#Shower with a toupee

[unspeakable-imagination]

Not the worst || Logan Howlett x Reader

My asks are OPEN and my matserlist is HERE

Reposts and likes are always appreciated

Just a drabble because I can't get it out of my mind. I was thinking abt this all night.

Cw: Oldman logan slander/ logan 2017 slander, hyping up worst logan hype, fluffy, angst, lots of bonding, probably gonna make them fall in love now sure, cannon-typical violence, cursing

Living as Wade Wilson's favorite neighbor was something eles. You and him were best friends, commonly taking time to watch my little pony or other similarly childish cartoons when Althea was out.

You were there when we left the x-men. You were there for him when Vanessa left him, there for him when he was to lost to find a job. You were there when you helped him pick is toupee, and you were there at his birthday party when he was kidnapped.

To say that it shook you would be an understatement. You'd been through so much and it physically pained you when you realized that whatever he was gone for, you couldn't help him. And two days later, he was back. And he wasn't alone. He came with a man, a wolverine. Or as you heard in passing, the worst one.

Logan loitered around the apartment more than you'd like, given that you could no longer peacefully watch ponies either wade, otherwise a grumbling logan would throw fit and slam doors.

Eventually, you just had to pull wade to your own apartment across the hall. And then the knocks came. Every time Wade was over, without fail, Logan would interrupt your buddy time, knocking on the door to whisk wade away for their weird- platonically gay relationship.

It took some time for you to recognize that Logan was lonely, too. And soon, it became the three of you having movie nights. It was hard not to come to enjoy the presence of the clawed man, and it went from you sitting awkwardly to the side while wade would constantly fail at cuddling Logan, to you in the middle.

Until tonight. Wade wasn't going to make it to your bi-weekly movie nights anymore, to busy pining after Vanessa. She was willing to tey and mend their relationship. It broke your heart to loose your best friend, but logan was there rubbing your back, comforting you.

"Atleast we don't have to listen to him run his mouth and spoil the whole thing," he'd reason to you. "You know that he would just ruin the end for you, or tease you when you cry."

Logan was right, but you loved watching movies with them. "But it sucks, he's my friend. I mean I get it, he's gotta chase her, he loves her, but we matter, too, don't we, Lo?"

"Of course, bub. There will always be more movie nights, and even if he can't make them all, atleast you have me?" And you did. For the next three weeks, without fail, Wade would avoid you both on designated movie nights, and Logan would come to your place for them, comforting you and picking out movies.

On more than one occasion you had fallen asleep on his shoulder or lap, and plenty of times you'd even let him sleep over him not wanting to wake the angry, coked up, blind batshit Althea. You began to neglect Wade, watching him finally win over Vanessa's heart, and watching Logan slowly move into your own place, shifting out of the other crowded apartment.

As the time for tour nightly movie drew nesr, you sorted the sofand the popcorn bowl, the lights and the TV, and set up the coffee table with assortment of other snacks and drinks that would last you two through the night. Various beers and even a cigar.

Logan had just gotten home from his job and gone to shower while you set up. His shower was quick, like it usually was, and by the time he was done, you were snuggled on the sofa in a faux sherpa throw. He settled down next to you and you handed the remote to him. In the weeks that Logan had been living with you, you couldn't deny the way you began to develop feelings. He was attractive and capable, and while he seemed rough on the exterior, he was truly tender hearted and did care about your feelings.

That's what made it so hard to bring up that you knew the other, much older-looking, dead logan from your timeliness.

It was just a week after the Manchester incident when Logan and Xavier had fled to Mexico, finding you along the way. They pulled you into their group with Caliban and things took a shift in your day to day life. No longer accounting for the tracker mutant, you spent your time helping him give the professor shots and medication. You were one of the few people, one of the few humans, that had an opposite gene mutation. Instead of getting the X gene, you got something eles, something that made you invulnerable to mutant powers.

You were the perfect person to medicate the senile telepath. You were there to see far too many events unfold that traumatized you. That made you realize that Logan wasn't the person on the pedestal that everyone else thought him to be. He was a stupid drunk, hellbent on killing himself, and the only thing stopping him shifted from the professor to his daughter. And it was horrifying, the way that so many things in his life were kept so well behind closed doors. It's horrifying that the media portrayed him in such a well light, and it was dishonorable that every food company used him to poison food for all of mutant kind, and he didn't do anything to stop it.

After he died, you had found yourself at the X-mansion, being the person to relay the news to Colossus and the other surviving xmen. To show their gratitude, they let you stay there, and eventually, you met the asshole burn-victim lookalike.

Logan noticed your shift in mood, the aura around tou changing. "[Name]?" He leaned towards you and you shook your head, returning to the present. "I was asking what you were in the mood to watch?"

"I need to tell you something." It was sudden and Logan swore he felt his heart drop to his stomach. You brought you hand to your mouth, anxiously chewing on your nails as he looked at you.

"I'm sorry for keeping this from you for so long, but I knew the other logan. I knew the other you. And every time I've heard you walk about yourself being the worst logan- well, it's not true." Your eyes glossed are and you swore you'd cry. He shifted, rotating, bringing his knee up so he could face you better. Reaching to put a hand on your cheek.

"What do you mean, bub? You knew Logan?" You nodded, almost pitifully and your cheeks began to feel warm tears drip down them. He gently wiped them away. "What do you mean, though? Everybody tell me about how amazing this world wolverine was."

"They didn't see him behind closed doors, they didn't see him at the end like I did. Laura- she was just a kid. She only idolizes him because he died for her- but that doesn't make him good." You used your hand to dry some more of your tears.

"He was a peice of shit and only cared about himself until he knew he was dying. He was insistent on ending it and only found his release by getting skewered on a tree-root." Your emotions shifted from sadness to bubbling anger.

"There was an incident, when Xavier's brain began to go. I mean, a degenerative brain disease in thw worlds most powerful brain?" You paused. "He took him away, and he found Caliban and I along the way to help him. He left everybody behind, too, not just you. Maybe it's a Logan thing. It was funny, really. He was acctually planning on Leaving Caliban and I behind anyways. Saving up buy for a boat to live in the ocean where Xavier and him could just die peacefully." His face fell as he listened. "He was disgusting. Worse than you. You've proven you're a million times better. I mean- he is the reason why we have so little mutants left. Why children are pushed away into boarding schools or segregated just because they have powers."

Logan was silent as he took his time to absorb all the Information you just shoved apon him. "Wow," he breathed. "I really am a peice of shit everywhere."

"No logan, you don't understand. You, and I mean the you sitting in front of me isn't! You're amazing. You helped wade, you helped Laura leave the void. You helped me! God dammit, logan I love you. You've been nothing but amazing and so refreshing. You're somebody who acctually appreciates this life and living now. You're the best person out there."

His eyes nest buldged when you said you loved him, his heart rate picked up and by the time your final words left his lips, he swallowed them whole and kissed you. His hand on your cheek curved around the back of your neck and pulled you close, his other hand stabilizing his lean.

He pulled back just to place his forehead on yours. "Fuck, [Name], you have no idea how much a cherish your words. You've been encouraging me for so long and I've been so anxious I've taken you for granted, but I havnt. You don't understand how much you mean to me."

"I think I do, Logan. I feel the same way."

Don't get me wrong I think old man logan is attractive, but I had to look at it from a bad pov because Logan really was an ass in that. Movie was great and I'm still heavily attracted to all (even the bitchy versions) of him. Can't get over it.

[gaybananabread]

✦༻Spoilers༺✦

~This has been in the back of my mind since the movie came out; the time has come. I’m making progress with TickleTober, so enjoy this meal in the meantime! There’s probably more than a hint of shipping in here, but you don’t have to read it like that if you don’t want to. I hope you Enjoy!~

Lee: Wade Wilson

Ler: Logan Howlett

Summary: Logan is struggling to get used to living with Wade; he has a limit for Wade’s bullshit. The merc loves pushing him to that limit regularly. Logan uses an unconventional method to shut his smartass roommate up.

Warnings: canon-typical language and jokes, spoilers for Deadpool & Wolverine and Golden Girls (you’ll see). This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

I’ve finally done it: the ultimate team-up turned homo-erotic-roommates-story. And, ya know, saving my entire timeline; mainly the Logan stuff, though.

Wade had been incredibly happy since they’d saved the existence of his timeline. He was showering regularly, disposed of that horrid “toupee,” and started actually talking to the people in his life about how he felt. It kinda sucked, but hey – character development isn’t always sexy.

Things were going splendidly for the merc with a mouth.

Logan, on the other hand, was slowly going insane.

The Wolverine was grateful for the place to stay, of course; hell, he felt more at home than he had in years. The problem was how…Wade Wade had been acting.

Logan secretly admired how openly true to himself Wade could be; I mean, the guy literally said whatever came to his mind, no matter what. Then again, the guy literally said whatever came to his mind. No matter what.

Even if that thought completely spoiled something for Logan.

“Hey, Peanut! As much as I love that juicy ass, I’m gonna need you to get outta my spot.” Wade flicked his wrist at the eX-Man, beckoning for him to get up. Logan had been there for about twenty minutes, and there was no way he was moving; the episode of Golden Girls he was watching wasn’t finished yet. The man rarely got time to rest like that, savoring every half hour he got with the television like it was holy.

“I’ve been here, bub. Wait your turn.” Logan didn’t even blink, leaning to the side so he could still see the screen. He was gonna finish that episode, damn it.

“Ooo, is that ‘End of the Curse’?” Wade hums, taking a closer look at the screen. Logan wasn’t very far into the episode. “Turns out it’s just menopause, not pregnancy. Man, nothing wakes you up like an existential crisis and skinned minks.”

A low growl rumbled in Logan’s throat, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Ooooo, Wade fucked uuup…

“Did you just spoil the ending to my Golden Girls episode?” The livid tone of his roommate’s voice made Wade’s smile grow nervous.

It’s cool, it’s fine. All I gotta do is nail this recovery. Read and learn, people.

“At least I didn’t tell you that the whole Rose and Miles Webber thing doesn’t work out.”

