#a bit of a longer chapter

[shadowofwar-goober]

The Shaman and the Bard- Ch. 15 New Home

It must be better than what he had- or at least more than what he had or didn't have, right? It's a strange place with strange uruks... At least they have a lot of bones.

xxx

The cold was unlike anything that Hûra had experienced in his short life. He didn’t have the proper attire to be in such conditions! He shivered and clung to the back of the Mystic that he rode with. The caragor that he did ride (for a short while) has given to an uruk of a much, much higher ranking than he was, perhaps even a higher ranking than the uruk he currently rode behind, since he was one of the few that led their little group deeper and deeper into the mountains.

Others were brought into the group in a similar manner that he was. Abandoned, crying and heartbroken… Hûra wanted to reach out to them, at least to say a few comforting words to let them know they would be okay now, but he was pulled back into line and told to remain silent. So he did, with his head hanging low and his eyes focused on the dark-clad back in front of him. The entire trip was steeped in misery. The only comfort Hûra has was in seeing that his crows had been following him since they first left Cirith Ungol.

His crows were never far away. The feelings that were twisting his stomach into knots eased slightly whenever they would fly low or close enough for him to see them. Whenever they stopped, Hûra would sink to the ground and greet them instead of focusing on yet another crying pup begging to stay with the clan that never wanted them in the first place. Hûra did feel guilt when he ignored them… A lot of guilt… He couldn’t do anything for them now- the elders wouldn’t allow him when he tried- but maybe he can at least say some words of encouragement and understanding whenever they get to…. Where are they going…? 

The snow had picked up considerably. The higher up they went into the mountains, the sharper the winds became. Hûra couldn’t help but to cling to the Mystic in front of him, though he could tell that the uruk was on the cusp of elbowing him in the face as a means to get him off his back. But he didn’t. The Mystic remained stiff and tense, though perhaps he was merely shivering from the cold like Hûra was? Under the chattering of his teeth and the strain of his muscles, Hûra heard the Mystics talking to one another.

“-following him for?”

“Since- I reckon.”

“No, longer.” 

“Could it be-?”

Hûra couldn’t make out much of anything else. What were they talking about? A sudden wave of anxiety washed over him as the Mystic he was riding with turned to look at one of the many crows that have been following them since they first picked Hûra up. Will- Would they hurt them…? They haven’t yet, nor have they chased them off… Hûra tugged on the older uruk’s cloak until he snapped-

“What?! We will not be stop-”

“P-Please don’t h-hurt the-em…” The Mystic turned to look at him, lip curled in confusion. 

“Wha-?” Hûra sniffled, wiping his tears and snot away with the back of his hand.

“T-The c-cro-ows… The-ey’re good… D-Don’t hu-urt the-em…” His voice was a pathetic whimper, barely coherent from how he was shivering. But the Mystic both heard and understood him. His voice was a little softer now, but there was something about it that felt disingenuous to Hûra.

“Do not fear, little pup. Your birds will be safe with us.”

He certainly hoped so…

Hûra  could only feel sick as they seemed to reach their final destination. It was an outpost deep within the mountains of a region that he was wholly unfamiliar with. They had traveled for days without seeing another soul- no other outposts, no camps, no travelers- nothing. They were in the heart of the snowy mountains and Hûra could feel nothing other than nausea and uncertainty.

Leaving the caragors behind, Hûra was ‘guided’ (more like: pushed) into the handful of pups that were picked up along the way to their new home. Most were a little smaller than him, two were a bit taller, all of them looked exactly as he felt: overwhelmed and freezing. He gently put a hand on a smaller uruk’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. He flinched and looked back at Hûra. Smiling was awkward. The other pup just lowered his head and shied away from his touch. 

“S-Sor-“

“The elders wish to greet you all. Come along-“

They were guided deeper into camp. Hûra felt uncomfortable as older uruks walked behind them, not pushing or shoving like he was accustomed to, but rather putting enough pressure on them to keep them moving forward. 

The snow was packed down from foot traffic, but it was slippery. Several younger uruks slipped, many fell- Hûra was one of them- and one fell into the snow that was slightly off the path. It completely enveloped him to the point that he needed help standing back up. 

Everything was sparse. The tents plain, the few buildings were largely unadorned… There were fires but no food cooking. There was no meat being chopped up, no furs being skinned or leather being cured. No smiths working on armaments- Nothing. It was silent, save for the howling of the wind. But it wasn’t empty. 

Uruks that were clad in strange garb were everywhere. They wore white robes- a stark contrast to the black that was always attributed to the Mystics- something scratchy and looking far too thin for the harshness of the environment. They looked… tired. Not sick but something else. It wasn’t physical- they were thin but not starved- no, it was something else. Something on the inside, Hûra thought. But what…? 

They were brought to not a tent, but rather a wooden building. Hûra hasn’t seen many of those in Cirith Ungol! He was accustomed to tents that were partially open to the elements, not shelters that were closed off to the outside world. It was… odd, though it must be because of how damn cold it was. Still, he felt his guts twist into knots and his fingertips began to itch as he awkwardly shuffled inside along with his peers. The light inside was a lot brighter than he expected. As was the warmth… Hûra squinted and rapidly blinked his eyes until they adjusted to the light.

Oh… 

The inside was nothing like how the rest of the camp looked. On the outside, anyway. It was… full! Full of all kinds of things! Hûra’s eyes darted around, mouth slightly agape in awe. It was… what’s the word… ornate? Cloths of different lengths, textures and patterns hung from the walls, the ceiling, draped off of the furniture- Furniture! Hûra had never seen so many pieces of furniture in his life! Tables, chairs, benches, shelves full of books and strange things in jars and- and-

So many bones… 

His eyes lingered on a mandible that laid on a kind of short, low table- Hûra couldn’t think of the name. There were uruks waiting for them at the center of the main, open room, in front of a roaring fireplace with more bones-! An arm bone of… a caragor? It’s missing from the wrist down, but it’s large enough and bowed enough that it must be, unless it’s another, more exotic beast. There was an interesting crack along the ulna that Hûra could see all the way at the back- front?- of the room, near the entrance. He took a strand of his hair and shoved it into his mouth, chewing and sucking on it as he struggled to tear his eyes away from all the distractions around him.

So many beautiful distractions…

Hûra trained his eyes on the back in front of him. He began to sweat. They are talking. The elders- his new elders- are already speaking and he wasn’t paying attention! Their voices sound far away. Not muffled but just… quiet. He can’t focus! Even when an uruk clad in black walked down the line of pups, looking over them, stopped just beside of him, Hûra couldn’t stop himself from chewing on his hair and staring blankly in space, craving to get his hands on one- just one!- of the bones in the room.

They had so much to tell him… He could feel it! So many hands have touched them… They have been used in different rituals, they have seen so many different things… If he could just-

His eyes drift to the side. The uruk’s hood is pooled around his neck and shoulders. His hair was short and brown, clean too. They were all clean smelling, though there were strong smells that Hûra couldn’t quite place. Something spicy, something that stings his nose and burns his throat. The uruk stared at him, narrowing his eyes. Hûra nearly swallowed his hair as he quickly focused all his attention forward. 

The elders were already done talking and Hûra hasn’t heard a word of it. He heard talk of shamans, of training, of… he didn’t know! What a fool he was! Maybe his clan was right… Maybe he is nothing but a useless fuck up… An embarrassment… He was nearly vibrating out of his skin when the crowd began to disperse a little.

“Become acquainted with your new surroundings, little ones. This is a common area for all the uruks of our clan. You may come and go as you please. Within reason, of course.�� When no one went far from their original positions, the elder quickly added-

“We will come for you in a few hours. Please explore your surroundings.”

Some pups did eventually fan out to look around this ‘common area’ as the elder called it. Hûra was still a little uncertain, as were many others. That one Mystic was still eyeing him up or… was he? Maybe he was only being paranoid… Maybe he was only watching to make sure they didn’t fight or steal or… whatever else they expected a bunch of pups from different tribes and backgrounds to do in a new environment. As anxious as Hûra was, though… it still didn’t stop the overwhelming urge he had to look at those bones…

He awkwardly shuffled over to the mandible that caught his attention earlier. It could belong to any manner of beast… Or an uruk, though… He leaned down, still holding onto a lock of his hair that he was currently sucking on. 

