#and many other things that a lot of people think it's canon

[real-camera]

so i dont actually have a lot of stories about getting injured, and that number is wayy lessened due to my kinda bad memory so if it’s fine, im just gonna infodump a bit abt the summary of the brain-multiverse in my mind bc thats the only thing i can remember mostly clearly with a timeline (<- has been building the world since before covid)

uhh so like we start with characters made from songs or stories, ocs to do cool stuff, and at some point i realized that there’s too many universes so i do a purge of them with a ceremony, the multiverses (at that time, only one multiverse) are destroyed, yet still remain as fragments for the characters

i make an oc that i plan to use more frequently than the others, and the other previously main characters are still main characters, im just not making them the spotlight character, or the character that i focus on/imagine from their perspective-ish, as of that time. All the previously made characters (like a hundred kinda developed ones bc they tend to stick to a genre of music or story) are now in the same universe, but none of them have the memory of the previous multiverse. due to my character’s (call them M for now) backstory and role in the world (which would take too long to actually explain) theyre one of the few who are actually aware of the multiverse, with the multiverse being canon in their memories due to the multiverse being part of the ‘host’ M. they are able to travel multiverses, but can only interfere with select labeled multiverses (interactables?)

there’s chaos events (limited to the universe, caused by C) world events (limited to the universe, caused by world/NOT outside interference, and universe events (limited to universes of that type, cause is kinda funky depending on the event)

so im not too sure about all of that, they may change, they may get more added on, doesnt matter because for every thing that is, there is one where it isnt and many inbetween

so now that we got the Origin multiverse, or the High Magic multiverse, due to many people there and the world being very powered, and kinda op compared to the other worlds, its part of the Named side, in which basically all the characters are named.

Then we move onto the semi-Named side, originally based in a Danganronpa world so Ultimates and stuff exist before eventually adding magic. theres also an M there, however very few other characters there are also named compared to the High Magic multiverse. the M there is different from the M in the High Magic in what they are, their origins, and a lot of stuff, however they are also aware of the multiverses due to how their character originated and branched from the other M

while some characters are exclusive to their multiverses, some characters are in both, so in the crossover universes (in which the higher magic universe crosses to the lower one, as they have magic to spare so they can bridge the gap) there may be more than one character with the same name and appearance

there’s also those two people, not M, who have their own lore i wont be saying but who are related in some way (cousins or brothers or idk) who literally moved from High Magic to Middle Magic, so the Ms check up on them from time to time.

then there’s the Low Magic multiverse where magic is rarer. (High Magic has magic, basically everyone is magic in some way, and there’s a lot. Middle Magic has magic, most people have magic, there’s not really a lot but also not little. Low Magic has magic, it’s rare to have magic, and the amounts of magic there is kinda lower than average.)

this one is odd bc i spent the least time here so each plotline/universe varies from each other in many ways

i have to be kinda vague bc each M has a different plotline and if it was different enough for me to know it, it’s different enough from other Ms. also important note: magic isn’t exactly magic, im just saying it because that’s the easiest explanation

now i think that’s basically the gist of it? theres been a recent development in which i switched spotlight characters in the High Magic (i often use High or Middle Magic) and im starting to develop another character a bit more now, also adding more characters as well lol, but besides that, yeah that’s the summary :3

uhhh idk if this summary infodump was fine but oh well, i dont have injuries that i remember that seemed important

uhhhhhhh

@hero-dualies-3 ?? idk i dont talk to my other mutuals i talk/interact the most with like two mutuals and one of them tagged me

open if anyone not tagged wants to join ig

it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore

[lillified]

How do your transformers see gender?

that’s a good question!

Cybertronians are sexless so it’s entirely social concept. The gender roles they experience are arbitrary and borrowed from hierarchical Quintesson social norms, like many of their roles.

On a meta note—I decided to represent gender this way because I want to directly parallel the spectrum of gender presentation in people. The fact that the robots are gendered, and even more generally anthropomorphic, is arbitrary enough as is, and I chose to embrace that instead of coming up with in universe explanations for why women have to exist (you’ll notice that it’s always “why women—“ a sexless, monogendered alien species being functionally men is seen as neutral). I did this because I want to allow for the range of gender expression that exists in people to be mirrored. They can change, adjust, tune, or declare their gender however they want.

While I do have canonical genders for certain characters (as in, beyond just their preferred pronouns), one thing I’ve noticed is that people have a lot of varying readings of characters and their genders. like, for example, some people interpret certain characters as butch that I’ve never considered (though maybe that’s because I am butch and I might just write all my masculine characters in a butchy way).

I think that’s cool! I know very well how important it can be to identify with characters when very little specific representation exists for you, so while there are some characters whose specific gender identities are explicit and story-integral, I’m willing to leave others up to interpretation because I like seeing what people think.

Anyway, tldr: gender exists because I want people to be able to see themselves and their own experience with gender in the robots. that’s the most important part. I have my own internal lore for social structures and biology, but that’s less important than the fact that I want people to know that if your gender exists, a robot can have it.

Sorry for the long rambling, I hope this answers your question!!

[icarusredwings]

Getting deep into the x men fandom means seeing ships I don't agree with, so I don't interact, seeing posts that mischaraterizes one of the deepest charaters possible, so I don't interact, Seeing people actively say things that are blatantly wrong, so I don't interact.

Getting a large following is also kind of frustrating (Im not complaining I love you guys!) But I've had to block 2 people already today because they keep leaving rude replies to my comments on OTHER peoples posts or purposly come to my blog to tell me that how I view a charater is wrong. Had someone tell me that the stuff that happens in MY au is dumb because "that would never happen" like yeah bud. The writers at Marvel are too much of cowards for it to happen, hence why i'm here.

So my thing is... if im chosing not to interact with all of this- why is it still on my feed?

I feel like the more I ignore it the more I see and I do not wish to be the type to block someone simply because they make one post about a ship that personally isn't my cup of tea.

Also- I think Im starting to see the different sides of extremes, especially when it comes to one specifc charater.

Logan.

I have seen dozens of lovely stories, lovely rants, lovely head canons about this man-

But something that feels weird (to me at least) is people who are 45+ yelling at people who aren't even 18 that their story/headcanons are trash because they've "been enjoying Logan for 40+ years" as if this gives them any right to tell a 17 year old that they shouldnt write a charater how they see them.

It's also weird to me that there seems to be two sides.

Logan IS an animal and that's perfectly okay.

Or

Logan ISN'T an animal, and everyone who headcanons him as animalistic is fetishizing his mutation and are insulting him.

I get not liking a certain trope, but sir, that person is young enough to be your child. You have to accept that we all grew up with different versions of each charater. I Personally didn't grow up with any and get the luxury of indulging in all sorts of media all at once- therefore getting to see him from multiple sides and pictures.

I completely understand if you grew up with the original series and are upset to see that kids are headcanoning your stone cold angst biker man as wearing bow clips and 'making biscuits' on a pillow while watching gilmore girl with his boyfriend, and wearing pink fluffy hello kitty pants and a tight shirt that says "Milk"

I completely understand if you grew up with the movies and see him as a sexy gruff hot buff man and you love to write lots and lots of steamy x reader about him.

I completely understand if you LIKE logan wearing hello kitty pants and don't agree with the idea of him being a dark edgelord, lone wolf charater.

Do you know what I don't understand? Fighting over a charater when different timelines have been canon since the 80s. The Time Variance Authority (TVA) first appeared in Thor #372 (October 1986) which means ALL of your logans are the correct logan. Just not all the same.

Do I think Wolverine Orgins Logan would wear pink hello kitty pants? Nah.

Do I know that Deadpool and wolverine Logan is a whole different universe then Orgins Logan? Yes.

That's why people tag different logans and different aus. So what is all the fuss about?? What happened to the more the merrier?

Theres so many different versions of comic book logan, too, so don't even go there.

Feel free to ask my personal opinions but as far as I stand I could never be foolish enough to seriously go into someone elses post and genuinely be upset at them for how they perceive a charater. I get second hand embaressment when ever I see ANYONE doing it.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk. I don't care if I lose followers for this. Let the door hit you on the way out. There aint no reason to be harrassing folks.

[dadvans]

i am just so sad right now. like going into s8 i didn’t think bucktommy would be endgame, but the way s8 started changed my mind, so to have them be literally so in love for 5 episodes straight just to have them break up in the most abrupt way?? it just feels so last minute which is shocking because in the interviews this was apparently a planned thing but it doesn’t feel like it at all. Like if this was a concern Tommy had why didn’t it come up at all? like little throwaway lines of Tommy making jokes of Buck getting sick of him or wanted to explore other options or whatever. I hope the backlash makes them rethink, and Tommy comes back but for now it doesn’t seem like it. I guess my only hope is that Buddie goes canon, but even then i won’t be able to really enjoy it. I seriously don’t know if i’ll be able to keep watching the show, not solely because they broke up, but because of how they broke up. (srry for the long ask, just needed to vent)

no apologies needed!

at the end of the day, so many of us found joy in their story, their chemistry, the way even up until the final second tommy admitted that what he wanted with buck was something that would inevitably break his heart.

they were good together. tommy fit into so many intimidating parts of buck's life with ease. tommy is (as far as we know) still good friends with buck's best friend! tommy loved him anyway, loved him warts and all, road shotgun to buck's worst fears and weirdest conspiracies.

at the end of the day, we have a few things:

we GOT them. we got to see them together, we got the soft looks, we got the kisses, the foundation of them that is real and canon in a way we could strike like a match against the edge of a box to light them up for real all over again. i don't think "being canon" gives any credence or superiority to a ship, and have shipped people or characters that have never interacted/existed together in a tangible way, simply because it's FUN. that's how i'll always have fun with ships and fandom, BUT! what a wonderful thing to celebrate that we DID have them, that we have this as a foundation for whatever comes next, that there is never a door permanently closed to them finding each other again when it was already real from the start

for a lot of us, this isn't how their story ends. it's insane that so much fic and content was produced for a canon ship like this. so often fandom is chasing down the what-ifs and never-hads. a lot of us invested in bucktommy because they had the compatibility, the fit, the chemistry, the potential. that's novel shit! that doesn't just evaporate because they broke up in canon. it certainly hurts. the kind of hype we were surfing will crash and sink back in the oncoming months, but i know talking to a lot of people tonight that we aren't done with this ship. we aren't ready to say goodbye.

i'm sad. i'm angry. i felt a real sense of queer euphoria whenever i saw them together, even for 30 seconds, teetering on the edge of this new couple joy learning each other into something new and weird and fun that always lingered as a promise on the edge of their interactions. i was so excited for who buck could become with tommy as his home base. shifting that has rocked me in a bad way.

i expect people to inevitably step away from this ship and this fandom, but i'll mention that non-canon ships like arthur/eames or mcshep or social network rpf or short-lived shows from 1996 (hi sentinel) have had long-lived fandoms and left long-lasting impressions in other fandoms that have lasted for over a decade of zero additional content. this is a playground that, just because they've parted ways for now, we don't have to stop playing in.

and i'll be honest: i have several WIPs i'm like, well trash that! after watching the most recent episode. but i also have a dozen new ideas. new ways they could fall in love now or again, new ways they could meet, new ways they could be for each other.

i'll keep creating. i'll keep dreaming. they won't ever not have the spark that they had. the show could end tomorrow but we'll always have an open door to believing and shaping the thousands of ways they can and will find each other again.

