#the early-mid 00s were not good to him

[d1stalker]

The Feeling's Mutual | Part Two

Summary: Working with Logan means you have to accept constantly getting the short end of the stick; it means discovering things about yourself you didn't ever expect. Still, despite dealing with all of this, you two make a pretty good team.

PART ONE PART THREE

Warnings: bickering, graphic descriptions, canon-level violence, revelations WC: 8.2k - MASTERLIST

----

"Alright, you’ve slept long enough."

You're jolted awake by a rough tug on the covers, the sudden chill of the morning air hitting you like a slap in the face. Your eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and you squint up at the figure looming over you.

Logan, with his perpetually grumpy expression, stands there with an annoyed look, as if your very act of sleeping is a personal offense.

You groan and sit up, the duvet still tangled around your legs, as you blearily glance at the small bedside clock on the rickety nightstand. The red numbers blink back at you: 7:00 AM. “Seriously?” you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with one hand, your other still clutching the edge of the bed. “It’s way too early for this. Can’t I get a few more minutes?”

His eyes narrow, not even a flicker of sympathy crossing his face. He rolls his eyes as if to say, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ and crosses his arms over his chest. "You look fine to me," he says flatly, his voice dripping with impatience.

Throwing the covers back with more force than necessary, you let out an exaggerated sigh. The cold floor sends a shiver up your spine as your bare feet make contact with it. "What’s the rush?" you ask, your tone sharp with irritation as you glare up at him. "You’re acting like we’ve got a deadline."

Logan’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a telltale glint in his eye that betrays him. It’s subtle, but you catch it—a fleeting spark of amusement that makes you think he’s secretly enjoying riling you up. Suddenly he turns and heads toward the makeshift kitchen in the corner of the warehouse and pulls a piece of bread out of an ancient toaster, the appliance looking like it’s barely functioning.

Without warning, Logan flicks his wrist, and the piece of bread comes flying at you. The movement is so fast and precise that you barely have time to react. It’s only thanks to your heighten reflexes that your hand shoots out to catch the bread mid-air. You stare at it, bewildered, the heat from the toast seeping into your palm.

"What’s this for?" you ask, still confused and a little off-kilter from the morning's whirlwind of events.

He raises an eyebrow. "Fuck does it look like? Eat up."

You roll your eyes, but there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth as you take a bite of the slightly burnt toast. “You know," you mumble between bites, "you could’ve just handed it to me like a normal person."

"Where’s the fun in that?" he shoots back, a rare, almost genuine grin tugging at his lips as he watches you chew. There’s a moment of silence as you both settle into the morning routine, the tension easing just a bit.

As you finish the toast, you can’t help but glance up at Logan, who’s now leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with that same unreadable expression.

"You wanna know why I really woke you up so early?" he asks, his voice low and direct.

"Why? Because you’re secretly a morning person who loves watching the sunrise?"

Logan snorts, clearly unimpressed with your sarcasm. "No, because your fighting form is shit"

You gape, caught off guard by the bluntness of his statement. "Excuse me?"

He doesn’t let up, leaning in a bit closer. "Yeah, you heard me. When we were fightin’, you were all over the place. If you’re gonna be any use out there today, you’ll need some pointers. So for a bit this morning, we’re gonna train."

"You woke me up early... to tell me I suck at combat?" You stare at him, processing his words. The audacity makes you want to laugh.

"You don’t suck,” he begins. “You just need to get better. And since I’m the one stuck with you on this mission, it’s my job to make sure you don’t get yourself killed."

You let out a sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. "Great. Just what I needed first thing in the morning”

“Think of it as a warm up.”

He doesn’t wait for your agreement. Instead, he just jerks his head toward the exit and turns on his heel, clearly expecting you to follow. With a resigned sigh, you grab your boots and tug them on as you hurry to catch up with him. He leads you to a cracked patch of concrete behind the building, a makeshift training ground that looks as rough as you feel. 

“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got. Don’t hold back.”

“Fine,” you say, squaring up.

In a flash, he lunges at you. Luckily, you dodge the first blow by sheer instinct, a sharp jab aimed at your ribs. The intensity sends a shockwave through your body, even though you managed to twist away just in time. It’s 7:00AM!!

Logan doesn't give you a moment to catch your breath. He’s on you again, faster this time, his movements a blur as he swings a fist toward your head. You duck just in time, feeling the rush of air as his punch grazes past your temple. Jumping to the side, you try to put some distance between you and his relentless assault

"Faster!" he snaps, his voice cutting through the morning air like a whip. "You're movin’ like a damn slug. If this were a real fight, you'd be dead ten times over by now."

His words are irritating, but they only fuel your determination. Summoning the latent power within you, you leap back, opening a gap. You can feel it there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. He pounces again, and this time, you’re prepared. Channeling you super speed, you begin to dart around him, moving so fast he can’t keep up. In one swift motion, you lift your leg and land a swift kick to his side.

Logan grunts, but still he barely flinches, spinning around to face you. His eyes narrow in assessment. "Not bad," he grunts, "but not good enough."

His claws extend with a shink before you can even respond, and he swings at you, slicing right up in your face. You try to dodge, but the tips catch your cheek and create a deep gash. 

"Are you trying to kill me?" you shout, frustration bubbling to the surface as you counter with a punch of your own, your strength amplifying the blow.

Logan blocks it with his forearm, the impact reverberating through both of you. You’re pretty sure you heard a few bones crack. He snarls, his eyes flashing with challenge and something else—maybe pride. If you want to be optimistic. 

"I’m trying to make sure you don’t get yourself killed," he retorts, pushing you back with a forceful shove.

Your anger blazes at his words, and without thinking, your powers flare up again. This time, your hands crackle with energy, a faint orange glow sparking to life at your fingertips. You lash out at him with a rapid series of punches, each one laced with your mutant energy. He dodges most of them, but a few land, sending sparks flying where they connect with his body.

"That’s more like it" he says. He advances, switching to the offensive, forcing you to backpedal. "But you’re still letting your emotions get the better of you."

"Maybe because you’re pissing me off, asshole!" you snap, your frustration boiling over as you land another punch, this time aiming for his chest. The impact sends him stumbling back a good five metres, but he recovers quickly, his expression a mix of annoyance and amusement.

"Good," he says, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the pain. "Just don’t let it control you.""

His words barely register as your anger continues to rise, fueled by his constant ‘pointers’. You keep pushing, your attacks becoming more aggressive, more reckless. Logan meets each one with an attack of his own, his claws flashing as they slice through the air, blocking your every move. The tension between you is electric, the air thick with the energy of your growing powers and the heat of your rising emotions. You go at him again, harder this time, and that’s when it happens.

Something straight out of a nightmare. You feel a sudden surge of energy—hot and thick, like molten lava—coursing through your veins. It’s overwhelming, and before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, your hands begin to glow brighter, the orange light intensifying until it’s almost blinding.

“Whoa—what the—?” you murmur, staring at your fists in shock as they burn with an intense, fiery orange, like heated iron.

Logan should be scared. You clearly have no idea what this is or what you could do with it. Yet, he doesn’t back down; instead, he presses onward. “Stay focused!”

But the energy in your hands is overwhelming, a burning heat that demands release. You feel it building, pushing you to the edge of what you can handle, and by impulse, you swing at him, aiming for his midsection with all your might.

The moment your fist connects with his stomach, the world seems to slow down. The sensation is surreal—you can feel your hand sink into his flesh, the resistance giving way as if his body were made of butter. Heat radiates from your fist, searing through his skin and muscle with an intensity that you’ve never felt before. To your absolute horror, your glowing hand doesn’t stop; it punches right through him, emerging out the other side.

For a second, everything is silent. The world holds its breath as the shock of what you’ve just done paralyzes you. Your breath catches in your throat, a suffocating lump of panic rising as you stare in disbelief at the sight before you. The feeling of your hand inside him, of flesh parting and melting, is too much, too wrong.

Then, the silence shatters as you scream, the sound raw and filled with terror. You jerk your hand back, nearly stumbling as you pull away, eyes wide. Logan stumbles too, his usually steady form momentarily thrown off balance. His shirt smokes from the burn, a charred hole marking where your hand had been. The smell of burnt fabric and flesh hits you, making your stomach twist in nauseous fear.

“Oh my God, Logan!” you cry out, “I—I didn’t mean to—”

But to your surprise, he doesn’t collapse. Instead, he looks down at the gaping hole in his stomach, then back at you, his expression more impressed than anything.

“Knifey,” he grunts, sounding almost amused despite the situation, “that was one hell of a punch.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, as the glow fades from your hands. “Are you—are you okay? I just burned a hole through you!”

He chuckles, though the sound is definitely a bit strained. “A little hot under the collar, maybe, but I’ve had worse.” He winces slightly as his skin begins to knit back together, healing rapidly thanks to his mutant ability. “Don’t worry, this’ll close up in no time. You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for.”

“But I… I could have killed you.”

“Nah,” Logan says, waving off your concern. “You’re not the first person to try and fail. Besides, I’m more impressed that you’ve got that in you.” He glances at his now-healed stomach, then back at you with a smirk. “Just maybe aim a little better next time, yeah?”

----

You’re fucking exhausted. He really put you through the ringer—pushing you further than you’ve ever been pushed before. Your muscles ache, your skin is slick with sweat, and your breath comes in ragged gasps. Logan, on the other hand, seems barely winded, though even he has a sheen of sweat on his brow, and a gaping hole in his shirt. 

Your hands are on your knees as you bend over and try to slow your breathing. “You… really don’t… know when to quit, do you?” you manage to gasp out between breaths.

“Well, you’re not gonna drop dead on me, are you?” He shoots back, not caring at all about your current state.

Shaking your head, too tired to come up with a snarky retort, you barely respond. “Not yet,” you mutter, trying to rub some life back into your aching limbs.

“Good. Now come on,” Logan says, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “We’ve got a job to do.” 

He steps away, heading back toward the warehouse, and you force yourself to follow, your legs heavy and protesting with every step. He moves with purpose, heading straight to a small table tucked in one corner, where a map lies spread out, weighed down by a few random items—a knife here, an old mug there. Not wasting any time, he leans over the map and traces a finger across several locations marked in red.

“Look,” he says, not bothering to wait for you to catch up. You step closer, peering over his shoulder at the map.

“We’re here,” he begins, pointing to a spot on the map that corresponds with your current location. “Your last few mutant encounters were in these areas.” He taps on the cluster of red dots. “We’re gonna hit these spots, see if we can find any leads on where they’re comin’ from.”

“Okay…” You follow. 

He stares at the pages for a brief moment longer, before looking up at you with a small smirk, like he know’s hes next words are going to piss you off. 

"Change of plans by the way. I’ll go on the roof, and you’ll stay on the ground. That way, the mutants will be able to find you."

You blink at him, your expression shifting from frustration to disbelief. "Pause. You’re using me as bait?"

"Yeah. Works better if they’re lured in by something they’re actually interested in." His smirk widens into a full-blown grin, the kind that shows he’s fully aware of how ridiculous it sounds but doesn’t care.

"Oh, great. So I’m just a distraction for you now? What happened to teamwork?"

Logan just shrugs nonchalantly in response, as if this is the most logical plan in the world, . "We’re still teamin’ up," he replies, his tone infuriatingly casual. "Just taking a different approach. Besides, you’ve shown that you can handle them," he adds, mocking your voice in a poorly done imitation, “26 kills, remember?’"

You narrow your eyes at him, now fully facing him and glaring daggers in his direction. "Handle them?" you echo, "What if I don’t want to be used as bait for some dangerous plan? I thought we were supposed to be on the same side here."

"It’s not like I’m asking you to walk into a death trap, bub. It’s just a way to flush them out. I’ll be right above, ready to help if things get too hairy."

"Yeah, that’s real reassuring," you snap back, "what’s next? Are you going to throw me into a pit of mutants and hope I manage to climb out?"

"I wish," he retorts, his voice tinged with sarcasm. 

Letting out a heavy sigh, you just keep your mouth shut. The idea of being dangled out like a worm on a hook doesn't sit well with you, but arguing with Logan has proven to be as effective as punching a brick wall. Your muscles are screaming for rest, and your mind is a whirlpool of fatigue and annoyance.

"God damnit. Fine," you concede reluctantly, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to shake off the lingering soreness. "But if this goes south, it’s on you, jackass."

“Fair enough,” he says, grabbing a worn leather jacket from the back of a nearby chair and slipping it on. The jacket strains slightly across his muscular frame, the creases and scuffs telling tales of countless past encounters.

He then shuffles toward a cluttered metal locker against the wall, pulling it open with a screech of old hinges. Inside hangs an assortment of gear: knives of various sizes, a couple of handguns, and a coiled rope. Is this even legal? You think. He grabs a sleek, compact earpiece from a small shelf and tosses it in your direction.

"Keep that on," he instructs. "We'll need to stay in contact. If you spot anything—or if anything spots you—you let me know immediately."

You examine the earpiece for a moment before fitting it snugly into your ear. A short burst of static confirms it's operational. "Got it," you reply, adjusting it until it sits comfortably.

Logan equips his own earpiece before reaching back into the locker and arming himself with a couple of vicious-looking weapons, tucking them into concealed sheaths along his belt and boots. The familiar routine seems to settle him, his movements efficient and practiced.

He catches you watching him as he methodically puts on his gear, and instead of asking if you’re armed, he pauses and reaches into the locker. With a swift swoosh he pulls out a sharp, gleaming blade.

The blade is perfectly balanced, and when he passes it to you, it fits comfortably in your hand. As you inspect it, you notice the craftsmanship—sturdy, reliable, and razor-sharp. Definitely an upgrade from your usual gear.

Guaging your reaction, his eyebrows raise in amusement. "Better than your last weapon, ya think Knifey?" he says.

You glance up at him, unable to suppress a small smile as you give the blade an experimental twirl. Giving a brief nod, you tuck the blade securely into a sheath at your side, feeling a bit more confident. He nods back in acknowledgement, and then he checks his watch. The morning is slipping away, and the streets outside will soon be bustling with people going about their day—a perfect cover for the dangers you're hunting. Folding up the map, he stuffs it into his back pocket before striding toward the exit. 

----

Once you’ve entered a busier part of the city, he pauses, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding buildings with a practiced eye. He turns to you, his expression all business. "We'll start over on Fifth Avenue," he says, nodding toward a maze of streets that stretch out ahead. "That's where the last sighting was reported."

You shield your eyes against the glare, following his line of sight. The streets look deceptively calm, but you know better than to be lulled into a false sense of security.

"Stay alert," he commands. "Don't make yourself too obvious, but don't be too subtle either. We want to draw them out, but not scare them off."

You scoff lightly, adjusting your jacket and running a quick hand over your gear to ensure everything's in place. "So act like a clueless pedestrian but also like a tempting target. Got it."

He gives you a pointed look. "Just be yourself," he quips, before he turns away and starts toward the side of the building. Rude, you think.

You watch as he approaches the fire escape, his movements fluid and sure. After a quick glance around to ensure no one's watching, he leaps up, grabbing the bottom rung and hauling himself up with ease. Within moments, he's scaled the side of the building, disappearing onto the rooftop above.

His voice crackles to life in your ear. "You ready down there?"

Taking a deep breath, you step out onto the sidewalk, blending seamlessly into the flow of pedestrians beginning their day. "As I'll ever be," you reply, starting to walk at a casual pace down the street.

The city unfolds around you, a tapestry of sights and sounds that are at once familiar and disconcerting under the circumstances. You weave through clusters of people, your senses heightened as you scan your surroundings discreetly, looking for any sign of unusual activity. Above, you catch fleeting glimpses of Logan moving along the rooftops, his silhouette a shadow among shadows as he keeps pace with you. Minutes tick by as you make your way toward the target street, each step measured, each glance calculated. The morning bustle grows thicker, and the air fills with the scents of street food vendors setting up shop and the distant rumble of construction work.

"Anything?" His voice buzzes softly in your ear.

You shake your head slightly, replying under your breath to avoid drawing attention. "Nothing yet. Just the usual morning rush."

"Keep moving. They could be anywhere."

You continue on, turning onto Fifth Avenue, and as you pass by a narrow alleyway, a prickle of unease runs down your spine. You pause briefly, casting a casual glance down the shadowed corridor. It's empty, littered with discarded boxes and a stray shopping cart, but something about it feels off.

"Logan, you see anything unusual around here?" you murmur, pretending to adjust your earpiece like they’re earbuds. 

There's a fleeting silence before he responds. "Hold on." You look up subtly, catching sight of him perched on the edge of a building, his eyes scanning the area with predator-like focus.

After a moment, his voice comes through again, lower and edged with caution. "There's a van parked two blocks down that doesn't seem to fit. Tinted windows, no plates."

You resume walking, heading in that direction while trying keeping your demeanor relaxed. "Could just be someone avoiding parking tickets," you suggest, though your instincts tell you otherwise.

"Shut up," Logan replies with zero hesitation, calling your bluff. "Stay sharp."

Approaching the intersection, you spot the van he's referring to. It's an unmarked, nondescript vehicle that seems deliberately inconspicuous—a little too inconspicuous for this part of town. Slowing down your pace slightly, you pretend to window-shop as you try to take in more details. The engine is off, but you can make out faint movement behind the tinted glass. "Definitely something going on there," you whisper, angling your body to keep the van in your peripheral vision. "Think it’s our guys?"

"Could be," Logan responds tersely. "Keep walking. Let's see if they follow."

Doing as instructed, you walk past the van and cross the street, risking another glance back. The van's engine has started, its headlights flicking on as it pulls out into traffic, maintaining a slow but steady distance behind you.

"Yup, they're following me," you report.

"Good. Lead them toward the park ahead. Fewer civilians there."

You spot the small urban park a few blocks down—a patch of green amid the concrete jungle, dotted with benches and sparse morning joggers. "On it," you confirm, quickening your pace just enough to be noticeable without raising suspicion.

The crowds thin out as you near the park entrance. Behind you, the van slows to a stop along the curb, and you can feel eyes boring into your back. "Logan, they're stopping," you inform him, subtly scanning your surroundings for any immediate threats.

"I see them," he says. "Three guys getting out. Can't get a clear look from here. Keep moving forward. I'll get into position."

You carry on down the path, resisting the urge to look back. Your senses are on high alert now, adrenaline surging through your veins and washing away the remnants of your earlier exhaustion. Footsteps echo behind you—heavy, purposeful strides that are too close and too focused to belong to casual park-goers, and you catch a glimpse of their reflections in a nearby puddle: three men dressed in dark clothing, their faces obscured by caps and sunglasses.

"Closer than I'd like," you mutter under your breath.

"Just a little further," Logan assures you. "There's a clearing up ahead. Better visibility."

