#the scope of this story is just way. way too big and I can not find it in myself to care

[yukicustos]

Hi everyone, I just figured out the images from the last clue on his treat of ‘Bill’s Files’. Not sure if anyone else did it. I haven't seen it somewhere else yet.

It was really a map, for something. I just didn’t know what. I saw the thingy about the doc of the wallpapers, the theory was completely right, the images layer upon one another, but to create a bigger image, I knew it was it. So I went for it just for fun to see if it were like a collage. I connected where they could. 

The first ones are those from the doc on reddit GF, so I have to thank them for their views. After this, the Tree. I knew was the center of the image because, well. It's the page talking of the codes and all.

Then the connection with the thunder. Their heads seem to be drowning, even the tree at some point connects with earth and in some images you have to flip it horizontally. I just had to really look for boards and what in the image continues another. Bill's elbow literally places above the skull, it’’s wayyy too perfectly placed. Here some clues:

Also the mini story at the right side>>>

here appears to me the nightmare realm and how he’s dreaming of being somewhere else, singing we’ll meet again. remember: the place between realities is black and white. the image is black and white.

It seems here he’s cutting reality.

andd here. seems like he got it straight to the ‘physical world’ in a joyride slide.

Pure terror, to make these layers just give us more profound visual motifs of the layered universe and all.

Within the full image, we also have a mini story. There are two moons. (Moons are connected to our creative world.) Showing to us two different perceptions/awareness/universes. Whatever you feel most comfortable with; the Mindscape Realm Moon and the Nightmare Realm Moon. It starts with Fiddleford, using the gun to make him forget just like what we saw happen to Bill by being erased. We thought. But then, he uses the backdoor through the voidness. (Consciousness is also referred as the infinite ocean, all connected.) Bill explains to us a little bit in his book. And he talks of the Atlantis chapter implying he had made us forget about. Actually we had forget it loong time ago. It is just things in the depths of our universal consciousness.

The fourth state of consciousness is a state of awareness that transcends the waking, dreaming, and deep sleep states. It's also known as Turiya, which is a Sanskrit word that means "the fourth".

This backs up one theory of mine that Euclydia to being a state of awareness/consciouness, they got higher into those other realms. That’s why we see ‘LIFE FORM NOT FOUND’. I have a huge theory but I can only talk about this image right now.

The heads seems to point to it. And the part where he has a card up his sleeve, he had the idea of other parallels universes, it seems. But well, this is his seeing through other windows/people's eyes talking. A light bulb. A idea. Remember, beyond this full scope, there are the Cuckoo House that’s hiper realistic, and what is seems to be motifs of life and death. If he learned anything from Theraprism, to fullfil or least being able achieve some of his 'plan'. He has to humble down and pass through the reincarnation process. The images doesn’t say it, but he’s pointing at a bunker. Near there’s the message ‘KOOK’ putting in the website is literally the clue for the image, a big Cipher. Not in actual way he is now as we know it, but to be bigger/different/take another form. To being able to properly be here, he has to see the Bigger Picture.

idk if there’s a code or how to put it into the website so, if it is a code, someone pls could tell me because this is a clear reference to the computer.(i tried, not working, i know it points to other code of the stan twins but ???)

if there's any typo/grammar mistake i'm not native of this language so thks and ily for reading until this point<3

[badninken]

After an ETERNITY of backstory we finally have THIS TRIO and A NEW LAW OUTFIT!

[danidrabbles]

Cardinal

Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.

If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.

THE LOOKOUT

With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this. 

Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.

It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.

During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.

Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.

Today you want it to be your last time here. 

You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.

The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–

“Hey, stop!”

A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.

“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind. 

After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor. 

You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset. 

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.

“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.

“You know–” he begins.

“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”

“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”

Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–

“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.

“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.

The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”

“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”

He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.

“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”

To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.

Understanding.

It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff. 

The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.

You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.

“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name. 

It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.

Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.

Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same. 

Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”

Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”

Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?” 

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.” 

The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–

“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.

“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”

“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”

“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”

Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.

“I should head home,” you say, standing again.

Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”

“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”

“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”

“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”

He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.

THE CRAVING

New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.

You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.

There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it. 

It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.

The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.

After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy. 

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?” 

Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand. 

“First time’s on the house.”

You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.

A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.

“She isn’t interested, pal.” 

It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 

Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.

“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”

Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”

“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.

“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.

“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle. 

You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far… 

Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–

“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.

Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”

– – – – –

When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air. 

“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”

“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.

You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.

“What–”

“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”

“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 

You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.

“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”

You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk. 

There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.

“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”

The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.

“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door. 

He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.

THE PUZZLE

It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this. 

Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you. 

So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.

Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better. 

Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.

“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.

“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.

“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment. 

Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang. 

“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

He nods in acknowledgement.

“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”

Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.

“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”

“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

– – – – –

You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.

“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.

“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”

You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.

“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”

“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little. 

“You’re a quick study.”

Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”

With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”

To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”

“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”

You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,

“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”

The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”

“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”

Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat– 

It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…

There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here. 

There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.

“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”

At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”

You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.

“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.

“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”

“You can pay next time.” 

When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.

– – – – –

You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.

THE PANTRY

“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.

“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.

“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.

It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared. 

There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.

Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.

“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.

“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”

There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.

You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.

An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.

The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.

Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–

You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.

Fuck.

Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”

Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.

“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.” 

Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.

“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”

You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.

“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”

Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.

It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.

“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”

“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are. 

“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”

Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”

– – – – –

Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway. 

It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile. 

You respond in kind. 

When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.

A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.

THE MEETING

April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.

With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.

Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed –  like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.

You’d answered without saying a word.

“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.

“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”

You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”

It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago. 

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination. 

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”

The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.

The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day. 

Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week. 

“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”

You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...

But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support. 

That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters. 

Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front. 

The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.

“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”

It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand. 

“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.

The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.

“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts. 

It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.

“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–” 

He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after. 

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.” 

You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.

“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”

A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.

The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply. 

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.” 

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead. 

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely. 

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.” 

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.” 

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.

THE SUMMER

Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.

You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.

It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place… 

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room. 

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one��You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.

Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare. 

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan. 

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze. 

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.” 

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips. 

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you– 

“Logan,” you breathe. 

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes. 

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth– 

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your… 

friends. 

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor. 

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” 

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you. 

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction. 

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him. 

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit. 

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down. 

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine. 

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life. 

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge. 

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt. 

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. 

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt. 

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin. 

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.  

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you. 

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.” 

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple. 

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall. 

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies. 

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come. 

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions. 

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed. 

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

[andhumanslovedstories]

chapter eleven of what feels like the most soap opera ass fic I've ever written and then just a bunch of thoughts about writing it, which contains vague spoilers for my plans:

The inception of the fic basically went like this:

haha lol i'd be fun if sqq got real mad at the state of education

what would need to happen in this fic that doesn't happen in canon to motivate him to do something about it

oh shit he didn't unlock OOC so he has to figure out how to be his coddling indulgent self (which he's in denial about) while also being shen jiu

But the thing that really made the story get so much bigger in scope was when I was reading a fic with yqy coming clean to sj, and sj being like, "GASP. I forgive you." And I was "I simply do not believe that this is how it would happen." And I would have moved on with my life, but then I thought, "but like how would it happen." And more importantly, how could this conversation happen within the canon timeline but still involve Shen Jiu, the person this information affects.

The OOC idea and the need for Shen Jiu to be present in this fight scene came together to be like "what if sqq got sj's memories so he could rules-lawyer his characterization more accurately, and ends up being furious on sj's behalf?"

(This, btw, is why I knew I had to get much fonder of YQY and get a much better understanding of his character. When a pillar of your fic idea is a character getting ripped into for his choices, it is sooooooo easy to for it to come off as the author yelling their personal opinions or for it to be completely flat character bashing. Neither are interesting to read or write! Hence the crash-course in YQY appreciation, so now he gets his own emotional arc too. Everyone gets a goddamn plotline.)

Meanwhile I was also thinking about the implications of downloading another person's life into your head. If you have their memories and their body, are you them? What makes you not them? I didn't know! I sort of just kept writing and posting with the assumption that I'd figure something out, which I've finally nailed down btw. That's a relief! Also kinda the fun of WIPs where you're building the railroad track as you're on the train. I end up fanficing my own fanfic. Once stuff is posted, that's the canon, and I look at it and think, "if this was a book I was reading, what is the way I would extrapolate what's there to make a new but coherent story?"

That's why my outline becomes pretty useless after a while. The big picture doesn't change too much--I know roughly where all the major characters are going to be emotionally by the end of the story--but I discover the path I'm going to take there. Which usually means adding stuff. Liu Qingge wasn't going to get a POV, and now every chapter I'm like "fuck am I building a throuple". Ming Fan will have waaaay more a story line than I originally conceived. Early on, I was like "eh I'm not going to go too far into the brothel stuff," and can you guess what is going to be coming up prominently in the next few chapters? God help me.

Actually, there's only one major part of the outline that I cut: Shang Qinghua. He was originally very prominent early on, but turns out having the literal Word of God in a story about slowly discovering backstory is difficult to reconcile. So sadly, he doesn't get a real role. If you're curious, the original plan for him was that SQQ would realize he's a transmigrator much earlier in the canon, but the System would be like [shen jiu would not tell shang qinghua he is a transmigrator. ooc] which would lead to this series of SQQ trying to figure out how he can communicate around this. SQQ at a peak meeting being like, "do you think these DEMONS are PROUD of having made their WAY to us IMMORTALS?" while SQH is like, "AM I HAVING A STROKE?"

What's some other stuff about this fic? I've got a lot of thoughts bottled up, in part because I'm kinda snobby tbh in how I post. I'm like "*pushes glasses up my nose* the author's takes on the story should not be unavoidably present when reading the text" so I don't like to use ao3's author's notes. It's ridiculous and not a standard I hold anyone else too, but whenever I find myself wanting to address something in the notes, I know I must feel insecure about that part of the story. So either fix it or don't draw attention to it. But this is fine, you have to come here for this. This is DVD commentary.

My favorite part of writing this fic has been balancing Shen Jiu's character. As I'm fleshing out his sad backstory, I've been wary of essentially woobifying him. Reducing him to just someone who greatly suffered is so boring and flat. He NEEDS to suck. Or more accurately, he needs to be a very imperfect victim. Exasperating at his mildest, despicable at his worst. (Truthfully, I do think I can and should make him worse. Luckily this story is nothing but flashbacks to him at his worst so there's plenty of opportunities.)