[nqueso-emergency]

I wrote this because I needed to get it off my chest. But then I didn't want to put it on my own blog because I didn't want to deal with the discourse. So, I decided to send it to you in the hope you'd put it up.

I've been in many different fandoms, and I think the only fandom where I ever very actively shipped a canon couple was Torchwood. (If there are people not shipping Jack and Ianto, please never tell me.) That means, of course, there were always other LI of my ships to deal with. And somehow, no matter the fandom (NICS, Hawaii 5-0, Sherlock (mostly), Stargate, etc pp) it's always the same: If the fic takes place at a point in canon where one or more people in the desired ship are currently in a relationship usually one of two things happens: 1. The canon LI just doesn't seem to exist in the fic. 2. There is somewhere one line about "Oh, what about Character A?" "Ah, we broke up. No big deal." (And writing this, I'm kinda laughing now about the Buck/Natalia break-up between seasons 6 and 7.)

So, it's very strange and confusing to watch this part of the Buddie fandom that's so enraged about Tommy and has made hating him their whole fandom personality, who instead of doing what's always been done with LIs that were in the way of a ship created this whole subgenre on 9-1-1 fics now whose whole focus is "How do we overcome the obstacle of the unwanted LI to get our ship". (As I write this, there are 800 fics on ao3 tagged with both ships!) Where did the mentality of "ignore the LI in the way of our ship" vanish to? It was there for other LIs of Buck and Eddie in the past, why isn't it there for Tommy? Why can't a multishipper go into the Buddie tag in peace without being slapped in the face with Tommy bashing everywhere? (And why do you have to bash Buck and Eddie, too, while doing so? I know you don't recognize it, but that's what you're doing with many of those takes about the cheating. That's what you are doing every time you make Eddie into a violent caricature just so you have someone who can beat Tommy up.)

The hate against Tommy has a very different quality and edge to it than the hate for other LIs in the past, and this new genre you all created is a huge part of that.

And before anyone starts, yes there are a lot of bashing fics about the other LI. I've read a lot of them. The vast majority of those are not about finding a way to get the LI out of the way for Buddie (especially not by glorifying Buddie cheating on their LIs) They are about exploring little things of the characters people find jarring or exaggerating those things to use as a plot or plot device. (e.g. Ana's ableist take after the whole skateboard incident. Or her unprofessional behavior of flirting with a parent during parent-teacher-conference.)

As for the very worn-out mantra/whine of "Why could I peacefully hate on the female LIs in the past but aren't allowed to do the same with Tommy?" No one would bother you if you stopped pushing your hate on everyone else.

But you're trying to infiltrate every single nook with your hatred because somehow you don't understand while you're entitled to your hate about Tommy, other people are just as equally entitled to their love and appreciation of the character and the representation he provides. It's not just the Buddie tag people are bombarded with your hate in. No matter what tag — Bathena, Henren, Madney, every single character tag — you'll stumble over Tommy hate pretty fast. Because you tag them all if they matter for your post or not. (I mean, you've done that with Buddie in general for years, which also was never okay!) Or find cheap excuses to include them in your post.

People would let you wallow in your hate peacefully if you wouldn't attack anyone who didn't agree with you. Especially those gay and bi men in this fandom who are full of gratefulness and praise for the representation of their lived experiences 9-1-1 has given them through Tommy and Bucktommy. Who've been calling you out for your hateful and phobic behavior because there is no avoiding being confronted with it.

No one would bother you if you wouldn't post public lists of people you plan to bully in the future!

I guess the point of this long-ass rant is: Get in your fucking lane and let everyone else enjoy the fandom, too. Keep your hate where others can avoid it. It's not that difficult. And believing everyone has to agree with you about your hate is a huge red flag.

Perfectly said, anon 👏

"You" = bestie boos btw

[rorynni]

Not enough people talk about how good of a friend Armin was to Eren and how in touch he was with not only his own emotions but other people’s as well, so I’m gonna say my piece.

This scene always comes to mind. Armin notices that Eren is shaking and asks him if he’s scared.

Eren, being a teenage boy who thinks he’s tough shit (for lack of better words), immediately gets defensive as a gut reaction to what he probably perceives as an accusation instead of a genuine observation (again, because he’s a teenage boy who thinks he’s tough shit).

Armin’s response to that is to empathise with Eren and show sensitivity and solidarity, like: “Hey it’s okay if you’re scared dude, I’m shaking too.”

He’s not ashamed of the fact that he’s afraid because he knows that it’s a perfectly normal human response to the situation he’s in. He even goes so far as to physically show Eren that he’s trembling as well, and Eren’s demeanour changes immediately after that.

Even in this scene where Eren, Mikasa and Armin have canons pointed at them, Armin is able to understand and empathise with the fact that the Garrison soldiers’ hostility towards them is due to them being scared because they don’t know what’s happening.

In the early days of the fandom, when season one was airing especially, a lot of fans were very quick to label Armin as a crybaby, but the thing is that Armin is just as intelligent emotionally as he is logistically.

He’s able to identify his own emotions and express them healthily (most of the time), which means that he cries more often than other characters because he’s going through a hell of a lot throughout the series and his output for those emotions of fear, grief and stress is tears. Of course he’s also guilty of bottling them up at times — nobody’s perfect — but he generally just seems to have a better grasp and understanding of his own feelings and the feelings of others than many other characters.

[miller-n-morgan-2]

More Than Words

2. Questions

Logan Howlett x OC!Reader

Series Summary: Having lived for over two hundred years and never having the privilege of human touch is the biggest burden imaginable... until someone comes along with the healing ability to withstand the touch of death.

Chapter Warnings: still a lot for now but: mild language, canon typical violence, mention of murder, death, mutant experimentation, and a depressive episode briefly described. Logan is a warning, especially here

Chapter Summary: The bad dreams have ceased, but many questions lurk in their place, and the meaning behind those dreams is still one of them. In the middle of all the chaos, a few things will come to light.

Word Count: 8.4k

“Of everyone here, I didn’t expect you to be keeping a stash,” he sat down on the edge of your bed, facing your back as you were hunched over the desk, writing sloppily a few notes for tomorrow morning. “I asked Scott and Storm, they had nothin…”

You put your headset on this morning. You usually only used it to drown out everything else when you really needed to. Everyone has noticed except those who don’t know what it means. Those who do, remember the times in which you were at your lowest. Back then you were practically unable to function without the damn headphones over your ears. The last time you even remember wearing them was when you first started teaching here, all the noise and rapid energy being quieted by the music in your head.

 After last night, and the confessions made to Logan, he seemed to be open to hearing more from you then… but he kept you at arm’s reach now, and you couldn’t say you didn’t understand why. He’s not just been thrust into the middle of an age-old fight between friends, but he also is struggling with his identity. 

You did however learn something interesting after hearing chatter when you woke up. Logan and Scott aren't getting along. Why? Because Logan has been relentlessly flirting with Jean. You’d scoffed when you found out. Not because you don’t think Jean is worthy of such advances, but because he was basically shooting himself in the foot by even trying to take her from Scott. 

Jean is a rare bird, and a special person. Charles argues the same thing about everyone who sets foot on the property, but with her, it’s especially true. She’s smarter than most people you know, having gone to a college outside of the education given by Charles and the others. She even attended school alongside you for a while, although it only took you a few semesters to realize you weren’t cut out for the medical field like she was. You have to be able to touch your patients, after all.

She had a lot to offer, and anyone could see that. Even excluding her powers, which were enough to level a city on their own. She was kind, nurturing, and very strategic. All of those things combined with the looks of a super model made her one of the most desirable people in the entire mansion, so even though you and Logan made a connection, you don’t find it hard to see why he’s taken with her. 

It may bother you just a little, but you would never admit it to anyone who asked, not even Charles. 

All of this is not why you put on your headset, but it could be a contributing factor. 

You’ve just met Logan, or at least officially. It stands to reason that you shouldn’t have an inkling of feelings yet. You can’t imagine that would be how it goes. In any rational situation, you have to get to know him. That’s how relationships work.

You remember how it was with Charlie, how it took more than one night of talking late when everyone else was asleep. You got to know him, and got to see his kindness and compassionate heart. You’d seen who he truly was, and it warmed your heart and soul, despite not being able to touch him. You don’t know Logan yet, but you imagine he’s not as soft and kind, nor gentle or compassionate. He seems like sort of a lone wolf, and the type to push away everything except for what he’s got his eyes set on. You don’t even know if the connection you made was real, or if he was just looking for company…

He has nightmares, but you don’t know why. It’s only one relation, that’s all. Maybe he’d only asked you to stay because he was frightened of them, just like you are of yours.

You’d gone back to your room near the hours of sunrise, and fell back asleep before your alarm woke you, but you were still exhausted, and wondered if he was facing the same conundrum. It was only when you went to ask him about it that he became colder to you than the night before. He’d given a stiff answer and gone about his morning, which you were confused by, since he wasn’t a student, nor a teacher.

You passed him in the halls throughout the day, and nodded to him with a sweet smile. He doesn’t really return it, just kept walking. You think that maybe he just didn’t see you, or was on his way to do something else and couldn’t pay attention, but then at dinner he refuses to look at you, and you can’t for the life of you understand why. 

You decide to block him out, to deal with the more pressing matters. The school, the mutant rebellion, and Rogue, the newest recruit. 

She’s like you in a few ways, and you feel sorry for her. You hope that by passing on some stories that maybe she can find hope in her powers. They are a gift and a curse, but she holds them wonderfully well already.

You found her on the back balcony, overlooking the gardens. She’d been sitting alone for about an hour, but didn’t seem to be bothered, just enjoying the peace. You debated whether or not you should disrupt it, but the second she heard you behind her, she turned. 

You had been organizing things back where they go, following the mess of mutant children to try and keep the house in good shape, and now that you’d found yourself with her, you wanted to say a few things. You peeled your headset off and sat beside her, offering a smile first. Her energy felt stiff, like she’d been unwelcome where she was. 

“You settled in yet?” 

She shrugged, unsure of what to say. Even in a place full of people like her, she was an outsider. “I guess I’m getting there.”

It was silent for a moment, and you sensed her energy was low and draining. She must have been sad, or angry, or even flat our forlorn about her powers and the danger they hold. 

“Y’know, when I first found out about my powers, it was the worst day of my life,” you started, but quickly followed up, knowing the words were not inspiring. “They are a blessing and a curse, but for most of my life they were a curse… until the Professor found me. Now, I’ve learned to use them to help people. You can, too.”