A grassy open space surrounded by trees, currently deserted, comes into view just as he footsteps behind you quicken, closing the distance rapidly. You stop in the center, turning slowly to face them, and although you’re positively shitting bricks, you try to stay composed. 

The three men fan out in a semi-circle around you, their postures aggressive and eyes cold. "Well, well, what do we have here?" the one you think is the leader sneers, his voice oily and mocking. "Out for a morning stroll all alone?"

You force a casual shrug. "Just enjoying the fresh air. Is that a crime now?"

He chuckles darkly, taking a step closer. "Depends on who's asking. You look a little lost. Maybe we can help you find your way."

Your hand inches toward your concealed blade, fingers itching for reassurance. "Appreciate the offer, but I'm good," you reply evenly, eyes darting between the three men as you gauge their intentions.

"Don't think you understand," another one pipes up, his voice harsher, more eager. "We insist."

Before you can respond, the leader's eyes flash with a sudden, green glow, and you feel a sharp, invisible force slam into your chest, knocking you back a few steps. You grit your teeth against the pain, steadying yourself quickly.

"I think now would be a great time to do something," you murmur urgently into the earpiece, your fingers closing around the grip of your weapon.

"On my way," Logan’s voice comes through, and you can hear his breathing as he jumps through buildings.

The men advance, confidence oozing from their stances as they prepare to strike again. You draw your weapon in defence, not waiting for them to make another move. "Back off," you warn.

He laughs, a grating sound that echoes through the clearing. "Or what? You gonna stab me? Go ahead, try."

Challenge accepted. You aim the blade, and hurl it towards him. The target is on point, but inches before impact, it stops mid-air, falling harmlessly to the ground as the leader smirks, his powers deflecting the attack effortlessly.

"You're gonna have to do better than that," he taunts, his hands glowing with a sinister energy as he prepares to strike again.

Then, a feral roar cuts through the air, and Logan drops from the trees above like a force of nature, landing directly on top of one of the men and driving him into the ground with bone-crushing force. Claws out and eyes blazing, he wastes no time, slashing at the second man who barely manages to leap back in time, a gash opening up across his chest.

The leader's smug expression falters as he takes in the sudden turn of events. "Who the hell is this?" he snarls, recoiling slightly as Logan stands between you and the attackers, his presence an unyielding wall of defense.

"You don’t want to find out" he growls, his voice menacing. 

The other two mutants, momentarily stunned by the Wolverine’s sudden appearance, quickly regain their composure. The first one charges, his hands crackling with energy. But Logan is faster—much faster. He sidesteps the attack with grace, then drives his claws into the mutant's side, a deep, brutal strike that leaves the man gasping and crumpling to the ground.

The second mutant, seeing his comrade fall, hesitates for a split second before launching himself at you, clearly deciding that you're the easier target. Except you’re not. As he closes in, you speedily side step around him, a blur of motion as you reach for the blade on the ground. 

Once it’s in your grasp, you pivot around, and slash upward, slicing through his clothing, biting into his flesh. He lets out a strangled cry, stumbling back as blood blooms across his shirt.

"Think again," you snap, your voice cold and sharp, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You press the attack, your blade a barely visible with the speed at which you wield it as you force him back, not giving him a chance to recover. The leader, seeing his subordinates falling one by one, finally shakes off his shock and focuses his eyes at you. With a snarl, he raises his hands, the air around them shimmering. He thrusts his hands forward, sending a pulse of raw power hurtling toward you.

Feeling your power surge through your veins, heating your blood, your hands begin to glow with that familiar fiery light, the same power that burnt a hole right through Logan earlier that day. You meet the leader’s attack head-on, your fist colliding with the ball of energy. The force of the impact sends shockwaves through the air, and makes you grimace, but you hold your ground, refusing to be pushed back.

The mutant’s eyes widen in disbelief as he watches you deflect his attack. His confidence wavers, replaced by a creeping fear. "This wasn’t part of the plan," he mutters, staggering back as he desperately tries to summon more power.

"Don’t care," you retort, slowly stalking closer and closer. He tries to make a run for it, but you catch up to him easily, grabbing his arm, causing him to scream in agony as the heat sears through his flesh. 

Logan, upon discarding his now lifeless victim, approaches the leader in an instant. He grabs the man by the collar, lifting him off the ground effortlessly with one hand. The mutant struggles weakly, his energy spent, his body trembling from the burns and the wounds inflicted by your hands.

"You picked the wrong target," Wolverine growls, his voice a lethal whisper. He tightens his grip, his claws hovering dangerously close to the leader’s throat. "Who sent you?"

The leader gasps for air, his eyes wild with panic as he looks between you and Logan. "We were… sent to attack… ," he stammers. "Mind control… we were forced to…"

Your heart skips a beat as his words sink in. It’s confirmed: mind control. These mutants weren’t acting on their own—they were being manipulated, turned into weapons against you. "Who’s controlling you?" you demand, stepping closer, your hand still glowing with residual energy.

His lips part, as if he’s about to speak, but then his entire body seizes up. His eyes widen in terror, and you think he might be having a seizure. He tries to speak–to move his mouth, but no sound comes out, his expression contorting as he struggles against some invisible force.

"Oh God, something’s wrong," you say, glancing at him with concern. 

Logan lowers him to the ground, and crouches beside him, gripping his shoulder firmly. "What the hell is going on?" he growls, but the mutant can only gasp, his eyes rolling back as if in agony.

You can see the panic in the man’s eyes as he fights against whatever is controlling him. It’s clear that he wants to tell you something, but he’s physically unable to do so. The mind control is stopping him, choking off his words before he can get them out.

Desperation drives you to act. You drop to your knees beside the mutant, gripping his other shoulder. "You need to tell us where they are," you insist, your voice urgent. "Give us a clue—anything."

His body shakes, his teeth grinding together as he forces out a single, strained word. "T… tunnel…" he gasps, his face turning a ghastly shade of white. "Underground…"

But before he can finish, his body convulses violently, as if an electric shock is coursing through him. His mouth opens in a silent scream, his eyes wide with terror. Blood begins to trickle from his nose, his body seizing uncontrollably. You and Logan can only watch in horror as the man's life is snuffed out right before your eyes. His head snaps back, and just like that, his body goes limp, collapsing to the ground with a final, sickening thud.

Logan bends down to check his pulse, but you already know the answer by the grim expression that settles over his face. "He's dead," he says flatly, wiping his hands on his pants as he stands back up.

You stare down at the lifeless body, your heart pounding in your chest. "Damn it," you mutter under your breath. Whoever was controlling him clearly didn’t want him to reveal anything more. "They got to him."

Logan clenches his fists, his jaw tightening in frustration. "Looks like they’ve got failsafes in place. This wasn’t just a fluke."

"So now not only are we dealing with a puppet master, we’re dealing with a psycho fries people’s brains if they talk. Fantastic."

He shoots you a look. "You done complaining? Because we’ve still got shit to do."

"Complaining? I’m just pointing out that our situation sucks, Logan." You glare back at him.

He shrugs, clearly unbothered. "Yeah, well, whining about it won’t get us anywhere. We need to find another way to track down whoever’s behind this."

You’re about to snap back when your eyes catch on the van still idling at the edge of the park. "The van," you say, your tone shifting from irritation to sudden realization. "Think we can track it back to whoever sent them?"

Following your gaze, his expression softens slightly as he considers the idea. "Maybe. If we’re lucky, they didn’t wipe the GPS data. Could give us a clue where these bastards came from."

You let out a huff, trying to ignore the slight sense of relief that Logan actually liked your idea. "Well, let’s hope they’re not as smart as they think they are."

You reach the van and climb inside, the smell of sweat and metal thick in the air. The dashboard is cluttered with tech—nothing too advanced, but enough to suggest this van has been modified for more than just transport. A laptop is mounted to the dash, screens dim but flickering to life as you settle into the passenger seat.

He slides into the driver’s seat, turning the key and bringing the engine to life. "Let’s get this thing back to the warehouse," he says, "We’ll see what we can pull from the system. Might give us something solid to go on."

Not waiting for anything else, he just shifts into gear and pulls away from the curb, keeping his eyes on the road as he maneuvers through the narrow streets.

----

Back at his place, Logan grabs the laptop and other tech from the van, motioning for you to follow him as he heads to a makeshift workstation near the back of the warehouse. The setup is basic but functional—tools, weapons, and old electronics. 

Following him, you can still feel the adrenaline from earlier buzzing through your system. He sets the laptop down, and powers it up. The screen flickers to life, and he starts navigating through the van’s GPS system. "You think they’ll be expecting us to track them?" you ask, leaning against the edge of the workbench.

All you get in response is a grunt, his eyes never leaving the screen. "They’re not idiots. They’ve probably figured out we’d try to follow the trail. That’s why we’ve gotta be smart about this."

The screen fills with maps, coordinates, and location markers. Logan hones in on one spot just outside the city—a cluster of old industrial buildings with access to underground tunnels. He taps the screen, highlighting the location. "This is where the van’s been going. It’s our best lead."

You study the location, a sense of unease creeping in. "So, what’s the plan? We just storm in?"

He shakes his head, leaning back slightly as he thinks it through. "No. If we go in too soon, they’ll be ready for us. We need to play this smart—wait a couple of days, let them think we’re not doin’ shit.”

Recognizing the wisdom in his approach, you nod. "Alright, but what do we do in the meantime? Just sit around and twiddle our thumbs?"

"We keep an eye on the place, see if there’s any movement. We prep, we rest, and when the time comes, we hit them with everything we’ve got. We’ll be bunking here for a few days.”

You look around the warehouse. In a day, this place has gone from some ugly dump to your new safe haven. Great. 

Logan moves to secure the van, checking the locks and making sure everything’s in place. As he does, he glances over at you, almost as if he can hear your thoughts. "You’re lucky you’ve got a bed—my bed," he emphasizes.

You shoot him a teasing look. "Hey, you offered. I would’ve taken the couch… but don’t offer that now because I’ve decided I like the bed."

With the van in place, the clawed mutant moves toward the small kitchen area tucked away in a corner of the warehouse. You watch him curiously, wondering what he’s up to. He pulls out a few ingredients from the pantry, setting them on the counter with practiced ease.

"Figured you might be hungry," he grunts, opening a few cabinets and pulling out some pots and pans.

"You cook?"

He tips his head back just enough to catch your eye. "Yeah, I cook. What, you think I survive on just beer and grumpy stares?"

"Wouldn’t be too far off," you snicker, leaning against the counter as he starts chopping vegetables..

"Sit down. This’ll be done in a bit," he says, focusing on his task.

You do as he says, settling onto a nearby stool and watching as Logan moves around the kitchen with surprising skill. He’s making pasta—something simple but hearty. The smell of garlic and onions sizzling in a pan soon fills the air, mingling with the scent of fresh tomatoes and herbs. It’s strange to see him like this, in such a domestic setting, but you can’t deny that he knows what he’s doing.

"Didn’t peg you as the culinary type," you comment, unable to resist.

"You pick up a few things when you’ve been around as long as I have” he says, tossing the vegetables into the pan with a flick of his wrist.

When the meal is ready, Logan plates up the pasta and hands you a bowl. The aroma is mouthwatering, and you dig in eagerly, surprised by just how good it is. The two of you eat in companionable silence, the tension from earlier easing as you enjoy the food. You watch him for a moment, the normalcy of it all striking you once more. It’s a side of him you hadn’t expected to see, but one that makes you appreciate the depth of the man behind the gruff exterior.

As the night falls, Logan heads to his makeshift bed in the corner of the warehouse, while you make your way to the bed he begrudgingly gave up. 

"You sure you’re okay with the couch?" you ask, more out of habit than anything else.

Logan shoots you a look, already half-lying down. "You’re the one who wanted the bed, remember? Just get some sleep.”

You smirk at his gruffness, knowing now that it’s just his way. 

----

The next few days in the warehouse pass in a strange, almost surreal calm. The constant adrenaline of your life as of late takes a backseat as you and Logan settle into a routine that feels more like a bizarre kind of roommate situation than anything else. 

Each morning, you wake to the sound of Logan already up and moving, the metallic clang of his claws as he practices in the open space of the warehouse. You join him for training, and though the sessions are intense, they lack that certain edge of urgency. It’s like you’re both conserving your energy for the fight to come, knowing that the real battle is just on the horizon.

"You’re still dropping your left shoulder," he points out one morning as you spar, his claws swinging.

You huff, blocking his strike with your blade. "And you’re still grumbling like an old man."

He rolls his eyes, dodging your next attack with a quick sidestep. "That’s because I am an old man, Knifey. What’s your excuse?"

"Just trying to keep up with you, gramps." You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you press the attack.

In the afternoons, after you’ve both worn yourselves out with training, you’d find yourselves sitting on the edge of the raised platform that serves as Logan’s makeshift living area. The warehouse is quiet, the distant hum of the city outside and the occasional creak of metal settling in the walls. It’s in these moments of stillness that you start to learn more about Logan—not the Wolverine, the fierce, unrelenting fighter—but Logan, the man behind the claws.

He doesn’t talk much about his past; it’s clear that there are parts of it he prefers to keep buried. But every now and then, something slips out—a story, a memory, a glimpse into the man he used to be before everything went to hell.

One specific day stands out. The two of you are sitting side by side on the edge of the platform, the remains of a quick meal scattered around you. Logan is unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on his retracted claws as his hands rest on his knees. His usual tough exterior seems to soften, just for a moment, and you can sense that something’s weighing on him.

"You ever wonder what it would’ve been like… if things had gone differently?" you ask, breaking the silence. The question is vague, open-ended, but you know he’ll understand.

His expression darkens slightly, but he doesn’t look away from his hands. "Yeah," he says after a long pause, his voice rougher than usual. "Sometimes. But thinking about it too much… it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t make it easier."

You nod, feeling the weight of his words. "Weapon X… they really did a number on you, didn’t they?"

He finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, and what you see in his eyes is old pain and hard-earned resilience. "Yeah," he admits, his voice carrying the weight of years of suffering. "They did. Turned me into a weapon. Made me forget who I was… who I wanted to be."

He pauses, the memories clearly painful to revisit. "They didn’t just mess with my body," he continues bitterly. "They messed with my mind. Took away my memories, twisted what was left until I didn’t even know my own name. I was nothing but a tool to them, somethin’ they could use and discard when they were done."

The brutal honesty in his voice makes your chest tighten, and you can’t help but feel anger on his behalf. "But you fought back," you say softly, more a statement than a question.

Logan nods. "They tried to break me, and for a while, they did. I was just… lost. But they didn’t count on me fighting back. Didn’t count on me surviving."

"They underestimated you," you say, listening intently, feeling a deep respect for the strength it must have taken for him to claw his way back from that darkness.

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Logan’s mouth, and for a moment, you see a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Yeah," he says, a little lighter now. "A lot of people have."

There’s a fleeting pause, his words settling between you. It’s heavy, but you’re seeing a side of Logan that few people ever get to see, and you can tell that it’s not easy for him to open up like this.

Then, almost as if sensing the need to shift the mood, Logan changes the subject, leaning back on his hands as he starts to tell you about some of the more absurd things he’s witnessed over the years. "You wouldn’t believe some of the crap I’ve been through," he says, his voice taking on a dry, almost amused tone. 

He launches into a story that’s so ridiculous, so utterly bizarre, that you can’t help but laugh—really laugh, for the first time in what feels like ages. The way he tells it, with that deadpan delivery and his signature gruffness, only makes it funnier.

"You’ve really seen it all, haven’t you?" you say, shaking your head in disbelief after one particularly outrageous tale involving a mutant with the ability to turn into a giant bird. "Seriously, how do you even get into these situations?"

Logan shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips. "It’s just another day in the life, Knifey. Weird shit happens when you’ve lived as long as I have."

His words linger in the air, and suddenly, a realization dawns on you. You’ve been so focused on the immediate dangers, the fights, and the missions that you haven’t fully processed what it means to be a mutant, to have regenerative abilities like Logan’s. If you can heal from almost any wound, if your body can recover from injuries that would kill anyone else… does that mean you’re going to live as long as he has? Decades, maybe centuries? The thought hits you like a freight train.

"Oh shit, Logan," you blurt out. "Am I going to be around as long as you? I regenerate too!"

Immediately noticing the change in your demeanor, his sharp eyes lock onto yours. "Hey, hey," he says, reaching out to steady you. "Breathe."

But it’s like a dam has burst inside your mind, the implications of what you’ve just realized flooding in all at once. "Logan, if I have these abilities… I’ll outlive everyone I know, everyone I care about…"

Your thoughts begin to spiral, the fear and uncertainty taking root, and suddenly the idea of immortality—something you’d never seriously considered before—feels more like a curse than a gift. You’re faced with the prospect of endless years, of watching everyone you love age and die while you remain unchanged.

Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightens, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that brooks no argument. "Look at me," he says, and when you meet his gaze, the intensity there makes you freeze. "I know what you’re thinkin’, and yeah, it’s scary as hell. But you gotta keep it together. You’re not alone in this."

"But how do you deal with it?" you ask. 

He’s quiet for a moment, his expression hard as he wrestles with the weight of your question. When he speaks, his voice is deep, almost a growl. 

"It ain’t easy," he admits, his tone roughened by years of pain. "There are days when it feels like too damn much. But you take it one day at a time. You focus on the people who matter, on what you can do right now. ‘Cause that’s all any of us really got, no matter how long we’re around."

His words are meant to comfort, but the enormity of what he’s saying still feels overwhelming. "And when everyone’s gone?" you whisper, the thought of outliving everyone you love already eating you from the inside out. "What happens then?"

Jaw clenching, teeth grinding, Logan’s eyes hardening with a resolve that you can almost feel. "You keep goin’," he says gravelly. 

"You keep fightin’ ‘cause that’s what you do. You find new people to care about, new reasons to get up in the morning. The world keeps turning, and there’s always somethin’ worth fighting for. The people you lose, they wouldn’t want you givin’ up."

The conviction in his voice, the sheer will to survive, even after everything he’s been through, gives you something to hold onto. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the fear still lingers. "I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that.”

He meets your gaze. "You are," he says. "You’re tougher than you think. And you’re not doin’ this alone. I ain’t dying anytime soon.”

You nod slowly. "Yeah… we’ve got each other."

His hand moves from your shoulder to your back, giving you a firm pat, like he’s trying to physically drive the point home. "Damn right we do. And don’t go worryin’ ‘bout the future. One day at a time, got it?"

You manage a smile, the first real one you’ve felt in what seems like forever. "Got it," you whisper, feeling a sense of calm starting to settle in.

Logan seems satisfied with that. He’s about to say something else when he stops, gaping. He just stares at you, his usual tough-guy demeanor slipping for a second as he takes in the sight of you smiling—really smiling, something he probably hasn’t seen much of.

