#The Complete Shoulder and Hip Blueprint

[areyouwell]

Sciophobia

Noun: An extreme fear of shadows. An adult or child with Sciophobia may experience extreme stress and anxiety in everyday life due to the nature of light and shadow.

Ch.2

Ch.1 <---

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: the most DISGUSTING, tooth-achingly sweet fluff, like candyfloss-style shit. i vomited twice writing it and once again proofreading it. they make pasta together for TWO THOUSAND WORDS so if that ain't yer thing im sorry the good stuff will start soon. and by that i mean body horror. i threw up writing that for a completely different reason...

Word count: 11k (strap in and strap on folks)

A/N: as mentioned in the warnings, this is almost pure fluff. sure there's MC rage so strong my timbers were shivered but other than that it's mostly fluff. i want you guys to know, i am setting us all up for failure, because this WILL get sad. but it'll get hot first, then downright filthy, the a little disgusting before it gets sad, we got a while to go so booties ch.2 LFG

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit

“Maybe just try… concentrating harder?” 

It took all of your willpower not to cross the few steps it would take to punch Scott’s lights out. Why the Professor assigned him to help with your training, you’d never know. Sure, it wasn’t like you were constantly at each other’s throats like he and Logan seemed to be, but you never exactly saw eye to eye either. Scott was too… neat, for you. He liked rules too much, always following what his head told him he should do, rather than following his heart or gut. It was infuriating on missions, and you’d had plenty of arguments about the correct course of action before he became the de facto leader whether you liked it or not. 

That was shortly before you went away, so you didn’t really have much time to experience the dictatorship of Scott Summers, and now you were back, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to. 

“Ya know what Scott? I’d never thought of doing that, thanks!” you bit sarcastically, sweat beading along your brow. You’d been at this for well over an hour now, hour two fast approaching with no progress. You’d successfully shadow-walked, though Cyclops noted your hesitation to do so. But could he blame you? The idea of shadow-walking and then suddenly not having the strength to pull yourself back together, or whatever it was you did, was quite frankly, terrifying. 

Scott sighed, placing a hand on his hip and running the other through his hair. “Alright, take ten, I’ll talk to the Professor.” He said, already making his way towards the iron doors. You let loose a frustrated breath, bracing your hands across the back of your neck. This was hopeless. Utterly hopeless. What’s worse, is that there was no proof you could actually do those things. No proof that was the Professor was saying was fucking true. 

You were glad the back wall was cast in shadow as you stormed across the floor, sending your fist careening into the metalwork, instantly regretting your outburst when the crack of your split knuckles rang out louder than the punch itself. Clamping your lips between your teeth to stop yourself from crying out, you let yourself breathe through the pain, savouring it just slightly. It was good. Pain was good. It reminded you how you weren’t just a pile of shadows wandering aimlessly through the air yet. You doubted you could feel a broken hand if you didn’t have a hand to feel with. 

Turning your back to the wall, you slid down to the floor, head buried between your knees with your arms casing you in, throbbing hand gripping your opposite shoulder tightly. You wouldn’t cry. You would. Not. Cry. That wasn’t you. You don’t cry. Since when did you cry?

This was how Logan found you. He’d been stuck in a meeting with Xavier and Storm all morning, going over the blueprints of the latest rescue mission the team would embark on. Though in all honesty, he was barely listening, his thoughts disobediently drifting back to you. The memory of your smile, the teasing lilt in your voice, the way your arms felt wrapped around his neck, the scent of your hair invading his heightened nose. He wondered how you were getting on with Scott, and he pitied the fact you were having to do this with Scott. That was until the man of the hour walked through the doors, disrupting the meeting and finally releasing him back into the world. 

It’s no wonder his feet led him straight to you, you’d been on his mind that much. So to see you like this, curled up against the opposite wall, your hand an angry red, it tugged at his heart. 

You didn’t seem to notice him as he crossed the room, only looking up when he kicked the gym mat with his foot. There was that smile again. The one that didn’t reach your eyes and only serve to fool people who were fucking idiots into thinking you were okay. 

The last person you expected to see walk through those doors was Logan. Last you’d heard, he was stuck in a meeting with Charles and Ororo. Scott was initially furious he’d been asked to help develop your mutation instead of intent ‘crucial strategy meetings’ so he called them, but he soon lightened up when you not-so-subtly reminded him it’s because Charles thought he was the best option to help you. 

You sighed heavily, bracing your good hand on your knee as you rose to your feet. For Logan to see you in such a sorry state wasn’t high on your list of priorities. You were pretty sure it wasn’t on that list at all. 

“Not goin’ well?” he asked softly, and you had to grit your teeth to stop yourself from tearing up. You watched his eyes flicker from your face to your hand, thick brows pinching in concern. You followed his line of sight, not that you needed to, you could fucking feel your knuckles pulsing fire up your arm. 

“Uh, no, not really. I’d love to say I did this punching Scott, but he left before I could, so I took it out on the wall instead.” You half smiled, and Logan found himself blowing out a huff of laughter. Even in this state, in this mindset, you could still find humour. 

Sinking your hand into the shadows across the wall behind you, you felt the familiar tingle of, what you now know was your body breaking apart, before the slight itch of pulling it back together as you dragged it back out, good as new. 

Logan thought for a moment, hazel eyes flicking from you to the shadows behind you. “Have you tried–”

“If you’re about to say ‘concentrating harder’ I might have to hurt you.” You interrupted, much to his amusement.

“I’m assumin’ that’s what Scott said?”

“Word for fucking word,” you said with a slight lopsided smile. Now that one reached your eyes. 

Logan took a few steps forward, now borderline pinning you against the wall. If it wasn’t for his hearing, he would have missed the way your breath hitched slightly, the slight shudder in your exhale. He chalked it down to your apprehension toward your situation. He had to. Giving himself hope like that just led to a shit load of hurt.

“What I was goin’ to say, was have ya tried from in there?” he raised a brow, his eyes looking past you and at the wall behind, and you had to take a minute to remember what you were talking about, his proximity all but throwing all and any thought out the window. It was achingly familiar to yesterday in the kitchen.

“You might be onto something…” you breathed when you remembered how to form words. Now you were thinking about it, he could be right. Why on earth were you trying to call the shadows to you, when you could drag them out with you? However, the idea of once again disappearing into shadow didn’t fill you with the same sense of freedom it once did. 

And Logan could see it. The hesitation, apprehension. You’d told him you were scared last night, but this was the first time he’d seen it. “I’ll be right here, yeah?” Fuck the way you looked at him shattered his heart. You wanted to be brave, you wanted to have the same sense of wonder you always did when it came to your mutation. He looked at the clench of your jaw, the flare of your nostrils as you nodded. 

“Alright… don’t go anywhere.” you half-joked, sliding your hands down the cool wall behind you, feeling your skin tingle at the mere idea of disappearing into the darkness. 

“Where would I go? You’re right here.” Logan responded, placing his index finger on the centre of your forehead and pushing ever so slightly. It gave you enough courage to fall back into the darkness, feeling the release of those threads holding your corporeal body together. 

Logan wasn’t really sure why he said that and he hoped to fuck you were too nervous about this whole thing to actually register what he’d said. He breathed out a sigh of relief when he watched you fold into the shadow, taking a few steps back and looking at his watch. Any longer than three minutes and he’ll start to think this was a really bad idea. Though, he probably should have told you that before you disappeared. 

Fuck.

It was always a strange sensation. Your consciousness was still intact, but the rest of your body had disappeared, scattered into a million different pieces. Probably billions. You couldn’t see, but you didn’t need to. You could sense. Sense the layout of the room. Sense where the shadows begin and where they end. Everything became nothing, and it was freedom. Quieting your thoughts, you concentrated. Concentrated on pulling. It was the same itching sensation you felt when leaving the shadows, except you tried to ground yourself.

Ground yourself in a place that had literally no ground.

This was fucking impossible.

You felt yourself slipping, the shadows around you not knowing what it was you were asking. Did the shadows have consciousness too? You didn’t know. Who fucking knew? And you didn’t fucking care. You tried to concentrate again, pulling against those threads you used to bring yourself from one place to the other toward you.

And only succeeding in moving again. Walking. This was no fucking different to what you’ve always done. Just moving from one point to the next. You’d already fucking mastered that. 

But at least one good thing had come from this. You weren’t afraid anymore. 

You were fucking angry.

Your consciousness writhed like a ball of angry vipers, pulling at all and any threads you could sense around you, flicking from one place to another with no rhyme or reason, no direction. 

If you could scream, you would have done. If you could lash out, you would have done. Rage rippled through your senses, those threads around you thrashing and flailing. Useless. Fucking useless. Maybe this was the fate you deserved. Disappearing into nothing, being nothing. Maybe you did deserve it. 

But you wouldn’t fucking accept it. Not yet.

This is “–fucking POINTLESS!” you roared, stepping from the shadow, your body itching all over, buzzing with adrenaline, your back almost burning. Your eyes took time to adjust to the light again, but you were too furious to register anything. “What’s the fucking point? Nothing works! I can’t pull them toward me, I can’t pull them with me, this is fucking stupid!” you continued your tirade, almost feeling the physical weight of your failure heavy upon your shoulders. “I can’t fucking do it, so why bother trying? It’s been a day and I’m already sick of this shit!” you heaved, breath searing your newly formed lungs, sending shockwaves of fire through your shoulder blades. You couldn’t remember a time when you’d been this angry. “If this stupid fucking mutation doesn’t kill me I’ll do it myself I swear to fucking god and what the FUCK are you smiling at Logan?!” You bellowed, your eyes finally registering what they were seeing. 

Logan had probably the world’s most gorgeous smile, and you wished you weren’t too pissed off to appreciate it. But before he had time to answer, Scott and Charles entered the room, Scott dropped a mug of what looked like freshly brewed coffee straight onto the floor, the shattering of the ceramic lingering in the air as the room fell deadly silent. 

“What?” you asked, now slightly fearful as the three men peered at you, each with a different expression. Scott seemed utterly horrified, his jaw slack and agape. Charles looked almost smug, a knowing smile pulling at his lips. And Logan?

Logan just grinned at you, arms folded across his chest. “You did it,” he whispered, nodding to what you thought was the wall behind you. Your eyes lingered on his as you turned your head, finally looking at what everyone else in the room seemed to be seeing. 

Honestly, you were fucking shocked you didn’t notice. At least now the burning in your shoulder blades had an explanation. 

Two broad, rippling wings of pure shadow spread wide from your back, the darkness almost pulsing along with your rapid heartbeat. It felt good, and you noted the lack of pressure about your body. Those threads that seemed constantly under strain had loosened, seemingly constantly fed by the shadows at your back. 

You slowly pulled at the strings, watching the wings move and shift with your intentions. Your fury dissolved as you watched in complete awe, along with the three others in the room. They folded close to your back and you felt the buzzing of energy against your leg, before you extended them again to their full size, tips grazing either side of the room. 

“Wh… H-how?” Scott managed to stutter, taking a cautious step forward. You looked from your shadows to Cyclops. 

“It, uh, it was Logan’s idea. Pull them out with me rather than trying to pull them towards me…” you were still reeling, slowly extending your fingers before trying to move the rest of your body. You didn’t know how much concentration it was taking to keep them intact, and you were a little afraid of letting them slip. Your breath came heavy as if you’d run around the estate at least four times. 

Logan looked back at Scott, unable to help his ‘fuck you’ brow raise. And to his satisfaction, Scott clicked his tongue in irritation. He turned back to you when he heard your slight laugh, clearly having noticed the silent exchange between them.

“How did you even know about this?” Scott asked accusingly.

“She told me.” Logan retorted as if it was the most obvious response on the planet. Scott just stood there in shock.

“She… she told you? She told you. As in, the one over there?” Cyclops pointed at you and you flipped him off in return.

“Yeah? Who else would we be talkin’ ‘bout?”

“It’s just, she doesn’t tend to… do that,”

“She is right fucking here!” you held your arms up, gesturing to yourself in a way that thankfully returned the boys’ attention back to the situation at hand. 

“Yeah well, this is all well and good,” Scott continued, crouching now to pick up the larger pieces of the shattered mug, “but how do you release them?” he finished. 

He had a point. You couldn’t wander around the school with two giant wings stuck to your back, as much as you wanted to. How would you get through the doorways? Xavier wheeled forward until he was next to Logan, his face now much more serious.

“Carefully. Release it too quickly and the threads could go with them,”

“Wouldn’t that just mean she would be back in the shadow?” Logan asked, slight concern lacing his baritone voice. There was a catch here, and every single one of you knew it. 

“Ordinarily yes, however, she cannot disappear into her own shadow. If she releases those threads anywhere other than back to its original form, there’s a risk of her disappearing with it and getting stuck,” He explained, to nobody’s understanding. You knew you couldn’t disappear into your own shadow, you’d tried before and your body simply wouldn’t let you. 

“So wait… I can pull the shadow with me but have to return it to where it was, essentially?” you asked, slowly so that your question could be understood, even by yourself. Charles nodded, and you took a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. 

Logan couldn’t help but feel partly to blame for this. He’d encouraged you to take this step, to try alternate methods of developing your mutation, and now he had, you were stuck like this until you felt sure you could release it carefully. Shit.

‘She made it this far because of you. We have a chance at changing her fate because of you, Logan. You cannot regret that.’ It was always jarring when the Professor found his way into his head, and it wasn’t the least bit soothing. What did ease him a little, however, was your slight reassuring smile, renewed with confidence. 

You could see he was battling with guilt, terrified that he may have endangered you. But you could do this. You’d already managed to achieve something you never thought you could today, what’s one more miracle?

“Hooookay, let’s try this… carefully, right?” it was a rhetorical question because honestly? You were a little scared, and stalling seemed to give you time to collect your thoughts and calm your slightly stuttering heart.

“Carefully,” Charles instructed, and you nodded once before taking another deep breath. Holding it for a few moments, you tightened the threads you hoped to fuck were holding you together, keeping them in place before blowing out the breath, releasing your connection to the wings behind your back. You felt them bleed down your shoulders, shivering slightly as the shadows snaked down your legs and back against the wall behind you, returning to their original state. 

You’d closed your eyes at some point, honestly, you couldn’t remember when. You were scared to open them, scared to see if you’d fucked anything up, if parts of your body were just completely shadow, or whether you had accidentally grown multiple limbs or something. You knew your mind was running away from you, but you couldn’t help it, as ridiculous as it felt.

Logan smiled slightly to himself as he watched the shadows wash away and return to the wall, and that inward smile broadened when he noticed you weren’t moving, eyes clenched shut, your hands balled into fists, your shoulders tensed and hunched. He stepped forward and up to you, gently bracing his hands on either side of your neck, thumbs angling your jaw up a little. Your soft gasp didn’t escape his ears.

“Y’alright?” He asked, eyes searching your face before finding your own gaze, your lids having fluttered open. You visibly relaxed, one hand that was previously balled into a tight fist now gently sliding up his wrist, resting atop his forearm. Your touch was electric, fingertips sending shivers down his spine. 

“Fine, I think,” you responded, gliding your nails through the hair on his arm. It was an absent response to his touch. You wanted to be closer to him, to bury your head in the crook of his neck and breathe in his pinewood scent. His breath was a mix of mint and tobacco, and you wondered if his lips had a permanent hint of whiskey if you were to taste them, having been told by a grumbling Jean that was who the hidden, half-empty bottle in the cupboard belonged to.

You instantly mourned the loss of his touch when he stepped back, though you were grateful he did. You’d been dangerously close to kissing him, and whilst you still wanted to, perhaps not without an audience of Charles and Scott.

“How are you feeling?” You blinked when the Professor addressed you directly, having forgotten what living in reality was like for a few moments. Nodding along with an answer you hadn’t voiced yet, you grinned along with a deep, contorting rumble of your stomach.

“Apparently, starving.” A chuckle escaped your lips and you braced a hand against your stomach in an attempt to soothe away the uncomfortable feeling of hunger. 

“I think that’s enough for today. Logan, could you take this one to the kitchen? Make sure she’s fed.” There was a knowing look in Professor Xavier’s eye that Logan wasn’t sure he liked. Sure, he may have just lovingly held your face whilst bringing you back from the brink of terror, but that didn’t mean there was anything going on between the two of you. You met yesterday!

