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areyouwell · 21 hours ago

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Memento Mori

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Violence, slight body horror

Word Count: 8.1K

A/N: Took me long enough. New long-fic comin' in from the left! i know i teased this around three weeks ago (ish) but here's chapter one. not sure this is gonna be as long as Phobophobia but i'm really excited about this one. it's a little darker (yeah i know) but i already love this MC. if anyone wants tagging in this pls lmk, i don't wanna assume everyone who i tagged in Phobophobia wants to be tagged again so i'll start a new list <3

Dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics

“So, as detailed here, there have been a string of these… murders, I suppose.”

Logan sighed heavily. When he woke up this morning, the one thing he didn’t expect was to be called into Charles Xavier’s office so soon after having breakfast, let alone be greeted with grainy photographs of some of the most horrific murder scenes he’d ever had the displeasure of looking at. Entrails, bones, flesh, eyes. None of it was where it should be, which most of the time, seemed scattered around the floor rather than attached to whichever poor, unfortunate soul who’d had the shitty luck of running into their silent assassin. Charles pointed the telescopic stick towards the mangled jacket of one of the equally mangled victims. Logan couldn’t even tell what gender they were, their face nothing but a bloody pulp.

Almost as if it had been exploded from the inside out.

“This symbol here is the only string that connects the murders, and after doing a little digging,” he nodded thankfully to Ororo, her white hair bobbing with her dip of acknowledgement. “We found they all belonged to the same company, here.” With a click of the remote in his hands, the projection flipped to the next slide, a map of San Fransisco, a large red circle drawn around a location Logan was only somewhat familiar with, only because he’d walked past it a few times.

“It’s a warehouse,” he offered, several heads turning to look at him. “I’ve walked ‘round there couple times. Nothin’ special, s’always buzzin’ with life.” He shrugged thoughtfully, tugging a cigar from his jacket pocket and flicking the Zippo lighter open and shut with his other hand. Charles gave him a slightly irritated look, but he pretended not to notice.”So… What? Our killer’s just popping caps in the head’s underpaid workers? Doesn’t make much sense.”

“That’s what we thought too,” Ororo continued, placing down a few pieces of paper and spreading them about the table. “Until we started to notice a pattern. They’ve been picking off specific shift workers, mainly those on the late shift. But it’s never new members of staff either. Always those who’ve worked there for at least two years. Lately, their security has increased, but once they leave work, they’re basically on their own.” Storm took the remote from Charles and clicked to the next slide, a list of names and hours flaring onto the screen, the names of victims having been crossed out, though their hours were still visible on the row of the rota.

“Ya don’t think this has anything to do with that orphanage incident, do you?” Kitty piped up, cupping her mug of tea in both hands, either for comfort or for warmth, Logan couldn’t tell. She had a good point. It must have been around a month ago now. A fire had started downtown in the dead of night. Officials had said it was a discarded cigarette from one of the employees, but that didn’t explain why all the windows and doors had been locked.

Everyone within burned. Children included.

“It’s certainly a theory…” Scott mused, rubbing his hand against his jaw in thought. “A terrible accident sounded far too much like a cover story. Think this killer had something to do with it?”

Charles sighed heavily. “Ordinarily, yes, I’d have some kind of suspicion, if it wasn’t for the fact our killer was elsewhere at the time.” He nodded to Ororo, who clicked the remote once again. “This was taken not an hour beforehand, on the other side of the city. Unless the killer can teleport, there’s no way they could have made it across town in such a short amount of time, let alone take all the precautions and set alight to the building. Though I do not believe it was merely a terrible accident, I don’t believe they had anything to do with it.” Charles finished before Ororo leant over the pages she’d spread on the table, spinning one to face the rest of the team.

“Though we do have this. A pattern of all the attacks and locations,” Logan stood up to skirt around the table, standing between Kitty and Marie as he inspected the red pen. With every X, the attacks almost formed an exact circle around the warehouse, almost as if the killer could predict which ways those victims would take home. Especially after the first attack. “We think the next one will happen here,” Ororo pointed to a side street far between the locations either side. “The most recent one being here, it’s logical to think they’d take the opposite side. At least, that’s what we’re hoping…” She trailed off, and Logan returned to his seat, having an idea as to what this meeting was actually about.

“You want us to lay a trap, right? Trail several employees home and jump in before Killer McGee can get their hands on ‘em.” He clarified, and Charles nodded a little too darkly for his liking.

“Exactly. Which is why I won’t be asking you all on this mission. We need to avoid detection and sending all of us would be too much of a risk. Whoever this is, we must assume they’re a mutant. These attacks happen quickly and viciously, and to cause such damage in such a short amount of time, we must assume they possess some sort of ability.

“Scott, Ororo and Logan, I trust you can handle this task? I will be in Cerebro with Jean on hand, and the rest I want you on standby in the Blackbird in case backup is required.”

“Wait, we’re doing this tonight?” Marie squeaked, casting a wary glance to Kitty who returned her expression. Logan was relieved neither of them would be actively on the mission, he’d come to care for them both deeply, and whilst that didn’t mean he didn’t care for either Ororo or, though he’d never admit it, Scott, he was glad the two girls would be on standby rather than active duty.

“The attacks seem random, as if they flipped a coin to see if they would head out each night, but when you look closer, they’re only on the days the older members of staff are on shift. We think they’re looking for something, or someone, specific.” Ororo explained, pointing back to the projection on the screen. “These three here have been working at this specific warehouse for three, four and seven years respectably,” she clicked the remote again for each of their work ID cards to flash onto the screen. “Scott, you’re tailing Alec,” she gestured to the string bean of a man, blonde hair styled into several spikes atop his head, two silver snakebite piercings adorned his lower lip.

“Logan, you’ve got Manuel, he’s been there for four years,” Logan didn’t think they could have found such a different-looking guy to the previous one if they fucking tried. Manuel was built like a brick shit house, a buzzcut of dark hair dusted the top of his otherwise bald head, ears like fucking cauliflowers. Of course, that’s who he’d be tailing, probably because a punch from this guy would send anyone else across the damn room.

“And I’ll be tailing Henry, he works in the office upstairs but is still very much a likely target. We’re hoping to locate and pin down the killer before their shifts even finish, but in the eventuality The Professor can’t get a lock on them, this is the backup plan. Got it?”

Both Logan and Scott nodded in unison. It didn’t seem too much of a problem mission if this killer was cowardly enough to be picking these guys off one by one, he didn’t think they had much in terms of fighting prowess. Taking an enemy by surprise was the coward’s way out, in his opinion, though he supposed not everybody could heal the way he could.

And taking this killer by surprise was exactly the plan…

Maybe he should rethink his principles.

“Be suited up and ready to head out at ten. Gives us at least an hour to locate and set up.” Ororo gathered the papers on the table, tapping the small stack against the surface before tucking them beneath her arm. “Right, I’ve got a class to teach, pretty sure you do too, Professor.” She turned to Charles who simply smiled and nodded, ending the meeting just like that. With a huff and a stretch, Logan stood from his seat, instantly reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a thick cigar, earning himself a sharp look of disapproval from Xavier, the Professor glancing pointedly to the chilly air beyond the window. Logan knew what he was saying, and usually, he’d tell him to go fuck himself and smoke indoors. But he needed a breath of fresh air after that stuffy, slightly nauseating meeting, and if he could kill two birds with one stone, why wouldn’t he?

With an acquiescing shrug, he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel to stalk from the boardroom, shoving the door open with his shoulder and almost walking chest first into Jean. His heart skipped a beat or three, lips pulling up into a small smirk to hide the fact he was borderline giddy to be running into her outside the meeting. She’d been the object of his affection ever since he was brought to the mansion and she checked his vitals. He couldn’t help it. There was just something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that drew him to her the instant he was in her presence. He didn’t find himself thinking of her much outside their interactions, but when they were in the same room, all he could think about was her. It would be frustrating if he cared about anything said in those meetings.

“Watin’ f’me now are ya?” He teased lowly, savouring the way her lips pursed to stop herself from smiling. There were times Logan thought she felt the same magnetic pull toward him that he felt toward her, times like this, where she didn’t look away from his gaze, and entertained his relentless teasing.

“You know Scott’s still in there. We have plans,” she responded, feigning an attempt to look past him and back into the room where Scott was discussing various strategies with the Professor. Logan raised a brow as he followed her wavering line of sight, keeping that brow raised as he looked back at her.

“Plans? Hope you don’t mean dinner, doesn’t look like he’ll be out anytime soon.” If she could just see how terrible Scott was for her. If he could just make her see how he would be so much better. Would suit her better. Would take care of her better. He wasn’t willing to change for many people, but if Jean asked, he would do it in a heartbeat. He’d change himself for her.

“Yes, Logan, dinner plans before the mission. And you know this is a tradition because you comment on it every time.” She huffed, her hair bobbing slightly with every emphatic move of her head. Logan chuckled lightly, his eyes briefly glancing from her gaze to her lips, how perfect they looked, and how perfect they would look wrapped around his–

“Then we both have our little traditions, don’t we? C’mon, doll. Why don’t we stop this dance?” His fingers curled through a strand of her hair, feeling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Haven’t I shown ya I can be the good guy?”

Jean sighed, and Logan half expected her to move away, but instead, she just closed her eyes, shaking her head softly. Was she mournful? Disappointed? It was hard to tell.

“Logan, I don’t–”

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Scott’s voice slashed through the charged atmosphere between them, and Logan found his hand falling away from Jean’s hair almost instantly.

“We were jus’ talkin’, Scotty.” Logan shot back, trying to keep the defence from his voice. There was no need to let Scott know just how irritated the interruption made him feel.

“Yeah, like hell you were. Back off, Logan. I don’t wanna have to tell you again.” Placing his arm around Jean’s shoulders, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way she shrank slightly, looking almost humiliated. He tensed his jaw. If she hated Scott’s attention this much, she knew what he had to do. Logan didn’t know how much more obvious he could make his interest in her. All she needed to do was take the leap. “Yeah yeah, ‘stay away from my girl’, I know.” He mocked, sending Jean a wink before continuing on his path to the courtyard. Now he really fucking needed that cigar.

The city was so pretty in the twilight. Silhouetted buildings scattered with twinkling lights against a deep blue sky, it almost made up for the lack of stars. And there was nothing like watching the city skyline descend into darkness that had you more prepared than ever for your latest chosen victim. You hadn’t learned nearly as much as you should have by now, nobody you’d tortured knew anything about what you were looking for and it was starting to piss you off. But you didn’t bury those feelings. Instead, you harnessed them. Used your frustration to your advantage and honed yourself like a forged weapon. Every burn of urgent irritation sharpened your slices, focused your fileting, and pinpointed your precision.

For the greater good, you reminded yourself as your watch beeped ten, and you spun the small knife in your palm before sheathing it in your boot. Your specific target of the night finished early every other week on Thursdays, hence your change in schedule today. In fact, a good few of them did. You assumed it had something to do with specific shipments on the warehouse floor but you didn’t bother yourself with the details. You knew his schedule now. You’d been watching for weeks. And you had every single detail of his various ways home. He was a bus-taker. Though, to avoid you, he’d been taking different numbered busses to other parts of town, before heading home. But the moron used the same three in rotation. There was no cause to wonder why he worked in a warehouse…

Although you had a good feeling about this one. You’d already scored one victim of the night, who was currently unconscious in your chosen location. You were one hundred per cent sure he knew what you were looking for, and you had a fantastic feeling about this one too.

