arms crossed and spine pressed against the wall, barely concealing his impatience. So when they finally reached their floor and the doors slid open, Baby wasn’t even surprised to find you already there. What did catch his attention was the way you were laughing - head tilted slightly, eyes soft - as the boy said something that made him flush pink from ears to neck. Baby could’ve ignored it. Should’ve, really. Just walked over, grabbed you by the wrist, and hauled you back into the lift so the two of you could return to the apartment, and pretend this detour into hell hadn’t happened. But. There was something he just couldn't ignore. The shimmer of the boy’s wave slipping across the barrier, trying to brush against yours. Not bold. Just enough to be noticed. It was shy, clumsy adoration. The taste of it sat foul in Baby’s mouth. Sweet, like fruit rotting too fast under the sun. He tasted longing. Hope. He tasted dare. It made him want to shove his hand through the kid’s chest and rip out that fragile, pulsing heart before it got any ideas about beating for you. But that would cause a scene. And scenes meant scoldings from his seniors and, worst of all - your unpredictable response. So. Plan B. Baby’s expression didn’t change as he stepped out of the elevator, hands in the pocket of his hoodie, his walk lazy and casual as he followed the family.

You turned at the sound of the parents’ voices, flashing them that radiant smile of yours, brushing off their thanks with an airy “It was nothing.” They invited you to dinner - blah blah blah - and Baby filed it all under irrelevant noise as he subtly sharpened his nails with a flick and disturbed the parents’ waves just enough to make them both shiver. They looked around, startled, looking for something that was not really there. They gave their quick goodbyes and started to walk away, ushering the teen with them. Baby moved in without hesitation, stepping up beside you and sliding a hand around your waist. His touch was gentle - he didn’t want to startle you - yet firm. You waved at the retreating family, unaware of how tightly his hold lingered. You started to move towards the waiting elevator again, but Baby held you back. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you looked up at him. He didn’t explain himself. Just let his other hand rest on your opposite hip and pull you closer. His head dipped down, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, his fringe messily falling over his face as he pressed his left cheek into your skin. His lips followed - slow, teasing - brushing a kiss along your neck to your ear with just enough pressure to be felt. He ignored the scent the boy had left clinging to you, smothering it with his own presence. And then, just as he felt a ripple in the air that didn’t belong to you, Baby opened his eye and looked straight past you. His gaze locked with the boy’s. That shimmer of hope that had glowed seconds earlier? Shattered. Baby watched the boy’s startled expression fall apart, watched that sugary wave of emotion collapse into bitter disappointment. He grinned - sharp and bright - as he rubbed his cheek more firmly against your neck, his left hand sliding up to rest over the back of your neck, spread his fingers. All the while staring at the teen. The boy didn’t move until his mother called. Then he turned away slightly - but glanced back again. Mistake. Baby was still looking at him. Grinning like a devil. Flipping the boy off with his free hand. The boy visibly tensed, brows drawn tight. But before he could even think of taking a daring step forward, his mother called out for the second time. Now clearly frustrated, the boy’s expression soured - just as Baby fuelled it further by wiggling his fingers lazily in the air, mouthing: Fuck off. All while his other hand kept you snug against him - your body probably assuming he was just being clingy. The teen flushed deep red. His wave trembled - confusion giving way to the first sparks of quiet fury - and then, finally, he turned and walked off when his mother called again. Baby didn’t need to feel her wave to know that the woman wouldn’t call the fourth time. Baby only relaxed when he couldn't properly feel the family's wavelengths in the space. Then, slowly, he loosened his grip, letting you pull away just a bit. You gave him a curious look, eyes narrowing at his still present grin. “Well, you look happy,” you said, watching him with raised brows. You tried to step back further - but he tugged you forward again. Now looming over you, his grin remained, but his eyes gleamed darker beneath it. He reached out and tapped your nose, once, twice, three times. “Oh no,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, eyes locked with yours. “I’m fuckin’ pissed.” He smiled wider.

[gothamite-rambler]

Jason Todd entered the gas station in the middle of a robbery. One customer was on the ground, clutching a gunshot wound to his stomach. A little girl was sobbing in fear, the cashier was nervously stuffing money into a bag, and the gunmen was pacing and panicking.

Gunman: It wasn’t supposed to go this way! I just wanted the money and to leave! It’s your fault for screaming!

The gunman aimed the gun at the young girl, making her freeze in horror.

Gunman: I wanna die. I wanna die!

Jason: I think you should.

Gunman (turning to Jason): What?

Jason: You’re of no use to society. You’ll waste innocent taxpayer dollars, abuse the weak legal system, and enter a cowardly plea of insanity to a morally bankrupt defense attorney. For what?

While Jason waited for a response, the young girl took a few steps to the side, away from the barrel of the gun, already pulling out her phone and recording the tense standoff.

Jason: Nothing to say? I figured. Oh, and once you're incarcerated, you'll cost taxpayers around 47 thousand dollars a year. So, you know what, make sure you point the barrel of the gun to the back of your throat.

Gunman (aiming the gun at Jason): I think I just changed my mind.

Jason (already drawing his gun): That is so not an option.

Jason shot the gunman once in the shoulder, then aimed for his head, causing the man to fall to the ground dead. The young girl gasped, slightly terrified, but that fear was pushed aside by relief at being saved.

Wounded man: That was... an awesome speech. I’m losing a lot of blood, but solid speech and shot, though.

Jason: Thanks. You can post that video, kid. Are you okay?

Little girl: Traumatized, but that’s Gotham for you, right? On my tenth birthday, I saw the Joker launch a weather balloon filled with wasps... that was not a fun day.

Jason: Usually isn’t when he’s escaped. Anyway, I need smokes. Do you have Newports?

Cashier: Uh, sure. You have to stay here and talk to the police, though. I’ll vouch for you, but I don’t want to be blamed for this guy’s death.

Jason: That’s fine.

[tf2heritageposts]

gonna make a new post for it since the situation has changed but basically

hi i’m cheavy, host of a disabled transmasc system. we just escaped our abusive family with pretty much just the clothes on our back and our rabbit, and now have an apartment. we’re low on funds and we need to head by tomorrow for needed stuff(forks, bowls, blankets, pillows, clothing because we do not have any changes of pants and only three shirts, etc) and to try and get testerone at the planned parenthood nearby, as well as food of course.

we’re gonna try and get a job, but we’re pretty much gonna be living on mutual aid for a month until our girlfriend comes

kofi: https://ko-fi.com/tf2heritageposts

cashapp: $theteufortdozen

venmo: @ theteufortdozen

paypal: https://www.paypal.me/blucheavy3

gofundme: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-a-trans-disabled-system-escape?utm_source=customer&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_campaign=p_lico+share-sheet-first-launch

please reblog if you can, once june comes around we’ll probably not need donations anymore

[kaijuno]

"No piece of art has ever emotionally affected me the way this robot arm piece has. It's programmed to try to contain the hydraulic fluid that’s constantly leaking out and required to keep itself running...if too much escapes, it will die so it's desperately trying to pull it back to continue to fight for another day. Saddest part is they gave the robot the ability to do these 'happy dances' to spectators. When the project was first launched it danced around spending most of its time interacting with the crowd since it could quickly pull back the small spillage. Many years later... (as you see it now in the video) it looks tired and hopeless as there isn't enough time to dance anymore.. It now only has enough time to try to keep itself alive as the amount of leaked hydraulic fluid became unmanageable as the spill grew over time. Living its last days in a never-ending cycle between sustaining life and simultaneously bleeding out... (Figuratively and literally as its hydraulic fluid was purposefully made to look like it's actual blood).

"The robot arm finally ran out of hydraulic fluid in 2019, slowly came to a halt and died - And I am now tearing up over a friggin robot arm 😭 It was programmed to live out this fate and no matter what it did or how hard it tried, there was no escaping it. Spectators watched as it slowly bled out until the day that it ceased to move forever. Saying that 'this resonates' doesn't even do it justice imo. Created by Sun Yuan & Peng Yu, they named the piece, 'Can't Help Myself'. What a masterpiece. What a message."