Fuck. This is why you don’t stare at your roommate’s moobs while trying to save yourself, kids.

“You motherf- WADE !” Logan bolted up from his chair, charging at the blemish-skinned man. Wade made his first smart decision that entire morning:

He ran for his fucking life.

But, of course, luck refused to be on the red-suited man’s side. Wade tripped over one of Mary Puppin’s toys outside his room, Logan’s large hands quickly hoisting him up by the waist. Before he could fantasize anything, he was slammed down on his bed. Which, of course, opened up a whole new realm to dig his own grave in.

“Damn, Peanut! It’s customary to take me to dinner first, but you know I don’t mind gettin’ sloppy~” Okay, that was a little cliché. Wasted opportunity, Wilson.

Logan seemed pissed regardless. “You fucking ruined the one relaxing thing I get to do a week when Al’s out. Do you know how hard it is to enjoy a show when you know what’s gonna happen?!”

As entertaining as seeing Wade squirm beneath him was, Logan wanted revenge. He normally would’ve skewered the smartass, but Al was getting sick of smelling Wade’s blood whenever she left for a few hours. That, and he may or may not have gotten some blood on the couch (don’t tell her).

What else could he do? He wanted Wade to suffer, to regret his actions, to shut up for one in his god-forsaken existence. The only times he could remember that happened was when he was asleep, and when he was…oh. Ohoho, fuck yes.

“You’re gonna learn to shut that gaping, bottomless shithole you call a mouth, Wade, and you’re gonna learn it the hard way.”

“I do everything the hard way, Peanu- yeEEAHAHA! THEHE FUHAHAHACK?!” Before Wade could finish proving Logan’s point yet again, he felt ten muscular fingers knead into his thighs. It was – ironic, he knew – his death spot.

Now, imagine trying to explain why you’re smiling so much when someone’s grabbing at your thighs without stuttering. Spoiler alert: it’s torture.

“You can’t mouth off if you’re too busy laughing, fuckhead. Now shut up and scream for me.” Logan squeezed and squished at the merc's thighs, doing his best to tickle the shit out of him.

“Y-YOUHU CAHAN'T- FUHUHUHUCK! NOHOHO!” Wade tried and failed to speak through his laughter, his head reeling from the intense feeling. For the first time in many moons, the Merc with a Mouth was rendered speechless.

“I can’t fuck? Really? Bold ass statement to make when you’re at my mercy.” Logan’s more playful side was slipping out; how could it not with Wade’s goofy-ass laughter egging him on? Seriously, how could anyone expect him to act like a hard-ass with the man making such purposefully adorable noises?

“NOHOHOT WHAHAHAT IHI MEHEHEANT!” Kicking and squirming, the scarred man was quickly realizing he couldn’t talk his way out of the situation. They were matched in strength, but the tickling quickly un-evened the playing field. Maybe pleading for his life?

“COHOHOME OHOHON! I-IHI’LL QUIHIHIT!”

Logan paused for just a moment, his hands still resting on Wade’s hips. He was…actually gonna stop being a loudmouth? While he didn’t believe a word of that, he still wanted to take things a bit easier on the man; damn feelings…

Slowing down, the Wolverine moved his wiggling fingers to Wade’s stomach. Compared to his thighs, it was a decently tolerable spot; still, it fucking tickled.

“Wohoholvie, thihis is nuhuhuts! Ahand not thehe hohot kihihind!” Okay, maybe he immediately proved himself a liar, but Logan didn’t exactly quit! He was sort of justified, in that sense.

“You never learn, do ya?” There’s an air of amusement and affection in his voice that shocks the both of them. Logan immediately tries to correct it, clearing his throat with a glare. “Stubborn asshole. It’s a bad idea to taunt me when you’re this fucking ticklish.”

“Th-thihihis ihihisn’t fahahahair! Youhuhu’re thehe Tumblr bahahabygirl, nohot mehehe! Youhu shouhuhuld be gehehtting ihit!”

“The fuck is a Tumblr babygirl?” Logan snorted at the silly-sounding words, once again trying to figure out what the hell his roommate was talking about.

“Thehehey knohohow!” Wade pointed towards some unseeable audience, making the hairy man roll his eyes. He seriously needed to get Wade tested for something; it would probably explain so much.

“Do you want me to go back to your thighs?” Logan jerked his hands down threateningly, reveling in the squeal the motion causes. He didn’t even touch the other man that time; it was kinda cute.

“NOOOHOhohooo! Dihickhead!” Without thinking, Wade thrusted his arms out and shoved at Logan’s shoulders. Obviously, the brick wall of a man didn’t move, but his attention was drawn to a specific nuisance: the merc’s arms. Specifically, the fact that he hadn’t explored beneath them yet.

Gathering the mouthy man’s wrists in one hand, Logan forced Wade’s arms up and pinned them to the mattress. Once again, Wade was faced with a tough decision: smart off and completely fuck himself, or grovel and hope for some mercy.

Eh, smart choices are plot killers. This one’s for you, dear reader.

“Y-youhuhu’re really ehembracing your dark side, Peanut~ Next thing ya knowhow, I’m gonna be getting fitted for thohose fuzzy cuffs and a harn- FFFAAHAHAHAAA! OHO- OHOHOKAHAHAY! IHI’M SOHOHORRY! IHIT WAS THEHEHERE!”

Logan showed zero mercy, digging into Wade’s underarm with renewed vigor. He switched back and forth every few seconds, right to left, wrecking the man as thoroughly as possible. The man’s thighs were definitely still his death spot, but his armpits were a close second.

“You don’t act like you’re sorry, ya shithead.” There was a lot less contempt in Logan’s tone than Wade was expecting; he couldn’t exactly comment on it, but the Wolverine seemed almost happy that he had chosen to prolong his torment by being a smartass.

Wade, on the other hand, was going through it; a vibrant blush had taken residence on his cheeks, little tears of mirth showing up for the housewarming party. Worst of all, his exhaustion forced his muscles to relax, allowing snorts to catch in his throat.

“Damn, Wilson. Goin’ hog wild down there, huh?” Wade’s heart would’ve stopped right then if it were possible. Logan “Go Fuck Yourself” Howlett��made a dad joke?!

“Y-YOUHUHU MAHAHDE A JOHOHOHOKE! IHI’M SOHOHO PROUHUHUD!”

“Fuckin’ Christ, just shut up already!” Embarrassed from both the acknowledgement and praise, Logan dug back into Wade’s thigh to silence him; well, keep him from talking by means of hysterical laughter.

About two minutes into getting his thighs attacked by the kitty man, Wade was rethinking all his life choices that led him there. I mean, he obviously wouldn’t do anything different if he actually had the chance to, but there were some regrets. His laugh was growing raspy, a few wheezes slipping in with the snorts as he struggled to catch his breath.

Logan noticed how tired Wade was getting almost instantly. The man hadn’t smarted off in a hot second, so he figured it was time to stop; definitely not because he was taking it easy on Wade or something stupid like that…

The moment the tickles stopped, Wade drew in deep, giggle-ridden breaths as he tried to calm down. He barely noticed his wrists’ release, too tired to lower his arms anyway. It was, admittedly, an utterly adorable sight.

Noticing he was still literally straddling the anti-hero, Logan climbed off and went to grab Wade some water. When he got back to the bedroom, the merc had curled up on his side, a blanket hap-hazardly tugged over him. The eX-man rolled his eyes at the sight, turning the man to face him.

“Here, drink this.”

Despite sticking his tongue out, Wade greedily gulped down the water. His textured cheeks were still a healthy red from the tickling, the ice water both soothing his throat and cooling him off.

“Thanks, Kitty.”

“Just take a nap or somethin’, bub.” Rolling his eyes at the statement, Logan turned and trudged out of the room; neither missed the light blush on his cheeks from the nickname.

Wade settled back into his bed, sighing at the ceiling. Despite everything, he was actually going to try and improve on his spoiling restraint; he kinda deserved what came to him, even if it was totally overkill.

As for the tickling…well, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Logan could’ve cut his vocal chords or sliced his head off in the tub, but he didn’t; the man just did something silly and lighthearted to drill the lesson into his brain. It was curious, in a sense; why would he choose to be lenient with the loudmouth?

It definitely deserved some looking at, to say the least.

Maybe I’ll insult his mutton chops tomorrow. Ya know, for research purposes…

[jenniferlawrencelover]

Wade forced himself to focus on the mirror again, tearing his gaze away from Logan before he did something stupid—like launching himself across the room and kissing the life out of the guy. "Can't help it if you're a fucking distraction," Wade muttered, more to himself than to Logan, managing to get the tie somewhat presentable, though he was pretty sure Logan could tie a better knot with his eyes closed. He adjusted the red pocket square, trying to give himself something to do with his hands that didn't involve reaching for Logan.

"You know," he said, "I have to admit, you look pretty damn good in a suit. I mean, it's no Wolverine's suit, and it's not like I didn't know you were built like a tank, but damn... who knew you cleaned up so well?"

Logan glanced up from where he was sitting, his eyes narrowing slightly as he met Wade's gaze in the mirror. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it, Bub."

"Too late," Wade leered. "Why don't you stand up and do a twirl for me, Princess?"

Snikt

"Woah, hey! No! No," Wade turned around, holding his hands out in front of him. Logan's claws glinted under the fluorescent lights menacingly as he glared up at him. "Usually I'm up for a little bit of foreplay, but we're under strict instructions that the claws need to stay away today. If she sees even a speck of blood on either of us, she is going to lose her shit."

Logan's claws retracted with a swift snikt, and he leveled a disapproving look at Wade, who was still standing with his hands up in a defensive posture. "Then, maybe you shouldn't say things that make me want to stab you."

"I flirt when I'm nervous," Wade quipped, crossing his arms. "It's not every day the love of your life gets married to someone else."

Logan gives him a flat look. 

"Right, my bad. We can trauma bond about it later, say over dinner?" He reaches under the sink, pulling out the newest toupee—one of his more elegant wigs, this time a nearly identical replica of Nicepool's long locks.

Logan stared at the toupee, then back at Wade with a look of exasperation. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. You're actually wearing that?"

