#five years!!!!! it's nearly been five years!!!!!!

[seventeenpins]

new rules

pairing: ex!Worst!Logan Howlett x f!reader word count: 2.7k summary: You've been broken up for long enough. It shouldn't be this hard to stay away. content/warnings: smut, angst, Logan's a disaster alcoholic, suicidal ideation, unhealthy relationships, big dick a/n: I didn't expect the Logan bug to bite me, but here I am, horny for this old man, writing a songfic in the year of our lord two thousand twenty four. Dua Lipa's "New Rules" came on shuffle and I needed to make it about our big boy. Thank you to the loml @ozarkthedog for being the best human alive and also for hyping me up, reading it thru, and telling me "it made me actually want to try to fix him" 😅

You’re in your pajamas, toothbrush in hand and moisturizer shining on your face, when the screen of your phone lights up. You wince when you see the contact name.

DO NOT PICK UP

You watch as it rings out, and you exhale when the comfort of the black screen returns.

And then it lights up again.

Just ignore it. Just ignore it.

As you’re spitting your toothpaste into the sink, the screen lights up again, DO NOT PICK UP flashing across.

It’s a bad idea. It’s always a bad idea. 

But as it lights up a fourth time, you hit accept. As you bring the phone to your ear, you already know what you’re going to say; you need to stop calling like this; have you been drinking?; this isn’t going to happen again–

And then you hear his voice. It’s just a single word, and comes out more as a croak than anything else.

“Hi, baby-”

Just like the first time. The third. The five hundredth. It makes you fucking melt, makes your body heat and your stomach flip.

“Hi Logan.”

—

“It’s been too long, sweetheart-” 

“Yeah, well-” you sigh. You know how this always goes. “I told you not to call.”

“But you answered.” 

Even over the line he sounds smug. You wish you could punch him, god, if only. But you knew from past experience that his adamantium bones and entirely unfair regenerative powers would leave him perfectly unblemished, while you nursed a broken hand.

“Sooo-,” you venture, “Is there something you need?”

It was better to play clueless, you reasoned; You weren’t gonna jump the gun. You would make him spell it out.

"Just you, hon,” his voice is low and dangerous and you think you might really hate him this time.

“You know it’s nearly midnight, don’t you? Are you ever gonna call me when you’re sober?”

You hear a noncommittal grunt on the other end.

“What do you want, Logan?”

He takes a deep breath.

“Can I come over? I’ve just been missing you. Been a rough day.”

“No.”

“Please, baby? I need you. Please?”

You close your eyes and exhale. Ten calls ago, you might have tried to hide the frustration, but you’re well beyond that now.

It’s always a bad idea. Always makes you remember the bits of him you miss desperately. Your nights together. How you still fucking love him.

“Can take care of you, princess-“ he pleads.

“I hate when you call me that. And no, you can’t. You can’t even take care of yourself, Howlett.”

He huffs a laugh. “Been doin’ alright a couple hundred years. Keepin’ myself alive.”

You don’t want to say the question neither of you will acknowledge.

Is this really living?

“Fine. You can come over.”

“I’ll be there in five.”

“Motherfucker-! Have you been on your way this whole time, Lo?”

With a snort, he ends the call.

He’s on you before you can even get the door closed behind you. His hands are cradling your head as he kisses you deeply. You were right; he tastes like cheap whiskey. And cigarettes, you realize. Fucking cigarettes. And then you remember– he’s all but abandoned his cigars, as though the pain of losing a vice was part of his penance. 

With an awkward foot you try to hook the bridge of your foot along the edge of the door, pull at it, but instead of closing it you just overbalance, tumbling further into him.

He catches you as if it was nothing, as if he were so innately steady he’d always be there to break your fall.

When he has you back on your feet, he gets right back to it, tearing at your clothing and his, pulling your top over your head, fumbling with the drawstring of your bottoms. He cups your breasts, pinching and teasing, and walks you backwards till the backs of your knees hit the foot of your bed and you tumble. 

Logan tumbles with you, his hold on you never ceasing, and now you can feel how hard he is against you.

It sends a shiver down your spine.

You’ve missed this. Fuck you’ve missed this. What kind of self-destructive dumbass judgment were you letting rule you? 

You need to gain some control back.

“Condom,” you tell him. 

He rolls his eyes.

“I’m not joking, Logan. Should still be in the top drawer.”

He exhales with a chuckle, but pulls his beater over his head and lets you get an eyeful of his toned chest before leaning over and sliding the drawer open.

Then, he rummages around, pulling back with a shit-eating grin. 

In his hand is a roll of condoms, classic fit.

“You got a little boyfriend?” he asks, and you feel your face heat.

“Shut the fuck up, Logan.”

“Now I’m not seeing the Magnum’s in here. You sure you still have them? Or are you so busy fucking dumbass boys with little pricks that you can’t even bother to pick up the phone?”

“The condoms are just in case– better to be prepared– and besides it’s none of your fucking business if I’m sleeping with anyone else!”

“You know I can’t get STIs, right?”

You do know. You remember that first conversation years ago. You grit your teeth.

“And if you’re so worried,” he continues, “I’ll buy you Plan B.”

“Move,” you tell him, and he scoots back so you can look in the drawer yourself. Much to your chagrin, he’s right. Not a single gold packet in sight.

You groan, and he laughs.

You should tell him no. Should tell him that if he wants to fuck you, he needs to go out and get some. Because it’s not even the risk of any sort of transmission, or even the risk of pregnancy that gives you pause. It’s the intimacy. The way you can hardly bear it when you can feel him dripping out of you. The love you still have for him, even after everything. 

The way you know he still needs you, too. More than you need him. But after everything he’s done, everything he’s been through, everything he’s lost– you can’t bear to be another thing he loses, not fully.

But now he’s straddling you, scooting you backwards towards the head of the bed. His cock presses heavy against your thigh, and you’re so overwhelmed by the way he’s pressing kisses along your jaw and nibbling behind your ear, you barely notice as he lifts your hips to pull your panties down. His nails scrape down your back and the angry scratches start to bloom with heat. 

You don’t realize you’re both fully naked until you feel the heat from him press against you, the slick of his weeping cockhead dragging a trail just below your navel, down down down-

He strokes himself twice and lines himself up, pressing against your opening. You wait for the feeling, for the way he always slams inside you, but he surprises you. Presses the tip in and rocks himself gently, easing you open.

After a moment (and hardly a single inch) he pulls out and sits up.

For a gut-wrenching second, you think he’s changed his mind, and how fucking dare him? He’s not the one who gets to back out of this. Fuck.

But then his cock is replaced with his hand, and he pumps himself with his left, while pressing inside of you with his right, scissoring his fingers open, pulling whine and moan and gasp out of you, coaxing you along with his filthy mouth the whole way.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs, letting out a groan when you squirm against him, “You’re tight as the first time I fucked you. Clearly no one’s been takin’ care of this pussy, huh?”