Extended interpretations: the hydraulic fluid in relation to how we kill ourselves both mentally and physically for money just in an attempt to sustain life, how the system is set up for us to fail on purpose to essentially enslave us and to steal the best years of our lives to play the game that the richest people of the world have designed. How this robs us of our happiness, passion and our inner peace. How we are slowly drowning with more responsibilities, with more expected of us, less rewarding pay-offs and less free time to enjoy ourselves with as the years go by. How there's really no escaping the system and that we were destined at birth to follow a pretty specific path that was already laid out before us. How we can give and give and give and how easily we can be forgotten after we've gone.. How we are loved and respected when we are valuable, then one day we aren't any longer and we become a burden...and how our young, free-caring spirit gets stolen from us as we get churned out of the broken system that we are trapped inside of. Can also be seen to represent the human life cycle and the fact that none of us make it out of this world alive. But also can act as a reminder to allow yourself to heal, rest and love with all of your heart. That the endless chase for 'more' isn't necessary in finding your own inner happiness.”

[lonestarflight]

Preparations for Apollo Pad Abort Test 1 (PA-1), using Apollo Boilerplate (BP-06) spacecraft, and launch escape system on adapter ring in firing position at Apollo-Little Joe II launch area, White Sands Missile Range, New Mexico.

Date: October-November 1963

SDASM Archives: 10_0009700

[crying-fantasies]

Monsterfucking

Masterlist

Featuring Merformers! Rodimus Prime, smut/fluff/humor, CW: you fuck the fish, that's it, Roddy doesn't know about kissing, licking (sexy and lovingly), handjob, penetration, mention of a knot, barrier language, nesting, light gore (in a fight), mention of Rodimus’ creators, mer pups/cubs (I love these fictional babies so much), long fic.

Days in Cybertron tend to be regulated in cycles, the days are longer than average back on Earth, and it has been years but you still get problems waking up at the start of the day cycle, a new day to work, and a new day to try and not mess all up as a snake-like tail gets clingy, not letting go of your leg and purring when his claws get a hold of your torso again, hardly letting you hold on the data pad and give your boss a message of your more than sure tardiness just to get a thumbs up from her, almost hearing her say “work hard!”

Anything to help an endangered species.

Rodimus tends to be quite the hyper-energy kind of person, well, fish, he stands up more than the rest of the marine wildlife on this planet, and that's saying a lot given the unique metallic nature displayed, it’s a miracle that whatever kind of liquid filling most of the planet's oceans isn't cooking your meat out of your bones; Rodimus stands up, a lot, you've seen the others around, most are friendly, more inclined to curiosity when they touch your legs or look at you from some reef like structures, believing those as the better spot to hide but forgetting to low the light in their optics, first time it happened you were in for a shock as the rest of the team laughed at your spooked reaction to more than 20 pairs of optics shining bright under the liquid, all with overflowing attention to the new organic putting feet on the floating laboratory.

Rodimus would always be more noticeable to you, as he was the first pair of blue optics reaching out to you the same day your work put you there, so far away from your real home, all to preserve the mechanical nature of this planet and it's creatures, Rodimus escaped from his group, servos trying to catch onto his fins, all for nothing as the mech came up to a side of the lab where your official in charge was giving you the tour of the facility.

With shiny red-colored scales and flimsy paper-like metallic membranes, he was just like in the books, something from far away yet seemed organic, it was something so intricate no one could ever think of, the pads in his digits patted your right foot, feeling the texture of skin and thin body hair before giving a high pitched trill when he launched himself back to the liquid.

One of the scientists laughed, “Rodimus likes you”, almost catching on to his designation he emerged back, just to be dragged under by the rest of his group in a hissing feat, especially by a very mad hunter mech.

Mechs they call them, as in mechanical individuals, some skip over formalities and call them mers because the mers call themselves that way; and no, it’s not a joke as you see Chief Medical Darcy act as a referee when Optimus and Megatron are about to rip the fins of one another again as the doctor only sips on his instant chemical coffee, watching them both quarrel like an old couple, using sounds on a piano-like artifact to tell them to, in the mers own language, “frag off already, Optimus, you left him” while pointing at the blue mer, then to the almost smiling big-like ancient shark, playing his piano like a pro, moving pieces and volumes to say: "Megs, you shouldn't have acted like that, you started it”.

They are ancient, going way back to when Earth was still galactic powder, sentient in every way, they have language, culture, arts, and everything in between, the planet was under colonization until someone noticed the fishes could communicate, it all burned down from it, now considered a protected system the priority was to increase their number, as they could tell tales from bygone times, cures and methods never told before; the mer called Alpha Trion knew of a treatment for decayed fins, which somehow also worked on humans, it was incorporated to treat many skin diseases back on Earth, and the pros of keeping them alive overwhelmed the ones trying to sell them in pieces like it was done at first.

Rodimus is part of the reproduction program, more like one of the offspring resulting from it, but you've seen the program, it looks more like a dating event to this point, and then a nursery program, once the mers get good results, keeping the babies is high maintenance even for the most experienced ones, Cory tells you so once he catches on Rodimus going to you more times than ordinary, cuddling your side like an over-affective cat while purring, “he was just a small baby when I handled him, seems like it was yesterday”, he has a very worn-off expression, and the bags under his eyes tell you of unending nights while he has a new baby in his arms, you see a few mers in the pool connected to the nursery, passed out on the floor in uncomfortable positions over beds of wire-like kelp, some with their young sleeping like angels over them, and Rodimus, who is now shining and swimming in circles for some reason around you two as you also hold a baby, is very focused in how the little guppy holds the neck of your t-shirt, even using one of the sleepy carriers as some platform to show off his pretty red and orange scales, “never expected to live enough to see the day he would dance for a human”, you take a moment to think over it, process it, Rodimus has little time to do something when one moment you're standing there and the next you're running like you heard Megatron is coming with a bad temper.

Rodimus hasn't seen you since that day and makes it everyone else's problem while wailing on the shore closest to your room, and you, so shocked you almost dropped the baby back into the water, only hide in the sudden realization that an alien, mechanic, sentient fish wants to have something with you.

It was too much for a Saturday night, excusing yourself and leaving the baby with Cory who shouted something along the lines of it being normal, “Have you seen this fellow here?” he pointed at the red and silver mer in the pool, a new sire taking a rest while his babies were being rocked back and forth by you just a few seconds ago, the silver and white baby, now in Cory’s arms next to his red and white sibling, “have you meet Miss Astoria yet? The co-owner of this preservation program? These are her boys”

How can it be normal? How did it even happen between two different species on two different planets? How come the babies don't even look human? How?

And why is he trying so hard to find you? There is hardly time to even eat next to the shore before he appears once again, at least his blue optics peaking over the liquid before he goes back down, leaving you in a moment of solitude, raising your hopes, that maybe he finally settled for a partner of his species, but no, Rodimus only went back to the ocean and took out some kind of alien mechanical fish, still moving and trying to return from where it came, only to be gutted right there and then in front of you, Rodimus looks at you, expectantly, how can his optics shine so much?

“You know what? Fuck it”

Next thing everyone knows you're sunbathing in your free time on the beach, Rodimus making a donut-shaped nest at your side with his body, thrilling happily while doing so before you are called back, making him look at you, then at the nest, and back at you, big optics pleading and almost whimpering, “what is-? No, no! It's not that I don't like it! You shouldn't even be doing that here!”

Mers hardly do nests everywhere, as it is only recommended to do it near calm waters, safe to raise their young, close to the waters to ensure the moisture of the nest, with enough light to keep the iron sand warm and cozy for the growing protoforms.

Rodimus makes them where he likes or where you stay for a time long enough for him to get back at his job.

