#because it's SUPPOSED to be about innocence

[robo-writing]

I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing. 

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck. 

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity. 

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so. 

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed. 

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm. 

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about. 

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read. 

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

[romana-after-dark]

Be Quiet: 3

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

My god this header is ass but I was an emo kid what can I say

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Chapter summary: Past. You open up to Logan. Present. Logan opens up to you

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religous trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

2.8 words

Before

Logan had tried to do as Charles requested. Tried. Honestly, he had but the place wasn’t THAT fucking big, and he kept running into you during all the times it was least oppretune, all the times he was aching for touch and tenderness as the soft skin only you could provide.

And he missed you. That little trip to the store had sent something burning in his, a spark of joy that ignited in his body that maybe this time, you would be different, everything could be different. You were fun, gentle, kind and soft and passive… He thought of how you were so scared of the man, he felt your fear drumming in your heart and at the moment all that mattered was protecting you. Still, you didn’t want him to hurt the man. Empathetic little thing.

Glancing up to find your eyes on him at diner hurt so much he tried to keep his eyes trained on the food at all times. He tried not leave his room for fear of running into you in the hall. Hell, sometimes he didn’t even want to be in the house because he could fucking smell you. He could smell when you were ovulating and on your period, in tune to everything you did despite trying to avoid you, leaving him him alone in his room to fuck his fist day after day, hour after hour humping a pillow because he couldn’t control himself like a horny teenager.

And Remy was no fucking help.

“Logan!” He called from down the hall. “I need a favor.”

He rolled his eyes. “Awful lot of favors with you, huh?”

Remy LeBeau laughed as if it was a joke. It wasn’t, Remy’s ‘favor’ had landed him in this predicament in the first place.

“I am supposed to eat lunch with notre ami,” he says with a smirk that makes Logan assume he’s not talking about Jean or Emma or Ellie. “But I’m afraid I’ve been called in another direction.”

“Is the other direction some girl’s pussy?”

A glint in his eyes. “Some man’s pussy, to be specific, cher, but a gentleman never tells. Anyway, I need you to let her know I can’t make it, send my apologies.” Remy already started walking away. 

Logan half shouts down the hall. “What, are you two going on dates now?”

“What’s it to you?”

Logan was fuming, absolutely livid. You and Remy? Fuck no. Not a chance in the world. Well sure, it would make sense. Remy was soft, kind, funny. He knew how to romance a girl. Or a guy. Or whatever it was he was sticking his dick into. He could wine and dine and woo his way into those little dresses with the right words, the right touches… He could be friendly, nice… but Remy LeBeau is not the kind of man to settle down. He’s a slut. You? You are a romantic, he could tell. Young and innocent and still believing in true love and Remy was the kind of guy to make you fall for it. Not intentionally…. Probably… but Remy didn’t understand you. Not like Logan did.

So, despite not telling Remy he would deliver the message, he went to find your classroom anyway.

*

It was early in the semester still, but fall was beginning to creep in on the New England days. Still, it was lovely out and the smell of oak made you happy, so you cracked a window. Air was good for the kids. 

You had an upper level class, literature, and were just finishing the discussion of The Count of Monte Christo. 

When you hear the door open, you expected Remy but instead saw Logan. This surprised you, considering how obvious it was he had been avoiding you, you give him a warm smile and turn back to your class who were just beginning a brand new discussion.

“But I don’t think he’s motivated by revenge, he’s motivated by love!” A young girl argues with her classmate.

“He killed people, Jess.”

You clapped your hands together, “Guys I’m so sorry but that’s our time! As much as I’m sure you’d rather skip lunch and discuss Dante’s true motivation,  I have to let you go. Come prepared to pick this right up tomorrow!” You said, thrilled this has gone so well. 

Students grab their things and file out, several saying good day and several more staring at Logan as they passed. Logan glared at one particularly bug eyed boy.

“Logan.” You call his attention from the kid, and as Logan steps to your desk the door shuts behind you. You gesture to a chair near the front of the class. “Forgive me, but my feet hurt from standing. Is it alright if I eat?”

“Of course.” He hurries to answer, scrambling around the desk to pull out your chair. He’d be damned if he was outdone by Remy. His movements were awkward and clunky. Logan wasn’t an animal, he was raised to be a proper high society man, and even though he left home young, he lived during much more… polite eras than now. While he preferred to live more rustic, he knew how to be a gentleman.

You smile up at him from the chair, thanking him quietly. Logan pulls up a chair to the front, sitting with you. 

“Remy ain’t coming.” He blurts out, ready to break the news of the date as bluntly as possible to make him look worse, but when he saw the worry on your face he read your mind. “He had to go take care of business, he’s fine though.” Watching the relief on your face made him annoyingly jealous. “Sorry he had to miss your uh…” Logan glanced around the room. “Date, I guess.”

He likes hearing you giggle, even if he thinks it might be at him. “Did he call it a date?”

