#and I really don’t blame them at all. I understand

[girl-lostconnection]

Little angst to sprinkle, but Helldiver!Reader who are tired.

God, you are so fucking tired. None of this matters, none of this makes any fucking sense at this point.

You climbed the ranks and you did their due and you paid in blood and flesh and chips of your own sanity. You gave and they gave and they gave.

You trained new cadets, explaining the terminals and heavy nests and fortresses. You have been everywhere command allows space jumps to.

Your ship a big menacing thing, a blade forever suspended in the vast cosmic nothing. Weightless and creaking whenever you have to engage orbital thrusters, chief engineer muttering something under their breath. You never ask what. Engineers can have their superstitions.

You can’t afford to have any.

You can’t afford much at all nowadays, prices biting harder than they ever did, missions deadlier.

You have less and less divers with each year — numbers of your branch diminishing quickly. Frankly, you don’t blame them.

Average age of Helldivers is 18 to 22 years old.

Average survival time out in the field — less than half a minute.

Even with all the propaganda and enlistment perks command simply cannot supply new meat to the frontlines. There is simply no more new meat.

Conditions get worse for rookies, their chances of survival dropping through the crust of the earth. At least when you were starting out you still had a med bay.

At least you managed to scramble some manuals for proper ammunition assembling.

You drag yourself onto the ship, steps heavy and tired — there are black spots in your vision, your head is swimming and you are pretty sure you no longer have anything in your stomach.

Bloody stims devour any available energy source to power your body through the life-threatening injuries.

No wonder you are still limping. Your mind doesn’t understand why the leg that got torn off is in place again.

You don’t really notice Price chatting up your chief administrator when you drag yourself in — bloody and tired, limbs so heavy it’s a miracle you are still standing.

But you can’t call it a day, there are three more missions. Then you can rest.

There are black spots swimming in your vision, you are lightheaded and nauseous, stomach aching — it clenches around nothing, trying to dissolve the food that isn’t there anymore.

You whip out the stim you didn’t dispose after the last mission, needle sliding in your thigh with practiced ease. Your body filling with energy, your vision brighter.

You can finally fucking think again.

There is a heavy silence you don’t notice immediately, too high on the endorphins stims bring. Pain free for the next two minutes or so.

“Captain?”, Price is hovering just behind your shoulder, your fingers twitching around the base of your secondary weapon — you are jumpy straight out of the mission. Automatons start looking like people after too long.

Down on Chort-Bay is hell likes of which you haven’t seen before.

You are not looking forward to jumping down there again. But duty calls, right? No one else would do that. No one is on the orbit right now but you.

“Captain”, you hum, eyes flickering to him for a moment. You have to wipe the visor of your helmet to properly see him — one of the diver’s got blown up on a landmine, his blood is still on your armour.

You don’t have time to wash it off. Not if you want to finish mission before you will need to be up for the next order.

“I noticed…the syringe.”, Price starts after prolonged silence, brows furrowing as he watches you. Eyes the softest blue you ever saw. The summer sky.

You remember the one you saw back at home. The time before helldiving now feels like a feeble attempt of your imagination to cushion the fall from the height of your exhaustion. The time before helldiving feels nowadays like a fairytale.

“Didn’t know you were sick”, he continues and you chuckle, typing in your coordinates. It’s cute that he worries about your health, though understandable. You are still alive and therefore a valuable asset to the command.

“Not sick. Just fucking tired out of my mind. We get a shit ton of stims with every resupply. Probably the only thing we get for free”, your laugh is a dry static-y thing, distorted from helmet, coming out of dynamics in your helmet feeling wrong and twisted.

But Price looks at you now like you have three heads and you try to explain. Perhaps SAS don’t get any of these. Though not like they need the thing, they got actual medics ready to stitch them up as needed.

They got off days and luxuries you cannot afford.

God, you might consider marrying on one of these days. Purely for tax benefits.

“Stims are used to patch us up on the go. Don’t have a whole lotta time to waist. We use them sometimes as energisers as well. A tired soldier is a sloppy soldier and a sloppy soldier is a dead one”, you say, brain fog finally lifting, god, this is good.

“Wouldn’t that constitute addiction with how often soldiers use it?”, John is a heavy stare and deep frown in the line of his mouth, his eyes the prettiest summer sky. “Wouldn’t that be dangerous?”

You shrug, checking your gear before getting yourself in the pod and locking your ankles in place.

“Command told us they had scientists test drive the things and they aren’t addictive. Honestly I don’t know much, Captain. You might wanna ask someone with actual degree about the stuff”

You salute him for the road and then the pod slides you down, all ready to go.

Down there hell awaits. Down there torn off limb is the least that could happen.

Down there you could use any help you can get.

Price watches you getting launched down the orbit and turns away, tension coiling in his shoulders.

Price whisks away one of the stim vials, hiding the thing in the pocket and walking away. He will need to have someone check the bloody thing.

There is no way godsend ambrosia that cures torn off limbs and massive bleeding is not addictive.

John remembers the way your whole body buzzed with energy from the moment you pushed it in. Like there was no more pain, no more exhaustion, no more fear.

Like you were high.

And that’s for sure that sloppy soldier is a dead one. But so is the drugged out one. So is you, if his suspension is right.

[stupidlittlespirit]

i've seen the "he'd never date a woman" thing with ford so much, which i think about a lot. like it's one thing to just headcanon him as gay but there are a lot of posts where internalized or blatant misogyny shine bright. one i saw straight up had multiple people going "he respects women too much to want to date/fuck them" like hello? do you realize what you are implying ab real women when you say that?

i'm not great at articulating my thoughts but i think it's especially prominent with ford because of his intelligence + unconventional demeanor. he's off-putting and a genius and didn't want to give up his work to settle down into a standard marriage with kids. women can't be weird or smart in the same way men can for example and all women want the typical white picket fence nuclear family american dream. therefore you are off your gourd if you think he'd ever want to be with a woman. so there’s that on top of the already rampant misogyny present in fandom spaces with shipping especially.

there's also the whole "gibe the oracle your phone number" / "i miss dimension 52" that could have some implications if you want but ig i can't blame people for forgetting jeselbraum because hirsch barely expands on her LOL. but basically it’s all up to interpretation and it really isn’t all that wild to think he could be attracted to women.

personally i just enjoy projecting my own sexuality onto him. “what gender are you attracted to?” don’t care. can i show you my isopod colonies. “how would you describe your sexual attraction?” uhhhhhhhhhhh (<- is probably demisexual)

So, I deleted my post because I felt like I was rehashing points I'd previously made a million times before, but I stand by it.

I want to address what you said and then I want to kind of go on a tangent (shocker, I know) about the interpretation of GF at large because I've been engaging with a lot of Lynch stuff recently, who we know was by and large the most influential person for Hirsch, and one of the biggest things around Lynch's work is the beauty of subjectiveness. I think Hirsch carries that legacy with him at the heart of his work.

So yeah, the comments about Ford 'respecting women too much' is insane. If anyone thinks that they are probably the kind of person who doesn't respect a woman anyway. If your hands sully the one you touch, perhaps your hands were not so clean to begin with, yknow? That's the vibe I always get with those kinds of comments.

Society approaches women so differently from men in this regard, as you said. Where a man is 'quirky' and 'cool', a woman is 'annoying' or 'trying too hard'. She suffers for her differences where as he profits for them. She can only commit the crime of being Cringe, and in my experience, people will forgive many things but never that.

There is certainly merit in the way in which a lot of people recognise that Ford is partial to things that are 'weird' or that are shunned by society, especially because of his hands, and that plays well into Queer culture. It's a feeling most of us (if not all of us) experience. So I can see where there connection comes and it's totally cool to hold that belief. Queer is BIG umbrella and I think he falls under it myself, what with the ace/aro stuff. We're given much more canon evidence of him being ace/aro, in fact, than of anything else. I maintain personally that canon Ford is asexual and aromantic, and that romance doesn't factor into his life in the way it does for 'normal' people. It's why when Bill mentions that quiz Ford does in his dreams in TBoB it makes me think of my own struggles with asexuality: "I'm not normal, everyone else is feeling this type of way and I'm feeling that type of way. There's something wrong with me. I'm weird. I need answers." It feels very much like Ford is attempting to understand that side of himself and is very afraid of the answer.

