#And other characters will be added after a bit

[zoanzon]

Unsure if it's a joke or not, but since I know there's a lot of American history wrapped up in it that might not be common knowledge in other nations:

So, for 'devils sacrament' itself, the phrase generally comes from fictional accounts of pagan and/or satanic worship, specially from rituals being done for dark or evil purposes.

In my experience, this sometimes comes up in shows like Sabrina or maybe Supernatural (too many seasons and too many years since I've seen it) but otherwise arises a lot from Arthur Miller's The Crucible. Ostensibly about the Salem trials while actually being a critique of the House of Un-American Activities (HUAC) committee - which was viewed by many as leading 'witch trials' against suspected communists - Arthur Miller couldn't be outspoken against HUAC itself without possibly getting blacklisted himself...so he wrapped up his critiques in a fictional work regarding actual witch trials.

Among the many things from the trials, beyond the hysteria of both regular citizens and purported witnesses, was people being said to have been seen at some devil's sacrament in the woods. Well, more or less; I don't have a copy of The Crucible on hand, nor have I recently read through the older records, but 'witnesses saying they saw someone get Up To Shit in the woods' is one of the bits people tend to recall offhand (alongside Giles "More Weight" Corey).

All of this might've joked about on Tumblr for some time, but then we got a specific post...

[Image_id: A screenshot of a tumblr post and a reply. The original post, from poster 'beetledrink', is as follows:

"not to be insensitive but some of the salem witch trials were so funny bitches like 'I saw her at the devils sacrament!!!' girl... what were YOU doing at the devils sacrament 👀"

The reply, from poster 'huellbabineausdefensesquad', is an image meme from two characters from IASIP staring at each other, wide-eyed, across a resturant.

ID ends]

So...yeah, after that 'what were you doing at the devils sacrament' found itself added to tumblr's lexicon.

Thanks for listening to me meander about American history, the time-honored tradition of ragging on current events by using similar past events as your facsimile, and the origination of tumblr memes! ✌️

the most disorienting thing thats ever happened to me was when a linguistics major stopped in the middle of our conversation, looked me in the eye, and said, "you have a very interesting vernacular. were you on tumblr in 2014?" and i had to just stand there and process that one for a good ten seconds

[writetheidea]

Too Much to Be Enough - part 2

Hi, I wrote the second part of this fanfiction while juggling my thesis, so I apologize if there are any mistakes. Please feel free to point them out in my DMs or asks—I'd really appreciate it. I couldn't bring myself to just write pure fluff without adding a bit of angst. As I mentioned in the story, rebuilding trust isn't a straightforward process. I hope you enjoy it!

Part 1

Pairing: Franco Colapinto x female character

Plot: after deeply hurting his girlfriend, Franco learns how hard it is to rebuild their relationship, learning that trust, once broken, is a delicate and painstaking process to restore.

Tag: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff.

Word count: 3178

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

Franco had always been a man of control. On the racetrack, precision wasn’t just a skill; it was survival. Every turn, every decision, required complete mastery over chaos. Off the track, he wasn’t much different, carrying that same calculated demeanor into his personal life. The way he managed his career, his relationships, even the smallest aspects of his daily routine, all reflected his need to remain unshakable. Control was his armor, his identity. But this—watching the woman he loved drift further away because of his carelessness—was a storm he couldn’t navigate.

He had made a mistake. A single moment of thoughtlessness, a few careless words, the laughter that followed, had been enough to tear open the foundation of trust they had spent years building. The memory replayed endlessly in his mind, gnawing at him like a relentless tide. He could see it all too clearly: the way her face fell, how her voice quivered when she confronted him. She hadn’t screamed or shouted; she hadn’t even cried at first. She had just gone quiet, her silence heavier than any words could have been. It spoke of wounds too deep for words, a disappointment that no apology could touch.

At first, he had thought the tension might dissipate after a day or two. He had underestimated the depth of the wound he had inflicted. What followed was a purgatory of silence. She didn’t leave outright, but her presence was a ghost of what it had been. She avoided his touch, his gaze, even his attempts at conversation. The vibrant, warm woman he loved so fiercely had become a shadow, navigating their shared spaces like a stranger. Franco’s every attempt to bridge the gap between them fell flat—flowers went untouched, her favorite pastries remained uneaten, and the small notes he left for her disappeared without acknowledgment. It was as though she was erasing him piece by piece, and he could do nothing to stop it.

The silence was unbearable. He missed her laughter, the way she would light up when she spoke about her favorite books or dreams for the future. He missed the way she would reach for him instinctively, as though he was her safe harbor. Now, he felt like a trespasser in his own life, each moment with her a painful reminder of what he had broken. 

On the third night after the fight, Franco found himself sitting on their couch, his hands clasped tightly together. The room felt impossibly large, every corner of it carrying memories of better times. He could picture her curled up on the other side of the couch, her laughter filling the space as she recounted some silly anecdote or read him a passage from one of her favorite books. Now, the silence was deafening. He had spent hours going over what he might say to her, how he might begin to repair what he had broken, but words failed him.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Please,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “I can’t stand this. Tell me what to do—tell me how to make this right.”

She didn’t even look at him, her gaze fixed somewhere distant. “What’s the point?” she said quietly. “You’ve already shown me what you think of me. You agreed with them, Franco. You laughed at me like I was a joke.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and Franco felt the full weight of her hurt settle over him. “That’s not true,” he said desperately. “I wasn’t thinking—”

“No,” she interrupted, finally turning to face him, her eyes flashing with rare anger. “You weren’t thinking. But that doesn’t change what you said. Or what you did.” Her voice cracked, and for the first time, Franco could see just how deeply he had hurt her. “Do you even understand how small that made me feel? Like I was some kind of joke? Like I’ll never be enough for you?” 

She paused, her face now showing the pain she had been harboring beneath the surface “What else do you want me to say, Franco? That I’m hurt? That I feel like I’ll never be enough for you now? You already know that”

Her words cut deeper than any insult, the quiet resignation in her voice tearing him apart. “You are enough,” he said fervently, reaching for her hand. “You’ve always been enough. I was stupid, careless—I didn’t mean what I said.”

“But you did,” she replied, pulling her hand away. “Maybe you didn’t mean for me to hear it, but you meant it. And I can’t unhear it, Franco. I can’t forget the way you agreed with them, the way you laughed about me like I was some… inconvenience.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and Franco felt his chest tighten, guilt clawing at him like a relentless tide. “I love you,” he said desperately. “I love everything about you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I can’t lose you.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as if trying to find some trace of the man she had once trusted so completely. “Love isn’t supposed to hurt like this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “And right now, being with you… it hurts.”

His throat tightened as he searched for words, but there was nothing he could say that would undo the damage. “You are everything to me,” he said finally, his voice raw. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it if I have to.”

-----

But words weren’t enough, and he knew it. That night, she moved to the guest room, leaving their bed and a gaping void in his heart. He lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment he had failed her, every time he had taken her love for granted. He thought of her kindness, her patience, the way she had always believed in him, even when he doubted himself. And now, when she needed him most, he had failed to be the man she deserved.

The next morning, he woke to find her gone. A note on the counter said she was staying with a friend for a few days. He stared at the words until they blurred, his chest aching with the realization that she needed space from him—that being near him caused her pain. He couldn’t blame her for that, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear.

He threw himself into trying to make amends, even if she wasn’t there to see it. He cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, cooked her favorite meals, and set the table with candles and fresh flowers every day, hoping it might offer a small measure of comfort when she returned. The evening when she finally walked through the door, she paused, her eyes scanning the room before landing on him.

“What’s all this?” she asked, her voice wary.

“I thought we could have dinner together,” he said, his voice hesitant. “I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I thought… I just wanted to do something for you.”

She hesitated for a moment before sitting down at the table. They ate in near silence, the tension between them almost unbearable. He tried to ask about her day, her friend, anything to fill the void, but her answers were curt, her gaze fixed on her plate. By the time they finished, Franco felt more defeated than ever.

As she stood to leave, he reached for her hand, his grip gentle but firm. “Please. I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said. “Just tell me how to make this better.”

She looked down at him, her eyes filled with exhaustion. “I don’t know if you can,” she said softly. “But if you want to try, then stop looking for shortcuts. This isn’t about flowers or dinners. It’s about showing me that I matter to you—not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard. It’s about showing me—every day—that you love me for who I am, not despite it.”

-----

From that moment on, Franco dedicated himself to proving his love, not through grand gestures but in the quiet, unremarkable moments of daily life. He began paying attention to the things she cared about—remembering the books she mentioned wanting to read, making sure her favorite tea was always stocked in the pantry, and taking over chores she usually handled so she wouldn’t have to. He didn’t push her to talk or try to force her forgiveness; instead, he gave her the space she needed, even when it hurt to keep his distance.

The process was slow and often discouraging. There were days when she barely acknowledged his efforts, her walls still firmly in place. But there were also small victories—like the time she laughed, a soft, unguarded sound that felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Or the day she found a note he had left in her book that simply said, “I see you. And I love you.” She didn’t say anything about it, but later that evening, she made them tea and sat beside him on the couch, the silence between them no longer quite so heavy.

-----

Franco thought he was making progress. Slowly but surely, she was beginning to let him in again. The walls she’d built around herself were still there, but they had started to crack. She smiled a little more often, lingered at the dinner table to talk about her day, and once, when they were watching an old movie on the couch, she leaned into him without pulling away. Each small step felt monumental, and Franco held onto the hope that one day, she might fully trust him again.

But trust, he learned, was fragile.

It happened at a party—a glamorous event hosted by one of Franco’s sponsors. He had been reluctant to go, worried about the strain it might put on their delicate truce, but she had insisted. “You shouldn’t have to give up your life because of me,” she said. He had taken her words as a sign that things were improving between them, a sign that she was ready to be part of his world again.

The evening started well enough. She looked stunning in a sleek, dark dress, her hair framing her face. Franco couldn’t take his eyes off her, and for a moment, he felt like the luckiest man in the room. They mingled with the crowd, exchanging polite pleasantries with sponsors and fellow racers. She held her own beautifully, her sharp wit and quiet confidence earning smiles and laughter from everyone she spoke to.