Two fingers become three, and you’re overwhelmed with sensation, pleasure taking over any rational thought.

“That’s it, honey, open up for me. Such a shame no one’s been fuckin’ you right. Would make you feel good every damn day if you’d let me.”

He rubs against your clit in unyielding circles and pulls you right to the edge. You feel yourself dripping, thighs trembling, and tears rolling down your face, but just as you’re about to cum he stops. He guides your arms upwards and pins you down by the wrists with one rough hand and leans over, caging you against the bed. In a second beat, he knocks your legs wide, baring you fully, and he presses himself in. You’re beyond slick and the glide is exquisite. The feeling of his bare cock pressing into you makes you shudder with arousal. The wiry hairs at the base of his cock grind against you, making you shake. 

He fucks you deep and slow. The drag is exquisite. He pulls almost the whole way out, before rocking back in again, his foreskin adding to the delicious glide. With every thrust he’s burying himself so deeply you’d swear you could feel him in your belly.

“You’re openin’ up so nice, takin’ it so good,” he growls, and you feel a thrill of pleasure bloom through your body at the praise. “Been missin’ this. Miss how soft you feel around me. Have you been missin’ your old man, too?”

You don’t even register he’s asked a question till his palm is swatting your jaw. It’s not painful, it doesn’t even sting. And it does exactly what he’d hoped; it refocuses you on him.

“Wha- What?” you ask, coming back to him, whilst feeling your peak build and build and build-

“Have you been missin’ your old man, princess? 

“Fuck you, Logan.”

“Use your words.”

“Yes-”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes I’ve been missing you. Stop looking at me like that, Lo. C’mon now, fuck me like you mean it.”

You can’t deal with him being sincere right now. You need it rough and you need it mean.

It takes him a moment to pull himself away but then he does, obliging as if he can read your thoughts. He pulls out, leans back, hooks your legs over his shoulders, and makes you moan as he folds you in half. He’s pressing so much deeper now than he had only a moment ago. Any gentleness that had been there disappears immediately.

He’s panting, letting out heavy grunts as he slams into you and sweat drips down his temple. 

As he fucks you, he drives into you cruelly but you match each thrust. Every time he knocks you back, you press against him harder and heavier. Make sure it hurts, for both of you.

He’s never been a selfish lover and makes you scream on his cock, cumming three times in rapid succession, each peak that little bit higher. Each peak is a little bit harder. 

You’re boneless and spent. When he cums inside you, his claws shoot out, angrily splintering existing notches on your headboard. Blood trickles down between his knuckles. One drop lands on your lips, the perfect kiss from this mess of a man. Another drop lands on your new linen pillowcase.

At least you got those tide pens. 

You want to tell him off about the headboard–the splintered edges are ugly and ragged. But the fact you hadn’t gotten a new headboard is kind of on you. It may as well be an invitation.

You add a note to your shopping list. Plan B.

—-

You wake up alone in a dark room. The first thing you see is your bedside alarm clock, red blinking numbers telling you it’s 3:12 AM. Then, you hear a rustling in your living room.

You step out to investigate, bleary-eyed, to find Logan silhouetted in front of your liquor cabinet, bottle of amber liquid in hand. He raises the bottle and takes a swig.

Back to this-

"Go home, Logan.” You tell him, and he startles at your voice.

"Baby- I been havin’ bad dreams-” 

You cut him off. "I’ll call you a cab. You’re not staying here, trying to drink yourself to death on my sofa-”

"Sweetheart,” he cuts in, “You know it never sticks-“ 

He says it with a grin like it means nothing, and it’s mean. Makes your stomach flip.

This is the closest either of you had ever gotten to the depths of it all. You’d both been pretending for so long.

You leave the room.

A minute later, you’re back, and Logan has emptied the bottle.

"Get dressed.” You toss his shirt at him. It smacks him in the face and falls unceremoniously to the floor. “Cab’s on its way. You owe me for the whiskey.”

He nods. His movement is loose, and you can see the booze is finally affecting him. More than just making him gutsy, it’s making him sloppy. Every movement is sluggish as he redresses.

"You wanna know why?” He asks, and it comes out slurred.

You ignore him. “I’ll walk you down. Get home safe, okay?”

He nods again. Looks like he’s trying to put on a show to prove just how sincere he is.

You kick his shoes towards him, and help him with his jacket when he struggles.

A horn honks outside, and you both look to the window. When you turn your head back, though, he’s only inches away from you, whiskey-breath across your cheek, and a wearier frown than he’s ever let you see before.

"When I drink I don’t dream-,“ he tells you, “Claws don’t come out.”

Then he kisses you on the cheek, turns on his heel with an unsteady sway, and leaves your home.

You struggle for hours to fall back asleep, the bed suddenly much too big.

You ignore his calls for a week. They come through later and later. Nine PM, ten. Midnight. Two.

And then one night you get a text. 

He’s rarely one for texting, so to see the notification makes your heart speed up and your stomach flip.

DO NOT PICK UP - Attachment: 1 Video

With a single, hesitant tap, you open it.

You’re not sure what you expected. Something dramatic, maybe? Something miserable? You hope to god he’s not figured out some way to make himself an adamantium bullet. It’s a fear that’s bounced around in your head for a while now, but you’d never ask just in case he hasn’t thought of it yet himself.

Whatever it is, though, it has to be something that will make your heart ache and your head spin and–

It’s anticlimactic. Kind of.

It’s just a video of him, phone angled to show him in his steamed-up mirror.

There are dark shadows beneath his red-rimmed eyes, but besides that, he looks as perfect as ever. You can’t see below his hips, but you know Logan and you know he’s fully naked. His body hair is slick, his skin glowing from being freshly showered.

This fucking asshole knows exactly how to get you.

You hit play. 

At first, you can barely tell it’s a video. And then you see the way his arm is moving. He’s holding his phone with one hand, his other casually stroking himself just below the frame of the video.

“You gonna stop ignoring me?” he asks, his voice a throaty purr. “Quit playing games. Get your ass over here and let me take care of you.”

AND, you realize with a twinge, you text with him so rarely, you never turned off read receipts.

Three dots appear and you know that he knows you’ve seen it. 

A moment later, the text comes through.

“Ready for you, princess.”

God, if only it would take more than that.

As if overtaken by a horny ghost, you’re already slipping your panties off and putting on your favorite skirt. 

You’re at his house an hour later. 

You let him guide you. Taste you. Fuck you. Fight with you. 

You let him devour you, and let yourself fall in with him, in with the guilt and the anger and the hate and self-pity.

And fuck, it’s the love, too. It never went away.

[tgmsunmontue]

Saga of Solitude 13/21

Nepo!Baby Bradley and his life at USNA and afterwards. DADT fully in force. IceMav AU. (Begun prior to 'It's not who you know' - the non-angsty version). (Side Hangster, which is ALSO angsty).