Wade grinned, holding the toupee up like a trophy. "Oh, come on. It's her big day. Nobody wants to see a walking scrotum sitting at the bar."

He plopped it onto his head, ignoring Logan's winces as he stapled it firmly to his head. He spins in a circle, posing a few times for Logan. "How do I look?"

"Horrifying."

"More or less than usual?" 

Logan didn't answer, his face crinkling into one of disgust. Wade spun back to face the mirror, rearranging the wig in the way he remembered Nicepool wore his--may he rest in peace--eyes flickering between his own reflection and Logan's as he watched him. Finally, feeling satisfied with his appearance, he turned around and clapped his hands. "Ready to rock and roll?"

Logan didn't move, choosing to sit there and just stare at him like he had something completely batshit crazy. His hands tightened around his thighs, white-knuckling the dark fabric. "How do you do that?" he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness.

Wade glanced up, confused. "Do what? The wig? I mean, sure, I watched a lot of tutorials, but really it's all in the quality-" 

"No," Logan interrupted, his tone sharper than usual. "I mean, how do you just...watch the love of your life get married to someone else?"

Wade was silent for a moment, his eyes focusing on the claw mark through the shower curtain. Hm. What fight caused that? He took a deep breath. "Well...when you love someone, when you really, truly love someone, it doesn't really matter who they end up with. Even if it isn't you, you're happy because they're happy." Wade shrugged, "And I think deep down, I knew it was never going to be me. People like her, good people, they don't end up with guys like me. They end up with the good guy."

"You are a good guy," Logan said sternly, startling Wade out of his half-reverie. "Annoying as fuck, a goddamn pervert, but you are a good guy."

Wade laughed softly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm really, really not."

Logan shook his head, stepping closer. "You saved the world for her. For your family. For everybody. You took me in, even though I'm a dick, and I'm 'grumpy' and I'm an alcoholic, and we nearly kill each other every day. When I was nothing but...when I was just nothing to anybody. When I was the 'worst' Wolverine, you didn't give a fuck what I had to say or what anyone else had to say. You told me I'm the best Wolverine. Even when I wasn't. When I haven't been."

Logan poked a thick finger into his chest. "You. Are. A. Good. Guy. Wade Wilson. Fuck her."

"Logan," Wade began slowly, "I've done a lot of things. Some of them... well, let's just say if there's a line, I've not only crossed it, I've stomped it into the ground and done a little tap dance on it."

Logan's expression didn't change, his gaze steady as he waited for Wade to continue.

"I saved the world, but I also destroyed a lot of it in the process. I killed people. People who didn't deserve it, who were just... there. Wrong place, wrong time. And every time I do something good, it's like there's this... tally board, and all those bad things I've done, they just get louder, like they're reminding me of who I really am. Of what I am."

Logan stepped even closer, closing the gap between them, his presence solid and grounding. "You think I don't know what that's like? To be haunted by what you've done? Hell, Wade, I've been carrying that weight for longer than I care to remember. But that doesn't define us. You saved the world not because you were trying to erase your past, but because you wanted to make a future for people you care about. That's what matters."

"Why do you even care? Why are you trying so hard to convince me that I'm worth something?" Wade shot back, poking his chest. "Why does it matter to you so much?"

Logan leaned in closer, and Wade had to resist the urge to pull away from him, pull away from his minty breath and his clenched teeth and those steak knives he called claws. "Because if you're not worth something, then what the hell am I?"

Wade's breath hitched, his brain short-circuiting as Logan's words hung in the air between them. 

His pulse quickened, and he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from doing something stupid, like closing the distance and finding out exactly how Logan's lips would feel pressed against his. He could imagine it so clearly, the way Logan's hands would grip his arms—tight enough to leave bruises, to hold him in place—and the way those clawed fingers would curl into his flesh, leaving marks that would fade almost as soon as they appeared.

He wanted to push Logan, to see how far he could go before the older man snapped. He wanted to feel Logan's rough hands on his skin, to have him take out all that pent-up frustration on him in the most primal way possible. Wade's thoughts drifted to what it would be like to be under Logan, to have him growling his name, those low, guttural sounds that Wade had only ever heard when Logan was pissed off or in the middle of a fight.

But as much as Wade wanted to give in to those thoughts, he knew better. He knew that if he pushed too far, if he acted on the urge that was currently making it hard to think straight, he'd be risking everything. Whatever this was between them, it was fragile, and Wade wasn't sure if it could survive if he crossed that line.

So instead, Wade did what he always did—he deflected. He forced a smirk onto his face, even though his heart was pounding in his chest, and tried to push the thoughts of Logan's lips, Logan's hands, Logan's everything, out of his mind.

"Wow, Wolvie," Wade said, his voice coming out a little more breathless than he intended. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were flirting with me. You trying to get in my pants or something? Because, fair warning, I'm a cheap date—I'll put out after a few kind words and maybe a well-placed claw or two."

Logan's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Wade thought he saw something flash in them—something dark and dangerous that made his stomach do a weird flip. But then Logan just huffed, shaking his head like Wade was a particularly annoying puzzle he couldn't figure out. "You really don't know when to shut up, do you?" Logan growled, but there was no real bite behind it.

Wade shrugged, trying to keep it casual even though his thoughts were anything but. "It's part of my charm. But seriously, Logan, if you're not trying to seduce me, you're doing a terrible job of convincing me otherwise. I mean, you're practically on top of me right now. A guy could get the wrong idea."

Logan's eyes flicked down to where their chests were almost touching, and for a brief moment, Wade thought he saw his resolve waver. But then Logan took a step back, putting some much-needed distance between them, and the moment was gone.

Because if you're not worth something, then what the hell am I?

Wade cleared his throat, trying to shake off the sudden tension."Well, uh, glad we got all of that mushy stuff out of the way," Wade stammered, his usual bravado faltering. "Blech, gross. We better get, uh... going. Yeah, going."

Logan didn't respond right away, his intense gaze still locked on Wade. The silence stretched between them, and for a moment, Wade wondered if he'd said something wrong. He was about to crack another joke, something to diffuse the weirdness, when Logan took a step closer.

Wade froze, his heart pounding in his chest. 

Then, without warning,

*RECORD SCRATCH*

Enticed? On the edge of your seat? Have your special sock out? If you liked that little snippet, you’ll love domestic poolverine. So what are you waiting for??? Click that link!!!

[ravers8fantasy]

Punch out locker room mishaps: major circuit 🔱

I feel like the major circuit locker room would be better, definitely cleaner and with decently made furniture inside.

Don hogs like 3 lockers in the far end, he always brings too much stuff - VERY high maintenance

Hondo hides his manga inside his gym bag, has on multiple occasions left it out though so the others have read through some

They have a card board cut out of the referee in the locker room like a mascot

The referee doesnt know this because one of Don's 3 lockers is the designated hiding spot for it

Bear hugger takes decades in the shower, its either he's fallen asleep or trying to shape his shampoo bubbles into animals

Everyone has tried on Don's toupee wig thing at least once, even the referee and his card board cut out doppelganger

Bear hugger thought it was his squirrel and took it home with him to Canada one winter break, Don was in anguish and thought one of tiger's clone's stole it

Don and Tiger LOVE talking shit about super macho man, they have a designated gossip spot and everything

They all dress up the referee card board cut out when they are bored, they went absolutley hysterical when Hondo put Don's spare wig toupee thing on top

Don was less than thrilled to see them all giggling like school children

When bear hugger first saw it he didnt realise it was a card board cut out and kept talking to it

When little Mac joined the circuit, he opened up the locker hiding it and got jumpscared, absolutely started pissing himself when Hondo told him it was the circuit's mascot

Bear hugger chased Don around with a rat he once found, thats how everyone found out Don has an embarassing 'horror movie' scream

Hondo once ran into a locker and knocked it over. Everyone freaked out because they thought the lockers were nailed to the floor and they started moving everything around

The referee asked them to stop but gave up when he watched them create a make shift basket ball court with 2 lockers and a bench

Tiger loves playing pranks, one time when Hondo was alone in the showers Tiger shut of all the lights and made his clone's act as ghosts

And thats how Hondo slipped so bad he sprained his wrist (also became afraid of the 4th shower)

They all had a circuit sleep over, bear hugger fell asleep hugging the referee cardboard cut out

ended up bending weirdly so now it looks even sillier, especially in the don flamenco cosplay Tiger dressed it up in earlier that night

Tiger ate all of his kaju katli thinking it was gonna keep him awake all night (it knocked his ass right to sleep as soon as the clock struck 11)

Don snored so fucking loudly and kept making noises in his sleep, Hondo thought the 'ghosts' which made him slip in the shower came back to get him bro didnt sleep a wink

Every one nicknamed Hondo 'sonic', even bear hugger started calling him that even though he didnt know what it was.

"fellas what is a sonic the hedgehog?"

"bear are you serious- You dont know THE sonic the hedgehog?"

"Tiger he lives in the middle of no where with a bear and is friends with a squirel what did you honestly expect."

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

KK hope yall enjoyed this yap of mine 💕

[mrfilippa]

How about some aran headcanons since you're the aran guy?

~ fan-mans

Ehehehehehe!

I am a bit late, but here you are! ( trigger warnings ⚠️ insomnia, lack of hygiene and hints of negligence) I worked on this headcanons for days!!

Behaviour

Aran sleeps very bad and he usually do exercise when he cannot sleep or when he wakes up too early. That's why at the WVBA gym he doesn't do anything except messing around and pranking.

He is very loud even in a normal situation. He likes being at the centre of attention. He isn't loquacious when sick.

Also he is an energetic young man, when he sits he always moves his feet or his hands.

if he has to describe himself, Aran would say he is both cool and lucky.

People would say about him instead that is a jerk who acts cocky, BUT they admit that he doesn't step back when things get hard.

Aran has a pov of the world where only the strongest can survive and rule over the others

Aran is a "open book", it's too easy to understand what Aran thinks about you

He is one of the quickest person the WVBA staff has never met. Also his reflexes are something outside this world: when he is concentrated he can avoid stuff throwing at him.

