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burntheedges · 1 month ago

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Pas de Deux Chapter 6

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.5k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: You can't avoid it any longer -- it's time for you and Din to talk.

a/n: I feel like this is the moment many of you have been waiting for, lol. I'm very excited to see your reactions! See my notes at the end and on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions and videos), a bit more angst (sorry), but they are going to talk!

Chapter 6

You thought about your conversation with Kuiil as you walked to your rehearsal with Adrian, as you stretched and practiced in your morning classes, and as you took the stage over the weekend in Vince’s piece in the mixed program. You thought about it as you watched Din and Yuna in the Balanchine ballet and as you did your PT for your ankles and as you talked with Talia about your role in Midsummer. You thought about it as you sat on the bus home at night, so tired and achy that you needed something to think about to keep you awake.

You thought about it so much you barely had time to think about anything else.

Was Kuiil right? Was Din more uncertain than frustrated? Was he finding it difficult to communicate and connect in a way he hadn’t before, at CBC? You thought about seeing him on stage with Yuna, and how effortless that had seemed. But Balanchine’s choreography, more than so many others, was so technical, so focused on precision. There was so much less room for the dancer in a ballet where all of the space was taken up by striving for technical perfection.

In class, you let your eyes stray to Din for the first time in two weeks. You watched as he stretched and jumped and wondered if perhaps you had just been talking past each other.

What if he’s trying, and you simply haven’t realized it? What if he just doesn’t know how?

He’s never done this before, you reminded yourself.

Your mind was swimming as you stepped into the studio for your fourth rehearsal with Kuiil. You found Din was already there, as usual, and tried not to stare as you worried over your questions. You resolved to be more observant, this time.

And this time, because you were looking for it, you finally saw what Kuiil was talking about.

More than once, as you danced, Din reached for you, literally and figuratively. You leapt past and he oriented his body towards yours, echoing your movement. He turned, but kept his eyes on you as he did. You could see him trying in the ways he knew, to shape his movements around yours, to showcase his partner on stage, but his discomfort with improvisation shone through. The problem was that all of his movements were so stylistically different from yours, that there was little for you to hold on to. And so the two of you struggled to react to each other, as Kuiil had asked.

You tried. You tried to respond to him, to react, but it threw both of you off. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to improvise so drastically. Suddenly the dance was disjointed, and you fell so badly out of step in trying to turn towards him when he moved away from you that you stumbled.

The music stopped.

Din turned to look at Kuiil and you spun around to do the same.

Kuiil simply looked at you both for a moment, and then sighed. “I have pushed you too much, I think, and forgotten the basics of partnership. And you will need to work together, to connect more deeply, as we begin the second movement.” You started to shake your head, but Kuiil held up his hand. “No. Here is what we will do, as you prepare for Midsummer and Swan Lake.”

And then he gave you homework.

…

“So, what, is Kuiil going to lock you in a room until you talk to each other?” Adrian’s voice was teasing, but you could tell he meant it.

“Not quite,” you said. “But instead of rehearsal next week we’re supposed to try to get to know each other. To talk.”

He smirked at you. “Ooooh, to talk.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes?” You poked him in the side and he yelped. “Stop teasing me and help me figure out what to talk to him about.”

He laughed. “I think you know what to talk about. You just have to figure out how to get him to talk at all.”

You shook your head. “He’s talked to me. Just not about… this.” You waved your arm at all of the problems you’d been having in rehearsal.

Adrian seemed to consider that for a moment. “You know, you’re right. He does talk to you, in a way he doesn’t talk to anyone else.” He furrowed his brow. “Maybe all you need to do is ask.”

…

You followed Adrian’s advice and started with simply asking Din to meet you at the rehearsal studio, without Kuiil, to talk. He agreed readily and you decided to take that as a good sign.

It was the week of Midsummer’s debut, and you were focused to the point of distraction on your role as Hermia. You appreciated it for taking your mind off of the disaster that was the pas de deux, though, and by the time you found yourself outside of the studio where you’d meet Din you realized you’d barely thought about the meeting at all.

(Well, not much. Not as much as the week before, at least.)

He was, as usual, already inside.

You closed the door behind you and dropped your bag and shoes before moving to join him where he sat with his back to the mirror. As you slid down beside him, he nodded in greeting.

“So,” you said, when it became obvious Din wasn’t going to jump in first. “I think we both know what the problem is, but where do we start?”

You looked at Din and took a moment to observe him up close. He was staring straight ahead, but you didn’t think he was looking at anything in particular. He seemed too inside his own mind for that.

Just when you began to worry that you’d have to push him, that this wasn’t going to work because he wasn’t going to meet you halfway, he spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

You blinked, startled — you weren’t sure what he was apologizing for. Did he think you meant he was the problem?

“What? Din, no—”

He shook his head and finally turned to look at you. His expression was as closed to you as always. “No, I want to say this. Let me… let me say this. I should have told you this weeks ago, but I can’t…” he trailed off, but this time you didn’t interrupt. You turned slightly towards him on the floor, extending your left leg and drawing your right knee to your chest. You gave him your full attention. He looked down at his hands and continued, softly. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve been so worried that I won’t be able to… to let go of my training. To dance in any other way. To do anything else.”

You wanted to reach out to him, but you were worried he would startle if you did. You laced your own fingers together and squeezed your hands around your knee.

“I can see the problems, but I don’t know how to fix them. I don’t know how to move like you do. I don’t know how to do anything but what I’ve always done. I don’t know…” Suddenly he looked up at you, and you sucked in a sharp breath at the sheer emotion in his eyes. “I want to dance this with you. I want to partner with you. But I can’t seem to figure out how — not because of you. Because of me.”

You were reaching before you could stop yourself and lightly rested your hand on his forearm. He didn’t startle, but he did look down at it, brow furrowed. You forced yourself to leave it there and squeezed his arm lightly.

“Din, I…” you weren’t sure how to reassure him. You’d seen his discomfort in rehearsals and you knew this was new to him, even if he hadn’t told you so before. You decided to share your own worries instead, since he had just been so open with his own. “This is the biggest role I’ve ever gotten. I mean, you know I’ve got Hermia, and then the spring fairy in Cinderella… but I’ve never been chosen for something like this before. I’ve never had a chance like this.” He lifted his head and met your eyes again, and this time his eyes were soft. It encouraged you to continue. “And you’re so good, I’ve been so worried that I’m not…” you bit your lip and squeezed his arm again when he opened his mouth. You shook your head and he nodded, letting you continue. “That I’m not good enough. I’ve had bad reviews before and I’m not even a principal and I know there are people out there who think I’m not good enough to be one. I—”

This time, Din cut you off. “That’s absurd.” His tone was flat, like his point was so obvious he couldn’t believe he had to say it.

You blinked. “What?”

He tilted his head, his gaze dancing over your face. He covered your hand on his left arm with his right and squeezed. “Of course you deserve to be a principal. They should have already promoted you. Karga clearly wants to, anyway. You’re a beautiful dancer.”

Your mouth dropped open. “What?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in that barely-there smile and you felt your cheeks start to heat as his praise continued. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice me watching you. It wasn’t just for our homework. You’re… amazing. I don’t know how you put so much emotion into your dancing at the same time as so much such skill and technique. Like in Midsummer, everything you bring to Hermia, it’s…” His eyes scanned your face again, and you wondered if you were gaping at him. It felt like it. “It’s so real. And connected. I feel like a robot, compared to you. I’ve been trying to find that connection for myself, but…” he trailed off again and let his hand slip from where it covered your own. You took your hand back, too.

A connection, he said. “Um, thank you. Maybe…” you started, hesitant. He looked at you again. “Maybe we can help each other. Practice together, outside of our rehearsals.”

He nodded. You nodded back, and then you both laughed, a little. You’d never seen him laugh before and couldn’t help but stare.

You felt a bit shaky after all of that honesty and decided to lighten the air a little. “Ok, well, one thing we definitely need to do is get to know each other, right? So we’re comfortable together.” He nodded, and his expression was so open you had to force yourself to keep going, rather than to simply marvel at the fact that he’d dropped his mask. For you. “So. How about we each get 10 questions, but we can pass if we need to. Ok?”

One side of his mouth lifted in a smile. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

You shrugged. “It’s a good way to get to know someone, especially when you have to dance with someone new.”

Din nodded. “Alright. You go first.”

Over the next half hour you learned that Din’s favorite color was black (“come on, really?” “Fine, my second favorite is green.”), he hated smart technology (“I don’t want my fridge to talk to me. I want it to be a fridge.”), and his favorite ballet he’d ever been in was, surprisingly, Giselle (“it’s not in the normal repertoire there, and they didn’t like how I danced it. But I did. It was the most free I’ve ever felt on stage.”).

You wanted to ask more about why he’d left CBC, but that felt like too much for your first real conversation. You did learn, though, that he had a son.

“Grogu,” he said, “that’s his name. He’s five. He loves watching ballet.” Din smiled a little, looking off into the distance. “I don’t know if he’ll want to dance, but at least he likes watching me do it.”

You smiled. He was more open when he talked about his son, who must have been the little boy you saw him with, back in December. “Sounds like he sits through it better than my family.”

Din laughed, and shook his head. “We’ll see if it changes as he gets older.”

“Is that why you’re always in such a hurry?”

He nodded. “My friend takes care of him during the day, but I hate leaving him for so long. She lives close by so I try to go home for lunch, on the weekends, or to pick him up from school.”

That made sense. A new understanding of Din was forming in your mind — not an avoidant, aloof principal dancer, but a father who wanted to spend time with his son as much as he wanted to dance. Someone with more on his mind than fitting into this new company — you imagined the move must have been difficult on Grogu, too.

“How’s he settling in here?”

Din looked at you, that little half smile back on his lips. “Just fine. He likes his new kindergarten, he’s made some friends. Better than I even hoped, really.”

You nodded. “That’s good. I’m glad he’s liking it. I bet that was a difficult transition for him. And you.”

Din sighed. “A bit. But it was necessary.”

Before you could even consider asking what he meant by that, you both heard commotion in the hall. You checked the time and realized you needed to get to your next rehearsal. Din stood first and offered you his hand.

You slid your hand into his, and he squeezed it as he pulled you up.

“This was a good idea,” he said, squeezing your hand again. “Do you think next week will go better?”

You nodded. “I think so. But do you want to meet beforehand, to talk about the choreography? Maybe figure out where we can find each other instead of missing each other.”

He nodded. “I’d like that.”

…

You felt lighter after your conversation with Din. You hadn’t solved the problem, of course, but you’d at least talked to each other. It felt like the air was clearer, now that you both knew the other was struggling in some way. Neither of you was alone in it.

Over the weekend you focused on Midsummer — it was a big deal for you, getting cast as Hermia. You were excited to dance through her turmoil. She was so torn, as a character, and you wanted to portray that on stage.

As you prepared and stretched on Friday night, you thought about what Din had said — that he couldn’t figure out how to dance in a new way, and that he felt like a robot. You shook your head. A robot? You weren’t sure what he was feeling while he danced, but Din never looked like a robot when he was performing. He’d said, too, that he loved being in Giselle, an overall more emotional performance than much of CBC’s usual repertoire. That he’d felt free.

You thought about his face, every time you’d seen behind the mask, and you knew he could do it. You just had to help him figure out how to find that connection again, and how to lower the mask more while he was performing.

As you stepped out on stage that night, you let that certainty ground you. As you performed your variation, you’d never felt more like you were floating.

...

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a/n: they talked!!! what do we think?

Pas de deux & partnering -- Partnering in ballet is hard! There has to be a lot of trust and communication between partners, even though you don't necessarily need to be like best friends. These two are so advanced and have been in companies for so long that they are able to jump into something like this, but they still have to establish a partnering relationship, which is tough! To give you an idea of just some of what goes into partnering, here's a video of "beginning tips" (skip to around ~12:00 for some interesting stuff on balance). Din is used to verrrrry formal partnering, and that is some of the reason for their communication issues.

Midsummer - reader is dancing the role of Hermia in A Midsummer's Night Dream, which can go to either a principal or a soloist, just depending on the company. Here's a nice overview of the two acts and the ballet from the San Francisco Ballet. Here's a video of a dancer breaking down the role. Here's a couple examples of Hermia's famous variation (solo): one, two. Hermia has other big moments in the ballet but I've mostly been mentioning reader prepping for the solo. Companies might also spread out the roles over different nights or weekends -- in this case reader has Hermia for one weekend, like Adrian has Puck for one weekend (which isn't really mentioned in the fic because I didn't think it was relevant). (Is it a little unbelievable that reader is so unsure about her possible promotion if she got this role? Maybe. Soloists could get this role, especially a first soloist!)

Spring fairy - reader is dancing the role of the spring fairy in Cinderella, too. This and Midsummer are big story ballets that would draw an audience. Here's another two performances of the spring fairy variation and all of the fairies in one video from a 2003 Royal Ballet production. Spring starts ~2:30. The wiki page has a nice overview of the numbers in each act, so you can see where the fairies come in. The wiki lists 4 acts, though, and most companies do it like ABT I think -- with 2 acts. And here's a full length recording.

Giselle - Din mentions this briefly and we'll learn more later, but here's an overview of the ballet. (it's one of my favs)

tag list coming in a reblog!

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #pas de deux fic #nbt fic #x reader #the mandalorian #ballet au

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asheurbanipal · 3 months ago

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'Cause I don't want to leave the comfort of this place

on Ao3

<<Previous Episode : Next Episode>>

Summary:

As their relationship moves forward, Logan and Wade start to see what being together actually looks like. Wade has a brain that doesn't work correctly. Logan is still dealing with the trauma of his previous existence. And in the middle is something new that neither quite know what to do with.

Deadpool/Wolverine

Explicit

Words: 8629

One-shot in series

Content: angst, talk of memory loss, baby in danger!, hand stuff, hand stuff while driving, dad vibes, sex jokes

"Wade, how can I put this delicately…"

"Why the hell are you here for breakfast, again?"

Logan choked on his bite of eggs. Hank's attempts at the aforementioned delicacy were completely obliterated by Scott's irritation. He tried to swallow faster to answer.

"Man needs a hearty meal after getting ruthlessly fucked all night," Wade answered. From beside him, Wade reached his foot over and wove it around Logan's ankle.

