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millersfinest · 9 months ago

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the thing in your chest that beats | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5k

mini-series: california (you’re here) | oregon | idaho | wyoming

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: angry!r, mentions of fate, santa barbara arc, infected, shooting, lots of exposition, torture, violence, vulgar language, slow-burn romance, eventual smut, proximity trope, both reader and ellie on a path of redemption.

note: this first part is lowkey boring imo, but i hope the angst makes up for it. as always, please enjoy my hyperfixation!!

California

Ropes chafed at your skin; securing your legs and wrists on top of each other to the wooden post. Fog had shielded the setting sun from your skin—after many hours of being scorched. Your muscles ached and your bones were sore. The exposed skin on your shoulders and chest was dry and flaking, exposing an under layer of tenderness. Everything fucking hurt. But you were barely there; head nodding off from the scratching at your stomach and the dryness in your mouth ripping your lips apart.

How did you, a firefly, militarily trained, end up tied to a pillar at the cusp of a beach in Santa Barbara?

You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. This group searched for people like you—lonely and pillaged by the weight of the world. You were too distracted to foresee their deception; they got lucky with you.

Until the chemical reactions in your brain short-circuited, causing you to act out in the name of self-preservation.

Wrath, by definition, is a trait you’re easily overcome with. It’s not just something that passes through you like other traits and emotions. It holds on. It makes a home in your body and directs you like a rabid dog—a burdening feeling that nestled between your sore muscles. It filled you with adrenaline to kill and destroy—to get rid of the people who tried to get rid of you.

And, every time, you managed to find yourself feeling bad about it. There was no explanation for that. Just your heart being too sensitive for world you existed in—it was constantly broken. By yourself and your circumstances.

It was your own fault that you were captured by the rattlers. You should’ve never left Catalina Island for a pipe dream. There wasn’t anything better than the firefly base—you should’ve known that and never left. Perhaps, if you had remained under the duty of your earned dog tags, you wouldn’t have been thrusted into the situation that you were in.

Wyoming was a lie that you told yourself because you wanted to live a life that didn’t exist.

Locked in a debate with death, your body abruptly hit the dense surface of the sand. The ropes that bound you to that skewer had been severed by a fallen angel. A prisoner you had attached yourself to in the hopes of survival. Her hair was coily and reflected copper under the Californian sun.

You came to from the impact, finally beginning to hear the ongoing gunfire coming from the resort buildings. As you twitched in pain, she cut the bindings at your wrists and ankles. Tucking a pistol into your hand, she muttered words of hope. “Good luck out there, hotshot.”

Your lips moved to respond, but there wasn’t any sound. It didn’t matter, though, because she wasn’t around to hear it. The young woman at once took off in the opposite direction of the chaos with a bag over her shoulder.

Stuck in a dilemma, you didn’t move for a few moments. Eyes stuck on the weight in your weak hands. It was nothing but a black semi-automatic—it weighed nothing compared to bigger firearms. However, it sunk your hand into the sand as if it weighed a ton. You couldn’t even hold a gun with the same conviction that you used to. Yet, the fallen angel had faith that you could.

Taking in a deep wheezing breath, you tried to stand to your feet. You got up enough for your knees to bend, but once you extended them, you crashed back into the sand with a thud. In temporary defeat, you looked to the people still suspended on the pillars. They were unmoving, rotting away from the inside out. That could’ve been you if it weren’t for her cutting you down.

In mourning them, you gave standing another attempt. Keeping your hands low to catch your fall. But you didn’t fall. The muscles in your legs were weak, trembling as you stretched them. With a hunch in your back, you grabbed the gun, adjusting it in your hands. Your professional form remained the same as remnants of your training. Placing your hands over one another on the handle, supporting its weight. Aiming the barrel toward nothing specific, just to get the feeling again. It’s been months since you had opportunity to defend yourself.

With as much quickness that you could muster, you went through the resort to grab supplies. A backpack, medkit, and some food.

Setting your mind on leaving, you tried to sneak through the gunfire between the prisoners and the rattlers. But that simply wasn’t in the cards for you.

Before you could escape the resort, one of them had a bone to pick with you. It was the same rattler that was your deceptive captor. She used her femininity to convince you that she needed help—that she was weak and she needed your help. If anything, you have a bone to pick with her.

She had come at you with her bear hands, pushing your face up against a wall. She tore the backpack from your back, throwing it to the side. Where did her wrath come from? Somehow, you managed to get the upper hand. Straddling her body delivering punches that you haven’t in awhile. It felt natural to you to release such violence against another person.

Through beating her bloody, you found your power again. Tearing off the shimmering dog tags around her neck that had previously belonged to you. Heaving, you looked down at her. She had split your lip and broken your nose, but you could argue that you did worse to her. Her nose was cracked in multiple places, as she coughed up her own blood and teeth. It slipped down the crevices of her face, dribbling into her brown eyes.

“Fuck you.” You firmly speak, picking up your bag from its straps, swinging it around your shoulders.

From the fight, you had stumbled into a room of firearms. Still weak, you limped around. Causing you to walk away from the damage with a Beretta A300 shotgun and ammunition.

Like it was a prize after a big challenge.

You found yourself stumbling along the sand of the beach you were stuck on. This time, closer to the foggy waters of the coast. Ignoring the throbbing sensation in your thigh. You were barely sentient, running on nothing but fumes. But you knew you had to get as far from Santa Barbara as you could.

All of sudden, darkness began encapsulating your eyes from the outside in. Your limbs grew heavier, slowing down the pace of your movements—you collapsed into the sand like the damsel you had become.

When your eyes fluttered open, you were laying on an itchy couch. Waking up felt like awaking from a coma. Sitting up was a chore because of the tightness of your muscles. You felt it like a sickness in your chest. Trying to move your legs, you sucked in a pained breath. A hole that was cut into your ripped jeans was covered by white wrapping. Gauze.

A single lantern in the middle of the living room illuminated the space. It was placed on a dusty coffee table—off-center. Your backpack and weapons leaned against an entertainment center; a large cabinet that combined the use of compartments as well as a space for the tv to fit.

Blinking slowly, you tried to remember how you got there. Fingers gripping at the cushions, experiencing a crazy amount of brain fog. A wrapper crackled under the weight of your hand as you shifted. It was a granola bar tucked under the pillow that you laid your head on.

You stomach scratched at your abdomen, so you wasted no time in retrieving it—ripping open the wrapper and biting into the nutty granola. The side of your foot kicked over a metal canister, accidentally. Clashing toward the scratched wooden floors, it startled you. Reaching down, you shook it in your hands. There was a liquid inside. Screwing the lid off, you realized it was only water. Something else your body demanded of you.

Who put all this stuff here? It couldn’t have been you.

A creak from the side of the room, caused you to snap your head in that direction. Chewing slowly on the oats in your mouth, your eyebrows scrunched. Your free hand felt your hip from the cool metal of that gifted pistol, but there was nothing but the fabric of your jeans.

By the time she came into your view, your body froze. Your gun was across the room, she had the advantage. She loomed in the darker parts of the room as if she were hiding from you—in a way that was prey-ish, rather than predatory.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up…”

Her voice was raspy, and she spoke with a slow cadence. When she came into the light, she kept her distance. By the corner of the entertainment center cabinet—on the opposite end of where your bag was laying. Her auburn strands were choppy and tucked behind her ears. She wore a white t-shirt that was filthy with, what looked like, blood and dirt. Hands fidgeting with each other in front of her body as she eyed you with concern. She was missing her pinky and ring finger from her left hand. “You’d been out for hours… I, uhm, stitched up a wound on your leg— thought you might’ve caught an infection.”

She lacked conviction when she spoke to you. Voice leaving with a sort of emptiness, or perhaps, guilt. “Where’d you find me?” You asked, gritting your jaw. Holding onto the metal canister tight enough to use as a weapon if need be. That last thing you wanted was to be fooled by a stranger again.

She cleared her throat. “The beach.”

That’s when it hit you. The memories of your weakness hit. You remember dragging your legs through the sand, catching the glimpse of a body sitting in the water beside a vacant boat, then falling into a deep sleep. Of course, you, somehow, offered yourself up to a stranger.

It was just your luck, huh?

“There were others you could’ve helped… Why me?”

A scoff fell from her lips. Scarred eyebrows jutting together; an attitude washing over her freckled features. As if your words were charged with something else besides cautious curiosity. “I was expecting more of a thank you...”

You blinked, sucked your teeth. “I don’t know you from a can of fucking paint— so, you should lower your expectations.” You retorted, boring your eyes into her slender figure. What alarmed her was how your voice scolded gently. It cut deeper that way. “I mean, what is that on your shirt? Blood? Would you wanna thank some stranger in a bloody shirt?”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Have you seen yourself?” Her thick eyebrow raised, voice dropping an octave. “You look like shit—“

You glanced at the shirt that clung to you perspiring body. It also had remnants of blood and dirt and sand. Leaning your elbows on your thighs, you leaned forward. “Fuck you! You have no idea what I’ve been through—!”

“And you know what I’ve been through?” She countered, scoffing after her words.

You talked over each other—barking like unfamiliar dogs. Wrath came easy to you; and, apparently, it came easy to her, too. Her words silenced you, but you grit your teeth. “I should’ve left you where I found you— fuckin’ joke’s on me.” She ran a hand through her short hair, taking long strides out of the living room. Preparing to sink back into the corner she came from.

Clearing your throat, you swallowed your pride. There was a sincerity behind her eyes that you couldn’t ignore. Her anger radiated off her epidermis is such a way that it was familiar. “All right,” You sighed, positioning your body slowly to face her departing figure. She’d stopped in her path, peering over her boney shoulder. “I don’t recognize you from the cells… Or the pillars. Who the fuck are you?” Your eyebrows furrowed, voice weakening by the mention of your greatest failure: becoming a slave to the weirdest assholes known to man.

Wheels shifted in her mind, her olive eyes flickering around in the dark, in thought. Lips opening and closing, trying to formulate her words—but there was no use. She decided to resume her steps, sequestering herself in a bedroom. You heard the sound of the door shutting and locking the door behind her.

Groaning, you shut your eyes, leaning your head against the soft, itchy pillows, frustrated.

Unbeknownst to you, she’d locked herself in that room because she found herself overcome with emotion—hot, streaming tears. She didn’t know you as much as you didn’t know her, and she wasn’t going to share her own greatest failures with you. If what you were saying was true, you were victimized. How could someone like her talk to someone like you? After the things she’s done… After the things she was prepared to do.

The sun ascended, with the two of you lingering in separate rooms. You had eventually fallen asleep after some hours in your thoughts. Wondering about the story of the woman sheltering herself from you. Multiple times, you had to stop yourself from dwelling. This is what got you caught up with the first time. Instead, you began to think about what your plans were.

Were you going to resume your journey to Wyoming, in the hopes of finding that settlement? Or were you going to hitch it back to Catalina Island? And hope to God that they take you back with minimal consequences. Dwelling on those thoughts, instead of her, is what brought you to sleep.

When you woke up, you finished the metal canister of water. Giving the room a proper once-over. Sun rays cascaded through the dusty windows like beams, illuminating the room, angelically. Taking a deep breath, you decided to walk around. The soreness in your body hadn’t changed—you still felt burdened by your own body.

The home was a single-leveled Tuscan inspired home. Its interior was riddled with browns and beiges. Dragging your feet against the wooden floor, you entered the kitchen. All the cabinets were blown open and searched through. You assumed it was that woman who you’d met—still, you didn’t know her name.

Looking down at the counters, there was a yellow-paged note on the furthest one from you. The island closest to her bedroom. It was lying under a pill bottle. You shifted as quickly as you could to the note, sliding the pill bottle to the side, but not without a glance. They were antibiotics.

Found the antibiotics in the cabinets this morning, there’s only two left. Take them both.

I left to go hunt for some food. Stay in the house if you know what’s best for yourself. There’s infected around.

I’ll be back soon.

— E

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “If I know what’s best for myself…” Pressing into the top of the bottle, you unscrewed it. With nothing but your saliva, you knocked back two of the pills just like she told you. However, not because she told you to. There were many reasons for you to catch an infection from the wound on your leg—the wound you didn’t even remember how you got.

“I can handle infected.” You muttered to yourself. It’s been awhile since you really dealt with them face-to-face, but it was an innate ability. Why wouldn’t you be able to defend yourself from infected? Your only limits were your body stuck in its state of pain.

But, where you come from, sometimes it took movement to heal pain. Pushing through soreness and tightness was the only way to move forward.

So, instead of waiting around for E to come back around. You decided to explore some of the nearby houses. Ones that were only a few paces away from the house that you were currently in—you weren’t that stupid.

You secured your backpack around your shoulders, hooking the strap of your shotgun around your arm, and sticking the pistol in the back of your jeans. The first stop was next door. Slowly, you had climbed through a broken window. Landing in a bedroom decorated with childish posters. Focusing, you found yourself busy with looting the home. Taking things of importance and putting them inside of your bag.

You didn’t run into anything shocking until the third place you visited—three houses down. Thankfully, there was no clicking, but there were the familiar wailings of a runner. Catching a glimpse of coily copper hair, huddled over sobbing in her hands, you crouched behind a wall. Eyes shifting from side to side, trying to digest the visual.

Good luck, hotshot.

Perhaps, it was her who really needed the luck. Slowly, you removed the gun from your shoulder, leaning it against the wall. The breaths from your lips fled in chunks, pulling the gifted pistol from your waistband. You had known her for the entirety of your stay at that treacherous resort—she was your anchor. She helped you with your anger, keeping you under an emotional routine. Later, it worked for the worst instead of the better, but she tried to help you in there. She was patient with you.

You stepped from the wall, aiming the chamber of the pistol at the back of her head. You didn’t know her for that long, but you knew she wouldn’t want something like this for herself. She had plans just like you did—she wanted out of California. Leaving her to stumble around this broken home would be fucked up.

She freed you. Now, it was time for you to free her.

“You deserved better than this, Honey.” She was sweet and tangy like honey; that’s why you called her that. It wasn’t even her name—you didn’t know her name.

Your index finger squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet straight through her unsuspecting mind. Her whines were more coherent, meaning that all of that just happened. The infection had just taken over. A tear had slipped down the fat of your cheek when her body hit the ground. The shot echoing against the walls and through the neighborhood.

She lasted no longer than a day on her own, and those rattlers were nothing but the blame. They drained you enough to make you suffer but keep you working. But, out on the road, you stood no chance.

There was a piece of notebook paper on the floor by the baseboards of the wall Honey’s body laid beside. With a lump in your throat, you plucked it from the ground, holding it delicately in your hands.

After months of captivity, I’ve found myself in a situation that I could have never imagined. I didn’t notice when the clicker bit me, everything happened so fast!

It hurts now, though, a lot. And the anticipation of the infection is worser than I expected it to be. This is the part where I put a gun in mouth to end it all.

I’m too tired to do that. For once, I don’t wanna fight.

I apologize to those who end up witnessing what I have become.

The palm of your hand covered your mouth in shock as you read the letter. Honey must’ve been horrified. And it hurt to know that she went through it all alone.

Catching you in a grieving state, E had vaulted through a broken window with her gun in hand. Her olive eyes landed on you, subsiding the subtle look of shock on her face. “I thought I told you to stay in the house.” She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her jeans, sighing. “You’re in no condition to travel alone…” Her eyes casted onto your frame leaning over a marble counter, reading over the letter silently.

Hearing her footsteps, you folded up the letter and slid it into your back pocket. Taking a final look at the dead woman on the floor, a reflection of your friend that didn’t exist anymore, you brush past the the auburn-haired woman. Shoulders grazing as you achingly climb out of the same window she came in from.

Without saying, what happened to Honey worried you. Loneliness was a cruelty that many could afford—you experienced it. But loneliness along with bodily ailments wasn’t a problem you wanted. If it weren’t for E, you could’ve been in the same position as Honey. What made you worth saving and not her? A ball of fury, like yourself, should’ve been the first to go.

Yet, a level of gratefulness washed over you. Were you ready to thank the freckled stranger for her saviorship?

E followed you back to the house, binding the front door with furniture. Entering, you noticed two rabbits attached to a string laying on the tiled counter. Impressed, you hummed, while dragging your feet toward the couch you had slept on. You shrugged off your backpack and leaned your shotgun against the wall.

The auburn-haired woman peered at you, messing with rabbits, pulling them off the string to prepare to cook them. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She breathed. Her voice coming out like a muttered sigh, but it was loudly quiet in the house. Therefore, your ears picked up on her words.

You ignored her, pulling out the note, and kicking your feet up onto the couch to read it again. Analyzing the messy handwriting on the page, tainted with dried tears and dirty hand prints. E had brought in a metal trashcan to cook the animals she hunted for the both of you. Every so often, peaking at you with interest and wonder.

When the rabbits were cooked, she brought it over to you in a chipped ceramic bowl. “Thanks…” You mutter, barely meeting her eyes.

“Yeah,” She answered, slightly taken off guard.

The two of you eat separately, on different sides of the room. E didn’t retreat back into the room had the night before. Instead, she propped herself on the stool by the island table. Where she could keep her intense olive eyes on you—attempting to read you without asking questions.

You were impressed by the rabbit presented to you. Back at the base, you were familiar with chicken more so than rabbit, though. There was a hesitation when taking the first bite. But the rumble in your belly was satisfied by the animal, and that was all that mattered.

Feeling a strong gaze on you, peering to the side was a natural reaction. She’d snap her eyes back to her plate before you could fully catch her. Sighing, you set the plate on the coffee table in front of the couch.

In your looting, a bottle of wine called out to you from the basement of one of the Tuscan homes. You limped toward the kitchen with your calloused hand wrapped around the sloped neck of the bottle. Placing the bottle at the middle of the island, you take a seat at the furthest end from her. “I thought I would properly thank you for saving my ass…” You cleared your throat, awkwardly. Choosing to keep your eyes trained on your fidgeting fingers. “It’s Cabernet, I think. The label’s kind of rubbed off.”

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

You pursed your lips, flickering your eyes to peer at her. “Hm.” You hum. “Okay, well, more for me, I guess.” You shrug, reaching for the wine. The plan was to drink it either way—if she wanted it, or if she didn’t. Peeling off the wrapper, you were happy to see that it was a screw top instead of an imbedded cork.

Taking the first sip, its sweetness spread over your tongue. The alcohol percentage was fairly high, so you were expecting a pleasurable feeling within the next few minutes. If you kept gulping at the bottle. You deserved a bit of man-made solace after what you’ve been through. After the things you’ve seen. Taking another sip, you prepare to go back to the couch you were sat on, with the bottle in your hand.

However, E places a hand on the cool tiles. “Wait…” She rolled her eyes. “One sip wouldn’t hurt.” In her silence, she realized that she also deserved a few moments of calmness—self-care.

The corners of your lips curled, sitting back down on your stool. You slid the bottle close enough for her to reach it, leaning your head against your fist.

Orange rays of the sun shifted through the room; setting so the moon could take her place. You and E had found comfort in the wine and in the space between yourselves. Scooting close to each other until there was only a single stool in the center of you. Talking about the more joyous parts of your lives—which, surprisingly, wasn’t much. The pair of you managed to keep the important information off the record. Upholding a level of vagueness between your truth.

When E had brought up her son and girlfriend, that’s when the energy shifted in the room.

“You have a family? Then… Why are you out here?”

A beat slivered between you, circling your bodies like a ribbon.

“I recognize those dog tags… You’re a firefly? I thought they shut down years ago.” She spoke with rigid shoulders, taking a swig of the Cabernet.

Your hand reached for the thin metal around your neck, decorating your exposed collarbones. There was a disconnect between you and the facility you had grown up in. While you loved the support of the community, as you got older, you wanted something different. “Yeah, after everything shut down, another popped up here—in California. It’s the only one left, I believe.”

She chuckled, cheeks flushed from the alcohol accumulating in her system. “Hm. Are you gonna try and recruit me into your little cult? Is that why you’re still out here?”

Deepening your eyebrows, you peered down at the grout between the tiles under your hands. “Probably… If I still was a firefly…” Slowly, you enunciated. “I haven’t been one for months now.”

“Ah, you went rogue.”

“I wouldn’t say that… But, yeah, I guess.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for the wine bottle. She put it in your hand, leaning her elbow against the counter. E left room for you speak, just boring her hazed eyes into your frame. “I was done with being an asshole for a living— I don’t want to just survive anymore… I want to live.” You take a large swig of the wine, lamenting subtly.

Look where desiring life got you. Locked up as a slave for another bunch of assholes. “I heard from some people that there was a place in Wyoming that wasn’t anything like the fireflies.” You inhaled, sharply. “I could live a normal life there— maybe it’s a stupid idea… I don’t know.”

E deepened her thick eyebrows, leaning forward. “Are you talking about Jackson?”

“Yeah, I think so. There was a map in my bag that had the name. I lost it when the rattlers got ahold of me.”

With scrunched face, she stood to her feet. Running her hands over her face, releasing a tired sigh. “It’s not that stupid of an idea…” Looking back at you, she placed her hands on her hips. “That’s where I’m headed— Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Oh…”

Was this the fated reasoning behind why the both of you met? Both harboring an inner pain and guilt for something or someone. Two damaged souls meeting in the middle—this could be a productive exchange. But what would E receive?

She swore under her breath, running her fingers through her hair, stressfully. “You could come with me, it’s not like you’d get far in your condition alone.” She blinked, casually. You scoff at her words, sucking your teeth. She could never just be kind. Sure, it was obvious that you were injured—in horrible shape—but you weren’t inherently weak. You were a trained individual, something that most people couldn’t say.

“I’d feel like an asshole if I didn’t at least offer. It’s a long journey—“

“Oh, you still come off like an asshole, but I appreciate the offer.” You nod, jumping from the stool. “Those fucks threw me off track— I wouldn’t even know where to start up again… So, yeah, I’ll go with you.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“You don’t make me regret this. I have a bad history when it comes to trusting strangers.” You pressed your lips into a line, leaning against the island for support. There was a slight sway to stance, as the world around you didn’t feel stable.

“Okay, well, you have my word.” She affirmed, sliding her hands into her back pockets. “Do I have yours?”

You inhaled, sharply, glancing at the ceiling. “Yes, you have my word… On the condition that you tell me your name.” She narrowed her eyes at you, the corners of her lips curling. “We can’t possibly travel together if we don’t know each other’s names.”

The auburn-haired woman picked up the backpack she threw against the lower cabinets, slinging it over her shoulder. She was preparing to huddle into that bedroom again. Before leaving you in the dim hue of the few lanterns in the room, she spoke. “Ellie. My name’s Ellie.”

She waited by her door for your answer, with a raised eyebrow. You gave her your name, plainly. Straightening the hunch in your back—feigning a level of stoicism.

The only response she gave was a hum, before locking herself away. Releasing a sigh of relief, you smiled. Wyoming wasn’t the pipe dream you thought it to be. Yeah, the experiences you had leading up to that conversation weren’t the best. In fact, those experiences scarred everything about you. But could this have been the reason behind your hellish encounters?

