#but i might take out one of those and place a mutant in there instead

[spootsaline]

i think i might plan out divfays 3 other troll members that live in their shitty sad old town

[rosenclaws]

Logan Howlett x gn!reader who’s not a mutant, but has a very high precognitive sense (in which they can sense when a ball might hit someone and catch it without looking / or anything similar to the matter heh)

warnings: gn!reader, the reader is crazy flirty with logan, some drunk assholes being dicks, it gets a little suggestive idk how I keep doing this.

a/n: Okay i can’t lie i was struggling a little bit coming up with an idea but i did my best. Shout out to @huffle-punk for helping me ily bitch

Logan was no stranger to seedy bars. In fact he might call them his home away from home. He just needed an out. A place that actually served alcohol for once. The mansion was nice and all but sometimes the man needed a drink. So he hopped on his motorcycle and rode for a while until he stumbled upon some hole in the wall.

He scoped out the bar as soon as he walked in. Taking note of everyone who was there. It was mostly dead. Some loud assholes by the darts and a few people sitting in the booths but that's about it. He was naturally alert. His kind weren’t always welcome in places like these.

“What can I get for you?" The bartender nods towards him as he sits on one of the bar stools. Logan takes out a 20 and hands it to the guy.

"You got Molson Ex?" The guy nods and cracks one open for him.

"Whiskey sour please." A voice next to him says.

He glances over to see you standing at the bar. Now that peeks his interest. You look too good to be here in a place like this. You catch his glance and smirk.

"Never seen you here before." You take the seat next to him. He was a stranger for sure but a very good looking one. Logan cocks an eyebrow before taking another sip of his beer.

"Not a talker huh handsome?"

"You always this forward with strangers?" Logan asks, slightly amused by your flirting.

"Only when they're hot. You should be flattered."

The bartender comes back with your drink and before you can pay Logan gestures to put it on his tab. You take a sip of your drink and set it down close to his beer. Logan turns his body towards you, letting you see just how built this man was. You bite your lip as you shamelessly look him up and down.

"You got somewhere to be?" Logan asks a playful smirk on his lips.

"Nope."

You don't know how much time has passed since you started talking to Logan. He was one of those mysterious brooding guys, not even a last name as you flirt up a storm. That's okay, you don't need to know his last name. The space between you two got smaller and smaller as the night went on. Moving away from the barstools to the back of the room. More hidden, more private. His hands have found their way to your back. Holding you close as he leans in close.

"Logan..." You hum as you trail your hand up his chest. Gently grabbing onto his shirt. You roll your eyes as the group of guys by the darts start to get rowdier. The more alcohol they have in them the more obnoxious they get.

"We should get out of here." He hums, he registers your words but he doesn't move. Instead leaning closer, his lips ghosting your jaw as he gently nips below your ear.

You body tenses as your hand shoots out before you can even think, catching the dart that was heading directly for Logan's neck. Logan looks at you in slight confusion. How you managed to react so quickly.

"Hey assholes!" You slip out from Logan's arms and march over to them.

"Watch where you're fucking throwing these things." You throw the dart on the table.

"Or what?" One them gets up, he's not as intimidating as he thinks but he's clearly drunk. You roll your eyes and turn to leave. A hand grabs your wrist harshly and pulls you back. In a flash Logan is by your side. Practically ripping the guys hand off you and pushing him into the table.

"Don't fucking touch 'em bub." Logan growls.

Your eyes widen as you see metal peek out from his knuckles. He's a mutant. The drunk guys scramble away from him. You tug on Logan's arm. Noticing stares from the rest of the people, fear in their eyes. "Come on," He sheathes his claws and looks around. Wordlessly he storms out of the bar with you hot on his heels. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a cigar, letting out a small groan as he lights it.

"You alright?" Logan asks, noticing that you've followed him out.

"Yeah I'm okay. Are you?" He takes another puff of his cigar and nods.

"Those are some crazy reflexes."

"Yeah, I don't know I've just always had them but I'm not a..." You trail off as you become unsure if you should say anything.

"A mutant?" He finishes for you. He laughs, shaking his head as he gets on his motorcycle.

"Wait Logan! I, I like you and I'm sorry those assholes ruined our night but I don't want it to end." You place your hand on top of his.

It's been flirty, fun, casual up until now but there's a clear attraction that you can't ignore, you don't want to ignore it.

"You sure you can handle a mutant?" Your hand jerks away as his claws come out. Oh that's how he wants to play it.

"I can handle some kitty claws Logan," You tease, running your fingers along his claws.

"The real question is, can you handle me?"

[silverzoomies]

Screwball

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: smut, slow burn, kissing, hand jobs, loss of virginity, temperature play, mutant reader, ice powers, porn with plot, clunky writing

word count: 14,151

a/n: im so late posting this. i meant to finish this one like a month ago. but it's already september !! and a heatwave fic seems so out of season !! oh well !! i hope someone out there enjoys this. i went through hell tryin' to finish it. but i'm pretty happy with the way it panned out,,

apologies for the usual: clunky writing, slow as fuck execution, potentially ooc dialogue, etc etc etc kbgsjbdghsoiheg

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Westchester, New York had never seen such a record breaking heat wave.

And in all his reckless, fast paced years up to the ripe age of thirty, neither had Peter.

His fragmented memory is jam packed. Cluttered with disorganized checklists of every place he’s ever been. Not that he’s bragging or anything. But Peter’s basically seen the entire world, and then some. If one were to count those gnarly, X-Men space missions. He’d gone places no non-mutant could ever conceivably dream of reaching. From the deathly cold peak of Mount Everest, to the blistering sands of the Sahara desert itself.

Even with all that collected experience, Peter’s a hundred percent sure; he’s never faced summertime heat as insanely lethal as this.

Okay, sure. Maybe declaring Westchester as hotter than the Sahara might be a bit of a stretch. But to Peter’s credit, this heat wave is dangerous enough to warrant a citywide advisory. Which, in layman’s terms, means: don’t get ballsy. Unless you wanna end up fryin’ like an egg on the sidewalk.

The weather outside is so grisly, in fact, the X-Men themselves had to call their latest mission quits. Imagine that! Crazy, right? A fierce team of mutant heroes, capable of taking on behemoth sized sentinels. And even they didn’t dare another second in the heat.

Peter detached himself from the concept of religion ages ago. But thank the mysterious powers above, whoever they may be. Because he was legit two seconds away from collapsing to the ground, in a boiled heap of skin and bone.

He stumbles off the X-jet on wobbly legs. And no joke, Peter swears his muscles have somehow melted into jelly. It’s supremely embarrassing, the way he struggles to keep up with the team as they move ahead. They all stop before going upstairs, waiting to reconvene with Xavier. Organized in a careless, half circle; the X-Men look as though they’ve returned from an Olympic marathon. Their bodies exhausted, and blanketed in buckets of sweat.

Naturally, on account of Peter’s super dope, mutant genes; his body functioned at a nonstop rate of super sonic speed. As a repercussion, his average body temperature burned leagues hotter than any non-mutant’s. It wasn’t abnormal for Peter to dread the tormenting heat of the summer season.

In the blazing eye of a dangerous heat wave, swarming the city like an apocalyptic storm; Peter’s absolutely certain – like, for sure, he’s teetering on the brink of death. A miserable, stewing-in-your-own-sweat kinda death. Leave it to Logan to recite the eulogy at Peter’s funeral. No doubt, Wolvie would have nothing but positive things to say about Peter after he died. Most definitely.

Peter might be a teensy bit freaked out actually. Since he had no idea he was even capable of experiencing heat exhaustion. It almost makes him paranoid. Like a hypochondriac with a chest ache. In an attempt to force his recovery, Peter chugs through exactly thirteen bottles of dollar store water in a flash. The source of his stash? A stainless steel, mini fridge in Hank’s lab.

He knows Hank’s gonna be totally peeved when he finds the fridge raided clean. But Peter doesn’t bother worrying about that right now. Instead, he makes a mental reminder: Water bottles. An IOU. One he’ll probably forget about within the next two seconds. And never get around to fulfilling.

Professor Chucksters is talking, but Peter can’t find it in himself to listen to a single word. Whatever momentous info the ol’ baldy drops, flies a thousand miles over his feverish head. Peter cranes his neck back in overheated agony, lazily chugging Hank’s last remaining bottle of crisp, cold water. The smooth bite of that cold down Peter’s throat makes him exhale with relief through his nose.

Halfway through, he stops to shower his head in the rest. Letting chilly droplets rain down over his silver hair. Sharp tingles erupt down his neck and across his shoulders. Peter shudders, humming in delight to himself.

Oh. Shit. Wait…

Peter then comes to the regrettable realization that, in a heatwave so hazardous; water is a necessity to be shared.

No shit, blockhead.

Now, mind you, Peter isn’t known for his forethought. He’s pretty overzealous. Had he taken time to stop and think for a hot sec…yeah. Sure. Maybe he should’ve been more mindful of his suffering teammates. Oopsie daisies.

Much like a careless dog, Peter shakes off the cold drops soaking his hair. Sprinkles of water splash all around him, with Jubilee caught in the line of fire. She jumps in place with an abrupt, but silent exclamation of ‘ew!’ Shooting Peter a look of burning fury. Damp strands of Peter’s hair fan over his eyes. He runs his fingers slowly through them to give his forehead some air.

Maybe Peter’s a little delusional. Because he swears on his life he catches a red tint in Jubilee’s cheeks. She scoffs, like she can’t stand his bullshit. He throws her a wink. A beat later, she smiles and rolls her eyes.

Peter smirks. Lucky for him, his speedster charm has yet to fizzle out.

The team waits patiently for their opportune moment to flee. It’s obvious they’re all pretty antsy. Probably since they’re dying to change into something lighter. Better fitted for Satan’s city wide celebration of hellfire and brimstone. Anything but the jumpsuits, at least. But that’s just a hunch.

In Peter’s own personal opinion? The most ideal scenario would be to strut around naked, in nothing at all. Sounds awesome, right? Freedom from the suffocation of needless threads! However, societal standards and modern customs definitely wouldn’t allow such debauchery. Not to mention, Peter isn’t super keen on the idea of peeping his teammates in their birthday suits.

Except for Raven, maybe. He never gets tired of looking at those scales. All that blue. Nice.

Oh. And…you. Frankly, Peter’s willing to risk it all just to catch a glimpse of you in the buff.

He swallows a thick lump forming in his throat, sneaking a lightning fast glance in your direction. Observing you with a gawking gaze, Peter ignores the way his heartbeat kicks up to roadrunner speed. Faster than fast. Like, cartoonishly fast. It’s ridiculous.

You’re completely impervious to any heatwave debuffs. Lucky lucky. Standing there without a care in the world, you listen attentively to professor Charlie Brown’s ramblings. Since you’re so distracted, Peter lets his speedy eyes shamelessly wander. Trailing down the glittering, icy blue of your jumpsuit. Uniquely personalized to coincide with your wintry gimmick.

Which doesn’t at all explain why it���s so inappropriately skin tight.

Peter feels himself choke on his next breath. But he’s quick to blame it on the weather. Yeah. It’s just the heat that’s stifling him. Nothing else. Get real, dude.

The sparkling material of your suit hugs your figure a little too perfectly. Complementing every irresistible curve. Peter always thought you looked so ludicrously fine in that suit. If not way, way, way too distracting. Sometimes, he found it ultra hard – ignoring any euphemisms – to maintain focus during missions. Usually because your frosty ass came twinkling in his peripheral, throwing off his mojo.

But let’s chalk Peter’s lack of focus up to his chronic ADD instead, ‘kay?

Heck. Maybe it wasn’t the ADD’s fault. At least, not entirely. Like, cut the bullshit for a sec. Peter doesn’t have a lot of sexual experience. He’s never gone any further than a dozen heated sessions of heavy petting. And from time to time, though he hates to admit it; it haunts him. The way he’s so suppressed. Overflowing with pent-up desire.

Thirty years old and still a virgin? Clock’s ticking, Quickie. No wonder he can’t take his hungry eyes off your body.

Speaking of your body.

Damn, is it hot in here? Or is it just you?

It’s most definitely not you.

Your body naturally radiates a refreshing aura of frigidity. It’s no coincidence, the way your teammates linger so closely in your proximity. Peter can’t really blame them for doing so. You’re the human equivalent of an icebox. Even a touch of your finger could turn the entire X-mansion into a winter wonderland. Part of him wonders why you haven’t done so already. Since you’d be sparing everyone the infernal anguish of this awful heat wave.

Maybe you’re just as absentminded as he is.

Anyway, right about now, Peter desperately yearns to be a long lost tub of neapolitan. Stuffed deep inside your metaphorical freezer.

Which…sounds way dirtier than intended.

Fuck. Alright. Moving on.

Tugging at the collar of his jumpsuit, Peter fights to catch his breath. The fierce heat from outside has somehow seeped its way into the X-Men’s base of operations. Almost like an act of god. Or more like a punishment, maybe.

In desperate need of relief, Peter looks to you once more. He finds himself struck with an ingenious, lightbulb moment then.

A blink, and he bolts, appearing directly behind you. A faint gust of wind flutters your hair. But the breeze fails to even make you flinch. Peter isn’t the least bit subtle with his actions, as he presses his burning body a little too closely into your back. And hoooooooooooooo mama! The sweet relief of your icy presence is so worth any consequences, should they arise.

You whip your head around suddenly, giving Peter a weird look and a once over. He can’t really blame you for staring at him like that. Sure, you’re both teammates. Even family, one might argue. You’re both fighting for the same cause. But you haven’t built an inseparable bond with Peter or anything.

Honestly, he’d be totally down if you did. But that’s neither here nor there.

Peter always thought you were pretty damn cool. In more ways than one, if your glacial mutation was included in the mix. If he were more honest with himself, he would’ve acknowledged his dumb, boyish crush on you an entire ice-age ago. Oh well.

He’s still too much of an awkward spaz for his own good sometimes.

You seem…confused. Staring at Peter as if silently asking him a question. If he had to guess, it’s probably something along the lines of – what the hell do you think you’re doing, you handsome scoundrel? Peter exchanges your puzzled look with an uneasy smile. Dramatically, he fans himself with a hand. Hoping you get the hint, he pokes his tongue out to playfully express his suffocating torment.

Thankfully, you pick up what he’s putting down. As you turn back around, you giggle cutely. Peter breathes an alleviating sigh. He’s left to bask in the glory of your wintry aura. So freeing, and so, so cold. He could kiss you as a thanks, if only you’d let him. But you’ve already directed your attention to Xavier’s painfully long lecture.

Wait. Seriously, how long was this talk supposed to last? It feels like a million years at this point and-

Peter checks the Star Trek watch on his wrist. It’s only been…five minutes. Huh.

The gathering of ye olde X-council draws to a close. At long last! Xavier wraps up his spiel of heroic efforts , world peace , and wonderful work everyone. Bla bla bla. Don’t get Peter wrong. He harbors a lot of respect for the guy. Any other day, and he would’ve found those words somewhat awe inspiring. If not the slightest bit misguided.

But today? Professor, dude, now’s not the time to be preaching words of wisdom. Your nerd club’s literally cooking from the inside out. Give it a rest.

The team wastes no time. As soon as Chuck’s given the go-ahead, they’re gone. High-tailing it upstairs as fast as their tired legs can go. Which isn’t all that fast. At least, not by Peter’s standards. But he’s hella impressed with the enthusiasm.

Unlike everyone else, you move at a frustratingly slow pace. Walking behind you feels akin to waiting too long in a DMV line. Something Peter’s never had to do a single day in his life. And he’s not about to start now. It’s monotonous, and borderline infuriating. But his heightened impatience is probably just another consequence of this outrageous heat.

You take your sweet ass time – and holy moly, did you have a sweet ass – as you ascend to the first floor of the X-mansion. Peter follows after you like a lost puppy, not too far behind. On your way to – presumably – your room, you climb another, dreaded flight of stairs. And since when were stairs a hindrance to a speedster like Peter? He’s never once felt winded making a simple ascent like this. Ever.

Peter’s growing more and more restless. His skin feels sticky and uncomfortable under his jumpsuit, but he can’t rush home to grab a change of clothes. He’s unwilling to risk a race through whatever hellscape lies in waiting outside. No matter how little time it takes him. Not while his lungs are cooking to a crisp.

He aches for the touch of your icy hands. Plain and simple. Nothing to it. Nothing sexual. No strings attached.

Unless…you had a preference for strings. Peter would tie them around his wrists and move like a marionette puppet if you asked. Shit, you want a whole show? Bring out the dancing Muppets.

Midway through your ascent, Peter appears in front of you. He stops you suddenly, leaning casually with his hand against the wooden railing. His other hand rests on his hip. Lamely, he forces himself to act as naturally as he can. Which is virtually impossible, considering the circumstances. But even so, Peter throws you his signature grin and nods his head.

Be cool, dude. Be cool. Ease into it. Just try not to think about how you’re literally baking to death here.

His overheated exhaustion is impossible to miss. Even a dense chimp in a blindfold could sense something’s off about him. The quick rise and fall of Peter’s chest is a dead give away. Revealing how labored his breathing really is. Trickles of sweat race in a tense competition down Peter’s temples. Warm heat pools in his cheeks, and his skin appears ghostly pale.

That…might be the reason you gaze at him like you’re worried sick. As if you’ve seen a haunting, silverette ghost. Peter looks like he’ll pass out sometime within the next five minutes. Realistically, he should probably seek medical attention immediately. But he fakes his aloof casualness anyway.