It should have helped, but her feelings on the power she held didn’t waver, she just wanted to know what she was in for, and you knew better than anyone what she would face.

“Did you ever… hurt anyone?” she asked sincerely, turning to face you but managing the distance. Both your touches were lethal and dangerous.

“Yeah,” you sighed, looking out to the gardens and hoping that the serene ambience would keep you in a good state of mind. “Most of them were the people closest to me. Always an accident, but still a deadly one.”

“I’m sorry,” she dropped her head, unsure of herself now, too. She didn’t know how to control it, or even subdue it. It may not even be possible. 

“Don’t be sorry, it was a long time ago… I’m a lot more careful now.”

“They told me how old you were, how long you’ve been around…” she trailed, looking for a good way to ask such a terrible question. “How have you lived that long without being able to touch the people you love?” 

You understood why she was asking. Of course, she was concerned about her future, but also her present. She’s a runaway, who’s left her entire family because of her ability. She must be feeling the lonesomeness that all mutants inevitably face at one point in their lives.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying not to become emotional. You’ve loved many people in your lifetime, many people you’ve lost early, or at the right time, but you could never go with them. You can’t seem to die, but everyone else does when you need them the most. “I think that being here is really what saved me. Not only knowing there are others like me, but knowing I can have a family who doesn’t fear me, doesn’t judge me. Even knowing all the things I’ve done.”

“You didn’t do them on purpose, did you?” 

“No,” you shook your head. “But I’m still responsible for them, for the people I’ve killed.”

You’ve killed people. How many, she doesn’t know, but she feels as though you’re the only person that can understand her. That can understand being afraid of herself and what she can do to others. She knows that you’ve probably gone decades and decades just trying to learn how to be more careful, and that she’ll have to learn, too. 

“You said you’d hurt people you love… what happened?” 

This was a very soft spot for you. Even after a century, it was still an open wound. Something that would never fully heal, because there was no way to achieve closure over it. What’s lost is gone, and your powers were the cause.

“I was engaged once,” you dropped your gaze to your lap, looking at your hands and the way they were so well fitted with the green gloves. You practically never took them off. 

“Engaged?” 

“Yeah, engaged. I’d somehow managed to find the single man in the entire universe that didn’t require me to touch him to achieve his affection…” You trailed, trying not to go into detail. Searching for a small distraction, you fiddled with the hem of your sweater, pulling loose threads to ignore the sad memories. “I touched him by accident.”

“And he died?” She widened her eyes, both upset for you and becoming more afraid of herself. She doesn’t want to fall in love, not if she’s going to hurt that person eventually. 

“He did,” you wiped your hand over your eyes before any tears could even fall, and then let it rest back in your lap. “But you’re not gonna make the same mistake that I did, I promise. I’ll help you.”

“You will?” Her eagerness to accept the assistance was clear. “Thank you.”

“Of course… and don’t give up hope. There could be someone out there that can withstand your powers just as they are.” 

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to offer such things to her, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

Her brow furrowed, unsure if what you were saying was true. From your earlier words, you’ve been around a long time and it’s never happened for you. “Sounds impossible.”

“It’s not impossible,” you told her, standing up from beside her on the bench. “Nothing is impossible.”

You left her on that note, and went back inside. 

-

On your way up to bed, you caught Logan in the hallway. You gave a tight lipped smile on the way to your door, expecting him to be cold like he was throughout the day… but he fell into stride next to you, walking to his own door. 

“You guys got anything good to drink around here?” he asked, partially as a joke, but usually never going without a drink for more than a day was catching up to him. 

“This is a school, Logan,” you turned to him with a laugh and a light smile. Maybe he’d struck out with Jean and was off her coattails now. 

“Well I can see that, but I figured with a limited number of adults chasing after a million kids, someone’s gotta be drinking at the end of the day,” he leaned against his door frame, and you had completely turned to face him, neglecting your door knob which you had reached for originally. 

You huffed a sigh, shaking your head at him. You may or may not have a bottle of Jack hidden where no one can find it. If anyone in this hell hole had a reason to drink it was you, but you never did it in front of the kids, or nearly anyone else. You reckon Charles or Ororo would march up to you if they found out, voicing their concern. 

“Stay quiet, and don’t say a word about this to anyone…” You opened the door, letting him follow you in before closing it and locking the knob. “Under the bed, back right corner.”

You allowed him to go fishing for it himself, going to your desk in the corner to make sure you were caught up on everything and prepared for tomorrow’s history quiz before you settled in for the night. He’d already been ready for bed, seemingly just roaming the halls and looking for alcohol at this late hour. 

“Of everyone here, I didn’t expect you to be keeping a stash,” he sat down on the edge of your bed, facing your back as you were hunched over the desk, writing sloppily a few notes for tomorrow morning. “I asked Scott and Storm, they had nothin…”

“I surprised you, huh?” you ask, not even throwing a look over your shoulder. You may have an interest in this man, but since you started teaching here you were always efficient, and that wasn’t going to stop now. 

“Yeah, a little,” he chuckled, taking swigs straight from the bottle. It had been more than half full the last time you drank from it, so there was a decent amount. “You just seem like the innocent one.”

This made you drop what you were doing and spin your chair around. “Innocent?” 

He smirked at your furrowed brows, but having known of your mutation, he was willing to guess everything and even bet on it. “I believe that’s what I said.”

You tilted your head at him, the look on your face making him grin even more. 

“I don’t think I like that word,” you leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest and thinking of all the reasons why. “I’ve done and seen things that would be considered unfathomable to other people.”

“I don’t mean how dangerous you are, I mean how corrupted you are,” he kept on, another swig taken from the bottle. “And I think you’re innocent.”

“I still don’t like it,” you shook your head, laughing a little and reaching for the bottle, which he was all too happy to hand over, fingers brushing your gloved hands. “I prefer inexperienced.”

“Does it matter? It means the same thing,” he argued, watching you take a nice lengthy drink of the whiskey in your hand. 

“It does matter, actually,” you were all too happy to correct him. “Innocence implies that my mind is pure of corruption, but really, I’ve just never been able to do the things I’ve thought about.”

He rolled his eyes, taking back the bottle and trying to keep up with you. He pointed to your head with a swirling finger. “Yeah right, I’m sure you’re just all kinds of perverted up there.”

You just giggled and looked at him for a moment. He was funny, he was handsome, and he was clearly interested in your favorite choice of alcohol. Just more things to connect on, you supposed. Maybe feelings weren’t so far down the road, after all. 

You blinked out of it when you realized you’d been looking at his bare arms for too long, the beater he wore left little to the imagination as to how fit he was, and it was a nice view to take in, but not this late, and certainly not with a bottle of Jack. 

“I should be getting to bed soon, big test tomorrow…” you trailed, standing up and going to the door. It was late, no one else should be awake, but you still wanted to make sure. “You can take the whiskey for the road, if you want.”

“I’ll get you another one,” he returned, knowing that by the end of the night, the bottle was likely to be empty. He’d not had Jack Daniel’s in a while, so he was grateful for the favor. 

“No need,” you shook your head as he met you in the doorway, peering down and clearly shadowing you under his tall form. You had to take a breath and smile to break the tension you felt, as it was thick and heated. “I really should stop drinking here, anyway.”

“I’m happy to pick it up in your place,” he smirked, still standing right in front of you. If anyone had stepped out of their room, they’d see how close he was looming. 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” You asked hopefully, knowing full well that he could respond with an empty promise, and still be cold to you as he was today. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you.” 

And he left without another word.

-

You awoke in the middle of the night to chaos in the hallway. You were surprised not to be plagued with nightmares for once, but the screams of your next door neighbor didn’t exactly settle you back into your pillows. You heard footsteps outside your door, and when you sat up, Ororo opened the door without knocking, the urgency of whatever situation that had happened started to set in. 

“There’s been an accident,” she looked to you with an expression of fear and shock, leaving the doorway as soon as she could see you were scrambling to your feet.

You could feel the energy, it was all over the place. Kids were scared, and so were some of the adults, Ororo being one of them. You ran into the room, avoiding the touch of everyone you passed by, and stared at the scene playing out. 

“What happened?” you rushed over to where Jean and Scott were hovering over Logan, his unconscious body thrown over the bed and seemingly in a state of paralysis. 

“Rogue, she touched him,” Jean was working the best she could to try and keep him from death’s door, but even with her skilled hands, she looked afraid. “He’s fading quickly, she may have drained too much of his regeneration.”

You tried to think quickly on your feet. She drained his regenerative energy, but you could restore it. The manipulation of energy was clearly something you were all too familiar with, but you were afraid if his regeneration was too low that he might die from your mutation. 

If he’s already going to die, you’re going to do the only thing you know how to try and save him. 

“Jean, move,” you reach for him, and she practically dives out of the way of your bare hands. 

“You’ll kill him!”

“Just trust me,” you said, your hands finding his shoulders. You heard gasps behind you when your skin met his, and they all started whispering, assuming that if he wasn’t dead before, he definitely was now. 

You focused your energy on him, using what was inside of you and around you to build back up what had been inside of him. His mutation, his strength and endurance, and most of all, his healing capability. 

“Alice, he’s dead,” Scott nearly scolded you, shaking his head. He wasn’t fond of the man, but that didn’t mean he wished him to die… and now he had, by your hand or Rogue he wasn’t sure. “What did you do?” 

You ignored him, and all the ones whispering behind you. You could feel his life force, like a branch in the air around you, reaching out just the smallest bit, but not strong enough to hold growth yet. You were slowly building it, letting it stretch out until his own body could take it from there. 

When he took a sharp inhale of breath and his chest started to rise and fall again, everyone nearly fell over out of shock. No one said a word yet, because they were too stunned to speak. 

Logan was still in bad condition, but you trusted that his healing could help him out from here. You pulled him onto your lap, head resting against your body as you felt for a steady pulse, and saw the color returning to his hands and arms. 

“I got you,” you whispered, holding him close. This was the first person that you’d ever been able to save with your touch, as before, it killed everyone who came across it.

“Alice?” Jean called from behind your shoulder, her mouth still agape and her eyes wide. “Alice!”

You looked to her, only slightly fearful that she may tell Charles about this, and then you’ll be in for an earful. He was the hand that guided you along the terrible pathways of your life, but he was also the one who reprimanded you when need be. 

“He’s alright,” you promised her, but she still didn’t come closer. Scott however, was completely baffled and had a million questions. 

“How did you do that? You can’t touch anyone-”

“I can touch him,” you answered shortly, your arms still wrapped tight around his limp form. “Just him.”

Jean shook her head and snapped out of her train of thought. There was too much to be asked, but this was not the time for it. Logan still needed more treatment, despite the help you gave. You stood up to accommodate her, keeping your eyes on Logan and making sure he was still okay. You could feel his energy restacking, like building blocks in the air around you. 

“Start talking,” Scott pressed, the urgent situation now overshadowed by a need for answers. Ororo joined Scott in front of you, her expression holding more than just shock at this point. She looked nearly excited, but you couldn’t say why. 

