#love you too♡♡♡

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.” 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[zu-is-here]

“No one could persuade the vindictive smithing god Hephaestus to return to Olympus and free his mother Hera, who had once abandoned him as a child for his ugliness, from his trap throne; until Dionysus, the god of festivity and insanity, came and intoxicated him...”

Happy birthday, @egnidres! (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)✿

Horror from horrortalecomic by sourapplestudios

Murder by ask-dusttale

[syrupyuu]

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓(see first post!)

‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎[𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 — 𝐋𝐕𝐋.𝟑 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃]

— .𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘:

PROJECT: APEX | SUBJECT DOSSIER SUBJECT ID: K-154 CLASSIFICATION: Tier-2 Bioweapon Asset | Human Variant STATUS: Active CONTAINMENT UNIT: Sector 7C, Observation Room Theta-4 RESEARCHER ASSIGNED: ███████ (Lead Analyst – Cognitive Behavioral Branch)

— .𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:

AGE(apparent): Approx. 28 years SEX: Male HEIGHT: 6'10" (209 cm) WEIGHT: ~270–275 lbs (122–125 kg) EYE COLOR: Dark blue (residual pigmentation from pre-conversion state; mild iridescence under low light) HAIR COLOR: Ash grey (premature greying due to cumulative physiological stress and modification overload) SKIN TONE: Pale; residual discoloration on upper spine region. Cosmetic treatment protocols applied to suppress visible mutation traits

— .𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 (redacted for security)

FORMER IDENTITY: [REDACTED] MILITARY RANK: Specialist (Spec-Ops Tier Designate) CAPTURE/CONVERSION DATE: ██/██/2XXX

—Additional notes: Subject was selected from Project VALKYRIE's top operatives due to genetic compatibility and resilience profile. Underwent Phase I–IV of the APEX Program. Current version denotes highest stability score recorded.

«» .𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒*

"Subject previously demonstrated uncontrollable aggression toward early-cycle personnel, resulting in multiple fatalities prior to reassignment (see Incident 154-B7). Current compliant behavior is anomalously limited to presence of Lead Researcher, indicating a severe and possibly compensatory imprint. Loss of this bond may result in reversion—or worse. Proceed with caution."

— Observation Log #154-19A, compiled by Dr. H

"Despite apparent docility in preferred presence, underlying instability is evident. Risk of fixation breaching containment protocol is increasing. Recommend reevaluation of dependency thresholds and introduction of psychological dampening measures; caution implemented. Removal or reassignment of Lead Researcher may trigger extreme behavioral escalation."

— Behavioral Audit Report #154-21C, submitted by Supervision Unit Kappa-3

+bonus!

[sweetestflow3rs]

thank you for lending me your babies!!

ocs / pcs owned by: ( from top left to right ) @rosurie @smartytarty @ladyofalabyrinth @psychophanticpervert @thedolmainblog @xibaxiba @evilnightowl

[sodaneko]

i love being a fangirl like i can’t remember not being one and i just know i’ll turn 100 one day and still be a fangirl

[thebrainrotsreal]

IT’S DONE AT LAST! A real short excerpt from around chapter 115 ??? Literally one of my favorites lmao, so it deserved to come to life! Tweaked the dialogue a tad, so might be wonky! Tho, I got to draw my fav guy in the planet excessively so who’s rlly winning? :] Might do an alternate colored version sometimes soon! :3

close ups below because I can.

Can you tell who my favorite is? It’s rlly difficult.

[xxgoldie]

wine drunk so I'm thinking about stumbling home to lighter after drinking w friends and he's trying so hard to get you changed into pjs and your teeth brushed and into bed but it keeps getting derailed bc you can't stop talking abt how much you love him and kissing him all over his silly face

[wolfiesmoon]

Lockscreen background

Malleus x gn!reader

i seem to have a thing for characters who are clueless abt technology hahaha, this takes place before we actually find out his real name btw

(also i apologise if malleus is ooc in any way i'm still in the early books of the game😭)

"Hello." You heard a voice behind you as you exited the classroom. You turned around to find... uh, Hornton, was it? You still can't get over the stupid nickname that Grim picked, but he seems completely okay with you calling him that, so you keep doing it.

What could he possibly want with you?

"Uhh, hi...!" you greeted him back awkwardly.

"I have a somewhat trivial yet important matter I need help with." He opened and you tilted your head slightly. Now your interest is piqued.