PROLOGUE (He remembers)

HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

ONE (2000) TWO (2001) THREE (2002) FOUR (2003) FIVE (2004) SIX (2005) SEVEN (2006) EIGHT (2007) NINE (2008) TEN (2009) ELEVEN (2010) TWELVE (2011)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN – 2012

                They’ve decided to forgo their rings outside of the house. They live in a little pottery dish that Petra made beside a larger one that Tamsin had made several years early, likely in the same class. It’s a new habit, keys go in the large bowl and the ring goes on his finger when he gets home and he remembers Mav sliding it onto his finger during their wedding ceremony every time. And when he leaves the house it works in reverse, he takes the ring off and picks up his keys.

                They’d had a quiet courtroom ceremony, just the seven of them. When he’d checked his paperwork to see what needed updating he hadn’t needed to update next of kin, Maverick has been listed there for years alongside Sarah, and nothing there is going to change. He does fill in the forms for change of marital status, and he holds onto them for weeks afterwards, hands shaking at the thought of handing them in and everyone knowing. It takes him a couple more days but then he’s standing in the doorway of his office looking at Aubrey fastidiously working on something, muttering under her breath and she’s been with him for five years now, nearly six, and he knows he can trust her.

                “Aubrey… I need to ask you opinion on something.”

                “Sir?”

                “I have filled these in and should submit them to the administration office. However…” he swallows roughly and hands the forms over to her silently. She accepts them, eyes flicking over them quickly.

                “Well sir, I’m a little hurt I wasn’t invited –”

                “Ah –”

                “I’m joking sir. Now. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, however I came from the administration office and still have the same level of access. I can update the information and file these and no-one else will see it. Unless they go looking of course.”

                “Oh. You can do that?”

                “Of course sir. Leave them with me. And congratulations.”

                “Thank you Aubrey. For everything.”

…            …            …

                He doesn’t know what he expected to change with Ice and Mav getting married. They aren’t suddenly more affectionate with each other, Mav doesn’t move absolutely everything in, although there isn’t much left at his house anyway. He does note the appearance of the rings though, thinks it’s softly sweet that they wear them but the thought then turns sad when he realizes that they still feel like they cannot let the wider world know. That despite everything they’re still keeping it a secret. A part of him understands, to have something so big have to be a very well-guarded secret for over two decades.

                The extremes they both went to, to ensure that they weren’t found out. Marriages to women who fortunately knew and supported them and loved them and knowing that now, what his own parents must have known and done make him feel a little better about his own sexuality and journey. Knowing that they would have loved and supported him regardless. That Tamsin and Petra are here in the world because they added a legitimacy to Ice’s marriage, even though he knows both Ice and Sarah wanted kids and figured out the best way that could work for them. He looks at them all, Sarah and Melissa, Ica and Mav, their relationships with each other well over two decades and he doesn’t know the nitty-gritty of how they got together. Definitely isn’t going to ask, Mav tends toward over sharing and there are things he doesn’t need demystified.

                That said he does wonder how he’s going to maybe manage a relationship. If he even wants one. He didn’t before. Had very firmly put it away as something he couldn’t have, not alongside having the career he has wanted for as long as he can remember. But now… fucking Seresin putting the idea in his head has got him thinking and maybe it’s something he could try. If he could find a guy to try it with. He doesn’t want it to be someone who is also in the service, that seems like a recipe for trouble. There are dating apps and clubs but he already uses those to hook up, case in point, Jake Seresin.

                He does have people he can ask though; Chris and Pat. Nat’s cousin and his husband. They’re his age, well, a little older but not as old as Mav and Ice. More importantly they’re not in the military and probably know guys who are looking for… not just sex. Dating. He remembers them sending guys over and everything he learnt and now fondly remembers. Despite Christopher being Nat’s cousin he does count them as friends and so he finds himself reaching out, asking if he could maybe come and visit.

                Of course there’s an open invitation and he finds himself there mid-week, not really wanting to give up his weekend time with Tamsin and Petra, even as they have busier social lives he still tries to shoehorn as much time with them as they’ll let him. He knocks on the door to Christopher and Patrick’s apartment, a different one from over eight years ago, but he has been here before a couple of years ago when he visited with Natasha.

                “Bradley! Look at you. While I might not be a fan of the military I cannot argue with the output …”

                Bradley grins, well used to Christopher’s flirty banter now after years of it, accepts the hug and kiss to the cheek and toes off his shoes and places them on the rack.

                “Hey Christopher, nice to see you too. Thanks again for letting me come and stay.”

                “You’re always welcome, you know that. Come on in, make yourself at home. You know where everything is right?”

                “Yeah, assuming you haven’t done any major home renovations.”

                “No, we have not. You want a drink?”

                “Yeah, coffee would be good, but only if you’re making one yourself.”

                “I’m making myself a cocktail. Want one of those instead?”

                “Sure. Why not?” Bradley decides, because this conversation will probably go easier with a slightly looser tongue. He drops his bag in the guest room and heads back to the kitchen to find Christopher making coffee but also pouring vodka into a cocktail shaker along with a healthy amount of ice cubes.

                “Alcohol and caffeine. So we can make bad decisions wide awake!”

                “Well, I was actually after some life advice but sure, let’s start with bad decisions.”

                “Life advice? From moi?”

                “Yeah, you and Patrick. You two have your shit together.”

                Christopher’s gaze goes sharp.

                “Oh honey, I thought you were here for a booty call…”

                “And you still let me invite myself?” Bradley asks, half-joking but also a little horrified that Christopher would think him that rude. Although coming to visit just so he can ask advice probably isn’t the best look either.

                “I’m sorry, have you seen yourself. I’m married, not dead. And I didn’t mean a booty call with me and Patrick…”

                Bradley startles a little, feels the heat in his cheeks, hot and immediate because he let himself be startled; caught off guard. Because he had imagined that when he was younger, the idea of somehow being with both of them. However he’d never pursued it or shown any interest, because he’s good at hiding all that, he hasn’t managed a decade in the Navy under DADT by having his every want and desire clearly on display in his face and body. It’s not really happened before. He might need to unlearn some things.

                “I was joking but… interesting.”

                He tries to ignore his embarrassment as Christopher makes the cocktails, his gaze flicking back to Bradley every so often. Then he’s sliding over a glass filled with a dark concoction that does indeed smell very strongly of both coffee and alcohol. He takes a sip and coughs.

                “Shit that’s strong…”

                “Hmm. Bottoms up!” Christopher says, eyes wicked and Bradley coughs again, shooting Christopher a look because yes, he did get the fucking innuendo.

                “Babe! I’m home!”

                “In the kitchen!”