“I know him,” you said, trying to start slowly, but knowing the two of them, it wouldn;t be good enough. “When Striker had us, he got Logan, too. He doesn’t remember it, but he saved my life… yours too, Scott.”

“That…” he trailed, shaking his head. He’d done the same thing that you’d done. He blocked it out of his memory. That didn’t mean that it didn’t happen. You just had a better reason to remember it. “That can’t be possible… he’s touched you before?” 

“He practically dragged me out of that cell,” you told him, and he recalled the day of the mutant prison break. He remembers a man helping them, but never imagined it could have been Logan. 

“How is it possible? I’ve seen you drop some of the most powerful mutants where they stand, no one survives being touched by you,” Ororo was the one to pitch in this time, her question not so much one of what, but how?

“His regenerative ability. The way Charles used to explain my powers to me, he said to think of my skin like a radioactive energy poison. When such a poison is absorbed into one’s body it can cause it to shut down. My powers work the same way, just a thousand times stronger and faster. The thing is,” you pointed behind you, where Logan was slowly gaining small bits of health. “His regen mutation never allows my energy to be absorbed… I can’t kill him.”

“Scott?” Jean called from the ground, trying and failing to lift Logan on her own. “Gonna need a little help here. I need him in the med bay.”

Scott shook off the conversation, focusing on the matter at hand. 

When Jean and Scott got Logan through the crowd of kids, they all dispersed back to their rooms. The only two remaining were you and Ororo. 

She stared at you for a moment, wondering if you were going to leave, but then watched as you shuffled around in Logan’s things, looking for what you leant to him. You were hoping by some miracle that there would be some left. 

“Aha,” you let out, grabbing the bottle from inside the dresser drawer, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. There wasn’t much, but there was enough to ease your mind at this late hour. “Want some?” 

“You really think this is a good time to be drinking?” she scoffed, crossing her arms and watching you fall back onto the foot of his bed. 

“I think it’s the perfect time to be drinking,” you held it out to her, wondering if she’d actually take it. 

She tried to keep her adult habits outside of the school, but these were tumultuous times, and she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to allow it under the circumstances. 

Out of the silence, she turned to you, right as you took your next slow gulp of the smooth liquor. 

“So,” her pause and sigh were unneeded. You knew what she was about to be getting on about. “You can touch him…”

“Yep,” you looked at her, a thin lipped smile on your face. You really didn’t have much else to say, but she did. 

“I know you never got over Charlie,” she spoke gently, not wanting to pinch a nerve, or bring up bitterness in a moment like this. The calm after the storm, no pun intended. “But maybe this is your chance…”

“A chance to what?” 

“You know what I’m talking about,” she leaned into your eyeline, still careful to stray from any of your exposed skin. 

“Yeah,” you muttered, “I know.” And then with the last swig in the bottle, you felt the warmth of the drink, and the tiniest bit of a buzz. “I don’t think Logan’s that kinda guy.”

“You don’t think he’d commit to a relationship?” 

“I don’t think he’d commit to me,” you corrected, shrugging your shoulders. You wished you had more to drink after that revelation, but unfortunately, this empty bottle contained the only bit of alcohol on the entire property. 

“He seems loyal, maybe you just need to know him better,” she encouraged, bumping her clothed shoulder with yours. Always a kind gesture, one of friendship and to show she held no fear of you like others did. 

“He doesn’t even know himself,” you chuckled a little. It may have been a bit of a mean joke to make, because you can’t even imagine how hard it is for him, but still you laugh, because you know him better than he does. “I know who he was that day.”

“When he saved you?” 

“Yeah, saved everyone,” you dropped your head, focusing on your hands and trying to keep your mind from falling down any bunny trails. “He was a hero. I think he still might be.”

“You should tell him that.”

“I did,” you chuckled, tossing the whiskey bottle back into the soft pillows of the bed to rid your hands of it. “He didn’t believe a word I was telling him…”

She sighed, knowing that with your stubbornness, and your fear of hurting people, you may opt to keep him at arms length, regardless of his ability to touch you. She knew about Charlie, and what you did to him. She knew you’d sworn off love since that day, over a hundred years ago… but she still had hope that this could turn into a part of your happiness. 

“Don’t give up on him so fast, alright?” She asked, her eyes turning to that of a puppy dog, pulling at your heart and nearly making you comply. 

“I won’t.”

-

Rogue went missing the next day, and while you’d been chomping at the bit to find her, you were unfortunately called to the office of the professor. You wondered if you were in for a stern talking to after the previous night’s events. 

“Take a seat,” he began, staring out the open window at the setting sun, and the children on property who were playing in the grass before dark. 

You did as you were told, not because you wanted to, but because you respected Charles enough to listen to whatever diatribe he was about to drone on. 

“I’ve had quite a few people visit my office today on your account,” he turned his chair around, his face not one of disappointment like you thought it would be. He didn’t look upset at all, nor did he look like he was going to reprimand you for being careless with your abilities. “I must say, I was surprised to hear of what happened.”

“I know it was careless of me,” you defended, unknowing if it was even necessary, but wanting to cover your bases, anyways. “But I can explain.”

“There’s no need to put up an argument, my dear.”

“There’s not?” 

He chuckled and shook his head, a small smile spreading over his cheeks. “Not at all. In fact, I’m actually quite happy for you.”

“Happy for me?” you asked another question, the reasoning for your visit becoming more unclear. 

“I know how long you’ve suffered,” he sighed, his tone returning to something more serious. “I have felt your anger and bitterness towards your abilities. I’ve sensed your hatred of them for years.”

“That was before,” you tried to interject, to tell him how thankful you were for his training. “But you taught me they were not just a curse, but also a blessing.”

“And do you really think I believe you when you say it? Miss Beckett, I’ve known you more than half my life… I can read your mind without entering it by now.”

You knew that if anyone could understand you it was him. You could feel other’s energy, but when he entered someone’s mind he could feel that and so much more. He could feel emotions, think that person’s thoughts, and even see what they see. 

“You knew all this time, then?” 

“I did,” he nodded, but didn’t stop there. “I knew that no matter what I did, it wouldn’t change your burdens.”

You ducked your head, thinking back to the times you’d lied, telling everyone that things were better. Truthfully, as a person you felt less alone, less hated and less dangerous… but you never felt loved. You couldn’t. No one could, or wanted to touch you, knowing your mutation.

“Scott told me about Logan, how you’d all met once before,” he said, turning the conversation back around to that of a better note. “When you’d repressed the memories of what Agent Striker had done, you’d forgotten him… but you didn’t forget what he did for you, and you didn’t forget a special detail.”

“He touched me,” you filled in the blank, waiting for him to continue. 

“Precisely.”

“I think…” you trailed, unsure of where this chat was going to lead. If Ororo had come to him, you were sure the thoughts exchanged the night before had come up, even if it was just meant to help you. “I think he may have feelings for… someone else.”

Charles nodded, he’d not purposely looked into Logan’s mind, but when Jean was stirring restlessly in the late evening, he took a peek inside hers, seeing the struggle to combat Logan and his advances.

“I understand,” he responded, but thought it was worth mentioning what he knew. “But his advances are pointless.”

“I still don’t want to get my hopes up,” you reasoned, a good point to be made considering his behavior towards you. “I’m getting too old for shit like this, you know?”

His understanding went without saying, he remembers your past, and knows of the only person you ever truly loved. It was a story for the ages with a tragic ending that would even make the bravest of men shed a tear. 

“Of course.”

You waited for him to dismiss you, and when he nodded to you in finality, you stood up from your seat. 

“Stay open minded, my dear, you don’t know where your path may lead.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, giving him a smile as you left the room. 

“Thank you, Charles.”

First Ororo, and now Charles. Your biggest cheerleaders since they met you… you love them both, and want to listen to them, but you are older therefore wiser, and must protect yourself from things that aren’t good for you. Everyday you grow older but your face and body stay the same. Your mentality weakens when you realize you’ve still got so much life to live, and it burdens you more when you struggle to live it alone. Having someone by your side would be the answer to your every prayer, the reason you could keep going. But you know you can’t endure another heartbreak, you won’t survive it. 

-

It’s been days, nearly a week. Your mind is frazzled, and you think that maybe it’s time for a break. A quiet time to let your mind rest and restore itself. 

So much has happened, and you can’t put your finger on what was the most stressful part of it all. The quickness, the escalation, the chaos… or what it almost cost you. 

Erik is temporarily defeated, but you know he’ll keep at it in the future. There were several mutants in his gathering that were unapprehended after the final battle. It will make for an interesting hunt that the X-men get to pursue.

One of which you wouldn't mind letting go about her business for a while. You knew Mystique when she went by Raven. 

So much has changed since then, and you've changed with the time gone by.

There's still something on your mind after everything that's happened this week, and of course that something is Logan. His past, his present, and what he wants to do with his future. 

He’s an X-man now, a part of the team and a member of the mutant family… but he searches for who he is, and you can sympathize with that, especially because of what he did for you. He didn’t just do it for you, but with the state you were in, he could have passed your cell, given up on you. Instead, he practically carried you out of that prison, never knowing how lethal your touch was. He saved you and gave you the greatest gift you’d received. Hope. A fresh start. The thought that life didn’t have to be such a burden. 

The kids were settled in early this evening, after the late night that was pulled the day prior, they needed to catch up on their rest… but Logan was having a hard time sleeping. You were, too. 

It was about eleven when he came knocking on the door, softly so nobody else would hear him. Ororo was behind the door next over from yours, her light on beneath the slit in that door, and he mentally kicked himself for even doing this at all, so late at night. 

When you cracked open your own door, peeking through to see who it was, you were surprised at the man standing in the doorway. 

“Logan? What are you doing up? It’s late…”

“Yeah, I know,” he whispered, just above the level you were speaking at, voice barely audible. “I wanted to talk to you.”

You were unsure of what there was to talk about, really. It had been radio silence since the mission, and you figured he wanted some space after something like that… it wasn’t unusual for an X-man, but you didn’t know him as well, so you didn’t know what you were supposed to expect. 

“Can I come in?” he asked, and it was only now that you realized you’d been frozen in your spot, a furrowed brow worn on your face. 

“Yeah, sorry.”

You closed the door behind him when he passed through, going back to your bed to sit down. He followed suit, and it was nearly a reverse image of the first night he arrived. 

“I wanted to thank you,” he cleared his throat, trying to sound grateful. “For saving my life. Jean told me what you did.”

You smiled a little and scoffed, shaking your head and waving him off. “Don’t thank me… I actually endangered your life.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I? Whatever you did, it saved me.”

“I had no idea that it would, it could have gone either way,” you argued, not for the sake of being right, but because you didn’t want him to think you’d done something extraordinary or heroic. You were actually being quite selfish in your actions. 

“You like to argue a lot, huh?” he teased, remembering the last one on one conversation you both had. You would admit, you didn’t like being wrong. You’d gotten it in your head that after being alive for so long, you ought to know more than everyone. 