Aran has some... Problems... With hygiene. He usually forgets to take a shower or just brush his teeth. During his childhood and adolescence, no one told him how to wash himself correctly, so when he has to do it, he does it very quickly but he misses some parts.

Since this introduction in SPO, Aran stopped to cut his hair and, in general, to go to the barber. He prefers to take care of his hair himself (that's why his hairstyle is so odd). About his "beard", he thinks that a designer stubble is more masculine than a beard.

About hair, he is the most hairy around the WVBA. Very. His hair is the source of jokes against Don Flamenco's "hair". One time Don imagined to cut Aran's hair away and made a toupee with that hair.

Of course everyone remembers his iconic line about cheeseburger: Aran literally use that line with everyone, adapting it with their traditional food. Talking about stereotypes, Aran doesn't use them to do harm.

Aran has a soft side, but only his mam knows

He doesn't care what other people think about him and his behaviour

Joking and pranking is his way to interact with people

His driver's license was suspended and he decided to ride his bike. That's why he skips leg day XD

Passions

When he does exercise, Aran is very concentrated and he usually listens to Phonk (it boosts him with confidence and adrenaline)

When he has time (always lol), Aran draws on stuff or does doodles. Everywhere. On the metro, inside a cab, on a table of a pub... No place is safe.

About that, Aran made an Instagram page dedicated to his doodles in NY and Dublin (when he goes back), in which he signs himself as Ryan. Too bad everyone understands that it's him (tagging his main profile in the comments).

Relationships

Romantically he can give the vibes of someone uninterested in love and stuff

BUT truly Aran is a sorta of loser, he doesn't know how to approach to his s/o, so he imitates what Don and Macho Man do. In a bad way, exaggerating everything, from giving numerous presents/gifts to hugging/touching his s/o. He also would brag how muscular and manly is he, and he would start to talk no stop

The only one who has the bravery to comment his behaviour is Bald Bull. Instead, Soda always supports Aran, no matter what.

his attitude changes completely when his mam is involved, from a tough fella you should never mess about to a good and softy big boy.

He becomes kinder and softer when he gets closer to his s/o too.

Usually he isn't very liked inside the WVBA, but he has some friends (mostly Major circuit/world circuit)! Normally, they hang out to the pub or walk around, maybe searching a new disco/pub or a skate park.

[palestaticexchange]

LA VACHOLIER ET LE CHAT

You don't like putting the trash out. The four flights of stairs you have to carry the bin bag down is your first gripe, not to mention the stink of the bins themselves. Besides, the slim alley keeping your bins safely away from the road is on the dark side of the building. It reminds you of *more than one* crime scene.

So as you reach the steel bin - in your sandals, naively calmed by your evening shower - you can't *really* be blamed for shouting as something grey shoots from the bin causing you to drop the bag.

The bin bag splits on the tarmac. Your hand shoots to the side of your jumper. The skin beneath your armpit is gripped painfully as you clutch for where your gun *should* rest. But you've been home for over an hour and your armistice hangs on the rack by the door.

You notice then the quick, grey mass is an errant and irritated tom cat. Its tail flicks upwards in indignation as if considering whether or not to spray the bin he was trapped within.

You drop your hand, ignoring the white-hot shame creeping up your spine.

After a deep, calming breath you bend and lift the bag with both hands. The split in the plastic runs along the bottom and you lose only a few scraps of paper as you huck it into the awaiting bin with a sigh.

The cat strolls a few feet away and watches you over its battered shoulder, now bored. You consider its predicament. One of the dockworkers, or a bored child, must have dumped it in the bin as a cruel joke. You hope it was a joke at least. The thought of being slowly crushed in the back of an Revacivic truck makes you shudder.

You wouldn't call yourself an *animal lover* by any means, but the creature is small; and has obviously seen its fair share of woes.

Half an ear missing, one cloudy eye, scratches line its flank and the thing's primordial pouch is mostly bald. There's also a droop to its mouth that speaks to missing teeth.

As you place the steel lid back on the can, the cat sits on the wet tarmac and grooms one paw. "I'm cooler than you are," this gesture says. "O' Vacholier, scared of his own shadow."

You don't see the cat again for a week and a half. You forget about it, you're a busy man after all.

It's only as you approach your tenement building, soaked to the skin and shivering from the day's endless downpour, that you're reacquainted. You hear it before you see it; a guttural yowling of misery, ringing out every two seconds on the dot. The creature actually resembles the toupee of a suspect from earlier in the day.

You didn't need Harry to nudge you and whisper 'That man's hair is fake, Kim!' The sodden grey strands had parted to reveal the faint yellow of hypoallergenic adhesive.

Similarly, this *sad* little beast crouches under the tiny awning over the front of your building, it's jowls pulled down by the weight of wet fur. As it hears the jingling of your keys its head snaps to you, orange eyes wide as it directs the next yowl in your direction. "Miserere mei, Deus!" It seems to say.

But you didn't waver under the suspect's earlier begging, and you will not be broken by some pitiful animal either.

It's a rare day off and you are *content*. You're curled in the preferred corner of your sofa, a fresh mug of tea steaming away on its arm. In your left hand you hold the little pamphlet of poetry that Harry had given you.

The poetry is *actually* okay. You'd turned your nose up at the gesture, and Harry had raised his hands; already predicting your baulking. He'd insisted.

He explained he'd bought it from a homeless man who'd cut clippings from abandoned newspapers and included writings of his own. Harry had loved it *so* much that he'd circled particular stanzas for Kim's enjoyment and told him to read those. You figured you could at least entertain the highlighted sections.

You don't posses an artistic mind, but practising volta means you have a softer spot for poetry. Besides, the sections Harry had highlighted were all to do with Revachol, community, and companionship. It was a sweet gesture.

You pull back your thumb and tilt the book to the left, letting the page flutter sideways then pinning it in place by replacing your thumb. Your right hand scratches the cat under his chin.

Yes, *that* was a development.

About a week ago you'd been making dinner. The only shop open in your neck of the woods by the time you'd finished work was the corner store; and it had flooded. Shut. That meant dinner had been *cans found in the back of my cupboard that happen to still be in date* special.

One of the tins was mackerel that you didn't even *remember* buying. None-the-less it *was* in date and Dei knows you could do with the Omega-3.

As you spooned the *rankest* looking stew you'd ever seen into a bowl, you heard yowling from outside. The cat. That wasn't unusual.

He'd started hanging around your tenement almost exclusively. Even following you to your Kineema in the morning - tail raised to the skies - and greeting you upon your return.

What *was* unusual however was that he sounded *close*. Because you live on the 4th floor. You had blinked, and upon considering that you weren't particularly *excited* to eat your watery creation, walked to your balcony. As you pulled back the curtain, two orange eyes peered up at you from the dark.

Later in the week you'd actually manage to catch the cat scaling the fire escape and leaping between balconies to reach *another* room within your tenement; by virtue of an open window. A moment later you heard a woman shriek and watched the cat scarper back out, followed swiftly by a hairbrush.

But on that evening you'd been baffled, and in a moment of weakness opened the door to offer the spent can from your mackerel. Something about the way the beast had purred like an old MC as it licked the tin around your balcony had caused something in you to snap.

You'd let him in the moment you heard the first drops of rain.

You sit at your sewing desk fixing the long tear in the back of your bomber jacket. You've been working long enough that you've released the tension from your jaw.

The Detective had *insisted* you *had* to climb the barbed wire fence. You watched him swear, pricking himself over and over, allowing a smug little smile- *once* he'd made it safely to the other side, that is. A smile that had been promptly wiped from your face upon hearing the snag, tear, *rip* of your jacket catching at the end of your deft vault.

He had grovelled and apologised profusely. *You* had been pissy the rest of the day.

However, you were beginning to calm down. You'd already decided you'd pick up croissants on the way in tomorrow as an apology for your sour mood.

There's a whine from behind you and you turn to see the cat stretch out its back legs on the sofa. Good idea, you think; uncurling from over your desk and raising your wrists above your head.

At that moment there's a pounding on your front door. You roll your eyes. It's just gone 10pm. Whichever drunk dockworker has forgotten which room is *his* can help himself, or sleep in the hallway. It wouldn't be the first time you'd had to step over a burly man on your way to work.

Then you hear your landlord's muffled voice. "Lieutenant? It's the 28th." Last Sunday of the month.

"Shit," you whisper harshly, shooting from your chair. "Merde. God *damnit*." You lean over your desk and throw open the door to your balcony. Then you scoop the cat from your sofa and practically *bowl* the creature, confused and sleepy, through the door; sliding it swiftly shut.

"Lieutenant? Are you in?"

"One moment please." You call back, grabbing the envelope holding your rent off the breakfast bar and opening the door to your flat.

The man's at least a foot shorter than you but holds himself like he's a giant. He enters your flat without invitation and squints as he peers around. "Evenin', Lieutenant."

"Trevor," you reply, offering the envelope. You're hoping he'll take the hint promptly this time. You used to try boxing him *out* of your flat, but the old man's insistent, and you've long since grown tired of wasting your breath.

The landlord swipes the envelope with a grunt, opening it with practised ease and thumbing through the bills. "The damn smell's back."

Great. This wouldn't be a prompt visit then.

He sniffs thickly, seemingly satisfied with his counting, and looks up at you. "When ya gonna shift those kids, Officer? Can't have 'em smoking weed in the stairwells."

You place a hand on your open door, lightly brushing Trevor's shoulder as your arm passes him and effectively guiding him towards the exit. This is your second hint that you'd like him to leave now. You have explained multiple times that you are a *homicide detective* and that kids smoking hemp is decidedly *not your problem* but your landlord doesn't seem to care.

"It's a damn shame too!" The man continues, "Could charge more for the upstairs rooms if the place didn't stink!"

You think about pointing out how the building gets wetter the higher you rise within it, but you've got a pretty good *thing* going on. You *barely* insinuate that you might, one day, do something about his issue of the month; and he doesn't raise your rent. On days like today you're not sure it's worth it.

"You any closer to figuring out who it is?" He cocks his head at you.