This whole mental breakdown section has been an interesting balancing act because it's explicitly about how bad Shen Jiu's life was and now how bad Shen Qingqiu's is. It's the point at which I had to decide how torturous his time at the Qiu manor had been (me and Shen Qingqiu really discovered that together). On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the absolute worst saddest brutalist ideas I had for this era in his life, I'd say I settled on about a 7. Most of it is backstage in my head, but once I locked that down, I could start figuring out how much was bleeding through.

Anyway, it's been fun writing the angstfest of the last few chapters, but oh my god am I ready for a tone shift. There's usually jokes in my works, even the saddest bits, but jokes relieve tension which is the opposite of what I was going for. I didn't want any humor in the YQY conversation, then you have to keep not joking for a while to get the point across. There's still a lot of planned emotional shit, but I'm happy to not be wallowing for a while.

AND GOD AS MY WITNESS THIS STORY WILL NOT BE LONGER THAN 20 CHAPTERS. MAYBE IT'LL EVEN BE LESS!! IT IS DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO BE A WHOLE CANON REWRITE. PROBABLY!! IF TIANLANG JUN HAS ANY SIGNIFICANT SCREEN TIME, PLEASE KNOW THAT I HAVE FAILED.

[gcballet]

Just saw someone complaining about the Newhart ending from 0611 being mockery of people who ship Nandermo and frankly I can only imagine that account is someone who's under 20 bc that is not what mockery/rejection of queer ship fans looks like. You were in preschool when BBC's Merlin came out, you don't know. S6 and finale spoilers below.

The point of the Newhart parody ending was to provide an ending for fans who just wanted WWDITS to stay a goofy status quo sitcom. It's answering the black and white footage of the vampires in the 1950s. The sitcom status quo is a famously really hard trope to work with. The Simpsons is literally still struggling with it - decades of skilled comedy writers have never defeated it. It's a commentary on being satisified by the media we consume. The vampire can never fully be satisfied, no matter how many lives she consumes. The status quo can never be broken no matter how many episodes it attempts.

The 1980s trope of 'it was all a dream' happens in The Bob Newhart Show, it happens in St. Elsewhere, it happens in Dallas. They aren't mocking a queer ship, they're mocking sitcoms and how they've been hamstrung by format in terms of the story they can tell. Assume they did pursue Nandermo unambiguously, onscreen. It would be legitimately too dark for a sitcom. Or conversely, too hopeful for a documentary.

The other generic format choice restricting them is the documentary, because everything the characters do in the show is them being watched by a group of strangers with film equipment. None of their behaviour is wholly real. The entirety of the finale is Guillermo realising his behaviour will change when the crew leave. His behaviour has been influenced by the presence of cameras, and it will happen again. For the first time in six years, he's going to experience actual privacy, and there will be scope for him to express things he has deliberately suppressed with the cameras on. In the first episodes of S5, we saw him get increasingly frustrated with the crew, calling them vultures, as they tried to get the story on what happened with Derek. He's ready for his privacy back, and space to change, but the vampires live by sitcom rules. They aren't prepared to change, or at least, he isn't confident about it.

What We Do In The Shadows (2019-2024) is restricted by two specific genres and their conventions, and the first two 'endings' - the dream sequence and the switching off the cameras - represent exiting both of those genres before any significant radical moves can be implied for Nandermo.

It's a sitcom, therefore the central couple must be in perpetual will-they-won't-they (Friends), the gays must be physically chaste (Modern Family), and the status quo must be maintained (The Simpsons). Once the sitcom is ended via the Newhart ending (which positions Guillermo and Nandor as a married couple, that's not a small thing at all), the documentary tropes can close out.

Documentary tropes are a little harder to pin down, but generally the story should end with Guillermo truly moving on and leaving in a poignant and somewhat tragic way.

Guillermo's narrative thread throughout the documentary version of the show is about his identity and relationship with Nandor. He gives the cameras a big show of finally saying goodbye to Nandor, going on to be a new version of himself, and waits until the crew begin to derig before acknowledging again that a documentary is performative, and he intends to continue their relationship. The documentary format means intimate moments must be captured. When the documentary ends, the intimacy may be private. That's why we don't get a Nandermo kiss. It's allowed to be private now.

Guillermo is sad throughout the finale, yes, but I would argue he's actually mostly stressed, because on one level he understands that the show must commit to one of two trope endings. The sitcom, the repeating lives of the vampires where nothing matters and you can be hypnotised to believe there was nothing deep about it. Or the documentary, where he is forced to tragically leave forever, having learnt a valuable 16 year lesson, perhaps meeting again for a 'where are they now?' Twenty years later.

He thinks he has to choose in under an hour, between the endless sitcom cycle the vampires find natural, or walking away with the humans who made the documentary to capture something ephemeral and temporary.

They do both, and then Nandor and Guillermo get what is clearly the ultimate ending. It's not formatted in such a way that you choose between endings. They're not alternate endings, they're subsequent endings. It doesn't have multiple endings like Clue, it has multiple endings like The Return of the King.

And maybe Guillermo and Nandor don't kiss on the mouth and declare their love for one another, but the camera crew is still leaving the room. What they do do is agree to stay together and work together on something to make themselves and/or the world better. Then Nandor invites Guillermo to share his pseudo-bed and disappear into a private space he has created in secret for the two of them. Even phrased matter of factly that's romantic. Someone flippantly called it 'the gays getting sent to super hell' and wow way to deliberately miss the point. Nandor never follows through on big projects, but he built a miles deep tunnel under the earth so he and Guillermo could at last be alone away from a huge documentary crew and roommates with super hearing. That's beautiful. They don't owe you an onscreen kiss to prove they're in love. They (Nandermo and the show producers) don't even owe you representation, and if you think otherwise, you've not bought into the premise of the show. You are the voyeur watching the documentary, the fan watching the Ross and Rachel (Nandor and Guillermo have been compared to them by the cast).

The whole point of the endings is that they moved Nandermo outside the unreality of TV genres. Not a sitcom will-they-wont-they, not a tragedy within a documentary, just two weird guys in a coffin in a hole in the ground, doing whatever they want because nobody is watching and judging.

They didn't make Nandermo canon, they made Nandermo real.

[gatheredfates]

How To Win Friends and Influence People: Dawntrail Edition ☀️

I swear the title is a joke.

Listen, we all know I'm one to furiously and viscously encourage people to venture outside their box and meet people, and today is no different! With the launch of Dawntrail, we're likely to see a lot of cool new people in the community, so these are a couple of affirmations I employ to myself when reaching out. Feel free to use them to your benefit!

That little voice telling you the person will think you're annoying is probably a liar. In all the time I have reached out to people in this community, I have never once heard a complaint about being annoying, overbearing or too much. As long as you're not inappropriate, respect boundaries and go in with pure intentions, it is likely to be reciprocated.

If people don't want to interact with you, that is their loss. Rejection sucks, but you cannot let the fear of it rule your intentions. Don't hyper-fixate on the loss; simply block (if needed) and move on. Not only will you foster healthy relationships with people who reciprocate your efforts, you will avoid drama by respecting and enacting your own boundaries. Trust me when I say this will improve your whole experience.

You don't need to message people right away! Start by leaving nice tags on their gposes, writing, etc.; make conversation and comment on their posts. Work up to a message first if you're shy.

I don't know what kind of comment to leave, you say? Easy! Find one thing about what they've done that you like. For example, I'm often like 'wow the x colouring in this is amazing! i love how it makes the character pop'! It shows engagement with their work beyond the superficial. Trust me, when i get these kinds of tags, it makes my day.

Remember you get out of a community what you put into it. If you have a cool idea for a space/event/roleplay concept, promote it! If you think your character's story would bolster another persons', offer to write with them! Reach out to other places with similar or adjacent concepts and see if you can work together. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, so they say.

If it's within your blog's scope, reblogging other people's outreach posts/commissions/gposes/etc is a great way to engage with the community in a low-stakes way. If you need to make a sideblog for promotional stuff, do it! I prefer tags, personally, but you do you. The more approachable you look, the more people are going to contact you first.

Befriend people because you earnestly want to get to know them. "Popularity" is a farce. There are amazingly talented people who have a small group of friends because they're shy.

Eat food, drink water and take your medication before you do any of the aforementioned. Actually, just cover all those basis before you do anything. If you start dooming and glooming your efforts, have a nap (trust me, it worked for me last night!).

A couple of things to keep in mind on the other side:

You are not obligated to reciprocate someone's efforts.

"No." Is a full sentence. It's always preferable to be kind, but know your worth.

If that shit don't stick, hit da bricks!! You can leave!!

Always try to assume the best intentions of people.

Tools of moderation are not drama-mongering or nasty; they simply tailor your experience to what you want to see/experience. You don't need to justify your reasonings, you don't need to explain yourself to anyone; block and move on!! You don't need to make a big deal about it.

If anyone has anything else they want to add, please do! But this how I operate and it's never done me a disservice. ✨

[rennybu]

finished veilguard finally 💆 if you have a pc with parts from 2017 and no ssd, know you did not struggle through the load errors and preset character bugs alone

some thoughts for closure (mostly negative from a place of love)

Despite the preceding 3 games all looking, sounding, and feeling different gameplay-wise, as someone who picked up the series in 2016 and played them back to back, i felt like they all shared the same scope and the same enjoyment of the setting and had stories that engaged with that setting in a way that was eager to keep exploring it. All 3 games had hook moments for me, either in a major plot development or a presentation gimmick that made me want to continue and made my character feel unique to my player experience. Veilguard never hooked me and broke my immersion constantly. I kept feeling like the script was reluctant or embarrassed to be taking place in The Dragon Age Setting. Which sucks because I like it there and want to play in it. It felt stripped down and very removed from the world of the last 3 games. And I mean. like everyone, I’ve been following the development hell, reading dev responses, the ama, looking at the scrapped joplin art concepts. I can see the shape of what it might have been but it’s too big a gap for me to want to play in and do any headcanon fic-writing work on my own. I had a few ideas early on but the game overall left me feeling burnt out on trying to… bridge the gap on my lack of immersion. My enjoyment shouldn’t have to hinge solely on headcanons. For the previous games, the foundations were strong enough that headcanons were an extra sauce on top of what we were given. I really didn’t feel like a mover in this story.

A lot of ppl have better articulated more precise complaints and I don’t have it in me to sit in deep contemplation and type up a full review 😭 everything I enjoyed about the game, there wasn’t enough of. It’s like I can see the rough idea of Rook being a foil to Solas, but I did not Feel It in the gameplay or the writing or the interactions and the options given to me to play. The regret prison was cool, but i wish it had the depth to consider Rook’s faction, their exile, their ever becoming Rook at all. I wish the team had had time to sit and invent more Thedas-specific, setting-informed gender terminology. I wish I wish I wish!

