#but then i'd have to connect the universes and that sounds exhausting so no. not the same Clerk

[immoralkombat]

feeling(s)

Kenshi has been blind for maybe an hour or two.

Johnny looks over at him with sympathy. He's not sure what he could possibly do or say to make things seem any less bleak for him. The man was just trying to get his family's heirloom back and now, after months of training and dedication, one of his five senses is gone permanently through no fault of his own. If Johnny were in Kenshi's position, he's sure he'd be feeling just as desolate, if not more so.

Kung Lao is sitting in the far corner, talking to Baraka. He seems genuinely fascinated by Tarkat as a disease. Were Johnny not in the same situation as them, he would find that particular conversation topic a bit morbid. Right now, it's really all they have to talk about. They've already exhausted all the small talk options you normally go through when first meeting someone. They might as well start talking about the disease that'll eventually kill Baraka.

The salve on the cloth seems to have worked a little, because at least Kenshi isn't moaning in pain every few seconds anymore. Not that it makes things significantly more cheerful, but it does help the atmosphere a bit.

Johnny taps on his knees as he sits, eyes darting between looking at Kung Lao and Kenshi. He's kind of in between where the two have sat themselves, a visual and metaphorical median between the two ways one could possibly react to getting imprisoned by a sorcerer that's almost 100% going to kill you. (To be fair, there isn't much that connects the points of "casually talking about a stranger's terminal illness with them as though you're both standing by the office water cooler talking about whatever hit TV show is airing these days" and "rocking back in forth in the corner about how a different terminally ill stranger took your eyes and you have nothing left in this world." Johnny supposes the best middle point is "looking anxiously between your two co-workers and not saying anything because Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you supposed to say in this situation besides aforementioned terminal illness.")

He really wishes that Kenshi still had his eyes, because every time he looked at Johnny, it always seemed to make everything feel okay.

Johnny thinks for a second and then scoots closer to Kenshi. It's only once he accidentally bumps up against Kenshi's foot and scares the living shit out of everyone in the cell that he realizes he probably should've given an audible cue that he was going to be approaching the newly blind guy.

After Kenshi's done having a mini panic attack over the sudden Hollywood A-lister jumpscare he's gotten, Johnny looks at him and asks, quietly, "Do you want to hold Sento for a bit?"

Kenshi turns to face him and even underneath the newly christened blindfold, Johnny can tell that Kenshi is looking at him with the most surprised and reverent eyes in the universe. The kind of look that you'd get and say "fuck this stupid sword, I'd pay $3 million just to get this guy to look at me like that again."

Kenshi's mouth opens as though he's going to say something, but it shuts again before any words or sounds can come out. He opts to nod in response and Johnny takes the scabbard from off his back, holds it in his hands gently and passes it to Kenshi. Their fingertips graze one another, a way to indicate that the blind man is in the right spot. The touch sends crackles of electricity through Johnny and he wonders if Kenshi feels them too.

It's like the tattoos on Kenshi's hands are swirling around him, colors dancing in front of his eyes. It's more beautiful than any lame fucking Disney movie ever could be.

The yakuza's voice is hoarse as he says "Thanks." It's so small that Johnny can almost see it breaking in the air. He wants to put his hand on Kenshi's and tell him that things will be okay, that he's going to pay for a sight companion, any kind of corrective surgeries he wants, whatever it takes. He wants to tell him that he's still just as strong and fierce and goddamn handsome now as he was before. He wants to kiss him so fucking badly it makes his entire being ache.

He settles for saying "You're welcome," and then sitting next to Kenshi in silence.

He watches the way that he holds Sento in his hands, feels every single nick in the scabbard, every single imperfection. It's the first time in Johnny's life that he's ever wanted to be a sword and, if he keeps hanging out with Kenshi after this, (which he hopes he can), it almost certainly won't be the last.

Johnny wishes that Mileena had taken Kenshi's tear ducts with her after she'd stabbed his eyes out, because the short sad sobs that wrack through his body are almost too much to bear witness to. When he cries, it moves through his entire being. It sends a shockwave from his gut upward, makes him lurch his shoulders forward and hug himself.

"H-Hey, what's wrong?" Johnny asks. He knows it's a stupid fucking question, obviously everyone knows what's wrong, most of all the guy it happened to. But it's all he can think to ask as he watches Kenshi continue to awkwardly jerk alongside his cries.

Kenshi's head turns to face Johnny. From beyond the thin red cloth that covers his eye sockets, Johnny can feel them boring into him.

"Cage, could I touch you? I want to remember what your face looks like."

If Johnny were operating on his full mental capacity, he would probably explode at this question. He would become the fireworks they popped last night at the banquet over their heads as they feasted. He would be attached to one end of a fuse with Li Mei holding the other end, readying herself to spark it and send him to the stratosphere.

"Y-Yeah, of course you can, Ken-doll. Just make sure not to damage the goods - people pay good money for this mug to show up on their big screens."

The smugness in his voice would normally earn him a "tch" or a groan, (or an eye roll), from Kenshi. Hearing him chuckle under his breath makes his heart soar.

He turns his face toward him and waits, but no touch comes. His eyes close, he anticipates the electricity to come back... and instead he hears Kenshi clearing his throat awkwardly.

Johnny opens his eyes and finds that Kenshi's still got his hands on Sento. He tries not to be jealous of the sword again, but as with any other time he's tried not to be jealous of someone or something that has what he wants, he fails miserably.

"Could you get closer, Cage?"

"Not the first time I'm hearing that question, won't be the last. How close you need me, handsome?"

The words come out before he can even process them. Jesus Christ, is he really that much of a disaster that he can just openly call a guy he's been crushing on for at least a month handsome without even thinking about it? He's a fucking mess. His wife left him and now he doesn't know how to act. She was gonna be the only person he'd ever be able to trick into loving him and now she was gone.

"I'm going to turn, and I suggest you do the same. I want to be facing you. You can sit with your legs touching mine if it helps."

Great, now Kenshi has a colorful blindfold that also serves as a perfect swatch for the shade of red Johnny's face turns every time the man says something that's totally fucking normal for two people that are acquainted with one another.

Johnny does as he's told, because if there's one thing he's good at, it's taking directions. (Ignoring literally every single major motion picture he's ever been in, every statement he's ever made to the press after consulting his legal teams and public consultants, and generally living life up until this point.)

His knees knock against Kenshi's and it takes him aback for a second, how giddy and childish the butterflies he feels in his stomach are. Getting to know Kenshi was so simple. He wishes he had just taken a second and been less of a dickwad back when they'd first met, because maybe then it'd be easier for him to grow a pair of cajones and tell Kenshi that he doesn't spend a single night without thinking about how much he wants to trace the tattoos on his hands and arms. Maybe if he had just given Sento over, it'd be easier to admit that the low rumble of Kenshi's voice does something to stir up the pool of heat in his stomach that he thought had been long since gone after getting married to Cristal. Maybe if he hadn't tied Kenshi to one of his kitchen chairs, it'd be easier to ask him if kissing washed-up celebrities was something he'd be interested in doing.

"I'll put my hand out, you lean forward to match it."

Kenshi's palm is extended and it takes every ounce of willpower in Johnny's aching body to not press his lips against it. He leans forward until his cheek is lightly touching the yakuza's hand.

He must be hearing things, because he swears he hears Kenshi's breath hitch when they make contact for the first time. Nah, surely not. Must've been the wind.

If Kenshi's senses are heightened because of the loss of his vision, then Johnny's senses are heightened because of the gain of his touch. He purses his lips together to stop from letting out some sort of obscene sound as he feels Kenshi's hand slowly smooth over his cheek. He thanks whatever fucked up Gods exist other than Liu Kang that he finally got on that moisturizing routine that he learned off of TikTok three months ago.

As Kenshi's hand slowly feels out every angle and curve of Johnny's face, his thoughts rush a mile a minute. He wonders if he should've done a closer shave today - maybe his stubble is gonna be too sharp and it'll hurt Kenshi and leave him with little cuts or rug burn on his pretty perfect wrap-around-my-throat-please hands. He wonders if his nose is too big. He wonders if he maybe should've invested in hair plugs after that one weird SNL dropout made a comment about his weird square hairline back when he guest starred on the Comedy Central roast of Megan Fox. He wonders if his eyes are too small or too large or too close together or too far apart. He wonders if he should smile so Kenshi can feel his dimples.

"Yep, it all feels just like how I remember it. Although the stubble has gotten a little longer."

That is certainly not the answer he was expecting to hear.

His voice is small, barely there, as he chokes out his question. "You remember what I look like?"

Kenshi nods. "I do."

Johnny goes to open his mouth to ask, "Then why did you ask to touch it if you already knew?"

But then Kenshi's fingers are on his lips, tracing them with the reverence he'd have holding Sento, and for a moment, Johnny finally thinks he's better than that stupid fucking sword. His smile has the same curves, the same edges. The only difference is that Kenshi can't accidentally hurt himself this way. (He can, however, accidentally hurt Johnny. But even that would be better than the alternative, he thinks.)

Kenshi's thumb is on his bottom lip, the rest of his hand now holding Johnny's chin. If he tilts it up even one degree, Johnny thinks it'll be over for him, that he'll be kissing Kenshi before he can even think to stop himself. He'd always had poor impulse control - why else would he have spent $3 million on a fucking sword to hang up in his living room?

"These are the same, too. I'm glad you weren't hurt in the fight, Cage."

Johnny feels so fucking overwhelmed. He wants to ask so many things. First of all, what does "these are the same, too" mean? Second, why does he care about the guy who bought his fucking family heirloom and refuses to give it back? Third, why does he insist on calling him Cage like one day he won't end up calling him Johnny and breaking his heart? Fourth, what in the goddamn fuck does he mean about Johnny's fucking lips being the goddamn motherfucking same?!

Johnny decides to play it up like he always does. "Well, 'course. Gotta keep my pretty mouth. It's what makes the big bucks. I wouldn't be the same without it."

Kenshi smirks, and thank Liu Kang's weird god siblings that he's blind right now, because Johnny is beet red, mouth agape, with his eyebrows raised (and he's fairly certain that something else also rises).

"That's true. You would not be the same without that infamous mouth." Kenshi accents the compliment(?) with a playful slap to Johnny's cheek, and then his hand is withdrawn entirely, leaving an empty ghost where he should still be holding Johnny's face in his hands.

He bites back the urge to immediately ask if Kenshi wants to know just how infamous the mouth is, and settles for clearing his throat and moving back to sitting against the wall next to Kenshi.

He looks over at him after he's gotten calmed down. His heart is still jackhammering against his ribs, but as long as Kenshi can't feel his pulse, he doesn't have to know. Kenshi seems to sense Johnny's eyes on him because he turns to face him, red blindfold all that stands between the gaping holes where Kenshi's eyes used to be and Johnny's gaze full of adoration.

The yakuza grabs Sento from his lap and hands it back to Johnny.

"Thank you. I appreciate you letting me hold it. And I appreciate your help in grounding me back to reality."

Johnny nods, taking Sento back and putting it where it so wrongfully deserves to be, strapped against Johnny's sore fucking back.

"No problem. Lemme know whenever you get the urge to feel out what an Adonis looks like, I'm happy to oblige." His comment is a means to an end. He plays up the egoism to ignore the shock that courses through him as Kenshi's fingertips touch his one last time.

He resolves then and there to give Sento back as soon as they escape from here, and they will escape.

This cannot be the last time he feels Kenshi's hands on him.

Baraka whispers, about as well as he can without lips or an inside voice, "Do they not realize how much they yearn for one another?"

Kung Lao shakes his head, putting a hand on Baraka's shoulder and immediately regretting it once he feels a spike tear into his palm. "They've just gotta be stupid about it for a bit longer. They'll figure it out."

"Surely their pining has to cause some sort of agony for you as well, does it not, Earthrealmer?" Baraka looks genuinely confused, or as close to it as he can get from what Kung Lao can tell.

Kung Lao hangs his head, sighing languidly. "Of course it does. But what else am I gonna do about it? Tell them? They're not gonna believe me. Trust me, they've got to figure it out on their own time, or they never will."

And as he sees Johnny's hand inch closer to Kenshi's, finally overlapping the tattoos and interlocking their fingers, Kung Lao thinks that maybe the agony won't last much longer.

[pmpmyread]

spreading positivity for yourself and for others: what are some fanfics you've written that you're proud of? who are your favorite writers in the fic community?

Hey Anon, thanks for your lovely ask! Sending some positive vibes right back at you 🩵

Your first question tasks me to choose a favorite among my children lol but I will give it a shot.

Distraction is a Drifter x Eris Destiny 2 fic I wrote last year. I'm proud of it because it was my first try at tiptoeing back towards the romance genre after over a decade since writing my previous fic (a FFVIII Squall x Rinoa thing I'd written on ffnet back when I was 19 lmao). It's pretty tame, I even stopped just short of tagging it as Romance, opting for Romantic Friendship instead, that's just how chicken I truly was LOL. My writing has definitely improved since, but ultimately, composing and sharing this fic helped alleviate some of my self-doubt at the time.

Nanami Kento & Casual Touches is one of my earlier JJK x Reader fics. I'm proud of this one not only for what I've created but the way by which it was produced. To this day, it was the easiest time I've had writing anything during what happened to be a difficult period for me. I'd somehow managed to turn my turmoil into one of the most hopeful and positive pieces I've ever written. Corny as it sounds, that story and that moment truly did so much for me. The only negative here is that I've been chasing that elusive high ever since LMAO.

I've answered a variation of your second question within a recent ask linked here, so do check that out as well, but I will certainly add some more inspiring writers below, along with my current favorite work of theirs.

@mysteria157 (JJK): Incredibly deep stories with some of the strongest and most admirable MCs you'll ever read. Rec: Love's Ransom

@rahuratna (JJK + BNHA): Intricate and immersive universes depicted in the most beautiful prose. Rec: Arangetram

@cmdrfupa (JJK): Expert-level character studies skillfully wrapped into elaborate narration. Rec: Furtive

@espace--positif (LaDS + JJK): A fluff merchant. Target-precise canon characterization depicted in wonderful, feel-good fics. Rec: Mornings with Him

@imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese (Destiny 2): Insightful and healing stories that truly dig deep into the vast Destiny 2 universe and the complexity of its characters. Rec: Perfection

This list is FAR from exhaustive as I've recently connected with so many talented writers within these different fandoms and I still have a ridiculously long TBR list. I will definitely create a recs list sometime soon. If there is one thing I am confident about, it's my fan work curation skills. lol 💅🏽

Thanks again for your ask, Anon, it was a great way to start my day 🩵

[kat-thepoet]

Veins of Violet

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Part 12: Sleeping beauty

A/N: Nothing- just enjoy!

Previous Chapters ☞ HERE ☜

8.6k words

Logans POV

I held her close, stroking her face, cradling her limp body in my arms. Everything around us was charred and broken, reduced to ashes. Laura sat beside me, absently poking at her shoes with a stick, but all I could focus on was Violet. I kept calling her name, urging her to wake up, but she wasn't responding.

"I think we need to go," Laura said, her voice heavy with exhaustion. "She might not wake up." We'd been sitting here for what felt like an eternity, trying to get Violet to open her eyes. As I glanced at Laura, something gnawed at me, something I needed answers to."Why were you helping Strucker?" I asked, my voice low, barely keeping the anger in check. I needed to know why she was with that bastard, but it took everything in me to hold back the rage simmering beneath the surface.Laura looked at me, tears welling up in her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly. She cleared her throat before speaking, and I could see the guilt written all over her face."Talk," I growled, my patience hanging by a thread. "I need to know why you did it."

Laura hesitated, the weight of the question bearing down on her, and I felt my grip tighten around Violet as I waited for her to answer.

