#steel the indestructible man

[splooosh]

“Commander”

Jerry Ordway

[doctorslippery]

[p-c-ba-dcforever]

Happy 4th! We're celebrating with the whole Steel legacy! (and while we're doing so, maybe some credit to Don Heck who, given the thankless job of "make Captain America, but different", turned out a pretty sharp design!

[chernobog13]

Rondo Hatton schemes to make life difficult for the Iron Skull in Amazing-Man Comics #16 (October, 1940).

And compared to the Iron Skull, Rondo was Adonis.

This is the Iron Skull:

He was created by Carl Burgos, who also created an obscure character named the Human Torch for Timely Comics.

The Iron Skull initially did not have an origin story when he first appeared in the very first issue of Amazing-Man Comics (which, oddly, was numbered 5; there were no issues #1-4). He just showed up at the scene of a crime and started mopping up crooks left and right.

Later it was revealed that the Skull was a soldier gravely injured during World War ll, which was interesting because America had not entered the war at the time the story was written. The soldier's damaged flesh and bones were replaced with metal by a kindly doctor, making the soldier super-strong and bullet-proof. Oddly though, the doctor gave the new cyborg animé cat eyes, and completely forgot to give him a nose.

Don't believe me? Here's the Iron Skull's full origin from Amazing-Man Comics #7 (November, 1939).

Written and drawn by Carl Burgos.

Yeah, that's all the explanation anyone every got as to who he is and how he came to be.

The series took place in the future of the 1960s, when the war - some of which had been fought in America - finally came to an end. The country was rebuilding itself, but crime became rampant, which is why the Ron Skull - so-called because of his noseless appearance - became a crime fighter.

By Amazing-Man Comics #11 the series had jumped ahead to the early 1970s. War broke out in Europe again, and an unnamed nation was instigating terrorist attacks in the States. The Iron Skull now concentrated his efforts on tackling the spies and saboteurs trying to bring America down.

The Iron Skull skipped issues #12 & 13 of Amazing-Man Comics. He was back with issue #14, but gone was Carl Burgos, replaced by Sam Gilman. Also gone was the futuristic setting and any reference to the events of the previous stories. The Iron Skull moved to New York City where, somehow, in the very next issue he could mentally communicate with the District Attorney.

From Amazing-Man Comics #16. Story and art by Sam Gilman.

The Iron Skull continued to smash crime and war saboteurs in now contemporary, pre-War New York until his strip ended in issue #22. He then moved over to Star and Stripes #2 (May, 1941), along with most of other characters from Amazing-Man Comics, which was cancelled after issue #26.

Things progressed quickly for the Skull in his new book. In issue #3 he got a costume, albeit a simple pair of swim trunks. In issue #4 he inexplicably gained the ability to fly. And in issue #5 he became completely bald. However, as compensation the Iron Skull got his true superhero costume (although he just looks like an employee at your local S&M dungeon):

Yes, that's a skull and crossbones tattooed on his chest. Because apparently he just spends his whole day dressed like that, and only dons the cape when he's going into action.

See? I told ya!

Sadly, the Iron Skull didn't get to enjoy the costume for very long. Star and Stripes #6 was the last issue because Centaur Publications went out of business the next month.

The DC hero Steel, not John Henry Irons but the World War ll superhero who later became Commander Steel, has a similar origin.

When I first read Steel #1 back in 1978 I thought he was just a WWll-version of The Six Million Dollar Man, with his body being rebuilt with the 1940s equivalent of bionics. But now that I've delved into the Iron Skull and his one panel origin, I would say Steel is much more similar to him than Steve Austin (whether or not Steel creator Gerry Conway intended that).

Steel did not, however, develop telepathy or the ability to fly. Nor did he, thankfully, decide to run around in leather boy shorts.

[whywoulditho]

something about the opening scene to james gunn's superman's teaser trailer showing the indestructable alien superhero in his weakest moment, lying on the snow with blood on his face, trembling from the cold and vincing in pain, is so SO brilliant. it's an immidiate punch in the face to anyone who opened it up to see another rendition of man of steel. and then the beat drop comes right after he ASKS FOR HELP. if the whole movie is made with this kind of philosophy and attention to detail sign me tf up

[frownyalfred]

I see a ton of stuff in canon where Bruce has to react to Clark’s death (or him dying, or gravely injured). But as fun as that is I am hungry for the opposite. They are both indestructible in their own way, and I need, NEED, to see how the supposed Man of Steel reacts when he has to learn just how mortal his boyfriend is. And so I humbly ask: Know any good fics?