The Oracle stuff makes me so sad it was never expanded on more. I really love Jheselbraum and it felt like she was one of the first people that Ford met who was of higher intelligence than him, and who actually did just want to help. She extended an extreme kindness to him. Whether it was more than that doesn't even really matter. There was still a relationship formed there that can't be discounted. But again, it can be interpreted in lots of different ways.

This is the other thing. There's nothing wrong with projecting yourself onto your favourite character. We all do it. I do it. It's fun and it brings comfort. And that's okay! But that means we can all do it. So it's unfair for someone else to say "you're wrong for thinking XYZ about Ford" because we're all just kids in a sandbox playing house with these characters. You can't gatekeep someone else's enjoyment.

You can believe Ford is gay. You can believe Ford is ace. You can believe Ford is whatever you want him to be, but what you can't do is then rescind that privilege from someone else just because you don't like it or because it makes you feel better about yourself to punch down on someone else. People are entitled to their own interpretations of media, even if they make you feel uncomfortable or whatever.

Which brings us onto Lynch. Now, I'm not a huge surrealist fan, I like Lynch most for the person that he was (ugh I'm still so sad to type that). One of the biggest things about him was that he valued the intelligence of his audience and respected them enough to allow them the space to interpret his works as they saw fit. He never wanted to define his films in a way that would prevent another person from taking their own meaning from it. There was no definition, only feeling.

There's a clip of him being asked to expand on his meaning for one of his films, I forget which one, and he just replies "no". It's so fucking good because that, to me, is art. It is fundamentally subjective in its existence and the way I view something is not going to be the way someone else does, so why take that interpretation away from one to give to another just for their approval? We may align in thoughts but the way we process the media is going to be entirely different. Why? Because we're different people. Our experiences throughout our lives have informed the way we interact with things.

I think Alex Hirsch enjoys other people making their own interpretations of his work in a similar way. Just as Lynch does. Hirsch wants you, the audience, to derive personal meaning. He doesn't need (or even want) to tell you how to engage with the themes because why would he? It would only make him work harder to get a simpler point across and it would risk alienating parts of his audience. He wants the audience to connect and to find their own familiarities, and he respects his audience enough to give them the space to let them do that. He's often evasive when he's asked to tie things down firmly. To be honest, I think he should be braver in just saying "no, I don't want to answer that" sometimes. You can tell he wants to but he also wants to engage with people so it can be hard.

People are very desperate to want to have answers in black and white. They need things to be canon in order to feel vindicated, when in actual fact, an idea is just as legitimate when it comes to fiction. Fiction IS an idea. It isn't tangible and therefore cannot be quantified, so it can be interpreted however.

Anyway, by forcing your interpretation of the work onto others (ie. 'Ford would never', 'Stan would never' etc), I think you fundamentally misunderstand what the purpose of the work is. You're taking away the light of other people because you're scared yours doesn't shine bright enough. And you're scared because other people previously took your light away, but all you're doing is repeating the cycle and taking away from the rest of us.

Your ideas can coexist with others. No one is right and in that, everyone is right. Does that make sense? Idk.

I voice my opinions of disliking certain ways the fandom engages with elements of the show, but I don't think they have less right to have those ideas than I do to have my own. I interpret Bill as one way and someone else will interpret him another. That's okay. You're allowed to do that. But I don't think you're allowed to be actively vicious to others over it.

Engage with honesty and recognise that other people enjoys things in different ways, and it's okay not to control the narrative of that sometimes.

I have my criticisms of Hirsch but I also have a lot of love for the guy, and one of the biggest things I respect about him is him allowing us to draw our own beliefs. Do I think he could stand to do some things better? Yes. But that doesn't mean I don't love what I already have from his work.

I'm not sure if this makes sense, I'm having a bit of a Day, but I hope it at least reads well enough to convey my meaning.

[problematic-3h-takes]

I don’t understand why so many people blame Rhea for humans being so obsessed with crests and how they abuse each other over them. Aside from how crests are the in universe equivalent of superpowers, so of course humans will want them, and heroes’ relics are very powerful weapons, Rhea wrote into the books of Seiros, the actual text of the religion, that the reason Sothis left was because humans kept abusing crests and the heroes’ relics.

“The descendants of the Heroes sought their ancestor's power, and thusly their blood. In time, they amassed Crests, Relics, land, and wealth, using all to set the land aflame with war. The goddess's power, intended to stem the flow of evil, became a tool of destruction, all because of the greed of humanity. The goddess grieved and, heartbroken, hid herself in the heavens from whence she came...”

The actual text of the religion preaches against crest abuse. I’m not really sure what else people want Rhea to do! After a certain point, you have to accept humans themselves are the real problem here.

People like blaming complicated widespread issues on scapegoats so they don't have to confront the fact that there are no perfect solutions for challenging corrupt systems and that they may contribute to it more than they want to admit

[the-fabled-void]

What’s your opinion on Lust Sans? How do you think the creator could have handled hypersexuality better? Because honestly I don’t think it was handled very well -as a hypersexual anon myself.

What’s your opinion on Lust Sans? How do you think the creator could have handled hypersexuality better? Because honestly I don’t think it was handled very well -as a hypersexual anon myself.

I can't really say much about hypersexuality as i have no experience with it, and it's been a while since I read the Underlust comic.

One thing I have to say, I don't think NSFWShamecave probably didn't intent to portray SPECIFICALLY hypersexuality? From my understanding at least it doesn't seem like it.

Despite the way monsters behave being similar to hypersexuality, I believe the creator was trying to portray something that they believed was fictional. (The lore reason being the fact that everyone's injected with an aphrodisiac.)

And that's where a lot of the issues come from.

I will have to say, it was a genuine attempt by someone to make something with serious lore out of an AU with origins that are hard to take seriously. I would blame it on age, but I'm just gonna go on a limb and say someone with the username NSFWShamecave was at least 18 back then.

Regardless, it's not a story that's easy to tell. Even with genuine intentions, their story- you can tell it wasn't made by someone who knows their stuff.

Additionally, it seems like a kind of AU where the creator thought 'designs first, lore after'.

Which isn't a bad thing on it's own! It's interesting to already have a point in the story that the characters are at and think "okay, how did they reach it". But the creator didn't execute it well.

There's also the 'love fixes everything' vibes I remember getting with Papyton with what happened to Mettaton.

The AU itself feels kinda puritan, with Frisk needing to show the monsters true love as if they've never had it before. It feels extremely reminiscent of the internet's culture at the time, especially the Undertale fandom. I remember being very active on Wattpad at the time, and I remember on there... It was treated jokingly, but we did call anything sexual 'sin' and shamed people for being into it (12 year olds like I was SHOULDN'T be into it, but still...)

Not to mention... Chara. Obviously the character who was the fandom's genocide scapegoat, who was seem as evil back then, is gonna be made weirdly lustful. Good thing they aged them up, I'm glad this creator didn't try to dive into child hypersexuality (while it does exist, someone with those views on sexuality would not have handled that very well, and they would have received more scrutiny), but giving them the soul trait of Lust? That was probably not the best way of explaining why everyone is horny.

In short:

The main issues are that the creator was portraying a real issue bad because they didn't know it was real, and that the creator wasn't all that experienced in writing stories (and designed most characters other than Mettaton and Frisk without a story for them in mind).

As for Lust Sans himself, I didn't really answer that question specifically very well, did I?

Firstly, he suffers from what most characters in the story do.

Additionally, as a Sans, I'm gonna have to think about him in the context of the multiverse.

His portrayal is what happens when an already not too well executed idea is brought towards a bunch of kids.

Of course there were older people in the fandom, but I say the majority of us were not the intended demographic for the AU.

And kids, especially in today's day and age, are notorious for wanting to seem mature and therefore portray stuff for adults, but at the end of the day, we weren't and we couldn't.

