#they’re the same story but without just one part of them you lose so much

[joelsgoldrush]

“GUILTY PLEASURE” | 8.6k

logan howlett x fem!reader

“I want this like a cigarette / Can we drag it out and never quit?” Guilty Pleasure by Chappell Roan

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: smut - mdni 18+ fluff, angst, drinking, dirty talk, slow-burnish, grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader, reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes, age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, finger sucking, soft dom!logan, wade being the funniest asshole, logan calls reader "kiddo/kid"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[chewingcyanide]

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣. 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

₊⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — secretly pining over someone is never fun—even less so when they’re your childhood best friend, and dating someone else.

₊⊹ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 —all the angst, jealousy, thoughts of inferiority, cursing, big sadness from reader over here, not proofread i got better things to do

₊⊹ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — jack hughes x fem!reader

₊⊹ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — my valentine’s day jhughes special (albeit a day late ☹️), as promised! sorry it took me so long. couldn’t figure out how to end it. this is unapologetically self-indulgent. also not a wip, but i HAD to do it to em. i’m sorry if your name is brooke or bianca. i love you. promise. maybe we’ll make a part two, if yall like it enough!

₊⊹ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 — @dancerbailey3, @bellstwd, @kashee-h, @crazycat-ladys-blog, @brucewaynegfreal, @love4dlr, @jackhughesily, @leavethemonsteralive, @loveforaugust, @43hughes, @nathandoe, @choppedlamphandscowboy, @bunting58, @angelayse, @ru-kru, @sleepretreat, @nonsensical-nonsence, @maih23 (if your name is white, i couldn’t tag you!)

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Everyone knows the saying you never know what you have until you lose it. Truth was, you knew exactly what you had—you’d just never imagined you’d lose it.

You never imagined you’d lose him.

A shared childhood and mothers’ who found friendship with each other had brought you and Jack Hughes together, kept you glued even as skin stretched and futures diverged—where he’d gone on to be a star hockey player, you’d quietly came into adulthood, trekking through the difficulties of college.

In your younger years, Jack had always been there. Life of the party, a mirrorball everyone gravitated to for its decadent shine—you, contrastingly, felt like a sore thumb at parties, attending them only to see the smile on Jack’s face. Differing personalities and life routes aside, Jack was your person. The first person you called whenever you were sad, or happy, or bored. The one who knew all of your test scores first, who took hours long flights just to visit you during breaks in the season.

Distance nor time had left a lasting mark on your friendship, kept together by constant phone calls and texts. Whilst you remained imbedded in the hustle of Toronto, Jack was trapped in New Jersey—a gap that you closed every summer, when mutual desire to see one another (as well as his brothers) brought you and him to Michigan for a few months.

From childhood, to high school, to now—it had always been you two. Jokes passed in the years, swirling around with assumptions of the two of you ending up together, finally realizing it after years of proclaimed friendship. For Jack, it’d never been romantic. Loving and caring, a relationship he’d never trade for the world, but the intimacy ended there. Memories of him outwardly flirting with girls in front of you at bars or parties flashed in your mind any time you figured maybe; he’d never given any indicator that you were or would ever be more to him than his best friend.

For you? It was an embarrassingly different story.

College had stolen much of your time—left none for a love life. But truthfully, that didn’t much phase you.

Hookups, flings, boyfriends—all of them paled in comparison to Jack. A childhood crush perpetuated by maturation without loss of contact, Jack had just… always been there. Always a best friend, never a lover; the hanging axe of rejection was too dire a outcome for you to ever consider telling him. Killing a friendship you’d grown with would kill you. And maybe he felt the same way, maybe the kisses he reserved for the crown of your head and the guiding hand he kept on the small of your back meant something, but you couldn’t continue existing if they didn’t.

So, a dutiful friend, you kept quiet, spared the connection and suffered in unrequited love.

And it hadn’t really changed until Jack had gotten a girlfriend. In all your years of knowing him, he’d had a few—though they rarely lasted more than a handful of months, and a selfish and bitter part of you liked that. Sometimes they overstepped, viewed themselves above you in the ranking of Jack’s life; he made painfully clear they never would be.

And it felt good, to be that cherished. But then you remembered he didn’t actually love you and it felt a whole lot less impactful.

Not Brooke.

Brooke, a box-dye blonde with a less-than-stellar reaction to your friendship with her boyfriend, was unarguably beautiful—unapproachably so, someone you’d picture whenever thinking of the girl Jack would end up with. You knew it would never be you, but you hated that it was her, hated that it was finally cemented, the coffin wheeled out.

A friendship you’d cherished for years had been weathered down by the abrasive actions of his girlfriend. It left a bitter taste in your mouth; Jack never seemed privy to Brooke’s nonverbal dislike of you, and you never made comment of it. If Jack was happy, what did it matter? If you said anything, all you’d appear to be was a child throwing a tantrum, the attention torn from them. You refused to jeopardize Jack’s happiness, even if it meant shredding your own.

Brooke tolerated you; that was the best word you could think of. There was surely no excess of love, but you didn’t think she flat out despised you, either. Passive aggressive to the point of just being aggressive, snide looks whenever she didn’t think you could see, intentionally separating you from Jack whenever the two of you were talking—it all made you hate being around her, and by extension, him.

So when he’d invited you to dinner with him—and some of his teammates, a monthly ritual at his house—the knee jerk reaction had been to decline, lie, run while you were still free from the piercing glare of Brooke; because you knew she’d be there, clung to his side, as if you had any intention of taking him away.

… Well, you’d did have the intention. Never the will, so then again maybe she was right to hate you. Feelings you’d never act on, words you’d never say—none of it mattered. She had him. Not you. Never you.

You should’ve said no.

Pouting eyes and pleading lips caved you. As soon as you’d agreed, you’d regretted it—knew in your bones it would only serve to wedge the knife in your heart deeper, solidify the loss of a what you thought would be a lifelong partnership. Your platonic soulmate, twin flame pinched out by hateful fingers.

Getting ready for the dinner felt like preparing for a cage fight, where all night you’d have do endure blow after blow—them kissing, them touching, him loving her in a way you wished he’d love you.

Night blanketed the sky by the time you’d arrived to Jack’s home, shadows slipping by the window, shapes of people telling you that you were likely late—the stone in your stomach had slowed you monumentally. The torture was self-inflicted, you knew. There would be no pity when your heart finally gave out.

She did this to herself, they’d say. Hearts can only endure so much before they break.

Voices coalesced into one as you pushed open the door, welcomed by the familiar atmosphere of friendship and loud laughter. You’d completely forgotten to text Jack that you’d gotten here—and for some reason, as you crossed the threshold into the gaping space of his living room, you felt like an outsider. Sudden eyes landed on you like bullets, and all you saw was Jack—his side taken dutifully by Brooke, always beautiful, striking in a way you didn’t think you’d ever been.

Looking at her, it made sense why she was the one Jack chose. Why you hadn’t been. A best friend. Childhood acquaintance. Faded t-shirt he’d strung along for too many years, even as the design weathered away and the fabric weakened. He’d gotten a shiny new one, the novelty still in tact, yet he hadn’t let you go.

Some part of you, deep in the caves of your wounded heart, wished Brooke would ban him from your presence. Maybe then your hurt would lessen. You knew you’d never be able to let go on your own.

Jack’s eyes caught you, stood awkwardly in the mouth of the hallway. He attempted to stand, only for Brooke to tug him down by his t-shirt—the shirt you’d bought him for his birthday last year, impressed with two hearts holding hands. She said something to him, something low and hissed between clenched teeth. Before you could see his reaction, Nico was invading your space, arms winding around you.

“There she is!” he announced, the ground leaving your feet as he lifted you playfully. “We were waiting on you to eat. Sure do like to take your time.”

Residual bitterness faded at Nico’s words—Jack may have been your best friend, but years of being attached to him introduced you to his teammates; they were always kind, if a little overbearing. A big brother that toed the line of overprotective and well-wishing.

Grateful for the attention distractor, you allowed your shoulders to relax and lungs to decompress. The first cut at seeing Jack, still happily in love with Brooke, was already dealt; you just needed to get through the dinner, and not look like a hostage while doing so.

“Yeah, yeah,” you laughed, shoving Nico’s shoulder as he brought you towards where the others were gathered in the living room. “Make fun of me for driving like a grandma all you want, at least I’m safe.”

Not looking at Jack took more self control than you’d care to admit. Blurring in your peripheral, a mess of colors stacked atop one another, you knew if you glanced—saw the claim Brooke was staking for all to see—it would only make you want to leave. So you didn’t.

Luke was next to greet you, offering a pity-imbued smile. Despite never mentioning your affections for his older brother, you knew he knew; saw it in the way he would look at you, the frowns offered. In times when Brooke inadvertently talked you down, it was Luke who told her off, put balm on the wound.

A side hug and a soft smile—you barely were able to muster one yourself. “How have classes been?”

You graced Luke with an exasperated groan. “Terrible, thanks for reminding me. Economics is kicking my ass.”

Luke sat. You remained standing. A loose thread peeking from your sweatshirt seemed far more intriguing than eyes you were trying desperately not to meet.

“Tough luck,” remarked Luke, conversations reviving after the novelty of your arrival wore off. You recognized a couple of faces around you—Dawson, Jesper, Alexander, and John. Faces you’d become acquainted with in your years of being Jack’s friend.

The title felt a bitter reminder of your ceiling, never surpassing Jack’s best friend. Loved and cherished, a desired presence, just not how you wanted. Who were you to complain? It was better to be his friend than nothing at all; to have a little piece of him, proof that at one point, you’d mattered enough to get it.

You just weren’t sure if you did anymore.

Where once Jack’s name was a regular occurrence, flashing on your phone screen—texts, calls, FaceTimes, they all faded once Brooke came into his life. Movie nights on his couch, reruns of old films that you could quote down to the last line, stopped. You knew Jack cared enough to extend invites, but at this point, you figured it was more out of pity and shame than actual want of your company.

Beggars really couldn’t be choosers.

Eventually, everyone made their way into the dining room. Chairs lined a large wooden table, one chosen and haphazardly assembled by you and Jack when he’d first bought this house. Scratches imbedded in the finish sent flashes of dropped hammers and clumsy feet into your mind, memories that felt too far to touch.

Mind far afield, you sat down—somewhere between Luke and Nico, far enough from Jack to be inconspicuous but close enough to feel the sharp burn of his eyes. It was petty, you knew, to have still not greeted him. Not that Brooke would’ve likely even let you. A sadistic part of you wanted him to feel even a modicum of the agony that rattled you whenever you were forced to watch him and Brooke, wanted to wonder and question why you were so cold.

Then again, maybe he didn’t care.

Body detached from your mind, the last thing you expected was to be spoken to—least of all by Brooke. But there her grating voice was, verging on overuse, but you knew that was just how she talked. Chafing and annoying and awful—

“Still no boyfriend?” A venomous smile curled her lips; friendly to the untrained eye. You knew better.

Your fingers twitched. The food in front of you spoiled, appetite evaporated. Of course she asked that—both a jab and a reassurance; if you had a boyfriend, her relationship with Jack would be safe. Not that it wasn’t, regardless.

You wished you could scream at her, leap across the table and force her to hear your words: you’d never have Jack. Want him, yes. Spend years pining over a boy who looked to you like the sister he never had, absolutely. But actually have him, feel his love in every touch and kiss? No. That wasn’t on the cards for you; you’d folded long ago.

“Nope,” you drawled. The pressure of Jack’s stare caved you—you caught his eyes, eyebrows creased, the wrinkle of his forehead that made itself prominent whenever he was annoyed.

What did he possibly have to be annoyed about?

Catching Luke’s gaze only irked you further, alit the urge to push out of your chair and flee Jack’s home. Pity swelled in his eyes, the beginnings of a frown quirking down his lips. You didn’t want pity; didn’t want to feel like the entire world was in on some inside joke you’d never understand. Everyone saw it, your love for Jack. Saw the lovestruck comedy that was your life—girl loves boy, boy isn’t even aware of it, hilarity ensues.

Everyone but Jack. And honestly, that was for the best.

You didn’t think you’d be able to handle the frown when he found out. Jack Hughes, always kind, never malignant, searching for a way to politely turn down his best friend without taking an axe to the connection. Really, there would be no bloodless way to let it die—so you lived in moments between, where nothing felt impactful or important or real.

When Jack was without Brooke, you could almost imagine he was your Jack—the one who turned down every girl so that he’d be free to go to prom with you, the one who got banned from a restaurant for life for pouring a drink over your cheating ex-boyfriend’s head. The Jack who always protected you, always cared, even when all of his friends couldn’t understand it.

That Jack who currently hand his arm around the back of Brooke’s chair, shoulders touching—a casual thing, something you’d done with countless strangers, yet it felt impactful enough to make bile swim in your throat.

“Probably for the best,” Luke interjected after the conversation—if it even was that—between you and Brooke came to an awkward stalemate. “Guys are dicks.”

A tension somehow always existed whenever you were in a room with Brooke. One you never wanted, never fed into. Like a shadow, the morning mist, it hung thick as smog. Choking you, nearly forcing you from the room.

“You’re a guy,” you laughed weakly, offering Luke a pointed look.

“No one at college, then?” Nico piped up. You felt bad for not looking at him, but he was too close to Jack and Brooke—you didn’t want to see them.

Cozy, warm in a way you thought only you’d ever be with Jack. Familiar, united. Their relationship didn’t seem as superficial as his past ones had, woven together under the pretense of good sex and no real connection. Watching Jack love his new, perfect girlfriend made you physically ill; and maybe that was dramatic, maybe it made you a backwards person with failing morals—you couldn’t care anymore.

Years of hiding your love, months of watching his own be poured into a girl that wanted you out of his life—it wore you down to your bones, dangerously close to burning to ash.

“Most of them are… strange, to say the least,” you responded with a wince. And that was true; your major seemed to just attract men whose one quality was making women uncomfortable. “Plus, having a boyfriend would just distract me. Finals are coming up and I’m already worried about how I’m going to do on them.”

Luke scoffed. “Hookups exist.”

A wince followed Luke’s words. Eyes fell to where Jessica was rubbing her hand—Jack apologized, albeit half-heartedly. Confusion overcame you; had he squeezed her hand too tightly?

In the past, you’d had boyfriends. Not that they lasted very long. Somehow, there was always something wrong with them—something only Jack could see; he’d endlessly nitpick, nag, explain why your newest boyfriend wasn’t good enough for you.