Then came the moment that undid everything.

Franco had stepped away to get them drinks, and when he returned, he overheard a group of men making crude jokes about her. The words were vile—reducing her to nothing more than a pretty accessory, a trophy to be paraded around. Franco’s blood boiled, but instead of stepping in to defend her, he froze. He laughed awkwardly, muttered something dismissive, and walked away.

What he didn’t realize was that she had overheard, her expression a mask of disbelief and hurt as she stood just out of view.

Later that night, as they drove home, the tension in the car was suffocating. She stared out the window, silent, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Franco tried to fill the void with small talk, but each word felt hollow.

Finally, she turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, though he already knew.

“I heard them, Franco. I heard what they said about me. And I heard you laugh. Again.”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “It wasn’t like that,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean what? To defend me? To show them that I’m more than the joke they made me out to be?” Her voice cracked, and she turned away, shaking her head. “I thought you were different. I thought you respected me.”

“I do respect you,” he said, his voice rising. “I didn’t know what to say—I panicked.”

“Panicked?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “I was standing there, Franco. Listening to them degrade me, waiting for you to have my back. And you panicked?”

The argument spilled into their apartment, growing louder and more painful with each passing moment. By the time it was over, she was packing a bag, tears streaming down her face as she threw clothes into a suitcase.

“Please don’t do this,” Franco said, his voice raw. “Don’t leave. We can fix this.”

She stopped, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the suitcase. “You don’t get it, do you?” she said, her voice shaking. “This isn’t just about tonight. It’s about every time you’ve made me feel small, every time you’ve chosen your pride or your reputation over me. I can’t do this anymore.”

And with that, she was gone.

-----

The months that followed were the darkest of Franco’s life. She didn’t answer his calls or texts, and when he went to her friend’s house to see her, he was turned away at the door. For the first time, he had to confront the possibility that he might have lost her for good.

Franco threw himself into therapy, desperate to understand why he kept sabotaging the one thing that mattered most to him. His sessions were grueling, forcing him to confront parts of himself he had long ignored—the insecurities he buried beneath his arrogance, the fear of vulnerability that drove him to push people away.

He also began writing her letters, pouring his heart onto the page in a way he had never been able to do in person. He didn’t know if she would ever read them, but it was the only way he could process his feelings.

Months passed. Slowly, Franco began to change—not for her, but for himself. He realized that he couldn’t ask her to come back if he wasn’t willing to become the man she deserved.

Then, one day, he received an unexpected text.

“Meet me at the park tomorrow at 2.”

His heart leapt, but he forced himself to temper his expectations. When he arrived, she was sitting on a bench, her posture stiff, her expression guarded.

“I got your letters,” she said, her voice quiet.

“And?” he asked, his heart pounding.

“They were… honest,” she admitted. “But honesty doesn’t erase what happened.”

“I know,” he said. “I don’t expect you to forgive me—not yet, maybe not ever. But I want you to know that I’m trying. I’m working on myself, and not just because I want you back. I need to be better, for me. For whoever I become, with or without you.”

She studied him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face. “I don’t know if I can trust you again,” she said finally. “But I’m willing to try. Slowly. On my terms.”

“I’ll wait as long as it takes,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

-----

True to her word, she made Franco work for her trust. There were no shortcuts, no grand declarations that could fix what was broken. If he wanted to be in her life again, he had to earn his place every single day.

Their relationship became a fragile thread, held together by small, cautious interactions. They started meeting once a week for coffee, their conversations polite but distant. She kept him at arm’s length, her walls firmly in place. Franco didn’t push; he simply showed up, week after week, ready to prove himself.

One day, as they walked through the park after coffee, she turned to him abruptly. “Why didn’t you stand up for me?” she asked, her voice trembling.

The question caught him off guard, but he didn’t shy away from it. “Because I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid of looking weak, afraid of being judged. But mostly… afraid that if I stood up for you and got it wrong, you’d see me as a failure.”

Her eyes softened, but her expression remained guarded. “And now?”

“Now I realize that failing you is worse than failing in front of anyone else,” he said. “If I ever get the chance again, I promise you, I won’t let you down.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze distant. “We’ll see.”

The weeks turned into months, and their connection began to deepen again. She started sharing more of herself, though cautiously, and Franco matched her vulnerability with his own. He told her about the therapy sessions, about the childhood insecurities that had shaped his need for control and approval. It was a side of him she had never seen before, and while it didn’t erase the past, it gave her hope that he was truly changing.

-----

It wasn’t a single moment that brought them back together, but a series of small ones—acts of kindness, vulnerability, and unwavering support. Franco became a man she could rely on, not just in words but in actions. He stood up for her, prioritized her needs, and made her feel seen and valued in every aspect of their lives.

There were moments when he doubted himself, wondering if he was fighting a losing battle. And there were nights when he lay awake, haunted by the memory of her tears, the sound of her voice breaking as she told him how much he had hurt her. Through it all, he held onto the hope that one day, she would see how much he loved her—that she would believe it, not because he said it, but because he showed it in every action, every choice he made.

One rainy afternoon, he decided to try something different. He pulled out a cookbook she had always loved but rarely used and flipped to a page with a recipe for her favorite cake. He was hopeless in the kitchen, but he wanted to try—to show her that he was willing to make an effort, no matter how small. When she came home and found him fumbling with ingredients, the sight stopped her in her tracks.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice tinged with incredulity.

“Trying to make your cake,” he said, holding up a whisk like it was a weapon. “It’s probably going to be terrible, but I thought—”

She interrupted him with a soft laugh. “You’re going to burn the kitchen down.”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “But I figured it was worth the risk.”

She stepped toward him, closing the distance that had felt insurmountable for so long. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, but her tone was warm, her eyes soft as she reached for the whisk. “Let me help you.”

As they cooked together, bumping elbows and laughing at his mistakes, Franco felt something shift. It wasn’t complete trust—not yet—but it was a beginning. And as he watched her smile, he realized that this was what love was: not grand gestures or perfect moments, but showing up, every day, and choosing each other even when it was hard.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1974 - ...but it was never meant to be

chapter summary: You and Logan have been living in the Canadian Rockies for almost 6 months, enjoying the peace and solitude that comes with it.

word count: 8.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this is just fluff, at least until the end... but we're finally hitting the movies! and sorry for it being a bit shorter than the others, there are some ideas i'm saving for a future chapter :))

(p.s. the first sentence about the hotel in nyc is going to be very important to remember for a future chapter...)

warnings/tags: fluff, origins!logan, smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, (beginning of) x-men origins, character death

series masterlist - chapter 5 → chapter 7

Leaving was easy once you got past the one incident. You and Logan had stopped that day at a hotel a bit out of New York City only to be found by your father’s men.

But what happened was almost like magic. Logan, your Logan, took them all out with claws. At first you were bewildered, shocked at what you just saw. But now, after 6 months of living in the Canadian Rockies, it was normal.

Normal.

Mornings would start with the soft light streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow over your shared space as Logan brewed coffee and you stretched, enjoying the easy comfort of it all.

Logan had found work quickly enough as a lumberjack, something that kept him outside and busy, and it suited him. Meanwhile, you’d stumbled upon a small animal shelter in the nearby town. You’d started going once or twice a week, helping out with the dogs and occasionally picking up shifts to keep yourself busy and connected to some semblance of normal life.

The routines you fell into together were quiet, steady, and for the first time in a long while, you felt grounded. Though you missed New York sometimes, especially the volunteer work at the retirement home, the silence of the woods and the small town was a peaceful change.

Not only were things peaceful, but Logan had started opening up to you in the quiet of your cabin, usually in the early morning or after one of his nightmares. It started with little things—details about his mutation, his healing ability. Then, as the days blurred into weeks, he told you about his age and the wars he’d fought in, his voice quiet, words weighed down with old memories.

One chilly morning, you found him staring out the window, his gaze distant as he sipped his coffee. You moved up beside him, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Hey, you alright?”

He looked down at you, a flicker of a smile breaking through the shadows. “Yeah. Just… thinkin’,” he murmured, his voice rough but calm.

“Anything you want to talk about?” you offered, watching his face closely.

Logan considered this for a moment, then took a long breath. “I think… just realizin’ how long it’s been since I had somethin’ like this,” he finally admitted, a glint of honesty in his eyes. “It’s been a hell of a road, darlin’.”

You reached out, resting your hand on his forearm. “I don’t need to know everything, Logan. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He gave a short nod, letting his hand rest over yours, a simple gesture that spoke volumes. He didn’t say anything, but his fingers wrapped around yours, holding them a moment longer than necessary.

---

Life in the cabin wasn’t extravagant, but there was a certain charm in the simplicity. Nights spent by the fire, mornings with the scent of pine and fresh coffee, and the comforting weight of Logan’s arm draped over you as you both drifted into sleep. But there were also the little bumps—like the time you tried making him dinner.

It had been a stew recipe, something you thought would be foolproof. You’d stirred, added spices, tasted… but when you served it, the look on Logan’s face was priceless.

He took a spoonful, eyebrows lifting as he held back a chuckle. “This a new recipe?”

“Okay, I get it—it’s not great,” you sighed, laughing a little as you took a bite yourself. “Alright, yeah, maybe it’s terrible.”

Logan chuckled, setting his spoon down. “It’s not so bad. I mean… it’s got heart.”

You nudged him, rolling your eyes. “Heart doesn’t mean it’s edible, Logan.”

“Maybe not,” he smirked, “but I’ll still eat it.” He winked, lifting another spoonful as he pretended to struggle through the bowl, making you burst into laughter.

---

Late one night, Logan awoke from one of his nightmares. You knew, even before he’d fully come to, just by the way he stiffened beside you. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face, and you reached out, fingers brushing his shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whispered.

He looked down at you, the muscles in his jaw tight. But after a moment, he nodded. “It was a long time ago. Just old ghosts.” He paused, exhaling heavily. “There’s been a lot of violence. Stuff… I don’t ever want you to have to see.”