Standing from where you’d been lounging against a rooftop balcony, you stretched your arms high above your head, listening to your bones and joints crack slightly before securing the steel mask over your features, cursing the phantoms of your past for providing you with such memorable makeup, and, shrugging the hood of your short-sleeved jacket over your head. Your hands dipped into the various sheathed across your waist, double checking the various blades in your belt. You were thankful you never needed to go through any kind of metal detector, because it would likely take you the rest of the night to remove every weapon dotted about your body, from the little holsters on your biceps to the sheathes in your boots, to the retractable blades in the bracers on your wrists. A wise woman once said you can never have too many knives.

A phrase you really should copyright before anyone else claims it.

Five past ten. Go time. Taking a few steps back, you broke into a sprightly run, leaping like a dexterous cat across the rooftops, every step measured in surety. You’d done this too many times to start second-guessing yourself now, and it wasn’t like you were a stranger to the city’s rooftops and sketchy alleyways before you started doing this. With little effort, you crossed blocks in a matter of moments, skipping over crowds and traffic like it was child’s play before you landed with a deft roll above the side street tonight’s victim would take in a matter of five minutes.

Like you said. Child’s play

You crouched low, removing the serrated knife from your belt, and flicking it in your palm over and over. It was a habit you’d developed when waiting in anticipation for something. It kept your hands occupied whilst your mind focused on the events to come, picturing exactly how you wanted things to play out. It was difficult. Capturing and torturing these assholes was like shooting fish in a barrel.

“Fourth clear, no signs of our guy.”

You ducked low on the rooftop, an unpredicted obstacle walking into view wearing some shitty leather getup, fingers delicately perched at the side of his horizontal glasses. Though they weren’t exactly glasses. How would you describe it? Eye-guard? Some weird single glass as opposed to glasses? Whatever the fuck they were, you didn’t exactly want to find out what they did. He was holding them as if they were some kind of weapon.

Shit, this really wasn’t good. If he didn’t move on now, you’d have to take him out and risk alerting your victim to your presence. Fuck, fuck and fuck again. And just as luck would have it, Alec appeared at the other end of the alleyway, nervously looking about before entering hurriedly. People didn’t watch enough movies. Did they really not know that entering dark alleyways with a killer on the loose was practically the same as signing your own death certificate? In any case, this actually worked in your favour. With Mr Visor patrolling the other end, you sliced open your hand, your blood humming as you pulled it from your veins to wrap around the metal drainage pipe before you swung off the rooftop, the crimson rope twisting and writhing as if it were alive as you descended, landing quietly a few paces behind him.

Now, if he wasn’t on such high alert, he would have most likely chalked the slight thud of your landing to the sound of a street cat, or perhaps a fox. But the way Alec jumped with a yelp, staggering as he turned to face you, didn’t exactly scream discreet. You held your hand up in front of you, contorting your fingers as your mutation felt for his pulse, slowing down the blood flow in his veins as quickly as you could. Not fast enough, a strangled yell flew from his now pale lips, and you swore viciously as your latest obstacle jogged back into view between the alleyway’s walls.

“Shit, HE’S HERE!” He called to nobody you could see, and you barely had time to duck before a searing red beam of pure energy shot above your head, illuminating the dingy street in the crimson glow. You thought it slightly ironic, as your knife slashed through the palm of your hand, the colour of his mutation and who he was up against. Curving your arm in a wide arc, you manipulated your own blood cells into a wide blade, propelling it forward whilst you took a few steps toward your now collapsed victim. With Glasses now distracted by what you assumed was him discovering your own mutation, you felt around his veins for his heartbeat, tracing the blood flow back until you found the source, and you poured all your energy into slowing that one too.

“He can manip… manipulate bl… blood.” Once again he spoke aloud to nobody you could sense, his knees giving out before he crashed to the floor. You huffed out a breath, fishing a small bandage from the pouch on your belt before wrapping up your hand and pulling the tie tight with your teeth. The one thing you found frustrating about your mutation was your inability to heal. How fucking helpful that would be, if every time you had to slash yourself open, you could just reseal the wound? Instead of running the risk of bleeding out. But you guessed everything had its drawbacks. Even blood manipulation.

You bent to pick up Alec’s ankles, dragging him a few feet back the way he came, before you stopped, and looked back to the unconscious mutant at the alley’s mouth. You should kill him. Things would be easier if you did. And so, dropping your victim’s feet without much care, you strode over, finding a small gap in the wrappings around your palm, you extended a small spear from your flesh with the intention of jabbing it through his head and silencing what he saw here forever.

But there were little voices calling out from a small earpiece nestled in his ear canal. You tilted your head, plucking the bud from the side of his head and holding it up to your own ear.

“Scott? Scott can you hear us?!”

“We’re tracking your location, hang tight!”

“I’m en route, stay alive asshole.”

A kaleidoscope of voices blended together, though the last one had you dropping the earpiece and crushing it with the heel of your boot. Someone was coming. A big someone. Someone whose voice you really hoped didn’t match his body.

You should kill him. You really should kill this Scott guy, but something about the concern and fierce loyalty of those in the earpiece stopped you. This man was loved. He was cared for. Most of your victims didn’t have anyone. No family, very little friends, and all with some kind of penchant for criminal activity. Alec, for example, was finding himself becoming a little too familiar with the gates of a primary school. The more you watched him, the more you found yourself utterly repulsed by the way he would try and get the attention of those kids. Those children.

But Scott had people who would care if he died. And so you let him be, pulling and pushing him upright against the wall before jogging back over to your actual victim and resuming your strained attempts to drag him off to your chosen location for the night.

An ancient, local church, ironically enough.

Logan raced through the streets, across busy roads and through closed parks, leaping over fences and gates effortlessly. He knew Scott’s location, Jean begging him over coms to do what he could. He was still alive, The Professor could sense it, but how the mission had immediately gone south, he had no idea. But at least Scott was still alive. At least, he was for now.

“SCOTT!” He called, slowing his steps as he closed in on his location, his claws sliding from his knuckles. The metallic scent of blood flooded his senses, but it wasn’t Scott’s. He knew what Scott’s blood smelled like, having punched him in the nose a few times for the scent to be memorable. No, this blood was new, unfamiliar, and reeked of mutation. Which he supposed made sense.

Blood manipulator. That was the last thing Scott had said before he fell silent and before his channel died completely. And stalking up to the mouth of the alleyway, he could see why. Scott’s earpiece lay crushed on the concrete, little pieces scattered across the floor. Peering into the alleyway, Logan’s heart raced as his eyes cut through the darkness to find Scott himself lying slumped against the wall, his head hanging low. Logan bent to one knee, placing two fingers against the side of his neck to feel his slow yet strong pulse. The same pulse that would be associated with someone unconscious. But there was no head wound. Nothing to indicate he’d been completely knocked out.

“Is he–”

Logan looked back to see Ororo landing behind him, her hair slightly wild from the wind. She must have flown her way over, avoiding the nightlife altogether.

“He’s alive. Unconscious, but alive. You heard what he said, right? Blood manipulator. I think our guy must have slowed his heartbeat or somethin’. There’s no wound anywhere…” Logan gently moved Scott’s head in search of any kind of blunt force trauma but found none. Not that he was expecting to find anything, since the only blood he could smell was unfamiliar. And it lead right down the alley and out the other side. “Gonna need ya t’stay here, Storm. Make sure Scott’s alright.” He kept his eyes focused on the darkness ahead, and the small sliver of light beyond.

“And where’re you going?” Ororo asked, crouching beside him as if to physically demonstrate she’d stay with Scott. Logan sniffed the air again, almost able to see the blood trail the scent was so damn strong.

“Followin’ our man. We don’t know if he bagged his victim, but if he was here with Scott, then he was after Alec, and I don’t see him anywhere, do you?” He asked, raising a brow to the woman by his side, who shook her head.

“No. And I didn’t see him from above either. Alright, you go. But be careful, Logan. He’s unpredictable and now we have an idea as to how dangerous. If he can knock Scott out cold like this, he shouldn’t be taken lightly,” Ororo implored, watching as he rose from his crouch. Logan huffed an irritated sigh, having to restrain himself before he rolled his eyes.

“I’ll be fine. Look after Cyclops.” Was all he said, before taking off down the alleyway at a light jog, following his nose and turning left at the end.

“Logan, this isn’t a good idea. You can’t charge into the unknown with no information other than blood-manipulator.” Jean’s voice echoed in his ear, and he once again felt his lips pull up into a small smirk.

“Why, you worried about me?” He provoked, chuckling when he heard her deep sigh, pinching the earpiece between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll send up a flare if I need ya.”

“Logan don’t–”

Whatever Jean was about to say was lost when he tossed the coms unit onto the ground, leaving it and all methods of communication behind as he continued on toward his target. He couldn’t believe his eyes when his nose led him to a looming church, stained windows dark from the inside, spires towering high into the night. This couldn’t be right. Either his nose had failed him, which was unheard of, or the killer had a wicked sense of humour. It must have been the latter, the stench of blood increasing tenfold as he crossed the neatly mowed lawn outside, taking the stone steps two at a time and up to the wooden double doors.

His ears twitched as he caught distant screams from inside, deep enough that anyone passing by would be completely oblivious to any goings on within. Once again, he released the hold he had on his claws, razors slicing through his muscles and flesh as they slid from his knuckles. He took a breath, bracing a hand on the centre of one of the doors before he pushed slightly, the hinges’ echoing screech causing him to freeze, letting the sound settle before he moved. The screams continued, and as sick and twisted as it was, he used that to gauge whether or not he’d been heard. So far, remarkably, so good.

Stealth wasn’t his strong suit. Never was, but he cursed every heavy footstep that bounced off the wooden beams and stone walls, even the stained glass seemed to be mocking him, some ridiculous depiction of a halo-wearing baby with the proportions completely incorrect, being carried by an equally disproportionate-looking woman who seemed to be bathed in holy light. Once upon a time, he may have found comfort in the frieze. Now he simply thought it ridiculous. How could there be a god when mutants like him walk the earth? When mutants like this killer were allowed to wander around completely free?

He shook his head of the thoughts. Now was not the time to contemplate divinity. If he wanted to discuss religion, he’d have a conversation with Kurt. He followed his senses, down the aisle between the pews and up to the lectern, his head snapping to the right and through the door to the sacristy. Once again measuring his steps, Logan crossed the altar and into the shadows behind the pillars, that same coppery scent of blood lingering on the slightly crimson-stained doorknob, the faint smokey smell of mutation told him this was the killer’s blood. Had the victim fought back somehow? He assumed he’d done the same thing to them as he had to Scott, knocked them out before dragging them away.

Shoving the door open, Logan took a moment to look around. Nothing much, other than a large closet, a chest of drawers and a small bathroom sink with a mirror. A rug covered a large portion of the floor, the patterns almost psychedelic in nature, but this was where the scent was strongest so far. Here, in this room. Then where the hell was all the screaming coming from? He could still hear it, in the distance, beyond several walls of stone, or deep beneath–

Logan paused, his eyes flickering from the bare walls to the rug on the floor, one corner ever so slightly raised from the ground. With determined curiosity, he tugged on the fabric, pulling it back from the ground before tossing it completely into a corner. There, now revealed, a wooden trap door. He couldn’t help but think it was a little cliché, to have a trap door leading down to some kind of torture chamber, but if the chosen location told him anything, it was that the killer had a flair for the dramatic.

