#and most of them have moved on from tumblr

[jeonscatalyst]

https://www.tumblr.com/dearweirdme/774212277059682304/httpswwwtumblrcomdearweirdme7742039285407416

“Serves them right for being idiots” then proceeds to make the most idiotic write up of all time. The fact that anyone can have a smart phone and internet these days to spew nonsense online is beyond me.

Hi anon,

There was a time when I used to think this was the most sensible Taekook blogger on Tumblr, but over time, my opinion began to shift. I haven’t seen a single insightful post from this blogger since AYS was announced. I used to frequent Taekook blogs because it was fun to read other people’s perspectives, but eventually, I stopped visiting their spaces because I felt like I was losing brain cells after every visit.

This particular blogger frustrates me because it’s evident they truly believe they are wise or introspective, when, in reality, they are just as misguided as any other Taekooker. I won’t go into detail about the differences between Taekook and Jikook, nor the clear evidence of who is closer, as I’ve already done that in a lengthy post in the past. You can read it here…

Instead, today I want to address a few things that Taekookers, and some Jikookers as well, still fail to understand, not only about the bond between Jikook and Taekook, but also about human relationships in general.

Let’s begin with the fact that this blogger claims the Jikook ship was created by BigHit. Not only is this the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever read, but it’s also a pathetic excuse for why another pairing gained recognition. Let’s not even mention that this blogger has only been in the fandom for a short time and probably caught up on content through YouTube edits, (you can tell they’re the type to fall for YouTube edits because they cite them as references), TikTok, and various conspiracy theories from bitter Taekookers trying to explain away the connection they see between Jimin and Jungkook. This person hasn’t been around long enough to form such strong opinions about the past, yet they act as though they lived through it all personally. Not saying one couldn’t be informed about a past they didn’t experience but we all know living through something is different from getting information about it second hand.

How exactly did BigHit create the Jikook ship when the primary reason for its popularity is the GCF Jungkook posted in November 2017? That video, which Jungkook made after a trip with Jimin to Japan, was not related to work. In fact, Jungkook explicitly stated that the trip and by extension, the GCF, was not work-related in any way. How could BigHit have created the ship when nearly every major Jikook moment came from Jungkook himself? If you were to ask any Jikooker on the street why they started shipping Jikook, you’d hear about things like the GCF, MMA 2018, the Rose Bowl, Hickeygate, etc. Not a single one would mention anything related to the company, and notice how all of these key moments were initiated by Jungkook?

This blogger also goes on to say that Jimin leans into fanservice more because he wants to please the company and the fans. I find it hard to understand how this isn’t anti behavior, especially since this blog claims it doesn’t harbor any ill feelings toward Jimin. Implying that Jimin lives his entire life to cater to fans and a corporation while disregarding the feelings of his friends is such an anti move especially because Jungkook himself describes Jimin as thoughtful and selfless. I doubt he would see Jimin this way if Jimin constantly disregarded his feelings and focused more on pleading fans and a money hungry coorperation.

The reason I mentioned that Jungkook initiates most of the interactions that Jikookers find significant is because Taekookers often argue that Jimin leans more into “fanservice” than Jungkook does and that Jungkook sometimes seems hesitant to engage due to his consideration for Taehyung. However, it doesn’t seem to me that Jungkook was particularly concerned about Taehyung when he singlehandedly kickstarted the ship with his GCF. He certainly didn’t seem worried about Taehyung during MMA 2018, or when he openly shared that his “bro” Jimin had bitten him on the neck while tipsy after a late-night drink knowing exactly how shippers would react. It doesn’t appear that he had Taehyung in mind when he revealed that he showers and sings with Jimin in the military fully aware of how fans might react to that information. By now, we have to assume that all the members are aware of what fans do, and Jungkook must know about both Jikookers and Taekookers. If he were truly concerned about Taehyung’s feelings regarding his “fanservice” with Jimin, I highly doubt he would have invited himself to shower at Jimin’s during a live, fully aware of how fans would interpret that.

This blogger seems to forget that it was thanks to Jimin that Jikookers didn’t have more moments to celebrate in chapter two of their bond. It was Jungkook who kept the ship alive during that time. If it had been up to Jungkook, we would have had many more moments to highlight. He was the one going live multiple times, talking about Jimin, watching and singing his songs. If Jimin had accepted when Jungkook invited him over for chicken and beer, we would have had a Jikook moment. If Jimin had shown up when Jungkook extended an open invite to any member to join him, we would have had a Jikook moment. If Jimin had agreed when Jungkook asked to come over, do a live, and shower at his place, we would have had countless moments to talk about for years. But alas, none of these things happened because of Jimin. Yet, somehow, he’s the one being accused of leaning more into “fanservice”?

These newer fans are incredibly fortunate to have encountered a quieter version of Jimin. If they had been around pre-2020, and witnessed how unapologetically vocal Jimin was about Jungkook, they would have disliked him (well, they dislike him now, but they wouldn’t have been able to hide it as they do now). They are lucky that they came in during a time when Jimin has become more reserved. If Jimin really wanted to cater to shippers he wouldn’t have said “no” when asked if he had eaten Jungkook’s ramen yet. He would have gone to Inkigayo just to give shippers something to talk about. He could have easily gone to Jungkook’s house anytime and taken photos, posted them, or even shared a video from when he spent the night with him before Jeju. He never lacked invitations from Jungkook; in fact, Jungkook asked him over multiple times. The only reason we didn’t see those moments was because of Jimin.

They claim Jungkook holds back because he’s concerned about Taehyung, but I didn’t see him thinking about Taehyung when he cuddled into Jimin’s lap and slapped his butt in AYS. The funniest part is, in AYS, Jungkook initiated more physical contact with Jimin than Jimin did. Nearly every time Jimin initiated anything, it was usually playful, but it was Jungkook who woke up and cuddled into Jimin, touched Jimin to look for mosquito bites, who “caressed Jimin’s smooth legs on the yacht”, who leaned on Jimin’s shoulder during the train ride. It was Jungkook who constantly talked about how much he loved the trip, describing it as the best trips of his life. Most of the significant Jikook moments from AYS were once again initiated by Jungkook, but Taekookers ignore these and magnify moments when Jungkook playfully pushes or shoves Jimin away when he’s being mischievous, claiming that it’s him setting boundaries. If he were really setting boundaries, he wouldn’t have cuddled into Jimin’s lap and slapped his ass. If he were setting boundaries, he wouldn’t have leaned on Jimin’s shoulder during the train ride. If he were really worried about Taehyung, he wouldn’t have told us that the trips with Jimin were the best trips of his life, especially after taking “private” trip with Taehyung. That’s insulting. So, I fail to see how Jimin is the one who leans more into “fanservice” when many Jikookers are still here today thanks to Jungkook.

This blogger’s concept of closeness is truly amusing and highlights their ignorance. According to them, Jimin seems closer to Taehyung simply because he called him a few times in chapter two. Wouldn’t it be nice if life were that simple and linear? Wouldn’t it be easier and less complicated if relationships were so black and white? This blogger claims that the things they’ve said themselves prove who is closer among the three, but I fail to see how Taehyung and Jungkook talking about not having deep conversations or feeling awkward with each other proves how close they are. I don’t understand how Taehyung saying that he only learned about Jikook’s trip through the group chat shows how close they are. How does Taehyung not knowing Jungkook was filming a show with Jimin demonstrate their closeness? And how does Taehyung not knowing Jimin spent the night at Jungkook’s before Jeju prove that they’re close? Mind you taekookers believe that everytime Jk was on his phone in AYS he was talking with Tae and they also believe that Taekook FaceTime a lot but my question is, what do they talk about on this numerous calls if Tae keeps finding out about Jungkook’s schedules from a group chat and not from Jungkook himself? If anything, these examples illustrate exactly how Taekook’s friendship and bond truly are.

Human relationships are fluid, multifaceted, and complex. Closeness and distance are influenced by factors like mental state, career shifts, personal growth, emotional needs, stress, and misunderstandings. It’s important to remember that a single period of time doesn’t define the entirety of a relationship, but it can reflect specific phases, changes, or circumstances that affect how people interact.

The fact that Jimin might have kept in touch more with Taehyung than with Jungkook during a particular period doesn’t necessarily mean that he feels closer to Taehyung. Let me illustrate this with an example, though this is not meant to reflect what happened in Jikook’s situation. If you have a friend and a lover, you would likely communicate more with your lover, depending on the circumstances. However, if you experience a misunderstanding, disagreement, breakup, or a period of distance with your lover, you might reduce or stop contact with them during that time but still maintain communication with your friend. Does this mean you’re closer to the friend you’re still in touch with? Of course not. It’s simply a matter of circumstances. This specific period doesn’t define your bond or who you feel closer to. This is the basic concept I’ve been trying to explain to for so long and I am honestly baffled people don’t understand this. I don’t know how everyone else does it but sometimes, when I don’t understand certain things, I put myself, my relationship and that of friends, family and acquaintances in that position to see it from a more realistic point of view because it is often so easy to view these people through a tunnel that blocks every logic out. Because these aren’t people we know personally it is very easy to watch them thinking we are watching movies or something.

Relationships and their depth are not defined by one single moment in time but by history, patterns, and consistency. And that’s something Taekook lacks. They don’t have a history that demonstrates they are or have ever been closer than Jikook at least not emotionally. There’s no consistency either. You’ll notice that Taekookers often cling to the solo era, referencing it as proof of their ship, because without that period in the 13+ years BTS has been together, they have almost nothing. There’s no evidence of Taekook knowing or hanging out with each other’s friends, little or no proof of them prioritizing time together outside of work, no evidence of them being each other’s biggest supporters, and no evidence of them seeking comfort or companionship from each other, except during fun moments. They literally have nothing else, and they know this, which is why they hold onto the solo era……it’s all they have. Taekook could come out of the military and never be seen together outside of work again, but Taekookers would still cling to that era. If you carve out that solo era period from the ship and ask taekookers to make arguments for their ship, they go back to slowed down edits, narratives about two lovers being separated and oppressed or counting moles on each others faces. Most of the arguments they have today they didn’t have before the solo era and they don’t find that straight. One of the funniest thing I ever read a taekooker on here write was that Taekook is real because they kept hanging out with each other when there was no contractual obligation. These are the same people who claim every time Jk mentioned Jimin on Lives he did it because of his contract or that he couldn’t say no to the travel show because of contracts. If Hybe could make Jungkook obey the contractual obligations to do fanservice with Jimin, couldn’t they stop takeook from hanging out? Yet they themselves send off takeook to premiers with body guards, send them off to concerts, post bangtan bombs of them on Valentine’s Day which they same tkkrs gosh about mind you. As if any of these boys ever had a contractual obligation to spend time with each other outside of work. I wonder what was said in the contract to make Jikook hang out all the times we know they did consistently for years.

This blogger claims that Jikook don’t need each other on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis, and suggests that Taekook does because they hung out during the solo era. First of all, there’s a big difference between two friends hanging out out of convenience and two people actually prioritizing each other’s company over everyone else’s. Taekookers believe Taekook prioritized each other, but that’s simply not true. Prioritization happens when circumstances don’t make it easy or you have other options but you still make the effort or choose each other. Other members were busy with their solo projects so who else was there for Jungkook to do those thrilling things with except Taehyung? Also notice how Jk was almost always tagging along with Tae and his friends and not just him and Tae together doing stuff which mean even Tae’s friends were always still more of a priority for him and Jungkook was an add on to the fun. For years, we rarely saw Taekook hang out outside of work, and we even confirmed that they didn’t spend time together during breaks, birthdays, or other significant days. We also confirmed that they grew a bit distant. So, now you think they prioritized each other just because they started hanging out when both of them had free time and mind you at a time when other didn’t? That’s not how it works. And it’s clear that wasn’t the case because as soon as they got busy with their albums, the hangouts stopped. They both still made time to frequently hang out with others, just not with each other as much. This is the simplest proof that if their schedules hadn’t aligned, we definitely wouldn’t have seen them together as much. They always talk about Jimin hanging out with Yoongi and Hobi but ofcourse. That was a given because 1: they are his close friends and 2: their schedules aligned way more than they did with other people. They were all working on their albums and were probably operating on the same wavelength as opposed to Jungkook who was on a rest and no work mode so it make sense that they kept more communication because they saw each other more so it was easier to do more stuff together. Also notice how Jimin wasn’t seen going to concerts or premieres and stuff like that with Hobi and Yoongi but occasionally had drinks with them, played games with them and talked with them on the phone. It’s really not the same things to compare.

What Taekookers have never understood about Taekook is that their dynamic is a fun and lighthearted one, primarily centered around shared activities. They click well when it comes to doing fun things they both enjoy. They have many common interests, particularly when it comes to engaging in entertaining activities. Their bond is more situational and activity-based rather than deeply emotionally intertwined. While they clearly enjoy spending time together, their interactions suggest a relationship built on fun, shared interests, and a natural ease in each other’s presence, rather than one rooted in deep personal connection or emotional dependence.

If you pay close attention, you’ll notice that Taehyung and Jungkook’s hangouts are almost always centered around specific activities or events, rather than deep emotional closeness or meaningful conversations or time spent together. This is evident from the fact that, almost every time we saw or heard about them being together in Chapter Two, they were engaged in some activity or having fun, only to part ways afterward and return to their respective homes. Even the one time we learned Jungkook was at Taehyung’s place, it wasn’t for intimate, one-on-one time, it was with some of Taehyung’s other friends, and Taehyung mentioned they were just playing games. On multiple occasions, we saw Jungkook hang out with Taehyung and then return home to start a live stream, which shows that he still craved a level of companionship that his previous outings hadn’t fully satisfied. You never just hear that they choose to be together just because….

Taehyung and Jungkook don’t have the continuous need to be together that one would expect from people who truly need each other on a daily basis, as this blogger claims. They meet, have fun, and once the purpose of the hangout is served, they go their separate ways. For instance, Taehyung didn’t feel the need to stay with Jungkook at the ski resort after enjoying the fun; he chose to leave with friends, leaving Jungkook behind. He didn’t feel any obligation to remain with him, as one would expect from a lover or a friend with a deep emotional connection.

Similarly, Jungkook didn’t feel the need to stay by Taehyung’s side after the musical and premiere, even though Taehyung apparently got drunk and fell asleep. A lover wouldn’t leave you alone in such a state, but a friend who was there just for the fun and company would leave without feeling any obligation to stay. Notice how every time you see or hear about them hanging out, it’s always centered around some fun activity and never simply because they wanted to spend time together. They don’t feel the need to stick together unless there’s something they both find fun to do.

This dynamic is very different from that of Jimin and Jungkook. I don’t need to list all the ways they differ, as I’m sure it’s already clear. Jungkook going to Jimin when lonely and bored just to sit there for hours with him doing nothing speaks volumes. Jungkook going to Jimin after a 3 day tiring concert to spend time with him, cook for him and seemingly spending the night with him just to be seen with him again the next day at a restaurant with friends shows the difference. We all know that these guys lived very busy, tedious and fast paced lives where they barely got a chance to spend any alone time together except at night as they were usually together as a group. So in cases like this, one would expect that the two people who are closest and possibly in a romantic relationship will prioritize those alone times together since they always had dozens of staff and cameras shoved in their faces all day with little to no privacy and we saw that the two people who actually did this were Jimin and Jungkook not Taehyung and Jungkook. Jungkook himself coined “all nighter friends” name with Jimin which spoke a lot about how much they spent their nights and quieter moments together.

Taekook share a laid-back, fun, and comfortable dynamic, which often gives Taekookers the impression that they are much closer than they actually are. A prime example would be Taekook at the Harry Styles concert. Anyone watching them together that night would assume they were the best of friends, which in a way they are. However, what people wouldn’t know is that at that very moment, Taehyung didn’t even know Jungkook’s hotel room number. What’s more telling is that, behind the scenes, whenever Jungkook felt the need for company, he repeatedly sought out Jimin, not the one he was seen comfortably hanging out with at the concert.

These moments reveal the complexity of human relationships and how different people fulfill different needs for us. The person you turn to for fun, thrill, and adventure isn’t necessarily the one you seek when your emotional needs arise. And if we go by what Jungkook has said over the years, it’s clear who he shares a deeper emotional connection with and who he has a more laid-back, fun, but less emotionally deep connection with.

I also find it frustrating the way Taekookers have elevated the Hawaii trip into something it wasn’t. That wasn’t Jungkook traveling to fulfill some emotional need for Taehyung. It was Jungkook traveling after receiving an invite to have fun with his friend…the one he clicks with perfectly when it comes to things like this. They were on the same wavelength at the time, enjoying each other’s company in their free time. Emphasis on FREE TIME. They always have fun together, and they share common interests. I’m sure Taekook would turn to each other for fun, thrill, and adventure, but I can bet my bottom dollar that they wouldn’t turn to each other for the deeper emotional stuff. They really never have, and history has proven this.

They didn’t prioritize spending time with each other over anyone else in the solo era. It was simply convenient for them to do so, and so they did. They both had the time to hang out, and they took it. But when we talk about true prioritization, we’re talking about Jimin flying all the way from Paris to spend one day with Jungkook, then heading back to Hawaii the next day. We’re talking about Jungkook choosing to use his limited break to take Jimin to Japan…something Jimin has always wanted. We’re talking about Jungkook, knowing full well that other members were available, yet choosing to spend his quiet peaceful time with Jimin every day, prioritizing him over anyone else. That’s prioritization…not Jungkook flying to Hawaii when he had time and money to have fun with Taehyung. This is something he could have done with any other friend if he had the time or money. Do you think if Mingyu or Eunwoo call Jungkook to join them somewhere fun in ant part of the world Jungkook has access to while he has the time and money he wouldn’t go? He will definitely go. Tae didn’t call Jungkook because he missed him in the way taekookers think. He might have missed his company and known that that is something they both would really enjoy doing since they relate like that and called him but it was definitely not because he missed his boyfriend. If that was the case, his “boyfriend” wouldn’t only have found out at the moment that be was in Hawaii.

Prioritization again comes in when Taehyung gets on planes to support his wooga, or his wooga putting everything else aside to spend time with him before his enlistment, or when he ensures he doesn’t miss important days for them. He never really prioritizes seeing Jungkook on his birthdays, and vice versa. He didn’t care to see Jungkook even for a single day during their 2019 break, choosing to travel with his friends instead even when Jungkook had a birthday yet we had Jimin flying all the way from Paris to see Jungkook for a few hours and head back yet, Taekookers claim they prioritize each other in that way? They don’t.

Two friends meeting up and hanging out when they have the time doesn’t equate to prioritizing each other, nor does it signify deep emotional connection or bond. Yes, they must like and care about each other to hang out multiple times, which we know Taekook do, but if their schedules had been less aligned, they wouldn’t have cared as much, and it wouldn’t have bothered them.

Unlike Taekook, Jimin and Jungkook have a long history of prioritizing each other, keeping constant communication, and staying fully aware of what the other is doing. A few months in a 13+ year friendship doesn’t change that. Real closeness isn’t about how many hangouts or fun activities two people can have, or how many cute pictures they take together, or where they sit during meals. True closeness and a deep emotional bond are about who you want to be with even when there’s nothing to do, who you turn to when you’re going through emotional moments, and who you think of watching when you can’t sleep at 4 a.m. These are subtle things, but they speak volumes.

Closeness is relative, and we can be close to people in different ways. There are ways Jungkook is closer to Taehyung than Jimin, and vice versa, but based on everything Jungkook has said over the years, and how we’ve seen them interact, it’s clear that his emotional connection with Jimin is and has always been much deeper. I guess it’s up for debate who you think he’s closer to. If you think a dynamic based on fun activities, camaraderie and ease is closer than one built on emotional depth and closeness, then I suppose you’d think Taekook are closer.

PS: AYS is still a very sore topic for taekookers. They claim AYS proved enough but if AYS really confirmed that Taekook is real and Jikook isn’t, why do they detest the show so much?

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every life ࿐‧��� worst logan - imperfect for you

chapter summary: You and Laura find yourselves in the void. A few months later, Wade—who claims to be from your universe, and a different Logan appear with a way out.

word count: 17.3k+ (31k+ total)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: alright! this is the second part, the first part was the logan movie, and while i recommend you read it, you don't necessarily have to.

most of this actually takes place after 'deadpool and wolverine.' surprisingly, i found this logan to be the hardest to write for, so i apologize if people think his character is wrong, i tried my best😭

also this is split in two parts! it's too long for tumblr to fit in one post!

(also, i know that it's 10 pm est, but i felt like i had to put this out now after watching lady gaga and bruno mars' performance at the grammy's)

warnings/tags: canon to 'deadpool and wolverine', black widow!reader, worst!logan, laura calls reader mom, violence, heavy angst, detached!reader, loverboy!logan, slow burn, fluff, wade wilson interruption, happy ending, not proofread

series masterlist - part 1 → part 2.5

“Laura!” You called out, your voice bouncing off the walls of the house. “Lau—”

“I’m here! I’m here.” Laura said, walking away from the staircase and to the front door where you stood.

You put your hands on your hips, “you know, you can try to skip school again, but I will find out. Like I always do.”

She rolled her eyes, adjusting her backpack, “yeah, you’re all-knowing Mom. Can we just go? I promise I won’t skip school again.” Laura walked past you, “even if it was just last period.” She muttered.

You leaned over her shoulder, “wanna say that again?” You asked with a smirk, as she sighed and shook her head before opening the door.

At least 5 people in black suits with orange accents. “Y/N Howlett? Laura Keen?”

Your hand reached behind your back for your hidden dagger as Laura clenched her fists, claws ready to come out.

“Yes?” You asked hesitantly.

“On behalf of the Time Variance Authority, I hereby arrest you for crimes against the sacred timeline.” The man without a helmet said, “hands up.”

Both you and Laura moved at the same time, with you throwing your dagger into the chest of one of the men and Laura stabbing one of them with her claws. Before you could do much more, someone from behind grabbed you, pulling you backwards through an orange door, another man doing the same with Laura.

Immediately you were both in another place, it almost looked like a retro, but futuristic, office space. Laura growled at the man holding her, but his grip on her was surprisingly tight.

“You punched a hole in the timeline after that stunt. Now, you have to be terminated.” A woman said to you, as you tilted your head.

“Come again? Hole—timeline—what?”

The woman narrowed her eyes at you, “you gave your husband back his memories and caused a large anomaly, spreading you throughout the timeline.”

“You’re making no fucking sense. You can’t just take me and my daughter away from—”

The woman looked at one of the men who brought you and Laura here, “this is the one from Earth-100006, right?”

