#adamantium weight for the worst Wolverine

[dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes]

The weight debate of Hugh Jackman as a 6’2” 292lbs Wolverine with Adamantium skeleton debate is driving me nuts.

Yes, that is how much he weighed during the movie.

Let’s do the math:

Wolverine weights 300lbs in Earth 616 at 5’3” and was 175lbs before the metal. So, he gained 125lbs.

Adamantium is four times denser than steel, so it’s heavy.

5’3” skeleton (63 inch )= 125lbs

125/63=1.984 lbs per inch

What does a 6’2” skeleton (74 inch)Adamantium weight be?

74(1.984)=146.816 lbs per inch

146.816 + 292 =438.816 lbs (gonna round up to be simpler)

The Hugh Jackman version of Wolverine in Deadpool and Wolverine would weight 439 lbs.

For the record:

According to the Marvel database (or was it Fandom), the thickness of the adamantium on his claws is one-tenth (1/10) of a micron. That way less than a human hair which is between 50 - 120 microns.

This means the weight is negligible and wouldn’t add to the weight.

Jackman’s training: https://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/heres-hugh-jackmans-training-schedule-182309505.html

Him discussing it on Jimmy Fallon: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8R35uf6/

[twilightkitkat]

I think that when it comes to characterizing Worst Wolverine as opposed to his other variants, the most important thing to remember is that Worst Wolverine is tired.

Almost every version of Wolverine has experienced loss in some way. He's lost lovers, friends, and his memory from before the procedure that nailed adamantium to his bones. But normally, the story depicts him as being angry, lost, and confused. He's still in the stage of grief where he tries to seek answers, make it right, and enact vengeance. The grief is fresh, like an open wound that keeps being scratched open even when it tries to scab over.

Normally, Wolverine is still somewhat in shock, or the intense wave of emotions that follow. His story is about his immediate reaction to grief and his action to combat it. He follows his impulses—he gnashes and snarls and claws until he murders whichever villain took what mattered from him. And only then does he start to grieve. But the story cuts off just right as he begins to sort through the emotions, not when he's in the midst of it.

Worst Wolverine has already been angry. He's been lost. He's been confused. He lashed out against the world in a fit of impulsivity that cost the X-men their reputation. He already sought revenge against a world that murdered his family and he had to live with the aftermath. For over a decade.

His story didn't end when he avenged his family, nor did it begin again when a new distracting plotline started. No. He had to sit quietly with his grief. Learn to live with it.

He wasn't just a character built on intense, conflicting emotions, because he had to keep surviving even after they died out. He didn't just have to live through his immediate reaction to grief, but live through the solitude of waking up every uneventful day with nothing to live for.

Worst Wolverine is tired. Unlike his other versions, he didn't have anything left that tethered him to reality. He had to come to terms with the fact that he lost everyone before he even let them know how much he cared. He had to confront his own feigned indifference, his gruffness, and all of his flaws while knowing he could never go back and fix it. He had to live with his own spiraling mind, thinking over the what-ifs and the could-have-beens and the if-onlys.

And he eventually reached a state of complete apathy. Where his only solace was drinking enough to drown out the voices in his head, to blur the images seared into the backs of his eyelids. (But even that didn't help. Not really. Not when everyone looked at him with scorn and reminded him of what he'd done. What he'd lost. What he'd ruined.)

It was in this state of exhaustion that Wade found him. Not the first person to approach him (to hook up, to sneer at him, but always with an ulterior motive) but the first to want something more. And when Wade pointed his gun at him, he laughed. Death was just a daydream to him. Something he wanted but could never truly attain. (A mercy he didn't deserve.)

But he went with him. And eventually helped him save the world. The one "good" thing he feels like he's ever done. The one thing he didn't fuck up.

And Logan is still exhausted. It's in his bones. It's in the wrinkles around his eyes. It's in his posture. But Wade helped him push past that for the hope of something greater. His entire arc in the movie was working past the fact that he's exhausted and grieving to finally let someone reach him. Move him.

And it didn't go away completely. Not with how he resigned himself to a life of isolation even in a new universe with a fresh start. But Wade called out to him. Pulled him back. Looked at an exhausted old dog that couldn't learn new tricks and still wanted to take him home.

Logan is exhausted. But now he can curl up next to Wade on the couch with the warmth and weight of someone next to him and finally sleep without waking up to another nightmare.

[jen-with-a-pen]

(In Your) Arms Tonight - 1/2

summary: Hypothesis: If he (Wade) turns off the AC, then they (Wade and Logan) will have no choice but to strip naked and end up sticky and gross and hard together!

That's what he was taught in middle school, right?

pairing: Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson / Worst Wolverine x Deadpool

word count: 1.3k

warnings: MDNI 18+, Wade's POV-ish, blood mention, knife mention, beer mention, Wade's fuckin horny and thirsty y'all, pining, cursing, claws, Wade is looking ✨respectively✨, crude humor and language, slight Deadpool and Wolverine spoilers, no smut (yet, sorry)

a/n: AUGH DONT LOOK AT ME (actually please do I cannot hold this in any longer.) currently part one of two parts. posting the first one now as I am currently traveling for work and won't be back until beginning of September and then part two will be out when i either A. Get home or B. Finish it and format it in between running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Please be patient with me! I will not tolerate "whEreS PaRt Two?¿??" when I literally just told you. Hope y'all enjoy one of the many products of my brain rot. More to come in due time ✨

Not beta'd. Written on my phone and edited via gdocs. Post formatted on mobile because I don't wanna use my work computer lmao

Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes!

If I've missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @tomshiddles | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ❤️

My AO3 | My Masterlist

Read this fic HERE on AO3

❤️ Reblogs and comments are appreciated, as always ❤️

PART ONE | PART TWO

The abs are great. More than great, actually. In fact, they're all Wade thinks, dreams, and fantasizes about. All day, everyday, non-fucking-stop. The moment replays over and over in his fucked up noodle brain like a scratched record. He knows muscle memory is a thing, but what about salivatory memory?

Christ. He's gotta get a grip instead of getting hard.

