#at least one of them is bound to get me a strike at this point

[sinsofsinister]

i paused my queue like a week ago because the queue fell below a number i dont like going under (turned it back on bc come on there's 312 posts in there it's fine) and i fully had intentions of filling it back up again but then i suddenly became heavily fixated on editing this Content Warning video so that's what i've been doing instead of literally everything else for the past week

[wheeboo]

hi (i love you) | xu minghao

SYNOPSIS. in which you take a trip through random glimpses of your growing relationship with minghao. PAIRING. xu minghao x gn!reader (ft. a mention of jihoon, and gyu and seokmin very briefly) GENRE. fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, established relationship, college au WARNINGS. hao is a year or two older than reader, drinking and reader getting drunk, kissing, terms of endearment at the end, the last scene is a lil suggestive WORD COUNT. 5.5k

notes: yes. this is literally just a compilation fic of them saying hi. ty zanna @slytherinshua for reading this over for me <3 there's like significant time skips between each section - just a lil sum to keep in mind cuz i dont wanna cause confusion or anything 😭😭😭 i find hao the hardest member to write for, so i hope i was able to characterize him well here!

i. "hi." (fallow is the colour of dryness to my mouth when your eyes met mine.)

There's no way in hell you're going to let yourself be lost on the first day of university.

It's embarrassing enough accidentally waking up past your alarm and having barely any time to freshen up as much as you would like, so right now, you couldn't afford another disaster.

Taking a deep breath, you double-check your schedule and the layout of the campus on your phone, trying to match it with the signs around you. The different buildings and hallways of the campus seem like a maze in of itself, and you can feel the slight panic course up your veins. A sea of students rush past you, seemingly confident in their strides towards their own classes. A defeated sigh leaves you.

All you had to do was find the stupid art hallway.

You clench your phone tighter, your iron grip practically burning a hole through the screen. The campus map app wasn't making any more sense now than it did a minute ago. Frustration stings painfully at your eyes, but begging the earth to swallow you whole wouldn't get you to class any faster, so you force yourself to scan the crowd. There's bound to be at least someone who knows where it is and is willing to help you.

And so, your eyes catch sight of the first figure appearing conveniently in your peripheral vision𑁋a boy, dressed in a casual fallow-coloured flannel with a backpack casually slung over one of his shoulders, earphones in his ears, and peering down at something on his phone just like you were doing minutes ago (though he seems to be having a much better time than you)𑁋which was somehow enough for your feet to bolt you towards as if it had a mind of its own.

You feel the root of your nerves creep up your legs and branch up to your neck as you approach him, realising at this point, there's no turning back now. You tap him lightly on the shoulder, bracing yourself for a possible eye roll or annoyed sigh.

His eyes widen in surprise before settling on you, and at that moment, something strikes hard at whatever rehearsed lines you had in your head. It was all gone in a simple snap, from a simple look from him𑁋soft yet sharp brown eyes framed by dark lashes peering at you with a hint of surprise, fluffy dark hair showering down his neck and forehead a little, a dainty pair of silver earrings glinting at his ears. His whole face seems to hold a warmth that somehow eases a bit of the knot in your chest, but certainly not the one in your throat.

You open your mouth, but all the words die on your tongue. The air hangs heavy with a sudden awkwardness, and you can practically feel your cheeks burning. Maybe you should just turn around and pretend this never happened.

But then, you notice the way his lips lift up just slightly, and it makes your stomach do a flip. He glances down at his phone for a second, takes off his earphones, then brings his attention back at you.

"Hi," is all he says, and maybe, just maybe, your heart stops a little bit. It's just a simple word, but the way he says it𑁋all soft, quiet, a tad bit hesitant𑁋makes the fabric of your shirt feel tight on your body.

You didn't notice you were clenching your fists until you force them to relax at your side, clearing your throat in the process.

"Hi," You manage back nervously, surprised at how breathless you sound. "Sorry, I-I don't mean to intrude. It's just... Do you happen to know where the art hallway is? I'm trying to find my photography class."

You watch the way he tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear, unveiling more of a view of his piercings. He gazes briefly behind you at the clusters of other students gradually spilling into different hallways, hushing the space where the two of you stood. Then he returns his attention back to you, his expression softening slightly.

"You're not that far off," he comments, seemingly amused. "I was just heading there myself too."

"Really? That's a relief. The campus map is awful and confusing, and I swear this place was designed on purpose for you to get lost in, you know? And being lost on the first day is just..." You quickly shut your mouth up from your rambling, letting your voice fade into an embarrassed chuckle instead.

Your gaze falls to the ground for a moment, and when you pick your head back up to look at him, you catch a glimpse of the small curve that he has at his lips, barely a hint of a smile playing there. It's a small detail, but suddenly it feels like the most important thing in the world, and it throws your train of thought completely off track. He doesn't seem bothered by your little habit of rambling (admittedly, because of nerves), thankfully. Instead, he lets out a soft laugh, the sound washing over you like a warm summer breeze.

You can't help but sheepishly grin back, feeling a certain lightness bloom within your chest that probably has nothing to do with the weight of your backpack suddenly seeming lighter as well.

"It's okay," he reassures, voice as quiet and gentle as his gaze. "Everyone gets lost here sometimes. I've been there."

He starts walking, and you hesitate for a second before falling into step beside him. There's a small part of you urging to get to know him, as if this was the only opportunity to do so, but all the words you want to say sound clumsy and loud compared to the easy peacefulness that surrounds him.

And honestly, it feels... nice.

The hallway he leads you in is perhaps more than just a simple art hallway, the intoxicating scent of oil paint and clay blend together in the air. Paintings by students and faculty of every style imaginable line the walls, some bursting with vibrant colours, others muted and contemplative. Sculptures poke out from odd corners, and bulletin boards are overflowed with announcements of upcoming exhibitions and workshops, even though the year just started.

"Welcome to the art hallway," he beckons you casually and welcomingly, as if only this portion of the campus was a separate entity than others.

You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding in. "Thank you so much. Wow, this place is, um..." You stop yourself from continuing on, zipping your mouth shut. "I owe you. Oh, I'm Y/N, by the way. If there's anything I can𑁋"

"There's no need." He waves a hand dismissively at your offer, and for a second you feel something inside you sink, but the small hint of a smile to his face chases that feeling away just a little. "And it's Minghao... yeah. I'll see you around."

Before you can say anything more, you watch as he turns himself around and swiftly enters inside the room standing right behind him. A painting class.

(You are eight minutes late to class when a near-clear picture on the wall catches your gaze. It looks like a picture of Minghao standing next to a particularly vibrant painting of abstract art, and your heart swells just a little bit more.)

ii. "hi." (laurel is the colour of the grass that you lay on with me, gazing up at the same sky together.)

There was a time during Minghao's first year of college where a friend of his𑁋Lee Jihoon is his name𑁋called him crazy and bonkers for spending majority of his day outdoors rather than inside. Obviously, Minghao didn't exactly care, nor was it insulting in the slightest knowing Jihoon's stubbornness and tendency to stay holed up in his room buried under piles of music textbooks.

But he would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate the outdoors more than anything else, like from the way the sun kisses upon his skin, the gentle breeze that caresses his face, and the colours of nature that found him at his lowest times. Minghao thinks that's how he got into painting and art in the first place, though he didn't dwell on it too much. It all just came natural to him. He likes to think it that way𑁋that it found him instead.

The scenery of the campus is his oasis. He can do his own thing while others are walking through their own lives. He can sit outside for as long as he wants until dusk settles in and paints the sky with hues of orange and pink, or until the stars twinkle above and remind him that he's just an utter speck in the universe.

Today is no different.

Minghao finds himself sprawled out on the grass near the art building, sketchbook propped up against his bent knees, brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to capture the way the afternoon sunlight filters through the leaves of a nearby tree in his line of sight.

A low breeze runs through the air, stirring a few strands of hair across his forehead. He brushes them back absentmindedly, just as a sound cracks into the quietness.

"Hi!"

Minghao shoots his eyes up, slightly startled from the unexpected greeting. He catches sight of you slowly approaching up to him, a hesitant smile gracing your lips as you stop a few feet away.

"Hi," he replies, voice soft as he notices the way you're fiddling with something behind your back. "Vending machine did its ol' thing again?"

"Can you always read my mind?" You murmur, teasing annoyance biting at your words, but you can't contain the smile to your face either way. Maybe he can read your mind, but he's just skimming over it instead. "I can take it if you prefer to die from dehydration."

Minghao chuckles lightly. He glances down at the water bottle in your hand, then back at you, lingering for a beat longer than necessary. There's a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes, but also a hint of something𑁋maybe surprise, mischief, or perhaps a touch of shyness.

(You don't catch the way he subconsciously pushes the other water bottle he had stashed earlier deeper into his backpack.)

"Thanks." He accepts the water bottle from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours for a second, and takes a quick sip to cool his slightly parched throat.

Then he sets the water bottle down beside him, patting the grass next to him invitingly.

Without a word, you take a deep breath and lower yourself down onto the grass next to him. You catch the scent of the fresh paint lingering on his clothes and blending with the earthy aroma of the grass beneath you. The sunlight catches on the side of his face, highlighting some strands of hair flying in the breeze and the silver earrings reflecting in his ears.

There's a small groan that leaves you when you get yourself to lay fully down on the grass, using your backpack as a makeshift pillow. Minghao just peers in your direction curiously, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watches you settle in.

"You know," You sigh, letting out a contented breath as you spread your arms out a little, fixing your eyes up towards the sky. "This is actually really nice, hanging outside and all, but I am so out of shape. You pick the worst spots."

Minghao's smile widens a fraction at your words. He shifts his own gaze to the sky, observing as the clouds drift lazily overhead, fingertips kneading at the laurel-coloured grass below. The soft yet vibrant green reminds him of a new set of paints he recently bought.

"I think you'll survive lying on a patch of grass, Y/N."

"Not if I get up and there's a goddamn earthworm crawling in my ear, Hao."

"Just don't fall asleep, and you'll live."

You let out a giggle, though you wouldn't be lying if you said that the warmth hitting your body was making you feel just the tiniest bit of drowsy. "No promises there."

The silence that lingers between you and Minghao isn't uncomfortable, but it's not exactly filled with chatter either. It's a comfortable silence, with the distant sounds of other students laughing like white noise and the occasional rustle of a breeze flying past your ears.

It's always like this when you're here together, a quiet that feels more familiar than the few months you've known him. Whether it's your little study sessions at the library, or when you hang out with him after hours in his painting class, it's familiar being around him. The thought settles around you like a well-worn blanket, a comfort you didn't know you craved until you found it here.

You glance over back at Minghao, who seems to be focused back on his sketchbook. He taps his pencil against his bottom lip in concentration. There's a small smudge of charcoal on his nose that you pinpoint, just hardly noticeable, but it makes you want to reach out and brush it away with your thumb.

The bold thought makes your stomach churn.

"Lay down with me, Hao."

The words leave you before you can stop them, surprising even yourself. A blush creeps up your neck, warming your cheeks as you continue watching Minghao. He's still focused on his sketchbook, but the tapping of his pencil against his lip has ceased. He looks down at you, eyes widening slightly in surprise before softening into a gentle smile.

"Lay down?" he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"Y-Yeah," You stammer, suddenly wishing you'd phrased it differently. "I mean, if you want. The sky looks better from here, you know?"

Minghao just tilts his head to the side as if in contemplation, before closing his sketchbook and shifting his position. He tosses his backpack right next to yours, laying himself down on the grass and stretching his body in relief. The grass crinkles softly beneath him, his arm briefly brushing against yours, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body as he settles in, peering up at the sky with you.

He's painted the sky many times, but for some reason, it feels different looking at it right now, and he isn't entirely sure why.

"What's the weirdest colour you've painted with?"

The sudden question makes Minghao sit up slightly, leaning on his elbow to face you better. The corners of his lips are pulled up in the hint of a smirk.

"Goose turd green."

His eyes detail the way your face contorts in slight disgust, before nothing but laughter tumbles out of you, and Minghao thinks he'd never get tired of hearing that sound.

iii. "hi." (vermilion is the colour that seeps through my cheeks when the alcohol beats me and i think about you.)

"Y/N𑁋jeez, how much did they drink tonight?"

"I don't even know𑁋woah, hey! Hold them steady, wait..."

"I'll take them back to their place," Minghao tells the other two boys struggling to keep you from falling over in their hold.

Mingyu and Seokmin stare at him for a second, exchanging a glance with each other before guiding you into Minghao's hold carefully. Minghao secures an arm around your waist, loosely at first, before tightening instantly because you're just about to fall out of his grip. He bids the other guys goodbye, then sets off with you towards your dorm.

"Are you alright?" he asks, even though he knows the answer already. "I told you before that you should know your limits."

You giggle, a wobbly, off-key sound. "Oh, I feel peachy, thank you so much."

Minghao just sighs, shaking his head slightly as he adjusts his hold on you, making sure you're steady on your feet.

The walk back to your dorm is painfully slow. Streetlights cast an orange glow on the sidewalk, painting long shadows that seem to dance alongside you. You lean heavily against Minghao, head hanging down to the ground, your footsteps unsteady. The world seems to tilt and sway with every giggle that escapes you.

Your vision is a bit blurry when your dorm comes into sight. Relief washes over you, and you lean even heavier into Minghao, practically melting into him by the time you reach your door and it swings open.

He steps you inside, moving you past the shoe rack by the entrance and towards your bed, and you flop down on the plush mattress with a low groan, nearly dragging down Minghao on top of you.

He catches himself just in time, a hand landing on the mattress beside you with a soft thud, and suddenly he's hovering above you, his breath catching with the sudden closeness of his body pressed up against yours. However, it just makes a laugh bubble out of your throat from deep within your chest, and with half-lidded eyes, you find yourself staring dazedly up at him.

"Wow, hiiii, you're like..." You drawl your words and tap aimlessly at his shoulder. "You're like... so pretty, you know? Have I told you that before?"

Heat creeps up Minghao's neck. He blinks down at you, eyes trailing over your face and cheeks which were stained a soft shade of vermilion from all the alcohol earlier. A small, surprised airy laugh escapes his lips.

He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. And even after pulling away from you, you continue, voice thick with inebriation.

"And your smile? Oh, don't even get me started," You slur, a goofy grin plastered on your face. "Those big, cute eyes you have? They, like, make the whole world look... sparkly."

"Y/N, you need𑁋"

"And whenev... whenever you paint," You continue, voice trailing off away. The world seems to be spinning a little slower now, the grin to your face faltering for a moment, replaced by a furrowed brow as you try to focus on the thought. "Yeah, whenever you paint... you get this... this really focused look on your face. Like the world fades away and all that's left is the canvas. It's kind of... hot."

Minghao could simply only stare at you. He knows he should probably get you settled into bed and leave, but his feet seem rooted to the floor below. His gaze flickers up and down your face, then back up to your eyes, searching for any sign of what you just said being a joke. But all he sees is a genuine, albeit slightly hazy and inebriated, fondness.

"You think so?" he finally manages to ask.

"Yeah," You mumble knowingly as if instinctive, eyelids drooping closed a little further. "Makes you look, uh... determined. Like you could𑁋like you could paint the stars out of the sky or something."

Minghao cowers his head down for a second, before looking back up at you, crossing his arms together bemusedly. "Do you want me to paint the stars for you?"

You give a dreamy nod. In your cloudy mind, the idea sounds incredibly romantic, like something out of a dream.

"I think..." You start once again. "that would really make me like you even more."

Minghao feels his lips twitch, somewhat hopeful yet also reluctant, before letting out another sigh.

"You need to go to bed." He walks back over and helps pull the covers over you. "I'll leave you some water and meds to take in the morning, okay?"

A pang of disappointment shoots through you as he pulls away, a sleepy pout crossing over your features. You watch him with heavy eyelids, the room tilting ever so slightly with each passing beat of your heart.

"Wait," You murmur, grabbing weakly at his sleeve.

Minghao turns back around. You're looking at him, eyes a little more focused now, a hint of a playful smile on your lips, and shooting him a look that means business.

"Don't forget the stars, okay, mister?"

iv. "hi." (pewter is the colour of the clouds when the earth can't hold it in much longer, and the words burst all at once.)

It hits you on a random Wednesday near the end of the month during an exam on English Romanticism that you simply can't stand this anymore.

You're avoiding Minghao, purposely attending more study sessions that your classmates offer and taking up more shifts at the small café across from campus that you applied for a while ago to make some extra bucks. You know you're avoiding him, and he probably knows it too, and it's all your fault𑁋you're letting him get away and slip through the cracks between your fingers.

Minghao's art had been selected for a prestigious exhibition out of town, and he was set to leave at the end of the month for this internship just as summer is starting, and the thought of him being gone brings a hollow ache to your chest. It's becoming unbearable each passing day, each millisecond that passes knowing you've been so stupidly immature to push him away when he's quite literally been the best thing that has happened to you.

You may never understand how Xu Minghao𑁋this sophisticated, well-mannered, and endlessly talented artist𑁋had managed to wriggle his way into your heart so effortlessly, but there he was, occupying every crevice and corner with his gentle smiles and soft laughter that seem to flip the world over. He was just this sentient, living breathing form of peace that you can’t seem to let go of.

When another boom of thunder shatters outside, you think, screw this.

Screw avoiding him. This wasn't how this story was supposed to end.

You're quick to shove your belongings back in your bag the moment your class ends. The rain has calmed down a little when you step outside, which only seems to fuel the determination within you.

