#and i am not exactly grieving more thinking about what i want to take with me from this

[dinogoofymutated]

Blue over you - 97' Wolverine/Gn! Reader

Wolverine's not even my guy, and I finished this in a day! Haven't finished anything in a while, so this was an accomplishment! This was mainly inspired by the song Blue over you by mason ramsey, and Too sweet by hozier!

Let me know if Logan is to OOC. I'm trying my best to learn how to write for him!

Tw! Alcohol consumption, Light angst. Open-ending.

You can’t sleep.

Maybe it was because of the excitement of the day, the stress from grieving the professor, or what you ate for dinner. Either way, it was nearly 1 am at this point, and your pursuit of rest was fruitless. You let out a frustrated sigh, sitting up in bed and rubbing your eyes. You wonder if you could convince Jean to help you out, but you’re sure she’s asleep right now, and you don't want to wake her up. Especially not after she announced her… condition, at dinner.

It’s not that you weren’t excited. In fact, you were over the moon for your friends. Jean and Scott are important to you, more like siblings to you than they ever were just friends or classmates. Even so, after the cheers and congratulations and the celebration… The news left you with a melancholy you couldn’t quite shake. A baby. Jean and Scott, two people you basically grew up with, are having a baby- and here you are. Alone. You don’t have a partner, or a husband, or any romantic prospects, really. You’ve spent so long learning about yourself and how to protect others, you just never let yourself open up to someone like that. Sure, you’d met many people during your time as an X-man, but you had always been a hopeless romantic, and there had only ever been one man you had things for. But even so, you just… couldn’t help but feel like you were falling behind.

After a long stretch, and another sigh, you get out of bed. Maybe a drink and some air would help. The path to the little china cabinet in your room is familiar and automatic. It was a gift from the professor when you mentioned that you missed collecting things like funny-shaped teapots and such, a habit you picked up from your grandmother. You wonder if he knew that you used the wooden bottom cabinets to store alcohol. You laugh a little when you think about if he kept the information to himself, letting you have at least one little secret. He most definitely knew, you decided. You grab a random bottle of amber liquid, unable to see the label in the dark. You shrug it off, figuring that you’ll find out what it is at some point.

The halls of the mansion are dark and quiet as you make your way over to the balcony, stepping outside and eagerly breathing in the cool air. Your eyes are starting to droop already as you turn to shut the door, but you've come this far and you figure you might as well get a drink in.

You're rubbing your eyes again as you turn back around, only to jump at the sight of a figure sitting on the railing.

“Fuckin’ Christ!” You wheeze. “Logan, you scared the shit out of me!” The mutant hums, the corner of his lips tilting just slightly before falling again. You walk over next to him, setting the bottle down at your feet as you lean against the railing.

“Can't sleep?” You ask. Logan shakes his head, and you frown at him. As gruff as the guy is, he’s normally more talkative. At least, with you he is. You can tell that something wrong, and it doesn't exactly take a telepath to understand what it is.

“...You were the one who found out, weren’t you?” You ask, almost state. Logan Huffs at your question, hopping off of the railing to pace on the balcony. He presses his palms into his eyesockets, growling just slightly in frustration.

“Her smell was off. S’been off. Didn’t think anything of it until I heard the heartbeat.” He rumbles, setting his arms down. “Don’t know if I want to strangle Scott or throw him off of the roof of the mansion.” Logan’s hands flex in a way you know he’s just dying to unsheath his claws. You’re not entirely sure what to say at first as he sighs, and sits up against the far wall. He rests his head in his hands, and it hurts to see him like this. You open your mouth, before closing it again. You glance down at your feet, picking up the bottle you had grabbed earlier.

Logan doesn't seem to mind as you sit next to him, brushing against his shoulder. You screw off the top of the liquor, taking a swig straight out of it before offering him the bottle. It burns deliciously on the way down, and you smile cheekily as he raises an eyebrow at you. Nevertheless, the takes the bottle from you, hand brushing your own.

“You’re not gonna like it, by the way.” You laugh. Logan rolls his eyes, less than a ghost of a smile on his face.

“ ‘still liquor, ain’t it?” He hums, taking a swig. His face screws up as he swallows, holding the bottle out afterward to try and read the label.

“What is this?” He asks, disgusted. You can’t help but laugh at him as he gives you a tired look.

“Butterscotch Schnapps.” You answer him. “I told you that you weren't gonna like it, it’s too sweet for you.” Logan shakes his head, almost trying to get rid of the taste as he hands the bottle back and playfully shoves your shoulder.

“Not my fault you drink shitty liquor.” He grins. You feel a flutter in your chest as you smile back at him, taking another swig to mask whatever he could possibly pick up from you- The problems of pining for a man with super senses, you think, laughing slightly at your own thought.

“Guess it’s all for me then-” you start to joke, right before Logan snatches the bottle back.

“Gimme the damn bottle.” You’re giggling a little at this point as the alcohol starts to settle in just slightly. Logan rolls his eyes, still smiling as he takes another swig despite the fact he very clearly hates it.

The two of you go back and forth like this for a while. Take turns until the bottle is run dry. Your giggles have settled down, and the infamous wolverine has relaxed as you lean against him. The two of you sit in silence for a minute or two, both simply breathing in the cool night air.

“It’s okay, you know.” You mumble at some point. Logan, able to hold his liquor a lot better than you, cocks an eyebrow. He’s not sure if you even know you're talking at this point. You look like you’re bout to fall asleep, nuzzling against his shoulder with a pout on your face. He hums questioningly in response.

“It’s okay to hurt knowing that Jean’s pregnant.” Logan had almost forgotten about that, having been caught up in this moment. His face falls immediately, and he looks away from you, staring into the trees that surround the mansion. You feel your chest squeeze painfully, but either due to the drink or due to your lack of self-awareness, you continue talking. He needs to hear it, you drunkenly decide.

“It’s hard to watch someone you love be with someone else. It’s even harder to watch them move on without you. I know it hurts to watch her move on to the next stage of life without you. But at this point, the best thing you can do for her is support her because you love her, not covet what you wish you could have.” You know you sound like you’re drunkenly rambling, and maybe you are, but really, all of this is something you wish you could have said years ago. You’re sure you sound like Nightcrawler, talking about coveting and love and righteousness, but you’re not as much of a good person as Kurt is. You know that you’re no better than Logan, Pining after him for so long as he continues to pine for someone else. To be perfectly honest, You’re jealous of Jean. You’re jealous of her relationship, her happiness. You’re jealous of the fact that if she would turn around and throw everything away to be with Logan, he would take her in without a second thought. But she’s your friend. Your sister. You love her, and you cherish her happiness much more than you could ever resent her for it. You let out a pitiful chuckle, eyeing the last minuscule drop in the liquor bottle.

“Believe me, I would know.” You mumble. Logan’s brow furrows, taken aback by that. You’ve always been such a standalone, unbothered, always positive. It didn’t make sense to him.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks, but when he turns his head to look at you, you’ve fallen asleep against his shoulder.

The next morning, you wake up in your bed with one hell of a hangover. You groan at the light that drifts through your blinds, rolling over. When you finally open your eyes, you're greeted by the sight of a glass of water, and a bottle of painkillers. You’re confused at first, and then flooded with bashfulness and embarrassment when you realise who exactly had put them there. You roll onto your stomach, shoving your face into your pillow, unable to handle the embarrassment of knowing you said WAY too much last night. You can't help but smile a little though, knowing he must've cared enough to carry you back here and get you meds.

Maybe it wasn't all bad.

[makethemhoesmad]

liability(pt. 3)

pt 1. pt 2

only a couple months late, but here it is!!

i’m thinking there will be one more part, hopefully coming sooner

thanks to @imaginespazzi, @azzibuckets, @patscorner, and @barbspeaks for dealing with my copious amounts of yap

—

“it’s for the better,” paige says, for the third time. the first two times, she’d whispered it to herself, trying to make herself believe that it was true. now, she said it to nika, who had witnessed azzi’s erratic flight to and from paige’s place, and wanted to know what had happened.

“thats what she said? verbatim?” nika questions. that’s not the azzi she knows. the azzi she knows is the one that would fight, tooth and nail, to keep her and paige together. that, even if they were separated for years, decades, lifetimes, she would be determined to find her way back.

“yes, nika i told you it was crazy. i announce that im staying another year to play with the people i love and.. oh.” paige breathes out the last word, tucking her head into her hands as she realizes something.

“what, paige? why’d you say oh?” nika inquires.

“she thinks i should have left,” paige murmures, standing up. she begins to pace the room, speaking quickly to what seemed to be only herself, forgetting nika was even there.

“she must think that i’m wasting my career by staying here, she must think that it’s her fault and that she’s the one ‘ruining my career’ in her mind. typical azzi. she’s on a spiral right now, she’ll come down, probably. probably.” the last statement seems to bring paige back to reality, and tears start to well up in her eyes. she looks to nika, sniffling and asking, “how am i supposed to make her see that she’s not, and never will be a liability.

~

in another room on the same campus, yet somehow seeming miles away, azzi is alone in her room, curled up under her blanket that still smells like paige, in paige’s hoodie and paige’s sweatpants. she’s giving herself only tonight to grieve for what she killed, and then she’s going to try and move on. that’s what she keeps telling herself, to justify the way she’s sobbed on and off all night. she’s about to start another round when she hears a loud knocking on her door. grudgingly, she sits up and trudges out of her room, opening up the door.

“paige, what are you doing here?” azzi gasps, even though she knows full well why exactly paige has just knocked on her door a mere five hours after their breakup. 

“az, we’re still teammates. we have practice in two hours i don’t want you to ever think that you’re holding me back. i’m doing this because i love you, but also because im doing this for me.” paige says, her eyes glistening. azzi wants to take her back, right there. but she shouldn’t, she can’t. so instead, she says something she’s sure to regret.

“you know, paige, if you had just stayed healthy, this wouldn’t have been a problem.”

paige recoiled at azzi’s words, shocked at the harshness in her voice and the statements she made. in a moment of what she will eventually remember to be nothing but complete stupidity, she fires back.

“damn, i mean, if you hadn’t insisted on continuing to play after you fucked up your knee, you might’ve been able to figure it out instead of hurting it worse.”

“don’t do that, paige.” azzi says, her face going scarlet. “you do this when you get mad, hurt people’s feelings and don’t mean it.”

“i could say the same about you, azzi. we’ve played almost zero games together, and that’s the reason i wanted you here in the first place. it’s almost like i want to play basketball with my girlfriend, you know?” 

“ex girlfriend,” azzi corrects quickly. she slams her teeth together, trying to trap the words back into her throat. why did she need to correct her so quickly?

“so that’s what we’re playing at, then? we’re playing pretend? we’re gonna sit here and we’re gonna act like we haven’t lived in each other’s skins for five years? our families are best friends, azzi. we can’t lose all that because you got insecure”

and azzi doesn’t know how to answer that. she doesn’t have a rebuttal, doesn’t have a defense or a witness. it’s just her, her thoughts, and her now seemingly unexplainable reasoning to break up with paige. right now, really all she wants to do is fall into paige’s arms and cry until she feels better, because paige always makes it better. something tells her that paige might not want to hold her, right now, though. so instead, she takes a deep breath, firmly points towards her door, and demands, “out.”

ironically, if azzi had in fact just thrust herself it paige’s arms, they’d probably be reunited right now. but instead, paige is standing outside azzis apartment door, debating whether to speed home and put on her gym clothes and wait for azzi to leave for practice outside her door, or corner her after practice. corner her, paige thought, speed walking to her car and grinning.

[calaisreno]

Classified

It’s Schrödinger’s wedding. 

1952 Words / Prompt: Jealousy

We’re sitting among the boxes of invitations, the venue’s brochures, and several dozen napkins folded into Sydney Opera Houses. John looks exhausted, and now that Mary’s gone home, I’ve suggested a break. 

I pour John a glass of scotch and hand it to him, struggling for the right words to open this discussion. If I’m not careful, it could end badly.

Sinking into my chair, I simply say, “Don’t.” 

John swallows a mouthful of whisky. “Don’t what?”

He looks confused. Of course. I’m terrible at this. Sentiment, feelings, honesty.

“Don’t… marry her.”

John sighs. “Sherlock.”

“Please, John. Just don’t.”

Confusion has given way to stubbornness, and of all people, John Watson is the most stubborn person I’ve ever known. It’s hopeless, ridiculous that I even brought this up. But it has to be said.

That night at the Landmark, when John was trying to strangle me, I promised myself that I would stop lying to him. Stop shading the truth. Just be honest. Who deserves the truth more than John, who grieved for two years, thinking his best friend was dead?

Best friend. More than I ever expected to have from this stubborn, loyal, surprising man who has always followed me, even after I broke his heart. He deserves the truth. 

And I deserve nothing. But I can’t let the man I love be hurt again, even if it means… well, I hope this won’t be our last conversation.

“What is this about?” John’s face wears that dogged expression. 

“I love you,” I begin. “And I’ve hurt you too much to pretend this is fine.”

John’s eyes widen, then narrow. “You love me. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“You called me your best friend. I don’t care what you make of it—“

“You don’t do feelings. Married to your work, grit on the lens—“

“You’re not the only one who’s grieved, John. Yes, I do have feelings. And I would be prepared to set them aside, to accept that I do not deserve your love, but I owe you the truth.”

“You love me.”

It’s bad enough that John seems to be stuck on you love me. That isn’t even the point right now. (Note to self: next time, lead with your wife-to-be is probably an assassin.) 

“Yes. Which is why I’m about to tell you the last thing you want to hear right now.”

“I’m about to get married, Sherlock! Why are you doing this now— you’ve never given me the tiniest clue that you even considered me a friend. I don’t have friends. Remember that? What is this— are you jealous? Is that what this is about?” 

I’m terrible at this. I’ve vowed to be honest, not to keep John in the dark all the time, and all John is taking from this is that I’m jealous. 

I try again. “You’re about to marry a woman you don’t know. A woman who is lying to you.”

Now John’s wearing his isn’t this ironic face. “Oh, well, I suppose I should be used to people who love me lying to me! You’ve given me plenty of practice, you know.”

“I realise my apology for that is inadequate. I understand that you will never return my feelings, and I will live with that. I’m not jealous. Marry whomever you want, John— just not her. She’s not who she claims to be. I’m telling you this because I believe you’re in danger.”

“All right, then.” Still angry, but also curious. “Tell me. Who is she?”

“I don’t know yet. I do know that she’s not Mary Morstan, who was stillborn in 1972 and buried in Chiswick Cemetery. The night I met her, I deduced that she’s hiding something, so I went to Mycroft. While I was gone, he was supposed to keep an eye on you because we believed Moriarty’s organisation might still take action against you. When I realised that she was not who she said she was, I gave him an earful for letting an unknown close to you.”

“And what did he say?”

“Nothing. He wouldn’t tell me anything about her. Classified. Which tells me most of what I needed to know. He knows exactly who she is, which suggests that she’s an agent of some sort, probably freelance. She may have done work for the British government, which would be how he knew her.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re an agent of the government, I believe. Don’t even try telling me you weren’t working for your brother these past two years. Maybe she doesn’t have clearance to tell me what kind of work she did.”

“But she hasn’t even mentioned it, has she? She told you she’s a nurse. And she’s using a name that’s not her own. You’re marrying her, John— the fact that she’s assumed a false identity—“

“—means that she’s in some sort of witness protection. That she doesn’t have clearance to tell anyone.“ Annoyed, but not in denial. Uncomfortable now that he’s thinking about it. 

“Mycroft would have said if that were the case. And he would have threatened me to keep my hands off. The fact that he’s said nothing means that she’s part of an active investigation. And most likely not currently working for the British government. If she were, he would have said.”

John is silent. 

“Ignorance is not bliss, John. You made that point quite forcefully the night I returned.”

“She’s active?” He looks dazed. 

“Mycroft wouldn’t say. But it’s not the kind of work anyone actually leaves behind.” 

“And you’re telling me this now? You couldn’t have said sooner? Christ, we’ve started planning the wedding!” Angry again.

“I wasn’t sure. I’m more certain now, though.”

John has reached his limit. “I… I’ve got to go. I can’t deal with this now. Just… I’m going.” He grabs his coat, stuffs his arms in the sleeves, and marches out the door.

… (Continues below cut)

I return from buying milk (I really must be losing my mind if I’m going to the shops, but tea requires milk and sugar and Mrs Hudson is still showing her displeasure at my inexplicable return by not running errands for me) and find Mycroft sitting in my chair. He knows, of course, which chair is mine and which is John’s, and is making a statement whose meaning I can guess. Power dynamics: my chair. 