"They found out where Violet worked, and they knew I was connected to her. For a month, I felt like someone was following me. Then, one day, when I was alone at the flower shop, Strucker came in and handed me a photo. It was of my foster dad—shot in the head. He said if I didn't help him, he'd kill my mom and brother too." She paused, her voice shaking. "I loved Violet like a sister, but they were my family, and I couldn't let anything happen to them. So I complied. I helped track where Violet lived, made it easy since she trusted me. But then I met you, and I wanted out. That's when Strucker killed my brother. He had them hostage at some unknown warehouse, so I couldn't ask anyone for help. He threatened to blow her to pieces if I did. I had to save my mom...she's the only one I have left, and—"

"You have me," I interrupted, my voice rough but filled with sympathy.

"But I betrayed you," she said, her voice cracking. "And now I have no idea where my mother is, and Violet is unconscious because of me."

"I know," I said softly, my voice gruff with understanding. "But you had no choice. And I know how it feels when you don't have a choice."

We sat in silence after that, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. There was nothing more to say—no words that could make this right. But I wasn't going to hold her responsible for something she couldn't control. 

After a few moments, we decided it was time to find somewhere that could help Violet. As we stood up, the sound of engines filled the air, and I looked up to see a jet slowly descending. It was big, black, and all too familiar. My heart skipped a beat as it landed—sleek and powerful, just as I remembered it. 

It was the X-Men jet.

Two figures emerged from the jet, and as they approached, their faces became clear. The first was Storm, her familiar gray hair styled in the same pixie cut that hadn't changed at all. Beside her was Hank—Beast. He looked a bit younger than I remembered, but the glasses were the same, and his scrawny body was the same as the other Hank.

As they walked toward us, Storm's eyes widened in shock. "Logan?" she said, disbelief clear in her voice. "You're alive?"

I met her gaze and shook my head slightly. "I'm not the Logan you think I am," I replied. "I'm from a different universe."

Their expressions shifted from shock to confusion. I could see the questions forming in their minds, but before they could ask, I added, "I know. I'm still getting used to it myself." Hank adjusted his glasses, his eyes narrowing as he processed what I'd said. "A different universe, huh?" he mused, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "So, I guess my multiverse theory was true after all."

I couldn't help but smirk at his remark—Hank's always been a nerd. But curiosity got the better of me. "How did you know we were even here?" I asked, glancing down at Violet's limp body, my concern for her outweighing everything else.

"Charles felt an intense amount of power here," Hank explained, his tone serious. "He told us to come check it out. But I never would have guessed you were here." "Well, it's good you came because we need your help," I said, my voice edged with urgency.

"We've been here for an hour, and she still hasn't woken up."

"Alright, let's get her onto the jet so I can check her vitals," Hank said, his voice calm but determined.

I nodded in agreement, carefully lifting Violet into my arms. Together, we all walked toward the jet, the weight of the situation pressing down on me with every step.

As Storm piloted the jet, Hank was busy checking Violet's vitals, monitoring her heartbeat with focused precision. Laura and I sat back, watching anxiously. I couldn't take my eyes off Violet, the worry gnawing at me. 

Noticing how tense I was, Laura reached out and placed her hand on mine. The unexpected touch made me flinch, but I didn't pull away. Instead, I let her hand stay there, a small comfort in the midst of the chaos.

After a few tense moments, Laura finally spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you know when she's going to wake up?"

Hank glanced at her, his expression serious. "No, I don't. But when we get to the school, we can take a better look at her in my lab."

Laura furrowed her brow, clearly puzzled. "School?" she echoed, the confusion evident in her voice. Hank offered a small, reassuring smile. "Yes, the school. It's a place for people like us—mutants. We train there, learn to control our powers, and live together. It's called Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."

Laura's eyes widened slightly as she absorbed the information. "A school... for mutants?"

"Exactly," Hank confirmed, his tone gentle but inquisitive. "What's your name, if you don't mind me asking? And... are you a mutant?"

Laura hesitated, glancing at me before answering. "My name's Laura," she said softly. "And yes, I'm a mutant."

Hank nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Well, Laura, you're in good company. We'll do everything we can to help your friend, I promise."

I looked at Laura with a small smile, a flicker of hope stirring within me. She was tough, like me, but there was a vulnerability in her eyes that reminded me of what it was like to find a place where you belong. I couldn't help but think that she might like the school, just as I had in my world. It was a place that offered more than just training; it was a place that gave people like us a sense of family. 

It took about an hour to reach the school, which made sense once I found out we were in Serbia.  I couldn't shake the mix of anticipation and anxiety building inside me. I kept glancing at Violet, hoping she'd wake up, but she remained unconscious. Laura stayed close, her hand occasionally brushing mine, offering silent support.

Charles approached me, his eyes locking onto mine with a mix of surprise and understanding. "Logan," he said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of years. "I never imagined I'd see you again."

I nodded, the corners of my mouth twitching into a small, weary smile. "I'm not the Logan you remember, Charles. I'm from a different universe." The words felt strange, even after having said them before, but Charles took them in stride.

"I see," he replied, his tone contemplative. "The multiverse theory—Hank was always convinced it was possible. It seems he was right."

He paused, looking toward the medical room where Violet was being examined. "She's important to you, isn't she?"

"More than I can explain," I admitted, my voice rough with emotion. "She's been through hell, and now she's here... like this, because of Strucker."

Charles nodded slowly, absorbing my words. "We'll do everything we can to help her, Logan. I promise you that. You're not alone in this."

Hearing those words from Charles brought a small sense of relief, a reminder that even in this different world, there were still people who had my back. I leaned back in the chair, the tension in my muscles easing just a bit, as I waited for any news about Violet. As Charles looked over at me, his gaze shifted to the young woman sitting beside me. He studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was piecing something together.

"And who might this be?" Charles asked gently, his curiosity evident.

"This is Laura," I replied, glancing at her with a mix of pride and protectiveness. "She's... well, she's like me."

Charles raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Like you? A mutant?"

"Yeah," I confirmed. "She's got claws, healing... the whole package."Charles looked at Laura with a soft, understanding smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Laura. You're welcome here, just as Logan is."

Laura met his gaze with a mix of wariness and curiosity, clearly unsure of what to make of the situation. But she nodded slightly in acknowledgment, her hand still resting on mine. I could tell she was nervous, but there was a flicker of hope in her eyes—maybe she was beginning to believe that this place could be a new start for her.

----

After what felt like an eternity, the door to the medical room finally opened, and Hank stepped out. Laura and I quickly stood up, the tension palpable between us. My heart pounded in my chest as I searched Hank's face for any sign of what he might say.

Hank approached us, his expression serious but not without a hint of reassurance. "She hasn't woken up yet," he began, and I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach. Laura's grip on my arm tightened, but she stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

"But," Hank added, glancing between the two of us, "we were able to get some readings from the scan. It looks like she may have experienced some form of memory loss. There's some irregular activity in the parts of her brain responsible for memory retention and recall."

"Memory loss?" I echoed, struggling to process what that meant. "How bad is it?"Hank sighed, clearly trying to tread carefully. "It's hard to say for sure without her being awake, but it's possible that she could have lost some recent memories. We won't know the extent until she regains consciousness."

I felt a wave of frustration and helplessness wash over me. Violet had already been through so much, and now this? "Is there anything we can do?" I asked, my voice rough with emotion.

"For now, we just need to let her rest and monitor her closely," Hank replied. "We'll do everything we can to help her recover. But you should be prepared for the possibility that she might not remember everything—especially recent events."

I nodded, swallowing hard as I tried to keep my emotions in check. Laura's hand remained on my arm, her presence grounding me as I tried to absorb what Hank was telling us.

Hank gestured to a young woman standing nearby. "Micah, my assistant, can take you both upstairs to grab something to eat," he offered, his voice gentle, understanding the toll this was taking on us.

I shook my head, my jaw tight with determination. "I'm staying here until she wakes up," I said firmly. I couldn't bring myself to leave Violet's side, not now, not when she needed me.

But before I could say anything more, Laura spoke up. "No, let's go," she insisted, her tone softer but firm. She looked at me with those intense eyes, a mixture of concern and resolve. "You need to eat, and so do I. We'll be stronger when she wakes up if we take care of ourselves."

I hesitated, torn between my instinct to stay with Violet and the logic of Laura's words. I knew she was right, but it was hard to admit. Finally, I sighed, nodding reluctantly. "Alright," I said, though the decision didn't come easy. "But I'm comin right back."

Laura gave me a small, encouraging smile, and together, we followed Micah out of the room, my mind still with Violet even as we walked away.

As I walked through the school, everything felt strangely familiar yet different at the same time. It was trippy, like I was caught between two worlds. Memories from my past started flooding in, but I quickly pushed them back, not wanting to get lost in what was and what could never be again.

I glanced at Laura, and I could see the awe in her eyes as she took in the sight of so many kids like her—mutants—who didn't have to hide like she did before. It made me feel relieved, knowing that she was starting to feel comfortable here. I'm new to this whole dad thing, but I'm going to try my hardest to make sure she feels safe and secure.

As we walked into the kitchen, I suddenly froze. Two familiar faces were staring back at me, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. The speedster with the big mouth looked at me like he'd seen a ghost, which, in a way, I guess I was in this instance. Beside him stood Raven, her eyes wide with surprise.

Peter, was the first to break the silence. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up!" he said, zipping around me in a blur before coming to a stop right in front of my face. "Did someone just hit the rewind button on life, or did I accidentally break the space-time continuum again? Because last I checked, you were... well, let's just say you were taking a really long nap."Raven, standing beside him, crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, her expression cool but clearly baffled. "Logan, is that really you?" she asked, her voice calm, but I could see the disbelief in her eyes. "We thought you were gone for good."

I sighed, already feeling the weariness of having to explain this again. "Yeah, it's me, but I'm not the Logan you knew. I'm from a different universe." The words felt like they were wearing out, even as I said them. 

Peter's eyes widened even more, and he let out a low whistle. "Different universe? Man, that's some serious sci-fi stuff right there. Do you, like, have a doppelgänger running around somewhere? Or maybe you've got a secret twin? Please tell me there's a multiverse where I have an infinite supply of Twinkies!" Raven shot Peter a look that said, "Seriously?" before turning back to me, her expression softening a bit. "This is... a lot to take in, Logan. But I'm glad you're here, even if it's not the same you."

I gave a half-smile, appreciating her steady presence. "Yeah, it's been a lot to take in for me too."

Peter grinned, clearly still processing the whole "different universe" thing in his own way. "Well, whatever universe you're from, it's good to see you, man. This place is way too quiet without you around."

"Quiet, huh?" I muttered, glancing at Raven, who smirked at the idea of this place ever being quiet. Peter's energy was enough to keep the noise level high, universe aside.

As we all settled into the moment, I could feel the tension ease just a bit, even if the situation was still surreal. 

As we sat down to eat, Peter zipped around the kitchen, throwing together sandwiches for Laura and me with his usual speed. Even in this universe, he still managed to give me whiplash with how fast he moved.

"Turkey and cheese, coming right up!" Peter announced, sliding the sandwiches in front of us with a grin. "And don't worry, I kept it simple. No surprises... this time."

Laura eyed the sandwich cautiously, but she didn't say anything, just took a small bite. I couldn't help but smirk, shaking my head at Peter's usual antics. "You're still a whirlwind, aren't ya?"Peter flopped into a chair across from us, already halfway through his own sandwich. "Hey, speed's my thing, right? Gotta stick with what I'm good at," he said with a laugh. Then, with a curious look, he turned to me. "So, Logan, how's it feel to be back here? Must be pretty trippy for you huh, huh."

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the truth was, it was strange. Everything looked familiar, yet not quite the same. I glanced over at Raven, who was quietly eating her sandwich, watching the conversation with an amused smile.

"Yeah, it's weird," I admitted. "But, you know... some things are really different. Like you," I added, nodding toward Raven. "In my world, you were... well, let's just say we weren't exactly on the same side."

Raven raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the idea. "Is that so?" she said, her tone light, but there was a hint of curiosity there. "I guess I wasn't as nice to you over there?"

I smirked, taking a bite of my sandwich. "Not exactly. It's just... strange, seeing you here, being... well, nice."

Peter looked between us, clearly enjoying the exchange. "So, wait—what was she like in your universe? All bad and scary?" he asked, leaning in as if he were about to hear a juicy story.

"Something like that," I replied, keeping it vague. There were things about my world I didn't feel like diving into, especially not now. But seeing Raven like this, it was a reminder of how different things could be.

Raven just chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Well, I'm glad I'm on the right side this time, at least as far as you're concerned."

As the conversation flowed, it struck me how surreal it all was—being here, with familiar faces in unfamiliar roles. But despite the differences, there was a sense of ease creeping in, like maybe this place could still offer something I needed. As we continued eating, Raven glanced between me and Laura, curiosity written all over her face. "So, how do you two know each other?" she asked, pointing her sandwich at us casually. For a moment, there was an awkward silence as Laura and I both hesitated, not quite sure how to explain. Laura started to say something, but then stopped, and I could see her struggling to find the right words.

"She's my..." I began, trailing off as I tried to figure out how to phrase it. 

Laura, equally unsure, added, "He's my..." and then she just shrugged, looking at me for help. Finally, I took a deep breath and decided to just lay it out. "She's my kid," I said, my voice firm but a little uncertain, as if saying it out loud would make it more real.

Raven's eyes widened, and she blinked, clearly taken aback. "Your daughter?" she repeated, her tone a mix of disbelief and surprise.

Peter, who had been taking a big bite of his sandwich, nearly choked as he tried to swallow quickly, his eyes bulging. "Wait, what?!" he exclaimed, pointing at Laura. "She's your kid? Like... your actual kid?"

"Yeah," I said, meeting their shocked gazes. "I found out not too long ago. It's... complicated."

Peter let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair as he processed the information. "Man, that's wild. So, what, you're like... a dad now? In this universe or the other one?"

"Both, I guess," I replied, a bit of a smirk on my face despite the awkwardness. "It's been... an adjustment."

Raven shook her head slightly, still looking between the two of us. "Wow, Logan, I didn't see that one coming," she said, clearly trying to wrap her head around the idea. "You, a dad. Huh That's... something."

Laura glanced up at me, her expression a little uncertain but also relieved that the truth was out. I gave her a small nod, hoping to convey that we'd figure this out together.

Peter, still looking like he was trying to solve a puzzle, finally broke into a grin. "Well, this just got a whole lot more interesting. So, do you guys do father-daughter claw sharpening on weekends or what?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at his attempt to lighten the mood. "Something like that," I muttered, shaking my head. Despite the surprise and the awkwardness, it felt good to be honest about it, even if it was still sinking in for all of us.

A few moments passed after we finished eating, and the reality of the situation started to settle in. I realized I needed to call Wade and fill him in on everything that had happened. I turned to Peter, who was finishing off his 3rd sandwich.

"Hey, you got a phone I can use?" I asked.

Peter, always quick on the uptake, pulled out his phone and handed it over. "Sure thing, old man. Who you calling, anyway?"

I smirked as I took the phone. "Wade," I replied, dialing the number that was unfortunately burned into my brain. He'd made damn sure I'd remember it—kept saying it was my lifeline in case I got lost, like I was a damn dog or something.

As the phone rang, a sudden realization hit me. "Oh shit... his dog," I muttered under my breath. Raven, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow. "His dog?"

"Yeah," I said, rubbing my temples. "Wade asked us to take care of his dog while he and Vanessa are out of town. I've been a bit... preoccupied with everything going on. Haven't even thought about the dog since we got here."

Peter chuckled, clearly enjoying the chaos. "Sounds like you're really embracing that whole dad role—taking care of kids and pets now, huh?"

"Don't push it," I muttered, waiting for Wade to pick up. But even as I said it, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Wade's dog was probably causing all kinds of trouble back at the place.

When the call finally connected, I could already hear Wade's voice on the other end, likely mid-sentence about something completely ridiculous. But before he could launch into one of his usual rants, I cut him off.

"Wade, listen," I said, my voice firm. "We've got a situation."

I told him what had happened and that we left his dog in the apartment but before I could even get another word in, Wade's voice exploded through the phone. "WHAT THE FUCK, LOGAN?! You forgot about my dog? My sweet, innocent little girl? Do you have any idea what kind of mayhem she could be causing right now? Vanessa's going to be so pissed if anything happens to her!"