“I know you’ve seen a lot,” you murmured, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “But you don’t have to go through it alone, Logan. Not anymore.”

Logan’s hand covered yours, and he turned his head just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes soft but searching. “You’ve been more than I deserve, Y/N,” he said quietly.

Your heart twisted, and you reached up to cup his face. “Logan, I don’t care what you’ve done or where you’ve been. All that matters is who you are now.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. “Then I’m one lucky man,” he whispered, his voice low.

He held you close that night, your presence calming the echoes of a past that seemed finally willing to rest, if only for a while.

---

One day you were trying to make something simple, roast chicken and potatoes before Logan got back from work. You diligently checked the oven, making sure that nothing was burning, until Logan came home, wrapping his arms around your waist as you stood up from the oven.

Logan’s hands settled warmly around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he looked over at the oven. The familiar, steady weight of him grounded you, even as you felt your heart give a quick little skip at the simple, domestic gesture.

“Smells good in here,” he murmured, his breath brushing your ear as he took in the scent of roasting chicken and herbs. “Didn’t know you were this fancy in the kitchen.”

You let out a small laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Fancy might be a stretch. I’m just hoping it doesn’t come out dry.”

His arms tightened just a bit, pulling you closer. “Even if it did, I’d still eat it,” he said, a hint of that playful glint in his voice. “Means a lot, havin’ you here. Feels like… home.”

A warmth rose in your chest, one that went beyond the physical, and you leaned back into him, a smile tugging at your lips. “You know, I could get used to this too.” You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. “Long days, quiet dinners, just us.”

“Us,” he echoed, his voice softer, thoughtful. There was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes, something unspoken yet weighty. His thumb brushed small, slow circles along your hip, as if anchoring himself in the moment, and he gave you a slight smile that didn’t quite mask the intensity behind it.

Logan was quiet for a moment, and you felt a shift in his posture, almost like he wanted to say something but was holding back. He looked at you in that way he sometimes did—like he was seeing more than just you standing there in your small, cozy kitchen. Maybe he was seeing all the days stretching ahead, those simple moments you’d have together, and the weight of that left him speechless.

“Logan?” you asked, brushing a hand along his arm.

He blinked, then smiled, the intensity in his gaze easing back into something gentler. “Nothin’. Just thinkin’ how lucky I am.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Guess that makes two of us.”

The kitchen fell into a comfortable silence, with just the faint hum of the oven and the quiet, steady beat of Logan’s heart against your back. In the quiet of your little life together, things felt simple, natural. Here, there were no expectations, no obligations—just the two of you, building something real out of those little, ordinary moments.

But later that night, as you drifted off beside him, Logan stayed awake, lost in thought. His hand brushed over the small velvet box in his drawer, the ring that had waited all this time, the one that had been meant for you once before. He ran his thumb along the edge, thinking about when the right time might be—or if he’d even have the chance. For now, though, he’d savor each day, each quiet moment, holding on as tightly as he could.

---

You lay nestled between Logan’s legs on the couch, your head resting comfortably on his chest as you read, while he watched TV, idly sipping his beer. His free hand drifted up and down your arm absentmindedly, and you could feel the faint rumble of his quiet breaths beneath you. There was a calm in the cabin tonight—a peace you’d found only since being with him.

“What’s got you so hooked?” he asked, glancing down at your book with a smirk. “Looks like you’re deep in it.”

You tilted the book so he could see the cover, Jaws. “It’s a book about a shark.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “a shark, huh?”

You turned back to the book, keeping a small smile hidden. “Kind of. It’s a little deeper than just a shark, though.”

“Deeper than a shark, huh?” Logan smirked, shifting slightly to glance down at you, looking mildly amused. “Didn’t think a fish story could be that interesting.”

“It’s not just any fish, Logan,” you said, letting your hand rest on his as you settled back into his warmth. “This shark’s on a whole other level—a menace, basically unstoppable. And there’s all this tension between the people in the town, like who’s responsible, what to do, whether they even believe it’s happening.”

He gave a soft grunt of understanding, taking a sip of his beer. “Guess I can see why you’re hooked. Townsfolk fighting over a monster they can’t get rid of… kinda familiar.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, a glint of curiosity in your eyes. “You got experience with monsters, Logan?”

“More than you’d believe, darlin’,” he murmured, his eyes holding that far-off look he sometimes got when his mind slipped somewhere else, somewhere harder. But his grip on you stayed gentle, grounding him here.

There was a moment’s quiet, then he smirked, leaning down closer. “But I could take out your shark, no question.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, closing the book and giving him a look of mock skepticism. “A great white shark, Logan. One that can bite clean through a boat. I think even you’d have some trouble with that one.”

He snorted, giving you an exaggerated look of disbelief. “I’m tellin’ ya, I’d have it done in five minutes.”

You laughed, poking his chest. “I’d like to see that. You, in the water, with a shark. You’d probably scare it off.”

“Probably,” he chuckled, his tone playful but carrying a hint of something genuine. “But I’d do it for you.”

His words caught you off guard, softening the teasing banter into something warmer, something real. You looked up at him, and the light in his eyes held a familiar steadiness, a promise you hadn’t expected. You felt a smile creeping up, one that made your heart beat a little faster.

“That’s sweet of you, Logan. But don’t go risking your life over a shark.”

He shrugged, giving a small grin. “Risking my life’s kinda my thing.”

With a smirk, you shifted to put your arms around his neck. “I don’t need you to fight any sharks. I just need you here, safe, preferably not trying to tackle any more sea monsters.”

Logan’s hands came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “Don’t worry, darlin’. For you, I’d stay outta trouble… or at least, try.”

Your breath caught as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours softly. You melted into him, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath you, the steady beat of his heart, a promise in every kiss, every touch.

When you pulled back, he let out a small sigh, looking at you with a softness that made you feel as though you were the only person in the world.

“Now,” you murmured, your voice quiet as you tried to keep the mood light, “how about you let me finish reading this book before you start making any plans to fight sharks?”

“Fine,” he chuckled, leaning back into the couch, his arms still loosely around you. “But I’m just sayin’, the offer stands.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting back to lean against his chest, your book in hand. But even as you returned to the words on the page, the comfortable silence between you filled every corner of the cabin, your heart warmed by the man beside you.

---

When Logan came home and removed his jacket, the sound of music drifted to his ears, mingling with the low hum of a vacuum. The cabin was warm, a sharp contrast to the biting chill outside, the smell of pine and faint wood smoke greeting him like an old friend. The soft glow of late afternoon sun streaked through the windows, and as he stepped further in, he caught sight of you.

You were standing in the middle of the room, barefoot, wearing one of his old flannels that hung loose on your frame, the hem brushing just below the tops of your thighs. The vacuum roared in your hand as you cleaned, entirely oblivious to his arrival.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you. Something about this—a simple domestic scene—made his chest tighten, a warmth blooming there that he couldn’t quite name.

“Y’know, you’re not supposed to wear clothes that fit me better than they fit you,” he drawled, his voice cutting through the vacuum’s roar.

Startled, you turned it off with a quick flick of the switch and looked up, a sheepish smile spreading across your face. “Logan! You scared me,” you said.

“Didn’t mean to,” he replied, his tone warm as he pushed off the frame and walked toward you. His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor, and as he got closer, his eyes drank you in, lingering on the way the flannel gaped slightly at the neck, exposing the soft line of your collarbone. “Got a habit of sneakin’ up, I guess.”

You laughed softly, setting the vacuum aside. “If you were a little less loud, I’d think you were some kind of predator.”

“Oh, darlin’,” he said, his grin spreading as he reached for you, hands settling at your waist and pulling you close, “if I wanted to catch you, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Your breath hitched as his words settled between you, his voice a low rumble that always managed to make your knees feel just a little weaker. You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the solidness of him beneath your palms. “Good thing I’m not running then,” you murmured, tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

He leaned down, his nose brushing yours. “Good thing,” he echoed, before his lips claimed yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. His hands slid lower, fingers splaying over the curve of your hips, pulling you tighter against him. The flannel you wore rose slightly under his touch, and you gasped softly into his mouth as his fingers found bare skin.

“Logan,” you breathed against his lips, your voice a soft plea.

“Yeah?” he rasped, his mouth trailing down your jawline, his scruff brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers racing down your spine.

“Think you should let me finish cleaning,” you teased, though your hands had already slid up to wrap around his neck, fingers threading through the dark strands at the base of his skull.

He huffed a laugh, his teeth grazing the delicate line of your throat. “Nah, think I got a better idea.”

With a swift move, he bent and swept you off your feet, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. You let out a startled laugh, clinging to him as he carried you toward the couch. “Logan, the vacuum—”

“Vacuum’ll be there later,” he cut in, his voice gruff but tinged with amusement. “Right now, you’re the only thing I’m worried about.”

He set you down gently on the cushions, his large frame hovering over you as he knelt on the floor, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the flannel higher. The intensity in his gaze sent a flush rising to your cheeks, your heart pounding in anticipation.

“Been thinkin’ about you all day,” he admitted, his voice thick, raw. His hands paused, fingers curling just under the hem of the shirt. “Mind if I show you how much?”

You nodded, breathless, and he smiled—a rare, almost boyish expression that quickly dissolved into something darker, hungrier. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that left no room for doubt about where his mind was. His hands roamed freely now, skimming along the curve of your thighs, pushing the flannel higher and higher, exposing bare skin to the cool air of the room.

“Goddamn,” Logan muttered against your lips, his voice thick, raw. His hands splayed across your thighs, gripping them as though grounding himself, his thumbs brushing along the tender skin there. “You’re a fuckin’ dream, darlin’.”

A shiver ran through you, anticipation building as his kisses trailed lower, down your jaw, your neck, leaving a path of warm, open-mouthed caresses. You gasped softly, your hands tangling in his hair as he moved further down, sinking to his knees before you, his broad shoulders nudging your legs apart.

"Logan..." Your voice was barely more than a whisper, already trembling.

“Shh,” he murmured, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed a kiss just above your knee, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. The intensity there made your breath hitch. “Let me take care of you.”

