#bit of a longer chapter

[halflinghands]

Something soft & sweet, inspired by a scene from chapter 10 of @lesbianherald’s wonderul fic, Coming Home (But Not To You) 💕✨🪥

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59410696/chapters/152370955#workskin

I had a lot of fun with this one!

[barefeet-only]

Say Shawarma Right Now

It was a rainy August afternoon when Talia arrived in Gotham. It wasn’t a shock that it was raining, it always rained in Gotham. A depressing city with a depressing atmosphere. Why her love and son were so obsessed with it she would never know. So while Talia was prepared with her umbrella as she walked through the streets, waiting for her son’s compatriots to notice she was in town, she did not expect the humidity. This city always found a way to make her miserable. 

While she waited for her son to come find her, Talia made her way to her favorite local street vendor. A wonderful immigrant woman from Iran who had married a Turkish man and moved to the United States with hopes of grandeur. She had a talent for seasonings unheard of on this side of the Atlantic and it always made suffering through her chattering worth it. 

Talia noticed him as she made her way down the international market. A tall man with broad shoulders and a fit build. Not too muscular but enough to prove he went to the gym regularly. He was laughing loudly as he talked to the shawarma lady while she made his food. The cook was talking about how her son had finally gotten a girlfriend but forgot her birthday and was desperately trying to make it up to her. 

“Say wallah right now!” He jokingly exclaimed. 

“Wallah! Now I have a moping son and a no good husband stinking up the house right now. What I wouldn’t give to have a good boy like you as my child!”

Talia was on edge, something about this man was familiar to her. She couldn’t place where, but instinctually the assassin knew she knew this man. In her line of work, being able to place a face was the difference between life and death.

Talia took a seat at a nearby bench and began studying his side profile. He had thick black hair with an undercut and longer bangs on the front, a black stud on his lower lobe, and lightly tanned skin that would allow him to pass as white as long as he stayed out of the sun. While his piercing blue eyes should have been the first thing anyone would notice about him, it was the small curving scar behind his ear that instantly clued Talia in on his identity. 

“How much longer do you plan on staying in Gothman Danyal?” The cook asked. 

“Ah, I'm only here for another week now. Looks like we are closing the deal and I’ll be heading home.”

Danyal gave a cheerful smile to the lady as she handed him his food. 

“It’s partly why I came here to visit you, Mina. No one back home knows how to season like you do.” 

He leaned in and spoke low, “Or give me as good a discount.”

Mina tsked and smacked the man, “What a beggar! Got yourself a big fancy job and you’re still here asking for money off!”

Danyal winked at her and took a bite of his food, groaning in appreciation. 

Mina smiled, “Well I’m going to miss you dear boy. Please come visit some time.” 

“Boy?! How many times do I have to tell you I’m thirty!”

Danyal smiled genuinely and handed her a bright green business card, “But of course I’m going to visit. Here, this has my number on it, remind me to come visit in a couple months when you realize your best customer needs to help you pay your bills.”

She took the card and giggled. 

“Green? Really Danyal, you ought to be more professional with the job you have, this is why I call you boy. That and you barely look a day past twenty-three.” 

Danyal giggled and walked away, taking his meal with him. Talia was no longer hungry anymore. After a few moments she stood up and slowly followed him. She needed to know why he was in Gotham, she needed to know why he was alive. 

As they walked through the streets Talia noticed that Danyal was dry, the rain hadn’t stopped the entire time she had been in Gotham yet somehow Danyal had not a drop of moisture on him. He must have some device on him that allowed him to stay dry, there was no natural explanation. Dangerous she thought. Yet the moment the thought occurred to her, she recoiled at the idea. Danyal was a pathetic assassin, he had no talent for the craft at all and after all this time he finally instilled caution in her? Something was wrong, and Talia was determined to figure out what. If nothing else, she would finally achieve her greatest regret and kill Danyal herself. 

[shattered-daydream]

A little comic of one of my favorite scenes from Chp.28

@sapphosscribe

[determunition]

various pre-godhood lovestory stuff from my fic i've been doodling for warmups lately; there's more dramatic scenes i could have drawn from the most recent chapter but i honestly had a ball writing thespius just moping around and not being able to tell he's madly in love with the weird little guy who edited his script lmao

[twilightkitkat]

Part 3 of thinking about the reaction another universe's Logan would have to meeting Wade. To Wade and Logan's relationship.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

---

Logan hadn't left Wade's side since he got here. Eventually, Wade managed to convince him to calm down enough that he could briefly explain to the X-men that this was his Logan, the one from his universe, who came looking for him.

His Logan hovered close to him, practically plastered to his side as if he'd disappear the second he took his eyes off him. Other-Logan was nowhere to be seen.

Eventually, they returned to Wade's room for the night. The X-men offered Logan a room of his own, but he point-blank refused.

When Wade crawled into the twin-sized bed (which definitely wasn't big enough to comfortably fit two people), Logan slipped under the covers behind him. Logan pressed his nose to Wade's neck and released a shaky breath of relief.

He could finally relax now that he was alone, away from the probing crowd that reminded him too much of memories he'd rather leave in the past. Now that he could focus on Wade. His scent, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the sound of his breathing.

The exhaustion hit Logan like a truck. He'd barely gotten any sleep in the past month Wade's been missing, and when he did it was fitful and left him feeling inexplicably more tired when he awoke. He didn't realize how much he depended on the comfort of Wade's presence to sleep until it was gone.

(When he was alone, it reminded him of being back in his universe. Of waking up in the middle of the night, claws unsheathed, breathing wildly. Of realizing he was completely alone, that everyone he cared about was dead. Of popping open a bottle of liquor just to silence the noise of his own thoughts.)

Wade reminded him that he was in a new universe, now. That he wasn't alone. Logan wrapped his arms around him, securely (tight enough to not let him escape) and finally, finally, let himself breathe.

Wade hummed, content at feeling the hot breath of Logan on his neck as he drifted off to sleep. For the first time in a month, he felt warm. He felt safe. He felt comforted, knowing that Logan was here with him. Apparently having a life-sized human heater spoiled him and made it difficult to stomach sleeping alone.

They both fell asleep, comforted by the familiarity of each other's presence.

(It was the best sleep either of them had in weeks.)

---

The aftermath was just a little bit awkward.

Logan hardly left his side, warily glaring at anyone who came to disturb their peace as they went about their day. He seemed to still be on edge around the other X-men (and anyone who wasn't Wade in general).

Wade was sure it would be difficult for him to interact with them, too, if he'd seen and come to terms with all of their deaths. Of being responsible for the downfall of an alternate version of them. It must be jarring to see them alive and well, to see a distortion of the future he could've had with caricatures of his friends.

(It made Wade a little anxious to think that Logan was remembering it all. Reminiscing on a better time before Wade came and took him away from his world.)

Despite the companionship they'd built, Other-Logan had been making himself scarce. Wade was a little concerned about him, but he was more focused on his own version, who'd been acting as his own personal guard dog. (If a guard dog was 300 pounds and a fully grown man.)

Still, sometimes when they passed by each other, he swore he saw that same look in Other-Logan's eyes. The one he still had difficulty deciphering, but recognized as meaningful.

The one his Logan had in the first few weeks of living together. After they'd saved the world. (Maybe even before it.)

(He tried not to think too hard about it.)

The other X-men were just dancing around them. They seemed to be unsure of how to interact with a Logan so similar and yet so completely different from their own. The only member of the X-men who knew about this Logan's backstory was Wolverine and... let's just say it wasn't getting out anytime soon.