I pulled the phone away from my ear for a second, grimacing at the volume of his shouting. "Wade, calm down," I tried to say, but he was already on a full-blown rant.

"I trusted you with my precious little furball! I gave you one simple job—keep her alive! And what do you do? You go off on some crazy mission and forget all about her like she's yesterday's trash! She could be tearing up your apartment, peeing on your bed, or even worse—getting lonely!"

"Wade!" I practically growled, cutting him off. "We almost got killed. Violet's in the medical wing, unconscious, and we're dealing with some serious shit over here. Your dog was the last thing on my mind!"

There was a brief pause on the other end, and for a second, I thought maybe he'd realized the gravity of the situation. But then, in typical Wade fashion, he responded, "Okay, but seriously, Logan, priorities! Violet's a badass, she'll be fine, but my dog... she's just a delicate little bundle of chaos! What if she's scared? What if she's lonely? What if she's chewing up your favorite pair of boots right now?"

I let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing my forehead. "listen you dumb fuck, I'll check on your dog, alright? But I need you to focus here. We've got bigger problems than some chewed-up shoes."

"Fine, fine," Wade grumbled, though I could still hear the worry in his voice. "But you better not let anything happen to her, or I'm gonna make you dog-sit for a month. And trust me, you don't want that kind of responsibility."

"Noted," I replied dryly, finally getting him to calm down—at least somewhat. "Now, listen, there's more I need to tell you about what happened. Strucker was involved, and it's not over yet."

Wade's tone shifted, finally catching the seriousness in my voice. "Strucker? Fuck... alright, fill me in."

After I filled Wade in on everything that had been going on—the encounter with Strucker, Violet's condition, and the mess we were in—he fell silent for a moment, which was rare for him.

"Alright," he finally said, his voice more serious than usual. "Looks like I'm gonna have to cut this little mother-in-law reunion short. Vanessa and I will head back to the mansion, pick up my dog, and help you guys out. Can't leave my little girl hanging, or you, for that matter."

"You sure?" I asked, half-expecting him to make some joke about avoiding his mother-in-law. 

"Yes, I'm sure peanut," Wade quipped, the usual humor creeping back into his voice. "And besides, I can't let you have all the fun. We'll be there as soon as we can."

"Thanks," I muttered, genuinely appreciating the backup, even if it came with Wade's usual chaos.

"Just make sure my dog's still in one piece when I get there," Wade added, his tone lightening again. "And tell her I'm coming for her, with lots of treats."

"Yeah, yeah," I replied, shaking my head. "Just get here quick."

With that, I hung up the phone, handing it back to Peter, who was still watching me with that curious expression he always had when things got interesting.

"So, looks like the cavalry's coming," I said, feeling a little more at ease knowing Wade was on his way.

---

It was later in the afternoon, and I left Laura back at the mansion while I headed to the apartment to grab a few things. As I walked in through the blasted door, the familiar scent of Violet hit me like a wave. It was a mix of her perfume and something uniquely her, and it made my chest tighten with a longing I hadn't realized I'd been holding back. I missed her more than I could put into words.

Shaking off the emotions, I focused on my task: finding Dog Pool. I moved through the apartment, searching each room until I finally found her under our bed, happily gnawing on one of Violet's shoes. A little growl of frustration escaped me as I crouched down to grab the dog.

"She's going to kill you when she wakes up," I muttered, half to the dog and half to myself, as I picked her up. The dog looked up at me with those innocent eyes, clearly unbothered by the destruction she was causing. 

I let out a sigh, deciding to let it go for now. There were more important things to worry about. After stashing the chewed-up shoe somewhere out of sight, I quickly gathered some clothes for both me and Laura, tossing them into a bag. I found my phone that was stuffed in the couch cushions. Right next to it was Violet's gem bracelet. I quickly put it in my pocket as a reminder of her even though she's always on my mind. 

With Dog Pool securely tucked under one arm and the bag slung over my shoulder, I walked out the door, casting one last glance around the apartment. It felt empty without Violet here, a stark reminder of everything that had happened. I closed the remaining of the door behind me, hoping that the next time I walked through it, it would be with Violet by my side, fully awake and ready to tear into Wade's dog for her shoe.

-- Night had fully settled by the time I made it back inside the mansion. The halls were quieter now, the usual bustle of the day replaced by a more subdued atmosphere. The only sounds were the soft hum of the building and the faint echoes of footsteps from distant rooms. As I walked through the dimly lit corridors, the weight of everything that had happened today pressed down on me. Dog Pool, still nestled in my arm, had finally settled down, her small, rhythmic breathing a steady comfort in the otherwise silent night.

When I reached the medical wing, the lights were low, and the soft beeping of monitors was the only indication of life in the room. I stepped inside, immediately spotting Laura sitting by Violet's bedside, her eyes focused intently on the woman who had become so important to both of us.

Laura glanced up as I entered, her expression a mix of worry and exhaustion. "Did you get what you needed?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," I replied, setting the bag down and carefully placing Dog Pool on the floor. The little dog sniffed around before curling up in a corner, finally deciding to rest.

I walked over to Violet's bedside, taking in the sight of her lying there so still. Her chest rose and fell steadily, but she hadn't stirred since we brought her in. I reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, feeling a pang of longing mixed with frustration. 

"How's she doing?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"No change," Laura whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. "But I know she's strong. She'll wake up."

I nodded, hoping Laura was right. I pulled up a chair next to hers, sitting down and leaning forward, my elbows resting on my knees. The room was quiet, the soft glow of the monitors casting a faint light over us.

We sat in silence, the weight of the night pressing down on us as we watched over Violet. The quiet was almost oppressive, the only sounds coming from the faint beeping of the monitors. Laura sat next to me, her eyes fixed on Violet, while I kept my thoughts focused on anything but the worst-case scenarios.

Then, the silence was broken by the soft whoosh of the doors opening. Laura and I both looked up at the same time, and there, entering the room, were Charles and Storm.

Charles rolled in with his usual calm demeanor, his eyes scanning the room before settling on Violet. Beside him, Storm walked with that quiet grace she always had, her presence commanding yet soothing at the same time.

"Logan," Charles greeted me softly, his voice filled with understanding. "Laura."

"Charles, Storm," I replied with a nod, acknowledging them both. Laura offered a small nod as well, her expression cautious but respectful.Charles wheeled himself closer to Violet's bedside, his eyes filled with concern as he observed her condition. "Hank updated me on what's been happening," he said, his tone gentle. "How are you both holding up?"

I glanced at Laura, then back at Charles. "We're managing," I said, though the strain in my voice was clear. "Just waiting for her to wake up."

Storm stepped forward, her gaze soft as she looked down at Violet. "She's seems like a fighter, Logan. She'll wake up."

"I know," I replied, my voice rough. "I just hate this waiting."

Charles nodded, his expression understanding. "Waiting can be the hardest part, but you're doing everything you can by being by her side."

There was a brief silence as Charles studied Violet, his brows furrowing slightly. Then he looked up at me, his eyes thoughtful. "Would you like me to try reaching out to her mind? It might help... or at the very least, we could get some sense of where she is."

I hesitated, the idea of someone probing her mind making me uneasy. But if it could help... I looked at Laura, and she gave me a small nod, her silent way of saying she trusted Charles.

"Alright," I said finally. "Give it a shot."

Charles gave a reassuring nod, then closed his eyes, focusing as he reached out with his mind. The room seemed to grow even quieter, the tension palpable as we all waited to see if he could make any connection with Violet.

Charles POV

As I entered Violet's mind, I found myself standing in a vast, endless expanse of white. The emptiness stretched out in all directions, silent and still. In the distance, I noticed a small house, standing alone against the backdrop of nothingness. It seemed out of place, yet somehow fitting in this strange, mental landscape.

I began walking toward the house, each step echoing softly in the void. When I reached the door, I hesitated for a moment, then pushed it open. Inside, the atmosphere was entirely different—warm, almost comforting. There she was, Violet, sitting in the center of the room, her legs crossed as she floated just above the floor. A soft, purple glow of magic surrounded her, gently pulsing with energy.

Her eyes were closed, but the moment I stepped through the door, they opened. Her gaze met mine, calm yet distant, as if she was both here and somewhere far away."Violet," I said softly, stepping closer. "You need to wake up."

She looked at me with a serene smile, a strange sense of peace in her expression. "Violet is alright," she said, her voice echoing slightly in the empty space. "She just needs to rest."

Before I could respond, she flicked her wrist, and suddenly, an invisible force slammed into me, sending me flying backward. The next thing I knew, I was being expelled from her mind with such force that it made me physically flinch.

Logans POV

I watched Charles intently, my nerves on edge as he entered Violet's mind. The room was dead quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the machines monitoring her condition. Then, suddenly, Charles flinched, his body jolting slightly as if he'd been physically hit. My heart skipped a beat, and I leaned forward, tension tightening in my chest.

A moment later, he opened his eyes, and I could see the strain in them, like whatever he'd just experienced had taken a toll. "Charles?" I asked, my voice rougher than I intended. "What happened? Did you reach her?"

Charles took a breath, steadying himself before speaking. "I did," he said, his tone calm but with an underlying unease. "She's alright, but... she's not ready to wake up yet. She's resting, and it seems she doesn't want to be disturbed."

I felt a mix of relief and frustration at his words. Relief that she was okay, but frustration that she still wasn't coming back to us. "What do you mean she doesn't want to be disturbed?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "She's just gonna stay like this?"

Charles looked at me, his expression serious. "She's in a state of deep rest, Logan. Whatever she's been through, something is protecting her. She needs time to recover, and she's chosen to do so in her own way. I tried to reach out, but she... pushed me out."

"Pushed you out?" Laura echoed, her voice laced with concern.

Charles nodded. "Yes, with a significant force. It was clear that she wants to be left alone for now. But she's safe, Logan. That much I can assure you."

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of the situation settle in. "So we just wait?"

"For now, yes," Charles said gently. "All we can do is give her the time she needs and be here when she's ready to return."

I looked at Violet, her still form lying there, and the helplessness I felt was almost overwhelming. But there was nothing more I could do—nothing but wait and hope that when she was ready, she'd come back to us.

- 

I woke up to the sensation of Dog Pool's tongue on my cheek, her persistent licking pulling me out of sleep. Groaning slightly, I wiped my face and looked over at the clock hanging on the wall. It was 8 a.m., and I could already feel the stiffness in my back from sleeping on the hospital bed. It wasn't exactly the most comfortable place to sleep, but it was the closest bed to Violet, even if she was in a different room.

I stretched, feeling the ache in my muscles as I sat up. Dog Pool wagged her tail, clearly pleased with herself for waking me up. "Alright, alright," I muttered, giving her a quick pat on the head. "Let's see how she's doing."

Laura was upstairs, in one of the rooms with the other kids. I figured it was better for her to be around them, to get some rest in a proper bed, even if I couldn't bring myself to leave Violet's side. At least this way, Laura would have some semblance of normalcy.

I stood up, feeling the stiffness in my joints, and headed for Violet's room. The door was slightly ajar, and as I pushed it open, I saw that Hank was already there, standing by her bedside. He was checking the monitors, his face serious but focused.

"Morning, Hank," I said quietly as I stepped into the room.

Hank glanced up, giving me a small nod. "Morning, Logan. I was just going over her vitals again."

I moved closer, my eyes immediately going to Violet. She looked peaceful, but there was still no sign of her waking up. The machines around her beeped softly, a constant reminder of the limbo we were all stuck in.

"Any change?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Nothing significant," Hank replied, his tone measured. "Her body's stable, but her mind... it's still in that resting state. She's not ready to come back just yet."

I let out a slow breath, trying to push back the frustration and helplessness that threatened to overwhelm me. "I just want her to wake up," I muttered, more to myself than to Hank.

"I know," Hank said, his voice gentle. "And she will. But whatever she's been through, it's going to take time. Right now, all we can do is be patient and make sure she's surrounded by people who care about her when she does wake up."

I nodded, my gaze never leaving Violet's face. Patience had never been my strong suit, but for her, I'd wait as long as it took.

---- 

Just as I was settling into the quiet of the room, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw Wade's name on the screen. Finally. I answered, and before I could say anything, Wade's voice came through loud and clear.

"Hey, Logan! Just got off the plane—Vanessa and I are on our way to the mansion. Dog Pool better be alive and well, or I'm holding you personally responsible for every single shoe she chews from now on."

I rolled my eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth despite everything. "She's fine, Wade. Just get here."

"On it! We'll be there soon. Prepare the red carpet!" Wade quipped before hanging up.

With Wade and Vanessa on their way, I decided to head to the kitchen for some breakfast. I hadn't eaten since last night, and the gnawing hunger was becoming hard to ignore. As I made my way through the mansion, my mind was still on Violet, but I knew I needed to keep my strength up—for her, and for whatever came next.

When I reached the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee and something frying on the stove filled the air. I rounded the corner, expecting to find it empty at this hour, but instead, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Standing by the counter, flipping pancakes with a casual ease, was someone I thought I'd never see again. Scott Summers—Mr.Cyclops. He looked up when he heard me enter, and for a moment, both of us just stared at each other, the shock evident on his face as well.

"Logan," Scott finally said, his voice a mix of surprise and something else I couldn't quite place. He gave me a once-over, his gaze lingering on the lines in my face, the graying at my temples. "You're here and... old."

I huffed out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, well, you're a dick.

Scott's expression softened, and he nodded. "I Guess I am."

There was a brief, awkward silence as we both stood there, trying to bridge the gap between what was and what is. Eventually, Scott broke the silence, gesturing to the pancakes. "You want some? I was making enough for a small army, anyway."

I hesitated for a second, then nodded. "Sure, why not."

As I sat down at the table, Scott brought over a plate stacked high with pancakes and a mug of coffee. It was strange, sitting here with him like this, after everything. But maybe, in some weird way, it was also what I needed—a reminder that, despite the chaos, some things still made sense.

As I dug into the pancakes, I couldn't help but think about the twisted paths our lives had taken to bring us to this moment. And while I wasn't sure where we stood now, it was good to know that some connections, no matter how strained, could still be there when you needed them.

As I took a bite of the pancakes, Scott leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched me. There was something searching in his gaze, like he was still trying to wrap his head around what he was seeing.

"When they told me you were alive..." he began, then paused, shaking his head slightly as if to correct himself. "Well, I mean, when they told me there was another you, I couldn't believe it."

I looked up at him, swallowing my mouthful of food before replying. "Yeah, trust me, it's been a trip for me too. I'm not exactly the Logan you knew, but... here I am."

Scott nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It's weird, you know? Seeing you here, older, but still... you. Part of me keeps expecting the Logan I remember to walk through the door, full of his usual stubbornness and bravado."

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "Well, I've still got the stubbornness, if that counts for anything."

Scott allowed himself a small smile, but there was a lingering sadness in his eyes. "It counts for a lot, actually. I never thought I'd get a chance to see you again, even if it's not exactly the same you. But maybe... maybe it's close enough."

I nodded, understanding the weight behind his words. For all the differences, there were still some things that hadn't changed, and maybe that was enough for now.

"Yeah," I said quietly, looking down at the plate of pancakes. "Maybe it is."

We lapsed into a comfortable silence after that, the kind that comes from shared history and mutual respect, even if the details are different. As I continued eating, Scott poured himself a cup of coffee, leaning back against the counter as he sipped it slowly.

"So," he said after a while, breaking the silence, "what's the plan now? With everything going on, I mean."

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. "Honestly? Right now, I'm just focused on getting Violet to wake up. After that... we'll see."

Scott nodded again, his expression serious. "Is she your girl friend or something " 

I met his gaze, and smirked " Yeah she is." continue with Scott saying something cocky towards Logan 

Scott raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Well, well, Logan. I didn't think you were the type to settle down. Guess there's a first time for everything, huh?"

I shot him a look, the smirk fading into something more serious. "Yeah, well, I don't need your approval, Summers."