“Well, I am a lawyer,” you shrugged, a slight smirk on your face. You’d never practiced in a firm, or even got a law related job, but you liked to remind people of it here and there, it was always entertaining. 

“I noticed that certificate on your wall the other night, noticed em’ all, actually…” he trailed, throwing a glance over his shoulder to check and make sure they were all still there. He’d come to the conclusion that you were intelligent the first time you met, your dialect being very formal for the age he thought you were… but above that, you carried yourself in a way that spoke to being knowledgeable. 

“Oh, those?” you laughed, tilting your head and making a silly face in their direction. “Those are nothing, just reminders of all the times I’ve been bored.”

“Bored? You’re kidding me,” he mused, crossing his arms and chuckling. 

“Maybe I also wanted to better myself a little,” you answered truthfully, rolling your eyes after getting it out. He didn’t seem like the scholarly type. Not a bad thing by any means, but you were sure his abilities far accelerated him in other occupations before he ended up here.

“Well whatever the reason, you’ve clearly done good,” he complimented, and you were certainly not complaining. Getting compliments from your friends, from your mutant family, it uplifted you… but getting a compliment from him? It felt different, more weighted. “And whatever you did to save me, that was good too.”

“I didn’t even know it would work,” you huffed, looking down at your hands. You hadn’t touched him since he came in, and you weren’t sure if it was because you were doing so purposely, or if you just hadn’t gotten the opportunity. “I honestly thought I might kill you faster…”

“Then why would you have tried it?” He couldn’t believe you. A smart girl like you, with the power you held? It seemed out of character to make a decision like that.

“Honestly?” you raised your brows, thinking of a sentence that didn’t sound weird, or selfish. “I was scared you were gonna die before I could know you.”

He tilted his head slightly in confusion. “You want to know me?” 

“I do,” you nodded with a sheepish smile. Thank God for the darkness in the room, because you’re sure your face is turning red. “I mean, it’s not everyday that I meet someone I can shake hands with, so…”

He laughed a little, reaching out playfully for a handshake. You smiled wide, taking his hand and giving it a nice firm shake. You’ve shaken hands when wearing gloves, but it’s just not the same. You’ve touched others while wearing them, too. But the skin contact you’ve always been deprived of, it’s something that sends chills down your spine, no matter how simple the gesture is. Even just a handshake. 

“I’d like you to know me too, but there’s just one problem with that,” he sighs, shaking his head in a bit of something akin to sadness. “I don’t know me.”

You can’t stand to see that look on his face. His hand was still wrapped around yours, now resting on his knee and near your lap. An idea springs to your mind, and though it’s a terrible one, you think about all the good it could produce in the long run. 

“What if I could help you remember?” You suggested, grabbing his attention almost immediately. “You’ve said you don’t remember anything past fifteen years ago… that’s when you saved me from Striker.”

“You think you could help me?” 

“I can try, I owe it to you.” Your reasoning made him turn the idea over in his head, but he wasn’t sure of how you planned to help him, exactly. “Something must have happened that day to make you forget… we can go back to the base, look for answers, see if anything triggers your memories?” 

It was a bold move, but you had to take it. No matter what happened the other night, you still owe him your life, and this could be a way to even the playing field. 

“You’d take me there?” he asked sincerely, a bit surprised that you would even offer, considering what he knew of your time in that prison. You shouldn’t want to return at all, but what’s worse is you want to do it for him. 

“I would… If you want me to.” 

He grinned, his look of bewilderment still laced in. “I would be grateful, if you could.”

“It’s settled then.”

He nodded to you, and you both gave a glance to the door. It was time to say goodnight, though you wanted him to stay and talk till sunrise. You had so many questions, about him, about his life since Striker, and even about his abilities… but it would have to wait till another time. 

He got up, and you followed, getting to the door before you heard voices outside of it. 

“It’s Ororo,” you sighed, turning to him and huffing. “I don’t know who she’s talking to…”

“I better not let her see me sneaking around this late,” he said, looking back at you with a comical expression. “I have a feeling that she’ll tattle on me.”

“You’re right, she would.” You stood with your ear to the door, hearing that the other voice in the hall was Jean. They were talking about you, and you figured it was not a good time to let the Wolverine go traipsing out of your room. “You know, you don’t have to go… if you don’t want to. You could just stay here tonight.”

His smirk held a bout of confidence before he spoke, “You sure I’m not crowding your space?” 

“I’ve got plenty of room,” You nodded to the queen bed you’d stood up from. In all truthfulness, it was a big bed to sleep in alone, and you’d been forced to for over a decade. “You also just happen to be the only person who wouldn’t die if I accidentally kicked you in the middle of the night.”

He laughed, nodding his head. He didn’t want to leave in the first place, he just felt like maybe he’d been imposing. Tough luck on that, because if you had your way, he’d stay longer than just the night. 

“With an argument like that, how can I say no?” 

“I might not sleep for a while, though… so if you wanna turn in, be my guest,” you sat back on the bed, shoving your walkman with the headphones to your side so he could settle in next to you. 

“Couldn’t really sleep already, that's why I came here in the first place.” He started eyeballing the walkman, scooting in closer to where you sat, legs crossed and back against your pillows and headboard. “You got music?” 

“Oh, uh… yeah, just a little mixtape I’ve been listening to.” 

You’d just rewound the tape earlier, and almost put it over your ears when you found you couldn’t sleep. Maybe it would have settled the noise in your brain… but Logan seemed to do a pretty good job of that, too.

“May I?” He gently reached for the set, and your heart stuttered in beat when you saw the sweet look in his eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” You handed it over with a smile, no hesitation, even though this new mixtape was built primarily on the feelings for him you’d been fighting. “It’s mostly just girl stuff…”

He put the headphones on and started listening, and you felt a bit awkward just watching him listen to the music, unsure if he would piece anything together or not. 

The first song played was Fields of Gold by Sting… just a soft ballad that made you think of what life might be like if things were different. 

By the second song, you pulled the plug of the headphones, letting the music play softly through the speaker instead so you could both hear it. It felt much better when you could listen to the music yourself. Music always calmed you down, made you feel more at ease.

You helped him fast forward through some of the songs he seemed bored during, but he stopped you on a few, nodding his head and smiling as the music filled his ears. 

“You like this one?” You asked, watching him start tapping his fingers to the song I Was Made For Lovin’ You by Kiss.

“This is my kinda music, right here,” he laughed, letting loose a little, breaking down his tough exterior just slightly so you could see the softness lurking behind. 

The noise from outside your door had long gone, but Logan didn’t seem eager to leave whatsoever… you did after all invite him to stay. 

When the song Wicked Game came on, you opted to skip it, and he grabbed the tips of your fingers to pull your hand away and ask why. The intro kept playing, the somber guitar filling the air between you. 

“It’s a sad song, kinda haunting,” you explained, but the real reason you were trying to skip it was because you’d rewound this one a bit too much when thinking about him, the lyrics seeming to match up to every time you looked at him the way you were now. “It’s not as fun as the others.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, taking the walkman and holding it so that you couldn’t skip the song yet. 

World was on fire, and no one could save me but you

Strange what desire will make foolish people do

You looked up at him and he seemed to really be into the music, but his brow was furrowed, like he was thinking about it in real time. 

I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you

You had to look away from him for a moment, your face turning red and your eyes falling to your lap.

And I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you

No, I don’t wanna fall in love

No, I don’t wanna fall in love… with you

You took a glance back up, seeing his face and the way it seemed to turn almost upset by the lyrics. You almost thought about reaching for the walkman, but his death grip on it looked too strong to break. 

“The next one is pretty good,” you smiled, trying to lighten the mood. He broke out of his trance and nodded, handing the device back to you. 

The smooth and laid back energy returned to the room, and you could feel the peace of it engulfing you as you absorbed the energy from the air. It fed you, made you stronger, happier. 

You couldn’t even help yourself by the time it got to the end of the playlist, the last song making you quietly sing aloud in front of someone you barely know… which was strange considering you wouldn’t even sing in front of your dearest and closest friends. 

The song just did that to you… it used to remind you of a love you once lost, but because of the lyrics, you were starting to associate the beautiful melody with another face. The one looking back at you with a small lip tug of a smile. 

The song in question? More Than Words by Extreme. 

You didn’t look at him when you sang it, because you were already falling too hard, too fast. You needed to slow down… but just thinking about the lyrics… 

More than words, is all you have to do to make it real

Touching someone for the first time is more than words can express… sitting side by side with someone without fear of hurting them means more than words could possibly say.

When the song ended you stopped the tape, setting it to rewind and putting it over on your bedside table. 

“Not bad… that last one, I’ve heard it a few times somewhere else. It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, I like it better than the others,” you said jokingly, as if he couldn’t already tell by how easily the words came out of your mouth. “Saved the best for last, right?” 

“I’d say so,” he wouldn’t look anywhere else but you, and you felt so powerless under his stare. You were folding in record time, and honestly at this point, you’d count it as a miracle if you made it out of this night without ruining it all.

“You tired yet?” you asked, changing the subject and pulling back your sheets. 

“I’m getting there…” 

His soft and pretty hazel eyes were starting to make you wish you’d not invited him. He was making this difficult. You wanted to know him, and not just physically. There would be time for that, but you had to wait and make sure he was the one.  You weren’t willing to let yourself love him to the ends of the earth if you weren’t going to be able to keep him. It would just haunt you for the rest of your long and burdened life.

“Me too, but uh… I’m gonna try and finish my book,” you smiled, reaching for the novel on your bedside table. Fahrenheit 451. “So, just turn in whenever you’re tired.”

He debated asking you about the book, but ultimately decided that he’d bothered you enough for one night. It seemed like something he might research himself, if it was something you like. You obviously have good taste in music, maybe he ought to give reading the same books as you a try. 

He’d never admit it, because it wasn’t like him to do such a thing, but he liked being around you. Liked touching you. The energy you gave off was pleasant, and every time your skin connected, he absorbed a little bit of it from you. Something that would kill anyone else, he got to experience first hand. 

He smiled and lied down, giving a glance over his shoulder before he settled in. Your bed was warmer than his, more comfortable, too. “G’night, Alice.”

Your grin compared to his was like a young schoolgirl, completely and utterly lovestruck for the boy you met last week. 

“Night, Logan.”

Tags: @ayamenimthiriel @levislegislation @reidsworld @melsunshine @clairealeehelsing

[2demondogs]

With Chrismas around the corner (not really but basically), i would love an Arthur x GN!reader where Arthur proposes to reader for Chrismas and they obviously say yes because, well, it's Arthur, who wouldn't?

Anon did you read my mind. I was just thinking about proposal fics when you sent this ask because I have yet to stumble on one somehow... I'm sorry this took forever btw T-T

Shoutout to my platonic boyfriend for helping me with ideas because I got writer's block <3

Words: 3k oh my good lord Tags: canon divergence (it's just people leaving the gang a chapter early), Arthur does not have tuberculosis, INSTANT spoilers for character death, cheesy shit

It's been too long, you're realizing, since holidays like Christmas felt like special things. There is a double-edged feel to this one — it is the first since Hosea's death, since leaving the gang — but it is the first, in a very long time, that you've spent in the so-called right way: in a warm house with four solid walls and someone you love, how those fanciful books Mary-Beth used to talk your ear off about always wrote.