#🪅#millersfinest #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x reader #lesbian #mini series #ellie the last of us

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sniktbaby · 7 days ago

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𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝑔𝑜 (𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒)

summary: you stand up to logan and he's faced with a choice - become the man you deserve, or lose you forever. part one part two

content: angst, a break up of sorts, logan is an ass with a redemption arc, jean grey needs her own warning, smut, clit play, nipple play, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, p in v intercourse, making loveee, cream pie

word count: 6.4k

author's note: me and logan are both in our redemption era!!!! i really enjoyed writing this little series and i hope you guys like this happier ending hehe! <3 also sorry for the abrupt ending but i am really tired and wanted to get this out there ok LOVE YOU

Logan hasn’t seen you in two weeks. After last time, he swore he’d stay away from you. You deserve so much better than the petty crumbs he can offer, but he isn’t sure how much longer he can do this. Nightmares are plaguing him, visions of Jean and the countless other people he’s failed. The whiskey isn’t helping. Nothing helps except for you. Nothing eases his pain like sinking into your willing body and drowning in your sweetness until he can breathe again.

So here he is, standing outside of your door. He raises his fist to knock, but he hesitates. Something feels different this time. He isn’t sure if it’s him, or if it’s his instincts picking up on something you’re sending out, but it makes his skin itch and his brows furrow.

He raps his knuckles against the wood. Twice. Waits. Knocks again. He calls your name, his voice rough with exhaustion and need. “Let me in.”

You’re curled up in bed, wrapped snugly in a cocoon of blankets when the pounding at your door startles you. At first, you ignore it, knowing it is just another restless night for Logan – another night of drinking and brooding and brainless fucking. You told yourself you weren’t going to do this again.

But then you hear him say your name – hoarse, urgent – and your heart skips a beat.

Throwing off the covers, you pad over to the door clothed only in your pajamas, pressing your ear against the wood. You can hear his heavy breaths – he sounds different tonight. Tired. Desperate. Like a man on the verge of breaking.

Letting out a shaky exhale, you unlatch the lock and open the door. Logan stands there, framed in the hallway light, his shirt hanging open, his hair mussed. He looks like hell warmed over. You can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for him, though you try not to let it show.

When you open the door, Logan feels an unexpected warmth travel through his veins. Seeing you, all soft curves and sleepy eyes, calms something inside him. It feels like coming home. He reaches out, cupping your cheek with his palm. “I need you,” he whispers, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

Your breath catches at his touch, his words. But you know this dance all too well – he shows you his vulnerability, his hunger. You mistake his desperation for a distraction as a promise for something more. You’re tired of playing these games, of being his emotional punching bag.

You open the door wider as you take a step back, watching the hand that once cradled your face fall limp against his side. Your voice is cool when you speak. “You can come in, but I’m not going to be your fuck buddy tonight. If you want to talk, I’m here. But if you want sex, go find someone else.” It hurts you to say, to put up boundaries with the man you love. But you owe it to yourself to stand your ground, to demand more than fleeting moments of connection.

Your words hit Logan like a punch to the gut. Fuck buddy. Is that really all he’s reduced you to? Some cheap piece of ass to use whenever the nightmares get too bad?

He shakes his head, stepping into your room and shutting the door behind him. “That’s not fair,” he says quietly, stuffing his hands into his pockets to keep from touching you. “I didn’t come here for sex.” A lie, but he means it now. “I came here because…well, I need a friend.” He swallows hard, hating how pathetic he sounds.

Your resolve falters slightly, your defenses crumbling like sandcastles trying to stand tall against a tide. You approach him slowly, your eyes searching his, urging him to go on.

Logan can see you starting to give in and his chest tightens. Even after all the ways he’s broken you, used you – you still want to believe in him, trust him. It’s a heavy burden to carry, your faith in him.

He feels something break inside, a dam bursting. The words spill out, chaotic, all of his fears and doubts and grief he’s kept bottled up pouring out of him against his will. “It’s…everything,” he confesses hoarsely, his eyes burning. He wipes at them and is surprised to find his fingers come back wet.

Without warning, he pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your shoulder like a scared child hiding from the boogeyman. “The nightmares. The pain. Feelin’ guilty for living. Missin’ Jean, everything. I just feel so goddamn lost and I don’t know how to find my way back.”

You tighten your hold on him, cradling his massive frame as if you can physically contain his grief. You feel every single one of his words deep in your bones. “Oh, Logan,” you murmur. “You’re not alone.” Your own tears seep into the fabric of his shirt as he clings to you.

“I am alone,” he rebukes bitterly, pulling back. “Everyone I love dies. Everyone I care about leaves. You’ll leave too. I’m poison. I destroy everythin’ I touch.” He glances away, ashamed of his weaknesses. Vulnerability doesn’t suit a man like Logan. He’s supposed to be the tough guy – the Wolverine – the superhero people can rely on. Not the broken, bleeding mess he is right now.

You reach up, gently turning his face back to yours. Your thumbs brush away the wetness on his cheeks, your touch tender. “No, Logan,” you say firmly. “You’re not poison. You’re hurt, and you’re grieving. Yes, people will die. People will leave you. You can’t control that. What you can control is how you respond to it. We can choose to let the darkness consume us, or we can choose to heal.”

He stares back at you, incredulous. “Heal?” he repeats skeptically. “There’s no healin’ from this, darlin’. From the shit that I’ve seen. What I’ve done. I’m a killer, a murderer. Got so much blood on my hands it’ll never wash clean.” He laughs, the sound harsh and jagged. “And you think you can save me? Fix me? Newsflash, sweetheart – some things are beyond repair, and I’m one of ‘em.”

Your gaze is steady, burning into his. His self-depreciation won’t allow you to feel sorry enough for him to betray yourself anymore. “Maybe you are broken, Logan,” you say with a slight shrug. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be pieced back together. Maybe it’ll be different and it won’t be perfect, but you can be whole again. Still worthy of love and happiness.” You step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “And I didn’t want to save you or fix you. I just wanted to love you.”

Your words echo around him, providing Logan with a strange mix of fear and happiness and sadness. Then he notices the past tense you used. You’ve given up, decided he isn’t worth the trouble anymore. It should make him feel relieved – after all, he never wanted to hurt you, never intended to lead you on. But instead, he feels a deep ache in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” is all he manages to croak out, the words feeling woefully inadequate.

You nod, a tear sliding down your cheek and dripping off your chin. “Me too, Logan,” you whisper. “I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t be your crutch, your replacement Jean. I deserve more than scraps of affection and late-night sex.” You wipe at your tears, sniffling. “I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. I truly do.”

Hearing you say those words, admitting defeat, it feels like a kick to the gut. Logan knew that this would happen, but it still hurts.

He watches as you wipe away your tears, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. You look so small, so fragile. And it’s all his fault. He opens his mouth to say something – to argue, apologize, beg you to let him back in. But nothing comes out, because you’re right. You do deserve better than this – than him.

So he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yeah…you too.” He turns, walking away and leaving you behind before you can say anything else.

You watch him leave, feeling the usual heartbreak but also a bitter relief. You know that this is the best thing for you, but that doesn’t make it any easier. As you close the door behind him, you lean against it, taking a deep breath. It’s time to move on, to heal. To give yourself the love and respect you deserved from him all along.

You walk over to your bed, crawling under the covers, and let out a sigh. As you drift off to sleep, you think about the future, hoping it is filled with more joy and less pain.

Logan, however, wanders the halls aimlessly, lost in thought. He knows you’re right – he’s been using you, hurting you, and it was ultimately his own self-sabotage that pushed you away. He knew it while he was doing it, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Eventually, he ends up in the gym, where he spends hours beating the hell out of a punching bag. A real one, not like the emotional labour he’s forced you to endure. Sweat pours down his face, stinging his eyes, but he doesn’t stop, can’t. Not until he’s exhausted and sore. Only then does he collapse onto the mat, staring up at the ceiling. His mind is a blur of memories – Jean’s smile, your tears, the weight of his guilt. He closes his eyes. What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

Months pass. You’ve thrown yourself into your training, trying your best to forget about what you shared with Logan.

One evening, you are walking past the gym. You hear the familiar sound of hard fists hitting a punching bag. You pause, listening, before slowly pushing open the door. You find Logan, his shirtless torso glistening with sweat, his eyes closed as he punches the bag with a ferocity that takes your breath away. You watch him for a moment, your heart aching, before finally speaking. “Hey.”

He doesn’t hear you come in, too lost in his own head. But when you speak, he turns. His heart clenches, but he tries to keep his expression neutral. “Hey,” he replies, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He pauses, considering sending you away. But then he sees that lingering sadness in your eyes, the one that matches his own, and he knows he can’t do that to you. Not again. “Wanna join me?” he asks, gesturing towards the bag beside him.

You hesitate, then nod, making your way over to the spare bag. You wrap your hands carefully, then begin mirroring Logan’s movements. Each of you are lost in your own thoughts as you work out in silence. After several minutes, you break it. “How have you been?”

Logan continues punching his bag, not meeting your gaze. “Same old,” he says, trying to sound casual. It’s clear from the way you huff that you’re expecting him to go on. “Really. I’m fine. Just…workin’ through stuff. And you?”

You give him a small smile. “I’ve been good,” you reply, only partially a lie. You focus on the punching bag again, throwing out a series of quick jabs. “Just…busy with training, trying to keep my mind off things.” You glance at him, your expression softening. “And you know…missing you.”

You bite your lip, regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth. You turn away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Logan stops mid-punch. Your words catch him by surprise. “Don’t be sorry. I…I’ve missed you too,” he admits. He has missed you every day and every night since you told him you couldn’t be his crutch anymore, since he was too much of a coward to fight for you.

You smile softly, feeling your heart flutter in your chest. You continue to throw punches, but with less fervency than before. You sneak glances at him as you fall back into silence, feeling the tension between you shift.

After a while, you drop your arms, taking a step back from the bag. You wipe sweat off your brow before you begin to unwrap your hands. “I’m going to head out.”

Logan catches your eye. He doesn’t want you to leave yet. “Wait,” he says, stepping towards you. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts and his courage. “Stay. Uh. Have dinner with me. We don’t have to talk or do anythin’. We can just…eat. Together.”

He extends a hand towards you, mentally cursing himself for his fumbling execution, but still hoping you’ll accept. He wants to spend more time with you, to try and make things right.

You hesitate. You want to say yes, but you’re also afraid of getting hurt again.

You decide to take the chance. “Okay,” you agree, placing your hand in his. You smile up at him. “Let’s have dinner.”

Logan feels a surge of gratitude and relief. After cleaning up from your sweaty workout session, Logan leads you out of the gym and towards the kitchen. He rummages through the cabinets, pulling out ingredients for a simple meal.

You work together in silence, preparing the food. It feels nice, normal even. Once the food is ready, you sit down at a small table, digging into your meals. You chat about trivial things – training, upcoming missions, the latest gossip around the school. It’s comfortable, easy.

As you eat, you can’t help but marvel at how different Logan seems. Gone is the brooding, distant man you had grown accustomed to, and in his place is the man you fell for. You know there are still unresolved issues, but for now, you’re content to enjoy this moment of peace and connection.

Logan catches you looking at him a bit too long and his lips twitch. It feels good to have your eyes on him again. He finds himself wanting to open up to you, to finally tell you all the things he’s been hiding inside. He sets down his fork and takes a deep breath. “I, uh, know we still have a lot to figure out. And I know I hurt you, more times than I can count. But I want you to know that I’m tryin’. I’m really tryin’ to be better.”

You set down your fork as well, giving him your full attention. “I can see that, Logan,” you say gently. “And I appreciate it. But I need you to understand – I can’t be your crutch again, your distraction from the pain. I deserve more than that.” You take a deep breath. “So if you’re not ready to be more, if you can’t give me that, then as lovely as tonight has been, maybe we do need to continue down our separate paths for good.”

Your words hit him like a sucker punch. He knows you have a point – he was using you, hurting you, and he hates himself for it. But the thought of losing you entirely, of never seeing your smile or hearing your laugh again, it fills him with a profound sense of dread.

Logan stands up abruptly, pushing his chair back with a screech. He paces the length of the kitchen, running a hand through his hair in agitation. He turns to face you. “I can’t lose you,” he says, his voice rough. “I know I don’t deserve you. I know I’m a fucked up mess, probably always will be. But I love you. I love you so much it scares the shit outta me.”

You stand up as well, his words echoing in your ears as you move around the table to stand in front of him. You force him to meet your gaze with a gentle hand to his cheek. “Then prove it,” you challenge. Your voice is steady but the tremble in your fingers betrays your nerves. “Because I’m tired, Logan. Tired of coming second to a dead woman.”

Your words cut through him deep, and for a moment, Logan wants to shove you away, shut down and revert back to his old patterns. But he doesn’t, because you’re right. Again. Jean is gone, and it’s time he stops using her memory as an excuse to avoid the things right in front of him.

He covers your hand with his own, leaning into your touch. “I know. Been usin’ Jean as a shield. But you’re not a dead woman. You’re here, real, and you make me feel more alive than I have in years.” He inhales deeply. “I’m…in love with you. And I wanna try – fuck, I really wanna try to be the man you deserve, to build somethin’ real with you.”

Tears spill down your cheeks, your heart swelling with hope and caution. You step closer, pressing your forehead against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. “I want to believe you,” you whisper, “but I need more than words. I need action. I need to know that this isn’t just loneliness or habit.”

You pull back enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his. “If you’re ready to let go of her, to stop hiding behind Jean, then…I’m willing to try. But don’t make me wait anymore. Don’t push me away again.”

He expects to feel some kind of frustration, agitation at you for standing your ground so strongly. But being here with you, Logan realizes he truly doesn’t want to hide anymore. He just wants you.

He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. His heart feels like it’s going to burst from the weight of everything he’s feeling. “I’m choosin’ you, darlin’. Only you. No more runnin’. No more hidin’. I’m done pretendin’ I don’t love you.” He leans down, pressing his lips to yours.

You melt into him, your heart soaring as you feel his sincerity through his embrace. When he pulls back, you look up at him, your eyes shining with tears. “Okay,” you breathe.

That was all he needed to hear. Logan’s hands tighten on your waist as he lifts you onto the table. He moves closer, trapping you against his body. “This time is gonna be different, darlin’. Gonna show you how much you mean to me.” Slowly, he slides his hands up your sides, watching the way your pupils dilate. Every touch is a promise now.

“When we wake up tomorrow mornin’,” he murmurs against your neck, nipping lightly at your sensitive skin, “you’ll still be in my arms. And the mornin’ after that, long as you’ll have me.”

A shiver runs down your spine as his teeth graze your neck, your nails digging into his shoulders. There is a rawness to his words that makes your throat tighten – hope and fear tangling together. “Is that a threat or a promise, Logan?” Your attempt at teasing falls flat when your voice wavers. “Because if you break this one…” Your breath hitches as his hands roam higher, leaving fire in their wake. “...I might actually kill you this time.”

The dark chuckle rumbling from his chest vibrates against your skin as he drags his lips over your collarbone. His claws itch to pop, not from anger, but from the sheer intensity of what you do to him. “Sweetheart,” he growls, catching your earlobe between his teeth before soothing the sting with his tongue, “if I fuck this up again, you’d be within your rights to sink one of those pretty knives straight through my ribs.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his hand sliding up to cradle the base of your skull. “But I ain’t plannin’ on givin’ ya the chance.”

Your breath stutters as his fingers thread through your hair, the possessiveness in his touch sending a liquid heat to pool in your lower belly. “Better not,” you rasp, dragging your nails down his chest. “Because I think,” a gasp as his teeth find that spot below your jaw, “this might be the last act of mercy I got left in me.” Your hips roll against him. Somewhere in the haze, you register the clatter of silverware hitting the floor, your half-eaten dinner thoroughly forgotten.

Logan’s fingers flex against your scalp and the curve of your neck, anchoring you exactly where he wants you – as close to branded as he can get without actually slicing his claws across your skin. “Last mercy, huh?” he mutters against your fevered flesh, nosing aside the collar of your shirt to mark the hollow beneath the fabric. The bite is gentler than you expect, almost reverent. “Good. Means you’re finally learnin’ not to waste it on bastards like me.”

He presses his thigh hard against your core, grinding slow and deliberate. He smirks when your nails dig deeper into his pecs.

You let out a strangled whimper at the pressure. Your mind screams that you should protest – that this is reckless, that history has every reason to repeat itself – but your traitorous mouth opens anyway, letting the words slip free before you can cage them. “N-Not wasted.” Your voice cracks as your fingers twist tighter in his shirt, tugging desperately. “Not on you.”

Logan freezes for a split second, the weight of your words crashing over him like ice water. Not wasted, not on him. After everything he’s done – every time he crushed you, discarded you, dragged you back into the fire – you’re still here. He doesn’t know why. But for once, he’s not going to argue. For once, he’s going to take what you’re offering him and hold onto it with both hands.

He crushes his lips to yours with a low growl, kissing you like he’s starving and you’re the only meal he’s ever wanted.

You kiss him back with equal intensity, your lips bruising under the force of his hunger. Your arms wrap tightly around his neck, clinging to him as though he might vanish if you let go. Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel every solid inch of him pressed against you.

When you finally break apart, your lips swollen and your breath ragged, you rest your forehead against his shoulder, whispering into the cotton of his shirt, “Don’t…don’t let me regret this, Logan.”

Your quiet words slice through him and he frowns, exhaling slowly as he tightens his arms around you like he can fuse your bodies together, make you a part of him so he’ll never have to let you go. So he’ll never have the chance to fuck it up again. “I won’t,” he murmurs against your hair. “You hear me, baby? Not this time. I’m done makin’ you hurt for me.” He lifts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

Your lips part, caught somewhere between disbelief and longing as you search his eyes. There’s something there – a quiet determination that hadn’t been there before. It shakes you, this fragile hope he’s handing to you like a glass too fine to hold.

“You say that like it’s a promise you can keep,” you murmur, your thumb brushing lightly over his jawline. “But promises have a funny way of breaking when it comes to you, Logan.” You see the guilt flash across his features and offer him the smallest smile. “Just…stay tonight. No disappearing. No excuses.” Your palm rests over his heart. “We’ll start there.”

Logan leans into your touch, grounding himself in the softness of your skin, the warmth of your presence. You’re right – promises do have a funny way of breaking around him. He’s built up a lifetime of disappointments, shattered trust, and abandoned chances. But not anymore.

He catches your wrist gently, pressing your palm harder against his chest so you can feel every beat of his heart – proof that he’s here, he’s real, and he’s still breathing because of you. “Tonight,” he repeats, his voice low and steady. “All night. And tomorrow mornin’, when the sun comes up and the world starts movin’ again, I’ll still be here.”

With a tenderness he rarely allows himself to express, he slips his hand under the hem of your shirt, caressing the warm expanse of your back. He guides you closer, eliminating any sliver of space between your bodies. He whispers your name, the word a sacred invocation on his lips.

Leaning down, he captures your mouth in a slow, thorough kiss. Every touch ignites a trail of sparks along your nerves. You respond with a desperate urgency, your lips parting to invite him deeper, to claim every silent pledge he’s offering.

You cling to him, your fingers tangling in his hair. This isn’t the frenzied passion you’d succumbed to in previous encounters, this is something entirely different – something slower, something that feels perilously close to sacred.

Logan deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring the sweet depths of your mouth. Your response fuels the fire simmering in his veins, a flame that threatens to consume you both. But this time, it’s not about the inferno – it’s about the embers, the slow burn that sustains long after the initial blaze has faded.

Carefully, he lifts you up from the table, cradling you in his arms. He carries you to an empty common room, laying you down gently on the couch. He settles between your welcoming thighs, his body aligning with yours.

You sigh as he keeps kissing you, your arms slipping down to circle his waist, drawing him closer. You spread your legs willingly, nails digging lightly into his back, hesitant yet hungry.

Logan pulls back just enough to peel your shirt off and over your head, revealing the smooth skin beneath. His hands linger on the curves of your ribs. You’re trembling – anticipation or nerves, he can’t tell. It’s probably both.

He kisses his way down your neck, across the slope of your shoulder, until his lips find the swell of your breast. His fingers tease the clasp of your bra, undoing it with practiced ease before tossing the garment aside. You arch into his touch, your nipples pebbling beneath his palms.

“You’re so beautiful,” Logan murmurs against your skin. These words, spoken with such adoration, they don’t come easy for him, but with you, they feel necessary – like oxygen, like water.

You let out a shaky breath, your cheeks flushing. No matter how many times he’s touched you before, hearing the wonder in his voice now – raw and unguarded – makes you feel seen in a way you’ve never experienced.

“Logan–” Your voice catches as his lips close over your nipple, sucking gently, and your back arches off the couch. Your fingers weave into his hair again, holding him close. Every touch feels like healing. Every word feels like a vow. And though the ache of the past still lingers in your bones, right now, you let yourself believe.

Your reaction unravels him. The way you arch into his mouth, the helpless grip of your fingers in his hair – it all feeds into a need to worship you, to prove that he can be gentle. That he can be more than just destruction.

He trails kisses across your ribs, his nose grazing the soft curve of your breast before switching sides. His hands roam downwards, slipping beneath the waistband of your leggings to cup the globes of your ass. He pulls you flush against him, letting you feel how hard he is, how much he wants this – wants you – on a level that goes beyond mere lust.

When he finally meets your eyes again, they’re glazed with desire, but there’s something deeper there too. Trust. Hope. And he realizes in that moment how much power you’ve handed him. Power to heal.

Your breath shudders as his hands mold you. You want to speak – to tell him how good it feels – but the words lodge in your throat. Instead, you move instinctively, rocking against him with soft moans that spill out into the quiet room. Your legs shift wider, inviting him in even further.

Then, quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, “Please…” A single syllable, weighted with everything words can’t quite accomplish. Need. Yearning. Forgiveness. Love.

Your plea shatters him, releasing a torrent of protective instincts Logan never knew he possessed. He wants to shelter you, to cherish you, to make you feel safe and wanted and desired.

He rises to his knees, stripping off your remaining clothes before pulling off his own. Naked and vulnerable, you’re laid out like a feast before him, and he plans to savour every bite.

Settling between your legs once more, he leans down to kiss you – soft and unhurried. His hand travels down your body, fingers teasing the seam of your sex. You’re soaked, ready for him, but he takes his time, circling your clit with the pad of his fingers.

A gasp escapes you when his fingers find your sensitive bud, your hips bucking against his touch. Each stroke is dedicated to stoking the flames higher without sending you over the edge. You squirm beneath him. You want it, want him, with a desperation that scares you. “Logan…please…” His name is a prayer on your lips, a benediction you never thought you’d utter again.

The way you writhe under him, begging so sweetly – Logan nearly loses it. But he steels himself, determined to make this last, to give you everything you deserve and more.