I think most of my enjoyment now is derived from seeing others’ ocs and designs within the setting. Wardens hawkes inquisitors rooks yay. I think I will need a very long break before I make any new fanart myself (impossible to say for sure) but I don’t like. Hate it now. And I love what the series has done for my past artistic improvement and inspiration/influence. The games are important to me and I’m just disappointed ahgkskgkd

Love dragon age. Going to stare at my screenshots folder for the entire series and not say another word

[live-laugh-legolas]

Love languages of the Fellowship

Aragorn: Words of affirmation

-This man speaks poetry

-Will tell you how beautiful you are by comparing you to a sunrise or some shit

-Holds you close while speaking to you, so only you can hear him

-Limited PDA so when you are alone his affections feel extra intimate

-Will always let you know how appreciative he is of you

-So gentle with you and the best listener

-Understands that sometimes you just need him to listen and don’t want him to fix anything; but will help immediately you if you do

-I don’t know if this makes sense but he loves you by making sure you love yourself

-Keeps his verbal compliments private and shows how great you are in public; compliments can feel subjective and he makes sure people come to the objective conclusion that you are so great (I have no idea how to properly explain this)

-Loves a good hug and to bury his face in your hair

Legolas: Quality time

-Any time spent with you is great but I think he would show his partner the world *cough Gimli*

-Will take you on an adventure so he can see the excitement and wonder in your eyes

-If you ever mention wanting to see someplace he’s already getting the bags ready

-Even in the most beautiful places he will be looking at you cliche

-I think intimacy is something that he doesn’t quite understand

-Not in a negative way, but in the sense that he loves so much that he doesn’t really know how to express it

-Will just stare at you, it’s almost creepy, but you are just so pretty

-Is very playful with those he is close to

-If he teases you it’s likely because he likes you and feels he can let formalities drop

Gimli: Gift giving

-This man would gift you the world

-Treats you like the king/queen that you are

-Always wants you to have something of his or from him with you at all times, and vise versa

-I think he would carry your picture with him like his father did

-Always trying to impress you and show off

-His love is rooted in a deep respect and admiration

-Will never be overbearing; if you want to do something he will support where he is needed but won’t take over

-“That’s my wife/husband/partner!”

-Your #1 supporter and the president of your fanclub

Boromir: Quality time

-I firmly believe this man to be a picnic type of guy

-Will get the softest blanket and all your favorite foods and will bring you to a spot he scoped out weeks prior because it had to be perfect

-Will feed you grapes; probably turns into a game of trying to catch them in the air

-He will do anything to make you laugh; whether it be play fighting or a dramatic reenactment of a story, as long as it makes you smile he has no shame

-Wants you to be prepared for anything so he will teach you everything he knows; like how he taught the hobbits to use swords

-Will show you off and brag about how amazing you are and lucky he is

Frodo: Gift giving

-Doesn’t do grand gifts like Gimli would; but the small things that make him think of you

-He will pick up something and just hand it to you; a pretty flower, a cool rock, etc

-Will bring home leftovers if there is something you will like; I’m talking food in a napkin in his pocket and totally crumbled when he gives it to you

-It’s the thought that counts

-Will cuddle up with you and silently read a book together, only turning the page when you’re ready

-Loves to listen to you rant over your interests and hyper-fixations

-He may not know wtf you are talking about but he will actively listen with a big smile nonetheless

Sam: Acts of service

-I mean this one is pretty obvious

-This man will move a mountain for you

-Anything he can do to make your life easier consider it done

-I feel you would probably have to stop him from doing too much otherwise you would be left with nothing to do

-If you are craving something, no matter how obscure, he will get it or make for you

-Supports all your interests and hobbies; he reminds me a bit of my dad who will do extensive research if you mention you are interested in something so he can talk to you about it

-Can be a little overprotective at times but only because he loves you so much

-If anyone dares to say anything that is even a little rude about you he’s coming to your defense with a puffed up chest

Merry: Words of affirmation

-Unlike Aragorn he doesn’t speak like he thinks he’s Shakespeare or something

-More like compliments that don’t even seem thought out

-Just speaks his mind; Will blurt out randomly that you are so beautiful when you are doing the most mundane tasks

-They will all be there for you at your lowest, but this hobbit senses it before it even happens

-It’s like a sixth sense; the ‘oh no y/n is upset’ sense

-Will always keep his eye on you to make sure no one is bothering you

-Definitely does the tough guy thing until he gets a splinter, then it’s all over (do you know the reference?)

-Gives nicknames, sometimes odd ones

Pippin: Physical touch

-This sweet little fool is a cuddle bug

-Although the touch can also be excitedly jumping on you

-Probably accidentally elbows you or something because he is always standing so close

-Will grab your hand and exaggeratedly swings your arms

-When he is around you his mood just soars

-He’s like those dogs that never stop wagging their tail and it turns into a weapon of mass destruction

-Includes you in everything. It’s second nature to him that you must be invited

-Often he doesn’t even ask, just pulls you along and will explain on the way

This is the first time I’ve written anything like this so feedback is welcome. I didn’t include Gandalf because in my eyes he is a grandfather lol

[kikyoupdates]

Goddess Wink ⭑˚💘⭑ 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡

bnha x f!reader

reverse harem, my hero academia x fem!reader, slowburn

Ever since your Quirk first manifested, you’ve been the apple of everyone’s eye. With the goal of becoming a hero, you enroll to U.A. and soon find yourself drawing the attention of many. Will you form genuine connections with others, or is this all just your power's will?

previous | story masterlist | next

“Special recommendation?”

“Yes,” Mikael nodded. “Based on the information I’ve been able to gather, U.A’s entrance exam consists of fighting large robots and gathering points that will go forward to determine whether or not you earn a passing grade. There is also a written component, which I have no doubt you’ll do well on, but it’s not enough to pass. Your Quirk has no effect on anything besides living people, which unfortunately means their system places you at a disadvantage. Luckily, I happen to have some connections and it’s possible to enroll you in U.A without you taking the exam.”

“But… isn’t that like cheating?”

“It isn’t cheating. They wouldn’t be able to evaluate your powers properly, which is why I’m making sure you get into the school and have a chance to prove yourself.”

“Well… if you say so. I guess it’s true that I can’t do much with my powers unless it’s against an actual person.”

He smiled and patted your hair. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it all sorted out. They’ll be receiving your letter of recommendation soon enough, which leaves us time to focus on other matters. I’ve actually got some business in Greece around the time your classes start up, but you should only be missing a few days.”

“What?” you groaned. “I’m coming with you again?”

“Of course. Each visit gives you the opportunity to strengthen your connection to your ancestry. Even if you may not realize it yourself, it helps your powers grow more stable, and deepens your spiritual bond to Aphrodite.”

“Huh… I’m still not all that convinced.”

“Well,” he smiled, “you’ll just have to wait and see.”

It had been just about ten years since Mikael had become your legal guardian. As he’d promised, you’d gained more and more control over your powers, and they were noticeably stronger when activated. A big part of his training regimen was bringing you along on his trips—not just to Greece, but to see the world. He always said that heroes needed to see the big picture, the larger scope of things, and in order to realize just how vast their horizons were, travelling around the world and learning about other people and cultures was essential. As a result, you were almost certain that out of all your future classmates you’d ventured the most outside of Japan.

At first, you’d been opposed to going on your most recent trip to Greece. You did enjoy sightseeing there, and the weather was always beautiful, but you’d been reluctant to miss your first bunch of classes. But after hearing about the villain invasion that had taken place at USJ, you were actually somewhat relieved that you’d gotten to miss out.

“I hope my classmates are nice,” you mumbled to yourself. Tomorrow would mark your very first day at your new school, and you wanted to make a good impression. You’d gone out shopping with the intention of buying some new school supplies, but you’d gotten a little carried away and picked out some new outfits too. Which was frankly quite pointless, since you’d be wearing your uniform the whole time, but oh well.

You were just walking home with your heaps of shopping bags in tow when someone bumped into you, and rather forcefully, at that.

“Oops, sorry,” the boy apologized, offering a sheepish smile. “I guess I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It’s fine,” you brushed off. “No harm done.”

He continued smiling and standing around, blocking your way. “It must be my lucky day, getting to run into such a beautiful girl. Where are you heading? I can help carry those bags for you.”

So it’s going to be one of these days, I see.

“Thank you, but I’m alright,” you politely declined. “They aren’t heavy or anything, and I’m in a bit of a hurry to get home.”

“Aw, but I feel bad now that I’ve run into you. If you’re just walking, you must live around the area, right? I can escort you there.” He was still smiling, and he ran his fingers along your shoulder, trying to coax you into giving in. You almost laughed at the stupid little display. It was funny how shameless people could be. What kind of person would let a random stranger walk them home?

“I said it’s fine,” you smiled, pink hues filling your irises. “Be a good boy and leave me alone now, okay?”

“Ah—” He stiffened all at once, fingers slipping off your shoulder. His vision had gone glassy, eyes glazed over, and his cheeks were distinctly flushed. “Oh… my bad,” he slurred. “I didn’t m-mean to—”

His knees buckled underneath him, and he passed out right onto the floor. You looked down at him with your lips pursed.

“It was a lot stronger than I was going for. Well, he must’ve been attracted to me a fair deal if he was trying so hard.” You stooped down to a crouch and whispered into his ear. “When you come to, head home and get a good rest in bed. Don’t try to harass any other girls on your way.”

You adjusted the bags in your grip and continued walking on, ignoring the cluster of people that were now swarming around the unconscious boy. Freja greeted you in the lobby once you were home, helping take the bags off your hands.

She smiled. “It seems like you bought quite a lot, [Name]. Wasn’t this just supposed to be for school supplies?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled awkwardly. “I saw a bunch of cute clothes and just got carried away…”

“I’m sure they’ll all look lovely on you. Mikael is waiting in your room. I believe he wanted to have a quick chat with you since you’re starting at U.A tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thanks, Freja.”

“My pleasure.”

As promised, Mikael was waiting in your room, eating chocolate on your bed, of all things. You puffed out your cheeks and let out a squeal of protest.

“Hey!” you cried out. “No eating chocolate or messy desserts on the bed! I just replaced those sheets!”

He blinked innocently, even though he had melted chocolate all over his lips and fingers. You sighed and grabbed a handful of napkins before taking a seat beside him.

“Hello, [Name],” he smiled. “How was your shopping trip?”

