#source: skeleton claw

[derived-centrosaur]

Dromiceiomimus brevitertius

A male in breeding plumage takes shelter from the sleet of a spring coldsnap

The second of my Horseshoe Canyon series. I didn't have any particular knowledge of ornithomimids before this piece and I think I might actually know less now that I've completed it. Specifically, this taxon in particular has been problematic for nearly it's entire existence. Originally it was named as a new species of Struthiomimus, and later given it's own genus by Russell in his review of the ornithomimids of Alberta. One of his chief characters for distinguishing this taxon was the ratio of tibia to femur length. This has proven very problematic as this ratio can be affected by individual variation and/or growth stage and subsequently Dromiceiomimus has been subsumed into Ornithomimus by various authors. Though the issue of whether it's synonymous with O. edmontonicus or a valid species within Ornithomimus is not agreed upon even by them. The most recent publication I could find was the Macdonald and Currie (2019) description of a near complete specimen. Therein they run a series of tests to see if the limb ratio is even a valid character, and to my surprise it seems to be so. Of the tested taxa (Dromiceiomimus, Ornithomimus, Struthiomimus, and Gallimimus) all kept a consistent ratio of tibia/femur length across absolute sizes, and therefore the ratio is independent of growth stage at least, suggesting that it could be a diagnostic character (Gallimimus is a small outlier, it had a slight negative allometry, the tibia shortened in comparison to the femur as the specimens got bigger). Combining this with subtle features of the hand and claws they reasoned that Dromiceiomimus was distinct at both the specific and generic levels.

As for depicting it, my best sources were the photos of the fossil from Macdonald and Currie (2018), the skeletal diagrams and thigh muscle reconstructions provided in Russel (1972), the "Ornithomimus brevitertius" skeleton in Paul (1989), and the image of the holotype pelvic girdle provided in Parks (1926). The integument of Ornithomimus has been fossilized in a couple specimens described in Zelenitsky et. al. (2012) and van der Reest, Wolfe, & Currie (2015). given the taxonomic issues, I figured the Ornithomimus integument would be appropriate. What surprised me about the integument was the wings. Specimen TMP 1995.110.1 preserves on its ulna carbonized traces of feather shafts. These traces disappear towards both the proximal and distal ends, meaning that the wing (pennibrachium of their terminology) would have been limited to the forearm and wouldn't continue onto the hand and 2nd finger, nor up to the shoulder as is the case in more derived maniraptors. It feels like a cardinal sin to depict dinosaur wings that way, but that's what the evidence shows for Ornithomimus at least.

The composition, colors, and pose were all inspired by Poodonkis (and if you get the reference maybe take something for your back pain). My challenge was to make him believably pink and spotted and to have him be 'snowed in.' I eventually settled on the idea that the bright pink would be male breeding plumage and since bullfinch, pine grosbeak, and pink headed fruit doves manage the color without filtering crustaceans like flamingoes or spoonbills I figured it could be justified. The spots could be either camouflage like a northern flicker or display like a peacock pheasant, so I done a little of both. The 'snowed in' was tougher, luckily there have been some determinations of paleoclimate for the Horseshoe Canyon Formation, most relevant here are the paleosol samples of Quinney et. al. (2013). Most of the specimens referred to Dromiceiomimus are from the Tolman Member of the formation, which was deposited in a cooler and drier interval. The mean annual temperature and precipitation determined by Quinney et. al. was comparable to those of modern Belgium and Luxembourg, which gives us a rough ballpark to play in. Close enough that I think a cold spring could reasonably produce a sleet storm, not quite a snow-in but close enough for the composition.

References:

Macdonald, I., Currie, P. J. (2018) Description of a partial Dromiceiomimus (Dinosauria: Theropoda) skeleton with comments on the validity of the genus. Canadian Journal of Earth Sciences 56: pg. 129-157. doi.org/10.1139/cjes-2018-0162

Russell, D. A. (1972) Ostrich Dinosaurs from the Late Cretaceous of Western Canada. Canadian Journal of Earth Sciences 9: pg. 375-402.

Paul, G. S. (1989) Predatory Dinosaurs of the World, Touchstone Simon & Schuster. pg. 391

Parks, W. A. (1926) Struthiomimus brevetertius - A new species of dinosaur from the Edmonton Formation of Alberta. Transactions of the Royal Society of Canada, series 3. 20(4), 65-70 (digitized, pg. 949-955)

Zelenitsky, D. K., et. al. (2012) Feathered Non-Avian Dinosaurs from North America Provide Insight into Wing Origins. Science 338: pg. 510-514. DOI: 10.1126/science.1225376

van der Reest, A. J., Wolfe, A. P., Currie, P. J. (2015) A densely feathered ornithomimid (Dinosauria: Theropoda) from the Upper Cretaceous Dinosaur Park Formation, Alberta, Canada. Cretaceous Research 58: pg. 108-117. doi.org/10.1016/j.cretres.2015.10.004

Quinney, A. et. al. (2013) Palaeoenvironmental and palaeoclimatic reconstruction of the Upper Cretaceous (late Campanian-early Maastrichtian) Horseshoe Canyon Formation, Alberta, Canada. Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology 371: pg. 26-44. doi.org/10.1016/j.palaeo.2012.12.009

[historicalbookimages]

🦕 Extinct monsters and creatures of other days London: Chapman & Hall, 1910. Original source Image description: Black and white historical illustration titled "Extinct monsters and creatures of other days" (1910) showing the mounted skeletal remains of a huge carnivorous dinosaur, Allosaurus. The long, curved skull with sharp teeth and large claws are clearly visible. Three men, dressed in early 20th-century attire, stand beside and behind the skeleton, highlighting its massive size. The dinosaur is posed in a lifelike stance, supported by metal rods. The setting appears to be a museum exhibit, emphasizing the scientific and educational context of the specimen.

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Reptilia - Opisthocomiformes

(Source)

Our next order of birds is the Opisthocomiformes, of which one living family remains, Opisthocomidae, one living genus, Opisthocomus, and one living species: Opisthocomus hoazin, commonly called the “Hoatzin”.

The only living opisthocomiform, the Hoatzin (Opisthocomus hoazin), lives in the Amazon and the Orinoco delta in South America. It has a long, rufous, erect crest on its head, a long tail, and an unfeathered blue face with maroon eyes. Hoatzins are herbivores, feeding on leaves, flowers and fruits. They are unique among birds for being foregut fermenters, having a large crop that uses bacteria to break down the leaves that they eat. Foregut fermentation is most common among mammals, typically ruminants, and the Hoatzin is the only bird known to digest its food this way. Their skeleton is highly modified to accommodate this large crop, and they are clumsy fliers. Hoatzins are noisy birds, and they make a variety of hoarse calls, including groans, croaks, hisses, and grunts. Like turacos, hoatzin chicks hatch with wing claws, but theirs are more developed than those of other birds. The chicks use their wing claws and their large feet to scramble around the tree branches.

Hoatzins are highly social, and are often found in groups of more than 40 birds, with up to 100 birds during the breeding season. They make a flat platform nest in a bush or tree above water, laying 2-3 eggs within it. The chicks can jump into the water below their nest, swimming with their wings and feet, if they need to escape a predator. They then use their wing claws to climb back to their nest. The chicks will leave the nest at about two to three weeks of age. The parent birds will continue to feed their young with semi-digested plant matter, stored in their crops, for the first four to five months of their life.

Opisthocomiformes evolved in the Late Eocene, around 36 million years ago, and possibly even earlier in the Late Cretaceous. While only one species survives today, there were once at least 4 other genera. The living genus, Opisthocomus, evolved in the Miocene.

(source)

Propaganda under the cut:

As the Hoatzin is a foregut fermenter, the fermented foliage produces methane in its crop. The bird expels this methane through burping!

Because of the aromatic compounds in the leaves they consume, and the bacterial fermentation required to digest them, Hoatzins have a smelly, manure-like odor and are only hunted by humans for food in times of dire need. Local people also call it the "stinkbird".

Much of the Hoatzin’s diet, including various types of Monstera, Philodendron, and other aroids, contains a high concentration of calcium oxalate crystals, which even in small amounts can be greatly uncomfortable (and even dangerous) for humans to consume.

The Hoatzin is often compared to the Late Jurassic paravian, Archaeopteryx, and some early scientists even speculated that the Hoatzin was descended from it. However, it is now generally agreed upon that the young Hoatzin's claws evolved more recently, and may be a secondary adaptation due to its frequent need to climb into and out of the nest to avoid predators. The developmental genetics, or "blueprint", for wing claws is presumably still within the avian genome, as several other orders of birds have either retained them or re-evolved them. Hoatzins just needed to do more with theirs!

The Hoatzin is the national bird of Guyana.

[everworcim]

Dragon Sylus Headcanon

Guys, I am in love with the new spring banner and when I saw Sylus’s memory come up, I needed to write something about it. This is also inspired by that lil theory/ headcanon that the skeleton in that card is actually Sylus’s mother and oh my god the angst potential is *chefs kiss*. This is my first time writing anything bcs I’m really not a writer sooooo, pls don’t expect this to be a literary masterpiece~ enjoy ;3

Dragon!Sylus finding shards of mirrored glass at the edge of the nest, noticing just how different his face looks compared to the others. His curiosity leads him to ask questions, receiving dismissive huffs of smoke in his face, instead of answers.

Dragon!Sylus and he’s so small- too young and too confused to understand why his flock uses their tails to push him away from the sleeping den. Their backs turned, while a few have their wings outstretched, forming a blockade between the rest of the dragons and this insignificant pest.

Dragon!Sylus who feels these strange bumps over his unscaled flesh during the night, craving comfort in the form of huddled bodies, nestled peacefully between each other. But he can’t get close enough to the warmth radiating from the slumbering gather of his flock.

Dragon!Sylus walking along the outskirts of the nest, trying his best to not trample the fresh and wonderfully pigmented blossoms - gaining upon the lonesome beast who resides amongst that one corner of the earth, and his only hope in achieving a less-than freezing night.