"Let's go somewhere more... private." he suggested at your confused expression. You nodded slowly. Though this whole conversation is strange so far, he looks anything but malicious. And knowing him, he never is.

The two of you went to a more secluded part of the school and as soon as you got there, he pulled something out from his pocket, handing it to you. It looked to be a brand new phone.

"Could you help me with this object? I have no idea how to use it and you are the only one I can approach about this." he looked a little worried.

"Sure, what do you need help with?" you offered and his expression softened slightly.

"Turning it on, for starters."

A silence fills the room.

"Ahahahaha, oh jeez... I'm- I'm sorry- hahahaha...!" You couldn't help but laugh. He didn't even know how to turn it on?

Needless to say, he was not amused by your laughter. "If you will laugh at me, I will not be needing your help anymore." He crossed his arms.

"No- No- I'm sorry, I really am." You had to hold back a few giggles. "I'll help- I'll help you, you just shocked me with how little you know about a.. p-phone." He suddenly seemed like a 90 year old grandpa who bought a phone to talk to his grandkids and didn't know the first thing about it. What a funny mental image.

"You're talking strangely." He commented, and you quickly turned the phone in his direction before he could question your attempts at stifling a laugh.

"Here, see this button? You press it and the phone turns on, like this." You demonstrated, and his face lit up.

"I see. But, the salesperson informed me that this phone is unlockable by something called 'Face ID' as well. Do you know what that is by any chance?" The genuine interest in his voice was actually kind of cute.

"Don't worry about all that. Actually, why are you buying a phone only now?" You thought it was strange. If he was this clueless about technology, why buy a modern cellphone all of a sudden?

"During class, some of my classmates were discussing about these so called phones. They talked about something called a 'magicam'. And I... became curious." the little pause at the third sentence made you think that might just not be the full truth. But you have no reason to be suspicious or question him on it, so you just told yourself to forget about it.

"Magicam might be a little too... advanced for you right now. Here, let's start by exchanging contacts." You showed him the 'contacts' app, opening it and inputting your number and your name.

You handed the phone back to him. "Here, now press this green button on the bottom left and you'll call me." he did as you instructed and your phone started vibrating in your pocket. You pulled it out, answering the call.

"Hello!" you said cheerfully.

"I can... hear you twice. Is there magic imbued within a phone?" his eyes were widened slightly, even more so when he heard his own voice from your phone.

"You silly goose, we only hear eachother twice because we're standing right next to eachother. Stay here and place the phone next to your ear, okay?" you smiled at him, walking away.

"I am not silly and I am certainly not a goose. I thought it was obvious enough by taking once glance at me."

"It's not an insult, Hornton. It's like a silly little thing you say to someone when they say something, well, silly." you smile, now completely out of his line of sight and standing in a different room.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke again "I can still hear your voice."

"Yup, that's what a phone is, in essence. Nowadays we use it for a lot of things, but basically, you can call people on it and you'll hear their voice and talk to them, no matter how far away from you they are. Isn't that cool?"

"How very fascinating." you could hear his amusement through the phone.

"Oh, I just have one more thing to do! I'll come back in a moment!" you ended the call, running back to where you were before.

"I got suprised for a moment. The phone made a strange noise and I couldn't hear you anymore." he cleared his throat. He must have panicked a bit when you hung up. How cute. "Calling someone is definitely much more convenient than sending them a letter."

You just realised that he's probably been sending physical, handwritten letters to everyone up until this point which makes him even more charmingly old-timey in your eyes. How funny is that?

"Give the phone here for a moment." you requested and when he did so, you opened the camera app and turned it towards the two of you to take a selfie. You could see him inspect himself through the phone.

"I see, so it functions as a mirror, too. What a marvel."

"Well, do I have news for you. This is the camera app, and we're going to take a photo together. Now smile!" you nudged him slightly and he smiled very awkwardly and unnaturally. Oh well, you'll take it.

You snapped the photo, setting it as his lockscreen.

"Here, now you have a photo of me and you as your background!" he took the phone back, staring at your face on the screen.

"I actually have something I have to be doing right now, so I'll continue teaching you about phones later! Call me if you need anything! Oh, and I'll save your number too, don't worry!" You waved to him, running down the hallway.

"Goodbye." he said back, immediately looking back down at your picture with him. Your face is truly precious in it. He is very glad to be in possession of a photo of you.

