K-Pop Demon Hunters, but (early 1700's) Canada đšđŠ
I wanted to hop on this trend a while ago, but coming from Canada and its history of colonization made it ~incredibly complicated~
So I treated it like a research project to learn more about the peoples who were here long before my settler ancestors arrived in Canada ~350 years ago. I tried to incorporate said research into this illustration.
Left - An Acadian who wields a scythe. Her family of farmers settled in what is now known as New Brunswick. Her family and everyone else in their settlement have only survived as long as they have with the help of the Mi'kmaq people. Beyond teaching them how to survive, the Mi'kmaq traded knowledge, goods, and customs with the Acadians. Leading to intermarriages between the two groups and a long a lasting relationship between the two that still exists today.
Right- A Mi'kmaw who wields an nigoqol (eel spear). She is a member of the WÎbanaki ("People of the Dawn") Confederacy, a confederation of five Eastern Algonquian nations: the Abenaki, Mi'kmaq, Wolastoqiyik, Passamaquoddy, and Penobscot. I based the beaded and sewn patterns on her clothes from a few historical sources, including a few museum pieces (here, and here) as well as paintings and illustrations from around the same time period. If I got ANYTHING wrong about her appearance/clothing - please let me knowI will make adjustments IMMEDIATELY.
I had a lot of fun looking up reference images and doing research, but again - if I got anything wrong, please let me know. Canada has and continues to do incredible harm to the First Nations - I just wanted to highlight a small moment in history when some settlers weren't absolute assholes and managed to work with the original caretakers of the land they settled on.
a/n: adam driver is maybe like the love of my life I hope he reads well. this is also an older fic but maybe 2020-ish?
wc: 2.3k
18+ MDNI | no smut but sexual themes
summary: Y/N went out and had a few too many, when trying to call a taxi driver, she taps her friend adam's contact instead.
"Can I get a whiskey sour?!"You managed to shout over the pulsating bass.
The bartender nodded, turning around to grab the bottles he needed.Â
He was in his mid-twenties, sporting a thick beard and jewelry: trendy black stretchers, multiple rings on his fingers, and bead bracelets that swung from his wrists as he shook the shaker vigorously.
You observed his rings up close as slid your fifth drink of the night in front of you. You shouted a 'thank you' and passed him the money. The chilled glass froze your palm as you grabbed it. You winced hissed.
You were already intoxicated, which resulted in you feeling warmer than usual. You began to drink your cocktail, wincing from the prominent bourbon taste hitting your tongue.Â
Turning to the dance floor on your bar stool, you observed your friends dancing provocatively in front of the men.
They would grind on each other and kiss for the sake of attention as if their clothing alone wouldn't draw attention, and it would work every time. Men who were complete strangers would buy you and your friends multiple rounds throughout the night hoping to get lucky.
Tonight, you all wore matching tight-fitted black mini skirts and tops that barely covered your chest. Your outfit in question was uncomfortable, to say the least, but it was like wearing a costume. When you'd dress like that, it was as if you were a new person, for one night. You immediately gained a newfound confidence and your adventurous side would come out to play.
You grinned against your glass, chuckling to yourself.
How you loved being a woman.
You scootch off the seat, stumbling, trying to find your footing. Your sense of balance was terrible when you were drunk and your heels did not help with that at the moment.Â
Eventually, you made your way to your friends on the dance floor, joining the small circle to include yourself again.
"Y/N! There you are, I missed you!" Your little blonde friend threw herself on you. You caught her in your arms, laughing.Â
The six of you danced to the beat. Hips swaying, arms in the air, hair flying everywhere. You could feel the blood pumping through your veins, and sweat forming on your forehead, but you didn't care you were having so much fun.
our arms were raised in a state of intoxicated freedom as you tried to keep up with your friends, whose energy seemed endless.
Your fingertips tingled as you waved your hands to the rhythm, and your feet grew numb from the constant stomping.
Your head felt heavy on your neck, and your eyelids became harder to keep open. You were running out of breath.
Your movements turned sloppy as your body began to fatigue, even though your mind insisted you had more energy than you actually did. Your chest heaved, struggling to breathe in the tight top.
A couple hours went by and the club slowly began to empty out as people left in small crowds. The night was approaching its end.Â
You were seated in a booth with fewer friends, all of you trying to call your drives home.