With a deep breath, you pull your jacket tighter against your body, and start to spring across campus. The rain might be getting heavier with each passing minute, but you don't care. All you care about is getting to Minghao before the storm within you bursts too.

Reaching his dorm building, you're merely a shivering mess, hair damp and plastered to your forehead and clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin. You barely have the breath to push open the heavy doors, collapsing against them for a moment to catch your breath.

But just as you're about to push open the door, a figure blocks your way, and you peer up to see Minghao standing in front of you. There's an umbrella clutched in his hand, and a puzzled look etches across his features when he takes sight of your disheveled appearance in front of him. You could only gaze at him.

"Hi," You say breathlessly, as if you've been holding on to the singular word for dear life.

Minghao just blinks a few times, unsure if he's looking at you as if you were crazy or if he's just imagining you.

"Hi," he finally responds, voice all gentle and slightly hesitant.

You glance down at the umbrella in his hand. "Are you going somewhere?"

Minghao opens his mouth to respond, also looking down at the umbrella in his hands as if magically appeared there out of thin air, then a bashful look crosses his face.

"I forgot some supplies back in class, so I thought I'd grab them before the storm gets any worse," he explains somewhat lamely, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "But I𑁋Are you... are you okay?"

You give a loose nod, then shake your head dismissively right afterwards. Gosh, you're losing it.

Minghao clears his throat. "What are you doing out here in the rain? You're going to get sick𑁋"

"You know I-I like you, right?" The words stumble clumsily over your tongue, shattering whatever fragile tension was building up between you two. "And you probably knew that already, to be honest, because you always seem to know me better than I know myself. But the thought of you leaving just... scared me, and I panicked and pushed you away."

A lump forms in your throat. Minghao's expression is practically unreadable in front of you. There's a mix of surprise, a hint of something that could be hurt, and something else you can't exactly decipher.

You let out a dry chuckle, embarrassment crawling up your face but you try to ignore it as much as you can.

"I-I know I sound crazy right now," You say, forcing a smile that seems more like a grimace. "But I... I couldn't let you leave without knowing how I feel. So yeah. I like you. A lot. Maybe more than that. I don't know. It sort of scares me, honestly."

You wait a few moments, simply standing there in the falling rain while anticipating just anything from the boy standing in front of you as if the world had come to a pause. His silence stretches suffocatingly long, nothing but a cloud swirling in those beautiful eyes of his.

Then he looks down at the umbrella in his hand for a moment, then back at you, his gaze lingering on your soaked clothes and shivering form. And just before you can spiral into a wave of panic, Minghao steps forward close to you. Without a word, he unfurls the umbrella and holds it over your head, tilting it slightly to ensure you're fully covered from the rain.

"Let's get you out of this rain," he says finally, low and calm. "You're freezing."

"I..." You start, then stop, giving a muted nod. "Okay."

Minghao leads you back inside his dorm building and up to his room, the warmth seeping overwhelmingly into your bones. He ushers you into his space, the door swinging shut with a soft click behind you.

You've been inside Minghao's room before, but it feels different now, more intimate somehow. The air hangs heavy as you awkwardly perch yourself on the edge of his bed, careful not to let the water dripping off you land on his sheets, and you watch as he quietly makes his way to his closet and disappears behind the hanging clothes. A moment later, he emerges with a soft, oversized hoodie and a towel in hand.

"Here." He holds out the towel and hoodie towards you. "Dry yourself off and change out of those clothes."

The softness of the towel against your skin is the equivalent to luxury as you meticulously pat down your hair and face. You shoot glances at Minghao across the room, seeing him busy himself at his desk, back turned to you, a low hum escaping his lips.

You slip on the oversized hoodie, the familiar scent of Minghao washing over you and instantly relaxing your jittery nerves. The sleeves hang past your fingertips, the material engulfing you in a comforting warmth.

"Feeling a little better?" Minghao asks, turning around to face you after a few minutes. You hardly notice the way his gaze sweeps over your form, lingering on the way the hoodie basically swallows you.

A shy, self-conscious look crosses your features. "Yeah, um... Thanks."

Minghao returns the smile, though there's a hint of something else in his eyes𑁋perhaps relief or maybe even a touch of fondness. "Always."

That particular silence passes again as you both sit in his room, the only sound the soft patter of rain against the window. You fidget nervously with the sleeves of his hoodie.

Then, you let out a sigh. "Look, Hao𑁋"

"Do you want anything to drink?"

The offer zips your mouth back up, leaving your unfinished words hanging in the air. Is he... trying to brush away everything that has just happened in the last fifteen minutes? All just like that? You nearly want to scoff at the thought, but you bite at your bottom lip instead, a pang of disappointment settling in your chest.

"Honestly?" You lay your hands flat on your lap. "I'd kill for a hot chocolate right now."

Minghao just chuckles softly. "Okay," Then another long, considerable pause. "Are you working at the café later on?"

The thought of working right now makes you cringe internally. "No, thank goodness. My shift actually got swapped with someone else. Lucky break, I guess."

The corners of Minghao's mouth lift up subtly. He glances back out the window, seeing that the rain had become much lighter and cleared up significantly, revealing the sky in a palette of muted greys. His gaze returns to you, a thoughtful expression painting his features.

"Let's go then," he asserts firmly, rising up to his feet.

You raise an eyebrow at him. "What? Right now? To the café?"

"Mhm."

"But you can't𑁋we can't just𑁋"

"It's a date," Minghao affirms, cutting your words off promptly. "My treat."

His words catch you off-guard, and for a moment, you're at a loss for words. Your mouth hangs down to the ground, warmth crawling up the cheeks just like the hot chocolate you desperately crave right now. You can feel your heart pounding furiously out of your chest and whatever tension coiling in your stomach dissipating away.

"A... date?" You squeak out, voice coming out small and weak.

Minghao's lips purse together in a thin line. "Unless you have other plans𑁋"

"Oh no, no, no," You blurt out, finding yourself already breathless for no reason at all, struggling to keep the giddy grin forming on your face at bay. "A date sounds perfect, actually."

Relief floods over Minghao's features. He lets out a little giggle, the kind that always makes your insides do a little happy flip.

"Good," he responds simply. "I'm glad."

"Do I get to pay next time?" You ask teasingly as you stand up. "If there is a next time, at least."

Nothing but amusement dances in his eyes.

"We'll see about that."

v. "hi." (calamine is the colour staining your cheeks and your lips against my ear.)

Minghao's lips are on yours before you have the opportunity to breathe in the air of relief of the hotel room.

It's not hard for your body to melt into him instinctively, the kiss soft yet desperate, tender yet urgent. You find your fingers kneading at the silky material of the suit that he wore, and his hand coming to rest on your lower back. Both of your feet move in mere unison together before you feel the edge of the bed nudge the back of your knee.

When the two of you pull back for a minute to breathe, all you can do is faintly chuckle.

"You act like you haven't seen me in years," You tease, letting a hand come to toy with his tie. "Did you miss me that much?"

Minghao's gaze only flickers between your eyes, your lips, and down the outfit that seems to hug your body just perfectly, before settling back up to your face. His own face is close enough to yours that you swear you could pinpoint the flecks of stardust in his irises. He's simply staring at you with nothing but adoration, his gaze so intense like he's trying to memorise every little detail etched on your face, even if he's already done so many times. He's painted stars on your skin with his fingertips, lips, whispered words, and his heart.

And then he's kissing you again, more softly and slower this time, the weight of his body following your own as you fall back down on the bed behind.

Missing you is more than just an understatement. Being separated from you felt like this physical piece of him was missing from his chest. His art had been reaching the rightful hands of museums abroad just as he deserves, and you had gotten used to him travelling for days on end to attend exhibitions and workshops.

You jumped on the first opportunity to be able to visit him. And now, with you in his arms and your lips pressed against his, Minghao feels like he's finally whole again.

His mouth pulls away from the sweet spot to your neck, trailing a soft path back up to your lips, giving you a small kiss before pulling back to look at you. You hear the way his breath hitches in his throat, the feeling of his hand coming to interlock with yours at your side, the metal of the ring on his finger meeting your skin.

You peer up at him longingly, lovingly, a tiny smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"Hi," You whisper, a breathless laugh escaping you.

Minghao's gaze softens even further, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand as he leans back down.

"Hi, dearest," he murmurs back affectionately, adjusting himself so that his mouth is near your ear, barely grazing against the shell as he whispers, "You're beautiful."

You could only giggle as he retreats himself away slightly, but you tug him by the tie again to bring him back down. "Yeah? What else?"

There's a thoughtful look that crosses over his features, his cheeks painted an ethereal shade of calamine pink, mirroring the flush of warmth that spreads across your own face. You've always grown accustomed to Minghao's fairly quiet nature, however it doesn't take much to read over even the most imperceptible shifts in his expressions. Whenever words seem to be too shy or hesitant to come out, the stars in his eyes speak for him.

Minghao just lowers himself even more, the ghost of his lips hardly brushing back against yours.

"I love you."

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[late-draft]

Hello, Dema here!

First off—I have fallen desperately in love with your artworks. You have a very particular style, strong and fluid all the same, and I can't help but admire the way you draw and how you approach character design.

And talking about character design...

I saw your post about Zuko's bold design in S1 when compared to what we got in S3 and—as much as I love S3-Zuko—I completely agree with you. Something I've always loved about Zuko in S1 is just how striking he was, how much of a presence he had, even when he was being tossed around by a twelve-year-old. That being said, I love Zuko, I love him in armor and pointy shoes and with a ponytail, and I loved your alternative design for him.

What do you think about his S2 character design? How does it flow with the story beats and his overall character arc? Much has been said about the Hair-Growth-Means-Character-Growth (and I find it interesting, also, that he cut his hair again before joining the Gaang), but I'd like to know your opinion on how that translates to character design and how the decisions made in the show could be either good or bad in that regard.

Sorry about the long ask! I've just been thinking about this a lot, lately, and would like to know what you think. Hope you have a good day ❤️

AAAA Dema hii!!! I'm so happy I got a message from you, I didn't expect it!!

I'm super glad to hear, I'll wear it as a badge of honour and I must tell you that I also love your art, you wonderfully do volume and the shading done through a contrast of sharp and soft areas! Super solid anatomy too and I'd be lying if I said I didn't look up to your art!

Yess the character designs in the show actually are rather strong, I like a good balance between memorable and functional. Zuko is just *chef kiss* but, considering just how many appearance changes he goes through, some are bound to be weaker than the starting one. That said, I'm gonna go through a few of his S2 looks and make this reply long, ha!

The starting one when he ends up huddling with uncle Iroh with other poor refugees, fits extremely well for the narrative at the moment. It's actually one of my least liked looks for him, and that's great!! It's precisely how it should be, because he's also arguably at one of his two lowest moral points in the story - he basically lost almost all hope, no clear goal, nothing to fight for, he's desperate precisely because of the lack of orientation and thus his morals degrade and sink veeery low. He gets on my nerves so goddamn much in this period LMAO I want to beat him up, he looks like a recovering drug addict... annoying, entitled whiny jerk stealing food and anything shiny for his uncle, but even then he just does not cross the moral event horizon. Excellent characterization. He just looks atrocious and it's great because it fits this low point.

Next he gets the standard boyish square of a hair, no notes here...

But theeeen, he arrives at one of my favourite looks of his, and it's not just because the clothes fit him very nicely (I've seen fandom say they look too big for him which, maybe?? But it doesn't look like he's swimming in them to me) And a thing I've noticed which, maybe it was just an accident on design part but I'm not sure considering they colour coded the entire cave scene; in this part his clothes match the shape of Katara's, first one in bottom then the one in top. The collar is the same haf-circle design but I don't know, maybe there was a limited pool of clothes designs guide which they cycled through. Or, he really is meant to come close but miss Katara by a beat, like sine and cosine chasing each other.

But besides this outfit fitting the inconspicuous Earth Kingdom customer service persona, it also (perhaps inadvertently) does this VERY cool thing:

It makes his shape look closed off and guarded, supposedly non-threatening. It's most visible in his fight against Jet, whose shape is open and goes in many directions like an aggressive star. But then look at what Zuko's shape does:

When he attacks, it opens up to reveal the hidden aspect, again the aggressive star shape shows up! The same thing happens in "Zuko alone" episode but I think it's most clearly visible in this fight against Jet because here he has a direct contrast and comparing with Jet. I think this is an example where the outfit, whose similar design exists irl, overlaps with a great visual metaphor and enhances the narrative at that moment in story. He's still that combative firebender but he has to keep that aspect concealed most of the time. Plus it just looks badass as hell!!

Animators really knocked it out of the park with many frames. I think Jun was too early and missed his better hairstyle, but Katara was just in time.

I agree it's super funny how his hair in the Beach is awfully long, covers his face to an uncomfortable degree and then he apparently shortens it before joining the Gaang, insane behaviour Truly an "I'm so angry and depressed I won't show my face nor be capable of seeing anything because there's nothing nice to see in my life" look...

I guess all his appearances in S2 cover his mental states, but only one of them is extremely Extra (the tea server, doesn't even take the apron off and goes to fight) and I don't see any spot where a similar tier design could be shoved in, narratively speaking. So all in all, S2 did as much as S2 could have. More tea server arc please though, the Guru episode really feels like it skipped 800 km of plot and everything that happened in it is so crammed and pretty sus in terms of character behaviour.

[ishido-enjoyer]

So I know I haven't been so active in the Napoleonic community in recent months, as I've been pretty absorbed with studying Japanese history and the Japanese language, but the more I've learned about Hideyoshi, the more I found myself comparing him to Napoleon, so here's a post where my two main historical interests get to intersect. :)

Toyotomi Hideyoshi has often been referred to as Japan’s Napoleon Bonaparte. Perhaps a bit Eurocentric given that Hideyoshi was born in 1537, 232 years before Napoleon--if anything it could be said that Napoleon was France’s Hideyoshi, but unfortunately Hideyoshi is not a name most Westerners recognize—otherwise it’s an excellent comparison. I’ve read a great deal about Napoleon over the past several years, and, although my studies on Sengoku Japan are only really in their infancy, I couldn’t help but notice a striking number of parallels and similarities between the lives and military/political careers of Hideyoshi and Napoleon.

Both men came from relatively humble origins and experienced meteoric rises through the ranks via their military service. Napoleon’s family on Corsica were minor nobility—they were not wealthy by any means but at least possessed enough connections to get Napoleon into a military academy; once his training was completed, he was commissioned as an artillery officer. Hideyoshi was born a peasant; his father was an ashigaru (foot soldier) who served a samurai. Hideyoshi followed in his father’s footsteps and became an ashigaru himself, which at the age of 26 brought him into the service of Lord Oda Nobunaga, who was soon the most powerful daimyo in Japan. His talents and intelligence impressed Nobunaga, and Hideyoshi rose to become one of his top generals and retainers by his early thirties. When Nobunaga was betrayed and assassinated in 1582, Hideyoshi, then 35, moved quickly to step into the ensuing power vacuum; within three years he had defeated his main rivals, consolidated his power, and become the most powerful man in Japan himself. Napoleon Bonaparte became a general at age 24 and crowned himself Emperor of the French at age 35. Hideyoshi was never Emperor, nor, being from a peasant background, did he receive the title of shogun, but he was designated kampaku (Imperial Regent) by the Emperor at age 38 and was the real power in the land from this point until his death in 1598.

As a result of their respective meteoric rises and remarkable military successes, both men came to view themselves as destined for greatness. Napoleon frequently spoke of destiny and believed himself guided by it. “Is there a man so blind,” he wrote in December of 1798, “as not to see that destiny itself guides all my operations? Is there anyone so faithless as to doubt that everything in this vast universe is bound to the empire of destiny?” (Broers, Napoleon: Soldier of Fortune, 195) This belief, which pervaded through his life, also made him take great risks, convinced that he was destined to succeed in his endeavors. Hideyoshi came to genuinely believe his own rise was divinely inspired and even developed his own backstory, giving himself celestial origins, and making sure to mention them frequently in his letters to others as a means of convincing them of the rightness of his cause. “At the time my mother conceived me,” he wrote on one occasion, “she had an auspicious dream. That night, a ray of sun filled the room as if it were noontime. All were overcome with astonishment and fright and when the diviners had gathered, they interpreted the event saying: when he reaches the prime of life, his virtue will illuminate the four seas, his authority will emanate to the myriad peoples.” (Berry, Hideyoshi, 9). He even went so far as bringing up his supposedly heavenly origins in a letter to the King of Korea, in hopes of pushing his case to the King to permit his armies safe passage through Korea so he could carry out his planned conquest of Ming China.

Both were regarded as military geniuses by their contemporaries. Napoleon’s quick, dominant successes in Italy, and his crushing victories against Austria, Russia, and Prussia between 1805-1807, solidified his reputation as one of the greatest generals in European history, and arguably the best military commander of his time. Hideyoshi never suffered a defeat in the numerous campaigns he waged over the years to complete the work of unifying Japan that had begun under Nobunaga.