It was almost funny to watch their attempts to start a conversation with Logan only to be met with short, one-word responses. Almost. (It wasn't funny to feel how Logan tensed up next to him, how he smoothed over his expression and put himself on guard. To see the slight trembling of his clenched fists. To see the haunted looks in his eyes.)

And so they ended up accidentally (or purposefully, on Logan's part) avoiding everyone for the first few days.

Wade hadn't gone out on any missions in that time. Logan didn't seem like he was in any mood to go out with the others, and, quite frankly, neither was Wade. He didn't realize how much he missed Logan until he was here.

(And a part of him was relieved that Logan was choosing to stay with him. That he clung to him tightly and didn't seem to be tempted to go rubbing elbows with the other X-men anytime soon.)

He'd managed to fill Logan in after they first crashed from exhaustion together. Logan seemed equal parts concerned and relieved to find out that he'd been stranded because his device was broken. (Because that meant Wade wasn't kidnapped or in danger. Because that meant Wade didn't want to leave him behind.)

They'd been sleeping in the same bed ever since. Anytime the X-men brought up moving Logan to another room, a nicer one with a bigger bed, he just growled and muttered that he didn't need it. One time, they'd offered to move another twin-sized bed into Wade's room so that they could at least have their own place to sleep, but Logan gruffly and very quickly turned that down too.

They hadn't tried to separate them since.

Even when Charles Xavier himself called Logan into his office the morning after he arrived, Logan didn't seem to consider leaving Wade behind as an option. And so they'd both stumbled into the office, suspiciously pressed close together, to report Logan's arrival.

Not that Wade was complaining. He'd offer to be Wolvie's emotional support teddy bear any day. (Even if he got dragged around roughly like a toddler who didn't learn to play nice with or share their toys yet.)

Charles had looked at them oddly, a mix of what could only be described as surprise and then understanding crossing over his face. He didn't comment on Wade's presence, nor Logan's insistence to keep him close by.

(He'd pulled aside the other X-men shortly after and told them to not bother this Logan too much. That he'd been through things their Logan hadn't and that he wouldn't be very receptive to their presence. To not comment on his relationship with Wade and to let them be.)

(It had aroused a mixture of confusion and suspicion among the X-men. Scott and Jean exchanged concerned glances with each other. What could cause Logan to want to avoid them, even in another universe? What did Logan go through to be so wary of them? To rely on Deadpool, of all people, for emotional support?)

(And why was their Logan influenced as well?)

After that, things had gone fairly smoothly. Wade occasionally still annoyed Colossus, who'd begun to reluctantly accept his presence (and who Logan was the least on guard around, out of all of the X-men). It drew skeptical glances from the other X-men, who were surely wondering what reason Wade had to be bothering Colossus, of all people.

But other than that, they mainly kept to themselves.

Until today, that is.

Today, the other X-men had finally managed to find a lead on the man who'd KO'd Wolverine and Deadpool, shattering Wade's pathway back to his own universe. Apparently, he'd set up a new base, this time with better-equipped personnel.

Seemed the asshole wasn't working alone. Of fucking course. When Wade wanted a fight all he could find were pussies, but It couldn't ever be easy when Wade actually wanted to go home. Just his luck.

It was large-scale enough that the majority of the X-men were preparing to go on the raid. Not a good sign.

Of course, Wade had saddled in and prepared to go the second they said they had a lead. And of course, by default, that meant Logan was coming with him.

They'd both rested enough, and while they were slightly on edge, Wade doubted that was going to go away anytime soon until they got back to their own universe. It'd be better to just rip the bandaid off and get this shit over with so that they could curl up on their shitty pull-out couch and eat leftovers and let themselves decompress from whatever the fuck this mission was turning into.

After a quick debrief in which they essentially went over everyone's roles and the layout of the base (or what they knew of it, at least) they set off.

Logan and Wade were paired together, luckily (well, most likely intentionally from the sharp glare Logan shot everyone when they began discussing their roles). They were tasked with clearing out the enemies and working their way to the main base, which was unsurprising given their tank-like abilities and healing factors.

Wade stared out the window for most of the ride there (and Logan stared at Wade) and before he knew it, they'd arrived.

And wow. The villains had really outdone themselves in the cliche base department. If the abandoned nuclear power plant was basic, the shady abandoned military facility was the equivalent of a white girl who liked Starbucks and listened to Taylor Swift. Completely predictable and not at all original.

They all split off into smaller, individual teams and, after a quick confirmation, they went in.

The henchmen this time were vaguely impressive. Well, impressive in the sense the typical office worker was impressive compared to a 10-year-old. It actually took more than 5 seconds for Logan and Wade to clear out the first wave.

But a run-of-the-mill decent group of villains was no match for Wade and Logan's teamwork. If Other-Wolverine and Deadpool worked like a well-oiled machine, this Deadpool and Wolverine worked like they were fucking telepaths. Completely in sync, predicting each other's attack patterns and weaving in and out like they shared a set of strings puppeteering them.

(It caused a few of the X-men to stop and stare to watch. It was brutal and grotesque and... beautiful, in way, to see how quickly they plowed through the villains. The X-men knew teamwork—they were accustomed to it, with the whole superhero team shtick—but not this type of partnership. This type of innate, primal fluidity that allowed them to move as one.)

Before long, with a suprising lack of resistance, given this was supposed to be The Villain Base (although, to be fair, they did have the X-men playing cleanup crew around them and taking care of the rest), they finally made their way into what could only be reffered to as some sort of fucked-up evil lab.

The walls were lined with shady medical equipment and some type of alien technology, and, to no one's surprise, the same fucker as last time was standing in the center.

"Nice to see you again, Deadpool," he nodded. "And... nice to meet you, Wolverine."

OK, hold on a second. He thought it was weird that this guy knew his name the first time considering he was, y'know, new around these parts, but he'd brushed it off. Maybe there was an alternate version of him running around (even if he hadn't heard of one despite interrogating an absurd number of people connected to the underground). But to know that this was an alternate version of Wolverine, just upon seeing him?

It's like the asshole predicted their arrival in this dimension.

Wade tensed slightly, and judging by a glance at Logan next to him, he'd picked up on that discrepancy too.

"Hey, Cable 2.0. Or should I call you Evil Cable? Cable the destroyer? Actually, calling you Cable would be an insult to his brand. How about generic futuristic villain #46," Wade quipped, trying to steel his nerves and school his expression back into a grin.

"I assure you, I'm nothing like this Cable you speak of," the man replied, calmly, "If he were similar to me, you wouldn't be standing here right now."

"Oooooh, scary, I think I almost pissed my pants! Quick, Wolvie, hide me, I'm quivering in my boots!" Wade ducked behind Logan, voice rising high from mock-fear. Logan merely grunted, but allowed him to hide behind him for the bit. (See, even Logan must agree he's funny if he's playing along.)

The man blinks at them, clearly unimpressed, before raising his gun. Okay, so they're getting right into it. Fun.

Logan unsheathed his claws and Wade gripped his guns tightly.

And then the fight behind.

This Logan and Wade had better teamwork compared to the last encounter. Their teamwork was down to a science, or a particularly bloody work of art.

Unfortunately, this time, their opponent knew their attack patterns. He was deflecting their attacks with ease, using minimal effort to dodge even while they ganged up on him.

This went on for a few moments, making barely any progress aside from wasting time. Until, a growl was heard from behind them—

—and another Wolverine joined the mix.

"I can you're struggling a bit, bub, let me help you out," he grunted, slashing at the villain.

"Awww! I'd be swooning right now if not for the fact it'd get me killed!" Wade chirped back, dodging a bullet that shot his way.