Porridge :)

[lay-z]

Just a sneak peek of a concept that has taken root in my brain.

TF-141 x fem!vampire!Reader. Aye?

"If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do this my way, sunshine. Am I being clear?"

Sunshine. You don't know if you should scoff or laugh about the pet name. Is it because you're anything but a ray of sunshine or because it's one of the few things that can actually harm you? A reminder that you're not indestructible perhaps?

"Very clear," you purr, adding, "Johnathon."

Captain Price wrinkles his nose at that and you find it incredibly endearing, the way he both hates and desires you; knowing about the latter, because you can clearly pick up the tiniest hint of arousal in his human scent.

"Rule number one," he grumbles, tightening his crossed arms over his bulky chest, "I'm sir, Captain or Price to you from now on. Rule number two, you answer to me and you'll learn to respect me. Especially in front of my men. Understood?"

You regard him in silence for a moment, gazing up at him with sharp, ruby eyes while you're sitting perfectly still in the chair in front of his large and very cluttered mahogany desk. A desk so messy, it makes your fingers itch to clean it up.

"Honestly, I feel like you'll only come up with more rules and I should probably write all of this down," you retort, obviously wanting to taunt him as you feign looking for a pencil on his desk. "I have terrible memory, you know?"

You never forget anything and you couldn't if you tried. It's both a blessing and another curse that's part of your condition. A side effect, one could say.

And you anticipate him slamming his mammoth palm on the desk with an exasperated growl even before it connects with the wood with a loud smack. You heard the spike of his pulse, the way his muscles flexed and synapses in his brain fired when his temperament made him react to your teasing.

Captain Price is such a prime male human example; being with him almost makes you feel giddy in a way that you haven't felt in decades, and this whole arrangement that is slowly starting to come together only adds to the long forgotten feeling of excitement.

"This is all a bloody joke to you, innit? Meanwhile, I'm over here, taking a huge fucking risk turning to someone like you for help!"

Your eyes zero in on the thick vein in his flushed neck as he yells at you, throbbing and alive, and you can feel your mouth water with saliva as the urge to bite and feed on him, to make him yours, starts growing in your chest cavity.

As you let out a soft, breathy laugh, completely unbothered by his outburst that probably has his soldiers cowering, you flash him a charming smile. "Pardon me," you chuckle softly and relax back into your chair, "I'll be good now, Captain."

Captain Price narrows his steel blue eyes at you suspiciously as he slowly lowers himself back into his office chair and the old leather creaks under his weight.

"I highly doubt that, sunshine," he sighs gruffly, rubbing a hand over his tired face before dropping it on the desk again, glaring at you once more. "But I'll take my chances with you."

"You want your little Sergeant back, don't you?" You ask rhetorically, because this is why you're here, why he brought you back all the way from Urzikstan to the UK after you'd stumbled into the scene, had your hungry self been lured in by the thick scent of blood and death that day.

The Captain stiffens in his seat at the mention of Soap, the man who got captured by their enemy after being shot and left behind in some tunnel.

You don't need a verbal answer from him to know that you're right.

"Exactly," you coo, letting out a little laugh. Giddy. Excited. Just happy to be involved, honestly.

" and I can bring him back. No biggie."

[stroodlenoodles]

Termina Characters as Fountain Pens

Starting with Daan he'd be a Waterman Hémisphère, it's fancy but not obnoxiously so

Abella is a Kaweco Steel Sport, which is basically indestructible

O'saa is a Montblanc Meisterstück (the limited edition 'Around the World in 80 Days' pen) purely because the patterns remind me of his jewellery + clothes

Olivia is a Faber-Castell Ambition Coconut, the mix of wood + chrome made sense to me

Karin is a Pelikan Souveran M1000 Renaissance Brown because OF COURSE she had to be one from the brand named after a bird lol

Pav is a Platinum #3776 Century, it's in the colour laurel green which represents victory (pretty ironic for him)

Marcoh is a Gravitas Stainless Steel Sentry because oh lawd it hefty (it weighs 84 grams!)

Levi is a Pilot V-Pen which are known to be disposable, therefore linking with his life as a child soldier. Sorry buddy...

Marina is a Sailor Pro Gear Fairy Tale in the colour Grateful Crane, mostly for vibes

Samarie is a Parker IM Achromatic Matt Black, it's literally tall, dark and skinny just like her

Tanaka is a Nakaya Heki-tamenuri, it's designed for everyday use (perfect for a business man)

Henryk is a Pilot Metropolitan, looks fancy but actually pretty reasonable

August is a Parker Centennial, vintage type

As for Caligura....