The house is warm enough, anyways.

There's work that needs done on the cabin. Some of the wood is rotting out and chipped at the corners, forming into sharp splinters that you've brushed against one too many times, but it is a house. You haven't had this pleasure since before joining the gang.

Sometimes, with how content Arthur seems at baseline, you wonder if he's had this pleasure since early childhood. On quieter evenings, ones less reserved for happiness than this one, there has been clipped discussion about how Arthur has never had domesticity like this. Silently, it was an admission of how good it is to share this freshness with you.

During a ride into town, he'd admitted that he had never picked up painting because it was the sort of thing only steady folks got to enjoy. You'd gotten him a set of oil paints when no one was looking — he's worth much more than a few measly dollars, but that means little if you haven't got them to begin with. Some habits die hard; he was happy you remembered what he'd said only a few hours before.

Come the new year, Arthur plans to find work that will pay. New things are a luxury neither of you care much to indulge in, but the repairs will take lumber and maybe a few extra hands. Ones with more expertise, at least, because Arthur's houses usually have not had foundations.

You could simply move now that time has passed, yes. You could find somewhere much farther away, maybe even New York, and pack yourselves in alongside the other sardines bustling about a city, undetectable in uniformity. Shave beards, got jobs, change clothes, cut hair and color it, too, if paranoia strikes— but keeping low to the ground has worked itself out so far, and there is no more of that deathlike stagnation in the air of this place.

Sentimentally, you think this Christmas will seal off whatever makes this cabin yours. Shadows linger, there's been a few odd creaks that've spooked the horses, and maybe it's going to shit a lot quicker than either of you want to admit, but it's your shit-house and the shared stubbornness between you has always brought you nothing but closer to one another.

Arthur is tired of running, and so are you. Last week, he talked about writing to Mary-Beth and Simon, maybe checking if Kieran — the utterance of the man's proper name was a confirmation of the last of that stockholmlike regret having worked out of his system — had broken and followed his little girlfriend. It wasn't said with malice, just some amusement.

"Why do you think he would?" You'd asked.

"Dutch only saves people who don't ask for it," he'd said, and that wistful look in his eyes vanished before you could ask what it meant.

Maybe it's the hard work that makes it feel like a real, true holiday. Pearson and Grimshaw stopped working everyone harder in the winter over the years, once the familial glamour faded with each new addition to the gang. It was no longer a tight-knit group, but a posse, more or less, of runaways and strays all against a big, evil thing like the rest of the world, or whatever it was that Dutch grew to fear.

Since November, Arthur has been saving the best catches to be salted and stored for Christmas dinner. Each addition is cleaner skinned and cut than the last, and the newfound worst of them ended up being ate upon his return from hunting. You've both been saving back herbs since summer, dried and ready to be crumbled into the heated up pot come time for a real feast. Cornbread was made by hand for the first time since you settled down here, drizzled with honey from the general store a ways out.

The latter was Arthur's only specific request for a fancy dinner. If you hadn't gotten him a single gift save for making it, he'd still be happy as a clam.

He's been putting that goddamned honey on everything. You're glad he seems to be enjoying things again, not as tightstrung as he was before you'd made off with him. That's how it feels, anyways, after the long and struggling conversations that were had before the decision was made. Family or life? It's a hard question for someone who has such little concept of either.

Now, the grey hair in his beard is catching the light from the fireplace where he's sat himself on a chair before it. They'd sprouted through the sun-bleached blond atop his head has been looking lighter and lighter in recent months, grey finally catching up to the discoloration and giving him some malcolored sort of tabby look. It's a good one on him, as much as he complains about looking old as dirt and that it's all formed by stress.

For all the lacking color, it adds a ruddy warmth to his face. Daydreams of growing old together find you when you focus on it, or on his wheezing laugh that's gotten worse with the cold weather. Despite the woolen vest he's been sporting, his fingers are as chilled as yours whenever they've brushed. Idly, you wonder if he's gotten whatever Hosea grew into, then remember they were never by blood.

Arthur hadn't wanted you to get him any gifts. When you asked if he would get you something, he'd flushed and changed his mind, apparently already having done it.

Whatever it is, it's good-sized, wrapped in one of the dustcloths you'd gotten him alongside the paints. He's been spending more time painting, lately, tucked in the treeline and looking over the cabin or deeper into the woods, studying something plein air the way those professionals do. He'd propped it against the wall this morning, and once you've settled on the floor before the fireplace — too cold outside not to crowd close to it — after dinner, he looks between you and the cloth like he isn't sure what to do.

"D'you wanna do the honors?" He asks, and grins although the twitch of his eye tells you he's covering timidity with faux cockiness.

"You go ahead," you say, half because he's closer. Tormenting him in small ways must be part of any good gift.

The painting is an image you recognize. A photo that one of the girls took for you months before things went down the hole, using the camera Arthur was loaned by some feller in town who wanted photos taken for a book. He never returned it, and it more or less became something he tucked beneath his cot and let the elements beat around. You can't remember, now, who it was or where he went to get it developed.

The little inkling of pride you felt knowing he kept putting off getting the negatives developed — not enough money, not enough time — yet was gone the next morning to have yours developed returns, now.

It's a much nicer rendition of it, your clothes not dirty and his arm around your waist, the other holding his hat to his chest. It's clear he preferred to give your portrait more detail, his own lagging somewhere behind in clarity and looking closer to the photo. You suppose it's easier to look at someone besides himself, but there's a clearer enjoyment in the lines of you, more care taken in the color mixes.

Ignoring the dense joy of the implications of that, of how obvious it is, proves difficult. Your cheeks twinge some from the wide smile before you realize you're even reacting.

"You'll be a big name someday," you say, and he may as well shrink in on himself beneath the praise, although he's heard it plenty of times before.

"Naw," he waves a hand. "Quit that."

"Really, Arthur." Scooting closer, laying your hands over his knee. He's moving his jaw when your eyes meet his, lays a hand over one of yours, heavy and warm. "It's beautiful. I love it."

"Good," he says. His jaw clicks. "I— uh, I love you."

The hunting knife you got for him seems small, though relatively equal. Arthur looks as pleased as ever studying it, half-mumbling appraisals of yeah, nice and sharp, sturdy to himself that likely would've stayed inside his head, if it weren't for wanting to show you he liked it.

A bone handle, which he feels over with his fingers before noticing it's engraved, fits easy in his palm. You were afraid you push your luck with maintaining its quality too far adding the tiny, vague bear shape next to the deeper cut of his name. Already impressive was the fact that you hadn't ruined it with the letters, being one of your first expeditions into anything of the sort.

"I would've gotten you one of those folding knives," you explain. "But they don't hold up as well, and I know you have one."

The army knife was Hosea's.

"Needed me a new huntin' knife," Arthur says. You know, because he's complained about his current one being close to snapping with all the skinning he does anymore. He squints at the handle, turns it over in the light from the fire. "Did you engrave the handle?"

"Yessir."

He smiles. "It's real nice," he says, pats his palm with the blade softly. It makes a dull noise, sturdy metal on skin. "Why a bear?"

"They remind me of you," you admit. Really, you'd spent a long time considering what else to add, because only his name seemed so plain; although he wouldn't be opposed to flowers or vines, they are a little more intricate than a simplified bear head. "Big and strong. Hairy, too. I'd like to hug one."

He snorts a laugh, but it seems thin. His eyes are fond enough on you that it couldn't be any rejection of your words, and so you brush it off. "You wanna hug a bear?" He asks.

"In a perfect world," you amend. "Don't they look warm?"

"You'd better stick to me," he says, smooths a palm over the thigh of his jeans. The nicest pair he owns, he promised you, because he feels ridiculous in slacks and seems to think you care what he wears.

Beyond thinking everything looks well on him, at least. You often find yourself concerned with that thought.

"I got you somethin' else," Arthur starts, running a finger over the bunched inseam at his own knee. "Well, uh— it's f'both of us, really."

Isn't that intriguing, you think, but your silent, undivided attention seems to make him outright nervous, so you say: "Oh?"

Some conflict happens over his face as he pulls his vest collar away and reaches into the inner pocket, takes out a stack of thin papers that he glances over before apparently relenting to something. Confusion finds you, until he takes a deep breath and holds them towards you.

"Read these," is all he says, and he sounds like it's almost painful.

He's written much, much more than that. Your stomach turns, once or twice, realizing they are pages from his journal. Uncertain why, until the first entries which are skittering on affectionate fade into ones much more flowery. They are all about you, days you'd spent together or times you hadn't, the things you've given him over the years and the things he wished he could've given you.

Each page makes your chest feel tight with a panicked joy, as if his hands were not fiddling with the new knife to occupy — distract? — himself but clenching hard at your heart.

One, near the beginning, says he thought of pickin' a pretty lil' flower, God bless it, I feel ridiculous; on the back of the next is pressed a variegated tulip, crumbling with age but holding firm to whatever adhesive glues it to the paper. Again, that creeping smile, like thyme. Another entry is entirely about your hair, because it had brushed his arm. Only a few sentences made up that page, below the cursive a choppy sketch of your horse.

Certainly, Arthur stays busy in his head. You've always known as much, but never figured any of it was about you. Not like this, anyways, though the dates spread from the week before Blackwater and you can only wonder what laid in that journal he lost before.

"Oh, Arthur," you start, looking up from a third-way through, feeling giddy but not wanting him to watch you so intently while you finish them. No wonder he was shy. It's his heart. "You're so sweet."

"Finish readin' 'em," Arthur says, doesn't meet your eyes at first. When he does, they're gentle. "They get sweeter, y'know, better finish 'em. 'Cause of that."

He is nervous. Hardly moving, besides the tongue running over his teeth beneath his lips, and the rambling every time he opens his mouth. You don't mind, never have. He's endearing like this.

Outings you'd went on infrequently, the dates of his favorites underlined, you're noticing, based on the tone of his words in them; his worries and fears about courting you, and some of what you mean to him though, with its succinctness, you have a feeling he wouldn't dare put all of his genuine love to findable paper; things he likes about you, and one page where he admits that he cannot keep himself from documenting you in every other entry, which tells you this small collection is hardly everything. The previous entries turn over in your mind again, and you are struck on a random page for a moment as their meanings take hold, realizing they were especially sliced from his journal to show you.

The entries leading to the last are what set your mind and pulse ablaze. From the first appearance of the word marriage, you swallowed your idea of what may be coming — Arthur's breathing changing beside you doesn't help any, and it certainly does not help that he leans down once you've reached the last page, plucking it from your hands. Before he does, you notice quite a few crossed out lines, scribbles as if he were frustrated with not being able to find the right words.