"When are you fixing the central heating?" You cock your head in the opposite direction.

He sniffs again. You raise an eyebrow.

Then the man fills his lungs and tucks your money away in his pocket. "I understand, Lieutenant. You're a busy man after all." He clears his throat and steps back into the hallway. "Thanks for rent."

"See you next month." You shut the door.

The cat blinks at you in bleary betrayal as you draw the curtain back and let him in again. You sigh as you collapse on the sofa and he jumps up next to you, already beginning to rumble.

You think about *les papiers scientifique* that claim proximity to cats improves longevity. Something or other about blood pressure and heartrate being effected by their purring. As he curls in a ball on his side and nestles against your thigh, placing his paws over his eyes, it doesn't seem too far-fetched.

You think, not for the first time, of naming the beast. You've been calling him 'Chat' or 'Moche Chat' when you're feeling particularly playful, but these aren't real names.

You don't name him - not because you'd rather not get attached, it's a little late for that - but because there's only one name you *want* to call him. One, mortifying, *embarrassing* name that makes your face flush with heat even when you're alone in your home.

You'd noticed it the first time he lay like this, curled up on his side. The missing teeth meant a couple of things;

One: he drooled. The first day you'd let him stay in your flat while you were at work you could tell exactly where he'd slept by finding the tiny circles of wet on your bed and sofa.

Two: when he lay on his side, like he was doing at present, the fur around his face drooped into his mouth. It was akin to an uneven jaw, skewed further by the long, drooping whiskers that framed his jowls. It almost looked like a rather distinctive style of facial hair.

"Khm." You clear your throat and look out your balcony at the lights of the GRIH.

"Will you come for a few drinks, Lieutenant?"

You finish the sentence you're on, then look up from your report at Officer Minot. She's already wearing her bag over one shoulder, smiling tiredly at you. You notice Chester hanging around by the door to the bullpen. They try this every week or so.

"No thank you, Officer." You say, offering a polite nod. "I should really like to get this done this evening."

"Aww c'mon, Lieu!" Chester calls. "All work and no play makes... Uh... Howsit go again?"

Every other Thursday Harry leaves the precinct early for his psychological physio. It's not the sort of thing he'd have been able to afford outright, but Mr. Heidelstam had mentioned his unusual brand of retrograde amnesia to a colleague studying for a PhD. Apparently the detective made for an interesting subject of research.

It had lightly worried you when Harry told you this, wondering if his condition was being exploited, but he'd been going for a month and it didn't seem to bother him. In fact he actually *enjoyed* his sessions. They seemed to have him playing various word and memory games while wearing an EEG cap. The following Friday you took lunch together and he'd tell you about the games in great detail. On the Thursday evenings however, your new colleagues would try to entice you to the bar.

"And I can't change your mind?" Judit asks, sadly.

"Course you can't!" Chester answers for you. "Guy's a stick! Probably goes home to eat plain oatmeal and do the crossword!" He barks a laugh.

You purse your lips lightly. You don't mind being called boring - you are boring - but something about an Officer as incompetent as McClaine *almost* guessing your evening plans rubs you the wrong way. You were quite looking forward to your crossword. And bran *with* sugar. 

Judit winces sympathetically and you sigh. "I suppose," you begin, rising from your desk. "Just this once I'll entertain you. If only so you'll stop asking."

Officer Minot's mouth forms a little 'O' of surprise, and McClaine's face splits into a wide grin at having *convinced* the steeled Lieutenant Kitsuragi to bend to his will. Sure: you'll go out. You'll be *boring* and constantly *bring up work* and they will *never* ask you to join them again. That tends to do wonders.

You wake on the sofa in the dark. The dark is not a problem for you. The dark is safe. The dark *is* unusual for this time of evening however. You are hungry. Where is Your Vacholier?

You stretch languidly, cracked claws piercing the leather of the sofa before you hop down. You pad into the thin room separated from the main space by only a breakfast bar. This is where the *smells* come from. 

Some days ago Your Vacholier had returned from his pesky outings with a look of minor guilt.

Up until this point you'd ate like a king. Scraps of ham, fish, bits of cheese, small saucers of milk, and the scrambled egg that he once could not finish. Now you got biscuits. Not as tasty, but more regular with bigger portions.

When you had finished your meagre meal, you returned to him and let him scratch you under the chin while he scanned a long piece of paper. He made mutterings about 'reál' and 'stupidity' and you realised his guilt was not directed at *you*, as it should be.

You could smell the worry on him however, so you supposed you'd let it slide.

The longer claws on your back paws click against the linoleum as you approach the cupboard containing your biscuits. You can smell them through the door. Yet no matter how you paw at the cupboard, or manipulate your head underneath it, it does not open. 

Well. Only one thing for it then. You turn and with a flick of your tail piss up the front of the cabinet. 

Your Vacholier had started pinning the tiny window in the kitchen open, despite the cold. This allowed you to come and go as you pleased. However, his decision to abandon his usual schedule - and therefore you - was a serious transgression and could not go unpunished. 

It's at this moment that you hear the key in the lock. You raise your tail and pad back into the main area. He should *really* have made it in by the time you reach the sofa, but he seems to be struggling. You sit on the rug in front of the sofa.

A moment later Your Vacholier lurches into the room blanketed in interesting new smells. He holds a box in one hand that makes your mouth water. The loud, orange, uncomfortable fur he choses to wear crushed under his opposite arm. He throws it at the rack he hangs his things from and misses.

He slaps at the wall and winces as the dark leaves. Then he spots you. "Oh, hello." 

You barely open your mouth as you yowl in return. You have nought the energy to do so. Can't he see you're starving?! Practically wasting away?!

Your Vacholier coughs making for the thin room. Finally! You dart between his legs, tail raised, and he stumbles in his effort not to tread on you. "Oop!" He usually possesses more grace than this. He smiles down at you, "Easy~" He sounds different too. Whatever. As long as you get your biscuits.

He drops the box onto the breakfast bar and you're hit with a wave of that wonderful smell once more. *That* requires investigation. As Your Vacholier bends down to open the cabinet you jump onto his back then onto the counter.

"Hey!"

The box is easily chewable paper and likely holds prizes most enticing. You stick your face in the tiny gap on the side but before you can do much damage a firm paw catches you under the belly and sweeps you *off* the bar, dropping you on the floor. You mewl. You're starving. You need that!

"Thas mine- not yours, *Chat Moche*." He slurs down at you. He's holding the box of biscuits.

You jump back on the counter. It's a little harder on your old joints without Your Vacholier as a middle step, but you make it and- *god damn* he's pushing you off the counter again.

"Enough! Not for cats!" He picks up the box with his free hand, then pours biscuits into your bowl with the other.

Well. You *suppose* they would do. You take greedy mouthfuls and hear Your Vacholier hiccup behind you. Then he's gone. You hear him pick up his ugly fur and hang it on the rack. Then there's clicking as he unbuckles his horrid device, some acrid smelling thing that reeks of fear, and hangs that up too. Boots next. He does this every day, in this order. You hear the one hit the floor, then swearing as he stumbles removing the second. Then he's *laughing*.

You finish your bowl and wander back into the main area. He's sat on the sofa, smiling to himself. "I did *shots* today!" He declares as he opens the paper box. Once again, that wonderful smell washes over you as he pulls something from it. Fried chicken!

You're on the sofa in an instant, climbing first onto his lap, then when he pushes you away with his elbow you change tactics and take to the back of the sofa. He must have eaten most of it on the way home as only a few scraps of chicken remain. More than you'd usually find by the bins however.

"Said I'd win!" He smiles at you before engulfing a strip of chicken. He's not usually this chatty. "S'wot you geh! Neffa fuh wih Kim Kits-" He hiccups again and the smile leaves his face. He swallows. "Ah... This may h- have been theh plan, actually..." You wish he'd talk about something interesting. Like the chicken for example.

You walk onto his shoulder and peer down at the box. He quickly passes it into the other hand and holds it out at arm's length away from you. How rude! You turn your head and meow, loudly, right into his ear.

"Ack!" He swipes backwards at you. "Gerroff!" He grumbles shaking you back onto the sofa.

Fine then! If he wants to withhold his fried meats then you will resume your position of a poor, lowly street cat. The world's favourite punching bag. A martyr for cat kind and enemy of everyone. You heave a heavy sigh and settle into the cushion next to Your Vacholier. You hear him place the box on the arm of the sofa and then more munching.

Then he's scratching the top of your head and you decide you'll let this *second* transgression go. You're benevolent like that. You begin to purr letting your eyes drift shut. You spend a few blissful moments like that, then suddenly that wonderful smell is back and stronger than ever. Your eyes ping open. He's chewed the skin from a piece of chicken and is holding it in front of your nose. You wolf it down in seconds, careful to avoid his leathery paws, and purring tenfold.

When all the chicken's gone he actually picks you up. He usually leaves you to your own devices, but this evening he holds you to his chest and runs long strokes along your back. This is not your preferred way to be pet, but you chose Your Vacholier for two reasons;

One: he had most graciously freed you from your prison some time ago. A benevolence that *had* to be repaid with your presence.

Two: he smells lonely.

The second reason reminds you of your First Vacholier. The old woman who fished you from that wet box, surrounded by your deceased littermates, and fed you milk by bottle until you were well again. You had loved her with all nine lives, then one day that screaming flashing box of metal had taken her away and you never saw her again.

You're pulled from the past as he kisses your crusty head and rises from the sofa. As he stands, he better scratches that favoured area just under your jaw and you drool on his shirt as thanks. The spot always itches. Even now a mass of cells slowly forms there that *nobody* in the building will be able to afford to treat.

But tonight you purr in the arms of Your Vacholier as he sways towards his bedroom. He has gifted you food, and warmth, and a place to sleep without fear of dogs or other cats or men. He has gifted you love.

He drops you at the foot of the bed and braces a hand against his bedside table. Then he grips the end of one sock and whips it off, almost stumbling as he does so. "Aww, fuckit." He mumbles, removing the glass from his face and dropping it on the table with a clatter.