Looking wasn’t going to be enough. He needed to hold it in his hands. Hûra had to feel what the bone had to offer before he could understand what it was trying to tell him. Maybe it was knowledge already known? These are shamans, right? It’s… old but Hûra just knows there is some information left that it could tell him. Before he had a mind to stop himself, Hûra had raised his left hand, intending to just… touch it a little. Just a little poke- 

He choked on his hair as a warm, bony hand latched hold of his thin wrist. 

“What do you think you are doing, boy?” Hûra shrank in size as the older uruk glared down at him. His eyes were a frightful yellow-green that cut straight through him. It was like there was- was someone else looking at him! 

Or, perhaps, something… 

“T-The b-bones…?” He felt like an utter idiot, standing there with hair in his mouth and his fingers twitching as his eyes continued to drift over to the mandible that was mocking him from the table’s top. The fear he felt quickly waned to apprehension as he tried to tug his wrist back.

“Um-” Another bone caught his eye. 

Hûra didn’t see it until he had gotten closer! It’s a… what? A leg bone of sorts? Maybe that is an uruk’s jawbone! How did he die? When did he die? There’s a notch in the long bone that has an interesting pattern. Hûra’s fingernail itched to dig inside of it. He was held firmly in place as he pulled a little harder to free his wrist.

“E-Excuse me…? Can I-?” He pulled again. The Mystic didn’t relent.

“Did you not hear your elder? Pups are not allowed to-”

“Brother? Just a moment-” Hûra didn’t stop pulling on his arm and the other Mystic tightened his grip as three elders- at least, Hûra assumed they were all elder- walked towards them. They all wore the same, black dress that Hûra has seen before. Unlike the uruks outside wearing white-

“Let the boy go.” Their ‘brother’ seemed taken aback. 

“B-But- Sir, we cannot allow one uninitiated and- and not even a novice to handle such a-” A raised hand silenced his objections. Reluctantly, the Mystic released Hûra’s wrist and stepped back from the four of them. 

“...so be it. If that will be all, sirs?” He bowed and walked away from them, his shoulders tense and his gait a little stiff and awkward. Hûra’s eyes drifted from him back to the bones, then quickly snapped towards the elders that stood around him. 

They didn’t quite trap him against the table, but they nearly did. It made Hûra a little uncomfortable. Still, he waited  silently, unmoving, waiting for an order or a dismissal. An elder shuffled closer to him, until he was directly in front of Hûra and right beside the table. He reached down and gingerly picked up the mandible between two fingers.

“This caught your eye, did it?” The uruk turned the bone in his hand, seemingly marveling at it in much the same way Hûra had been the moment he noticed it. His eyes were trained on it, pupils wide with interest. 

“Hrmm- Uh, y-yes sir…” Hûra was having trouble focusing on the world around him. Things were beginning to feel distant. Far away, like there’s a barrier shielding him from everyone and everything else. Other than that jawbone… 

“What is your name, my boy?” Hûra’s eyes flicked over to his face, then back down to the bone. Then he did a double take. 

“My… name? S-Sir- you want to know m-my name…?” It was a surprise. A true, genuine surprise. Hûra’s own- his old superiors couldn’t remember his name… or at least, they pretended to forget or not know it. The elder smiled and nodded, lowering the bone down to it was directly eye level with the pup.

“Of course I do, my boy! We are your new family now. What sort of brother would I be if I knew not your name?” Hûra finally managed to tear his eyes away from the distraction in front of him. The elder’s words touched a nerve Hûra didn’t realize was still raw and fresh.

New family…? Brother…? Did he really mean it…? Hûra felt tears well in his eyes. He became somewhat shy, lowering his head and hiding behind his thick, black hair. Rocking back and forth on his heels, Hûra quietly said-

“H-Hûra, sir… M-My name is Hûra…” A large hand was gently placed on top of his head. Warmth rushed to his head as the elder smiled.

“Hûra… A wonderful name. A strong name. You may grow into it yet, little one.” His voice was soft, warm… Hûra couldn’t help but to beam a little. It was one of the nicest things an older uruk has ever said to him! It was enough to nearly make him forget the real reason why they were having this conversation.

“This-” The Mystic held up the jawbone. “-was speaking to you, wasn’t it, Hûra?” Speaking… Yes, it was! Did he really understand?! Hûra nodded eagerly, his attention now solely focused on the mandible once more. The elder hummed and nodded, looking thoughtful. 

“I see… perhaps you wish to examine it? Would you like that, Hûra?” Now he was practically jumping up and down. 

Hûra couldn’t find his words, but he did nod repeatedly, humming and scraping the underside of his claws together. Would they let him…?! He was so excited that he didn’t see the three elders exchange a look. They all nodded to one another and took a step back, their arms crossed and attention focused onto him. The other elder nodded to Hûra, extending the mandible out to the pup to take.

“As long as you are gentle and careful, little pup…” Hûra nearly squeaked as he excitedly took it into his trembling hands. 

Ohh… Yes, it was old. Very old. Hûra felt his eyes begin to droop and his body relaxed. Should the elders be unattentive, it would be very possible for him to fall over and injure himself. But would watch and not interfere unless it became absolutely necessary for their and their property’s survival. Hûra’s fingers began to map out the surface of the jawbone.

It belonged to an uruk… His name is lost, as is his rank and the contributions he made to clan and country. So many hands have touched his bones… He has been passed down for countless generations. Why? There’s- In there-

Hûra’s eyebrows furrowed as a strange sensation bloomed under his fingertips. Right where his nail met his skin. It tickled a little but it also burned. He dug his nail into the cavity of a missing tooth that lay just above an impressive crack that spiderwebbed out along the length of the bone. The elders did nothing to stop him. 

Something special did this. Special… and dangerous. It- It’s… 

Hûra’s eyes snapped open. A feeling of overwhelming dread crept over him, as though ice cold water had been poured over his head. He wanted to give it back. He didn’t want to touch it- him- anymore! His jaw, it-!

One of the elders placed his hand firmly atop of Hûra’s, so that he could neither pull away, place down or even drop the mandible in his hands. Panic replaced the looming dread that hung over him. 

Something bad happened! He took part in something- willingly!- but it hurt so much! There is nothing left of him now. Nothing! Something vapid and empty has taken his place. It stains, it consumes, it burns-! 

It was a great privilege with a greater price. To become his vessel meant relinquishing your earthly bonds and giving yourself to him, fully and entirely. Mind, body, and soul… Even if the soul is burned away and the vessel cracked, damaged, unfit, it serves its purpose. What remains is irrelevant. It no longer belongs to the world, but to a greater will! One that we all will give ourselves to, one day, one way or another. 

Hûra cried out in terror. Pain, fear, pride and faith… It was different from anything he has ever experienced before. He has experienced memories before, he’s felt pain and fear from different eyes before, he has seen things that make no sense, things so grand that he feels puny and fearful of the consequences of what he witnesses, but this was different. 

There was longing in what he felt. Like he… he wanted it too, even though he was so scared that he’s falling backwards into the table, hitting his head and feeling sick and faint. It was as though something was pushing- or pulling- him along a path he didn’t wish to take. Hûra didn’t understand what he was feeling, but he was soothed as it began to fade into something less than it was before.

Maybe he hit his head too hard… but the waning of the poisonous glare that seared into his soul was a relief. It didn’t leave him fully though. It continued to linger, even after Hûra was taken to the healer and given some strange, liquid medicine that tasted sour and made his body feel heavy and sluggish. 

Sleep gave Hûra great anxiety but he couldn’t keep his eyes open. A heavy blanket weighed him down, making him feel warm and secure. Not quite safe, but close. Hûra fought it until he could fight it no more. The sensation of being watched plagued his dreams. He heard whispering, plotting. It made him toss and turn in his sleep. His rest will be restless and it will be long, much longer than he is acquainted with. Ordinarily, more sleep would be a blessing but now? 

Hûra wishes it to be over. He wishes the eyes would leave him. He should have never touched those bones…

xxx

Some allusions to Sauron and the Witch King at the end, if you were curious.

@space-arsonist, @elvenmoans, @sinick, @boozy-dwarf, @dirtymeanuruk

[twilightkitkat]

Part 3 of thinking about the reaction another universe's Logan would have to meeting Wade. To Wade and Logan's relationship.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

---

Logan hadn't left Wade's side since he got here. Eventually, Wade managed to convince him to calm down enough that he could briefly explain to the X-men that this was his Logan, the one from his universe, who came looking for him.

His Logan hovered close to him, practically plastered to his side as if he'd disappear the second he took his eyes off him. Other-Logan was nowhere to be seen.