Considering who’s paid the rent for the last two years, it actually is Mycroft’s chair. I make tea, hand a mug to Mycroft, and sit in John’s chair. 

“Well, brother.” He gives me an appraising look. 

I’m used to the evaluation; it happens every time I see my brother, that once-over to determine if (a) I’ve relapsed, (b) I’ve done something else Mycroft will regret, or c) I’m about to lie about something not covered under (a) or (b). The best way to side-track this is to get on his nerves.

“This is about John, isn’t it?” I blow on my tea. “Otherwise you would have called.”

“He came to see me yesterday, directly from seeing you. Asking what I knew about Mary Morstan. Now, where did he get the idea that she’d been lying to him, if not from you?”

“You didn’t swear me to silence.”

Mycroft sips his tea, but says nothing. He’s very good at keeping his own counsel. 

“I asked him not to marry her,” I say. “I don’t have any real proof, other than what I told him, but reasoned that it would be better not to leave it until the last moment. I’m wondering, though, why you were willing to let it happen. You let her close to John, when it’s obvious she was planted in his surgery because of me.”

Mycroft smirks. “You don’t think it was Dr Watson’s charms that drew her to him?”

“Mary Morstan isn’t like the others. Who is she working for?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you can guess.”

“I’m not giving you an unfounded hypothesis, Sherlock. The matter is still classified.” He shifts in his seat, watching me, then relents a bit. “You’re not wrong about her. But we cannot afford to tip her off yet. The marriage will be invalid, of course.”

(Note to self: Kill Mycroft.)

“This should never have happened. John is not a chess piece, a thing to be sacrificed for your game. Now, go away. I don’t want to talk to you until you can give me some answers.”

Without a word, Mycroft stands, tucks his umbrella under his arm, glares at me, and leaves. 

…

It’s night, and I’m walking. No particular destination, just around the park until I’m too tired to walk further. 

When I finally open the door of 221B, John is sitting on the stairs. 

He looks up at me, but doesn’t speak. And for once, I can’t read his look. Either he’s said something to Mary, or he hasn’t. She’s lied to him, or she’s told him the truth. He’s forgiven her or he’s broken it off. 

It’s Schrödinger’s wedding. 

I hang my coat by the door. He still hasn’t spoken, but budges over to make room for me.

“You said you love me.”

“Yes.”

“You promised not to lie.”

“I’m not lying. I do love you.”

“I mean, about Mary.”

“I spoke with Mycroft. She’s part of an active investigation, as I guessed. He wouldn’t give me details.”

“Jesus. And you love me.” 

I feel his eyes on me, but say nothing. Either he accepts it, or he doesn’t.

“You told me you were married to your work. That’s a pretty clear signal you weren’t interested. Why did you say that?”

“Because I was a coward. And soon you were dating women, which was also a clear signal, and there wasn’t any point in bringing it up again.”

“When you say love, what do you mean?”

“I want you to be happy. If that’s with someone other than me, fine. But someone who’s lying to you cannot make you happy.”

He leans closer, his shoulder against mine. “And what would make you happy? If you could have anything you want?”

“A locked room triple homicide, no murder weapon.”

He gives a low chuckle. “Idiot. I mean, what do you want from me?”

“Whatever you’ll give me. I’m prepared to be your friend for life, if that’s what you want.”

“Nothing more? Just friends? Not romantic?”

No lies, not now. “Yes, I want more. I want you to live here, to sleep in my bed, yes— with all that entails. To never leave me. But I will take what I can—”

“Yes. All of it.”

It’s my turn to be silent. 

He rubs his eyes. Sleepless night. “I told her I couldn’t marry her. You’d best let Mycroft know if he’s trying to suss her out. She’s already packing her bags.”

“Did she tell you what she is?”

“I didn’t ask. I just told her I was in love with you.”

I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut. No, I feel like what I imagine when I think of kissing John. Breathless, heart-pounding. 

“Are you in love with me?”

“I thought you knew.” He smiles, takes my hand in his own. “Yes, I am.”

My voice shakes. “And what did she say?”

“She already knew.” His smile broadening, John leans in. 

The kiss is better than any I could imagine. 

He doesn’t let go when it ends. “So, if I’d decided to marry her anyway…” He grins. “What was your plan for that?”

The truth. I promised. “I was going to kidnap you.”

He gives me a smouldering look. “You could still do that.”

(Note to self: I’m going to have to get used to John Watson’s love language.)

...

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[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook:

Monochrome 🔞 [Teaser]

In which Jungkook has never fallen in love before- not until you came along, at least.

Tags/Warnings: Hybrid AU, Munchkin Cat!Reader, Siberian Tiger!Jungkook, DDLG aspects, Daddy!Jungkook, height difference/Size kink, petplay (in a way?), strangers to lovers, mild Angst, Fluff!, quiet!Reader, Model!Kook, mentions of death & grieving, romance, smut, protected sex, Dom! Kook, manhandling, strength kink, biting, hybrid behavior (scenting, marking, grooming and other)

Length: approx. 4-5k

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

He's still irritated. You don't deserve any of this.

He hopes he might be able to get the paperwork signed- and you out of this place as soon as he can. There's technically nothing speaking against it after all; he's a level 2 at the end of the day, his hybrid side a lot less dominant than in someone like you. And while it's made him feel like an outcast for a long time, feeling like he doesn't belong neither here nor there- looking at you now, his feelings have changed.

He feels glad, for the first time, that he's the way he is.

"If she's getting too much you can just tell her to go play or something." One of the workers tells him as she'd spotted him with you still somewhat laying on his thigh, his hand comfortably resting on your shoulder while you play with his rings on his other hand. "She tends to get clingy with anybody who pays attention to her." She snickers, but he shakes his head.

"No, it's really fine." He denies her, well aware that she's been eyeing him ever since he'd gotten here the first day, and he can't hold back on his next words. "I actually think she's cute." He smiles down at you, and your cat-ears twitch at that before you look up at him, making him laugh.

"I mean.. I guess? Maybe it's a hybrid thing that you like her." She shrugs, crossing her arms. "But she's gotta move soon, your manager told me they wanna take some more shots." She says with more bite to her tone now- and in a way, it satisfies Jungkook.

He lets you rest on him for a little longer- until he pulls out something from his bag, brown paperbag containing a baked treat you know all too well.

He brings it every time, ever since you've told him you like it, after all.

"Nuh-ah." He chuckles when you instantly sit up and reach for it, turning his body a little towards you on the bench before he holds out the donut, testing the waters. And for his own amusement.

And much to his said amusement, you do exactly what he hoped you would.

Without thinking much it seems like, you lean forward to take a bite out of the sweet treat while he's still holding it- and he can't help but smile at the scene. You're so unaware of your own appeal, completely oblivious to how charming you are, and in a way, it makes him upset. You really are just a soft soul being used and nothing else- and he just feels like he's got to offer his protection.

Because you seserve it- and vecause he wants to be that protector.

Mostly because the connection you both have to one another is undeniable. Mates are an odd thing; but they're a real thing at the end of the day, and it's clear now that he's found his own in you.

You seem to have a moment of realization after the second bite, ears turning before your head follows as a worker says something Jungkook himself doesn't quite catch- but he knows he doesn't like it. "Hey- I'm over here." He tells you, and you look at him with a more shy expression now, almost embarrassed- letting go of his wrist as you sit back down on the bench, visibly uncomfortable. "Dont listen to them. I'm more interesting, am I not?" He teases to get your attention back, reaching out to wipe a crumb from the corner of your lips, making you smile a bit shyly to yourself.

You're so easy to catch.

"Why.." you start, seemingly thinking about your words. You do that a lot, he noticed- you either don't talk at all, or very quietly, and in a way, he's not sure if that's been something they pushed onto you in the carecenter here, or if you've always been this way. He wants to find out, that's for sure. "Why do you.. like me?" You ask, visibly unsatisfied with how you formulated that sentence. It's another proof of your difference in hybrid level compared to Jungkook.

But no matter, he will learn to understand you, until he no longer needs you to speak at all.

Jungkook simply shrugs at your question. "Maybe a mate thing. Maybe just because I like you." He answers. "I don't need to have a reason for it, though. You're a very sweet person, very likable." He tells you before he breaks off another piece of the donut, holding it out. "Now come on. Be a good girl and finish up, alright?" He teasingly tells you as he eats the other leftover piece himself, just to pull yours away from you when you reach out for it with your hand. "Nop." He chuckles, making you glare at him, tail swiping behind you from side to side, and he can't help but laugh at the scene, head thrown back.

Adorable.

Until he feels your lips brush against the tips of his fingers as you snatch the last piece of your treat from him, his gaze immediately back on you as you watch his reaction with a more challenging expression, and he can't help but be intrigued.

"I feel like it'll be a good idea. Jungkook!" His manager smiles, walking up to you both. "You've got her there already, perfect. We'd like to unclude her in the next few shots tomorrow, see how she does." He tells him, and Jungkook looks at you who seems visibly uncertain.

"You okay with that?" Jungkook asks, and you look at the camera set up close by with an almost fearful expression. "Dont worry. They'll tell you what to do, and I'll help as well. Or is it something else?" He asks, making you move to sit on the bench more properly, feet almost touching the floor, but not quite. He realizes what might be the problem when a staff member accidentally let's a brush fall to the floor, your ears instantly flattening for a short second from the harsh sound. "Ah- does the camera sound scare you?" And you nod at that, making his manager laugh a bit.

"Oh no, don't be scared! It's totally normal. Maybe Jungkook can show you how it works?" He says, before looking over at the careworker close to him. "My son has a hybrid too- he used to hate the sound of the microwave too until my son explained to him how it functioned." He chuckles. Jungkook remembers that. Namjoon and Jimin are an odd couple, but weirdly, they also fit perfectly.

"I don't think she'll understand that, but you can try." The careworker shrugs disinterested, clearly upset at Jungkooks lack of interest in her.

"Come on, let's have a look then." Jungkook simply tells you with no thought wasted on the woman, as he walks to the big cameras with you, Taehyung already looking your way. "Hey, can you maybe explain to her why the camera makes that noise?" Jungkook asks his friend, who nods at you.

"Its pretty loud, isn't it?" He tells you, and you nod- standing on the tips of your toes to try and see through the lens, but to no use. "You're so short!" Taehyung chuckles, and Jungkook can't help but be amused too.

"Hm, here, you can step on that." He offers, sliding an upside-down thick plastic bucket close to you to stand on; his hands instinctively on your body yo steady you as you step onto the container.

"Alright, so.." Taehyung starts to explain the camera to you, and Jungkook can't help but be thankful that his friend is clearly aware of the fact that you're not a stupid child- the photographer never oversimplifying anything, simply telling you the general mechanics to make sure you understand what's happening, that nothing is breaking or could cause any harm. And then the camera makes its distinctive sound.

Your ears still flatten for a split second, but your body makes no sign of being scared or surprised any longer. It worked.

"I can't turn it off, sadly. It's a mechanical sound, so there's no way around it." Taehyung shrugs towards his friend, and Jungkook simply nods.

"It'll be fine." Jungkook says, helping you down from the bucket as the manager says his goodbyes to the first staff. It reminds Jungkook of something in that moment he almost forgot. "Alright, go get your stuff now. I'll go change and then we can go, alright?" He asks, and you seem confused- until you seem to realize.

You're going home with him today. And tomorrow. And the day after, too.

Jungkook can't help but laugh when you dash off into the hallway to get your things, as he himself goes to change himself. He really hopes you'll like it at his place, hopefully enough to decide to stay- and if you do, all he needs are your papers signed and approved. He hates the way the system works, but he also understands it somewhat.

Even though it's clear that not everything goes exactly as it's meant to be.

But once you're with him, once he's got you safe, there will be no more of this. He'll make sure the world gets to know what's going on behind closed doors, having already discussed the plans with his management after all- and he can't deny his anticipation.

He can't wait to see that man lose all he's never even deserved to have in the first place.

But before he can even think any further about those things happening, you're pulling on the hem of his sweater to gain his attention, already dressed in scarf and coat and those fluffy boots he'd bought you yesterday- a lot better quality than those worn down things they'd given you. You deserve to be spoiled in his opinion, not tossed aside like you've been for God knows how many years- and he'll make sure that'll happen.

"Come on." He smiles at you, taking your bag for you as he walks outside the building to his car, opening the door. "We can sleep early or have some food delivered- what would you like?" He asks, getting into the car after you, the driver closing the door after him as he's finally seated next to you, seat belts clicking into place for the both of you.

You shrug as an answer, and he laughs, watching as you yawn, the tiger teasingly pointing his finger into your mouth- but he doesn't expect you to close it so quickly. While you don't bite down on it (at least not hard enough to ever really hurt), he still can't help but be affected by it. Especially when he pushes down on your lower lip, your tongue jokingly licking the tip of his finger, making him smirk at you.

Behind your innocent facade does slumber a tiny little tiger too, in a way, it seems like.

And he honestly doesn't know if he can handle having you around him like this for much longer, while not doing anything about it at all. He's already almost kissed you yesterday, and by now he knows you feel just as attracted to him as he does to you.

You're mates after all. Similar age. Technically in the same hybrid group. Nothing speaks against it.

And yet he's got to be careful. He doesn't want to end up breaking your heart if things don't go as expected- he'd hate leaving you devastated. And yet still he feels as if he'd die soon if he doesn't at least get to feel your lips on his- there's nothing wrong with at least a kiss, right? Maybe just a little further than that- his couch his comfortable after all, and he for sure won't be able to withstand the temptation of at least holding you close with you staying with him tonight. "Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight? I can take the couch, no problems." He asks you to distract himself, ground himself again and get his mind off of things-

But then you visibly pout, ears drooping down a little as you look at him almost disappointed.

"Not.. with you?" You mumble, and his gaze focuses on you again, pupils dilated as he swallows thickly.

"I mean, I won't say no." He tells you, eyes never leaving yours. "But I probably should." He says, making you tilt your head in question. Though in your eyes, in the way they sparkle mischievously, he knows you're very much aware of the implications.

"You won't." You simply smile next to him, legs stretching and tail swaying from side to side, and all he can think of is brat. There's no trace of the shy little cat left it seems like right now, as you look at him all confident and almost challenging.

And yet, he can't disagree.

He won't say no.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

[eemamminy-art]

not obligated to answer this but if you have anymore thoughts about alex sdv (or stardew valley at all) please share. i am obsessed with alex

Oh hell yeah anon you've activated my current hyperfixation 😁 I have a google doc where I'm dropping my headcanons and a bulleted timeline for a Alex/m!farmer longfic I've been writing in my head that's up to about 13 pages now ahaha so here's a few things!!

When he first moved to Pelican Town he was actually really quiet and reserved because he was still grieving heavily, so he never really got close to the other kids. He talks about how he played gridball with his mom so I think once he got the chance to play that in school (in another town no doubt) I think he came out of his shell then and made some friends, but all those friends lived far enough away that after graduating high school he's been pretty lonely and never could connect with the other people his own age in town.

He never goes into the saloon to my knowledge prior to the 10-heart event dinner scene, so I headcanon that it's because he doesn't drink alcohol and doesn't want the temptation to try it. I don't remember if it's said explicitly but I got the impression his dad's abuse stemmed from being drunk so I imagine Alex refuses to touch the stuff out of both principle and fear of becoming like his father one day.