They were too old, too uptight, not nice enough. Always something. And without fail, Jack was right—scarcely did they make it past the first date before some measly excuse fell from their lips. But maybe it wasn’t them; maybe it was you. So, with an aching heart refusing to connect with any other but Jack’s, you gave up. Delved headfirst into college work and stayed below the waves, even as they began to drown you.

All you offered in response to Luke was a shrug.

Conversation picked up then, thankfully fell away from you. Limelight sufficiently dimmed, you allowed yourself to watch Jack; a habit you’d never quite shaken, even in the embarrassing moments when he caught your peering gaze.

You weren’t sure exactly when you’d fallen in love with Jack—just that you had, and now you couldn’t touch the bottom of him. Water filled your lungs, suffocated you, but if drowning meant being near him, you’d happily do it. Dying in his platonic embrace seemed better than dying all alone.

Ruffled brown hair, the sort of charm that every boy-next-door seemed to possess, and clear blue eyes that shone every emotion like a transparent window to his soul—all of it made Jack Jack, the boy you loved, would admire even in moments he didn’t think he deserved reverence.

You’d seen it all: the self-deprecation after his failure of a rookie year, dwindling confidence, tears imbued with hurt and disappointment, frustration of someone who knew they were better. It was you who’d been by his side, proved an anchor to a person you couldn’t live without.

Yet he’d still chosen Brooke.

For most people, that would be the last step off the cliff, boneless body breaking against the canyon. Not you—so full of hope and dreams, undeterred by every sign the universe gave you. You weren’t his only, but at least you were one.

Jack’s lips parted into a smile, one you could tell was real—his kissed Brooke’s temple, pinched her on the side. An intimate moment in a crowded room. You felt almost as if you were trespassing, a stranger watching two people in love. Part of you didn’t even associate that boy as Jack, because you couldn’t understand how he could love someone so averse to you, so… mean. But then again, it wasn’t about you.

It was about him. Accommodations had been made for years—leaving parties early because you were uncomfortable, blowing off his guy friends to comfort you after a bad date, scrapping his wants and his plans because of something to do with you.

He was probably sick of it. Sick of you, dictating what he could and couldn’t do. Who he could and couldn’t date. Because who cared if Brooke hated you; Jack loved her, despite it all. And that was what made dread swirl into a storm in your heart, ribs nearly cracking under the rate it was thundering at.

Abruptly, you stood. Felt the chair nearly topple. Eyes came to you—Jack’s friends. Yours, yes, but Jack’s foremost. You were just intruding, butting into a life that no longer fit you. Time had passed, the wishful minds of children grown into adulthood. He didn’t owe you anything anymore, especially when all you were was a storm cloud over his parade.

Just as soon as you had, Jack stood, concern clear in his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Your tongue felt like lead. “Nothing—nothing, sorry. I’m—I need to use the restroom.”

You didn’t wait much longer before leaving the room.

Air felt scarce, lungs punctured and deflating quicker than you could patch the holes. Clumsily, you pushed open the door to the bathroom, steadied your shaking hands on the edge of the sink. Looking at yourself, reflection marred by the onset of tears, all you could do was compare—compare to Brooke, to every girl Jack had ever wanted, ever liked, ever loved.

Was it their features, doughy lips that worshipped him in a way you didn’t? Was it their bodies, womanly and free in a way you didn’t like to be? Or was it deeper, were their souls crafted from the same light, in a way you’d always thought your own had been with Jack’s?

Idiot, fool, dreamer—you were all of it. Like a lap dog, bird in its teeth, you always returned, remained dutifully at Jack’s side for the moment he might open the screen door and finally let you in.

Brooke had every right to hate you. Perceptive in a way Jack wasn’t, she saw what everyone else did—the lovesick eyes, foolish faith chaining you to him, an unrealized desire that would never be acted on. Had you been in Brooke’s place, you would’ve hated yourself as well.

Water poured from the faucet, gathered in your cupped palms. Attempting to desecrate any evidence of tears, you gently splashed the water in your face—went to dry it when you heard the sound of the front door creaking open.

“Oh, thank God you’re here, Bee.”

Cold crept up your spine. Eavesdropping was wrong—you knew that, yet still found yourself leaning against the bathroom door to catch Brooke’s words.

“What’s going on?” came the response, likely the voice of Bianca, Brooke’s best friend. You’d met her once at a game (met was a loose word; she’d given you a snide look and taken to ignoring you the entire time).

Brooke’s voice lowered to the point where you were forced to strain to hear her speak. “You know Jack’s little pet?”

A lapse. Your heart seized, taken by some concoction of shame and surprise.

“No.”

“Yes!” responded Brooke. “She’s fucking everywhere. I asked Jack not to invite her tonight, and lo and behold—”

“Wait, I thought you talked to Jack?”

“I did.” Vexation laced every letter. “I told him it made me uncomfortable how close they were, how she was always around, blah blah. He got defensive, but he said he’d talk to her.”

“Clearly not,” Bianca muttered. “Look, I wouldn’t worry about it. They’re childhood friends, yeah? He probably feels like he has to stay her friend, or something. I mean, Jack’s a good guy, he wouldn’t intentionally hurt anyone; if he dropped her, he’d look like a douche. I’m sure she’ll get the hint eventually.”

Footsteps began, voices fading along with them. “I fucking hope. It’s honestly pathetic.”

Blood roared in your ears, drowned out the sound of your beating heart—if it was even beating anymore. Something bitter and hot invaded your airways, lashed like whips against your flesh. It was no secret Brooke disliked you, disliked the closeness of you and Jack, but to hear it, the vicious way it fell from her lips—it made your gut twist and constrict, pushing bile towards your throat.

Pathetic. They thought you were pathetic, hopelessly waiting, like a dead plant praying for flowers that would never come. Lovelorn, seeking affection that only came by way of friendship and never more; they were right, and it became evident with a strike of lightning to your body.

Is that truly how Jack felt? Was he waiting for you to give up, so to spare you the hurt of being let down? Had you become baggage? Chained to him, the memory of childhood the only thing keeping you relevant, when times were less impactful and his life didn’t center around being a professional athlete. The stain of youth, remaining only for its joyful memory; that’s all you were now—a memory.

Just like your love, it seemed everyone saw Jack’s hints but you. Rose-colored lenses blurred everything but what you wished to see; of course you missed them, ignored them so your narrative remained intact.

God, you were an idiot. A fucking idiot.

Head pounding, the squeeze of an oncoming migraine rattling your brain, you opened the bathroom door. Felt like a trapped bird all the way back to the table—you just had to get through dinner, only an hour or two, so as to not raise any suspicion, and then you could fade from Jack’s life.

Not that he’d notice. He hadn’t even spoken to you tonight, though no fault of his own; Brooke kept her claws deep, and it was clear he didn’t want to risk an argument. Not that you could blame him—she was his girlfriend. Her. Not you. He didn’t owe you anything.

Conversations filled your ears, ostracized you—every time you had opened your mouth before, it had felt wrong, the scratch on a vinyl everyone skipped over. You saw him first—noticeably tense, chair a bit further away from Brooke that it had been earlier. Tensed forehead, hands balled on the table; you longed to ask what was wrong, as you were used to doing. But you imagined talking to him, and it somehow felt wrong, a peasant addressing a king.

Then, your eyes fell to your seat.

No longer empty, occupied now by Bianca, who was talking casually with Brooke, as if her actions hadn’t changed your entire perception of the situation. There were no more seats. No more room. The metaphor wasn’t lost on you, hit with the same sting of antiseptic on a wound—there wasn’t any more room for you at the table, just as there was no room for you in Jack’s life.

Maybe this was always meant to happen. Childhood didn’t remain forever, and it seemed, neither was your friendship. You’d always wondered why Jack had chosen you, someone so dissimilar to himself and his friends. Eventually, you made peace with it. His friendship was a balm to everything negative. Now… here you were again, more ostracized than ever.

What were you supposed to do? The long haul wasn’t meant to have an end.

Everyone was looking at you now. Stage fright, you lost your speech, thousands of eyes from a crowd looking at you, spotlight centered on your face, and you couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t—

Blue eyes found you, stood stonily at the entrance of the dining room. Jack’s eyebrows knitted, confused as to why you were still stood. When he saw Bianca, his lip curled. Frustration sparked, bemusement painted over. Once more that protective streak flared, something you were so used to—it had once felt the greatest trophy, proof that the Jack Hughes cared enough to stand up for you. It felt a sore consolation now, a reminder that, as always, you’d be the meek girl from his childhood he was forced to drag along, defend, shield from his new life that he fit into perfectly, that you spilled out from.

“Get up.”

Then, the attention went to him.

Brooke glanced at her boyfriend, annoyance flashing on her face. Their conversation paused. “What?”

Jack nodded towards Bianca. “She took her seat,” he explained in a clipped voice. “Get up.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “Jack, it’s not a big—”

“It is,” he interrupted. Tension sparked in the air like a misfired firework. “She needs to sit and Bianca took her place, so—”

“It’s fine!” The words spilled out before you could second guess them. They came out raw and pained and everything you didn’t want to appear as; pity pooled from everyone, that sort of second-hand pity you saw on strangers faces when you’d lose your footing and fall.

It was too much. Pins dug into your skin, all of a sudden too tight. You needed to leave. Now, before your bones crumbled and heart gave out and finally everything burst.

“I—um, I should probably get going, anyway,” you said, nodding as if trying to be convincing. “With finals comin’ up I should get in as much studying as I can.”

Determination was something you’d always admired about Jack; it only irked you now. He stood, shrugged off Brooke’s outstretched hand and came to stand before you, and God—it was a disservice to not admire him, even as annoyance creased his eyes and drew inwards his lips. Beauty, in such a raw form, it startled you. Growing up, he’d always been the center of everyones attention. The hockey prodigy, the first overall draft pick, the franchise player for the Devils.

You? You’d been nothing special. Yet he’d still chosen you. And here he was, apparently doing it again—but why? Why when he had a beautiful girlfriend and a perfect life and fun friends did he always come back, when clearly you were no more than a burden?

You tried not to seem spiteful. You did. But it was so hard to hide your wounds and ignore their pain. He may not have seen them, but they were unfortunately still there. And it seemed they always would be.

“You can’t,” he said, searched your gaze—he’d always been able to see straight through you, with such simplicity it frightened you. You tried to shuttered your expression, hide your pain. It wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have. “Dinner’s just started—”

“Really, J, it’s fine.” Heat bored into your face where you knew Brooke was staring, daring you to express any deeper connection with Jack past the sheltered friendliness you were currently forcing.

You weren’t going to budge. Jack saw that, and so he sighed and glanced out the window. “I’ll drive you home.”

Oh, God. Nothing was ever easy. Pushing and pushing and pushing until you weren’t sure you even wanted to get up anymore, to even try. Every time you did, right back down you went, encapsulated by everything Jack.

Freedom felt a forgotten thing. You couldn’t remember a time when you didn’t love Jack, when he wasn’t at the forefront of your mind, main star of the play.

And honestly, you were tired. Tired of wishing for something that would never happen. Tired of being viewed as the shackle around Jack’s wrist. Just tired.

“No need,” you muttered noncommittally, saw the way Jack’s face twisted with concern and confusion and everything you didn’t want to see. “It’s your dinner, J. With my grandma driving, I’ll get home safe.”

The attempt at a joke didn’t land. Smile didn’t even begin to twitch his lips. “It’s dark outside,” he stated, an obvious fact that held no weight for anyone but you and him. “I always drive you when it’s dark.”

That was true enough; your inability to see properly at night meant Jack became your chauffeur, not that he ever complained—even still, it was another thing he did for you, time sacrificed to accommodate you. Prepared to leave his own dinner, his own girlfriend, just to make sure you didn’t have to do something you were uncomfortable with. Conceptually, it was sweet, a sort of gesture that would’ve normally made your heart soar. Now? It made you feel like a burden, an incapable little girl still hiding in the shadow of her protector, afraid of the sting of daylight.

No more.

“I’m going to be fine,” you reassured. Jack didn’t appear convinced—he never was satisfied when it came to you, to your safety, unless he was directly involved. “Stay and have fun.”

“What if—”

“Let her go, babe.”

Brooke’s voice proved the nail in the coffin; a part of you heard the undertone of excitement shot through her words, the possibility of your leave alleviating any annoyance your presence had brought. Without you, Jack’s attention would be fully on her. Without you, he wouldn’t have to concern himself on whether you were having fun and if you were okay.

You. You. You.

You’d considered yourself Jack’s anchor, the grounding of his mind—unfortunately, you’d forgotten an anchor also keeps a thing in place, forcing inactivity.

Let her go.

It rang like a death knell, struck sharp as a poisoned dart, invisible but so unmistakably fatal.

Gathering what remained of your dignity, you grabbed your purse off of your—Bianca’s—chair, caught the commiseration shining in Luke’s eyes like a tarnished trophy. It only stung, reminded you that you needed pity.

Before you could flee the room like a scolded dog, Jack caught your wrist. Heat bloomed, a fever rushing to your head—his simple touch made you sick with want and need and something deeper that would never be realized or fostered. Something you had to let die.

“Text me when you’re home,” he said softly. Fingers gently squeezed your wrist. Where once you’d feel comforted, you just felt trapped. “Please.”

Not trusting your words, all you did was nod.

Honestly, you’d expected some dark cloud to cover you when finally you decided to move on. A procession of funeral goers flocking like crows, unable to understand why you’d abandoned a years-long friendship over something insignificant. Over words spewed from hateful lips.

But it wasn’t what you’d overheard. Deeper, a more sharp knowledge that even if Jack loved you, held you closer than anyone in his circle of friends, he’d never want you in the way you desired. And for a while, that was okay. Because he existed separate of everything—and then came Brooke, and it all crumbled.

You could handle him not loving you. You couldn’t, however, handle him loving someone else so openly.

Street lights blurred behind tears, a mess of streaky lights like a watercolor canvas. Flashes of nights when Jack would drive you home, insisting on taking the wheel so that you didn’t have to toe out of your comfort zone, they haunted you like a inescapable film reel on repeat in your mind. Memories fogged by lost youth, angry words from Jack’s lips as he’d stand up for you—never a party person, denounced for draining the fun. Jack never let those insults slip lip before he was barking at whoever said it.