Scott chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Didn't say you did, old man. Just surprised is all. But hey, if she's with you, she must have a thing for grumpy, brooding types. Lucky you."

I narrowed my eyes at him, not in the mood for his usual cocky attitude. "Careful, Summers. I might be from a different universe, but I'm still not above knocking you on your ass if you push it."

Scott held up his hands in mock surrender, the grin still on his face. "Easy there, Wolverine. Just making sure you've still got that edge. Wouldn't want you to get soft now that you've got someone to worry about."

Scott's grin softened, the teasing fading as he gave me a more genuine look. "But in all seriousness Logan. Just... take care of her. Sounds like she's been through Hell."

I nodded, my tone more even. "I will. That's not something you need to worry about."

Scott nodded back, the moment of rivalry giving way to a mutual understanding. "Good."

As I chewed on my food, the thoughts of my past began to creep in, unbidden and unwelcome. Memories of battles, of lost friends, and of Jean. The weight of those memories made the pancakes taste like ash in my mouth. I glanced over at Scott, who was sipping his coffee, his gaze distant.

He must have noticed something in my expression because he looked up at me, eyebrows raised. "What?" he asked, his tone curious but cautious.

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. Part of me didn't want to bring it up, but the question had been gnawing at me since I got here. Finally, I just spit it out. "Is Jean here... I mean, is she...?"

Before I could finish, Scott cut me off, his voice flat and final. "She's gone, Logan."

The air between us seemed to thicken, heavy with the weight of that simple statement. I looked down at my plate, the memories of Jean from my world flashing through my mind. The love, the loss, the guilt—it was all still there, no matter the universe.

Scott must have sensed where my thoughts were heading because he tried to lighten the mood, though there was a forced edge to his tone. "What, were you trying to steal my girl in your universe, huh?"

I looked up at him, a sad smile tugging at my lips. "She was always your girl, Scott," I replied, the honesty in my voice unmistakable. "But... she died in mine too."

Scott's face softened, the banter falling away as he absorbed my words. "How did she die here?" I asked, the question heavy with the shared pain of loss.

Scott sighed, setting his coffee cup down on the counter. "She sacrificed herself to save all of us. She couldn't control the Phoenix, and in the end, she chose to stop it the only way she knew how."

I nodded slowly, the ache in my chest familiar, even if the details were different. "Sounds like her," I said quietly. "She always put others first."

Scott nodded in agreement, his eyes clouded with old grief. "Yeah... she did."For a moment, we just sat there in silence, both of us lost in our own memories of the woman we'd both loved in different ways, in different worlds. It was a strange kind of bond, one forged in shared loss and the understanding that some things, no matter the universe, were just meant to be.

Eventually, I looked up at Scott, my voice steady. "I'm sorry, Scott."

He met my gaze, and for the first time in a long time, there was a flicker of something like understanding between us. "Me too, Logan. Me too."

---

Just as I was finishing my breakfast, I heard the unmistakable sound of Wade's voice echoing through the mansion. It wasn't long before he burst into the kitchen, full of his usual energy, with Vanessa following close behind.

"Logan!" Wade shouted, his face lighting up with that familiar, slightly manic grin. Before I could react, he wrapped me in a bear hug that nearly knocked the wind out of me. But, in true Wade fashion, he followed it up with a slap on the shoulder, not entirely playful. "That's for leaving my precious Dog Pool alone, you big, irresponsible lug! You're lucky she didn't redecorate your whole place in the color of destruction!"

I smirked, rubbing my shoulder where he'd slapped me. "She's fine, Wade. More worried about Violet's shoes than anything else."

"Yeah, well, priorities, man!" Wade retorted, though there was a glint of concern in his eyes beneath the humor.

Vanessa stepped forward, offering me a warm hug that I didn't mind at all. There was something comforting about her presence, a calmness that balanced out Wade's chaotic energy. "It's good to see you, Logan," she said softly as she pulled back, her expression turning serious. "Where's Violet? Is she alright?"

I nodded, but the tension in my shoulders must have given away the fact that everything wasn't quite alright. "She's in the medical wing," I replied, my voice a bit strained. "She's stable, but... she hasn't woken up yet."

Vanessa's face softened with concern. "Oh, Logan," she murmured, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on my arm. "I'm so sorry. we'll get through this."

Wade's usual bravado dimmed slightly, and he nodded. "Yeah, we're here now, man. Whatever you need, you got it."

I gave them both a grateful nod, appreciating their support more than I could express. "Thanks. It means a lot."

"Don't mention it," Wade said, though his voice was softer than usual. "Now let's go check on Violet. And maybe, just maybe, we can all figure out a way to get her back on her feet—so she can kill me for that shoe."

Together, we made our way to the medical wing, the weight of the situation heavy on all of us, but the presence of friends making it just a little easier to bear.

We made our way to the room where Violet was resting, and as we stepped inside, I noticed Laura was already there, sitting in a chair by the bedside, casually eating a bowl of cereal. She looked up when we entered, quickly setting the bowl aside and standing up to greet us.

"Hey, Wade. Vanessa," Laura said with a small smile, her tone a bit more relaxed than usual.

Vanessa immediately walked over to her and wrapped her in a warm hug, something Laura wasn't entirely used to, but she didn't pull away. "It's good to see you, Laura," Vanessa said, her voice full of warmth.

Wade gave Laura a quick nod, a flicker of his usual playfulness in his eyes, but he kept his focus mostly on Violet. As they approached the bed, Vanessa's expression turned to one of deep concern, while Wade, ever the joker, couldn't help but make a comment.

"Wow, Violet," Wade said, his voice laced with a mix of humor and genuine concern. "Gotta say, that's one hell of a suit you've got on there. Looks like something straight out of a comic book. Or maybe a sci-fi movie. Either way, I approve."

Vanessa shot him a look, half-amused, half-reproachful. "Wade..."

"What?" Wade shrugged innocently. "I'm just saying, if she wakes up and decides to join a superhero team, she's already got the outfit."

Despite the situation, I couldn't help but smirk at Wade's comment. Leave it to him to find a way to make light of even the most serious situations. But I knew it was his way of dealing with things—humor was his armor, his way of keeping the darkness at bay.

Vanessa gently touched Violet's hand, her concern evident. "We're here, Logan," she said softly, turning to look at me. "Whatever happens, we're with you."

I nodded, feeling the support of those around me. It was a small comfort, but in a situation like this, even small comforts made a big difference.

Wade leaned down a bit closer to Violet, his usual smirk softening into something almost tender. "Alright, Violet," he said quietly, "time to wake up and show us all up. We're not the same without you around to keep us in line."

Vanessa smiled softly at his words, and Laura, still standing nearby, watched with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

All we could do now was wait and hope that Violet would respond, knowing that when she did, she'd be met with all the support and care we could offer.

Part 13: Fractured memories

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

From Hell to Home to Back Again

Summary: At the talent show, Chrissy Cunningham is so hungry that she nearly collapses. When she's found by Hopper, her parents ended up losing custody of her. She ends up being placed in the care of the Hendersons, and she finally finds the family she so desperately needed. She also ends up falling in love. What other changes are made in this alternate universe?

A/N: Sorry about the long wait. I got distracted by side quests.

@emen-98 @1lostsoul0fishbowl @vulpixsworld

Prologue. . .Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The next morning, Chrissy woke up before everyone else and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as she tried to remember the dream from last night. She definitely felt like she was forgetting something important. The more she tried to remember, however, the more her head hurt as though someone was inside her head and fighting against her. Was there something evil inside of her like Phillip had said? Chrissy shook her head and rolled out of bed. She went to her bathroom and took a shower, trying to get her mind off of it. When she got out, everyone was still asleep. It was still too early. Chrissy opened the window and sat on the sill. It still smelled like the rain from last night, and she smiled at the water dripping from the leaves. She pulled out her sketchbook.

"Chrissy! Come on, hurry up!" Dustin exclaimed.

Chrissy cursed as she scrambled to gather her things and get dressed. She had gotten up early, but now she was so distracted by her artwork that she had let the time get away from her. She quickly pulled on a pair of pink shorts and one of Robin's shirts before running out the door with Dustin. They couldn't borrow the car this time, so they were stuck with their bikes.

"Sorry, Dusty," Chrissy said.

"We don't even have time to check on Will," Dustin cursed.

"Something happen with Will?" She asked.

"Well, he called last night, but we got cut off. It had something to do with a fight with Mike," Dustin sighed. "I can't believe I won't be there for him. Some boyfriend I turned out to be."

"I'm sure he knows that you can't be there for him all the time. It's going to happen," Chrissy said.

"I guess," Dustin sighed.

Chrissy and Dustin met up with the others in the break room. Eddie, Ronnie, Steve, and Robin were already there. Eddie jumped up and hugged Chrissy.

"You alright, sweetheart? You look exhausted," Eddie frowned.

"Didn't get a whole lot sleep last night," Chrissy said. "I had a nightmare, but I can't remember what it was."

"Well, hopefully it was nothing to worry about," Eddie said.

He kissed her, and she smiled into it, letting her walls crumble. She felt a lot better once she let him in. Dustin groaned and coughed loudly.

"Seriously?!"

Dustin got up on the roof again to check out the door the Russians were guarding and then reported back to them. They definitely needed a key card to get in. Dustin paced as they tried to come up with anything else.

"There's got to be another way in," Robin said.

"Well, you know I could just take him out," Steve said seriously, and Chrissy pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggle.

"Take who out?" Robin asked.

"The Russian guard," Steve said, and Robin gave him a look. "What? I sneak up behind him, I knock him out, and I take his key card. It's easy."

"Did you not hear the part about the massive gun?" Dustin asked.

"Theoretically, it sounds easy, Steve, but Dustin's right about the gun. I mean, if it wasn't for that, I'd say you totally had a shot," Eddie said.

"Really?" Steve asked.

"We totally have faith in you, babe," Chrissy said. "Especially since you made the connection that the Russians are here in Hawkins."

Suddenly, Steve was smirking, feeling very proud of himself. He did do that. Ronnie gave a thumbs up to Chrissy and Eddie behind Steve’s back.

"Let's be honest here, Steve, have you actually won a fight?" Dustin asked, and Chrissy groaned with Eddie.

"Oh, come on, that was one time - " Steve said.

"Twice. Jonathan. Year prior?" Dustin asked.

"Listen, that doesn't count," Steve said.

"Why wouldn't it? Because it looks like he beat the shit out of you," Dustin said.

"Hey! Did you forget that monster also put your sister in the hospital?" Eddie scowled.

"Oh, right, sorry, Chrissy," Dustin said.

"Apologize to Steve, too. You were being a total asshole," Eddie scolded.

"Sorry, Steve," Dustin muttered, looking sheepish.

Chrissy smiled at Eddie, biting her lip.

"What?"

"I love it when you get all parental," she said.

"Oh, yeah? How much do you love it?" Eddie smirked.

"Come over here and find out," she said.

Eddie straddled her lap, cupping the back of her neck as he kissed her harshly. They had barely started anything before they were being sprayed with a water bottle. They looked over to find Robin standing there with a scowl on her face. Eddie hissed at her.

"You're spending too much time with Uncle Wayne!"

"It's not my fault he introduced me to gardening!" Robin exclaimed. "Anyway, there is a child present. No making babies in front of other baby."

"I am NOT a baby!" Dustin yelled.

Just as she had sat back down, Robin had an idea about how to get in safely. She ran off with the tip money that usually resided on the counter, and Ronnie, since she had a car now. She left Chrissy, Dustin, Eddie, and Steve in charge of Scoops Ahoy.

"How much you want to bet that she's going to end up making out with Ronnie in the back seat?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, no," Steve scoffed. "I already know that I'm going to lose that bet."

Eventually, Robin came back to Scoops with the blueprints to the mall and a hickey on her neck. Chrissy giggled quietly with Steve and Eddie. Together, they bent over the blueprints as Robin showed them that their way in was through the air ducts. No one argued with her, it made sense. Steve immediately climbed on a ladder to unscrew the vent. Chrissy and Eddie stood on either side of him to make sure it was stable.

"Nice view," Eddie and Chrissy said.

"Shut up," Steve said, smirking and putting the grate down with the screwdriver now in his mouth. "Flashlight?"

Chrissy handed it to him, and they watched as he looked into it. It was quickly determined that Dustin nor anyone else could fit in there. It was in that moment that Erica showed up, ringing the bell obnoxiously. Robin looked at Erica, smirking. Chrissy's eyes widened.

"No, absolutely not, Robin," Chrissy said. "We are not putting a child into the vent."

"You didn't protest when it was your brother," Robin said.

"That - that was different," Chrissy muttered.

"How?"

"Because I didn't give myself time to think about it!" Chrissy exclaimed.

"If Russians are doing something nefarious in Hawkins, people need to know about it," Robin said.

"Well, I don't like this," Chrissy scowled, crossing her arms.

"Neither do we," Robin said softly.

"Fine."

Of course, it was Erica Sinclair, and everything came with a price. This girl was definitely going places, Chrissy thought. It was how they ended up in a booth, bribing a little girl with ice cream. She ended up pointing out the flaw in the plan and the fact that it was dangerous for her. It made Chrissy squirm, and she tried to reassure Erica that they'd be in radio contact at all times.

"Erica," Dustin said. "We think these Russians want to do harm to our country. Great harm. Don't you love your country?"

"You can't spell America without Erica," she said.

Chrissy shared a surprised look with her brother, Eddie, Ronnie, and Robin. She never thought about that.

"Uh, yeah, oddly, that's totally true," Dustin said. "So, don't do it for us. Do it for your country. Do it for your fellow man. Do it for America. . .Erica."

"Ooh! I just got the chills," Erica said as she finished her float. "Oh, from this float. Not your speech."

"I like her," Ronnie grinned.

After Erica managed to talk her way into free ice cream for life, Operation Child Endangerment was in progress. Chrissy watched nervously as Erica prepared to climb in the vent. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Eddie grabbed her hand. She had been so focused on Erica.

"I don't like this either," Eddie muttered.

Chrissy smiled at him, squeezing his hand. They made sure that Erica was alright before following the others outside to the roof. They all watched in trepidation, Robin holding the talkie in her hand.

"Alright, I'm here," Erica's voice crackled over the radio. "I see those boring boxes you're talking about."

Chrissy breathed a sigh of relief with Eddie. She noted that everyone looked relieved as well. Chrissy pressed her cheek into Eddie's shoulder. All thoughts of nightmares and Heather had faded from her mind completely. All she could think about was Erica.

"Any guards?" Robin asked.

"Negative," Erica replied.

"Booby traps?" Robin asked.

"If I could see them, they'd be pretty shit traps, wouldn't they?" Erica asked.

"Thank you for that," Robin said.

Steve shared a look with Eddie and then a laugh. Chrissy smirked. It looks like Robin was going to get adopted herself by a smart mouthed kid.

"I'm in," Erica said.

"Oh god," Steve said, running his hands through his hair.

"Is it too late to back out?" Ronnie asked, looking stressed herself.

"Yeah, I think so," Eddie said.

"How did we get here again?" Ronnie asked.

"We fell in love," Eddie replied.

"Right."

Erica opened the doors just then, and Chrissy beamed as they locked eyes.

"Free ice cream for life," Erica said.

Yeah, she definitely deserved it. The group rushed into the room and immediately opened one of the boxes with Dustin's pocket knife. Nestled inside was a metal box. Steve opened it, a loud hissing sound coming with it as he did it. Inside were four cylinders, made of the same metal.

"Uh, maybe you guys should step back," Steve cautioned.

"And let you be the hero?" Eddie said, flashing his dimples. "Can't let you have all the fun."

"No," Dustin said and Steve pushed him back gently.

"Just step back, okay?" Steve asked, softly.

Chrissy smiled at the care Steve showed her brother. It still warmed her heart to see it.

"No."

"Step back. Seriously!"

"If you die, I die," Dustin said.

Steve looked at him, torn between being touched and being concerned. He gave up and pulled out the cylinders, revealing a glass container filled with a strange, green substance.

