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

[all-rock-and-roll-is-homosexual]

[kuromi-hoemie]

i went to go pick up dinner rn and the only customers in the restaurant were me and these two other dudes, and the hot one turned to me n was like i love ur outfit, and his friend took off his hat in exasperation and was like “i feel SO fucking boring” 💀 aksjakaks lmaoo

[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.

[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

[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»

[shinsorokiri]

The Rockstar and The Farmer

Sam x Reader

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: language, spoilers for Sam’s 8 heart event, friendly Sebastian slander

A/N: Okay, so, I said a while ago that the wildest thing happened to me while played Stardew Valley, and it inspired me to write this. It’ll be two parts for sure, maybe three??? Depending on how I feel lol. But I LOVE Sam and this was pretty fun to write, hopefully, the second part will be out tomorrow/later this week. 

part 1 [2] [3?]

You opened your eyes, hearing your rooster scream as your own personal alarm clock. You lay in bed for a moment, reaching out and petting your pup, laying right next to you on your full-sized bed. The morning sun is shining in through your window and warming you up through the glass. These mid-summer mornings on your farm reassure you that you made the right choice in taking it over. You smile to yourself, sitting up and stretching out before getting up and beginning to get dressed for the day. You hear the pitter-patter of your dog’s feet as you prepare yourself a light breakfast, knowing you only need to supervise your crops since the newest gadget you’d made to water them. Honestly, those sprinklers are lifesavers.

You eat what you made, quickly slipping some additional food to your pet, and placing your dishes in the sink. You grab your gardening gloves and throw your bag across your shoulder, ready to go check your crops and animals. You throw open your door, looking down at your dog running out, only for you to hear a soft grunt. You look up to be met with the big eyes of Sam. His hand is up in a knocking position, telling you he was about to make his presence known before you opened the door. And the way he’s regaining his footing tells you your dog bumped into him while running out of the door. You giggle. “Hey, Sam.”

“Hi, farmer… guess what? My band is playing a show tonight. In Zuzu City,” he says, recovering quickly from the awkward start of this interaction, and quickly becoming excited again. “Sam, that’s great!” you say, and he nods, smiling. “Yeah! And you’re invited!” he wiggles his arms above his head in a dancing motion, causing you to laugh. If you were paying closer attention, you would have noticed the blush dusting his cheeks and the fond smile that formed on his face. After all, he did just hear his favorite sound. “Meet me at the bus stop around 12:00 this afternoon to leave for the show. You better be there!” he says, starting to walk backward off of your porch and pointing at you, a smile still on his face. You smile and nod. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, rockstar,” you tease, slightly, and see his expression get even brighter somehow before running off in the direction of Marnie’s ranch. He must be telling everyone in town about it.

Knowing that he got up early just to come let you know about his show makes your heart beat faster, but since he’s telling everyone, you were probably just a stop in the road. Nothing to dwell on… right? Your pup’s noises bring you out of your daydream, noticing them at their empty water bowl. “Okay, okay! I’m coming!” you say, stepping out onto the porch and reaching to your right to grab your watering can, only to notice it isn’t there. You glance behind you, spotting it next to your house plants, recalling that yesterday was watering day for your indoor plants. You walk in, your door closing behind you. As much as you love your grandfather’s old cabin, Robin was right, it’s definitely janky in some aspects. One of these aspects being that your front door will NOT stay open no matter how much you will it to. You grab the can and take a moment to check over your plants inside, making sure none mysteriously began wilting throughout the night, when you hear a knock at your door. Your eyebrows furrow, wondering who else would need to talk to you at this hour. You open your door only to see the mother of the person who just visited you. “Good morning, Jodi,” you smile at her and she grins back, clutching her side and letting out a large huff of air. You notice she has to catch her breath before she speaks, and because of it, she places her hand in front of her mouth, chuckling a bit. Probably an attempt to cover it up. “…hi, (Y/n)!” A pant. “Whew… that was quite a workout, walking all the way up here,” she says and you nod. “It can be a lot, especially first thing in the morning.”