He clambers onto the mattress then falls face first into the pillow. He's purring within the minute, legs still half hanging off the bed. This is ideal as far as you're concerned. You jump onto the back of his thigh and walk up his body, settling into the small of his back.

Tomorrow he will clutch his head and mumble words like 'Bastards' and 'idiot' as he cleans up cat piss and retches. But tonight he shares his bed with you, and the three of you purr; you, him, and La Revacholiere.

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"NOW AND FOREVER"

This is a story, the main idea of ​​which is from @ramblingautisticman in which Wade feels uncomfortable with his body, but instead of Logan feeling insecure about his emotions, I thought it would be nice if Logan stayed strong for Wade, despite his insecurities. That he would put them aside for a second to focus totally on Wade, is something I think he would definitely do.

I hope you like it!

Wade just got home from work. It's the worst day of his fucking life. I mean, the family of uptight rich snobs he helped at the dealership decided to take a fucking Honda Odyssey instead of a Volkswagen Passat, which is perfect for what they were looking for.

He sat down on the bed he shared with Logan and proceeded to remove the staples holding the toupee he wore to work. He was a mess, so he decided he would take a shower to calm his thoughts, which were racing through his head.

He placed his clothes on the bed after quickly taking them off, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. It was no secret that ever since the accident, Wade hated his body.

There were days when he didn't understand why Logan would want to be with someone like him. I mean, there were plenty of hot guys whose bodies weren't fucking burned, and which they could brag about.

On the contrary, Wade tried to cover his own as much as possible. He turned to the mirror and looked at himself for a few seconds. It didn't take long for the tears to come. He slid to the floor and sat down in front of the surface that reflected his image, hugging himself. Intrusive thoughts began to bombard his head in waves.

“You're horrible”

“Logan is with you out of pity”

“You're pathetic”

“You should be dead”

Without realizing it, the front door of the house opened. Logan entered the house and left the keys in the bowl on the shelf.

As soon as he entered, he knew something was wrong. Wade's smell was in the air, but there was something else, a salty smell that Logan recognized instantly.

Tears.

Wade was crying.

He quickly entered the house, looked at all the rooms until he reached his bedroom, and there he was, sitting in front of the mirror with only his underwear on. Tears ran down his cheeks.

Logan didn't know how to talk to him, I mean, what should you say when you find the person you love the most in a situation like that? He didn't need to say anything, because he turned around when he felt a presence behind him.

He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, while sketching a sad smile that made Logan's heart tighten tightly in his chest.

-Peanut -he greeted- you're home now

-Wade, honey -he murmured, carefully approaching him until he sat next to him- What's wrong?

-Nothing -he shook his head- it's nothing, really. I've just had a shitty day at work, that's all

-It's okay if you don't want to tell me -he said, looking at him delicately- you know I won't pressure you, but I think the reason you're like this isn't just because of work

Wade took a deep breath for a few seconds before looking at Logan again. His clear eyes watched him expectantly. Then Wade knew that no matter what he said, no matter how strange it sounded, he would always support him, because he loved him and that is exactly what people who love each other do, they are there for each other, in good times but especially in bad times.

-My body… -he began before Logan's attentive gaze-

-What's wrong with it? -he encouraged him-

-I hate it -he confessed, Howlett didn't say anything waiting for him to continue- sometimes I can't stand to look at myself in the mirror without feeling bad about myself for being like this -tears rolled down her cheeks again- I would understand if you wanted to leave me for someone more handsome than me -she laughed sarcastically- although that wouldn't be very difficult

-Listen to me well Wade Winston Wilson -Logan murmured holding his face between his hands- I'm not going anywhere, do you hear me? -she asked, he nodded- I love you -she said- fuck, I love you so much that sometimes I can't think of anything else but you -she wiped the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs- so don't you say that fucking bullshit about leaving you again -she said- I'm not going to leave your side, ever -she assured him making him cry with relief- Wade held his gaze firmly, as did Logan who gave him a loving kiss on the forehead

-About your body -she said making him tense- you have to get it into your fucking head that I love you for who you are -she said- I don't give a fucking shit what your body is like, do you understand what I'm saying? -he questioned- you have nothing to be ashamed of- he ran his fingers along his collarbone, making Wade's skin crawl under his touch- you don't know how lucky I feel that you're mine- he confessed- the fact that someone else instead of me was kissing you, loving you and taking care of you… - he shook his head negatively- it's just something that doesn't enter my head

-Wolvie… - he whispered excitedly- Do you really think all that?

-Of course I do, you fucking idiot- he murmured, pulling him towards him in a strong hug- Do you think that if I didn't, I would have spent the last twenty fucking minutes praising you?

-I guess not- Wade agreed, snuggling up to his chest- They remained silent for a few seconds, until Logan spoke again.

-Wade?

-Mhm? –the named murmured-

-What were you going to do when I found you? –he asked looking him up and down- I say that because you're not wearing anything

Wade's cheeks blushed in a way that Logan found adorable. He sketched a smile at seeing his reaction. It wasn't normal for Wade to feel shy about his comments. Normally it was the other way around.

-I was going to take a shower –he confessed, uncertainty floating in the air between them- Do you want to join?

-I was waiting for you to ask me –he smiled making Wade do the same- it's the perfect time to show you how much I like your body

-Wolvie! –Winston shrieked getting rid of his grip between laughs- You're a very naughty kitty!

-Maybe- he smiled half-smiled as they both entered the bathroom, he closed the door behind him, and held Wade by the waist, leaning him against the tiled wall- but I'm YOUR naughty kitten- he whispered, closing the distance that separated them to kiss his lips- now and forever

-Now and forever- Wade replied between kisses-

[thepromptswhisperer]

Hair Prompts

1. Cut hair.

2. Hair carving.

3. Shave head.

4. Bleach/Dye hair.

5. Try out new haircut/-style/wig/etc.

6. React to new haircut/-style/wig/etc.

7. First grey hair.

8. Grow out grey hair.

9. Grow out hair./Let hair grow long.

10. Notice first changes in hair growth due to (gender-affirming) hormone treatments.

11. Wear a wig.

12. Wear a hijab.

13. Wear a toupee.

14. Wear a cap/hat/etc.

15. Wear a bonnet./Wrap hair in silk scarf.

16. Wear a shower/swimming cap.

17. Wrap hair in towel.

18. Bedhead.

19. Bad hair day.

20. Static hair.

21. Hair transplant.

22. Wash hair.

23. Blow dry.

24. Use hair products.

25. Do hair care routine.

26. Brush/comb hair.

27. Braid/style hair.

28. Hair rollers.

29. Make hair look presentable (again).

30. Remove bobby pins/hijab/etc. (e.g. at the end of the day).

31. Face hidden behind hair.

32. Couple hidden behind curtain of hair.

33. “Mustache” face by using long hair and holding it under the nose.

34. Hair tickles.

35. Bury nose in hair.

36. Smell hair.

37. Twirl hair.

38. Flip hair.

39. Fluff out hair.

40. Throw hair back.

41. Curl hair around finger.

42. Play with hair.

43. Gently pull on strand of hair before it jumps back into place.

44. Run hand through/over hair.

45. Move (a strand of) hair to the side/out of the way.

46. Blow strand of hair out of face/the way.

47. Tuck hair behind ear.

48. Ruffle hair.

49. Kiss on hair/bald head.

50. Caress bald head.

51. Kiss balding spot/receding hairline.

52. Donate hair.

53. Examine hair.

54. Lose hair.

55. Check for lice.

56. Shake out wet hair.

57. Send hair “flying”. (e.g. headbanging, shaking head)

58. Untangle knot.

59. Hair stuck in earring/piercing/button/etc.

60. Hair stuck to lip balm/etc.

61. Chew on hair.

62. Hold hair (back).

63. Pull hair.

64. Pull out hair.

65. Remove something from hair. (e.g. a spider)

66. Put/Stick something in/into hair. (e.g. a flower)

67. Try to not get hair wet.

68. Grow a beard/mustache/etc.

69. Shave off (facial/body) hair.

70. Trim beard/mustache.

71. Compete over who has the best beard/mustache.

72. Comb mustache/beard.

73. Style beard/mustache.

74. Beard/Mustache care routine.

75. Run fingers through beard.

76. Stroke beard.

77. Twirl mustache.

78. Mustache/Beard/Stubbles rub(s) against skin.

79. Beard/Mustache tickles.

80. Pluck/Thread/Shave eyebrows.

81. Run finger(s) through/over eyebrows.

82. Raise eyebrow.

83. Furrow brows.

84. Long eyelashes.

85. Flutter one’s eyelashes.

86. Wet lashes.

87. Make a wish on an eyelash.

88. Nose hair.

89. Pluck chin hair.

90. Wax/Use epilator/etc.

91. Arm hair stuck in watch/bracelet.

92. Play with chest hair.

93. Follow the happy trail.

94. Pubic hair.

95. Hair in mouth.

96. Find hair everywhere. (clothes, cushion etc.)

97. Hair on shower wall.

98. Get hair out of drain.

99. Wind/Wind machine in hair.

100. Hair stands on end.

101. Harm a hair on one’s head.

102. Tear one’s hair out.

103. Let one’s hair down.

[gravityfallsweirdgirl]

DARKWING IN: Freddy vs Jason

these teens were have a party that was next door to the mallards.

"Marry, f*ck, or k*ll? Your choices are-- your choices are the Three Stooges. Go, Kia"

"Oh, God...Which one had the super-bad toupee hair?"

"Harry, Mar-- No!"

"No, no, no. It was Moe"

"Either one, I'd k*ll him"

"OK, who'd you f*ck, then?"

"This is stupid, y'all"

"Come on. Come on"

"Oh, God. Whatever, look. I'd f*ck the bald guy, and I'd marry Larry. Jesus. Is this what we're doing all night?

'Cause, y'all, this is really stank"

"Hey! Gibb, what are you doing? I thought you were gonna quit"

"I only smoke when I drink now"

"But you're always drinking"

"Yeah, well, I'll work on that next Hey, OK. I got another one. Fred, Scooby, or Shaggy?"

"Oh!"