                He watches as Patrick gives Christopher a kiss hello and he’s struck with a sudden memory of his parents, bright laughter and easy affection. Huh.

                “Hey Bradley, nice to see you again…” Patrick says, reaching out to shake his hand and Bradley accepts the handshake, ignores Christopher’s eyeroll.

                “Hey Patrick, nice to see you too.”

…            …            …

                He’s not sure quite how it happens, other than apparently couples seem to be able to hold entire conversations silently with their eyes. He lies there, feeling wrung out but a growing sense of unease growing in his gut that he’s just slept with a married couple. His first threesome and god, Natasha can never know.

                “Well I sure as hell won’t be telling her,” Christopher says, and Bradley realizes he must have said something out loud.

                “You’re over thinking this. You’re not going to ruin our marriage by being in our bed.”

                “We’ve done this before,” Christopher adds and Patrick groans and Bradley bites his lip in amusement, because they’re still them, even here. Even if he’s becoming increasingly aware of his nakedness and feeling less comfortable himself. He hasn’t unpacked, maybe he should just get up and leave. He shifts but Patrick is there, hand pressing him back down.

                “Uh uh uh… you aren’t running away. No sneaking out. There isn’t anything to be ashamed of. You came here to talk, and now we’ll talk. And we’ll all put some clothes on. Go have a shower in the guest bathroom and we can sit on the sofa and hear your troubles…”

                Bradley wonders if making a quip about not minding either of them without their clothes on would be in appropriate or not and decides to keep his mouth shut. Clothes will help.

…            …            …

                “So… help us understand what you want.”

                “I don’t know what I want, that’s a whole part of the problem.”

                “Well, what do you not want?” Patrick asks and Bradley scrubs at his face.

                “I’m kind of over meaningless hookups.”

                “Oops?” Christopher offers and he and Patrick both snort.

                “So you want a relationship,” Patrick states and Bradley pulls a face.

                “I guess?”

                “Wow, ringing endorsement for relationships everywhere.”

                “Christopher stop being so bitchy, it isn’t helping.”

                “I… under don’t ask don’t tell I knew I couldn’t pursue a relationship. Not and have a career in the Navy.”

                “So you’ve never…”

                “I’ve never even gone on a date,” Bradley offers. “I don’t know if I’d be any good in a relationship. It seems like hard work.”

                “And you’re definitely a stranger to hard work, what with going through the academy and then flight school being so easy and all.”

                “Still bitchy, but he has a point. If you care about it, you put in the work.”

                Bradley groan, because the advice is reminiscent of what Ice had said,

                “Another silver lining from having sex with you, gives us a better idea of what you might like. Make sure you’d at least be sexually compatible.”

                Bradley shrugs, because he’s never put that much thought into it, other than always wanting to ensure the other person wanted to be there and enjoyed themselves.

                “You ever thought about entering the scene?”

                “The scene?”

                “Oh honey…”

                That devolves into a whole other conversation and Bradley feels overwhelmed with information, glad that Patrick stops Christopher from going and getting their toys. Instead Patrick says he’ll send him some websites to read through, once he’s had time to process and consider it. He can’t imagine doing anything like that with someone he doesn’t already know really well, but there is also a definite interest in exploring and learning about it all.

                He ends up talking about Jake, although he doesn’t mention his name. Just that the three nights and two days with Jake are pretty much the closest thing he’s ever had to dates, if they can even be called dates when it was simply filling time between rounds of sex. Annoyingly both Patrick and Christopher seem skeptical, like he should maybe consider pursuing something there and he shakes his head, insists he doesn’t want someone also in the service. Doesn’t mention how badly he feels that he’s likely burnt any and every bridge back to Jake. He’s not an option.

                “You want training wheels.”

                “What?”

                “Like a trial run. A relationship with training wheels. Someone to practice with that lets you try it out but not something too serious. A guy that’s low maintenance.”

                “That rules out over half your single friends,” Patrick says dryly. “They’re single for good reasons…” he says to Bradley, making his eyes wide to drive the point home and Bradley’s glad that he’s there. He’s calmer and more sensible than Christopher. Between them though he’s hoping they might have someone.

                “What about Mike?”

                “Bradley sees enough warzones, let’s save him from that one…”

                “Fine. Andrew?”

                “Andy or Drew?”

                “Andy. Drew is back together with his ex. Again.”

                “Ugh. Andy would be okay I guess. Maybe too much drama though? Drew would have been better.”

                Bradley feels like he very much does not need to be here for the conversation they’re having. They go through several more names, one or both of them shaking their heads and he’s glad they’re being so picky and discerning on his behalf, but he is becoming more and more terrified of ever entering the dating scene on his own. It sounds like a minefield.

                “What about Callum?”

                “Oh. Hmm. Not a bad idea. And he’s actually local to you, having just moved there… he’d probably appreciate the introduction as well. He’s… yeah. Actually that might be the best one.”

                “He’s a bit of a workaholic, which is why he’s single. But…”

                “I’m not around for months at a time…”

                “Yeah. Worth a shot right? At least a date or two?”

                “Yeah, got nothing to lose right?”

                “Just your first date virginity!”

        ��       “Yeah, okay, thanks for that Christopher…”

…            …            …

                Neither he nor Ice are prepared for the arrival of the boyfriends.

                Plural.

                He doesn’t know if Tamsin and Bradley colluded to deal out the trauma simultaneously but it throws him and Ice both into an emotional tailspin. He knows Bradley is twenty-nine, likely has plenty of sexual experience given his little fieldtrips to New York and San Fransisco that he probably thinks he and Ice are blissfully ignorant of. Hell. He was young once. Tamsin though? She’s only fifteen no matter how much she argues that she’s turning sixteen soon.

                Tamsin’s boyfriend is a sixteen-year-old kid that neither he nor Ice like, although Bradley tells them they’re being too harsh. Pete knows what he was like as a teenager, and what Bradley was like, and quite frankly he’s glad that both his daughters know how to defend themselves, even if Petra tends to the slightly more violent side of things.

                Pete isn’t quite sure what to make of Bradley’s boyfriend. He’s nice enough, clearly cares for him, but also doesn’t seem to have the deep-rooted desire or passion that he’d hoped Bradley would find. It’s fine, it’s Bradley’s first boyfriend and Callum is smart and attentive but also doesn’t seem to get Bradley. Their interactions are friendly and easy, but that’s it he realizes. They act more like friends than anything else, careful distance always maintained and he wonders if Bradley is simply not into public displays of affection.

                Then he watches more, sees how Bradley hugs both him and Ice, how he’s hugging Tamsin and Petra, pressing kisses to the tops of their heads when he can get away with it. He reminds Pete so much of Goose in those moments and he wonders what is stopping him showing the same with Callum. Callum who Bradley won’t even invite to the house for family dinner. They go out to restaurants, although he does know that Callum stays over at Bradley’s place, and he won’t be making that mistake again in a hurry. Or ever again if he can help it.