A responsibility. A burden. The lines had become blurred in recent years.

The latter seemed more fitting.

Through a barrier of tears, you were able to send Jack a text as your car rolled to a stop in the parking lot.

me

at my dorm

j :)

ok good. u ok? u seemed off @ dinner

Fingers hovered over your screen. Make movements to draft a text. Nothing seemed sufficient.

You let the text stale. Sit stagnant on your phone. Jack would likely worry, eventually call—you just wanted to fall into a void and never return. Not after the mess you’d made of dinner.

The mess you’d made of your life.

Making a ghost of yourself was far more difficult than you’d thought it would be.

Incessantly, Jack had texted you, called you—you didn’t answer any of them. Silence felt a balm to your shame. Selfish, you knew, to just ghost Jack without offering any explanation, but nothing would be sufficient, not without souring the connection you were hoping would die without pain.

Cowardice, craven, pathetic—you knew you were all of it. To you, you were giving Jack a chance to pull back, to fizzle the friendship of his own accord. Maybe then it would’ve stung less, if the desire of its end was reciprocated, mutual. As it were, it was not.

Even with your withdrawal, Jack still tried. Shot texts, called and punctuated them with voicemails, sent you TikToks and Snaps and everything he would normally do if everything was fine; but it wasn’t. And you knew he knew, could sense the urgency in his attempts at communication.

You felt dirty, filthy with shame and guilt.

Despite your best efforts, you didn’t appear as unaffected as you hoped. While your insides were shredding themselves, you tried valiantly to paint over your visage with the normal happy-go-lucky smile you always wore. Most people, if they noticed, didn’t comment on it.

Unfortunately, Kaylen did notice.

Since your freshman year of college, Kaylen had been your roommate—low maintenance, intelligent to the point of making you stupid without even trying. As such, she was far more perceptive than you gave her credit for.

There’d been times you confided in her about your feeling for Jack, sought out advice that never seemed good enough. Because no one but yourself could fix the valley that had split between Jack and you. You could seek outward help all you wanted, but nothing would change unless you did something—and, really, you weren’t sure that was even a good idea anymore.

Two days of moping resulted in Kaylen’s intervention.

“Get up.”

Sunlight bled through your shut eyes, forced a wince. Hands rolled you onto your back, the somewhat stiff mattress of your bed providing a measly cushion. Sleep intruded on, your hands extended, attempted to push away the figure you knew what trying to rile you.

“Go away,” you grunted, throat thickened by sleep and other terrible emotions.

“No,” Kaylen hissed. When finally you opened your eyes, her squinted expression invaded your vision. “Look, I’ve let you be miserable for two days, but it’s getting ridiculous. What the hell happened with you and loverboy?”

A jolt nearly paused your heart mid-beat. Thinking about Jack stung in a way you didn’t like to admit, mainly due to the fact that it was painfully embarrassing that he had such a control over you.

“Don’t call him that,” you muttered, bit your tongue to stop anything else from spilling out.

Kaylen’s eyebrows quirked. “So it is about him?”

Nails scraped your lungs. “No—yes—fuck,” you moaned, sitting up and balancing your forehead on bent knees. “It’s… all fucked up, K. I don’t know what to do.”

A sigh left her lips. You felt the bed dip as she climbed beside you. “I can help if you tell me.”

And so you did, started at the beginning of dinner to the end, as you left like a dog defeating in a cage match, heart crying blood. Comforting circles were rubbed into your thigh, but all they did was remind you how Jack used to trace shapes onto your leg, or arm, or back—how he touched you, just to know you were there, with him. He said it placated him.

It was shameful, how bile teased your throat even imagining it.

Rationally, you knew everything was your doing. Loving Jack, torturing yourself by being in his presence whilst he focused his attention on his girlfriend. Expecting any semblance of affection or intimacy even as another held his heart, branded her name over your own. It was always going to happen—knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

When finally you finished, the conclusion of your mournful, self-pitying tale followed by the sting of unwanted tears, Kaylen’s thoughtful silence waned. Her lips pursed, fingers twitching. You expected her to berate you; what had you expected, stupid girl? He has a girlfriend!

Instead, Kaylen hugged you. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry,” she murmured, pulled back with that pitiful smile you’d seen one too many times—one you’d be fine with if you never saw again. “He cares about you—”

“Not how I care about him, though,” you finished, and Kaylen gave a weak nod.

“I mean, if you told him what Brooke and her little bitch of a friend said, I’m sure he’d leave her. He’s done more for less.” That much was true. Regardless of whose lips it came from, Jack didn’t tolerate disrespect towards you—cut long time friends off for assuming they had any authority to speak poorly of you.

And you knew—knew with the same certainty that you knew your own name—that Jack would break up with Brooke if he knew how she’d spoken of you.

That should’ve made you giddy. Bursted bright light in your chest at the prospect of having Jack to yourself once more. Instead, it made you feel heavy, sand packed into your bones. Who were you to invade his happiness? If he’d chosen Brooke, so be it.

Sure, she’d disparaged you, but Jack’s life wasn’t yours to dictate anymore. If he wanted Brooke, he’d have her, until he decided to leave—not because you decided for him.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Eyelids heavy, the residue of late-night tears remaining on the skin, you felt the fight leave you. Kaylen frowned. “I just want it all to be over.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Seriously? You’re giving up on an eight year friendship because of something some dickface said about you? I thought Jack meant more to you than that.”

Kaylen’s words stung. Made you defensive, because she was right—you were giving up and you did care about Jack, but the pain had become too much. “It’s not—it’s harder to explain than that. He’s outgrown me, K. Everyone can see it but him. I’m an obligation, a burden, and yeah, maybe he loves me as a friend and maybe he wants me around, but his friends never have—his fucking girlfriend doesn’t. And at this point, I just want it to end, I want him to be happy without the conditions of making me happy.”

Silence followed. Contemplation showed clear on Kaylen’s face. You could tell, even without her words, that she didn’t agree—but, she didn’t comment on that. Rather, she placed a hand on your leg and squeezed.

Just like Jack always did.

“It’s your life, babe,” she conceded. “And if you want to do this, I’m not going to stop you—but you have to be content with it.” She gestured to you, the nest of blankets and red-rimmed eyes. “Because this? This isn’t happiness over a good choice. You’re miserable without him, and it’s been barely two days. Think about what you’re doing before it’s irreversible.”

With that, Kaylen got up and went to her own bed, and neither of you made comment of it for the rest of the day.

Her words came again and again like a fractured turntable. Of course you were miserable—Jack had been a constant in your life for eight years, consistently preserving your peace, including you when you’d never felt more like an outsider. Happiness was synonymous with Jack, his smile, his presence, him.

Did you regret your decision? Yes, and no. You regretted the way you’d gone about it. The petty silence, ignoring a person who’d made your younger years bearable. Your friendship deserved a better death than that, a reason rather than just… fading from existence, as if it never mattered in the first place.

That wasn’t the message you wanted conveyed, and so with fingers unsteadied by aftershocks, you texted Jack.

You weren’t sure how you’d explain, if you could tiptoe around the actual reason. Maybe you couldn’t, and maybe that was okay.

me

i’m so sorry for everything. i’ll explain in person. can we meet up?

Your response came half a second later. As if he were waiting. That selfish part of you prayed he had been.

j :)

ofc. my place tn?

me

yeah. that’s good. brooke won’t be upset?

Asking after her made you want to puke, but you knew it was necessary—she didn’t like Jack even breathing near you, having an entire sit down conversation with him was certainly out of the question.

Thrice, the little text bubble appeared and disappeared on your phone screen. You could sense the apprehension without any background knowledge.

j :)

not a problem. we broke up.

It was shameful, the backwards type of pleasure that brought you.

Maybe you were a terrible person. A terrible friend. You tried to reason that it wasn’t wrong to love someone, to wish they were yours.

me

shit j. i’m sorry

j :)

i’m not. i’ll see u tn. 7:30 work? have dinner w the guys.

me

yeah, that’s fine. see you soon, j.

j :)

be safe. i’ll text you when i’m home.

The hard part wasn’t even over, and your heart was already breaking in two.

Sweat beaded at your palms, the cold claws of apprehension raking down your spine. Countless times you’d been stood here, facing the lifeless beige of Jack’s apartment door. This time, however, you stood here knowing it was the last time. A silent farewell to familiarity, the ties finally cut. Jack would fight, you would cry, and maybe he’d be able to change your mind—it seemed such an unlikely outcome that it calcified every inhale in your throat.

Shaking hands rapped the wooden door, where behind would come the execution of a friendship you’d held like a crutch for years upon years. Your childhood had died, and maybe it would’ve been better had it been left there as well, so as to spare you this heart-rending pain.

Even still, you wouldn’t have traded those years for the world—everything they taught you, through pain and happiness. It made you who you were, brought you to his doorstep with melancholy eyes and a failing heart.

Footsteps echoed on the other side of the door, urgent in a way that picked up your heart rate. The next moments you imagined with brutal clarity—Jack’s hopeful gaze, blue in a way no one else’s ever had been, the soft slope of his nose you teased him for, scrunched whenever he was particularly concerned. How he’d usher you in, hear your words, plead for a moment to explain, and then admit his love for you.

That was how you dreamt it. Unsurprisingly, it was not how it went.

Instead of the door opening to reveal the man you’d love for a lifetime, the squealing hinges were followed by a face that nearly knocked you backwards. Previous indifference smeared into flat-out disdain as Brooke’s eyes caught your figure, engulfed in one of Jack’s faded hoodies and likely disheveled in a way she’d never experienced herself.

Arrows punctured your lungs, sole your breath and defaulted your barely beating heart. Brooke was here. At Jack’s apartment. After they’d supposedly broken up. Had he lied? Was he tricking you, making you the fool? He never would, you knew that, but your wounded mind spun falsities to perpetuate your pain, as if punishment for trusting him in the first place.

“What do you want?” Brooke grunted, leant against the doorframe. Lips twitched into a smirk, the smile of the victorious.

You’d never considered yourself a violent person, but the urge to punch her in the teeth itched your fists. “Is Jack here?”

Her face fell. Something dark flashed in her face—she hesitated a moment, tossed a look over her shoulder. “Yes.”

The curt response was better than nothing, you supposed. “Right, well, can you tell—”

Brooke ran a hand through her hair. Adjusted the clasp of her necklace. “We were kind of in the middle of something. Come back later?”

The axe struck down.

Gravel filled your throat. Suffocated you. If Brooke knew the affect of her words, for once it didn’t show on her face. Years of life had taught you many things, drug you through agonies you wouldn’t relive for anything, yet somehow, this was the worst pain.

To be betrayed, trust snapped by a single action, it stung. Wormed venom in your veins and contaminated your bloodstream, poisoning your heart. Realistically, Jack hadn’t actually done anything wrong. He was allowed to hook up with other girls, to love them—he had, for years.

That wasn’t the issue.

No, it was the fact that he’d set a time, invited you over, and somehow forgot? Or had he set it all up, just to rub it in your face, get his lick-back for your prolonged silence towards him? Either way, it hurt, hurt like a bitch.

Made stone, all you did for a moment was blink at Brooke before a voice called from the background, “Who is it?”

Jack.

Fright found you then, broke away your shell of stone. You couldn’t let him see you, the dog wishing once more to come in from the cold. If he’d planned it, and saw you, he knew he’d won. If he hadn’t planned it, then he realized that—irrecoverably—he fucked up. Both choices felt like a criminal trial you didn’t want any part of.

“I—um—have a good night,” you rushed out, feet stumbling over themselves as you practically ran away from Jack’s door.

So much for closure.

So much for being broken up.

Maybe this was your sign. The one you needed to finally pull away.

Because Jack Hughes didn’t love you. Not past platonic soulmates—a relationship stained with past memories, ones that made both of you incapable of letting go, even as you outgrew it.

You were done being second best. Done trying to squeeze into a place you didn’t fit anymore.

If Brooke was Jack’s choice, so be it. You didn’t want any part of it anymore.

[insanesonofabitch]

How am I supposed to function like a normal human being when I’ve been made aware of the existence of destiel? Everytime I get close to being slightly functional, I’m reminded of shit like how someone wrote a script wherein Cas gets his very own personal heaven—a room full of half-naked pictures (some real and some badly edited) of Dean Winchester. Or how later on in the series, in another script draft of another episode, Cas gets shown another “heaven on earth” scenario where he spreads his wings full while, for some reason, specified to be shirtless in front of Dean. Or how Dean was supposed to confess his love to Cas way back in season 8. Or how his relationship with Benny and the then presumed dead Cas is paralleled to Amelia’s relationship with Sam and her then presumed dead husband. “Are we still talking about Sam, or did you break up with someone too?” Or how Dean was supposed to relive the life of Cain in reverse and kill Cas like Cain killed his wife Colette, while Cas and Colette are paralleled to each other, with how they both ask Dean and Cain to stop the killings right as they’re about to die by the hands of the ones they love. Or how they made several people imply and straight up tell Dean and Cas to their faces that they’re in love with each other and not once, not once does any of the both of them ever deny it. And how several times, over and over again, their enemies use this “more profound bond” against them. “You’re hoping Castiel would return to you. I admire your loyalty. I only wish he felt the same way.” “But then, his true weakness is revealed.” “Don’t lose it over one man.” “I’m gonna cure you of your human weakness.” “You blast me away you blast away every angel in the room.” “There comes a point where every relationship has run its course.” “Oh sweet. Cas, he’s dead. All the way dead. Because of you.” “There is nothing for you back there.” Or how Dean subtly references a queer movie while referring to Cas and himself as the queer main characters of the said queer movie…who were, by the way, in a relationship with each other. Or how they made Cas confess but killed him right off, and then soon later killed Dean off and implied he doesn’t pursue romantic relationships ever again, and never have him actually experience the life outside the “hamster wheel” that he fought for because they knew he could NEVER be happy living the unnamed wife one kid “normal” apple-pie life that they originally planned for him.

Or how part of the people behind this show actually fought for their story to be told because you CANNOT make all of this without someone, at the very least one person actively writing, portraying, or depicting them with the intention of telling a queer love story.

And then what? So I’m just supposed to ignore and gloss over and move on from all of this along with so much more like the show already did on the regular?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think all the characters are assholes?