But what about when Logan isn't flexing hard enough to rip his goddamn suit off?

Wade notices Logan becoming more relaxed around the apartment as the days pass. Adjusting to his new life, coming out of the bedroom earlier than he has to on days when he gets a turn to sleep on a real bed. It's Sofa City most of the time– which he really doesn't mind, he almost prefers it most of the time (since it's in clear sight of the front door) but Wade more often than not likes to insist they share his 'much-too-big-for-lil-old-me' twin XL mattress that's seen more stains than sex in the last year alone.

Logan's compromise is he'll take the bed and Wade the couch half the time. Alone. They're still working on the negotiations of said compromise, but the jury– Blind Al– is still out on recess.

Once he's more settled in, Logan learns that it's okay to kick off his boots and put his feet up. It's not often, but enough that Wade silently wishes he'd rest those big meaty calves on his lap instead. He's been needing a new weighted blanket and Adamantium-coated tibias and hairy legs are so in right now.

Logan doesn't know it, but Wade secretly plays 'ohmygodhetotallylookedatme' whenever he so much as catches a glimpse of Wade oggling at him in his peripherals. Wade can't help it when Broody and the Beast's ribbed white muscle shirt pulls taut against those deliciously plump pecs that he silently prays it'll burst off again. Or he'll rip it off. Or Logan will rip it off. For him.

A boy can dream.

It's especially hard to win at 'OMGHTLAM' when Logan accessorizes– AKA throwing on whatever flannel is in rotation out of the several he finds at the thrift store a few blocks over. Wade feels his throat tighten like his jeans do when Logan wears the forest green one. Really brings out his eyes.

And smile. And lips. And–

It's still summer, so on the hotter days, when sweat glistens on his brow and Wade desperately wishes to be the back of Logan's hand, the tank top comes off. All Logan's sweaty, gloriously muscular body has on is a wonderfully worn-in pair of jeans with the hem of black briefs poking out behind the denim waist.

Do they have AC? Yes. Because Wade would have to plan a funeral for Al if they didn't.

But when she's out and about, he likes to turn it off and let the New York heat wave run its course. Sure, it leaves him sticky and gross, but he'd rather be sticky and gross and hard when he can help it.

Luckily, Blind Al is gone for the whole weekend. Some girls trip or a drug mule job. Same difference.

Hypothesis: If he (Wade) turns off the AC, then they (Wade and Logan) will have no choice but to strip naked and end up sticky and gross and hard together!

That's what he was taught in middle school, right?

With the push of a button and a sprinkle of patience, Logan is splayed out on the couch in a matter of hours with a lukewarm beer in hand while fighting his eyelids from dozing off to some random war documentary. Sweat beads on his temples and there's a slight sheen to his skin from his biceps to the lower V pointing down to between his thighs. He chuckles every so often, mumbling things to himself between swigs of beer and shaking his head when the narrator gets something 'wrong.'

Wade busies himself in the kitchen but his eyes are permanently glued to his roommate. He doesn’t miss the way Logan's stomach rises and falls gently, the rock-hard six pack softening into rolling hills of muscle with a layer of dark hair covering as much surface area as immortal-like hormones will allow. Grown out beard, chops, and messy hair really throw the whole look together; very 2000s, if you ask Wade. His pecs look just as soft as a pair of titties, if not softer, and Wade knows it. He'd do anything to lay his perfect little head on Logan's chest. Maybe lick it too, if he's a good boy. 

Logan perks up suddenly from the couch.

Oh God did he say that out loud?

"Wade?"

Wade doesn't hear him. Can't hear him. Half-refuses to hear him, honestly. Daydreaming takes up a whole lotta brain power and this show isn't running itself. Economy, budget cuts, unprecedented times. You know the shtick. 

"Wade."

Nothing but a bead of drool comes out of Wade's mouth. 

Suddenly, there's a crash right behind Wade's head and now he's awake. He whips around to the ale-spattered wall behind him and back to Logan, who's now standing with claws drawn and chest heaving.

Wade swears he's blushing. 

Eyes wide and brow standing up straight like his good little soldier, Wade looks down at the counter before him to find a bloodbath of a scene: one hand's on a knife while the other spews blood all over the yellowed counter tops; there's remnants of a carrot that was finished five minutes ago, followed directly by remnants of fingers cut down to the last fucking knuckle and slice marks beginning down the back of his hand.

Wade holds up his spurting stump, gashed artery doing a spot-on impression of Ol' fucking Faithful.

"Oh. Huh. Thought I smelled something," he says, staring at his now-tingling hand. Baby fingers for the rest of the night were so worth the staring contest with Logan's beautiful body.

"Fuckin' idiot," Logan mutters, sheathing his claws and striding over to the hall closet to grab a towel. Wade's already stopped bleeding, but just because they might be immune to bloodborne pathogens doesn't mean Al is.

"Gah– get back, damn mutt." Logan shoos Dogpool out of the kitchen to prevent her from lapping up her papa's bodily fluids. He throws the towel in Wade's face and goes to grab the bleach out of the cupboard under the sink. Logan learned very quickly where to find it the first time this happened a month or two ago.

"Sorry baby, Mommy's got a boo-boo and Daddy's just trying to help," Wade coos at Dogpool. "You're too good to me, peanut. Someone oughta wife ya up before I do."

Logan responds with a scowl as he tosses the carrots out and tries to keep the counter from staining. "Why th'fuck did you do that?"

"It was time for a new hand. Old one was so last season."

Wade mops up the blood from his arm and wraps the towel onto his head like he's just gotten out of the shower. Holding up his regenerating stump, he poses like a cover model for Vogue.

"Whatcha think, peanut?" He strikes another pose. "Is this doing anything for ya, big boy?"

Logan grunts as he tosses a wad of paper towels into the trash can. He turns to leave the kitchen, eyes flicking to Wade. It's the quickest once over ever, but Wade sees it. Commits it to memory while he pulls a Flashdance in a chair from the kitchen table and follows Logan's denim-clad ass as it sways off to the bathroom. 

"'M gonna go shower. Don't wait up,” Logan calls before shutting the door and locking it. 