You dabbed at the corners of his lips with the napkins. “It was fine. Some guy was hitting on me while I was heading back, and I used my Quirk on him. He passed out even though I wasn’t trying to get him to.”

“Did he come into contact with you?”

“Yeah. Well, he touched me, but I didn’t touch him back. I just used my voice.”

“I see.” He waited for you to finish wiping him off before twirling a lock of your hair through his fingers. “Different people are bound to experience different levels of attraction and thus react differently to your powers. It’s always going to be challenging to figure out just how effective your Quirk is against certain people.” He extended the half-eaten chocolate bar towards you. “Want a bite?”

“No thank you. Actually, please put that away. You’re making a mess.”

Seemingly defying human limits, he managed to fit the rest of the chocolate bar into his mouth. “I’ll be putfing togesher a nishe dinnar tonifte. To shelebrate yhu starting skhool.”

“Please don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Mikael swallowed the rest with a big gulp, licking the remnants off his lips. “You must be excited. Many of the most renowned heroes made their start at U.A. And with a Quirk like yours, there’s no limit to the amount of people you’ll be able to save.”

You looked up at him in earnest. “You really think so?”

“Of course. You have the gods—quite literally—on your side.”

You laughed a little at that. Still, you couldn’t deny how excited you were. You’d trained your Quirk all these years in preparation for this. Maybe it was that spiritual sense that Mikael claimed you were developing, but something told you the group of people you’d meet there would forever change your future.

“Are you all ready, transfer student?”

“Yes. I’m fine, but… are you sure you’re okay? Your entire face is wrapped in bandages…”

You were officially on U.A's campus, and who else to greet you but the homeroom teacher in charge of Class 1-A—Aizawa Shouta. Or, more commonly known as Eraserhead. He wasn’t the first pro hero that came to mind, since he was so elusive and underground, but you’d definitely heard of him every now and then. A hero with the ability to erase Quirks. Put that way, it was highly unlikely your powers would affect him… guess you couldn’t charm your way out of trouble, then.

“It’s not something you need to worry about,” Aizawa deadpanned. No doubt he’d gotten those injuries during the USJ invasion that had just happened, but to think that he was still teaching under those conditions was crazy. “I’ll enter first and quickly announce to the class that we’ve got a new student, and you follow after. Okay?”

“Sounds good.”

With that, he opened the door to the classroom and strode in, completely ignoring the concerned and bewildered cries of his students. He waited for them to quiet down before making his announcement. The class went silent, and you took that as your cue to walk in.

I’m a little nervous, but here goes!

You stopped in front of the class, swiveling on your heel to face everyone. “I’m [Last Name] [Name],” you greeted with a smile. “For various reasons, I wasn’t able to make it for the first days of classes, but it’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

The room was still silent. Everyone’s eyes were glued to you, but no one was saying a word. You’d been standing there for a good while now, and you were starting to feel a little apprehensive. Had you said something wrong? Was there something on your face, or—

“Whoa! What a beauty!” a blonde male with a lightning bolt in his hair exclaimed.

“She’s so pretty!” a pink-haired girl gushed. “Oh my god, oh my god! She looks like a model!”

“That’s crazy! I had no idea we’d be getting another classmate!”

“[Name]-chan, right? I’m Uraraka!”

“Call me Tsuyu.”

“Hey, hey—what kind of music do you like? Pop? Rock? Punk?”

It had only taken seconds for the entire class to turn to uproar. You chuckled inwardly, unable to keep track of the ridiculous amount of questions being thrown your way. Even though you’d gotten a late start, everyone seemed really nice, so you were relieved.

Aizawa let out a weary groan. You couldn’t make out his expression behind all those bandages, but you had a feeling he was scowling. “Everyone’s being too loud. [Name], there’s an empty seat over there next to Bakugou. That’ll be your desk.”

You smiled, making your way over with a spring in your step. Everywhere you looked, friendly faces were smiling at you. Some were boisterous and loud—like the pink-haired girl and the other guy—while others were more subtle with their excitement—like the freckled boy seated behind you who kept blushing and averting eye contact, all the while trying to maintain a wobbly smile. And then there was the ash blonde beside you. Aizawa said his name was Bakugou or something. He was the only one out of the whole class who was outright glaring at you, for whatever reason. You couldn’t recall the last time someone had looked at you with such distaste, so drastically in contrast to desire.

You smiled coyly, leaning over in your seat to whisper to him. “It’s nice to meet you,” you said, eyes glowing the faintest shade of pink. The anger left his expression for just a moment, and his crimson eyes widened in surprise as a blush settled across his cheeks. You canceled your Quirk immediately after, and he stared at you in confusion before scowling and snapping his head away.

Oops. Maybe I shouldn’t have teased him like that.

You placed your hands on your lap and leaned back in your chair. You could already tell you were really going to like this class.

More chapters are available on Quotev or Wattpad!

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[voxceleste]

hiiiii you’re one of my favorite fic writers ever and i admire you so much. i wondered if you had any advice for other writers of how to improve? especially for someone who has been writing for years but feels like they’ve hit a point of stagnation/knows they’re “good” at writing but feels like they’re just not hitting their full potential. also, if you had any advice for the differences in working on shorter pieces vs longfics, any guidance or methods that worked for you would be so appreciated!! your work has been very genuinely inspirational to me and i hope you have a great day <3

thank you for your kind words! <3

mileage varies more with regards to writing advice than maybe anything else, so it's possible none of this will work for you.

a common framework in education theory/neurobiology/psychology/etc is that there's a goldilocks zone between comfort and frustration wherein most learning happens. games studies has a similar idea, that a game has to be mentally engaging enough to keep the player invested without making it so punishingly hard that they quit.

writing is pretty much free. unlike most other creative mediums, the scope of a project has no relationship to the value of the materials or tools needed to produce it. you're only limited by your own energy, time, and effort--which can be formidable restrictions, to be fair, but it's not like being a filmmaker, where good-quality equipment and collaborators simply take more resources to afford. writers should take advantage of this. we're really lucky in this way.

the best thing you can do to improve your writing is to attempt projects that feel a little too big for you, or that you're not confident you can pull off. it doesn't have to be "big" in terms of length; a short piece could qualify if the style, tone, structure, subject matter, etc is outside of your comfort zone, but in my experience this has often looked like longer and more complex projects. then again, i love writing long stuff, so take it with a grain of salt--some people just don't, but you mention wanting to try your hand at longfic, so i assume it's relevant. the point is that in order to grow your skills, you have to stretch them.

past fic projects that stick out in my mind for having pushed me to grow as a writer:

story with 4 POV characters, alternating POVs at a regular cadence, where goings-on in each section would affect the other chapters

story with a real-world historical setting that required research wrt material culture as well as timeline/"who was where when"

story that blended a codified and formulaic genre template (het romance novel) with seemingly incongruous story elements (protag being a passively suicidal closeted trans woman and ex-evil mastermind)

the common denominator is having a very specific story i wanted to tell about these specific characters, and digging my teeth into how to do that in a way that felt specific and not just a recycling of common fanficisms… though in all cases, there were at least one or two other fics i looked at for inspiration, if only in a distant way. (those fics, in turn, are often what i'd consider examples of "fanfic that is also just good, ambitious writing," whether or not they would stand alone as original fiction--but that's a different post that's already been made by others.) (they are also full of tropes and are very fanficcy in their own ways!) i had to put a lot of thought into how to approach them in a way that was most true to what they wanted to be in my heart, and usually had one or two specific touchpoints of non-fanfic media that i used to get my bearings, which is a good habit to get into whether or not you're interested in branching out into original fiction writing.

with regards to the transition into longfic writing… writing processes are idiosyncratic and whatever advice i give you has a good chance of being totally useless. it'll probably involve a lot of trial and error, unfortunately. some tidbits:

the worst thing a story can be is boring and this is doubly true for long stuff. i would always rather an author turn the dial a little too far than not far enough to be impactful

can't overstate the utility of a good beta reader as well as a good cheerleader or two to whom you can dump your 2am story thoughts and troubleshoot your plot issues

start the story at the latest possible point in time; many a longfic idea dies on the vine because the author thinks they have to do way more setup than is actually required. this doesn't mean you have to open in medias res with an action sequence, but if you're opening on something more quiet or "expositiony," you should know *why* you're starting there, and should be able to draw up that scene vividly and characterfully

putting a little bit of effort into fleshing out your setting and side characters can help you a ton if you write yourself into a corner. if you're stuck, it's hard to come up with a story element from nothing when your story revolves around two floating heads in featureless rooms

the period between being 1/3-2/3 done is the actual fucking worst. it's miserable every time. the story is no longer a beautiful shining thing in your head, it's an ugly blob of misshapen clay, and you haven't seen it all start to come together yet. it's not you or your project, it just sucks and there's no way out but through

trust your idea! trust your own ability! trust the magic that can be worked in the edit!

if you bite off more than you can chew with a project and aren't able to finish it, or you're disappointed by how it turns out, that's really disappointing and difficult, which i don't want to downplay. but it's not wasted time, even if no one else sees the results of your work. that effort and experience will make you a better writer.

other advice that may or may not work for you:

read a lot of fiction; read fiction that is not fanfiction, especially; read outside of your usual genres/favourite authors; read authors who are known for unusual or singular styles. challenge yourself to write something imitating one of their styles, even for a page or two. what are the characteristics of a paragraph by octavia butler? how does she approach sentences? how is that different from a similar length of text by victor hugo?

read about writing craft, not from bloggers but via well-regarded books. even if you don't agree with all the advice (which you probably won't) or it's not all directly relevant to you, these texts will address fundamentals that apply to almost all kinds of prose and prompt you to develop unglamorous good habits. steering the craft by ursula k. le guin spends each chapter on an element of writing, such as sound & rhythm or punctuation, and includes exercises to put her principles into practice. on writing well by william zinsser is a classic--its focus is nonfiction, but much of the advice is widely applicable. both of these texts are full of example excerpts from great english prose stylists. books like this aren't likely to introduce groundbreaking new ideas so much as train you to become more consciously aware of elements of style you may be less attentive to than you could be.

your only hard limitation as a writer is your own creativity; drive your stories like cars in GTA. you're here for a wild time, not a long time, and if it blows up you can just get a new one.

[dearunreliablenarrator]

I'm here, queer, and highly likely to disappear*; but here's a very unreliable introduction to this narrator.

Hi, I'm Saturn (for now at least, i think.)

I'm a black 20-something year old writer with a imagination that happens to be active at the wrong times. When I'm not writing, you'll find me struggling through classes and holding my cats in air jail for chewing on my clothes. and you probably thought a college dorm dryer was bad...