The man looked down at his small tablet then back up at the woman. “…No. They’re from Earth-100005.”

She sighed, waving her hand. “Terminate them.”

“What?” You growled, taking one step forward before a baton touched you, making you disappear.

“Mom!” Laura yelled. “What did you do to—” The baton touched Laura, making her disappear as well.

---

When you woke up, you were lying on sand, the sun beating heavily down on you. Every inch of your body felt heavy, and a searing pain radiated from where the baton had touched you. Blinking against the sunlight, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, sand clinging to your palms.

“Mom!” Laura’s voice snapped you out of the haze. She was stumbling toward you, her backpack missing, her hair wild from whatever had just happened. Relief coursed through you when you saw she was unharmed.

“I’m here,” you rasped, your throat dry as dust. You reached for her as she dropped to her knees beside you.

“What the hell just happened?” she asked, her voice trembling with anger. “Where are we? Where did they send us?”

You looked around, trying to get your bearings. The landscape was barren, a wasteland of jagged rocks, broken remnants of buildings, and endless dunes of sand stretching into the horizon. The sky above was gray and swirling, like the calm before a storm. In the distance, you could make out twisted shapes—structures or machines—but nothing alive.

“Not sure,” you said, pulling Laura closer for a moment, “but it’s not home.”

Laura’s claws slid out instinctively as she scanned the area. “This place… it feels wrong.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You pushed yourself to your feet, testing your weight against the burning ache in your muscles. You checked your back for your dagger, but it was gone. “First thing’s first: we need to figure out where we are, what those bastards did to us, and how to get out.”

Laura nodded, her fists tightening. “If they hurt you, I’ll kill them.”

You smirked despite everything. “You’d better get in line, kiddo.”

Before either of you could say more, the faint hum of engines reached your ears. You turned sharply, squinting against the haze, and saw figures approaching in the distance.

“Shit,” you muttered, pulling Laura behind you as the shapes grew clearer. There were three vehicles—ramshackle but armored—kicking up dust as they sped toward you. They screeched to a halt a few yards away, and several people jumped out, armed to the teeth.

“Don’t move,” one of them barked, pointing a rifle at you. He was tall, bald, and scarred, his pale eyes scanning you with a mix of suspicion and recognition.

Laura growled, her claws sliding out.

“Easy,” you murmured to her, raising your hands slightly. “We don’t want to start a fight we can’t finish.”

“Y/N Howlett,” a woman’s voice said from behind the group. She stepped forward, her piercing gaze cutting through you. Her presence was commanding, and her bald head and strange demeanor set her apart from the rest. “And Laura Keen. Interesting. We’ve been expecting you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not creepy at all. Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Cassandra Nova,” the woman replied coolly. “And you’re in the Void. Welcome.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for the warm reception,” you shot back. “Now tell me what you want before I lose my patience.”

Cassandra tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Fiery. I see why he loved you.”

Your chest tightened. Even though she didn’t say his name, the context was clear enough. “Don’t.”

“Oh, but I will,” she said, stepping closer. “You’ve lived so many lives, Y/N, and yet, every time, he’s there. Do you even know why?”

“Lady, I don’t have time for your cryptic bullshit.”

“Patience,” Cassandra said, raising a hand. “I don’t need to waste time with questions when I can just take the answers.” Her eyes began to glow faintly as she focused on you.

The sensation hit like a wave—cold, invasive, and sharp, as if someone were clawing through your mind. But as quickly as it started, Cassandra reeled back, her expression twisting in confusion.

“You…” she whispered, narrowing her eyes. “Why can’t I get in? What are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you shot back, forcing yourself to stand tall despite the pounding in your head. “You try that again, and I’ll show you exactly what I am.”

Cassandra’s lips thinned, but before she could respond, Laura lunged forward without warning, her claws flashing as she aimed straight for Cassandra’s throat. But before she could make contact, one of the armored figures moved in, grabbing Laura by the arm and throwing her back. Laura landed with a grunt, but she was back on her feet in seconds, ready to charge again.

“You’re wasting your time,” Cassandra said, her voice cold. “Surrender, or this gets much worse for you both.”

“Not happening,” you shot back, your grip tightening on your dagger.

Before the situation could escalate further, a deafening boom echoed from behind Cassandra’s group. Everyone turned just in time to see a massive fireball hurtling toward them. It slammed into the sand, sending a shockwave through the ground and knocking several of the armored soldiers off their feet.

“What the—” Laura started, but another explosion cut her off, this time from the opposite side.

Two figures appeared over the dune, running at full speed. One was a man engulfed in flames, flying just above the ground, while the other was heavily armed, his face hidden behind a tactical mask. The flaming man shot another fireball at the soldiers, while the masked figure opened fire with a barrage of bullets, cutting down two of the soldiers before they even had a chance to react.

“What the hell is going on?” Laura shouted, glancing at you.

“No idea,” you muttered, watching as the battle unfolded in a blur of fire and gunfire.

The flaming man soared over Cassandra’s head, sending another blast of fire in her direction. She dodged it easily, her eyes narrowing in anger. “Kill them!” she ordered her remaining soldiers, but they were already being overwhelmed.

The masked figure moved with deadly precision, taking down soldiers left and right with well-aimed shots. He was fast—too fast for them to keep up.

The fight was chaotic, but in the middle of it all, Cassandra’s gaze locked onto you again. “This isn’t over,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. Then, without warning, she disappeared in a flash of light, taking the remaining soldiers with her.

You and Laura stood there, breathless and confused, as the battle ended as quickly as it began. The flaming man and the masked figure approached cautiously, their weapons still at the ready.

Laura’s claws were still out, her stance tense. “Who the hell are you?”

The flaming man extinguished the fire surrounding him, revealing a young, blonde man with a cocky smirk. “Name’s Johnny Storm. And I think we just saved your asses.”

The masked figure stepped forward, removing his helmet to reveal the grizzled face of a man you didn’t recognize. “And I’m the Punisher. You’re welcome.”

---

“So, you were all sent here. For ‘not playing nice,’” you said, crossing your arms and scanning the group. Johnny leaned casually against the wall, the cocky smirk never leaving his face. Frank Castle, aka the Punisher, stood nearby, stoic as ever, his arms crossed like a living wall. The new trio—Elektra, Blade, and a man Johnny had called Remy—watched you with varying degrees of suspicion.

Elektra’s eyes narrowed. “That’s putting it lightly,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. The twin sais strapped to her thighs gleamed in the low light. “Apparently, stabbing the wrong guy gets you sent here.”

Blade snorted. “Wrong guy was a senator.”

Elektra’s lips curved into a dangerous smile. “He deserved it.”

“Not the point,” Blade muttered, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He was built like a tank, his presence commanding even in silence.

Remy, with his disheveled brown hair and glowing red eyes, let out a low whistle. “Look like we got new recruits,” he said, his Cajun accent thick. “You gonna play nice, chére, or you gonna cause trouble?”

Laura’s claws slid out with a snikt, her glare cutting through the room. “Try me.”

You stepped in front of her, placing a hand on her arm. “Laura. Not the time.”

Remy held up his hands in mock surrender. “Easy now, petite. Jus’ makin’ conversation.”

Johnny laughed. “Gambit’s harmless—well, unless he’s got cards in his hands.”

“You got a point?” you asked, turning to Johnny, your patience wearing thin. “Or do you just like hearing yourself talk?”

“Both,” Frank said gruffly, finally speaking up. His voice was deep and gravelly, and his expression made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for games. “But Johnny’s right about one thing—we’re all here because the TVA didn’t like what we did. Same with you and the kid.”

You sighed, glancing at Laura. Her fists were still clenched, claws out, but she hadn’t made another move. “Fine. We’re all rebels. What’s the plan?”

Elektra’s smile turned sharp. “Plan? There’s no plan. We survive.”

“Survive what?” Laura asked, her voice laced with skepticism.

Johnny leaned forward, his smirk fading. “The Void ain’t exactly Club Med, sweetheart. There are worse things out there than us.”

“Like what?” you asked.

Blade stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Alioth.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Alioth?”

“A predator,” Blade said simply. “Consumes anything it touches.”

“Big purple smoke monster,” Johnny clarified, his hands miming an explosion. “Real nasty. You see it, you run.”

Laura scoffed. “We don’t run.”

“Then you die,” Frank said bluntly. “We’ve seen it happen.”

Elektra stepped forward, her gaze fixed on you. “This place isn’t just a dumping ground. It’s a death sentence. The TVA sends people here to get rid of them permanently. If you’re smart, you’ll stick with us. We know how to stay off the radar.”

“Why would you help us?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. “You don’t know us.”

Remy grinned. “Maybe we jus’ like company.”

“Or maybe we want to see what you’re made of,” Elektra added, her voice edged with challenge.

Before you could respond, a loud crash echoed from outside the bunker. Everyone froze, their heads snapping toward the door. Johnny’s hand ignited in flames, and Blade unsheathed his sword.

“Alioth?” you asked, your voice low.

“No,” Frank said, moving toward the door. “Too small. But it’s not friendly.”

Laura moved to your side, her claws ready. “Let’s find out.”

Elektra smirked. “I like her.”

Johnny opened the door cautiously, flames crackling in his palm. The rest of you followed, weapons at the ready. The landscape outside was as bleak as ever, the gray sky swirling ominously.

“Over there,” Blade said, pointing to a figure stumbling over the sand. It was humanoid but moved awkwardly, like it wasn’t fully in control of its body.

“TVA tech,” Frank muttered, his grip tightening on his rifle. “Looks like one of their enforcers.”

“Not anymore,” Elektra said, her eyes narrowing. “It’s corrupted.”

The figure turned toward you, its eyes glowing an unnatural green. Its body twitched violently before letting out an unearthly screech. Without warning, it charged.

“Move!” you shouted, grabbing Laura and pulling her back as Johnny hurled a fireball at the creature. The blast knocked it back, but it kept coming, its movements erratic and unnatural.

Blade stepped forward, his sword gleaming. With a swift, calculated strike, he severed the creature’s head. It crumpled to the ground, twitching before going still.

“What the hell was that?” Laura asked, her claws still out.

“TVA cleanup crew,” Frank said, kicking the remains. “Sometimes their tech gets left behind and... mutates.”

“Mutates into what? Zombies?” you asked.

“Close enough,” Johnny said, extinguishing the flames on his hand. “That’s why we don’t go wandering around unless we have to.”

Elektra looked at you and Laura, her expression unreadable. “Still think you can handle this place?”

You met her gaze evenly. “We don’t have a choice.”

---

It had been months since you and Laura entered the void. Frank had died a few days after you and Laura arrived, presumably by Alioth or what they call the ’Deadpool Corps’.

Since Johnny had left a few days ago and hadn’t returned, you and Laura decided to go out and look. There wasn’t any clues or leads until Laura came upon a Honda Odyssey with two men inside it. One in a red suit, tied up with seatbelts, and the other in a yellow suit with the same face as her own father.

She knew it wasn’t him, that he wasn’t their Logan, but it seemed like this was her only lead. She got into bloodied and wrecked car and drove it to base.

---

Wade finally woke up, sitting up on the bed, “where are we?”

“No clue,” Logan held up a whiskey bottle he was drinking from, “but I like it here.”

Rumbling came from outside the place they were in. Wade went to the entrance standing by it’s side when a woman came in and used her sai to knock Wade down.

Behind her a man entered, wearing black sunglasses, and after that was another man, holding a stack of playing cards.

“Okay, look at you… all. You must be the others. Terrific. So just to refresh, you are one- ”

“Elektra.” She said.

“Elektra, yes. Who could forget? And you, I was not expecting to see you here, thought you were… you know, retired.” Wade said in an accent.

“Retarted?”

“Retired.” Wade said again. “I’m already in the void. I’m not trying to get cancelled again.”

 Blade, or Eric, pointed his blade at Wade, “I don’t like you.”

“You never did.” Wade turned to the other man, “and who’s this succulent reminder of my own inadequacies? Look at you. You look like the superhero version of Hawkeye.”

“The name’s Remy LeBeau. Le Diable Blanc, but you can call me the Gambit.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen Sling Blade hit me again.” Wade asked.

“They call me the Gambit.” Remy said again.

“Do they? Are you sure you didn’t just really, really want them to, but it never quite worked out?”

Remy turned his gaze from Wade to Logan in the back, “you know, we never had a Wolverine up in here. But I can tell you now, it’s just a common courtesy to ask before you drink up all of my liquor.”

“It’s a good think I don’t give a fuck.” Logan shot back. He went to take another drink from the bottle when Remy tossed a playing card, breaking the bottle in half, glass shattering to the floor.

Wade stood up and looked between Remy and Logan, before settling his gaze on the latter, who tossed the top half of the bottle on the ground. “So embarrassing.”

Logan grabbed another bottle from the shelf.

“Well, now that that’s settled, look, we came a long way to find you three.”

“There’s five of us.” Elektra corrected.

“There’s five? Is one of them Magneto? Dear sweet God in heaven, let it be Magneto, because with him- ”

“He’s dead.” Blade cut in.

“Fuck!” Wade yelled, “now Disney gets cheap? It’s like Pinocchio jammed his face in my ass and started lying like crazy.”

“Ooh, you nasty! Mon petit rouge. Laissez les bons temps rouler, huh?” Remy said.

“Not a single word, what do you do exactly?” Wade questioned.

“Charge the playing cards. Make ‘em go boom.”

“Your power is close-up magic, that’s good. We’re not totally fucked at all. So, who brought us here?”

“That would be me.” Laura said, as she walked down the stairs into the room. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Holy shit. Logan. That’s her. That’s X-23. She’s the one I told you about.”

Laura looked at Logan, younger than the one she met years ago. Part of her wondered if this is how he looked before it all went to shit.

Wade looked to the others, “hey, how did you all get stuck in the void?”

“There was a knock at the door, TVA sent me here.” Blade said.

“Me too.” Elektra added.

“Maybe I was born here. It’s- it’s hard to know for sure.” Remy answered.

“TVA decided our universe was dying. And I never even got a chance to fight for it.” Blade continued.

Laura walked close to the wall, watching Logan continue to drink from the bottle of Jack Daniel’s in his hand.

“People like us don’t go quietly. TVA knows that, so they took us out.” Elektra said.

Wade kissed his gloved fingers and pointed it towards them, “the answer is yes. I’m in.”

“In what?” Blade questioned.

“A team. Me, you, you and me. All of us together. Let’s get the fuck out of this place.”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s a fucking liar!” Logan called out.

“It was an educated wish!” Wade yelled back. Logan scoffed at him as Wade continued, “Look. We’ve been inside Cassandra’s lair. The only way out of the void is through her. She can get us home. She told us.”

“Wait a minute, you’ve been inside? And you made it out alive?” Blade asked.

“Bullshit.” Elektra commented, “nobody’s ever done that.”

“We did.” Wade answered.

“Every time one of us has gone up against her, they die. The Punisher, the Quicksilver, the Daredevil.” Remy started.

“Daredevil, I’m so sorry.” Wade looked at Elektra.

“It’s fine.”

“Okay.”

“Even that sweet, baby angel, Johnny Storm. He up and gone missing like, what, two days ago?” Remy said.

“Ah, that’s so sad. Wherever this Johnny feller is, I’m sure he’s thriving. Look, there’s strength in numbers. All right? Us, plus you guys. We can put Cassandra over our knee and force her to let us out of the void. I know what it means to feel self-doubt.”

“I don’t feel that at all.” Elektra looked over at Blade.

“I’m good.” He said.

“Now, I get your gut like a coke duct tape worm.” Wade continued.

“It’s like you’re in the middle of my soul.” Remy said.

“You guys may not have been able to save your universes, but you can avenge them. It’s what Johnny would have wanted.”

“Wait. You knew Johnny?” Elektra asked.

Before Logan could respond, you walked into the room, passing by Remy. “Yeah, he’s the reason Johnny is fucking dead.”

“Ah, ah. I’ll have you know that Cassandra killed him, not me. He was the one who ran his little mouth.” Wade said, throwing up his hands in mock defense.

You clenched your fists, holding back the frustration that boiled beneath the surface. “You didn’t help, Wade. You egged him on. You could’ve shut up for once.”

Wade waved a dismissive hand, leaning back against the wall. “I mean, that’s debatable. Can’t really shut up when you’re this charming.”

“Charming?” Elektra muttered, her eyes narrowing as she looked between Wade and Logan.

Laura’s gaze flickered between the two of them, tension evident in the way she crossed her arms.

Logan’s eyes hadn’t left yours since the moment you walked into the room. He stared at you, the bottle of Jack still halfway to his lips, forgotten. You didn’t look like you had aged, not that much anyway. It was a jolt to his system, like stepping into a memory. There you were, alive. In this damn place.

You could feel his gaze burning into you, and though you tried to avoid it, there was no denying it now. You had locked eyes with him, this other version of Logan. His brows furrowed slightly, like he was trying to figure you out, but there was something deeper in his eyes—recognition.

“I have to go,” you muttered, stepping back outside.

Laura looked between Wade and Logan before following you. “Mom!” she called, her voice sharp and worried as she jogged to catch up.

You didn’t stop until you were a good distance away from the others, your back turned to her. You exhaled, your hands gripping the railing of an old platform overlooking the desolate landscape of the void. Laura slowed when she reached you, her boots crunching lightly against the gravel.

“Mom,” she said again, softer this time.

You closed your eyes, steadying your breathing. “I’m fine,” you replied, though the quiver in your voice betrayed you.

“No, you’re not.” Laura crossed her arms, watching you carefully. “That wasn’t him. You know that, right?”

You turned to face her, your expression conflicted. “I know it’s not him,” you said firmly, but the words felt hollow. “It’s just… he looks the same. Sounds the same. Even drinks the same damn whiskey.”

Laura studied you for a moment before speaking. “But he’s not the Logan you knew. He’s not Dad.”

The reminder hit you like a punch to the gut. You’d had years to grieve, but seeing another version of him alive and well—so close yet so far removed from the man you loved—had ripped open wounds you thought had healed. You shook your head, trying to push it all away.

“I just need a minute,” you said, turning back to the railing.

Laura hesitated, glancing back toward the hideout. “Do you want me to…?”

“No. Go back inside,” you told her. “I’ll catch up.”

She lingered for a moment, clearly reluctant to leave you alone, but eventually nodded. “Fine. But don’t take too long. Wade’s already planning something stupid, and I don’t trust Blade not to stab him.”

You almost smiled at that, but it didn’t quite reach your lips. “I’ll be there soon.”

Laura gave you one last look before heading back toward the others. You waited until her footsteps faded before letting out a long, shaky breath. You gripped the railing tighter, your knuckles turning white.

---

Night had fallen in the void and Logan found himself outside sitting on a log, in front of a fire with a bottle of alcohol. He wasn’t allowed to think about this other version of you, or his own before Laura walked by him.

“Hey, hey. I’m not lookin’ for company. Get out of here.”

Laura sat down anyways, letting out a small chuckle. “You remind me of him. Angry. Drunk. Mean…”

“Sounds like a great guy—”

“Wasn’t finished.” Laura cut Logan off. “Showed up when it mattered the most. Couldn’t help it.” She watched as Logan sighed, his eyes still on the crackling fire. “You might not know it, but… you’re a good man, Logan.”

He chuckled, “you might not know it, but apparently, I’m the worst Logan.”

“I got to have a life because of you. I got to grow up because of you. A lot of kids did.”

“A lot of kids didn’t grow up because of me. Trust me, kid, I’m no hero.”

Laura looked over at him, her eyes trailing over the yellow suit. “That suit says different.”

“Yeah. Do you like it? Scott used to beg me to wear it. So did Jean, Storm, Beast. Y/N.” His voice cracked on your name, but he continued. “All of them. They wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t. Told ‘em they all look fucking ridiculous. I mean… I couldn’t have ‘em thinkin’ I wanted to be there. And then one day, while I was off on my own, the humans came… and went mutant hunting.”

“I can guess the rest.” Laura spoke.

“No, no, let me… Let me say it. I… I need to say it. By the time I stumbled home shitfaced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. Every…” Logan stifled a sob, his bottom lip quivering as he remembered the horror almost perfectly.

Scott and Beast’s bodies were at the front of the mansion, clearly trying to protect everyone else, while you and Storm were near the kids with Jean in front of you.

“This suit’s all I got to remind me of who they were. And what I did.”

Laura didn’t speak, just looked at Logan as he sniffled and took another drink of his whiskey. Finally, she spoke, “we’re headed to Cassandra’s at sunup.”

“Have fun. Not my fight.”

“We won’t pull this off without you.”

Logan briefly glanced at Laura before returning his gaze to the fire. Laura clenched her fists and stood up, beginning to walk away.

“Hey,” Logan called after her. “Whoever you think I am, you got the wrong guy.”

She turned around to face him, “you were always the wrong guy.” Laura said, before returning on her way to base.

Logan watched Laura disappear into the darkness, her parting words echoing in his mind like a bad tune stuck on repeat. “You were always the wrong guy.” The fire crackled as he shifted on the log, the whiskey bottle in his hand feeling heavier than it should. He stared into the flames, his jaw clenched tightly, the weight of her words hitting harder than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t the right guy. He never had been.

The sound of footsteps crunching against the gravel behind him pulled him from his thoughts. He didn’t look up right away, figuring it was Laura again, coming back to throw another jab. But when the footsteps stopped a few feet away and silence followed, Logan finally glanced over his shoulder.

It wasn’t Laura. It was you.

The firelight danced across your features, casting shadows and illuminating the faint lines of tension around your mouth. Your arms were crossed, and your expression was unreadable, though your eyes betrayed a flicker of hesitation. Logan turned back to the fire, lifting the bottle to his lips.

“What do you want?” His voice was gruff, a practiced barrier meant to push people away.

“I don’t know,” you replied honestly, your tone soft but steady. You hesitated before stepping closer, the gravel crunching beneath your boots. “Maybe to talk. Maybe to figure out why I feel like I already know you.”

Logan snorted, shaking his head. “You don’t know me. And I don’t know you.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared into the flames. “Whatever you’re lookin’ for, you’re not gonna find it here.”

You didn’t move, just stood there, watching him. “Maybe not. But I can’t ignore it—this... whatever this is.” You motioned vaguely between the two of you. “It’s like looking at a ghost.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, a humorless chuckle escaping him. “Funny. That’s what you feel like to me.”

Your brows furrowed at his words, but you stayed quiet, letting the weight of them sink in. After a long moment, you spoke again. “Laura told me about what happened to the others. To… your version of me.”