Sighing, Wade looks down at his crotch, pants tent pitched higher and tighter than a first-timer on Everest.

Good thing he's ambidextrous.

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part two

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Two - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.9k

Months have passed since Johnny and I first crossed paths in the bleak void of the multiverse. In that time, the Borderlands have evolved from a chaotic, unsettling expanse into a strange but surprisingly reliable haven. I've acclimated to its disjointed blend of makeshift settlements and the diverse, often eccentric band of misfits who call it home. One of them is Laura, a fierce warrior with a rough edge, but a surprising softness beneath her surface. She once tried to explain the nature of my variant in her universe, but when she mentioned Logan, it struck a nerve too deep for me to handle. 

Today, Johnny and I are on a reconnaissance mission near the heart of the void, tasked with scouting for any unusual movements. We trudge through the arid expanse, our boots crunching softly over the dry, sandy terrain. The sky is a turbulent mix of colors, the horizon a jagged line of shifting shadows and light. Alioth.

The constant strain of maintaining control over my powers in this inhospitable space is wearing me thin. I can’t afford to let my guard down. We push through a small sandstorm that sweeps across the landscape, its gritty particles stinging my skin. I keep my eyes sharp and my hand resting on the hilt of my blade—a gift from Electra, a gesture of trust and camaraderie.

The oppressive quiet is almost a physical presence, the weight of isolation pressing down on me. We are about to turn back when a sudden disturbance breaks through the stillness. My heart skips a beat as the faint sounds of a skirmish reach my ears. Johnny’s hand clamps firmly on my arm, his grip conveying urgency.

“Did you hear that?” he growls, his voice low and taut with focus.

“Yeah,” I reply, straining to discern the sounds amidst the howling wind. The unmistakable clang of metal and the harsh grunts of a fight grow louder. “Let’s check it out.”

We advance cautiously, our footsteps muffled by the shifting sands, moving toward the source of the commotion. As we approach a tall, metal structure, I begin to climb it, Johnny following to gain a better vantage point. The structure, a rusted remnant of some long-forgotten machinery, creaks under our weight. From the top, the view unfolds before me, and what I see makes my breath catch in my throat.

Two figures are locked in combat below us, their movements a blur of speed and violence. The first is a Deadpool variant, clad in a distinctive black-and-red suit. He’s wielding a pair of katanas with an expert’s precision, slicing through the air with practiced ease. His opponent is unmistakably Wolverine, his adamantium claws extended and gleaming with a deadly sheen. Logan moves with a predator's grace, slashing and dodging with equal skill.

At first, I can hardly believe my eyes. A Wolverine—how could one of his variants be here? My mind races, struggling to reconcile this unexpected sight with everything I know. The scene is almost surreal, like a twisted mirror reflecting a reality I can barely grasp. I glance at Johnny, whose expression has turned serious, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Is that…?” I start, my voice trailing off, unable to articulate the confusion swirling in my mind.

“Yeah,” Johnny confirms, his tone grim. “Looks like we’ve got some serious anomalies here. We need to find out what’s going on.”

I watch as Deadpool and Wolverine continue their fierce exchange, their movements a violent dance. Deadpool’s agile maneuvers and rapid strikes are met with Logan’s relentless aggression. Despite the chaos, there’s a strange familiarity in their fighting styles—both driven by an intensity that makes them almost mirror images of each other.

“What the hell is going on?” I mutter under my breath, my mind reeling from the disorienting sight.

Johnny’s eyes remain sharp as he observes the conflict below. “We need to intervene. This could spiral out of control, and Cassandra could notice.”

Before I can respond, Johnny is already moving, his voice ringing out with authority as he shouts to the combatants. “Hey! We fight each other, we lose.”

The two fighters momentarily pause, their heads turning toward Johnny as he approaches. Deadpool’s head tilts, his mask concealing any visible expression, but his posture suggests surprise. “Dear god, it’s him.” His voice carries a mix of awe and disbelief. I watch cautiously from above, hesitant to step in, my heart pounding at the sight of Wolverine. He looks so much like my own Logan that the resemblance is almost painful.

Deadpool’s voice rings out with an irreverent edge. “Fair warning, gorgeous. You’re going to encounter some indelicate language. A smidge of ass play, but we’ve been prohibited from using cocaine on camera.”

Johnny, unfazed, urges me to move. “Veil, let’s go.” He turns to address me directly, his tone focused and commanding.

Logan’s head whips up, his eyes locking onto me with a mixture of suspicion and recognition. “Y/N?”

I jump down cautiously, my heart in my throat as I watch Logan tense, his claws extending in readiness. I land, a knee on the ground.

“Now that’s a superhero landing!”

“Who the fuck are you?” Logan demands, his voice a harsh growl, the tension palpable.

Deadpool’s eyes widen in realization. “Buddy, I think that’s—”

“Shut the fuck up. I didn’t ask you.”

In that moment, I see it—the familiar huff of his breath, the furrow of his brows, and the flare of his nostrils. I’d recognize my Logan anywhere. His eyes flicker with something unspoken, a mixture of relief and anguish, and his claws slowly retract.

I step closer, my breath catching in my throat. I can barely hold back the tears as I take another step and break into a small run. Logan meets me halfway, his arms enveloping me in a tight embrace. “I thought you died,” he says, his voice choked with emotion as he buries his face into my neck. I squeeze him tightly, my tears mingling with his.

“The TVA, they sent me away. I tried to find you.” I pause, my voice faltering with the weight of unspoken pain. “The others?” I ask, my eyes searching his for answers. He shakes his head, and my face crumples in grief. I had feared this would happen.

Johnny’s voice cuts through the moment, sharp with urgency. “They’re coming.”

I pull away from Logan at Johnny’s warning, my heart pounding as I steel myself. Logan’s face is a mask of pain, and I feel the crushing weight of my failure. I could have saved them all.

Deadpool’s voice interjects with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “Who’s they?”

The answer comes in the form of an onslaught of vehicles, their jumbled piles of mechanics and scrap metal creating a menacing approach. Toad, Pyro, and Sabertooth are among those heading our way, their presence a foreboding sign of trouble.

