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[conkreetmonkey]

Fun story: My last job was at a restaurant. They hired me among many other workers all at once. This is because the kitchen had recently burnt down, thankfully after hours and without hurting anyone, so they had to temporarily close and rebuild; can't very well run a restaurant with no kitchen, after all. Presumably they'd laid everyone off and were completely restocking their labour pool in like a week. My first day was wonderful. People were patient about training me, the manager was sweet and made sure everyone was staying hydrated, and she even personally brought me a glass of water while I was on my break. Like any person would have, I took this as a good sign. Then, over the next few months, things began to devolve. There's like 5 stories in there about the extortion, ER visits, second-degree burns, and explosive stress diarrhea, but basically that once sweet manager slowly became a demon, and my once fun and kind coworkers began doing things like threatening to harm my work bestie unless I performed unsafe work that was guaranteed to burn me due to inadequate PPE, or yelling obscenities at me for asking perfectly reasonable questions. It went from heaven to hell over the span of a single damp, mild autumn. So, as you can guess, I came to resent the place. But there's another element to it:

in my time working there, I would come to learn that the fire that destroyed the place was entirely preventable; there was a known gas leak in one of the deep fryers, and management knew, but refused to shell out the $15 to patch the line (just like they refused to give us PPE, or generally fix anything ever). Quite a long time after they found out and after many staff reports of this gas leak, one night, it somehow finally ignited, and a $15 expense suddenly turned into tens of thousands of dollars. One night, while I was manning the fryers, I noticed one of them was producing bubbles of opaque white smoke from under the oil. My coworkers assured me it was "normal" and "just some food stuck under there." I've worked many a deep fryer, and had been working those particular ones for months, and never seen such a thing before. It was pretty easy for me to put two and two together on that one. The lifers weren't having it and insisted I ignore it and get back to work. A few weeks later, I quit on the spot after getting cussed out over asking if anybody had put an order in the oven yet. My work bestie was fired shortly afterwards, for what she claims was written down as "disobeying orders." She was very allergic to the fryer oil we used, it made her break out in painful, swollen hives, but the lifers kept insisting on making her clean the fryers, so it was probably that, I imagine. Who knows, though? There came a point where it was never enough, no amount of speed or cleanliness or quality. We were always understaffed, and now they'd fired one of their best workers. I met another one of the coworkers I'd bonded with working elsewhere. It was retail, under a notorious asshole boss, but at least it wasn't there. Her arms were covered in deep burn scars the day she'd walked in, so I imagine she's used to it. I hope she'd okay. I should probably try to check in on her, actually. I never asked if she left or was fired. I know they never patched the leak. They didn't the first time. Of course they didn't learn their lesson, the whole place was just a number in the bloated investment portfolio of some silver spoon fatcat from Toronto, he didn't give a fuck. None of us ever even met him, or learned his name. Fully hands off. We'd pull like $15,000 or even $20,000 some nights, but all made minimum wage, and were always one call-in away from total collapse. They kept cutting hours. They would send people home in the middle of dinner rushes because "we're spending too much money on labour." Schedules became mere suggestions. We were never given end times to begin with. 11 or 12 hour shifts weren't uncommon on my end, but sometimes I'd only get 3. It was a coin flip every night. My point is, the place was managed, on all levels, by people who'd drown if it rained. Thinking about how perfect the place could have been still makes my heart rate increase. It filled a niche with absolutely no local competition. Our profit margins were absurd. And yet the dullards filling the office chairs didn't understand that you need cooks to produce food, and the place began creaking under their weight. I left before something gave. I suppose me leaving was something giving though, in a way. I worked my ass off for that place. I made them thousands, IN PROFIT, every night. I feel like maybe that triggered the exodus that followed, idk. Don't want to aggrandize myself too much. As far as I know, the second burning hasn't happened yet. But it will. It's all but guaranteed to. I hope that, just like last time, nobody's there when it happens. But I also hope that, unlike the first time, this time the entire place completely, unsalvageably burns down to ash, reduced to a concrete foundation. I hope there's nothing left to rebuild. I hope the cycle finally ends. I pretty much never got to take my legally mandated break again after that first shift, btw. Should have seen it as a sign, but it was just one shift right? They needed me, they said. They needed me.

[starlit-writer]

in sickness and in health - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

ah, look at that. have some omegaverse angst inspired by this post here <3 if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

well, this turned out to be miles longer than i expected it to. there's not really a solid ending, so let me know if you want more! have so much fun getting your heart ripped out <3

word count: 4,616 masterlist ao3 link

Three years ago, you and Simon got married. It wasn’t anything flashy or big - fuck, how could it have been when you didn’t even love each other? But, military law forbade an unmated omega from joining the ranks, and Simon was seen as a wild-card alpha, too headstrong and violent, too hard to control. So, the brass laid out an ultimatum: mate, get married, or be discharged. Both you and Simon had worked too hard for too long to get where you were, so discharge was entirely off the table. There was no courting, no dates, and the wedding, if you could call it that, was little more than signing papers - three signatures on a thick piece of A4 government paper, one from you, one from Simon, and one from your witness, Captain John Price. You didn’t even exchange rings or vows. It took less than five minutes. 

After all was said and done, you and Simon went back to your lives. Sure, you were respectful to one another, and you spent one or two heats and ruts together, but you both maintained a distance away from each other. Neither of you were thrilled with the idea of being tied down, of being mated. The mating bond between you felt more like the neck of a too-tight sweater than it did a comfort, feeling each other’s emotion more of a chore than something you looked forward to. Sure, you worked well together, fluid and deadly like a well oiled M2 on the field. Always had. But there is a stark difference between working well together, and being mated.

So that’s how you ended up here. You had lost twenty pounds. Your skin was sallow and pale, your eyes sunken in. When you looked in the mirror, you could count your ribs, the knobs of your spine, under the bruises. You had thrown yourself into work, and when there was no work, you were challenging any living thing to go for a round with you on the sparring mat. But, you were weak; the bond sickness sapped all of your energy and strength faster than you could ever hope to replenish it. Your scent, which was once a warm and spicy caramelized vanilla, now smelled like sugar burnt to the bottom of a pot - acrid and rotted. You were dying, and you knew it. But your pride was far too great to ever go crawling back to Simon, the very man who caused the sickness to infiltrate every cell of your being. It had been months of this torture. 

You had seen the concerned looks of your team as they watched you haunt the halls of the base like a spectre. Soap had started to bring you chocolates and drinks, anything in hopes to get you to eat. Gaz took a different approach, always being the one to take you up on your sparring requests, the beta knowing that at the very least he could be gentle with you while still giving you an outlet. The Captain had made sure to keep you off any truly strenuous missions and tasks, mainly relegating you to the medbay or to training recruits. If you were any stronger, you would be pissed, but right now you took it as a blessing. At least he hadn’t kicked you off the team for your weakness. But Simon? Simon was nowhere to be found. He continuously was the first volunteer for the most dangerous missions, keeping him away from base for weeks to months at a time. When he came back bloody and bruised, he would avoid the medbay like the plague, only coming in to get fixed up by another combat medic when he knew Soap or Gaz had forcefully pulled you away. If you two happened to be walking in the same hallway, Simon would duck out of your sight without even so much as a word. You had long since given up on running after him. 

So color yourself surprised when you were standing in front of the mirror in your bathroom and the screen of your phone lit up, a text from Simon blaring on the too-bright screen. You had every intention of ignoring it, but your pride was no match for the dying ache of your omega. 

Come to my quarters.

The text was simple. Demanding, even. And all it did was make you angry. 

You quickly tugged on a pair of sweats and forced a tank top over your bruised and feverish skin. You thought briefly for a moment about tugging a sweatshirt on over your mottled skin, but, fuck it, let him see all that he has done to you. Maybe he would give you the one blessing you had hoped for over the last few months of neglect, and finally sever the bond between you. 

You trudged through the hallways of the base, every soldier you passed giving you a wide berth. You were certain you looked like death froze over, and the rage-filled expression set over your brows and your lips certainly did not help. When you reached his door, you didn’t even bother to knock. You just shoved your copy of the key in the door and slammed the door open. 

Simon barely even looked up from where he was lounging on the bed. His shirt was off, a rare sight, even for you, but even more shocking was the fact that he wasn’t wearing his mask.  He didn’t look much better than you - his once-bronzed skin paled, his own scars raised and reddened, and he had a poorly bandaged bullet wound wrapped, the white medical wrapping blossoming with a red mark. Pulled stitches, definitely. 

“Close the door,” came the rough demand as his arms lazily opened in an invitation to lay with him. “And c’mere.”

You, in all of your rage, just stood stockstill in the still-open doorway. Even as your omega side cried to jump into his arms and let his scent and his touch wash away all the pain, you refused with a defiant jut of your chin. You didn’t know why he had called you here, and the only thing your mind could conjure up is that Price, or Laswell, or fuck, even Soap, had sat him down and forced him to do this. And you wanted nothing to do with this or with him if he actually was not trying to change.

“I don’t want your pity. And I sure as hell don’t want your affection just because Price told you that you had to fix me,” you replied, your voice shaking with weakness and pain, even as you tried your damndest to keep it steady, strong. 

Simon growled, the sound of an alpha not used to not getting his way, as he rolled onto his side to look at you more squarely. His arms were still open, but you could see the way his muscles clenched, his own anger rising. “It ain’t about pity. It’s about basic biology,” he bit out, the words short and angry. 

That made you laugh, the sound short and sardonic before it morphs into a cough that shakes your entire, frail being. You brought a shaking hand up to wipe your lips before you fixed him with a glare hard enough to freeze an ocean. “Basic biology?" you mocked. “Yeah, for sure. But it’s also basic biology to not let bond sickness even be a worry for your omega, but looks like you fucked that one right up, didn’t you!?”

Your words made something in Simon snap. Your rage, the vitriol, clenched his hands into fists as he quickly swung his powerful legs over the edge of the bed, crossing the space between you in the space between one of your breaths and the next. He was in your face now, just enough space between you to not be pressing completely against you. You averted your gaze, knowing that if you didn’t, you might continue yelling at him, or worse. 

“Look at me,” he ordered, using the same tone he does on the battlefield. His hands are still clenched into fists, but they are shaking. Why?

That tone made your eyes harden, the instincts of a hard-bred soldier kicking in. Even through the fraying of your bond, your sickness, you knew that voice. You listened when given an order. You allowed your head to loll back to look up at him, but your expression was still set in that same hard glare. You weren’t on a battlefield. You were on base, far away from the acrid explosions and hot gunpowder. How dare he pretend otherwise? “Why?” you bit back in response. “This isn’t some tactical decision, Simon. Don’t treat me like one of your fuckin’ rookies.” 

He took a sharp breath through his teeth, obviously trying to control himself. He knew you were weak, the bond sickness taking so much more from you than it ever did him. But your defiance, your spirit despite the bond sickness was making his alpha go crazy. Even with you glaring up at him, he stared down at you with fierce eyes as his hands gripped your hips, shoving you out of the doorway and pressing you against the wall right beside it. Taking one hand off of your hip, he shut the door with a resounding click before his grip, and his attention came back entirely to you. “I ain’t treatin’ you like a goddamned rookie,” he growled out, his cold brown gaze entirely focused on your own broken one as one hand slams into the wall by your head. Even through your rage, he can see it. Feel it. He had broken you. And that knowledge caused his alpha to writhe in pain. “I’m treatin’ ya like my fuckin’ omega.” 

As he caged you in, growled those words at you, your own expression hardened. Your lips curled up to reveal your smaller omega fangs, a low growl of your own reverberating from your chest as your hands clenched into fists. It’s hard to ignore the sheer size difference between the two of you as he towers over you, his head dipped low to keep your attention. However, that did nothing to stop your rage, in fact, it increased it tenfold. 

“Oh, right. I forgot. Being your omega means less than being one of your rookies, silly me.”

You knew the second the words left your mouth that you just opened a Pandora’s box. You saw it in the way his eyes instantaneously darkened, in the way his hand left the wall before you could even blink, his fingers crushing your jaw between them in a bruising grip, forcing your head back against the wall as he brought his face ever closer to yours. However, as his face got closer, you could see the glint of something else in his eyes. Triumph. His alpha was revelling in watching you snap and get fiery again. It was a victory, in his mind, to see you able to be so angry after the bond sickness had taken so much from you. “Watch it, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff. “I know that attitude of yours will always be there, but careful.”

His words sent another wave of anger through you, and as he forced your head back, you jerked your neck, snapping your teeth at him, your small omega fangs glinting in the low light of his quarters. It was a clear message. Fuck the bond sickness, he had no right to touch you right now. You did not forgive him, and he has to work to even begin to earn that, and if he won’t? You would dissolve the bond without him, whether or not it risked your life. 

“Don’t sweetheart me,” you growled out, glaring up at him even as the bruising grip of his fingers squished your cheeks together, slurring your words. “Not after everything.”

His alpha instincts flared again, the desire to force you into accepting his help clear as his eyes flashed in irritation at your anger. He pressed you further into the wall, his body now flush against yours as he snarled right back. “Then do something about it,” he challenged. “Get mad. Fight me. Let it all out. But, you’re not leaving this room until you let me fix this.”

As much as you hated it, hearing Simon’s permission gave you the ability to let it all out. No matter how much you wanted to pretend that you were unaffected by him, the knowledge that he wanted you to fight, wanted to fix this broken bond between you, allowed you to finally and truly get all of the anger out, and maybe, just maybe, give the bond a chance to heal. 

And so you did. Your body jerked against his, your sallow cheeks flushing red as you bared your omega fangs and growled at him again. Your eyes held the faintest spark of life, a far cry from what they used to have, but there’s something there now. 

When Simon saw that spark, the faintest hint of his omega coming back, he chuckled gruffly, his eyes glinting with a possessive heat. 

“Yes, spitfire. I want you t’ fight me. Hit me, scream, yell at me, tell me how shit of an alpha I’ve been. I don’t care. Just don’t. Hold. Back.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the dam inside of you broke. Months worth of anger, agony, grief, pain, and aching sadness flooded your veins like a hot, volatile drug. It felt like a living, breathing thing as the emotions curled around your lungs, your muscles, your heart. Tears pushed at your lash line, the aching pain making itself known through the rage. 

You held his cold brown gaze for a moment, your eyes searching his. When all you saw in return was steely determination, you did the only thing you could think of. Before he could even move out of the way, you shut your eyes and cranked your head back as far as it would go, and drove your forehead straight into his nose. It wasn’t nearly hard enough to break it, but definitely hard enough to hurt and make the blood start flowing. 

He staggered back from you, his hands coming up to cup his nose, but the alpha was far from angry. In fact, he was grinning, the blood pouring from his nose coating his lips and teeth. A low growl of approval rumbled from his chest as he stared at you, approval glinting in his eyes. “Good girl,” he muttered lowly, the praise slipping through so naturally. 

As his praise washed over you, you felt your stomach flip. It shouldn’t feel that good. Not after the months and months of neglect so bad that you were literally dying. But, you couldn’t help the small ember of warmth that bloomed through your chest as that muttered praise of good girl flowed through your veins like a warm blanket settling over you. 

But, you were still angry. And hurt. And countless other emotions that you couldn’t even begin to name, all just culminating into a neverending ache. And as you saw the blood marring the plush flesh of his lower lip, something inside of you snapped. 

He had made his worst mistake. He had let go of you, and now you could truly fight. 

You crouched down, using your smaller stature and power legs to kick your leg out, and you swept it across the ground, knocking the much-bigger alpha off of his feet. You watched as his massive frame hit the ground, shaking the walls, a bloom of satisfaction erupting in your chest. Adrenaline was pumping through your veins now, the only thing allowing you to move, and before he had the chance to become reoriented, you were on top of him, straddling his hips as you punched at his chest. Your tears of anguish were falling freely now, sobs breaking free with your yells. 

“You have broken me! Broken! I used to be so strong, so happy, and you destroyed that! Ripped it away from me! All because you were too fucking caught up in your own shit, your own fucking fear, that you couldn’t even be half of the alpha you needed to be!”

Simon grunted in pain as his back collided with the cold, hard tile of his quarters, his hands automatically coming up to grab at your hips. Not to shove you off, no, but to keep you on top of him. He knew he deserved this. Every punch, every pointed word, every tear. It was his penance for all of the pain and agony he had put you through, even if it was ripping his heart to absolute shreds. 

“I know, I know,” he growled softly, his voice thick with regret. “I know I did.”

You shook your head, tears and snot flying from the force. You were so angry, so hurt, but the adrenaline was quickly running its course, leaving behind only bone-deep exhaustion and pain. Your punches slowly weakened, until you were barely able to lift your hands. Instead, they came to rest on his bare chest, your omega claws digging sharply into the thick muscle that covered his chest, one of your hands digging directly over his heart, needing him to feel a fraction of the agony that coursed through your own. 

“Don’t you agree with me! Don’t you dare! Gods, you do this to me for months, and you… you have nothing to say for yourself!? I tried! Tried to be a good spouse, a good omega! I tried to give you your space, to be unobtrusive, even though that killed my omega! And all I fuckin’ got in return is this fucking bond sickness that is killing me! Tearing me apart from the inside out!” 