"Please don't be so crass in the manor," Hank admonished, returning to his toast. Scott rolled his eyes behind his glasses. They had sense enough to not take Wade at literal face value and snap at the bait, but he wasn't exactly lying. Logan wasn't quite sure where their perception of his and Wade's relationship had landed. No one talked about that kind of shit like adults in this goddamn place. He hadn't realized how annoying that was until he had some distance from it.

"We were running drills in the Danger Room." Logan tapped his fork to his plate nonchalantly. "We run it hard, and it's two hours back to his place. I didn't think it was a big deal for him to crash in my room, instead."

Another technical truth. Between the Void and that stupid robot thing upstate, he could feel the way his body had slowed down from disuse. If he was going to keep up in this timeline, he needed to get back in fighting shape. He had finally just taken up the offer of private simulation time. Throwing Deadpool into the mix just made it more interesting and upped the difficulty.

What the simulation computer data logs wouldn't show, though, is that after a couple hours of nighttime training, they were both so amped up the only way to reign it in was to go back to Logan's room and put their dicks in each other in various fashions. They almost didn't make it back to Logan's room one time before he remembered the simulation chamber had very good cameras.

"If it's a matter of food stock…" Logan offered vaguely.

"No, it's fine." Scott waved him off, but he was still agitated.

"What's up, Cy-boy? Did-wait-" Wade leaned over. He didn't have to come far, his chair already practically touching Logan's.

"What's the Jean situation, right now?" he whispered way too fucking loud.

"It's complicated," Logan responded with a small nod.

"Then I'll check the Wiki before I come back to that one. Don't want to insult a grieving maybe-widower."

"I admire your restraint," Scott chuffed then pushed back from the table, standing. "Don't let him out of your sight while he's in the manor." He sauntered through the arch toward the parlor.

"I hadn't planned on it." Logan lifted his eyebrows at the space where Scott had just been.

"If you're really in that much need, I'm happy to train with you, Logan." Storm had been quiet, holding her coffee mug with two hands as she sipped it. She kept looking at him softly. From his Storm it would have been affection. From this one it felt like pity.

Logan shook his head, dipping it back to his plate as casually as he could.

"No, I've been overdoing it. Wade already got on me last night about it."

"Multiple times," Wade added. His foot was still hooked around Logan's, and he pulled it a little closer under the table. He was in slippers, so it wasn't exactly a graceful action.

"If you want me to be able to do more cohesive teamwork, I am going to need to start being pulled for team training. Otherwise I'm not gonna be any good to you." Logan tapped very sharply on the plate.

"Let me talk to everyone about it," Storm said softly, nodding. They'd been doing that. Saying they'd all "talk" about it, meanwhile no one would talk to him directly.

"Can I borrow one of the cars again? To take Wade back. He's got a job to prep for." Logan lifted Wade's foot where it rested on top of his, ignoring the way the rest of the table briefly flicked away from mention of Wade's return to his old vocation. Not like he could work at CarMax, anymore, and if he was going to wear the suit again, might as well slip back into the merc life.

"Let me see what's available," Hank nodded. Which was code for "what we're willing to part with on the chance that something goes horrifically wrong." They'd all heard about the mini-van incident. Somehow…

He glanced at Wade.

"Thanks," he said.

"When are you gonna be back?" Laura appeared in the same arch of doorway that Scott had left through, eating an apple off one of her claws. The kid had settled in quickly, blending with the younger cohort. Some of them knew her story, some of them didn't. Either way, she had gone through the standard new student fare. Get through the initial hazing, then she was part of the crowd.

She was certainly more at home than he was.

His first week back in the mansion, he had hovered at a distance, unexpected fatherly affection pulling him into a wide orbit around her. He also didn't know this younger generation of mutants. They were their own people to him, not sickly mirrors of the people he once knew. That made them easier to be around.

But he was an old man, and Laura needed the space. Deserved the space. Deserved to be just a kid.

She continued to wait for his answer as he considered his day. He half-glanced at Wade, but he was focusing intensely on his bagel with strawberry cream cheese.

"If not by dinner, then right after. Take Wade back. Run a couple errands. Then back here." The errands were making sure Wade had food in the fridge, Althea hadn't OD'd, and filling up the coin jar with quarters for the laundromat. Maybe vacuum and mop. Take Puppins for a walk and check her treat stash. They must have functioned before he showed up, but he wasn't sure how.

If there was time, there'd also be some making out on the couch at minimum. How much farther that got would depend on Wade's timeframe.

"You askin' for a specific reason?" Logan raised an eyebrow at her.

"Because I also need to do some training, and you're the only one I can go all out on, right now. But you've been...busy." The next bit of apple crunched loudly. The first emotion the broiled up was anger. He didn't know where it came from and it wasn't useful, so he breathed through it. That's what the on-staff therapist recommended.

"I apologize for not being available. But in the future, please tell me if there's something you need from me. Open communication and…stuff." Logan replayed the words in his head to make sure he had crafted them okay. Good enough. He was getting a little better at it.

"Now that is some beautiful therapy speak. You should weaponize that, kitten whiskers." Wade poked him in the cheek.

"If you actually went to your appointments…"

"Uh-unh, that's not an 'I feel' statement."

"I feel like I'm gonna kick your ass in a minute." Logan kicked Wade's foot under the table with a grin.

"I feel you use violence to mask your overwhelming urge to suck my cock."

"WADE, THIS IS A PLACE OF LEARNING!" Hank interjected.

"I feel like you're both stupid as fuck," Laura finished. "But I guess that just means you're made for each other." She took another bite of apple. "I'll see you tonight, Logan."

"Bye, kid." But she was already turning the corner of the wall.

#####

Everything was light and bright and fluffy and yellow colored. He couldn't remember the last time he felt good . Genuinely. Whatever memory that might have been was now just a fuzzy gray space. He hated when that happened.

Cold as fuck down here, Christ. Which is me, I guess. I wonder if that's blasphemy.

"You were quieter than usual at breakfast." Logan tapped his fingers to Wade's palm as they moved through one of the basement hallways toward the motor pool. "Fucking weird, honestly." Wade dipped his hand into Logan's and curled their fingers together.

"I was just thinking about stuff."

"Thinking? Dangerous."

"Surprise myself with that sometimes, too." Wade swung their arms in the space between them dramatically. "Just…I don't know…thinking about the job tonight, I guess? Then some other stuff."

"Something you need to talk about? Work through your feelings?"

"Ew no. Gross. It's more like…hm…"

Fuck.

Keep being told to think before I speak, and the first time I do it, it doesn't work. I spent all of breakfast putting the words together, and now they're all garbled. Shoulda written it down. Wish I could write.

"You ever feel lost?" Wade asked. Logan stopped cold in the hallway.

"Babe," Logan murmured. Then he did this thing that Wade knew was going in the spank bank immediately. He slammed Wade back against the wall, metal cold on his spine. Logan pressed up tight against him, hip to hip, giving him an immediate hard-on. Logan's hands slipped around his waist.

"My life is just one long sequence of feeling lost with short periods of knowing what I'm doing. So…kind of an expert." Logan pressed his lips to Wade, and Wade dragged him in in response, deepening the kiss.

I love this.

I hate this.

I hate that I love this.

Fuck these fucking stupid fuck-ass emotions.

Falling in love with Vanessa had been from before The Cancer. Before The Healing Factor. Wade knew how to do all that shit, knew how to put his boyish charm and adult-ish mouth to work. From what he had learned since coming back from the Void, other versions of Deadpool had mixed but overall successful amorous experiences, too. This particular Deadpool was drowning.

Logan pulled away but not before pressing a few small kisses along Wade's jaw and cheek.

"Anything I can do to help?" Logan squeezed him around the waist a little tighter, dropping his hands a little lower to rest on the top of his hips.

"Make me an X-Man so I have a salaried position?" Wade offered.

"You're not a full-on mutant. Also…I don't have control over that even if you were." The words went up at the end like a question. It was so fucking cute.

"Alright then maybe just this, for now." Wade leaned down, pressed his face into Logan's chest, then motorboated the shit out of his pecs for about forty-five seconds. He stayed there, pressing his nose into Logan's shirt and breathing him in.

Oh yeah, that's a thousand times better, already.

"You're lucky you're cute." Logan kissed Wade on the top of the head and brought his arms around Wade's back, squeezing him tighter.

"Logan." The voice came from down the hallway. Logan snapped back, his whole body releasing Wade at once and very literally jumping halfway across the width of the hall.

Well that doesn't feel great, but I sort of get it.

At least the fucker looked contrite, doing that fist squeeze thing with this hands that he did when he was every so slightly nervous. Scott sauntered down the hallway, stopping short to toss a set of keys that Logan caught mid-air.

"Civic's gassed up." He glanced at Wade. "Take as much time as you need."

#####

Logan squeezed the steering wheel hard enough the shape of his claws became visible under his skin. The radio was doing a best of the nineties hour, and he'd already sat through a who's who of pop diva and boy bands of the era. Multiple times he'd considered changing it, but Wade was a little too invested in singing along. He didn't want to take that from him.

It was also, dare he say it, kind of fun?

When the opening riff of a smooth rock song started, Wade scrambled to change it, his chatter breaking off into something about "blow jobs" and "Kid Rock." They ended up on a talk radio station that was a little less nerve-wracking. He leaned back into the seat as Wade provided a parallel commentary with the show host.

He lifted his hand from the wheel and placed it palm up across the center console. Wade took the opening and dropped his hand into Logan's.

"I'm sorry about the thing in the hallway outside the motor pool," Logan said, chewing the words in embarrassment.

"Whatchu talkin' 'bout?"

Logan considered for a moment whether Wade was deflecting or he genuinely didn't catch it. They were both equally likely.

"When Scott showed up?" He hinted.

"OH! Oh that. No biggie, sugar bean." He squeezed Logan's hand tight enough to break a hand made of regular bone. "No grab-ass in the mansion. I get it."

"Well, yeah that." Logan ran his thumb over the back of Wade's hand. "I don't know what their Logan was like, but I used to…uh…get around a little bit."

"You slut!" Wade gasped. Logan certainly wasn't going to deny it.

"Charles used to get on my ass about it-"

"In the sexy way, I hope."

"-'we have to be models of decency for the students' he'd remind me. He never threatened to kick me out, or anything."

"He was probably waiting for his turn."

"I'm on thin ice, here, though. They only invited me back on the team as a courtesy, and they don't know how to feel about you, yet."

"Oh, no, they hate me," Wade said.

"I was trying to be nicer about it." Logan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Wade was staring out the window, watching the landscape. "I haven't really done the physical affection thing in awhile, either. So I'm gun-shy, but I want to work on it. Just go a little slow with me."

"I'm not exactly the touchy feely type, either, peanut, so don't stress over it."

"You slap my ass basically every chance you get."

"That's a totally different thing. I don't know how anyone in that house keeps their hands off those rosy peaches." He smirked and winked. There was something glinting dark underneath, though. Maybe that meant Wade would spend his time thinking instead of filling up the car with noise.

Wade pulled Logan's hand further over the console. He heard a zip, then his hand was curled around the warmth of Wade's half-hard cock.

"Are we really doing this?" Logan didn't dare drop his eyes from the road for too long, but he took half a chance to verify that what he thought was happening was actually happening.

"When I tried to give you head the last time, you stabbed me in the ribs."

"Because I didn't want to drive us into a fucking tree, and that was the only way to get you to stop."

"Yeah, so that's why I'm doing this instead. Just let me do all the work."

"You're deflecting from something. You need to start using your words to communicate, not your dick."

"Ngh, I'll work on it." Wade was already grunting, tiny little moans as he pressed Logan's hand around his dick and stroked himself. It was a shoddy and fast thing, Wade getting hard quickly and tensing toward completion just as fast. Wade orgasmed with barely a trickle of cum, shoulders rolling against the passenger seat as he arched his back. His voice was tight in his throat, squeaking. Soft words tumbled out between the other sounds, though, and Logan honed in tighter with his hearing.

It was his name.

Wade was whispering "Logan" over and over and over again just under his breath.

That was new.

Wade panted as he came down from his finish, licked his own semen from Logan's hand because he was simply a freak like that, then zipped up.

"Ooh, there's an IHOP up here. We should get pancakes for lunch." Wade made that weird little self-satisfied smile of his, and dropped his hands between his legs.

"Whatever you want, babe," Logan sighed, keeping his hand off the wheel as he turned into the parking lot of the strip mall.

#####

You have to tell him.

No you don't. Keep that shit bottled up.

He's already figured out something's going on with you. Just get it over with, and you can work through it.

Fucking FINE. OKAY.

don't yell at me.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

Logan stared at him across the table, pouring "this ain't real fuckin' maple syrup" over his fat stack of pancakes, already through his sausage and eggs and ham and potatoes. Wade looked down at his own pancakes, a smiley face made with chocolate chips and bananas. A piece was already cut out that he didn't remember eating. He didn't remember the eggs and bacon, either, but they were devoured, too.

Shit.

No. You just weren't paying attention, that's all. It's not the other thing.

I think.

He stabbed his fork down through the middle of the pancakes in frustration.

"You good?" Logan stopped, fork midway between the plate and his mouth. He set it down to focus that laser attention on Wade. The gaze that made him either turn to jelly or grow a few more bones depending on context.

Wade re-sorted his thoughts. It was just so hard.

"The constant cellular regeneration. It fucks my memory. Sometimes I just never form them. Sometimes I lose stuff. Sometimes it's nothing. Sometimes it's something really fucking important. But I can't predict it. I'll be looking for this specific little red Fiat in the back lot to sell to some douchebag, and it's not there when I remember it was there that morning. And turns out it's actually been four days." Wade sliced down into the pancakes and took a bite.

"Freaks me the fuck out." He chewed a few times, then spit it into his napkin with a gag. "Why did I fucking get this? I hate this."

"Were those the deep thoughts in the car? The ones that made you whip your dick out?" Logan tapped his fork to the plate, and it was so…it was so annoying when he did that. That high-pitched sound. And there was this look. This pitying look.

"Don't make fun of me." Wade's eyebrows creased hard, and he felt a scrim of tears well up.

God, this fucking sucks. Fuck this. Fuck this.

Logan paused on his own words, then snapped his jaw shut.

"Sorry. I misread the room. I'm just trying to understand. Same with some of the other stuff you do. Like when you freak out when you don't see me for a day."

I'm not nearly as smooth as I thought I was, shit. I didn't realize he noticed that.

"I feel like it's all connected." Logan dropped his fork and leaned his forearms on the table. "I just want to understand, Wade."