To hell with stealth at this point. Logan crouched, gripping the large brass handle and throwing up the door so it clattered loudly against the floor. He was glad he had excellent vision, as the darkness beyond would be enough to turn away even the bravest of souls. And yet, here he was, taking step after step down into the pitch black, his eyes reflecting what little light there was. Perhaps the setting was more fitting than he originally thought because it truly felt like he was descending into the pits of hell with each careful step. The scent of blood now fused with the acrid scent of urine, and the musk of sweat. It was enough to have him almost gag, but he kept on going, led by the sounds of broken screams.

Until those broken screams were cut viciously short.

Logan stopped in his tracks, bracing a hand against the damp wall, a crippling sense of failure weighing heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t been fast enough, and now Alec was likely dead. He couldn’t think of another reason why the killer would just cut off his screams like that. But what unnerved Logan further, was that now one voice had been silenced, another was rising up the dark, dank tunnel. There were two. The motherfucker had managed to grab two victims in one night. What the fuck was he using them for? Why torture them? What was he looking for?

A pinprick of flickering light teased him from the distance, the literal light at the end of the tunnel winking in the distance. How far down had he gone for the exit to only now be visible? Had this guy really dragged two bodies down these stairs already today? A picture was forming in Logan’s mind. He had to have some kind of muscle on him to be able to carry weights such as these. But he couldn’t let himself get comfortable in his predictions. That would only lead to chaos. So he kept his mind open, the only thing he was fairly sure about was the fact this killer was a man.

Not that a woman couldn’t be capable of this kind of thing, but he’d seen the size of some of the victims. Either she was some kind of bodybuilder or a man. One seemed more likely than the other.

He felt like he’d been in this stupid fucking tunnel for years by the time his eyes needed to adjust to the flickering torchlight, the steps levelling out to a long, claustrophobic stone hallway, the low arch of the ceiling barely high enough for him to stand up completely straight, the tips of his brushed up hair lightly brushing the damp brickwork. He continued creeping forward, a cone of more flickering torchlight illuminating a doorway ahead of him and to the right.

The secondary voice gurgled another agonised scream, and Logan felt a decent amount of urgency fuel his steps, half jogging the remaining feet up to the archway, peering around the stone.

His stomach clenched, eyes widening. Well, that would show him not to make assumptions. The killer wasn’t a man.

You were a woman.

The two victims were strapped to chairs, back to back, a knife in the mouth of one, the other’s head– Alec’s head, hung limp. In the lap of the other, you held a map, blood dripping from both your palms.

“Point.” You spat, delivering a harsh slap to the side of his face. “And so help you, your answers better match up.”

With shaky movements, your captive craned his neck down, pointing the quivering tip of the knife against a random point on the map you’d lay in his lap, tears flowing down his face as he whimpered in utter terror. Logan watched as you raised your hand over Alec’s head, contorting your fingers as he groggily returned to consciousness. He couldn’t see his face before, and Logan would spend a long time wishing he could return to that ignorance. Two dark, bloodied holes replaced the sockets where his eyes should be, tears of sanguine had rolled down his cheeks, staining his flesh until it bled into the exposed muscle of his cheek.

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” You took a step back, snatching the map from your second victim and drawing a circle with the bloodied tip of your finger. After so many deaths, the cacophony of screams that kept you awake at night, finally you had a lead. “And what is it exactly th–”

You stopped, your nerves alight with alert.

Logan whipped back behind the archway, pressing his spine against the wall and keeping his breathing steady. He didn’t hold out hope you hadn’t seen him, and he was incredibly thankful for that, clenching his fists when your voice echoed in the expanses of the chamber.

“I can feel it. The mutation in your blood. Scott’s friend, I assume?”

With a long sigh, Logan stepped out from behind the archway and into the light.

“Friend is a strong term. Associate.” He responded, his eyes flickering to each of your palms as crystals of crimson extended from the two wounds in your flesh, taking the form of jagged blades. Your head tilted to the side, hood shifting slightly for the light to catch your eyes.

“Scott’s associate…” you mused lowly, striking out with surgical precision to the two captives, keeping your wince locked away as your two blades crunched through their skulls with a sickening squelch.

Logan clenched his jaw, keeping his chin held high. “No explosions this time? Entrails seem far too organised for you.”

“A fan of my work? Sorry, I don’t tend to do meet-and-greets. Although I’d be willing to sign your corpse for you.” You held your blood blades tight in your palms as you bent your knees. You wouldn’t be getting out of here without a fight. And whilst you could feel the mutation in his blood, you had no idea what it was exactly that he could do. The claws were an obvious giveaway, but was that it? You’d come to learn to put all assumptions to the side and be prepared for anything.

Years on the streets had taught you that.

“Why?” Logan asked, taking a steadying breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why?” He repeated with just as much conviction. “Why do this? What’re you looking for? Why’re you doing this?” He watched you falter slightly as if genuinely taken aback that he was interested enough to ask. “You coulda killed Scott, but you didn’t. Y’not afraid of causing pain, but you left him unharmed. Why?”

Too many thoughts were running through your head. Truthfully, you didn’t want to admit that you couldn’t. He had nothing to do with this, and whilst yes he got in your way, he was innocent. None of these people were. None of your victims were. Least of all, you.

“Why ask? Did you want me to? Yikes, that’s some rivalry you got there.” You deflected, twirling one of your blades in your hand. “Tell ya what, I’ll finish the job for you, free of charge.” You grinned behind your mask, taking a step toward him, dragging the tips of your crystalised blood blades along the ground, leaving little crimson trails as you walked.

“Got a lotta lip, ya know that?” He growled, watching you like a hawk as you slowly stalked forward, step by careful step.

“If only you knew the trouble my mouth gets me into…” You paused for a moment, crouching low. Anticipation crackled in the air, sparks of adrenaline igniting the room before you launched forward, keeping low to the ground.

Logan tracked your movements, bending his knees and bracing his claws in front of his body before your blades cracked against his, literal sparks flying from the contact point as you stay low, your other hand braced against the floor, leaving bloodstains on the stone. Your leg swept toward his, and he wrenched his claws from where they’d tangled with your blades, taking a quick step back to avoid your jab.

Using your momentum, you pushed off from the ground, spinning upright just in time to parry a slice from his claws, your blood thrumming with the impact. He was strong. Really fucking strong. Annoyingly strong, in fact. You hated having to manipulate the vessels and cells within your body, but the moment his fists arced down toward you, you had no choice but to increase the blood flow to your biceps, wincing slightly as they shuddered and flexed in response, but it was just enough to catch him off guard, your two blades crossed between his six claws.

You didn’t let the moment linger, delivering a harsh kick to the centre of his stomach and using the almost rock-like surface to send yourself a few steps back, sweat already trailing down the inside of your mask.

Logan bent double, grunting in discomfort before lowering into a similar crouch to your own, watching closely as your blades dragged along the ground once again, leaving little slices of crimson. You raised your head in challenge, the flickering torchlight catching two sparks of sanguine red eyes, pulsing slightly as your mutation shimmered from your hands, veins bulging up your wrists. Something tugged at his chest, and he stilled for a moment. It looked almost… painful. The way he could see every pulse of your heart thumping within those bloodborne blades.

His head tilted to the side, and you felt discomfort crawl over your skin. Was he… studying you? In the middle of a fucking fight? And not the ‘I’m studying you to see your next attack’ kind of way. You grit your teeth, irritation flaring in your gut as you launch forward, anger and frustration now fuelling your movements. How dare he. How dare he try to read you like this. He didn’t even fucking know you. But the way his features slackened slightly, the ever so small tilt of his head. You wanted to tear him to ribbons.

Logan shook himself from his thoughts as you surged forward, once again bracing himself for the flurry of swipes he could sense was coming his way. Only–

You ducked to the side.

Your blades retracting back into your palms as you slid past him, grazing the centre of your hand against the floor in a wide arc. What the hell were you doing? What the fuck was with all the acrobatics. You’d done nothing but flip and spin around him, barely going in for any hits. He whirled around, claws still held before him in closed fists, but you looked… done.

Like you’d already won.

“Well, this has been a pleasure. But I’m afraid I’m a very busy woman,” you paused, placing a hand on your hip as if you were having a casual conversation in a shopping centre. “And you’re wasting my time.”

Logan barely had time to think before the bloodstains on the ground shifted, and in every place you’d dragged your palm across the stone, a sharp spear shot from the marks towards him, impaling through his suit and into his chest, his legs, back, and shoulders with a sick, wet crunch.

Through agonising pain, he finally understood what you were doing. Setting up a fucking trap. Any attempt to move resulted in tearing fire through his body, a rough cry of pain flying from behind his gritted teeth, before it became too much as he sank to his knees. Your sigh almost sounded disappointed, and he watched through hazy vision as you brought out a bandage from your belt and started to wrap up one of your palms with a slight hissed wince.

You’d expected him to be dead by now, and yet somehow he was still clinging to life like a tenacious limpet. An irritated huff warmed the interior of your mask as you flicked your unbound hand, another jagged spear of ruby sailing from your palm and through the centre of his stomach, wrenching another agonised cry from his throat.

“Fucking hell… still here? Most would be dead by now.” You folded your arms across your chest, wandering over to where he was still bent double on his knees, heaving rasped breaths.

“Most of ‘em can die.” He snarled back, his strength slowly returning as his regeneration worked overtime to remove the whipping spears from his body. You watched as they shifted in response to the resistance, fascination curling like smoke in your head. What the hell was this guy?

“And you can’t, I presume?”

“Nope. Not yet, at least.”

“Huh,” you shrugged, your eyes flaring as you wormed those tendrils back through his flesh, something twinging in your chest as you did so. “That’s… unfortunate,” you crouched in front of him, running your fingers along one of the tendrils of blood holding him still, your eyes falling to the little X symbol on his leather collar, recognition striking you like lightning. “Wait… I know you. You’re one of Xavier’s, right? Never thought he’d meddle in simple human murders,” you thought for a moment, regarding him. “Doesn’t it bother you? Being nothing but a weapon to him? Just a gun to point at the enemy whilst he’s the one who claims the victory?” You provoked, finally garnering a response as he all but growled at you, bloodied teeth bared. You had half a mind to use his own blood to sew his mouth shut, but you were curious about him. A mutant who couldn’t die, running around playing soldier for someone who would never walk the battlefield himself.

Sure he should be the one pulling the strings.

Logan knew you were trying to get under his skin. Metaphorically, of course. Physically, you’d already achieved that, the sharp bolts of agony with every slight movement told him that much. But he needed to get under yours.

“I know what these people did,” he breathed, chest searing with each fiery inhale. “The ones you choose. I know why you kill them, but why torture them?” He continued through gritted teeth, tugging against the lashing spears through his body.

“You think that’s what this is? Me cleaning up after this world’s scum? I should add myself to that lengthy list.” You growled back, gesturing wildly to the walls around you. “These people know something. The fact they’re all child predators is simply luck. But don’t you think it’s strange? An orphanage burns down and none of the bodies are found?”

Logan stopped his struggle. “What…? How d’you–”

“Nothing. Not even skeletons. Doesn’t that make you wonder where the hell those kids went? The disappearances throughout the city, all kids. All mutant kids.” You could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what you were saying, and what it meant.

“Y– you’re looking for information…” He muttered with understanding, and you nodded.

“The men at that warehouse… they’re always hanging around schools and –before it burnt down– the orphanage,” your eyes flickered to stairs beyond the archway, and the distant shouts echoing down the hall. “It’s a slave trade. A mutant slave trade.”

“How d’you know?”