"What the fuck is that?" Ronnie asked.

"Whatever you do, Eddie, don't fucking lick it," Robin said.

Chrissy crinkled her nose as she was suddenly reminded of the time her boyfriend licked Dart's shedded skin. Before she could say something, the entire room shook.

"Was that me or did the room move?" Dustin asked.

"Nope! It definitely wasn't just you," Chrissy said.

"Booby traps," Erica whispered.

There was a mechanical whirring sound, which meant that it was time to go. However, despite all their attempts, the open door button would not work. They all tried, but all that happened was a large metal wall sliding down. The entire room began to drop. They were in a fucking elevator. It was faster than any elevator that Chrissy had been in. Everyone was screaming. Chrissy grabbed onto Erica as she tried to secure her. If she were in any other situation, she'd be amused that Eddie and Steve were holding onto each other rather tightly.

"We're going down. We're going down!" Steve shrieked.

"Yeah, no shit, Harrington!" Robin yelled.

Ronnie was doing everything she could do to hold onto her girlfriend. Finally, it all came to a crashing halt and they all fell to the ground, boxes falling over and onto him.

"My groin! It fell on my groin!" Steve exclaimed. "Eddie! Get this thing off of me!"

"Right!" Eddie exclaimed and took the box off Steve before helping him up. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, no permanent damage, I don't think," Steve said, and Eddie winced in sympathy, clapping him on the back.

"Is everyone alright?" Robin asked.

"Yeah! Too bad Russians can't fucking design elevators!" Eddie yelled.

"Took the words right out of my mouth! Stupid fucking buttons!" Steve hollered.

"I think we probably needed a key card to use the buttons," Chrissy said. "I think."

"Definitely," Robin and Ronnie said.

Everyone's tempers were flaring up, and Chrissy knew that it was also because they were scared. Chrissy couldn't take it when Steve and Erica started yelling at each other.

"Enough! Yelling at each other isn't going to get anywhere, and I know that I'm yelling, but it's to get you to stop yelling!" She explained and took a deep breath. "We need to work together and figure a way out of here. Alright?"

That was when Dustin pointed at the ceiling.

"What if we climbed out?" He asked.

They were all so tired, exhausted from what just happened. It didn't take long for the kids to konk out before they could actually go through the hatch. Meanwhile, Steve, Eddie, Chrissy, Robin, and Ronnie decided to stay up to discuss what their next plan of attack would be.

"So, this is happening," Ronnie said in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, babe," Robin said. "For dragging you into this."

"Don't be a dingus, I chose to follow you," Ronnie said. "And I would follow you anywhere."

"That's my word, you know," Robin said.

"Stealing it," she said. "And I'm stealing you."

Chrissy watched them with a sleepy smile as Ronnie kissed Robin. Even with the situation being what it was, they were finding ways to make it work.

"Can't Chrissy - you know - " she heard Steve whisper to Eddie.

"Man, she looks too exhausted," Eddie sighed. "But it's up to her if she wants to try."

"I'm sorry," Chrissy muttered. "I don't think I can."

"It's alright, thought I'd mention it," Steve sighed.

Chrissy sighed and pressed her cheek against Eddie's shoulder, her eyes fluttering. She felt Eddie drop a kiss onto her forehead.

"Get some sleep. We'll look after the kids," Eddie whispered.

And then she was falling. . .

"CHRISSY, CHRISSY!"

Chrissy was in the dark void again, and she could hear Heather screaming for her. She ran as fast as she could towards Heather's voice, but she wasn't sure if she was moving at all or if it was nothing but utter darkness.

"HEATHER!"

Then came that voice again, that voice in the darkness. . .the voice she could never seem to find.

"YOU ARE MINE!"

8 hours later. . .

Dustin and Steve climbed up through through the hatch. Looking through it, Chrissy could already tell that there was no way to climb up all that way. Dustin did, however, take the opportunity to use his walkie. It was no use, though. There was no response. Steve warned Dustin that he would drain the battery if he kept it up.

"The mall just opened," Dustin said. "Someone could be in range."

"What? You think Petey the mall cop is going to rappel down here and save the day?" Steve asked.

Eddie and Chrissy giggled as they shared a look. God, Steve could be so funny sometimes, especially when he was interacting with Dustin. Suddenly, a wet patch appeared on the wall as Steve went to the bathroom above them. Lovely.

"Ugh, can you redirect your stream, please?" Robin groaned.

"Ooh, speaking of. . ." Eddie said and pulled himself through the hatch. "Mind if I join you, sailor?"

"If you could find a cup up there, that'd be great, babe!" Chrissy hollered.

"There's one in my bag!" Dustin yelled.

"Jesus, you really do have everything in there, don't ya?" She heard Eddie asked.

Chrissy rifled through Dustin's bag and pulled out the cup. Although, it was actually a thermos. She had managed to relieve herself behind a pile of boxes when Erica started to try and drink the green goo, reminding them all that she could still be a dumb kid. Luckily, Robin stopped her.

"God, I didn't it was possible for us all to get even more intimate with each other," Ronnie said, screwing up her face. "I now know what Steve and Chrissy sound like when they pee."

"Implying that you already know what Eddie sounds like," Robin pointed out.

"Yeah," Ronnie said as Eddie cackled. "That was an unfortunate accident. Still, Chrissy, why do you whistle as you do it?"

They didn't have any time to ask more questions as Robin heard someone coming, and they all quickly scurried up to the top of the elevator. They were definitely Russians, and to Chrissy's amusement, she heard one of them sniff. It was Steve who acted quickly as the Russians left. He dove down into the elevator with the canister filled with the green goo and shoved it under the door to hold it in place. Everyone quickly ran out, and Steve was the last one, narrowly avoiding being squished by the door. It slammed down on the canister, breaking. They all watched with wide eyes as it sizzled and created a hole in the floor. And Erica was suddenly grateful she didn't drink it.

"That is a long fucking walk," Eddie whistled.

"Well, if you can't do it, baby, just say you can't do it," Chrissy teased.

She was certainly feeling better after getting some sleep, despite the nightmare. She was even starting to feel her powers begin to ebb more freely now. Eddie scowled and began to walk down the neverending hallway with determination, and she couldn't help but laugh as he swung his hips.

It was impressively long, despite the fact that it had no fire exits, as Steve had pointed out. Although Robin made a good point, too. The hallway was definitely made for transporting cargo. Who knows what they were using that green goo for? Chrissy smiled as Eddie eagerly jumped into a discussion about promethium with Robin, and Steve pretended like he didn't secretly stash comic books under his bed. They all jumped to the theory that the Russians were building some sort of nuclear weapon.

"Okay, but if they are building something? Why here?" Ronnie asked. "Hawkins, of all places?

Robin shared a look with the others, and their eyes went wide. They all knew it was a possibility. They just didn't want to admit it.

"You don't think - ?" Dustin stared to asked.

"I mean, it definitely seems like it's connected," Chrissy said.

"No! No way! It's not happening!" Eddie exclaimed.

"I mean, it's possible, Eddie," Chrissy said. "You and I both know it is."

"Is there something that you'd like to share with the class?" Ronnie asked, her arms crossed. "And no bullshit this time!"

Of course, they didn't get a chance to answer Ronnie as Dustin's walkie decided to crackle to life. It was the same code again, but they knew it was close, and whatever was transmitting the code could reach the surface. They had to find it. They nearly got caught by a bunch of Russians when they turned down a hallway. Luckily, Erica spotted the comms room. When they got in there, it had been occupied. They froze for a moment, unsure of what to do when the Russian spotted them. Robin tried to confuse him with the Russian that she learned, but he reached for his weapon. Steve screamed and ran toward him before he could pull it out. Eddie and Chrissy were about to intervene when Steve managed to knock him out with a phone. Steve ran his hands through his hair, gaping.

"Okay, that was hot," Eddie said.

"Totally," Chrissy agreed. "Nancy is going cream her pants when I tell her about this."

"Gross, but yeah," Robin agreed. "She is."

"I still have no idea what's happening," Ronnie said. "But that was totally badass, Steve."

While everyone was focused on Dustin arguing with Erica about grabbing a key card and going all the way back, no one had noticed that Ronnie had snuck off until she had come back down the stairs.

"Hey! There's something up there!" Ronnie yelled, fear in her voice.

They all moved up the stairs and through the door. They entered a giant room, full of scientists and a giant machine in the middle. It was opening a gate to the Upside Down.

"What. The. Fuck?" Ronnie cursed.

Chrissy touched the back of her neck, feeling her hair raising up as a cold feeling ran through her.

"Chrisssssy. . ."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

[beanghostprincess]

i think it's very important to know that koala is 160cm(5'3") and nami is 170cm(5'7")

koala needing to stand on her toes to kiss nami..... not only does sabosan have height difference but so does koanami (namoala???? koanami sounds a lot better though)

I think it's very important to know that you have a huge brain and I love all of your ideas 🫶🏻🧡🍊 I vote Koanami! I think it sounds a bit nicer <3

And,, This is making me go insane. Okay. Okay. Lesbian thoughts, I mean- Pretty girls- I mean- Coherent thoughts.

Thinking about Koala and Sabo staying for a few days with them just because they can. Because I think revolutionaries also need their free days. They don't pay them but let them enjoy them at least. Nami and Koala grow really close during these days, and they know it's the last night they're gonna be in the ship because they have responsibilities. Koala is feeling odd because, after leaving everything behind to focus on her ideals, now she has something she wants to treasure and keep with her but she can't do it. And she's starting to understand Sabo way better now and why he always has a hard time leaving Luffy (and Sanji) behind. Nami and her have something going on. A connection. A bond. Fate? She doesn't believe in such. Or the universe. They shouldn't believe in that. But there's just something different about her... And in such a short time, Nami has made her way to Koala's heart.

So Nami is on night watch, right? Courtesy of our dear Sabo moving a few lil threads and saying that Sanji can't possibly do it because he's just sooo exhausted of cooking and he needs somebody to cover for him, and Nami is a good friend. A "good friend" meaning: "I am so charging you for this but enjoy your secret fucking". And of course, Sabo tells Koala to make a move already. She says it's too soon. Or maybe just too risky, keeping in mind they won't be seeing each other for a long time probably. Sabo insists, Koala refuses. But then, she can't sleep. She can't do it!!! She needs to see Nami right away. She might not do anything, but at least she can spend one night with her.

She finds Nami taking care of her tangerines and walking around the ship because she doesn't like sitting still sometimes when watching the ship. She looks around at the sea. Talks to her and Usopp's plants. The usual. Their conversation starts shy and slow and somehow there's so much depth in simple words like "I just thought it'd be nice seeing you" and "I'm glad you did". And so they talk for a little while about everything and nothing until the sun is basically shining over them, barely, and they know the crew's going to wake up soon. Nami seems calm but oddly shy. Like she's expecting something but doesn't have high hopes for it. And Koala thinks that if somebody like Nami, who is used to take what she wants because she's a pirate, doesn't do anything, then somebody so tied to her responsibilities like her should be able to go against her persona too and do something. Or else she will lose this chance. She hates that the last thing she hears before kissing Nami is Sabo's voice telling her to do it, but, well, they've always been each other's inner voices.

So she has to stand on her tiptoes to kiss her, holding her gently by the shoulders and pressing their lips together right behind Nami's tangerine trees while the sun is rising. Nami smiles into the kiss oh so softly and she laughs as if she had been waiting for this for a long time, while Koala doesn't exactly know why she's laughing but laughs too anyway.

When they move away, Nami looks at her fondly and says "You know? I was starting to think I'd have to be the one doing this". And Koala knows, that no matter how far away she goes, they'll be alright.

[ussjellyfish]

Elemental asks: Lightning, spirit and fall

Lightning: What’s the most shocking plot twist you’ve ever come up with?

Once I blew up Earth. It was while I was watching Battlestar Galactica and I felt kind of grim dark, so I did. It happened off screen, but then my characters (from Stargate Atlantis) could never go home again and had to build a new home.

Spirit: What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received on your writing?

I get so many little beautiful compliments. People make me art sometimes. Once someone had me sign a fic I wrote. People name their sims after babies I gave the characters in a fic...It's really lovely how much quiet, mind-blowingly wonderful feedback fanfic writers can get, and I'm so grateful I can experience that connection, because it's so wonderful to have a sense of community.

Fall: Have you ever completely abandoned a WIP?  What led to that decision.

A few times. Once I came back 18 months later and finished it because someone asked nicely on a podcast.

I have two that I'm stalled on right now.

In Small Packages - Michael Burnham/Laira Rillak, Mirror Philippa Georgiou/Katrina Cornwell. It's a little sequel to Firefly where the canon-ish Michael meets a little kid from Firefly and then meets the other Laira, who has lived a very different life. (Laira and Michael are together and really domestic in one universe, not together in the other)

It needs one more chapter and I'm pretty sure what happens and I need to sit down and write it and...I haven't yet. I was going to write two more, one where Michael gets to the other universe but that's a lot of world building and dialogue with many people and that part is intimidating me so...it might get one chapter from Laira's pov where Michael comes back and tells her what she saw, because that sounded nice.

I haven't updated that since April.

The other one I've stalled on is Quantum Variations on a Love Theme (Michael Burnham/Laira Rillak), which is really long, and me stalling on that one is entirely me having feelings that aren't helping the fic.

The people I wrote that one with (where we talked about the headcanons and I dedicated chapters to them) don't talk to me anymore. (they're very busy and our relationship is just...changing. We're growing apart, and that's okay. that happens, but opening up that file makes me sad. Sharing it with them really meant so much to me and one of them stopped reading many chapters ago and the other didn't even tell me when she'd read the finale and I am sad about that.

It's a really good birth scene. I killed it and...the people I was most immersed with, that I told everything too, are gone. It doesn't really matter to them. I don't really matter to them, and that's really hard. (this isn't true, of course, people grow away and it doesn't mean they don't love me, it's just not perhaps in the way I'd like to be loved).

So that fic represents...loss and my feelings of abandonment, and it's hard for me to go back to it and say, well, this is mine. It doesn't matter if you're not here and you're not going to bounce ideas off with me and you're not going to read it, I can still tell this story. I still want to tell this story.

It's the 12th longest fic in entire Star Trek Discovery tag and I've been working on it since January 2022. Often I struggle with what happens after the baby arrives in a long fic where someone is pregnant. Babies are great, but they're also exhausting and the characters are exhausted and the falling action is hard for me. The character's arc was getting through that process and she did and now...

So I'm a little lost on that one. I think I could wrap it up ish in a chapter, and I'll probably get there just not as soon as I'd like.

It also wouldn't be terrible if it ended there. The characters are happy, they went on a great journey together and I had fun writing it and it has some of my best work in it, it just feels sad instead of joyful at the moment.

[darkscaleswriter]

For the director's cut ask game: I've bothered you to the end of time and back about this, but it's been a few years and I maintain that (while your ongoing TMNT one is GREAT, I'm loving the detail and the nuance!) Start It All Again is one of the best and funniest AUs you've ever written. Got anything left to talk about on that front?

(ask for a director’s cut on any of my fics!)

