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marifilue · 2 months ago

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Part 1: New Guy In Town

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, you have regenerative healing ability, skilled with guns and rifles, no use of y/n, reader in her 50s but because of her ability looked like in her mid 20s. Logan is from the first X-Men movie era.

Warnings: Explicit language, nothing much but we'll get there

Wc: 4,2k

A voice echoes in your mind, Professor Xavier calling your name, his presence is sharp and commanding. God, he always knew how to make a grand approach. You jumped at the unexpected voice as he instructed you to meet him downstairs. You set down your book, breath caught. Then, with a quick step, you head for the door.

Grabbing a red cardigan from the hanger just behind your bedroom door and leaving your book, now neglected, by the bed, you walk down the hallway. Dusty windows let in streaks of morning sunlight, warming the cold, shadowed hallway.

You step down two floors via the stairs to reach the main floor. Just when you’re about to reach for the handle, the door swings open, and suddenly you’re staring at a stranger, a tall rugged man who left no room for the doorway, his shadow casting over you. Weird hair style, are those a mutton chops hanging by his chin? Those belonged in a period dramas, not in Professor Xavier’s polished hallway. His X-Men sweater is unzipped halfway, chest hair on full display, which he doesn't seem to be bothered. Could’ve zipped it all the way up, but for some reason known only to God, he left it halfway at seven a.m. in freezing cold.

"And, Logan, meet Hollow" Charles said, introducing the strange man to you by your mutation's name. As you peeked to the side and get a better view of Charles since this guy is blocking the entire doorway. You shot him a confused glance; must be another stray that Charles had picked up. Not that it’s a bad thing—you were a stray once, rescued by Charles after escaping some twisted government experiment.

The man turns back to Charles and points at Ororo, who’s already in the room with Scott. "Storm?" he questioned, pointing to Ororo. "Cyclops," pointing to Scott. Then, "Hollow," he said, pointing at you. You swear you've never heard a voice that deep, did he do that on purpose?

He scoffed, "And what do they call you? Wheels?" Mocking all of the names and even the Professor. Where did Charles find this guy?

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "That’s a lot of attitude for a guy with mutton chops." you muttered, eyeing him warily as he turns his head back at you.

He scoffs, "Hollow? That even a real name?" he said, your eyebrows furrowed together, resisting the urge to show him exactly why they called you that. You ignored him and stepped forward, purposely bump his left shoulder so you could enter the room with force- since he choose to stand right in the entrance door.

"My name is Charles Xavier," Charles said. You manage to keep your voice steady as you ask, "What’s going on, professor?" But part of you wonders if you’re ready for whatever answer he’ll give.

"Logan here and his companion, a young mutant named Marie, were attacked by other mutants under the influence of an old friend of mine, Erik Lehnsherr. I'm not very fond of what Erik is currently engaged in, and I believe his intentions are not positive," Charles explained, and you catch a glimpse of the— what was his name again?mutton-chops guy looked utterly confused.

"You and Marie is safe here Logan, we need to figured out what is Magneto's up to first." Ororo said "Hollow, I believe there’s a room available across from yours on the third floor. Would you mind showing Logan around the school and then leading him to his room?" Charles glanced at you with his usual smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You had to admit that smile was a bit creepy, and his request was now undeniable.

"Sure, Professor," you replied shortly. Glancing at Logan "Chop chop, mutton chops." prompting him to follow you as you leave the office. If looks could kill, you'd be the first to die staring into those hazel eyes.

"You seem really intrigued by my mutton chops, aren't ya?" he said, following your steps from behind as you show him the classroom through the hallway. The school bells ring, and the kids make their way into the hallway, minding their own business. You snort a little laugh, low enough for him to hear. "What?" he demanded, wanting an explanation.

Now entering the kitchen and finding the door to the backyard. "I've only seen those in period dramas they haven't exactly been in style for, like, what? A century?" you said,

"Oh, I know that just fine. I was there when it was still in style," he replied stoically, stepping outside behind you. He now zips his sweater all the way up, which he should have done earlier.

"So your mutation is time traveling, huh? That's a first," you jumped to conclusions. He scoffs "That ain't it, bub. I'm just ol'." Standing beside you and staring into the green yard a hundred feet across. He tucks both of his arms into the pockets of his gray X-Men sweater.

"Like a hundred years old?" you asked, raising your eyebrows in pure curiosity. "Now that bald fella in a wheelchair have restored my memory back after attempting all night. I'm pretty sure I'm pushing a hundred and seventy. A thing I couldn't even remember for the last ten years." Logan responded whilst staring into the green yard. With this new information, you suddenly feel a slight sympathy toward him. A decade, that’s a long time to be lost.

"I have regenerative healing abilities too. If I'm right in guessing this time that's your mutation?" you said, glancing to your left to catch his profile. "Really? How old are ya?" he asks, his tone now filled with curiosity.

"Whoa, whoa. I don’t think it’s socially acceptable in today’s society to ask a woman her age," you replied sarcastically, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. "Fifty-five years old, and nobody needs to know," you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. He can’t help but smile softly, amused by your humor.

Logan brings his left arm up, rubbing his temple with the tips of his index and middle fingers. "Listen, I, uh... I've had a long night. Can we just cut the tour short and show me the room?" He said with low voice, continues to rub his temple before pinching the bridge of his nose. His slight mood shift makes you want to question him further, but you simply nod in understanding. "Come, follow me," you say as you head back into the mansion.

The next three minutes pass in silence, filled only with faint echoes from the classrooms—the low murmurs of students, chairs scraping on floors. The mansion’s grandness always felt both comforting and isolating. Logan trails two steps behind, eyes flicking over the wood-paneled walls, the high arched ceilings, and the faint burn marks from past battles. After climbing two stories, you reach the third-floor hallway. This floor has eight rooms—four on each side—and now that Logan is the last person to occupy one. You on the other hand were the first, a little over two years ago. Sometimes you wondered if you’d ever truly settle in. This floor is more sophisticated than the students' quarters, designed for teachers and offering much more privacy.

You twist the cool brass doorknob and push the door open. The faint scent of wood polish and dust greets you both. Noticing his belongings already sitting near the bed just one bag with enough clothes. Ororo must've dropped them off.

"Find me if you need anything." You said as he nods, offering a faint smile before you close the door "Thanks," he muttered. You force a polite nod with a gentle smile before heading down the hallway, sensing his gaze linger a beat too long. Whether out of interest or suspicion, you weren’t sure. though something in his tone leaves you wary.

A few feet away from the kitchen, a polite voice stops you. “Excuse me?” You turn your head and find a young girl with brunette hair standing nearby. “Hi there,” you responded, waiting for her to speak.

“I saw you with Wolverine earlier. Do you know where he is?” she asked. You give her a polite smile, a bit puzzled. “I’m sorry, who’s Wolverine?” you said, genuinely confused.

“Oh… his name’s Logan,” she clarifies, a little awkwardly. Wolverine? The name catches you off guard, but somehow it suits him. You nod. “And you are…?”

“Rogue. Marie, sometimes,” she said, her voice soft. It clicks in your mind, and you smile as you introduce yourself, welcoming her to the school. “I showed Logan to his room on the third floor. He said he needed some rest.” She gives a small nod but seems hesitant to leave. You notice her gloved hands, the fabric stretching past her elbows as if it’s meant to keep something hidden.

"Everything okay?" you asked, noticing her hesitation. She glances down, fidgeting with the edge of her glove. “I… well, it’s different here. But I’m dangerous. My mutation, it's not like most people’s.” She hesitates, looking up at you with a worried expression.

"Tell me more about it, what's your gift?" You softly encourage her. "When I touch someone… I absorb their energy, memories, powers… everything. I could really hurt someone.” There’s a heavy silence as she waits for your reaction, her gaze searching for any hint of fear or judgment. Instead, you give her a reassuring smile.

“I can’t imagine what that must feel like,” you said gently. “But, Marie, you’re safe here. This school is a place for people like us. No one’s going to judge you, and no one’s going to turn you away because of who you are.” She bites her lip, a mix of relief and doubt in her expression.

“It’s hard, though… feeling like I have to protect people from myself. Sometimes I wish I could just be normal.” You place a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We all feel that way sometimes. But you don’t have to go through it alone anymore. Here, you’ve got people who understand and want to help you.”

A small smile breaks through her worry. “Thank you. I didn’t think… I didn’t think anyone would get it.” You return her smile warmly. “We do. You’re welcome here, just as you are.” She give a polite smiles before disappear into the hallway, after all it's her first day. She needs time to settle in.

The clock reads 7:38. It's Wednesday, and you have an English class to teach at nine—a little over an hour away—leaving you enough time to make a simple breakfast. You tiptoe over to the cupboard to grab some flour and then open the fridge to take out two eggs and a cartoon of milk. Setting down a bowl, you mix the flour with some sugar, then crack in the eggs, pour down the milk. You stir the mixture well until it forms a smooth pancake batter. You wait for the pan to heat before carefully pouring the batter just enough to form the perfect circle.

"You mind sharing a bite of that?" a deep voice suddenly appear. You glance over your shoulder, careful not to take your eyes off the half-cooked pancake, and see Logan leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.

You nudge the spatula under the pancake, flipping it with a practiced hand. "I thought you were resting," you said. "I was, but then my stomach grumbled. Haven't ate anythin' in two days," he told you.

"Alright, I'll let you have some. Sit down," you instructed him, and he willingly obliges. "Anythin I can help with?" he adds.

"No, don’t meddle with my business in the kitchen," you replied with a cocky tone, Logan’s lips twitched into a half-smirk, one brow lifting as he watches from his seat behind you when you quietly stand still in front of the stove, humming a melancholic song he’s never heard before. Your hair is messy, pulled into a bun with your favorite floral hair clip. The ends of your red cardigan sway in rhythm with your movements.

A few minutes pass, and the two plates of pancakes are ready, each stacked three high. You place them on the table, but something’s still missing—blueberries and maple syrup, you think to yourself. You head to the fridge to grab some blueberries; there are only a few left, and you make a mental note to restock soon.

"Actually, can you grab the water?" you asked him, reaching into the cupboard above the fridge for the maple syrup. "I thought you hated anyone meddlin' in the kitchen." Logan scoffed as he shifts from his seat, grabbing a glass. He fills it with water, though you didn't exactly pay attention because you're too busy on pouring just the right amount of maple syrup, not too much, just enough.

Logan returns to his seat and places your glass beside your plate. You carefully add blueberries to each plate, and when you’re satisfied, you sit across from Logan, glancing at the empty glass he placed for you. You also catch a look at his own glass, which he’s now drinking from, fully filled with water. "Seriously?" You glance him a death stare raising your eyebrows. He puts down the glass and before he could even blink, you tossed your glass directly to his chest with enough force so his reflexes could catch it, which he did.

"Whoa, relax. I'll get em for ya." He said with stupid grin and you can clearly see how much he's amused with your reaction. He shifts once again from his seat and fill in your glass. "Don't forget the silverware. And if you're only grabbing one set this time, I can eat for two." You jokingly threatened him.

"Aight, no need to get harsh." He came back to the table and handle you the silverware whilst putting the glass with his other hand. With just two of you in the kitchen, you ate the first bites in uncomfortable silences, besides you just met him not even an hour ago. He doesn't seems to mind with the silence but you sure as hell mind, a lot.

"So I guess Storm and Cyclops picked you?" You said staring at your plate and stole glances at his. He shrugged "Yeah, funny names." Bringing another spoon into his mouth, good god he's starving. "It's a code names, just like Wolverine" you tease him after learning he had his own codenames, what a hypocrite. He caught off guard with you mentioning the name Wolverine but refuse to engage further and change the topic immediately.

"What's your actual name then?" He asked and you muttered your first name. He repeated it and tells you how much better it sounds rather than Hollow. "How long you've been here?" He adds whilst taking another bite. "A little over two years now." You said.

"The kid you brought, she’s more than she seems, isn’t she?" You curiously asked as you've interact with Marie earlier. Your best assume was that she might be a relative, probably cousin? Niece?

"I actually had no idea. She's uh, sneak in the back of my van yesterday. Real tough and a fearless kid I must say." Logan said, remembering his accident yesterday.

"You just met her? Could’ve sworn you two were blood, the way you two look alike." You said bringing a spoonful of pancake into your mouth "No, I don't have any relatives left." As Logan finishes the last bite, you take a deep breath, deciding to push just a bit.

"So, I guess...the van's your home?" you asked, glancing over at him before your gaze drops back to your plate. He sets down his fork, pausing. "Home's a stretch." He gives a half-smile, but there's something dark in his eyes that tells you not to dig further.

You nod, realizing he’s probably not one to share personal stuff. "Makes sense. Things like homes don’t seem to last very long around here, anyway." Logan raises an eyebrow, and there's a flicker of understanding or maybe sympathy? But he doesn’t respond.

The silence between you feels almost comfortable now. Almost. You force yourself to finish the last few bites, knowing he’s ready to bolt. You barely have time to look up before Logan’s already heading for the door. He mutters a casual, “Thanks for the food,” without so much as a glance back. His plate sits abandoned on the table, crumbs scattered around it like he didn’t even consider cleaning up. Typical. You narrow your eyes, letting out a small huff as you grab his plate, biting back a string of curses. The water splashes as you scrub, each scrape of the sponge a bit more aggressive than the last.

Men always have it so fucking easy, you think, gritting your teeth. They breeze in, make a mess, and then just walk off without a second thought. Meanwhile, you’re here, elbow-deep in soap suds, trying not to dwell on how much that annoys you. Maybe it’s just him, you try to reason. Or maybe it’s every guy who thinks that dishes magically clean themselves.

“Welcome to the X-Men, I hope you’ll have a great stay. We might actually come with free chefs and maids.” You muttered under your breath, doing a mock impression of Logan’s gruff voice. You can’t help but smirk as you scrub the last of the dishes, feeling a bit of satisfaction in your sarcasm. “A free maid, huh?” The voice makes you jump slightly, and you whirl around to find Logan standing in the doorway, eyebrow raised.

He holds up his hands, looking almost—awkward? “I, uh… went to bathroom. Wasn’t plannin' to ditch the plate.” Heat rises in your face, but you straighten up, not letting him off that easily. “Could’ve fooled me,” you say, crossing your arms. “Most people just disappear after saying thank you.”

Logan’s eyes narrow, clearly not used to being called out. “Didn’t think I needed to narrate every move I make.” He steps closer, reaches past you, and picks up his plate. “But if it’ll get you off my back…” He gives a quick rinse and sets it on the drying rack, as if to make a point. You both stand there in silence, arms crossed, neither willing to look away first. Finally, Logan gives a low chuckle. “Guess I’ll just have to remember the maid service isn’t included next time, yeah?” You can’t help the small smirk that creeps onto your face. “Yeah, and don’t expect turndown service either.”

Logan shakes his head, amused. “Duly noted,” he says, before heading back down the hall, leaving you with an odd mix of satisfaction and lingering tension in the now-empty kitchen.

As the clock ticks closer to nine, the realization hits: you have an English class to teach. You tidy up the kitchen in haste, wipe your hands, and check your watch, calculating that if you hurry, you’ll just make it on time.

Your days as a teacher at Xavier’s school tend to follow a steady rhythm. Teaching English to a room full of young mutants comes with its own unique challenges, but the reward is in the way they lean in during readings, or the curious questions they ask after class. You’ve found ways to weave classic stories into lessons on self-identity and resilience, lessons you wished you had when you were their age.

After the morning rush of class, the day usually settles into a pattern of planning lessons, grading papers, and managing the occasional classroom drama. You know each student’s quirks, their strengths, the places where they struggle. For many of them, this school is the first real place where they’re free to be who they are. And for you, teaching here feels a bit like giving them a piece of the acceptance and stability you found when you arrived.

As the day draws to an end, you're called to Charles’s office. When you arrive, Jean, Scott, Ororo, and Logan are already there. Jean stands with her arms crossed, tension clear in her posture, while Scott and Ororo share a concerned glance. Logan, leaning back with arms folded, looks like he’s ready to leave, but there’s something guarded in his eyes.

Charles waits until you close the door before he begins, his tone more urgent than usual. "Thank you all for coming. I have some troubling news. Rogue has run off." A murmur ripples through the group, and you can see the concern etched on their faces.

Charles holds your gaze a moment before addressing everyone. “Erik, as you know, has always been interested in advancing mutantkind, but his new plan could force that evolution at a catastrophic scale. He’s found a way to trigger latent mutations in humans, possibly by using a device.”

There’s a heavy silence as everyone takes in the implications. Finally, Scott speaks, his tone grim. "So he wants to make everyone in the city a mutant. But wouldn’t forcing a mutation be fatal for most humans?"

Jean nods, her voice steady but laced with unease. "Exactly. The human body isn’t equipped to handle that kind of forced change. If Erik’s power source is strong enough to reach across the city, we’re talking about widespread devastation." Logan shifts, his eyes narrowed. "So let me get this straight. He’s gonna flip a switch and hope people survive the change? Doesn’t sound like a well-thought-out plan to me."

Charles sighs. "Erik’s never concerned himself with risks to those he considers weak. In his mind, this is a step toward a world where mutants reign supreme. He may even believe this forced mutation is a ‘gift.’ But the outcome would be chaos, death—" Ororo interrupts, her voice sharp. "And even if he does believe it’s a gift, we know better. This will only lead to fear, violence… more division."

Jean’s brows knit together, concern flickering in her eyes. “But if he has a device powerful enough to reach so many people…where would he even get that? It would require immense energy.” Charles closes his eyes briefly, searching for the right words. "That’s where Rogue comes in."

A hush falls over the room, and the weight of his words sinks in. "Erik doesn’t just need power; he needs someone who can channel it. Rogue’s mutation, her ability to absorb the life force and abilities of others—it’s exactly what he would use to amplify his device. If he taps into her… he could make the entire city vulnerable."

Logan straightens, his face hardening. "So that's why he’s after her. To turn her into a… a conduit?"

“Yes,” Charles confirms, voice heavy. “If he takes Rogue, he could harness her ability to absorb energy and use it to power his machine.”

Scott’s jaw tightens as he glances at Charles. "But Rogue’s just a kid. She’s barely learned to control her powers, and he wants to use her in some twisted science experiment?"

"Precisely," Charles says gravely. "If Erik reaches her first, she might not survive. Her powers are still volatile. This would overwhelm her."