“I… I can’t tell you that.” Something twisted in your gut as his expression shifted to something softer, despite the obvious pain he was in. You didn’t want to hurt him. It was a sudden realisation that you’d acted too hastily. Assumed he was here to eliminate you after the series of events you’d caused. But you should have known the moment he started asking questions. Sure, he was probably here to put a stop to what appeared on the surface to be a sequence of grizzly murders, but he’d asked. He wanted to know why. Not many others had done that. And there was something else flickering in his strikingly haze eyes.

He didn’t want to kill you. Not now he knew.

Your head whipped back to the archway, where those distant shouts had increased in volume and, terrifyingly enough, proximity. You could clearly catch the repeated calls of a name. His name.

Logan.

“Look, if you want to help, there’s a gala happening at Thornbury Hall, west of the city. Saturday the 18th. Meet me there or don’t, it’s your choice. But you come alone. I’ll know if you don’t.” You hissed hurriedly, flicking your fingers to withdraw the countless spears from his body, and he screwed his eyes shut as his wounds immediately began to knit back together, muscle and tissue reforming with an unbearable itch, the crystalised blood liquifying once again, staining the stone red.

“Logan?!”

Your breath quickened as you looked back to the archway, and Logan could just see the fear reflecting in your barely visible eyes as you took a few steps back. He wanted to stop you. Wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to take this on alone. They could help. He could help. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wasn’t going to take the olive branch you’d just extended.

“How’ll I know it’s you?” He asked as he stood to his feet, eyes narrowing in suspicion despite himself. He hadn’t seen your face. Just two scarlet eyes behind a rather unnerving, featureless mask. Your head flipped between looking at him and looking past him to the archway skittishly, hurried footsteps growing louder as his other associates honed in on your location.

“When you get there, look for a man with a runic tattoo on his neck and ask for Alecto.” You explained, continuing backing up into what looked like just a regular wall. But the greatest thing about ancient buildings such as this was the secret little entrances and exits installed for servants, refugees. Criminals.

“Alecto?” You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at the slight smirk on his face, the amusement lacing his tone despite your efforts to try and kill him not moments ago.

“Look it up.” Was all you said, before slipping through one of the cracks in the wall the moment he turned around as two other mutants rushed through the archway. You barely caught sight of Scott and the other before you were gone.

“Logan! What the hell? You can’t just go dead like that, what happened to your coms?” Storm ranted before falling silent, panic entered her eyes as she registered the state he was in. “What… what happened to you?”

Logan looked back to where he’d last seen you, finding an odd kernel of relief to see you’d completely vanished into seemingly thin air. “I found our gal. Put up a good fight. Slipped out when she heard ya comin’ and I was immobilised.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just let the very same killer they’d come here to hunt slip away.

“She– wait, she?” Scott asked, clearly having recovered from whatever Alecto had done to him.

“Yeah, she,” he nodded, before sighing heavily. “Look, no point in standin’ round here ‘n chattin’ about it. Charles is gonna wanna know what I know.”

“And what is it exactly that you know?” Scott asked, suspicion lacing his tone, his arms folding across his chest almost in accusation. Logan rolled his eyes.

“A helluva lot more than you, Slim. Let’s go.”

#wolverine x reader #logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #x men logan #logan howlett smut #logan smut #logan howlett #logan x reader smut #logan x you #logan howlet smut #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x you #x men wolverine #the wolverine #wolverine smut #the wolverine x reader

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gothamite-rambler · 20 hours ago

Text

A Day in the park (Tim Drake comfort fic)

Tim Drake rested on his stomach on the floor of his bedroom, resting his head on his bent arm. Old jazz music played loudly from a record player connected to a large speaker, filling the dim room with melancholy melodies. The curtains were drawn tight blocking the midafternoon sun and casting shadows over the scattered remnants of what had once been a vibrant space.

A year had passed since his father’s death and two years since his mother had died. Losing both parents as a teenager felt surreal; they were simply gone from his life. Tim thought he would cope with grief and loss with ease like his hero, Dick Grayson had when faced a similar loss at least that's what he thought.

All he felt was the crushing weight of the world, with knowledge setting in his parents weren't coming back. On significant days commemorating his parents, Tim’s energy was replaced with spiraling sorrow. He often locked himself away in his room, isolating himself from everything and everyone. The absence of Jack and Janet loomed heavily over him, an unshakable presence that colored every moment.

Tim (voice heavy with despair): I hate life.

His eyes glazed over, staring blankly into the distance.

Tim (fighting his emotions): I’m not going to cry. I won’t cry… I just have to celebrate his birthday… that’s the least I can do si- since I couldn’t save him. God, what's the point of doing anything anymore?

He groaned, his gaze lost in the void, as if seeking answers in the emptiness, but was only met with silence.

Hallway Outside Tim's Room

Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson stood outside the closed door to Tim's room, both concerned since Tim had been shutting down on days that were linked to his parents and it seemed he was getting worse.

Bruce: How long has he been in there?

Dick checked his watch.

Dick: He started at 5 in the morning, so that’s about 16 hours.

Bruce crossed his arms, a look of concern on his face.

Bruce: It’s not Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. His mother’s birthday and death anniversary aren’t until—

Dick (raising a hand): Bruce, it has officially been a year since his father, you know, died and he found him there.

Bruce (rubbing his chin, pondering): Hm, thought he'd be passed this already.

Dick (giving Bruce a pointed look): Mm-hm, and how well did you handle your parents’ death?

Bruce (defensively): Okay, I was eight when they were shot and killed in an alley.

Dick blinked slowly, irritation washing over him as he covered his eyes with his hand, listening to yet another excuse from his father. Despite being adopted, they had both endured the same experience.

Dick (irritated tone): Bruce, I went through the same thing. I watched mine hit the ground after being shot!

Bruce (deadpan): It's not a competition, and if it were, I'd win.

Dick (forcing a sugary tone): Why don’t you just go off and be all emo somewhere else? I’ve got this covered.

Bruce (firmly): All I’m saying is maybe this is tied to something about his parents, and he needs to patrol to clear his mind.

Dick (annoyed): Bruce, last week he walked into a burning building—not to save anyone. He just went in and sat down. I had to drag him out, and his body was limp.

Bruce (shrugging): It happens.

Dick (rubbing his forehead in frustration): Yeah, well, it wasn’t fun carrying you out of a building when I was ten. Just leave.

Bruce (sticking to his idea): I was just suggesting options. He’ll be fine; he’s done this before.

Dick (voice rising): That’s not a healthy coping mechanism! He walked in on his father’s dead body!

Tim cranked up the volume on the loudspeaker, wanting to drown out the ramblings of his family and block everything but the music from his mind. Bruce glanced at Dick, then shook his head in silence.

Bruce (flatly): Fine. You handle him, Dr. Phil.

Dick: (crossing his arms): Okay, that was uncalled for.

Dick sighed, setting aside his frustration with Bruce’s disregard for Tim’s obvious depression, and knocked on the door.

Dick: Tim, do you want to hang out with me today?

Tim pressed his face against the floor, making it impossible for Dick to hear him.

Tim (voice muffled): There’s no point in doing anything today. Let me wallow in the depths of my despair.

Dick (sincere helpful tone): We can get lunch, see a movie, whatever you want.

Tim groaned as he pushed himself off the floor and trudged over to the door. Under normal circumstances, he would have leaped at the opportunity, but today was different. When he opened the door, Dick took a step back, taken aback by Tim's disheveled appearance.

Dick (holding his nose): Have you showered at all?

Tim (hollow tone): No. I’m staying in until my dad’s birthday is over. Just leave me be.

With that, Tim shut the door again, returned to his original spot on the floor, and flopped back down, squeezing his eyes shut and resting a hand on the back of his head.

Dick (sudden realization): Dad's birthday! That’s today.

He lingered for a beat, recognizing the inappropriateness of his reaction.

Dick (cont’d): With that in mind, Bruce and I will give you the space you need.

Tim (sarcastically): Fantastic.

Tim hit replay on his dad’s favorite jazz song for the fifteenth time, closing his eyes as memories of happier moments washed over him.

---Wayne Manor Kitchen- Three Hours Later---

Tim finally emerged from his room, propelled by thirst and a craving for juice. He walked past Jason in silence, retrieved a bottle of pomegranate juice from the fridge, and sank heavily into a chair at the kitchen table. Jason glanced up from his phone, noting how worn out Tim appeared.

Jason: Hi, Tim.

Tim grunted, uncapping the bottle and chugging from it. Jason eyed him, puzzled by his behavior.

Jason: You okay?

Tim (drained): I feel nothing.

Jason (nodding): Mm-hm, you look like a crazy homeless guy outside my apartment.

Tim (deadpan): That’s pretty spot on.

Jason: Have you taken a shower? Because you—

Tim (insulting himself): Smell like I bathed in skunk juice and then doused myself in air freshener? I'm aware.

Jason nodded, picking up the empty juice container, astonished that Tim had downed it entirely, and taken aback by the stark change in his demeanor from bright, lively, and snarky to this despondent state. Tim’s gaze remained fixated on the ceiling.

Tim: The bright bulbs in the ceiling hurt my eyes.

Jason: That happens when you’ve been hiding in your room for too long.

Tim: I deserve this isolation... I wish I’d died twice to save them. Now all I have left are dead parents, depression, ADHD, and anxiety. What’s the point of being productive?

Jason (feeling awkward but trying to be civil): You’re not wrong.

Tim (hopeless): There’s no point... in anything. I couldn’t save them... I’m not a hero.

Jason grabbed Tim by his shirt, pulling him up firmly.

Jason: I can’t deal with this. We’re going outside!

Tim (somber): I want to lie here in my sorrow. At least feeling mentally dead brings me a little closer to my parents.

Jason shoved Tim into the back seat of his car, where Tim slumped against the seats, whimpering softly.

Jason: We can deal with that where I'm taking you.

He started the engine and drove off leaving the Wayne Manor.

Jason (cont’d): By the way, Tim, you’re channeling more emo than Bruce on a good day. We need to change that. Fresh air and—burning those clothes.

Tim (muffled due to his face buried in the seats): Uggggghhhhhhhh.

Jason (turning up the radio): Glad you agree.

---Gotham Park - Twenty Minutes Later---

Jason strolled down a path, Tim trailing behind him like a shadow through the park. Tim longed for the solitude of his room, where he could wallow in despair, but Jason had ventured out of his own gloomy comfort zone to reach out. They had a rocky history, but that was in the past.

When they reached the top of a hill, Jason stopped at the spot, turning to face Tim.

Jason: This seems like a nice spot. You can—

Tim flopped onto the ground.

Jason: I meant you could sit down, but that works too.

He took a seat next to Tim and awkwardly patted him on the back of the head, not very skilled at offering comfort.

Jason (cont’d): Hey kid, um, how… how are you feeling?

Tim (face in the dirt): Dead inside.

Jason (trying to ease the tension): That… makes sense. I’ve been there. I was dead once, and I understand what it’s like to feel mentally dead. Not brain dead! You- You get what I mean.

Tim (annoyed as his face lay in the dirt): Mm-hm.

Tim rolled onto his back, shielding his eyes from the sun by resting his arm across his face.

Jason plucked little blades of grass while Tim let out a heavy sigh.

Tim (cont’d): You forced me to shower, change clothes, and currently I’m touching grass. Can I just go home and be sad there?

Jason: A few years ago, I would have done that, blamed you for what's happening to you, but sometimes it’s better to distract yourself when you’re feeling down. I never really got that chance, but now you have me to help you out. I'm not the best at comforting people, but I for you I'll make an exception.