The words die on his lips, and for a moment, he looks almost… caught off guard. His eyes are fixed on you, like he’s seeing something he hadn’t noticed before, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

"What?" you ask.

Logan blinks, shaking his head slightly as if snapping out of a daze. He clears his throat, quickly looking away, his gruffness returning like a shield. "Nothin’," he mutters. "Just… you’ve got a nice smile, that’s all."

You feel a warmth rise to your cheeks, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The way he said it, so simple yet so sincere, makes your heart stutter in your chest. 

"Well, don’t get used to it," you quip. "I’m sure you’ll piss me off again soon enough."

Logan huffs out a laugh, shooting you a sideways glance, his lips quirking into a small smirk. "Wouldn’t expect anythin’ less."

----

A/N: The plot is really going to pick up from here on out!

----

TFM Taglist:

@wildefire @aliisa-jones @maximumchilddreamland @peony-always

@newromantics98 @ayamenimthiriel @fandomsunited @britttzy267

@mainly-me @icantevendood @i-left-my-cat-on-the-stove @d3kstar

@im-a-wh0r3 @lunaticgurly @xlocalxpunkx @yjck121

apologies if the tags don't work!

Comment to be added

[olderthannetfic]

I always see people reminiscing about the Good Ole Days and about how antis are a new thing but. . .is that really true? Or am I just being autistic and taking things too literally, and they just mean it's way more of a common debate now than it used to be before, and that the landscape of shipwank has changed?

Idk, it's like I constantly hear about fandom wank and shipwars and censorship from decades ago, and yes I know "shipping/doxxing/censorship has always existed" can co exist with "antis are new" but I think there's still a bit of a comprehension gap on my end.

am i just dumb? What am I missing here? FWIW - I do feel like the context of "anti" has definitely changed. Back in early 2010s tumblr (I cannot speak of other website/platforms) I remember that tagging something as #Anti Donkey Kong didn't mean you think DK is an evil abusive monster and that everyone who likes him/mains him is also an evil abusive monster and that Nintendo is pushing the evil abusive monster agenda. #Anti Donkey Kong would just be character bashing, wank, letting out your grievances about how ugly DK is, etc, but it was really just a tag used for your own personal opinions (and for DK fans to filter out). Whereas now #Anti Donkey Kong would mean please go die and delete all your accounts if you support DK.

So I definitely know that "anti" has a way more intense definition now than it used to - but for some reason I find it a bit hard to grasp just how new this whole anti thing even is in the firstplace. It honestly makes me sad that I've never seen a pre-anti internet, assuming there really was a time before antis.

--

Antis are new. Specifically, the "Conservative Protestantism in a gay hat" thing that that one tumblr post pointed out is new.

We had doxxing in the past. We had masses of shipwank. We also had "How dare you write that m/m ship. It's bad!"

The key is that the "Your m/m ship is bad" crowd used to openly be conservative Christian homophobes who objected to homosexuality itself. Nowadays, they're queer 20-somethings who like m/m ships but object to gay sex.

It's the anti-kink, anti-fantasy brigade coming from "our side" instead of the outside, essentially. It's respectability politics about "Sempai will love me if I just sanitize The Community and kick out the icky weirdos". It's personal disgust masquerading as morality where once it would have been masquerading as intellectual superiority.

It's a product of queerness being more public and tolerated overall. In the past, a lot of spaces devoted to m/m shipping had to be aggressively in favor of contentious fiction because the existence of anything m/m was itself contentious. There was plenty of "Well, my gay best friend said ___ is unrealistic, and my slash is good, unlike that of you plebes!" There was much less "Fujoshi means fetishizer".

Of course, I'm comparing the 90s internet to now or the mid 00s Livejournal fandom to Tumblr of this past decade. It really depends on whether Ye Olden Times was five years ago or twenty five.

The modern use of the term 'anti' did indeed grow out of the old habit of tagging your hate. As the default cultural mode shifted from "My NOTP is dumb" to "My NOTP is problematic", the usage changed. At some point, antis started getting offended by their self-applied term and pretending that the other side inflicted it on them. This is revisionism. Fiction-is-not-reality had some writeups with citations in the past.

The big shifts were happening around 2012-2016. The long slide into puritywankers being everywhere has only continued since then, but that's where the tipping point seems to have been. TikTok exacerbates this nonsense, and there are clearly plenty of people who are anti-queer and only weaponizing clueless queer youth.

The big shift is that liking m/m used to weed out most of the worst people, and now it attracts lots of them who will not fucking go away because they like the same ship, just the hand-holdy, no dicks can touch ever version.

They spend their time bleating about how AO3 should have been built for them and how anti-censorship activism doesn't matter... because they've grown up in a fandom world dominated by AO3, which shelters them from the reality that the "Ewww, all m/m sucks!" crowd is everywhere on other sites to this day.

That's probably why the shift is when it is. Certain aspects of mainstream queer acceptance were on the rise just as AO3 was getting big. But at the same time, the world is shit and everyone has anxiety they self-medicate through rage and security theater around sniffing out The Bad People.

[ch33z3grits]

Crimson Obsessions | A Terry Richmond Vampire Series

pairing: Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond x Justine Skye as Camille DeWaterson

summary: Camille attempts to return to her usual life in Houston, trying her best to forget the club owner that stays on her mind and in her heart. But a new member of her firm shows her that she won’t be forgetting that night anytime soon. Terry has used the time since the bachelorette party to find the best way to insert himself in Camille’s life. Taking advantage of a chance opportunity, fate if you will, he starts to put his plan into motion.

warnings: 18+ mdni, dark romance, manipulation, obsessiveness/possessiveness, mentions of sexual acts, mentions of BDSM, cyberstalking

word count: 6,624

a/n: thank you all for the feedback on the last part! This part is definitely less spicy... BUT, it does give a lot of background that's necessary for the rest of the story. Hope you all enjoy :)

Camille’s song: Can’t Get You Out of My Head-Kylie Minogue | Terry’s song: Excitement-Trippie Redd

Pt. Two

Camille

Camille was pulled out of her sleep by the soft harping of her alarm. Groggily, she blinked the remnants of her dream from her eyes. It was a dream similar to the ones she’s had every night since she had returned from New Orleans. The mysterious club owner, on his knees with her legs draped over his shoulders, slurping her dripping pussy like it was his last meal. Or he would be folding her like a pretzel, digging her out until she saw stars. Or he would press her into a wall, thrusting into her from behind. He would tell her she was being such a good girl for him. His eyes would bore into hers as he relentlessly sent her over the edge multiple times. She would be trapped in his gaze until her alarm came to her rescue every morning.

Like usual, her fiancé’s side of the bed was already empty. Aston McCoy was determined to make junior partner early at the law firm they both worked at. To show the leadership at Watkins & Grant that he was the perfect candidate for promotion, Aston would arrive at the office an hour and a half earlier than everyone else. His early arrival required that he leave the apartment they shared at 5:30 AM to get to the office by 6:00 AM.

Camille didn’t mind waking up to an empty bed every weekday morning. In fact, she looked forward to it. Don’t get her wrong, she enjoyed Aston’s company. But these quiet mornings were slowly becoming the only moments she had where she was away from him. After moving into his apartment three months ago, Camille realized that his presence consumed every part of her life. They worked together, lived together, ate together, shopped together, went to events together. And they always seemed to only do things he wanted to do. Camille couldn’t help but feel like she was losing her life and getting absorbed by his.

She threw off the comforter and stood from the bed, trudging towards the bathroom to begin her daily routine. After brushing her teeth and doing her skincare, she turned the shower on to let the water warm up as she walked into the closet to pick out her outfit for the day. Like her father, Aston was very concerned with image. Because of this, he always encouraged her to wear things that “whispered wealth.” He bought her expensive work dresses from brands that his old money friends mentioned. He encouraged her to keep her nails short and neutral. And he always wanted her makeup and hair to be feature enhancing, free from any distracting colors or textures. For the most part, Camille didn’t mind because she naturally went for the look that Aston wanted. But whenever she did drift outside of her comfort zone, it was always met with displeasure.

Camille reached for a black turtleneck sweater, a black maxi skirt, and nude pumps. The Houston weather had been all over the place. Even though it was mid February, the temperature climbed to 70 degrees some days then dropped into the 40s right after. Today was one of those 40 degree days, so Camille hoped her outfit was enough to keep her warm. She laid the clothes on the bed, then proceeded to strip and get in the shower. After washing up, she stepped out to apply her lotion and perfume. For her makeup, she took her sweet time at the vanity space, savoring the still morning. Once she applied the finishing touches, she returned to the bed to pull on her outfit. Lastly, she pulled her silk pressed hair into a sleek bun.

Same old same old, Camille thought, bracing herself for the somewhat stressful day. When she first took the paralegal job at Watkins & Grant that Aston helped her secure, she was beyond excited. She envisioned herself working with a diverse team of attorneys, diving into a variety of cases and tackling a wide range of legal issues. But Aston had other plans. He convinced his managers to funnel all his cases her way, effectively monopolizing her workload. Every once in a while, one of the other associates would pass along a case that sparked her interest—like something in Environmental Law—but those moments were rare. Most of the time, Camille was buried in Aston’s Property and Financial Assets portfolio. She appreciated the privilege of her position, she knew how fortunate she was. But working for her partner wasn’t easy. He ran a tight ship and his workload was more than average, meaning hers was more than average too.

After checking that everything was in her work bag, Camille moved towards the large apartment’s front door. I’ll get breakfast at the office, she decided as she rode the elevator down to the parking deck. She slid into her Lexus, placing her bag on the passenger seat. Aston preferred that she came to work with him in his Porsche Cayenne. But she loved the Lexus that her dad bought her after she graduated from college. Besides, she wasn’t waking up three hours early just so her coworkers didn’t see her older car.

Camille’s guilty pleasure, the NASA Curious Universe podcast, got her through her 30 minute commute to the office and her search for a parking spot in the packed deck. With a final sigh, she grabbed her bag and stepped out of her car.

“Good morning, Mr. Pat,” she waved to the security guard who watched the deck most days. Mr. Pat waved back, giving her a warm smile she didn’t know she needed. “Good morning Ms. Camille,” he replied. “Don’t work yourself too hard today!”

“I’ll try my best,” Camille called back with a giggle. But she knew that today would be like every other work day. Aston would pile on the work, she'd eat lunch at her desk, and stay late to finish it all. But she couldn’t complain. After their honeymoon, Aston wanted her to stay at home, which she didn’t mind at all. Though she dreamed of using her Economics degree to become a florist and open her own shop, staying home was still better than being Aston's glorified personal assistant.

“Good morning, Mr. Watkins. How was your weekend?” She said as she stepped into the elevator with one of her bosses. Camille always greeted the senior partner of the firm, Mr. Charles Watkins. He always extended kindness to her and often tried to get Aston to lighten her load. “Camille, how’re you doing?! My weekend was just perfect. The missus and I tried to go sledding in North Dakota with our grandkids. It was a disaster because of my bad knee,” he laughed. “But going anywhere with Mabel is always a great time for me.” Camille smiled brightly as he babbled on. Mr. Watkins always spoke highly of his wife of thirty-six years, Mabel. Maybe one day, if their love evolved beyond fulfilling their familial duties, Aston would talk about her like that. But for now, she settled for the mutual respect and attraction they had for each other.

In college, Camille had fallen deeply in love with Aston when they got together sophomore year. But two years into their relationship, she discovered he’d been cheating on her for eight months. The betrayal shattered her. They broke up, despite his protests, and Camille wasn’t swayed by his desperate attempts to win her back. Their fathers had to step in, reminding them that their relationship was never about love—it was a business arrangement. “We’re not here for love, Camille. We’re here to merge Texas oil with Louisiana oil refining,” her father had said. So, Camille and Aston reconciled in their senior year, but Camille kept her heart locked away, vowing to never to be as open with him, or anyone else, as she once had been.

“Oh Camille, by the way. Will you be in the office around 11:00 AM today? Grant and I have an announcement to make and we want to make sure the whole team is present.” Camille started to nod. Of course she would be, she never had time to leave the office.

“Yes sir, I’ll be there. Will the announcement be in the conference room?”

“It sure will be! You’re always one step ahead of me, Camille,” he chuckled as the elevator finally paused on their floor. “Well, I’ll see you then. Tell McCoy I said good morning.” With that, Mr. Watkins walked out of the elevator and rounded the corner towards his wing of the office.

Camille walked in the opposite direction towards Aston’s office, smiling politely at her coworkers along the way. The glass walls of Aston’s office showed him already hard at work. A coffee cup and an open Celsius sat on his desk, hinting as to why he had so much energy already. She knocked lightly on the glass door before letting herself in. He rose from his desk as a smile spread across his face.

“Morning baby!” He greeted with his Texas drawl. Camille couldn’t help but return his smile. Despite his past discrepancies, and some of his overbearing and superficial ways, he was a genuinely pleasant person. He maintained a positive attitude and he could always brighten up a room. He was like a golden retriever.

“Good morning,” Camille giggled back. “You seem to be in a really good mood. Did I miss something?” Camille said, placing her stuff on the desk in the corner of his office.

He bit his fist, laughing softly. “Baby… I think today’s the day. I think they’re going to announce that I’m the new junior partner!” Camille gave him a warm smile. “I’m so proud of you! Look at you, all of your hard work is paying off and ahead of schedule,” Camille stated, walking around his desk to give him a hug. He returned the hug with enthusiasm, rocking her back and forth in his arms. “Thank you, baby.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “You know what this means? No more early mornings! We’ll be able to come into the office together.”

Camille nodded, a pang of guilt going through her. She didn’t want to give up her mornings alone…

“Wow, I mean who would’ve thought that he would be making junior partner before his 35th birthday,” Aston sighed, looking at the picture of himself that sat on his desk. He was standing in the DKR stadium at their Alma mater, the University of Texas, his arm extended with his hand in a “hook ‘em Horns” gesture.

Camille smiled at his silliness and patted his torso before pulling away from their embrace. “Mr. Watkins or Mr. Grant hinted at it or something?” She asked.

“Yea, Grant was in the office early today and he swung by to tell me that they’re making a big announcement today that I’m going to be very pleased with.” Camille didn’t think his smile could get any wider, but it did. “Well I’ll be sure to be the first one in the conference room to get a good seat, so I can get a good picture of you,” Camille said, feeling a bit better about the day.

“Thanks for being so supportive, Millie,” Aston sighed happily. Camille inwardly cringed at the nickname she never had the heart to tell him that she hated. “But,” he continued, his tone getting more serious. “We gotta make sure this chapter of my career ends productively. You ready to do one final sprint, babe?” Camille nodded with a closed mouth smile as he dropped a thick stack of papers on her desk. She knew she would be glued to her desk until it was time to go to the conference. Bracing herself, she opened the file and got to work.

Two hours later, she sighed with relief as Aston’s watch went off, signaling that it was fifteen minutes until 11 AM. She rolled her wrist to bring her cramped hand back to life. Aston rose from his desk and began to pace between his office mirror and his coat hanger that held his suit jacket.

“What do you think baby? Should I wear the suit jacket or does it look too formal?” He asked, nervously looking at her through the mirror as he adjusted his tie. “The suit jacket,” she said. “It screams junior partner.” He smiled in agreement. He threw it on and gave himself one final look.

He opened the door for Camille and they headed down the hall to the grand conference room. Once inside, they sat near the head of the table, eagerly awaiting the good news.

Within the next five minutes, dozens of other employees began to file into the room. The early birds were able to grab seats at the long table, while those who dragged their feet had to find standing room. At around 10:57, Mr. Watkins and Mr. Grant walked in, quieting the chatter that filled the space. Aston squeezed Camille’s thigh under the table with excitement.

“Thank you all for making it to this meeting! We've been excited to share this announcement for some time now, but we had some logistical issues we had to work out,” Mr. Watkins proceeded after clearing his throat. “Since we started this firm, Tom and I have always been careful in our selection of partners. As the face of the firm, they had to be exceptional. We wanted a partner who is disciplined, innovative, and exceeds expectations. And we are glad to say that we found that partner. From the moment we met him, we knew that this young man would go far, farther than either one of us.” Aston’s grip on Camille tightened. “He’s so promising, that even at his age, he’s going to be made a partner instead of a junior partner. But before we dive into his bio, let’s introduce you all to our newest member of the Watkins & Grant family, Mr. Terrence Richmond.” Both Camille and Aston stiffened, his hand slowly loosening from her thigh. Camille looked at Aston from the corner of her eye, seeing shock cross his face.

Oh no, she thought as she joined the resounding applause that filled the air. She hadn’t yet looked at the large figure entering the conference room, instead focusing on Aston’s shifting expression. And he was so excited… the poor thing.

“Oh my God,” Stephanie, Mr. Grant’s secretary, whispered to her friends. “I’d love to ride that pony!” That statement made Camille’s attention snap to the newcomer. As her eyes landed on his face, her applause faltered and her stomach dropped. It was him. The man who had been consuming her mind since Chloe's party. The man who haunted her every fantasy, lingering in her mind when she least wanted him to. The man she’d been desperately trying to forget, to quiet the guilt that gnawed at her every night as she laid next to Aston.

Even with subtle changes, he was unmistakable. His cornrows had been replaced by a low, curly fade. His face was now clean-shaven, except for a sharp goatee and thick, commanding eyebrows. The gold chains were gone, replaced by a sleek silver watch. Despite these shifts in appearance, he was undeniably the same man she had danced on with four weeks ago, the one who still burned in her memory.

If he recognized her, he didn’t show it. His eyes only lingered on hers for a second before shifting to another person. Camille quickly regained her composure and resumed clapping. Maybe he doesn’t remember me, she thought. He’s probably gone through enough women by now that he’s forgotten my face. Camille relaxed slightly. Yea, there’s no way he remembers me.

“Mr. Richmond is an excellent attorney who, after a lot of begging on our end, has agreed to a one year rotation as a partner with us,” Mr. Grant, who never speaks highly of anyone, chimed in. “His portfolio will cover intellectual property, government contracts, and impact investing. Some of our associates, like Aston McCoy, have been trying to get us to add intellectual property and impact investing to our services for years. Now that we have Terry, we’ll be able to expand our reach in the world of law, and interested associates will be able to work under him.” Mr. Grant nodded in Aston’s direction. Aston gave him a tight-lipped smile as he continued. “Prior to law, Mr. Richmond served in the United States Marine Corps for seven years, where he was a MCMAP instructor while simultaneously earning his bachelor’s in civil engineering. After exiting the service, he attended Florida A&M University’s College of Law where he graduated top of his class. Out of several offers, he chose to work with the prestigious Washington D.C. firm, Cravath. Under Cravath, he worked with clients like the Department of Defense and Microsoft with cases surrounding crypto, AI, and energy systems. Now, Cravath is letting us borrow him for the year as a part of a national attorney swap program.” Mr. Grant paused to lead everyone in another round of applause. “Mr. Richmond, is there anything else you’d like to share with us?” Mr. Grant asked.