LMAO not a bother!! so happy you like Start It All Again enough to still be thinking about it, have a random assortment of thoughts under the cut :DDD

I don't really have any concrete plans for this au, but it's interesting to go back and re-read stuff that I wrote when I was in a very different place in life. I think if I were to rewrite this fic, the main change I'd make would be shifting the knights' professions from cops to… idk, firefighters or a search and rescue team or something. maybe a security or private investigation company, depending on the vibes haha.

for future fics, it could be interesting to explore the mechanics of reincarnation in this au since it's universe where the links are aware of their reincarnations and this ficlet is far from their first go-around. how many other characters are aware of their past lives? is vaati? I think it would be immensely funny for vaati's modern scheme to take over hyrule to be attempting to orchestrate a corporate takeover of hyrule inc., and the links thwart him by breaking into his server room and destroying everything with swords lmfao. ironically, vaati's company did not back up their data to the cloud. whoops!

vaati: well if i'd known you'd still be using SWORDS in THIS DAY AND AGE--

the links: dude literally when have we ever NOT used swords

ganon is of the opinion that this one's on vaati for failing to have pattern recognition, lol. ganon is also quietly making his own data backups, which isn't going to help him in the end, but it's cute that he tries.

re-reading the comments we spitballed back and forth when i first posted this fic, the adoption roadtrip could also be another fun direction to explore! i wonder if the reincarnated characters would've developed some way to reach out to each other upon getting their memories back, since they've gone through this at least a few times by now. depending on the pace of reincarnations (are the lives back to back? are they separated by a consistent timeframe? are they separated by a random timeframe?), they may or may not be familiar with current technology. use some kind of handwave-y triforce connection or something??

similarly, do people tend to reincarnate in the same family lines and/or physically near each other? are the links and zelda usually neighbors? is it completely random? i think it would be funny if it was random, and there was a life where by sheer dumb luck, everyone ended up on the same city block EXCEPT ganon, who somehow found himself on an antarctic research station or something. he got his memories back very late in that life, and by that point he was already an established uhhh let's say field biologist, so he decided to keep spending the rest of that life tracking leopard seals bc why not. he eventually runs into zelda and the links at a conference and there is very nearly a brawl. their labs proceed to start a bitter academic rivalry that is renowned in their field for years afterward.

speaking of academia, have any historians picked up on this group of people recurring throughout hyrule's history? do the characters look the same in their reincarnations, allowing for a possible record of the same faces showing up over and over again in records? how well-known is the reincarnation phenomenon? is it publicly known at all? on one hand, it would be immensely funny for academics to immediately start knockout tournaments over who gets to approach the reincarnated characters for interviews first. on the other hand, that sounds exhausting and annoying for the reincarnated characters.

it's easier to handle if the reincarnation thing isn't publicly known, which doesn't exclude conspiracy theorists and particularly dogged historians from figuring it out and tracking them down anyway, but this probably happens very infrequently if at all. any conspiracy theorists would be so vindicated though lmao. it's not a conspiracy theory if it's real!!

anyway, there's a lot on this universe that could be explored. thank you for reminding me about this au, it was fun to think about it again!! maybe i'll go back to it someday, who knows haha ^.^

[godsandtorrance]

Loneliness

One of the main things in my life that I struggle with, and that I don't think gets talked about enough, is loneliness.

I'm at the ripe age of 23. I'm at the prime-time where friendships, particularly female friendships, should be the highlight of my life right now. I should be going out drinking (or a different meet-up activity, as I don't actually drink or like risking going out at night in this currant climate), sending memes and inside jokes to the group chat, checking in on a group of women my own age who do the same for me.

But I don't. I have a best friend, but due being busy and other life issues, we don't talk like we used to. Aside from her, there really is no other friend. My colleagues are all older than me, at a completely different life stage, and the only colleague my own age has her own friends who appear to not match my own lifestyle.

I used to have a friend group - five or so girls in my teen years who I went to school with. We would hang out all the time, message each other constantly - not necessarily relatable to adults but still a nice little social and fun group I could rely on.

Naturally, we grew apart as we got older. They changed and went out partying, while I, at the time, was isolated due to my mental health troubles, and I don't like alcohol (as established). Unfortunately, in hindsight I realised it wasn't really a good group of friends. I was very weird (annoyingly so, but I refuse to even entertain the thoughts of my irritating, not-self-aware younger self), and it was obvious, looking back, that they mostly tolerated me, and often left me out of things.

It was also, considering we were a group of hormonal teens, pretty toxic at times too, but I'm happy to say I, at least, have grown up a lot since then and can put that kind of behaviour behind me.

University was a struggle too. As a highly socially anxious young adult, following my stressful few years of intense mental health issues, I really found it difficult to open up to people. In lessons, I'd remain as quiet as possible; I didn't start conversations or join in; I tried a few societies but they just weren't the right fit for me - or maybe I didn't give them enough of a chance.

It took lockdown, a time for reflection for myself and my personal struggles, to see that I was lonely and I wasn't helping myself. I didn't try enough to join in and make the effort - and I couldn't expect other people to always do so first, especially if I gave off the blank-faced, unapproachable (but secretly fearful of looking stupid) vibe.

When I went to university again for my masters degree, I made far more of an effort - I chatted and instigated conversation, said yes to certain meet-ups and really pushed myself to being open and friendly. It didn't get too far, as many in the year-long course had their own friends, and I wasn't entirely perfect at being the right social person, but I knew I could do it. Practice, after all, makes perfect.

Now that I've started work, and I'm steadily trying to figure out what the hell I want to do with my life (more on that another time), I'm gradually trying to let myself be open to any opportunities, conversation, anything.

But it's hard. Seeing people on social media in their tight-knit groups makes me feel like I'm the problem. It feels like I'm the only person in the world incapable of - and undeserving - of friendships. As much as I know social media is a facade at times, there's no denying that there are truly beautiful friendships out there.

However, I use this as something to hold on to, and something to hope for. Knowing that great friendships exist is wonderful, and it's special to know that when the right time comes along, I will meet the right people I click with. I wouldn't want to force any kind of connection, as in my experience trying too hard doesn't work and it's just emotionally exhausting.

Without trying to sound ridiculously over-positive (I can't stand the high-key promotions of being 'happy happy happy!' that saturate social media, it's just not possible to be as joyful as a Cbeebies programme all the time), there is a blessing to having minimal friends. I get to work on the most important friendships I have - the one with myself.

Disgustingly saccharine, I know, but I've spent the past few years working on my mental health issues and actually working through CBT, getting two degrees and simply enjoying the small things. I love being creative, I adore films, I'm a huge reader. The introvert in me gets to enjoy the comfort of staying in and working on my private hobbies.

Of course I want to branch out still - there's such a thing as getting too comfortable in solitude, especially as someone who clearly still misses frequent socialising - but in the meantime I can focus on myself and the activities that bring me joy.

Early twenties are complicated, and I'm still trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do. I don't see myself sticking to this job forever, or putting down roots in my home for too long, so I need this quiet time to work it out, find the right career for me and just let things progress naturally.

It's time I start being kinder to myself, and I'm not going to get that self-respect, self-esteem or self-love from other people. Tying my worth into other people - whether they're in my life as my friends or not - only ends badly, as I've learnt before.

Loneliness doesn't mean failure, or that I suck as a person, or that this is going to be my future. It just means my life is a little bit more quiet right now, and I have all this time to look after myself.

If you're like me, feeling completely isolated in your loneliness like you're the only young adult struggling, you're definitely not alone. It's rarely talked about, but that doesn't mean other lacking-in-friends people aren't out there. We're just don't shout about it, and we're probably socially awkward introverts too.

[justanothergreb]

It's a long career related one...

Those who know me well know I'm a firm believer in things happening for a reason, the bigger picture whatever you want to call it. I've had one of those massive realisations today that sometimes we don't know what the greater plan is, but to trust in the process (if you think I've found religion or whatever, don't panic, all will be revealed).

I started my masters today and was doing my pre-work for a session all about PR and academia. The reading was fascinating and at first I had a panic because I forgot academics love to be a bit verbose and wondered had I done the right thing starting up studying again. I quickly realised I had. The paper went on to talk about the outdated research methods of academic analysis of PR, which is largely quantatitive. My heart sank as I do not get on with that analysis at all. And then came the moment where it all fell in to place - qualitative analysis is hugely lacking in research, as is creative analysis and it's the huge push to build this research.

I don't often talk about my previous job, bar letting people know how bloody awful my employer was and that it was in events. The truth is I actually started at the company as a healthcare researcher, battling my way to become a senior member of the team in this. My lead was qualitative data. It hit me how that one decision I made at 23/24 to push for that promotion and want that as my lead project was the start of a career that feels like it's coming full circle. I don't often put my careers practitioner proper hat on anymore, and I've forgotten which theory it is, but it's not lost on me that the decisions I made in my 20s are now boosting my career in my 30s. It just felt right and like this was the decision that had been waiting for me. Everything has built to doing this and being here now, doing the job that I do, surrounded by the people that I'm surrounded by.

I then had a bit of a cry. I've felt very lost for a very long time in my career, in a lot of aspects of life truth be told. In all honesty, recently, I've just felt a bit stupid. I think when you feel undervalued and undermined, you start to question if you're actually good at the things you do or know what you're doing. As marketeers, we often downplay what we do as a defence mechanism. We bat off what comes across as simplicity in our work with "well anyone could do our job" but you also get made to feel like it because everybody thinks they understand marketing or knows how to do it or has an opinion. It becomes exhausting and you do just think "what do I actually know". From a life perspective, I think some of you massively underestimate just how much I pick up and realise. I'm a huge people watcher and analyser, I always have been. Some people really don't like it, and downplay it as overthinking. Which knocks the confidence until you're ultimately proven right.

It sounds odd saying this, but I had this big realisation that I'm not stupid. I'm actually quite intelligent (not to toot my own horn but, I get a lot right on Only Connect) and I've never been encouraged to downplay that so why have I been doing that? My Mum and a lot of my family still love to point out I'm the first to go to university, that I speak another language, I know a lot of useless info. I've lived watching my Mum play dumb because she wasn't allowed to be intelligent (this woman's encyclopedic knowledge of 90s footballers is mental - and a shock to everyone who knows her). She has no confidence or self-belief in herself and that is not what she instilled in me. My Dad could never handle that I was smarter than him - I mean the man still hasn't realised it was me who realised he was an affair and found out who it was. Not that smart are ya pops?

I think I'd started to get over this whole "not feeling intelligent" thing about a week ago when somebody decided to tell me what part of my team did wasn't rocket science. And I actually took that really personally, especially as this person was arguing this point because they didn't want their team to do it. It gave me the perfect lead in to say "we're doing this handing over of duties, because it isn't rocket science to do is it?" What we do might seem simple, but it takes years of craft, understanding of people and places, culture to really do it justice and do it well. As evidenced by how much they had fucked up (send me to FIA jail). Our job is understanding people, my career has always been understanding people.

This is a bit of a tanget but I think my openness to talking about intuition, that bigger picture can throw people that she's just "airy fairy", a bit of a witch and a goth (apparently this was meant as an insult and I will forever wear it with pride - thank you for passing it on C, it means so much to me), an overanalyser. It's thrown a lot of people, myself included but a lot of it is just paying attention. Intuition is often described as the things that you're not consciously aware of and that's where, when you pick it up, the analysis comes in. I've never bought into "things are sent to try us" but I am starting to think our decisions do make little butterfly effects. It might not seem like it straight away but the effects are there. We just don't quite what they will be yet.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is think I'm where I'm meant to be. And I'm taking back some of the power that I've had forcibly removed by people and their behaviour. And that my way of thinking right now, isn't too bad.

[redrawthecolorlessworld]

A Clash Between Blue And White

i'm not giving context (also i'm finally writing something reality haxxors related let us all cheer)

———

"I was thinking..."

"What if..."

"Shut UP!"

With a snap of a finger, a bunch of daggers glitch into reality and fly towards the enemy. A clash between two men, an intense one at that. The man in blue knew that the offer of the man in white is all too ridiculous, so he thought that rejecting it would be more better.

"I didn't even say anything yet! How stupid..." The man in white—Arisato—said, in a tone of voice that seems to be mimicking one of distress. The man in blue—Alex—knew all too well that it's all made up, however. An act; a pathetic act that he could see through like looking into glass. "I don't fucking care! Just shut the fuck up, and maybe we can end this in a civil manner!" Alex knew damn well he'd rather fight instead of talking the situation out, but at this rate, they've fought for Versio knows how long, and he's getting more tired each passing second.

After all, just because he has the Vignetta Data Bank with him, that doesn't inherently mean he won't get exhausted easily.

Arisato simply smirked, before teleporting away from Alex's view. "Fuck- where are you?!" The man in blue shouts out, but no response. He could feel a presence behind him soon after, and then—

A gun to the back of his head.

Alex quickly types in something into his Vignetta Data Bank, before snapping his finger, summoning a bunch of daggers to float behind the two of them, aiming towards Arisato. "You can't shoot me, y'know. If you even do anything, I'll let these daggers stab you and you'll be gone in no time." Alex threatens, a small smile on his face as he could hear Arisato's heavy breaths behind him.

The man in white then lowered down his gun. Obviously, he doesn't want to die yet. He's the leader of his own group of people, after all. There's no way he's going to let himself get killed off that easily. Alex could feel the same way about that. The Reality Haxxors are nothing without him.

Arthesia isn't a rightful leader to replace him yet.

None of the other members are capable enough to become a leader either, especially Haruki—their most recent member.

Tyler...

...He doesn't have a Vignetta Data Bank.

"...Do you think I want any of this?"

He asks a question to Arisato, but no response came.

"...I said, do you think I want any of—"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Alex swiftly turns around to fully face the leader of the Universe Destroyers. Arisato looked at him as if he genuinely is confused, and frankly, he is genuinely confused. What would Alex mean by that? What did Alex truly wanted?

"Do you think I ever wanted to even be a member of Reality Haxxors?" Alex's question was met with silence once again. "...I'd much rather be a normal citizen in some random universe than be here, living in a stupid void that connects all of the universes together, doing monitoring work and fighting a bunch of corrupted datas." He then added, looking down towards the ground sadly.

"Are you trying to gain my pity?"

"No. Not at all. I just wanted to ask if you really did think that."

"...No. I never did."

Silence.

"....But..."

"But?"

Arisato dropped his gun, the sound of it hitting the ground startling Alex in an instant. "What the-"

"But I do understand you in some way." Arisato speaks up again, cutting off Alex's sentence in a rather sudden matter. Alex looks back at Arisato, clear shock in his eyes. "Wha...what...?" He forces out.

He doesn't understand.

If Arisato really didn't wanted to do any of this bullshit...

...Then why the FUCK DID HE DO IT IN THE FIRST PLACE?!

A push, a fall, and the daggers come to aim at the man in white once again. "Shut up, shut up, shut the FUCK UP! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ME ONE BIT!" The man in blue screams out, all of the pent up anger and emotions finally spilling out in an instant.

He's tired of this bullshit.

He's tired of playing leader.

He's tired of fighting this stupid, wretched piece of shit...!

"Ah-"

"DON'T EVEN DARE SAY A WORD, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

Alex snaps his finger, and then the daggers fly straight towards Arisato. The Universe Destroyers leader simply teleports away before the daggers could get to him, though.

"Wh- GODDAMNIT! YOU GET BACK HERE!"

"You have to at least calm down a little, Mr. Vignetta."

"IF YOU REALLY DIDN'T WANT SO MUCH POWER TO BEGIN WITH, THEN WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN ATTEMPTING TO CORRUPT EACH UNIVERSE TO BEGIN WITH?!"

"...It is a desire I can't shake away, sadly."

Their somewhat tame situation immediately shifted to another ruthless battle between the two. A clash of weapons, the occasional snap of a finger, and the sounds of gunshots.

Two leaders fighting.

It might as well end in bloodshed.

[fragilcline]

A SIGH TUMBLED FROM HER LIPS, not in response to the offered solutions, as Mei couldn't say he was wrong for those suggestions, but more so because that was exactly what she had been trying to avoid. Finding a locksmith would take away from the time she had available to try and figure out how to prove anyone but Mindy and Ava and their other friend were the ones who started a major forest fire and cause enough damage that Mei didn't even want to know what the financial burden amounted to--not to mention the lack of cell service meant finding a landline to use and returning to the bookstore--and if Nadine wasn't home, she could kiss away her ability to even get into the RV they called home. Honestly, the situation was already sounding incredibly exhausting before she could even begin to try to remedy it. The suggestion of the knife made her head turn, newfound hope displayed on her face as she peered at him. "We could try that, if we could? As much as I would love to find a locksmith and then also spend a bunch of money...if we could possibly bypass all of that and just use the knife, I'd really prefer that." Since it had already been accurately commented on that shaking the poor door handle was not going to aid her in actually getting it open and retrieving her keys, she resisted the urge to do so once more, although the desire was more so out of frustration at that top. "I've been saying this lock has been jiggling for months now...if it's any help that everything in there is possibly a little loose?" It was almost ironic that the universe would punish her with a situation that Benny of all people could probably remedy for her in thirty seconds flat. As if to further rub it in her face. "If you can help me out of this without a locksmith's hourly rate being involved, you will have the best bookstore connection you could ever expect." It was mostly a joke but the offer still stood.