He tensed, the grip on his bottle tightening. “Don’t,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t talk about her.”

“I’m not trying to pry,” you said, stepping closer. “But I think we’re both avoiding the obvious here. In your world, I’m dead. In mine…” You trailed off, the ache in your chest making it hard to finish. “He’s gone.”

Logan looked up at you then, his sharp gaze meeting yours. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The fire crackled between you, the silence stretching until it felt like the void itself.

“Seems like we’re both ghosts,” Logan finally muttered, looking back at the flames.

“Maybe,” you said softly, sitting down on the edge of a nearby log. “But ghosts usually have unfinished business.”

Logan smirked, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah? What’s yours?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you looked up at the dark, starless sky, your hands resting loosely in your lap. “Trying to make sure Laura survives this hellhole. Trying to get us out of here.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, studying you in the flickering light. “She’s a tough kid. Reminds me of someone I used to know.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “She gets it from her father.”

He didn’t respond, just took another swig of his whiskey. But there was something in the way he looked at you—something unspoken but heavy. You both knew what it was, even if neither of you wanted to say it.

After a moment, you stood, brushing the dust off your hands. “We’re leaving at sunup,” you said. “You should come with us.”

Logan shook his head. “Not my fight.”

You let out a murmured growl, “too fuckin’ stubborn.” You said quietly, crossing your arms over your chest and looking into the crowd of trees nearby.

But he heard it. He finally turned to face you completely, that one word throwing him off. It wasn’t that he hadn’t heard you curse before—he had, in one of your other lives—but it never seemed natural coming from you. Now it did, like it fit in a way it hadn’t before.

Logan’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he studied you for a moment longer, as if trying to reconcile the you he remembered with the one standing in front of him.

You didn’t seem to notice his lingering gaze, or maybe you just didn’t care. Your arms stayed crossed, and your jaw was tight as you stared into the trees, the firelight flickering across your face.

“You done sulking, or should I give you some space to mope?” you asked, finally turning to look at him.

“Mope?” Logan echoed, an edge of irritation creeping into his tone.

“Yeah, mope. Sit here and feel sorry for yourself while the rest of us try to figure out how to not die tomorrow.”

“Not my fight,” he repeated, leaning back against the log and taking another swig from his bottle.

You rolled your eyes. “Right. Because it’s easier to sit here and wallow than to do something that might actually matter.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stared at you, his sharp gaze trying to pierce through the wall you’d thrown up.

“What’s your deal, anyway?” he asked finally. “Why the hell do you care so much what I do?”

You huffed, shaking your head. “I don’t care what you do. I care what happens to Laura.”

“She’s a tough kid. She’ll figure it out.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” you shot back. “And you know it. You’ve got this thing in you, Logan—this need to protect people, even if it’s buried under all the whiskey and self-loathing. You’re just too damn stubborn to admit it.”

Logan snorted, the sound low and humorless. “Yeah? And what makes you such an expert on me, huh? You don’t even know me.”

You blinked, and he wasn’t able to tell if it was you holding back tears or clearing your face of your emotions.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you asked quietly. “You look at me like you don’t know me, but you do. I might not be her, or any of the ones you’ve met, but… I’m still me. And you’re still you. Still Logan. You just—”

Your voice broke, but you stopped yourself from letting it out. Crying wasn’t something you did, not anymore. You held your head high, jaw tight, and swallowed down the lump that threatened to rise in your throat. But Logan didn’t look up.

He kept his gaze firmly on the fire, his knuckles white around the bottle in his hand. His silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until you finally gave up. Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked back toward the base. Your footsteps echoed in the quiet void, but you didn’t look back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much this hurt you.

Logan didn’t move, didn’t call after you. The only sound left was the crackling of the fire and the distant whisper of the wind in the trees. He stared into the flames as if they held answers he couldn’t find, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

When he finally spoke, it was to himself. “I can’t do this again.”

The words were barely audible, but they carried the weight of lifetimes. He took another drink, letting the burn of the whiskey distract him from the ache in his chest. But no matter how hard he tried to drown it, your voice still lingered, cutting through the alcohol like a knife.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

Because looking at you hurt. Because every time he did, he saw her—his version of you. The one he’d failed. The one he couldn’t save.

And maybe, if he admitted it to himself, because he was scared. Scared of letting you in. Scared of losing you all over again.

---

When you got back to the base, Laura was leaning against the wall, sharpening one of her claws with a whetstone. She looked up as you entered, her expression unreadable.

“Did he come around?” she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

You shook your head, running a hand through your hair as you sat down heavily on one of the benches. “He’s too stubborn. I should’ve known better.”

Laura snorted. “Stubborn runs in the family.”

You gave her a sharp look, but she just shrugged and went back to her whetstone. The rhythmic scrape of metal on stone filled the silence, but it didn’t do much to calm the storm in your chest.

“He’ll show up,” Laura said after a moment, her tone more subdued. “He always does. Even when he says he won’t.”

“Maybe,” you muttered, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees. “But it’s not my Logan.”

Laura paused, her hand stilling for a moment before she looked up at you. “He’s still Logan,” she said quietly. “And you’re still you.”

You didn’t respond. What could you say to that? She wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make it any easier.

---

Logan stayed by the fire long after it had started to die out, the whiskey bottle empty at his feet. He should’ve gone back to the base, but the thought of facing you again felt like too much.

The truth was, he wasn’t sure he could do it. Not after everything he’d already lost. Not after what had happened to his world, to his team, to you.

But as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, he found himself standing, brushing the ash from his hands.

Maybe Laura was right. Maybe he was too damn stubborn for his own good.

But if there was even a chance he could make this right, if there was even a sliver of hope that he could protect you—this version of you—then maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk.

---

“Ooh! Look at that there!” Remy exclaimed, looking ahead at Cassandra’s base. You see them biggum hands come closed. Ain’t not a wonna gettin’ up inside there.”

“I think what Gambit’s trying to say is getting Juggernaut’s helmet ain’t gonna be easy. I’m just making stuff up at this… yeah. Tilt up to Blade.” Wade trailed off.

“Gun!” Blade called out, as he stood up in the car through the opening in the roof. You lifted the gun up to Blade, who took it and aimed at the base.

“Where’d he get that little beauty?” Wade asked.

“That’s Punisher’s AT4.” Elektra answered.

“Which Punisher? There’s been, like, five of them.”

“There’s only been one Blade, and there’s only ever gonna be one Blade.” He spoke, before shooting the gun. It hit the closed hands of the Ant-Man suit causing Elektra to speed up, driving through the fire from the explosion before turning the car to a halt.

Cassandra’s minions aimed their weapons at the group as you all exited the van. You and Laura stood in the back with Wade and Remy in the front, and Blade and Elektra to the sides. Wade looked up into the head of the enlarged suit to see Cassandra.

The Odyssey’s trunk opening caught everyone’s attention. Turning to look, you saw Logan exiting the van. His eyes instantly met yours before briefly glancing at Laura. He moved to the front beside Wade.

“Ooh, this is gonna be good.” Blade commented.

“You know how long I’ve been waitin’ for this? Whoo! I’m about to make a name for myself here.” Remy spoke.

“I don’t think you guys walk away from this.” Logan commented.

“You just make sure people know what happened here today. And when you get out of here, you have a drink for me, yeah?” Remy finished.

“You just stay on our six and get inside.” Blad ordered, moving to the front. You, Laura, and Elektra moved with him, standing in front of Wade and Logan. “We’ll make sure you get the package.”

“And we’ll get our ending.” Elektra said.

You pulled out your batons, powering them on as they shone blue, the faint hum of their charge filling the air. Laura slid on her sunglasses, her claws extending with a metallic snikt. Everyone was ready—Blade with his katana, Elektra twirling her sais, and Remy flicking a charged card between his fingers.

Cassandra’s minions surged forward, a chaotic wave of bodies armed with guns, knives, and makeshift weapons. You took a deep breath and moved in sync with Laura and Elektra, forming the front line of the attack.

Logan hung back with Wade, his eyes narrowing as he watched you dart forward, your movements swift and precise. It was like a dance—graceful, brutal, and deliberate. Each swing of your baton hit its mark, dropping Cassandra’s soldiers with calculated efficiency. He couldn’t reconcile this version of you with the shy physics teacher he’d known. This wasn’t the you he remembered, who’d tucked herself away in a world of equations and theories. This version fought with a cold, detached precision that sent a shiver down his spine.

“You seeing this?” Wade said, nudging Logan as he ducked a stray bullet. “Your girl’s got moves.”

Logan grunted, not taking his eyes off you. “She’s not my Y/N.”

“Right, right, multiverse shenanigans. Still, if I were you, I’d feel a little insecure. That physics degree sure didn’t teach her how to do that.” Wade gestured wildly as you flipped over one of Cassandra’s soldiers, your baton cracking down on his skull mid-air.

Logan ignored him and started up the steps toward the lair, his claws unsheathed. “C’mon, we’ve got a job to do.”

“Ugh, fine. Leave the fun to the professionals,” Wade muttered, following Logan while tossing a grenade over his shoulder. It exploded behind him, sending a group of minions flying.

Meanwhile, you spun around, parrying a blade aimed at Laura before kicking its wielder into Elektra’s path. “We’ve got this!” you shouted. “Go!”

Laura glanced at you, her lip curling into a snarl as she slashed through another attacker. “Make sure they don’t screw it up.”

You smirked. “Like I’d let them.”

Logan heard you, but he didn’t turn back. He didn’t want to. Seeing you fight like this, kill like this, wasn’t something he could reconcile. In his world, you wouldn’t have hurt a fly, let alone taken a life. And yet, here you were, effortlessly carving through Cassandra’s forces like you’d been doing it your whole life.

“Seriously,” Wade panted as they reached the top of the stairs, “how are you not having, like, a major existential crisis right now? I mean, you’re watching your not-wife turn into a murder machine. That’s gotta mess with your head.”

“Shut up, Wade,” Logan growled.

Meanwhile, the five of you stood in front of the stairs, bloodied and battle-worn. Blade smirked, flicking blood from his sword with a casual shake of his wrist. “Heh. Some motherfuckers still trying to ice skate uphill.”

There wasn’t time for banter. Cassandra’s remaining minions surged toward you like a swarm. You darted forward, Laura beside you, the two of you moving as a deadly unit.

“On your left!” you shouted, swinging your baton in a sharp arc to deflect a blade aimed at Laura’s ribs.

“Got it,” Laura replied, ducking low and slashing through the attacker’s legs before finishing with a swift upward strike.

The chaos of battle roared around you, but your focus locked on the figure in the center. He was barreling through the fray, tossing bodies like rag dolls.

“Mom, we take him together,” Laura called, already moving toward him.

You nodded, gripping your batons tightly. “Go high; I’ll go low!”

As you charged, Juggernaut swung his massive fists toward you. You ducked under one blow, the force of it creating a shockwave that rattled your teeth. Laura leaped over the other, her claws slashing across his arm. Sparks flew as her adamantium claws met his reinforced suit.

“Damn it,” Laura growled, flipping back to avoid his retaliatory strike.

“Helmet,” you reminded her, dodging another swing.

“Working on it!” she snapped, lunging forward again.

You feinted left, drawing his attention, while Laura climbed his back like a feral animal, her claws digging into the material. Juggernaut roared in frustration, reaching back to grab her, but you jabbed your baton into the back of his knee, sending him stumbling forward.

“Keep him down!” Laura shouted, her claws ripping through the side of his helmet.

“Trying!” you yelled, slamming your baton into his other knee. The impact sent a jolt through your arm, but it was enough to drop him to one knee.

Laura didn’t hesitate. She yanked his helmet free and flung it toward you. “Catch!”

You grabbed it mid-air and shoved it into Laura’s backpack. “Got it!”

Juggernaut let out a guttural roar, swinging wildly in an attempt to regain control. Before he could stand, Laura’s claws flashed, slicing clean through his neck. His head toppled to the ground with a sickening thud, and his massive body collapsed seconds later.

“Nice work,” you panted, wiping sweat from your brow.

“Don’t get cocky,” Laura replied, but there was a hint of a smirk on her face.

The two of you turned your attention to the giant Ant-Man helmet, Cassandra’s lair. Laura adjusted the backpack on her shoulders you handed her and glanced at you. “Boost me.”

You crouched, lacing your fingers together. Laura stepped into your hands, and you launched her upward. She caught onto the edge of the massive helmet, her foot claws extending as she began scaling the structure.

“Almost there,” she called down.

You stayed on guard, fending off any straggling minions who dared approach. Laura reached the top, pulling the backpack from her shoulder and tossed it into the lair where Wade grabbed it.

“Catch that?” she asked.

“Perfect throw,” you replied, knocking out a soldier with a swift elbow strike.

Before Laura could climb down, one of Cassandra’s soldiers used a psychic lasso, yanking her down. She fell, twisting mid-air to land on her feet, but more minions rushed toward her.

“Laura!” you shouted, moving to intercept them.

“I’m fine!” she snapped, slashing through one of the attackers. “Just keep them off me!”

The group fought with renewed vigor as the minions closed in. Elektra moved like a blur, her sais spinning with lethal precision. Blade fought alongside her, his katana carving through the enemy ranks. Remy flicked charged cards into clusters of soldiers, the explosions creating openings for you and Laura to strike.

The battle reached its peak when a low, rumbling growl filled the air. You looked up to see a massive dark cloud—Alioth. It loomed closer, its ominous presence sending chills down your spine.

“All clear!” Blade shouted as the last of Cassandra’s minions fell.

You exchanged a glance with Laura, both of you breathing heavily. “Let’s move!”

The air shimmered as a glowing portal opened above you. You watched as Wade and Logan jumped through it, disappearing into the unknown.

You felt a pang of something—loss, maybe?—as you saw Logan vanish, but you pushed it aside. There was no time to dwell on it.

Especially when not even moments later, orange doors appeared in front of you.

---

“So, how does it feel to be in the past, Sparky?” Wade asked you, putting an arm over your shoulder.

You promptly shoved it off, “don’t call me that, suka.”

Wade let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like you’d just stabbed him. “Ouch, that hurt, Sparky. Right in the feelings.”

You gave him a look. “Try again, Wilson.”

“Fine, fine.” He sighed, adjusting Dogpool in his arms. The little thing was fast asleep, drooling all over Wade’s sleeve. “But you gotta admit, it fits. You know, because of the—” He made an exaggerated exploding motion with his fingers.

Laura rolled her eyes. “Can we just go? I’d rather not stand in the middle of a parking lot looking like a rejected Suicide Squad lineup.”

“I don’t know, I think we make it work,” Wade said, waving a hand between the three of you. “Got the grumpy old man, the feral murder daughter, and the ex—” He stopped himself, side-eyeing you before clearing his throat. “—the badass chick with secrets. Feels like a sitcom waiting to happen.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just get us where we need to go, Wilson.”

“Alright, alright. Welcome to Casa de Deadpool—where the beer is warm, the floors are sticky, and the roommates are blind. Follow me.”

Wade led the way, humming some off-key tune while you, Logan, and Laura followed. You glanced at Logan. His face was unreadable, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. He hadn’t said much since the fight, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

He wasn’t your Logan. You weren’t his Y/N. But still… it was hard not to see the familiarity in his face, the way his brow furrowed just so, the way his jaw clenched when he was thinking too hard about something.

You looked away. No point in getting caught up in what-ifs.

“Alright, home sweet home!” Wade announced, throwing the door open.

The inside was… exactly what you expected. Empty pizza boxes, half-drunk bottles of something questionable, and the faint smell of something that had probably died under the couch.

Blind Al sat in her usual spot, her head tilting slightly in your direction. “Oh great, more people. Just what I needed.”

“Oh, don’t be rude, Al,” Wade scolded. “These are my very special guests. We’ve got Grumpy Claws, Murder Jr., and Timey-Wimey.”

“I’m not calling them that.”

“You don’t have to, but the audience will.”

Al sighed, clearly used to Wade’s antics. “Are they staying?”

“Just for a bit,” Wade said, tossing Dogpool onto the couch, where he immediately curled up. “Logan here needs a drink, and I’m guessing these two need a place to not be hunted by crazy bald ladies in giant Ant-Man skeletons.”

Al’s head tilted toward Logan. “You drinking my whiskey?”

“...Maybe.”

“Then you can sleep outside.”

Laura smirked, and you huffed a quiet laugh. Logan just shook his head, muttering something under his breath.

You leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed. “So what now?”

Wade clapped his hands together. “Now? We celebrate. We drink. We unwind from our very successful murder spree. And then, bright and early tomorrow—” He paused, leaning in like he was about to share some big, dramatic secret. “—we figure out what the fuck to do with you guys.”

“I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen. I have some money stashed somewhere, I’ll go get it, come back, then me and Laura can leave so we never have to see your faces again.” You said.

Wade let out a loud, exaggerated gasp. “Leave? Leave? Y/N, honey, sweetheart, my beloved time-traveling murder mom—why would you ever want to leave me?” He clutched his chest like you’d just driven a knife into his heart.

Laura crossed her arms. “I can think of about twenty reasons.”

“Okay, rude.” Wade pouted, shifting Dogpool in his arms. The little thing let out a content sigh, completely unbothered by the chaos. “But seriously, you’re gonna take off just like that? No heart-to-heart? No teary-eyed goodbye? No passionate ‘will-they-won’t-they’ moment with Grumpy Claws over there?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not interested.”

“Are you sure?” He wiggled his eyebrows, then pointed at Logan, who had yet to say a word. “Because that face screams tension.”

Logan let out a long breath through his nose, like he was physically restraining himself from punching Wade in the throat. “I’m not dealin’ with this shit right now.”

Wade gave him finger guns. “That’s a tomorrow problem, huh, bud?”

Logan ignored him. Instead, he looked at you. “This money you’re talkin’ about—where is it?”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t trust you to go off alone, get it, and come back in one piece.”

Laura scoffed. “She can handle herself.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Logan said, looking at her before turning his attention back to you. “But I ain’t gonna let you run off and get yourself killed when we just finished dealin’ with enough shit.”

You stared at him for a long moment. The way he was looking at you—it was careful, measured, like he was trying to keep himself in check. You knew that look. Your Logan used to look at you the same way. Like he was always preparing himself to lose you.

But this Logan wasn’t yours. And you weren’t his.

Still, you looked away first. “It’s in a lockbox at a storage facility a few miles from here.”

“Great,” Wade said, clapping his hands together. “Field trip!”

“No.” You turned to Logan. “I’ll go. Alone.”

“Not happenin’.”

“Logan—”

“No.” His voice was firm, final. “I’ll go with you.”

You exhaled through your nose. “Fine. Just let me freshen up.” You walked off to where you hoped the bathroom was, but not before mouthing, “parar” to Laura.

You locked the bathroom door behind you, glancing around the small, cluttered space. Wade’s idea of ‘freshening up’ probably involved nothing more than spraying deodorant over questionable hygiene decisions, but you had other plans.

Stepping up to the sink, you turned the faucet on, letting the water run just to make it sound like you were actually doing something in here. Then, moving quickly, you flipped the lock on the window and shoved it open. The cool night air hit your face as you glanced outside—an alley, empty except for a couple of overturned trash cans.

Perfect.

You hoisted yourself up, slipping through with practiced ease before lowering yourself down onto the pavement below. The moment your feet hit the ground, you took off down the alley, keeping to the shadows.

Back inside, Laura leaned against the wall near Wade’s stained couch, arms crossed as she watched Logan shift impatiently.

“She takin’ a damn shower in there?” Logan grumbled, arms crossed over his chest.

“She said she was freshening up,” Laura replied casually, not looking up from the knife she was idly flipping between her fingers.

Logan huffed. “It’s been long enough. I’m gettin’ her.”

Laura didn’t move as he pushed off the wall and headed for the bathroom. The moment he reached for the doorknob, she spoke.

“You should wait,” she said.

Logan shot her a look over his shoulder. “Why?”

Laura finally looked up, her expression unreadable. “Just ‘cause.”

That made Logan pause. His eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced between her and the closed bathroom door. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Kid,” he said, his voice low and edged with suspicion, “where’d she really go?”

Laura met his gaze evenly. “She’ll be back.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “Damn it.” He turned, pushing the bathroom door open with enough force to slam it against the wall. The running faucet mocked him, the open window sealing the truth of it.

“She ditched us,” he muttered, running a hand down his face.

Wade peered in behind him. “Oof. Classic Sparky move. You love to see it.”

Logan turned on his heel, his glare cutting through Wade like a knife. “Where’d she go?”

Wade shrugged dramatically. “Beats me. But if I had to guess? Probably somewhere far away from your grumpy ass.”

Logan growled, storming back into the room. “Damn stubborn—” He turned to Laura. “You knew.”

She didn’t flinch under his stare. “Yeah.”

His fists clenched, frustration mounting. “And you let her go?”

“She can handle herself,” Laura said simply.

“That ain’t the point,” Logan snapped.

“Then what is?”

Logan opened his mouth, then shut it. What was the point? That he didn’t want her runnin’ off alone? That the thought of her out there, possibly in danger, made his gut twist?

“She’ll be fine,” Laura said again. “She’ll be back before you know it.”

Logan shot her a sharp look. “And you knew she was gonna pull this shit?”

Laura didn’t even flinch. “Yeah.”

Logan exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Damn stubborn woman.”

Wade, now comfortably sprawled on the couch, feet kicked up on the armrest, wiggled his fingers dramatically. “Aw, look at you, all worked up. It’s almost like you care.”

Logan glared at him. “Shut the hell up.”

Wade gasped, hand over his heart. “Ouch! That’s no way to talk to your bestest buddy in the whole world. You know, if you keep scowling like that, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

Logan ignored him, turning back to Laura. “Where’d she go?”

Laura shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

“Bullshit,” Logan growled. “She told you something.”

Laura arched a brow. “Even if mom did, why would I tell you?”

Logan stepped forward, voice dropping low. “Because she’s out there alone, and I don’t trust her not to get herself into trouble.”

Laura tilted her head. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Logan clenched his teeth, nostrils flaring. “Damn kid’s just as bad as she is.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

Wade, now peeling an old banana he found on the coffee table, piped up. “Look, let’s be real here—Sparky probably ditched us so she could do some shady, assassin-y, Black Widow type shit. Maybe she’s robbing a bank! Maybe she’s breaking into a top-secret government facility! Maybe she’s meeting a mysterious lover who—”

Logan shot him a look that could’ve melted steel.

“Or,” Wade continued, grinning, “maybe she’s just getting her money so she can take Little Miss Stabby Hands here and leave your grumpy ass behind.”