Deadpool sidles up beside me, his tone laced with a twisted humor. “Oh, they’re driving angry. Can we pick this reunion up later, pumpkin?” He glances at me, then at Logan, who mirrors my confusion.

Johnny steps forward, his posture exuding determination. “I got this.”

I steady myself, preparing for the impending fight. “Stay close,” Johnny warns, and I move closer to him, readying myself for whatever comes next. Behind me, I hear Logan release his claws, the familiar sound providing a strange comfort amidst the chaos.

The cars circle us, forming a tight encirclement. “Cassandra is going to be giddy when she sees what we caught. You can’t run. Everybody knows that.” Pyro’s voice drips with malice as their vehicles come to a halt.

“You see anyone running, dick for brains? You’re not gonna love what happens next,” Johnny retorts.

Deadpool’s voice breaks in with manic excitement. “Oh, oh my God. Oh my God, he’s going to say it. Ha! Oh my God, he’s gonna say it!”

Johnny grins, preparing for his signature move. “Avengers—”

“—Flame on!” 

“What?”

I look at Deadpool with a mix of bewilderment and exasperation as Johnny ignites in a ball of fire. Pyro watches, amused and relaxed. I create a temporal clone in the sky, urging it to engage as I manipulate time, freezing the action momentarily. As I resume time, Pyro defeats Johnny’s clone with a burst of flames. The real Johnny lands beside me.

“I know you,” growls a voice from ahead, and I turn to see Sabertooth approaching with a predatory glare.

Deadpool’s voice is a mix of awe and irreverence. “Holy shit… Sabertooth… your brother.”

I snap at him. “Deadpool, can it.”

Sabertooth snarls, his voice a deep rumble. “Ready to die!”

Logan prepares to fight, his stance resolute. Deadpool adds with exaggerated seriousness, “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Time! People have waited decades for this fight. It’s not gonna be easy. Maybe not. Shoot the double and take him down. Side control, then full mount and you ground and pound, until he makes no sound because he’s dead.” He’s gripping Logan’s shoulders.

Wolverine’s expression hardens. “Shut the fuck up.”

Deadpool responds with a mix of arousal and admiration. “Oh my God. Okay, good luck. I’m a huge fan.”

The battle erupts with a ferocity that is almost immediate. Logan’s claws flash with deadly precision, and he swiftly decapitates Sabertooth. The severed head skids to a stop in front of Deadpool, who remarks with a grim humor, “What is it, girl? Is there trouble at the well?” It stops at his feet. “Oh, big trouble.” As Deadpool leans down and picks up Sabertooth’s severed head, I can’t help but grimace at the gory mess. Blood drips onto the sand, and Deadpool’s voice rings out with a bizarre sense of theatricality. 

“Behold! The head of your precious queen, Furiosa!” Deadpool announces dramatically, holding the head aloft like a trophy. “I have the Wolverine. I alone control her. You come for me! You come for her!” He points accusingly at Logan. I furrow my brows in confusion. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s pronounced ‘him.’ I’m gender blind. It’s my cross to bear,” he adds with a wink, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Logan, breathing heavily from the intense battle, turns to me. “Who’s next?”

“Toad! You’re up!” Pyro’s voice cuts through the chaos, and I can’t help but let out a mischievous giggle. I watch with amusement as Toad sticks out his grotesque, warty tongue. I pull out my blade, my eyes narrowed in focus. With a quick, precise motion, I slice through the air, severing the tongue cleanly. It falls to the ground with a wet, squishy plop.

“Fucking nasty,” I mutter as the severed tongue writhes like a headless worm. The sight is both disgusting and oddly fascinating. Toad lets out a high-pitched scream of anguish, and as the chaos escalates, someone flips a switch. I turn just in time to see Logan hurtling towards me, and I brace myself. 

Before I can react, Deadpool appears behind me, and the next thing I know, we’re all smashed together against a massive magnet. The force of the impact slams us into a heap, and I feel myself being crushed between Deadpool and Logan.

“Uh-oh. Holy shi—” Deadpool starts to exclaim before the sound is abruptly cut off. 

The giant magnet presses down hard, and I feel a wave of darkness engulf me. The last thing I hear is Johnny’s distant shout, filled with frustration and concern.

Next Part

A/N: Let me know what you think! I’m sort of loving and hating my writing, next part will be Logan’s POV (maybe)

[casualfruit]

If I’d checked the ratings before watching Wolverine: Origins, I probably would have skipped it, but I did get a kick out of how stupid it was so I can’t say I regretted it. It was So Aggressively Late 2000s in the best and worst ways.

The performances were so over-the-top campy that they were verging on self-aware parody, except the film was taking itself totally seriously, which made it even more ridiculous—but that’s exactly what I expected. Danny Huston, Hugh Jackman, and Liev Schreiber absolutely DEVOURED their roles and left NOT ONE SINGLE CRUMB. The only disappointment was Lynn Collins’s lackluster performance as Silver Fox, which was made even worse by being in a movie where everyone else was going for full action melodrama. I was also a bit let down by Gambit’s barely-there southern drawl, but he wasn’t in much of the movie so it wasn’t a huge deal. On the bright side, Will.I.Am and Dominic Monaghan were an unexpected delight.

I will say though, aside from the performances, my favorite part was Logan’s body hair. Especially the shot of his dog tags sitting on a bed of chest hair 🥴 I am a faggot with preferences and I demand that Hollywood stop waxing their male actors and just let them be HAIRY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST LET THEM BE HAIRY PLEASE I BEG YOU—

I really liked the scene where Logan is at the old couple’s house and sits on the motorcycle and it sinks down under his weight. The fact that his metal-coated skeleton is Heavy should be used more in movies. Also, the scene where Stryker says “your country (USA) needs you” and Logan responds “I’m Canadian” and drives away was so fucking iconic.

On the other hand…

The CGI was generally alright, but there were some points when it was straight up Bad. Mainly the adamantium claws, but especially the shot at the very end when the kids are running to Prof X. It was so painfully clear that they were being edited in. I don’t know why they couldn’t just have the kids run towards him for real.