Likewise, both men’s reputations for military genius were severely tarnished by campaigns driven out of an increasingly megalomaniacal drive for conquest abroad. Hideyoshi, his confidence bolstered by his string of military successes, began setting his sights on China, and even hinted in his correspondence that one day, after China had submitted as his vassal, he might even attempt to conquer India. To begin his conquest of China, he first needed to bring his armies through Korea. He attempted to negotiate with the King of Korea to gain safe passage for his armies, but Korea had strong ties to the Ming Dynasty, the negotiations soon broke down, and Hideyoshi sent his armies to invade Korea in 1592. The Japanese initially smashed through the pitiful Korean defenses and made a rapid drive up the peninsula, but with Ming reinforcements soon arriving to turn the tide, and the Japanese navy being repeatedly pummeled by the brilliant Admiral Yi Sun-Sin, the Japanese advance was soon stalled. Eventually the Japanese forces retreated to the southern coastline, where they hunkered down in hastily-built fortifications while peace negotiations dragged out for years between Hideyoshi’s court and the Ming court. When these negotiations also eventually broke down, Hideyoshi launched a second invasion of Korea, less for the sake of conquering China this time than simply for punishing Korea as much as possible for thwarting his initial plans. Hideyoshi himself never actually personally led his armies in Korea—he never went to Korea at all—but relied instead on the reports of his generals and inspectors, whose reports often downplayed or whitewashed the truth of Japanese defeats out of fear. Additionally, some of his primary commanders (like Konishi Yukinaga and Kato Kiyomasa) openly hated each other and their quarrels and personal rivalries occasionally hampered military operations, not unlike the quarrels of Napoleon’s commanders in Russia. The second invasion was turning into a stalemate when Hideyoshi abruptly died in September of 1598 at the age of 61. The remnants of the Japanese army eventually returned to Japan, and a six-year period of nearly relentless horrors and atrocities in Korea had all been for nothing. Napoleon, of course, launched his infamous 1812 invasion of Russia, which, while of much shorter duration than Hideyoshi’s war(s) in Korea, led to a much more thorough destruction of his armies and arguably contributed to his fall from power in 1814. Not that the Korean conflicts left the Toyotomi forces unscathed, and it can also be argued that the extent to which the Western armies had bled themselves out in Korea helped contribute to the victory of Hideoyoshi’s rival, Tokugawa Ieyasu, against his Toyotomi-loyalist enemies at Sekigahara in 1600, as Ieyasu, based in Japan’s eastern Kanto region, had pointedly kept his own forces out of the war.

Both men enacted sweeping reforms in their respective societies which long outlasted either them or the dynasties they both failed to leave behind. Both initiated nationwide cadastral surveys and land registries to make tax collection more accurate and efficient. In 1595, six leading daimyo under Hideyoshi drafted, on his behalf, a code comprised of fourteen brief articles, all of which were centered around keeping the peace, carrying out justice, and governing the behavior of the various social classes in Japan. Napoleon issued his civil code (also not written by himself), now known as the Napoleonic Code, in 1804. While not as brief as the Toyotomi regime’s code, it was written in the vernacular to make it more accessible to the average person.

Both were patrons of the arts; in Hideyoshi’s case, of Noh theater (which he became so passionate about he eventually even performed in plays in front of his subordinates), tea ceremonies, and painting; Napoleon also patronized painters, established art museums and, while not up to becoming a performer in his own right like Hideyoshi, he did attend the opera regularly.  

Both Hideyoshi and Napoleon struggled to produce an heir. Hideyoshi’s only son, Tsurumatsu, died at the age of 2 in 1591. Hideyoshi named his nephew Hidetsugu his heir in the meantime, but hoped to have another son. Neither his wife nor his considerable number of concubines were able to give him a child, leading historians to speculate that Hideyoshi may have been sterile by this point, possible as the result of a sexually transmitted disease. In 1592 his concubine Yodo-dono, also known as Chacha, gave birth to a son, Hideyori, who would become Hideyoshi’s only heir (the unfortunate nephew, Hidetsugu, was soon charged with treason and forced to commit seppuku not long after Hideyori’s birth). Hideyoshi’s inability to create an heir with so many other women led to rumors spreading, even before he died, that Hideyori was not really his child. Napoleon also struggled to produce an heir for years after crowning himself Emperor, but, as he demonstrated no problem creating sons with his mistresses, the problem was attributed to his wife’s infertility. He divorced Josephine, married a much younger princess, and soon enough had an heir of his own.

When Hideyoshi died in 1598, his heir was only five years old; when Napoleon fell from power in 1815, his heir was four years old. Both Hideyoshi’s heir and Napoleon’s heir died at the age of 21.

[quixoticanarchy]

Maglor saying "the oath says not that we may not bide our time" is very interesting (not, unfortunately, conducive to conciseness). bear with me.

a) if they can bide their time, that kind of undermines the idea that they are driven by the oath into atrocity; rather, they can choose the moment to obey it (to some degree). the truth of this statement is unclear because it does seem that they spend a lot of the First Age biding their time, but also when they try to bide their time before the third kinslaying, it was said that they were tormented by the oath. was that false? what is it that pushes them into action, if not the pressure of the oath? or, is it the knowledge and shame of the unfulfilled oath combined with events that enable them to strike out for the jewels, but not actually any metaphysical pressure forcing their hand?

b) Maglor is also saying here, let's go back to Valinor and just see what happens. maybe eventually we can get the silmarils peacefully and be forgiven (I have to agree with Maedhros that that seems.. unlikely). probably correctly, Maedhros envisions the difficulty of trying to get the silmarils in Valinor while unforgiven, and what it would entail and cost to do violence there again. Maglor imagines peace; Maedhros definitely anticipates violence

c) I think Maglor also just wants to go home. he wants to stop. he would probably like to fulfill the oath (or be freed from it), but also would be fine with kicking the can down the road, presuming the oath will allow that. but once Maedhros talks him out of the likelihood of success if they wait til Valinor, he's also willing to break it entirely. his contention that Manwë and Varda making the oath impossible to fulfill would also make it void could be interpreted as a hope that both these things would happen

Maedhros makes the points that they can't be released bc they swore also to Ilúvatar, and therefore they're still facing the Everlasting Darkness if they fail. to which Maglor makes the fair point that if they can't be released, then either they hold themselves bound by the oath and keep trying for the silmarils (and if they fail, face Everlasting Darkness), or try to give up the oath, find they are still bound by it and, having auto-failed their task by breaking the oath, face Everlasting Darkness anyway. therefore yes, they would do less evil in the breaking, but the result is the same to them - as long as in neither case do they actually anticipate fulfilling the oath. Maglor therefore is maybe ready to give it up as impossible; possibly, Maedhros is arguing that it remains achievable for now, but "its fulfilment be byeond all hope" only once back in Aman, lending urgency to the final attempt to get the silmarils now.

a follow-up question: do they at this point believe that success is still possible? what is success? if they have to get all 3 silmarils to satisfy the oath, they're up against Earendil, but they never mention that. what does fulfilling the oath mean - that they evade the consequence of failure? is the force that 'drives' them to stick to the oath not so much (or not only) a metaphysical pain or burden that torments them, but the fear of the failure condition itself - the Everlasting Darkness?

this would explain Maglor's interest in wanting to stop pursuing the oath, but also wanting it somehow neutralized - whether by biding time or having the oath declared void. and Maedhros is arguing that a) they can't be released, b) they can only keep the darkness at bay by continuing to actually try for fulfilment, and c) they should take this one last shot while arguably they still have a chance (or at least it's easier than it would be in Aman). it may not matter whether success is ultimately possible (i.e. if Earendil does come into the picture, or the crosshairs), but it matters that they are trying.

but then, what to make of them reportedly realizing Eönwë was right and they've lost their right to the silmarils? what does that matter to the oath? the oath declares they'll do anything to get them back, and they do. as much as it sucks to get burned, getting them back (ignore the 3rd silmaril) should mean their deed has not failed so they should not face Everlasting Darkness.

I see a couple of possibilities here: a) they ceased being bound by the oath when they lost their right to the silmarils, which would make it vain and mean none of the atrocities had to happen. but is that how the oath operates? did they stop being bound by it long ago and just not realize? or, alternately, b) does their losing their right to the silmarils mean they auto-fail the oath bc they’ll never truly “reclaim” them? and therefore, rather than their never being at risk of Everlasting Darkness, are they consigned to it now no matter what? (but Maglor at least seems to evade that, unless it’s very metaphorical…) or, c) were they indeed bound by the oath all along and indeed fulfilled it, it just doesn't really matter bc the victory is hollow, and they themselves can’t hold the very things they killed others for holding? could be harsh enough on its own, whether or not the oath responds to the status of their “right” to the silmarils.

there is also the matter of we don’t know what the Everlasting Darkness is. lol. but I’m not touching that now beyond I think it’s a thing the SoF are genuinely afraid of

[sirwadewilsonfromimgur]

Deadpool & Wolverine: Scenes from an unconventional marriage.

[Submitted to Poolverine Week Day 7 SFW domesticity / Domestic life]

Pre script authors note: The following was inspired by a few conversations between @icarusredwings and myself, part of which was a scenario that i thought would be funny... if this is your first story reading one of my AUs (first of all. woof, you picked a long one) Secondly. The boys have money, Peter works for them as an assistant and logistics expert. They live in Kansas city because of Wade's crusade against anti-mutant GMO corn... go back and read KoKC for details. Link below.

Scene 3

Kansas City Missouri Earth-10005 (2031-ish)

When two murderous Canadian mercenaries love each other very much...

Part 1 : paternal instincts.

Our scene opens up where most of our scenes open with this author.

The 19th floor of 700 W 31st Street Kansas City Missouri.

(the building known to its Tennants as One Park Place tower)

International headquarters of Malfeasance and Fraud Mitigation (Mercs for Money) LLC. And home to Logan and Wade Howlett-Wilson.

And Blind Al don't forget her! And Mary puppens I'll stab you if fucking forget about her. By the way Brace yourself folks this might be a crossover AU one-shot non canonical story.

Wade was talking to himself as usual having left the office after chain smoking a pack of Lucky Strikes and going over Financials with Peter and Althea. The business part of the business of killing was a huge pain in the ass. Logan insisted he take an active role beyond just killing. It was hell on his undiagnosed autism/ADHD.

Fuck Excell, fuck spreadsheets, fuck shopping around for cheaper ammo to save a dollar, this Is a Winchester house we're not buying off brand bullets from eastern Europe!

But it was finally over and he could enjoy the rest of his day. Which he intended on doing as he walked towards Logan sitting on the couch in the livingroom. He had a Nintendo Switch and was playing Mario 3 online.

He'd taken a liking to playing games ever since Laura convinced him to play Smash Brothers with her a few years ago.... Wade loved that he'd picked up what many especially the Wolverine himself would consider an unserious hobby.

he sucked at it, but he was trying to improve. He had recently beat Zelda: link to the past, but he still couldn't beat Laura at Smash Bros. Wade sat down next to him with a thud.

You get all your work done for the day princess? He asked without looking up from his screen.

I did. It was terrible. I hate it. Please don't make me do it again. Wade gently puts a hand on Logans thigh, not necessarily with amorous intentions. It's more like trying to ground himself after a stressful afternoon by connecting with his Wolverine.

Sorry bub, but you gotta learn about the actual business. It'll give you a better perspective before you go spending money. Besides its our company, and it's more than shooting fools. Now, if you gimme a sec I'll find a stopping point. These little fucking turtles have been giving me hell.

Thier Koopas penut, stomping on turtles, would be cruel. As for Al and Peter, they are the best at what they do... and what they do isn't very interesting.

Logan chuckles at Wade's bad joke, turning off his game. You smell like cigarettes bub, you know those are bad for your health. *sniffs* lucky strikes.... you know I remember when lucky strike was a plug tobacco brand (chewing tobacco bound together with molasses the 1870s were a weird time)

That sounds disgusting Penut... also I think smoking is the least of my problems. You didn't have to stop playing your game I just Wanted to be near you. But speaking of, did I tell you I was in a video game once?

Logan was accustomed to this line of thought at this point, they were in a film, a fanfic on Tumblr, a comic book, a novel... a video game was new... he couldn't see the audience, as far as he knew his choices were his own. But he didn't immediately dismiss Wade like he had in the past, because when he said things like this, there was a thread, especially if Wade said something ominous. He knew to clock it and treat the situation with care.

You were? Tell me about it bub. He said this as he pulled Wade onto his lap, feeling the need for a little cuddling while his garrulous lover regaled him with a meandering story... he liked it.

Well Penut it was the far off year of 2013, my voice sounded like Nolan North at the time and not the buttery Ryan Reynolds tones I have today. It was before the Deadpool movies and I didn't have the budget for a Hollywood actor.

Logan shook his head in mock understanding, not understanding what he meant by having a different voice at all.

Anyway, cutting past the tutorial levels, I remember Cable was there, and so we're you. Well, not you, one of you. Ya' know.

Logan gave Wade a little squeeze at the mention of Wade's ex, Cable... something about that guy made him feel possessive, not a normal reaction for a pair that generally regarded themselves as polyamorous. It probably had something to do with him being (this universe's) Scotts son which is a situation that's weird on its face before someone explained time travel to you and once that was done Logan would have to open a whole can of worms regarding trauma of love lost, parallel universes, and his Scott...

he pushed it to the back of his brain as Wade told his story, how he went on an adventure and that other Logan. he even let me fly the Blackbird... this, of course, resulted in disaster... he crashed it, leading in to a light explanation of how his and that Logans relationship was... tense.

Wade went on about traipsing through the ruins of Genosha a totally real place Logan was unfamiliar with...

there was no Genosha or Krakoa in his universe, and by far the largest difference between the world's he'd noted. It was a land populated by mutants that had suffered a brazen attack by humans... a story Logan was all too familiar with. It's a story he's been doing his best to live with. Pulling himself out again he focuses on Wade's story, he'd mentioned a musical number with Lady Death (who was not played by Aubrey Plaza at the time wade lamented) and then discovery that it hadn't been Agatha all along but Mister Sinister at the heart of the problem.

He'd planned on destroying Wade's favorite taco restaurant along with the rest of the world by *checks notes* exhuming mutant bodies to obtain their unique DNA.... or something. It was almost 20 years ago penut so it's fuzzy.

An injustices Wade simply could not stand for. He personally killed several of Sinisters clones in the process of ultimately stopping his evil scheme before confronting him at Magneto's old Citadel where he'd been hiding out...

I squashed him like a bug under the boot of an old Sentinel, Penut! The big purple kind like from X-men 97! Anyway, the credits role and because of licensing issues, the game is only available to play on hard disk, and it's expensive.

Logan nodded his head (again) in tacit agreement with this statement as if he completely understood *he didn't* kissed Wade on the cheek and held him. He was about to suggest that he and Wade go for a walk when Wade jumped off his lap

Oh, Penut! Talking about Sinister reminds me of something!

Wade ran across the room and headed towards the large storage room they kept some sundry items in, the Christmas tree, seasonal stuff and a few boxes of Wade's "crap" that he couldn't get rid of. Mind you this wasn't Wolverines terminology, Wade had written in red crayon on the boxes Crap. Out of curiosity Logan had followed behind him and was standing in the door watching Wade feverishly dig through boxes, opening them taking stuff out and Searching for something.

Amongst the random objects was a furry red doll with a grande attached to it. Logan quickly picks it up.

Wade, why dose this doll have a live Fucking grande attached to it... I thought we agreed all explosives stay at the safe house not the condo!

Oh, tickle me Hell-mo, in fairness Penut I forgot he was even in that box... I forgot what was in a lot of these boxes, trinkets, souvenirs... grenades... apparently. I just knew i didn't want to throw these things away. He rifled through another box as he said this and pulled out a large gray rectangular device with buttons nobs and a small readout display.

FOUND IT! c'mon Penut, I'll clean this up later. I want to show you something. Wade rushed out of the storage room as fast as he'd ran in, Logan followed behind exploding doll in hand. He knew he'd better just entertain whatever it was Wade wanted to show him. Besides, he is kinda cute when he's excited about something.

Ok Princess, what about that box has got you so worked up.

Wade sets it on the marble counter.

Sinister was a sick fuck, and certifiably evil... but he was a brilliant geneticist and created several devices for harvesting DNA... I, lightly acquired a few things.

You stole shit.

I WASN'T PAID! so yeah after killing the fucker FOR FREE and distracting the X-men who conveniently showed up after I did all the work, I rooted around the citadel where he'd set up shop. I took this! He said pointing at the device. He then proceeded to pull out an instruction manual seemingly from thin air and read it out loud.

This device can take the DNA of two or more individuals regardless of gender and re-combine it to make a new life.

Logan was taken aback, not only by the inference that this device could assist them in having biological children together... but because Wade fucking read something out loud flawlessly without having to sound it out...

Bub, you can read today?

I guess so... but I'll probably only be able to write in Mandarin tomorrow. So enjoy it while you can. But to the point at hand, Penut, I want to have your babies. And with this I believe we can... with the help of a surrogate.

Sweet heart (Logan said as gently as possible in an attempt to spare his feelings) I don't think we're ready for kids, especially little ones.

Logan held up the explosive doll as exhibit A for his argument.

Wade responds by just looking at Logan, big comic book accurate blue eyes staring right in to his soul, Logan could see the tears welling up....

Jesus, bub! Stop! You emotionally manipulative little cunt! Logan broke his gaze and looked out the window pretending to be interested in downtown...

Look Princess, I know how badly you want a kid of your own... you told me all about it.

But you've got some steps to take before I consider being a father to a new life with you... firstly who's gonna surrogate? And don't tell me Ness, she's a good friend but that's asking a lot of her and don't be all depressed if she tells you no.