Silence settled between them, prompting Jason to poke Tim’s arm to check if he was still awake.

Tim (irritated): I’m not asleep. My way of distraction is reminding myself how I failed in life. They’re both gone, and I’ve accepted that life is meaningless.

Jason (shrugging while plucking grass out of the ground): I mean, life isn’t completely meaningless. Most times it's a bitch, but you keep going. The fact I’m saying that has to mean something. Right?

Jason gave the depressed boy a half smile, but Tim wasn't having it.

Tim (bluntly): That you’re good at lying.

Jason: While that may be true, I mean it this time. Life is unfair, but you shouldn’t wallow in pity on your dad’s birthday.

Tim (voice trembling): I… just want to go home. I just want to go home. Why won’t any of leave me alone?

Tim refused to open his eyes in fear of crying.

Jason frowned, feeling a wave of empathy wash over him.

Jason (somber tone): We’ve had our... issues, if you know what I mean. You know the time I beat you up?

Tim (bitterly): When you said you made fun of my mom dying by drinking water?

Jason's eyes widened when he remembered that he did say that specific insult.

Jason: Right... I regret saying that, but that's in the past. Today, I want to be here for you. You don’t have to face this alone, even if it feels like the world is against you.

He hesitated, recalling past grievances.

Jason (cont’d): I made bad jokes about your mom and then your dad, and that’s probably why you don’t want me around right now.

Tim (despondent): You’re not wrong.

Tim didn't respond except for a quick huff from his breathing and he tried to block out any sadness that would make him break. He couldn't cry, not now, not ever and especially not in front of Jason Todd.

Jason (apologetic): And I’m... I'm sorry for what I said and the pain I accidentally put you through.

Tim: Accidentally?

Jason: That's the best you're getting out of me. You won't forgive me... I get that, but I apologizd to show you that I want to help you. You... You lost both your parents and have been holding in how you really feel for a while haven't you?

Jason (placing a hand on Tim's shoulder): Tim, it's not your fault.

Tim: Take me home.

Jason: It is not your fault that either of them died.

Tim (clenching his jaw): Shut up and take me home!

Jason: And they would want you to keep going. And people like me, Dick, Bruce, even Alfred will help you build up the strength to get out of bed without feeling hopeless.

Tim (sniffling): Why? I don’t deserve it.

Jason: You don’t deserve kindness while you grieve? I may not be your biggest fan, but you're not that bad. You’re young, smart, a decent fighter, and… a good person. You shouldn’t shut yourself off from the world because they're gone.

Tim took a deep breath as he felt the walls he put up around him falling away.

Jason: I kind of hate to even admit this, but you've proven yourself to be a decent hero. Which means you’re too damn persistent to give up on life. And we're not leaving until you just let it all out. We're on the top of a hill so we have semi-privacy.

Tim uncovered his eyes, but they remained closed. Jason waited for a response, allowing silence to linger as he gazed over the hillside.

Tim (finally speaking): I hate myself for not being able to save them. My mother... I never got to say goodbye and dad's last words to me was that he loved me. They're both gone and I feel like there could've been something for me to do to save them.

His lip quivered as he opened his eyes, then shifted down as he thought about the last words from his dad.

Tim: I thought I'd have all the time to talk to them, hug them and... they tell they love me. Now I’m alone and it's all my fault.

He covered his eyes again, letting a cascade of tears fall.

Tim (cont’d): I thought things would change when he woke up from the coma, but I got busy with... this life I thought I wanted! Then the last image I have of him is his... bloody corpse. I just remember shaking him awake like that would do anything.

Jason nodded, a sympathetic expression as he placed a hand on Tim's shoulder to comfort him.

Tim: They're both dead. They're both... dead. I'm the reason they're gone.

He wept softly, releasing the guilt he had buried beneath indifference. His heavy breaths echoed in the quiet space. Jason remained by his side, awkwardly patting Tim's shoulder for comfort.

Jason: Don’t blame yourself for things beyond your control. I swear, everyone in this family has blamed themselves for their parents' deaths.

Tim (between sobs): Not you.

Jason (bluntly): I shielded my mom who betrayed me to the Joker, before a bomb went off and killed us both. Believe me, I’m just as crazy as the rest of you.

He attempted to ease the tension with a joke, but Tim merely whimpered and gritted his teeth. Jason sighed but refused to give up.

Jason (cont’d): Come on, sit up.

Jason helped Tim sit up, positioning himself closer. Tim kept his head down, a frown clouding his face.

Tim (sadness in his voice): Now I’m crying like an idiot.

Jason (reassuringly): I’m not judging you for crying. If you were crying for something mundane I would, but let it out like I said.

Tim (loud): I hate this. I hate this. I just want my parents back!

Taking a deep breath, Tim said something he had never wanted to confess, especially in front of Jason. Jason patted the young man on the back again, it was his best way to comfort the person he tried to kill in the past.

Tim (cont'd): I remember when... when I thought it sucked they weren't around that much, but they were still in my li- life. I'd take barely around parents over ones I'll never see again.

Jason: Hm... What's something both of them likes?

Tim: My mom loved dandelions. She said weeds or not the cotton ball flowers always made her happy to see. I remember one time she picked a bunch of them in a field once when we... Went on vacation together. She looked so happy with those stupid flowers.

Tim chuckled while crying.

Tim: And my dad... He loved jazz music. Couldn't sing it, but he would play it almost every night to the point I got sick of it. I got sick of it and... Now I can't stop listening to it.

Tim bit down lightly on his finger as Jason sat next to him.

Jason (sympathetically): It's tough adjusting to that at a young age. Sorry to bring Bruce and Dick into this, but they've been through it... Fuck, I went through it and when time passes it... gets easier to manage.

Tim whimpered wiping tears from his eyes.

Jason (sincere): You say that you couldn't save them and you're a failure. You’re many things to me, Timmy boy, but someone who wouldn't want to protect others is not who you have ever been.

Jason gently nudged Tim.

Jason (cont’d): I’m not letting you go home feeling like Bruce. By the end of today, you'll feel slightly better. What do you want to do first? We can sit here, grab some food, hit the bookstore or library, or even go to a rage room—whatever you want, the day is yours.

Jason waited for answer, surprising Tim.

Tim (sniffling): What’s a rage room?

Jason: It’s a place where you can smash things. You pay to enter, get a bat or a golf club, and for thirty minutes or an hour, you just let loose on some broken stuff. It’s oddly therapeutic.

Tim: That actually sounds fun or maybe I’m just losing it.

Jason: Probably both. Want to go?

Tim lifted his head, considering the idea.

Tim (wiping his eyes): Why are you doing this? I thought you hated me.

Jason: Um… I did, but I've changed to toleratibg you. I can see you’re hurting, and I don’t want to act like I don’t care. You deserve more than that. Don't get used to me being this nice though.

Tim: If I get better don't expect seeing me cry like this.

Jason (smiling earnesly): Sounds good to me. I thought you were just this annoying ric— upper middle class brat who stole my mantle— which you are—but you’ve grown on me.

Tim: This feels like a trick, like you’re going to toss me in your car and drive off a bridge or something worse. Which I'd deserve…

Jason: I’m not going to kill you; that’s out of my system. But for the rest of the day, drop the self-hate—that’s my specialty.

Tim wiped his nose, a dry laugh escaping him.

Tim: Maybe you are the best person for this. Plus, you dragged me out of the house, and I’m too depressed to drive or walk home....All right, take me to the rage room first.

Jason nodded, helping Tim stand to his feet.

Jason: That’s the spirit, let’s go. Then we can hit the Waffle House.

Tim: Isn't that place dangerous?

Jason: I have a gun. We’ll be fine.

As they walked, Tim hesitated.

Tim: Did Dick tell you to do this? If he did, you’re not obligated to-

Jason (interrupting): Yeah, Dick called me about what you were going through, but he never asked me to step in. I wanted to help… myself; this is too important to hand off to someone else.

Tim managed a weak smile, appreciating the gesture.

Tim: I still have my doubts, but I appreciate this—for now.

Jason: Just don’t expect this from me all the time. I do feel bad for you, but against my better judgment, I'd rather make you feel less dead inside than laugh at you.

Tim (judgement tone): Or send me a Christmas card with you next to my mom’s grave?

Jason laughed.

Jason: That was a fun Christmas card, wasn’t it?

Tim rolled his eyes, but after a moment, he let out a dry chuckle.

Tim: I can’t believe this is happening, but your jadedness is lifting my spirits.

As they continued toward the car, a small weight began to lift from Tim's heart.

Tim (cont’d): If you have a picture at my dad's grave though, I'm beating you with a wiffle bat.

Jason chuckled, feeling lighter himself.

Jason: That’s the Tim I remember! No worries, I’m not that much of an asshole anymore.

Tim: We’ll see.

They climbed into Jason’s car, the atmosphere lightening.

Jason: All right, let’s get to that rage room. No crying there; you can do that afterward.

Tim nodded, giving a thumbs-up while resting his head against the window as they drove away. His guilt and depression wasn't gone, but Jason's support was a good start.

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janamensch · 2 years ago

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I’m looking forward to spring!🌸🌼

#Oc #my ocs #juliett #i love making gifs and forgetting that Procreate hates blended colours in gifs so it ends up looking bad and I have to remove them again!#But that stuff aside this was fun to make #This is not the only thing I’ve drawn this year #i have been drawing other stuff but it’s all been Star Wars au stuff and I haven’t managed to post it #I’ve been stuck in another Star Wars phase because I’ve been playing jedi fallen order for the first time #And it’s really fun and I made a second Star Wars au for my ocs that’s actually set at a specific place in the timeline! Wow!#It includes maximum trauma for my silly little characters how fun #Anyway enough rambling #Looking at the gif again: if you spot anything in it that looks weird. Just imagine that it isn’t meant to look like that #Like the colour of that butterfly. Why is it like that. Oh well

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a-sketchy · 10 months ago

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potatoes of indeterminate size

#goro akechi #ren amamiya #akira kurusu #p5r #shuake #doodles #my comics #AFTER THREE YEARS IM FINALLY REALIZING MY VISION!!!!#I FINALLY MADE THE LITERAL SMALL POTATOES COMIC!!!#i’m five days too early for 2/2 and this is only half of the whole idea #but if i don’t post it now it will languish forever forgotten in my files #so. here it is #lol maybe next year i’ll polish it up into the thing i’ve always imagined #but i’m still supremely happy i’ve gotten it out of my head like this #long post #akechi bewildered in the produce aisle is the best thing i’ve ever drawn i think #persona 5 #p5 #my art

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aroaessidhe · 6 months ago

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2024 reads / storygraph

The Sword of Kaigen

standalone fantasy set in a rural mountain village at the edge of an empire that still holds traditional values, with families of powerful water/ice magic warriors

follows a powerful young heir who begins to question his beliefs about the empire when a new boy comes to his village from the city

and his mother, a housewife who has tried to forget her youth as a warrior and vigilante in the city since she moved back home to a loveless marriage

when there’s a violent attack on their village that they’re unprepared for, everything changes, and she has to embrace her old skills to protect her family and people