Dragon!Sylus who can’t seem to wake his mother up. Her scales too cold under the leathery texture of his palms, and her body seemingly unmoving, no matter how many times he nudges her claws or taps on her horns.

Dragon!Sylus who’s so tiny compared to this gentle beast, curls up as best as he can under her wing, attempting to avoid his newly formed horns from scratching her. He would hate to think of himself, as the source of his mother’s pain.

[justevelynnnn]

I’ll always love you.

Pairing: Logan howlett x reader

Summary: Logan has a nightmare and hurts you in his sleep. This is a short story of that and the aftermath.

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of blood, Logan stabbed you in your sleep, Profanity, Cigar smoking, mention of the scene where wolverine gets his adamantium skeleton. (Written with fem!reader in mind but no she/her pronouns are used or feminine features are mentioned)

A/N: this started off as a drabble but tbh it got a bit longer than i expected so 😭 but anyway, i love this plot so of coursee, my turn!

He was in the tank again.

It was the same nightmare every other week. Or, one of them. But this was the worst one of them all.

Suffocating. Confused. Scared?

He felt it all again.

He could never, ever describe what metal covering your skeleton feels like but it’s a horrible, disgusting feeling.

As he rose and roared angrily from the water, tubes fell out his body. He gets hit with a bullet to the head and he fiercely turns to the source, growling animalistically. There are more gun shots as he jumped out, screaming. Oh, and of course…Fucking Stryker.

Stryker. Stryker. Stryker.

Of course, the nightmare version of this event is more intense feeling. His heart was racing. His mind. His feet. Adrenaline is pumping through his veins. Everything is on fire.

Then suddenly, he’s in a dark room.

Still yelling and thrashing, he doesn’t stop until he comes to finally seconds later. Oh, it was a nightmare. Not real. Though, the screams still echo in his head.

And then he hears a soft, “Logan….”

He looks down.

You’re laying there, under him. There are tears in your eyes as you held his…wrists with..his claws…in…your….sides..

His heart drops. Blood runs cold. He feels like he’s gonna be sick.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit fuck fuck fuck-

He mouths, “No…no no no…”

“Logan, it’s okay. It’s okay, you’re…” A pained groan from you interrupted yourself. “…okay. I’m here.”

He frantically pulls his claws out and sits there, looking at you in pure horror. Heart pounding still as guilt washed over him. Consuming his entire soul.

Luckily, for the both of you, you also had a healing factor..just not as good as his…it took twice as long for you to heal.

But you were prepared for this moment anyways. You knew one day…he’d wake up like this. That you’d wake up like this. You practiced what you would say and do. Remain calm and ground him. Remind him he’s okay and that you two are far from any enemies.

Logan looked at the blood covering his hands once he unsheathed his claws. Looked at you once more and then back at his own hands.

“I’m already healing, Logan. It’s gonna be okay. It was an accident.” You sit up in bed, even though it was horribly painful still, and rub his shoulders trying to relax him.

“..i…i..hurt you.” He softly said looking into your eyes.

“It was an accident.”

“I hurt you. I fucking hurt you.”

“You didn’t mean to, Lo.”

He bit his lip, holding back a sob. Still, a tear escaped his eye.

You hugged him solfty, not minding the sweat covering his skin and clothes, and rubbed his back.

“I’m sorry…i’m sorry baby i-“

You hear him finally break down a bit as his voice hitched. You rub his back more telling him it’s okay. You’re okay.

“I know, you’d never do it on purpose Logan…i forgive you. Look, I’m already halfway healed…it won’t even scar..” You pull back and gently held his face and kiss his forehead.

He sighed.

“Wanna stay up with me? Wash the sheets and sit outside a bit?” You smiled.

He nods. “I’m so sorry.”

You don’t respond as you get out of bed, pain on your sides quickly fading. You pull him with you and you both start pulling off the blood soaked sheets quietly.

Once everything is in the washer you sit with him on the couch in the dark, cuddled next to him as he smoked a cigar to calm his nerves.

“That was my worst nightmare.” He said softly as he took a long drag.

“I know..but i know you didnt mean too. You’ve been through a lot it was bound to happen at some point… and plus, i’m better now..”

“I…I dunno why you put up with me.”

“Because I love you. ‘Cause i know deep down you have a good soul.”

He huffed at this and smiled as he said, “Love, huh?”

“Yes, love. All of it. Your scars, your personality, just…you.”

Silence filled the room once more. He put the cigar out and laid it on the table then looked away.

“I’m just..scared. Of losing you. Are you sure? About us? This? I don’t want to hurt you anymore…i-“

“Logan, look at me.”

He turned to face you. Face unreadable as usual but you knew he felt worry.

“I’ll never leave you. And i’m so sure about us. 100%. You don’t have to be scared of anything considering that anymore. Okay? I’ll always love you.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment but then he closed the distance. Hugging you tightly. A soft thank you came from him moments later.

That night you two fell asleep on the couch in each others arms.

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

[chapter 1110 spoilers!]

chapter 1110 reveals to us the mythical zoan forms of all five elders- as some people theorized, they’re all youkai of various sorts.

saturn is a gyuuki or ushi-oni (牛鬼), a type of ox-demon with clawed spider legs said to spread illness and spit poison.

mars is an 以津真天/itsumade, a type of ‘monstrous bird’ said to repeat いつまでいつまで/itsumade, itsumade (‘until when? until when?) during times of plague in myths dating back to the kenmu period. its name is also pronounced itsumade, but spelled with four different kanji.

warcury is a 封豨/houki, a boar monster said to be prone to violent rampages, destroying livestock and fields and killing and eating people. it also has a very tough hide which regular weapons cannot penetrate.

nusjurou is a 馬骨/bakotsu, ‘horse bones/skeleton.’ on a quick look i couldn’t find a good source with much more information about this one, but this blog post, citing the edo-period youkai book tosa obake zoushi, refers to it as a spirit of a horse that burned to death.

and then jupeter is a アンドワーム/sandowaamu, ‘sandworm’, a youkai famously originating from frank herbert’s dune.

[halfcow-halfboy]

The Ghoul Biology:

Ghouls, while humanoid in shape, are biologically distinct from humans in several key ways:

Physical Traits

Internal Composition: Ghouls do not have traditional human organs. Their internal systems are a combination of organic and elemental essence—meaning their "blood" might appear black, glowing, or even smoke-like depending on their element (e.g., fire ghouls may burn from within).

Hearts: Ghouls are born/summoned with a Core, which functions similarly to a heart but is more like a condensed source of their elemental magic. It pulses with their affinity (e.g., molten gold for fire, clear crystal for air).

Skeleton: Ghouls have reinforced bones or chitin-like structures that vary by type. Earth ghouls, for instance, have denser bones, while water ghouls have flexible, cartilage-heavy frames.

Mental Capacity

Ghouls are sentient and capable of speech, reason, and emotion, though they often feel more intensely than humans.

Some types—especially Quintessence—can experience sensory overload if exposed to high emotional stimulus from others.

External Features

All ghouls have tails, claws, and subtle horn nubs. Their horns may grow over time with power or bonding.

Depending on element, additional features might appear:

Wings (Air)

Webbing and gills (Water)

Glowing hair or scorched skin markings (Fire)

Moss or bark-like textures (Earth)

Shimmering skin or mirrored eyes (Quintessence)

[amethystarachnid]

APOCALYPTIC LOVE

⤷ JAMES LOGAN HOWLETT & WADE WILSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: James Logan Howlett x fem!reader x Wade Wilson

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff with a tiny bit of angst and some action

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 8.4k

ᯓ★ Summary: The world went to shit after the apocalypse but you are probably one of the safest people on the planet with your two scary best friends by your side: Logan and Wade. Best friends...You're not sure what you feel for them after you kiss Logan, and then Wade too. You care deeply for both of them, do you really have to choose?

ᯓ★ TW(s): post apocalyptic so destruction, lots of violence, brief mention of cannibalism (none of the characters practices it, it's a 'joke')

ᯓ★ AU: Post Apocalyptic world

ᯓ★ Request: The way I’d eat up deadpool x fem reader x wolverine post apocalypse au is insane. Like mutants etc aside, the world just goes to shit with [apocalypse setting of choice] and for once their proclivities for violence aren’t shameful, a possible relationship turn off, etc- they protect and provide!!! idk something about Logan specifically healing from his ‘I hurt everything I touch’ mentality because in this new world his claws mean the safety and protection of the people he loves 😩 maybe they were all close friends before events of apocalypse happened and it morphs into something more since their survival as a small group depends on that impossibly heightened trust idk man 💖 ( @scarlettsoldier)

ᯓ★Turns out I had my asks turned off (I can't believe it) so now if you want to make anonymous requests you can! <3

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The sky is a sickly hue of red, a canvas of ash and blood that stretches endlessly above the desolate world. Once-crowded streets now lie cracked and broken, littered with the skeletons of old lives—burnt-out cars, shattered glass, and the occasional, all-too-frequent, human remains. You kick a small stone, watching it tumble and clatter in the silence. Silence. It’s unnerving how quiet the world has become, like someone turned the volume down on life itself. But the crackle of flames in the distance, the occasional growl of something far too close for comfort, keeps the dread alive. Keeps you alive.

“Well, if it isn’t the end of the world and we still look amazing,” Wade quips, his voice cutting through the air like it always does—reckless, loud, and defying the weight of reality. He’s walking beside you, his suit covered in a layer of grime, but his stride is confident. Unshaken.

Logan snorts from your other side, his growl more a breath than sound. “Yeah, amazing. That’s the word.” He runs a hand through his wild hair, scanning the ruined city ahead of you with sharp eyes, never stopping, never fully relaxed.

You glance between them. You’re used to their banter—dark, heavy, and always ready to bite back. You were friends long before the world crumbled, before survival became an endless nightmare. Wade’s mask, hiding the scars underneath, has become an almost comforting sight. And Logan’s claws, once more a source of fear than security, now gleam in the fractured sunlight like a promise of safety.

