#they need her to be the one who reminds them all where they started

[beloveds-embrace]

(part two of here comes the sun: poly 141 x medic reader where you might as well be the sun to them)

Soap wasn’t subtle about it.

The moment he was cleared to leave the med tent, he started pushing. Hard, even if he knew there wouldn’t be much, actual opposition.

“Price,” he said, leaning against the captain’s desk like he wasn’t still healing. “John. We need her.”

Price didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “You need to sit down before you tear that wound open again.”

“I’m serious,” Soap insisted, gesturing wildly. “You saw her. She’s sharp, steady. Quick hands. Disnae panic under pressure. And-”

“And she’s not ours,” Price cut him off, finally looking up. “She’s stationed with another unit.”

“She could be ours,” Soap shot back, undeterred. “We need a medic. She’s the best one I’ve seen.”

Price gave him a long, measured look, and Soap could tell the captain was already considering it even before Soap burst into his office.

“She’s bright.” Price said after a beat, tone flat but amused, and sat back in his chair.

Soap grinned. “Aye. Easy ta spot.” What you, yourself, had said to him when he’d woken up in that tent. He kept going through that day again and again.

Price exhaled through his nose and reached for his phone, and Soap left feeling quite satisfied.

You arrived two weeks later.

The announcement was casual- just another personnel transfer- but the 141 treated it like the sun itself had walked into their orbit.

You stepped into the briefing room with the ease of someone who had faced fire and walked out the other side. Your bright gear stood out starkly against the muted greens and browns of the others, like a flare shot across a starless sky, and it reminded them so much of the day they had met you on that battlefield.

Gaz was the first to speak, offering a low whistle as he leaned back in his chair, offering you an easy smile. “Looks like it’s true. They really did send us the sun.”

You smiled at that, shoulders straight but relaxed, clearly used to the nickname by now. “I’ll try not to blind you, Sargeant.”

Soap’s eyes never left you. His grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and before he could think better of it, the words slipped out- low and rough like an ember still burning.

“Doubtful.”

You blinked, turning to him, but he quickly looked away and scratched at the back of his neck like it hadn’t meant anything. It did, though, and he knew everyone in the room had caught it.

“Well,” Price finally said, breaking the moment. “Welcome to the task force, medic. Let’s hope you live up to your reputation.”

You raised an eyebrow, that sharpness returning to your gaze as you stood a little straighter. “I don’t plan on letting you down, sir.”

Soap’s heart stumbled. That steady confidence- it was the same tone you’d used when you’d saved his life, the same fire he’d seen in your eyes as you’d pulled him back from the edge.

Here comes the sun, he thought again, and this time it didn’t feel like an omen.

It felt like a promise.

And now, you fit into the 141 like you’d always been there.

It didn’t happen all at once- trust like theirs was hard-earned, built in layers of sweat, blood, and battlefield grit. But it started quickly enough.

Price made it clear from day one. He didn’t just treat you as part of the team; he expected it. No fanfare, no hesitation. “You’re one of us now,” he said after your first successful op, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t forget it.”

Gaz took to you next, easy and natural. He lingered near you during drills, cracking jokes and testing your reflexes like it was a game. “Just making sure the sun doesn’t burn out,” he’d tease with a grin. But the way he always had your back in the field- never too far, always watching- spoke louder than words.

Soap made it impossible to keep your guard up, of course. He pulled you into conversations before you even realized it, throwing compliments and nicknames around like confetti with an easy grin. “The sun’s shining bright today,” he’d say whenever you joined a room, all charm and laughter. It was easy to laugh with him, easier still to trust him when things got serious.

Ghost was different. Quiet. Watchful. You never caught him outright staring, but you felt his presence. He didn’t say much at first- just short nods and simple instructions during missions. But then there were the small things. The way he passed you ammo without being asked. The way he moved closer during tense moments, his silence as steadying as any words.

And when he finally spoke up, it was never casual. “Good work,” he told you after a long, brutal mission. It wasn’t much, but it felt like everything.

You learned to move with them like clockwork. They learned to rely on you the same way. Missions came and went, and somewhere in between the chaos and quiet, you stopped feeling like the new addition and started feeling like home.

It wasn’t the colors of your gear that made you stand out anymore. It was the way you fit beside them- bright and steady, a fixed point in their orbit.

Soap caught himself watching you more often than he should’ve.

It wasn’t just the colors, though they still hit him first- those impossible reds and oranges that stood out like fire on a battlefield. They reminded him of sunrise after too many nights spent in the dark, of flames warding off the cold, and he didn’t think there’d come a day where the colors don’t surprise him. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way you moved.

Steady. Deliberate. Like hesitation wasn’t in your vocabulary. You worked with purpose, not a single wasted motion, and it drew his eye every damn time. You stood out in ways that had nothing to do with the bright gear- like light breaking through fog, cutting through smoke and haze to reveal solid ground.

And he wasn’t the only one who saw it.

Price started calling you their beacon during briefings. At first, it had sounded like a joke, a casual nod to the nickname you’d earned, but it simply stuck.

“We follow the sun,” Price said once, tone half-serious, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “And if we lose track of her, we’re done for.”

Soap had laughed along with the others, but the words lingered.

Gaz, for his part, never made any effort to hide how much he liked having you around. He hovered close more often than not, easy-going and quick with compliments.

“It’s just the colors,” he’d insist whenever someone called him out for it. “You’re hard to miss.”

But Soap caught the way Gaz’s tone softened when he said it, like maybe it wasn’t just the colors after all.

Ghost… Ghost was different.

He didn’t flirt, didn’t tease- not like the others. But Soap had spent enough time with him to notice the shift. The slight tilt of his head whenever you spoke. The way his shoulders relaxed when you were in the room. The rare moments he let you touch him, patching up a wound or tightening a bandage, as if he trusted you without question.

Soap had nearly choked when he’d caught Ghost staring once, lingering too long while you tied off a suture on his arm. For all his jokes about Ghost being unflappable, even Soap couldn’t ignore the look he’d seen- the way Ghost had leaned just slightly into your touch, like he’d never wanted to leave it.

And Soap?

Soap was a mess.

Because no matter how much the others admired you- how much they trusted you, relied on you- he’d seen you first.

He’d been the one bleeding out in the dirt, thinking his time was up. He’d been the one who saw you cut through the smoke and fire like something out of a dream. And that fact burned in his chest like an ember that refused to go out.

Sometimes, he thought about what might’ve happened if you hadn’t been there. If you hadn’t run straight into hell to get to him. But those thoughts never lasted long- because all he had to do was look at you to remind himself that you had been there.

You’d saved him. And now, every time he saw you, with those bright colors and steady hands, it hit him all over again.

Here comes the sun, he thought.

And this time, he didn’t want to look away.

It was late one evening when it happened again.

The mission had gone south- not as badly as last time, but bad enough. They’d made it out, but Gaz had taken a hit, and comms had failed halfway through.

By the time they stumbled back to the evac point, Soap was covered in dirt and sweat, exhaustion weighing heavy in his limbs. But then-

You.

You came running, gear catching the fading light, colors flaring like fire in the dusk.

Soap’s breath hitched.

Here comes the sun.

He couldn’t stop thinking it. It looped through his head like a mantra as you fell to your knees beside Gaz, hands already moving, voice low and steady as you worked. The others lingered nearby, hovering but trying not to get in your way.

Soap stood frozen, watching.

Watching you save another life, same as you’d saved his.

It was Ghost who spoke first, breaking the silence. “Told you,” he murmured. “Sun’s hard to miss.”

Gaz let out a weak chuckle, though his voice was tight with pain. “Yeah… can’t look away, can you?”

Price didn’t say anything, but his expression was clear enough. Relief. Trust.

And Soap- Soap felt it more than ever.

The sun. Warmth in the cold. Fire in the dark.

He knew now, without a doubt, that they’d follow you anywhere.

(You’d never lead them wrong.)

[rubyvhs]

who’d believe? | dean winchester

summary. dean finds you six years after you ‘died’. tags. wc 2.3k, car sex (just fingering), angst, mentions soulless sam. lailas notes. this is for my ‘stuck on you’ by meiko square for @jacklesversebingo + actually got inspired by @little-diable ‘s not a ghost fic. so so beautiful and i think everyone should go read it! ++ for my 500 celebration, so happy i got to it so quickly && the title is the translation of the song title. and most importantly, beta’d by the incredible @copperboom82 who made it much more readable and enjoyable.

You were never really a bar type of person, mostly because of the loud noise and smell, other than that, you liked a good party. But you decided you needed to celebrate getting your dream job, or, okay, whatever, your friend is forcing you to. 

"I'm not taking no for an answer," she said, handed you your outfit and went outside to get the car started, not even giving you time to reject the idea. Though the second you stepped foot in the lively place, you were glad you came.

The drinks and music were exactly what you needed; a nice night out with no responsibilities. And especially no men (at least none like those you work with, you're honestly over them). 

An hour into dancing with your friend, two more strangers join you. When the last song ends and another less 'pop' and more 'rock' one starts, they suggest going out to smoke for a second. Despite not once in your life trying it, you agree. 

You should really work on saying no.

Thankfully you're sensible enough to refuse when they try to hand you one, just standing next to them, linking your arm with your friend's. "Where do you work?" You ask one of the girls. She has shorter red hair that almost reaches her shoulders, black eyeliner and a septum piercing. In other words? Fucking sexy.

"Police." Your eyes widen and you stand up straighter. "Oh, stop it! You're fine."

You laugh but shake your head, "No, no, that's not what I meant, you're just so— cute, I guess. Wouldn't have taken you for the assertive cop type."

"Yeah, well," she shrugs, dismissing the thought. It's obvious she gets it a lot. "Saw the hottest guys today, by the way—"

Her friend interrupts, beautiful brown pin-straight hair, pale skin, a gorgeous smile; "God, he was pretty. And his brother too…”

"Oh yeah. Agent something and Agent whatever, I don't remember, I was too busy looking through the shorter one’s shirt." You all laugh, a sway in your demeanor. You're pretty sure it's the alcohol that's got them saying all this but it's funny either way. 

"Yeah, he was amazing. Like, those green eyes, honestly—" Your smile drops fast. Green eyes had always been somewhat of a trigger for you ever since Dean, especially that specific beautiful shade. Then again honestly everything's been a trigger: hunting, black cars, vintage cars, food, pie— you could go on.

"Oh and the way he walks? The little outward bounce of his leg, so cute!"

You shift, a little uncomfortable. How many guys do you know with bow legs, green eyes and are cops? They're probably not allowed to tell you he's FBI. 

The red-haired girl touches your arm making you jump. "Shit, you okay, honey? You seemed out of it."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, just reminded me of someone. Old…" Dean. 

There he is. Alive and in the flesh. You don't become a hunter and not hear about the Winchesters, you, on the other hand, fly under the radar. Especially since you try to stay away from any and all hunters.

But you heard nothing of how gorgeous he has grown up.

The girls catch your drift mid-sentence and look back to see what you're staring at. A dumb-struck Dean. "Oh! Agent…" Her friend elbows her stomach and Dean doesn’t peel his eyes off of you to speak.

"Right, yes. Hi, Officer." 

She blushes under the dim light but Dean apologizes before breezing past them and holding your arm roughly to drag you away behind the bar. Your friend makes sure to motion to you if you need help before you let her know she should just get back inside. It’s pretty damn obvious you know the guy.

