#hes too goddamn noble

[astrxealis]

back again ! ywehaw cowbaby :3

[bluetimeombre]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲𝐩𝐨𝐨L 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢e

Deadpool and Wolverine but your lady pool and an absolute SLUT for Wolverine.

[this is a complete self insert with just everything I was thinking about during the movie and since then I’ve watched it three times. It gets better every time. Snippets of the movie, will probably do a part two. SPOILERS!]

part two

Warning/disclaimer: femreaderxwolverine, sexual content, sexual language, offensive language, just being a whore the man, cursing, repeat daddy issues, never proof-read.

After digging up Logan and expecting to find a shirtless and oiled-up Hugh Jackman, you were a little more than disappointed to find the bones and metal. 'Damn it! Shit! Fuck! They Les Mis'd him!'

Eventually, you settled down next to the remains, against the same log that had impaled him. 'That was weird,' you chuckled. 'I'm much calmer now. Look, I'm not a woman in stem but you seem incredibly dead to me. Oh, you sexy lump of bones and metal. I would have let you slide them into me any day.'

'But it's good to see you,' you pat his knee. 'I gotta be honest, I've always wanted to ride you, Logan. Oh, whoops, I meant with you. Ha! Who am I kidding, no I didn't. Just you and me, getting into it. And I mean into it. Every style. Doggy. Sixty-nine. On the kitchen counter to the bathroom. Till my back broke. Yea, we'd have been good together.' You ranted, fantasies flying across your mind too quick to focus on one.

With your red-gloved hand, you jerk the chin. 'G'day mate, there's nothing that'll bring me back to life faster than a big bag of Marvel cash. Ha- I hear you, Hugh. But no, no, no, no you had to go and get all noble and die for real. I could really use your help right now. And a massage. Your big manly hands just rubbing all over me-'

Just as you were about to go into further detail about what you want him to do to you, the sound of portals opening and heavy boots stomping closer alerted you.

Quickly, you pulled the skeleton down on top of you.

'There are two hundred and six bones in the body. Two hundred and seven if i'm watching Van Helsing.'

Que the fucking montage.

You have a mission. Find a Logan to take back with you. First up you end up in a bar, catching an axe as it was thrown at you. 'Logan! I'm gonna need you to come with me.'

The Logan sitting at the bar slowly turned to you. 'Who's asking? ' He slipped from the bar stool to reveal a 5'3 Logan.

You coo. 'Well, who's this little ankle biter. Did you stick the landing little guy? Yes you did, comic-accurate short king. Such a cute little Wolvie.'

The little guy started stalking toward you.

'Que the fucking montage.'

You found a Wolverine for the seventies, or eighties, something close enough to that, one hand missing. 'Oh yea, sexy, you have anchor being written all over you.'

You found patch Logan. 'Oh hello, Patch. Should've worn my white suit.'

You found another old man Logan, sitting solemnly on his front porch. 'Howdy! Oh, I see, you're the daddy issues one. Good to see god has answered my prayers. So soldier, do I need to be a bad girl so you put me over your knee, daddy?'

Another was tied to a cross with red bloody skulls acting as a floor.

One was dressed in a tight yellow and brown suit, walking through the woods. 'Hubba hubba. Classic! Now, you fought the Hulk in this suit, right?' as he snicked his claws out, the green of the beast reflected from behind you. 'I am Marvel Jesus you dull creature and I will not be-'

One, your favourite, was working on a bike in a tight white vest and dark pants. You drooled. 'That's the whole goddamn package right there. You know from behind you look a bit- holy Shit!' he turned, and everything about him was Wolverine. Except for the fact he was Henry fucking Cavil. 'The Cavalry has arrived. The prophecy has been fulfilled. Can I say, sir, sorry, daddy- on behalf of all of humanity, this just feels right! We will treat you so much better than those shit fucks down the street!'

He took the cigar from his mouth, stalking to you. You had never been so aroused in your life. 'You were just leaving'

Giggling and twirling your hair, you hold a hand out, ghosting over his chest. 'Can I just, one- one touch. Oh my god! You're like Superman or something.'

He punched you right into the Logan you needed. Thank you Cavil.

'You two gonna fuck or fight?' asked the bartender. 'Both if i'm lucky,' you said.'

'Oh look at those sexy little jammies, that only took twenty fucking years!'

The trash heap was the last place you wanted to end up, but when you woke to Logan looming over you, a snarl on his face, you sighed in relief.

'Well, hello sexiest man alive, 2008. Wanna give me a hand? Or head?'

He sniked his claws out.

'Kinky! That's new for Disney!'

He dug his claws into your ribs and dragged you up with them. 'Where the fuck are we?'

'I dunno, but it looks a bit mad maxxy to me. But that would be IP infringement right?'

'Fucking jokes,' Logan uttered. He threw you over his leg, your back breaking.

'Till my back breaks, Wolvie!' you yelled out, quickly rolling yourself back up and shaking it off. 'Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm a big fan. How about we strip off our suits, take a tumble in the sand, get to know one another you know. Personally, I'm more of a cowgirl fan but I'm willing to do whatever you want baby.'

'You're unbelievable,' he grumbled. It was still sexy. He turned his back to you.

'Oh, I see, is that what you did when your world went to shit!'

He paused, his head slowly turning to you. 'Say again, bub?'

'Oh, I am so horny right now.'

The two of you engaged in a fight, and not the sexy stradling fight that would happen later, but the guns firing, swords slashing kind of fight. that was only interrupted by a familiar voice.

The only other voice that could have you dropping your panties as quick as Wolverine. He was hooded, hidden, but you knew him from your sex dreams.

'Dear god almighty, it's him.'

'Who?' growled Logan.

'Don't be jealous baby, I have two holes for a reason. Don't worry gorgeous, you're gonna encounter some delicate language, a smidge of ass play but we've been prohibited from using cocaine, at least on page.'

He raised a hand. 'They're coming.'

'Who's they?'

The three of you watch cars and trucks drive through the waste, keeping you trapped. There were familiar faces, Pyro, Toad. And Sabertooth.

The mysterious figure jumped down and mastered the superhero landing that had you clapping your hands and jumping up and down.

'Oh my god! Oh my god!' you held onto Logan's shoulder as you jumped while he just glared at you.

'I've got this,' the man takes down his hood, showing the beautiful, hot, strong, handsome, hubba-hubba worthy, Chris Evans.

'Oh yes, you do sexiest man alive, 2022!' you cheer.

'Stay close,' Chris- or Steve- called back to you.

You stalk over to him. 'Aye aye, Captain.' you wrap your arms around his stomach, fingers trailing over his abs. He removes you and you groan, sulking. You walk back to Wolverine and jump onto the side of his hip.

Instinctively he holds your ass which makes you giddy before he realises his mistake and drops you.

'You're not gonna love what happens next,' shouted the captain.

Your jaw dropped from behind the mask. 'Holy shit, omg! No way, he's gonna say it! He's gonna say it!' you flick one of your swords that was still poking out of Wolverine's chest. 'Avengers-'

'Flame on!' Steve- no, Johnny- yelled and took to the skies in a ball of fire.

It was sort of stupid in hind sight as Pyro lifted a hand and extinguished him, causing him to fall from the skies and go crotch first into a billboard.

'No!' you screamed, rushing to him and rolling onto his back to get a look at him. 'No, no baby, stay with me. Let me take a look!' you tried to pull down his pants but Logan literally pulled you off him.

You were tied up with Wolverine on the front side of you and Johnny on the back. When you woke, you giggled. 'Woah, just like my dreams.'

Johnny woke to, lifting his head from your shoulder. 'How long was I out?'

You smirk under the mask, looking back to him. 'Not all of you was asleep, say Cap, is that a Glock in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

'Is that Chuck? Hey Chuck, over here! Hope it's you young, god, we got James Macovy in this?' you yelled as a wheelchair rolled out as you entered the thing that was apparently large Paul Rudd.

'Cassandra Nova. Charles's twin,' the villain introduced herself.

'Holy shit,' said Logan.

'How was anal birth?' you asked.

Cassandra smirked. 'You two are cute. I have a good feeling about this.'

'Right!' you cheered. 'Just wait till this ends, the smut is off the charts!'

She took the chain from around the two of you but you wrapped yourself around Logan's arm, he only grunted at you. He only pushed you off when you started to go off and off about what Johnny said about Cassandra. 'People think i'm a shit talker but this guy-' you chef's kiss. 'Next level!'

Cassandra, with a flick of her hand, shed the skin from him as he fell in a heap of bones and blood and skin,

You cried out, holding onto Logan for dear life. 'My favourite Chris!'

'You silly little bitch, you just got him fucking killed!' yelled Logan.

'Fine, spank me then! P.S. Do you know what he was doing to the budget!'

You were brought to Ultimatum with Cassadra, Oliath or the other British villain, but all you wanted was to save your world, bang Wolvy and go home.

'I didn't want it to come to this, either you help us or my boyfriend here is gonna perform the whole of Greatest Showman as a one-man show,' you warn.

'I'm not her boyfriend,' Logan grumbled.

Cassandra went on a trauma dump that had you groaning. 'Couldn't you just turn into accomplishment like the rest of us?'