He increases the pressure on your clit, his fingers moving faster now, coaxing you closer to the brink. He trails kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, until he reaches the valley between your breasts once more. He lavishes attention upon each peak, alternating between gentle sucks and sharp nips that make you gasp and moan. Your back bows off the couch, hands fisting in his hair as you hold him against your chest. “Yes, yes, yes…” The words tumble from your lips unbidden, a litany of praise and encouragement. You’re lost in a haze of pleasure, all thoughts of the past and the future fading until only this moment remains.

Logan releases your nipple with a final, lingering suck before trailing kisses down your stomach. His fingers never cease their relentless assault, but now he adds a new element – his tongue. He groans as his mouth moves down to your core, tongue delving between your folds to taste the nectar within. He laps eagerly, savouring every drop of moisture that seeps from your cunt. You buck against his face, seeking more contact, more friction, more anything to quench the burning need inside you.

Your hands fly to his hair, gripping tight. His mouth works wonders, lapping and sucking and teasing. “Don’t stop,” you manage to gasp out, your voice ragged and desperate. You’re so close, balanced precariously on the knife’s edge.

So Logan doesn’t stop. Couldn’t if he tried. Your taste, your scent, the way you move against him – it’s intoxicating. Addictive. He’s drunk on you, lost in the rush of giving you pleasure.

He redoubles his efforts, his tongue delving deep inside of you before travelling back up to your swollen clit. He sucks hard, two thick fingers squeezing their way inside your tight hole, pumping in and out of your slick channel in tandem with his mouth. He can feel how close you are from the way your walls clench around him, the increasingly high-pitched cries escaping your lips.

Everything in you tenses, drawn taut as a bowstring. His mouth, his fingers, the rasp of his beard against your sensitive flesh – it’s all too much. Too good. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the pleasure crests, threatening to break you apart.

And then, with a keen wail that echoes off the walls, you shatter. Your orgasm crashes over you, each wave more intense than the last. Your back arches clean off the couch, hands fisting painfully in his hair as you ride it out. You dimly register him pulling back, the hair on his chin wet with your essence.

Logan never realized how fucking beautiful you are when you come, never fully appreciated it. Your face contorted in ecstasy, your body trembling from the force of your release – he feels a surge of masculine pride knowing he did that to you. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before crawling up your body, peppering your skin with soft kisses as he goes. When he reaches your face, he cups your cheek tenderly, brushing away the tears that escaped during your climax. “You okay?” he asks.

You nod weakly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He’s never done that before, checked in with you. Aftercare has never been Logan’s speciality – fuck, you aren’t even sure it’s on his resume. So you lean into his touch, savouring this new gentleness of his palm against your cheek. “I’m more than okay,” you murmur, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm, lips lingering against his skin.

He returns the smile, leaning down to kiss you. After a moment, he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours. Your breaths mingle in the small space between you and he feels a sense of contentment wash over him. This is where he belongs – here, with you, in this moment. “I love you.”

Tears well up in your eyes again, from joy, relief, a happiness so profound it aches. “I love you too, Logan,” you whisper back. You bury your face in the crook of his neck. “I always have.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. He stays like that for a while, just breathing you in, savouring the feeling of being together. Eventually, he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. “I’m gonna make this right, baby,” he promises, his voice low and earnest. “I’m gonna be the man you deserve, I swear.”

This. This is what you’ve been waiting for, why you chose to believe again and again. All you see in his dark eyes is truth, a deep-seated determination to stay true to his word. “Thank you,” you murmur.

He lays you back against the couch, following your descent with his body until you are aligned together once more. He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that this isn’t about forgetting or dominating.

You watch him intently. When he enters you, you gasp at the stretch, your nails digging into his shoulders. But there’s no pain, only a deep, aching fullness that has you arching into him, taking him deeper. You meet his thrusts with your own, your bodies finding a familiar rhythm. But it’s slower, more intimate. Each slide of his skin against yours, each brush of his lips against your temple, feels like an oath.

Logan resists the urge to set a punishing pace. This isn’t about quick gratification or satiating a primal need. This is about worship, about showing you with his body what he can’t put into words. He moves slowly, deliberately. Each thrust is a caress, a declaration of his intentions.

He rains kisses along your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, his hands roaming your body with a reverence he’s never shown another. You’re a treasure, a gift, and he wants to spend the rest of his days uncovering every facet of your beauty, inside and out.

You whimper and moan, hands exploring the planes of his back, the flex in his shoulders, the muscles of his ass as he moves inside you. When he captures your mouth in a kiss, you open for him, tangling your tongue with his, a sensual waltz that mirrors the slow, sensual glide of your bodies. He drinks in your flavour, your warmth, your very essence. This is what he’s been missing, what he’s been craving without even realizing it.

His hands find your breasts, large palms cupping and kneading the soft flesh, rolling your nipples between his fingers. Your moans are music to his ears. “Feels so good,” he murmurs against your skin. “So perfect. Mine.” He emphasizes the last word with a deep thrust, grinding his pelvis against your clit.

You’re so close now, teetering on the edge, but you don’t want to go over alone. You hook your ankles behind his back, urging him deeper, harder, faster. Sweat slicks your skin, making your movements more slippery, more intense. “Logan, please…” you gasp.

Hearing his name on your lips, breathy and needy, is his undoing. He picks up the pace, driving into you with a newfound urgency. The sound of your skin slapping together, the scent of your mingled arousal, the feel of your tight, hot walls fluttering around him – it’s all way too fucking much. He’s drowning in you, lost in the perfection of this moment, of you.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his groans against your skin. His hips snap forward one last time and he spills inside you, pulsing and throbbing as he fills you up with his release. The sensation triggers your own orgasm, your inner muscles constricting around his length in overwhelming spasms.

You tremble in the aftermath, your body still humming. You hold Logan close, unwilling to let go, afraid that if you do, this will all fade away again. You press soft kisses to his shoulder, his neck, anywhere that you can reach.

Eventually, Logan pulls out and rolls on to his side, taking you with him. Your back is flush against his chest, and he nuzzles his nose against your hair. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as your breathing returns to normal. He strokes your side absentmindedly.

For once, he doesn’t feel the urge to bolt, to escape this intimacy. Instead, he wants to stay. He presses a kiss to your temple before murmuring, “Should probably get cleaned up before someone walks in here.” But he makes no move to disentangle from you.

You stir at his words, turning your head slightly to meet his gaze. There’s a question in your eyes, a silent plea for reassurance that this isn’t goodbye. You reach over to trace the lines of his face, fingertips gentle against his stubble. You study him, searching for any signs of doubt or hesitation.

Finding none, you relax. “Yeah,” you agree softly. “Let’s go back to my room.”

Logan catches your hand, bringing it to his lips for a tender kiss. The gesture feels foreign, almost ceremonial, but he enjoys it – touching you without the urgency of lust, just the simple pleasure of contact. “I promise,” he says as if reading your mind. He means it. No more disappearing acts, no more running away from what he feels for you.

#hugh jackman #logan howlett #logan howlett oneshot #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x you #wolverine smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fic #wolverine x you #logan wolverine #mine

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luvseisagi · 3 months ago

Text

— not too much, just enough.

ft. michael kaiser x reader. wc. 4k

summary. on endless nights that feel like drowning in your own mind, you know michael kaiser is the only one who truly understands. content. gn!reader, no pronouns used. established relationship. hurt/comfort, toxic relationship turned healthy. mentions of emotional manipulation and gaslighting. kaiser had a redemption arc (so ooc because hes super sweet). reader is dealing with mental health issues —depression, anxiety, self harm in a way (nothing explicit) + has avoidant attachment style. other than that, i think it could even be fluff. author's note. i had an episode and i was sad as fuck so i wrote this cause the only character i think would really understand it is kaiser since he's had it even worse. so yeah. here you have !

𝜗𝜚 english isnt my first language, so any corrections or advice are highly appreciated, as well as feedback (please) ! enjoy

the room is dark, the air so hot its difficult to breath, yet so cold it chills you even under the pile of blankets. the blinds are still up, window cracked open, but it's past midnight. no moon tonight, so nothing but the faint light of your phone screen on the bedside table illuminates the closed space.

you’re sitting on your bed, back against the wall, legs crossed. your pajamas stick to your skin, uncomfortable, but you have no strength left in your body to change clothes, too drained to move or even adjust the blankets over you.

you tried to sleep, because you feel exhausted, but your mind doesn't seem to want to cooperate. your eyes are wide open, and from where you are sitting, you can see all the notifications on your phone —a reminder of all the messages you’ve been ignoring.

today's been a rough day, but you don't even know why. you didn't do anything. didn't even leave the house, or your room —not today, not the whole week. so why do you feel exhausted? why does it feel like the worst day of your life, if nothing happened at all?

you did nothing but rot in bed for hours, gathering the very little strength you had left to drag yourself to the bathroom, splash some water on your face and eat whatever you could find in the kitchen that didn't get you nauseous just from the smell. and even that had been a struggle.

you are not fine.

actually, you haven't been fine for a long time now. however, u are able to ignore it most of the time —your busy everyday life has you distracted enough to avoid the dark thoughts, usually. but there are times when it’s just too much.

when everything's too much is when you feel absolutely nothing.

you always say you are a pretty logical person. it's one of the things you like about yourself: always taking in every perspective, always finding rational answers for your emotions. that's why these episodes hit so hard —they don’t make sense. you can’t even grasp them, can’t analyze something you can't understand. it drives you crazy. it makes you want to cry.

it chains you to your bed for hours, for days and even weeks —when silence becomes too loud is when your mind can't quiet down.

and still, all you feel is emptiness.

a soft knock on the door is the first sound to fill your room in days. it startles you, and you flinch.

"are you there?"

the voice on the other side of the door is low and sweet, almost honey in the way it slides so easily from under your door to the edge of your bed.

your throat feels dry for not speaking for days.

there's no answer from you. you can't grasp even a trace of your voice.

"i'm coming in, okay?"

you don't say anything, but he doesn't need you to reply. the door opens, and your boyfriend enters the room.

"hi, love. i've brought you dinner, in case you’re hungry. and water too."

you can only watch him in silence as he walks in, setting his bag down on your desk —the food is there, you assume, given the smell.

you swallow, but at least you don't feel the urge to throw up. the way your stomach growls, you're pretty sure hunger won this time over anxiety.

“here."

he hands you a bottle of water after opening it for you. is cold, and it calms the itch on your skin for a moment.

"thank you." you manage to mumble, avoiding his gaze.

he's seen you in so many ways —completely naked, just waking up, ugly sobbing, and sick and feverish —but for some reason, embarrassment gathers on your cheeks when he sees you like this.

it's not that you don't look good. it's that you look vulnerable, and broken —and you hate it.

you manage to take a sip of water.

"wanna talk?" he asks then, sitting beside you on the bed.

there are no sheets, the pillow is on the floor, and you have nothing but the blankets over you and other things you didn't care to set aside scattered on the bare mattress —your headphones, the phone charger, the laptop with no battery because you didn't want to get up to plug it in. one of his hoodies is there too, wrinkled and tear-stained. you had taken it off in a heat attack that had left you choking on air last night. or maybe this morning. you are not sure.

one of his hands goes to your arm then, and caresses your skin softly. that brings you back to reality.

"i don’t know." you tell him, answering his question. "i mean, i can talk. but i don’t know what to say. i don’t know why this is happening.”

he stays silent. meanwhile, the tips of his fingers run down your arm until they reach your wrist. then they stop —he waits for you to be the one to grab his hand.

you do it immediately, but when he squeezes it to confirm you that he’s there and he’s not going anywhere, you flinch.

kaiser raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything. his gaze shifts down to your hand, and, even though he knows what he’s going to see, he feels his chest swell with worry at the sight. he sighs quietly.

“love…”

“i know. i’m sorry, i… i didn’t…”

you try to let go of his hand, but he’s grabbing it firmly —enough strength to keep you from letting go, enough gentleness to avoid hurting you.

so you pull your knees up and bury your face between them. short flashes of pain run through your whole hand when kaiser brushes your knuckles with the tip of his fingers, skin red and purple throbbing under his touch.

it’s not the first time you do this, nor the first time he’s found you like this —alone in your room, gaze lost in the darkness, purple knuckles covered with dry blood and traces of a red stain on your wall. you swallow, a wave of shame flooding your throat, chest and stomach.

you don’t know how to excuse yourself, how to justify that pain is the only way for you to feel alive, like you’re still there, sometimes. —when reality is so distorted you need something, anything, to anchor you to reality.

luckily, you boyfriend doesn’t feel the need to say anything. he just holds your hand, and brings his other hand to your cheek. slowly, his fingertips caress your cheek, index and thumb holding your chin delicately. he tilts your head up slightly, and waits for you to look at him.

when you lift your eyes to meet his, you feel your whole soul breaking.

michael kaiser’s beauty is breathtaking, and right now, the sadness in the depth of his blue eyes knocks all the air out of your lungs.

and that hurts even harder than saying anything.

because you can deal with him scolding you —you’d just nod, fake that you’re listening, and start a new day as if nothing had happened—, you can deal with him telling you he’s disappointed, that you shouldn’t do this to yourself, or whatever people would say after finding out about it.

but he doesn’t do that. he just holds your gaze, eyes locked on yours while he caresses your cheek with his fingers. and then he places a gentle kiss on your dry lips.

a salty tear forms on your low eyelashes, which releases it on michael’s hand. a crystal-clear drop runs down the back of his hand, his wrist, and ends up spilling onto the blanket.

he kisses your cheeks, now wet with your silent crying, and your heart shatters just a little more.

kaiser knows more about pain than anyone in this world —and you know it. even so, he thinks nothing could ever be as painful as watching you cry in front of him.

if someone told you that you’d be in this situation a year ago, you would have called them crazy. your relationship with kaiser had been complicated from the start —the flirting and the teasing were fun until real feelings got involved, and neither of you knew how to manage them. becoming an actual couple and learning how to love each other had been a very long, thorny journey.

at first, he loved you so much it pleased you —he was sweet, thoughtful, gentle. he brought you flowers after your shifts, welcomed you home with dinner and very expensive wine, wrapped you in his velvety robe at night and covered your body with kisses.

you weren’t really dating, but everyone in your lives thought you would end up in a relationship sooner or later. the few times a month that you could see each other, due to your schedules, were truly the best days of the week —like coming back to a five star hotel where you could fully relax and empty your mind.

but a five star hotel, even though beautiful, is not a home. the exclusivity becomes boring after a while, when it stops feeling like a gift and becomes something that’s just there. all the time.

you started to lose interest, and he realized it pretty quickly.

so he loved you even harder —loved you so much, it scared you.

kaiser became obsessed with you, needy for your attention —throughout his life, he had been used to being the one in charge of the relationship. the one his partners depended on, although it was him who really needed them. and he had never had a problem with using the worst, most toxic traits known to humanity to practically force them to stay with him, convincing them that, without him, they would be lost forever.

you weren’t like that.

if he didn’t reply to your text for a couple of hours but post on social media, you would ignore him for a few days. if he told you he was hanging out with other people, reminding you on purpose that you weren’t dating yet to make you jealous, you would just answer with a “fine, have fun” and show him you didn’t really care. if he canceled your plans at the last minute, you would just take a walk alone and send him some pictures.

so he tried the opposite approach, but the result was the same —when he tried to shower you with affection, buy you presents, take you on expensive dates or just cancel his whole agenda to spend the entire day with you —you’d tell him he was being a bit too much and you needed space.

none of his old methods were working on you —not the intense lover behavior, which was supposed to make you fall irremediably hard for him, nor the avoidant partner traits, which technically would make you crawl back to him, begging for at least a bit of his attention.

he was stunned. he was confused, and, before he could realize it —he was the one who needed you so badly it could kill him.

and it seemed like it didn’t bother you at all.

of course, that wasn’t true, but his behavior had been driving you mad, and since you didn’t know how to react to his unconditional love on some days and apparent indifference on others, you just tried to convince yourself that you didn’t actually care about him.

oh, but you did care about him.

for the almost four first months you had been going on dates, hanging out, and really like a couple, kaiser had completely fallen in love. and you knew it, but you were still not sure —not about loving him, really, because that you did.

even if you didn’t really want to, after getting to know him better and seeing his most vulnerable, broken side ��a few weeks ago, following a very heated argument that ended in angry cries and bitter kisses—, you could not not love him.

but you were not really sure you could give him the kind of love he deserved.

walking away was easy at first —it wasn’t the first time you had done it. you tended to run away from everything, anything that started feeling important for you. from everyone who started loving you too much —which was exactly what michael was doing.

you usually made it look like you didn’t care at all, but it wasn’t exactly that —you were terrified. scared of being liked and not being enough, scared of loving too much and ending up hurt.

frightened of being known by someone —really, deeply known— and being so repulsive on the inside, no one could ever love you after that.

so you pushed him away. constantly. when he sent bouquets of flowers and when he invited you to germany, when he hugged you from behind or tried to hold your hand.

when he started calling and texting you daily because you hadn’t shown any sign of life for a whole week.

you remember it vividly, it was about six months ago —the first time he saw you the same way you are now.

kaiser showed up in your apartment after five days with no response. and, truthfully, he had learned to give you your space —especially lately, when you seemed to be stressed by even the slightest physical contact. however, when he asked your friends, they didn’t know anything about you either, and you lived alone, so he was really worried about you.

so, he showed up at your door, with a lot of questions on his tongue and a single blue rose on his hand.

kaiser kissed you as a greeting that day, on the cheek, a salty kiss that stained his lips forever —it was the first day he tasted your tears. then he asked, he asked so many things you can’t even remember them all. and, at first, you didn’t even try to answer —but then he sat next to you on the same bed you are now, and words started spilling from your mouth. even you were surprised to be able to explain something not even your own mind could understand.

later, when he gave you the rose, you had tried to blame the blood in your hands on its thorns. and yet, instead of feeling repulsed, kaiser had kissed each of your fingers —each of your bruises, each of the wounds still bleeding.

and then he cleaned the red stains in the wall, helped you make the bed and raised the blinds on your window to let the pink sun rays of the sunset enter your room.

he asked to stay the night, and you let him. then, for the first time, he told you about his past.

the last memory you have of that night, is your fingertips wiping away his tears softly, both hiding from the world under the freshly made sheets —and your lips muttering a very sincere, though slightly shaky, i love you over his mouth.

and you were still terrified, but he made it look a little bit easier. not loving him, exactly —but letting him kiss you back, and tell you he loved you too.

your relationship got better after that —it got official, actually. there were still arguments from time to time, and some nights weren’t easy —but you were learning to be together. to be there, at least.

and what is love if not that?

because he had exploded against you a few more times, screaming at you, belittling you, slamming doors and blaming you for things you didn't even know about. and you had stayed there, rational mind intact and a hand he could hold onto when reality hit him and he finally collapsed in front of you. you didn’t go. you never left him alone.

and you’d had three more episodes like the one you’re having now since that day, ignoring him and the world, hiding in your room and even seriously considering breaking up with him, thinking yourself undeserving of his care —and after each of them, kaiser had stayed there, eyes sad and kisses that reminded you that he would never stop loving you. he would never leave you.

neither of you left when yours wasn’t really love, but obsession, and need, and pent-up trauma. neither of you ran. instead, you stayed. you worked. you held on, not to what it was, but to what it could become.

and slowly, it did —a little purer, a little more beautiful—and much more fragile, too.

so here you are now, for the fourth time —weak, vulnerable and broken. your boyfriend looking at you as if he were watching the most precious thing in his life fall to pieces in front of his eyes, and he could do nothing about it.

kaiser places one last kiss on your cheek, then decides it’s time to help you feel a little bit better.

“listen, love, we are gonna do the following:” he says, gently pulling you by the hand that's holding his, forcing you to stand up. “first, we are going to take a shower —i’ll help you wash your hair and dry it afterward. then, we’ll put on clean pajamas, and i’ll change the sheets of your bed while you have dinner —brought your favorites for you to choose from. after that, we can watch a movie, or sleep, or talk, if you want. is that fine for you?”

you nod, slowly, and the blue of his eyes shines softly as he looks at you. then he gently kisses your hairline, as if reminding you he’s going to be there for every step —he’s still as obsessed with kissing you as the first day.

so you walk together to the cramped bathroom in your apartment, still holding hands, and he helps you take off your clothes tenderly —delicately, as if scared of breaking you if he’s to harsh, but firmly, for you to know that he’s there if you need to break on your own.

then he takes off his own clothes and the two of you step into the shower, barely large enough for two people. you stand still as the water soaks your hair, trails down your skin. you let yourself open your eyes and look directly at him.

blonde, irregular strands of wet hair stick to the sides of his face, blue tips brushing his chin. his skin is pale, but soft, and the rain of the shower slips over his muscles, traces the silhouette of the blue rose on his neck, down his arm. his gaze is still intense, but he smiles softly at you.

he looks like a sacred image, too surreal to be standing before you —you try to reach for it.

your hand goes to his cheek, little bit flushed from the warm water. you trace his features with your fingertips —the curve of his chin, the corner of his lips, the tip of his nose, the tattooed red line under both his eyes.

michael kaiser is very much real, standing in front of you.

still, you can’t help but think you’re in presence of something blessed, something divine, as you watch the round water drops rest between his eyelashes. when he blinks and they fall, it looks as if he’s crying.

but it is you, you realize, the one who’s crying, when he brings the shampoo to your head and starts washing your hair slowly, it’s your tears falling from your eyes as he massages your neck, your shoulders and you waist when he spreads the gel all over your body.

you don’t say anything at all during the whole process —but your body leans into every stroke, like it’s slowly surrending to the touch of love.

after the shower, kaiser takes turns drying your hair and his, and he lets you braid the long blue strands of the back of his head absentmindedly while he brushes yours.

time moves quickly after that —at least, faster than it has during this whole week. you watch him as you have small bites of the food he brought you, now a little more talkative than before, dressed in the clean clothes that smell like his fabric softener —as he changes the sheets on your bed and cleans up the mess your room had become.

the room has aired out while you were showering. the window is now closed, and the blinds are down. all the light, instead of coming from your phone —now turned off and forgotten on the nightstand, at least for tonight— comes from the starry lights hanging on the wall over your bed.

now it looks a little more like your room and a little less like a pit of despair.

your boyfriend has changed clothes too. he's no longer wearing his street clothes —which he's neatly stored in his space of your closet— but the silk robe he usually leaves at your house. his blond hair is pulled back in a half-updo at the nape of his neck, unruly blue strands sticking out. he's also put on his glasses —the ones he used to avoid wearing, but never forgets now since you told him you like how they look on him.

the air doesn’t feel heavy anymore. it’s warm, you think, as you let him wrap you in the freshly made blanket next to him. it’s comfortable, now that he’s here.

“so?” he asks, and then kisses your neck, and your chin, and your nose. you let out a soft giggle, and he feels his chest explode with affection for you “what’s it gonna be? movie, talk, sleep? or any other ideas?”

you smile faintly, and you snuggle up against him. his arms now surround your waist, his chest serving as your pillow. you can feel the rhythm of his pulse on your cheek.