"Are you fucking serious?"

You let out a shy smile, "Dean, hey, how are you?"

"'How are you?'" He mocks, letting go of your arm aggressively, "'how are you?'"

"Is that not what they say anymore?"

"Are you serious?" He seems to enjoy repeating sentences much more than when you last saw him. "I looked for you, I mourned you." You mourned him too, in a way. 

You and Dean were acquaintances, occasionally hunting together until you stayed at Bobby's place for a week and he came to visit coincidentally. You both started talking more that night, exchanged phone numbers and became somewhat friends. 

Sam left for Stanford and you guys stayed together more frequently. Sam came back and you 'died'. Not on purpose, obviously, but Dean thought you died. You did, for a second, before you were brought back for some twisted, fucked up reason. Not that you knew it but if you did you're sure it would be fucked up.

By the time you woke up Sam and Dean had been long gone and your body had been buried. Didn’t burn your bones like he should’ve, no. He buried you. You're not sure which is worse.

"Look, I don't know what happened—"

"What does that even mean? You magically come back to life; you fucking call me! Ever thought of that?" A thousand times. 

But Sam had finally decided to come back and hunt with Dean, Dean buried you, and so, you'd reasoned he was fine. You knew that if you were Sam, your body would've been preserved in the Impala for months before he'd ever allow himself to do that, to put you six feet under. The fact that he didn’t hold on to you had to mean he was okay.

But neither of you deserve more guilt. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"That's really rich. Real rich comin' from you. Grieved you for goddamn years. Six." Huh, that's a lot longer than you’d have thought. You were sure it would be six minutes. You knew he cared about you, but Deans also a 'what's done is done' kind of man.

"I'm—"

"If you apologize, I'll kill you. Again." You're about to crack a joke but his glare sets you off. Oookay, tough crowd, whatever. 

"I wanted to call, I swear I did," how do you explain to the king of 'I don't deserve good' that you don't deserve him. He'll think it's a cruel joke. "I didn't know if you'd want me to reach out, I thought you were moving on with Sammy, okay? Going on with finding John. Me calling wouldn't have made a difference."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "I went to hell." You bite your bottom lip between your teeth. He sighs, a mix of emotions on his face. "You knew?" Your nod makes him turn around in anger (disappointment? hurt?), kicking the cardboard box as far as it'll go, another plastic one breaks and you flinch at that one. 

In your defense, everyone knows.

"I couldn't do that to you and Sam, you moved on, Dean, I heard about you and Lisa and Ben—"

"Where the hell did you hear that?" Hunters talk. And he knows it. He turns around in an angry haze. "I didn't fuckin' move on, alright? I did what Sam wanted me to do when I didn't have you. Because my goddamn brother was in a cage with Lucifer, and now he's walking around without a soul!" He raises his voice until it gives out and so does his breath. You can't help the way your heart clenches, not even because of the words, but the tired look behind Dean's eyes. 

Subconsciously, you move forward until you can hug him, and like he always used to: Dean throws himself into it, his head in your neck as he breathes you in. "I missed you." He whispers. 

You don't believe how easily he's adjusted to this. If you were in his place you wouldn't hesitate to kill him, thinking he's a demon or a shifter.

He chuckles, his whole body rubbing against you. "Haven't hugged anyone like this in— ever. Was waiting for you." 

He's never been safe, always made everyone else feel protected, you could only hope you built a safe place within yourself for him. You're at least close.

"I missed you too, De. Every single day, I swear."

You don't know what about the sentence sparks anything in him, but it does. He pulls away to smirk and push you against the hard wall. You gasp, doing nothing but turning him on more and giving him an entrance to your mouth. 

He kisses you like he's lost his mind. He has.

His touch is electric as he pulls you closer, the heat of his body searing your skin, the raw intensity of desire saying more than words ever could. The kiss evolves, turning feral, almost carnal. He holds you, firm but tender, and rediscovers your mouth like a starving man. He is, he hasn't tasted you in… ever. 

This is your first kiss with Dean, but the explosive chemistry between you makes the blood scream in your ears. It was never a secret that you and Dean were more than just hunters to each other, and it seems you dying was his last straw. 

"We— Dean, can't here—" 

He agrees. Or he doesn't. He's still kissing you and you're not sure if either of you are breathing. 

Eventually he lets go. "Yeah," he whispers against your lips, moving for another kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, leaving a peck and panting out, "right." 

"'M sorry." God, why are you apologizing? Why are your bodies so far away?

He shakes his head, moves away (even if it looks like he's struggling to do so), "it's fine, what— you were here with friends? Are you staying?"

"Are you asking me to not stay?" 

He smiles, leans down for another kiss and you decide to say goodbye to your friends now or else you're never getting the chance. 

"De, someone can see—"

"Don't overthink it." He says, burying his head between your breasts, kissing, biting, licking and loving all the noises you're making. He groans into your skin, nipping at a particularly sensitive spot that has you moaning out loud. "God, sweetheart, love that sound."

He moves his hands to your waist, thrusts his hips once, checking your reaction. A little tremor passes through you. Eyes hood over. 

"Can't believe you're here, and all for me." 

"Yes," you breathe, resting your forehead against Dean's, overwhelmed by his words and how close his hand is to your inner thigh. "Please."

"If I slide my hand up your skirt, will I find you dripping wet for me?" Another shudder shakes you gently. 

"Yes."

When he grips your knee and your neck, closing your lips with a kiss while his other hand travels higher, you start feeling your pulse hammering in your ears. The windows start misting over, giving you privacy— not that you particularly believe Dean cares. 

Dean moves his seat back, then pushes you until your shoulder blades hit the steering wheel so you're more comfortable, your legs bent on either side of him, hands braced against the door and his chest. 

"Dreamed about this," He says, his voice low and husky. The way his eyes are raking over your body, you're not even sure you're supposed to hear him. "Thought about this everyday for six years, sweetheart. Now I get to have you." 

He glides one finger between your lips, sliding up and down slowly. “Such a pretty pussy,” he groans, eyes focused between your legs and you fall over, your head on his chest, before he pushes you back against the steering wheel, "nu-uh, wanna see it. Wanna see how wet you are for me, baby."

You have so much to say— a lot of apologies and 'I miss you's’ and so many more beautiful words and kisses and you want to tell Dean that you care about him as much as he does you and why you left—

He dips two fingers inside you. Curls them immediately, and just like that, he finds your most sensitive spot. 

You half pant, half moan, the words 'Dean, oh my god, please' a jumbled drowned-out mishmash because he starts torturing your clit, his thumb rubbing perfect circles, hard and fast, reducing your bones to liquid. But when you're right there, he eases away, lazily pumping two fingers in and out. 

He smiles, exhaling a content breath as his gaze zeroes between your thighs, ignoring your pleas. "Yeah? you wanna come, darlin’?" the pet name and the question both bring out a loud moan you didn’t know you were holding, your hips involuntarily moving against his fingers until he stops you. you’re about to whine again but he increases the pace, crooking his fingers inside you while his thumb rubs your clit, and that’s all it takes.

The orgasm rips through you, powerful, relentless, so intense you think you might just black out. You’ve never felt so boneless in someone's arms, until your head falls right into his chest as he works your pussy, the sensation easing off and then coming again like waves crashing against the shore.

Dean doesn't stop. His fingers are rough, his thumb still being put to good use, and the release lasts so long. So fucking long you think you have an out-of-body experience. 

It takes a minute until you're able to breathe anything but his cologne. When you can, you sit up slightly and move into the seat next to him, thankful for the lack of a console to separate you since you don't get very far, just lay your head on his chest. 

He kisses your head. You can even feel his smile against the kiss until you notice the bulge of his pants and frown. You quickly get up and Dean's entire face falls. "I'm sorry, I didn't think—" 

Dean grabs your wrist before it makes it halfway to his dick. "This isn't an exchange, sweetheart." Your entire body is like jelly, you can't move and you're pretty sure if you try sucking Dean off, you’ll pass out. But it feels… rude. "You're spent. I'll get you home so you can take a hot shower, and we'll pick this up again when you're ready. How about that?" 

You can't fucking believe your luck. Dean wants an 'again'. 

[purple-haired-faerie]

Family pt 1

Azriel x reader

Future fic, Family fic, established relationship

Word Count: 800

You had thought this time would be easier. You were only given birth to one Illyrian babe this time, rather than two. However your daughter seemed to have other plans. According to Madja, the babe had was at an angle they shouldn’t be at, and a wing had gotten caught. Madja was confident that you’d be fine, as long as she was carful and got the babe out soon. Azriel had been in such a state when Madja had initially broken the news, that it had taken both Rhysand and Cassian to drag him out the room, realising he wasn’t actually helping the situation. They had taken him to look after your teenage sons, saying that they needed their father whilst their mother was bringing their baby sister into the world. Feyre had promised to stay with you and assist Madja.

I have no idea how long my labour lasted after that point, or entirely what happened after Azriel left. I knew pain, I had fought in the war against Hybern, and had delivered twin Illyrian babes before but having a babes wing rip me from the inside out was on another level, and I was loosing a lot of blood. But then a cry broke out, a cry that wasn’t mine. It was a babies cry and Feyre was placing my daughter in my arms. Madja checked me over, and gave me some medicine to help with the injuries, and Feyre cleaned me up before quietly, Madja following her out, supplies all packed up. They were replaced with Azriel, and our sons where hot on his heels. Axel and Elias immediately came over, cooing over their baby sister.

As soon as Azriel and I had told them I was pregnant, they had become even more protective of me, taking after their father in that regards. It was sweet, but having three overbearing Illyrian males playing mother hen could get a lot at times. I shouldn’t complain, it wasn’t a guarantee that teenage males would want to spend time with their Mum but Axel and Elias had proven that notion wrong. They had gotten worse when they had found out I was having a girl, becoming even more protective of me and telling me how they were going to protect their baby sister. I’d spent a lot of time with Feyre, who understood all too well what it was like to be a boy mum and pregnant. She’d has Selene five years ago and had to content with a seventeen year old Nyx and Rhys following her around all over the place.

“I’m sorry I freaked. You were the one in labour and yet I was the one who couldn’t handle it. If anything happened to you…” Azriel’s babbling brought me out of my thoughts. It wasn’t often the Shadowsinger of the Night caught babbled, but when he got spooked in regards to his family, the babbling started. I gave him a reassuring smile saying “you were exactly where I needed you, with the boys. And anyway it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Rhys lost his cool when Feyre had Selene and need I remind you what Cassian was like when Nesta had Clarissa? I’m okay Az. And so is our little Esther”. We’d decided on the name Esther as it meant star, and I had found out I was pregnant on Starfall. I could tell Azriel wasn’t convinced but decided that now wasn’t the time to have that conversation. Instead, he asked “so who wants to be the first to hold their baby sister?” which only caused squabbling between the two brothers.

Despite being twins, the boys were non-identical. Admittedly they had inherited all the Illyrian features from their father, but there were differences. Axel had more green in his eyes and had a slight height advantage over his bother (they were still 6 foot tall at fifteen and still growing) and had inherited Azriel’s shadowsinging abilities. Unlike his father, he was an extrovert and had the ability to make friends with everyone. Elias had inherited my healing abilities, and was more introverted. He had a slight stammer and hated talking to people he didn’t know, terrified they would bully him, mocking him for his ‘inability to speak properly’. Azriel and I had always told him it was nothing to be ashamed of, and Axel pointed out that he and Nyx would always sort out anyone who was mean to him.