I’m still not fully clear on what Zero’s motivation for being such a shithead was. I wasn’t on my phone half-watching, I was genuinely paying attention to the movie. I assume that he harbored some kind of resentment for Logan… but why? Fuck if I know. It’s not like it really mattered.

As disgusting and mean spirited as it was, the fatphobia with Fred Dukes was also very much of its time. I’m glad that it only lasted for one scene, and I am SO glad that it isn’t as prevalent as it used to be.

And Deadpool… oh god. I’d seen references to him in the DP movies and in videos about superhero movies, but I didn’t realize just how bad it truly was. His self-aware and irreverent humor is one of his defining characteristics; sealing his mouth shut turns him into a generic humanoid monster. And the sword arms were so phenomenally stupid I could barely believe what I was looking at. How the fuck could he move his elbows when the blades were fully retracted? Even if his wrists had mobility, the blades should have gone from the bottom of his forearm to like halfway thru his upper arm. The only good thing I have to say about third act DP is that the rest of his design looked kinda cool as generic humanoid monsters go, but honestly the Mannequin Soldiers from FMAB did it better.

The adamantium bullet memory wipe was such a bullshit cop out ending. Logan’s inability to recognize Kayla was supposed to be emotionally impactful, but I felt nothing because I was too busy being pissed off at how stupid the whole thing was. I think I hated this even more than what they did with DP.

All in all, I’d say this movie earned its Rotten Tomatoes score of 38%

[yeenybeanies]

Could u do #36 with Hawkeye? If not Hawkeye then could u do Logan?

you can still send prompts & questions -^w^-

36. “ what do you want me to do about it? i’m three inches tall. ” 

clint would be great for this but i gotta go with my favorite manlet this time :> also i am once again spending time designing characters that i’ll only use once smh

marvel | logan howlett / wolverine & joy fredericks / heartbreaker ( oc )

1,394 words

mild language warning

thanks for sending!! 

A guttural growl rumbles, sounding like something that would come from a beast more than a man. There’s a familiar pressure in his forearms, but he holds the metal claws housed within at bay. They wouldn’t be particularly useful in this situation anyway.

“ I could use a little help here, ”  the man snaps. He glances down at his flannel shirt, at the pocket on his breast.

“ Hmm. Looks like you’ve got it to me, ”  comes a reply from within the pocket.

“ Kid. ”  He growls again, both in frustration and from exertion. He shifts his grip on the crumbling concrete to try and hold it better. It’s only just barely keeping together. Every second, every movement, threatens to bring the whole wall and ceiling down.

“ Yes, Logan? ” 

“ Ghrr––help me with this damn wall! Before it buries the both of us! ” 

The pocket shifts. Out pops a little head-full of tight, red curls. From underneath them, proportionally tiny eyes look up at Logan, and then at the wall, unimpressed. Her lips purse.

“ What do you want me to do about it? I’m three inches tall. You’re Wolverine. ” 

“ Kid, I swear to god––– ”  Logan starts, but another jolt in the wall cuts him off. He leans into the weight, eyes closed, features pulled into a snarl.

The little one rolls her eyes and sighs, exasperated. She pulls herself further out of the pocket, then summons up her mutant abilities. Her minuscule weight lifts into the air, powered by her telekinesis. The casual clothes on her body start to glow a bright pink and morph, leaving her in her pink-and-black uniform when it fades. A black mask appears on her face in a similar fashion.

“ Fine. Heartbreaker clocking in for hero duty. ”  She flies out from between Logan and the wall and raises her hands, fingers splayed. With another breath, she channels her energy, her willpower. For several seconds, nothing happens, much to her alarm.

“ Any day now . . .! ”  the man says. His arms are shaking.  “ Joy! ”

“ I’m trying. Hold on––– ”  She pushes again, willing the concrete back with growing desperation. Under her breath, she curses. Focus, she tells herself. Push. Lift. She squeezes her eyes shut in concentration. The concrete is much heavier than she’d anticipated.

Fucking LIFT!

The rubble starts to move, no longer pulled by gravity, but by mind power. Joy moves the large chunks away from Logan, using her hands to guide her energy. Her breath is heavy. Once the weight is off of his shoulders––literally––Logan backs away. Any abrasions from falling and scraping concrete quickly seal shut, vanishing as though they’d never happened to begin with.

“ Attagirl, ”  he says. His hands lift up to cup around her tiny body. With her in his hold, the man turns on his heel and breaks out into a sprint, making for the door. Cracks in the ceiling match his not-inconsiderable speed.  “ C’mon, Joy, hold it for another minute . . .! ” 

A minute is about all she has left in her. Logan only just makes it through the door as the ceiling comes down behind him. The shock wave pushes him down to his knees. Acting on instinct, he curls around the little one, surrounding her, using himself as a shield from any flying debris.

Though her efforts were not physical in nature, Joy still suffers physical and mental fatigue from her exertion. She lies limply in the man’s hand, her chest rising and falling with exhausted breaths. Logan stays curled around her for several long moments––longer than she’d normally allow without some sort of snarky comment. Luckily for him, she’s too tired to come up with any such comments.

Only when he is sure that the rubble has settled does Logan unfold himself. He pushes himself to stand, hands still cupped around Joy. He spares a quick glance over his shoulder to the collapsed building, then turns his attention to the little mutant.

“ Hey. Still alive? ”  It’s a rhetorical question; he can hear her breathing and her heart’s beating.

The initial answer he gets is a groan. Joy sits up, a hand to her forehead to try and nurse her rapidly-worsening headache.  “ No, ”  she says flatly. Dust covers her, muting the fiery red of her hair. Everything hurts.

“ Yeah you are. ”  Logan gently hooks a thumb under her chin and tips her head up towards him. One corner of his mouth is quirked up in a half smile.  “ How ya feelin’? ” 

Joy does not resist him. She meets his eyes, her brows furrowed.  “ I feel like shit, Logan. ”  On top of her exhaustion, she feels a sense of shame. She couldn’t hold the collapse. Any other psionic mutant wouldn’t have had a problem with it! 