"I'm terrified of losing you. Losing parts of you. Memories. The thing that I'm usually able to hang on to is the muscle memory shit. I've never forgotten how to fight or fuck, so I'd like specifically, not forget you how to fuck you. Specifically. So I keep thinking if I just-" He lifted his hands and made a squeezing motion in front of Logan's chest "-then I won't lose it as easily."

"And that makes sense to you?"

"Bitch-ass, what did I say about making fun of me?"

"I'm not…" He craned his neck, pressing his fingertips to his forehead. "I'm not a stranger to amnesia. I know how scary it is. I'm just trying to understand your logic because it doesn't make sense to me. I don't get it."

"You don't get me," Wade snapped.

"I don't. Not in this."

"Cool. Awesome." Wade got up from the table. He made it to the door, then paused. He returned and dropped down into the booth, arms crossed over his chest.

Logan has the car keys.

#####

Wade let Logan rest his hand on his thigh, so that was something, at least. He wasn't getting frozen out. He'd been through that before, and it wasn't pleasant.

Wade was silent, though, and that was scary. He had only seen it a handful of times over the last few months. Wade was thinking and thinking hard, focusing so he could properly turn everything over. Something was going to come out the other side of this that was important. So far it had been mostly positive, but there had to be a moment when the tide turned.

"Logan, stop. Pull over." Wade was sitting up, eyes focused on something out his window. He obeyed immediately, trying to find what had grabbed Wade's attention.

They were approaching a river. Along the perpendicular road, the one that connected to the main highway, two cars had pulled over to take care of what looked like a minor front-end crash. The car wasn't even stopped before Wade was tumbling out and running toward the scene of the crash.

"Wade, what're you doing?" Logan slid across the hood to keep up. "It's just a car wreck." They were approaching quickly, the two people exchanging insurance looking up in a panic. Logan tried to assure them from a distance.

Then a loud whoosh went up, and one of the cars was overtaken by flames.

#####

The 2010 -2016 Kia Soul was among a group of cars known to catch on fire after collision. 2.3 million of them had been recalled for it.

That Kia, in particular, was starting to smoke under the hood.

And now I'm running across the grass, and I'm not sure how I got here. But I'm not freaked out about it, yet. That's just adrenaline.

The fire went up just as he reached the car. A woman screamed behind him, but he knew Logan was there. Logan would take care of them. He had seen the baby in the back seat. The flames were hot on his skin as he went digging for the switchblade in his back pocket. The butt of the knife handle had a knob, and he slammed it into the corner of the back window.

That's the weakest part of the window.

He dived through the now broken window, crunching up into the back seat. He sliced through the seatbelt and carseat anchor, but the fucker was in one of those fuck-ass bases. Whatever. He took off his shirt, threw it over the carseat, then kicked everything he had into the door. It broke off the hinges.

"Wolverine, catch!" Then he threw the carseat clear of the vehicle.

Shit shit shit I just threw a fucking baby. Wait, the car seat should absorb the shock, oh, wait, Logan caught it.

Okay.

A sizzling sound meant the fire was moving up the engine block through the wiring. Smoke started seeping through the cabin, but the missing door should have been enough to…to…

Hm. Something's wrong.

"Wade, you idiot." Logan's voice. The SHNK of claws through the door behind him, then he was being scruffed around the neck.

He lost some minutes in the confusion of his body being manhandled by familiar arms.

"I swear to God, why don't you think ? You're going to kill me if you die."

Wade snapped back as the water hit him, Logan's arms wrapped around him tightly.

"I got you," Logan murmured in his ear as they resurfaced. They kneeled together in the shallow water. The flames crawling up the car hit the gas tank, and the fire shifted color and increased intensity.

"Why am I in the water?" Wade asked.

"You were literally on fire," Logan growled. "Full on human torch."

"Oh, is that what that was?" Wade settled back into the plane of Logan's chest. Fire was tricky. It would keep eating through cells as long as they regenerated. Surprisingly draining to heal from.

"How is it that you can fight endless mobs of yourself without breaking a sweat, but doing a basic smash and grab rescue you look like a drunk frat boy with a hernia." Logan was also a little out of breath, though. They both knew that these little on the spot jobs were the hardest. With a full on mission, you were ready. You warmed up. Zero-to-hero took a little more out of you. It was more personal. More up close. Bunch of people die during a dab of super-villainy, sure. If someone kicked it right in front of you because you couldn't pull them off the subway tracks in time, that sucked a syphilitic dick.

And I don't exactly randomly rescue people. Not before this. Waste of cardio.

What have you done to me, my dearest darling? Heart of my heart.

"I didn't have the suit on," Wade replied as a way to wrap up all those thoughts. Logan kissed the back of his head.

"If I tell you to communicate better, will you remember?" Logan sighed. "I'm being extremely serious. You might forget things, but I remember. And I remember well when I'm at full mental capabilities. Got a lot of trauma up there, so there's not a lot of room left." He squeezed Wade even tighter, the breath puffing out of him. "And I can't manage both our impulse control issues."

"No promises, honey badger. This brain doesn't always connect to this body."

"I…okay. That I might understand."

#####

They slinked through the door into Wade and Althea's apartment, clothes still dripping wet. Logan didn't smell anyone, so Althea was out and had taken Puppins. Reasonable. Wade loved that damn dog, but he wasn't home consistently enough, right now, to take care of her in full. Wade had been chattering endlessly about car recalls and leaking gas tank valves, but he fell instantly silent once they passed the threshold.

"I don't like being here alone," he said flatly.

"I'm here."

"But you're going to go back to the mansion later."

"Yeah, but you're gonna be working. I can stay until you leave. If Scott gets shitty about the car, then whatever."

"Yeah, but-"

"Wade. Babe."

Wade spun around in the middle of the living space, arms flopping.

"Why did you decide on 'babe?'" Wade pouted.

"You call me whatever new thing you think of at the moment, but I'm more of a find a pet name and stick to it kinda guy." Logan rested his hands on his hips, trying to decide where this was going.

"You called me 'daarrrlin' the first time." The impression was pretty spot on. "Then it was 'honey.' Then it was 'sweetness.' But now you've landed on 'babe,' and you stayed there. I want to know why. Show your work."

Logan blinked at him a few times. He wasn't sure he could actually explain it.

"I went to call you 'bub' one time in front of the others, and it came out 'babe.' And I just…liked it. So I kept it. It…fit."

"You've called me, 'babe' in front of the others?"

"Yeah, probably a few times. I'm not really counting."

"Do they know we're together?"

"I haven't been keeping it a secret, so yeah, probably. They're not stupid, and we're not exactly discreet. Last week you asked Scott if there was any flavored lube in the next delivery because, and I quote, 'when I eat Logan's ass later, I want to make sure I pair it with the right wine.'"

"Witty banter. I didn't know they were imagining us fucking night and day all over the house."

"Night and day, sure, technically. I think 'my room' isn't really 'all over the house.'"

"There was that one time in that empty classroom."

"That doesn't count," Logan choked.

"Mmmhmm." Wade clucked, popping his tongue loudly against the floor of his mouth. "So, to be clear, the entirety of the X-Men know that I've been all up in this." He made a waving motion that circled all of Logan's body with special attention on the crotch region.

"Again, yes. Probably."

"That's extremely embarrassing for you," Wade smirked.

"I'd like to go back to the ass-slapping."

"I told you. Those cheeks are irresistible. I cannot be contained." He moved forward a few steps and wrapped his hand around Logan's wrist. "Let's change. You can wear my sweats."

"Please don't give me one of the blow-job shirts," Logan said as he was pulled across the room to the set of hampers where Wade kept his mishmash of clothes.

"Now you're getting the cum slut booty shorts."

Wade started to strip, his body moving with slow, awkward, weirdly normal movements. It was the second degree burns and smoke inhalation. On the surface they looked like they healed quickly, just a little knitting of flesh. But they hurt underneath a lot longer than other injuries. That was probably why he still seemed off. But there was also…

"Wade." Logan waited for Wade to turn around. His flannel was now sitting wet and balled up in the back of the Civic. Instead, he pulled up the bottom of his t-shirt slowly, tantalizing, letting it whip over his head with a stretch of his body. "So you can remember better." He held out his arms, canted slightly into a soft U-shape. He turned slowly, trying to give Wade some kind of show. He wasn't exactly good at this sort of thing, but something about it made sense.

#####

Oh, you sweet sweet idiot.

Logan was just standing there, back to him, triceps fucking rippling.

Do you have a license? For those guns?!?

"You stupid slut," Wade whispered. He moved to Logan, and whipped his arms around his waist from behind. He had been stopped with his wet boxes halfway down his hips, and he just let them fall the rest of the way.

He needed Logan to be naked, too. Not anything more than that, surprisingly. Just naked. He struggled with his belt buckle, but the damp leather had swollen in the metal loop. Logan cut through it with the tip of one of his ever so slightly extended claws. He retracted then turned in the circle of Wade's arms, breaking the loop with his taught ass.

JESUS.

Wade pulled the broken belt free, then somehow managed to fumble down the zipper and top button of his jeans. But the slim cut of the pants was clinging to his glutes and thighs. Wade yanked on them, and they wouldn't budge.

Oh, god, I'm going to cry over pants.

"I can't get them off." He already knew he was mumbling, the rattle of his thoughts only slipping out in little breathy whispers.

"What was that?" Logan asked gently, leaning in and up to Wade's ear.

"TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS."

Logan didn't question the zero to one hundred reaction, just slid his pants down himself, taking his boxer briefs with him, then stepping out of them. Wade slammed himself into Logan's body, wrapping his arm around him again, digging his nails into his spine and shoulder blades. Logan's arms came up from below to hug him back, tight, pulling their chests and stomachs and hips together.

Wade attacked him with his mouth. That was the only word for it. He wanted to bite and chomp at Logan's face. To rip the flesh from his immaculate cheeks. The only thing holding him back from going full animal was how tired he was.

"Pick me up," he whined into Logan's neck, then jumped until his knees were locked around his hips. Logan made a little oomph sound, but snagged him around the waist and under his ass.

He dropped them both on the couch. It was only just big enough to hold them, but not nearly long enough. Logan ended up with one leg up on the back of the couch, bent at the knee, shoulders propped on the arm. Wade settled into the shape his body made, curling one ankle underneath Logan's other leg. They were immediately intertwined.

Their lips fell against each other, desperate and stupid from adrenaline. Familiar, though. It should be. They'd been doing this very thing almost every day for months.

The end of this honeymoon phase was going to be a bitch .

Can you get That Good Dick DTs?

That feels insensitive…

FOCUS.

They were getting hard against each other as they kissed, the weight of Wade's body pressing him deeper into Logan.

Then that asshole pulled away.

"Probably shouldn't get too caught up in this. You've got your job tonight."

Wade groaned, stretching a little.

"There's no jooooob. There never was one."

Logan's hands went extremely tight on Wade's skin. The very very very tippy tips of Logan's claws pierced his flesh, and he shivered in the pain-pleasure-pain.

"If you say the words 'educated wish'..." His warning delivered, he retracted his claws again.

Wade rolled his forehead across Logan's chest.

"I started talking to my old merc contacts when we got back from the Void. I started picking up small jobs when you moved out. Real easy security shit. Made it easier to deal with you not being here. But then after the robot thing the jobs felt…boring. And any time I had to choose between working or spending time with you, I chose you. So I started getting picky."

"How are you paying your half of the rent?"

"That's the weird advantage of the merc work/shithole apartment combo. Couple good jobs and you're covered for the month. Not dressing in Givenchy, but you make it work."

Logan sat up, forcing Wade to do a weird little half curl just to keep himself wrapped around his body.

"But why lie about it? I don't like you lying to me." His voice was sharp. Angry. Wade rolled back over his thighs to sit up on the couch. He brought a pillow over his half-hard cock to not distract himself then shoved one over Logan's for the same reason.

"I don't know. I was embarrassed? Maybe? Worried you'd get tired of me, but also worried if I said I needed space you'd think I was tired of you . Problem solved in both directions if I have to go to a job. But I hate not being around you. It physically hurts when I don't get to see you for some reason.

"Well not for some reason. There's a reason. It's because I still can't seem to remember what you smell like when you're not around. And you can smell me; you know what I smell like. You know I'm coming. I actually stole one of your shirts, and I sniff it when we're not together. And I'm like 'mmhmm, yep, that's Logan.' My boner certainly recognizes you. So why can't I smell you from a distance? Clearly that means I can't remember what you smell like. Then obviously there's other things I'm probably forgetting too, and I don't even realize it.

"But what kind of needy-ass bitch tells someone 'hey, I have to sew my face to your ass Human Centipede style because I'm worried I'll forget what it tastes like.' Listen to how insane that sounds."

"I do agree that you sound completely unhinged," Logan nodded.

"Thank you for validating my emotions. I appreciate it." He leaned back on the couch.

I'm actually completely serious; why does that sound so sarcastic?

#####

Logan traced the hunched curve of Wade's body as he curled up on himself. That was the thing that no one understood about Wade. The thing that he had to keep reminding himself when he told Wade to slow down and think. Wade did think. It was just too quick and frenzied, ideas cycling as fast as his brain regenerated new neurons.

So when those thoughts emerged they sounded like madness.

"Wade." Logan stopped. Careful. Gentle. Breathe. "I can smell you because I have super senses. Other people can't smell each other from down the hallway. I need to be sure that you understand that before you spiral."

"I want to be able to smell you," Wade replied blankly.

"What if I wore a very specific cologne that you pick? Then you'll be able to smell me from farther away."

"But then you wouldn't smell like you anymore."

"So, see, you do know what I smell like."

Wade attempted to retort, then stopped, pursing his lips on his objection. Logan leaned over and rested his forehead on Wade's shoulder. Careful. Gentle. Breathe.

"Don't lie to me, again." It was a bark, immediately losing the pattern of his mantra. "I can't do this if you lie to me." Wade's body tensed.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I'm saying I love you. But love's not enough if you're going to keep big things from me. We're fine, still. It's okay. But it's not something I can ignore." Logan pressed his palms together and squeezed. Too much shit happened to his brain that he couldn't control. He didn't need additional complications.

Wade's hands crawled into the square of Logan's forearms and gripped them tight at the crook of his elbows.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't end us when we just started. I love you." He pushed his body into Logan's forcing them back into the position they were in before. "I'll show you. What do you want? Just tell me what to put where."