She nods, standing up straight and taking another breath before speaking again. “Anyway… I came by to ask if you wanted to have dinner with us tonight! With Sam’s show and his birthday in two days, I figured it would be nice to have a fancy family dinner and since you two are so close, I figured he’d enjoy having you there too,” she says, and you grin. “Will Seb and Abi be there too?”

“Oh, maybe, you know them, never giving a solid answer to anything. But, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, don’t feel obligated I know it’ll be a hectic day. If you do decide to come, though, could you please bring a largemouth bass with you?”

“The lake one? Not to be confused with the smaller variety of the same fish found in rivers?” you say, making a bad fishing joke. Like, really bad. Like, that might not even classify as a joke and could just be a thing that you said, bad. Willy is rubbing off on you. But luckily, bad jokes (if you can call it that) are Jodi’s favorite. She laughs, nodding. “That’s right. One of those big, slimy fish from the lake. I need one for the casserole I’m making,” she explains and you nod. “That is absolutely doable, Jodi.”

“Okay! Well… it’ll be at our house around 7:00 pm tonight… don’t forget the largemouth bass! Okay! Bye!”

With that, she starts her trek back to her house. You quickly run to your well, filling your watering can and rushing to fill up the water bowl. You have to go to the lake and fast. If you want to look good for Sam- er… good for the band, you have to set aside some time for you to get ready, and now you need to catch this fish. Luckily, you know exactly what type of bait this type of slimy guy likes, so it shouldn’t take too long. But still. You want to look nice and maybe not smell like a body of water. You do the time math in your head and quickly run around your farm, checking everything and making sure your animals look happy and healthy. As soon as you’re done, you run off to the lake. You silently curse at yourself, realizing you forgot to check the psychic on the TV, meaning you had no idea whether the spirits are happy or upset today. Would you have luck? Who knows. Well, someone knows... just not you. You wave and smile at Linus, who returns the wave with a grin, before settling next to the lake and putting bait on your rod. You toss it out and wait. While waiting, your thoughts wander off to Sam.

You couldn’t deny the feelings you’ve formed for him in your time here. He was constantly inviting you to things with him, Seb, and Abigail throughout your first month, and he would make sure to talk to you at least once every day. Not to mention he would send you memes and jokes all the time. The two of you are, in fact, very close. Some could even consider the two of you best friends. And you were fine with that until about a week and a half ago when you went to visit him in the morning. You figured you’d stop by and say hello and let him know you were heading up to the mines. It’s good to have someone know where you’re going, and you would get to talk to your bestie. Win-win, you know? Since you had such a great relationship with Jodi, you’re allowed to just let yourself inside their house, so you walk through the door, careful to kick your boots off as to not dirty Jodi’s floor. You know how hard she works on that. You sigh, knowing that you’re about to drip on the floors (which she assures isn’t an issue, it’s just the mud from your boots she worries about) and you walk through the empty living room to the kitchen. “G’morning, Jodi,” you say, and she glances behind her, smiling at you. “Good morning, (Y/n).”

“(Y/N)!” Vincent yells your name, running towards you from the hallway into the kitchen. You laugh and crouch down, grabbing him from under his armpits and lifting him up, spinning him around. He lets out a little giggle and you smile up at him. “Hey there, big guy, did you sleep okay?” you ask, placing him back down and he nods. “I had a dream, and you were in it! You, me, Sam, and Jas were all adventuring into the scary barred gate we saw that one time and you were protecting us from the monster!” he starts recounting his dream when you hear a chuckle coming from the hallway. You glance up from Vincent and your eyes land on Sam. He’d just woken up, so his hair wasn’t all styled and you could see how unruly his mullet actually was. But with the morning sun shining on him from the back and the front thanks to the wonderful placement of the windows in his lovely household. It literally made him glow. His green eyes were lit up, even though you could see the exhaustion in them. And has his smile always been that pretty? Or is the sun playing tricks on you? And you could swear there was a light blush on his face. Was that always there? You blink a couple times, realizing you’d been staring, and turn your eyes back to Vincent. “Sounds like you had fun in your dream, huh Vince?” he says, and you notice that not only is his voice deeper in the morning, but you could hear a bit of his Zuzu City accent coming through. And honestly, you wouldn’t be upset if you heard him talk like that every morning. Vincent nods, and Jodi places a plate of eggs on the table, causing him to jump up into his seat and eat his breakfast before going off to play with Jas. You turn your attention back to Sam, and grin, giving him a small wave. “Morning.”