[babyangelsky]

My Favorite Expressions in Love Sea Ep. 9

Holy shit I don't think I have ever felt more relieved watching the penultimate episode of a Thai BL than I did this week. I was expecting doom, I was expecting gloom, and while both were absolutely present, we did not linger there.

This is just my opinion but to me that alone is proof of how much Mame has grown as a writer because for a second there I was fearing another Don't Say No situation.

BUT THIS AIN'T ABOUT THAT LET'S YAP ABOUT MICROEXPRESSIONS

I need to start with my baby because after the horrors last week, seeing her smile means everything to me. Gotta hold onto it as long as I can because we all know what's coming.

And speaking of smiles, this situation is TERRIBLE there are delinquents coming at my man with 2x4's but this feral smile from Mahasamut?

This one is purely for Meena's benefit, to comfort and reassure her but it is genuine, Fort's eyes are very sparkly. He switches gears very quickly when the getaway bike arrives for the thugs though so however chill he seems, he absolutely isn't. He just wants to keep the baby (and Vivi and her friend) calm.

It's very disconcerting to see Vivi this serious.

We're 2/2 on smiles for other people's benefit. My poor girly.

*stares at Viviana* You did this.

This look of pure murderous intent may be one of my favorite expressions Mut has had over this whole show, especially because it's paired with that clenched fist. And I'm going to give extra praise to Fort for it because he doesn't clench his fist until after Tongrak apologizes for what happened and he doesn't open his eyes until his hand is practically trembling from holding it so tightly.

This response doesn't come when Rak tries to blame himself for the beating; it happens when he apologizes for it. Mut isn't angry in the abstract and he isn't angry at Rak, he's angry for him.

I don't like this face, Khun Tongrak. I actually had a moment where I thought to myself, "why can't I read your face right now?" and of course it's deliberate on Peat's part. Even without knowing what we know from the preview, this face would have told us that Something was about to happen.

Or maybe that's just me, I don't know. I've been staring very hard at Peat's face for the past two months.

Watching Tongrak desperately try to steel his nerve after entering the snake pit that is his sperm donor's house is heartbreaking.

As much as I hate to subject you (and myself) to more of Jak's face, I'd like to point out that like last week, his face is in shadow while the face of the person he's speaking to, in this case Tongrak, is catching the light. Also worth noting that Rak's back is quite literally against the wall in this scene.

We see this play with light/shadow again when Rak has a flashback of him from his childhood. Jak has always been a vile, psychopathic snake and his true feelings and intentions have always been hidden behind shadow.

It's horrible to say because there's so much anguish behind it but this is such a beautiful expression. There's a split second where he tries to look angry but it just doesn't work.

I think there's a tiny part of Tongrak that truly believed that tearing up the contract would be what made Mahasamut leave and on the flip side of that, a part that was afraid that the contract was truly the only thing making Mut stay.

GODDAMN THIS IS THE SEXIEST THING MAHASAMUT HAS EVER SAID ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME

For people like Tongrak and for people who can relate to Tongrak in the sense that one or more of the parents we pulled in the great gacha of life are horrible and shitty, there comes a moment where you realize that they aren't actually these huge indestructible monsters. They're human.

And when you realize that and look at them, it's like you're seeing for the first time. There's a weird sort of pity and whatever the opposite of awe is that you feel that's hard to describe. It's a feeling of "...Is that really it? Is that all there is to you?"

That is what Peat is portraying so incredibly in this scene.

BLINDING LIGHT OF LOVE LET'S GOOOOOOO

WILD HORSES, YA'LL! WILD FUCKING HORSES!

Pouty Tongrak face, as a treat.

Mook and Mahasamut were talking about Tongrak and what Mut would do if he got rejected when all was said and done, but Mook's face when Mut says he would accept the rejection tells me she's also thinking about herself and Vivi.

I actually really wish she would've talked to Mut about it directly because god knows girly pop needs to talk to someone about Vivi. Or better yet, Vivi herself.

As for the preview next week, do not even sweat it babes because you know what?

THERE ARE COLORFUL PATTERNS ON TONGRAK'S BODY!

I LOVE GETTING EVERYTHING I WANT!