“can we just stay like this for a while?” you whisper, voice small, almost unsure —but soft in a way it hadn’t been for days.

kaiser chuckles under his breath, and kisses the top of your head.

“that’s exactly the plan i was thinking about, love,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair, “wish granted.”

you laugh —a small, sleepy laugh that feels almost foreign to your own ears after the week you’ve had. but it’s real, and it makes kaiser’s hold around you tighten just a little.

there’s no need to talk anymore. no need for a movie or to pretend everything’s okay. the only thing that matters right now is the weight of his hand resting gently on your back, the warmth of his body against yours, the quiet rhythm of your breathing finally syncing in peace.

and, a few minutes later, when you ask to yourself why is he so kind to you —how does he know exactly what you need, just the way you need it— you remember that first night you spent crying together, curled up on your bed —when he emptied himself in front of you, confessing everything he had never told anyone out loud.

you open one eye, and you shift your gaze to the desk, where you find a single blue rose in a fine, clear glass vase. then you understand it —he knows, because he’s had it even worse. and he would never allow someone he loves, someone who loves him, go through the same thing he did.

kaiser is asleep behind you, wrapping you in between his arms as if scared of letting you go.

but you don’t feel the need to run away anymore. you draw a faint, calm smile for the first time in the week, and snuggle up against him. then you kiss his hand, that's softly resting close to your neck —he’s not trying to hold you down, just hold you close.

for the first time in a while, neither of you feels like too much —just enough, for each other.

masterlist.

pls lmk what u think in the comments, reblogging, through messages, asks or wtv!! feedback is important to me in these first posts and i'd appreciate it a lot 🤲🏼

﹫luvseisagi, may 2025.

#archive 📁. ۶ৎ #blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x gender neutral reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #bllk x you #michael kaiser #bllk kaiser #kaiser x reader #blue lock kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x y/n #kaiser x you #kaiser x y/n

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thieves-never-say-die · 3 months ago

Text

Weekend in Paris Watch-Along

A summary of everything talked about in the Weekend in Paris watch-along, video here, with Dean Devlin, John Rogers, Aldis Hodge, Christian Kane, and interviewer Brittany Catallo.

Under the cut because it is long.

First question: how do you feel the latest season of Leverage: Redemption is relevant to audiences?

John: [sarcastic outrage] How is a show about evil oligarchs relevant!? I can’t-!

Everyone laughed, and Dean said Leverage was always a show that predicts the future, like The Simpsons, and he specifically mentioned The Mile High Job when Hardison hacks the plane remotely, and The Jailhouse Job which was about the prison industrial complex. At the time of writing those episodes, neither of those things had been done/talked about yet, but soon after the episodes aired both of those things became major news stories.

Dean said the difference this season was that Leverage was actually meeting the current moment, but in the show the good guys win.

John interjected that the good guys can still win! The only time anything is guaranteed is if you give up and accept it will just happen, otherwise the future is always unwritten.

Aldis: So basically Leverage is laying out the blueprint? We just need someone out there to follow it?

John: No! Do not send John Rogers to a foreign prison because you were inspired by something on Leverage!

Q: What can viewers expect this season coming off of last season?

Dean talked about how this season they got to see a whole new side of some of the characters, and get to explore some interesting arcs. He noted that we will be going deep into Parker’s character this season.

John said it’s an advantage of having a show that’s gone on this long, we’ve gone on a journey with them, and the actors give some really nice character work.

John then explained that they chose Paris because they were shooting most of their exterior shots in Belgrade, which is where The Librarians: The Next Chapter is shot.

The intro shot of the team moving throughout the hallway was all one shot that didn't cut, and the cast managed to get it in two takes because they practiced a lot. Everyone had a great time filming it, even if it was stressful knowing one small mess-up would make everybody start over.

When they wrote the scene they didn't have the set yet, and after John turned in the script to director Marc Roskin, Marc called John and said "this is impossible", to which John responded "yes! And that’s what makes it cool!”

It was a lot of exposition dump, but John knows Aldis is the best at it and could do it, which allowed them to use Hardison as the anchor character for that scene.

They talked about how everyone had to race around the set, specifically mentioning Beth scrambling to the top to hang through the vent.

The set itself wasn't as big as it looks, it was a big T that they digitally extended and shot well.

John: The room was like “so it’s Scooby Doo” and I was very hurt, I was like “No, it’s a challenging heist sequence built around an impossible bit of geometry!” And the writer’s room was like “No, it's the Scooby Doo door bit, we all know what you’re doing.”

John pointed out how these characters are now all peers, in comparison to the original show, which means Hardison can give Sophie crap about her relationships in a loving way.

He also pointed out how everyone else is distracted by personal stuff, but Eliot is the only one who stays on mission.

The shot of the team running out of the auction house and into the van was a reference to The Long Goodbye Job.

John: You know, I don’t think many fans will catch it, but we’re basically giving them a horrible flashback to the most traumatic moment of their life.

Aldis: You got the wrong audience for that on this show, because they watch everything.

Dean loved that they went from this long, beautiful one-er to the best action scene they've ever shot.

They were able to film the whole car chase downtown in the center of Belgrade.

The idea of the episode opening in the middle of a busted con was something John wanted to do since the original run of the show but never got to do.

Christian came up with the bit of Eliot recognizing and lamenting the waste of expensive flour.

Christian and John talked for a bit about shooting the fight scenes, and Christian said fight scenes are like a dance, it's less about the violence as it is about working with your scene partners.

John learned from Jackie Chan to shoot fights along a fight line, which helps avoid having the fights all be close up shots of punches. He also makes sure to write Eliot fight scenes with fluidity in mind, because Eliot fights to control the space, not to win.

Aldis shot his line in the van ("how was your first day at school?") in New Orleans six months after Christian shot his reaction outside the van in Belgrade.

When coming up with the bad guys for the episode, one of the Amazon execs said "you may have made them too evil," to which John replied "there's no such thing."

Q: What is the significance of Eliot getting seriously injured in this? What was the motivation behind that?

John wanted to make sure there was adequate build to Hardison's speech later, and talked about how Eliot can take a beating and keep working, and has taken a beating for ten years, but sometimes it's taken for granted. Eliot can handle business while injured, but it's a reminder that he's not bulletproof, and it gives the audience a visual and physical reminder of it for the end of the episode.

Hardison and Parker's waiter uniforms reminded Dean of the Season 1 finale of getting the Davids.

Aldis mentioned he gets nostalgia when thinking about where they started, how far they've all come since then, they had a good time and he misses that time.

John said that the bad guy of the week (Arizona Mike) was an example of the banality of evil. He's a generally likeable, smiley guy who has no idea he's a monster.

Sophie's alias Violet Cesario is a character from 12th Night, which is a clue that Sophie made the alias because she takes names from Shakespeare.

They needed the team to make fun of Harry's beard to explain why it was shaved by the end of the episode. John enjoyed writing Sophie giving him crap for it without even seeing it.

Q: Where did the evil water stealing hot sauce salesman come from?

John said that people always focus on Big Crime when writing, but there's a million mid-level evil dudes out there. The bad guy was based on a certain type of farming in California (which John won't name so he doesn't get sued), but no one ever goes directly into water, they get into it through other means. People have an idea in their head of secret office buildings in Vienna and backroom deals, but there's a lot of mid-level millionaires making people miserable for their own money.

Q: How much of yourself is in these characters, and how much have the characters influenced you?

Aldis said that he's part of Hardison more than Hardison is part of him. Since they've been filming Leverage for so long it allowed them to influence their characters more, especially when Redemption started they got to help plan the maturation of their characters and where they would be ten years later. His performance of his characters is made more natural when he puts some of himself in it, and being able to help build the characters helps with that as well.

Dean pointed out that Aldis filmed several TV shows and movies at the same time as Redemption, and mentioned how he would fly out on his days off just to be in a few scenes. Aldis' other commitments were much darker and more tense. Dean asked Aldis what it was like to come and be this happy character for a week?

Aldis: It was like a vacation.

Aldis continued and said that he enjoys his other work, but being able to come back and work on Leverage is a gift. Leverage is just fun, and gives him nostalgia for where they started, and it gives a strange sense of "we're really doing this?" Because he rarely gets to play a character with so much history, and it's a very different experience at this point in his career, but it's a joy to do.

In response to the earlier question, Christian said that a lot of himself has bled into Eliot, and a lot of Eliot has bled into him. Christian helped create Eliot, and Eliot lives inside Christian's body in a way no other character does. Christian didn't know it when he started, but Eliot is the character he came to Hollywood to play. He wanted a role that had action and heart, and said that the bad guy is usually more fun to play, which makes Eliot great because he is both the good and the bad guy. He doesn't feel like he goes to work, it feels like he's showing up to have fun.

John talked about how on a lot of shows, actors just show up to read the lines given to them and that's it, but on Leverage it's more like a jazz band, and the actors know how to play an instrument that the writers don't know. They give the actors the score but encourage them to make it their own. Over the years the writers have learned how to write to the actor's rhythms as well, and all of that helps sell the characters. This has also kept the characters from getting stagnant after 15 years because they're not just characters that live in the writer's heads, they come from the actors as well which lets them grow and breathe.

Christian can’t imagine what it was like to read the Leverage pilot for the first time, because when he thinks about it now he pictures the actors as their characters. They've worked together so long that at this point he knows how Aldis will improv a line.

The line "the law just sucks, now get in the hole" might be one of the darkest lines on the show, according to John.

Q: What was it like to work in New Orleans? How does that setting affect how the show is now?

Dean said they went to New Orleans because he'd had a great experience filming one of the Librarian movies there, and it made sense for them. The only original art form ever made in the US is jazz music, and it came from New Orleans. It was important to put the show in a place that is culturally so important to America, but is also such a huge place for art and corruption and bad guys and people who fight for good guys.

John knew Aldis and Beth would be able to sell the Eyes Wide Shut bit, and could make it creepy and weird, so he just wrote the bare bones script and let them have fun with it. Beth specifically did it as "this is Parker's idea of sexy", and he loved that because he never could've come up with it.

Dean asked Aldis what it was like to film the conversation between Parker and Hardison about wanting to do something different.

Aldis said it was a really important scene, because they've had so many years together and understand each other so well, they're very aware of the weight of what they'll miss together. It juxtaposes well with the previous scene where they worked together really well. They know they make each other better, but what does it mean for Hardison if his heart isn't in it anymore?

John mentioned that the technique of backtracking money laundering accounts is real.

John then talked about how they wanted to write Parker and Hardison, because they didn't want to do the typical shocked significant other plot line. When you love characters and love people you don't want anything to change, but life is change and the world changes all the time. Change is natural and it isn't bad, but it's okay to recognize that some people need to get off the train at different stops, but you still love them and are still with them. It was the same conversation they were having with the fans through the show. You don't have to abandon each other or stop loving each other just because people are doing different things.

Dean interjected to mention how much he likes how Christian played Eliot not wanting to be in this house, with these people, doing this con, all while injured.

John's favorite version of Eliot is when he's annoyed. They missed it earlier but the exchange between Sophie and Eliot ("Oh, sorry, I was focused on the terrorists!") was one of his favorites.

John: Eliot tough and scary is fine, but my favorite thing is when Eliot is annoyed with everybody.

Aldis: Everybody tunes in to watch him get annoyed.

Christian added that he loves acting annoyed, and Aldis is his favorite scene partner for that.

For Harry's scene at the fence with the tanker, everything past the fence was CGI, it was really just an abandoned golf course behind the building.

Q: How do you see comedy and its role in Leverage?

John said a big part of it was because he and Chris Downey started in sitcoms, and they didn't know any rules about "don't mix comedy with drama", so they decided why not have the corny flashbacks and the cool drama. Back when the show started it was hard to get the execs on board, they didn't really understand the tone, but they got it eventually. All the actors can hit jokes, and if you have actors that can hit jokes, give your actors jokes!

Dean said when they filmed the pilot he didn't know how funny Christian could be until the IT guy, and didn't know how good at improv Aldis was until they filmed.

John loved Harry's side-con here. It's not important, it's just a B-plot, he's having fun, we don't have time or that, it’s whatever you want it to be!

Christian's favorite scenario on set was when Eliot and Hardison were dressed up as cops (The Morning After Job), everything in the car and with the call they responded to was so much fun.

John said that episode was a Chris Downey episode, he wanted the comedy of them working together and told John to make the plot work.

John gave credit to Gina, how she masterminded the hell out of the episode, we get to see how terrifying Sophie can be.

The fight with Eliot, Hardison, and the giant security guard was John's vision. He wanted the Cap/Bucky/Iron Man fight from Civil War, and finally got to write that sequence. Two guys fighting in sync, as a pair, who have known each other for 15 years, and know their rhythms.

Christian said it's hard to coordinate a fight like that, but he and Aldis have worked together so long that they figured it out.

Dean loved that Hardison really went all in on the Vulcan neck pinch thing.

John: Hardison believes the Vulcan neck thing is gonna work, and Parker believes it's gonna work, and that’s what love is.

The interviewer asked a question about how Christian does his stunts, and he confirmed he does all his own fights, and as many stunts as John and Dean allow him to.

Brittany: Legally?

John: No! No, no, past that!

Dean hates that Christian does his own stunt. He'll tell Christian not to do something, and then get dailies of Christian doing that thing.

John: And then I get footage of Aldis and Beth running on top of trains! (The Big Bang Job)

Christian told a story of when they worked on The Office Job and were filming the scene on the roof. They had crash pads down, and after they were done filming Christian just jumped onto it without telling anybody. A few seconds later, Aldis followed.

John facepalmed at that story.

Q: Did you work with a lot of the same crew for this season as past Leverage Redemption season?

Dean said they have a lot of the same crew and appreciate it because it’s a great crew.

John said the key to making a good show is hiring smart people who are good at their job, and then getting the hell out of their way. Dean very rarely harshes anyone's insane idea and lets everyone work collaboratively.

John also noted that Breanna and Becky (Harry's daughter) are now best friends. If they had more episodes the two would've had a whole adventure together.

It was also fun to write Hardison giving Breanna the big brother talk, while Parker's in the background like "tell her about the bomb!" and Hardison shushes her because he knows if Nana finds out he told Breanna about a bomb he'd be in trouble.

They shot the end of episode 1, the end of episode 3, and the last scene of the season finale all within a day and a half of each other because they wanted Aldis to be there.

Dean said he loves the pretzels bit, and John talked about how it started as a one-off thing that was just there, but then it became a thing in the show and in the fandom and now it's a whole callback and shorthand for their relationship.

John talked about the ending scene, and how he didn't want Hardison to just bail, he needed to have an honest conversation with Parker.

It was Gina's idea for Sophie to be dating again, and it comes up several times throughout the season.

John liked the way Christian and Aldis played their conversation, of two guys who care about each other and aren't very good at emotions but still have to talk about emotional things.

John repeated that Eliot isn't looking for redemption, he knows he's damned and he's accepted it. It's hard for Eliot to accept or process that other people see him differently.

Christian chimed in that Eliot's redemption is getting other people to a place where they can be redeemed. They can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and even if he's stuck in the tunnel forever as long as everyone else gets out then he doesn't need to.

Q: Is that something we’re going to see more of this season? Exploring everyone finding their own version of redemption?

Christian said his role is more in the background, he's talking people off the ledge, he's giving Hardison advice, he's talking to Sophie, making sure Harry doesn't screw up. Eliot is especially protective of Harry because he's not as far along as the others, and is really trying to give him a leg up out of the darkness.

Dean talked about how it was very important to them that they never betrayed the truth of Parker and Hardison's relationship.

John mentioned that the actors found that relationship. He hates writing backstory and tends to slow-play relationships, because once you get into a relationship it becomes a soap opera and you start screwing with the relationship in order to get stories, so that's why they waited until season 5 of the first run to get Parker and Hardison together. They don't want to mess with their relationship now to get stories, and it was interesting to write about a mature relationship because everyone knows they're not going to break up. He knows you can't screw with such a central relationship for cheap drama.

John: They're in this complicated, emotional relationship, with them and Eliot—however you want to define it—and they are going to die together.

That was the end of the episode! Dean reminded everyone that a new episode will drop every Thursday for the next 7 weeks, and thanked the fandom for supporting it, as the fans are the only reason they got to come back.

Q: Any hint for what we can expect this season?

Christian said there are some great character arcs coming up. He especially loved the second episode.

Dean pointed out how they've made over 100 episodes of Leverage now, and the thing that most surprised him this season is that they're still doing things they've never done before, he's shocked they can still find new places to go, and says that some episodes this season are completely wild.

John said all the writers loved being back with these characters, and we're going to see some unexpected but not unbelievable turns from the characters as they expose their vulnerable side. We'll explore a bit more for the newer characters, and Breanna especially is going to be great.

#leverage redemption #the weekend in paris job #leverage commentary #john rogers #dean devlin #christian kane #aldis hodge #leverage #redemption spoilers #leverage redemption spoilers #rs3

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kathlare · 1 month ago

Text

lando nowins

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: A chaotic gaming night with friends takes a hilarious turn as playful teasing turns into viral internet fame.

Wordcount: 2.0 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

March 17th, 2020 - London, United Kingdom

—Alright, lads, one more round. I swear if I die to George camping again I’m uninstalling this shit, I’m not joking,— Lando grumbled into his mic, furiously adjusting the straps on his headset like that would somehow make him play better.

—You say that every time and yet… you never uninstall it,— George replied smugly.

—Because I believe in personal growth, unlike you, spawn-camper!— Lando shot back.

Amelie giggled softly in the background, her voice coming through crystal clear. —Wait, is George the one hiding behind the door with a shotgun again?—

—Yes! Thank you, someone gets it!— Lando cried triumphantly.

—It’s called strategy,— George said flatly. —Also, shut up, you were the one running in like a headless chicken—

—Tactical aggression,— Lando replied, smugness fading instantly as the screen flashed You Died again. —FUCK!—

Alex cackled so hard he dropped his controller. —No fucking way, again?! Bro, how many times is that?—

—Five. In a row,— Charles announced like he was officiating the final score at the Olympics.

—No way. It’s been more than five,— Amelie chimed in sweetly. —I’ve been keeping track. It’s seven. Seven times in a row you’ve died first.—

—That’s because I’m reckless and passionate and fearless,— Lando said, shoulders slumping.

—That’s because you’re shit at this game,— George deadpanned.

Amelie snorted. —Lando Nowins strikes again.—

Silence.

—Wait. Wait. No. Don’t you dare.—

Alex wheezed. —NO. AMELIE, THAT’S SO GOOD. LANDO NOWINS. I’M USING THAT FOREVER.—

—No. I hate it. I veto it,— Lando tried to protest, panic rising in his chest as all four of their faces erupted into laughter on the stream overlay.

—Too late, mate. It’s canon now,— Charles grinned. —I’m gonna tweet it.—

—DON’T YOU DARE.—

—Too late,— Amelie said gleefully. —"First-hand witness to the birth of Lando Nowins." Posting it now.—

Lando’s jaw dropped. —Amelie, I trusted you.—

—That was your first mistake,— she teased, eyes sparkling in the webcam. She was wearing an oversized hoodie, hair up in a messy bun, and chewing absently on a Twizzler. Dangerous levels of cute, if you asked Lando. Which no one did. Tragically.

—Bro, this is why you keep dying. You’re too distracted staring at her in the corner of the screen,— Alex said, not even looking up from his monitor.

—I AM NOT.—

—You absolutely are,— George said, snorting.

—Leave him alone,— Amelie cut in, though her tone was less “defending a friend” and more “adding fuel to the fire.” —He’s just intimidated by my superior gaming skills.—

—You’re literally crouching in a bush eating snacks while we fight for our lives,— Charles pointed out.

—Tactical survival,— she said innocently, tossing another Twizzler in her mouth.

Lando groaned and slumped in his chair. —I can’t believe I’m being slandered on my own stream.—

—Correction: You’re being slandered and losing. Multitasking king,— Alex said, wiping tears from his eyes.

Amelie leaned forward toward the camera, voice lower, conspiratorial. —Hey Lan, if you win this next round, I’ll publicly retract the “Lando Nowins” nickname.—

Lando sat up like a fucking meerkat. —Wait, seriously?—

—Mhm. But if you lose again…— She smiled. —I get to change your Twitter name.—

—Absolutely not.—

—Too late, I already made a bet with your chat,— she said, clicking something on her screen. —They’re voting. And they love chaos.—

—You’re evil,— he whispered, heart racing. He hadn’t felt this panicked since Silverstone 2019.

—Don’t choke, Norris,— Charles sang.

—Focus up, mate. This is your redemption arc,— George said.

Lando cracked his knuckles, narrowing his eyes at the screen. —Alright. No distractions. Let’s fucking go.—

—You’re literally down to 13 health already,— Alex muttered.

—Oh for FUCK’S SAKE.—

Three minutes and an accidental grenade suicide later, Lando’s screen went dark again.

You Died.

Silence.

Then: hysterical screaming laughter from every person in the call.

—LAN-DO NOW-INS! LAN-DO NOW-INS!— George chanted like he was in a football stadium.

Amelie wheezed. —I’m literally changing your contact name to that right now.—

—I hate every single one of you,— Lando muttered, throwing his controller on the desk with a thud.

—We love you too, loser,— Alex said, heart emoji hand gestures flashing across his webcam.

Lando flopped back in his chair, groaning. But then he glanced at Amelie’s face on his monitor. She was grinning, eyes crinkled, cheeks flushed with laughter.

And okay, maybe losing wasn’t so bad.

Even if he was now cursed with the name Lando Nowins for the rest of his goddamn life.

—Fine,— he muttered. —But I’m putting all of you on mute next round.—

—You’d still lose,— Amelie whispered, and winked.