His body shuddered as your claws dug into his chest, his skin breaking under the tiny points. It hurt in every way that it could, but the tiny pinpricks of blood that welled around your claws were nothing compared to how he had hurt you. He knew that he deserved this, every inch of your wrath, of your anger, and the pain it brought for him. It was the least he could do - to bear this for you. But, Gods, it didn’t stop your words from tearing into his heart in a way your claws couldn’t even begin to touch. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he repeated, his words thick with the guilt that was threatening to choke him. “And I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

His apology broke what little strength you had left. The bond between you was fraying, seconds away from snapping completely, and you had never felt more lost. A sob broke free from your lips, the force of the sound causing your body to lurch forward. But, Simon was there. For once, he was there. His chest caught your head, your tears wetting his skin almost instantaneously as your claws scratched down his torso, leaving thin, raised red lines down his scarred skin. 

He hissed softly in response to the pain, but he made no attempt to move, to shy away from it. You had completely given up on your ego, your omega so desperate for your alpha, no matter what he had done. But, you were still so hurt, your omega so wounded that you had no idea how you were going to come back from this. 

“Just… just tell me why. Why did you do this? Why did you treat me like this?” you sobbed out into his chest, your sour, distressed omega pheromones wafting around him like a shroud of despair. 

His alpha writhed in pain at your scent. It was wrong, so, so wrong, but he had done this. His neglect, his apathy, had taken his once strong, ferocious omega and reduced her down to this. He had never seen you like this. And he never wanted to again. He could feel the bond between you slipping between his fingers like shards of glass digging into his very being, and fear rose to take its place. He wrapped his arms around you, cradling your tiny, trembling form against him, his nose burying into your hair as he pressed a featherlight, shaking kiss into it. He swallowed harshly against the lump in his throat, his heart clenching in fear. In pain. In anger at himself. “I was a coward, love.” 

You sobbed harder against his chest at his admission, shaking your head jerkily. Your body felt like it was freezing and burning up at the same time, as the frayed edges of the bond dug into you like poisonous thorns. You could feel your mind shattering, your heart stuttering as the bond sickness continued to take hold. You were dying, and you knew it. But at this point, you would almost take death over the amount of pain you were in. “That’s not a good excuse,” came your shaking reply, the words thick with tears and agony, but they were strong with conviction. “Tell me why, Simon. Tell me why, or break the godsdamned bond.” 

The words that left your lips felt like they were suffocating the alpha. Break the bond. His arms tightened around you until you were completely pressed against him, and he could feel every shudder, every quiver in your weakening body. A low growl rumbles from his chest, the sound full of pain but also a desperate desire to comfort. He had to try - to even attempt to explain, even if he wasn’t sure it would do anything. But the thought of losing you without even trying made his heart shatter, his alpha howl in protest. 

“Because I was afraid,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret and honesty as his knuckles ran across the knobs of your spine. That caused him more pain than you would ever know, feeling how you had atrophied from his neglect. How his dismissal, his abandonment had caused his once strong, beautiful omega, to waste away before his very eyes. “Afraid of getting caught up in you, in this. Of loving you, of giving you part of my heart. I didn’t know how to keep you safe. I didn’t think I was worthy of having something like that, like you. I still don’t.” 

“Then break the bond,” you whimpered out, the pain of the bond sickness, of your own emotions, and what little of Simon’s you could still feel through the barest threads of the bond ricocheting through your body, reduced you to little more than a husk lying on top of Simon. Your heart was shattering along with the bond, the broken edges of each splintering in a way that made it hard for you to breathe. Your breath pushed and pulled achingly slowly through your chapped lips like broken glass, just another thing ripping your very being apart. 

“If you can’t do this… I’ll… I’ll figure it out. The brass’ll let me stay, at least for a little bit. But, I can’t… I can’t keep doin’ this. ‘M not asking for love. ‘M not asking to be a real marriage, but I can’t be apart of a bond where ‘m not… where ‘m not bein’ taken care of. I can’t.” 

Your words were slurring, little more than a broken and pain-filled whimper against his broad chest, and Simon could practically hear the way his heart shatters beneath you. He did this. He did this. And yet, the selfish part of him couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, no matter how much pain he had put you through. The alpha snarled as he wrapped his arms around your ever-weakening frame impossibly tighter, as if he was afraid that if he didn’t hold you tight enough, you’d slip away from him forever. 

“No, baby, no,” he replied softly, but the words were filled with a growl of conviction, of promise. “I was stupid. I was so stupid, and I hurt you. Let me… let me fix this, okay? Please, baby. Lemme fix you. Just for right now.” 

Simon was begging. You didn’t know if you had ever heard him beg before, but here he was, begging you to allow him the chance to fix you. Your exhausted, wounded omega perked up a bit at his conviction, but you couldn’t help but feel like this was far too little, far too late. “I… I don’t know, Simon. How can you… how can you fix this?” 

The pained gasps between your words drove a stake of fear through Simon’s heart, his alpha whimpering painfully. He swallowed harshly against the ever-growing lump in his throat, as he knew that he had to be the pillar of strength. If he broke right now, there was no hope for you. His lips brushed against the top of your head as he inhaled your sour, rotted scent in despair, his hands running up and down your back in a vain attempt to soothe you. 

“Let me… let me have a chance,” the alpha, your alpha, pleaded. “Please baby, let me fix this. I’ll do better, I promise. Gods, I’ll do anything. Just… just let me get you better,  baby, please. And then, if you still want to break the bond, we can, okay? Just… I can’t lose you. I can’t let you die. Not like this. Never like this.”

You felt, more than heard, his words wash over you. You could feel your body failing, the bond sickness taking what little was left of you. Even with Simon’s touch, with his promises, you had a brief moment of clarity where you just knew that this still might be it, that the bond had been strained too far, the cavernous distance between the two of you still too great, that this bond sickness might still kill you, despite his promises to fix you. 

You were so tired. So, so tired. The pain is too much, your eyelids too heavy, and it felt like what was left of your shattered heart wasn’t pumping nearly enough oxygen through your veins. You were teetering on the edge, and all you wanted to do was sleep. 

“Just… just let me sleep. In here. With you. Please?” you mumbled, the words soft and slurred. Any fight, any pride you had just a few minutes ago was long gone, and if you were going to die, your omega wanted it to be right here, in your alpha’s arms, taken peacefully in your sleep. “I need… just, please, Si.” 

Simon’s resolve shattered at the nickname that fell past your lips. He instantly sat up, gathering your frail, fragile body in his arms as he nodded, his own tears finally breaking free. 

His fault. All his fault. Always his fault. 

He quickly stood up, your body light (too light, too light) in his arms as he carried you to his bed. He was terrified. He could feel how slow your heartbeat was, how weak your body was, how slurred your words were. He shushed you softly, gently, but the sound warbled against his own tears. 

“Shhh, shhh, baby. I got you. I got you. Just… just sleep, okay? I’ll be right here. Right here. Never leavin’ your side again. I promise. I’ll be right here when you wake up. Just sleep.” 

He gingerly laid you on the bed, surrounding you with blankets and pillows, anything he could find that was drenched in his alpha scent, before his body came to blanket you. He couldn’t lose you. And he will keep his promise, even as his own silent tears fell down around your now-unconscious face. 

What’s that old saying? Oh, right. You never know what you had until it’s gone.

[themareverine]

Bond Girl, part 1 | patch!Logan x fem!reader | themareverine + bpmiranda

synopsis: the first adjective that leapt to mind the second she’d seen such a thing—obscene. like bait from the possession of man everyone here knew to more vile than any beautiful thing could be. because, if Logan is anything, it’s beautiful. and his taste in jewelry? immaculate.

warnings: patch!Logan, flirting, suggestive themes, part 1 of a co-written little thing with @bpmiranda (surprise!), casino atmosphere, booze, gambling, language, nameless!fem!reader but mentions of curls and blue eyes, ⚠︎.

a/n: save me, Patch!Logan, save me! I can't get away from this idea and my absolutely insatiable lust for this man, ROFL. this idea hit me the other day and after conversing with @bpmiranda, I knew we had to write this. big thanks for her for 1) being phenomenal, 2) listening to my ramblings, 3) jumping on my Patch train, and 4) deciding to collab! ahhhh! my part is done, but hers is coming and will, most likely, be NSFW and probably SO FAR AND AWAY BETTER. and yes i got carried away with context what else is new ROFL get on our taglists for updates!

She isn’t usually one to go for something so—obscene. 

Not that the idea of fine jewelry, really, should be considered obscene. It’s honestly an insult, something so beautiful tethered to a negative connotation. It was the farthest thing from obscene. Just simply the first adjective that leapt to mind the second she’d seen it, dangling elegantly like bait from the possession of man everyone in here  knew to be more vile than any beautiful thing could be. 

Because, if Logan is anything, it’s beautiful—and his taste in accessories? Immaculate. 

“It’s too expensive,” the absolute glint that passed through his eyes sparkled almost as clearly as the stone, catching light like starlight coupled, somehow, with sun, “you really shouldn’t have, Logan.” Cool against the flaming embarrassed scarlet chasing up her neck, he was deliberately slow. Rough hands skipping along her décolletage sent shivers down the length of her spine, numb beneath the wolfish gaze staring back at her in the mirror. Fingers reaching to brush along the face of the stone, it felt heavy. 

“I didn’t,” he sounded so pleased with him, chuckling in that low way that sent her brain pulsing, “poor bastard’s wife is probably pissed, huh?” His hands are more caring than she ever thought possible, clasping the necklace into place. Watching her swallow her own breath, her eyes only skip up to his when his hands find the back of her chair, leaning forward to brush his mouth along the shell of her ear. 

“Can’t imagine it lookin’ as good on anyone else as it does you, sugar.” 

At least two carats, it’s basically a small nucleus of sunlight, sparkling against her pale décolletage, its radiance only challenged by the offset of what she can only assume is a platinum bezel. Gently rubbing the stone between her fingers, she releases a slow breath that shakes more than she would’ve liked, but comes from her core. His hand brushing along the strap of an equally breathtaking gown only exaggerates her inability to breathe evenly, and she swears to God the color racing up her neck deepens. 

“You won this?” turning in her seat, she gently pushes him back with a hand to his chest. “In cards? You always play for cash,” without flinching, she probes for an answer—Logan never bets collateral. He always plays for money, or, on occasion, information. It was how she’d come to know Patch—the man of Madripoor. In all her months of watching him play, she’d only ever seen him accept collateral one other time, and she protected the Van Cleef bracelet on her arm nearly with her life. “It has to be worth a small fortune,” quietly she turned back to the mirror, slightly entranced by its brilliance.

He chuckled, “Not small enough,” his finger brushes a tendril of curl hanging from the simple pins at the base of her neck, “Wasn’t thinkin’ about how much it cost, sweetheart. Too busy imaginin’ you wearin’ it to bed,” His hands skim down the neckline of the dress, an elegant yellow satin slip cut dangerously up the thigh, thin and leaving mostly nothing to imagination, “but I guess this’ll do for now, hm?” 

Willpower of the gods had somehow propelled her out the chair, hand in his as he’d tugged her against his chest. Arms fortressing around her softness, holding her closer than sin. She finds herself lost under the heavy of his gaze, even as her fingers trail up the sleeves of his suit jacket. Crisp as snow, it cuts him perfectly, as if designed for him and him alone. He’s warm, chasing away the slightly chill that pebbles the skin of her arms, the A/C of the hotel suite more tangible than ever. 

“For now,” she’d echoed with a small smile, amusement passing through her tone. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll ask you about that active imagination of yours later.” Hand finding his cheek, she guided him into a slow, unhurried kiss. “You feel lucky tonight, Lo?” Words murmuring against his lips, his head angled to deepen the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers.

His chuckle was light, entertained as his fingers traced along the straps at the back of her dress, “Ain’t about feelin’ lucky, sugar,” tipping her chin up, he smiled at her darkly. “But if it makes you feel better, you bet.” 

Absolutely obscene. 

He’s still as perfect now as he had been hours before, draping a once-in-a-lifetime diamond around her neck, sitting in the low haze hovering in a smothering, thin veil about their casino’s air. Their casino—the gambling house they’d called home for the entirety of her sojournings at his side. Walls and floors that knew their secrets, hallways that saw parts of them no human, probably, ever would. 

Madripoor was beautiful, a stunning land with its own cultures rich with wonder and charms untouchable to nearly sunlight—it was not a difficult place to land, to count off the fingers of time. Especially for a man burying secrets in shallow graves of earth and unknowns. Abundant with vibrant color, pulsing atmosphere and the adrenaline of living, its wellspring of anonymity was wanting, attractive in a way any other nowheresville wasn’t. Logan had established himself as a man of countenance in these streets, specifically this house—a man of power, strength. Gall, courage. Unkillable, untouchable, wholly wondrous. 

Countenance. His reputation preceded him—whether as a badge of honor, a curse of death, or a last-nail coffin truly, honestly, depended on whom one would ask. Bodies jumped under tables beneath the steel of his gaze, the earth opened up to consume lesser beings. Flurry of opinion wasn’t uncommon, if you asked around the shadows and dripping neon of the city— bodies in this quarter of the city produced a cocktail of options for poison. Akin to asking which band champions in NOLA at the height of Mardis Gra, the hair of the dog hours—good thoughts weren’t anorexic around here, weren’t starving for air to give them life.  

All had an opinion. Scant few actually held water. 

Madripoor trembled with the respect wise men hold for phantom’s when he strode into a room. People knew, just from him cutting the doorway of the casino floor, that “Patch” was not an easy dance. Garnered a respect she’d never seen so freely offered to anyone else, dignitaries were not so often well noticed. Logan half expected the room to whip around to eyeball him he was so aware of his own presence, but not in the way one would think—not in the sense of ego or pedestal, high-horses. Never.

“Same feelin’ you get shiverin’ down your back when you think you're bein’ watched, sugar—just the way it goes when guys like me make an entrance.” 

Logan rarely made an entrance—Patch, even less so. Exits were more his thing, honestly. 

But far and away, Madripoor had signed and delivered its standing opinion on the man with an patch, the man from the north—the man nobody could touch, whose face shadows didn’t find. For four decades he’s been frequentlying this place, blowing in and out like the steam over bayous and still water, never aging a day. Always stalking, always collected. In blood it screamed, up and down the streets, this province’s opinion—You bet on Patch, and you have your man.  

And tonight is no different. While Logan may not be an easy man to dissect with discernments, he is an easy bet. Easier, yet, to watch. Even at the bar, across the floor—where light is golden and soft, the air is thick with smoke. Music that has been hastened for generations spins through the air like dreams, summoning atmosphere and charm into the room like a sweeping arch of divinity.

It had become some kind of twisted religion, almost worship. Watching him rake fools over hot coals at this same casino table, when starlight strikes and the sun drips from the sky like slow poison. It’s like a killing hour, almost—the scent of blood and money hang in the air like calling cards, tantalizing sirens. It is the same dance, similar songs each night they grace this room—Logan seats himself at the card table. He orders whiskey, a cosmopolitan for her. Lights a cigar, asks the floor manager for a tab. Taps the corner of his mouth with a thick finger for her kiss, kisses her harder than she would expect from him—takes cash he slips into the neckline of her dress, “You keep here, darlin’, and also like always, he’ll take her chin between calloused fingertips, “gotta keep my lucky little thing closeby—’ma jealous fuck, sugar. Don’t go runnin’ off.”  And the answer is always the same—

“Where else would I be?” 

Certainly nowhere else could hook, line, sink her soul like that little quicksilver of a smile he throws at her—the way his gaze rakes over her frame, dissecting every bend and curve like a creature worth studying. Like he hasn’t known every part of her, explored each plane and territory of her skin, her soul. Logan has known her up until the half of her soul, possesses parts of her she’ll never return to—he takes more than money, on nights when he looks at her like this. More than information or courage or a man’s dignity—he takes her. Everything she possesses, balances it between his fingers, bleeding and raw, like it is a plaything and circus.

And really, she thinks, there could be no better thing under the sun.  

 At some point in all of this, she’d wondered, early on, if it would be like this, always. Running with him. Stalking lines, scouting out survival and nexts—spidering in gigs only to feast on the blood of the innocent unsuspecting. Vampires of opportunity, of fortune. She’d learned in short shit that, while the game is always the same, the wonder was in the stakes—it’s never about the game. 

Balance of power is always found in what one is willing to lose in the chance to gain.

“Something new, mi encanto?” 

Her chair sings a little as she adjusts to swivel back around to the bar, smile soft as she considers the surprise glass of something slipping her direction across an elegant, seen-everything bar. Warm eyes consider her, Dominic’s expression soft and entertained as he stereotypically slaps his rag over his shoulder, driving home a subliminal point. 

Canting her head softly to the side, she dips her finger into the crystalline booze, allowing it to gently float around the cool zing of alcohol and promise of a buzz that will warm her spine. Her finger gently traces the rim of the fine glassware, gaze tracking to the clock above the bar. It’s been two hours—two hours parked at the bar in a dress the color of sunlight, watching. Drawing the attention of every dick and eye this place produces. A pretty sentinel over the reputation and suppositions of a man rumored more to be a god than mortal, she’s little more than a trophy in this room—Logan’s trophy. Patch’s pretty little thing. 