"I'm not answering that and neither is she. Do you guys think I should get a nose job?"

"Oh, my God"

"Oh, please, Kia, what you need is a lobotomy"

Then suddenly as it was raining outside the lights started flickering.

"I think I'm gonna get some candles"

"I'm gonna get some beer. Do you guys want anything?" As the girl threw her cigarette out, it hit the hockey mask of legendary killer: jason voorhees, an otter with a machete.

"Are you sure you should be driving?"

"I'm so under the limit, Lori." As she opens the door her boyfriend came out.

"Surprise" and behind him a friend.

"Oh, Trey. You answered my prayers. Thank you"

"Whoa, babe! What'd I tell you about kissing me... after you've smoked, huh?"

"Lighten up. They're menthols"

"Yeah. I brought Blake. Where's Linda?"

"It's Lori. This is her house, so don't be a total cocksmith"

"Whatever"

"Where are the ladies?"

"Relax, they'll be here"

"I'm relaxed, man"

"I'm just wet"

"Did you know they were coming over?"

"Listen, you gotta be quiet. Hey, we knew you were be here all alone this weekend. Blake's cute"

"He's not my type"

"Oh! Who is? No one's ever gonna live up... to the fuzzy memory of your first love, Lori. You were f*cking fourteen, so get over it"

"Yeah, I know we were young... but what Will and l had was real"

"Well, correct me if I'm wrong... but didn't Mr. Real just drop-kick your ass... without so much as a good-bye handshake? He ever even call or maybe even write to you after he moved? Send you an e-mail?"

"No"

"You see my point? It's time to leave the convent, Lori.

You need to meet a guy"

The lights went out and two of the teens started making out making Lori to bring in the candles.

"Hey, Lori...I like the... flow of your place. Got good feng shui"

"Yeah"

"You know about feng shui?"

"Oh, oh! Oh, you should see her bedroom! Hmm?

Great flow in there. Lori, why don't you go upstairs and show Blake your feng shui?"

"Shut up!"

"I got a kink in my neck. Come on. You can massage it out for me"

"I think I need a few more drinks... before there'll be any massaging"

"What do you see in him?"

"I don't know, but he has a cute ass"

"Babe, don't make me ask you twice, OK?"

"So, Lori... am I gonna get that grand tour or what?"

"Yeah. You know, why don't you start in the kitchen... and get us some beers?"

"Cool"

"Oh, my God, Kia, he is a total idiot. Get him out of here"

"Oh, Lori, come on, give him a chance"

"I don't like him"

"You know what? You don't like anybody. I mean, Lori, you've barely gone out since--"

"Since what? Since my mom died? Yeah, well, you know what? My dad needs me. So I can't just go out with guys all the time... and if I did, it would not be with somebody like Blake"

But then the back door was open and someone was creaking upstairs.

"Your back door was open. I closed it"

"Mmm"

"Babe, you know I don't like to be touched after, OK?"

"Fine. I'll go have a shower then"

"Good. Your hair smells like menthols, anyway"

"assh*le"

As the guy lay in bed, he turns to see Jason there, who starts stabbing him in bed multiple times and once tray has enough, Jason closes the bed crushing him.

"Trey!" The girl steps out of shower, "What the hell are you doing?" She steps on a puddle of blood.

And when she saw his deceased body, she screams but Then it turns out to be gosalyn screaming, she wakes up from a nightmare.

After she wakes up, drake comes in to comfort her after he hears her screams.

"Gosayln? What's wrong?" He sits by her bed cupping her shoulders.

"It's nothing dad just a nightmare"

"Well you're safe now" he says.

But the nightmare just begun when next door they see the neighbors screaming and panicking running out of the house, the two look through the window to see the police arrived.

"What do you think's happening" gosayln asked.

"I don't know but I better go check it out" he changes to Darkwing.

"We need to lock this down now. Keep it contained, you hear me?" A agent named grizoff says.

"k*lled in bed. Jesus. It's even the same damn house.

It's gotta be him, right? It's gotta be Freddy Krueger"

"Hey! Don't even say... that son of a bitch's name out loud. Let's just keep it together. We've been through too much to let this thing spread now Take all the kids down to the station. Keep them separate.Do it now"

"What's going on?" Darkwing asked.

"It's nothing important, just a little accident"

"From what I heard it didn't sound like a accident"

Gosayln ends up waiting at the police station while Darkwing investigates.

"Anything?" Grizoff says.

She doesn't know anything.

"They don't know anything. None of them do. Pretty sure we're good"

"Ugh, very well, Good work there tonight, Darkwing.

Right place, right time. But we'll take it from here, all right?"

"Alright I guess I'll get going now"

Darkwing approaches gosayln, "Do they know who did this?" She asked.

"No, not yet sweetheart but we're working on it"

"But I thought I heard... one of the officers mention a name"

"You know, to tell you the truth, sweetheart...this is my first murder case but if they have a suspect, I'd be the first to know"

"But why did they asked me all these really weird questions...Like about my dreams--"

"Look it's been a long night for both of us why don't you wait here I'm gonna get dressed and we'll leave" Darkwing heads to a private room with no cameras.

"What was the name? What was the name?" Then gosayln remembered, "Freddy"

Then she finds the entire station empty, "Hello? Darkwing? Dad? Anyone here?"

She looks around and on the wall were posters of missing kids and blood started falling on the ground it came from nowhere.

She walks passed the wall when the kids looked at her.

Then she sees a little girl, "hey little gurl, Are you OK? Are you lost?"

She turns the little girl around only to find her eyeballs have been cut out.

"AH!"

"His name is Freddy Krueger... and he loves children, especially little girls. Freddy's coming back. Soon he'll be strong enough. It's OK to be afraid. We were all afraid. Warn your friends. Warn everyone"

Terrified the wall turns to her house, she backs up into the door all scared.

Then blood poured down, she looks around to see little girls singing his rhythm.

"One, two, Freddy's coming for you Three, four, better lock the door Five, six, grab a crucifix Seven, eight, try to stay up late Nine, ten, never sleep again One, two, Freddy's coming for you..."

"Who's Freddy? Dad? Anyone?" Then out of nowhere a A disfigured and burned badger with bladed claws jumped at her.

"AH!" She screams then Drake shook her.

"Gosayln wake up" she awoke to find it was only another nightmare.

"What" she stammered and was confused.

"It's ok, it was just a nightmare" she holds on tight to him as he carried her home.

"Let's go home"

Meanwhile another teen was gonna get a visit from Freddy.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Movik-Taar: Future proprietor of a very popular natural hot spring spa & inn on Vulcan. Husband of T’Meni-bu, Sek’s daughter. He’s self-conscious about his hair loss.

Movik is a braggart, a bit of a lia- exaggerator and a gigantic coward and T’Meni-bu knows that yet earnestly thinks he’s the best thing since sliced bread. I’d say she’s that ‘If I had a lame boyfriend-’ post but she genuinely doesn’t think he’s lame and would be defensive if you said he was. Sek thinks Movik is odious but tries to take solace in the fact that T’Meni finds him extremely pleasant. T’Meni and Movik were married before either of their pon farrs because T’Meni wanted to and both families saw no reason to delay if that was her wish. Movik wore a toupee to the wedding and was hesitant to take it off in front of her but when he did she just seemed weirdly charmed.  Movik has a Vulcan parental unit (mother, father) who sired him and another father who is Bolian. He has a Bolian younger sister who’s around elementary school aged.  He has a tendency to exaggerate his accomplishments but often quickly backpedals into the truth. He isn’t a malicious person and is actually a bit of a push over. Said he was going into Starfleet most of his life but when he was the age to apply he suddenly said he was going to take over his family’s inn instead.  T’Meni is very bad at doing actual work in the inn but very good at guest relations and trends which makes the inn even more popular. Movik showers her with attention and gifts so she’s perfectly content. Movik thinks she’s an extremely capable, intelligent person (an excellent match!!) and the two are absolutely insufferable together the way close couples are <3 

[designidraws]

Sam and Max characters’ hygiene ranked from best to worst:

Sybil Pandemik: She is a career-woman and knows what she is doing. Sybil cares about her appearance and how she is perceived, she is the most likely to give a shit about her hygiene.

Myra Stump: She is a talk-show host on TV and has a large audience. She definitely cares a lot about her hygiene since she acts like a bossy mom.

Santa Claus or the elves: Smells like holiday cheer, one of the best scents.

Momma Bosco: Self-explanatory, she probably smells of 60’s perfume and definitely takes good care of her hygiene.

Agent Superball: He probably smells like a really good cologne and he takes himself extremely seriously.

Grandma Ruth: Ruth probably has that grandma perfume smell that is just extremely nostalgic. She definitely cares about her BO.

The Narrator: He is British and very sophisticated, he takes good care of “himself”.

Jurgen: He is very attention-seeking and cares how other people perceive him. He definitely collects the latest and most popular perfume.

Conroy Bumpus: Sure, he may be involved in animal cruelty, but he seems to care a lot about his appearance. He has a toupee on display with high-security soooooo…. he cares a lot.

The Director: She is a director known for being prestigious about acting and probably takes good care of her hygiene.

Darla "The Geek" Gugenheek: She definitely showers regularly.

Sam/Sameth: Sam definitely cares about his hygiene for the most part. He acts like a dad and probably smells like one and cares about how he is perceived.

Lee-Harvey: He is a henchman for Conroy Bumpus and looks well-kept.

Anyone in the toy mafia: These guys probably smell ok.

Satan: Weirdly I think Satan in this series probably smells alright. He always cares about whether his bald-spot is showing on camera during the interview in *The City That Dares Not Sleep*.

T.H.E.M.: They smell average.

Abraham Lincoln: Smells like stone? (Whatever that means)

The C.O.P.S.: The smell of machinery.

Roscoe Bosco: He probably smells average, maybe a little sweaty some days.

Sal: He is a cockroach but seems relatively well-kept.

Flint Paper: He probably showers, but cares more about cases rather than personal hygiene.

Lorne (the friend for life): He doesn’t shower as much as he should.