So Lust, in especially the early fandom's eyes, was reduced to "non-consensual flirt bordering on rapist".

-

I do have my own version of the AU, slightly altered. So far it's just lore from the AU itself instead of individual characters or story. I wasn't really planning on doing much with it, and I made it before voicing my own criticism, so it doesn't really address more than the Chara sexualization. Feel free to read it if you're curious though!

[salty-autistic-writer]

Tommy (solo or with your choice of partner) + journaling

Tommy stares at the text he just typed out, his heart racing as his thumb hovers over “send”. At the last moment, he decides: No. I can't do this. 

He deletes the words again, his stomach sinking as the moment of courage he had dissolves.

It’s not the first time this has happened. Tommy blames the silence. It creeps into his mind which has gotten so used to listening to Evan talking. Where Evan’s voice once had been there’s now a void and something inside Tommy aches to fill it with words before it can consume him.

There's so much he wants to say. Needs to say. But he couldn’t say the words when he left Evan and he can't say them to the person he's sure hates him now.

The ache stays. Nags. Opens a wound and deepens it. So Tommy opens the notes app and writes it all down there.

Every thought he has about himself. Every apology that wants to pour out of him. Everything that’s wrong with him. Everything he didn’t manage to tell Evan and won’t ever tell because Evan deserves better.

I’m not a hero. I’ve never been a hero. I’ve always been a coward.

I’m an idiot.

I never wanted to hurt you too. 

I miss you so much. Miss your smile, your eyes, the way you laugh, miss your warmth, miss the way your lips open and you don’t notice the world around you when you’re really focused, miss holding your hand at night, watching a movie with you, eating dinner with you and talking about the day. I miss you so much, I can barely breathe.

I hope you hate me. You should. You were so hopeful and honest when you said you wanted me to move in with you. And I am the coward who ran before he could see things happening because, in my experience, good things don’t last.

I’m not brave. Of course, you think I am. The truth is, I’ve always been hiding behind some kind of mask. Trying to pretend everything is alright. That I’m alright. I never wanted you to have to deal with all that baggage I’m carrying around. Now I wonder what you would have said if you caught a glimpse of it. It’s selfish, isn’t it? I wanted the good things. I didn’t want the bad things. But it should be both.

Sometimes I dream about going back to you. Asking you for another chance. Like you did. I wonder what you would say. In my dreams, you’re kind and understanding. Maybe I should try. What do I have to lose?

I’m sorry, Evan. * The sky is dark with smoke. Tommy wishes he could see the blue one more time.

Howie is not cracking jokes this time. Instead, he tells Tommy to hold on in a tense and focused voice.

Did my phone burn? Tommy wonders before he gives in and passes out. God. I hope so.

Thanks for asking! <3

(AO3 Link)

[eievuimultimuse]

     SUPERFLY CAN’T HELP but grunt derisively at Xever speaking of others hiding their intentions. He held no derision for the fish himself, of course, just…he can’t understand it.  “ But how could they stand there after everything humans put us through and still side with them ?  It makes no sense. If you ask me, they just couldn’t handle doin’ the HARD stuff. Never could. Always had t’ leave it to their ever so capable older brother. “  He can’t keep the bitterness and resentment from dripping in every word. Speaking in terms of literal years, he’d never been much older than they were. He was a baby raising babies at one point. Yet he still pulled up his bootstraps and got crap done, because someone had to. He’d just hoped that someday they’d GROW UP and return the favour for friggin’ ONCE. Maybe it’s on him for assuming too much of them.

     His agitation quiets a little at the addition that one couldn’t be really HONEST on the streets.  “ Yeah, I learned that the hard way, “  he mumbles.  �� First time I dipped my toes in crime stuff, I didn’t know what I was doin’. Had a guy willin’ to show me some ropes, though. Made the mistake of thinkin’ us gettin’ CHUMMY somehow made us friends. Then when things got rough and I wanted out, first thing he did was threaten everything I cared about, ‘cause I’d been stupid enough to tell him things I shouldn’t have. “  Given that they’re stopped, the fly takes a moment to loosen his grip and lean back, exhaling a sigh through spiracles.  “ He wound up bein’ the first man I’d ever taken out. If ya’ catch my drift, “  he adds with a nod towards Xever. And he’d do it again if he had to. Screw that guy.

     Although he remains quiet throughout the fish’s speech out of politeness, he can feel the agitation creeping in at the suggestion that he scared his family. That he displayed some kind of insecurity. But really, those things aren’t really a surprise to him. He knows he scared them. He knows he wasn’t always as confident as he made himself out to be. He just never wanted to admit that.  The only reason he doesn’t give one of his usual knee-jerk reactions is likely because he can tell that Xever’s not judging him for that. Not by the way the fish relays his own story. Even if some of the things he says in relation to said anecdote make Superfly want to shift awkwardly in his seat from how uncomfortably close it hit home.

     “ …You’re askin’ a lot of questions, “  is all the fly says at first. But it’s just deflection, avoidance, because whatever the TRUE answer to any of these questions are, Superfly’s simply not ready to admit to them yet. Because that would mean admitting HE was the problem, and he’s not willing to do that.  “ I just did what I had to t’ take care of ‘em, man. Sometimes takin’ care o’ people means gettin’ ugly and doin’ things they don’t like for their greater good. Sometimes you just gotta be the BAD GUY t’ get things done. Means you get blamed for a lotta their problems too. “  ( He still remembers Bebop and Rock’s exchange, claiming HE was the reason they were angry all the time. What a joke. )  “ Way I see it, they found some OTHER folks who put shiny ideas in their naive heads, and decided on a whim that I was the cause of all their problems. I’ll give it a WEEK ‘fore they realize I was RIGHT. “

     He’s more than glad to get off the bike by this point, too worked up to stay on for another second.  “ Cool. I’ll follow your lead. “

By this point the pair were now close to the docks. The traffic began to grow less and less as time went on. Only when they reached the waterfront did Xever finally bring the bike to a stop. The pair had talked a lot on the way here, Xever honestly felt lighter since he had admitted some stuff he had kept hidden for a the longest time. Something about Fly rang true to him in some respects. Like they were both jaded souls who the world just seemed to keep crapping on. Xever had to wonder where they went wrong, if there was something the pair could have done to make their lives better. Were they doomed to just be the punchingbags of this world while other far more deserving people got off scot free? Xever wasn't sure.

"Everyone has their own views, hard to tell sometimes what people truly want. They hide their intentions, because sometimes admitting to something they don't want to admit to is harder than just trying to push that truth away from yourself. I admit that I have a hardtime being honest with people. I felt like I couldn't be honest, because that is weakness and to appear weak on the streets is tantamount to death. You can't leave anything that can be used against you."

Not even from those you might feel connected to. You can't even show them your weaker side because they depend on you. And if they saw that you too weren't as strong as you protray yourself to be then would they still hold you in that same regard? Xever saw so much of himself within Superfly or parts of himself at the very least.

"Maybe, they turned on you because they felt like they saw a side of you that scared them. A side you never felt confident to show them. I did that to someone I took care of and well I did something I couldn't take back. I regret that, because that person was the only person I ever truly cared about which was hard enough being the loner than I am. I can't ever have that connection with them anymore because the side of me they saw was far too ugly. I got way too mad, I said things I did things, it was partly the turtles fault too. As they often are with most things that went wrong with my life here."

Xever felt like he was maybe digging too deep here. He had only just met this guy, but this pile of emotions felt so akin to his own he couldn't help but look into Superfly and see a mirror.

"I could be wrong though, I am not a good person. And despite that I still want to say sorry to the other person. But, even saying sorry might not be enough because they saw something ugly inside me. We can't have what we had anymore, because that side is exposed now. They see it and it will always be there reminding them of it. Tell me, did you hide parts of yourself from your family? Did you feel like there were certain things you couldn't say to them? Because they relied on you? And if they knew you were scared they wouldn't view you the same? How often did you ever let down your guard around them? Show them how vulnerable you were? How much bravado did you project? And how much of it was real? Because I did the same thing, and it builds up in you until it explodes. The turtles feel more like they are the thing that causes that explosion. It is their fault, but how much of the problem was lingering there before they blew it up?"