“You think we’ll make it to the safe house tonight?” you ask, pulling your jacket tighter around you. The nights are cold, too cold for October, and you’ve already lost too much to the chill.

Logan’s eyes flick toward you, softening just a bit. “We’ll make it. One way or another.”

Wade grins beneath his mask, probably smirking even though you can’t see it. “Oh, sweetheart, with me around, survival is practically guaranteed. And you know I can be very… motivated when it comes to keeping the three of us alive.” He spins a pistol in his hand, unnecessarily flashy. “Besides, we’ve got Logan. Nothing like a living weapon with a questionable moral compass to keep things interesting.”

Logan glares at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Shut up, Wilson.”

You catch a glimpse of Logan’s claws retracting back into his knuckles—something you’d once flinched at, but now… now it feels more like reassurance. Because while the world is full of things worse than death, you’ve got two of the deadliest men in existence walking beside you, and they’ve never failed you. Even if Wade’s jokes sometimes make you wish you could strangle him.

“We’re not dangerous anymore,” you muse aloud, more to yourself than them. “Not like we used to be.”

Wade scoffs, his mask crinkling as he looks at you. “Us? Dangerous? I mean, maybe Logan over here, but I’m a cuddly ball of sunshine wrapped in skin grafts.”

Logan shoots him a look that says everything. “What you mean is, the world got more dangerous than we ever were. Doesn’t mean we’re harmless.”

“True,” you admit. “But the things that used to scare people… those are the things that protect us now.”

Logan doesn’t answer immediately, but you see him flex his hands, as though feeling the phantom weight of those claws. “Guess you’re right,” he mutters.

You stop, turning to look at both of them fully. “I’m glad you two are with me,” you say softly. “Really.”

Wade chuckles, a rare genuine sound. “We’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. You’re stuck with us. Forever. And lucky for you, that’s a long time.”

Logan’s eyes meet yours, steady and unflinching. “You’ve kept us sane this long. Don’t plan on leaving you to this hellhole alone.”

You smile, and for a brief moment, it feels like things could be okay—like the world isn’t a rotting corpse and you aren’t three souls wandering through the bones of what was. But it’s fleeting, because the apocalypse doesn’t allow for much peace.

A distant scream echoes, sharp and frantic, yanking you all back into reality. The world may be dead, but it isn’t empty. Something out there still hunts.

Logan’s claws snikt out, gleaming deadly in the fading light. Wade pulls out his twin katanas with a flourish.

“Showtime,” Wade grins, and then the three of you are moving. You run side by side, the sound of your breath matching the rhythm of your steps, like old times—before the world fell apart, before survival was the only goal left.

And yet, despite it all, you’re not scared. Because the monsters you run with are the ones that will keep you alive.

You sprint through the crumbling city streets, the distant scream still echoing in your ears. Logan moves ahead, a blur of raw power and purpose, while Wade stays close to your side, keeping pace like a madman with a plan. Your heart pounds in your chest, not from fear, but from the anticipation of what’s coming.

You’ve encountered other survivors before. Some are just as desperate as you—lost, broken, scavenging for whatever they can find. But others… others are predators, thriving in the chaos, more dangerous than the creatures lurking in the shadows. The kind that would kill you for your supplies, or worse.

The kind that’s hunting you now.

You round a corner, your boots skidding on loose gravel, and freeze. A group of five—no, six—survivors step out from the alleyways ahead, weapons raised. Makeshift blades, clubs, and a couple of rusted guns. Their eyes are hollow, skin pale and stretched thin from hunger, desperation clinging to them like the filth coating their clothes.

One of them, a tall guy with a buzz cut and wild eyes, points a jagged machete your way. “Drop your packs. Now.”

Wade chuckles beside you, twirling a katana lazily in his hand. “Oh, I love these moments. The awkward stand-off, the tense threats, and then… well, you’ll see.”

Logan steps forward, his gaze locked on the group, shoulders squared. His claws gleam in the fading light, long and wickedly sharp. “We’re not in the mood for this,” he growls, voice low and dangerous.

The leader’s eyes narrow, flicking between Logan and Wade before landing on you. A twisted grin spreads across his face. “She looks valuable,” he says to the others, voice like gravel. “Might be worth more than their packs.”

Wade tilts his head, his tone somehow casual and unhinged all at once. “Buddy, if you finish that sentence, I’m gonna get really creative with how I kill you.” He steps forward, spinning his katana in an almost playful manner, but the deadly intent in his movements is unmistakable. "Like… Picasso-levels of creative."

The leader sneers, raising his machete higher, but Logan’s already moving before the man can blink.

Logan’s claws flash, quicksilver arcs of death. One of the survivors lunges at him, but Logan sidesteps effortlessly, sinking his claws deep into the guy’s abdomen with a wet snikt. Blood sprays, and the man crumples without a sound, his eyes wide in shock. The others hesitate for just a second, but that’s all it takes for Logan to tear through them like they’re nothing—flesh and bone no match for adamantium claws.

Chaos erupts around you, and you feel the air crackle with the violence of the moment. Two of the survivors rush toward you, wild and frenzied. Before you can react, Wade is already there, his katanas slicing through the air with deadly precision. The first man barely has time to register the movement before his arm is severed at the elbow, a spray of blood marking Wade’s path. The second lunges at him with a rusty knife, but Wade sidesteps, twirling with a laugh before driving his blade through the man’s chest.

“Y’know, I used to hate getting my hands dirty,” Wade quips, wrenching his katana free. “But now? Now it’s like therapy.”

You’re frozen for a heartbeat, your senses overwhelmed by the brutality unfolding around you, but you don’t flinch. You’ve seen Wade and Logan like this before. They’re killers—always have been—but now, in this broken world, their violence is justified. Necessary.

Logan cuts down the last survivor in front of him, his claws slicing through the air with brutal efficiency. His chest heaves with breath, and for a moment, the primal rage in his eyes is terrifying. But when he turns to you, the anger fades, and he’s just Logan again, your Logan.

“You okay?” His voice is gruff but soft in that way it only ever is when he’s talking to you.

You nod, even though your pulse is still racing. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good, because you looked a little distracted there for a second,” Wade says, nudging one of the bodies with his boot. “Need me to give you a quick rundown on how to properly dismember someone? Always happy to teach.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “I think I’m good, thanks.”

Wade wipes the blood off his katanas with a flourish, slipping them back into their sheaths with a dramatic sigh. “Another day, another group of cannibalistic weirdos trying to steal our stuff. I swear, it’s like a reality TV show out here.”

Logan wipes the blood from his claws, retracting them back into his knuckles with that familiar snikt sound. He’s quieter than Wade, as always, but you know he’s still on edge. Even in moments like this, where you’ve won and you’re still standing, Logan’s never fully at ease.

“Let’s keep moving,” he says, his voice low. “We’re too exposed out here.”

You agree, and the three of you start walking again, quicker now, the weight of survival hanging heavier than before. The adrenaline still courses through your veins, but beneath that, there’s something else—something that feels almost like safety. Not the kind you’d known before the world ended, but the kind that comes from knowing that the two people beside you are willing to tear the world apart to protect you.

The safe house isn’t far now, just beyond the next few blocks. But with the sun dipping lower, casting long shadows that seem to breathe and writhe in the distance, you don’t take anything for granted. Not anymore.

Logan stays ahead, leading the way, his eyes scanning every corner. Wade lingers by your side, never too far, always ready with a joke—or a blade.

You reach the edge of the block where the safe house is supposed to be, a decrepit warehouse looming ahead. It’s dark, but it’s shelter. And shelter, in this world, is as good as gold.

“Well, home sweet hellhole,” Wade mutters. “Let’s see what fresh horrors await inside.”

You glance at Logan, who’s already inspecting the entrance, his gaze sharp and calculating. He doesn’t say it, but you know he feels it too—that gnawing sense of dread that never really leaves anymore.

“Stay close,” Logan says, eyes flicking between you and Wade. “We’re not out of this yet.”

And with that, you step forward, into the dark, with your deadly companions at your side.

Inside the safe house, the air is thick with dust and the scent of decay, but it’s shelter, and that’s enough. The warehouse’s tall, cracked windows let in little light, and the building creaks ominously as the wind passes through the broken slats. You find a spot in the far corner, away from the door and any potential threats. Logan checks the perimeter, his sharp eyes scanning every shadow, while Wade busies himself by making a bed out of old crates and blankets.

“Well, this is cozy,” Wade says, plopping down on his makeshift bed, already peeling off his gloves. “If anyone tries to kill us in the middle of the night, at least we’ll die in comfort. Five-star accommodations, am I right?”

You chuckle, the tension from the earlier fight easing slightly. Wade’s irreverence, while grating at times, has always been a strange comfort. It feels like a sliver of normalcy in a world that has none. Logan remains quiet, his posture tense, as he finally settles down across from you and Wade. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than usual before he reclines against the wall, his arms folded across his chest.

“We’ll take turns keeping watch,” Logan says, his voice rough but steady.

You know better than to argue. He never sleeps long, not deeply enough to truly rest. You’ve grown accustomed to that, just as you’ve grown used to the sound of his claws, the low growl in his voice, the way he always seems to be on the edge of something dangerous. But tonight, the weight of exhaustion pulls you down, and you close your eyes, trusting that between Logan and Wade, you’re safe for now.

Sleep comes quickly, but it’s not peaceful. Your dreams are fragments of the world you’ve lost, of the friends who didn’t make it, of the constant fight for survival.

Hours pass, maybe less—time blurs when you live on the edge. You wake with a start, the cold night air pressing against your skin. For a moment, you think it’s the howl of wind that’s disturbed you, but then you notice something else. Logan isn’t where he was.

You sit up quietly, glancing around. Wade’s still asleep, sprawled out in a ridiculous position, muttering something incoherent. But Logan… he’s standing by the window, bathed in the pale moonlight that streams through the broken glass. His broad shoulders are tense, his back turned to you, but it’s the way his hands are held up in front of him, claws extended, that draws your attention.