“ You did good, ”  Logan says, sensing her internal turmoil.  “ Maybe a little less lip next time. ” 

Joy rolls her eyes and groans. Logan picks the worst times to make jokes.  “ It still came down. ” 

“ It was coming down anyway, ”  the man says with a shrug.

“ I should have been able to hold it, ”  she huffs.

“ Nah. You did fine. You’re still learning your powers. ”  He looks back to the debris, thoughtful.  “ I’m more curious about what caused the collapse. I didn’t detect anyone else in there with us. ”

“ Neither did I . . .. ”  Joy shakes her hands through her hair to try and clear some of the dust, then gathers her focus and levitates up from Logan’s hands. His head whips back around to face her. Were she in better spirits, the little mutant might tease him for being so outwardly concerned. Unfortunately, both her spirits and energy are pretty low. She only manages to hover for a few seconds before dropping back down. Logan, having not moved at all, easily catches her again. His fingers curl, giving her something to lean on.

“ Easy now, pipsqueak. You’re gonna have to rest a while. ” 

Joy huffs indignantly and supports herself against the man’s thumb. This is embarrassing. She hates feeling so weak.  “ I’m fine. ” 

“ Uh hunh. And you’re gonna rest while I investigate. ”  Before she can offer any sort of retort, Logan stuffs Joy back into his breast pocket. She squeaks in protest, but he pays her no mind.

“ Logan! ”  Once she’s regained her bearings, the little mutant pushes her head out from the pocket and glares up at the underside of Logan’s jaw. She narrows her eyes and pushes with her mind, but finds a familiar barrier blocking her out.

“ Can’t read me, kid, ”  he says knowingly. There’s a smug twinkle in his eye. He gives his temple a tap.  “ Steel trap. Well––adamantium. ”

“ I wasn’t going to read you, ”  she says.  “ I was gonna insult you. Telepathically. ” 

Logan pushes a sharp, amused breath through his nose.  “ Heaven forbid. ” 

“ But that’s fine; I can just do it out loud. ” 

“ Can’t wait. ”  He shoves Joy’s head back down into the pocket, more teasing her than anything, and makes for the door he’d come through. For the most part, debris obstructs it. He can’t squeeze through. With a contemplative hum, the man lets his eyes wander, looking for alternative entrances.

There.

“ Hold on, ”  he says. He jumps to grab a handhold in the cracked brick face and clambers his way up to a barred window on the second story. Joy peeks out from the pocket in time to see the Wolverine’s famous claws slip out through his knuckles with their characteristic snikt! 

Gross.

She grimaces, but keeps her comments to herself. She knows it’s worse for him; he has to feel the pain every time he pops those claws.

Logan makes quick work of the bars, dispatching them with two easy slashes. His claws slice through them like a hot knife through butter. They retreat back into his knuckles with another sickening noise, freeing his hand to punch through the glass.

“ The building was already unstable before we got here, ”  Joy points out.  “ It was probably, like, a cat or something that stepped wrong and sent it all down. And you weigh more than a cat. ” 

“ Guess you’ll just have to catch me if I step wrong then, ”  he says. Though his face doesn’t give anything away, Joy can hear the implicit smirk in his voice. 

“ Ugh. Y’know, I don’t think I could yet, even if I wanted to. ”  She sits up further in the pocket, arms folded over the lip.  “ So if you fall, you’re shit outta luck. ”

[pendragonfics]

Father of the Year

Family of the Week: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Paring: Logan Howlet & Reader

Tags: female reader, reader is Logan’s daughter, Logan is a father, mutant powers, men crying, angst with a happy ending, fluff.

Summary: Logan Howlett is many things. A warrior. A soldier. A man. A mutant. A father. And in all of those roles, he has his duties. And he must protect his daughter, from what he can.

Logan wakes in the night to the smell of fear. He would die for his daughter, ________. So, naturally, he goes to protect her...from herself.

Word Count: 1,762

Posting Date:  2016-06-30

Current Date: 2017-05-28

When most parents find out they are about to become one, they usually cry. Logan Howlett, the amazing Wolverine, a teacher at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters (who even came up with that dumb name?), a tough man, cried. He cried hard, and within the brief window of ten minutes, he had wiped the salty remains from his cheeks, and got on with the day. It's what he got for having a three month stand with the busty redhead from upstate, and it was probably the worst thing he could think of. 

Ten years later, and Logan hadn't had any sleep. You tend not to when every second you are living in a nightmare. From the first days his little ________ arrived in a bundle in her bassinet from the agency officials (a couple of men who looked like they had BB guns up their asses), Logan was undoubtedly terrified. Not of the prospect that he would be a terrible father (he would), or that he knew nothing of parenting (true), but that maybe all those lectures Charles "Wheels" Xavier gave about mutant genetics were true.

And his little girl would be something like him.

He watched her grow; from those first steps, first day at school (the kindergarten teacher insisted if he did not leave, he would be forced to call security on him); the first time you brought a friend over, and ended up playing Jenga on carpet until their parent came. All the while, he never really told you much about what you were. 

You knew what everyone else was; there was no explanation as to why else Christmas cards arrived from the impressive lecturer Professor Xavier. You knew Ororoe could make any sort of weather happen, and that poor Scott had to always wear glasses because his eyes were so powerful. The students who you'd run into (sneaking in on slow afternoons at your own school to hang out with your father) became the brothers and sisters you'd never had.

Logan liked it. You were sheltered, comfortable, but not too sheltered, and there was nothing wrong. Hell, half the mutants in the world got their genetics unlocked before puberty, and his little girl ... the only thing you'd unlocked had been his liquor cabinet to try Jim Beam and Johnny Walker. 

Logan was convinced. You had to be normal; a civilian, genetically human being produced by the most notorious mutant and the most scrumptious fling seventeen years ago. 

Until now.

"Dad...!"