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

liked by amelieupdates, lanpilled, and others

twitchquintetcentral: not Lando going completely silent after she called him Lando Nowins 😭😭 like bro forgot how to hold a mouse

View all 48,005 comments

lanmeliepilled: she said Lando Nowins and he just accepted it like a man in love → softiepink22: @lanmeliepilled you could hear his heartbreak through the headset 😭 → lanstansupreme: @lanmeliepilled she bullies him and he giggles. it’s giving soulmate energy

deluluforpairings: lando pre-amelie: silent and twitchy lando post-amelie: giggling, stuttering, losing every match → screaminginmclaren: @deluluforpairings love is ruining his KD ratio and i support it

lanpilled: she called him Lando Nowins and he just took it??? → helmet_hottie: @lanpilled no fight left in him. that man folded like a lawn chair. → softboilan: @lanpilled he’s not even mad. he’s in love. → gridgirlchronicles: @lanpilled i would simply perish if she winked at me like that mid-roast.

carnageracing: she really said “you’re trash” in the cutest voice possible and he THANKED HER → f1gossipgremlin: @carnageracing stockholm syndrome but it’s twitch stream coded → alexsillyhands: @carnageracing bro got cooked in 4K and smiled about it 😭😭

amelieupdates: not her calling him Lando Nowins and then betting on his L if he loses again 😭💀 → slaylily44: @amelieupdates she came into that stream like: girl dinner + verbal violence → callumspunchingbag: @amelieupdates no bc why was that the flirtiest roast ever?? → quadrattraction: @amelieupdates she giggled and ended his career. power.

twitchshiptruthers: lando 2 years ago: “i mean yeah she’s cute or whatever lol.” lando now: dies seven times in a row and lets her rename his twitter account → ameszn: @twitchshiptruthers character development but make it romantic → fastgirlf1: @twitchshiptruthers he used to simp in silence now he simps in surround sound

racingcrushrvw: from “i have a crush” to “she straight up memes me live on stream” in 3 weeks flat → norrisnothanks: @racingcrushrvw bless his heart, he peaked with his crush existing → gamergeorge: @racingcrushrvw imagine years of lowkey simping and this is the reward → ameliemode: @racingcrushrvw this is what happens when you wait too long to shoot your shot

lan_dodo: imagine being called “Lando Nowins” by your crush and not fighting back 🤡 → alex_killer7: @lan_dodo bro accepted his fate like it was a podium ceremony → chucklescharles: @lan_dodo we all know that look = “I’m dead inside but also smitten”

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

Lando padded down the stairs to the kitchen, the smell of roasting chicken and garlic drawing him in like a moth to a flame. His siblings — Oliver, Flo, and Cisca — were already gathered around the table, casually scrolling on their phones while munching on snacks.

As soon as Lando sat down, Oliver shot him a mischievous grin.

—Hey, Lando Nowins— he teased, pronouncing it exactly like it had blown up on social media earlier that day.

Lando froze with one hand on his water glass.

—Don’t start,— he warned, eyes narrowing at Oliver, who looked entirely too pleased with himself.

—What? I’m just greeting you properly, Lando Nowins,— Oliver repeated, louder this time, dragging out the name like he was announcing a Premier League goal scorer.

Flo perked up instantly. —Wait, Lando Nowins? Oh my god, is that from that stream last night?—

—Yup,— Oliver grinned, spinning his phone around to show the now-viral clip. —It’s all over TikTok. You’re trending, bro. Congratulations.—

—It’s not funny,— Lando muttered, stabbing aggressively at the roasted potatoes on his plate.

—Oh, it’s hilarious,— Cisca chimed in, barely looking up from her phone. —There’s already merch. Someone made a mug that says “Tactical Aggression: Lando Nowins.” I almost bought it.—

—You guys are the worst,— Lando grumbled, cheeks flushing. —I died seven times in a row, okay? It was just a bad night.—

—Sure, mate,— Oliver said, winking. —Seven’s a strong number though. Biblical, even. Lucky for some. Not for Nowins.—

—Can we not?— Lando said sharply, dropping his fork. —Seriously, it’s not funny anymore.—

The room went quiet for a half second.

Then Flo tilted her head. —Wait… you didn’t get this mad when Amelie called you that.—

Cisca’s eyes lit up. —Oh my god. He’s only mad when we say it. But when it’s her, he just goes all red and flustered and smiles like a little idiot.—

Oliver gasped dramatically. —Are you blushing, Lando? Oh my god, you are. You're doing the thing. The ears. The little red ear thing!—

—I am not,— Lando snapped, dragging a hand over his face. —Can we please talk about something else? Literally anything else.—

—Nope,— Flo said gleefully. —We’ve cracked the code. We’ve found your weakness.—

—You’re evil,— Lando said, slumping back into his chair. —All of you. Absolute demons.—

—Aww, come on. You’re still our favorite loser,— Oliver teased.

—Favorite loser with a crush so bad he doesn’t even mind being humiliated if it’s by her,— Flo added.

—He’s gonna marry her and we’re all gonna be giving speeches like “to our brother, Lando Nowins, and his wife, Amelie Alwayswins”,— Cisca said through laughter.

Lando buried his face in his hands.

Why was he even surprised?

He should’ve just stayed upstairs.

From the hallway, their mum’s voice floated in.

—Dinner ready? And is Lando pouting again? What’d you guys do now?—

—Nothing,— Oliver called back. —Just reminding him of his greatest gaming achievement.—

64 notes · View notes

koqabear · 2 years ago

Text

(Un)Professional

♫: te pongo mal, Kali Uchis

“When Soobin struck up the proposition to be friends with benefits, he did it under the guise of remaining single and focusing on his music, adamant on keeping things “professional”— god forbid anyone else tries to get with you though, because maybe he didn’t really mean it when he told you no strings attached.”

Soobin x fem!reader

Genre: fwb to ???, pwp, kinda angst, smut, rockstar!au

Word count: 4.5K

warnings: soobin is actually kinda mean and toxic but they have their little redemption arc idk TT… barely edited sorry

smut warnings: mean/hard dom! soobin, sub!mc, mc is kinda bratty, so also brat tamer soobin hehe, rough sex, unprotected sex, pet names, (pretty, baby, etc.) possessiveness, jealousy, degrading, thigh riding, dry humping, breast play, edging, marking, biting, oral (f. rec.), fingering, dacryphilia, hair pulling, dumbification, creampie (lmk if i should add anything!)

Notes: this is a mini series that was made simply because i am an indecisive loser. don’t ask why i was listening to reggaeton for a rockstar au, it just happened 😭 also i wrote all these parts after midnight bc that’s the only time i was able to write i guess— in other words… don’t expect too much from this.

Soobin doesn’t do relationships.

There’s no room for something as fragile as that in his life, at least not when he’s traveling to a new state every day for his tours— the last thing Soobin would ever do is fuck up what he already has just for something as fickle as love.

However, he is a man with needs— needs that are gladly fulfilled by you, his pretty best friend that always travels with them.

He’s known you long enough to have struck up this arrangement confidently; knowing there would be no strings attached, not able to form any feelings for someone he’s been content being just friends with for— well, forever.

So this— his pounding heart, his brows that furrow together with frustration, his hands that grip his microphone a little tighter— is definitely new.

There is no logical reason as to why he should be feeling like this; there’s no logical explanation as to why it’s been such an eyesore to watch Yeonjun interact with you the whole night, watching the way the man not so subtly sends winks and coy smiles in your direction, Soobin’s lips being bitten at as he watches the way you merely smile cutely in response.

You don’t even act this way with him; every time you’ve come to their shows, you’ve always made it a point to act normal whenever Soobin comes around— just enough excitement to make you seem like a fan, but not enough to make it seem like you know him— you’ve learned this the hard way.

“Tone it down a bit next time, yeah?” Soobin told you once, as you laid in his hotel bed and surfed through the tv channels with droopy eyes, “If we’re gonna keep doing this, we should be professional about it.”

His words garnered a massive roll of your eyes— what the fuck did he even mean by that? It’s a concert, of course you had to seem excited— but it seems as though you took his comment to heart, watching the way your excitement dies down the moment Soobin approaches your side.

No one’s watching you— no one cares about what faces you make or what you say when Soobin stands before you, but the thought of him telling you to keep it professional pisses you off so much that you decide to show him just how good of an actress you are; the difference of reactions is almost incredible, and you take in the way Soobin’s eyes narrow at the sight of you.

There’s no reason he should get mad— after all, there’s nothing between you.

Agreeing to this was a stupid idea. What kind of a self-destructive freak agrees to be friends with benefits with someone they had feelings for? A self-destructive freak like you apparently, because as you watch Soobin leave with one last glance at you, you can’t help but wish that he was just a bit mad.

The two of you distract yourselves in your own ways; Soobin tries not to visit your section for the rest of the night, and you try to get the attention of the rest of the members in response— and the boys, surprised to see your excited attitude when they come around, are more than happy to oblige— and if the fans noticed that Soobin seemed to be in a bad mood for part of the show, well, that’s on him.

You feel a bit more tired than usual by the time the concert ends— you’re not sure why, but you find yourself trudging backstage because of that; maybe you should just go to the hotel instead of congratulating the boys for their show like you usually do.

“Oh, hey ___!” Yeonjun spots you before you can turn on your heels and exit; you’re immediately putting on a bright smile as the said man throws an arm around you, still in his encore outfit as he drags you along the halls and undoubtedly to where the rest of the members are, “What’d you think of the concert? It was good huh?”

“As always,” you smile, nudging Yeonjun softly as he clearly waits for you to continue, “You were great out there, your energy was insane.”

“Why thank you,” he purrs, leaning in and watching as you scoff at him playfully, “Watching you enjoy yourself practically gave me all the energy I needed.”

You don’t find yourself surprised by his comment; Yeonjun is always like this, his flirty and suggestive behavior nothing out of the ordinary as you simply scold him to get out of your face— you’re so caught up in bickering with the man that you don’t notice the heated stare of another, brows twitching at the way you laugh and play along with Yeonjun.

After a moment though, you feel it— your head is turning before you can really process it, and you’re meeting eyes with Soobin, who looks… well, pissed off.

Before you can get a good look at his face, he’s standing abruptly; taking long strides to where you are, your heart beginning to pound at the sight of him slowing to a stop next to you.

“Meet me outside.” His voice is gruff and on edge as he whispers the words lowly to you, walking off without another word as you simply turn to watch— because of course he wouldn’t try to get Yeonjun off you or outwardly ask for your attention, choosing instead to relay you a quiet message before he’s off, regardless of the way everyone sends him a confused look as they watch him leave.

“He looks mad,” Yeonjun hums, watching as you shrug his arm off gently, “Gonna try to talk to him?”

You sigh, hoping he doesn’t see the way your hands grab at the hem of your shirt anxiously.

“Yeah,” you say, then you’re off, barely able to turn the corner once you’ve exited before you’re harshly pulled by none other than Soobin.

“Ow— what the fuck—!” Soobin’s hold on your wrist is bruising as he pushes you into the room next door, a changing room that’s not meant to hold multiple people as he simply locks the door behind him and pushes you against the wall; he doesn’t bother to turn on the lights as he approaches you— the light that comes through the frosted window on the door becomes the only thing that allows you to see Soobin’s frustrated expression.

“Had fun flirting with the others?” He asks, his lips so close that you’re able to feel the puff of his breath as he huffs in frustration— the room is so small as you press yourself against the wall, feeling as though Soobin is filling your senses and making you dizzy, “Was that your little way to try and get my attention? Because it fucking worked, you poor little thing.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” you hiss, pressing a hand against Soobin’s chest as you feel him try to swoop in to kiss you, his hands already sliding under the hem of your shirt to trace shapes along your skin, “I’m friends with the others too, you know.”

“Have you always been this friendly with them? Hmm?” he asks, slotting a knee between your legs as you’re left to look up at him speechlessly, “What, gonna try to fuck them next?”

“Dude, what’s your fucking problem!” you hiss, punctuating your words with a punch to his chest as you glare at him, not lost upon the fact that his thigh is pressed firmly against your cunt, your skirt fanning along his leg and hiding the way he’s flexing and pushing it against you.

“And if I wanted to, then what?” you ask, pretending as though you haven’t given in to the way Soobin’s hands are guiding your hips, making you grind against him as he feels the way you become wet by his actions, “What’ll you do, get jealous? Try to stop me? That wouldn’t be very professional of you— I might as well ask Yeonjun if he’s free after this.”

“Don’t get fucking smart with me,” He says, a hand coming up to grab your cheeks and tilt your head toward him, “I’m not letting any other bitch get with you, touching what’s mine.”

It’s just his arrogance and possessiveness talking again— at least that’s what you tell yourself, failing to hold back your weak whimper as you roll your hips against him, feeling him press against your hip and rut his hard cock against you slowly.

“I’m not fucking yours,” you grit out, your words muffled as you try to speak through the hold that Soobin still has on you, “The only reason why we’re still friends is so you can get a good fuck, don’t lie—”

Soobin is kissing you before you can finish your sentence— if he wasn’t angry before, he definitely was now, his teeth clashing against yours as he kisses you roughly and without control, a mess of spit as he bites down on your lip, drinking in your pained moan before he’s slipping his tongue in to get a taste.

He’s noticed the way your hips have begun to move erratically; your hands are gripping tightly at his shirt, probably stretching it out as you continue to moan into his mouth, a hand guiding your movements as he flexes and presses his thigh firmer against you, his free hand letting go of your face to slip under your shirt and get access to your breasts as he begins to roll and pinch your nipples between his fingers.

“Do you like it when I treat you like this?” he asks breathlessly, finally pulling away to watch the way a string of saliva continues to connect you— the sight is filthy and has your brows furrowing as you bite your swollen lips in hopes to muffle your sounds, “Like you’re nothing more than a fucktoy for me to use after my shows? A good little thing to take my stress out on?”

The pleasure is beginning to build up— there’s a tight knot in your stomach, making your brain go foggy as you feel the way your clit rubs against Soobin’s thigh every time you angle your hips a certain way, feeling as you soak your panties and his sweats the longer you rut against him.

Soobin simply watches you with a small smile; his eyes are lidded as he leans back, eyes glued to the way you roll your hips against him, weak whines becoming louder and more frantic as you begin to pull at his shirt with wide, teary eyes.

But before you can finally cum, he pulls away. You’re whining softly at the loss, hitting his chest petulantly as you curse at him under your breath— before you can land another hit, he grabs your wrists, freezing you entirely as he sends you a sly look, leaning in so he can whisper in your ear.

“You’ll let me fuck you, right? You can always go to someone else if you need to cum,” he says, waiting for your response as he begins to kiss and suck at the spot just under your ear, knowing how sensitive you are as he feels the way you attempt to curl into yourself.

“Fuck you,” you whine out, attempting to shake his hold off you, only to fail— he simply laughs softly, sinking his teeth into the marked flesh as he listens to the yelp you let out.

“I’m trying,” he huffs out, finally pulling away as he sends you a childish grin, “Now be good and turn around for me, okay sweet thing?”

The nickname catches you so off guard that you don’t protest the way Soobin turns you around without another word, your cheek pressed against the wall and your hands held behind your back as you continue to curse at him quietly— and judging by the way Soobin simply laughs softly, he’s definitely enjoying himself, shameless as ever as you listen to the sounds of shifting behind you.

You hope he doesn’t notice the way your breath hitches as you feel him push your panties aside, his tip brushing against your entrance— swiping at your leaking slit to gather your wetness, clearly teasing you as he takes in the way you try to push back against him, letting out a soft please as you feel his tip sink into you slightly, feeling the way you stretch around him before he’s pulling back out.

“Please? Why are you begging for me, baby?” he asks, slowly beginning to push in as he watches you rest your forehead against the wall, letting out a shaky sigh at the stretch, “I’m not here for you— you can go to another one of your toys if you’re looking for someone to worship you.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything as you feel him bottom out inside you— no matter how many times you find yourself in this situation, you can never get used to it, the size of him enough to have your eyes rolling back as you feel his tip prod at your cervix, hips flush against your ass as he begins to grind softly into you.

It’s not enough— not for you, and certainly not for him, though he refuses to give you the pleasure of fucking you stupid so soon as he watches instead the way you begin to squirm, wanting more as you hang your head and try to fuck yourself against him— all attempts are quickly stopped as Soobin uses a hand to still your movement, firm on your waist and forcing you back against the wall as the other continues to bind your hands, pressing your fists against the small of your back and watching with a sly smile as you begin to arch in response.

“Why are you so quiet?” he asks softly, leaning in to trail kisses along your neck, continuing his slow and agonizing pace, “Usually you’re so loud I have to keep a hand on your mouth.”

You refuse to give into him— refuse to let him hear what he wants, ignoring the ache between your legs and the fire in your stomach that just begs to be put out— but the way you’re leaking around Soobin’s length and clenching around him is giving you away, and it’s enough to have you turning away from him in hopes that he won’t be able to read your expression.

This proves to be harder than you expected; Soobin’s hand has let go of your waist in favor to play with your clit, nimble fingers circling and pinching the bud as he begins to thrust shallowly, listening to the way you try to swallow your sounds and keep your eyes shut at the feeling— it isn’t long before he’s building you up again, taking in the way your legs shake and you begin to push back against him subconsciously, giving away just how needy you are as your fists tighten.

You’re close, so fucking close, maybe if you stay quiet Soobin won’t notice— but, for a man who insists you two aren’t anything, he’s eerily aware of the way your body gets when you’re about to cum— meaning, all his movement immediately stops the moment you’re about to tumble over the edge, bottoming out inside you and laughing mockingly as he listens to the broken sound you let out.

“Fuck, I’m so tired from today’s show,” Soobin groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder, beginning his slow, shallow thrusts again after a moment, “You don’t mind if I take it slow tonight, do you?”

You say nothing— you have yet to say anything that would irritate or please Soobin, and that in itself is enough to egg him on— because even if you refuse to talk, the way your body trembles from his touch and you bite your lips to suppress sounds is enough to tell him all he needs to know.

The way you clench around Soobin when he begins to play with your clit almost has him cumming— he has to concentrate on not doing so as he takes in the weak whine you let out, your previous orgasms being built up once more as you let out a shaky sigh, listening to the wet sounds that come from the way Soobin fucks you.

You’re trying so hard to remain neutral as he winds you up— but god, he knows you like the back of his hand, his hips rutting and rolling into you as he does everything to make you go insane, already feeling your high creep up on your from how up-tight your body is.

“Feels good?” He asks, using your hands as leverage as he pulls you back into him for a particularly harsh thrust— the suddenness of it has you moaning loudly, your lips immediately pressing together as you feel your face grow hot— Soobin’s cocky laugh is both annoying and hot and you hate yourself for feeling that way.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to say anything,” he grins, picking up his pace as he watches the way you begin to break, weak moans and whines leaving you from how harshly he thrusts his cock into you, “I’ll do all the work, just stand there and look pretty, okay?”

You can feel your high approaching— it’s intense and fast, and you’re barely able to process the way your mouth falls open as you begin to chase the feeling, ready to fall over the edge and cream all over Soobin’s cock when—-

Like an absolute jerk, he pulls out.

“You know what?” he says, talking more to himself than anything as he turns you back around and tucks himself back in, your back colliding with the wall behind you as your breath hitches, watching as he falls to his knees and sends you an innocent look, “I haven’t tasted you in so long, baby— fuck, I can’t help myself, I’ll be quick.”

Soobin is never like this— you’ve only ever experienced quickies backstage, so to say that you’re surprised to see the man dragging things out here is an understatement, letting out a shaky sigh as he throws your leg over his shoulder and scoots closer to you, burying himself under your skirt without hesitation.

You’re practically dripping on the floor— it’s even worse when his fingers begin to prod at your entrance, feeling the way your walls clench wildly at the feeling and your hips thrust toward the sensation; Soobin’s tongue licks at your clit teasingly, taking his time to trace circles around it as he finally sinks his fingers inside you, curling them and pressing against all your sensitive spots as he takes in the way you squirm above him.

Soobin’s face is practically suffocated by your cunt— you’re not sure how long he does this for, but he proceeds to bring you close to orgasm only to pull away a few more times, listening to the way you begin to cry and plead a bit more with each one.

At some point— your fifth ruined orgasm, you think you’ve lost count— you find yourself pulling at his hair and begging, the words stuttered out through hiccups as you feel hot tears stream down your cheeks, pleading Soobin to let you cum as you grind your pussy along his face, feeling his tongue dip to your entrance before he’s back to teasing your clit, laughing softly at the sound before he finally emerges from under your skirt— his face is shiny and flushed as he looks up at you, sending you a grin that only has you pouting even more.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, feigning concern as he begins to run his hands along your thighs, waiting patiently for you to respond as he begins trailing kisses up your legs, hearing your soft sniffles as he reaches your inner thighs, “Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”

“Soobin,” you whine, shutting your eyes as you feel his swollen lips leave opened-mouthed kisses on your inner thighs, already soaked with your arousal as he licks it up, only to begin biting and sucking at the area leisurely, “Soobin please—please let me cum, wanna cum so bad, please.”

The sound of your begging is welcomed to his ears— he looks up at you through his lashes, sparkling eyes a stark contrast to the filthy way he continues to mark your thighs, ignoring your soft whines that others will see them, please binnie…

“Others will see them?” he repeats, clenching his jaw at the way you nod frantically, a clear concern in your eyes— slowly, he stands, hooking your leg over his waist as he presses himself against you, hissing softly at the way you immediately soak through his sweats, “So what? Let them see. That way they know what happens when we’re alone.”

“But… we shouldn’t— you said we need to keep this hidden…” His words are nothing but confusing— you’re sure it reads on your face, because Soobin is aligning his cock with your entrance once more, chuckling softly at your expression before he shakes his head in exasperation.

“Did I? Well, I don’t wanna hide it anymore,” he says, eyes lidded and filled with need as he sinks himself slowly into you; your eyes are threatening to flutter shut at the sensation, only to be stopped at the feeling of Soobin cupping your chin, telling you softly look at me. before he finally bottoms out.

“Want everyone to know you’re mine,” he says, and you’re more than ready to respond with another mean comment before he continues, “And that I’m all yours. Don’t want anyone else to touch you.”

“W…what—?” your words are being cut short by the feeling of him fucking into you again, a hand coming up to grab his shoulder and your leg pulling him in closer in fear of having your orgasm ruined again— Soobin simply huffs, his hands going to hold onto your hips to fuck into you better, indulging in your fucked out face and dazed eyes as he smiles softly; slowly, he’s leaning in, lips brushing against yours as he speaks.

“‘m so fucking stupid for starting all this,” he laughs softly, holding back a moan at the way you clench around him, your nails digging into your shoulder slightly, “Told myself I’d never catch any feelings like this— fuck, look at me now…”

“Just wanna keep you for myself— maybe I’m being selfish but… fuck,” you think you’re getting the gist of what he means— your free hand comes up to tangle itself in his hair as you close the gap between the two of you, hoping that you’re not misinterpreting his words as you feel him fuck you faster, setting a rhythm that has your eyes rolling back and your mouth falling open, so wound up from tonight that you think your legs might give out any moment now.

“Soobin,” you whine out, pulling at his hair and shirt as you begin bucking your hips at him, trying to fuck yourself on his cock as you whine, “Please let me cum— please please please, need it so bad, just wanna cum, please?”

The way you’re whining and begging is more than enough to Soobin; he’s gripping your hips and fucking you harder, eyes widening slightly at the way your sounds increase in volume, too fucked dumb to even realize.

“Shit,” Soobin grits out, planting his hand on your mouth and telling you to quiet down, “You were really holding back, huh? There’s my girl, all loud and pretty for me.”

He’s cooing softly at the way tears well up in your eyes and spill promptly after; running over his skin, biting at his lip to suppress sounds of his own as he feels the way you become impossibly tight around him.

“You gonna cum? Pretty doll just wants to cream my cock, finally had enough of me using you, right?” The way you’re nodding mindlessly only spurs Soobin on, insanely turned on by the way you’ve become fucked stupid, “Come on baby, show me how good you feel, been waiting patiently to cum, such a perfect doll.”