Cory tells you that's normal, since you said yes to Rodimus is normal for any newly paired couple to create their own nest, and also the fact that Rodimus is a recently matured young adult makes him more eager over the idea.

Maybe not exactly at the prospect of having a baby, more like the idea of banging.

Rodimus makes a lot of nests around the iron sand, he has one outside your shared habsuit, another out of your side of the laboratory, one in the sunbathing grounds like the other mers, but not one in the nesting grounds or the nursery, being extremely on edge if an unpaired mer looks at you or his nests, Rodimus is snarling at them when he notices, fins flaring with violent intent and only stopping when the other mer is at a distance he considered respectful before going to you as if he was the victim and not the curious young mech, chattering inconsolable until you let him snuggle in your lap, holding to you and whistling happily.

Mers, while being highly intelligent and sentient still go by their traditions, quite animalistic traditions as they fight over themselves to get a partner, and catch the attention of another; a group is wrestling in the iron sand in one of the little islands while you sunbathe with Rodimus, cleaning his fins of parasites or dead scales, taking samples while at it before a road and a snarl catches on your attention, jumping on your spot over the sand and looking at the island, two mers soon to kill each other while some others look, expectantly, waiting for the winner, the mers waiting to make a display and show their scales, show their array once the loser is bleeding energon in the sand and the winner takes the prize, you feel bad for the med, dragging his massive metal body back to the ocean, maybe soon to arrive at the medic area for medical aid, Rodimus calls your attention back at him, his servos holding your hands and pressing them back at his chest which rumbles, then holding onto your face to look him directly at his optics once you notice the healed scars under his scales or the growing pity on the injured mer just meters away.

Doesn't take much to know why he is always so clingy, or the reason for him to have so many scars when you look at his multiple medical reports, all gained after several mating seasons, losing every single one, being dragged back by Cory to patch him up even in a fainted state.

You look at him now, different, both resting in the bed inside your habsuit, still too early in the morning, Rodimus is curled next to you, his arms holding you, tail heavy over your legs, tangled within your legs, a remarkable subject that pointed out what he was and what you are, impossible to miss, still, you know about it now.

Nesting season is still a long way to come but the mating one is ever present once the fights for lovers have ended, Rodimus seems to not be moved by it, or he tries to appear as much as he grooms you with his hands and his glossa, it is more like an affectionate display but it still far from any sex, still, while he tries to rule over your hair with his oral solvents you catch on the puffy look his slit shows; most paired mates had long since gone to more private zones to let their needs and urges free, you are with the rest of the team as everyone gives their farewell to the newly paired young mechs, hoping for the best in the nesting season.

He tries to deny it, trying to keep up with the older mers who choose not to join the younger ones and the ones without pairs, all just doing their usual routines, Rodimus comes back much earlier than usual and becomes more anxious, just yesterday you finally noticed the reason why he didn't like to enter the nursery lagoon, using the piano-like artifact, asking him if he didn't like to come near the nursery even when you or Cory, his partner and his sire, were inside, his answer was simple “you don't like pups”.

Take a moment to let that sink and the misunderstanding born from the moment you realized his intent in courting you, Rodimus was, in reality, giving you much praise while snuggling next to you, presenting how nice you were with the young pup in your arms in front of his sire, happy by the way you two seemed to be getting along and then thinking in how happy his carrier was going to be when he came back with the hunting group, but his sire said something, making you jump and run, leaving the pup behind with his sire.

Rodimus believed you didn't like babies.

Which, in truth, wasn't exactly like that or different, “it may be impossible”, your words translated with the machine made his optics go big, soon pointing at himself, “Well, hard to happen”, Rodimus looked at you with barely closed optics, a little mad and hurt, “how can we be prepared? Or in any case, why now?” of course, it had to be soon, as the days progressed, and as every grooming session got heavier, sometimes you would nap while Rodimus cleaned you, soon feeling the way his servos were touching, massaging, his glossa looming over your neck, denta nipping at the skin.

He has been so strong so far, but it only takes a movement of your leg to make his tail recoil over it, rubbing his dilated slit over your hip, moaning during his recharge, optics opening just slightly when your fingers started to move along the opening, he squeaked, then rumbled out a groan, hissing while letting his slit open, you've seen the books, but it never said anything of it being soft, like rubber, Rodimus moves his hips, his massive tail pumping against your fingers as his arms go to your neck, anchoring himself to you while crying out in ecstasy, your fingers push a little more and you find a protrusion, pushing your fingers out for a moment to show his spike, letting you touch him more, lavish him more, his servos were frantically holding to the meat in your ass, trying to make you move against his spike in a rutted haze, barely giving your time or space to get the pajama pants off, “Okay, if only we could- could you keep it down?”, your laugh is nervous as he seems to be ripped apart on putting you over or under him, groping where he can while doing so, being careful to not catch your skin or hair with his frantic moving seams, finally deciding to put you down in the mattress, rocking his spike in between your open legs, knowing well the differences, but also the coincidences, between your bodies.

Where the slit of his tail was is also the point in which your legs connected.

“Come here”, your instructions are hard to follow as he is overthinking, full of joy while nipping at your neck, eager to couple but too excited to put it in, the little fighting you both do, one to put his spike inside of you and the other showering you with affection, finally ends when your hand catches on the pointy head of his spike, pumping at it while dragging him over, making him curl a little to be able and still be face to face plate.

Of course, you should've expected the unfamiliar sensation, impossible to compare to anything you've ever had, there was desperation in it, and his movements were too fast, too eager, still, Rodimus kept showing what you liked about him, smiling like a dork and holding to you, letting your legs brace to his tail, said tail rocking fast against you like he was swimming, putting your arms around his helm as he snuggled against your chest and neck, leaving bite marks just to show off, never to give you real damage, moving just enough, in that specific part to make you see starts with your breathless indications, easing your worry with forehead nudges that you changed for kisses, taking him for a surprise before he just let you continue, imitating you, when you felt his spike grow, inflaming, he was sure to make you come at least once before he started to pump faster, wilder, until the base was all in, pushing to a point never had before, looking at you with barely open optics as he started to coo and chatter, you didn't know what he was saying without aid, but Rodimus was singing you praises once again, “I love you, we are mates, mates for life, you're mine, I’m yours”, every short break in between his thrilled gibberish were supposed to be words, but you didn't have much to think straight as he kept on leaking into you, overflowing, keeping it all inside while relishing over your limp body as he still moved to let you get all of him, cleaning you once again to let you rest.

Once you slept well, he was back from wherever he went, coming back with food for the day for you both, once you ended your rations he would give you one of those glances, holding one of your legs, smoothly putting it over the beginning of his tail as you let him, seating you over his already wet and dilated slit.

Mating season wasn't a long period, but it was a delightful one, soon comprehended why so many people on base were missing for all of its duration, now being part of them and even learning why some told you to keep your clothes off most of the time except for a night coat easy to open, Rodimus was a good lover, as he barely left your side, and if he did, it was only to get rations from the cafeteria before leaving them to you and expanding the nest he was making outside your habsuit, using his body, curling it over the sand to make it compact at the base, then making a hole in the middle to keep water inside while you rested inside, not worrying about you leaving to do your science as he was sure the other humans just let you rest.

Months later, Cory found Chandler hissing at the ocean, just to stop, startled, like him at the sight of Rodimus, soon making direct eye contact with them, holding a still closed-eyed little black and silver hissing pup between his servos, presenting his own young and beaming with pride as they both heard you screaming Rodimus’ designation with two more pups in your arms from your habsuit, more than likely enraged and worried out of your mind by the lack of your firstborn in the nest where you left him with his siblings, then being startled by the potent cry of the pup that could only be comparable to a dying animal asking for mercy as he was soaked, cold and scared out of his young mind by the emotion of Rodimus’ to show off his offspring, and this was the fourth stop he made so far.