You feel a knot tighten in your stomach, thinking about your own past. "I'm familiar with how dangerous forced mutations can be. My.. uh" You trailed off not sure if you could ever say it out loud. "My mutation was thrust upon me with an experiment, and I was pretty lucky to develop generative healing ability which allowed me to survive. But for anyone else with different abilities, being forced into a mutation could be very fatal."

Everyone’s gaze shifts toward you, the gravity of your experience weighing heavily in the room. Logan’s eyes soften for a moment, filled with an understanding that only comes from shared pain.

Ororo looks pained, acknowledging the truth of your words. "It could create a wave of death instead of evolution." Charles nods gravely. “Indeed. The implications are terrifying. Erik sees this as a chance to elevate mutantkind, but the price is too high."

Logan’s voice cuts through the tension. "Then we get to her first." Ororo nods, her expression resolute. "Agreed. We can’t let him use her this way. But does she even know she’s in danger?"

Charles hesitates before answering, a shadow passing over his face. “I tried to warn her earlier, but… Rogue is a stubborn soul. She believes she’s a danger to those around her.” Jean nods slowly, her voice filled with sympathy. "And if she thinks she’s protecting us, she might have… left. To protect us."

You swallow hard, a sense of urgency building. "If she thinks she’s protecting us, she could be putting herself in Erik’s hands. She has no idea he’s after her." Scott stands, fists clenched. "Then we need to mobilize, track her down. We can’t afford to lose her to him."

"Where do we even start looking?" Logan asks, scanning the room. "If she’s got it in her head to run, she’s not just going down the block." Charles clasps his hands, his voice both weary and determined. "I will head to the cerebro downstairs, I need all of you to move, we can't afford wasting any seconds."

Everyone falls into a tense silence, the gravity of the situation pressing down. Logan’s eyes meet yours, and you see a flicker of worry there, maybe even something protective. “Alright then,” Logan said, his voice low but resolute. “Let’s go find her.”

Part 2 ->

an: Hi guys, thank you for reading this part. I'm honestly so excited since this is my first X-Men fanfic. My obsession came back since Deadpool & Wolverine released. I used to write a lot about Daredevil but never have the courage to post it. English is not my first language and I hope you can still enjoy it :)

#logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett #logan howlet x reader #x men #xmen fanfiction #wolverine x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine

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realisticjupiter · 8 months ago

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hi! :D i hope u're doing well !! i was wondering if i could request chishiya x gn reader? where after the borderlands, chishiya faintly remembers the events while reader does not, so reader doesn't know who chishiya is but chishiya knows who they are. they're both admitted in the same hospital after the meteor, and chishiya has to fall in love with reader all over again, "coincidentally" meeting through a hallway and introducing himslef and slowly building a relationship and just AGHGJJAHAH this runs thru my mind a lot !!! ty for even reading this anyway hope u have a great day love u 😘😘😘 and also make sure to stay hydrated, healthy and happy :))

ꔫ ⸝⸝ summary: chishiya helping reader who is struggling with a snack, and at the same time remembering exactly how the two of them met.

ꔫ ⸝⸝ pairing: chishiya x gn!reader

ꔫ ⸝⸝ genre: fluff

ꔫ ⸝⸝ warnings: mentions of hospital medication , lmk if anything else !

ꔫ ⸝⸝ word count: 1k

A/N: I love this idea sm bc i also think of this a lot LOL. just the idea of chishiya's cookie moto when reader can't find a snack is just special to me -- also I apologize to literally everyone who has sent me a request I TRY I SWEAR IT'S NOT ON PURPOSE

Your hand pounded on the clear glass that separated you and the snacks inside the vending machine. It had completely eaten your money just for the simple snack you've been craving all day not to fall to the bottom.

It obviously hasn't been a good day for you, but this was just the cherry on top.

Waking up in a hospital with hundreds of bruises and one big gash across your torso wasn't exactly your definition of a good time. You don't even remember how it happened.

In fact, you barely even remember what you did that day. You were walking to the mall? Maybe? It was clearly all a blur.

When he approached you, you almost thought you were hallucinating from all the medication the hospital decided to give you for the pain.

He was almost glowing in the hospital light, like he belonged there like some type of ghost whose soul is trapped inside the building.

"Those cookies aren't very good anyways." Were the words his naturally curved mouth spoke.

Something was off about him, you couldn't tell what it was though. Maybe it was his body language; how his eyes couldn't leave your face and studied your every move. Or maybe the way he spoke; so nonchalant but hard to tell where his social skills lied.

"I've been craving them since I woke up. But, obviously now--It doesn't really matter." You were already irritated, it was clear in your voice when you spoke. You weren't exactly in the mood to make friends.

His eyes looked down, which made yours follow along to the yellow bag that rested in his hand. He reached out to you, letting you see the cookies that sat inside.

"You can have one, if you want." He offered, his eyes watching your face once more.

You couldn't exactly read him, and it was clear that it was his persona. A man who wants to be known as an unsolved mystery. A closed box that couldn't be opened by anyone.

But in this Cheshire man's mind, he felt conflicted; confused. He swore he knew you from somewhere, but he wouldn't dare ask. He'd rather find out from his own mind. He always had a thing for puzzles, but this one felt more complicated than anything he's ever experienced.

You sighed, but with a shrug you dipped your hand into the bag to grab a single cookie. You brought it to your mouth with a crunch and your rating of the snack was written all over your face, and at the same time it almost felt familiar.

He had a good eye, or you guess taste for good snacks. You were almost surprised you've never tried it before, you've always seen it in other places.

"It's good, isn't it?" He raised a brow, a small grin showing on his face.

"Mhm, can I have another one?" You responded mid chew.

He couldn't hold back the soft chuckle as he handed the bag to you, watching as you dove straight in with no questions asked.

"I'm Chishiya, by the way." Chishiya finally introduced himself with his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Y/n." You replied, mouth full of cookies.

He nodded at the sound of your name. It tried to click in his mind, and when it did--it felt like he had just been given some stranger's memories.

He knew now, the borderlands and the person he was stuck with--merely because they were almost smarter than he was. For a second he was confused, concerned and almost convinced he was remembering an old dream.

It wouldn't be the first time he mistook a dream for reality, but he knew this time was different. In dreams there were no names or faces, but your face, the person standing in front of him wasn't just a dream. And nor were the memories he continued to remember.

"Do you... know me?" He asked, his tone unsure as if he was asking a foreign question.

You looked at him with a confused stare, looking him up and down and then studying his face--but none of it clicked.

"No, I don't think so." You shook your head, handing him the bag just for there to only be one left inside.

You gave an apologetic smile when he took it back, but somehow he didn't mind. Mostly because he had bigger things to think about.

Like how the person he told he loved doesn't remember him. It was almost funny when he thought about it that way, but it was honestly sad.

But when he thought about it another way, like how he may have a second chance with you. It felt different, like the god whom he never really believed in decided to grant him the good karma he wasn't so sure he deserved.

He couldn't care less though, the only thing he wanted from his experience in the borderlands was a second chance; and now he has it.

"Shouldn't you be resting? Your injuries seem worse than others." Chishiya tried to keep the conversation, although it almost sounded like he was trying to end it.

You shook your head, "Mm-mm. Doctor said to walk around, to stretch my legs." You explained, crossing your arms to shield yourself from the cold breeze of the hospital.

"Want to take a walk then? We can go outside, I know you aren't exactly fond of hospitals." He suggested, crushing the bag in his hand to stuff inside his pocket.

You stopped for a second, furrowing your brows and opening your mouth. "Uh--sure. But, how did you know that?" Your mouth shaped into a smile because it genuinely freaked you out a bit. He made it sound as if he knew you forever.

"Lucky guess." His response was quick as he turned and began walking. You hesitated at first, but soon followed after him as he passed a girl who pushed an older woman in a wheelchair and an older man following a bit behind them.

Maybe now was a good time to admit you felt like you had seen him before as well. But you couldn't think of where, so you convinced yourself you were crazy.

But what wasn't crazy, was thinking you had a chance with this Cheshire man. He made you comfortable in a way you couldn't understand, and weren't exactly sure if you wanted to.

reposts and comments are appreciated <3

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minnlahzz · 18 days ago

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Alain Relationship Headcanons.

requested.

alain, alain... i hate french people, but ig he gets a pass because his pokemon are sick!! sorry for the delay of this request, procrastination gets the best of me

alain isn’t the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. he’s reserved, almost to a fault (dangerously nonchalant 😔🙏) and it takes time to understand how he shows affection. he’s not one for grand declarations, but his loyalty and quiet care speak volumes. you might not get a lot of words from him, but his actions leave no room for doubt.

alain would never confess first–not because he doesn't care, but because he's too cautious. (also because he doesn't know how he would talk to you about this, considering he's still young and doesn't want to look like a fool infront of you) you guys have a great friendship already, why ruin it with all that mushy stuff? even if it's obvious you like him back, he's not quick to make assumptions and sees this as your 'friendly gestures,' which definitely killed you as he ignored all your signs BLINDLY. so realistically you would have to confess first.

when you confess to him, he just zones out trying to process what you said. almost like he didn't believe that you liked him back. It would go something along the lines of this.

you weren't planning on confessing, and especially not today. it just slipped out of your mouth while you guys were hanging out. “i think i’m in love with you,”

alain blinked, turning to look at you like you’d just spoken gibberish. “what did you just say to me?” he heard it loud and clear, he just didn't understand why you said that.

“nothing!”

“...you’re terrible at lying.” (he likes you back)

for him, actions speak louder than words. that's why his love language is 100% acts of service. he’s not great at expressing his feelings, but he’ll go out of his way to do it for you. need help with something? already done. forgot your umbrella? he’s there with one even before it started getting cloudy.

alain is okay with pda, as long as its not excessive or like frequent. holding hands? sure, why not. hugs? yup! kiss? sure, but only on the cheek.

he’s very observant and notices things about you that even you might overlook. if you’re stressed or upset, he’ll pick up on it right away, even if you’re trying to hide it.

alain can be quite protective, but not the point of being overbearing. he trusts that you can handle yourself, but if ever someone tries to mess with you, they're going to face alains charizard!!

arguments with him are rare, but when they happen, they’re intense. he’s not the type to yell or lose his temper, but his stubbornness can make things drag out longer than they need to. he hates conflict, so he’ll sometimes shut down instead of addressing the issue right away. it’s frustrating, but once he’s had time to think, he’ll come back to make up.

dates with alain aren’t traditional, and honestly, they might not even feel like dates at first. like a walk through the streets of lumiose city or spending time at a Pokémon Center while Charizard gets checked up. it’s less about the activity and more about being with you in a way that feels natural to him. he tries his best though!!

he's not that romantic let me make that clear, but his silliness is somehow charming in a way. he does hilarious things without noticing, and he'd just stare at you confused on what you're laughing about. he's the type of guy who would give you flowers randomly and then say "it was on sale..."

one time, you walked in on him mid-rant about how the weather was today, and charizard was just sitting there nodding like it understood. when he noticed you, he got all defensive: “what? it’s not weird.” yeah, okay, whatever you say alain...

rating time!! 8/10 he's actually really fun to be around despite his cold demeanor and nonchalant dread head energy, he's dependable and genuinely cares for your well being, but his communication skills are through the floor because its almost non–existent! goodluck showing him to your parents...

#pokemon #pokemon x reader #pokemon anime x reader #pokemon anime #pokiani #pokiani x reader #alain pokemon #pokemon alain #alain x reader #pokemon alain x reader #pokémon x reader #pokémon alain x reader

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cripplecharacters · 6 months ago

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Hello. I am writing a character with intellectual disability, and I have found your posts about that really helpful. Thank you for taking the time to make them.

I am trying to do research and write him well, and I was hoping you could give me some advice on how to do that. My problem is that I would like to describe the way he speaks and the sound of his voice, but I'm not sure how to do that respectfully.

What I would like to describe is the way he takes a little longer to complete his sentences, needs more time than others do to plan what he's going to say, and pronounces some sounds a bit differently because of motor skills issues. I want to honor his unique voice and also help readers understand that he is noticeably disabled.

Are there any words or terms that would be really good/preferred to describe this sort of thing? And, on the other side, is there anything stereotypical or hurtful that should be avoided?

Thank you!

Hey!

I recommend our guide on writing speech disabilities.

In-dialogue, you can try showing him taking a break mid-sentence or using a lot of filler words/sounds to show that he's taking his time. You can spell them out in his speech, but I wouldn't overuse it - you can put more of them at the start, but later your readers will remember that that's how he talks, and occasional reminders should be enough.

It's important to remember that;

1) ableists often mock the things I just mentioned, and

2) they're nonetheless real and real life people (me) talk with those patterns. I'd urge you to show them as just how he talks, not something that's inherently "annoying" or "child-like". Stray away from any sorts of infantilizing comparisons in general (that is, if he's not an actual child).

For him taking longer to plan what he is going to say, that's very real. How it shows (or doesn't show) will be very personal, I specifically tend to look up + fidget with my hands and people who know me can recognize that it means I'm trying to say something but need a moment (though strangers also often get it). But he can show it completely differently of course.

I don't think there's a consensus on what's the best way of "spelling out" someone's speech disability. My personal preference is leaving it out of the actual speech, but making it clear in the dialogue tags. It's also easier for readers who might have reading disabilities or not be native speakers of the language you write in. So you could make it clear there whether it's that he's slurring words, has a lisp, or stutters.

For terms, a lot of the accurate ones have also been used to mock how we talk. "Slow" would be the best example, "loud" would be there as well. A lot of us will talk slow, a lot will talk very loudly. I do the latter, and I know people who do both or neither. The key is to say it in a way that's neutral and not pass it off as some funny quirk or an outright gag. It's just a speech characteristic, the same way that someone could have a lower pitched voice, or speak very softly.

You can also show him struggling to follow the flow of the conversation. So sometimes it could be that he just loses the main topic and just asks what the discussion has been about (I do that all the time), or continues going on the subject that the other character(s) already moved on from.

Thanks for the ask and being thoughtful about it,

mod Sasza

#mod sasza #anonymous #intellectual disability representation #speech disability representation

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erexart · 1 year ago

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Language barrier

Pairing: Rengoku x gn! y/n

Context: fluff, modern au, Kyojuro is bilingual

A/n: Hello, this is my first time writing something so I hope you’ll like it <3

Thank you @meowzfordayz @neiptune for being the first readers. I’m also tagging @thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch because the 3 of you are my biggest inspo and why I wrote this🌸

———————————————————————————————————

Kyojuro yawned and rubbed his eyes. The book he was holding on to threatened to fall from his hands as he realised it was getting late. The clock showed that it was almost midnight, and he took it as his cue to finally go to sleep. As he was about to turn off the lights, he noticed the figure in bed beside him suddenly stir, and he couldn’t help but crack a smile.

He looked over, but much to his surprise the love of his life was not asleep yet. He quirked a brow in amusement.

You laid silently with one hand on your stomach and the other hovering in the air. Your eyes were closed, but your index finger was moving, slicing into nothing. It looked as if you were drawing something as your finger stroked the air, or perhaps conducting an orchestra. You stopped mid-stroke and muttered under your breath, a curse perhaps. Kyojuro only watched for a solid minute before he shifted and laid closer to you.

“My love? What are you doing? I thought you were asleep.”

“Something bothered me, and I can’t seem to get a grasp on it.”

“Oh?” He kept quiet, urging you to continue as he watched your index finger move up and down in one swift motion. Judging from your tone of voice, you hadn’t been asleep at all.

Your head turned towards him, eyes fluttering open to meet a pair of his bright coloured irises. “I can’t seem to memorise the ‘ha’ column.”

Kyojuro’s smile widened, and his heart feels full. You had been trying to learn his native language for a week now. Although he had told you he did not mind the fact that you don’t speak Japanese, your insistence on learning his mother tongue made his heart soar.

You practiced with him every day, memorising the stroke orders of most common kanji characters and tried to have small conversations with him. He is a wonderful teacher. Despite your lack of knowledge and poor memorisation skills, he was patient and loving and kind through it all. Tonight, when you tried to recap your lessons for today, a column of hiragana characters became scrambled. It had nagged on you and kept you awake.

“Well, that should be easy enough!” His volume rose a bit in excitement. Moving his hand, he interlocked it with yours, the back of your hand facing the both of you.

With the other free hand, his index finger stroked the back of your hand gently.

It formed the character “ は“

“How do you pronounce that?” He questioned, smiling at you.

“ ‘Ha-‘ right?”

“Correct!”

He scribbled on your hand again. This time forming the character “へ“

“he”

“Good job!”

His touch was gentle and comforting, making your eyes droop from relaxation. You decide to close them and let your sense of touch guide you.

This time his scribbling formed the character “ふ”

“fu?” You answered much quieter

“Yes, great job my love.” His volume dropped, sensing the tiredness in your pitch. “What about this?” He wrote down the character “れ“

Your brows furrowed and your eyes opened half-lidded at him.

“That’s not in the ‘ha’ column.”

He chuckled, happy that you remembered what he taught you. “But do you know what it is?”

“It’s ‘re’ like the start of your family name.” You heard a prideful gasp came out of him.

“Wonderful, that’s amazing you remembered.” You could feel him squeezing your hand a bit, warm and gentle, making you feel sleepy once again. You feel like drifting off but kept yourself awake enough as he wrote down the next one. You bit your lip. You know it’s in the ‘ha’ column but you don’t know how it sounded.

“Can you do that again?”

“Of course.”

His index finger traced the back of your hand again, this time much slower and gentler, as If he’s trying to coax you back into relaxing.

“I don’t…know that one.”

“That one is pronounced ho”

“…right..”

The character “ほ” popped up in your mind, and you kept quiet trying to combat the drowsiness and memorise the stroke order you felt.

He went silent for a while. His lack of commentary stirred you awake.

“Kyojuro?”

“Ahh..I thought you went to sleep?” You laughed. “No, not yet, but you writing on my hand is making me sleepy.” He only responded with a thoughtful “hmm”

“Alright, let’s test your kanji.” You sighed, not prepared for the sudden quiz.

“Oh no…I’m going to suck at this.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll use the ones you’ve been learning so far.”

“Alright then...”

His finger moved in skilful motions, stroking right, down, right, right, with precision. He was going slow so you could catch up and make sense of the stroke order. It was difficult but with some concentration you made out that he had written the kanji “描く“ on the back of your hand.