He’s cooing softly and talking you through your orgasm— you don’t even realize that your legs have given out, and Soobin’s hands are flying to support you as he holds you up, pressing himself fully against you and grinding his hips into you as your head falls on his shoulder; your sounds are muffled by the fabric of his hoodie as you bury your head further into him, pressed entirely against the wall and left to Soobin’s mercy as you allow him to continue rutting into you slowly.

“Binnie,” you whine out, right next to his ears as you begin to speak quietly to him, “Want you to cum inside, fill me up please? Never wanted any other guys but you, just wanna feel you cum inside, please…”

Your soft pleas set Soobin off immediately— his hips are bucking into you so roughly that your body is jolting with every thrust, his head burying itself in your neck as he lets out a soft groan— you then feel the way he fills you up, warm cum staying inside from the way he continues to fuck you well after he’s calmed down, his shuddering breaths on your skin enough to know that how sensitive he is.

For a moment, you just stay there; pressed against the wall as Soobin slowly pulls his cock out of you, feeling the way his release begins to drip out from how much he filled you— your chest is heaving against his as you attempt to catch your breath, legs still weak as you take advantage of Soobin’s strength to help hold you up.

Soobin’s arms wrap around your waist; he’s pulling you in even closer, your bodies melting together as he nuzzles his head into your neck, inhaling slowly as your own hesitant hands come up to embrace Soobin.

“Sorry I was so horrible to you,” he says, littering kisses on the exposed skin of your neck before he continues, “But I did mean that whole thing about catching feelings— the timing’s horrible, I know— but….”

You hum softly, as though lost in thought, “How long have you felt like this?”

“I… this whole time,” he admits, his face growing hotter at the confession, “I was just in denial half the time we did this whole thing— god, why do you think I suggested it in the first place…?”

You hold back a laugh— Soobin however, is nervous at your lack of reaction, pulling away from his hiding place to analyze your expression.

“I’m sorry. Is this weird? I understand if you don’t feel the same way, I’m really sorry if you felt uncomfortable with anything I did today, I seriously don’t know what I was thinking—“

You’re cutting him off with a kiss— but it’s gentle this time, and you really take a moment to feel his soft lips as you feel him smile against you, his cheeks warm under your touch as you finally pull away.

“Soobin,” you say softly, smiling fondly at the way he lets out a soft hmm? in response, “I feel the same. But yeah, you were a fucking jerk with me.”

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, cupping your face as he sports the look of a kicked puppy, eyes filled with nothing but guilt, “I’m sorry, I seriously never meant to go that far, I should’ve just asked you out like a normal person instead of being so mean.”

“I don’t know,” you say, pouting softly as his eyes widen softly, seemingly afraid of what you might say; you simply peck at his lips chastely, unable to hold back your laugh at his expression, “I kinda liked it.”

Your words are horribly confusing to Soobin— but hey, at least he knows how you feel.

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt angst #soobin x reader #soobin x you #soobin x y/n #soobin ff #soobin imagines #soobin oneshot #soobin angst #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #soobin smut #soobin fanfic

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lostwysteria · 2 months ago

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(Part 17.

We're getting close to the end of the Nice arc. This part covers episode 3. It is also the longest so far, I think. I am excited for the next bits. I think i did good with episode 4. Just an FYI, I SUCK at fight scenes. So I tend to gloss over them. Also. Love the fact that in episode 6, Enlighter basically called Yang Cheng a broke ass bitch.)

Masterlist

“They killed it! Nice is now ranked 12 and Wreck is officially in his redemption arc. Homemaker jumped to rank 300 and even Moon went up ten ranks.” Miss J. Said to herself in satisfaction. She loved it when her plans panned out. Now on to making it to the top 10. She set her sights on Firm Man.

…

Nice was trembling as he washed Lin Ling’s hair. The blood came out easily from the silky strands. The wound wasn't serious. Just bled a lot. As head wounds tend to do. He was careful of the scab.

“I’m fine.” Ling reassured again after Nuce was done.

“What if you weren't, though?” Nice asked shakily, eyes wide and filled with unshed tears.

“Oh, darling. Come on. Let's go get into bed. Wreck's waiting for us. Today was long for all of us.” Ling cupped Nice's cheek and caught a stray tear with his thumb.

He let himself be carried to the bed and be placed between the two other men. Nice clung to him and Wreck wrapped his strong arms around them both. They fell asleep like that, wrapped in a cocoon of comfort.

…

The next few days were spent indoors, to give the impression that they needed time to recover from the trauma. And that they were ‘working through’ things with Wreck.

In reality, Ling and Wreck were settling Nice down. He had been so high strung after. Even Moon had stopped by to check in. She had been huge in helping to distract the now ranked 12 hero. It didn't help that his powers were growing with just the three gained ranks. They were buzzing under his skin like angry bees. Funnily enough, though, his OCD hadn't gotten worse.

Ling had politely put earbuds in and blasted some American metal music to drown out Wreck, wel, wrecking Nice in the bathroom to help burn off some of the energy. If Ling tried to leave it sent Nice into a panic. Thus the earbuds and American music.

He’d gotten a decent start on a fluffy, crocheted blanket that could engulf all three of them while Wreck took care of Nice. He had been blushing the whole time, of course.

Moon had died laughing over the video call later. She had been pissed no one had remembered to tell her what had been planned. In recompense, Ling now had to video call her twice a week.

She had put her own name in his, Nice, and Wrecks phones as ‘Crash Out Queen’. A video of her suplexing Nice after Ling’s ‘kidnapping’ had gone absolutely viral.

It had the added bonus of killing the rest of the NiceMoon ship. It had cemented firmly in the ‘siblings that lived to mess with each other’ territory in most people's eyes.

People found it cute that despite their romantic relationship failing, that they could settle into a familial dynamic.

Her ranking had gone up as well. People were impressed that she could suplex like that. It proved that she was physically strong and not just a pretty face.

…

“So. You want Nice to go after Wolf Girl, so he can hopefully break into the top ten spot?” Homemaker asked as he looked up from his blanket project. Wreck was sitting next to him with an arm around his shoulder. He was looking at Nice and Miss. J at the table in front of them.

“Basically.” She agreed.

“That will mean having to move floors.” Nice grumped. “This was just starting to really feel like a home.”

“Look at it this way. We can get rid of that fucking statue.” Wreck threw in his ten cents. Nice perked up at that. “Better view from up there, too.”

Homemaker thought about how the tower worked. The top 50 heroes lived in it. Ranks 50 to 21 lived on the ‘lower floors’. Ranks 20 to 11 lived in the ‘middle floors’ and 10 to 1 lived on the highest. X, as number one, had the highest and largest floor. The ‘bottom floors’ were the public offices and operational. There were basement floors that acted as the private Operation floors. The floors were also inverted. It went by rank. The ground floor was still just that, but the first floor was at the top.

He couldn't believe he was about to say something so corny “Anywhere is home if you guys are there.” Homemaker told Nice.

The other hero started purring so loud and hard in pure joy that he was visibly vibrating. Wreck let out his own low growly rumble in pure pleasure at that. Miss. J whipped her head over at him with narrowed eyes. The ‘what the fuck?’ clear in her gaze. She got out her phone and sent a message to someone before putting it back.

“Any more objections?” She asked.

“None from me.” Nice said placidly, purr clear in his voice.

“Nope.” Wreck followed.

“More space means I can have a bigger herb garden.” Homemaker shrugged.

“Having you around was the best decision. I expected a fight.” Miss. J said bluntly. Homemaker grinned.

“I’ve been told I am amazing at preventing arguments before they even start.”

…

Nice, Homemaker, and Miss. J were standing in front of a drainage pipe. Nice was looking vaguely disgusted.

“Yeah. I can see why getting to her would be a … bit difficult for Firm man.” Nice said delicately.

“Yeah. The people believe that Firm man will always stand tall…” Homemaker started.

“Which is great, unless…” Nice picked up.

“You need to crawl.” The two finished in unison. Wreck was laughing in their earpieces. He was waiting in a van not far, in case he needed to step in. Miss. J was always looking for opportunities.

Miss. J started explaining what Wolf Girl had been doing with her little comics. Wreck started choking on air for some reason.

“Are you okay, love?” Nice asked.

“Yeah. Just maybe realized something. Holy shit.” Wreck said, strangled.

Little did they know that he was looking at his larger than average canines in his phone's camera. He then went to the bookmark for chapter one of ‘Fangs and Claws’. The catboy Nice and wolf-hybrid Wreck fanfic by Shut Up and Dance. He muted the coms and started half laughing and half crying. “Oh my fuck. No god-damned way. Holy shit…”

He swore off fanfic for the foreseeable future. He did not want to know.

…

“We may need a medic down here. I helped out a small timer and he attacked me after. I may have put him into the wall. Allegedly” Nice said sheepishly over the comms.

Homemaker boggled at that. Who would even think of attacking his charge!?

Miss. J sighed.

…

“Miss. J, what is my current position?” Nice asked urgently. Homemaker went ramrod straight. Something was off.

She did and was shocked. “Your current position is at the top of Hero Avenue!”

She and Homemaker sprinted to the car and started booking it to the location. They heard the explosion.

“Nice? Darling, are you alright!?” Homemaker asked, mentally checking the Thread connecting them. Nothing seemed wrong.

“I’m fine, Sweetheart, I am looking for an exit, though.” He reassured him.

…

“I’m making my own exit.” Nice said after a few minutes.

Wreck had exited the van a few minutes ago and was hidden, ready to jump in at a moments notice. Miss. J and Homemaker were on foot, running to the epicenter.

They arrived just as Nice broke through the concrete. People started cheering. They started cheering even more once they spotted Homemaker.

“Look! It’s Nice and Homemaker!”

“My mom said they were a couple. Like her and dad!”

Homemaker blushed at that.

“Go! Before she hurts the kid!” Firm man said, straining under the weight of the statue.

Homemaker himself was straining not to jump in himself. A child was involved.

“She’s not going to hurt her. She's not going to hurt anyone. Not even that.” Nice pointed at the statue. “Am I right, Wolf Girl?”

People were really paying attention now.

“She’s here to tear down your facade and reveal the real you. The man that saved her years ago. The man she gave that red scarf to.” Nice explained.

Firm man was in shock at that.

“She wants to set you free from the burden you now carry always.” Nice finished.

Wolf girl took off her mask and revealed a rather pretty young woman underneath.

Firm Man was crying now and thanking Wolf Girl for giving him strength. His tears hit his boots and then they shattered. He was freed.

Unfortunately, that also meant the statue was too much now for him to bear. Nice and Wolf Girl rushed to the now kneeling hero to try and help.

Homemaker felt his power surge once the statue fell on all three. He sprinted forward and started lifting. Panic was flooding his system. He felt someone rush over as well. It was Wreck. They felt the statue lifting. The tree of them lifted it together. Firm Man and Wolf Girl cleared the danger zone as soon as they could. They would be no help.

People were going nuts over Nice, Wreck, and Homemaker working together.

They were being cheered on like crazy.

Miss. J was saying something, but they didn't care. The three were focusing on the statue and each other.

#tbhx #to be hero x #homemaker lin ling #hero lin ling #lin ling #nice tbhx #wreck tbhx #moon tbhx #miss j tbhx #tbhx wrice

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nauticaltrain · 1 year ago

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hits you with the napier beam hits you with the napier beam hits you with the napier beam hits you with the napier beam

(headcanons under the cut)

Porter:

Open-top hopper, carries anything, he's not fussy

laidback, observant, leader

big and tall, and i mean big and tall

the most mature, but ultimately a goofball at heart

not afraid to chew out the other freight, hasn't given up on Slick's redemption arc yet

just a good dude

likes showtunes and dad jokes

has a crush on Lumber

Lumber:

Centerbeam flatcar, transports packaged lumber

friendly, intelligent, big-hearted

real environmentalist type, supports sustainability as much as is possible

he and Hydra are besties, they have a surprising amount in common

absolutely oblivious to Porter's crush, just thinks they're friends

could probably survive in the wild

has to be herded back onto the tracks regularly, he gets distracted by flora and fauna very easily, petted a deer once and wouldn't stop talking about it for a week

gets along well with gardeners, lumberjacks, park rangers, and naturalists

Slick:

DOT-111 tank car, can carry anything that doesn't require pressurization, but mostly transports crude oil

vindictive, audacious, manipulative

short and compact little tanker

a real pain to be around, punky and vain

terrible, bitter animosity between her and Hydra, not even the silly sibling rivalry kind, they hate each other

unlike CB who crashes trains because he's cracked, Slick is 100% sane. she does it for money. she would be lying if she said she didn't feel bad at all, there's some remorse buried deep down

you know that saying 'hurt people hurt people'? yeah that

weirdly quick skater, like she moves a little too fast for a car

accessories bitch

Hydra:

DOT-113 tank car, pressurized cryogenic materials only. Liquid hydrogen is his specialty, naturally

confident, mysterious, opportunistic

long and lean, can almost look Porter in the eyes

very proud of his status, loves that he carries such high-profile materials

as for his rivalry with Slick, he thinks she's reckless and she thinks he's uppity. Many nasty arguments

not sure how his friendship with Lumber came about, but is happy about it nonetheless

futurist, believes the advancement of science will benefit society exponentially

will rant about clean energy whenever he can, annoys the rest of the yard with it constantly, a bit of a braggart

got that slinky kapa kitchen energy

(group image not to scale, just wanted them together :))

#i like these characters a lot more when they have discernible personalities and designs (:#maybe femme greaseball next? 👀#starlight express #stex #starex #stex revival #porter the coal truck #slick the oil tanker #hydra the hydrogen tanker #lumber the wood truck #fanart #from the cab

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linkspooky · 4 months ago

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THE GREATEST REDEMPTION ARC OF ALL TIME IS NOT ZUKO'S

Apparently, I like getting hate in my inbox so let's continue criticizing a series that most people consider to be an untouchable masterpiece. Here's my controversial statement for the day. Zuko's redemptoin arc is... fine. It's just fine. (Remember to send all of your anon hate to linkspooky dot tumblr dot come slash ask). It is a servicable character arc where Zuko is clearly in a different place then where he began, but when I think greatest redemption arc of all time I think Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

So now in order to make my point I'm going to compare the two seemingly unrelated franchises which both feature a bad guy who eventually joins the heroes side.

What is a Redemption Arc?

So I'm going to start off by blowing everyone's minds by saying that I hate the words "redemption arc". If only because the term is so overused, and the word 'redemption' itself is subjective and tied up in personal beliefs of what morality is that 'redemption arc' basically has no meaning. It's kind of like how people use the word 'enemies to lovers' to describe stories like Pride and Prejudgice, because like in most romance stories the two main characters start out the story disliking each other.

Redemption arc is now a buzzword, and every time a villain shows even a small amount of humanity a new discourse on whether or not they deserve a redemption arc starts up. So is the problem that there are too many redemption arcs?

No, not at all.

In fact off the top of my head I can only name a couple of redemption arcs that actually complete and don't end with the character dying, Spike, Zuko, Catra, and uhhhhh..... uhhh.... Raskolnikov from Crime and Punishment.

There's not nearly enough redemption arcs and yet there's so much debate over the term 'redemption arc'. So here's my solution stop calling them redemption arcs, because using the word 'redemption' requires that the reader make a moral judgement on whether or not they have done enough to be morally redeemed.

A redemption arc is just a character arc. If you take out the word 'redemption' and just judge a redemption arc as a character arc, an arc where a character needs to change in a singificant way and be in a significantly different place than they were at the start of the story it becomes easier to discuss the quality of a redemption arc without turning it into a morality debate.

A redemption arc is just a regular character arc, where a character starts off in a much, much lower place.

You can describe most "redemption" arcs in the same way you would describe a regular character arc, in terms of a need / want arc. In most stories the main character starts out with a want, that drives them forward. In a disney movie, this takes the form of a disney princess "I want" song. The want is an external need that the main character actively pursues. My favorite disney princess Elphaba Thropp starts the story singing "The Wizard and I" about how she wants the Wizard to recognize her and see her for more than just the color of her skin, and make it so she's seen and accepted for who she is for the first time. Dorothy sings "Over the Rainbow" because she WANTS to get away from her dreary existence in Kansas and go somewhere else.

Contrasting this want is a need. This is something internal that they need to fix about thermselves in order to have a complete character arc. Oftentimes, the character is so distracted by what they want, they spend most of the plot failing to realize what they need to do in order to fix themselves. The need is a lesson, only attained upon self-reflection and self-evaluation, an honest step towards self-fulfillment. A character usually demonstrates growth by realizing what is important to them, what they need to do, instead of focusing only on what they want.

Elphaba realizes her want for acceptance is distracting her need to do right by outcasts who are just like her, which is why she chooses to become the wicked witch rather than stay by the wizard's side in Defying Gravity.

"You can have all you ever wanted." "But I don't want it. I can't want it, anymore."

Dorothy's I want song is all about how she wants to go somewhere far away, but at the end of the movie her greatest desire is to go home, and she's finally able to return to Kansas by clicking her heels after realizing how important home was to her. Glinda even says that Dorothy always had the magic inside of her to go home to begin with, she just needed to realize it, and her journey to Oz was all so she could make the internal realization of how important home was to her. Dorothy, the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, the Lion all go to the wizard to ask him to grant him their wish, something that they WANT, only for the Wizard to turn out to have no magic. The Wizard instead points out to all of them they already had those qualities inside themselves, he gives Scarecrow a Diploma because Scarecrow was always smart, he gives Tin Man a heart shaped watch because Tin Man was the most sensitive of all, and he gives the Lion a Medal because the Lion was always courageous never running away despite the faft he was a scaredy cat.

Anyway, the point of this tangent is I can put Zuko's arc in these simple need / want terms even though he starts the story as an antagonist, because a redemption arc is a regular character arc.

Zuko starts the story with a conflicting want and need. He wants to capture the avatar in order to restore his honor and gain his father's approval, but what he really needs to do is question what "reclaiming his honor" truly means. He needs to question the values of the country that he was born in and realize that the fire nation is wrong and what the fire nation is doing to the world is wrong. This conflict with his want, which is his desire for his father's approval, because in order to gain his father's approval Zuko has to act like a fire nation prince and contribute to the war effort.

Much more simply you could say that Zuko wants to meet his father's expectations and be a good son, but what he really needs to do is learn to be a good person by his own definition of right and wrong not his father's.

I would compare it to Elphaba's arc, Zuko would start singing "When I'm with the Wizard" and when he finally realizes that he doesn't want to exist to please his father especially when his father is hurting the world and so many people he'd bust out into "Defying Gravity."

My point being that Zuko is no different from any Disney Princess.

No, actually my point being that what Zuko is going through is just a regular character arc, it's just more complicated because he has more flaws than any of the other main characters.

But, every character starts out with a flawed understanding of the world. Every hero should have severe flaws that they need to overcome in order to learn and grow.

If anything I think the reason redemption arcs receive so much focus is that they are much more clear cut character arcs, because the characters who receive redemption arcs have glaring, obvious, flaws.

All characters should have flaws, there's no reason for a character to grow if they start out the story perfect. However, often the good guys, because they are the good guys will either be less flaw, or the plot will brush over their flaws and won't challenge them as much which is why their arcs will come off as less compelling than redemption arcs. Not because redemption arcs are automatically deeper, but because a redemption arc always starts out with a more obviously flawed chracter and the narrative HAS to address those flaws which is going to lead to a better character arc.

Redemption arcs are just regular character arcs, and I'm going to judge both Zuko and Spike's arcs as regular arcs in order to illustrate why in comparison's Zuko's is incomplete.

BTVS vs. ATLA

Buffy the Vampire Slayer seems like a strange show to compare to Avatar the Last Airbender, but they actually cover a wide range of similiar topics. They are both about the burden of being the chosen one, Aang being the Avatar who reincarnates again and again to try to lead the world to balance. Buffy is the Slayer, one girl in all the world who can hunt vampires.

Briefly, Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a show by Joss Whedon based around the concept of what if the Cheerleader who died in the first five minutes of every horror movie wasn't a victim, but instead was the thing that monsters were afraid of.

Buffy is a normal teenage girl whose life changes when she finds out she's the slayer, a girl gifted with super strength and combat ability who is tasked with using these abilities to fight off an endless army of demons and vampires that come her way. Usually at least once a season she fights a big bad that threatens to end the world. While at the same time, Buffy tries to maintain some form of a normal life, with her mother, her friends, and her mentor who teaches her how to be a better Slayer.

Aang, is a normal teenage boy who finds out when he is twelve years old he is the reincarnation of the spiritual leader of his people, the Avatar who is tasked with maintaining the balance between the four nations. Aang runs away from this responsibility and ends up frozen in the ice for 100 years. When he wakes up he finds out the fire natoin has killed all of the airebenders, and invaded over 3/4s of the war, and that if he doesn't master all four elements before Sozin's comet returns a year from now then the fire nation will likely use the power of the comet to permanently win the war.

She is also one in a long line of slayers, but while avatars reincarnate, the Slayer fights until they die and then a completely new Slayer takes over from there. Aang is able to bend all four elements and has a connection to the spirit world, Buffy has super strength and the ability to have visions. Both characters want to live a normal life, but because they are the chosen one they are forced to fight to save the world. They're both surrounded by a gang of friends who follow them because they are the chosen one, Buffy has the Scooby Gang, and Aang has Team Avatar / The Gaang.

Both stories are not only deconstructions of the pressures of being the chosen one, they are also bildungsroman that are about their main character growing up and learning adult responsibility alongside learning how to fulfill their role as the chosen one. They both die once and are magically revived. (Buffy voice: "Hey, I've died twice".)

Perhaps the biggest connection and the one this post is about is both shows are thematically about redemption, and eschew traditional Christian ideas of good and evil in favor of a more nuanced look at morality.

BUFFY He wants forgiveness. GILES Yes. I imagine he does. But when James possesses people they act out exactly what happened that night, so instead he's experiencing a form of purgatory. He's doomed to kill his Miss Newman over and over again - and forgiveness is impossible. BUFFY Good. He doesn't deserve it. GILES To forgive is an act of compassion, Buffy. It's not done because people deserve it. It's done because they need it. Now Buffy goes off - her spite palpable. BUFFY No. James destroyed the person he loved the most in a moment of blind passion. And that's not something you forgive. No matter why he did what he did. No matter if he know now that it was wrong and stupid and selfish. He's just going to have to live with it. XANDER He can't live with it Buff, he's dead.

They are both shows about forgiveness above all else, and this is why a major plotline in both shows feature a character who starts out as an antagonist making a long journey and eventually changing sides to join the heroes.

ZUKO VS SPIKE

So, since there are really no objective ways to determine the quality of a "redemption arc" because the idea of redemption is entirely subjective and based upon your personal beliefs, I am just going to judge Zuko's redemption arc by comparing it to what I consider a complete arc.