“G’morning. The spirits must be happy today if you decided to visit us first thing,” he says, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. You feel your neck to your ears start heating up, but you give a small laugh. “Well, you know me, your good luck charm.” You proceeded to walk with him to his room and talk a bit before letting him know where you were heading. You could swear you saw his smile falter, but you were probably just imagining things. He made you pinky promise to come knock on his window after you were out (knowing that you stay in the mines decently late), and then you left. But ever since that day, you’d noticed just how… beautiful Sam actually was. And how much you enjoyed being around him and hearing him play his guitar, and sing his songs, and all his cute little quirks and how his city accent sometimes comes out when he’s drunk or too excited or angry or tired and- YANK!

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you get a bite. You start reeling the fish in, a short but fierce battle before pulling it out of the water. To your surprise and delight, it’s a largemouth bass. And not only that, it’s a GREAT quality largemouth bass. You immediately toss it in your cooler and start to walk back to your farm. You check the time and walk faster. It’s 10AM, giving you about two hours to get ready and head to the bus station. That’s more than ideal, and you feel the excitement start to seep into you as you hurry home. It takes you about an hour and forty-five minutes to get all ready, making sure you look great. And you do. You double-check your animals and crops before hurrying to the bus station. You walk up to the bus, watching as Shane walks on. Sam, who is right next to the bus with Sebastian on Abigail on either side of him, looks around at everyone with his eyes narrowed and jaw set. He looks nervous. Like he’s searching for someone, and then his eyes meet yours. You can see him physically relax and a small smile stretches across his features. “Hi (Y/n). Thanks for coming,” he says as you approach him. You don’t notice the knowing glance that Sebastian and Abigail share before they slowly walk onto the bus and give you two some privacy. “I told you I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Sam, you don’t need to thank me. I’m always gonna be Goblin Destroyer’s number one fan.” You swear the look he gives you makes your heart skip. The fondness in his eyes causes you to smile and look down, too flustered to continue looking into his eyes. You both hear a loud noise, and he turns his head, seeing Pam give him a thumbs up. “Well, our gear’s loaded already. Looks like everything’s set,” he says, grabbing your hands and beginning to bounce up in down in excitement. You giggle and bounce with him as he glances around, using his “loud voice” to grab everyone’s attention. “Alright everyone… let’s get on the bus!”

Everyone starts loading on, and you can’t help but notice Sam doesn’t let go of you to let you get on by yourself. And next thing you know, the two of you are seated next to each other. The two of you just talk for a while, when you notice his leg start bouncing and he’s drying his hands off on his cargo pants. “Sam? You okay?” He gulps. “…I’m starting to get really nervous,” he admits, looking at you with a frightened expression. “Hey, you’re gonna do great! I’ve heard you rehearse so many times and I know how talented you are, okay? And nerves are just misplaced excitement when it comes to things like this. You just care so much, it makes sense that you just wanna do your best,” you assure him, and he gives you a small smile. You reach over and grasp his hand in yours, giving it a little squeeze. “And I’ll be in the front row, so if you start feeling like this at any time during the performance, just pretend it’s us in your room.” He smiles down at your hands and squeezes back. “…Thank you, (Y/n).” He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the trip until the bus slows to a stop and Pam announces to everyone that the bus has arrived. The show was an early one, and they were the opening act of sorts. Of course, you would be staying for the other band's full performance, though. He glances at you, giving you a small grin. “Okay, here we are… wish me luck!”