Logan’s jaw tightened.

Wade snapped his fingers. “Ohhh, there it is. That realization. That little pang in your chest. That Oh no, I don’t want her to leave feeling.”

Logan ignored him. “She said somethin’ about a storage facility,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “A few miles from here.”

Laura sighed. “And now you’re gonna go after her?”

“Damn right, I am.”

“She doesn’t want you to.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

Laura watched him for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine. But don’t get all dramatic when she punches you for following her.”

Wade sat up, tossing his banana peel over his shoulder. “Ooooh, I gotta see this. Road trip!”

Logan grabbed his jacket off the chair, shooting Wade a glare. “You’re stayin’ here.”

Wade pouted. “Rude.”

Laura smirked. “Good luck.”

Logan muttered something under his breath and stormed toward the door, already regretting whatever the hell he was about to do.

---

You hadn’t been at this storage facility in almost 2 decades, from before you joined the x-men. It was a standard procedure, you left large amounts of cash, fake id’s, and weapons hidden in almost every major city.

The lock clicked open with a soft beep, and you tossed it onto the floor, pushing the storage unit door up. The metal groaned as it rolled upward, revealing the small space packed neatly with everything you’d left behind years ago—cash, fake IDs, weapons, emergency supplies. It was all still there, untouched.

You exhaled through your nose. Good. This would be enough to get you and Laura far away from New York.

You crouched down, lifting a duffel bag from the pile, zipping it open. Stacks of cash, bundled and secure, sat inside. Grabbing a few more rolls, you stuffed them in before reaching for one of the smaller, locked cases in the back. Inside were passports, IDs, credit cards—everything you’d need to disappear.

Your fingers brushed over one of the old IDs. It was worn from time but still legible. A name you hadn’t used in years. A version of yourself that no longer existed.

“Never thought I’d see you here.”

The voice sent a jolt up your spine. You knew it before you even turned around.

Logan.

You let out a slow breath before standing, keeping your expression neutral as you turned to face him. He stood at the entrance, arms crossed, his gaze flickering between you and the duffel bag.

“Took you long enough,” you muttered, zipping the bag closed.

He stepped inside, boots heavy against the concrete. “Could say the same about you,” he replied. “Sneaking out like that. Real subtle.”

You slung the bag over your shoulder. “Wasn’t trying to be subtle. Just effective.”

Logan scoffed. “Right. And this little errand of yours—it’s just about gettin’ cash?”

“That’s exactly what it is.” You met his eyes, unwavering. “I came here to get what I need. Then I’m leaving.”

His jaw tightened. “And by ‘leaving,’ you mean what? Takin’ off across the country? Across the world?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah,” he said sharply. “It does.”

You clenched your jaw, adjusting the bag strap. “Not to you.”

Logan’s brows furrowed, a flicker of something in his eyes—frustration, maybe something else. “You really think I don’t give a shit?”

You exhaled, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Logan—”

“No, you listen,” he cut in, stepping closer. “You don’t wanna stick around, fine. You wanna take off with the kid, start fresh? I get it. But you don’t get to act like I don’t care.”

You looked away, pressing your lips together.

“I know I ain’t him,” Logan continued, voice lower now. “And you ain’t her. But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna let you walk away without sayin’ a damn word.”

A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down. “Fine.” You walked out of the unit and picked up the lock you’d tossed to the floor. You threw it toward Logan, not bothering to hide the annoyance in your voice. “Mind lockin’ up for me? Thanks.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and headed down the narrow hallway, duffel bag weighing on your shoulder. You knew he’d follow. Hell, part of you expected it. Still, you kept your pace brisk, eyes forward, determined not to let him see the mess of emotions churning behind your calm façade.

Sure enough, you heard his footsteps closing in on you just a few seconds later. “Hey,” he called, his tone halfway between annoyed and concerned, “hold up.”

You didn’t stop. “I don’t recall askin’ for backup, Logan.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, voice low, “I didn’t ask for your permission.”

Rolling your eyes, you quickened your stride. “This is none of your business. I just need what’s in that storage unit. Then I’m done.”

“Done with what?” He stayed right on your heels. “You keep sayin’ you’re leaving, but leaving for where?”

“Somewhere that isn’t here,” you shot back, pushing open the heavy exit door. The chill of the evening air hit you like a slap, but you welcomed it. At least it was better than the stale, fluorescent-lit corridor.

Logan grabbed the door before it slammed shut, following you outside. “And what about Laura?”

“What about her?” You spun around to face him, jaw tight. “She’s comin’ with me. That’s it. We’ve both been through enough.”

“Enough of what, exactly?” His gaze flicked to the duffel bag. “You got money, IDs, weapons in there? Where’re you even plannin’ on goin’?”

You tightened your grip on the strap, resisting the urge to throw a punch at the damn question. “Somewhere quiet. A place we can actually live. Maybe not a perfect life, but a life that’s ours, away from… all of this. Away from Wade and the insanity he brings. Away from you.”

Logan’s expression clouded, though he tried to mask it behind a scowl. “Could just as easily do that in New York. Wade might be a pain in the ass, but he’s not forcing you to stay.”

You huffed a humorless laugh. “Because it’s so easy, right? Laura and I just hole up in some apartment, pretend everything’s normal when half the city’s got vigilantes flyin’ around? When there are still people lookin’ for us—always will be?” You shook your head, glancing at the ground. “No. We’re done with that.”

He took a step closer, voice lowering. “So that’s it. You’re gonna vanish and start over. Another new name, new ID, new everything.”

You shrugged, trying to ignore the flutter of guilt. “Worked before. It’ll work again.”

For a second, you both fell silent. A car drove by in the distance, headlights flashing across the storage facility’s cracked walls. You squared your shoulders, forcing yourself not to look at him. The way he studied your face was too familiar, too painful.

Finally, Logan cleared his throat. “I know I’m not him.” His tone had lost some of its edge. “I’m not your Logan, and you’re not… mine. But that doesn’t mean I’m about to stand here and watch you self-destruct.”

Your breath caught, heart pounding in your chest. “Self-destruct?” you echoed, voice trembling with anger. “That’s rich, comin’ from the guy who’s been drinking himself into oblivion every night since I laid eyes on him.”

He clenched his jaw, but he didn’t deny it. “I’m not sayin’ I got my shit together. I’m sayin’ you don’t have to do this alone.”

“How ‘bout you cut the crap,” you fired back. “We don’t know each other. We’re strangers. I’ve known you for, what, two days? I’m doing what’s best for my daughter. And if that includes taking her out of this state, then that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Logan’s expression darkened, his patience fraying at the edges. “You really think you can just pack up and disappear?”

You tightened your grip on the duffel bag, your stance unwavering. “Worked before.”

“That’s not an answer.” He stepped closer, his voice low, edged with frustration. “You’re actin’ like I’m some kinda obstacle. Like I’m one more thing you gotta shake off before you can breathe easy.”

You huffed a humorless laugh. “That’s exactly what you are.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Bullshit.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to leave, but his voice stopped you cold.

“You’re runnin’,” he said.

You exhaled sharply, spinning back around. “I am not running.”

“Feels like you are.”

“No, Logan, you don’t get it.” Your voice sharpened, cutting through the tension like a blade. “This isn’t about you. This isn’t about Wade. This is about Laura. About what we need.”

Logan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “And what? You think ditchin’ the only people who’ve got your back is the answer?”

“I think getting away from this life—your life—is the answer.”

Something shifted in his expression, something bitter and tired. “So that’s it? You wanna go play house somewhere, pretend none of this ever happened?”

You squared your shoulders, forcing yourself not to flinch at the weight of his words. “No one’s pretending anything. I just don’t want to look over my shoulder every damn day.”

Logan scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah? And what happens when the past catches up to you? Because it always does.”

You stepped forward, closing the space between you. “Then I’ll deal with it. But I’m done doing it your way.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The night air pressed in, thick with everything left unsaid. Logan’s gaze burned into you, searching, waiting. But you didn’t give him the answer he wanted.

He exhaled, looking away. “You’re makin’ a mistake.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But it’s mine to make.”

Logan clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. You half expected him to argue, to push, to demand something from you. But instead, he just nodded, stepping aside.

“Fine,” he said, voice gruff. “Do what you gotta do.”

You didn’t linger. Didn’t give yourself time to second-guess. You adjusted the strap on your shoulder and walked past him without another word.

As you disappeared into the night, Logan stayed where he was, fists clenched, jaw tight. Watching.

Letting you go.

---

The car you bought from a used-car dealership was silent, other than the radio softly playing pop music that Laura liked as she stared out the window, her sunglasses over her eyes.

You had just exited the New York City traffic and were heading south—but other than that, you didn’t know where you were going. Maybe you would stop somewhere in Pennsylvania, or West Virgina if you were lucky.

Laura tapped her fingers against her knee in rhythm with the song playing on the radio, her sunglasses perched on her nose as she stared out the window. The highway stretched ahead, empty except for a few distant cars.

"You know where we're stopping?" she asked, her tone casual, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity.

You kept your hands on the wheel, eyes scanning the road ahead. "Not yet. Somewhere quiet, somewhere we can lay low for a bit."

Laura tilted her head slightly, still watching the trees blur past. "So, nowhere specific."

"Nowhere specific," you confirmed.

She nodded, letting a few moments pass before speaking again. "You think he's following us?"

You exhaled through your nose, gripping the wheel a little tighter. "Probably."

Laura hummed. "You gonna punch him if he shows up?"

You smirked. "Maybe."

Laura smirked back, adjusting her sunglasses. "Can I watch?"

"If he pushes his luck, I'll make sure you get front-row seats."

Silence settled between you, only broken by the soft hum of the music and the occasional sound of the tires on the road.

Then, Laura spoke again, her voice quieter. "You sure about this?"

You glanced at her briefly before turning back to the road. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "Just… we’ve been running for a long time. Feels like that’s all we ever do. What happens when we stop?"

Your fingers flexed on the wheel. "Then we figure it out."

Laura nodded slowly, like she was mulling it over. Then, after a beat, she said, "We’re out of snacks."

You snorted. "I’ll stop at the next gas station."

"Good." She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. "But if he shows up, I’m picking the next destination."

"Deal," you said.

Neither of you said it out loud, but you both knew Logan would catch up eventually. The only question was when.

---

“Whaddya think about Florida?” you asked, swirling your milkshake with the red-and-white striped straw. After two days of driving, you and Laura had landed in Nashville—not exactly planned, but necessary. The money situation was getting tight, and you had a stash here.

Laura sat across from you in the dingy diner booth, picking at the fries on her plate. Her sunglasses were still on, even though the place was dimly lit, the neon “Open 24 Hours” sign flickering against the window beside you.

She shrugged. “Kinda humid, isn’t it?”

You snorted. “That’s your issue with Florida?”

She popped a fry into her mouth. “I don’t like humidity.”

“Well, we’re runnin’ out of options,” you said, taking another sip of your milkshake. “I’d rather not head west, too many people I don’t wanna run into. And the north? I’m done with the cold.”

Laura considered that, chewing thoughtfully. “So, Florida.”

“Yeah.”

She tapped her fingers against the table. “Ever been?”

“A couple times,” you admitted. “But never long enough to get comfortable.”

Laura leaned back, arms crossed. “What’s in Florida?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Hopefully? A quiet place. Some space. Enough cash to keep us moving if we need to.”

Laura was quiet for a beat, then said, “And what if we don’t need to?”

Your hand froze over your cup. You looked up at her, but she wasn’t looking at you—she was staring at her plate, pushing a fry around in the ketchup.

You exhaled, setting your drink down. “Then we don’t.”

Laura didn’t say anything, but she nodded slightly, like she was mulling it over.

You let the silence settle for a moment before reaching into your jacket pocket and pulling out a small envelope. You slid it across the table.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Fake IDs. A couple different names for you, just in case.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Where’s yours?”

You smirked. “I’ve been doin’ this longer than you, muñeca. Mine are already handled.”

Laura picked up the envelope, flipping through the IDs. Her lips twitched when she landed on one. “Carla?”

You rolled your eyes. “It was short notice.”

Laura shook her head, stuffing the envelope into her pocket. “How much cash do we have left?”

“Enough to get us a motel for the night,” you said. “Then I’ll hit the stash in the morning, and we’ll go from there.”

She tapped her nails against the table. “And if someone’s watching it?”

You took another sip of your milkshake. “Then I deal with it.”

Laura didn’t argue, but she gave you a look.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

She tilted her head slightly. “You sure you don’t want him to come after us?”

You froze for half a second before scoffing. “Logan?”

Laura shrugged, popping another fry in her mouth. “I mean, it’d be kinda funny. Watching him all pissed off, trying to track us down.”

You smirked. “I’d give it a day before he gave up and found a bar instead.”

Laura chuckled, shaking her head. “Yeah. Probably.”

The conversation shifted after that—lighter, easier. You finished your food, paid in cash, and headed back to the car.

As you pulled onto the empty road, Laura leaned back against the passenger seat, her feet propped up on the dashboard. “If we go to Florida, I’m picking the first place we stop.”

“Deal.”

The road stretched ahead, dark and open, with nothing but the hum of the engine and the occasional song crackling from the radio.

For now, it was enough.

---

The Florida heat wasn’t as unbearable as you’d expected. It was different from the suffocating summers in New York or the bone-chilling winters in Canada. Here, everything moved slower—the ocean waves rolling onto the sand, the palm trees swaying in the breeze, the distant hum of cicadas at night. For the first time in a long time, you and Laura weren’t running.

The job at the high school had been a last-minute decision, something stable to keep you grounded. It wasn’t hard work—not compared to everything else you’d done in your life. Wrangling teenagers in gym class was nothing compared to dodging bullets or teaching mutant children to use their powers. And Laura? She was doing good. She got her GED, started talking about what she wanted to do next. It was a normal life, or as close as either of you could get to one.

You leaned back in your chair on the porch, the scent of saltwater drifting through the air. Laura was sitting across from you, flipping through a book while picking at the remnants of her dinner.

"You gonna eat that or just mutilate it?" you asked, raising a brow at the half-demolished slice of pizza on her plate.

Laura shrugged, still looking at her book. "Not hungry."

You snorted, reaching over and stealing a piece of crust. "Then quit wasting good food."

She kicked your shin under the table, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make a point. "I was getting to it."

"Sure you were." You chewed the crust, glancing out at the ocean beyond the dunes. The sky was starting to darken, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting everything in shades of orange and pink.

Laura shut her book with a soft thud. "You think he's still looking for us?"

You didn’t need to ask who she meant. "Probably."

She rested her chin in her hand. "You miss him?"

The question made you pause, your fingers tightening slightly around the crust before you set it down. "I don’t know."

Laura gave you a look. "Liar."

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "It’s complicated."

"It always is with you two."

You huffed out a quiet laugh. "And how would you know?"

Laura smirked. "Because you get that look whenever I bring him up."

You frowned. "What look?"

"The one you’re making right now."

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. "Even if I did miss him—which I don’t—it wouldn’t matter. He’s not the same Logan, and I’m not sticking around to see if he turns into him."

Laura was quiet for a moment before she said, "He still came after us."

"Yeah, and?"

"And that means something."

You shook your head. "It means he’s stubborn."

"Or it means he cares."

You scoffed. "He knew us for two days."

Laura shrugged. "Sometimes that’s enough."

You didn’t have an answer to that. Instead, you picked at the label on your beer bottle, watching the condensation roll down the glass.

After a while, Laura stood up, stretching. "I’m going to bed."

You nodded, not looking up. "Night, muñeca."

She hesitated for a second. "You’d tell me if you wanted to go back, right?"

You finally looked at her, meeting her eyes. "I don’t want to go back."

Laura studied you for a moment before nodding. "Okay."

She disappeared inside, leaving you alone with the sound of the waves and the quiet hum of your thoughts.

You didn’t want to go back.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t expect him to show up.

---

He showed up.

You were walking out of the store, picking up some more food since Laura ate a lot, when you saw him across the street, talking to some guy.

It was clear he hadn’t seen you—if he did, it would’ve been a miracle, spotting you in a parking lot full of suburban moms and their SUV’s. You quickly put the final bag in the trunk and closed it, getting into the driver’s seat, glad that an SUV was blocking the window, and of course that you were wearing a wig.

You scrolled through your phone, quickly looking up plane tickets before purchasing two for Anaheim, California, which left in three hours. It would be a short trip, long enough to take Laura out to Disneyland—somewhere she wanted to go when she was younger, and maybe see the sights before coming back.

With the tickets secured, you tossed your phone onto the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel, exhaling slowly. You could still see Logan across the street, standing near a bar, talking to some guy you didn’t recognize. His stance was the same as always—broad, solid, like he was ready for a fight even when there wasn’t one. You couldn’t tell if he was actively looking for you or if it was just dumb luck that put him in the same town. Either way, it didn’t matter.

You put the car in drive, pulling out of the parking lot with careful ease. No sudden movements. No panic. You were good at this—disappearing.

By the time you got home, Laura was already sprawled on the couch, flipping through channels with half a bag of chips resting on her stomach. She barely glanced up when you walked in.

"Got food," you said, setting the bags on the counter.

"About time," Laura muttered, grabbing another chip. "I was starting to think you got lost or arrested."

"Very funny," you deadpanned, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "Pack a bag."

That got her attention. She sat up, eyeing you with suspicion. "For what?"

"California," you answered, twisting the cap off your bottle. "Leaving in a few hours."

Laura blinked. "Wait… what?"

"You heard me," you said, taking a sip. "Disneyland. Quick trip."

She narrowed her eyes. "You saw him, didn’t you?"

You paused mid-drink before lowering the bottle. "Doesn’t matter."

"That’s a yes," she muttered, tossing the remote onto the couch. "You’re seriously dragging me to Disneyland just to avoid him?"

"I’m taking you to Disneyland because I promised," you corrected. "Avoiding him is just a bonus."

Laura folded her arms. "You know he’s gonna find us eventually."

"Probably," you admitted, leaning against the counter. "But not today."

Laura exhaled through her nose, clearly debating whether or not to argue. Finally, she stood up, brushing chip crumbs off her shirt.

"I’m picking the first ride," she said.

You smirked. "Deal."

---

The airport was busy but not unbearable. You and Laura moved through security without issue, your fake IDs holding up just as they always did. It was second nature at this point. The two of you boarded the plane, settling into your seats with practiced ease.

Laura put her headphones in, shutting the world out almost immediately. You, on the other hand, couldn’t quite relax. You had that feeling again—that gnawing sense that you were being watched, even when you knew you weren’t.

Logan would look for you. You knew that much. But you also knew how to stay ahead of him.

For now, at least.

You leaned back in your seat, closing your eyes. Just a few days away. That was all you needed.

Just a few days.

---

“Wade,” Logan growled into the phone. “Your contact was fucking useless. They’re not here.”

There was a pause on the other end before Wade let out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh no! You mean my totally legitimate, not-at-all shady informant lied? Color me shocked.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling through his teeth. “You told me they were still in Florida.”

“Well, yeah, because I thought they were,” Wade replied, his voice way too casual. “Turns out, your little murder mom and stabby daughter are really good at vanishing. Who knew?”

Logan clenched his jaw, his patience wearing dangerously thin. “Did you actually talk to this guy, or did you just pull a name outta your ass and hope for the best?”

“Okay, first of all, rude,” Wade said. “Second of all, I did talk to him. And third of all, I’m beginning to think you have trust issues.”

Logan let out a low growl, glancing around the dimly lit parking lot. He had been following a lead for hours, only to find himself at a dead end. Again. “You got anything else, Wilson, or am I wasting my time?”

“Well, I mean, if you’re asking me—”

“I wasn’t.”

“Fair,” Wade admitted. “But if I had to guess—and I am very good at guessing—I’d say Y/N is doing what she does best.”

“And what’s that?” Logan asked, already annoyed by whatever bullshit answer was coming.

“Running.”

Logan’s grip on the phone tightened. He knew it was true, even before Wade said it. He had seen enough of you to know your patterns, and disappearing was your specialty.

Still, something about it didn’t sit right. You had said goodbye. He just hadn’t wanted you to go.

“So what’s your next move, grumpy pants?” Wade asked.

Logan exhaled sharply, kicking at a loose rock on the pavement. “I don’t know yet.”

“Well, I do,” Wade said. “You stop chasing her like a crazy ex-boyfriend and let her live her life.”

Logan ignored the jab. “They ain’t safe on their own.”

“Oh, please,” Wade scoffed. “Y/N could take both of us in a fight with one hand tied behind her back. And Laura? That kid is a human blender with anger issues. What exactly are you worried about?”

Logan didn’t answer.

Wade sighed dramatically. “Look, I get it. You’ve got feelings—gross. But maybe, just maybe, you should consider that she doesn’t want to be found.”

Logan clenched his jaw, saying nothing.

“Or, you know, keep chasing her,” Wade continued. “Nothing screams ‘healthy relationship’ like stalking.”

Logan ended the call without another word.

He stood there for a moment, jaw tight, before slipping his phone back into his pocket. His eyes scanned the quiet street, but there was nothing. No sign of you.

Not yet, anyway.

---

It was the first time in a while—months—that you saw Laura this happy. Being in the Void had been hard on both of you, but now, as you walked around Disneyland with Mickey Mouse ears perched on your head and a churro in hand, things felt lighter.

Laura, wearing her own pair of ears, pointed toward one of the bigger roller coasters. “That one.”

You raised an eyebrow, taking a bite of your churro. “You sure? You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” she asked, arms crossed.

“The look you get when you won’t admit you’re nervous.”

Laura scoffed, turning toward the ride again. “I’m not nervous.”

You smirked. “Uh-huh.”

“Are we going or not?”

You chewed thoughtfully, glancing up at the towering structure of the coaster. “I dunno. I’m kinda enjoying this churro.”

Laura grabbed your wrist and started dragging you toward the line. “You can eat and walk.”

You laughed, letting her pull you along. “Pushy.”

As the two of you weaved through the crowd, the excitement buzzing in the air was infectious. Kids in princess dresses, parents trying to wrangle toddlers, and groups of friends laughing between bites of overpriced snacks. It was normal.

By the time you reached the front of the line, Laura was practically bouncing on her heels.

“You gonna scream?” you teased, nudging her.

She shot you a look. “No.”

You snorted. “We’ll see.”

The ride operator waved you forward, and you both climbed into the seats, pulling the safety bars down.

As the coaster lurched forward, Laura gripped the handlebar a little tighter.

You smirked. “Told you.”