But I'm not like the rest of you, except maybe the Wolverine, now we could be truly terrifying together.'

'Sorry lady, he's taken!'

'Not for long,' Cassandra smirked and as Logan attacked, she sent him in the ground and away from you. You only whined at his disappearance, a whine that turned into a groan when Cassandra's fingers entered you in the worst way possible. Through your head.

'What can I see here?' she asked. Cassandra gasped. 'Oh, you are a whore.'

Oh yes, she saw the million filthy things you wanted to do to Logan.

The two of you made it out and to the diner where Logan was intent on finding food and taking rubbing alcohol shots. When he sat across from you, chucking a tin of spam at you, you pulled of your mask.

Logan stilled, looking at you with finally something a little different than anger.

'What?' you asked.

'I thought you'd be ugly under there.'

'No- no, that's the Deadpool. I'm better, and a self-insert.'

The two of you took to walking through the rather nicer side of the waste. You had his hand in yours, swinging it happily like you were a couple before he threatened to chop your hand off.

'You said Logan was a hero, what happened?' he asked.

'You died. Technically you were chest fucked by a tree, but really you just ran out of batteries trying to save this girl- a kid really. Always wanted a man who's good with kids. The shit heels who grew her in a lab called her x-23, but she was just a kid. A smaller, cute and mean version of you. Yep, you saved her, very hero, very demure.'

The two of you were interrupted when a bark sounded over the hill and the BEST DOG EVER ran out to you, ears flapping in the wind, tongue out as it always was. The little boots. The collar. It was Dogpool.

You threw off your mask and picked her up, cuddling her close. 'She's coming with us.'

'No she's not!' he argued.

'Yes, she is!'

'No!'

You pulled out your puppy dog eyes and lifted the dog to your face and slowly the resolve in his face slipped.

'Sorry!' another man ran out, chasing after the dog.

'Fucking shit bag!' you cursed.

It was another dead pool, a good-looking one with long hair.

'What's Ryan Reynolds actually doing here, I thought I replaced him?' you said.

'In here everyone calls me Nicepool.'

'Can we have your dog?' you asked immediately.

He laughed. 'over my dead body!'

You nod, thinking about it but Logan holds out his arm before you can even move.

Whatever Nicepool was saying was you didn't care as you cooed and hugged the dog closer and Logan watched.

Fuck, he was paying attention to you.

'Why are you so nice?' you asked eventually.

'It costs nothing to be kind,' he said.

'Shutting the fuck up is also free,' said Logan.

You bite your lip in his direction. 'God I am so attracted to you right now. This is Logan, he's usually shirtless but he's let himself go since the divorce.'

Finally, the Nicepool took you to his ride to get you and Logan and the dog to the borderlands.

It was a honda fucking odyssey.

Logan wasn't willing to listen to your complaints. 'Get in the fucking car.'

'Make me, Daddy,' you said.

He took one step closer to you and you backed away with the dog. 'No, we're running away!'

Logan forced her from your arms and handed him back to the Nicepool.

'The corn was to dense girl!' you called after her, pouting.

Logan shoves you into the passenger seat while he takes the wheel.

You pull of your mask, hair falling around you like you were in an advert. 'So, what shall we do to pass the time...'

Honda Odyssey coming soon, that my friends, is called edging.

[munsster]

sober thoughts

A/N: who let the WIPs out? 🙈 nah….. i was gonna continue but….. that was so corny. anyway, i am back from the hiatus No One saw coming. enjoy <3 (gif creds: @raiderlucy)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x GN!Reader

Summary: If drunk words are sober thoughts, Steve sure is talkative when he’s had a few. 1.3k words

Warnings: fluff, drunk/high steve, pet names (puppy, sweetheart, baby), mutual pining, cursing

It's New Year's, and you find Steve all starry eyed and bubbly in the center of a stranger's kitchen. You know exactly where to find him 'cause he always tells you the kitchen is the best place to hear the music without the fuss of the party. His hair's all tousled and you're pretty sure he lost the top button of his shirt somewhere. You can see the dainty chain looped round his neck in the warm light. The one you gave him.

You catch his eye, and suddenly he's grabbing for your hips like he can't balance without them. He's definitely been smoking with the way his smile reaches his eyes before anything else. Any other night, he would've stayed sober, but you promised to get him and Robin home safely before he could beat you to the punch.

He's hot like an oven up close. All pink in the cheeks and warm at the temples. You push his hair our of his eyes and squint up at him.

"Hi, puppy," you coo. His fingers press a little harder into your soft skin on impulse. Some kind of nonessential reflex or something, but it feels so essential holding onto you like this.

"I like that." The endearment, your eyes right now, the way you're holding his bicep, this song. "I like you."

He dies when you chuckle.

"I like you, too, sweetheart." But he knows you don't mean it like that. Not like how he means it. Everyday he's reminded you like him as a friend. And everyday he's reminded that he likes you as something much more and much less attainable.

Robin tells him it’s noble to play the long game, but in all honesty, he's not sure he's playing any game at all. If you like him one day, hallelujah, it's a goddamn miracle, but if you never like him like that, then that's it and he'll still be your number one admirer forever. Even if that means admiring you from afar.

Still, he whines about it: "You don't get it." You roll your eyes with a lighthearted smile. He's high. But to Steve, that doesn't matter. What matters is the way you let him look at you. He leans a little closer, brings his hand to the side of your neck. On instinct, his lips pucker a little and he bats his long lashes at you.

You put a pause on him with your hand to his chest.

"I'm not gonna kiss you while you're drunk. And high," you tease. You almost feel bad with the way he pouts, his hair all over the place even after pushing it out of his eyes.

“Why not? It’s New Years!”

“Yeah, an hour and a half ago.”

“Well. You kissed Robin, and I kissed no one.” And you think he’s laying it on real thick, playing into the bit for a little too long. You might even suggest it’s less of a bit now and suddenly something much more real and grating.

“Poor baby,” you coo, frowning sweetly in response to his more dramatic frown.

“Yeah. Poor baby. Nobody cares about baby.” Steve huffs like a discontented horse.

“I care about baby.”

“Then kiss me,” he whines.

“You’re inebriated.”

“No, actually. I’m sober as can be, I’ve got no juice in me at all.”

You try and act surprised but you both know he chugged and crushed four beer cans just to impress you. And that was when you first arrived several hours ago. You’re more impressed he hasn’t hurled, yet.

“Steve, I’m only not kissing you because I care. You must know that,” you sigh with your hands gliding easily back over his shoulders, fingers taken with the soft nape of his neck. The warm clasp of his chain.

“Ugh”—he rolls his glassy eyes, grumbling—“o’course I know that. In fact, it’s very thoughtful of you. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

You wish he didn’t seem so sad saying it like that. You wish it didn’t make you so sad to hear it said. Of course, he knows that. Steve is the sweetest, most considerate guy you’ve ever known, and those big, brown eyes are to die for even when they’re a little pink around the edges.

What really matters is that when he looks at you, your heart races like someone’s betting it’s the fastest. It beats even faster at the possibility that his ‘crush’ on you isn’t a joke. That it hasn’t been this whole time. That maybe his feelings are real and that would mean they’re reciprocated.

“Okay, fine, I’ll kiss you.”

Steve assumes the position almost immediately: puckered lips fighting a smile, eyes pinched closed, fingers subconsciously pulling your hips towards him.

You hook around to kiss the apple of his cheek. He groans, setting his heavy head on your shoulder. You pat his back, resting your temple against his peachy ear.

“You can have your kiss if you still want it sober.” At that, he lifts his head, and with it goes a presumptuous eyebrow.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been wanting it sober since I was thirteen. Don’t think that’s gonna change overnight.” He states it like it’s a fact of life; what an idiot! He wasn’t supposed to say it like that! He had planned on some totally romantic picnic or late night drive or some extravagant, life-altering, near-death-experience to set the mood. Anything but at the very beginning of a new year, intoxicated in every sense of the word.

“Steve!” You holler, “Since thirteen?!”

“Well, duh! You just have zero googoo eyes radar. I make ‘em all the time at you,” he says, shrugging it off. But you can only imagine thirteen-year-old Stevie waiting for the bottle to point to you, only for it to skip you every lousy turn. And thirteen-year-old you somehow jinxing the rotation of the bottle. No matter how hard you willed it to choose you, it never did. Not for Stevie.

“Well… stop that!”

He chuckles. “You can’t make me.”

You’ve never been more nervous talking to Steve. You’re so nervous, you can’t even remember when it used to be easy. His eyes are locked with yours, big and shiny and so brown and wide and soft. Windows to the soul, eh?

“You are so plastered,” you scoff. Who says he can peer into your soul. You divert him to the ceiling instead, knuckles to his strong chin.

Steve shakes his head. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything,” you look at him to find a painfully familiar lopsided smile. “It changed everything.”

He tilts his head. Sweetly. Mischievous as ever, but sweet.

“So, you’ll kiss me tomorrow?”

You sigh. “Only if you ask nicely tomorrow.”

“Fine!”

What you don’t expect is for him to run out of the room. There’s muffled shouting, the slam of a door, a triumphant ‘yes’, and a beat of silence before he returns, scuttling across the floor, sharpie in hand.