[bananababblegigglemuffin]

Logan: A Love Letter to the Unbreakable Broken

You know Logan. You know him. Not the claws, not the growl, not the indestructible skeleton—no, you know him. The man beneath it all. The one who’s spent lifetimes fighting battles he didn’t ask for, living lives he didn’t choose, carrying pain he didn’t deserve.

Logan isn’t a superhero. He’s a storm trapped in skin and steel—a wildfire trying to smother itself because it knows what it destroys. He’s the man who lights a cigar in the middle of a blood-soaked battlefield and mutters, “Let’s finish this.” He’s the one who drives a battered truck through the desert, bleeding out while still keeping everyone else alive.

And don’t even get me started on the way he loves. Not with flowers or words, but with actions so raw they burn. He loves like a wolf guarding its pack, like the last shield in a crumbling war. It’s not romantic, but it’s the kind of love that leaves you alive when you had no right to be.

He’s the soft sound of boots on broken glass. The reluctant “Yeah, kid,” when he doesn’t know how to say, “I’ll die for you.” The quiet rage of a man who heals from every wound except the ones inside.

Logan doesn’t save the world. He saves people. And isn’t that more? Isn’t that what we all need?

Reblog if you’ve ever wanted to scream into the void that Logan deserved peace. That his scars were maps of a love he never let himself feel. That he was the hero who didn’t wear a cape because he knew it wouldn’t last long enough to matter.

Logan isn’t just a character. He’s us. Every sharp edge, every quiet moment of tenderness, every piece of ourselves we think is too broken to save.

He’s not unkillable. He’s unforgettable.

[splooosh]

“maybe”

Jerry Ordway

[doctorslippery]

[projectbluearcadia]

[P1] Heart of Blue

Lucifer x GN!MC

[ Part 1 ] [ Part 2 ]

[ Scenario: After a sweet and short date, Lucifer gets a l'il greedy and wants to spend some more time with you. With cuddles straight into caring sex, Lucifer wants to savor every moment.

Part 1 is fluff; Part 2 is fluffy smut. ]

I am publishing before my self-imposed due date for once, but it comes at the price of two parts. Here's to all the vanilla Luci-lovers <3.

Wordcount - 1178

“I was just thinking about getting...” What—Where the hell did he go?! you think as you look for Lucifer through mounds of antiques. Bizarre china, paintings, books, borderline ancient tools, rusty plant holders, old clothes, and no sign of your (stupid) boyfriend. He was right next to me! you think, annoyed as you wander back through the way you came. 

“Look at this,” you hear him say, before you feel his hand around yours—half-shocking you to death—before he drags you in the direction he's been looking. A wall full of pans. What in the ninth hell is he… “It’s Dead Steel,” he explained, hefting one such pan off the wall before he placed it into your hands and nearly made you drop to the floor in the process. He laughed softly as you struggled to hold it, shaking as you carefully set it down onto a dangerously creaking floorboard. 

“And… And why is that so fascinating?” you ask, trying to conceal your exasperation with him, and he turned to look at you, bemused. 

“It’s Dead. Steel,” he said, again, before he effortlessly swung the pan up by the handle and inspected the engraving. “The Devildom long fazed out of using it because the material is highly resistant to being enchanted. It’s heavy, it’s damn near indestructible, great for hitting people…” He flipped the pan over, fascinated as his burgundy eyes roved over it. “I haven’t seen one of these in thousands of years.” His eyes widened at the dark red, nearly invisible squiggle on the bottom. “Wait, this is my pan. I was wondering where that went.” 

“...you really are an old man,” you can’t help but snicker. To think he was so old that his possessions were ending up in antique shops that sold only items that were at least 500 years old.

“Oh, shut up, you,” he grunted. “You aren’t even the sperm cell that squirted from your father’s penis.” You find yourself furtively looking around while you cringe, hoping to low hell that no one heard that. 

“Lucifer!” you scold, and he chuckled. 

“Aw, does this old man embarrass you?” 

“Yes, but more importantly, please do not talk about my father’s genitals.” Some things are better left to the imagination, although Lucifer hasn’t quite seemed to grasp that concept yet. 

“You started it,” he hums, apparently pleased with your reaction nevertheless as he takes the 25 kilo pan in one hand. Child. He is actually a child, you complain in your head as he swings the handle on one finger. I guess he’s buying it. And how is he doing that? “MC, if you don’t pick something, I will buy something for bed,” he teases, picking up a cat o’ nine tails and shaking it tauntingly at you. 