Hardly more than eye candy, little less than pornographic imagery—she’d quelled a few looks of new faces unaccustomed to the goings-on of this house, of its finer workings. Didn’t take much more than a sharp lift of her leg over the other, a nod of her chin towards the table—rare cases demanded she actually leave her perch at the bar and make an effort to fill in the program gaps. Coming up along his chair, lingering touches on his chest and shoulder—the occasional slow, sloppy kiss between hands of poker, blackjack. Little else drove the point home so deeply, coffins and nails.

 She’d only ever been broached by the brave who had never returned—most were warned. If not by circumstance, then by Magnolia y Pecado staff—she was off the table. A no-go. Off limits. Hands off, don’t touch the pretty thing who parts her legs for the man everyone in Madripoor knows as Patch. If they only knew of him what she does, they’d think so differently. 

‘All bets off when you’re mine, sugar.”

“Gracias, Dominic.” 

She doesn’t ask what it is, Dominic understands her taste. Quite the working relationship they’d developed over the months of her making this bar her second home. Always thrilled to see her but rarely surprised, Dominic worked twelve hour days. Five daughters, his adorable, busy-bee and as-sweet-as-honey wife expecting a hopeful son—the only friends she had in the city. Inés was responsible for half of her wardrobe decisions, much of her makeup. Often her rambunctious gaggle of ribbons-and-curls girls ran about this casino during business hours, passing time in the pool, in the gardens.

 Glass chilled between her fingers, she takes a light sip of the cocktail, brow lifting as the tropical kick spins around her tongue in a lovely zing that makes her smile. Lifting it, she takes a bolder sip, “That’s brilliant, Dominic,” her smile grows, and she wrinkles her nose, “what is it?” 

He chuckled, “Jungle bird,” beginning to vigorously rub at a stain in the grains of the wood, “clarificada—clear. Mi amor’s only drink,” winking at her, his smile is bright but quickly fades as his eye moves over her shoulder, tracking movement. 

All too suddenly, Dominic’s spine towers tall. Heart skipping for only a second, his movements become cut, slow. When he nods across the floor, chin lifting as his hands begin flying beneath the bar—effortlessly, she knows he prepares the familiar short glass. A distraction, certainly, but calculated.  She’d never understand his practiced anticipation of needs, but forever appreciate them, “Problema, mi Cariño,” his eyes cut over to her sharply, long pouring a multiple-seconds finger of Redbreast, “looks as if there’s trouble, Miss Patch.”

Miss Patch. Common amongst the staff, it carried a responsibility she wrestled with more than she’d be willing to admit—belonging to someone was a place she’d never imagined for herself, much less Logan, but the irony isn’t lost on her, either. Everything she’d never thought for herself, everything she’d ever fantasized in high fantasy and dreams—all one ball of wax, a bed of roses. 

Name not lost, her stomach flares with a pinprick of alarm, heat spreading through her blood despite the pebbles of chill racing across her skin. Glancing over her shoulder, she tucks her chin. Tracking, eyes skirting the game currently underway at the long, gorgeous felt table. Remnant’s of Dominic’s Jungle Bird sings on her tongue, punching low in her stomach a sort of sweet that almost stings, watching Logan at the head of the table begin slipping out of his expensive suit jacket. 

The slightest glance over his shoulder is all the greenlight she needs, dark hair glinting almost sapphire under the right lights, the trembling wire of tension in the air. Nearly misses his hand at the side of the chair, fingers snapping for her to come hither. 

Taking the Redbreast between her fingers, her own drink in hand, her little sigh is amused. Follows a light chuckle, there’s a breathlessness she can’t quite put a finger on. The idea of being summoned isn’t all that distasteful—it’s wicked, what it does to the depths of her womb. 

“And there’s my cue.” The smile she cuts to Dominic is wry, words dismissive, almost airy—something is off at the table. She can see it in the shifting eyes of the men across the felt, the way Logan rolls a shoulder. 

Steely tension snaps at the air like a rabid wolf, hungry and slavering as it devours any sense of control she feels, usually, with the man she knows as Wolverine so near to heart. Usually he keeps a good handle on things—and he maybe does, maybe this is deliberate. But the precipice feels shaky, being on the outside looking in— like balancing on a livewire above swirling oceans. 

Slipping from her stool, her hand smooths over the satin of the gown, bending slightly to straighten material teasing the floor around her feet in a tastefully cocktail,  elegant train. Foot over foot she minds the height of her heels, floorspace between the bar and table vanishing beneath her approach. 

Another small drink, eyes drifting over the table—her nail gently ting, ting, tings against his glass between loose fingers. Meeting the gaze of men whose attention lifts to her arriving at Logan’s side is easy, all she has to do is offer a teasing, flirtatious upturn of his lips. Of doe-eyed light and oh, hi. Easily she offers the cool Redbreast, gently nudging it against the back of his hand as her hip comes to rest against his chair—Logan’s attention doesn’t cut from the study of his cards, brow lifted, easily. 

Unmoving, chuckling across the table lifts her gaze over the rim of her glass as she teases her drink for a second time. “My my, Patch, my friend — pretty little thing you’ve got there, at your beck and call,” she sums him up quickly, falling back in his chair. Shifting his hips forward, like he’s got a twitch in his dick at the sight of her dipping backline, “You are one surprising sonuvabitch, I’ll give you that.” Wolf whistle off his words accompany the  shake of his head, eyes lingering over the curve of her hip longer than necessary. “Pretty things here, in Madripoor—where can I find one’a you, honey?” 

“Didn’t think there were any more like me,” she counters with a little giggle, winking at him. Her hand comes to rest on Logan’s shoulder, tracing the hard line of muscle beneath his milkwhite shirt. Teases along until her hand gently curves along his chest, between the unfastened buttons, “Thought I was limited edition.” Dropping low, her lipstick catches the bristle of Logan’s beard in a slow, heavy kiss to his jawline, sharp eyes holding the man fully entranced with her show across the felt of the table, “Gotta pay to play, huh, baby?”

 Bodies around the table shift uncomfortably, the man to Logan’s left practically on the verge of either an aneurysm or cardiac arrest, either is possible considering the size of his beer gut and the unhealthy sweat soaking into the band of his Stetson hat—Texas, mogul. Married, probably. Or at least feeling a level of guilt. The man to their right, complete in a look that’s so Miami it hurts—designer white pants, loafers. What appears to be a silk shirt tucked in, unbuttoned, in a flamingo pink that’s so ambitious it makes her smile. She couldn’t even determine his eye color, his eyes were still welded on the swell of her ass. 

They’re so easy, men. One look at a pretty thing, a little batting of the eyes — they were so painfully predictable, Logan had been right. He’d taught her everything about this game, this back-and-forth. How to make them drool, how to make them ache, to worship at her feet. The perfect equalizer, the best distraction—give them what they don’t know they want, “And all their walls come crumblin’ down, honey—that’s what you do.” If he weren’t a better man—if Logan weren’t hers, he’d be eating out her palm just as much as any of them. 

But she belonged to him, a tight leash she shortened seemingly by night. 

“All depends on the game,” he bites at his lower lip, “what’s my grand prize, mi amor?”  He butchers Spanish almost as badly as he butchers atmospheres, and it would make her chuckle, the way he masks his obvious desire behind a hand rubbing around his mouth. Instead it just makes her roll her eyes, tease her nails along Logan’s chest hair carefully beneath his shirt. Heat pummels off of him like a locomotive, even with his jacket shedded. “You like to play games, do ya, sweet thing?” 

Logan’s gaze snaps up from his cards, viciously. Beastially. 

“Easy, bub. Ain’t nice to fuck with another man’s property.”  

It rumbles low, wolfishly in his chest. Sharp chill launches down her spine like a needle, injecting poisons into her veins that begin to melt her self control. Logan rarely ever labeled her so basely in front of other men—it was not his routine. He had, in other times, when context demanded he whip out his dick for measure— she didn’t have details. Admittedly she’d been too distracted with Dominic and drink tasting throughout the night to pay attention to this game, to know if Logan had anything working over this gig. All she knew was from what little pillow talk he’d offered this morning, after burying his cock nearly to her ribs and rearranging her abdominal cavity.

Information. Information, baby—it’s all about connections. And oh—that’s right. It tracks around her brain in a sharp, white-hot loop. Information, Logan wants information. 

 A patch may well cover most of the animation of his eyes, but it is evident, the darkness—leers like a predator, hunting. Watching. The corner of his mouth ticks up, muscle in his jaw pulling as he eases back into his chair, loosens a shoulder. Logan may as well scent this man’s blood and call it a day, she thinks, but instead his quicksilver smile grows as the man puts down his cards in front of him, resting elbows on the table. 

“Ease up there, ace,” his hands open in a slow arc of easy, I’m-just-playing settle-down, “Only teasin’.” His accent is remarkably unbalanced, a little of something she doesn’t know, more of a part of the world she’d never heard. Logan takes his drink from her hand, tosses it back sharply, and the glass finds the table with a harder-than-necessary crack, “You payin’ to see my cards or what, old man?” 

“Keep your dick on, would ya?” Logan grabs her hand from between the buttons of his shirt, prompts her forward with a sharp tug, Jungle Bird in her hand upset like a child’s bathwater. And before she can think, Logan’s big hand grabs her chin tightly between thick fingers, “Kiss for luck, sugar?” His breath hot with whiskey sends her reeling, heat between her legs an inferno only ever matched at Vesuvius. 

God he was hot when he was pissed off and all possessive. 

A little nod of her head ticks up the corner of his mouth, his eye tracking down to the perfect curve of her mouth highlighted by lipstick the color of blood in her veins. A growling chuckle from the base of his ribs has him kissing her, deep and hard, tongue skipping along her bottom lip—in heartbeats he manages to make her breathless, every fiber burning as she shares his taste, allows him to rip a hungry little moan that knifes her right in the gut. 

“Tastes good,” he murmurs against her lips, “you’re doin’ so good.” 

Unsure whether to thank or bite him, she manages a small smile against his mouth while her hand skips low, to the low heat  between his legs. Nursing a semi nobody would ever suspect from otherworldly levels of cool-as-a-cucumber, her nails gently bite into the meat of his thigh. For a second his hiss skips her pulse, suddenly  at a loss against his mouth. 

Collecting quickly, “Trust me, baby,” and she adds the bite she knows he loves to her touch, “I know.” 

If anyone heard his barely-there, punched out groan, hell would sooner freeze. Satisfied with himself, he breaks first, giving her cheeks a rough squeeze before lightly shoving her away. A little proud, mostly for show. He’s mean in the best way possible, in the way she’s come to lust for. Treating her like a brat, worshipping the ground beneath her feet—it’s a delicate tango they do on the blades of alias and fun, of future and fortune. She’d come to crave it, a high she’d never escape. Laces adrenaline through her like a freight train, feels safe and dangerous all in one big ball of inexplicable, never-want-to-leave way. 

Swiping at the lipstick a kiss on his cheek has left behind, she throws an easy glance across the table to the three men who stare, nearly agog, at her. “Best of luck, gentlemen,” bending to kiss Logan’s cheek with a mock sugar sweetness almost too saccharine to be true, she tosses back the rest of her Jungle Bird.

“May the odds be never in your favor.” 

@sidkneeeee

@thevoicefromanotherworld

@misscrissfemmefatale

@eternallyfrustratedwriter

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@laaadygisbooornex3

@itsafullmoon

@kmc1989

@bpmiranda

[abdy-18]

Fanfics where Yor takes care of Loid will always be my favorite because Yor genuinely enjoys taking care of the people she loves; it's her way of expressing affection and she wants to take care of her (fake) husband, not because she feels the obligation to do so because of the traditional wife role but because that's how her heart is.

Loid, on the other hand, has never had anyone to truly take care of him since he lost his mother. His life has been a constant cycle of loneliness and distrust. Even if his handler or some senior agent ever showed him the slightest empathy or suggested he take things easy, he would probably have assumed they were only doing it because he was a valuable asset, a resource they had to protect for utility. Twilight would surely think that, the moment he stopped being useful, they would throw him away like just another object.

But then Yor cares for him when he's most vulnerable, unable to contribute anything, when he feels like he's nothing but "useless," Yor is there, attentive, genuinely caring for him without expecting anything in return. She not only takes care of Anya, but also keeps the household running smoothly, showing him that everything will be okay even if he can't take care of everything himself.And for the first time in a long time, Twilight lets his guard down. He allows himself to relax, let the exhaustion catch up with him, and finally rest because Yor, Anya, and Bond give him a peace he never thought possible.

I have all of these in my ao3 bookmarks but I need more please 😭 if anyone knows more please tell me 😭

Harbor by frumplebump

Succumbing to the flu is not a luxury Twilight can afford, but when his immune system betrays him, Yor is there for him.

swing the spinning step by firewoodfigs

It is a truth universally acknowledged that an overworked and underpaid spy must, at some point in time, be so besieged by a terrible flu—in order that his lovely wife might take care of him. 

Something More by Thurito for nightofnyx8

The first thing the spy felt in the morning was such a strong weight on top of him that for a moment he thought it was someone who finally found his identity. His heart jumped, but as soon as his eyes were open and the man felt himself waking up more, he noticed what it was. He was sick. Twilight was sick. For the first time in more than a decade.

But I'm Here and So Are You by EmmyGracey

The Forger family returned to their hotel room after the airship crash wanting nothing more than warm clothes and a little bit of rest. When it’s Yor’s turn to get cleaned up she notices the cut on Loid’s head is bleeding again. She needs to take care of that. Loid’s not used to being taken care of. He finds it rather nice.

Spies Don't Get Paid Enough by Justanotherfannerd

Twilight does a shady mission that goes awry and Loid and Yor deal with the fallout. Purposeful obliviousness and injuries ensue. It's probably for the best that Anya is at a sleep over while all of this happens. or Twilight gets hurt, Yor plays doctor, and the both of them hide behind obliviousness.

Consequences by Raindrops_On_The_Pavement

Loid Forger is not indestructible, despite being Westalis's best. (I suck at summaries but I promise the story is good) Just a Loid Forger sickfic because why not? (The intro is a bit slow, but it gets sickfic/angsty dw)

A way out by MDSpencer

Twilight faces the consequences of his actions, and he seems to drag his family down with him

The Man From Mars by neejmorp

Something was wrong with Yor’s husband. He wore a constant smile on his face. It fooled colleagues, neighbors, and friends alike. The three people in his life who knew him best — his wife, his daughter, and his handler — all knew better. There was something off about his eyes. Loid survives a near-death experience following a mission abroad, but the incident impacts him and has an affect on his relationship with his family—particularly Yor.

You need to knock out this blondie more often :3

[zepskies]

Aw welcome back, Wayne!! 😘 I'm so happy to hear that you've been thinking of this series. 🥰 And I'm so excited to see what you thought of Part 2...

I'm so in love with their little bonding sessions. Being stuck inside a cabin and playing games? I want that 😍

Aww it's the little moments with Dean that I would so love -- along with just being snowed in, in a cabin with him. 😏

And lol it's gotta be so awkward for true mates when they're still strangers. I absolutely adored her thought process throughout 😆

Lolll YEP exactly. 😆 Like, realistically how do you broach that conversation with someone? I'm glad you liked that attempt to inject some realism there. 🤣

Love how Dean doesn't realize he's oversharing and that his whole childhood might not have been normal 😂

ahaha Dean got so into his story he didn't realize he was giving himself away there! Bit of a rookie move, but she's his literal soulmate, so he's probably a little distracted. 🤪

And oh God, all those journal entries 😭😭😭 I know they're from the OG journal, but it just rips my heart right out again rereading it 😢 Those portray John's despair and heartbreak way better than the show did...

Girl I had never read the official journal, and it hit me in the feels in just the same way. 😭 I had that exact same thought -- that they served to humanize John and explain why he became the way he was with the boys way better than the show did.