You slip out of your bedroll, feet silent on the cracked concrete as you approach him. Logan doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge you at first. His eyes are locked on his claws, the deadly, silver blades gleaming in the moonlight. For a moment, it’s like he’s not even there, like he’s lost in some internal struggle, his face shadowed in a way that makes him look even more haunted than usual.

"Logan?" you say softly, your voice barely more than a whisper in the quiet of the night.

He doesn’t answer right away. His claws glint as he flexes his hands, and you can see the tension in every inch of him. Finally, he speaks, his voice low, almost strained. “I used to hate these,” he mutters, eyes still fixed on the metal protruding from his knuckles. “Always thought they were a curse. Somethin’ that’d end up killin’ everything I touched.”

There’s a weight in his words that you hadn’t expected, a raw honesty that cuts deeper than any of his claws ever could. You’ve known Logan long enough to understand some of his pain, but this… seeing him like this, staring at his own hands like he’s still disgusted by what he’s become, makes your heart ache.

“But now…” His voice trails off, and he finally looks at you, his eyes intense, searching yours. “Now, they’re all I’ve got to protect you.”

You step closer, drawn to him, your chest tightening at the vulnerability in his voice. “Logan,” you whisper, not knowing what to say but feeling the weight of his words. “You’ve always protected me. With or without them.”

He shakes his head, his expression hardening for a second before softening again as he looks down at his claws. “I’ve killed more people than I can count. Hurt more people than I can remember. I’ve been trying to fight that part of me for so long. But now… now the only thing keeping us alive is what I hated most.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand on his, feeling the cool metal of his claws against your skin. It’s strange, but in that moment, you’re not afraid. You never have been. Not of him.

“They’re not a curse anymore,” you say quietly. “Not if they’re used to protect the people you care about.”

Logan’s breath hitches at your words, and when his eyes meet yours again, there’s something different in them. Something more than the usual hardness and regret. Something vulnerable, yet fierce. You feel the tension between you shift, a current pulling you closer, heavier than the world outside.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the air change, thick with unsaid things that have been building for years. Your heart races as the silence stretches between you, and before you can overthink it, you lean in. Your lips brush against his in a tentative kiss, slow and soft at first, but the moment Logan responds, everything ignites.

The kiss deepens, and Logan’s hands, claws still extended, hover near your sides, careful but intense. He pulls you closer without touching you fully, as if he’s still afraid he’ll hurt you. But you press against him, letting him know that you’re not scared, that you trust him.

His lips are rough, his kiss desperate but controlled, as if he’s spent too long holding back and can’t anymore. Your hand rests on his chest, feeling the tension in his body, the restrained power that he’s always carried like a second skin. His other hand cups the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as the kiss grows more heated, more raw.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing hard, the cold air mingling with the warmth between you. Logan’s forehead rests against yours, his eyes closed, his claws slowly retracting back into his knuckles with a soft snikt.

“I…” Logan begins, but his voice cracks, and for the first time, you see the cracks in his armor—the fear of what this means, of what he’s allowed himself to feel.

But you just smile softly, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “It’s okay, Logan. We’ll figure it out.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, like he’s searching for some kind of reassurance, and what he finds seems to settle him. For now, at least.

Without another word, Logan pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively, and you stay there, wrapped in his warmth, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten.

The warehouse is quiet again, the night’s earlier chaos now a distant memory. After your moment with Logan, sleep feels elusive. You lie awake in the dark, staring up at the cracked ceiling, your mind swirling with thoughts. Logan had gone back to his usual, silent brooding self—though something between you has undeniably shifted.

Beside you, Wade stirs. He’s not asleep, despite the rhythmic breathing you’ve been hearing. Maybe you’ve spent too much time with him, but you can always tell when he’s faking it. His chest rises and falls in exaggerated movements, like he’s mimicking sleep just to mess with you. Typical Wade.

You roll over to face him, catching his eyes already on you. The dim light barely reaches him, but you can still make out the faint glimmer in his gaze beneath the mask. He lies sprawled out on the floor, his arms behind his head, too relaxed for someone who’s always on edge. There’s a familiar playfulness to the way he’s watching you.

“Can’t sleep, huh?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, but still with that teasing edge.

You smirk. “Guess not. And I’m pretty sure you weren’t sleeping either, Wade.”

“Me? Oh, no. I was totally in dreamland,” he says, his tone light as he mimics a dramatic yawn. “I was having this crazy dream where I was a billionaire playboy, and I owned a private island made of chimichangas. You know, the usual.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "Of course you were."

There’s a moment of silence after that, but it’s not uncomfortable. Wade’s humor has always been a kind of shield, deflecting any real vulnerability with a joke, but you’ve learned to read between the lines. He may act like nothing ever gets to him, but you know better. The world you live in has a way of wearing down even the toughest masks, and Wade—despite his bravado—feels it all.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wade’s head tilts, and though you can’t see his face beneath the mask, you know he’s staring at you, really staring at you. His fingers tap idly on his stomach, as if weighing your words.

“Pretend? Moi? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, though his voice lacks its usual sharpness. “I’m as real as it gets, babe. What you see is what you get. Unless, of course, you want me to break into a musical number, then all bets are off.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow, looking at him closely. “Wade…” you begin, and this time, his tapping stops. His whole body stills, like he’s waiting for you to say something that he’s not ready to hear, or maybe he’s been waiting too long for it.

“I see you,” you continue, your voice soft but sure. “Behind all the jokes, all the masks. I see you.”

Wade doesn’t move for a long moment, and you wonder if you’ve crossed some line, peeled back something he didn’t want to expose. But then, slowly, he sits up, turning to face you. His usual cocky demeanor is gone, replaced by something quieter, something raw.

“And what do you see?” he asks, his voice low, almost vulnerable in a way you’ve never heard from him.

You hold his gaze, knowing that beneath the mask, Wade is asking you for something more than just an answer. He’s asking you if you can handle him—all of him. The scars, the madness, the brokenness that he tries so hard to hide behind humor.

“I see someone who cares more than he lets on,” you say, your heart pounding in your chest. “Someone who acts like nothing bothers him, but who would do anything to protect the people he loves. Even if he pretends not to.”

Wade is silent for a long moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rougher than usual, almost like it’s caught in his throat. “Well… shit.”

You can’t help but laugh, though it comes out softer than you expected. “That’s your big response?”

“What can I say?” Wade replies, his voice returning to its usual self-deprecating humor. “You go and pull on my heartstrings, and I get all emotionally constipated. Not a pretty sight.”

But there’s a warmth to his tone now, a vulnerability that lingers beneath the joke. He reaches up, tugging at the edge of his mask like he’s contemplating something. His fingers hesitate, then slowly pull the fabric up over his nose and mouth, revealing the scarred skin underneath. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him without his mask, but every time he does it, it feels like he’s giving you a piece of himself that he doesn’t share with many.

“God, I must look like an old potato that’s been left out in the sun too long,” he mutters, trying to laugh it off, but there’s something uncertain in his eyes.

You reach out, cupping his cheek gently. “You look like Wade,” you say softly.

Wade stills under your touch, his eyes widening just a little, like he’s not used to anyone touching him so tenderly. His breath hitches as your thumb brushes over one of his scars, and for the first time in a long while, Wade is speechless.

Then, without warning—without overthinking—you lean in. Your lips meet his in a kiss that’s soft, tentative at first, but Wade responds almost immediately. His hand comes up to rest on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. It’s not as desperate or raw as the one you shared with Logan, but there’s something equally intense about it. It’s Wade—his humor, his chaos, his scars—all wrapped into this one moment of quiet vulnerability.

The kiss breaks, and for a moment, the two of you just sit there, foreheads resting together, breathing each other in. Wade’s hand lingers on your waist, his thumb tracing small circles, and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Wade says, though his voice is softer, almost breathless. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You smile, your hand still resting on his cheek. “Neither am I.”

He chuckles, though it’s more of a nervous laugh. “So… does this mean I get to put ‘official apocalypse snuggle buddy’ on my resume? ‘Cause, you know, I’m a package deal—jokes, chimichangas, and quality cuddles.”

You laugh softly, leaning into him, letting the warmth of the moment wash over you. "Guess you'll have to prove your cuddle game is up to standard first."

Wade grins, but there’s something softer in his eyes now, something unspoken but understood. He pulls you a little closer, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Challenge accepted, sweetheart,” he says quietly. “Challenge accepted.”

The first light of dawn filters through the broken windows of the warehouse, casting long, pale beams across the dusty floor. You lie awake, staring up at the ceiling, your mind tangled in a mess of emotions that didn’t exist a day ago. The air feels heavier this morning, more charged. It’s not just the lingering exhaustion or the ever-present tension of survival—it’s the weight of what happened last night. Of what you did.

You kissed Logan.

And you kissed Wade.

And now… well, now everything feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something dangerous and confusing. The safe house, once just another forgotten building in the apocalypse, now feels like a pressure cooker. Every breath feels sharper, more significant, and the two men sharing this space with you… they look at you differently now.

Logan is already up, standing near the doorway, his back turned to you as he checks the barricades and watches for any signs of movement outside. He’s always the first one awake, always vigilant. His broad shoulders are tense, his posture alert as usual, but there’s something softer in the way he glanced at you earlier, a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He hasn’t said anything about what happened last night by the window, but you know he’s thinking about it. He hasn’t looked away from you for long, and when his gaze does meet yours, there’s a silent promise there—something unspoken but heavy.

But then there’s Wade.

You turn your head slightly, finding him still lounging on the floor nearby, but he’s awake too. His mask is back on, but you can feel his eyes on you from behind it. Even with the fabric between you, you know he’s watching, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment, some sign that what happened between you wasn’t just a fleeting moment of insanity. His usual jokes and casual comments are there, but softer now, less of a shield. Every once in a while, you catch him looking at you differently too—like he’s holding back something real, something more than his typical irreverence.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

You have feelings for both of them, and not the fleeting, confused kind. Real, complicated feelings that have grown over time—through every fight, every desperate scramble to survive, every shared glance when you thought you might not make it through the day. With Logan, it’s deeper, older—a connection that feels like it’s been building ever since the world began to fall apart. With Wade, it’s unexpected, chaotic, but just as intense. Both of them have been there for you, in their own ways, and now you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross.