I said it in another post but I headcanon him as gay and suffering comphet. He's built himself up as this cool popular guy, so he tries to emulate the sexist straight guys he's seen in movies but there's absolutely nothing behind it. He says something rude to a girl and then is like uhhh (shit what now) bye! 😅 I want to think that in getting to know the farmer he not only does away with that facade but also gets more comfortable in his sexuality!!

and on a sidenote to the above: I hc most of the town as gay or bi and I am toying with the idea of Abby being transfem! Sam/Seb is a given, and maaaybe they're in a poly relationship with Abby but I'm still undecided!! I like Maru/Penny as a concept but need to marinate on that a bit more, I see them always sitting together and it makes me happy but I need to think more on how they met and what their relationship would be like. I don't have anything solid yet in terms of other characters' gender or sexuality headcanons exactly, other than Caroline and Jodi being bi and desperately yearning to run away together 🥰

But back to Alex!! With how his storyline goes of trying to impress others with his jock persona, then trying to switch gears and be super booksmart, I headcanon that he gets close to the farmer via the farmer tutoring him so he can take a community college placement test. :3 My thought for why he's in the rut he's in is that he wanted to play college gridball but his grades in high school were so bad he has done nothing with himself since graduation and has just been stagnating and becoming more and more bitter (which only amps up his shitty attitude when the player first meets him). So trying to get educated is doubly good for him because he can work toward his sports dream (in a way) and try to impress the farmer. Though of course, the thing that brings them closer is Alex learning to be true to himself 😊

This is getting long, so last thing: he's actually a really well-rounded homemaker but does not even think about it really. George has been disabled for a long time, so all of the handy work around the house has to be handled by Alex, and he's so eager to help out his grands. :3 They put a roof over his head so of course he'll climb up onto it to fix the leaks when it rains! Evelyn is always cooking and baking and Alex is so soft for his granny he has been in the kitchen helping her for as long as he's lived with them, so he's actually got a real talent for cooking and baking too! One of the first things he learned after moving in with them was the proper way to set a table, and the best way to wash dishes efficiently. He's spent enough time at Haley's house having no chemistry with the poor girl, but found Emily's whole sewing setup really fascinating and she taught him to mend the holes in his letterman jacket when he asked so he knows how to hand sew! These are all skills that he has but doesn't recognize as skills, he just inherently has this desire to help the people in his life so he picks up this and that to make it easier!

Anyway! Thank you for letting me ramble 😄 Alex is really sweet and soft underneath the mask he wears, and he's been rotating in my head for the last few months hehe

I had bought sdv when it came out but barely touched it, and started it up again on a whim earlier this year and I'm so glad I did!! I really adore the game and it's bringing me a lot of joy currently 🥺

[kodydrs]

Sunflower Juice - Sabo

a/n: title has nothing to do with the story. sabo just reminds me of Sunflowers. I am incredibly out of practice when it comes to writing smut, and the ending is lowkey shit bc i kept reading it in my ex’s voice 😭

ib: this prompt from Portgas.D•Xiao’s on on Chai. “sabo just finished drinking with his friend, after he drank some alcoholic water he started to get drunk, then he wanted to go to his room and he saw you in the hallway And he started coming closer to you and hug you from behind.

warnings : fxm, sabo x fem reader, mdni, drunk sex, slight oral (f. recieving), vaginal fingering, p in v, hickies, (a lot of) pet names, you dated ace b4 his d3ath, reader is still kinda grieving ace’s death, she’s a bipolar abt her emotions as i am (it’s not funny guys, i’m actually bipolar), no use of y/n, not proofread, i’m bad at tagging

You flinch at the sudden attack.

‘ahh!’

It takes you a minute to realise who has just latched themselves onto you.

‘oh Sabo. it’s just you.’

You’d known Sabo for a little while. Ever since Ace’s death, you’d travelled with Luffy and the Straw Hats, and you’d met Sabo along the way. You wouldn’t say you’re exactly the closest of friends, but you both respected each other. But you did you best to keep a healthy distance because damn did he remind you of Ace.

‘Yeah. It’s just me. What are you doing here?’ You're not supposed to be alone right now.’ You felt his grip tightens around your waist slightly as he looks down at you. ‘Are you okay? Do you need anything?’

You turn to face him, confusion obvious on your face. But upon breathing in, you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

‘Sabo. Are you drunk?’ It’s more of a rhetorical question. It’s clear from how thick his breath feels. He wobbles a little to really upkeep the act.

‘Mmmm. Yeah. Maybe just a little bit.’ He pauses. ‘But I’m drunk with you so it’s fine.’

You go to say something to him, but you stop, deeming it useless.

‘Let’s just get you back to your room.’

He grumbles, audibly in decline of your offer.

‘But I don’t wanna go back to my room. I wanna spend more time with you.’

You can feel his arms trying to pull you closer to him like you aren’t already pressed tightly to him. He seems to give up on his efforts by resting his head on your neck and you can again smell the alcohol, reminding you of his drunk state. You groan.

Your plan for the night had been to hang out with Namu & Robin, but Nami got swept away by the Straw Hats stupid chef and Robin got distracted by Chopper's constant tangents. This left you sitting alone at a table with nothing but your thoughts. Your thoughts about how lonely you’d become since joining the Straw Hats. Now all you wanted to do was get to bed and sleep.

‘Sabo. Can you please just go to your room? I’m not in the mood for socialising right now.’ He pouts, nuzzling against your skin.

‘Don’t leave me all alone out here, please.’ He grabs your hands gently and place them on your stomach, holding them there. With a final long sigh, you give up.

‘Fine.’ He lets out a happy chuckle and spins you around, kissing you deeply on the lips for a few seconds before pulling away.

‘Yay!!’ He shrieks. He leans forward and hugs you tight once more, squeezing you so hard you can barely breathe.

You stand frozen in time, stunned by his actions.

‘S-Sabo??!’ He looks down at you with a confused look.

‘Yes. What is it? Are you hurt? Did I do somethi-‘ You cut him off by smashing your lips together, grasping his face tightly. He responds back with equal force and passion. Before you know it, his hands are everywhere. They’re gripping your hair, holding you hips, pressed to your spine.

You pull away, gasping for air. Letting it set in, you touch your lips. ‘Holy fuck.’ You think. ‘I just kissed my boyfriends brother.’

He looks down at you, not processing what the situation they’re really in is.

‘Hey. Why’d you stop? What’s wrong?’ You should protest, but you’re honestly too pent up to care right now.

‘Ah fuck it.’ Without resistance, you grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down the hallway to his room. You locked the door behind you and pinned him to it, crashing you lips back against each others.

The way you're kissing him makes him forget everything else around them. All he wants right now is to make love to you.

‘Oh god.’ He moans softly while wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing himself harder against you. You hum at his hand placement, getting intoxicated on the taste of his lips. He’s been drinking sunflower juice. His abdomen tensed as you ran your fingers along the divots in his abs. His excitement is evident in the way his hips bucked against you and you fail to push backs grin, grinding against his pelvis.

‘I want you so badly.’ He whispers in your ear.

‘Then take me.’ He pulls back, smug face as he looks down at you.

‘Yeah?’

Your voice is breathy and sweet, filled with the sudden need to be touched you’ve so desperately missed.

‘…yeah.’ He smirks mischievously and leans forward, placing one hand behind your neck and pulling you close enough that your noses touch.

‘Tell me what you want baby.’ He growls lowly into your ear, not breaking eye contact even though he's drunk as hell. Your mouth gapes at how hot he sounds right now.

‘oh fuck’ You whisper. ‘I want you to touch me, Sabo.’

With a sly smile on his lips, he brings his hand down and runs it down your arm, stopping at your hand and interlocking your fingers with his. He then brings your joined hands up to his chest, where he kisses them both.

‘Any particular way?’

Your voice is sickeningly sweet, and your words drip like honey.

‘Like you want me.’

His eyes light up in hunger and he once again slides his hand down to your hip, feeling every curve of your body.

‘Like I want ya, huh?’ He leans in to you, gently pressing his lips against your neck. ‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’ He takes your wrists and wraps them around his neck before hoisting you up like you weight nothing so your thighs also wrap around him. You pepper his neck with kisses as he brings you over to his bed and lays you down, straddling your hips.

You gasp as you watch him strip off his shirt and coat, revealing the chiselled abdomen you’d been tracing earlier. He laughs at your reaction before leaning back down and reconnecting your lips. Your hands move to his hair, tugging at the base of his scalp. He doesn’t break the kiss as he lifts your shirt to reveal your perk breasts. Instead, he runs his tongue along your teeth and sucks on your lower lip, basking in the heat radiating from your bodies. It’s driving him crazy.

He kisses down your neck into the valley between your breasts, massaging them gently. Your hands continue to tug at his hair, soft whimpers going straight to his dick.

You groan as he continues his journey down your stomach to the waistband of your pants, where he stops and looks up at you for approval.

‘Please.’ He grin. You nod. ‘Alright then.’ He slowly pulls them down, revealing your soaked panties.

‘So pretty.’ He cooes, kissing dangerously close to your core. He shimmies you out of your pants and then pushes aside your panties, tracing teasing circles around your clit with this tongue. Your thighs instinctively try to close around his head, but he pins them apart, not letting them interrupt his meal.

‘Be a good girl, baby. Good girls get good things.’ You can feel yourself melt under his touch. You’re embarrassed from how easily your legs are shaking due to being so touch starved, but you can’t really focus on that right now.

Your back arches as 2 fingers are inserted into your cunt, stretching you. And it takes everything to not cum right there and then.

‘You alright there, babygirl?’ Sabo laughs, hooking an arm around your thigh and nipping at the skin. You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, breathing deeply.

‘I just haven’t had sex in a while.’

‘We’ll take it slow. I wanna make this last.’ Slowly, his fingers pump in and out, letting you ease around them while he continues to kiss and nibble on your thighs, leaving little pink and purple marks that you’ll find in the morning. After a few minutes, he adds a third digit, watching your expression to make sure he wasn’t hurting you in any way. Your heads tilted to the side and you make eye contact, the lustful gaze drawing you in. He smiles and kissed back up your body to your neck.

‘Are you ready for me? Or do you wanna wait a little longer?’ You wrap your arms back around his neck, pulling him down into a chaste kiss.

‘I’m ready.’ You whisper, pressing your foreheads together. ‘But please don’t be harsh.’

He nods and kisses you deep but slowly as he pulls his fingers from your cunt. You hear the rustle of clothes from him removing his pants and boxers before feeling his tip graze your entrance.

‘Do you want a countdown?’ He teases, grinning at his own joke. You smile, hitting his shoulder and murmuring a quiet “asshole”. He slowly pushes himself past your entrance to your warm insides, revealing in the intense heat.

‘Shit.’ He curses against your lips. ‘Damn, you feel amazing.’ You try to reply, but all that comes out is a moan. ‘Are you ok? Can I move?’

You hum, already leaving scratches on his back from blunt nails. He carefully starts to move, burying himself deeper with each thrust and it drives you insane. It isn’t long before you feel your stomach twist into knots.

‘S-Sabo… gonna cum.’ You whimper, nuzzling into his neck.

‘Already, baby? Can you hold on for a little so we can do it together?’ He gets a babble for a reply, mixed with a harsh kiss to his jaw. ‘Good girl. You’re taking me so well, baby.’ He brings one hand to your face, gently stroking your face. He touch is comforting, and you feel him pick up his pace so you get to finish as soon as you want.

‘Fuck.’ He mumbled under his breath. ‘Shit. Do you want me to pull out or no?’

‘I-I don’t mind. Whichever you prefer.’ You babble. He nods.

‘I’ll come inside then, if that’s ok with you.’

A hum seals you fate as you feel yourself tip over the edge, quickly followed by feeling your insides filled to the brim. Your back arches at a ridiculous angle, pressing your chests together. Sabo rails you through your orgasm until you're a choked-up, panting mess. Not that he’s any different. He pulls out with a grunt and flops next to you, taking a minute to collect his breath before he stands to grab something to clean you both up.

In the few minutes you’re left alone, you want to cry. The way his touch felt on you felt so familiar and so comfortable, and the knowledge it was all caused by a drunk haze made you wanna cry. Tears collected on your lower lashes as you did your best not to let them spill.

‘Hey.’ Sabo cooes, leaning down beside you while he cleans up your legs. ‘What’s wrong, hun? Why are you crying?’

You shake your head, covering your face.

‘I’m not. It’s nothing. It’s just-‘ You stop, looking away from his gaze. ‘I miss him like freaking crazy, Sabo.’

The blond smiles, putting aside his cleaning supplies and lying next to you.

‘Same. Everyday.’ For a moment, it feels as if this isn’t a drunk conversation, but instead 2 people bonding through grief. You roll so you’re facing him, forehead pressed against his chest. ‘But I do wanna be able to protect you like he did.’

One of his hands strokes your hair gently, carefully tugging out any tangles. You’ve stopped crying, just listening to the quiet thump of your heartbeats.

‘Sabo?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I wanna learn to love you, the same way I loved him.’

A soft hum comes from above you and you feel his lips press against your temple. His arms wrap around you gently, keeping you warm.

‘Ok.’

©kodydrs

all rights and reserves are copyright to kodydrs on tumblr. this material is not to be copied or translated

[bookshelf-dust]

the ache

billy hargrove x gn!byers!reader

word count: 625

warnings: grieving, mentions of death, post the battle of starcourt

a/n: um, so…i just wrote this in thirty minutes, give or take. it’s a bit of dialogue that i’ve been kind of toying with in my head for a few days, and here i am, at one in the fucking morning, writing this. i’m sorry in advance. (also for context, none of the season three hopper death shit happened.) i love you all. <3333

————

When you don’t show for dinner, Joyce knows exactly where you are.

There’s no guesswork, or calling around. She knows.

She knows because she’s been where you are. And she knows you shouldn’t be alone.

She remembers when Hopper had come and sat on the floor in front of her without a word. It had settled something inside of her, that small gesture. Sure, it hadn’t soothed the ache—nothing could do that, nothing but time—yet it had helped. It felt like a breath of fresh air.

Joyce parks the car, and makes her way to where she stood all those months ago as they lowered him into the ground.

You’d been silent then. She wasn’t sure you were breathing, really. And when they’d finished, when the funeral was over, you’d just stood there. And she’d waited until you made your way to the car, and she took you home. Anything for her baby.

————

The grass is chilly under your palms, where you’re desperately ripping the blades up and flinging them to the sides. There might be two sparse patches left by the time you’re finished, but that’s okay. It’ll grow back.

Your face is wet. You gave up on wiping it dry long ago.

When you hear footsteps behind you, you don’t even have to turn because you know exactly who it is. Who’s come for you.

You start to cry again, but this time it’s worse. This time you’re sobbing.

Joyce sits down beside you, settling on her knees.

You look up at her, but you can’t really see her because your eyes are filling with tears and blurring your vision.

“Oh, baby,” Joyce says. She runs her hand over your leg.

You cry out. You’re practically wailing. It hurts, you’ve noticed. It’s like an ache, and it won’t leave. It stays.

You look away from her and at his headstone. William Hargrove, it reads.

That’s all he is now, a plot. A marker. A memory.

“Mama.” Joyce never takes her eyes off of you. Seeing you like this fills her with an immense grief, and she wants nothing more than to make it all go away. To fix it. To kiss it better.

“Mama, I miss him.”

A sob wrenches free from your throat, and you’re wiping desperately at your face again because now she’s here and she can see you at your weakest. But it’s no use, so you let it come.

“My baby,” you cry.

Images of Billy flash through your mind: sitting with him in the staff room while it rained one day at the pool and no one could swim, helping him get a tangle out of his hair, kissing him on the cheeks just to see him blush.

He’s gone. He’s never coming back. Your Billy is dead.

“Mama, please.”

You don’t know why you’re begging, but you are. And you keep begging, like it’s going to fix something. It’s not.

Please what? Please bring my boyfriend back. Please undo what happened that night. Please let him be safe. Please.

Joyce wraps her arms around your shoulders and you cling to her like you’re afraid she’ll disappear too. Like she’ll be in the ground and you’ll be sitting and crying out for her just as you are now.

You’re not sure how long you cry for, but she lets you for as long as you need.

And when you’re done, you go home and lay in bed. You slip on one of his shirts, and you think about him.

You cry some more, and try to remember something Hopper told you after he’d taken you out of the mall that night.

“That feeling never goes away. But everyday it does get a little easier.”

You hope he’s right.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[f4iry-bell]

COMPARISON | 2

pairing: jameson hawthorne x gf!reader

summary: reader gets jealous when her bf jameson is distant and a bit close with the hawthorne heiress.

warning: angsty

tagging: @clarissaweasley-10 (let me know if you want to be in jameson taglist)

a/n: gray's version

word count: 896

masterlist

It was always Jameson and you ever since you two were kids, it has always been Jameson and you. Maybe it was because how alike you were and yet so different, you two were just perfect for eachother, even though it took Jameson years to build up the courage to confess his feelings for you, you always felt his love, it was impossible to not feel it. He showed it in every way he possibly could, gifts, words, midnight rendezvous, intimacy, touch. But lately, you felt the distance. You understand why because his grandfather died and he's grieving, Jameson grieves in his own way, he doesn't like talking about it, he does it quietly without letting anyone know. You understood that gave him his space even though you wished that he would just come to you.