His Logan growled slightly and landed next to him, before murmuring, "Focus on the fight. Stop getting distracted."

Wade pouted in response but followed dutifully to attack the villain with Logan.

Their group teamwork was actually fairly impressive, in Wade's opinion. Which wasn't surprising, given that two of the members had near-identical fighting styles and both were used to working with him.

The two Wolverines clashed a bit at first, aiming for the same spots and directing annoyed growls at each other. But after Wade finally made them calm down ("Woah woah woah, ladies, there's enough hits to go around! This isn't Fortnite, you aren't going for the Battle Royale. Let's all work together, yeah?") they fell into a better rhythm.

They were holding up fairly well, even managing to make leeway and push the man back. They were on the winning side of the fight (which they better be on, with Deadpool and two fucking Wolverines trying to kill him). "Were" being the key word.

Because, right as they seemed to be tiring out the asshole, he pulled a move nobody expected. He leaped back, suddenly, creating distance, and grabbed a suspicious-looking metal device from the table.

All three of them exchanged glances and seemed to be on the same page: Do Not Let The Fucker Use It, Whatever It Is.

And so they all leaped at once, claws and guns and knives blazing, until the man sidestepped and with a clink had attached the device to Wolverine's neck. To his Logan's neck.

It folded out into a sickeningly familiar shape.

Fuck.

Logan's claws retracted and a panicked look flashed in his eyes despite his angry posture.

It was an ability-restricting collar.

And Wade had a feeling it wouldn't be as easy as punching in the code "7" to get it off, considering the futuristic, sturdy, and significantly more complicated-looking design.

The man picked Logan up by the back of the neck of his suit with an inhuman strength (had he been holding back, before?) and Wade saw fucking red.

Before he could think, he was unloading a full magazine into the man's chest and head. But the bullet wounds just closed up and the shells fell to the ground uselessly.

He saw the fear in Logan's eyes. At being powerless.

A reflection of how Wade felt, strapped to that table. Tortured. (Francis' voice rang in his ears. "What's my name?")

Wade lunged, trying to dig his katanas into the man's side. He dodged, stepped to the side, and blocked as Wade desperately, frantically tried to injure him. Just enough to let Logan go.

"Get your filthy hands off of him, you son of a bitch, or I swear to God I will tear you limb from limb like a 5 year old's shitty Barbie doll!" Wade snarled, a venom in his voice that made Logan's eyes widen from in his hold.

(A venom that made the Logan behind him look astonished, too. It'd always been him as the protector, the stronger one. He always had to carry the burden of worry, of solving the problem. And yet, here was a version of him with someone to do the same for him. Someone who would go to hell and back for him in the same way he had to, countless times.)

(That familiar ache was back.)

"I don't think I will," the man hummed, side-stepping yet another attack. "As a matter of fact, I'm getting quite bored of this back-and-forth."

Suddenly, the man held up a knife (where did that come from?) to Logan's throat. Logan, who didn't have his healing factor right now. Logan, who was just as vulnerable as any other human right now.

(Logan, who was looking at him with terror in his eyes. Logan, who had wanted death for so long, pressing himself against the barrel of his gun and fucking laughing the first time they'd met. Logan, who, through all the blood and sweat and tears and sacritice, had finally found a reason to live again. Logan, who didn't want to die anymore. Who wanted to live with Wade.)

It was like the world stopped turning. It was the same feeling Wade had felt the night Vanessa died, all noises drowned out and all colors and shapes blurring together and ohgodohgodohgod she's dead she's gone it's all my fault I never should've met her to begin with— but this was worse, somehow. It didn't just feel like the rug had been pulled out from underneath his feet, it felt like the entire fucking ground crumbled apart, collapsing in on itself, leaving him tumbling closer and closer to Earth's core until he's burned alive and swallowed whole. It felt like drowning and suffocating and burning alive all at once. It felt like losing his very foundation, the one thing he allowed himself to cling on to, thinking he'd never have to say goodbye. It felt like all his worst fears and nightmares came true in the worst possible way.

It felt like dying.

"Now," the man started, not giving a damn about Wade's internal panic and the incessant ringing in his ears, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Why was Other-Logan just standing there? Why wasn't anyone moving? Why was nothing happening? How could the world keep spinning when it felt like his world was in limbo right now, powerless and dangled between the claws of a monster, threatening to drop him into its maw?

"You can let me go with your buddy right here, or I kill him now and you never see him again. Understood?" the man tightened his grip around Logan's throat, who began hacking slightly. The knife nicked his skin slightly, creating a trail of red down his neck. Logan hissed in pain.

Wade wanted nothing more than to tear his fucking throat out in response.

But he clenched his fists instead, feeling his blunt nails dig into his skin even through the suit.

"Wade, just let me go, you can come get me later, yeah?" Logan wheezed, barely able to speak around the constricting grip.

"But—he could—Logan, no, I can fight him, I can, I won't let you sacrifice yourself again," Wade fumbled over his words, unable to focus on anything but Logan Logan Logan.

"I'm not sacrificin' myself, just," his voice was rough and heavy, "let me go. You can't win, Wade. I'm not going to watch you die trying to save me."

"But—"

"You heard him," the Wolverine behind him suddenly spoke, putting a hand on his shoulder. (Wade wanted to rip it off. It was wrong wrong wrong, so similar and yet too different from his Logan. His Logan, who had deeper callouses. His Logan, whose hands were rougher and gripped him firmly.) "He'll kill him if we fail to fight him now."

Why was everybody else okay with this? Why did everyone else seem so calm when it felt like Wade's world was imploding, his vision was narrowing, and his senses were going haywire?

(Logan could get hurt. Seriously. Not just superficially. He could be tortured like he was. Wade didn't like knowing Logan was in pain, even with his healing factor, but without it? He could be killed. Even if the man kept his promise right now, who's to say it holds up in an hour? A day? A week? Wade couldn't even comprehend living that long without knowing if Logan was dead or alive. Logan could die and he wouldn't know, because he'd be outside of his reach.)

Wade caught Logan's eyes.

Fuck.

He was scared too, Wade could tell, but putting on a brave face for him. Trying to calm Wade down, when Logan was the one getting kidnapped. He was fucking pathetic. (It really was God's Greatest Joke that he couldn't die, huh?)

Wolverine tensed beside him, ready to hold him back if needed. Wade bit his lip until it fucking bled and finally managed to mumble, "Fine."

"What was that?" the man gloated.

"Fine," Wade hissed. "But I'll be back to get him, and I swear to fucking God, if a single hair on his head is out of place, I'll eviscerate you. I'll make sure you wish you didn't have a healing factor, because I'll torture you until you're begging to die. And then finally, I'll snap that shitty collar onto your neck and kill you in the most painful way possible.

The man seemed unphased. But it was a promise. A promise Wade would keep even if his life depended on it. Even if he had to drag himself out of his own grave, regenerate his limbs from scratch, claw his way out of hell, he would make him suffer if he did anything to Logan.

Logan's eyes widened from in the man's grasp. Wade looked at him, a dark expression on his face. Letting him know how serious he was. (That Wade would do anything for him, to keep him safe. To keep him by his side. That if he got hurt, he'd murder every fucking person involved.)

Logan's eyes shone with realization, a vague spark of hope. It made Wade all the more desperate to save him, to live up to those expectations.

"Well, I hate to interrupt the moment, but I really must be going," the man commented.

It took all of Wade's willpower not to lunge at him. Not to attack him as he picked up a suitcase and walked away, yanking Logan alongside him by the back of his neck.

Logan's haunted yet trusting (despite it all, he had faith in Wade, even when he let him get hurt in the first place) eyes were the last thing Wade saw before they dissapeared.