“Sure.” he shrugged, trying his damnest to sound nonchalant about it. You stretched your arms up above your head, popping your elbows slightly as you followed Logan from the room, feeling a thousand times lighter than you did when you entered two hours ago. Honestly, you couldn’t believe you’d succeeded. 

The doors closed behind you with a soft swish, and you paused to appreciate the man walking ahead of you. You’d known each other for less than twenty-four hours, and yet you’d tear the fabric of the universe apart to ensure his safety. You knew almost nothing about him, and yet you felt the strangest pull towards him, a yearning to be around him, to be near him. It was infuriating, but so fucking exciting at the same time. Could this maybe be something? Did he feel this weird connection too? Or was it just your delusions working overtime? Honestly, hard to say.

“Take a picture, it’d last longer.”

You snapped from your daze to notice he’d turned back to you, realising you weren’t following him. Flashing him a broad smile, refusing to feel any kind of embarrassment that he’d caught you practically staring at him, you jogged a little to catch up, effortlessly falling into step beside him.

“Wanted to thank you,” you looked up at him through the corner of your eye, catching his own gaze. 

“What for?”

“Everything. Logan, I’ve known you for less than a full day and you’ve already helped me more than people I’ve known practically my whole life. The Professor excluded. So yeah, thanks.” You shrugged, hitting the button on the lift to take you both back up to the ground floor. The doors closed and you leaned against the back wall, crossing one ankle over the other. 

“You need better friends if you’re thankin’ me for anythin’. Wouldn’t anyone else do the same?” he asked, mirroring your stance against the adjacent wall, folding his arms across his chest. You snorted a laugh, and he found himself smiling at you.

“Yeah, friends would, but like I said, we haven’t even known each other a full twenty-four hours yet.”

Logan cocked a brow, his smile morphing back to a small smirk. “Well pardon me, princess, I thought we were friends.” 

You rolled your eyes, and Logan had a horrendous feeling he’d misread the entire situation between you. “I mean like, lifelong friends, asshole. People I’ve known ever since I can remember. Not people I met yesterday,” you finished, gently kicking his foot with your own. Logan straightened up as the lift slowed to reach the ground floor, softly flicking your forehead in response to your kick, causing you to bat his hand away.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? You made an impact,” he shrugged, and you grinned.

“Oh yeah?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, bub. I’m just sayin’ you show up after not existin’ and immediately cause trouble.” he watched your expression shift from mischievous to a sheepish pout, unable to beat the trouble-maker allegations. He sighed slightly. “But hey, maybe I like trouble.” The doors opened for the both of you to leave, Logan being the first to make his exit. Though, you stayed behind for a beat.

“Or maybe trouble just likes you,” you retorted with that same lopsided smile he’d come to admire so much, before pushing back against the wall to join him. 

“Yeah well, ‘m’not mad about it either way,” he mumbled, and you thought better about teasing him for it. You imagined this was about as close as he was gonna get to voicing genuine care for you, so you let it drop, simply humming a thoughtful smile in response. 

You don’t know why you were expecting the kitchen to have a few people in it, since classes were currently going on. Maybe it was due to the fact you hadn’t exactly settled back into the life of a teacher yet. Not that you were a teacher anymore, the man currently rifling through the snacks cupboard had seen to that. You found, with no small degree of surprise, that you missed it. You missed teaching combat and strategy, you missed taking the kids through training drills and exercise routines. You missed helping them hone their mutations, with Jean’s help, or Ororo’s help. Sure, the worry of them getting hurt always used to play on your mind, but now you were back, you realised that the worry was worth the fulfilment. 

Taking a seat at the table, you propped your chin up on the heel of your palm, watching as Logan crouched to one of the cupboards below the counter. You didn’t pretend like you weren’t enjoying the view. He really did look fantastic for one hundred and thirty. In peak physical condition.

“I’d say take a picture again but I’d really rather you didn’t,” you were too focused shamelessly staring at his ass you hadn’t noticed he was peering at you over his shoulder with a not-so-subtle smirk. You flashed one right back.

You were coming to like that phrase. “I wouldn’t be opposed,” you retorted, wiggling your brows up and down. Logan snorted a laugh. 

“You flirt with everyone like this?”

You shook your head, moving to rest your chin on top of your now interlaced fingers. “Nah, only with the ones over ninety. I have a thing for older men,” you winked and he rolled his eyes.

“Stop,” but judging from his expression, Logan was finding this just as amusing as you were. But as much as you wanted to continue, your curiosity got the better of you.

“What’re you looking for?” you asked, standing from your seat at the table and skirting around the wood to sit on the edge closer to him, peering down over his shoulder. 

“There used to be a packet of insta-noodles in here somewhere but I think one of the kids got to it first,” he explained, and you gasped dramatically, to the point where he actually looked a little concerned over his shoulder. “What?”

“Insta-noodles? My brother in Christ, please tell me you were not about to give me instant fucking noodles?” you felt something in you die at the thought, and something else died at his affirming nod.

“Yeah, what's wrong with that?” he asked, genuinely perplexed by your reaction. It was just noodles for fuck’s sake, it wasn’t like he’d just offered to kick a baby. He blinked at your barked laugh of disbelief, watching as you hopped off the table and shooed him aside.

“Step back fossil–”

“Hey!”

“and let me do this. We’re going to actually have food. Like, real food. Take a seat or watch and learn.” You shot him a look over your shoulder, before gathering whatever ingredients you needed. Logan dragged one of the chairs back from the table, taking a seat to watch whatever it was you were about to make. 

You started by dicing an onion, a pan with oil already heating up on the gas stove, and it took all of three minutes for Logan to be impressed by your knife skills. You almost wielded the thing like a dagger, flipping it this way and that, before scooping half the pile of onion and dropping it into a plastic bowl. The other half you scraped into the pan, and Logan couldn’t help but savour the sound of the sizzle and the smell of food. Suddenly, he too was starving.

You crossed to the fridge, rummaging around the bottom shelf before pulling out a tub of minced beef, and a packet of mushrooms. Closing the door with your hip, you lay the ingredients out on the counter, pulling open the cupboard above your head to retrieve a box of breadcrumbs and a carton of eggs. Though he saw you pause briefly, turning your head back to him.

“You’re not vegetarian or vegan, right? Probably should have asked yesterday,” your question made him laugh, and you tilted your head to the side. “What?”

“Do I look vegan to you?”

You stuck your tongue in your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. No, no he didn’t. But at the same time, you’d made a similar mistake in the past. And it still haunts you to this day.

“Just answer the question, Lo’” you grit, placing a hand on your hip. Logan blinked, trying his best to get past the nickname you’d just given him. Usually, nicknames were his thing, having about a million different ones for a million different circumstances. He barely managed to shake his head, earning himself a smile of gratitude from you, before you turned back to your task at hand and he could settle himself with his brow pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

You crouched again, rifling through the cupboard with cans. Pushing a stack of soup to the side, you froze solid, your eyes blowing wide as your hand shook at what you saw. Another mug, though someone had gone to great lengths to hide this one. Your fingertips grazed the faded image, a photograph of a younger-looking you and a girl with fair features, her braids tied back at the top of her head. Her smile was brilliant. Dazzling. It took you a moment to will your blurring vision away, before inhaling deeply and bringing out the chopped tomatoes you’d been looking for, setting it to the side. Taking a moment to push her from your mind whilst stirring the slowly browning onions, you then cross to fill the kettle, flicking the switch to start boiling. Logan blew out a breath, having recovered from his heart stuttering and finally went back to watching you cook. 

It was calming, almost hypnotic, the way you moved about the kitchen. Folding the onions in with the beef mince, breadcrumbs and two eggs. Only, it just occurred to him he had no fucking clue what you were making. Standing from his seat, he moved over to lean his shoulder against the fridge door, now having a clear line of sight to watch what you were doing.

“What’re you making?” he asked, smiling slightly as you startled. He didn’t mean to scare you, he just honestly didn’t realise how deep into the process you were. 

“Meatball Marinara,” you answered, your fingers incorporating the ingredients in the bowl until you were left with a sticky, meaty lump you could form balls out of. 

“From scratch?” he asked, eyes slightly wide. You’d spoken at length about your cooking last night, and how you’d learned, and it wasn’t that he didn’t believe you, it was more that he didn’t quite realise how impressive it was until he was here, watching you. 

He swore, your smile could start and end wars.

“It’s pretty quick and easy, to be honest,” you explained, eyes never leaving your task despite feeling his own trained on you. You grabbed the salt from the spice rack, twisting the grinder a few times until you felt it was right. That was what a lot of cooking was for you. Just feeling. When you felt something was done, you’d take it from the oven. When you felt something needed a little more seasoning, you’d sprinkle some paprika in for an extra kick. Nothing was ever done by the book. 

It’s mainly why you didn’t exactly get on with Scott.

“Huh…” Logan responded, watching how you’d started to take small portions of the beef and roll it into little balls, placing them onto a separate plate. 

“Could you give the onions a quick stir? ‘ve got meat hands,” you wiggled your slightly shining fingers in his face, and he jerked back, much to your amusement. Logan fought the urge to flick your forehead again, settling on ignoring your evil little laugh and instead focussing on his critical mission of stirring onions. 

“D’ya cook like this when you were away?” he asked, finding an insane amount of domestic comfort in cooking with you. He saw you shake your head out of his peripheral vision. 

“Nah, didn’t have time, plus I was moving around a lot. Usually, it was quicker and easier things than this,”

“Like insta-noodles?”

You could fucking hear his smirk, and you managed to stop yourself from cracking an egg over his head. “No. Never insta-noodles. Ever.”

You’d finished making little meatballs and had started splitting apart a bulb of garlic, crushing the cloves beneath your knife before peeling off the skin and dicing them before dropping them into the pan he was still stirring. His eyes closed involuntarily as you leaned across him, once again your scent hitting him like a freight train, only this time your shampoo had blended with the sweet, slightly musky smell of your sweat. It was enough to drive him fucking feral. 

“Keep stirring that, or it’ll stick to the bottom and burn,” you instructed absently, halfway through chopping up a few mushrooms before leaning across him again to drop them into the pan as well. Logan held the spoon like it was his lifeline, knuckles draining white as you moved around him to retrieve another pan.

“Yes ma’am,” he responded, and you snorted another laugh. He really had to pull himself together. 

You poured the boiled water from the kettle into the new pan, lighting the burner and setting it on a high heat, bringing the water roiling before grinding salt for what Logan felt was far too long. He wondered vaguely if you had high sodium levels, or how your blood pressure was. You waited again for the water to come back to a boil, before placing a sizeable amount of spaghetti into the pan, putting slight pressure on the tips so the ends would soften and bend faster in the water. 

Placing the lid over the pan, you went to check your watch. Your watch that you weren’t wearing. Fucking goddamnit. You looked around for a clock, before noticing Logan’s wrist. 

Logan’s soul nearly left his body at the way you grabbed his hand, twisting his wrist to make a note of the time. You weren’t exactly rough, but it was assertive enough for him to think twice about the kinds of things he was into…

Wait, what the fuck was he talking about?

“You could’ve just asked the time,” he muttered, tugging his wrist back almost possesively. 

“Hm?” you blinked. In truth, you’d been utterly lost in how good this felt. How right it felt to just do average, mundane tasks with him. “Oh, right, yeah, sorry. Could you tell me when ten minutes have passed?” you asked, almost instantly busying yourself again by carefully dropping the meatballs into the pan he was stirring. “Gotta brown off the meat first…” you instructed softly, almost absently. But he listened, slowing his movements. Your resulting smile was radiant. “Hey, you’re a natural!”

Logan raised a brow. “I’m stirring a pan, bub. Not exactly gourmet style.” You laughed, gently hitting his bicep with the back of your hand, only to stop in your tracks, shaking your knuckles out. 

“Ow! I thought you said your bones were made of adamantium,” you exclaimed, rubbing over the back of your hand with your other palm. In truth, it didn’t really hurt, but you just wanted to make a point because nobody has the right to be this built. It was insane.

Logan bit his tongue to stop from smiling, his eyes sliding from that pan to you. “Just the result of a good workout regime,” he shrugged as if it were nothing special. In reality, he knew he looked good. He put a lot of work into his physique, and whilst his mutation did help with that, it was still nice to be complimented on it once in a while. 

“Huh… you don’t say,” you responded, cracking open the can of tomatoes once the meatballs had browned to your satisfaction. The metal sizzled slightly as you poured in the sauce, setting the can to the side and retrieving a few basil leaves from the window box on the opposite side of the room. Logan hadn’t noticed it before, remarkably, and though having no experience with plants in recent history, something told him he wouldn’t have too much trouble identifying what they were.

It was a weird feeling. Remembering something he didn’t actually remember. Though it had been the story of his life for the last few years. 

You dropped the leaves into the sauce, leaving him to stir the pot whilst you brought out two sets of plates and cutlery and set them on the counter, angling your head so you could catch sight of the time from the watch on his wrist. He would have just told you if he didn’t think you were deriving some kind of joy from attempting to read his watch sideways.

Removing the lid from the pan, you scooped up a single piece of spaghetti, blowing away the steam before dropping it into your hand when you thought it was cool enough. You shot him a quick look Logan could only describe as pure mischief, before throwing the spaghetti against the backsplash of the stove. He watched as the pasta hit the wall with a sick squelch, before sliding down the tiles. 

He looked back at you, and you almost instantly burst into fits of laughter. “The fuck was that for?” he asked, his brows furrowed in perplexion. 

You managed to recover from laughing, though hiccuped through a few giggles. “You can tell whether spaghetti’s done by throwing it at the wall. If it sticks, it’s raw, if it slides, it’s done,” you exclaimed, tilting your head to get another look at the time, noting that those ten minutes were up.

“Really?” 

“Nah, that’s an old wive’s tale. Honestly, it’s just kinda fun to pelt spaghetti at a wall and call it ‘cooking’.” You sent him a wink, and Logan shook his head in fond disbelief. He felt like he’d seen so many sides to you in the last twenty-four hours alone. And if he was being completely honest with himself, he wanted to see more. He wanted to see how many sides to you there were, and whether he would like them all as much as he liked the ones he’s already seen. Your fury included.

“Your ten minutes it up, by the way,” he reminded you, and though he had a feeling you already knew, you nodded in thanks anyway, removing the boiling pan from the stove and flicking off the burner, the blue gas flames retreated to nothing. Skirting around him to the sink, you tipped out the water, using the lid of the pan to stop the rest of the spaghetti from falling with it. You shook the pan slightly, shaking out any pieces that had stuck together, before setting about separating the contents into two portions, one slightly bigger than the other. 

“How’s it looking?” you asked, leaning back to take a look at the sauce. If Logan had to grit his teeth after smelling your scent one more time his jaw would fucking snap. You really weren’t making this easy on him, were you? Part of him wondered if you were doing it deliberately, but there was no way of you knowing about his heightened senses. Unless you’d asked around, which, with everything you’ve had going on since you got back, he sincerely doubted. 

“Looks good to me, but I’m not the expert here,” he handed you the spoon, stepping to the side for you to take over. Your fingers brushed his as you took it, and he tried his fucking best to ignore the slight buzz you’d left. 

Lifting the spoon to your lips, you sampled what you’d been slaving over for the last twenty minutes, smiling slightly as the sweet, tarty flavours burst on your tongue. It was a new sensation for Logan to wish he was a spoon, but here he was. 

“Perfect!” you beamed, dipping the spoon back in the sauce and turning to him, your palm cupped beneath the wood to prevent anything from spilling onto the floor. “Wanna try it?”

Logan shrugged, stepping forward and allowing you to bring the spoon to his lips. Your eyes never left his, the tips of your fingers grazing the coarse stubble beneath his chin, but you didn’t move away. He struggled to focus on anything other than how close you were to him, the feeling of your fingers on his jaw, your breath fanning the lower half of his face. Your hopeful eyes waiting eagerly for his verdict, searching his expression for any kind of clue. And he was suddenly afraid of what you’d find there. 

Stepping back, he pretended like he was savouring what you’d fed him, and whilst it was fucking delicious, it didn’t compare to how he imagined your lips tasting. Or anything else, for that matter. 

“‘S’really good,” he managed, and you immediately looked as if you weren’t waiting with bated breath for his approval.