"Think I've got the balls on me to read this one aloud, at the very least," he says, voice laced with a chuckle. Breath comes uneasy, but you collect yourself enough to gather the pages back into a neat, ordered stack in your lap. "Unless you'd rather spare me," he adds, nudges your knee with the toe of his shoe.

"No." Your voice sounds strange, even to you. "Do me the honors."

Arthur bites his cheek, nods and lets it fall as he smiles. Still, his hand finds the back of his neck, the page held between two fingers that remain surprisingly steady. The knife lingers in his hand beneath it, and isn't it just like him to propose holding a weapon.

Propose. It takes its first toll on you, rolls over your back in shards of tingling.

"December twenty-fifth, eighteen ninety-nine," he starts, eyes flicking to your face every other word until the intensity of your gaze must make him too anxious. "It's a nice little life, livin' with the one I love," — rubbing his mouth, sighing some — "Jesus, I always gotta be sappy." You laugh, though it comes out more forceful than you intended, and relax some until he continues. "The thought of another day where anythin' could happen 'n' we ain't bound is somethin' I hate."

Arthur pauses, stands up and places the journal entry on his chair. You take his hands when he holds them out to where you sit, grunting when he hauls you off the ground with more force than you expected, feet shuffling into place to stick all-too-close to his. His hands are burning, skin feverish when you grab his wrists, as if you'd ever want to stop him as he eases onto a knee before you.

And his eyes throw you off balance, too, catching the light just enough that you can tell they are stinging. So are your own, now that you think about it, but intelligent thoughts go out the window once you sense him about to speak.

"I wanna be 'til death do us part," Arthur confesses, fumbles to catch both of your hands in his in an awkward, squeezing hug of a hold.

The way your bones catch on one another, well— it's not a sensation you'll forget, like the first time he kissed you and you felt it still a week later, warm pressure on your mouth if you got too lost in the memory. He looks as good, looks so nice, and you know your fingers would be shaking if he weren't crowding them together, steady.

When he says your name, the blood is rushing through your ears too loud to hear it clearly; you almost want to ask him to do it again. "Will you marry me?"

Nodding, face slack before it spreads in a grin. "Yes," you say. "Of course I will."

His is hidden by how he lets go of your hands, catching them before they fall in stupid, limp joy back to your sides. He lays kisses along the knuckles, all three rows of them. It's so awfully saccharine and yet you could never tell him to quit being sweet— not now, not as he stumbles to his feet after you pull him up and shake off his hold to grab his face, tugging him into a kiss.

Arms come around your waist, squeeze tight enough to hurt, or to hold in place. Arthur runs a hand over your back, breaks the kiss to slide a hand into your hair and press your face to his chest, caging you in his arms. He smells warm, like good cologne, and you know he's been planning this.

[buttered-milky]

Russingon being an incestuous couple is so fucking interesting to me for what it represents narratively. (Yes, I know they are not canonically a couple. No, I do not care, because I do believe the coding is on purpose. Even if it’s accidental, it’s still there.)

If you don’t have a lot of experience with incest in other fiction (for example: the staple gothic horror), incest usually represents deviance. That’s just what it says on the tin: diverting from norms. Usually in a bad way. Deviance can be narratively treated as bad or wrong, and there is plenty of deviance from our meta societal norms with these two, but I digress. I don’t want to talk about that today.

I want to talk about subversion, and the deviance that is sometimes good, actually, and the message that sometimes you must break norms to do good.

[PS guys if you read all this and want to add your thoughts please do! This is kind of half-baked and I’d love to see more opinions because I’ve not seen anyone talk about this much.]

They are so fucking fascinating, because they are deviant! They are! Their entire relationship is baffling politically because of the Finwëan house feuds. More importantly, they have individual deviances that this relationship is telling you to pick up on.

.

Maedhros is a Kinslayer. Maedhros is also arguably the most heroic one of his siblings.

.

No, we can’t burn the ships. How the fuck are we gonna get Fingon over here?

No, I have to go parley with Morgoth.

I have to abdicate the crown because I’m becoming something I don’t want to be.

No, I have to put myself in front of everyone else. I have to hold Himring so the rest of Beleriand doesn’t get nuked.

I have to summon everyone for the Nirnaeth.

.

And then after Fingon dies in the Nirnaeth, Maedhros (as we all know) goes fully off the rails—which is to say, he becomes fully Fëanorian. He goes back to the norm for his family.

There are more Kinslayings. He tries once to save two twin children, and that’s it. He gives up. There is no more hope. Maglor is responsible for taking in the next set. Maglor also wants to beg the Valar for forgiveness, and maybe Maedhros would’ve seen the sense in that once, but instead he becomes the second coming of his father and dies burning, clutching onto his Oath.

The deviance from Fëanorian standards was the only thing keeping him from becoming a monster for all that time.

.

Fingon is also (very likely) a Kinslayer. He’s also the family extrovert and hope incarnate.

Unlike Aredhel and Turgon, he does not seclude himself for his own protection. He does the opposite.

.

No, we can’t just stay here in Aman. We need to protect the other half of our people??

No, we actually have to get Maedhros. Fine, I’ll do it myself then. I’ll reach out to the gods while I’m at it, since none of you will.

Of course we’re going to join every battle. Of course we’re going to help hold down Beleriand.

If I have to face evil alone I suppose I will, then.

.

And he dies when he’s alone against those Balrogs. Fingon is also like his father in many ways—but in some ways he is not. He is brighter, sometimes. He is hope incarnate in the worst of places.

.

I’m far from the first person to acknowledge that what Maedhros and Fingon have going on is a very strong message to never give up hope. But like—not just that. What kills me is that, you know, the hope and the heroism and the goodness is the deviance.

They like each other while most of the Noldor are off getting doomed or fighting with their relatives. You get to those little bits where it mentions Maedhros and Fingon still keeping up their friendship and you kind of have to think “damn, at least some people still genuinely love each other in the midst of all this horror.” It’s sweet. And yet it’s deviant.

And that’s weird, right? Usually deviance is bad. But I think here it’s more neutral. Just presented as: this is not the common option, not the norm. It’s not the common option, but it leads to one of the kinder relationships in the Silm.

The Silm wants you, the reader, to take away that you should have hope and goodness, even when everything around you is hell. Even when it is the hard option. When it becomes hardest to hold up light and help others, that is when it’s needed most.

It will be scary sometimes to be hopeful, and that’s okay. It will be scary to extend yourself. It will be scary to trust and to defend others. That’s okay. Do it fucking scared and keep doing it.

[spotaus]

Okay. So Killer (New Age) lore post! Putting it immediately under the cut, because I get the feeling this will be longer-

Killer! He's the first one Nightmare takes in! He's the 'Average' one. The silver-tongued common street rat, literally snatched away from the gallows. He's obnoxiously loyal.

His story is going to be (hopefully) loosely based on his canon, but still follow a lot of the New Age conventions.

So, Killer was a straight up orphan. Like, abandoned as a babybones on the steps of a temple. Temples would often double as orphanages, if you dropped a kid at the right one. (Killer had a malformed soul from birth. Didn't affect him at all, just looked weird.) So Killer? He was raised religious, basically. Worshipping the deity which was most prominent at the time (which for this era, Nim was largely the one being worshipped as though a god. Like Rome worshipping the Emperor), a very strict environment, a very lonely one as there weren't many other kids, and a fairly violent upbringing. The people there were Not proper caretakers. But it was all Killer had, and running away never crossed his mind, because beyond the market, there was nothing for him that the temple couldn't give. At least, that's what he was taught. Until, of course, he met Chara (just going by the normal ut name tho I do think they're called the Player in Something New?). (Note: Killer had a different name before he left the temple.)

Killer was only 11 or 12 (he didn't really keep track) when Chara started coming with their parents to the Temple. Their parents would ditch them to talk to the adults, and Chara would try to find other things to do, to get out of their parents sight, and one day they spotted the Orphans. Killer in particular (the oldest) was their target, about their same age. And they would talk to him. At first he was hesitant, but, you know how it goes, kids are kids and they'll talk.

And over the course of several visits, Chara told Killer about the outside world. All the places and the animals (Killer told Chara that the sacrafices were all animals, very unique) and the ocean, they told him about the mountains and the towns and ships and the guard and all of it. And it got to Killer. He started wanting to go beyond the walls of the temple (he always had, but never had reason to understand that urge).

One night, Chara showed up at the temple grounds after dark, while Killer was doing his final cleaning checks, and they encouraged him to leave. to run away with them. And... well, he did. He stole a cloak from the doorway and ran off with Chara. While they were on the run, Chara from their parents and Killer from his temple, they had to do what all street-rats did. Steal, cheat, and protect themselves. Killer was the first of them to kill. it wasn't much different from sacrificing the animals on the altar, anyhow. It was just another way to get what he wanted, since the god, Nim, never had any answers to his prayers. The person he killed had recognized his name, other sects were after him now that he'd run with Chara (unbeknownst to him, Chara was meant to be a sacrifice once they were old enough). He changed his name to the skill he was good at: Killer.

And they stay like that for a long long time, never settling down, always on the move, never leaving the kingdom because doing so would make it easier to find them, two red marbles in a sea of blue ones. And Chara never got their hands dirty. it was always Killer. it was his duty to back-up Chara. he 'owed' them for getting him out of that Temple. Out of that boring life. Chara, in some way, became the center of his world, something beyond his grasp and beyond poor judgement. Beyond the flaws of any living being. And they were fine. They still did normal teenage things, they laughed, they joked, they played, they lied, they got sweet treats and split big loaves of bread. But it wasn't healthy. A parasitic relationship where Chara took and Killer gave, weighed down by an impossible debt to repay.

Then, years and years later, Killer was finally taken down by the guard. Now wanted for several counts of murder, theft, and other bad things, he was caught. This time, unlike several others, instead of breaking out like he normally did, h decided to wait and see. How long would he have to be gone for Chara to seek him out instead? And Chara left him. And left him. And didn't ever come back for him. Gone, fully, 100%. His faith broke, along with his hope. The one thing that motivated him in life had abandoned him, and he couldn't seem to bring himself to do anything anymore, because he had sacrificed all he was and wasn't enough to keep his only friend around.

In prison he talked with other people. Prisoners aren't all bad, you know, especially when they saw Killer, a young guy, looking so downtrodden. Even though he was an objectively horrible person, hearing others try to cheer him up, expecting nothing in return, was helpful.

And then, ofc, when he met Nightmare he decided he could have a ticket out of here. A weird guy who would give him a place to stay, and pay him, and he could just go and then escape like he always did? Go live his own life for the first time ever? Yeah, sounds banger.