“Heyyyyy, what’s the haps? Where’re you headed in such a rush, Screwball?” Peter asks, somewhat condescending.

“Screwball?” You narrow your eyes, puzzled, “Oh, y’know, my room probably? I might take a nap. Why?” You laugh despite your confusion, crossing your arms. Fixing Peter with a look that only suggests one thing: suspicion.

Fair enough.

He nods, rapidly tapping his fingers on the railing.

“Cool. Coooooool. I can dig it. Nothin’ wrong with that. I mean, who wouldn’t wanna spend a summer afternoon like this lazin’ around in bed, amiright?”

Good. Nice and easy. Peter should probably stop there, and speak no further. But his hazy, addled mind works on autopilot. The words race past his lips faster than he can keep up.

“It’s hot as hell today too. So, you could totally sprawl out butt ass naked and-”

Too late.

“...Yeah?” Based on your expression alone, Peter knows he’s made a total ass of himself. By some miracle, you don’t deck him with an icy fist of freezing fury. Not that you seemed the violent type to begin with.

“Wait, no-” He abruptly pauses to try and make sense of his thoughts. A stifling heat in the air swarms his head, drowning Peter in hot molasses, “Oh. Gah! What the hell am I even saying? Sorry, that was-uh…that was totally weird, right? Uh, lemme start over-uhm-”

Peter clears his throat, masking his mortification with his speedster charm. Super popular with the ladies. Tested on the battlefield of life and approved. A five star rating. No need to question why he still hasn’t managed to get laid, like ever.

“Sooooooooo…anyway. Y’wanna hang out?” He asks, cheesing a dorky grin.

“You never ask me to hang out with you. But today, of all days…that’s when you do? Everything’s closed, Peter. Y’know, because of the heat advisory? I mean, clearly…you look like you know.” You gesture to Peter himself.

A sweaty sheen coats his skin. He really should’ve taken a cold shower in the communal washrooms. At least before confronting you like this. Man, he really screwed this up. If this interaction falls flat, Peter’s just gonna bail. Maybe he’ll try and stuff himself in that mini fridge of Hank’s. He’d be way better off there. Until Beastie finds him, anyway.

“Uh, yeah? Pffft …no duh. I knew that. But, so what? Just ‘cuz there’s some lame stuff happening outside. That doesn’t mean we can’t do somethin’ totally cool inside. Know what I mean?” Simple and subtle.

“Hm…” You think on his offer for a moment. But it feels like he's aged another thirty years by the time you reply, “At least let me change first, okay? You probably should too! I know you gotta be burnin’ up in that jumpsuit, sweetheart!”

A dopey smile plays on Peter’s lips, pressing into his dimples.

So…sweetheart, eh? That’s a new one.

Politely, you push past Peter to make your way up the remaining stairs. Without any forethought or plan of action, he cuts you off again. He slides across the floor into your visual radius, worn sneakers squeaking along polished wood. Wait…why’s he losing his balance?? Peter doesn’t usually lose his balance. Shit.

Ah. he’s lightheaded now. Great.

You’re close enough that Peter can feel the tempting coldness radiating off your body. Oh, man. If only you’d envelop him in your frosty arms completely. You could even lay on top of him like a blanket of snow post avalanche. Anything. Please. Peter is so beyond desperate to beat the heat, he’d let you pelt him with a flurry of snowballs. At least then, he wouldn’t feel a spark away from igniting into flames.

Staring at him with an impatient look, you tilt your head and furrow your brows. Awkwardly, Peter shifts on his feet. Thick humidity overflows his lungs, close to bursting with the force of an atomic bomb. Breathing is near impossible at this point. Peter may as well bite the silver bullet, before he finally kicks the bucket.

Godspeed, or however the saying goes.

“Hi…sorry. Okay-uh…hear me out, please?” He begs. Peter brings his hands together in front of him like he’s praying at the altar, “This is gonna sound weird. Like, next-level weird. Yer probably gonna think I’m a huge creep. And I’m not tryna freak you out ‘er anything. ‘kay? Like, I totally get it if yer not down for this. ‘Cuz, y’know, we’re not really all that close. Plus, you probably have other stuff you’d rather be doin’ than helpin’ out some loser like me, but-” Peter rapidly stammers over his words.

Way to go, ponyboy. Graceful as ever.

Holding out a small hand to politely silence Peter, you utter his name in the sweetest tone he’s ever heard. Hushed, soft, and so gentle. Your voice is the equivalent of candy to his eardrums. He kinda really digs the way you sound when you talk. So courteous and nice all the time.

Be still, his palpitating heart. Seriously. Calm down. Or he’s literally gonna die.

“Peter?”

“Uhyeahwhat?” He stammers again.

“Are you…okay? You’re sweating like crazy. You look like you’re gonna pass out, dude.”

Peter throws you an ‘ok’ sign with a hand, his grin sluggish.

“Peachy keen, baby.”

He swears with every fiber of his sweltering soul that calling you ‘baby’ made you blush. But, y’know, since he’s a little bit doubtful, he might have to test that theory again. Just to be a hundred percent sure. Break out the ol’ chalkboard and sketch some x’s and o’s like a scientific diagram. Top of the line research. He’s the leading psychoanalyst in speedster charisma. 

“You sure about that?” You ask, arching a brow, holding an easygoing smile.

Taking a few steps closer, you bless Peter with your emanating chill. He doesn’t at all expect you to raise your hand. Peter swallows a thick, blistering lump in his throat. Frozen in place, he watches in slow motion as you bring the tips of your frosty fingers to his chest. Brisk, winter cold spreads in fractals of frost over his jumpsuit.

Freezing heaven on scorching earth. It’s sorta…poetic, in a way. Peter blinks rapidly, caught in a mind-altering daze for a beat or two. Your touch really is like a miracle cure, alleviating that stifling thickness suffocating his lungs.

“W-Wow. Okay.” He chokes awkwardly, cheeks flushing. His skin tingles under his jumpsuit, “Wow. That’s cool. Literally cool.”

“Peter?”

“Mmmmmmhmmm?” He hums, slouching his shoulders. Peter shamelessly relaxes under your wintry touch.

“You’re suffering in this heat, aren’t you? You need me to help you out?”

Stupidly, like a colossal, doofus dumbass, he shakes his head. You’re offering the exact thing Peter came to you for. A golden opportunity. He’s really hit the jackpot now. All he has to do is face the music, and admit it. Just be honest. Say it, doofus!

“Huh? Naaahhhh! Pffft …why would-...hey, I told ya! I’m juuuust peachy, Screwball! Don’t gotta worry about me!”

Hanging in the air by a delicate string, is a tension Peter’s too stunned to identify. Taking another step closer, the swell of your breasts meets his chest. The hand you’ve placed over his speedy heart trails tantalizingly slow, up to Peter’s flushed cheek. His dark eyes flutter closed, and he almost falls face first into your touch.

“I can take care of you, y'know? I really don’t mind, honey. It wouldn’t be an issue.” Your soft voice exudes genuine compassion. The sweet, gentle attention burns his skin to a boiling point, his veins melting underneath.

That unidentifiable tension in the air permeates, thicker than summertime heat. Despite the relieving cold you’ve given him to bask in; Peter finds it even more difficult to breathe. It confuses him, the way you act so nice and considerate. And now? He’s melting entirely.

Literally. No dramatizations. Peter can feel his damp skin drooping slowly off his bones.

He’s already close enough to death as is. What’s with the tenderness and affection, huh? Were you going out of your way to make sure he dies faster? Have some humanity, for Geddy’s sake. Jeez.

“I-uh…I…” Peter stutters, at a loss for words, “I wouldn’t wanna put you out like that, but…uh…”

“Alright. Whatever you say.” You steadily pull your hand from Peter’s face, “Offer’s still on the table, though!”

Wait. Wait. Wait. Why are you pulling away? No, no, no! You can’t pull away! Not yet! Come on!

All at once, the soothing cold you’ve gifted Peter disappears. No thanks to the steaming fever brought upon by his overheated, speedster body. He nearly whines at the loss, pulling his lip between his teeth to stifle any embarrassing noises.

It takes Peter only a millisecond to give in. With a slower reaction time than usual – not really all that slow, from an outside perspective – he darts his hand out in a flash. Peter lightly grabs your wrist, stopping you from retracting your hand any further.

“Wait-” Peter groans, acting hasty. Frustrated with his own awkwardness, he rolls his eyes, “...I’m…I’m literally dyin’ here, okay? Like, no joke. I think my heart might actually explode. And I…kinda can’t breathe right now? So, uhm…can you just, like, touch me? Just a little bit? But not-” He panics suddenly, eyes widening, “N-Not like-...not in a weird way, I swear!”

He almost tacks on a suggestive ‘unless you really want to,’ but decides against it. Better not, lest he dig himself into a deeper hole. So far under the Earth’s surface, he’ll come out the other side. Not a bad idea, actually. Maybe it’s cooler over there.

“And I’ll totally make it up to you. I promise. Pinky swear. Cross my heart, hope I don’t die of heat stroke.” He insists.

You giggle again, cute as can be. It’s not the least bit condescending either, thankfully. Peter feels the weight of a billion megatons finally lift off his shoulders. With a nod, you take his hand in yours. A surprisingly intimate gesture, since the two of you have never done anything quite like this before. Hell, you’ve never spent time with each other one-on-one outside of the X-Men.

“C’mon, you silly goose.” You lightheartedly joke.

Your affection catches Peter off guard. Not that he’s got a problem with it. No siree. In fact, his heart might’ve skipped a few beats. A lazy smile plays at his lips, as you guide Peter down the hall to your room in your usual, slow stride.

Oh, sweet, frosty sanctuary calls.

As soon as Peter steps inside, you quickly close the door behind you. Feeling somewhat out of place in the unfamiliarity of your space, Peter distracts himself with the posters on your walls. He casts quick glances over the silly knick-knacks occupying your desk and dressers. Turns out, your room has a lot of personality. Neat.

He overhears a faint click suddenly. Whipping around to find you locking the door, Peter narrows his eyes in thought.

Huh.

Maybe he’s overthinking. Probably. But doesn’t locking the door like that suggest some…implications? Then again, Peter could be looking at this in all the wrong ways. Like, okay, if he were being realistic? More than likely, you didn’t wanna risk someone walking in. Not while you got handsy with one of your teammates in your room. Totally reasonable, he thinks.

But then-

Leaning your back against the door, you steadily unzip your glittering suit. Pulling the tiny, snowflake zipper down just enough to expose the swell of – Oh, hellllloooooooooo snowy cleavage. Where in the world have you been all his life? Peter has to refrain from whistling.

Okay. You totally did that on purpose, didn’t you? That was completely intentional. And Peter’s definitely not reading too far into things. He’s most unequivocally not letting his attraction to you affect his perception of a simple gesture. Not at all.

He can’t control his lingering gaze. Peter’s droopy eyes follow the slow movement of your hand, his mouth falling agape in a heat-exhausted stupor. Somewhere around him, he can barely make out your voice. But it’s muffled. All noise. Akin to a teacher from a Peanuts cartoon. Bwah Bwah Bwah Bwah.

Peter blinks.

“Huh? Sorry…you say somethin’?” It’s a failed attempt at a recovery. Peter taps his temple, “Gotta couple screws loose in here right now. Y’know, heat’s kinda gettin’ to me.”

You arch a brow, gazing at Peter like you see right through his bullshit. And yeah, he’s gonna go ahead and bet you probably do.

“Uh huh?” You scoff, giggling, “I asked if you’d be more comfortable on the bed, doofus.”

Moving closer to your bed, you bend over to adjust the fuckload of plushies resting on the blankets. Wow. Check that out. It’s like a Toys R Us threw up. A colorful mess of too many plushies for Peter to count. There’s barely any space to lie down, even if he wanted to.

Doing a quick double take, he glances between you, and your occupied bed. Peter sways where he stands, light headed from heat exhaustion. His brows shoot up in unexpected surprise. He whistles through a suggestive grin.

“Waiiiit, seriously?” Peter huffs a charming laugh, “Wow. Didn’t peg you for the direct type, Screwball. Y’wanna take me out to dinner and a movie first?”

“Dinner and a movie? I dunno, Peter. You’re askin’ for a lot.” You giggle again, acting nonchalant. You make your way around the room to a record player on a corner shelf. Neatly organized vinyls are aligned meticulously next to it. As you poke through your collection, you continue, “But sure. Fuck it, right? Why not! What movie?”

Distracted, as he usually is, Peter glances curiously around your room. Framed photos, postcards, and letters adorn your walls. Pinned carefully in place. Some of the photos, he suspects, are of your family. Others, more than likely friends. There’s even a few group photos of the X-Men together, bringing a fond smile to his face.

Bwah bwah bwah bwah?

Wait. Shit. You’re talking again. And Peter totally missed whatever you said.

“Huh?” Peter darts his head in your direction, watching with half lidded eyes as you set up the record player.

“Dude.” You roll your eyes affectionately, chuckling, “I said, is it hot in here, by the way? Just wondering. Since I can’t really tell.”

“Oh-” Peter exaggerates a sigh, “It’s really bad, babe. Like, sooo bad. I’m definitely gonna die if you don’t come over here and put those icebox hands on me, like, right now. Seriously.” He snickers, falling limply backwards into your bed.

Several plushies bounce with the impact of his weight. Some tumble onto the floor. Others topple onto Peter himself, but he leaves them be. He clutches a Beatles Blue Meanie plush to his chest. Breathing in quick, muggy breaths. Peter finds he’s even more consumed by the record-breaking heat. It’s a miracle he hasn’t disintegrated into a pile of ash by now.

“Howard the Duck.” Peter adds, staring at the ceiling in cloudy thought. He twirls the Blue Meanie in his hands.

“Pffft…what?” You laugh, “What are you even-”

“That’s the movie I wanna see. When you take me out? I wanna watch Howard the Duck. Oh! And I want popcorn too. Can’t watch a movie without popcorn. But it’s gotta be one of the big ones. With extra butter. And some candy-”

“ When I take you out. C’mon, really? Dude, didn’t critics totally pan that movie? I swear, I saw that in the paper just recently! It’s such an awful movie, Peter!”

“Uh, yeah? And so what? That’s kinda what makes it the ultimate date move, babe. Check it out – we could have the most awesome time makin’ fun of it.” Peter throws his head back further into your bed, peering at you from upside down, “Ooooh! Did you hear about the duck boobs scene? No joke. I kid you not. It’s got duck titties.”

A mellow tune slowly encompasses the quiet, muggy space of your room. Peter instantly recognizes it from the first few beats alone. Obscured by Clouds. Pink Floyd. …Cool. Peter’s pretty fond of that album himself. It’s not necessarily his favorite, per se. But it’s awesome enough. And it’s perfectly fitting for the mood of sweltering, summertime vibes too, he thinks.

“I didn’t until now.” You sarcastically scoff. Meandering towards Peter on your bed, “Spoilers, dude.”

He brings his head up to look at you. Spreading himself out, Peter knocks more of your poor plushies to the floor. Carelessly, he drops the Blue Meanie plush. Letting him fall to his ultimate demise. Au revoir, his blueness.

“Right. My bad.” He snickers. After a beat, Peter adds, “I love this album, by the way. It’s a nice vibe.”

In your eyes, he must look a lot like a beached starfish. Sprawled out and helpless. Drying to death in the heat of the summertime sun. Peter has his long legs hanging loosely off the edge of your bed. Moving in between those spread legs, you carefully climb onto the bed. Your knee stops just short of his crotch. As you inch yourself further over his body, Peter’s eyes widen. He blinks slowly, feeling hot beads of sweat roll down his temples.

“I know you do.” You grin down at him with a warm gaze. Peter’s lungs threaten to shrink into nothingness.

“Y-You do? Huh…no shit?” He appears put off, raising a silver brow, “How’d you know?”

You shrug, keeping your grin, “Guess I pay more attention to you than you think, hmm?” Perched over Peter with a palm to the sheets, you brush the silver bangs out of his eyes, “You got any limits?”

Peter blinks again, dumbfounded.

“Lim-...uh, what now?”

“Limits, y’know. Like, where am I free to touch? Anything you’re not comfortable with?”

“Oh. Uh…you can…touch me anywhere? It’s whatever yer comfortable with. Yer the one doin’ me a favor here.” he gazes at you with an unsure, sleepy eyed look. Nervously nibbling his lip, tasting the salt of his sweat, “Do you-uh…do you do this kinda thing a lot? Fer…other people?”

“Nope.” You blink down at him with that genuine, sweet smile again. Shrugging, “Just you.”

A subtle aura of addictive cold radiates from your body like a light. Peter can feel the faintest hint of it as you move in close. It teases him, promising sweet relief from the merciless summer heat. With his lips parted, Peter stares longingly into your eyes. His smile reveals a glimpse of his front teeth, as he snickers in disbelief.

“Uh huh. Alright. See, now I know fer sure yer just messin’ with me.” He bashfully laughs.

“Not yet I’m not.” You throw him a coy wink. Innocently, you ask, “Where do you want me?”

Which could so easily be misconstrued. Dammit.

Yeah. So, this one’s definitely on him. Peter’s inexperienced, sexually charged instincts immediately jump somewhere totally depraved. He’s a little ashamed of that fact. But hey, who’s the one climbing over him on their bed? Who’s the one fluttering those pretty lashes? Giving him those flirtatious smiles. Come on. Really? No wonder he’s lost his mind in the gutter.

Where do you want me?