Your vision was blurry as you fiddled with your phone, trying to hold it properly.
The aggressive blue light blinded you. You squinted, opening your contacts app.
A few scrolls down and you found your usual Taxi Driver's phone number.
You pressed it, bringing your phone close to your ear. The ringing echoed loudly in your ears as you drunkenly awaited a response. He finally answered.Â
"Ugh-mkay, uh I'm at thuh Sound Night Club.... on Las Palmas, can you cohme get me? I'm fuckhing drunhk." You slurred into the phone mic.
After a few exchanges, you hung up. "Welp ladies, my taxi issa comin soon so I gotta wait outside." You stood, steadying yourself on the table. You draped your jacket over your shoulders, clinging your wallet and phone to your chest. You gave them each a kiss on the cheek and said your goodbyes.Â
Your heels padded on the tacky red carpet as you slowly made your way to the entrance. Before leaving you wished the bouncer a good night. "It's not my birthday, but thank you." He replied. You just smiled, confused.Â
You pushed the heavy doors open, only to be greeted with a freezing gust of air. Your exposed legs were now covered in chills. The street lights illuminated your flushed cheeks; how nice. You leaned your back against the club's brick wall and waited for your Taxi.Â
A shiny black Camaro pulled up to the curb, flashing its lights and honking its horn. You stayed put, wondering whose ride it was. It then honked again.
You just observed silently.Â
The driver's door opened and a tall dark man rose from the car. "Y/N?" He shouted. You jumped slightly. This wasn't your taxi driver: You wondered who the man was, and how he knew your name.
Fucking trouble, that's who.
The unknown man was shouting your name. You looked around to see if anyone else was outside that you could ask for help; not one.
Fuck it, you thought.
You took a run for it, your cheap heels clicking on the cement sidewalks, and you gripped all of your belongings as if your life depended on it, and at that moment it did.Â
The streets of Los Angeles were dangerous at this time of night, and you were the desired victim; a drunk, helpless, pretty girl in slutty clothing.
So much for being a woman!
The cold air breezed through your product-filled hair as you ran down an alley, only to be cornered by the car again.
You stopped in your tracks, shocked. Your heart pounded in your ears and your mouth was now dryer than a desert. You couldn't find your voice to yell for help.
The man got out again and started running after you, leaving his door open. The car lights blinded you, you could only see his tall shadow approaching you, quickly.
You once again tried to make a run for it but your heel fell through a manhole cover. You rolled your ankle and fell to your knees, your full weight hitting the solid pavement. You groaned in pain. The man rushed to your sides, as you cried on your hands and knees.
This was the end.
"Y/N! What were you thinking? You could've gotten seriously hurt! You could've gotten hit by a fucking car!!" The familiar voice gritted with rage. You lifted your head trying to identify this strange individual's face, only to reveal the face of your friend, Adam.Â
"Adam? Why the fuhhck are yohu trying to kidhnap me for?" You slurred, trying to push away from his grip. "Kidnap? What? -Y/N, you called me from the club asking me to pick you up." He raised an angry eyebrow.Â
You just broke down in tears, feeling lost and confused.
"You're too drunk." He grumbled, shaking his head.
"nO, I called, Denis. My usual taxi." You squinted, pulling out your phone to show him. Adam plucked the phone from your grasp and examined the phone.
"Y/N, it says Driver. Driver, Adam." He sighed impatiently.
"Oh, well, i swearr thaht I actually talked to hi-WOah!" Adam had cut you off by picking you up bridal style from the ground.
"Let me down!" You attempted to squirm but your lack of energy or control didn't allow you to do so.
"No, Y/N. You hurt your ankle. Now stop whining and let me take care of you. It's late- It's 4 in the fucking morning and you're acting like a child." He knelt down to grab your jacket that was at his feet and proceeded to place you on the passenger side of his car.
He then resumed his place at the wheel and sped off to his apartment. His car hummed loudly down the silent streets.
During the drive, you were quiet, your scraped knees were pulled to your chest and you faced your window, observing the lights that flashed by as Adam sped through the neighbourhood.Â
You began to feel your soberness again because all the adrenaline was gone and the pain was now settling in.