But then, you know, he ended up finding Nightmare's situation much too interesting, and Ccino way too handsome, and his gig just a bit too cushy. But he never had blind faith again. Nightmare is unaware, but that fake faith act Killer started with quickly morphed into a faith earned through action, and care, and kindness. Killer saw and felt that Night would be willing to risk himself just as much as Killer would. (Maybe that's why he became so loyal. maybe that's why it's important that Killer came first and set that expectation for the other Knights. Maybe that's why Killer faced off against Dream and almost died, and why Nightmare ran infront of Killer to spare him that final blow and proved exactly why Killer followed him in the firstplace-)

[noperopesaredope]

The point on the clones and the Jedi is one I'm delighted to hear someone repeat since I thought I was alone in that sentiment. Honestly, while working on the AU, I realized it would make more sense if the clones took more elements from JEDI culture, since not only would they have been exposed to that far more, but they clearly have a very deep respect for the Jedi. Throughout canon, we see the clones admire the Jedi a lot, with many being deeply loyal to their Jedi generals. The Jedi also influence the clones' perspectives on themselves and life, encouraging them to be themselves and find a sense of individuality. If the clones were to look to anyone as an example, it would be the Jedi, and thus, they would take after them in a lot of ways.

I even have a whole thing I wrote out on how, while the Jedi believe in no attachments, the clones tend to act on this philosophy to the fullest extent even without realizing it. I saw another person make a post clearing up some misconceptions on that philosophy, explaining it through the lens of Buddhism, and how "no attachments" is different from "no connections."

I noticed that the clones move on very quickly from death (which is likely partially due to their mental health stuff but that's another topic-), but also seem to have incredibly deep bonds with each other due to their inherent connection via being literal clones. They share these deep emotional attachments, but when one dies, they grieve very briefly, then move forward because they understand they have a mission to complete and war to win. They hold deep bonds, but do not stay attached and are able to let go.

This is just one example of how the clones would take after Jedi culture, though I have a lot of thoughts on the subject and am working on a whole section in my writeout for the AU.

As a whole, I think that even if they took some of the more artificial elements of Mando culture, the clones would have very different philosophical/cultural beliefs and values. Even if they didn't take after Jedi, they very much have their own thing going on. For example, while found family/adoptive family is apparently a big thing in Mando culture, I have been working on a whole explanation on how that would be basically the opposite for the clones.

I think most of the similarities they would have with Mando culture is less due heritage and more due to them both having militaristic elements (though even those elements would be different). So while I find them taking bits and pieces of Mando culture (just little pieces, like certain words (not the whole language)) could be cool, they have such a different experience as a people and as a SPECIES (the clones are lowkey their own species at this point) that they would end up not having that much in common with Mando culture outside of artificial similarities that might not even be that meaningful to them.

Meanwhile, the Jedi have a much deeper influence on the clones, and I wish we saw more headcanons on how the clones would take after Jedi culture.

(Also, small sidenote on the food thing, but one of my favorite things to headcanon is that, if they made their own society, the clones would not know what they are doing in regards to food because they have spent most of their lives eating rations. Thus, I assumed they would make food concepts from hell because they are excited to eat anything with even a hint of flavor. However, the idea that they would have 0 tolerance to spiciness is even funnier to me, so them creating the blandest food imaginable is another good option for Clone Cuisine™)

I've decided that Rex is the one who paints Kanan's eye mask with his bird of prey design.

Kanan's feeling pretty low still just after Malachor, he's still distancing himself from everybody, and Rex decides to go try to talk to him at one point and the first thing he comes up with to say is to point out that his new mask is pretty plain. It's awkward, he regrets it immediately, but then Kanan says that it gets the job done and Rex is abruptly reminded of himself so so long ago back at the beginning of the war.

He sits Kanan down and tells him a story about how, at the beginning of the war, only a few of the clones had paint on their armor, to designate things like rank and battalion in order to make it easier for officers to find them in the middle of a busy battlefield. The paint was practical and it was limited to a very select few. But the Jedi almost immediately started trying to encourage the clones to utilize the paint less sparingly, suggesting that maybe everybody could wear at least a LITTLE paint and use more individualized designs so that it was still easy to tell the commanders and captains apart from the others when needed.

Some of the clones had taken to it with gusto, but others had been more hesitant, and Rex remembers having been one of them. He remembers telling Obi-Wan that there was no real REASON to paint everyone's armor and especially not to come up with personal designs. The armor was practical and it served its purpose with or without the paint and special designs. But the Jedi had insisted on at least TRYING to come up with his own design and if he didn't like it, he could always take it off, so Rex had given in and chosen something to paint on the armor. And, somehow, it felt a little lighter the next time he put it on. It didn't erase the horrors of war or the pain of loss or anything like that, but it helped.

He tells Kanan that the mask right now is just a reminder of the pain of the injury and whatever other feelings he's still got all caught up in the Malachor mission (guilt over what happened with Ezra, grief over Ahsoka's loss). But if he puts his own design on it, it might turn the mask into something other than a constant reminder of something bad. Instead, it's a reminder of who he is, the combination of the person he once was and who he's become. He is more than just his injury or this mission and he can use the mask to declare that if he wants to.

Kanan says he never realized Rex and the other clones had cared so deeply about their armor and Rex says that the armor itself was meaningless. It's better than what's being handed out to stormtroopers, but not but a LOT. It was the design on it that had meant something and, more than that, it was what the design REPRESENTED: having a choice about how you were perceived by others.

Kanan asks why Rex had chosen his particular designs, the bird of prey eyes on his helmet in particular. Rex explains that he chose it because he liked birds and thought it looked cool, but he's kept the helmet for as long as he has because it's come to mean something ELSE now. It's not just a cool-looking design, it's a reminder of a better time in his life. It's a reminder of when he'd been a part of something greater than himself, with the other clones and the Jedi. It's a reminder of a time when he'd had hope that he and his people could one day come out the other side of this war towards a brighter future.

Kanan looks at the mask he'd grabbed from storage somewhere or something just to keep light from hurting his eyes as they recovered and to cover up the injury from other people's stares (even if he couldn't see them staring), then hands it to Rex and asks if Rex minds sharing that symbol because he'd like a reminder of that, too. Rex remembers the 332nd and their helmets that they'd painted to look like their chosen Jedi, almost blindly giving away their individuality in favor of that loyalty that had been stripped from them anyway. And then he looks at Kanan, choosing to make himself look LIKE REX, someone who had shared his face with millions once, because he wants to honor both the connections he'd lost as well as this new connection the two of them have built together now. And Rex says he'd be happy to share.

[farshootergotme]

I think "canon" Dick Grayson is worst than fanon Dick Grayson because at least fanon Dick you know it isn't canon and you can still enjoying separating it from the comics. However "canon" Dick is that version of Dick that became so popular anyone who hasn't read the comics will believe it's true canon and creates lots of misconceptions that do irreversible damage to his character.

[turtledotjpeg]

girls who go 🧍

[makiswirl]

can i just say. and this is probably a niche hill to die on. that i am so gobsmacked every time someone vaguely hints at the idea that jotaro doesn't care meaningfully for the other crusaders, usually particularly kakyoin and joseph, when those two actually tend to be the ones he reacts to being hurt the hardest

like he cares for his loved ones!!!! that literally plays into his character motives in every single part he shows up in!!! stop lying to me!!!!!!!

[rubra-fuscissima]

and since we're all already here, i hope you're ready to look at some more rugby players because i have an even more important message to share, so put your swimming goggles on and grab a snack cause this is gonna be a rant.

strongman-physique andrew might be underrepresented in this fandom, but i've seen little to no drawings of the aftg women being as big as i know many contact sport athletes to be. and that shit bothers me because i know precisely what absolute beasts these bigger girls are on the pitch.

so, have a look at marlie packer, hannah botterman, and portia woodman-wickliffe.

note that all of these women play(ed) for top-ranking national teams. they're world-class athletes in a sport where players need to be strong, fast, agile, and explosive - much like exy! you wanna know why they look like they could pick you up and carry you for the length of a marathon or throw you across half a football pitch? because they could. end of story.

you'd like to imagine the aftg girls as highly feminine? you better not think femininity and muscularity or big size are contradictory. women like michaela blyde or ilona maher are living proof!

and i'm not even done.

let's get one thing out of the way first. you do not NEED to be muscular or heavy to be strong. in a sport like exy (or rugby), sometimes being quick and agile will give you a bigger advantage than mass ever could - take neil as a canon example and, if you're interested, someone like anne-cécile ciofani as a real-world one.

the question is: does that really make sense for the positions the fox girls play?

renee is a goalkeeper; a position in which she'll have to do little to no running but a LOT of strength-based swinging of a massive raquet. so, and this is a very important point to me as a sapphic girl, renee's shoulders and back are probably MASSIVE (see ilona maher).

dan and allison play dealer. from what i can gather from the game scenes in the books and my general understanding of team contact sports, dealers are confronted with a lot of collisions since usually, none of the players in the middle of the field want to actually make it to the goal. instead, players will likely focus on quickly relaying the ball to each other or the attacking line to overwhelm the other team's defense and - if they themselves are playing defense - perform a lot of body-checks to win the ball and/or prevent quick passes. in these cases, weight and the strength that comes with it ARE an advantage.

and i know people have a hard enough time already accepting that women can build muscle, but that isn't even my point here. because get this: in the context of strength and speed, muscle works best with a certain amount of body fat. everyone has to find their own balance here, but generally, having too low a body fat percentage decreases speed, power, and muscle growth. that's a high price to pay for athletes like these three girls just for being skinny or ripped.

in conclusion, i think it's more than realistic for the fox girls to be heavier athletes. draw them however you like to draw them (trust me, i'll eat any art of them right up), but i know many people aren't really into sports or have never even thought about drawing the fox girls a little broader. so, if that's you, let this be your sign to give it a try!!!

andrew has the build of a rugby prop, change my mind

okay so i've been seeing a lot of great andrew art recently and i loooove that people are finally drawing him with a more chubby/broad body.

buttttt hear me out here. as a rugby player. i'm used to seeing heavy athletes. and let me tell you, don't be afraid to take it even further!!!! and i'm definitely not judging anyone here, i can't draw for shit and i love the art in this fandom.

just take a look at this:

you see those shoulders? those forearms? that NECK? this is what pure strength looks like, people.

imagine the POWER of an andrew with this build running to smash riko's arm. JUST IMAGINE

so what i'm saying is. don't be afraid to draw heavy athletes, and DEFINITELY don't be afraid to draw heavy andrew. you know this fandom needs it. (and by this fandom i mean me, i definitely need that)

(btw the athletes i've included here are nepo laulala, joe marler, and adam jones)

[lulu2992]

If you’ve played Far Cry 3, you’ve probably seen its “prequel”, a promotional web series called The Far Cry Experience starring Michael Mando as Vaas and Christopher Mintz-Plasse as himself.

In Episode 4 (spoilers), Vaas asks the audience if they want Chris to live or die. People decided he should live but, since there were two choices, they had to shoot two versions of the final episode.

Well, a few years ago, I realized that, on the Ubisoft Japan YouTube channel, both versions were available! So in case you didn’t know this video existed, here’s what would have happened if people had voted for Chris to die:

The video is dubbed in Japanese and I unfortunately don’t speak this language, so I can’t tell what they’re saying... But if you understand Japanese or are good at reading lips, maybe you can :)