“Ega- ku, -to paint something.”

“Yoku dekita!”

You laughed at his response.

He scribbled another kanji down, and you immediately recognised it because you’ve been practising on how to write it almost every day.

“Well now you’re just trying to write your own name.” You quipped, with a small smirk.

“I’m not even done yet, and I am both impressed and flattered you remembered!” You chuckled lightly at him, and it sounded like music to his ears.

His name was not that complicated, but he continued anyway, caressing your skin gently just to reinforce your brain into remembering the stroke order. He went slowly, his touch causing you to drift off more and more with every stroke. By the time he had finished the “郎” from ” 杏寿郎” you had already gone to sleep.

Seeing that you were finally dead to the world, he pulled on your hand and kissed it gently. Your silent reply was all he needed to confirm that his mission was successful. Pulling back, he decided to write down one final kanji before retiring for the night. He wrote more of a sentence really, and his eyes widened in excitement when he realised he hadn’t taught you this yet.

“ずっと大好きだよ。”

Smiling, he turned off the lights, wrapped his arms around you and went to sleep.

#rengoku x reader #rengoku x y/n #kny x reader #kny x y/n #rengoku kyojuro #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #my fics #rengoku

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uncreative-cryptid · 1 month ago

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Forte Circuits and Everything I've Learned About It

this is gonna be a yap fest i apologize in advance

@oldworldpoolhall

Okay, first thing i think it's important to note is the forte circuit bar.

this is really important, cause when you deal DMG to enemies, it will often fill up. I'm going to use simple language cause the problem I have with the game is how confusing the language is and what it actually means. we're gonna call it the Mana Bar.

Hitting enemies means you get Mana, and with Mana, you get the ability to throw hands even harder or do something fancy.

However, you can only collect so much mana before it is at max and will no longer collect.

In the case of wuthering waves, having full mana can mean a lot of things but mainly: consuming the mana means stronger attack responses, such as your resonance liberation.

some characters, when they have full mana, will actually replace their element skill; example of this is Mortefi, who when his mana is full, replaces the skill with a stronger, different attack - but this does not consume his mana.

Resonance Liberation will consume the mana, allowing a character to go "all out" in a sense - and with wuwa terms, almost seems like characters are either overclocking or close to overclocking (not confirmed, but with the way calcharo's appearance changes with his liberation, i suspect it's pretty damn close to overclocking).

something you might also notice:

mana bars with splits.

when a mana bar has a split like this, this means that the consumption of mana is not "all or nothing", like mortefi. the mana needs to only be fills to that split to be effective. in calcharo's terms, he has 3 splits (wuwa calls his mana "cruelty", numbers dont mean a lot of things here unless you actually care about it. i dont, it makes things confusing).

the splits can allow a new thing to happen, where only part of the mana is consumed and allows for different attacks to do more damage - some of these can affect the resonance skill and some can affect normal/heavy attacks.

the only thing you really need to understand about the mana bar is that the more mana you have, the more you can do with it. the more you actually hit the enemy with normal attacks, the more mana you will gain.

next thing to note:

the skills page.

this shows you all your skills and basics of your skills, including your forte circuit.

The actual circuit consists of 3 total nodes. The forte, and 2 inherit skills.

Here you can see that Mortefi's "mana" is called Annoyance .. and i really hate that they do this because it's confusing when reading between characters, but what can you do. Again, numbers don't mean shit. What this is telling you is that when Mortefi's Annoyance (aka, Mana) is full, his resonance skill changes and becomes more powerful (dealing attribute "element" damage). It also tells you how to build up this annoyance.

in simple, general terms: hit the enemy, get mana.

since your oc seems to be going for sub DPS, i suggest looking at Mortefi's skills.

His skills mainly deals with ATK and attribute (fusion) bonus increases.

Inherit skills, once unlocked, will likely serve to increase the character's ATK, DEF, or HP. In some cases, it may also incease Crit rate or DMG. Usually, it is a percentage.

At your basics for a character, it's good to know a few things:

Normal Attack node 1 (max 10 upgrades): this is a rundown of your Basic, Heavy, Mid-Air attack, Mid-Air Heavy (if applicable but most characters do not have this), and Dodge Counter

Normal Attack node 2 is usually going to be healing/attribute dmg or crit dmg

Normal Attack node 3 will be crit/healing/attribute dmg again, just a higher %.

Normal Attack and Intro skill are mirrors - the damage % on the nodes are the same, except for node 1.

same with resonance skill and resonance liberation, the nodes will usually be the same for node 2 and node 3.

Other things that can impact a character's strength:

Echoes ; these are super interesting and kind of important, as a good echo set can really make a difference. I can definitely go into detail on these later if needed.

Weapon ; a good weapon, while not always make or break, will definitely allow a resonator with no built skills to still be solid enough to stand on their own.

Combat style ; if you're anything like me, i subscribe to the "just hit harder" books, so a lot of my characters can not only take a hit, but will hit like a damn truck. crit rates might be higher because i prefer to hit more consistently, and any extra damage is just a bonus.

Enemy Type ; different tacet discords are going to require different things to keep an eye out for. while generally speaking, most the more common tacets aren't going to be of much problem and typically only have 1 or 2 attacks, the more elite and stronger tacets are going to have different ways to fight them - knowing their patterns is key to successful dodges and counters, while also knowing that some you cannot just hit harder and brute force through (lumiscale constructs my destested) - an observant resonator will take the time to watch these particular tacet discords and be prepared for how they attacked.

you can't always dodge an attack, but knowing a pattern of attacks and knowing the signs of when they're going to unleash a certain attack will definitely incease the ability to dodge, or to get the heck out of dodge before you become a grave marker on the side of the road.

#wuwa #wuthering waves #wuwa oc #i yap a lot sorry lmao

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playedcrowd5610 · 3 months ago

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Steve, Roddie, and C-27 - Danny Phantom x Transformers

Summary: Danny runs into some injured Vehicons and they don't know what to make of this strange human with zero life-preservation skills and a knack for medical assistance. (Aka Steve the Vehicon finally makes an appearance, and a few of his friends too)

---

Notes

Set in a series where Danny finds Starscream one day and decides to start haunting the Decepticons. That's basically all the context you need but if you want more here is the rest of the series:

Haunting the Nemesis

Part 1: Chasing Stars

Part 2: Burning Rubber

Part 3: Adventures of the Decepticons' Pet Ghost Or Tumblr Master List

---

Danny knew he should have been more careful… He had gotten so good at managing to avoid Megatron that he had become careless when it came to watching out for other mechs, which is what led him to the situation he was in now. Knockout had sent him to retrieve some tech from one of the old storage rooms and he found himself standing in front of three mid-conversation Vehicons.

The moment they noticed the door shift, their visors all snapped toward Danny, and for a beat, no one moved. Danny chuckled awkwardly and tried to step back out. “My bad; I didn’t know it was occupied.”

Then, one of the Vehicons –the one in the middle– snapped out of his stupor, transforming his servo into an energon blaster with a sharp, mechanical whine of energy, and aiming directly at Danny. The others followed suit, their servos transforming in unison.

“Unauthorized visitors are not permitted. Don’t move, intruder.” The Con in the middle commanded.

Danny raised his hands slowly. Great. He wasn’t supposed to run into these guys. Of course, they would report back to Megatron, probably show him their visor footage, and Danny would have to up his hiding tenfold — maybe even leave the ship altogether.

But maybe… he could talk with them. One of them stepped closer to Danny, reaching out to try and grab him. As he stepped, Danny noticed a slight limp. Danny quickly switched languages, closing his eyes as he leaned back away from the taloned servo. "I’m not here to cause trouble." He called out in Cybertronian.

The Vehicon reaching for him froze mid-action, and the other two behind him lowered their blasters slightly in shock. Confusion emanated through their EM fields. “What...?” The one furthest in the back muttered in Cybertronian, his visor brightening with a tilt of his helm.

The Vehicons exchanged glances, clearly very confused as to how: 1) a human got on the ship, 2) how the human spoke Cybertronian, and 3), why the human wasn’t scared of them. As Danny’s gaze swept over them, he noticed a large crack across one of their visors and a deep scorch mark across another’s shoulder plate. His eyes again settled on the one closest to him, with the limp.

Danny frowned, lowering his hands. "You're injured." Danny stepped another step closer to the Con directly in front of him who, to his surprise, shifted back away from Danny. The movement only served to make the injured knee groan under the pressure, causing the Drone’s EM field to flicker with pain. "Let me take a look."

All of them, too confused to shoot Danny or capture him, just stared. Eventually, the one with the damaged visor shifted uncomfortably. “You’re human… How would you fix that?”

Danny smirked slightly. "I’m full of surprises."

The Vehicons’ EM fields were now buzzing with uncertainty, more than likely never having encountered a random human on the ship before, maybe never even met one before (Danny didn’t know). The one directly in front of Danny, with the damaged knee joint, took another step back, unsure what to make of the human who had so casually walked into their midst.

The third con –shoulder guy– seemed the most hesitant and put off out of the three of them, keeping his blaster held strong. “You shouldn’t be on the Nemesis. We should take you to Lord Megatron.” The con switched back to English. The visor guy looked back at his –friend? Coworker?– and took his attention away from Danny.

Danny shrugged nonchalantly, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. "I don’t think there’s a need for that," he replied, switching back to English as well. "I just want to help. Besides," he added with a glance at the first Vehicon's leg, "You’re not in any shape to catch me anyway."

"There are three of us and one of you, human. We are more than capable of capturing you." Shoulder guy said, an edge of annoyance in his voice.

“Yet you haven’t. So where’s the harm in letting me try and fix it.” Danny moved forward slowly, until he was directly in front of the first Vehicon’s knee, carefully inspecting the area where the metal was twisted and cracked, likely from a hard fall in battle. "This looks pretty painful," Danny muttered thoughtfully, running his fingers over the dented plating.

The Vehicon flinched but didn’t pull away. “You shouldn’t—"

“Relax,” Danny cut him off, smiling up at him. “I’ve been in the medbay plenty of times. I’ve helped Knockout fix worse. You’ll be back on your pedes in no time.”

The other two Vehicons behind him watched, utterly perplexed. Their servos were still transformed into weapons, but they weren’t aimed at him anymore. Cracked visor tilted his helm. “Why aren’t you afraid of us? Any other humans we have come across have run away screaming. You show no fear at our weapons.”

Danny's smirk widened as he urged the Vehicon in front of him to sit down with hand motions and a gentle push, and the Con obliged, sitting up with his back against one of the larger crates. “Trust me, I’ve seen scarier things than a few giant robots with blasters.”

Danny looked over the injury. Some of the metal had been bent in the wrong direction, pushing it into the knee joint rather than encasing it, which made a very awkward bend that would only get worse with time. Danny knew he could just fix it with his powers in a moment, easily bending the metal back into place without needing a welder. Speaking of welders. “Why haven’t you guys gone to the medbay? Surely Knockout could fix these quickly.”

Kneejoint’s shoulders sagged. And then Danny sensed a change of bitterness bleeding into Shoulder-Con’s EM field, and the other two looked over at him before he spoke up. “These are minor injuries. Our repair nanites will help to heal us over time. Lord Megatron does not wish to waste medical resources on Drones unless we are in critical condition.”

The other two looked back to Danny with a nod, affirming what their friend said. Danny threw his hands to the side in outrage. “That's not fair! So you guys just have to live in agony because you’re not actively dying?”

The Cons seemed shocked that Danny cared. Kneejoint tilted his helm inquisitively at the human’s reaction. “It's how it works; we can’t waste unnecessary resources. In addition, there are hundreds of Vehicons. If everyone went to the medbay with every minor injury from an Autobot attack then the medbay would be flooded non-stop.”

Danny bit his lip. “That… really sucks for you guys.” He crossed his arms. “Well, luckily, you have me! I know quite a few things now after watching Knockout work! So if you guys ever need any small repairs, you have me. You can tell your friends, too.” Danny smiled up at them.

Cracked visor seemed to be in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

Danny nodded, “Definitely.” He then decided that maybe he should use his powers after all. Maybe just a little bit. It's not like he was hiding them too much anyway. Starscream already knew. Soundwave probably knew. And Knockout and Breakdown likely thought he was invincible at this point. But these guys needed him. It's not like he could use Knockout’s Cybertronian-sized tools.

Danny looked up at Kneejoint. “Hold still.” He told him. Then he reached his hands into the joint, causing the Con to almost jerk back, but he fought himself, staying completely still. Danny pulled some ecto energy into his hands and pulled at the piece of metal that had been jabbing underneath his knee plate, gently forming it back into place.

The Vehicons must have noticed the green glow coming from his hands because confused EM fields filled the room. “How are you doing that?” The Con he was working on asked.

Danny just chuckled, focusing on forming the last bit of the joint into place. “Like I said, I’m full of surprises.” He stood up, patting the now-stabilized knee with a satisfied smile. “You should be able to walk on that now. Just don’t put too much pressure on it until it’s fully repaired by your nanites.”

Visor Con walked over, transforming his blaster back into a servo, and helped lift his friend, hooking an arm under his shoulder blades to help support him. Kneejoint tentatively shifted his weight on his pedes. He took a cautious step, and though there was still a limp, it wasn’t nearly as pronounced. “I don’t understand,” he muttered, tilting his helm in Danny’s direction inquisitively. "Why are you helping us?"

Danny just shrugged again, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Why not? You’re hurt. I can help. Easy choice."

Danny nodded, looking up to the Con’s friend who was supporting him. “That visor of yours could use some work too. Let me take a look.” The Vehicon instinctively stepped back, just staring at Danny as he stood in front of him, barely coming up to the Con’s knee. Danny and the Con waited, staring at each other for a good long moment before Danny sighed. “I can’t take a look at it when it's all the way up there.” Danny made grabby hands towards the Con towering over him.

The Con seemed to snap out of his stupor as he hesitantly reached down, letting Danny climb onto his servo. Danny was raised to the mech’s helm and he grabbed onto it with both hands, examining the cracked surface. His fingers brushed lightly over the damage. Danny pulled some ecto energy into his fingers again but paused when the Vehicon froze, unsure whether to back away or let Danny continue. His EM field was buzzing with confusion and unease with that strange light so close to his optics.

“Steve, you’re seriously just going to let the human touch your visor?” Shoulder-Vehicon asked incredulously, though even he sounded more baffled than angry.

Danny chuckled — he hadn’t expected the name Steve for one of Megatron’s murder drones. “You guys act like I’m doing brain surgery here. It’s just a crack.” There wasn’t too much Danny could do about a crack compared to the work he did on Kneejoint’s — well, knee joint, but he could still help the nanite process along and seal the crack before any excess moisture could get in.

He focused his energy on slightly, melting the glass, or whatever material these guys’ visors were made out of, and sealing it with a slightly raised edge. He leaned back, hands on either side of the Con’s helm, admiring his handiwork. "There, all set. At least for now. I’ll have to come and take a look at it in a couple days."

The Vehicon –Steve– stared at Danny, utterly bewildered.

Danny then jumped off the con’s servo and landed on one of the crates to get closer to the last Vehicon, the one with the damaged shoulder. They all jolted at the height from which Danny jumped, but when they concluded Danny was fine, they eased up.

Danny started trying to inspect the injury but the Con turned away, crossing his servos over his chest, one of them still transformed into a blaster. Danny threw his hands to the side. “Oh come on man, you saw I just helped your friends.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need a human to help patch me up. I’ll get over it. You guys are all ridiculous.” The con turned his helm away like a stubborn child.

Danny sighed and put his hands into his pockets. “Okay, man. You don’t have to take my help, but I’m still offering it. Maybe I could help with the pain. At least that's better than dealing with it for however many days or weeks until it's healed.”

Kneejoint perked up, stepping closer. “Come on C-27, the kid’s actually pretty good.” He then shifted his weight on and off the joint again for emphasis. Danny inwardly thought about how the vehicons could go from names like Steve to C-27, but who was he to judge?

C-27 looked like he was about to argue when Steve stepped in. “C, you know Roddie’s right. You’ve been complaining about that blaster shot on your plating for days.” Steve gestured towards C-27’s shoulder. Danny filed the name Roddie away so he would stop calling him Kneejoint.

Danny waved his ‘magic fingers’ for emphasis when the Con looked down at him. The Con gave a dramatic sigh before turning to his friends. “We should be turning him in to Megatron, not using him to fix up our dings.”

Roddie spoke up by putting a servo in the air. “He said he works with Knockout, so he must be allowed on the ship.”

“He could be lying.” C-27 spat back.

Danny leaned back on his feet. “Would it help if I said I am Starscream’s pet human?” Danny asked. All three visors snapped to him.

“Commander Starscream… Got a pet human ?” C-27 asked incredulously.

Danny laughed. “You say that like it’s more surprising than Knockout allowing me to work with him in the medbay?” The Con seemed to pause in thought. Danny sighed. “Okay, C-27, how about you just let me look at it? This one time. If you don’t like it then you can blast me or something, I don’t know.” The Con looked hesitant.

Roddie stepped forward and scooped Danny up off the crate, holding him up to his friend. “Come on. Look at him. He wouldn’t be able to hurt us if he tried.” Danny laughed about how wrong that was, but either way, whatever helped helped. “And if commander Starscream brought him on board he must be useful.”

Danny smiled. “I am adorable.”

The Con seemed to have rolled his optics under his visor. “Fine.” Danny felt Roddie’s EM field flicker in delight before he held Danny up closer to C-27’s injury. He unclasped his servo and allowed Danny to stand upright, and C-27 pulled his arms away from his chassis, finally transforming his blaster back into a servo, and placing them on his hips.

Danny leaned forward, studying the blaster wound. The crater was about the size of Danny’s head, a deep, jagged pit punched into the dark metal. He could see the faint glint of energon beneath the surface, where circuitry had been torn apart, though it looked like the wound had already started to heal—just slowly. Painfully.

"Looks like it's mending on its own a bit," Danny muttered, placing both palms against the cool metal. C-27 tensed at the contact, his frame tightening, but he didn’t pull away.

Knockout would have welded some additional plating to the frame, but Danny didn’t have the extra plating or the welder. Danny took a deep breath and phased his hands into the plating. The metal groaned under his hands as he began to carefully pull the dent back into place, slowly smoothing out the damaged area.