Adam pulled into the parking garage and stopped the car in his usual spot. He turned off his vehicle and picked you up once more, this time with less anger. You toyed with the collar of his shirt as he carried you to his door. He had so many birthmarks on his neck.
Arriving at 11B, he managed to unlock and kick his door open. He used his elbows to switch on the lights and laid you on the grey sofa.Â
"Do you need anything? Some pants, another shirt? Socks?" He spoke on top of you, trying to keep you awake.
"This outfit is too tight, Adamhm, can I borrow some long socks and one of your T-shirts?" You breathed out, with your eyes closed. Your head felt heavy against the firm couch pillow, it's like you were sinking in quicksand.
"I'll be right back." He said.Â
You peeked an eye open to observe his apartment decor. It was minimalistic, with tones of light greys, topes and whites. Indie artists covered his walls, and colourful woven rugs were sprawled across the floor. He had lots of books on his shelf in the corner, you propped yourself up and dragged your feet to the library dizzily.
Poetry.
 Adam had lots of notorious poets in his collection.
He returned shortly.
"Here you go. Are you sure you don't want some shorts or sweatpants? They have drawstrings, so you can tighten it as much as you want." He placed the clothing on the oak coffee table that you were now making your way to.Â
"I'm sure... thank you, Adam." You smiled unzipping your painfully tight top, exposing your red push-up bra. Adam's eyes diverted to the floor, he didn't want to make you uncomfortable.
"If you need anything else, I'll be upstairs in my bedroom. It's the first door on your left." He turned to leave.Â
"Wait, Adam!" You let the top fall to your feet.
"Yes?" He turned around, making only eye contact, trying to not observe your figure.
"You have poetry books in your library." You said, sliding your skirt off, leaving you in only your matching lace undergarments.Â
Adam controlled his breathing.Â
"I do, I do, uh, do you read lots of... poetry?" He asked leaning against his living room door frame.
"I actually used to write some and read them at open mic nights." You smiled, unclipping your bra swiftly, allowing your breasts to bounce out of your bra.
"Much better," You muttered.
"I-I uh, I didn't know that." He bit the inside of his cheek, face remaining unreadable. He crossed his muscular arms over his chest and fixed his posture. You could hear his foot tapping the floor, and you could sense uneasiness in him.
Oh?
Casually, you let the bra fall, like your top, and slid on his grey Star Wars t-shirt that he probably had received from a fan.
Adam was not one to watch let alone buy merchandise from his own projects. The Kylo graphic tee looked cute on you, it ended mid-thigh and wasn't too wide.
"I still write sometimes, but not as much as I'd like to, you know? What about you, do you write?" You sat on the low coffee table, knowing well, that Adam was struggling to keep his composure and slid on his long black socks that went up to your knees.Â
"I do, but I don't think that it's good." He chuckled, trying to seem less awkward. You simply smiled at the statement and found your place on the couch.Â
"um- you need some water and aspirin, I'll go get that for you." He said and walked out of the room, his heavy footsteps thumped on the creaky wooden floors.Â
In one hand he had a big glass of iced water, and in the other, he had two tiny pills. "Thank you," you mumbled tiredly, washing down the medicine with water. "Need anything else?" He asked glancing at the time: 4:52 AM.
"No, I'll be fine, thank you, Adam. For everything. It's really appreciated. Also, I'm sorry for earlier, I thought you were trying to hurt me, it was dumb." You looked down at the glass that you held in your lap, in embarrassment.Â
"You are...welcomed." He gave you a small close-mouthed smile before shutting off the lights and going upstairs to his own bed.
You tossed and turned on that shitty sofa. It was small compared to your bed at home and the throw blanket was too thin for your liking, you really wished you would've taken up that offer on the sweatpants.Â
"Ugh, fuck it." You groaned, now fully sober and exhausted.Â
You quietly got up and proceeded to make your way upstairs to the first bedroom on the left. You turned the doorknob slowly and pushed it even slower to avoid making any noise. You saw that his bedside light was on, and you could make out faint clicking noises. When you fully opened the door, you were happy to be greeted by Adam sitting shirtless in bed, typing on his computer.Â
"Hi." You quietly spoke.Â
He lifted his chin and met your eyes with his brown ones. "Hi." He gave you a toothy smile.Â
"Can't sleep either?" You asked, padding towards his gigantic bed. "No, not really." He chuckled closing his laptop and placing it on his bedside table.