But your anxiety only rose when the new Hawthorne Heiress moved in and things were getting worse. Jameson barely texted you or called you, you tried to go to Hawthorne House but the security didn't let you, you tried calling him which went straight to voicemail. Weeks after everything you see the news that says your boyfriend was photographed with the new heiress driving fast. It was your thing, yours and Jameson’s. It hurts you, you trusted Jameson, he would never cheat on you. But what if he caught feelings for her? 

You looked at her pictures, she's pretty. Quite similar to you actually, so she is his type exactly. You tried not to think negatively and thought of all the moments you shared with Jameson but it only made it worse because what if it all goes to nothing?

He hasn't called, texted. you can't see him. He was grieving, he had needed space, away from everyone, including you but except her? The hurt turned into anger.

You were done being treated like this, he never treated you this way. And you hate it. You texted him to meet you but of course you got no response from him. You texted Nash, his older brother, to tell the security guards to let you in. 

Once you were inside Hawthorne House you went straight to Jameson’s wing but couldn't find him you texted Nash again asking where he is, Nash said try the library.

To your luck you found him in the first library, not alone. 

“Y/n.” He called your name when he noticed you, the two of them were sitting away from each other but yet you can't think of the worst.

“We need to talk.” You demanded.

“Not now.” He said.

“It'll only take a few minutes.” Your anger only grew more when you heard Avery speak.

“It's fine, go talk.” She said, She's probably a nice girl, nicer than you maybe.

“Y/n, we're busy.”  Jameson said.

“Okay. I'll do the talking, I will only take a minute. I want to break up. No, we are done. I'll let you go back to whatever it is.” You were quick to tune around and storm off but Jameson caught up with you quicker. He kept calling your name but you didn't stop which made him grab your arm gently a turn you towards him.

“What the hell was that?” He asked.

“I thought you were busy.” You didn't answer his question.

“Don't play with me now.”

“I'm not. And yes, I am serious. We're over, yeah go back to your new girlfriend.” You said and tried to wiggle your arm out of his gentle yet firm grip.

“What is this? You think…? Seriously? You really think that low about me?” He sounded hurt.

“I know you won't cheat. But nothing can stop you from having feelings or losing feelings.” You told him.

“Are you delusional? Why would I even!” 

“I don't know, Jameson! Maybe because you haven't spoken to me for weeks and didn't answer my calls or texts, I thought you wanted space but of course you had to find you driving at night with her! If you have lost feelings, at least have the courage to tell me and break it off. So don't call me delusional!” You yelled.

“Y/n, no. You got it all wrong, it is not like that. Me and Avery, we are nothing like that.”

“Don't lie to me, I won't blame you, she's pretty and everything. You got bored of me and now you need someone new. I understand, I guess. Now please let my arm go.” You sniffed.

“Babe, no. I am so sorry for not answering your texts or calls. It was because” he sighed. “My grandfather is a sick man and he gave us one last sick game and the game revolves around Avery.”

“What?”

He explained everything.

“You could have told me.” You said.

“I didn't want you to get involved in this, it has gotten so serious.”

“Okay.”

“And you have no reason to be jealous of Avery. We both just want to solve this puzzle, okay?” His hand holding your arm ran up to your face, thumb caressing your cheeks.

“I wasn't jealous.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

He chuckled. “Whatever you say, babe. Are we still over?”

“If you keep making fun of me, then yes.”

“I'll try not to. I still don't want you to get involved in this but if you really want to then you can help us with the game.”

[asheurbanipal]

'Cause I don't want to leave the comfort of this place

on Ao3

<<Previous Episode : Next Episode>>

Summary:

As their relationship moves forward, Logan and Wade start to see what being together actually looks like. Wade has a brain that doesn't work correctly. Logan is still dealing with the trauma of his previous existence. And in the middle is something new that neither quite know what to do with.

Deadpool/Wolverine

Explicit

Words: 8629

One-shot in series

Content: angst, talk of memory loss, baby in danger!, hand stuff, hand stuff while driving, dad vibes, sex jokes

"Wade, how can I put this delicately…" 

"Why the hell are you here for breakfast, again?" 

Logan choked on his bite of eggs. Hank's attempts at the aforementioned delicacy were completely obliterated by Scott's irritation. He tried to swallow faster to answer.

"Man needs a hearty meal after getting ruthlessly fucked all night," Wade answered. From beside him, Wade reached his foot over and wove it around Logan's ankle. 

"Please don't be so crass in the manor," Hank admonished, returning to his toast. Scott rolled his eyes behind his glasses. They had sense enough to not take Wade at literal face value and snap at the bait, but he wasn't exactly lying. Logan wasn't quite sure where their perception of his and Wade's relationship had landed. No one talked about that kind of shit like adults in this goddamn place. He hadn't realized how annoying that was until he had some distance from it.

"We were running drills in the Danger Room." Logan tapped his fork to his plate nonchalantly. "We run it hard, and it's two hours back to his place. I didn't think it was a big deal for him to crash in my room, instead." 

Another technical truth. Between the Void and that stupid robot thing upstate, he could feel the way his body had slowed down from disuse. If he was going to keep up in this timeline, he needed to get back in fighting shape. He had finally just taken up the offer of private simulation time. Throwing Deadpool into the mix just made it more interesting and upped the difficulty. 

What the simulation computer data logs wouldn't show, though, is that after a couple hours of nighttime training, they were both so amped up the only way to reign it in was to go back to Logan's room and put their dicks in each other in various fashions. They almost didn't make it back to Logan's room one time before he remembered the simulation chamber had very good cameras. 

"If it's a matter of food stock…" Logan offered vaguely.

"No, it's fine." Scott waved him off, but he was still agitated.

"What's up, Cy-boy? Did-wait-" Wade leaned over. He didn't have to come far, his chair already practically touching Logan's.

"What's the Jean situation, right now?" he whispered way too fucking loud.

 "It's complicated," Logan responded with a small nod.

 "Then I'll check the Wiki before I come back to that one. Don't want to insult a grieving maybe-widower."

"I admire your restraint," Scott chuffed then pushed back from the table, standing. "Don't let him out of your sight while he's in the manor." He sauntered through the arch toward the parlor. 

"I hadn't planned on it." Logan lifted his eyebrows at the space where Scott had just been. 

"If you're really in that much need, I'm happy to train with you, Logan." Storm had been quiet, holding her coffee mug with two hands as she sipped it. She kept looking at him softly. From his Storm it would have been affection. From this one it felt like pity.

Logan shook his head, dipping it back to his plate as casually as he could.

"No, I've been overdoing it. Wade already got on me last night about it."

"Multiple times," Wade added. His foot was still hooked around Logan's, and he pulled it a little closer under the table. He was in slippers, so it wasn't exactly a graceful action.

"If you want me to be able to do more cohesive teamwork, I am going to need to start being pulled for team training. Otherwise I'm not gonna be any good to you." Logan tapped very sharply on the plate. 

"Let me talk to everyone about it," Storm said softly, nodding. They'd been doing that. Saying they'd all "talk" about it, meanwhile no one would talk to him directly.

"Can I borrow one of the cars again? To take Wade back. He's got a job to prep for." Logan lifted Wade's foot where it rested on top of his, ignoring the way the rest of the table briefly flicked away from mention of Wade's return to his old vocation. Not like he could work at CarMax, anymore, and if he was going to wear the suit again, might as well slip back into the merc life. 

"Let me see what's available," Hank nodded. Which was code for "what we're willing to part with on the chance that something goes horrifically wrong." They'd all heard about the mini-van incident. Somehow…

He glanced at Wade. 

"Thanks," he said.

"When are you gonna be back?" Laura appeared in the same arch of doorway that Scott had left through, eating an apple off one of her claws. The kid had settled in quickly, blending with the younger cohort. Some of them knew her story, some of them didn't. Either way, she had gone through the standard new student fare. Get through the initial hazing, then she was part of the crowd. 

She was certainly more at home than he was. 

His first week back in the mansion, he had hovered at a distance, unexpected fatherly affection pulling him into a wide orbit around her. He also didn't know this younger generation of mutants. They were their own people to him, not sickly mirrors of the people he once knew. That made them easier to be around.

But he was an old man, and Laura needed the space. Deserved the space. Deserved to be just a kid. 

She continued to wait for his answer as he considered his day. He half-glanced at Wade, but he was focusing intensely on his bagel with strawberry cream cheese. 

"If not by dinner, then right after. Take Wade back. Run a couple errands. Then back here." The errands were making sure Wade had food in the fridge, Althea hadn't OD'd, and filling up the coin jar with quarters for the laundromat. Maybe vacuum and mop. Take Puppins for a walk and check her treat stash. They must have functioned before he showed up, but he wasn't sure how.

If there was time, there'd also be some making out on the couch at minimum. How much farther that got would depend on Wade's timeframe. 

"You askin' for a specific reason?" Logan raised an eyebrow at her. 

"Because I also need to do some training, and you're the only one I can go all out on, right now. But you've been...busy." The next bit of apple crunched loudly. The first emotion the broiled up was anger. He didn't know where it came from and it wasn't useful, so he breathed through it. That's what the on-staff therapist recommended. 

"I apologize for not being available. But in the future, please tell me if there's something you need from me. Open communication and…stuff." Logan replayed the words in his head to make sure he had crafted them okay. Good enough. He was getting a little better at it.

"Now that is some beautiful therapy speak. You should weaponize that, kitten whiskers." Wade poked him in the cheek. 

"If you actually went to your appointments…"

"Uh-unh, that's not an 'I feel' statement." 

"I feel like I'm gonna kick your ass in a minute." Logan kicked Wade's foot under the table with a grin. 

 "I feel you use violence to mask your overwhelming urge to suck my cock."

"WADE, THIS IS A PLACE OF LEARNING!" Hank interjected. 

"I feel like you're both stupid as fuck," Laura finished. "But I guess that just means you're made for each other." She took another bite of apple. "I'll see you tonight, Logan."

"Bye, kid." But she was already turning the corner of the wall. 

#####

Everything was light and bright and fluffy and yellow colored. He couldn't remember the last time he felt good . Genuinely. Whatever memory that might have been was now just a fuzzy gray space. He hated when that happened. 

Cold as fuck down here, Christ. Which is me, I guess. I wonder if that's blasphemy. 

"You were quieter than usual at breakfast." Logan tapped his fingers to Wade's palm as they moved through one of the basement hallways toward the motor pool. "Fucking weird, honestly." Wade dipped his hand into Logan's and curled their fingers together.

"I was just thinking about stuff."

"Thinking? Dangerous." 

"Surprise myself with that sometimes, too." Wade swung their arms in the space between them dramatically. "Just…I don't know…thinking about the job tonight, I guess? Then some other stuff."

"Something you need to talk about? Work through your feelings?"

"Ew no. Gross. It's more like…hm…" 

Fuck. 

Keep being told to think before I speak, and the first time I do it, it doesn't work. I spent all of breakfast putting the words together, and now they're all garbled. Shoulda written it down. Wish I could write. 

"You ever feel lost?" Wade asked. Logan stopped cold in the hallway. 

"Babe," Logan  murmured. Then he did this thing that Wade knew was going in the spank bank immediately. He slammed Wade back against the wall, metal cold on his spine. Logan pressed up tight against him, hip to hip, giving him an immediate hard-on. Logan's hands slipped around his waist. 

"My life is just one long sequence of feeling lost with short periods of knowing what I'm doing. So…kind of an expert." Logan pressed his lips to Wade, and Wade dragged him in in response, deepening the kiss. 

I love this.

I hate this.

I hate that I love this.

Fuck these fucking stupid fuck-ass emotions.  

Falling in love with Vanessa had been from before The Cancer. Before The Healing Factor. Wade knew how to do all that shit, knew how to put his boyish charm and adult-ish mouth to work. From what he had learned since coming back from the Void, other versions of Deadpool had mixed but overall successful amorous experiences, too. This particular Deadpool was drowning.  

Logan pulled away but not before pressing a few small kisses along Wade's jaw and cheek. 

"Anything I can do to help?" Logan squeezed him around the waist a little tighter, dropping his hands a little lower to rest on the top of his hips. 

"Make me an X-Man so I have a salaried position?" Wade offered.

"You're not a full-on mutant. Also…I don't have control over that even if you were." The words went up at the end like a question. It was so fucking cute. 

"Alright then maybe just this, for now." Wade leaned down, pressed his face into Logan's chest, then motorboated the shit out of his pecs for about forty-five seconds. He stayed there, pressing his nose into Logan's shirt and breathing him in. 

Oh yeah, that's a thousand times better, already. 

"You're lucky you're cute." Logan kissed Wade on the top of the head and brought his arms around Wade's back, squeezing him tighter. 

"Logan." The voice came from down the hallway. Logan snapped back, his whole body releasing Wade at once and very literally jumping halfway across the width of the hall. 

Well that doesn't feel great, but I sort of get it. 

At least the fucker looked contrite, doing that fist squeeze thing with this hands that he did when he was every so slightly nervous. Scott sauntered down the hallway, stopping short to toss a set of keys that Logan caught mid-air. 

"Civic's gassed up." He glanced at Wade. "Take as much time as you need."

#####

Logan squeezed the steering wheel hard enough the shape of his claws became visible under his skin. The radio was doing a best of the nineties hour, and he'd already sat through a who's who of pop diva and boy bands of the era. Multiple times he'd considered changing it, but Wade was a little too invested in singing along. He didn't want to take that from him.

It was also, dare he say it, kind of fun?    

When the opening riff of a smooth rock song started, Wade scrambled to change it, his chatter breaking off into something about "blow jobs" and "Kid Rock." They ended up on a talk radio station that was a little less nerve-wracking. He leaned back into the seat as Wade provided a parallel commentary with the show host.

He lifted his hand from the wheel and placed it palm up across the center console. Wade took the opening and dropped his hand into Logan's.

"I'm sorry about the thing in the hallway outside the motor pool," Logan said, chewing the words in embarrassment. 

"Whatchu talkin' 'bout?" 

Logan considered for a moment whether Wade was deflecting or he genuinely didn't catch it. They were both equally likely. 

"When Scott showed up?" He hinted. 

"OH! Oh that. No biggie, sugar bean." He squeezed Logan's hand tight enough to break a hand made of regular bone. "No grab-ass in the mansion. I get it." 

"Well, yeah that." Logan ran his thumb over the back of Wade's hand. "I don't know what their Logan was like, but I used to…uh…get around a little bit."

"You slut!" Wade gasped. Logan certainly wasn't going to deny it.

"Charles used to get on my ass about it-"

"In the sexy way, I hope."

"-'we have to be models of decency for the students' he'd remind me. He never threatened to kick me out, or anything." 

"He was probably waiting for his turn." 

"I'm on thin ice, here, though. They only invited me back on the team as a courtesy, and they don't know how to feel about you, yet."

"Oh, no, they hate me," Wade said.

"I was trying to be nicer about it." Logan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Wade was staring out the window, watching the landscape. "I haven't really done the physical affection thing in awhile, either. So I'm gun-shy, but I want to work on it. Just go a little slow with me."

"I'm not exactly the touchy feely type, either, peanut, so don't stress over it."

"You slap my ass basically every chance you get." 

"That's a totally different thing. I don't know how anyone in that house keeps their hands off those rosy peaches." He smirked and winked. There was something glinting dark underneath, though. Maybe that meant Wade would spend his time thinking instead of filling up the car with noise. 

Wade pulled Logan's hand further over the console. He heard a zip, then his hand was curled around the warmth of Wade's half-hard cock. 

"Are we really doing this?" Logan didn't dare drop his eyes from the road for too long, but he took half a chance to verify that what he thought was happening was actually happening. 

"When I tried to give you head the last time, you stabbed me in the ribs."

"Because I didn't want to drive us into a fucking tree, and that was the only way to get you to stop."

"Yeah, so that's why I'm doing this instead. Just let me do all the work." 

"You're deflecting from something. You need to start using your words to communicate, not your dick."

"Ngh, I'll work on it." Wade was already grunting, tiny little moans as he pressed Logan's hand around his dick and stroked himself. It was a shoddy and fast thing, Wade getting hard quickly and tensing toward completion just as fast. Wade orgasmed with barely a trickle of cum, shoulders rolling against the passenger seat as he arched his back. His voice was tight in his throat, squeaking. Soft words tumbled out between the other sounds, though, and Logan honed in tighter with his hearing. 

It was his name. 

Wade was whispering "Logan" over and over and over again just under his breath. 

That was new. 

Wade panted as he came down from his finish, licked his own semen from Logan's hand because he was simply a freak like that, then zipped up. 