Eventually, they returned to Wade's room for the night. The X-men offered Logan a room of his own, but he point-blank refused.

When Wade crawled into the twin-sized bed (which definitely wasn't big enough to comfortably fit two people), Logan slipped under the covers behind him. Logan pressed his nose to Wade's neck and released a shaky breath of relief.

He could finally relax now that he was alone, away from the probing crowd that reminded him too much of memories he'd rather leave in the past. Now that he could focus on Wade. His scent, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the sound of his breathing.

The exhaustion hit Logan like a truck. He'd barely gotten any sleep in the past month Wade's been missing, and when he did it was fitful and left him feeling inexplicably more tired when he awoke. He didn't realize how much he depended on the comfort of Wade's presence to sleep until it was gone.

(When he was alone, it reminded him of being back in his universe. Of waking up in the middle of the night, claws unsheathed, breathing wildly. Of realizing he was completely alone, that everyone he cared about was dead. Of popping open a bottle of liquor just to silence the noise of his own thoughts.)

Wade reminded him that he was in a new universe, now. That he wasn't alone. Logan wrapped his arms around him, securely (tight enough to not let him escape) and finally, finally, let himself breathe.

Wade hummed, content at feeling the hot breath of Logan on his neck as he drifted off to sleep. For the first time in a month, he felt warm. He felt safe. He felt comforted, knowing that Logan was here with him. Apparently having a life-sized human heater spoiled him and made it difficult to stomach sleeping alone.

They both fell asleep, comforted by the familiarity of each other's presence.

(It was the best sleep either of them had in weeks.)

---

The aftermath was just a little bit awkward.

Logan hardly left his side, warily glaring at anyone who came to disturb their peace as they went about their day. He seemed to still be on edge around the other X-men (and anyone who wasn't Wade in general).

Wade was sure it would be difficult for him to interact with them, too, if he'd seen and come to terms with all of their deaths. Of being responsible for the downfall of an alternate version of them. It must be jarring to see them alive and well, to see a distortion of the future he could've had with caricatures of his friends.

(It made Wade a little anxious to think that Logan was remembering it all. Reminiscing on a better time before Wade came and took him away from his world.)

Despite the companionship they'd built, Other-Logan had been making himself scarce. Wade was a little concerned about him, but he was more focused on his own version, who'd been acting as his own personal guard dog. (If a guard dog was 300 pounds and a fully grown man.)

Still, sometimes when they passed by each other, he swore he saw that same look in Other-Logan's eyes. The one he still had difficulty deciphering, but recognized as meaningful.

The one his Logan had in the first few weeks of living together. After they'd saved the world. (Maybe even before it.)

(He tried not to think too hard about it.)

The other X-men were just dancing around them. They seemed to be unsure of how to interact with a Logan so similar and yet so completely different from their own. The only member of the X-men who knew about this Logan's backstory was Wolverine and... let's just say it wasn't getting out anytime soon.

It was almost funny to watch their attempts to start a conversation with Logan only to be met with short, one-word responses. Almost. (It wasn't funny to feel how Logan tensed up next to him, how he smoothed over his expression and put himself on guard. To see the slight trembling of his clenched fists. To see the haunted looks in his eyes.)

And so they ended up accidentally (or purposefully, on Logan's part) avoiding everyone for the first few days.

Wade hadn't gone out on any missions in that time. Logan didn't seem like he was in any mood to go out with the others, and, quite frankly, neither was Wade. He didn't realize how much he missed Logan until he was here.

(And a part of him was relieved that Logan was choosing to stay with him. That he clung to him tightly and didn't seem to be tempted to go rubbing elbows with the other X-men anytime soon.)

He'd managed to fill Logan in after they first crashed from exhaustion together. Logan seemed equal parts concerned and relieved to find out that he'd been stranded because his device was broken. (Because that meant Wade wasn't kidnapped or in danger. Because that meant Wade didn't want to leave him behind.)

They'd been sleeping in the same bed ever since. Anytime the X-men brought up moving Logan to another room, a nicer one with a bigger bed, he just growled and muttered that he didn't need it. One time, they'd offered to move another twin-sized bed into Wade's room so that they could at least have their own place to sleep, but Logan gruffly and very quickly turned that down too.

They hadn't tried to separate them since.

Even when Charles Xavier himself called Logan into his office the morning after he arrived, Logan didn't seem to consider leaving Wade behind as an option. And so they'd both stumbled into the office, suspiciously pressed close together, to report Logan's arrival.

Not that Wade was complaining. He'd offer to be Wolvie's emotional support teddy bear any day. (Even if he got dragged around roughly like a toddler who didn't learn to play nice with or share their toys yet.)

Charles had looked at them oddly, a mix of what could only be described as surprise and then understanding crossing over his face. He didn't comment on Wade's presence, nor Logan's insistence to keep him close by.

(He'd pulled aside the other X-men shortly after and told them to not bother this Logan too much. That he'd been through things their Logan hadn't and that he wouldn't be very receptive to their presence. To not comment on his relationship with Wade and to let them be.)

(It had aroused a mixture of confusion and suspicion among the X-men. Scott and Jean exchanged concerned glances with each other. What could cause Logan to want to avoid them, even in another universe? What did Logan go through to be so wary of them? To rely on Deadpool, of all people, for emotional support?)

(And why was their Logan influenced as well?)

After that, things had gone fairly smoothly. Wade occasionally still annoyed Colossus, who'd begun to reluctantly accept his presence (and who Logan was the least on guard around, out of all of the X-men). It drew skeptical glances from the other X-men, who were surely wondering what reason Wade had to be bothering Colossus, of all people.

But other than that, they mainly kept to themselves.

Until today, that is.

Today, the other X-men had finally managed to find a lead on the man who'd KO'd Wolverine and Deadpool, shattering Wade's pathway back to his own universe. Apparently, he'd set up a new base, this time with better-equipped personnel.

Seemed the asshole wasn't working alone. Of fucking course. When Wade wanted a fight all he could find were pussies, but It couldn't ever be easy when Wade actually wanted to go home. Just his luck.

It was large-scale enough that the majority of the X-men were preparing to go on the raid. Not a good sign.

Of course, Wade had saddled in and prepared to go the second they said they had a lead. And of course, by default, that meant Logan was coming with him.

They'd both rested enough, and while they were slightly on edge, Wade doubted that was going to go away anytime soon until they got back to their own universe. It'd be better to just rip the bandaid off and get this shit over with so that they could curl up on their shitty pull-out couch and eat leftovers and let themselves decompress from whatever the fuck this mission was turning into.

After a quick debrief in which they essentially went over everyone's roles and the layout of the base (or what they knew of it, at least) they set off.

Logan and Wade were paired together, luckily (well, most likely intentionally from the sharp glare Logan shot everyone when they began discussing their roles). They were tasked with clearing out the enemies and working their way to the main base, which was unsurprising given their tank-like abilities and healing factors.

Wade stared out the window for most of the ride there (and Logan stared at Wade) and before he knew it, they'd arrived.

And wow. The villains had really outdone themselves in the cliche base department. If the abandoned nuclear power plant was basic, the shady abandoned military facility was the equivalent of a white girl who liked Starbucks and listened to Taylor Swift. Completely predictable and not at all original.

They all split off into smaller, individual teams and, after a quick confirmation, they went in.

The henchmen this time were vaguely impressive. Well, impressive in the sense the typical office worker was impressive compared to a 10-year-old. It actually took more than 5 seconds for Logan and Wade to clear out the first wave.

But a run-of-the-mill decent group of villains was no match for Wade and Logan's teamwork. If Other-Wolverine and Deadpool worked like a well-oiled machine, this Deadpool and Wolverine worked like they were fucking telepaths. Completely in sync, predicting each other's attack patterns and weaving in and out like they shared a set of strings puppeteering them.

(It caused a few of the X-men to stop and stare to watch. It was brutal and grotesque and... beautiful, in way, to see how quickly they plowed through the villains. The X-men knew teamwork—they were accustomed to it, with the whole superhero team shtick—but not this type of partnership. This type of innate, primal fluidity that allowed them to move as one.)

Before long, with a suprising lack of resistance, given this was supposed to be The Villain Base (although, to be fair, they did have the X-men playing cleanup crew around them and taking care of the rest), they finally made their way into what could only be reffered to as some sort of fucked-up evil lab.

The walls were lined with shady medical equipment and some type of alien technology, and, to no one's surprise, the same fucker as last time was standing in the center.

"Nice to see you again, Deadpool," he nodded. "And... nice to meet you, Wolverine."