                Fortunately, Petra seems to think that boys are disgusting, Pete hopes that she never changes her mind.

[strandnreyes]

(hi hello this is maddie <3) Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

hi!! thanks maddie <3

your first string

TK knows this season is going to be different from the minute he steps onto the court the first day of practice; he can feel the buzz in the air of the Moody Center as the team warms up.

Most obviously, they’re all hungry for a title after being knocked out of the Elite Eight last season, not that TK was around to witness it. But he was there for the buzzer beater that lost them the championship game the year prior, and that’s reason enough for him to crave redemption.

The other main factors responsible for filling the room with energy are the new additions to their roster. Primarily, Carlos Reyes.

TK hasn’t been able to go anywhere this semester without hearing about how Carlos transferred schools after a family emergency to be closer to home, or even more so, seeing him around campus—the library, TK’s favorite coffee shop, his 8 am class every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Carlos is inescapable.

come what may, I’ll still stay

Nearly one year into their marriage and TK finds that life looks a little different these days with Carlos working as a detective. He knows change happens, but when the missed dinners start to pile up and the change begins to feel like too much change, TK struggles with how to remind Carlos that life exists beyond his badge.

wherever you stray, I follow series (cheating a little)

the vampire universe

sacred new beginnings

After five years of marriage, TK and Carlos have been through a lot together, but change is never something that stays away for too long. As they approach a new phase of their lives—searching for a new home—they continue to navigate many other changing aspects of their relationship—family drama, work dynamics, sex, and discussions of their future.

With each twist and turn, they work through it as they always do. Together.

Or, the marriage fic.

to live for the hope of it all

“We were between Honduras and the tip of Mexico when we went down.” He draws an X in the dirt. The area of the ocean that Carlos gestures to with his stick seems so miniscule, but TK knows it’s likely thousands of square miles. “We may have gotten slightly off course when we lost control, but yeah,” he slides his foot over the picture, effectively wiping it away. “It’s a start.”

His eyes are stormy and his brow is furrowed. TK wants to smooth it out with his thumb, he wants to wash the dirt off his neck and ask him why he looks like he’s holding the weight of the world on his shoulders, but all he can do is nod and hope the rescue team can find them as easily as the map made it seem.

[feederheart]

The Five Stages of Weight Gain,

CW: weight gain, feederism, some humiliation.

Denial

Jen couldn’t believe it; 200lbs! Jen’s wide brown eyes looked down at the bathroom scale in total disbelief. She brushed her braids out of her face and looked again just in case she read the numbers wrong. She did not; as a matter of fact, the scale finally settled on 201.5 after a few more seconds. After starting her new desk job, she hardly had any time to maintain her usual regular workouts and found herself chained to her desk for most of the day. She knew that maintaining her toned body was going to be difficult but not this difficult. She tried to find time for a run here and there but work was so exhausting that she could hardly find it. She knew that her new method of coping with the heavy workload, eating copious amounts of delicious snacks as she typed away, would ruin all of the hard work she had put into maintaining her figure but she just couldn’t help herself. She also knew that she could just lose the weight if things got out of hand.

That was it, she was going to go on a diet. No more sugary bullcrap, no more fatty garbage, only real, lean, green, and high protein dishes for her. Even if her coworker offers her snacks, the one that keeps offering her pastries and treats every now and then, she would say no. She was still the athletic beach babe that she worked so hard to be, she just had to drop a few pounds.

Anger.

250lbs. 250lbs. TWO-HUNDRED-FIFTY…

Jen still couldn’t believe it. She started a diet after hitting 200 lbs six months ago and not only has it failed but she actually GAINED fifty pounds! She was getting fatter and fatter and it seemed as if there was nothing she could do about it. Her breasts and belly were starting to get in the way of the scale’s numbers; she had to lean forward just to see the nail polish on her toes. Her arms and legs had completely lost all muscle definition, making it impossible to tell that she was once a soccer player and cheerleader just a year ago in college. She was now covered in a thick and jiggly layer of fat. Each of her butt cheeks touched the armrests of her chair now and her thighs rubbed together when she walked, ruining her favorite pair of daisy dukes. Climbing up to her fourth-floor apartment was now far more difficult than it had ever been; she was always out of breath by the time she climbed the last of the stairs. Her runs became more infrequent and much shorter thanks to how poor her fitness has become.

It did not matter what she tried, she just couldn’t help but pack on the pounds. Food was the only thing that helped with her stress; she had been sneaking a few too many cheat days in the name of relieving her stress and treating herself for working so hard. Why couldn’t her body just stay the same way, she wondered. Why did the food in her new city have to be so good? Why does working out have to be so hard? Why did that guy at work keep bringing her donuts nearly every day? It was all so infuriating.

Bargaining.

It was seriously time for Jen to try something new. She was nearing 300 lbs and for the third time, in need of a whole new wardrobe. Her belly could not be contained by any of her pants, shorts, or skirts; it hung over the waistband of all of her bottoms. The only shirt that still fit her was her tube top, leaving her entire soft, stretchmark-covered belly exposed for everyone to see. The only pants that she had that could fit over her fat, celulite-covered thighs was a large pair of sweatpants that she stole from an ex-boyfriend and even those were showing signs of being outgrown soon. Even her feet seemed to be getting fatter; the softness on top of her feet dug into the straps of her favorite flip-flops and her favorite high-heels she sometimes wore to work. Her face was swelling up with fat too; she had accumulated an extra chin and her cheeks were rounder than ever, almost like a hamster’s. Her shiny black hair still shone in the bathroom light; the one part of her that couldn’t get fatter.

Jen contemplated what to do but she was out of ideas. She tried to get on Ozempic but her health insurance providers were playing games with her. She tried intermittent fasting and getting used to not eating, but when she tried, she lost control and ate double her usual caloric intake for dinner because she was so hungry. She tried cooking her own food and starting a mediterranean diet but that didn’t seems to work either; perhaps it was because she would always douse her food with too much cheese and olive oil. Regardless, she desperately needed to find something because she was getting fatter fast and couldn’t figure out how to lose the weight. Maybe she should ask the donut guy at the office to bring fresh fruit instead.

Depression.

Well, it was offical, Jen was a fatty. At 360lbs, she was now a waddling bloated blimp of a woman. She needed to use a hand-mirror to read the scale because her belly and breasts were just too big. She only had three sets of clothes that fit her, all purchased in the last month and all slowly getting tighter with each passing day; a blouse and pencil skirt for work, a casual t-shirt and pair of shorts for errands, and a large nightdress that looked more like a tent. She spent her days working away and eating whatever she could get access to, having given up on her diet completely. She was easily the fattest girl at the office, especially now that Donna, who was 400 lbs with an even bigger belly, moved on to a different job. She felt everyone’s eyes as she waddled down the hallways. Her massive belly turned heads in cubicles, paused conversations, and even became the subject of gossip around the office. She saw one coworker looking at an older picture of her on the wall, one where her face was still thin, and did a double take as she walked by her. Her ass and hips have knocked over office supplies and framed photographs several times much to her embarrassment. A coworker once declined to step in the elevator with her despite the fact that Jen was the only other person on it. Jen even saw some pictures from her competition days and wanted to cry.