I often use music as a progression for my writing, using it to build the personality and lifes of my characters, cause I think you can tell a lot about a person with the type of music they listen to. This goes the same for food, whether they're cooking (or lack thereof), eating (which there'll a lot of and not just food), just for the sake of storytelling. Cause food can tell a story too!

You'll also see the use of Sims4 in these posts, there's nothing better to me than to be able to build my world from the ground up even if it is tedious. I often burnout myself out between both writing and building so its nice to be able to switch between the two! here's a small character visual as a start!

it's also nice to watch my characters evolve real time, they tend to outgrow some things faster than i can keep up.

As a current researching and scrappy practitioner, you will see hints of practical magic(k)/workings/information in my works. Influences from traditionally african american practices will be underlying themes in this world of mine; within my scope of course. How my characters navigate through a world that is both mundane and spiritual is something they'll have to overcome in all aspects; and how they affect future lives and timelines is all hanging on the fading tradition of storytelling.

follow, share, and embrace their stories; because there's only one way to keep them alive.

as for what i write or rather my niche: the unreliable multiverse

genres: (comp) (hist) (queer) romance, urban/southern horror, urban fantasy, and apocalyptic sci-fic.

topics/tropes: religious deconstruction, religious trauma, witchcraft (mundane, practical, scrappy, cultural, A(A)TRs.) anti-racism/racism,politics, social structure,found family, star-crossed lovers, childhood friends to lovers, ancestral/familial secrets, morally-grey protagonists,coming of age, the anti-christ, HEA, small town horror, mental illness/disorders, philosophy.

for some these topics may be a lot, and while i want my writing to be a source of escapism...fiction will always be influenced by reality, and that is something that will be in my writing (just not to the extremes), expect CW and TWs but they will not always be there.

CURRENT WIPs: the big three

Where The River Bends:

Bored of modern romance and her own life, Elaine Brown suffers from being a daydreaming, skeptical, hopeless romantic. In a plead to the Universe to grace her with a new addition to her routine, she finds herself stumbling into spell unlike her very own. Warren Soo has be dreaming of a life where days can feel like a breath of fresh air. When a random chance driven by his choices puts him in the space of unsuspecting Elaine, he can't help but be bewitched by the ease in which her days go by. Together, they navigate the modern world of romance with just the sprinkle of magic.

theme song

tag: #goddamnitsamson

Aletheia:

Sanctum, place of human design created to preserve those who survived the last of nature's destruction. When humanity was suddenly reckoned with the damage of over creation they are forced to pick between two things.

Stay or leave.

For those that had the ability to leave, Sanctum embraced them with open arms; promising a generational haven within their walls. Here, the people are communities; removed from the worries of past plagues and mortal insecurities. But all peace must follow order.

Questioning the world she's grown in , Emilia Porter has wanted to escape the stone boundary of Sanctum. Taking a chance to explore the land beyond, she registers for the Vanguard; the exploration and task forces that protect and serve the lasting stand of humanity.

Now away from the containing hands of those who seek perfection, she must weigh the truths; both tailored and unwritten.

theme song

tag: #findthetruthyouseek

Cherries Under The Sun:

A southern gothic horror that follows Grace Davis even in her dreams. Stuck in a constant cycle of despair, Grace often finds herself living in a loop of a forgotton past, wondering about the should've, would've, and could haves of her life. When her small college town of Marietta is shaken by a rise in missing cases, her hollow world soon becomes a flash of white papers and bloody lines. Now that her daily life of being ignored comes to halt and the lives of those around her are blurring together, they must now find a way to get their world back to normal. Before it is erased altogether.

theme song; intro; taglist

tag: #howsweettheesound

I don't know what else to put here, but that my characters are much like myself. Weird, witchy, creepy, romantic, sensitive,sarcastic, inquisitive (that's a big word for elmo), and a range of clumsy that only a handful of people can enjoy sooo...

IF you've found me or my wips to be interesting, please feel free to follow, ask a question or comment. Thanks for reading all this and from reader to another, create the book you've always wanted to see. Edison out!

i also don't really know how taglist work but if you wanna here's where to keep up! #theunreliableverse

1.* psst...you can find me and (to be)published works here!

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

miss oranje's faves: self-recs edition

i'm not used to praising myself bc i am my biggest hater, not my biggest fan, but i was tagged by the lovely @gothcsz to participate in @jolapeno 's 'tootathon' challenge, and i originally was going to pass up the opportunity butttt i suppose i'll *try* to say nice things about myself but i love the people in this fandom so i always enjoy participating in the fun, particularly something that promotes positivity when fandoms can be so toxic sometimes. honestly, i might need to steal this idea and make a positivity challenge for the resident evil fandom (which is what i primarily write for) because we are in need of good vibes…

*because my blog is multi-fandom, my masterlist is getting big overall, so i'm going to link my javi fics and my joel fics (along with my liztober '24 because there are a couple other pedro character fics on there)

i haven't been a part of the pedro pascal fandom for long, so my work here is limited, but i will share a few things:

it's never over (javi p x reader) - a two part fic (part one is from javi's perspective, part two is from reader's)

I really liked the concept for this fic and it was something that I wrote bits and pieces of for a while. I tried to change it to a single pov because i think i’m not someone who does well with pov switches like this, but it never captured the full scope of the story i wanted to tell when i tried to make it only javi’s or only reader’s. Ultimately, while i’d like to add onto this fic because i would like to expand upon reader’s pov, i like the story that i told in the end (i love angst). Maybe there will be a part 3…

2. and for dessert? (javi p x reader) - a short, mildly smutty story about javi and a housekeeper at a hotel

i hated this fic for a while because i got caught up in the numbers but i reread it last night and i was like, ‘okay, the concept is incredibly silly, but i guess in some way, that’s the point’. Anyway, when i looked back and stopped focusing on the numbers, i realized that i actually really like this fic, and probably wouldn’t change anything about it.

3. anniversary antics (joel x reader) - joel and his wife getting it on ... heavy breeding kink here

i wrote this in an hour or so. it just came to me. straight from the smutty brain (which is rare). this is one of the few fics of mine that i re-read and actually think 'oh this is hot'!

4. everything's bigger in texas (joel x reader) - for my liztober celebration! reader loses her virginity to joel and it's a sweet and short smut.

this is my second most popular tumblr post of all time (so it doesn’t need promo here), which is very funny because i almost didn't post this at all. i thought the size kink might be too basic and overdone but i also really wanted to write an 'older' reader as i have a tendency to write younger readers (which is partially because i am 24 and have never been older than 24 vs i have been 21 etc.) and i wanted to get away from the typical innocent virgin thing.

and also, we're gonna get personal here... i'm pretty sure i have vaginismus and so it's really really difficult to have sex. i've been shamed or questioned rather than reassured during situations where i struggle or am entirely unable to. reader in this fic was not specified to have vaginismus because i was trying to keep it light and smutty, flipping it around into a size kink, but it was a bit healing to write tbh. 

I’m pretty sure everyone has already been tagged but i’ll tag some of my mutuals just in case:

@clawdee @evolnoomym @baronessvonglitter @the-mandawhor1an

[dramaticallytotal]

I've Been Around The World

I just realized that I never made an official post for my TDWT Rewrite despite the fact that I've made headcanon posts for it already, and I feel like I must rectify that!

_____

Noah, of course, works as Chris's personal assistant, though it would be more accurate to say he was Drama Productions' most capable production assistant. Which is sad, considering he's only 17. He knew Chris was trying to get the network to recognize all the work he does and to actually give him the title of production assistant so he could also get the pay, but alas, the producers are dicks. The cherry on top of it all is that they wanted Chris to fire him so he can be in the new season of Total Drama because apparently he was a fan favorite. Yeah, he knew Total Drama Dirtbags was a cover for the new season. It may have been Noah's idea to dupe his old castmates with the announcement of a new show, but he had totally said it as a joke after reading some of his sister Nidhi's old psychology text books. (He got bored.)

Of course, Chris ran with the idea, and here they are. Planning a fake show but making it seem as real as possible, even the new cast, believe it, which is sad but not Noah's problem. He knows that there is one of the new guys that Chris wanted to be on World Tour, so he makes sure to make the budget a little more flexible because he made a chart of all the people he believed would make it onto the show.

Then, the plan goes into effect, and he's "fired" and joins the rest of the cast for the new season with surprises here and there. He definitely did not think the new guy would be his type, nor did he think the new girl would be a legit stalker. He also didn't see Trent making it onto the show, but he was grateful Eva didn't leave the bus. It changes nothing for him. He's still going to try and get eliminated so he can go back to work, but he's going to at least make it farther than he did on Island.

This story is pretty Noah centric, but with other character POVs thrown in! Because even though it'll focus a bit more on Noah, I do want to showcase the other characters, too. Especially Eva and Trent, who will always make it into World Tour in any of my aus.

It will focus a lot more on the relationships of everyone with the competition kind of being the background for it. I will still focus on the competition, but like I said, it's more so the background for everything.

Chris and Chef haven't definitely pseudo adopted Noah like I said in the headcanons. Chris is better than in canon but is still pretty insane. He loves his husband and his kid/assistant, but like...he still is kind of horrible to everyone else XD. There's not much room in his heart for others. He's somewhat fond of his contestants, but not enough to make his show actually OSHA safe.

Plus, so many people have deals with the network to help keep the drama alive! One deal is Noah getting voted off so he could get back to his job as Chris's personal assistant.

Once Noah was voted off, he found out the producers wanted him to basically get on board a sinking ship and fix everything. He was not about to do that, not without a raise which they were unwilling to give, so he fought his way back into the show in the Second-Chance Challenge. He literally wins out of pure spite.

Once back on the show, he is more determined than ever to win. Even with Alejandro being...weird with him. Alejandro may have a small, so small, crush on him. (It's a big fat obvious crush)

This au features plenty of Team E-Scope shenanigans, Alejandro being pathetically in love, relationships making it or breaking it, new relationships forming, more thought out competitions/challenges, and background stories explored!

Headcanons so far!

• Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 •

• Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 •

[jobean12-blog]

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (Biker!Joel AU)

Word Count: 2,228

Summary: Joel’s been away on a trip and when he returns you’re the only thing on his mind (just like you were the whole time he was gone). 

Author’s Note: He’s baaaaaaack because I’m in love and while this is related to my other two Biker!Joel stories you can find on his Masterlist HERE you don’t need to read them for this one. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you love! 