"Babe, shut up." Logan clapped his hand around the back of Wade's head and pressed it to his chest. "If you don't have to rush off somewhere, then just lay here with me. There's too little of that in my life." He dragged his fingers up and down Wade's spine. He had been too intense, let the trauma do too much of the talking.

The half-lie that made him follow Wade in the beginning had turned out all right. It was a falsehood he could understand the desperation of in hindsight. A little white lie about a gig from a man who literally didn't understand how his own brain worked wasn't the kind of thing to blow up a whole relationship for. And Wade understood. He wasn't ignoring him or disregarding his feelings on the matter.

Wade would remember this.

"You don't have to solve everything with sex or violence," Logan said.

"What about sex and violence?"

"Sure. Okay. But only if they're at exactly the same time in equal amounts. "

"I love it when you pull out the quips. It's so sexy." Wade dragged his teeth down Logan's chest and kissed his nipple, running his tongue over it in little flicks.

"What did I just say about using sex to solve your problems?" But they'd also just had an incredibly serious conversation while both completely naked, so maybe Wade deserved at least a little credit.

"My dick is shaking hands with yours, right now. Where did you think this was going?"

Wade's arm snaked down into the space between them. His large hand came around both of them, pressing their shafts together. Just a little bit of movement, and the friction of his rough palm started Logan on the long, spiraling draw toward pleasure. He met his own hand with Wade's between them, wrapping around the other side of their paired lengths. Logan ran his other hand up the back of Wade's neck, pressing his fingers into the back of his skull.

"That feels so goddamn good," Logan growled.

"And you said not to use my cock to communicate." Wade ran a few kisses along Logan's jaw before nibbling on his skin.

"Why do you use your teeth so much?" Logan asked between little kissing pecks across his lips.

"Because I'm a freak. Do you want me to stop?"

"Fuck no."

Wade nipped at Logan's chin harder.

"Why don't you use yours?" Wade asked. "Bring more of that mustelid energy to the bedroom."

"I have no idea what that means, but if that's what you want…"

#####

Logan's teeth sunk hard into his shoulder where it met his neck and-

-fuck shit if I was closer I would have come a fountain.

Logan's jaws locked into place, and he dropped the hand that had been on the back of Wade's head to around the small of his back. His hand tilted to grip around the shape of his ass, and their lower bodies pressed together tighter. Logan's hand grappled with his until he couldn't be sure who was stroking who, everything a mass of sensation on the back of that quick, hot buildup.

Slowly, the thoughts dripped out of his head until there was nothing left but need . Raw. Nerve endings that normally fired in pain instead trilling with pleasure.

Sex and violence.

He pumped faster, trying to focus on the man underneath him at the same time. How Logan's skin felt against his. The scratch of Logan's body hair on his stomach and beard on his cheek. The sting of Logan's teeth in his muscles and the way his body kept trying to heal around them. The sloppy weep of Logan's precum dripping over his hand. The steam of Logan's sweat as it curled around their bodies.

Tobacco and orange peel and leather and a jar of nickels. That's what Logan smells like. I know what Logan smells like.

Logan fucked up into his hand from below, their heels and toes tangling together as they both tried to push against the couch for leverage. Logan's whole body tensed, hips thrusting up to lift them both. He released his mouth from Wade's shoulder and howled as he erupted over their hands.

Wade crushed his mouth against Logan's as Logan brought him the rest of the way.

"Fuck," he whispered into Logan's mouth as the spring broke and his own cum spread out between their stomachs. He tried to dig for something else to say. Some little jokey joke to break the tension. He couldn't find anything, his brain flaring back to life with a gasp and a scream, full of nothing but Logan.

#####

Logan flicked over Wade's shirt with a half-extended claw and caught it in his fist.

"Sit up," he murmured into Wade's ear.

"Dun wanna." Wade tucked his arms under Logan's shoulders in protest. He stabbed Wade in the ass a little with the still out claw, and that startled him into rolling off just enough. "Love it when you use the claws to push me around."

"Do you actually?" He wiped them both down and threw the shirt on the floor. Wade rolled back, resting his head on Logan's chest. "Because I spend a lot of energy attempting to not spear people I care about through the stomach. If you're into it, though, I could be convinced to reconsider."

"Our safeword can be Graymalkin. Because I'm one of…Cable's ships…that…that one didn't come together."

He was too tired to rise to the bait of whatever Wade was talking about and rested his hands gently on Wade's back instead. The TV across the room flicked on.

"Found the remote. It was between the cushions." Wade flicked through some channels then stopped with a soft "oooh."

"What the fuck is this?"

"Say Yes to the Dress. Wedding dress shopping, but each one costs three month's rent."

"Shit, weddings are expensive." He watched the movement on the TV for a careful few minutes. "Okay, that dress looks great on her. Why is her mom being a bitch about it?"

"FUCKING RIGHT?"

Logan woke at the sound of someone at the door. They had fallen asleep on the couch and it had grown dark in the interim. He pulled an arm out from under Wade's weight, shook the pins and needles out, and prepped his claws to spring free. Whoever it was slid a key into the lock. He relaxed. Althea. She had caught them in worse, and at least she wouldn't see they were currently naked on her couch. Logan shook Wade awake a little.

"Althea's home. We should maybe pretend we're decent people."

"We're absolutely not, though," Wade said sleepily but moved to sit up. He half pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, but was still waking up and moving slowly.

The lock clicked and the door cracked.

"Hey, you old slut," Wade yawned. Then the door finished opening.

"Oh my god. I'm gonna gouge my own eyes out." Laura pushed Colossus in front of her and used his body to block her view. For his part, he lifted his hand to shield his eyes and turned away.

"I said to knock when entering a man's private home." His deep Russian accent was caught between admonishment and embarrassment.

Logan snatched the blanket and threw it over both of them.

"If you don't want to see my ass, then hand me some pants," Logan barked, gesturing toward the clothes hampers.

Colossus volunteered himself for the task, still keeping his back to them as he grabbed a set of shorts and a pair of sweats and threw them across the room. Logan gave Wade the shorts and shimmied into the sweat pants.

"Laura, what the fuck are you doing here?" He stood, moving away from the couch. She gave half a glance over her shoulder then turned when she could confirm he was half-dressed.

"You said you were going to train with me tonight, but you didn't come back."

"Shit." Logan pressed his palms to his forehead. "I'm so sorry, kid. Wade's job…got canceled-" the lie came easy and he hated himself a little for it "-and I lost track of time."

"Yeah, I can see that," she tsked.

"You didn't need to come all the way here."

"That idiot throwing a baby out of a car is getting memed on TikTok, right now." Laura gestured to Wade.

"Oooh, I've never been viral before. Well, not on the internet. Been viral a few other ways." Wade had propped himself up on the arm of the couch.

"So I called your phone to check on you. When you didn't answer, I got worried. Colossus offered to drive me over, and Yukio gave me her emergency key."

"My phone…" Logan lifted his hand to his chest where his shirt pocket would have been. The shirt that was currently curled up in the back of the Civic. "Shit."

Logan dropped on the arm of the couch, scooting Wade over a few inches.

"Okay, how do I fix this?" Logan asked.

"I don't know. You're not dead, so I get to be mad at you. But you're not dead, so I'm also relieved." Laura spread her hands in a weird half-shrug.

"You could set up a training schedule," Colossus tried to mediate.

"Wait, that's actually a really good idea." Wade hung half-off the couch. "Because I'll fight you. Like, I'll kick your fucking ass as hard as you want."

"I could go for that," Laura replied.

"Your level of enthusiasm worries me," Logan said.

"It's your DNA," Wade reminded him. He pressed his eyes shut in annoyance, realizing he was right, and that was really fucking weird the more he thought about it.

"Let's set that up, okay? Book us into the Danger Room. We'll make it a standing date."

"Yeah," Laura said quietly. She bit her lip and took several hard breaths. He recognized that coping mechanism. "Come here a sec." She moved into the corner of the kitchen part of the space. Not a lot of room from the other two but they had a vague sense of privacy if Logan created a body-wall. She lowered her voice.

"You're not my dad," she started.

"I…am, though…"

"You know what I mean," she sighed. "You were the closest thing I ever had to a real parent who actually loved me. But our time together was so short. And we kicked ass in the Void. But you're also dead. I mourned you. But now you're here."

"And I'm not your Logan. No, I get it." He crossed his arms over his chest, hyper aware of being shirtless, still.

"I'd like you to be one of my Logans, though. But I'm not totally sure what that looks like or how to do that. And as much as it annoys me, I'm also dealing with the fact that I have to share you."

Logan glanced down, looking for Wade out of the corner of his eye. Wade was watching them over the top of the couch, peeking up just the top of his head.

"I already had this conversation with him, but I haven't really been part of a family in awhile. So if I fuck it up…"

"Hey." She punched him in the arm. "If I end up living as long as you do, we got time to figure it out, right?"

"Those smarts aren't my DNA."

"Nurture vs nature?" She patted her hands on her thighs. "Well, you're alive. So I'll go. Forgive me if I don't hug you goodbye."

"Yeah." He reached out and patted her on the side of the arm. "Thank you for giving a shit about me, kid. And Wade, even though he's an idiot."

"You're both easy to give a shit about it." She paused. "Also, your pants say Big Booty Goddess on the back. Thought you should know."

#####

Easy to give a shit about.

Ringing endorsement, honestly.

They had finally found the note that Al left them about a long weekend in Atlantic City. Logan had already decided to stay that night, but that secured it. Didn't mean he didn't freak out a little when the other half of the fold out sofa was empty an hour after they had gone to bed.

Logan had only gone as far as the dining table, though, talking on the cellphone he had finally retrieved from the car and working through the last few swallows of a floral juice glass of Jack Daniels. Wade watched him with his chin on the back of the couch.

"Okay so she's in her room…Okay…Thanks, Hank…She was supposed to text me when she got back, but…No I recognize the hypocrisy doesn't mean I didn't want to check on her." Logan chuckled darkly. "Um, I was going to talk to you about this tomorrow, but since I have you I figured I'd give you a heads up. Not blind side you. If there's a place for me on the X-Men, I don't want to lose it, but I want to live with my boyfriend. Maybe be available for freelance. Only if that's doable, though."

boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend

"Can we talk about what that might look like? Yeah…Okay… Yeah. I'll be back in the morning…Yes I'll talk to Scott….yeah. Okay. Thanks again, Hank." He set the phone down gently, considered the opposite wall for a minute, then stood.

He noticed Wade watching, but didn't say anything before crawling back into bed. He opened his arms and made a gesture that Wade should settle in. He didn't hesitate, curling up against Logan's chest.

"Boyfriend?" Wade asked.

"Are you not?"

"No I…I am…" Wade pressed a hand to Logan's chest. "Can I be serious with you?"

"God, please do."

"Don't give up being an X-Men just because I'm a wreck. Don't pick me over them."

Logan kissed him on the forehead.

"Not off the team, yet. And even if that's how things work out, it wouldn't be picking you. It'd be picking me. Picking a life I built myself that wants you in it."

Wade pressed tighter to Logan's body. Scent. Sight. Touch. Taste. He wanted to take it all in, to capture this exact moment in time.

I'm not fucking forgetting this.

#deadpool #wolverine #deadpool x wolverine #deadclaws #poolverine #x-men #fanfiction

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lovemyromance · 4 months ago

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I saw an argument about how Elain NEEDS sunlight and she was meant to be the life of the party and Lucien will bring that out of her in their book and they'll rule the day court together and I couldn't help but laugh.

The way that they cling to their own headcanons and just outright invent nonexistent ties based off the most random lines in the books - (I'm talking to you people who used Elain asking for a new cloak in ACOTAR and Lucien covering her up with a cloak in ACOMAF and taking that as a sign that the "cloak imagery is so strong!!")

It's truly baffling.

It's like if you squint too hard at a blank wall, you'll start to see all kinds of shapes and blurry objects. Now, it is up to you to determine whether this is a result of your actions - or if you run with it, and decide this is a message from God only meant for you. And then you think this is how the world is meant to be seen, and everyone else who doesn't see it is crazy.

They don't have canon moments, so they're squinting so hard trying to comb through the text for any scrap of ambiguous evidence that could be molded to fit their theories. But unfortunately it's giving "Square peg, round hole".

Do they even realize that Elriels could do this too - but we literally don't have to because we have actual canon romantic interaction and scenes together on the page?

I could easily flip open the text and invent an Elriel headcanon.

For example: Look at how Elain doesn't mention the blood on Feyre! She doesn't care about someone being covered in blood! That's foreshadowing that she's going to accept Azriel's darkness too 🥰🥰

Or even: Omg! Elain's drawer has roses! Those are flowers - and Azriel sits with her in the garden! He has an estate literally called Rosehall. He is going to live with Elain happily ever after!

Two could play at this game. I could go on and on, coming up with these random "foreshadowing signs" because it's so damn easy to do that when you're trying to find ANY "evidence" for your preferred ship.

But Elriels don't NEED to do that. We don't need to rely on ambiguous foreshadowing when we have:

"Love that would trump a mating bond"

Azriel & Elain sitting together in the garden

Azriel & Elain getting each other solstice gifts

Azriel laughing with joy at the headache powder, staring at the headache powder for a year

Azriel & Elain getting Nawsty in the middle of the night under everyone's eyes

Azriel rescuing Elain

Truthteller

"sit I'll take care of it"

A carved wooden rose, half covered in shadows next to a statue of the mother (this is the only example of foreshadowing I've seen Elriels really use and it's still far more obvious foreshadowing than "Elain needs sunshine 🤓"

I would go on - but I don't need to. The proof is in the books, I wish they'd just crack them open and read them.

#elriel #acotar #elain x azriel #elain archeron #azriel #pro elain #elain #antielucien #antigwynriel #pro elriel

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nautiscarader · 10 months ago

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Let's spend midnight up on the roof (Wendip,G/T)

Let's spend midnight up on the roof (Wendip,G/T) (Ao3)

Dipper Pines could not believe his sister could fall asleep so easily. Then again, after a week in Gravity Falls, where nearly each day was spent either chasing some mythical creatures or beings or being chased by them, they both deserved rest.

But the journal… a curiosity that trumped gnomes or gobblewonker prevented Dipper from falling asleep. He carefully turned each page, reading what once would have been pure fantasy for him, but now was an exciting - and potentially deadly - possibility.

KNOCK, KNOCK!