You sat on the foot of his bed, observing his thick chest and shoulders. He was a very attractive man, very large, he looked soft. You bit your lip at the thought.
"Come." He lifted the covers from the unoccupied side of the bed and tapped the mattress like when prompting a dog or cat to come sit next to you.
You obeyed and got under the covers next to him, already feeling his warmth.
You hummed in delight as he turned off the lamp. Adam laid on his side, facing you. You did the same, trying to focus your eyes on his face through the new darkness.Â
He let out a tired sigh and without warning, he pulled your whole body forward. Your head was buried in his chest, his bicep supported your neck, and his other arm rubbed your back.
"Sleep, or you'll get sick tomorrow morning. "
You smiled and inhaled the scented body wash he used. You absent-mindedly pressed a kiss to his chest, making him hum lovingly.
A moment of thinking passed and he then tipped your head back, to place a long tender kiss on your lips. You returned the kiss, feeling his plump lips against yours in delight, sending butterflies in your stomach.
After, you returned to his chest and he placed another kiss on your forehead, drifting you slowly to sleep.Â
a/n: so sorry about the hiatus, started university and midterms are already here, crazy. anyway, enjoy this little idea i had, inspired by a real life situation. xox
wc:3.1k
MDNI !!! 18+, AGE GAP, SEXUAL CONTENT, ALCOHOL USE
summary: Y/N is growing needier with every one-night stand her hot neighbour brings over, one night she decides to be his next.
"-Oh fuck, keep going!" A muffled voice cried between the rhythmic thumping noises that came from the ceiling above you.
You bit down on your lip, shifting needily on your sofa.Â
"Here we go again" You mumbled to yourself, glancing at the clock on your microwave.
8:37 PM.Â
"Earlier than usual... Do you have to be somewhere early tomorrow?" You pressed the mute button on your TV remote to get a better listen.
The intrigue in your neighbour's activity had been a shameful recent development. He'd have company over almost every night now; which meant constant, rough sex.
The shared two-story house was old, and the walls were poorly insulated, which surely didn't aid your newfound obsession. Your unit was the basement suite: a homely one-bedroom, one-bathroom with a large kitchenette and living room. Even though you both lived in the same quarters, you both had your own respective spaces and entrances, which meant you rarely crossed paths.Â
You knew little about the man upstairs, only that he lived alone, wasn't the talkative type, and rode a Harley Davidson that was equally as loud as his one-night stands.
Though it was ill-mannered of him to be as careless as he was, you couldn't stop yourself from being attracted to him. He might've had a good twenty years on you, but that didn't matter in this case.Â
The man was in phenomenal shape for his age; You had come home one day to him working on his bike, shirtless. His physique was composed of thick broad shoulders that counterbalanced his narrow waist and muscular biceps that bulged beneath his skin, flowing seamlessly into veiny forearms. Dark curls of hair stretched downwards from his brawny chest, over his chiselled abs and disappeared into the denim waistband of his wranglers.Â
To pair with that irresistible body, was a charmingly rugged face. Thick, untamed eyebrows cast a shadow over his piercing hazel eyes, while dense sideburns traced the sharp angles of his jawline. His short, spiked hair flared into two distinct tufts on either side of his head, adding to his wild, primal look.
"-Logan! I'm coming!" The voice screamed. Since this all began, you found yourself feeling rather bitter. Not only was it rude and annoying but from what you managed to pick up, most nights they would be playing out the very type of fantasies you'd always had but never got the chance to experience.
You let out a heavy sigh, feeling that excitement slowly pool in your lower stomach. You knew this would end soon, Logan seemed to have quite the routine, so your impending neediness wouldn't go any farther.Â
His partners were usually dead silent for the rest of the night, presumably busy sleeping off the intense sex, which made the inconvenience somewhat tolerable. The only time they would potentially disturb you again was as they made their exit down the stairs the morning after. You could catch glimpses of them as they passed in front of your kitchen window, usually around the time you'd be having your coffee.Â
From the looks of it, he had a type: girls your age. They'd always be dressed in last night's skimpy outfit, with knotted hair, but somehow still looked gorgeous. As they stumble their way to the taxi at the edge of the driveway. You'd observe them closer pressing up the glass, often spiking your jealousy. Â
The first few you had laid eyes on made you snicker a jaded"How original."Â Â But you were well used to it by now.Â
Logan was your typical walking mid-life crisis; Bringing home adventurous young women, fucking their brains out, sending them away in a yellow chariot and never talking to them again. From the frequency of these one-night stands it looked as if he was trying to satisfy a hunger he couldn't seem to fulfill. Almost like preparing for hibernation.