OK, hold on a second. He thought it was weird that this guy knew his name the first time considering he was, y'know, new around these parts, but he'd brushed it off. Maybe there was an alternate version of him running around (even if he hadn't heard of one despite interrogating an absurd number of people connected to the underground). But to know that this was an alternate version of Wolverine, just upon seeing him?

It's like the asshole predicted their arrival in this dimension.

Wade tensed slightly, and judging by a glance at Logan next to him, he'd picked up on that discrepancy too.

"Hey, Cable 2.0. Or should I call you Evil Cable? Cable the destroyer? Actually, calling you Cable would be an insult to his brand. How about generic futuristic villain #46," Wade quipped, trying to steel his nerves and school his expression back into a grin.

"I assure you, I'm nothing like this Cable you speak of," the man replied, calmly, "If he were similar to me, you wouldn't be standing here right now."

"Oooooh, scary, I think I almost pissed my pants! Quick, Wolvie, hide me, I'm quivering in my boots!" Wade ducked behind Logan, voice rising high from mock-fear. Logan merely grunted, but allowed him to hide behind him for the bit. (See, even Logan must agree he's funny if he's playing along.)

The man blinks at them, clearly unimpressed, before raising his gun. Okay, so they're getting right into it. Fun.

Logan unsheathed his claws and Wade gripped his guns tightly.

And then the fight behind.

This Logan and Wade had better teamwork compared to the last encounter. Their teamwork was down to a science, or a particularly bloody work of art.

Unfortunately, this time, their opponent knew their attack patterns. He was deflecting their attacks with ease, using minimal effort to dodge even while they ganged up on him.

This went on for a few moments, making barely any progress aside from wasting time. Until, a growl was heard from behind them—

—and another Wolverine joined the mix.

"I can you're struggling a bit, bub, let me help you out," he grunted, slashing at the villain.

"Awww! I'd be swooning right now if not for the fact it'd get me killed!" Wade chirped back, dodging a bullet that shot his way.

His Logan growled slightly and landed next to him, before murmuring, "Focus on the fight. Stop getting distracted."

Wade pouted in response but followed dutifully to attack the villain with Logan.

Their group teamwork was actually fairly impressive, in Wade's opinion. Which wasn't surprising, given that two of the members had near-identical fighting styles and both were used to working with him.

The two Wolverines clashed a bit at first, aiming for the same spots and directing annoyed growls at each other. But after Wade finally made them calm down ("Woah woah woah, ladies, there's enough hits to go around! This isn't Fortnite, you aren't going for the Battle Royale. Let's all work together, yeah?") they fell into a better rhythm.

They were holding up fairly well, even managing to make leeway and push the man back. They were on the winning side of the fight (which they better be on, with Deadpool and two fucking Wolverines trying to kill him). "Were" being the key word.

Because, right as they seemed to be tiring out the asshole, he pulled a move nobody expected. He leaped back, suddenly, creating distance, and grabbed a suspicious-looking metal device from the table.

All three of them exchanged glances and seemed to be on the same page: Do Not Let The Fucker Use It, Whatever It Is.

And so they all leaped at once, claws and guns and knives blazing, until the man sidestepped and with a clink had attached the device to Wolverine's neck. To his Logan's neck.

It folded out into a sickeningly familiar shape.

Fuck.

Logan's claws retracted and a panicked look flashed in his eyes despite his angry posture.

It was an ability-restricting collar.

And Wade had a feeling it wouldn't be as easy as punching in the code "7" to get it off, considering the futuristic, sturdy, and significantly more complicated-looking design.

The man picked Logan up by the back of the neck of his suit with an inhuman strength (had he been holding back, before?) and Wade saw fucking red.

Before he could think, he was unloading a full magazine into the man's chest and head. But the bullet wounds just closed up and the shells fell to the ground uselessly.

He saw the fear in Logan's eyes. At being powerless.

A reflection of how Wade felt, strapped to that table. Tortured. (Francis' voice rang in his ears. "What's my name?")

Wade lunged, trying to dig his katanas into the man's side. He dodged, stepped to the side, and blocked as Wade desperately, frantically tried to injure him. Just enough to let Logan go.

"Get your filthy hands off of him, you son of a bitch, or I swear to God I will tear you limb from limb like a 5 year old's shitty Barbie doll!" Wade snarled, a venom in his voice that made Logan's eyes widen from in his hold.

(A venom that made the Logan behind him look astonished, too. It'd always been him as the protector, the stronger one. He always had to carry the burden of worry, of solving the problem. And yet, here was a version of him with someone to do the same for him. Someone who would go to hell and back for him in the same way he had to, countless times.)

(That familiar ache was back.)

"I don't think I will," the man hummed, side-stepping yet another attack. "As a matter of fact, I'm getting quite bored of this back-and-forth."

Suddenly, the man held up a knife (where did that come from?) to Logan's throat. Logan, who didn't have his healing factor right now. Logan, who was just as vulnerable as any other human right now.

(Logan, who was looking at him with terror in his eyes. Logan, who had wanted death for so long, pressing himself against the barrel of his gun and fucking laughing the first time they'd met. Logan, who, through all the blood and sweat and tears and sacritice, had finally found a reason to live again. Logan, who didn't want to die anymore. Who wanted to live with Wade.)

It was like the world stopped turning. It was the same feeling Wade had felt the night Vanessa died, all noises drowned out and all colors and shapes blurring together and ohgodohgodohgod she's dead she's gone it's all my fault I never should've met her to begin with— but this was worse, somehow. It didn't just feel like the rug had been pulled out from underneath his feet, it felt like the entire fucking ground crumbled apart, collapsing in on itself, leaving him tumbling closer and closer to Earth's core until he's burned alive and swallowed whole. It felt like drowning and suffocating and burning alive all at once. It felt like losing his very foundation, the one thing he allowed himself to cling on to, thinking he'd never have to say goodbye. It felt like all his worst fears and nightmares came true in the worst possible way.

It felt like dying.

"Now," the man started, not giving a damn about Wade's internal panic and the incessant ringing in his ears, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Why was Other-Logan just standing there? Why wasn't anyone moving? Why was nothing happening? How could the world keep spinning when it felt like his world was in limbo right now, powerless and dangled between the claws of a monster, threatening to drop him into its maw?

"You can let me go with your buddy right here, or I kill him now and you never see him again. Understood?" the man tightened his grip around Logan's throat, who began hacking slightly. The knife nicked his skin slightly, creating a trail of red down his neck. Logan hissed in pain.

Wade wanted nothing more than to tear his fucking throat out in response.

But he clenched his fists instead, feeling his blunt nails dig into his skin even through the suit.

"Wade, just let me go, you can come get me later, yeah?" Logan wheezed, barely able to speak around the constricting grip.

"But—he could—Logan, no, I can fight him, I can, I won't let you sacrifice yourself again," Wade fumbled over his words, unable to focus on anything but Logan Logan Logan.

"I'm not sacrificin' myself, just," his voice was rough and heavy, "let me go. You can't win, Wade. I'm not going to watch you die trying to save me."

"But—"

"You heard him," the Wolverine behind him suddenly spoke, putting a hand on his shoulder. (Wade wanted to rip it off. It was wrong wrong wrong, so similar and yet too different from his Logan. His Logan, who had deeper callouses. His Logan, whose hands were rougher and gripped him firmly.) "He'll kill him if we fail to fight him now."

Why was everybody else okay with this? Why did everyone else seem so calm when it felt like Wade's world was imploding, his vision was narrowing, and his senses were going haywire?

(Logan could get hurt. Seriously. Not just superficially. He could be tortured like he was. Wade didn't like knowing Logan was in pain, even with his healing factor, but without it? He could be killed. Even if the man kept his promise right now, who's to say it holds up in an hour? A day? A week? Wade couldn't even comprehend living that long without knowing if Logan was dead or alive. Logan could die and he wouldn't know, because he'd be outside of his reach.)

Wade caught Logan's eyes.

Fuck.

He was scared too, Wade could tell, but putting on a brave face for him. Trying to calm Wade down, when Logan was the one getting kidnapped. He was fucking pathetic. (It really was God's Greatest Joke that he couldn't die, huh?)

Wolverine tensed beside him, ready to hold him back if needed. Wade bit his lip until it fucking bled and finally managed to mumble, "Fine."

"What was that?" the man gloated.