Ooooh, let's think about it, shall we? 😏 Her dad might have totally been snatched by something supernatural. Considering their location and how it happened in her memories, it might have been a Wendigo?? 🤔

Ooh you're red-hot! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Dude! Goosebumps! Wendigos scare the shit outta me 🙈 It's still why The Descent is the scariest movie for me. I die from a heart attack every time 😂 🫣

ooooh my God, I haven't seen The Descent, but if it's anything like the Wendigo episode, than I don't wanna know. 😭 Legit when I was first starting to watch SPN I had to take a break after that episode -- and it was only episode 2!! 😩

No! Alex!!!! YOU KNOW THIS IS WHY I HATE SNOOPING Girl, you're killing me here... 😆😆

LOLL I love that you referenced Smoke Eater -- it's those same vibes from Part 8, isn't it? I have a little less sympathy for the reader in this situation, but she is ultimately sorry for going through his private journal/invading his privacy to the nth degree. 😅

OMGG I LOVED that gif of the little polar bear. 🥹🥹 Took me right out with the cuteness lmao. I laughed so hard at all your commentary with the reader and her lack of bear knowledge. 😝

N'aw, I know it was necessary but poor bear – wrong place, wrong time for the fella 🥺💔

Aww I know, I felt bad for writing that part. Poor Ted. 😭😭

My heart is full 😭❤️❤️❤️ (Also, I doubt he can ever stand to let her go her own way after this lmao)

Ha! You're right about that one. I just love me some protective Alpha Dean. 😏

Huh. Never eaten bear before... Never even thought about it before lol Also seems like something the Shaws would've done 😂

Me either lmao, but I've read about people who actually hunt for a living who survive off bear, caribou, bison, etc. I imagine it's a hard way to live, but omg yeah I could see Ashton making his kids learn how to shoot, but them not wanting to shoot a bear or a deer. 😭

Omg I love that ending! Dean's finally coming around, and she's putting the puzzle pieces about her dad together. I wonder what Dean will do when he hears the full story? Would he go hunt the thing? Is it even still out there??? Questions upon questions... 🤔

Aw I'm glad! Yesss it's about time with him lol. Good thing all your questions there will be answered in Part 3...

So excited for the next part!! I'm loving this story and everything you've put in it, and the dynamic between them is amazing. So well done, friend 😍🩵🩵

Aw thank you so much, my friend!! I tried to balance the slower "getting to know you" parts with some of this actiony/dramatic stuff as they slowly grow closer. 🥰💜💜

Also, don't think I forgot about the last two chapters of Polaris. I'm so looking forward to diving into those chapters soon!! 😘

Against the Wind - Part 2

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Thank you guys so much for all the amazing feedback on Part 1! Now, most of your theories and questions will be answered...

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, and peril, the other kind of "hunting."

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 2: Seems Like Yesterday

“I’ll raise you 25,” you say, tossing five chocolate covered pretzels into the middle pile. It’s a risky bet, considering how much you lost in the last hand. Dean regards you with an amused, if critical eye while he holds his cards.

“Ooh, you’re bluffing,” he says. You pop your brows at him, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“You want to test that theory? Put your money where your mouth is,” you challenge.

He tilts his head at you with a raise of his own brows.

“Cheeky omega,” he mutters. His attention returns to his cards as he deliberates on his next move.

You attempt to be nonchalant as you glance down at your cards again. It’s a shitty hand, but he doesn’t need to know that. The alpha’s won the last two hands of Texas Hold ‘Em, but you did win the first one. Though you suspect he let you win.

You want to at least even the score before he resumes his work out in the shed. He spends most of his time there during the day, or making sure the firewood is stocked. It seems like he takes any excuse not to spend too much time in your presence.

More than anything, you want to ask him if he feels what you feel—the same tug in the pit of your stomach every time he’s nearby. You just haven’t found a way to broach that with him.

Hey, I know we just met like two minutes ago, but I think we’re supposed to be together. Do you feel it too?

You nearly roll your eyes at yourself. Yeah, that’ll go over well.

So you have to be content with mornings like this and in the evenings, where he lets you put on one of his records, and you two share dinner together, maybe another round of cards. Or you’ll read a book while lounging on the chaise, and he lays out on the couch, listening to his music with his eyes closed. You like watching him like that, with a relaxed, damn near peaceful set to his face.

Too often he holds that harder, stoic expression, or that divot between his brows that makes you want to soothe two of your fingers there; or better yet, lean in and press your lips—

“It’s your move,” Dean reminds you. He’s finally played his hand, but you were too distracted to hear what he said.

“What’d you do?” you ask, surveying the piles of cards.

“Call,” he repeats, popping a few pretzels into his mouth. He washes it down with beer and more barbeque chips. Those are worth $10 in this little fantasy betting. He points a finger towards you with the same hand that holds his beer, teasing, “You got all the lights on in there? Or am I boring you?”

You glance up at him, fighting a smile. “All right, keep your pants on. Let me see…”

As the dealer, he’s already turned over the River: the last card in the hand. It’s a 10 of Clubs, which means your One Pair is actually a Two Pair. It’s still not a great hand, but it’s decent enough to maybe let you get the best of your opponent.

After you go “all in,” Dean’s lips twitch at a smile, and he humors you, going all in as well. You’re on tenterhooks when he finally reveals his hand.

“Ooh, it ain’t a cheesy ‘90s sitcom, but it’s still…a Full House,” he brags as he lays out each card in a smooth line of overlapping cards, the mix of glossy red diamonds and black spades showing the truth. He won again.

You huff in defeat, your shoulders sinking in your seat at the kitchen table. You turn over your measly hand. Sweeping the winnings toward himself (a mound of chocolate covered pretzels, a stack of barbecue chips, and a handful of Oreos), Dean chuckles and tosses you a wink.

“Ah, don’t beat yourself up, sweetheart. I’ve been hustlin’ poker for a long time. Hell, I’ve been playing this game before I even knew my times tables,” he says as he collects the cards.

“That young?” you reply. “Who taught you?”

“My dad,” he says. “Oh, believe me, I used to get my ass kicked many a’ time, but by the time I turned sixteen, I was hustlin’ grown ass men in skeevy bars out of their daily paycheck.”

“You were hanging out in bars at sixteen?” you ask incredulously. There, Dean seems to realize he’s said too much. He becomes more guarded as he puts away the deck and cleans the crumbs off the table.

“My dad was always working. You could say I didn’t really have a curfew,” he says.

“A latchkey kid, huh?” you reply, hiding the way you’re trying so hard to glean any more hints of truth between his words.

“Heh, yeah.” He gets up from the table and tosses the breakfast dishes in the sink, then travels to the front door to don his jacket and boots.

“All right, I’ll be out back,” he says.

Out back, code for out in the shed. You nod, and in a flash, he’s shutting the door behind him.

You’ve learned another small tidbit about him, one that feels more important than it seems on the surface. And yet, it only elicits more questions you doubt he’ll be willing to answer so easily. He’s more than tight-lipped about his past, only giving vague outlines and general pictures.

Even his stories—like being raised up in a family of traveling mechanics, putting Nair in Sam’s shampoo when he was a kid, or the guy’s serious fear of clowns—feel like they’re missing some key details.

You decide to take up your crutches and head for your room. There you unearth the journal from its hiding place under your pillow. This time, you turn to the very beginning. Before all the jargon about mythology (and an odd footnote about a “Turducken Slammer”), there are actual journal entries. The first one dates back to November 6, 1983. The first line already captures your attention.

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed… When I try to think back, get it all straight in my head…I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out. I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything.

This is Dean’s father, you realize. The more that you read, with no small amount of dismay, you also realize that this man is writing about his wife, Mary.

Dean’s mom…

He writes about their house burning with all their memories inside, along with Mary. Somehow, he saw her pinned bloody to the ceiling.

Along with these pages is a clipping from a news story:

House Fire Kills Mother of Two

Lawrence, Kansas.

You’re spellbound by it all. You keep reading.

November 13, 1983

…Most of our clothes and photos are ruined, even our safe—the safe with Mary’s old diaries, the boys’ savings bonds, what little jewelry we had…all gone. How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife just burn up and disappear?

The police don’t believe his story, about how she died before the fire, about what he saw. So he tries to convince himself that what he saw wasn’t real. Still, he can’t find rest, and he worries about his sons’ safety.

December 4, 1983

I haven’t let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side—or from his brother.

Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he’s trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night.

Sammy cries a lot, wanting his mom. I don’t know how to stop it, and part of me doesn’t want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won’t remember her at all.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a droplet lands on the page. You quickly wipe it away before it becomes a stain, and you dry it all the way with your breath before you move on to the next page, sniffling. Your heart hurts, even as your guilt grows. You know now that you’re really, truly invading Dean’s privacy by reading his father’s words. You just can’t stop yourself from turning the next page.

John becomes convinced that someone, or something, started the fire that destroyed his life and took his wife away from him and his sons. He leaves his job and the remnants of that world behind, to venture deeper into the darker one. But in that darkness, he finds truth.

He visits a psychic, Missouri, who leads him back to his house and senses the echoes of an evil presence—something that shakes her to the core, and John too: the creature that killed his wife.

December 20

…She told me that it was the most powerful, awful thing she’s ever come across.

On January 1, 1984, John makes a New Year’s resolution. He determines to find the answers himself.

A shiver runs down your spine. In John’s words, your heart breaks for Dean, but you also see yourself. You try not to think about why.

You keep flipping through the rest of the journal past January. There are translations of a Latin exorcism, and like you read before, strange drawing of evil looking creatures—as well as what they are, scraps of their history, and how to kill them.

Silver bullet to the heart, can’t withstand iron, salt and burn.

You pause on a certain page, more filled with lore than the rest, and a primitive drawing in the center.

WENDIGO

Cree: Evil that devours.

Wood spirit. Eats live flesh. Lives in forests.

Perfect hunter.

Your breath stills in your lungs as a cold sweat forms across your skin. The more you read, the faster your heart beats.

The crunch of dead leaves. Your father shouting at you to run, and keep running.

The coarse shout of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking—your father’s scream cut short. You turn around with your rifle in hand, poised to shoot blindly.

Your stomach churns as bile rises into your throat. You feel sick, and wrong, and you suddenly have the urge to throw the journal against the wall.

“Omega?” calls Dean’s sharp voice. “You okay?”

You jolt badly at the sudden noise. You didn’t hear him reenter the house. He likely caught the scent of your distress. He pushes the door of your room open to find you, but he stops short in the doorway. His surprise quickly morphs into a frown when he notices what you’re holding in your lap.

You gasp, freezing where you sit, but there’s no point in trying to cover up what you’ve done. With an angry purse of his lips, he reaches over and takes the journal from your hands.

“What the hell are you doing with this?” he demands.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I just—” You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I was just curious. I wanted to know more about you. I thought it was…a normal journal.”

“So this is how you go about it, huh? Got everything you wanted, Columbo?” he says, his sarcasm cutting into you. He flips through the journal to make sure all the pages are intact before he tucks the journal under his arm. “Seriously, going into somebody’s stuff? Who the hell raised you?”

At that, you begin to bristle.

“My dad,” you snap back. Though remembering the passages you’ve lived with for the past few hours, you soften with a painful twinge of sympathy in your heart. 

“And it looks like yours raised you to be some kind of…well, what are you, a ghostbuster or something?” you ask.

His jaw locks. “Or something.” 

With an exasperated sigh at his hedging, you swing your legs around the edge of the bed and haul yourself up with your crutches so you can at least match his stance (more or less).

“Dean, please, just talk to me,” you implore, gesturing at the journal tucked under his arm. “The things I read—”

“Are none of your goddamn business!” he growls, making the omega inside you cringe. The alpha’s voice is deep and sharp, and even though he isn’t crowding you, his height and broadness are still intimidating.

“The sooner you heal up, the sooner I can ship you back to where you belong,” he says. “Back to your life, so you can stop sticking your nose into mine.” 

Your mouth actually falls open in shock. His vehement words feel almost as powerful as a physical blow, if to your soul. They make your arms tremble while holding yourself upright on your crutches. Hot tears well up in your eyes, though you try to blink them away. After a moment, you’re able to collect yourself enough to speak.

“I’m sorry for going through your stuff,” you say, in a quiet voice.

You hobble awkwardly past him out of the room. You don’t stop until you reach the front door, where your snow boots are. You manage to get them on by yourself so you can go outside and get some fresh air, not to mention some much needed distance from the alpha’s burning presence. You can still feel him trailing behind you. You hear his heavy boots.

“Where the hell are you going?” he grits out.

You hobble faster.

Dean watches you go out the door without a word in irritation, even though it triggers an alarm deep in his gut every time you leave the safety of the cabin. 

The snow depth has lightened somewhat since the storm, but it’s still not easy to navigate on your crutches. You get some distance from the cabin, mindful not to go too far. You know you’re limited, and you didn’t even take a gun with you.

Finding a solid tree to lean on, you rest there and try in vain to stifle your tears. You know you were wrong for snooping, and he had a right to be mad, but did he really have to be such a freakin’ bear? 

Fucking alphas. I swear.

You thought you were starting to connect with him, but clearly, Dean wants nothing to do with you. He wants you out of his life. 

Does he not feel the same pull you feel to him? Does he really not realize…that he’s meant to be your mate?

You take in a shaky breath through your nose. If he does, apparently he doesn’t care.

Just then, you hear the crunch of snow nearby. Twigs snapping.

Your body stiffens with a terrible memory—of that day in the woods. Your breath comes out in short puffs on the cold air, your eyes wide as you listen closely.

Hearing nothing, you allow yourself to breathe a little easier. You venture a few paces forward and to the right, but you stop shy of how it slopes downward. Some unnamed feeling tells you to look over the edge.

You lean over and cast your gaze down the slope, but all you see is snow and trees down below. With a shaky breath, you lean back and look out to the north again. Plodding along the trail, heading towards you, is a bear.

Oh shit…

You remember Dean mentioning something about a bear passing by his cabin a couple of days before the storm. Looks like he’s back to make his rounds.

His fur is dark; from this distance, you can’t tell if it’s a black bear or a grizzly. It doesn’t make much difference when all you have on your person is a can of bear spray. His gait is massive, unhurried, but he lets out a braying sound when your gaze meets his, as if acknowledging you. He stops there for a moment, assessing. Your body locks up with fear.

The bear groans again, this time sharper. You finally snap out of your reverie and force your body to move slowly backward with your crutches spearing into the snow. The cabin isn’t that far, maybe thirty or forty yards at most. Still, the bear can probably beat you.

Instead of trying to run, you stand your ground and shout at the bear, hoping he’ll back off. Your voice dies in your throat when he rears up on his hind legs, with a loud roar. Trembling, you miss a step and get knocked back into the snow on your ass, your crunches falling out at your sides. You scramble inside your jacket for anything that might help you. 

Bear spray!

You hurry to get the cap off with shaking hands, but before you can even aim, the creature’s heave paws thudding into the ground in front of you—a gunshot rings out and hits the animal in the chest. 

The bear falters, then roars in pain and anger.

Two more shots finally bring it down to an even heavier thud, not far from your feet.

In this moment, these are the things you don’t know about Dean Winchester:

For one, the scent of an omega in distress always calls to an alpha’s protective instincts. But the scent of your abject fear feels like someone tried to rip his lungs out through his stomach.

Second, when he sees you there, your wide, shiny eyes filled with the remnants of panic, yet relief at the sight of him, it takes everything within him not to drop to his knees, grab you by the hair, sink his teeth into your neck and claim you, right there in the snow. Maybe then you’d start listening to him and stop taking your life into your hands.

Instead, his lips purse as he wracks his rifle and slings the strap of it over his shoulder. He stalks toward you and scoops you up, crutches and all. He brings you back to the cabin without a word.

His jaw is once again locked with silence and strain; he doesn’t trust himself to speak until he’s brought you inside and carried you over to the chaise. He sits beside you there and takes an inventory of you with his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks at last.

You manage to meet his gaze and give a little nod.

“Okay. Don’t move,” he says shortly. He gets up and goes to the kitchen, where he grabs a foldable set of knives and a cooler from under the sink.

You watch him in silence, and you realize he’s going back to gut the bear. You didn’t know that he actually hunted out here…well, hunted to eat. He continues to gather items in silence. It gets to a point where you can’t stand it, or his curtness, any longer.

“Thank you,” you say, halting his steps. Dean glances at you over his shoulder, then continues strapping up his supplies. He huffs in response.

“We’re gonna be eatin’ good for a while,” he says without looking at you. 

His attitude both hurts you and aggravates you, so much that you refuse to take it anymore. 

“Look, Dean. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have butted into your life,” you say. Frustrated tears well up in your eyes. Expelling a sharp sigh, you amend yourself. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy. I’m sorry about what you went through, and I’m…I’m sorry about your mom. I’m sorry for today. I’ll just…stay out of your way, and I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

Dean finally turns your way, but your lips tremble as you turn your face away from him and shut your eyes tightly against the salty burn of tears. Deep inside, his heart withers in his chest. He sighs and drops his supplies on the couch. He walks over with those heavy boots, and he sits on the edge of the chaise beside you. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually, he rests a warm, calloused hand on your arm and earns your tearful gaze. 

“I’m sorry. I, uh…shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he says. 

You sniff, quickly wiping away your embarrassing tears as they come. Your cheeks are hot with it.

“What is it you wanna know? About me,” he asks, surprising you that much more.

 Your mouth parts, but nothing comes out. It takes you some time to think, but the first thing that comes to your mind is…

“Everything in that journal,” you say, licking your dry lips. “Is it real?”

Dean holds your gaze steadily. You know the truth without him having to say it, but he does.

“I was a hunter,” he says. “Those things you read about, I found ‘em. Killed ‘em. It was my job.”

“And now?” you ask, once that large bit of information has time to set into your brain.

His lips tug at a half smile. “Consider me…mostly retired.”

You exhale softly, and you nod. It earns a furrowed look from Dean.

“You don’t seem all that freaked out by this,” he says, with a more scrutinizing gaze on you.

“Should I be?” you say, with an unsteady laugh.