 He was living the bachelor life that men his age could only dream of having, but there was something about the whole routine that felt...off. It was as if every conquest left him more empty, more distant and detached from everything and everyone around him. It wasn't just women that Logan indulged in, he was also a heavy drinker. You could tell by the recycling bin, always overflowing with liquor bottles, and the fact that the few times you'd been to The Black Lodgeâthe only bar in small-town Burns, Alaskaâyou had seen him there
You watched from your bar stool, careful to remain unnoticed. The brief exchanges between him and the bartender made it clear he was a regularâno need for small talk, just an easy, practiced silence. Logan's eyes, however, never lingered on the glass of neat whiskey in front of him. Instead, his gaze swept over the crowd, scanning for his next target, his posture relaxed but predatory. Despite his intimidating exterior, there was something magnetic about the way he worked the room, luring them in with lustful glances. He wasnât just playing the gameâhe was built to win.
His trophy shelf was overflowing, yet there was no trace of happiness in Loganâs eyes.
You couldnât help but wonder if this was the Logan everyone else sawârough around the edges, careless, chewing through women and booze as if they were nothing more than fleeting distractions. Or was there something deeper, a hidden tenderness that only emerged behind closed doors? He never had family or friends over, just a revolving door of women. His life seemed lonely, private, and it made you wonder what demons gnawed at him when the nights grew quiet and the distractions faded away.
Was it trauma?Â
Regret?
Or just the inevitable realization that his time was running out?
A part of you cared and wanted to be there for him, but it wasn't as simple as ringing his doorbell, he was unapproachable. During the few interactions you shared, he made it unmistakably clear that he had no interest in forming any kind of relationship with you. His responses were dry and curt, laced with a dismissive tone that cut down any hope of connection. Each word felt like a brick wall being built between you. He practically didn't look at you the entire time, keeping his eyes focused everywhere else but on yours. You couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment with every exchange, it was as if he was purposefully keeping you at arm's length.
Through your confusion, you understood why. You weren't what he was interested in, you couldn't contribute to his unfaltering hunger. You were more than happy to not be categorized with what he'd bring home from the bar, but a slight part of you wished that for one night, you would be.Â
The selections were slim in Burns and you were newer to the area, which made it impossible to call for a late-night booty call, unlike him. It had been a long time since you'd last been with someone and the constant exposure to Logan's fruitful sex life made you grow needier by the day, which is where your obsession initially formed.
It began with something small, almost too innocent to notice. You found yourself paying closer attention to his everyday routine, drawn by curiosity. Youâd glance out the window to check if his motorcycle was parked in the yard, and when you heard the faint sound of his footsteps starting the day, youâd instinctively check the clock taking mental notes of his wake-up times.
Before you knew it, your interest had evolved into something deeper, something far more personal. You began noticing his trash in your shared waste bin; discarded remnants of his life blending into your obsession. At the liquor store, you found yourself buying the same brand of beer he preferred, curious to experience the taste that would linger on his lips if you kissed him. At the supermarket, you began to choose the same detergent, not for practical reasons, but to breathe in the scent that clung to his skin.
There was a day that he left his Johnny Cash shirt outside. He tossed it on the ground carelessly after working up a sweat while fixing something in the yard. When he left, you ran out and took it. As your compulsion grew, so did your need for closeness to him. The shirt became more than just a relic of himâit was a trigger.Â
You began wearing it late at night, feeling its used fabric against your skin. While the sounds of him having sex filtered through the thin walls. The rhythmic creaking of his bed upstairs, the faint moans, youâd inhale it deeply, lost in his scent. You'd thrust your fingers deep inside of you, following along with his rhythm, imagining it was him inside youâpicturing how Logan would take control, filling you with the intensity you longed for. In those moments, it was as if he belonged to you, even if just in fantasy.