“Isn’t it? Fuck I’m good,” your laugh was more akin to an evil mastermind than someone who’d just made meatballs, but Logan would be hard-pressed to find another time in his life when he felt this at peace with the world. At least, not in the life he could remember. “Sit, I’ll bring it over,” you instructed, removing a larger, metal spoon from the drawer, which he took off you the moment he could.

“Pretty sure it’s supposed to be the other way ‘round, bub. You cooked,” he glanced pointedly to the seat you’d just gestured to. But clearly, you were, amongst many other things, incredibly stubborn. 

“Not sure how you worked that one out, you cooked too,” you folded your arms across your chest, setting your jaw. 

“Yeah, barely. Sit your ass down,” he pointed to the chair with the spoon in his hand, but you still refused, now leaning against the counter as if you could get any further away from the table. Logan sighed heavily, placing the spoon down again. “Didn’t wanna have to do this…” he muttered, and you didn’t have the chance to ask what he meant by this before his arms were around your waist and you were lifted effortlessly off the ground. 

All breath fled from your lungs. Your hands instantly fell to his shoulders, nails clinging on for dear life as he carried you to that godforsaken chair. His grip around your body tightened as you attempted to wriggle free from his arms, laughing breathlessly, exhilaration coursing through your body. Only, the moment he tried to set you down, you did a complete 180 and wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs around his waist.

“Let go,” his words were muffled against your neck as he bent almost double, and you leaned back until you were practically hovering above the chair.

“Seemed like a good idea a minute ago, huh?” You arched a cocky brow and were met with an expression mirroring your own. 

“So you gonna cling to me forever? That your genius plan?”

“If that's what it takes,” 

“Let go,” the way he said your name almost had you falling to the floor, your muscles suddenly growing weak. But you stayed strong, out of nothing but principal at this point. He wasn’t even holding you anymore, you were clinging on through sheer willpower alone. For the sake of being stubborn.

“You made this bed, now lie in it,” you responded haughtily, refusing to look into his irritated façade.

“That doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” he growled, and you fucking melted. That wasn’t fucking fair, and judging by the steadily growing smirk, he knew it. His hands gripped both your calves, successfully peeling you from his waist whilst you were distracted. You had no choice but to let your legs fall to the floor, catching yourself on the chair behind you, much to his triumphant grin. 

“You cheated!” you gaped, sitting cross-legged on the seat. Logan barely looked over his shoulder as he started spooning the sauce onto the two piles of pasta. All that over fucking spaghetti. And you didn’t even regret it a little.

“How’d I cheat?” he asked, though you were aware he knew full well how. And you were right. He did know. Of course he knew. He’d used that specific voice countless times before. Usually under very different circumstances. He just wanted to hear you say it. Hear you say how it affected you. 

But, true to form, you were stubborn.

“You’re stronger than I am,” you sighed, glaring heated daggers into the back of his head. You wanted to be petty, to stand up and take the spoon from him again, but in all honesty, you don’t think you’d survive another round of ‘sit on the fucking chair’.

Logan looked at you over his shoulder, his eyes swirling with knowing, and you stuck your tongue in your cheek and looked away, not giving him any satisfaction of confirming what he was thinking. You’d been so caught up in avoiding eye contact, that you almost jumped when he set the plate down in front of you, setting his own at the opposite place. At least he’d had the sense to realise the large portion was for him. Credit where credit was due, you guessed.

A comfortable silence blanketed the kitchen as he took a seat, two glasses of water in his hands, and you smiled a thank you. If you had your brother to thank for anything, it was teaching you how to cook. Well, it was many more things than that, but at this moment, it was cooking lessons. He didn’t want you going into the world with the culinary skills of a carrot. His words, not yours. 

You had a feeling Logan was a hard man to impress, so listening to his small grunt of appreciation was music to your ears. “Told ya I was a good chef,” you beamed after swallowing a mouthful and taking a large sip of water. 

Logan nodded in agreement. It wasn’t like he could disagree, the proof was right there, in front of him, in his fucking mouth for fuck’s sake. And the peace pesto from last night. Though he was glad his metabolism was fast. Pasta two days in a row can’t be good for anyone. “Never said you weren’t,” your expression fell from pride to scowling in seconds, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “You’re a fantastic chef.”

Your eyes narrowed as you searched for any hint of dishonesty, but you came up short. Though he said it as if to placate you, something told you he really meant it. You were just playing around, in all honesty, teasing in order to forget what just happened between you, and you’d gotten so much more than you bargained for. 

Much like the other night, you both fell into comfortable, mundane conversation, finding refuge in how fucking normal everything felt right now. You laughed and smiled as if the threat of disappearing into nothing didn’t constantly hang above your head, and he teased and joked as if the weight of his forgotten life didn’t constantly burden his shoulders. You could get used to this. Dangerously used to this. 

Logan was completely enamoured by you, once again finding himself encapsulated by the way you talk, from moments where you get really into whatever story you’re telling, to quieter moments when you let the conversation settle. If he was to die tomorrow, unlikely but worth entertaining from time to time, it was moments like these he was sure would flash through his mind. 

“What about you? I’ve talked your ear off about my life but you never talk about yours. Though, I guess there’s a lot to talk about,” you mused thoughtfully, twisting your fork through your spaghetti, or whatever was left of it. Logan grunted, shifting in his seat to lean against the back of the chair.

“It’s not a happy story,” he admitted quietly, buying himself some time by taking a long glass of water. Your gentle eyes found his, a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

“I’m not looking for a fairytale. Just who you are,” you fought the urge to reach across the table and slip your hand into his. Though you didn’t want to push him to divulge anything, you just didn’t wanna feel like the whole conversation was one-sided. Sure, he would chime in with a few anecdotes but mainly it was just asking you questions. 

If he was being honest with himself, Logan wasn’t sure he wanted to tell you anything about his past. He knew you wouldn’t judge, clearly having seen a fair amount of bullshit yourself, and the fact that it simply wasn’t who you were. No, his problem lay with the fact that he didn’t want to dampen your spirit with his sob story of a past. How he only remembers through thrashing nightmares, waking up soaked in sweat, heart racing. You didn’t need to know any of that. 

“Alright… I–” he began before quite literally being saved by the bell. Logan looked at his watch, brows raising at how easily time had once again run away with the two of you. You blinked, looking around as if you could find the bell and ask it personally why it was going off so early before the echoing of ongoing conversation shattered the domestic delusion you’d both managed to trick yourselves into feeling.

“Another time,” you stood from the table, leaning over to grab his plate, but he swatted your hand away and instead took your own. 

“Never learn, do ya?” he asked with a slight smile, and you rolled your eyes. With a heavy, defeated sigh, you conceded, simply allowing him to take your plate to the sink. Stretching your arms high above your head, you popped your stiff shoulders, turning your head as two students you knew well entered the kitchen.

“You made meatballs?! No fair, I wanted some!” Jubilee whined, her books still clasped against her chest. Artie stuck out his forked tongue, much like a snake would taste the air around it before his curious face morphed into a frown. It seemed he too wouldn’t have minded meatballs. 

Logan looked over his shoulder at the two newcomers, his eyes darting between you and them, your guilt written all over your face.

“I’ll make them for you again sometime soon. We could have one of those big dinners we used to do, remember those?” you asked, your eyes alight with hope. Logan had heard of those. Apparently, you used to cook for the whole mansion, and the students would drag tables and chairs from all different rooms and have a huge feast together. Of course, he didn’t believe a word anybody said about it, since he was convinced you were a figment of everyone’s collective imagination, but now he knew you very much did exist, he could envision you dancing around the kitchen for hours on end, preparing dish after dish.

Jubilee’s face lit up at the suggestion, her hand hitting Artie’s arm excitedly. “Seriously? You mean that? We’ve missed doing that so much. Nobody cooks the way you do!” She bounced on her toes, before whirling and darting from the room, most likely to tell the rest of her friends. Artie lingered for a few seconds, clearly not knowing whether he wanted to stay or to race after Jubilee, before he too turned on his heel and ran after her. You chuckled softly, running a hand through your hair.

“What’ve I gotten myself into…?” you muttered, startling slightly as a hand rested on your shoulder. You looked up at Logan, unable to accurately decipher his expression. All you knew was that it was soft. Softer than you’d seen in the last day or so. 

“Were y’always this good with em? The kids?” he asked, and you huffed a laugh. You wished you could say yes, absolutely, you’d always been naturally gifted at looking after children. But that wasn’t the truth. 

“Fuck no. Used to hate kids, to be honest with you. Thought they were annoying as fuck when I first started,” you admitted slightly sheepishly. “But, they grew on me. Still not a fan of like, other kids, but any who come to this school? Love ‘em.” 

“Makes me wonder why they sent you ‘round America and not someone more suited.” his eyes glinted with mischief and you lightly elbowed his ribs.

“I can be incredibly persuasive.” 

“That so?”

“Mmmhm,” you nodded emphatically, stepping out of his range and immediately missing the warmth of his palm on your shoulder. You hadn’t even noticed he’d left it there until you moved away and hopped onto the table, your feet dangling slightly. He didn’t take his eyes off you, scanning your face as though he was considering you. You cocked a brow. “What?”

“Teach with me.”

You blinked. Well, you weren’t expecting that. “Come again?”

“Teach with me,” he repeated as confidently as he’d said it the first time. You scoffed a laugh. 

“What? Why?”

Logan shrugged. “You’re better with the kids than I am, and it would give you a good opportunity to develop your mutation in a combat setting.” And I get to spend more time with you.

You hesitated. “I– I don’t know, Logan. It’s… I don’t think it’s a good idea,” While you wanted nothing more than yet another excuse to be around him, you didn’t know if getting back into teaching was the right thing for you at the moment. Yeah, you missed it. Fuck, you missed it more than you thought you would, but you really meant it when you said you weren’t cut out for it. If only you weren’t the only person who thought so. 

“One class.” he bargained. “Help me with one class tomorrow and decide from there.”

You pursed your lips, and Logan could almost hear your internal debate. “You’re not gonna let it go til I do it, are you?”

“Probably not,” he smirked, knowing he’d just got you to agree. Your resulting sigh confirmed it. 

“Fine. One class. No more than that.” In all honesty, you would have agreed just to see his resulting smile. 

“We’ll see about that bub, class starts at one tomorrow.” 

You nodded once, nerves suddenly bubbling in your gut. You were going to teach again, after being out the game for the last two years. Fucking hell you wanted to throw up. But you took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling. Maybe this was a good thing. A blessing in disguise. Sure, it had been a while, but maybe Logan was right. Maybe your mutation would only develop under times of stress. You were incredibly stressed today, and look what happened. 

“Alright, I’ll talk to Charles and Scott, see what they say,”

Logan huffed, clearly irate with the idea. “Don’t give a shit what Scott says. He couldn’t help you after almost two hours. I was there for two minutes and you made progress,” he huffed, and you couldn’t help but laugh slightly. Was he… was he jealous? No, that wasn’t possible. What would he have to be jealous about?

“Alright tough guy, rein it in. The way you helped out earlier, it wouldn’t surprise me if Charles is telling him you should be taking over my training,” you hadn’t even thought about it before you said it, but now it was out your mouth, you realised it was entirely plausible. Especially since anyone with eyes or ears could see how much better you got on with Logan than you did Scott. Logan suggested one approach and it worked like a charm.

“Ya think so?” Fuck was the hope in his voice as obvious to you as it was to him? The idea of helping you with your mutation, whilst slightly terrifying, excited him. He couldn’t help but think that would be a learning experience for both of you.

“Yeah, why not? Like you said, Scott couldn’t help after two hours,” you shrugged, hopping off the table. “Anyway, I’m in dire need of a shower and comfier clothing, so I’ll see you in a bit.” Logan almost cried at the thought of you no longer smelling like you do now, and he had half the mind to tell you to forget the shower, you smelt that fucking good. But he also didn’t want the reputation of the weird-smell guy, so instead of trapping you in his arms and begging you not to, he simply nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, see you later.” He grumbled, trying not to be obviously annoyed by the fact the time you’d spent together was coming to an end. You shot him a confused look, before disappearing out the door and up the stairs to your room. Logan stayed for a few more minutes, his eyes closed as he finally let himself get lost in your scent. He wanted you. Fuck he’d only known you for a day and he wanted you. How the hell was he supposed to just behave normally now you were back living here? It simply wasn’t possible. 

He groaned, running a hand down the side of his face. On the one hand, he really wanted to spend more time with you. He was actively looking forward to spending time with you. But on the other, he didn’t know how much longer he could behave himself. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep up this ‘friendly’ banter with you without it crossing the line. Had it already crossed the line?

Jesus Christ, he didn’t even know. He couldn’t help thinking this was likely about to get extremely messy if he didn’t get his shit together. But, at the same time…

He always liked a little mess.

Freshly showered, moisturised and pampered, you lay face up on your bed, your room feeling more like a forest than anything else. The steam from your shower still rolling out from your bathroom, and the more tropical plants you kept seemed to be absolutely thriving. You were thrilled, you really were, but you couldn’t take your mind off the day you’d just had. Not that it was over, it was only five in the afternoon, but so much had happened in the last day it was hard to wrap your head around.

You’d been replaced as a professor, your bedroom stolen, and you’d been informed that the mutation you thought you knew so well wasn’t actually what you thought it was at all, and that it could very well end you in seconds. You’d thrown a fit, broken your hand, dragged shadows toward you and constructed them into a pair of fucking awesome wings, and cooked with a man you’d known all of two minutes.

And the strangest fucking part was that you couldn’t get him off your mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was honestly getting a little irritating, seeing his face every time you close your eyes, hearing his laugh when your room got a little too silent. Feeling the ghostly touches of his arms around your waist, his hands on your neck. His breath against your ear. 

You flapped your arms down on your bed in defiance. You would not lie in bed thinking about him all evening. You refused. And luckily, due to an unexpected visit, you didn’t have to.

“He likes you, ya know,”

You screamed, whipping your head back to your door where you saw Kitty strolling in, completely unphased by your reaction. Grabbing one of your pillows, you threw it at her approaching form, watching as it soared straight through her body. Your jaw flapped, completely speechless. “I– Wh– Kitty! You can’t just waltz in here unannounced! Scared me shitless!” you exclaimed, running a stressed hand through your hair.

“Why? I always used to. Been gone that long, huh?” she asked, plopping down on the end of your bed and crossing her legs. 

“Yeah… guess I have,” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for your accommodation to be broken into. The moment rumour got out there was a mutant staying a few streets over the road, you had to move. Sometimes you hadn’t been quick enough and had spent the rest of the evening frantically scrubbing blood from beneath your fingernails, before making a quick exit.

Those were the times on your travels nobody needed to know about. Those were the times you’d keep to yourself. 

You jumped again as your door burst open, a frantic Logan looking you up and down before his eyes darted around the room. “You alright? I heard screaming,” he panted, slightly breathless from clearly having sprinted up the stairs. 

Your heart grew five sizes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Kitty scared the shit out of me, ‘s’all,” you shrugged, too focused on him to notice the woman of the hour beaming wildly, looking between the two of you. 

His shoulders sagged, the man visibly relaxing, his eyes lingering on yours. “Okay…”

“Okay…” you repeated, unable to tame your disobedient smile as he almost awkwardly nodded his head. 

“Right. I’ll uh, yeah. Leave ya to it,” he clicked his tongue, sending you one last glance to make sure you were really okay, before closing the door. 

You sighed, shaking your head fondly, chuckling quietly to yourself. 

“Oh. My. God. You like him too!”

Looking up with unnatural speed, you scoffed, waving your hand dismissively. “The fuck are you talking about?” you asked a little too defensively.

“I’m talking about you and Logan. He clearly likes you, and now I can see that you like him too! Oh, this is so fucking cute, just wait until I tell Marie, she’ll go fucking crazy!” Kitty clapped her hands excitedly, and you had to catch one of her wrists in order to stop her. 

“What are you on about? Logan doesn’t like me, we’re just friends,” oh, was it supposed to hurt that much to say it? But, in all honesty, you don’t think you were ready to confront whatever it was you felt for this man. For now, you were pretty content to bask in not knowing, and being kind of excited about it.

“Mhm? Friends don’t eye fuck in the kitchen.”