This was something that Xever realised long after everything was over. He still hated the turtles, they were the source of his woes. But with Mondo, how much of it was simply issues within himself that he kept hidden? If he had been more honest or tried to show his emotions more clearly Mondo might not hate him now.

"This is the place..."

[lowcallyfruity]

I love my IRLS so much but sometimes I feel like they hate me and regret talking to me and offering me to sit with them and think they want me to stop hanging out with them. But honestly I don’t blame them because I’m so fucking dry and I don’t know what to talk about, and I’m dumb and I have no idea of normal kid trends and TikTok audios and I’m just the least social person ever and I’m not funny ugh the only thing I have going for me is that I’m kind like ughhhhhhhh

[dykedvonte]

Mini rant below and in the tags, the only time I’ll talk about this and my personal take on it.

The way people talk about hypothetical male Anya on Twitter and the idea of how Mouthwashing would play out if the genders were swapped makes me remember how people still don’t take sexual assault and rape with male victims with the same gravity, especially when the perpetrator is female.

[concrete-3ater]

if I had a nickel for every time I was in a fandom and a child character had a breakdown and did something that accidentally hurt another character, and then the fandom all turned on the character and vilified them because they [the fandom] can’t understand that sometimes 14 year olds make mistakes when they’re going through something traumatic, I would have 2 nickels

not a lot but it really is weird it happened twice

[quietwingsinthesky]

Irks me a little bit whenever Dean torturing in Hell is positioned as his own fault, or even really his choice to do. We get given the solid number, 30 years of torture for him and 10 inflicting it on other people (which was also more torture for him because it’s Hell, the torture evolves, it doesn’t stop), and we get told that wasn’t long enough. That John held out longer. That angels were going to pull Dean out of Hell and if he’d just held on a few years more, the seal wouldn’t have been broken.

But that isn’t true, right? We know Heaven wanted the seal broken, ergo Dean wasn’t getting saved until it was. Until it, and he, we’re thoroughly broken and usable by Heaven to achieve their own ends (ie to make him into a good (obedient) Michael sword.) So, it wouldn’t have mattered how long he held out in Apocalyptic terms because the game (that he didn’t know he was playing) was rigged against him.

But more importantly for Dean, the amount of time he managed not to break literally does not matter. Because it was never going to be long enough. Thirty years, forty, a hundred, a thousand, it does not matter how long he held out because the breaking itself is the unforgivable part to him and the breaking was always inevitable.

Anyway. There’s my Dean meta for the year. Eat up, I guess.

[spottedmischief]

Shenzi: *tells him the truth about Scar*

Cheezi: Okay, I think we made a mistake.

Shenzi: *asks him to join her clan so they can be safe*

Cheezi: how dare.

[turnedinto-themoon]

thinking about Ursa tonight :/

[vlindervin7]

muslims will act violently homophobic in a country that values gay rights and then act shocked when it reflects badly on their community

[lesbiansanemi]

I hate my roommate’s cat more and more with every passing day

[lizardho]

I came out to my dad as bisexual at 14 and I was PANICKED because I had a crush on a guy in my Boy Scout troop and thought I was Going To Hell Forever and he was so kind and understanding of my distress, but he had NO idea what bisexuality was. He just said “yeah but you like girls too? This is normal. Everyone is like this.” And I love my dad and trust him with my life to this day and the idea that the concept of bisexuality had not occurred to him had not occurred to me so I put it off.

By 16 though I had a crush on like THREE boys. Three entire boys in my Boy Scout troop. I felt like my sin was slowly advancing, until like an untreated cancer it had become metastatic. I remember bawling my L’il limp-wristed sissy eyes out in his big rumbly truck on the way home from a scout meeting and him telling me that it was OK, that he still loved me if I was gay, but that he knew I wasn’t gay because I still had crushes on women and that meant I was straight. I didn’t quite know how to explain that those felt *~*different*~* and that I felt like I was losing a fight to evil inside me but I again felt comforted by his reassurances and his genuine fatherly love.

At 18 I was like “hey I’m realizing all my friends are going on missions. I don’t wanna do that. Idk how to say that and I don’t have a ‘good enough’ reason to not wanna go.” So I just put it off. Again, my parents were extremely supportive of the information I gave them (I blamed it on perpetually forgetting to start the paperwork.) and one day my mom texted me that she had done the paperwork for me! And that all I needed was to get a physical! So I did that (it was awkward af tbh, my hernia check was done by a trainee doctor and she spent like 3 minutes fishing around my inguinal canals before her attending rescued me) and was sent to Mexico City where I learned that in addition to dipshit himbos with strong hands and scruffy guys with artistic hearts I was REALLY into chubby Latin men with strong personalities who bullied me a little when I lived in Mexico.

I remember my first companion got annoyed with me during an argument and said we were just gonna wrestle and whoever won the wrestling match won the argument (I stg I am dead serious this happened.) I was like…SWEATING when he tore off his tie and threw his white button-down shirt onto the ground (I won btw, don’t ask me how).

I remember one of my companions with this really intense, almost manic energy telling me that he was gonna make sure I was safe in a new area I didn’t know very well. He cooked breakfast for me and we’d go shopping together on P-Days and in the mornings before breakfast he’d jog around and do pull-ups with his shirt off and I’d do anything but look at him because my face would break out in a sweat so intense he’d think I was crying and come over to see if I was OK and somehow make it worse. He let me play D&D with myself in the evenings even though it was against mission rules because he knew how lonely and stressed I was.

I remember one of my companions was a big chubby man with a loud voice and a great sense of humor. He was kind and direct when addressing conflicts with me, and always bragged about how he knew the secrets of women’s minds and it felt like he really did since it almost always boiled down to “Treat Them Like People and Love Them a Lot. Don’t Stop Being A Person For Them. Also Eat Them Out Sloppy Style.” Our P-Day activities sometimes felt like dates, and it seemed like he was more attentive to my emotional state than I was since he was always the first to suggest we slow down our Divinely Mandated, God-Ordained, Super Sacred Work and Wonder to get a snack or check out a Pawn Shop (I love Pawn Shops).

I remember another companion who asked me to bully him every time he did something against his goal of losing weight. It was like he gave me Carte Blanche to take out my crush on him by being a nuisance and I LOVED that. I remember having a breakdown one day after we’d spent the afternoon frantically cleaning our disgusting-barely-habitable mission house to make it look less vile that it was (not our fault imo?) and I started bawling and he pulled me into a hug and he smelled good and he told me he knew it wasn’t just the house and that I was mad at him for being a Huge Dickhead for about a week (true) and that he would work on it. (He’s also a huge chaser but that’s a separate thing.)

I remember one of my companions waking up early (and our schedule is already built for sleep deprivation) to make me a “birthday cake” from knock-off Nutella and bread. He used matches for candles and woke me up, lit the ‘candles,’ pulled them out, then smashed it in my face and took a bunch of pictures while I was still madrugada and disoriented as fuck. He had the same sense of humor as one of my HS crushes and I could push his buttons pretty easily which was so fun.

I came home from my mission and started back at BYU where I became actively and aggressively suicidal. I had a stalker the year I moved up there and my dad’s solution to that was to get me a gun. I know he wouldn’t have bought me a gun if he could have read my mind, but I had a loaded pistol under my bed during a trifecta faith/sexuality/gender crisis and that was not helpful. I remember that the day I decided to kill myself I figured I’d call the BYU CAPS and see if I could get into therapy because it felt like what I was “supposed to do” so I could check my suicide boxes. My therapist was the guy who’d helped me pick a major the year before and was this drop-dead gorgeous Hawaiian man who cried when I told him how I’d been feeling.