#The Sword of Kaigen #aroaessidhe 2024 reads #I’ve been meaning to read this for years and I finally got around to it! a really unique fantasy novel #I had always assumed this was ur average pre-industrial high fantasy and then was immediately hit with video games/tv in the first chapter #lmao. But overall (aside from the broader worldbuilding/politics) it is closer to the average ‘historical’ fantasy narrative -#so I can see why I got that impression #Some really compelling characters and interesting narrative structure that went in some unexpected directions.#It really focuses in on one village and how devastating a single battle in a war can be to their people - and how much work the recovery is #I feel like most sff is more concerned with a single person and/or the whole war so this felt unique. did also mean that the pacing was odd #- it's a slow start; then there’s a battle that must be hundreds of pages. The last section of the book feels a little too drawn out #and brings up random hanging plot elements that don’t really go anywhere. But I think overall this works for the story.#also one thing I didn’t love - cool complex interesting female character MC sure but also there’s weird moments like:#the first scene we see her is all the housewives comparing their attractiveness; she keeps referring to herself as an old woman (when she’s #and oh so meek and useless etc. And some of this feels like it’s part of the broader portrayal of the misogynist society #but some of it felt clunky or unintentional?#And then especially the end - when she and her shitty husband finally confront each other as equals and he apologises #she basically immediately forgives him and is like oh I was equally at fault because I am a meek woman who didn’t try either #like him realising he was wrong (and her realising he had a reason for being the way he was) doesn’t negate the fact that he treated her li #she acts like it was her fault for not trying too - when we have numerous examples of him berating her if she spoke up about anything?#like im glad he’s learning. but also that doesn’t mean she needs to suddenly forgive and love him wtf #that's the only real thing that annoyed me though.#also btw that 5yo seems kinda fucked up. are you guys gonna do anything about that

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royaltea000 · 3 months ago

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It been 5 hours snice you last posted

GET BACK TO WORK!!! 🤬🤬/J

“Yes, my liege…” I mutter sadly while I walk back to the creative mines in a dejected manner. I look back with teary doe eyes, but everyone is too distracted by my enormous gyatt to notice my sorrow. 🥺

#it’s hard having such a fat ass #the burden I carry you would never understand 😔#call them the pussy mines the way that’s the only thing I’ve drawn for half a year #I’m trying my best…#I try to walk back dejectedly but I trip over my enormous wang and bounce the rest of the way down on my giant peach #ow🍑💥ow🍑💥ow🍑💥o-#thanks for the ask lol this made me laugh

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twixfamily · 2 years ago

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i completely understand being relieved that the bus hijacking arc is over, but i disagree with a few posts i’ve seen calling it unnecessarily long. for manga readers it dragged on due to how spread out the time before each chapter was (trust me, i was ready for some change too) but i think that reading it back in one go is far more impactful and cohesive.

in a series called spy x family you expect and emphasis on the FAMILY aspect, so it’s strange to see them not interacting for months on end while the manga updates. however, in keeping with the SPY portion the readers need to be both reminded and informed of the political landscape they’re dealing with.

yuri’s plot seemed a little inconsequential, but it’s supposed to show you that the sss is operating behind the scenes where you might not expect AND that some of its agents disregard their orders to carry out their own version of justice. twilight removing his disguise at the end seems lame when he doesn’t have an emotional reunion with anya, but again we’re seeing that even the readers were unaware of the presence of wise agents AND that sometimes they don’t actually accomplish their intended mission. yor arrived later than the other parents to give anya a moment alone with damian AND to show that she’s strong and fast and dedicated but can’t possibly be there to save anya every time she needs it. billy squire exemplifies the evil that war can push people to AND his genuine desire for a fairer world for the non-wealthy. it’s all about revealing the fight for power that has steadily grown to be more convoluted than westalis vs. ostania.

to focus solely on the family relationships and relegate the political atmosphere to the background does a disservice to the series and to endo’s intended message. yes, family makes unrest and war easier to endure. had twilight’s parents survived he likely would’ve had an easier time emotionally and been less likely to engage in such heightened violence (the same could be said for yor). but that doesn’t eliminate danger, ESPECIALLY the danger that is often hidden from the public eye.

you’re supposed to feel exhausted reading this arc, you’re supposed to want it to be over, you’re supposed to long for an emotionally satisfying ending and feel somewhat let down at the lack of a grand reunion. but that’s their reality. they long for the same thing that you do. they can’t have it. so you have to wait and want and hope for a happy ending to the story right alongside the characters.

#to be a 6 year old held hostage with guns pointed at you and what you think to be bombs around your classmates’ necks #would that not feel like months #would you not feel that same agony of waiting for the next thing to happen #and hoping so desperately it’ll be better than the moment before #idk i’m probably reading into it but i’ve seen a bunch of posts saying ‘this is about FAMILY!!!’#twilight isn’t a spy for fun… yor isn’t an assassin for no reason there is MEANING behind both of their roles #like yeah ok skip the politic heavy arcs if you want but you’re missing such an important part of not only their stories #but the world around them #idk guys you’ve gotta toughen up before endo has twilight do something fucked up and we have to question his morals beyond what we have #this isn’t good guy vs bad guy there’s genuine nuance drawn from real world conflict #spy x family #twilight spy x family #yor forger #anya forger #spy x family manga spoilers #sxf spoilers #loid forger #sxf

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simcardiac-arrested · 1 year ago

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rewatching the achilles animatic again and even though every frame was a new different special kind of torture it was still fun. Sometimes. therapeutic even one could say

#kind of miss working on it is what i mean . just working on a polished/long animatic project #and like you can REALLY tell i was struggling with 90% of the poses and faces and head shapes UEHEUJEGSJS #the only things that look consistently good are like. The hands (?) kind of. a little #i mean the animatic is good and looks great obviously but you KNOW i wasnt lying when i said in the description that #drawing is hard. unfortunately #i think at that time i was actually at the cusp of burnout too ? if im remembering correctly ….. and then i kept working on the animatic #through the sheer power of autism . and then more autism happened forever #But well if im honest most of the reason it looks wonky is probably bc i was just not used to drawing iterators #like before that i’ve drawn them a few tjmes sure but it’s been a good year or two #and i was drawing more normal lookin humanoids instead of bald ass robots #it was fucking up my artstyle sooo bad #it’s interesting to look back now #i havent drawn iterators in forever but i think i’ve gotten a bit better at them even if i still struggle #crammerposting

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quietwingsinthesky · 2 months ago

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sometimes i think about my spn oc and how i rewrote everything about amara to interact with the story i was trying to tell about her. there were some really neat ideas in that i need to recycle for something one day. like, in the show proper, they just let amara take over a human baby and that’s fine, but amara’s not Meant To Be Here. this entire universe is one constructed in her absence. saying she can possess a human body should be like saying if you took a person and sent them to a universe where 1+1=3, they could just figure out how to function within that.

which in story took the form of Amara being something that could not be Understood, only Rationalized. a force locked outside the narrative who could only get inside and destroy things if given a role within it. by the Winchesters as A Monster To Face. by Chuck as Wayward, Unreachable Sister. and by miss oc as. simultaneously a projected creature to be saved, an amalgamation of injustices done to herself (and others) that would never be righted but could be made up for by being a part of this. and as something impossibly powerful that could be both protection and purpose.

and the Darkness wasn’t any of those things, really, but to have agency in her own story required new shackles, but ones she was always straining against. she wouldn’t fit inside the confines of a human mind, let alone a body, at least not well enough to leave it Intact. like lucifer burning through nick, but Worse. because the burns were an expected outcome of skin not strong enough to hold him. humans were built for angels, some were built better and some worse, but they’re meant to work. putting amara in human skin should disconnect the skin and mind and soul from the reality her brother built itself, i think. slowly. bit by bit.

and at the same time, i’d gone and written the kind of wild scenario you really can only write for your thirteen year old mary sue, given that spn oc the part of herald/high priestess/failed vessel. which she pursued with wild abandon like that would fix anything wrong with her <3

in the end, running alongside the borrowed family theming of the original show was my own theme of “how much self-annihilation will you accept to make your point. are you accepting it, really. or are you seeking it.” not just physically, in letting something unmake the base components of what you are as it tries to fit inside you or in it constricting and suffocating itself beyond self-recognition to get inside in the first place, but, obviously, it’s supernatural, how much selfhood do you cede to your family. is it worth it.

it was interesting, if nothing else. let thirteen year old me cook. she had ideas.

#spn oc #don’t mind this i’m rambling about nothing i felt nostalgic about her (<- my oc)#there was also an explanation in the mix for why amara was called amara in this au too despite. you know. not being a baby.#and it was like. a vessel’s desperate attempt to separate itself from the thing inside it by naming it something other than itself.#like a last moment of self-preservation. the opposite of lucifer using nick’s face and us all agreeing to think of it as his. you know?#and amara means beauty.#it’s a very human need. to name things. and the thing is that humanity itself is antithetical to what amara is. in this au.#not because of any inherent quality of it. but because it was not made with her in mind.#i keep bringing up lucifer but he’s such a good comparison case of what thirteen year old me was trying to construct here #and what i can better explain now that im. not thirteen. but its that. lucifer has beef with humans because they have common ground.#the only reason he can hate them is because they’re recognizable to him. terrible little cockroaches. but something he understands.#amara as i conceived of her could not hate or love or understand humanity. or the world. or anything as we know it. because it was not made #to be seen by her. it was made with the express purpose of her never encountering it.#when i was thirteen i wanted her to be so much more alien than she was. unfortunately this is supernatural and supernatural deals in #Just Some Guy forever and ever <3 #but it was my story so i made her fucked up and weird and beyond comprehension.#except. of course. when forced to bend into a shape that makes her Not her.#i don’t think proper envesseling would have been a process either her or the oc survived. not because they’d die but because they’d get.#stuck? i think? that was what the intent was. that they’d get melted together like plastic toys.#chuck had a nice smooth envesseling in this au because these toys are made for him.#and angels need consent and angels get bleedover from their vessels because the toys are shared with them but they’re closer to being toys #themselves too.#i’ve rambled enough honestly no one cares about this but me aksjfkjfks #what was i talking about. right! the naming!#the naming of amara is a nail in her coffin because she is named and it is so human to be named and to be perceived and to be shaped by that #perception. even without malicious intent. even to be looked at as destruction itself and be named beauty.#in the same way you kill what something could be by learning what it is. the way a unicorn dies when you discover how rhinos were drawn.#does that make sense? that’s what kills her. bit by bit.