Your cheeks flushed red as you listened along, It was become too much to handle. You unmuted your episode and got up, needing to find some distraction.Â
"Itâs almost over," you told yourself, trying to ignore the urge to grab his shirt and take care of things right then and there. Instead, you walked over to the unpacked boxes in the corner of your living room, hoping to find a distraction.
As you opened the cardboard, you started sifting through the mismatched stuff crammed inside. Your fingers brushed against something soft and bristly, sparking your curiosity. You tightened your grip and pulled it out for a better look. To your surprise, it was an old wig from a Halloween costumeâvivid and wild, a memory you had almost forgotten.
The faint sounds you were trying so hard to ignore managed to slip through anyway, sparking a devilish idea as you twirled the wig in your hands. You were going to get his attention, whether he liked it or not. A mischievous grin spread across your face; this could be your way in. It was time to shake things up and show him a side of you he hadnât seen yet.Â
It was the next day, and you knew for sure that Logan would be at that bar, just like he was every Thursday. You stepped inside, adjusting the wig discreetly, tucking away any hint of your natural colour, determined to become someone new for the night. This was a wild idea, but desperate times called for bold measures. You were dying for some relief and he was the only remedy for this ache you couldnât shake.
The bar buzzed with energy, a lively crowd which meant you had competition. But tonight, you were set on one thing: going home with him, and anyone else.
Youâd dressed the partâskin exposed, tight-fitting clothes that hugged your curves just right, making you feel both powerful and vulnerable at the same time.Â
You scanned the bar, your heart racing as you spotted him in his usual seat. The moment you walked in, his eyes locked onto you, holding your attention captive. You averted your gaze and took a shaky breath, your feet guiding you across the room, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
Pretending not to notice his gaze, you played coy, an enticing smile dancing on your lips. You slid into the seat across from him and reached for the black menu that lay before you, feigning interest in the options. Your eyes traced the words, but your mind was elsewhereâfocused on the weight of his stare and the electric tension building between you.
The bartender approached, and you quickly ordered the first thing your eyes landed on, feeling a rush of nerves. You folded the menu neatly, deliberately turning your attention to the crowd, avoiding his gaze, you weren't playing his game, you were playing yours. The thrill of the chase sent a shiver down your spine. The bar chattered around you, laughter and conversation creating a lively backdrop as you focused on maintaining an air of nonchalance, even as you could feel his eyes on you, studying you with that intensity.
A beautiful stemmed glass slid in front of you, snapping your attention to your hands. You mumbled a thankyou and you took a sip, savouring the sweet burn as it slid down your throat. It gave you a moment to gather your thoughts. Just as you were about to steal a glance his way, you noticed from your peripheral that he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. That confident look told you he knew exactly what you were doing.
"Nice wig," he said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the noise of the bar like a knife. The compliment sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, but you kept your expression cool, shooting him a sidelong glance as if you were just as unfazed by him.
âThanks,â you replied, forcing a casual tone. âJust thought Iâd switch things up a bit.â
He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. The game was on, and you were ready to play.
Logan leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. âIt suits you, it's different.â
You felt a thrill at his words, the compliment warming you in ways you hadnât anticipated. You kept your composure, but inside, your heart raced. âI like keeping things interesting,â you replied, matching his playful tone.
The atmosphere around you shifted slightly, the crowd fading into the background as you locked eyes again. The moment felt charged, filled with unspoken possibilities. You could sense the magnetic pull between you intensifying, and it was exhilarating.
He took a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. âWell, you're doing a good job of doing that."
You smiled, feeling a rush of confidence. âIt's just a little bit of fun for a Thursday night. What about you? Same old routine, I bet?â
His smirk widened a glint of challenge in his eyes. âYou could say that. But maybe Iâm looking for something different tonight.â
The weight of his words hung in the air, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. This was the moment youâd been waiting for. You leaned forward, pushing your breasts together. âWell, that's hard to imagine. Whatâs your idea of different?â
 Loganâs eyes dropped to your cleavage. âHow about we take this conversation somewhere a little more private?â His voice was low, rich with promise, and it sent a jolt of anticipation through you.
You raised an eyebrow, feigning casualness even as your heart raced. "And where would that be?â
He chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. âHow about the upstairs at your place?â
The two of you made your way up the narrow staircase, the familiar creak of the wooden steps echoed in the silence. You could feel the heat radiating off him, each step heightening the anticipation of what was to come. You both reached his door, and his keys jingled as he unlocked it.