Warnings: lots of fun, flirty fun and soft fluffy fluff 

Thank you to Esquire for these amazing photo! 🥰

Joel Miller Masterlist

“Are you ever going to give that back to him?” your friend Dan asks as you shrug on the soft leather jacket.

You press your nose to the collar and inhale, lifting your shoulders with a contented sigh before replying, “nope!” with a pop of the p.

“He’s already outside” your other friend and coworker, Jade exclaims excitedly.

It had been a long and boring week of work at the bar and no Joel. He had been away on a trip and had only just returned today.

His first stop was you.

You grab your small bag and rush out the door of the backroom, waving goodbye before nearly running to the front door of the bar.

You can already hear the rev of engines and when you step into the afternoon sunshine you immediately look for him.

When at first you don’t spot him your eyes move to the row of bikes and you scope them out, certain you’ll be able to find his quickly.

Then your eyes land on the black and sleek bike, big, but not overly decorated and with giant shiny tailpipes off the back.

“Hi sunshine.”

You spin around and meet his eyes.

A week was too long.

His broad shoulders and muscular arms are on full display and his thick thighs are straining against his tight dark wash jeans.

His eyes hold you hostage and you feel a rush of warmth all over your body before you launch yourself into his arms. He catches you easily and buries his face in your neck.

“Joel,” you whisper, finally releasing your tight grip and sliding down his body.

He wastes no time kissing you and you hear the loud whistles and whoops of the rest of the guys behind you.

Your fingertips slip into his vest and you brush them over his warm skin, toying with his chain. You give it a light tug and he moans against your lips, sliding his hands down to your ass.

The hollers get louder.

“As much as these fuckers would love a show, I ain’t givin’ it to ‘em darlin’,” he grumbles, but his expression is warm. “Been waiting to see you all week. Let’s go.”

You wave at the guys over his shoulder and get nods and winks in return before Joel grabs your helmet.

“Thank fuck we’re back,” one of the guys yells in Joel’s direction. “We’ve had to deal with his grumpy ass for a week!”

You barely contain your giggle but try to hide your face in Joel’s chest.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up fuckers,” he scoffs and then dips his head to kiss your smiling lips.

When you lift your head he plops his helmet on top and throws you a lopsided smirk.

You ignore the guys and the rest of their playful jabs and ask, “how come you never wear one?”

“I do,” he says, “for longer rides.”

“Then how come I have to?” you pout.

“Because if anything happened to his beautiful face I’d never forgive myself,” he simpers before grabbing your chin and kissing you again.

“And we need to zip this up, the wind is chilly.”

He pulls his jacket more tightly around your body and takes the zipper between his fingers, slowly dragging it up.

“Dan asked if I was ever going to give his back to you…I’ve been wearing it all week and I plan on keeping it.”

You smile with feigned innocence and he tugs you closer until his lips are brushing yours and whispers, “good, this way everyone knows you belong to me.”

His words send a shiver down your spine and you press yourself against him with a kiss.

When you break apart he gives your waist a squeeze and chases your lips before throwing his leg over his bike.

He adjusts himself and revs the engine, your breath hitching at how good he looks straddling it.

“Darlin’” he warns, throwing you a no-nonsense look. “Get on.”  

You get on behind him and wrap your arms around his stomach.

You’ve gotten used to riding with him but even so nothing compares to when the bike first roars to life and he gets out onto the road to really open the throttle.

You don’t even know where you’re going but it doesn’t matter as you press yourself against his back and enjoy the ride.

He slows when you reach a familiar spot off road and when he pulls down the dirt path and kills the engine your whole face lights up in a smile.

“Are we having another picnic?” you ask when he takes off your helmet.

“Yea we are sunshine,” he answers as he opens one of the saddlebags and pulls out a blanket and a small cooler bag.

You follow him to a spot behind the trees, shady but still sprinkled with the sun’s rays that filter through the leaves. Rolling hills lay in front of you, the pale yellows, vivid greens, and colorful flowers giving them texture and depth.

“It’s so beautiful,” you whisper. “I’ll never get tired of looking at it.”

“It is darlin’,” he replies softly, “and neither will I.”

Feeling the heat of his eyes on your face, you turn to look at him and feel the breath leave your body at the intensity of his stare and when you realize the implication of his words it almost makes you sway on your feet.

He tears his eyes away and lays out the blanket, unloading the bag of goodies.

The moment he settles on the blanket you sit and crawl over to him until he has you in his lap, his arms circling you and his hands smoothing along your back.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he groans against your lips.

Your fingertips comb through his hair and you wiggle in his lap, feeling just how true his words are.

“Actually I do,” you answer with a grin.

He growls playfully and grabs you around the waist, making a smooth move to flip you over and lay you on your back.

“Mm but now I’m gonna show you just how much darlin’.”

And with desperation you match, he kisses you, hungry and with intention as his fingers dance along your inner thigh.

The late afternoon sun is still warm but your bare skin pebbles in the cool breeze. Joel grabs his jacket and drapes it over you, cradling you closer to his chest.

“I need to feed you,” he whispers but doesn’t move.

His free hand is resting behind his head and his other is wrapped around you, his features soft and his eyes closed.

You stare and reach out to stroke his cheek, feeling the welcome soft bristle of his beard against your fingertips.

He catches your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to the back of it. When he releases you, you can’t resist the urge to brush your fingers over his mouth.

Drawing your thumb down his lower lip, you ask, “what’s your favorite color?”

“What?” he asks, bemused.

“Your favorite color? What is it?”

“Hmm,” he muses, looking up at the sky.

Then he lifts a finger and points. “That color.”

“Sky blue,” you say. “Good choice.”

“Yours sunshine?”

“The color of the ocean…turquoise I guess you would call it.”

“I love being by the ocean,” he says softly.

Your fingers move down to his chest and you trace his tattoo before curling them around his chain.

“Favorite book?”

This time he doesn’t wait a moment in answering and says, “The Count of Monte Cristo. I love a good adventure book.”

“That’s one of the best,” you agree, mulling over your answer as he waits to hear it.

“This is a hard one for me,” you explain. “I love books.”

He tucks you closer and ghosts his fingers over your skin, not seeming to care if you take all afternoon to decide.

“The Princess Bride,” you finally say.

“Another adventure and a love story” he adds.

“You’ve read it?” you ask excitedly.

“Definitely. It’s on my top ten list,” he answers.

You settle into him and think of another question as you fingers continue to move over his bare skin.

“Do you want another tattoo?”

He quirks a brow and silently watches your fingers as they smooth over the outline of the ink on his skin.

“I’m sure I’ll get another,” he says, “’specially since you seem to like ‘em so much.”

He grins at you before he winks and gives you a soft kiss.

“What’s the best trip you’ve ever taken on your bike?”

He considers the question for a few seconds and then turns to study your face.

“This trip. This is the best.”

“Joel,” you whisper, your lips parting to say more but he silences any further words with his mouth, the kiss soft and tender before he pulls away and asks, “favorite food?”

Your lips turn up into a smile and you tap your chin.

“Probably pizza…no! Pancakes! Well, maybe waffles? Chicken wings!”

He starts to laugh and rolls you over so he’s settled between your legs and has you pinned to the blanket.

“I think you’re hungry sunshine. Time to eat.”

“But what about you? What’s yours?” you ask as you start to get yourself dressed.

He watches you, his lips twitching with a grin.

“Dessert.”

Once your stomach is full and Joel’s had his dessert, you stretch out on the blanket with a happy sigh.

“You ready for a riding lesson darlin’,” Joel drawls as he absentmindedly runs his calloused fingertips along your arm.

You sit up with widened eyes.

“ME? Ride…your bike?”

“You want to learn right?” he teases. “And I have one more place I want to take you before the sun sets.”

“Maybe you should just ride…it’s probably safer.”

“Nah, come on darlin,’ you can do it.”

He packs up your things and secures them in the saddlebags before helping you into your helmet. His leather jacket is already cocooning you in his warmth and smell but you don’t budge from the spot next to his bike.

“You know how to get on,” he says lightly.

You let out an exhale and look down at your feet.

Strong fingers grip your chin and he lifts your eyes. “Sunshine, you’re gonna be fine and I’m going to be right there with you. I wouldn’t let you ride if I thought it wasn’t ok.”

You nod with renewed determination and swing a leg over the bike. It’s harder to get situated without Joel’s body and it takes you a minute to find your balance.

“Ok, so now what?” you ask, staring at the handlebars.

No answer.

“Joel?”

You turn to catch him staring at you, his eyes dark.

“Sorry darlin,’ but fuck if that isn’t hot as hell…hang on.”

He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture before he drinks you in one last time and saunters over to help.

He explains what all the necessary buttons and levers are and shows you how to start the engine and walk the bike around a bit.

It’s much too big and heavy for you but he’s at your side the whole time and he’s patient and sweet.

“You’re doing so well darlin.’ Gonna have to get you your own bike soon.”

You beam under his praise and he slides on behind you, cradling you between his thighs and resting his arms on either side of yours.

“This isn’t the safest,” he starts, “in fact it’s illegal to ride this way, but it’s just a short trip to where we’re going and it’ll give you a feel of what it’s like to be in the front seat.”

He kisses your neck and holds you securely between his muscular thighs before starting the engine and taking off at a slow speed. You squeal in delight and put your face to the wind.

The short trip takes you uphill until you hit a secluded and narrow road that leads to a dead end.

You don’t hear it until Joel shuts the engine and you take off your helmet.

The smell of the salty sea air and the crash of the waves takes over and you walk to the edge of the small cliff to look down.

The ocean sweeps out to the horizon, it’s blue color dotted with sparkling diamonds every time the sun catches a wave’s crest. Rugged rocks line the shore below and the pink and orange hues of the setting sun glow brightly against the darkening sky.

“It’s not quite turquoise,” Joel whispers as he slides up behind you and wraps you in his arms, holding you against his chest.

“But it’s so beautiful,” you finish as you snuggle closer.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says as he turns you in his arms and draws you closer.

“I don’t know why all the guys say you’re so grumpy,” you tease lightly. “You’re such a softie.”

He leans in close, his nose bumping yours before he catches your mouth in a long, slow kiss that leaves you breathless and shaky.

When he pulls away he holds your gaze and it’s like a warm caress that sweeps over your skin. Something sparkles in his eyes, something familiar and his voice is rough with emotion when he murmurs, “I love you sunshine.’”

@sstan-hoe @blackwidownat2814​ @justkinsey​ @laineyreads​ @beccablogsthings​ 

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 8: Recollections

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

Raph sits down on his bed, grabbing a stuffed bear and rubbing his thumb over its worn-down stomach.