She didn’t have time to retort before the coaster shot up the first incline. The wind rushed past you, the clanking of the tracks beneath adding to the anticipation. Then, the drop.

Laura let out a yell—not quite a scream, but close enough.

You threw your hands up, laughing. “Told you!”

“Shut up!”

The ride twisted and turned, the loops pulling at your stomach in a way that was both exhilarating and oddly grounding. For those few minutes, there was no running, no fighting—just pure, unfiltered fun.

When the ride finally slowed, Laura’s breathing was slightly heavier, her face flushed from the rush. You grinned at her. “Admit it, that was fun.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

As you stepped off the ride and made your way back into the park, Laura bumped her shoulder against yours. “Okay, you pick the next one.”

You took another bite of your churro, already eyeing the spinning teacups. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

---

The fireworks exploded in bursts of color, painting the night sky over Disneyland. The crowd around you and Laura watched in awe, gasps and murmurs of excitement filling the air. Laura sat cross-legged on the grass, her arms resting on her knees as she stared up at the display.

"You know," you said, breaking the comfortable silence between you, "when I was your age, I never got to do this kind of thing."

Laura glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. "Watch fireworks?"

"Have a normal night," you corrected. You leaned back on your hands, feeling the cool grass beneath your palms. "Theme parks, vacations, junk food... not exactly things you get when you're trained to kill people before you hit puberty."

Laura hummed in acknowledgment, turning her gaze back to the sky. "Guess we’ve got that in common."

You exhaled through your nose, nodding. "Yeah. But at least we’re here now."

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the fireworks crackle above her. Then, almost reluctantly, she said, "It’s weird."

"What is?"

"Not having to fight," she admitted. "Being... normal."

You tilted your head, watching her carefully. "Do you like it?"

Laura shrugged, pulling at a loose thread on her jeans. "Yeah. I think so."

You smiled, though she wasn’t looking at you. "Good."

The fireworks continued, shimmering reflections dancing across Laura’s sunglasses. The two of you sat in easy silence, the kind that didn’t need filling.

Eventually, Laura spoke again, quieter this time. "How did you and dad get together?”

You glanced at Laura, the question catching you off guard. She was still watching the fireworks, her expression neutral, but you knew her well enough to recognize when she was fishing for something.

You took a slow breath, leaning back on your hands. "That’s kind of a long story, kid."

Laura shrugged. "We’ve got time."

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, I guess we do."

For a moment, you just watched the bursts of color in the sky, letting the memories settle in before you spoke. "When Ororo first brought me to the mansion I had heard stories of the X-Men—and of the Wolverine. I kinda hated them all at first, how they were able to live an almost normal life even though they were all mutants.”

You shrugged, “took me a while to get used to them—to tolerate them. Took me the longest to get used to Logan though.”

Laura glanced at you, her expression unreadable behind her sunglasses. "Why?"

You let out a short breath, watching the last of the fireworks fade into the sky. “From the second I arrived he was always… there. Not in a ‘grumpy old man’ way like I thought he would be, but he would save me a spot for dinner, did the chores I didn’t want to do that Scott assigned me. Hell, he was the first person to show me Star Wars."

Laura turned her head toward you, adjusting her sunglasses. “Wait. You had never seen Star Wars before?”

You smirked. “Believe it or not, I had other things to do growing up.”

Laura hummed in response. After a moment, she said, “So, was that when you knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That you loved him.”

You hesitated, watching as a little girl in a princess dress skipped past, holding her father’s hand.

“No,” you said finally. “Not then.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “Then when?”

You thought about that for a second. “I don’t know. I guess all the gestures caught up to me. The way he wasn’t afraid to be around me like some of the others were. It wasn’t until one night when I snapped at him, asking him why he had been doing all this that he confessed.”

Laura shifted slightly, crossing her arms over her knees. "Confessed?"

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the memory. "Yeah. It wasn’t some big romantic moment. It was just… him being honest. Told me he wasn’t the type to say things out loud unless they meant something. Said he didn’t expect me to feel the same, but that he wasn’t gonna pretend he didn’t care."

Laura raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And… I kissed him," you admitted, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "Told him he was an idiot for waiting so long to say it."

Laura scoffed. "Sounds about right."

You tilted your head, glancing at her. "What, you expected some fairytale confession? A love letter? Logan wasn’t that type of guy."

Laura shook her head. "No, I just… I don’t know. It’s weird thinking of him like that. Like, all soft."

"He wasn’t soft," you corrected. "He was still stubborn as hell, still grumpy, still fought me on just about everything. But he never made me doubt how he felt."

Laura was quiet for a moment, looking back up at the sky. "Guess that’s what matters."

"Yeah," you said softly, following her gaze. "It is."

A comfortable silence settled between you as the last of the fireworks fizzled out, leaving nothing but smoke trails and the distant hum of the park.

"So," Laura said after a moment, "if he never said anything that night, do you think you would've?"

You thought about that, your fingers tapping against your knee. "Eventually. But he beat me to it."

Laura nodded, processing that. "Good thing he did."

You smiled slightly. "Yeah. It was."

Another pause. Then, in a quieter voice, Laura asked, "Do you think you'd ever—" She stopped herself, shaking her head.

You turned to her. "What?"

"Nothing."

You studied her for a second before letting it go. Instead, you nudged her shoulder. "C'mon, we've got one last ride before the park closes. You promised I got to pick the next one."

Laura groaned but got to her feet anyway. "If it’s the teacups, I’m never forgiving you."

You grinned, standing up. "Guess you’ll have to find out."

As the two of you made your way through the thinning crowd, Laura side-eyed you. "You know, for someone who says they don’t like talking about the past, you sure didn’t shut up about it."

You shrugged. "Maybe you caught me in a good mood."

Laura smirked. "Or maybe you just like remembering the good parts."

You didn’t respond to that. You didn’t have to.

Because maybe she was right.

---

After coming back from Disneyland the lightness didn’t leave. Maybe because it was the first ‘normal’ thing you two had done in months—maybe ever. Just a mother and daughter enjoying their time together.

The grocery store was quiet for a weekday afternoon—just the usual crowd of retirees, moms wrangling their toddlers, and bored cashiers going through the motions. You moved through the aisles quickly, grabbing the essentials: eggs, bread, milk, and way too many snacks to keep up with Laura’s ridiculous metabolism.

You checked your list, crossing off the last item, before making your way toward the checkout. As you tossed the groceries onto the conveyor belt, you let yourself breathe. Things were steady. Normal.

Laura was getting comfortable, and, for the first time in a long time, so were you.

It wasn’t permanent—you knew that much. But for now, it was enough.

You grabbed a carton of ice cream, but something made you pause. That feeling. The faintest prickle at the back of your neck. The one that always hit when someone was watching you.

Cautiously, you moved closer to a nearby Employees Only doorway, keeping your expression neutral as you reached for a yogurt on the shelf. You adjusted your grip on the container, using the reflective surface of the glass door to scan the store behind you.

There.

A figure standing near the magazine rack, pretending to skim through an issue of Sports Illustrated. Too broad-shouldered to be just any guy, too stiff to be casual. You knew that build. That stance.

Logan.

Your stomach clenched, but you kept your movements easy, natural. It didn’t make sense. He shouldn’t still be here. You had been gone for days—long enough that he should’ve moved on, left Florida entirely. You had given him nothing to follow. No trail, no leads.

So how the hell did he find you?

You put the yogurt back, pretending to consider a different brand. The reflection shifted—Logan wasn’t at the magazine rack anymore. He was moving. Closer.

Before you could react, a hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the Employees Only door.

Big mistake.

Years of training kicked in before you even thought about it. You twisted sharply, breaking the grip, and slammed the person into the wall inside the backroom. Your dagger was out in a flash, pressed firmly against their throat.

Logan.

His jaw was tight, eyes sharp but not surprised. He barely reacted to the blade at his neck, just met your gaze with that same unreadable expression.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered.

Your grip on the dagger tightened. “I should gut you for grabbing me like that.”

Logan arched a brow. “Go ahead. Might be the only way to get rid of me at this point.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, pissed but not at him. At yourself. Because you should’ve known he’d find you. You should’ve been more careful.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, your voice low.

Logan smirked slightly, like the answer was obvious. “Lookin’ for you.”

“Try again.”

He held your stare, his throat moving slightly under the blade. “Not here to fight, darlin’. Just talk.”

You scoffed. “That why you dragged me back here? Didn’t exactly scream ‘peaceful conversation.’”

“You were gonna bolt.”

“Damn right I was.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, his patience clearly thinning. “Can you put the knife down?”

You hesitated, then pressed it a little harder—not enough to break the skin, but enough to prove a point. “Give me one good reason.”

Logan held up his hands in mock surrender. “Ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“That’s not a reason.”

He sighed, then, softer this time, “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Your stomach twisted, but you ignored it, stepping back as you lowered the dagger. Logan exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if he’d been expecting you to actually use it.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you shot back. “Because if you don’t explain yourself in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna drag your ass out of here and dump you in a very public place.”

Logan smirked, but there was something tired beneath it. “You sayin’ I can’t handle a crowd?”

“I’m sayin’ I don’t want to deal with security after I kick your ass in front of an audience.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, then leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “Been lookin’ for you,” he admitted. “Figured you wouldn’t make it easy, but damn, Y/N.”

You crossed your arms. “Didn’t know I owed you a trail to follow.”

Logan’s jaw flexed, something flickering in his eyes. “You don’t. But that doesn’t mean I was just gonna let you disappear.”

Your fingers curled against your biceps. “Why not? That was the whole point of leaving, Logan.”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Because I don’t think you actually wanna run.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “You don’t know me.”

Logan tilted his head slightly. “Really? ‘Cause anytime your frustrated with me you get this,” Logan gently traced your skin with his thumb, “little crease between your brows—”

You grabbed his wrist, peeling it away from your face, your grip firm but careful. Logan didn’t resist, just watched you, his expression unreadable. His hand was rough, calloused—familiar and unfamiliar all at once. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“You don’t get to do that,” you said, voice low.

Logan tilted his head. “Do what?”

“Touch me like that.” You let go of his wrist, stepping back. “Like you know me.”

Logan let out a short breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I do know you.”

“No,” you corrected. “You know her.”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, you thought he’d argue. Instead, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Maybe I don’t know this you. But I know enough.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Yeah? And what exactly do you think you know?”

Logan’s eyes flickered over you, his expression softer now, more cautious. “I know you’re scared.”

Your stomach twisted. “Of you?”

“No,” he said simply. “Of this.”

You swallowed, your nails digging into your arms. “You’re reaching.”

Logan’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “Am I?”

You shook your head, turning toward the exit. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Yeah, you are,” Logan said, and you felt his presence behind you before he even moved. He wasn’t blocking your way, but he was close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the weight of his stare. “You can run all you want, sweetheart, but I’ll still be here.”

You gritted your teeth, turning on him. “Why?”

Logan held your gaze, his voice steady. “Because I don’t think you want to leave.”

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. “You don’t know what I want.”

“Don’t I?” He stepped closer, just enough to make your breath hitch. “If you really wanted to disappear, you would’ve done it by now. You know how. Hell, you’ve done it before. But you didn’t.”

“I took Laura to Disneyland,” you shot back. “Not exactly the best place to fall off the grid.”

Logan’s brow arched. “You sure that’s all it was?”

You hated how easily he was reading you—how he saw right through the excuses. He wasn’t wrong. You could’ve taken Laura anywhere. Could’ve changed your names again, disappeared into some far-off city where no one would find you. But you didn’t. Instead, you stayed just close enough. Close enough for him to find you.

Logan’s voice softened. “You keep tellin’ yourself you don’t want this, but you’re still here.”

Your throat tightened. “And what about you?”

Logan’s jaw ticked. “What about me?”

“You followed me,” you said. “I told you I was leaving. I told you I was done. And yet here you are.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, his gaze locked onto yours. “Yeah. Here I am.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with everything you weren’t saying. You hated the way your chest ached, the way his presence felt—not just familiar, but right. And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to stay steady. “You should’ve left.”

Logan didn’t flinch. “So should you.”

You clenched your jaw, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. This was dangerous. Not because Logan was a threat, but because he wasn’t. Because for the first time in a long time, someone had chased after you—and you didn’t know what to do with that.

Logan stepped back, giving you space. His expression was unreadable again, but his voice was softer this time. “I’m not gonna force you to stay.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet sigh. “But I’m not gonna pretend I don’t give a damn, either.”

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you turned, pushing the exit door open.

You didn’t look back.

But Logan didn’t stop you.

And somehow, that made it worse.

---

You brought the bags of groceries inside, the faint smell of lemon cleaner hitting your nose as you made your way to the kitchen. Laura was sprawled out on the couch, flipping through Netflix with the kind of lazy ease only she could manage.

“You clean?” you asked, setting the bags on the counter.

“Obviously,” she muttered, not looking away from the screen.

You arched a brow, glancing around. The place did look cleaner—the floors weren’t covered in her usual mess of books and abandoned socks, and the kitchen counter was actually visible.

“Wow,” you said, pulling out a carton of eggs. “Guess Disneyland really did change you.”

Laura scoffed. “I just got bored.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you started putting things away. “Whatever you say, muñeca.”

She finally glanced over, eyes narrowing. “You were gone a while.”

“Traffic,” you lied easily, shoving a loaf of bread into the cabinet.

Laura sat up, crossing her legs. “Liar.”

You shot her a look. “Excuse me?”

She tilted her head, studying you like she could see straight through you—which, knowing her, she probably could. “You saw him, didn’t you?”

You didn’t answer right away, focusing instead on the milk you were putting in the fridge.

Laura sighed, rubbing her face. “God. And you didn’t deck him?”

“I didn’t exactly have time,” you muttered, shutting the fridge door with more force than necessary.

“So, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you said, turning to lean against the counter. “He was at the store. He grabbed me. We talked.”

Laura’s brows lifted. “He grabbed you?”

You waved a hand. “Not like that. He pulled me into a back room.”

“That sounds worse.”

“It wasn’t.” You exhaled, crossing your arms. “He just… wanted to talk.”

Laura scoffed, leaning back against the couch. “Right. Because Logan’s known for his communication skills.”

You smirked. “Yeah, well. He tried.”

Laura studied you again, her expression unreadable. “And?”

“And what?”

“What did he say?”

You hesitated, running your tongue along your teeth before answering. “That I don’t really want to run.”

Laura huffed a quiet laugh. “He’s not wrong.”

Your jaw tightened. “It’s not that simple, Laura.”

She shrugged. “Never is.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here. He’ll move on.”

Laura hummed like she didn’t quite believe that. “If you say so.”

You pushed off the counter, deciding this conversation was over. “Go set the table. I’ll make dinner.”

Laura didn’t argue, just stood up and stretched before heading toward the kitchen. As she passed, she muttered, “You should’ve decked him.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “Maybe next time.”

---

Logan was right—he didn’t leave. But he didn’t force you either.

You assumed he learned your schedule because for the next few weeks he was there, always in the background. After work he’d lean against his truck across the street from the school.

When you went grocery shopping he was there, following from a distance.

remember that there is a second part to this!!

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

❤️🌹Arcane Valentine's Day 2025 - Rules❤️🌹

Happy Valentine's Day, my sweethearts ♥️🌹♥️!!

In honor of the day of love, I’ll be opening my requests for a short while to let y’all go WILD with Viktor and Jayce from Arcane. I’ve written 100 prompts for you to choose from, separated into 5 categories (Kinks, Objects, Sentences, Places, and Actions/Positions).

You can send in your request through my inbox (or my comment section on Ao3 if you don’t have Tumblr), and I’ll write a drabble/one-shot of a few hundred words to 1K, either during or after the event.

Find the rules and prompts below!

──⋆⋅𓍢ִ໋ RULES ⋅⋆ ──

1- You may choose between 2 to 5 prompts maximum, from all categories combined. You can select more than one prompt from the same category. I will use she/her and AFAB Reader by default, but you can specify if you would like gender-neutral pronouns and/or non-specified genitalia.

2- The number of requests I get can be overwhelming, so I may not be able to answer them all. I might also skip some if they don’t resonate with me at the moment. Please don’t take it personally if I don’t get to yours—I adore you all with my whole heart! 💕

3 - This event is centred around Viktor x Reader, Jayce x Reader, or JayVik x Reader. I will accept requests for the following characters, but they will not take priority over Viktor and Jayce asks: Silco, Vander, Vi, Sevika, and Mel.

(If you follow me for my MHA content, you may send a request with any +18 characters, like the big 3, pro-heroes, and villains. These asks won't take priority over the Arcane ones for this event, but I might be able to revisit them later ❤️)

4- Requests will be accepted from February 1st to February 14th inclusively. Anon will be on for anyone who feels more comfortable using it. You can contact me by DM if you have any additional questions.

──⋆⋅𓍢ִ໋ PROMPTS ⋅⋆ ──

🔥Twenty Kinks:🔥

1 - Dom/Sub Dynamics

2 - Biting / Marking

3 - Edging

4 - Clothed Sex

5 - Hate Sex

6 - Age Difference (starting from 18+)

7 - Virginity

8 - Creampie / Breeding

9 - Consual non-con / Dub con (specify)

10 - Somnophilia

11 - Exhibitionism / Voyeurism

12 - Fuck or Die / Sex Pollen

13 - Strenght Kink / Muscle

14 - Choking Kink

15 - Praise Kink

16 - Humiliation Kink

17 - Size Kink (you can specify a body part)

18 - Rough Sex / Pain Kink

19 - Blood Kink

20 - Dacryphilia

🎁Twenty Objects:🎁

21- Dildo / Vibrator

22 - Cane / Whip / Belt

23 - Lingerie / Corset

24 - Stockings / Tights

25 - Role-play Costume (you can specify, ex: nurse)

26 - Food (you can specify, ex: chocolate)

27 - Fucking Machine

28 - Onahole / Pocket pussy

29 - Handcuffs / Restraints

30 - Blindfold

31 - Camera / Cellphone

32 - Jewelry (you can specify, ex: choker)

33 - Gloves

34 - Animal Ears / Tail

35 - Mirror

36 - Weapon (you can specify, ex: knife)

37 - Candle / Wax

38 - Ice

39 - Heels / Shoes

40 - Strap On

💬Twenty Sentences:💬

41 - “P-please fuck me harder.”

42 - “What are you gonna do about it?”

43 - “So eager, so desperate for me… a little pathetic, don't you think?”

44 - “Sit on my lap.”

45 - “I'm going to make you regret this.”

46 - “What would X think if they could see you like this?”

47 - “I promise I'll be a good boy/girl.”

48 - “Please let me touch you.”

49 - “Get on your knees.”

50 - “How many times can I make you come?”

51 - “Quiet, they'll hear us…”

52 - “No one else will ever fuck you this good.”

53 - “You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”

54 - “How many others do you do this for?”

55 - “Don't worry, I'll kiss it better.”

56 - “You suck at this. Let me show you how it's done.”

57 - “Don't move until I say you can”

58 - “Are you close, baby?”

59 - “I want you to fuck me so hard I forget how to walk.”

60 - “This doesn't mean I like you.”

🏖Twenty Places:🏖

61 - Store / Changing Room

62 - Car

63 - Public Transport

64 - Class / School

65 - Lab

66 - Council Room

67 - Couch / Chair

68 - Cemetery

69 - Shower / Bath

70 - Public Restroom

71 - Jacuzzi / Sauna / Hot Springs (you can specify private or public)

72 - Beach

73 - Hospital

74 - House Party

75 - Bar

76 - Strip Club / Brothel

77 - Library

78 - Music Festival

79 - Camping / Woods

80 - Alleyway

🫶Twenty Positions/Actions:🫶

81 - Missionary

82 - Cowgirl / Reverse Cowgirl

83 - Doggy Style

84 - Standing

85 - Solo Masturbation

86 - Mutual Masturbation

87 - Eiffel Tower (Jayvik x Reader exclusive)

88 - Countertop

89 - Fingering

90 - Boob Job

91 - Hand Job

92 - Ass Job

93 - Foot Job

94 - Thigh Sex

95 - Chair Sex

96 - Oral Sex

97 - Humping / Grinding

98 - Cock Warming

99 - Premature Ejaculation

100 - Author’s Special (You let me choose!)

((Example of a potential ask: Viktor with 4, 17, 18, and 65))

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

A/N: Welcome to my descent into brain rot! What started as a simple “What if?” has spiraled into something much deeper. If you love dark romance, eldritch horror, and toxic men struggling with redemption, you’re in the right place. And if you’ve ever thought, “Wow, Haibara would be terrifying if he came back wrong,” get ready to see that idea come to life. This chapter is not soft; it’s filled with horror, angst, and moral ambiguity. Most importantly, it’s a cautionary tale about the dangers of ignoring your wife for months while the world turns against her. While this is a Gojo/Nanami redemption story, be prepared to suffer first. And yes, Megumi and Haibara are moving in—not because you asked, but because they insisted. If you were on the fence about loving Haibara before, congratulations—you now have brain rot. Enjoy the chaos!

Previous Chapter 13(alt ending 2.4) - Burn the Mother of Three (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 14 (alt ending 2.5) - He's Eldritch

The hands came again, grabbing at your arms, your legs, your coat—until suddenly, they stopped.

A deafening crack split the air, sharp and unnatural, like a whip snapping against the fabric of reality itself.

The ground trembled beneath you.

Then came the light.

It wasn’t blinding—it was cold and clinical, casting long, jagged shadows as a faint shimmer rippled outward from where you lay.

The hands recoiled as if burned, the mob stumbling back in confusion.

Blood sprayed into the air, deep cuts appearing on the skin of those closest to you. Cries of pain and fear erupted as they clutched their wounds, their bravado dissolving into confusion.

And then he appeared.

Nanami stood between you and the crowd, ratio blades shimmering aggressively around him like a celestial executioner’s halo. They hovered, impossibly precise, cutting the air around him with a quiet hum that promised suffering. His face was carved from stone, his expression colder than the grave.

He didn’t look human. He looked like death.

The mob froze. Their rage faltered under the weight of his presence.

Someone opened their mouth to speak, but their words withered and died when Gojo’s sharp, cerulean eyes locked onto them.

He stepped through the stunned onlookers like a storm personified, his hoodie sleeves rolled up, his knuckles already bloodied. The air around him crackled with raw power.

“Touch her again,” Gojo said, his voice a challenge. “I dare you.”

The crowd shifted uneasily, their earlier confidence unraveling into fear.

Nanami didn’t speak.

He raised a hand.