You sit up slowly, trying to gather your thoughts, but your mind keeps looping back to the kisses. Logan’s rough, desperate kiss by the window—the way he had pulled you in like he was afraid to let go. Then Wade’s kiss, softer but just as powerful, laced with the unspoken vulnerability he rarely shows.

The guilt creeps in, though. You care about both of them, but you kissed them both, and they don’t know.

Wade shifts beside you, drawing your attention. He’s stretching his arms overhead, glancing at you with a lazy grin behind the mask. “Morning, sunshine. Sleep well, or were you up all night dreaming of little ol’ me?” His voice is teasing, but there’s an underlying warmth there that makes your heart twist.

“Or both of us,” Logan grumbles from his spot by the door, his sharp ears catching Wade’s quip. His eyes flick to you briefly before returning to the street beyond the window, but even in that quick glance, you can feel the weight of what happened between you last night.

Your stomach flips as their eyes linger on you, and suddenly, you feel exposed—like you’re carrying this secret that’s too big for the small space you’re all sharing. How are you supposed to act normal when both of them are looking at you like this? When you don’t even know what normal looks like anymore?

Wade, ever the one to break any tension, lets out an exaggerated sigh and props himself up on one elbow. “So, what’s on today’s agenda? Raiding a grocery store for canned beans? Fighting off another group of apocalypse weirdos? Or”—he leans forward, voice lowering to a mock-conspiratorial whisper—“planning our post-apocalyptic ménage à trois? I mean, no one’s judging. It’s the end of the world and all.”

Your heart skips a beat at Wade’s bluntness, and you quickly look away, feeling your cheeks heat up. Wade laughs, clearly enjoying your discomfort, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s testing the waters. Logan, on the other hand, tenses visibly, his eyes narrowing at Wade, though he says nothing. The silence that follows is heavier than it should be, stretching out uncomfortably.

You swallow hard, forcing a smile as you stand up and brush the dust off your pants. “We should get moving,” you say, trying to sound casual, like your heart isn’t hammering in your chest. “We’ve stayed here too long already. It’s not safe.”

Logan grunts in agreement, pushing off from where he was standing and grabbing his jacket. He doesn’t say much, but his gaze lingers on you a little too long before he turns toward the door. Wade just watches you with that familiar grin, though you can feel the unspoken questions hanging in the air between you.

You’ve survived so much together—fights, hunger, loss—but this? This might be harder than any battle you’ve faced. You’re torn between two people who mean everything to you in different ways, and they don’t even know it yet.

As you gather your things and prepare to head out into the wasteland again, you can’t shake the feeling that this fragile balance won’t last long. Wade and Logan, so different yet so important to you, are bound to notice the tension eventually. And when they do, you don’t know what will happen—or how you’ll make sense of the feelings you have for both of them.

But for now, you focus on the next step. One foot in front of the other. You’ve survived the apocalypse this long—maybe you can survive this too.

Wade’s joke about the ménage à trois lingers in your mind, even though you know it was just Wade being Wade—always looking for a laugh, always ready to break the tension with something outrageous. Normally, you’d brush it off, roll your eyes and move on. But this time… something about it sticks. Maybe it’s the intensity of everything that’s happened, or the undeniable attraction you feel for both of them. Maybe it’s the strange new world you’re living in, where the old rules don’t seem to matter as much.

But whatever it is, you can’t stop your mind from wandering down that path.

Would they even be open to something like that?

The thought sends a shiver through you—part nerves, part curiosity. You know Logan, with all his brooding and tightly controlled emotions, doesn’t seem like the type to share easily. He’s possessive in his own quiet way, always watching, always protective. But Wade… Wade is unpredictable. Beneath his mask of jokes and sarcasm, there’s always been a deep well of feeling, something more complicated than anyone else gives him credit for. He’s seen more than most, lived through hell and come out the other side—scarred but still here.

And, if you’re being honest, you’ve wondered what it would be like to have them both in your life—really in your life—since last night. Logan, with his fierce protectiveness and raw intensity, and Wade, with his chaotic energy and unexpected vulnerability. The idea feels impossible, even reckless. But the way they look at you, the way both of them have made you feel… maybe it isn’t impossible.

You try to shake the thought away, but it’s like an itch you can’t scratch. In the quiet moments between gathering supplies and checking the perimeter, you catch yourself glancing at Wade, then at Logan, wondering how they see this. Could they…? Would they even consider it?

Unbeknownst to you, Wade has been thinking about something like this for longer than you’d imagine. Long before the world crumbled into chaos, he had joked about it, made those half-serious comments to hide what he was really feeling. He never thought it would actually be possible, but there was a part of him—deep down—that wanted it. That wanted you. And Logan, too, in a weird way. He’d always respected Logan, admired his strength, even if they got under each other’s skin.

Now, in the post-apocalyptic wasteland, where survival means making your own rules, Wade’s been waiting for a moment—waiting for you to realize that maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to choose.

As the three of you move through the remains of a once-bustling city, Wade walks alongside you, his usual swagger in place. He cracks a joke about the abandoned cars you pass, something about Mad Max and your new potential career as a desert warlord, but his eyes keep flicking toward you, more serious than he lets on. Logan stays ahead, scouting silently, but even he glances back more often than usual, as if he can feel the weight of everything unsaid.

When you find a small diner that hasn’t been completely picked clean, you settle in for a rest. The windows are cracked, grime covering the once-shiny counters, but it feels safe enough for now. Logan takes first watch outside, his back to the door, as Wade plops down in one of the booths across from you.

“Ah, breakfast for champions,” Wade says, gesturing to the dented cans of food you’ve scavenged. “Can’t wait to see what culinary delight we’ve got today. Hope it’s Spam or baked beans.”

You snort, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. “I think it’s some kind of… corn mash? I don’t even know anymore.”

“Delicious. We’ll call it ‘Corn à la Apocalypse,’” Wade says, and you can’t help but laugh. His humor always finds a way to crack through your walls, even when you don’t want it to.

But as you laugh, that thought creeps back into your mind. The joke. The impossible idea that’s been following you since this morning.

“Wade…” you start, your voice hesitant.

He looks at you, his expression still light but his eyes sharpening. “What’s up, buttercup?”

You pause, chewing on your lip for a moment, unsure if you should even bring this up. But the weight of it has been pressing on you, and maybe if you just throw it out there as a joke, like Wade does, it’ll be less terrifying.

“About what you said earlier,” you murmur, keeping your tone as casual as possible. “The, uh… ménage à trois thing. You were joking, right?”

Wade blinks, his head tilting slightly as if he’s surprised you’re even asking. “I mean, yeah, I was joking. But, you know… joking with a sprinkle of truth. Like all great comedians.” He leans forward, dropping his voice to a mock-serious whisper. “Why? Were you hoping I wasn’t?”

Your heart races at the way he says it, playful but laced with a hint of something real beneath the surface. You glance toward the door, where Logan stands on guard, unaware of this conversation. The thought of him mixed up in all this makes your pulse jump even more.

You try to laugh, but it comes out too forced. “I don’t know… maybe.”

Wade’s eyes lock onto yours, his usual playful mask slipping just a bit. He sits back, folding his arms over his chest as if he’s sizing you up. “Oh? Well, that’s interesting. You know Logan’s not exactly the ‘share your toys’ kind of guy, right?”

“I know,” you whisper, unsure what else to say. “I just… I don’t know what I’m feeling right now.”

Wade’s expression softens slightly, and for a moment, the tension lifts. He lets out a slow, exaggerated sigh, then leans forward again, resting his arms on the table.

“Look,” he says, his voice unusually gentle, “I’m not gonna lie. If this apocalypse has taught me anything, it’s that life’s too damn short for regrets. And, full disclosure, I’ve been hoping for something like this since way before the world went all zombie movie on us.”

You blink, startled. “What?”

Wade shrugs, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “What can I say? I’m a man of… complex tastes. But it’s not just a joke to me, sweetheart. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m all about the jokes, but if you’re asking whether I’d be open to it—us—then yeah, I’m game. I’ve been game. But you… you’ve got to be honest with yourself. If you’re into me and Logan, that’s not exactly something we can pretend isn’t happening.”

Your mind reels. You hadn’t expected this kind of openness from Wade, though you should have known better. Beneath all his chaos, Wade is probably the most straightforward person you’ve ever known. He doesn’t hide who he is, not really.

But now… now you have to figure out if you’re ready to be that honest. To admit that you have feelings for both Logan and Wade, and to figure out what the hell that means.

Wade watches you carefully, his playful demeanor tempered by something more serious. “It’s not like we have to figure this all out right now,” he says, his voice soft. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we can’t let the world tell us how to live. Not anymore.”

Your chest tightens, and as you sit there, staring into Wade’s eyes, you realize he’s right. You don’t have to figure it out right now. But sooner or later, you’ll have to face the truth: you want them both.

And somehow, that doesn’t feel as impossible as it once did.

The weight of everything Wade just said hangs in the air between you. His usual sarcastic, playful attitude is gone, replaced by something raw and honest—something that feels entirely real. Your pulse pounds in your ears as you sit there, processing the fact that Wade has been hoping for this, for you, for you and Logan, since long before the world turned upside down. And now… now you realize you want it too.

You’ve spent so long trying to ignore your feelings, pretending they didn’t exist. But it’s time to stop running from them. The truth is undeniable: you want both Wade and Logan in your life. Not one or the other. Both of them, in ways that shouldn’t make sense but somehow do. They’ve both been with you through the worst, through every fight, every moment of fear and desperation, and you can’t imagine facing this world without either of them.

Wade leans back in his chair, watching you with a mix of curiosity and patience. He’s waiting for you to say something, to give him a sign that you’re on the same page.