You choked. Her tone was so matter-of-fact that if you weren’t actually looking at her, you wouldn’t have believed you were talking to Shadowcat herself, Kitty Pryde. “Kitty! Christ, what happened to you? And we weren’t eye fucking. I was hungry and refused to cook insta-noodles, so we actually made a meal.” You explained. 

“For almost four hours? Meatballs take twenty minutes, twenty-five at a push,”

“We lost track of time!”

“I repeat, for four hours?” she asked again, folding her arms and raising one of her thin brows. You pursed your lips to stop yourself from saying anything else incriminating. “Though as much,”

“I didn’t even say anything!” 

“You didn’t need to, it’s written over your lovestruck face.” She poked her finger toward your nose, and all you could think about was the way Logan flicked your forehead beforehand or the way Logan gave you that little push back in the training room. Or the way Logan–

Christ on a fucking boat when would it end?

“I’m not lovestruck,” you mumbled, dragging your knees up to your chest. You debated telling Kitty about your predicament with your mutation, for the sole reason of explaining why you and Logan were spending so much time together recently, but you didn’t think you could bear the look on her face. The only ones who knew, to your understanding, were Scott, as the leader of the team, Jean, as the leading scientist, Charles for obvious reasons, and Logan because you told him. You didn’t really want another person to know your problems, especially not Kitty. 

You couldn’t bear to see her face when you told her you weren’t a phaser anymore. The mere thought broke your heart. You had matching mugs and everything. You couldn’t do that to her. Let alone sharing the idea that your mutation could simply not allow you to return back to the corporeal world one day, and you’d be stuck as nothing but wondering consciousness in the shadows for, effectively, all eternity. That was a little too morbid to talk about even with Logan.

“He’s just… helping me get back into the swing of things. I haven’t been a teacher for a long time, Kit, and since he took my position, he’s offered to help me–”

“Get back into teaching! Oh my god, he has, hasn’t he? That’s so exciting! I thought you didn’t want to get back into it?” She asked, untucking her legs and swinging them around so she was now lying comfortably on your bed, her head propped up on her elbow. 

“Well, we’re not getting ahead of ourselves, but yeah, that’s the idea. Gonna help him with his class tomorrow…” you trailed off, your heart beginning to accelerate at the thought of teaching your first class in two years. “So yeah, that’s why we’ve been spending so much time together. It’s nothing serious, promise! Plus, since most of the new students are kids I found, he’s pretty much the only person I don’t know here.” You flopped back down onto your bed, angling your head so you could still see her.

There was a moment of comfortable silence, a moment to let the conversation settle and for your heart to slow a little, before Kitty spoke up again. “He was really excited to meet you,” she offered quietly, and your brows raised subconsciously. “Everytime someone started talking about you, he’d tune in. He was subtle, but Marie noticed it first, and she told me to look out for it. He was looking forward to meeting you for the best part of a year.”

You took a deep breath. That couldn’t possibly be true. “You’re good at seeing things that aren’t there, Kit. I love you for it, but sometimes things really aren’t that deep,” you explained softly, trying your hardest not to smile at the image of Logan only tuning into the conversation if it was about you. It was definitely a stretch of the imagination, but it was a pleasant one.

“Yeah yeah, you watch. I’ll be keeping an eye on your totally platonic relationship with Professor Howlett but mark my words, you’ll be together by the end of the month,” Kitty smacked your calf to emphasise her point, and you shook your leg threateningly, laughing at the notion. 

“I cannot wait to see you eat your words. I’m sure they’ll taste of falsehoods and regret.” You flashed her a toothy grin, and she stuck her tongue out in retaliation. You’d missed moments like these. In all honesty, you hadn’t realised how lonely the last two years had been. Hadn’t realised how starved of friendship you’d been until you found yourself talking and laughing amongst friends again. You didn’t realise how much you’d missed this place until you came home again, to both the old friends, and the new. 

[ifqtalstories]

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 - 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Warnings: degradation, choking, slapping, bondage, spanking, rough s3x, etc.

A/N: This is my first smut story in a very long time, I'm not used to writing stories but I hope you enjoy this! Also reader is an adult and doesn't have a gender since I made this for all genders! MINORS DNI!

William had always been interested in one specific employee and that was you. He was not someone who openly showed his feelings, so he kept any emotions he may have had to himself. Little did William know, you had been hiding a crush on him for quite some time. As William began to pay closer attention to you, he eventually uncovered the hidden affection you held towards him

After Fredbear's Family Diner had closed for the day, William sat in his office sorting through paperwork and designing blueprints of 4 new animatronics - Freddy, Chica, Bonnie, and Foxy. As he worked, the ticking of the clock only added to his stress levels. He took a drag from his cigarette, relishing in the burning sensation in his throat before releasing a cloud of smoke into the room. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Assuming it was his best friend and business partner Henry Emily, William remained seated and didn't bother to answer the door. "What now, come in and don't waste my fucking time." He said gruffly. The door creaked open, but William didn't bother glancing up until he heard a voice that wasn't Henry's. William glanced up and saw his favorite employee, a small smile formed on his face. "Ah, it's you. Close the door behind you and have a seat."

For nearly 15 minutes, you and William sat across from each other, engaged in conversation. Without any warning, he suddenly stood up and walked around the desk, towering over you. With a firm grip, he grasped your chin before forcefully pressing his lips against yours in a passionate kiss. You initially stiffened but soon melted into the embrace, letting out a soft moan as you held onto his shoulders tightly. William groaned in response and lifted you up, pressing you against the wall as the kissing became more intense. After several minutes, you both finally parted with heavy breaths. A thin string of saliva connected both your mouths, and he leaned his forehead with yours in an attempt to calm down. With desire still evident in his eyes, William held you against the wall, not wanting to let go just yet.

"You have no idea how much I wanted to do this to you when I first hired you here... fuck you drive me wild, doll...~" William growled, his voice dripping with a mixture of desire and satisfaction. He began planting kisses and bites on your exposed neck, relishing in the sounds of your moans. With a sudden move, William picked you up and threw you onto his desk, scattering everything that was on it to the floor. He ripped open your uniform top, buttons flying everywhere and exposing your chest. His hands explored your body, tracing every curve and dip before he leaned down and peppered kisses along your stomach, stopping just short of the waistband. With a firm hold, he tugged your pants and underwear down, leaving you completely vulnerable and exposed in front of him.

"You're such a naughty slut, you know that doll? Driving me fucking insane with your stares and the swaying of your hips... you knew what you were doing, didn't you you little tease? You knew you were riling me up, making it impossible to keep my fucking hands to myself..." William let out a low, growl before deciding to remove his clothing. As he undressed, his erect cock sprang free, hard and ready "This is how hard you made me, bloody hell I feel like I could drill a hole in the wall from how fucking hard I am..." He grabbed his tie and tied your wrists together with it.

He wanted to take his time, so he applied some lube onto his fingers before preparing you. He inserted his fingers at a steady pace, eliciting moans and gasps from you. "P-please sir... I need you, please..~" You moaned in pleasure as a smirk appeared on William's face. He pulled his fingers out before grabbing some lube and coating his cock. He positioned himself at your entrance, ready to continue the intimate encounter.

"You ready, bunny?~" Before proceeding, he wanted to confirm your readiness. You nodded and gave the signal for William to continue. With a grin, he slowly entered you, letting out a low groan of satisfaction. "Mmh fuck, you're so tight... relax and breathe for me, yeah?~" He whispered before pushing himself deeper until he was fully inside you. William held still for a few moments, allowing you to adjust to his size. Once you seemed comfortable, he began moving slowly, giving you time to get used to him as the initial pain turned into pleasure for you, "Ah, please sir... faster..~" You begged. William's eyes darkened with desire as he picked up the pace, eliciting more gasps, whimpers, and moans from you. Luckily, everyone including Henry went home after closing time and William was grateful for the privacy with his favorite employee.

Several minutes had gone by, and William was panting heavily as he aggressively ravished you on his desk. The desk shook with each thrust. Your moans and cries only fueled his desire. "Yeah that's it darling, scream for me." A low growl escaped from his lips as he gripped your throat, restricting your airflow but not enough to render you unconscious. He maintained a steady gaze into your eyes, his silver orbs locked onto your own.

"Keep your eyes on me, bunny... You want that raise, don't you?" He whispered huskily in your ear before nibbling on your earlobe. The sight of his cock going in and out of you was driving him wild; his control slipping with each movement. "Fuck it... I'm not holding back anymore. You're going to take my cock as hard as I want to give it to you, do you understand?" He slapped you across the face, eliciting a yelp from you. He knew you enjoyed the mix of pleasure and pain he was giving you. "I knew from day one that you wanted my cock deep inside you. Such a fucking whore." He aimed for your sweet spot inside you, causing you to scream in ecstasy and see stars. With a wicked grin, William repeatedly hit that spot over and over again. "There it is, slut...I found it..." He maintained his unrelenting pace as you moaned and squirmed like a slut beneath him.

William let out a growl and gave you a sharp smack on the ass, panting heavily as the tightness around his cock intensified. He could feel himself nearing the edge, sweat dripping down his body and his breathing becoming more ragged. With each thrust, he got closer to reaching climax, sensing that you were also close. William looked down at you, enjoying your expression, "P-please.. Mr. A-Afton... I need to c-cum, p-please... I c-can't hold it in anymore.. please.." You begged as you had tears in your eyes from the intense mix of pain and pleasure. William growled in response. "Not yet, love. Hold it until I say so. I'm almost there," he rasped, his thrusts became harder and faster, driving you and himself closer to the edge. Finally he reached his peak with a loud groan. "Now," he commanded, giving you permission to cum.

At the perfect moment, you let out a scream and reached your peak as your body trembled with intense pleasure. Meanwhile, William continued his forceful thrusts until he slammed in one last time and released with a loud roar, filling you with his seed. He grunted and continued to move until his high faded, then stopped completely and breathed heavily in exhaustion.

"Holy fucking shit.." He said breathlessly, he stayed inside you for a few minutes until he calmed down his breathing and pulled out slowly, observing his essence drip out of you with a small laugh. He untied your wrists, letting them free, "Mmmm you did very well, rabbit. You definitely deserve that raise... and a promotion as well. You'll be my personal assistant from now on, especially outside of work.." He smirked before he tucked his softened cock back in his pants and fixed his appearance and clothing before he gave a soft kiss to your forehead. He gently pulled you onto his lap, both of you relaxing after the intense session you both had.

[armystrong980]

Help Him

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mild Cursing

Word Count: 9,234 😬

A/N: This is my first Bucky Barnes fanfic. Please go easy on me! I would love to know how all of you liked the story. Enjoy, and thank you for reading!

    Steve called me to the conference room of the Avengers Compound. He called sounding pretty serious and asked to see him immediately. With no hesitation I made my way over. At first glance I watched him pace up and down the room with his head down and his hands on his hips. "Shit, this can't be good." Steve caught a glance at me. He seems lost in his head but he motioned me to come in anyways. 

"Thank you for coming so quickly." He paused, "There's something you need to know before I start." Steve hands me a folder with a worried look on his face. "This mission is going to be very dangerous. I need my best Avenger and all I could do was come to you." He sighs.

 I take the folder from him confidently. "Thank you for reaching out to me. You could've chosen Nat or Wanda." "I don't want to make it sound like you have to do this but I know I can always count on you. That's why I called." It's true. I had saved Cap's ass more times than I should've.

As I open the mission folder with a shaky breath, it revealed a man in cryo with a HYDRA symbol next to it. You read the name out loud, "James Buchanan Barnes?"

He nods as he looks me in the eyes. "I need to save him." I've heard this name before but couldn't quite put a finger on it. "May I ask who he is?" Steve crosses his arms loosely and looks down slightly biting his inner cheek. "He's my best friend, family, I thought he was dead all these years." 

I look at the information on the file that shows James' birthday. March 10, 1917. It made me think. "Smithsonian." I blurted out. He looks up at me with a knowing look in his eyes. "I seen you and him together in pictures at the Smithsonian. All this time he was under HYDRA's control?" Steve nods uncrossing his arms.

I had become best friends with Steve ever since he had gotten out of the ice. I would do anything for him. "I'll help you." It was as if weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "Are you sure?" "Steve I'm positive. Let's go bring your friend home." All he could do in that moment was hug me. I hugged him back and heard him whisper in my ear thank you.  

Steve’s shoulders seemed to drop a little as he released the embrace. He took a deep breath, clearly relieved, and looked at me with renewed determination. "I can't tell you how much this means to me. I know this isn't going to be easy, but I trust you completely."

I nodded, flipping through the rest of the folder. The file contained blueprints of the facility where James Buchanan Barnes, also known as Bucky, was being held, along with security details and a rough schedule of guard rotations. It looked like a high-security compound, which meant we’d need a solid plan to get in and out without drawing too much attention.

"Have you got a specific plan or are we coming up with something on the fly?" I asked, trying to gauge how much preparation Steve had already done.

"I’ve got a few ideas," Steve said, his tone shifting to a more tactical one. "But I was hoping we could brainstorm together. We’ll need to be quick and efficient—any misstep could jeopardize the mission."

We spent the next few hours going over the details, mapping out the security measures, and figuring out the best approach. We decided to use a combination of stealth and quick strikes to neutralize the guards and avoid detection. Steve would take point, and I’d cover our rear and handle any unexpected complications.

As we wrapped up the planning, Steve gave me a serious look. "We’re not just rescuing a friend here. Bucky’s been through a lot. He’s probably been brainwashed and tortured. We’ll need to be prepared for anything."

"Understood," I said, my resolve firm. "We’ll get him out of there. We just need to stick to the plan and stay focused."

Steve clapped me on the shoulder, a small, appreciative smile tugging at his lips. "I knew I could count on you."

With our plan set, we gathered our gear and prepared to head out. As we left the conference room, I couldn’t help but think about the gravity of the mission ahead. This wasn’t just about rescuing someone; it was about saving a part of Steve’s past and, hopefully, helping a friend reclaim his future.

We set off towards the compound, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The stakes were high, but with Steve by my side and the mission clear in our minds, I knew we had a fighting chance.

The operation went off almost flawlessly. With Steve’s meticulous planning and our teamwork, we managed to infiltrate the compound, disable the security systems, and reach Bucky’s cryo-chamber without incident. As we approached the chamber, I could see Steve’s anxiety transform into a mix of hope and determination.

Bucky was unconscious, strapped inside the chamber. His face was a haunting reminder of the time lost and the struggles endured. Steve’s hands shook slightly as he worked to deactivate the cryo-system. The chamber hissed open, and Bucky’s breathing seemed to steady, though he remained unresponsive.

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve glanced at me, his face etched with concern. “He will be. He has to be.”

With the cryo-chamber open, we carefully lifted Bucky out and placed him on a stretcher. Steve’s eyes never left his friend, a mixture of relief and worry playing across his features. We transported Bucky back to the Avengers Compound, where medical personnel were on standby.

The next few days were a blur of medical assessments and treatments. Bucky was slowly waking from his long period of cryo-sleep, but the process of reorienting him to reality was fraught with challenges. He was disoriented, struggling to piece together his fragmented memories.

During this time, I found myself spending more and more time with him. I was assigned to monitor his recovery, help him adjust, and provide emotional support. As I sat by his bedside, talking to him, I saw glimpses of the person he once was—charming, kind, and fiercely loyal.

One evening, after Bucky had shown some signs of recognition and began to engage in conversation, he looked at me with a curious expression. “You were there at the compound. I remember you… but I’m having trouble placing you.”

I offered him a reassuring smile. “I’m Y/N. I helped rescue you and bring you home. Steve’s been really worried about you.”

Bucky’s gaze softened. “Steve... I remember him. We’ve been through a lot together. I owe him everything.”

“And you owe me nothing,” I said with a chuckle. “I’m just glad we could help.”

As Bucky continued to regain his strength and clarity, our interactions became more frequent. We shared stories, laughed over old memories, and supported each other through the tough moments. Bucky’s sense of humor and resilience were contagious, and I found myself drawn to him in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

One evening, as the sun set and cast a warm glow over the compound, Bucky and I took a walk through the garden. The tranquility of the space was a stark contrast to the intensity of our recent experiences.

“You’ve been incredibly patient with me,” Bucky said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” I replied, glancing at him with a shy smile. “It’s been my pleasure to help you, and to get to know you better.”