Somehow they came to an agreement and Axel was cuddling Esther, and Azriel had me cuddled into his side. I couldn’t help the smile that formed on my face. After all the pain and trauma we had all been through, the reward of being married to my mate, and having three beautiful, healthy children whilst living in Velaris.

Tags; @romantasyreader28 @suppppp97

[solarsturniolo]

ik you've been critical of the triplets before (breath of fresh fucking air tbh)

wanted to know what you thought about the whole mallory situation? she made a tiktok saying she was concerned about their physically aggressive behavior and how she didn't think it was right that they would act like that, and they responded to her tiktok in a friday video. idk i certainly have thoughts but i wanna hear yours if you're ok with sharing them

Oh i was waiting for this one.

To start, THIS IS NOT A HATE POST. But it is something that needs to be said. I’d also like to clarify that i’m not trying to ‘clock’ anyone in this post. This is not meant to spiral out into another episode from them or their fans, but if they aren’t going to be good role models for young impressionable children, I will.

First and foremost, absolutely nothing about the way matt reacted in that video was okay. He is 21 years old, he is a grown adult that pays bills and taxes. He should not be laying his hands on anyone in an aggressive matter, even if they are just brothers. Whether you agree or not, that was abuse. Here is the Oxford dictionary definition of the word abuse, for those of you who need clarification.

Now of course, including content like that in a video is an option. And it was an option that they decided to take. Nick DID NOT have to leave that in the video, and if he hadn’t it wouldn’t have caused so many issues. What gets me the most is that some part of him KNEW it was too much because he edited half of that moment OUT of the video. We saw the extended clip through their photodump that shows just how obnoxiously aggressive Matt’s tantrum was. Not only did he hit Nick (quite hard and in a very vulnerable spot), but he also took a gift that Nick had gotten (gag gift or not, it doesn’t matter) he threw it onto the ground and told him to go and pick it up. The average person knows better than to behave that way, and it was very alarming to see that behavior from someone that we all look up to.

This led to a large divide in the fandom. Some people were (understandably) very uncomfortable with Matt’s behavior. And some people defended it with their lives. Now i’m not saying me and my sisters never fought, but we don’t lay our hands on each other. Idk maybe im out of touch with some new-found sibling abuse agreement or something, but we don’t hit each other. We argue, we get mad at each other, we fight and we make up.

Personally, i don’t think there’s anything wrong with calling out your idols when they do something wrong. At the end of the day, we’re all human and we all make mistakes. It’s easy to forget that when you let fame and money get to your head, making you feel invincible because you know your bandwagon of 13 year olds are going to be at your every beck and call. It’s our job as supporters to remind them that mistakes are okay, but accountability still needs to be taken for actions like that.

When you are in a position where you pay your bills by posting your private life on the internet, you cannot get angry that people are going to have comments and opinions about the stuff that you post on the internet…Nick made a comment in yesterdays video about how people need to mind their own business, but…you…willingly posted…that clip to the internet. For millions of people to see. Nick did not have a gun to his head while editing that video, he did not need to include it but it was a decision that he made.

One reason why i don’t watch them anymore is because they refuse to take accountability for anything that they do. They have also been drawing this out much longer than they needed to. The fanbase would’ve talked about it for a week and forgotten about it with the next friday video. The only reason why it’s still getting attention is because they so badly want to seem ‘unbothered’ by it but they keep bringing it up in everything they do. Matt’s instagram story, his comment on Nick’s recent post, their recent tiktok…literally anything that they have posted in the past week and a half, Matt and Nick just CANNOT HELP THEMSELVES from making a snarky comment. It’s a very icky trait to have imo but i’ll keep my mouth shut on that (since it’s illegal to have opinions in this fandom.)

Personally, I think Mallory was valid in her opinion and responses. Maybe terrifying was a strong word to use, which she has addressed, but it’s not like the boys don’t use hyperboles ALL THE TIME. And nothing about her video was her trying to “cancel the triplets”, she was simply sharing her concerns with Matt’s behavior.

The fanbase LOVESSSS to jump to conclusions. Most of us that had an issue with Matt’s behavior were not trying to cancel them. We’re frustrated because they’re grown adults who refuse to take any constructive criticism or accountability. I’ve said it before and i’ll say it again, the boys dislike ANYONE who is NOT AN ENABLER. Especially Nick. They LOVE an enabler that doesn’t call them out on their crappy behavior.

Back to yesterday’s video, I was VERY unimpressed with their responses. Snarky comment after snarky comment, only proving more and more that they aren’t unbothered by the situation because they’re trying so hard to prove a point. Why not stay silent like you do with everything else? Your ‘friend’ (who you still communicate with but won’t publicly hang out with) who was cancelled for contacting minors? Didn’t have much to say about that did you? But the second something makes them look bad, they jump the gun and go right into defense mode. It’s so funny to me because people would respect them so much more if they just took some accountability, reflected on their actions, and made a change to their behavior.

Including her tiktok in their video was yet another choice they made, and it was a very immature one. You cannot tell me they didn’t think about the outcome of this situation. Singling out ONE PERSON’S VIDEO, putting a target on their back, and opening the gates for these 13-15 year old hellspawn brainwashed sturniolo cult fans to go and cyberbully someone for having an opinion (and a respectful one at that.)

Also trying to blame Chris and saying Matt was ‘provoked’ into hitting Nick???? Chris made a simple comment??? And this is NOT the first time Matt has gone overboard in a reaction he’s had to one of his brothers. He’s had many outbursts, all of which ARE concerning. Throwing things aggressively, hitting, punching, cussing your brothers out on camera…it’s fucking humiliating???? I am so sorry to break it to you all but nothing about that interaction was Chris’s fault AT ALL. So for Nick to pin it on his younger brother, i found it absolutely ridiculous.

And, to sum it up, Nick did not ‘clock her’. I’m sorry but his responses when people call him out always remind me of a middle schooler. He refuses to take any accountability. HE edited the video. HE kept the clip in. HE posted the full clip on their instagram. NICK STURNIOLO DID THAT. HE DID NOT HAVE TO DO THAT.

Can’t wait for reacting to hate comments part 2!!! Because, let’s face it! This isn’t hate, it’s the truth. I’m not an enabler and apparently that makes me a hater.

And yes, they over-do the drama for our entertainment, but they’re so much more entertaining when they’re all getting along?! Even if they have an argument, it’s far more entertaining when they aren’t hitting and kicking and punching. I genuinely think their emphasis on the physical aspects of their videos came straight from the tea party video, because it’s just gotten worse and worse since then.

I haven’t watched them in months and decided to watch that video and it was a clear reminder as to why i don’t watch them anymore. This is not a hate post, i will always be grateful for their videos because they’ve gotten me through some of the darkest moments of my life. From abusive relationships, to losing a loved one to suicide, to the loss of a childhood pet, to losing my job, to trying to take my own life…I am beyond grateful for their videos and I always will be. That being said, i think they have some serious maturing and reflecting to do if they want to continue to grow at the speed they were growing at a year or two ago.

Yes i think Matt is a sweet guy. No i don’t think he meant anything serious by hitting nick. The point is that it does make some of us uncomfortable to see that behavior from a grown man because so many of us have experienced abuse. I’m not saying we’re weak or snowflakes for our responses either. Posting your outbursts on the internet for 6-7 million people to see is a choice, and you cannot expect it to come without consequences.

[iwoulddieforher]

Casey cannot speak Latin | Casey Novak/Alex Cabot

Summary: Alex and Casey have been making out for the last couple weeks, this time they encounter a slight hiccup and Alex for some reason decides the issue is best addressed in Latin. Essentially just 2k words of kissing. and emotions. but mostly kissing.

Slight trigger warning for mentions of Alex's shooting & topless women but they're not fucking (rn anyway)

Casey's lithe fingers traced idle patterns on the lower portion of her ribcage, the copper headed attorney too distracted by Alex's mouth eagerly on her's to pay attention enough to do anything else.

What felt like minutes later, they finally broke apart to breathe, panting, Casey's face flushed from breathlessness in a way that made Alex laugh softly and land another soft kiss on the bridge of her nose. The copper headed attorney slid her fingers along the edge of Alex's shirt- a real shirt today, not a blouse as usual. It was a nice shirt, sure, but Casey thought to herself it would look much better on the floor.

"Can this come off?"

Alex hesitated, hard, as Casey toyed with the hem of her shirt. She never let anyone see her bare-chested- not in the past years, anyway- even with the men she fucked on occasion, she just undid the top buttons of her blouse, and they were normally satisfied with that degree of cleavage.

And she wasn't fucking Casey, no. After difficult cases they simply needed a little reassurance and they'd lock themselves either one of their offices, Casey would yank the blinds while she turned off the lights, and they'd tangle arms and lips and occasionally tongues and find some sort of solace in despite depravity of the world they were constantly reminded of. It was hard to wallow in misery and pity with a woman as ethereal as Casey pressing a line of kisses down the curve of her neck, hard to think of anything at all when the redhead's hands were cradling the base of her skull in desperation to kiss her deeper. She assumed Casey felt the same, lest be confused why she allowed this to keep happening. It was always Alex who pulled her in first, pushed her gently up against a wall or a couch or a chair or a desk, and although Casey sometimes made to switch the position so she could feel the blonde arching against a wall, Alex was always somewhat the reason it had started and was continuing. It gave her some degree of control that Casey apparently did not mind indulging her in. Evidently Alex was the needier of the two, and Casey resigned herself to serve.

Casey had never requested anything similar before- actually, Alex was unsure if she had ever asked anything of her at all. Alex felt mildly guilty- she had stripped the younger of her dress shirt before so that she could run her fingers along the muscles of her back and her arms and lavish her body in gentle attention, and she wasn't sure she had even asked or if she had went for it and Casey complied automatically as a natural progression, but now Alex was shifting in her seat and not in the good way at her request.

She had never thought twice about what Casey had previously been doing- running her fingers along the costal cartilage of her lower ribs, tracing the patterns of the anatomy beneath Alex's skin, and she did immensely enjoy the feeling, so there was no need to. Casey had done it before, too, and it was a staple in their interactions now.

"Qui prodest?" She questioned weakly, without thinking, hearing her own voice raspy, "Hoccine quid opus est?"

Casey's hands dropped immediately, before raising just enough to tug Alex's shirt back down where it had been ridden up on her hips, smoothing out the fabric delicately. God, Alex missed the feeling of her fingertips the second she felt them leave.

Who benefits, Alex had just asked her, before following it up with a murmur in Latin that translated roughly to 'is this what is needed'. Casey's head reeled slightly, a crease appearing between her brows as she grew slightly concerned.

Casey had absolutely no idea why the elder had said that in Latin- maybe the shame and the panic she could see in the curves next to Alex's eyes and between her eyebrows felt less real if she spoke in a language that no longer really existed. Maybe she just wanted Casey to understand how stressed she felt. Maybe she was using the language of scholars to emphasize the importance she felt this had. Regardless, Casey's heart ached to console her.

"No," Casey said slowly, wishing she had paid a bit more attention to her highschool English teachers, "non opus- not at all, Alex. Not needed." She bit her lip hesitantly. In the back of her mind she hoped Alex would not continue speaking in Latin because if she was honest she didn't really understand that much of it, let alone be able to formulate intelligent responses in the dead language.