Terrence Richmond smiled brightly. “Mr. Watkins and Mr. Grant, thank you for such a lovely and thorough introduction. And thank you all in advance for welcoming me to your team. I hope I’m able to learn a lot from you all and hope that you all find that my presence adds value here. Please feel free to drop by my office at any time, I’m always happy to chat. And please,” he added, the entire room hanging on his every word. “Just call me Terry.”

A fresh wave of enthusiastic applause rippled through the conference room, signaling the end of the formal meeting. The room buzzed with energy as people eagerly swarmed Terry to introduce themselves. Camille wished she could melt into the wall, desperate to slip out unnoticed. But before she could formulate a plan, Aston was already on his feet, pulling her toward a door on the opposite side of the room, away from Terry. As they made their escape, Camille couldn't resist a glance over her shoulder. Everyone was too absorbed in fawning over Terry and his impressive resume to notice them leaving, except for one person.

Terry.

His eyes locked onto her like a hawk and he flashed her a sly smile that sent a wave of heat through her. She quickly looked away, heart racing. She still wanted to believe he didn’t remember her, but that look left her uncertain.

Aston continued to drag her into his office, closing the door once they were inside. Camille watched as he paced the room, thinking of the best way to calm him down. She swallowed. “Bab–” he cut her off swiftly.

“What the hell was that?! Are they fucking kidding me,” he yelled, making Camille wince. “I’ve been busting my ass for the past three years here and they just let this new guy waltz in and become, not even junior partner, but partner?! Well, fuck me in the ass,” he grumbled.

“Language Aston, please,” Camille sighed.

“No Millie. This isn’t fucking fair. I mean, who even is this guy? Should’nt he still be in the fucking Marines! What the hell is he practicing civilian law for?” He continued to pace. “And what school is Florida A&M? I’ve never heard of it. I went to Yale for Christ’s sake! Did they really think I’d be happy about this? Just because he expands our portfolio in the way I suggested?!”

Camille placed her hands on his shoulders, attempting to soothe him. “Baby, please. I know you’re upset and disappointed, but you can’t react like this. At least not here.” Aston pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths. “What if someone sees you?” She whispered. He froze momentarily, glancing at the office’s transparent walls.

“You’re… you’re right, babe. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for cursing. Come on, let’s just get back to work,” he walked away from her and plopped down behind his desk. Camille released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She knew he didn’t feel any better, but he put on a relaxed face anyway. That would have to be good enough for now. She slowly walked back to her desk, returning to the thick stack of documents. The office was silent except for the clacking of Aston’s keyboard and an occasional click of a mouse. But a few minutes later, Aston started back up again.

“I mean, where’d they even find this fucking guy!” He quipped. Camille groaned, dropping the highlighter in her hand.

“He’s on the goddamn MCMAP Wikipedia page. Watkins & Grant can’t let some damn jiu-jitsu instructor represent them. They–”

He was cut off by a knock. Camille and Aston’s head snapped to the door. Behind it stood Mr. Watkins… and the devil himself. Aston plastered on a fake smile and waved them in enthusiastically. “Come on in!”

“McCoy, Camille. You both rushed out of that meeting like two bats running out of hell. But I know how y’all like to keep yourselves busy. Just wanted to stop by so Mr. Richmond could meet you two,” Mr. Watkins explained as they stepped inside. Terry let out a deep chuckle, sending a ripple of pleasure through Camille.

“Please, just call me Terry.” He said, extending his hand to Aston. Aston’s fake smile twitched. “Great to meet you, Terry. Welcome to the firm!”

“I appreciate it,” Terry returned, his eyes settling on Camille’s. He licked his lips as his eyes swept over her figure, but the other two men didn’t notice. “Ms. Camille, a pleasure to meet you as well.” Camille gulped as she grasped his large, extended hand. She tried to pull away after a brief shake, but he gripped her hand just a little bit tighter, his thumb tracing light circles on the back of her hand. She shuddered. Shit, he does remember me. And he isn’t going to pretend like nothing happened between us.

“Nice to meet you too, Terry.” She looked away from his unyielding gaze.

“Now Terry, I told you plenty about McCoy on our walk over here. But not nearly enough about Camille! She’s the greatest paralegal that the associates have, but McCoy here likes to hog her. But I guess that’s to be expected of her future husband.”

“Future husband?” Terry interjected. “Y’all are engaged?” He asked casually, turning his attention to Aston.

Aston nodded vigorously. “Yep, for the past four months.”

Camille’s stomach sank as he looked back at her and gave her a predatory smile. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she squeaked, feeling like a lamb in the jaws of a wolf.

“But we’ve gotta split these two up eventually, it’s only fair.” Mr. Watkins chimed in. “Camille will start having more diversity in the cases she helps with. So if you ever need a hand, Terry, please feel free to reach out to her.”

“Oh, I will. Most definitely,” Terry purred, causing Camille’s face to heat up.

“Great! Well, we will leave you all to it. Don’t forget to take your lunch,” Mr. Watkins called out, holding the glass door open for Terry. Terry gave Camille one last heated stare, before turning to walk out of the office.

Terry

Terry chuckled to himself as he thought about how Camille reacted to him walking into the conference room. Her fine ass looked exactly how he wanted her to. A doe caught in the headlights. Her dark brown eyes widened and her mouth fell agape comically. He had to hold in his laugh so he could give the rest of her colleagues a polite introduction.

When Terry pulled up her LinkedIn the day after she left Crimson, a satisfied grin tugged at his lips when he saw her listed as a paralegal. Fate was definitely on his side. Over the years, Terry had cycled through countless careers and identities, always one step ahead of those who might start asking too many questions or notice that he doesn’t really age. While he was deeply involved with Crimson and other ventures catering to the supernatural, he had also kept a foot in the legal world, practicing law on and off for the past four decades. He would spend years establishing himself as a sought-after attorney, only to disappear and reinvent himself in a new city when the time was right. Currently, he was one of the most respected lawyers in Washington, D.C. Last year, he joined a nationwide network of top-tier lawyers, offering their expertise to other firms. Firms across the country had courted him, but none had been as persistent as Watkins & Grant. So when Terry saw that a particular paralegal worked there, he decided to finally accept their generous offer. A few weeks later he was sitting in an opulent executive suite with his name on the door and his beloved Camille only a stone’s throw away.

Of course, Terry didn’t stop at Camille’s LinkedIn. After much digging, he found her social media handles, as well as the ones that belonged to her friends and family. Hundreds of pictures, tweets, videos, and articles helped him piece together her life. Camille was the second child of Colin and Anastasia DeWaterson, a business executive turned oil refinery owner and a celebrity costume designer. While Anastasia came from wealth, Colin came from humble beginnings. A country boy from Alabama who climbed the ranks of Georgia Power after gaining a business degree from Morehouse. The couple married in their early twenties and welcomed their first child, Colin DeWaterson Jr., after two years of marriage. One year later, they had Camille. Three years after that, they had their second daughter, Chloe. Their fourth and final child, Cole, came almost eight years after. 

The DeWatersons main residence was originally in Jonesboro, Georgia. But the children were rarely there. Colin Jr. was overseas in a German boarding school specializing in math and technology. Camille and Chloe were a bit closer to home attending a boarding school in Virginia. And Cole was in California at a school with a top-ranked basketball program. But in Camille’s sophomore year of high school, Mr. DeWaterson relocated his family to Louisiana after a distant relative passed, unexpectedly leaving him ownership of a few oil refineries in the state. From then on, Mr. DeWaterson attached himself to every wealthy family he could. And his connections seemed to pay off. The DeWatersons grew in popularity and became pinnacles of Black excellence in Louisiana.

But as time went on, the family seemed to attract scandals at every turn. A few years ago, rumors began to circulate that DeWaterson Sr. had an affair with a secretary, resulting in a baby. Although he denied the claims, he supposedly refused to participate in a DNA test and gave his secretary an undisclosed amount of money. Mrs. DeWaterson, battling stage three breast cancer, refused to make public appearances with her husband for over a year. At the same time, the youngest DeWaterson daughter began acting out. She dropped out of her Ivy League school to run off to LA with her then-boyfriend, a rising fashion designer. She got into a physical altercation outside of a LA nightclub, which was highly publicized. And she decided to go skinny dipping in a fountain at a well attended charity event. The DeWaterson sons also made headlines. During a sermon at his great uncle’s church, Colin Jr. came out to the entire congregation with his boyfriend. And Cole was accused of arson at his high school in Louisiana shortly after he transferred.

The only person who remained blemish free since the DeWatersons rise to notoriety was Camille. No scandalous articles, messy drama, or embarrassing incidents about her came to the surface as Terry continued his thorough search. Only mentions of her various awards, philanthropic acts, and social outings. But one particular article really piqued Terry’s interest. “The McCoy and DeWaterson Ties are Binding in More Ways Than One: The Engagement of the South.” The webpage outlined how the children of business partners Richard McCoy and Colin DeWaterson Sr. were soon to be wed. The author also accused the couple of joining together not for love, but to secure another level of wealth for their families. And Terry couldn’t agree more. As he analyzed the relationship further, he concluded that this was all orchestrated by their fathers. Camille would do anything to please her father and protect her family’s name. Even if that meant she had to sign her life away to some entitled white boy.

Terry let out a pleased sigh when he finally ended his investigation into Camille DeWaterson. It appeared he had a sweet, obedient, good girl on his hands. Women like her were always the most satisfying challenges. He was going to enjoy stealing Camille away from her fiancé and turning her into his personal slut. Overstimulation, edging, sensory deprivation, primal play, shibari… he would introduce her to it all. He would ruin her over and over and over again, breaking her down until she was a slutted out, cock-drunk mess. And when she breaks, he will gladly put her back together again. He would nail her to the cross just to resurrect her so he could be at her beck and call. She’d be his pampered sex kitten that he would spoil rotten, happily giving her the life that she deserved and freeing her from the exhaustion of being Little Miss Perfect. A kept woman who wouldn't have to do anything but love him.

But accomplishing this would require more than just working at Watkins & Grant. Terry would have to do much more to reel Camillle in and push McCoy out of the way. And he had to start now.

He opened the new laptop on his desk that was provided to him earlier that morning. All of the necessary accounts and applications had been installed and downloaded by the IT department. He only cared about one app at the moment, though.

Teams.

Every employee was just one message away. He scrolled through the names until he found Camille’s. He let out a ‘hmmm’ when he saw the green dot next to her name. She was available and online, prompting Terry to send her a quick, straightforward message.

Camille

Camille’s heart thumped loudly at the message that flashed in the corner of her computer screen.

Come here. We need to talk.

The devil was beckoning her to his office, and she had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The man could easily reveal what they did a few weekends ago to Aston, and her life would go up in flames. He could dangle that night over her head for the next year if he wanted to. He wants to blackmail me, Camille thought as she chewed on her lip. Why else would he be giving me those taunting looks? What other reason would make him call me to his office?

Camille desperately wanted to decline, knowing that any interaction with him could only lead to trouble. But what choice did she have? Avoiding him might piss him off. And who knows what he’ll do if that happens.

OK.

She sent the response and immediately shut her laptop. He couldn’t make any more demands of her if she couldn’t see them. Aston paused briefly at the sound of her device closing. “You going to lunch now?” he asked. “Yep,” she responded. That’s the perfect excuse, she thought. “Where are you going?” he pushed further. Camille chewed her lip nervously. She was always a bad liar. “I’m not sure yet. I’m feeling a little spontaneous.” She grabbed her bag and moved towards the door to avoid more questions.

“Wherever you go, can you get me something with chicken?” She grimaced. Now, she actually had to leave the building. “Sure, babe. I’ll be back soon.” And with that, she began her journey to Terry’s office.

His office sat within the executive wing of the floor, where the top employees got to enjoy the best views, the sleekest offices, and their own personal bathrooms. Terry’s new office had sat vacant for months and was often visited by Aston when he made his rounds in the morning. “This’ll be mine one day,” he would tell Camille from time to time. She understood his admiration of the space.

The office featured twelve-foot ceilings with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unobstructed view of the Houston skyline. The space was fully equipped with the latest technology: a sleek smart screen, a modern kitchenette, and remote-controlled blinds. While the walls were glass like the other offices, a simple press of a button gave the glass an opaque frost, instantly giving the occupant privacy. It even had a connecting room, dedicated for a personal assistant. All in all, the room exuded a sense of sophistication, making it a space where work and luxury effortlessly coexisted. Any other time, Camille would be excited to take a trip to the executive wing. But this time, she was terrified.

She softly knocked on the door bearing the plaque “Terrence Richmond,” still trying to think of a way to get out of this situation. But the butter smooth voice that said “Come in” on the other side of the door told her that there was no escaping. Camille quickly stepped inside and shut the door behind her. Tucking her hands nervously behind her back, she watched Terry lazily toss a mini Houston Rockets basketball up and down, up and down. One of his welcome gifts from Mr. Watkins, she assumed. She couldn’t help but admire the beautiful man for a moment. His perfectly chiseled face. His plump lips. The way his muscles flexed beneath his clothing. He was like a dream come true. But Camille knew she had to wake herself up, because he could easily make her reality a nightmare. She cleared her throat, snapping herself out of the trance.

“You wanted to see me?” She asked quickly, just wanting to get this over with. He gave her a cheeky smile, making her knees buckle momentarily. “Hello to you too, Camille.” Her cheeks heated up as she mentally chastised herself. That was a little passive aggressive. She let out the breath she had been holding and approached his desk. “Look Terry, I know you probably want to make this as torturous for me as possible. But can you make this little game of yours quick, I have to get to lunch.”

Terry’s smile faded into confusion, his tossing coming to a stop. “What are you talking about?” Camille forced herself not to roll her eyes as she sat in the plush leather seat across from him. “You have some leverage that you can use against me. So what do you want? Let’s not dance around this.”

“Woah, woah, woah.” He threw his hands up innocently. “Honestly Camille, I called you in to say that if you stay cool, I’ll stay cool. I don’t want to make any problems for you.”

Her chest tightened as she searched his eyes for any insincerity. She didn’t find any. Shit. Camille had completely miscalculated his intentions. And had the nerve to accuse him of messing with her head! That whole interaction they had in Aston’s office was probably meaningless. She was the pervert for thinking that the looks he gave her or the tone he had were sexually charged. She slumped in the chair, upset that she had jumped to conclusions. With a shaky sigh, she said, “Terry, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come for you like that. It’s just that…when I saw your message, I-I panicked-”

“Camille.” He interrupted gently. “You don’t have to apologize. This is exactly why I wanted to talk. I don’t want you to think that I would try to hurt you or your career. I was serious when I said that what happened would stay between us.” Terry’s words soothed her frayed nerves, but intensified her guilt. She was the one who risked her relationship and made him out to be the bad guy, but he was handling her like an innocent puppy.

“So do we understand each other?” Terry asked, his voice soft with an authoritative edge. She nodded. “Yea…thanks for addressing this, Terry. Can we just start over?” His dazzling smile returned, and she swooned internally.

“Yes ma’am.” he chuckled. “You can start by telling me a little bit about yourself.”

Terry

Ignoring the erection painfully brushing against his boxers, Terry nodded politely as Camille gave him a brief, humble introduction. Her feisty little attack when she first came into his office almost made him lose his cool demeanor and devour her right then and there. Terry knew that his Teams message would get a reaction out of her. And he needed to see it to understand where her head was at. Did she feel guilty? Was she worried that he’d tell her business? Would she try to avoid him? The way she pounced on him told Terry that the answer to all of his questions was yes.

He swelled with pride as she attempted to put him in his place. Her face was all serious and she puffed her chest out a bit. It was absolutely adorable and a turn-on at the same time. Terry was glad to see that she wasn’t a doormat and could handle some confrontation.

Though she wasn’t sharing anything he didn’t already know, Terry couldn’t help but ask more about her life—why she moved to Houston, how she met Aston, what she enjoyed doing in her free time. He wanted to savor every moment with her, to stretch the time they had together. After all, it was the first time he had seen her in person since the incident at Crimson. For the past month, he had to survive off her pictures and videos to satisfy his need to see her face. But they only fueled the sexual dreams that have been plaguing him since their last encounter. Dreams where he would have her pressed into his bed with her ankles by her ears. Or she would be bent over his kitchen counter with his fangs in her neck. Or his tongue would be slipping through her folds and sucking on her sensitive bud. Each dream would end the same. With her wetting up his dick, those pretty brown eyes clouding over with pure ecstasy.

His fist and imagination hadn’t been enough to satisfy him most nights. So he would invite women who were more than happy to please him over to his place a few times a week. But still, they couldn’t fulfill his deepest desires. He knew he wouldn’t have what he truly needed until he was between the legs of the gorgeous, intelligent, and sweet woman who sat before him.

As they spoke, he couldn’t help but observe the little details that made her so captivating. The way her eyes lit up when she mentioned her family, the subtle shift in her gaze when their eyes lingered too long, the warmth of her voice that seemed to wrap around him. He even noticed the delicate crinkle of her eyes when she laughed. Each small gesture, every word she spoke, was seared into his memory. As she shared a story about her favorite class from undergrad, her gaze drifted to the clock on the wall of his office. Realizing the time, she jumped to her feet. It had been twenty minutes.

“Oh, I completely forgot I had to go get lunch,” she said, shooting Terry an apologetic smile. “I hate to cut this short, but…” she trailed off. Terry quickly concealed his displeasure at her leaving. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll find another time.” She gave him a small wave as she opened the door. “Bye, Terry.” He waved back, groaning slightly as his dick jumped from his name slipping off her tongue.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. From his brief exchange with Aston, it was clear he’d have to tread carefully with Camille—at least for the next few months. Terry could tell that the motherfucker didn’t like him, and the feeling was mutual. But he would stay civil, for now. He couldn’t risk Aston getting pissed off and discouraging Camille from building a friendship with him.

His strategy would take longer than he liked, but Terry was willing to be patient. For Camille’s sake, everything had to feel effortless, natural, like it was always meant to be. He would play the long game, staying under the radar, making sure nothing disrupted her world. He would start subtle, appearing as nothing more than a friendly colleague. But slowly, he would weave himself into her life like a shadow she won’t be able to escape, but will eventually begin to crave. This next year, patience would be Terry’s virtue. Because there was no way he was returning to D.C. without Camille on his arm.

----------------

@nayaesworld @slvt4her @writingsbytee @notapradagurl7 @23jammy @kaylaahisthebestest- @theogbadbitch @wabi-sabi1090 @hotgyalaroad @nubiagurllll @lovedlover @dimepiece09 @lavaniiii @simplyzeeka @susanhill @next-bex-bet @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @ranikyani @loveschrisbrown20 @daddyslittlevillain @blackchickinthedesert

i think i added everyone this time!