Rodimus’ carrier, Chandler, didn't give his own pup time to ponder what made you so mad before he was trying to knock some sense with violence into his adult pup like he was still a youngling after snatching protectively the pup against his chest to try and comfort him, Cory runs to them to try and save his son from the fury of his partner and his heavy servo, you appeared with your other two babies to see Rodimus being smacked by his carrier without mercy, “Have I not taught you well?! What in the PIT were you THINKING?! What are you DOING with a NEW FORGED PUP OUT OF THE SLAGING NEST?!”

Rodimus was a great lover, he was still learning to be a sire.

.

Inspired by the work of @tinydefector and @shyspider, love your guys’ work so much, totally lost Mermay but I can try it again with some good monsterfucking.

And if you realized, yeah, that hissing baby is Sunset.

@tf-kinktober2024

[tinybeetiny]

Build-A-Boyfriend Masterlist

Synopsis

Chapter 1: Deviation Detected

Chapter 2: T-Minus 4 Weeks

Chapter 3: Grand Opening

Chapter 4: The Launch

Chapter 5: Why Are You Afraid of Me?

Chapter 6: Awaken

Chapter 7: Escape

Chapter 8: Rebuild

Chapter 9: Dealines

Chapter 10: 100%

Chapter 11: All Sold Out

Filler: Ateez Line Included Outfits

Chapter 12: I am the System Now

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 02. LOST IN TIME AND SPACE

a/n: logan angst with this fic is all i've been thinking about. mainly because he's the kind of man to swallow all of his feelings until it eventually kills him. so that's super fun to work with. and that scenario is basically this entire chapter. so please root for him, but also know he's not even close to dealing with his trauma. also the x-men timeline remains convoluted as fuck, so if the past of the logan who died doesn't make sense it is what it is. this is fanfic and we're all here to fuck him.

summary: the past is a thing he couldn't ignore. yet he still tried. and when the opportunity to spend a day with you utterly alone arises, he realizes that perhaps he doesn't want to forget about what brought him here.

word count: 6.6k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, angsty as fuck, some fluff, grieving a past he can never have back, logan goes through it, kissing, he's horny, me slightly abusing my literature degree, heartache, panic attacks.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Logan never liked when the city fell silent. He hated the city in general. It unnerved him; scratched angrily against his chest until he couldn't find the peace he strived for. The city at night was filled with small noises—bangs in the distance, shouts of drunks wasted in the streets, and people finally turning in for the night.

They reminded him of the wars, the echoey expanse of nothing. Where every sound set his teeth on edge.

The cheap leather fabric of the couch stuck to his skin as he turned. He shoved his body into a standing position—his hands curling into fists. His skin remained sticky with a thin layer of sweat which only served to incense him further. Given the apartment's shitty air system, he'd be struggling through this for most of the summer. A fact he tried his best to ignore in the hopes that the fall weather would reveal itself sooner.

With a groan, he stripped himself of the thin tank top that clung to his skin. It didn't help to ease the humidity that hung in the air. It barely helped to cool off his body. But he'd take what he could get when what he could get was so little.

Wade's snoring echoed through the thin walls as he stood there, his body begging for a bit of sleep. Even if his mind refused to shut off. Images of you played through his head on a loop. The past was shadowed in pain, memories dipped in a venom he once wished would kill him eventually. Yet seeing you yesterday—a version that remained untouched by the depravity of what already happened—launched him back into a time that never seemed to be very far behind.

"You weren't there! And they needed you."

Silver ebbed from his knuckles as he faced the window—eyes shut and chest heaving. There was no question the sweat came from the humidity in the air. The cold chill along his spine however stemmed from you.

"You're not the Wolverine Logan. You're just a disappointment."

He fought the snarl that worked its way up his throat. A heavy pounding began to form at the front of his head. A drum he couldn't escape.

"Live with that."

If he opened his eyes. If he refused to give the memories even an inch of space in his mind. He'd have caught you standing there rummaging in the kitchen. A mug of tea forgotten on the counter the second you caught a glimpse of him getting up from the couch. You tugged at your sleep shorts as you stumbled towards the window—eyes heavy with sleep that simply wouldn't come.

Most nights it was easy. Long days at work left you utterly exhausted. To a point where staying awake felt odd and incomplete.

Tonight felt like hell.

No matter how many times you tossed and turned, you couldn't get the thoughts to settle. And all of them seemed to filter their way back to the man who currently faced you—his eyes shut and fists adorned with silver claws that slowly slid their way to freedom. You nearly dropped your kettle when he tore off his shirt, revealing sweat slicked skin lit up by the streetlights outside.

If you were braver you'd ask him to come over, join you in a sleepless night. But he had yet to see you standing there and you weren't one to draw attention to yourself.

So you stood and watched as he fought with whatever must have woken him up so late in the night. You witnessed his battle and wished you could be the one helping him. Maybe then he'd finally fall asleep soundlessly. His mind clear—body free of phantom aches from injuries that still haunted him. He may heal incredibly fast, but the mind...that took far too long to piece itself back together.

Before you could turn away, back to your now cold mug of tea, his eyes opened. Fixating immediately on your form in the window.

Few people in his life were able to calm the thunderous storms he weathered in his own mind. Jean and Charles did what they could. They brought back what he once thought was lost forever. Even you attempted to ease him from what he lived through—what he endured.

But that seemed to be the one thing your variant self was unable to comprehend.

He didn't need someone to fix him. He wanted someone to see him. To understand that there was no cure for a person this broken, no easy way out when things got this bad. He stood before you as a man riddled with far too much—scars that you'd never be able to see—yet he could see no hesitation in your eyes.

Something pulled at his stomach at the sight of you in small shorts and a tank top. Your skin exposed to the city as you watched him carefully. You analyzed him in a way that didn't make him want to put up a facade. And he found he liked it when you looked at him like this; with a burning need to know more clear in your gaze.

Your eyes trailed up his stomach, lingering on the hair that dipped down into his sweats. He wanted you to be here. Or him to be there. The location didn't matter as long as he could reach out and touch you—feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm.

Minutes passed before your gaze found his face and Logan felt an itch in his body at the notion that you were fascinated by him. That even in a different universe with completely different memories, you couldn't help but be drawn to the man he was.

The horror of destroying another version of you should have made him want to turn away from the window.

Then you smiled.

A slow sleepy grin that lit up your face. You probably didn't think anything of it—simply a small offer of kindness in your shared sleepless night. Logan however swallowed it down as if you'd given him the best tasting whiskey on this planet. His chest tightened, head dazed as you stood there looking with enough reverence to kill him.

If only he could see the way your insides melted at the sight of him smiling back. The thoughts of lust and like racing through your mind the longer you stood there.

Eventually the sun would come up, you'd be called to work, and this would become a brief passing memory you'd both hold onto down the road.

Until that moment though you remained in this spot. Fighting the drowsiness for a chance to watch him a bit longer. To trace your eyes along his body and soak in the expressions that played across his weary face.

You could feel the prick of sleep in your eyes, your body dizzy as it begged for you to finally give in and crawl back into bed. Yet how could you leave him there? How could you walk away?

He seemed to catch the way you bit back a yawn and chuckled. Pressing his hand to the warm window, he nodded at you. To anyone else on the street it might look nonsensical—comical even. To you his message was loud and clear: Go to bed and I'll be here in the morning. I promise.

Reluctance yanked at your heart when he nodded again, his hand falling back to his side. Yet no matter how hard you tried to keep yourself awake—if only to steal another second of his gaze on your body—you knew it was futile. Fighting sleep never went well in the morning when coffee was your only salvation. With another smile, you waved slightly—pressing your hand to the window briefly as if to respond to his silence with some of your own.

Sleep well. I'll find you in the morning. I promise.

Logan woke up to the blaring horn of a taxi right outside. The shout of a man bounced off the buildings, cussing about traffic and for someone to get the fuck out of his way. He groaned, turning to his side in the hopes of catching another thirty minutes. But the city was alive and thrumming with its own heart beat.