“Well… no…” Why did he feel so flustered with you?

“Good. It’s hardly a date. I have higher standards than sharing a sandwich in my classroom.” Despite his protests, you lay half your sandwich on his side of the desk. He couldn't say no to you. “Remy eats lunch with me sometimes, keeps me company. As a friend, if you were wondering.”

He was.

There was a comfortable silence as Logan ate the sandwich you gave me, doing everything he could to not hum as he delighted in it. How did you make a simple caprese sandwich taste so good? How did he get roped into sharing a meal with you when he was supposed to keep his distance?

“You’re good with them.” He mumbles with his mouth half full. When you look up with confusion he elaborates. “The kids, I mean. They like you. I can see it, and I’ve heard others talking.”

This makes you blush, looking away as you deflect the compliment. “Thank you, it’s probably the only thing I’m qualified to do.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Were you a teacher before you came here?”

“I wasn’t anything before I came here.”

Logan gestured for you to continue, so you set  down your sandwich and cleared your throat, still looking down. “I’m not really qualified to be here, honestly… It’s not like a secret or anything but… it’s not exactly something I’m shouting from the rooftops so… I mean you don’t gotta lie or anything…”

“I won’t say anything” His voice was soft, comforting. He made you trust him, so you let it all out.

“I didn’t graduate high school.” You fidget with the hem of the flower print dress that went past your knees. “I got married at 16.” When you glance up, you’re expecting to see his weirded out, uncomfortable, or maybe even disgust at you. Instead he looked concerned. 

“Jesus, doll. How the hell was that legal?”

You explain. “With parental consent and judicial approval, you can get married pretty young. My parents knew the judge.”

“And your parents were okay with this?”

Logan wasn’t stupid, he’s 200 years old and has seen plenty of teenagers getting married, but it wasn’t as common as you might think. By the time he was coming of age, marriage age, even for women, was going up. Teenagers were teenagers, he supposed.

“It was their idea… he was um… he was 20.” 

The realization dawned on him. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

You give a little shrug and go back to eating. “It was pretty normal in my circles. I didn’t realize how weird it was until I was 18 or 19 or something when the doctors- well, yeah.”

Curiosity crested on the topic of doctors, but Logan knew better than to push too hard. “And what are ‘your circles.’”

A little smile quips up on your lip and Logan notices a seed from the whole grain bread on the bottom lip. He wanted to kiss it off.

“Ever watch 19 kids and counting?”

Logan nearly cocked on a tomato. “What?”

You smirk at his reaction. “Yeah. We were IBLP, fundies I guess people say. I got 11 siblings, wore jean skirts, homeschooled, all that. I even met a Duggar once at a conference. Not the creep one. I don’t think.”

Your blase nature around your strange childhood was a defense. Every day you learned new things that you grew up in that weren’t normal, Remy and you spending hours walking the grounds, just talking. He is shocked you never watched spongebob, you are shocked he was allowed outside after dark. Both of you had a bond over failed arranged marriages and childhood abuse, but he was further along in the deconstruction path.

Nodding along, Logan tries not to freak out. Part of him wants to run away from this conversation. He doesn’t want you to open up, he doesn't want to feel pity or sympathy or learn anything that might endear you to him even more. Part of him wanted to rip out your family and your husbands throats.

“I assume that means you didn’t graduate?”

“Not even close. Homeschool was a loose term, honestly. My parents believed women didn’t need math or science, not that they believed in science, but they encouraged my read thank goodness. I spent a lot of time reading and writing, studying that stuff since we didn’t have a TV. When I say Mr. Xavier took in a stray, I meant it. I’d have absolutely no options, no social security card, no birth certificate, even. Not even McDonalds would have taken me.”

Logan frowned at that, popping the last bite into him mouth. “Why not?”

Despite it all, you laugh still. “I didn’t know that was a thing until I wondered into a Walmart asking for a job and they laughed in my face. Mr. Xavier explained all that. Listen…” You shift in your seat. “I taught all 11 of my siblings English, literature, poetry, reading, writing… I promise you, I might not have gone to college… but I know what I’m doing here.”

He shot you an assuring smile. “I didn’t doubt you for a second, Dolly.”

Logan spent the rest of your lunch break helping you cut out book themed decorations for your classroom. There was so much he wanted to learn, like why you can’t drive, how you left your husband, how you possibly gained the courage to do it knowing nothing of the world and what had happened to you to make you run like that? How brave you must be, for such a small, vulnerable thing, to do that. Logan found he greatly admired you. He had his healing powers, his strenth, speed, his claws to protect him. But you? Just out on your own.

He wouldn’t fuck you. He wouldn’t fall in love. He would do as he promised Charles, he swore it to himself…

But from now on, you didn’t need to be afraid of anything.

Logan would be your claws.

After

You banged on Logan’s door, not caring who heard.