Peter’s dark eyes immediately dart to his crotch for less than a second. But it happens so fast, he doesn’t doubt you missed it.

“Uhhhhh…I dunno. I didn’t…I didn’t really think about it? But, you cou- HHHHHHhnnnnnnnaaaaaaa-”

Frigid cold invades the exposed skin of Peter’s neck, as you press your hand gently there. A tiny thumb brushes his adam’s apple. Shivering, Peter bunches his shoulders. Tingling chills surge across his body.

“That’s good. That’s g-great. Awesome. Totally awesome. Thanks. Thank you.” He chokes in a rush, instantly melting into your icy touch.

Relaxing his body in your bed, Peter’s head falls loosely back. He breathes a long sigh of relief, his mouth falling open in a dopey smile. His eyes flutter closed as he laughs. Steadily then, your hand travels lower. Grazing frosty fingertips over his chest. Your fingers soon find the zipper of his jumpsuit, and you tug it down a little further.

That heavy tension from earlier grows a thousand times more distracting. For whatever reason, the mellow melody of Pink Floyd’s ‘When You’re In’ only seems to heighten said tension. Almost like it’s setting a certain kinda…steamy mood. 

Did Peter wake up in some cheesy, VHS porno? He’s definitely living the plot of one.

Peter flutters his eyes open, met with the sight of you on your knees over him. Your gaze appearing heavy, focused intently on your task. You nibble your lip in thought, looking fine as hell while doing so. Pressing your small palm to his chest, you finally grace him with glorious cold again. Right over the sweaty abomination for a shirt he wore under his jumpsuit. He’s almost embarrassed that you’re even touching it.

Using your glacial gift, you manifest more coolness. Allowing it to spread all over Peter’s body. He sucks in a harsh breath, freeing his lungs from their heated asphyxiation.

There it is. Sweet, icy sanctuary, at long last.

“Ohhhhhhhh …” Peter groans, “Nice.”

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat, his veins straining under his skin. Digging your nails firmly into his chest, you manifest snowy trails of glittering frost. The biting cold nips at his skin over the fabric of his shirt. Like walking chest first into an arctic glacier.

“Is this helping you much at all?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

“You have nooooooooo idea, babe.” Peter breathes a grateful sigh, “This is, like, so amazing. Thanks. I owe ya one.”

“Nah. Don’t worry about it.”

Your freezing hand meets Peter’s sweaty forehead, pressing into his skin. Like you’re checking his temperature with the gentleness of a mother’s touch. Humming to the music, you card your cold fingers through his damp locks. Firmly massaging Peter’s scalp.

Peter lets his eyes drift shut again. His mouth falling open out of his control. Leaving his hair, you bring your attention back to his body. Watching him carefully for any sign to stop, you tug the wet, frost nipped fabric of his shirt. Bunching it up over his neck, exposing his broad chest.

He shoots an eye open, fixing you with a curious look. Feeling hot skin under your soft palms, you slide your hands over his raised pecs. Your fingers gliding in a touch as delicate as powdered snow. It sends sharp chills down his spine. A sensation he’s quickly finding extremely addictive and all too pleasant.

Instantaneously, something clicks in Peter’s brain.

A beat, and your touch goes from relieving, to downright pleasurable. Even sort of…arousing. Peter immediately reacts, arching his back in an abrupt jolt. He laughs his surprise through a broken moan, tossing his head back for the umpteenth time.

“O-Oh, fuck.” He chokes, loud enough to disturb whoever occupies the room next door.

Peter’s so righteously fucked now. Because he really shouldn’t be as turned on by this as he is. It’s just…he’s so boiling hot. Miserable as hell. And not only are you finally breaking him free of hellfire’s tyranny. But you’re also touching him sorta intimately. Peter’s really not immune to attention like this. Especially not from a stone fox he’s super attracted to.

His nipples harden under your frigid spell, perky against the tips of your fingers. Peter hisses, whimpering another moan without meaning to. Your only response is to giggle. Curiously, you tilt your head. Quickly taking notice of the way Peter’s noises have changed in pitch.

They’re more like moans of ecstasy now. Because, well, they sorta are. Whoops.

Lowering your hips, you suddenly move to rest on Peter’s lap. Just to give your knees some much needed rest. His hammering heart threatens to burst straight through his ribcage. Rising from the bed onto his elbows, Peter tries to protest.

“Wait! Wait, don’t sit- hoooohhhh.” A throaty groan slips off his tongue.

The full weight of your lower half drops onto his lap. Right over the stiff hard-on in his jumpsuit, doing little to hide itself. Your ass is so outrageously cold against his crotch and… oh, fuck. That’s so perfect. Peter groans again through a shuddering breath. Limply, he lowers himself onto his back. Hoping to conceal his shame, he brings his hands to his face.

Except, there’s no denying his obvious desire anymore.

“Auuuuugh.” Peter curses himself, “Shit. I am seriously so, so sorry-” Your name plays on his tongue in a desperate, apologetic tone, “I-I really…I dunno why I’m so-uh…I’m not usually-”

“Hey, don’t worry! It’s okay. Believe me, I don’t mind…”

Gosh. There you go again, doing that thing. The thing where you act so unexpectedly understanding in the face of an awkward situation. But even then, Peter can hear your smooth voice waver. Despite all you try to hide, he can tell. You’re just as nervous as he is, but ultimately better at masking it.

He doesn’t see it, but you gaze down at him rather suggestively. A fresh, newfound sense of lust lingers in your eyes. Raking your nails teasingly down his chest, you draw numbing streaks of snow, making him wince. The frost manifests seamlessly from your fingers, tickling Peter’s ever burning skin. It melts instantly, leaving beaded droplets.

“Does it really feel good when I touch you like this, pretty boy?” You tease, that waver in your voice barely leaking through again.

Wooooah. Okay. Okay. Hold up. Rewind. What?

Peter isn’t hearing you wrong this time. He couldn’t be. It’s impossible to misread the dirty tease in your tone. In the blink of an eye – rapid fire speed – the blood pooling in his cheeks vacates straight to his dick. Peter’s cock twitches, pulsating under his jumpsuit – under you – and shamefully unveiling just how horny he really is.

The high-speed boom boom boom of Peter’s heart skids to a deafening halt. His exhausted lungs finally collapse. Squeezing out his final remnants of life. If someone were to hook him up to an EKG, he surely would’ve flat-lined. Sayonara, suckers. This foolhardy speedster’s at the end of his road.

But…what’s this?! Peter’s still alive and breathing? Who could’ve predicted such a phenomenon??

He lowers his hands from his flushed face, peering over the tips of his fingers. His black coffee eyes blown exceptionally wide.

“Woah. Hold on now. What?” Peter snorts. He shakes himself free of total shock, frantically nodding, “Uh, yeah? It feels…really fuckin’ awesome, to tell you the truth.”

“Mhm?” You hum a sensual vibration, biting your lip, “Mind if I try something bold then?”

Peter arches a curious brow. You’re kind of a little minx, aren’t you?

“Literally? You can do whatever you want with me, babe. I’m all yours.” He heaves an exasperated laugh.

A smirk dawns your pretty lips, and you shimmy backwards over Peter’s lap. Until the bulging swell of his hardness lies before you, squirming under his jumpsuit. Teasing him, you drag your biting touch down to his crotch. Euphoric cold dances across his pelvis. You stop short of his hard-on, and Peter draws in a ragged breath.

“Awww…feelin’ a little stiff, sweetheart?” You coo in a sultry sound. Peter feels his blood pressure drop to a life-threatening degree, “Let me help you out.”

Testing the metaphorical, frozen waters; you bring your frigid palm over his bulge. You watch Peter for any sign to retract your hand, fixing him with an intense look. But to your surprise, his cock doesn’t soften under your frosty touch. Not like one would expect. Oh, no. The opposite happens, in fact.

“Mmmmhh…oh my god.” He moans, his front teeth clamping hard into his lip. Jolting in response to his own sensitivity, he rolls his hips into your small hand, “Please…”

You squeeze the thick length of him as well as you can over his jumpsuit, applying more pressure. Awkwardly stroking his dick with your wintry tipped fingers. The bleak touch you cast sends chills racing through Peter’s veins, and sharp pleasure rises in his groin.

“F-Fer the record, by the way, this is not how I expected this to go.” Peter shivers, breathlessly chuckling.

“Oh, no?” You mutter, climbing over Peter on your knees. Glacial breath ghosts his lips. You lean in close, giving his cock another firm squeeze, “Hope you’re not too disappointed.”

“Fuuuuuuck no, baby. Not a chance.” Peter groans his reply, lifting his hips. Yearning for more of your gratifying chill. Another wintry wave of cold seizes through his groin, and Peter’s eyes roll back, “Holy shit. That’s it.”

Peter finds himself a little conflicted. His brown hues can’t decide if they wanna gaze into your own, or stare longingly at your lips. In the past, Peter thought about those same lips more often than he’d admit. But to be so up close and personal with them like this…

“I’m not even gonna lie to you, Screwball. I really wanna kiss you right now.” Peter admits defeat. Even in your polar proximity, humiliation burns his cheeks with the force of hellfire.

Knitting your brows, you narrow your eyes. And for a painfully long instant, Peter thinks he’s finally fucked up. As if confessing his desire to kiss you was somehow a step too far over the line.

Is there even a line left between the two of you anymore? Or did you both trip over it the moment you gave him ‘fuck me’ eyes?

You lean in a touch closer, quietly chuckling. Cold puffs of air fan over his lips, a needle-thin space away.

“You’re so silly, y’know that? Why do you keep callin’ me Screwball?” You ask, placing a tantalizing kiss to the corner of his lips. Like the touch of a delicate snowflake, “You make it sound like you think I’m crazy.”

“Well, okay, first of all, you gotta be some kinda crazy. ‘Specially if yer screwin’ around with me.” Peter jokes. He’s beyond winded under the teasing brush of your soft lips, “S-Second of all, it’s an ice cream thing. You ever-uhm…stop by an ice cream truck before?”

Why’s he even doing this? Making casual conversation like it’s a date at the diner. Peter half expects you to pull away. Since this is the least sexiest thing he could be doing. Amazingly, you remain where you are. Trailing kisses across Peter’s cheek, down to his ear. Leaving feather-light sparkles of frost in your wake. Still, they melt within seconds.

“Yeah. Of course I have. So?” You mumble.

He tenses as goosebumps descend down his neck. The tight grip you have on his dick doesn’t let up. Any words Peter planned on saying seem completely lost on him now.

“Uhhhh…Screwball’s the little…it’s got the-uh…gumballs at the bottom. It’s, like, a cone-”

Righteous work, casanova.

“Right. And I’m Screwball because…?”

Damn you, little minx! You know why. The answer’s totally obvious. There’s no way you’re that dense. Nah. You’re just so set on teasing Peter, tempting him to nervously ramble. Like you find his embarrassment…humorous or whatever. Pfffbbtt …

“You messin’ with me? It’s ‘cuz it’s ice cream, yeah? No duh. And ice is, like, yer thing, babe. I dunno. It made more sense in my head.” Peter laughs in spite of himself, “Listen…can I please kiss you? Before I make even more of an ass outta myself?”

In this position, Peter can’t kiss you. Even though it’s all he can think about. You’re too busy mouthing at his neck, grazing his skin with your teeth. Fondling his cock in freezing strokes, making him whine under his breath.

Up until this very moment, Peter’s hands remained mostly still. He’d dig his fingernails into your blankets, as the pleasure of freezer burn simmered in his pelvis. But he held himself back from ever really touching you. Since this little interaction wasn’t supposed to end up like this to begin with.

But now? Well…shit.

You knead at his junk like you’re making biscuits, flicking your icy tongue across the skin of his neck. Eliciting another husky whine from deep in his throat. Peter’s pretty sure, judging by your forwardness; you wouldn’t mind so much if he touched you just a little, right? Like, you totally wouldn’t protest if he brought his large hand to the back of your head, would you?

He threads his fingers through your soft hair, tugging your head back gently. Pulling you from his neck, just so he can meet your wanton eyes again. There’s a single second of hesitation, as both of Peter’s hands claim your cheeks. That second seems to stretch for what feels like an hour, while Peter memorizes the features of your face. His racing, speedster heart leaps at the sight.

He swiftly pulls you down for a kiss. It’s clumsy as all get out. Initially, anyway. But if there’s one thing he can actually pride himself on? At the very least, he’s had a lot of experience with canoodling. Kissing you comes as naturally to Peter as running does. His skillful lips and tongue guide yours effortlessly. Coercing you into a heated makeout session. Against his own, your lips are frosty cold. Like drinking crisp water straight from a chilled glass.

Or…it’s more like he’s lapping his tongue across some kind of…slushy ice cream. Like…a Screwball cone, maybe?

No?

Fuck it. Whatever. The only difference is, you don’t taste anything like cherry. You taste like you. And Peter would argue that’s almost better. Almost. Cherry’s pretty hard to beat. It’s a tough competition.

As you fall victim to his bitchin’ makeout skills, Peter indulges himself. He touches you the way he’s dreamed since forever and a day. His hands glide thick fingers down your chilly body. Feeling every glittering facet of your suit under his fingertips. Meeting the curves of your hips, he squeezes them firmly.

“Mmmmm…this is awesome.” Peter breathes, “This is really fuckin’ awesome.” He hums into your lips, stifling a moan by kissing you again. You stroke his clothed cock a little faster, and he chokes, “O-Oh…yer so awesome. Fuck.”

“You’re really awesome yourself. But I’ve always thought that about you.” You titter, nuzzling his nose so tenderly, “The others on the team? Yeah. They’re alright. But you? Peter, you’re the coolest.” You admit with a bashful smile. After locking him in one more, passionate smooch, you pull away, “Sexy too.”

“W-Wait, really? Are you bein’ serious right now?” Peter asks, stupefied. He furrows his brows. Another beat, and he forces himself to smirk proudly, “I-I mean…well, yeah. Pssshh …of course. Why wouldn’t you think that? I’m the bomb, baby.”

Peter keeps his hands on your hips, feeling your ravishing curves. Stroking them with his thumbs. They fit so perfectly in his grasp. And Goddamn, Peter doesn’t ever wanna let go. Mark his words. Right here, right now. He’ll glue his hands to you forever if he has to.

Lowering your ass over his crotch, you keep your erotic gaze focused on his. Your intense eye contact never seems to break for even a moment. Pressing into the exposed, damp skin of his chest, you brace your freezing hands over Peter’s pecs. A filthy moan teases your lips, as you roll your gorgeous hips forward and back. Grinding into his needy bulge.

Oh.

This is happening now. Fuck yeah.

Peter squirms in place, tightening his hold on your hips. His nails tear at the tiny sequins of your jumpsuit, digging into the sparkling material. It’s such a needlessly skin tight thing, for fuck’s sake. Criminally skin tight, even. How did Xavier ever greenlight that? Peter can see the tempting outline of your pussy in it, deliciously rolling into his clothed cock. His mouth waters at the sight. Lifting his hips off the bed, he meets your slow thrusts.

“Ohhhhh. Oh, what the fuck-” He moans an octave louder.

A strangled sound catches in his throat, and you’re quick to shush him the moment it frees itself.

“Pietro, honey, you gotta be quiet, okay?”

Hushed moans pour from your parted lips as you speak his given name. Peter’s completely bushwhacked at the mention of it. Since no one ever – excluding his mom, in her more frustrated moods – uses that name. A tickling flutter erupts with a burst in his belly. He almost creams himself at the sound of that name in your voice.

“Come on. Be good for me. You can be good for me. Can’t you, baby?” You plead. Moving your hips in a painfully slow, steady rhythm.

“Fuuuuuuuck. Babe, please-” Peter begs, “Faster? Faster, please. Yer killin’ me."

Your sharp nails sink into his bare chest, manifesting more glassy shards of frost. Winter cold seizes Peter’s body entirely, infecting him with frostbite’s kiss. Peter knits his brows tightly, his dark eyes mesmerized with your every movement. The freezing solace permeating from your pussy proves a little too overwhelming. As sharp, pinpricks of cold rush through his veins; it all morphs into carnal heat.

His muscles quickly tighten, every inch of him tensing in an instant.

“Wait wait wait! Fuck!” Peter whimpers in desperation, a flurry of moans erupting from his throat. His rock hard cock twitches, pulsating under you as he cums. Leaking thick streams of his seed into his boxers and jumpsuit, “F-Fuck! I’m sorry, baby! Ohhhhh god! I’m so sorry.”

As far as Peter knows, you have no clue he’s a virgin. Until now, he was content with that. He hadn’t planned on announcing it anytime soon. In hindsight, it’s pretty fucking embarrassing how easily he comes undone. All from a little dry humping, no less.

Yeah. You’re bound to figure it out sooner or later. Yikes.

Sticky, white pearls of his cum seep through his jumpsuit, staining the material. Your erotic motions slow to a stop, once you notice the streaks sticking to your clothed cunt. Tilting your head, you raise a brow. A delicate blush swarms your neck and ears, as you stare down at Peter with genuine surprise. He tilts his head back shamefully, sighing.

“D-Did you just-” You hesitate to continue. Wintry fingertips trace over his bare chest, “Damn, Quickie, that was fast.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Peter sighs again, bringing his fingertips to the bridge of his nose, “Dammit.”

He squeezes his eyes shut tight, feeling blistering warmth rapidly return. Taunting him with the promise of death by suffocation all over again. Before he finally succumbs to it, you crawl over him. Knees braced on either side of his body.