I am going to oultine the stages of Spike's arc, and why I consider his arc to be a complete arc and then compare Zuko and see if he checks all of the same boxes that Spike does.

There's really no objective criteria for judging redemption arcs. It's not like the hero's journey. So, in order to give this post some organization I'm going to make up my own template based on Spike's character arc, because I consider it to be a complete arc. I will be judging Zuko based upon how far he progresses through the different stages I outline in Spike's arc.

These stages are Origin - usually a tragic backstory, but is just a backstory that describes why the villain is the way they are currently and what circumstances led to their current motivations.

Season Two Spike - The character is just a straightforward antagonist, though usually with some redeemable qualities so the audience can see the potential for a future redemption. In terms of character arc, I would say that this is when a character is entirely guided by their mistaken assumption of the world.

Season 4 Spike - A dramatic change in circumstances for the villain, that forces them to re-evaluate their life. The antagonist usually loses their spot as main antagonist to someone else, or stops being an antagonist entirely but also has yet to join the good guys. This major shift in circumstances is what causes the antagonist to start re-evaluating themselves, it's meant to be a shocking eye opener.

Season 5 Spike - The hero now wants to be on the side of the good guys, but for all of the wrong reasons. They make overtures at redemption, but it's not true redemption yet because while they might be trying to do the right thing it's for mostly selfish reasons, or they still don't know what right and wrong truly are.

Season 6 Spike - Character regression, this is an inevitable part of almost any redemption arc, and honestly should be a part of good character arcs. Basically, the character regresses right before the big change, they get worse before they can get better, this is what adds tension to the story. This regression is necessary because a temporary reversion to their old self, and overcoming that regression is a way to demonstrate that the character has indeed permanently changed.

Season 7 / Season 1 of Angel - Spike The character is truly redeemed because they have done the work that they need to change, and as proof of that they have re-evaluated their previously flawed moral code, and now have invented a new set of morals to follow and live by. This is what I consider the most important part of a redemption arc, the character has to show proof that their way of thinking has changed. Every character starts with a flawed understanding of how the world works, and one of the biggest benefits of going through a character arc is the wisdom gained as a part of that journey. Every character arc should end with the question: "So, what have you learned?"

ORIGIN: The Storm vs Fool for Love

So this is going to start out making Zuko look like a way better character than Spike, but bare with me for a second. Zuko and Spike both receive entire episodes devoted to their backstories (Zuko gets two, but we're only discussing the Storm for now).

In the storm we learn the circumstances for Zuko's banishment, in parallel to learning exactly why Aang ran away from his own destiny as the avatar and how he ended up frozen in Ice. During the course of the episode, after Zuko orders his crew to sail right into a storm they start to express their displeasure about Zuko's treatment of them until Iroh takes one man aside and explains how Zuko was banished. That Zuko used to be a more idealistic prince, who was banished because he spoke up in a war meeting against the sacrifice of young fire nation soldiers. That the Zuko of the past was punished for trying to defend fire nation citizens and that's why the current Zuko is so desperate to find the avatar to restore his honor he disregards the safety of his crew.

At the end of the episode we are shown a glimmer of the old Zuko who once spoke out against sacrifice soldiers when he goes out of his way to save the life of one of his crewmen during the storm and drags them back onboard.

Spike's origin was that he's bad poet, and everyone laughed at his poems so he decided to become a vampire.

See when I describe it like that, it makes Zuko sound like such a better character, because his backstory is obviously more sympathetic. If the reason Zuko was banished was because everyone laughed at his bad poetry, I think it would be much harder for audiences to connect with him on an emotional level.

However, Spike's backstory works in spite of the fact that it's not immediately sympathetic. It doesn't need to be a tragic backstory, because it establishes the same thing that Zuko's does, once Spike was a normal person before he was led astray.

Both of these backstories exist to portray the humanity of the antagonist, and also the reasons why they want the thing they want. I'm going to simplify both characters for the sake of comparison, but arguably both Spike and Zuko want the same thing. They both want love and approval from an external source. They are both chasing love, for Zuko it's chasing his father's love and approval, and for Spike it's chasing first Drusilla's love, an d then Buffy's. Both are also willing to completely remake themselves into someone they're not in order to get their love, Zuko acts like a much harsher version of himself that's obsessed with war and conquest because he thinks that's what his father wants. Spike basically remakes his entire personality depending on the person he's in love with, he decides to be a good guy only because he falls in love with Buffy and decides that if he's good now Buffy will love him back. However, before that Spike remade himself into a vampire because he thought that is what would impress Drusilla.

They've both completely remade themselves in order to please someone else, but there remains some hints of their original self. By the end of the episode after spending the whole episode acting out their aggressive persona, Spike and Zuko give a sign that the person they were in their origin story is still there. Zuko saves a crewmember from drowning, and Spike ends the episode trying to comfort Buffy even after she's rejected him and made it clear that there's no chance of a relationship happening between the two of them.

Buffy looks up at the sound, her face wet with tears. BUFFY What do you want now? Spike is about to pull the trigger when he sees her tears and through them, her pain. His rage vanishes in an instant. SPIKE What's wrong? BUFFY I don't want to talk about it. Spike lowers the g*n. SPIKE Is there something I can do? Buffy says nothing, the reality of her mother's situation hitting her like a steel weight, overcoming her. Spike sits down next to her and tentatively pats her back, trying to comfort her. She lets him.

Both of these episodes follow the same formula, and the Storm is my favorite episode of Avatar the Last Airbender, but I'm still going to elaborate right out the gate on why I think "Fool for Love" does a better job at spinning an origin story.

This is where I'm going to start outlining one of my major problems with Zuko's redemption arc too, in that it cares more for audience pathos than it does the actual events that happen in the story. Zuko basically wears a t-shirt that signals he's going to get a redemption arc, so a lot of the steps in his arc feel signposted.

Starting with the episode itself, like we learn about Zuko's tragic backstory, because Iroh was explaining to the crew that this is the reason why Zuko was treating him poorly, and therefore the crew should feel sorry for him. This isn't who Zuko really is, this is who he is as a result of trauma, and let me explain the trauma so you will now sympathize and understand him better.

It's not bad, it's just less organic. You can see the author's fingerprints what I'm saying, and remember this is my favorite episode of ATLA so I'm not saying this is a bad episode. I just prefer Fool for Love because it's more interested in exploring Spike as a character, it's not telling the audience to feel sorry for him.

Fool for Love is an episode that begins when Buffy accidentally slips and is stabbed by one of the random mook vampires, the ones she usually kills without a problem every night. This small slip almost killing her leads to her to have a crisis, as she tries to figure out what went wrong exactly.

She ends up going for Drinks with Spike, and pays him money to tell her about the two slayers that he's killed in the past one hundred years. She's hoping that since Spike has killed two slayers, he can tell her what her mistake was, what her weakness is so she can fix it.

Spike who has fallen in love with Buffy that point, ends up treating the entire night like a date. He tells Buffy his entire life story, as a means of answering her question. First that he was nothing more than a poet named William Pratt, called William the Bloody for his Bloody Awful Poetry. That he fell in love with sire Drusilla and had an eternal love with her that lasted more than a hundred years, and in the process reinvented his personality from a sensitive poet to a violent vampire that relished in bloodshed. That he eventually became bored with his immortal existence and started to chase after slayers because they are the only thing that can kill vampires as powerful and old as he, and killing one in the boxer rebellion, and one in the 1970s.

In between the story of the two slayers he killed, we also see a highlight reel of Spike's romantic failures. Spike confessed to a girl asking her to see that he was a good person deep down only for her to say she was beneath him.

SPIKE I know I'm a bad poet but I'm a good man and all I ask is that... that you try to see me- CECILY I do see you. That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me. She stands and walks off, leaving Spike devastated and alone.

Spike then is eventually rejected by Drusilla his forever love, and the girl he became a vampire to try and impress. Then at the end of the episode he's rejected by Buffy in the exact same manner.

BUFFY Say it's true. Say I do want to. She shoves him to the ground and looks down at him with disgust. BUFFY It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you. She tosses the wad of cash at him contemptuously. BUFFY You're beneath me. Buffy turns and walks off into the night, leaving Spike alone in the dark alley.

Spike became a vampire because he was too sensitive to survive as a normal person. Yet deep down he wanted to be loved for who he is, not for the person he is pretending to be, yet every time he asks someone to see the real him he's told again and again that he's beneath them.

The entire episode is basically about all the ways that Spike changed himself, in order to hide that softer version of himself and try to be a version of himself someone would loved, and how that failed over and over again.

A character needs to start out the story with a flawed understanding of the world. Spike and Zuko both have a very flawed understanding of what will get them love, Spike sees becoming a vampire as the greatest thing that ever happened to him, and Zuko sees that he needs to be a better, more vicious prince like his father wanted him to be and capture the avatar to restore his honor.

BUFFY So you traded up on the food chain. Then what? SPIKE No, please. Don't make it sound like something you'd flip past on the Discovery Channel. Becoming a vampire is a profound and powerful experience. I could feel this new strength coursing through me. Getting k*lled made me feel alive for the very first time. I was through living by society's rules. Decided to make a few of my own. Of course, in order to do that... I had to get myself a g*ng.

However, the story is much harsher on Spike. No one really takes Buffy aside and sits down to explain to her "Here's why you should be more patient and understanding with Spike, because before he turned into a vampire he was a very different person." No, in fact Spike explaining his entire backstory to Buffy doesn't win him any sympathy points in her eyes at all. After learning everything about him he's still "beneath her".

Arguably it doesn't really engender much sympathy with the audience either. Who is more sympathetic, the guy with the obvious facial scar who was kicked out of his home by his abusive father and is now pursuing the avatar because it's the only way for him to return home... or the guy who's a bad poet who's sad because his girlfriend dumped him.

However, I find Spike's to be more complex because it doesn't tell the audience that Spike is sympathetic and redeemdable, it just shows that through his last action of choosing to comfort Buffy when he saw her crying alone on the porch in spite of the fact she rejected him. Zuko's origin story episode does the same thing, and if you had cut the fact that Iroh was explaining this to Zuko's crew so they'd go easier on him it'd be entirely show and not tell.

Jeel: I'm sick of taking his orders! I'm tired of chasing his Avatar! I mean, who does Zuko think he is? Iroh:Do you really want to know?

Imagine if it was Zuko explaining his backstory to one of his crewman, and then at the end much like Buffy the crewmember went "I don't care you're still an asshole" and then Zuko had to save them anyway. That would make the moment feel a lot less telegraphed and a lot more earned.

SEASON 4 of Buffy:

I'm going to skip the seasons where Spike and Zuko are main antagonists, because I think I already established what their flaws are, and what their want/need arc is. Both Zuko and Spike wrap themselves in anger and aggression, in order to mask their softer sides. They want love, and they pursue it by trying to earn it by accomplishing external goals, instead of doing the hard work of fixing themselves. They need to become better people, but they ignore this need in favor of their want.

This is most apparent in Season 2 of Avatar, and Season 4 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In season 4, Spike returns to Sunnydale only to have a chip put in his head that shocks him every time he tries to harm a human. Now that he's incapable of being a vampire, Spike has an existential crisis that leads him to re-evaluate his life. However, Spike does not conclude that he needs to become a better person.

In fact Spike spends the entire season in denial of the change of the circumstances in his life. Instead of trying to change for the better, Spike just wants to get the chip out of his head so he can go back to being a vampire.

Denial of the change in circumstances, and wanting to go back to being their old selves is what colors this stage of the redemption arc. Zuko also, is declared an enemy of the fire nation after his actions in the seige of the north pole. He no longer has his ship and crew, has to live the life of a refugee, and his much more competent sister takes down hunting the avatar.

During this season changing sides does not cross Zuko's mind either. He spends the entire season wanting to go back to being a prince, and in denial of his change of circumstances. He cannot accept that he a royal is now living the life of a beggar. He steals an ostrich horse from a couple who helps heal his uncle. He declares himself the prince of the fire nation after fightnig off some bully earth army soldiers and then acts confused as to why the locals seem disgusted with him.

All characters start the story with an incorrect view of how the world works, and instead of mending their incorrect beliefs, Zuko and Spike in this respective stage of their arcs choose to keep clinging to those incorrect beliefs. They are still pursuing that want, and ignoring what they need even though that want gets farther and farther out of reach. The idea that Spike might want to change sides to the good guys does not even occur to him, because he defines himself as an evil monster.

Spike: (looking around) I admit, it's a bit of a fixer-upper. Needs a woman's touch. (looks at Giles) Care to have a crack at it? Giles: While I'd loved to go on trading jabs with you, Spike, perhaps I'll come to the point. As much as it pains me to say it, um, I owe you a debt of gratitude for the help you provided me in my recent . . . metamorphosis. Spike: (rubbing a crick out of his neck) Stuff the gratitude. You owe me more than that, mate. Giles pulls out a small bundle of dollar bills and offers it to him. Giles: Three-hundred. Count it if you'd (Spike snatches it out of his hand). . . like. Spike: I'll do that. While Spike starts counting the money, Giles looks the place over. Giles: Um, thinking about your affliction and, uh, your newfound discovery that you can fight only demons; it occurs to me that (chuckling) I realize this is completely against your nature but I-I-I-- Has it occurred to you that there may be a higher purpose-- Spike: Ugh! You made me lose count. (faces him) What are you still doing here? Giles: Talking to myself, apparently. Spike: Well piss off, then. (indicates the money in his hands) This bit of business wraps up any I got with you and your Slayerettes. From here on I want nothing to do with the lot of you. Giles: Your choosing to remain in Sunnydale might make that a little difficult. Spike: Well you and yours will just have to show a little restraint is all. Get out. Giles doesn't say anything and heads for the door. Spike: (following) And I don't want you crawling back here knocking on my door pleading for help the second Teen Witch's magic goes all wonky or little Xander cuts a new tooth. We're through. You got it? Giles opens the door and Spike flinches away from the brightness. He looks over his shoulder at the vampire and his eye twitches. His feelings might be a little hurt. Spike: (callously) Honeymoon is over. Giles leaves without a word.

Spike in particular receives help from the good guys several times, and refuses to change sides because of his denial of his change in circumstances. When Spike first escapes after getting chipped, he receives shelter from Buffy and Giles, lives with them under hiding for a long time, only to spit on them several times and learn nothing from the experience. At the end of the season he even betrays them to the bad guy for the chance at having his chipped removed so he can go back to being a vampire.

Zuko receives an offer from Katara to help heal Iroh with the same hostility. Though, there are more consequences to Spike spitting in the face of the Scooby Gang, because in season 5 and season 6 when he decides he wants to start getting along with them because he's in love with Buffy they are all reluctant to let him join because they all collectively hold him accountable for his previous behavior.

Either way though the pattern of behavior is the same, Zuko and Spike refuse to acknowledge the changes to their lives and leap at the opportunity to go back to their old life. They only think about their wants to the point where it distracts them to the reality of the situation.

Iroh: So, the Blue Spirit. I wonder who could be behind that mask ... Zuko:[Sighs and takes off the mask.] What are you doing here? Iroh: I was just about to ask you the same thing. What do you plan to do now that you've found the Avatar's bison? Keep him locked in our new apartment? Should I go put on a pot of tea for him? Zuko: First I have to get it out of here. Iroh:[Starts yelling.] And then what!? You never think these things through! [Points at him.] This is exactly what happened when you captured the Avatar at the North Pole! You had him, and then you had nowhere to go! Zuko: I would have figured something out! Iroh:No! If his friends hadn't found you, you would have frozen to death! Zuko: I know my own destiny, Uncle! Iroh: Is it your own destiny, or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you? Zuko: Stop it, Uncle! I have to do this! Iroh: I'm begging you, Prince Zuko! It's time for you to look inward and begin asking yourself the big questions. Who are you, and what do you want?

Both Zuko and Spike are refusing to answer the big questions, and only focusing on getting what they want, even as what they think they want gets farther and farther out of reach.

I'm not going to speak too unfavorably of Zuko's arc in comparison of Spike's here, because the denial of both characters is portrayed well except to say that Spike's is harder hitting. If only because as I'll cover later, the Good Guys actually remember the multiple times they saved Spike's life and he spat in their faces for it, and this infleunces their behavior towards him in later seasons and makes his redemption arc harder.

SEASON FIVE of BUFFY

This part I'm going to have to go slightly out of order because Spike follows this order, in season 5 he redeems himself for the wrong reasons, in season 6 he regresses as a character, and in season 7 he finally redeems himself for the right reasons after climbing back from his lowest point and committing to the work of self improvement. The regression stage is important because it's what shows the audience that the redemption will stick, that the character won't fall back on bad habits.

Zuko's arc is slightly out of order. Instead of the redeeming himself for false reasons, he skips right to the character regression stage. He chooses to go back to the fire nation, spends ten episodes regressing as a character after betraying his uncle in favor of everything he's ever wanted, and then finally after the Day of Black Sun joins the good guys in order to correct his mistake.

However, I think by skipping the "redeems himself for the wrong reasons" stage we are missing out something critical, which is why Zuko's redemption in the last half of season 4 reads to me as so rushed and incomplete. Now, let me attempt to explain the reasons for my reading, by explaining what I think is so brilliant of Spike's arc in Season 5 of Buffy.

To begin with I am going to explain what I mean by Spike is redeeming himself for the wrong reasons. In order to do that I am going to borrow a lot of quotes from this meta on ao3, Spike, Buffy, Angel & Romanticism.

When I say Spike is redeeming himself for the wrong reasons, what I mean is Spike is genuinely trying to help the good guys, but his understandings of good and evil are flawed because he is a soulless monster without a conscience that helps him judge between good and evil. For Spike, much like Zuko, most of his jugdements are based on what he thinks will give him approval. He is chasing external validation from others, and therefore he has no internal moral code. Even when Spike is trying to help out the good guys in Season 5, his motives are impure (he's just trying to score good boy points because he thinks if he demonstrates he's a good person Buffy will fall in love with him). He also has not truly changed, because Spike is still seeking external validation, he just wants Buffy's validation instead and he thinks acting like a good guy is how he will earn it. He's changed the person he's trying to please, but he hasn't really changed anything about himself.

Yet, Spike spends the entirety of season 5 convinced that he is a monster who is redeeming himself. That is one interesting layer of both Zuko and Spike's arcs, they both think they are on journeys of redemptions. Zuko thinks that capturing the avatar will redeem his honor, because in the eyes of his violent culture that is what will redeem him by fire nation standards. He doesn't stop to think whether or not fire nation standards are incorrect, or like Uncle suggests whether this is his destiny or jsut a destiny someone else forced upon him.

Spike on the other hand sees himself as a romantic figure, much like Zuko. When he falls in love with Buffy, he convinced that loving Buffy is what redeems him and he will become a good guy out of love for her. Just like Zuko, he views himself as a protagonist of a story about a man on a redemption quest but has absolutely no idea what true redemption would even entail.

However, Buffy goes a lot harder on deconstructing Spike's view of himself as a romantic hero. Spike is a poet, he is a romantic, he sees the world through a certain romanticized lens like it is a story where he is the main character and Season 5 goes through great lengths to disabuse him of that notion.

Moreover, the episode reveals his entire aesthetic and personality to essentially be a construct. But most tellingly of all, it reveals him to be an idealist. Spike is not just a performance artist; he yearns for the “effulgent”, for something “glowing and glistening” that the “vulgarians” of the world don’t understand. In other words, he yearns for something bigger and more beautiful than life: something romantic. Later, he chases after “death, glory, and sod all else.” Spike may be a “fool for love”, who has a romantic view of romantic love specifically, but the episode is very clear about the fact that he is also a romantic more generally. When Drusilla turns him, she doesn’t tempt him by telling him she’ll love him forever. She tempts him by offering him “something…effulgent”. (Which, in typical Spike form, the episode immediately undercuts by having him say “ow” instead of swooning romantically). The fact that “Fool For Love”, Spike’s major backstory episode, is so determined to paint him as a romantic–and in particular, a disappointed, frustrated romantic–that it is willing to contradict canon to do so, tells you that this choice was important for framing Spike and his new, ongoing thematic role. (Impalementation)

Zuko and Spike both start out with a flawed understanding of the world. They have this certain narrative about themselves, and if they follow the script then things should work out the way they expect it to. Zuko's script is if he brings the avatar back home he'll earn his father's love and restore his honor, which is continually frustrated by the fact that Zuko is not the person that he is trying to be. He's not competent enough to bring the avatar back, not ruthless enough to survive in the world of fire nation politics. He's doing everything he can to follow the story, but the story keeps proving to be false and Zuko can't cope because he's working with a flawed understanding of the world., The narrative lens which he applies to everything is twisted by Fire Nation propaganda and his own trauma, and because he hasn't seen anything else he can't see it.

Spike is basically doing the same thing, he is a vampire who has read both Dracula and Anne Rice, he knows the tropes of the soulful vampire. As impalementation points out above Spike is a romantic and a disappointed romantic at that, he longs for a world that plays out like the stories he's read, longs to roleplay the chivalric romance of a knight protecting their love, first with Drusilla and then with Buffy, only to be disappointed at every turn. Spike has read lots of books, and he too thinks that reality is supposed to function like a story though in Spike's case it's a love story between a loyal knight and the one they serve, and when reality goes off script Spike cannot cope.

We’ve talked in the past about how season five is all about the tension between the mythical and the mortal–between big, grand, sweeping narratives, and the reality of being human. Buffy is the Slayer, but she’s also just a girl who loses her mother. Dawn is the key, but she’s also just a confused and hormonal fourteen-year-old. Willow is a powerful witch, but she also just wants her girlfriend to be okay. Glory is a god, but she’s also a human man named Ben, and finds herself increasingly weakened by his emotions. And Spike embodies this tension perfectly. He’s a soulless vampire with a lifetime of bloodshed behind him, but he’s also this silly, human man who wants to love and be loved. He wants big, grand things, but every time they are frustrated by a Victorian society, a rejection, a chip, a pratfall, or dying with an “ow”. Furthermore, his season five storyline is all about the tension between loving in an exalted, yet often selfish way, versus loving in a “real” or selfless way. (Impalementation).

Both ATLA and Buffy explore the idea that these characters are following false narratives, that they're thinking of themselves like characters in a story. ATLA goes a long way to deconstruct what Fire Nation propaganda is, and the way Zuko's understanding of honor is tainted by the culture he grew up in, that despite being obsessed with honor he doesn't really understand what restoring honor would truly mean. However, it doesn't go to quite the lengths that Buffy does, in completely peeling away the romanticism until the reality is left underneath.

All throughout Season 5, every time Spike attempts to be good it's purely transactional. Spike thinks of himself as a vampire who is redeeming himself out of love, so he thinks if he starts performing good deeds that Buffy will begin to see him in a different light. Only to be rebuffed (haha) again and again when characters refuse to play along to his script.

Rupert Giles : We are not your friends. We are not your way to Buffy... There is no way to Buffy... Clear out of here. And Spike, this thing... get over it ...