Bryn rushed out of his trailer, closing it, and raised off down the sidewalk. He had money, and he had to buy things. That was all that was on his mind. His bills were paid, and there were books he hadn't bought yet. Quickly making his way down the sidewalks, he knew he would get there right around the time the store had opened. He also didn't need to be booking it as much as he was at the moment. But he liked to run, so why not. Rounding one corner he noticed someone was standing at the door, he recognized their face and came to a slow stop just a couple of feet away from them, panting a bit.

As the woman spoke, he swallowed thickly, dropping a bit as he let out a wheezy breath, “Yeah! I- heh heh- I know. You work here. I see you a lot. Hi. It's me. Bryn.” Lifting his left hand. He gave a small wave before taking in a deeper breath and standing upright again, coughing a bit and patting a hand to his chest then leaned in toward where the other had been pointing out their trapped keys, “Yeah. That's not going to help.”

But then he shook his head, “Nope.” Poking at the doorknob, though, he looked it over. Then pulled his hand away, “You might want to call a locksmith for this one?” Bryn suggested, looking away, “Or break the handle off.” Of course, he figured it was easy to pick up lock picking, but it wasn't really a skill he wanted in his tool kit, since he didn't need to rob places, “If it might help, I do have a knife? Maybe-” He poked at the keyhole a moment, “We might get lucky, and stumble a way to unlock it?” Kneeling down, he looked more closely at the hole.

[world-of-fire-and-flight]

Mirth's Ebenezer: Part 6

A/N: The love triangle becomes clearer plot thickens…

Warnings: Suspicion, betrayal, anxiety (general, not an attack or anything overwhelming), swearing, gun reference, bank robbery reference,

My Masterlist | Taglist Info | Mirth’s Ebenezer masterlist

Mirth loosed a breath, forcing the tightness from her chest. Superhero’s question was met with utter silence, as if a vacuum had sucked up any and all life inside the courtroom. She was certain there weren’t many within the Agency who had the motivation to betray them, but there were certainly many outside of their ranks who would see them all destroyed. But that fact didn’t help them now.

If it were possible, Agent’s eyes soured with increased misery. Their lips twitched as if they wished to say something but ultimately decided against it.

As Superhero’s question rippled over the courtroom and the minds of all of those packed into the pews and standing along the perimeter, Mirth cycled through a list of suspects.

She wasn’t ready to write off Agent. With no way to confirm the validity of their statement and the unofficial investigation they claimed the Internal Affairs Department had undertaken in secret, Mirth knew that Agent remained on all their lists.

Scouring her memory for a disgruntled hero, only one name came to mind: Sparrow.

Sparrow had achieved the rank of superhero rather quickly, and at a young age. They’d busted plenty of villains and even brought down Supervillain’s predecessor—which now that Mirth thought about it probably paved the way for them to become the master criminal they all knew today.

But several years ago, it was discovered that Sparrow had taken a cut of nearly every heist committed under their watch, and in return, they’d help the villains they arrested. The evidence against them was too great, and Sparrow was arrested. Aside from that, they never actually aided the criminals in their escape attempts as promised.

Mirth realized that Sparrow had just as many enemies amongst the villains as they had within the Agency for undermining other heroes and discrediting a few along their path to tarnished greatness.

But could Supervillain put that aside if Sparrow offered them the right information? What was the likelihood of Sparrow having any intel worth selling after so many years of imprisonment? Was their sentence even over yet? Mirth didn’t know. She hadn’t kept tabs on them after their betrayal. And if they were free, she doubted they could still gain access to sensitive information, so it had to be someone active within the Agency.

There was Civilian, the assistant director of the H.R. Department. Mirth had never liked them much. They were too…eager. Or maybe ambitious was a better word for the way they acted. They’d never said or done anything that made Mirth suspicious…but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something about them that didn’t quite make sense.

But then there was still Agent…

“Mirth,” Superhero said, breaking her from her thoughts, “you’ve got that look on your face. That frown that says, ‘I’m working the case.’”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s because I am.”

Agent wouldn’t have access to the schedules before they were sent out. In fact, Agent may not see them at all until the day of, when they’re posted. The only people who know the schedules beforehand would be H.R. and whichever heroes were confirmed and slated for duty that day. But those heroes wouldn’t know who else was on patrol until the schedule was posted either, which only left…

She sucked in a breath, arching her brow. Superhero watched her silently, letting the gears turn in her head.

“Has anyone considered Civilian?”

“That’s the one with the straight hair in H.R., right? The assistant?” Someone on the other side of the courtroom asked.

“Yeah,” another answered, “and always wants to be called Assistant Director.”

“They get under my skin,” someone else said from behind Mirth. “I vote them as most likely.”

A few murmurs of agreement rose in the courtroom. Judge Whitmire’s eyes crinkled. Mirth couldn’t tell if it was in humor or in annoyance at their total disregard for procedure.

“Being annoying isn’t cause for charging someone with treachery,” he said, drawing the room’s attention back to the front of the court. “But I will admit that Civilian is a decent suspect. I’ve had suspicions about their motivations in the past, though without the evidence or assumption of a crime, I dismissed it as simply ambition in a competitive environment.”

Agent sagged, wiping their brow with a handkerchief. “Our lead suspect was Civilian. We even entertained Other Agent, but it wasn’t likely no matter how far we stretched the facts. They may not be a competent Director, but I don’t think any one of us could say anything bad against them.”

“If we’re not narrowing our list of suspects, then what’s to stop us from adding the entire H.R. department?” Someone called from the back of the room.

“Oh please,” Superhero answered, turning around in their seat as if they could stare down whoever had spoken. “Like Carole would betray the Agency after all these years. She might be a hawk when it comes to procedure and office regulations and all that human resources bullshit, but,” they paused, licking their lips. “Carole’s been with the Agency for years, and has always, always done right by it. Without her, this whole place would be in shambles, especially in the wake of Head Agent’s retirement and the shaky Interim Director’s appointment.”

There was a beat of silence, and then a smooth voice echoed throughout the courtroom. “I’m glad to hear you think so, Superhero.”

Mirth’s whirled around in her seat, her eyes instantly drawn to the lone figure standing amongst crowd seated in the pews.

Carole continued, “While I’d hate to believe that Civilian is our main suspect, I can’t disagree. They’re the only other one involved in pre-making the schedules. Our scheduling system is designed this way to ensure limited exposure, so that something like what Baron claims can’t happen, and if it did—or has—there’s only so many suspects. No one but myself and Civilian would have these schedules in advance, except for the heroes scheduled and confirmed for specific days, but even they wouldn’t know who else is on patrol until the full schedule is posted.”

“Unless, they share their individual schedule with someone in passing,” Agent added quietly.

A general discontent settled over the courtroom. People squirmed in their seats. Some whispered quietly to their neighbors. Mirth caught Judge Whitmire’s eyes and swallowed thickly. He offered her a small nod, as if that could dispel the uneasiness writhing in her gut. Casting his attention back to the courtroom, Judge Whitmire cleared his throat.

“I’m sure there is no guilt in mentioning your schedule to your colleagues,” he said, “and I firmly doubt that any one, singular person within this Agency could gather and piece together enough whispers to create an accurate list of heroes scheduled for duty on any given day or night. I think, to avoid a witch hunt and cast more doubt about the integrity of this Agency, we should focus on our list of suspects.”

“I second that!” A familiar voice shouted immediately. “And it’s not just because we’re cutting it close to my reservations.”

Mirth couldn’t help herself, chuckling a little as several others also did so. Others voiced their agreement. A restless energy buzzed throughout the courtroom as more voices joined the assent.

“Then what do we do?” Agent asked, ignoring the hero who had an anniversary dinner to get to.

“What if…” Superhero started, trailing off as their brows pulled together in thought. “What if we place our suspects under watch for now, until we can gather more evidence.”

“And who would do it? You’ve already got babysitting duty, Supes.”

They laughed at that, shaking their head as a wide grin split their face. “Then I guess it’s gonna have to be you, Sidekick.”

“Splendid,” Judge Whitmire said. “Sidekick, you’ll shadow Agent here. Everette, you’ll watch Carole, and the rest of us…we’ll keep tabs on Civilian.”

Agent opened and closed their mouth once, twice, thrice.

Judge Whitmire raised his brows, turning to them. “Do you oppose to this?”

“Well, no, it’s just…” Agent started, wringing their hands together. “Sidekick and I, uh…”

“We’re dating,” Sidekick proclaimed a hint of amusement in their voice. A low ripple traversed the courtroom. A couple sharp intakes of breath could be heard, but Mirth felt like she had whiplash. Of all the people, in the whole of the city, and Sidekick’s dating Agent? And they’d both kept it a secret? Her eyes widened in shock, and in disbelief.

Judge Whitmire stilled, straightening as he turned rigid at the realization. His eyes turned murky with consideration; a sort of unpreparedness Mirth knew the methodical man wasn’t used to. “Well I suppose that won’t work.”

“Everette, you’ll take Agent and Sidekick,” Superhero said, standing from their seat and turning to face the spectators’ area. Mirth watched as they surveyed the crowd, searching for someone, undoubtedly the next best choice to watch Carole.

“Oh, so I’m a suspect now?” Sidekick interrupted indignantly.

“No, only associated with one,” Superhero said without skipping a beat. “Hero! You’ll watch Carole.”

“On it, boss!”

A loud clap made Mirth flinch. Judge Whitmire stood, his hands clasped in front of him and a delighted look on his face.

“Well now that that’s settled,” he said, stepping away from Agent and toward the witness stand where he’d draped his rope, “I hereby declare this meeting adj—”

“HALLELUJAH!” The hero-with-reservations-to-make whooped, followed by a general clamor. Mirth watched them with a grin as they vaulted over the person beside them and over the end of the pew. “I still have time to get cleaned up before dinner!”

Judge Whitmire shook his head. “Tell your wife ‘hello’ and ‘congratulations.’”

“Will do!” The hero said, rounding the corner of the courtroom doors and dashing down the hall.

Other heroes gathered their belongings and started to file out of the courtroom. Those with assigned guard duties found their charges and started a conversation or left with them. In the case of Agent and Sidekick, Everette just followed quietly behind the newly announced couple. Hero stood, chatting with Carole before they too, left the courtroom.

“And now.” Judge Whitmire’s voice sounded from beside her. Mirth stood at last, glancing between both her friend and the man who had granted her mercy. “Are you two ready to decide the particulars of Baron’s custody?”

Mirth shrugged. “I guess so. I can’t exactly go home until we do that.”

Judge Whitmire flashed her an empathetic smile. “Trust is very important, especially when rehabilitating a criminal. His record’s really not so bad, or else I wouldn’t have asked you.”

“He robbed a bank, at gunpoint.” Superhero crossed their arms over their chest, leaning against the table. “I wouldn’t exactly write that off as ‘not so bad.’”

“True,” Whitmire considered, “though he did give the kids lollipops before letting all of the hostages go without confrontation. I wouldn’t exactly call him the face of evil either.”

“Okay, so now that we’ve debated how troubled Baron is or isn’t, can we please get this over with so that in three years I can get my life back?”

Superhero snorted, failing to suppress their laughter. Judge Whitmire only smiled and gestured for them to follow him. Mirth clenched her hands. She opted to fold her arms over her chest, if only to help keep her irritation from falling past her lips in a long sigh or a barrage of choice words that probably weren’t undeserved for all the stress the good judge had put her through.

Holding the door to the antechamber open for them, Mirth glanced passed Judge Whitmire and into the adjacent room. Well-lit, the room was oddly warm given who it belonged to.

Not that she thought Judge Whitmire was cold just—well Mirth didn’t really know. He was fair and just, sure, but she couldn’t picture him outside of his judicial duties. Whoever he was outside of the courtroom was a lost myth to her.

A traditional red-oak desk sat squarely in the center of the room with several filing cabinets behind it on the back wall. Another door off to the side presumably led to the clerk’s office, though Mirth couldn’t be certain. Judge Whitmire draped his judge’s robe over the back of his stately desk chair and retrieved his briefcase.

“Shall we?” He looked toward the side door to his office.

Mirth’s lips twisted. He was enjoying this, wasn’t he?

“Let’s get this over with,” Superhero sighed.

Judge Whitmire excused himself and brushed passed them, knocking on the door.

“Come in!” Clerk’s muffled voice came from the other side. As Judge Whitmire strolled through the door, Clerk huffed. “About time. Baron and I were about to take off and grab a bite to eat.”

Judge Whitmire chuckled. “I will leave you two in Clerk’s capable hands. I trust most of the arrangements have already been made?”

“Obviously,” Clerk said, nodding.

Mirth swallowed, not really certain about what the extent of these arrangements would be. She hoped they didn’t have to live together for the next three years. It was why she still lived alone: she needed her space. Dealing with people all day and the media and just the odd hours of her job, she needed a place where it was only herself.

“Good,” Whitmire said, “then I’ll be off.”

“See you around, Judge,” Baron said, waving from where he sat casually in the chair opposite of Clerk’s desk despite the pair of Fairmax County Prison guards flanking his seat. Mirth noticed a third chair had been brought in from somewhere else, as it didn’t match the other two chairs set up before Clerk’s desk.

“We’ll be taking our leave now too,” one of the guards said, passing the key to Baron’s handcuffs and the monitor for his power suppressing ankle cuff to Superhero.

Mirth hardly offered a farewell, too fixated on the fate lying before her. Why had she agreed to this? To stay in Whitmire’s good graces? To spite herself? She couldn’t say. Maybe it was those damn cupcakes and the pitiful look Baron had when he’d come to apologize for the bank robbery.

That was it. It was that damn look, the shining honesty and pleading in his eyes when he’d come to her door, unmasked and metaphorically beaten.

“Great, now that it’s just the four of us, here’s the deal: I’ve arranged a safe house for the duration of Baron’s house arrest. A budget has been set and funds acquired for the maintenance of the house as well as expenses for Baron like groceries and such—”

“Okay, I know I’m a villain, but you’re making it seem like they’re fostering a dog,” he said.

“Might as well be,” Superhero sighed, taking a seat. “You’ll need constant supervision so you don’t go tinkering with things you shouldn’t.”

“I don’t ‘tinker,’” Baron nearly spat, “I invent things.”

“Exactly. That’s the last thing you should be doing during your house arrest,” Superhero countered. “You’re supposed to be proving you can be an average civilian, not a mad scientist.”

“I’ll have you kno—”

“Can we please just get through this so I can go home?”

Both Baron and Superhero turned to her. Superhero glanced away, their jaw twitching. But Baron held her gaze and offered a slow smile.

“I never got the chance to congratulate you on your trial,” he said simply. “I never expected anything different.”

“I’m so glad everyone but me had confidence in that,” she huffed, sinking down into the empty chair between her two forced companions. “Clerk, please, please, please tell me we don’t have to live with each other consistently for the next three years.”

Clerked giggled. “Well you could do it that way, but no. However you and Superhero want to work it out is fine with us, just as long as someone is with Baron at all times until such a time as Judge Whitmire deems he no longer needs supervision during his house arrest.”

Mirth glanced toward the ceiling, sighing in relief. “That’s the second-best news I’ve had all day.”

“I promise to be on my best behavior,” Baron assured her. “Honestly, I’m really not that bad.”

Superhero scoffed. “You robbed a bank last month.”

“And you sponsored my Rogue Clause,” Baron shot back. “Admit it, I’m not that bad.”

Superhero crossed their arms. “What I think doesn’t matter.”

“If this is what I have to look forward to for the next three years, I’m killing you both now and starting my life of crime.”