Dipper let out a girly shriek and jumped in place when he heard someone knocking on the glass of the triangular window. He was even more surprised by the identity of the intruder.

"Wendy?!", Dipper asked, staring at the red-head, waving at him to let her in.

"'Sup, dude", she asked nonchalantly, "Wanna go up on the roof?"

It took the flabbergasted Dipper a moment to even form a response, and another one to verbalise it.

"Th-the roof?"

"Yeah, like we did earlier. Come on, I have a ladder here."

And with that, she took a step up the rope ladder she was on, giving Dipper a room. He hesitated for a bit, but once she also gave him a hand, he got onto the sill and then followed her up.

One step at a time, Dipper climbed up until he arrived at the same secluded part of the roof from which they were throwing pinecones earlier that day.

"Okay, but why would you go here so late-"

Dipper's voice broke as soon as he looked up, with the answer to his question thrown in his face.

For when his eyes adapted to the darkness, he was met with not just starry sky, but an explosion of lights, spanning his entire field of view. And smack in the middle of it, streaking across the sky like a river full of diamonds was something he only saw pictures of - the Milky Way.

And before he knew it, he was sitting next to Wendy, as his knees gave up, his mouth still open as he tried to absorb as much of the cosmic beauty as possible, finding it difficult to breathe.

"First time seeing something like that, city boy?"

"Yeah… I mean, we've been to a planetarium once, but this… This is so much better."

Dipper moved his head from one side to the other, making Wendy curious.

"What are you doing?"

"Uh, trying to find some constellations I know. I mean there is Little Dipper.", he pointed to the group of stars looking like his birthmark.

"Yeah", Wendy said, "I never bothered with them. I just like coming up with my own shapes. And names. Like, there is a star named Beetlejuice, right?"

"No, it's Betelgeuse."

"Beetlejuice"

"Be-tel-geuse", Dipper repeated slowly.

"Bee-tle-juice."

"HEY, GUYS!"

Both Dipper and Wendy jumped in place when they heard a third voice.

"Mabel! What are you doing here?"

"Me?", she countered, "What are YOU doing up so la-"

Mabel stopped as the sudden realisation hit her, her eyes shifting from one to the other.

"Oh, I see…", she spoke with mischievous tone, "Not gonna interrupt you two".

And with a sly smile still lingering on her face, she climbed down the ladder.

"What was that supposed to mean?"

"Beats me.", Wendy shrugged,"So, you wanna do some renaming?"

Dipper hesitated for a moment.

"Uh, sure. Are-are there any rules, or…"

Wendy snickered.

"Man, you do like to overthink stuff. I'll go first… This is Blerblonia, the brightest star in the constellation of Stinking Cheese".

"Where?"

"There." Wendy took his hand traced a wedge-like shape between three stars. "Now you name the other two."

"Okay", Dipper took a moment to come up with something creative. "This one's gonna be Pineconis, and this one Alpha Soda."

"Nice. Now find some cool shape."

"Okay… there! If you connect these five you get…a Lawnmower!"

"How?", Wendy asked, unable to follow his logic.

"How should I know? There is a constellation called 'Hunting Dogs', and all it is are literally two stars. TWO! You know what you can draw with these? A stick. Or maybe a bone."

Wendy laughed.

"Okay, I think I see your lawnmower… So I will name these a Stretched Ferret", she pointed to a few stars lining up. "And the brightest one will be called…Tim"

"Okay, I can see i-Wait, you have used one of my stars!", he protested.

"So what? It's like that crossword-making game, now I can snatch your points."

She shot him with a wicked grin.

"Oh, it is on!", Dipper corrected his position, took a sip from a can and pointed his hand up. "Say goodbye to your Cheese constellation, I'm making a whole Charcuterie Board with Beta Brie-onis and Gamma-Gouda! Here, and here, and here…"

And with that, they spent the next hour or so making up silly names, until even their desire for unrestricted silliness had to move aside when tiredness stepped in. And when Dipper Pines hit the bed, it only took him a few seconds to fall asleep, letting even the precious journal be forgotten for now…

xxxx

Dipper Pines let out a deep sigh, staring at the vast Milky Way spanning the night's sky. In the ten years since he first saw it, on the same roof he was now lying on, it hasn't lost anything of its beauty…

"I thought I'd find you here". Dipper flinched when he heard a familiar voice and saw a familiar face in the hatch. "May I join ya?"

"S-Sure", Dipper replied, still feeling the same fluster towards Wendy as when he was twelve. "I mean, it is your secret spot"

"Heh, not so secret. Pretty much everyone has been here. I should be charging money for it…"

An awkward silence fell between the two. The same silence that started earlier that day when the Pines have returned once more to Gravity Falls, and Wendy realised how much one person can change in a span of a year.

"So…", Dipper spoke again, "Do-do you want to rename some stars?"

"Dude", Wendy shot him with a judgemental stare, "Are you for real?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're right, that is a bit childish, and-"

Wendy burst into laughter.

"Dipper, I'm messing with you", she punched him in the arm, "At least that hasn't changed about you."

She moved closer to her friend, and before he could verbalise any of his worries, Wendy pulled out her phone.

"Actually, I found this cool song that fits what we were doing. Wanna listen?"

Dipper nodded. Wendy took a moment to find it and hit 'play'.

Let's spend midnight up on the roof letting stars stare us in th'face no one is gonna care that we are rediscovering their names.

"Wow, that is pretty spot on", Dipper commented, his eyes meeting Wendy's, her loving gaze being the only response.

When I reach my hand to you How can I disagree with fate? I make my decision: happiness or hate.

Dipper felt her fingers intertwine with his, his heart's beat mixing with the one from the song.

It's not so hard to see, I've got the whole world within my reach especially with you lying next to me.

With Wendy's face just inches away from his, he closed his eyes, still seeing the myriad of stars, including the two brightest ones of emerald shade…

Let's spend midnight up on the roof watching stars with naked eyes, and let everyone see naked us under naked sky.

At the same time, the two young adults jumped back, their eyes open wide and faces covered in various shades of red.

"Woah, woah, this is a lil' heavy."

"Y-yeah, I agree.", Wendy quickly turned the music off, "We're not there yet."

Another long silent pause fell between the two as they both tried to comprehend what Wendy has just blurted out.

"…yet?"

Wendy sighed and without much deliberation jumped the chestnut-haired boy, cutting him off from the starry sky he was staring at.

He wasn't complaining, though.

Okay, so this a first songfic I have ever written.... kinda. There is a Polish song called "The roof", and I heard it on the radio, lying in hospital, I thought "oh, this IS a Wendip song!". So I spent some time not just translating, but also trying to match the rhythm and rhymes - not the whole song, just the chorus and a verse, and I allowed myself to move a line ore two.But I think I haven't failed that much.Lemme know if you want full literal translation to see how I've done my job.

Happy Valentine's day!

#nautiscaraderfics #wendip #wendy corduroy #dipper pines #gravity falls

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thewritersaddictions · 1 year ago

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Day Thirteen: Klaus Mikealson + Die Hard

“It’s not a Christmas movie love.” Your boyfriend counters as he rounds the island in the middle of the kitchen. Rolling your eyes you scoff at him, you two had been arguing about whether or not a certain movie was either a Christmas or action movie.

Why the verbal fight had started you don’t remember. You just know that you’re standing by what you told Klaus. Die Hard is one hundred percent a Christmas movie.

“What doesn’t make it a Christmas movie, huh?” You ask him crossing your arms over your chest getting more and more fessed up with the argument at hand. “Well for starters….” Then the silence takes over your kitchen.

The breeze from outdoors filters in. The French quarter compound is open with lots of space for the Mikealson family to live with all of their significant others and family.

“See your silence is a tell tale sign you don’t know shit. The movie starts off with the office having a literal Christmas party, sure it’s not in any way connected to the main storyline but it snows at the end doesn’t it?” You ask into the air.

Klaus eyes furrow down ward giving his face an odd shape. “Are you asking me if the movie I have seen many times a year has a snow scene at the end?” Klaus asks you totally ignoring your rambling talking from elalier.

You nod, humming as you grab a packet of popcorn from the cabinet. “I for sure know it doesn’t have a snow scene, it’s cause of the decorations anyways.” You can still hear him as you unwrap the popcorn bag and lay it flat on the tray inside the microwave.

With ease you glide back into the conversation after pressing the handy popcorn button on your microwave. “Are you sure? Mister I’ve seen that movie so many times.” You’re the only one to ever ever be able to talk to Klaus in such a way like this. This was your friendly banter, the teasing that had drawn you two each other nearly four years ago.

He loves this side of you, and sometimes he hates it. Hates how you manage to get under his skin without even trying. “Are you suggesting I don’t know the movie?” He counters arching a brow. Your conversation is paused when the microwave beeps and you have to gather a bowl from underneath the drawers.

As you shuffle popcorn into the bowl, you look at Klaus. “I am, but I bet there’s a way to redeem yourself.” You tease. It’s his turn to roll his eyes at you. “How about we just watch the movie, and then we will actually be able to see.” You say’s crumbling up the useless bag.

It’s a quick nod from Klaus and off to the couch you are. “We are only watching the first one.” He says like he actually means that. Once he’s seems the first he’s got to watch the second. You know the drill because it’s always the same with Klaus Mikealson.

The both of you get comfy on the old couch with your dozens of blankets and pillows. Snuggled up together you forget about the argument in the kitchen as you recall lines that are your absolute favorite. It’s not until Hans is falling to his death and the main chapters are sitting the back of the limo does it remind you of your little bet.

The song starts to play and when there’s no snow. Klaus jumps up in excitement having won a bet where he had nothing to lose you shush him. Letting the tv roll the credits. “Whatever!” “I was oh so right, hmm I wonder what you should owe me for that lost bet.” Klaus smirks. “Nothing I owe you nothing cause it wasn’t a bet, just simple banter, now came down here and watch the next one with me.” You beg Klaus. Fluttering your beautiful eyes up at him. He scoffs and rolls his eyes before climbing back onto the couch with you.

An hour into the second one you hear the tiniest, quietest “I was right!” Come from beside you this time you don’t think twice about grabbing the pillow and chucking in to Klaus face.

Completed on: 11/24/23

Posted on: 12/13/23

The Originals-

The Originals Master List // Christmas Stories Master List

#fluff #fem reader #female reader #requests are open #open requests #requests open #the originals klaus #the originals #klaus x reader #klaus mikaelson #tvd klaus #klaus mikealson imagine #klaus mikealson x reader #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus mikealson fanfiction #christmas celebration #day 13

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katyawriteswhump · 11 months ago

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The power of love pt 6 (steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part Five Part Seven Part eight Part Nine Part Ten Part 11 Part 12

Steve POV

“Hey!” shouts Steve, the next morning, as Robin hauls a mass of supplies onto her back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He half-runs, half-skids down the slippery rocks outside the cave. He tries to wrest the pack from her. She turns sharply, and he loses his grip.

“Steve, chivalry sucks and should’ve died in the Middle Ages.”

“What? I’m not being—”

“I can totally manage! Most of its bedding, and Eddie’s got half the water. You’re sick, remember?”

He rakes his fingers through the hair he’s just wrested into some sort of sub-standard shape. “Honestly, I’m good.”

Honestly, he feels dead rough, though better than yesterday. Anybody would feel achy after a night in some dingy cave. Even with Eddie Munson’s lap as a pillow.

Not that he spent the whole night there. Hell, no.

He woke up with Eddie spooning him from behind, Eddie’s chin tucked on his shoulder. Which screwed him up big-time. Fortunately, Robin was also cuddled up with him, which… helped. Yeah, he’d been kinda nestled on her boobs, but it wasn’t intentional. And it was Robin, and she’d laughed when he’d apologized.

Thinking about snuggles with Eddie is waaaay more problematic—underlined by the swift and silent fashion they’d extracted themselves from each other, both apparently awakening simultaneously.

Both far too groggy to deal.

Almost as bad, he can’t recall exactly what he’d said to the guy last night. He’s pretty damn sure he made an idiot of himself.

He’s still squirming when they set off, neither he nor Eddie having exchanged more than a passing word. Steve insists on taking his turn with the luggage, as well as using the compass and reading the sky. He’s terrible at it, mainly because squinting at the bright sun gives him an epic headache. He ends up walking behind with Robin, while Eddie disappears off ahead.

“By my reckoning, we took twice as long as we should’ve to reach those caves yesterday,” says Steve to Robin. “Do we really trust him with this pathfinding shit?”

“He’s shockingly decent at it. Not sure I trust him with you. Or vice versa.”

Steve stops dead. He can’t cope with walking and with any Eddie-Munson-related bombshells. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on! I could carve the sexual tension between you two with a knife then sculpt a little love-heart with it. He literally can’t stop flirting with you.”

“That’s total bull. Eddie flirts with everyone.”

“Uh… no. He really doesn’t. I mean, without belittling your troubles, I wish my love life had ever presented me with such straightforward opportunities.”

He facepalms. “Oh Christ, I’m sorry. I-I just can’t right now.” He pushes his increasingly sweaty hair from his eyes. God, he’d kill for a shower. And why didn’t Eddie pack more hairspray?

“Steve?” She hooks her arm through his, and they trudge on together.

“Okay, I surrender. I like him.” He sighs. Why do they seem to be walking forever uphill? “I don’t see how he can be into me, how I’ve been the past few days, and I’m not sure I want to go there. Period. And before you lecture me, it’s not because I think being gay is bad, you know that. It’s because… I honestly don’t know what I am.”

“You’re bi, Steve,” says Robin, very quietly.

“Yeah, and it’s a lot to get my thick head around.”

“You’re not thick, you know—"

“Whatever.” He swipes his wrist across his brow. “We’ve talked this over a billion times. I really don’t need any more meaningless sexual relationships.”

“Why would it be? You reckon you wanna jump his bones, and it’ll flush him out of your system?”

Steve pauses again. Robin’s questions stab his brain, and yet… He finds he can answer the last one, easy enough. “No,” he says. “I don’t want that. I mean, I got urges to be with him, but it feels different… from Nance or whatever.”

“That’s ’cos he’s a dude.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Slowly, they walk on again, both breathing hard. “You know, I’ve had fantasies and stuff, but they were just that, and…” I want Eddie to jump my bones and... Oooookay, that’s a revelation he didn’t want to deal with this morning, on top of the rest of the shit. “Why are we discussing this now?”