"Nisi quia," Casey started, 'unless because', hesitantly, noting how Alex wasn't meeting her eyes and momentarily panicked she wasn't saying the right thing, "voluntas tua." 'It is your will.'

Alex didn't respond, but her eyebrows softened after hearing Casey's low hum, so Casey tried to continue. "Your pleasure is my priority, Alex." She breathed, in English, because very honestly she had no clue how to translate that, "I don't want to do anything that would be only for my benefit. I only feel good when and because you do-"

The blonde attorney cut her off by pulling her into an embrace, her arms lacing around Casey's shoulders to bring her head to her collar. She made a small strangled sound that was entirely unlike her usual demeanour, and Casey felt like this was probably as close as Alex would come to crying in front of her.

Casey immediately returned the motion, her hands interlocking with each other behind Alex's body while she left the other woman's hands balling the fabric of Casey's shirt in her fists. Alex's head rested on top of Casey's shoulder, Casey's forehead in the crook of Alex's neck, intentional because Alex did not want to feel Casey's eyes on her but lord she needed her close.

"Casey, I'm-"

"I hope you're not about to say you're sorry, because you shouldn't be, there's no reason to be. You never have to feel sorry with me." Casey soothes, lifting her head to kiss the side of Alex's face softly. "You're okay."

"It's just-"

"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want too-"

"Hush," Alex interjected, overriding her notion to cut her off again, and Casey obediently relaxed with an apologetic exhale against her neck, letting her continue with a "volo te scire hoc."

I want you to know this, she meant, so Casey stayed unmoving against her, although she did suck her bottom lip into her mouth to toy with it.

"I haven't let anyone other than my doctors see the bullet mark," Alex breathed simply, burying her head in Casey's hair. "Previous partners unbutton the top of a button-up enough if they want to see my breast. You can do that. But I know you don't want something as shallow as that. You want skin, and to explore me, and mine is- mine is broken."

Her words end in a loose sigh and she pulled Casey impossibly tighter, and Casey returned the pressure, now, much more gently in comparison to the desperation in Alex but tight enough to comfort her.

Alex held her tightly for a long moment, before she relaxed slightly, still in the embrace, for a longer moment, eventually leaning backwards with a sigh, allowing Casey to let go of her.

"Where is it, Alex?" Casey hummed, eyes flickering down to her clothes torso. Alex grimaced, hesitating, but Casey shook her head.

"You don't have to show me it. Just show me where."

Alex then understood what she meant, so with another flicker of anxiety she reached with one hand up, slowly placing her index finger on the fabric of her shirt, clenching her jaw as her mind wandered back to the trauma the place she indicated was lasting evidence of.

Casey caught her before her mind traveled too far, though, catching Alex's wrist to interlace her fingers with Alex's, Casey's other hand coming up to cradle Alex's cheek in a way she knew she liked to press her lips against the blonde's. Alex relaxed, returning the kiss, the hand not held by Casey traveling to rest on the crook of the copper headed woman's waist. Casey permitted Alex into her mouth, which the blonde reveled in, feeling a bit of power return to her blood at the small movements the redhead was making to accommodate her when she pushed forward just slightly.

Casey broke the kiss, a small strand of saliva connecting her lips with Alex's for a fraction of a second, before tilting her head to the side and connecting her lips to the edge of Alex's jaw, then again a few centimeters below, and then again in a pattern. Alex, caught slightly off guard, sighed a half-amused laugh.

"Perfectus es in oculus meis," Casey breathed, very proud of herself for remembering that one, in between peppering the column of Alex's throat in little kisses as the older attorney squirmed just slightly beneath the attention. It meant, and she echoed the translation in English regardless, "you are perfect in my eyes."

She paused, before realizing she didn't know enough Latin to really formulate anything else, so she just said, "You are not broken, Alex," and continued with her line of kisses down, reaching Alex's pulse point, which she kissed a bit firmer to feel the thrum of life under Alex's skin. "You are not broken." She echoed, her hand slipping down to the base of Alex's spine, encouraging her to arch her torso upwards so Casey wouldn't have to move away to continue the path she was running over, over and over again, in her mind, because she knew even thought she could take as long as she wanted (to a reasonable degree, the realistic part of her brain chimed) when she was done she wouldn't have had enough of her.

Alex paused her when Casey began kissing above the fabric, writhing slightly in a way that pushed Casey slightly off, and with shaky fingers fumbled for the hem of her shirt. Casey tried to shoot her a look that conveyed the fact she was not asking for that, she didn't need it, and if Alex only was providing her with what she thought she wanted she really didn't want that, but Alex shook her head.

"Plus quam dolor sit fiducia," Alex breathed, and at Casey's momentarily blank expression, she tilted her head back and laughed. "Trust is- it's- I trust you, and that's worth more than pain. Please. I want you to do this."

Casey did not need to be asked twice, although she refrained from helping Alex with her shirt so that if the blonde at any second decided she was done with this interaction she could hesitate, or pause, or stop, but in one fluid motion Alex tugged her shirt over her head and let it fall off the edge of the couch, leaving her panting in a modest bra. Casey nearly swooned, yes at the sight of the expanse of skin, but more so the triumphant and almost breathless look on Alex's face, the way her eyes lit up as if she was immensely proud of herself, and Casey broke her previously unbroken path of kisses to claim Alex's mouth once more because she couldn't help it, although kissing while smiling so much was rather hard for both of them. Alex felt nearly giddy.

The copper headed woman's fingers found Alex's ribs again and it was as if the previous tension had never happened in the first place, Alex leaning forward and up, pushing herself further into Casey's light touches and using her hands to cradle Casey's skull.

"Angelus," Alex sighed when Casey broke the kiss again to return to the original task, kissing briefly and impatiently along the length of Alex's collarbone before becoming immensely soft, tender kisses along the small scar that had almost claimed Alex's life.

"Okay, I know that one- thank you-" Casey paused, looking up at Alex with a teasing expression, "but please, I really don't know Latin. Why do you know so much Latin? Don't answer that, actually, I'm busy kissing you."

She was rewarded for the lighthearted jest with a small cascade of giggles from Alex's mouth, as much as an attorney as esteemed as her was capable of giggling, smiling into Alex's skin as she kissed a bit more firmly. Alex's hands never left Casey's head, encouraging, rewarding her for her service by tangling in her curls gently in a way she knew Casey was fond of.

Her brain was fixated on Casey- she didn't have the space to share her mind with self-consciousness, or occupation-based misery, or the trauma of being shot and being in witness protection or any of the other things wrong with her life or her past or the world. She was in being kissed in the DA's office like a giddy rebellious teen, and it was warm, and she was shirtless, and Casey was so impossibly attentive with her kisses. Casey...

"Oh, wait, Casey-" Alex stopped, being hurled out of her bliss by a sudden realization, her voice immensely serious, and Casey startled, immediately shooting backwards. "Yes?"

Alex moved her hands out of Casey's hair, her fingers finding the buttons of the younger woman's blouse, and gave her a pointed look, although playful lights shone behind her eyes.

"Can *this* come off?"

[spinchip]

Find Your Way Home au. Kai and Nya have a conversation after he finds out she's Samurai Phoenix. angst and pain yaaay

(kai and nya stans is this in character or am i just making stuff up thanks)

She finds him out here, on the deck of the bounty with the starts surrounding him. It's a dark, cold night and he seems to sense her the moment she comes up behind him.

“These past few years, I've had this feeling in my chest.” He says softly as he leans against the railing on the Destiny's Bounty, looking out towards Ignacia. Or at least, she thinks he is. She’s not sure where home is or where the bounty is, but Kai… Kai’s always known, “it was this… need, i guess, to protect. To keep someone safe and whole. It made sense, y'know? I’ve been taking care of you since I was young. Too young. I guess I always thought that it was for you- this desire to shield and secure. I built a home for us in Ignacia to the best of my ability. Hell, I didn't want to leave. We were safe there, and I could hide you away from all the dangers in the world.”

She swallows past the lump in her throat, “Kai, I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“No,” He agrees instantly, “You’re not. You’re a grown woman now, Nya. All this time, I've been trying to protect you and you've never needed or wanted it… That dedication is for someone else now.”

She knows instantly he means Lloyd. Who else but their little brother? Who else but the child with the curse of destiny's favor?

“I guess I should have realized that sooner, then maybe it wouldn’t all have gotten so messy.” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He doesn’t need a lighter. A terrible power for someone who was trying to quit- she would have scolded him a day ago, but now she watches him light it silently, “I’m sorry I made you think you couldn’t tell me stuff. That’s not what I want for us.”

“No, Kai, it-” Nya finally joins him at the railing, “It wasn’t��� you know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, all you’ve had to give up. It’s just… with you and the others it’s always a boy's club. You never let me try to help, so I found my own way to be a hero.”

“By sneaking around.” He says, exhaling smoke. He doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Like he’s gone through all the fear for her he would have experienced this past year all at once.

“It maybe wasn’t the best path i could have taken,” the wood of the railing is worn and flaked in some spots. She busies herself picking at it, “But what choice did I have?”

He turns to her with a pained expression, “Why didn’t you just talk to me? To jay? Hell, Zane or Cole!”

“To what end? I would have gotten the same speech four times over!” She argues back instantly before she takes a deliberate breath to calm her nerves. It’s been a stressful week, “Kai, I did what I did because I couldn’t just stand back and watch you all risk your lives from the deck of the bounty.”

“Because of your ‘destiny’?” He shoots back, eyebrows lowered. It’s the type of sting only a sibling could cause and Nya grits her teeth at it.

“Because you are my brother, and the rest of the guys are my friends.” She says firmly. “I helped you out of tight spots. I proved myself, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t need to prove yourself Nya! I already knew you were awesome.”

“Then what are you upset about?”

He flicks the cigarette butt off the railing and she knows he’ll regret doing that later. Hopefully it doesn’t land on anyone on the way down, “You went out there all alone! Nya, when I fight with the others, I know I have people there to support me when things get sticky. You didn’t.”

“You just said that I don’t need your protection.”

“This is different.” Kai stresses every syllable of the word, “What if something happened and no one was there to help? And no one knew?”

“Nothing happened.” She reminds him sharply, “I’m fine.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes!”

The night goes silent around them. Nya has so much she wants to say and not a single word in her mouth to spit out. Kai stares at her for a long moment before he tears his head away, looking down at the clouds beneath them.

“You lied to me. You kept things from me.” there’s this hollow pain in his voice that makes Nyas chest ache, “You’re everything to me. I was so secure in our relationship before this. I trusted you and now I’m not sure if you’re telling the truth anymore.” His voice is heartbroken, “It’s my fault, isn’t it? I pushed you away, made you feel small. I used to know you.”

“I’m still the same person I always have been.” She says, voice thick with emotion. Her eyes feel tight and wet.

“No, you’re not. Neither am I.” He says, looking up at her with tears in his eyes, “I guess we did a lot of growing this past year, huh? Just not in the same direction.”

“Kai…”

“I love you, Nya. I always will. Nothing will ever change that.” He straightens up and moves towards her, his arms jumping up to embrace her before he stops short. There’s a flicker of uncertainty on his face, like the hug may not be welcome. His arms drop back to his sides, “But I'm hurt, and I’m scared, and… I just want to go to bed now, alright?”