The room is dim, but not dark. The main light is off, but the hanging lanterns he has strung along the wall give a warm red glow to the room.

Ever since his krangification, Raph's eye has been a bit sensitive. It waters easily, stings on occasion, and bright lights irritate him. He's started wearing sunglasses outside more often, even on cloudy days. Donnie offered to make an artificial eye to help, but Raph said no. He'd rather keep the eye, even with its attitude and quirks.

"I'm not ready to be a cyborg just yet," he'd joked.

He thought that much of a change would be too big for him, after all the changes he and his family have already gone through.

Now a mechanical eye doesn't sound so crazy or scary.

Raph hugs his teddy bear. It squeaks in his arms. He thinks of how similar it felt to holding Mikey before he got mutated...

He grimaces, scrunching his face up tight and pressing his hands against his head, trying to force the thoughts away.

Mikey is still Mikey! Just with a few new... he won't call them upgrades. Changes. Nothing that can't be reversed, of course.

But... what if they can't be?

Raph presses his hands even tighter against his head.

Stop it. Shut up. Shut up!!

He doesn't want to think about this. He doesn't want to think about Mikey. Not in this way.

He feels like he's betraying him somehow, thinking of him as a monster or a wild animal rather than a brother. But then, he feels like he won't be able to help him if he keeps thinking of Mikey as he was before, and not accepting that he is changed now. But then, he won't stay changed. But then...

"SHUT UP!" Raph yells to himself, slamming his fists against the bed frame.

His ninpo activates, giant red fists breaking the bed slightly and causing the edge of it to slip under his weight and crash against the floor. Raph yipes in alarm, looking down at the mess he's made.

"...Nice going, Raph," he grumbles, grabbing some boxes of dumbells from the corner of his room to prop up the extension on his bed.

He sighs, sitting down on the edge of the mattress again, head in his hands.

He tries to stay strong. He tries not to break down. His family doesn’t need that right now, they don't need a basket case or a worry-wart or whatever else they might call him. They need Raph, strong and brave and ready to take on the world.

But he needs Mikey... he needs his baby brother back, safe, sound, whole. Not broken, not bloody, not feral and confused. He wants Mikey home again. Home in his own body.

Raph starts crying. Although he's disappointed in himself for it, he is glad that he can finally get the tears out. He presses his face into his stuffed animals, trying to get it all out all at once.

Raph hates himself so much right now...

Because...

Because it is all his fault...

.

.

.

"...But I don't see WHY we have to wait!" Raph gripes, Mikey sitting beside him, drawing random doodles on his arm wraps while he listens to the rant. "If we know that the place is doing villain stuff, shouldn't we go in to stop em?"

"I mean, Leo's decision does make a little sense," Mikey counters, taking a big yellow marker out and drawing a smiling sun on Raph's arm. "It's a pretty big building, dude."

"I'm not saying we storm the castle," he responds, waving his arms in exasperation.

Mikey scolds him and brings his arm back down to continue his work.

"I'm just saying that we could scope out the place instead of ignoring it completely!"

"We're not ignoring it," Mikey corrects. "Donnie is gonna run surveillance on it. Leo's gonna have Cass and the girl scouts check it out. Besides, when did you become the go-getter? I thought you and your Raph-chasm would have preferred taking it slow and safe!"

"Raph-chasm?!" he sputters. "Is Leo spreading that slander around?"

Mikey giggles.

"You do know we've been calling it that for years, right?"

Raph growls angrily.

"Dang it, Leo..."

Mikey giggles again.

"But for real, Raph... why are you so antsy?"

"I don't know... just a gut feeling. There's been reports of all kinds of crazy stuff since the invasion, and most of it has something to do with that new organization Donnie and April told us about..."

"What did they call it again? ESP?"

"EPF," Raphael corrects. "Earth Protection Force, or some junk. But the building they're occupying is labeled Techno Cosmic Research Institute, or some junk."

"Doesn't sound so bad," Mikey hums, taking out a blue marker and drawing a mini version of Leo on Raph. "Sounds like a radio shack from the 90's or something!"

"Maybe, but it bothers me that this new weird mystery organization is everywhere." Raph shudders. "It's unsettling. What if they find us?"

"Find us...?" Mikey turns his head up. "What do you think they'd do?"

"I don't know. But I don't trust em. Something about it all just... bugs me."

Mikey is quiet for a second. He places the cap on his marker. He's managed to draw everyone in the family but himself.

"Well, if it bugs you, then... let's go check em out!"

"Wait, huh?"

"You're gut says they're untrustworthy? Then that's enough for me!" he says, jumping up from his spot. "Let's go see how bad they are."

"But... Leo said..."

"Weren't you the one just complaining about how you didn't think we should stand still and do nothing?" Mikey challenges.

"I know. But Leo is the leader, and I want to show him that I trust him."

"We do!" Mikey exclaims. "We're not storming a castle, we're checking out the scene. Leo wants to wait until we can get some actual intel? Then let's help him along! Let's grab a few listening devices or something and place them along the windows."

"Well... that would help... but we leave at the first sign of trouble, okay?"

"Absolutely!" Mikey salutes. "Now, am I breaking into Donnie's labs to get the spy stuff or are you?"

Raph chuckles as he stands, cracking his knuckles.

"You get the spy equipment, I'll get the weapons. Meet you at the tank."

The two give quick nods before heading off in separate directions.

Raph rushes to the training room and grabs the weapons. It is only then that he sees Mikey's doodles.

Oh, he should change his wraps. He doesn't have time to clean them off, and besides, he knows Mikey prefers to take pictures of all his doodles before getting rid of them.

Raph quickly grabs his sai and Mikey's nunchucks before heading to his room, grabbing a spare roll of black bandages, and carefully but speedily removing the one on his right arm. He just needs to replace the one arm, Mikey hasn't gotten to decorating the left yet. Maybe when they get back he can finish it...

He races back to the tunnel, seeing Mikey leaning against the ginormous tire of the turtle tank as he waits.

"There you are! Ready to go?"

"Sure thing. Do you wanna try driving tonight?"

"Can I?" Mikey asks with excitement.

"Sure, why not? You need the practice."

Mikey squeals with delight as he climbs in, Raph following suit.

The two drive away, making plans while Raph gives Mikey impromptu driving lessons. They joke, they laugh, Raph clings to his seat when Mikey's turns come in too sharply.

"Park over there," Raph says, pointing to an alley closeby to the targeted building.

Mikey nods with an "aye-aye, cap'n!" as he makes another sharp turn and hides the tank in the alley, activating a cloaking device Donnie came up with recently.

"Okay, got the listening doohickeys?"

"Right here!" Mikey says, reaching out and producing several small, round baubles with purple centers.

"Alright, so all we're gonna do is ninja up there, ninja a few of these around the perimeter, and then ninja out."

"That sounds just like the time future Leo saved a war camp!" Mikey giggles. "Or whatever Casey Jr. said."

"Uh, okay?" Raph offers. "I'll pretend like I understood that."

The two exit the vehicle and slink around the block, coming up on the building.

It looks like a normal building. No more than 13 stories, small windows with frosted glass, a rotating door that leads to a small lobby, a few security guards and an intern behind a desk. Above the door is the acronym TCRI, bright and silver surrounded by white LED lights. There's graffiti on the side of the wall, with what looks like an artist's rendition of the 'New York Heroes'. Mikey takes a quick selfie with it before getting back to the unsanctioned mission.

"You take the left side, I'll take the right," Raph whispers. "We don't have a lot of listening gadgets, so use 'em sparingly. Got it?"

"Got it!" Mikey whispers back.

He takes his chucks out and swings them up. A long glowing chain activates, and Mikey starts to scale the wall, swinging to the opposite side.

Raph starts pressing the small devices to the wall, doing two for each floor. Once the gadgets stick to the bricks, the purple centers start to blink.

After about five minutes, Raph's phone buzzes. He pulls it out to see that he's getting a call from Donnie.

Uh-oh.

He declines the call.

He presses two more devices to the wall before Donnie calls him again. Raph groans and pulls the phone out, answering it.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Raphala, where are you?" Donnie asks. His tone sounds cheerful and fake. He can tell he's seething.

"Um, nowhere..."

"Nowhere? Really? Then, would you care to explain to me why I am getting bombarded with notifications about my spy tech being activated? And why when I checked the garage, the tank was gone? And why I cannot find you, nor Mikey, nor your gear anywhere within the lair??"

"Um... bad connection?" Raph tries.

"What are you doing."

"Nuthin'," Raph says, his voice squeaking. He clears his throat and tries again. "Just, y'know... ninja stuff."

"I can clearly see your location, Raph."

"Shoot, I forgot about that," he hisses. "I mean, uh..."

"Is that Raph?" Leo's voice comes into the call.

"Oh no," he groans.

"Let me talk to him."

"You had your chance," Donnie speaks into the phone, before handing it over to Leo.

"Raph. Where are you. What are you and Mikey doing with the listening devices."

"Okay, well, we were thinking," he starts, moving away from the alley for a moment as he talks with Leo on the phone. "We were thinking that maaayyybeee it would be a good idea to get some surveillance on the TCRI place before our next big mission, and so --"

"And so you ignore the fact that I said to wait?!" Leo yells angrily. "Raph, we TALKED about this! I thought you said you were gonna let me be leader without pulling these kinds of stunts behind my back!"

"I'm not pulling any stunt! All we're doing is setting up the devices, then leaving! We just wanted to try and see if we could get any intel on them to help! We're not stupid enough to just go in and mess around, ya know!"

"Where's Mikey?" Leo asks exasperatedly. "He isn't answering his phone."

Raph turned back to look at the building he's walked away from. He looks up, and can see Mikey standing on the roof, looking around.

"He's on the roof," Raph sighs. "I'll go and get him."

Raph puts Leo on hold as he runs back to the building. Once in the alley, he starts jumping between walls, doing impressive parkour as he bounces back and forth and flips off of fire escapes until he's at the roof.

But Mikey isn't there.

Raph walks to the other side of the roof and looks over the edge.

Mikey isn't on the ground.

He notices a vent panel has been jimmied open.

"Oh no."

Raph grabs his phone.

"Um, Leo? I think he went in..."

"WHAT?!" Leo screams at him, causing Raph to pull his phone away from his ear.

"Why would he go in?!"

"I don't know!" Raph whimpers. "I told him we were only doing the exterior--"

"You shouldn't be there at all!"

"Should I go in after him?"

"No, don't -- wait for a minute, call him, maybe he'll answer you."

"Okay, yeah, I'll do that," he says, trying not to panic. "Call you back soon."