The door swung open, and you stepped inside as he held the door open for you. The soft light from his living room illuminated the space, casting warm shadows that danced along the walls. The place was surprisingly tidy, with the scent of cedar and booze lingering in the air.
Logan followed you in, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click that sent a thrill down your spine. âWelcome to my humble abode,â he said, his voice low and teasing.
You didn't know what you expected but it wasn't this. You took in the details of his spaceâartwork hung at odd angles, a well-worn couch sat invitingly in the center, and an empty whiskey glass perched on the coffee table. It was comfortable, lived-in, and spoke to the kind of man he was.
âNice place,â you said, trying to sound casual, but your pulse quickened as you caught the intensity of his gaze. A beat passed.
âAre you sure you want to do this?â he asked, a hint of seriousness threading through his playful tone.
Your heart raced at the implication of his question. âI wouldnât be here if I didnât,â you replied biting your lip, voice steady from a boldness surging through you.
Logan smirked, his expression shifting from playful to something more primal and dark.Â
âGood. Because I donât plan on holding back. Gotta teach you a lesson after all,â
Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, backing you against the wall with a firm press of his body. The warmth of him enveloped you, and you felt your breath hitch as he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours. As he grabbed your face, his calloused fingers dug into your cheeks roughly, parting your lips open.
âI know you took my shirt, you fucking freak,â he murmured, his voice thick and husky.
You were unable to form words as you felt the threat of what was to come flood your senses. Your heartbeat stammered in your rib cage, fear overcoming you but there was a thrilling undercurrent of excitement that was hard to ignore. Loganâs intense gaze held you captive, and the edge in his voice sent the tension crackling in the air between you.
âYou didnât think Iâd notice?â he continued, a low chuckle escaping his lips, laced with a hint of danger. âA man owns about three good shirts and is bound to notice when one goes missing.â His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making your breath hitch again, but you couldnât bring yourself to respond.
âYouâve been watching me,â he stated, his voice dropping even lower. âSpying on me like some lovesick teenager. Itâs cute, but itâs also⊠a little sick.â The intensity in his gaze softened slightly, a flicker of something deeper behind his fierce exterior.
You swallowed hard, the words caught in your throat. âIââ
âSave it,â he interrupted, his grip tightening around your jaw just enough to keep your attention focused on him. âDon't give me excuses. Tell me why.â
The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. What could you possibly say that would explain the tangled web of emotions and desires that had led you here? His proximity was intoxicating, and the conflict between fear and yearning made your head spin.
âI... I just wanted to understand you,â you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. âI hear you with the women you bring home... and I want that. â
Logan's smile grows somehow even darker. "So ya' got all dressed up for me because you want me to fuck you like I do with the others? That right, sweetheart?"Â
The only thing you could do at this moment was give him an eager nod, the ache between your legs growing shamefully larger by the second.Â
âIâll give you what you want kid', but you need to know something first.â He paused slightly, the air between you thick with tension.Â
âIâm the best at what I do, and I donât do it very nicely.â
cliff hanger I know, but i'm such a slut for teasing.
Happy birthday, my love. In no way has anyone captured my heart quite the way you have. Elvis Presley, you are otherworldly. Ethereal and amazing. I truly believe youâre the reason for my happiness everyday. Youâve changed my life in a way I canât fully explain, and I know itâs silly to think, but I genuinely love you with my whole entire beingâ so much that it hurts sometimes. I will forever be deeply and unexplainably in love with you. My sweet man. Getting to hear about the legend of you is one thing, but seeing the real youâ the man behind the imageâ is something else entirely, and Iâm so grateful that I know who you were. A beautiful soul, an angel.
I love you, every part of you, and you deserve to be truly celebrated. So happy heavenly birthday, sweet angel, you are valued and recognized and loved.
Beautiful Angelđđ
(Happy birthday Jessie Garon Presley, may you have the sweetest, special day as well.)