"Fine," Wade hissed. "But I'll be back to get him, and I swear to fucking God, if a single hair on his head is out of place, I'll eviscerate you. I'll make sure you wish you didn't have a healing factor, because I'll torture you until you're begging to die. And then finally, I'll snap that shitty collar onto your neck and kill you in the most painful way possible.

The man seemed unphased. But it was a promise. A promise Wade would keep even if his life depended on it. Even if he had to drag himself out of his own grave, regenerate his limbs from scratch, claw his way out of hell, he would make him suffer if he did anything to Logan.

Logan's eyes widened from in the man's grasp. Wade looked at him, a dark expression on his face. Letting him know how serious he was. (That Wade would do anything for him, to keep him safe. To keep him by his side. That if he got hurt, he'd murder every fucking person involved.)

Logan's eyes shone with realization, a vague spark of hope. It made Wade all the more desperate to save him, to live up to those expectations.

"Well, I hate to interrupt the moment, but I really must be going," the man commented.

It took all of Wade's willpower not to lunge at him. Not to attack him as he picked up a suitcase and walked away, yanking Logan alongside him by the back of his neck.

Logan's haunted yet trusting (despite it all, he had faith in Wade, even when he let him get hurt in the first place) eyes were the last thing Wade saw before they dissapeared.

Wade wanted to go after them, to chase them, but he knew better. The other X-men weren't here right now. If all three of them barely managed to hold up against this man, how would the remaining two beat him? And who knew whatever other tricks were up his sleeves.

He was unpredictable. He was dangerous.

Wade knew this, but—

He should've been faster. He should've taken the hit instead of Logan (even if it seemed the man was targeting him to begin with). He should've been better, should've been stronger. Should've prevented Logan from being taken in the first place.

His knees buckled underneath him and he collapsed to the floor. The Other Wolverine startled behind him, dropping to the floor with him and wrapping his arm around Wade for support.

Wade felt the same, desolate, useless feeling wash over him that he had when he'd cradled Vanessa's dead body. He'd failed. Again. He had so much time to learn and do better and yet he still failed. It was all his fault. Everything was his fault.

He should've just brought Logan with him to begin with. Should've swallowed his fears and sucked it up, even if Logan did want to leave him. Logan was a grown man, he could make his own choices. He could realize that his current life, his life with Wade, wasn't worth it if he wanted. He could abandon him and Wade would have no fucking ground to stand on to stop him.

And yet Wade couldn't just fucking swallow his pride and had to behave like a jealous teenager.

(Would it be any different, if they came here together? If they were on the same page from the start, had time to plan and learn together? The man was so fucking strong that even if they had time, Wade was unsure if they'd beat him alone. Maybe they were predestined to fail. All because of Wade's incompetence.)

"Hey," Other-Logan started to speak in a low, worried tone, "We'll get him back. I promise."

He had a concerned and vaguely unsure look on his face, clearly unused to trying to comfort someone. Here's another Logan, comforting Wade when his feelings shouldn't even be a priority to begin with.

"It's my fault," Wade muttered.

"What?"

"It's my fucking fault. Everything is my fault. I should've gotten kidnapped instead. At least if he took me, I could take it."

"Wade—"

"I mean, it's no big deal if I get tortured. I'm used to it. At least I'd fucking deserve it for the stupidity of getting my communication device broken. At least then I'd be the only one hurt, and it's not like I matter anyway."

"Wade, what are you—"

Wade continued to ramble on, frantically, tears collecting in his eyes and threatening to fall down his face, "It should've been me. Logan is a fucking hero, he has a place in the world. He shouldn't be hurt just because of my mistake. I dragged him into this shit, into my universe, and how do I repay him? By letting him get fucking kidnapped and tortured on my behalf!" Wade had to physically force himself to not devolve into full-body sobs at this point, trembling underneath Logan's hand on his shoulde. Rocking back and forth like a lunatic.

"Wade, just listen for one fucking sec—"

"I should've just killed myself. I should've sacrified myself to destroy the Time Ripper, should've been strong enough to grab both the matter anti-matter channels and dissapeared from existence. At least it'd only be me who's gone, and Logan would still be safe. I never should've dragged him into my shit, I should've been long dead before I even met him. I should've had the balls to snap that collar on my neck and explode myself for real—"

—Slap.

Logan had honest to god slapped him. Hard.

Wade snapped out of his rant, holding his cheek as a deep purple bruise formed. He started hollowly back at Logan.

"Shut the fuck up," Other-Logan growled. "Don't speak about yourself like that. You don't deserve to die. It wasn't your fault, you fucking know that. We all were there, so it's as much on us as it was you. None of us could've seen it coming."

"Rich, coming from you, Mr. Blame Himself in the flesh," Wade retorted, scrambling for any kind of purchase in the conversation.

"I know what you're trying to do. You're trying to make me pissed off enough to let it go. But I won't." Logan took a deep breath, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He finally seemed to collect himself and looked at Wade, his gaze piercing and sharp. "Look, you... you're not worthless. Hell, you're the furthest thing from it. When I'm around you, it feels like I'm actually a person for the first time I can remember. It's like I can finally fucking breathe. And if that's how I feel, when I've known you for just a month, I imagine it's even stronger in your Logan."

Wade started to protest, but Logan cut him off. "None of that, bub. You know I'm right. You can't honestly be that fucking blind to not see the impact you have on him. On me. ...Look, when you've been alive as long as I have, it's inevtiable that you feel lonely. Of fucking course it is, when everyone around you dies and you're the only one left standing." Wade stares at him wordlessly, a hint of understanding in his eyes.

"...But you make it better," Logan settles on. "Do you see the way he looks at you? Like if you're gone, nothing matters? That isn't the look of someone who hates you. I don't, and he sure as hell doesn't. So stop putting yourself down when you fucking know he wouldn't want you blaming youself. You wouldn't blame him if you got captured, would you?"

"...No, but that's—"

"—The exact same scenario. But you're too stuck in your head to realize it." Logan groaned, seemingly lost for words to say. "Look, I'm not the best at this. At saying what I'm feeling. You know this. But what I do say, I mean. And I mean it when I say that it isn't your fault and he'd never blame you. I wouldn't. You shouldn't either."

Wade looked at him, at his sincerity, and for some reason he felt more like sobbing than he did before.

"So let's get him back, yeah?" Other-Logan asked, gruff and hesitant. It felt like a peace offering. An olive branch.

"...Yeah," Wade murmured, and let his body weight fall against Logan, who was beside him now. Logan wrapped an arm around him, hesitantly at first, and then more securely when Wade leaned into it.

Wade curled into him, thoughts running a million miles a minute.

(Where was Logan right now? How far had they gotten? What if he was hurt? What if he was writhing in pain, calling out for Wade, and he wasn't ther? What if he was tortured? What if he was dead?)

(...No, Wade wouldn't let himself imagine the worst-case scenario. Of never seeing Logan again. He wouldn't accept that reality. He couldn't. Didn't know to live, anymore, in a world without him. He'd once tore through different universes and escaped the void, all to save his family. He'd do it again in a heartbeat.)

(He'd get Logan back no matter what.)

[dianagj-art]

What's this? is Raph with a steel chair!

prev / next

[owlf45]

youtube stealers are getting a little ballsy

[buwheal]

hey spamton! anything interesting happen recently?

[caelanglang]

Living Longer

a message for someone on the edge…

from the waters of the sea, to the sands of the beach, to the concrete of the city, to the floorboards of your home — i hope you’ll be proud of yourself for living longer.

[lunarcloak]

Blue Lock Chapter 262: Visual Storytelling

Can we talk about the visual imagery this chapter?? Kaneshiro is always cooking but Nomura cooked extra hard this time with his own illustrative storytelling

An almost entirely white panel. Except for the black spot of Kaiser's hunched figure. Almost as if he's the stain on an otherwise perfect game from BM right now. (He's thrown off balance.)

Here, in the first picture, this is Isagi's view of where Kaiser is right now. On top of a puzzle piece— a symbol of Isagi's power, and also a symbol of how off kilter he is. The second picture is part of a larger paneling of how he's being left on the ground as Isagi runs past him in a flurry of puzzle pieces. Almost as if Isagi's kicking the pieces of his perfect puzzle astray, leaving him to rebuild them from scratch. (The theme of this chapter.)

You can tell he's only barely listening. Eyes are always a huge indicator of visual storytelling— i picked this up from looking at BSD panels for too long. Here there's virtually no pupils, smaller, wider eyeballs because he's not listening to Ness's words. They're going in one ear out the other. Because Ness's words are superficial— He's trying to help, he is, but that is desperately NOT what Kaiser needs right now. He needs to figure out how to FIX this. Not to retreat back into the safety of his cocoon so that he can pretend he's still the star on the field.