Secondly... and I can't believe I'm saying this... but if you want me to even flirt with the Ideas Wade, we gotta make this house a safe place and... buy one of the units next to us to expand into so the kid has a room... and you gotta get a safe for the guns and a locked case for the swords. we can't have them accessible to a toddler... no more keeping a Glock in the silverware drawer, no more LadySmith revolvers under the couch cushions. No more cocain in the pantry labeled "flour" in mason jars.

Well... that doesn't sound like a No, Penut... or should I say... Daddy?

Logan cringed at Deadpool, calling him daddy in a decidedly nonsexual tone. It didn't sound normal.

If the Wolverine wasn't sure about this, he probably shouldn't have given Wade a goal with clearly defined parameters...

Wade had hyper focus and devoted himself to baby proofing the condo, weapons secured. Drugs removed (by consuming them, Logan didn't say he couldn't have fun)

He negotiated buying the vacant one bedroom unit that was on the other side of their office walls, blew out said wall, and had contractors built two new large bedroom suites with bathrooms. He installed a Cypher lock on the office door and... yes, the golden girls were behind glass in a locked display cabinet. Something he could punch through should he need to defend the house quickly.

He did this all with his personal funds. Everything was on course... accept finding a surrogate... believe it or not, Vanessa wasn't actually Wade's first choice. He didn't want to ask her to commit to the inconvenience, especially since he didn't want to interfere with her relationship with Dermot... also the touchy subject of asking the woman you wanted to start a family with to hay... help me start a family with my husband it'll be fun! No... Vanessa would be a fun aunt, but he knew he'd have to seek out the services of a professional or something.

They did find an agency that helped them meet with potential surrogates. It wasn't cheap.

A situation that was more complicated than taxes, filing out mountains of paperwork. Then they had to actually meet these women. Money they had... interview skills not so much. Especially when a few walked in, saw Wade's face, and immediately walked out. The best ones screamed, the worst one thought she was on one of those terrible reality prank shows...

Logan despised the nights after such interviews. Holding Wade as he wept.

Logan... what if my own baby thinks I'm scary? What if they don't want to be seen with me or worse they're bullied at school for being the son of a monster... *loud sobs* because it's true, I am a monster. A murderer, a war criminal whose outside is exactly who he is on the inside... a freak.

Logan had gotten Wade to believe him after years when he said he loved him, his scars added depth and character and that he thought his husband was the sexiest man to walk the earth, the void, and the multivers.

But that only applied to him, others... well, given how the interviews went, it was a blow to his ego.... and his mental health. It'd be days before he got Wade to come back out from under his hood or mask. But that was a problem for tomorrow. But for tonight, Wade had entered a shutdown for lack of a betterword... Logan held him, fed him, got in the large shower with him, washed him, and went to bed, tucked in the large bed he held his beloved who had curled himself up in to a ball.

Tomorrow will be better Princess, we'll find the right person, and I promise any baby of ours will love you and be kind. Because that's who you are, really on the inside bub... you forget it. But as long as I've known you, your heart has been in the right place in the end, and you're kinder than I am by a country mile.

The sleep that night was thankfully dreamless for the both of them.

The next morning, Logan made a simple breakfast of eggs and toast for both of them. Putting the bottles of salsa and sriracha near Wade plate... he looked at the clock. 6:30 am

Meaning it was 7:30 in New York. He'd try and give Vanessa a call in half an hour knowing she'd be up by then for sure. He needed to commiserate with someone who understood Wade like he did.

The phone call he had that morning was surprising. He'd let Vanessa know what'd been going on with the agency... and the drama... he was shocked to learn she didn't even know they were considering having a baby.

Wade, didn't tell you?

No Red's not said a word of this to me, I'm honestly confused as to why you goofballs didn't ask me first.

Well, after yesterday, I might as well be the one to ask. Would you consider it Ness?

I... hmmm.... tell you What, this isn't exactly a phone conversation, and it sounds like I need to have a chat with my buddy... I can be there this weekend if you can help a sister out with at ride.

*Logan scoffs playfully* sure I'll have peter send out a G700 to pick you up.

Oooo spoil me, Daddy she retorted.

Logan gaged... gross Ness.

She cackled at getting the old man's goat for a solid minute before they finally wrapped up the call, Logan could definitely see why she and Wade had clicked.

It was another down day, no jobs scheduled, they could afford to take longer breaks and be choosy with contracts. Althea had the money making money with a few business development investments, the purpose of which was to launder money and pay taxes, the fringe benefit being they actually produced a small regular incom. (Please stop talking about the intricacies of the business, haven't I suffered enough!)

A short walk away on the other side of Broadway is the Penn Valley off leash dog park. Mary loved being able to run about and the boys liked that they didn't have to worry about her getting hit by a car... not that it would have affected her for long, but they both knew regenerating is something you'd rather not do if you didn't have to. Wade was indeed tightly tucked into a hoodie hiding his face as best he could. Logan would address that later. They got to the dog park gate without issue, Wade actively avoiding any other people they saw on the way.

Logan unhooked the leash from the ring on her doggy vest, and she was off like a bat out of hell to do whatever it is Dogpools do when they have a whole field to run in. He pulled out a cigar from his pocket case. A Cohiba, a real one from Cuba, smuggled it himself from a job that took them to the Caribbean. He carefully cut the tip with a specialized Xikar cutter, lit the end of a cedar strip, and used the growing flame from it to light his cigar... a lot of ritual for something you literally burn. But Logan found it calming, he also needed one of his strongest cigars to help cover up the smell of the dog park... even if everyone picked up after their dog (they most certainly didn't) the smell was not great for Logan.

We should both probably cut back on the smoking when the babies get here penut... he said this as he pulled out a cigarette... they didn't do much for either of them chemically. Wade just enjoyed the habit, something comforting about it... plus if Wolvy was gonna have a cigar, it made him feel like it was a couples activity. Doing a mundane thing together was one of Wade's favorite things.

I spoke to Ness this morning.

Oh, I hope she's doing well. I need to call her.

I wouldn't worry about it, she'll be here this weekend... Wade, sweetheart... why didn't you tell Ness about our plans, she seemed a little hurt you didn't tell her.

She's traveling a thousand miles, probably to tell me off. I think she's more than hurt if she's coming out here... you know Penut... you said that I shouldn't get my hopes up with her... and I kinda took it to heart... Also I have my own hangups about it... Firstly being how insensitive it sounds on it's face. "Hay Ness, if you and Dermot aren't using it, can we rent your womb? Only 9 months, first month deposit up front!"

But more importantly, for the better part of a decade, Vanessa has been pulled into the misadventures of Deadpool. I love her (platonically). I'm glad we were able to stay friends... but she really doesn't need to get wrapped up in my problems, schemes, and drama... again. Not at my request anyway. A big issue I have is personal, I was going to start a family with her. Asking felt... regressive. But also to the point, her proximity to me has gotten her kidnapped and killed before. I still feel guilty about it.

You also traveled the multivers to save this reality for her, also you traveled back in time and saved her bub.

Aint you ever seen endgame. That's not how time travel works. Somewhere out there, in some other time line, Vanessa is still dead, and it's my fault. This is just a branched timeline.

Since when has the timeline ever made Since bub!

*Loud gasp* PENUT DID YOU JUST BREAK THE FOURTH WALL?

I don't think so, bub... I don't see the people, but I remember you trying to explain how the "other me" time traveled in 2014, and now there aren't Sentinel's running death camps. That the timeline changed and converged.

This is no different Princess, don't think about it too hard, you said. So I'm telling you the same thing. Don't fret about it bub, Vanessa is alive... and she will be here Saturday.

You're too good for me, Penut. I Don't deserve you.

No, you don't... he said as he picked a small plastic bag out of his pocket. You literally stole me. But I love you anyway. Now go pick up the massive shit Mary just took. I refuse for us to be the kind of people who just leave it.

Wade took the bag.

It's probably Stockholm syndrome Penut.

Vanessa arrived Saturday afternoon, in a Falcon 900LX. It was the best Peter could arrange on short notice... not that Vanessa knew the difference between a G700 and a Falcon, she was just happy not to be on Southwest. Dermot was with her... the man was almost the antithesis of Wade, He liked Hiking and he was quite to the point of being accused of being shy. Dry witted... and as he'd recently discovered when he went to the gun range with the boy's last 4th of July... a lousy shooter. But he was stable, kind, and good-natured. Definitely willing to go along to get along with a lot of Wade's antics at parties. He knew why Vanessa had come, and he was perfectly fine with it. It didn't interfere with his plans at all. He was a slow burner and Vanessa hadn't indicated she was in any hurry to tie the knot. But that's a story for another time.

Wade had gone the extra mile to spoil them. A black limousine complete with champagne greeted them on the tarmac and whisked them off to casa de chaos.

She walked in the door like she owned the place, dropping her bag by the door. She walked to the dining room table and sat...

Come over here and sit with me boys. We got a lot to talk about and I'd like to waste no time getting down to business.

Oh, so direct. Wade said in a catty tone high enough to indicate he was joking as he winked

We're gonna gloss over the fact that you didn't involve me with your family planning from the start... but I hear you've had a hard time landing a surrogate. she cut eyes at Wade as she said this. Wordlessly airing all of her hurt feelings and grievances regarding not even being told Wade and Logan were trying to have a baby. Something one would think a best friend would be told

I'd like to make an offer. On the condition that despite you two being my best friends... I aint doing this for free.

Oh, if that's the case Ness then you gotta interview like all the rest. He said this in a joking tone but she didn't miss a beat.

Ok Red, I've been substance free for over 20 years, I don't smoke. I promise not to drink or eat selfish for the entire pregnancy, and I'm one of two people in this room who've seen you naked and didn't require drugs and therapy after.

Yeah... my dick dose look like a peperoni somone forgot in the air fryer.

And your sack looks like someone took a crown royal bag, filled it with puss, and ran it through the middle of a hog pin.

Wade smiles. And laughs a little...

Ok, Ness. you got the job.

Great, I knew you'd see it my way. She proceeded to write a number on a piece of paper and slid it across.

That's my price. Also, Dermot and I are gonna be long-term hous guests for obvious reasons. Convenient since he can do his job remotely....

Wade looked at the number, showed it to Logan, and smirked... I think the both of you could retire for this much money... but nothing is too good for my baby. I am going to have to kill several people for this.

Bub, we might have to overthrow a government.

Pff like that's something new.

Lucky you Ness, you get to be the first person to stay in one of the new rooms... and tangentially responsible for a potential war crime! He grinned like the devil at her

---

Shortly after the contract was finalized, Vanessa and Dermot moved in, and it was a short trip to New York... the boys provided a sample and Mister Sinisters machine to Dr. Henry McCoy... who was fascinated by the whole thing (he later wrote an entire dissertation on it) he helped with the procedure... the result of which was one Vanessa Carlysle pregnant with the Biological child of the combined DNA of Deadpool and Wolverine...

The following 9 months went surprisingly smoothly (apart from one small incident with a serial killer, but that's a chapter in the Noir, we will worry about it later)

The day came... Vanessa went into labor, early in the morning. Thankfully, it seemed like it would be free of complications. meaning that Wade and Vanessa both got their wish for thus day. The baby was born at home.

Wade had an aversion to hospitals. Bad memories of cancer diagnosis, and a general fear of strange men in white lab coats. Not every man mind you. He was cool with Beast and other people he knew personally and he knew a few scientists and doctors... Logan wasn't averse to hospitals apart from the smells of disinfectant and illness mixed together. Vanessa was a bit new age for her justification, why bring life into the world in a place so many go to die, on top of it being uncomfortable, and expensive.

As a result, the midwife was called arrangements were made and the new life was soon ushered into the world. They say history doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme. Like his father Logan, who was born at home to an affluent family in a room where he'd spend his childhood, this baby was born in the penthouse of a tower to affluent parents in a room he'd inhabit well in to his 20s.

Vanessa wasn't in labor long. No birth is a walk in the park, but she would tell you it was pretty easy and without drama compared to others. She pushed one last time, and he was out. Vanessa did get the honor of holding him first after the midwife cleaned him up... Logan couldn't resist the urge; the umbilical cord was carefully cut with an adamantium claw blade. He had been offered a scalpel for the record.

Hay there, little guy... it's a pleasure to meet you.

She held him for 5 minutes before she called Wade over.

I know someone who's been waiting a very long time for you... I think it's time you should finally meet him

Vanessa handed the tiny bundle to Wade, who had whipped off his shirt the second Vanessa called him over. I read that skin to skin contact was beneficial to the baby. he'd said as he carefully supported the babies head and neck and brought him in closer to his chest.

Welcome to the world... I apologize for the state of it, but I have indeed waited a long time to meet you, little guy... I'm Wade, but please call me dad. Your other dad over there is the Wolverine, that makes you my Kitten. I promise you I'll do the best i can being your father. Please don't judge me too harshly.

Babe, get over here and take your shirt off.

If I had a dollar for every time you've said that to me.

So what should we name him...

You didn't think of a name already!

Logan said it was bad luck *shrugs*

But at least we got the last name sorted Howlett-Wilson 👌

Bub, hyphenated names are a pain in the ass... its not a problem for us because we rarely use our real married name for anything official... let's just give him your last name.

Wade scrunched his face with a little distaste...

Wolvy he's our baby. He should have something from both of us... I mean, besides our mental illness... that's a given.

Tell you what princess; how about we Name him James. It was my name... once, but I don't use it anymore. He can have it.

His middle name however was a much longer discussion... mostly because Wade offered several typical Deadpool options that Logan Veto'ed outright.

Thunderdick! No. Skullcursher!? God, no. James MAGNUM Wilson! That's terrible Wade...

It went on for a minute before Vanessa finally chimed in. Evan... I've always liked that name.

Well, it's a normal name. So I like it.

Works for me, Penut. Though it'd be a lot cooler if it was Danger... but that's my middle name.

Your middle name is Winston.... idiot!

Part two: the Life and Times of James E. Wilson (hope you like crossover AUs)

James's earliest memory is his father, Wade holding him, comforting him... but also crying. He vaguely remembered being at the playground, running and jumping as most toddlers do... tripping on something and skinning his knees on the sidewalk... he naturally had the reaction of crying from the pain and surprise... it wasn't until James was much older that he understood why his dad kept mumbling why aren't you healing?

It's ok, dad... you don't need to cry. I already feel better.

Even at a young age, he felt compelled to comfort someone else. To help. It broke him out of thinking about his own problems, including skinned knees...

The result of this little accident was Wade panicking. They went back to the house and grabbed the dog and his other dad. Papa (or the big bad wolf if James was misbehaving) no amount of reasoning or comments from Logan couldn't stop him or calm Wade down.

Logan Howlett-Wilson get your ass in the car and drive us to the airport right now! Were going to the Mansion to see the fucking doctor RIGHT NOW!

Logan got the message, Wade didn't forgo pet names unless he was bone chillingly serious in intention and resolve. So within minutes, they were on a jet to New York. Where James met a fuzzy blue man he liked very much despite the blood draw. That was uncomfortable, but he found the lab he was in fascinating... weather or not, this influenced his future career he couldn't fully say. But probably a little.

The news delivered to the... not so young, but definitely, new parents was not stellar... Hank had run several tests and analyzed James' DNA structure. He possessed the X-Gene, but it was dormant due to being recessive. Much like Wade he'd have to undergo profound trauma to activate it. There was no guarantee he'd come out the other end with a healing factor. It could be anything... furthermore, it was highly unethical and unthinkable to subject a child.... Wade cut him off

I know a lot of people don't think highly of me. But how fucking dare you assume I'd even entertain the idea of tormenting my child.

Easy bub, I don't think Hank was implying anything. Ya' know he gets lost in the hypotheticals. Right Hank!?

The blue man nodded in agreement.

We will just... have to be extra careful.

Wade picked James up. C'mon soldier. There's a big metal doofus ya gotta meet.

---

One particular afternoon James was sitting in his office recounting some memories with his friend Gregory. Though they had a habit of referring to each other by sir name. Wilson and House

(what a twist)

The day the two met was actually one of the few points in time that if you knew who his parents were you'd say "oh yeah, that is clearly the offspring of Deadpool and Wolverine" it was at a medical conference in New Orleans. Wilson dosn't remember the exact circumstances he'd been drinking but his father's tempers came out of him as he'd threw punches and generally effectively kicked ass at a bar brawl (Wade would have been so proud) House ever the shit stirrer jumped in and backed him up. Truly his fathers son, meeting your best friend as a result of incredible violence... in a bar.

House had actually just finished telling Wilson about his most recent case, yet another patient that had been previously misdiagnosed as having lupus. It was Hashimoto's disease if you're curious. The interactions he'd had with the patient made him think she'd been being neglected, bare minimum socially isolated... he recognized his own surliness in others. It resulted in a dressdown of her parents that he was certain would result in an office visit with Cuddy and detention after school.

High-school wasn't a fun time for Gregory...

You know it wasn't exactly fun for me either.

From the age of 11 to the time he left for med school, he was escorted by armed gaurds to and from school. Growing up in Kansas city, he'd gone to Pembroke Hill School, a private school that specialized in STEM that's tuition cost as much as a new car annually... he was one of only two kid's that went to that school that arrived with a security detail, not however the only one that arrived in a limousine. The other kid was the child of Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift. They weren't friends... he didn't really have friends.

Aww poor little rich boy

House chided at him

At least you didn't get shoved into a locker...