“I think…” you begin, your voice quieter than you expect. “I think I want this. I want both of you in my life, and I don’t want to have to choose.” You swallow hard, your gaze flicking to the door where Logan stands on watch. “But Logan… he doesn’t know. He has no idea.”

Wade smirks, though it’s softer than usual. “Yeah, well, I figured that much. He’s not exactly the ‘let’s talk about our feelings’ type.” He tilts his head, eyes thoughtful behind the mask. “But he cares about you. He’d tear apart this entire wasteland if it meant keeping you safe. I think that’s something we can work with.”

You nod, your throat tightening. The thought of Logan’s reaction—of how complicated this will be—makes your stomach churn. But Wade is right. Logan cares about you, and you care about him. If anyone can understand the messy, chaotic nature of love in a world like this, it’s the three of you. Survival has forced you to redefine everything, to make new rules in a world where the old ones don’t fit anymore.

“We’ll have to talk to him,” you say, your voice steadier now. “As soon as we find another safe place, we’ll tell him. I don’t want to keep this a secret from him.”

Wade nods, surprisingly serious. “Yeah. We’ll talk to him. And I’ll try not to make too many jokes during the whole ‘hey, we both want to be with you’ conversation. Promise.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, despite the tension. “Good luck with that.”

“Hey, I’m capable of being a little serious.” Wade stands, stretching his arms over his head and casting a glance toward Logan outside. “Well, maybe not too serious. But I’ll behave. Mostly.”

You smile, but there’s still that nervous flutter in your chest. It feels surreal, the idea of sitting down with Logan and Wade and having this conversation. But as terrifying as it is, you know it’s the right thing to do. You owe it to both of them to be honest, to let them know how you feel.

Wade catches your eye again, something softer in his gaze now. “Hey,” he says, his voice low. “No matter what happens, we’ll figure this out. We always do. And for the record, I’m glad you want this. I’ve been waiting a long time.”

His words warm you in a way you didn’t expect, and you realize that, despite all the chaos and fear, there’s a strange sense of peace in knowing where you stand with Wade. That he’s been waiting, hoping, for this moment. That he’s willing to face whatever comes next with you.

You take a deep breath, standing up and stretching the tension from your shoulders. “I guess we’ll see how Logan takes it.”

Wade chuckles softly. “Yeah. Should be fun.” But there’s no malice in his tone—just a shared understanding that this conversation won’t be easy, but it’s necessary.

As the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, casting the remains of the city in a golden haze, you and Wade gather your supplies, mentally preparing for the road ahead. You’ll have to move again soon, find another place to hole up for the night—somewhere safer, more secure than this crumbling diner.

Logan steps back inside, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you. “Time to move,” he says gruffly, though there’s a flicker of something in his gaze when he looks at you—a softening, maybe, from what happened last night.

You nod, your heart beating faster as you stand beside Wade, feeling the weight of what’s about to come. You’ll tell him soon. You’ll lay everything on the table, and you’ll deal with whatever comes after. Logan deserves to know the truth.

As the three of you head out into the wasteland, the tension between you is palpable, but different now—less about survival, more about the unresolved feelings hanging in the air. Wade walks beside you, occasionally tossing out sarcastic comments to break the silence, while Logan keeps his usual steady pace ahead, unaware of the conversation waiting for him.

It’s only a matter of time before you find another refuge—another place where you can stop running for just a moment and finally have the conversation that’s been building since last night.

And when you do, you’ll be ready to face whatever comes next, knowing that no matter what happens, you won’t have to choose between them.

Because in this broken world, maybe there’s room for something unexpected. Something messy, but real.

The sky darkens as the three of you push further into the wasteland, navigating through the crumbled remains of a city that was once alive. You move in silence, each step taking you closer to the inevitable conversation that weighs heavily on your mind. Wade walks beside you, his usual swagger muted but present, while Logan leads the way ahead, his posture tense and alert, as always.

After a few hours of walking, you find a relatively safe building—an old, abandoned warehouse with heavy metal doors still intact. It’s not perfect, but it’s shelter for the night, and that’s all you need. Logan pushes the door open, motioning for you and Wade to head inside before sealing it behind you.

Once inside, the air is thick with the quiet hum of anticipation. You glance at Wade, who gives you a reassuring nod. It’s time. You know that. It’s just… how do you even begin?

Logan drops his pack on the floor, his muscles visibly relaxing for the first time today. “We’ll stay here for the night,” he says, his voice gruff as he checks the windows. “Move again in the morning.”

You take a deep breath, stepping closer to him, your heart hammering in your chest. “Logan, we need to talk.”

He turns to face you, his brow furrowed. “About what?”

Wade moves in beside you, leaning against a wall casually, though his eyes are more serious than usual. “It’s kind of a big talk, actually,” he says, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Like, ‘world’s going to end again if we don’t handle this’ big. But no pressure.”

Logan’s frown deepens, clearly sensing something unusual in the air. “Spit it out.”

You swallow hard, glancing between the two of them. “It’s about… us. All of us.”

Logan’s gaze sharpens as he looks at you, then flicks to Wade. His arms cross over his chest, a defensive stance you’ve seen him take a thousand times before. “What about us?”

Wade clears his throat, stepping forward with his hands up like he’s trying to calm an angry animal. “Alright, listen, bub. Here’s the deal. Our dear Y/N here”—he gestures toward you—“has been doing a lot of thinking. Like, a lot. And what she’s realized is that she doesn’t want to pick between us. She’s into both of us, and she kinda, sorta… wants us both in her life.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly, the expression unreadable. His gaze flickers between you and Wade, his jaw clenching as if he’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke. But then his eyes settle on you, and there’s that softness again—mixed with confusion. “You want… both of us?”

You nod, your voice coming out softer than you expected. “I do. I care about you, Logan. I care about Wade, too. And I know it’s not exactly… normal. But nothing about this world is normal anymore. I don’t want to choose between you two, and I don’t think I should have to.”

Logan’s face is unreadable for a moment. You watch as he processes, his shoulders tense, and you brace yourself for the worst. Wade, however, just stands there, his usual carefree attitude tempered by a quiet patience. He knows this won’t be easy for Logan, but he also knows it’s the only way forward.

After what feels like an eternity, Logan lets out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “So, what? You want me and Wade to share? That it?”

Wade can’t help himself. “Look, it’s not so much ‘sharing’ as it is ‘teamwork,’ Logan. And I know you’re more of the lone wolf type, but come on—we’re in the apocalypse here. Gotta adapt.”

Logan shoots him a sharp look, but it’s not as biting as it could be. He’s still trying to wrap his head around the idea, his eyes narrowing as he turns back to you. “You’re serious about this?”

You meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, and nod. “I am.”

For a long moment, Logan just stands there, staring at you like he’s searching for some kind of answer in your eyes. Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eases. His expression softens, just a little, and he lets out a low grunt, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Well, shit,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I can’t say I saw this coming. But…” He looks at you again, his voice quieter. “If this is what you want, I’m not gonna stand in the way.”

Relief floods through you, the weight lifting off your chest. You can’t believe it, but Logan—gruff, guarded Logan—is actually willing to give this a chance.

Wade, of course, wastes no time in breaking the tension. “See? I knew the big guy had a soft spot for us. Now, don’t worry, Logan, I promise not to steal all your clothes in the middle of the night. Well, not unless you ask nicely.”

Logan glares at him, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if even he can’t help but be amused. “Keep talking, Wade, and I’ll find a new use for those claws of mine.”

Wade puts his hands up in mock surrender, laughing. “Hey, no need for threats! We’re a team now, remember? A very sexy, very complicated team.”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension in the room finally breaking. Wade’s inappropriate jokes are his way of lightening the mood, but underneath it all, you can tell he’s just as relieved as you are. Logan might still be wrapping his head around the idea, but he’s in. You know it, and so does Wade.

Wade grins, throwing an arm around both of you, clearly enjoying the moment. “Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, what do you say we celebrate this beautiful union with some canned beans and a group cuddle? Or—wait for it—a ménage à trois?”

Logan rolls his eyes, but there’s a softness in his gruff exterior that wasn’t there before. “You’re pushing your luck, Wilson.”

Wade winks at you, leaning in with his usual flair. “Oh, trust me, I haven’t even started yet.”

first time writing this type of relationship thing, and I hope I did good lol.

if you liked the story like, reblog and if you want to read more drop a follow! <3

[mutant-distraction]

A Tibetan skeleton dancer, 1925. Photo by Joseph F. Rock.⁣

⁣

The photo originally appeared in the November 1928 issue of National Geographic. The original caption was: “With huge cadaver masks, imitation tiger-skin skirts, and enormous claws, this performer and his seven similarly garbed companions strike terror to the hearts of spectators in the Old Dance. They are assistants of Showa the Deer, the messenger of Yama”. The picture was taken in 1925 and is an autochrome which was an early color photography process.⁣

⁣

The Skeleton Dance is a sacred Tibetan dance ritual found in Himalayan Buddhist lineages. It is intended to reflect the transient nature of things, including states of mind and the body itself.⁣

⁣

The monk pictured in the above photo seems to be performing the dance known as Durdak Garcham, “Dance of the Lords of the Cemetery”. The dance celebrates the liberation that comes from the acceptance of our impermanence.⁣

source: Archeology & Art

⁣⁣

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Like Real People Do

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: necromancy kind of.