Fortunately, her luck began to turn. No, she didn’t lose any weight, she actually got a promotion that enabled her to work from home. No more walking up and down the stairs every day, no more walking to the train station, no more walking through the city, and no more being humiliated at work for her blimp of a body. All she had to do was sit on her gargantuan ass at home where she had access to all of the snacks she wanted. A welcome change, now she did not have to deal with the judgment of her coworkers. Shortly after this change in her life, she found herself sitting on her couch craving donuts. Perhaps she should give the donut guy at work a call, he was the only one who still treated her the same and did not make snide remarks regardless of how much she weighed.

Acceptance

A year and over a hundred pounds later, Jen was living the life. Her belly, now spread out all over her fat juicy thighs, served as a table as she happy scarfed down a dozen donuts. Her fat arms jiggled and swayed each time she grabbed one and put it to her fat, greedy mouth. Her fat, heavy legs were kicked up onto the coffee table and spread open so that her portable fan could blow underneath of her belly and right at her hot and sweaty crotch. She remained still so that the couch supporting her massive ass did not creak and groan so much, threatening to break right underneath of her. Her laptop was on the desk beside her, sitting dormant until she has another task to complete for work. Working at home has been great for her; now that she did not have to deal with her judgemental coworkers, her stress levels have gone way down and she found herself enjoying it a lot more. She was now able to do her work as well as relax and eat all day.

Jen was fat and there was nothing she could do about it nor did she want to; her cravings were just too strong. Even though she had received her less stressful promotion, it was too late to change, her fat and growing body now craved fatty sugary treats more than ever. Her appetite could only be sated by constant snacking, which she was more than happy to do as she typed away. She knew she would never get her toned body back but she stopped caring months ago. She was happy with her donuts and pastries.

Speaking of, she received a text from her boyfriend, the same guy from the office; he had just finished making an entire cheesecake and he was walking up the stairs now. Her overfed stomach, still ful of donuts, growled at the thought of the thick, decadent, creaminess of the cheesecake and her mouth salivated hungrily. She got up, still naked, and waddled over to the door, her belly swinging back and forth and her ass shaking up and down with each step. She didn’t need to lose weight, she didn’t need her toned body back, and she didn’t need to play sports ever again; she just needed that cheesecake.

[mxtxfanatic]

"Shen Qingqiu doesn't actually like Luo Binghe, at least not until the end (if even). There's just no proof that—"

Shen Qingqiu's reaction to Liu Qingge—his beloved shidi who half of the fandom has convinced itself is in love with him—being aphrodisiaced:

Liu Qingge’s handsome face was splotched with red and white; it seemed like he’d been worked up into true distress, but he had no idea what to do with it. He clung helplessly to Shen Qingqiu, simply unwilling to let go. At the sight of him being so pitiful, Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but think of how Bai Zhan Peak was a gang of thugs who knew only violence, and about how everyone there was obsessed with cultivating and fighting. Perhaps Liu Qingge, who’d grown up with such traditions, really was mentally deficient with regard to this sort of thing and didn’t even know how to jerk off. A deep pang of sympathy struck him. ... He kicked Liu Qingge into Madam Meiyin’s rose petal-filled bathing pool. Water splashed nearly six feet up. Even though Shen Qingqiu had the foresight to cover his face with his fan, icy coldness managed to splash all over his head. A soak at this temperature would assuredly cure Liu Qingge.

—Vol. 4, Chapt. 23: Recalling an Experience of Fighting Succubi with Great Master Liu, 7seas

vs. Shen Qingqiu's reaction to finding out that Luo Binghe actually liked him and had for a long time:

Shen Qingqiu was filled with both deep compassion as well as a feeling that this was extremely absurd. What could be more absurd than discovering that the person from whom you’d exhaustively plotted to flee, and had indeed fled from for so many years, hadn’t actually wanted to kill you at all, but wanted to do you instead? Though whether the desire was to kill or to fuck, the result was the same: Shen Qingqiu would still run away with all his might. One party wanted to meet but couldn’t, and so had clung to a corpse for five years. The other party avoided the first like the plague but still felt like he ran into him a great deal. Shen Qingqiu’s hands were stiff as he raised and lowered them, clenched them and relaxed. In the end, he let out a sigh anyway and patted that head above his. Fuck, I’ve really lost! he thought.

—Vol. 2, Chapt. 10: Huan Hua, 7seas

...or his reaction when an unconscious Luo Binghe pops a boner on him in the Holy Mausoleum:

After flailing about for a while, he slapped himself across the face and reasoned with himself logically: One couldn’t tell day from night in the Holy Mausoleum, so maybe it was morning outside right now? Therefore, this was a natural phenomenon, a normal bodily function. It would go away on its own, right? That was how it usually went, yes, that’s right! But just letting it sit there and not doing anything about it—wasn’t that a bit pitiful?! Well, there was nothing to be done about that. He couldn’t exactly help Luo Binghe jerk off under these circumstances, right?! If he just pretended he hadn’t seen anything, he would probably be forgiven—right?! Right! In the end, as a shizun, Shen Qingqiu had absolutely no duty to help his disciple simmer down, even if he’d started the fire in the first place!

—Vol. 3, Chapt. 16: Melting Ice

On the one hand, Shen Qingqiu decisively kicks Liu Qingge into a freezing pond to deal with the effects of the aphrodisiac. On the other, he hems and haws about how he should react to any of Luo Binghe's come ons, be they intentional or unintentional. If you needed another example: Shen Qingqiu has completely different reactions to being propositioned for sex when he thinks it's his Luo Binghe asking vs. when he finds out it's Bing-ge. That man loves his husband and his husband alone!

[tame-the-lion-writes]

[arthur morgan] the stories stars tell

This is reposted from my AO3!

Every night, Arthur Morgan is visited by a face that slips from his grasp the moment he wakes up. And then, one fateful evening, he finds himself meeting a stranger at the saloon, whose presence feels like the nostalgia of a storybook.

tags: modern au, reincarnation

Illusory.

A girl from a daydream, caught in a nightmare. A breath of fresh air in the fields of the Heartlands, a flame purer than any fuel from the grounds. And as far as Arthur was concerned – imaginary.

“... Damnit.”

It’s a soft whisper of pain as she passes through his fingers again, features blurring until he can see her no more in the dark of closed eyes. He then passes into consciousness, morning sun streaming through the window, dust floating about as though remnants of the woman left behind. In the dry air, there lingers the scent of flowers – those his dream-self had crushed nervously in all-too-rough hands, tentative in pining approach.