NOTICE HOW EVERYTHING IN THE SECOND PANEL CAN DIRECTLY BE RELATED TO ISAGI. The offer from Reale— what if Yoichi gets it instead of me? The throne in this team— what if Isagi takes that, too? Am I about to lose everything I worked to get myself? The whole world is watching my worst performance in years. I can't lose here. I can't be defeated here. Not here, of all places, in Blue Lock.

Negative colouring. The previous, prominent memory I have of this is when Rin went to his "flow" state. It's specifically to emphasise the "HUMAN" wording. It's usually used to showcase a very prominent moment, in this case it's Kaiser realising exactly what the core of his worry is right now. It isn't the defeat, not beating Isagi, not anything. At the moment, he's afraid of losing the very humanity he had thought he clawed himself into. To emphasise this, the black and white being reversed are to indicate that time almost freezes, completely changing his perspective and line of thought at that moment.

Less dramatic, still negatively scaled panel. Emphasising how he's really digging into his psyche here and going "Oh, I'm scared. I'm afraid of losing everything I've got for myself." The last time this happened was when his secret money stash was found— he didn't care as much then, because there was nothing to lose that he hadn't already lost. But now? Now, it matters a lot more. Because he's built himself up on an entirely shaky foundation. Note how he's also sliding below here, losing his footing, like he's lost the stable ground he thought he had.

The angle of this panel makes it look like he's climbing upwards, and he's just lost his grip on the wall before him, and is in the process of falling. It's extremely well done.

Plenty people have already pointed this one out— yeah Isagi's just reached a height that's similar to Noa's. The position Kaiser thought he used to have, but now he's not even on the staircase to victory and the treasure he thought he would attain soon is now inching towards his most challenging rival to date.

You will never see him this tired, this defeated, or this melancholic ever again. At this point, his eyes are no longer that wide, shocked stare of not seeing. Now he's comprehended his stance, and he's come back into himself.

Each petal is a memory, a visual representation of the crumbling of the rose he once held. It's gone now, there's no rose in his hand anymore (nothing for him to hold onto anymore). When you have no roses in hand, you grow a new bouquet. When you have nothing, there's nothing to lose if you go reaching for something to hold onto again.

But HERE, the petals can be interpreted in two ways— either he's being reformed from the petals of a new rose (blank petals, not representative ones). OR, you can interpret it as those very petals dissipating from his being, leaving him as this black, blank slate to rebuild himself. Zero— as in no colour, no petals, no gardens to flourish anymore. Only way to move now is up.

Also I'd like to draw your attention to the negative paneling again— inverted this time, the exact opposite of the previously conveyed emotion. Now he's the one in the black, working to redefine himself. He's already redefined the external aspects.

Your Zero— Your Beginning. I LOVE this page, even if it's a repeat. It conveys so much. Kaneshiro and Nomura are such a GOOD TEAM

A black hand clasps around the core memory— the memory of when he truly had only his football. He can't let that petal float away, that's one he wants to keep. That's the idea he wants to hold onto. He crushes the petal into his hand, assimilating it into his new beginning. That's the one he'll hold onto, to recraft the person that is Michael Kaiser.

[laugtherhyena]

What a lovely group of students, i sure hope nothing bad happens to them ever ❤

For now, things are kinda chill tho

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hello everyone it’s another Wednesday ✨ Thanks for the tag @hircines-hunter loved seeing blorbo children and I’m also bringing blorbo children 🥰

Tagging: @lucien-lachance @dirty-bosmer (know you’re v busy so tagging you so you can have a laugh 🤭) @firefly-factory @pocket-vvardvark @ladytanithia @umbracirrus

@bougainvillea-and-saltwater @captain-of-silvenar @changelingsandothernonsense @thequeenofthewinter @scholarlyhermit (if you’d like to join in ☺️)

This week I’m working on finishing the second part of a fic I put out in November called You Didn’t Say Your Parents Were… in which Theodora’s daughter brings home her new boyfriend from the CoW to meet her family. This snippet is over dinner while Theo is sharing some of her Skyrim stories, particularly how she wound up in Cidhna Mine and her eldest is being a bit of a shit disturber 😛

“Oddly comforting to hear Markarth has not changed.” Theodora and Ondolemar share a knowing look before he leaves the room.

“Some things never change, love.” Looking back at him, she provides the truth. “The first time I went to Markarth, I cannot remember what brought me there now, but I ended up investigating corruption within the city. There’s more corruption than there is city, truthfully. That investigation got me thrown in the prison, Cidhna Mine, a dreadful place where supposedly you earn your freedom mining silver. Not that anyone has gained freedom, let us not be mistaken. Only prison in Skyrim to be privately owned. It was there I met the Forsworn leader, the King in Rags Madanach and aided him in escaping. He managed to escape and just when I thought I’d be hauled back to prison, the Jarl’s guards told me my name was clear. Apologized for arresting the Dragonborn and the Silver-Blood family, Markarth’s elite who own half the city, even held a celebration for me. A way for them to cover themselves, arresting the Dovahkiin is not a good look and I was also newly joined the Legion. They did not need the Empire looking too closely at them.” She sighs deeply. “But I did not defeat Madanach, I was sympathetic to their cause but honestly I was more concerned with not rotting underground for the rest of my life.”

There had been much, much more to the story than Ralos anticipated, but how intriguing was it to learn that the truth was far stranger than the rumours made it seem. Heroism was complex as he was learning, rather rapidly, over dinner of all things.

“I’m so sorry to hear that Mrs. Vi-” He stops himself, falling into old habits. “Theodora, that sounds terrifying. Ceri has mentioned wanting to visit Markarth but now I know it is best to avoid it entirely.”

“You’re very sweet Ralos, but I would not worry. I think you two should visit, we own property there, Vindral Hall, you two would be more than welcomed there.” He gives her a puzzled look. “Though Markarth has a bad reputation, my experience being on the worse end, I have plenty of wonderful memories there. Beautiful architecture you will not find in another city, waterfalls, a very good alchemist at the time. And it was at that celebration that I met the children’s father for the first time.” Ondolemar returns at the tailend of this, new bottle of wine in hand. By Mephala these people can drink it seemed the wine was never ending. The Altmer refills her goblet yet again.

“That is true, we met that night. Though I did not know of your extent of your treatment there at the time, it was completely unacceptable.”

“You would have taken issue with it, even then?”

“Of course.” He responds. A faint snicker is heard from beside him, Arthano noticing there has been peace for too long.

“That’s doubtful.” Ondolemar makes the rounds refilling goblets, conveniently between Ricardo and the older one at the moment.

“We always encourage you to share your thoughts, speak.” Addressing his mother, he does share his thoughts on the matter. Sharing a bit of the messiness Ralos expected earlier.

“Well, and I say this will all due respect, Ata. Nothing but respect for you.” Reaching his arm out, he offers his father a reassuring look. “But wasn’t he awful when you first met? Or rather less awful and more…” He pauses, thinking hard for the right word.” “Stereotypical? Yes, that’s the nicest way to put it.”

“How kind my son is to me.”

If you asked the Dunmer if he enjoyed gossip, he would firmly say no. That he found no pleasure in the personal lives of others, no matter how juicy the details. Affairs, bribery, secret children. No, no when his aunt discussed those matters with her friends he ignored everything. Certainly never listened in, shocked by the hidden lives of the population of Narsis. Even further, he only listened a little when the other students would gossip, they conversed loudly in front of him, it was hard to not hear. And of course Ceri would tell him things but, he was listening to his girlfriend. That’s all, making sure she was heard and understood. Which is what he is doing now, making sure he is attentive to her family and if he happens to learn more inadvertently than, so be it. A very annoyed sigh is heard as Ondolemar begrudgingly gives his son more drink.

“That is between your mother and I, how do you even learn that?”

“Blame Aunt Phy, she tells me things! Also told me mother had a whole arena career I didn’t know about until I wanted to join.” Theodora laughs.

“Your aunt would say that, both those things. Do not hold your father’s past transgressions against him.” It is a quick comment, low and vaguely hushed.

“That woman let’s me have no dignity.” Their mother continues her point.

“It was a very different phase of life, for both of us. Clearly everything turned out as it was meant to. Is it not enough to torture your siblings, you must do so your father as well.” Returning to his seat, their father makes one more remark in response to Arthano.