Genre: kinda fluff idk really

Summary: "Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips // We should just kiss like real people do" ~ Like Real People Do by Hozier

A/N: I was listening to this song and remembered that it was about a bog body falling in love with a woman that finds him and I thought 'this would work great with the deadpool & wolverine plot of Wolverine being dead' and now here we are

***

You trudge deeper into the forest, the bag you're carrying feels like it's getting heavier with each step, but you have to put this to bed once and for all and this is the only way to do it. Eventually you find a spot that feels right and you drop the bag off to the side, gripping your shovel tightly and pushing it into the solid ground. Those first couple of scoops are harder than the rest, the dirt beneath the topsoil moist and much more pliable. You dig and dig and dig until finally, after what feels like forever you think you're just about deep enough. One more push of your shovel and- you hit something. You hit something that makes a clink, like metal on metal. You frown in confusion. Metal? What did you hit? You wonder if it wouldn't be better to simply deposit the bag and forget about the mysterious clink sound but you can't help yourself. You have to know what on earth this deep in the ground is making that noise. You drop your shovel and switch to your hands, carefully moving the dirt around to uncover whatever it is you've stumbled upon. It's cold, duh- metal untouched under cold dirt would be, there's also a lot of it. The more you uncover the more there seems to be, a bunch of long metal pieces all laid out strangely. It's not until you've uncovered most of it that you realize it's a skeleton, or a model of a skeleton? It's made of metal which- skeletons are not, it also has claws attached to the joints in the hand, which humans usually do not have either. Who buries a model skeleton of something almost human? Who makes a metal model skeleton? You should leave it here. Whatever it is it has nothing to do with you, but you can't help yourself, you carefully take the skeleton out of its hole, keeping it intact takes great effort but you manage, propping it up against a tree as you finish what you came here for. You dump the contents of the bag you dragged out here into the hole, and then drop the bag, shoveling the dirt back over it as quickly as you can. Just before you shovel the last foot, you throw several plants into the dirt, something endangered along with several native species, and then you cover the hole all the way, packing the dirt as best you can. Once that's done, you turn to your model skeleton. It'll be kind of difficult to carry it out of here you imagine, but you just have to get it to your car, and there's pretty much no chance of you running into anyone out here at this time. So, you hoist the man-o-metal up, drape a humerus over your shoulder and drag the skeletal structure back the way you came. Going back feels shorter than getting there which is something you won't complain about and as you fold the skeleton into your backseat you mutter to yourself.

"I don't even know what I'm gonna do with you honestly. Are you a decor item or something?" You ask as if the thing will talk back to you. You silently drive home, music from your car speakers quietly filling the space. Each time you look in your mirror the skeleton spooks you, the whole way home. You decide when you get home that your decorative skeleton will go in your workshop. It'll add to the spooky vibe you like to bring to the space. At last, you can officially say you've buttoned up that business, those secrets left for dead buried deep in that forest.

~

You hear shuffling coming from your studio and your body tenses at the sound. You quickly and quietly grab your baseball bat from your closet before heading downstairs to find the source of the noise you're hearing. You sneak down and at the sight of movement, you swing the bat hard at the large figure in your basement workshop.

"Ouch!" The figure grunts and you flip on the lights.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my house?!" You yell.

"Who are you?" He frowns.

"Who am I?! Dude you're in my house!"

"And I shouldn't be." He says as if he's unsure.

"Of course not! How did you even get in here?!" You ask clutching your bat tightly.

"I'm not sure- I thought I was dead." His eyes narrow and he looks down at himself, confused.

"I'm sorry what?" You blink at him.

"Yeah no I was definitely dead. I distinctly remember dying. It's my last memory. Until- you dug me up."

"Dug you- wait a second the skeleton from the forest?!"

"What did you do?"

"What did I- nothing! I dug up a skeleton, stuck it in the car, brought it home and shoved it in my workshop and haven't touched it since! I had no idea it came from an actual person!"

"You found a fully intact skeleton buried in the earth, what could it possibly be?" Logan frowns.

"Hello! I don't know if you were aware of this mister whoever or- whatever you are but the average human skeleton isn't made of metal and equipped with claws the size of KATANAS! I thought it was some kind of Halloween decor or something!" You yell. This is insane, how did a metal skeleton become a living breathing person- maybe person.

"Halloween decor? Buried 8 feet underground?" He looks at you blankly.

"Unmarked! There was no headstone, no personal items, nothing to indicate it was anything more than some forgotten trinket!"You say.

"That's ridiculous." He shakes his head.

"Ridiculous is the strange humanoid that's appeared in my house from APPARENTLY the dead?!"

"Well what did you do to bring me back?" He asks.

"I didn't do ANYTHING I told you." You scoff.

"But this doesn't make any sense, if my regenerative abilities were gonna kick in that would've happened way earlier than now." He looks at his hands with confusion clear on his face.

"Regenerative- what ARE you!? Who are you!?"

"Logan." He says.

"I can't believe digging up a skeleton has made a man basically appear in my house." You shake your head.

"What were you even doing undigging graves anyhow?" Logan asks.

"That's not what I was doing." You say.

"What were you doing?"

"I can't tell you." You shake your head.

"But-"

"Trust me. Drop it." You cut him off.

"So- now what?" He asks.

"Do you have friends? Family? Someone I can turn you over to?" You ask.

"I- I don't remember." He frowns.

"You don't remember?" You narrow your eyes in confusion.

"I know that I died, and I remember you, and that's about it." He says.

"But you didn't know me, you don't know me."

"No I- I remember you unburying me."

"So you have no idea where you belong or who you know?" You frown.

"I- guess not." Logan says.

"Well what am I supposed to do with you then?!" You ask.

"I- I don't know." Logan says.

"Logan-"

"You are very pretty."

"W-what?" You blink at him.

"You're pretty." He shrugs.

"Uh- thank you." You frown.

"I wanna kiss you."

"Excuse me?" You gasp.

"I just- I have no memories and no solution to any of this but all I can think of is how nice it would be to kiss you." He sighs.

"Well- I also have no solution to any of this and while my memories are intact they will not help us with your situation so... okay. I guess." You step closer to him.

"I can kiss you?" He asks also moving towards you.

"Just once." You say. Logan gently cups your cheek and leans down, gently slotting his lips against yours. His lips are- not as rough as you'd expect, and they're very warm. The kiss is soft and easy, like he's not in any rush, but honestly with the whole lost memory thing you guess he really can't be in a rush.

"You taste sweet." He says when you finally pull away. "I wanna kiss you again."

"No way." You step back.

"Why? Did you not like it?"

"No that's not- wait that doesn't matter at all." You shake your head.

"I think it does." He nods.

"Logan you were a prop skeleton in my workshop for almost 2 weeks, memories or no you have to realize how strange this all is."

"Yeah- I guess it is a little odd."

"A lot. Take it back. We need a plan. We need- a minute to figure out what's going on here."

"Alright- can we leave the basement then?" Logan asks. You tilt your head at him.

"Yeah sure. We can leave the basement."  You say.

You have no idea what you're going to do with a skeleton come to life, or back to life? Whatever, you have no idea what you're going to do with him, but it seems that, at least for now, you're kind of stuck with him, although- you're not so sure that's a bad thing when you think about it.

***

[bestiarium]

The Kukilialuit [Inuit mythology]

According to Inuit mythology, the frozen landscapes of Canada and Greenland are home to a mysterious and highly dangerous race of monsters. They are called the Kukilialuit, and while that name is often translated as ‘trolls’ or a different common word for monsters, their most defining characteristics are their long and viciously sharp claws, said to be like knives. Literally translated, the name Kukilialuit means something like “those beings with great claws”. Aside from their hands, they have a humanoid body.

Supposedly, the Kukilialuit live inland, far away from the coasts. Despite their monstrous nature, they are intelligent and build huts to survive the winter. Whether these are isolated huts or built together in a society or settlement is unclear.

What we do know is that they are relentless hunters and regularly eat human flesh. After killing a victim, the Kukilialuit carry their prey away and vigorously slice the flesh from their bones until only the skeleton remains. Slingerland and Collard use the story of a Kukilialuit as an example of folktales where lone travelers (or people who get isolated from a group) get picked off by monsters, teaching the audience that traveling by yourself is dangerous in inhospitable environments like the Arctic.

Only a particularly powerful Angakkuq (an Inuit shaman) can escape from these monsters.

Sources: Christopher, N., 2013, The Hidden: a compendium of arctic giants, dwarves, gnomes, trolls, faeries, and other strange beings from Inuit oral history. Slingerland, E. and Collard, M., 2011, Creating Consilience: Integrating the Sciences and the Humanities, New Directions in Cognitive Science, Oxford University Press, 472pp., p.634. (image source 1: Vinod Rams) (image source 2: Ethan Nicolle)

[laurahowls]

🧬laura kinney/howlett ⊗ x-23 〳〳 She/her. Age: 16, Bodily: 16.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Source: X-men |:| x-men evolution (2000), various comics, logan (2017), deadpool & wolverine (2024) |:|

About: This fictotype is a fairly untouched one for me as it isn't very positive, I am working on being comfortable with it. My name is Laura, or 'X-23'. I was created from the 'Transigen Project' by a scientific organisation called 'Alkali-Transigen'. I am an indirect clone, procured from Weapon-X's (Logan Howlett's/The Wolverine's) and Doctor Sarah Kinney's DNA, perfected as the ideal weapon of mass destruction, later adopted by Logan. I have an adamantium-coated skeleton and 6 retractable metal claws (two on each hand and one on each foot). I have an incredible rate of regeneration from wounds, but not mental ones. Often I'll engage in source material like comics and digital media, and I have fake claw gear for when the phantom shifts are overwhelming or I just need to stab something. Regression: Often I regress to a younger version of Laura (Logan, 2017, etc.) when shifted, and this will usually be positive but I am prone to negative regression so interact with care. My caregiver is avery/logan.

Tells/behaviour: I will use a tupper most often if I'm shifted. My responses may be awkward, negative or dry because my mindset is just of that default but I do have my moments. I will be angry a lot but I'll try not to show it or talk about it to keep things positive in here.

DO: Talk to me as sourcemates, discuss x-men material with me.

DON'T: Refer to me as 'Micah' when I use the tupper/reality check me in any way. Also doesn't do any good to acknowledge my bad mood or try and cheer me up, I won't be angry if you try but it won't do much.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

[historicalbookimages]

🦫 The American beaver and his works.. Philadelphia, J.B. Lippincott & Co., 1868.. Original source Image description: Illustration of an American beaver skeleton displayed in profile, resting on a flat base. The detailed skeletal structure shows a robust ribcage, elongated spine, and a long, flat tail vertebrae distinctive to beavers. The skull is broad with prominent incisors, highlighting its specialized teeth. The limbs are strong with visible joints and clawed digits, adapted for digging and swimming. The image has a vintage style, labeled "Skeleton of Beaver" and is credited as "From a Photograph," reflecting scientific study from the late 19th century. The illustration is on a beige background with minimal text.