[seventeendeer]

my lifelong special interest in sonic the hedgehog has both a very sincere side (those little animal characters are so cute! these games are fun! yay bright colors and the power of friendship!) and a side I can only describe as "morbid fascination with all the ways a long-running franchise can try to do a million different things and none of them are good or right or nourishing to the human spirit"

today, I would like to take you all on a special journey through the latter !

did you know that, at a conservative estimate, there have been attempts to create a recurring love interest for the blue man himself no less than FIVE SEPARATE TIMES. MORE IF YOU COUNT THE ONES THAT WERE NOT SUPPOSED TO LAST

below is Madonna (left) and Breezie (right). Madonna was a damsel in distress type character Sonic would've been saving in an early draft of the OG 1991 game. Breezie was a temporary love interest in the 90's cartoon, Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog, who seems to be inspired by the scrapped Madonna concept.

another scrapped love interest was Tiara Boobowski, who was at one point in development going to be a playable character in Sonic X-treme, a game intended for release in the 90's, though it never materialized. it seems her story went through a few different iterations before development ceased. she has the dubious honor of being the first "princess" character created for the purpose of being Sonic's love interest, which would be revisited at least two more times in other contexts.

the first love interest to stick around for a while was Princess Sally Acorn, developed from the squirrel critter design in the early games into a major supporting character in the 90's cartoon Sonic SatAM (left), then kept around in various iterations in the comic book spin-off series published by Archie Comics (middle + right) until the series' end in the mid-10's. she was in an on-and-off relationship with Sonic over those decades, for better or for worse, and they had by far the longest running romance arc out of all of Sonic's love interests to date. after suffering every romantic melodrama plotline imaginable, she was unceremoniously booted from the franchise when the rights to Sonic comic books were moved over to IDW Publishing. rest in peace, Sally, you didn't deserve any of that. at the very least for five minutes towards the end, she stopped dating Sonic and it was implied she started dating her long-time gal pal, Nicole, so she had that going for her for a little bit. counting our blessings

speaking of romantic melodrama, the Archie comics also gave Sonic a temporary love interest in Mina Mongoose because they wanted to write in a love triangle. there was a "main characters all grown up and starting nuclear families" future story at one point where they married Mina off to Tails instead, which somehow felt deeply cruel to both Mina and Tails. "hand-me-down love interest" is a bad, bad vibe for everyone involved

a few years on, in the mid 00's, the games were having their own weird little time giving Sonic a short-lived romance arc with new addition to the cast, Princess Elise the Third, who only showed up in the game Sonic the Hedgehog (2006) and managed to lay one singular smooch on Sonic's corpse to bring him back from the dead, disney style, before she was banished from the franchise due to a monumental amount of backlash (against both her character and the game as a whole). I'm beaming hostile psychic waves into sega's headquarters until they bring her back with better writing and none of that stupid shit. they did it with Silver, they have no excuse

and of course we finally have the one. the only. the most persistent girly of all time who's been trying to marry Sonic since 1993 and is still truckin' on in the year of our lord 2025 even though he's slippery as an eel and he "don't wanna" and there's kind of an uncomfortable age difference and reciprocated romance has over time become more or less outlawed by Sega because it never really pans out for them for some inexplicable mysterious reason. everybody's favorite hyper violent child psychic AMY ROSE !!!!

great character!! has always had so much potential to do her own cool thing if only they'd let her!! if they don't drop the stupid "kinda love interest, kinda not" aspect of her character soon, I'm going to start CRYING BLOOD!! FREE HER <3

anyway honorary mention also goes to Blaze the Cat (left, game continuity, still active), Bunnie Rabbot (center, Sonic SatAM + Archie comics, goners with the Archie series cancellation) and Fiona Fox (right, Archie comics, also goners, same deal), who, while not introduced as love interests, have all been put into some kind of romantic context with Sonic at one point or another just because

(and also while not really relevant to the topic at hand, I would be remiss not to give a special shout-out to the multitude of male characters who were most likely never intended to have any romantic connection to Sonic, but because this series is shonen anime inspired and the rivalries get crazy, our boy still has to hear shit like this on the regular)

and like, you know I've probably forgotten some more girlies out there, too. Sonic the Hedgehog has been pelted with potential romance arcs since the day he was created, and I'm sure there are more out there lost to time/my shoddy memory.

and it's just ... so profoundly morbidly funny to me. unstoppable force (heteronormativity) VS immovable object (misogyny). countless futile attempts to convince kids across the world that a cool guy like Sonic TOTALLY GETS GIRLS, DAMN IT, HE IS FULFILLING HIS HETEROSEXUALITY QUOTA, WE PROMISE, combined with this utter disinterest in sufficiently developing female characters who can effectively fill that role. even Sally Acorn, who was put through hell in the spin-off comics for DECADES serving as the designated narrative romantic punching bag, would eventually go gentle into that good night without fanfare because porting her into a new continuity would just be so much worrrrrk ughhh she's not even Sonic's girlfriend anymore so whateverrrrr

though as much as a massive L as this is for women, at the very least these poor girls are taking the obligatory main character romantic subplot down with them. taking one for the team here. Sonic is so fast and so smooth, those cringey romance plots just slide right off the wind screen of his character and I at least love that part. I love that it never works out and our protagonist remains utterly unpairable. and I hope nothing ever sticks. and I hope the current staff continue to get better at writing female characters just for the sake of having some cool girls around who are interesting in their own right. and may a thousand more cynical, sexist, half-assed attempts to awkwardly shoehorn romance into stories where it doesn't belong wither and die just as spectacularly, booyah

[cameoliob]

i'm the kallus jovan anon again, never apologize for writing what is basically an entire angsty fic, it was an amazing raed. can i ask you more stuff about these two? like how did it go from kallus pov? tell me more about his youth in the underbelly of corruscant? why doesn't he have a family :( and what does he think about jovans parents and all of their lifestyles?

HI I'M ANSWERING YOUR ASKS OUT OF ORDER BUT WE BALL (also i love you thank you so much for letting me yap)

Okay, so Kallus' upbringing is so interesting to me and I have ALOT of thoughts about it

I have a another post thats kind of about this (but it's specifically about his sister, Anya (that I made up) so you can find that here, BUT i want to get into the nitty gritty of his upbringing anyways so HERE WE GO

Kallus' father passed away in a work related accident shortly before he was born, and his mother, unable to bear the stress of a dead husband, a newborn, and Coruscanti housing prices, prompty fucks off. Kallus' older sister, Anya, who is 16 at the time, takes it upon herself to raise her baby brother.

They had lived in the mid-levels for a number of years (all of which Kallus was too young to remember), thanks to Anya taking up a ton of different jobs, but the Coruscanti housing prices rise like NOBODYS buissness and eventually they end up in the lower levels.

Although they were dirt poor (except there was no dirt because it's Coruscant) they were as happy as they could have been. Kallus was, by nature, an energetic, gritty little kid with undeniable ambition and drive, and Anya-- who at this point is more mom than sister-- worked hard so that she could give him to opprotunities he deserved.

Anya was a strong believer in getting a good education and she managed to get Kallus into the mid-level middle/high school that she had gone to (and graduated early from!) in her teen years.

Coruscanti housing prices are still rising.

Kallus gets his first job when he's 12 (they dont gaf about child labor laws) as a dishwasher at one of the diners his sister works at because the owner had a real soft spot for "the sweet girl and her skinny kid." (Eventually he gets promoted to server but that's really besides the point) ANYWAYS

So basically, teenage Kallus, who is fighting tooth and nail to get THE HEELLLLL out of the lower levels via education, has a daily schedule that looks like:

4:15 AM - Wake up

4:30 - leave the house

4:45-6:45 - take the lift up to school (do homework on the way)

7:15 - 3:00 - School

3:30 - 5:30 - take the lift down (do homework on the way)

6:00 - 11:30 - work

12:15- go to bed

Dont get it twisted though, bro had HOBBIES (which included, but were not limited to, fixing broken droids, bad graphiti, pickpocketing, going clubbing, and just kind of running around with whimsy) (All of which he would do on his singular day off per week)

So basically this man has NEVER known rest in his entire life

It's after Kallus turns 18 and graduates that his sister passes away at 33. The lower levels are polluted, the air so smogged up and toxic that nearly everyone deeper than level 2000 gets sick at some point. Anya had lived the average length of a lower-level citizen, but that didn't console Kallus whatsoever.

Landlords are assholes, and the 2 year lease on his shoebox apartments name was under ANYAs name, not his, so landlord decides that he should kick this greiving 18 year old kid to the curb so that he can bump up rent for the next person.

Kallus, as any person would, spirals. He's couch hopping, he may or may not be partaking in mind-altering substances that may or may not be considered illegal, he is losing his goddamned mind. This is his rock bottom. And he realizes that he'd better get his shit together or else he'll be stuck in the lower levels swimming in alchohol and greif for the rest of his life (which would not be long).

And then news finally gets down to the lower levels (a month after the fact) that the Republic is gone, and that the Empire has taken its place. And the Empire doesn't want a clone army anymore, no, they want people to enlist. And do you know what enlisting means???

Free room and board

So Kallus hops THE FUUUCCKKK on this opprotunity, because who wouldnt????

And when he goes to enlist, he finds out that since he went to a school in the mid-levels he's elligable to test-in to the academy. Which he does, and succeeds at.

So now he's at the academy after the most insane and miserable month of his life, and there are all these rich ASSHOLES, who have just been living up here??? In the sun??? With money??? This whole time???

So he, of course, hates them all

But then Jovan shows up.

The only real kindness Kallus had ever known had been from Anya, his sister (mom?) who devoted her entire life to ensuring that he had a better one. Other than her, everyone Kallus had ever met was after something, weather that be money, a favor, ect. So when Jovan shows up, all smiles and niceness and whatever, Kallus doesn't trust him. Eventually, though, he realizes that Jovan is kind just for the hell of it. He's kind because he can be.

So he accepts Jovans friendship.

And Jovan teaches him how to fit in. How to dress, how to talk, how to act, ect ect. It's all a bit overwelming, of course, but Kallus is glad, because at least people arent looking at him all weird in the hallways anymore.

At the end of the year he finally properly meets Jovans parents after Jovan offers to bring him on their family vacation. And goddamnit, so wonder their son is so sweet, they are too.

Jovans mom takes him shopping for new clothes to wear on vacation, she buys him lunch, and when they come back she shows him all the embarassing baby-photos of Jovan that she had stashed away.

And when they go on vacation (on Naboo, ive decided) Jovans dad tries to teach Kallus how to fish, even though Jovans dad is not good at fishing, and really just wanted to wear a fun hat and sit by the lake for a few hours. (Kallus discovers that catching fish with his bare-hands actually has a higher success rate than when he tried with the pole)

Yeah, theyre rich upper-level-ers with soft hands, and they have no idea how bad things can get down in the lower-levels (and probably never will), but they're just so goddamned sweet. They're not like the kids in his classes at the academy who made fun of his unkempt hair, or his perpetual sunburn, or the way his accent was a bit off, theyre kind.

And Jovan is kind.

It's kind of a no-brainer that Kallus fell for the guy

[licncourt]

The power dynamics between Louis and Lestat being a huge obstacle between the two ever trusting the other and reaching the kind of intimacy they both long for was so intriguing in the early books. So it was wild when Anne went full King Lestat mode and lobotomized Louis lol don’t get me wrong I love their romantic passages as well in later books but like in isolation and not so much because the books are actually good. How would you have liked to seen their power dynamics shift and change over time?

That's the perfect way to put it, I really do think the romantic moments work better with no context because you don't have to Know....

In general, I think it would have been nice to have a bit more fluctuation between them in terms of power and we missed out on that because of Anne's disinterest in exploring Louis' inner world. I think moments of hesitancy towards Lestat on Louis' part would have made sense, maybe some times where he isn't emotionally available or has priorities of his own that aren't Lestat. The Louis we saw in IWTV becoming basically a sure thing from their reunion on is a bit jarring, though I suppose there could be reasons for that. Ultimately though, he doesn't DO anything, his life is not passing the Lestat Bechdel Test. I wish his ENTIRE existence hadn't seemed to revolve around sitting around waiting for Lestat.

I'm so glad that Louis rejects Lestat's begging in TotBT because it's the only time there's any real pushback from him and I think it's crucial that Louis be that person in Lestat's life who will say no to him. Basically from TotBT on, Lestat is a the Michael Jackson of the vampire world and he gets his way with virtually everyone he encounters. In many ways I think the reason Louis can be a forever partner for Lestat over anyone else is because he can't be bulldozed the way others can. He knows and sees Lestat for what he really is in the deepest sense, but also loves him for who he really is. He doesn't succumb to force or to star power. I wish we had more examples in mid and late canon showing this side of Louis. He's a quieter personality than Lestat, but an equally strong one that provides a super important check on Lestat's overpowering will.

The thing I think AR did right though with what she set up is having Lestat ask Louis to come to France with him, having Lestat appeal to him to regain that relationship etc. It's a great way to establish this upcoming part of the relationship because of the reversal of the dynamic we've been seeing for so long. Until Lestat was willing to relinquish that level of power he's had since their reunion and put himself in a position to be rejected, they were never going to be on truly even footing again. Lestat allowing himself to be at a disadvantage for the first time is so crucial. If he's been radically IN control, he needs to be radically powerless too.

I would say that this kind of continues too in a less obvious manner. Lestat is wrapped around Louis' little finger in the PL books, absolutely pussy whipped and he kind of needs to be so that this feels satisfying at all and not sort of uncomfortable given the prior context. Even with the lobotomy, you at least never feel like he's getting steamrolled or in a bad situation or anything. He's clearly going to be getting what he wants from Lestat without even trying, he's doing just fine. I do wish there was a still-recognizable push and pull between them so so much, but with how the 90s and 00s books were written, I don't see another option tbh.

If more of that dynamic and Louis' personality had stayed intact, it would have been really fun and really interesting to see him take more of an active interest in his position as consort too. He has the personality, skillset, and personal history to be an deeply yet subtly authoritarian freak. I wish he had felt like a real counterpart to Lestat's immense physical and social power at this point in canon in his own intellectual way. This sort of mirrors what they had going on in IWTV, except before they were equally matched in opposition to one other with Louis using intelligence and manipulation for control and Lestat leaning into his brute strength and dominance. Seeing them take those traits and use them in tandem this time would be a cool full circle moment and have a still sweet and romantic but appropriately VC-dark vibe to it.

[mikeywayarchive]

Mikey Way: “I was borderline terrified a lot of the time My Chemical Romance was active. I was learning the bass in front of 20,000 people every night!”

By Gregory Adams ( Bass Player ) published June 9th 2023

The reunited emo kings’ low-end ranger reveals why he swapped out his signature Fender Mustang for a sparkling new signature Jazz Bass, learning bass in arenas, and how he overcame insecurity about his chops

Full interview under cut:

My Chemical Romance’s reunion has seen bassist Mikey Way thrumming through the high pomp punk of The Black Parade and Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge favorites with a familiar rhythmic fortitude, but keen-eyed band obsessives have probably noticed the musician is no longer sporting the snazzy, silver-flake Squier Mustang signature model Fender built for him back in 2012. 

The good news is that’s because, as Fender have just formally announced, Way has a brand-new – but just as glammy – Jazz Bass out now. There’s a good reason why Way’s made the switch: the Jazz Bass is his first love.

Though he started out on guitar, Way got the hang of a four-string in the mid ‘90s while playing a loaned-out Jazz Bass in his pre-My Chemical Romance project, Ray Gun Jones. He upgraded to a silver-finish Jazz of his own by the time MCR started touring in the early ‘00s, but a trailer mishap led to that instrument getting smashed to pieces on a highway.

Way tells Guitar World that he eventually became obsessed with the short-scale sturdiness of a Mustang bass guitar as My Chemical Romance were writing their 2010 full-length, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, after fooling around with a model Duff McKagan had left at North Hollywood’s Mates Rehearsal Studio. By 2012, Way had his Squier model in stores.

It was during the downtime after My Chemical Romance went on hiatus in 2013, though, that the stubbiness of his Mustang became a little hard to handle.

“I stayed away from playing bass for a little while, which is natural – I was just decompressing,” Way explains. “Then, sometime in 2014, I picked up the bass again, to get my chops back, [but] I noticed that the Mustang felt strange to me.” 

After reaching out to the folks at Fender, Way got a grip on his playing by stretching out on the longer-necked Jazzes they sent him. Way’s take on the Jazz Bass is outfitted with ’70s-style single-coil pickups, and a thinline “C”-shaped maple neck the bassist says is super-speedy.

The finish is silver, of course, but Way also wanted an aesthetically inkier black pickguard. The headstock, likewise, pops with its matching gloss-black finish.

Speaking with Guitar World, Way gets into the glam and grunge gods who inspired his love of a good sparkle coat, overcoming performance anxiety, and why a steady attack wins the bass race every time.

What were some of the musts when it came to designing this latest signature?

“I’ve been obsessed with the sparkle finish as far back as I can remember. Growing up in the ‘90s, the silver-flake [finish] was big in alternative music. Chris Cornell had the Gretsch Silver Jet, [Daniel Johns] from Silverchair had one – [with] the imagery the Smashing Pumpkins used, they liked sparkles.

“Ace Frehley, of course, was big into flake finishes, and as a kid, you love the larger-than-life, comic book world of Kiss. [And there’s] David Bowie – the glam rock stuff. That flake finish makes me think of so many different things, but that’s why I love it so much.

“I remember being younger and going into stores and seeing a flake finish and being like, 'Oh my god, that’s an expensive [looking guitar] – I can’t afford that, let alone play it.' It was almost intimidating.”

One aesthetic difference between your Mustang model and this Jazz is that you didn’t throw a racing stripe on this one.

“I thought about bringing it back and keeping the continuity. Maybe somewhere down the line we’ll throw a racing stripe on this. The thing with [seeing a] racing stripe was always like, 'This player is a badass!'”

Is there a psychology behind removing the racing stripe, then?

“The psychology behind it is that I forgot about it. When My Chemical Romance was talking about doing reunion shows [in 2019], I’d contacted Michael Schulz from Fender and was like, 'Is it OK if I make a new bass for this [next] era of My Chemical Romance?' I wanted to take my past and bring it to the future – taking my Mustang and melding it with the Jazz Basses that I loved so much. 

“I tried to have my cake and eat it, too. I wanted the thinner neck, and I wanted the silver-flake, but I wanted it on a Jazz Bass. They knocked it out of the park immediately.”

Getting back to how you used to admire those silver-flake guitars in the shops, you actually started out as a guitarist, right?