One of his shirt sleeves is pushed to the elbow. Across his forearm is a smattering of permanent black ink.

“What’s this?” you coo as he excitedly presents his arm to you.

“It’s a reminder.”

Looking closer at the ink splotches, you can just barely make out the message: Ask nicely, coward. You squint up at him, trying your hardest not to giggle.

“It’s a threat and a reminder,” he chirps, brows raised, eyes wide, chest pounding. He thinks you look happy, smiling as you smack his chest.

“You’re really hopeless, yunno that?”

You could call him as many names as you wanted, he’d take them all as endearments. As long as you keep teasing him with promises of sober kisses and your hands in his hair.

He nods, “Now call me your puppy again.”

stranger things masterlist

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

TW: Drug Use - Marijuana

Transcript under the cut

Jonathan & Malcolm: Grandma Queenie!

Queenie: Hello boys. I see your mother is taking yet another trip out of state.

Jonathan: Mommy is making a house for a movie star!

Queenie: Hmm. Well. You two must be hungry. Poor things. Come inside, I’ll have lunch prepared.

Malcolm: I want peanut butter and grape jam with no crust on them!

Queenie: Anything for my boys.

Nancy: We can leave now. Take me to the airport, Andrew.

Driver: Yes, Mrs. Landgraab.

Nancy Narrates: [If I spent too much time with my sons at home, I was losing focus on the business. If I was buried under my work, then I was neglecting them. No matter what I did, there was no pleasing her]

Nancy Narrates: [So I focused on my work and on my friendship with Judith. Each time I flew out to Del Sol Valley to check on the progress of The Ward Den, I’ve grown to know the global superstar. I’ve grown to love her too]

Nancy Narrates: [I was beginning to realize, wealth was one thing. Fame was something entirely different. For the first time in my life, people looked at me, not through me and I had Judy to thank for that]

Fan: Oh my god! I love your movies, Ms. Ward! We’re your biggest fans!

Judith: Oh, how cute. Who can I make this out to?

Fan: Oh, please Mrs. Landgraab, can I have your autograph?

Nancy: You want my autograph? Really?

Fan: Oh, yes please! I admire everything you do! God, I want to be you! A power woman. Ah! Meeting you feels like a dream!

Nancy: I- wow. I’d be happy to.

Judith: You were born to be a star, Nan.

Nancy Narrates: [And as promised, I gave her the house of her dreams, with the view of the entire world from her balcony]

-

[cork pop]

Judith: WOO! Time to pregame before the real party starts, Nan!

Nancy: [exhales] Hmm. I haven’t smoked pot since college.

Judith: It’s legal in DSV. I even got a prescription for it, for anxiety.

Nancy: If I wasn’t an east coast girl, I’d consider moving out here.

Judith: The Hills isn’t just for movie stars, you know. You’re making quite the name for yourself and there’s a calling for talented female architects. You could tap into the market like nothing.

Nancy: No, I’d never hear the end of it. My mother hates what I’m doing. The Landgraabs are supposed to be noble, humble philanthropist not celebrity icons.

Judith: Fuck her, respectfully. I divorced my parents and was emancipated at 16 so I could protect my assets and my goddamn sanity. I don’t regret it one bit. You have your own name to consider. That old bag can stuff it.

Nancy: Right.. I don’t want to ruin my high, darling. Let’s change the subject.

Judith: Alright. So tell me, friend. What else haven’t you done since college?

Nancy: [snorts] Not much. I was a very good girl.

Judith: Oh bullshit. There’s no cameras here, you don’t have to put on a show for me.

Nancy: I’m serious. I hit the books. Partied very little. Went to church every Sunday.

Judith: And apparently you smoked pot.

Nancy: [smirks] Apparently so.

Judith: You are such a little mystery to me.

Nancy: Maybe that’s a good thing.

Judith: Give me something. I tell you everything, I don’t want this to be one sided.

Nancy: [hums] I guess, when I was younger, I had- thoughts of sorts. I still do.

Judith: Thoughts? About?

Nancy: I guess...thoughts about women.

Judith: Oh, honey, don’t we all!

Judith: I think that’s normal. Women are passionate creatures! We love with our whole selves, with our mind, our body, our entire being. We crave likeness, at least I do. I feel incredibly sated in talking with you than with a man, even if he was a lover.

Nancy: I’m not talking about friendship, Judy.

Judith: No? Oh!

Judith: Ahhh, I see! You know, I do think women are very sexy. Not sure if I could commit to the whole eating pussy thing. I could receive it though. You?

Nancy: I think about it so much that I fear the desire for it will consume me.

Nancy: The wanting—the ache—is so deep inside of me that nothing can reach it. I used to be able to ignore it, but now it just sits there, tormenting me and gnawing at me from the inside. I’ve.. never said it out loud before until now.

Judith: [gasps softly] Oh my.

Nancy: [sniffs] You think that’s strange?

Judith: No, I think it’s hauntingly beautiful. Have you ever thought about fulfilling those desires?

Nancy: You mean... go sleep with a woman?

Judith: Why not?

Nancy: I’m married. I could never do something like that to my husband. Besides, it’s just silly, little thoughts. It means nothing.

Judith: It hardly means nothing, Nan. Listen, I love ya to pieces. Should you ever choose to do what you want and lose some control, I will love you then too.

-

Nancy Narrates: [Lose control? The very thing that I clung to in this life? I couldn’t fathom it. Who would I be if I gave into the things I truly wanted]

Nancy Narrates: [So, when it came to a lesson in losing control-]

Nancy Narrates: [life introduced me to Lily Feng]

Lily: Mind if I sit my drink here?

Nancy: No, not all.

Lily: You’ll have to forgive me, I am a bit nervous. It’s not everyday I get to meet my idol. I hear you designed The Ward Den, it’s marvelous.

Nancy: Thank you. A little out of my element, but I liked the challenge. I didn’t catch your name.

Lily: Lillian Feng. You can call me Lily, if you like.

Nancy: Are you from here?

Lily: Oh, no. I’m from Tomarang, originally. I live in San Myshuno. I’m new to the area, still getting my footing in my practice.

Nancy: My office is in San Myshuno. What do you do?

Lily: I’m an interior designer. I own and manage a small, modest firm. Popular in the east, but I’m hoping to make a name for myself here in the states.

Nancy: You own your own firm? Wow, that’s- amazing. I don’t meet many women in your position. Especially not in this field.

Lily: It certainly wasn’t easy. I have to claw my way to the top. When it’s a man’s game, you can’t play it nice and safe, although I’m sure you’re aware.

Nancy: Unfortunately so. Have you any prospects since moving to San Myshuno?

Lily: [tsks] It’s quite the competitive market. There appears to be a whole network I can’t seem to tap into. I have had my eyes on the Dreamer project.

Nancy: [blushes] Ah well, it’s likely because of me- well, my company. I’ve yet to acquire it. Anyway, it’s who you know that gets you through the door in this business. The Landgraab Co. tops the market.

Lily: What a shame. That would make you my biggest competition, wouldn’t it? And such a pretty threat too.

Nancy: Ah. Well. That’s...kind of you to say. Um.

Lily: Oh, my drink!

Nancy: I-I can grab it for you-

Lily: Don’t fuss, I’ll get it.

Nancy: [gasps]

Lily: Now, we were talking about the Dreamer Project. So, you’re familiar with it?

Nancy: Mhm..

Lily: I hear the City Council is looking to expand San Myshuno with an entirely new district. It will be the biggest project of the decade.

Nancy: Mhm. Y-yes.

Lily: Any chance that Mayor Dreamer made a inquiry with the Landgraab Company?

Nancy: I...I can’t say.

Lily: [chuckles] I’m only teasing. I know you’d never reveal your hand so easily. Besides, it should be a given. The project sounds perfect for the Landgraabs, being as though the Dreamers are likely interested in classical architecture.

Nancy: Actually, the project is more modern. High tech.

Lily: Huh. Is it now? Who would have thought?

Lily: It’s been a pleasure speaking with you. I’m happy to have met you.

Nancy: [breathlessly] I’m happy to have met you too. Are you leaving?

Lily: I have an early flight. The city never sleeps, and neither do I.

Lily: But I’m sure you’ll see me around.

[apdreadful]

I’ve decided that from here forward I’m writing Tommy and Buck/Evan as long term canon. In the words of Buck himself “Who cares?!”

I get the feeling that Tommy is difficult to get really angry. Mostly based on his past. And his general roll with the punches attitude thus far. So I don’t foresee a lot of strife or fighting in his future with Buck. Except the first time Tommy experiences the after of that big marshmallow Evan Buckley doing something really dangerous and reckless..again.

And Tommy who never gets angry, who never shouts at Buck, who flew a helicopter into a goddamn hurricane in the middle of the ocean, really loses his shit this time because Buck cannot understand why Tommy is so upset that he dropped into a dangerous situation against orders AGAIN.

Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose to keep from shouting “Bobby told you not to go in. He told you not to risk it. That the floors were too unstable”

“There could have been someone left” Buck replies “Someone needed to check. It had to be me”

“Why? Because you’re fucking super human? The great Buck Buckley from the 118 who scoffs at danger, has survived a tsunami, getting trapped beneath a fire truck, throwing a blood clot, and was officially dead for three minutes after getting struck by FUCKING LIGHTNING!”

“How do you know about all of that?”

“That isn’t what matters”

“I think it is” Buck takes a step toward Tommy “Have you been stalking me babe?”

Noticing the mischievous smile Tommy shakes his head “Oh no no no. You are not going to adorable your way out of this”

Bucks shoulders sag and he sighs “I’m ok Tommy. Not even a scratch”

“I can see that” Tommy lets out a deep exhale “I understand the risks of the job. I’m not like your exes who would get all distraught over you removing a cat from a tree. But for fucks sake, you are worse than the EOD guys when I was in Afghanistan with the walking - or in your case running or jumping- right into the worst case scenario with no thought of your own safety” Rubbing his forehead he continues “Evan. You’ve got a savior complex and it’s noble and selfless..”

Buck cuts him off “It’s not a savior complex. I’m not stupid. I understand that sometimes no matter what you do you can’t save them. But sometimes maybe you can, and in those cases, I just make the most sense”

Tommy crosses his arms to keep from strangling him or kissing him stupid again to shut him up “How is that? How does you possibly dying make any sense?”

“They all have people that need them. They all have someone they belong to and..” he trails off with a small shrug

And Tommy hears the words he doesn’t say. He is…expendable. And just like that all of the anger drains out of Tommy to be replaced by a something else. “Evan” he says softly.

“I know” Buck interjects “I know that people love me and they would be sad, especially Maddie. And I don’t want to die. But I don’t want someone who has someone they need, and that needs them, to die either. I couldn’t live with that”

Tommy closes his eyes. This man..How can he be so adorable and selfless, yet so completely stubborn and a pain in the ass about his own safety?

Once he calms his thoughts and finds the words he wants to say, he opens his eyes to see Evan looking at him calmly. Like he expects Tommy to see the sense in what he said.

“Evan. I know we haven’t really put a label on this. On us. But that’s because I don’t want to pressure you. I’m the first man you’ve been with and you’re still figuring out who you are, and I understand that. But let me clarify something for you. I need you to come back to me. Ok?”

Buck blinks “Huh”

“I need you to come back to me” he repeats “Like Bobby needs Athena, and Karen needs Hen, and yes like Maddie needs Chimney.

“And Jee-un. Jee-yun needs her dad”

“Yes, and in that same vein, Christopher needs Eddie” he agrees, trying not to give in to his exasperation. “I need you. I am that person who needs you to come home Evan”

Evan stops whatever he was about to say. Startled awareness creeping into his eyes..Tommy sees a mix of emotions flit across his face. Surprise, joy, fear, everything just races across that expressive face and then Evan sinks onto the barstool at his kitchen island. His hands coming up to cover his face.

Tommy’s stomach clench’s. He pushed too hard, too soon “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I do care and want you to come home but..”

Buck looks up at him “Don’t you dare take that back”

“I’m not taking it back. I just don’t want to push you”

Something else crosses Evans face at that..but he tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth. “You aren’t pushing. You aren’t pressuring me. I am in this just as much as you. I just don’t know how to say what I want to say without it sounding lame and emo as shit”

“Did you just hear me? You can say anything to me Evan. Whatever it is”

Buck rolls his bottom lip between his teeth again. “I’ve never questioned why I do this…I mean it’s the whole reason I was born. To save my brother. To save Daniel. That’s what I do, that’s who I am. It’s why I became a firefighter. To be the one who saves people. The 118 is my family. And I would do anything to protect them from harm”

“I’m not asking you to stop. I would never ask that. I just want to remind you that you matter to a lot of people, and you also have someone who is waiting for you”

Bucks voice is thick “I know that. I get that. But…Nobody has ever. I have never belonged to anyone, like that”

In a sense of deja vu Tommy closes the short distance to Buck. Tipping his face up, he kisses him. Not soft and gentle like their first kiss in this kitchen. But bold and deep. Branding Evan with his mouth. Pulling back he says fiercely “You belong to me like that. For as long as you want..you belong to me and I belong to you, like that”

“I will ALWAYS need you to come back to me Evan”

ao3 like per request

[hotshotsxyz]

the golf course job

(8x03 coda) (buddie adjacent) (562 words) relatively minor 8x03 spoilers. this one goes out to the leverage girlies (gn)

Buck’s not panicking. He’s not! It’s just his least favorite sport with his least favorite person, who he maybe tried to murder last week. It’ll be fine. It’d be nice if Eddie stopped looking so goddamn amused about the whole thing, though.

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised; I told you he wasn’t going to be mad,” he says, handing over an uncapped beer.

“Okay, but like—Eddie, he wants to take me golfing.”

“Relax,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. He waits until Buck brings the bottle to his lips to add, “You can borrow my clubs.”

Buck chokes. “That is not the problem,” he sputters.

Eddie’s lips twist in that oh-so-familiar way. He hums a noncommittal noise and takes a sip of his beer.

“You think this is funny,” Buck accuses.

“Who, me?” Eddie asks, the picture of innocence. Buck knows him better than that.

“You do!” he says.

Eddie snorts. “Maybe a little,” he says.

Buck throws his head back dramatically. “Betrayed by my own best friend,” he says, bringing a hand to his chest.

That makes Eddie laugh in earnest. “I just—you should have seen your face,” he says between chuckles.

“I thought he was going to fire me!” Buck exclaims. “And then he just—”

“Took you under his wing,” Eddie snickers.

“I don’t want to be under his wing,” Buck laments.

“You know,” Eddie says, tapping his beer bottle thoughtfully against his hip, “this could be a good thing.”

Buck fixes him with a disbelieving look. “In what universe,” he says flatly.

“In the one where we get him fired so Bobby can come back,” Eddie says. He tilts his head and raises a brow.

“Um—how?” Buck asks.

Eddie puts his beer down and takes a step closer to Buck. “Go golfing with him. Take him to brunch. Make him like you.”

Oh, Buck does not like where this is going. “I don’t want him to like me,” he protests.

“Sure, but he doesn’t know that,” Eddie says.

“But—”

“No, no, I think this could work. Get him talking. You know he’ll say something that could get him fired.”

Buck frowns. “I guess, but it’s not like the brass will believe me over him. We’ve tried that already.”

“Sure,” Eddie says with a shrug that doesn’t land anywhere near casual. “But we didn’t have proof.”

“And golfing with him gets us that how, exactly?”

“Come on Buck, I know Chimney made you watch Leverage,” Eddie says.

“But Eddie,” Buck says, “I hate golf.”

Eddie pats him on the shoulder. “And that’s what makes your sacrifice so noble.”

Buck groans. “I still think we should all just quit.”

“Too bad, Buckley,” Eddie says with a wolfish grin, “you’re going undercover.”

Buck scrubs a hand across his face. “Why’d I have to save him from that stupid saw,” he bemoans.

“Nobody’s perfect,” Eddie replies sweetly.

“Fuck you,” Buck says without any heat.

Eddie laughs. “I’ll buy you a drink after, you can complain about golf all you want.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Buck says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says lightly.

And, okay, everything about this is going to suck, but Eddie’s smiling more than he has in months, and there’s not really anything Buck wouldn’t do to keep it that way.

“Fine,” he says with a sigh. “Let’s steal a captaincy.”

[ascesabo]

sometimes i want to reach through the screen and shake sabo by the shoulders because. god. there's just so much going on with him.

he's first introduced through the veil of luffy's memories- here he's just another feral jungle kid, sticking it out with ace and luffy, the 'nicer' brother in young luffy's eyes. and then boom. you find out he's a runaway noble trying to escape his abusive, neglectful family- and this changes nothing, they still get to become sworn brothers, but just as quickly as this is resolved, his asshole of a dad takes the three of them hostage. and what does sabo do? he gives up the little sliver of freedom he'd fought for, is willing to become miserable and lonely again if it means ace and luffy are spared. and then he comes home to find that in his absence, his parents have already found a replacement! great!

and he doesn't even get to address how fucked up that is, because stelly runs his mouth and now sabo's too busy trying to figure out how to stop his brothers and their home from getting burnt to the ground. he never gets to give them a proper goodbye- he exhausts himself trying to reach them, but he can't because. you know. he's ten. so where does this leave sabo? ten years old, with nowhere to go- he sets out to sea to try and start over, and for the crime of wanting to escape a terrible life, he's punished with an explosion to the face. he loses his memories, his brothers lose him- and so the cycle continues.

then the army saves him, takes him in; he's essentially a child soldier, with how prodigious of a fighter he is from the get-go. but hey, he thinks he's finally found his footing, even if his past's a blur to him- then it all comes flooding back. in the worst way possible. he sees his brother's corpse and he remembers, but it doesn't matter, does it? he's too late, ace is gone, and sabo's lost ten years of a life he could have shared with his brothers. we don't even know how (if, even) he recovers from this- except for a single passing statement from koala, asking him if he's 'had that dream again' because he'd been crying in his sleep. this is never brought up or addressed again. great!plus, we never do find out if getting blown up at the ripe old age of ten could have left any lasting fire-related trauma; and if it does, what does that mean for sabo, who's pretty much made of it, now?

both of these questions are answered at once- sabo treats the fire as if it's ace. it's ace's legacy he's carrying on, and it's ace he seeks freedom for. he copes by making sure ace lives on in his flames, and how can he ever hate the fire living in him if that fire is all he has left of the brother he never got to see again?

i just have to wonder about him, because he's got so many Issues that just. don't ever get addressed? every time we see him deal with his grief (episode of sabo, his own retelling of events in dressrosa) we never really discover anything about him. i wonder how it felt to finally remember the childhood that eluded him, just to find out he was an unwanted, replacable child. how he feels, living with the knowledge that he could have done something to save ace, that he'd failed to remember the two people he loved the most? i wonder just how terribly that guilt must weigh down on him- because where luffy's already begun to heal, sabo still sees ace in everything he does. his title of flame emperor is a direct callback to ace's final attack in his fight against blackbeard. he talks to his goddamn fire like his brother is still in front of him, which is sweet and heartbreaking and, considering his backlog of unaddressed trauma... incredibly unhealthy. i know these will probably be left unresolved for the sake of moving the story forward- but god, sabo, are you okay?