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cuteniaarts · 7 months ago

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Fanny, my sweet, beautiful girl

17.11.2012 – 14.04.2019

#my art #artists on tumblr #I cannot accept that it has been 5 years already #I know covid messed with everyone’s sense of time but it simultaneously feels so much longer and so much shorter than that #exactly five years ago I was holding onto my mom for dear life and sobbing as we watched lilo and stitch together #not the best movie to watch when you’ve just lost your first ever pet you know #and then I cried myself to sleep at the next morning we never mentioned her again #I know it’s because it was way too painful for everyone involved. but I do wish I was allowed to process that grief properly #instead of bottling it up and pretending everything was okay until I was reminded of her #feeling like my heart was being shattered over and over again every single time #well anyway. enough of that. I’ve allowed myself a nice long cry today and got most of it out of my system #and once I was feeling okay I decided to draw her #and I can count the number of times I’ve drawn animals on one hand so.. I’m not too sure about the result #but it felt like to commemorate her in some way.#so yeah. here she is. my dear girl. the best dog in existence. she was always so affectionate and kind #which I didn’t always appreciate bc of how young I was. when you’re a kid it feels like pets will live forever #never barked. never bit anyone. her only crime was chewing on my mlp and lps toys that I left out on the floor #but I’m grateful she did that. it taught me not to leave my toys lying around and to clean up after myself #she really was taken from me way too soon. ideally she could still be alive right now. but I’ve been down the road of guilt and regret #there was nothing I could do. I was a child. I can only hope that she knew she was loved right until the very end #even if I didn’t know how to show it properly. and great. now I’m tearing up again #I suppose it’s unavoidable. April 12th will always be a melancholy day. and maybe that’s not such a bad thing #it’s good to have a day when I can freely remember her and cry if I need to. it’s healthy. it’s better than crying every day #she never liked it much when I cried. always tried to comfort me. that’s the kind of dog she was. I miss her so much #when I move apartments and get a dog of my own I’m getting a spaniel. just like she was #well. maybe a different colour so I don’t end up sobbing every time I look at it. but spaniels really are the perfect breed #I mean. cavaliers especially were bred for love and warmth. that’s just what I need. it will be nice to have someone waiting for me at home #and while I don’t necessarily believe in the afterlife… I do hope that Fanny’s watching over me #spiritually comforting me when I feel all alone in the world. it’s a nice thought for sure #and hopefully she won’t mind me getting another spaniel too much. it will be done in her honour after all. to make up for my past mistakes

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leviiackrman · 2 years ago

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Of my 29 OCs… I have 1 left to draw…

#personal*#jess talks #I…I don’t have words #for the fact that I actually finished a project ??? (almost)#like I’ve actually done it??#granted I need to render them all still but they’re actually drawn!!!#like WTF #the last oc is rob btw #and I’ve attempted to draw him twice now #and it does not want to go the way I want it to #like I think the Imagine of him is /too/ clear in my head so when I draw him I’m not satisfied?#but after that it’s just the anime versions of my kiddoes!!#like drawing them in their respective style #also yes the 29 ocs is not including some backburner da ocs or my self inserts #it would be 34 with my self inserts #and I do plan on drawing the remaining 3 #but I’m not in the mood #ANYWAY #I fuckin did it… and it only took 3 years lmao #stay tuned on my bday for the height chart post things #thingy*

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ziraconarose · 2 years ago

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Thinking a lot about how she probably would have been the one person to sympathize with his motives if there had just been a conversation.

#Wednesday #wednesday spoilers #Tyler Galpin #Wednesday Adams #the tragic elements got to me. lovel man unaware he’s trying to kill the first person in a century who actually thinks the fact even #outcasts thing his species should just commit suicide at birth is fucked up #I want them to be enemies then frenemies then friends eventually for real #wednesday netflix #the themes of minorities siding with their oppressors for self preservation vs conflict for truth and the messy realities of being pit #against each other. the way community /is/ core to the minority experience but you’re endlessly pit against each other for survival by the #majority and people change and people die to that violence and isolation #this was drawn in reference to the ‘you’re like a cockroach’ ‘this will not end well for you’ exchange #I’ve spent a lot of time now thinking about how Tyler wants revenge on Nevermore specifically for claiming ‘community’#as a core value of all Outcasts. and than discarding his mom without any resources dealing with her powers because she was born a #species ‘too risky’ for their spotless image which drove her to have only one option when she started to change and didn’t #want to hurt her family and about how Wednesday Adams is probably the first person in 30 years to call out a leader of her #outcast community for how they throw other minorities to the wolves to maintain their image in the name #self-preservation. and he’ll probably never know in another life she might have been the one person who understood.

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aroaessidhe · 9 months ago

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2024 reads / storygraph

Stuck In Her Head

short contemporary YA coming-of-age set in Hong Kong, following two teen girls who are friends

one is a musical prodigy but has lost her passion and wants to explore different possibilities for her future

the other is passionate about music but dealing with mental health & family issues

the latter develops a crush on the former, who is aroace, and they have to re-navigate their friendship, while working on a music/coding competition project together and dealing with their own issues

#aroaessidhe 2024 reads #stuck in her head #Hm this had a lot of aspects I found interesting but didn’t quite live up to what I wanted it to be #I definitely love reading YA set not in the west - this is set in Hong Kong - and I liked that a lot!#And of course we always need more YA about friendships rather than being romance focused (though this has an unrequited aspect of that)#This is written by 17yos which is cool! though it does show in the prose a bit. There’s a lot of ‘the girl’ ‘the teen’ instead of their nam #Or like informing the reader of info in slightly awkward ways - one visits the other’s house and says “is this the first time I’ve been to #- I feel like there are better ways to tell the reader this. Like that’s not something you wouldn’t be sure about right?#This made it feel like their friendship was quite tentative - school friends who’ve known each other for years but only really #started hanging out properly recently - but the text says they’ve been inseparable for years.#It definitely tackles a lot of things from burnout and perfectionism; losing passion for your talents; parents divorcing; depression #I just think some could have been handled with a bit more depth/nuance; with more space and introspection given to them #especially their main conflict about one having a crush on the aroace and then she pretends to reciprocate bc the other is suicidal and the #the other finds out and gets mad and it's......weirdly drawn out but also barely explored in depth also? idk #definitely anticipated it to be a bit like this because it's written by such young authors it's expected that they're still perfecting thei #I think teens who prefer shorter books & are looking for this sort of thing would still enjoy it for sure. I'll def look out for future boo #bisexual books #aroace books

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chaoticbuggybitchboy · 6 months ago

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Fighting the urge to start yet another collection of things knowing that I already have so many things that’ll hurt so bad to pack up when I move out. I can start a tape collection after moving out.

#complaining #chaoticbuggybitchboy #venting in the tags:#I’ve lived in the same room in the same house on the same street my entire life and I’m very autistic and I am so scared to move out #but I need to because genuinely the other option is a slow drawn out death of my sense of self #that I’ve spent the last five years desperately trying to piece together from scraps of my childhood and the world just beyond my reach #It’s one of those things that’s going to genuinely be like a fucking amputation to prevent the spread of an infection #because fuck it’s going to hurt so much for so long but the only other option is to fucking DIE #so. yeah. uh.

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creatingblackcharacters · 24 days ago

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No, That’s Not ‘How Color Works’. - Whitewashing

Whitewashing, as defined by Merriam-Webster:

"to alter (something) in a way that favors, features, or caters to white people: such as a) to portray (the past) in a way that increases the prominence, relevance, or impact of white people and minimizes or misrepresents that of nonwhite people and B) to alter (an original story) by casting a white performer in a role based on a nonwhite person or fictional character"

In fandom context, we know it to include:

Making someone’s skin lighter

Making someone’s hair a thinner texture

Changing someone’s nose to be thinner

Shrinking their lips

Changing the character in their entirety to be someone else

The Normalization of Whitewashing

Remember how I mentioned last lesson that despite the nature of poorly drawn Black characters, most audiences are not turned off enough to discourage the action in professional works? Similar idea with whitewashing. Not the same- unlike the Ambiguously Brown Character, which claims to have plausible deniability, overt whitewashing is usually enough to make fans speak up! But that’s the key word here- overt! It has to be “bad enough” to make enough people speak up, but as we’ve seen many a time, “bad enough” seems to have a much higher threshold for nonblack viewership (sometimes the limit doesn’t exist!)

Some visual examples

This is a link to my personal thread on a Netflix show I was watching- Worst Ex Ever. Now, while the show itself was quite enlightening, there was something I could not get over. I thought I was going crazy. And that was that no matter how dark the person of color would be in real life, the animated portions would draw this light pinkish-brown. Every. Single. Time. It's like they couldn't fathom scrolling down the color wheel. And this is a Netflix original! Netflix has plenty of money for someone to have caught this in creation. But... it was produced. And put out. And they're making more of it.

I asked all of the Dragon Age fans about the series, and uh… I didn’t know things were this bad, guys! Apparently this is a man of color, but it doesn't seem like the creators want you to know that 🤣. Jokes aside, as I’ve discussed before, the noticeable whitewashing- and that was one of many racist things I was told- was not enough to prevent sales... so why would they stop? I can only hope this new game, with all the updates, is enough to turn the tide. But the series has gone on for a while now, that if they’d chosen to do ye same olde… there clearly would not be a lack of financial support to prevent it.

Colorism as a Tool

Even when actors of color are cast, colorism often plays a role in normalizing whitewashing to audiences, even to Black audiences! People think “oh well at least they’re Black!” as if that is the only important part. It is not.

While Aaron Pierre, the actor cast for John Stewart of Green Lantern fame, is a GORGEOUS, STUNNING man, he is not the dark-skinned man that John Stewart is supposed to be and should not have been cast! To me, this is overt colorism, but clearly for many people this is not “enough” to warrant concern or even prevent the casting itself- including the studio behind the movie! Black fans have plead for years for the character of Storm to be played by a dark-skinned, preferably African, woman, and it has never happened.

It naturally happens in fan spaces as well, which is another indicator that colorism as a tool for whitewashing is quite effective for audiences. If I see one more Zendaya fan cast for Kida from Atlantis, I will scream. It’s been happening for years, and I don’t think any of the people who just want to see her and Tom on screen either understand or care that Kida is a dark-skinned character. Zendaya doesn’t look anything like Kida- it doesn’t matter if she’s Black too! Just because someone is Black does not mean they can play every single Black character! I’ve even seen people fancast Emilia Clarke of Game of Thrones fame, to which… I don’t have the words. I can’t fathom what would cause these decisions other than racism.

The Common Excuses

I must be honest. I don’t really feel like re-iterating how certain things are not okay and how to fix them, because I’ve already discussed these things in massive detail. So I’m just going to direct the excuses I regularly hear to my lessons, where you can read up on them.

“Their hair/eyes are like that because they’re biracial so-”

Relevant Lessons: 2.1, 2.2, 2.3, 8, 9, 10

There is nothing wrong with having biracial characters with a range of features. I am not saying that! Because yeah, genetics do happen!

But I mentioned this in my last lesson, and I will re-emphasize here, that using biracial identity as a way to whitewash is a sinister form of racism. The intention here- the real intention- is the issue here! The idea that somehow this character can only look the way you want them to look by "diluting" their Blackness… I don’t know how you can explain yourselves out of that one.

You don’t get to use us as an excuse for diversity while still trying to maintain your preference for Eurocentric beauty standards. Black biracial people don’t always look light skinned, thin-haired and ambiguous, and even the ones that do don’t deserve to be treated as your fetish for pretend antiracism. If you just want to draw a white person with a tan, do that. But don’t change a character’s entire look just so you can work in some whiteness. If you want to claim that canon Black character’s mother was white, then I guess they inherited some of her personality because their features should not change.

“It’s my style/It’s the color-”

Relevant Lessons: 3, 4, 10

I hate all excuses for whitewashing, but I’ve grown to despise, hate, abhor and loathe this one the most as I’ve become an artist. I wish there were stronger words to describe just how much I hate the “style” and “color” excuse.

Are style and use of color oft intertwined? Absolutely. I’m not saying they aren’t. But out of everything, there are two things I want artists to understand:

1. Style does not cancel out racism! No style forces you to choose ashy greys and to change peoples’ features. That’s you! If you look at something, and it looks offensive, you change the style. You grow as an artist!

2. “Everyone who is brown will look ashy so I just-” if you recognize that your Black characters look strange in comparison to your nonblack characters, then it’s time to try something else! I don’t understand this sudden need for “realism” when it comes to color and lighting, but not when it comes to hair, for example. No one cares about realism when giving every and all Black characters wavy tresses they probably wouldn’t have, but suddenly milquetoast watercolor attempts at brown and off-putting lighting is “how it works”. That’s not fair.

The color picker is an available tool! I use it often!