“Alright.” She says sickly. She wants to hug him, but her arms feel glued to her sides.

He walks past her and through the door, back inside.

[strange-anni]

Swapping places: Will and Mike

Part 1: Will Byers

A curious thing both the Wheelers and the Byers have in common is that in the places where they present their family photos one child is missing. For the Wheelers we see big photos of two little girls. One of which Mike identifies as Holly, the other behind the portrait of Nancy is presumably also Nancy. There is no baby photo of Mike.

Well you might say there is one baby photo in black and white and it could be Mike but that one stands out like a sore thumb. Not only is it black and white like none of the other photos are, it's also notably smaller than them and you can barely make out who this is even supposed to be. It could be Mike but it could also be someone else entirely.

The same can be said about the Byers. There is only one photo of a young boy to be seen who is presumably Jonathan. Will is missing here too.

This for both families makes no sense whatsoever. Why would they not include them? Joyce loves both her children just as the Wheelers love all three of their children. So why won't they display baby photos of Mike and Will?

Then we have the fact that both Joyce and Lonnie seem to be a bit confused as to who their youngest son is. Joyce mentioned once that she doesn't know who raised Will and Lonnie needed a reminder of what Will looks like.

Maybe Will is not the son Joyce raised. Maybe Will is not the son Lonnie remembers.

Maybe Will swapped places with their son.

This is where it starts. This line is probably the most important one in the entire show. On a surface level this is about the D&D game they were playing just shortly before but I do believe it has another meaning as well. After all, the lights begin to flicker or the first time after this line is said.

Will reveals an important truth here. It's the Demogorgeon that got him and it happened 7 years ago.

The Demogorgeon = Deep Father = Lonnie

1983 - 7 = 1976

Lonnie got Will and in turn had to give up his son Mike.

For Mike Wills words hold no meaning here. He doesn't know he received an important message and that's why he looks confused.

For Will though, this is the moment where all hell breaks lose. It's what leads him to get a reminder that he's gonna get killed (via Dustin) and then sees the Demogorgeon for the first time in the woods shortly before he gets transported into the Upside Down in the shed.

As Mike points out here Will could have played it safe. He could have lied in 1983 or he could have kept being the person he was but he didn't. He put himself in danger to help the party. To save his dear friend Mike from suffering a horrible life.

Will prevented Mike from becoming prey but in turn Will became prey himself.

Quarry is another word for prey. Prey for the lion. Lonnie.

In 1983 it was El who saved Mike as he jumped into the quarry, preventing him from jumping to his death. In 1976 it was Will who saved Mike by taking his place and then consequentially endured the suffering Mike was supposed to endure from his father Lonnie.

From then on Mike could live a relatively happy normal life while Will had to through hell.

Read here and here as to why Lonnie is the worst father.

Read here, here and here as to why I believe Will had developed DID because of this. Among others he created Eleven who became his gatekeeper alter and Vecna who became his prosecutor alter.

Many many thanks to @greenfiend and @/kaypeace21 for finding all of this out.

So alters, let's talk about them for a second.

It's Henry or Vecna who is One and Billy who shares the same name as Will who is Two. This would not make much sense unless Will wasn't someone else before he became Will Byers.

Described as a sensitive child who doesn't fit in with the other children, Henry does fit Will in a twisted way but his family does not. Will as we know him has never lived in a big and beautiful fairytale-like home. Lonnie and Joyce also weren't rich. Joyce had to work all day in a supermarket while Lonnie did whatever he did. We don't even know what. This isn't about conforming or presenting themselves as good and normal people to the outside world. The Byers simply never lived a life like the Creels did.

The Wheelers came fairly close though. They have a nice home. Ted earns a lot of money which allows his wife Karen to stay home and take care of the children and household chores. They are conforming and present themselves as good and normal people.

It's like Will injected Henry into the Wheelers family life. Or like he lived it himself and Henry and the Creels are representative of this.

Then there is Billy who is also everything Will is not. Billy is muscular, violent, conventionally good-looking, straight and a ladies man, does sports and embraces a type of masculinity Lonnie absolutely encouraged in Will. He's the perfect son for Lonnie. Everything Lonnie has always wanted in Will, he gets in Billy and yet even all of that doesn't save Billy from the Mind Flayer. Even he can't be perfect enough for the father to escape him.

So to sum this up. We have Henry who is like Will but his family life is not and we have Billy who is not like Will but his family life is.

One and Two

One who still remembers the life from before and Two who has to deal with the life he's living now.

Mike who became Will Will who became Mike

Please enjoy my sh*tty graphic

So Vecna holds the truth of past memories behind the gates. Gates which if not opened by Vecna himself like in S4 via absorbing he suffering of others - like Will did for Mike - should only be opened and closed with the appropriate key.

In Season 2 it's Mike who knows of the computer programming language to access the original Hawkins lab.

In Season 4 Mike had the number for the lab ever since he got it from the agent who died.

Season 3 is special because access to the gate is behind a super tight tripple lock system

Let's look at it a little more closely.

Step 1: You must be send for by Mikhail

This obviously refers to a Michael but the wording makes me think it's actually Will before 1976 or the Mike he has been before. The only way go further is if Will pre 1976 wants you to come to him deep into the core of the base. Or more simply put, it's Will who must be okay with granting access to these buried memories.

Step 2: You must have the correct code

The correct code is Planck's Constant. It's a number only a true nerd knows. Dustin and Erica don't know this number. Murrays code has already been proven wrong and that under normal circumstances leaves us with Mike who can't be reached because his Walkie Talkie got destroyed by the Mind Flayer. So Suzie has to help out.

Step 3: You need two people to operate two keys

Even if you've already made it this far there is supposed to be no way to close or open the gate without there being two people present as the keyholes are too far apart for only one person to operate both keys at the same time.

Yet Joyce, Hopper and Murray manage to go all the way deep into the Russian base to close the gate. That's because they don't want to operate or control it. They want to destroy it instead and make it explode so that no one can ever access the gate ever again. They cheat their way all the way through the system to forever bury the memories that lie deep inside the Upside Down.

They're turning what is supposed to be a Two-Man operation into a Three-Man operation and that's wrong!

Oh the irony! Murray telling the lovebirds that they're almost up to bat when they are the wrong lovebirds who never ever want to reach the bat. And just for good measure he rips out the cables of the power sources 1 (Henry) and 2 (Billy) for the machine.

The lovebirds here are supposed to be Mike and Will who together as a team can either deactivate the machine or open the gate to reach the deepest memories of the bat aka the father aka Lonnie.

And just to hit it home how wrong their approach was and how it was never meant to be three-man-operation but a two-man-operation instead, it's the exact moment when Hopper wants to count to three that he gets attacked by Grigori and ultimately has to fight a battle that leads to his death. Had he stopped at two, this wouldn't have happened.

Had they stopped at Two, none of it wouldn't have happened. (But that's what Season 5 is for as both Mike and Will were not yet ready for any of this in Season 3)

So to sum up the way to correctly use the machine and access the gate with the buried memories:

Will must want it

Mike must have given his permission via a code only he knows

There must be two people to activate or deactivate the machine: Mike AND Will

It's all about consent, understanding each other and a will to look for the truth and face the trauma they both suffered (to different extends) that leads the way to open the gates. Without any of that, it's not possible. Both Mike and Will are needed.

I think it's obvious now how Mike specifically is the key to all of those gates and Wills memories.

My point here in going into so much detail as to how to open the gate in S3 in particular is that that this lock system really makes it super clear that one person is simply not enough. It needs two people which at first glance doesn't make a lot of sense.

This is Wills mindscape and it's about his memories and I get how it's hard to face your demons and how encouragement is needed but in the end you would have to face your own trauma yourself. With the help of friends and family and the people you love for sure but it's still your pain though and no one else can face it for you if you want to overcome it and no longer let it control you.

I can see how Mike could fit into that as the support Will needs and the inspiration and motivation to face his demons. What I can't see is why Mike would be the one able to grant access to Wills past in the first place. Will would not need permission from Mike to face his own past trauma like this. He should be able to do it on his own when he's ready.

Yet he puts so much responsibility on Mike and I think he does it for a reason. It's not only the number Will gave him at the start of the series. "It was seven" he had said and with that gave Mike a coded message of what had happened to him in the past. The only thing Mike needs to do is to decode it which he will for sure but that still doesn't explain why Mike is needed on so many levels to his deepest buried truths. If decoding the message was enough all Mike had to do was talk to Will about it so he can finally open up about his past to a trusted friend. That's part of it for sure but it's not everything either.

I think the reason why there is so much emphasis on Mike and the things only he should know is that whatever is past the gates affects him just as much as Will. So for Will to be ready to open up, he needs Mikes permission as well because he needs Mike to be willing to accept and deal with whatever truth is behind the gates. A truth he may not like.

Like the possibility that he and Will at one point in their life after they've first met in 1976 have swapped places. That it was was Mike who almost fell prey to Lonnie the lion and it was Will who saved him from that by taking his place.

But there is also a flipside to this: If Mike is the key to Wills memories and his past, Will must also be thee key to Mikes hidden past.

So what about Mike?

Read Part 2: Mike Wheeler here

Last but not least I also want to thank @threemanoperation who greatly inspired me with this post in particular.

[afterglowkatie]

mistletoe mischief | k.m./c.f.

katie mccabe x caitlin foord x child!reader ft. kyra and teyah | 1.0k | ‘you’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss,’

ˏˋ°•*⁀ this is part of the little starfish universe. starfish is nine in this blurb since it fit to make her a bit older than she is in the other current starfish fics

❆♡────୨ holiday season blurb event ৎ────♡❆

‘Don’t you think we might’ve gone overboard?’ Kyra took a little step back to look around the apartment where you, Teyah and Kyra just put up as much mistletoe as you could find. You frowned, looking at Kyra with disbelief, more in disbelief that she was the one, of all people, thinking you’d gone overboard. There wasn’t that much, but enough to hopefully be noticeable.

‘The point is for them to see it,’ With you being a bit older, you’d noticed that your mums had started showing each other less affection than you remember from when you were a bit younger. For a moment there was a thought that went through your head where you thought something was wrong between them both but Teyah did remind you that sometimes things change and take a while to adapt now that it’s not just you and your mums anymore. 

One night after you’d begged your mammy and mum to let Kyra look after you, something they were very apprehensive about but they didn’t really have any other option at the time, she let you stay up way past your bedtime. Way past the time Kyra and your mums agreed on. But you were both watching a movie.

‘Why do they have to kiss?’ You looked at Kyra, tilting your head to the side, your eyebrows furrowing a little, a small pout on your face.

‘They’re under the mistletoe,’ Kyra shrugged, not taking her eyes off the movie.

‘But why?’ Your voice is still questioning but a bit more firm, wanting Kyra to actually answer you properly. Sometimes people forgot you were still small and didn’t know everything that they knew.

‘It’s just what two people do when they’re under it,’ Kyra, trying to take the easy way out and not have to explain the entire meaning behind it, hoping that you’d be happy with an answer like that.

‘Two people who love love each other, right?’ As soon as Kyra nodded to your question, a little idea started forming in your head. An idea that you were going to need help executing.

You faked being sick so you could skip school one day, in hopes your mammy and mum would let you come to training with them. They were going to take the day off but you’d convinced them to just bring you along anyway. There you got to form the little idea you had with both Kyra and Teyah.