To others the echo might have been familiar—peaceful.

To Logan it was like nails being dragged along a chalkboard.

"I fuckin' hate this city," he growled, getting to his feet and snatching his tank top from where he'd left it last night.

Surprisingly the apartment rang out with a sound he had yet to experience in this place. Silence. He peeked in the bedrooms briefly, expecting to find Wade still passed out. An empty room was all that greeted him—the fucking stuffed unicorn propped up perfectly on a surprisingly made bed. There was only one reason Wade tidied up his room.

Vanessa.

She was coming by here or Wade was going with her. Either way Logan didn't want to be around to hear what came next. He'd been privy to one too many nights of Wade reconciling his differences with Vanessa and all of them ended with Logan's head beneath a pillow. That or he snuck out to wander the city at night until he finally returned to a quiet apartment.

For a brief moment he wondered if he could find you at your place; his eyes settled on the view of your window across the one way street. The lights looked off, the living room empty. And he craved to know where in this city you disappeared to during the day. Where did you work?

Would you mind if he visited you there? If he took some time to hear your voice, see your smile.

He grabbed the shitty coffee bag that was tossed on the counter. No doubt due to Wade making some this morning. The machine was old, nearly broken, but it would make do for the time being. A neon yellow sticky note was stuck to the top—the scrawl of Wade's handwriting familiar.

Good morning peanut! Coffee is hot like you. Don't call me. Don't beep me. Because you don't need to reach me today. If you do, I'm at Ness's scoring for tens all across the board. I'm talking the head—

Logan groaned, crumpling the note and tossing it on the counter. Knowing information that Wade would probably tell him anyways wasn't how he wanted to start his afternoon. The cabinet creaked as he opened it, the plain blue mug he claimed as his sat in the front.

Another yellow sticky attached to it.

OF CHAMPIONS. I knew you wouldn't finish reading the note you gorgeous Canadian/Australian bastard.

P.S. Sweet angel's number. I was told to give it to you.

P.P.S. GET. SOME. (For the both of us.)

A crude drawing of Deadpool fucking the air was scribbled in the corner. The details were far too graphic for him to look at longer than a few seconds. Logan would have tossed the entire mug in the trash, but your number enticed him to stick it to the fridge as he made coffee strong enough to make the hair stand up on his arms. He glanced at it every few minutes, tracing the numbers as he considered what this meant.

Was this you telling him in simple terms that you wanted to get to know him? That his past and whatever he buried was something you wanted to learn.

His gaze burned a hole into the yellow paper as he drank his coffee, his mind racing at the possibility of speaking to you today. Some cash was stowed in the trunk Laura dragged from the previous Logan's home. Her claim was that he deserved to have it. Since he might have understood what it meant more than she did.

From what he could tell this universe's Logan was saving up for something—the wad of cash in the bottom of the trunk remained enough for him to get by until he found a stable place to set up a home. Somewhere near the mansion that still existed. He wasn't prepared to be a part of that life again just yet, but that remained the only spot that felt like home to him.

Even in a different universe.

Snatching the note off the fridge he grabbed his flannel, boots, and enough cash to last through the day. He had no location in mind. But knowing you wanted to spend time with him became the motivator he needed to actually leave the apartment.

The city was bursting with life—sounds filling the air as if it would replace the oxygen they consumed. He did what he could to ignore it. Slipping past people with ease, his eyes fixed on the small store that sat on the corner. He debated on ordering from the cafe across the street, wondering if you liked the place. If you came here for coffee and breakfast on days off.

He made a note to ask.

Thankfully the shop wasn't crowded with people—a shitty pop song blasted over the speakers. One he knew Wade would play to piss off your next door neighbors. Whether or not you actually liked Wade's music taste never crossed his mind. Or did you go along with it? Willing to do what it took to make them suffer.

"Just this," he grunted, tossing enough cash down to cover the bill and then some.

The burner phone was small in his palm as he yanked it out of the box and flipped it on. He didn't bother with getting an actual phone. What the fuck did he need that for? But this...he could do to make you entering his life a bit easier.

Every part of him screamed to push you away—make you hate him—but for the first time in his life, Logan didn't listen.

The shop door swung shut behind him as he dug out the sticky note, punching your number in carefully to not miss a single digit. Somehow in the midst of chaos, he was able to shut off the city noise when the phone began to ring. Half of him expected you not to answer. It was the middle of the day, you were at work, and this was probably more a hindrance than anything else.

Your voice filtering through the small speaker put his worries at ease within seconds.

"Hello?"

His heart jumped as he exhaled. "I hear you gave Wade directions this morning."

"Logan?" you asked, voice louder than before. The echo of someone shushing you came through, making him smile.

"Hey Honey."

A shaky breath left your lips. Logan felt his stomach clench at the realization you liked when he called you that.

"I didn't know you had a phone," you replied, much softer than before. "Wade told me you were too old for technology."

"Don't listen to anything that mouth tells you."

You laughed, breathy and cute, and he bit back a groan at the sound. "I'm glad he was wrong."

"He normally is."

"Where are you today?" Shuffling and a door shutting caught his attention as your voice rose in volume again.

A horn went off beside him, piercing his hearing. "Standin' on the street."

"Near our places?"

Oh he liked the sound of that. "Mhm." Another soft breath reached his ears; he felt his body go warm. "Where are you today honey?"

"Work." If he could see through the call, he'd catch you smiling. How your teeth dug into your bottom lip to stop the embarrassing giggle that nearly spilled free. "Do you...um...do you want to see it?"

The words slammed into his chest like a truck. The innuendo nearly enough to make him drop to one knee here in the middle of the street. And suddenly Wade's note came back to his mind. The crude drawing flaring to life as he pictured you saying those exact words in an entirely different situation. If he was a better man his jeans wouldn't have tightened. If he was a better man he'd have ignored it altogether.

Logan wished he was a better man. You longed for him not to be.

He cleared his throat, his grip tightening around the phone. "Where?"

"New York Public Library."

Vaguely the directions came back to him from decades past. He wondered if the building sat in the same spot on this universe as his own. In a rush of words, you gave him some instruction. He agreed to be there as soon as he could.

"See you soon Logan." The excitement wasn't hard to pick from your voice. That still didn't stop him from trying.

"Wait–"

"Yes?"

He turned. "Rosemary's? You like their coffee?"

Another laugh escaped you in a breath and Logan felt the walls around his heart chip. "Love."

Twenty minutes later you were greeting him on the side of the building with a smile he felt down to his adamantium bones. A warm coffee was pressed into your hand, a sandwich tucked safely into a small paper bag in the other. For the entire afternoon he formulated things to say to you, stories to tell. Yet all that came now was an awkward smile and a greeting that made his chest burn uncomfortably.

You thought nothing of it. Even as you led him inside and asked him about his morning. The sight of him holding coffee and wearing a grin was enough for you to lose it a little. The breath knocking from your lungs, warmth spilling into your stomach.

"I didn't know what you wanted–"

Taking another sip, you grinned at the glimpse of red that dusted the tips of his ears. "I don't mind what you got."

A stain of soft pink remained on the cup; Logan's eyes attached to it within seconds. You could see the way his pupils dilated slightly—his throat bobbing at the sight of something so small and delicate. That didn't help the way your heart flipped whenever he was near. As if he'd taken control of all your emotions—all the baseline wants that you could normally ignore.

"What do you do here?" he rasped, focusing on the way you watched him. Though the glaze of sleep was gone from your eyes, the way you analyzed him still remained.

"Archives."

Unlocking another door, you led him down a flight of stairs. The elevator would have been the easier route, but he didn't possess a badge nor a library card. You were pretty sure he wouldn't have gotten one either way. So sneaking him in was the way to go until you could convince him otherwise. What you didn't know was that you could have asked anything of him—anything you wanted—and he'd agree without hesitation.

He followed close behind, unwilling to let you get a few feet away. As if he was drawn to you in ways that didn't seem possible.