Wade wanted to go after them, to chase them, but he knew better. The other X-men weren't here right now. If all three of them barely managed to hold up against this man, how would the remaining two beat him? And who knew whatever other tricks were up his sleeves.

He was unpredictable. He was dangerous.

Wade knew this, but—

He should've been faster. He should've taken the hit instead of Logan (even if it seemed the man was targeting him to begin with). He should've been better, should've been stronger. Should've prevented Logan from being taken in the first place.

His knees buckled underneath him and he collapsed to the floor. The Other Wolverine startled behind him, dropping to the floor with him and wrapping his arm around Wade for support.

Wade felt the same, desolate, useless feeling wash over him that he had when he'd cradled Vanessa's dead body. He'd failed. Again. He had so much time to learn and do better and yet he still failed. It was all his fault. Everything was his fault.

He should've just brought Logan with him to begin with. Should've swallowed his fears and sucked it up, even if Logan did want to leave him. Logan was a grown man, he could make his own choices. He could realize that his current life, his life with Wade, wasn't worth it if he wanted. He could abandon him and Wade would have no fucking ground to stand on to stop him.

And yet Wade couldn't just fucking swallow his pride and had to behave like a jealous teenager.

(Would it be any different, if they came here together? If they were on the same page from the start, had time to plan and learn together? The man was so fucking strong that even if they had time, Wade was unsure if they'd beat him alone. Maybe they were predestined to fail. All because of Wade's incompetence.)

"Hey," Other-Logan started to speak in a low, worried tone, "We'll get him back. I promise."

He had a concerned and vaguely unsure look on his face, clearly unused to trying to comfort someone. Here's another Logan, comforting Wade when his feelings shouldn't even be a priority to begin with.

"It's my fault," Wade muttered.

"What?"

"It's my fucking fault. Everything is my fault. I should've gotten kidnapped instead. At least if he took me, I could take it."

"Wade—"

"I mean, it's no big deal if I get tortured. I'm used to it. At least I'd fucking deserve it for the stupidity of getting my communication device broken. At least then I'd be the only one hurt, and it's not like I matter anyway."

"Wade, what are you—"

Wade continued to ramble on, frantically, tears collecting in his eyes and threatening to fall down his face, "It should've been me. Logan is a fucking hero, he has a place in the world. He shouldn't be hurt just because of my mistake. I dragged him into this shit, into my universe, and how do I repay him? By letting him get fucking kidnapped and tortured on my behalf!" Wade had to physically force himself to not devolve into full-body sobs at this point, trembling underneath Logan's hand on his shoulde. Rocking back and forth like a lunatic.

"Wade, just listen for one fucking sec—"

"I should've just killed myself. I should've sacrified myself to destroy the Time Ripper, should've been strong enough to grab both the matter anti-matter channels and dissapeared from existence. At least it'd only be me who's gone, and Logan would still be safe. I never should've dragged him into my shit, I should've been long dead before I even met him. I should've had the balls to snap that collar on my neck and explode myself for real—"

—Slap.

Logan had honest to god slapped him. Hard.

Wade snapped out of his rant, holding his cheek as a deep purple bruise formed. He started hollowly back at Logan.

"Shut the fuck up," Other-Logan growled. "Don't speak about yourself like that. You don't deserve to die. It wasn't your fault, you fucking know that. We all were there, so it's as much on us as it was you. None of us could've seen it coming."

"Rich, coming from you, Mr. Blame Himself in the flesh," Wade retorted, scrambling for any kind of purchase in the conversation.

"I know what you're trying to do. You're trying to make me pissed off enough to let it go. But I won't." Logan took a deep breath, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He finally seemed to collect himself and looked at Wade, his gaze piercing and sharp. "Look, you... you're not worthless. Hell, you're the furthest thing from it. When I'm around you, it feels like I'm actually a person for the first time I can remember. It's like I can finally fucking breathe. And if that's how I feel, when I've known you for just a month, I imagine it's even stronger in your Logan."

Wade started to protest, but Logan cut him off. "None of that, bub. You know I'm right. You can't honestly be that fucking blind to not see the impact you have on him. On me. ...Look, when you've been alive as long as I have, it's inevtiable that you feel lonely. Of fucking course it is, when everyone around you dies and you're the only one left standing." Wade stares at him wordlessly, a hint of understanding in his eyes.

"...But you make it better," Logan settles on. "Do you see the way he looks at you? Like if you're gone, nothing matters? That isn't the look of someone who hates you. I don't, and he sure as hell doesn't. So stop putting yourself down when you fucking know he wouldn't want you blaming youself. You wouldn't blame him if you got captured, would you?"

"...No, but that's—"

"—The exact same scenario. But you're too stuck in your head to realize it." Logan groaned, seemingly lost for words to say. "Look, I'm not the best at this. At saying what I'm feeling. You know this. But what I do say, I mean. And I mean it when I say that it isn't your fault and he'd never blame you. I wouldn't. You shouldn't either."

Wade looked at him, at his sincerity, and for some reason he felt more like sobbing than he did before.

"So let's get him back, yeah?" Other-Logan asked, gruff and hesitant. It felt like a peace offering. An olive branch.

"...Yeah," Wade murmured, and let his body weight fall against Logan, who was beside him now. Logan wrapped an arm around him, hesitantly at first, and then more securely when Wade leaned into it.

Wade curled into him, thoughts running a million miles a minute.

(Where was Logan right now? How far had they gotten? What if he was hurt? What if he was writhing in pain, calling out for Wade, and he wasn't ther? What if he was tortured? What if he was dead?)

(...No, Wade wouldn't let himself imagine the worst-case scenario. Of never seeing Logan again. He wouldn't accept that reality. He couldn't. Didn't know to live, anymore, in a world without him. He'd once tore through different universes and escaped the void, all to save his family. He'd do it again in a heartbeat.)

(He'd get Logan back no matter what.)

[owlf45]

youtube stealers are getting a little ballsy

[sentientcave]

Please Say Yes

Part 7 - No Time Like the Present

Read on AO3

Contains: John Price x OC (Chelsea), This is just cutesy nonsense, low-stakes romance, pregnancy, breeding kink, daddy kink, alcohol, smoking, divorce mentions, annoying ex, Slight scheming (mutual), Good vibes all around, Oral sex, P in V sex, This chapter is basically 4 thousand words of straight fucking lmao

< Previous Chapter ~ Chapter Index

~4.3k - 18+ - MDNI

“Yeah?” Chelsea let out a shaky breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Yeah. C’mere,” John pulled her the rest of the way up, right into his lap. “Never seen you so nervous before.”

She laughed, leaning into him. He was as steady as she was shaky, smiling like it was the best day of his life. “Honestly, John, I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous before. I feel so silly about it now.”

“I’m glad you asked me,” he said, offering her the glass of whiskey, his other arm wrapped reassuringly around her. “It would be an honour.”

She took it with both hands, taking a too-big swig that burned it’s way down her throat. She choked slightly, quickly handing it back, giggling. “Oof. How do you drink that stuff?”

“Too easily.” He knocked back the rest of the glass. “How do you want to do this? I’ll go donate at some clinic if that’s what you want, but I’d much rather do things the old-fashioned way. It’s up to you.”

“I— Me too,” Chelsea admitted, feeling shy and unsure. “We can. If that’s what you want.”

He nodded, his expression solemn except for his twinkling eyes. “You track your cycle?”

“Yeah. I’ll be ovulating around the time you’ll get back. In a month?”