“Because the pair of you are driving me ment—"

A loud roar scythes through the quiet woodlands. Steve barely hears Robin’s terrified squeak. He grabs her bodily, makes a dive for the undergrowth. A chopper passes low overhead, setting the trees shaking, the ground juddering. They’ve landed hard—on Steve’s injured side—and bracken prods everywhere. Extra bruises and scratches, however, are the least of his concerns.

Another large chopper is about to pass directly overhead.

Eddie! Has he been spotted? Are they all about to be rounded up and frogmarched straight to jail? Steve crouches, squints ahead and realises the forest thins out into a clearing. There are only bushy tree stumps, no real cover. The sky above is clear as summer… and he still can’t see Eddie.

Steve’s desperate to sprint on, to find him. However, even hunkered down, he starts to feel sick. Jesus, not now! He squeezes his eyes tight; squeezes Robin tighter, kinda prays, because he’s that desperate. He’d do anything to protect them both. Anything. Anything! Pleeeease? Apart from he can’t hardly breathe, let alone move. There’s a freaky-ass electric crackling in his head, and he’s on the verge of…

Steve blacks out, but only momentarily. He slams a palm to the earth, stopping himself crumpling.

The roar lessens, as the second chopper forges on. A third follows noisily in its wake. Steve glances up. A thick cloud has settled, low enough to obscure the top of the trees.

“Do you think they saw us?” asks Robin, when it’s quiet enough to be heard.

“Nah,” says Steve, forcing himself to think straight. “It’s military, heading toward Hawkins. Bet they didn’t even look down.”

“If they did,” says Robin, “that cloud couldn’t have arrived at a better time.” They extract themselves from the foliage. Robin offers Steve a hand, which he ignores, clambering up himself. “I mean, it’s beyond nuts. The sky was blue—totally clear—a moment ago.”

She folds her arms, narrows her eyes.

He tosses a hand up, exasperated. “What are you driving at, Robin?”

“I don’t know. Weird shit is afoot.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. Jesus, is Eddie, like, taking a slash or something?”

They both yell his name, while Steve surreptitiously checks his bandages. Blood hasn’t soaked through them, so that’s one thing. He’s even more relieved, when Eddie comes thrashing back through the trees.

“That was waaay too close.” Eddie’s totally spooked, and Steve restrains a burning desire to both hug him and pick out the dry leaves that have gotten stuck in his hair. “Is this logger camp really such a great idea? I mean, we’re rounding back on ourselves—getting closer to Hawkins again.”

“I reckon it’s sound.” Steve rolls his shoulders back with a click. “It’d be beyond tricky to land a chopper round here. Too many trees and slopes. If this place we’re heading for is as remote as we hope, it’ll be impossible there.”

“You sound better,” says Eddie, eyes narrowing, like Robin’s had.

“That’s because I am, moron.” Unable to withstand Eddie’s sudden intensity, he turns to Robin. Who remains staring at him, pretty much the same.

He wants to yell, What now? On the other hand, he is indeed feeling more himself. He might test the waters concerning his ‘thing’ with Eddie. Not with Robin AND Eddie gawking at him, like he’s some kinda freak.

Sure, he’s thought about what Robin said concerning Lover’s Lake—about him asking to go there when he was sick. He really doesn’t want to think too hard on it. Yeah, he’s had a couple of close calls there, and yeah, there’s a gate to the Upside Down in Lover’s Lake, but there wasn't always one, and...

“Look, if you two have a problem with me, I really wish you’d come clean.”

“No problem,” says Robin, perhaps a little too quickly.

Frustration flushes through Steve. "Be honest with me, Robin."

"I am! It's just... what with supernatural creepiness swallowing our lives on an apocalyptic scale, I'm so hugely relieved you're okay. It's hard to trust in anything good being real these days."

Yeah, he buys that, and he sure as heck trusts her, plus Eddie's nodding vigorously. He believes them. Maybe too readily, but he does.

Then he hears it—the merest rustle in the undergrowth. Followed by the patter of footfalls. On reflex, he slams into Eddie, hustles him behind the nearest thick-trunked tree. They tumble to the ground, Steve on top. You were wrong, Harrington. Those choppers landed men after all, and… Shit, Robin!

She hasn’t followed. He straddles Eddie’s upper thighs, straining to see. He hears her cry out, “Oh my God, they’re so pretty!”

A bunch of brown deer streak by, their fluffy white bottoms flashing behind them. Doubtless, the chopper spooked them too.

Steve’s jaw drops. Flat on his back beneath Steve, Eddie hoots, sweeping his hair from his mouth: “Thanks for saving me from Bambi, dude.”

Yeah, he’s mocking him. Eddie’s laugh is still totally delicious. Their troubles forgotten, Steve retaliates with his best dreamboat smile. “You’re welcome. I’m at least 2-1 up again in the lifesaving game, huh?”

“The world is back to rights, Harrington.”

Steve leans closer, revelling in Eddie’s laughing eyes, mesmerised by that gleaming smile... This is where we kiss, right?

A twinge of pain, and the effort of disguising it, totally throws him. He lifts his butt from Eddie’s thighs, then offers Eddie his hand. Which Eddie takes. The strain of tugging sets perspiration dripping from his brow.

“My eternal saviour.” Eddie affects a silly bow. Robin laughs too.

Steve dabs his eyes: “We did that joke, Munson.” He slings his pack up over his shoulder and motions them onwards: “Come on, Princesses. Let’s go, let’s go.”

Part 7

...

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

#steddie #steve harrington whump #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington #stobin #stobin fanfic #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #stranger things fanfic #platonic stobin #stobin friendship #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington hc #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson lives

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skinny2tb · 6 months ago

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€d vent and life update:

Sooo... I'm really upset rn because I managed to fast for 5 days without anyone noticing and it felt GREAT. I mean it's kinda sad that my parents just simply don't care anymore. They used to encourage me while I was in recovery and actually getting better but oh well that's how it is sometimes I guess. I once weighed 43kg that's why I originally went into recovery and as I began to gain some weight back they just assumed my €d was magically cured. But that just wasn't the case and here I am once again. Without anybody noticing or actually caring. Sadly my eating disørder is even worse this time and I'm feeling no will to live anymore.

Anyways, I'm thinking of another liquid fast right now because as I said I'm really upset that I just broke mine 20mins ago with some leftover noodles (230 + 55kcal for the cheese) and I'm freaking out atm because I'm afraid I'll gain weight after eating those. But I can't work out because my parents and their friends are downstairs and I don't want them to hear me doing some exercises. Although I know they probably wouldn't even care.

Lately I've been pretty busy studying (literally lol) because of my finals this and next week. I've already completed three out of four and I just have to pass the math test and honestly I'm shitting myself even thinking about it. But as for the others I'm pretty confident.

My hot guess:

• english: 1-2

• french: 1

• german: 2-3

• maths: 4?

Only thing I know is that this years final math exam will include exponential functions which I hate.

I also wanted to say hello to everybody new following me, just wanna let you know I do appreciate it<33

Btw I managed to book my first ever nail appointment for next week and I'm kind of excited?? Let me know if you guys have any cool design recommendations. So far I really fw acrylic, stiletto shape, classy french nails with some gems and tiny rhinestones..

(not my pic btw)

Prom is also coming soon so ofc I'm hella nervous because I haven't fully opt which of my two dresses I'll wear but eitherway it's gonna be navy blue with sparkly details and an open back. And when I tried the dresses on infront of my mom I could clearly see the disbelief in her face of how thin I have gotten again. She didn't say anything tho. I just looove the feeling of clothes that have gotten too big on you and would slide down your body if you didn't use a belt or hairtie.

Yeah, also there's this cute guy in my class. Same age and we went to the same elementary school but back then we had nothing to do with each other. You're probably asking what that has to do with me. Well, at the beginning of the school year when I was the new girl in my class he asked me to go to prom with him and I agreed but now I'm scared, because I do know and everybody always tells me that he has a huge crush on me. But I just can't handle that much affection yk?? The dance course will also start in a few weeks and we both can't look each other in the eyes... Everytime I think about him I'm like what do you even like about meee, I mean why me when there's a bunch of other beautiful girls, right? But well, what can I say at least I pull? Seems like I got that shy rizz*~*

Don't get me wrong, I'm totally happy but at the same time I feel like I don't deserve this kind of love. He's so good looking too with his hazel eyes, big lips and dark brown hair, plus he's way taller than me. So literally my dream guy? I even got to see his abs and stuff when our class went on a trip to a water park. Since then I'm head over heels.. I catch him often secretly staring at me but as soon as I gaze in his direction he pretends to be busy doing other things, like sir I SAW THAT

Ugh, I'm sorry that was pretty much about my personal shit but also pretty much needed.

(Lastly I wanna say that you guys DESERVE recovery and if you feel like you or anybody you know might suffer from an eating disørder don't hesitate to see professional help. You're loved♡)

I'll probably post again in a minute cuz I'm bored rn and want to avoid a b¡nge.

#anorexla #ed dairy #starv1ng #tw ed but not sheeran #tw ed sheeran #pro @n@#pro miiia #crush #promdress #nails #tw 3d vent #tw ana bløg

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azulamakesmeblank · 10 months ago

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I know I have been gone for the longest time I’m sorry let’s move past that for a second

Atla live action had me scratching my head in absolute bewilderment at 98% of the changes, screaming for ten minutes straight, laughing in absolute FURY, shaking my head bc why tf did you drag out this stupid fkin detail and leave out a million other details, becoming absolutely mute because I cant fathom forming words to describe the feelings I am feeling about what I just went through

There were positives don’t get me wrong but it feels like I’m in a toxic relationship, convincing myself the CRUMBS I was served made up for all the bad bits. I am literally in a fist fight against my nostalgia. Why did it get progressively more mind boggling as each episode went by???? My list of positives seemed to disintegrate in real time as I watched the directors and writers decisions unfold before my eyes. What. The fuck. Just happened.

Will I watch season 2 (if it even happens)??? Yes. Ofc. Bc seeing atla come to life in any way shape or form means I have to watch it even if I feel like I’m slowly increasing the pressure in my brain at times. My head is banging and I don’t think that’s cause it’s 5AM. My head is banging bc I don’t think I’ve ever had to hold in so much anger in my LIFE.

Also no hate to zuko and iroh I love atla so obviously I love them as much as the next atla fan but f*ck me, am I the only one who feels like the writers only cared about those two?? Like???? Where was the development between the gaang??? Where was it???? I feel DEPRIVED!!!!!

Bruh.

Book 1 and Aang doesn’t know how to move a single drop of water 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 but we got to see bumi a million times!!!!!!! So it’s ok!!!!

Guess I know why bryke left!

#I need to go to a rage room to process this but I also need to watch it all again so I can decide what I really think #right now I am irritated #no where near as a bad as the movie that doesn’t exist #like I still enjoyed watching it come to life enough that I don’t feel like I’m gonna die #but I also think that’s bc I wanna be nice and I’m in denial and I love the cast and I don’t wanna be mean and I really wanted this to work #atla la #live action atla #atla live action #atla #avatar the last airbender

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oftenderweapons · 2 years ago

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Alone With You | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 1.9k

Genre: angst, fluff, hurt to comfort

Rating: 16+

Warnings: none, except maybe some swearing and some spicy thoughts. One very involuntary suggestion of phone sex.

Synopsis: Namjoon and Vixen have a late night-early morning phone call regarding their relationship and the release of Indigo.

A/N: sorry, I’m late but I’ve been obsessing over beta reading this fic over and over, then I was doubting some stuff about it and I was on the verge of not publishing it (because I’ve been feeling extremely insecure about my writing in the last six months or so) Anyways, here it is. Done is better than perfect, so please love it as it is 💜🥺

Enjoy 💜✨

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Namjoon takes in your sleepy voice. His first album is dropping in an hour. And you’re awake at four am for him.

“How are you feeling?”

You feel him breathe, pausing at the other end of the line. “Lonely.”

It’s like a punch in the gut for you. You couldn’t choose. You had to be at the other end of the world on such a meaningful day.

“I’m sorry.”

“I mean it in the good way, right now.” He exhales. “I’m excited but also… I don’t feel safe, somehow.”

You roll onto your side. He hears the shuffling of the sheets. It’s somehow so intimate.

“You’re still in bed?”

“My alarm just went off. I wish I’d stayed up with you all night. Talk this out like we do. Like you need to.”

“I wanna see you,” he complained softly. “I miss you.”

“Miss you too.” Your voice got mellow, more tender, soothing. “I’m alone too.”

“We’re alone with each other. Across the world, you and I.”

“God bless technology. So we can be alone together.”

He gave his most gentle chuckle. This renewed tenderness, this way of being delicate and fragile with each other. It was all somehow new over the phone, in this moment, so early in the morning. Maybe if you’d been in the same room, him here in your bed, you curled up next to him on the sofa, maybe you would have been making love, the way you do when all his layers are laying on the floor and he’s so innocently and vulnerably bare before you, his heart beating, bleeding in your hands.

“I love talking to you like this.” An exhale. He followed it with his ear, straining it till sound stumbled into silence. Longing, quintessential and obliterating, he was nothing but wanting, out of a sudden. You had this effect on him, of shutting up everything but the moment, with you. He was one with you and it was as if the statics on the call could tell everything he cannot say, as if the very vibrations of particles carrying this call, from you to him, and him to you, could embody the bond between the two of you.

He kept thinking of you, of this.

“I love listening.” Could he creep into those particles? Could he use those words to get inside your head, crawling backwards, your lips, your teeth, your tongue, all the way to your vocal cords, and there find the electricity that carried your thought to your throat from your brain, and there find the exact place he occupied.

He wanted to see the shape of it, see if it’s shaped like the home you made together. See if it’s more precious. If it’s tapestried in moments of the two of you together, if it’s soft, if there are any hard edges, or if it’s all smoothed, rounded corners where one wall flows in the other, just like you and him join at the borders of each other.

“Where are you?” He asked, tears welling up in his eyes.

You knew somehow he didn’t mean literally, still you gave him the easy answer. “I’m laying in an empty bed. In Paris. And I miss you like crazy.”

“It’s not what—” He knew you knew what he meant, and suddenly he also knew why you’d chosen that answer.

“I know it’s not.” You bit your lip. “I’m in Bali.”

He inhaled. Exhaled. All the nights there, all the promises. All the sweet, sweet nothings he’d melted into. “I’m seeing you, in the pool. In my shirt.”

“You’re on the balcony. I smile at you.”