Danny also pulled a bit of his cold ability into what he was doing, helping to numb some of the pain receptors in C-27’s shoulder. Danny stepped back. “There, that should help for now. It will at least make it less painful and faster to heal.” Roddie pulled Danny towards himself as he looked up at his friend.

C-27 rolled his shoulder, looking between it and Danny, contemplating. “It… Hurts less now.”

Danny smiled brightly. “See? Told you.” Roddie gently placed Danny back down on the crate he picked him up from, and finally, Danny remembered that he was supposed to be grabbing a tool for Knockout and had completely gotten sidetracked.

Danny spotted it pretty quickly and it looked exactly how Knockout described it. Danny ran over and picked it up, large in his human-sized arms. “As much as I would love to stay and chat with you guys more, Knockout needs this and I should bring it to him before he starts to rust.”

Danny started to head towards the same way he came in before turning back to the three vehicons. “Oh yeah… Uh, if you don’t mind. Could we maybe keep my existence out of Megatron’s knowledge? We don’t think he will take too kindly to a human on the ship.”

C-27 tilted his helm. “So Lord Megatron doesn’t know you’re here?”

Danny chuckled awkwardly and swayed from foot to foot. “Not technically. But everyone else is already in on it. And what he doesn’t know won't hurt him, right?” They all stayed silent for a second. “If he found out he would probably drop me out of the airlock.”

“So Lord Megatron will kill you if he finds you?” Steve asked. “Are you not Starscream’s pet?”

Danny shrugged. “You think that will stop him?”

The Cons seemed to contemplate before Steve and Roddie nodded to Danny. They all then looked up towards C-27, who paused for a bit longer. He then shifted uncomfortably under the stares. “Alright, fine. Whatever, kid. Your secret’s safe with us.” The Vehicon waved him off.

Danny smiled brightly. “Thanks, guys!” He then started skipping out of the room, calling out behind him, “If you need me, just call.” Suddenly, their HUDs all pinged with Danny’s contact information as the human turned the corner and left.

The three Vehicons stared after him in stunned silence. None of them had the faintest shred of a clue what to make of the human who had just walked in, patched them up, and left without a hint of fear.

---

Notes:

I guess Danny is now the certified Vehicon medic, goodness knows they needed one! I tried my best to give each of the vehicons their own distinct personality. And I hope that even without the names for the first half it was still understandable! This chapter underwent a few rewrites before I was happy with it! And now I love my Vehicon babies.

Find more here: Tumblr Master List

#danny phantom #crossover #transformers #vehicons #danny phantom x transformers #transformers prime #steve the vehicon #Haunting the Nemesis #danny fenton #ao3 #oneshot #probably some medical inaccuracies in there #ocs #Roddie the Vehicon #C-27 the Vehicon

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materassassino · 8 months ago

Note

Maybe 'flower' or 'study' for the one-word prompts?

I tried for 'flower', but it wasn't quite working, so I switched to 'study' instead.

One word prompts!

---

Nicolò groans, his head falling forward onto the table. His stylus slips from his fingers, his wax tablet discarded. Yusuf peers at it, eyebrows raised.

“Trouble with the abjad?” he says lightly, a smile dancing on his lips.

Nicolò turns his head, just enough to reveal one eye. Its eyebrow is drawn low in a potent scowl. Yusuf raises his hands in mock defence.

“Peace! I jest!”

Nicolò raises his head, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “How do you do it so effortlessly?” he asks, and if Yusuf did not know him better, he would say that was a pout he was sporting.

“Do what?” Yusuf replies. “I do many things effortlessly: wield my sword, bargain with great skill, write poetry, suck your soul from your prick… you shall have to be more specific.” He cannot help but grin at the blush he gains from his plain speaking. The metaphors and euphemisms of great poetry have their place, but sometimes it pays to have the subtlety of a charging elephant.

“Learn languages,” Nicolò mutters, his flow of thought clearly being dragged forcefully back to where Yusuf’s words made it wander. “Wherever we go you take to the local tongue as if you came from the womb speaking it, and I sound like a simpleton.” He picks up his stylus and pokes at the table top, making tiny holes in it.

It is both the most petulant and the most despondent Yusuf has ever seen him. His Nicolò is a master of patience and hard work, and his dedication usually pays off. To see his frustrations so openly and plainly, well… It feels, in truth, like a privilege. He is humbled by it.

He reaches over and sets his hand on Nicolò’s, stilling his movements.

“You excel at a great many things, Nico,” he says gently. “You take to music quickly. You discern recipes from a single taste. Animals love you, and children too. Your kindness is as boundless as the sky. Show yourself some of the kindness you show others.”

Nicolò looks at him. He does not seem convinced, and Yusuf heart aches.

“We have all been given gifts and aptitudes, and we have all been given shortcomings. You know I cannot hold a tune for all the gold in the world, and every single camel on God’s Earth hates me on sight.”

The corner of Nicolò’s mouth twitches at that.

“They really do hate you,” he says, and Yusuf counts that as a victory.

“It is fine, I have your love to get me by,” he says, waving a hand. “But what I mean is… you work so very hard, my heart. You dedicate yourself to learning and improving, even when it is difficult. I give up too soon when things do not come easily, I have no constancy. You… you keep to the path, even when it is difficult, and you take my hand and guide me well. I admire you greatly for that.”

“I hope at least in your love you will be constant,” Nicolò says tartly, making Yusuf snort inelegantly. He lifts Nicolò’s hand and kisses the knuckles.

“Always.” He raises his eyes. “And will you be patient with yourself, as you are with me?”

Nicolò sighs, quiet for a long moment. “I will be.”

Yusuf beams at him. “Splendid! But enough study for today, let us go out.”

He springs to his feet, pulling Nicolò with him.

“Where to?” Nicolò asks.

“There is something in the market I need you to try. I want the recipe.” Yusuf presses a kiss to Nicolò’s lips before dragging him out into the mid-afternoon sunshine.

#the old guard #kaysanova #joenicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #pixie writes #one word prompts

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hostclubau · 7 months ago

Text

By Any Other Name

This is an x reader, multi-ending, otome style story.

fem!reader

Summary: Your life is hell, and your parents abandoned you to a literal loan shark. A near death experience has changed the trajectory of things, but is this a blessing? Or an endless fall into things far worse than you had before?

Content Warnings: The host club has an After Hours that's effectively a brothel. There are BDSM themes and the exploration of a lot of kinks. Foul language, canon levels of violence, mature audiences only.

Chapter 1: Loaned Out

Your feet hit the pavement, spurring you forward through the tangle of streets. This was your city, but it was his too, and the only hope you had at this point was to either get yourself so lost he couldn’t find you, or get yourself to the nearest Marine Station.

Frankly, you’d almost rather take your chances with the fish-man. Marines were next to useless as far as you were concerned, and the only use they had was that most people wouldn’t shoot you in front of one.

You weren’t entirely sure if Arlong was most people or not.

Leaping over some boxes in a back alley, you turned in mid-air and darted down a different alley when you landed. Running errands for that stupid shark had at least paid off in the sense that you were capable of running for a lot longer than most people.

When you were strictly forbidden from fighting, it was a life or death skill to have.

You might be trying to dodge Arlong until his temper cooled now, but more often than that you were running from his competitors, the marines, and people who knew you worked for him. They were all idiots, and not because you could slip away from them easily, but because hurting you wasn’t going to do anything.

Arlong was more likely to throw your body in the river if you got your ass beat, than he was to see you patched up after. Probably grumbling the entire time about how much money you were costing him yet again.

Fucking loan shark.

Slowing down you take a look around and realize you’re in a part of town you don’t know well. It looked like it was almost central downtown, which was well outside Arlong’s turf. It also meant that whoever was in charge of this area was probably not going to be friendly to you.

Arlong always said that downtown was more trouble than it was worth. He didn’t trade loans with people who lived or worked around here, and he didn’t offer protection for any of the businesses. You usually avoided the area too, even if a delivery would be a little faster, but only because the city’s main Marine Office was here.

Well, looking out for marines was easy enough, especially if you stayed off the main street. Alleys were alleys no matter what city or island, so it didn’t really matter to you. Slipping back into the narrower paths you meandered through the back lines of downtown.

You’d took off from Arlong’s threats just after lunch, and with the sun lower in the sky it was probably closer to seven or eight. You might be able to find a street vendor and get something greasy and filling for dinner, and then sleep somewhere out of sight. Tomorrow he’ll be calm again, or calm enough, and you can deal with him then.

The blow to your face was a surprise.

You put your arm up as you stumble backward, nearly tripping over your feet. The punch had drove your cheek into your teeth, and you could already taste copper as you lean against the far brick wall and look up to see Arlong.

“Got tired of trying to catch you when you’re bad.” He snarls, holding up his snail box and showing you the tracker app that was running on it. “Technology’s a real bitch.”

“I completed the job,” you reply, struggling to speak clearly as your cheek’s already swelling. “I don’t get why you’re pi-.” You stop yourself. “Upset. Boss.”

“The job,” he says, breathing in and giving you a terrifying grin. “Was for you to deliver the package without being seen.”

Your stomach knots. If he’s mad, and that’s why, then someone or something clocked you. Otherwise he wouldn’t waste his energy being pissy.

“… What saw me?” You question carefully.

His brows raise. “Oh? Not going to argue huh? Finally wising the fuck up.” He straightens, tapping his snail box again until he brings up a still picture of you. It’s grainy, but the sequence of images show you dropping off the box and walking away.

It was pretty obvious it was you, but only because you and Arlong knew what you looked like. There wasn’t a shot of your face, and you weren’t wearing anything to mark you as a part of anyone’s crew. It’s a struggle to keep your expression neutral, but smart mouthing back at him right now wouldn’t help you.

“… Sorry.” You settle on the simple apology over any kind of argument. It doesn’t matter how grainy it is. It doesn’t matter that your own mother wouldn’t recognize you. All that mattered was that he didn’t want anyone to see you, and you were seen. You’d been dealing with him enough years at this point to know anything more would be an excuse.

You weren’t going to grovel, however, because there was nothing useful on those stills.

“Sorry?” He prompts and grunts something akin to a laugh. “Sorry might’ve worked before you ran through downtown to avoid me, little runt.”

At nearly seven feet tall, Arlong towers over you, and his large hand gathers most of your shirt at once, as he lifts you easily and shoves you harshly against the wall. “You’re never going to pay back what you owe as a runner.” He tilts his head, leering at you in that way he does every time he tries to convince you to do more lucrative work.

“I can tack on five grand for the inconvenience, and patch job.” He indicates your swollen check with a nod of his head. “Or we can write that off as the price of on the job training and pretty you up. Much as you humans pretty up, anyway.”

“I think I’d rather be a runner.” You grunt, the soles of your shoes scratching at the brick as you struggle to find leverage.

Your father, seas take him screaming, got into debt with Arlong when you were a kid. Dear sweet dad worked for the fish-man for a couple years before he took your mom and bounced. Or Arlong killed them, you couldn’t really be completely sure one way or the other.

With mom and dad gone, and the debt still on Arlong’s books, you were hired.

Aside from barely giving you enough money to live on, while working you to the bone, Arlong hadn’t paid much attention to you. Until recently. Maybe you hit some magic number in age, or one of his clients took a liking to you, whatever the case, he was getting pushier and pushier about turning you into one of his Dolls.

The idea of getting paid to fuck didn’t bother you.

The idea of having 80% of your earnings stolen by Arlong, who only wanted you to change jobs so he could make more off you, bothered you.

Arlong falls silent for a while, and you can feel your stomach knot. The look on his face is never a good sign. He’s irritated and what little good humor he might have had a moment ago is evaporating at an alarming rate.

“Don’t be like that,” his voice is flat, save for a slight tone of disappointment. “Really think about it. You’ll never pay off your debt as a runner.”

Even with him taking most of your earnings to pay off your debt, you would have more income. You’d be able to save up, and even have a chance at freedom. Assuming you didn’t screw anything up.

Wait.

“… I’ll never pay off my debt regardless.” You reply just as flatly. Realization had long since dawned on you the nature of this game, but there was a sudden clarity this time. There were no more slaves, not even for the nobles, not since the dragons were slain over twenty years ago.

Arlong had found another way to go about it.

Sure, you could turn him and his bullshit in, but you took a risk that the marine you reported to wasn’t already in his pocket. If they weren’t, and the risk might be small so it could be worth trying, but you’d be going down with him too. No one would give a shit that the illegal things you did were because you felt trapped.

It would be your own fault for not turning him in sooner.

Frankly, it wasn’t a comforting prospect to think about ending up in prison where Arlong would have far more reach than you’d have protection. Even as a runner you made him money, more than he spent on keeping you alive at least. It was more job security than some folks had, so you didn’t want to complain.

“That’s no way to be.” He laments, patting the side of your face. “I’m sure you’ll get-.”

“Every year I manage to pay you forty thousand berries.” You interrupt him. You shouldn’t have, you shouldn’t be talking, you most certainly should not be talking like this. “My dad’s debt was two hundred and fifty thousand berries, and I’ve been working for you for well over ten years. That’s over four hundred grand even with all the additions… boss.”

Arlong lets go of you, and you barely manage to keep your feet under you. He’s mad. At this point you’re going to earn yourself a lot more than a swollen cheek, and that’s probably going to cost you some random amount tacked onto your supposed debt.

You sigh, releasing your own frustration into the air. There wasn’t enough fear in you right now, just cold sure understanding, and anger.

Now that you’ve started its like the flood gates have opened, and you can’t muster the self-preservation needed to close them.

“Every couple months or so, something always seems to come up to tack more onto the debt. It doesn’t matter what the excuse is, the point is the principle hasn’t gone down in... fuck, nearly twenty years.” You shrug, an incredulous, clipped laugh escaping you. “It’s never going to go down. Even if you put me in a sexy suit and let your shady clients sniff my pits, it’s still not going to go down. You’ll just charge me for the sleazy dress-hurk!”

Arlong’s hand is around your throat, and the force with which he grabs you bounces your head off the bricks. You can barely breathe, your head’s throbbing, and the bricks are scraping your back through your shirt as he lifts you up roughly against them. You could swear his eyes are glowing red he’s so angry, and you aren’t sure what it was you said.

You expected you were pissing him off, but this is more akin to rage.

“Little bitch grew a pair of balls when I wasn’t looking, huh?” He snarls, driving his fist into your side. The hooked swing sends a sharp pain through you and knocks what little air was left in your lungs out. “You think some weak little cumshot can talk to me like that? Gonna stand there and tell me I’m charging you unfairly, yeah?”

He loosens his grip for a second and you suck in a pained breath. You know you should be using the precious oxygen to beg for forgiveness, but maybe this was it. The limit of what you could take. You’d been running for hours, and you were hungry enough you just didn’t care.

“Gonna… really… try an’… say you… aren’t?” You manage to choke out the words, but there’s spots on the sides of your vision and your lungs are pitching a fit again. Blacking out might be the last thing you ever do, and a small part of you wanted to succumb to it. Just be done and over with it all.

What would tomorrow bring anyway?

“You fuckin-.”

“Arlong.” A woman’s voice reaches you both and you see Arlong’s eyes widen before he looks away from you. “Don’t murder someone by my club.”

The words are enough for him to release you. This time you can’t keep your feet under you and crumple onto the ground. Gasping and coughing, it takes you a moment to recover, and both the mystery voice and Arlong seem okay with giving you that time.

You get yourself set up against the wall, opting to stay down on the ground rather than try to stand, and look around enough to see the most elegant woman you’ve ever seen standing on a raised platform. It looked like the back exit to a business, a smaller man door with the words ‘Employees Only’ stenciled across it.

It was only maybe four or fives steps up from where you and Arlong were, but she looked like she was untouchable from that far up.

A puff of smoke leaves her lips and your brain catches up enough to see the long cigarette between her fingers. The edges of her bob hair cut curl up, framing her face perfectly. She’s tall, slender, and dressed casually, but you’re left with the distinct impression she could salt and burn the ground Arlong was standing on.

And he knew it.

“I’ll buy her debt.” She states, taking a slow drag on the cigarette.

“What?” Arlong almost growls the word.

She exhales. “You said so yourself. She’s got balls.” The grin on her face is comforting, but you can’t shake the strange feeling that two demons are currently haggling over who will own your soul. “I like that.”

“You don’t even know how much it is, Shakuyaku.” He grumbles.

She laughs. “You think that matters? Leave her here, Arlong. Come by tomorrow in the morning with your books, and we’ll settle the balance.”

You notice Arlong’s fist tighten, but the angel on the balcony doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. He glares down at you for a second, but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even mouth anything as far as you can tell.

Not that he’s in a position to try and force you to turn down whatever’s being offered.

From one taskmaster to another, as far as you were concerned. The angel on the balcony only had your attention for the moment because she probably saved your life.

“You can call me Shakky,” she begins, pausing to take another drag before letting the smoke out in a slow exhale. At the very least she was more relaxing to be around than Arlong. “Can you stand?”

The question catches you off guard, and you blink dumbly a couple times before you reply. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Alright. If you get dizzy, sit back down.” She commands, taking out a snail box. She’s not watching you, but at the same time she is. Using the wall you get to your feet, but your head swims and so you just let yourself sit back down.

“I’m out back, we have a patient too dizzy to walk on her own.” She speaks in the same even and relaxed tone she’s been using from the start. You didn’t think your situation was anything to get excited about, but you wondered idly if she was ever anything other than calm. “Tell Blackleg I expect his best meal.”

She hangs up, tucking the box away and returns her focus to her cigarette. There’s silence between you that doesn’t feel heavy or awkward, but you also don’t really know where you stand. With Arlong you’d simply stay there quietly until someone came along.

Honestly, with Arlong, you’d be trying to walk no matter how dizzy you felt.

“What happens now?” You hazard the question. It’s safe enough, and you need to understand how this lady operates.

Shakky lets out another slow line of smoke and offers up a warm smile. “Our head doctor’s going to tend to you. The shift’s lead chef is going to make you something to eat, and depending on the doctor’s orders you’ll probably go to bed after that in one of the guest rooms.”

She stubs the cigarette on the railing as the door behind her opens up. A tall man steps out, and looks over at you before heading down the steps. His dusty blonde hair is pulled back into the ponytail, and he’s wearing a button up dress-shirt and slacks. There’s a noticeable scar on his forehead over his eye, but it looks like it was stitched well.