Bucky’s eyes met mine, and there was a moment of unspoken understanding between us. The bond we’d developed was more than just friendship—it was something deeper and more profound.

In the days that followed, as Bucky continued to heal and adjust to his new reality, our relationship grew stronger. We spent time together away from the compound, exploring the city and enjoying each other’s company. It was clear that our connection was more than just a fleeting attraction; it was something that resonated deeply within both of us.

One night, under the stars, Bucky took my hand in his and looked at me with a mix of vulnerability and affection. “I never thought I’d find someone who could understand me like you do. You’ve been my anchor in all of this chaos.”

I squeezed his hand, feeling a rush of emotions. “And you’ve been mine. I’ve never felt this way before, but I know that what we have is real.”

Bucky leaned in, his gaze lingering on my lips before closing the distance between us. The kiss was tender and filled with a deep sense of connection. It was as if all the pain and uncertainty of the past had melted away, leaving only the pure, unspoken promise of a shared future.

As we pulled away, Bucky’s eyes were filled with warmth and hope. “I want to build a new future, with you. Whatever it takes.”

I smiled, my heart full. “I want that too.”

From that moment on, Bucky and I began to forge a new path together. We faced the challenges of his recovery and the complexities of our evolving relationship with courage and optimism. Through it all, our love grew stronger, transforming from a bond forged in the fires of adversity into a lasting partnership filled with hope and possibility.

And so, with the Avengers Compound as our backdrop, we embraced the journey ahead—one where we were no longer just allies but partners in every sense of the word, ready to face the future together.

[justira-creates]

their backstory during Water 7 killed me. old comic from 2008.

tumblr absolutely murdered the image quality, much better quality on my AO3!

ID under the cut

[ID: A vertical, wordless comic without panel borders depicted entirely in blue ink on a white background, titled “Franky’s First Cola” with a small cartoonish speedo under the title.

Image 1 contains one large panel.

Panel 1: Iceburg and Franky are depicted at ages 12 and 16, respectively, in their workshop at Tom’s workers. Franky’s desk is scattered with doodles and blueprints for Battle Frankys. He is asleep on his drafting table, his pen in his hand, drooling, snoring loudly, depicted with a speech bubble of a log being sawed. Iceburg, his work area pristine, is glaring at him. The paper in front of Iceburg is blank; he's been completely unable to work due to Franky's loud snoring.

Image 2 contains four panels.

Panel 2: Iceburg, in profile, looks like he’s attempting to concentrate, head propped on one hand.

Panel 3: Franky continues to snore loudly, this time depicted with a speech bubble showing a buzzing bee.

Panel 4: Closeup of Iceburg’s eyes from the front, glaring to the side in Franky’s direction.

Panel 5: Overhead shot of their workstations, Franky still snoring at his messy desk. Iceburg’s neat desk has its chair shoved away, empty.

Image 3 has five panels.

Panel 6: Iceburg is checking the fridge, hand on one hip.

Panel 7: Iceburg yells to the residence in general that he’s going shopping, indicated with a speech bubble showing a stick figure of Iceburg receiving a bag of groceries in exchange for money.

Panel 8: Franky, miraculously and suddenly awake, pops around the corner, eyes wide.

Panel 9: Tom calls out that they need fish (cartoon fish in his speech bubble). He is holding a hammer, mid-job.

Panel 10: Kokoro says there’s a shopping list (speech bubble of a piece of paper indicating various food items). She is chopping carrots.

Image 4 has five panels.

Panel 11: Iceburg is on his way out the door, one hand on the doorknob and the other hand holding the shopping list in front of his face as he inspects it. Franky, much shorter, tugs on his shirt and says he wants to come with (speech bubble with a cartoon Iceburg with horns and a pitchfork and a grocery bag plus a cartoon figure of Franky)

Panel 12: Iceburg looks annoyed.

Panel 13: Franky looks stubborn.

Panel 14: Iceburg hunches his shoulders with a frown, looking put-upon.

Panel 15: Iceburg calls over his shoulder that Franky’s coming with him (speech bubble with non-devilish cartoon Iceburg and shopping bag plus a cartoon Franky with horns and a pitchfork)

Image 5 has three panels.

Panel 16: Kokoro, offscreen, yells that Franky needs to put on shorts (speech bubble with an angelic cartoon Franky plus a pair of shorts). Franky is still holding onto Iceburg’s shirt, looking in Kokoro’s direction. Iceburg, one hand still on the doorknob, is looking down at where Franky is holding onto him and frowning.

Panel 17: Franky yells back at Kokoro that he’s going in his speedo, shaking his fist (speech bubble with speedo and multiple exclamation marks). Iceburg has put the shopping list in his mouth and is attempting to detach Franky from his shirt.

Panel 18: Kokoro, still offscreen, throws a pair of shorts in Franky’s face (speech bubble with shorts and many exclamation marks), causing Franky to fall over, still attached to Iceburg’s shirt, and take Iceburg down with him. Iceburg yells an drops the shopping list from his mouth as he's falling.

Image 6 has a divider followed by three panels

-- a divider of alternating cartoon speedos and shorts --

Panel 19: Iceburg is carrying a bag of groceries. A little behind him, Franky is kicking a rock, wearing shorts and looking dejected, hands in his pockets.

Panel 20: Iceburg frowns back at Franky, looking thoughtful.

Panel 21: Closeup of Franky pouting, in profile, hands in his pockets.

Image 7 has three panels.

Panel 22: Closeup: Iceburg’s gaze slides to the side.

Panel 23: A wooden hanging sign saying COLA, read vertically, with a dark bottle of cola next to the word.

Panel 24: Closeup of Iceburg’s lower face, just visible above the bag of groceries. He is smiling ever so slightly.

Image 8 has two panels.

Panel 25: A faded wider shot of Iceburg, facing away from Franky, handing a cola back to Franky, behind him. Franky’s body language indicates he’s taken aback. In the faded style, they lack facial features.

Panel 26: A faded closeup shot of Iceburg’s hand, holding the cola, and Franky’s hand reaching for it, about to grasp it and take it.

The word "End" is at the bottom.

/end ID]

[ronearoundblindly]

Hello 😇 I'm not sure why but heart would MELT upon seeing Steve giving Precious some of ⛑ oooooor Ari and his girl getting/giving some 🥰 Hope you're doing well - and no pressure (those scenarios already live rent-free in my head)

(Steve and Precious will be posted separately and linked back here when it's done, but I got too excited because I pretty much just eased myself to sleep by writing this...Enjoy!)

Ari Levinson x best friend!reader

Post-Nightmare Cuddles, a Bedrock and Blueprints drabble

Warnings for mild suggestive language. WC 620

It’s been a long, long time since Ari had a nightmare.

He’s not sure how he managed it. Perhaps work and personal things just took over his mind for so long that thoughts back to life in the military were kept at bay. Perhaps he ate something too spicy tonight. Who the hell knows.

You certainly don’t. You don’t know because you’re not in bed when Ari jolts awake covered in sweat and shivering.

He fixed the A/C a week ago and you both have been basking in the frigid glory, piling blankets on, using it as an excuse to snuggle up close skin-to-skin, but not now.

It takes him a long minute to catch his breath. He can’t tell if he shouted, if he made any noise at all, or honestly, if he’s even in the place he thinks he’s in because it’s dark and he’s disoriented and alone. He sleeps over, but none of Ari’s stuff is in your house. His one set of clothes on a chair to his right is the dead giveaway.

He tries to call for you. Nothing comes out of his vice-gripped lungs, so he tosses the bed layers aside and fumbles around the not-quite-familiar layout until he approaches the living room light, squinting.

He didn’t hold back his heavy footsteps, and you’re huffing before looking up from your laptop.

“I’m almost done, I swear. There’s just one thing I—“

The instant your eyes land on Ari it’s as if a completely different type of bomb goes off, something silent but no less devastating.

You don’t close the laptop. It’s haphazardously tossed to the opposite corner of the couch and the throw across your lap drops to the floor.

You’re in his arms lightning fast, and Ari’s just…grateful.

He drapes the full weight of his arms over your shoulders and back, resting his chin on your head, taking in how you’re there and real and warm compared to the empty, cold air everywhere else. He heaves out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and feels lighter, more human, almost magically.

He’s grateful still when you don’t ask him anything else. You just squeeze him gently and run your hands across his bare back, letting him breathe, making him live.

Finally, when his heart rate slows a little and he shifts to kiss your forehead instead, his beard soft and scratchy all at once, you give a sweet little tap to his butt.

“Let me just turn this stuff off. I’m right behind you, okay?”

Ari hangs on for a few more seconds before releasing you and shuffling back down the hall. He hears the snap of the laptop and click of the light switch prior to his foot even crossing the bedroom threshold, and you hustle in so fast that you both pull back covers at the same time.

You follow his lead on getting situated, Ari choosing you to hold him now, on your sides, your arm beneath his head, his face nuzzled to your chest, and your leg thrown over his hip. His top hand roams your waist and back for a minute as you feel everything around slow. His chest rises less and falls farther, his arm gets heavy and stops. Your own heart beats like uneven clockwork, lulling him into a softer pace of reality.

It can be reality, he thinks, and not be a nightmare. Those aren’t his only memories.

He can see the good ones more clearly when you’re here though. You are the good memories, and you’ll be in his good dreams, too.

Ari falls back to sleep with your fingers gliding through his hair, happily smothered in your sleepy comfort.

from this game of "Comfort My Characters."

Thank you for asking!

Taglist: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[writingintheshadowsforever]

Imagine getting caught making out with Shuri in the lab

Shuri was really starting to wish that she'd just left you alone for the night, and waited for your shift to start the next morning. But after taking one look at a new design and some upgrades for the kimono beads. You had been working on for the past week. She decided that the two of you needed to get the prototype done asap.

It didn't occur to her that you might have had plans, but it really didn't matter. Because you had no problem dropping your plans in order for a last minute session with Shuri.

She just wished you would've thought to change clothes before coming to the lab. How exactly was she supposed to focus on the project? When you waltzed into the lab wearing a pair of shorts that barely covered your thighs, and short-sleeved indigo button-up shirt with only the last three buttons done. You threw on a lab coat and joined her at her work station with a smile. For a second all she could was stare as you leaned up against the table swiping the tablet.

"So you think the electrical shock would be a good addition?" You asked her without looking up.

Shuri barely heard the question and didn't answer fast enough. You glanced up at her and saw how focused she was on you. "Princess did you hear me?"

Shuri shook her head snapping out of the trance. "Um yeah electrical shock would be a great idea."

"Alright Groi can you pull the schematics up on the big screen." You said moving to stand in front of Shuri.

"Of course Ms.Y/N" The A.I. system said. The blueprint for the new kimoyo beads popped up on the giant clear screen. You went too work your hands flying across the touch screen. "So I was thinking we could go ahe-" You paused feeling a hand grip your hip. You glanced over your shoulder to see it was Shuri who had closed the distance between you two. Leaving barely any space between your bodies your breath hitched at. The lust that you could see in her eyes as she bit her lip.

"Are you trying to drive me crazy?" She whispered.

"Not really but I'm not complaining if I am." You replied with teasing smirk. You and Shuri had been doing the will they or won't they thing for a couple of months now. While you wanted nothing more than to be with her, you decided it was best to let her make the first move. Since she was the Princess of Wakanda and all, but Shuri held off on revealing her feelings for you. Unsure if you felt the same way or if you were just being flirty with her. Not to mention she figured now wasn't the best time for her to be in a relationship. But if there was one thing both of knew was sure of. It was the sexual tension whenever the two of you worked together in close proximity with each other.

Usually Shuri didn't have a problem keeping her hands, or thoughts to herself. But usually you and her didn't work in the lab this late at night when it was completely empty, and you weren't showing this much skin.

"For Bast's sake y/n I only have so much willpower" She murmured against your ear.

"Personally I think that's the problem Princess" You said with a light shrug. The next thing you knew Shuri turned your body around so you were facing her, and her lips crashed into yours in feverish and passionate kiss. Immediately your hands came up to rest on her neck while you leaned in returning the kiss. The saying about fireworks going off in your head didn't do you any justice right now. As your lips moved in sync with hers, both of you pouring as much emotion into this one kiss. That you could muster you wanted Shuri to know just how long you had been waiting for this very moment. Her hands stayed on your hips in the beginning, but at some point they started roaming lower.

You let out a small gasp feeling her warm hands touch the back of your thighs. She smirked taking the opportunity to slip her tongue inside of your mouth. The battle for dominance didn't last long as you gave in almost immediately. Shuri nudged you backwards until your back hit the work table, and with her assistance you hopped onto it. The kiss was broken for the first time after a full three minutes, not only to give both of you a breather. But so she could knock away all the papers and equipment in your way. You waited until she was done then scooted backwards, and parted your legs. Shuri moved to stand in between them with a playful smirk on her lips. One of her hands came up to rest upon your cheek, and just like that her lips were back on yours. Her other hand started popping the buttons of your shirt, and you smiled into the kiss. If you had known this is all that it would've took to get her to cave. You would've done it months ago.

For a while nothing else existed in the world except the feel of her lips on yours, and the electric feeling shooting through your body as her hands roamed all over. One of your hands were tangled into her curls that would brush up against your face every now and then. While your other hand rested on her shoulder with your arm wrapped around her neck. At some point you leaned back too far and a set of vials crashed to the floor shattering upon impact. Shuri broke the kiss to look over your shoulder for just a second. "They were empty" she barely finished before you went back in. You would clean it up later.

"Princess Shuri I think I should inform-" Groi spoke up breaking the silence.

"Not now Groi" Shuri demanded tugging your body closer to hers by your shirt.

"But Princess you ne-" The A.I. System tried again.

"I said not now" she repeated in a tone that left no room for discussion. Her lips were now on your neck as you bit your lip suppressing a moan.

Groi didn't try to speak again after that, and thirty seconds later both of you wished. She had let him finished as the elevator doors opened for her mother and Okoye to step out. But you and her were too lost in each other to be aware of their arrival. You were trying to pull back truly curious as to what the A.I. wanted, but her lips chased yours relentlessly. You grinned into the playful kiss nipping at her lip.

"Y/N" she exclaimed breaking away with a light chuckle.

"And here I was thinking it was your technology keeping you down here all night" Queen Ramonda said.

Your eyes snapped up looking over her shoulder to see the Queen of Wakanda and the General of the Dora Milaje standing a few feet away. "Oh crap your Highness and General" You exclaimed pushing Shuri away. You dropped your head in embarrassment. Shuri cursed under her breath and turned around to face her mother. She made sure to position her body in front of yours. Hiding you from their view while you worked clumsily to button your shirt all the way up.

"Um mother what are you doing here?" She asked nervously playing with her fingers.

Queen Ramonda shook her head with a smile. "I was coming down here to make sure you weren't trying to spend another night cooped in this lab working. But I'm seeing now that work is the last thing on your mind."

"Mother please" Shuri whined.

"I'm assuming this is the girl you've been going on about for the past three months" Her mother said.

"That's her" Okoye answered before Shuri could say anything. The Princess let out a groan slapping her forehead. You were finally done making your clothes as decent as possible, and hopped off the table. You peeked out from behind Shuri to look up at her. "Wait you've talked about me with your mom."

"You're all she talks about when you're not around" Okoye told you.

"Okoye I'm never telling you anything ever again" Shuri said throwing her hands in the air. Okoye simply smirked and shot you a wink.

"Indeed y/n I have heard many things about you" Queen Ramonda confirmed.

"I hope they were all good" You replied nervously.

"Oh they were I was waiting for the day she would bring you over."

"Okay so can I please get a few minutes alone with y/n. I promise mother I will go to bed at a decent time tonight" Shuri pleaded.

"Of course my child and make sure you actually get some rest" Her mother replied with a smirk.

"Oh god" She mumbled turning back around. Her hands finding your waist as she rested her forehead on your shoulder.

Okoye let out a chuckle as her and the Queen walked back onto the elevator. You waved goodbye at them with a nervous smile as both of nodded at you.

"They're gone" You told Shuri once the elevator doors closed, and it descended upward.

Shuri lifted her head from your shoulder to look in the eyes. "I guess we should talk about this huh."

"Or we could just skip that part and go on a real date" You suggested with a small shrug.

"Oh really" She said raising an eyebrow.