Everyone gets off the bus, and you go over to Jodi and Vince, talking with them for a while. You also approach Shane, Emily, Penny, Maru, Elliott, and Leah before Seb, Abi, and Sam walk onstage. You hear the crowd clap and Sam jumps in surprise at how many people there are. You see him glancing around the crowd, before clearing his throat and speaking into the microphone in front of him. “Hi everyone. We’re from Pelican Town… er… and we’re called Goblin Destroyer!” More cheers, including yourself. Sam smiles and glances down at you before continuing. “This first song is about farming, mining, and chopping wood.” With that, Abigail starts counting them in with her drumsticks before they start playing. You’ve heard the lyrics a million times now, but you can’t help but smile and jump around with the melody the whole time. You do for every single one of their songs. Their set finally finishes, and the crowd cheers for them. Sam hypes up the main act for a while and lets the crowd know that their demos are for sale before they leave the stage, and come down to meet everyone else. Everyone crowds around them, yelling their praises. “Woooh! That was great!”

“Nice work, guys!”

“I really loved that heavy breakdown at the end.”

“Thanks, everyone,” Sam says, and then smiles at you, “But you really should be thanking (Y/n)! Without their help, we’d never have decided what kind of music to make in the first place!”

Penny turns to look at you with a pleasant expression on her face. “So you’re like an honorary member of the band then?”

“Damn right they are!” Sam exclaims, pulling you into a side hug. You have to pretend like you don’t want to be swallowed up by his arms right then and there, but luckily the main act begins playing and you all start vibing to their sound.  Though you can’t help but notice that for the rest of the performance, Sam’s arm barely ever leaves your waist.

By the end, everyone starts piling back in the bus again, and you take your seat next to Sam. He’s practically buzzing after his performance, and you can’t help but stare at him for a bit. He looks good. And, yeah, okay, he always looks good but he looks GOOD right now. You can practically feel the happiness exuding from him, and it shows. Not to mention he’s still a little sweaty from performing, and his hair has lost a little bit of its sticking up with gel style. To others, it probably looked like he needed a shower but to you? He looked absolutely breathtaking. “What are ya staring at, farmer?” His voice has a teasing tone to it, and you quickly look away. You clear your throat and glance back at him, only to see a smug smirk on his face. Seems like performing brought his confidence back at least. You awkwardly point toward his head and mutter out, “Your hair is a little messed up…” in a pathetic attempt to make it seem like you weren’t staring at your best friend because he looked hot as hell. He glances upwards, chuckling and running his hand through his hair. “I’ll fix it later… you did like the show… right?”

“Of course I did!” you reassure him, and he smiles. “Good. You know… I wasn’t lying when I said you were a huge help...” he brings his hand to the back of his neck and you grin at him. “All I did was suggest what type of music you should play,” you insist, and he shakes his head. “And help me with lyrics, and help me with song ideas, and sat in my room with me and helped me figure out what sounded good and what didn’t, and-”

“Okay. Okay, maybe I did help a lot.”

“You did,” he assures, gently knocking his shoulder into yours. A smile breaks out on your face and you glance over at him. “Seriously though, thanks for coming. Guess you really are my good luck charm,” he jokes and you smirk. “Obviously, who else would be?”

“Sebastian.”