“Hm.” He toyed with the shoelaces looped around her neck. “Now, I’m no expert,” he said. “But doesn’t that mean you are right now too?”

“Well. Yes.”

“The way I see it, there’s no time like the present. Might take a few tries.” He gripped the strings and pulled her in closer, the tip of his nose touching hers. “Say the word, and we can get started right now.”

“What about your boots?” Chelsea asked faintly. “I’m not finished.”

“Like I give a damn. This is more important.”

As soon as she gave a shaky nod, John pressed his lips to hers, his mouth moving against hers eagerly, tongue darting out to taste her lips. She made a soft, surprised sound, and melted into him a moment later, parting her lips and sliding her hands across his chest, adjusting her position, swinging a leg over so that she was straddling his lap. He gripped her hips and pulled her in tighter against him, so that she could feel how hard he was already. He licked into her mouth, imprinting the sharp-sweet taste of whiskey and the bitter remnants of smoke onto her tongue. He groaned, one hand pushing up under her shirt, calloused palm stroking up her spine, leaving a trail of burning hot fingerprints behind.

Chelsea arched her back, pressing closer to him. She hadn’t expected him to be so intense— She had anticipated an awkward, fumbling kind of encounter, if he’d wanted that at all. It wasn’t that she thought he wouldn’t be up to the task, she had just thought that he wouldn’t be this interested, dragging her still-clothed cunt against the hard imprint of his cock through his jeans and groaning into her mouth.

John mouthed across her jaw. “You want me to give you a baby, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice a raspy purr that flowed down her spine, warm and caramel sweet. “Is that what you need?”

Chelsea nodded eagerly, any thought of being coy about it tossed out the window. That was exactly what she wanted. Her cunt clenched achingly around nothing, already begging to be filled. “Yeah.”

“Will you say it for me? Need to hear you say it.”

She pressed a kiss to the spot just in front of his ear. “Give me a baby, John,” she begged. “Please. Need you to breed me.”

Something there had been the key, because he stood, lifting her up with him, and carried her upstairs without any further ado, tossing her down on the bed. He pulled her by the ankles to the edge, and sank down to the floor, yanking her borrowed sweatpants down to her knees in one movement, and totally off with the second, parting her thighs as soon as his hands were free again.

“Look at that,” he breathed, eyes fixed on the pink heart shape that her pubic hair had been cut and shaved into. “You’re just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

"It's silly, I know," she said, reflexively trying to close her knees.

"Not at all. I think its real cute." He easily pushed her legs apart again and kissed the inside of her knee, his touch sliding up her thighs to her hips, pulling her a little over the edge so that he was supporting her lower half. He trailed biting kisses across her skin, marking little reminders that he’d been there over the inside of her thighs and pulling soft little whimpers out of her throat. Reaching the centre, he kissed the pink heart instead of her cunt, looking up at her with a smug smile, all too aware of what he was doing and how it was affecting her, blue eyes blazing hot.

“You don’t have to— We can just get right to fucking.” Chelsea propped herself up on her elbows so she could look at him more directly. “You don’t have to do anything else.”

“Have to!” John chuckled, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, I’ve been dying for a taste of this pretty cunt since the day you introduced yourself. Wearin’ that pretty blue dress, smilin’ so sweet, offerin’ to help with anything I needed.” He dipped his tongue between her folds, tasting her and groaning like she was the best thing he’d ever tasted. “Sides, it’s more likely to take if you come.”

How he remembered what she’d been wearing the day they met was a mystery, but not one she had the wherewithal to figure out in the moment, with John lapping up her arousal with a broad strokes, not even really focusing on her pleasure at this point, just eagerly coating his tongue in the taste of her. He pushed his tongue inside, his nose nudging her clit, making her hips buck involuntarily. “I don’t think— I don’t think that’s how it works,” she said, voice quivering despite her efforts to keep steady.

John hooked her legs over his shoulders, big hands holding her tight to his mouth, switching between trying to fuck her with his tongue and licking through her folds, studiously ignoring her clit until she was shaking with frustration, but too out of sorts to communicate what she wanted. He pulled back to catch his breath, grinning, his beard practically dripping. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

Rather than respond, she grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him back in, angling his mouth to her clit. The vibration of his laughter, along with the almost-too-much direct attention to the electric bundle of nerves after teasing her for so long, had her slamming into orgasm before she fully realized what was happening. Her legs tensed around his head, heels digging into his back to hold him close while she bucked against his mouth. “You’re a bastard,” she panted, relaxing her hold so that she didn’t suffocate him with her thighs.

“You think so?” he asked wickedly, pressing a thick finger inside her. “I’m just trying to work open this tight little cunt. Won’t even take me halfway if I don’t, an’ I want to make sure I’m comin’ right up against your womb. Get you bred nice and deep, yeah?”

Chelsea nodded helplessly, keening when he latched onto her clit again, now giving it his tongue’s undivided attention while he fucked her open, first with one finger, and then with two once he’d determined that she could take it. She clamped down hard on the second digit, already burning slightly from the stretch around his thick fingers. It had been a long while since she’d had hands other than her own anywhere near her, but it still wasn’t his hands that she wanted. “John,” she pleaded. “Need you to fuck me, please.” She curled toward him and pulled him in for a kiss, moaning at the taste of herself on his lips, nipping at him when he retreated slightly, pressing his forehead to hers, his thumb rubbing circles where his tongue had been, fingers curling into a sweet, spongy spot inside her that made her wail, vision crowding with stars.

“Look at me, peaches,” he growled. He hummed when she did as he asked, forcing her eyes open to meet his, twin blue flames that lit fires of matching intensity all the way through her. “There’s a good girl. Need you to take one more for me, yeah? One more and I’ll give you my cock.”

He pressed the third finger in as he spoke, and kissed her when she nodded, keeping her knees hooked over his shoulder, practically folding her in half. He swallowed her sweet, breathy moans, fucking his fingers into her slick cunt with increasing intensity, dragging her towards another orgasm. The kiss turned frantic, open mouthed and messy as Chelsea gasped for breath, gripping the edge of the bed for purchase, barely keeping herself on top of it, entirely reliant on John’s weight and support to keep herself from sliding onto the floor. The tension snapped, and she tensed, cunt gushing, the sound of his fingers still pumping into her loud and wet and lewd as she came a second time, crying out his name.

John leaned back, taking stock of the mess she’d made, a satisfied look on his face. “That’s it, messy girl. You gonna clean me up, pet?” He withdrew his fingers and offered them to her, his low chuckle turning to a groan when she caught his hand and started licking him clean, sucking each digit into her mouth, tongue moving over his skin thoroughly.

He watched her mouth, transfixed and breathing hard, until she finished licking all traces of herself off of him. She took his hand and slid it under the hem of her rucked-up shirt. The feel of her jewellery hitting the centre of his palm seemed to snap him out of the haze. He gave her breast a squeeze, and then slid his hand over until his thumb hit the heart shaped ring, flicking over it experimentally, eyes sparking hot when she arched into his touch, whimpering.

“Fuck. You’re so beautiful. I’m so lucky.” He hooked his arms around her and lifted her further up the bed, finally letting her legs slip off of his shoulders. He pressed a kiss to her stomach before straightening up, noting the slight frown forming between her brows. “What’s wrong?”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said softly.

He pulled off his shirt, splattered with evidence of her earlier orgasm. “Things like you’re beautiful? Or that I’m lucky?”