Clerk laughed. “There won’t be any need for that. You can take the night, Mirth. Hell, you can take the week. I’m sure Superhero wouldn’t disagree.”

Mirth arched her brow. But before she could say anything, Clerk carried on. “Like I said, whatever you two work out for the schedule, the court’s only requirements are that Baron is not to be left to his own devices—no pun intended—and that he completes his community service. Aside from that, everything’s pretty much taken of: safe house, budget, power suppressing ankle monitor, and sponsors.”

Clerk closed the manilla file on their desk, and offered it to Mirth. “Everything you need is in this file, and the keys,” they said, opening their desk drawer and pulling a set out and giving those to her as well, “are right here. Any questions?”

Mirth shook her head. Superhero remained silent.

“Just one, and it’s really not for you, dear, Clerk,” Baron started, a hint of playfulness in his voice. “Can we get ice cream on our way?”

Mirth sagged against the back of her seat. It was going to be a long three years.

Taglist: @feline17ff, @selene-stories

Part 7

[genderkoolaid]

you said in one of your tags about being alright to explain how lovelessness works so can you do that? (/g)

totally!

So first of all, the idea of being a loveless aro comes from the essay I Am Not Voldemort by K.A Cook on Aro Worlds. I highly recommend reading this essay when you can (it isn't too lengthy and isn't written very academically)

Being a "loveless aro" means you do not consider yourself to feel love, in any sense, not just romantic. A lot of people tend to get confused and/or upset by this, because they understand this as "I do not feel positive emotions for any person/thing/act", and that sounds pretty bleak and unrealistic.

But this understanding comes from the belief that love is always the same for everyone; that love is a biological truth, like feeling pain or pleasure. But this isn't accurate.

"Love" is a construct. We, as humans, decide what "love" means. And for many people (for reasons I'll explain later), they do not want their emotions to be included in that construct. Similarly to how some people reject gender entirely for a variety of reasons, some people reject love for a variety of reasons. This doesn't mean that these constructs are inherently bad or that everyone needs to reject them, but some people do.

Now, there are a lot of personal reasons someone might ID as loveless, and this isn't an exhaustive list. But from what I've seen (and I'm pretty sure there was a survey done a little while ago on this), these are the main reasons:

Having bad experiences with amatonormativity & love; a lot of aromantics grow up feeling deeply inadequate and broken for being unable to love, and despite the fact that many people will admit there are multiple types of love, in practice romantic love is prized as the Ultimate form of love. Many people are abused in the name of love, or their inability to love properly was used as a justification for abuse. For many aromantics this can be very traumatizing and leads them to just reject the word "love" in general being applied to them, as a way of striking back against amatonormativity.

Related to the above point, rejecting the idea that "love is what makes us human". In the original essay, K.A Cook talks about how shifting the goalpost from "romantic love" to "all love" doesn't fix the original problem, which is that basing humanity off of something arbitrary like "love" is harmful. Nothing "makes" us human, and trying to pin down this ineffable quality ends up harming people who don't fit it.

Neurodivergency plays a huge part in lovelessness, and this is also a big part of the essay. Neurodivergent people often experience emotions differently, including love, and ableism often labels neurodivergent people as "unable to love" or in general depict neurodivergent love as something twisted. Many neurodivergent people have trouble connecting with others, especially in "normal" ways.

The core of lovelessness is rejecting a concept that has hurt you and been used to label you as broken and inhuman. It's very freeing for many people to be able to stop trying to achieve this vague notion of "love" and just let themselves live without it. That doesn't mean they don't feel happiness or joy or enjoy doing things or don't care for others; it just means they don't want "love" to be applied to those things.

It's important to remember that just because you consider something love, doesn't mean that is universal. Love is a construct that means different things to different people, and people should respect that. Aromantics are doing a lot of work in our communities deconstructing amatonormativity and arophobia, and I really hope more alloros start seeing these conversations and valuing them instead of just mocking us.

I hope this was a good enough explanation for you, anon. If you want more info I'd recommend reading posts written by loveless aros on what lovelessness means for them; it's a term that's vague on purpose because it can mean something different to everyone, so there's no easy way to quickly sum it up.

[authortobenamedlater]

Um, hi, hello. I was just wanting to know. I was reading your Keeping Up With the Raptors series (sorry, that gives me a little giggle because the Raptors are the basketball team in Canada so I still have trouble connecting 'Raptors' and 'hockey', sorry, anyway) on Ao3, and I was just curious to know if you ever think you'll write more? For that series? Cause I think it's really cool and quite well written. And I'd love to know how it's supposed to end. No pressure if it's something you've abandoned, just wanted to know. Thanks.

Also, thank you, because it's rewoken my love for my original works and characters and I'm going crazy about them all over again, and I'm actually writing about them again. A little, anyway. So thanks for that. :)

Sorry that sound you just heard was my body hitting the floor in shock that anyone is reading that series.

You know, I think I’d planned to make a joke about the Toronto Raptors sharing a name but I never got around to it?

If I did continue KUWTR, I’d have to do a bit of a reboot on it. Especially considering Seattle has a hockey team now. That’s why I orphaned the series; it was cluttering my profile and probably not continue-able in its current form.

Honestly, the lack of engagement with KUWTR and original work in general killed my motivation (hence my shock at getting a message on it, haha). I started writing it to prove to myself that I was a “real” writer after doing mostly fanfic for my entire life. But after awhile I felt like I was just writing into a void. With almost no feedback, I didn’t know what was working for the audience or if I even had an audience. I also floundered with trying to write a long-form/novel story, as that’s never been my strength.

KUWTR also required a lot of legwork. I had to dig pretty deep into the inner workings of the NHL and hockey culture and shotgun several things I couldn’t find. It was just plain exhausting and I wasn’t getting a whole lot in return. Once I got married and had kids I couldn’t dedicate the time anymore, hence my return to fanfiction where I could have fun writing with less time investment—and a lot more engagement on my stories. I’m not as active in sports fandom as I was before kids either, and I live in an area now where professional sports aren’t much of a thing (college football, on the other hand…) so it’s easy to lose touch.

I do, however, still think about KUWTR a lot. I love those characters and it means so, so much to hear that someone else loves them too even 10-ish years after the last update. I’d planned to have the series end with Hank’s retirement. But then I had some ideas for his daughter’s adventures playing for the US national team. 😂 So who knows when it would really end? If I rebooted the series, I think I’d make it a smaller focus on Hank and his family. Trying to include half the team as main characters was overwhelming and looking back, I’m sure it contributed to the series’s decline.

I can’t thank you enough for this ask. For real. It’s made my whole day to know even one person likes that universe I spent so much time crafting. Now that I’m “established” on tumblr and AO3, maybe KUWTR would get some more readers? It’s certainly worth thinking about. ❤️

[weather-cluddy]

I'd say he doesn't mention Fuuta or Mahiru because when it comes to this topic (reasons why the smoking club disbanded), they're only relevant in terms of how they affect Shidou's actions. It's not like they actively pushed for or against it.

As for why mention Mikoto then, it's because he's part of the club so he does have direct influence over it. Basically Shidou is describing why the members stopped gathering together, which doesn't require that they all have the same or connected reasons.

As for the image of them smoking together... I wonder how much supervision those get. For example, Yamanaka mentioned in Twitter that the 1st anniversary illustration with all the prisoners gathered around the table is how he imagines them eating their meals, but there's a paid sketch of Fuuta eating where he's clearly not using the same long table. There's also another second-trial illustration of Yuno smiling and grabbing Fuuta's and Haruka's arms, which doesn't really seem to fit their current dynamics: Yuno is withdrawn, Haruka hangs out with Muu who's mad at Yuno, and Fuuta is also keeping to himself and would probably be in a lot of pain if you suddenly grabbed his arm like that.

Or to pull an example from Minigram, in the app the noises Mikoto makes at night sound like gasps or yelps, something vocal. Meanwhile in Minigram they're shown to be the sounds of him breaking things.

So I think there's a fair chance that the illustrator just didn't know, and nobody corrected them. I'm not even sure the drawings are meant to be seen as canonical in the first place, really. Maybe it's just like that new merch line with the white guard outfit and orange jumpsuits, something for fans to enjoy looking at rather than an in-universe event. It's official but not 'real', that sort of thing.

As for who initiated the disbandment, I think you could read that it was Mikoto? Like Shidou says he too lost his reason to smoke, and the only person he mentions before that is Mikoto. Mikoto's reason to smoke is socializing, so it seems like he wasn't up to it anymore. It might sound like an odd thing for Boku to do, and Ore doesn't seem to front so often that he could avoid every meetup, but I can see how it could happen.

First of all, Mikoto is feeling constantly tired, foggy and in pain*. This would sap the will to socialize out of anyone, especially if, as I speculated elsewhere, Mikoto doesn't necessarily enjoy hanging out with other people but does so out of fear and obligation. Which doesn't automatically mean he dislikes Kazui and Shidou deep down or anything, but if it isn't super fun for him normally it'd be even harder keep up when he's exhausted.

-*Which, hey Shidou, sounds like he might've gotten a concussion. I get that Mahiru and Fuuta are way worse off but maybe you should wonder a bit more about this too.

Second, Mikoto doesn't understand why he starts 'lashing out' when he goes to sleep and he's afraid of it and himself. He might be withdrawing from others out of fear of being seen acting 'crazy', or fear of hurting them. After all, if he's so tired all the time, then getting too relaxed would be dangerous. He could accidentally fall asleep, and then an outburst would happen.

(The first time I read the relevant convo I thought it was unclear if he was supposed to acting out every time he fell asleep or if he was refering to the single instance of Kotoko catching him 'asleep' and him fighting back. Sadly it seems I lost the relevant screenshot, so I'm just going to defer to Rochiesama's translation. If anyone can send it to me, I'd be grateful!)

Thirdly, and relating to how Mikoto isn't as injured as Fuuta and Mahiru and doesn't seem to be one of Shidou's patients, he might feel guilty about taking up Shidou's time. It sounds like Shidou's treatment takes up a good part of his time, since Mahiru mentions that since she became his patient they've been talking a lot.

I imagine Shidou wouldn't want to fill whatever passes for an hospital ward in Milgram with secondhand smoke, so either his free time and the other two's have to just happen to match up, or one of them has to walk in and be like "Hey, I know you're having a mental breakdown because your desire to save people is conflicting with your suicidal guilt, but how about you stop treating a woman in death's door and come hang with us?". Not happening. (Especially since with Kazui you'd have the added bonus of him being partially responsible for Mahiru being in that state in the first place).

And this isn't the only reason why Mikoto might feel awkward around Shidou and Kazui. Haruka tells us that everyone but Kotoko is "staying close" to Shidou, and that he and Kazui are trying to negotiate a ceasefire with Kotoko (which seems to be failing miserably, but the other prisoners might not know that).

It seems very likely that, with the events after the first trial, Shidou and Kazui have become quite respected among prisoners not named Kotoko or Amane. After all, people would've died without them! They're heroes, and not only did they help in the moment, but now they're taking proactive action to avoid more violence.

Kazui puts his body in the line for everyone else, Shidou pours all his time and knowledge into bringing Mahiru back from death's door and saving Fuuta's eye, and Mikoto... Mikoto, um...

Mikoto is useless at best, and an active danger at worst. And he can't ever forget it with all the voices screaming insults into his head. Es said that Kazui and Shidou were good people, and that Mikoto wasn't. Is it true? Is he everything he's being accused of? He thought it was all a mistake, but now that other people are avoiding him because of things he can't remember or control, he's not so sure...

When the smoking trio gather, it's natural to expect they'll talk about whatever is on their mind, right? And surely what's on Shidou's mind right now is his patients. Kazui too, must spend a lot of time thinking about how to best proceed with Kotoko. What is Mikoto supposed to say to that? Just wish them good luck? He can't offer anything, not even not to make things worse.

Maybe he should, though. He somehow managed to fight off Kotoko, didn't he? He doesn't have the slightest clue how that happened, but it's clearly possible. He didn't even need treatment afterwards! So doesn't it speak pretty badly of him to sit there twiddling his thumbs while other people put everything on the line to defend the vulnerable?

And yet, he just... can't. Maybe he's too scared, or maybe he's still fooling himself into believing this can all be solved with words. Which would probably drive a wedge between him and Kazui and Shidou in its own way, if he insisted on it as a the only possible solution. Like, Kazui and Shidou don't want to call Mikoto an idiot to his face, but this line of thought is, ahem, clearly unproductive, and the faster they get it over with the sooner they can get back to real planning.

(Honestly, this would give a very interesting nuance to his convo during Kotoko's birthday. Like if it's not him being pathologically naive, but rather thinking "Wait, I'm good at talking to people! I can help with this!" and showing her a little gesture of goodwill, hoping it'll make things a bit easier once he launches into negotiations. And then things ended up Like That.)

And of course Mikoto can't share what's in his mind, because nothing nice has been there since the start of the second trial at the very latest. Sure, he could ask the other two to avoid heavy topics, but then they're all going to be dancing awkwardly about it, trying to chat about the weather when they haven't been outside in years. It's not much better.

Why was Shidou's response to Mikoto's response to"his" own guilty verdict to just stop smoking- Like what the fuck did Mikoto's mood have to do with that?

Q.07 Are there any fellow prisoners you are on good terms with?

Shidou: Since Mikoto has ended up like 'that', I became unable to smoke as well. I feel lonely that the smoking group as disbanded.

Like sir you can still fucking smoke- The smoking area is still there. How is this solely on Mikoto, my guy? Like Mikoto became standoffish during the intermission then Shidou really went "It's not the same without Mikoto here better to stop smoking."

My guy, you did this to be unhealthy. What does Mikoto being there or not have to do with anything?! Like, did they- they really just stopped smoking until Mikoto was in a better mood- Because we see him smoking with Mikoto in the art from the Milgram app. So, Shidou really went, "If Mikoto doesn't come over and start casually having small talk with us, is smoking even worth the damage to my body anymore?"

Which is a wild implication. Just completely out there- Especially since it's implied Kazui just fucking stopped too!

The smoking club really was just Mikoto carrying all conversation and these two awkward old men playing along. The whole club was dissolved because Mikoto got hit with the heaviest guilty verdict of round one. That's wild.

[thinkatoryprocess]

Have you ever had to deal with burnout when it comes to fic writing? You produce so much content (which is great for those of us who enjoy your writing!) but I imagine it could potentially get a bit exhausting/overwhelming sometimes. If so, are there any particular things you do to help prevent writing burnout?

Oof, what a question. Yeah, I am not immune to burnout, and there's a chance it could hit me after or during this tear I'm on.

Right now, I know what's sustaining this tear is that I've picked up passion projects. I have really strong feelings about everything I'm doing, and it's very vivid in my mind. It's hard not to want to get that out onto the page. I'd liken projects to love affairs in this respect - sometimes you're infatuated with it, or completely content with it living in your head, and sometimes something's gotten in the way and you can't connect with it anymore.

Storytime! I had a little Doctor Who universe I was playing with back in the 2010s, and wrote a story I was fond of, but experienced such hard burnout on it that I grew to hate even looking at my document folder. I went back semi-recently and took a moment to actually appraise it for any strengths, anything I connected to, any character beats that made me feel a little something, anything that had a little potential. I wound up taking a swath of it, reworking the rest, and writing 40k of a fic that basically no one read but I love to bits.

Now, there are WIP projects that just need to be scrapped. I'm not saying everything is worth salvaging. If it's legit dead, then it's dead, and I think we all know when we see that. But there's a difference between the projects that just aren't working because they're not sound material, and projects that aren't working because we lost track of what we initially loved in the concept, and I think we all know the difference between those. With the latter, sometimes you need to back off, then come back to take a minute to look for those little things, that connection to the characters that gave you the urge to write this story in the first place.

I know this looks more like "how to get back into writing your WIPs" as opposed to "how to treat burnout", but... IMHO, those are the same things? Burnout can definitely be a result of IRL stuff - then you should take a break! Please do! But if it's burnout because your WIP is driving you crazy and you feel like a terrible writer all of the time, this is my advice.