He kissed his way up your inner thigh, taking his time, each press of his lips deliberate, teasing. Your heart pounded as you felt his warm breath against your skin, so close to where you wanted him, needed him.

When his lips finally brushed against you, his tongue darting out to taste, you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that spilled from your lips. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you closer as he buried his face between your thighs, his tongue working you with an expertise that made your head spin.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your hands clutching his hair, your hips arching into him. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his tongue delving deep before retreating to flick against the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you trembling, your thighs pressing around his head.

Logan growled against you, the vibrations shooting straight through your core, and the sound of it—rough, primal—only spurred you on. He was relentless, his lips and tongue working you with a fervor that left no doubt about how much he enjoyed this, enjoyed you.

“Logan, I—” Your words dissolved into a whimper, your body tensing as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His name was a mantra on your lips, each syllable punctuated by gasps and moans as he pulled you apart and put you back together with every stroke of his tongue.

When you finally shattered, the release crashing over you like a tidal wave, he didn’t stop. He worked you through it, his hands holding you steady as you trembled, as your body arched and writhed against him. Only when you were completely spent, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps, did he pull back, his lips and chin glistening as he looked up at you with a wicked grin.

“You taste like heaven,” he said, his voice rough, gravelly, as he rose to his feet, his hands still resting on your thighs. “I could do that all night.”

You laughed breathlessly, leaning back against the couch, your body still tingling, your cheeks flushed. “You’re insatiable.”

“Says the woman who was just beggin’ me for more,” Logan teased, his voice a low rumble as his lips brushed against yours. His kiss was slow and deliberate, his tongue sliding into your mouth with practiced ease. The taste of him mixed with the remnants of your own release sent a thrill racing through you, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, keeping him close.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You sure you’re not tryin’ to kill me, darlin’? Feels like every time I get my hands on you, I lose a few more pieces of myself.”

Your lips curved into a soft smile, your fingers idly playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.”

Logan huffed a laugh, the sound deep and almost self-deprecating. His thumb traced lazy circles on your thigh, his gaze locked on yours. “For you, maybe not. For me? I’m startin’ to think I wouldn’t mind it.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, a quiet confession that made your chest tighten. You reached up, brushing your thumb along the rough edge of his jaw. “I wouldn’t let that happen,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady. “You’re too important, Logan. To me.”

His expression softened, the hard edges of his usual demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me, Y/N.”

“Maybe you should show me,” you said, your voice carrying a teasing lilt, though the heat in your eyes betrayed how serious you were.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, almost mischievous grin. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Maybe. But you don’t seem to mind.”

He let out a low growl, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips. “You’re damn right I don’t.”

In one fluid motion, Logan had you lifted, his hands firm as he repositioned you to straddle his lap. You let out a surprised laugh, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself as you settled against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, the solidness of him grounding you in a way that felt almost necessary.

“See? Told ya I had better plans than cleanin’,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he spoke.

You tilted your head, giving him more access, a soft hum escaping your lips. “I think I’m starting to agree.”

Logan’s hands roamed over you, calloused fingers exploring the soft curves of your body with reverence. There was no rush, no urgency in his movements. It was deliberate, almost tender, as though he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

His lips trailed a path along your neck, his scruff scraping against your skin in a way that sent shivers racing down your spine. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he admitted, his voice low, almost like a growl.

“I could say the same about you,” you whispered, your fingers trailing down his chest, tracing the lines of muscle beneath his shirt.

Logan’s hands gripped the hem of the flannel you wore, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he slowly lifted it. He paused, his gaze flicking up to meet yours, seeking permission.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as he pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside. His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, taking in the sight of your bare skin bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice thick with something between awe and hunger.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but the look in his eyes kept any hint of self-consciousness at bay. “You’re staring,” you teased, though your voice wavered slightly under the weight of his gaze.

“Can’t help it,” he said simply, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing just beneath your ribs. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, Y/N. Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of lookin’ at you.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart ache in the best way. You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that was slow and deep, your hands threading through his hair as you pressed yourself against him.

Logan’s hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he shifted beneath you, the hard press of him against your core drawing a soft gasp from your lips. He swallowed the sound with a groan, his grip tightening as he began to rock you against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure racing through you.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need.

“Shh, I got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Just let me take care of you, darlin’.”

His hands moved to your waist, guiding your movements as he kissed you again, his lips moving against yours with a deliberate slowness that left you breathless. Each roll of your hips against him was maddeningly slow, the steady build of tension making you ache for more.

“Logan, please,” you whispered, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you tried to quicken the pace.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your lips. “Patience, Y/N. I’m not in a rush.”

You huffed in frustration, though the warmth in his gaze softened the sharp edges of your need. “You’re cruel,” you muttered, though the slight smile tugging at your lips betrayed your words.

“Cruel, huh?” he echoed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hands slid down to cup your ass, squeezing gently as he shifted beneath you. “Pretty sure you’ll be thankin’ me when I’m done with you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound dissolving into a soft moan as he bucked his hips against you, the friction sending another wave of heat coursing through you.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice a mix of exasperation and longing.

He grinned, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. “Yeah, darlin’? What do you need?”

“You,” you said simply, the single word carrying a weight that seemed to hang in the air between you.

Logan’s expression softened, his teasing demeanor shifting as something deeper flickered in his gaze. “You’ve got me,” he said, his voice steady, his hands firm on your hips as though anchoring you to him.

Your heart stuttered at his words, the raw sincerity of them making your chest feel impossibly tight. You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his as your fingers slid down his chest, the fabric of his shirt rough under your touch. “I’m glad,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips found yours again, the kiss unhurried and deliberate, his hands roaming up and down your thighs. The heat of him seeped into your skin, grounding you as you moved against him. The friction was maddening, a slow burn that made you ache for more.

“Darlin’,” he rasped against your lips, his voice thick and strained, “you’re makin’ it real hard to take this slow.”

“Maybe I don’t want slow,” you countered, your tone teasing, though the way your breath hitched betrayed your own urgency.

Logan chuckled low, the sound vibrating through you as his lips moved to your neck, trailing kisses along your skin. “Trust me, you do,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your pulse point just enough to make your thighs tighten around him. “I want to feel every second of this.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your fingers tightening in his hair as he took his time exploring every inch of you. Logan’s hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting you slightly as he shifted on the couch, settling back further into the cushions.

The new angle pressed you more firmly against him, drawing a gasp from your lips that he swallowed with another kiss. “Fuck,” you whispered, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone softer, though the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

“More than okay,” you replied, your voice trembling as you shifted your hips, testing the pressure between you.

Logan growled low in his throat, his grip on you tightening as his hands slid up your back. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N,” he said, his words heavy with reverence.

You didn’t reply, too caught up in the way he was looking at you, as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. “Off,” you said simply, your voice breathless but firm.

He smirked, obliging without hesitation as he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Your eyes raked over him, taking in the broad expanse of his chest, the scars that marred his otherwise flawless skin.

“Like what you see?” he teased, though there was a hint of vulnerability in his tone.

“Always,” you replied, your hands trailing over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of old wounds. “You’re beautiful, Logan.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hands sliding back to your waist. “Don’t think anyone’s called me that before.”

“Well, they should have,” you said, leaning in to press a kiss to his collarbone.

Logan’s hands tightened on your hips, guiding you as you moved against him, the steady grind of your bodies making your head spin. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, though the words were laced with affection.

“Not likely,” you quipped, a soft laugh escaping you.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shifted again, one hand moving to undo the button of his jeans. Your breath hitched as you realized what was coming next, anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice softer now, his gaze searching yours.

“Logan,” you said, your tone steady despite the way your heart was racing. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

He nodded once, his hands steady as he slid his jeans down just enough, freeing himself. You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you as you took him in, your cheeks flushing at the sight.

“Come here,” he said, his voice rough as he guided you closer, his hands firm on your hips.

You moved slowly, adjusting yourself over him, the heat of him against you making you tremble. Logan’s hands were steady, his thumbs brushing soothing circles on your skin as he guided you.

When you finally sank down onto him, the feeling was overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and fullness that made you moan softly. Logan groaned, his head falling back against the couch as his hands gripped your hips tightly.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasped, his voice raw. “You feel... Jesus, darlin’, you’re perfect.”

You didn’t reply, too caught up in the way he felt, the way he filled you completely. You braced your hands on his shoulders, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps as you began to move.

Logan’s hands guided your movements, his grip firm but not controlling as he let you set the pace. His lips found yours again, the kiss deep and consuming as you rocked against him, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

The steady rhythm built slowly, the intensity growing with each roll of your hips. Logan’s hands roamed over you, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair, grounding you in the moment.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You met his gaze, your heart skipping a beat at the way he was looking at you. It wasn’t just lust—it was something deeper, something that made your chest ache in the best way.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his hands tightening on your hips as he thrust upward, matching your movements.

The new angle sent a wave of pleasure crashing over you, a soft cry escaping your lips as you clung to him. “Logan,” you gasped, your voice trembling.

“Right here, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the strain in it.

The intensity between you grew, the slow, deliberate pace giving way to something more urgent as your bodies moved together. Each thrust, each kiss, each touch pushed you closer to the edge, the tension building to an almost unbearable peak.

When you finally shattered, it was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Logan held you through it, his hands steady on your hips as your body trembled, his name falling from your lips in a breathless mantra.

He followed moments later, a low, guttural groan escaping him as he buried his face in your neck, his grip on you tightening as he found his release.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your breaths mingling as you clung to each other, the world outside forgotten.

“You okay?” Logan asked finally, his voice soft, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“More than okay,” you replied, your voice muffled against his neck.

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not lettin’ you go anytime soon.”

“Didn’t plan on going anywhere,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips as you leaned back to look at him.

Logan’s expression softened, his hands moving to cup your face. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N,” he said, his voice filled with quiet reverence.

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your tone steady despite the warmth spreading through your chest.

“Damn right I am,” he said, his lips curving into a small, almost boyish grin.

The two of you stayed like that, tangled together on the couch, the rest of the world fading away. For now, there was only this—only him.