Gojo crouched beside you, his presence both terrifying and tender. With careful grace, he slid his arms beneath you, lifting you effortlessly as if you were a precious enigma he couldn’t bear to lose. You clung to his hoodie, seeking refuge in his warmth, your breath still shaky. The raccoon kit nestled in your coat let out a tiny squeak, burrowing deeper into the folds of fabric, but all you could focus on was the way Gojo’s intense gaze locked onto yours, six eyes checking your wounds, his jaw tight.

The air around Nanami crackled violently as he released his technique that was already dying to end the existence of the critines who'd dared to touch you. The ground beneath him began to tremble, a low rumble that quickly escalated into a violent quake.

As the earth shook, cracks spiderwebbed across the pavement, sending debris flying and causing people to stumble back in shock. The once-stable ground transformed into a breaking landscape, a physical manifestation of his rage—to protect you. Dust swirled around him, and the air was thick with the scent of fear and adrenaline.

Then, with a thunderous roar that echoed through the night, the ground split apart, creating a massive crater the size of a building where the mob had once stood. The earth convulsed violently, sending shockwaves rippling outward as dust and debris filled the air, obscuring. Screams pierced the darkness, a cacophony of terror as some were swallowed whole by the gaping chasm, while others scrambled for safety, desperately clinging to pipes and broken pavement like cockroaches scurrying from a light.

Nanami stood resolute above the scattered remnants of the mob. His technique had transformed the ground into a treacherous pit, a potent warning to anyone who dared to threaten what was his. The ratio blades hovered around him, shimmering with a deadly promise like silent sentinels ready to assail.

His gaze swept over the cowering figures with a wave of disgust. They were nothing but a pack of wolves, emboldened by their numbers, but now they were reduced to trembling shadows of rats. The fear in their eyes only fueled his resolve.

Every breath he took was heavy with the weight of his emotions—anger, protectiveness, and an unwavering determination to shield you from harm. He could feel your presence behind him in Gojo’s arms—the love he fought for—and it kept him from snapping amidst the turmoil. In that moment, he was not just a man; he was a guardian willing to hollow the earth to keep you safe.

“Will you go after them?” Gojo asked, his tone light but laced with menace. “Or should we make a hunt out of it?”

“Later,” Nanami said, his voice low and deadly. “Once she’s safe.”

You barely registered their words. The world around you felt distant and surreal. Your mind was a tangle of fear, humiliation, and disbelief. You weren’t crying. You weren’t even breathing properly.

“You’re safe now,” Gojo said softly, his voice grounding.

Nanami walked to you, his hand hovering uncertainly before settling on your shoulder. His touch was firm but gentle, an anchor in the storm. “No one will hurt you again,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

But his words didn’t penetrate the haze.

“I… told… you,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “They won’t… let me live…. They… won’t let… me…the babies… live, Ken.” You kept repeating it like a broken mantra, lost in the haze.

Your body trembled violently, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Breathe,” Gojo said, his tone calm but insistent. “Baby, you need to breathe.”

“I told... you,” you repeated, your voice rising into a choked, hysterical sob, but no tears came. “They’ll… kill us.”

Nanami rubbed your shoulders comfortingly. “You’re safe,” he murmured, his voice a steady hum against your panic. “We’re here. You’re safe.”

But you couldn’t hear him. The fear, the disgrace, the raw disgust—it all came crashing down, suffocating you.

You were shaking so hard it felt like your body might tear itself apart, your mind unraveling under the weight of what had just happened.

The raccoon kit nestled closer against your chest, its tiny warm purring the only thing tethering you to reality. You could feel its heart beating.

The remaining mob had scattered, their courage shattered by the sheer force of the destruction left in Nanami and Gojo’s wake. But their hateful words still echoed in your mind, corrosive and relentless.

The sound of Maserati M20 filled the air, and moments later, Megumi and Haibara rushed onto the area, flanked by armed guards in gear.

Megumi’s lightning eyes swept over the scene—the crater, the bloodied pavement, the faint scorch marks on the ground. His gaze landed on you, cradled in Gojo’s arms.

“What the hell were you thinking? Leaving without security? Do you have any idea—” Megumi snapped, striding toward you. His voice was curt, laced with anger, but his steps faltered as he took in your state—your coat torn and stained, face colorless, tear-streaked, hollow, and a canvas of bruises.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Your defenses crumbled. Without thinking, you got down from Gojo’s arms and reached for him, clinging to his sweater.

“They’ll… wanted kill m..e,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling. “The..y hate… me so… much... Maybe… they’re ri…ght. Maybe I’m unnatural... Maybe…I..  I shoul…dn’t exist.”

Megumi stiffened, his arms tightening around you. “No,” he said firmly.

“I thought… I was doing the…. right thing, b..ut I wasn’t… I froze… I just… wanted KitKats… the twins… are they alive…?” Your voice cracked, and then the dam broke. Tears streamed down your face, each one carrying the weight of fear, humiliation, and self-loathing.

A sudden kick from within your belly startled you.

They were alive.

But it was so strong against your ribs that your knees buckled, though Megumi didn’t let you fall, and neither did Gojo who you just realized was still holding you. The sensation was visceral; it felt wrong—unnatural.

You could almost hear the whispers of something lurking beneath the surface—dark energies that pulsed in time with the kicks. It was as if the very essence of what you carried was fighting to break free, clawing at your insides, demanding to be acknowledged.

You could sense the weight of everyone’s gaze, as if the walls themselves were watching, waiting for the moment when you would no longer be able to contain what was within.

“Are you okay?” Megumi’s voice broke through the haze, but it felt distant, muffled by the pounding in your chest.

You nodded, though uncertainty gnawed at you. The lives inside were a paradox—both a miracle and a horror, a symbol of the fragility of existence. 

You could feel the tension in the air, thick and electric, as if something was about to unravel.

Gojo’s grip tightened, grounding you, but the unease lingered. You were not just carrying twins; you were harboring something that felt alive in a way that transcended any ordinary pregnancy, something that could change everything.

And as another kick reverberated through you, a chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was growing inside was not just a part of you or their fathers—whichever one it was, though you guessed probably Gojo because of all the sweets you craved. No, this was something entirely else. It was a force of its own, pulsating with a dark energy.

It was hungry.

The sensation was unsettling, a primal instinct clawing at your insides as if it were reaching out, yearning for something beyond mere sustenance. Each kick felt like a warning, not just a blessing but a harbinger of something more sinister. You could almost hear its whispers, echoing in the recesses of your mind, promising power and chaos.

Sensing their cursed energy still strong, although rattled, Megumi spoke. “They’re okay,” his voice more softer now, almost a whisper. “You’re okay.”

Haibara stood nearby, his hands clenched into fists. He didn’t look up at Gojo and Nanami but spoke to them, his expression unreadable. “We’ll handle the fallout,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with steel. “No one’s touching her again.”

“I just… want…ed some… KitK..ats,” you mumbled, your voice cracking.

“And you got them?” Haibara said softly.

You looked at the crater where your bag of chocolates had probably disappeared too, forever lost.

Haibara’s voice was uncharacteristically serious when he spoke, “Next time, tell us. We’ll clear the store for you.”

“I’ll get more delivered at home. As many as you want.” Gojo breathed.

You nodded to them both, too exhausted to keep up pretenses when your ribs felt like they’d tear themselves apart from either the punishing baby kicks or the panic attack that didn’t seem to let you breathe anytime soon.

The raccoon kit stirred, poking its tiny head out from the folds of your coat. Haibara’s eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity mingling with concern. He reached out, brushing a finger over its soft fur. “Who’s this little guy?” he asked lightly, his voice a gentle balm against the rising tension.

Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper. “I… I found… it. I couldn’t leave it.” The weight of your words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fears. The innocent baby could have died with you moments ago.

Haibara’s gaze softened, understanding flickering in his eyes. “Of course you couldn’t.”

Another kick shot up inside you, and you slumped against Gojo’s chest, one hand clutching his arm while the other instinctively rubbed soothing circles over your stomach.

Nanami’s voice cut through the moment, clipped but urgent. “We need to get her to Shoko,” he insisted.

“That generic medic NPC?” Haibara replied, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words. He wasn’t trying to undermine the gravity of the situation; he just wanted to keep you grounded enough to prevent the shock from overwhelming you.

Nanami hesitated, his brow furrowing as he weighed his words. “She’s… specialized. A sorcerer doctor. She’s not a gynecologist, but she’s the closest we have right now who can handle something like this.”

Haibara smirked faintly, though the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course, you have a witch doctor on speed dial. Where is she?”

Nanami gestured toward Gojo, whose expression darkened as he stared at the redness blooming on your cheek. The sting of the slap had grown angrier, a harsh contrast to your normal complexion.

“I’ll teleport us there. Nanami, hold her,” Gojo said—an instruction wrapped in urgency.

Nanami shifted, pulling you against him. His arms, solid and unmoving, encased you like a shield. The sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed against your back—his rage was a living thing, barely leashed.

“Don’t pick me up.” Your voice barely rose above a whisper as you gripped his arm, your other hand pressing against the dull throb in your stomach. “Just hold me.”

He obeyed, pressing you closer, his warmth seeping into your bones. His thumb traced slow circles against your spine, grounding you.

“I’ll come, too,” Haibara announced, forcing lightness into the thick, oppressive air. “Megumi, you in? In case the doctor needs moral support?”

Megumi didn’t glance up. “Hmm.” His voice held no inflection, but his eyes, flat and cold, followed the guards as they disappeared into the dark. The lynch mob had minutes left of freedom. Maybe less.

Gojo nodded, crouching as he carved sigils into the bloodstained earth, his movements methodical. The air around him buzzed with restrained power.

Haibara leaned next to you, his hands careful as he wiped the sweat from your brow. “So.” His voice was too casual, the humor a flimsy barrier against something rawer. “Tell me about the raccoon.”

You blinked, thrown. “I… I found it. In that alley. It was alone. Scared. Its mom was dead. It had… plastic stuck to its neck, couldn’t breathe… I couldn’t leave it.”

Haibara studied you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly nodded. “Brave little guy. Must’ve been terrifying, not knowing if you’d give it rabies.”

You frowned at Haibara in annoyance, then looked down at the kit, its tiny form curled against your chest.

You felt a flicker of something other than fear.

Care.

“Don’t talk much, just breathe,” Gojo said softly, standing up and glancing back at you. “You’re safe now. We’ll take you to the doctor.”

Nanami’s hands gripped you tighter, his knuckles white. “She’s nice; you’ll like her.”

Well, beggers couldn't be choosers anyway, and your body hurt really bad.

The moment Gojo clapped his hands, you turned into Nanami’s chest, squeezing your eyes shut. You’d either throw up or pass out if you watched. Maybe both.

Then, disorientation.

The world twisted, and when you opened your eyes, you were inside a dimly lit infirmary.

A woman in a lab coat slept in the corner on a chair, slumped against a stretcher.

Next to her—a whole-ass dead body.

You jerked back into Nanami, your breath hitching. Haibara and Megumi clutched their stomachs, nearly buckling—not from the corpse, but from Gojo’s warped teleportation.

Gojo rubbed the back of his neck, offering a sheepish grin. “Nanamin, do your thing.”

Nanami glared. “What?”

“I got us here fast. Now you wake her up.”

“And why won’t you?” Nanami’s arms tightened around you.

Gojo scoffed. “Did you forget she tried to prescribe me cyanide two days ago?”

Nanami exhaled sharply, patience thinning. “Be brave for your wife.”

“Oh, now she’s MY wife?!” Gojo replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I killed people to keep her safe,” Nanami muttered, like this was a contest.

Gojo smirked. “Then why are you scared?”

Nanami didn’t want to wake her up. But for you, he would. Just as he was about to speak, Haibara—who’d recovered by now—loudly cleared his throat.

No reaction.

Megumi, also recovered, poked her with a newspaper.

She merely snorted and adjusted herself in her sleep.

Gojo sidled up beside her, mouthing amateurs at Haibara and Megumi, who looked ready to exterminate him. Then, without hesitation, he bent down and blew a loud raspberry into Shoko’s ear.

She woke up slowly, then turned even slower. Expression flat.

Gojo barely had time to put up Infinity before she lunged, scalpel in hand, aiming straight for his six eyes.

You cleared your throat, trying not to look at the body, before she had the chance to make you half a widow today. “Um. Excuse me?”

She froze and blinked like she was just realizing you were there. Then, rubbing her eyes, she took you in—messy, bruised, barely standing.

“The hell happened?” She asked, already moving toward you.

Nanami answered. “There was a physical altercation with a lynch mob. Could’ve been worse, Shoko.”

Shoko nodded, gesturing for you to follow her into the next room. Disinfecting, she put on gloves. “Take off your coat and sit on that stretcher.”

She had wanted to kick everyone out, but remembering the last time, she didn’t.

You obeyed, and Megumi stepped forward, taking the raccoon kit from your arms. Shoko finally noticed him and Haibara—then stopped cold. 

Haibara wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at your stomach.

Not like a healer. Not like a friend. Like he wasn’t even in the room anymore. Like he was miles away, hands clenched, jaw locked, contemplating something.

Shoko opened her mouth to say something to him—then caught Nanami’s warning look. A slow, deliberate slicing motion against his palm, unseen by Haibara.

She said nothing. For now, you were the priority.

She exhaled as she peeled back the layers of fabric, exposing the deep blue and purple bruises blotting your skin like ink spreading through water. Some were already darkening, blood pooling beneath the surface, tissue crushed by blunt force trauma. Others were fresh—raw red, still swelling, still screaming.

“How long ago?” she asked.

“Ten minutes,” the room echoed, all voices perfectly in sync. Almost rehearsed.

You ignored it.

Your gaze flickered over Shoko, guarded. You didn’t trust her, not fully, but she didn’t flinch at your husbands. That was worth something, and you didn’t have the luxury of choosing who helped you right now.

Shoko ran her fingers near your ribs—not touching, just observing the way your body tensed, the sharp catch in your breath. "I need to run some tests. Can I sedate you?"

You froze. The word made your pulse stutter. You looked between Nanami and Gojo, then Megumi and Haibara. Your throat felt tight.

Nanami moved to pat your shoulder, firm but reassuring. "It's fine. She won't hurt you. Or them." He added the last bit uncomfortably.

Megumi met your eyes, something breaking in his expression. His nod was almost imperceptible. Haibara, standing just behind him, had that same unreadable stare. They won’t let anything happen to you.

You exhaled shakily. “Okay.”

"You'll wake up in about thirty minutes if everything's fine." Shoko's voice was steady, clinical.

"I'm thirsty," you murmured. "Can I have water before?"

"Not before the test," she replied. "Messes with the results. I’ll give you something after."

Her expression didn’t change, but there was something close to amusement in her eyes. You didn’t know why. You didn’t have the energy to care.

She helped you lay down. The cold prick of the anesthetic needle slid into your vein, sharp for only a second before the numbness spread. The world tilted. You barely made it to count three before everything went black.

//

Then, the air snapped.

A pressure crushed the room, oppressive. The walls groaned. Instruments rattled.

Shoko sighed. “Not again.”

Too many massive Ratio blades hovered an inch from Nanami’s face and neck, vibrating in place, waiting to carve. Gojo’s Infinity wasn’t holding—it was folding, pressing in on itself so tightly that his breath came sharp and uneven, like his own technique was suffocating him.

“What?” Megumi barked, stepping forward instinctively as the raccoon kit let out tiny squeels.

Shoko barely glanced at Gojo. “Do you have chocolate? Something sweet?”

Gojo fumbled in his hoodie, smearing more blood from his knuckles over it, his fingers searching through the depths. He finally pulled out a random toffee and handed it to her without hesitation, still trying to not suffocate.

Shoko snatched the candy from his hand and frowned when she read the label. “Chocolate, you idiot.”

She began rummaging through his hoodie pockets herself and found one that was chocolate.

Then unwrapping it, pried your lips apart, and slid it to the side of your mouth, careful not to choke you. The sugar would dissolve on your tongue and hit your bloodstream in minutes.

“The hell is going on?” Megumi yelled again, more demanding.

Shoko popped her neck. “The fetuses. They’re very murderous.”

Haibara finally spoke. “Is she okay?”

Shoko stilled.

The voice that was supposed to be dead. The voice she had stopped expecting to hear years ago.

Then she inhaled. “Look at her wounds.”

The bruises, the abrasions—the places where your skin had been battered and broken—they were healing. Rapidly. Veins shifted beneath the surface, knitting themselves back together.

Gojo breathed, his blued face returning to its normal color as infinity stopped suffocating him. Nanami exhaled slowly, staring down at the blades dissolving near his skin. "They protected her before. Why not today?"

Shoko observed you, thinking aloud. “I think it’s her mind. As long as she’s conscious, they don’t have control. But when she’s passed the fuck out—” She gestured vaguely at the disaster unfolding around them.

Megumi’s fists clenched. His nails dug into his palms, but he barely felt it.

Haibara wasn’t looking at you anymore. His stare was fixed on Nanami and Gojo.

The silence was suffocating.

Shoko broke it first. “I should get a fetal monitor.”

No one stopped her.

“So that means they only hate you two!” Haibara laughed out of nowhere.

Realization dawned, and Megumi smirked.

Nanami sighed, and Gojo scowled.

Shoko prepped the monitor in silence, her movements careful. She worked quickly, careful not to expose too much of your bruised body under the harsh fluorescent light or not to accidentally flash your body. The four men in the room, dangerous and desperate in their own ways, hovered too close. Overbearing. Watchful.

The moment the heartbeat filled the silence—fast, strong, unnatural.

No one spoke.

It was steady. No, they were steady. The rhythm was almost too perfect, like something engineered, something other.

Shoko adjusted the probe, eyes scanning the screen, her lips pressing into a thin line as she made her observations. “They’re doing well. It seems we don’t need to have that abortion we talked about.”

Silence.

Then, realization hit her for what she’d just said out loud.

Shoko’s mouth parted slightly, breath-catching as the weight of her words sank in. She turned too late.

Haibara moved first. He tackled Nanami in a throat lock so fast and vicious it sent them both crashing into the cabinets. Instruments clattered to the ground, glass shattering.

Megumi wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand—his own, or Gojo’s, it didn’t matter—before lunging again. Gojo barely dodged the hit, then Megumi’s fist grazed his jaw. Luckily, he’d placed the raccoon kit on a table nearby before.

“How dare you?” Megumi snarled, circling Gojo.

“This is your last day,” Haibara growled, his eyes alight with something close to murder as Nanami wrenched free and drove a fist into his ribs, loosening his grip.

“We don’t want to hurt you.” Nanami slammed Haibara down, pinning him to the ground with his full weight. “Listen to me.”

Megumi didn’t stop. “Did she know? Did she agree?”

Gojo wiped his chin, spitting blood to the side. “She didn’t know,” he admitted. “We didn’t get a chance because you both kept dragging her away—”

“You didn’t get a chance?” Haibara barked out a laugh, something unhinged. His voice dipped—darker, lethal. “Or you didn’t want her to know?” He shifted his weight, trying to break free. “Because if she knew, she would’ve despised you two more than she already does.”

Gojo’s expression flickered. He knew it was true.

Megumi wasn’t done. “And you wonder why they hate you.”

Shoko had enough.

“Stop fucking fighting,” she snapped.

No one listened.

Until the air shifted.

Five Ratio blades hovered right beside her head, sharp, waiting. They weren’t hers. They weren’t Nanami’s.

Shoko exhaled. “I will personally let the murder spawn handle this if you four don’t get your shit together.”

All four men turned at once, barely suppressing a shudder.

The blades didn’t move. They waited.

Megumi let go first.

Nanami, still straddling Haibara, exhaled sharply before shoving off.

Gojo rolled his shoulders back, wiping his split lip, but he didn’t say a word.

Then Shoko sighed. “They’re fine now. Whatever it was, it fixed itself.” She hesitated. “Only the tentacles remain.”

That got a reaction.

Gojo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Shit.”

Nanami didn’t curse, but the way his fingers pressed into his temples spoke volumes. He was barely holding it together.

Megumi ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowing. “What?” His voice was tight, but he wasn’t looking at Gojo or Nanami—he was looking at the monitor, at them.

Haibara just stared.

Shoko crossed her arms. “Yeah, they’re supernatural anomalies. Nothing in medical science accounts for this kind of regeneration, let alone the... extras.” She exhaled through her nose. “We’ll monitor it. If things stay stable, it should be fine. But she needs to stay completely stress-free in the meantime.”

No one responded.

She rolled her eyes. “That means no media, no public spaces, no unnecessary outside contact. Not after what happened today.”

They nodded in agreement, grim-faced.

“And,” she continued, more pointedly this time, “there is zero reason to tell her about the... other discussion.”

Gojo and Nanami both stiffened, then Gojo responded. “We weren’t going to.”

Haibara scoffed. “Of course you weren’t.”

Shoko ignored them. “I’ll still track down that midwife, just in case.”

Silence stretched for a moment.

Then—behind her—you stirred.

Your breath hitched as consciousness settled back into your bones. Your body should have been aching, bruised, screaming in pain. But when you blinked blearily, everything felt… fine. You looked down.

No bruises. No pain.

You swallowed, voice hoarse. “Is it done?”

Shoko studied you for a beat before tapping your forehead lightly. “Yeah. But we need to talk.”

Before you could respond, the steady thump-thump of the fetal monitor filled the room. Your head turned instinctively toward the screen, heartbeats pounding in sync—too fast, too strong.

You stared, captivated.

Megumi’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the screen, then slid it away. He exchanged a look with Haibara.

Your gaze flickered between them. “You both can go. I feel a lot better.” You gestured vaguely to yourself, still half-dazed. Maybe this was Shoko’s technique, you thought to yourself.

“No.” Megumi’s voice came, flat.

You frowned. “I’m fine. Go. You can check on me tomorrow.”

Haibara smirked. “I’ll stay.”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, you won’t.”

Haibara sighed, exasperated, but before he could argue, Megumi stepped in. “I’ll take the raccoon kit. Get it vaccinated. You need to rest tonight.”

You blinked. That… was actually helpful.

Then, without another word, he grabbed Haibara by the collar and dragged him out.

Shoko barely waited for the door to shut before she turned to the remaining men. “Out.”

Nanami sighed but didn’t argue. Gojo muttered something under his breath but followed him out.

Finally, Shoko turned back to you.

“You’re under a lot of stress.” Shoko handed you a glass of water and helped you sit up.

You gulped it down, sighing as the cool liquid soothed your dry throat.

“I’d have never come back if I were you,” she said bluntly, watching you. “But I get it. You didn’t have a say, did you.”

You sighed again, heavier this time.