“LOGAN!!!” You shout, continuing to bang even after he opened the door. You didn’t care. Fists pounding on the door turned into fists slamming on his chest. Logan didn’t seem phased, its not like you were strong. Instead, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his room before closing the door. You knew you should fear he’d rape you again after what he did but you couldn’t care anymore. 

“Dolly-”

You throw the pregnancy test in his face, dried piss and all. “I hate you! I hate you!” You continue to scream at him and smack at his chest but he lets you. You scream, and scream and his and scream until there is nothing left in you and you fall to your knees crying.

Logan catches you, kneeling down and taking you into his arms and you just let him because fuck, you are so starved for affection, so desperate for touch it doesn’t matter that it came from him. You fit neatly in his lap, his chest warm against your head as he holds you to him.

He smells like oak.

When you calm down, you shove at him again and fall off. 

When he reaches for you, his worry stricken face trying to convince you he was the Logan you knew before, you shout, “No!” Pointing directly at him.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Dolly. I am.”

“No, you’re not.” A sniffle alerts you of your runny nose, and you wipe it with your sleeve. “You knew what you were doing! You can’t- you apoligized while raping me, Logan!”

He winces. “Don’t say that…”

“What, rape?” 

That cringe again. “Don’t- don’t call it that!”

You scoff, a sardonic smile playing at your lips. “Oh, I’m sorry, that's upsetting to you? I can’t imagine how that feels, Logan.”

A moment of silence. Then he huffs a small laugh. You hated him, you hated how easy to was to fall back with him, to feel comfortable with him when he did something so horrible to you… and yet when you look at him now, sitting on the floor with the big eyes and little kitty ear hair as you called him, you didn’t see the man that raped you. You just saw Logan.

“I’ll get an abortion.” You say without much conviction.

“No, you won’t” He sounds more convinced than you were. Logan’s eyes were soft, patient, like a parent waiting for his childs fit to end.

You sit back against the wall, exhausted. “Yes, I will!”

He smirks. Is he making fun of you? “No, you will not”

“Or what, you’ll hurt me? You’ll follow me around everywhere?”

Logan chuckles at that. “No. I don’t need to do that. I’m not entirely convinced you would have taken that plan B, honestly.”

“Wha-” 

“How would you get there in the first place? You gonna ask fucking Remy to drive you to the abortion clinic?” He doesn’t give you a chance to answer. You and him both know what it is. Leaning in, Logan rests his elbows on his crossed legs, tight tank top straining against his pecs. “I know you, sweet baby doll. Better than Remy, better than anyone ever could. You may have left that world you lived in, may have left those beliefs and your parents and your husband and your pastor, but it hasn’t even been a year. Some stuff comes easier to digest, like realizing your husband doesn’t have the right to beat you with a switch. Some stuff, like what's going on in your womb… that gets a lot harder to sort through. I know you, and you just don’t have the guts to get an abortion”

You hated him. You hated him because he was right,

“That’s why you chose me, isn’t it.” The tears dripped down again, but softer this time. “Because you knew I wouldn’t.”

“No.” He sounded certain, final, almost deviated like it was important for him to know you understood what he was saying. “Dolly…” Logan leans over getting on his hands and knees. Slowly, he crawls across the floor to you, a cat hunting his prey, shoulder blades moving in time and jutting out of his shirt. His eyes were trained on you.

“I didn’t choose you, baby doll. None of this was my choice. The moment I saw you, every single choice was taken away from me.” He stalks closer, and you press your head against the door as your heart rate picks up again. “You were mine, I was yours, and everything that’s happened since has been fate pulling us together.”

Your lower lip quivers, making you whimper. “I didn’t want…” You almost say you, but can’t bring yourself to it. It wouldn’t be true. “I didn’t want that.”

His face is right up against you now, soft little breaths fanning your cheek and his eyes lidded with lust. “I didn’t want it to happen like that either, dolly.” His lips brush yours. “But I can’t deny fate any more than you can deny me.”

Logan might be a little ooc in this ill be real but shhhhhhhh

Also this is not hidden pro life agenda. I am pro choice.

I was raised Catholic and I remember even though a few years into deconstruction I couldn’t let go on the idea abortion was murder. I was assaulted and thought I was pregnant from it and spent hours sobbing in church because I wasn’t know what to do. Luckily it’s a choice I didn’t have to make in the end but please know whatever choice you made for your body was correct.

Want more yandere delulu logan?

Fan of this and also love joel?

Want soft logan, no dark?

If anyone else writes dark logan and wants to be fwends hmu <3 gotta be lgbt inclusive and general leftist stuff. I'll reblog your stuff!!!!!

Consider donating to doctors without borders to support gaza

If anyone knows more good dark logan writers hmu bc i just dont know anyone else!!!!

I appriciate you all supporting my logan work! keep on send them asks! I hav sunday off so i ll ge more then !

if you dont normally read my stuff, sometimes i do polls at the end of my fics. usually its about the story but i gotta do this for like....... well

I wrote the worng way and spent most of it regretting the name bc i just went with the first thing. Same here. this was initially a one shot! nut i fel the title is too simplistic

love yuh!!!