“Um, excuse me? The forlorn wizard who is too scared to ask out his childhood crush,” how hypocritical of you to say, “and laments in the rain while petting frogs would be a better good luck charm? You know, I play wizard in The Solorian Chronicles, too, Seb always just beat me to it, and every time he’s the wizard I can’t help but notice he isn’t a very good good luck charm for you,” you huff, and Sam starts laughing. Hard. “Woah, woah, woah, calm down there mage. You’re right, it’s not him, it’s definitely you. We should really do something about getting them together, though, now that you mention it.” You nod and make an approving noise. “Fuck yeah I’m your good luck charm.” Cue more giggles from Sam, making a smile break out on your face. Little did you know, this whole time the two of have been talking, Jodi has been observing you. She’s not blind, especially when it comes to her son. She can tell that there’s something more than a best friend relationship between the two of you, and maybe, just maybe, she also is holding on to that idea because she’s also good friends with you. While, yes, she did just want you to come over for dinner tonight, she really was hoping tonight would be the night that you turned from her little boy’s best friend into his partner. She can tell that it’s getting consistently harder for him to pretend that he doesn’t like you romantically. He’s lucky you were too busy playing with Vincent to see the lovesick look he had on his face when looking at you the morning that Vince’s yells and giggling woke him up earlier than usual. She knew at that moment that the chance of you becoming her in-law was a high probability. Okay, maybe she’s getting a bit carried away here, but she can tell that there’s something going on there. Especially when she notices Sam not so subtly throw his arm around your shoulder and instead of responding negatively, you just lean into him further and lay your head on his shoulder. Jodi could practically die right then and there.

The two of you remained that way for the rest of the bus ride, formulating a plan to get Seb and Abigail together. “We could maybe do something tonight if they come over for dinner,” you suggest, and Sam raises his eyebrow. “I didn’t realize mom invited them over for dinner,” he says and you cock your head to the side. “Well, she invited me, so I just assumed she would invite them too, since... y’know… Goblin Destroyer and all…” you say, and Sam shrugs. “They didn’t mention anything to me, and neither did mom… but that’s fine! We don’t need to do it tonight… you said she invited you though, yeah?” he asks, his voice sounding a little nervous. You nod, “Yeah… yeah she came over shortly after you this morning. When we get back I’m gonna go grab the fish she asked me to get and then head over to your place and help her prepare.”

“Cool… cool, that’s great! I didn’t realize we’d be spending all day together, but… hey, I’m not complaining,” he says and you smile. “Me either.” Conveniently, you feel the bus come to a stop, signifying you’re back in Pelican Town. Sam reluctantly takes his arm off of you, and you can’t help but notice it seems a little colder without it there. “Seb, Abigail, and I are gonna unload our gear, so I’ll see you in like… an hour? Or so?” You nod. 

“Yeah, see you then.”

[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:

[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".

[formulinos]

@topnotchquark mccanned didn’t answer you yet but i can!

Michael Schumacher is, as commonly well known, the best f1 driver that there has ever been and that there will ever be. amongst the reasons for it was the fact my guy would do quali laps during races because might as well and everything he did in hid personal/training time was with the goal of being as physically fit for racing as possible (to the point he tried to replicate his body’s responses during races while working out. because might as well.)

this is all to say that you do not win 7 wdc by sheer luck, it takes going to the next level. so as a treat, he would scheme. he would plot. he would lie. and he would bamboozle. some of it was through more direct action like whenever he tried to crash his car into his rivals’ to win a championship (worked w damon hill, it didn’t work with villeneuve bc people were homophobic - michael is part of the lgbt+ community since he is texassexual). but often he’d just focus on the little things, like working out in high intensities in front of drivers to make them feel bad about themselves or whatever nico’s claims were.