---

You turned off the water that was filling the bathtub and dipped your hand in to test the temperature of the water. The water was just right—hot, with steam gently rolling off the surface. You stood, wiping your hands on the towel, just as you heard the front door creak open and close with a soft click. Logan’s footsteps padded quietly through the cabin, but you could still feel that familiar presence, that comforting weight of him even when he wasn’t yet in sight.

You barely had time to turn around before he appeared in the doorway, eyebrows raised as he took in the sight of you standing by the tub. “Now this is a surprise,” he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Thought you’d like a soak after all that work you did today,” you replied, a little smile tugging at your mouth. You stepped aside, gesturing toward the water. “Go on, it’s ready.”

Logan’s gaze softened, though his smirk never quite faded. “So you’re spoilin’ me now, huh?”

“Maybe a little,” you teased, leaning against the doorframe as you watched him. “Can’t have you overdoing it. You might be practically indestructible, but a hot bath never hurt anyone.”

He chuckled, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off. “Got a point there,” he admitted, tossing it onto the nearby chair. You tried not to stare, but you couldn’t help your eyes drifting over the familiar planes of his chest, scars crisscrossing his skin like a map of all the years he’d survived. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t mind—just kept undressing as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Logan stepped into the tub, easing himself down with a contented sigh as he settled into the water. He leaned his head back, his eyes fluttering shut as the steam rose around him. For a moment, you simply watched him, a fond smile on your lips.

“Good?” you asked softly, breaking the silence.

He cracked one eye open, glancing at you with a lazy grin. “Better than good. You joinin’ me?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “This one’s all yours. I’ll go make us something to drink.”

Before you could turn, Logan reached out, his wet hand catching yours. He looked up at you, his expression softer now. “Stay, darlin’. Least for a bit.”

His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, and you found yourself nodding, unable to refuse him. You sat down beside the tub, close enough that you could still feel the warmth of the water, and he let his hand rest in yours.

Logan kissed the top of your hand, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Sure ya don’t wanna join me? Promise I don’t bite."

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Uh-huh. That's what they all say."

He chuckled, his fingers still wrapped gently around yours, as if he was savoring this quiet moment between you. “Could use a little company, that’s all,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving your face.

“This is supposed to be a bath for you.” You replied, your own eyebrow quirked.

“I’d enjoy it more if you were in here with me.”

You raised an eyebrow at Logan, the corner of your mouth quirking into a teasing smile. “Is that right? Well, maybe if you’re lucky.”

Logan’s smirk deepened, a playful glint in his eye as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the side of the tub. “Oh, come on. I’m always lucky when it comes to you.” His voice was a low murmur, pulling you in with that familiar, lazy charm he always seemed to have.

“Uh-huh, says the guy who tried to convince me he could take on a shark,” you shot back, crossing your arms, leaning casually against the wall. “You’re just full of bold ideas, huh?”

He chuckled, giving a shrug. “I stand by that. But I’m talkin’ serious here.” His hand reached out, fingertips grazing your wrist in a way that sent a warmth through you. “No sharks, no messin’ around. Just you, right here.”

The sincerity caught you a little off guard. The tension settled into something deeper as you looked at him, his hand steady on yours, like he was holding onto more than just the moment.

“I guess… I could keep you company,” you said softly, the lightness of your earlier words giving way to something quieter. You slipped out of your shirt, feeling Logan’s gaze follow you, his eyes dark with a warmth that made you feel both nervous and excited.

Sliding into the water, you settled in close to him, leaning back as his arms naturally came around you. The water was hot, relaxing every part of you, but it was Logan’s touch, the gentle press of his fingers tracing over your arm, that made you feel completely at ease.

“See?” he murmured against your hair, his lips grazing the top of your head. “Told ya this was a good idea.”

You hummed, closing your eyes as you leaned into him. “You did. Guess I should listen to you more often.”

Logan’s hand slid along your shoulder, trailing down your arm with a steady, careful touch, like he was trying to memorize every inch. You felt the warmth of his breath against your neck, followed by the soft press of his lips just below your ear. The tension of the day melted away, leaving you relaxed and content in his embrace.

For a few moments, you both just stayed there, the only sounds the quiet rustle of water and the occasional creak of the cabin settling. Logan’s fingers traced small, lazy circles along your arm, his other hand holding you close against him, anchoring you to him like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“So,” you murmured, breaking the silence, “this isn’t so bad, right?”

Logan let out a low chuckle. “Could get used to it,” he said, his voice rumbling against your back. “Peace and quiet. Just the two of us.” His hand dipped below the water, wrapping around yours.

You squeezed his hand, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “Thought you’d be the type to get bored out here, all this peace and quiet.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug, though his thumb continued to brush over the back of your hand. “Can handle a bit of quiet if it means you’re here,” he said softly, almost as if he was talking to himself.

You smiled, tilting your head to look at him, your faces close. “Guess that makes two of us.” You felt a strange flutter in your stomach, the weight of those unspoken words lingering between you both.

Logan’s eyes flicked down to your lips, his gaze soft and intent. “You gonna kiss me, or do I gotta ask real nice?”

“Always so impatient,” you teased, but you leaned in, closing the distance, your lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss. His hand moved up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepened the kiss, slow and unhurried, like he was savoring every second. When you finally pulled back, you were both breathing a little heavier, your forehead resting against his.

Logan looked at you, a small, crooked smile on his lips. “See? Worth the wait.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but there was no denying the truth in his words. “You really know how to charm a girl, you know that?”

“Only got one girl I’m tryin’ to charm,” he replied, his voice rough but warm.

Your smile softened as you nestled back against him, letting the silence settle over you both once more. The warmth of the water, the feel of his arms around you—it felt like a small eternity in that moment, like nothing else in the world mattered except this.

---

Trying to turn the conversation away from what Logan told you, about Stryker coming to visit him about a ‘mission’, you started to talk about your day, with Logan’s head in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“The stray was matted but Tina started calling him Wolf. Said the dog reminded her of another animal.”

Logan hummed, his eyes still closed, “lemme guess, she showed you a picture of the animal from her book.”

You giggled, “yeah, she did. Gotta admit that dog looked quite similar to the wolverine in her book.” You tilted your head downwards to look at him, “Reminded me of you. Grizzly, sometimes dirty.”

Logan opened one eye, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah? Grizzly, huh?”

“Maybe a little.” You grinned, your fingers drifting through his hair in slow strokes. “Not just the dirty part, by the way. Wolverines are pretty fierce, don’t let much stand in their way.”

He let out a low chuckle, closing his eye again, seeming to relax further under your touch. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment, comin’ from you.” There was a slight pause, and his voice softened a bit. “Not everyone’s a fan of the grizzly type.”

You scoffed lightly, continuing to thread your fingers through his hair. “Well, good thing I am. You know, even wolverines have a soft side somewhere.”

Logan huffed a small laugh. “Yeah? Don’t think I’ve got much of that left, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Oh, you definitely do.” You brushed a thumb gently along his temple. “Trust me. Like today—taking the time to help out with that old couple’s truck, even after a full day’s work.” You smiled down at him, admiration clear in your gaze. “I see it, Logan, even if you don’t.”

He tilted his head a bit, opening his eyes and looking up at you, his expression unreadable for a second before he sighed, a smirk breaking the moment. “Keep sayin’ things like that, and I might start to believe you.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

Logan’s gaze softened, but he kept his usual, laid-back tone. “Guess I’m lucky you put up with me, huh?”

“You know it.” You winked, letting your fingers trail down to his jawline, and you felt him relax a little more, like he could melt under your touch. “Plus, someone’s gotta keep you in check.”

“Not an easy job,” he muttered, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he leaned into your hand, his voice barely above a murmur. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N.”

The two of you fell quiet for a moment, the warmth in his gaze making your heart beat just a little faster, and you couldn’t help but lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. When you pulled back, he just looked at you with that familiar mix of amusement and something else—a depth you didn’t need him to explain.

You shifted slightly, a small smile still on your face. “Now, about that dog—think you could convince Tina to bring him around here?”

Logan’s eyebrows lifted, a smirk tugging at his lips again. “Bringing a stray mutt up here? You sure?”

“Why not? He’d be a good watch dog for you when I’m not around,” you said, with a wink.

He chuckled, a bit softer this time. “Guess I’ll think about it.” Then, his eyes crinkled with that familiar spark of humor. “But only if you promise not to call me Grizzly in front of anyone else.”

You laughed, leaning back against the couch, his head still in your lap. “Deal.”

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke, and you just let yourself soak up the comfortable silence, the simplicity of Logan resting there, perfectly at ease. And as your hand drifted gently through his hair again, you couldn’t help but wonder if this—these quiet moments—might be what you’d both been needing all along.

---

You were driving down a narrow road, the trees thickening as you made your way toward town. The familiar hum of a cassette player filled the car, and you tapped your fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm. It had been a good week—a small but sweet milestone with Logan, half a year together, and you’d even managed to keep things peaceful in that cabin of his. Tonight was supposed to be simple, a little surprise you’d planned: a tiramisu. Probably the only thing you could bake to perfection.

You rounded a curve, smiling to yourself when—

The sight in the distance made your stomach twist. A figure stood in the middle of the road, dressed in black, unmoving, watching you with an unsettling focus. You slowed the car, blinking to see if you were imagining things. But no—he was still there, large and unflinching in the middle of the narrow path.

As you approached, your heart hammered against your ribs. Something about him was familiar, but not in any way that felt safe or warm.

You pressed on the brake, bringing the car to a cautious stop. The man took a slow, deliberate step forward, his face coming into view under the faint sunlight streaming through the trees. His eyes were cold, almost amused, and his mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

It was him—Victor. The man Logan had mentioned a few times, enough to make you know he wasn’t someone you’d ever want to meet, much less find waiting for you like this.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, his voice deep, mocking, and calm in a way that was anything but reassuring.

You tried to keep your face calm, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Just heading into town,” you replied, voice steadier than you felt. “Is there…something you need?”

He tilted his head, like he was sizing you up. “Logan ever mention me?”