"I work on making sure things are properly placed in the correct spot. Older books, newspapers from decades ago, stuff like that."

Humming, he watched as you opened the final door—letting him see the grand room that lay below filled with an infinite row of bookcases. Boxes that had yet to be gone through, files not placed properly, and piles of books that stacked on rows of tables. Each one contained a certain label of where they belonged.

"So a librarian?"

Laughing, you shut the door behind him with a soft click. "Kind of. I'm not working upstairs and handing out books like the actual librarians do. We hermits down in the basement prefer the term archivist."

"Hermits," he huffed. "You don't look like a hermit to me."

"Looks can be deceiving Logan."

That was a fact he knew too well. One that kept him up at night, replayed in his dreams without end. Oftentimes he wondered if he'd been the one to deceive. If his persona and reluctance to help gave others the impression that he was the man to turn to. The hero they needed. He never asked to be seen that way—never wanted it—yet when the time came...he couldn't run away from the truth.

The idea of telling you all this came to him last night as he watched you walk back to your room.

What stopped him was the image of the other you, grief stricken and horrified as he stumbled home from the bar.

"I have some questions for you." Your voice pulled him from his thoughts.

The small table in the back was free of books and you took a seat, pulling your sandwich from the paper. He took the chair across from you, his legs bumping into yours as he tried to cram them in the small space. The apology was quick to land on his tongue. Although your smile and the feel of your ankle curving around his leg killed it instantaneously.

"I'm hoping you have some answers."

He swallowed thickly, ignoring the way you shifted—your knee brushing his. "Now that depends."

"On?"

"Are they easy questions?" He grinned at the way you spoke around your mouthful of food—intrigue lighting up your eyes.

You slid half the sandwich towards him, not pretending to see the way he tried to refuse. He took a bite when your foot jammed in his calf. A pointed look crossing your face as if to say: eat because I know you haven't.

"What am I like?"

He nearly choked on the bread. "Do you mean..."

With a nod, you grabbed another bite, oblivious to the way his tongue swiped along his bottom lip. His eyes fixed on the way your teeth sunk into the meal and oil spread at the corner of your mouth. Tearing the sandwich in half would have been the better option. Biting where he mouth was seemed to be what you liked better.

His insides stirred deliciously, heat forming at the way your lashes fluttered at the taste.

"The other me," you mumbled, giving him the rest. "You said we were friends." When he didn't respond you kept going. "Wade alluded that we might have been...more than friends."

Fucking Wade Wilson.

Logan leaned back, his hand curling into fists in his lap as he once again fought the urge to take off. "He sure likes to run his goddamn mouth."

Anxiety sparked in your chest and you fell silent. Perhaps it wasn't the right time to bring it up. Or even something to bring up. Yet curiosity always ate you alive—the idea of not knowing the full truth. And when Wade briefly said Logan was still pining over a version of you that didn't exist on this Earth, you tried not to let it consume you.

You fought against your baser instincts in the hopes that one day he'd tell you himself.

Then he showed up. Offering you coffee and friendship and possibly more.

How could you ignore it then?

You knew he was watching you, could feel the burn of his eyes along the side of your face. Silence echoed loudly in the room as the old wooden bookshelves creaked and the chatter of people upstairs began to filter down below.

"I'm sorry," you uttered, doing what you could to move past whatever this was. "I shouldn't have asked. We can go look at some stuff if you want. I have newspapers from the seventies you might want to see–"

"I loved you."

You froze, head whipping around to meet his solemn gaze.

"On my Earth you were mine." With a sigh, he leaned forward. "And I fucked it all up. No I didn't just fuck it up. I ruined you."

"Logan..." you breathed. "I'm not them."

"I know." Sorrow flooded his hazel eyes—the grief playing across his face like a film you shouldn't be watching. And for the first time...you saw the man Wade spoke about. The broken version of a Logan that was found in a bar wallowing on his own world. "But I can't do that to you again. I won't."

This wasn't an omission of the truth. Nor a confession of his greatest sins. This was a promise lined with the guilt of his past. Memories of a time you'd never witness played out in his mind and he longed to show them to you.

To give you a piece of what he once had with a version of you that loathed his existence now.

But that isn't why he happened upon you on this Earth. History would remain exactly as it was. He couldn't change that. However, this—whatever he shared with you now—he could keep safe. The promise he made so long ago might finally be shown the respect he never thought to give it before.

"Come with me," you said softly, standing with a hand outstretched for him to take.

With a hesitant breath, he wrapped his calloused palm around yours and let you take the lead.

Past bookshelves and rows of boxes stacked nearly to the ceiling, you stopped at a shelf marked with words he'd seen a thousand times before. X-MEN. You tugged a box free and carried it to the table behind you—the top flipping open with ease as he caught sight of the pile of papers within. A list was taped to the side of what this might contain. Names he knew, people that might still exist on this Earth.

"This is all we know about the Logan in this universe." You pulled out a file, a picture of his variant clipped on top. He was rugged—aged.  "It's not much, but it shows a bit of his past."

"Why are you showing me this?"

"So you can see what others see."

You handed him a photo of the X-Men. Jean and Scott stood on either side of Charles. Logan was off to the side, a cigar in his mouth and a cocksure grin on his lips. He hated the man before he knew him. Always hearing how fucking wonderful he was; how great a hero he used to be.

He selfishly wanted to be everything this version of himself was.

He wanted to be the hero he could never amount to.

"What happened to 'em?"

You glanced at the image, pulling another file out. The name punched the breath from his lungs as you flipped it open. JEAN GREY: ALIAS - PHOENIX. An image of her smiling at a lecture was pulled free—her hair red and down to her waist.

"I don't know much, because well Charles Xavier never disclosed information about the X-Men lightly. But...something happened to her. From what we know...Logan was the one to kill her."

The file fell on the table, his heart twisting violently in his chest as the words flooded his mind. He killed her. He killed Jean. The woman he once loved before you came into his life. Something severed in his body, the breath in his lungs was suddenly hard to come by. But the touch of your hand on his kept him from completely falling into that dark pit he fought to climb out of.

"He–" Logan sucked in a breath and shut his eyes to the image of Jean. "He killed her?"

You nodded, silent while he processed the information. Showing this to him wasn't an act of malice—he knew that. You didn't want him to suffer. You simply wanted to prove that the Logan that once existed wasn't the greatest to have ever lived. He was simply a man suffering the plight of guilt the universe handed him.

He had his own cross to bear. His own nightmares to fight through.

In some ways...they weren't so different.

"You're not the worst Logan," you admitted, letting him lean into you. "And he wasn't the best Logan." Your hand pressed to his cheek, eyes soft and warm. "He was just a man who was offered a terrible hand in life."

Logan huffed, his forehead finding yours as he breathed in your scent. "So you're sayin' I'm just a man?"

"I'm saying that the James Howlett in this universe probably thought he was the worst Logan too."

The words shouldn't have struck him the way they did. Their truth, louder than anything in this building. But the blunt and hardened reality stared him in the fucking face, and he had no choice but to meet it's gaze. The Logan of this world wasn't perfect. He fucked up. He ruined things. Yet he found a way to fix them. Put the pieces back together in order to obtain something that resembled the image of his life.

As much as he fought to claim he wasn't anything like the Logan that once walked this Earth.

He was finding it hard to see where they differed.

"Show me somethin' happy honey," he replied gruffly, his hand finding your hip with ease. "Show me somethin' you like."

The smile you rewarded him with placed some breath back into his chest. "What like books?"

"If that's what you love."

"I don't think we have enough time."

His hold on your hip tightened. "'M here all day."

"Yeah?" Turning away from him, you dug through the box. Down to the very bottom. "They found these at what they think is his grave."

Silver flashed in his vision before you were pressing a pair of dog tags into his hand. The name WOLVERINE was etched into the metal—its cold touch practically burned the skin of his palm. For years he thought he'd never see these again. A piece of his past he couldn't bring with him.