A few weeks into therapy I met another stunning man with soft eyes and a scruffy illegal-at-BYU beard he kept pushing his luck with. He was funny, kind, patient, married, and wouldn’t give me the time of day if he knew I was crushing on him. We were in my history of psych class, which was inarguably the worst psych class I have ever had, and we studied together for every assignment and test and I realized that my feelings for him and for all the men I’d already mentioned were in direct conflict with my faith and relationship with God. My already agonizing spiritual conflict became even more wretched and as a result of this plus some other tightly-packed experiences with Mormonisms bullshit, I left the church.

After leaving the church I decided to move back to AZ and transfer to ASU. My mom helped me get a dog since I think it had started to dawn on my family that my mental health was barely getting me through the day, and she knew that we both loved dogs. Madi made my last year at BYU livable while I got my shit together and transferred. In that last year, I went on a date with quite possibly the only semi-openly-out trans person on BYU campus. It was not a great date imo, I was not doing well, but the person I spoke with was fun and fascinating and talked to me about Gender Dysphoria and it really cemented my need to go. To leave and never come back to that fucking school.

I started at ASU a month after my last semester at BYU and within a very short time frame it felt like I was coming back together, like a puzzle magically putting itself together in an environment that wasn’t slowly draining that puzzle’s will to live.

On the 4th of July, the year I started at ASU, I saw a transition timeline photo of a gorgeous happy beautiful happy radiant happy woman and her former Mormon missionary self and I realized the light that was on in her eyes was the light that was off in mine. I looked into transitioning for 3 days, sleeping about 10 hours total during that time. I started talking to other trans people on Reddit (one of whom is now my beautiful fiancée @cintailed) and after about a month of making preparations to be disowned and kicked out, something I was not sure would happen but was ready to go through to Turn On The Lights, I came out to my family and it was amazing. I started HRT a month after that. I secretly dated some dorky guys for about a year while I applied to grad schools. I got into a great grad school for me and my needs. I got FFS. I did my trainings and classes. Me and my fiancée moved in together after some LDR shenanigans. We’ve lived together now for 4 years of basically marital bliss. We have a cat named Grandmother Esmeralda Weatherwax who bites the hell out of my feet about three times a day. My bi-cycle continues to be part of my life but now it’s not as scary. Baby gays in my life have started to look to me for advice. Idk how this all happened so fast. When the years, months, weeks, days, and hours seems to crawl by so slowly now they are rushing past me so fast it’s almost bewildering. Whereas before I felt like I was living on borrowed time, past my ‘expiration date,’ now it feels like I can Fucking Breathe. I’m training myself to slow down now and it feels worth it to Live In The Moment.

Idk why I wrote this. Idk why these thoughts only seem to come up on Sundays when I’m supposed to be writing my dissertation. Idk why I’m crying rn or why I feel so happy. I’m gonna post this shit then get on with my dissertation I guess. Read more Terry Pratchett and give yourselves the time you need. Get a pet. Talk to someone. Re-examine the events that brought you here. Be gayer. Love y’all 💕

[not-neverland06]

Hey! Your writing is amazing! I’ve been checking daily for new fics lmao

I was wondering if your requests were open would you be able to write some angst with a happy ending w/ Peanut?

Perhaps a Shy!Reader who has flirty banter with Logan. They’re on a mission and Logan has to make a quick decision on who to save — Reader or Jean and he saves Jean without thinking. Reader ends up surviving with a few injuries but her and Logan’s relationship starts to deteriorate. Logan’s not good with verbal apologies so he does acts of service — bringing reader food/drinks etc. reader is stubborn and Logan starts to get frustrated. He eventually proves himself to reader.

I’m sorry if this is confusing!! I’m not creative enough to write it myself and you’re really really skilled. Love your work x

a/n: I read this request and then read them together and my brain imploded because I loved it so much, no smut in this one Summary: Logan saves Jean on a mission and it's the wake-up call you desperately needed to understand that you will never be her. You can't stand to look at him anymore and he doesn't understand why you've stopped talking to him.

“What’re you thinking of doing after this?”

You shrug, leaning back on the uncomfortable bench seats and looking over at Logan. “Not sure, got any plans?”

Logan smirks and you immediately know whatever he’s about to say is going to send you spiraling. “Yeah, whatever you’re doing, sweetheart.”

Oh. My. God!

You know you’ve got it bad when something as simple as that has you swooning. It’s so easy to fall into this routine with him, to pretend you’re more suave than you actually are. Despite your usual tendency to fade into the background, you find it nearly impossible to do with him. 

Where someone else might let you stay quiet and go ignored, he seeks you out. He makes you feel seen and heard. Some days you don’t know if you appreciate it or despise it. You laugh a little, trying to hide just how affected by him you are. “Sounds good, Lo.”

He smiles and leans back on the seat, his arm coming around the back to rest lightly over your shoulders. You can tell from the look on Storm’s face that she’s trying not to laugh at you. You can’t blame her, you’re sure your eyes have tripled in size and you look absolutely stunned. 

Flirting isn’t out of the usual for you and him. Lately, though, he’s upped the game. Touching you more than usual, spending more one-on-one time together. You can feel it all building up to something. You’re shy, not stupid, you know when a guy’s going to ask you out. 

But it feels like he’s dragging it out longer than necessary like he’s enjoying teasing you a little too much.  “Alright,” Scott stands up and moves towards the back of the jet. “We’re almost there, get ready.”

You, very reluctantly, pull away from Logan and get to your feet. He walks past you, briefly squeezing your hand before joining Scott by the ramp. You grin, flexing your hand by your side and trying to memorize the feeling. 

The ramp lowers to the ground and Scott and Logan lead the way out. You’re expecting this to be simple. Stake out the area, find some information about the people running the warehouse, and figure out what exactly it is that they’ve been doing. 

The air is bursting with moisture. It’s suffocating, how humid it is, how it makes the material of your suit cling to your skin. You know the rest of the team can feel it. That it’s irritating them just as much. 

None of you want to be out here in the peak of summer, trying to be stealthy in these ridiculous costumes. Your thighs squeak every time they rub together. It’s beyond embarrassing. You know that that’s what has you all distracted. 

You’re struggling through ankle-deep mud and sweating buckets. So none of you are paying any particular attention to the area around you. Technically, you shouldn’t have to, you’re still about a mile out from where you need to be. 

You duck, hands coming up to cover your ears as Charles’ voice screams through your mind. It’s a trap!

Even with the warning, there’s no time to prepare. The ground around you explodes, grass and dirt flying through the air. Logan grabs your arm, he shoves himself in front of you and takes the brunt of the bullets. Splatters of blood hits your cheeks and he runs you both behind a tree for cover. 

The other three have all found their own cover and they’re struggling to figure out where the shots are coming from. You spot something in the underbrush and scream, “Behind you!”

It’s more of a warning to duck than it is to move. You throw your hands up, shoving the man away from them and sending him flying into the trunk of a tree. You swear you can hear the snap of his spine as it hits the bark. 

You look to Jean and nod towards the small clearing of trees. “Don’t,” Logan warns. But you’re already slipping out of his grip and solidifying the air in front of you. It provides enough of a cover, absorbing the bullets, and giving you all time to figure out a plan of attack. 

Jean moves beside you, eyes narrowing on the perimeter of your cover. “There are too many of them, more than I can count.” 

“How did they know we were coming?” Scott snaps, keeping an eye on the area behind you. 

Your arms struggle under the weight of your power. The more bullets they shoot into your cover, the harder it is to keep up. You’re forced to absorb their energy, push it out tenfold to try and keep the blockage solidified. 

“Guys,” you snap, “we need a plan. I can’t hold it much longer.” You grit your teeth, taking a step forward to try and push against the strain. It does nothing but make your bones ache. Logan shoots you a concerned glance, coming up behind you like he wants to take the weight off your shoulders. But there’s nothing he can do. 

There’s movement behind you, a boot snapping a twig in two. You can’t risk looking back but you can hear the worry in Jean’s voice. “Ten of them-”

You can tell by the sounds of their movement that the others don’t give her much of a chance to finish. Ororo, Scott, and Logan all shoot forward to deal with the threat. Ten isn’t much to worry about. But that doesn’t change the fact that the men in front of you haven’t let up and you’re about to weep from the weight of keeping the wall up. 