[hyperfixatinator]

(Batman & Robin 2011 #10)

When it comes to Tim and Damian, I don't think we talk about this issue enough. I'd even say this moment specifically is an important turning point in Tim and Damian's relationship, moreso for Damian.

Because imagine Damian's perspective up to this point. He, an assassin child who was trained to kill without discrimination, was brought into a family that spurned murderers with a passion. And then he was given a mantle that honored the Batclan's creed to never kill anyone.

How was a Robin whose past was already tainted with blood supposed to compete with a Robin who remained pure his whole life? No matter how much skill or loyalty Damian offered, Tim's innocence was a standard he could never reach.

But one day, Damian found out Tim's not as innocent as he seems. Tim too has struggled to maintain the Robin's creed. He too has had to fight the compulsion to kill, like Damian did.

And if Tim, despite his faltering sense of mercy in the past, is still worthy of the Robin mantle, then maybe Damian can be, too.

I think this is when Damian started to see Tim as less of an unfairly privileged obstacle, and more of a peer who's in a similar boat. And he needed Tim to see that in order for both of them to move forward as equals.

[tusswrites]

Sold For A Soul (Teaser)

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x idol Female Reader (idol verse)

Genre: Strangers to Lovers

Word Count (teaser): 955

Warnings: Mentions of mistreatment, cheating (not between Y/N and Wonwoo) , ED, nothing in detail but brushed over implications of abuse, power play, self loathing reader (totally did not project), mentions of toxic family, a lot of angst before the rainbow

Master List is here

“PD-nim wants to see you in his office now.”

You freeze midstep. It’s not the first time Kim Hangyuck has asked you to come visit his office privately , but after your last stunt you’d reckon he’d have some shame before calling you in this quickly. Was what you did last time not enough for him?

“Unnie, this is exciting news. Do you think he called you over to give news about a comeback?” That was Chul, the maknae of your group, excitedly jumping in glee at the hopes of a prospective comeback. Poor innocent child . The plethora of information you held back from her to protect the youth she will otherwise not have.

Giving her an easy nod, you walk with trepidation to his office, a prayer in your heart and head held high. Men like him can smell fear from far away, eagerly stamping over it.

“Come in.”

You hadn’t even knocked. Which probably meant he was spying on you all this while.You’re not in the least surprised. Sounds just like him.

Upon entering you're greeted by one of your nightmares in human form seated behind a chair, fingers tapping impatiently against the table. For what reason. You hadn’t even taken two minutes to attend to his whims and calls. Not like you could.

With a condescending nod, he signaled you to come closer. Anxiety rose high but you pushed it back down, inching closer to his table. Every moment in his proximity kickstarted your fight or flight response.

He slides a photocard across the table and you glance down to see oh-

“Jeon Wonwoo” he slurs out.

You know. You’ve been trying hard to drive his image from your head after that unfortunate meetup backstage. The photocard across the table wasn’t helping much with that affirmation. Confusedly you turn back up to look at his leering gaze right on your cleavage. With as much discomfort as you could try to hide, you stand straight, never giving him that satisfaction again.

“Han Sung-Soo from Pledis called today. He asked for your number. Looks like someone here caught the eyes of a handsome young man.”His beady eyes glint at you expectantly as if he was passing the good news except you feel nothing of that sort.

“I don't’ understand -”

‘Well, you’re in luck, gorgeous- “ you wanted to gag. Nicknames from him reflexively brought out such reactions. -Wonwoo here says he hopes that you will go on a date with him.”

You don’t want to go on a date with Wonwoo. You have nothing against him but you also have nothing for him. Why waste time on another man that was sure to break your heart in more ways than one?

“I don’t-”

“Well lucky for you, I said yes”. You don’t have it in you to lose energy. This is typical of Kim Hangyuck. Making decisions in your personal life with no thoughts whatsoever to ask you. He leans back, looking shamelessly proud of himself.

“I thought we were not supposed to be in a relationship based on our contracts.”

“Is that why I caught you with your boyfriend the other day?”

You gulp. What?

“Don’t act so surprised gorgeous, remember what I told you? I have eyes everywhere. Everywhere.” A shiver of disgust coursed through your veins, any second longer with him, you were going to throw up in his face.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Go on a date with him, lure him by your beauty, entice him enough to make him your boyfriend.” You could see the smug grin on his face like he was proud of his terrible idea.

You want to refuse but the consequences of defying an order run far deeper than you could possess to think right now.

“Why?”

‘Because gorgeous, we need funds. If you girls want the next comeback out soon, we need the publicity to attract fans to Blush Girls. This way, if we leak the news of your relationship to the press, a scandal breaks out and we gain something from this. Don’t forget this is someone from Hybe Labels. He’s high profile.”

“I thought he asked for my number because he liked me . If this is a romantic relationship, isn’t this breaching the contract of trust Hybe will endow upon me?”