"Ooh, there's an IHOP up here. We should get pancakes for lunch." Wade made that weird little self-satisfied smile of his, and dropped his hands between his legs.

"Whatever you want, babe," Logan sighed, keeping his hand off the wheel as he turned into the parking lot of the strip mall. 

#####

You have to tell him.

No you don't. Keep that shit bottled up. 

He's already figured out something's going on with you. Just get it over with, and you can work through it. 

Fucking FINE. OKAY. 

don't yell at me. 

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything." 

Logan stared at him across the table, pouring "this ain't real fuckin' maple syrup" over his fat stack of pancakes, already through his sausage and eggs and ham and potatoes. Wade looked down at his own pancakes, a smiley face made with chocolate chips and bananas. A piece was already cut out that he didn't remember eating. He didn't remember the eggs and bacon, either, but they were devoured, too. 

Shit.

No. You just weren't paying attention, that's all. It's not the other thing.

I think.

He stabbed his fork down through the middle of the pancakes in frustration. 

"You good?" Logan stopped, fork midway between the plate and his mouth. He set it down to focus that laser attention on Wade. The gaze that made him either turn to jelly or grow a few more bones depending on context.  

Wade re-sorted his thoughts. It was just so hard.

"The constant cellular regeneration. It fucks my memory. Sometimes I just never form them. Sometimes I lose stuff. Sometimes it's nothing. Sometimes it's something really fucking important. But I can't predict it. I'll be looking for this specific little red Fiat in the back lot to sell to some douchebag, and it's not there when I remember it was there that morning. And turns out it's actually been four days." Wade sliced down into the pancakes and took a bite.

"Freaks me the fuck out." He chewed a few times, then spit it into his napkin with a gag. "Why did I fucking get this? I hate this." 

"Were those the deep thoughts in the car? The ones that made you whip your dick out?" Logan tapped his fork to the plate, and it was so…it was so annoying when he did that. That high-pitched sound. And there was this look. This pitying look. 

"Don't make fun of me." Wade's eyebrows creased hard, and he felt a scrim of tears well up.

God, this fucking sucks. Fuck this. Fuck this.

Logan paused on his own words, then snapped his jaw shut.

"Sorry. I misread the room. I'm just trying to understand. Same with some of the other stuff you do. Like when you freak out when you don't see me for a day."

I'm not nearly as smooth as I thought I was, shit. I didn't realize he noticed that.

"I feel like it's all connected." Logan dropped his fork and leaned his forearms on the table. "I just want to understand, Wade." 

"I'm terrified of losing you. Losing parts of you. Memories. The thing that I'm usually able to hang on to is the muscle memory shit. I've never forgotten how to fight or fuck, so I'd like specifically, not forget you how to fuck you. Specifically. So I keep thinking if I just-" He lifted his hands and made a squeezing motion in front of Logan's chest "-then I won't lose it as easily."

"And that makes sense to you?"

"Bitch-ass, what did I say about making fun of me?" 

"I'm not…" He craned his neck, pressing his fingertips to his forehead. "I'm not a stranger to amnesia. I know how scary it is. I'm just trying to understand your logic because it doesn't make sense to me. I don't get it."

"You don't get me," Wade snapped. 

"I don't. Not in this." 

"Cool. Awesome." Wade got up from the table. He made it to the door, then paused. He returned and dropped down into the booth, arms crossed over his chest. 

Logan has the car keys. 

#####

Wade let Logan rest his hand on his thigh, so that was something, at least. He wasn't getting frozen out. He'd been through that before, and it wasn't pleasant. 

Wade was silent, though, and that was scary. He had only seen it a handful of times over the last few months. Wade was thinking and thinking hard, focusing so he could properly turn everything over. Something was going to come out the other side of this that was important. So far it had been mostly positive, but there had to be a moment when the tide turned. 

"Logan, stop. Pull over." Wade was sitting up, eyes focused on something out his window. He obeyed immediately, trying to find what had grabbed Wade's attention. 

They were approaching a river. Along the perpendicular road, the one that connected to the main highway, two cars had pulled over to take care of what looked like a minor front-end crash. The car wasn't even stopped before Wade was tumbling out and running toward the scene of the crash.

"Wade, what're you doing?" Logan slid across the hood to keep up. "It's just a car wreck." They were approaching quickly, the two people exchanging insurance looking up in a panic. Logan tried to assure them from a distance. 

Then a loud whoosh went up, and one of the cars was overtaken by flames. 

#####

The 2010 -2016 Kia Soul was among a group of cars known to catch on fire after collision. 2.3 million of them had been recalled for it. 

That Kia, in particular, was starting to smoke under the hood. 

And now I'm running across the grass, and I'm not sure how I got here. But I'm not freaked out about it, yet. That's just adrenaline.

The fire went up just as he reached the car. A woman screamed behind him, but he knew Logan was there. Logan would take care of them. He had seen the baby in the back seat. The flames were hot on his skin as he went digging for the switchblade in his back pocket. The butt of the knife handle had a knob, and he slammed it into the corner of the back window. 

That's the weakest part of the window.

He dived through the now broken window, crunching up into the back seat. He sliced through the seatbelt and carseat anchor, but the fucker was in one of those fuck-ass bases. Whatever. He took off his shirt, threw it over the carseat, then kicked everything he had into the door. It broke off the hinges. 

"Wolverine, catch!" Then he threw the carseat clear of the vehicle.

Shit shit shit I just threw a fucking baby. Wait, the car seat should absorb the shock, oh, wait, Logan caught it.

Okay. 

A sizzling sound meant the fire was moving up the engine block through the wiring. Smoke started seeping through the cabin, but the missing door should have been enough to…to…

Hm. Something's wrong. 

"Wade, you idiot." Logan's voice. The SHNK of claws through the door behind him, then he was being scruffed around the neck. 

He lost some minutes in the confusion of his body being manhandled by familiar arms. 

"I swear to God, why don't you think ? You're going to kill me if you die."

Wade snapped back as the water hit him, Logan's arms wrapped around him tightly. 

"I got you," Logan murmured in his ear as they resurfaced. They kneeled together in the shallow water. The flames crawling up the car hit the gas tank, and the fire shifted color and increased intensity.

"Why am I in the water?" Wade asked. 

"You were literally on fire," Logan growled. "Full on human torch."

"Oh, is that what that was?" Wade settled back into the plane of Logan's chest. Fire was tricky. It would keep eating through cells as long as they regenerated. Surprisingly draining to heal from.

"How is it that you can fight endless mobs of yourself without breaking a sweat, but doing a basic smash and grab rescue you look like a drunk frat boy with a hernia." Logan was also a little out of breath, though. They both knew that these little on the spot jobs were the hardest. With a full on mission, you were ready. You warmed up. Zero-to-hero took a little more out of you. It was more personal. More up close. Bunch of people die during a dab of super-villainy, sure. If someone kicked it right in front of you because you couldn't pull them off the subway tracks in time, that sucked a syphilitic dick.

And I don't exactly randomly rescue people. Not before this. Waste of cardio.

What have you done to me, my dearest darling? Heart of my heart.

"I didn't have the suit on," Wade replied as a way to wrap up all those thoughts. Logan kissed the back of his head. 

"If I tell you to communicate better, will you remember?" Logan sighed. "I'm being extremely serious. You might forget things, but I remember. And I remember well when I'm at full mental capabilities. Got a lot of trauma up there, so there's not a lot of room left." He squeezed Wade even tighter, the breath puffing out of him. "And I can't manage both our impulse control issues." 

"No promises, honey badger. This brain doesn't always connect to this body." 

"I…okay. That I might understand."

#####

They slinked through the door into Wade and Althea's apartment, clothes still dripping wet. Logan didn't smell anyone, so Althea was out and had taken Puppins. Reasonable. Wade loved that damn dog, but he wasn't home consistently enough, right now, to take care of her in full. Wade had been chattering endlessly about car recalls and leaking gas tank valves, but he fell instantly silent once they passed the threshold.  

"I don't like being here alone," he said flatly. 

"I'm here."

"But you're going to go back to the mansion later."

"Yeah, but you're gonna be working. I can stay until you leave. If Scott gets shitty about the car, then whatever."

"Yeah, but-" 

"Wade. Babe." 

Wade spun around in the middle of the living space, arms flopping.

"Why did you decide on 'babe?'" Wade pouted.

"You call me whatever new thing you think of at the moment, but I'm more of a find a pet name and stick to it kinda guy." Logan rested his hands on his hips, trying to decide where this was going.

"You called me 'daarrrlin' the first time." The impression was pretty spot on. "Then it was 'honey.' Then it was 'sweetness.' But now you've landed on 'babe,' and you stayed there. I want to know why. Show your work."

Logan blinked at him a few times. He wasn't sure he could actually explain it. 

"I went to call you 'bub' one time in front of the others, and it came out 'babe.' And I just…liked it. So I kept it. It…fit."

"You've called me, 'babe' in front of the others?"

"Yeah, probably a few times. I'm not really counting."

"Do they know we're together?"

"I haven't been keeping it a secret, so yeah, probably. They're not stupid, and we're not exactly discreet. Last week you asked Scott if there was any flavored lube in the next delivery because, and I quote, 'when I eat Logan's ass later, I want to make sure I pair it with the right wine.'" 

"Witty banter. I didn't know they were imagining us fucking night and day all over the house."

"Night and day, sure, technically. I think 'my room' isn't really 'all over the house.'"

"There was that one time in that empty classroom." 

"That doesn't count," Logan choked. 

"Mmmhmm." Wade clucked, popping his tongue loudly against the floor of his mouth. "So, to be clear, the entirety of the X-Men know that I've been all up in this." He made a waving motion that circled all of Logan's body with special attention on the crotch region.

"Again, yes. Probably." 

"That's extremely embarrassing for you," Wade smirked. 

"I'd like to go back to the ass-slapping."

"I told you. Those cheeks are irresistible. I cannot be contained." He moved forward a few steps and wrapped his hand around Logan's wrist. "Let's change. You can wear my sweats."

"Please don't give me one of the blow-job shirts," Logan said as he was pulled across the room to the set of hampers where Wade kept his mishmash of clothes. 

"Now you're getting the cum slut booty shorts." 

Wade started to strip, his body moving with slow, awkward, weirdly normal movements. It was the second degree burns and smoke inhalation. On the surface they looked like they healed quickly, just a little knitting of flesh. But they hurt underneath a lot longer than other injuries. That was probably why he still seemed off. But there was also…

"Wade." Logan waited for Wade to turn around. His flannel was now sitting wet and balled up in the back of the Civic. Instead, he pulled up the bottom of his t-shirt slowly, tantalizing, letting it whip over his head with a stretch of his body. "So you can remember better." He held out his arms, canted slightly into a soft U-shape. He turned slowly, trying to give Wade some kind of show. He wasn't exactly good at this sort of thing, but something about it made sense.

#####

Oh, you sweet sweet idiot. 

Logan was just standing there, back to him, triceps fucking rippling. 

Do you have a license? For those guns?!?

"You stupid slut," Wade whispered. He moved to Logan, and whipped his arms around his waist from behind. He had been stopped with his wet boxes halfway down his hips, and he just let them fall the rest of the way.

He needed Logan to be naked, too. Not anything more than that, surprisingly. Just naked. He struggled with his belt buckle, but the damp leather had swollen in the metal loop. Logan cut through it with the tip of one of his ever so slightly extended claws. He retracted then turned in the circle of Wade's arms, breaking the loop with his taught ass. 

JESUS. 

Wade pulled the broken belt free, then somehow managed to fumble down the zipper and top button of his jeans. But the slim cut of the pants was clinging to his glutes and thighs. Wade yanked on them, and they wouldn't budge. 

Oh, god, I'm going to cry over pants. 

"I can't get them off." He already knew he was mumbling, the rattle of his thoughts only slipping out in little breathy whispers. 

"What was that?" Logan asked gently, leaning in and up to Wade's ear. 

"TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS."

Logan didn't question the zero to one hundred reaction, just slid his pants down himself, taking his boxer briefs with him, then stepping out of them. Wade slammed himself into Logan's body, wrapping his arm around him again, digging his nails into his spine and shoulder blades. Logan's arms came up from below to hug him back, tight, pulling their chests and stomachs and hips together.

Wade attacked him with his mouth. That was the only word for it. He wanted to bite and chomp at Logan's face. To rip the flesh from his immaculate cheeks. The only thing holding him back from going full animal was how tired he was. 

"Pick me up," he whined into Logan's neck, then jumped until his knees were locked around his hips. Logan made a little oomph sound, but snagged him around the waist and under his ass. 

He dropped them both on the couch. It was only just big enough to hold them, but not nearly long enough. Logan ended up with one leg up on the back of the couch, bent at the knee, shoulders propped on the arm. Wade settled into the shape his body made, curling one ankle underneath Logan's other leg. They were immediately intertwined. 

Their lips fell against each other, desperate and stupid from adrenaline. Familiar, though. It should be. They'd been doing this very thing almost every day for months. 

The end of this honeymoon phase was going to be a bitch .

Can you get That Good Dick DTs?

That feels insensitive…

FOCUS. 

They were getting hard against each other as they kissed, the weight of Wade's body pressing him deeper into Logan. 

Then that asshole pulled away.

"Probably shouldn't get too caught up in this. You've got your job tonight." 

Wade groaned, stretching a little. 

"There's no jooooob. There never was one." 

Logan's hands went extremely tight on Wade's skin. The very very very tippy tips of Logan's claws pierced his flesh, and he shivered in the pain-pleasure-pain. 

"If you say the words 'educated wish'..." His warning delivered, he retracted his claws again. 

Wade rolled his forehead across Logan's chest. 

"I started talking to my old merc contacts when we got back from the Void. I started picking up small jobs when you moved out. Real easy security shit. Made it easier to deal with you not being here. But then after the robot thing the jobs felt…boring. And any time I had to choose between working or spending time with you, I chose you. So I started getting picky."

"How are you paying your half of the rent?"

"That's the weird advantage of the merc work/shithole apartment combo. Couple good jobs and you're covered for the month. Not dressing in Givenchy, but you make it work." 

Logan sat up, forcing Wade to do a weird little half curl just to keep himself wrapped around his body.

"But why lie about it? I don't like you lying to me." His voice was sharp. Angry. Wade rolled back over his thighs to sit up on the couch. He brought a pillow over his half-hard cock to not distract himself then shoved one over Logan's for the same reason. 

"I don't know. I was embarrassed? Maybe? Worried you'd get tired of me, but also worried if I said I needed space you'd think I was tired of you . Problem solved in both directions if I have to go to a job. But I hate not being around you. It physically hurts when I don't get to see you for some reason. 

"Well not for some reason. There's a reason. It's because I still can't seem to remember what you smell like when you're not around. And you can smell me; you know what I smell like. You know I'm coming. I actually stole one of your shirts, and I sniff it when we're not together. And I'm like 'mmhmm, yep, that's Logan.' My boner certainly recognizes you. So why can't I smell you from a distance? Clearly that means I can't remember what you smell like. Then obviously there's other things I'm probably forgetting too, and I don't even realize it. 

"But what kind of needy-ass bitch tells someone 'hey, I have to sew my face to your ass Human Centipede style because I'm worried I'll forget what it tastes like.' Listen to how insane that sounds." 

"I do agree that you sound completely unhinged," Logan nodded. 

"Thank you for validating my emotions. I appreciate it." He leaned back on the couch. 

I'm actually completely serious; why does that sound so sarcastic?

#####

Logan traced the hunched curve of Wade's body as he curled up on himself. That was the thing that no one understood about Wade. The thing that he had to keep reminding himself when he told Wade to slow down and think. Wade did think. It was just too quick and frenzied, ideas cycling as fast as his brain regenerated new neurons. 

So when those thoughts emerged they sounded like madness.

"Wade." Logan stopped. Careful. Gentle. Breathe. "I can smell you because I have super senses. Other people can't smell each other from down the hallway. I need to be sure that you understand that before you spiral." 

"I want to be able to smell you," Wade replied blankly. 

"What if I wore a very specific cologne that you pick? Then you'll be able to smell me from farther away."

"But then you wouldn't smell like you anymore."

"So, see, you do know what I smell like."

Wade attempted to retort, then stopped, pursing his lips on his objection. Logan leaned over and rested his forehead on Wade's shoulder. Careful. Gentle. Breathe. 

"Don't lie to me, again." It was a bark, immediately losing the pattern of his mantra. "I can't do this if you lie to me." Wade's body tensed. 