He runs those rough hands over his face now, feeling the leathery skin and clearing the sleep from his eyes.

The alarm hasn’t sounded, but he sheds the cotton sheets from his body, swinging ever-sore legs over the edge of the bed. Calloused fingers mess aimlessly with the phone charging nearby before they finally manage to make their way to the clock app – shitty technology, no? – and switch off the bell before it can ring. There was only five minutes left, anyway.

But he couldn’t wait to go back to sleep.

** * **

Wake up. Work. Sketch. Drink. Such had been Arthur’s routine for nearly ten months, yet beneath it all, was a longing that stretched beyond years. Tangible years, even.

Every ride into town, every race on his steed was a moment of deja vu. Perhaps that could be chalked up to Valentine simply being his hometown – he’d never left the place as far as he knew – but there was something else that kept him tied to the place. Something that often made him doze off with eyes wide open, as though something was falling into place while falling apart. Something about second chances. 

Some days, he’d walk into the saloon like he did now and wonder why he felt so empty in the only place that made him whole.

After taking off his hat, shrugging off his leather jacket, and hanging both on the coatrack by the bar’s front door, Arthur Morgan let a heavy sigh run through him. God, after the shitshow that was today’s work — a bull breaking down the fence, and a lamb that passed — he was in desperate need of a drink. “A whiskey, will ya?” he hummed, sliding a bill over the countertop. He then paused before adding another. “You know what? Make that two.”

– “Two off the bat?”

The young woman – you – who just happened to be sitting a seat over, a beer to her lips. speaks up.

– “Bad day, huh?”

Arthur glances over his shoulder with a raised brow. Unfamiliar face, unfamiliar smile – and yet, something so oddly comfortable about her presence, as if she had been there the whole time.

“You could say that,” he replied gruffly, accepting the two whiskeys from the bartender with a brief nod of thanks. He downs the first shot in one go, hissing slightly at the burn, before continuing– “Bull broke outta the fence, one of the lambs took a turn. Just… nothin’ going right today.”

“Ah,” she exhales, followed by a slight frown. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

He nods once, then takes the second shot slower. And orders a third. “Ain’t seen you around here before. You just passin’ through?”

“Mm. Came from the city," she confesses with a small smile, turning slightly to face him in. "And yeah-- just passing through. Roadtrip through the states. Had to get away from civilization.”

"City folk, huh?" Arthur says with a wry smile. He shakes his head knowingly. "Can't say I blame you for wantin' to get away. Must get awful cramped in those big places. Well, welcome to Valentine. Cozy little spot, but I reckon it's a sight better than the city."  It’s then that he extends a hand in greeting. "Name's Arthur. Arthur Morgan. Been here most of my life, so if you need any pointers on the area or get yourself in a spot of trouble, you let me know. Where you headin’ next?”

"You seem nice enough. Might take you up on that offer," she laughs, though it’s clear she doesn’t expect much surprise on her trip. “I’m going south to Lemoyne. Rhodes. I like the weather here so far, though. All nice and open -- but if I'm honest, I bet the view was better a hundred years ago. Must've been nicer without all the noisy cars, and all the people."

She pauses for a moment, lowering her beer.

“I mean, not that I hate people. But I dunno. The world feels so claustrophobic these days, not just the city. A part of me longs for the wild, but maybe that's just the silly ideals of a city slicker."

Arthur raises his brow thoughtfully at her words. She spoke with a wistfulness, a longing for a simpler time, that resonated deep within him in a way he couldn't explain. 

"The wild, huh? Can't say I blame you for feelin' that way," he replies, taking his third shot as he gazes out the window into the fading light of dusk. "World's changin' fast these days. Gets louder and more crowded every year. Sometimes I think about saddlin' up my horse and just ridin' out into the open country, leavin' it all behind. Find a bit of peace… Maybe a hundred years ago is when I'da liked to been alive too. Less rules, less noise. A man could still live free." 

Draining the last of his whiskey, he sets the glass down and meets her curious gaze. "Hey– you ever ride before? I got an extra horse if you wanna see the countryside before headin' south."

At that, the woman nearly snorts on her next sip of beer.

"Oh, god, no-- I haven't been on a horse since I was a kid. God knows I'd get reared off or something."

Arthur chuckles at her response. "Well then, consider this your chance to relearn. I won't let nothin' happen to ya, promise. It'll do you some good to get outta the city mindset. And my horse Freckles’ as gentle as they come. Perfect for gettin' your feet wet again." 

Sliding off his barstool, Arthur tips his hat politely.

"What do you say, miss? Fancy a ride through the countryside before dark? I'll even buy you another beer after, if you don't get yourself thrown." 

“Before I say yes to such a charming, mysterious cowboy-- promise not to kidnap me or something?"

“Promise.”

** * **

"Easy boy," Arthur soothes, running a hand along the stallion’s neck before turning to you. "Now just put your foot here, and swing your leg over. I'll be right behind ya."

Once you’re settled in the saddle, Arthur mounts up behind you, taking the reins in hand. 

"Alright, you're all set. Just relax and go with his gait. I won't let anything happen."

With a soft click of his tongue, Arthur nudges Freckles – aptly named due to his speckled brown coat – into an easy walk, guiding them down the dusty main street as the last glow of sunset paints the sky.

"What do you think so far? Feeling any braver about horses yet?"

"I'm certainly more comfortable with such a sturdy backrest," you huff gently, hands grasping the horn – though you’re sure the only reason you’re not falling off is because he’s there to lean into. To think you were just talking back at the saloon, and now out here and alone. But there’s no hesitance to this quiet intimacy, riding out beneath the sky. He felt familiar back at the bar. He feels familiar now.

Back to his chest and shoulders rising and falling in unison.

“Obliged,” he replies, a chuckle evident from the rumble against your back. "We’ll be headin’ over to Horseshoe Overlook. Just a little ways outta town – got the finest view, both day and night.”

He guides Freckles into a leisurely amble, taking the long way around town so his new companion can soak in the sights and sounds of rural life. Lamplight glows warmly beyond glass windows as the sky deepens to indigo overhead.

"Pretty little place, ain't it?" Arthur asks softly. "Not as flashy as the city, but it suits me just fine."

You take a deep breath, letting the cool air seep into your bones.

"The less flashy, the better. I've always liked places where you could see the sky. No telephone wires or skyscrapers. Just me and the big blue. Feels right that way."

"The city folks, they never seem to look up," Arthur muses softly. "Most city folk, that is – no offense. Too busy rushin' around, missin' all the simple beauty right above their heads. Out here, that's all a body needs to feel at peace." 