He frowns once he gets a decent look at you. “Any loose teeth?” He questions, and after you probe with your tongue you shake your head. “Feel like you’re going to vomit?”

“Not right now.”

The frown twitches into more of a smile. “Injuries anywhere I can’t see?”

“Mm.. M’back, probably.” You mutter. “Hit the bricks more’n once.”

“I’m going to shine a light in your eyes,” he explains, pulling out a small pen light, and checking your pupil’s reaction to it a couple times on each eye. He hands you a thermometer. “Under your tongue, however you can without it hurting.” He says, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead briefly.

“You should be good, but that’ll give me a more accurate reading. May I have your hand? I want to check your pulse.”

After a second’s pause you hold your hand out. He gives you thanks and then presses his fingers against your wrist for a moment, going quiet as he concentrates on his counting. Once he’s done he pulls the thermometer out and checks it.

“Nothing concerning enough to warrant the hospital.” He turns toward Shakky. “I’d like Law to scan her,” he stops and turns back to you. “If you’re okay with that. It’s a devil fruit ability, but it won’t do anything to you. It’ll just let Law know if something’s wrong that I can’t see.”

“Uh… sure?”

“Alright. I’ll get him after we get you inside and settled.” He offers you a warm smile. “My manners are awful, young miss. My name’s Hongo, if you’re not against it, it would be my pleasure to carry you inside, since you’re not feeling well.”

“I, um, I…” You stop, pressing your lips together and look over at Shakky. She’s smiling, and you can’t tell if she’s giving you permission or not, but there’s no signs of irritation on her face at all. Turning back to Hongo, you consider asking him to just give you a hand walking, but he’s a good bit taller than you.

It’s probably easier for him to just carry you. It’s not what he’s offering that has thrown you, honestly, it’s the way he offered it.

“Sure.” You aren’t sure what you expect, and accept the little medical bag he hands you before he scoops you up like some damsel in distress. Being treated kindly was wild enough, but to be carried like you weren’t just a sack of potatoes was… different.

You didn’t want to get used to it. Good things were always just a veneer. Something pretty to hide all the shit underneath no one wanted you to see. If nothing else, you had to give credit to Arlong for being ugly right up front.

But if these two wanted to feed you and let you sleep somewhere nice for a couple days, you weren’t going to say no.

#By Any Other Name #x reader #reader insert #One Piece Host Club AU #main story line #Modern AU #mdni

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cebwrites · 1 year ago

Note

Hiya! Can I request Law and/or Zoro x a male reader who constantly tries to work in couples/working together moves in fights as a his own kinda love language/flirting depending on if you think the relationship would need to be established first or not.

Like Reader and them are cornered mid-fight and Reader's just like, "Finally! I've been waitin to try out this new axe! Launch me, darlin! >:-)"

a/n: hi anon, I went with marimo since he's been on the brain lately <3

Zoro x M!Reader Battle Couple HCs

masc reader, transmasc Zoro word count: 0.6k

Whether Zoro meets you out in the wild as a bounty hunter (reader having to team up with Luffy and Koby to help break Zoro out of the marine compound is a cute idea though) or when he's already a Strawhat, the beginnings are typically the same - you catch Zoro's eye briefly because of his prowess but it's not until you're forced to work in close proximity that Zoro really takes interest in the your skills and you as a person overall

Beginning to care for you as one of his own, knowing that the other can kick enough ass on their own but having each other's backs not because you don't trust his strength or vice versa but because you love and still look out for one another, each of you powerhouses in their own right still

Not that Zoro would ever associate himself with anyone intolerant nor hide himself to begin with, but I think the moment he walks around topless (op or no) and you give no significant reaction, is when Zoro tells himself you're safe to be around and starts being a tad more buddy-buddy; this usually means more tussling in the bath and impromptu "wrestling" matches on the lawn, no weapons of course, just horsing around

Franky outright bans "serious" sparring matches on the Sunny after everyone comes reunites after two years, he'd heard about how much Zoro and Sanji tore up the Merry in the past with their squabbles from Usopp and has no intention to have to seriously patch Sunny up every other day - so you're both relegated to only having serious tests of strength on land (not that smaller skirmishes aren't allowed, Franky just keeps a close eye on you two so that it doesn't turn into anything more heated)

Zoro automatically has a vested interest in all the cool, sharp new toys his boyfriend brings back to the ship, whether you have a staple one like Wado, Sandai Kitetsu, and now Enma are to him, or you prefer a revolving door of weapons with no particular favorites

He helps you clean and take care of any blades you might carry, maybe even leading to cuddles and something more after the heat of battle you filthy animals, and though he doesn't know anything about guns he's willing to learn about the upkeep for your sake - and if it's anything more technological like lasers, well at least Zoro can enjoy looking at the pretty lights and the destruction that follows

Zoro doesn't let anyone else handle his swords lightly, let alone Wado, that privilege is saved solely for other Strawhats that Zoro's absolutely sure he can trust them to protect what are ostensibly extensions of himself - so when he first puts them in your care, it's a BIG deal, along with the first time he fully shows his back to you, be it in the heat of passion or something more akin to casual, tender affection

Zoro's used to fighting in tandem with other people, the chaos of the Strawhats usually forces one to adapt like that, but if you met him before all that, the level of synchronizing you'd have with him would be unparalleled, both talented blades in your own rights alone but together? Together you're unstoppable

Zoro trusts you with his back and you allow him to see tender, wounded parts of yourself that few others even know about and he protects them like a righteous sentinel, as you are with the parts of him that he seeks to hide away in shame - his guilt, his inadequacy, his mourning, you both take on each other's pain and forge it into a power that shakes the Grand Line in your combined wake

#cebwrites #one piece #one piece zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro #op zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x male reader #zoro x y/n #zoro x you #transmasc zoro #male reader #op x reader #one piece x reader

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doctordiscocalling · 1 month ago

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New Helluva Boss episode thoughts from a Certified Stolitz Hater!!!

SPOILERS BELOW !!!!

Yeah it was pretty good.

Ill probably watch some review and realize i have more problems with this episode than i noticed or realized, but for now i think it was just. Good. Not mid, but not excellent either.

Vassago (thats his name, right?? Idk how to spell it, oh well) is probably now OFFICIALLY my fav minor character. His design is bright and pleasant to look at, his VC was killing it, and i believe hes meant to be Brazilian? Which.. dude. I LOVE the representation of languages and implied races of characters like Valentino in the show, and it never feels forced. Props to the Helluva team for that one.

Now. Ignoring all of what Stolas has done to Blitzø already - eliminating the context of their relationship thus far… Stolas sacrificing himself is actually very sweet. He gives up his status, power, and protection to save the one he loves. Im not exactly thrilled that hes given up his daughter in favor of Blitzø AGAIN however. Give my girl a break, dude.

And how she was FULLY READY TO RUN OUT THE DOOR TO GO HELP HIM OR SEE HIM if it wasnt for Stella manipulating her - that just makes me even more mad. Stolas might SAY he cares about people like Octavia and Blitzø, but his actions just about never convey the same thing.

Now… WITH the context of Stolas’ continued mistakes, manipulation, selfishness, and pushy creepiness in his relationship with Blitzø throughout the series… fuck off, man. Actually leave me alone forever.

I felt like Stolas sacrificing himself for Blitzø is now erasing every awful thing hes done to him throughout the series. Its a trope i think ive observed before - “you treated me like shit before, and we had all kinda of hard problems that i shouldve moved on from, and become a better person without you around, but you saved my life!! Lets get married and pretend none of that ever happened because of a new toxic ‘romantic’ concept - a life debt!!!”

And dont get me wrong - life debts can be done VERY well. But you need a skilled enough writer who can easily enough cut through tropes to do it right. No offense, as the writing in this show is amazing, but the Helluva writers. Well. They cant exactly subvert expectations, especially when it comes to tropes.

However, im not going to judge and throw around Stolas for being depressed at the end of the episode. Hes lost the only life hes ever known, and cant see his daughter for Lucifer knows how long. Hes allowed to soak in the bathtub for a while.

BUT!! Seeing how gentle Blitzø was with Stolas at the end of the episode - helping him bathe off the rotten food, kissing his cheek when he falls asleep, just generally being so romantic and physically affectionate with him - it made my stomach churn. This ship can’t work UNLESS you ignore everything that’s happened before in the series, which is exactly where i think the Helluva writers are taking it, unfortunately.

Call me pessimistic, but i just really stopped liking the show as much when the OG concept was put on the back burner in favor of some genuinely toxic 2015 top and bottom stereotype ship. Like. If i showed you the first two episodes of this show, and then i told you the shit-fetish cheating owl bird and the shithead lovable scamp IMP boss very genuinely and seriously got together, you would be concerned at least.

Anyway, fuck Stolas, Blitzø should illegally adopt Octavia so her and Loona can be honorary sisters, and they blow the owl up and frolic through the daisies and get their happy ending and Millie and Moxxie get double married and everyone except most of the Goectia (idk how to spell that shit) get shot by Striker.

Have a lovely day, and thank you for reading this far :]

#helluvaverse #helluva boss #helluva blitzo #helluva stolas #helluva millie #helluva loona #helluva stolitz #helluva moxxie #moxxie #blitzo #blitzø #millie #loona #stolitz #stolas #fuck stolas #happy holidays sinners

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marifilue · 2 months ago

Text

Part 4: Bound And Fading

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n, you have regenerative healing ability, skilled with guns and rifles, reader in her 50s but because of her ability looked like in her mid 20s. Logan is from the first X-Men movie era.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence, Blood

WC: 6.1k

<- Part 3

The afternoon stretched out, each passing minute heavier than the last. You lay on your bed, staring at the cracked rifle beside you, a hollow ache gnawing at you. Mr. Santiago’s face flashed in your mind, memories flooding back with bittersweet clarity.

Your first day meeting him replayed in vivid detail. Your father brings you, fourteen years old, almost tall enough to steady a rifle, standing awkwardly on a makeshift shooting range deep in the woods. There wasn’t much, a low wall cobbled together from old tires and scrap wood, set up to catch bullets. The place was rough, but it felt like a world apart from everything else you’d known.

Mr. Santiago had been there, a short, serious figure with a warmth that softened his intense gaze. He’d handed you the rifle, steadying your hands with a patience you hadn’t expected. "Hold it here," he’d said, his voice low but encouraging. "Every weapon is a good weapon, depends on who's holding it." You’d never felt more focused than in that moment, taking aim under his watchful eyes, your nerves and excitement blurring into one. He’d believed in you from that first shot, seeing potential where others hadn’t, and you’d dedicated yourself to the craft ever since.

Logan stepped out of his room, glancing toward yours across the hall. He headed downstairs for lunch, fully expecting you to show up any second. But as he took his seat in the kitchen, finishing his meal, he still hadn’t seen you. He frowned, tapping his fork against his empty plate, a hint of concern breaking through his usual indifference.

He found himself hesitating, but the idea had already taken root. Muttering a swear under his breath, he grabbed an extra plate and filled it with another serving of aglio olio, adding a few ice cubes to a glass of water before balancing it all carefully.

With a resigned sigh, he climbed the three flights of stairs back up to his and your floor, pausing just outside your door. He had no idea why he was doing this, really, except for some strange, nagging urge to apologize. The memory of your frustration and the guilt of seeing that cracked rifle pushed him forward.

“Here we go,” he muttered to himself, bracing himself for another one of your epic insults. With his arm balancing the water, he knocked on the door, keeping his face blank but already steeling himself for another epic insults you’d give him.

A gentle knock at your door broke your reverie, pulling you back to the present. You sighed, reluctant to answer, but the knocking continued, soft but insistent. You got up, crossed the room, and opened the door halfway, your eyes narrowing as you saw Logan standing there with a plate of aglio olio in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

You raised an eyebrow shocked by the small gesture but irritation still simmering beneath the surface. “What are you doing?” you asked, voice sharp. Logan held your gaze, unflinching. “Making amends. You skipped lunch,” he replied, his voice carrying its usual gruffness. You can smell his usual tobacco scent filling your nose, it made you sick most of the time. The man isn't gonna die because of tobacco poisoning, so he might as well smoke dozens of cigars each day.

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered, attempting to close the door, but Logan quickly wedged his foot in the doorway. You sighed, exasperated, and finally looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone quieter than usual. “For throwing your rifle…and for, well, having my genetic material around.” The faintest hint of a smirk softened the line of his mouth, though he immediately sobered, sensing your struggle.

You turned away, letting the words hang between you. “Look, Logan. First, an apology won’t fix the rifle. And it’s not ‘just a rifle’—it’s a PCP rifle. My mentor’s rifle. I’ve taken care of it for years, and…” You paused, frustration flashing across your face as you admitted, “I don’t even blame you for the second thing, it's not fair for you to take the hit. I'll just hate myself even more now.. knowing I carry a part of you with myself all this time.” You said as the fact will now forever altered your mind, how can a guy you've never even heard of until two weeks ago is somehow have been a big part of your life?

Logan scoffs "Wow, you're makin' it sound even worse now." as you walked to the chair under the window ignoring him, folding your arms as you looked out over the mansion’s vast backyard. Logan hovered at the door, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “Can I come in?” he asked, almost reluctantly.

“Fuck off,” you muttered, though there was less bite in your tone. With a faint chuckle, Logan stepped in and placed the meal on the windowsill next to you. He glanced at the rifle on your bed, the fracture visible even from here. “Always have a rifle on bed with ya?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

You shot him a look, your expression stern. “Too soon.” you said, your voice edged with a warning silently asking him not to joke about the rifle further. He nodded, the apology unspoken but understood. “Alright,” he replied, stepping back. “Enjoy your meal. I’ll uh.. see you tonight on the mission.” He lingered for a moment, giving you a look of quiet understanding before he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

You sank back into the chair, glancing at the plate of pasta Logan had brought you. Despite your earlier resistance, you found yourself eating, thankful for the warm meal. It wasn’t Logan who’d ruined your appetite today, it was the thought of facing Killebrew, the man responsible for turning your life upside down, the specter you’d dreaded for years.

As the sun began to dip, casting long shadows across your room, you steeled yourself, forcing your mind away from your fears. Tonight would be your chance to confront your past, to face the man who had altered your life without a second thought. You weren’t sure what would happen, but with the rifle at your side even damaged, you knew you wouldn’t face it alone.

The Blackbird loomed ahead, its sleek silhouette casting long shadows over the hangar. You moved quickly, bags slung over each shoulder, the weight of your weapons familiar and reassuring. You had your usual twin set of handguns holstered at your waist, a collection of firearms stowed securely in the bags. As you stepped up the ramp, Scott and Ororo were already seated inside, going over last-minute details.

You set your bags down, securing them beside you as Logan stepped into the Blackbird behind you. Scott made his way over, his expression serious. With calling your name he began, glancing down at your equipment. “We’re gonna need you to stay on high ground for this one, guarding the perimeter. Sniper duty.”

You frowned, caught off guard. “Sniper duty?” The confusion in your voice was unmistakable. “I’ll be useless out there—those kids will be inside.”

Scott’s expression tightened, but he didn’t look away. “Me and Logan will handle the retrieval. We just think it’s best for you to stay off the building, not face Killebrew directly. In case…” He trailed off, and the hesitation in his voice stirred something hot in your chest.

“In case what, Scott?” You could barely keep the anger out of your voice. "And who's we? I know this is your decision, without involving anyone's opinion because apparently you hate opinions." You spats back letting your voice echo inside the cockpit. Logan, standing nearby, caught the exchange but stayed silent, his gaze flickering over to you.

Scott sighed, muttering your last name. “You’re either in or you’re out, but I’m not risking anyone on this mission.” Your jaw tightened. “I’m not taking sniper duty, Summers. That’s useless, I’ll be sitting on my hands the whole night while you go in. I’m going inside with the rest of you.”

Scott opened his mouth to respond, but Logan was already stepping forward, clapping a firm hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Take your seat, bub,” Logan said, his tone steady, cutting through the tension. “We’re taking off any second.” Logan said while Scott let out a sigh, retreating to his seat without another word, though you could feel his frustration simmering.

Logan’s gaze shifted back to you, his voice a bit gentler than usual. “You okay?” It was more a rhetorical—he could tell you were far from okay. He heard the adrenaline in your heartbeat, sensed the tension in your stance. Without waiting for an answer, he squeezed your left upper arm, quick but firm and gentle. You tensed by the affection, no room left in your head to wander why did he just do that.

“M' fine.” you replied shortly, your voice tight. Logan gave a slight nod, accepting your answer, then moved away to take his seat.

As the Blackbird’s engines roared to life, you settled into place, securing your gear with practiced hands. The cockpit filled with a quiet, determined energy. Jean, Ororo, Scott, Logan, and you—all on edge, yet focused. This was your chance.

In the cover of night, the team advanced quietly through the dense woods, moving with purpose and precision. The jet was parked nearly ten minutes behind them, hidden under the canopy of trees, with Jean remaining on standby, ready to extract them if things went south.

You shouldered your MP5, feeling the familiar weight settling comfortably against your back as you moved, close to Ororo, who kept pace with you. Scott and Logan led the way, their silhouettes barely visible under the pale moonlight filtering through the branches, casting ghostly shadows across the ground. The night was cold, and a chill seemed to seep into your bones, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the task ahead.

As you reached the edge of the lab’s perimeter, you dropped into a crouch, scanning the scene. Through the brush, you saw a handful of guards positioned outside, their breath visible in the cool air. They were stationed loosely, some pacing, others standing guard by the entrance, the glow from their flashlights casting eerie beams into the night.

Scott signaled for everyone to stay low, his hand slicing through the air in a motion to hold position. Then, with a final nod to each of you, he made the call. There was no time for drawn-out tactics; the element of surprise was on your side. The group moved as one, slipping from the shadows in synchronized silence.

In a swift, decisive motion, Scott took out the first guard with a silenced shot, while Ororo summoned a quick surge of wind, knocking two others off their feet. You were already moving, twins set of gun raised from your holsters, firing short, controlled bursts as you closed the distance, the shots muffled but effective, guards dropping in quick succession.

Logan leaped forward, claws out, taking down the last guard standing outside with a fierce swipe, his movements fluid and feral. The team regrouped just outside the entrance, hearts pounding but movements steady. You exchanged a quick glance with Logan, his eyes narrowed and focused, the brief acknowledgment of your presence reassuring in the tension.