Mr. Featherly: He is a chicken, but he does seem to care about how he is seen and is very much an attention-seeker.

Sammun-Mak: He smells like dirt but like in a good way, like the nostalgic kind of way.

Trixie: Ehhh she smells well… like a giraffe with a layer of perfume overtop

Max/Maximus: We all know he is covered in so many germs, but Sam definitely tries to get him showered every once in a while.

Hubert Q. Tourist: He is a strange, strange fellow. I don’t know what it is about him, but he makes me uncomfortable and he probably doesn’t smell all that well.

Hugh Bliss: Bacteria

Bessie: She’s a cow…

General Skun-ka’pe or his minions: All I need to say is gorilla.

Bruno: He is a bigfoot, need anymore explaining?

Brady Culture: I don’t think I can explain why, but I think he just doesn’t smell good at all.

Anton Papierwaite: HE IS FRENCH! (Also his *secret* makes him smell worse probably)

Girl Stinky: She smells like really bad, but tries to haphazardly spray perfume to cover it up.

Charlie Ho-Tep: People don’t have the decency to wash their hands before playing with him.

Any sea creatures: I absolutely despise the smell of fish…

Any of the baby characters: Babies can smell really bad…

Jurgen’s Monster: He is basically Frankenstein’s Monster, so he probably doesn’t smell good.

The zombies: They are undead and *god* do the dead smell gross.

Eldritch horrors of any kind: They don’t smell very good.

Molemen or the Rats: These guys smell like shit and probably don’t care about showering. They live in the sewers.

Grandpa Stinky: It’s in the name, he smells absolutely rancid. He probably hasn’t showered in decades.

The Soda Poppers: THEY SMELL REALLY FUCKING BAD

[wellthatwasaletdown]

My shower thoughts about yesterday, in no particular order or sense:

It was no-wigs allowed day.

He broke up with his wig glue.

His toupee was in the shop for repairs.

Treat Harry’s bald head with kindness.

Hair Club for Men has a new spokesmodel.

If an egg had a buzz cut.

It’s for a nonexistent movie role.

PR for Pleasing eau de toilet perfumes. On sale now.

He was tired of his wig getting pulled off during sex.

My Policeman would have been better if his hair got pulled off during sex.

Clown toupee lost. If found, contact Harry Styles.

It: Part 3.

There’s less resistance when he’s riding his lime bikes.

Hair is in the eye of the beholder.

President of Baldystan.

This generation’s Justin Timberlake but without the ramen noodle hair.

I bet Harries are gonna attack Louis for having hair.

It’s hair plug harvesting time.

The world needs a James Bond who is bald but at the same time cannot act and also looks 45 at the age of 30.

Jesus carried a cross. New Jesus wears a toupee.

Y'all kill me. LOL

[goongiveusnothing]

I looked up Andrew Agassi. He’s proof that 1) you CAN shower with your toupee and get it wet, 2) use clips to anchor it to your scalp and 3) the style is consistent because it IS a wig, but more hairs can be added on depending on your mood or the occasion. Does this sound like someone we know lol.

Wow, I actually had no idea that his whole mullet thing was fake almost the entire time! That's actually crazy.

[androscoggintoboggan]

Rip Taylor.

Charles Elmer "Rip" Taylor Jr. was an American actor and comedian, known for his exuberance and flamboyant personality, including his wild moustache, toupee, and his habit of showering himself with confetti. [source: Wikipedia]

[doitwrite]

Prompt: Reunion

Reunited (And it Feels So Bad)

I was halfway through the five-minute daily shower allotted for all crew members when the ship stopped. I swiped shampoo from my eyes and paused. It’s usually hard to tell with a cruiser the size of Flouncy Starlight, but the constant, nearly indiscernible hum produced by the engines was my second heartbeat. We weren’t scheduled to make any stops before we reached the refueling station in Sector B-7, so unless we were under attack or the engines had stalled out—both of which were highly unlikely, considering we were only thirteen parsecs away from our last refueling station—so we should be chugging merrily along our way. I carefully inched over to the wall and touched it with a soapy hand, pressing my right ear to the tile. It was as cold and silent as a stone. I opened my eyes, triumphant, just as the spray of water pattered to a stop behind me.

***

No one tried to stop me as I stomped through the steel-plated intestines of the ship, wiping shampoo out of my hair in irritation. The responsibility for any transport delays would fall on me, and I wasn’t looking forward to possibly getting slapped with another probation after that unfortunate incident involving a flying plate of freeze-dried spaghetti and General Cherriston’s toupee on Zeta-4. (Which hadn’t been my fault. At least, not directly.)

“Don’t bite my head off,” Rekka, my second in command, called. He’d sensed my foul mood the moment I stepped through the doors without looking up. It was rather impressive, considering that the main control panel was about thirty feet from the entrance, but I was hardly in the mood to be dishing out praise.

“Uh, Commander Zeke?” One of the new bridge workers on shift, Alistair, timidly hovered at his elbow. Whatever it was, it could wait.

“Why did we stop?” I demanded. “There can’t be anything wrong with the engines, we had them checked less than thirty hours ago.” Rekka rolled his eyes, unfazed.

“That’s what he’s trying to tell you.” I glared at Alistair, who shrank visibly.

“W- we picked up a distress signal, and as per Section 32.3 in the Handbook, we were obligated to stop and ensure that the voyagers from the source were in…no mortal…danger…” he trailed off, cowering behind Rekka’s chair as I fixed him with a cold stare.

“And were they?!”

“Well, no ma’am, but, uh, it appeared that the ship’s owner had a malfunctioning communication beam that accidentally sent out a signal…”

“You stopped the Starlight for that?! Those voyagers will be in mortal danger once I’m through with them—”

 Someone stepped into my line of sight from my peripheral vision, right on cue, like a supervillain.

Which he was.

For a moment I was rendered speechless, the way gazing upon the remnants of a hideous car accident renders most people speechless. Even under the harsh white light of the fluorescents overhead, Phox still managed to look charming, right down to the stupid scar on his right cheek, which, contrary to popular belief, he’d gotten during a repair job gone wrong on an unregulated mining rig and not from the War, like he’d always let people believe.

“Zeke. It’s been a while.” Two years, five months, and six days. Rekka’s eyebrows shot up, making the silver rings in them glint.

“You know this guy?”

The scar stretched as Phox smiled widely, like we’re old friends, and I could’ve sworn the ship was rolling over because the floor suddenly felt very unsteady under my feet.

“W—” My gaze snapped to the screen of Security Camera G, which was pointed at the southern docking hatch. A bright orange ship is blown up huge and obnoxiously clear on the screen, smashing any hope that what I saw before me wasn’t simply an extremely realistic hallucination.

Phox Reinbram. And his ship, the Everest. Docked aboard the Flouncy Starlight.

There was a pause as my brain processed this.

I didn’t remember moving, but suddenly there’s a crunch and shouting and the knuckles on my left fist hurt like hell but there’s an arc of blood spraying from that irritatingly shapely nose and spattering onto the floor and I felt good. I was readying myself to aim another blow when Jive, our Head of Security, lifted me into the air, pinning my arms to my sides. She’s so muscular she could have just grabbed the back of my collar and lifted me like a kitten by the scruff, but probably chose to spare me the indignity. Phox had been knocked to the floor, holding his nose as he looked at me with…disappointment? That psychopath. Rekka, on the other hand, was  staring at me like I’m the crazy one.

“Zeke! What the hell?!”

“I’ll kill him!” I screamed, cradling my bruised fist. “I’ll rip his throat out and shove it up his—”

“No one is killing anyone,” Jive interrupted, with her slow, pleasant voice.

“Are you okay?!” Alistair says anxiously, hovering over Phox.

“Come on, don’t tell me you’re still mad about that?” Phox was holding his nose, so the words came out muffled. He sounded convincingly hurt, and if I had been four years younger and a hair less secure, I would have crumbled immediately. I tried to kick him, but Jive lifted me up and out of reach, so after a few seconds I went limp and laughed. Probably insanely, given the terrified look Alistair gave me.

“I can’t believe you have the nerve to show your face. Here.”

Phox shook his head as he climbed unsteadily to his feet, and my only consolation was that I did a good number on his nose because blood was still gushing thickly through his fingers and down his arm. Rekka’s hand crept closer to the button for the medical wing on the control board.

“Just hear me out!”

“You son of bitch! Get the HELL OFF MY SHIP–”

“How many times do I have to tell you what really happened, Zekie?” The pet name stunned me into silence. Phox’s voice was soft and plaintive, and his eyes were wide and sincere in his pale face.

Blood was flowing thick and red from his nostrils and making a mess on his chin, the front of his jacket, the floor. I felt sick and dizzy.

“Tell that to my ear,” I said quietly.

Everyone’s gaze magnetizes to the gnarled stump of scar tissue on the side of my head where my left ear used to be.

Suddenly I was seventeen and in the hospital again, staring at the closed door to my room as a voice, muffled and pleading, tried to reach me through the metal. I’d concentrated on the quiet whir of the AC with my right ear until the syllables broke apart and floated away from me.

“Wait…” Jive’s voice is quietly horrified and she momentarily loosened her hold on me. I twisted out of her arms and launch myself at Phox, ready to gouge out those huge green eyes—

Thud.

 Phox suddenly keeled over and collapsed facedown on the ground. A small puddle of blood spread slowly from his face, joining the bright red drops already sprinkled on the floor. I barely caught myself, arms windmilling wildly to keep my balance. Jive was on me in an instant, gripping my shoulders, but there’s no need for that now.

I stared at the back of Phox’s head and briefly considered attempting some sort of modified curb stomp.

“Requesting confirmation for medical attention at Command? Over.” Theodore’s voice suddenly crackled through the intercom, making us all jump. 

I turned. Rekka cradled the radio and eyed me apprehensively. He must have called medical.

“Hello?” That anemic asshole. I should just let him bleed to death.

The blood was rich and red under the white fluorescents. I saw it spattered on a sleek black runway, on the blade of a silver propeller winking in the sun, running through my fingers.

I slumped under Jive’s hands.

“Confirming request,” I heard myself say, defeated.