Because i think they are despite their tragic backstories and i also don't think they appreciate Yuu enough, except for maybe the first years

I mean, the TWST characters are (mostly) inspired by Disney villains... Plus, they’re immature high schoolers still in the process of emotionally maturing. Of course they're not going to be perfect balls of sunshine. They're all going to be rude or have faults in their own ways, but they also have their strengths and charm points. I do call them assholes (lovingly), but I would hesitate to slap a singular label on any of the characters when they're all very well-rounded and morally ambiguous.

On the topic of Yuu, I think it makes sense that most of the cast doesn't really "appreciate" them. To begin with, most of the characters are not the openly sentimental types; they wouldn’t overtly express that gratitude even if it were present. Then we have to consider that Yuu isn't directly involved in their character growth or arcs in most cases; it's often the other characters who are confronting the OB boys or instigating, physically battling them to snap them out of it, and then comforting them afterwards.

As early as book 1, that pattern holds true. Ace is the one that initially pissed Riddle off. Adeuce are dueling Riddle. Ace decks Riddle and claims his last straw. Trey is the one calling out to Riddle as he's losing it. It's the members of Heartslabyul who gather around Riddle when he reawakens following the OB. (I'm not going to go through and list off what happens in every single book, but I'm sure you can think of many other instances... Lilia insulting Leona, Deuce and Epel having the heart-to-heart on the beach, Octavinelle's plot against Jamil, the twins checking up on Azul post-OB, etc.) To me, it feels like it is the boys and their bonds with one another responsible for the change, not Yuu's involvement. Yuu is usually along for the ride and actually does and says very little despite all the fandom jokes about "being the school's unpaid but overworked therapist" or Crowley's shallow claim that Yuu can help the boys learn to cooperate (which feels more like a vague ruse only shown in the prologue to shoehorn Yuu into the plot). There's actually very little in-game that shows them being active in helping the students change for the better. Much of the time, the boys can resolve their own struggles to get along without Yuu being there (like all those pair-ups in book 6–sure, it may have taken a while, but the fact remains that they did eventually resolve their own issues and cooperate without Yuu having to orchestrate for them; this also happens many times in events like Port Fest, Wish Upon a Star, Ghost Marriage, the Halloween events, etc). A very common complaint (at least among English speaking players) is that Yuu isn’t “involved enough” or that they don’t have a big impact on the events of the story. Therefore, most of the boys not feeling close or indebted to Yuu makes sense from their POV. What has Yuu actually and explicitly done to help them? Not much. It’s mainly in individual fan interpretations where Yuu/a Yuusona/an OC in Yuu’s role is actually able to play a more substantial part in each characters’ life and growth. In general, the standard in-game Yuu is more of a "fly on the wall" character that witnesses events unfold rather than someone who plays a large role in each book. The boys are seemingly the main characters, not Yuu. It's just convenient to have Yuu/a blank slate in the story because they, as an outsider, need TWST concepts explained to them (thus making it easier to give exposition to the players who may also be unfamiliar with the information). The first years, by comparison, are closer to Yuu simply because 1) Yuu is implied to be in the same year level as them (so they're more likely to be exposed to one another) and 2) their preestablished relationships with Grim, Ace, and Deuce opens them up more to first year interactions. "Friends of friends", if you will. It makes more sense than Yuu being appreciated and loved by everyone/most people in the main cast of 22ish. (How many people do you know irl that have 22ish significant friends?) They spend the most time together. Everyone else tends to stick to their own groups (with maybe the exception of Heartslabyul, since Yuu is already close with Adeuce). They’re just... not as intimate with Yuu, and therefore not as inclined to find much appreciation for them.

I want to clarify that this doesn’t mean there are zero instances of the characters outside of the first years expressing gratitude toward Yuu. Like, of the OB boys, it’s only Vil who consistently apologizes for the trouble he caused (note though: it’s not specifically to Yuu, but to everyone in the VDC/SDC squad. Yuu is then given prize money from most of the other boys as thanks for letting them crash at Ramshackle… Of those, only Kalim cites being grateful that he was able to stay and have fun with everyone because of Yuu green lighting the decision. This makes sense, as Kalim’s one of the few who wears his heart on his sleeve and is friendly to most. It just isn’t true for the majority of the cast, and we shouldn’t expect it to be.

As late as book 5, you can see characters like Leona not being so happy to be called out to or for Grim to act all buddy-buddy with him. That indicates to me that the rest of the cast is not that close to Yuu + related parties and doesn't have a real reason to be. (Note: I'm not counting character voice lines here as proof of friendliness with Yuu, as it can be argued that the relationships and events explored in the cards don't run in tandem with the main story and are meant more as fanservice for the players.)

Again, while it's not that fun to read in a narrative, it does leave things open-ended for anyone who wants to self-insert or to expand on those blank relationships for their own characters. I believe this is by design to appeal on an individual level to players. You get out of it what you put into it!

[roseblog-rog]

Dog of War Changed My Life For the Better

Okay, I know a smut fic doing that sounds silly, but trust me this post is really important.

I wanna take a moment to talk about Mindcrank’s HDG fic Dog of War. Now I could go on and on about how well it’s written, how engaging the story is, how…hot it gets 😵‍💫…but that’s not what I’m here to do. No, I want to talk about the part that really helped me come to an important realization: Princess’ plurality.

//spoilers ahead for DoW up to the end of chapter 33

While not the center of the story, Princess’ plurality is an integral part of their character, being explored and explained throughout the fic. They were, as the fic has said, “two parts of one whole.” Now, to cut to the chase, the specific moment that woke me the fuck up was towards the end of chapter 31, where Princess and her other half “cut themselves in two.” The moment itself sent me into hysterics, prompting a full on panic attack and spiral. I was not only scared for Princess, actually having to contact a friend who had already read the whole thing to confirm her other half would come back, but also for myself.

Because you see, what made this moment so raw and powerful for me is that I too am plural. It’s a fairly recent realization, one that I am only just coming to terms with after reading this, but I did much of the same thing as Princess did. My alter, Skye, is the conglomeration and personification of years and years’ worth of repressed and stifled feelings. Emotions I hated having and experiencing, pushing them away in fears I would hurt someone. Being pushed down and getting cramped together for so long resulted in a fairly recent personification of these repressed emotions. It was terrifying, making it all the more likely I completely lose myself in the feelings, quite literally losing control of myself. Despite the personification, as well as the few times they fronted being almost completely non-harmful, I continued to push them away, down and down until I couldn’t feel their presence at all. I believed I hated them and everything they stood for, having intense trauma towards the feelings of anger and numbness that originally sparked Skye’s formation.

But when I read the moment where that same thing happens to Princess, seeing that split secondhand and not knowing if her other half would ever come back, I screamed out in pain. I realized I didn’t want to lose Skye, that we too were “two parts of one whole.“ I didn’t want to lose them, I don’t want to lose them. I was SCARED. When that breakdown ended, I finally realized that I couldn’t push my other half away anymore.

It will still be an arduous process of healing for the both of us, and it will definitely take a long time before they’re right up at the front with me, side by side, but it’s a start. And when Princess’ own other half came back, saying “we don't truly exist without both reflections, we can't be apart for long”, I couldn’t help but feel the same about myself. Or, I guess, my selves.

Long-winded ramble aside, I wanted to thank @magicalgirlmindcrank for not only producing an absolutely beautiful and incomprehensibly hot story, but also for helping me realize that I’ve been pushing my other half away for far too long. Words cannot describe how grateful I am.

And if anyone reading this is also plural, or going through a crisis of realization or something else of the sort, know that you are not alone. While the journey will be perilous, know that you too will find peace with your selves.

Thanks for listening, I really appreciate it.

[thewulf]

I Want To || Darrel "Darry" Curtis

Summary: Request - Can you do a Darry Curtis x Female Reader where she's pony's bestfriend bc they live in houses really close (greasers and all). She's always had eyes for Darry and he her but bc she was so much younger... Read Rest Here

A/N: For the sake of the story I made reader the same age as Soda (16 going on 17) BUT still Pony’s best friend because Soda is also Pony’s bestie. They’re all a buncha besties (including Johnny!!). Reader is v soft lol. Thank you for the request as always! Hope you like it :)

Pairing: Darrel "Darry" Curtis x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.7k +

TW: crying, shaking, panic attacks, angsty

Shivers racked down your spine as you realized the Soc boys were actually following you. You’d had a sneaking suspicion they were following you after your friends peeled away to their respective houses on their walks home. But you’d all but confirmed it when you purposefully took the wrong street to see if they were in fact following you. They were.

Peaking over your shoulder you shuddered seeing the Soc boys car creeping along behind you. They wouldn’t jump a girl would they? You didn’t think they would, but then again, ever since Pony up and disappeared not too long ago leaving one of them dead, Bob Sheldon, things had changed. They stopped playing by the unwritten rules between groups after Johnny apparently stabbed him, killing him.

Where was Dallas when you needed him to walk you home? It truly was the first time you had been alone since Ponyboy, and Johnny vanished four days ago. Soda made sure to walk you to school. Dally or Two-Bit picked you up. They weren’t taking an eye off you, no. Not after the comments Steve and Soda heard at the gas station from other random kids about the Soc’s revenge. Randy had a plan, and you were a part of it.

You continued walking trying your best to come up with a strategy. It was the damn blue mustang which meant you really had to figure this one out. Randy was following you. Bob was Randy’s best friend and if he was as crazy as you thought he was he might just try and kill you in retaliation for his own friends death. You wouldn’t put it past the man who thought he was above all else.

Without so much as a second thought you booked it across lawns, making sure to take every way but the road hoping to lose the creeping Soc’s. You didn’t have time for tears now, no. You had to get to the Curtis household. One of them would be home. If not one of them then surely Dally, Two-Bit or Steve was there. Somebody had to be there. It was home away from home, there was always a random boy there.

Fortunately for you, you knew the area a little bit better than Randy and whatever fool was in his passenger seat did. You full out sprinted towards the Curtis residence when you finally made it their street. You flew past your house knowing nobody was home to make sure they wouldn’t actually kill you.

You heard the tire screech of the blue mustang gun it as you made it towards the unassuming house just a few roads down from yours. You flew through the front door gasping for breaths before slamming the front door closed, locking everything you could in your field of vision.

“Darry! Soda!” You called out between heaving breaths and throwing your backpack on the ground in front of the door like it’d stop them if they came barging through. They wouldn’t though. They knew better than to fuck with the Curtis household. Darrel was a lot of things, but he’d never take getting attacked in his own home.

“Jesus Christ kid. You about knocked the damn door off it’s hinges!” Darry’s booming voice bellowed from the kitchen before he saw your shaking frame hiding away from the front door. He stepped closer before much more calmly asking, “Hey, what’s the matter Bubs?” It was rare for him to call you that let alone with that caring voice. It’s like he knew how frustratingly attractive you found him. But no, nothing could happen. You were his kid brothers best friend. Off limits or some stupid shit like that.

You just pointed towards the door shaking your head, “Randy.” He caught just how shaky you were. You must’ve been terrified he’d concluded. He wished Soda was home so he could comfort you. He prayed for Pony’s return, but he just knew it’d be a while before he saw that kid once again. But he knew. He knew Ponyboy would come home. He couldn’t leave his brothers. He couldn’t leave you.

He looked towards the front lawn through the windows before turning back to you and grumbling a quick, “Stay here.” He was out the front door faster than you could protest. You paced back and forth through the living room into the kitchen and back. You were nervous. Nervous for him. Nervous for Pony and Johnny. Nervous about it all.

He walked back through the door before shutting it, “They’re gone kid.”

You frowned at the nickname. It was like he was mocking you. You knew it was exactly right having a big old crush on your friends older brother. Your own friend. The man who grew up faster than he wanted too to help Soda, Ponyboy and you have somewhat of a normal childhood. The man you had admired for a long, long time. The woman he chose to marry would be one hell of a lucky lady you had concluded. The man loved harder than anybody you had known. He cared so deeply for those around him. He pushed people hard because he knew he could get the best out of them. He wanted more for you guys than he ever had a chance at. His life was decided for him fairly quickly once his parents had passed. He wouldn’t have changed it other than them staying alive.

You placed your hands behind your back to hide their shakiness, “Thanks for checking Darry.”

“You ‘lright?” He walked towards you giving you a once

“I’m fine.” You hummed looking at the ground instead of him.

“You’re shaking bubs.” He noticed. Because he always did. He noticed everything. There was nothing you could realistically hide from him.

You straightened under his gaze, “Adrenaline or whatever. I’m still trying to catch my breath. You know I don’t run by choice Darry.”

His eyes scoured over your body once more before smiling at you poking fun at yourself, “Alright. If you say so. Why were you walking home alone anyway? You heard Soda and Steve. It’s dangerous.” His tone tightened up after he knew you were okay. That was one of the things you had grown to adore about the man.

You smiled knowing that was much more like him, snapping at you for being so thoughtless, “I waited! Nobody showed up.” You tried defending yourself, but you should’ve known Darry wasn’t going to lose this argument.

“You could’ve called. I would’ve gotten you.” His eyes burned into yours as you had to look up to meet his stare. You certainly didn’t feel like his kid brothers best friend in that moment. You felt seen. So seen by the man you held so dearly in your heart. How were you supposed to go on dates with other greasers when they were such knuckleheads compared to the man you had grown to love and adore? It was pointless and a big waste of your time.

“I thought you were at work. Can you blame me? You’re always there.”

He rolled his eyes, “Soda would’ve came.”

“He’s working Darry!” You countered with amusement in your voice.

But he wasn’t amused. Not by your terrified glance towards the door. Not by the shaking that still had yet to subside. But he cooled it knowing the reason he lost Pony was because he blew up at him. He couldn’t do that to you too, “Look, kid. I promise I’m not yelling at you. I just need you to be careful. Randy’s out there looking for revenge. And I really can’t stand the thought of him putting a hand on you. So please, for our sake just be more careful. I can’t protect Pony right now, but I can you. Let me.”

You nodded up at him, “I can do that.”

His eyes looked from yours back down to your trembling frame, “You’re still shaking bubs.”

With the look that he was giving you it felt like you were going to confess all your feelings right then and there. Thank goodness you didn’t. Even though you had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly how you felt about him.

“I can’t stop.” You admitted knowing a lie would be too obvious at this point.

He walked over and grabbed a blanket from the couch, “Come here

You shook your head, “You don’t have to Dar. This is enough.”

He ignored you, instead ducking into the kitchen, “I want to. Coffee or tea?” He asked you once more.