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if someone gets the outfit color palette right via color picking, but the skin color is multiple shades lighter. That means they were looking at that character and chose not to proceed.

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if the white characters in the show are completely correct in their palettes. Again, that means they cared enough to look at everyone else… and not the Black characters.

If you use the color picker and the color picked is… disrespectful, you do not have to use that! You can simply choose a better color that is still similar to the brown that ought to be depicted!

“It’s the lighting-”

Relevant Lessons: 4, 5

If your white characters do not shine like snow in the sunlight because of your lighting, then your lighting does not make your Black characters suddenly light tan.

If your Black characters look bad in your lighting of choice- for example, putting a very dark-skinned character in electric white lighting can be ghastly- try changing the intensity or the color of the lighting. DON’T change your character’s skin color!

I'm going to show you some pictures of South Sudanese model Nyakim Gatwech. Pay attention to the choices of light, color, and makeup.

Look how BEAUTIFUL she is! Look at the choices of intensity and color of light, and how they make her look different in each image.

Now look at this image in comparison:

In this image, whoever did her makeup and took this picture did not take into consideration her skin tone. She's also under this really intense lighting. This is an example of "increasing the lighting does NOT make an image "better"". She didn't need to have lighter skin or "more lighting" to look good. She needed BETTER lighting, lighting that worked with HER.

To see this as an example in drawn art, @dsm7 makes an excellent argument for proper lighting and color, why it is an issue to use it as an excuse, and how to solve that problem.

‼️DISCLAIMER FOR NEXT EXAMPLE‼️

Okay. I am about to show y’all a fan-created example from my personal experience. It is a TEACHING EXPERIENCE ONLY. I am not including the artist’s name in this image. It happened a couple years ago, and it’s over- they’ve chosen to be who they are despite me kindly confronting them about it. The only reason I’m including it at all is because I feel like it would be remiss to have such a clear-cut, multi-level example, and not teach with it. That said, no, I am not telling anyone to act out towards them. Again, that is not what I’m telling you to do. The last thing I need is a literal lynch mob of angry nonblack viewership for trying to teach you all, and y’all sitting there watching it happen to me. Every example of whitewashing is not going to be so obvious, but I hope you learn how to spot the examples in the art you see and share.

I'm obviously a Hades fan, particularly of Patroclus- despite my disdain for the lack of effort in his canon character design. So I've seen a lot of things. That said:

“Well it’s just MY design of them-”

Relevant Lessons: ALL

The sepia coloring did not do this. The lighting did not do this. The design is the exact same as the Hades version, even down to the shape of the hair curling in the back. The only thing that is different… is the man himself.

Y'all. Y'all! You CANNOT take a pre-existing Black character and say “oh well this is my design of them” …and the design is of a whole white person. Because if the rest of the fit is the same, and the only thing that changed is the Blackness… Racism. If you’re going to “make up your own design”, then do that!

“Blackwashing”

Speaking of: I’m sure someone edgy out there thinks they’re so smart as they retort to the screen: “but if that’s not okay, then why is Blackwashing okay?” To which I say- shut up. 😐

The “definition” by fandom: making a nonblack character Black, usually an anime character, but characters in general.

Funny enough, the actual definition in the dictionary (or closest to) is “to defame”, in contrast with whitewash (as in whitewashing history). Maybe racist fans ARE using it correctly when they say you’re blackwashing their characters, when they mean you’re making them “less likable because they’re Black now”. 🤔

Anyway: Blackwashing is not real for the same reason reverse racism is not real.

Me painting these characters brown is not going to take away from the fact that there are far more of you in media than there is of me. Me saying that I ‘headcanon a character as Black with 4C hair’ is not going to make the studio go “oh! Well they must be Black with 4C hair now!” Me saying “oh I think I’d like this character better if they were Black” as a beta tester (less overtly, obviously, because I’m not racist!) will never make a studio change that character. Black viewers have minimal value in comparison to the power of the white viewer’s dollar. I could draw white characters Black every single day of every single game media… and they would still produce majority white characters. There has not been centuries- if not millennia, when we consider Jesus Christ himself, even- of purposeful “Blackwashing” with the intent of removing the original ethnicity- and thus importance- of white people. No one has ever been allowed to forget when someone is white. No one has ever been allowed to forget or not acknowledge white people.

How it could be "solved"

Personally, I love Black edits and I welcome them here. I find them creative and fun. But if you really, REALLY didn’t want us to make those edits, then naturally, we need more Black characters in all of our media!

I wouldn’t have to make edits if I saw more of me to begin with in the things I like to watch- but when we have those characters, racists act an ass about them. We’re not allowed to even be present! I’ve seen too many gamer bros mocking the existence of Yasuke in Assassin’s Creed, and he was a real ass man. But if we made a game about African peoples in African societies, how many of the gamer bros would actually play those games? Do you think there’d be as much support, when we hear so much about Black characters that are treated so abhorrently? How many games do we have where people would love their faves just as much if they were Black? I even learned that Solas was apparently supposed to be a man of color. IMAGINE how many people would not have liked that man, with the same exact plot and characterization.

Something I’ve noticed recently: apparently "Blackwashing" is not a thing when White fans “allow” it. Take this recent trend with Miku. International Miku was beloved! But if you draw any other character as Black on any other day, there will be people that are horrid about it. Ask any artist, Black artists and Black cosplayers especially, who’s ever done it what their comments are like. I’ve read entire missives akin to white supremacist drivel on how it’s somehow morally wrong to make characters Black. Meanwhile no amount of “hey maybe you shouldn’t do this” prevented the movie Gods of Egypt from being created, with a cast full of British White people.

Solutions to Avoiding Whitewashing!

1) Using References!!

Do I think you should know what Black people look like? Yes. We’re humans. It’s 2024. Everyone knows what we look like when it’s time to hate and discriminate against us, so you know what we look like when it’s time to love and depict us. If you’re on Tumblr, you have access to the Internet. ESPECIALLY if you’re in the U.S., as Black people are the source of damn near every piece of online pop culture. If you can find my dialect to make my jokes, you can find pictures of me.

Would I rather you use a reference every single time so that you can only strengthen your depiction of my people? ABSOLUTELY.

Anyone on the Internet telling you not to use a reference or that you shouldn’t need a reference? Unfollow them. You don’t need that negativity in your life. Why would you deprive yourself of a tool to create? The greatest portrait painters in history had to look at their subjects! You are not getting paid nearly as much to do this as Hans Holbein, and he had to stare at Henry VIII correct else lose his head- you can pull up multiple references. I’d far rather be judged for using hella references than be judged for being a racist!

Part of the issue is people draw what they’re used to, what they’re comfortable with (thus last lesson). But if what you’re used to is not what someone will look like… That’s not okay. Their features are not the issue, your skills are the issue. Learn! Practice! There is no rush. No one is rushing you to be perfect at drawing Black characters, and no one is rushing you to post them. You can just practice! If you’re not a professional, you can take as long as you need to draw! If you need to draw that piece of hair over and over until you feel like you have down the shape, you do that! If you need to use a tool that would draw the hair for you, you get that tool!

If you want to post, you can say you are practicing! If you make clear you are practicing, then be willing to accept that people may have feedback. I’d far rather deal with someone saying they’re unconfident and practicing, than someone posting a whitewashed caricature and closing their ears because “well at least I’m trying!”

2) Empathize! Care about actual Black people when you create a Black character!

Imagine, if you will, in the Twilight Zone: you went to an artist, and you asked for a white character (I typed in “regular looking white dude” on google). There’s hardly ever any white characters, you’re so super excited about this one! You paid good money, because you’ve seen just how amazing this artist creates! They’re so good at drawing characters of color! But no matter how many times you ask, they send you back an image of… Assad Zaman.

That man might be fine as hell! Gorgeous! Beautifully done! Chef’s kiss. Stunning! But… He’s not white. That’s not what you asked or paid for. You can’t even fathom how they mixed this up, they don’t even look alike! And when you confront them, they gaslight you, they call YOU the issue for not understanding how you can’t tell that this is a white man! They would never get this wrong! They have white friends, you’re the racist! But you’re not stupid, and you have functioning eyes- you can SEE what this drawing looks like! And… It’s not you.

It’s dehumanizing. It’s being told that there’s a “better way” to look like you, and that’s by… Not looking like you. You, as you exist, are what’s incorrect. Your identity is incorrect, not their drawing. It’s better to have thinner hair instead of an afro or locs, it’s better to have lighter skin, it’s better to have a straighter, thinner nose over a round one, and smaller lips.

And what makes it worse is knowing that people who don’t look like you? Probably won’t care. They won’t be willing to see- not unable, but unwilling- that playing with this caricature is harmful, that they’re propagating harm by not acknowledging it. They’re letting you know that your humanity means less to them than the clout received with a whitewashed or half-assed Black character, and that people will applaud them for that ‘attempt at inclusion’. And people will applaud! They will be entertained by the mere performance! And that hurts.

I’m going to say this, and it’s awkward and I try not to say it directly on here, but… Having Black friends and/or being around actual, real life Black people would help. I can tell from some of the questions I receive that Black characters and their traits- especially things like our hair and our cultures- are being treated as… alien concepts. But even if, for whatever reason, you legitimately don’t know any Black people, you do not need to know us individually to care about our humanity as a whole! Even if you do not know we’re there, we are, and we could possibly see your work!

By acknowledging Blackness and making room to understand what it means- and that includes how we can look- you are doing the bare minimum of acknowledging our personhood. If you cannot do even that, you don’t need to be drawing us.

Conclusion

Here’s the thing: if you want to draw a white man with tanned skin, do that. Just do it! You do NOT have to erase me to have more of you! There is not a single fandom where the majority of the white fans ever said “gee, not another white guy!” It simply doesn’t happen. God knows we wish it did sometimes. You will always have an audience for white characters. There’s no danger to any of you of “being erased”.

(Without putting on my political hat, I will say that a lot of white people who consider themselves to be far from white supremacist will express beliefs in line with great replacement theory if you push them hard enough. It is unfortunately not as uncommon an idea as you might think. I would do some self-evaluation.)

People are going to notice that you only ever draw white people, but… To be frank, that has never stopped anybody from being successful. Again, Jen Zee, at Supergiant with the terrible dark-skinned characters… Still has a job. at Supergiant. A professional studio. Dragon Age. Multiple games of consistent whitewashing and racist writing. Still going. If racism prevented creation and popularity, I wouldn’t have to have this blog. Alas, that is the society we currently live in.

But if you ACTUALLY want to depict Black characters, if you ACTUALLY want to do right and be respectful- not because you want the clout, but because it’s the right damn thing to do- then you need to commit! This means drawing them as they are meant to be! Accept that you’ll likely lose some fan base, who was there (whether they were aware of it or not) for the white and lighter skinned characters. Accept that this means that trying to appeal to those people by whitewashing characters is 1) wrong, 2) racist, which is 3) something you chose to do when you could simply have just… Drawn more white people.

I’ll say it again: antiracism is hard. It’s hard doing the right thing in a society that rewards racism so easily. It’s really hard knowing that people will stop supporting you or caring as much about your work when you start including Black characters as actively as you do white ones, especially if you start talking about the importance of it. But in my honest opinion, I’d far rather be someone that cared about others, with genuine fans, than someone that was racist for the fleeting internet clout of strangers. And that may be less ‘hopeful’ than I normally am in these lessons, but… People make choices. And people who have been informed- as you are now- are aware of the choices they are making. It’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers- let’s choose better actions.

#creatingblackcharacters #black character design #whitewashing #antiblackness

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