Raph hangs up and quickly dials Mikey.

It rings once before he answers.

"Shello?" he whispers.

"Mikey? Where are ya?!" Raph hisses at him. "I thought we said no inside stuff!"

"I saw a weird van pull up," he explains. "They took a krangified person in through the back."

"They what?"

"Yeah, I know. I wanted to see what they were gonna do with him."

"Mikey, I think you should get outta there," Raph whimpers.

"I will in just a sec, I think I found the room where... huh..."

Mikey's voice trails off.

"Mikey? Mikey, what is it?"

"I'm not sure... hold on a sec, 'kay?" Mikey whispers, his voice soft and secretive.

"Mikey, get out of there, now!" Raph scolds.

Mikey doesn’t respond.

Raph waits for him to say something. Anything. He hears Mikey gasp quietly.

"Ohmigosh," he whimpers. His voice is weak and his breathing fast. "Okay, that's enough for me, I'm coming out now!"

"Mikey?! What did you see, what's going on?"

He hears a clattering sound, a stifled gasp, muffled shouting.

"I dropped my phone," Mikey whimpers in fear. "I think they heard me."

"GET OUT NOW!" Raph yells. He dials Leo, adding him to the call.

"Raph? What's going --"

"Mikey's been made," Raph says in a panic.

"Get out of there, now!"

"Leo?" Mikey whispers nervously. "Is that you?"

"Mikey, we're on our way now, just get out as fast as you can! Don't worry about whether or not you're seen, just get out!"

"I'm trying!" Mikey cries nervously. "I'm stuck in the vents!!"

Raph hears a loud clang, followed by Mikey's screams and a thud.

"There he is!"

"Get him!"

"Come'ere, kid!"

Mikey yells in protest, terrified screams as he shouts at them to 'let me go, stop, leave me alone!'

Raph yells out into the phone. He's not sure what he yells, only that he wants Mikey back. He hears Leo yelling, too.

"Raph! Leo!" Mikey screams.

"MIKEY!!" the two yell back in unison.

The line goes dead.

A blue light ignites besides Raph, and Leo jumps through immediately, gasping for air as he stares down at Raph, who is on his hands and knees, holding the phone like it was Mikey's only lifeline.

"Where is he?" Leo pants. "Where is Mikey?"

Raph can't do anything but shake.

Mikey got captured... Because of him...

.

.

.

Raph lifts his face from the army of plushies he has been confiding in.

He takes in a deep breath.

He stands, going to a drawer and pulling out the wraps from that day. Almost a week ago.

The drawings are still there. The sketches and doodles are all intact. The image of a family is there, with each member colour-coded. Red, Blue, Purple... but it's missing their Orange brother. He never did get to finish that portrait.

Raphael leaves his train car and walks over to Mikey's. The door is wide open.

Inside, he sees Leo, slumped over on a beanbag chair and snoring softly, his mouth fallen open.

He hadn't said anything about sleeping in here.

He must've wanted to check on Mikey, too...

Raph grabs of one the extra blankets and pillows and adjusts his brother so that he can sleep more comfortably.

He takes residence in another beanbag chair opposite him.

Once settled, Raphael watches Mikey, who is sleeping peacefully and undisturbed, his tail swinging from side to side and his claws twitching on occasion.

Raph sighs.

Tears silently streak down his face as he cries himself to sleep.

Prev || Next

[badninken]

Hi bad ninken!

I know you've speed ran the episodes, but what's your thoughts on One Piece overall, from the perspective of a Naruto fan?

(Hope our questions aren't bothering you)

Hi!

Not bothered at all! I don't always answer but I'm always happy to receive them <3 This question is a BIG one. I'll write so much.

So, I didn't know exactly what to expect from One Piece when I started watching. It always looked like a goofy and childish pirate show to me. I'm very picky and I knew it was insanely long so just casually giving it a try never occurred to me, until Law.

Now, Naruto could be said to be a goofy and childish ninja show so it's not like I was up on some high horse, thinking One Piece was lesser than. Nothing is that popular for no reason. I could at least give the first episode a go. It would feel like cheating if I didn't even try to watch it from the start and get to know the main character before rushing to find my character.

The lead characters:

So I watched the first episode and I liked it! Or, I liked Luffy. I liked him a lot. Instantly captivated by his crazy eyes, crazier smile, unique voice and his message of "do whatever makes you happy and screw the people who try to stop you"

Now, I like Naruto (the boy) too. He's incredibly cute and charming, he also has a voice I love and he brings lots of fun, motivational energy that can be really inspiring. I've never been interested in seeing him fulfil his dream though, because I genuinely think it's a bad one.

Their goals:

The lead characters are the foundations of these two stories. I expected Luffy to be very similar Naruto. There are a lot of parallels. Like the adhd, eating habits, huge potential, but most importantly in their dreams/goals. They both want to be the king/hokage and gather + protect friends on the way. They both have their goals clearly spelled out and repeated often.

Luffy's "I am me. I'm going to get crewmates, find the treasure and become king of the pirates."

and Naruto's "I'm going to become the strongest ninja and become Hokage so people will acknowledge me."

Naruto wants strength and power to be seen, loved and to make positive changes in the shinobi system, and to protect everyone. Luffy wants to liberate everyone so they can be happy and free and eat lots of food. "I just want to be king of the pirates, not anyone important"

These goals set the premise for their respective stories and I can say, without a doubt, that I think One Piece is the better story outline. It's honestly been so refreshing to not have the plot dominated by the main character's personal quest for physical and political power, because that aspect of Naruto (the show and the boy) has always weirded me out.

Overall experience:

With that said, I found Naruto (the story) to be a tighter, much more focused experience than One Piece, and it's not just the number of episodes. The cast of characters in Naruto grows at a pace that's easy to follow and while they don't all get the time or space they deserve, they all serve a purpose. The scope of the plot starts out small and grows steadily. There are a few plot threads running parallell to each other until they get woven together into one huge event at the end. It's big but it's contained.

One Piece, on the other hand, is a fucking hydra of a story.

One thing leads to another which leads to two others which leads to four and you get the picture. Eventually you reach a point where ten, twenty, thirty separate narratives, each with their own sprawling cast of characters, compete for attention at the same time. It's exhausting. It's confusing and often, in my tunnelvision case, infuriating.

I can not care about that many things at once and characters that I probably would have liked end up annoying me because they steal time away from the parts of the story I'm interested in. I was extra impatient since I was speedrunning it all, fueled mostly by hyperfixation on one guy. Even if my attention was more evenly divided across more characters it's still way too much. I totally respect the artist's right to invent new characters to make work more fun after working on a series for that long, but, man... I can't take a new kingdom with a squeaky-voiced boob princess and 60 new named bad guys who take forever to beat while flashbacks have more flashbacks within them to explain lore I don't give a fuck about.

Ok I might still be a bit agitated.

About the boobs:

So, I haven't talked very much about the sexism while doing this speedrun. The cishet male centered fan service and the blatant misogyny in general, and I don't even want to touch the Sanji part of the timeskip period. I have thought about it though, because it is impossible to miss. It's everywhere and it's in your face and it will not miss a single opportunity to disrupt a scene. It's baked into everything. One Piece is at times fucking disgusting to watch. It was only made worse by reading some of the Q&A pages of the manga, because some of that bullshit got etched into my brain and tainted the viewing experience. The thing is that shonen manga/anime to me feels like having my favorite food while trying to ignore that half the plate is rotten. I do my best to ignore that part, because I can't get this dish anywhere else and I'm fucking hungry.

I am sick and tired and pissed off about it, and I can't pretend it's not there but I refuse to let it poison the entire experience for me. I will separate the good parts from the rotten ones, that's just how this goes, for One Piece and Naruto both.

The sexism in One Piece is extremely blatant and obvious. It's visual in a way that it just isn't in Naruto. The female characters in Naruto aren't framed boobs-first or put in lewd outfits and positions every time they're featured. The female characters in Naruto don't get half the character development or narrative importance though, and that is worse, in my opinion, than a tiny metal bikini. Only marginally, but still.

I'm going to be a bit brutal here, but there are so many insignificant female side characters in One Piece that get twice as much background story as Sakura, one of the lead characters of Naruto. That is insane. Real stories too, and real motivations that don't have anything to do with them being women or in love. They're fighting for their villages and countries and themselves, not because they need male validation. My behated Rebecca, tiny-metal-bikini squeaky pink haired princess at least had a goal in life that mattered on a big scale. Sure her boobs jiggled ridiculously in the wind and she started crying annoyingly every time that counted (don't volunteer to deliver a dude's handcuff keys if you're gonna stand in a field and weep while he has to be carried to you) and I hated every moment I had to watch her story BUT SHE HAD A STORY.

Fuck. I'm angry. Sorry I've had this pent up for a while.

The conclusion to this is that Kishimoto's complete lack of interest in his own female characters pisses me off worse than Oda's way of being a loudly outspoken perv but it's pretty much a tie here. Both of their works are half rotten and no series like this will get my full respect until they dare have a woman beat a man in a fight with the same power that is afforded the men. WITHOUT making a big deal out of her being a woman in the process. Will never happen but one can wish.

Fight satisfaction:

I put up with all that stuff because few things hype up my brain with dopamine and endorphins the way a cathartic shonen fight moment does. I mean the cycles of building power, struggling to reach full potential and the inevitable defeat against the big bad before the emotional and desperate moment where it all turns and then BAM! New power unlocked. Victory. Release. It's like sex. It's much better than sex. I'm ace so most things are, but the formula is the same.

It's been so long since I watched original Naruto, but I remember the impact those moments had on me then. Rock Lee's weights and Naruto vs. Sasuke that moment Naruto goes crazy fox mode and just RAWGRH, you know the one. Kakashi vs Hidan and Kakazu gave me some of that. Kakashi vs Obito doesn't follow that exact formula but the emotions and animation and THEM all makes it the best fight experience everrr. Kid Kakashi's first short sharingan fight belongs in there too. The fight satisfaction of Naruto is very, very high.

It's really high in One piece too, and because of how long it is, there are more moments. Luffy, Zoro, Law and Kid all had several moments that made me stand up and roar like a football fan or flail around while silently screaming at the screen. I get charged with power when my favorite characters do really cool shit and I've been super charged for weeks.

One Piece wins in power but Naruto wins in emotion, so it's a tie. It's hard to compare because of how fresh the One Piece experience is. Also because Kakashi's emotional fight moments are so, so emotional and Law's power moments are so HOLY FUCK HE CAN DO THAT?

Conclusion:

I need to go make dinner now, wow.