She propped herself up on her elbows, frown deepening. “Either. Both. It’s not— We’re not—”

“Shh, I know. I understand. Wouldn’t ask you for more than you’re willin’ to give me. I’m just bein’ honest.” He unbuckled his belt slowly, pulling her eyes to his hands, making sure she was watching when he unzipped his pants and shucked them off, revealing his heavy, uncut cock. He was hard already— Had been since she’d gotten on her knees for him earlier— and leaking precum, which he smeared down the length of his cock, giving himself a few slow strokes. “You still want to do this?” he asked.

Chelsea swallowed nervously, eyes roaming over his intimidating cock, over his thick, powerful thighs, dusted with dark hair and marked with a few scars, up his lean torso, lingering on a mark that looked like a bullet wound through his flank, and the many jagged slashes from knives and shrapnel, a whole history that she didn’t know about the man in front of her, stories he probably couldn’t tell her anyway. It was so strange to think that everything she did know of him was absent of history, based firmly in the every day minutia, smiling blue eyes greeting her over the garden wall in the morning, a pair of calloused hands helping her with a chore now and again, his laughter when she said something funny. Maybe the rest of it didn’t matter all that much anyway.

Her study reached his face again, and she pulled in a deep breath, meeting eyes full of some indescribable emotion that she couldn’t recognize. At the end of the day, she trusted him. Who else did she even know that she could even consider for this? Who else could she rely on to be there when she needed him, and give her space when she didn’t? He had never overstepped a boundary, never assumed, never done anything to make her feel uncomfortable. He was safe, and respectful, and so, so hot.

“Yeah. I want to.” She grinned at him, shoving the vulnerability of the moment to the side and embracing the absurdity. Her incredibly hot neighbour was naked in front of her, ready to fuck her as many times as it took to knock her up. Krissy and Robyn were right— There was no reason why she couldn’t have fun. She’d already told him where she was, where he’d have to meet her if he wanted this too, and he’d agreed. John was a grown man, more than capable of making up his own mind and weighing his own risks. She pitched herself upright so she could peel her shirt off entirely, and crooked a finger at him, beckoning him closer. “Come down here already.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said eagerly, the bed dipping slightly under his weight as he knelt at the edge, folding down over her to kiss her again. One hand quickly found one of her breasts, kneading soft flesh for a moment before catching on the ring, flicking across it like he had earlier, humming against her mouth when she sucked in a breath. “Sensitive, eh?” He gently pinched the ring between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it gently until she whined, and then back the other way.

He shifted, leaning against the headboard and pulling her on top so he could free up both hands, and kissed down her neck and chest, lapping across one decorated nipple teasingly before he closed his mouth over it, the ring clicking against his teeth as he latched on, rolling his tongue over it again and again, figuring out exactly what made her gasp and moan. He reached past her hips to take himself in hand again, nudging the tip of his cock between her folds, gathering slick.

“John, please,” she begged, pitching her hips back so that his tip just slid into her. “I need you inside. Need you to fuck me, please.”

He pushed her hips down onto his length, letting her breast pop free of his mouth, a gossamer strand of spit stretching and breaking between them. She tensed slightly, breathing turned ragged as she adjusted to the size of him, the slow-burn stretch of her cunt around his thick cock. Three fingers hadn’t been quite enough to prepare her, but the slight discomfort wasn’t even painful, exactly, just overwhelming, all encompassing.

He held her hips still once she had taken all of him, giving her another long moment to adjust, although she started fighting his grip almost immediately, trying to rock against him, desperate for friction and heat, her cunt pulsing around him as she tried to move.

“Greedy,” John chastised her, gripping her hips tighter. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“Well stop it!” She planted her hands on his chest for leverage, glaring at him. “I haven’t been fucked in almost a year, I need you to move.”

Surprise flickered across his face, but he started moving her hips, rolling her against him slowly. “Why so long?”

“John, come on, please,” Chelsea huffed. The slow drag of his cock inside her wasn’t enough— She needed it harder, and faster, and now. “Please fuck me.”

John moved suddenly, flipping them so that she was on her back beneath him. “Alright, sweetheart. If that’s what you want.” He hooked her legs over his arm and folded her knees up against her chest, his bulk pinning her to the bed. He kissed her sweetly, and started fucking her in earnest, the position allowing him to drive so deep with every thrust that he quickly drove all the air from her lungs.

She gripped his shoulders, holding on to him tightly, nails digging into his skin as she scrambled for purchase, keening. “John!” she gasped. “Fuck!”

He dropped his face into her neck, mouthing at her pulse. “Takin’ me so well, sweetheart. Y’feel so good.” He seemed to hit that sweet spot every time he snapped his hips forward, reducing her to a whimpering mess beneath him. “Perfect girl, made to be bred, aren’t you? Made for me, yeah? Made to take my thick fuckin’ cock. Can’t wait to cum inside this sweet little cunt.” He growled filth into her ear, his deep, warm voice a perfect counter to his almost savage thrusts. “Such a good girl for me.”

Her head spun, a delicious crescendo building somewhere behind the spot he drove his cock into over and over again. She did her best to meet each thrust, but she had no leverage, and all she could do was take it, chanting his name desperately. He lifted his head so he could watch her face as she tipped over the edge, her cunt clamping down hard around him.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he groaned, slotting himself as deep as he could inside her, coming hard on her heels. “Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.” He leaned his forehead against hers, hips twitching as he rode through his orgasm, spilling warm cum inside her pulsing cunt.

Chelsea stared up at him helplessly for a moment before kissing him deeply, satisfied, her head fuzzy, all the tension in her limbs bleeding out. It had been a long while since she had gotten laid, and longer still since she had come so hard, crashing through three in a row.

He pulled out, grabbing one of his pillows and tucking it underneath her hips, tilting them up. “Look at you, he hummed, dragging two fingers through her folds, gathering a mixture of their cum and gently fucking it back into her slick, puffy cunt. “Don’t want to waste a drop, do you?” he asked, answering her unspoken query when she picked up her heavy head to look at him. “Want to make sure it takes, don’t we, sweetheart?”

She dropped her head back to the bed, trembling from over-stimulation. “Okay,” she said weakly. “If you say so.”

He laughed, pressing a kiss to her knee, his whiskers twitching with his smile. “That’s right, honey. I do say so.”

And honestly? Who was she to argue?

She collected herself enough to stumble into the washroom once John had determined that his seed was as fucked into her as he was going to get it, and came back out with her pink hair braided back from her face, the fine hairs around the edges wet from her scrubbing her face. She crossed her arms over her stomach, not hiding, but certainly looking shy now, like the reality of what they’d just done had finally settled in. "Did you see where that shirt ended up?" she asked. "Or, um, could I borrow another one, maybe?"

Hesitant to ask him for something, like he hadn't been between her legs a few moments ago. She could have asked him for the moon in that moment, and he’d get it for her without complaint. He grabbed her a clean shirt and collected the sweatpants from the floor, offering both. "Of course. You want some water, or anything to eat?"

"Yeah, water would be-- I can't believe we-- do you feel weird about this?" She pulled on the clothes, hiding all the soft, freckled skin that John wanted to map with his lips and tongue.

"Weird? No. Just something to adjust to." He put on a pair of sweats too, leading her out of the room, sliding a hand around her waist. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

Chelsea laughed. "Definitely, yes. You really know your way around a vulva.”

He pulled her close and planted a kiss on her temple, humming. It felt so nice to be close, to take a few little liberties, to stop holding himself back so much. He would still have to hold himself back some, for now at least. She was still skittish about relationships, about getting too close to him, so he would have to be patient, and careful, and let her call the shots. “In that regard, I’ll gladly put my skills to use whenever you’d like. Doesn’t just have to be just for this.” He filled a glass of water and handed it over.

“I’ll um, consider it.” She gave him a shy smile.