Logan sat upright in the bed. It hadn't been a long time since you had called out in the night for him; those days passed when you were nine, and finally managed to stay the night in your own bed through a storm. But, your voice; it didn't sound right. What if it was a nightmare? It could be a nightmare. He'd check in a m-

"Dad, what's happening to me?"

He was at your doorway, breaking through in seconds. A good thing he insisted in living in a small apartment, not the big house Xavier proposed to pay for. But as Logan entered, his breath was held, his nose was catching a scent he hadn't smelt this much of since his last mission, his eyes -

"Dad, what's happening to me?" you repeat. 

You hold your hands to your face, seeing them at both angles. From the knuckles of your fists, are three protuberances that Logan has not seen since his trip back in time to funky old 1973. You have claws, just like his own, his natural, mutated claws. Bone claws. And they've torn your duvet and the first breakthrough to the surface has left blood spotted all over, like a poorly executed murder.

His face pales. "_______, baby," he whispers. He still sounds half-asleep, but there's something you notice about him that you catch onto. Fear. Sadness? "It's okay, it's going to be okay."

You sob. "It hurts, Dad. I thought -,"

Logan shakes his head. "You're special - special, ________. It will hurt for the first few times," his eyes are sad, and hands reach for yours. "But that's how it is, baby." His fingers graze your claws, and eyes wide and frightened, you move them from his reach.

"Don't touch me, Dad! I'm - I'm a freak," your whisper sounds like a spooked animal, frightened and hysterical. "I could hurt you."

Hearing those words coming from your mouth, the same mouth he watched learn the alphabet and the names of all the presidents of the united states, an innocent mouth, Logan whimpers. Like a wounded animal. "______, let me help you. It's okay, I've had worse injuries than this. Now, can you retract them?"

You look at your father with a confused air. "Retract? I - I don't," you take a deep breath, and focus on the three bone protuberances that extent from both of your hands. Tears form around your pretty eyes again, "I don't know how."

Slowly, Logan settles himself on the bed. It dips under his weight, and that of the goddamn adamantium inside. Equally as paced, he reaches for his daughter's hands, your hands. They are so small compared to his; he has hands of a fighter, toughened by the years he has spent dedicating his life to his passions and his team, toughened by his existence in a cruel, unforgiving world. Your hands are smooth under his touch; there are no callouses (unless he includes the toughened skin of your fingers from years of guitar practice), no scars and scratches, no marks but a smattering of freckles that decorate like half-formed constellations. The claws are small, too; Logan knows you will grow into them, or them to you, and you will be trained to control them in your everyday life. 

"Remember the lake cabin?" he asks you. Carefully, his hands massage around the tips of your knuckles. "The one in Canada I'd take you to every summer holiday."

You tremble, taking a deep breath. "It would still be cold overnight, and we'd fall asleep reading, Dad." you nod. "I miss that place. Why don't we go there anymore?"

"Haven't had enough time, I guess," he replies. "Want to go back this year?"

"Hell yeah," you whisper.

Logan smiles. "There's my girl," he leans forward, and plants a kiss to your forehead. He releases your hands, and places them back on the duvet. "See? No need to panic."

You glance from your father, to your claw-less hands. "They're gone," you breathe. "How - thank you, Dad." A beat passes between the two of you, and then, "How old were you when you got your claws, Dad?" you wonder.

He frowns. It was a long time ago; years and years, that spanned longer than he'd ever recalled in recent time. "I was a young fellow, ______. I couldn't have been much older than fourteen." he replied. Logan didn't like to think about back then, especially back when his brother had been his brother, and he hadn't been drunk on adrenaline and cheap whiskey. 

You nod, and gesture to the bed. "Well, I'll have to throw these sheets away ..." you whisper.

He shrugs. "Sheets are sheets. I'll take you out for more in the morning." he promises, and patting your shoulder, Logan rises from the bed. "Take a shower, and feel better, and by the time you get back, it'll be okay. Okay, bub?" he asks you.

"You're the best dad ever," you grin, and rising for your shower, you kiss his cheek. "Thanks for everything, Dad." 

Logan nods. "Right back at you, kid," he smirks. 

Once you're out of the room, Logan strips the bed, gathering the torn the sheets into a ball and pitches it into the bin by the desk. For a moment, he takes a breath, and turns to the hallway, where the laundry cupboard hoards the spare bedding. From here, he can hear the shower door close in the bathroom down the hall, and the water cascade onto the tiles he needs to re-grout this weekend. Grabbing what he needs, Logan makes it back into your room, and begins making the bed look as good as new. 

Upon the end of his job, Logan takes a deep breath. His mind tracks back to your mother, and the way her eyes sparkled just the same as yours do. He thinks of how you're just as stubborn as his brother, even if you don't know it and have only met Uncle Vic three times in the last five years. He thinks of you driving his truck, getting better and better at it, how you're nearly off a provisional licence. 

And just like seventeen years ago, when he heard he was a father, when he first held you, tiny in his arms, when he watched you through the glass in the ICU after a bad bout of pneumonia - Logan Howlett cried. 

The tears rolled from his eyes like a monsoon out of season, a gutter cluttered with gunk and pouring over the balcony in torrents. He cried until he couldn't breathe, until his head swam. He cried until he heard the water switch off in the shower, and that's when Logan wiped his eyes. 

Other times in his life, he'd cried because he lost his freedom to roam. He'd lost his ability to care about roaming around. He felt like he could loose the one thing that meant the world and more to him. 

He let himself out from your room, and covering himself in his sheets, Logan's mind raced as why he had broken down into tears like a princess refused a new tiara. He thought maybe it was because he had seen a revulsion in your eyes, at your own body. Or that there was no way to explain to the nosy neighbors about the bloody and torn sheets in next week's trash. 

But as much as he wanted to believe they were why he cried, he couldn't quite convince himself.

You see, Logan Howlett, the impressive and terrifying Wolverine, cried for one reason, and one reason only: that you were not like all the other kids in America. That his DNA had ruined your chances at blending in with society. From his bed, Logan heard you settle in to your new sheets, and slowly, as time ticked by after a while, he heard you finally fall asleep. 

His mind raced. You were a mutant. His precious daughter. Like him. 