Which was true. He didn't have friends but he didn't have enemies either. The closest thing he had to a best friend was his Grandma Al and Mr. Yoshitomi his driver/lead bodyguard. he was allowed to call him Yoshi...

The man was clearly retired Yakuza, and like his father Logan, tough on the outside but secretly a teddy bear. The truth is Wilson found himself alone at home, too. Apart from Al... but she mostly sat him down in front of a TV and fed him before going outside to smoke...

so apart from weekends, he was alone. Occasionally, he'd see his big sister Laura. She was frequently busy herself being the "official" Wolverine of the Xmen. He liked it when she brought him comics, fictionlized accounts of the adventures of his dad in the past, and his big sister... he knew his dad's loved him. No one could argue that... but What had started as two lovers in New York trying to make rent money by doing the only thing they were good at; picking up random jobs on the dark web (Killing mostly) in the mid 2020s morphed into a private security firm in Kansas City that rivaled Black Water and the (fucking) Pinkertons by the 2040s.

They were busy, and it did provide him a comfortable life without student loans or want for any material thing... But from 11 to 18, it was him Al his sister Ellie who was always off doing her own thing (he wished they were closer) and what had to be the world's oldest dog. She's still alive, actually. The dog loved him and was rarely not by his side when he was home (because all deadpools love their babies) Althea however was not, she was a chain smoker and heavy drug user until the day she died.

how that woman lived to be 115 is fucking beyond me

She lived long enough to see (metaphorically) Wilson graduate medical school. It was the last time he'd seen her. He moved away and started his residency in New Jersey. Wade had sent a private plane as well as several veiled threats to the Dean of medicine at the time to ensure Wilson had the time off to attend the funeral.

Wilson... I gotta ask, why did you have armed guards?

Oh! Funny story when I was 10. I was kidnapped once

(Exactly once I made sure of that)

It's true. He was heading home from school. He made it to the driveway of the tower he called home when some very ill-informed gangsters decided to kidnap the son of a rich man... they didn't do their resurch as to who's kid exactly, just figured they'd get a ransom...

In fairness on paper Wade and Logan weren't Wade and Logan, they were two random dudes who ran a lucrative business and weren't shy about showing off.

This leads to probably the second most traumatic memory Wilson had... not necessarily the kidnapping. They had actually treated him surprisingly well.

What shocked him was seeing his father Logan covered in blood kicking down the door of the room he'd been kept in. He'd never seen his father in the tight yellow and brow suit before. Or the mask... he had taken it off when he clocked James, but that only made it worse. The entire bottom of his father's face was coated in blood, like he'd gored a man (he actually had ripped open one of the gangsters throat with his teeth) the blood on his face was cut clear with two rivulets of tears. What James didn't know is they weren't just tears of joy seeing his son, but also tears of relief. If anything had happened to James, the Genocide he and his husband were going to commit in response would have made his incident in his own universe look like childs play.

[Image below: Scary dad privileges]

---

Rebellious teenage years were impossible. You couldn't steal weed from your blind grandma and hid it in your room, not from the nose of the Wolverine.

Do you know what this shit dose! It makes you fucking stupid is what it does, and your dad and I aren't raising a fucking idiot!

Logan never hit him. But he was scary when he yelled and loud... if he was really pissed those claws popped out. Never an actual threat but fucking scary. The only person in the house that actually got stabbed was Wade... and much to James's chagrin, he was pretty sure his dad liked it.

It wasn't the worst childhood, and it wasn't a bad life. Wilson became an oncologist partly because he was fascinated by his own father. The man who's cancer actually kept him alive. He had success, failures... it's like his dad said "what dosn't kill you makes you bad at intimacy kido" 3 ex wives later he finally understood what he meant by that.

All the events of his life that you know about that happened on the show. They happened more or less details and name's changed, cousins were not blood related etcetera. The ending however was quite different. Wilson and House lived to an advanced age. House did indeed fake his own death some time in 2069 and assumed a new life... but luckily for him, his "buddy" Wilson had a dad that knew how to get people new and interesting identities.

They had actually shown up one day at the condo... parking their motorcycles right in front of the door (no one dare question whatever the fuck Deadpools kid wanted to do at that building, Wade had long since put the HOA under his thumb) Wade welcomed his son in. Helped them out. House got a new first name... also, shortly after the Althea Sanderson memorial cancer research wing was built, Wilson found himself the head of Oncology at KU med hospital. Wilson never once questioned why a job was offered to him out of the blue and Wade never once questioned why Wilson and House shared a home out in Leewood.

The only other major difference is all his life when he could he returned home to the condo for the holidays. Where he'd see his seemingly ageless fathers and sisters. He loved his family Logan, Wade, Laura, and Ellie (we'll talk about her in another story.) Which is just as well. He never had children of his own, and after your 3rd failed marriage, you kinda give up on the idea of expanding your family; other than House occasionally tagging along. But until his dying day, his dad dotted on him. And bragged, boy did he brag especially to the Xmen when he had a chance to rub in their face his son the successful Doctor! (Suck on that Jean!)

But for Wade, the day did finally come that his immortality became a curse... with every Christmas, Thanksgiving, and spring break that came, James got older. Wade was at his retirement party, He remembers loving Dr. House's wildly inappropriate speech and toast. A man after his own heart, but after the laughter subsided, he realized that his boy, who was graciously receiving a gold watch, had lines in his face and gray hair.

The years kept coming... Wilson got older, he got sick... and his mortality came to pass.

If the universe brought these starbound lovers together for any particular reason. It was for this moment, Wade loved two things Intensely, his Wolverine and his children... but the Death of his first son broke him. Logan clinged on to Wade physically and emotionally. Doing everything he could to hold him together. It was many years before Wade could be called Ok. It was another couple hundred years before he even considered the idea of raising more children.

It should be noted that James was the only one to be fully genetically Logan and Wade's. He was special, one of a kind.

Wade carried a portion of James's ashes with him in a small locket around his neck where it stayed for countless millenia. In dangerous situations he'd even cut himself and put it under his skin so it wouldn't get lost...

Epilogue:

The lady at the end of the road sits in her ethereal other world. Surrounded by various time keeping devices dimly lit by candles flames that don't consume. She pulled out a pocket watch and a ledger. She had an appointment to keep. This one was a special case. The dark lady had the power to send out shades, to be everywhere at once. But this appointment she'd handle directly. She carried out her appointed task kindly but usually without emotion. She was inflexible and didn't bargain or despite what you may have heard play chess or gamble for time or souls....

Wade was there... hospice care was set up about a week ago, and he sat by James side as the ravage of time and biology took its toll. By regular human standards Dr. James Wilson lived a good life, a long life at that. He was 97 years 6 months 2 weeks and 5 days old the morning she came. Logan had been with him the entire night before Wade had taken his shift early that morning so Logan could get some sleep. At about 10 am in the guise of a hospice nurse, she walked into the room, Wade was no fool. Only one person still alive (if you could call her alive) looked like that... He knew why she was there. He hadn't seen her in a very long time.

I see we're sticking with the Aubrey Plaza look... tears started welling up in his eyes. He looked at James in the bed beside him Despite looking down at the face of an old man, Wade still saw his baby. His son.

I thought you'd like this look, it's definitely more pleasant than most. If it's any consolation, Wade... I'm sorry I have to do this.

I haven't seen you in over 100 years. Not even the times I've died lately. Haven't seen you since the time I jumped out of an airplane into a volcano after Vanessa dumped me. Now you show up! I know why you're here.

The tears were streaming down Wade's face. Hot on his cheeks, his eyes red. He looks at her pleadingly.

Please, take me instead. Please, Lady Death. Leave my baby alone. Please, I beg you, take me.

Oh, Wade... My love. It has caused me great sorrow to not see you all these years. But don't you know? I can't take you even if I wanted to. You and Logan have woven yourself in the fabric of the universe. You and him are part of Eternity. I can't take you only, Entropy can take you. probably shortly before he takes me... even death has a death.

I know this is hard. I beg you to forgive me... but it's James's time to go. But because I love you. I waited as long as I could, he should have passed before you woke up this morning. But now you have an opportunity to say goodbye...

She moved to the bed and touched James's hand. He sat up and looked at his father.

Why are you crying, dad?

He stood up, out of the bed. Wade jumped out of his chair and embraced him tightly.

Oh, my sweet Kitten. Im so sorry. Please forgive your old man.

Wade sobs for a while before he can talk again...

I remember the day you were born... I loved you, I held you. I swore I'd burn down the world to protect you... but I can't protect you anymore...

Dad, I Don't understand. What's going on.

That's unfortunately my job to explain... but it'd be easier to show you...

She points at the bed; James looks down and to his surprise, he sees... himself. Drained of color, unmoving.

Dr. James Wilson, you have lived your life in service of others. A life well spent. But now is the time to leave that life... I'm sorry

Dad, you don't have to protect me anymore. It'll... it'll be ok.

Kitten... I love you, and though I desperately want to rage and fight and yell to keep you here longer... it's not the right thing to do. My friend here gave me an opportunity few have. I'm going to take it instead of throwing it in her face.

I love you...

I love you too Dad.

Wade hugged his son one last time, kissed him on the cheek, and led him by the hand to Lady Death.

Can... can Logan say goodbye, too?

I'm sorry Wade. I've already pushed the limits of the rules to extend this opportunity to you. I'm afraid I can't

Ok...

He looks up at James.

Your father and I will miss you. Honeybadger loved his kitten as much as I do.

I know, Dad... I know. I want you to know that I had a good life. I'm at peace. I don't want you worrying about me.

You silly boy. It doesn't matter if you're 9 or 97. I was always going to worry about you.

Lady Death extended her hand out to James.

It's time... I'm sorry, but don't be sacred. I promise where we're going isn't bad. It won't hurt.

James took her hand, and slowly took his other hand out of his father's grasp... turned and looked at him.

I love you. You were the best dad. I guess now is the time. Goodbye.

I could have been better, I'm sorry. I love you....... James... it... it might be a while before I see you again... goodbye. I'll always love you, kitten.

They walked away from Wade out the bedroom door. Wades heart broke into a million pieces as they turned to go down the hall. There was a flash of light... and he was gone.

The End.

If fan fics had credits. This would be the closing song. It is special to me... I myself would like it played at my funeral.

Below is a translation into English. Be sure to give the user who provided it a ❤️

Link to Next chapter

Branched story, this is the Noir final chapter

Branching story the next scene from and unconventional marriage is below

[mcuamerica]

The Shadowsinger: Twenty

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. Canon-level violence (blood, gore, fighting, killing, death), mentions of SA, ACOTAR series spoilers. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: You compete in the Blood Rite.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

My graphics are my own. If you wish to use them, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

Fifteen - Sixteen - Seventeen - Eighteen - Nineteen

Day 1 

Your eyes were heavy as you opened them, feeling the cold snow covered ground beneath you. You should have been freaking out, should have been getting up to run already. But the only thing that was running through your mind was, “Mate, he’s your mate. Mate… Azriel’s your mate.” 

Out of all the times, why was now the time it decided to snap? Did the Mother know you were going to die here and wanted to play a cruel trick on you? If that was the case, you hope it didn’t snap for him like it had for you. Did you see a flash of gold in his eyes before you passed out or was that the gloriella you breathed in? 

You couldn’t think about that right now. Your wings were bound, your head was heavy, your Siphon gone, and your shadows nowhere to be seen. You took in a deep breath, the cold air waking you up bit by bit. You rose your head and noticed a few others around you stirring. You had to get out of here. Now. 

You scrambled to your feet as quick as you could, stumbling a little. No weapons were allowed in the Rite but these males were much much bigger than you. Even though you’ve been building up your strength, and learning how to easily overpower them, you knew it would only take you so far. Especially without your fae strength or senses.

You ran towards the tree line, needing to get out of sight if you could. You were glad that you had your cloak and fighting leathers on when you fell asleep last night. You weren’t sure how anyone could survive in anything else.

You ducked behind a tree, finding a low hanging branch and snapping it off as quickly as you could. You could use it as a weapon if you needed to. But your main priority was to survive this. If that meant hiding out in a cave for the week, you would do it. 

You noticed more males rising and starting to fight each other. Some for clothes. Others because of revenge and old grudges. You steadied your breathing, slowly turning around to only come face to chest with a male that was near Cassian’s size. 

“What do we have here? A little female trying to play warrior?” He teased. If he made any more noise you could easily be surrounded. You wished you had at least one ally here. But you were completely alone. You didn’t even know this male and came to the conclusion that he was probably from another camp. You cursed yourself for not visiting the other ones to see what you were up against. 

But you stood your ground, holding onto the broken tree branch. While your main focus was on the towering male standing before you, you were also looking for ways to get out. Preferably without killing him. Azriel and Cassian both taught you how to knock out someone with hitting the right pressure points. But you were still slightly drugged. And this guy was huge. 

“Not going to say anything?” He sneered, stepping forward. What was his plan? Tease you to death? He should’ve been swinging already. You perked your ears up, hearing a shift in the snow behind you. Just as the male behind you went to strike your head, you ducked, causing him to hit the male in front square in the jaw. You took that as your opportunity to run. The male who teased you didn’t seem too happy with his companion and started a brawl with him instead. You rolled your eyes. Males. Maybe you would make it out of this alive after all.

You made it far away from anyone else, choosing to go north since you knew that was the most difficult way to get to the mountain and not many males would choose to bother with it. But that also meant you had to find shelter in the deadlier part of the forest, so you quickly made your way to a stream, drinking as much water as you could and finding a sharp rock for you to hold on to. You would sharpen the tree branch into a spear tonight. You wouldn’t be getting much sleep this next week, so you knew you needed to keep yourself busy, dry, warm, and fed. It was about survival. Not being a hero. You repeated the two things you promised Azriel over and over again. 

First, I will survive. Then, I’ll make my way to the mountain.

You added a third thing, for yourself. 

I will see my mate again. 

It quickly shortened to Survive. Mountain. Mate. Like a mantra in your mind as you trekked north. You kept hidden, either up in the trees or between rocks, when you heard others walking or fighting nearby. If you could avoid all of them for the whole week, you would survive. 

Survive. Mountain. Mate. 

Surprisingly, you didn’t run into another male that day. You killed two rabbits, made a very very small fire to cook them, and then found a cave to hunker down for the night. 

That was the easiest day of the week. 

Day 2

Somehow, you had managed to fall asleep in the cave. And by some blessing from the Mother, you were still alive and clothed when you woke up. You narrowed your eyes, getting up with the spear you sharpened last night. You grabbed some of the rabbit you cooked, ate it quickly, and made your way to the stream. You quickly drank some of the water, and then began your trek towards Ramiel once you climbed a tree to find it. You were placed in the south, as far as you could tell. 

You set your pace, not too fast and not too slow. You kept your breathing even, your grip on your spear tight. You made two smaller ones that you tucked into your fighting leathers, hoping that would be enough if someone tried to come at you. 

You could tell it was early morning, and a lot of the males seemed to forget that the creatures lurking around at night were not forgiving during the Rite. You picked up a makeshift canteen that one of the other warriors made or found, and slung it around your waist. You’d find water again soon. 

Or at least you were planning to when you heard someone shout and fall from a tree right in front of you, landing just a few feet from you. You cursed to yourself, you should have stayed more hidden. 

“Got some fancy weapons on you there.” The brunette sneered, stepping forward. He lunged to grab your spear and you knocked him back towards the next tree. 

“And they’re mine. Find your own.” You growled, narrowing your eyes. 

“It would be so nice to have a female for entertainment out here the next few days, don’t you think, boys?” Your ears betrayed you as you didn’t hear the others rustling in the trees, hopping down as well. Damn human-like senses. You decided then and there that the tradition of the Blood Rite was stupid. Why send so many decent warriors into the mountains just to get killed? Maybe your sentiment was because you realized you didn’t have much chance of taking down five Illyrians that had at least a few inches on you. And many pounds of muscle. 

But you steadied yourself anyway, readying for the fight that was going to come any second now. The one behind you lunged, and you stepped out of the way, ducking as the one to your left tried to grab you. They ran into each other and gave you just enough time so you could hit the brunette with the tip of your spear, sending him backwards as his blood splayed. You counted your breaths, honing in on all of the training you’d done. You could do this. 

You managed to knock all five of them to the ground, not without getting a few bruises yourself. “I’m no one’s entertainment.” You ground out to them before you sprinted north again. You were going to have to be a lot more careful. You probably should have killed them because if you ran into them again, they certainly would kill you. 

You panted, coming to a stop near a stream. You filled up the canteen, drank almost the whole thing, and filled it up again before you began moving through the trees again. This time, you kept your eyes not only on the ground around you, but the trees above as well. 

You walked for another hour or two, coming in contact with a few other males here and there, but most of them paid you no mind as they weren’t looking for a fight. You recognized one male, the one that was kissing Ragna in the shed. You were glad he didn't notice you as you hunched behind a tree. Still, you were afraid your luck was starting to run thin. 

Just as night was about to fall, you couldn’t find a cave so you began scouting for a decent tree to climb and stay for the night. That’s when something hard hit your back and you whirled around, spear raised and ready for a fight. The sun would set soon and you would have to fight more than Illyrians if you were still down here. They had to know that. 

It was the male from the first morning, chuckling to himself. “Haven’t gotten yourself killed yet?” He asked, walking towards you again. You might just kill him for his rambling mouth. 

“Is this how you train to fight in your camp? With your mouth?” You asked, readying your stance. 