[greenglowsgold]

The List.

Based on the Cass Apocalyptic Series.

The first part of this has been rumbling around in my brain ever since that Super Sad Scene a month ago, but yesterday’s update gave me the other side of the coin, so to speak, and finally pulled it all together.

@somerandomdudelmao thanks for the fuel, friend

                              -----

                              Donatello’s days have become a series of checklists, as of late.

No, that’s not exactly true. His days have always been about lists: what he’s done, what he can delegate to someone else, what still needs doing. But these days he’s been doing less and listing more, piling tasks from the first category onto the second as fast as he can manage, hoping he has enough time to empty the queue.

The full catalog is written out in a series of files, reorganized for accessibility to the layperson and meticulously up-to-date as of yesterday. He meant to run through it again this morning, ensure all the relevant instruction manuals were attached to each item and double check his protocols, but he wasn’t… he couldn’t…

He’s going to die tonight.

It irritates him, his own miscalculation of the timing more than the stark presence of his oncoming demise. The latter has been inevitable for quite some time, long enough that he’s gotten used to the idea. But he thought he had another week or two, and he doesn’t like being proven wrong. He wonders if his brothers know.

Probably not. They know it’s bad now, obviously, because they’ve piled him with pillows and blankets and surrounded him on all sides, and Leo has finally gone quiet. But they trust him, they’ve always trusted him, even when they shouldn’t, so if he swears he’ll last a few more days, they’ll believe him. He thinks. He’s pretty sure. If they knew it was tonight, he doubts they would choose to sleep through it. Donnie thinks about waking them up, but only for a moment. He’d like to say it’s a noble act, to leave them in peace a little bit longer, but the truth is he’s just too fucking tired to move.

There’s something settled bone-deep in his chest, a heaviness that sits on him like a stone, a peine forte et dure pressing him down and down, stopping his voice and his breath and his heart. He wonders if this is what dying usually feels like, or if it’s unique to the Kraang. Raph would know.

He cranes his neck to the right, to catch Raph’s face out of the corner of his eye. Raph’s working eye is half-open, staring down at the floor. Donnie could ask him. (He won’t. Let him fall asleep.) The movement of his head is so slight it doesn’t even catch Raph’s attention. He’s too tired for anything more. He’s so goddamn tired.

His lists are out of reach at the moment, with his physical interfaces back in the lab and his ninpo locked behind a wall of oh-god-it-sounds-too-exhausting-to-even-try, but he memorized them all long ago.

Raphael: Maintenance (delegated to Casey, who has it well in hand). Plans (tucked away in a dedicated folder, long term, but someday they’ll have the materials, and Raph will have a proper body again, someday). Honey (yes, he passed that along last week).

Raph has access to the tracking programs, so he can keep an eye on everyone himself, even when Donnie can’t pull up locations or vitals for him anymore. He has his own space in the base once more, somewhere to close a door when he needs to (he insists he doesn’t, but Donnie isn’t a fool). He has more excuses to spend time with Casey, who’s taking over his upkeep. Donnie hopes it fills in some gaps for both of them.

He runs through the list, double checks each item. It’s his last chance to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything important.

He looks down, finds Mikey.

There’s a stockpile of the anti-aging serum in his safe, the formula in his database, plans for the permanent solution clearly labeled. As long as they have his lab, his systems, Mikey will be as young as his years. He’s walked him through the greenhouse, even if most of it is controlled by the computer system. Mikey misses the world being green; it’ll do him good to spend more time around the plants. He has his tea, his candles. He has Draxum, who by now should have received a — mildly — threatening message warning him not to pull any disappearing acts anytime soon. He has their ancestors, just a short call away.

Donnie’s sure Mikey will call on him soon. He doesn’t plan to stray far.

Up a bit. To the left. Leo.

The arm — Leo knows how to take care of it, as does Casey.

The passwords — reset, something even Leo will be able to remember without resorting to blackmail.

The schedule — reshuffled for the next few days, he’ll have a hard enough time sleeping as it is.

The photos — everything they have, even the embarrassing ones. He even managed a couple of prints, and one precious shot from their pre-apocalypse days, something for Leo to tuck into a pouch and carry with him, when they’re not around.

Raph, Mikey, Leo. He doesn’t think he’s missed anything. Donnie lets his head fall back, too exhausted to hold it up any longer.

Is it enough?

His mind stretches further out. He’s unraveling.

What about April? Her prescription is up to date, they just checked a month ago. She has the latest in his combat tech, which has kept her safe in the field this long, so he has no reason to think it will falter now. He’s leaving her a few extra pieces, since he won’t be able to use them anymore. Leo will find the time for a movie night once in a while, he’s certain, even if his taste in Jupiter Jim movies is horrendous. They still have coffee; he’d die before he let that particular supply run out. He will, actually.

Casey. Fuck, Donnie’s gonna miss his birthday. But he did plan for this, his protocols will kick in. The mask is finished, everything is in place. He’s reconfigured his workstations, fit them for a tiny human instead of a seven-foot turtle. Casey has a better head for mechanics than any of his brothers ever did. Kid likes to be useful, so Donnie’s left him as much use as he can. He’s taught him everything Casey can learn and left instructions for more, when he’s a little older and wiser. His family will take care of him, they’ll make sure he gets there.

The base. It has to hold, to give them somewhere safe. The infrastructure is sound, and they have people to manage repair work. Supplies are decent, the most critical items in stock, everything that can be made renewable is. Their allies — Leo handles interpersonal issues and leadership, but Donnie’s checked the list with a pragmatist’s eye, left notes and rankings for priority. Security is the largest concern, but he’s spent nearly half his time with his assistants since his self-diagnosis (he could have spent it with his family), running them through the programs and adjustments, trying to bring them up to somewhere in the realm of his own expertise (a fool’s errand, but still). They’ve been rigorously instructed, they understand that the little things like sleep are secondary concerns. It has to hold.

Is it enough? For them to be okay?

He’s done everything he can. He can’t do any more. So it has to be enough.

Donnie blinks, and for a moment isn’t certain his eyes will open again at the end of it. But they do. At least one more time, they obey him.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home. He rolls back through the list. It’s his last chance. He can’t miss anything.

Mikey’s hand tightens unconsciously around his wrist, fingers meeting easily on either side. Donnie feels only the echo of the pressure.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home.

Something bright sparks at the edges of his vision before it fades. The last gasps of a dying brain, he supposes. Synapses firing one last time before they’re snuffed out.

Raph.

Mikey.

Leo.

                                                            April.

                                                                                                                        Casey.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Home.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Light.

                                                                                                                         There’s light.

                                                            It hurts.

                                                            He thought dying would stop the pain, but it’s risen to a fever pitch instead. His brother’s arms are gone, but the disease wraps around him in their place, consumes him. It rages like a wildfire, burning through his center until pieces start to flake away like ash.

Oh, this is what it does, what it was built for. The Kraang could have killed him in a lot of different ways. He’d wondered why they chose this one.

He hasn’t planned for it. This is something he didn’t even know to fear.

It’s bright and it hurts but it’s quiet as he crumbles, folds in on himself like a black hole in the utter silence of outer space. It’s quiet enough that the voice that breaks through does so clear as a bell.

His head turns to follow the sound, instinct. He’s lost half his field of vision, but what’s left is enough. He looks, and finds Casey.

Casey looks at him, at him, not the body. Donnie opens his mouth to ask a question — What are you doing here? How? Why? — but something else sloughs out instead. Not blood. He doesn’t have that anymore.

Casey calls his name once more and starts running.

Donnie’s questions fold back into his mind. His mouth clicks shut, he swallows back the putrid rot and pushes himself up. His arms are shattered but they’ll have to hold him. They have to. Because Casey is here and he needs something, which means Donnie missed something, which means he isn’t done.

His spirit disagrees with him, doesn’t see the logic. His arms don’t hold.