Jean stays beside you, brows furrowed in concern. She places her hand on your shoulder and closes her eyes. A second later you feel something like a cool blanket laid over you. The tension in your arms and core eases just enough for you to stop clenching your jaw so hard. Some of the strain eases away and you know she’s sharing it with you. 

But just as quickly as the relief was given, it’s yanked away. Jean jumps back with a gasp, “Flux, we need to move!”

“I can’t,” you shout, fighting to be heard over the sound of bloodshed and gunshots going off in front of and behind you. The others are steadily moving through the people surrounding you, but their numbers are still overwhelming. “It’ll all come crashing down,” you tell her. 

She glances towards the bullets, finally spotting the way they’re slowly, but steadily, moving through the thickened air. The second you let go you’ll be riddled with holes. “Shit,” she hisses. “Look, we can’t stay here much longer-”

She’s cut off by a loud bang. You’re so disoriented by the noise your hands drop to your sides. At the same moment, you hear wood splintering and cracking beside you. What has to be the largest tree in the forest creaks before it begins its descent down towards you both. 

You don’t what happened, or what they used, but it doesn’t matter. The wall in front of you is fading. You have seconds to get out of the way of the bullets and the tree, you’re not sure either of you is going to make it. 

“Jean!” There’s a flash of brown hair and Jean’s being tackled to the ground, safely out of the way of the tree and bullets. You feel something stinging against your shoulder and know the first bullet’s made its way through. 

You also see the tree is almost over top of you. You’ve always been a fight response in flight or fight scenarios. But when there’s nothing to fight, when you have nothing to go up against, you freeze. It’s horrible, you know it, but there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Even as you’re desperately screaming at yourself to just fucking move, all you can do is watch as the tree topples down on top of you. “Flux, duck!” The words trigger something in your brain just soon enough to drop to the ground. 

Scott releases a red beam, blasting through the tree and knocking it off course. You don’t even register the smell of burning flesh as you lay in the mud. Your blood is rushing so fast in your veins, there’s so much adrenaline pumping through you, you can’t focus on anything except the sound of your heartbeat. 

You let out a breath of relief, slowly lifting yourself up to your knees. You don’t hear any more fighting and you figure whoever they hadn’t taken down before, the beam took care of the rest. 

You look down, checking yourself for any bullet holes or serious damage but you can’t find anything. Something warm trickles down your shoulder, it drips across your arm and down your hand. 

You look at the blood curiously, it seems to steady a flow from the simple bullet graze you’d had earlier. “Oh my god,” Jean whispers your name and you turn around with a concerned look. 

You want to ask her what’s wrong but your eyes are trained on the way Logan’s arms are bracketing her. He’s practically on top of her, only now getting up to check on you. You get it, it was a stressful situation, he acted fast. 

But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow the lump in your throat. It doesn’t ease the burn of betrayal. He saved her, not you. He chose her even though she doesn’t want him. The anger you’re feeling only makes it harder to be aware of your surroundings. 

It’s not until Scott kneels behind you a presses a gentle hand against your back that you lurch forward with a loud cry. The pain slams down on you all at once. The wind blowing gently against your back feels like someone’s dug razor blades in your skin and ripped. 

Feet rush towards you, someone kneeling beside you and grabbing your shoulders. Logan forces you up and makes you look at him before his gaze turns to your back. “What the fuck did you do?” He practically growls, lunging towards Scott. 

He grabs him by the collar and shoves him into the dirt. Ororo and Jean leap forward, trying unsuccessfully to rip him off. You try and keep your eyes open, try and stay focused. The pain is too much, you don’t want to be awake for this anymore. Every nerve on your back feels like it’s being forcefully exposed and plucked at. 

Your brain forces a shutdown and you slump into the mud, the world going black. 

When you wake up, you’re on your stomach. You’re a little dazed, not fully remembering how you got here. You try and sit up but there’s a steady grip around your wrists stopping you. “Don’t move,” Jean warns from somewhere behind you. 

You try and look for her but you can’t move much. Your head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, stuck to the pillow beneath you. “What happened? Why can’t I move?”

Her shoes appear in front of you and then she’s kneeling down, a slightly worried look on her face. “We needed to make sure you didn’t roll over in your sleep.” Her brows crinkle and she frowns, “You don’t remember?” You shake your head minutely. She sighs, lifting her hand to your face and pressing her chilled fingers to your temple. 

The images rush towards you. You see it all from her eyes. The way Logan had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground, checking over her and not once looking at you. How Scott had tried to stop the tree from breaking your spine. His beam had just barely grazed your back as you had ducked. But it was enough for there to be serious damage. 

Through her view, you can see the way your skin had bubbled up and blistered. How horribly damaged it was. You have limited healing abilities, but it was enough to stop the nerves from being permanently damaged. 

She lets you go and you groan, the pain slowly registering in your brain. It’s dulled and you don’t know if they’ve given you drugs or if your abilities are still working to help you. “How’s Scott?” 

She chuckles and shakes her head while she undoes the restraints around your wrist. “He feels awful. He keeps coming by to check on you.”

The thought of him sitting beside you while you were strapped down to the bed makes you feel a little bad. It wasn’t his fault, he’d helped you. It was more than Logan had done for you. 

You frown, hating yourself for being bitter. If he hadn’t helped, Jean might not be here next to you. He had saved your friend. The thought didn’t bring much comfort, though. “I’m not mad at him.”

Jean eases you onto your knees and slowly helps you sit up. It causes minimal pain, but it’s still uncomfortable enough to grit your teeth and dig your nails into your palms. “I know, but he’ll probably be coming down here a lot to check on you.”

You almost ask her if anyone else has visited. If Logan had, but you don’t think her answer would make you feel any better. “He did,” she tells you and you click your tongue in irritation. 

“Out of my head,” you warn. She releases you with a small grin. “I don’t care,” you tell her, trying to appear nonchalant. 

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing on you. “Yes, you do. And I don’t need telepathy to know.” She walks towards your IV bag, fiddling around with something on the line. “He was here whenever he could be, practically lived beside you.”

“Don’t care,” you tell her again, but there’s less conviction this time. 

Jean frowns and you hate how guilty she looks. It’s not her fault he’s desperately in love with her and not you. You can’t force someone to love you or choose you. And you don’t want to. You want someone to love you for who you are, not because they couldn’t have their first choice. 

“Don’t,” you say lowly. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.”

She doesn’t get a chance to say anything before the door bursts open, both Logan and Scott sliding into your room. Scott lets out a relieved breath when he sees you. He breathes out your name and approaches with a guilty smile, “You’re awake.”

“Charles told us,” Logan informs. You offer him a brief glance before diverting your attention to Scott. 

Petty, you’re aware. But you don’t want to see Logan right now. You’d put so much effort and time into your friendship with him. It doesn’t even matter if he doesn’t feel the same way about you. You two are best friends, and he didn’t even try to help you when you needed him the most. 

So, you smile at Scott. You forgive him and you tell him you're fine. You chat with him and Jean while Logan just stares at you from the other side of your bed. You can’t make yourself face him. You don’t want to look at him, it makes you sick to your stomach.

Eventually, Scott’s guilt is slightly assuaged and he and Jean leave for the night. Logan is a heavy presence beside you, one you no longer can ignore. You shift around, pretending to fluff your pillows until he grabs your hand. 

“What’re you doing?”

You look at his hand and then at him. Whatever look is on your face is enough for him to release you and back off. “Getting comfortable,” you spit out, more venom in your voice than necessary. Something clicks for him, you can see it as it happens. 

He backs up and narrows his eyes down at you. “Right.” He frowns and sucks on his teeth, nodding his head silently. “I’ll come back when you’re feeling a little better.” You don’t miss the hidden dig underneath it all, the way he’s calling out you’re unusual behavior. 

“I think that’d be best.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, slamming the door behind him as he leaves. You jump at the noise and it makes you hiss as a twinge of pain shoots down your spine. You feel slightly guilty about the whole interaction. Then, you remember the way he’d been cradling Jean and you feel slightly vindicated. 