“I bet your mouth could do some great things for me. But alas, I’m going to have to kill you first.” He said, leaping towards you. You stepped to the side, landing a blow with your spear to his leg. You remembered he had a companion earlier, but a quick glance around suggested he wasn’t with anyone. With a temper like his, he probably killed the male. 

“You bitch.” He growled and landed a blow to your side. You held in your wince and stepped back before going to hit him in the head, but he caught your spear and twisted it. Your arm twisted uncomfortably with it, causing you to let out a yelp. You kicked towards his shin, pulling the spear back towards you when he stumbled back. Again, you tried hitting him, but this time he ducked and tackled you to the ground. You spear went flying just as his hands came up to your neck. You gasped as he started to strangle you. With one hand you tried forcing his grip from you, the other you grabbed one of your hidden wood stake and pulled it out, stabbing him right in the neck. His warm blood splayed into your face and his hands loosened. You pushed him off you, scrambling back as you saw him choke, eyes wide in terror as he grabbed the stake and pulled it out. You winced as that only made the bleeding worse. He fell on his side and gurgled the blood coming up his throat, choking on it. 

You stood up, wiped off your pants, grabbed your spear, and began walking again. Now you had to find a new tree and get away from his dead body. You also had to get the blood off you. You found a stream, tearing part of your clock to soak it and then wash the blood from your face and leathers as best as you could. You didn't even think twice about using your cloak as a rag, knowing that once you were out of this, Rhys would probably buy you a new one. And then some. Just because.

And you knew it was only going to get harder from here. 

Day 3 

You didn’t sleep that night, needing to keep watch and fend away any creature that tried climbing the tree. But you were getting closer to Ramiel, and you were beginning to think maybe it was possible for you to make it to the mountain. You’d have to do it soon if you wanted to try and make it to the top. You heard that climb alone took two days. You wondered what would happen if you made it to the top before the Rite was truly over. And if they would even let you have the title that came with it. 

In the morning, you found leftover food on some of the fallen males as you passed them, so you took it as your breakfast. Not getting sleep that night would severely bite you in the ass if you had to fight, but there was no way you could with the amount of screams from the Illyrians. And creatures trying to climb the tree to get you. Your wrist was soar from yesterday's fight and your neck had a splatter of bruises, but other than that, you were feeling good. If not tired.

Honestly, you were surprised you hadn’t run into more trouble. And just as you thought it, you came upon three males, taking clothes and boots off a fallen Illyrian. Freshly dead, so maybe they were the ones to do it. What a horrible way to die. To have your clothes stripped from your body and lay there for creatures of the night to devour. You shuddered at the thought. That would not be you. 

You tried sneaking past them, but a branch covered in snow snapped under your feet and you cursed yourself. You fought off five Illyrians. You could fight off three. 

They ran towards you, one had shaped a branch into a sword, the other two had spears like yours. What happened next was a frenzie of wood knocking against wood, blood splattering from arms and legs, and one of the males going down as you stabbed him in the gut. You let out a yell as the male with the wooden sword managed to strike you in the arm, a large gash appearing. That was going to be a bitch to keep clean and covered. You growled and whirled on him, but failed to see the other male come up behind to grab your arms, restraining you. “What do we have here? A female?” He asked, the sword’s tip at your neck. You wondered how he was able to sharpen a piece of wood like that in such little time. “I’ve heard that one of you were running around, pretending to be a warrior.” 

“I think your friend would agree I’m more than pretending.” You jeered, his friend’s body lay behind you, blood pooling around your boots. 

The tip of the sword pressed closer to your neck and the male restraining you spoke into your ear, “I’d be careful what you say.” He growled. 

“We could kill you. Or keep you for ourselves to use the next few days.” He said and smirked. “Wouldn’t even have to feed you, you could just die by the end of it.” 

“Are all you males so eager to rape a female out here? Honestly it’s the only threat you can come up with. If you’re going to kill me, do it.” You said. “Because you won’t lay another hand on me again.” You growled. 

He chuckled, nodding to his friend. But you were ready for it, you stomped on the top of his foot, his grip loosening. You kicked him back, but before you could go after the male in front of you, a spear flew over your head. Dead into the male’s chest. 

Another one flew into the neck of the male that had restrained you. Your eyes flew up as you saw a male jump from a tree. 

You stumbled back a bit as you took in the site before you. Your little brother, Varyn.

Chapter 21

A/N: Another Cliffhanger for you all! Next part will be posted at 6PM CDT (Chicago)

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@herondale-lightworm

[zukosdualdao]

something that gets to me a lot when people suggest iroh was wrong for not intervening during the agni kai is like... can we just think through what would have happened if he'd tried?

before i say this, i want to also say that intervening in abuse in real life is also a difficult, complicated, and often inaccessible process. that doesn't mean people shouldn't try or that i think it's right things are that way - but there are legal parameters to what one is allowed to do in a situation where they witness or suspect abuse, particularly for things that are not universally recognized as inappropriate and abusive behaviors.

with that in mind:

the agni kai is a culturally sanctioned, violent, ritualistic duel. that doesn't make what ozai does right, of course, but it does make intervening that much harder. ozai was pretty obviously breaking the acceptable terms of an agni kai (because we may not know all the rules, but even if it's not an official standard, attacking a surrendering opponent is pretty much universally recognized as bad form. evidence that this is also true in-universe is that azula deliberately uses this cultural value to her advantage by faking her surrender when fighting iroh, zuko, and the gaang so that they'll stop attacking and she can strike iroh in bitter work. edit: i misspoke, this was the chase. whoops!) therefore, one could argue that someone (such as iroh) would have been in the bounds of their rights to step in during the agni kai. and i agree! he absolutely would have been, at least morally. but legally, he is living under the imperalist rule of his brother, so... acting like it's so simple ignores the power imbalance not just between zuko and ozai, but iroh and ozai at this stage of their lives.

sure, iroh was once next in line to be firelord, but that hasn't been true in a few years by this point, and ozai is now the absolute monarch of their nation. iroh can't appeal to a higher authority or report the danger zuko is in because ozai is the highest authority in their nation, and he's the one posing a danger to zuko.

some might argue, then, that iroh should have physically intervened, but again, i think it's important we consider context. because again - ozai is the absolute authority of the fire nation at this point. defying him in this way would be treason, and ozai has plenty of guards and other military officers under his rule that could fight iroh for him, even if ozai didn't deign to do it himself.

iroh is a powerful bender and a good fighter, but he's one man and unlikely to be able to gain the upper hand in a fight where he's so clearly outnumbered by people loyal to the regime, which ozai currently leads. the most likely results of iroh's potential intervention, in my opinion, would have been his getting arrested or killed, and zuko still getting burned and banished, only now without iroh coming along to look out for him. if he had tried to physically intervene, it would have been on the frankly very slim chance that he could have somehow managed to fight off ozai/guards/military officers, remove zuko from the situation, and safely get himself and zuko out of the palace...

and, in the wise words of iroh himself, then what? they wouldn't have the (already somewhat meager, compared to zhao's or azula's) resources they have in book one, yet they absolutely could not stay on fire nation soil at that point. maybe they could have figured something out??? like, i don't know how. (the part of my brain that likes thinking up aus and then never writing them imagines maybe he contacted the white lotus and hid out until they came, but i digress.)

but again, there's nothing iroh could have done in this situation that wouldn't have been risking not only his own, but zuko's safety. zuko's safety was already compromised in the agni kai, of course, but iroh maintaining his own safety meant he would be available to try and protect zuko in the long-term.

none of this means that i don't think iroh felt ashamed and guilty about his inaction (he quite obviously did, based on the way he recounts the story and how he "looked away" in the storm.) and i also don't think it would be totally unsympathetic or wrong for zuko to have some amount of resentment for it, either (i think this is less based in canon, but i've seen it in fics - where they otherwise clearly have a largely positive relationship - and i think it can be done well and add to the dynamic in an interesting and meaningful way.) it's obviously awful that this was done to zuko. but the nature of abuse is that it can often leave people, both the victims and the witnesses, with very few, if any, good choices. and that's tragic, but the onus of that tragedy will always be on the abuser - in this case, on ozai.

[mxtantrights]

Bounded by shadow and blood (15)

azriel x magic!fem!reader

You didn’t think you’d find him in the crowd. That’s why you had asked some of the children where the winged man had went. A few of them didn’t know but two of the oldest ones did. They pointed you in the direction of the river.

You took your time getting there. You hadn’t been there in a while. The last time was… that time was over now. Things had changed so quickly and then again so slowly. 

When you reach the river you find him sitting down on the grass. His boots are off and his feet in the water. You’re not sure if you want to approach him or not. Looking at him like this, he kind of fits in here.

“This place is amazing.” He says.

And you know he knows you’re here. He probably could sense you were coming because of his shadows. But there is also no one in town he would speak so freely with.

You saw him standing amongst the people when you first arrived. Some of them tried talking to him, giving him food and offerings. He declined most of them. He couldn’t really decline the single necklace one of the kids offered him. It’s laying around his neck now.

“They’re not scared of you here.” You say.

You walk over to where he’s sitting. You drop to the floor, and take your shoes off too. You put both your feet in the water and hold yourself up by your hands behind you. 

“Have they ever seen an Illyrian?” He asks.

“Some of the older benders. Not the youngest though, they spent their whole lives here.” You answer.

“Is that why they admire you so much, because you get to go outside?” 

You laugh to yourself, “They don’t admire me.”

“The whole town stopped what they were doing to greet you. A band started playing music. There was ale flowing from mug to mug. Children were laughing.” He responds.

You shrug your shoulders, “Admire isn’t the word I would use.”

“What word would you use then?” He asks.

You turn to look at him and find he’s already looking at you. Those brown eyes probably made a lot of women in Velaris swoon and weak in the knees. Elaine too. 

Not you though. Not when you have so much to do.

“Loyal.” You answer.

“Ah,” he nods, “Because of your placement within the palace.”

You nod too.

The both of you turn back to face the river. It was a good view. The sand turned red when it touched the water. And the moon looked red in the reflection of it. A long time ago Cyril explained to you that it was an illusion. Blood benders give back to the earth and in turn the earth gives back to them.

“I bet your family misses you.” You speak.

“I go away for missions all the time.” He rebuttals.

“Yes, but this is different. This isn’t a mission. This is something you got roped into.” You clarify. 

“I don’t see it that way.” He says.

You look at him, but he’s not looking at you. He’s looking straight ahead at the river. You can see his eyes scanning the water, the illusion of it. 

“What are the chances Rhysand wants me punished for getting you stuck here?” You ask.

Azriel shrugs, “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is. You’re stuck here because of me.” You goad him on.

The word stuck seems to strike a chord with him. You've been saying it over and over waiting for some sort of answer from him.

He slowly turns to look at you, “You and I both know I’m not stuck here.”

Huh. You weren’t expecting him to just flat out tell you that. You thought he’d put up more of a fight. Or that you’d at least catch him in the lie. Maybe you would tell him that you can still sense your blood in his veins. Or you would push him into the wards to see how he’d react. 

You weren’t expecting that.

“You didn’t say anything to your family.” You speak.

“Neither did you.” He responds. 

You shrug your shoulders, same as he did, and look straight “I have my reasons.”

“So do I.” He says.

A few moments pass between the two of you. It's not awkward or weird. In fact you welcome the silence. Until a startling thought pops into your head. The offerings that Azriel was handed. Where did they go?

"Did you eat all the food they gave you?" you ask startled.

He laughs to himself at your question. And you think to yourself then, he most certainly ate all the food given to him. Usually the food lasts a couple of days. But he's different, he's not a sub-human species like you.

"Illyrians have big appetites." he answers.

-

The two of you walked back in silence to the palace. While you wished you didn’t have to go back there and sleep, it was the only way you could protect anyone else from getting hurt. If Kynas was still around and he thought you were in town he wouldn’t hesitate to pillage through all of them to get to you.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Azriel and you make it to the palace steps. You walk up them, solemnly, until you reach the tope. That’s when you realize that he isn’t besides you anymore. You can feel it.

You look back and he’s a few steps below you. 

“You shouldn’t have to come back here.” He says.

“I’ve only ever laid my head down here.” You answer.

“You have nightmares. I hear it. I can feel it too, you send vibrations through the whole palace.” He adds on.

He felt that? You’re worse off than you thought previously. If in your sleep you were causing tremors to the ground, you needed serious help. It happened a few times before when you were young.

Only this time there was no Cyril and no brother to help you overcome it. It’s your problem now.

You face forward again. But you can’t walk inside. Your feet won’t will it, neither will your heart.

“I had that problem in childhood too. The fear of being alone, they said.” You answer his unspoken question.

You hear him climb the final steps. Then he’s standing side by side with you. You don’t dare look at him now. Now when he is asking such personal things. Not when you feel you’re about to break into a million little pieces. 

“You don’t have to be alone.” He says.

“Do you tend to warm the beds of non fae, shadow singer?” You joke.

He clears his throat, “That’s not what I meant.”

You can see how distraught he is at the mention of the two of you sharing a bed. It makes you chuckle from your belly. But you try to keep it to yourself.

“I know what you meant. But it sounded like something a friend would offer.” You reply.

Azriel comes from your left and stands in front of you. You see his hand jut out. You look up at him a bit in disbelief. 

“Friends?” He asks.

You look at him, then back down at his extended hand. He is trouble. He is a liar. He is a spymaster. He knows so much about you already. He’s going to tell his whole family what you are.

Call it fate, or maybe it was your blood calling to his, but you made your next move. 

You took his hand into yours. 

“There’s a room with two beds in it. We can share if you like.” You offer.

“That will do well with me.” He says.

And then he moves to the side. He lets you start walking first, but when you cross the threshold of the door he’s right by your side. The two of you walk into the quiet palace.

-

You pull the legs of your pants off first. Then you take off the soft blouse. You take off all of your undergarments last. And finally you can step into the bath.

It won’t wash off the feeling of carrying more than ten bodies to their graves. It won’t wash off the worry that clings to you like a second skin. Or the fear either. But it will get the sweat and dirt off of your body.

You sink into the bath further.

Azriel was right outside. He had been sitting in bed for about an hour now. You had some things to do around the palace. Mainly clean up and reorganize things the council had left out. 

When you got back from working you found him there. His shadows all around the room. His blade in his hand. 

You don’t know why but the image settled you. You know he’s not here long, and that as soon as this is over he won’t ever be here again. But for a fuzzy second your mind let you believe this was normal. 

Obviously you couldn’t stand your mind for playing such a cruel trick on you like that. So you stumbled out that you were going to freshen up for bed. That’s why you’re sitting in the bath now. Nervous.

You feel a shiver go across your neck. When you reach up with your wet hand to feel what it was, you feel it. The same misty and almost intangible feeling you felt on your ankle when you spared with Azriel. 

Your eyes catch the shadow as it darts over to the bathroom door. You move closer to the edge of the tub.

“Is that what he meant when he said I don’t have to be alone?” You ask the shadow.

And by all accounts you weren’t expecting an answer. You had heard of the magic before but never seen it in person before you met Azriel. So when the shadow darts back to you, this time at the edge of the tub you move back suddenly. 

You laugh at yourself, and how a tiny shadow made you flinch like that.

“He doesn’t have any idea where you are right now, does he?” You ask again.

The shadow moves a bit closer to you this time. You hold out your wet hand and it somehow complies with your unspoken command. The shadow wraps itself around your wrist, like a bracelet. You can only tell it’s there because of the faint grey line that appears on your skin.

You snicker at how the shadow seems to be more forward than it’s master.

It would be best to get out of the bath now. You lift yourself up from the water and reach for the towel to wrap around your body. The water would get cold by the time you felt comfortable getting out. And you have an early start tomorrow. You dry yourself off, making sure to be careful of the shadow that is on your wrist. You grab for your nightgown. You pull it over your head and put it on. And you use the towel to ring out some of the water that got on your hair.

With a big breath you let the towel hang dry and open the door. What you find amuses you. There on the bed is Azriel, sound asleep. You tip toe to your bed and get under the covers.

Your eyes stay on him until they start to blink so heavy that a sleep pulls you under darkness too. Marking the first of many nights where in Azriel's presence you don't feel so terribly alone.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Getting more information on what the femmes do was very exciting (idk if that's the right word) but if it's not a spoiler I would love to hear more about the process when a femme finishes the preparations

(And it makes sense, find someone insignificant and reuse them to make someone new, someone potentially more useful)

The Grim Dark Archives: Statement #007 Cold Forged

[Statement taken from [Redacted] on [Redacted: Sensitive data] regarding femmes and what they do to their chosen subjects. Concerns have been rising after [Redacted] made it clear that Arcee can latch onto humans just as easily as she can another Cybertronian. Personnel working at the Autobot base have begun attempting to go on strike in an effort to escape.

I can't say I blame them, but [Redacted] was called to explain the process that femmes put their targets through to hopefully give us some answers. I suspect the higher ups just want enough information to weave a half baked like for the staff, but the information is vital nonetheless. The more we know, the better a chance we have of fighting back if need be.

Statement begins.]

══════════════════

Femmes... yeah, I've known a few over the course of my life. Elita was one real piece of work. She wanted Orion when she was still Ariel, and she threw a fit when the Archives got him before she could. She wanted Optimus as well once she found out he had been Orion at some point. She nearly got him too. I think the only reason Optimus managed to get out of her clutches was because of his rather murderous tendencies. I don't know if he meant to or not, but he allowed Elita to try and claim him and then watched on as her abilities backfired.