He shrugged, least bothered about your emotions here. Obviously your thoughts don't matter.

‘I don’t care Y/N . Seduce him, get him in your bed, make him fall in love with you and get into a relationship with him. This is the only way ‘Blush Girls’ will get a breakthrough. Follow the plan or I will scrap your project. No comebacks, instant contract termination." Venom oozed out from his warning. He was every bit the cruel man to carry out that threat. You knew it. You couldn’t let down your members like this because your morale came in the way. You owed it to them at least.

“Fine. One date. But I get to choose the restaurant and I want Yoon to accompany me .”

“Nice try, gorgeous. We have already selected the restaurant for you. It’s on us. Victor will be accompanying you. We need to keep an eye out on you at all times.”

Victor was a pervert. During your trainee days you kept a knife under your pillow, for fear of that sleazy man. Unfortunately, the company refused your demands to fire him despite the multiple protests by artists. He was also Hangyuck’s right hand. His extra pair of ears and eyes. You knew exactly why he was accompanying you.

“Alright”. You agree. You have no choice after all.

Shaking hands with Kim Hangyuck on this deal feels like signing off your soul to the Devil.

A.N: Comment below to be added to the taglist

Taglist- @skzbangchanniee

[penancepropulsionn]

it's time for penancepropulsionn to look into a very small detail again at 5 AM!

so. i noticed something. let's go back and rewind on the last episode. like, let's do it together because i'm gonna need you to hear for this one i want us to pay specific attention to the line teruko says when she selects eden and ace:

"It's you two, isn't it?"

"isn't it"

i need an answer. why does she say this. why is this tacked on in this specific voiceline, for this specific moment? what need is there for her to add any ambiguity or uncertainty, if she is CERTAIN these are the only two people who could have killed arei? you could say that this is just part of teruko's change in demeanor. her delivery, in particular, is pretty flat. it's forthright, but not really loud or brazen at all. honestly she sounds kind of disappointed so i figured, for a bit, it might be that. but then it struck me, no, that doesn't make much sense either? let's look back at chapter 1 when teruko selected min, and listen to the voiceline used then:

"It must be you!"

yeah, that's said with a whole lot more conviction. it sounds certain and final. and, okay, i should take into account that this new voiceline doesn't sound certain and final because it isn't certain and final. because, obviously, teruko hasn't figured out the final, singular culprit yet but even then, it still doesn't explain why she specifically said it that way? if you wanted to keep the solemn yet forthright delivery of the line, it could have been made "It's you two." and if you wanted to keep that and the fact we haven't figured out the true culprit yet, but still solidify YES THE ONLY CANDIDATES FOR CULPRIT ARE THESE TWO, it could have been "It's one of you." this ambiguity is really leading me to further believe in the possibility it may not be ace or eden. think about it, if it were one of the two, when we DO figure out the culprit, wouldn't it be super obvious? it wouldn't be a big climactic moment, it'd be only be a logical progression. if, for example, eden's innocence is proven, it wouldn't be like "It's Ace?!" it would be like "Oh, it's Ace, then." so if the viewer could easily figure out that the culprit is ace just because it isn't eden, then another "select the person" minigame would be really redundant therefore, if it is a third party, we spin out into a crazy and climactic twist where it can be like "It's [seemingly totally unrelated person], and here's why"

this is really where my intuition is leading me, but i suppose i shouldn't get too deep into it because we're getting the grand conclusion today. it's crazy to think we've finally reached this point, so if i may close this out with some sentimentality i hope this post has struck you as an interesting observation, as well as the rest of my posts! i'm not one of the most dedicated posters or theorists in the community but i like to think i've contributed my own fair share where it counts. see you on the other side, everyone!

[milk-ly]

Do you ever think about how Kotoko was pretty much Fuuta’s ideal self.

They both wanted to be the same thing, a long-awaited hero, but Kotoko actually “succeeded” while Fuuta “failed.” And that’s also how we judged them in t1. The fanbase thought of Kotoko as the strong, cool vigilante who took down a bad guy, but Fuuta was viewed as a brutish coward who hid behind a screen and killed an innocent teenager.

You could partially link that to the fact that in the end, their convictions were very different. Kotoko has supposed strong convictions but Fuuta seems to parrot things he probably heard on twitter to reinforce himself that he DOES have "strong convictions" like a hero/vigilante (like kotoko) does. Yet, his actual goal was never really Justice at all. Rather, it was all just to gain acceptance and connection. You can especially see that with how Fuuta stands firm in his ideals like he does with others but then immediately jumps to try and connect with Kotoko and impress her by parroting her words and opinions because he craves acceptance from someone whom he respects in some way.

Fuuta: "Ahh, yeah, Norway! The famous thing they have there!" This man clearly had absolutely never heard of it before until Kotoko brought it up. And he immediately pretended like he knew what she was talking about.