He knew you were the right person to ask.

.

The reason he decided to buy a phone was that he felt sad because he couldn't talk to anyone without a disconnect. Ignoring the fact that most of his classmates are afraid of him, they wouldn't be able to find common ground in hobbies and conversation topics regardless.

So he thought that maybe he could start by getting a phone upon hearing students discuss phone cases and the like. Surely, understanding what the masses currently enjoy would make him more approachable.

He is eternally thankful to you for helping him out.

You're very welcoming to him and that makes him indescribably happy. One day he'll repay you with all the things you could ever want. He has the abilities to do that, after all.

Maybe he should give you something as a thank you next time you meet, actually. What did you say you enjoyed again?

That's what he thought about as he looked at his lockscreen on his bed that night. If only you saw the way he smiled at your photo.

[its-de]

The way he's lookinggg at herr

I feel like this is his thing, he always holds our hand close to his heart while gazing at us so lovingly 🫠❤️

[call-me-copycat]

Happy Pride Month! (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

Have fun! Be loud! Be weird! Don't let anyone say that you enjoying yourself is cringe or bad ദ്ദി˶ｰ̀֊ｰ́ )✧

[writeshite]

“Careful now.” Mr. Milchick cautioned, his left palm just beneath yours as he’d stopped you from nearly dropping the small, neatly wrapped box. He guided your left hand back to a level height, around ninety degrees at angle from elbow to hand. “We wouldn’t want to break that.” His right hand was set atop yours on the top side of the gift box.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Milchick,” you sighed in relief. “My apologies, my outie overexerted himself this past weekend.”

“Yeah, that’s called sex,” Dylan snarked, pointing to the hard to cover hickeys trailing to the back of your ear. You weren’t exactly eager to promote or detail your outie’s sex-life.

“It’s his outie’s wedding anniversary,” Mark rectified Dylan’s crass statement.

“I’m aware,” Mr. Milchick responded, “Five years, seven months, and twelve weeks.” His left hand softly traced your wedding ring. If you didn't know any better, you'd say his smile took a softer tone; the usual dead joy in his eyes looked almost enamored. “My congratulations to your outie. I imagine the annual exhaustion indicative of a successful and joyous marriage."

Dylan's yearly crude joke on the matter was cut short as Irving placed a hand on his mouth. "I believe so too," you beamed, "alongside the presents, of course." You nodded to the gift in your hands. "Thank you for hand-delivering this year's gift, and last year's, and the year before that. You really don't have to; I'm sure there are better things to do." You glanced down at the gift; his hands had yet to leave yours.

"Nonsense," he assured you, "It's no trouble at all." Mr. Milchick squeezed your hands and, with one final smile, left the space. Irving made a disgusted sound as Dylan licked his palm and darted into the supply closet for a tissue.

Dylan pursed his lips, glancing over at the door; once certain Mr. Milchick wasn't returning soon, he teased, “Get a room next time, will you?”

You rolled your eyes. "It's hardly sexual to talk to a coworker."

"It is when you and Milchick do it," Dylan pulled a face in good jest. "Tell him, Mark!" He attempted to corral Mark to his side, "The eyefucking is abysmally disgusting." He dramatically exclaimed.

"I mean," Mark pursed his lips momentarily, "I don't really see anything of the sort," his words caused disbelief to rise on Dylan's face. "Besides, isn't Milchick married?"

Both Dylan and you turn to each other, then Mark, before shrugging, uncertain as to the answer. "How can you be sure?" Dylan asked.

His question was met with no answer as Irving returned and sternly expressed Mr. Milchick's preference for privacy: "What extracurricular activities Mr. Milchick has have no bearing here; he hardly enjoys sharing facts about himself outside of work, we should respect that." Dylan pouted and directed a not-so-quiet 'party pooper' at Irving; the latter turned to you and smiled earnestly, "Besides, aren't you more excited to find what anniversary present our friend has this year?"

Dylan half-shrugged, and he and Mark turned their attention to the gift box as you tore away the purple wrapping. This year's gift was an appropriately and mildly decorated set of custom sticky notes. "Your outie's husband is quite thoughtful," Irving commented, glancing at the stickers. “He's a lucky man."

[positivelyadhd]

gentle reminder that I'd you're struggling with your mental health in any capacity, if you feel like you need help or want to talk to someone please do.

it does not matter if "other people have it worse" or you've been worse. If you feel like you need help, then you do.