Casey reaches to catch him as he falls, and the touch ruptures him instead. He scatters. Into the air and the ground and Casey. For a moment, he’s just pieces, fumbling around and latching onto anything that welcomes them, and Casey does that. They flow into him. They’re him. They’re…

He’s…

Casey, he’s…

Donatello pulls himself back together. Most of himself, anyway. The infection hasn’t followed him but the damage persists. He’s run through with cracks and crevices, shaking bits away into infinity with every movement. But there’s more of him here than not.

Unexpectedly, Donnie is not gone. He’s still dead, but that’s fine, he planned for that one.

                                                                                                                         Casey has him now. He wraps himself around Donnie in layers, helps hold him together with a kind of sheer will that makes up for any lack of mystic knowledge in spades. Casey asks him to stay, and Donnie takes up the task like Sisyphus sizing up the hill. This time, this time I’ll do it right.

Even better, Casey has taken him to another time, one where all of Donnie’s long-term plans are now completely-fucking-reasonable plans. Casey’s going to fix it, so Donnie can fix everything else. Whatever else needs it. He hasn’t really asked. And he knows he’s missed something, but he doesn’t think too hard about what, not yet.

First thing’s first: he needs a body.

It’s so simple to accomplish that it seems like the universe is mocking him. Just a quick 1-2-3, ticking off the list. It feels almost stupid, like running back through the early levels of a video game after unlocking all the ultimate weapons and burning through enemies and obstacles, laughing, shit, did I used to think this was hard?

In no time at all, his own face has formed in front of him.

In no time at all, he’s gasping.

It’s only been a few hours since he last breathed air, but he’s missed it.

Another thing he’s missed? Functional musculature. Casey slams into him and Donnie is startled to find that it doesn’t knock him over. His arms and legs look like actual limbs again, not fragile little sticks disguising themselves as such. He stands, dragging Casey along without a second thought. The weight barely registers. It’s amazing.

The power trip is heady, but it only lasts a few minutes before reality kicks it in the ass and pulls him back down to earth.

We lost, Casey says.

They’re dead, Casey says.

It wasn’t enough, Casey does not say, but Donnie hears it just as clearly.

All those plans, the preparations, the precautions and protocols, they only borrowed a year or two before they fell apart. He sees the timeline spiral out before him, tighter and tighter until it collapses in on itself, rendered all the more insignificant from his own point of perception. He was alive yesterday. His family is dead today.

Everything he did, it wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t. He was stupid to think otherwise.

(Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Casey’s still here. It was enough for him, at least.)

It cuts at him a little, to have been so wrong. But he’s strong again, now. He can take the wound. More importantly, he has another chance to get it right.

Donnie breathes. His chest expands smoothly, easily. The air doesn’t rattle in his lungs. He’s alive, he’s a genius, he can fix anything.

He pulls up a list.

[rovingotter]

Another Poolverine scene fragment which probably won't become a full story. Mild BDSM, nsfw but nothing too explicit.

***

“Say it.”  Wade placed the blade of his katana beneath Logan’s chin, lifting his face.

Logan knelt before him on the bedroom floor, hands manacled behind his back.  He glared up at Wade; the corner of his eye twitched.  “Wade.  This is stupid.”

“Did I ask for your opinion, Mr. Judgy Pants?”

“Seriously. This isn't what I had in mind.  When you said you wanted to make me say things, I thought it was gonna be…y’know, like making me call myself a filthy slut and beg for your cock or something like that.  Just fuck me already.”

Wade hesitated, but only briefly. Logan remembered the safeword; he'd double-checked before they started.  “Oh, I will.  Once I hear you say the words.”

Logan’s jaw tightened.  A flush crept up his neck, into his ears.  His gaze shifted away.  He mumbled something under his breath.

“Louder.”

Logan sighed tensely, briefly closing his eyes.  Wade’s blade was still under his chin, pressing against the tender skin of his throat, not quite hard enough to draw blood.  Logan swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, muscles shifting beneath the skin.  He spoke stiffly, his gaze averted:  “I’m a g-good—” his voice grew hoarse, cracked slightly.  His breathing grew heavier.  “I’m a good person.”

“There.  That wasn’t so hard, was it?”  Wade slowly crouched down in front of him, sword still against his throat.  He leaned forward, until his face hovered mere inches from Logan’s.  “Again, now, with eye contact.  And a little more confidence.”

“Saying it doesn’t make it true,” Logan said, a surly growl creeping into his voice.  “I’m just—repeating words.  Like a goddamn parrot.”

“Oh, but it is true.  And I’m going to make you keep saying it until you believe it. You're not getting fucked until you've branded those words into your fucking soul.”

“You’re a maniac.  You know that?  You’re a sick piece of shit.”

“And you’re a noble, compassionate, courageous man.  And the love of my life.”

He sighed, shoulders tense. “Wade…”  A hint of pleading crept into his voice. "Come on."

Wade trailed the edge of the blade down his throat to the hollow between his collarbones, pressing just hard enough to leave the faintest red line on his skin.  “Again,” Wade said firmly.  “With eye contact.”

Logan flushed brighter.  Behind his back, his bound hands clenched, flexed and clenched again.  His claws started to poke out.  He raised his eyes to Wade’s, open defiance in his expression—but beneath the shield of the anger was something else, something helpless and open.  “I’m a good—” his voice broke.  He blinked a few times, a shine creeping into his eyes.  He closed them briefly, then opened them, gazing up at Wade, and whispered, “I’m a good person.”

(Saw some post about “BDSM scene where I force you to internalize a compliment” and had to write that for Wade and Logan.  Maybe I will do another scene where Wade is forced to call himself beautiful.)

[kiyomitakada]

Light Yagami is compliant the entire first day they're handcuffed together.

Almost too compliant. L is not ruling out the possibility he'll strangle L in his sleep, hence why, as he shuts the hotel room door behind them, L silently decides he'll use his Whale Sleeping Method (standing up while shutting down alternate halves of his brain) tonight. Unfortunately he isn't quite as good as a whale is yet, but he presumes he'll at least notice Light's hand wrapped around his neck.

"Ryuzaki," Light says on cue, "why is there only one bed."

"That's because only you'll be sleeping," L says. "I am patenting my Whale Sleeping Method."

"The what — actually, I don't want to know." Light digs one thumb into his temple. "You're going to be watching me while I sleep, aren't you."

"Yes," L confirms.

"Right." Light sighs. "I'm sorry, but if you're expecting anything, you'll be disappo…"

He trails off.

L frowns and glances over. "Light-kun?"

"Ryuzaki," Light says extremely evenly, not looking at him: "what's today's date?"

"July 23rd, 2004," L informs him easily.

"July," Light mutters to himself. "J—fuck."

"What is it?" L asks, even as Light tugs him over to the bed in silence and sits with a thump.

"My father was in prison too," he says abruptly. "He said so."

"Yes." L is becoming a little annoyed, and more than a little intrigued. This version of Light Yagami — because he does seem to be a different version — is off in a million ways. He seems truer, more anchored in reality somehow, and yet the workings of his mind are more opaque than ever.

His fingers, L notices, are trembling.

"When?"

"When what?"

"When did he go into imprisonment?"

"June first," L says, then — noticing Light's lost expression — "The same day as you."

"I have to go," Light says.

"The bathroom is five meters away from you."

"No, I have to go home. Sayu—"

Light stops. He shuts his mouth with a clack.

"Your younger sister?" What does Sayu Yagami have to do with anything? L could count on one hand the number of times Light has brought her up voluntarily. Is she a pawn? An accomplice?

"I need to go home," Light repeats, still not looking at him.

Instead of answering, L taps his nails against the chain between them. It rings metallically. Light drops his face into his hands.

L presses one finger into the corner of his mouth. Light is concerned about: the current date, his father's date of imprisonment, his sister. L flips through files in his head. Sayu Yagami, student, blood type O—

Ah.

"June eighteenth," L says. "Her birthday."

"I was supposed to take her to a concert," Light mumbles.

"Rather noble of you."

Light glares at him. L is almost taken aback by the genuine venom in it; it lasts for half a second before Light blinks and looks away again. "Mom wouldn't let her go. She'd been to one in March already. We were going to sneak out."

L studies him. This eighteen-year-old boy with every bone in his body calculated to align in only the most disarming of poses, now slumped inelegantly on the edge of a hotel bed. L had always wanted to see how Kira killed; had always wanted to see how Light Yagami's face, that confident and smiling mask, would split to reveal the ugly breathtaking truth of his cruelty.

That's the reason for all of this, isn't it? He wants to see Light honest.

And this — is honesty. Just not where L had expected it.

"Your father was allowed communication in his cell," L informs him. "I am sure he wished her a happy birthday on your behalf."

Light's mouth twists. "She thinks I ran off with Misa."

"Yes," L says. "You came up with the cover story yourself."

"There was something wrong with me then," Light mutters, but without any of his usual conviction. "Give me a phone. She deserves to hear from me."

"I can't do that," L lies.

"You can look at the goddamn texts when I send them, okay? Run it through all the detectors you want, I just — want to talk to her."

L allows himself to stare. Light looks back at him, unflinching. His hand twitches at his side, the same way it had when he'd screamed at L in the hospital when he'd accused Sayu Yagami of fitting Light's profile.