“I’m…god, I’m really fuckin’ sorry about that.” Peter awkwardly stammers, “I-I just…fuck! Yer just so-”

You shush him, chuckling, “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. That was so, sooooooo hot. Really hot, if I’m being honest.”

By virtue of his blessed genes, Peter takes very little time to recover. And hell, you make it an impossible feat not to chub up all over again. Your arctic tongue intertwines with his hotter one, as you meet him in another sloppy kiss. Cold hands grasp his cheeks, quickly sliding through his hair. Dragging your nails across Peter’s scalp, you kiss him with more urgency.

Peter sneaks his hands to your juicy ass, warm palms feeling at your plush booty cheeks. He gives one of them a light, playful smack. Drawing out a squeak from you, Peter giggles into your mouthy kisses. He’s distracted enough, he almost doesn’t notice you tugging the zipper of his jumpsuit.

“C’mon, get this thing off already.” You pull the zipper down even further, murmuring through frantic kisses, “Before you die of heat stroke in my bed.”

With a hmph , Peter nods his head, “Hey, if it’s life ‘er death? Guess I’ve got no choice then, huh?” He replies, fabricating his confidence, “Just a sec.”

Peter sits up fully on your bed, his feet absentmindedly kicking a few plushies on the floor. You slide off the bed entirely. Stepping back to give Peter the space he needs. From your perspective, the removal of his sweaty jumpsuit takes less than a second. But from Peter’s own POV, it’s a thousand years before he finally pulls himself out of his clothes. Clumsily, he peels his sticky limbs free.

“Fuckin’ shit-” He curses, struggling to free one of his ankles once he’s done.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but a faint air of raw cold filters through the space of your room. With his body free of stifling clothing; Peter can finally embrace that coolness in full. It bites sharply at his skin, making him shudder. Peter inhales a slow, deep breath just to feel it all

“Oh, wow! It feels damn good in here, Screwball! Like, woahhh! I feel like I’ve been sweatin’ my balls off this whole time until now.” He says.

“That’s the most charming thing you’ve said all day.” You sarcastically chime. And he snorts.

Peter promptly rids himself of his sweat soaked shirt, aching to feel more frigid air on his skin. He tosses the drenched fabric to the floor. Left in his cum stained boxers, Peter shifts uncomfortably on your bed. Self consciously, he gazes at you with a doe eyed look. He twiddles his thumbs in his lap.

“Sooooooo…uh…a-are you gonna take off yer-uhm…” Peter gives you a once over, gesturing to your jumpsuit.

He lets his long, sturdy legs hang off the side of your bed. Watching as you take slow steps backwards, pulling that tiny, snowflake zipper of yours. Dragging it all the way down. A mischievous spark twinkles in your eye, and Peter’s heart skips a thousand beats. Even though you’re trying your best to be sexy, you’re still just as clumsy as he was.

Which somehow, ultimately makes you even sexier to him.

You peel your limbs out of your glittering jumpsuit. Revealing the underwear beneath, fitting your body in all the right ways. Peter’s adam’s apple bobs, his eyes flitting up and down your curvaceous form. Drinking in the image of you almost completely bare.

“Holy shit.” Peter mumbles, leaning back and bracing his hands on your bed.

You’re giggling again. Blessing his ears with a precious sound he’s grown to adore over the last…however long it’s been since you invited him in. Peter can’t really remember. It’s impossible to hold any sense of rational thought while watching you like this. Especially when you pull off everything except your little, lace panties. Freeing your-

Whoaaaaaaa, mama.

There they are. In all their beautiful, freezing glory. Your icy cold knockers bounce freely. And with a flawlessly executed jiggle, too. If Peter had a sign, he'd rate them a perfect ten.

The skin of your breasts is heavenly soft, dusted in a faint motif of frosty snowflakes. Nipples perky.

Peter's wondered about those suckers for ages. And you most definitely don't disappoint. He whistles, his eyes flying open. Black pupils dilating like drops of heavy ink. No matter how hard he tries, he can't tear his gaze away from those bouncy beauties.

"Damn, Screwball…" Peter grins, shaking his head, "Yer a smokeshow, babe."

Subconsciously, he palms his hardening dick over his boxer briefs. Momentarily grimacing at the texture of drying cum in the fabric. His focused gaze lingers a little too long on your totally righteous titties. You're talking again. Speaking words in that sweet voice, though they go unheard.

Bwah bwah bwah bwah!

You must have given up on trying. He barely sees you coming, as you collide your lips with his again. Shocking him out of his boob-induced daze. The moment you're in close enough range, he reaches out to touch you. Burning hot palms fondle your breasts, fingers toying with your nipples. Furrowing your brows, you squeal into his mouth.

"Your hands-" You whine, "Your hands are so hot. It's like you're on fire." And Peter chuckles a heated breath in response.

"See? And that's why we're here. Gotta beat the heat somehow, eh?" He says, his hands playing with your frosty titties. Silken and cold on his skin.

Sinking to the floor, you lower yourself onto your knees. Peter knows without an ounce of doubt; your poor knees have to be aching like hell right about now. Yet, you persist. He scoots a little further at the edge of your bed, allowing you to ease yourself between his spread legs. With one less layer of clothing in the way of your touch, the coolness feels even more crisp and harsh over his cock.

“God, you’re so pretty…” He mumbles.

Peter stares down at you in awe, curling his fingers into the sheets. Biting your lip with an impish grin, you ease his boxers off completely. As your glimmering eyes meet the full length of his cock, you're instantly enamored. His dick, colored a scarlet hue and pulsing with thick veins, bounces over a silver bush of hair.

You haven't even touched him directly yet. But Peter can already feel that freezing aura easing in close. Swiping your tongue across your plush lips, you gaze at Peter's dick like your hunger hasn't been satiated in weeks.

No words are spoken between you both. As one of your hands treads carefully. Barely touching his thickness with your fingers. You stroke him in slow, but firm motions at first. Peter arches his back in shock, the cold like electricity rushing through his veins. Arctic temperatures rapidly pump his body full of adrenaline.

Maybe that’s why he’s so into this. Being a speedster, he’s always been addicted to the rush of exhilaration.

“Ohhh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Peter moans.

Your strokes slide up to the swollen, purple-ish head of his cock. Squeezing tightly. But the tip is too outrageously sensitive. A simple, icy cold tug of it gets Peter practically seizing. White light flashes through his vision. And just like that, he’s going totally mental. He jumps with an abrupt jerk, his body vibrating.

Peter whimpers in quick gasps, “Ah! N-Not the tip, baby! Not the tip!”

You make a quick retreat, sliding your hand down to the thick base of his length. Pumping his vascular cock in a frosty fist. He can feel his blood vessels constricting with every motion. Cold creeps under his skin, bringing with it a burning sensation. Peter’s groin tightens, and his moans turn to pleading whimpers.

With a cheshire grin, you flutter your lashes over a naughty gaze. Leaning forward, you tease the smooth length of his cock with your lips. Kitten licking a vein with the tip of your tongue.

“W-Wait! Hold on, Screwball! Fuck-” One of Peter’s hands finds your head, clutching strands of your hair between his fingers, “It’s too much, baby! I can’t-”

A long, chilling swipe of your tongue brings momentary crystals of ice. Igniting the burn along his skin. Peter never thought himself a masochist. But this freaky, frosty jerk-off session has somehow completely rewired his brain chemistry. Pain never felt so good.

In all your wickedness, little minx, you refuse to heed Peter’s warning. Your mouth engulfs the scorching heat of his cock. Surrounding him in a crisp, cold shroud. Bringing upon him a vengeance of the bleakest kind. Like a frostbitten hug, sending shockwaves of pleasure fluttering through his bones. Peter’s breathing quickens.

“Ah! FUCK! Gonna fuckin-...I’m fuckin’ cumming, baby! Sorry, sorry, sorr-” He falters over broken whines.

Acting on impulse like the total spaz he is, Peter panics. Tugging your head from his cock so he doesn’t bust a load in your mouth. He lags a few seconds behind. Late again, as per usual.

Peter accidentally showers your precious lips in his cum. Painting your face in hot, messy strands of it. He writhes in place, sluggishly rocking his hips forward. The spurting tip of his dick kisses your lips, the length bouncing with every eruption of thick, sticky heat.

For a second time in a row, he’s blown his load prematurely. Impressive, in a really lame way. But, hey, even if Peter feels a little bad for glossing you in his cum. He’s gotta admit, you look drop dead gorgeous like this.

Peter quickly snaps out of his post-nut daze, his eyes dancing across your decorated face.

Ah. Actually, now that he’s thinking somewhat clearly again…it’s a little gross. He fumbles over an onslaught of apologies. Reaching to the floor for his discarded shirt without thinking, he wipes your face clean of his nut.

Wait. Fuck. Why’d he use his shirt? Shit. Get it together, Quickie!

As always, you’re just as chill about this as you have been everything else, “That wasn’t so bad. But thanks. Sorry about your shirt, though.” You giggle. But all Peter does is shamefully laugh in response.

You’re perceptive enough to catch onto his sudden hesitance. He tenses, avoiding your pretty eyes. Bouncing a nervous leg at the speed of a rabbit’s kicks. Twice now, you’ve seen him finish way too early. And though he knows in his heart you wouldn’t judge him for his lack of experience; a small part of him fears the worst.

He really likes you, actually. It’d hurt like hell if you thought less of him over something so trivial.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” You ask. Playful, but still concerned.

Peter’s heart aches in the presence of your gentle nature. Swallowing his pride, he opts to confess. And if you think him pathetic for being a thirty year old virgin? Fuck it. He’s betting Hank’s mini fridge is still vacant.

You’re resting on your knees in between his legs, tracing feather-light, frosty patterns into his thigh. Peter’s skin swiftly erupts in goosebumps again, his body never accustomed to your arctic touch. Taking a deep breath, he drops his head forward.

“I…gotta be honest with ya about somethin’. I’ts-...” Peter cuts himself off with a sigh, burying his face in his hands, “I’m kind of…a virgin. Y’know, if you couldn’t already tell. I just…didn’t wanna say anything.”

“Pfffttt …” You puff in disbelief, like you’re assuming he’s messing with you. But Peter blinks, staring down into your eyes with a look that tells you he’s all business, “You’re serious? But, Peter, no offense? I’m really surprised! You always seemed like such a player. Like, you flirt with literally everyone.”

Peter stares at you in silence. He shakes his head, brows furrowed. A timid grin curling into his lips.

“I guess? I talk a big game, yeah. And I’ve made out with a lotta girls. Screwed around a few times. But…nah. I’ve never-uh…actually, really screwed. I dunno if the timing was never right or what, but…” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. Despite fighting an internal war of crippling shame.

“Well, we’ll just have to remedy this then, won’t we?” Your hand rises to his chin, thumb tenderly stroking rough, silver stubble.

His eyes fly open, cheeks swarming a bright red. A beat, and Peter’s dick already twitches to life again at the prospect of your offer. However, despite his body’s insatiable desire, he waves his hands and shakes his head.

“N-No! No, babe! Listen, you don’t have to. I really wasn’t implyin’ anything when I said…uh…it’s just…I-I’ve never told anyone. That's all!”

“It’s fine! I said I would take care of you, didn’t I?”

He swallows, caught off guard by your choice of words. ‘Take care of you.’ His brows raise high, and the cartoonishly fast pounding of his heart returns. Fluttering in his chest, hiking up to sonic speed. Peter opens his mouth to protest, to remind you that you shouldn’t feel pressured into stealing his v-card.

But you’re already pushing yourself off the floor, climbing over Peter on your bed. With your icy hand to his chest, you guide him down onto his back. He gazes up at you with an uncertain, but lustful look in his dark eyes. In spite of the significantly cooler temperature of your room; Peter’s entire body breaks out in a humid sweat.

Okay. Calm down, man. Take a chill pill. Relax.

“You got any condoms?” You ask, blunt and up front.

So. This is really happening, huh? Yeah. Peter’s gonna lose his v-card to one of his teammates. No biggie. Screwing his fellow X-Man Screwball? Totally not a big deal.

Peter swallows dryly again, an awkward chuckle vibrating over his tongue.

“Not on me, no. I don’t really-uhhh…carry those around.” He makes a hasty move to sit up, “But I can run to the store really quick and grab some. Y’wanna snack ‘er a drink while I’m at it? I could really go fer somethin’ sweet like-”

Your frosty lips capture his in yet another, intimate kiss. For the sake of Peter’s inexperience, you take your time. Guiding Peter down onto his back once more. Working with tender consideration. When your tongue so lovingly swirls with his, he scowls. Tasting the lingering bitterness of his nut. He curls his lip.

“Euuuugh! Augh! Blegh! Is that really what I taste like? Eck! I’m so sorry, Screwball. I’ll try to spare ya next time. Eugh. That’s disgusting!” He rambles, overcompensating for his uneasy nerves again.

“Next time?” You raise your brows. Supple, wet lips smirking.

“Y-Yeah? Yeah…like… pfftt …if you want…” Peter shrugs, casual, blinking puppy dog eyes, “I dunno about you, but I’m havin’ a killer time fuckin’ around like this.” He adds, fingers toying with the hem of your panties.

Reaching for his cock, you take his length into your icy cold grip. Peter jolts again, cursing under his breath.

“I need to confess something too.” You say, bashful. Peter watches your facade of confidence diminish for a moment, “Would you still wanna do this if I told you I’m just as cold on the inside?”

“Woah…yeah. Listen, that is the opposite of a problem for me.” Peter reassures you, looking between your bodies, “Call me crazy? I’m really diggin’ the whole cold thing.”

He watches your fingers hook through the hem of your panties, sliding them down your smooth legs. It’s a bit awkward for you to get them off in this position. But eventually, you’re entirely exposed.

No more messing around. This is the real deal.

Wiggling your ass, you position your wintry cunt over his cock’s swollen head. Peter’s fingers tremble as they grab your ass for purchase. Holding you steady, he keeps his lidded gaze on your pussy. Entranced in the sight of your puffy lips lowering over his tip. Barely nudging it in, giving just a little tease of what’s to come. He shivers, muscles locking, shockwaves of glacial cold racing through his veins already.

“Ohhhhhhhh …wow…” He whines, teeth clamping his lip, “Please, ya gotta gimme more than that, baby.”

“Pietro, be patient.” You chastise him, fluttering your eyes closed.

Sighs and erotic moans of euphoria rise from the both of you in unison, just as his leaking tip dives through your cushiony walls. Peter shudders again, craning his neck back. Moaning a broken, strangled sound from deep in his chest. The tight, freezing sting of your cunt causes him to tense up. Peter digs his nails into the flesh of your ass, his lips parting for breath.

“Mmmmmfffuuck. You good? You okay?” You ask, little mewls bubbling in your throat.

Through frantic, wordless intakes of breath, Peter nods.

He’s never felt anything like this in all his thirty years of life. It’s a completely new sensation. The plushiest of pins and needles constricting tightly around his cock. Or the world’s softest pillow, pulled straight out of the freezer. Sex with you is the kind he could so easily become addicted to. If it was possible to stay connected this intimately forever, he’d do so in a heartbeat. No questions asked. Totally worth the searing pain of frostbite.

You take a few moments to adjust to the length and girth of him. It feels like centuries before you’re moving, but the wait is more than worth it. Your cunt weeps around his cock, swallowing him up completely in a frosty slickness. Peter chokes, his breath hitching. The pace you set is frustratingly slow, bouncing into his pelvis in steady slams of bush on silver bush.

“Fuck yeah. Just like that. More? C’mon gimme more, baby, please. Oh, please!” He whines, submissive and needy.

Sitting up a little straighter, you balance your cool hands on his chest. Peter’s skin is all raw and red, frostbitten from your previous teasing. It’s a little painful now, actually. Leaving a tingly burn. But the stinging pain registers as pleasure in Peter’s speedy brain.

Your pussy molds perfectly with the thick shape of him. Roughly shocking you with a surge of dull pain, Peter’s cock knocks straight into your squishy cervix. His expression contorts in overstimulation, his mouth falling open. He wets his lips with his tongue.

“That’s it. Fuckin’ ride me. Mmmmm yeah~” Peter moans, “Yer so fuckin’ cold. Shit-” His moans steadily trail off into whimpers.

“Should I stop? Is it too much?” You halt your movements for a second too long.

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ stop.” He groans, animalistic and ragged, “Ohhhh~ Please don’t stop.”

As you thrust your beautiful body into his lap, Peter follows your lead. Driving his hips against your ass with each bounce of contact. Overshadowing that sultry melody of Pink Floyd with the lewd smacking of skin on skin. Your cunt hugs his cock in a grip tight enough to induce more freezer burn. But it’s such an alluring feeling, he bites his lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

Peter’s brown-eyed gaze rakes down your body. Intoxicated with the way your titties bounce and your pussy sucks the ever-speeding soul out of him. He has to mentally-prep himself so he doesn’t cum too soon again. But the piercing cold compressing his dick sends thrilling pulses through his limbs. Erotic pleasure burns deep in his gut.

“Pietro!” You cry. Riding his dick and mewling soft kitten noises, you circle your little clit with your fingers, “Want me to cum on your cock, pretty boy? Wanna feel this tight, little pussy cum for you?” 

Ohhhhh. You can’t do that to him. Dirty, little minx. He’s never heard such filthy words like that come out of your mouth. And the way you sound, how you look touching yourself on his cock; It all triggers a carnal instinct in the recesses of his mind.

Peter lifts his hips in a display of super strength, abusing your cervix repeatedly with his cock. Pounding your pussy so fast and hard. With a force deep and rough enough to make you see stars. A filthy squelch of a sound echoes from inside you.