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I'm saying I love you. But love's not enough if you're going to keep big things from me. We're fine, still. It's okay. But it's not something I can ignore." Logan pressed his palms together and squeezed. Too much shit happened to his brain that he couldn't control. He didn't need additional complications.

Wade's hands crawled into the square of Logan's forearms and gripped them tight at the crook of his elbows. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't end us when we just started. I love you." He pushed his body into Logan's forcing them back into the position they were in before. "I'll show you. What do you want? Just tell me what to put where."

"Babe, shut up." Logan clapped his hand around the back of Wade's head and pressed it to his chest. "If you don't have to rush off somewhere, then just lay here with me. There's too little of that in my life." He dragged his fingers up and down Wade's spine. He had been too intense, let the trauma do too much of the talking.

The half-lie that made him follow Wade in the beginning had turned out all right. It was a falsehood he could understand the desperation of in hindsight. A little white lie about a gig from a man who literally didn't understand how his own brain worked wasn't the kind of thing to blow up a whole relationship for. And Wade understood. He wasn't ignoring him or disregarding his feelings on the matter.

Wade would remember this.

"You don't have to solve everything with sex or violence," Logan said. 

"What about sex and violence?"

"Sure. Okay. But only if they're at exactly the same time in equal amounts. "

"I love it when you pull out the quips. It's so sexy." Wade dragged his teeth down Logan's chest and kissed his nipple, running his tongue over it in little flicks.

"What did I just say about using sex to solve your problems?" But they'd also just had an incredibly serious conversation while both completely naked, so maybe Wade deserved at least a little credit. 

"My dick is shaking hands with yours, right now. Where did you think this was going?" 

Wade's arm snaked down into the space between them. His large hand came around both of them, pressing their shafts together. Just a little bit of movement, and the friction of his rough palm started Logan on the long, spiraling draw toward pleasure. He met his own hand with Wade's between them, wrapping around the other side of their paired lengths. Logan ran his other hand up the back of Wade's neck, pressing his fingers into the back of his skull. 

"That feels so goddamn good," Logan growled. 

"And you said not to use my cock to communicate." Wade ran a few kisses along Logan's jaw before nibbling on his skin. 

"Why do you use your teeth so much?" Logan asked between little kissing pecks across his lips.

"Because I'm a freak. Do you want me to stop?"

"Fuck no."

Wade nipped at Logan's chin harder.

"Why don't you use yours?" Wade asked. "Bring more of that mustelid energy to the bedroom."

"I have no idea what that means, but if that's what you want…" 

#####

Logan's teeth sunk hard into his shoulder where it met his neck and-

-fuck shit if I was closer I would have come a fountain. 

Logan's jaws locked into place, and he dropped the hand that had been on the back of Wade's head to around the small of his back. His hand tilted to grip around the shape of his ass, and their lower bodies pressed together tighter. Logan's hand grappled with his until he couldn't be sure who was stroking who, everything a mass of sensation on the back of that quick, hot buildup.

Slowly, the thoughts dripped out of his head until there was nothing left but need . Raw. Nerve endings that normally fired in pain instead trilling with pleasure.

Sex and violence. 

He pumped faster, trying to focus on the man underneath him at the same time. How Logan's skin felt against his. The scratch of Logan's body hair on his stomach and beard on his cheek. The sting of Logan's teeth in his muscles and the way his body kept trying to heal around them. The sloppy weep of Logan's precum dripping over his hand. The steam of Logan's sweat as it curled around their bodies. 

Tobacco and orange peel and leather and a jar of nickels. That's what Logan smells like. I know what Logan smells like. 

Logan fucked up into his hand from below, their heels and toes tangling together as they both tried to push against the couch for leverage. Logan's whole body tensed, hips thrusting up to lift them both. He released his mouth from Wade's shoulder and howled as he erupted over their hands. 

Wade crushed his mouth against Logan's as Logan brought him the rest of the way.

"Fuck," he whispered into Logan's mouth as the spring broke and his own cum spread out between their stomachs. He tried to dig for something else to say. Some little jokey joke to break the tension. He couldn't find anything, his brain flaring back to life with a gasp and a scream, full of nothing but Logan. 

#####

Logan flicked over Wade's shirt with a half-extended claw and caught it in his fist.

"Sit up," he murmured into Wade's ear. 

"Dun wanna." Wade tucked his arms under Logan's shoulders in protest. He stabbed Wade in the ass a little with the still out claw, and that startled him into rolling off just enough. "Love it when you use the claws to push me around."

"Do you actually?" He wiped them both down and threw the shirt on the floor. Wade rolled back, resting his head on Logan's chest. "Because I spend a lot of energy attempting to not spear people I care about through the stomach. If you're into it, though, I could be convinced to reconsider."

"Our safeword can be Graymalkin. Because I'm one of…Cable's ships…that…that one didn't come together." 

He was too tired to rise to the bait of whatever Wade was talking about and rested his hands gently on Wade's back instead. The TV across the room flicked on. 

"Found the remote. It was between the cushions." Wade flicked through some channels then stopped with a soft "oooh."

"What the fuck is this?"

"Say Yes to the Dress. Wedding dress shopping, but each one costs three month's rent."

"Shit, weddings are expensive." He watched the movement on the TV for a careful few minutes. "Okay, that dress looks great on her. Why is her mom being a bitch about it?"

"FUCKING RIGHT?"

Logan woke at the sound of someone at the door. They had fallen asleep on the couch and it had grown dark in the interim. He pulled an arm out from under Wade's weight, shook the pins and needles out, and prepped his claws to spring free. Whoever it was slid a key into the lock. He relaxed. Althea. She had caught them in worse, and at least she wouldn't see they were currently naked on her couch. Logan shook Wade awake a little. 

"Althea's home. We should maybe pretend we're decent people."

"We're absolutely not, though," Wade said sleepily but moved to sit up. He half pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, but was still waking up and moving slowly. 

The lock clicked and the door cracked. 

"Hey, you old slut," Wade yawned. Then the door finished opening. 

"Oh my god. I'm gonna gouge my own eyes out." Laura pushed Colossus in front of her and used his body to block her view. For his part, he lifted his hand to shield his eyes and turned away. 

"I said to knock when entering a man's private home." His deep Russian accent was caught between admonishment and embarrassment. 

Logan snatched the blanket and threw it over both of them. 

"If you don't want to see my ass, then hand me some pants," Logan barked, gesturing toward the clothes hampers. 

Colossus volunteered himself for the task, still keeping his back to them as he grabbed a set of shorts and a pair of sweats and threw them across the room. Logan gave Wade the shorts and shimmied into the sweat pants. 

"Laura, what the fuck are you doing here?" He stood, moving away from the couch. She gave half a glance over her shoulder then turned when she could confirm he was half-dressed. 

"You said you were going to train with me tonight, but you didn't come back." 

"Shit." Logan pressed his palms to his forehead. "I'm so sorry, kid. Wade's job…got canceled-" the lie came easy and he hated himself a little for it "-and I lost track of time."

"Yeah, I can see that," she tsked. 

"You didn't need to come all the way here."

"That idiot throwing a baby out of a car is getting memed on TikTok, right now." Laura gestured to Wade. 

"Oooh, I've never been viral before. Well, not on the internet. Been viral a few other ways." Wade had propped himself up on the arm of the couch. 

"So I called your phone to check on you. When you didn't answer, I got worried. Colossus offered to drive me over, and Yukio gave me her emergency key."

"My phone…" Logan lifted his hand to his chest where his shirt pocket would have been. The shirt that was currently curled up in the back of the Civic. "Shit."

Logan dropped on the arm of the couch, scooting Wade over a few inches. 

"Okay, how do I fix this?" Logan asked.

"I don't know. You're not dead, so I get to be mad at you. But you're not dead, so I'm also relieved." Laura spread her hands in a weird half-shrug.

"You could set up a training schedule," Colossus tried to mediate. 

"Wait, that's actually a really good idea." Wade hung half-off the couch. "Because I'll fight you. Like, I'll kick your fucking ass as hard as you want."

"I could go for that," Laura replied. 

"Your level of enthusiasm worries me," Logan said. 

"It's your DNA," Wade reminded him. He pressed his eyes shut in annoyance, realizing he was right, and that was really fucking weird the more he thought about it. 

"Let's set that up, okay? Book us into the Danger Room. We'll make it a standing date."

"Yeah," Laura said quietly. She bit her lip and took several hard breaths. He recognized that coping mechanism. "Come here a sec." She moved into the corner of the kitchen part of the space. Not a lot of room from the other two but they had a vague sense of privacy if Logan created a body-wall. She lowered her voice. 

"You're not my dad," she started.

"I…am, though…"

"You know what I mean," she sighed. "You were the closest thing I ever had to a real parent who actually loved me. But our time together was so short. And we kicked ass in the Void. But you're also dead. I mourned you. But now you're here."

"And I'm not your Logan. No, I get it." He crossed his arms over his chest, hyper aware of being shirtless, still. 

"I'd like you to be one of my Logans, though. But I'm not totally sure what that looks like or how to do that. And as much as it annoys me, I'm also dealing with the fact that I have to share you."

Logan glanced down, looking for Wade out of the corner of his eye. Wade was watching them over the top of the couch, peeking up just the top of his head.

"I already had this conversation with him, but I haven't really been part of a family in awhile. So if I fuck it up…"

"Hey." She punched him in the arm. "If I end up living as long as you do, we got time to figure it out, right?"

"Those smarts aren't my DNA."

"Nurture vs nature?" She patted her hands on her thighs. "Well, you're alive. So I'll go. Forgive me if I don't hug you goodbye."

"Yeah." He reached out and patted her on the side of the arm. "Thank you for giving a shit about me, kid. And Wade, even though he's an idiot."

"You're both easy to give a shit about it." She paused. "Also, your pants say Big Booty Goddess on the back. Thought you should know."

#####

Easy to give a shit about. 

Ringing endorsement, honestly. 

They had finally found the note that Al left them about a long weekend in Atlantic City. Logan had already decided to stay that night, but that secured it. Didn't mean he didn't freak out a little when the other half of the fold out sofa was empty an hour after they had gone to bed.  

Logan had only gone as far as the dining table, though, talking on the cellphone he had finally retrieved from the car and working through the last few swallows of a floral juice glass of Jack Daniels. Wade watched him with his chin on the back of the couch.

"Okay so she's in her room…Okay…Thanks, Hank…She was supposed to text me when she got back, but…No I recognize the hypocrisy doesn't mean I didn't want to check on her." Logan chuckled darkly. "Um, I was going to talk to you about this tomorrow, but since I have you I figured I'd give you a heads up. Not blind side you. If there's a place for me on the X-Men, I don't want to lose it, but I want to live with my boyfriend. Maybe be available for freelance. Only if that's doable, though."

boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend

"Can we talk about what that might look like? Yeah…Okay… Yeah. I'll be back in the morning…Yes I'll talk to Scott….yeah. Okay. Thanks again, Hank." He set the phone down gently, considered the opposite wall for a minute, then stood.

He noticed Wade watching, but didn't say anything before crawling back into bed. He opened his arms and made a gesture that Wade should settle in. He didn't hesitate, curling up against Logan's chest.

"Boyfriend?" Wade asked.

"Are you not?"

"No I…I am…" Wade pressed a hand to Logan's chest. "Can I be serious with you?"

"God, please do." 

"Don't give up being an X-Men just because I'm a wreck. Don't pick me over them."

Logan kissed him on the forehead. 

"Not off the team, yet. And even if that's how things work out, it wouldn't be picking you. It'd be picking me. Picking a life I built myself that wants you in it."

Wade pressed tighter to Logan's body. Scent. Sight. Touch. Taste. He wanted to take it all in, to capture this exact moment in time. 

I'm not fucking forgetting this.

[boyfridged]

thank you, @tasonpjodd for your generous donations to spotlighted campaigns! if anyone would like to help out, please check my list. i am currently taking prompts for ficlets in exchange for proof of support of palestinians' fundraisers. details here. below -- the requested ficlet: dick and jason reconnecting after jason's return. once again -- thank you, dear! enjoy.

&you need a shovel (1435 words, sketch*)

When Bruce told him, months before: “I’m sure. The body wasn’t there,” Dick thought: bullshit. That was bullshit, and Bruce probably dug up his little brother’s grave for nothing, and… And perhaps it was reasonable. The only way to know for sure. 

“You’re not going to do it,” Donna told him, her voice muffled. 

And he was not going to. 

A flock of birds passed somewhere above, their caws so loud he could hear the cry with the doors closed, through the glass. 

“Where even are you?” Her voice cracked on the line again. 

“In a car,” he replied, impassive. A car. Nothing like the nice models he used to drive and show off. Not even a license plate permanently attached.

“Going to?” 

He looked out of the window, at the empty road, emptier, blackened acres surrounding it, and finally, at the distant city skyline. Then, he looked at the map plastered on his windshield and the pastel blue notes attached to it, thinking.

“Dick. Where are you staying? I thought you were with Bruce.”

Not far. The dots and connecting them lines sketched with a dark marker concentrated in the heart of Ocean County, New Jersey. Whatever they say about Rome.

“Or are you still looking for him?”

“No.” Because about that, she was right. Jason would come, if he wanted. He had to know he could, so– “It’s just a murder case.” Or five. 

She stayed silent for a split second, but with Blüdhaven razed to the ground, he could easily predict where the conversation was going. Everyone asked the same questions, wearing the same sympathetic face of grief. No one knew his.

“I have to go.”

“Dick–”

He hung up. There was nothing to say about Blüdhaven.

***

And then there is Gotham. With his childhood and family that can be traced back there like a murder trail. 

The case he’s been studying is colourless, no spandex in sight, but if it turns out to be more, he will not be surprised. Still, for now, he finds himself enjoying the bare bones detective work, something he also liked in his time- his time undercover with BPD. 

The victims do not exactly fit one profile. Four of them are rich, yes, the old money kind. That got the local cops working. The timeline Dick has written down, leaning over the console, reviews that in detail. They were first declared missing, with speed that only cash of their families could buy. Then, body parts appeared in Gotham dumpsters, as if strategically. A stomach and a hand. A loose head and a pair of lungs. 

Weeks of prodding lead to the next piece of jigsaw as if it was destined to fall into a missing spot in a finite formula, still loose but undoubtedly in place. The man; the crime; the date, aligning flawlessly. 

So Dick arrives at the driveway of Lehman’s off-city property, west of Bristol, not entirely sure what he’s expecting, a scenario after scenario pushing at him like a headache. There was already a suspicion growing at the back of his mind, or his heart, a hope, a wrong word given the circumstances– 

So perhaps the image that haunted both his dreams and waking hours. A boy, still just a boy, his frame unsteady, flickering on a rattling train, a boy on a trapeze, a boy calling him from the other side of the road only to disappear after a blink, a boy at his kitchen table, a boy in the coffin, more charcoal ash than a boy, or still a flame that goes out too quickly. A boy falling, cascades of dazzling colours and fingers slipping out of his own. 

He presses the brakes at the open gate. The tyres stagger on the cobblestone. 

This is not a watercolour of Dick’s grieving mind,  but a young man, shielding his bare eyes from the lights of the car, his hand fixated on a gun. 

For a second, Dick forgets how to breathe. His knuckles turn unnaturally pale on the wheel. He has to meet his own, bloodshot eyes in the rearview to confirm that they are open at all; that what he is seeing is real.

He gets out, willing himself to check the surroundings, and there it is, a shape of a victim on the ground, a red mess of limbs, right behind Jay. Jay, no mask on his face and posture so rigid that Dick takes his next step almost in slow motion, as if approaching a startled animal. 

“That’s– you,” Jay says and the initial shock in his voice, raspy, with a single odd note of youth, slips into chagrin that Dick would rather pretend to be the sustained surprise. 

“That’s me,” He confirms, and he too sounds almost foreign to himself. The casualness of it all is  inappropriate. 

He sticks his hands in his pockets. 

Jason’s hand remains close to the gun, the only visible weapon on him. Other than that- nothing. He’s wearing a black sweater, out of all things, a bit rough, a striped scarf, no gloves, jeans. He is not dressed for the weather, and definitely not for the activity. 

There is last hoarfrost on the already greening grass. Maybe this is why Jason pulls the sleeves over his hands, ignoring the newly acquired stains. 

“Where’s your–”

“I’m in the middle of something, so unless–” Jason begins at the same time. It’s acidic, or an attempt at. A challenge. 

“Unless what?” He questions, still standing there like a directionless pole. Unless he is there to stop him, maybe? 