his main modus operandi however was usually running his mouth to the press according to his own personal narrative. for instance, when mclaren were doing good in the early 00s, coming off two wdcs with mika häkkinen, he needed to get someone there riled up so they would eventually fuck up. he couldn’t do that straight to häkkinen though, not only because he respected him but because mika was at the time equal to him in championships so ppl knew they were close in talent and above average overall. luckily, mclaren’s second driver was david coulthard, who was mid but thought he was capable of beating both mika and michael. well, when ppl asked ANYTHING about david to schumi he’d straight go like “the guy who thinks can wipe the floor with me and my beloved mika? HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAA-“ and then ignore the rest of the question. this was totally personal as david took part in the aforementioned homophobic takedown of michael in 1997 but also overall david was just mid and sometimes you have to bully someone to deflate their ego a lil bit. so david would get mad regularly and anger would lead him to be carelesd while driving and he would bottle it. BUT ALSO even ron dennis (mclaren main boss at the time) would get mad and go to the media like “sshjuuuut upppp,.,,., david totally csn win the cuampionshippp i csn’t belive you michel!!!!!!!”. mika would just smile and agree w michael bc he too knew david was mid.

but michael wouldn’t just take people down. sometimes, he would raise them up just for the imposter syndrome of it all. like in 2004, a season where evidently ferrari had as a car the F-TITBLASTER9000 and michael would easily clean the house, he would often say that BAR Honda (who in all fairness were in a great phase) were gonna catch up to them and eventually win a race later in the year. to which jenson button legit had to respond like “mate you know this is my first year taking this sport seriously and the other driver on the team is literally takuma sato. we’re not winning shit this championship and you know it”. and yes he did. BAR ended second but they never won a single race.

he even tried to run his mouth on ayrton senna after a on-track dispute saying that it wasn’t a “behaviour fit for a WC”. but he was just a rookie while senna was an expert on the game, so he went there and gave michael a tell-off in front of every single camera on the paddock, live (you can check on youtube, too lazy for links today sorry!). michael learned from it and perfected the art of media shit talking. he is missed everyday as the closest we get to michael antics is helmut marko’s wild claims and they’re not half as entertaining.

anyway this is what i remembered there are probably more examples. welcome to f1, hope you enjoy the sport! your new missions as a newbie is to become part of the tifosi and try to soak some more of the history of formula 1 overall bc it will help you detect who is talking shit around the fandom! if you like some weird stories, consider my pinned essays :)

[johaerys-writes]

I love disasters!AU so so so sooooo much. It added ten more years to my life expectancy. I wish to see your writings forever, if possible.

Anyway, I have a question! How old are Patroclus and Achilles in 2024, roughly? I assumed they'd be in their late 30s or early 40s by now, and wanted to make sure.

And do you have any hcs about them in their 20s, 30s and 40s that you don't mind sharing? Like, are they still together? I goddamn hope they are. What do they do for a living? What are their relationships with their parents and friends? Any hc would be sooo welcome! Have a nice day!

First of all, I love you for sending this ask dear anon 🫶 Any opportunity to talk about my favourite boys adds ten years to my lifespan LOL don't mind if I do

So the age question is kind of tricky because you're a walking disaster and yet- isn't set during a specific time period. Like the Phthia years have a 90s vibe, and the Athens years have a late 90s-early/00s vibe, but I never really had a specific year in mind. It's just vibes mostly lol. But like, assuming we start in the 90s, then I think in 2024 they'd be late 30s, early 40s. And of COURSE they're together, haha. I honestly don't see these two separating at all in that AU, not even as a joke. They're each other’s ride or die and I'm not saying it's exactly healthy (oops 🤣🫣), but I highlyyyy doubt either Achilles or Pat would even consider the possibility of taking a break.

As far as jobs and studies go, Achilles finishes his Architecture major in Athens, then probably does an internship in an architectural firm while Patroclus works part time as an usher in a small theatre and also as a theatre production assistant whenever the opportunity arises, helping making props and procuring materials and generally just running errands for the crew and the director lol. Then they move abroad for Achilles to do a masters degree (in their mid/late 20s?), I was thinking probably Italy, and Patroclus of course follows him. After a bunch of coaxing and convincing, Patroclus accepts Peleus' offer to pay for his studies as well, so the two of them spend a couple really lovely years just studying and travelling Italy and seeing all the sights and eating ALL the food and gelatto etc, and generally having the best of times. And then eventually they come back to Athens where Achilles opens up his own architectural firm (with daddy's help ofc), and Patroclus does his PhD in dramaturgy and starts teaching shortly after (hot professor Pat PLS 😩🤲)