“Oh my god-” Peter’s face contorts in needy desperation, brows creasing, “Please? Wanna feel you cum, baby. Need you to cum on my dick so bad.”

Sitting up on his elbows with his mouth hanging lazily open, Peter brings his fingers to his drooling tongue. His eyes are half lidded and cloudy, almost rolling back into his skull. He reaches out, the wet pads of his fingers meeting your cute bud. He buzzes his digits in a scorching vibration, knowing how sensitive you are to his heat. Easily coaxing you towards release.

“HOH! FUCK-” Peter’s eyes flutter in shock, “ Ohmyfuckingod that’s really fuckin’ tight. ”

His body tenses hard as stone. Feeling you clench around him while he fucks you so deep he thinks he’s reached your stomach. Within a few, measly seconds of teasing vibrations on your clit; you’re cumming. Coating his cock in a wave of crisp slickness. You tremble uncontrollably, tilting your head back and crying like a siren of the arctic seas. Singing a mantra of the name Pietro.

Peter grips your hips hard with both hands, sinking his blunt nails into your skin. Animalistic instinct overflows his mind as soon as he’s reached his own peak. Ecstasy tumbles over Peter in an overwhelming crash, much like an avalanche. And just as he’s pumping you impossibly full of hot, thick ropes of cum; something happens.

His release burns inside you, pooling in a milky heat. A stark contrast to the freezing temperature constantly flowing through your body. Your nails scratch red lines into his chest, manifesting glass crystals of frost. They burn like hell, and Peter hisses. One, final slap of your ass against his lap, and –

A ripple of explosive, winter cold rushes from your body in a flash. The bombastic wave coats your entire room in powdery snow and sheets of ice. Turning the small space into a glorified freezer. It even hits the record player, slowing the final tune of Obscured by Clouds to a creeping stop. Piercing cold fires through Peter’s lungs, and he chokes on it.

…D…Did that really just happen??

Glancing around frantically, he pushes himself up on your bed.

A soft, tingling blanket of snow drapes his body. Peter sputters, quickly brushing as much of it off as he can. You’re still sitting over his lap, his softening dick tucked safely between your pussy’s plush walls. With every puff of warm air from his lungs, Peter can see his breath fanning like smoke through the air.

“Woooahhhhh, babe…” He nudges you on the shoulder to get your attention, his expression wide eyed and bewildered, “Are you seein’ this shit?”

Recovering from your numbing state of euphoria, you lazily scan your room. You gasp, though it sounds more like a really cute squeak; covering your mouth with a hand.

“Ah! What the hell did I do!? I’m sorry! Oh my god, Peter, I’m so sorry!” You say, dropping your face into Peter’s frost-bitten chest.

He hisses as you lean into his sensitive, scarred skin. And before you can spout off another flurry of sweet apologies – a noise catches the attention of you both. Outside, the two of you hear the unmistakable sound of children’s laughter. Joyful cries, followed by playful giggles and screams. You raise your head, meeting Peter’s doe eyes with a questioning look.

Narrowing his eyes, he pats your thigh. Signaling you to hop off his lap.

Clumsily, Peter zips around the room in a blur, searching for something to cover himself up with. But his clothes are all caked in snow. And not to mention a little something else. Peter has to resort to a blanket stuffed underneath all the others on your bed. Untouched by your surprise blizzard. He cloaks himself in the blanket, appearing at your door in a fwip.

Discreetly, he pulls the door open.

Or, at least, he makes an attempt. It’s completely frozen in place, sealed with ice around the lock and hinges.. Why is he even surprised at this point? Peter tugs the handle once or twice with barely any strength. And when that doesn’t work, he jerks it open with a harsh flex of his muscles. He pokes his fluffy, silverette head halfway out the door. Looking up and down the hallways.

Only to find…

Your orgasmic snowstorm reached places far beyond the confined space of your room. Looks like Christmas came early this year. The hallways of Xavier’s mansion are all drenched in frosty spreads of snow. It’s not nearly as much as what’s accumulated in your room. But it’s enough to stir up the students and teachers. Many of the kids run around excitedly. Bouncing, cheering, celebrating.

And who can blame them?

To those unseen forces of the universe out there: thanks for blessing us all with the power of Screwball's ecstasy.

Out of nowhere, the X-Men’s laser eyed leader makes his appearance. Scott comes skidding to a halt outside your door just at that moment. He balances himself with a hand to your door, a genial smile on his face. A fuzzy fust of red tickles the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose.

Across the hall, Logan leans casually against a wall. Puffing a cigar, wearing a thin undershirt that compliments his jacked form a little too well. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his fitted jeans.

For a moment, Scott doesn’t seem to register why Peter’s even in your room.

But in this life, one speedster can only be so lucky.

“Wh-...Peter? Hey-uh…where’s-” Scott mentions your name, and continues, “I wanted to give ‘em my thanks for doing this.” He gestures over his shoulder to the mess of snow covering the walls and floors, “Some of the kids were getting really sick from the weather. And I know Xavier's gonna be pissed, but-...” His voice slowly trails off.

Scott’s smile falls for a beat. But Peter finds it hard to read his emotions without seeing his eyes clearly. Those sunglasses must do him loads of favors on a daily basis. If he tries, he can gauge what’s going through Scott’s head based on the look of surprise that crosses his face. Followed by a sly, knowing grin.

Summers is an intelligent guy. It doesn’t take long for him to put two and two together.

Especially with the way Peter stands in your doorway. He’s draped in a blanket that clearly isn’t his, shoulders bare underneath. The surface of his skin burns cherry red in some places. His hair is a tousled, fuzzy mess, and his cheeks are flushed bright pink.

Peter awkwardly swallows, avoiding the vibrant gaze of Scott’s red-tinted sunglasses. He directs his attention over his shoulder instead, making accidental eye contact with Logan. Wolvie arches a thick, quizzical brow, his eyes glancing over Peter’s blanketed form.

He really hadn’t meant for anyone to find out about this. But it looks like the cat’s out of the bag.

“You kids better be using protection.” Scott jokes, patronizing.

Which is funny, coming from him. Peter’s got ten years on him at the least.

“Uhhhh, yeah. I’ll totally tell ‘em you said thanks. We cool? Bitchin’. Later, Summers.” Peter rushes through his words ultra fast, before slamming the door shut behind him.

That’ll be a rough one to explain later. But hopefully no one’ll be nosy enough to pry. Besides, Peter doesn’t wanna think about it right now. Since, y’know, he kinda just got laid for the first time. Which is really fucking awesome, now that he can stop and really digest that it happened. And with someone he’s been crushing on too.

Maybe he’s luckier than he thought.

Peter presses his back against your icy door, letting the thick blanket covering his body fall to the floor. Leaving him butt ass naked in your freezer of a room. He rakes his fingers through his hair, cheesing a goofy smile to himself.

“What’s goin’ on? Were you talkin’ to someone?” You ask, emerging from your bathroom and brushing snow off a towel.

“Oh- pfffttt …just Summers. Yeah. He-uh…wanted to tell you thanks. ‘Cuz you kinda went all blizzard on this whole place and now it’s, like-” Peter makes a wide gesture with his hands, mimicking the sound of an avalanche falling. Or, that’s what he tries to do, anyway. He’s never been the best at charades.

“HUH!? What are you-” You rush to your door. Those pretty titties of yours bounce with every step. And Peter ogles them shamelessly. Poking your head through the door, he overhears the sound of your gasp. Followed by the shyest little, “Heyyyyyy, Logan.”

Before you’re closing the door again, marching to your bathroom with your head cast down in shame. 

“Xavier’s gonna kill me, dude! I can’t believe this!” You whisper-shout.

Your bashfulness and frustration are so cute, Peter has to refrain from snickering. And as you reach the doorway, you stop yourself. He catches the motion of your eyes checking him out, before your gazes meet again. Peter smirks.

“Uhm…how was your first time, by the way?” You ask in a quiet, uncertain tone, “Was it…okay?”

Oh, you cannot even be serious right now.

Peter gives you a weird look. Staring at you like you’re some strange, newly discovered entity from a far off universe. Really, you must be, if you’re gonna question a good time like that.

“Okay? Okay?? ” Peter appears before you in less than a blink’s time.

He wraps his strong arm around your waist, pulling you close to his body. Grinning confidently, he darts down to kiss your frosty lips.

“Screwball, baby, that was a total rush. Are you crazy? It’s not every day I make somebody cum so hard they kickstart an early winter, y’know. Not bad fer my first time, if I do say so myself.” He waggles his brows.

I’m really glad I could help you out…” You mutter, smiling so sweet.

Your fingers trace the burns littering Peter’s chest with a feather-light touch. Even the faintest brush makes him wince in pain. But he’s not ashamed to admit it’s totally worth it. What’s a little freezer burn and frostbite between friends, huh?

Or, between…whatever the two of you are now.

“Oh, you did wayyyy more than help me out.” Peter winks, kissing you once more, “You rocked my world babe. Don’t sweat it, ‘kay? I had a great time.”

You saunter off to your bathroom then. And Peter reaches out to playfully smack your ass as you walk away. He admires your gorgeous figure in all its naked glory. His eyes following the jiggle of your booty cheeks.

“Yer still takin’ me on that date, right? Dinner and a movie?” He asks, startling you with his sudden appearance in the bathroom. Peter presses himself into your back, standing tall in comparison to your height.

“Can we hold off? Do you think you can wait until the city isn’t on fire?” You meet his dark eyes in the mirror over the sink, “And it can’t be Howard the Duck.”

“No. It’s most definitely gotta be Howard the Duck.” Peter brings his warm hands to your shoulders, thumbs gliding along your soft skin. He leans down to pepper your sex hair in kisses, “I won’t accept nothin’ else, got it?

“Mmmhm. Shouldn’t I be the judge of that, Peter? Since, like, you keep implying I’m the one paying.”

He scoffs, slowly gliding his large hands over the irresistible curves of your body. He gives a mischievous grin through the mirror, his look oozing speedster charm.

“Who said anything about paying?”

[uglypastels]

Hello love!! Your #1 fan back again with another request 😋

Was wondering if you could do a Logan x Gothic reader where the reader is apart of the team but not liked all that much due to their closed off manner. Not being receptive to any sort of communication or touch with anyone. But that’s due to her not wanting to have a meltdown and hurting others. Her and Logan are in a secret relationship cause obviously they’re the same in terms of personality and past traumas. I’d love it if reader could have slight reality warping powers, so she wears gloves to keep from accidentally touching someone and hurting them.

There’s this party going on inside the mansion. Some sort of holiday or something (whatever you’d like!) but reader isn’t a huge fan of social gatherings so she goes outside, finding Logan on his bike. She talks to him about feeling bad for not trying harder to be more open but he reassures her that she didn’t need to change for anyone to like her. Especially not him. The night could end with them heading back to her room and doing who knows what lool

(You don’t have to write anything you’re not comfortable with!! Thanks again for reading tho! Take care 💚😙)

ahhh i love this. hope you like what i made of it <3

warnings: social anxiety, overstimulation (lights and sounds, get your head out of the gutter).

~ X-Men requests are Open ~ Masterlist ~

The mansion was buzzing with excitement. The school had suddenly turned into a sort of nightclub with music blasting from the speakers. The lights were swinging and crisscrossing in colourful beams. Mutants, intoxicated with excitement as well as alcohol, danced all around you, singing along to any song to come up. Before had even started, it had become too much for you. The loud noises, the smells, the lights. But you had also promised Rogue to show up and at least try to have a good time. 

Well, you weren’t. No matter how hard you tried, these things just weren’t for you. Like you promised, you had stayed out on the floor for a bit. Tried to let the music move you and dance a bit, but it was so crowded. With each bump on the arm or back, you just kept getting flashes of the people’s minds. And who knows what they saw when they touched you?

It was all a waste of time. You were just being a burden on those who simply wanted to let loose and have fun. 

So, as the rest partied, you slipped out. No one would miss you. The one person who maybe would wasn’t even there. Or so you thought.

‘Logan?’ you asked as you saw his silhouette shift through the corridors. He didn’t look up at the sound of his name, but it was clear he didn’t hear you above the volume of the party. 

‘Logan.’ you called again, picking up your page as you went after him. Through the corridors, the main hall, out the large oaken doors. He was just sitting down on his motorcycle as you reached him. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Out to get some milk.’ He grumbled, adjusting his grip on the handles.

‘You’re kidding me.’ you scoffed, rolling your eyes at his excuse. ‘You might be an old man, but not that kind.’

‘Watch it, bub.’ He warned you with a stern glare. ‘I just… had to get away from—

‘All of that?’ you finished the sentence, ‘Yeah, I get it.’ Neither of you was the social type, and perhaps that’s what brought you together in the first place. The quiet on the outskirts of chaos drew you closer.

He must have seen the sadness on your face, as not much later, he said, ‘care to escape with me, sugar?’

And as much as you immediately want to hop on that damned motorcycle of his and run away into the sunset with him, instead, you took a step back, wrapping your bare arms over yourself. ‘I— I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lo.’ You nearly whispered. ‘What if I accidentally give you some kind of vision and you drive us off a cliff.’

‘Give me some credit, sweets.’ He chuckled. ‘I can drive a bike.’

‘Even when,’ you gently touched his forearm, ‘the road looks like this.’ For a moment, the driveway of the mansion turned into a sunny beach in front of your eyes. Logan squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. You knew it wouldn’t do any good, but you let go of him and shut the hallucination off. 

Most of the time, you could control your powers, but it was still something you had to learn. The quirks and kinks were hard to get out. For example, make sure you don’t accidentally give people hallucinations when you come into contact with them.

‘We should get out there sometime,’ Logan said. You looked up at him in confusion as to what he meant, and so he clarified. ‘To the beach. For a getaway. Just you and me. What’ya say, hun.’

‘You’d want to go to the beach? With me?’ never had you expected Logan to suggest something like that. You tried to imagine him in a pair of swimming shorts, sun-kissed skin and water dripping— you blinked quickly, erasing the images from your mind before they’d take over. Still, even if it was a joke, the idea of Logan taking you away for a holiday filled your body with fluttering butterflies. 

Logan huffed out a smile as he got off his motorbike. ‘I’d take you anywhere you’d like.’ His hand found its way around your waist, and he pulled you closer. ‘Just say the word, sugar, and hop on.’

Your mind immediately went into a mode of protest, apprehension and fear taking over, but he silenced all of that with a kiss. When he held and touched you, all the voices and lights went quiet. It was just you and him.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

[spaceorphan18]

Romy Fic: Intrusive Thoughts

Rating: T for suggestiveness and one bare ass ;)

Summary: Taking place during XM #4 post-Basketball game. How exactly does Remy get Rogue to agree to go on a date?

Notes: Next piece in my canon series. Wanted to write about how we got from the charged (literally and figuratively) basketball game to Rogue agreeing to actually go out with him. Thus this scene was born. Also, it was an excuse to write Remy in the shower. ;) Thanks @ludi-ling for the beta!

I decided I'm adding a panel to go along with each entry...

****

Intrusive Thoughts

Remy LeBeau is in the shower, deep in thought.  It had been a hot day but that hadn’t stopped them from playing a good game. It had almost felt like being among friends instead of teammates.  Who would have guessed Jubilee would be good for his ego? And showing up the Wolverine is always a plus.  The physicality had felt good, so much more satisfying than the drills in the Danger Room the professor made them run.  Even as the game intensified, it had all been in playful fun.  They had been accepting of him more than he realized.  

Unintentionally, his mind starts to drift.  Starts to dig around in the dark parts that he prefers to keep hidden.  They tolerate him now, but if they knew…?  There are so many factors that may come into play, so many that may blow over his carefully stacked house of cards.  The Thieves’ Guild, would they take him back? (It’s been long enough - surely they would welcome him home?)  Sinister might want another favor.  (The screams of those poor mutants still keep him up at night).  Belladonna… (He doesn’t want to think of Belladonna… How long has it been since they’ve spoken? How long has it been since they’ve touched…).

He closes his eyes, trying to reach out onto something that isn’t connected to his past.  She is the first thing that enters his mind.  Rogue.   She has been on his mind constantly since he had arrived at the mansion.  A welcome distraction to the darkening intrusive thoughts that have been haunting him lately.  

Stormy had brought him to the X-Men, misguided faith that she had in him. And it’s been nice, for a while, pretending to be the hero.  Pretending that there is some actual good in the world he could do.  Pretending that this might be a family worth keeping.  He knows his track record though, and if he was to be smart about it, he’d take off and not look back.  It’d be better for them in the long run.  Maybe better for him, too.  

For as much as he feels the need to go, he doesn’t. Because she’s there.  A beacon of light enticing him.  A smirk climbs on his lips as he thinks back to the court, about holding her in his arms, about what it would be like if she were really under him.  Or above him.  Or anywhere close to him would do.  The beautiful apple of Eden; forbidden to touch despite knowing how sinfully delicious the taste would be.  He knows better, he does.  But she’s not just another pretty girl.  There’s something more going on with this one.  He just doesn’t know what it is yet.  

…Or maybe he does just have a death wish.  

He turns the shower to cold, needing to cool off.  They are, after all, community showers.  

The sound of a muffled jazz song floats through the air.  Intrigued, he finishes his shower. He then grabs a towel off the rack, giving himself a quick dry down, before wrapping it loosely on his hips.  If he’s hearing it right, the music is coming from the room next door.  And he knows whose that is.  He steals a quick look in the mirror, grinning at his own form, wondering how she will react when she sees him.  