"You made your feelings very obvious to me a couple of minutes ago, and if I didn't give you a good enough memo of how I felt with that kiss. Then I don't think there's much more I can do besides say it" You told her.

Shuri pressed her forehead up against yours closing her eyes. "I want to hear you say it."

Your hands came up to cup her face between the palm of your hands up. "I really really like you and I want to be with you more than anything in this world. I want to wake up in the same bed as you in the morning. I want to fall asleep in your arms. I want to hear my name on your lips as I-"

She cut off you pressing her lips to yours in brief but loving kiss. "You can save that last one for tonight."

You grinned. "Your mother told you to get some rest tonight."

"I never actually said I would now did I" Shuri said with a smirk. "Besides we can get plenty of rest in the morning."

[sweetaliencheeks]

THE ONE WHERE THEY DANCE

As I stood up from the bed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the small mirror and ran a limp hand across my the right side of my face. My cheeks were bright red and softly framed by unruly hair that stuck slightly to my forehead, although it was never too hot in Knowhere, it certainly had been hot enough in that room to make me sweat. I stretched out my arms before throwing my t-shirt on, watching as it slid off my shoulder. I pulled it down a little, trying to cover my thighs as much as I could. But even with my clothes now on, I was exposed. My hair was messy, my clothes were wrinkly, and my face was bare, so there was nothing shielding me from his gaze. And maybe that’s why, despite the lack of any possible embellishment and filters, I felt so beautiful. I felt beautiful beneath that gaze, I felt confident and loved, and like nothing could ever get to me. I shifted my stare from myself to the back of the room and smiled at Rocket as he turned around on his chair to face me.

“What are you looking at?” I half laughed, roaming through the bed covers, trying to find the hair tie I once had.

“Nothin’” he replied with a soft sigh. I rolled my eyes before turning my back on my him and carrying on with my search.

“Nothing?” I asked, mimicking his accent.

“Didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to look at ya” he replied with a snort. Of course he was allowed, all I wanted was to feel the sweet warmth of his eyes on my body. Not that I’d ever tell him, or that I’d ever let him do so without a little fighting back.

“You’ve looked at me plenty last night” finally giving up on tying my hair, I tried the best I could to comb it out with my fingers, bent over awkwardly in front of the mirror. I looked at him over my shoulder. He was still sitting at his desk, going over plans and reading blueprints because after all, we did have to build shelter for all the animals he had rescued. I was startled when music started to play as Rocket plugged in the Zune. I turned around, flashing an upside down smile at the sight of his glasses, I was never going to get used to the fact that he had to wear them.

“That ain’t enough” a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, as he extended his hand towards me in a soft motion “Come ‘ere”

“Yes, sir” of course I obliged and walked slowly over to where he was, grabbing his hand the moment I could. He tugged on it to pull me closer and looked up at me, bright eyes analysing every single detail of my face, and then proceeded to kick off his boots and climb on top of his desk. His eyes never left mine as he squeezed my hand and carefully set it on his shoulder, and his hands crept up my hips and settled around my waist. A mix between surprise and pleasure caused a faint gasp to escape my mouth “What are you doing?”

“Dancin’” in my shock and surprise, all I could muster at his answer was a chuckle. I pulled him closer. The situation might have been completely unusual and out of character, but it made every single bit of my body heat up with giddiness.

“Dancing? I thought you only danced on special occasions” steadily, we began to move and falling in step, letting the slow rhythm control our movements. Everything around us had simply vanished. All the noise and people around us dissolved. I could no longer hear the other people in the building or the noises of the everyday life on the streets. There was nothing beside he and I, alone. His brown eyes glistened, and a smile spread across his sweet face.

“Yeah, this ain’t special enough for ya?” he taunted, nodding at the where his hands were set on my waist. I laughed. Uncontrollable waves of heavy feelings surged through my whole body, and my fingers tingled in delight. My hand brushed across his cheek and he grinned, flashing me with a whole set of pointy teeth. I had known and loved Rocket for as long as I could remember my own existence, it was rooted in my soul and in my bones, and I would follow him to lengths he couldn’t even imagine. I loved him on his rainy days, when all he gave me were storms and all I heard was thunder, I loved him on days when I wasn’t even sure that I could love myself. I was his through everything the universe threw at us and now that he was someone else, I was getting to know him again and learning how to love him the way he was now that he finally got to be himself. And it was like falling in love all over again just as easily as I did the first time.

“I mean, as long as I’m with you, I guess” I drew him closer to my chest, and he wrapped his arms tighter around my body. A jolt of pleasure ran up my spine. My body was acting on its own as we kept moving, it was like there were no chains and no shame to hold me back from this pure paradise.

“Do ya wanna make it special?” again, he looked up at me. His voice was airy and raspy, and my stomach was aching and my head was spinning. It was almost intoxicating to be in that moment.

“Are you proposing?” I chortled at my own question “This is good enough for me, you know?” I added, before planting a small kiss on his forehead. He laid his head on my chest, and we continued to dance, completely lost in the music that I never wanted to stop.

“Proposing? Yeah, right. Keep dreamin’” he snickered softly against my sternum before pulling away just enough to wipe the stray hairs away from my face, the warmth of his gaze seemed to penetrate my skin “But I do love ya”

“Oh, you’re gonna drop it just like that?” my breath was hitched in my throat, heart drumming so loud in my ears that I could barely hear the music. Rocket buried his face on my neck “Do you mean it?”

“Nah, just said it to make ya happy” he mumbled, I could feel his hot breath and his lips moving on my neck as he spoke. I playfully rolled my eyes and pressed my cheek against the top of his head, a moment of truly crushing happiness.

“You do know how to be romantic” my lips were on his ear as I whispered ever so softly.

“Shut up” he brought his head up from underneath my hair and opened his eyes before removing his glasses and folding them neatly to set them aside. He leaned in and rubbed the tip of his muzzle against my cheek, and I lifted my hand to brush it against his face. I loved him so dearly that no words could ever express it, so I decided that it was the moment to use my actions instead. I planted my lips on his and wrapped my arms tight around his neck, and he held me tighter as the kiss continued. We kissed once, and twice, and again. Rocket and I were different songs, we had always been. He sounded like the blues we had been dancing to and he sounded like a funky 80s song, he was an acquired taste and he was misunderstood, but he was unique. On the other hand, I was pop and country. I was easy on the ears but I was sweetly broken, a ghost of kindness that people never listened to deeper than what was in front of them. But I had so much more to offer. And I understood Rocket, and he took all that I had to give. And quite frankly, it didn’t really matter what kind of music we were or what music we listened to, or that we had been dancing to static for a while, because he was the only song I needed to keep dancing.

So I wrote this based on the request by the lovely @radanian & I once again, made it longer than it had to be… But I hope it’s as you expected it would be and I hope you all enjoy it 🤍 I’m a dancer, but only when I’m drunk or with people I’m really comfortable with (although those are two VERY different dance styles lmao), I think it’s important for us to know that there is a dancer in everyone, we just gotta give them the time to heal and let them out. The song here is “It’s Been a Long, along Time” by Harry James & His Orchestra.

I’m also tagging @cosmic-lavender because you were quite excited to read it, so I hope you like it, too 🤍

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it. I’ve got loads of stuff in my drafts and have been writing non stop for days now, I’m very excited to share it all with you! I love you all and remember that you matter, and that I am forever grateful to every single one of you for all the likes, reblogs, comments and messages. You’re the best x

[deejadabbles]

The right parts (Tech x Reader) Western AU

Summary: You have been Pabu Creek's blacksmith for a long while, a fact that the local inventor, Tech, appreciated, since you were more than capable of making his custom parts.

Wild West AU with a gender neutral reader. No warnings, just sweet, awkward Tech, and first-kiss cuteness.

A.N: I've been seeing western AU stuff for the bad batch for a while, but I directly credit @emperor-palpaminty for this, as falling into their western au tag really got me inspired ❤️

If you wanna read more headcanons I have for my take on this AU, I have some here, and this might become a series of oneshots. Also, this has a bit of a steampunk-y vibe, hope you don't mind!

Most in town avoided the workshop. They were put off by the strange bangs and pops and hisses that rang behind those barn doors at every hour. Tech was treated...well enough by the town folk, but most would admit they were more put off by him than the other boys in his family.

Mostly, they just didn't understand him, his ramblings and rantings. They could admire Hunter and Wrecker's strength, Rex and Echo's veteran past, but Tech's mind? All those lofty textbooks and strange contraptions?

It was all just a bit much for the average person.

Still, most knew and appreciated how much their little town had benefited from Tech. His knowledge and inventions had helped many of them, just as much as the crops his brothers grew and the protection his cousins offered. And they appreciated it nonetheless.

But what they appreciated just as much, was the fact that you were one of the only persons willing to brave the infamous workshop.

Your satchel was hefty today, clinking with Tech's newest order, and you adjusted it on your shoulder as you lifted your fist to knock on the iron-braced door.

There was a metallic clatter on the other side, a muffled curse, and the shuffle of feet. In a groan of hinges the door opened, and there was Tech. Soot smeared across his cheek and forehead, sleeves rolled up well past his elbows, and glasses askew.

It was a true testament to how fond he was of you, that a small smile lifted his lips when his eyes met yours.

"Perfect timing," he greeted, eyes darting down to the bag resting on your hip.

Leaving the door wide open, Tech quickly turned and headed back into the depths of his workshop, knowing you would follow.

"Evening to you too," you smirked, stepping in after him.

As you shut the door behind you, you lifted your satchel off your shoulder, relishing the lifted weight. Tech's main set of workbenches (yes, set, not one simple table) sat along the adjoining wall, with blueprints, scribbled notes, broken parts, and tools scattered atop every surface. There was a clear space directly in front of where Tech stood, and that's where you set his order.

He untied the strap with care and tilted the bag so its contents rolled out with ease. The hum of approval that followed made your skin tingle just a little.

"Yes, yes," Tech muttered, lifting the first piece of metalwork to the light shining through the window, "these are just as I hoped. Exquisite work, as always." He looked over at you then, adjusting his glasses, "Then again, I expect nothing less from talent such as yours."

Your face was burning at the compliment, mouth dry even as you gave him a smile of your own. "Well, your sketches are always easy to work with," you said, reaching for the papers tucked into your vest pocket.

Tech repeatedly expressed how thankful he was that the town blacksmith was versatile in their work, as he always seemed to need custom parts for whatever machine he was working on at the moment. You were always happy to oblige, welcoming the challenge and change of pace. One could only make so many nails and horseshoes before they got bored.

While you tossed his latest specs back onto the pile of design sketches, Tech completed his examination of your work. Then, he slid off his round spectacles and grabbed his goggles, another piece of your handywork.

"As I said, your timing could not have been better, my dear," he tightened the strap, "as I'm a hair away from completing my latest project.

"Do you need any help?"

He paused as he reached for his tool set, "Oh, I- yes!" he cleared his throat, "If you don't have anything else pressing to attend to, an extra set of hands would be appreciated."

You waved your hand at the rest of the open building, "Lead the way."

Tech had, many projects. Some with thick layers of dust, some in several pieces, others he came back to often. To the untrained eye, it all looked like piles of junk, but you had been in here enough over the years that you recognized that it was just a result of Tech hyperactive mind. He had trouble staying on one project for long, though sometimes, like this current machine, he managed it.

After leading you to the very back of the barn-like building, Tech set down his toolbox beside the strange contraption. For lack of a better comparison, you likened its shape to a metal bull of sorts, with thin wheels for legs and a large opening where its head might have been. Though, if Tech heard you collating it to an animal, he'd probably raise a confused brow. He cared little for aesthetics, after all.

"If you could hold this," Tech cut through your musings, holding up a paneled section of the machine's side.

You took it from him, holding it up on its hinges so he could all but climb inside.

"Ah, now I get it," you smiled seeing what part he was working on, "you're trying to increase the pressure."

"Precisely, there was too much steam loss, which resulted in slower forward motion, which itself resulted in the wheels getting caught on every minor obstruction in its path."

You let him ramble on as he tinkered with this, adjusted that, working your new parts in one at a time. He did use your hands, asking you to press down on one thing, hold another in place, it all made the process faster.

When he was done there, Tech threw open the barn doors in front of the machine, giving it somewhere to go when he as he ran his final test. Then, he asked you to help him load the fuel source to start that test run. The thing seemed to roar to life the moment it had its food, and the gears Tech had commissioned from your last week began to turn- before stalling almost instantly.

"Oh no no no no!" Tech ran his fingers through the tight curls of his hair as he looked about, "That should have worked! Why isn't it working!?"

"Tech," you grabbed his arm and pointed to the ceiling, "you still have it chained up!"

His eyes went wide as he looked at his suspension rig, which he often used to lift machines for easier alterations. Without a word, he leapt onto the would-be bull, climbing onto its back and began working at the chains, worried something would break from the strain.

The moment the machine was free it lurked forward, gears cranking and turning- and throwing Tech off its back as it took off. Your heart leapt into your throat as he came soaring down, and your arms flew open without another thought.

With a great thud, Tech's body collided with your own, sending you both tumbling down to the dirt floor. You could smell the coal and tang of metal that clung to Tech like a cologne, being that he was laying right on top of you. He drew in a shaky breath, nose brushing against your cheek as he propped himself up on his elbow, which also just so happened to be on either side of your head.

He fixed his goggles, which had gone askew, and blinked down at you, "My apologies," he breathed, "I did not mean to-"

"Tech," you cut him off, cupping your hands on his face so you could turn it in the direction of the doors, "it works, your machine works!"

Indeed, the large contraption was grinding and lurching down the open field surrounding his workshop with great power. He let out a laugh, turning his head back to you.

"It does indeed! This is wonderful, Wrecker's next harvest will go much more smoothly now."

You were sure the way you smiled up at him was soft, too soft to be just a friendly smile, but you didn't stop yourself from saying, in an equally gentle tone, "Your brilliant mind never ceases to amaze me."

You saw him draw in a sharp breath, and thought something in his eyes...shifted. "And you, my darling, never cease to amaze me with your handiwork." Was he..was he leaning in closer to you? "Not many people can understand me, and you always do so without fail."

His eyes were half-lidded now, as he placed one of his hands over yours, which was still holding his face. You couldn't help but hold your breath as he just looked down at you, thumb caressing the back of your hand.

"Your palms, they're...rough," he whispered rather absent-mindedly.

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, "So are yours," you grumbled back, and watched his eyes widen.

"Oh! No, I like them- your hands, I mean. I like that they're rough."

This time your eyes held interest, and you leaned up ever so slightly, "You do, do you?"

He gulped and this time, you knew he was moving closer to you, "Yes, very much so. I dare say, I love everything about you, my sweet."

And then his lips were on yours.

They were chapped but moved with an unexpected grace. The hand that had been placed over yours moved to cup your cheek. You responded in kind, taking your own hands and sliding them back to curl into his hair. He let out a moan, a moan that caught in his throat when you tilted your head to deepen the kiss.

It was then that you were fully reminded of the fact that he was laying atop you. His leg moved seemingly of its own accord, pressing between your thighs in a way that had your chest stirring with something new.

Unfortunately, a sound echoed from across the field, and you pulled yourself out of your heated haze long enough to pull back just a little. Tech was not discouraged, his mind fixated on the task before him, and he simply moved his mouth to your jawline.

"T-Tech," you all but moaned, and the deep hum he gave in response had your mind spinning. He must like it when you say his name. "We- need to go catch your machine."

His breath was hot against your ear as he nuzzled your skin, "Do we have to, my dear? I am far more intrigued by my current project."

You didn't have time to unpack whether or not you liked being called his project, because you were untangling your finger from his curls to gently push on his chest.

"We can always continue this later, mr beautiful mind, but for now, I'm pretty sure that thing is heading for Cid's saloon."

Again, Tech's eyes went wide, any aforementioned lust vanishing. "Oh, dear!"