[flesh-n-wire]

Transition plans to become more like springtrap.

PT; transition plans to become more like springtrap.

Some of these might be a little unrealistic, im gonna go in order of cheapest and easiest to unrealistic and expensive

The ⚙ emoji means something incomplete

the 🔧 emoji means something ive begun doing

The 🔩 means something ive completed

Self care standards

🔧 Im going to grow out my nails into claws, not necessarily a thing i have but scraptrap did and it may prove useful.

⚙ Cut my hair, style it to be fucked up and match with the way I view source me. Maybe dye it brown or even purple

🔧 Shower even though im supposed to smell like im rotting, i dont want to get sick.

⚙ Diet of jerky and other dried foods, and pizza among my normal diet.

Voice and speech

⚙ train myself to talk in a chest voice

Clothes:

🔧 Tattered and worn clothes, maybe with fishnets underneath

🔧 Clothes that are the color of the suit im in, plus some red or purple mixed in depending on how i feel

🔧 Fashion that is more edgy and would fit

🔩 A bowtie, red, black or purple.

🔩 Skeleton gloves

Makeup:

🔧 On my eyes to make them look more sunken in and on the rest of my face to mimic joints, and animatronic animal facial features.

⚙ Acrylic nails to look like claws if the growing them out thing is too difficult.

Other

⚙ Start T for a deeper voice and more masculine features

⚙Legally change my name to William

🔧frequent arcades and places with animatronics more

⚙learn things about engineering or business, even if it doesnt beocme a hobby or job

⚙perfume, it doesnt nessacarily have to smell bad but it can.

Body modification:

⚙ Tattoos that look like robot joints, withering, markings, possibly organs.

⚙ Subdermal implants. Just to get a more robotic or even fucked up feel. Maybe ill get a permanent bowtie on my chest.

Cosplay + Gear

⚙ Purchase animatronic remote controlled bunny ears resembling my own.

🔩 Make a mask of my own face

⚙ Make or commission a full body (non springlock and safe) suit of myself to wear, hopefully with good ventilation so i can stay in it for hours at a rime

⚙ Purple guy hat and badge for shits and giggles

⚙ Voice modulator that only slightly changes my voice to be deeper and more robotic

Final transition plans

I doubt these will actually ever happen but if theres a way i will try if its safe.

⚙Permanent suit, ill still be alive in it safe in sound, but i wear it 24/7 for the rest of my life, i will be able to control its movements and facial expressions through engineering connected to my brain.

⚙If theres ever a way to turn myself into a ai, i shall replace my body with the suit fully and basically possess it

⚙Live with other transspecies animatronics or transspecies folks in general so we can work together and care for eachother.

⚙Live at a arcade or become a local cryptid

⚙Take up the name springtrap fully

[randomsloredrops]

Random's Lore Drops - Cnaonfell Papayas WOOOO-

i'm running out of shit to name these you gotta give me suggestions as to what I can name these lore drops. fish lady's next so literally ANYBODY who's reading this gimme a funny name to call undyne in her post. ANYWAYS, Howdy hey fellas, name's Ran- wait no, that's my intro in my soundcloud FUCK. Anyways, name's Random, you know this, you read the fucking title, let's get to the point. BRING OUT THE PICTURE OF THE... wait... just Papyrus? He doesn't have a canon nickname? Fuck... BRING OUT PAPYRUS!

(Design by THE one and only Vic The Fella/Underfella/Underfell.) You dont understand how long it took me to get the small amount of sans out and all of the information arrows, holy SHIT. anyways cue the uhhh read more

alright time to act formal now that the curtains are down or some shit idk. Papyrus T. Skeleton, also known as Papyrus, Pap, and also... bonehead? wait am i reading this right? damn,, alright, so basically fuck the formality. alright jackasses, let's get yapping. if you know papyrus, then you should be able to tell that, well... he's a skeleton. hence the last name "skeleton". but, unlike undertale's papyrus, canonfell papyrus... is a part of the fucking royal guard. IN FACT! he's second in command, which means he's actually pretty cool and... cool. yeah, that's it. anyways, you might have noticed the weird wonky armor that just looks like an evil papyrus armor, HOWEVER, he does have official "Royal Guard" armor that he despises wearing. Unless he's on official business, such as with Asgore or Undyne, he won't wear it. Design is HERE. You're prolly wondering where Papyrus got his scar from. Well, basically, to put a long story short, his brother was about to get killed by uhhhh Asgore because he couldn't break the barrier like Gaster said they would, and so Papyrus stopped Asgore. Guess what HE gets? A position in the Royal Guard, and his eye being stabbed in by Asgore's claw. Sans gets POWERS!, thas it. Unlike most Monsters in Underfell, he feels remorse- hold on, what's that word mean? what the fuck does remorse mean, google dot com... found it. so basically, he feels regret any time he HAS to kill, and he also swears the least out of everybody. Oh, right. CHECK OUT BROTHER RELATIONSHIP HERE FUCKHEADS! k, i dont have to explain. Oh yeah, Papyrus laughs really fucking weirdly, going "HAW HAW HAW" instead of "NYEH HEH HEH". According to fella, it is a "very powerful ugly laugh". It makes him hate when people try to make him laugh. According to my sources (canonfell wiki)... Ahem... "Papyrus likes evil puns, but will not get regular ones". I am going to kill somebod- Oh YEAAAH, papayas cooks lasagna instead of spaghetti. He also cooks chimichangas, which Sans sells, and he... wants to write his own cookbook? I mean, shit, I'd buy it. Also, in terms of, like, AUs meeting AUs, Underfell Papyrus is friends with Horrortale Papyrus and "Trades" recipes. He does not accept Horror Papyrus' recipe for... obvious reasons. Papyrus is an AMAZING actor, being able to pretend that he's this menacing Royal Guard, and pretend he does the killing he's forced to do for sport. Don't forget that his voice is canonically deeper, but he can LITERALLY just raise the pitch in his voice whenever he wants and shock people. Lastly (because it's almost 2 AM)... Papyrus is Asgore's number 1 hater, and he can't do shit about it (if Papyrus is weaker than Undyne, and Undyne's weaker than Asgore... Well, obviously he won't win). Anyways, fuck you, I hope you have a wonderful rest of your week!

[eldritch-spouse]

How would Santi react if his usually polite Minx turned a tinny bit feral during sex?

The first round is normal; Minx is just enjoying the pleasure, not much more. Giggling, teasing, and secretly hoping he still has another round in him.

The second round is okay-ish; Minx would start crying tears of joy and screaming, 'Oh fuck yes', 'I love you, I love you, I love you' if he continued after the first round. Most of Minx's previous partners only had one round in them, so a two-rounder or more is like a special treat for her.

The third round is when things start going downhill; she starts drooling and any part of him that is near her mouth will get licked. Some examples are: if they were doing something like face-down ass up, if he places his hand on either side of her head, one of them will be covered in saliva by the time he pulls it away. If it was missionary, she'd start licking his neck, shoulder, shoulder blade, collarbone anywhere she could reach.

The fourth round and beyond is when she'd start clawing and biting at him; she'd shred his back into ribbons or bite his arm if something felt too good. In this kind of state, she's the definition of no thoughts, head empty, cause if she were strong enough, she'd rip a chunk out of him and not give a shit even when he's howling in agony.

Trying to pull out or leave will earn him a very angry Minx; she'll growl, which is more like an annoyed groan, and glare at him like, "How dare you? Are you stupid or something?" Minx is like a cat who's offended that you stopped petting them instead of a fearsome predator. 

If he still insists on leaving, Minx will jump on his back, sink her nails into his chest, bite his nape, and cling to him for dear life.

She's not letting him go anywhere until she is thoroughly fucked (she might faint).

This ask was inspired by Santi in this ask https://www.tumblr.com/eldritch-spouse/744062965662285824/how-would-santi-react-if-he-sat-down-and-i-just?source=share the part here was jutting his hips I had to grip my sheets for dear life not to start barking. I want to slam dunk him into my bed sooo bad 😩

Recall that Santi is a high-ranker. Even if you aren't "feral" during sex, he can very well make you with little effort.

While it's funny to see this transformation take place in you with so little effort, and a fairly large ego-stroke, Santi isn't exactly surprised. He's got a good eye for guessing what type of attitudes people will have during sex, and while he's not impervious to misguided assumptions, he knows the quiet and polite kind like you tend to really let that beast go as soon as they're comfortable sexually.

Truthfully, he's kind of glad for this. Because sometimes clients want Santi to be more composed, and so he has to hold back some mannerisms that might frighten or shatter arousal. Not with you. If you're growling, soaking him saliva and tearing at his skin- Then you can handle a proper incubus. You wouldn't mind if he snarled loud enough to rattle your skeleton, wouldn't mind if the charming grin was replaced with bared teeth and glaring, if he held you by the neck and head sunk his claws into the meat of your ass to better hold your fragile body. You'd enter a possibly dangerous positive feedback loop of intensity thanks to the incubus' fluids, if not for Santi's self-control.

Your anger is hilarious to him. You're like a feisty house cat, honestly. Don't want Santi to pull out? Too bad, he wants to try a new position. Swipe at him and he'll snap his teeth in your face, a language that everyone understands no matter how fried their brain is.

Santi assumes that, given how hysterical you become the more you're pleasured, you won't be able to recognize your body's limits and will just continuously scream and scratch for more. The ideal victim really, who begs for their own demise- But that's not what you are to him, you're a treasure he can't afford to break.

So the incubus decides when sex stops.

By that time you're likely already properly worn out like a wrung towel and he's preparing your aftercare. But in case he decides it's not a good idea to go that far, then you can huff and puff all you want, Santi won't resume sex acts again.

People could mistake you for an entitled concubus with that attitude!