“So, the story goes that my brother [My Chemical Romance vocalist Gerard Way] had a Sears acoustic guitar when he was 10 years old. We would take a shoelace and make a strap, and we would stand on the couch pretending we were in Iron Maiden. And then it got real around ’93-’94, which lines up with the rise of alternative music. You started to see people that looked exactly like you, and they were playing guitar. They were playing Fender Strats! 

“My brother got a Mexican Stratocaster, Lake Placid Blue. I found it not too long ago, and Michael from Fender hot-rodded it. That’s how I cut my teeth – that Mexican Stratocaster [was] my first foray into really trying to learn how to play guitar. I would watch bootlegs of concerts, and watch [guitarists’] hands and fingers – Thom Yorke, Billy Corgan, Noel Gallagher, Jonny Greenwood. I would watch what they were doing. It all started from that.

“Bass came out of necessity, twice. Me and my brother had a band called Ray Gun Jones, I guess in ’95-’96. It was kind of Weezer-ish, or us doing a surf-punk thing [with] a little bit of pre-mid-west emo. At the time we were really into Weezer, Jawbreaker, Promise Ring, Smashing Pumpkins, Nirvana, Sunny Day Real Estate. 

“[Ray Gun Jones] needed a bass player, so my brother was like 'Hey, do you want to play bass for my band?' I was already a huge fan – I’d always tag along to practices. The ex-bass player let me borrow their bass. We had 4-5 songs, and I got the rudimentary from that. In that era, everyone was like, 'I want to be a guitar hero,' but I realized I had a natural knack for [bass]. I picked it up right away. 

“Then, with My Chemical Romance, it was the same thing. My brother was like, 'We need a bass player,' and I was like, 'Well, this is familiar' [laughs]. 'Here’s the demo; learn these songs.' They weren’t terribly difficult.”

Was that bass you had borrowed a Fender Jazz?

“Yup, I’ve only ever played Fender. I’ve tried tons of other basses from other companies, but it always feels alien to me.”

You mentioned studying the playing of Thom Yorke or Billy Corgan through those bootleg vids. Were there any bassists that you treated similarly, to understand the mechanics of bass?

“Matt Sharp from Weezer. I tried to ape him in the beginning, but my attack sounds vaguely reminiscent of a Smashing Pumpkins recording. I would learn Siamese Dream and Melon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, and the Blue Album [the band’s 1994 self-titled debut] by Weezer. Those were the three albums that I put the most time into learning. That’s in my DNA.”

How about from a hyper-local perspective. If My Chemical Romance started out playing New Jersey basements and VFW halls, where there any bassists from that scene that inspired you, or that you appreciated?

“Yes! We shared a rehearsal space with this band called Pencey Prep – that was [MCR guitarist] Frank Iero’s original band. John McGuire was their bassist, and he let me borrow his equipment all the time. He taught me fundamentals, and gave me pointers – he taught me a whole heck of a lot. 

“I always respected Tim Payne from Thursday, I loved his attack and stage presence. And when I’d watch Gabe Saporta from Midtown, I thought 'This dude is the coolest guy in the room.' He’s got this calm, cool, and collected [presence] that you can’t fake or learn. And then Eben D’amico from Saves the Day – brilliant! 

“I would try to learn Saves the Day basslines. They were pretty complex [compared to] what most bands were doing in that scene. Most bands in the post-hardcore scene had simplistic basslines, but Saves the Day did not.

“There’s also Ray Toro, the guitar player of My Chemical Romance. Not only is he truly gifted at guitar, but he’s truly gifted at bass and drums – Ray can do everything. He was instrumental, early on, with showing me the ropes. Ray gave me lessons when I was a novice. I can’t thank him enough for that.”

What kind of pointers was he giving you?

“He showed me proper fretting, or [how to maintain] a steady attack. I got a really great compliment from our front-of-house guy, Jay Rigby. He told me that I’m one of the very few bass players that he doesn’t have to go in and tweak the volume [for]. 'You’re steady, throughout.' I think that’s something that Ray Toro instilled in me: the consistency of attack. 

“It’s funny thinking about it, but I was such a novice going into My Chemical Romance that I would bring myself into an anxiety-ridden state of, 'Oh my god, we have a show tonight; I have to start practicing right now.' I would be practicing four to five hours before we played – I’d play the set [in the green room], and then I’d play it again. Other bands would be like, 'What are you doing?' I was so neurotic at that point, because there were so many people around me that were beyond gifted. 

“I got pushed into the deep end; you’ve got no choice but to figure it out. Ray and Frank are so gifted that I had to keep up. I didn’t want to ever do the music a disservice.

“That brings me back to the simplicity of the early My Chem basslines. The first album [2002’s I Brought You Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love] was me learning the bass, and somehow [producer] John Naclerio recorded me and said, 'You did a great job,' which I did not expect. 

“I thought I was going to go in there and they were going to have to do some studio magic, or someone would come in and play [my] part. I thought of the worst-case scenario, but I went in and did it. I played the bass seriously [enough] by that point.”

What are you generally looking for in a My Chemical Romance bassline? 

“What makes it for me is if I do a fill, I’ll only do it once. If you listen to [the band's 2022 comeback single] The Foundations of Decay, any fill on there I only do one time. What’s interesting about The Foundations of Decay is that it’s very loose and run-and-gun. We went in and punched things in for timing, which everyone in the world does, but the meat of that is first-or-second take. Which brings me to someone else who was very instrumental to my bass playing: Doug McKean.

“He’s no longer with us, unfortunately, but he was our engineer from The Black Parade [until his passing in 2022]. He was always a huge cheerleader for me – he instilled confidence in me. He was always good at getting a killer performance out of me.”

What are some of the biggest My Chemical Romance bass moments for you?

“I’ll say that fill in on Foundations. No-one saw that coming.”

There’s a YouTube video out there of someone playing their favorite Mikey Way basslines, some while using your signature Squier Mustang, but one standout in particular is The Black Parade’s The Sharpest Lives.

“What’s funny is Sharpest Lives has a bass solo, and I was terrified of it. I had performance anxiety [through] the 12 years before we broke up – I don’t have it anymore. Somehow when the band got back together, a switch in my brain [got] flipped. [But] while My Chem was active, I was borderline terrified a lot of the time.

“I’m playing with people far above my skill level, I’m playing [on bills] with bands where their bass players are way better than me, [and] our shows were getting massive. We were playing arenas! So not only are you learning the bass, but you’re learning the bass in front of 20,000 people every night. It made me tweak a little, but I think it shaped me into what I became.

“That solo gave me anxiety. It was when we were playing the biggest venues of our career, and it would break for the solo [Way starts singing his ascending bass lick]. I practiced it relentlessly, then it [became] second nature. Later on, it [became my favorite part of the show.”

You’re already playing the Jazz signature in your live show, yeah?

“It’s what I use for the live show. Basically, Fender built [it] for the reunion, and then we made a couple tweaks for when we release it.”

Was there a learning curve at all towards transferring My Chemical Romance songs you’d written on a Mustang onto the Jazz?

“There was Planetary (GO!), a song off Danger Days. I’d guess you’d say the whole thing is a disco beat. It’s dance-y – [Mikey starts singing an octave-popping bassline], I do that for the entirety of the song. I was very happy that I only had to do that on a Mustang, initially [because of the shorter scale]. But going back to what I said, [after] I took a little break, [I] went back to a Jazz Bass. 

“I missed the room, or the way my hand went up and down the neck. I wanted to go back to that, so I jumped back in and felt right at home again.”

How many Jazzes are you bringing on the road?

“I bring two basses out, [but] I stopped even switching [during the set]. This is a testament to Fender craftsmanship – that thing stays in tune. It’s got the four-saddle bridge, and it stays in tune so well. I’m a little neurotic so I’ll tune every few songs, but if I went five to six songs you probably wouldn’t even notice.”

What does it mean to you to now have a fully-formed Fender signature model – as opposed to the Squier – and with the body shape you began your career with?

“It’s really a dream come true. It’s funny, in 2002-3 we started touring across the country. I had a Mexican Jazz Bass, but [the band] were like, 'You have to use something with better electronics; better wood. Step it up!' So, I went into the Guitar Center on Route 46 in New Jersey, and at the time Fender had released a special Guitar Center edition that was silver-flake. 

“It always bugged me that the pickguard was white – it threw me off, aesthetically, and I was like, 'I’m going to change that pickguard one day.' So, I got that, and I was using that for a while. 

“We were out with [Boston emo quartet] Piebald – it was one of our first cross-country tours ever – and one night someone forgot to close the trailer door. We’re driving on the highway, and half the contents spilled out – unfortunately, my bass was a casualty of that.

“But Frank Iero, and his heart of gold, jumped out on the highway in the middle of the night and tried to recover [the bass]. He was like, 'Maybe we can fix it!' I’ll never forget him doing that. He got a chunk of it – it’s in one of our storage units.”

For more information on the Limited Edition Mikey Way Jazz Bass, head to Fender.com.

[luvkuvi]

i saw you asking for scenarios and Maybe a one where Scara and [name] goes in their monthly picnic and name couldn't prepare for it and make food bc they slept in bc they were studying and [name] gets guilty and stuff? HELP I CAN'T THINK IF ANYTHING GOOD

-💐

JSJSKSOSO no worries 💐 anon this sounds really cute

ft.stubborn scara(in a good way), not proofread!

gimmie more writing prompts for scara please i love writing for him >:)

[scarasmooch<3] 9:30 am: where are you?

[scarasmooch<3] 9:45 am: at least tell me you're on your way

[scarasmooch<3] 10:00 am: ???

As you twist and groan over your bed you feel your phone vibrate even to you the time would still be at about 7 am but as your phone kept buzzing you got annoyed so you picked it up only to be greeted by big bold numbers saying

11: 11 am 

with the notifications from scara that have been sent an hour ago. All the laziness and tiredness from your body disappeared in an instant as you got up from your bed not bothering to tidy it up hoping scara will still be at your guy's meeting place mid panic trying to find the outfit you prepared you suddenly remember…you had to cook for this date!

You got more panicky as you rushed to the kitchen seeing the ingredients that you were supposed to cook early in the morning were just in the refrigerator very visibly uncooked

You swear if the stress from studying didn't take you out you were sure this would hit like a final blow. Your train of thoughts disappeared as you heard someone knocking, opening the door there stood your boyfriend wearing his black shirt and black cargo pants and despite being summer he loves his dark fashion he even wears them to your guy's picnic in contrast…you were only wearing your sleeping pajamas with unkempt hair and waves of guilt and shame spread to your body as you saw him furrowed his eyebrows

"I'm sorry" was the first thing you muttered upon seeing your boyfriend as you avoided eye contact. "Just let me in" he flicked your forehead as he just waltzed into your apartment. He didn't show signs of anger at all you thought. "You're not mad..?" you questioned the violet-haired man that was walking to your kitchen. He rolled his eyes in response "I'm not mad at you showing up, I'm mad at you for not taking care of yourself dumbass" he grumbled leaning on the counter as you sighed in relief, he always was understanding but hated it when you're careless about your health.

"What are you doing standing there? get dressed it's still noon" Your eyes light up from his words as you head into your room to get changed that is until you notice him put on an apron you have hanging around.

"Wait, you're gonna cook ?" 

"what? like it's hard ?"

It was hard. His mom didn't know how to cook so he also doesn't know how to cook. Spent 2 hours watching him struggle to bake cupcakes because he was too stubborn to ask for help(He also wants to do something nice for you since you got a lot on your plate). In the end, though you guys had a wonderful picnic while watching the sunset

[mrmeowski]

最愛 || 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 [ʙʟ]

╰┈➤ ❝ 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞.𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐌.𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ❞

Alastor Doe never imagined that he would experience the warmth and happiness that love bestows on a person. Nevertheless, he is waiting for someone in his office, playing romantic music on the radio, and even placing flowers on their desk. You were that certain someone. He's not sure why he was so taken by his coworker; was it your kindness or innocence? He does not know. He'll make you his and his only, that much is clear.

The man only wanted this novel experience to endure forever, but faith has other ideas. He met his early end and was consigned to hell. But that doesn't mean it will make him stop loving you.

˚✦𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏✦˚

⋇⊰Darling or Dear⊱⋇

CW: Slightly Suggestive

Word Counter: 2.6k

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The first light of the mid-October 1932 sun gently embraced you, casting a warm afterglow that accompanied the insistent buzz of your alarm. With a soft moan, you reluctantly roused from slumber, your limbs stretching in protest as you reached to silence the persistent sound. Thursday had dawned, and the demands of your role as a radio forecaster awaited.

As you prepared for the day ahead, the lingering traces of dawn painted the sky in hues of amber and rose. Your profession, a radio forecaster, demanded your presence in the early hours, a fact that often left you with a hint of dismay. Yet, even in the quietude of the pre-dawn hours, your partner of seven years in the realm of radio forecasting, Alastor Doe, always stood as a silent harbinger of camaraderie.

Though your work officially commenced at 6 am, your early-bird companion had a penchant for arriving even earlier. It made you ponder just how early the man wakes up for work. No one can be that enthusiastic to attend in such an hour.

You considered your own punctuality commendable, rising at the ungodly hour of 4 am, allowing a mere 30 or sometimes 20 minutes for a hasty stop at a convenience store, snatching a quick bite to consume on the route.

Speaking about your partner, he applied comparatively soon after you did. On the other hand, he achieved nothing less than remarkable success within the station by unexpectedly becoming popular very rapidly. But you ended up getting paired with him nonetheless.

While you might not entirely perceive this connection, the powers that be saw a synergy in your partnership. This harmony transcended the unseen waves that carried your forecasts to eager listeners.

The rhythmic purr of the engine filled the confines of your car as you navigated the pre-dawn streets. The faint glow of the dashboard disrupted the monotony of the drive, and you reached to tune the radio until a voice seized your attention. It was the smooth cadence of a man delivering the latest news on the National News Network.

“Good morning, folks! You’re tuned into NNN, bringing you the latest news and updates from across the city. Today, we have a special announcement regarding a missing person. Mrs. Rebbeca Chanler, a young woman in her early twenties and wife to Mr. Mark Chanler, has been reported missing for approximately four days now.” The words hung in the air, the weight of the announcement settling upon you as you continued driving through the city’s quiet streets.

The newsman's voice carried the undertones of concern as he continued, recounting the last known details of Rebecca's disappearance.

"Rebecca was last seen leaving her apartment in the downtown area around 7:00 PM on Sunday evening. Since then, her whereabouts remain unknown, and her family and friends are deeply concerned for her safety." A frown etched itself onto your face as you listened intently, the broadcast punctuated by the sound of rustling paper on the radio channel.

"If you have any information regarding Rebecca Chanler's disappearance or have seen her recently, please do not hesitate to contact our station at XXX-XXX-XXXX. Your cooperation could be crucial in bringing her—'' Unable to bear the weight of the news, you swiftly switched channels, seeking refuge from the somber reality that gripped the airwaves.

The radio's frequency shifted, ushering in a soft love song that seemed to resonate with the melancholy of the situation. Subconsciously, you began to hum along it.

The woman in the news was more than just a name to you, she was a colleague at your workplace. Although your interactions were minimal, you knew her as a sweet and welcoming soul, someone with a comforting presence in the office. The news of her disappearance weighed heavily on your heart, a tangible sorrow that colored the morning's atmosphere.

Yet, a more unsettling realization began to emerge as you navigated through the urban landscape—a pattern of disappearances, all centered around your coworkers. But perhaps it may have been an eerie coincidence...

The melody of your hum resonated with the music, creating a rhythmic backdrop as you strolled toward the workplace, following the comforting routine of your morning. A nearby pastry shop beckoned, and true to form, you indulged in the delightful temptation of a Chocolate Éclair, reserving it for later enjoyment during the workday.

Upon arrival, familiar faces greeted you with waves, good mornings, and smiles—gestures reciprocated as you made your way through the bustling office. As your desk drew near, a tantalizing aroma of coffee wafted through the air. There stood your partner, holding not one but two cups of coffee, his iconic smile sporting an unusual enthusiasm.

"Mr. Doe?" You queried, brows furrowed in mild confusion.

"You've arrived just in time, my dear. Come have a cup of coffee with me." He invited, placing the second cup on your desk.

A genuine smile crept onto your face at his unexpected gesture.

"Thank you, Mr. Doe," you graciously responded, bowing slightly as you settled into your chair.

He, on the other hand, pulled another chair uncomfortably close to you. The proximity raised an internal eyebrow, for such familiarity was reserved for those with a deeper connection, and your relationship with him was nothing more than professional.

"Alastor would be fine~" He suggested, his words carrying a hint of informality that seemed to break the conventional workplace decorum.

The offer lingered in the air, leaving you momentarily conflicted. Yet, if that was his preference, you assented with a nod.

"Well, thank you, Alastor," you obliged, testing the waters with his given name.

His grin widened, and crimson eyes seemed to gleam with satisfaction.

The resonance of his name on your tongue lingered, prompting an unusual thought in the recesses of his mind. A sensual scenario crept into his mind, wondering how it might sound when you moan out his name in ecstasy. Unfortunately, he wouldn't like to be caught daydreaming in such a setting, so he sets them away for now.

The morning light bathed the office in a gentle glow as his voice cut through the air like velvet draped in honey.

"Lovely morning, is it, my dear?" His words carried an undertone, a subtle tease that stirred a certain allure within you.

"It surely is, Alastor." Unbeknownst to you, he found himself wrestling with sinful desires that had inexplicably infiltrated his mind.

Vivid dreams of indulging in pleasures with you left him bewildered, for he was a man who, until now, held no such yearnings for love or the carnal desires that plagued his thoughts.

You, oblivious to the tumult within his mind, hummed in agreement, sipping your coffee as the morning warmth embraced the office. However, a question continued to linger in the air, unspoken yet palpable. Something had been bothering you, a curiosity that finally found its voice.

"If I may ask..." Your voice broke through the subtle tension, drawing him back to reality. "Why do you always refer to me as 'dear'?" The question hung between you, a thread of inquiry that sought understanding.

A sly grin curved his lips, and his crimson eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and something deeper.

"I find the term suits you quite well. It carries a certain elegance, don't you think? A touch of warmth between our partnership~" His words, dripping with a peculiar blend of charm and consideration, coiled through the air as he leaned in, that signature grin adorning his features. "Nevertheless,  I will be delighted to call you by any name if it makes you uncomfortable! Just say the word." The offer, delivered with a gentle flourish, hung in the air like a delicate invitation.

Seated with a casual elegance, he crossed one leg over the other, his posture exuding an air of confident nonchalance. A delicate sip of his coffee punctuated the moment, the porcelain cup cradled between his tanned fingers.

Not wanting to be misunderstood, you quickly muttered a response, stumbling over your own words.