A chill crawled up your spine, but you kept your expression guarded. “Maybe once or twice.”

Victor took another step forward, his gaze raking over you with a twisted curiosity, almost like he was toying with the idea of letting you go—but only almost. “See, I’ve been meaning to have a little chat with him,” he drawled, his tone venomous, “and here you are, just making it easy for me.”

You felt a pulse of dread, instinct telling you to turn the car around and get out of there, fast. But you knew better than to provoke him. “Logan’s not here,” you said, hoping that would be enough.

He smirked, that same cold expression never leaving his face. “I’m aware,” he murmured, taking another slow step toward you. “You think he’d leave someone like you on your own if he thought you’d be safe?”

Your heart raced, a knot of fear tightening in your throat. You wanted to say something, anything, to stall him, to get yourself out of this, but nothing came to mind. The realization was dawning, and from the look in Victor’s eyes, he knew it too. There would be no bargaining, no reasoning with him.

"Didn't think Logan would be the type to leave someone behind. Guess I was wrong," he said, sounding amused.

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, refusing to give in to the fear swirling in your chest. "Logan’s not here," you repeated, your voice firm.

"Like I said, I know," Victor replied smoothly, taking another step. His eyes traveled over the car, then over you, a twisted curiosity behind them. "But I figure, maybe you can pass along a little message for me."

Every instinct told you to run, but the car blocked you in, and Victor was only feet away. "What do you want, Victor?"

He grinned, his sharp teeth glinting under the dim light. "Simple. Tell Logan I said 'hi'... if you get the chance."

The dread in your stomach crystallized as he lunged forward. You tried to move, to react, but he was too fast. His hand closed around your throat, lifting you out of the car as though you weighed nothing, and you fought, kicking, clawing, anything you could think of to get free.

"You know," Victor’s voice was disturbingly calm, "he’s been through a lot. But there’s always that soft spot, that weakness he can’t seem to shake."

Desperation flared within you, and you kicked harder, one foot making contact with his chest. It only made him laugh, and he tightened his grip, his face drawing close enough that you could see the cold cruelty in his eyes.

"You’re just like all the others," he murmured, voice almost thoughtful. "Maybe a little more stubborn, but that’s hardly new."

Black spots began to dance at the edges of your vision, your breath coming shorter and shorter. You knew there was no getting out of this—not with him, not with a monster like Victor Creed.

But Logan...

---

Logan walked through the vegetation right by where he and the other guys were cutting apart a tree. He stopped short once he saw the head of an animal laying on the yellow grass.

“What you doing, Logan?” One of the guys asked from behind.

Logan looked around before seeing large scratch marks on a tree trunk, lined with red. “Y/N.” He whispered, before running down the hill and through the forest.

Once he hit the clearing, he could see the truck on the side of the road. Logan reached the car, his hands gripping the window frame as he scanned the empty interior. “Y/N…?” His voice was rough, the crack of worry breaking through, echoing in the quiet forest.

His eyes darted down to the disturbed earth, faint scuff marks in the dirt telling him where you might’ve been dragged. His heart hammered as he followed the path into the trees, every step growing heavier with dread as he moved through the dense underbrush, the silence unsettling.

And then, in a small clearing, he found you.

You were lying there, so still, your skin pale against the forest floor, hair fanned around you like a dark halo. Blood flecked the ground, stark and terrible against the greenery. He staggered, dropping to his knees beside you, reaching out with trembling hands, one of them clenching briefly before he let himself touch you.

“Y/N…” he whispered, voice breaking as he cupped your face, his fingers brushing a smear of dirt from your cheek. Your eyes were closed, lips parted just slightly, as if you’d been trying to say his name. For a split second, he could almost pretend you were just asleep, and that any second you’d open your eyes, make some joke, or reach up to tug him down to you.

But there was no warmth, no spark, nothing.

Logan’s breath caught, and he pulled you close, his arms cradling you as if he could shield you from the reality already etched into his heart. The rage simmered below his skin, burning through the grief, fueling the ache with something primal. He rocked back, jaw clenched so hard it hurt, his face buried in your hair, trying to hold on to any last trace of you, the faint scent of you still lingering, even as everything around him felt like it was falling apart.

“You… You were supposed to be safe here,” he whispered against your hair, voice hoarse. “I shoulda been here. I shoulda…” His words trailed off into silence as he sat there, unmoving, clutching you in his arms as if the weight of his grief alone could pull you back.

He looked down at you, his thumb grazing over your cheek one last time, as though trying to commit every detail of your face to memory. “Y/N… I swear… I’ll make him pay.” The last words came out like a promise, a vow laced with the kind of anger only a man like Logan could bear. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before letting out a long, broken breath.

When he finally tore his gaze away from you, his eyes turned cold, a new resolve searing through him.

This wasn’t over.

umm... sorry??

i tried to make a different version of how logan got the name 'wolverine' to try and fit reader's personality, since she probably doesn't know about the myth kayla did.

next chapter will be x2!

[soapieanxiety]

Historical Iceland Ramble: Part 1 - Early Childhood

We’re actually pretty lucky to get a good look at Icelands very early childhood. Not only do we see him immediately after he was “born” but we also see more of his childhood from before Norway showed up in his life.

Interesting things I immediately notice:

- While Norway physically wasn’t there in his life his connection to Iceland is still important even before the two met

- Iceland doesn’t know that he’s a representation but he does know that he’s not human

- Iceland's loneliness is something he’s dealt with literally since he was born. He’s literally Dr. Doofenshmirtz levels of loneliness. I am not joking he’s extremely lonely.

- His hot and cold side is immediately established in these manga panels. Iceland is someone with a lot of internal fire however externally he appears to be the opposite. Sometimes people only portray one side of his personality and ignore the other, but if you truly want to understand Iceland you have to understand that there are two sides to him. They may seem contradictory but in reality both sides merge together and create Iceland. It cannot be ignored

These panels right here tell us directly that there is more to Iceland than what meets the eye. We’ve been told this in character notes, but in the actual content of Hetalia, we are shown it here. We’re shown it constantly, but this is the most in-your-face example I’ve seen. Iceland is directly getting upset at people judging him just based off first impressions. This shows us that not portraying him with these two sides is doing his character a disservice.

In some stories, I see that people make it that Norway found Iceland pretty quickly after his “birth." However I believe that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m gonna get more into timeline in the next paragraph, but the panel with Iceland contemplating if he has a brother takes place at a minimum 130 years after his “birth." Want proof? These are the next two panels that happen immediately after

It’s believed that civilization on Iceland started at around 870 AD, and it looks like that’s the date Hima went with. It’s the date I’m going to go with as well. Christianity came to Iceland at around the year 999 or 1000 AD, meaning Iceland met the God (/j but y’know what I mean) before he met his brother, the other Nordics, or Mr. Puffin. Now I can see someone arguing that maybe he’s met Mr. Puffin already; however, I believe that if he had, Mr. Puffin would be somewhere in these panels. He’s always with Iceland, and if he’s not, it’s a logical assumption to make that he just hasn’t met the bird yet.

Iceland makes a new friend! Despite the mental breakdown, I do believe meeting Mr. Puffin was an all-around positive in Iceland's life. We see them together constantly after-this, and Iceland finally gets his much needed social interaction. Even if it’s from a bird. He’s still suffering from extreme loneliness, which will affect him for the rest of his life. But it’s a good thing he has Mr. Puffin now, who does teach him a bit about the outside world.

I’d also like to note that Iceland, who knows he has a brother, believes that he’s the only island to exist and that the rest of the world is just ocean. That’s how much he’s suffering from loneliness. I can’t really pinpoint a year these panels take place but I’m fairly confident they take place after 1000, which, as stated earlier, is over 100 years after Iceland was “born.”

These are the last manga panels I’d like to go over and the ones I find the most interesting, in my opinion.

We see more of Iceland and Mr. Puffins time together in Iceland's early childhood. Mr. Puffin tells Iceland about the outside world, which Iceland doesn’t believe. I think this is probably just the loneliness getting to him. What I find really interesting in this panel is that it confirms that Norway knows Iceland exists. Now I love Norway, I’m a firm believer that he’s doing his best as a brother. But this is probably his biggest brother fumble, in my opinion. As an older sibling myself, I can understand being busy with your own life. Norway is obviously busy in this panel, but at this point, Iceland has existed for over 100 years now, and he still hasn’t gone to see him. Being busy for that long just isn’t an excuse. Now I guess I can see a point that maybe this was the first time he realized he had a little brother. However, I believe that this isn’t the first time. Iceland’s “birth” scene has a blacked-out silhouette of Norway and his voice. Now we don’t know what Norway said, but this is implying to me that Norway knows Iceland exists.

Bottom line: Iceland's loneliness in his early childhood was avoidable. Norway could’ve shown up way earlier, but he didn’t. I’m not going to bash him that much for it, but this heavily affects Iceland. I can understand that Norway was most likely a teenager at this time who was focused on being a Viking and fighting other people. However, the negative impacts of this weigh heavy, and Norway’s nosy and overbearing behavior is probably him trying to compensate for not being there for Iceland during this time in his life.

Anyways, thank you for reading Part 1 of this historical Iceland analysis. Part 2 will cover a broader history. I feel like the reason this part was so long is simply because we have so much content of Iceland’s early life. If Part 3 is needed (honestly it might), I’ll let y’all know before Part 2 is published. Expect Part 2 to be published sometime around Thanksgiving, whether that’s before or after. Again, thank you for reading this. My notes app literally started glitching because of how long this was.