It was cute, but he couldn’t afford to let her put distance between them because she was feeling shy about what they’d done. He wanted her comfortable again, no putting so much focus on the sex part of what they were doing.

"Chelsea," he said sternly. "Stop that."

She blinked, a little wrinkle forming between her eyebrows. "Stop what?"

"Thinking so much. We're both adults. You've been clear about what you want, and I'm tellin' you that I'm available to you, whatever way you need, so long as I'm not seein' anyone else." He didn't add that he had no intention of seeing anyone else-- aside from his boys. He could ease her into that situation over time, after she was pregnant. "I don't get a lot of chances to spend time with gorgeous women. Really like spendin' time with you. Doesn't have to be more than that."

A little tension bled out of her posture. "You're right. I'm just being…"

"Cautious?" he suggested. "You're a sweet girl, peaches, but don't worry about me. I can handle myself."

"Of course you can. I don't know why I'm so anxious about it."

"Because you're sweet, and you don't want to hurt me or lead me on. But you don't have to worry. If I can't deal with somethin', I'll let you know." He pulled her in close, humming happily. "I hope that you'll let me be soft with you. Feels pretty nice, doesn't it?"

She smiled back, relaxing into his touch. “Yeah. It really does.”

“You want to spend the night? Figure I can give you a few more rounds before the lads come sniffin’ around in the morning. Stack the odds best we can.”

“I don’t know, John. It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow, and I’m used to sleeping alone. I already know I’m going to be sore.”

Understandable. A bit disappointing, but he knew better than to crowd her this soon. Giving her the space to come to him had worked well so far, and there was no reason to believe that it wouldn’t continue to work.

“That’s alright, sweetheart. Up to you. Just want you to know you’re welcome.”

“Thanks, John. Knew you’d be a good person to do this with. I know a proper donor was an option, but I wouldn’t want my kid growing up not knowing half of where they come from. Doesn’t seem fair. It was like that for me— My bio dad was never around. Still don’t know anything about him, aside from the fact that I look more like him than I do my mom. It’s weird, growing up looking like some stranger.” She touched her jaw absently, feeling out that inherited structure. Did she still see a stranger when she looked in a mirror? Or did she only see herself now? “Think it would be nicer to know.”

“Depends on who your parents are, I guess,” John said. “Some people aren’t really worth knowing, even if they gave you the foundation blocks for whoever you turn out to be. But I’m still glad you asked me.”

“Me too.” She smacked his bare chest playfully. “And not just because you’re a good fuck, I swear.”

“Watch it, peaches,” he growled, catching her hand and trapping it against his skin. “If you’re not careful I’m going to take you back upstairs right now, and you’ll have to stay the night because you won’t be able to walk after.”

“Threat or promise?” she asked.

“Both, if you keep it up.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, considering it for a moment. “I’d better not keep it up then,” she said, the sensible side of her winning out. “Too much to do tomorrow. But maybe next time.” She set the glass on the counter, a note of finality in her words.

“You know where to find me.”

“Yeah. I’d better get going, John. Long walk home and all.”

“Alright.” He followed her to the door, watching as she slipped on her shoes. “You get home safe, understood? Text me when you get there,” he teased.

“Yeah yeah. I will. Goodnight John.” She popped up on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for everything. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She stepped out into the fine, drizzling rain and grabbed her bike from where it leaned up against the stairs, and half ran across to her own house. She glanced back and waved once before disappearing inside.

The house was too empty with her gone. He wished he'd tried harder to keep her there— maybe next time he'd cuff her to the bed and not let her leave. Keep her tucked into his side through the night, wake up to her pretty face in the morning, make her breakfast, kiss her senseless, until she stop trying to fight it and let herself fall in love. It was hard to be patient when he’d been waiting on her so long.

But he would be patient. Things were already going just how he wanted.

Title card made on Canva - Image Credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 Banners by @/cafekitsune

[buwheal]

hey spamton! anything interesting happen recently?

[lunarcloak]

Blue Lock Chapter 262: Visual Storytelling

Can we talk about the visual imagery this chapter?? Kaneshiro is always cooking but Nomura cooked extra hard this time with his own illustrative storytelling

An almost entirely white panel. Except for the black spot of Kaiser's hunched figure. Almost as if he's the stain on an otherwise perfect game from BM right now. (He's thrown off balance.)

Here, in the first picture, this is Isagi's view of where Kaiser is right now. On top of a puzzle piece— a symbol of Isagi's power, and also a symbol of how off kilter he is. The second picture is part of a larger paneling of how he's being left on the ground as Isagi runs past him in a flurry of puzzle pieces. Almost as if Isagi's kicking the pieces of his perfect puzzle astray, leaving him to rebuild them from scratch. (The theme of this chapter.)

You can tell he's only barely listening. Eyes are always a huge indicator of visual storytelling— i picked this up from looking at BSD panels for too long. Here there's virtually no pupils, smaller, wider eyeballs because he's not listening to Ness's words. They're going in one ear out the other. Because Ness's words are superficial— He's trying to help, he is, but that is desperately NOT what Kaiser needs right now. He needs to figure out how to FIX this. Not to retreat back into the safety of his cocoon so that he can pretend he's still the star on the field.

NOTICE HOW EVERYTHING IN THE SECOND PANEL CAN DIRECTLY BE RELATED TO ISAGI. The offer from Reale— what if Yoichi gets it instead of me? The throne in this team— what if Isagi takes that, too? Am I about to lose everything I worked to get myself? The whole world is watching my worst performance in years. I can't lose here. I can't be defeated here. Not here, of all places, in Blue Lock.

Negative colouring. The previous, prominent memory I have of this is when Rin went to his "flow" state. It's specifically to emphasise the "HUMAN" wording. It's usually used to showcase a very prominent moment, in this case it's Kaiser realising exactly what the core of his worry is right now. It isn't the defeat, not beating Isagi, not anything. At the moment, he's afraid of losing the very humanity he had thought he clawed himself into. To emphasise this, the black and white being reversed are to indicate that time almost freezes, completely changing his perspective and line of thought at that moment.

Less dramatic, still negatively scaled panel. Emphasising how he's really digging into his psyche here and going "Oh, I'm scared. I'm afraid of losing everything I've got for myself." The last time this happened was when his secret money stash was found— he didn't care as much then, because there was nothing to lose that he hadn't already lost. But now? Now, it matters a lot more. Because he's built himself up on an entirely shaky foundation. Note how he's also sliding below here, losing his footing, like he's lost the stable ground he thought he had.

The angle of this panel makes it look like he's climbing upwards, and he's just lost his grip on the wall before him, and is in the process of falling. It's extremely well done.

Plenty people have already pointed this one out— yeah Isagi's just reached a height that's similar to Noa's. The position Kaiser thought he used to have, but now he's not even on the staircase to victory and the treasure he thought he would attain soon is now inching towards his most challenging rival to date.

You will never see him this tired, this defeated, or this melancholic ever again. At this point, his eyes are no longer that wide, shocked stare of not seeing. Now he's comprehended his stance, and he's come back into himself.

Each petal is a memory, a visual representation of the crumbling of the rose he once held. It's gone now, there's no rose in his hand anymore (nothing for him to hold onto anymore). When you have no roses in hand, you grow a new bouquet. When you have nothing, there's nothing to lose if you go reaching for something to hold onto again.

But HERE, the petals can be interpreted in two ways— either he's being reformed from the petals of a new rose (blank petals, not representative ones). OR, you can interpret it as those very petals dissipating from his being, leaving him as this black, blank slate to rebuild himself. Zero— as in no colour, no petals, no gardens to flourish anymore. Only way to move now is up.