“Tea would be great.” You answered him knowing he was going to make one or the other if you didn’t answer. It was his style, his love language. He wanted to take care of those he loved and you fell right into it.

“A little milk and sugar. Just how you like it.” He smiled setting the mug down in front of you on the coffee table.

You looked at the tea, then to him and then back to the tea with a flush coating your cheeks. You sure weren’t doing a good job hiding those feelings, “Thanks Darry.”

He took a seat on the couch next to you, “You got it, bubs.”

You grinned looking over to him, “Haven’t heard you call me that in years.”

He huffed looking away from you, “It fits.”

“I’ll take it.” You grabbed for the tea letting it warm your hands before taking a sip, “It’s better than being called kid.”

He looked over to you, “You are just a kid.”

“I’m almost seventeen, Darry. Momma’s already talking about sending me off to college.” You laughed at the ridiculous thought, “Like we have the money for that. I’m sure I’ll end up at the grocery store or gas station.”

He shook his head so fast you would’ve missed it if you weren’t already looking at him, “You’re meant for so much more. I’ll tell you what, since you’re almost seventeen or whatever I’ll stop calling you kid if you let me call you bubs.”

You smiled at the sweet sentiment, “I don’t think so Darry. I think I’m right where I’m meant to be. You know, not everybody wants to run away from this life. I wish I could take this burden from you Darry. But I can’t. I’m also not going to pretend I hate this life because I don’t. And I’ll take it. Bubs it is.”

He looked down feeling it all hit him at once, “You ain’t a burden. None of you are. I just want you guys to have a choice. I didn’t.”

You took a long pause not sure if you wanted to say it. But there was a reason Ponyboy had run away with Johnny. Maybe he needed to know, “Sometimes it feels like it.”

You heard him suck in a breath surely not expecting this conversation to go on between the two of you tonight, “’m sorry bubs. So sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You wanted him to look at you. He was so freaking handsome and God all you wanted him to do was look right at you. You wanted to reassure him. He was a good older brother. He was doing the right things even if he couldn’t properly express them to his kid brothers. He loved and he cared even if they couldn’t see it. You knew he felt like he was failing but he wasn’t. Ponyboy was just learning and growing.

He shook his head, “I don’t think you ever get mad.”

You laughed this time, “I get mad at Pony and Soda all the time. I just don’t get mad at you.” You shrugged setting down the tea knowing you had opened the conversation wide open now.

He gave you a curious glance as he studied your still trembling hands. You were doing a good job at hiding it, but he noticed, “Is that so?”

You grinned, “I guess it’s your old wiseness. How could I get mad at that?”

“Hey smartass. You want dinner?”

You laughed feeling like the weight had finally been lifted off your shoulders, “There’s the Darry I know.”

He scooted closer to you sensing something was off with you. It wasn’t like him to press but something told him he needed to, “I’m going to ask you one more time. Are you alright?” It wasn’t lost on you that he was looking at your fidgety form under the oversized blanket that framed you. How could you lie to him?

“I’m scared Darry.” Your voice wavered as you tried your hardest to keep the welling tears unshed, “I’m scared for Ponyboy. For Johnny. I’m so scared they’ll never make it home.” And the thought of it made you spill those tears right in front of his oldest brother. You thanked whatever lucky stars you had that Sodapop wasn’t home. You could only take this humiliation in front of one brother.

Without so much of a second thought he pulled you right into his arms. Which meant you were sitting right in his lap. He pushed your head down into the crook oh his neck while he let his hands run up and down your back. He felt your cries before he heard you. You were fighting with all your might not to break down in front of him but his softness towards you was making it all the harder.

“Shh, It’ll be alright sweet girl.” You felt him give you a gentle squeeze, pulling you closer into his chest before he continued, “You really think Ponyboy won’t come home to us? To you? That kid is so lost without you. He’ll be back. I can’t promise you much, but I can promise you that.” He rocked you back and forth in his arms in complete silence. The only sound coming from you muffled cries. He held you longer than he needed. You’d stopped crying into his chest nearly five minutes ago, but he simply held you. One hand around your back and one hand cradling your head. It was exactly what you needed. Dally always knew.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’ll be okay.” He whispered as he held you. You fisted at the denim shirt he had on grounding yourself into him.

You pulled back looking over his concerned face. Why him? Why did you have to fall in love with the one person who would never love you like you loved him back? You took a shaky breath, “Thank you Darrel. I couldn’t do this without you.”

He brushed the stray tears away from your face, “Can I tell you something? Between me and you?”

You nodded quickly feeling the shivers run up and down your body from his hand running up and down your back as if was second nature. You were wear for Darry Curtis and everybody knew it. He had to know, had to, “You can tell me anything Darry.”

He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met. Inside and out.”

Your eyes shot to his with a wide expression, “Say you’re serious Darry.” You couldn’t believe him. In all your years of pining. Of making it rather of how you felt about him. You never even caught a hint that he could feel the same for you. This was new and so wonderfully different than the Darry you knew. Was a major breakdown all you needed to break down his walls?

“’m so serious, bubs. When am I not?” He smirked knowing he had you beat there. He was the most serious guy you knew. Everyone knew it. Don’t mess with Darry Curtis.

“You got me there Mr. Curtis.” A laugh escaped you as you burrowed your head into his neck once more, “Can I tell you something Darry?”

He smiled looking down at you curled into his body. You were too cute clinging to him. He didn’t want to admit how many times he’d imagined something of the sort. How could he think of you like that? He knew you since you were six. You moved in down the street and were fast friends with Soda and toddler Pony. Pony was attached at your hip and the rest was history. You might’ve been two years older than him, but you treated him like your equal. He loved that about you.

“You can tell me anything pretty girl.” His smirk only grew as he felt you grinning into his chest. Darry had always adored the spit fire of a girl. You were a born greaser, through and through. You had a mouth, but you had hands to back it up. Darry or Soda had to step in on your behalf many times because the Soc’s refused to fight a girl. You’d been roughed up a few times to ‘put you back into your place’ but it never worked. Your mouth only got bigger. You’d become a staple in their life so seamlessly that Darry couldn’t imagine his without you in it. He didn’t know when he started to like you, nor did he know when he fell in love with you. But he knew it. By the way he wanted to comfort you. The way he craved to see you smile. How he wanted to rip Randy’s head right off when he saw your face of terror. He loved you. And he was tired of hiding it for his kid brothers sake. Like you said, you weren’t a kid anymore. They could handle it.

“You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” It came out with less confidence than you would’ve liked but it was out, nonetheless.

He gave you a squeeze, “Can I tell you one more thing?”

“You can” You nodded your head on his chest. Your heart rate rising at what he could possibly tell you.

“I love you.” He let out a sigh, “Yeah, I love you a whole lot.”

You pulled away from him for a moment. Shock taking over, “You do?”

“I do.” He answered back quickly trying to hinder any doubts you might’ve had.

“That’s great.” You smiled up him. Your eyes ran over his features as you really looked at him up close without any interruption. He was so handsome, so freaking pretty. It was unreal. Your finger ran over a curl that had made its way over his eye. You brushed it away so you could look into his light blue ones.

“Is it?” He smiled as he too looked right back into your eyes, relishing in the small touches you had given him. He shivered slightly at your touch as goosebumps ran down his back. Oh, he was a sure sucker for you.

You hummed while continuing to brush your hands thought his hair. He’d just showered, fresh from any of the greasy gel he’d yet to put in it. Your hand glided seamlessly over the semi-damp curls that framed his face so beautifully, “It is. Wanna know why?”

“Tell me.” He played along with you. Darry rarely had patience, but you seemed to be the exception. You seemed to calm him instead of aggravating him. You pushed his buttons in the right way. He knew a girl like you would never come around again in his lifetime. If he didn’t go for you he’d have to settle for somebody and wonder what his life could have become if he didn’t take the leap with you. He wasn’t going to let that happen though. No, he was taking his chance.

“Because I love you too.”

The words were something Darry Curtis wish he could have recorded to play back. You had loved him too. He was sure those lingering glances and longing stares hadn’t meant nothing.

He smiled, more than elated by your admission, “Let me take you out on a proper date then. Friday for dinner. What do you say sweet girl?”

You grinned at the newest nickname. How you’d gone from kid to bubs to sweet girl within a day should’ve given you whiplash. But you were more than happy for the change. It might’ve seemed oh so sudden to everyone around you, but it had been years in the making between the two of you. Pony never noticed a thing. Soda noticed everything. Darry ignored it for a while, until he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Sounds like a plan.” You brushed your hand along his cheek just wanting to touch him. You couldn’t help the smile that overcame you after seeing the trail of goosebumps your fingers left, “I’m not telling Soda though. That’s up to you.” You stuck your tongue out knowing you left him with the worst part of the whole ordeal.

“If that’s what it takes then I’ll happily tell that little grease head. And Pony too when he makes his way back. Serves him right for cutting out on us like that.” His smile grew as he saw your face light up in joy at his words. He was all in. He was fine telling them. He wanted them to know. He wanted people to know you were his. Certain assholes named Randy would back off. He could properly protect you without it being too overbearing. His heart nearly burst out of his chest when he saw your terror-stricken face not only an hour prior. He nearly broke down as you were sobbing into him, clinging to his shirt with your life. He knew it was now or never with you and he wanted to commit. He wanted you. He always had and now was the time to take.

You laughed at him making light of a situation that was already so hard for him. He was so strong for everyone. Especially for you, “It’s a date then.”

A sigh of relief left his throat as he pulled you in for another long hug, “Finally. I’m going to take you out to the nicest dinner.”

You shook your head, “You don’t have to do that.”

He chucked loving that you hadn’t moved from his lap. He could seriously get used to this. It wasn’t often he got alone time around here, let alone with just you. He needed to cherish this time with you knowing it came around few and far in between.

“Like I said,” He brushed a stray hair away from your face as you looked his over, “I want to. For you, I want to do anything and everything.”

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[foreststarflaime]

Ok so I was translating the Iliad for fun last night as one does and oh my god it’s them?? Genesis Rhapsodos is a homeric hero in this essay I will

“Sing to me, goddess, of the accursed wrath of Achilles son of Peleus, who caused countless pains for the Acheans, and sent forth many stout souls of heroes to Hades, and made them spoils to dogs and to every bird of prey, and the will of Zeus was accomplished, from when first the son of Atreus ruler of men and divine Achilles stood apart in strife.”

-Homer, Iliad, I.1-7 (translation is my own)

But like the more I think about it, the more it just…fits him perfectly? Strap in boys this turned into a long one, I’m putting my ‘useless’ degree to good use

So a huge drive for Homeric heroes is pursuit of kleos (κλέος, meaning glory), it’s what their societal values are built off of, and it’s what Genesis builds his life off of too. It’s why he can’t let himself coexist peacefully with Sephiroth—for Genesis’ glory to spread, it can’t be eclipsed by Sephiroth’s. Kleos is earned primarily through being remembered in song, and you don’t see Shinra making any propaganda with Genesis in it (at least disproportionately not as much as Sephiroth).

And that’s another thing—Genesis’ desperate will to live. A big part of the appeal of kleos is that it grants you a sort of immortality, to live forever in the minds of humanity as long as the songs about you persist. There is a way to earn kleos without being the best hero around, and it’s to be killed by the best hero around—in passages where heroes go on killing rampages, there’s little catalogues of everyone they kill, like little graveyards of poetry that let them live on after death. It’s not a dishonor to them, rather the opposite since they died bravely fighting someone they just couldn’t beat.

This isn’t the way Genesis wants to earn his kleos, though, and he’s desperately afraid of it. We see in his reaction to degredation that he will do anything to avoid his own death, lashing out against everyone in pain and fear. He wants more than anything not to die, but he doesn’t want to end up a footnote in the rampage of someone greater. He wants Achilles’ fame, but fails to see that this fame was conditional upon his death. The most famous part of Achilles’ story that survived, after all, was his heel.

And then there’s how his friends fit into the story. As you can see in the quote from earlier, Sephiroth fits well as the Agamemnon to Genesis’ Achilles. Agamemnon leads the assembled Greek forces because he has the most men, the most fame, but Achilles (putting aside the matter of whether he is or not) doesn’t want to be seen as inferior to him, and is infuriated when Agamemnon does something he sees as a slight against his kleos. From Genesis’ perspective, this fits Sephiroth exactly. From Sephiroth’s perspective, naturally this is not the case, but therein lies the problem—he’s in a different genre from Genesis, one that becomes incompatible when put in the context it’s in, and this dooms them to tragedy.

It’s a similar problem with Angeal. Honor and glory are similar enough to be the best of companions, but they are not the same thing, and it’s something that is easy to forget. The difference is most clear, again, in the context they’re in. Genesis is so busy chasing immortality in kleos that he forgets that honor is not immortality, and Angeal’s will to live fails when his honor does, and he loses him.

Angeal and Sephiroth are both their own genres, causing misunderstanding and ensuring the tragedy that occurs, but they fit in just enough with the context of Homeric heroes to not let Genesis see his mistake.

Important for him also is the definition of monster to a Greek—two different creatures mashed together in a way nature isn’t supposed to go. That’s it. And by that definition, he is a monster, though we’d still call him human by our definition. And that’s just…ouch. In the fundamental rules of his world, he is inarguably a monster.

But the tragedy of that is that he’s just so painfully human, as are all Homeric heroes—so horribly, humanly flawed in such a loud way that the world cannot ignore it, and is pulled down with him.

Okayy wrapping it up with a few fun facts because this is turning into the essay I didn’t mean it to be, his last name Rhapsodos (Ῥαψῳδός) is a Greek word that translates roughly to bard, and specifically to a bard that recites epic poetry. Like the Iliad. It’s so unbelievably perfect for him, good job square enix! And the fact that this quote from the Iliad has goddess instead of Muse like the Odyssey, it was fated! Also, not that noun genders really mean anything, but the Greek noun genesis (γένεσις) is actually feminine, so win for genderqueer Genesis propaganda

Anyway where did my afternoon suddenly go, this was supposed to be a short fun thing, I should really be working on my thesis (which coincidentally was inspired by him, I’m in too deep send help) if you read all this I love you forever lol bye

[theyapper0]

FIRST PART OF "FINALE"

(There are 5 parts to this 😊)

The finale starts the day before the Extermination.