It was close to Christmas and the best way to get your mums out of the house and get them to agree to Kyra and Teyah looking after you? Tell them that you told Santa of something you wanted that you hadn’t mentioned before. The sure way to make them panic and willingly leave you with the pair so you could carry out your little idea. 

Katie and Caitlin were both unaware that Kyra ruined the magic of Santa last year but you never said anything with your younger sister around, plus the idea of extra presents was obviously appealing to any nine year old.

‘Knowing my mums, bets are they won’t notice it,’ You all laughed, they can be the most observant but oblivious people at times and you’ve started to use it to your advantage.

You were right, you don’t even know how they didn’t notice basically a roof covered in mistletoe but they both did. Most likely the stress of your last minute present idea was enough to distract them. 

As soon as the three of you heard the jingle of your mammy’s keys in the front door you all rushed towards your room. Trying to act normal and not cause too much suspicion. Though, the three of you just being in the same room together is any cause for suspicion.

Eventually you opted for sitting at the top of the stairs, perfect view of the lounge, watching your mammy and mum rush around trying to sort out everything for you and your younger sister. Your younger sister who was currently having her midday nap and you were hoping wouldn’t wake up crying for them any time soon.

Though the longer you waited for them to notice, the more bored the three of you got and the less fun it was beginning to become, ‘What the-’ Your mum was the first to finally notice, stopping in her tracks. Your mammy came back from hiding a present in their room, standing next to you mum and following where her eyes were going.

‘Who decided to grow a mini forest on our roof?’ You knew your mammy was five seconds away from yelling out for you throughout the house. 

‘It’s mistletoe,’ Your mum pointed out, an amused smile on her face while she gently flicked the mistletoe that was dangling from the roof. Your mammy just rolled her eyes, still trying to process it all.

Though, just like your mammy’s does on the pitch, your patience grew thin and you couldn’t stand to watch it unfold naturally anymore, ‘You’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss,’ You semi yelled out, bounding down the stairs.

‘Where did you even learn that?’ Your mammy was the first one to question it before her eyes drifted off behind you where Kyra and Teyah were slowly making their way down the stairs, ‘Typical, shouldn’t leave you lot alone together,’ 

‘Stop stalling mammy,’ 

‘Yeah come on,’ 

‘You heard Starfish,’

The three of you trying to get your mums to kiss under the mistletoe. Your favourite part when you were little was seeing how happy your mums made each other, and you, and all the little bits of affection towards each other, and towards you as well. It was part of the reason you were the happy kid you currently were and you didn’t want you and your sister to be the reason any of the changed. In your mind you were just trying to help them adapt to having two kids faster.

‘We aren’t part of some show for the three of you,’ Your mum laughed, resting her chin on your mammy’s shoulder looking at the three of you. They didn’t have only two children, somehow they had six, Vic and Laia were often included in the mischief you’d all get up to.

‘Yeah how about yous go back to your own houses and stop pestering us,’ Your mammy directed towards the older two.

‘I’m going with them and that-,’ You pointed towards all the mistletoe on the roof, ‘-is staying up until you both give a proper kiss,’

[confusionism]

Aiden raises a curious brow at the sharp remark, but he mentions nothing of it. It might not be his place, and it definitely isn’t the time, not with how immediately Anna switches gears. He follows her lead with a sip from his own glass. “Your family’s good like that.” He hums. “It’s easy to see where you get it from.”

He’s also finding that it’s the core of his favorite things about her. The warm heart, the earnestness, the openness— not only has she had positive values instilled in her, but she’s also had the guidance to let them shine. Anna is unapologetic about who she is, what she does, and the words she speaks. Aiden is keen to absorb it all, but that must be a funny thing about admiring someone so much: you feel keen to reflect the same right back. It may not always be perfect, but it’s something in the grand scheme of a life wherein he often says nothing.

“I moved around a lot when I was little.” Sometimes sharing a room in an already-cramped house, other times staying in apartments that felt less spacious than a large box. The most recent spot was a short row of manufactured homes that looked closer to old shipping bins abandoned in the desert. “Honestly not sure if my Pops is where we were when I left, so… I should reach out first.” He will, at the very least to make sure that there was anything to take her to, to begin with.

With that — and many other thoughts over the last few weeks — it’s not lost on him, that his conceptualization of ‘tomorrow’ is beginning to include a certain brown-eyed beauty sitting mere inches away. Despite the newness of it all, and his lack of experience with this direction, Aiden isn’t scared. Call it an extension of the reflection, but the smile that he wears speaks volumes of how easy it is to talk to her. To make plans with her. He presses a palm over the top of her hand.

“I’m not that hard to find.” Clearly. She’d had no trouble figuring out where to march into for answers, and one couldn’t forget that his calendar was largely dictated by the team’s schedule. He reminds her of such, leaning forward and tapping the brim of her cap. “Just follow the blue, right?” That’s also an unspoken admission: he’d simply tell her if she asked.

He thinks nothing more and nothing less of how he counters, “London for the New Year. Anywhere special we should go? Or were you thinking, like— a quiet night in?” Because maybe she wants or needs a break between the busyness of the holidays and the rush at the start of the year. But there’s no exact explanation for why he suddenly mentions, “They don’t need me back ‘till the 10th.” He runs his bottom lip between his teeth. “Maybe you need someone to carry your bags?”

There's a rush of bashfulness that colors her cheeks, something Anna will blame on the slight chill. She's in a profession that has the power to make her ego massive, and knock it down to size in the same breath. Containing it is how she keeps two feet on the ground, and her spirits high. But hearing about her dad and just how proud he was? "He said that, did he?" The Ricci's aren't withholding in their praise or affection. Coming from Aiden, though, is proof that his affection is true even when she's not around. "It helps Isabella couldn't make it." It's a small dig, revealing that Anna isn't all sunshine and rainbows. There's an uncertainty there, an insecurity around her big sister. "No, no," she claws back, taking a sip of her whiskey. "It's sweet. My dad's good like that."

And yet, not all fathers can be. Inhaling softly, she searches Aiden's eyes for a lie, a puffery. Something to tell her that it would do more harm than good, to encourage Aiden to reach out. Still in the fresh bloom of a new whatever-it-is that they started, and Anna is already fiercely protecting. His is a quiet heart, but just as tender, and it's only once she decides he means it that she nods. "Then you'll never have to ask, what if? You could call, write..." Pausing, she adds jokingly; "Fly there, bring a girl with you." Anna could handle Arizona. She's a wrecking ball of emotional walls, and she could rock a bikini by the desert pool.

"But you should reach out." That's the bottom line, encouraged with a nod. "Whenever you're ready."

She lets them sit in the vulnerability of her words. No expectations, per se. Just hope, shining in her eyes. A small laugh, amused at his retelling. Is that how he'll refer to it now? Just as easily, Anna's laughter dilutes into a heartfelt stare. There were no words or definitions. No logistical plans of how to make it work, with their lifestyles and travel schedules. Yet Anna's never felt such a commitment from any man, and Anna places a hand on their touching knees.

"I'll gladly have you... London, New York, Timbuktu--" She can hear her heart beating in her chest now. "I'll find you anywhere." She wants to press on, ask about the when and where. Talk about how they'll make it work. Finally, she settles for the near future; "Maybe," she thinks out loud. "We can head back to London for the New Year?" Somewhere more equal footing, like his place or her rental. "My parents are heading on a cruise, and I'm not working until the 3rd in Paris?"

[trrenchertrash]

I was thinking about “I am the dirt under your nails” and first of all I don’t think it can be ignored that the title of e9 is derived from this line. Considering that, this line is evidently not meant to be a cutesy throwaway line between Cait and Vi, it has huge thematic weight and implications. If you think about the title “The Dirt Under Your Nails” in this context, it’s clear that it’s meant to refer to the fact that all of our characters have dirt under their nails. As in, their hands aren’t clean. They’ve all committed wrongs, because they’re all human, which is obviously a major theme of this season/show. The second part of this dialogue is “nothing’s gonna clean me out,” which fits with what Caitlyn says about how no amount of good deeds can undo those wrongs. This line is about accountability.

And there’s a reason why it’s Vi who says this line to Cait. The most obvious is that Caitlyn has wronged her, but it goes deeper than that. In e8, Vi asks Caitlyn who gets to decide who gets a second chance. There are multiple ways to interpret how this idea impacts the narrative. I’ve seen it said that Caitlyn allows Vi to free Jinx because in giving Jinx a second chance she also gives herself one, and that’s an important point for Caitlyn’s character, but I think Vi would’ve found a way to free Jinx no matter what. Cait just made it easy for her. What the narrative shows us is that Vi is the one who gets to decide who gets a second chance by having her decide to give one to both Jinx and Cait. I’ve seen people talk about how’s Vi’s role is that of the witness — to be the constant that observes all the change and corruption that happens around her, and to be burdened with the memory of all that has transpired. And that’s true, but there’s more to it as well. Remember this promotional poster? It has 3 different titles/captions associated with it (that I saw):

1) Horrors I’ve Seen

2) Everyone is Guilty, Vi

3) It’s Too Late to Point the Finger Now

The first one obviously reinforces Vi’s position as the witness. But the second two are about accountability. It always struck me that the second caption brings the collective guilt of our cast to Vi’s attention specifically. Now it makes sense: she is both witness and judge. The character with the “good heart,” the only one who remains largely uncorrupted/unchanged by the end. Who is motivated purely by her desire to protect while the vast majority of the characters around her are twisted by revenge and ambition. It’s absolutely intentional that she is the one who says that line.

[deepseawave]

obsessed w the tags on ur last reblog

Omgg, thank you haha, it was a quality post so I just had to appreciate it in full force 😂❤️

Can‘t believe someone would actually enjoy my yapping :,D

[fettery-fetterie]

GIRL HELP WDYM I REACHED 30 TAGS??????? OMG???? I WASN'T EVEN DONE YET

ANYWAYS 31st: and that compared to a relationship where the communication lines are basically none or very fucking weak then yeah it is an upgrade I think. Idfk I was never in a relationship I'm just picking from the ones I've seen in my life

[theriverdalereviewer]

watching a turkish drama now and its just the right touch of fucking insane

[monstersflashlight]

A/N: This is a longer version of this story and it’s purely self-indulgent (like 99% of my stories lol). Enjoy!

Set up by a baby-orc

Orc x fem!reader || sfw, meet-cute, possibly soulmates

There was a little orc pulling at your hand, taking you with him to the door. "Come on, teacher, come with me." You let him drag you out, chuckling at his insistence.

He was such a cute kid, you knew you shouldn’t have favorites, but some kids made your heart all soft because they were just so fucking cute. And the tiny orc dragging you to the door was one of them. He was so shy when the school started, and in only a month he’d come out of his shell so much you couldn’t be anything but proud.

"Where to? I have job to do, hon, the other kids might need me," you tried, amused at his antics. But he wasn’t having any of that, grabbing your hand stronger and pulling until you follow after him with a laugh.

"You need to meet him!" He insisted, pulling harder and making you wince internally. Baby monsters had an amazing amount of strength even when tiny, you had to remind them to be careful with the humans, especially with you. Ouch.

"Who?" You asked, genuinely curious, following along with him out of the school and into the little patio where the parents and guardians could wait until the little ones were ready to go.