He raises his brows. “In my experience, yeah.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. You don’t know if you should even put into words what you’ve been holding onto for months. Like John, no one believed you. Even your own mother had started to look at you like you needed a shrink.

“Omega?” Dean presses. His green eyes are perceptive as they take in the conflicted look on your face. “There something you wanna tell me?”

You deliberate for a moment longer. Then, you release a sigh and glance down at your hands clenching in your lap.

“A few months ago, I lost my dad,” you begin.

Dean nods. “Yeah, you said—”

“I lost him in these woods,” you say.

That quiets the alpha.

You shake your head, and you find your words as the memories that have been haunting your nights return to you.

“Like I said, we used to go hiking here every year…”

AN: Just so you know, all of the journal entries appear in the official "John's Journal" SPN merch. 😉

Next Time:

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name louder, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 3

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[odasantiago]

Rating all of the current audio rp ships I know of

(Tw: opinions I guess. If you’re really defense about ships then oh well 😭) by the way, this is in NO WAY dissing the creators, it’s just how I see the pair and why I like or dislike them.

- 1) Zaris (Zaros and Earis) from the Noble Trials from ZSakuva

This ship is so beautiful in every way imaginable, the way they pine for eachother so much, at the same time trying to honor their family hurts me so much. It’s so extremely complex and so heartbreaking, doomed yaoi done so well I fear. So nicely written, I have no complaints about them whatsoever.

- 2) DemonDoctor (Albus York and Mahatma) from Bastards Vs Zombies by GoodBoyAudios

The only reason this isn’t at the top is because this ship is newer to be honest, demondoctor is such a sweet pair, you can literally hear everytime they interact that they genuinely Like spending time with eachother, and you can tell the character development from Albus from episode 5, their always somehow together or at least mentions eachother. So excited to see more moments of them in the future.

- 3) Donthus (Dontis and Xanthus) From Xanthus’ series from ZSakuva

They’re a really cute pair, especially for Xanthus, we’ve only seen Xanthus with the bond, but how about without it? That’s we see in the Donthus ship, it may be considered a rare pair but their personalities just scream “I love you so bad but I can’t admit it” , I can’t explain this one as well since we didn’t get a lot of them, but they hold a special place on my heart lol

- 4) Alseth (I made that name up idk what their real ship name is) Alphonse and Seth from bittersweet, by Yuurivoice

I will always defend these two, after so much they’ve really stayed supportive of eachother and their basically soulmates. It’s only this low because I didn’t watch a lot of yuurivoice, and to be honest, I think it would be a bit better if we didn’t get a listener and just see them as two people in love. (My opinion though)

- 5) Cermond (Cervantes and Edmond) from Not in Front of the Dinner Darling by Escaped audios

Now, if we were talking about how I SEE Cermond before they were vampires, this would’ve been easily number 3. But in their canon version, we haven’t seen a lot of them. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVEEEEEE Cervantes and I mean I LOVE him. It’s just that on the surface they are toxic, you can kinda understand though since they are.. vampires and went through a lot. But it’s so sweet how they’ve stayed together for so long. It’ll probably be on a higher spot when the series progresses LOL

- 6) Warriorfaith (I made that up too) Albus and Faith from Bastard Warrior by GoodBoyAudios

Now, don’t come at me for this, I just don’t dig them that much. I love their dynamic and how their written, that’s why it isn’t super duper low. They are super lovely and sweet, but realistically, I can’t see them together. (Especially after that last episode..) its probably because I wasn’t obsessed with bastard warrior LOL

- 7) Guestslayer (I MADE THAT UP TOO!) Guest and Alfonso from Matador Gothic by Escaped Audios.

Now, this is the first one that I didn’t necessary like, their not badly written at all DONT get me wrong, I’m very used to slow burn so that could account for my feelings on that as well, they’re cute! I’ll admit, it just wasn’t for me LOL. (MG is really good though please don’t get me wrong guys)

-8) Stacy and Jean (yeah I don’t have a name for them) from New Orleans Rats by Escaped Audios

These two are just straight up toxic, imma keep it a buck, I love the whole cast for NJR but Stacy just tricked Jean tbh 😭 jean definitely deserved intern because GOSH that would’ve been bad if they didn’t break up

That’s all! Again, I am NOT dissing the creators, I am simply saying which ships are for me and which ones aren’t. These are all amazing series and that’s the main reason I know these ships, i really don’t care if any of yall like the ones that I ranked low, they’re just not for me! But go see all of these series if you haven’t, they are all really amazing.

[hug-me-hard-so-i-dont-forget-you]

Plot points I hope to see in season 8b/9

(this is long because the writers have a lot to make up for)

• Airport scene

• Eddie gives Buck his St. Christopher necklace

• Buck's coping mechanism of briefly turning into slutty Buck 1.0 after Eddie leaves. Only this time it's with guys that resemble Eddie but he doesn't notice. Maddie does. And she wishes desperately that she wasn't pregnant so she could drink

• Buck actually uses the word bisexual or bi to describe himself

• Finally getting to see Eddie's sisters. And maybe while he's in Texas he facetimes Buck and they come into frame. And in true little sister fashion, they embarrass him: "Oh, Edmundo! Is this the Buck we keep hearing about? He IS cute!"

"I never said that!"

Buck: "...you don't think I'm cute? 🥺"

• Maddie, Sofia, and Adrianna meeting and bonding over their dumbass brothers

• Everyone else finds out that Buck is in Eddie's will and they all just stand there, mouths agape cuz how THE FUCK do they not know they're in love?? Everyone else can see it!

• Buck tells literally everyone at the 118 about his feelings for Eddie because he needs advice. And Chim makes a joke like,

"He already has everyone crushing on him! Why can't someone have a crush on me for once??"

"...dude, you're my brother-in-law."

"So?? We don't have to tell Maddie!"

• Buck admits his feelings but Eddie ends up not leaving so Buck avoids him out of embarrassment like jk pranked ya!

• Buck NDE because I NEED to see Eddie lose his shit

• Or they both have a close call and later have a serious 'spousal' discussion about what would happen to Chris if they both died. And then they share a moment of comradery, trash talking Helena & Ramon and hoping they never get custody again

• Speaking of Shitty Parents 2.0 (Shitty Parents 1.0 being the Buckley's) we need more screen time hating on Helena. Ramon got multiple scenes showing how awful he is and Eddie calling him out on it. But Helena is a selfish woman that keeps trying to manipulate Eddie into giving her Chris. And even when Eddie tries to keep in contact with his son while he's in Texas she just brushes him off and doesn't try to get Chris to talk to him. All because she got her way so she doesn't care, pushing Eddie further into his pit of self-hatred. And for that she must be punished

• Eddie talking to Bobby about his Catholic guilt in relation to his sexuality. And then going to Michael for advice about the transition of believing he's straight and having a heterosexual marriage and family to where he is now. The 3 of them need to go on a fishing trip or something. They'd have it all sorted out within the weekend

• Eddie and Maddie having ANY kind of interaction on screen. The writers know that if they teamed up they'd be besties instantly and they're keeping that from us!

• Chris needing dating advice but as soon as his dad tries to help he cuts him off like: "Not from you, you're obviously gay and all of your straight relationships sunk like the Titanic. But thanks anyway. Hey Buck!"

"Wtf? His relationships weren't great either!"

• Eddie having more discussions with Hot Priest™️ about his guilt and he just smiles fondly at Eddie, "I don't know about you, but my god doesn't judge. Not when someone lives their truth. I think you're more afraid of your family's judgement. If I were you, I'd go back and think of every time I thought God was judging me and consider the possibility that I was putting Him in place of my parental figures." and Eddie just blue screens for many minutes as Hot Priest™️ patiently waits for him to catch up as if he hadn't just changed his entire fucking life

• A scene where either Hot Priest™️ or Bobby or Buck asks him: "Would you judge Christopher if he questioned his sexuality?" "What? No." "Would you tell him to go to confessional or try to pray it away?" "Of course not!" "Would you ever discourage him to be anything less than who he truly is? Or stop him from doing something that makes him happy?" "No!" "Then why do it to yourself? Why set that example? Even if it turns out your parents or Abuela aren't comfortable with you exploring your sexuality, you can always do better than them. Break the cycle for the one person who matters most to you. Be happy, be yourself, be what you want to be, not what others expect from you. And I know you, you won't do it for you. So do it for Christopher. Show him that it's okay, great even, to be you."

• Josh getting all giddy while talking to Eddie like he did when Buck asked for gay dating advice

• Eddie talking to Hen and Karen about how they coped with their foster kids leaving. Like, how do wake up every morning to a quieter house and empty bedrooms, knowing the breakfast table is going to be lonely? They exchange bittersweet looks and hug him

I will accept no less than 80% of this becoming canon. Thank you and good night.

[midnite-c6]

After reading ur patient!namgyu fanfic I was just wondering if you could pretty please w a cherry on top write a fic about Seowan !! Doesnt have to be doctor x patient, I just need more fics w my beloved Seowan 🔥🔥 have a great day/noon/night!

i haven't seen any fics about seo-wan, it makes me so sad, but here's oneDJFH also, i added squid game tags because i want more nam-gyu lovers to see roh jaewon's character in daily dose of sunshine!! FIRST NON SQUIDGAME FIC .. my fav schizo TT.

kim seo-wan x reader !! <3 warnings: fluff , angst ?! , mentions of mental illness </3

つ⁠｡⁠☆ he's your study buddy!! both of you couldn't pass the exams the first time and you guys bonded over that. the two of you would sit next to each other when the professors lecturing about a lesson, since you both share the interest of being determined in passing the exams this year, there wouldn't be alot of talking during a lecture, but afterwards he's actually quite talkative!

he would also share his notes, giving you a bunch of sticky notes, all of them would have silly random doodles and small comments about how "you can do it!"

you manage to even hang out with him after classes ..which still includes studying, but you told him he needs to let lose, even for a little while. eating noodles in those small shops on the sidewalk, visiting libraries, and if you feel like your falling behind in studies, he would share the other side of his headset, making you listen to the lecture he found on youtube.

a new store would open up right next to the university, because the lessons were tiring and obsessing over the tests is unhealthy, the two of you decide to explore. it was actually a computer-shop.

since then, it's been you and seo-wan's new hobby, to play videogames for hours after lectures, how you were practically his pocket healer, how you two can't play alone without the other right by their side.

this newly-shared interest has gotten you two alot closer, you'd even ask him out, gratefully, the feelings are mutual, kim seo-wan is a simple man. now there'd be long sessions of kissing inside his small apartment, cosplaying, the two of you didn't have alot of money, but this was enough.

video games became a part of your life, one to escape reality. but unfortunately, this hit a little bit harder for kim seo-wan. you'd notice how he wouldn't take the time to study anymore. of course, as the concerned lover you are, you would remind him all the time, but he just wouldn't budge.

his parents were nice, they'd always treat you like you were family, even cooking dinner or lunch for you whenever you come over. since you haven't seen seo-wan in awhile, you'd ask them, only to find out your boyfriend has been sent to a psychiatric unit.

you would visit him everyday, telling him about your day, and asking about his. his day was filled with thinking of you, playing ping-pong with the other patients, and this fantasy world he lives in. but whenever you were too busy to visit, he'd be extra depressed inside the hospital and says he has ran out of mana. </3

you were always intrigued whenever he would tell you about his visions. his stories contain that you were truly his 'mediator', and that you're there in his life to save him. "this is very unprofessional, oh my dear.. mediator, but i'm inlove with you, for you make me look forward to explore even the darkest caves or the highest mountains." he'd take your hand to place a soft kiss on-top. he had forgotten your previous relationship before, atleast he still loves you in the new world he's living in.

you'd end up taking the test without him, but you'd never talk about it in the hospital, you know he needs more time.

in the end, you two agree upon each other to fight the fire dragon together, whatever the future may hold. because, as he confidentally says: "once i've saved up enough mana and leveled up all my armor, i choose you to come with me. you're the only one i can trust in defeating the fire dragon. i will protect you with all my life, my dear mediator!"

i'm sobbing just thinking about this bye ☹️☹️☹️ was gonna do nsfw parts too as i usually do but like i was too up in my feelings LMAOFHBRK trust im gonna post sum nsfw story next 🤞🏻

[gh0stly-mp3]

would you break my heart, oliver?

oliver aiku x teammate male!reader

synopisis: oliver aiku, your best friend, shows up at your apartment at 3 AM after breaking up with his gf cause he cheated, but you get mad at him

tags: bff!reader, center back!reader, reader is lovely, oliver is bad with real feelings, both are secretly in love

warnings: cheating, angst w happy ending, fear of unreciprocated love, pretty gn (like 2 mentions of gender)

Oliver is the typical womanizer (but with all genders) who never dates the same person for more than two months. According to him, he gets bored very quickly, which is why he has a new partner every few months.

You, on the other hand, have always been in long-term, consistent relationships, taking a while to confess to whomever you liked and always wanting to make sure that you both feel the same way about each other.

Even though you were opposites, you were still best friends and teammates for a long time, and you always scolded Oliver for his inconsequential attitudes towards his love life (but he hardly ever listened).

The last straw for you was when he showed up at your house at 3 AM because his then-girlfriend kicked him out after discovering he was talking to someone else on instagram. You were incredulous; you knew he was a scumbag, but you didn't expect it to be this bad; after all, he was there when you got cheated on, something that affected you a lot.

"What the fuck, Oliver? What are you thinking, man? Jumping from relationship to relationship is one thing, but cheating is another level! I can't believe this, dude." - You yelled.

"I made a mistake, okay? I'm sorry, it's just..." - Oliver tried to explain himself, visibly nervous about your reaction.

"I don't care! If you stay at my place tonight, tomorrow you'll have to apologize to her and admit that you're an idiot... Oh, and you'll sleep on the couch".

"What? I know i fucked up, but it's cold, man, you always let me sleep with you".

"Not today, cause if you betray the trust of someone who trusted you with their body and heart, why the fuck would anyone else trust you? Grow the fuck up..." - You said harshly, heading for the cupboards and taking out a pillow and a blanket for Oliver. - "Good night, Oliver. We'll talk tomorrow"

As you lay down on your bed, you curled up, clutching your legs. If he could do this to a girl as beautiful as Haruka, what could he do to you? You were just one of his male friends.

You've been friends forever, you were the first guy to talk to Oliver when he joined your team. Your bond was incredible, you understood each other so well, you liked the same things and had the same mindset on a match. You two occupied the same defensive position as center backs, and together you were unstoppable.

But how did it all end up like this? How did you end up falling in love with him? Oliver was incredible at everything except relationships, and the one thing you shouldn't have wanted was exactly what you did want. His love.

You listened to the way he talked about his partners and wished he'd talk about you the same way, but then you remembered what was to follow, a dry and emotionless breakup. How could such a gentleman be such a whore at the same time?

Anyway, there you were, crying silent tears, thinking that if you tried to confess your love for him, you would end up with a heart broken into more than a thousand pieces. While these thoughts were running through your head, you heard footsteps and then a knock on the door.

"Hey... Can we talk? I..." - It was Oliver, speaking in a low, weak voice. "I don't want you to think I'm terrible..."

"Oliver, not now..." - You replied, distressed at the thought of him seeing you cry. - "It's okay, man..."

"Promise you won't hate me?" - He asked, scared. - "I didn't know you'd be so pissed off and... You're the only person I really have, I don't want to lose you over something I did without thinking..." - Definitely something you'd rarely hear come out of Oliver's mouth, he was finally putting his real feelings into something.

"It's not that, Oliver..." - The words, stuck in your throat, urgently wanted to come out. Just say it, three words, that's all. - "I..."

The door handle is pushed down slowly, you see the face of a distressed Oliver, which makes your heart squeeze a bit. You don't hate him, it's quite the opposite actually, but you can't tell him that, can you?

"Look... I was a jerk to Haruka, and besides, I did exactly what you said I should never do. I'm sorry, okay? I just don't want you to hate me, even though I might deserve it... I just want to have someone like you around, you know?" - Deep down, Oliver knew exactly what his problem was, his stomach full of fluttering butterflies was a symptom he'd hardly ever felt. A symptom of this so-called love.

"Would you cheat on me? If you loved me, would you betray me too? Would you get tired of me?" - You asked hopelessly, not wanting to hear the answer.

"Never. Absolutely never." - He answered without hesitation. - "You?... only a complete lunatic would cheat on you. For fuck's sake, I've been your friend for years and I've never even been bored around you! I'd give anything to have someone like you!" - Oliver shut up abruptly when he realized that perhaps he had said too much.

"How could I be sure of that?"

"If I cheated on you, I'd give up soccer" - a direct and honest answer, the truth of his heart. Few words would have such an impact on you as those.

You widened your eyes, wondering if you had actually heard those words come out of Oliver's mouth. He would give up soccer for you? Really? A wave of emotions washed over your body and with an impulse you got out of bed and hugged him tightly.

"Please don't give up soccer... Keep playing with me... And love me." - the most heartfelt words you've ever said, put into play, all your cards on the table. Now it was his turn.

"I already love you, idiot."

[manicandobsessive]

Icarian | L.H.