There is a reason femmes only target the weak. If their will cannot overcome the will of the target, their abilities will kill them instead... and in a rather brutal fashion.

It was a shame. Elita, when she wasn't enthralled with her targets, was a good femme. She treated her cold forged well and was a brilliant tactician. She actually kept Optimus in line for a long time. She ensured he couldn't do anything nearly as extreme as what he does now. That's the good thing about femmes. They are good and kind to their targets. They fill the void in the bot's life that no other could have ever hoped to fill. It is a peaceful end for a mech that would otherwise be cast away by society. Elita was the companion Optimus needed, a level helmed and gentle being who served as his equalizer when his plans demanded more pain than required. I appreciated her for that, especially when I served as as a special agent-

Ignore that remark. No. Ignore it.

Do you understand me Witwicky? You will ignore that remark.

[Note: [Redacted] expressed a severe violent reaction the moment I made it clear that I had no intention of adhering to his wishes. He only calmed when he watched me scratch it from the records. Of course I added back the redacted information following the conversation, but [Redacted] has things he wants to hide it seems.]

Good.

As I was saying, Elita was a fantastic person. Femmes are more than capable of being normal members of society when they are tended to. In fact, they are even worshipped in some circles and given the lowly members of society so that they may be remade. But Elita aimed too high, she went beyond the bounds set by the rules of femmes. She tried to go after a mech who was too strong, and for that reason, she fell.

Femmes are of the line of Solus Prime, the first femme created by Primus. At least that's what the Primacy will tell you. I'm not all that sure on the theological stuff, but there are records pointing to the fact that Solus existed. Because of that, I am willing to pin the femmes existence back to her. I don't know all the details about the first femme. That's the kind of thing you'd need to ask Orion about. He always loved talking about the theological details of history. He always got so passionate about it...

Sometimes... I forget Orion isn't here to answer anymore. I mean, he is, but he also isn't. But that's beside the point. This isn't my forte. Sorry, its just seeing Optimus so often after so many millennia, it can bring back old memories yanno? I will get back on topic.

No one knows what makes a newspark become a femme. In fact, there are no signs at all until the newspark sheds their second armor set. They behave just like every other Cybertronian, and then sometime in their early adolescence, they start following a specific individual around. Usually their first target is someone very old or very young, the weak of society or those without enough knowledge to fight back. Once the femme has picked, that's when the Council steps in and slaps a sticker on them to denote what they are. The poor target is cut off from everyone and left to the femme. Why? Because the first target is always the one who suffers the most.

Femmes are highly territorial. They will never aid one another unless both their targets are in danger and cooperating is in their best interest. So every young femme is on her own, left to figure things out as she ages. For young femmes, they will pick their victims apart. There is no peace to be found as they sink their connectors into their target to try and tear apart their CNA and remake it. The process kills the target without fail. A more experienced femme knows that she must follow a ritual, a process of sorts. She must know her target, she must care for her target, and only once her target is open to her... only then can she dig her claws in and remake them.

Yes, yes I am getting to the actual process now. Calm down. I swear you fleshies are just as impatient as Cyberfelines sometimes.

First she will get to know her target and release a chemical, a pheromone as your kind call it. This chemical causes the target to become calm, more trusting, and it also weakens their immune system. It has some benefits, such as increased processor function and heightened senses, but all this comes at the cost of increasing weakness. Not to mention the increase in processor activity is largely so that the femme may attract her target's attention and push them into seeing her in a light that best fits what role she is aiming to fulfill until the time for harvest arrives.

Around a vorn into her work, the femme will start to introduce her coils, her touches if you will. She will start to touch her target as often as she can, and it is through this that small injectors in her digits will begin to input a specially made protomatter into her target. The target will feel no pain since the injections are so small. But over months, years, vorns... slowly her target will start to think less, feel less, until at last they start to collapse.

Femmes are not needlessly cruel in their efforts. She will be very gentle with her target in their dying cycles. When they begin to forget, she will remind them of the things they lost. She will help them fuel, she will take them places they enjoy, and she will allow them ample time to deal with their lingering affairs. Any living relatives will not be compensated, but that is because she sees her work as the greatest compensation any being could possibly receive. She is remolding the worthless into something greater, and for that reason she is both compelled to her work just as much as she heralds it as something sacred. It is her nature to be gentle in this stage, for by that point, her target will be carrying the beginnings of her cold forged, her perfect creation.

There is no set time for it, but at some point in this final stage, the femme will continue her injections of protomatter and her quiet indoctrination until finally, her target shatters. This can take various forms, usually some type of explosion or contortion of the frame, but the end result is always the same. The target dies, and from their corpse, a new being emerges. Much like a newspark, it emerges without armor, but unlike the newsparks from the Well, it will come forth with memory and a mission.

We call these things the Cold Forged. They are beings that completely lack emotion. Or perhaps the ability to empathize. It is hard to tell with them. They all seem to take sick glee in watching others squirm. But anyway, the Cold Forged have a purpose that their femme gave them, and most often, they do not care to reveal it. Those that have felt like giving up data have often been given a mission that amounts to a concept, a thought or ideal. The most common mission these beings receive is by far the most terrifying.

Perfection.

They are given one concept, and they live out their entire lives embodying and striving to reach it. The Cold Forged are Cybertronian by every single stretch of the word, but they are not... like us. Does that make sense? My kind do not really do the empathy thing. But they have SOMETHING. The Cold Forged don't even have that. They are true machines.

You know what's so funny about this whole thing?

The femmes don't even care about their Cold Forged. They make them, and then they move along to the next target. The Cold Forged are the closest any Cybertronian has to actually having a biological creation, and the femmes don't care!

[Note: [Redacted] laughed for a rather long time following this statement. He seemed to be... unstable while speaking on this matter.]

Sorry about that.

It's just, it feels so clinical to me even millennia after learning about the process. These femmes go through so much effort just to make a creature that they then throw away. Elita was a rare exception in this regard. She liked to keep tabs on her Cold Forged, and I think one of hers even ended up with the Elite Guard. Her missions to her Cold Forged were always super specialized too.

Yeah. Femmes. Cold Forged. It's a hot mess I tell you.

Jack will be fine. Arcee will care for him as best she knows how until his dying day. That much you can be sure of.

══════════════════

[Statement end.

I am unsure how to feel about all this. Every detail I gather about these aliens tells me that there is something deeply wrong with them. I have my theories, but considering [Redacted]'s disposition and what info we have on everyone else, I think I can say that this race has been altered somehow. If [Redacted] is able to comprehend empathy, there must be others.

They are capable of feeling and being reasonable, but there is some factor that changes things for them. I shouldn't get involved...

But I want to know. I want to figure this mess out. I am just one man, but if I can put some pieces together, then perhaps there is something we can do to fix this. If nothing else, I want to understand these aliens. I want to know why.

Why start a war? Why do all this? And why in God's name would they shatter in such a way culturally? There must be an answer, and I have a sinking feeling that the only ones who can give me answers are going to be very dangerous.

Agent Witwicky signing off.

Recording ends.]

[lilyblackdrawside]

My first impression of IS5 after clearing once (on the second attempt, would've gotten it on the first if the boss popup wasn't just flavourtext) is very positive.

The Thoughts strike a nice balance between IS2's performance cards and IS4's Foldartals.

You use them deliberately, but you can't just carry them around without thought and the combat-related ones are limited to one per battle. The burden limit is quite generous I find, though there's bound to be a difficulty-level based modifier for that eventually.

I haven't encountered any stages I found to be stupid, though on my first run I had an Encounter that adjusted the boss (of whom I of course didn't even know the base version of) and it got infinite range attacks, which I feel are something worth mentioning in the boss popup (this one does give info on the mechanics). I won with only a few losses, but that still felt cheap.

And on that note, we're back to life point loss just being that. If you lose a life, that's all you lose and I prefer it that way. It's also quite easy to just kinda drain your own life if you want that. I don't mean that sarcastically or anything, you just have the option.

Biggest win is that the 2nd boss doesn't need me to go into the Lost and Found node, which I once again intend to just not unlock. Out of principle at this point. I didn't in IS4 cause it's a bad node and now I won't here. Maybe I will at some point in the future, I have the entire skill-thing to fill out first anyway.

The Impression Restoration system feels a bit strange. You perform permanent node upgrades during the run by spending Plans, but the upgrades aren't so prohibitively expensive that you'd have to plan for them or anything, you can just kinda do them so it won't take long to get them all and once you do, you can then do a node upgrade for the run you're on to get one of a few random effects. It feels strange, cause if they just trimmed it a bit the whole thing could be on a per run basis instead of being yet another permanent upgrade system. Maybe that's just me.

On the note of permanent upgrade systems, the donation machine predictably returned. I've disliked it since IS2, because it just means that until I've put in like at least 200 to get the first three boni, I'll feel bad about not maxing the machine out eat run but I want to spend the ingots on actual shop items, not the donation machine. Once again it goes up to 500, with the last 3 upgrades needing 200, 325 and then 500. They should condense it to at least 300, this is so needlessly drawn-out.

I also really don't care about Cannot's Mark. I don't think it's a good collectible cause you can just buy like 8 hope for the same price anyway and you get that hope right away instead of having to wait for it. I might just actually stop at 200 so I don't unlock it.

Hope cost adjustments are interesting. There'll probably be the +1 Hope cost thing in the difficulties again and with regards to that, I quite like it. 5 star operators now cost 2 to recruit instead of 3 and 4 stars are free, just like everything below that rarity. So once the costs are increased, it'll be 6 stars for 7, 5 stars for 3 and 4 stars for 1 which feels a lot more balanced than before.

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 30 - Oncoming Storm

The Coastal Run:

Glynn the Coffee Pot watched as the new engine for the branchline bustled about the yard, shunting trucks into place. His regulator sounded wobbly. “My own branchline, the Fat Director says,” huffed Thomas. “And yet there’s you old tin urn here telling me what to do. It’s not mine if there’s another engine!” Glynn could only chuckle. Edward had warned him about Thomas’ cheek and temper, and he was well used to the behaviour of the loaned engines who stormed about the mainline liked they owned the place.

In comparison to them, Thomas was a saint!

Still, there was one thing Glynn had to explain to Thomas before he could get any grumpier. Or before his regulator gave in; he really ought to mention that to Thomas. “It’s only until you’re settled in,” reminded Glynn politely. “Especially with storm season incoming.” “What does some bad weather had to do with anything?” snorted Thomas. “We had storms at Vicarstown and those never stopped trains.” “Oh no,” agreed Glynn. “Trains must get through no matter what. The big issue is the land around here isn’t stable. Knapford, Elsbridge, Dryaw and Toryreck are all built on reclaimed land from the old River Els marsh – it used to be one of the largest north of Liverpool. Rainwater normally drains out via the remaining marsh on the other bank, however during particularly bad weather, there are sometimes floods. It’s your responsibility as this branchline’s engine to look after the line when that happens.”

“Pah!” snorted Thomas, glaring out at the river. “It’s just some stupid water. What’s it going to do to an engine as big as me?” “You should not be so dismissive of heavy rain and flooding,” said Glynn crossly. “It’s very dangerous. You know… the mainline didn’t always go through Knapford tunnel.” Thomas raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Go on…”

“Oh yes,” hummed Glynn. “When we were built, the line only came as far as the abandoned harbour here. But the same company that had dredged the marsh here was invested in building a rail line to get the lead out of the mines. They had us built, and a line built around the headland.”

Glynn rolled forwards, leading Thomas through the yard to a set of points beyond the station. One set of lines continued straight along the mainline while another veered to the left, only continuing a very short distance before dipping down into weed-ridden ballast.

“Today, it’s a set of trap points to keep trains from heading for the tunnel, but back then it was our route to Tidmouth. It was a much longer journey, going right the way around along the craggiest and most difficult cliffs on Sodor. I hated taking my trains along that line; I always felt uneasy when I had to take my lead trains along that line. My siblings felt the same. One day, an oncoming storm had us all scrambling to prepare the line. One of my brothers had to get the last load of lead out to the harbour, and set off just as it began to rain. The rain lashed against the island, unleashing fury upon Sodor and dumping rain down by the lake-full. It was an absolutely horrible storm. Out on the line, my brother was doing his best to struggle against the buffeting rain and howling wind. Or at least… he was.”

Thomas gasped, realisation striking. “He…” “Wiped right off the side of the island with his train and most of the track. It was all swept away in the blink of an eye. Afterwards, a young Mr Topham Hatt helped build a railway through the hills, connecting the two towns and avoiding the cliffs.”

Glynn sighed, going back to his shunting. “I miss him so much. I loved my brother, and now he’d gone.”

Thomas sighed. He didn’t really believe in the idea of sympathy – likely a result of his upbringing. “Well, it’s done now,” he replied. “Let’s just do our best to keep my branchline smoothly. Do you know when that train bound for the Big Station is?” “Half past four,” replied Flynn easily. “But I’d be careful. The wind’s changed – a storm’s inbound.” Thomas scoffed. “Just because you felt some wind, doesn’t mean we’re about to get battered. And if we are, then don’t we have a job to do?”

Glynn couldn’t disagree with that. All through the rest of the day they worked hard, and as Glynn predicted, the weather began to change. Distant thunder rumbled as Thomas made his way up to the mine to collect his lead trucks bound for the Big Harbour. The first few fat raindrops fell as the little blue tank engine entered the mine, cold and wet and leaving dark splotches on the ground.

It only grew heavier as Thomas banged the trucks together. His regulator had begun to play up, leaving him irritable. He finished arranging his train, and set out into the oncoming storm. Rain buffeted the tank engine as he struggled on, each wheel turn struggling for grip against the rails. Wind howled and shrieked around him; branches were ripped off and flung into Thomas’ side tanks while a few stray roofing tiles were dragged from their spots and dropped onto the lineside with a smash.

Thomas was beginning to understand why Glynn hated the bad weather. Worse yet, none of the line were clearly visible, and the signals were barely any help. Thomas was still not used to this part of the island, and he just couldn’t make anything out in the driving rain and fog.

He rumbled through a station, and heard the roar of the sea being whipped up into a frothing monster by the storm. “That must mean we’re near Knapford,” suggested Thomas’ driver; he had to shout to be heard over the rain.

The train rumbled through the junction – or what might have been the junction, Thomas wasn’t sure. At the end of the station, they veered to the left, and the thunderous roar of the sea grew even louder. Thomas wasn’t sure where they’d ended up at all – but he hated it. The train was entirely exposed to the elements here, not even a few trees able to provide the slightest bit of cover. It almost sounded like he was running right on the coast – but that was impossible! The line ran through the tunnel.

Thomas struggled on, wheels slipping furiously as he tried to find at least the tunnel to shelter in. Anything would have been better than where he was. His wheels slipped again, and his driver rushed to stop the train from faltering. He moved too fast. Thomas’ regulator groaned, and with a clunk, slammed shut and jammed.

“Damnit!” groaned Thomas’ driver. “What will we do about the train?” “We have more immediate problems!” yelped the fireman. The two peered out of the cab to see the waves getting higher and higher, sea spray splashing against Thomas. It threatened with every crash against the rocks to rip the line right from the side of the hill!

Thomas felt queasy. “I don’t like this!” he shouted. “Get me out of here! Please!”

Suddenly, a whistle pierced through the roar of rain and sea. An engine bumped into their brakevan; Thomas could have cried in relief. The engine sounded just like Glynn! The engine dug its wheels into the rails and began shoving the train forwards. The minutes felted like an eternity, passing far too slowly. Thomas and his crew held their breath and prayed, both driver and fireman trying desperately to unstick the regulator.

And then, there was a bump. Thomas looked down, and could have whistled in surprise!

“Points?!”

Just behind them was the tunnel. Thomas’ crew did a double take, and fell against the regulator in shock. The bump jarred it back into motion, and Thomas shunted back violently, coming to a stop just inside the tunnel before his regulator gave out again.

Thomas thought he could just make out the shape of a Coffee Pot heading back down the weird coastal route.

A second whistle sounded out, and Glynn appeared in the mouth of the other tunnel bore. “Thomas! Thank goodness I found you! Where have you been?!” “Wait – Glynn? But weren’t you—” Thomas cut off with a gasp. He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what had happened.

His suspicions were only confirmed when – to his horror – he found that there was no set of points beyond the tunnel. Glynn watched on, worried. “There were points here!” Thomas spluttered. “And a coastal run! I was nearly swept away!” “Thomas, the coastal run was destroyed nearly two decades ago. I don’t know what you saw,” replied Glynn for the fifth time.

But Thomas just couldn’t believe him. Not when he’d witnessed it for himself.

Back to the Master Post

[lemon-russ]

Part 2 of my stupid Cato fic. The fleas take me, but in a boring way, because no sex here either. apparently I just need him to call me names.

This one is from fem readers POV.

Part 2/ ???

part:: 1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Violence, blood, no sex yet but there will be later, Cato being a bully (mildly honestly)

Summary: The ambassador sits in horny jail and Cato is forced to actually do his job.

word count: 1,651

You were pushed onto the floor. Still blindfolded, you felt hard stone under your knees as you fell to them, and heard the squeak of a cell door close behind you. “You’re staying here until we get conformation that your crazy government is backing off.” a soldier said.

Well, today wasn’t going well. And stupid Cato couldn’t do his one job, apparently. You used your shoulder to wiggled the blindfold off your face, mind racing of what you should do now. You did not have any faith your good for nothing bodyguard was actually going to come get you. Though he did stand up for you when you were kicked at least. That was… unexpected. But best not to assume lightning will strike twice and give Cato Sicarius a second instance of empathy, you had to get out of here.