[froggo-333]

ARCANE SPOILERS

sorry this is about to be longwinded asf but is anyone else kinda disappointed with the last arc. this is mostly gonna be about vi and jinx although i think them teasing sevika stuff but her showing up like twice and not saying shit was also weird. from the start i didn't like caitvi on like a yay shipping level but i didn't mind them that much. the lesbian situationship bit in the first two acts of season 2 were funny, i actually enjoyed it cause hey girl i've def been there before, but the third act is where i really begin having issues. at the start of the season vi becomes a cop. i know she is one in league but with the story in arcane it feels a little bit of an odd choice but i digress, its coming off like she once again is shouldering the blame for jinx. she is vi's problem. she is trying to fix things. obviously this doesn't work, cait starts changing, there is the whole isha protecting jinx moment (isha's character in gen), vi crashes out. the build up so far feels like vi and jinx are going to reconcile at least somewhat to have an understanding of each other, the crashout for vi aiding in this with vi completely changing and then starting to have an understanding of her sister. the vander and isha moment in ep 6 was what i thought to be the climax for this. then act three starts. we're in a different universe where vi is dead but everyone lives in the memory of her. jinx has a huge memorial and pink in her hair, vander has a vi tattoo, ekko paints the mural. we go back to our universe and vi is rightfully yelling at cait not mincing her words at all, sure cait explains herself but never once has she shown any change with her actual actions. Vi learns jinx turned herself in and later when she goes down to find jinx she sees her suicidal and depressed. when jinx tricks her and escapes locking vi in why, after cait gets vi out, does vi not go running after jinx? why does she proceed to have sex with cait randomly in the jail cell her sister was in???? the line of jinx "supporting" caitvi felt like she was bitter and added to her depressed state. remember she became jealous that vi showed up with cait in s1?? that should've been ekko AND vi saving jinx later on. whats the point of jinx coming back with a haircut JUST like vi's and with pink in her hair for barely anything. what was the point of any of this. it does an incredible disservice to vi and jinx as characters and their entire relationship. its weird after all this vi would go back to cait. the final line for them comes off soo unbelievably laughably classist after everything i legit have no words for that shit. "i am the dirt under your nails cupcake nothings gonna clean me out" to the upper class person whose family was gassing zaun and who knows what else historically we as the audience don't know. i simply just do not think a character that is supposed to be embodying the hardships of the zaun would do all that.

[mtvjedi]

can i complain about gladiator 2. i’m gonna!!!! here is your official spoiler warning!!!!!

i knew frankly nothing of the plot before i went to see it i ONLY saw it because of pedro pascal and paul mescal (and denzel) so in that sense it was a good movie. in all other senses it was…………. well……….. a movie. why was lucius beat for beat maximus from the original movie but written worse. birthright stolen from him, wife murdered by the roman army, forced into being a gladiator due to the whims of powerful men, eventually becomes Thee leader of the gladiators, overthrows the current emperors/government/etc. except we have the added “plot twist” of him being maximus’ son AND marcus aurelius’ grandson. double nepo baby. i say plot twist because it was obvious to probably literally everyone who knows even a tiny bit about the original movie.

it is very obvious that they cut basically everything important from the plot because nothing connects. the ONLY plot line that has any kind of follow through is denzel’s so no shock he was the best part of the movie. side note i knew once they cast him that he wasn’t going to be playing some silly goofy mentor character so him turning out to be more important wasn’t surprising but his true motivations were and, again, the only coherent plot line in the movie. he was a slave, he bought his freedom, he got rich, and he did what he had to do to get his revenge. his and paul mescal’s relationship was the most interesting one because you were a slave but now you’re buying slaves and potentially sending them to their gruesome bloody deaths in the hopes that someday one might be powerful enough to help you overthrow the emperors??? did you KNOW paul mescal was lucius when you found him or was that simply pure dumb luck???? “the dream of rome is dead” ???? great continuation of the first movie because truly like what was supposed to happen post russell crowe killing joaquin phoenix and then immediately dying. who was in charge after that. side note: why were there like. full scenes from gladiator in there as flashbacks.

pedro pascal was like. kind of exactly the character i expected him to be. but again it feels like there’s MORE that they could have done with him. i understand why he had to die and it WAS interesting to pit him against paul mescal in the arena and then have the praetorian guard actually kill him to show how the emperors were losing control of the people, enter denzel, but. idk it felt like there was something missing from his character. i was actually convinced that the guy who put young lucius on the horse and sent him away would turn around and be pedro pascal and that would’ve been like an interesting little i saved your life please show me mercy here’s how i connect to the story besides being your stepdad type thing but here we are i guess.

poor paul mescal, truly. i thought he was as good as he could be with what he was given. his whole character just felt disjointed. like, it makes sense up until he’s revealed to be lucius. captured from his home, forced to watch his wife and eventually his friend/mentor die in front of him as a direct result of the roman empire, forced into slavery, doesn’t want to kill other slaves but eventually has to because he, like denzel, has an axe to grind with rome. but then he actually gets to rome and appears to not remember anything about who he really is, his mom figures it out in 0.2 seconds, and he suddenly remembers everything? had he ever even forgotten it? if he hadn’t forgotten, what was his plan back in his city? did he really love his wife? if he had forgotten, how does he remember everything so quickly? why does he hate his mom if he was 12 when she sent him away, aka old enough to understand what was happening? like, him in the first half and him in the second half are completely different characters and there’s not much of a bridge to connect them. there’s no explanation. honestly i kinda thought the real plot twist was gonna be that he actually was just some random kid and not actually lucius. like he just Becomes this character at the end without any real growth!!! he forgets about his wife and his friend! he has the chance to kill pedro pascal but he just……… doesn’t, for whatever reason. i kinda thought he was gonna die at the end because there had been so many little flashback moments to his wife crossing into the afterlife like russell crowe walking in the field to his wife and kid but i was gonna be really pissed if he died because then it’s just like exactly the same as the first movie where like who’s gonna lead??? you’re gonna be in the exact same spot in 20 years again!!!!!

idk it was just so long but nothing like. happened. it’s like a half baked gladiator remake but there’s so much CONTENT missing. overall, cheesy, the “dream of rome is dead, but we can rebuild it for all of us” or whatever thing was a little heavy handed, 10/10 for denzel washington, fun to watch if you don’t wanna think about the plot, pedro pascal and paul mescal as beautiful as expected.

[artisticxlly]

Some (actually a lot) of my thoughts on Kagehina; the theme of soulmates

Disclaimer: I am still somewhat new to posting in this fandom. Someone might've posted these same exact takes already (I'm not well-versed in Kagehina analyses). This is just my pure brainrot (also unfiltered, so this doesn't have a ton of structure, just a collection of thoughts)!

As I'm getting more into this ship, there are a lot of things that make me emotional about them.

A thing some people point out when it comes to these two is that Kageyama's backstory is shown extremely late in the manga as a 'protagonist' (or at the least a very essential character). You can argue whether or not it's done well, but for me this is perfect to demonstrate a full-circle moment, as not only did Kageyama find this person that Kazuyo promised would find him, you as the reader only get to realise that now as well.

And adding onto that, in my opinion it also contrasts nicely with Hinata, as his backstory is shown from day one, it is one of the first things explored in the manga. It starts and ends with them, so to say.

About their backstories: As someone who is very much invested in Kageyama's whole arc of 'king of the court', here is a speculation of how he actually got to that point.

Maybe this is a bit obvious, but losing someone like Kazuyo is devastating. And at the time, Kageyama would struggle with making new friends. He always stands out in those flashback panels as someone who carries a passion for volleyball like no one else (at least for his childhood) e.g., he gets made fun of for not owning any video games.

At its core, that intense interest in volleyball is what connected him and his grandfather so deeply.

It makes sense for Kageyama to desperately dig his nails into that remainder of Kazuyo, to train more and more, chasing that feeling of connection to someone he was actively grieving.

And another point would be this famous panel:

"If you get really good". And Kageyama takes his word for it, because really, his grandfather would be one of the people he trusts more than anything. And he practices until exhaustion, until he can't, because he wants to have a relationship (no matter the nature) like that again, wants a deep connection that he gains through his passion for the sport. He wants someome to find him.

I think Kageyama would reach a point where the amount of time he invests into training would be both physically and mentally unhealthy.

And perhaps, that's what also leads to him having no compassion for the people who don't share the same fire as him on the court (which is honestly a bit of a common theme for Haikyuu and its characters). He'd probably doubt a person who is like what Kazuyo described exists.

And then Kageyama and Hinata meet for the first time one the court.

The first time you read the chapter, without knowing Kageyama's backstory, it's moreso framed that he is insensitive, a bit of a jerk too. You could even go as far as to interpret the line as "what have you been doing until now?!" as Kageyama thinking that Hinata should've just practised harder, especially when he later goes on to say that Hinata should get "better" if he truly wants to stay on the court for as long as possible.

When you reread the chapter after going through the whole manga though, these lines make a lot more sense, and - depending on your perspective - are a peek into just how taken Kageyama is when faced with someone who has an equal drive as him on the court.

"what have you been doing until now?!" turns into "why havent I met you sooner?" and "get better" turns into "get better (than me), so we can find each other again" (As Kazuyo promised Kageyama).

And actually, Kazuyo's promise doesn't become fully realised until they're both on the court again, now in different teams.

That's why the flashback to that line is used then, not when Hinata and Kageyama first bond together in Karasuno. Not when they make it to nationals. No, when they're in different teams, after you see Hinata go through a whole lot of development away from Kageyama, then the promise is finally fullfilled. You could argue back and forth which one of them ended up being "someone better" but the point is that they found each other again because of it. Doesn't even really matter that they're on different sides of the court.

That's their arc, at least if you focus on Kageyama's backstory.

In general though, they are characters that continue to parallel each other, over and over. The amount of which is honestly almost absurd.

One of the biggest ones is just how much time they invest into practicing. The manga makes it a point with both of them that the people around them don't have the same energy as them and get tired out while those two continue (like maniacs /hj).

I mean, they even like the gym for the same reason, they're fond of the smell (which makes me mushy I won't lie, these goddamn weirdos /aff).

Another one is that they both want to play as long as possible. During the first chapter of the manga, this whole theme drags through the whole chapter, as they both talk about competing to get to stay on the court longer than anyone else.

A last one, that I just find funny, is that their numbers are ALWAYS one apart and sometimes even the same as in previous teams, EXCEPT for their third year in high school.