"My uncle!" He exclaimed, pointing across the patio with his tiny chubby green hand. You walk next to him for a few more steps before you look up.

You were about to tell him you couldn't get out of the school when you looked up and faces the prettiest orc you've ever set your eyes on. He was looking at you with the same level of amazement, and something inside of you just... knew.

You walked like a zombie next to the baby orc, not even registering what he was babbling about next to you as he pulled you along until you were right in front of him. You had to look up, and up, and up to be able to stare at his face, but you felt like it was too much, too soon, and ended up looking back down to the baby who was still talking animatedly.

“I told you she was human! Look! Look! Her skin is not green!” He sounded so excited you couldn’t do anything but laugh as his uncle blushed in the greenest green, making him look impossibly cute, probably even cuter than his nephew.

“I can see that,” he said in a low voice, so deep and so growly that made you want to press your legs together. You bite your lip not to giggle when his eyes fixated on you. He had such dark eyes you felt like he could see into your soul, and when he focused his sole attention on you for a fraction of a second, you felt your heart-beat spiking, your mouth suddenly very dry.

“Isn’t she pretty? She doesn’t have tusks like me!” He says it as if that’s such a feat and you have to cover your mouth to avoid laughing out loud.

“Yours will grow eventually, though,” he explained, kneeling on the floor so he was closer to the kid’s height even if that’s not near close to the baby sized orc. He was on his knees and he still was a couple centimeters taller than you. Your inner size queen was screaming very loudly.

“They will?!” The baby sounded so shocked that you choked on your saliva trying to avoid laughing.

“Yes, hon, yours will grow until they are as big as your uncle’s,” you explained, touching his head affectionately.

You tried to avoid looking at his uncle, but every time you caught a sight of him on the corner of your eye you felt a shiver ran down your spine. You were shivering with the need to touch him, even if it was just a poke in the cheek, and you had to physically close your hand to avoid doing exactly that.

You didn’t know what was with him or why you were feeling like only looking at him, took all the air out of your lungs, but you were giddy and shy about it. You didn’t know what to do or what to say. “I should go back to the kids,” you let out, breathless after looking at him for less than ten seconds.

“Yeah. Yes. I guess so.” You were walking back to the school when he said behind you: “I’ll be seeing you again… that’s a promise,” his gruff tone made you shiver as you smiled as big as the sun, not daring to turn around and look at him one last time.

But when you were about to enter, you turned around slightly and saw him still on his knees, looking intently at his nephew as the baby told him something. He looked up and your eyes met, and your breath got caught in your throat, your heart beating fast and your face flushed. He smiled at you with his beautiful tusked mouth, and you almost had to fan yourself, smiling back as you ran inside, your hand on your chest trying to calm your frantic heart.

Maybe the kid had a point about meeting his uncle.

A/N: Now part 2 with the Orc's POV is up here.

[sacredsorceress]

Scars / Logan Howlett

pairing: dofp!logan howlett x mutant!reader summary: every person has a soulmate. after settling in the future that he saved, logan starts to consider his next mission when a suspicious mark appears on him. word count: 3.2k a/n: good ol'fashioned soulmate AU. this is the first actual fic i've written in a long time so please have some grace. reblogs and replies are super appreciated! warnings: general mentions of logan's past, scars, self-doubt, alcoholism, reader smokes a cigar, mentions of razors, scars, wounds, two uses of y/n

logan masterlist | inbox | full masterlist

It had been a week since Logan woke up in his healed timeline.

For most people, the change would have been dramatic. But Logan was far unlike most people. The initial dreamlike state he was in when he first walked through the mansion- seeing the ghosts he had once known returned to the flesh, unscathed- quickly subsided. Logan had always been a man thrown onto a new path- how he lived life constantly changing to best fit his interests. Now, with his newfound peace he found the most complicated mission of all: what to do with the life he was now free to live?

Even before the sentinels, the battles, the wars- he had always been a man on the run. He was solo, strategic, concise. For a man who was gifted with infinite regeneration, he had solely concerned himself with staying alive. He ate for sustenance, sought shelter for safety, and nursed a bottle to find enough peace of mind to sleep at night.

The professor had once told him that for a person to reach self-actualization they first had to have all of their needs met. Logan had scoffed at the time, assuring the professor that he knew himself just fine. But now, with his problems so solved that they had ceased to ever exist, he wondered if maybe the professor was right.

Who was he? Where did he go from here?

The answer was found in the form of a scar on his hand.

"Well, everything seems to be just fine."

Logan scoffed at the blue man in front of him

"Well it's not." Logan said. "Check again."

Two days after he had come back, a large, circular scar had appeared on the palms of each of his hands. When they hadn't disappeared after two minutes, he rushed to the bathroom and nicked himself with his razor, watching as the wound healed with only blood dripping down his scruff as a remanent of it. Thirty minutes after that he found himself in the lab with Hank, Jean, and the Professor hypothesizing his miraculous marks.

"Logan, the tests came back clear." Jean assured him, leaning against the wall. "Maybe it's time to consider that it's something else."

Logan quirked his head towards her.

"I haven't had a scar in over two hundred years," he reminded her, his voice laced with irony. "I get not one, but two and you... what? Think it's a coincidence?"

Before Jean had a chance at rebuttal, the professor moved to face Logan.

"That's not what Jean's inferring, Logan." Charles reminded him. "We're simply asking that you consider other options. Less... dire options. It could, after all, be a good thing."

"Yeah?" Logan scoffed. "Like what?"

A silence hung in the air.

When Logan had first come to them with news of his scar, the thought had been on all three of their minds. Still, there were a plethora of things that could have caused that. Though, when the tests came back clear and his skin continued to heal from all sorts of abrasions, it felt as if there was only one answer for his seemingly magical scars.

However, none of them were keen on sharing this diagnosis with Logan. One wondered whether he'd handle the idea of his body failing him over fated love.

Hank was the first to speak up.

"Like a soulmate."

Oh that was rich, Logan thought.

Logan wasn't unfamiliar with the idea of soulmates.

Around the time that two fated lovers were destined to meet, there would be a sign for each of them. In some cases they were eyes changing colors, feeling the other's pain, finding their names everywhere they looked. In other cases they were new birthmarks, tattoos, scars.

In some way, the two were inextricably connected.

In his long life he had seen others experience it dozens if not hundreds of times. When the first thirty years of his life rolled around with no one, Logan accepted that he was one of the outliers. He considered it for the best and by now, with everything that he had gone through, the concept of soulmates almost seemed like an old wives' tale.

Logan glanced at their faces. When he realized they were serious, a deep laugh escaped from his gut. There was a lack of light in his eyes that admitted his insincerity.

"So I disappear for a few decades and you all start believing in fairytales?" Logan pulled the needles from his arm, the heart rate monitor going flat as he did. "What a bunch of bullshit."

Jean laid her hand against his chest, urging him back into the seat.

"Logan." She soothed him. "This is a good thing. Scott and I-"

Oh this was real rich.

"Scott and you are... what, huh?" Logan urged. "Soulmates?"

Logan scoffed, swiping Jean's hand from his chest.

"Bet you're so happy with your 'soulmate' and that's why you lead me on, huh? That it? You're happy?" He taunted, a dark laugh escaping him once more. "Spare me-"

"Logan, that's enough!"

The professor's voice echoed against the linoleum walls of the lab, reverberating off of the medical equipment throughout.

"If you want to wallow in your own self-deprivation, be my guest, but spare the rest of us your grief." Charles continued. "I think it would be best if you go back to your quarters and consider the future the universe has offered you."

The energy in the air was thick.

Jean and Hank avoided Logan’s eye contact while the professor’s nearly burned a whole through him.

Accepting defeat, Logan threw his hands up in the air and pushed himself out of his metal chair.

“Fine.”

Soulmates. Logan thought. Who would believe in a thing like that?

-

"It's a pleasure to see you again."

The atmosphere in the mansion was a stark contrast to the lab Charles had been in days before.

Now the school day had commenced: children skipping from class to class, students chatting with their friends in the hallway, teachers grabbing coffee between lessons. Amidst the organized chaos, Charles had arranged to meet you in the foyer: the replacement history teacher for Logan's class.

"You too, professor." You smiled, reaching out your hand. "I was so glad to hear from you."

Your hand hung in the air briefly, awaiting his return. Charles examined it for a moment- a twinkle in his eye- before taking it. His thumbs brushed against the newfound scars between your knuckles as he did.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't always have these scars, did you, Y/n?" Charles asked.

You had not.

You had woken with them a few days before. Despite your powers rooted in chaos magic, it wasn't uncommon for blemishes or wounds to etch themselves into your skin. However, you often knew why. These marks, scars, were not faint, but instead quite profound. Three thick, healed over wounds patched together like a stitch on the back of each of your hands.

"No professor."

He closed his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips. Though you knew he wished to ask more questions, the moment was broken by Logan.

"Ah, the man himself." Charles beamed. "Logan, I'd like you to meet Y/n. She'll be covering your class."

You had seen your fair share of news stories about the Wolverine. Who hadn't? Though the television had never prepared you for just how tall, or broad he was.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan."

"You too." He nodded, taking your hand.

His hand lingered in yours for a moment. Charles cleared his throat.

"We were just discussing the most peculiar scar on Y/n's hand." Charles said. "Appeared just a few days ago out of nowhere."

Charles nodded his head in the direction of your hand, leading Logan to squint. As if a light bulb had gone off over his head, Logan glanced between Charles and yourself and with your hand still in his, he turned it examine the back.

Three scars between your knuckles. Right where his own claws would be.

Though he liked to imagine himself as the patron of remaining suave, Logan's eyebrows shot up at the recognition. He traced his view from your hands, up your torso, to your face where you eyed him questioningly.

He thought back to the way that he woke up in the seventies, wrapped in the arms of another woman. If times had been different and Logan hadn't undergone all the so-called character development in the last forty years, he was sure that a face like yours would have gotten him in a lot of trouble. You were beautiful, and your demeanor highlighted your strength.

Your face radiated kindness, warmth and most of all, sincerity- a trait that was difficult to come by in a trade such as his.

But then Logan recalled that this wasn't the seventies and you weren't at some bar leading him on the entire night: your hand was in his and, according to everyone else, he was yours.

The idea almost couldn't register in Logan's brain.

"Interesting, isn't it, Logan?" Charles asked, breaking the silence. "Almost identical to where your claws are, hmm?"

Oh the professor thought he was quite funny.

Logan pulled his hand back from your grasp and shook his head.

"Not that easy, Charles." Logan commented before turning to you, a spiteful tone in his voice. "See you around, bub."

Before you had the chance to open your mouth, you watched as Logan stomped down the nearest hallway, his boots squeaking against the floorboards as he did. His fists clenched and released at his sides as he disappeared from view.

His reaction had come so far from left field that if it hadn't given you whiplash, it would have hurt your ego. Instead you turned back to the professor.

"Was it something I said?" You asked.

The professor shook his head, patting your hand gently.

"Logan's quite a complicated man." He assured you. "I'm sure you'll come to know that more than the rest of us. Now, to your classroom..."

Glancing over your shoulder to the void-like hallway that Logan went down, you considered the professor's words.

-

A storm had taken over the mansion by nightfall.