With the outer guards down, Scott led the way, his voice low but resolute. “We’re in. Stay close. We stick together and move fast.”

The alarm blared through the sterile, white-walled corridors, echoing sharply against the cold concrete as red warning lights flashed overhead. You tightened your grip on your MP5, heart pounding but focus unbreakable. Scott signaled, and the team split to cover more ground, leaving you and Logan to search the lower levels while Scott and Ororo handled the main floor, diverting as much attention as possible.

You hurried down the corridors, firing off rounds as guards swarmed toward you. One by one, they came at you, but with precision and practice, you dropped each of them, moving closer to the underground access. Logan cleared the way ahead, his claws flashing in the dim light as he tore through the remaining guards with brutal efficiency.

Reaching the stairs, you stopped for a second, recognizing the layout—Killebrew’s distinctive architectural style was unmistakable, every corridor and staircase designed to confuse intruders but familiar to you from the countless diagrams you’d studied. You knew exactly where the holding cells were likely kept and plunged down the stairs, each step echoing under the deafening wail of alarms.

At the bottom, another cluster of guards appeared, blocking your path. They fired at you, and you ducked, retaliating with short, controlled bursts. Logan took the lead, bulldozing through the last line of defense, his snarling presence clearing a path right to the heavy metal door of the holding room.

You burst into the room, heart sinking as you took in the sight. Twelve young mutants, barely more than children, huddled behind thick metal bars, their faces pale, eyes wide with terror. They were cramped, confined like animals, thin blankets and scattered food wrappers indicating how they’d been kept for weeks, maybe longer.

You pressed a finger to your comms device. “Scott, I’m with the kids. They’re in bad shape.” Static crackled, and Scott’s voice came through, urgent. “I’ve got the guards busy with Ororo’s help, she’s whipping up a storm, literally. But we’re running low on time. Get them out, now.”

You nodded, then glanced back as Logan came down the stairs, his gaze shifting from you to the caged children. His fierce expression softened, a flicker of empathy crossing his face as he stepped forward, his claws retracting. He approached the bars, nodding to you as he positioned himself to rip them open.

The children shrank back, eyes widening at the sight of Logan’s raw power. They’d likely heard the rumors about Wolverine, the man with metal claws, and you could see the fear twisting their young faces. Moving forward, you knelt beside the bars, speaking softly. “Hey, it’s okay," You said introducing your name to the kid "We’re here to help you. What’s your name?” You met the gaze of a young girl, no older than eight, with hollow eyes that darted nervously from you to Logan.

She hesitated, then whispered, “Maya.” You gave her a gentle smile, keeping your voice calm and soothing. “Maya, that’s a beautiful name. I’m here to take you somewhere safe. We won’t let anyone hurt you.” The children began to relax, inching closer, the fear in their eyes slowly fading as they sensed your sincerity. Logan watched the scene in silence, a mix of awe and quiet respect in his gaze as he saw the bond you created with the children. You exchanged a brief look with him, his nod of approval a silent message that he’d follow your lead.

“Alright, Maya,” you said gently. “We’re going to open the cage now, and we’ll need you and the others to follow us, okay?” She nodded, clutching a younger boy’s hand as Logan tore through the cage door with a swift pull. The metal bars groaned, breaking free, and he pushed the door open, extending his hand to help the kids out.

The children crowded around you, clinging tightly as you led them out of the room, Logan taking up the rear. You signaled Scott, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “We’ve got them, Scott. Moving to extraction now.”

“Good. Get them outside safe,” he replied, his voice firm but laced with relief. As you guided the children through the corridor, Logan stayed close, his silent strength a comforting presence for both you and the kids. The way forward was still uncertain, but for the first time, surrounded by those you’d come to protect, you felt hope replacing the dread you’d carried in.

Scott and Ororo stood at the edge of the lab's entrance, ready to lead the children to safety. Dozens of guards lined up between you and the way out, rifles raised, blocking the escape route. You took in the scene, heart racing, and shouted, "Scott, Ororo-get the kids out of here! Now!" Without hesitation, Scott nodded, signaling for Ororo to shield the children, and they slipped past the guards, racing toward the woods and away from the lab.

As Scott and Ororo led the kids away, you and Logan squared off against the wall of guards still blocking the path. The air was thick with tension, broken only by the echo of boots as the guards advanced. You quickly checked your MP5, reloading it with smooth precision, fingers moving on instinct as the magazine clicked into place.

With a curt nod to Logan, you raised the weapon and fired a controlled burst, dropping two guards instantly. Logan darted forward, claws flashing as he sliced through the first row of men, his ferocity drawing their attention. Using the opening he created, you stepped to his right, pressing forward as a group of guards rounded the corner ahead, weapons raised.

You fired again, each shot landing with sharp accuracy, taking down guard after guard. Moving in tandem, you and Logan flowed around each other with practiced ease. He charged ahead, clearing the way, while you provided cover from behind, your MP5 barking as more guards swarmed toward you both.

Logan lunged, taking out three guards in one swift motion, his claws slicing through their armor like it was nothing. As he dispatched them, you reloaded your MP5 with a practiced flick, feeling the weight of the new magazine settle in your hands. You fired at another guard aiming for Logan's back, the shots precise, dropping him before he could pull the trigger.

The guards kept coming, but you and Logan were an unrelenting force, holding them back with lethal precision. Another guard attempted to flank you, but you pivoted, firing a short burst that sent him crumpling to the ground. Logan was beside you in an instant, claws slashing in a wide arc, and together, you pushed forward, cutting through their ranks.

You'd barely caught your breath when another guard lunged at you from the side. You sidestepped, aiming and firing in one smooth motion, taking him down before he could get close. Pausing just long enough to reload, you watched as Logan cleared a path ahead, each movement fluid and deadly. The two of you had created a rhythm, an instinctive understanding that kept you one step ahead of the guards.

As the last of the guards lay unconscious on the floor, you felt a surge of satisfaction. But just as you lowered your MP5, you heard the click of a gun behind you, followed by a sharp, blinding pain. Seven bullets tore into your left side, four embedding themselves deep into your flesh, the pain staggering. You stumbled, your vision blurring as another guard closed in, grabbing you in a brutal chokehold.

You gasped for breath, trying to wrench free, but he held fast, forcing you to drop your MP5. Desperately, you struggled against his grip, only to see another guard approaching with a metal collar in his hand. The sight made your stomach lurch. You knew exactly what it was, and the mere thought of its effects turned your blood cold.

"No, no! Get off me!" you yelled, thrashing against the hold, but it was useless. Before your healing factor could spat out the bullets and close the wounds that is now flesh deep, the guard... Wait it wasn't just 'any' guard. You knew the malicious face, behind those thick glasses. It's Killebrew, snapping the collar around your neck, cold metal pressing against your skin with a final, menacing weight.

"Fire and flesh, my my.. look at you now, playing pretend hero with your new friends. Have you forgotten who you are? what we made you? your nature? Tell me, does your new friend knew what kind of weapon you are?" Killebrew voice echoes inside of your mind. Instantly you felt its effect-your powers suppressed, your ability muted by the collar's pulsing radiation. Logan, busy fending off a group of guards just a few steps away, heard your scream and whipped around, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the collar clamped around your neck. With a furious snarl, he abandoned his fight and launched himself at the guards holding you, ripping him away in a savage arc.

Before you could even warn him, his claws touched the collar in motive to break you free but an electric jolt burst from it, sending a shockwave through him. Logan staggered, his face twisted in agony, and he collapsed to one knee, his body spasming from the surge. The collar's hidden defense mechanism activated, shocking anyone who dared to touch it. He hadn't pay attention to Killebrew, the moment he turned his head, the man is gone. Leaving no trace behind like some ghost.

Panting heavily, you swayed in place, the pain in your side throbbing with each heartbeat, your skin clammy from the radiation. Logan shook off the lingering effects of the shock and struggled to his feet, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness as he reached out to steady you.

You pushed yourself up, shaking off Logan’s arm with a wave of your hand. “I can manage,” you muttered, feigning toughness as you steadied yourself and started toward the exit, gritting your teeth against the ache in your side. Together, you looked over the guards lying defeated around you, the battle-worn corridor now quiet save for your labored breaths. Ignoring the pain that radiated from your side, the two of you began the slow trek back toward the exit, determined to get out alive.

Logan followed close behind, his sharp gaze tracking every movement you made. “You okay?” he asked, voice low and wary. “I will be,” you replied shortly, not bothering to look back. The tightness of the collar against your neck was irritating, and each step sent a fresh stab of pain from the bullet wounds hidden under your black leather suit, but you didn’t let it show. You kept your pace steady, refusing to let Logan see any weakness.

As the two of you entered the darkened woods, Logan pressed again. “You sure you’re fine?” His tone was gruff but layered with a trace of concern “Yes,” you answered curtly, quickening your pace. But he didn’t miss the slight stagger in your step, and his nostrils flared at the unmistakable scent of blood, though the suit concealed the damage. After a moment, he asked, “What’s on your neck?”

“It’s a mutant inhibitor collar,” you replied flatly, still not looking at him. “Hank’ll figure out how to take them off.” You kept your eyes forward, refusing to let him see the strain on your face as the pain intensified with every step.

Halfway back to the Blackbird, your legs gave a faint tremor, and you leaned against a nearby tree, pressing one hand to the rough bark for support. Your other hand drifted to your waist, where the bullet wounds throbbed beneath the fabric. Logan slowed, watching you closely as he stepped beside you, arms crossed.

“You’ve had enough?” he asked, a knowing look in his eyes. He could tell you’d never ask for help, even now. “Just… catching my breath,” you managed, struggling to keep your voice steady.

Logan narrowed his gaze, exhaling sharply. “Alright, that’s it. The team’s waiting for us.” Before you could protest, he slid one arm under your knees and the other around your back, scooping you up in a swift motion. The shift in position made pain flare through your side, and you couldn’t suppress the faint whimper that escaped your lips.

“Shit, put me down, Logan! You're making it worse!” you shouted, anger flaring as you tried to push against him. “Can’t do it, bub. You're slowin' me down back there, any second you'll end up bleeding to death” he replied, unfazed.

“I can walk just fine!” You clenched your fists, the irritation bubbling up despite the pain. “Yeah, sure you did,” he muttered, his voice laced with sarcasm as he carried you through the forest. "You're an asshole!" You spat again as he kept his gaze forward, determined, his grip gentle but unyielding as you realize he wasn’t about to let you go.

As Logan approached the Blackbird, your breath is already off the track since inhaling for air is even triggering the pain. You caught sight of Jean in the distance, her expression shifting to one of deep concern the moment she spotted you in Logan’s arms. Despite your efforts to hold it together, the exhaustion and pain overwhelmed you, and a tear slipped free, tracing down your cheek. Logan tightened his hold, his own eyes darkening with a hint of worry as he strode forward, determined to get you back safely.

Jean's eyes widened as she spotted you in Logan’s arms, her voice immediately edged with concern. “What happened?” she asked, leading Logan briskly toward the medbay in the Blackbird.

Logan followed closely behind her, keeping his steps steady to avoid jostling you. “She got hit. Bullets in her side, and they got a some anti mutant collar on her, she can't heal.” he replied, his voice gruff but calm. As Jean guided him to the narrow medical bed, Scott joined, his gaze sharp as he took in the situation.

“Everything okay?” Scott’s tone was tense, but Logan gave him a short nod. “She’ll pull through. Just get us back to the mansion.” he added, giving Scott a firm look. Scott nodded, glancing toward the rescued kids to reassure them, before returning to the cockpit.

Logan carefully laid you down, but the movement triggered another wave of pain. You clutched your side, stifling a cry, the pain was too much. Your breaths came shallow and fast as Jean quickly cut through the torn leather on your left side, exposing the deep bullet wounds, four of them. Blood seeped steadily, and Jean’s brow creased with worry as she assessed the injuries. Logan stood close by, his eyes never leaving you, a storm of worry in his gaze.

As the Blackbird’s engines hummed, Logan watched anxiously as Jean paced the room back and forth, her expression tense. After a moment, he cleared his throat, his voice edged with concern. “Anythin' I help with?”

Jean looked up, snapping on a pair of gloves. “Yes. Grab the rubbing alcohol, it’s near the door and check the cupboard for anesthesia. We’ll need it.”

Logan nodded and moved quickly, scanning the shelves until he spotted the bottle of rubbing alcohol. Grabbing it, he went to the cupboard, rummaging through the supplies, but there was no sign of the anesthesia. Frowning, he called out, “Jean… there’s no anesthesia here.”

Jean’s face fell, her brow furrowing as she crossed over to check herself. She reached into the cupboard and pulled out an empty box marked “Anesthesia.” Her lips tightened, and she closed her eyes briefly, clearly frustrated. “Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, then turned to Logan, her face a mix of determination and regret.

“We’re out,” she said quietly. “I forgot to restock after the last mission.” She took a deep breath, her gaze shifting back to you, lying pale and struggling for breath. “I have to get those bullets out now, or she’ll lose too much blood.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, a fierce protectiveness flickering in his eyes. “What do you need me to do?” Jean looked at him steadily. “Distract her. Without anesthesia, this is going to hurt—a lot. Keep her focused on you, talk to her, anything to keep her grounded.”

Logan nodded, moving closer to your side. He leaned over, his rough hand settling on yours, his touch grounding. “Hey,” he murmured your name, trying to draw your attention, his voice gentle but steady. “Listen to me, alright? We’re getting you patched up, so you gotta hang in there.”

You looked up at him, pain clouding your vision, but his voice cut through the fog, giving you something to focus on. Just as Jean started to work, she sterilize the open wounds with alcohol gauze as gentle as possible but the sharp pain still flared, stinging you as you gasped, squeezing Logan’s hand tightly. He sensed that you were hanging by a thread, the pain pushing you close to breaking. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a softer, steady tone.

“Alright… I’ll tell you a story,” he said, locking his gaze with yours, his presence unwavering. “Back in nineteen forty five, I was in Japan. Right there in Nagasaki.” You forced yourself to focus on his words, his voice grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“It was August 9th, middle of the summer,” he continued, his tone both gritty and somber. “The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight. I was with a guy named Yashida, a soldier. We were in this underground bunker, and I didn’t know what was coming. Nobody did. Then… the whole world lit up. The ground shook like it was tearing itself apart.”

Jean worked carefully, extracting a bullet with delicate precision, still the pain flared sharply, making you clench Logan’s hand even tighter you could feel the cold metal is now in your flesh. Sensing it, he went on without missing a beat, his voice steady, strong. “That bomb… it was like nothing you could imagine. Fire hotter than anything I’d ever felt—burned the whole city in a flash.” His gaze held a mix of haunted memory and strength. “I saved Yashida that day. Shielded him with my body, took the brunt of that blast so he could live.”

You gritted your teeth as Jean extracted another bullet, but Logan’s story held you steady, his words weaving through the pain like a lifeline. “After the blast, the world was unrecognizable,” he murmured. “Buildings leveled, people… gone. But I was still standing. Broken, after burned to a crisp… but still managed to be alive. Had to dig myself out of the rubble. Kept going, even when I thought I couldn’t.”

He paused, meeting your gaze with a depth of understanding that was rare for him to reveal. “You’re strong, bub,” he said quietly. “I know it hurts like hell right now, but you’re tougher than this. You’ll get through it.” Even when you're overstimulated by the constant pain in your side, the itching and yet burning sensation with cold metal around your neck, you find yourself comforted by Logan's presence, by his hold warming the palm of your right arm. The man you had screamed at just this morning, after throwing him a hurtful insults, he has proven himself to be a reliable friend once again.

Jean finally pulled out the last bullet, stitching the wound as swiftly as she could to stop the bleeding, you felt the first prick of the needle sliding into your torn skin. The pain was sharp and immediate, a fresh agony layered over everything you’d already endured. A quiet groan slipped out before you could catch it, and, on instinct, you started to turn your head, trying to see the damage Jean was working on.

Logan’s hand was there in an instant, his fingers gently but firmly guiding your face back to him. “Eyes on me, alright?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, grounding you. “Don’t need to look at any of that. Just focus here.”

You bit down on your lip, the weight of his hand and the steady warmth of his gaze giving you something to hold on to, pulling you back from the edge of panic. You clenched his hand tightly as the needle continued its work, every stitch another reminder of the pain, but Logan kept his voice low and even.

“Think about something else,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Like where we’re going after this. Maybe somewhere with some sunshine, yeah? You, me, a little R&R… without bullets for a change.” A small, weary smile tugged at the corner of your mouth despite the pain. “Maybe... some place with a beach, I've had enough of woods today.” you murmured, your voice faint.

“There you go,” he said, his own lips twitching up just slightly. “Sand, sun, and no anti mutant collars. We’ll even make Scott carry the bags.”

The corners of your vision began to blur as Jean worked, but Logan’s face stayed clear, his gaze steady, unwavering. Every time you felt the sting of the needle, his hand held yours a little tighter, silently encouraging you to stay with him, to hold on.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jean finished the last stitch, wiping her hands and casting Logan a relieved look. “It's all done,” she said softly, giving you a nod. “You did well.”

Logan’s eyes softened as he looked down at you, his thumb brushing a gentle arc over your hand one last time. “See?” he murmured, a hint of warmth in his voice. “You’re tougher than anything they could throw at us.”

Exhaustion washed over you, and despite the lingering pain, your eyelids began to flutter. The toll of the battle, the wounds, and the weight of the day’s events were too much. You slipped into sleep, breathing softly, the strain and tension fading from your face.

Jean glanced at Logan, giving him a reassuring nod before quietly stepping out of the medbay, leaving the two of you alone. Logan sank into a chair in the corner, watching you as you rested. The flicker of the medbay lights cast soft shadows, and he sat quietly, hands folded, absorbed in his own thoughts.

Seeing you like this—worn out, vulnerable, but resilient—brought a wave of unexpected protectiveness to him. You were stubborn, hot-headed, and determined to a fault, always refusing to let anyone in or ask for help, even when you clearly needed it. It irritated him, the way you’d snap at him, brush off his help, or dive headlong into danger. But, in a strange way, it also drew him in.

It was rare for anyone to challenge him like you did, to stand up to him without a second thought, and to never back down. As he sat there, his gaze softened, a small, almost amused smile crossing his lips. He realized that, as much as your defiance frustrated him, it also fueled something deeper—a respect and a connection he hadn’t expected.