Mere months ago, Dick stood and watched a man get shot, static. 

It is too late to stop anything. 

Lehman is very much dead. Not only is he dead, but in an interrupted process of being dismembered. Blood is soaking into the ground where a leg lies, and it is grotesquely bright, the type of brightness only a bone on display can seem to emit. 

And Jason’s expression is indescribable, just for a moment, carefully blank. Then he kneels next to the body, takes a loud breath in and closes his eyes. As if looking at Dick causes him great pain. Or– he could be praying, Dick thinks, hysterically, but there’s a frown building at Jason’s forehead to disprove this theory. His eyelids snap back open quickly enough too, and he reaches for the saw. He finds the slit of the injury on the body’s arm and pushes through with ferocious expertise that should not be so impressive. 

There is a bit of an uncomfortable slide to it under pressure. Dick does not think. He comes up and stomps on the loosely opened hand to stabilise the corpse. It’s firm under his boot. 

“This is a mess.” Dick says, like this is a thing to focus on- But his little brother has never liked messes. 

Jason’s eyes flicker to the side, at a gasoline tank he must have brought with, like it’s an ever-reliable answer. 

“I don’t… I don’t get what you’re doing,” Dick adds, despite the understanding dawning on him. 

“You don’t even know what you’re doing.” 

“Excuse me— I’ll let you know,” He replies, his voice still distant, just a hint of humour ringing out excruciatingly, too close to conscience, “I have worked plenty cases like this.” Usually arresting the offender, not helping them. The irony is not lost on him. “And it will be hard to smoulder it enough. Better bury him.” 

The grit of the saw comes to a momentary stop, the idea taken into consideration.

“Why? You got a shovel?” Jason mocks.

“I do.” 

There is a moment of silence. Dick would be too ashamed to admit that momentarily, he feels something like a shadow of satisfaction– or confidence, reinstilled. Yet, the tick of vanity cannot last in the face of vulnerability embodied. 

Jason’s wide grey eyes look up at him, properly for the first time, a trace of apprehension not disguised. 

“Where’s your… Car? Bike?” Dick asks, which earns him no response but another dubious look.

The thought that Jason walked eighty minutes on foot, just to slaughter this guy– It is becoming realistic. 

“Right.”

There’s a crumpled pile of black trash bags on the curb. Dick opens one, and gestures around.

“How about we- pack it up. And drive up into the forest.” 

Everything in Jay’s pose – the stubborn silence, how he bites at his lips, the tension of his jaw and arms, promises rejection. 

But when Dick extends a hand, he takes it at once. 

His brother’s- Dick’s now too, their hands, slide, sticky and red. And Dick helps Jason up.

*this ficlet will see a full-length version sometime this year, under the same title. for now -- thank you for reading. support gaza.

[sflow-er]

Some thoughts on the Fleabag parallel

Lately, I've been thinking about how the Fleabag parallel with Sargust actually runs deeper than the famous line, and how these deeper connections contextualise Sara and August's relationship and goodbye.

[Disclaimer: I am heavily drawing on a Fleabag analysis by Aaron Bady, because while I love the show and just rewatched it last year, I have never engaged in the fandom or tried to analyse the story in depth. I welcome any additions, corrections or sidebars in the replies/reblogs!]

So in this parallel, August is Fleabag. Sara is the Priest.

In S1 of Fleabag, the titular character is stuck in a cycle of self-destructive behaviour. As we eventually find out, she is plagued by guilt; she has betrayed her best friend and indirectly caused her death, which has left her grieving and unable to obtain closure or forgiveness. She is also in deep financial trouble, emotionally closed off, and at least partly estranged from her family, who have learned to expect the worst of her. Despite some warmer moments, both her dad and her sister choose their awful romantic partners over her. She even contemplates suicide at the end but is saved by someone with whom she shared a misery bonding moment in an earlier episode (and who also gives her an economic lifeline).

In S2, Fleabag is no longer acutely spiralling. She has turned her business around, turned non-confrontational with her family, and even quit some of the self-destructive behaviour (most notably her compulsive tendency to seek validation in sex). However, this is not true self-improvement. She has resigned herself to her family's judgment and the idea that she is utterly irredeemable and unlovable, but decided to live on regardless.

Enter the Priest, who is unlike anyone Fleabag knows. He is candid and blunt (as opposed to her family who keep up appearances), charismatic, fascinating and empathetic. He persistently chips away at her emotional walls, tries to help her, and insists that she is worthy of love. He also admits that there are things and relationships in his pre-canon past that he isn't proud of, so they have something in common there.

As this block quote from the analysis linked above demonstrates, he also has something she lacks:

What's more, a priest can offer her something that a world where everything is allowed — and where nothing can therefore be wrong — cannot. How can a person find help when therapists — as her disastrous counseling session demonstrates — can only tell you that whatever you've already decided to do is what you will do? How can they help you when that inevitability has led you to do the wrong things? What she wants, it turns out, is not to "f*** a priest" but to be told what to do. Having lost all confidence in her own judgment, her own instincts, and her own feelings — having decided that what she needs is for someone else to take over decision-making for her life — she is increasingly fascinated by this man of the cloth who seems to be exactly what she wants to be: a funny, profane train-wreck, wearing great dresses, who lives a mortified and celibate life of subjection [--] This instinct is wrong, it turns out, because it's still the instinct to give up on herself. 

Let's stop there for a moment and return to Sargust. The details and timelines differ, but tell me I'm not the only one who sees multiple levels of this parallel.

August is also in deep financial trouble, emotionally closed off, self-harming, and estranged from his family in S1. He too does something terrible to someone who trusted him. He hasn't quite resigned himself to Wilhelm's judgment yet by the time Sara first approaches him, but he does feel unlovable and irredeemable, and he is still flailing internally in the relative calm at the start of S2.

I would even go so far as to say that August too lives in a world where everything is seemingly allowed. He famously tells Wille that people like them can get away with murder, and he makes it pretty clear that elite loyalty is the only moral code he knows. Even in S3, he tells Boris it's hard to motivate himself to be good when he knows it won't be rewarded with forgiveness.

As for Sara, she too is blunt, fascinating, empathetic, and a total contradiction to the people around August. She too allows August to be vulnerable, accepts him at his worst, and tries to help him. She both reminds him of himself (especially due to similarities in their past, but also some surprising compatibilities in their present) and possesses something he lacks.

Sara has a moral compass trained on the real, non-elite world where bad actions have consequences. She urges August to do the right thing and come clean about the video, and while he doesn't actually promise to do so, he doesn't fully decide against it either (until later when the crown is dangled in front of him). In the meantime, he actually seeks validation and some semblance of redemption from her.

It's her assurance that he isn't the worst person in the world that prefaces their first sexual encounter.

You could even say this scene and all their S2 scenes leading up to it hit an emotional beat that's somewhat similar to the confession scene in Fleabag - the moment where she finally breaks down, confesses how adrift she feels, and begs the Priest to just tell her what to do. This is the step that leads to their first, very heated kiss.

One area where the storylines differ concerns August and Fleabag's expectations for the secret/forbidden relationship, but I would argue that the way their expectations are thwarted feels somewhat similar again.

Fleabag expects her infatuation with the Priest to remain purely sexual and emotionally detached, and for the Priest to reject her. This would prove yet again that she is as unlovable as she feels, and it would also take the decision out of her hands. Instead, she opens up her heart and dares to hope for him to reciprocate - which he does. They even sleep together, despite the obvious risks to his life in the church that has given him peace from the regrets in his past.

As the analysis linked above argues, it's just as significant that the risks never materialise:

[S]he fell for a priest because the idea of him seemed like the promise of sexual rejection and the annulment of her freedom; instead, he gave himself to her, accepted her choice, and allows her to turn his life upside down. Except that... he's fine. Having sex doesn't ruin his life, it turns out, just as it hasn't ruined hers. In fact, the revelation is that sex has changed nothing, which might be Waller-Bridge's most radically hopeful suggestion: after their trainwreck of a relationship, the Hot Priest goes back to the church, and she goes back to loving her family and being loved by them. No mistake you can make can change what matters; whatever you've done, it will pass.

Over the season, Fleabag has grown closer to her sister and encouraged her to leave her husband, and she's also had some bonding moments with their father. As she walks away from the camera after the "it'll pass" scene, she is holding a gold statue that represents her late mother and her familial relationships in general. The implication is that the love and acceptance she gained from her relationship with the Priest - which is not negated by him choosing his conviction and current life at the end - will carry over.

As for August, he initially expects his relationship with Sara to be a pretty simple transaction. He gets her into Manor House, she keeps his secret about the video, they seal the deal with a makeout session.

After she starts actively pursuing him in S2 at the risk of ruining her relationships to Simon and Felice, his expectations shift in a naïvely romantic direction. Being a teenager in love, he thinks they have now chosen each other and will stay together forever. He will take care of her and give her anything she wants; she will stand by him and help him be a better version of himself that he doesn't know how to be on his own. Eventually, he also projects his dream of being king and queen on her (which is a critical misconception on his part).

Between S2 and S3, he is angry with her for making the police report, but he eventually decides that he deserved it for betraying her first. This is still a pretty transactional view of relationships and an example of skewed morals, and he doesn't quite manage to dismantle those by the end of canon. He understands that he let Sara down, but he doesn't seem to have fully internalised their different perceptions of right, wrong and accountability for one's mistakes, and he still believes she will take him back in exchange for him baring the rest of his soul to her. He loves and misses her, but he is still struggling to truly see her, just as she says in the final scene.

Even so, August has already started to apply the lessons he learned from their relationship to other areas of his life. He is starting to rediscover his sensitive and vulnerable sides and show them to other people in his life, which will improve his other relationships going forward. He is also starting to question some of the harmful structures and behaviours that he has perpetrated and upheld and/or been subjected to. He still has a long way to go, but he does manage to sincerely apologise to Wilhelm at the end, which allows them to get some closure.

(If the director is to be believed, he will also apologise to Simon, although this wasn't really communicated in the show.)

To wrap this up, I want to emphasise that while both Fleabag and August primarily fall for what the Priest and Sara represent, that doesn't mean they don't also love what they know of the real person. Their feelings are real, and so is their hurt over the final rejection. Likewise, the Priest and Sara choosing themselves and their other "great loves" instead of this romance doesn't make their feelings any lesser or easier to get over. "It will pass" is not a total renouncement of the relationship. It's an acknowledgement of shared pain and reassurance of the good things - such as the ability to grow from and move past your mistakes and to give and receive love - outlasting it.

Also, the Fleabag scene doesn't end there, and with how clear the parallel is, I always figured this was implied in the YR scene as well.

[seraceae]

I saw the TV Glow

I'm still processing everything, but I don't really even feel like I belong to join the conversation. I gradually came out to my close friends when I was 15 but have slowly let those around me forget. I don't remind new people what I am, I let them treat me and call me what they think I am, and I let it be. I don't feel like I deserve to relate to this movie, im not a binary trans person (Can i even call myself trans?), and Im perfectly fine letting the world see me as a girl.

But on some nights theres nothing I want more than to live as a guy. I see my guy friends thrive and I can't help but want their skin. I want to shave my facial hair. I want to be flat. I want my body as malleable as I feel.

On one of those nights I wrote this journal entry:

"It’s friday, 2:38 AM, I’ve got open on my desktop maybe 12 some separate tabs each individual one outlining exactly what thoughts have been floating around my head for the last months. I’m listening to Jordaan Mason, but his apocalyptic post societal trans love is still so imbedded with a sorrow that follows seemingly every conversation around the transgender topic. “This is all I have in my hands, I wanna forget who I am, I wanna fucking forget who I am.” The character is wailing here, her and her lover are clinging onto one another after some fallout has erased any concept of civil society. She shows her lover her post-op transition scars and breaks down. Even in some cold desolate post-apocalypse, surrounded by nothing but love the trans story remains one of sorrow. I can’t help but feel like this is just how its supposed to go, like the ultimate fate of a transgender person in society is to be devastated with the sheer weight of existing. I am loved and I am cherished yet here at 2:45 AM while I am trying to write this goddamn speech for Spectrum chapel I can’t help but feel like I will always end up on the floor, weak and naked. I can’t help but feel like I’m preaching onto deaf ears, I can cry and I can scream and I can preach and I can yell but my choir is living in one of the only safe havens for trans existence. My choir has no need to mourn this month, they at most will celebrate and at least will be mildly annoyed at the celebration. I can’t help but feel I must be the same. I’m a nonbinary trans person who goes through life in acceptance with being mostly closeted. My friends know and respect me, my girlfriend is unfaltering and has done nothing but reassure me, but goddamn it if i don’t still feel so fucking alone. Its 2:51 now, I should really get started on the actual important parts."

Maybe I'll change it all for college. Maybe Maybe I'll take my binder out for a while. Maybe I'll get to being the person I only let myself grieve about in early mornings.

[that-ari-blogger]

Family (The Coronation)

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power has an earned reputation. It is a story about war, domestic and emotional abuse, healing, and redemption, all tying into one main idea. Trauma.

I genuinely cannot think of a series that handles the concept with as much depth and nuance as this. She-Ra even beats out Arcane here, in my opinion, although that is mostly through sheer force of runtime.

I’ve said before that She-Ra doesn’t go places or get good. It starts there and consolidates its ideas. Case and point, Glimmer.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD: (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

The episode is dedicated to setting up a new status quo for the series and a minour conflict for the setting. In the past, this was the overprotectiveness of Angella, but with her current situation, a new order is in order.

This takes the form of Glimmer not being cut out for queenly duties. She doesn’t have the bureaucratic mind or skillset. And I could mention that this is an example of the inherent flaws of monarchy. How, even without the moral component, not everyone has the interest or patience for rulership and bottling in one family to the role will eventually lead to one ruler with less aptitude for it. I could mention that. I could. But I won’t.

Anyway…

Glimmer doesn’t begin the series without a tragic backstory. The death of her father has had a significant effect on her growing up through Angella. I wouldn’t call Glimmer traumatised by this, but the information isn’t lost on her.

However, the death of a parent is something that will mess a person up, especially when it happens to you as a teenager.

And for the record, I will be referring to Angella as dead for the rest of my coverage of this series, because that’s effectively what she is. Yes, she’s trapped between dimensions and technically still alive, but functionally, she’s dead.

The unfortunate thing about life is that, if things go well, you will have to grieve a parent. But this is usually in your older years. Glimmer was at a formative age when Angella died, and the two didn’t even get a proper goodbye.

For the best example of this, the stone that embodies Angella’s legacy is eternally in view while the characters are in the castle. In every scene there is a convenient window or similar that can be put in shot whenever the director wants. You can’t always see it, but its always there.

Angella's last remnant is put on a pedestal above everything else. Her legacy is raised up and idolised as an impossible target and reminder.

But She Ra doesn’t just ask questions; it proposes an answer. Glimmer feels like she has lost her family, and everyone else would agree with her. Except she hasn’t. Not entirely.

One of my favourite little details in the series is its appropriation of TTRPG aesthetics and themes. I say TTRPG because I am the type of person who preffers the more obscure systems and wanted to be general with this analogy (Seriously, check out Mythras, it’s so much fun), but we all know exactly what is going on here. She-Ra plays with the themes inherent in a game of Dungeons and Dragons.

The episode features a ragtag group of heroes, the mage, the fighter, and the rogue, as they journey beneath a castle to retrieve a MacGuffin and subdue the temple’s guardians. Everyone has a tragic backstory except for the one character whose notable trait is that they don’t. It’s even called a quest.

So, what gives?

TTRPGs are fundamentally cooperative experiences. If you have a main character, you are playing the game wrong, and as such have a habit of forming close knit families amongst their casts of characters. The takeaway from the game should be that nobody can do anything alone.

More specifically, TTRPGs promote a nuanced understanding of support and family. It doesn’t just push you to do great things, it looks after you when things go wrong. A good family will lift you up, whether that is to the heights, or up from rock bottom.

She-Ra uses the imagery and gets the thematic rollover as a result, and it works. The moral of this episode is that Glimmer has people around her to rely on.

Angella wasn’t all that Glimmer had. She had a found family in her friends, and she still has that.

This is backed up by the subplot of the series, that being the buddy cop dynamic developing between Mermista and Perfuma and the manic OCD of Castaspella, while Frosta is… I mean she’s there, I guess.

Mermista and Perfuma are so much fun as a pair, but most of their relationship up to this point has been conflict. Mermista is deliberately obtuse while Perfuma is way too extroverted for Mermista to deal with. They have strengths and skillsets, but they cross each other’s boundaries, and need to find a middle ground. Which they do.