“Now that you mention it, I was very interested in something before you ran off, thank you,” you answer shortly before you take him by the hand instead, dragging him back to where you had been roaming before he went and disappeared, shoving him in front of a small, glass case. Lucifer’s eyes widen, and his leather-gloved hands rest lightly on the case. 

“You really will melt my heart one of these days, MC,” he says solemnly, confusing you as you look back at the case. It’s just a pair of fountain-tipped pens that were completely unremarkable aside from what appeared to be two different snakes wrapped around them. One was the color of the ocean, and the other was the color of the sky. It wasn’t one ocean or one sky, because the snakes’ scales had been painted one by one into a satisfying gradient. 

“Is it because they’re cheap?” you guess, and Lucifer shakes his head as he takes the glass case with a faint yet bittersweet smile. Reminiscing, but it’s not the same. Did I find a precious memory by accident?

“No, not at all,” he replies as he takes the case with him, still faintly smiling as he brings both items to the register, paying for them both (He got a discount just because of who he was. Bastard).

“So are you going to tell me?” you prod as he hands the case to you, turning the pan in his hand as he walks in the direction of home with you. “Did you own these too?” He inclines his head. So he just bought back two old possessions. I’m almost surprised he didn’t demand that he receive them for free. 

“I gave them to Lilith as a gift,” he replies wistfully. O-Oh. Wow. Out of all the pens in the world I could pick… “I never really liked the man whom she would eventually call her husband, but I wasn’t stubborn enough that I couldn’t see how happy he made her. I gave them to her so that they could write to each other discreetly.” His tenderness, his kindness and his rich smile in that moment make you remember exactly why you fell in love with this prideful little bugger. 

“So… it’s a fond memory,” you clarify, and Lucifer softly chuckles behind his fist, his eyebrows scrunching together as he walks next to you, his step slow as if he never wanted to stop walking with you. 

“Fond, stupid, sweet… she actually argued with me about it because she said I’d be punished too if she was caught using them. I ended up yelling at her.” Lucifer smiles a little bitterly. “I would have rathered that God held me responsible as her older brother…?” Lucifer glances at you in confusion as you shake your arm in pain. “MC, did you just hit me?” 

“Really need to make it a habit to use magic to protect myself when I do that,” you grumble to yourself, rubbing your elbow, which had made contact with his oblique. Like elbowing a wall, Jesus... “Yes, I hit you. You’re doing the thing again. What’d we talk about?” 

“‘You are not at fault for your sister’s death, you do not deserve to be punished for your sister’s death, and no one blames you for your sister’s death. God can eat shit and go fuck himself,’” Lucifer parroted, word-for-word.

I’m happy you remember, but you really should be saying that from a first-person perspective... “I’m sorry. I know she’d hit me herself just the same. It’s just… difficult sometimes.” Lucifer shifted the pan to his other hand and offered his now-free one to you. You squeeze the glass case in your left before you lay your right in his, smiling with contentment as he looks at you fondly. “All the more reason to prize the things I have.” He gave you a surprise kiss on your temple as he leaned closer to you. “I have a meeting with Diavolo in half an hour, but…”

“But?” you prompt, and he rests his head against yours. 

“If… you’re not busy, then we’re cuddling up somewhere.” 

“Big softie,” you accuse lightly before you kiss his cheek. ‘If you’re not busy’; what a load of nonsense, you think with a smile. He already knows I don’t have anything to do today. I guess Diavolo’s just going to have to wait…

[lillian-gallows]

Kinktober Day 14: Knife Play with Logan Howlett/Wolverine

Pairing: Logan Howlett X Fem!Reader Word Count: 997 Warnings: Knife Play, Claw kink (Is that a thing? I'm making it a thing if not), P in V sex, Pet names, Dirty talk, Unspecified use of protection (Wrap it before you tap it).

Kinktober 2024 Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

This night was like so many before and after.

It was rare for you and Logan not to fuck each other to sleep, especially after he’s returned from a mission.

But this one. This one was different.

Maybe it was the fact that you were in your feral phase. Maybe it was how he came back all dirty and sweaty, five kinds of keyed up and looking for an outlet. Maybe it was both.

It was most likely both.

Not like it mattered, seeing as the man had you on your belly with your ass in the air the moment he walked in the door, where you were fresh out of the shower, still only in a towel, and debating getting yourself off since you didn’t think he would be home that night.

Neither of you had a desire or need to wait to get down to the fun part, you’d been walking the line of damp and proper wet all day, and he was hard as steel in the confines on his uniform pants.