You’re sure he doesn’t even give a shit. He’s probably pouting in his room, wishing Jean was in bed beside him. 

What the fuck?

It’s all that’s been playing through Logan’s head since he returned from your room in the medbay. He’s waited days for you to wake up, so he can finally take a breath and let go of the anxiety that’s been plaguing him. 

He’d thought that he’d lost you in that forest. When he’d gone for Jean, he’d assumed you’d just be able to use your powers to knock the tree out of your path. Or make it melt around you. 

Honestly, he can’t put a finger on what exactly he was thinking. But he knew that you could protect yourself and that would be your priority. So he’d moved without really thinking and grabbed the person who would be collateral damage if your powers went haywire. 

And then you hadn’t saved yourself and all he could smell was your burning flesh. The smell has been stuck in his nose since you were brought back to the mansion. He can’t escape it. Everywhere he goes, he sees you burning and hears your screams. 

He’d thought that you were dead and there was a moment where he genuinely was so lost he could do nothing but watch as the others swarmed you. He couldn’t move, couldn’t help you. He could only stare at your still body and pray to anybody who could hear him that you weren’t dead. 

He didn’t know what he would do if he lost you before he ever got a chance to love you. 

He’d, irritatingly, imagined all the different ways he would finally tell you how he felt when you woke up. He’d prepared himself for every possible reaction, except this one. He hadn’t expected you to reject him before he ever got the chance to confess. 

Anger stews within him as he paces through his room. He knows that it’s unfair to be upset with you. You’d gone through something horrific and there had been doubts about your recovery. Of course, you’d act off. 

Except, you only seemed to be directing that at him. Had you been just as dismissive to Scott, the person who actually hurt you, he would have looked past it. He’s tempted to go back down and see you again, maybe try and make you see some sense. 

Instead, he decides to give you both some time to calm down. He doesn’t want to do anything he might regret while he’s pissed off. He’ll see you tomorrow and, hopefully, you’ll be back to normal. 

You’d thought Logan might have gotten the hint with how you behaved earlier. That was not the case. He’s back today and you can smell the breakfast food he’s brought you. The smell is wafting deliciously from an inconspicuous brown bag. 

But you know it’s from the restaurant that’s twenty minutes out of his way. You’re not petty enough that you can’t appreciate the forty-minute round trip he’d taken for you, but you still aren’t excited to see him. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles at you despite your clearly hostile energy. He tugs the chair towards your bed, ripping open the bag and pulling out enough food for the both of you. 

You think it should be considered a form of manipulation to call you that while you’re pissed at him. He has such a clear effect on you. You know he’s aware of it. He knows that when he calls you something sweet like that it makes your heart race and stomach flip. 

You turn your gaze towards your blanket. You pretend the thread pattern is the most interesting thing in the world so you don’t have to look at him. You’re sick of giving your all to men who couldn’t care less about you. 

You’re tired of being the second, third, fourth choice. You want someone to choose you first for once. And you genuinely thought Logan would be the man to do that. But he’d chosen Jean. You should have known. 

“Alright,” he huffs, crossing his arms and glaring at you. You’re pissed off that he’s acting like he’s the one who was hurt. “What the hell is your problem? You’ve never been this mad at me before.”

It’s his tone of voice that really grates on you. He genuinely does not understand what he’s done wrong. He doesn’t even comprehend the possibility that you might be mad he left you to die. Have you really become such a doormat?

Yes, you’re shy and generally reserved with the people you meet. But he is so different. You two met and it was an instant connection that you thought was reciprocated. You hadn't realized that you'd become so complacent in the relationship he thought he could get away with something like this with no repercussions. 

“You left me to die,” you snap at him, voice taking a pitch it never has before. You’ve never truly gotten angry at him. Pissed off sometimes when he teased you a little too much. But you’d never plainly shown anger at him. “You fucking left me behind and expect me to, what,” you scoff and shove the food back towards him. 

“You think some shitty breakfast is going to fix this?” His face contorts. It screws up into something like hurt and you worry you might have been too harsh. He doesn’t know how you feel about him. He doesn’t know that this would hurt you so bad. 

But, it doesn’t matter. You’re still his friend. You should have at least warranted a little concern. 

Just as quickly as it appeared, the hurt is washed away by his own anger. “I thought you could take care of yourself. Isn’t that what you’re always bitching at us about?”

If you weren’t so upset you might find it funny how quickly the two of you turned on each other. Clearly, there was something repressed between the two of you. Some brewing resentment that neither of you had ever acknowledged. The words are coming quickly now, without thought.

“Fuck you, Logan,” you snap back at him. “You didn’t give a shit whether I lived or died. You only cared about your precious Jean.” You spit out her name with so much venom it stings as it leaves your tongue. 

He laughs, getting out of his chair. He shakes his head and glares at you. His anger is always a physical thing. You know he’s pacing so he doesn’t do something worse, like destroy the entirety of the room. 

“That’s what this is, you’re jealous? Don’t blame your fucking incompetence on me.” You hate the way he’s speaking to you. Like you’re a little girl who's incapable of understanding even the most basic of concepts. He has such a patronizing look on his face, you want nothing more than to wipe it off. 

The tables beside you tremble, the vases of flowers rattling against the wood. “I’m your friend, Logan. You could at least pretend like you cared about me.”

He leans against the end of the bed, tilting himself forward until he’s aggressively imposing your space. You shrink back against the pillows, narrowing your eyes in disdain. “Don’t fucking pull that shit with me. I knew that your priority would be to save yourself and I acted accordingly. This wasn’t some goddamn ploy to get into Jean’s pants. Grow the fuck up, Flux!”

You flinch back at the volume of his voice. Unwillingly, tears pool in the corners of your eyes. It’s an involuntary response. Sometimes you just get so enraged that you have no other way to get rid of it than to cry. It’s infuriating to see the moment someone stops taking you seriously and starts to think you’re nothing more than a crybaby. 

Logan’s face pales and he winces, backing away from you. “I didn’t-”

“Enough,” you stop him, voice thick with unshed tears. He never calls you by your X-men name, it’s an unspoken agreement between the two of you. That’s a formality reserved for the other members. To each other, you’re nothing more than two people who care deeply for one another. 

Or, you had been. Before this one moment had blown your life and your back up. 

“I appreciate how much faith you have in my abilities, but the fact that your first instinct wasn’t even to protect me says a lot.” You take in a deep breath and shake your head. “Thanks for the breakfast, but can you please just leave?”

He looks like he doesn’t want to. You know he doesn’t want to leave. You two never fight like this. Even if there wasn’t a lot said, it’s still not normal for you. Maybe that should have been your first hint that things weren’t what you thought. 

It’s healthy to fight, to a certain extent. Sometimes it's needed. You two never have before and you know it’s just been brewing for a while, waiting to blow up. “I-”

“Get out,” you shout, and the tables beside you finally crumble under the weight of your emotions. They drip to the ground in an inorganic form of liquid wood. “Shit,” you hiss, glancing over at them. You wave your hand and they return to their normal state, but it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have lost control at all. 

The door slams and you look up to find the room empty. You sink back against your bed and run your hands over your face. You ignore the way the skin of your back screams in protest. 

You embrace the pain, the fiery shocks running up your nerves as the bandages chafe against the wounds. You focus on that instead of how things have ended with Logan. You always had such high hopes that he might be the one you finally man up and confess to. 

You should have known you were wrong. You should have known that it would never have ended with him picking you over her. 

You’re permitted to leave the medbay the next day. You don’t see or hear from Logan for the following week. You can’t confirm if he’s purposefully avoiding you or not but you have to believe he is. You both live in the same hall. You don’t know how it’s possible to have gone this long without even catching a slight glimpse of him. 

You force yourself to suffocate the part of you that misses him. You picture the side of yourself that longs for his presence and imagine shoving a pillow over her face. You don’t want to ache and cry over someone who doesn’t give two shits about you. 

You keep reminding yourself over and over again that when things got rough he showed you his true colors. But it’s more difficult than you imagined to just completely disregard so much history with him. 