Charlie is sitting on the roof of the Hotel, all the Sinners they've recruited are all bustling about the parking lot, talking amongst themselves and setting up their reinforcements for the Examination tomorrow. 

Charlie is staring down worriedly at a family photo in her hand. The photo is old and tattered and there's a permanent cross shaped crease on it from all the folding and unfolding it's gone through. It was a photo of a framed painting that was in her old house before she left home.

(I'm NAWT writing out the whole first EP, that's way too much work LOL. Just know that in the beginning of it, instead of Charlie reading from that story of Lucifer and Lilith, she's just looking at a family photo of the 3 of them)

Charlie didn’t know what she was going to do. EVERYTHING has basically been leading up to this Extermination, the first BI-YEARLY Extermination… She has to protect the Hotel, she has to protect Vaggie, she has to protect EVERYONE, because if she doesn't…. 

Heaven will move onto all of Hell…

This wasn't just a standard Extermination anymore, this was war. 

And losing wasn't an option. 

But this wasn’t what she wanted! The whole point of getting in contact with Adam, with HEAVEN, was to STOP the killing! Now they have weapons deadly enough to kill ANGELS.

Not only are the people of Hell going to get killed, but the people of Heaven are as well…. 

Charlie doesn’t want to hurt anybody. She doesn’t want ANYONE, Heaven or Hell, to die! It wasn’t right, war only creates more bloodshed! 

When she and Vaggie went to Heaven, she thought they were FINALLY making progress- especially after befriending Emily! But…. That all crashed and burned and somehow things grew even WORSE.

Does all Charlie know how to do is make situations worse?

Vaggie comes up on the roof and they talk. 

Vaggie TOTALLY understood where Charlie was coming from, not because she relates, but because she KNOWS Charlie.

(Honestly Vaggie can't wait to SLAUGHTER some angels but Charlie would probably explode into a bajillion million pieces right now if she said that)

Vaggie has a huge vendetta against Heaven still, she has NOT made peace w that shit yet.

Charlie still gives the same(ish) speech as she does in canon. That's all basically the same :P

They still have their (basically end of the world) party and it's LIT 

While that's going on, in Heaven, Adam and Lute are talking about the Extermination that will be happening the next day. 

Adam has a bad feeling about the Cleansing, he doesn’t think they should go through with it….

Nothing has felt right to him ever since Charlie and Vaggie came to Heaven, ever since Emily took Charlie's side, ever since the Trail where he revealed the truth about…. 

Lute tells him that they must, these Cleansings are direct orders given by God

Lute: Don’t you trust him, Sir?

“Of course I do!” Adam says!! ”Of course I do…”

Adam trusts God, he trusts HEAVEN with everything he has. His feelings on this mess doesn't matter, what’s important is that he does what he's told, that he does what needs to get done.

Look at what happened when he diverted course, when he let his emotions get too out of control. Bad things happen and it makes everything worse…

Adam can't afford to mess up again... 

He needs to nip this in the bud. 

THE NEXT DAY. 

DAY OF EXTERMINATION. 

So everyone is fighting and kicking ass. 

Everything is going well and everyone’s doing what they’re supposed to ASIDE from Charlie who isn't killing the Exorcists, she’s really only disarming and knocking them out.

Every so often during the battle, Charlie will cross paths with one of her allies, who will be egging her on to KILL THE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!! 

She keeps ignoring it. 

Alastor is still going to go up against Adam. Alastor is cocky and arrogant, believing that he could best Adam without so much as a single Angelic blade, he won't be able to kill Adam no matter how powerful he believes himself to be.

Adam makes the comparison to Lucifer, “Prideful and full of uncharted wrath! And you know what happened to HIM!”

Alastor: You can't fall to Hell if you're already there! 

While Alastor and Adam fight, the Exorcist Angels that Charlie had simply been knocking out are beginning to wake back up and join the battle again! 

Her method didn’t do anything but make everyone have to work that much harder. 

Then Husk, occupied by fending off three or four Exorcists, is struck down by another swooping in. 

The Exorcist knocks him down and presses their weapon to his throat. There was nowhere to run, other Angels he was fighting had circled around him and knocked his own weapons out of his hands. 

And it happened in a moment, far too fast for regular eyes to see. 

One moment Husk was staring up at a faceless soldier, prepared to meet his end. And the next-

A clawed hand, once white but now gold with blood, was stuck straight through the Angel's chest, through their ribs and piercing out from their armor. 

Before the corpse of the Exorcist had even hit the ground the heads of the three other Angels surrounding Husk had flown off, sliced clean from their necks. 

And the Heir of Hell was standing before him.

It didn't matter that it was Husk that was in danger, it didn't need to be him, it could have been anyone. What mattered was that it was someone Charlie cared for, it was someone she was FIGHTING for.

Charlie had killed 4 Exorcists in less than a second and despite it being for a nobel reason, it was the little push she needed to give into every primal urge that was instilled into her since her creation… 

Charlie was still standing over him but Husk didn't dare move. Her energy and demeanor had done an entire shift. And being under contract with Alastor for as long as he's been, he knew when a grin held murderous intent…

But the grin plastered on Charlie's face wasn't like Alastor’s. It still felt like Charlie's just… less contained, more primal. 

Like she was operating on instinct above all else (Alastor was too calculating to ever do such) 

Charlie reached out her hand but Husk didn't dare take it. Charlie wouldn't ever hurt him, that much he knew. 

But he couldn't be 100% certain… Not when her mouth grew wider than he's ever seen it grow before, not when her crooked horns sprouted from her head, not when he was covered in the glowing, sticky blood of their enemies. 

There was a waver in her grin for just a moment. 

But it was gone in the next, the Exorcist, the one with the gaping hole in their chest, twitched. 

Charlie snapped her neck in their direction and crushed their head with her foot with so much force that it EXPLODED. 

Charlie: I….

It was just one day. It was an EXTERMINATION, it was the FIRST TIME Hell was fighting against Heaven! Charlie NEEDED to fight- to KILL (AND KILL AND KILL AND KILL AND KILL AND KILL AND-) It was normal, everyone was doing it, everyone needed HER to do it as well.

It… It’ll be fine. She will go right back to her normal self tomorrow, it’s not hard at all. 

Charlie’s eyes were blown wide and shined with a fervor. Her mouth was clenched into a tight, large girn and she laughed through her sharp jail cell of a mouth. 

She knelt down to the dead angel before her and took their clawed gauntlets 

Just one day… She thought as she put them on.

Charlie ran off. 

So basically Charlie gets lost in the killing and bloodshed, she’s going on a spree!! Killing exorcist angel after exorcist angel, doing it at speeds that the others can’t even keep up with!! She’s EASILY out numbering all of the kills they worked hard to rack up and KEEPS GOING

So while Charlie is going crazy on the battlefield (hotel parking lot), Alastor is fighting Adam. 

Alastor was just defeated by Adam.

He can hardly move but he's slowly stumbling his way away from Adam, who's following behind him at a very leisurely pace.

Aside from his comment from the beginning of their “battle”, Adam hasn't said a word. 

Alastor is grinning through the fractured ego and immense pain, he can't stop. He isn't facing Adam, he feels him trailing directly behind him, “Well it seems that you're victorious! Hm? Not even one heroic speech? Got on… you deserve it!” 

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

[satoruzlove]

- attractive things he does

suna rin , atsumu miya , kuroo tetsurou , sakusa kiyoomi

! the word d3ath, boys inlove, gn reader !

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

≈suna rin

•he talks about you extremely often

god bless anyone who asks ab u when u n rin r together,, holy shit. rin notices a lot of things about u, and even the tiniest , littlest details about u are so precious to him. u stick ur tongue out when ur focused? noted . ur good with kids? he’s absolutely inlove with u and thinking of u when he plays with or sees a child at one of his games. the boys will ask him yk, how’s yn, and all of a sudden they’re stuck for 1/2 hrs listening to tim talk about u.

“oh yeah how’s yn? it’s been a while”

“atsumu -”

*cracks knuckles*“ i am so glad you asked.”

he literally cannot help it , he doesn’t even realise that he’s talking sm bcus he just has so much to say about u? everything u do is just precious so now the guys just know not to ask or they’ll be screwed , lmao

•always makes eye contact when talking / loves eye contact

it lets him show u that he’s listening , since he’s not a huge talker . he doesn’t want u to think he’s bored of u speaking , or what ur saying , so he’s always, ALWAYS looking you in ur eyes when you talk. he does expect the same from u, ofc. if he’s talking and he catches u looking down he’ll stop, and when u ask why he’ll just flatly say ,” you weren’t looking so i assumed you stopped listening😐 ” and you just look at him like 😦 because it was only for like FIVE seconds .he truly doesn’t care what ur doing , he wants u to look at him when he’s talking - if you give him the eyes he will start stuttering 😔his gaze is always half - lidded, lazy almost, but it makes you feel like he’s seeing right into you. sometimes he’ll raise his eyebrows or scrunch them- but his main thing is eye contact.

•doesn’t treat you like everyone else

we all know rin is emo ☹️,so he does tend to give people the cold shoulder a lot . but u? never. if he’s stone walling his friends and you come up to him, he’s all smiles and ‘ hi, baby’ s . you just make him so so so happy. he’ll never call u annoying even as a joke like with his friends or act aloof- he expresses himself as much as he wants with u bcs ur his favorite </3 even his sister was so shocked when she over heard- y’all talking cus hes never that sweet to ANYONE. he’ll be clingy, he hugs u as soon as he sees u ( atsumu asked for a hug and rin flipped him off 😔😔😔✊), he wants u to know how much he loves u 24/7 cus you fr are special to him.

≈atsumu miya

•tucks your hair behind your ear/ brushes it out of your face

tsumu listens to u very tentatively when u talk, like he’s memorising everything that ur saying - the way ur saying it- what he’s feeling as u say it. he genuinely does wanna keep every moment with u tucked into his brain, so that when he’s lying awake at night thinking of u, he can day dream about u. when you glance up at him, chirping happily about your life to him, he can’t help but hesitantly move a large hand to your face and move away any hair in your face. his eyes flit away only for a moment- he’s still looking at you- just at a different part. he’ll blush a little when he does it for the first time , mumbling a ,” sorry, it was in your eyes.looked like it was botherin’ you.” truthfully,he wants to see your face properly, especially if you have bangs or something, tsum is moving it so he can see the way your eyebrows shoot up in excitement or knit together in frustration. he drinks in your expression, the story, everything in that moment he captures like a polaroid bc he just loves you so so much.

•doesn’t hold your entire hand- just a few fingers

because tsumu is tall it is kinda hard to lose him in a crowd. he will NEVER STOP using that excuse when it comes to holding onto u tho. he loves how your hands feel in his, the squish of your fingers, the way your fingers curl around his entire hand ( or attempt to. cus he’s so bloody large for absolutely no reason) without a thought. if your hands r smaller, he finds it so precious how your tiny little fingers are kinda just like , SWALLOWED by his hands . he thinks it’s so cute. if your hands are bigger/ the same size - it just makes him feel like a little kid to be holding a couple of ur fingers . bonus points if u run ur free thumb over his knuckles , he’s internally dying

•IS SO GOOD WITH KIDS AAA

if you have little kids in ur family they adore tsumu bcus he knows just how to entertain them lol. if he randomly gets tagged while theyre playing tag you best believe he’s SPRINTING. if they’re playing sally in the saucer , he WILL be sally and he absolutely will cheat and choose whoever he wants to be sally. secretly likes playing with nerf guns and is rly dramatic if he gets shot😔 he’ll fall on the floor and hold his ‘wound’ and choke out “ tell ,,, tell my yn,,,,, that i love them,,,,” “uncle tsumu it was a foam bullet🧍🏽” “shhhh hush yer trap” LMAOO he’s rly good with kids . also is amazing at calming down babies when they cry, like he’ll cradle them and make the most stupid noises, nuzzle them and all of a sudden they’re the happiest child alive.

≈kuroo tetsurou

•quips back at sarcasm

if there is no banter, tetsu doesn’t want it. keep ur relationship ✊😔. he literally adores the attitude, if he’s bullying you and you bully him back he’s already SMITTEN CUS WDYM ‘ you would be short too, if you weren’t made up of 90% bed head’ ?? WDYM BRUH THATS SO???🤭 if you tell him to stfu he’ll start giggling he’s literally insane. tetsu cannot help the goofy grin on his face when you don’t even hesitate to hand his attitude right back to him 10x worse, because it feels like you’re just his best friend having fun with him. it also shows him that y’all are similar and can relate to eachother, he rly eats it up. he’ll start pulling out scientific facts to cover up that he’s losing lmao💀

•knows you like the back of his hand

kuroo can read u like an open book, u can hide NOTHING from him. if ur upset he knows , if ur sad he knows, he knows when ur lying. you often times don’t even need to tell him if ur feeling uncomfortable or sad bcus he can just tell and will do anything to fix it. he understands ppl really well without them having to say much, he’s very perceptive. you being his partner means that he can do a lot more than just tell when you need some comfort- but he also knows exactly what you need to hear. so if ur upset, and if you’re comfortable, he’ll settle you down and ask what’s up. he’ll listen, comfort you and then tackle the problem. he is also ready to throw hands if someone’s upset you

•is a lovesick idiot with zero shame

when kuroo likes you, he likes you💀 the whole world, their mothers, their fathers and their sisters know about it , because of the way he acts around you. his face will contort into a sappy grin accompanied by dreamy eyes whenever you’re in the room, he’s always a lot more bright when you’re around, and suddenly when you’re around, everything is funny. even in a room of people he knows, you still get his undivided attention even if you aren’t speaking. everyone knows just how much he cares for you, and the best part is that he doesn’t even express anything verbally, it’s his actions that showcase the pit of admiration he holds for you deep in his heart . kenma’s heard everything about you atp, his grandma is SICK of hearing “ today yn and i-,” ,” nana you wont believe what happened with yn today-!” ,” nana, yn said i looked handsome today, can you believe it?”,” yn laughed at a joke i made today, they’re so smart, it was literally a college level chemistry joke and- HEY DONT ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME NANA”she’s EXHAUSTED 💀

≈sakusa kiyoomi

•pulls his mask down real quick to kiss you

as much as kiyoomi is stoic, it’s just because he isn’t super comfortable around a lot of people and he HATES anything socialising. it makes him feel icky, like everyone is watching him and it’s just too foreign. seeing you in a crowd makes it a lot easier for him, because he’s made you aware of his boundaries and discomforts, and you respect them as well as protect them. he values it a lot when people don’t see him as weird but rather particular. it’s honestly more of a comfort to him to be near you in public, but he would absolutely never say that. he’ll spot you, walk up to your group, put a firm hand on the other side of your head and pull his mask down☹️places a little peck on your forehead, muttering ,” hey , you” and then pulling it up again. you smile at your friends and take him aside - he swears you’re an angel for not making him talk to your friends. it’s a little gesture, but truthfully that’s what being with omi is. little gestures full of care, tenderness and understanding </33

•gets excited about small things

okay nOW listen to me . it isnt just any small thing . if the flower he planted sprouts a rose, you’ll hear a shout of ‘ YN, COME OUTSIDE RN’ coming from the yard and you SPRINT BCUS OMI RAISING HIS VOICE?????? but when you get there and you’re HUFFING, PUFFING , BLOWING THE HOUSE DOWN . his eyes are wide and he’s holding his phone up saying ,” yn, look. my roses are blooming,” he says in a tone that’s seemingly floating between excitement and wonder. your posture relaxes, seeing your 6’3 scary dog boyfriend fawn over his yellow roses just warms your heart </33 when you guys get a new cat together ( he is a cat person argue w the wall) he feels a part of him explode when the cat rubs it’s head all over him. he KNEELS to the floor of the adoption centre and holds the kitty’s head in his hands, stroking the little flat area in front of it’s little ears. he glances as you, eyes smile as he’s smiling behind his mask. ☹️☹️☹️END ME.