Just his luck, Rogue’s bedroom door is wide open and welcoming.   The stereo on her dresser is playing a slow, soulful tune as she sits curled up on her armchair, reading a book.  She’s changed out of her uniform, and looking relaxed in a pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder.  God have mercy on his soul. She doesn’t have to do a thing to be breathtaking.  Wanting her is a constant state he doesn’t mind having to contend with.  

She’s so buried in her book that she doesn’t notice him standing there, casually leaning up against the doorframe.  He takes a moment, just to watch her, just to enjoy the wonderful creature that she is before he lets himself be known.  

“That a good book, chere?” he asks. 

Startled, she looks up, finally noticing he’s there.  Her eyes bulge when she sees him, in shock but not with disinterest.  It’s enough to make him grin wider.  

“Gambit,” she says.  There’s a blush on her cheeks as she turns her head away.  “You have no clothes on.” 

“I was just walking by from my shower,” he says, ignoring her observation.  “And heard Glen Miller on the radio.  Beautiful sounds that old boy makes, I just had to stop and listen.”  He takes a step into the bedroom.  Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t stop him.  “Surprises me, though.  Figured you’d be the type who’d like something a little more…country.” 

She rolls her eyes at him, but smiles.  “I’m allowed to like more than one thing, you know.” 

“So, country isn’t off the table?” 

She bites her lip, looking towards the ceiling as he walks in a little further.  “What do you actually want, Gambit?” 

He comes in close and leans over, nearly whispering in her ear.  “You already know what I want,” he says.  Her entire body tenses as he lingers over her.  He makes her nervous.  He enjoys that he makes her nervous.  He knows when to push and he knows when to stop.  The fact that she hasn’t kicked him outright from her bedroom is a score for the day.  With Rogue, it’s the long game he’s playing.  “What’s this book that has you so engrossed?” 

“Oh,” she finally faces him, surprised.  “It’s nothing.” 

“A Duchess in Need,” he says, intrigued by the title.  “A romance book?” 

“I doubt you have any real interest in my book.” 

“Nothing wrong with a good romance book.” he licks his lips. “I find them inspiring.” 

“I’m sure you do.” 

“So, you wouldn’t mind me having a look?”  He makes a grab for the book.  She tears it away, just out of reach.  He goes for it again, this time using both hands.  The lunge forward causes the towel drop.  

“Gambit!” she cries, dropping the book in order to cover her eyes.  She’s scandalized but he doesn’t much care as he scoops down to pick up the towel and grab the book.  He loosely holds the towel up to cover himself as he flips open the book.  He knows his ass is hanging bare.  He knows, as she peeks through her fingers, that she can see it in the reflection of the vanity mirror.  He wants her to.  

“Oh, this be a dirty book,” he says, very amused as he starts reading.  “Her lips tremble and quiver with desire…”

“Gambit, give it back.” She jumps out of her seat, attempting to get the book out of his hands.  

“His manhood throbs in her hand...” 

“Gambit, I swear, I’ll…” 

“She finally submits to her lust.” 

“Gimme that.” She finally tears it from his hands, pulling it close to her chest.  “I get that this may seem silly to you, but I’m allowed to enjoy my books.” 

He may have pushed a little too far this time.  She is more closed off than ever, holding herself tightly, her eyes once again looking off in the distance.  Only this time there is anger.  “Chere, this book - it’s no good for you.”  

“Why? Because they should only be reserved for perverts like you?” Her voice is sharp.  Cutting.  

“Because it isn’t real romance,” he says.  It’s the seriousness in his voice that gets her to pay attention.  Up until now it’s been all flirty games and teasing words.  Most women he’s encountered, that’s all they need.  Not Rogue.  She’s going to need more.  How far is he willing to go? He isn’t sure.  But he knows there’s something stirring in his heart.  Something he can’t quite figure out.  

He wants her.  He’s known that much since the day he met her.  But he’s learning he may want all of her.  And that’s a much more dangerous game to play.  

“Like you know what real romance is,” she spits out.  

“I do.”  He takes a moment to pull the towel fully around his hips, securing it tightly.  The gesture is not lost on her.  “We get dressed up nice.  I take you to a nice dinner.  We can find some live jazz and dance in the moonlight.  We can talk…” 

“And then?” 

He gives her a suggestive glance.  “And then I take you home like a proper gentleman.” 

She scoffs at him.  “I doubt that.” 

“Your call, chere.” He plays it nonchalant, but his chips are all in.   

A long moment passes. Her eyes flicker as the wheels turn in her mind. It’s like he can see them. Whatever she’s thinking… 

“Okay,” she says carefully. 

“Okay?” He almost can’t believe it.  

“But if you try anything, I’ll break you in two.” 

“I would expect nothing less.” 

He turns to leave, knowing that her eyes are lingering on him, and smiles.  

[deusvervewrites]

Usually in a lot of different media, a power nullifier ability is overpowered and sometime they might or might not have drawbacks. Eraser is overpowered in the sense that it prevents emitter and transformation Quirks via Line of Sight and has a reasonable weakness in not affecting mutant Quicks and is dependent on the eyes working. (And also that Aizawa's dry eye might be related to his usage of his Quirk overtime).

I wonder that since Aizawa is an underground hero, he's more likely to work in the dark, which makes it harder for the unskilled villains to counteract against him and actually spreading meaningful information about how to counteract him. It's just that when Aizawa is in board daylight, the "knock them down in one hit" trick will eventually hit a wall if his opponent didn't get knocked down immediately, if the mob overpowers him or someone else(i.e. Shigaraki) figures him out and does a counterattack that Aizawa isn't prepared for. I wonder if he is even prepared for such a scenario that (assuming his Quirk is effective on his opponent's Quirk) he was not able to knock them down in one hit.

I'm then reminded of the fact that during the Shie Hassaikai Arc when they're rescuing Eri, he was canceling Toga's Quirk as she was mimicking Rock Lock and was capturing her with his scarf, Toga took control of the situation by grabbing his scrap in return and stabbing him, thus preventing him from joining Izuku when he had to fight Overhaul. Which means that Aizawa isn't prepared at all when he loses control over his scarf.

Aizawa the Quirkless Hero and supporter of a Quirkless Hero? Ha, I say that he's just a scrub who's dependent upon his Quirk and would actively discourage such people(and if he has too) or make them learn the complicated scarf style. All of those All Might bashing fics for Quirkless Hero Izuku don't even read the manga or watch the anime at least once. They only get bad information just from reading fanfics and the telephone game reversed the two's position.

Sometimes I feel like I need to take words away from people and "overpowered" is one of them. From writing advice articles and videos calling it "unrealistic" to this. There is nothing realistic about Quirks; that's the point. Is an alien from Krypton gaining powers from a yellow sun suddenly more plausible if he isn't bulletproof? I digress. That's not the point you're making, but it annoys me enough that I brought it up anyway.

More relevant to this point you're making, overpowered, outside of its context in gaming as a metagame defining game piece, refers to a character that can trivialize the narrative they are in. Superman as a Hero in Gotham would be overpowered. That's why he's in Metropolis, facing geniuses with legal protection. Goku can bench press planets but so can the people he fights. Akabara Strauss is the strongest character in Record of a Fallen Vampire, but he's trapped in a Tragedy instead of a battle series. Mob from Mob Psycho starts as the strongest psychic in the series, but he's a pacifist trying to understand his place in the world. Context matters.

Aizawa is not overpowered in My Hero Academia. Disabling the activation of those Quirks does not trivialize the narrative.

Regarding the rest of your analysis, it's interesting to note that the Villains at the USJ recognized him, meaning that he hasn't really done a great job at hiding how his Quirk works. Actually come to think of it, nobody in MHA bothers to hide their Quirk's function. They may not advertise it but in Hunter x Hunter this lackadaisical attitude would be a death sentence.

Aizawa was actually present for the Overhaul fight; it was Chronostasis who took him out, not his stab wound. And yeah, he would've made the fight easy, but the main conflict was not Overhaul it was saving Eri.

This last point is right on the money though. Aizawa disapproves of Midoriya's inability to use his Quirk, showing no interest in training him or in any potential that is not his Quirk, like him recognizing Underground Hero Eraserhead. Nothing we have seen from Aizawa suggests he would support a Quirkless Hero.

[adobe-outdesign]

if you’re reviewing neopets could you review vandagyre ? i’m not sure if this is unpopular or not, but their design just seems so…. soulless. it looks like a littlest pet shop, or any toy you could find at a claire’s. it looks like it was designed to be sold as a toy. plus some of their colors (mutant 😑) are not so good. anyway apparently i have a lot of opinions on them and i’m wondering if you do too

Being the latest species of Neopet introduced to the site, Vandagyre have always been somewhat contentious. I will say that I really like how TNT picked a panda bear as the basis for these guys instead of giving us cat or dragon or whatever. I also like that they have owl features mixed in, making them a neat hybrid animal that's not too close to anything that exists IRL. Visually, I also like how the cream areas break up the main color, and the little details of the stripes on the tail and wings. For the most part, they're a pretty welcome addition.

However, that said, there's just something slightly off about these guys that's hard to articulate. They just look very... stiff? And like, obviously they're going to look stiff, because a lot of pets post customization do, and the fact that we don't have a pre-customization version to compare probably only makes them look even more rigid.

But I think the issue goes beyond just the pose. Look at how the legs are just basically rectangles with no knees (see: how Blumaroos have a curved leg), or the complete lack of neck/sloped shoulders, or just the shape of the eyes in general and how they're not really centered within the eye rings. It's just very off.

Here's some excellent art by user synthaphone that, while intending to be a UC version, really shows off some of those underlying anatomy problems. See here how the legs have a knee and distinct foot, how the eye shape is different, etc. It's a world of difference—and there's no reason the "converted" version couldn't look as good as this.

Favorite Colours:

I think that Vandagyres also have a problem where a lot of classic colors just don't look that good on them. These reviews are focused on the positives, so we won't get into that here (unless you guys want me to). There are at least a few really good ones though:

Christmas: One of the best Vandagyre colors by a long shot, Christmas Vandagyres get a lovely winter cloak with multiple layers and a staff that makes its fist look less weird. It's Christmas-y without feeling too cheesy or overdone, with a balanced color palette and lots of good details.

What's particularly nice about this color is that the base (right) is based off a snowy owl and is quite nice in its own right, making it great for customization or just as a complete color.

Spotted: Spotted pets usually aren't anything interesting in the slightest, but this one's actually quite pretty. It's based off a barn owl, but not to the point of feeling overly realistic or out-of-place compared to Neopets' usual style. The subtle brown palette is also very nice.

Plushie: Admittedly I do think this one gets over-detailed in areas like the ears, tail/wings,that plant stitching on the arm, and the chest, but the overall look is still nice. I like how it manages to have a very colorful but coherent palette, and the amount of different colors and pattern fabrics make it a treat to look at.

[maxwell-grant]

🔥 X-men/Krakoa?

Allright let me swing at the hornet's nest here a bit: Krakoa was wasted on the X-Men, not the other way around.

Krakoa was, however problematic and shitty and complicated it might have been even from day one, was onto something enough to generate the intense interest and instant fandom it did, and it's biggest problem wasn't with the forgiving of unrepentant monstrous villains (because that door got blown open forever ago), or the no-humans-allowed policy, or the genocide in Latin America, or the pod people resurrection that took the bite out of every mutant genocide and death past and future, or that the entire premise was built around them trusting the funi haha eugenicist Nazi to build their paradise and let himself be stopped later, or that it kept revolving around the petty courtly intrigues of the arch assholes in charge with only like, two writers capable of propping up this to make it worth reading about. The central problem didn't have as much to do with the fact that the newfound central focus on shadowy detached superhumans huffing their supremacist royalist fumes 24/7 is precisely why nobody likes the Inhumans and especially why nobody liked them as a replacement to the X-Men, and you can't cobble a story out of Magneto/Emma Frost/Mr Sinister mean girl one-liners and hot takes even if that's all the fans want (yes, the X-Men are bastards and so is everyone in the MU, how cutting and insightful and powerful they are yes very impressed, but an Epic Bastard Moments compilation is still not a story). I don't even think it can be entirely blamed on the fact that they had the X-Men speedrun through the 14 rules of fascism as the opening act to a larger story only to decide that actually, we don't need that larger story after all, thanks Hickster but we can just take it from here and keep Stage One as is, everyone's gonna be cool with the cult shit if it still feels like it's going anywhere other than back to the school, we can keep this up forever now! This isn't even a bit, I don't think these things were the biggest cause of death for Krakoa even if they all were there.

I think the biggest problem is that, no matter how many cool or great characters they add to their ranks or what turns into epic pulp sci-fi bombast they take, the X-Men might just be foundationally, irreperably broken as a concept, smothered under the weight of the selling metaphor that just gets more dated and problematic and easier to tear holes into with every passing year, and Krakoa ultimately just elevated all these problems to center stage. There was never going to be a world where Magneto says something as full of shit as "There has never been a mutant war and we've never conquered or stolen land or made slaves and that's why we're better, by the way we're going to be your new gods now" with a straight-face and didn't have that proven immediately wrong (not counting all the people in the Council who absolutely did do all of those things). Krakoa couldn't be both the terra nullius dream clubhouse and the "queer separatist utopia" people desperately craved and a cult backed up by genocide run by self-destructive warmongering hypocrites and a next step in evolution and the headquarters to a superhero team you need to tell monthly exploding punchy stories about and a place that was going to live forever and lead us into the better future and a house of cards waiting to be toppled. It didn't have a future because quite frankly, the mutants don't have a future.

The mutants are, even after all this time, still a half-baked idea of people entirely defined by their oppression, by their death and torture and the hollow space where you're expected to insert your own marginalized traits to identify with instead of much of anything akin to how real marginalized identities are formed and developed and solidified over time. Pretending that the mutants can subsist forever on past shoddy worldbuilding and dated, vague parallels just gets more embarassing over time. It's not an issue individually cool comics or characters are going to fundamentally fix. Krakoa, to it's credit, was some way towards trying to define the mutants past their oppression, but they barely had a language or a flag, and even these attempts were smothered under the Claremontian shadow that's been choking this franchise forever and by the inability of The Big Two to truly hand the reins to anyone other than the same stables of white dudes who always get the final say in everything. Krakoa was Going Somewhere up until it wasn't, and the promise alone breathed a whole new life into the X-books, we really did get some very good comics out of this era, but it was always going to end the way it ended.

Actually scrap all of that, my hot take is, not for racist reasons or anything, but we should destroy the X-Men and replace them with big cool robots that can make us safe forever. Has anyone tried that already?

[torturedblue]

TMNT MM trailer thoughts part ✌🏽

Part 1

The throwing stars Raph uses in the teaser led me to believe they must make some of their own weapons and the ones we see on Leo’s belt in the official trailer make it seem even more true. Raph’s already look manmade whereas Leo’s are more polished and look more traditional, very on brand for him. It also wouldn’t be first time an interation showed the turtles regularly making their own weapons. 2003 did it a lot I believe

Donnie’s got that crazy look that Rise Donnie gets 😂 But also literally I look at them in this van and I’m like omg they’re 12 why are they driving-

The voice crack on “It’s not a problem! 🤪😈” Hilarious. The genuine looks of fear and concern he gets? Also hilarious.

I’m really interested in the implication that this 2023 version of an Evil League of Mutants is also going to try and get the turtles into their plans. Not just that, but that maybe possibly the turtles might hesitate or consider it. Not to destroy humanity of course but that bc humans wouldn’t accept them and there are actually other mutants out there it’s another place for them to go

They already know Superfly’s a villain so ig it can’t be a whole thing where the turtles are naive and join the gang of mutants before realizing they’re actually evil, but I find that would be really interesting. Looking for comradery and being curious about other mutants, it’d be cool to see a route where at first they think they have a space with other mutants then dealing with the disappointing realization it’s an anti-human group that plans to take over NY or whatever and instead they have to stop the very people they thought they could find solace with

Whew. Ok. One, this shot. Oof, they look exhausted. Not just that, but like they just took some emotional hit. Them adult mutants must’ve really gotten their licks in on these babies. Plus I’m guessing this might be their very first mission, too. At least their first huge one.

Two, it really reminds me of the second Bayverse movie. Like almost the exact shot of all four of the turtles putting their hands up in the police department while one of the cops shouts that they’re monsters… and then we see Mikey’s hurt face ☹️ I think this is going to be followed by one of those moments, and probably prompts that speech Splinter gives them about being wise and brave and having heart and honor. It’ll be interesting to see all four of the turtles dealing with this hurdle instead of just mainly Mikey

[britt-kageryuu]

It's another day in the lair, it's a rare day off for all the brothers, but none of them wanted to do a stream, and Donnie is doing maintenance on Shelldon, so River is going solo.

But this is not a stream, this is the guys lazing about relaxing.

Raph is soaking/submerged in the onsen, with the heater turned low, so like 70F/21C.

Mikey is basking while doing some rough drafts of a new piece he was commissioned to do. He's in a call with the person going over what they want. It's a day off from the restaurant, not the artistic rush.

Leo is going through a box that came with the fan mail. That apparently was all the questions someone didn't want to have drowned in chat, or pay to have it read.

"Why did they fill a box with fortune cookie sized pieces of paper with these questions? Why not just send a notebook?" He complains while pulling out a random slip, "I mean 'Do you guys breath through your butt like real turtles?' I mean that's one wild question to ask when they're supposed to not know we're actually mutant turtles. 'Do any of you lay eggs?' Well technically yes, but again why?"