So, there you are. Ass in the air while Logan pounds you into the mattress, hands fisted in the sheets as his growls vibrate against your neck.

Your body feels like it’s on fire, and the push and pull of his is only stoking it into an inferno.

His skin is slick against your back, the hair on his chest is a slight tickle that makes your skin tingle.

With his hands gripping the sheet right next to your face it would have been impossible to miss the way the very tips of his claws peeked out from between his knuckles, a slight gleam in the low light.

You’d thought plenty about those claws, how Logan uses them, how strong they are, how sharp they are.

What it would be like if he held them to your throat while he ravages you.

His rhythm faltered for only a second when your much smaller hand wrapped around his, thumb first brushing lightly against the very edge of the skin where the metal protrudes, unsure what it is you’re doing but certainly not against it.

You wonder how many little nerves there are in those spots, he never reacts with pain to his claws but maybe he’s just used to it? A question for later.

Right now, he’s turning his hand to hold yours, an almost hesitation to stop you in the action. “That’s a dangerous game, Baby…” He rumbled in your ear, voice like gravel and pebbles.

“I thought you knew…” You started but are cut off by a whimper as he circled his hips against yours, grinding his shaft up against your G-spot. “I like dangerous.” You managed as your eyes rolled closed, pressing back against him.

He let out a low growl, at your words or at your actions you’re not sure, but his claws are inching out just a bit more, and it makes you clench around him, earning you another growl and a little more glinting silver.

“Fuck, Angel…Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He said as the slow metallic slice of his claws unsheathing fully met your ears.

At their full length they seemed to glow, their sharp tips twinkling with every shift of his hands.

Freeing your hand from under his grip you returned it to where you’d been caressing the base of the blades, feeling him shudder against you at the sensation.

You made a mental note of that as you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and tugged his hand closer.

“That how you want it, Sweetheart?” He said, sounding a little smug. “I can do that.” He finished before he was pulling up onto your knees, chest to back, and wrapping his hand around your throat, bringing his claws less than an inch from your face.

Your pulse jumped as adrenaline leaked into your veins, the natural reaction one would have to having three one-foot-long indestructible razors so close.

But rather than be a fearful turn off, it just made you all the wetter as he continued to press into you, his thick cock stretching you perfectly and his tip kissing your cervix on every thrust.

Logan let out a low rumbling chuckle as you clenched around him. “I knew there was a reason I loved you…” He said teasingly before unsheathing the claws of his other hand, trailing them so lightly along your belly that you couldn’t feel them but for the way the air moved around them, a slight metallic chill that made goose bumps bloom.

Your body melted into his, giving into the absolute control he had over both your bodies and basking in the absolute trust you shared.

It was addictive.

With care he continued to wrack your body with pleasure, filling you over and over till you were begging him to let you cum, and when he deemed that you’d had enough for this round, he lowered you back to the bed, and with one hand pressed to the back of your neck, holding you in place as his thrusts turned punishing.

Skin slapping skin and the wet sounds mixed with the animalistic sounds coming from both of your mouths, your desperate cries and his low growls, as the knots in both your bellies got tighter and tighter.

His grip had returned to the sheets, but his claws remained out, and you watched as his grip tightened on the fabric as he edged closer and closer, causing the blades to tear into both the sheets and the mattress.

When the pressure released and your orgasm washed over you, yanking him right along with you. Both of you careening into ecstasy in a show of shaking bodies, rolling hips, tearing fabric, and names falling from lips in half-finished breaths.

As you lay there, attempting to catch your breaths, Logan let out another chuckle. “Don’t think I’m done with you yet…”

His words earned a breathy laugh of your own. “Good…”

[iocity]

Teaser Chapter: A Voyage to the Sunset, pt. 1

ASL ‘MERICA AU

Note: Surprise!! I actually did not plan on releasing this so soon, but I got to excited about it. Hopefully it’ll be enjoyable! I’ll be making one of these for each of the boys! No romance just platonic/familial.

Word Count: 1,678

CW: Implied physical abuse, broken bones, bullying

masterlist!

Luffy has known from a young age that he is very different from other people. Although he lives with Grandpa Garp (who he lovingly nicknamed GeeGee), a beloved and respected old man in his town, his kindergarten and first grade classmates would always make sure to let him know how different he was. His usually blank face, his disinterest in most things (including school), the way he lit up when talking about certain topics. All of it, he noticed, was taboo.