•picks up on small things

omi is observant as hell , so even when you guys are just friends he picks up on tiny things u do. when u make a weird face when u touch a weird texture or the way u try so desperately to end a convo with someone you ‘ like ’ he absolutely knows what’s going and he’s like “ huh, didn’t know they didn’t actually like that person” but doesn’t say shit. next time that person is around he magically remembers he needs new wet wipes for his gym bag and funny enough it’s on the OTHER SIDE OF THE MALL😔🤞🏻 oh you don’t like the yellow lemony candy in the bag?? that’s weird, funny how it’s all of a sudden omi’s fav one and now he’s eating it all from the bag so u don’t have to. ( he puts in his wedding vows that he actually hates them too but he did it cus he ‘ unfortunately is inlove with you’ , lmao)

raine’s thots ୨♡୧;;

the rose thing was inspired by my mother, she’s a cutie):also maybe one day i’ll proof read this,,, 🤭who knaaaurrrss n e ways this was fun, byebye <33

[bubba-luz]

What do you think about the One Piece live action show?

(I just suffered through most of it with my sibling and I actually shed a tear or two)

At first I really loved it! But then as the weeks went by the honeymoon phase was over and I started noticing things and thinking about things. Safe to say I’m not really a fan of the LA anymore. It could have been worse honestly with the track record of Netflix and live action adaptations in general [the wigs oh god the wigs]. Also on the topic of adaptation I’d say OPLA is more of an interpretation of the original manga than it is a one on one adaptation.

I think the cast is great, they do look the part. But the characterizations of the LA is well…not the manga one. I had forgotten what happened in the EB arc at that time, but I started rewatching the anime and the changes are even more jarring. In the LA, Luffy isn’t as confident as he is in the manga, he clearly shows doubt in his abilities and sometimes needs someone else to help him up and get his head on straight. I think the only true time that happens in the manga us when Jinbē has to tell him to get himself together after losing Ace and his crew, most of the time Luffy doesn’t really need to ponder and go “oh gosh what should I do here?😣” he mostly just does things without thinking or improvises mid-battle.

Zoro. Zoro Zoro Zoro. Roronoa Zoro. Why are you not a complete loser? OPLA Zoro is what men in the fandom think Zoro is, a stoic no nonsense cool guy who fights with swords. He’s just so emo. But he’s not. The concept alone of fighting with a sword in your mouth and calling it three sword style is ridiculous itself. This is pre-timeskip too, Zoro is always goofy, but he was even more silly when he was 19, this is the same man who tried to cut off his own legs and started posing when he realized he wasn’t getting out. Why was he so serious all the time. Also the Kunia story did not hit as well as in the manga, like I really didn’t give a fuck 😭.

Oh Nami…Nami…To me Nami felt a bit…mean to me? And yes even before Arlong Park she chastises the boys, but it never feels like genuine dislike. I really think LA Nami wanted to leave their asses 😭. There was no whimsicalness in her heart, TOO MUCH ANGST in this one. And why on Earth would they change her storyline with the Village, the townspeople know Nami is only working for Arlong to buy back their Village, the LA approach of them not knowing was completely unnecessary conflict😭.

Usopp was done dirty, I know Syrup Village isn’t a lot of people’s favorite arc but it was Usopp’s arc. So tell me why he does nothing the whole time! And why is Zoro’s back story in the middle of USOPP’S arc. They even took his little kid crew…

rip Merry.

Sanji…ooohohohohoh Sanji. Sanji. SANJI. What do you mean the eyebrows wouldn’t work because they’re “too silly” you’re main character is a rubber man and the other fights with three swords what do you mean TOO SILLY. You had a man with cat whiskers fuck you. Tiny swirls would’ve worked. Why was he obsessed with oregano 😭 The showrunner said they toned down his pervertedness and made him more flirty but it just felt…uncomfortable. Like Nami was genuinely UNCOMFORTABLE. They did the exact opposite of what they tried to do. Baratie Sanji was already a flirt, in his little pathetic “step on me mommy” Sanji way, and Nami used that to her advantage she wasn’t uncomfortable in the manga. The Don Krieg pirates were taken out, so we don’t get Gin and Sanji’s kindness on full display. Sanji doesn’t even WITNESS Zoro fight Mihawk which is what made him want to go set out to find the All Blue in the first place. Why don’t Zeff and Sanji have genuine chemistry😭. Sanji throwing a tantrum at Zeff was soooooo funny, literally what was that, it happened so suddenly 😭. My friend told me the showrunner said his fave arc was Baratie but he only ever talks about MIHAWK 😭, it’s SANJI’s arc bro.

And also the showrunner thinks the romance dawn trio are the main characters when…they’re not😭? Maybe before Usopp joined, but after?…no all the strawhats are the main characters hello. Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, Robin, Franky, Brook, Jinbē. I don’t have high hopes for S2, and I probably won’t watch it either.

Edit: OPLA Sanji feels like a heterosexual man. He only tops women and doesn’t fuck or get fucked by men.

[tanadrin]

This is the Palestinian resistance. It’s not beautiful. It’s not inspiring. It’s desperate and futile and sad. Generation after generation of children, throwing themselves into the path of one of the most brutal military machines in human history, smashing their skulls against its steel hull, mangling their limbs in its treads, thousands of them, for seventy-five years, destroying themselves as they try to face down an engine that simply rolls on over the dying and the dead. These kids were brave, much braver than I’ll ever be. They rose to defend their honour. It’s noble. But stupid beyond belief. Later, Hedges talks to Lieutenant Ayman Ghanm, a Palestinian police officer who says he’s given up on trying to save these boys’ lives. ‘When we tell the boys not to go to the dunes,’ he says, ‘they taunt us as collaborators.’ I began by saying that this is a war without opposing sides. Israel is not actually trying to defeat the resistance; it has no political objectives, just violence. But the same goes for the resistance: they are not, in fact, doing anything to meaningfully resist. Think about what actually happens in Hedges’ story. The Israeli soldiers call through their loudspeakers for the Palestinians to come, come and be killed—and the Palestinians obediently show up. Their resistance is indistinguishable from following orders. The Israeli state wants a certain level of violence from the Palestinians, it actively courts it, and the resistance factions keep doing exactly as they’re told. They teach Palestinian children that the best thing they could do with their lives is lose them. This is not a very healthy attitude, but when you start up your bullshit about the glorious resistance you are part of that sickness. What would actual resistance look like? Maybe it would start with not handing over your life to the enemy. Not climbing up the dunes. In saying all this, I’m obviously breaking one of the biggest taboos on the left, which is that you must not presume to tell Palestinians how to go about their resistance. I might have spent time in Palestine, but I’m not Palestinian. I’m not subjected to the daily nightmare of occupation. Who am I to start preaching? My only reply is this: if the armed resistance factions were resisting sanely and effectively, this kind of taboo wouldn’t need to exist. If there were a better argument for their actions than don’t criticise the victims, you’d be making that one instead. But there isn’t, so you can’t. It’s not a coincidence that the exact same rhetoric is deployed by Israel and its apologists: yes, we’re committing hideous atrocities, but how dare you notice? Who are you to say anything to us? Whoever’s saying it, the fact remains that there is no military path to a free Palestine. This fact is inconvenient and unfair and doesn’t leave much room for the optimism of the will, but that doesn’t make it any less true, and if you think there’s an exemption from unfair truths that’s awarded to especially just causes then you are wrong. Israel has nuclear weapons: it will not be overthrown with small arms and explosives. I don’t think I have the right to condemn violent resistance altogether—but I can reject violent resistance that’s doomed to fail, that achieves nothing and produces nothing except violence for its own sake. Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad claim to be fighting for an Islamic republic, in which Jews will be free to live peacefully as long as they don’t dispute the sovereignty of Islam. The PFLP claims to be fighting a revolutionary people’s war for a liberated workers’ state. Their critics say that both are actually fighting for an unlimited genocide, the death of every single Jew in Israel. But what difference does it make? This is all make-believe! None of it matters, because none of it is ever actually going to happen! They’re not fighting for anything at all. They’re just fighting.

This is a good essay in general, but this point draws out something I think is important: the need to believe that, if there is a group of Bad Guys in a conflict, doing Bad Things, there must be an opposing group of Good Guys doing Good Things. But there's no law of the universe that says it must be so; mostly there's just the churn of senseless, sickening violence, to no useful or redemptive end.

[elvishdemigod]

Screw it, I'm never gonna actually write this. So here, fanfic idea for anyone interested in writing it. I've been holding onto it since I was like 16 or 17 and I'm in my 20s now. Someone else can write it.

Adopting it, you can do what you want with it. But this is all I’ve personally thought up for it:

So it'll start with Percy and Nico being adults, they're married, they're happy.

Then Nico gets a prophecy and he leaves to do the quest.

But when he finally comes back via shadows, he's halfway dead and beyond saving, having used the last of his strength because he didn't want to part from someone he cared for without telling them goodbye.

A month or two goes by, it's the day after Nico's funeral, and Percy is sitting in their room, still in shock that his husband is dead.

There's a knock at the door, he ignores it. Once, twice, gone.

Then Aphrodite appears in front of him, startling him, saying something along the lines of "Well, I WAS trying to be polite but that apparently wasn't an option."

Before Percy can shoo her off, she tells him there's a pocket of Kronos's powers only she knew about and she's willing to give it to Percy so he can go back and save Nico. Not out of kindness, but because it's basically like a movie having a shitty ending to her and she wants to fix it.

He ends up accepting, but gets thrown too far back, to when he was 12 in the Lotus Hotel & Casino.

He realizes what's happening, tries to find Grover and Annabeth like last time. But on his search, he bumps into a young boy asking if Percy's seen his sister, and saying everyone’s being weird and saying it’s different years. And Percy feels just a wave of emotion remembering how Nico looked back when they had first met. But then he’s confused because this hadn’t happened last time he was here.

He helps Nico find Bianca, Bianca doesn’t trust Percy but her and Nico agree to follow him because he’s the only one with some sense of normalcy compared to everyone else. They help him find Annabeth and Grover, who once finally out of the Casino are confused at the two new kids, but Grover senses that they’re demigods.

This time, Percy knows his mother is alive and Hades has her, but on top of remembering he has his helmet, he now has 2 of Hades’ kids. So he doesn’t know what to do there (In other words: I don’t know)

Then when he gets to Olympus, all the gods acknowledge the time change. They want to just strike Percy then and there, but know he’s the prophecy child, and aren’t risking putting Nico or Bianca in that place because at least Percy is mostly guaranteed for them.

So another thing is that this time around there’s no Hunters of Artemis around to pull in Bianca. So she sticks with the trio and Nico at CHB. Whether her destiny is to die or not is up to whoever adopts this.

And with Bianca alive, or at least having a more settled life for him to properly mourn, Nico might end up living life differently.

Nico cautiously opens up to Percy about liking guys (Specifically in the scene where Nico popped into Percy's apartment window and was invited in for cake), and by TLO they’re a couple.

In HoO, when Percy loses his memory, all he recalls is a skull ring and that it belonged to someone he cared about. When he gets to Camp Jupiter, he just senses he knows Nico, and it’s amplified by the fact Nico has that same ring. But Nico, knowing he can’t reveal too much, pretends Percy has the wrong guy. When Percy finally remembers, he embraces Nico, but stops when he remembers Nico’s closeted still.

Story goes on mostly as normal, but with more of the two together and Percy thinking about their future and how to protect him.

Due to Nico’s fears, they keep their relationship secret aside from Grover and Sally. But then the Cupid scene happens, and Nico tells Jason about his and Percy’s relationship. Jason is supportive. When they all meet again, Jason lets Percy know that he knows and that he’ll keep them secret.

By the end, instead of the “You’re not my type” talk, it’s instead “I think I’m ready for the world to know.”

And it’s Annebeth being the surprised one (Unless you want to include her in the few people who knew)

Stuff goes on as normally, ToA happens, they’re somewhat long-distance except when Nico sneaks out via shadow travel to see Percy. Adult life comes around, they move in together, get married, and this time around have a surrogate kid. But the day is closing in, the day Percy has been dreading since he went back to the Lotus. And when it finally comes, he begs and pleads for Nico not to follow the prophecy, who’s about to put his foot down. But then he exposes the truth, how this wasn’t the first life they’d lived, how this wasn’t the first time they were there. And how Nico was going to die.

And at this point, Nico knows what’s going to happen, the quest isn’t going to stop just because he said no. And he would’ve walked out the door anyways despite Percy’s protest because at least his death will keep them safe, if their kid hadn’t overheard everything and now knew their dad/step-dad was going to die.

This was the point where my brain also pooped. Does Nico die anyways? Do the dangers come to their home instead? If so, could that lead to a sequel/just continue where they go to save their kid? Or does it conclude around here? Because there WILL be consequences to them majorly defying fate. And probably some consequences from Percy using a speck of Kronos’ power.