[doobnnoob-tf2]

Hi! I've seen some of your work and I thought it was really cool! I'm just a bit curious tho, do you have any general headcanons for Engineer?

his middle name is Louis (pronounced Louie), his full name being Dell Louis Conagher, his initials being DLC

he was actually completely sober and in his right mind when he decided to take his grandfather's blueprints for the Gunslinger and try it out himself, he used his workshop's tablesaw and stuffed a rag in his mouth and went for it before he could talk himself out of it

he grew up on a farm, even though for the past several generations his family has worked for the brothers and Mann Co. and every Mr. Conagher in his family has been a very successful engineer, they refuse to ever give up their farming business

it's due to that farm that he's almost fluent in Spanish, his family has always given refuge to Hispanic people who came across the border, paying them very well to work on their farm and giving them places on property to live. his family was typically too sucked into the main business but Dell grew up going out to help with the animals and thus learned Spanish growing up and eventually became the family translator

he loves dogs, Beagles especially. he had one growing up that passed away trying to save him from a coyote that was stalking him, his collar sits in a locked drawer on his desk in his workshop to this day

he's an only child, but he has a ton of cousins he's very close to, he's actually the youngest of that generation and deals with constantly getting asked when he's gonna get hitched and produce the next Mr. Conagher, he always nervously avoids the question

he's allergic to two things: biting insects and nickel. the latter is a very minor allergy, mostly just causing a small rash that lasts about an hour after contact. he usually takes something and wears very thick gloves when he knows he's going to be working with it for extended periods

he has so many freckles all over his shoulders and neck and arms from working outside on the farm as much as he did

he has a birthmark on his hip that if you look at it in the right angle, it looks like a bee

he gets along with everyone on the team quite well, but Soldier and Demoman are the two he hangs around with the most. he's often the voice of reason (that they may or may not listen to) when they come up with some of their most dangerous, explosive ideas

he's been working on a sentient Sentry for a long time now. one that'll follow him around on the field while he's moving gear around and shoot at things as they go. the only problem is his latest prototype acted more like a dog than a bodyguard and he couldn't bring himself to take it out on the field for a test run. instead he hides it away in his workshop

[toxiclizardwrites]

WIP Wednesday

I'm finally finding the time to wrap up Chapter 10 of Love and Rage. It's not quite done yet, but here is an excerpt: ---------------

Jazz paced the ship depot, her arms folded across her chest. Naeva was on her way, and she had run out of excuses as to why the Comspike wasn't ready yet. It was easy enough to dismantle from the prototype ship to transfer to Delgado’s, but building a new one from scratch was a completely different story. She bit her lower lip in frustration and stared at the blueprints that lay scattered on her desk. It would take at least another week to get the design right, and then another to find the right parts to create another Comspike. Some of the tech needed was difficult to get and expensive, and the Fleet’s finances were already in the red. Naeva would not be happy. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the familiar sound of boots on metal as Naeva made her way down the hallway to the ship depot. Jazz took a breath as Naeva’s face came into view. These days, she didn't look like the Naeva that Jazz knew. Her eyes didn't have that cocky look anymore. Instead, they burned with hatred and a constant hunger for revenge. Jazz felt like she had to walk on eggshells around the woman that was once the love of her life, the woman who held her and laughed with her. Tears started welling up in Jazz’s eyes as she longed for the past, but she quickly blinked them away as Naeva approached.

“You know why I'm here angel”

The nickname would have once caused an involuntary smile to form on the ship technician’s lips, but now it sent an uneasy shiver down her spine. Jazz briefly wondered if she would ever feel that smile form again. 

“the design is finalized, but we need specialized parts. Once we get those, I estimate it will take about a week to build and install,” she said, walking over to the blueprints and running her hands over them like they had some secret that would save her from this conversation. 

Naeva scoffed and came up behind her, leaning forward so her mouth was near Jazz’s ear. “See the interesting thing is,” she started, the words causing every hair on Jazz’s neck to stand up, “we shouldn't need parts when the prototype ship had a working Comspike on it.” 

She clicked her tongue and rose to a standing position. “So I think, and by all means, angel, correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you're lying to me.” 

Jazz turned from the desk and opened her mouth to speak, but Naeva held a finger to her lips. “Don't. Don't fucking tell me.” She pushed her finger off of Jazz’s mouth and pulled out her dagger, flipping it around in her fingers. Jazz backed away, but the dagger was at her throat before she knew what happened. 

“To think,” Naeva said, her mouth inches away from Jazz’s face, “my love, my angel, would do such a thing,” her eyes shifted to meet Jazz’s gaze, the dagger still present and threatening at her throat. “Help a weakling. Help a traitor.” She emphasized the last word like it made her sick to utter. 

Tears rolled down Jazz’s face but anger welled up in her eyes. “He's my captain,” she said softly. “He saved me, took me in when I had nowhere to go…” Naeva growled and in some swift motion, pulled the dagger back and threw it forward so hard that it grazed Jazz’s face, leaving a line of Crimson behind, and with a thunk, stuck in the wall behind her. 

“Oh he saved me” she mocked, “well what about me? I loved you, I gave you everything.”

Jazz tried her best to stifle her sobs as anger and sadness took over. “Naeva, you're not yourself. Just stop,” she begged, trying to reach forward to touch her girlfriend. “You were loyal to Delgado. To the Fleet. It isn't too late.” 

Naeva took two steps forward and looked down at Jazz, their noses almost touching. “I'm going to find him and kill him.” She said with vitriol. “And since you won't help me, it looks like I have no choice but to get you out of the way.” 

A small nod and four hands were on Jazz’s shoulders and hips. “What are you doing?” 

Naeva didn't say a word as the pirates pushed Jazz forward and told her to walk. 

“You're going to the brigg.” Naeva said simply. “While you're there, you can think about who you're loyal to.” 

Jazz didn't bother to struggle as she was led out of the ship depot. “Naeva,” she whispered through tears, but she didn't respond.

[skylarmoon71]

Timeless Wells (Flash) - Speedster Chapter 23

“Can you pass me the screwdriver?”

You hand it over to Avery as she tightens the bolts.

“That should do it.”

She’d become quite independent with her inventions. You know she wants that validation as a scientist. In a lot of ways she’s just like you when you’d started. It was tough when people often wrote you off. But she was putting in the effort, so you just knew it would all pay off.

“I switched out the chip for my memory calculator.” She lifts the small device with a grin.

“It’s my best one yet. Considering how the last two imploded I think I’ve finally perfected the equation.”

She pulls out what looks like two earbuds from the side of the small item.

“So are you going to finally tell me what it is?”

She grins.

“Yep! It’s built to help people who suffer from diseases that affect their memory. It forms a link with your internal processes and stores it in the box. Sort of like a flash drive. This way they’ll never forget the people closest to them.”

You’re impressed to say the least.

“Avery..that’s incredible.” She blushes.

“Well, I try. “ With a little giggle, she moves it over to the charging station.

“I’m going to give it some time to fully charge up, then I’ll start running the necessary tests. “ She’s basically bouncing on her feet. Avery is packing up about to head to have lunch.

“I’ll meet you and Evan up there in a while. I’ve got to finish my blueprints.”

“Alright, but don’t make me have to come get you again.” She lectures.

“I won’t.”

Avery takes off with a wave, and you try to quickly mark up your outline before you head out. The door to your side opens and you raise your head. It’s another intern. She’s holding a pretty big electronic that sort of looks like a boombox radio. When she moves to the charging station you straighten.

“Hey, you can’t have more than two charges at a time, it’ll overload the system.”

“Don’t remember asking for your advice rookie.” She snarks. She completely ignores your words, setting it on on the station right next to Avery’s devices. Stepping away she places her hands on her hips.

“What were you saying?”

You don’t get why they feel the need to always prove that they are smarter.

“I’m telling you it’s going to-”

You hear a spark, and your head whips in the direction of the machine. She doesn’t look as sure now.

“Shit!”

She moves over to yank it out of the socket.

“No, don't touch it!!”

She is right in front of it and you see the fire that ignites. A bolt shoots out and you race over. You step directly in front of her, shoving her in the opposite direction.

It strikes you right in the chest and she drops to the floor with a grunt.

Your body is sent flying into the air, harshly against the wall. Your back creates an indent at the force, dropping to the floor shortly after. The small fire has set off alarms in the room, and it’s not long before you can hear blaring sirens.You’re trying your best to stay conscious as the room begins to fill up with smoke. You just barely see someone coming in your direction. You’re picked up off the floor. It’s a task to keep your head upright.

“I should have listened to you.”

It’s the woman from before. She hoists you by the shoulder, carrying you out of the room. Once you’re safely outside, you catch a glimpse of those worried blue eyes that you’ve seen all too often before you fall unconscious.

~~

“Are you sure she’s alright?”

The doctor nodded at Harrison.

“It’s smart that you have a med bay located on the premises. Most labs fail to realize just how dangerous it is dealing with advanced technology. She wasn’t inside for very long, so there wasn’t a mass amount of smoke in her lungs. I’d advise that she take it easy for the time being.”

“She will, thank you.”

The doctor shook his head, stepping back as he left. Harrison's eyes moved over to your form.

“As much as you insist you aren’t a hero, you sure have a knack for putting yourself in the line of fire just to help.”

The individual responsible for the fire had come forth and explained the entire situation to him. After containing the flames into the room, the fire department had put it out. The room itself was locked down until further notice.

He brushed his hand along your cheek, taking a seat next to your bed. Your vitals were fine, but it didn’t stop his worry. He’d hold off sending you to a hospital for obvious reasons. It wasn’t just the fact that you were a speedster, but you were also from another earth. He didn’t want common doctors poking and prodding at you like some kind of experiment.

It really did pay to be rich. He could afford the discretion.

“Your friends are very worried about you. They were reluctant to leave your side.”

It was nearing seven and you still hadn’t woken up. He was beyond worried. But what could he do?

“Please wake up..”

Harrison leaned over and he left a soft kiss on your lips. Pulling back, he felt defeated. He always thought that given his powers he would never be in a vulnerable place again. But it’s clear that power didn’t exempt him from pain. His thumb brushed over the pulse at your wrist. His gaze strayed for a second, because it seemed to be steadily increasing. His eyes drifted when the machines started to beep a little louder than normal.

Your eyes opened and Harrison was startled when he saw the streams of lightning dancing over your irises.

You shot up right out of bed, speeding around the room. Harrison stood to his feet.

“(Y-Y/N)!”

Your body was moving way too fast for him to track and when you finally stopped, you crashed right into him. Both of you tumbled to the ground. You rolled for a moment, and when your bodies stopped, you were looking down at Harrison with the widest grin.

“Harrison!!”

You were practically glowing with joy and he couldn’t understand why. He straightened, taking your hands.

“Are you alright?”

You nod vigorously.

“I’m better than okay! This is awesome, did you see that! Did you see me? I was like zoom, then zip, then badumm!”

It could have been his imagination, but you were talking a little faster than usual. It was as if you were on an adrenaline high.

“Jeez, I feel great. Like I can fly, like I’m superman!! WOHOO!!”

You began laughing and he wasn’t sure whether to be worried or happy.

“I think that bolt of lightning might have given you a sugar rush. “ He stated.

“Yep it did. That machine was some kind of generator, so when it went boom, my body absorbed the wave! I’m so high right now!!”

Despite the statement, you were still smiling. Harrison let out a sigh of relief, chuckling.

“I hope it wears off soon, I have a feeling you’ll be a little exhausted tomorrow.”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT I’M GREAT!!”

You then persisted to run around the room some more to prove your point. Harrison merely watched.

[daedalusdavinci]

im feeling bold tonight. 3 with superbats/bruclark

3. things you said too quietly. not sure how well i followed the prompt but i dont think anyones going to be shaking their fists about it so long as theres still old men kissing

Things had always been different with Clark. So many of Bruce’s relationships were a constant push and pull, full of lies, distrust, and betrayal, eternally split by differing morals and too stubborn to budge. But with Clark, it was always... easy. He was reliable. Constant. Safe.

Parts of it had been hard-won. Bruce still remembered the first time he’d seen the Fortress, or when Clark had met Alfred, or when he’d first let Clark patch him up after a mission. But, after a certain point, that trust had just started to bleed into everything. Bruce couldn’t remember when Clark had become the first person he turned to, or when it had become so normal for Clark to stay over, or when he had started relaxing into Clark’s constant touch. It had just... happened. As slowly and steadily as boiling a frog, Clark had intertwined himself completely into Bruce’s life until it was hard to say what, exactly, Clark was to him now.

Sometimes, it occurred to him that most of his children considered Clark part of the family- that Dick had perhaps always seen Clark as another father figure, relying on him just as much as he did Bruce. Sometimes Lois made jokes that stuck in his mind for days, hinting at something he never quite knew what to think about. Sometimes, Clark was there to meet him when he finally went to bed, the warmth of him like sunlight as he folded around Bruce, nose tucked against the curve of his shoulder and limbs loose with exhaustion, and Bruce remembered that, at some point, Clark had slept in the guest bedroom instead.

It didn’t take a detective. But sometimes, he wondered if there was anything left to solve- if, through quiet subterfuge, Clark had already gently pushed them to exactly where they needed to be. Everything that had needed to be said had already been said too quietly, without Bruce ever hearing the words.

In the early hours of the morning, it was hardest to question it. Clark’s skin looked gold in the sunlight, his curls soft and unruly from dozing off on the couch while Bruce worked, his own paperwork still scattered somewhere across the side table in the study. His robe softened his silhouette, the V of his neckline doing him no small favors with how it drew Bruce’s eye unerringly to that broad chest, gold and plush and dusted with dark hair. His smile was the only thing more stunning, soft and fond every time he caught Bruce’s eye. 

Clark pressed a mug into Bruce’s hand as he joined him at the kitchen island, leaning warm and steady against his back to peer over his shoulder at the blueprints he’d been trying to study. His thumb swept gently across Bruce’s hip, brushing along the skin just under the hem of his shirt. “You know you promised Alfred the day off today, right?”

Bruce hummed, leaning absently into the kiss Clark pressed against his temple. “I recall. Is this your attempt to take over the nagging?”

He could hear the smile in Clark’s voice, quietly amused. “No. This is me asking if you plan on getting any sleep before you have to drive the kids to school.”

Bruce groaned suddenly, dropping his head back. “Fuck.”

Clark laughed softly. He set his own mug on the counter to wrap his arms around Bruce instead, taking his weight as he leaned back into him. “I had a feeling. I’ll take them, and you can spend the rest of the morning trying to get this done before I get back.”

“Why then?” Bruce asked, letting his head lean against Clark’s. The fingers of one hand traced the back of Clark’s absently, finding the spaces between his fingers and sliding into place.

Clark’s hands slid under his shirt, slow and warm where they ran across his stomach and hips. The way he kissed his neck, lingering and soft, Bruce had an idea of what he’d say before he even said it. “Because we’ll have the house to ourselves.”

The way Bruce hummed was low and appreciative, his own mug abandoned to thread his fingers up into that soft, soft hair. “So it will be. How long has it been since that happened?”

“I haven’t a clue, but I intend to use it to make you sleep.” The last word was punctuated with a pinch, making Bruce start.

“Bastard,” Bruce accused, pulling free of his embrace.

Clark’s laughter was unashamed as he pulled Bruce back by the hips, kissing his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I promised Alfred. And haven’t you always told me to put your family first?”

It was infuriating how true that was, and how much it made Bruce love him for listening. It was something Bruce didn’t even know how to begin to say, but he tried in the way he let Clark drag him back, and the way he threaded his fingers into his hair, kissing the taste of coffee off his lips. It was quiet, but judging by Clark’s grin, he always seemed to hear it anyway.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

"Turn on the heat." // "Oh, I will." // "No, I literally mean the heat! It's like ten degrees in here!" With our au?

yes kee our precious au 🥹

|| prompt list ||

prompt: "Turn on the heat." // "Oh, I will." // "No, I literally mean the heat! It's like ten degrees in here!"

au: farmhouse

word count: 920

warnings: fluff to the max, a secret other au

“It looks beautiful, Jay,” Ronnie said on a sigh as they stood in front of the farmhouse, frozen ground crunching beneath their feet. 

On the outside, it looked complete. White siding with a wrap around porch and green shudders. But Ronnie knew that the inside still needed some work. The plumbing finished and floors installed. That didn’t matter though. Jake had worked so hard for the past year to build her her dream house, putting in every last detail she wanted no matter how small, and it was nearly finished. Just a few more weeks. And it really did look beautiful. 

“Wanna go inside?” Jake suggested, “I mean, we drove all the way out here.” 

“Sure,” she shrugged with a laugh. 