“I’m hiding your engagement ring in my pocket.” He sniffled, not even trying to hold back a sob.

“I’m gonna say yes,” you remind him. “I’ll say yes every day for the rest of my life.”

He nods. “I’ll work hard to earn it.” He tries to conceal his sob this time. He knows the last thing you need is hear him like this. “Come back soon.”

“Just one more week. Not one day more than that. I promise.”

Silence stretches comfortably. “I’m sitting with my feet in the pool. In Bali.”

“My head’s in your lap. I’m floating. I’ve never felt so happy. So in love with myself and life and the universe. And you.” It’s your voice that breaks this time. “We’re dancing in the dark. You smell of coconut oil and sun and happiness and home.”

“We’re barefoot in the kitchen, you’re climbing up on me. I’m trying to make you a midnight snack.” His voice lowers. “You’re wearing my shirt, again. It’s funny cause I made love to you and forgot to take off one of your socks, so you pulled on one of mine and now your socks are mismatched. You rushed your way to the kitchen without realising it.”

“I just wanted to be around you,” you admit. “I was falling for you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Back then? You never told me, I guess.”

“You knew I was already falling when we had that tragic dinner. When we told ourselves to calm down.”

“The night I got to your place by bike at like, two in the morning?” He remembered that night. He remembered how you’d clung to him when he’d arrived, how you’d tugged his jacket off him, how you seemed restless, relentless in your getting closer. He remembered how guarded he’d felt, how he’d forced himself to toughen up and allow you under his skin, but not in his heart. He had woken up in your bed and he remembered how grumpy he’d felt about having body parts restraining his movements, and then he’d seen your face. And he’d smiled so, so bad.

“That night. I woke up and I knew I was gone.”

“I remember you mentioned the time you got cold feet when you were staying at my place, that first weekend.” He laid down onto his side, drawing up a blanket — precisely your gray fleece one. He searched for a sniff of your perfume on it, but most likely it was still drenched in his cologne from when he’d left for the US, right before you’d headed off to Paris. “You said you didn’t want to fall.”

“I did. I had just realised how easy I could make my home out of you.”

“That night, the one of the dinner, it was like… Three weeks after our first weekend?” He tried to remember the timing.

“It was. That night I understood how much I needed you all the time already. That platonic wasn’t enough.” You exhaled.

He followed the sound, again. And again. It was disturbing, not feeling the small gust of air against his neck, like he always does when you’re breathing so close to him. “Where are we now?”

He wanted to keep digging in that moment, as if he could see it from your point of view. “We’re still there, that night. When you got cold feet.”

“What about that night?”

“You were under me.” He smiled, remembering his fingers in your mouth, your eyes slowly rolling closed. “You called me daddy for the first time, while we’re making love. Cause we both agreed that that night we made love.”

You laughed. “Jury’s still out on that one.”

“No way.” He laughed too and it was there, scorching, all this love for you. What would he do with it if you ever left? “Where are we now?”

You paused for a long time. “On the sofa.”

“At home?”

“At my old place.”

He knew this memory. He knew this place, he knew it best. The game had started there, this game of going back to memories of the two of you, places where he had felt normal, where he’d buried a splinter of his heart. He stayed silent.

“It’s our second kiss.” You continue. “You want to calm down, but I want to have you so, so bad. We’re spooned up on the sofa.” Your voice gets breathy and hot. “We’re watching a film.”

This is a new direction. You've played several scenarios, and he still expects you to head back to a familiar one when you add, “You’re watching the film and I’m playing one thousand ways to take you down. I’m planning how I’m going to have you.”

He bites his lip. “While I was focusing on the movie?”

“Focusing on the movie? You were totally feeling me up.” At some point you’d even turned around, staring at his jaw, kissing it before he stopped you. “Focus,” he’d told you.

“I was. Feeling you up, I mean,” He hummed, cleared his voice. “How did you take me down, fox?”

“We did it once, actually. When I rode your thigh, on that weekend.”

“That weekend? The first weekend?”

You hummed in confirmation.

“Wow. Could have avoided two weeks of blue balls like that?” He shook his head and giggled. “Amazing.”

“But the wait was worth it.”

He laughed fondly. “Totally.”

“Are you feeling better?” You asked, enjoying the way your chat had lightened his mood.

“Absolutely,” he replied.

“Did you listen to the song I sent you?” You asked.

He gritted his teeth guiltily and hoped you didn’t know—

“You didn’t.” You chuckled. “I know. Very romantic of you.”

“Dammit if I had you here… Sleepy, early in the morning, still warm and tender from sleep.” He shook his head.

“We wouldn’t be talking by now.” You both laughed.

“What are you wearing, love?” He was trying to imagine you. Unfamiliar bed, with unfamiliar white sheets. Maybe one of those fancy comforters filled with feathers.

“A very unsexy mix.” The sheets ruffled again through the line. “Fuzzy socks, old knickers. The one with the lips emoji printed all over. And your sweater, the one with the bear, from our trip to Patagonia.”

He snorted with that kind of disappointment that comes from the fondest, most loving spot in his heart. “Unsexy, you said?”

“Since the socks aren’t mismatched, you know.” You both giggled at your inside joke.

“You mean to tell me you’re all ruffled up from sleep, and your cheeks have that special puffed look you have when it’s still too early in the morning, and you’re dressed like that and I could just… You know, slip those knickers to the side and have my sweet, sweet way with you, while you’re still too sleepy to check how you moan for me?”

“Don’t make me want things I can’t have, you demon,” you whined.

His cackling echoed through the line, then it slipped into silence gently. “Thank you for sticking around, my love. Even when I’m in a shitty mood.”

You shrugged, following him through all his mood swings, all his thoughts from lighthearted flirting to deep analysis. “It’s a pleasure, Joonie.”

“Thank you for being there, through all the writing, producing, all the polishing up.” Sweetness washed over him. “Thank you for all the love we made.”

“That was mostly my pleasure, I assure you.” You tried to make his tone lighter, mostly because you didn’t want him to feel like he was crawling in the dark without you.

“Thank you for not letting me go. For taking me back when I made you feel not enough.” He bit his lip, holding back emotion. This is a happy moment, he asserted in his mind. “Thank you for loving me. I wish I could watch us fall in love all over again. Like a movie. Watching you love me helped me fall for myself, and—”

“I know.”

And he knows you know. You somehow have always known. The universe pulled you through the tides so that every storm, every wave, every raindrop, every moonbeam could mold you into his perfect lover. A partner, a soulmate, a mentor, a protector, a scientist, a friend, his best friend.

You smiled. “I know.”

Please, leave a like, reblog or comment to keep a little writer motivated ✨💜

#Namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon scenario #namjoon x vixen #Namjoon hurt to comfort #thetruthuntoldnet #houseofddaeng #52hertz #btswritersclub

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thetalesofno-one · 10 months ago

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Curse of Strahd, Act I: Pt. 1, Ch. IV -Deadman's Path-

D&D Campaign Retelling Part 1/6 Chapter 4/5 ~4.8k words Content Warnings: Curse of Strahd typical content, Read at own risk

Summary At the fork in the road, the Deadman's Path is chosen. The messages of tallies and arrows followed like a promise into the mists where the land drinks of their spirits. Read Previous Chapters also available on AO3

Evie stares at the empty air where Roshan and Evrrot should be. Where any sane person would still be if they hadn’t fucked off into the crazy weird fog without a thought for how sound an idea that could possibly be. The fog is exactly what started this mess and she doesn’t think getting home will be as easy as walking right back into it.

She doesn’t so much as blink, searching that creepy slithering fog for any signs of the fools. There’s nothing there. Literally fucking nothing. No little angry swirls where they passed, no blurry shadow of their silhouettes being eaten alive. Nothing.

She hopes the bastards beyond are still alive to hear it if for no other reason than to let them know she will chew their ears off next she sees them. Who looks at a wall of churning, slithering fog that swallows all like a damn hydra and goes, ‘Let’s go this way’.

Evie catches the giant ponce looking at her with that long suffering look that’s becoming more and more common between them. She hates that she’s wearing it too.

A string of curses creative enough it would’ve raised her father’s brows from his grave face find their way to her lips, but under her breath because she’s still a temple girl even if she’s not exactly sure where she stands with that. To his credit, the tree of an elf beside her doesn’t so much as raise one of his immaculately sharp brows. She wonders a moment if he shapes them himself or if he’s just born that way. Probably the latter. Pure blood elves and their useless handsomeness. She hopes he can swing that broken glaive as well as he fondles it. She swears his hand never leaves the busted thing. Oh he hides it well enough beneath that dark cloak of his, the worn rag draped over one shoulder to hide his blade arm. But she’s short enough to catch a glimpse here and there when he walks and sure enough, his hand hasn’t left that thing since he strolled into the barn with his lifted chin and judgy eyes, looking down on them all.

He looks down on her now. Granted he’s about two feet taller than her, but that’s beside the point.

Evie sighs, “It’s not like we don’t both know we’re just going to follow them.”

He stares at the fog a moment, watching it writhe and swirl in strange patterns before their eyes. For a moment she thinks he’s going to turn back and abandon her—wouldn’t be the first person—but he seems to resign himself and steps into the fog without looking back at her readied glare. She expected him to put up a small resistance to walking ahead of her in his strange, quiet, if misguidedly protective way. Waste of a glare.

She follows in his shadow immediately, not taking any chances with fucky fog in weird forests. It swallows everything, even threatening to swallow each other despite their proximity. She moves closer and feels him tense as her arm brushes his gloved hand, but even right next to him, he is difficult to see through the thick haze, half gone from her sight. It is far too easy to lose each other in this mess and any sign of the others mere moments ahead of them is entirely impossible.

The mist paws at them, crawling over their skin, and sweeping through their hair. The more they breathe it in, the more it feels like something is being stolen away. Evie forces her lungs full, but the choked air only tightens her chest leaving her feeling more empty than before. The strength seeps from her bones like blood from a wound. Even Emet seems more slouched.

The air is too thin, her head growing heavier with each laboring breath. Exhaustion floods them and Evie is reminded of her early days in the temple. The first time she put on armor, it felt like she’d drown in it. The first time she carried a weighted casket, she thought she’d be in the grave herself if she had to take one more step. They made her carry that weight daily until she could bear it. And not just physically. But in this mist she feels like she’s back on that first day, fighting for her life to get the casket on her shoulder even with the aid of another, the familiar strain burning in her lungs and filling her legs with lead.

She and Emet—the moon elf bent and slouching, suffering quietly as he tries not to look like he cannot breathe either—trudge through for what cannot possibly be longer than a handful of minutes, and yet when they finally exit the blinding and sapping fog into the normal unending mist, they feel as though they’ve both run the length of a city in full plate armor.

She pants and catches her breath shamelessly. Emet finally gives up the ruse of not suffering and sinks his back against a tree, leaning far too heavy for someone who’s not dying with her. They both spare a lungful to curse out Mr. “I think I’m so sexy” tiefling and the crazy old man for abandoning them. But their misguided leaders are nowhere to be seen.

“This was a mistake,” Emet snarls, breathing in deep, trying to fill his lungs. It is taking too long for the burn to fade, “Never trust dead men.”

“It’s taken you that long to work that one out?”

“No. There simply wasn’t much other choice.”

Evie takes one more lungful, savoring the strange bitter sweetness of this air. Cemetery air. Air of cold stone and faint rot, sharp and empty with a lingering taste of sorrow, the same air she’s breathed since Daggerford fells into the mists hours ago. The same air that told her they were far, far away from home. But at least it isn’t choking away her every breath. Her strength slowly returns.

“There’s always another choice,” she whispers.

Somewhere else beyond the vampiric mist and lost in the forest, Evrrot and Roshan fight off the same drain on their body and spirit. The fog doesn’t so much as pull away from them as simply end between one step and the next. One moment consumed and blind with the air stolen from their lungs and the next beyond the slithering snakes of fog into the slightly less slithering fog of the deadwood forest.

Roshan quickly spins behind him to check on the others, his loose white robes swishing around his ankles. Evrrot pants heavily beside him with hands on his knees looking as though he just outran the guard. That seems like a thing the devil boy would do. He acts like someone who has outrun many a guard and not just because of the horns. His personality tells a story all its own.

Gulping in the mildly stale air like a parched man finding water in the sands of Calimshan, Roshan puts on his best grin for his next joke before realizing that Evrrot is the only one with him. He spins in a circle, searching along the fog wall’s edge.

“Where are the other two?”

“Probably lost in the mist,” Evrrot pants, gulping loudly.

He lifts his glowing staff, “But I shined a light for them to follow.”

“I don’t know.” Evrrot tosses up his hands and leaves down the path without a second thought for those missing. “I’m gonna keep going, you good to keep up?”

“I am not old,” he says by way of answer.

Roshan’s brow furrows, looking again to the place where the others should appear any moment if they are not lost. But they do not come and Evrrot is already walking away.

“Should we not try and find them?”

Evrrot’s steps end and he sighs.

“If they are in the mist, surely they will come out soon,” Roshan continues.

Though he is stopped, devil boy does not turn back. It is as though he hoped Roshan would simply forget about the people who were just with them and move on. The tiefling chews his lower lip with an air irritation, tail swishing as he impatiently settles his weight from one foot to the other. Roshan wonders if Evrrot must actively force his feet from walking away. As though waiting for others goes against his very nature. Devil boy stares pointedly ahead with the longing of a starving man restraining himself from a hot meal. It is like watching someone decide between cutting off their own hand or taking a slice of honeyed pastry. The choice is no choice at all. Roshan doesn’t need to be a seer to sense Evrrot’s struggle to find a reason to care about the others is a difficult one for him.

“Numbers are better in this sort of situation,” Roshan offers gently.

Evrrot continues to stare pointedly away from where they came. He bites his lip a bit more, devilish fangs worrying the edge before clicking his teeth together.

“Alright, fine.”

He clenches his jaw then loosens, shaking off the tension and grabbing hold of Roshan’s words to force himself back. At least the boy’s mind is capable of seeing the practical and logical value in having a few more bodies between them. It is a start.

Roshan pats Evrrot’s shoulder like a father does a son’s head, “Good lad.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Why are you so angsty? Do you have a bad relationship with your father?”

“No, it was a pleasant one, but…” Evrrot glares, “Why are we even talking about this?”

Devil boy storms off to go find the missing people he’s been told he’s supposed to care about and Roshan sighs. It is a start, he reminds himself.