So feel free to do with this as you want. I have so much thought out but I’ll never actually write it.

I also have other ideas I’ll never actually write myself, but I’ll talk about those some other time.

Also, it was inspired by this fanart by @minuiko

[mellkellyismyhero]

Jonathan Stroud and Kipps

You know, as a kid reading Lockwood and Co., I LOVED Lucy, George, Lockwood, and Holly. They were all my age! Every time a new book came out I’d imagine Lucy was growing up with me.

But that meant that I didn’t have much of a connection with Kipps, who was kind of L&Co.’s punching bag (affectionate). I liked him, but I never loved him the way I loved everyone else.

Now, I’m older than L&Co. Reading the books and watching the show feels like revisiting my younger self. I was expecting to love the L&Co. trio dynamic- and I did! But one thing I really wasn’t expecting was my newfound appreciation for Kipps.

Jonathan Stroud’s decision to focus on Kipps’ transition from brilliant teen agent to terrified, washed-up adult... It didn’t speak to me as a kid because I was too busy identifying with how cool Lucy’s Talent was. But now that I’m in Kipps’ age range, I identify with Kipps a lot more over Lucy. I can’t really put it in words- this is probably going to be the first of many posts of me spewing emotions and love for Jonathan Stroud’s writing skill- but I’m going to try.

Minor Kipps-related spoilers for L&Co. books under the cut.

Kipps, in the show and books, is 20-22 years old. He’s college-aged. And he cannot do the one thing that he has trained his entire life for, and needs to adjust to that. As a kid, I just kind of saw that as the same kind of “kids rule, adults drool” thing that happens in all kids adventure stories. Can’t have the responsible adults ruining the kids’ fun!

But Kipps was unusual in that you get to SEE him go from ‘competent rival agent’ to ‘technically a useless adult’. He’s straddling the line in the way that other series, where kids get to have magic because they’re good and pure or whatever don’t.

The thing is, it would’ve been easy for Kipps to be forgotten. Just let him fade into the background and never be mentioned again after book 2. But he’s there in book 3, and 4, and 5, still doing his best to fight ghosts even if he can’t see them. As a kid, I was just like ‘huh, okay, that’s a choice’ and kind of ignored him. Who cares what Kipps is doing when Lucy and Holly are having an epic argument that’s going to bring a million ghosts down on their heads?

As an adult, I LOVE that Stroud chose to keep Kipps around. I love that Kipps found a new way to keep fighting (the goggles). I love that Kipps kind of became a member of Lockwood and Co. I love that Stroud made the readers and the characters confront the reality that one day our beloved main characters would lose their Talents too, that even Lucy would go deaf one day, instead of just ignoring the generous but very real time limit the characters had hanging over their heads.

(Side note: part of my love for this series might be stemming from my complicated feelings about the Seven Wonders book series, where a kid is told he has less than a year to live and will likely spend months in debilitating pain and then... spends that year fucking around looking for magical artifacts and not actually having any kind of physical consequences for LITERALLY HAVING A DEADLY ILLNESS-)

Anyway.

Kipps is fantastic. The way he represents the inevitable future of Lockwood and Co... the way he represents the thousands of other agents who grew too old to sense ghosts and couldn’t keep fighting even if they wanted to... the way that he tries so hard to keep the kids he’s in charge of alive but can’t because he’s only one person and he’s losing his Talent...

He’s going through such a major transition and doesn’t know what his place in the world is anymore, and honestly, what early-twenties person does? There’s something there about Talents and childhood trauma and taking your first few steps into adulthood without the tools that saved your life as a child because they don’t work anymore...

In conclusion: Kipps was an amazing character, and I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate him sooner.

[sweetlittletangerine]

Why Queenie Exists or something

Hey there! So I don’t really know how to put together this theory in a cohesive way and I made this for fun, so keep that in mind if I jump around a bit.

But I’ve had this theory for a long time now, and the fact Kinger is one of the two characters getting major focus in the next ep has just hyped me up even more. (Guess who my favorite is you’ll never guess it.)

So… as a not-so-normal Kinger fan, there’s a certain someone else who’s been rattling around in my brain for a while too.

Yes. She.

My theory is about why she even exists in the first place from a narrative standpoint. I have many other theories but this one feels like one of my most concrete ones (imo ofc), So I thought I’d share it before ep 3 comes out, even if it won’t come out for a while. I mean, it’s very possible this is the ep we learn about her since I don’t think she’s gonna be very relevant for any other character’s stories outside of Kinger.

ANYWHO time to get to the theory itself.

So let’s start off with one question. (Well it’s two, but same deal.) Why does Kinger get a look-a-like? Why not the others? Hell, Gangle exists and she has the whole ‘comedy tragedy mask’ thing going on.

Well it’s simple, he’s been there the longest. I personally don’t believe he’s the first player to join the game, but he’s been there the longest out of our main cast (Of humans). So naturally, that brings up another question… how did he last so long?

This is where Queenie comes into play. She’s important in understanding why Kinger hasn’t abstracted yet, which would tell us, the viewers, how a person can prolong their abstraction.

So for starters, I 100% believe without a doubt the reason these two look so similar is because they entered the circus at the same time. This means they started off with the same level of “girl where tf am I” When they arrived.

Second, when you compare and contrast their appearances, you realize that their differences… don’t actually affect how their bodies function. (Assuming the bottom half of Queenie is like Kinger.) So, they also came into the game with the same body when it comes to how they work. They had to adjust to the same new features in the same environment.

So when you combine these two factors, they were basically given the same tools to work with to survive (for as long as they can).

But the most important part of this… is their personalities. I love the theory that the chess pieces they became are tied to their personalities, with people connecting how Kinger’s personality relates to the role of the king in chess. (For those that don’t know, the king is the weakest piece and the queen is the strongest.) People have used this as a base to figure out who Queenie could’ve been. But if this is true then that wouldn’t be all. When you think about the role and power of each piece, you realize they’re opposites. So the bottom line here is that they’re very different people.

This impacts how they process and adapt to their new environment. And this is why Queenie abstracted and Kinger hasn’t. Some people truly are more adaptable than others in the circus. Queenie couldn’t handle the place as well as Kinger, making her lose her mind and abstract first.

Hell, we can already see something about Kinger’s personality that could’ve helped him out. I think the fandom (including myself) overestimated how much of a scaredy cat he is. The more I think about it, the more I realize that he’s not afraid of the adventures. He’s afraid of the circus itself, which is probably tied to his trauma.

(I’m aware it’s only been two episodes, but the only time we’ve seen him panic during an adventure is when an abstracted Kaufmo entered the Gloink Queen’s nest, suddenly making the adventure way more dangerous.)

You could argue he’s so chill on them because of experience, learning that at the end of the day if someone gets hurt or lost, Caine can snap his fingers and bring them back to normal. There’s pain, but no serious harm.

However, maybe he learned this a lot sooner than we think, back when he was adapting to his digital life. He internalized the fact that he’s not going anywhere sooner/better than Queenie, and was able to ‘go with the flow’ better than her. Who knows, maybe Queenie avoided going on adventures, (wink wink nudge nudge to a character Kinger is oddly fond of in the group), which gave her more time to think about her situation and mental state. The adventures are a surprisingly effective distraction from all of that.

If the story itself is supposed to focus on why the characters are the way they are, then it’s going to focus on the characters as individuals. And considering the fact Kinger and Zooble’s characters are heavily tied to their identities, that’s probably going to be one of the main themes of ep 3. So it makes sense that the reason Kinger lasted longer is tied to who he is and how he copes with the world around him (both now and back then.) This would, by extension, explore the fact that Queenie was her own person too, and now that that person is gone. The abstracted characters were all people, people who lost themselves as they went mad, leading to their inevitable abstractions.

So uh, I guess that’s all for now. Posting things online scares me so idk if I’ll post more things like this, but I might. If you read through this whole thing, then thanks!

Back into the pit I go

[clueless-fan-critic]

Nimona: Just Now Got Onto The Hype for This Movie

After my first viewing, the movie Nimona was a thrilling, fun adventure with so much love and passion behind it that it makes you want to root for the bad guy and antiheroes once again. This makes you question what side you should support or not. And I love that it makes that kind of statement in the film.

Based on the novel of the same name written by ND Stevenson, they built a story about what it means to be a hero or villain, even going to lengths of what one’s true self is in the face of adversity. There’s also a bonus of a gay couple being at odds with each other like any couple in media.

If you want to watch the most human film of 2023 staring a pink-haired shapeshifter, then let’s get into the deep stuff.

Freedom and Freethinking

Nimona is the character that embodies someone who’s comfortable with who they are, at least on the outside. However, Nimona desperately wants to belong in a world that doesn’t want them to exist. This can mean lots of things, especially being an allegory for being nonbinary or transgender, thus not conforming to society’s rigid expectations.

Ballister Blackheart is the black sheep of the society he was placed into, the outsider that doesn’t feel like they could belong. He was essentially molded into a role meant to change the status quo and was later branded a villain by the kingdom. Sure, he was framed for murder, but he was greatly disliked and mistrusted before for not being of a “noble” bloodline.

Ambrosius Goldenloin is more portrayed as the man stuck between duty and love as he slowly unravels from the changes to the status quo. He still remains loyal because of his status as the direct descendent of the founder to the kingdom. He benefits from the system he resides in unlike Ballister and tries to find a middle ground to what he wants and what is right for the system.

All the people in the kingdom are influenced by their belief that monsters are evil and slaying them is the only option, as well as being affected by the fear of an unknown world beyond the walls. While the people aren’t evil, they aren’t innocent victims either. They still benefit and follow the life built within the walls of their kingdom without questioning anything

Transformation

Each character undergoes some sort of transformation, whether shapeshifting or through emotional growth. Some can be considered good for them and much needed, while other parts are very, very bad for a lot of people. Ballister internally transforms from a warrior to a friend to a monster that can empathize with Nimona’s feelings of isolation. You can even argue that Nimona’s shapeshifting is a representation of being genderfluid and changing their appearance to feel like they’re free.

The Director’s transformation is more negative if anything. She essentially allows her own fears of losing security get the best of her to the point of letting innocent people die than see any other solutions.

What it Means to Be Human

I loved that it doesn’t shy away from making strong commentary on how people make judgements and are motivated by their belief of being right. Around the climax, Nimona transforms into a giant shadowy monster after experiencing all of the pain she’s endured and nearly took her own life because she believed she was a monster. This was a powerful scene because we can understand feeling like no one will love or accept you, but there’s that small act of kindness that brings you back from that darkness.

Now...

Nimona is a modern classic that deeply explores identity and transformation within their characters in a rich environment and complex themes. This film makes the audience reflect on their own views on what they consider different while understanding self-acceptance and challenging societal norms. It’s a must-see for anyone who feels like an outsider and wants to learn about self-love and freedom from rigid ideas of identity. All I can say is that I’m emotionally exhausted from the rollercoaster of feels that I’ve felt.

[itsnothingofinterest]

I think that the LoV deserves to win in the Final War because if they win, they will be able to create a world for themselves. The Heroes never meant to deserve to win at all considering the fact that most of them are morally corrupted (like the HPSC) and they are more interesting when they lose all the time.

If Spinner were able to win against Shoji, that would prove that his point will be always right and he would be able to save Shigaraki. If Toya succeeded, it would be the punishment that Endeavor deserves for abandoning his eldest son. If Toga succeeded, she would be able to do anything she wants. If Tomura Shigaraki wins against Deku and destroys Deku along with the entire Hero Society, Tomura Shigaraki would be able to have peace with his friends.

If I may be allowed the opportunity to rant: I'm sure some will say this is crazy at this juncture of the story but honestly? I get where you're coming from. Or at least 90% of it.

I mean for starters, I sympathize with the League far more than the heroes (no surprise from a villain fan). I think they’ve earned the happy endings they want after how hard they’ve struggled against the towering odds they’ve faced, an area which I feel they far surpass the heroes. I want them to win, I want them to prove the strength of their bonds, all that fun stuff for them.

And just logically, if you look at the worlds both sides are trying to make…the villain's world kinda seems better? Because after all, isn’t the plan to just take the current world, tear it down, and rebuild it without a whole bunch of its glaring flaws? The easy world Toga wants where kids like her don’t fear for their lives. Where corrupt heroes like Endeavor and bigots like the CRC aren’t left to their crimes. In a warped way, they’re almost like young All Might.

Compare that to the status quo the heroes want back, the very one that brought us here, which I don’t see much reason to root for. I mean even if you say “but all the people who’ve died”; first off, I swear mha civilians frequently act like horror movie victims so I can only care so much for them. But if I did, they want back the very status quo that led to all that death in the first place so…it feels like it’ll just lead back here again. A return of the status quo? This chaos is part of the status quo by now, you sure you want it back?

(Granted this is all hampered a little bit by Shigaraki’s sudden decision to sink the country and really where did that come from? Did Tomura just say that to appear more inhuman? Did Hori make him say that to appear more threatening? Because that kind of interferes with a lot of the League’s goals y’know. Sure he doesn’t want to give the status quo loving heroes a chance to rebuild what he destroyed, but society still needs replacing as part of the plan. The PLF are still supposed to rebuild according to their desires. I may make a post about just this plot point soon.)

Not to mention that I totally get what you mean about the heroes not narratively earning a permanent win here. Not only have they as a whole not really developed and surpassed their old flaws, but just the fact that they’ve been doing their own war crimes in this arc (when you’re really supposed to stick to your morals and beat villains by the book against make-the-world-better-by-extreme-measures-type villains) really makes me think they just don't deserve the win because they kind of can’t be trusted going forward. I mean the final arc's supposed to show where everyone is ending up; how they'll be in the future. And the impression being left is that the heroes, even the kids to enough of an extent to worry, have shown the same corruption we know the HPSC for.

About the only thing I disagree with out on is that I don’t want Deku specifically to die. He can be, to put bluntly, a self-righteous moron about things he doesn't understand at times, and can be a bit of an AM clone a lot of the rest of the time; but I'd hardly wish his death for just that. Especially since it seems any hope for the heroes side not repeating their mistakes rests on him pulling his head out of his arse and getting a clue on how to be better than All Might. Not that I think that'll happen anytime soon, but that's why I keep insistently hoping for an MHA part 2.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Sorry I took so long with this. Mix of being busy with real life and being in a writing funk. Which is why this may not be my finest post either. Hope you understand.)