"T-That wasn't what I meant!" Clearing your throat, you continued. "I simply want to know." He hummed in response, an enigmatic acknowledgment of your attempt to clarify.

"Do tell me if you have any suggestions." He invited, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee. "Despite how much it's a delight to call you 'dear', I do believe 'darling' would be much more fitting, no?" His words flowed smoothly, carrying a certain playful elegance.

The unexpected suggestion caught you off guard, nearly causing you to spit out your coffee, eliciting a chuckle from him.

"I... I think otherwise," you muttered, and though he hummed in response, a subtle disappointment lingered in his expression.

"Still shy are we?" He teased, and you could feel the warmth of a blush surfacing on your cheeks.

"Y-You want some Chocolate Éclair? I happened to buy two of them." You quickly shifted the tone of the conversation, transitioning from a slightly heated exchange to a sweet offering.

"That would be nice, my dear." His voice lingered on the endearment, his tone laden with a subtle allure that deepened the hue of your blush.

Unbeknownst to the envy-laden glares of certain onlookers, you and him shared a dynamic that danced on the borderline between professional camaraderie and something more. His suggestive remarks and playful tone around you did not go unnoticed, drawing puzzled looks from some and simmering jealousy from others.

One individual, particularly Melissa Heart, observed your interactions from the sidelines, her eyes ablaze with a fiery envy that smoldered beneath the surface. As she watched the exchange between you and the famous radio broadcaster.

As you savored your pastry in peaceful oblivion, his gaze shifted to your coworkers with an intensity that bordered on unsettling. The warmth of his smile faded, replaced by a steely resolve that seemed to pierce through the air with an eerie silence.

His crimson eyes bore into the onlookers with a silent warning, a subtle reminder to mind their own business and refrain from meddling in affairs that did not concern them as they should've in the beginning. The weight of his stare hushed the whispers and quelled the envious glances, prompting a swift return to the mundane tasks of the workplace.

With a final glance, the man's gaze softened as it returned to you and noticed something off. There were a few lingering crumbs adorned your mouth, unnoticed by you. He retrieved his handkerchief, gently wiping away the wayward remnants from your cheek. The unexpected gesture caught you off guard, and you looked up at him, confusion painted on your features.

"Hm?" You were seeking an explanation.

"Wouldn't want you all dirtyed up now, dear!" He teased, pinching your cheeks playfully.

Your response was a light groan, a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"Alastor!" You protested, giving him a gentle push as you rubbed your cheeks, his laughter echoing in response.

He felt an inexplicable urge to freeze time, to capture this fleeting moment of tranquility.

A desire, raw and primal, pulsed through him as he watched you, his thoughts wandering to forbidden fantasies of whisking you away from it all. In his eyes, you radiate a warmth and purity that he knew he didn't deserve, yet he was drawn to defy the rules, to indulge in the forbidden pleasure of being near you.

His mind toyed with tantalizing possibilities, each one more daring than the last. In this fantasy, there are no rules, no boundaries—just the two of you, lost in a whirlwind of passion and desire.

As the hours slipped by in the company of someone special, time seemed to lose its grip on Alastor. Before he knew it, his and your shift had drawn to a close. While you busied yourself tidying up your desk, he had drifted off to attend to other matters, lost in his thoughts.

Suddenly, a voice disrupted the tranquility of the moment.

"Mr. [Last Name]." Startled, you turned to find Melissa standing behind you, her demeanor cold and unsettling.

"Ms. Heart! Is there something troubling you?" You inquired, your unease growing with each passing moment.

Her silence only added to your discomfort, and when she finally spoke, her words sent a shiver down your spine.

"You shouldn't be near him, Mr. [Last Name]," she stated bluntly, her tone laced with a warning that left you reeling in confusion.

"Pardon? What do you mean by that?" You pressed, your brows furrowing in concern.

Her frown deepened as she crossed her arms, her gaze piercing through you with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine.

"Mr. Doe could be eavesdropping. Take my word or leave it, but I assure you once that man invites you..." She drew close, cornering you to your desk. "You're to be the next on the chopping list," she warned cryptically, her words hanging in the air like an ominous cloud.

With that ominous declaration, she turned to leave, leaving you grasping for answers.

"Wait—Ms. Heart!" You called out, reaching out a hand in a futile attempt to stop her.

But she continued walking away, leaving you with a sense of foreboding and a slew of unanswered questions swirling in your mind. What did she mean by her cryptic warning?

Amidst the peculiar dynamics of your workplace, her odd personality had always been a known entity. Her strong aura and lack of camaraderie with most coworkers were facts you'd come to accept. However, nothing prepared you for the unexpected encounter that left you shaken.

"You seem a bit shaken, my dear! What caused such a thing, hm?" The familiar voice of your partner snapped you out of your reverie.

It was then that you realized you had been standing outside your workplace, lost in thought, the situation affecting you more profoundly than you initially thought.

"N-Nothing... thanks for your concern, Mr. Do—Alastor," you stammered, but he hummed, unconvinced by your feeble attempt at dismissal.

"Aren't we good pals? No need to hide it from me!" With that, his arm snaked around your shoulders, drawing you near. "Tell me, what happened?" His tone shifted, demanding answers, a departure from the usual playful banter.

"I'm just tired, that's all," you replied, hoping to deflect his probing inquiries.

He seemed inclined to press further, but with a moment of consideration, he let it go.

"Then allow me to drive you home!" Before you could interject, he playfully put a finger to your lips. "Ah, about to reject me again? I assure you it's no trouble!" You pushed away his hand, expressing your gratitude but asserting your independence.

"It's alright, I have my own car and you also need to rest early. It has been a busy day, you know?" You added, patting his shoulder.

Despite his usual aversion to physical touch, his demeanor softened under your genuine concern. His once-restrained smile crumbled, revealing a vulnerability that spoke of a connection that transcended the usual barriers he maintained.

"If you say so then. Safe travels, my dear, and have a blessed day," he uttered, his tone carrying a blend of formality and genuine warmth.

Despite the subtle intimacy that lingered in the air, he refrained from sealing the farewell with a kiss.

You looked up at him, a cute smile playing on your lips as you softly spoke.

"You too, Alastor. See you again tomorrow!" With a wave goodbye, you stepped away from his touch, leaving the lingering connection to dissolve in the empty space between you.

As you departed, the weight of loneliness began to settle once more leaving the man with a quiet yearning for your touch and voice. This simply wasn't enough for him. He was beginning to be desperate. He doesn't accept it but he acknowledges these growing desires especially when he has competitors yet to be eradicated.

Perhaps it wouldn't hurt if he tried some drastic ideas...

Next»

[bleachbleachbleach]

Get to know your mutuals!

I was tagged by @bendingwind! Thank you for the tag! I’ll answer here, since Bleach is the fandom we share.

I would love for anyone who sees this to respond to these questions if they want. I love reading them, so if you tag me I will happily read yours!

What's the origin of your blog title? It’s a blog about Bleach, Bleach, and Bleach. It was meant to be a placeholder while we built the blog but we never changed it. For my personal, whipplefilter is Lightning McQueen’s codename in Cars 3 when he goes to race at a local short track incognito. Seemed Tumblr appropriate!

OTP(s) + Shipname: I’ve never been shipping forward in my fandoms, but I primarily read RenRuki and HitsuHina, because I love all those characters and also their relationships. I’m also extremely invested in Hisagi/Akon, and would enjoy kind of doomed, not-actually-that-OTP-but-extremely-interesting-and-intense Matsumoto/Ichimaru and Yoruichi/Soi Fon. Also whatever Kira and Rose have got going on. Kira/Hinamori UST. The general vibe of every single VC having had some kind of thing with every other VC at some point (Yumichika and Ikkaku can come, too). I assume that at least once a quarter there’s a SWA meeting that ends up being orgy lite.

Beyond Bleach, my official “OTP” is probably Rico and Vanessa from Six Feet Under—both when they are soooo married, and also when they are soooo divorced. My babies. <333 I also cry about David and Patrick’s wedding every time I watch Schitt’s Creek. LITERALLY EVERY TIME.

Favorite color: Red, though I mostly wear greens/purples.

Favorite game: Legend of Zelda: Oracle of Seasons or Fire Emblem 7

Song stuck in your head: N/A

Hobbies: Writing fanfic, dirtbag roadtrips, being bad at bicycling, spectating motorsports

If you work, what's your profession? I teach (apparently) “illegal” things.

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? This one, but at least 20 fewer hours per week and with fewer existential threats at the personal, institutional, disciplinary, and general societal levels.

Something you're good at: I can spreadsheet the shit out of anything! Binders full of spreadsheets!

Something you're bad at: Knowing how to people in that big middle space between your ride-or-die and people you only need to know casually. 

Something you love: Snow. We’re in a weather pattern right now where everyone is happy it’s warmer and I’m sad because I hate freeze/thaw and I am preemptively missing the snow. I want more big storms. I want to have more free time so I could have spent more of it in the snow.

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: I only like talking about things when it seems like whoever I’m talking to is interested.

Something you hate: When things that should really, actually be meetings are written out in emails. Late on a Friday. :E

Something you collect: Nothing actively, but I have a collection of rubber ducks; and I have a good many very nice, tiny diecast cars. I also gravitate towards Weird Fish things and Poorly Rendered Animal knicknacks. (I have a lopsided stone bovine of some kind I bought in…. I wanna say Swaziland (now Eswatini). And when I showed it to someone, they said, ‘You bought that…on purpose?” I LOVE HIM.)

Something you forget: My exact age. I have to do the math every time I need this info. How do people just know this??

What's your love language? I like sending people handwritten letters.

Favorite movie/show: Movies and shows are different things! My favorite movie is Pixar's Cars. All my favorite TV is from the early/mid-00s.

Favorite food: Salmon, maybe

Favorite animal: Shark (epaulette, leopard, and salmon sharks are all top tier)

What were you like as a child? I am happier with who I am now, I’ll say that.

Favorite subject at school? I have fond memories of many subjects. Not Newtonian physics or algebra (electricity and magnetism is okay, though, and I liked calculus).

Least favorite subject: Whoops, pre-empted this one!

What's your best character trait? I’m there until the curtain falls.

What's your worst character trait? I’m conflict-avoidant and find it very difficult to engage conflict as a productive, relationship-strengthening experience.

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be? This feels like one of those questions that a genie asks you and you spend the rest of your life regretting your response, but honestly, there’s a man who wants to burn me to the ground and I really wish he didn’t. That sounds really dramatic but I’m not sure how else to concisely describe him, and I really hate this for me.

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? This wouldn’t require time travel, really, but I really want to ask Ludacris if he is aware of how he sounds in the Japanese dub of The Fast and the Furious (any movie past 2Fast), and what his take is on that... whole situation!

[azurefaire]

concept for a pepper ann amphibia au, i'm going to call it pepper ann-phibia

what the shows have in common are both dysfunctional trio of friends and a main character with a similar name, but thinking on how it would work is truly interesting. the characters all have different household lives, and considering their friend dynamic it is truly interesting.

it's based on the blink and you miss it pepper ann cameo from amphibia and the line from the guardian on people who misused the stones. the story also would take a lot of cues from early amphibia in order to fit the roles better. this also is sorta dark for pepper ann, but i really like the idea of this story. especially a "failed timeline" so here you go. not satire. pull up a chair. mostly a rough idea. OKAY a very rough idea. there is several timelines to this story as well.

ridiculous ted talk: crossover au addition. makes more sense when you've seen both series

the story: late 90s/mid 00s. in the summer of 8th grade, pepper ann pearson wins an all expense paid trip via sweepstakes to somewhere in california and is allowed to bring her friend's nicky little and milo kamalani.

lydia pearson (pa's mom) is allowed to chaperone them and comes on the trip being so far from hazelnut, but understands that this is for the kids special trip. so she spends a lot of time at the hotel taking advantage of the perks and gives them all cell phones, emergency contacts, meeting spaces etc

nicky's birthday is coming up on this trip, and she usually spends her birthday at home with family. not having any parties, though she's secretly always wanted a special birthday party, a surprise party especially. pepper ann and milo want to do something special for her or get her a special gift. knowing how obviously nicky wants to have a cool birthday- its written all over her face. unfortunately, nicky is really hard to shop for gift wise even with tips. after searching a long time on their trip the music box appears. given everything that happened in seventh grade with frog dissection it was a good inside joke, and hey! nicky likes music right? the motivation comes from a simple gesture of kindness from characters who can often be unintentionally selfish. nothing weird is happening, they are just celebrating nicky's birthday right?

when celebrating nicky's birthday, pepper ann gives her the gift and she while attempting showcasing all the uses it can have ends up transporting them all to amphibia.

the twist is, is that they all end up different places and take on different roles in amphibia. in fact, calamity powers end up being split between the characters and the role of sasha and marcy is split between nicky and milo. and each gets a piece of heart wit or strength. this causes an instability, which causes the three stone deity/guardian with the help of other dieties to "erase" this timeline, something the guardian had nevef had to do. in some timelines they are aware of the power split and try to fix it, but they were never meant to wield the gems to begin with.

pepper ann: you'd think pepper ann would end up in wartwood, but she actually starts the story in newtopia to contrast her hometown. she also has no access to the calamity box. however, no one in newtopia is kind to take her in at first and she struggles a lot. she ends up wandering around for a while and finds found family in "carmello", a young stern frog shopkeeper estranged from their own family who is the only one who takes her in. carmello's real name is... weed, like the amphibia pilot. cause its funny to me she tells him "i cant call you that!" i imagine lol. but i also like the idea of a frog trying to assimilate in newtopian culture so let's leave it at that. eventually, they leave newtopia in sight of wartwood. in hopes of finding the others and for better opprotunities. we also see the friends of carmello and an arc of carmello reconnecting with their old friends and new opprotunities. her lesson is to be less selfish but also to listen to others. she has mostly heart powers, but also strength. when she has to work on her powers, they all need to be evenly seperated to work because otherwise the powers are unstable. her journey is from newtopia to wartwood in act one, which speaks to her own desire to get out of his mess.

milo: takes the role of marcy as she was in pre production. he's a wanderer, lost in the lands of amphibia relying on whatever he has for survival and also meets up with other survivalists... who do it for fun... he has powers of wit, but does he really deserve it? after all there is no "creativity" calamity gem. he becomes a master of witchcraft in the rural woods of wartwood. he takes a bit of heart in his powers, sometimes acting up in unexpected ways. he makes creative breakthroughs with natural materials.

his journey leads to him to find nicky, who has been made into a soldier of the toad army. milo is tested when alone, but meets unexpected friends. he learns to listen and to slow down and be mindful, even if that doesn't come easy or naturally to him.

nicky:

nicky is the least adjusted to amphibia out of the three. she believes it to be a dream and tries to rationalize being there a lot. she is captured by the toad army and the calamity box is seized from her. when proven useful- let out of prison and recruited to the toad army were she is a capable but loyal soldier. but on her face, she is dazed and confused- almost in a dissociative trance like state. eventually nicky is able to desert the toad army and cross paths with milo and is able to eventually reunite with pepper ann. even though she is sasha here, grime is not her ally.

nicky goes through a lot throughout the journey, as the duel roles sasha and marcy. she has the desire to be controlling but wants the best for the friendship overall and wants to protect herself. but she has very little loyalty to the others she meets and struggles to trust others. she eventually is taken advantage of by the newtopians and andrias with the desire to get home overtaking everything else. she will eventually be assimilated to the core, but she certainly isn't as trusting as marcy. nicky, who in many ways has been sensitive- going emotionally numb would be a prominent part of the story.

you might be thinking nicky is so fitting for marcy so why give her the role of both marcy and sasha? especially since she's not really strong. nicky does have strength in many areas, she has a lot of arm strength but presumably doesn't have a lot of core/body strength. she's also an overachiever who uses a treadmill and exercises often. nicky was also raised with very high standards to the point of absurdity, her arc would focus on this a lot. her arc would focus on her advocating for her needs, trust, and self sacrifice, and her bonds with her friends. the "betrayal" from andrias would be cruel fate, but eventually nicky would be rescued from the core sooner than marcy was. overall it would be a very different true colors. very much so.

but honestly, even if she's smart- brilliant- she resists the core. nicky is not a fantastical character like marcy, she has a hard time imagining things for herself

overall i love the idea of a marcified sasha, which fits nicky a lot. its like if u put anne sasha and marcy in a blender. thats nicky little

the story would focus on these characters overcoming their own barriers in their relationships. for them to realize where things however there's one important part of this tragedy

in the last episode, everyone sacrificed their all to save amphibia. in every version of this timeline, even the good ones where they able to stop the invasion and- nobody was able to sacrifice themselves and stop the calamity to amphibia that happened in the ending. sacrifice, for these kids was wrong- and the gems themselves found the wrong host. the guardian realizes the error and diverges the timeline with the help of other cosmic deities. the original kids are alright and they are able to reset and get a normal gift for nicky but versions of them end up in sort of a cosmic liminal space and in some timelines there are "artifacts" of them, like ghosts that appear in some timestreams with slight difference. (thats what the cameo of pepper ann is)

there is no timeline "loop" and no one is affectively dead, but sometimes the timelines still leave their mark on the others. the kids who never went to amphibia might have dreams of there. needlessly depressed 7th graders meet the weirdest dream i ever had 8th graders.

here's some of the things i would like to explore in the story:

pepper ann is a very silly human world. so putting them in a "serious" version of the frog show is the obvious choice. surreal dark fantasy like what inspired the series of amphibia. still weird tho

nicky and milo's dynamic with them working together and milo and pepper ann coming together for a friend in need

do the characters fight? badly in the beginning. they do what they can, and eventually get training. and then when things get tense they do fight. many verbal arguments and intense moments

the relationship issues stemming from a lack of openeness and codepedency for social survivial, about how their percieved by others...

reunion with pepper ann and nicky...

milo and nicky switch weapons, nicky gets the crossbow and then milo gets the swords.

when they all return to newtopia, milo and nicky are able to enjoy themselves and have fun a little. pepper ann is happy for them, but sad because this place was incredibly isolating and hurt her friend.

yunan and olivia having a dynamic with the trio. both yunan and olivia being really annoyed with pepper ann even with character development but liking nicky and milo a lot

no sashannarcy cause this is freaking pepper ann and milo is soley platonic but like... nicky crushing on pepper ann like sasha does for anne.

no lief no plantars or they are reimagined. different origin for calamity box. possible fake calamity box in the main story timeline

what does pepper ann have on her when coming to amphibia. does she have her skates?

pepper ann, never keeping a journal before makes one for amphibia. nicky, never keeps a journal makes one too. milo in some ways never really had a journal but does write things down in places

calamity box used like a pawn by the older characters instead of the characters themselves just being the pawns. like people are attempting stealing it and stuff. the calamity box isnt just a metaphor for the relationship and way home but for their childhoods

we see the families worried, questions.... investigations... the community is really worried about everyone. 3 kids going missing on a prize vacation trip... not good. i just realized what conclusions could be drawn but i didnt want them to be in hazelnut sooo... hazelnut is a quieter, dreary, grey place. one thing to be old and die, another to be young and go missing

there's a timeline where lydia teams up with dr jan to try and go there save them all some how. but we don't see what happens. there is a "main timeline"

do the characters get punished for buying a gift for their friend? no, but in hazelnut sometimes your punished for like... breathing. so like yeah. that's the catalyst for wanting to bring them to amphibia. after all, to know someone is different to understanding them. and bad things happen to good people sometimes...