The Scooby Gang doesn't want him hanging around because he spent all of season 4 spitting in their faces every time they tried giving him a chance.

So at first, Spike’s “deeds” tend to be shallow and vaguely transactional. He tries to help Buffy in “Checkpoint” even though she doesn’t want it (and insults her when she doesn’t appreciate it), he asks “what the hell does it take?” when Buffy is unimpressed by him not feeding on “bleeding disaster victims” in “Triangle”, he rants bitterly at a mannequin when Buffy fails to be grateful to him for taking her to Riley in “Into the Woods”, and he is angry and confused when Buffy is unmoved by his offer to stake Drusilla in “Crush”. But these incidents of self-interested narrativizing are also continuously contrasted with scenes in which Spike reacts with real generosity, or is surprised when he realizes he’s touched something emotionally genuine. When Buffy seeks him out in “Checkpoint”, his mannerisms instantly change when he realizes she actually needs real help (“You’re the only one strong enough to protect them”), rather than the performed help he offered at the beginning of the episode. At the end of “Fool For Love” he’s struck dumb by Buffy’s grief, and his antagonistic posturing all evening melts away. He abandons his romantic vision of their erotic, life-and-death rivalry in favor of real, awkward emotional intimacy. In “Forever” he tries to anonymously leave flowers for Joyce, and reacts angrily when he’s denied—but this time not because he wanted something from Buffy. Simply because he wanted to do something meaningful. (Impalementation).

Season 5 goes to great lengths to show the duality between the real and the romantic, when Spike's actions are motivated by his grand ideas of romance, and when the real selfless gestures of affection are shown.

Expressly, Spike does not get a reward, even for his real moments of generosity. The season begins with Buffy telling Spike that she's beneath her. At the end of Season 5, Spike's realization is that Buffy doesn't love him, but she treats him like a man and that's enough, and he has that realization when she's standing on top of a staircase still above him. Spike has learned in some part the difference between real selfless love, but he isn't immediately given what he wants for it. The reward is the revelation itself, a one hundred year old vampire slowly learning what real love is.

The season doesn't even reward Spike for acting like a true selfless knight at the end of the season, because even after he laerns how to finally be selfless the romanticsism is ripped away. Spike no longer makes demands of Buffy's love, and he's happy just being able to help fight with her and protect her, and he fails to both protect Buffy's sister Dawn in spite promising to, and is unable to do anything but watch Buffy jump to her death.

Spike spends the entire season trying to redeem himself for the wrong reasons, and even when he finally does start fighting for the right reasons he's not magically rewarded because Buffy the Vampire Slayer is much more interested in the reality of exploring what it would mean for a soulless monster to redeem himself even though the universe doesn't give him a reward for getting enough good boy points, then it is the romantic story of a beast being saved by the power of his selfless love.

SEASON SIX of BUFFY

In season Six of Buffy, and the first half of Season 3 of Avatar the Last Airbender, both Spike and Zuko hit their character regression and lowest points after being given everything they think they want. For Spike that is a relationship with Buffy that quickly spirals out of control, and for Zuko that is his father's approval and a seat at his father's side in the war room.

When Zuko returns home to the fire nation, he finds himself too changed to be satisfied by the things he thought he wanted when he was thirteen. This leads him to succumb to paranoia, send assassins after Aang, have frequent explosions of anger, and finally do some deep introspection.

Zuko: [Turning around.] For so long I thought that if my dad accepted me, I'd be happy. I'm back home now, my dad talks to me. Ha! He even thinks I'm a hero. [Close-up of Azula, who smiles.] Everything should be perfect, right? [Aerial view of campsite.] I should be happy now, but I'm not. [Turning back to the others.] I'm angrier than ever and I don't know why!

Spike and Zuko are both given what they want, just when they were starting to learn to let go of the idea of chasing that want and it throws them for a loop. The scoobies begrudgingly accept Spike's presence, and Buffy begins to reciprocate Spike's affection for the first time. Only for that relationship to spiral into one that is mutually unhealthy and codependent.

The regression brings about an identity crisis in both characters. As Zuko and Spike both are still trying to cling to stories in order to provide them with answers for who they are, and what they are doing wrong. Except Zuko is starting to see through the fact that most of the stories the fire nation told him are lies.

Buffy finds herself unable to live up to her personal ideal, and Spike becomes confused about what ideal he’s supposed to be living up to. As their identities dissolve, both of them try to fill the emptiness with different stories. As for Spike, his identity begins to dissolve and he uses romantic stories as a crutch to tell himself who he is, he plays the brooding vampire boyfriend because he is "no longer a monster" but he can't be a man either.

From their very first kiss, it’s clear that the Buffy and Spike relationship will be about using stories to hide out from the confusion of life. Notice how Buffy’s line that “This isn’t real, but I just wanna feel” is overlaid by the trappings of a cliche Hollywood clinch. It’s less to me about what Buffy “really” feels for Spike, and more of a meta statement: stories aren’t real, but they do make you feel something. And that’s what Buffy wants. Their kiss is the culmination of Buffy trying and failing to be the things expected of her. She tries to dress up like the bot at the end of “After Life”, she tries to act the competent applicant in “Flooded”, she tries on all sorts of identities in “Life Serial”, and in “Once More, With Feeling” she sings openly of how she cannot either live up to her Slayer self, or “be like other girls.” (One of the most brutal images in season six to me, and which foreshadows this arc, is Buffy in “Bargaining, Part Two” in her black funeral dress, watching the idealized Buffybot in white get ripped to pieces). Spike, similarly, has been at a crossroads of identity for years. In season four, he tried to cling to the “bad” identity the Initiative stole from him, and in season five, he tried to replace that identity with a noble, Knightly, Lover identity instead. But when Buffy pulls that identity out from under him too, treating him not “like a man” but as a “dead man” who “isn’t real”, the longstanding shakiness of his selfhood becomes undeniable. (Impalementation).

Either way what the regression demonstrates for both characters is that no change they try to make ever sticks, because their sense of self is so shaky, because for both Zuko and Spike they have been building up themselves based entirely around what other people want. In order to have a stronger sense of identity, they'd have to stop clinging to stories which provide them an easy answer to who they are and instead figure out who they want to be.

Spike is quite literally forced to re-evaluate who he is when he is no longer allowed to play the part of a monster. The ugliness of reality, and of Spike's actions when he does the REALLY BAD THING (which I'm not discussing because I don't want to put a trigger warning on this post) breaks him free of any kind of role he's trying to play.

SPIKE: You know, everything used to be so clear. Slayer. Vampire. Vampire kills Slayer, sucks her dry, picks his teeth with her bones. It’s always been that way. I’ve tasted the life of two Slayers. But with Buffy… (grimacing in anguish) It isn’t supposed to be this way! He grabs a piece of furniture and shoves it over, with accompanying crashing noises. SPIKE: (angrily) It’s the chip! Steel and wires and silicon. (sighs) It won’t let me be a monster. (quietly) And I can’t be a man. I’m nothing.

Both Spike and Zuko are put through character regression for two reasons, one to illustrate to them that the things that they wanted aren't what they want and won't make them happy, and two to make them question the stories that they've been told to strip away romanticism, and be real people.

In order to grow as people, they must first learn to question all of the stories they've been told, and stop listening to stories and think of what they want, to form their own identity. The only way to change as a person, is to... look at yourself critically as a person.

Thus the resolutions of Buffy and Spike’s arcs in season six are all about personhood and change. They’re about letting go of stagnant, destructive illusions and embracing the idea of living and growing in the world. They’re about seeing beyond romantic roles, and accepting responsibility for one’s own identity. (Impalementation).

This is where I once again will argue that spike's redemption is superior, because while Zuko and Spike both reach their lowest points it's Spike who actually has all of his narratives stripped away and is challenged to become his own person and think about how he is and what he wants, whereas Zuko never fully stops thinking of himself as a romantic hero. By the end of season 6, Spike is on a journey to learn who he is as a person, whereas on the day of Black Sun and the rest of Season 3, we're still following the story of a prince on a journey of redemption.

It's because by the end of season 6, Spike's journey has entirely focused on the internal, how can he be a man? If he's a soulless monster, then is it possible for him to be a person living in the world like Buffy is? On the other hand, Zuko's arc never changes from an external to an internal goal.

Zuko is still tied up in notions of destiny and honor like he is a main character in a story.

Iroh: Because understanding the struggle between your two great-grandfathers can help you better understand the battle within yourself. [Zuko sits down, with his head facing down.] Evil and good are always at war inside you, Zuko. It is your nature, your legacy. But, there is a bright side. [Zuko looks up.] What happened generations ago can be resolved now, by you. Because of your legacy, you alone can cleanse the sins of our family and the Fire Nation. Born in you, along with all the strife, is the power to restore balance to the world. (Season 3, the avatar and the firelord).

If Iroh didn't tell Zuko that good and evil were at war inside of him, and that he's from a special bloodline because he's descended from both Roku and Sozin and therefore this means it's a part of his destiny to bring balance would Zuko have done the same amount of self reflection?

While Spike is faced with unrelenting reality, Zuko has the notion that he is a romantic hero reinforced over and over again, most particularly by Iroh. Spike doesn't have anybody sit there and point out for him that he's at war with himself and doesn't know whether to be a man or a monster, because Spike is actually capable of self reflection. Whereas, Zuko seems to do everything because he's told that destiny said so. He doesn't move until he's told he's the romantic hero following a pre-planned destiny.

Zuko: But I've come to an even more important decision. [Closes eyes and momentarily pauses.] I'm going to join the Avatar and I'm going to help him defeat you. Ozai: [Smugly.] Really? Since you're a full-blown traitor now and you want me gone, why wait? I'm powerless. You've got your swords. Why don't you just do it now? Zuko: Because I know my own destiny. Taking you down is the Avatar's destiny. [Puts his swords away.] Goodbye.

Zuko is allowed to play the part of a character in a story and because of that he doesn't reach the same level of self-evaluation as Spike. He certainly tells us some things, like that he's learned that the fire nation is wrong, and that the war needs to stop but once again these things are more like telegraphed to us then actually shown onscreen.

Zuko's arc isn't really about learning that the fire nation is evil, like that's a part of it, but what his arc is really about is learning that his father was abusive and instead of living to please his abusive father he needs to figure out what type of person he wants to be.

Which is why I compare him to Spike, a character who's arc revolves around love, who isn't a part of a fascist regime currently colonizing the world like Zuko's is. In fact in spite of Zuko witnessing the poverty of the world and going through the experience of being a refugee, and the one time a bunch of farmers were angry at him for being the prince of the fire nation in Zuko Alone, we don't really see Zuko reflecting on the after effects of the war or the lies of fire nation propaganda. We are told that Zuko's arc is about these things, but most of the actual meat of Zuko's arc is instead Zuko learning that he doesn't have to bend over backwards to please an abusive father. You can stretch it and say that from that Zuko learned that the values his father taught him are all the wrong values, and that he has to learn how to be a proper prince but Zuko is more motivated by abuse and his desire for love then like reflecting upon what is morally right.

Which is why I made the comparison for Spike, but Spike's arc forces him to do a lot more self reflection on who he is, and forcing him to form his own identity outside of what others expect from him, even though Spike's character arc is much more blatantly about his selfish desire to be loved.

Like, what arc contains more self-reflection on the nature of good and evil and what growing to be a better person means, the arc about the boy who was prince of the evil empire, who became a refugee saw how his nation was destroying the world and teamed up with his father's worst enemy to take him down and end the war, or the 100 year old vampire who falls in love with the hero and starts stalking her.

The answer will surprise you.

As I said above it's because after a certain point, due to what probably were time constraints with not having a fourth season to work with Zuko's arc becomes very railroaded.

Spike has to step away from the role of monster, vampire, and lover in order to become a man, and begin the process of forming his own identity because that's what it means to be a person living in this world, to grow up and accept responsibility for your actions.

Zuko is told that it's his destiny to join the avatar and bring balance to the world, and so he does that because it's his destiny, and also he learned that the fire nation was evil at some point offscreen, and then he switches side to join the avatar and decides he wants to be firelord because that's his destiny too.

It's a good arc, and it's mostly complete and servicable, but also lacks a lot of the humanity that Spike's arc has because Zuko until the end is still playing the role of the romantic hero. We never see him break free of that role, and while the arc still works just fine, we are missing out on actually seeing Zuko do the hard work of forming his own identity.

Zuko spends the entirety of his time onscreen chasing external objectives, and by the time he's switched sides he still has an external objective he's chasing, he's still trying to live up to somebody else's standards rather than it's own it's just he's chasing the Avatar, and his Uncle's approval rather than the approval of his father.

SEASON SEVEN OF BUFFY

So season six ends with Spike hitting his lowest point and doing the really bad thing, and Zuko having betrayed team avatar and his Uncle in order to get his throne back. Now both of these characters have to deal with the consequences of what they did at their lowest points and slowly earn back the trust of the heroes and prove that this time they have changed for real.

I will say that Zuko's arc once again perfectly functionable. He spends enough time making it up to each person he's wrong, that it's believable that the gang would trust him. There is enough evidence that Zuko is not going to revert to his old ways again like he did at the end of season 2. He spends enough time onscreen working to earn his redemption and forgiveness of each cast member.

However, therein lies the rub, or at least what rubs me the wrong way about these sets of episode. I spent time during the Season 5 section of this post, discussing why skipping the "redemption for all the wrong reasons" stage is bad, and right here is why. Though this is supposed to be the climax of Zuko's redemption arc, it feels like Zuko is at the exact same place that Spike was in Season 5. Zuko is trying to redeem himself yes, but it's because he wants to earn good boy points and have the main characters trust him.

There is a scene where Zuko yells at Katara and asks why she won't forgive him, and it sounds like something Spike would say at Season 5.

Zuko: This isn't fair! Everyone else seems to trust me now! What is it with you? Katara: [Turns around furiously.] Oh, everyone trusts you now?! I was the first person to trust you! [Places her left hand on her heart.] Remember, back in Ba Sing Se. [Points to the ocean.] And you turned around and betrayed me, betrayed all of us! Zuko: [Closes eyes in resentment.] What can I do to make it up to you? Katara:[Cuts to shot of her and Zuko standing on the cliff as she approaches him while snapping at him angrily.] You really want to know? Hmm, maybe you could reconquer Ba Sing Se in the name of the Earth King. [Cuts to side-view of her and Zuko.] Or, I know! You could bring my mother back!

Everything about this scene indicates that Zuko's understanding of redemption is flawed, that much like Spike he's attempting to do good things to earn good boy points so the heroes will accept him.

There's nothing wrong with this, it's actually a part of a redemption arc to learn to do good things for the right reasons, not just to earn other people's approval. It's just Zuko himself never gets to the second part, because suddenly doing good things to earn good boy points starts working out for him.

The plot contrives several different field trips so he can make it up to each member of the gang he personally hurt, a field trip with Aang in order to learn about the true nature of fire bending, a revenge trip with Katara, a trip with Sokka to help him get his father out of prison.

However, when the plot doesn't present Zuko with a convenient way to redeem himself he doesn't really seem to care. When Toph tries to tell Zuko about her worries over her parents he blows her off, and when Suki confronts him about burning down her village it's just played off as a joke.

There's actually nothing wrong with Zuko only trying to redeem himself for selfish reasons because he wants the gang to accept him, it just doesn't get addressed. Since everyone accepts Zuko so easily, Zuko's never forced to do the hard work of forming his own identity instead of constantly seeking the approval of the people around him. As a result even though Zuko goes through a character arc, we don't actually learn that much about him as a person or what his true motives are because Zuko never reflects upon those things.

Zuko's arc still works if you view it as a romantic story, but not as a human one. It works as the story of the lost prince coming home and retaking the throne to set the nation on the right path, but not about Zuko the person.

Starting with the big apology both Zuko and Spike make. Zuko's apology is not to Katara, not to Aang, no the most important person he needs to apologize to is Iroh, because Zuko still has not broken away from the idea that he needs to live to please his father figure. His worst crime is not trying to kill the avatar repeatedly, but disappointing Iroh who believed in him.

Whereas Spike at least begins his scene with an apology to the person he hurt the most, Buffy. Spike's arc in season 7 is all about getting a soul, soemthing that makes him now capable of making a moral judgement. The first thing he does after getting a soul is finally feel guilt for the first time in one hundred years, and now with the added benefit of a conscious he realizes how horribly he had been treating Buffy all along.

Spike's big act of redemption is to seek out a soul, so he could become the type of man that would never hurt Buffy again.

Zuko's big act of redemption is to leave the fire nation and join the avatar's side... because, it's his destiny to do so.

See the difference here is Spike is challenged to form his own identity, by literally giving himself a conscience and the ability to feel guilt whereas Zuko just has to follow some destiny that was laid out for him. He doesn't have to question himself beyond "it's destiny". Whereas Spike's soul forces him to self, reflect because now that he's no longer a soulless monster he has to reflect on all the ways he has hurt the people in his life.

Spike's apology scene is also a lot different than Zuko's is to Iroh.

To begin with, Spike only appears to offer his help and tells Buffy that if she wants him to go away he will. He doesn't even tell Buffy that he got a soul for her sake, because he doesn't want her to feel obligated to forgive him. He spends the whole episode hiding it, until we at least reach the cross-hugging scene.

A scene which brilliantly shows the agony of feeling guilty and genuinely understanding you did something wrong and wanting to be forgiven, without prioritizing Spike's feelings of guilt and self-loathing over the feelings of the person he hurt.

SPIKE I dreamed of k*lling you. Keeping an eye on him, Buffy bends down to pick up a large splinter from the broken pews at her feet to use as a stake, if necessary. Spike starts pacing. SPIKE I think they were dreams. So weak. Did you make me weak, thinking of you, holding myself, and spilling useless buckets of salt over your... ending? Angel—he should've warned me. He makes a good show of forgetting, but it's here, in me, all the time. (walks around toward her from behind) The spark. I wanted to give you what you deserve, and I got it. They put the spark in me and now all it does is burn. Buffy's face shows shock, disbelief and, finally, comprehension. BUFFY Your soul. SPIKE (laughs) Bit worse for lack of use. Buffy turns to face him. BUFFY You got your soul back. How? SPIKE It's what you wanted, right? (looking at the ceiling) It's what you wanted, right? (presses his fingers to his temples, looks down, and walks toward the altar). And—and now everybody's in here, talking. Everything I did...everyone I— and him... and it... the other, the thing beneath—beneath you. It's here too. Everybody. They all just tell me go... go... (looks back over his shoulder to Buffy) to hell. BUFFY Why? Why would you do that— SPIKE Buffy, shame on you. Why does a man do what he mustn't? For her. To be hers. To be the kind of man who would nev— (looks away) to be a kind of man. Spike walks toward the 6-foot-tall crucifix altarpiece at the front of the chapel. Sounds like he's quoting something. SPIKE She shall look on him with forgiveness, and everybody will forgive and love. He will be loved. Spike's standing only a foot away from the crucifix, staring at it. SPIKE So everything's OK, right? (sighs) Spike embraces the crucifix, resting one arm over each side of the cross bar, and resting his head in the corner of the vertex. His body is sizzling and smoke is rising from where it touches the cross. SPIKE Can—can we rest now? Buffy...can we rest?

Spike is forced to be very honest about his desire to be forgiven and loved even though he's done bad things, and it is very selfish, and also very human to be grappling with those feelings in front of the person you hurt. Spike's desire for a release from guilt, to finally rest instead of having to struggle with everything he's done.

It's a genuine apology which is accompanied with proof that Spike has taken steps to show that he will never hurt Buffy that way again, that he specifically got a soul in order to become a man who can't hurt her that way.

In comparison this is Zuko's apology scene to Iroh, which is just as heartfelt but also, like everything in Zuko's arc just a little bit easier.

It is a genuine apology, but again my focus is on is Iroh the one that Zuko needs to apologize the most?

Zuko's character is all about his personal conflcits, his relationship with his uncle, and his newly made firends in the gang and learning to do right by them, even though it's supposedly supposed to be about him learning that the fire nation is wrong and how he needs to make the fire nation better.

In comparison, Spike's character arc is framed from the get go about those personal stakes. Buffy is the person he hurt the most so it makes sense he would apologize to her first before anyone else.

In Spike's apology scene Buffy doesn't even forgive him. She walks away and leaves him there hugging that cross. She sheds some tears for him and is clearly moved by his suffering, but the show clearly equates that Spike's suffering and remorse isn't enough until he's provided concrete proof in action that he's on the side of good now.

Spike doesn't get convenient field trips that let him earn back everyone's trust in Season 7. He is forced to help everyone, not because he wants to earn forgiveness, but because he wants to demonstrate that he has changed. What we witness in season 7 is now that Spike has accepted truly that being a good person won't make Buffy love him, he's now forced to grow as a person because he wants to live inside the world just like Buffy does. To grow and change like a real person would, not an undying thing.

Because Spike's arc is about taking this character that was an immortal being who had not changed in a hundred years, and making him want to change, and making him learn what it means to live in the world and continue growing and changing every single day like everybody else does.

Spike's reward for his efforts to be a better person isn't to be told that Buffy forgave him all along but that... she believes he can be a better person.

BUFFY No. I don't hate like that. Not you, or myself. Not anymore. You think you have insight now because your soul's drenched in blood? You don't know me. You don't even know you. Was that you who killed those people in the cellar? Was that you who waited for those girls? SPIKE There's no one else. BUFFY That's not true. Listen to me. You're not alive because of hate or pain. You're alive because I saw you change. Because I saw your penance. SPIKE (lunges violently at her, but chains hold him back) Window dressing. BUFFY Be easier, wouldn't it, it if were an act, but it's not. (walks toward him) You faced the monster inside of you and you fought back. You risked everything to be a better man. SPIKE Buffy... BUFFY (in his face) And you can be. You are. You may not see it, but I do. I do. I believe in you, Spike.

Spike isn't told that he's forgiven, or he's some destined hero, the only thing he's reassured about is that he has the capacity for change, which is because Spike's entire arc is about whether an undying monster can finally learn to change and how to be a better than.

I could go on longer, I could mention how in Season 5 of Angel Spike still has to be a good person even though Buffy isn't even around to support him. That's where Spike is truly challenged to stick to his goal of becoming a better person every day, even though he's not going to receive Buffy's love as a reward.

However, I'll end it here because I think I've made my point. Zuko's arc is fine, but it's also missing that final step that Spike's arc. As a redemption arc it's fine because in the eyes of the audience and the characters around Zuko, Zuko has clearly done enough to earn redemption. He has gone through the motions and shown onscreen that he has changed.

As a character arc it feels woefully incomplete for all of the reasons I listed above, because Zuko did not do the work that Spike did of learning what kind of man he wants to be. Zuko ends the story as a hero, but he never becomes his own person like Spike does.

#avatar meta #atla meta #zuko #iroh #btvs meta #buffy the vampire slayer #spike #buffy #buffy summers #avatar the last airbender

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