Another aspect is Fuuta's insecurities about how he doesn’t measure up to his ideals of being a strong, independent and responsible man. Like his want to protect others despite his cowardice. Or like how his ideal self in bring it on is seemingly taller and more confident.

Yet, Kotoko has constant traits and connections to masculinity (here's a great post about it by purgemarchlockdown) such as being tall, possessing fighting ability, not wearing more traditionally feminine clothes, and possessing traditionally masculine traits like strength and stoicism. Even stories about werewolves were traditionally more about men. While witch hunts, which Fuuta is connected to, mainly convicted women.

There's also the fact that Fuuta craves ally ship and Kotoko seems to be more well-liked than Fuuta even though they’re both rather standoffish. In fact, you actually see Fuuta going out of his way to interact with others (in his own way) more than Kotoko is throughout t1. (I believe he's the first character to give someone else a physical gift, even if it's just a tomato. And insists on giving Shidou his spinach in return when Shidou wants to give him his natto)

Here, Fuuta is the one who actually approached Mikoto to check on him. Fuuta cares and makes SOME effort to have a good relationship with others he's just uh. He's trying, okay.

Yet, in t1 at least, a good portion of the others generally disliked him or looked down on him in some way. Kotoko on the other hand was in pretty good terms with everyone until t2. (Aside from Mikoto, but that's because Kotoko doesn't like him, not the other way around) And considering the fact that Fuuta wants that acceptance so bad, Kotoko has that ideal.

And side note, do you ever think about how their murders frame both Kotoko and Fuuta’s ideal self as fallen heroes tainted by blood?

Or how these two saw each other as pretty similar at first before their true differences hit them both in the face?

And also how Fuuta starts t1 by seeing Es (and you) as the enemy but then draws a direct parallel between him and Es (and you) in t2? But Kotoko does the exact opposite, starting out in T1 and T2 trying to team up because of your similarities, and then ends up seeing you as weak by the end?

Ohhh 03 + 10 character foils…

[dark-elf-writes]

I think the best part about Sally being Reborn's daughter is her being Reborn's daughter at Reborn.

Like, he causes problems for other people on purpose for fun, and no one can do anything-

Until Sally looks at him and goes, "Hm. I think I will cause problems for you on purpose. Just for fun. :)"

And Reborn is left standing there like "Ah. This.. This feels like that whole cosmic irony thing people keep going on about."

And, yes. Sally's problems are usually completely harmless, especially compared to Reborn's.

But it's still funny.

Exactly. Exactly. You get me you understand the vision

Because Sally has always liked causing problems for fun from little rebellions like blue food to teasing Percy to (eventually) messing with Reborn and every time she does it Reborn is forced to look at a reflection of himself that he is not prepared to face and his o oh option (in his mind) is to turn violent to someone else usually a god who is tangentially related to whatever Sally is messing with him about.

And of course Sally, a regular mortal who has no way of going against the gods for everything they put her baby, is left innocently sipping at her coffee because how was she supposed to know he would do that?

What I’m saying is Sally is playing 4-D multidimensional chess, Reborn is playing 3-D chess, and everyone else is playing tic tac toe

[lanawinterscigarettes]

hi!! i absolutely love the layout of your account <33 i was wondering if i could request a joe goldberg x fem! reader where you’re as obsessed with him as he is with you and you manage to get him into a situation similar to the ending of season 3? like you drug him. but he REALLY doesn’t expect it. so you’re planning on keeping him for yourself and he’s trying to figure out a way to escape?? you can decide the ending <3

aw, thank you so much! you're the very first person to request something for joe, which makes me unbelievably happy <33

All Tied Up (Joe Goldberg x fem reader)

Warnings: the reader is obsessed with Joe to an unhealthy degree, swearing, restraints via rope, drugging, kidnapping, mentions of murder, brief mention of Joe being a bit of a pervert, drinking (wine), manipulation/blackmail, kissing that could technically be seen as dubcon since Joe's drugged/tied up when it happens

Shit, this wasn't supposed to happen- that's where his mind immediately went when he woke to find his arms and legs restrained to a chair with some rope, his vision blurry. You'd drugged him. Great.

When Joe met you, it was like a dream come true. You were so much better than Candace, or Beck, or any other girl he'd ever been with before in the past. You were perfect. Or so he thought.

He really should've known it was too good to be true. After all, he'd been down this road before so many times, always expecting a different outcome, but there never was. Excuse him for being optimistic.

The problem was that you weren't a bright-eyed, innocent good girl like Beck. Not like he'd thought. Instead, you were obsessive, almost like a leech with the way you latched onto him so quickly.

At first, he was flattered. He liked not having to be the one to iniate everything. He liked being taken care of the way he took care of you. And he like all the time you spent together.

What he didn't like, however, was your obsessive nature that rivaled his, and even Love's. In fact, she paled in comparison to you.

He really should've learned after what happened with her. If something seems too good to be true, it's most likely because it is. But alas, he did not, which is why he now found himself to be tied up in your kitchen.