“They’ve always been too stubborn,” Shoko continued, stretching her neck like the mere thought of Gojo and Nanami exhausted her. “Gojo? Expected. Man’s got a single brain cell, and it just says bonk first, ask questions later. But Nanami?” She shook her head. “Extreamly weird.”

You blinked. “You work together, I presume?”

“Yeah. We were even students here at Jujutsu High together.”

Realization dawned on you. “Ah.”

You opened your mouth to introduce yourself properly, but Shoko waved you off. “I already know. I was the one who ran your tests before. Also beat their asses a little on your behalf.”

Your lips twitched. “Are you stronger than them?”

“Nah.” She smirked. “I just don’t tolerate their bullshit.”

You didn’t quite understand what she meant, but you smiled anyway.

Shoko tilted her head at you. “But back to the main question—why the hell aren’t you on maternity leave yet?”

“Too much shit has happened,” you admitted. “If I leave now, I might lose my position.”

She hummed in thought. “And those two?” She gestured vaguely. “Your friends. I presume they can’t handle it?”

“Megumi could if I guided him, but he has his own company to look after, and besides, this isn’t his industry. But Haibara?” You exhaled sharply. “He’s never worked for corporate. And he’s also... a menace.”

Shoko snorted. “Then cut back your days. Let Megumi and your fellow C-suites handle things for a few months. The stress is not good for the babies.”

You nodded slowly. “I’ll see what I can delegate and what I can fix fast so I can take time off.”

“Glad you understand.” She stretched her arms over her head. “Oh, and before I forget—what happened to Haibara?”

You froze, confused.

Shoko caught it immediately. “He used to go here. He was in Nanami’s class—mine and Gojo’s junior. Nanami only tolerated him out of all of us. Then he left Jujutsu sorcery for a long while when Haibara died.”

Your stomach twisted. “...What?”

Shoko frowned. “He was dead. At least, that’s what we were told.”

Your mouth was dry again, despite the water. “He just... showed up one day. Injured. No memory.” You exhaled, shaking your head. “And as far as we know, he doesn’t care to remember.”

Shoko went quiet, unreadable. Then, finally—

“Alright.” She continued to stretch her arms behind her back, rolling her shoulders. “If he doesn’t want to know, I won’t bring it up. Thanks for the heads up.”

Relief sagged in your posture.

Shoko grabbed her prescription from the table. “I’ll bring a spare hoodie. Your coat’s trashed.”

You smiled genuinely. “Thanks.”

She waved it off. “Don’t get soft on me now.” Then she left.

//

Shoko barely waited for the door to shut before she spun on her heel and gestured sharply for Gojo and Nanami to follow her.

They obeyed, trailing after her.

The moment they were out of earshot, she turned and spoke so fast they almost missed it.

“Listen. I’m doing you both a final favor. Again. I just told her to take maternity leave early because this stress is destroying her.”

Gojo opened his mouth to question—

She raised a single finger.

He shut up.

“How do you idiots not realize it? Those two—her friends—are in love with her. And if you don’t fix this, Haibara will replace you.”

Nanami flinched. Gojo actually stopped breathing for a second.

“No shame,” Shoko added, stone-faced. “He’ll do it happily. He's not the Haibara who roamed around us like a dumb little sunflower. He fits the profile of a sociopath now.”

The color drained from Nanami’s face.

Gojo exhaled slowly. “She wouldn’t—”

Shoko cut him off with a deadpan stare. “She can. She will. And if you don’t get your shit together, she might not even let you see the kids legally.”

Gojo paled. “She can’t do that.”

“System favors the mother, and she wouldn’t even need to try. With her financial resources, getting custody would be a breeze for her. You can’t win this, particularly not after the whole terrorist fiasco,” Shoko pointed out.

Both men looked at each other, the same thought hitting them at the same time.

Shoko grinned. “Oh, now you’re worried?”

Gojo turned to Nanami. “We should—”

“No,” Nanami muttered.

Gojo frowned. “What do you mean, no? We should do something.”

Nanami exhaled sharply. “I mean, no, we should not let her know that we’re panicking.”

Shoko crossed her arms. “Great strategy. Just keep gaslighting yourselves.”

Gojo grabbed Nanami’s shoulders. “I will not be replaced by an MI6 dropout with amnesia.”

Nanami stared at him. “That is your takeaway from this?”

Shoko handed them the new prescription. “I’ll send you the divorce papers template soon. Just in case.” Then she walked off, leaving them to bicker.

//

Shoko returned with a sweatshirt and handed it to you.

You pulled it on, feeling the warmth settle over your skin, then hopped off the infirmary table with her help.

She steadied you, then opened the door and yelled down the hall. “Come pick her up, you lazy bastards.”

Nanami and Gojo appeared within seconds, moving in sync.

Shoko helped you outside, slipping a small note into your hoodie pocket as she did.

“For when they inevitably piss you off again,” she murmured.

Before you could reply, Gojo grabbed your wrist.

The next thing you knew, you were home with your husbands.

You sighed, making your way to your room. You quickly shed your clothes and stepped into the shower.

The water was scalding, but you didn’t turn it down. The steam curled around you as you braced your hands against the tiled wall, your breath coming out in slow, controlled exhales.

Three months. Three months of silence. Three months since you had walked out of this house and never looked back. And now you were here—not because you forgave them, not because you wanted to be, but because they had saved you today from a problem they caused.

Your fingers brushed over your stomach, feeling the reassuring presence of your babies. They were still here. Still breathing. Unlike the people who had tried to kill you. The thought didn’t bring relief or satisfaction; it just sat there, heavy and made you feel nothing.

You shut off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around yourself. When you emerged, the room was quiet, except for a small box sitting on the nightstand. You recognized the packaging instantly—KitKats. You stared at it for a moment before picking it up.

There was a note tucked underneath, written in Gojo’s familiar, messy scrawl: "Took a while to track down. (The store owner was mean, but I am stronger.)"

You scoffed, tossing the note aside. There was no outright apology, but you knew what it meant. You weren’t stupid.

You left the chocolates unopened, put on some soft clothes, and walked out. The smell of food hit you before you even reached the kitchen. Nanami was there, wearing a clean sweater with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked up the moment he heard your footsteps. “Come sit,” he said, his voice calm and hopeful.

You hesitated, not because you weren’t hungry, but because this was what they should have been doing all along. Now, when it was too late and the damage had already been done, they were finally doing everything right.

Your stomach growled, loud enough for him to hear. Great.

Nanami took that as agreement and set a bowl down in front of you—warm, familiar, and easy to eat.

You sat, ate, and didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Then, Gojo showed up, freshly showered and wearing a clean Digimon hoodie—the one you’d gifted him a long time ago. He began drying your hair, and you let him do it because the sound of the dryer against your damp strands helped distract you from your thoughts.

Once he was finished, he took his time brushing your hair, being more careful than you’d ever seen him. Normally, he would unintentionally tug at it, but this time, his movements were gentle and deliberate.

When you finished eating, you stood without a word and left, the guest bedroom door clicking shut behind you.

You took some pregnancy-safe sleeping medication and got under the covers. It wasn’t what you would have done, but it was necessary to escape the nightmares. And before you knew it, you had fallen asleep.

You found yourself alone in a narrow street that stretched on forever under a sickly, jaundiced light. The pavement was slick with something dark and viscous—blood, you realized with dawning horror—as if the ground itself had absorbed the remnants of violence. Every step you took echoed in your ears like a countdown, and behind you, a ragged chorus of angry voices grew louder, closer.

A man’s distorted call broke through the clamor, his voice dripping with vitriol. You turned, but the faces were shrouded in shadow—only the glint of hatred in their eyes was visible.

Their words slurred, vicious accusations that twisted in your mind: you were tainted, a harbinger of chaos, unworthy of the lives you tried so desperately to protect. They hurled insults that felt like physical blows, each syllable striking your already raw flesh.

Before you could move, a rough hand clamped down on your scarf, wrenching it away. The sudden chill of exposed skin and air sent a jolt of terror through you. In that frozen moment, you saw flashes—snatches of faces contorted in fury, phones raised to capture every moment, and a tide of jeers rising like a dark wave. The sound of cracking glass and the shattering of a phone mingled with the screams, forming a discordant symphony of cruelty.

You tried to retreat, your legs uncoordinated under the weight of panic. But the crowd surged forward with the relentless force of a tide. Their shouting transformed into a cacophony of blame and disgust. One voice, feral and unhinged, ordered you to “burn,” while another mocked you for daring to exist. The swarm’s words merged with the sound of fists colliding with flesh. You felt a searing slap across your cheek, a blow that left your vision swimming with hot, red pain.

In the midst of this terror, you clutched your belly, desperate to shield the two tiny hearts pounding in time with your own erratic rhythm. The sensation was both a comfort and a cruel reminder of what was at stake.

Somewhere in the melee, you heard the sickening crunch of bones and the squelching sound of flesh tearing, as if your body was betraying you in slow motion. You tried to scream, but the sound was lost beneath the roar of the mob.

Shadows twisted at the edges of your vision, morphing into monstrous shapes that seemed to leer at your vulnerability. A jagged piece of broken glass skittered across the pavement, slicing through a stray lock of hair and landing like a shard of reality in your dream. You tried to run, but your limbs felt leaden, paralyzed by an unseen force. Every time you lifted a foot, the ground seemed to pull you back, a magnetic grip of despair.

A chilling whisper echoed in your ear, a voice not entirely human, promising pain and isolation. The surrounding figures, their faces a blur of rage and malice, closed in on you. One rough hand grabbed your arm, its grip burning as if ignited by acid, while another ripped at your coat, exposing your bare skin to the elements—and to their relentless abuse. You felt the sting of every lash as if it were etched into your memory, each blow an indelible mark of their collective hatred.

In the climax of this horrific vision, your world collapsed into a maelstrom of sound and fury: a blend of anguished cries, the heavy thud of falling bodies, and the unsettling, almost ritualistic chant of those who had lost their humanity. As you teetered on the brink of collapse, the final image seared itself into your mind—a monstrous silhouette looming over you, its eyes hollow and seemed to assault you, as if to remind you that in this nightmare, mercy was a forgotten word.

And then, as abruptly as it began, the nightmare receded into a void of darkness, leaving you gasping for breath, heart pounding in your ears. The terror lingered—a visceral reminder of the night.

You woke up to warmth—not the comforting kind, but the kind that meant someone was too close. Your eyes cracked open to find Gojo and Nanami on the bed sleeping near you, not touching you, but there—too close. You exhaled through your nose, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over you.

Slowly, carefully, you slipped out of bed, dragging the blanket with you as you padded to the long couch. The second you lay down, exhaustion took over again, and the nightmare came fast—the hate, the shouting, the hands.

You woke up sometime later again, with a deep gasp and realized you weren’t alone. Gojo’s arm was around your stomach, and Nanami’s hand rested against your back, holding you. They had moved to you again. Your body sagged before your mind caught up. For a brief moment, you leaned in, feeling the familiar warmth.

But then you remembered. You stiffened and shoved them off. They woke up startled as you turned your back to them, pulling the blanket over yourself. Silence filled the room, and then Gojo’s voice, still rough with sleep, broke the quiet. “...Yeah. Okay. That’s fair.”

You said nothing. Nanami exhaled quietly, the weight of their presence still heavy in the air. But neither of them tried to touch you again. You closed your eyes, and it took a long time to fall back asleep.

---

On the other side of the city, a dilapidated warehouse loomed over the docks.

Inside, the last of the lynch mob huddled together—along with a handful of online trolls who had thought they were untouchable and a few stubborn business investors who had already been scheduled for execution.

The rusted steel doors creaked open.

Haibara walked in first, flanked by Megumi and their men. “This reminds me of that time,” he mused, stepping over a broken pallet.

Megumi rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck with a slow crack. “The time we wiped out her family?”

Haibara smirked, “Of course, that was the best hunt. How they begged. I still dream of their cries and smile to myself in sleep.”

“It was hard tracking you down back then,” Megumi said, eyes scanning the room. “But I wasn’t about to break our little promise.”

Haibara laughed. “I love how you’re a sentimental murderer.”

Megumi ignored him.

“Although,” Haibara went on, “how’d you get the list? She never used to tell anyone.”

“Dad figured it out long ago.” Megumi’s voice was casual, almost bored. “It was delivered to me when I turned twenty. He had contingencies in case something happened to him. After that, I started my company. And the first thing I did—or more accurately, we did—was eliminate them all.”

Haibara whistled. “Ahh. Ol’ Fushiguro had some sense after all.” He grinned. “Good. Good. I had a lot of fun making that promise with your fourteen-year-old self.”

Megumi tensed.

Haibara mused, unbothered. “You had seen her crying over some bruises to your mom, ran to me, and asked if I’d help you kill them. Not to be mean, but I’m glad Toji was already dead. Otherwise, you would’ve gone to him instead, and that would’ve been boring.” He shrugged off his coat. “You were scary back then, though. Real serial killer child vibes.”

Megumi cracked his knuckles. “Shut up and tell me how we’re doing this.”

“Same as last time.”

Their men nodded and slammed the warehouse doors shut behind them as they walked out, leaving Megumi and Haibara alone with the people. The lock clicked, final. No one was getting out.

Someone whimpered.

"Please... save us,” a man begged, voice raw.

Megumi tilted his head. His smile wasn’t kind. “They want us to save them.” He looked at Haibara. “Should we?”

“PlEAsE sAVe Us!” Haibara mimicked the man’s voice, distorting it with an airy, unnatural lilt. He let out a sharp, delighted laugh, his teeth bared.

A shiver passed through the warehouse.

Megumi sighed, pulling on his gloves. “Keep the exits sealed.”

The emerging shadows obeyed.

The room darkened.

Ink spilled across the concrete floor, creeping up the walls, stretching like living veins. Mahoraga flickered behind Megumi, its eight eyes unblinking. In the distance, something wet and heavy moved. Agito's maw opened with a hollow snap.

Megumi lifted a hand. “Give them a head start.”

Haibara smiled. “How generous.”

Then he twitched.

And the world changed.

It wasn’t an explosion; it wasn’t a shift in gravity. It was subtle—something just slightly… off. A nauseating wrongness slithered under the skin. The air became thick, syrupy, too still. The walls breathed. The shadows didn’t stretch like normal—they lagged, following movement like broken reflections.

Someone gagged, clutching their stomach.

Another let out a choked scream.

Haibara exhaled sharply. His voice echoed even though he hadn't moved closer.

“Run.”

The mob scattered.

A woman sprinted, high heels clacking against the concrete—

She took three steps before her knees folded backward with a sickening crunch. She hit the ground, twitching like a broken marionette.

A man reached for the exit, but the moment his hands touched the door, his fingers spread. Not his palm—his fingers. They stretched too long, bones splitting at unnatural angles, flesh webbing together like something not meant for this world.

He screamed.

Another tried to run—

His skin turned translucent. The veins underneath shifted, moving in a way veins shouldn’t. They didn’t pulse; they writhed. Words formed in the blood beneath his skin. A message not meant to be read by human eyes.

He looked down at his arms and understood.

He tore at his own flesh, screaming.

Haibara’s technique wasn’t like Megumi’s. It wasn’t like Sukuna’s raw brutality.

It was eldritch.

It didn’t just kill. It changed.

The kind of curse that burrowed into the body and made itself home. That twisted people into shapes they weren’t meant to take. That let them see things they were never meant to understand, forced to experience things they weren’t meant to see.

A man fell to his knees, clawing at his throat. His own voice was escaping his mouth, curling into the air like black smoke. The words whispered back to him in reverse, echoing secrets even he hadn’t known he was keeping.

One woman was still standing. She wasn’t screaming. She wasn’t running.

She was staring.

At something.

Her pupils had dilated so wide her irises were gone. Her mouth hung open, jaw slack. Silent. Unblinking.

Whatever she was seeing—

She wasn’t coming back.

Haibara stepped toward her, tilting his head and smirked. “Interesting.”

Megumi’s shadows shifted, impatient. Mahoraga’s tail flicked, and Agito’s massive jaw unhinged.

Megumi glanced at Haibara. “Done playing?”

Haibara grinned, eyes bright. “Yeah.”

The screaming didn’t stop.

Some of them were still alive.

Not for long.

Megumi didn’t waste time. He moved like a specter—silent, meticulous. Shadows coiled around his arms, slithering toward the last few stragglers. They twisted through rib cages, laced around throats, and tightened.

A man gasped, his breath cut off mid-sound. Another gurgled, twitching as something inside him folded wrong.

Haibara, meanwhile, laughed. He wasn’t even touching them.

The ones in front of him convulsed on the ground, writhing. Their bodies contorted like broken marionettes, pulled by strings no one else could see. Their mouths opened, but no screams came out—only wet, rattling exhales, their vocal cords stolen.

The man who had tried to run—one of the investors, judging by his expensive watch—was now on his knees, his shinbone jutting through his skin.

Mahoraga’s massive form loomed behind him, its eight eyes burning with cold patience.

Megumi didn’t react, only flicked his wrist. The shadows obeyed.

A blur of silver and shadow shot forward, its skeletal jaws snapping down—tearing through flesh, through ribs, through the core of a man who didn’t even get to finish gasping.

Agito’s claws burst from the floorboards, wrapping around another man's throat, dragging him under like a fish hooked beneath the surface. The gurgling stopped before he fully vanished.

Mahoraga moved and the ceiling buckled under its presence, the air warping like space itself was rejecting the creature’s existence.

Someone launched a rusty metal rod.

The rod never made it.

Mahoraga’s wheel spun.

The rod froze mid-air, vibrating violently before reversing its trajectory. It buried itself into the shooter’s own forehead, and he dropped, his blood spattering backward.

Megumi sighed, rolling his shoulders. Toji’s raw physicality in a body with his own technique—fully mastered and awakened—made everything so easy.

“Want me to finish them off, or should I let them keep running?” He cracked his knuckles.

Haibara hummed, twirling a knife between his fingers. “Let’s give them hope. It’s funnier that way.”

So they let them run.

For a little while.

Megumi moved first.

One blink, he was in the center of the warehouse. The next, he was in front of a man who had almost reached a window.

If he’d made it out, there were snipers outside. Megumi was always prepared.

The man stopped—no, he was stopped.

Megumi’s fingers were inside his stomach, gripping his liver like it was a plaything.

The man’s eyes were wide and his mouth opening and closing in silent, animal panic.

Megumi yanked his hand back, and blood splattered across the concrete.

The liver landed with a wet thud.

Megumi didn’t even watch him fall. He turned, piercing eyes already locked onto the next one.

Agito, meanwhile, moved with too many teeth, mouth stretching far beyond what anything in nature should allow.

A woman tripped.

But she never hit the ground.

One second, she was there. The next, Agito’s jaw clamped shut, and there was nothing left.

No bones. No blood. Just absence.

Megumi barely paid attention. He flicked his eyes, watching Mahoraga advance.

It stepped through the wreckage, shadows twisting at its feet. Towards a man, sobbing, scrambling backward against the wall. “No—no, please, I’ll give you whatever you want, I can pay, I—”

Mahoraga raised its massive clawed hand—and crushed him.

Bone and blood splattered around.

The rest tried to run faster, but Haibara’s technique didn’t let them.

One by one, they collapsed, their bodies warping, twisting, and breaking in ways the human form wasn’t meant to withstand.

A woman clawed at her own face, nails digging into flesh like she was trying to rip something out.

Her mouth moved. No sound came.

Her lips shaped a word.

Please.

Haibara leaned down, watching her with bright, fascinated eyes. “You’re still thinking?” He clicked his tongue. “That must be exhausting.”

He tapped her forehead.

She stopped.

Not dead. Not unconscious.

Just gone.

Her eyes were still open, still wide, still locked on something none of them could see. Her chest rose and fell mechanically, as if she was only breathing out of habit.

Then the last breath left the warehouse.

The air was still, thick with the scent of iron and rot.

All around them, bodies lay in unnatural shapes—bent backwards, sprawled, hollowed out. Some had collapsed mid-movement, faces frozen in unreadable expressions.

Others were missing things. Voices. Thoughts. Pieces of their minds scooped clean out.

No one was left to beg. No one was left to run.

Megumi exhaled, flicking his hands clean of the mess. His gloves were ruined. He pulled them off, tossing them onto a corpse.

Agito’s eyes gleamed through the darkness.

Mahoraga’s wheel slowed, the eight eyes blinking once before fading.

Haibara knocked on the door. Twice.

Megumi stepped over a mangled hand, heading for the exit.

The warehouse door creaked open.

Outside, the night air was cool. The moon was high. All unbothered.

As Megumi stepped into the dockyard, one of his employees—a specialist in discreetly gathering people—approached him, holding something small and dark in her hands. It wriggled, extending its tiny paws toward him. The raccoon kit, its fur now softer after a recent visit to the vet and groomer, sniffed curiously at his hands.

He gently scratched the creature between its ears, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Then he took it over and put it in his pocket and started walking.

Haibara fell into step beside him.

Neither of them spoke as they got in the backseat of the car.

The streetlights buzzed overhead as they made their way to the only place that mattered.

Home.

Which would be a few floors below in your building from today.

---

“How the hell have you not been able to decrypt a single phone yet, Choso?” Sukuna growled, frustration evident in his voice.

“It’s not a skill issue, you dumbass; it’s encrypted!” Choso shot back, then abruptly cut himself off. “Bingo!”

Sukuna leaped off the couch and strode over to him, curiosity piqued.

Choso opened the gallery on the phone, revealing a series of images.

“Hey, isn’t that the guy from that terrorist attack? Nanami Kento, I think? It’s all over social media from many days,” Yuji muttered as he strolled by, chewing on sour candy.

“And you’re telling me this now?!” Sukuna barked, his irritation boiling over.

“How the hell was I supposed to know you were looking for their wife? We thought you made her up!” Yuji retorted unfazed by Sukuna’s anger.

Choso stepped in to intervene before Sukuna could strangle Yuji, but Yuji simply walked over to the fridge for some soda. “You really should check social media from time to time,” he added nonchalantly.

“Where does she live?” Sukuna asked Choso, giving up on the unwinnable battle against Yuji.

A/N: So, how does it feel to know that Haibara isn’t dead, but he also has the moral alignment of an eldritch horror? Did you have fun? Do you feel unsafe? Good. And how much did we miss Sukuna? Also, I wrote another fic of this version of Haibara since y’all seem to love him so much, except this time, he’s a soft (but still terrifying) yandere with Nanago: 🤓 The Symphony of Spite 🤓 [Tumblr/Ao3] Ryomen Sukuna x GN!Therapist Reader x Nanami Kento Crybaby!Gojo Satoru x ..... (he's after one of your manz) And for no one but my shower thoughts: 🦴 Ooga Booga Battle Royale 🐯 [Tumblr/Ao3] F!Reader x Pre-Historic Neanderthal JJK daddies (Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, Zenin Toji & Ryomen Sukuna) Like. Comment. Give me your first borns or just send me asks about your mental state. I’ll be waiting.