I hate in books when itâs like enemies to lovers and the person is like âhe was so rude to me⊠gah I wish he wasnât so stupid hot!!! I hate him!!!â Itâs like when someone is mean to me their face instantly becomes ugly and their features haggard and they crumble into stone. Idk what the hell you guys are talking about
This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)
tommorow's jokes have yet to be laughed at (or said) by ArchaicVampire - Rated T
âLogan? What are you doing up, mein freund?â
Logan thinks up a million things he could say, like Iâll sleep when Iâm dead or I was doing my usual midnight pushups, but he doesnât say any of that. Thereâs no use bothering him with bullshit excuses.
âYouâre the only one who understands.â
The skeletons in Logan's closet are haunting him again. There's only one man in the mansion that truly knows how he feels.
O Memory, where is now my faith. by justbefeathersandthequietofthefall - Rated T
Logan vs Pain.
i.e. Dealing with the fact that superhuman healing doesn't stop getting injured hurting like a bitch.
Call Me by My Name by CNWrites - Rated G
They were misfits on a team of misfits. Logan was used to that kind of crap. If he had put down bets, he would have said that Nightcrawler was the kind of guy who couldnât take it.
Apparently, they were both sticking around.
____________________________
In which we see five times Logan used something other than Kurt's name, and one time he actually used it.
There's a room where the light won't find you by Notsogoodwithnames - Rated T
Logan knows he was made for nothing but war. He never went to school. He never even took care of many children. Not even your own children. He certainly isn't qualified to teach anything that didn't involve the shedding of blood.
Xavier saved him. The X-men saved him. Not only from himself but in so many ways than he can explain.
Taking care of these kids is not going to fix anything. Or clean his hands, not even a bit, he's aware of that. But if there's a chance that he can do something right, better than anything he ever did, to help these kids have a better chance than he did. Then he's going for it.
So this is what it feels like. by OwBoy - Not Rated
âSir?â the woman said as she came more into the light. Her shoes made a dull clopping noise with each step she took towards Logan.
âWhaâŠ?â Logan asked, his voice slurred.
âThe girl,â the woman said, nodding toward Laura, âIs she your daughter?â
Logan's gaze once again fell on Laura and he nodded.
âI thought so,â a slight smile crossed the woman's features as she spoke. âShe looks just like you.â
âWhereâŠâ Loganâs words drifted off as he took in the rest of the room. âWhere am I?â he asked.
âYouâre in Canada,â she answered. âIn a refugee town given to mutants by the Canadian government. Itâs called Eden.â
âEden.â Logan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The place he said didnât exist, the place Laura and the other believed theyâd find and make their new home, the place from that stupid comic book, it actually existed.
AKA:
What if Charles, Logan, and Laura had all made it to Eden alive and started a new life together? Fluff, angst, domestic life, and brewing romance.
The same bell chiming the hour on the clock, and everything changed. by justbefeathersandthequietofthefall - Rated T
He drifted through the hallways, with every recognisable face sending him reeling. A few awkward conversations later, and he was in the Professorâs office having years of history dropped on him. Despite the importance of this, he was barely present in the conversation â a fact which Charles didnât miss, who told him to go let it all sink in and that theyâd continue later.
âLet it all sink inâ?
Fucking hell.
Exploring Logan's mental state after the events of Days of Future Past
Never Take for Granted by CNWrites - Rated G
Kurt Wagner would consider himself a fairly appreciative person.
Perhaps that instinctual value of appreciation was the reason he felt giddy, warm, so overcome with love for his friend that he could practically feel it bursting out of his chest.
âDonât move âround, elf.â A heavy hand rested on an arm that Kurt hadnât even realized he was trying to move. âYer hopped up on morphine, you idiot. Yer gonna break your stitches if ya canât cool it.â
Oh. Or maybe that was why.
_______________________
In which Kurt spends some time in the med bay after taking a hit for Wolverine. Luckily, his friend isn't the kind of person to leave his side.
There was text but I took it off because it feels more impactful without it. I think they would prob just officiate themselves one night at random with no one else around. Why get engaged when you've been on/off for centuries, right? Get married while your gf is making hot cheeto (red) easy mac.
Original text:
Finn: isn't that on the wrong hand?
PB: we didn't want to wait.
Finn: I'm happy for you but I wanted to be a bridesmaid.
Marcy: Aw, dude.
closer since the canvas is a little small
People never depict Finn as being the big gross romantic he is so. yk.
smooth brain @dontfeedthebigbadwolf - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