Hm. A hypothesis; an experiment. "One text."

"Fine," Light says too-quickly, and L hands him a burner.

[ @deathnotetober day 4: family ]

[qrovidcore]

i was WRONG. calling cazador bargain big dracula is an insult to dracula, not cazador. DRACULA’S spawn don’t do shit. DRACULA has to go do all the grocery shopping FOR them and then THEY complain about what he brings back and try to steal his snacks out of the jonathan fridge anyway. DRACULA has to do Everything Around Here Himself. he has to woo his OWN lawyer to eat. NO help from his roommates. when DRACULA’S Big Evil Plan fails because it is stupid and bad, dracula has the spine to STEAL a WOLF from the ZOO for HIMSELF. would CAZADOR steal a wolf from the zoo for himself? no. cazador has the willpower of a singular overcooked spaghetti and is too much of a little bitch to just try looking stupid. cazador doesn’t have the GUMPTION to be completely cringefail and bad at being a powerful immortal vampire on main and if he DID then he wouldn’t HAVE TO MAKE HIS SPAWN DO EVERYTHING FOR HIM LIKE A LAZY COWARD. DRACULA is cringefail with his entire CHEST. dracula did NOTHING right but he did Everything Around Here Wrong His Goddamn Self. cazador could never, because cazador, like every rich idiot ever, has never even Considered a hard day’s work once in his life. cazador could never cringfail his way through his evil world domination plan with a fraction of the sheer idiotic commitment to the bit that dracula did. DRACULA is a FAILURE ON MAIN and CAZADOR is A SPINELESS BASTARD.

he isn’t even an IMPORTANT noble. DRACULA led armies. CAZADOR couldn’t even get invited to one (1) coronation. i’m sorry dracula for insulting you, i WILL do it again but never like THIS.

[witchthewriter]

𝐆𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!   

a/n: I watched the new season of The Witcher and somehow Geralt got even hotter??? Anyway, he has dilf energy and I'm in love

Warnings: family abuse, curse previously put on reader

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ        

・He had saved you, and yet, your family still did not want you.

・Geralt found out that it was your own father who cursed you

・A noble family that saw you as less than. And they banished you from their land, not wanting you anywhere near them.

・And when Geralt spoke on your behalf, asking what you were supposed to do, your father shrugged his shoulders and ignored the Witcher.

"You won't even keep y/n on as ... as anything?" The Witcher was disgusted when your father kept on ignoring him. It got to the point where Geralt threw a golden plate just above your father's head and his attention snapped to the white-haired man.

"I could have your head for that." Your father's voice was cold, it was always cold.

"And I could have yours," snarled Geralt, whose eyes were ablaze. But he knew he couldn't do anything about your family. Only about you.

・So, Geralt couldn't leave you to fend for yourself. And he didn't.

・Besides, you had no idea how to look after yourself. You had been a monster, trapped inside a form that was not yours for 7 years

・You were filthy, tired, and utterly defenseless.

・And even though Witcher's weren't known for their grace nor kindness, Geralt was different.

・He took you with him, damning your family for casting you out. Promising that you would rise above what they had done to you.

・But for now, he had to clean you up and ... catch you up on life.

- ✦ -

・Geralt sat you in front of him, Roach slightly grumpy with the extra weight. But once you reached Geralt's destination, he rewarded the steed with extra food

"Thank you, old friend," he whispered into the horses' ear.

・Helping you inside, he had arranged a room that had a bathing chamber

・The water ran hot as Geralt added in oils and different kinds of herbs

・It was an odd situation, yes, helping a stranger clean themselves.

・But Geralt couldn't live with the knowledge of you being left on your own. The possibility of so much danger. Of being taken advantage of.

・Helping you undress was slightly embarrassing, for the both of you. Your body was still getting used to its original form. Your balance was off, and your posture wasn’t very good. Geralt had to keep on correcting it.

・Easing you into the bath, he grabbed a cloth and started gently rubbing the grime from your body. The dirt, sweat and mud that caked your body

・Even when you transformed back into your normal form, the dirt still remained, as did the torn clothes that you had worn before being cursed into a great beast

・Speaking was difficult as well, but it was becoming easier with time. Even though not much had passed.

・The bath was the best thing you had felt in 7 whole goddamn years.

・Hot; like it was ridding you of all the hurt that built over time

・You swished your fingers through the water, delighting in the ripples they made. Such a small happiness. Yet you found glee in small things now. Grateful for a second chance.

・Geralt kept on scrubbing at your skin, using a bristled brush on some areas, careful not to be too rough or stay in one spot for too long

・Next he used this delicious smelling soap. Your knowledge of herbs was next to nothing, due to a lack in education, but you thought it smelt homely, earthly and calming. Lathering it in his hands and massaging it onto your own, you both worked the soap into different areas of your skin

“I’m going to wash your hair now,” he said. Voice soft yet still rough, like he wasn’t used to being kind to others. If that were true, you wondered why he was doing this for you.

“But first we need to brush it,” his eyes squinted at the tangled mess but started on it nonetheless.

・It hurt at first, but you knew Geralt was being as gentle as he could be, but there were so many knots.

“What do you think about cutting it?” You shook your head. Your hair was one of the only things that made you feel … beautiful.

“Ugh, fine. But this is going to take a while.”

・You shrugged your shoulders and happily kept on sitting in the tub, taking over some of the scrubbing, especially your feet, which felt so sensitive.

・Once they were large and clawed, now … they were human

・Your eyes stilled as the water reflected the glow of the candles around the room

・And you sighed. Not in sadness, or pain, or grief. But with the knowledge that you no longer had to be someone that you were not. Whether that was a beast or playing a role in your family that you didn’t want to have to play.

“You alright?” Geralt had made significant process, practically finished with your hair. And he grabbed a bucket and told you to lean back as he poured the water onto your hair.

・Geralt grabbed a different kind of soap and placed it in your hair, massaging and rubbing it, making sure there wasn’t a spot unwashed.

・You weren’t used to the sensation and let out a laugh. It tickled a tiny bit, especially when he rubbed behind your ears

・Unbeknownst to you, Geralt was slightly smiling. He enjoyed seeing you experience some happiness.

・After he had washed your hair a total of three times, he stood back satisfied with your appearance and held out a towel for you to wrap yourself in.

・Helping you out of the bath, he set down a pair of clean clothes on your bed and said he would be back in a few minutes.

・He wanted to give your privacy, while also wanting to check on Roach.

・The clothes were a big pair of brown pants and a long white shirt. They were a fresh pair from the Innkeeper's husband, who had recently passed away. Geralt had paid extra for them.

・After twenty minutes, Geralt came back into the room to find you asleep on the floor. The usual place you slept.

・A place you had slept for 7 years.

・7 years without a bed. Without a blanket or pillows. Nor were you given any sort of comfort.

・A rage so hot spread through Geralt that it practically radiated off of him.

・In that moment he swore you would have a better life, the best he could find … or give you.

[love-toxin]

i have seen deadpool and wolverine 7 times in theaters. i need to kiss both of those men and i need them to kiss each other. we all need to hold hands and hug and kiss and skip in a circle together. and then have hot graphic sex together.

i need to be sandwiched in between them with no way to escape while they’re pissed at each other so they feel bad when they calm down. need them to start fucking all gentle out of guilt, like my brain didn’t melt out of my ears cuz they were so damn rough. need them to accidentally overstimulate me because they didn’t know they made me cum more than once during their bickering. need them to start fucking each other with me still between them cuz im outta commission but they still want to be as close to me as physically possible. need the friction of their bodies to accidentally cause a final orgasm so deep and slow it knocks me out, only to wake up hours later still between them. (goddamn healing factors)

ANON I WANNA LIVE IN UR BRAIN SO BAD!!!!

uuuuuugghhhnnnnm i just know the sex would be CRAZY. Logan and Wade both having regeneration and violent tendencies and having to have some kinda restraint to not literally kill you while you're sandwiched between them 😵‍💫 fighting over who gets ur ass first 😩😩 woof. thinkin of them having a tally on a notepad (mostly Wade, lets be fr) keeping score of how many times each of them get lucky with you and getting scary competitive over it. looking at the tallies an seeing one of them is lower than the other this week and realizing you're gonna get your bones jumped hardcore just for one of them to make up the score. sometimes they're bickering so much even a kiss makes them jealous--you peck Logan on the chin and Wade's whining about it being unfair until you lean over and give him one too. but as soon as he starts stealing another and another Logan grabs your neck and shoves his own tongue down your throat and whoops, the boys are duking it out again!

also.......the pull out game being weak as hell. each of them just end up pushing you deeper on to the other and it's no wonder they can't abort the mission on time--some days you get treated so nice and gentle and like a little noble on your throne, and some days you end the night with your lap just soaked and have to accept your fate when they both fall asleep still buried inside. but bc ur their pookie they're so sweet afterwards <33 you're not like them, you need a bath and treats and cuddles to recover when they rough you up! the babying from them would be sooooooo tasty and it just compliments the insane ball-busting hole-resizing craziness that happens whenever they're riled up and get so much as arm's reach from you. ugh!!!!