“Should you ever consider a career change, your quick wit would serve you well as a jester. You could inquire as early as tomorrow.” The whole table snickers and even he laughs.

“Well played Ata, perhaps I deserved that.”

“Perhaps indeed.”

[justplaggin]

— you are you. —

phase 19 raws (source)

[johnslittlespoon]

anyyyy chance we can get a tas chapter 9 sneak peek???? please and thank you

always 👉🏻👈🏻

[gay-chef-boyardee]

If we don’t get a togachako resolution I’m going to be on the fucking news

[yes-asil]

Hi! I adore your Clone Conan AU. Out of curiosity, will Heiji ever learn about Conan being Shinichi's clone? Or like, the Black Organization in general? I'm also just really curious to know his role in this and how he will interact with Conan and Shinichi(since they are two different people). Keep it up!

He will, just later than in canon! For the AU I'd like for Heiji to get to know Conan, to actually gain his trust and become his friend first before figuring out anything. By the time Haibara enters the picture and confirms the clone theory for Shinichi, Heiji is still pretty oblivious. Only after solving a few cases in he's like "Alright, Kudo, you are a nervous wreck and you Kiddo, you are way smarter and way too gloomy than you have any right to be, what is going on."

I don't want him to just go "Oh, you're Shinichi 2.0, of course I like ya then" as soon as they spill the beans, but actually have him argue the point. A corny "you are your own person" speech is always so fun!

[joyfuladorable]

Dragon of the Sun by @forestwhisper3

(Ch.5&6>)

You know, it was kind of weird...

Mikey sat on the living room couch, the sci-fi movie he was watching fading into the background after a really campy fight scene between two psychics reminded him of something.

The first time he'd had a freaky dream that ended up sort of true, he'd chalked it up to some weird crystal mumbo-jumbo messing with him. He figured it was a one-and-done sort of thing, especially since he hadn't had another since leaving the underground city.

But now it had happened again, and this time there were no crystals to blame.

GAHHHH!!!! THIS FIC!!! MYSTIC MIKEY BUT IT'S 03 MIKEY!!!!! This fic has my whole damn heart, holy shit! Author does a fantastic job diverging from canon and giving us all the family feels and character depth that the show didn't. My heart? Palpating, pumping, melting onto the damn floor!! Go read it!!!

[oddberryshortcake]

I don’t want to alarm you

But the next update will be in two parts 👁️👄👁️

[reds-skull]

Bringer of Demise - Chapter 3

[PREV PART] [AO3]

Here we fucking go... This chapter might sound familiar, if you read the side stories. It is called "Sky Tomb (Reburied)"

“What?!” Soap growls, “who the fuck gave ye the right teh-!”

“Soap!” Price stops him before he can curse this cunt to high hell. The Captain turns to Novikov with a cold demand, “explain.”

Novikov nods, “I was requested to give my opinion on Lumity about two weeks ago by General Woods and Miss Laswell. As we don’t have protocols for this situation, I advised them to keep you, MacTavish and Ghost, separate as to not create new changes.”

“And why, exactly, would a change need to be prevented?” Ghost mutters, his back ramrod straight as he looms over the Doctor.

The posturing doesn’t make Novikov falter, “just as I would not allow an untested revenant with powers we have yet to record on field, I cannot allow you to possibly develop new ones. Today proved to me that, separately, you are stable. As we don’t have sufficient time to determine it… I have to recommend you to refrain from coming into contact while using your powers.”

Ghost scoffs, glaring at Laswell, “you signed on this bullshit?”

“Doctor Novikov is the best Spiritulogist we have, Ghost. He’s likely the closest to figuring out Lumity.”

“Ah can tell ye no one is feckin’ close to figuring out any Reaper, let alone Lumity.” Soap says bitterly, smug satisfaction spreading through him when he sees that the words make Novikov’s face sour.

He can also see Ghost’s eyes widen, before he turns them to Price and grunts, “order me, then, Captain.”

“Pardon?”

“Order me to stay away from Johnny on field, sir. Sign your bloody name on this.” Ghost challenges.

The Captain sighs, breaking eye contact for a moment, “you will not use Limbo around the Sergeant on field. That’s an order.”

“Understood, sir.” Ghost doesn’t seem surprised, “permission to be dismissed?”

Price’s expression makes Soap almost wince in sympathy. The feeling of regret spreads through the air as if someone doused the room with it, “granted. Don’t be late for the helo.”

Ghost doesn’t wait for Price to finish his sentence, before stepping heavily towards the door. He takes Soap’s shoulder and drags him along with a muttered, “on me, Sergeant.” Soap sends a confused look to the Captain, who simply waves him off.

He takes them outside, to the small space between buildings. Soap gets reminded of the conversation they had here, all those months ago.

“They think just because you died once, they can push and pull you like a puppet…”

“… Your strings are going to get tangled eventually.”

Soap doubted him then, even as his resolve crumbled every day Ghost didn’t talk to him.

He didn’t know just how true these words were.

They come to a stop there, Ghost breathing harshly, his grip on Soap’s shoulder shaky. Soap pushes him forward, until his back meets the wall.

Soap tries to think of something to say, anything to calm Simon. He wants to promise that they’ll be fine. He wants to tell him with no shadow of a doubt, that they will persevere, no matter what the future holds.

But he doesn’t want to lie to him.

So instead he asks, “are ye mad at the Captain?”

Simon shakes his head, “no. I know… know he had no choice. Brass has been on our case since Mexico.”

“Then why did ye leave?”

“The traitor.” Simon says, “thinking it might be that fucking Doctor…”

Soap thinks back to the interactions they had. If Novikov really is working with Fate… “Thought they had to be a revenant, not like Reapers talk teh humans.”

“He wouldn’t need to talk to a Reaper, would he? Its revenant will do just fine.”

Soap takes a step back, renewed determination coursing through him, “then we need to tell them! If Laswell looks into him, if Novikov really is the traitor, she will find something!”

He gets pulled before he can continue, “and reveal our cards? Don’t think so, Sergeant.” Simon wraps his arms around Soap’s shoulders, resting his chin on his head, “if we’re wrong, we just let Makarov know we know about the rat. If we are…”

“It could make Novikov run before we can catch him.” Soap sighs, hands coming up to grasp at Simon’s jacket, seeking cold, pale skin.

He feels hands tug at his laces, and his heart twists uncomfortably. “Are ye really gonna listen to Price’s order?”

“As long as you’re not in a life-threatening situation.” the arms around him tighten. Soap’s sneak under the jacket, running fingers up and down Simon’s spine, making him sag against him. “You better not explode yourself when I’m not around.”

Soap doesn’t answer, opting to nod. He doesn’t need to say the same goes for Simon; he’d burn anything that dares endanger him.

He will do his best to avoid injuries, he always does. But when it comes down to it, only one of them can bounce back from a headshot.

Soap can’t promise he won’t jump in front of a bullet for him.

They go back to base when the hour strikes 1500. Ghost separated from him, telling him he’ll talk to Price about the Doctor after Soap convinces him.

That leaves him to pack for the both of them. By now, Soap knows where Ghost stores all one billion of his knifes (seriously, how many knives does one man need? Bastard has steamin’ supernatural powers). He drops the rucksack in Ghost’s barrack, and gets to the tarmac.

At 1550, Gaz comes running by, his pack safely floating behind his shoulder. “Oi Soap! Price and Ghost are still in their ‘Super Secret Meeting’ or whatever, so we’re going to take the first helo together!”

“First helo?”

Gaz drops the rucksack beside him, already floating a few inches off the ground, “yeah, Laswell told us after you left, they’re planning on sending some supplies for the ULF to use.”

Right. Karim’s people probably need all the support they can get, after they lost Graves’ shadows. As much as he hated the bastard, he can admit his powers were convenient to have in battle.

The helo touches down, and Soap elbows Gaz, “och, we don’t need the old bastards anyway, do we?”

Kyle laughs as they board, “don’t let Price hear you call him old, he’s gonna make you run laps in Urzikstan.”

“Ye can’t hide shite from him, I bet he’s scrapin’ through our brains as we speak.” Soap cackles.

They pause for a moment, half expecting Price’s voice to boom in their heads, but it seems the Captain is too busy to listen in on their inane conversation.

Soap and Gaz share a look, before exploding with laughter. It feels good, to pretend everything’s fine for a few minutes. Their giggling dies down when the helo takes off, and Soap watches as the base get smaller and smaller.