Donnie looks up and lifts his goggles with a raised eyebrow. He only had a couple of things to put back on Shelldon left.

"I have questioned the sanity of our various fans from the beginning. Like the 300 at least people that were just watching me test the first model I had rigged." Donnie stated while carefully putting the last piece into place, "Maybe we should bring in your boyfriend, see if the views go up? Hmm?"

Leo starts to blush, and almost threw the box at him, but noticed a question that made him smirk.

"I remember Dee mentioned a girl called K, are they dating? If not is he available?"

Donnie sets Shelldon down as he turns back on, deceptively calm, then he uses his Ninpo to create a Nerf Gun (real guns are for villains only), and starts to rapid fire at Leo who runs to avoid getting hit, because those darts do hurt, alot.

This goes on for a few minutes before Leo tripped over the box that he dropped. Donnie then shot him in the back of the head one last time.

"We are even for now. Shelldon are your systems running properly?" He askes his robot son.

Shelldon lets out a digital turtle chirp, "Everything is running Awsome Dude!"

"So, we need to check over your grammar protocol, I see." Donnie is a bit unamused. His wrist computer dings with a message, "Oh River sent a message, I wonder what she needs?"

"DAD! I WANT TO TAKE A BREAK! AND I CAN'T LOWER MY VOICE PLEASE HELP!!!!!!" The message came through at full volume, that was near deafening.

"Shelldon, go take over for Sister, I need to do some debugging on her voice." Donnie instructs as he tries to make sure his hearing isn't damaged. Then went to grab his laptop.

Mikey was glad his call had ended during the chase, because he now didn't need to explain, well that loud noise, and that no it wasn't his kid, but his brothers.

Leo just stayed on the ground, and checked the live stream to see what might have caused Rivers volume to get messed up. He then sent the clip to April about their fans asking if she's hot, and single. And also a message to Raph just so he doesn't worry about the shouting.

Donnie brings a laptop and Rivers robot body, that's whimpering very loudly, because not even switching to the robot fixed her broken volume.

"Sigh, Alright River let's find out what went wrong." Donnie says as he connects to River to run a diagnostic check.

Leo gets up and gives River some pets and Mikey joins him, which leads to very loud digital purring.

"Heh, she has like the opposite problem of when we yell really loud, instead of loosing her voice, it just got stuck at max level." Leo jokes while still comforting his robot niece.

------------------

Masterpost

I didn't know where to go from there, I just figured I'd write a little behind the scenes post.

[boxturtle4eva]

A (salty) Defense of Rise!Leo’s Leadership Skills

Disclaimer: English isn’t my first language - this is my opinion - I love the turtles and their family dynamic, and think the movie is rad aka I’m not here to hate

Lately, I’ve noticed the majority of the fan base dunking on Leo’s leadership skills, and even the writers of the movie portray him as someone who is severely lacking in this regard. But is this really justified?

Is Leo a bad leader?

Short answer: No. Long answer: Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

As early as season 1 Leo is shown to be - despite his flamboyant demeanor - a much more cautious turtle than his brothers when it comes to the safety of his family.

While Donnie suggests taking down the ‘Spine Breaking Bandit’ or the ‘Long Island Mangler’ for their first mission in ‘Origami Tsunami’ it's Leo who vetoes the idea and redirects his brother’s attention to something much more suited to their current level of expertise aka ‘Paper Thieves’. In ‘Bug Busters’ he almost immediately realizes that Big Mama is a threat. And in ‘Mutant Menace’ he voices his concerns about them leaving the lair during the anti-mutant panic.

Note that Leo only interferes in his brother's fun when he thinks that they are in real danger and gets annoyed when they won't listen to him directly - which I imagine is the reason he rather likes to manipulate or use figures with more authority to push his plans instead of direct communication. It seems more effective (he is great at it anyway), and less damaging to his ego when he gets shut down.

I believe he has been backseat-driving those bozos for years.

Furthermore, Leo is smart, adaptable, perceptive, and a brilliant strategist (and he knows it!).

He also has a very good idea of what his brothers are capable of and is unafraid to use their skills to his advantage. This is evident when he advocates for Mikey to go on his first solo mission to receive Hot Soup - The Game. But most noticeable in ‘Many Unhappy Returns’. There, he predicts not only the villain's (Big Mama, Shredder) actions but also his family's and their ability to handle the situation, while putting together a great scheme to stop feral!Shredder. Leo has the ability to look at the angles and easily sees the bigger picture.

When Leo said ‘You guys got this!’ he meant it 100%. He is shown to trust his family and is not afraid to rely on them. This might be due to his identity issues hinted at in 'Portal Jacked!'. He may feel insecure about his own self, but he knows his brothers in and out and how awesome each one of them is. Yet not in a starry-eyed unrealistic way. Leo is well aware of their weaknesses and limitations.

In ‘Many Unhappy Returns’ Raph questions if Leo is serious, and guess what, he was, cause they won thanks to Leo's plan. Here we also see glimpses of Leo as the Mad Dogz official leader with Raph affirming that he trusts him.

In the movie, Raph also asks Leo: ‘What’s it gonna take for you to be serious, Leo?’ And the answer is obvious - his family being in danger. Nothing more, nothing less. Leo gets serious as soon as Casey explains what happened in his timeline and why they need to retrieve the key and stop the end of the world (around minute 20).

I always found it particularly mean-spirited for Raph to assume Leo isn't serious given the knowledge that this is how Leo copes with high-stress situations (see 'Mystic Mayhem') and his otherwise competitive nature (see 'Air Turtle'). Leo would never lose on purpose. Raph copes by snapping and Leo by joking and that is a recipe for disaster. And while it's understandable in the Shredder situation I feel it isn't really justified in the movie.

Unlike Donnie or Raph who are over-preparers, Leo has also no issues to go with the flow, which leads to a seemingly more laid-back attitude and clashes with Raph's tendency to be a mother hen. But he kinda does not need that much time in the first place...

In the end, I think Leo has all it takes to be a great leader from the get-go. Of course, he is far from perfect. There is something deeply wrong with our poor boy's communication skills, and between his general laziness, his unfortunate coping mechanism, cocky cool-guy persona, competitiveness, and general deceptiveness it is hard for the team to tell what's going on and get a good read on him or his intentions. But hey, Leo is like what, 16 years old? And the good thing is, he has his bros who've known him for his entire life and know how to take him. They all got his back. (Or not?)

So what changed? What’s up with Leo’s leadership skills in the movie? Nothing! Leo’s character is exactly the same. He is as sharp as ever. It is Raph who changed.

Cause here comes the kicker, the thing the authors of the movie so eloquently sweep under the rug, the question nobody seems to ask:

Is Raph a good second-in-command?

Stay tuned for part 2!

Short answer: No. Long answer: Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

But seriously just think about it. In my mind, Leo never truly stood a chance.

[temmtamm]

Yandere donnie w sweetheart nb reader who's also a soft shell mutant, I'm interested in what his reaction would be

"I'm here."

Yandere Donnie x softshell reader

[TW: ARGUING, VIOLENCE, INJURIES, HINTED STALKING AND MANIPULATION]

(Asks open and appreciated)

____________________________________

"Donnie, I am not having this discussion again. This conversation is over." (Y/N) stomped into their room reserved for themself in their lair, not even bothering to look their friend in the eyes as they did so.

"Oh, but the contraire, (N/N)-" (Y/N) huffed, closing the door mid-conversation resulting in angry mumbling coming from the other side of the door.

This same argument happened practically every month for the two, which would explain (Y/N)'s almost nonchalantness when approaching the topic.

Oh, and what topic is that??

Fighting.

Ever since (Y/N) almost got their shell shattered, Donnie had been pushing to get them a battle shell like his own as well as take on training. His reasoning was usually, "I won't always be there to save you." to which (Y/N) called bullshit. It was almost uncanny how much Donnie had always been there for them, though they equated it to his access to new York's camera systems.

This argument had been different though. Donnie was much, much, much more persistent.

"You can't just close the door whenever you disagree with me, (Y/N)!! You can't hide from facts!"

(Y/N) gritted their teeth as they fell back on their bed, yelling back over at Donnie through the door. "Don..Please just go, I don't want to talk about it anymore." Unlikely to happen, but their words seemed to be effective since Donnie had seemed to fall silent on the other end.

Though, that was only for a short period of time.

"...You think you can protect yourself? Fine....I'll be waiting for when you need that battle shell."

And then all (Y/N) heard was fading footsteps- Well, more like stomps.

(Y/N) let out an exhausted sigh, burying their head in the pillows of their guest bed as one of the hand self-consciously went to gently graze over their softshell. They hated how these arguments always left them so insecure.

They aren't weak, and they don't have to fight to be strong!! They don't have to be like Donnie, they can work with their weakness instead of shielding it.

But still, some days those walls came up and the small thoughts in their mind turned to screams.

What if Donnie was right?? What if their weakness was really that bad? Should they handle themselves delicately, like how one would with a flower??

But they aren't a flower, they are a living being. And unlike a flower, they can reason with enemies.

....But just like a flower, they were unable to fight against their threats..

(Y/N) sighed once more before reaching for their phone, turning it on to check the time. Their eyes widened upon seeing a message notification pop up on the screen of their phone.

It was signed by April, who said she was going to be late so her and the other three might just crash at her place.

(Y/N) smiled softly at the message, feeling a little better knowing that they had some people to talk to when they felt like this. (Y/N) switched up their position so they could text back, sending a quick.

'Can I join you?? Don's place is feeling a bit...stuffy for a lack of better words.'

April replied back within a few seconds, stating that she'd be down for their arrival if they wanted.

(Y/N) stood up, quickly reaching into some of their dressers of a disguise before making their way to their rooms door. They hesitated for a few moments to open the door, afraid Donnie might be waiting by it, just itching to give them another lecture. Eventually, they swung the door open though and much to their delight, there was no Donnie.

In fact, there was no one around anywhere though that wasn't that concerning considering they were all with April.

Despite half of (Y/N)'s brain screaming at them to alert Donnie that they were leaving, they instead decided to just leave without another word.

As soon as they slipped out of the sewer hole the felt the cold new York air nip at their skin, the fresh smell of rain filling their nose.

"I forgot it was raining.."

They breathed a heavy sigh, allowing the breeze to wash away some of their troubles as they slipped out of the manhole cover and began making their way over to April's. They walked through the streets silently, the only sounds being footsteps and the occasional honk of car horns.

The city was buzzing with life, people walking briskly past them in various states of emotions on their features. Some were calm, others were angry, some were even excited.

Halfway through the walk, (Y/N) decided to take a little short cut Leo had taught them by slipping through the alley-ways. The darkness of the alleys would concern any normal person, and despite not being a person, (Y/N) was very much normal and therefore immune to not getting the spooks.

Their feet moved smoothly on top of the pavement as their toes barely touched the ground, taking them swiftly through the alleyway. The wind blowing harshly against their face sent a chill down their spine. The petrichoir smell that at first calmed them had started to turn against them and be used to enhance their uneasiness.

They suddenly regretted leaving the lair.

The so called "shortcut" was starting to feel unnecessarily long and to add onto that, (Y/N) felt a familiar odd sensation run up their neck, one that they recognized as the feeling of being watched.

Yeah, fuck this. They are running to April's.

As (Y/N) ran, legs burning up due to the

increased speed, they heard a small little detail- a sound that made their blood run cold.

There was another set of footsteps following them. It was delayed only slightly from their own, making them able to make out the noise.

They stopped abruptly and held their breath, their entire body tensing up as they waited for Hypno, Meat Sweats, or something of the sorts to appear out of the shadows.

"I know you're there....I'm not angry...Are you following me?" (Y/N) resorted to their usual tactic, talking it out. Unfortunately, there was no response back, making it hard to really talk it out. (Y/N) squinted at the shadows, hoping to make out the figure of the other person so that way they could find out who's there. The only response they were given was some kind of clicking sound, followed by the smallest sound of someone clearing their throat behind them.

Before (Y/N) could see who this was, however, something shot out of nowhere and slammed straight into (Y/N), knocking them backwards. (Y/N) scrambled to flip over so they didn't land on their shell, resulting in their face and arms being the target of the harsh concrete below them. "You motherfu-" (Y/N) bit their tongue, holding back any curses that they wanted to shout out in favor of going for a more docile route.

"Hey, I don't mean no harm...This alleyway yours or something?? I can go.." (Y/N) staggered up to their feet, touching their nose as they did to make sure it wasn't bleeding. They whipped their head back over to where the shot was to see what was there.

It was...a robot? It had purple encasing that had a plastic glow to it, as well as a dragon symbol on the side. Though it wasn't hard to see that the encasing was just a rushed attempt at some sort of armor as there was a mettalic glow hidden under the cracks of the armor. (Y/N) clicked it into their head that they were unable to talk a robot out of its actions and decided to take on a new tactic.

Running.

(Y/N) quickly turned around and took off towards April's apartment, sprinting as fast as their legs could take them. Maybe if they make it to the apartment in time the turtles could help? But as soon as (Y/N) turned around the corner, the sounds of the approaching robot got too loud for them to hear anything else;

A low metallic whine. A clink of metal against metal. The unmistakable rumbling of machinery powering on. The sound almost even screamed louder than (Y/N)'s thoughts did.

It sounded so close to them, like it was right on top of them. So close to ripping them apart...

Then suddenly, a loud thud rang out across the area. Then, after a second of silence that made (Y/N) tense up in fear, everything seemed to clear.

They can't fight. They've been hit.

...

Donatello was right.

(Y/N) looked down at their body, finding a familiar red liquid oozing out of their side. They couldn't tell if it was the shock or what, but it didn't hurt- At least not beyond a stinging feeling that nipped at the wound.

No. Not yet. They weren't ready for this. They didn't want to die.

Suddenly, a strange light blinded (Y/N) for a brief moment, making them look down again to see a strange yellow substance coming out of the robot. In a split second, (Y/N) realised that it was the robots own...blood? Oil? But....where was the light coming from..?

"Hands off, dragons!!" (Y/N) didn't have to wait long for an answer, as the culprit of the light quickly flee into the scene, that's to some jets attached to him. It was Donnie. (Y/N) had never thought that they would had ever been as happy to see that turtle as they were in this moment.

(Y/N) opened their mouth to say something, but all that came out was a groan of pain. Their vision blurred for a few moments as if their mind was fighting to stay awake. This is probably the worst pain they ever felt....Not because it was overbearing, but because the adrenaline didn't allow them to feel it completely, meaning the wound could be much much worse than they enticipated.

Donnie turned his head to get a look at (Y/N), gasping at the sight. His blood ran cold and any emotions that filled him up before was quickly replaced with anger.

No, not just anger. Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage.

"(Y/N)....Close your eyes..."

"..Don..."

"CLOSE YOUR EYES!!" (Y/N) froze up for a couple minutes before cautiously obliging. The scream shook them to the core, not because Donnie rarely yelled or anything, but because he had never raised his voice at them. He screamed around them, but never even dared to direct it at them before.

All they saw was black, but the sounds left almost nothing to the imagination of what Donnie could be doing to the bot.

Cracking, mechanical whirring, and scarily fleshy sounding scuelches.

They could sense movement behind the walls. Something was moving towards them. Their heartbeat picked up, adrenaline rushing through them like nothing else. The sound of metal shattering made them flinch at how close it sounded. They quickly lifted their hands up to their face to block themselves from getting hit, though still didn't dare open their eyes. They were waiting until Donnie could say so.

A loud thud was heard and then the movements stopped. It was almost deafeningly silent save for the labored breathing of both (Y/N) and Donnie.

"(Y/N), you can open your eyes..."

Slowly, (Y/N) peeled their hand away from their face and opened their eyes, allowing their eyes to adjust to the sudden bright light that had entered the room. When (Y/N) could finally open their eyes, Donnie had already taken a step back.

Oil was everywhere as well as chunks of metal and plastic that once used to form the robot but now was unrecognizable. That wasnt what caught their attention though, what did catch their attention was the small droplets of blood on the concrete.

They didn't want to, but they couldn't help it and they let out a scream that echoed throughout the alleyway. Tears threatened to spill forth as they looked up to Donnie and saw what they feared. He got hurt. He had a gash on his arm. "Don....Youre..."

Before (Y/N) could slip out their sentence, Donnie slid down on the ground above them and pulled them into a tight hug, a rare action for the purple masked turtle. (Y/N) was surprised at how warm he could feel. And how comfortable it was, despite the fact that they were in a bad position. It was comforting and warm. Even though the hug was uncomfortable at first, they quickly melted into it, burying their face in the crook of his neck.

"It hurts...Donnie...You were right. Now you're hurt just cause I was too stubborn to say it.."

Donnie pulled back to get a look at (Y/N) and inspect their wounds. "Forget me, I'm more worried about you. Did they get your shell??" (Y/N) shaking my shook their head no, which made some tension in Donnie's body ease up.

"Good, now can you see why I was so scared..?" (Y/N) felt a burning sensation in the back of their throat. Donnie was scared for them, not angry at them when the two argued. They didn't know why that effected them so much, it was probably because they always thought of Donnie as someone who could always come out on top and never have to be scared of anything. But seeing someone you love in such a fragile state made their heart ache, especially knowing what happened next.

"I'm sorry for putting you in trouble, I'm sorry for everything.." (Y/N) mumbled, looking down.

"It's okay, It's okay...I'm here..Lets get back to the lair, okay?? I can patch us up.."