Logan sat in the quiet of the medbay, half-asleep in the chair, his head resting against the wall. Hours had passed, and the steady rhythm of your breathing had lulled him into a light, restless sleep. But a sudden tremor shook the Blackbird as it began its descent, jostling him awake. He blinked, glancing around, his senses snapping back to focus. Outside the medbay’s small window, the midnight sky gave way to the lights of the mansion grounds below.

Jean, Ororo, and Scott stepped into the medbay, their faces tired but relieved. Ororo’s gaze shifted to you, still fast asleep despite the Blackbird’s rumbling descent. “Will she be alright?” she asked, her voice soft with concern.

Jean hesitated, her eyes lingering on your sleeping form. “Hopefully, yes,” she replied quietly. “We managed to get the bleeding under control, but she still needs further care.”

Scott looked at Logan, a flicker of worry crossing his face. “Think you can carry her again, Logan? Hank’s waiting in the lab, and he’ll want to take a closer look.”

Logan gave a single nod, already moving toward you. Gently, he slipped his arms under you, lifting you as carefully as he could to avoid disturbing the fresh stitches. You stirred slightly in his hold, but he held you securely, shielding you from any bumps as he stepped off the Blackbird with you cradled in his arms, Maya’s small voice suddenly piped up from the back of the Blackbird.

“Is she okay?” she asked, her eyes wide and filled with concern as she watched Logan carry you toward the exit.

Logan paused, glancing down at her. His usually gruff expression softened as he met her worried gaze. “Yeah, kid,” he said, his voice low but reassuring. “Don’t you worry.”

Jean stepped in beside Maya, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’ll make sure she’s alright, okay?” she added softly. The little girl nodded, reassured but still watching as Logan carefully carried you down the ramp, her eyes following until you disappeared from view.

Ororo and Scott quickly took charge of the rescued kids, guiding them into the mansion’s warmth. The children, wide-eyed and visibly exhausted, followed closely, glancing back once at you and Logan before Ororo offered them a reassuring smile. “Come on,” she said gently, her voice calming. “We’ll get you all settled. You’re safe now.” She led them down a separate hallway with Scott beside her, and together they showed each child to a quiet room where they could rest and recover.

With the kids now taken care of, Logan turned his focus back to you, his hold steady as he made his way toward the lab. Jean walked alongside him, her expression thoughtful as she kept a close eye on you, her fingers brushing against the lab door ahead to push it open.

Inside, Hank was already waiting, his gaze sharpening as he spotted the two of you. Without hesitation, he moved to prepare the equipment, his worry masked by his usual calm. Jean gave Logan a slight nod, silently thanking him as they approached Hank, who was ready to begin your treatment with steady hands and a reassuring presence.

Part 5 ->

An: Told ya it's getting longer each chapter, thank you for interacting and I'll see ya next chapter

#logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlet x reader #logan howlett #xmen fanfiction #x men #wolverine x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine

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galaxyedging · 2 years ago

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Another dirty Din thought...

Minors shoo!🔞

People were usually put off by Din's visor trained on them. By its dark angular nature it was intimidating. Even if he relaxed his body language, he could do little to make his helmet seem more friendly. With his expressive brown eyes covered the best he could offer was a sympathetic head tilt or to bow his head to make him seem less threatening.

Then you came along. You didn't seem to find him threatening at all. For some reason it irked him. He almost wanted you to be scared of him. He wanted you to find him more of a threat so you would challenge him more. The banter between you was always so fun and charged but there was no real heat behind it. He wondered if he trained his helmet on you, made you feel small, would you push back? Would your body back up your words? Would you crowd him, chest to chest? Would you fight with him? Your body landing blows against his, hand grabbing at his armour for purchase as you fight.

It seemed like his staring didn't bother you at all. Maybe if you knew the real reason he stared at you so intently, it would.

Later at night, after watching you take down yet another quarry with little help from him, he would use a feature of his helmet that he hoped you would never find out about. He replayed the images it had recorded. The sway of your hips as you walked in front of him. The raw power and skill you used in your fighting. To his shame, it made his cock swell. The way he ached from it, he longed to take himself in his hand and jerk himself off while he listened to your pretty little grunts of exertion. He often found himself in the fresher afterwards, using the cold water to kill his erection.

This went on for months. You staring right back at him. Him watching you work. Him savouring every moment before showering in shame.

It was the bounty in the mid rim that did him in. Trying not to draw attention to yourself, you'd separated from the much more noticeable Mandalorian. You even gone so far as to buy a fashionable dress to blend in. A dress that Din would later curse. A dress that barely covered your figure. A dress that rode up your thighs and barely contained your breasts as you dragged the bounty to the floor straddling his back as you cuffed him.

That was the final straw for Din. That night after watching the video on repeat and slowed so he could see every jiggle of your flesh as you moved on top of the bounty. He finally let go of the little restrain he had left. This time even the cold water of the fresher couldn't stop him from taking his weeping length in his hand. His motions aided by your favourite scented soap as he ran his hand up and down his length.

Thankfully, when you stayed on the Crest, you preferred to sleep in the cockpit, you were locked away from the sounds he was making. Maybe he was being paranoid about the volume. The slap of his fist against his balls seemed to echo impossibly loud. Yet it was still drown out by his moans. A few of them your name.

Once he washed his come and shame down the drain, he returned to his bunk to find his armour had been moved. Maybe he was just imagining things. You knew better than to leave the cockpit without calling out first. Unless you did call and he was too busy fucking his fist to notice.

Panic rose in him. First things first, he had to dress and replace his helmet. He did so quickly only to find an unwatched video on his display. Hands that weren't his own appeared in front of the visor, they lowered down along with the gaze to show them covering the swell of your breast. You were naked, on his bunk, wearing his helmet. Din was instantly hard again. Your hands caressed the soft, supple flesh of your tits. He could see your nipples harden under your touch. Your hands then slide lower. He couldn't quite see what they were doing but he could have a hell of a good guess from the sounds. A wet sucking sound and your breathy moans. "Why don't you come and help me finish what you started, Din?"

With that the video ended and he hauled himself up the ladder. The cockpit door opened to reveal you back to him, on all fours in his chair, your wet pussy on display for him. Din didn't need to record the rest of the night, the sight of his cock disappearing into your welcoming cunt would be forever burned in his memory.

@kirsteng42 @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid2 @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass @mandoloriancookie @faceache111 @elegantduckturtle @shadowtrick @simpingcowboy @pedrit0-pascalit0 @yourcoolauntie @pedrostories

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #din djarin smut #din djarin x f!reader

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monmelia · 2 months ago

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Monmelia Analysis Part 5: Stepping Back to Move Forward (21x02-21x06)

Okay this blog took way longer than planned, but it does bring us up to date with all of the current eps at least, because I thought it made sense to tie together all the Season 21 Monmelia scenes so far (since, admittedly, they’ve been pretty limited). Let’s start with 21x02, where our girlfriends girlies are reunited. Amelia has been reinstated and we can assume that it’s Monmelia’s first interaction since Amelia asked Monica to go out. The first thing I noticed when I watched this scene was how Monica instantly directs her attention from her patient’s scans to Amelia. She’s literally mid discussion with Levi and Mika, but as soon as she hears Amelia’s voice, she’s distracted. It’s as if everything else fades, giving serious “I’d know that voice anywhere” vibes. On Amelia’s side, her body language reads as awkward and perhaps a bit nervous, at least until her professional demeanour kicks in when Monica asks her to take a look at the scans.

The scene, however short, further highlights Monica's trust in Amelia's expertise and subtly reinforces their dynamic as equals who complement each other professionally. Monica clearly respects Amelia’s skills to figure out the right approach when she can’t herself. For a character as composed and confident as Monica, admitting uncertainty—and asking Amelia for help—is significant. It not only shows her professional humility but also hints at the personal comfort she feels in Amelia’s presence. This brief exchange is layered: Monica deferring to Amelia suggests an unspoken acknowledgment of her talent, while Amelia’s willingness to shuffle her plans to help hints at her continued interest in Monica, even if it's veiled in professionalism.

This is further explored in the next scene. Amelia’s suggestion of a coordinated dual approach is a bold, innovative solution, and her turning to Monica to gauge her opinion underlines their collaboration and trust. By asking Monica directly if she thinks the surgery is too risky, Amelia isn’t just seeking approval—she’s inviting Monica to weigh in as an equal partner in a complex and high-stakes decision. They have the balance of Amelia offering a solution and Monica making the call to proceed.

This scene not only moves the medical plot forward but also continues to build the subtle undercurrent of their personal dynamic—one based on mutual admiration and respect and their growing comfort in working closely together.

The seamless teamwork between them continues during surgery where they successfully remove the tumour on Cal's spine. Their joint collaboration achieves a challenging goal, and we see once again how well they work together. How many times can this show reinforce that fact but not have them date or at least kiss, come on! When they later discover that Cal has a malignant tumour in his brain and doesn’t have long to live, the devastating reality of their work hits hard.

This revelation sets the premise for their final scene of the episode, where Monica and Amelia find solace in each other. And should I mention the fact that the song playing in the background of this scene has the lyrics "I see your face, and then I am okay. So pin me to the floor, give me something to long for." Sharing a quiet moment over Chinese food, their interaction becomes a way to process the day’s events together. It’s not just about the loss of Cal, but also about how they subconsciously lean on each other for strength. We see Amelia willingly opening up about her personal life, talking about Meredith and her family life alongside her professional challenges.

Amelia’s line about catching two interns kissing in the elevator is a light-hearted attempt to shift the mood, but her reflections on their days as interns reveal a deeper vulnerability. She’s yearning for a time when things felt simpler, when the future seemed full of possibility. Her honesty about feeling directionless after everything that’s happened—both professionally and personally—shows how much she’s struggling, especially with the upheaval in her department. But fear not Amelia, because for every case your department reassigns, there’ll be a case of Monica’s that she trusts you enough to collaborate on.

It could also indicate a deeper significance in that Mika and Jules, the interns in question, are unapologetically embracing their relationship, diving headfirst into the risks and rewards of being together (at this point anyway). This stands in stark contrast to Monica and Amelia, who are holding back, cautiously navigating their connection. While Mika and Jules symbolise spontaneity and seizing the moment, Monica and Amelia seem weighed down by their personal histories and fears of vulnerability. Amelia’s reflections on being an intern herself—when “everything was possible” and life felt brighter could also hint to a longing for a relationship as bold and carefree as Jules and Mika’s. She can remember being in relationships like that when she was younger, but now she is in a dynamic that is full of potential, yet held back by timing and the weight of past experiences.

This isn’t a personal reflection on Amelia’s relationship with Monica, but rather a natural trajectory of being older, where decisions are often more cautious and considered. Unlike the carefree intensity of youth, Monica and Amelia’s connection has the benefit of maturity, allowing them to approach each other thoughtfully. In the long run, this measured pace could actually be a good thing, creating a strong foundation built on understanding, respect, and shared values rather than impulsivity. Taking the time to move slowly allows their relationship to grow organically, and it may ultimately deepen their bond, providing a more lasting connection.

Monica’s response, while brief, is meaningful. When she hands over her food and says, “I do,” it’s not just about knowing what to do next—it’s a quiet affirmation of her steadiness and willingness to be there for Amelia. It’s a simple gesture that speaks volumes about the comfort and understanding they’ve found in each other. Monica’s calm, grounding energy contrasts with Amelia’s uncertainty, reinforcing how they balance one another.

And can we talk about the food sharing in general? Because I don’t know about you guys but, I don’t share my food with just anyone. I love my food, so I have to really like someone to share it, so either Monica is just way nicer than me or she really likes Amelia (let’s go with the latter). Sharing food is a universal gesture of care, and in this moment, it becomes a quiet but powerful way for Monica and Amelia to connect. After an episode filled with weighty decisions and emotional strain, this moment strips away the professional layers, leaving just two people finding comfort in each other’s presence.

Ultimately, this gesture encapsulates the quiet intimacy that defines Monica and Amelia’s relationship at this stage. It’s not flashy or overtly romantic, but it’s meaningful, showcasing their shared respect, understanding, and willingness to be present for each other in the moments that matter most.

My point here is that as much as the little screen time between them this season has been frustrating, and the slow burn is burning a little too slow, their dynamic still continues to build in meaningful ways through their brief moments together. Each interaction, no matter how small, adds another layer to their relationship, whether it’s through their impeccable teamwork, shared vulnerabilities, or quiet moments of connection. These subtle developments reinforce that their story is steadily unfolding, laying the groundwork for something deeper and more significant over time.

Or I’m just delusional.

But if you want to carry on being delulu with me then let’s talk about 21x05, an episode where they did actually get a good amount of screen time, and my favourite Monmelia episode so far. We begin with a Winston scene, but as far as those scenes go, I’m going to call it a win for us (no pun intended). It’s just yet another example of how Winston is purely a plot device for Monmelia. His role isn’t about building his own story but rather highlighting the unresolved feelings and growing complexities in Monica and Amelia’s relationship.

This scene also reinforces again, the fact that Winston and Monica’s relationship is casual and non-committal. The first thing that highlights this is Winston’s comment about not seeing Monica in a while, which suggests they haven’t hooked up recently. This shows that their dynamic lacks consistency or depth—it’s more of a situational relationship, convenient and light. The discovery of the lingerie, which doesn’t belong to Monica, adds another layer, implying that Winston is hooking up with multiple people. However, the way Winston and Monica laugh off the mix-up without any jealousy or tension further solidifies their casual connection. There’s no possessiveness or emotional investment, indicating that neither of them sees this relationship as serious.

The scene shifts, however, when Amelia enters, and we see an entirely different dynamic. Amelia’s facial expression—a mix of what appears to be confusion and hurt—suggests she’s caught off guard. It’s possible she feels awkward and unsure of how to process the situation, especially given her growing feelings for Monica. Her hurt expression likely stems from interpreting the scene as something it’s not. To Amelia, this interaction may read as Monica being closer to Winston than she actually is, leading to feelings of rejection. When Amelia asked Monica out, Monica’s justification for not pursuing it was that she was going through a divorce. Knowing Amelia, she likely perceived this as a rejection regardless, but now, seeing Monica acting shifty with her former brother-in-law and lingerie hanging out of her pocket, the rejection feels even more pointed.

We, the audience, know that Monica is pursuing Winston because she knows it doesn’t have the risk of turning serious, a point I explored in my last blog. However, Amelia doesn’t have this context. From her perspective, the girl she likes appears to be entangled in something with Winston, adding to her sense of vulnerability and rejection.

Monica’s reaction is equally telling. Her awkwardness and immediate decision to hide the lingerie reflect discomfort with Amelia seeing this interaction. Monica’s sheepish demeanour suggests that she’s worried about how Amelia perceives her, and her quick switch to professional mode could be a way to diffuse the tension and regain control of the situation. This reaction shows that Monica is aware of Amelia’s feelings, even if she hasn’t acted on them. By hiding the lingerie, Monica likely doesn’t want Amelia to know she’s hooking up with Winston, as it’s something she views as insignificant and not worth causing Amelia hurt over. She probably feels even more mindful given the fact Amelia asked her out and she didn’t say yes. This suggests Monica recognises the potential for her actions to affect Amelia emotionally, even if she isn’t fully ready to confront what that means. Her attempt to shield Amelia from this moment reflects a desire to protect her feelings, further emphasising the growing awareness Monica has of their dynamic and the weight it carries.

This is further evidenced in the next scene, when Monica attempts to address the situation. This reflects her awareness that Amelia may have interpreted the earlier situation with Winston incorrectly. Monica likely feels the need to clarify because she values her connection with Amelia and doesn’t want this misunderstanding to create a rift between them. This further suggests that Monica recognises the weight of Amelia’s feelings—or at the very least, the importance of their relationship. The fact that she even attempts to explain, despite Amelia shutting it down, signals that Monica cares what Amelia thinks. It could just be that she doesn’t want to hurt her, or it could represent Monica’s own feelings for Amelia. More on that later!

One thing I noticed is that Amelia’s behaviour in this scene is very standoffish, a stark contrast with her more open, warm demeanour in previous interactions with Monica. This shift reinforces the idea that she feels hurt and rejected after seeing Monica with Winston. Amelia’s decision to keep things strictly professional—delivering a quick update and immediately trying to leave—shows she’s attempting to protect herself emotionally. Her defensive response, “None of my business,” is likely her way of shutting down further explanation to avoid hearing something that might hurt more. It’s a classic self-preservation tactic: feign indifference to maintain control over her emotions.

This scene captures their emotional misalignment perfectly. Amelia feels rejected and retreats into professionalism to shield herself, while Monica, perhaps sensing this retreat, feels the need to reach out and explain. However, Monica’s hesitation and Amelia’s defensiveness create a barrier neither is ready to breach. The tension highlights their mutual discomfort and growing awareness of each other’s feelings, setting them up for further development.

But in the next scene, we see another shift, as Amelia steps in to support Monica under pressure. Monica’s visible struggle as she tries to reassure Ofelia’s parents showcases her emotional investment and the immense responsibility she feels for her patients. However, the weight of the situation becomes overwhelming, and for a moment, Monica appears to lose her composure, as though dissociating under the pressure. I actually have a theory about this particular situation and why Monica may have reacted this way, but I talked in depth about it in my last blog so I’ll link here if you want to check that out.

Amelia’s response is instinctive, all of the earlier awkwardness with Winston is irrelevant now and Amelia favours supporting Monica and reassuring the patients over guarding her own vulnerabilities. It’s as though Amelia subconsciously senses when Monica needs help, stepping in with a calm, reassuring tone that reorients the conversation. Amelia’s words—acknowledging the parents’ fear while emphasising that Monica’s team is ready to act—bring the focus back to the expertise and readiness of the medical team, something Monica seemed momentarily unable to communicate.

What’s significant here is the way Monica looks to Amelia for support before admitting they’ve lost contact with the helicopter. This silent exchange, followed by Amelia’s intervention when Monica struggles, reflects the trust and understanding between them. Monica’s reliance on Amelia in this moment isn’t just professional—it’s deeply personal, as though she knows Amelia will step in when she falters.

This once again demonstrates how well they balance each other: Monica brings steadiness and leadership most of the time, but when she falters, Amelia’s ability to take control with empathy and confidence shines through. It’s a powerful reflection of how their relationship—both professional and personal—has evolved and how they can be pillars of support for one another.