You inspect the cell. Stone on 3 sides, jail bars on the other. Damn, this planet really has nothing but rocks and time to build everything out of stone. You test your cuffs- they feel sturdy, no getting out of them quick. Thinking on all your emergency prep training, you start going through scenarios that could help. No escape points besides the jail bars, no way to break your cuffs or call for help. That leaves endearing yourself to the guards. You can handle that, you hope, your whole job is to endear yourself to people to make them do things for you.

Usually those people don’t see you as the embodiment of a tyrannical coup on their planet, but, you can try at least. The guards stand watch from across the small cell room, scowling at you, weapons drawn. That does not bode well for your chances of befriending them. You take a deep breath, and put on your most harmless, pathetic pout.

“I don’t understand, I thought things were going so well…” You say in your softest voice to them. If they find you cute, maybe they won’t shoot you as fast. People don’t like to shoot cute things. You scoot over to the bars, giving them sad eyes. “What did I do…? Did I offend Chancellor Rolfar…?” You ask sadly.

The guards scowl more. Fuck, maybe this culture sees weakness as annoying and not endearing? You should have researched more on it, but they are so new and you were sure you had the handover in the bag… You sigh, and lean against the bars. One of the guards huffs, walks over, and pushes you back from the bars with a hard push of his foot, knocking you back with a squeak of surprise. “Hey-!” you snap, but he interrupts. “Off the bars, prisoner. No funny business. If we think you’re trying to escape, we’ll shoot you. We don’t need you for the rebellion, you’re just collateral.” he growls out before moving back to his post.

Grumbling and struggling to sit back up with your bound hands, you huff some hair out of your face, glowering at the man who kicked you. Why did Lord Guilliman have to send you with Captain Sicarius of all people? The one person in the galaxy who would side with their enemies in the camp of I don’t actually need you alive, it just would make my life easier for a minute. Sure, Guilliman would chew him out, maybe put him on punitive duties for a while, but in the end nothing would actually happen to Cato if you die here. It was out of his hands, really, even though he was too busy bullying you to pay attention and then he let you walk into a trap.

You scoot back against the stone wall. With nothing to do but think, your mind replays the events that got you here. You were just explaining the supply routes that would be set up when suddenly Cato knocked you to the floor. Before you understood what was happening, he was above you, shielding you with his body and shooting attackers. By the throne, you’d be lying if you said that image didn’t do something for you. Of course, he’s an asshole. But you can’t get that picture out of your head, staring up at him from the floor, him kneeling and curling around you, face a mask of protective rage. You shake your head- no, stop that, don’t get flustered over a man who almost certainly is about to leave you to die here.

He’s probably already on the thunderhawk home, going to apologize to Lord Guilliman about losing his favorite ambassador, oh but don’t worry, he’ll find a better one in a week to replace her, he’ll assure the Primarch. Meanwhile you’ll be rotting here or worse, rotting in the ground. You shudder as the dire nature of the situation sinks in.

Maybe you should go back to thinking about Cato being weirdly protective. OK, you guess it’s not weird, it is his job, and he sucks at it. Which is why it was weird he didn’t just try and handle it with exasperation like normal. No, it was weird. He snapped at that guy who kicked you, and then got you thrown in here because he lost his temper on Chancellor Rolfar. You assume that’s what happened, you were blindfolded, but you got kicked hard, and suddenly people were telling Cato to put the Chancellor down. Your heart felt a little fluttery at the thought of Cato Sicarius of all people being protective of you more than as a job. But like, it was his job. And he was shit at it. So maybe you should deduct some points.

After a while of contemplating, mind bouncing harshly back and forth between mortal dread and maybe Cato is a little hot sometimes but still an ass, you hear a soft creak of the door into the jail. You glance over, and suddenly the guards are screaming, flashes of red and cobalt blue blurring in front of you. You barely even have time to be surprised when a ceramite boot is breaking in your cell door and you’re being carried out like a bag of flour under a large arm.

“You really fuck things up for me, you know that?” Cato says, voice dripping disdain that didn’t quite fit the fact that he was rescuing you. You frown and look up at him. “What- fuck things up for you? you had one job! Keep me alive and un-kidnapped, yet here we are!” You snap. He looks down at you, expression hidden behind his helmet, and then he just drops you flat on the ground.

The air is knocked out of you, sight going white a moment as you hit the stone- this was like the fourth time today, your elbows and knees are going to be wrecked- and before you can process, he is standing over you and yelling. “I’m not a babysitter! I shouldn’t even be here! And because you have no sense, and are so pathetic and soft, I couldn’t get us out without bullets tearing up your fleshy little body- so yes, you are making things very difficult.” He scolds as you sit up, a bit dazed. He taps his helmet. “Ever seen one of these? Why do you go to unknown places unarmored? Not even a flack jacket or helmet? By the holy throne you’re useless-” he goes on.

Without stopping his tirade against your character, clothing choices, intelligence and for some reason your lack of natural bullet-proofing, he picks you back up and carries you like a disobedient child under his arm again. You frown, deeply confused, but happy to not be dying in a cell. You blink a few times, realizing what was happening.

“You actually came for me?” you say in a puzzled tone, looking up at him with a frown. He stops mid word in his beratement, looking at you. “What? Of course I did, it’s my job. What on holy Terra are you talking about, you daft woman?” He snaps back. You look up at his expressionless helmet, then smile a little. “huh.” you say, smiling to yourself and looking back down as he carries you. He scoffs. “What do you mean huh? Did those soldiers finally knock your last brain cell out of your ear you insufferable creature?” He huffs as he kicks open a door and carries you outside.

You shrug. “Just, surprised you came. Maybe you don’t suck as much at your job as I thought.” You say casually. He grumbles, moving you to sit on and arm, holding you upright so he can jog across the rocky dry soil. He pulls off his helmet specifically so he can scowl at you. “What the hell are you on about now? I’m The Cato Sicarius. I don’t suck at anything.” He grumbles, seeming genuinely upset at the implication that he wasn’t perfect. “And Lord Guilliman would have my ass if I just left you. I’m the ultramarine's finest, I don’t disrespect my genefather’s orders so blatantly.” He says almost defensively.

You smile a bit more, looking up at him as he carries you and runs. “Hm.” you say in the same casual tone. He rolls his eyes, mumbling about emperor damned women always talking in riddles as he carries you aboard the thunderhawk and unceremoniously drops you in a seat. You watch as he voxes to the small crew that they needed to go right now. You sit back, rubbing your absolutely demolished elbows, and let your mind wander back to that image of him curled protectively over you. Maybe not as much an asshole, you think, letting a small smile cross your face as you glance over at him. He gives you a dirty look, shaking his head like what are you looking at me for?? Okay, Still definitely an ass, but, maybe a little less of one than you initially thought.

[quinloki]

I have no title for this story...

I've had an idea for a modern AU story for a while, and while I had a "moment" I was building up around, I didn't have enough details to really get it rolling.

It's taken up residence in my brain the last few days, and now I have 12 chapters of outline for it.

First Off - Thanks be to @wttcsms for this post and thus the idea I built up from. I can see it working well for so many characters - Sir Crocodile for one, but what really struck me was that idea for Sabo.

Specifically - Sabo as part of a trio of up-and-coming Super Star Models - the ASL boys have taken the world by STORM \o/ Of course our adorable reader is a fan, but, well - if you're curious

I'm putting the "outline" I have under the cut.

Each set of brackets is a chapter. So in this way you'll get to see what I'm working on (and what may or may not change, since I have a tendency to jump ship with my outlines >.> ), and also the extent of how well I outline ^^;

[celebrating getting hired by the company you were hoping for by having some drinks at your favorite bar. You’re approached by a brunette who strikes up a conversation with you. The two of you end up arguing about the ASL brothers, and he suggest maybe you could fuck out you’re differences - when you tell him you’re married, flashing your false ring.]

[There is no way this is happening, the shit at the bar is The Scarred Prince?! You are a big fan of the ASL brothers, and had spent the majority of last night arguing with the Scarred Prince on his behalf. You’re mortified and angry.]

[Sabo is delighted to be able to “assist” you in every which possible way.]

[you’re tasked with helping Sabo - he needs more hand prints on his body for a photo shoot (this flusters you both terribly) - and Sabo still thinks you’re married!] (thank you @kazieai for this idea)

[You lost your wedding ring.]

[Sabo gets you to admit your lie, and in exchange for lying to him, he wants to take you out on a date. “I won’t force you, but I think it’s the least you, as my greatest fan, could do to ease my tender heart.”]

[Sabo’s in disguise for the date, and keeps it lowkey. You have a really good time and almost kiss at the end of it]

[ Sabo thinks you don’t like him that way, and you think he doesn’t like you that way. He isn’t sure how to broach the subject, because he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable at work, and you figure your debt’s been paid and you don’t have a right to the prince’s time anymore.]

[You and Sabo are both at the office late, bumping into each other accidentally. The awkward energy is broken quickly and the air cleared. After agreeing to a second date, Sabo offers to walk you to your car. On the way there a black van pulls up and snatches you both.] (I really dislike miscommunications, and as you can see, I don't let them linger for long).

[Sabo puts up an incredible fight, actually gets you tossed out of the van. The kidnappers stop the van and point a gun at you. Don’t run girl, and Sabo better stop fighting. They get him gagged, bound and blind folded, and you learn Sabo is a legitimate, actual prince.] (Ah, just gonna pause here for a moment and appreciate Captured Sabo <3 )

[Getting off the island is tricky, the kidnappers are waiting in a safe house type location. They keep promising him that as long as he behaves, they’ll let you go, but one of the kidnappers is already overtly and uncomfortably interested in you.] ( >.> the question here will be how intense things get).

[Rescued! Sabo breaks free and beats the shit out of the guy who was creeping up on you. He’s injured and drugged, you’re pretty sure they’ve been keeping him doped, but when a rush of teal and gold flames flames fill the room he relaxes, practically collapsing into you. (Thatch has the fire fire fruit in this AU)]

And that's it - 12 chapters worth of outline. Really really often an entire sentence easily becomes One Chapter all on its own, so this could easily be closer to 18-20 chapters worth of notes. Especially if I decide to try and fit more modeling shenanigans in there >.>

[pinkestlittlebutterfly]

Recently we’ve had lots of reasons to look at the relationship that Lily had with the Alicein family over the centuries he spent with them, because it becomes obvious now that it wasn’t all peace and happiness and maybe never even one built on love in the first place. And I’ve been thinking a lot about this interaction from somewhere in volume three:

Specifically in relation to what we learned about Lily in chapter 136. 

And I know that Lily’s pocket money is a silly, one-off joke made very early on in the series, and that maybe all it wants to say is that Lily is bad at managing money, and that it’s probably not meant to be put parallel to this scene. But that won’t stop me. 

Because the jokes Servamp tells are rarely entirely random; and Lily’s pocket money might just as well be one of the many tiny hints we get as to what’s behind the facade of the little vampire paradise Lily built in the safety of Alicein mansion. He’s not allowed access to the family money, and there’s secrets in the mansion that even he holds no key to. Misono teaches Mahiru that a Servamp’s purpose is to fight despite how much his own Servamp dislikes it, and Mikado presides over an organisation famously riddled with people hating Lily’s kind, and maybe, when Misono threw all those books, it was a little more than a slapstick gag. There is a rift between Lily and the core family, one that’s not entirely Lily’s doing, and might have been there for a very long time. 

I don’t necessarily think that the Alicein were bad to Lily, or that he was miserable in his place by their side. But I find it striking that if you think about Lily then and Lily now, you find that he never really left the place he was in at the very beginning; never really reached a point at which he could stand on his own. He is no employee earning a wage but a Servamp bound to an Eve; and he struck a deal that demands him wholly and completely and allows for possession; that demands not only his time and workforce but control over him and his power and body. But he’s not treated as an equal in return; he gets pocket money rather than access to the family’s wealth because the actual reward he traded himself away for was safety for his children. As far as we know, at least. 

There is so much we have not seen yet, about how the pact between Lily and the Alicein came to be, and how they felt about each other for all those centuries, and I hope canon will explore this at least a little in the chapters that are left before it ends. What we do know is the secluded little kingdom in which they ended up in, and how much it trapped and hurt Misono – and maybe, though he was one of its architects, it wasn’t the most healthy place for Lily to be in either. And maybe, what Misono needs to do to end the chess game and foil his plans is simply to take him away; because he learned to leave and stand on his own and perhaps, it’s time for Lily to do the same.

[altschmerzes]

drive the wedge question/snippet request!! how does lamb handle river confusing him and frank - and is that a reason for river to take a break from service (or is this a similiar situation to louisa working after min's death?) anyway LOVE the au idea...so much fun stuff to play around with frank harkness is insane. like evil but such a fun addiction

THANK YOUUUU i'm so glad you're enjoying this project so far :D yeah frank is um. he is A Piece Of Work in a way that is very fun for me especially in this fic. there's basically nothing that feels out of bounds for him so to speak so there's a lot of room to just be. creative and horrible lmfao.

some extensive discussion of The Whole Situation and the lamb and river of it all, including how lamb navigates that particular trauma response. also a clip :)

river doesn't take a break! at least not insofar as like... he's off for a while at first because he needs to literally physically recover to the point of being well enough to handle even like. basic filing. and then for a while he just kinda... exists at the office. not really doing much. not very productive. he's just There because he needs to be around people very badly and his grandfather's gone to assisted living and he's just. otherwise very much profoundly alone. so even though it may not be the ideal place for recovery, it's the best he's got.

as for how lamb handles river confusing him and frank... it unsettles him. river doesn't seem quite consciously aware of what he's doing and why but lamb is acutely aware of the first and he would be lying if he said he didn't understand the second. and if there's one thing more powerful than his desire not to get involved or invested or have to worry about anyone or care for anyone, it's his sense of loyalty, and he does at this point care far too much for river to turn his back on him when he's suffering this badly.

there's also a conversation lamb has with catherine when river is in hospital after he's first been rescued, and she tells him in no uncertain terms something approximating "i know how you are but you cannot be that way with him. you have to find it in yourself to be kind to him because he needs you and if you fail him in that so help you god jackson lamb. you’re one of the bravest people ive ever known. dig deep and find some of that bravery and use it to risk being vulnerable enough to bloody take care of river."

so lamb is... trying. he's still lamb about it he doesn't undergo a personality transplant but they all thought they'd lost river and when they got him back he was in terrible condition and he just. he needs them. he needs lamb, unfortunately for them both. and so, with all this, he does the best that he can, and that includes catching that river is conflating him and frank in his mind, and is sometimes afraid of lamb as a result. expects lamb to be violent with him when no such thing is remotely forthcoming. and when he realizes this, the best he can do with that is make it extremely, bluntly clear that this is not going to happen.

which means two related conversations, the first of which is a misunderstanding wherein lamb promises that he is not going to beat river with anything including an extension cord (which is what river offers him, not sure if the question of what he suggests lamb use is sarcastic or not. it was. bad timing, man.). the one following happens when lamb realizes that river is still expecting violence from him, and that he needs to be more... general in his promises. which is that he is not ever going to hit river with anything, including his bare hand, and 'beat him' included any degree of physical abuse no matter what level of violence surpasses river's standards of a beating.

and, what's more, lamb informs river in no uncertain terms that if he is ever afraid that lamb is going to strike him, he is to leave. if lamb scares him, he is supposed to go. not irritates him, not gets on his nerves, not is an asshole - if lamb scares him, then river is to remove himself from the situation and go somewhere safe. he's not exactly... this is not a particularly gentle conversation. lamb isn't coddling him. it is very straightforward. i am not going to hit you. if you start to think that i will, you leave.

(which - we also get a scene then where he does. where river starts to get unsteady and anxious and... yeah, and scared. and he just. he leaves. he makes a quick, unsteady exit from the room and everyone is looking at lamb like oh god he's done it now but lamb waves them off. says to give him a moment then go check on him. he's done exactly what he's supposed to do. it... helps. having that workaround, the knowledge that he's supposed to leave if he feels unsafe and that he won't be in any trouble, that helps river a lot.)

(when he goes up to give lamb an update about the assignment they were talking about when he bolted, river is beyond anxious. he doesn't get yelled at or called names or lectured for leaving like some scared kid. in fact, the only thing lamb says about it is "well done.")

so, here's a clip from that second conversation:

And Lamb just doesn’t have it in himself to be angry at River for the stubborn refusal to participate in the conversation. He waits for a sharp annoyance to rise in his chest at the continued refusal to answer his questions and, when none arrives, he looks away to the window for a long moment. Thoughts muddle around his head, shouldering against one another and vying for prominence. They’re difficult to sort through, not being the type of thoughts Lamb is used to dealing with. This isn’t a mystery to solve or a puzzle to put together, not a job or an assignment. This is a young man in his office, a young man who had experienced so much terrible violence over the course of nearly five months that it had worn its way into his body like a second skin. This was River bloody Cartwright, who Lamb had dedicated months of his life to bringing home, to saving from that endless violence, only for him to continue expecting it even when he was back where he belonged — expecting it from Lamb. Expecting it from Lamb and evidently being all too ready to submit himself to it without a fight. Lamb thinks. He takes a drink from his own glass, letting the familiar warmth burning down his throat soothe his sharp, uncomfortable nerves, and thinks.