...

Donnie had to say, he hadn't really expected this to work...Though, he also hadn't expected the robot to actually hurt (Y/N) as well, and that overshadowed any gratitude he held for the purple dragons for fulfilling their end of the deal. He was going to be sure to make sure that they regret for that small mistake. That wasn't important now, though.

What was important now was making sure (Y/N) is safe.

Thanks for watching ♥︎

[10blue10]

The Evolution of Dragons Pt 1

Okay, so me and @arourallisreborn​ were discussing how the dragons from HTTYD might have evolved, and my research has led me to an exciting discovery. To start off, I am making two assumptions for this. One: HTTYD takes place in an alternate version of Earth. Two: the prehistory of this version of Earth followed a similar path to our own, except for the dragons of course.

Evolution of Flight

Now you might think that dragons evolved from some mutant six limbed ancestor, but arourallis came up with another hypothesis. Namely that the ancestors of dragons were gliding reptiles with wings supported by elongated ribs, similar to modern ‘flying lizards’. If you look at the Bewilderbeast’s wings, for example, you’ll see that the wing-struts run from the wing edge to its torso.

In most dragons, the wing struts all converge at either the ‘shoulder’ or the ‘wrist’ of the wing, depending on how articulated it is. For example, a Thunderdrums wing is like a giant fan that only articulates at the ‘shoulder’, whereas a Rumblehorn’s wing clearly has a ‘shoulder’, ‘elbow’ and ‘wrist’.

So, that exciting discovery I mentioned? It turns out there was a family of flying reptiles called Weigeltisauridae that lived during the Permian period, between 260 to 251 million years ago. Like this little guy, Coelurosauravus:

To quote Wikipedia: “They are characterised by long, hollow rod-shaped bones extending from the torso that probably supported wing-like membranes…These have been proposed to be modified gastralia or otherwise a novel bone ossification.” In other words, these guys had wing bones. They also had lightweight skeletons thanks to air spaces within the bones.

What I’m saying is that these reptiles were already two fifths of the way to a dragon lol. The first major divergence from IRL prehistory is this: instead of going extinct, at least one genus of this family survived the Great Dying and then split in two, with one group staying arboreal and the other becoming aquatic; perhaps to avoid competition with the ancestors of pterosaurs.

As for the arboreal group, a chance mutation might have made their gliding wings more flexible. This would make them a bit more manoeuvrable, just enough to give them an edge. From there they could have evolved true powered flight. I think these proto-dragons would fill out a similar niche to insect eating birds, millions of years before birds evolved from dinosaurs.

Now for millions of years, the draconids as we’ll call them would have stayed relatively small, to avoid competing with all the other reptiles in the Mesozoic era. Perhaps they’d have evolved slightly more articulated wings by the late Jurassic/early Cretaceous, as well as diversified into the main groups of short necked or long necked air dragons or sea dragons. It’s difficult to judge.

As for how more articulated wings would evolve, from what I can tell it would start with the bony rods supporting the wing moving from being at right angles to the spine, to converging at the inner crook of the wing. Or maybe at a point further along the leading wing bone. As their wings got larger, the leading bone would get stronger and more flexible, evolving an ‘elbow’ and ‘wrist’ joint.

I also think the dragons stomachs would be full of symbiotic bacteria that produce lighter than air gases. These, combined with hollowed bones, would allow them to fly even as their bodies got larger. Since we’re using SCIENCE, let’s assume that gravity is slightly less strong on this alternate Earth, to explain how even massive dragons are able to fly with relatively short wings.

If all this seems a bit far-fetched, keep in mind that it would take millions of years. Besides, whales evolved from weird little hoofed deer things in about 8 million years, so evolution can be pretty fast (by geological timescales).

Some of these early dragons might have grown large enough to directly compete with pterosaurs, but those species would likely have gone extinct when the asteroid came along. It’s possible that the remaining species survived by feeding on carrion or even on fish that also survived the impact.

(Arourallis has a theory that dragons took shelter in the Hidden World when the asteroid hit. Whilst I have issues with the ‘hidden world’ cave system existing in the first place, I like the idea of them taking shelter in cave systems.)

As @arourallisreborn​ put it, once the other large reptiles went extinct, dragons would have rapidly diversified and grown larger to refill that niche. I also think they’d mostly be living on what would become Europe and Asia. Thus giving our own ancestors in Africa time to evolve before the huge flying fire breathing reptiles showed up. As for how fire breathing evolved in these dragons…

That will have to wait for part two ;)

[sibillascribbles08]

44. “I’m going to need you to put on some clothes before you say anything else.”

This is going to feature a lot of Donnie staring wistfully but it's sfw, even if its a bit intimate asldjfk Also a shorter one because how long can I make this really.

Donatello lay on his stomach, waiting on the bed as Jase took the first shower. He personally didn't think he even needed one, but Jase insisted he did, and they both had a long day in the office so he might as well.

But after a few good morning kisses, his fiancé slipped to the bathroom before Donatello could manage to get up.

He tried not to doze as he waited, arms tucked under his head, but the mattress was so comfy. After months of Donatello refurbishing the building into the mutant apartment complex, and custom building a bed that his tall frame could comfortably lay on, it felt good to lounge around.

Despite the distance from his brothers, it started to feel like home.

It felt... strange. That he would often return to the lair to just spend time with his brothers or his dad, or to plan for missions, but these days coming back here and seeing Jase is what made his mind say, "I'm home." He couldn't place when his brain made the switch. It certainly wasn't when he first moved in.

But Jason being here helped.

The bathroom door connected to the master bedroom opened. Jase stepped out, towel around his waist while he used another to keep drying his hair. He didn't have his glasses on, making his eyes that much easier to see.

"Don't take too long." Jase took the towel off his head and hung it on the edge of the bed as he began to open drawers. "We have that big meeting at ten, and we need to..."

The words faded out fast as Donnie just continued to stare. At first he glanced over all the pale scars that dotted Jase's shoulders, a few trailing down his spine. One area in particular on his lower back had a much denser patch of freckles. He didn't have a lot of those, a few on his arms, one on his neck.

His gaze moved up to Jase's jaw, once again following the dots up to his ears. Then over to his eyes. They squinted as he filed through his ties, obviously struggling to see without his glasses. The skin between his eyebrows, at the top of his nose, held so many creases as he did. The eyebrows in question were thick, always messy after a shower, but they tended to straighten out throughout the day.

His hair was such a mess when wet, sometimes when it was dry as well, but the comb usually fixed that. And then Donnie would destroy all of the progress by nuzzling the top of his head.

He was struck with the temptation to do it now, but no doubt it wouldn't smell like Jase. Just that coconut shampoo.

Donatello stopped studying his fiancé's face, his gaze trailing down.

"Donnie."

The sharp sound of his name snapped him back to attention.

Jason turned around, arms crossed. "Are you listening to me?"

Yeah, no, Donatello's gaze got fixed on the small amount of dark hair on Jase's chest. "Um..."

Jason scoffed and stepped over, tapping him on the forehead. "Wake up."

"Sorry." Donatello blinked, considering the fact his fiancé looked good at this angle. "But I'm going to need you to put on some clothes before you say anything else."

Jason kept his glare. "Donnie you see me like this on a regular basis these days."

"Yeah." He smirked and finally pushed himself up. "And every time I'm reminded of just how beautiful you are."

Ah, there was the blush, running all the way from his nose to the tips of his ears. "Ugh, whatever. Go get in the shower. You still have to get clean before we leave and you're wasting time."

"Well, next time we should just share the shower." Donatello stuck out his tongue.

"Hilarious." Jase tried to shove him out of the bed. "I know you. That would make us even later."

Donatello wouldn't admit that Jase, as usual, was right. Instead he just stuck out his tongue again and shuffled into the bathroom.

At least he had a hot shower to look forward to.

"Don't you dare take too long." Jase said from beyond the door. "I know how to cut the hot water off."

Donatello sighed. "Are you my business partner or my secretary."

"This meeting is important, Donnie."

"Okay, okay, but you're making it up to me later."

"It's your business!"

"Yours too now." Donatello smirked and turned the water on. "Especially since you agreed to marry me."

"That's not how that works, Donnie."

"Huh? What?" He pretended to shout. "Sorry, can't hear you over the water."

"Donnie!"

Donatello snickered and grabbed his brush before stepping into the shower.

[fantasyfantasygames]

Mutants On Demand

Mutants On Demand, Sea Change Books, 2017

You were hired for your skills, your dedication, and your biological compatibility with one of the world's most dangerous gene-splicing techniques. Now you possess incredible superpowers derived from your personality and existing talents. Your loyalty is ensured by your bond with your teammates... and by the fact that without frequent drug treatments you'll explode.

The world is mostly like our own at the start, which is canonically just as the news breaks about your superpowered existence. Of course, the people who can afford to enhance someone like you are the ultra-rich. My favorite thing about Mutants On Demand is that it doesn't shy away from naming actual, real-world ultra-rich people as its major NPCs. Not many games have statted-up descriptions of Mukesh Ambani, Bernard Arnault, and Larry Page. (I'm sure at least one other game has a statted-up Bill Gates, though.) The game's creators did some real research here. The assumed plot basically revolves around you investigating the shady company that created you all, while either partying it up or trying to figure a way out from under your billionaire patron's thumb (most likely both).

The game's art is a mixed bag. Apparently the publisher held a contest, with the winners having their art chosen. (Pro tip: do not do this. It is not an appropriate way to treat artists.) Unfortunately, they didn't have a lot of takers. Submissions were sparse, and Sea Change decided to use almost all of them. Visual styles and ability to handle human anatomy vary substantially. Some are even black-and-white in an otherwise full-color PDF.

The system borrows from Icons, which is a fine place to start for a simple supers game. 1d6+bonus vs. 1d6+bonus, higher roll wins. More-or-less exponential attribute scales, but capped at 10 so the exponent never gets too high. Excess points of success deal damage to health, or calm, or fatigue, depending on whether you're dealing with the Might, Mouth, or Mind stat. Chargen (another cool element) has you selecting your superpowers first. Those give you options for what skills you can take, what your character's emotional reactions look like, and what sort of psychological issues they might develop.

With MoD's close similarity to the Icons system it would be fairly easy to just move it over wholesale. I'd recommend keeping the chargen system, though. It has some real potential.

Sea Change Games was sued into oblivion for defamation of character in the UK, where the laws about that kind of thing are ridiculous. All known sources of the game had to pull them. You'll need to find a PDF in someone's personal collection. All of them are watermarked with the buyer's name and copy-paste-proofed, which is obnoxious as hell. If you get to play it, let me know how it goes - I want to hear whether the psychological integrity degradation system works over a reasonable timeframe instead of just dumping you into severe mental issues immediately or being something you can just ignore.

[3xm-draconic]

The Jester and The Courier: a wild wasteland love

Chapter 10: Put it on the Ritz.

“So Cicero where would you like to go first?” Myrtle said as she entered the presidential suite, Cicero was on the couch eating fancy lads and watching old vault-tec cartoons “hm?...oh!” he swallowed his mouthful of cake “Cicero wonders if there is a tailor nearby, he wishes to buy new clothes”, “ah wanting to snazz up your style eh?” she chuckled “alrighty then, there is a place in north freeside we can go to”.

They whent to the elevator, which freaked Cicero out but Myrtle managed to calm him down and took it to the bottom floor, whereupon exiting the elevator Boone and Joshua approached her.

“Myrt we-”, “not now, I’am taking Cicero to get new clothes, I wanna talk to him more about this Skyrim place he’s from…it might be what’s left of canada or even alaska” she said, Boone huffed in annoyance but Joshua calmed him “Myrtle would it be alright if we joined you?” he turned to her, “shoot, sure” she smiled.

Cicero marveled at everything around him, it was nothing like back home, the city flashed with so many colors and lights, there was music in the air, people in glamorous outfits strolled the streets…and all Cicero could think of was how even more lovely it would look splattered in blood!

But he had to play nice…he remembered he had to fool, to trick, if he wanted to not end up again drugged out of his mind by…what were they called again?...raiders?...yes raiders. If he did not want that to happen again, he had to perform the part of an innocent man…or…an innocent jester.

After all who said he couldn’t be The Fool of Hearts?

And besides he missed his jester outfit…these clothes he wore now just…felt wrong…

At the tailor in freeside Cicero met another of those mini giants, learning they were called super mutants, this one was green instead of blue. He was in a rather large frilly shirt and tight fitting pants, he had sewing equipment like needles and pins stuck into a device on his wrist and several rolls of thread on the other. He had large red glasses that sat half-way down his nose and wore a wavy long curly blond-hair wig.

“Hey Monro, how’s business?” Myrtle greeted the giant with a warm hug, “Oh darling it’s just swell, dresses and vests are selling like hotcakes and sales are through the roof!” he chirped happily.

“Sweet, I’am happy your business is doing so well. I got a friend here looking for a custom outfit, do you think you could help him out?”, Monro smiled giddily “ooh! A custom job, oh where is the little guy? I wanna get a read for what kind of outfit will suit him!”

Myrtle stepped back to revile Cicero, “OOH aren’t you just the most cutest little thing! Look at all that red hair and that FACE! Oh darling, I know just the outfit!” Monro immediately took out a tailor’s tape measure from around his waist and started taking Cicero’s measurements.

 As they waited Boone and Joshua turned to each other…

“She’s deliberately ignoring me Josh, she KNOWS I know and wont let me talk to her about about her needing help…and throwing an intervention is just gonna piss her off you know” he whispered, Joshua who was watching Myrtle talk with Cicero nodded to Boone “I know what to do, I’ll get her to talk to you”, Boone sighed “Reverend no offense but just how?-”, Joshua placed a comforting hand on Boone’s shoulder “I think I know what has her so displaced, has what has her turning to vices and negative coping mechanisms, she doesn't need an interrogation by her friends. THAT'S what we've been doing wrong. Boone…she needs to be reminded of what she has”, “and that is?” Boone asked curiously, Joshua smiled “family, friendship and most importantly…faith”.

“So Cicero, what’s Skyrim like?” Myrtle asked as she flipped through a fashion magazine, “Cold, very cold. But the trees and mountains are beautiful and the flowers! Oh and the flowers! The flowers are so pretty. Cicero made sure to always bring some back to his mother” he hummed in nostalgia, “cold hu? Does it snow? I’ve never seen snow, I’ve lived my whole life in the region where Nevada meets California. It would be something to see it snow”, Cicero turned to her “well there is also the cost, huge icebergs float in the distance and the fjords are full of delicious salmon”, “salmon? Your fish aren’t mutated?” she pondered.

“Nope, Skyrim has no radiation, no creatures like that in your Mojave. There are strange creatures like chaurus and giant frost spiders and other things but nothing like what you described to Cicero”, THAT intrigued Myrtle “so…what from your saying…this Skyrim is a paradise?! No radiation, No FEV?, No…Anything weird?”, “oh Cicero never said that, sometimes mammoths fall out of the sky”, “Mammoths?” Myrtle wondered, “big hairy creatures with long noses, very tasty meat if you can cut through their hide, not as tasty as Horker though”.

“Horker? The hell is that?”, “a blubbery creature with three tusks in its mouth that swims the seas and eats fish, very dangerous but delicious” Cicero giggled “OH and then there are DRAGONS!”, “dragons?”, “big scaly flying creatures who can spit fire!”, “...hu…you know what…if I survive Hoover dam I’d like to travel to your Skyrim, it sounds like a neat place”.

“Ok darling, all finished!” Monro chirped, Cicero squealed in delight at his new jester’s outfit.

It was red and black with accents of white and had gold trim. It had heart patterns all over it and stripes! There were puffy sleeves and ruffles and bells! OOH Cicero loved the jingly bells!

He gasped “IT’S PERFECT, JUST WHAT CICERO WANTED!”

Boone just looked at him with confusion, he turned to Myrtle only to see her looking flustered…

“Myrt?”, “...”, “are you sirius…this…this is turning you on?” he looked at her with a mix of confusion and humor, she punched his shoulder, not hard but in a “shut the fuck up” manner.

“I…I have a THING…ok…I don’t know how it started but I have a thing, Boone”, Boone just laughed “you are weird”, she glared at him “OH so the NUMEROUS other times I’ve been weird like when I fucked a robot or when took drugs an fought a bear thats not weird to you, it’s only when you learn I’am a clownfucker thats when you call me weird?!” she quietly hissed, Boone snorted “I don’t mean it in a bad way, you’ve always been weird and I love ya for it. Myrt…this…this just came out of left field for me” he laughed quietly. 

Cicero now feeling much better in an outfit that fit him and his personality twirled and danced as they made their way through freeside, “I’am getting hungry, let’s head down to the Atomic Wrangler” Myrtle said as she checked the date on her pip boy, “why there?” Boone turned to her, “it’s friday, friday’s is Lake Lurk lady-rolls day”, “oh” Boone and Joshua nodded, Cicero eyed her in confusion, “a Lake Lurk lady-roll is a sandwich” Boone turned to him, “sandwich?” Cicero pondered.

“Oh…oh don’t tell me you ain’t ever had a sandwich before?” Myrtle looked at him bewildered, Cicero shook his head, “welp first time for everything” she chuckled.

“Myrtle after lunch there was something I needed to discuss with you”, “Joshua I…”, “Psalm 23:4”, Myrtle stopped and looked into his eyes, she looked fearful…but understanding “...ok..” she nodded “but after lunch…and no talking about anything until we get back to the 38 ok?...I don’t want the others…the others to know”, Joshua nodded.