Then he bent to pick her up, bridal style. Ronnie could do nothing but stare at him, wide-eyed, as he swept her off her feet with a knowing grin. Jake made a promise, when they started making up the plans for the farmhouse, that when it was done he would carry her over the threshold. An arguably outdated and traditional thing, but it felt right. As they sat and looked at blueprints all those nights ago.

But now he was carrying her up the porch steps and through the front door. A reality. A complete surprise as he carried her past the threshold into a completely finished, furnished, and decorated farmhouse. It was as beautiful and as complete as the outside. Everything exactly as Ronnie said she wanted it. 

“Jake…” she whispered breathlessly as she stared around at everything. 

“Had the boys come help me move everything while you were at work. Wanted it to be a surprise.” He set her back gently on her feet. “You like it?”

“God, baby, I…I love it,” she breathed, happy tears brimming her brown eyes as she turned to face him. “I love you. So much. Thank you.”

Ronnie lept into his arms and he caught her easily with a laugh, arms curling around her waist and holding her to him tight. They were going to build their lives in this house. Their future was here. When spring came she would start a garden out back while he worked on the landscaping. His nieces and nephews could come over and have plenty of room to run around. They would grow old sitting on that porch and watching the sunrises. It was perfect and it was all their’s.

“Welcome home, baby girl,” Jake whispered.

When she pulled away from him, she took him by the hand with a grin and walked him around the entire house. They both knew it like the backs of their hands after pouring over the details for months. But still, it was comforting to familiarize with the actual, physical space instead of just crude drawings on graph paper. Ronnie inspected every room, wide smile never leaving her face. And Jake watched her the entire time. 

They eventually made their way back to the living room. Ronnie dropped down onto the couch with a sigh, pulling the fuzzy blanket that was once in their apartment around her shoulders. Jake flopped down next to her in his usual way, legs spread and one arm draped across her shoulders, pulling her into his side instantly. She shuddered despite the blanket and Jake’s usual warmth. 

“Can you turn on the heat?” she asked. 

Jake looked down at her, wiggling his brows as he leaned in. “Oh, I will.” 

“No!” she laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. “I literally mean the heat! It’s like ten degrees in here.” 

“Oh.” He looked slightly disappointed before he got up to check the thermostat, then he cursed with his hands on his hips. “Well, it’s not ten degrees but it’s pretty damn close. Says the heat’s on…I don’t know what the problem is.” 

“Think you can fix it?” 

“Not before dark.” Jake sighed as he turned back to face her. “M’sorry babe, I thought everything was ready…”

“S’okay!” she insisted as she pulled the blanket tighter, then her eyes caught on the fireplace right across from the couch. “Is the fireplace good to go?”

“Great idea, baby girl! Lemme go chop some wood.”

While he went outside, Ronnie continued to take in their new home. Built with Jake’s own two hands. She could picture it perfectly. The meals she would cook in the kitchen, with Jake coming home from a day at work to wrap his arms around her waist. The parties they would host with all their friends, with no special occasion in mind, just because they could. The laughter and joy and love that would permeate the walls and make the house into a home. She was ready for that. God, she was so ready. 

The front door opened on it’s own, and Ronnie watched with a smile as the chopped logs floated into the house first. Jake followed soon after, a light sweat broken out across his brow. Closing the door, he set the logs down neatly into the holder by the fireplace — while directing a few to go into the fireplace itself, all without lifting a finger.

With the fire crackling, Jake sat back on the couch with his bride. Perfectly content. With his arm around her shoulders and her head against his chest. This was how it was always meant to be. And how it would be for the rest of the time they had left on this earth. Snuggled up by this warm fire, with a love so strong.

[pascalis1]

From Fabric to Fit: The Journey of Bespoke Suits

In a world where mass production and fast fashion dominate, the bespoke suit stands as a beacon of craftsmanship, individuality, and timeless elegance. This article takes you through the intricate journey of a bespoke suit, from the initial selection of fabric to the final fitting. We will explore the meticulous process, the skilled artisans behind it, and the lasting allure of bespoke tailoring.

The Origins of Bespoke Tailoring

Bespoke tailoring has a rich history that dates back to the 17th century in London's Savile Row. This iconic street became synonymous with high-quality, custom-made suits. The term "bespoke" itself is derived from the verb "to bespeak," meaning to order or arrange in advance. Bespoke tailoring was, and still is, about creating garments specifically for an individual, considering their unique measurements, preferences, and style.

Selecting the Fabric: The Foundation of a Bespoke Suit

The journey of a bespoke suit begins with the selection of fabric. This step is crucial as the fabric sets the tone for the entire garment. Clients are presented with a wide array of materials, each with its own characteristics. Wool, the most traditional choice, offers durability and versatility. Cotton, linen, and silk are also popular, each providing a distinct look and feel.

When choosing fabric, considerations include the suit's intended use, the season, and the client's personal style. For example, a heavier wool might be selected for a winter suit, while a lighter linen could be perfect for summer. The weight, weave, and color of the fabric all play a role in the final appearance and functionality of the suit.

The Initial Consultation: Crafting a Vision

Once the fabric is chosen, the next step is the initial consultation with the tailor. This meeting is essential as it allows the tailor to understand the client's vision and requirements. It's a collaborative process where the client's preferences for style, fit, and details are discussed in depth.

During this consultation, the tailor takes precise measurements of the client's body. These measurements go beyond the standard chest, waist, and hip sizes. The tailor notes posture, shoulder slope, arm length, and other unique body characteristics. This meticulous attention to detail ensures that the final garment will fit the client perfectly.

The Pattern Drafting: Turning Vision into Blueprint

With measurements in hand, the tailor begins the process of pattern drafting. Unlike ready-to-wear suits, where patterns are standardized, bespoke patterns are created from scratch for each individual client. This step is akin to creating a blueprint for a building.

The tailor draws the pattern on paper, considering the client's measurements and desired style. Each piece of the suit, from the jacket to the trousers, is carefully planned out. This custom pattern ensures that every aspect of the suit will conform to the client's body, providing a fit that is both comfortable and flattering.

Cutting the Fabric: Precision and Expertise

Once the pattern is complete, it's time to cut the fabric. This step requires precision and expertise, as any mistakes can result in wasted material. The tailor carefully lays the pattern pieces onto the fabric, aligning them to ensure that the fabric's grain and pattern match perfectly.

Cutting the fabric is a skill that takes years to master. The tailor uses sharp shears to cut along the pattern lines, ensuring clean and accurate edges. This step sets the stage for the construction of the suit, as each piece of fabric will soon come together to form a cohesive garment.

Basting: The First Fitting

With the fabric pieces cut, the next step is basting. Basting involves temporarily stitching the pieces together to create a rough version of the suit. This allows the tailor and client to conduct the first fitting and make necessary adjustments.

During the fitting, the client tries on the basted suit. This is a crucial moment in the bespoke process, as it allows the tailor to see how the suit fits on the client's body and identify any areas that need refinement. Adjustments are made to ensure that the suit aligns perfectly with the client's proportions and preferences.

Constructing the Suit: The Art of Tailoring

After the initial fitting and adjustments, the tailor begins the construction of the suit. This involves sewing the fabric pieces together with precision and care. The suit's canvas, which is the inner structure, is also constructed during this phase. The canvas gives the suit its shape and support, ensuring that it drapes elegantly on the body.

The jacket, trousers, and waistcoat (if included) are meticulously assembled. The tailor pays close attention to details such as lapels, pockets, and buttonholes. Hand-stitching is often used for these elements, adding to the suit's durability and aesthetic appeal.

The Second Fitting: Fine-Tuning the Fit

Once the suit is constructed, the second fitting takes place. This fitting is an opportunity to fine-tune the fit and make any final adjustments. The tailor examines the suit on the client, ensuring that it conforms to their body perfectly. Adjustments may be made to the jacket's shoulders, the length of the trousers, and other areas to achieve the desired fit.

The second fitting is a testament to the bespoke process's commitment to perfection. Every detail is scrutinized to ensure that the suit not only fits well but also enhances the client's appearance and confidence.

Finishing Touches: The Details That Matter

With the fit perfected, the final step is adding the finishing touches. This includes sewing on buttons, hemming the trousers, and pressing the suit to give it a polished look. These details may seem minor, but they contribute significantly to the overall quality and appearance of the suit.

Button selection is an important aspect of this phase. Clients can choose from a variety of buttons, including horn, mother-of-pearl, and metal. The tailor also ensures that the buttonholes are meticulously crafted, often using hand-stitching for added durability and elegance.

The Final Fitting: A Perfectly Tailored Suit

The journey of a bespoke suit culminates in the final fitting. During this fitting, the client tries on the fully constructed suit for the first time. The tailor makes any last-minute adjustments to ensure that the suit fits flawlessly. This moment is a celebration of the craftsmanship, dedication, and collaboration that went into creating the garment.

A perfectly tailored bespoke suit not only fits the client's body but also reflects their personality and style. It is a garment that exudes confidence and sophistication, setting the wearer apart from the crowd.

The Artisans Behind the Suit: Tailors and Their Craft

The creation of a bespoke suit is a testament to the skill and artistry of the tailor. These artisans dedicate years to mastering their craft, combining traditional techniques with modern innovations. The tailor's role goes beyond mere construction; they are artists who bring a client's vision to life.

Tailoring is a profession steeped in tradition, passed down through generations. Many bespoke tailors apprentice under experienced masters, learning the nuances of the trade. This dedication to learning and preserving the craft ensures that bespoke tailoring remains a revered art form.

The Timeless Appeal of Bespoke Suits

In an era dominated by fast fashion, the bespoke suit stands as a symbol of timeless elegance and individuality. Unlike mass-produced garments, which often prioritize trends over quality, bespoke suits are designed to last. They are investment pieces that can be worn for years, adapting to the wearer's evolving style.

The allure of bespoke suits lies in their ability to make a statement. A bespoke suit is not just clothing; it is a reflection of the wearer's personality, taste, and appreciation for craftsmanship. Whether worn for a special occasion or as part of everyday attire, a bespoke suit elevates the wearer's presence and leaves a lasting impression.

Conclusion

The journey of a bespoke suit is a meticulous and rewarding process that combines artistry, craftsmanship, and individuality. From the careful selection of fabric to the final fitting, every step is a testament to the dedication and skill of the tailor. A bespoke suit is more than just a garment; it is a masterpiece that tells a story of tradition, excellence, and personal style.

In a world where fashion often prioritizes speed and convenience, the bespoke suit reminds us of the value of patience, precision, and artistry. It is a celebration of the human touch in an increasingly mechanized industry. As long as there are those who appreciate quality and individuality, the bespoke suit will continue to thrive, standing as a timeless symbol of sartorial excellence.

[sofa-ambrosia]

Finally posting the NW kids

first up is the oldest, Nox.

-genderfluid(masc and fem days)

-around the same height as Yellow

-is made up of bortz(black diamond)

Nox was raised as an obedient solider first and a soul last. They're deadly skills, terrifying presence, and unmatched battle wins makes her a fortress of an enemy. For whatever reason, though, Nox has decided to put his skills in becoming a bounty hunter.

Next up is the middle child, Prudence.

-demigirl

-is about Violets shoulder length

-an imp from nunya

Prudence is an underground inventor, making all kinds of nicknacks in order to gain recognition. The only times she had gain any sort of attention on her is either when her inventions are bought by higher ups, get their blueprints stolen by said higher ups, or is trying to shoot someone's face off. They've made a living of making their own weaponry, with the gems on their clothes being one of them.

And finally, the youngest child, Rene

-nonbinary

-is at Prudence's hip

-Unknown species

Not much is know about Rene, as they seem completely mute and anxious to talk with anyone. Due to this, whenever they look at someone, that person usually complains about "their eyes looking straight into my soul". Their hair glows, proving a surprising amount of light in the dark. However, this means that they need a disguise to hide their otherness.

[rainydawgradioblog]

This Summer: Cloud Rap, A Fake Hurricane, etc.

A friend of mine frequently has to remind me to “surrender to the hourglass;” that is, come to peace with the passage of time. The Hourglass is always a boogeyman of sorts to me, but it particularly troubled me this summer. I was often bemoaning a perceived lack of permanence in my life, a perception that was more than likely a trivial neurosis rather than completely reflective of my reality. On truly unreasonable days, I could be found frozen, staring at my meal, lamenting that the food in front of me would be gone once I ate it. So I kept a journal - although “journal” implies a kind of writing much more confessional than what I wrote. My journal consisted solely of the events of my day. Maybe I subconsciously believed that if I could record my days with enough accuracy, or if I could remember a day or time in my life clearly enough, I could return to it. I must have thought I could slow down the Hourglass. 

I discovered Friendzone in the midst of a dreary California afternoon, waiting out a classic mid-August South Pacific quasi-hurricane. The ambient opening to their 2012 compilation album Collection I set a compellingly dreamy soundtrack to my daily feud with impermanence, and led me down an internet research rabbit-hole. Friendzone is comprised of two East Bay producers named James Laurence and Dylan Reznick. The duo emerged alongside the then-nascent cloud rap movement of the early 2010s. Their largest commercial footprint came after producing A$AP Rocky’s cloud rap classic Fashion Killa, but they found their steadiest collaborator in the Oakland hip-hop duo Main Attrakionz. In a 2015 interview with FACT that saw Dylan Reznick sporting fingerless gloves and holding a vape that conservatively looks a foot long, the pair shared an interest in creating the misty atmosphere of cloud rap without overburdening their sound with reverb and delay. Collection I exhibits the ideals of this philosophy, where Friendzone’s maximalist production feels both dreamy and, as Reznick puts it, “hi-fi;” it's a philosophy that plainly sets them apart from other cloud rap producers.

I can’t help but feel as though Collection I is closely associated with the passage of time. The cover, a grainy, colorless image of a girl cut off at the shoulders down, suggests that we’re missing important visual information. What might be behind her, a reason for taking the picture maybe, is covered by the word “Friendzone '' in large impact font. Laurence and Reznick chose to show us strictly a fragment of a vision, a scene being recalled in fuzzy detail. Song titles, especially at the back end of the record, also bring nostalgia to mind: “I Miss Yall,” “Change,” and “Moments, Pt 1.” There’s an air of mystique that this gives Collection I, as if it’s a buried CD that’s been plucked from a yard sale, or some art school project that was unearthed from an online archive, an album that’s been forgotten. 

While many of the beats on Collection I previously appeared on Main Attrakionz records, they're by no means lacking in substance without vocals. The project completely bares the blueprint for early 2010s cloud rap production, specifically on tracks like “Near,” where vocal chops play over a rigid drum pattern and airy synths. It’s not a formula Friendzone invented, but one that’s certainly close to perfect throughout Collection I. In what has become a rite of passage for cloud rap producers, Laurence and Reznick sample Imogen Heap’s track “Just For Now” on “Change.” You might have heard “Just For Now” sampled in Lil B’s “I'm God,” “Birth of Rap,” and A$AP Rocky’s “Bass.” “Change” swaps the bittersweet feeling of its contemporaries for a more exuberant one. The track is an apt representation of what Friendzone excels at, turning a new wave sample into a sprawling wall of sound. Reznick and Laurence's commitment to creating these walls of sound without relying on heavy reverb or effects is a thread that can be followed throughout the rest of the project, such as on “Perfect Skies." It’s this production dogma that leads to Collection I exuding a kind of blissful distortion, as if it’s recounting a great memory to a friend but getting most of the important details wrong. What stood out to me during California’s pathetic try at tropical storm was the emotion it rendered in me, given the lack of lyrics. Tracks like “Change,” “!!-Major," and “Church " have a fleeting, dreamlike quality that is difficult to grab hold of in any genre, let alone instrumental hip hop. It elevates it from a record to throw on in the background to something more intentional.

Collection I feels so euphorically distant; like an idyllic beach day you only recall half of.  It’s such a tremendous testament to Friendzone’s skill as producers that they were able to bottle that mood without having to rely on language, that they could tell such a compelling story with no words. To me, that story is one of I, lying face down in a rain-soaked, nearly empty, childhood bedroom, immobilized by my ridiculous thoughts, watching the days melt away and blend together. I learned something there that I’m quite certain everyone learns at least once; that the time will pass anyways. Collection I is a must listen for anyone with a passing interest in cloud rap. Or anyone stuck in a midsummer storm. 

-Written by Benjamin Fudal

signed with a promise that Next Time I Will Talk About Myself Less