Chapter 2: July

“But you arrived like sunlight in the gloom. And burned off the haze when the year was still new. Keeping me going, how you show up like July.” Andrew Hozier Byrne

Ch 1. > Ch. 2 > Ch. 3

Warnings: swearing, pet names, pure fluff, seriously it’s so sweet, mutual pining, no use of y/n

A/N: i have returned!!! apologies for how long this took, i went back and made a plan and outlined chapters and whatnot. i really love this one i hope you guys enjoy it! <3

WC: 4.1K

“Logan! I swear to fucking-”

“Swearin’ to what now, sweetheart?” The man asked with a smug grin. Logan was leaning over the railing of the mansions’ staircase, two floors up from where you stood. You scoffed at him in irritation, absolutely exasperated with his behavior. Which only further fuelled his amusement.

“Fucking get your ass down here.” You grit out through clenched teeth, even more agitated at the deep rumble of his laugh in response. It wasn’t so much his behavior that angered you, but the desire that burned beneath it. Every chuckle he let out sent shivers down your spine, every smile made the hair on your neck stand on end. It was pathetic, if not for the fact that it was Logan.

It’d been no more than three months since Logan suddenly showed up. Three months since you and had him clicked instantaneously. You could confidently say at the current point in time he was your closest friend.

And at times your worst enemy. For example, this moment exactly.

If there was one thing you’d learned in the period of time you’d spent getting to know the mystery that was Logan Howlett, it was that he absolutely loved to instigate. A sucker for drama if you’d ever met one. And while, yes, you and him terrorized Scott frequently. He seemed to love getting a reaction out of you independently.

He soon learned with great pleasure that you gave back as good as you got. He reveled in it. Logan annoyed the living hell out of you at times, but simultaneously- you were too in deep. Somehow his ridiculousness- his unwavering immaturity, only made him more appealing. ‘

And sure, maybe you’d fallen a little deeper than friendship. But you assured yourself it wasn’t like that to him. You guys were friends, best friends. That was it. That was all it ever would be.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Everyone saw it. Everyone around both of you knew. Seemingly, Logan and you were the only oblivious ones.

Logan walked through those halls like ten tons had been lifted from his body. He no longer hunched his shoulders. He didn’t stomp from point A to point B subconsciously. He even went so far as to say a brief greeting to those he passed by. You, the same. While you never were as outwardly reluctant to social interaction as Logan had been, there was a notable exchange. The other X-men, who’d known you more closely, had seen your distaste for being cooped up at all times flip to being almost excited to stay inside. There was a skip in your step. You smiled more. Logan hung outside the confines of his room more often.

And when you were in a room together, it was good luck to everyone else. There had been a bond that always existed, you two just had to find each other.

On the downside, both of you having been stubborn fucks prevented any further growth of the relationship.

Logan was aware. He was, in fact, way too aware of the effect you had on him. Seeing as he’d stuck around for three months straight. No plans for anything else. Not even a thought or consideration of leaving, not while he knew you would be here. He wouldn’t be able to, he thought. He felt this invisible thread practically tethering him to you. It was something that no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t shake. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to in the first place. You had been a light, and not just to him- but to everyone. You were oblivious to the way you lit up a room. The way your warmth had effortlessly radiated to those around you. A simple flash of your smile made his day.

He often wondered if that was your mutation. If you weren���t really just a human, and you had some unknown gene of heightened empathy. How he wished he could match that level of gentleness.

Logan was burdened by his mutation. Originally, he planned on making sure you’d never find out. He was convinced you’d never accept him the way he is.

But that didn’t happen. The day you’d found out was one he’d never forget.

~

“Fucking shoot me then!”

His voice echoed through the halls. Claws extended and all. The whole nine.

He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through his adamantium skeleton. His heart thudded behind the cage of his chest- he knew in that moment exactly what he needed to do.

A few of Strykers’ men charged at him- apparently with the lack of knowledge that he could, in fact, not die. Logan took their bullets like they were nothing but a mere inconvenience. He felt no more than an itch from them, after all. He sliced through the men one-by-one. Not a single fucker survived. He’d be damned if he let someone danger the entirety of the mansion.

The rest of the X-men appeared, all at the front door at one time. Seemingly having taken care of the remaining nuisances from the outside. Logan tensed and whipped around. His hostility was evident in the way his muscles contracted under his thin tank top and how his claws stayed extended.

“We took care of the rest.” Ororo stepped forward, speaking up after a moment of silence between the group and Logan. Who seemed less than thrilled at their lack of assistance.

“Thanks for the help.” Logan grunted sarcastically, having been already pissed at the intrusion. Now, even more so at the fact that he took the blows of most of the men. The team seemed to always rely on him. His healing, his strength, his violence. He felt partially used, when he cared to look into it. But most of the time, he didn’t give enough of a shit.

His eyes scanned over the group of X-men: Jean, ‘Ro, Summers, hell- even Chuck.

Pause. Where the fuck were you?

He spoke your name in a whisper. It was soft, almost intelligible, and his heart began racing yet again with the idea that they could’ve gotten to you. He was under the impression you were an X-man of course. Why wouldn’t you be?

He never would’ve assumed you were any less than the others. You radiated the confidence of someone ten times more powerful than any of his teammates combined. He respected you beyond words. And of course, he found himself caring more than he should. More than he could deny.

Your soft spoken- slightly raspy from sleep- voice calmed his frantic movements in an instant. His shoulders dropped to his sides with the breath he let out. One he wasn’t even aware he was holding. Damn you had him whipped.

“Y’alright?” You rasped with half lidded eyes and a yawn. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your knuckles, a movement he’d noticed you do when you’re tired. You furrowed your eyebrows in crystal clear confusion. Having slept like the dead through the entire event of the night.

Logan huffed the smallest of laughs. An imperceptible smile playing on his lips. You’d have thought he’d seen a ghost with the expel of air that left his body, loudly at that.

Your eyes widened at the sight of his, still reflecting light off of them in the dead of night. You weren’t scared, just- surprised. And obviously still half asleep. You had no idea what mutation Logan harbored. Clearly, he’d had one. He was much stronger than the average man, and a million times bigger. Figuratively and literally with the way he towered over most of the tenants of the mansion. But that was the extent of your knowledge. You never thought to ask, as you gathered from your first few interactions that he wasn’t one to just open up. But you trusted that he would eventually.

He retracted them almost immediately at the look on your face. Standing frozen in the middle of the common area. He was bracing himself for the reaction that was bound to occur. He was used to it, people running from him. People being scared. Calling him a monster.

Didn’t make it sting any less.

The last thing he wanted was for you to be scared of him. He softened his posture, an attempt to seem less intimidating. Which he couldn’t really do if he tried his absolute best. It was in his nature to be on the defense. So naturally, when you blinked, your eyes opened wide in shock- his walls were built high.

You took the first step. Walking downstairs in the most graceful manner, at least from Logan’s point of view. Anything you did was perfect to him. He wasn’t a religious man by any means, but you looked like an angel.

You composed yourself. Determined to make sure the man knew you weren’t scared of him. To show him that this didn’t change any part of how you saw him whatsoever. You could sense it from the moment he’d made eye contact with you. You quickly pieced together the reason he didn’t tell you what his mutation was in the first place. He was afraid. But you wouldn’t have that. Not with Logan.

You silently walked up to him, resting a hand on his arm. He tensed just slightly. Afraid of the next thing, the next word. You looked at his face. A small smile gracing your own. He refused to meet your eyes, he focused more on your hand. The one now comforting him in the smallest of touches.

“Logan.”

You spoke in such a manner that he could never ignore you. Doesn’t matter if it were life or death. He’s not sure if the world was ending that he could ignore your sweet voice to save it. To that, he turned his head just slightly. Meeting your soft eyes, which made his own soften in return.

“Sweetheart,”

He spoke so rough, so rugged. He seemed like he was on a mission to make you flinch away. To prove himself right yet again. But you were nothing if not stubborn. And he wasn’t going to get you to back off that easily.

“I’m not scared of you.” You took the words straight out of his mouth. He stood there, soft eyes, his mouth agape. His expression was one of relief and surprise. He wasn’t sure why he doubted you in the first place. You with your unwavering kindness, your beautiful soul. Something that even a blind man could see.

His mouth opened and closed a few times. He felt like a stupid fuck. He was left with no words to say. No attempts to push you back, it was useless. You and him both knew it to be. Plus, he was in no rush to let you go.

“I’m not scared. Not of you, Logan.” You repeated. Stern but gentle, just like every other aspect of your being.

To your surprise, he smiled. He looked into your eyes with his own and he flashed you that grin that only few got the luxury of seeing. It wasn’t prideful. It wasn’t cocky. It was a smile of appreciation, something to convey what words couldn’t express. He’d only hoped you’d gotten the message.

And while you two were no more than friends, your approval seemed to be the only thing that mattered to Logan.

~

From that day on, Logan hung around like a shadow. The two of you were inseparable and even more so, unstoppable. It was clear that this wasn’t some typical surface-level relationship. Whatever was between you two ran deep, and it was only a matter of time before it became more.

You were something to Logan that was unable to be disregarded. Like a light straight to the great beyond. Like you were created for him and him alone. He so desperately needed to keep it in his clutches. Even if he was dead-set on never falling in love. He had to have you around in some capacity, though it was hard not to let himself dive in head first.

You made even the darkest days feel like the brightest, no matter what you did. Simply existing near you whether it be watching TV or silently admiring you, made Logan’s mood instantly become brighter. The whole of the mansion noticed. Charles being the first, of course.

Logan warned him from the start. He was stubborn enough to go as far as telling Scott he’d sew his mouth shut if he so much as teased either of you. He wanted no part in making anyone think you two were more than close friends. Despite his wild imagination creating a perfect world where he wasn’t concerned you’d get hurt because of him. A world where his past was merely a memory and you were his present. One where the two never mingled.

As long as he kept you at as much a distance as he could, he could keep from worrying himself sick. Didn’t mean he wanted to though. He craved to be closer to you. To hold you, kiss you, know you inside and out. The three months you two had been like this, it had only gotten significantly worse. And his desperation was even more conceivable to the naked eye.

~

Ororo, on the contrary, had a blast teasing you.

“So,” She began, pretending to innocently be catching up with you. You were more than accustomed to her nosy behavior. Her meddling didn’t bother you, it was amusing so to speak. But when it came to Logan, that was a sensitive subject. And you were well aware that she was all in on the drama when the pair of you were involved.

“How’s he been?”

You scoffed, your eyes practically rolled to the back of your head. Perhaps an attempt at seeming indifferent to the situation when you knew damn well your heart sped up at the mere thought of him.

“Drop it.”

“Drop what? He’s been around you more than anyone, it’s a simple question.”

You almost laughed at her terrible acting skills. Almost being the key word, if you weren’t so reluctant to ruin the precious bond you had with the man. Ororo wasn’t exactly known for subtlety, at least for you. She was a close friend, definitely the person you confided in the most at the mansion, even if it wasn’t much. If you were to tell anyone about this infatuation, willingly, it would be her.

It was just infatuation, right?

She could sense the gears turning in your head. A smirk plastered on her face at the sight. You looked down before muttering out a response.

“Just, he’s a good guy is all.”

“Mhm, a good guy who you wanna-”

You were swiftly interrupted by a rumble of another voice. The sound now a distinct indicator of who had entered the room.

“Whaddya wanna do?” Logan quirked an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe with the corner of his mouth twitching. A dumb attempt to hide his smile. His arms crossed over his chest, as they always were. He seemed to love making appearances like that. At least from what you’d known. The creak of the floor as he sauntered towards the two of you made you take a deep breath in and out. One you’d hoped he hadn’t caught.

He flopped into a recliner, his arms on both armrests and his legs sprawled. It made your entire body feel like it was on fire, the way he could do the most basic of motions and look effortlessly attractive. It was annoying, to be frank.

You rolled your eyes. Not only to mask- once again, your clear state of nervous desire. But also because of the way Logan managed to invite himself into your space, not that you had an issue with it. He had made it known that he followed where you went. It was a sign of endearment, as the telling smirk on your lips showed.

“Oh. Nothing, just talking about who’s bones your woman over here wants to jump.” Storm instigated, all with a telling smile, of course. You almost screamed, if it weren’t for the bark of laughter that escaped Logan. And the way your mind raced with the fact that he didn’t stop Ororo from calling you his girl.

“‘N who would that be, darlin’?” Logan asked you, smiling all the more. He had to have known. He’d probably fucking known since the day you’d met him. And yet, three months later, you still had convinced yourself it was an infatuation. You had only spent every waking moment with him, after all.

“Nobody.” You mumbled, looking at your feet. Fully planted on the ground and ready to skip town if necessary at this rate.

“Don’t sound like nobody to me.” Logan urged a response, the one you’d given wouldn’t cut it. And if, god forbid, there was someone out there that wasn’t him who’d caught your interest. He’d have their fucking head on a platter.

“She’s just messing with me,” You look up, regaining some form of composure. You were reluctant to show Logan any type of romantic affection, despite the nagging feelings inside of you. The truth being- if you were really reflecting on it- you wanted nothing more than to do exactly that.

Logan hummed, clearly not convinced whatsoever. He read you like a book, no matter the time or place. And additionally, he had no shame calling you out on it. As you did for him. However, for some odd reason he didn’t press the matter. Which you were silently thankful for.

He knew if it were someone else he’d have lost it. So with the little self control he had left, he brushed the issue under the rug. For your sake, of course.

~

A knock startled Logan and he stirred from a restless sleep. Not that he ever had a restful sleep. He grumbled, throwing a forearm over his eyes at the sudden light spilling in from the windows.

You walked in, as you had done before. You always knocked, but Logan rarely responded with more than a simple grunt. Sometimes so low that you missed it, so you started to just invite yourself in.

He lifted his arm slightly, catching a glimpse of you in the light. You stood at the foot of his bed. Clad in a summer sundress, something he couldn’t resist on any woman. And you, well he was a lost cause. He was just a man after all.

He smirked, you caught it. Despite your obvious annoyance, the position you always ended up in with him was amusing. Him being the one getting scolded for yet another missed mission debriefing, you being the one to lecture him since the team was well aware of his soft spot for you. He’d never get mad at you, he was sure of it. He couldn’t. It was impossible to.

You started to believe that he was skipping meetings for these moments alone. Maybe the thought was a little delusional, but he’d missed at least four and at the rate he was going, it seemed he didn’t plan on stopping.

“Sorry, doll-”

“Don’t gimme that bullshit.” You crossed your arms, puffing your chest just slightly while you cut him off. Logan thought it was adorable, you trying to be defiant. He knew deep down you anticipated these moments just as much as he did.

“I gotta sit down there and listen to Scott bitch about you not showing up. And I’m not even a fucking mutant!” You huff, your annoyance was clear with the way your voice raised ever so slightly. Though, Logan was bold to assume it was more towards Scott. And if he’d asked, he’d have been correct. Logan could be insufferable, but he was still Logan. And though you were irritated, you knew he could take the brunt of your frustration for you without flinching.

“You better get your shit together, or I might start thinking you’re doing this on purpose.”

“So what if I am?” He countered with a raise of his eyebrow. You scoffed, despite the crimson that dusted your cheeks. He sat up against his headboard with a victorious smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave way to your true feelings.

“You’re insufferable.”

He shrugged, his smug expression still present on his face. Oh how you wanted to kiss it off of him.

“I could hit you right now.”

“But you won’t.” He countered, always a response.

You groaned, throwing your head back and turning your back to him. Walking towards his door.

“Wait, doll.” You paused, back still to him while you glanced over your shoulder.

“C’mere.” He gestured for you to sit next to him. On his bed.

Sure, you’d been in his room before. And maybe you two hung out there once or twice. But you always made sure to sit in another chair, or if anything the edge of his bed. Never had he invited you in it, let alone next to him. And so close, too.

You hesitantly shuffled over to him. Slowly lowering yourself to sit down. His broad shoulder brushed yours. He smirked, as he always did with you. He looked down into your eyes as you looked up into his. Your face was the epitome of how shy you felt around him. Especially at times like this.

Your big innocent eyes, the soft reflection of the light on your skin. The way your lips looked so soft and inviting. It was all too much and not enough for Logan.

And then, he moved your hair behind your ear. A movement so subtle it could’ve meant nothing.

Or everything.

You blinked, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Ya mad at me, sweetheart?”

You scoffed, knowing damn well you never could be. And Logan, well he may just have wanted to see you get all flustered. Hearing your heart race made his own pick up speed.

You subconsciously leaned into his touch, a small smile on your pretty face. He wished he could have stopped time and taken a picture. One to keep for himself alone.

“No, asshole. Just, go to the meetings. So Scott will leave me alone.” You added onto the end, a little something that would hopefully give him a push. You wanted to believe that if you asked him to do something for you, he’d do it.

And you were right.

He huffed and smiled, dropping his hand to now rest on to of your own. You weren’t sure if he was doing it consciously or not. It made you a flustered mess either way.

“M’kay. I’ll go.” He replied, his voice gruff and soft all the same. He brushed his rough thumb over your soft knuckles. It made your heart grow ten sizes. The way he treated you so gently. It didn’t go unnoticed.