Although he could tell there was something fundamentally different about him, he never assumed it was wrong, even when the bullying started. He knew it wasn't his fault that they jeered at him, called him names, and smushed all the bugs he was interested in. That didn't stop him from crying about it. Everyday he would come home, tears in his eyes as he detailed his struggles to fit in to Garp.

This isn't unfamiliar to Garp or the man he struggles to call his son. It's nothing new, for them at least, to be different. He got over it, so he assumed Luffy would too.

Unfortunately, Luffy can't tough it out too well. He was starting to feel his abnormality. The way his teachers looked at him as he fails every class but excels at beetle anatomy and edible foods, the shock and slight curiosity in their eyes as he opens up his notebook to show his drawings; all of it made it so glaringly obvious that he was an outcast. He wasn't good at drawing at all, but his wide eyed toothy grin distracted the teachers from that fact, proud of his knowledgeability with bugs but desperate to have him pay attention. So, as the weeks go by, charm was replaced by disappointment, and disappointment by office visits and skipped recesses. A delinquent in the making.

He finally tried, in second grade, to become friends with his bullies. He followed them around as they threw pebbles at him, grinning at them and pretending he can’t feel their dislike. He let them poke, prod, and push at him until he was hurting, because he would rather hurt than be all alone. He acted more normal, trying to tame his ever present energy so he would be liked. Garp noticed how injured he would come home every day, his gaze steeling because he knows how to raise soldiers and not children. The house was silent those days.

One day, Garp gets a call from the school, the familiar sound of Luffy's sobbing flooding the phone as they alert him that Luffy has been hurt again, and he has refused to tell them who did it. The seriousness sinks in when instead of getting directions to the school, he was getting directions to the hospital. All Garp could do on the drive over was obsess over how he failed again. He wondered when the crack happened in his family; he wondered if he was the one who caused it. His hands went white on the wheel as he pulled into the parking lot, his anxiety turned into anger and anger forced into control as he steels himself to face the grandson that he failed.

Luffy had claimed to break his arm by jumping off the swing. Garp calls bullshit, he knows his grandson is virtually indestructible. His head sags into his hands as he listens to the sniffles of his grandson who just won't harden up. It dawns on Garp, all at once, that he isn't cut out for this. He isn't cut out for anything but the battlefield. He wasn't even cut out for his own son, and Luffy isn't cut out for a sergeant and not a father figure. So, the day Luffy is discharged, he returns home to packed bags and GeeGee claims to take him on a road trip (which he believes with wide eyes and a smile). They pack up in Garp's old pickup truck, the engine sputtering to life after a few tugs at the keys in the transmission, the car ride silent and awkward. Luffy knows something is wrong, and for the first time, he is certain it's him; he knows it in the way that his grandfather's hands grip the wheel a little harder than usual, in how the trees outside don't speed by the window and instead crawl at a snail's pace. He wonders for a moment if he is broken and needs fixing before deciding to stop, instead wanting to memorize the shape of the trees as they pass. Cedar Elm, Southern Magnolia, Desert Willow, he lists, until half of the trees are unrecognizable, and it excites him to be able to know them. He lays his hand on the window, the cast stopping him from fidgeting too much as his thoughts run from him, and he lets them, freely.

Garp watches his grandson from the corner of his eyes, his whitened knuckles regaining their color as he witnesses the pure wonder in his grandson that Garp seemed to have lost over the years. The thought that he isn't cut out for this crosses his mind again, his lips pursing as a familiar softness blooms in him. He resents the vulnerability it brings. He wasn't prepared for this little boy who feels so deeply, a little boy who shouldn't be his to take care of. Luffy turns to him, smiling in his seat as he points out the window with an exclamation, and Garp's facade of cement and brick cracks; his eyes soften, a hand going to rest on Luffy's head.

"It's not that you're a bad kid. Never has been." The words crack when they leave his mouth. Luffy looks up at him with wide brown eyes, his smile melting into a flat face before his eyes settle onto the window in front of him.

"I can't raise a kid like you, Luffy. Couldn't raise your father, can't raise you. I just ain't fit for it." He says, his eyebrows furrowing as he watches the road go by, every sign a step closer to leaving his grandson. His little boy.

"Why not?" Luffy asks, his loud voice ringing in the car as his hand picks at his frayed shorts.

"I just... ain't cut out for fatherhood. I couldn't make you or your damn daddy harden up like a man ought to. You've got to, to live well. And I would say your daddy is livin' everythin' but well.