They discover how to work together. It’s a simple plot, but there’s room to grow.

Meanwhile, Castaspella is being narcissistic. Not in a malicious kind of way, but in a “I need things to go well and I’m the only person I trust” kind of way. Her story is about learning to back off and let others make their own decisions.

Now that I spell it out, that tracks really well with her relationship to Micah and Angella. Overbearing and distasteful of their decision making in an accidentally unempathetic way.

But I want to dwell on Castaspella for a moment, because I read her as neurodivergent. Entrapta is the posterchild for this representation and storytelling within the series, but Castaspella to me is another side of that. She has a lot of that coding in this episode, most notably is her complete inability to read a room, which, I know how that feels.

But this is never represented as a core flaw, just a quirk of her character. Castaspella is just neurodivergent, and it plays into the story, but it isn’t framed as something she has to fix in herself. Even in this episode, the thing she overcomes isn’t her hyperfixation, it's her disinclination to trust other people’s decision making. Which isn’t a trait unique to neurodivergent people at all.

It’s almost as if neurodivergent people are people and writing them as such isn’t actually that hard. BBC Sherlock, look at this and learn, you got outclassed by a side character in a He-Man spinoff.

However, there’s a difference between family and closure, and one is not a substitute for the other.

Adora spends the entirety of this episode trying to avoid the subject of Angella, which shines a light on her own coping mechanisms more than anything else, but it also takes away from the need for Glimmer to just talk through her feelings. Sometimes you have to grieve.

The twist is that Glimmer has also been avoiding the issue by avoiding recharging, and it is literally weakening her. This is magical literalism, of giving mechanics to the metaphor. So, what better to fix that by having Glimmer talk to the literalization of her mother's legacy?

The symbolism of Glimmer trying to grab her mother's hand for support and failing, only for that role to be filled by her friends is brilliant. Sometimes things don't have to be complex to be meaningful.

“Glimmer, You are walking in the footsteps of all those who have come before us. Now, my darling, it's your turn. I wish I didn't have to leave you. But I know you will be all right. Because you are Glimmer, and you are so, so strong. I have done my best to prepare you to rule, but you were always ready to lead. I am so proud of you, Glimmer. I love you.”

This isn’t closure, and the tragedy and trauma of Glimmer is that she never will get the chance for that. The hologram is a prerecorded message, but it reminds Glimmer of something important. She was loved.

Because, if this was a prerecorded message, that makes it more powerful. It means Angella got to choose her final words to her daughter, knowing that this message would be played after her own death, and she chose to end the message with love.

Also, side note, this speech deliberately separates rulership from leadership, saying that Glimmer has what it takes for one of the two, but leaving it ambiguous as to the other. This episode does that a lot, hint at Glimmers capability as a queen.

Holy moly is this a good shot. Angella is with Glimmer in spirit, hence the wings. But Glimmer is also physically raised above everyone else, finally equaling that pedestal she has put her mother on. Meanwhile, the shot creates smaller and smaller frames with Adora, then the monster, then the stairs, guiding your eye to the smallest thing in the shot, that being Glimmer. This is just really cool, and I wanted to point it out.

The speech reframes their last interaction from one of conflict to one of affection, and it lets Glimmer get out a response.

“I love you too.”

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think Glimmer hasn’t said this yet in the series. She is by no means stoic, but she is awful at showing affection to people, just like the majority of the other main characters. So, this is catharsis for her, and I think that is rather special.

This episode starts the last tragic circle, the one that continues into the last season, but it starts it with the same message that it will end on.

No matter what happens, there will always be love.

Final Thoughts

And we’re back with She-Ra analysis, and I have big plans for this series. I want to reference more archetypical tragedies to show how the series plays into the tropes and subverts them, and I want to avoid Shakespeare, because my final season analysis will feature that pretty heavily. I hope. I haven’t written it yet, but we will see.

I didn’t talk about Catra in this episode, or the new character designs, and that’s because I don’t really think much of Glimmer’s new design. She looks older and more mature as she is forced to grow up and fit a new role, but there isn’t much else there. Catra meanwhile isn’t really in this episode. She climbs to power, and that’s about it. But we will get to her in time.

Next week, we will journey into The Valley Of The Lost to reenforce the idea of community and coexistence, as well as to give more development to Perfuma, which I always welcome. Stick around if that interests you.

Previous - Next

[frownyalfred]

If this too much or too personal please ignore!

But I was just wondering if you had any advice for grieving? (I lost a close family member very recently)

I'm so sorry for your loss, anon. I don't know your exact situation, but I hope your loved one's memory is a blessing to you and your family. I'll leave my thoughts below the break, since I'll discuss death and dying a little.

I am, as many people on here likely know, still grieving the loss of my father. It was sudden and unexpected. It was bloody and somewhat traumatic for our family. Thinking about it still leaves me dazed and unfocused.

Grieving is such a strange process. I've been talking about it with my therapist weekly, and her main takeaway has been that there is no right way to do it -- and that it is far from linear. There are positive moments and regressions. There are funny memories and difficult truths to grapple with. There is anger, confusion, sadness. Despair. So many unanswered questions and moments that hover on the edge of veneration simply because they are the only ones you have left.

How did I grieve? I cried a lot, at first. I took off work and sat shiva with my family. I answered a thousand well-meaning messages and played one singular song on repeat on my phone. I barely slept. I dreamed and dreamed and dreamed. I woke up crying without remembering exactly what I had been dreaming about.

Then, as if in reprieve, my brain let up. I slept somewhat normally again. My body was no longer on the edge of tears at any given moment, nor was I entirely numb. Slowly, I began to think of normal things again; new television shows, updating a chapter, irritation at the banal things like traffic and work.

And anon, I thought to myself, this must be it. I'm no longer "grieving," or at least not in the traditional sense of the word. I was eating, sleeping, going to the gym and work, updating my works and hitting the club again on the weekends.

But I wasn't done. And I'm not sure I ever will be. I wanted to be done, in so many ways. I was mad at my father for dying, for making me grieve, for keeping me in this state where I couldn't be confident in anything I was feeling, any progress I was making. Where I could remain silent and resolute at his burial, but sob like a baby in my apartment when the concert t-shirt he gave me was stained by some soup.

But that's a lot to put on the dead. And sometimes I have to keep reminding myself that -- that he is dead, that there is a gap in my life I keep trying to skip over, like avoiding tonguing at the aching tooth in the back of my mouth. And when I forget, the world is more than glad to remind me, whether through well-meaning neighbors, colleagues, etc etc.

I suppose that's a long way of saying, I think I'm still grieving anon. I'm not sure I'm doing the best at it, active or involuntary as this process seems to be. I have an amazing support network, but so much of this work seems to be solitary, even when someone is sitting right next to you, crying with you.

The Jewish saying "May their memory be a blessing" has been a good focal point for me, I think. It dovetails nicely with the Mandalorian saying "Not gone, merely marching far away." I've thought about both a lot in the last few months, because I'm a huge nerd and also because I don't think the cultures are too dissimilar.

Let your loved one's memory be a blessing in your life, anon. Remember the happy moments, and speak them out loud if you're able. Don't let their name remain sacred. Don't sanctify them, for we are all humans and humans are complicated, but don't leave their life behind you.

Those memories of them, those funny moments and sad days, fun trips and strange conflicts, those are all yours now. No one else has them. And when you and your family are gone, those memories are gone too.

Other small things that have made this whole process easier: Starbucks and DoorDash giftcards (seriously, some days are too hard), letting myself take time off hobbies (gym/writing) without penalizing myself, naming my grief and allowing myself to sit in it (I'm sad today about x, and I want to lie down for a few hours. I'm lying down because I'm feeling sad about x, and I'm allowed to feel that way). Going to the gym and running until the natural endorphins help. Talking with my families about good and complicated moments with my dad. Writing, when I'm able. Reminding myself it's okay to not be very functional, that it's okay to not be perfect and you would never expect someone who is grieving to be so. Talking to a therapist and getting treatment for what I experienced. Accepting the kind words of others, even if they hurt or are unintentionally difficult.

I'm sorry you're going through this anon. I know how you feel, or at least some of what you feel. I hope you have support and loved ones around you who can help shoulder some of this process.

<3 Jay

[theforgottenmcrmy]

live reactions to house of the dragon season 2, episode 1: a son for a son

i'm basically doing this for my own amusement and reference, but i'm also up for constructive discussions on the episode if anyone feels like commenting

(but if you feel inclined to yell at me for any of my comments, please remember that these are fictional characters, and everyone is entitled to their own opinions🖤)

spoilers beneath the cut

it’s still the s1 recap and I’m already tearing up, can’t believe s2 is finally here

Jaw is dropped, actual chills at new intro. I love it

Winterfell theme=instant tears

Cregan Stark, the man that you are

“Starks do not forget their oaths, my prince” YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT THEY DON’T 🐺

The cave dragon-mounting platform setup? Love it.

“The mother grieves as the queen shirks her duties.” ~ harsh, but the truth

“Would that you were the king” ~ the queen who never was 💅

Rhaenyra 💔

Not Corlys commissioning a dagger for Lucerys😭 he doesn’t give af about blood, that was his grandson through and through.

Here we go, what have the Usurper and crew been up to….

Am I misremembering, or weren’t scorpions a relatively new invention during GOT?

OMG

wtf

I literally can’t with these two 🤡 like

The BALLS of Criston Cole with the damn cape like wtf.

Aegon, did you really expect the North or the Vale to answer you? If your councilors didn’t give you a heads up that that was not likely, you ought to fire them and get new ones.

Tyland and Jaehaerys😂 a pony ride?! These writers were in a silly goofy mood. Although, I will say it’s interesting to see the Lannisters being the ones to take orders for once, rather than give them.

Aegon really shows his age and lack if maturity here doesn’t he?

LARYS

LARYS IS ON THE CASE 🕵️‍♂️

The real question is how will he react when he sees what the dowager queen and ser Crispin have been up to. I’m gonna wager it won’t be pretty

Not Arrax’s wing

LUKE’S CAPE?!😭😭😭

I get they’re trying to make Aegon a bit more likeable this season, but as a member of the audience, I can’t help but feel like that would be SO much more effective if we didn’t already know that he was a predatory 🍇 ist 🤷🏼‍♀️

Otto needs to retire.

Good ol’ Larys, already schmoozing up his next meal ticket. Can’t knock the strategy though.

Alicent’s really trying to justify what happened to Lucerys 🤡

I’m getting the sense Alicent will have wished she kicked Otto out of the Red Keep herself by the time he finally gets canned

House Velaryon theme = always a banger

Mysaria’s accent is SUCH an improvement this season! 👏🏻

Daemon’s desperately pointing fingers at ANYONE who was even remotely close to Aegon😂

That little moment between Rhaenyra and Daemon was so little but said so much

“I want Aemond Targaryen” HELLS YEAH YOU DO 🖤🖤🖤

Daemon- “your wish is my command” 😇

I love that Baela accompanied Jace to go see Rhaenyra.

Jace💔 can’t even get through his report…

Rhaena😭

NOT THE DAMN TOY HORSE FROM BACK IN THE DAY

Jace and Joffrey😣

The fact that Rhaenyra and Alicent both accept what happened to Luke at the same time, but in different ways…. Cinematic poetry right there

A son for a son🤷🏼‍♀️

We love those in King’s Landing who remain true loyalists to the Queen🖤

What would Aemond think if he knew what the Commander of the Kings Guard and his mother do together in their free time🤔

Something funny about a man with no dragon experience and a young prince with no true battle experience talking about a war with dragons as though they’re even remotely knowledgeable…

What vengeance does Aemond seek at this point? Alicent even suggested it was because Lucerys was never punished for taking his eye… Aemond literally unalived Luke. At this point, the Greens seem to have all the advantage. So, at this moment, what exactly does Aemond want?

If anything happens to the dog I stg-

Don’t think Aemond would appreciate you referring to him as a “hound”, Aegon, but go off, I guess

Okay kicking the dog was so not fucking necessary-

Lucerys died during a storm, and it looks like someone else is about to too 👀

The fact that Blood is the voice of reason rn

Helaena💔 you don’t deserve any of this

Okay these noises are fucking AWFUL 😭😭😭💔💔💔

Helaena, not knowing where to go, going to her mother’s chambers🥲

OF FUCKING COURSE these two are at it again like- will they stop now? Will Criston at least have the decency to feel immense guilt and put an end to it himself?

While one can argue Criston Cole has a power dynamic to contend with in both situations (though I would argue he still consented to both), the difference is Rhaenyra was 17, and and Alicent is a woman in her 30s who also prides herself on being religious and practically pious🤷🏼‍♀️ one of them really ought to have known better then sleeping with a member of the Kingsguard, but I won’t say which one.

The Blackwoods and the Brackens!!!

Dragon eggs?👀

[davepetacreates]

month of ingo day 20: lost

Angst, mildly inspired by the story of Orpheus (y'all know which part), around \~700 words.

He’s sitting in the subway tunnels, Train Fire at his side, and he is not crying. 

It’s been months since he cried. He should probably be crying more, but he can’t let himself, because he doesn’t know what he’s crying for, and that’s not exactly rational, is it?

It’s dark here. Nice. Familiar. 

The tunnels are his favorite place to be - all the sneasels running around at his feet, and Lady Sneasler guiding him. His eyes adjust quicker than others’ and he is proud of this. He sometimes wonders where this trait came from.

There’s a flash of white down the tunnel, and a horn blaring. 

Yelling, pointing. All aboard! Bravo! These phrases are his and his alone - no one could understand them to want to take them from him. He has a whole world to himself that no one knows about and he hates it. It’s no fun without a second person. The secrets shared, the inside jokes… He misses it.

“Who are you?” a voice asks, and he jumps. 

“I am Ingo,” he says. His frown deepens. “That’s not quite right. I apologize.” 

“I am-” He can’t make out what the man (where did he come from? Why can’t Ingo make him out?) says. “And you are lying.”

“Where am I?” Ingo asks.

The man shakes his head. “Ingo would know where he was, so you are not him.” Tears fall to the floor but Ingo doesn’t know whose they are.

“I am,” he says, “and I’m lost. Please help me.”

“I have to help Ingo,” the man says.

“Who are you?” Ingo asks.

The man pulls his shoulders up and takes a step back, into the light of Train Fire’s flames. Ingo can see his face now.

In the early days of his acquaintanceship with Miss Akari, they had plenty of conversations - the specific one he remembers now is that she told him that he reminded her of someone, but she didn’t know who.

He told her about the man who liked winning more than anything, the partner who wielded flames with mastery.

She said that she remembered someone who looked just like him but cleaner, and he laughed.

Now, he understands.

The man is crying. Ingo stands up and reaches out. “Who are you?” he asks again. It seems to echo in the empty tunnel.

“I am Emmet,” the - Emmet - replies. “Are you really Ingo?”

Ingo nods. “I am.”

Emmet sniffles, and pulls out a handkerchief, wiping away the tears.

Ingo steps forward and hugs him, and the handkerchief falls to the ground. “I’m sorry,” he tells Emmet. “I’m so sorry.” What else would he say? ‘I’m sorry for not being who you think’? ‘I remember you’? He won’t lie to someone so obviously grieving.

“You really are Ingo,” Emmet mutters, and Ingo hugs him tighter. It’s safe and warm. “This feels just like one of his hugs, but stronger.”

“I am Ingo,” he affirms.

The other man laughs.

“That’s my line,” Emmet says, before stepping back. “Do you want to go home?”

Ingo nods.

“Alright,” Emmet says. He smiles, spins, and points, just like Ingo does. “Chandelure, lead the way.”

The chandelure chimes something to Emmet, looking concerned.

Emmet just laughs, and starts walking.

Ingo follows, because what else is there to do?

They do not talk.

This might have been the reason why, three minutes later, Ingo sees Emmet’s head turning.

Train Fire’s flames blaze violet and red, a warning, but Emmet looks back.

Before the two can even make eye contact, Ingo is gone again.

He wakes up.

The blanket slides off his chest as he picks up his dream journal, and grabs for his pen.

He can’t find it.

The dream is slipping away already and he can’t find his pen.

He - Emmet! He found the man he’s been dreaming of. Emmet. Why did you look back, Emmet? Why?

The night is cold; the sun is just a sliver of orange on the horizon. A scream sounds through the tunnels, driving out a startled colony of bats.

Ingo is sobbing into his blanket, lost for a second time.