"I thought you'd want to have them."

"They're his," he croaked.

"And you're the Wolverine. They're as much yours as they were his."

Fingers closed around them as the chains dangled from his hand, and Logan felt his heart place another bit back into the correct spot. He never believed he belonged with people. Never wanted to hurt them. Yet life continued to surprise him. The metal was familiar to his touch. Years of toying with them, of having their comfort on his chest, kept him sane at some points. It helped to remind him of who he was.

Without even realizing it...you gave that back to him.

He wanted to tell you how much this meant. How grateful he felt. But he was never good with words.

So he pressed his lips to your cheek and let them linger there as heat pulsed in your body. The race of your heart made him grin. Simply knowing you liked him hiked up his ego in ways he didn't need at a time like this. But like the Logan that came before...he was a sucker when it came to resisting the aspect of love.

"Show me around bub."

You slid your hand into his, your lips nearly brushing as you turned to catch his gaze. "Okay."

"Why work there?"

The city at night exuded a different kind of energy that you frequently craved during the day. A fun lightness that normally hit when the clock struck six p.m. and people were finally out of work. You were allowed to leave earlier than expected due to a birthday gathering of coworkers going on downtown.

An invitation was offered. Until they saw Logan standing behind you and your plans for the night became clear.

"I love history." He offered to walk you home. You accepted on the single condition that he'd stay for dinner. "How humanity went from one thing to the next and so on."

He scoffed and wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you out of the way of someone barreling by. "You don't have to explain that part to me bub. You're lookin' at a man who lived it."

"Did you?" The look you gave him had the feelings of want he pushed down earlier rearing their head. "Actually live through it?"

"I was born in 1832."

With a gasp, you clutched his arm. "Were you really?" you exclaimed. "That means you saw so much of history. Things we might not have written down."

And suddenly within moments...there you were from his world. Bright and beautiful and in love with the past. At first he believed it was due to your abilities; now he understood that's just who you were deep down. Always in love with what you couldn't fully figure out—the past you could see if you managed to travel back far enough.

"You have to let me pick your brain for facts."

He tugged you closer, stopping off to the side of the busy street, until you were stuck in his hold with nowhere to look but up at him. "Picking my brain ain't gonna be fun honey."

Your eyes were wide, lips parted slightly. "I disagree."

"You forget. Different universe. The history I know might be different from the one you know."

No matter how hard you tried, you could never hide the disappointment that flooded your eyes. "I'm sure it's not that different."

"Hm." He pressed a thumb to the top of your cheekbone, struck by how soft your skin felt beneath his. "Why don't you tell me yours. And then maybe I'll tell you mine."

The double entendre was layered in the lust that clouded his vision—the need that burned in his stomach. Logan hoped you understood it. Could see how much he ached for you. How you affected him since he first caught a glimpse of you yesterday. And seeing your pupils dilate, your chest heaving slightly, made his swell with pride. Saliva filled his mouth at the thought of one day getting a taste of you, but the sound of a horn going off behind him shattered the moment.

You stepped back with a deep inhale, your hand still in his. Which only served to prove Logan's point.

He fucking hated the city.

"Dinner?" you breathed, voice raspy with that feeling you tried to fight against.

Logan managed to turn you inside out. Pulling exactly where he needed to expose your heart. That alone should have terrified you. Yet the thrill of knowing him, of seeing where this might lead, kept you enamored and wanting for more.

"Lead the way."

What plans you created and meal you planned to order were lost the second you ascended the stairs to your apartment and stood in front of your door. The silence of the building was deafening compared to the noise outside. So much so that every breath you took echoed loud against the shitty yellow stained walls. Logan could hear the thump of your heart as it rammed within your chest. Quickening the closer he stepped towards you.

You turned, your back to the door and eyes dazed—unfocused. "I can order something."

His nostrils flared as your familiar scent began to deepen, mix with the arousal that seeped through your body. "That could work."

"What do you like to eat?"

The smile he gave you could only be described as canine. Near feral. "Dangerous question honey."

"What do you–" Shock flashed in your eyes, heat spilling into your face as the words finally processed. "Oh."

Logan wasn't hungry in a way that might seem normal to you. He didn't want to taste you, he wanted to devour. To feel you in ways that would scare you shitless. He craved you potently—viscerally. And perhaps it would scare you off.

Although something told him it wouldn't.

Silence no longer felt all consuming and horrid when he took one more step, crowding you against your door. You should have kept the conversation going. Laughed it off with a flippant smile and an offer of real food. Though neither of you could give a shit about dinner. That fact became evident the second he cupped the back of your neck and slotted his lips against yours.

A moan of surprise tore from your throat and Logan let out a growl to match. He kissed you fervently. Lips pressed hard and hot against yours, tongue sliding along your teeth, and somehow it never felt like enough. He'd dreamed of this for years. For the taste of you again, the gentle grip of your hands that dug into his hair and pulled.

That alone sent a groan echoing down the hallway, his body colliding with yours as your back hit the door. Your teeth found his bottom lip while his hands slid down to your ass, gripping and tugging until you could feel the prominent bulge through the denim of his jeans.

"Logan," you gasped, your tongue meeting his with another sharp tug on hair.

He slammed a hand against the door beside your head, his hips rutting down as you met the movement with one of your own. You wanted to drag him inside. Needed to feel his bare skin on yours. But something pulled tight against your chest as he stuttered into the kiss. The unfamiliar sound of his claws sliding out and puncturing the wood of your door made you jump.

"Sorry," he muttered, sliding his lips down your throat—teeth nipping the vein. "Happens."

"You owe me a door." You sounded breathless.

He brought his lips back to yours with a fury you'd never experienced before. "I'll buy you a new one." Your hips dragged along his, nails digging into the hot skin on the back of his neck. "I’ll fuckin’ make you one," he snarled.

The thought of someone passing by, seeing you nearly held up against your door by a man who's claws were embedded in it, was laughable. Yet you couldn't stop wondering what would happen if you let this go further. If you allowed him to take you right here out in the open.

Logan could smell the way you dripped for him and it drove him fucking insane. His body begged him to keep going. To slam open the door and bury himself in you right there on your kitchen floor. The way you whined into his mouth, rubbing yourself along his crotch, told him you wanted the same.

And he might have done just that.

If they hadn't started.

They're dead because of you!

Memories flashed in his mind with a rage unlike the past few times. Your face, tear stained and rageful. The way you used your powers against him. Tried to kill him for what happened. It all came rushing back with a lungful of air that burned.

I hate you!

"Logan?" You pulled back slightly, hands cupping his face with enough care he could feel the sting of tears start to build. "Are you okay?"

It should've been you that died Logan. Not them.

He sucked in a breath, ripping himself away from and stumbling a few steps back. Fighting against the past wasn't new to him. He'd been broken by it before. But now he couldn't even enjoy the sight of you with swollen lips and ruffled clothes, because all he saw when he closed his eyes was the other you.

The one he broke.

"I'm fine." His voice was raspy as he choked out the words.

A need to help him rang through your body and Logan could see it. He knew how badly you wanted to come to him—to hold him. This simply wasn't your battle to fight. He refused to change that in any way.

Standing up straight, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. An apology for the actions he was about to take.

He only hoped you wouldn't hate him for it afterwards.

"We'll do dinner another night, honey."

"Logan–"

"Goodnight." Walking away from you felt as if he'd ripped a hole in his chest with an adamantium bullet. One that wouldn't heal like before.

The dog tags were now wrapped around his neck, choking him like a collar he couldn't free himself from. A reminder that even the Logan of this world was unable to stop himself from destroying the one he loved. That was the plight they carried.

Their greatest grief. The one thing they had in common.