Why did he have to go and mess everything up by confronting you with the bloody shirt he found at the very bottom of your laundry hamper? He could've just put it back and you would've been none the wiser, then none of this would've happened. (Of course, if he wasn't poking around your dirty clothes like a creep in the first place he wouldn't have known about it at all, but it was a little too late for that.)

You insisted the murder was only a one time thing, that the girl you killed had gotten too close to him and he hadn't realized it. For one thing, he didn't believe you in the slightest, and for another, he was offended by the implication that he was unaware of other people's actions.

He obviously knew that she liked him, he just didn't think it was that big of a deal. Not big enough to address, certainly not big enough for her to be killed over.

Apparently, you disagreed, which naturally led to a huge fight. God, it was like Love all over again. Except you did something she'd never done, which was apologize. That certainly threw him for a loop, one that was big enough for him to let his guard down.

You even offered to cook dinner to make up for it. No problem, right? Just the two of you, spending some quality time together. If only he'd known you were going to spike his glass of wine, and maybe he wouldn't have been so quick to agree.

It was partially his own fault, he could admit that. He should've been more suspicious with how easily everything seemed to get cleared up and how quickly it took for you to calm back down.

But that would've been making comparisons with you to his past girlfriends, and he didn't want to do that. He didn't want to compare you to Beck. He didn't want to compare you to Love. It felt like an insult to your relationship for him to do so.

God, why did it always have to be the perfect ones who ended up being crazy?

The sound of your footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up the best he could, his gaze foggy from whatever it was that you put in his wine.

"Oh, Joe," you sighed as you knelt down on the floor in front of him. "I'm sorry. I never wanted to have to hurt you."

Then untie me, you psycho bitch, was what he so desperately wanted to scream at you, but the alcohol combined with the drugs in his system made his mouth dry and tongue heavy, and because of that it was difficult for him to speak.

"You always look so pretty, especially when you pout." If he could, he would've moved away from your hand when you reached out to touch his face, but there seemed to be a disconnect between his brain and his body, causing him to stay still.

"I have to go check something really quick, okay? I want you to behave while I'm gone." He watched as you stood, gently running your fingers through his hair before leaving him alone again.

He had to get out of there. He couldn't be stuck with you the same way he almost got stuck with Love. He needed some sort of plan to escape.

Unfortunately, whatever the hell you used on him to keep him immobilized was doing a pretty damn good job of it. Even without the ropes keeping him tied up, there was no way he'd be able to get together the strength to move.

Maybe if he closed his eyes for just a second, he'd snap out of whatever sort of haze he was in and wake up to find out that this was all just a bad dream. You weren't crazy, you hadn't murdered anyone, you were just a sweet, normal girl who he happened to be in love with.

He must've fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew he was being jolted awake by the feeling of his body being moved around without his control, which was followed by a sharp jab to the back of his head.

Blinking a few times, he opened his eyes, realizing he was no longer in the kitchen and was instead in the basement to your house, laying on the floor as his head throbbed. You must've accidentally dropped him at one point when transporting him from one place to another, which certainly explained the welt he had forming, not to mention the headache.

He looked around, still a little groggy from a mixture of sleep and whatever you spiked him with. You weren't there from what he could see, and the rope you'd use to tie him up with was loose. Maybe this was the opportunity he so desperately needed to escape.

It took several tries, but finally he was able to untie himself. After a minute or so of trying to get over the light-headedness he felt, he got up and slowly started to make his way over to the steps that led back upstairs.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Your voice suddenly cut through the air, causing him to freeze in place. Looking up, he saw you standing at the top of the steps with your hands placed on your hips, watching him with a stern expression. He was screwed.

Unfortunately for him (and luckily for you) he was still feeling a little disoriented and dizzy, so it wasn't very hard for you to get him tied back up again. "I knew I should've used a better knot," you muttered to yourself, ignoring his fruitless attempts of squirming free. "Stop that. I gave you some more of the stuff I put into your wine while you were asleep, so I wouldn't waste your energy."

"Now-" You began as you stood back up again, staring down at where he sat on the floor. "-I want you to know that I really didn't want to have to do this. Nor did I want to have to do this, either."

He could only watch as you took out your phone and pulled up a collection of evidence- all of the evidence that directly linked him back to his string of several murders, including that of his wife, Love. Joe was speechless. How did you manage to get all of this stuff?

"Where I found this isn't important," you said casually, as if you could tell what he was thinking. "What is important is you knowing that the account where all of this information is kept needs to be logged onto at least once a day, or else it'll automatically send to the nearby police department, and the local news, and whoever else could make good use of it. And you don't have the password, so you can't just murder me and delete it all yourself."

Safe to say, he was in disbelief, too stunned to say anything. His past girlfriends may have provided some difficulty in getting rid of, but they were nothing like this. And now he was really screwed.