The rare dynamic of Monica losing her composure and Amelia having to stay strong to support her continues into the next scene. Monica’s reaction here is raw and unguarded. Her spiralling thoughts—fixating on the worst-case scenario—reveal how deeply she internalises the responsibility of her role. Her behaviour here suggests a struggle to maintain composure, as the weight of the situation overwhelms her. It also speaks to the tremendous pressure she places on herself to protect everyone under her care, even in situations beyond her control. This moment starkly contrasts with the calm, collected Monica we’ve seen previously, reinforcing her humanity and the emotional toll her profession takes.

Her admission that she “had to go to the worst case scenario” offers insight into her psyche. This pattern of thinking likely stems from past trauma, programming her to anticipate the worst to emotionally prepare herself. My own theories aside, I hope we get to see more of Monica’s backstory soon to unravel this. This tendency to anticipate the worst could explain her hesitance to explore something deeper with Amelia. If Monica has experienced significant losses or emotional disappointments in the past—such as the breakdown of her marriage—it’s likely that she’s programmed herself to keep relationships at arm’s length to avoid further pain.

This may also explain why she’s momentarily chosen Winston, a low-stakes, casual connection, over Amelia, whose potential as a serious partner would require Monica to confront her fears of vulnerability and risk. Subconsciously, Monica might be projecting this “worst-case scenario” mindset onto her dynamic with Amelia, fearing rejection, failure, or emotional hurt if things don’t work out. It’s a protective mechanism, keeping her from fully investing in something she knows has the potential to be meaningful but also more emotionally challenging.

Amelia’s steady and empathetic response in this scene is significant in this context. By meeting Monica where she is emotionally and offering advice about accepting situations “at face value,” Amelia is gently challenging this mindset. She’s suggesting, whether consciously or not, that Monica doesn’t always have to brace for the worst—that sometimes, taking things as they come can allow for forward movement and growth. This moment subtly reinforces how Amelia could help Monica break free from these patterns, opening the door for a healthier, more open connection between them.

Additionally, Amelia’s words offer insight into her own experiences, making her advice carry even greater weight. When Amelia says, “I’ve experienced enough that I always go to the worst case scenario,” she’s revealing that she understands Monica’s mindset on a deeply personal level. Amelia, too, has been shaped by trauma—losing loved ones, battling addiction, and navigating grief—and has likely developed similar coping mechanisms of bracing for the worst. This shared tendency connects them, as both of them have used this mindset as a way to maintain control in situations where life feels unpredictable.

However, Amelia’s advice to “accept the situation at face value so you can keep moving forward” reflects her growth. While she acknowledges that she still struggles with this instinct, her words suggest that she’s learning to balance the need for emotional anticipation with the importance of staying present. Her willingness to share this wisdom with Monica subtly positions Amelia as someone who could help Monica navigate her own struggles with control and vulnerability.

On another level, Amelia’s advice carries a poignant double meaning. It not only applies to Monica’s crisis but also seems to mirror Amelia’s own efforts to accept her feelings for Monica and move forward despite what she perceives as rejection. Amelia likely views Monica’s interactions with Winston and her reluctance to act on their connection as signs that she isn’t ready or interested. Yet, Amelia’s ability to stay present and offer emotional support in this moment—despite her own feelings—shows her maturity and capacity for empathy. It’s as though Amelia is applying her own advice in real time: accepting the situation at face value while continuing to show up for Monica when she needs it most.

This dual-layered moment reveals how both of their pasts inform their present behaviours and how their connection could become a source of healing for one another. Monica, who fears emotional risk, and Amelia, who understands the pain of vulnerability but still chooses to offer her support, create a relationship rich with potential for growth and understanding.

This scene provides a nice parallel to the Gem Crush scene, but with a deeper emotional intensity. In both cases, Amelia instinctively knows when Monica needs someone to steady her, but this scene highlights a growing emotional intimacy between them.

While the Gem Crush scene hinted at their chemistry and ease with one another, this moment takes it further, showcasing a level of trust and vulnerability that wasn’t as overt before. Monica isn’t just frustrated; she’s overwhelmed by the emotional weight of her responsibility. Amelia stepping in while Monica visibly struggles shows how their dynamic has evolved from casual camaraderie to something more personal and supportive.

What’s fitting in all this is the song choice in the background of this scene (Breakdown by Ships Have Sailed). Everything means something to me so I looked into the lyrics and the meaning of the song, and the way it just fits them??? The band’s frontman describes the song as “an exploration of our lowest moments, the times we’re broken, exhausted, completely tapped out and we just need a lifeline.” He goes on to say that it was born from conversations with his co-writer where they talked about how hard it can be to admit that they needed somebody to hold them upright during those difficult times. This is representative of the fact Monica showed her vulnerability enough to confide in Amelia, and though she might have found that really difficult and seeking comfort from someone might not come naturally to her, she relents and lets Amelia in. It could also foreshadow a dynamic in which Amelia helps Monica through even bigger things in life, i.e. her divorce, past traumas etc.

With lyrics like “We’re all looking for a lifeline, a way to make it through the storm,” the music reflects both the literal storm affecting the helicopter’s journey and the emotional storm Monica and Amelia are navigating. Monica’s visible breakdown and Amelia’s role as her “lifeline” highlight the song’s central theme of finding support amidst chaos.

Read that again. Amelia Shepherd is Monica Beltran’s lifeline.

The repeated message of breaking down captures Monica’s current state, while the song’s hopeful tone suggests that breakdowns can lead to breakthroughs—a sentiment that applies both to Monica’s struggles and to the progression of her relationship with Amelia. Additionally, the lyric “I’ll hold on, I won’t let go,” mirrors Amelia’s actions. Despite her own internal conflicts—her perceived rejection by Monica and witnessing Monica’s dynamic with Winston—Amelia chooses to stay present, offering steady support instead of retreating.

This scene not only deepens their individual character arcs but also solidifies the connection between Monica and Amelia. The parallels to earlier moments, combined with the song’s poignant lyrics, emphasise how their relationship is slowly but surely developing.

Now to the final scene of the ep, one that will have people saying it’s the end of their chapter and it’s them giving us closure. Well, I don’t think so. And here’s why…

I’m starting with acknowledging Monica’s recognition of Amelia’s role in calming her down, because it’s an important moment for them. Up until now, we’ve often seen Amelia supporting Monica in subtle ways, but this is one of the first times Monica openly acknowledges it. By admitting, “I was freaking out and you calmed me down,” Monica demonstrates an emotional vulnerability that mirrors Amelia’s earlier willingness to step in and provide support. This moment shows how their relationship is not one-sided—they both bring value to each other, creating a dynamic where support flows both ways. Remember in my first blog when I said I wanted Amelia to find a lasting, healthy love who challenges her and embraces her flaws, and loves her for exactly who she is. But I want her to do that for them in return, and to show up for her partner in ways I know she’s so capable of? Well Monica Beltran was clearly the answer here.

But then we have Amelia’s response; “It’s the irony that you would see if you knew me better.” This line is deeply reflective of Amelia’s character and highlights a gap in their understanding of each other. Amelia’s history of impulsivity, struggles with addiction, and emotional volatility likely make her see herself as someone who is far from a calming presence. The irony she mentions stems from this self-perception—she finds it almost laughable that Monica, someone she clearly respects, would view her as a grounding force. It subtly suggests that Amelia doesn’t feel fully “seen” by Monica yet, and while their connection is growing, there’s still room for them to learn more about each other on a deeper, personal level.

This line also hints at Amelia’s emotional growth. While she may not see herself as someone inherently calming, the fact that she successfully supports Monica during her breakdown shows how far she has come in her own journey. It’s a reminder that Amelia is more than her past struggles—she is capable of being a supportive, reliable presence when it matters.

Monica’s decision to bring up Winston for the second time is very telling. As I said earlier, once could be interpreted as Monica trying not to hurt Amelia’s feelings, but twice feels deliberate. This repeated effort to clarify that her relationship with Winston is “just casual” could mean a couple of different things. On one level, this could be a sign of deeper feelings—Monica may subconsciously want to keep the door open with Amelia or ensure that Amelia doesn’t misinterpret her actions. Alternatively, it reflects Monica’s growing awareness of the emotional undercurrents between them. Her insistence on explaining herself shows that she deeply values Amelia and she's adamant this misunderstanding isn't going to affect their connection.

Amelia’s response, while calm and less defensive than earlier, feels like a subtle shift in her perspective. Telling Monica that she doesn’t owe her an explanation reflects her acceptance of the situation and her effort to take her own advice: to “accept things at face value” and move forward. While it’s clear she still cares about Monica, Amelia is choosing to respect her boundaries and keep their dynamic intact rather than risk alienating her. Her willingness to say, “You and I are good,” and move on shows her maturity and her ability to prioritise the connection they already have over her personal feelings.

However, this doesn’t mean Amelia doesn’t care—her earlier defensiveness and her body language in this scene suggest that her feelings for Monica are still present. She may be acting as though it doesn’t bother her, but the fact that Monica feels compelled to explain herself again hints that both of them recognise the unspoken tension between them. Amelia’s choice to step back rather than push reflects her respect for Monica’s situation and her desire to maintain their connection, even if it means setting her feelings aside for now.

One thing to pay attention to is Meredith’s voiceover that overlays the scene. The line “We tell ourselves we don’t care” directly overlays Amelia walking away from Monica, making it a clear reflection of her internal state. Throughout the episode, Amelia has been trying to convince herself that she’s unaffected by Monica’s connection with Winston. Her standoffishness earlier and her calm but emotionally distant response in this final scene are classic examples of someone faking indifference to protect themselves from further rejection. This line perfectly captures Amelia’s defensive strategy: she’s putting on a façade of not caring to maintain composure and to keep Monica in her life in some capacity.

“The old saying goes fake it till you make it, because sometimes pretending you have confidence helps you find the real thing. When it doesn’t work, when life doesn’t give us second chances or dress rehearsals, you can walk away or you can go all in. We tell ourselves we don’t care. We can try to hide our doubts and fears. Or we can accept the unknown and dive in. The real thing is better anyway.”

- Meredith Grey (21x05)

However, Amelia’s consistent effort to stay composed shows how much she does care. By choosing to be supportive rather than retreating entirely, Amelia demonstrates her ability to prioritise the connection she has with Monica, even if it’s not in the form she hoped for. This moment shows Amelia “faking it” emotionally to keep moving forward, just as the voiceover suggests.

If we look at the voiceover as a whole, it’s interesting how it encapsulates the overarching trajectory of Monica and Amelia’s relationship so far:

“Fake it till you make it”

Both Monica and Amelia are faking something to maintain stability in their lives. Monica is “faking” a connection with Winston, using their casual relationship as a distraction while avoiding the risk and emotional vulnerability of pursuing something serious with Amelia. For Amelia, her “fake” indifference toward Monica’s situation is a defence mechanism, helping her stay grounded while dealing with her feelings.

“When it doesn’t work, when life doesn’t give us second chances or dress rehearsals, you can walk away or you can go all in.”

This speaks directly to the choice that both women face. Monica is at a crossroads—she can keep walking away from her feelings for Amelia by hiding behind her casual dynamic with Winston (a blatant dress rehearsal), or she can confront her emotions and take the leap. Amelia, too, faces a choice: she can maintain her façade and protect herself emotionally, or she can let herself be vulnerable by staying open to the possibility of something deeper with Monica in the future.

“We tell ourselves we don’t care. We can try to hide our doubts and fears.”

This mirrors both Monica and Amelia’s actions. Monica hides her fears of commitment and rejection behind her relationship with Winston, and Amelia hides her hurt feelings by pretending to be unbothered. However, this pretence is a temporary fix—it’s clear from their interactions that these unspoken emotions are shaping their dynamic and will likely need to be addressed eventually.

“Or we can accept the unknown and dive in. The real thing is better anyway.”

This line hints at the potential of Monica and Amelia’s relationship. While both are currently navigating fears, doubts, and external baggage, the voiceover suggests that “the real thing”—a meaningful connection between them—would be worth the emotional risk. It foreshadows the possibility that they might eventually “dive in” once they’re ready to confront their feelings.

This final scene of Monica and Amelia appears to be part of a larger, intentional framing of relationships in the show. Like Monmelia, the other characters featured during the monologue—Levi and James, Jo and Link—are all grappling with external factors or internal fears that impact their relationships. James just told Levi about his husband that passed away and how Levi is the first person he’s properly dated since then. Jo and Link are overwhelmed and scared at the prospect of having twins. For Monica, it’s her divorce and her fear of vulnerability; for Amelia, it’s her fear of rejection. The contrast with Lucas and Simone, who are unburdened by the baggage of age and experience, emphasises how much emotional weight the other couples carry. It’s a stark reminder that emotional baggage and life’s complications often dictate how relationships evolve—or don’t. They come into shot just as Meredith talks about accepting the unknown and diving in, as if to represent what all three of the other couples could be if they too followed this mantra.

This scene and the voiceover capture where Monica and Amelia stand right now: caught between fear and possibility, faking stability while navigating their deeper emotions. It beautifully sets us up for what could happen if they both choose to dive in and accept the unknown, rather than walk away.

That’s why I’m not too worried about the lack of scenes between them in 21x06. Of course I wish we had them, but I’m not concerned, I think it’s just part of the build up. I actually think it was good for both of their characters, in fact, it’s a crucial step in their individual growth. Relationships, especially ones with potential for depth and longevity, often require both people to build their own foundations before fully committing to one another. This episode provides the space for Monica and Amelia to focus on themselves, which is something I’ve always believed is key to their relationship working in the long run.

For Monica, we see her thriving in her career, succeeding in her surgeries and driving her professional arc forward. This is an important aspect of her character development—she’s finding her footing again after her divorce and proving her competence and value in the surgical world. By focusing on her own growth, Monica is laying the groundwork for being emotionally ready to invest in something meaningful when the time comes.

For Amelia, the episode allows us to see her in her role as a mother, spending time with Scout and highlighting the centrality of her son in her life. This not only reinforces Amelia’s identity outside of her professional life but also reminds us of the responsibilities she brings to any relationship. Seeing her embrace this part of her life demonstrates her own emotional growth and her commitment to balancing motherhood with the other areas of her life. Monica would have to accept this part of Amelia should she want to pursue a relationship with her.

Together, these arcs show that Monica and Amelia are taking the time to grow as individuals, which is essential for their relationship to flourish. Rather than rushing into a relationship before they’re ready, both of them are focusing on their personal needs and priorities.

There are a couple of key parts we could focus on too. When Amelia is talking to Jo about her relationship with Link, we could draw some comparison to Monica’s current dynamic with Winston. Monica may not be "forcing" anything in the same way, but her casual relationship with Winston could stem from a similar fear of facing deeper emotions. Just as Link may have been using his relationship with Amelia as a way to avoid confronting his true feelings for Jo, Monica could be using her casual connection with Winston as a way to delay or avoid the vulnerability that pursuing something with Amelia would require.

This suggests that both Monica and Link might be acting out of a fear of change or emotional risk, staying in situations that feel "safe" even if they lack authenticity or longevity. Amelia’s insight here could reflect how she perceives Monica’s dynamic with Winston, whether she’s consciously drawn the connection or not. While the context is different, the emotional dynamics align, but this time Amelia has switched roles. She is the "Jo"—the authentic relationship with Monica, representing depth and genuine connection, rather than the one who is used as an escape or a distraction.

In the very next scene, Monica makes a comment during surgery about her patients: “I think it’s sweet. They know what they want and they’re not holding back.” This line could easily apply to her own dynamic with Amelia. Monica has been hesitant to fully confront or act on her feelings, instead retreating into the safety of a casual relationship with Winston. If Monica were to take her own observation to heart, she might realise that holding back isn’t serving her—and that acknowledging what she truly wants could lead to something much more fulfilling.

Similarly, Amelia has recognised that Link’s dynamic with her was rooted in fear and avoidance rather than genuine connection. If she reflects on this, she could see parallels in Monica’s relationship with Winston. Just as Link was using his connection with Amelia to avoid confronting his deeper feelings for Jo, Monica may be using Winston as a way to avoid addressing the emotional risks that come with pursuing something real with Amelia. Recognising this could give Amelia some clarity and help her see that Monica’s actions aren’t necessarily a rejection of her, but a reflection of Monica’s own emotional struggles.

It’s fitting, then, that both Monica and Amelia reflect on sentiments in this episode that could help them if they took their own advice. Monica’s admiration for her patients’ authenticity and Amelia’s emphasis on honesty and vulnerability are precisely what they need to embrace if they are to move forward together. These reflections highlight the emotional barriers they’re each grappling with and offer hope for what could happen if they both find the courage to not hold back.

This season so far has been all about the slow, careful build for Monica and Amelia, and while it’s easy to get frustrated at the pace or lack of screen time, the groundwork being laid feels intentional. Every scene, no matter how brief, adds a layer to their dynamic, revealing the emotional complexities both characters are navigating and setting us up for something long term.

What’s fascinating is how both Monica and Amelia are mirroring each other in their struggles with vulnerability and fear. Monica, hesitant to confront her deeper feelings for Amelia, hides behind the safe, casual dynamic with Winston, while Amelia, feeling rejected and uncertain, chooses to protect herself by pretending she’s unaffected. Yet despite their missteps, we’re seeing a connection that continues to grow organically through mutual support, professional respect, and those small moments of quiet intimacy that mean everything.

What stands out in all of this is the potential they have—not just as individuals but as a team. Their ability to balance each other, to step in when the other falters, and to provide emotional stability creates a dynamic that is both deeply compelling and rich with possibility. The show has been slow-burning their relationship for a reason: these are two people who need to grow individually before they’re ready to take the leap together. But when they do, it will be worth the wait.

For now, we’re watching Monica and Amelia navigate their own arcs, finding strength in themselves while still holding space for each other. Whether it’s through Monica’s acknowledgment of Amelia’s calming presence or Amelia’s ability to support Monica without letting her feelings get in the way, their connection feels like it’s steadily building.

As much as I want them to just dive in already, there’s something satisfying about watching them take their time. They have to step back to move forward. But until then, I’ll be here, overanalysing every look, every line, and every shared carton of Chinese food.

Let’s carry on being delulu together! <3

#amelia shepherd #monica beltran #monmelia #monmelia analysis #monmelia thoughts #thoughts #analysis #ramblings #wlw #grey's anatomy #grey's abc

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