As for the relationship with their parents and friends: they both have a really good relationship with Peleus, better than they did when they were younger. Turns out now that they're older Peleus is great for taking them to expensive restaurants and teaching them about wine and stuff, or taking them on boatrides (with his divorce mini yacht LMAO). Thetis is also in Athens and Achilles does see her often, most times on his own, sometimes with Patroclus. Pat and Thetis are not besties by any means but they get along for the most part. But I still don't think Pat ever truly warms up to her tbh, and Achilles doesn’t push it.

They still often go to Phthia for the holidays so they see Ajax & co, Menelaus and Agamemnon both stayed in Phthia as well so they see them too. Odysseus returns from time to time but they lose contact with him after several years. Dio and Briseis do actually get back together after college for a couple of years, but it just doesn't work out unfortunately, much to Diomedes' disappointment 😅

So yes Achilles and Pat are definitely together by the time they're 40, definitely living together, definitely have amassed an army of dogs at this point haha. Like shortly after the main fic ends they get another dog, and by the time Laika sadly passes away, they already have at least a couple more. And it just snow balls from there. Eventually they move into a bigger place with a yard somewhere in the northern suburbs of Athens, and they just have their cosy little life with their dogs and their vast collection of books, and it's just really really nice for them :')

[longtallglasses]

writing patterns

thx for tagging me @loverslakes !!

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 8 6 posted fics (and 3 wips) and see if there's a pattern!

sleepwalking cannibal wip! all of these lines are a wip

Go find your muse, they said. Go seek inspiration, they said. Go! Get out of your comfort zone, it’ll do you some good, they said.

And look where that’s landed him. Running through a dark forest, chasing after a lunatic with fresh blood on his hands.

How the hell did this happen?

undisclosed desires mid-00s wip

That same shrill tone every morning. If his life were a dramatic tragedy, it would be that tone that would follow all his entrances and exits.

Mike wakes up. He doesn’t want to get up.

He never wants to.

untitled grease au wip

The setting of the sun as it meets the sand, casts a warm glow over the two of them. It would grow colder soon. Their bodies would turn blue as they soon had to find a way to say goodbye. Summer’s closing in on itself and so they must as well.

heaven (let my love open the door)

Miss Nelson’s fourth grade classroom window glows bright amongst the dim early morning. It rained last night and there’s a dampness that hangs in the air and clings to the tires on the road. Will feels his skin warm up as he enters the classroom, his shoes squeaking across the tile.

“Good Morning Will!” Miss Nelson greets him as he sheds his coat. 

We’re So Lucky

That last shot might’ve been a mistake. 

Will shakes his head out, and his glazed eyes meet El’s, as they both giggle at nothing in particular. They both just feel really good.

but flurry you’re my best friend

It all began because Mike needed to finally get five stars on his animal crossing island.

The Blair Witch Project

In October of 1990, four student filmmakers got lost in the woods near Burkittsville- kiddinggggg

“It’s already recording dude, just point it at me.” Mike instructs.

“Like this?” Lucas asks, pointing the lens at Mike standing in the middle of the room.

“No. On the floor. Yes, like that idiot.” He deadpans.

one more… please? (tell it like it is)

Lots of things had taken Mike Wheeler by surprise in his life. 

It’s Cute

Will didn’t mean for it to happen. Honestly he had kind of forgotten. He didn’t even really think about it anymore.

But there they were in his bedroom, and Mike had plucked it out from under his comforter, “Is this my sweater?”

tagging nooo pressure :): realizing i don't follow many authors (or dk are writers) so sorry if you’ve already been tagged! @id-rather-be-home @total-serene560 @oldfashionedmorphine @souverian-are-we @kiirotoao and anyone else who writes that wants to do it!