“Can’t believe those guys went off without us!”

Evie sets her fists on her hips and sneers as she mocks the assholes who left her with the giant ghost. If she can’t tear them a new one, then she’ll settle with complaining about them to Emet instead.

“I thought we were supposed to be sticking together! And yet I can already hear the sound of that damned Evrrot walking away and fucking off into the mist like a twat. Probably thinks he’d do just fine without any of us. Wankers.”

Evie chews a nail then stops herself, “We weren’t that far behind were we?”

She hates how she can hear the worry in her voice when the anger burns itself away. As if all there really is—all there’s really been—is worry. But worry is fear, so she sets it aflame and calls it rage. Because she doesn’t want to be afraid. She wants to be angry.

Emet runs a hand across his face, the metal gauntlet getting tangled in the loose strands of his long white hair a moment. He shakes them free, “No, a few seconds at most.”

“Maybe they’re hiding or some shit.”

“I swear, if one of them jumps out of the mist, I’ll stab them.”

She doesn’t think he’s joking and some part of her respects that. Evie begins calling out for ‘old guy’, making it very clear this isn’t very funny and daggers will be involved if they jump out at them.

She’s about to get more creative with her threats when a strange noise fills the space between her calls. Something like metal whirring and spinning wildly against glass. Evie turns to Emet first wondering if the towering bastard has gone and done something, but his eyes are cast down at her hips. She’s about to curse him out when he wordlessly points and her eyes follow the line of his finger to her pocket. The compass.

The strange sound grows louder as Evie removes the tarnished copper thing. The needle—once erratic and stubbornly refusing to point North—now whirls in a frenzy as though caught in a storm. The sharp red needle now a blur beneath the glass. Small scrapes cut the surface from underneath.

“Well, that’s great. It’s even more useless,” she says.

Evie shoves the broken thing back in her pocket and goes back to loudly and obnoxiously calling out for ‘old guy’, not quite wanting to say her nickname for sexy tiefling out loud since he’d probably ignore the sarcastic nuance and take it as a compliment. No one replies of course, but she and Emet wander aimlessly around the border of the sapping mist in the hopes the other two haven’t actually abandoned them.

She hopes not.

Expects so and yet still hopes not for some stupid reason.

One stolen glance at Emet and she can tell he’s already given up on the others—if he ever expected them to come back for them at all. Abandonment issues isn’t something she wants to have in common with him. It isn’t something she wants at all and yet believing they’ve been left behind is an easier pill to swallow than thinking anyone would come looking for her…them. Come looking for them.

“…get very irritated very quickly. Who hurt you?”

The sing-song melody of Roshan’s accent carries through the still air. Not close, but not far either. She glances up at Emet silently wondering if he hears it too, or if the mist is playing tricks again. But he’s staring off in the same direction she heard the voice. He heard it too then. They pick up their speed, Evie half trotting toward the sound of Roshan’ melodic voice, the human asking something about why Evrrot does not like authority figures as the tiefling trudges into view alongside Roshan. Evrrot wears the expression of someone deeply regretting a decision.

Relief floods Evie like a cool drink on a hot day. Warmth poured over her heart and bones in a brief flicker at seeing them. She almost smiles. Almost. And out of the corner of her eye she catches Emet’s mouth quirk up into a faint grin as though he’s about to make some sarcastic comment before he glances over to her and the smile falls into something else. Like remembering something lost.

She senses the softness on her face before he can say anything, her expression open and unhidden behind the sharp barbs she set in her heart to keep moments like this from happening. To keep people from realizing she still has one. Evie’s eyes sharpen into knives. She’s about to cut Emet first for that look before Evrrot finally spies them, offering a fake smile and an impatient tap of his foot saying, “Alright, we got everyone? Then let’s keep going.”

That’s it? Let’s just go like you’ve been keeping us waiting. No question of what happened or are you alright? Evie wants to snarl at Evrrot and give that tapping foot of his a trim with her short sword or maybe pry out a fang or two from that fake ass smile. She wants to scream and roar and cut something—anything to get away from that moment of letting her mask of steel slip.

Roshan halts his psychological analysis of Evrrot, “Where have you been for the past three minutes?”

Evie blinks, hearing the exact words she wanted to hear but her anger has gone too far already. “Where did you go? You just fucked off!” Evie bites back, venom sharp.

Evrrot’s fake smile turns into a frown matching her own offense as though he has any right to be offended at all.

“We’ve been here!” He yells loudly, “Waiting for you two.”

Evie is about to tell him exactly where he can wait for her booted foot before Roshan starts patting the air like he can put out the flames, “No, no, no. We walked around for a bit hoping to find you.”

“We were right behind you,” Emet gestures to the mist, a little irritated himself if Evie is hearing that faint sharpness in his tone correctly. “Barely a few steps between us.”

Something like concern crosses the holy man’s face, and at least when he wears it, Evie believes it.

“It was more than a few minutes for us,” Roshan answers, “We waited a few minutes and you were nowhere to be found.”

“Minutes?” Emet scoffs, “We were seconds behind you. How could you have had minutes to wait?”

A day and night’s weariness of travel and strangeness wears at the ends of Evie’s nerves with a faint building static. She’s tired. She’s hungry. And all of them are at the very edge of whatever hospitality they had to begin with, which wasn’t much. Roshan tries to explain how time went for them a little better, but his story and their just don’t add up and as tired as they all are, it probably never will. None of this does.

Emet runs a hand through his hair, resigned and looking twice as tired as the rest of them. She wonders if he always looks tired, but the thought is cut short as his eyes catch on something beyond them. Evie turns and spies an eerily familiar tree, with 43 tallies and an arrow. She isn’t sure if she should be glad or furious.

“Either we continue with these endless trees or we risk the fog again and try to find our way back. So which is it,” Emet says flatly, as though he knows that whatever he chooses the tiefling will likely decide the opposite for no other reason than spite. Or perhaps it’s some weird kink for control and this is how he flirts. She doesn’t know anymore and doesn’t care. At least for now, they need to stick together and preferably that will happen someplace away from all this damned fog.

Roshan shakes his head, “The fog is a bad, bad place.”

“All of this is a bad, bad place.”

Without anyone having really decided, they all trudge through the muddy path toward the tree with their feet heavy and minds burdened by the frustrations this day has brought upon them.

Evie’s fingers wander absently over the brooch about her neck, twisting it back and forth on its black velvet cord knowing she can never take it off. Can’t take it off. Her fingers trace the familiar shape of the smooth surface, the last time she’s seen it outside of a mirror or reflection being when her father put it on her. Before, she never cared to take it off. And the first time she tried only weeks ago, she couldn’t. No one could unlatch it or cut it. And soon after her father left, it started to tug at her. She might not know where this heirloom of her father’s is leading her, but she never would’ve guessed it would be to a barnful of strangers forced to rely on each other in some strange land. And without any kind of rest.

Tensions are high.

Sleep and food. That’s what they need. Something hot to fill their bellies, something warm and comfortable to wrap around their shoulders, and something soft to lay their heads upon. Maybe things will make a bit more sense after that. But for now they’re still lost on this cyclical path with heavy eyes and frayed nerves, teeth bared and ready to latch onto each other’s throats. Only the old man seems to have any sort of calm about him as though this is just a casual stroll through winter woods with friends and not a bunch of tired and angry strangers thrown into some kid’s messed up bedtime story.

Sexy tiefling and old man find their way to the tree first, though this one is slightly different than the rest they have encountered. Stabbed into the gnarled and cracked bark of the tree, an old dagger of a style unfamiliar to any kind Evie has seen rests above a crude carving of a man atop a horse. The phrase ‘The horseman rides, the Seer spoke true’ carved below, and once more another 43 tallies with another arrow.

“Well, that’s not ominous,” Emet growls.

“Do you think the horseman is that man we found dead?” Roshan studies the carving a bit closer, “Or that silhouette of the man with the flaming horse? And who is this Seer?”

Evie’s eyes widen, “Oh shit, do you think it’s the same guy? His horse wasn’t on fire though.”

“No, but horses are not usually on fire.”

Fair enough.

“Which one do you think it is then, old guy?”

“I think that man is dead. He is not the problem. He is probably the one who gave this message though. I think we should find this Seer and that we should follow the arrows.”

Evie eyes him. That’s a lot of ‘I think we should’ for someone she just met hours ago. All she wants is to get to some semblance of safety, figure out what part of Faerûn the damned mist spirited them off to, and then be on her way.

“I don’t see why any of this is any of our business.”

“We do not know where we are, any help would be grateful.” Roshan looks around the mist again, nodding to himself, “This place is bad. Bad, bad.”

“I’m with you there.”

The weariness of the day—days?—sets in. Roshan is the first to search the sky for any sign of what time it could possibly be since they entered the parasitic mist. Not like Evie expects anything. Since the air turned from the sweetness of Daggerford celebration to misty cemetery air, they’ve been wandering for what must have been five or more hours by Evie’s estimation, and yet the sky remains a stubborn endless dark grey somewhere between night and day. Only faint greyish light filtering through the tangled barren boughs of the gnarled trees indicates that it might be daylight somewhere above that low blanket of clouds.

“Surely the sun should have risen or set by now, no?” The holy man rubs the burnished metal sun hanging about his neck as though the action might summon the sun emblazoned on it. With no tangible response, he adjusts his robes and points after the next arrow.

“Right, come along children. Let’s go.”

Children?

Evie rolls her eyes. Being twenty-five doesn’t make her a child no matter how young she looks with her half-elven blood. And sexy tiefling has got to be in his thirties with the way he seems to still prize being an asshole. Too old to be smooth faced and full of lies and too young to have gained any maturity or wisdom, clearly. And poncy boy the seven foot giant elf? The man may look like an untouched by time young thirties, but he’s a pure blood elf. He could be 300 years old for all Evie knows and she’s only partially certain the old man doesn’t have quite so many years under his belt. Evie finds herself assessing Roshan once more, trying to determine his age.

“I thought you were 32?” Evie asks.

“Yes, but you keep calling me old one, so I might as well accept it.”

“There’s just something about you,” Emet adds, “You must have an old soul or something.”

“I have never heard that one, thank you,” Roshan says with such a deadpan expression, Evie can’t tell if that’s sarcasm.

The group, all wishing in their own way for a bed and some sort of hot meal continue along the muddy footpath with less and less motivation to bother. How many more trees with 43 tallies will they pass? How many more cryptic signs carved in bark with no sun or hint of where or when the hells any of them are?

Evie hangs her head with a dramatic sigh, groaning loudly incase anyone has any doubt about how done she is with this endless day, when she stops in her tracks. They’ve been walking this muddy foot path since Roshan decided with his magic feather that this was the way to go, but Evie never really gave the path any kind of investigation. Why would she? A path is a path right? Unless the path is worn by only one person.

She stares into the mud, hoping she is wrong. But whether she looks behind where they’ve walked or ahead where they’ve not yet trampled some of the tracks, it is the same.

“I’m starting to get a bad feeling, guys.”

“You are only starting?” Roshan asks.

“No, a new bad feeling.”

“Ohhh.”

“I mean I’m not the smartest but other than ours, I’m not seeing any tracks that were made by more than one person,” she points at the hoof prints, “and one horse.”

Evie squats down on her thick platform heels, fingers tracing above the footprints that came before theirs and the ones that lead further beyond, “This path was made by one man. Look, these are the same shoes over and over.” Her finger finds hoof prints next, “And this is the same horse. The horseshoe has that knick in the metal in every track.”

Emet seems to make the connection first as she lays out the points. The deadman and horse made this path, wore it into existence with endless repetition. Forty-three times, Evie would hazard to guess. Forty-three times through that draining patch of fog before they finally had nothing left.

Evie stands up from her squat, wiping the mud off her hands, “I don’t know, this seems wrong.”

“But it means we will likely make it back then, no? If it is a circle?” Roshan asks.

“I hope. We should have followed the other path.”

“When we make it back, we will go the other way.”

“If we make it back,” Evie bites back, but a little more gently, “The dead guy didn’t.”

Evrrot slings his bow across his back and steps up to one of the taller trees, kicking his boot into the trunk to test for any softness or give.

“I’m gonna see if I can get a better vantage point.”

Look who’s taking some initiative.

“Do not fall,” Roshan calls out as the tiefling swings himself up to the lowest dead branch and begins scaling the tree with familiarity. Evie half wishes it would break under his weight and drop his ass in the mud. It holds, to her disappointment.

It doesn’t take Evrrot long before he reaches the higher canopy, the tree full of easy branches to scale and most of them still strong enough to support his weight—unfortunately. A few close calls as weaker dead boughs snap beneath him, but always another branch not far from hand.

Balancing himself against the thinner and weaker boughs near the top of the tree, Evrrot carefully stands above the canopy.

“Well that’s fucked,” Evrrot calls down.

“What?” Evie calls up.

“There’s nothing. It’s just fucking fog everywhere.”

Evrrot calls out his view. All around him, a sea of endless tangled branches pierce the fog like thorns. And behind, where that wall of vampiric fog tried to sap them of what little energy they have left, a massive roiling pillar of white climbing endlessly into the overcast skies still stubbornly caught somewhere between night and day. Seems there is no escape from that impenetrable fog. Even from above.

He carefully, if a bit angrily, makes his way back to the ground. If there’s any sort of settlement in this place, the fog hides it well. They have no choice but to follow whatever damn path they can find. Roshan is quiet as Evrrot explains the situation, closing his eyes a moment as he grasps that burnished sun once more in his calloused hands and whispers something beneath his breath. Evie’s sharp ears only catch the last word, “Are you there?” Whatever he is seeking, Evie knows he did not find it. The old man’s shoulders droop almost imperceptibly.

“Does he typically answer?” Emet asks softly.

“I usually feel his warmth. Now there is only cold.”

He nods as though expecting as much, “That must be the way of gods.”

Roshan’s eyes are dawnsteel.

“Not this one.”

Emet quietly assesses him, perhaps seeking a weak point to exploit. Perhaps looking for any waver in his conviction, but finds none and keeps his silence.

With nowhere left to go, they press on to follow the arrows in the hopes that they will cross the abandoned wagon trail once more.

Several minutes and several more 43 tallied trees pass before all breathe a hesitant sigh of relief. There, ahead of them, the lonely wagon trail that started them in these misty lands cuts across the deadman’s path. But that relief is quickly overshadowed.

The deadman—once still and rotting, nothing more than a feast for crows—is gone.

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