Besides, you hadn’t realized just how little you interacted with the others until Logan was out of your daily life. It’s so difficult for you to bond with people that when you’d connected with Logan you’d latched onto him. 

It’s a little pathetic, honestly. Being grown and eating lunch alone because you only had one friend. You wonder if your feelings for him were genuine or born from a desperation not to be alone. You don’t let yourself linger on the question for long. 

It’s as your training with the students that you finally see him again. 

“Has he made much progress yet?”

Jean shakes her head and purses her lips. She watches as Billy, one of the newer students, struggles with the logs in front of him. He was a firestarter, a very inexperienced one who had only ever set his curtains on fire. 

His powers were more focused on the mental aspect of things rather than the physical. Which is why you and Jean were in charge of helping him. He couldn’t start anything on his own, he only really seemed to be able to activate the ability when he was emotionally stimulated. 

That meant whenever he was mad or sad, or anything in between, everyone in a fifty-foot radius was in danger. He was a risk to the other students and you were both trying to be gentle with him. But you’d been working with him for so long and there was so little progress. It felt like he wasn’t trying sometimes. 

He’d asked Rogue out a week ago and when she’d said no, her hair had caught on fire. You know he could have been hurt and lashed out without thought or malice behind it. But you’d seen the look in his eye. 

You’re fifty percent sure he knows exactly what he’s doing. This little act he puts on is just to get himself out of trouble. You hadn’t brought the issue to Charles yet because you’re trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“Billy,” you call out. His head whips up and he sends you a vicious glare. You can’t help the sneer on your lips. “Just take a deep breath and try again. There’s nothing wrong with struggling, we all did.”

You put on your normal teacher voice, calm and collected. Assuring. But the little shit in front of you isn’t buying it for a second. He gives you a sarcastic little grin, “Right. Sorry, I forgot you’re a fuck-up just like me.”

“Billy!” Jean snaps, taking a step forward to reprimand him. She doesn’t get far before there’s a fireball shooting out of his palms and hurtling towards the both of you. 

There’s no chance to react before something slams into your side and is tossing you to the ground. Your head nearly snaps against the grass but there’s a hand underneath your skull softening the blow. 

You smell something smoking and look up to see a large scorch mark right where you’d just been. Jean’s standing over it, palm outstretched as she keeps the fire subdued. She gives you a worried look, “Are you okay?”

Surprisingly, yes. You glance up to see Logan hovering over you. He backs off when he notices you’re okay, getting to his knees and offering you a hand. Wordlessly, you slip your palm into his and let him help you into a sitting position. 

“You alright,” his hand hovers over your shoulder like he wants to pull you closer. But he resists, backing off and waiting for your answer. You nod your head, still a little dazed from the failed assassination attempt. 

He narrows his eyes, searching your face for any sign of head trauma. When he’s properly assured you’re okay he jumps to his feet. “Billy!” His voice booms across the courtyard and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen that little asshole scared. 

He’s barely on his feet before Logan is stalking towards him, jerking him forward by the scruff of his neck and dragging him towards the mansion. “We need to have a little talk,” the tone of his voice has you a little scared and you’re not even the one he’s mad at. 

Jean walks towards you and helps you to your feet. “Is your back okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod and brush your clothes off. You have to physically shake the shock of what happened off. “Yeah, I’m fine. I can’t believe he did that.”

Jean scoffs and glares towards Billy’s back. Your eyes widen in shock when you see the large scorch mark across his arm. “Jean! He got you, are you okay?”

She glances down at her shirt and frowns. “Yeah, practically a sunburn.” She gives you a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine.”

As shitty as this sounds, you’re not concerned for her. You can only focus on the fact that she was in just as much danger as you and Logan had tackled you to the ground. You glance back towards the mansion, more fucking confused than ever. 

You’re not sure what compels you to follow Logan, but you’re running after him before Jean can stop you. He’s barely got a minute headstart on you, you’re not sure why you can’t find him. You’d gone through every inch of the first floor. 

You don’t know where he would have dragged Billy, but it’s nowhere you can find. After about ten minutes of looking for him, you give up on the hope that you’re ever going to figure out what’s happening inside his brain. 

You let out a defeated sigh, running a hand over your face and trying to shake off the funk of the day. You can’t believe that little shit tried to roast you. You’re not comfortable with the fact that he’s just roaming around inside the mansion somewhere. 

You turn out of the living room and nearly slam into someone. His hands shoot out, grabbing your shoulders and gently stopping you. “Logan,” you give him a strained smile. “I was looking for you.” You glance over his shoulder and frown. “Where’s Billy?”

Logan sighs, his hands linger on your arms for a moment before he takes a step back. “Wheels got to him before I could do anything.”

You laugh a little, the noise involuntary. “What were you planning on doing with the sixteen-year-old?”

He doesn’t find the question amusing if his expression is anything to go by. “He was really trying to hurt you.”

His words sober you up slightly and you drop the flippant attitude. “Yeah, I wanted to,” god, it feels like you could choke on the words. Just last week you were screaming at him for not helping you. Now, you could barely thank him because he had. 

“You’re always my priority.” He tells you before you can struggle any longer. Your head shoots up and you stare at him with confusion. He groans, the noise tired and resigned. “Saving Jean was a mistake. I mean it, kid, I just thought you could handle yourself.”

You open your mouth but he stops you before you can argue. “I know, that’s not the point. I should have saved you, no matter what I thought you could or couldn't handle.”

“No,” you stop him and shake your head. “No, Logan, I shouldn’t. I,” your mouth opens and he stares at you expectantly. What you were going to say gets stuck in your throat. This is a horrible idea. 

“I liked you in a way you didn’t like me and it was unfair of me to push my expectations onto you.” You wanted it to sound better, and more intelligent. Instead, it came out in one rushed breath and you’re not sure he even understood half of what you said. 

His brows furrow in confusion for a moment before a smile breaks out on his face. You’re not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that he’s smiling. You can’t tell if he’s mocking you or about to profess his undying love. 

You don’t have to wonder for long. He moves closer towards you, leaning forward until you’re practically sharing the same breaths. Unconsciously, you’re drawn into him, hands braced gently on his chest as you chase after him. 

“What are you doing?” Your whispered words brush against his lips and he gives you a small smile. His hands travel up your waist. He tugs you closer, his other hand looping around your neck and craning you up. 

“I’m gonna choose you every fucking time, kid.” His lips brush across your own and it’s like a switch is flipped in you both. Your arms twine around his neck, pulling him down until you’re practically melting into him. 

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and so different at the same time. You always thought your first kiss would be after some cheesy first date. He would have taken you out to dinner. Something would have inevitably gone wrong, you spilled something on your dress or the waiter brought the wrong order. 

You would both worry that it was a sign that nothing would work out between you. And then, at the end of the night, he’d tug you into his arms and kiss you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. 

That would be nice, but this is better. He’s not holding you like you’re something fragile or something too precious for this world. He’s kissing you like you’re the very air he needs to survive. He’s greedy with his affections and demanding with his wants. 

You’re being consumed and devoured. And you never want to stop. This is all you’ve ever wanted with him, from him. 

Sadly, you do have to breathe. You’re the one that forces the stop, you’re sure he would have happily suffocated if it meant he could keep touching you like this. You pull back, the air coming in short pants between your parted lips. 

You can already feel them swelling, the slight irritation on your cheeks from his stubble. You don’t mind, you quite like the feeling. He speaks before you can, a pleased smile on his face. “Forgive me yet?”

You chuckle, a little impressed by how cheeky he is, still slightly pissed off. “Why don’t you do that again and I’ll think about it?”

He rolls his eyes but you can see the smile fighting against his firm glare. “You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?”

You smile and nod, leaning into him again. “You’re never gonna hear the end of it,” you whisper before dipping down and kissing him again. You can’t believe you ever doubted just how much he cares for you. 

He didn’t choose Jean over you. He’s just a dumbass. 

a/n: I had to resist putting in a “pick me, choose me, love me” line in there bc that would have just been too much lol

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

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