[pacifistcowboy]

i’m fuckin’ thinkin’ about it and man am i tearing up!! hahahaha!!! this fourteen year old does not deserve to go through all this!! especially all alone!!! hahahaha!!! he holds the burden of the entire world on his shoulders and he’s never even complained about it!!! this poor kid has literally witnessed the aftermath of everything going wrong and it’s horrible that it’s just a fact that it is down to him to fix it!!! what the hell man!!!!!!!!!

dont think about the things silver had to do to survive in his timeline. dont think about how many bad futures he's witnessed. dont think about how many ended worlds he came back to. dont think about how many bodies hes probably seen. dont think about the nightmares he must have.

dont think about how he must feel knowing hes the only one that can prevent this stuff. dont think about the crushing weight of responsibility on his shoulders. dont think about what that all of this does to a kid.

dont think about it. dont think about it. dont think about it. dont think about it. dont thi

[gallusrostromegalus]

I love Kenpachi "Raised By Eagles" Zaraki, and learning how this affects his behavior and worldview but how does this change Yachiru?

Kenpachi might be human-shaped but he's a bird to the core. How bird like is Yachiru as a consequence? Is her first language Eagle as well? Has she met her extended family (grandmother, aunts, perhaps cousins too) and had flying lessons?

I just love the image of Yachiru being a Chaotic Fledgling, and behind her is a grinning Kenpachi that is just as much a Buck Wild Bird, he's just better at playing at being human.

(if kenpachi is a prince, is yachiru thus a princess?)

One Small Correction: Kenpachi is a Sword Guy at his deepest core, but he still considers himself Culturally Eagle, but also that's only one of like 147 Identities he uses. Man collects personas and cultures and memes and jobs and identities like lint, but don't worry- that's just how Things Like Him live.

Kenpachi is also, technically, a Prince, and if he wasn't allergic to honorifics, he would be well within his rights to tell the Kuchiki clan to call him "Kotaishi-Denka", but he doesn't like being called a title he didn't earn. Moreover, he can only tell the nobles that little fun fact *once*, so he's keeping it in his back pocket for the most opportune moment.

Don't Worry about it :)

As for Yachiru:

It's a tough call which is her first language because Kenpachi was speaking to her in Japanese and Eagle and the language of the Northern Tribes he spent a lot of his adolescence with, and the common language of the small spirits like Kodama and Koropokkur when she was an infant and learned them all simultaneously.

Japanese is actually Zaraki's fifth language, and he's been learning how to talk shit in Spanish recently.

Eagle is definitely Yachiru's favorite language to swear in though. Nothing quite as cathartic as a good screech that blasphemes six different gods and curses the object of offense for seven generations in both directions.

Yachiru's gestures and posture are... odd. Some are distinctly Eagle, but she's a constant finger-drummer and hummer, lies and sleeps on her stomach as a matter of preference, walks as easily on her hands as her feet, and writes as easily with her toes as her fingers.

Some of that is learned Directly from her father, but a lot of it seems to be her own peculiarities that all children develop but most have harassed out of them by their parents. Kenpachi had little regard for "proper" behavior out of a child, beyond not endangering herself or getting him in undue trouble. He also has a lot of strange ways of moving that his Mother never tried to correct out of him, so they're both odd birds in that both of them are about five steps to the left of any ind of typical and don't mask a goddamn thing.

As for Yachiru's Extended Family, she occupies a unique position in the family of She Who Rules The Sky.

Yachiru is Her first grandchild.

Oh, certainly, She has laid and raised many, many generations of Eagle, but per tradition and common sense, they move far, far away from Her before having their own offspring to avoid competing with Her, and their children do the same. But Kenpachi comes to visit his Mother and sisters- a strange thing, but he's not eating the same food or trying to build a nest in the same place, so it works.

She Who Rules The Sky is DELIGHTED by Her Granddaughter, and spoils Yachiru rotten with attention and fresh kills and embarrassing stories about her father when he was young.

At least some of the way Yachiru hangs off Kenpachi's back is based on how he learned how to hang onto his Mother during Flying lessons, and how her grandmother taught her to do the same, but hanging onto Her neck, on account of how small Yachiru is.

She Who Rules The Sky and both Yachiru's Aunts are all very concerned about how small she is. Her appetite is certainly healthy enough, but she grows so slowly. Zaraki's assurances that there are Human Women he works with that are full-grown adults scarcely half again Yachiru's size does nothing to avail their fears, and makes Rukia sneeze.

Zaraki's sisters have not taken Names either, but for the sake of convenience, they allow Yachiru to call them Ane-Oba and Imuto-Oba, as Kenpachi is the middle sibling, according to order of appearance in the nest.

Eagle kinship terminology is different than human in that only the siblings from the same clutch are your brothers or sisters, and who is the older or younger is determined by the hatching order rather than laying order. Your mother's previous clutches are your aunts and uncles, and your mother's clutch-mates are also your aunts and uncles, but with a higher level of grammatical deference. "Grandparent" is an entirely novel concept to Eagles, who almost never meet theirs, and hearing how active grandmothers are in the raising of their grandchildren fascinates She Who Rules The Sky.

Consequently, Kenpachi isn't a Prince because he's an Eagle.

He's a Prince because She Who Rules The Sky is a straight-up Kami, and a big damn deal, because She has jurisdiction over EVERYTHING in the sky- Other birds, Weather, Shinigami if they go higher than the roof of the tallest building in a square mile, the fucking moon (technically), Bats (but only when they come out at night. What they do in caves is none of Her business and also She doesn't want to think about it.), and anything some idiot might try shooting at Her.

"Prince" isn't quite accurate- it's not an inherited title, but She Who Rules The Sky told Kenpachi after he became a captain to Officially Manage whatever Humans and Shinigami were doing in the sky for Her, on account of being closer and having at least one eye to keep on them.

So technically he's a Nepo Unpaid Intern, but a Nepo Unpaid Intern that could smote anybody right out of the air, so most birds and lesser Kami use the more respectful title of "Prince" instead.

He does not use this ability often, because he'd rather try to get someone to fight him, but he does not hold back with it where mosquitoes are concerned.

It's cromulent to Eagles that he should inherit the responsibility though, because it's usually the youngest clutch that inherit a nest site or hunting territory upon the demise of a parent, and while She shows no signs of dying any time soon, it's the way of Kami to train and hand off lesser responsibilities to their children as their domains expand.

Hence, Yachiru is not a Princess in the sense that she has a title to inherit, but she is one in that Kenpachi trusts everything she tells him and defers to her on things like "math" and "where the fuck are we going?" because she's better at those than he is, and in that sense, she is his Princess.

[vaguelyaperson]

as much as i understand shigaraki's death, narratively speaking, i'm also so goddamn tired of society needing martyrs.

what made me fall in love with shigaraki is that he's an excellent villain. all his character development built towards him becoming a more competent, driven, effective villain. he became an incredible symbol of fear just as deku became an incredible symbol of peace. this is who he was, in entirety. there is nothing else shigaraki could be.

when shigaraki told izuku, in his final moments, to pass on the message to spinner that "shigaraki fought to destroy until the very end," it really emphasized how it would have dishonored him to be vegeta'd, as it were.

shigaraki made it his mission to tear down hero society. this was his noble mission. this is what made him a hero to the league of villains. because he saw the systemic evils, he saw the evils that hurt his friends, and sought to destroy it all.

there's something to be said about trying to change someone who doesn't want to change, but for shigaraki, it was more than just trying to rehabilitate him from mass murdering. because to him, and the league of villains, what he was doing WAS the right thing. to tell shigaraki not to destroy would be akin to telling deku not to save. "you may not understand, but that's what makes me the villain."

there was a binary choice here: either he'd be left free to complete his mission and destroy everything, or he'd be stopped, permanently.

Izuku, by reaching tenko's heart, but ultimately stopping shigaraki, was choosing the only third option he had: declaring that he would not let all of society be destroyed, but not without promising that he'd do everything he can to reform it here on out.

shigaraki destroys. deku saves.

that's it. that's the bnha narrative in its most basic foundation. horikoshi did not fail to tell that story.

I think what ultimately fucking sucks about this ending is that it's too realistic. society often DOES need a martyr - or often martyrs - to realize that they fucked up, that they let an evil persist too long. they need a shocking enough tragedy to point to and swear they'll never let it happen again. society needs to be rocked to its very core before people can be motivated to get their heads out of their asses and work together towards reforms.

and that in itself is an evil, that people can't see how much harm they're causing or condoning without some horrific tragedy.

i think we're all mad at horikoshi for failing to follow through on the story because we didn't WANT the realistic ending. we wanted the hopeful one. the against all odds one. we didn't want another story about society using the image of martyrs to get its shit together. because we already know that story. and we're so so so tired of it.

especially when we know it only leads to a temporary peace.

because people forget. they put in enough reforms to feel good, and then get comfortable and ignorant again. when does that cycle end? when can we finally notice the evil in time to PREVENT it? so that everyone, 'heroes and villains,' get a happy ending?

I think our anger with the bnha ending is good. we want different - not just in fiction, but in real life. we're willing to hope for different. we should hold onto hope and fight for different.