It hangs in the air for a moment, echoing in both of their minds before Luffy nods slowly, returning to looking out of his side window. The silence returns, and it weighs on Garp's heart, guilt running through him as the urge to turn around gnaws at his resolve.

"If I had been normal, do ya think you'da been fit for it?" Luffy's voice asks, smaller this time. Garp shifts his eyes to the back of his head quickly, before they return.

"Maybe," he says, pursing his lips tightly afterwards. Luffy slowly nods again, his hand softly gripping the cast enveloping his other arm. He pauses for a moment, frowning because he dislikes thinking too deeply, but it seems he has no choice.

"Alright."

Garp's chest heaves with a deep sigh, his hand leaves Luffy's head to pull at his beard, the silence returning to make him question his decision.

"I don't think l'd like bein' like you much when I get old," Luffy's tone is even; there's no bite to be found his words. It's a simple fact.

"I'd rather stay me."

Garp looks at him, puzzled by the child beside him. He puts another hand to his wheel, before shifting it to grip his knee, a laugh bubbling up in his chest. Luffy eyes him while he howls with laughter, before joining, because something must have been funny if his Geegee was laughing. The car slows to a stop on the side of the road as Garp wipes his tears, his hand clapping onto Luffy's back so hard that Luffy thinks his eyes might just roll out of his head.

"I reckon you'll learn!" He exclaims, and Luffy realizes after a few moments that he is being mocked. The realization seeps into him like poison; it picks at his bones and eats at his heart. His own grandfather is throwing rocks at him, he is squishing the bugs he likes, and he is breaking his arm. His hands tighten into fists, his arm aching.

"I'll be damned if I do. I'd rather die." Luffy's gaze has steeled on his grandfather, his brows furrowing in anger because how dare his own grandfather insult his dream?

"Watch your tone boy," Garp responds lowly, his tone and resolve matching Luffy's as he grits his teeth, "You've no idea what l've been through to keep you safe and fed. I raised you whether I liked it or not. You've got not a clue in the world how many people in your family had to toughen up just like you."

"That's got nothin' to do with me." Luffy tells him simply; his tone is as flat and even before, but this time Garp is raising a hand. A threat of violence and a promise that any backtalk will be met with force. Luffy's mouth shuts as he crosses his arms as best he can, tears brimming in his eyes as the car starts driving again, the trees in the window passing so quickly that Luffy could no longer make out their shapes or names. He settles further into his seat, the air in the car boiling with unspoken rage. After a long while, his eyes focus and refocus on the sinking sun through the front window sleepily, and he wonders if the place that his grandfather is taking him is waiting there for him. He thinks he’d quite like that, living right under the sun. He keeps thinking, imagining their destination, until slowly but surely his eyes fall closed, and he drifts softly into a dream that is his and his alone.

Tags :p: @porschethemermaid

[blindmagdalena]

thinking about how good it'd be to bond with John through past traumatic experiences. Sharing anger at mistreatments, soothing each other's scars by telling obvious but needed things.

He won't be enthusiastic to share. It's better to keep up with "made of steel" image in front of even close people than to seem "dirty, shriveled, anemic". But I'm sure if s/o will mention their past or maybe get him curious so he'll nudge his beloved to share what's bothering them, in the process of their vulnerability he could accidentally show a glimpse of his pain.

Telling Homelander he was handled unfairly and cruelly. Expressing to him resentment they feel for his childhood while in return he seethes that someone in the past dared to hurt his precious s/o. (just imagine him saying "I'd give everything to be with you in those times" AND TELLING HIM THE SAME!!! He'll have his inner child moment and cry i bet)

Comfort loved one with righteous wrath.

this type of emotional wound dressing is so cathartic to me. there is such an intense element of festering rot to Homelander's emotional damage that it's going to hurt to flush it out. to cut away what's dead. if he's ever going to move forward in a meaningful way, he'll have to let himself bleed in a way he hasn't since those wounds were fresh.

and god, what a mercy to have someone who will bleed with you. to hold your hand and staunch the flow before the dizziness overtakes you. to be trusted to do the same for them.

it's one thing to be willing to die for someone. it's something else entirely to be better for them.

handling an indestructible man like he's made of glass because that's what his psyche has been reduced to. fragile, full of hairline fractures. it's not salvageable, it'll never be what it was, but maybe it doesn't have to get worse. maybe he doesn't have to break any further.

or maybe it is the gentle touch that finally shatters him. at least he'd have someone to help pick up the pieces.