"Ha-- none taken. When I was younger, my parents had a playground in the backyard. Used to climb up there nearly every night just to watch the sunset above all the houses, all by my lonesome. That was until a buncha black widows took over the playground, and I couldn't go up anymore without fear of getting bit. Ever since, I’ve also been too busy to look up. Forget to in the hustle and bustle of things."

Arthur chuckles at your story, guiding Freckles to where buildings fade into forested countryside. 

"Black widows, huh? Nasty critters, those ones. Can't say I blame you for wantin' to keep away." 

Freckles follows a dirt path down a grassy slope, and Arthur reins the horse to a halt near a wide, slow-moving stream. Fireflies dance over the glassy water like floating lights as crickets and frogs serenade the deepening night.  Dismounting, returns to help you down, hands lingering a moment on your waist before dropping away.

"Reckon this is as good a spot as any to take in the sky. Not a building or soul in sight. Care to join me for a spell?”

At his question, you smirk. “Can’t exactly say no and go on running or riding back to town now, can I?”

Arthur just shakes his head with a grin and crouches down, patting the grass next to him. “Suppose not, miss.”

Soon, you’re settled next to him, having folded your arms across your knees to keep warm. Your eyes go soft at the sight of fireflies, and you fall even quieter as they dance around your hands. The city was never… well, if you thought about it proper–

"You know... this is the first time I've seen fireflies,” you whisper. “Too sensitive to pollution that, hell, even on all my previous roadtrips, I've never seen them."

Arthur smiles in sympathy as he watches the fireflies flitting about. "Ain't they somethin' special?"

Silence falls as you two soak in the darkening sky, and the stars that both rise from the earth and shine from above. Arthur leans back on one elbow, gazing up at the inky sky – and you do the same. So many lights – each its own tiny world, just as alone yet together in the empty.

"You watched the sunset – I used to stargaze as a boy," Arthur says, breaking the silence. A gentle sigh escapes him. "Memorized so many constellations… Seems like a lifetime ago now. But sometimes I still like to find the patterns, let my mind wander free like it did back then. I– I know it’s an odd question to ask a practical stranger, but… what do you suppose those stars might say, if they could talk?"

You chuckle, looking over at him.

"Odd question indeed, but I’ll entertain it.”

With a scoot, you move closer as to further shelter against the cold.

“They'd probably tell a million stories of a million lives gone by. Could be dying or gone, as far as we know, but we still see the light. Proof that they ever existed."

“Must be nice tellin’ stories. Another silly thought: imagine becoming a star. You pass, then you fly on up there – tell stories about yourself, of everyone you ever knew. Everyone you ever loved.”

After a long time looking up at the stars, his blue eyes shift to look into yours, and he goes all quiet again.

“... You ever loved someone, Mister Morgan?”

Your unfamiliar face, unfamiliar smile – and yet, something so oddly comfortable. Like a girl from a daydream.

“Think I have. And I’m startin’ to.”

[fazcinatingblog]

Also when Sophia was telling really guy about the lightbulbs he needed to change and putting the bins out, I was behind sophia but really guy saw me laughing so he's like "Laura's laughing" shhhhhh quiet

[james-p-sullivan]

this is it, the panel that ruined my life

[faunina]

happy TWO YEAR anniversary to everyone who attended the destiel wedding!

and happy valentines day to the rest of you guys <3 click the image for a surprise!

if you’ve ever seen that one post (i’ll link it in the replies) about the parallels between the rodeo scene in 12x11 and the movie “urban cowboy” and it entirely broke your brain, then this post is for you. and also i’m kissing you on the mouth

[ID. Digital art of Dean Winchester done in black and white. He’s is laid back on top of an electric bull. One hand rests on his hip while the other hovers in mid-air, fingers slightly curled, and he seems to be looking at it. When clicked, the transparency shows Castiel standing behind him. Castiel is holding Dean’s hand to his lips, while his other hand supports the back of Dean’s head. Castiel has a visible halo and wings that he has curled protectively around Dean. End ID.]

[kenobihater]

it's crazy how a bad situation (health issues and poor medical care) can be exacerbated by mental illness. like, i was entirely convinced i had some sort of degenerative neurological condition due to my worsening twitches, pain, mental decline, and the lack of answers or treatment plan from my gp. it's not off the table, but i didn't really need to spend a solid month and a half wholly convinced i'd be dead within the year bc my new gp took one look at my vitamin levels and was like "why the hell did they stop b12 injections when you're still this low???", scheduled me for multiple injections and physical therapy, and actually listened to me and put my mind at ease. i am truly unwell physically, but my mental illness latched onto that, catastrophized, and cemented my death as a fact, making me more depressed than I've been in years.

psa: if your gp isn't actually helping you and taking you seriously, just leave. find another doctor. i've had ONE visit with my new provider and he's already shown more concern for me than my old gp had in years. second opinions can literally change your whole outlook on life

[shima-draws]

Also it really sucks bc I want to draw but I CAN’T bc I’m in a lot of pain rn. Sitting here like

[void-sand-cat]

Screw continuing the timeline into the future or expanding on the start of the franchise, I want Steel Wool to elaborate on what happened between FNaF 1 & 3.

We have a 23 – 30 year gap where we have NO IDEA what happens. Fazbear still exists and is doing alright; Pizza Sim & everything after doesn't function without that being true, as Henry dissolves the company, but it was still profitable for someone to bring it back.

Serously, what was happening with Freddy's between 1993/1992 and 2015/2017/2023? (We don't even know how long the time period is. We have been given nothing)

SL might be in that time period, but it's not like we have any confirmation on that. And SL is the only thing we even have the possibility of existing.

I don't want anything big, just a line somewhere mentioning what the company is doing. Even something like "Fazbear started franchising in 20XX, and a few new locations opened up — most closed in a few years. Rarely you hear rumors of nightguards disappearing, but no one believes any of them"

Boom! Now we got SOMETHING. Nightguards kept dying, and Fazbear kept making enough money to exist, but not a whole lot. We even have a reason why Fazbear Fright opened — Fazbear Entertainment was trying to dispel rumors about the nightguard position being dangerous/exploit those rumors for money (and a reason for the FNaF 3 nightguard to be part of the attraction)

Optimally, we would get more than that — I know a lot of us would LOVE to know what Henry was up to in those 23 – 30 years, or even a mention of Mike's existence beyond 1 monolog — but anything is better than the complete silence we have now.

Please, Steelwool, although the beginning and the future of Freddy's are fascinating, there's a massive gap in the middle of the timeline that we know NOTHING about.

[kota-corner]

MARKIPLIER STARTED HIS INTO THE PIT PLAYTHROUGH I AM PUTTING MY LIFE ON HOLD TO WATCH THIS IMMEDIATELY

[pumpitupkitkat]

redraw of that one clickteam poster >:] , wowoah i should draw more

[lilbittymonster]

Mods are asleep post Kitstinien cringe