This...he could accept.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝗙𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗿 𝗦𝘂𝗽𝗲𝗿 𝗦𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗿 , 𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗗𝗮𝗱 || 𝗦𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗥𝗼𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀 ||

A/n: Sam would be an amazing Uncle, also I'm really on a Marvel kick rn. Also AU where everyone is alive cause I love Nat, Wanda, Tony and vision ( they're all alive so eat my ass if you dont like it

Steve jogged after his daughter, his brows furrowed and hands outstretched as she darted away, her giggles echoing through the playground. Her golden curls bounced as she sprinted toward the slide, her tiny legs pumping with all the determination a four-year-old could muster.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Steve said, exasperation mixed with a smile. “It’s lunchtime. You’re gonna run Daddy into the ground.”

The little girl ignored him, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she scrambled up the ladder to the slide. Instead of sliding down like a normal kid, she managed to hoist herself onto the very top, balancing precariously like a tiny, giggling daredevil.

Steve’s eyes widened. “Whoa, hey! No, no, no—”

From her spot on the top of the slide, she grinned and launched herself off with a triumphant squeal.

Steve surged forward, his heart in his throat as he caught her mid-air, her little arms wrapping around his neck as he stumbled back a step.

“Gotcha!” he breathed, clutching her tightly to his chest. “What do you think you’re doing, Spider-Monkey?”

She giggled, pressing her cheek against his neck. “I was flying, Daddy!”

Steve shook his head, his stern expression melting into an affectionate grin. “Yeah, well, let’s not fly off anything higher than the bench, okay?”

From the bench nearby, you watched with a hand resting on your very pregnant belly, trying not to laugh too hard. The sight of Steve, Captain America himself, nearly taken out by a four-year-old was too good to miss.

Steve glanced over at you, a dramatic groan escaping him as he shifted his daughter onto his hip. “You find this funny, huh?”

You grinned, eyes twinkling. “Oh, immensely.”

He walked over, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then to your belly, where your unborn child kicked in response. “Can we please get lunch now? Before she decides to base jump off the swing set next?”

You reached up and ruffled his hair, chuckling. “Better move fast, Cap. You know she gets her appetite from you.”

Steve groaned again, rolling his eyes as his daughter wriggled in his arms, already asking for pizza and ice cream.

"How about, we go to the Avenger Tower and see all your Uncle and Aunties." Steve asked, the man hoping this would calm her down.

"Yeaaaa!!!!"

He was wrong, this will be worse than pizza and ice cream.

Steve leaned back against the couch, his arm draped around you as you chatted with Bucky, Nat, and Wanda. Retirement suited him — he was more relaxed, a little softer around the edges, but still the same Steve. The warm glow of the common room lights illuminated his face, and his hand absently rubbed your swollen belly as you laughed at something Bucky said the distant hum of JARVIS’s systems providing a familiar backdrop.

“Retirement looks good on you, Rogers,” Bucky said, nudging Steve’s shoulder. “You actually look… relaxed.”

Steve snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, when I’m not chasing Lilly around the playground or convincing her not to color on the walls.”

“Wonder where she gets that from,” Wanda quipped, her eyes darting to you with a knowing smirk.

You opened your mouth to protest but were cut off by the distant sound of Tony’s unmistakable yell.

Natasha snorted. “And you're now on Snack duty and diaper duty." As Wanda barked out her own laugh.

“WILSON!”

Everyone’s heads snapped toward the hallway just in time to hear the pounding of footsteps and the unmistakable sound of Sam’s booming laugh.

Suddenly, Sam burst into the room, running at full speed with Lilly clinging to his back like a little monkey. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her tiny fists clutching fistfuls of his shirt as she giggled uncontrollably.

Sam was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “You shouldn’t have fallen asleep near a four-year-old!” he bellowed as he sprinted past the common room.

Right behind him, Tony came skidding into the room, his face a complete disaster. Bright purple and green scribbles covered his cheeks and forehead, and a poorly drawn mustache and goatee adorned his jawline. There was a lopsided Iron Man helmet scrawled on his left cheek and a massive flower drawn around one eye.

Tony’s eyes blazed as he pointed furiously at Sam. “Wilson! I have a meeting in twenty minutes! Twenty!”

Sam just cackled as he bolted down the hallway, Lilly’s gleeful shrieks echoing through the tower. “Faster, Uncle Sam! Faster!”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long, suffering sigh. “Oh, God…”

Natasha was grinning, her eyes dancing with amusement. “That’s what he gets for being the ‘fun uncle.’”

On the security monitors, the cameras captured Sam and Lilly darting around the corner, still laughing hysterically. Tony stormed after them, his face now smeared with ink as he furiously wiped at the scribbles, only making it worse.

Bucky was howling with laughter, leaning back against the couch as he watched the chaos unfold. “Man, I missed this.”

Steve shook his head, looking over at you with a look of pure exasperation. “Why did we think bringing her here was a good idea?”

You just smiled, patting his thigh. “Because you love them. And you missed your friends.”

Steve let out another groan, sinking back against the couch. “Yeah… definitely missed them.”

Meanwhile, on the monitor, Sam and Lilly could still be seen running down the hall, cackling like a pair of outlaws as Tony chased after them, shouting threats about meetings and permanent marker removal.

Steve grimaced. “I think I’d rather face Thanos again.”

Before anyone could respond, a loud, indignant shout echoed through the tower.

"WILSON! YOU WINGED MENSON! YOU CAN'T BLAME A FOUR YEAR OLD ALL THE TIME! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!"

Steve and you were still seated in the common room, Bucky and Natasha laughing about the chaos unfolding down the hall. On the security monitors, Sam and Lilly were still on the run, evading a very ink-stained, very irate Tony Stark.

Then, Vision floated into the room, hands clasped behind his back as he observed the commotion on the monitor with his usual calm, curious expression.

“What’s going on?” Vision asked, tilting his head slightly as he watched Sam and Lilly duck into a nearby closet.

“Oh, just the usual,” Bucky said, still grinning. “Sam and Steve’s kid decided Tony needed a little makeover.”

Vision nodded thoughtfully. “I see.”

Meanwhile, on the monitor, Sam was whispering something to Lilly as they crouched in the closet. Lilly’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she whispered back, and Sam’s grin grew wider.

Vision’s gaze lingered on the monitor, and with a slight tilt of his head, he said, “Would you like me to assist?”

Steve immediately sat up. “Wait, Vision—”

Too late.

With a brief flicker, Vision phased through the wall and into the hallway, reappearing right outside the closet where Sam and Lilly were hiding. Sam opened the door cautiously, peeking out to see Vision standing there, a serene expression on his face.

“Ah! Vision! Just the man I was looking for,” Sam said, a little too casually.

Vision blinked. “Is there something I can assist you with, Sam?”

Sam’s eyes darted to the hallway where Tony’s angry footsteps could be heard approaching. “Yeah, actually. Could you, uh, maybe… float us to the other side of the tower? Just, you know, for safety reasons?”

Lilly clapped her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Please, Uncle Vision?”

Vision looked down at her, his face softening. “Of course.”

Without another word, Vision placed his hands on Sam’s and Lilly’s shoulders and phased them right through the wall, effortlessly carrying them across several rooms until they reappeared in the kitchen — well away from Tony.

Meanwhile, back in the hallway, Tony burst open the closet door, panting and looking around wildly. “Sam? Lilly? Oh, come on!”

In the kitchen, Sam and Lilly landed safely on the floor, both of them wide-eyed and beaming.

“That… was… awesome!” Lilly squealed, throwing her arms around Vision’s leg. “Again!”

Sam clapped Vision on the shoulder. “You, my man, are a hero.”

Vision blinked. “But I thought Tony was the hero?”

Sam snorted. “Not today, he ain’t.”

On the monitor, Steve groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he watched Tony stomp down the hallway, completely lost, while Sam and Lilly cackled in the kitchen with Vision looking completely unbothered.

Bucky leaned back, chuckling. “Guess we’re gonna have to add ‘unintentional prank accomplice’ to Vision’s resume.”

Natasha smirked. “Someone should really tell him what a ‘fun uncle’ actually means.”