And maybe, just maybe, if he could protect you from all the hatred in the world, it would be okay. 

>> NEXT CHAPTER

[cstesttaken]

Cut the Crap from Your Marketing Plan

Wolverine, a member of the X-Men, is one of the more popular Marvel Superheroes. He is known for his adamantium skeleton and powerful claws as well as his superhuman healing ability. What many fans love him for is his no-nonsense, “cut the crap” attitude. He is not interested in sugar-coating anything, and is not one for trepidation. He jumps right into the task and takes a chance without the fear of failure.  

So what does Wolverine have to do with creating a marketing plan and what can marketers learn from his aggressive approach? Let’s find out.

Have no fear: The marketing world can be a complicated and confusing place. There are new trends to pay attention to, and different advice coming in from various sources.  Trying to come up with the right marketing plan can be intimidating, but much like Wolverine, you just need to take chances. “One of the worst things [in marketing] that you can do is to not do anything,” says Kimberly Burghart, Client CMO with Miles Technologies. “Trying something and failing is better than not trying something at all. You can learn from a mistake.” There are a lot of different methods and strategies out there, but the only way to find out how well they can work for your company is to try them.

Heal quickly: It is certainly not a bold statement to say that not everything in your marketing plan will work perfectly. While a company definitely needs to make smart decisions about allocating time and resources, Burghart says that sometimes businesses will be too quick to dismiss a tactic or strategy element if it does not produce desired results the first time.  She cites the example of blogging. If your company blogs every other weeks for two months, and does not see an increase in contacts or leads, that does not mean blogging is not worthwhile. Perhaps you need to blog at least once a week instead or re-evaluate the type of content you’re putting out there.

Find your marketing X-men: Wolverine, a loner for much of his life, was hesitant at first to trust others. He did not “buy-in” to the X-men right away, but eventually learned to trust Professor Xavier and his team. This is the same process many marketers go through. People or companies sometimes think they can do everything themselves and try to talk themselves into being completely independent with their marketing. “It’s okay to admit that you do not know everything,” Burghart says. “It is better to get help in the areas you are not an expert in—whether that is marketing tactics or with the products and services you are marketing.” Do not dance around the fact that you need help. Whether your company needs to outsource some or all of its marketing or if some of your employees need to facilitate marketing discussions with owners, CEOs or key decision-makers, admitting that your marketing needs help is not a bad thing.

Don’t waste your time: Wolverine subscribes to the theory of lesser talk and more action. He isn’t interested in sitting in a million strategy meetings, and neither should your marketing team. Planning and progress report meetings have their value, but only to a certain extent. Once a certain piece of a marketing plan is agreed upon, give it some time to be put into action. For example, if you decide to increase your Google AdWords budget or market to a new geography, you do not need to meet two days later for an update. You will need a larger sample size to evaluate its effectiveness. Since time is valuable, make sure you meetings are all important and necessary.

Track properly:  Wolverine is an expert tracker. With his keen sense of awareness and animal-instincts he is able to hone in on his target. This is the same type of approach your marketing plan needs to have. Make sure you are looking at the right targets to measure your results. That’s great if your website has more traffic than the month prior, but does that alone mean your plan was successful? “If you want to acquire more customers, it is not just about how many visitors you have,” says Burghart. “You want to look at your conversion rates. Visitors do not impact your bottom line. A smaller amount of qualified traffic may be better than larger overall traffic.”

Also be mindful not to put too much weight on industry benchmarks for certain methods such as email marketing. While industry average measurables such as open rates and click through rates are certainly something to keep in mind when setting goals, remember that they are not tailored to meet your business’s unique needs. Many of the companies that get surveyed in these industry reports are companies that have been actively engaged in the effort for a long time, and it probably took them quite a while to get where they are now. Rather than shooting for an industry average goal right away, it is better to look at how your company is currently performing and set smaller goals to help you get there eventually.  

Know what you are up against: Whether he is battling against Sabretooth or trying to Stop Magneto, Wolverine knows the strengths and weaknesses of his opponents. When developing your plan of attack for marketing it is important to know your target. While Search Engine Optimization (SEO) is important, remember that you are marketing to people not search engines.  For example, don’t waste your time concerning yourself with showing up on the first page in Google for a ton of different keywords. “There are only so many key words you can rank for,” says Burghart. “Don’t go after keywords just for the sake of having them.” Make sure the keywords you target are actually ones potential customers will associate with your business’s products or services. 

Do you like Wolverine? What are your top strategy tips?  We'd love to hear your your thoughts in the comments below.

Have questions about creating the right marketing plan for your company?Contact us today and speak to an online marketing expert.

Source

https://blog.milestechnologies.com/cut-the-crap-from-your-marketing-plan

[dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes]

Thank you!

That is what I was trying to find tbh. I didn’t know the right keywords so I went off the info I had.

So, I was off by 100lbs. I’m not surprised.

My hubby thought he was closer to 500lbs.

Thanks for the realism.

The weight debate of Hugh Jackman as a 6’2” 292lbs Wolverine with Adamantium skeleton debate is driving me nuts.

Yes, that is how much he weighed during the movie.

Let’s do the math:

Wolverine weights 300lbs in Earth 616 at 5’3” and was 175lbs before the metal. So, he gained 125lbs.

Adamantium is four times denser than steel, so it’s heavy.

5’3” skeleton (63 inch )= 125lbs

125/63=1.984 lbs per inch

What does a 6’2” skeleton (74 inch)Adamantium weight be?

74(1.984)=146.816 lbs per inch

146.816 + 292 =438.816 lbs (gonna round up to be simpler)

The Hugh Jackman version of Wolverine in Deadpool and Wolverine would weight 439 lbs.

For the record:

According to the Marvel database (or was it Fandom), the thickness of the adamantium on his claws is one-tenth (1/10) of a micron. That way less than a human hair which is between 50 - 120 microns.

This means the weight is negligible and wouldn’t add to the weight.

Jackman’s training: https://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/heres-hugh-jackmans-training-schedule-182309505.html

Him discussing it on Jimmy Fallon: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8R35uf6/