You deserve to have someone that listens to that and takes you seriously. Your struggles do not change when compared to those of others. Someone being "worse" does not mean yours aren't valid.

Please remember that you never need to get worse to ask for help. If you need support, you deserve it, everyone does.

[ryllen]

Hello, Ryllen-san!! I'd like to apologize if someone has given you this ask previously...

Someone wrote an amazing TreyJade fic and dedicated it to you!!! I wanted you to know, just in case! <333

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64785091

On that note, I would like to thank you for singlehandedly carrying the EN side of the TreyJade fandom with your art... I might as well have been dehydrated from thirst without your creations... Thank you, and I hope you'll always have a nice day!!! <333

[Direct link to fic] ♣️🐬

SCREAAAMIMMMGGG CRYIIINNGGG DYYINMGGGGGG I READ IT AND I'M FGSGSFSFSGSHSH AAAAAAAA!!!!!!

I'M LITERALLY SQUEALLINGGG LIKE A HIGHHSCHOOL GIRLL WHEN I REAAD ITT FHDHSGSGSGS *ACTUAL AUDIBLE SOUND FGSGZ

OH THE WAY THEY SIMPLY FISHED AND BAITED EACH OTHER IS SCRUMTPIOHS FHDHS MY FACE CRACKS AND I HAD TO TAKE A BREAK TO SQUEAL SEVERAL TIMES

I'M DYING THEIR UNDERLYING FLIRTOUS EXCHANGE IS SO STRAIGHT FOWARD IT MAKES ME BLJSH FHDHDHS

THEY ARE LITERALLY PLAYING EACH OTHER SO FUN !! ♡♡♡

BUT JADE IS SO PLAYFULLY DIRECT IN THIS ONE, I CAN'T HOLD MY FACE STRAIGHT FHDH I CAN'T BELIEVE TREY ACTUALLY CAN MY FACE MUSCLE WOULD BE CRAMPING THROUGH AND THROUGH FHDHDHSHS ♡♡♡♡♡

FSHSH thank you so much for bringing this to my attention, i do not have AO3 thing, i am rather a visual person that i don't naturally seek things to read by myself fhdhs

But u guys have been delivering scrumptious AO3 newsletter in front of my door, and I CAN'T BE MORE HAPPIER THAN EVER!! Fsh

[thebrainrotsreal]

Rotating this show in my mindddddddddd, so back to my usual of translating these mf's in my style, delightfully going insane for minute differences because I WANT THEM. Below for thoughts :3

I know the point is Lin Ling and Nice are identical, (hence kept the EXACT same face shape), but the subtle horror of having one’s face permanently layered, even AFTER you tried stepping outside the role you got shoved in is too yummy. SO!!!

NICE! Slight curl to the hair, sharp eyes, slightly duller pupils! Heroes get white rings around the pupil, like a default eye glow. He is symmetrical except in hair, nose.

Lin Ling, as Nice, retains all the same as above EXCEPT his eye shape, iris, which is slightly rounder. SLIGHTLY, pupils are darker, less dull. Symmetrical in all but hair, nose.

OG! Lin Ling, hair's completely straight/spiky, utterly asymmetrical, and slightly longer than Nice's. Rounder eye shape and iris. Rounder ear shape, subtle. Bags underneath the eye. Smile is asymmetrical.

Commoner! Lin Ling!!! Hair RETAINS slight curl from Nice, plus the eyes, iris, and ears! They’re the exact same when he was Nice. Hair style is asymmetrical. Smile is slightly asymmetrical. Latter two only changes.

MOON! Stays entirely symmetrical, including smile, mouth, nose, but her hair is more loose and as straight as possible once quitting, and is ofc messier. Kinda darker upper lip, like she's wearing lip stick, stays permanently. IDK! I LOVE HER!!!! FREEE MY GIRLLLLLLLLLL.

BONUS HC, horror edition! Nice + Moon could stay up for days but CAN'T have any eye bags because they're not expected to have any, so it literally cannot appear, visually. They can still feel the effects tho. Same with not eating. They won't look different (ex. they cannot gain or lose any weight because people don't believe/trust anything different) but they'll feel it. Unsettles them both!

[osaemu]

stay safe americans

[fukounaboy]

Hhhhhrghh I LOVE TRANS GIRLS. ILY TRANS GIRLS.