Junior high 3rd year: 2 and 1

High school 1st year: 9 and 10

High school 3rd year: 2 and 5

Adlers/Msby: 20 and 21

National team (2021): 9 and 10

Ali Roma/Asas São Paulo: 20 and 21

Like it's not funny, how much these two share even before knowing each other. And yet, despite all the similarities, they don't immediately get along in the way you'd think. There is this weird tension where they meet, they immediately get into an argument, too. But there is nuance to it. Izumi points it out actually, that Kageyama took Hinata seriously. The rest of the people there didn't think much of Hinata and his team, and yet Kageyama seemed to have this 'innate' sense that Hinata wasn't someone you should underestimate.

And they fight again, when trying to get into Karasuno, when they're in Karasuno, etc. etc. But it's never them genuinely disliking each other, it's just bickering at most. And as you read along you grow very fond of that aspect of them.

Maybe it is an overused word, but I don't think you could make it any clearer that those two are written to be soulmates.

Anyways, those are my thoughts! I'm obviously not normal about them, but I hope someone else can agree with these takes ^^

[iianx-0]

There’s something about Avery that I can’t stop thinking about. Ive been reading SO MUCH analytical questions/theories about Avery compared to the other LIs that makes his in-game content so bare.

I never thought I’ll be so enhanced on Avery story until I saw soo much about him. I want to put them in my pocket and use them as a stress ball in a way.

Adding a few extra parts is that, Avery is estranged by his family over a ‘prank’ he did while he was in college, Avery holds much resentment towards their family after this because by doing so it also made him different to his peers. Avery climb back up the social ladder quick by dating higher-ups and then dropping it once they reached his goal; he is still much estranged by his family current-game, wish to be in like the highest society their could be (the cult for that matter), owned the black dog then sent the dog to the pound after they bit his wrist (which left a scar and covered by his watch) and sent a good chunk of his previous dates/sugarbabies to the asylum??

With other silly things like how in college, Avery and some friends went to go on a hike and almost died of dehydration?? And i think one of them might be Remy??? I thinks. Another one is how Avery was on a yacht and got straight up accosted by Zephyr’s ship and got let out because of relations. Bro almost died because he doesn’t know how to cook too?? He once drank and drive before?? Puri said that Avery and Whitney illegal racing so Avery can live his glory days is funny too.

This is the the most I can remember from things I read on twitter some details might be wrong like the hike, it mighr be an excursion in general and remy may or may not been there. But I think Avery’s character is kind of funny from a different standpoint, I can see why a lot of the characters think he’s foolish, man keeps on challenging and keeps on surviving somehow.

[wordsofwilderness]

me (an empath) sensing that the star wars post was about me... if u summarise star wars in jegulus terms and i might watch them

That may have been you yeah lol. I got to dig through my notes and cry about another pair of doomed siblings, which I think I needed? so thank you 😅

I'm gonna be honestly here, Star Wars on its surface isn't actually very Jegulus lmao, like there is zero one-to-one parallels here. This is more of a taking it apart adding a heavy dose of themes from the wider star wars canon and putting it back together in a slightly different way kinda thing. Like for example I'm throwing away all of the character connections/relations from star wars and fully replacing them with the marauders ones. (For anyone who's reading that knows Star Wars, trust the process here, I am a girl with a vision (homoerotic lightsaber battles))

Though, in Jegulus terms there are some themes that fit very well. There is the fight between light and dark where both are trying to convince the other to join them so they don't have to fight against them. Then there is the duality of hate and love which is just peak Regulus in and of itself, like how caring about people leads can lead to hurt and how that hurt can fester and consume you if you let it. And then there is trying to see the best in other people even after they have long given up on themselves which is just PEAK James Potter (oh how I love that man)

Anyway, if you do decide to watch it maybe just stick to the original trilogy, everything else is a bit uhh… lets just say diverse in quality

(also, I'm just putting it out here, Star Wars has really good creature design,,, just so u know)

[ms-scarletwings]

The kitten chapter was particularly hard for me to get through, personally. Honestly, I don't know how the turtle bit can be so bad for anyone considering everything that preceded it and its context. Especially when it’s people who finished the book and bring it up after the fact. Like, you made it through about 12 things worse than that specific scene AND still a lot of other brutal ones to come later, and after the entire book the turtle scene was the lowest point you’re still thinking about?

I think I kind of get why though. It was one of the few animal harm depictions that genuinely involved no malice on the part of the perpetrators. It was something many of us may actually even have a comparable experience with IRL for some empathetic reference. For me that made it easier, but for others it probably added to the upset because it’s very easy to put yourself in Max or Newton’s shoes for it. To feel like you’re there helplessly watching with them. I saw what was coming with the turtle from about a mile away though, because I already understood and knew the point that scene was trying to get across. There wasn’t a single thing unexpected about how badly that entire scenario was going to go before they even caught the animal. It didn’t hit me any differently than the bird nest story did.

Meanwhile, the chimp scene put powerful feelings of dread in the pit of me though and I did have to take a break there.

That damn chimp part was placed so perfectly where it was for maximum impact, too. The shit in the plot had not REALLY hit the fan yet, but the chimp chapter was horrific in how it was used as a foreshadowing of just how dark things were about to get. The queasy pull in your body you feel on the uphill climb before the roller coaster drops. It said “here’s a scenario that is already horrific and more viscerally upsetting than you were prepared for… in a controlled lab setting with a non-human victim. Now get ready to see what happens when that cycle repeats unrestrained and onto these main characters you’ve built up some familiarity with over the story so far.”

I don’t blame a single person for picking that place to reconsider if they wanted to stay on the ride. The kitten scene actually does the exact same thing and that’s why my shock and my dismay for it did not stop after the chapter did. It’s also why I really don’t like when people criticize it as randomly inserted cheap gross-out with zero point or contribution to the story. The kitten scene was fully intentioned to stay in your mind as you directly segwayed from that flashback immediately to the present where its implications were about to be followed through. “Here’s what this monster is capable of when he has power over something weaker than himself and he has to be careful and secretive…. Now brace for what’s about to happen when he has that same power over a child (and later on, other scouts), has no one to hide from, and he’s no longer worried about being so careful.”

Cutter was insidiously effective at what he was going for and if nothing else I gotta give him kudos for that much.

I love reading impressions from people after they've finished 'The Troop'. They always fall into a few specific categories, them being they couldn't finish the book on account of the turtle chapter, or that the chapter featuring the chimpanzee caused their time with the book to come to a sudden halt.

The turtle bit didn't really tend to register with me much, but man, the chimp chapter was some of the best literature I've read this year. I would love to see more stuff like that.

[nattikay]

OC lineup! All the characters that currently exist in this "story"

[killertoons]

THIS IS A YEAR OLD NOW BUT I FINALLY FINISHED IT!

I genuinely think wally would try to be friends with bendy, but bendy's not so trusting...and a lil rude.

[wutheringmights]

also i really shouldn't have written stp because now i have a million ideas for spirit's adventures in new hyrule that I will never have time to actually write :((

[arcane-ish]

I think it's worth having a bit of a think why they bothered to do that. Since it at least seems to have confused a bunch of normie fans (I watched one season review who thought Silco being there was fanservice and he shouldn't have been in the alt timeline episode).

After all, it's not that they let's say put the letter in season 1 and now had the idea to pay it off. They only placed the letter in seaosn 2, because they wanted to set up Silco being there.

In the end, I think it's an acknowledgement of Silco's character. Both of his role within Zaun and in Jinx's life.

They wanted to set up a universe where Jinx's life is great and happy and where Ekko can come back and tell the suicidal Jinx about it. And for that the oppression needs to be fixed.

They didn't have to go into detail. Ekko could just have been there and the assumption could have been that maybe Vander fixes the oppression himself (especially if the premise is that Vi's death improved relations between the two cities). Or it could have been that Vander and Silco teaming up but Slico's isn't part of the family like that. Like Ekko could have run into Silco on the streets and Silco could just have barked at him to give Vander his regards. Or he could have seen an election poster of Silco or a newspaper article on some charitable thing he's doing.

IMO it is the way it is, just just because it's a funny joke for the Zaundad believers, but because it's an acknowledgement of the writers.

Zaun being better requires that Vander and Silco work together. They are the two sides of Zaun. Neither one can achieve it individually because both approaches have value.

Silco is there because Jinx loved both her fathers, both her families and it wouldn't be truly happy to "our" Jinx if she heard or thought Silco was stil excluded from them in the other world.

Silco's trauma was shaped by Vander. And Vander was shaped by his guilt over Silco. It makes sense that they need a deeper, more meaningful, more complete reunion.

It's an acknowledgement of Silco, of how his point of view on Zaun is important, of how important he's to Jinx, of how important he is to Vander and how important Vander is to him.

I genuinely wonder if they made the whole Felicia bit where they both knew her to have an easier explanation for non shippers why Silco would want to be part of family like that even in the happy universe where he doesn't have a reason to have the kind of relationship with Powder that he had in the main canon (ie intense bonding over shared trauma, her being alone in the world and needing him, him maybe having some resentment against Vander and that adding to the appeal to take her in).

It's so funny to me they included Silco in the alternate timeline because realistically, Vi's death wouldnt have changed his plans. The writers did not need to add him, bc it did slightly confuse us and everyone eventually agreed he probably found Vanders letter in this timeline, changing the reason for the timeline shift from not only Vi. They really sacrificed a bit of established writing just to show that dick couldve fixed him and turned him into a rich wine aunt (and I couldnt be happier about it)

[yayforocs]

👉👈 so @silverskye13 i saw this and..............

had to make an aron helsmet!!!!!! this was really hecking fun to think about actually like what she'd be like n design (which. is a poke at the rp server she was from actually) and also made me sit down and think more on my other minecraft ocs i have sittin around and why they ended up getting redesigns lkdsfh BUT YEAH i!!!!!!!! aron!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[bmpmp3]

everyone on earth probably has a hypothetical farming sim in their mind's eye that they daydream about on occasion because of the unfortunate situation that despite there being like a thousand farming games released every minute only like 4 of them are any good. and i think this is fun, i think its good to keep the imagination alive. if i made a farming sim i would bring back rival marriages from the old friends of mineral town. i want to steal someones wife.