As you padded down the wood panelled hallways, the lightbulbs shook in their glass with each thunder clap- wind swatting at the window panes every few seconds. The pitter patter of the raindrops, although harsh, was comforting. It was almost as if the mansion had been engulfed by the storm, trapping everyone inside, while consequently making the outside world feel a thousand miles away.

When you found Logan's door, tucked in at the end of the hallway, you knocked.

"Yep."

The weight of the door fell against the palm of your hands as you pushed it open.

Logan's room was dark. The only light in the space had been from the embers of the cigar that hung in his mouth, cradled between his thumb and forefinger. Despite the darkness, you could make out his figure sitting at his desk chair by the window, feet kicked up on the sill.

Logan only gave you a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to the view.

"What d'you want?"

His voice was thick and rough around the edges.

"I came for your textbooks." You replied, tiptoeing against his floorboards. "The professor said you'd have them."

The hand of his that held the cigar waved around. Minuscule ashes fell to the floor as your eyes remained trained on the light and the faint glow of the moon that illuminated the side of his face.

"Be my guest," he said. "Don’t have a clue where they are."

The professor had given you the lowdown when he saw your scars.

Charles told you that despite everything that you had learned- the history that you had known- the Wolverine you'd meet was not the same person. He was a man from a different time with far different, darker memories and enough baggage to weigh down dozens.

Amidst the silence, you cleared your throat.

"Must be hard to wake up in someone else's life."

By now you had reached his desk, your fingertips tracing the lines in the dark, lacquered wood.

You could smell him and the cigar from this distance- aftershave mixed with smoke.

"The professor tell you that?"

"Mhm."

The chair creaked as Logan flicked his hand towards the window, ushering you to come closer.

Watching your step in the dark, you maneuvered around the furniture and sat beside Logan on his desk- pushing loose papers to the side.

"He give you his whole spiel on soulmates too?" He asked, eyes trained on the rain outside.

Soulmates.

Now that was the last thing you expected to come from the Wolverine's mouth.

You'd heard of them more times than you could count. You once wondered whether every repetitive coincidence was a sign that your person was coming. But, when that never happened, you lost hope.

Who got to tell you who you belonged to anyway?

Leaning over, you gingerly took the cigar from his grasp and replaced it with your own fingers. Sitting back into the desk as lightening struck a tree in the distance, you took a puff.

"So that's what the scars on my hands were all about," You thought aloud.

The window fogged as you let the smoke leave from your mouth in a breathy sigh.

Logan tapped his fingers on his thighs, counting the seconds between a lightening strike and its consecutive rumble of thunder.

"Listen, I'm no prince charming if that's what you came here looking for."

Logan's chair creaked again as he leaned back in his seat. His arm draped against the desk as he met your gaze.

You chuckled and held out his cigar, offering it back to him.

"I came here looking for textbooks." You laughed. "You're the one who keeps talking about soulmates. I think you're more of a romantic than you let on.”

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the cigar back into his own hand. Another lightning strike met the ground in the distance, a clap of thunder following moments afterwards.

"You don't buy it?" Logan quirked his eyebrow. It was a teasing question, one he was curious to hear your answer to.

You shrugged.

"I don't think the universe gets to tell me who to love," you said. "If I fall in love with you it's because I love you, Logan. Not because some mark told me to. I just think of it as... a little shove in the right direction.”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile for the first time.

"A shove?"

"Like a... blind date." You finished. "Ever been on one of those?"

A congested laugh escaped him.

"Sweetheart, do I look like the type of guy to go on a blind date?"

You bit the inside of your cheek at the name.

Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his arm. You wouldn't admit how much it hurt your knuckles to do so. You'd have to make a mental note to remember his adamantium skeleton.

"Gosh, you're cocky!"

Logan shrugged, "You're the one who likes it apparently."

You felt yourself grow hot at his accusation.

Even though he had a mark signalling his future affection for you, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed by Logan's knowledge of yours. You felt like a child who's crush had just been exposed to the whole class. Was he noting ever glance that you gave him? The way you didn't move when his arm brushed against yours?

A brief pause hung in the air until another thunder clap reverberated against the walls.

"So what's your mark?" You asked.

Logan shoved the cigar into the corner of his mouth. The biting motion forced him to flex his jaw in a way that you would refuse to admit made you start to realize that maybe the universe was right.

And that maybe his cockiness was justified.

He laid out his hands for you. The room was still dark, making the ability to discern the details of his scar impossible. Taking Logan's hands in yours, you summoned your magic into your hands, watching as they glowed gold.

Logan had two large, circular scars imprinted into his palms. It was a clear indicator of your own magical power that surged from your hands.

It left a feeling you couldn't describe in your chest to know that someone else was marked for you. They were destined for you. To be with you. You had a future written together before the two of you had met. Even if he rejected you, there was a sign etched into his skin that bound the two of you together in some fateful way.

Gently, you traced your fingertips against the mark, feeling the warmth that radiated from his palms.

When your eyes flicked upwards, you noticed how close the two of you were now sitting. You could feel his warm breath against your lips as the lingering smell of the cigar drifted up your nose.

Although he wouldn’t admit it, Logan was enchanted by the energy radiating from you. Whether people hated or loved him, his ability got a lot of talk. In his mind though, he would never be a hero. He was just some guy who got lucky.

You, though? He didn’t need you to tell him that you were an Omega level mutant. Logan had heard about you from the professor: you could cast spells, read minds, reconfigure reality- to name a few. You didn't need a reason to fight for what's right, you just did. Again, and again, and again. Even here, now, you were picking up Logan's history class when he knew very well you could be on the other side of the world sipping pina coladas if you wanted.

What the hell was the universe thinking putting you with him?

Logan admired the reflection of the magic on your cheeks and the way your eyes stayed trained on his palms. Your touch was so gentle he could have sworn he was in a distant dream until your eyes met his.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, gaze locked.

Then another clap of thunder shook the mansion.

You quickly leaned back, pulling your hands from Logan's touch.

"I should... I should go." You said, pushing yourself off of Logan's desk. "It's getting late and I have my first class in the morning."

Logan leaned back in his seat. He said nothing but eyes remained fixed on your form as you made your way towards the door.

Looking back at him with your hand on the knob you made a mental note to remember the image of him with his feet kicked back on the window as he smoked his cigar.

A soft smile remained.

"Good night, Logan."

When you didn't leave immediately, he nodded.

"Night, sweetheart."

Mustering up the courage to shoot him one last smile, you pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Now, Logan didn't know how much he believed in soulmates, but he could be inclined to consider that it was one good wingman.

Leaning back in his seat, Logan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself drown out his worries with the sound of the rain.

a/n: my inbox is open for more requests! thank you for the request @welcometochilis585

[rafesweetie]

⋆˚࿔ espresso ꥟ ˚⋆ — sunny!reader x rafe

“ walked in and dream-came-trued for ya! “

i believe the saying goes, “she was like a shot of espresso.” rafe didn’t think that saying could fit a person more than it could fit you.

he’d see you at parties, dancing with his sister or giggling with the pogues. you never could seem to pick a side. this whole pogue vs kook rivalry never crossed your mind, for you were simply friends with everyone in kildare. he’d see you at the beach with your friends, tanning while listening to silly pop music and sipping on a fruity canned drink. you reminded him of the sun.

there was one night where sarah cameron invited you to her place for a start-of-summer party. rafe was dealing some coke, as per usual, and his eyes followed you as you walked in, holding hands with sarah while she led you inside. he’d never understood why girls held hands with each other, but wheezie said that it’s a universal girl thing, and he ‘would never get it.’

topper elbowed rafe out of his trance, laughing about how rafe had a little crush.

“nah, nah,” rafe denied instantly. “isn’t she a pogue?”

topper shakes his head. “nope. she just hangs out with them. her parents own that flashy smoothie shop, she’s a kook,”

“…oh, that’s good,” rafe mutters. he can’t quite avert his gaze from you.

“aw man, you’re desperate,” kelce is on his other side, patting his back, making rafe grunt and shoo him off. rafe can’t relate to desperation.

his night goes on per usual, getting bundles of cash handed to him as he deals. until topper speaks up after a bit. “she just broke up with pope,” he informs rafe. “she’s on the market,”

“yeah?” rafe checks.

“yeah. you should go talk to her,”

rafe hesitates, staring at you again. you’re not a dancer by any means, but both you and sarah are wiggling your shoulders a bit when a good song comes up. rafe would assume you’re drunk, the way your giggles echo through the room and the way you spill your drink when you stumble into sarah. but he thinks that’s just you, drunk on life. he eventually speaks. “no fucking way, she’s with my sister right now. sarah would lose her shit if i talked to little miss sunshine over there,”

“yeah, well, need i remind you i’m dating sarah, so i’ll just get her away, go make out for a bit, she looks drunk,” topper offers.

“…a’ight. yeah, lets do it bro.” rafe agrees, and they both get up off the couch. rafe stands a little bit away as he grabs another vodka pink lemonade for you, maybe a subtle bribe into talking, and a beer for himself. topper talks to sarah for a bit, greets you, then leads sarah away.

rafe’s literally directly behind you, when suddenly you’re already talking to someone else. you’re pretty chatty, it seems. rafe hangs around to catch you after your next conversation. but then he looks away for one second, then you’re gone again. he spots you on the balcony, with jj maybank. then a couple minutes later, you’re with kie carrera. then you’re shotgunning a drink with sofia. holy shit. you’ve got him wrapped around your finger already, and he looks so cute chasing after you. if he’s not pushy, he’ll never get his chance. so, channeling his inner ward cameron, he spots you with ruthie (who he never would’ve assumed you would associate with. maybe you’re just being polite), and he puts a hand on your shoulder from behind, spinning you around. “y/n. right?”

you blink, not expecting the sudden interruption. but you regain yourself quickly, smiling. “hi! yeah, i am,” you say. your voice sounds as sweet as honey. “you’re rafe cameron?”

you know who he is? he shouldn’t be surprised, you seem to know everyone, but he likes that you know, anyway. “uh, yeah, yeah, that’s me,”

“well it’s so nice to meet you,” you smile up at him. “it’s funny, sofia used to mention you a lot, and obviously im close friends with your sister. but i’ve never met you before,”

“..you’re friends with sofia?” is all he can think to ask.

“mhm. i’ve known her since grade 5. we’re not like, super close now, but we were when you guys dated,” sensing his sudden aversion to talking about her, his ex girlfriend, you shut up. “um, wanna go grab a drink?”

“oh— shit, yeah, um, brought one for you, actually,” he hands you the vodka pink lemonade. “saw you drinking one earlier, so..”

“oh my gosh, thank you so much,” you say. is he that sweet? you guess so.

“yeah, ‘course. heard sarah talk about you, and it’s all been good things, so i figured i’d try and meet you myself,”

“well now you have. i’ve heard her talk about you too,” you don’t have the heart to say it hasn’t been very good things.

it feels like this awkward small talk is going in circles. but maybe that’s a good, slow way to start something.

your name is suddenly called by a group of girls a couple meters away. “it was so nice to meet you rafe. i should go, they want me,” you say softly, reaching for his hands. he remembers when you came in holding sarah’s hands. it seems to be your thing. “i’ll see you around?”

“yeah—“ he clears his throat, gaining the courage to hold yours back. “yeah. see you around, y/n,”

you smile. you could swear he’s blushing. “you’re cute,” you say softly, squeezing his hands once more before retreating away.

he feels like he just took a shot of espresso, and now he’ll be thinking of you every night.