*bows and falls off the stage head first into the audience*

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Ok but fluffy 80s Schneider opens up a whole new discussion about his haircare routine during mid 00/ early 10s. Those curls were so perfectly styled and not frizzy at all, like you can tell he took good care of his hair.

Did the salon ladies helped him? Did his sister, assuming she has similar hair? Did he use a diffuser? Hair oil? These are the real questions!

Those *are* the real questions 😊 Too bad i have no real answers 😄

Never having been 'into' looks myself, i don't even know how people in general did their hair back then (feel like i should, but i don't) (except shampoo and hairgel 😄)

So all i have to offer is some more fluffy Schneider Feeling B era hair looks 🥰

(gif found on post by @ghouloriented )

(bandmates as a bonus 🥰)

[kinsey3furry300]

I have no ideas what animorph is but I already seen it mentioned on at least 5 different blog which have nothing to do with each other (you being the 5th) what the hell is it???

90s/early 00s young adult sci-fi book series of around 60 short books, published once a month, by K A Applegate.

The books were distributed cheeply by the Scholastic book fair, and could be found in most school libraries thought the Mid 00s.

The plot was 5 normal kids have to stop a secret alien invasion by turning into various animals, and the books were known for starting off with quirky humour and very rapidly decending into utter existential horror with body horror, possession horror, and the ptsd you'd get if you were actually a teen super hero and had to fight an actual war with real stakes aged 13-16, and the fear of never knowing who your real enemy might be. The series ended about a month before 9/11 with a disastrous final battle and a grim warning about how war never really fixes any of the underlying problems between rival nations or peoples, and just destroys good people, so... yeah, ooof.

Due to the content, beloved by horror fans, super hero fans, Sci fi fans, furries (the kids have the power to turn into animals for combat and it gets real weird real fast), and the queer and the trans community, so it turns up on a lot of unrelated blogs.

The audio books are still readily available and are pretty well done, and the cover art of the books was gloriously 90s.

Behold!

There was also a tv show we dont talk about.

The main cast were:

Jake: the leader. There is an evil alien slug living in his brother's head, and this causes issues for him.

Cassie: Jake's crush. The moral center of the books. Also her parents are veterinarians at a zoo, with is very fucking convenient if you need a ready sourse of animals to turn into.

Marco: Jake's best friend, the smart one. Also uses inappropriate humour to cope with trauma (relatable).

Rachel: Jake's cousin. Uses turning into a grizzly bear and committing extreme violence to cope with her trauma (relatable).

Tobias: perminantly turns into a bird to escape his trauma (most relatable) but then has to deal with extreme body and mental dismorphia as a result. Has a star-crossed lovers plot with Rachel. He is my favorite.

Ax: an alien teenager they just adopted and hide in the woods. Is also my favourite. He's a bright blue centar with stalk-eyes and a sythe tail, and he loves Cinabon and warcrimes. Due to his extreme alien mindset, he's been taken as a metaphor for Neurodivergance, but it's unclear if that was the author's original intent.

The books are awesome, and still available as e-books, comics and audio books I'd you want to check them out.

Here is a video essay that does a far better job of explaining:

[pbandjesse]

I am having a pretty good day. I'm at an event right now and it's wrapping up. But overall today has been good. Even if I slept terribly.

I woke up at 130 last night and couldn't fall back asleep until after 430. And then I was up again at 630 to say goodbye to James. And then I woke up at 9 thinking I was smelling burning toast??? It was not restful.

So I stayed in bed until 10. And when I got up I was actually feeling pretty fine. I took a shower. And made the bed. And got dressed. It was cold today so I wore my fleece while I was home.

I had pizza bagels for brunch. And while those cooked I tidied up. Fed Crabcake. Hung out with sweetp. It was a nice morning.

I wasn't in a rush to do much. I put together a few outfits. I just hung out and enjoyed not having to rush.

I would leave the house around 1230. I decided to go to the diner for lunch. It was surprisingly busy there though.

I sat at the counter. And had a new waitress who was learning. I listened to a podcast. But my stomach started hurting really bad on the bottom again. So I got most of my food to go.

I still had lots of time though so I dropped off my leftovers in the car and went to walk around five below. My stomach still really hurts though so I would give up and go to the museum to sit with James.

When I got there they let me sit at their desk while they took a bunch of gifts and things to the car. Which was so sweet.

It's been a really nice night though. I just finished up and I'm heading home now but reflecting on my last evening event until May was really good.

Decatur Earth came around 1:30 which is very early but not a huge deal. And I went to check in with them and chatted with Jessica for a bit because she's finally back. There was a science event thing today with the engineering challenge so there was a lot of things happening. But I chatted with her and it was nice and I still really hurting but I was trying to work through it by walking around the museum. While I wanted to sit down I felt better when I was walking.

And I would have some nice conversations with Jesse and Merrill and it was just a good way to spend the afternoon even if there wasn't a ton for me to do.

I did bring my embroidery project and I got another two letters done. I finished the Z and the w. I wanted to do more but just didn't happen. Because I ended up chatting with Travis all night which is what happens every time me and Travis work together.

And it was a really fun event. I was a little nervous when the organizers for the event were still not there at 4:30. I went and made a chase just in case but I didn't tape it because I was worried that they would want to change everything and I didn't want to have to take the whole thing apart. But they ended up loving it and thinking it was so cool that we could do that and I made three options for them and they thought they were hilarious. This company is an HVAC place so I tried to find ones that kind of matched that theme but obviously it was going to be a little bit hard with my vintage mid-century type. I still think I killed it.

I have three educators this evening which I don't know the last time that I had that. But it was like the dream team of Jan, Kate, and Deborah. They're all wonderful and great at their jobs so it was totally fine and I was extra glad to have them because there was some confusion about when the galleries would be open from the organizers and they had put their scavenger hunt stuff like at 8:30 but my educators were only scheduled until 8:00 so it was a little confusing. So I checked him with them if they would be cool with staying and then I got approval from Jesse about making sure that they're going to get paid for an extra hour. And he said that was fine to just keep a note of it.

The food tonight was fine. I like the desserts more than the actual dinner. I did enjoy my potatoes and the caprese skewers that they had during the cocktail hour. But dinner wasn't super exciting for me. Because it was just a whole bunch of different meats but Travis and Kate said that it was good.

It's always hard to get the flow of when I should send the educators to get dinner when it's kind of weird like this but they all ate something even if I don't know if everyone got full dinner and I feel bad about that but I tried.

It was a really nice event though. 180 people and they had so much swag. They had umbrellas, full size standard umbrellas made with their company branding to give to every guest and there were so many leftover at the end of the night that I was able to take 13 of them. And there was still more to be taken. Travis got three. So I labeled a few for the educators that had already left for the evening and put the rest of the box behind the desk for other staff members if they would like them.

I had a good time just chatting with Travis about his baby mama and things that are going on with her and I met another pregnant lady tonight who is due on March 13th. And I was just having fun walking around chatting with people. It was a good evening and the vibes were very positive.

I would get some sewing done like I said but mainly I was just chatting and doing my job and making rounds and trying to be the very best event coordinator I can be. And I'm sad that it's my last event until May. I love this job. And I really hope that when I come back I can really jump in to doing more events if they're available. Because I just really enjoy the work. I want people to have really fun events and I want to do lots of special things for them. And make them feel like I'm going above and beyond. That's always my favorite feedback.

The event started wrapping up but they had raffle tickets and their company CEO or whoever he was, maybe the vice president, was a very slow talker and he kept making each district's full department come stand at the front because not enough people were winning prizes from the street teams, only office worker for winning and I think he thought that that looked bad and it was just kind of a dragging last hour because of that. But people want iPads and Kindles and TVs. And they had some pretty excellent gifts. And everybody was having a great time and right before 10:00 when the party was ending people were told to take as many swag bags as they wanted and start taking the flower centerpieces.

I got two of them because I thought it would be nice to give one to Travis to get to his baby mama. I thought she deserved that and so I brought them to the front and I was like we're going to switch these up so that we can get the nicest bouquets possible but then a guest came over and tried to take them from us and I was like you can have some of them you do not need both of these.

So I made two small bouquets for me and Travis and I put them in nice paper so that they would look cute and I let the guest keep the vase and the flowers I didn't want. Like the lilies because I can't have lilies in the house.

Travis said that I made them look very nice and I really hope that she liked them.

I started turning off lights and making my rounds and making sure that everything was getting cleaned up. I'm not super good about making sure that the caters do a walkthrough with me so I just do the walk through myself and then if I find anything egregious I will just tell them. But everything looks good and I was able to get some hugs at the end where everybody wished we luck and told me they would miss me. And then they were gone.

Me and Travis had a hell of a time trying to lock the front door. It just wouldn't lock. I had to call James. But it turned out that even though we always do the left hand side, the right hand side was the one that was locked this time. Just confusing me for no reason. But we were still able to get out of there by 10:30 with all the lights off.

I told Travis I would see him in May and then I wished him luck with his baby as well. And now I'm on my way home.

I have a very long day tomorrow so I'm really hoping that when I get home I can just wash my face and clean up and go to bed. And I hope that I can sleep easy tonight. I have two classes tomorrow so I will be at art with a heart from 9:30 until 3:00. Which is not that long of a day but like I'm also not used to it and I am only slightly stressed out about it. Like it will be fine but I am still a little nervous.

So wish me luck. I hope you all have a lovely evening. I hope that if it got rainy and cold near you that you are safe at home. I love you all very much. Until tomorrow. Cuz we're

[einsteinsugly]

The T7S Gang's Modern Music Tastes.

Notes:

1. Boomer is the default, obviously. Millennial/Zoomer is just an addition, if they were younger.

2. I'm classifying 2000 and later as "modern." U2, Aerosmith, and Bon Jovi had some significant hits in the early/mid 00s.

*****

Boomer! Donna: Evanescence, Alicia Keys, KT Tunstall, No Doubt, Paramore (a guilty pleasure, if just a boomer), Sara Bareilles, Norah Jones, Adele, Bon Jovi, Aerosmith

Millennial/Zoomer! Donna: Blink 182, Good Charlotte, Fall Out Boy, Panic! At The Disco, Flyleaf, early Avril Lavigne, early Pink. She would have a massive pop punk phase.

*****

Boomer! Eric: Maroon 5, Coldplay, John Mayer, Five For Fighting, Weezer, Green Day, Bon Jovi, The Killers, U2, Aerosmith, Ed Sheeran, Dave Matthews Band, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Matchbox Twenty, Train, Michael Buble, The Goo Goo Dolls. And Nickelback, which the gang makes fun of him for.

Millennial/Zoomer! Eric: Linkin Park (for some dramatic teenage musing), The Lumineers, Bleachers, Mumford and Sons, Of Monsters and Men, maybe some Fun.

*****

Fez: Bruno Mars, The Weeknd, Beyonce (he's the biggest Beyonce stan, ever), Destiny's Child, Daft Punk, Avicii, Jungle, Sam Smith, Harry Styles

*****

Boomer! Hyde: The Black Keys, Hozier (the only very modern artist I can see him liking), Red Hot Chili Peppers, Queens of the Stone Age, Cage the Elephant, Muse, Lenny Kravitz, Green Day

Millennial/Zoomer! Hyde: Eminem, Arctic Monkeys, Tame Impala

*****

Boomer! Jackie: Adele, Ariana Grande, Taylor Swift (but not her country stuff), Mariah Carey, Sabrina Carpenter, Christina Aguilera, Britney Spears

Millennial/Zoomer! Jackie: One Direction, Fifth Harmony, and Little Mix. Tries to get Hyde into The 1975, because she thinks it's *so him.* Olivia Rodrigo is her angry music.

*****

Boomer! Kelso: Macklemore, The Killers, Franz Ferdinand, Shaggy, Baha Men, Gorillaz. Listens to Nickelback in secret.

Millennial/Zoomer! Kelso: Jack Harlow (he says he's his biggest fan), Twenty One Pilots, Cobra Starship, 3OH!3, Gym Class Heroes

[warsamongthestars]

What I make of Star Wars...

Okay, time for the fun bits. Let's start with a analysis, and then we get into the imagination.

The Prequels and the OG don't fit. Yes, I know the Prequels are meant to fit, but they don't. The narrative tone, mixed the difference of lines and scripting between the two trilogies, as well as the mentality and historic differences between the late 90s-early 00s vs late 70s-mid 80s, and the simple differences of lore set up between the two--utterly ensures that the Prequels are more of an Alternate Universe to the OG.

Vader was just a guy who fell from grace. OG Anakin wasn't a chosen one, he was more or less the fallen knight adhering to a dark lord in a twisted idea of feudal chivalry in space.

PQ Anakin is an ex-slave chosen one backstreet boy, with far more anger issues than Vader ever had, and absolutely does not have a sense of chivalry, and is more akin to a lawman whose abused his position of power. If he fell, it wouldn't have resulted in Darth Vader, it would've resulted in someone worse.

It kills me that, with context of the Prequels, that characters would say "Oh but there's good in him I feel it!" like... no, PQ Anakin Skywalker was one evil motherfucker, far evilier and insane than Darth Vader. When OG Vader killed people, it was either rebels who knew what they were getting into (So enemy combatants) or it was other imperials (effectively making the good guys' jobs easier). When PQ Anakin killed people, it was whole sail, inexcusable slaughter of the innocents. Vader was a soldier and a knight, Anakin was a maniac.

OG Vader and PQ Anakin are vaguely alike in position, but do not share the same values nor the same histories, and Vader has far more humanity and honor than Anakin does. (No that doesn't stop him from being the powerful antagonistic Dark Knight and Dragon to the evil space wizards, but those traits are there. )

So... How does one reconcile the two distinct different characters, whilst keeping the good bits from each trilogy intact, without totally turning the Prequels into the strange Alternate Universe that might vaguely lead into the OG?

By making them separate characters, and recreating the Prequels based directly off of what the OG goes by. No retcons, no missing elements, no "Oh but its just Early writing!", --that's what drafts is for, mate-- and definitely no "we'll just edit in the poor CGI later!". We now have over 40 years of stuff, plenty of easily accessible public information so plenty of material to remake one of the big leagues.

And it starts by splitting the two Anakins.

So..

[Ahem]

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, there was Anakin Skywalker (OG Anakin) and his little brother, Eliland Skywalker (PQ Anakin).

( The name Anakin reminded me of a few mesopotamian god names, such as the god name Enki. And I kind a figured that, that an alternative nickname to Ani, could be Anki--so why not make the brother's name something similar? Instead of Enki, his name is based on Enlil. )

( Ani and El )

Anakin is inducted into the Jedi Order at the elder age of... 5. He was found during a slave auction on Nar Shadda, the moon of Nal Hutta (The heart of Hutt Space) with his heavily pregnant (8 or 9 months or so) mother, Shmi Skywalker, by Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Padawan Obi-wan Kenobi. Kenobi at the time was 15.

Anakin showed great unusual force powers, albeit basic ones. He was unusually powerful at telekinetics and empathy. By the moment he met Obi-wan he glued himself to Kenobi's side, and it was actually Kenobi who "stole away" both Anakin and Shmi.

( This goes to follow two lines of thought. 1) that Kenobi was just as spirited as Luke when it came to causing trouble and reacting out of emotion, as stated by Kenobi himself to Yoda during Empire strikes Back... 2) to mirror New Hope's story, that Kenobi is always going to rush right into danger to save a Skywalker kid. )

It was Kenobi who had to convince Qui-Gon into saving the Skywalker family, much to Qui-Gon's disapproval, but Qui-Gon would convince the Jedi council that it was his idea... and frankly, what were they gonna do? Give the family back to the hutts?

Shmi Skywalker would be, by technicality, set free and given amnesty at the Jedi temple. As it turned out, her unborn son (who would be named Eliland) was even more powerful in the force, and in fact, had been giving the force equivalency of unborn baby talk the entire venture.

( This would be shown in odd feelings in the force. Maybe an odd baby giggle in the ether here and there, or something would get moved, making the first remade Star Wars Prequel into half ghost-story... but considering its an unborn baby, its probably a pre-ghost tale )

Anakin could hear it just fine, and has been hearing it for the past few weeks... which was why he was trying to find a way to escape the auction and slavery in general with his mother. He just figured that unborn babies could talk in telepathy when they're grown enough, and had to be gently explained that no, normally, unborn babies don't' actually "talk" in spirit at all.

"Your brother is just really fucking weird"--said by someone who obviously wouldn't have put it like that.

Eliland would be born at the Temple, and about a year later, thanks to both traditions and politics, Shmi had to make the decision to allow the Jedi to train Eliland though she wouldn't be allowed to remain at the temple for "fear of attachment" for both Eliland and Anakin.

( They would, however, give her a starting package to start life elsewhere. She would choose a planet she once lived at as a young girl, Tatooine. There she would marry a human man by the name of Cliegg Lars, and adopt the then young Owen Lars. They would spend their time officially as moisture farms, but unofficially as apart of the Whiterun Movement that freed local slaves. )

( Anakin was allowed to call her frequently, of course. He and Owen did not get along, and would spend most of their youths giving each other lots of shit--that's how you knew they were perfect as brothers. )

Now...

The reason why Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi were on Nar Shadda, was to investigate the odd transportation of Sith Artifacts. During Kenobi's rescue of the Skywalkers, Qui-Gon Jinn would find evidence that yes, there is a Sith or at least, a Sith Cultist, that has been active. But the rescue of the Skywalkers has caused the trail to go cold.

But while this story doesn't outright tell the characters who it was... there would be direct hints that the sith cultist is actually, Darth Maul and we get our first view of the soon to be Emperor at the end...

Overall, this is just the starting story of this idea of story-progression. Its meant to be a slower pace, unlike the Prequels proper, primarily introducing what the Jedi were like during the days of the Republic, from within the Temple.

( I'm feeling a bit like, it should be Ghibli like. Like, Star Wars meets Spirited Away )

It cuts out most of the problems brought up in Phantom Menance. We can allow the story to breath a bit, and allow the hints of politics here to develop into the Star Wars Politics in the next "Film".