You looked smug, clearly proud of yourself for being able to outsmart him. "Now, I'm going to give you a choice. You can either leave or kill me, both of which will result in the information I know about what really happened to your past girlfriends and belated wife to be released. Or, you can stay, and no one will have to know but us. Choose wisely."

It was then he realized what he had to do meant he was never going to be able to be truly free. He was going to be stuck there with you, forever. Was prison really that bad that this was the choice he had to make?

Swallowing thickly, he opened his mouth to speak, uttering out one little sentence that was only two words. "I'll stay."

He could tell from the giddy look in your eyes that you were excited by his answer. "Good choice." You knelt down on the floor next to him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you leaned in to give him a brief kiss. "Oh, baby, we're going to be so happy together."

His past caught up with him in a way that he never thought was possible, and now he was stuck in a trap of his own making. At this point, he truly did only have himself to blame.

End notes: idk if the bit with the evidence makes a lot of sense but I just thought it was a fun idea so 🤷 some artistic liberties may have been taken but that's okay

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[incomingalbatross]

Hm I think my Emma paper may actually need a section of comparative analysis on Harriet and Miss Bates.

[kittyandco]

does anyone else get so upset when you think about all the things that happened to your f/o... all the things they went through? all the things they haven't healed from? the pain that they may still be enduring? how you can do your best to help them but you can't protect them from everything. so you just love them the ways they needed before, how they deserved. and you see them happy because they finally accept, at least in some ways, that they do deserve it. they deserve love like all beings do

[nakaremfarlei]

Was just thinking about the amount of animals Obi-Wan interacts with compared to literally everyone else and in the Clone Wars episode where Kamino gets attacked he literally gets saved twice by the same ray-like animal and just...

The growth from judging Qui-Gon for the 'pathetic lifeforms' he picks up to whatever he has going on during the Clone Wars era. He must have gotten that from Qui-Gon though, right?

And because it's my brain and it's rotting with all the star wars stuff I am consuming I was thinking of Obi-Wan saving all these creatures and the 212th having to deal with that. Surely they made one of the rooms pet proof in case one of them needs a new home. There also have to be clones who love that because of course Obi-Wan can't really take care of rescues on top of all his duties.

After the first few times this happens Cody learns to order animal food and other necessities. And if the Republic doesn't fulfill these requests or asks too many questions he'll just have to make sure to organize them on planet during the campaigns.

[daily-hanamura]

[good-beans]

I know most of our focus goes (rightfully) to the trial songs, but I genuinely believe Baptism of Fire is equally a masterpiece of meaningful writing and intense vocal acting

Incoming tag rant because I need to yell about this, feel free to yell back

[heytheredeann]

“Yes, there is a place where someone loves you both before and after they learn what you are.” ― Neil Hilborn

[zuble]

the take of “waah you shouldn’t have romantic/sexual feelings about this adult character/person because they seem too **innocent** to me!!!!” is already an infuriating take, but it’s even more bizarre that so many people say that about beelzebub obeyme, a thousands of years old demon who eats people

[toasteaa]

Thinking about that cursed sovereign au again...

Nothing super substantial, I don't think. Just Neuvillette getting distracted while trying to find a way to break the curse and finding himself fascinated by the intricacies of human life. How his previous prejudices turn into genuine interest in the way humans interact with the world around them. How they live and grow and work and change in the slightest ways. How their cultures and customs are long lived and influential (as are his own) but each individual human has their own way of going about each daily ritual.

If he's to find a way to break this wretched curse without being caught or his true identity being suspected, then he needs to blend in as well as he possibly can. At least...that's what he told himself. But then he starts asking questions about humans with a little glimmer of interest and curiosity in his eyes. Mimics their rhythms and rituals even if he does not understand them completely. Finds that need to break the curse just a hint less pressing than it had been when he was first forced to take this form.

And of course, there is still that very present and urgent need to return to the sea properly. To be amongst the waves with fins and scales and to hear the water speak to him as it has for the past 500 years - and longer still in terms of his kind. But...now there is another desire inside of him as well. To touch and feel and know this world that he's been thrust into with hands that he'd never believed he would have but...he always secretly desired he did have.

A double edged sword of a curse; robbed of that he has always known - the power that he already had to fight to keep for his kin - and yet it has given him the freedom to walk amongst humans as though he were one of them. See the peace that followed the horrors of war centuries ago. Feel the warmth of the sun on human skin instead of a dragon's scales. The solidness of the earth beneath his feet instead of the security of water that surrounded him on all sides.

...The softness of a human's lips - their soft, even breaths - when he steals a moment to run his thumb over them while they sleep.

A step too far perhaps - one that finds him holed up back in the room that same human had so graciously given him. A step that he has to convince himself was made out of curiosity and only curiosity...and not from these new, human emotions blooming within him. Another reminder that he is not human. That this is not his world. That this curse - this wretched, awful curse - was made to weaken him and force him to submit to that witch of an Archon. He needs to break it. He has to.

Before he completely forgets himself in the longing he's long held for this world.