He wonders how Ghost is doing.

Soap is used to long flight times, after several years in the SAS where he was often sent to opposite sides of the world on a moment’s notice. The almost seven-hour flight to Urzikstan is mostly spend chatting with Gaz, sleeping, or observing how the clouds gather above Asia as a storm brews.

He wakes Gaz up when the pilot announces over comms that they’re landing in 20. Gaz hates being asleep for that.

“How far behind do you think Price an’ Ghost are?” Kyle asks between yawns.

“Can’t be more than an hour, why?”

“I need a bloody shower before debrief,” Gaz sniffs, “and I don’t think I’m the only one.”

Soap gasps, “piss off!” he reaches over to shove at Gaz, before freezing.

Chk… chk… chk…

That sound… Soap smells at the air, and there…

It bursts under his tongue, as the clicks gain speed, an acrid taste he’s grown to know more than anyone. Gaz is calling out something, words lost on his ears, but the tone reads confused.

He looks down. In the row in front of them, several duffle bags have been shoved under the empty seats. Soap turns his senses to the one closest to the pilot. Moths are clinging to the rough fabric, embers glinting off the metal hull of the helo.

Chk-chk-chk-chk-chk-

He places the signs; HMX, Highly Melting Explosive, burns hot enough to eat straight through steel-

Soap jumps from his seat, burning the harness that kept him tied, and slams into Gaz. Kyle opens his mouth to ask what the fuck is going on, but he doesn’t get the chance.

The explosive goes off. The cabin is engulfed with flames, so bright his eyes burn, the following shockwave knocking both of them into the helo’s wall, Soap feels his body burning, his forehead hitting the hull-

And he loses consciousness.

The howling wind greets Soap when he wakes up. Breath stolen from his lungs, his eyes snap open, taking in the falling sky, mangled pieces of metal burning above him.

The full moon illuminates the dark clouds below him, when he looks down. It all feels so familiar, the plunge, charred hands grasping at air, the world reduced to a swirl of colors. He watches burning moths trail behind him, chasing the lingering heat of the explosion they so crave.

The moths lead him to Gaz. Unconscious, he too is falling.

Gaz is falling. Gaz is falling.

There’s a mangled part of the helo between them. Soap tucks his arms close to his chest, screaming as his burnt skin shifts with the movement. His plan works, however, and he manages to reach the half-molten steel.

It makes his palm bubble and sear, but Soap clenches his jaw, and with a flick of the wrist, explodes the metal.

It gives him just enough momentum to catch Gaz, their bodies spinning in the air.

The explosion was the cause of their fall, meaning Soap will survive, and even if it wasn’t, he would’ve just exploded himself on impact.

Soap will survive this. But Gaz isn’t made to fucking survive.

They fall through the sheet of clouds, water droplets caressing his overheated back, steaming and turning back into water. The world beneath them is dark, the only meager light comes from whatever hell is raining on them, and the ever-flaming moths.

He manages to grasp at Gaz’s tacvest, shaking him as much as he can.

“Kyle!!!” Soap yells, his words almost inaudible over the wind, “Gaz! Ye have teh wake up!!!”

The ground approaches them fast, desperation clawing at Soap’s guts. He feels tears run up his face, as he cries, “I won’t watch ye die, Garrick!!!”

This can’t be it. This can’t be the way Kyle goes.

“C’mon… Don’t do this teh me… DON’T DO THIS TEH ME!!!!!”

Soap pulls Kyle closer, tucking his slacken face beside his. He knows it won’t save him, but he turns as best as he can, so when they crash to the earth, Soap would hit it first.

“Please…” he whispers, the moths the only witness to his despair.

It can’t be more than a minute until they land, and in that minute Soap curses himself more than any enemy he ever felled.

Always strong enough to survive, never strong enough to save anyone.

It is then he hears a scream echo in his mind, so powerful he wants to cover his ears.

“SERGEANT. WAKE UP.”

Price.

Gravity switches on them, Soap’s stomach lurching painfully, his breath caught, shoulders creaking like they’re two seconds from dislocating.

Kyle’s hazel-brown eyes stare at him, wide with fear. 

Gaz drops them both, Soap rolling to the side to vomit on the ground. He heaves, eyes watering once again as nothing but bile comes out.

Two hands grab at his shoulders, turning him around and making him yelp with pain.

It doesn’t seem like Gaz registers it, or his twisted expression, not when he’s near hyperventilating, the hands on him shaking.

“You’re- you’re not dead, Soap- y-you’re not dead, please, you can’t be dead-”

Soap swallows down the scream that claws up his throat, when Kyle’s hands tighten over his burnt shoulders. He’s sure he looks dead, he feels the burns go to the bone in some places. At least his face is fine, this time.

“Ah’m not dead, Gaz. Yer okay… we’re okay.”

Kyle stops his muttering, eyes brimming with tears. Soap wants to pull him into a hug, but not only that will probably make him pass out, he doesn’t want Gaz to see just how damaged his palms are.

“We’re on our way, Gaz, Soap, don’t move from your position.” Price relays to them.

Soap shakes away the black spots creeping into his vision. Fuck, he might pass out even without that hug, “copy, Captain.” he answers all the same.

Gaz jumps when he slumps forward. Fucking adrenaline crash.

“S-Soap-?!”

“Ah’m fine, jus’ gimme a mo’ teh heal…” Soap grunts. He digs his fingers into his palms, feels the muscles twitching with stabbing pain, and straightens.

Kyle seems lost in thought, he assumes Price is calming him. Soap looks up, moths still making their way down with what’s left of the helo.

It doesn’t take long for Price and Ghost to arrive.

Ghost is wearing his full getup, skull mask and all, but even like this Soap can tell he’s livid. He jumps out of the helo before it lands, running towards them.

His body started stitching itself together by now, muscles failing him a few times as they reconnect. It made Kyle startle every time, thinking Soap was finally kicking it. His palms don’t get the chance to heal, not with Soap using the pain to stay awake. He couldn’t leave Gaz like this.

Ghost crouches down between them, casting a hesitant look at him, and catching Gaz’s shoulder to give him a shake. Kyle has shut down on him, absolutely lost in his mind, reacting to nothing besides Soap’s bouts of weakness.

Price joins them, waving Ghost off, “I got him. Go.”

Soap meets Ghost’s dark eyes, barely visible in the Urzik night.

“Johnny…” Simon reaches for him, and he instinctively flinches when a gloved hand hovers over his back, “where does it hurt?”

Soap gives him a half-laugh, “everywhere, LT…”

Simon scans him, noting his gruesome state, and nods, reaching around to pull something from his pack. Soap raises an eyebrow when he sees it’s a syringe. “Wha’s that?”

“Morphine.”

Morphine? He doesn’t need that-

Price cuts him off, “Christ, kid, I don’t know how you’re bloody upright with the amount of pain you’re in. Give him the fuckin’ shot, Lieutenant.”

“Copy.” Ghost picks up his left hand, turning the palm up. He freezes. “Fuckin’ hell, Johnny…”

Soap looks away, hating the way Simon sounds disappointed. He fuckin’ promised him not a day ago he’d do his best to not injure himself, and here he is, stinking of burnt flesh.

Simon cleans the inner side of his elbow, and lines up the needle, “have you taken Morphine before?”

“... No.”

“Might make you sick.” Simon presses on the plunger, a cool feeling instantly spreading through Soap’s arm.

He shudders. Feels fuckin’ weird is what it is, “good thing Ah puked mah lunch earlier.” the joking tone falls flat when another round of pulling muscles makes him twitch, and in turn jostles his thin skin until it rips.

Simon circles him, and Soap hears the breath he intakes when he finally sees the wounds up close. His hand hasn’t left his, and it tightens minutely. Soap didn’t see them, doesn’t want to make anyone describe them either, but he’d be surprised if his ribs aren’t exposed.

“What happened?” Simon asks, voice strained.

Soap sighs, “someone planted a bomb in one o’ the duffle bags. Enough teh take down the helo with no survivors. Only reason Ah knew it was there was ‘cause of the timed mechanism.”

He turns his head to look at Simon, after he gets no answer. He finds him staring at Price.

“Someone knew we were gonna be there, LT.” Soap continues.

“Not you.” Price says slowly, “I was originally going to fly with Gaz, before Ghost asked to speak with me.”

…fuck. Soap looks down, at his shaking hands, flames weak as they burst from his fingertips.

If it was Price on that flight with Gaz instead of him… Neither of them would’ve survived.