He stood from his bed, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Only for ya’ though, darlin’.” He added the last part, the small kiss spurring on your emotions even more. He smiled as he left the room- his room. All but leaving you sitting on his bed, wide eyed and flustered. You scoffed in disbelief, a smile following promptly after.

You up and left his room moments later, once you’d finally composed yourself, and you practically skipped to your room. The energy eminanting off of you was prominent. Your thoughts so loud that Jean, who was just passing through, caught them without even trying.

Jean despised the way the two of you had acted with each other. It was sickening how sweet he seemed to be for you. He’d never once given her that same softness. He’d never given anybody that softness, to her knowledge. Even in the deepest depths of his infatuation with her. It was a type of gesture that nobody had seen from Logan.

And while everyone else found it adorable, the way he followed you like a lost puppy. The way he talked about you like you were his entire world. Two people who could be no less than meant for each other in every sense of the word.

She was disgusted.

Part of her wished desperately to be happy for you guys, to act like the rest of the X-men. But the inconsolable jealousy she felt took over the mere fiber of her being every single fucking time. And not only was she upset with Logan, who no longer spared her as much as a second glance. But she hated herself for how she felt. For having her own boyfriend, one who loved her like no other, and still having the nagging thirst to ruin you and Logan.

Something was up with her. Something nobody except her and Charles had known was coming a long time ago.

[justiceiscalling]

so i wanna get into batfam cause it seems fun. my introduction to this family is through some dceu movies and titans (show) only. is there any introductory ff or something? (don't wanna do comics idkw)

dude the way those were my introductions too (plus young justice)!!! i also refused comics in the beginning lol. first, disregard titans as a whole. i loved the show when i knew nothing of the batfam and dc in general but now that i do, i remember how wrong it was on so many parts.

i'm just going to do fic recs that i read and that i think helped me better understand some characters and then at the end i will add a 'quick' background on the 'lesser known' bats (duke, cass, and steph).

(nine fics plus an additional two crossovers)

here we go:

Worlds Saddest Breakfast Club by motelyfam

Summary:

Following a couple of Very Bad Weeks™ (which may or may not have involved being kidnapped and mildly tortured), Jason decides the best way to cheer himself up is to break into the Manor for a 3 a.m. snack. Turns out he isn’t the only one awake.

my opinion: okay i love love love this one. it includes every 'major' batfam member save for barbara gordon (so really just the one's considered bruces kids + steph). i think this one has extremely accurate characterization, it’s jason todd-centric but includes a good amount of everyone else.

greatest of ease by ijustwanttodestroy (ONGOING)

Summary:

The times people meet Dick Grayson. Not Robin, not Nightwing — just Dick. (Or: Dick Grayson is a hero, has always been and will always be, no matter what name he takes.)

my opinion: i actually just read this during the 12 hour tik tok ban and this is so good. it's dick centric and is just how random people who've met him in passing perceive him. i love it so much. there's still one chapter left to be written, but since the last time it was updated was 2019, i don't think it'll be updated lol. but, i think the last chapter isn't really needed

A Mediation on Railroading by eggmacguffin

Summary:

When he ends up ditched in Atlanta after a fight with his dad, Tim decides to do the only sensible thing: Tell no one and make the 800 mile journey back to Gotham on his own. Because the "call Batman when you're in trouble" rule only applies when he's Robin, right?

my opinion: okay, honestly i haven't rad this in forever--a reread is long overdo--but i remember enjoying this. this one is on the longer side, nearly 25k words. i feel like a majority of people in this fandom have read this, in 2023 i could not go anywhere without being recommended this. i'm pretty sure this started me into my jason and tim as a duo spiral, which i have since left because i now really believe that tim and jason would lowkey be beefing non-stop but like in a brotherly way? which most fics surrounding them don't quite capture in the way i want, idk i'm picky lol.

but yeah. this fic=good for new fandom people.

though your eyes will need some time to adjust by popsunner

Summary:

“I think…” Stephanie takes a deep breath, “I think I’m bad.” “I don’t.” “So what, I’m just supposed to believe you?” “I am Batman.” Stephanie snorts, “Yeah, you are… but what if I’m still bad?” “Then I forgive you.” _______ Or: Stephanie and Bruce, figuring it out

my opinion: i actually haven't seen a lot of steph and bruce bonding fics that i like but i really enjoyed this one. i read this a year or two ago, forgot about it and reread it today. steph and bruces relationship is complicated and i like how this captures them.

dick grayson: a case study by writersagainstwritersblock

Summary:

Dick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m mostly used to sparring with my little brothers, it’s kind of just habit, and I was having fun. I didn’t want the match to be over too quick.” “Too quick?” Derek asked, eyebrows raised. “I’m twice your size, kid.” Dick shrugged. “So’s Bruce and we’re pretty much tied at this point, or at least according to the score board the kids started to keep for Saturday spars.” “Saturday spars?” Derek repeated, following him towards the locker room. Dick flashed him a smile. “What? Don’t have any weird family traditions?” “Not ones that include hitting each other,” Derek said   OR The BAU gets a probationary profiler who is a little more than he appears at first glance. Or second. Or third. Just how many secrets can Dick Grayson be hiding from a team full of profilers?

my opinion: this one's a crossover but i love how it shows dicks relationship with his siblings, wally, and bruce. slades in here and so because of that theres implied sexual assault. the author has warnings on every chapter. i wouldn't read if you're not familiar with criminal minds though, it'll be really confusing

The Robin Generation by waterunderthebridge12

Summary:

"It's the dodging emotional conversations for me," Duke said. "Take the L." "Stop being such a cringefail edgelord," Tim said. "It's giving emotionally stunted," said Damian. "It's giving big yikes delulu."   In his ongoing search for better ways to fight crime, Tim comes up with a brand new method: bombarding bad guys with Gen Alpha slang. Recruiting Gen Alpha cusper Duke and full Gen Alpha Damian, shenanigans, chaos, and bonding ensue.

my opinion: i recommend this entire series, omg it's so unbelievably funny and good. great duke and damian bonding, great duke representation overall, and it also introduced me to the idea of duke hating dick and cass and jason just straight up beefing all the time which makes so much fucking sense. if you read anything on this list PLEASE read this.

Life Happens by Cdelphiki

Summary:

While walking home from an event at Wayne Enterprises, Tim and Damian are kidnapped and sent to an alternate dimension. In a world where superheroes are merely comic book characters and the idea of the multiverse is only a theory found within the pages of science fiction, how are Tim and Damian going to return home? How long will they be stranded on this strange Earth? And will the boys murder each other before they figure it out?

my opinion: by far one of the best tim and damian bonding things i read. it's 176k words so it doesn't make them bonding so straight forward, yk? not the usual 'they're both secretly jealous of each other' thing (which i lowkey love like i eat that shit up ngl), it's more complex. more 'i love you cause you're my brother, but i don't like you' which evolves into 'you're the only one around for me now' which turns into 'you're my favorite, please don't leave me.' i sob every time i read this story, it's so fucking heartbreaking. the other works in the exiled robins series are good but not needed to understand life happens.

All the Roofs of Uncertainty by Kieron_Duibhir

Summary:

For all the blood on his hands, Red Hood was never just a villain. And Nightwing never gives up on family, not for good. (Or: The one where Dick bleeds a lot and Jason argues with everybody.)

my opinion: i remember vaguely reading this when i first joined the fandom and loving it so much, it was my first introduction to jason and dick's relationship as brother that i thought actually made sense. if you like this one, check out Kieron_Duibhir's account, they're a really good author.

Martry Unmade by Here_we_go

Summary:

Jason Todd was loved best dead. Dead he was a saint. A martyr. Nothing was more sacred in the Church of Batman than martyrdom. - No one ever said that coming back from the dead was easy, not for the one who died and not for the people they left behind.

my opinion: catholic jason todd, my love. i'm always searching for catholic jason todd fics. i stumbled upon this a couple months ago and loved the fuck out of it. catholic jason is just so incredible to me, for some reason.

the entombment of idolization by make_your_own_world

Summary:

It turns out that growing up in the League of Assassins complicates your definition of self-worth. Or: Damian’s Saturday nights did not typically involve an underground sequence of caverns, a drugged brother, and a bloodthirsty monster snapping at their heels, but he was nothing if not adaptable. Or: If I am all you want to be, and you are all I want to be, why together are we not enough? (Can be read as a standalone)

my opinion: i did not read the other works in this series and i understood everything. this has tim and damian bonding which i will always look for, i'm pretty sure i stumbled upon this christmas of 2023 and i have loved it ever since.

okay that's it for the recs. if you want more heres the link to my bookmarks.

some have OC's or x readers, and i think theres one or two non batfam in there. still, feel free to look if you want. i also have some tim and damian bonding ones posted (Keep hanging on, Praise from a mother, Trust from a bother, the graves i dig series, and Growing apart), i don't think any of my other works will be of any use if you're just trying to get into the batfam because the rest are x readers or x OC's, save for one which is on a HEAVY hiatus lol.

quick background (as promised):

since your introduction was through DCEU and titans, im assuming you have no clue who duke thomas, cassandra cain, and stephanie brown are. duke is bruce’s latest foster kid, he’s black, his parents were rendered insane because of joker, he’s the vigilante signal, and he’s often forgotten by lots of the fandom. cassandra is one of bruce’s adopted kids (i believe) she came after tim but she’s jason’s age. she’s the daughter of lady shiva and david cain. typically she’s depicted as mute in fanon, but in comics she can speak her english is just very broken. depending on the fic, cass will be either one of those three vigilantes: batgirl, black bat, or orphan. stephanie isn’t bruce’s kid, she’s kind of an honorary kid though. she used to date tim but they’ve broken up in comics (tim is bi and dating bernard, as seen in the titans show), many people have her date cassandra. it’s a VERY popular ship in the batfam fandom, i think. stephanie is the vigilante spoiler though she was previously the vigilante batgirl and the only girl robin.

batgirl and robin are passed down. all the (main) robins in order are: dick, jason, tim, stephanie, then back to tim, and then damian (im pretty sure tim is robin in comics rn alongside damian but most fics have him as red robin). some people include maps in that but i normally don’t. batgirl has only three: barbara gordon, cassandra cain, and stephanie brown. then there’s also tiffany fox, who im pretty sure is said to be batgirl in the future? i’ve yet to see her in many fics and i think i read one comic that had her but that was forever ago.

[sunsetsover]

i know i'm late to the party and most of these points have probably been touched on already, but i said i would make a post about why kant safewording in episode 8 was so impactful and i am nothing if not a man of my word so here we are

(under the cut bc this got completely out of hand)

tbh i feel like i could write 10,000 words and i still wouldn't be able to fully articulate the way it completely turned me inside out when i first watched the ep, but i still wanted to pull this scene apart anyway bc as i said at the time, there were (and perhaps still are) people who think kant safewording in that moment was silly or out of place or whatever, and so for my own sanity i need to list all the reasons it was not only not stupid, but actually incredibly powerful for both kant and bison's characters and their relationship overall

bc think about the context. think about how shy bison had been when he had introduced the idea of a bdsm dynamic to kant, how he had admitted it's something he had wanted for a long time but never had the opportunity to actually have that with anyone. think about how reluctant he had been to actually hurt kant, and how enthusiastic and happy he was when kant told him he was into it too. how careful he was with kant, how thorough he was about consent (excluding the scene in his bedroom obv, considering he was drugged and couldn't consent nor dom properly). how insistent he was that they have a safeword despite kant's dismissiveness bc he knows how important it is that they're safe, and that they trust each other completely. to have it and to use it.

and then think about how gutting it must have been thinking about all of that in the context of a lie. a complete farce. this thing that bison wanted so badly, a thing he was so happy to finally have w someone, to trust someone with that part of him after a lifetime of keeping it inside. think about how vulnerable and exposed bison must have felt in the wake of that realisation, esp considering he doesn't have really any experience actually domming someone fr. how used he must have felt, knowing that this really deep and personal desire had been used as nothing more than a tool to manipulate you by someone you thought you were developing a genuine bond with. kant betraying bison is one thing - imo, it was the sheer depths that kant had seemingly gone to just to use him that was what really hurt bison (which in turn made him angry). like think abt it from bison's pov: why would kant make a point to project the northern lights all over the walls for him, sit and make all these plans together so that bison's dream come true? and why the hell would he go so far as to let bison dom him when bison had tried so hard to basically talk him out of it? that's not just betrayal. it's sadistic and it's cruel. it's like kant didn't just want bison arrested, but also to break him from within.

so that's the context. keep all of that in mind. and then think about kant, tied down, completely at bison's mercy. following bison's every instruction. taking all his abuse. and then think about him safewording. he could have said anything, could have done anything. but he chose to safeword. why? why that word? why right then?

well. the use of a safeword is obvious right? it's someone's way of telling their partner 'that's enough, i don't like this anymore'. and that is the very surface level of what kant was saying by safewording. but obv the context is very, very different here. and i think it goes back to the conversation that they had when they agreed on the safeword in ep 3: kant doesn't understand then the importance of what a safeword is and what it represents. he thinks he can just tell bison to stop and that he will, and bison is obviously like 'well no, that's not how it works'. he basically says to him 'how am i supposed to know you're not still enjoying it? how will i know you actually want me to stop? what if i get confused and hurt you more?' and kant says he gets it, and to a degree he obviously does, but i don't think he got the depth of what a safeword represented until it was tumbling out of his mouth on that beach.

bc as i said, a safeword is about trust. it's about two people (or more! but we're just talking abt these 2 rn) trusting the other that if this word is said, then everything stops. no ifs ands or buts. the sub obviously has to trust that the dom will stop if they safeword, but it's just as important that the dom trusts that the sub will safeword if they're unhappy with whatever's going on. the dom has to trust that the sub trusts them.

and so kant safewords. and yes he's saying 'i don't like this anymore, i want to stop'. but he's also saying 'i paid attention, i listened, i remembered. i know you meant it and i meant it too. what you told me was important to me. i value what is important to you. i didn't just dismiss it, i didn't just dismiss you. this was never just a tool. it was never fake to me. i never used this against you. i really am telling you the truth and here's the proof.' (which, for the record, is also what he was saying before the safeword when he was like 'i know you've never trusted anyone before, i still haven't forgotten our plans, i still want to go to iceland together' - it's all reassurance that he hasn't forgotten and that it wasn't fake, that he meant all of it and it's all important to him too). and he's also - maybe even more importantly - saying 'i trust you. i trust you to stop because i'm telling you stop. if you will listen to nothing else i say, i trust you to listen to this. i'm trusting you because this is important to you, and it's important to me. i trust you to keep me safe. i trust that that if i say this word, you won't hurt me anymore.'

which is exactly why one of the first things bison says to kant afterwards on the beach is 'you think i can't kill you, don't you?' because he knows. he knows exactly what kant using that word meant, what he was saying. it's why he froze, why he was so thoroughly devastated, why he briefly lost his shit then completely fell apart afterwards - because even though it was just one word, he heard everything behind that word, and what was underpinning all of it, which was basically kant saying this isn't over for me yet. i'm still in this relationship with you. i'm still yours and you're still mine. i still trust you. and though you might not trust me right now, i know you'll trust this.