Next chapter will be out on idk :P

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz @thebumbqueen @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni

Taglist Open.

[donotbelasagne]

IN9 episodes tournament, round 1 stats

I have created a spreadsheet based on the wonderful polls by @insideno9bracket and now I am here to give you some solid facts (it's about 1000 words long, I sincerely apologise).

First off, I looked at the general data.

The mean amount of votes per poll was a nice round 90 (to the nearest whole number), with a SD of 11.6 (quite a lot).

The mode was 83, and the median 89.5 (meaning there are a few outliers at the top).

The mean amount of notes per poll was 17 (to the nearest whole number), with 10 of were likes and 7 were reblogs (the number of comments proved to be almost negligible, with a mean of 0.25 comments per poll).

Firstly, I think this shows the general trend on Tumblr of moving away from reblogs and towards likes (a trend that other Tumblr users have made way more interesting posts about, so I won't go into detail about this here). Due to the nature of these polls, I really enjoy reading people's reblog-tags, so I urge you to reblog more next round so I have a good time lol.

Secondly, it shows that only 19% of the people who voted also interacted with the post in another way (not taking into consideration those who liked AND reblogged). Again, I feel like we can do better than this next round. I want to know why you choose the episode you choose! Give me those unhinged and insanely biased tags, reblog with propaganda of why people should vote for a specific episode! It’s what these polls are all about!

Next up, let's take a look at the most popular polls and episodes.

The top 3 most voted for polls were:

Nana's Party vs Bernie Clifton's Dressing Room (125 votes)

Zanzibar vs Paraskevidekatriaphobia (108 votes)

Sardines vs How Do You Plead (105 votes)

The top 3 most voted for episodes were:

Bernie Clifton's Dressing Room (115 votes)

Plodding On (82 votes)

The Stake Out & Cold Comfort (81 votes)

Now, the main take-away from this is how insanely popular BCDR is. It got more votes by itself, than all other polls did in total. Another take-away is the popularity of Sardines and How Do You Plead (we’ll seem them again in the “closest calls” part of this post). People really fought for both those episodes. My last take-away for now, is that we are all insanely predictable and I love that for us lol. Of course Plodding On and The Stake Out are in the top 3, of course they are. 

If we look at the most voted for polls/episodes, we of course also need to look at the least voted for (or as I’d like to call it; the bit of this post that would get Reece annoyed).

The top 3 least voted for polls were: 

Private View vs Boo To A Goose (55 votes)

And The Winner Is vs Thinking Out Loud (75 votes)

Hurry Up And Wait vs A Quiet Night In (80 votes)

The top 3 least voted for episodes were: 

Hurry Up and Wait & The Referee’s A W***er (8 votes)

A Random Act Of Kindness, Nana’s Party & Love Is A Stranger (10 votes)

Kid/Nap (14 votes)

A couple of points on this, Private View vs Boo To a Goose was the first poll to happen, which I believe is the main reason this poll received so few votes. Secondly, some of the episodes in this top 3 were just unlucky with which episode they were up against and aren’t bad episodes per se (to be fair, are there any actual bad episodes? I think not. Just popular and less popular ones). For example, The Referee’s a W***er was up against Cold Comfort (which got 91% of the votes), and Nana’s Party was up against BCDR (which got 92% of the votes). 

This brings me nicely to the point of win margins. 

Top 3 biggest win margins:

Bernie Clifton’s Dressing Room (92%) vs Nana’s Party (8%) 

Cold Comfort (91%) vs The Referee’s A W***er (9%)

A Quiet Night In (90%) vs Hurry Up And Wait (10%)

Top 3 smallest win margins 

Thinking Out Loud (52%) vs And The Winner Is (48%)

The Trial of Elizabeth Gadge (58.4%) vs The Party’s Over (41.6%)

12 Days Of Christine (59%) vs To Have And To Hold (41%) As well as: Sardines (59%) vs How Do You Plead (41%) 

The biggest win margins are all quite straightforward; iconic episodes vs average episodes. Not much to say about that. The smallest win margins are either between two average episodes, or two iconic episodes (/documentaries).

I wonder if perhaps there could be a “golden ticket” poll at some point, to get one of these just-didn’t-win episodes back into the competition (@insideno9bracket)? 

Lastly, I looked at the most and least interacted with polls. 

Top 3 most interacted with polls:

Death Be Not Proud vs The Stake Out (28 notes)

Nana’s Party vs Bernie Clifton’s Dressing Room (25 notes)

Tempting Fate vs Wise Owl & The Last Weekend vs Mulberry Close (24 notes) 

Makes a lot of sense, people are very passionate about these episodes. 

Top 3 least interacted with polls:

And The Winner is vs Thinking Out Loud (9 notes)

Mother’s Ruin vs Seance Time (10 notes)

Hurry Up and Wait vs A Quiet Night In (11 notes)

It’s either because people weren’t too fussed about these 3 polls (seems unlikely, but alright), or everyone was busy when these polls came out lol. If anyone has a better explanation, I’d love to hear it. 

Some extra thoughts: 

A lot of this was more or less as I expected, though I thought The Trolley Problem would feature more heavily at the top (it ranks 10th in amount of votes). 

I cannot wait for round 2 and seeing if the current trends continue, or if new pairings will change it all up!

Please let me know if there are any other stats you’d like to see! I’ve just gone with everything I could think of, but I’m always open to doing more pointless stats. 

Thank you everyone for voting and thank you @Insideno9brackets for doing this. I’m having a great time.

[hannieehaee]

ive been told another one of my fics (over my head) seemingly draws too much inspiration from another preexisting fic (hits different cause its you).

while i 100% do not believe this belief to be true, ill be taking it down to avoid any issues (ill be leaving it up for the rest of the day in case you'd like to save/archive it for ur own reading and then will be removing it altogether). my fic and this fic were posted one month in difference and my full-length fics usually take me months to complete, so any similarities in plot were purely coincidental.

id like to take this time to clarify that a few of my fanfics do utilize tropes/concepts ive seen other authors use but that id never actually copy or steal the actual subject matter of someone else's writing in my own. i was told by this same author that apparently there's been other writers who have issue with some of my fics copying their own, so if you're one of those people, i invite you to come forward and let me know so i can remove whichever fic you feel is similar to your own.

i want people to understand that a lot of writing on here will reminisce one another due to being about the same thirteen individuals who all share specific dynamics and personality traits, along with tropes and trope progressions being similar (if you read my fics i use the exact same trope progressions 90% of the time). and that i could easily pull up a few fics that read similarly to each other but are not the same.

i will remove any 'copied' writing (despite me knowing this is false) to avoid any issues because i dont want to entertain this. though i completely admit my fault regarding my imitation of another writer in my previous post, i wont entertain the idea that most of my writing is copied, because it is not.

with this, i will post the last few works i had already been planning on posting and move onto removing the rest of my work from tumblr altogether. for full transparency, i have a few other works i am in the middle of writing and will be posting those to patreon (i frankly dont care about anyone's opinion on my use of patreon, by the way).

i have a lot of stressors in my personal life, which is why i would only ever pop in here to post writing and leave immediately after, so i am not entertaining anything that makes this space the slightest bit uncomfortable/annoying for me lol sorry! writing has been fun, and the few people ive met on here have been very nice and i will miss them, but im not sitting and waiting for false accusations about my writing due to a mistake i made and admitted to as soon as it was pointed out to me.

id also like to clarify about my patreon since ive gotten complaints before: i do not feel any type of way about it. that money has been incredibly helpful for real-life money issues ive had and im incredibly appreciative of anyone who's supported me. ill continue posting there for a while before ultimately stopping my writing altogether.

im sorry to anyone who liked my writing on here. i'll keep it untouched for a few days in case anyone would like to save it or archive it for their own personal reading. and if anyone would like to read 'closer' (the fic i took down yesterday) message me and ill send you a google docs of it so you can personally keep it for yourself.

bye lol idk if anyone will be sad about my departure ik i sure as hell wont be

[ivyblossom]

Lessons in Story: Artificial Intelligence

Artificial intelligence is not an element of story, and yet here we are.

I'm aware that AI is bad for the environment. So's tumblr. That's all true. I'm also aware that AI scrapes copyrighted material like google does. I'm aware of how it steals art for its knowledge base without compensating artists and uses is as a model and replacement for skills. That's bad. I'm not going to address any of that here.

I have been observing how people talk about using AI in various parts of their writing process at the same time as I'm been trying to understand my own process and the obstacles I'm facing, and these two topics have oddly collided.

As I've said previously, my background is in some kind of woo woo where narrative comes out in one whole piece. So the fact that writing is many different and iterative pieces is something I had to figure out in my own bizarre way, but at the moment I now understand the basic process to be in these four general stages:

dreaming/planning (coming up with characters, ideas, goals, worlds, etc.)

outlining (not to say that this isn't many sub-stages, all of these steps are big catagories)

writing (actually putting words into sentences so your story exists)

Editing (revising, restructuring, polishing, etc.)

Are there more steps that I'm not accounting for? Those are the stages as I understand them. You can move back and forth through these stages throughout the process, so it's not necessarily linear, though it could be. For me, the key has been embracing the fact these are all radically different activities that require a completely different headspace, different skills, sometimes different tools, and a different perspective on narrative. That has been freeing revelation, because I was trying to do most of it at the same time.

But here's what else I've learned:

Dreaming/planning: this is a zero consistency space when it comes to how close or how far away you are from your protagonist. Are you feeling what they feel, or are you 30,000 feet up looking at the task they have in front of them and the path they're going to take? Or are you somewhere in between? Kind of all of the above at different points.

Outlining: in my experience, this can and should include emotional through lines, but outlining usually focuses on the 30,000 foot view. I have personally never written an outline that didn't miss critical details because of the 30,000 foot gap between me and the protagonist when I outline.

Writing: this seems like the very closest and most intimate you get with your story and your protagonist, right? This is where you live through it with them in extreme detail. There is no distance between you and them, you have to use a telescope to see 30,000 feet up. I find I have to revise my outline in small ways because I often underestimate or overestimate what something's going to feel like on the ground. This is like a micro-discovery phase: not plot discovery, emotional and intimate detail discovery.

Editing: I'm not an expert at this, but so far I feel like it goes back to being extremely inconsistent. It's either very close in a different way, or 30,000 feet up, or various in-between levels, depending on the type of editing or revision. And sometimes it's none of those, it's completely outside looking at how many times you use the word "feel" or whether your verbs and nouns agree.

Right. So people try to insert AI to do the graft for one or more of these stages.

AI in stage 1: I've seen some folks talk about using AI to get ideas for stories. I don't understand that, ideas are the easiest part of this process, as far as I can tell. Life's a rich pageant, maybe that's not universally true. Now, having AI to help you refine an idea, I can see that. Especially if you ask it to point out tropes and cliches as you go. Is that bad? Is that cheating? I dunno.

AI in stage 2: I've never seen anyone say they do this. If you have an amazing and complete story idea and you want to shaped into a 3 or 5 act structure, or a hero's journey, etc. I'm sure AI could do that, but that's mainly just typing. That's like AI as workbook. Is that cheating? I dunno. Does an AI generated outline help you? Or do you just skip the thinking that would have created the details of your story? Hard to say.

AI in stage 3: The wildest version of using AI in the creation of fiction, and there are whole subreddits for it. This is the people who are constructing novels scene by scene by telling AI to write it for them to their specifications and then "heavily editing" the result. So they are ostensibly doing stage 1, 2, and 4 themselves, and are outsourcing stage 3, the hard graft. Though I'd be very surprised if they aren't also using AI for stage 4, but let's assume they aren't.

Stage 3 is the only part of writing process that is protected by copyright, so it's a weird one to outsource. It's also the stage, in my experience, where you do micro-discovery, the in-the-moment scene details and the actual, living emotional experience of your story that you can't completely capture in outline. So if you just animate your outline without living through the story with your characters, it's always going to feel emotionally 30,000 feet in the air, I think. Right? If you feed AI an outline, that's what you'd get. i think doing this is just avoiding doing the most intimate and immediate discovery process of creating a story, and I don't think that serves the story or the writer (or "writer").

I'm intrigued that people think you can do this and it makes sense. You'd have to believe that the writing process is simply describing the contents of your outline, but I don't think that's true. It's like trying to get from the twelfth floor to the first floor by skipping the stairs, the elevator or the escalator and just leaping into the air assuming you'll land just fine because those intermediary systems are just time-wasters anyway.

I've read some arguments that using AI for stage 3 is something people with disabilities need to get their stories out into the world. As a neurodivergent person, I think that's short-sighted and is a disservice to those stories. I'm pretty sure it's just skipping the work of living through the emotional through line of the story and just not making all the little decisions and constructing the tiny details that go into the telling of a story. That's a heck of a missing staircase. Outlines aren't stories. Skipping the writing part means you're missing 2/3rds of the discovery, and therefore 2/3rds of the richness and depth of the story. How does that serve disabled voices? I don't buy it.

AI in stage 4: the one that looks innocuous but is actually dangerous. Dumping your work into AI and having it fix everything for you. This is a bad idea. Dump your work in there if you want to, but have it tell you what it's finding that needs adjustment so you can make decisions about it yourself. Copying and pasting out of an AI engine means you aren't making decisions about it, you're deferring decisions to a machine. That's the fastest way possible to erase your own voice. I can see getting it to flag things it has questions about, but taking AI advice on your writing is way too trusting.

I think this is especially dangerous for writers who don't have confidence in their own voice. AI's voice may seem like a better chose to them, and that's really sad.

I have more to say about AI, but this is more than enough for now.

[yogurtbird]

a cannibalistic reading of fool's table (sloppily glued together) because they're sending me to the psych ward soon /ref

[cannibalism, blood, so on and so forth]

original mv thoughts

the original and the drdt mv differ a lot but drdtdev did pick the song -> there are thoughts to be had rattling around my brain

natori notoriously uses the same character for the majority of song mvs, so despite the difference in hairstyles, the two human characters are likely the 'same'

fool's table is (presumably) about natori's bitterness towards shallow and negative sentiment towards his work and how he feels about his success despite them

guy on the table is dressed as seen in overdose (natori's most popular work)

fool's table is, in essence, natori's self-expression of frustration, conflicting forms of creativity, agony of having to serve 'an audience of pigs', and triumph

end of mv ->

pigs are gone! and so is overdose guy.

suspicious glass of wine that (from the rest of the mv) is very likely blood of some form

could be argued that the blood is from the pigs, but given that the pigs seem to be deflated with no blood in sight and with the shot of the wine (alleged) getting onto the tablecloth, i'm choosing to read it as overdose

the pigs also did get their montage shot of being food earlier so for the sake of consumption economy management it's probably overdose /j

hey why'd he eat that guy ->

a lot of artists feel limited by their 'one hit wonder' songs - it brings them fame, as well as more negative opinions and expectations for future songs

overdose is being 'served' to an audience of pigs and despite his distress, he's being eaten <- this is perpetrated by the server, because natori is constantly serving his own music to a hungry audience, even if the original feelings behind it are trampled in the process

server relishing a clean and isolated glass of 'wine' (not really) is representative of natori moving on from the fame that 'defined' him in spite of the audience

so what's with this shot ->

with the prior context in mind, this reads as a mocking invitation to the audience watching the video to participate in the consumption of overdose

the song is about his frustration with the audience; he wants to remind them that they have a part to play in how his music is interacted with

in terms of visual evidence; this shot is always paired with the pigs in position to eat around the table + the cutlery used by the pigs and offered by the server is the same

2. drdt mv

hey man what the hell ->

as one of the only shots that the drdt mv shares with the original, there's a significant possibility that drdtdev just liked the composition and had a different meaning in mind

however, because yogurtbird is crazy,

reading this as a metatextual invitation from mai to 'us' to participate in the consumption of teruko

the audience doesn't have nearly as much of an influence in-universe as it does in the original mv so far, but there are a lot of signs for 'audience' being central to the series (killing game being broadcasted, monoTV, the fact that v3 is one of the medias directly inspiring it)

if it is about the audience (us), this seems like a straightforward metaphor for how the audience is consuming the story through teruko's point of view (maybe on a more meta v3 level, 'perpetuating' teruko's suffering by engaging with the media (BUT THESE ARE JUST MY CRAZY THOUGHTS ...) do not go developing guilt about consuming the media because of tumblr user yogurtbird's crazy one off thought)

the audience might not also be 'us', but rather a different group of people (drdt cast?)

the first stab is a parallel to xander's initial attack on teruko

why would mai do this ->

mai is commonly portrayed as someone nice and kind; it seems contradictory that she's portrayed doing something so cruel

however, considering the fact that mai was involved in an Incident with xander that had catastrophic effects + xander was able to be convinced to stab teruko despite being adamantly against the action + teruko's hypothetical secret, it's in the realm of consideration

this 'mai' might not be mai akasaki as she was alive - there's the xander knife parallel which temporally occurs after her theorized death + this 'mai' might be a haunting of her (dead wife haunting the narrative isms)

why so yurious ->

i'm sorry happy yuri community please fly free from the post now for the sake of your happiness /lhj

they're both happy here, and i am concretely of the opinion that this part of the mv is probably just joyous terumai. but i'm not gonna leave a cannibalistic analysis half-assed

on giving up ->

mai and teruko are posed as direct foils here, and neither seems particularly genuinely friendly about it

staring each other head on, they're both rejecting each other's 'ways of eating' with how messy teruko is and how pristine mai is

i don't think that this means they were never close or that they never connected - i'm pretty sure the drdt mv is supposed to be read as terumai growing closer over time despite this conflict. what i really mean is that conflicting ideals existed

owie ->

teruko's expression in these shots noticeably goes from slight unease to crying while smiling

through this lens, teruko isn't crying out of relief -> it's a bittersweet sense of letting go of something (hyper-independence? isolation? freedom?)

she's 'conceding' to mai in that she signs up to mai's ideals and they become "fools dancing on the same table"

'nothing will be taken from us' 'our pain and everything is spinning'

things were in fact taken from them

foreboding and ominous nature

more thoughts to be had but i have to do things . uhm. read @/1moreff-creator's post on the mv for a more canon-accurate opinion

guys this is at least $30 in macarons can we at least spare one dish

[grimmweepers]

as much as i love being back into fandom writing again, there was something in the air in 2021. why were we all so unhinged

[icewindandboringhorror]

HAPPY 16TH BIRTHDAY!!! To this elderly bapy boye!!! he...!!!

[lady-harrowhark]

lol not me crying because someone from my program texted me to ask how i was doing and that they hadn't seen me around in a while

[starlightiing]

Come Join the F1 Family Server 💕

It's Race Week!

We are a group of about 145 people who are very loving, open, and easy to make friends with. If you're looking for a crew to run with, consider ours! Lovers of all drivers, teams, ect are welcome here! Between us, we do not all like each other's drivers, but we know how to behave. (Healthy debates always welcome, but no fighting please!)

We have:

All qualifying and races are guaranteed to be streamed. Practices are usually streamed as well. I typically feed the chat with the radio transcript messages from multiviewer. We have a specific spot for post race chatter so people who missed the race won't be spoiled.

There's a dynamic schedule in there for all events that translates to your timezone without you having to lift a finger!

F1 Fantasy is played in there, and there are channels for streaming games as well (F1 games, or others. Our resident artists sometimes stream art as well!)

There are spots for news, rumors, pets, memes, fanfic/rpf, general F1 discussion and off topics. We even have a sprint writing bot!

There's threads for other sports and other motorsports as well. We often times will stream other sports as well.

No mics or voice chatting is enabled for now. This can be unpredictable and make some people uncomfortable, so all chatting is done via typing/texting.

We have movie/show/youtube nights often as well, where we just get together as a little community and hang out and watch stuff.

An interactive game section where you can play a fishing mini-game, help us grow Nyck de Trees, and more!

Everyone is welcome. As long as you promise not to viciously bash drivers and treat everyone with respect, we got you.

Safety is a huge priority for us. We have 5 mods and between us, someone is always active to keep spaces safe. The server is locked until rules are agreed to, and we have measures in place to limit who can join the server based on age of account, account safety, ect. If your discord account is new and it won't let you in, message me directly and I'll see what I can do.

If you've been looking for someone to share races with, to make friends with, to discuss live events in a live chat with, come hang out with us 💕 you can even mute us until race days if that's your preference!

[liquidstar]

sleepovers save money on hotel rooms while on missions 👍

[housederiva]

Your art is FANTASTIC and the random observations/polls/interjections you make have really helped to fuel the DA fandom in positive ways! Which it definitely needed after Veilguard's release, lmao. It's always a pleasure to see you on my dashboard!

That's very kind of you to say oh my gosh thank you so much. I'm just bumbling around and every once in a while I say something people think is worth sharing, and I like sharing what other folks feel/make too! I'm glad I'm a not too much of an annoyance xx

I think my favorite thing about having this blog is the notes I see on other peoples posts I rb, it’s nice seeing all sweet things get things sent an artist way or conversations/theories carried on in a rb chain

It’s a big ol show n tell and it’s a wonderful reprieve from my normal day to be able to see other folks stuff too ✨

[hermitcraftx]

just got a dm abt one of my posts and y'all please don't try and show the hermits (or any minecraft youtuber or content creator for that matter) my posts, i'm uncomfortable with it and don't want any of my posts shown to a cc. if they stumble upon it naturally that's unfortunate but i can live with it since i do maintag a lot (something i REALLY need to stop doing tbh i already know i need to make a tagging system just for my blog that wont clog results) but going out of ur way to show a cc is entirely different and something i am not comfortable with.

no hate to the person at all but even if i wasn't a little silly and weird with it sometimes i wouldn't be comfortable with it, i want my blog to be a purely fandom only space with none of the creators involved <3 please respect this

[cuteniaarts]

@rokurookajima HI HELLO I’M CURRENTLY HALF ASLEEP BECAUSE IT IS 1:50 A.M AND I HAD A LONG DAY, BUT!! AS PROMISED, METALBANDERS AU RAAVA, RENDITION BY YOURS TRULY:

She’s judging you (¬`‸´¬) (you = Wan being a stinky bastard man /affectionate)

I HOPE YOU LIKE HER <3