(and that's also why he repeats it so many times imo. by saying it over and over, he's proving that it isn't just a desperate or panicked plea to get himself out of that situation - he says it again and again, making a point to look bison right in the eye each time, bc that's acknowledgement that he's well aware of what he's doing and saying by using their safeword, and he wants bison to know that too: this isn't an accident, this isn't a mistake, this isn't a last ditch effort to live. i'm saying this on purpose, because i know what it means for you and me both.)

which yeah, is kind of a kick in the guts if you're bison. he knew he couldn't hurt kant. he knew he wasn't angry the way he was pretending to be angry, because the hurt was just too visceral (which i'll expound on in a second). and here was kant basically sticking his fingers in a fresh wound. here was this man he shouldn't trust at all, telling bison that despite who bison was and after all things bison had done to him (deserved or not is irrelevant here), he still loves him - not just with words but proving it in a very tangible way. a way that was theirs and theirs alone.

that was what gutted me on my initial watch. i obviously didn't think about all of it consciously in that moment, but i still knew it was there. i still felt it, the same way bison did. kant safewording in that moment was never just about him saying 'stop, i don't like this, please stop hurting me' and bison knew it, which is why he reacted so strongly to it (and why i did too lmfao)

so that was my initial thoughts, but liz @ropebunnykant brought up a really interesting point that i hadn't considered at first which is that kant was also safewording for bison's sake. which, while it hadn't been my first thought, definitely wasn't the first time i've heard of something like that happening either - a sub safewording, not bc they necessarily need to, but bc they've noticed that their dom isn't enjoying it/isn't in the right headspace to continue etc. and when i went back i could see it so clearly, esp as kant started to repeat it.

bc what happens immediately before the safeword use? kant pushes, and bison says shut up. kant continues pushing, and bison keeps telling him to shut up. the back and forth of bison and kant's safeword discussion is once again so important to the context here - kant asking if he can just say bison's name to stop him, and bison telling him no, that they need a way to differentiate when 'stop' is just a word and when it's genuinely meant.

bison telling kant to shut up was his stop. and kant pushed, because he didn't realise it straight away, because he had so much to say and for the first time bison was listening, because sometimes stop doesn't mean stop. but at some point kant realised that this stop did. and what did bison teach him to do when he really needs to stop?

and so kant safewords.

i do think kant could have kept playing that game for as long as he needed to. as long as bison was angry, kant would have stayed chained up like a dog. he didn't have to - he proved he could easily get out of his restraints in their very next scene. he could have asked the caretaker to help him get away. but he didn't. he chose to stay. maybe he wasn't on the boat, but at that point kant was a willing participant in what was happening, he was consenting. why? bc kant deserved punishment. bc bison deserves to punish him. bc to him staying there is it's own kind of proof. bc if bison's angry then he's still talking, and if he's talking there's hope. apathy is what was going to kill kant and he knew it - if bison's angry, that means he still cares.

but then we get that shot of kant's pov, of bison staring down w the gun pointed at him, barrel shaking, tears in his eyes. and it's not fun anymore. neither of them are gaining anything from this. bison's anger has finally given way to hurt, to heartbreak - kant knows in that moment that bison isn't getting any kind of satisfaction out of making kant squirm, and likely never was. which literally goes back to the core of a dom/sub relationship, doesn't it? you engage in that kind of dynamic bc both parties are getting something out of it. kant was getting the flagellation he thought he deserved after what he'd done to bison, the punishment he wanted (and to a degree needed) as payment for his wrongdoing and the sense of absolution that provided him. bison got the satisfaction of providing that punishment, of letting out that anger, of making kant hurt for what he did - or so kant thought. bc the reality is that bison wasn't getting any satisfaction out of punishing kant. no matter what he said or did, no matter how he hurt or degraded him, none of it made him feel better. and kant hadn't noticed that until that moment (which i think he can be forgiven for, given everything that he was going through). but then he does notice.

bison wasn't getting anything out of the hurt he was inflicting, and was inflicting pain upon himself in the process. and if one of them is not getting anything out of it - if one of them is actively hurting themselves in a way that doesn't feel good - then they need to stop. someone needs to safeword. kant knows this. and so he safewords - not so bison doesn't kill him, as some people have said, but to stop bison from hurting himself any further.

and so kant safewords immediately. retracts the consent that perhaps bison hadn't even realise he'd given willingly. he ends the game. he uses his safeword just like bison taught him to, bc it matters and he trusts him and he loves him. that hasn't changed, not even like this. and he repeats it so many times for that very reason.

and believe it or not, i feel like there is still so much more to it i could pick apart even beyond this. bc god there are just so many layers!!!! like there's fear in it too, bc as much as kant is unconcerned abt the gun and is sure that bison won't hurt him, he's still human. some degree of fear is normal. i also think kant sensed an opening in bison's defenses that he wanted to get at just so that bison would just listen to him - bison wasn't really in the headspace to listen to anything before then, which is exactly why kant hadn't really tried to explain himself properly. it would've been pointless. and as much as he loves bison, kant is still kant - he still knows how to work people. i also think kant was tired and hungry and emotionally exhausted and while i do think he would've played along for as long as he had to, i think he also needed bison's anger and attention to fuel him. faced w nothing but his sadness, he lost all steam. kant's own sadness and overall feeling shitty probably hit him full force in that moment too, and he didn't have the strength not to fold under it. and so he safeworded.

however, if i start picking apart all of that i really will end up writing 10,000 words and no one really wants that, least of all me. but the point that i really want to make is that kant safewording in that moment was never really abt him not wanting to die. it was about care and it was about trust. it was about acknowledgement. most of all it was about love. and we'd all be doing the story and these characters a disservice to simply go 'hehe he safeworded out of murder' while not also addressing what it really was! which was kant acknowledging their bond, showing bison care in the only way he could while telling him he loves and trusts him all at once!! it was him claiming ownership of the ownership bison has of him!! he said penguin bc there was literally nothing else he could have possibly said in that moment that would have had the depth and significance than that one little word did!!! he said more with that one word than he could have said with a thousand other ones!!! and it drives me crazy whenever i think about it for more than 5 seconds at a time!!! thank u for coming to my ted talk!!

[autisticlee]

I hate when people tell me "friendships don't last/will change over time and fade away" and say I need to get used to/accept it. maybe that's easy for YOU. but most of these people also have committed partners that they expect to stick with for life. why can't I want that too? as an aroace person that needs to rely on platonic relationships to get the support and connection I need to thrive in life, and as an autistic and disabled person that needs consistency and routine and security and constant support to feel safe and comfortable to thrive in this society, telling me "people come and go/friendships aren't forever" REALLY HURTS. it feels awful. it makes me feel hopeless and even more alone. makes me feel like i'll always be drifting through life with no support and alone forever until I can't survive anymore because I *need* help and support and consistent companionship to live a healthy and stable life!

being aroace, I don't have the benefit of getting a partner to fill the gaps a lack of friendship leaves. I have no one to turn to when my friends disappear from my life or betray me. I have to rely on these unstable/inconsistent/short-lived relationships. it's not sustainable and makes my life extremely hard and scary and hopeless. so telling me it's "normal" and I should "get used to it" doesn't do anything for me when I need it to last for more reasons than everyone else uses friends for.

I know it's unfair/wrong to "trap" someone into a committed platonic relationship that makes them feel like i'm "trying to date them" (ive had this accusation thrown at me before, then the person ghosts me after) but I really do think I need a committed platonic relationship. one that lasts and one that's two way and secure and consistent. no one wants to offer that though. they save it for their romantic partners only. the sad reality is, romantic relationships are always going to be placed above, and even replace platonic ones. leaving me, an aroace who needs those discarded platonic bonds, out of luck and left out. forever alone, as the old tumblr meme once went (which i'm sure 99% of those people who used the meme are now i'm committed relationships and/or have at least dated a few times)

I know, i'll be told I need a "queer platonic relationship" but that's not as simple as going shopping and picking one out. I dont even know how you get one! that's as much of an enigma to me as dating and making friends! getting a platonic friend to commit to you're friendship for life and be your life partner and not drop you for no reason, as soon as they make a new best friend, or as soon as they start dating? sounds more impossible than simply making casual friends I can convince to play a video game with me once a month (im lucky if they give me time once a year.....or 3)

i've tried establishing with certain people I feel comfortable with and get along with well that I want and need this type of "qpr" but they either mistake it for asking them to date, are afraid of commitment and ghost me immediately, or slowly start to push me away and decide their new friends are better. so it's not something I can just "get" from any friendship i'm finding. i'm not even sure exactly what it would look like. the best I can use to describe it is the found/chosen family trope where a two or more people come together to form a family where they help and protect each other and live together for life. they don't date. they are more than friends. they are a family and need each other and rely on each other and it stays like that. but that often feels like it can only happen in fiction. real humans aren't like that.

however, i'm told by other chosen families/best friends/people in qpr that it is possible. so then comes the dreaded "one day" they all tell me about. (I don't want it one day I want it NOW. i'm living in the present not the future!) so I have a vague idea of what I want/need, but not what it actually looks like, how to find it, where to look, or how to cope without it. I need more than a couple friends I see and talk to once i'm a while. I need more than a group chat. I need more than someone I get coffee with every weekend. I need a roommate, a forever bond. someone I live with and have separate lives from, but also share our lives together at the same time. the perspn who supports me when i need it, the person I support at all times. but someone who doesn't expect romance and sex. someone who isn't looking for "something better" and using me as temporary filler until they get better friends or a partner. someone who doesn't give up and run away from commitment. someone who wants to stay in my life for the rest of life. someone who puts me first and is committed to me as I am to them.

a life partner, or small family group.

but so far I've just been stuck on my own and I dont have the patience or energy to keep waiting 30+ more years for this "one day" to come and I don't have any options to make it come faster....RIGHT NOW is more important and i'm struggling in the present.

sometimes being aroace really sucks....

[satureja13]

Sai: "I thought you cleaned up already? Why is the photo booth still blocking the entrance to the crew mess? We can barely squeeze ourselves past it. And after eating it's even harder!" Jack: "But we still haven't taken the photos! It was all so chaotic after the New Year's fires..."

Jack, pondered for a while: "We'll take them now. And then Kiyoshi and I will dismantle the booth right after in our free time. Deal?" Sai sighed, but still - some alone-time with Jeb in a dark, tiny booth... "Ok, deal. Let's call the others."

Jeb: "Ok, Ji Ho and Vlad first." Ji Ho and Vlad: "..." Sai mumbling only for Jeb's ears: "Before they change their mind. Clever move."

Vlad went inside immediately. He'd promised Jack to not hold back anymore when it comes to Ji Ho. Ji Ho was hesistant. But eventually he followed Vlad inside. Jeb was relieved: "Phew."

Seems they aren't happy with the results ö.ö

Next couple in the booth are Jack and Kiyoshi.

When Kiyoshi saw that the others hat put Vlad and Ji Ho's photo on the wall: "Uhm... I guess we have to take another shot. These are too...eh..."

Jack: "What? You look super hot!" Kiyoshi: "You too - but we should keep these for our eyes only. Let's take some 'tamer' ones for the photo wall." And so they went back inside.

Jack: "We can take more of the hotter ones later, before we disassemble the booth, hm?" Kiyoshi nodded happily. This feels like a dream. And even after all those years, Kiyoshi is still a bit shy :3 And so in love with Jack.

Who would have thought they'd ever come this far? (To be honest, not even I expected this ö.ö)

(I also love this hairstyle on Kioyshi. He now changed it to all of his outfits. As far as I remember, the first time we saw him with this hairstyle was September 2024 for the Reaper's Rewards outfit.)

Sai hissed. He is eager to finally have the booth for him and Jeb after all the sounds they'd heard from Jack and Kiyoshi...

As it seems Jeb didn't disappoint :3

Finally, the photos!

Ji Ho must have still been mad at Vlad for asking him if Kylo touched him ö.Ö'

It was late. Time to get back to work/sleep. Skully was sitting on his substitute book pile since the original one fell victim to the flames. They are still sorting through the backup files of all the stuff they'd collected about the Boys...

After dinner, Jack and Kiyoshi came back to dismantle the photo booth. But before, they are taking some more photos.

I'm so happy for them <3

Skully interrupted his paperwork to play a matching song for them:

'For your eyes only, can see me through the night. For your eyes only, I never need to hide. You can see so much in me, so much in me that's new. I never felt until I looked at you. For your eyes only, only for you. You'll see what no one else can see, and now I'm breaking free. For your eyes only, only for you. The love I know you need in me, the fantasy you've freed in me. Only for you, only for you.

For your eyes only, the nights are never cold. You really know me, that's all I need to know. Maybe I'm an open book because I know you're mine, But you won't need to read between the lines. For your eyes only, only for you. You see what no one else can see, and now I'm breaking free. For your eyes only, only for you. The passions that collide in me, the wild abandoned side of me. Only for you, for your eyes only.'

Sheena Easton - For your Eyes only linked MV is with scenes from the James Bond movie 'For your Eyes only'. This song was the title track (obviously ^^').

After they finished 'taking photos', Jack stepped out of the booth on shaky legs and said (a bit breathless): "Good choice! I love this song." Skully: "Thanks, Pal!"

And then they started to dismantle the photo booth. Which was a shame. It was so much fun...

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: starts ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-29

[2demondogs]

Could you perhaps write something about a throuple with chartur and a male s/o? I am so sorry if this is not something you would like to even consider and I completely understand if you don't feel like writing it

Trust me brother we love a good throuple or more in this house. What's better than one boyfriend? TWO! TWO BOYFRIENDS! insert screeching eagle emoji here

Doing HCs reqs only right now so I assume u wanted some'a those.

I couldn't find any Charthur gifs that weren't sad, forgive me </3

Most of the time, Charles is the one to do or say something. Arthur beats around the bush, and Charles doesn't give enough of a fuck to mess with that. They fumbled through a few awkward conversations of their own before deciding they were both sweet on you. He was the one who bluntly asked Arthur how he felt about him, and he was the one to do that with you, too.

Charles approached you on his own, given that he'd rather not fuck them both over in one fell swoop in the worst case scenario. They'd agreed readily on that much. He asked about himself, then Arthur, and then how you'd feel about both of them. They'll talk about it if you ask, but the bond and history between them is never really something they bring up to avoid making you feel left out. You joined in, it felt natural, and that was that.

You're probably going to end up a regular mediator. Neither Charles nor Arthur place enough weight on their own discomforts, so you're going to have to force them to talk things out like grown men instead of just forgetting about it because "it's easier." They'll learn... eventually...

Charles was already less reserved with you, but when it's just the three of you, he's an entirely different man. The comfort he already finds in Arthur's presence makes it a lot easier for him to open up to you as well. Arthur, too, is much looser on your lonesomes. Even when you are merely good friends, you hadn't heard either of them talk so much and for so long. That's with affection disregarded, though Arthur's is more obvious than Charles'.

Both Charles and Arthur have limited social batteries. One of the best parts is that neither of them is going to care if all you want to do is lay between them or on them and listen to them talk without participating. Sometimes that's all they want, too. They've both got plenty of scars and moles to study when you want to retreat into your head for a while.

Laying between them is like being trapped in an oven, though. Charles runs hot and Arthur sweats in his sleep unless it's freezing outside your tent. If you've got bad circulation, one evening sandwiched between these two guys is gonna fix it. Otherwise... good luck.

Both of them prefer touch over words. Arthur's a tad bit more reserved with it than Charles. They've accidentally put their hands on your back or reached for yours at the same time more than once, and it will happen again.

They're also both fairly touch-starved. Arthur's struggled with trusting much of anyone since his first loves went so poorly, let alone finding enjoyment in anything more superficial. Charles has been alone for most of his life and almost functions better without constant interaction. But when they're starving for it, expect them to be starving.

Polyamory isn't something they're familiar with, so mostly they're feeling it out alongside you. At the end of the day, they've done worse than kiss another man. So... why not kiss two? There's a lot of passing jokes about "Who's gettin' him for today?" and "You went camping with Charles, now it's my turn." and "Hey, rude. Let me in on that."

[prying-pandora666]

Mephistopheles, Old Man Coyote, Death? Or perhaps…?

Everyone is wondering who that shadow demon who took Abbott Emmanuel’s body was and what it wants. Olrox offers us two names for it (Old Man Coyote and Mephistopheles), but he also says that this being has many names and forms, so it could be anyone. Which got me thinking…

I can’t be the only one who noticed that the evil shadow entity only showed itself to people that Abbott Emmanuel cared about can I? (With one notable exception but let’s get back to that).

Mizrak

When Mizrak falls during the final fight, the shadow entity appears before him, terrifying Mizrak that the devil has come to claim his soul. Olrox shields Mizrak, chasing “Old Man Coyote” (as Olrox calls him) away.

Mizrak was Emmanuel’s right hand man. A soldier of the church who served Emmanuel faithfully and whom Emmanuel spoke to as a confidante.

2. Tera

At the end of S2 of Nocturne, we see a vampiric Tera in the shadows, smiling manically during an execution. The foreboding shadow monster lurks behind her, a wicked grin spreading on its features. Clearly she has made some kind of agreement with this entity.

Tera was the woman Emmanuel was in love with. So much so that he was willing to forsake his holy vows of chastity for her. He stayed away after their daughter was born because of their disparate social status and the backlash their union would bring if discovered, but he confesses tearfully under duress that he loves Tera with all his heart.

3. Maria

Multiple times in the season, the shadow entity stares with interest at Maria. Most notably right after she kills her father and has to be chased away by Juste, and at the very end at the execution when the entity stands behind Tera. It rises up and a wicked grin manifests on its features, revealing who its real target is.

Maria is Emmanuel’s secret daughter born out of wedlock after an affair with Tera. He expresses love for her and a desire to guide her away from her blasphemous activities as a revolutionary. When he attempts to sacrifice Maria in season 1, he seems to have entered a delusional state and believes he is recreating the binding of Isaac from the Bible, repeatedly asking why God hasn’t delivered a ram to spare Maria? So even during his worst point, he still felt enough for Maria that he needed a delusional justification for his actions. Not exactly father of the year regardless.

4. Olrox

Alright so this is where things get interesting. Olrox is the only person the shadow entity shows itself to that doesn’t have a bond with Emmanuel. However, the moment this shadow entity does come to Olrox is when Olrox is hanging around Emmanuel’s forgemaster-machine. The very thing the Abbott traded his soul for. How interesting that Olrox sees this being twice, and both times it’s when he’s hanging around something/someone Emmanuel cared about.

CONCLUSION

Whatever entity Abbott Emmanuel made a deal with and sold his soul to, they’ve clearly reclaimed him now.

Is it possible that the shadow entity we see is a twisted manifestation of Emmanuel’s soul itself? Now claimed and enslaved by the demon (be it Mephistopheles, Old Man Coyote, Death, or otherwise?), the shadow is still drawn to the people that Emmanuel cared about in life?

Perhaps we haven’t seen the last of the Abbott yet.