Also I'd like to draw your attention to the negative paneling again— inverted this time, the exact opposite of the previously conveyed emotion. Now he's the one in the black, working to redefine himself. He's already redefined the external aspects.

Your Zero— Your Beginning. I LOVE this page, even if it's a repeat. It conveys so much. Kaneshiro and Nomura are such a GOOD TEAM

A black hand clasps around the core memory— the memory of when he truly had only his football. He can't let that petal float away, that's one he wants to keep. That's the idea he wants to hold onto. He crushes the petal into his hand, assimilating it into his new beginning. That's the one he'll hold onto, to recraft the person that is Michael Kaiser.

[blaithnne]

You’re 12 years old the first time your father leaves. You’re 26 years old when he comes back. You’re 6 years old and your parents adore you, you’re 10 years old and they hate each other more. You’re 13 years old and your mother moves you out to the wilderness, packed into the back of her rusty little trabant-six-oh-something. You’re 13 years old and you have a new room, but you miss your old one. You’re 14 years old and you still haven’t gotten your period, your mother says it’s nothing, but you think she's lying. You’re 15 years old when your father comes back, and he loves your sister more than you. You’re 15 years old and you just want him to love you. You’re 15 years old and he tucks you into bed, kisses your forehead, and leaves before you wake up. You’re 16 years old and you know he doesn’t want you, you know he never did. You’re 12 years old and your parents won’t stop fighting, you’re 13 years old and you miss the noise. You’re 12 years old and you want to run away. You’re 12 years old and your father does. You’re 11 years old and you have a crush on the boy next to you at the station, and he hands you a cigarette and makes you feel special. You’re 13 years old when your mother finds out and convinces you to quit. You’re 16 years old when your father asks you to buy him a pack of cigarettes, and he doesn’t come back to smoke them himself. You’re 16 years old and you can’t bring yourself to let them go to waste. You’re 26 years old and you only smoke once a week, but you know you’ll never break the habit now. You’re 12 years old when your father runs away, you decide to do the same. You’re 12 years old when your mother tells you she’s pregnant. You’re 13 years old when your little sister is born, and you can’t believe there was ever a world without her in it. You’re 16 years old and you give her your favourite scarf, you’re 26 years old and she still won’t give it back. You’re 23 years old and you’re back in the city, you have a new room but you miss your old one. You’re 14 years old and you take the train back and forth from Trolberg every weekend on a supply run, you feel important, needed, special. You’re 16 years old when you have your first kiss, 17 years old when you have your first break up. You’re 19 years old when you find out you’ll never have children, you’re 26 years old when you have your first. You’re 23 years old when you meet the love of your life, still 23 the first time she kisses you. You’re 25 years old when you decide you’re going to marry her. You’re 23 years old when you meet the best man at your wedding. You’re 25 years old when you buy your own house, and you don’t miss your old room, you’re not alone in this bed. You’re 23 years old and your girlfriend lives in a van, you’re 26 years old and now she lives with you. You’re 25 years and your little sister’s afraid you’re leaving her, you’re 26 years old and you’ve converted your attic to a bedroom for when she sleeps over. You’re 25 years old when you open a cafe. You’re 25 years old and your mother is your first customer. You’re 26 years old and your son calls you mum. You’re 26 years old and sometimes he calls you dad. You’re 12 years old and you think your life is over, you’re 26 years old and it’s only just begun. You’re 12 years old and your father doesn’t want you. You’re 26 years old and he changes his mind, but you don’t need him anymore. You never really did.

[butterflywordsmith]

Crying over BatArrow being high school exes who stayed friends in my AU because what if Bruce was gonna abandon the vigilante plan and just go to med school while Ollie studied archeology and he tells Ollie he has a bad feeling about him getting on boats and this idiot doesnt listen? So when he's presumed dead Bruce loses his shit and just fucks off to train with the League and by the time he comes back Ollie is alive apparently and too much has changed. I'm making myself sad.

[laugtherhyena]

What a lovely group of students, i sure hope nothing bad happens to them ever ❤

For now, things are kinda chill tho

[wizardofgoodfortune]

Rating: Mature Chapter: 11/?  Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Slow Burn, Single Parents, POV Alternating, Dream is a sculptor, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Descriptions of Violence, Hob Has Anger Management Issues, Smoking, Drinking

With the paparazzi still swarming their house, Hob couldn’t even go out. So Rachel and Johanna took it upon themselves to run Hob’s 'outside' errands for him, from buying the groceries to dropping off Hob’s paperwork to driving Robyn around for his last week of school.

The house was clean, at least. The cleanest it’s been in years. There was no rotting food in the fridge, no unwashed dishes in the sink, no scattered items around the house, no dirty laundry, no sweaty bed sheets, no dusty furniture, none. Keeping himself busy was the easiest way to ignore the ghost, he found.

(read on ao3)

[ahollowgrave]

i have so many gpose ideas but unfort it takes me approx 12 hours to do even simple gposes because i am an easily distracted bird in a trench coat, you know??

[xaphrin]

Scars in the Flames

On AO3 Trigon has conquered Earth. Raven is supposed to have died after she was tricked by her brothers and used as a portal to bring Trigon into this plane of existence. Unbeknownst to them, she has survived and is the leader of the Resistance against Trigon. Damian, after witnessing his father’s death and having been killed himself, is resurrected into the League of Assassins. They are the last bastion of neutrality, and are trying to decide if they should side with the Resistance or with Trigon. Damian is tasked to play both sides and learn where the League of Assassins’ strength belongs. When he takes part in a mission to save a Resistance member from one of Trigon’s sons, he learns two very important things: Raven is stronger than she lets on, and she just may have what it takes to save the world. He just hopes he can save his heart too.

[courfee]

due to unforeseen circumstances (sick) (no writing) the update for the next ritardando chapter will have to wait a little longer so instead i am finally offering you this James POV snippet instead. enjoy :)

Regulus’ lips are soft and warm and perfect against James’. An involuntary noise escapes him as he leans closer into the kiss. It’s uncomfortable, straining his neck as he balances himself where he’s sat too far away from Regulus, so he reaches out to hold himself up against Regulus, one hand next to his thigh, one on his shoulder.

A shudder goes through Regulus under James’ fingers and James would think it’s a sign for him to end this kiss, but then Regulus shifts, slides further up on the sofa and closer to James.

Theoretically James knows there exists no rational reason to continue the kiss. To make this more than a quick little peck on the lips. If someone asked him under truth serum if he’s kissed Regulus, he could with full confidence now say that yes, they’ve kissed. Unfortunately however, with Regulus’ lips on his the rational part of his brain is very much not accessible to him right now. So what he does instead, stupidly, selfishly, is gently nip at Regulus’ lower lip, a tentative request to deepen the kiss.

Regulus lets out a small breathy noise and parts his lips, meeting James with the same urgency. He is still not touching James, his hands still firmly planted in his lap, and James is getting a little desperate at the lack of touch. He wants – needs to feel Regulus everywhere, the contact of their lips making him get a little greedy for what he can’t have.

Slowly James runs the hand on Regulus shoulder up to his neck and again there is that shudder going through Regulus, accompanied by a small whine when James’ hand comes to rest on the nape of Regulus’ neck, his fingers gently twisting around the fine hairs growing there. The sounds give him new confidence, makes him a little heady and he slides his hand higher, properly burying it in Regulus’ hair. Regulus leans into the touch while simultaneously trying to push even closer against James, biting his lip, tugging slightly, dragging his tongue over the spot to soothe it. It takes everything in James not to let out a moan.

He knows he needs to end the kiss. Knows if he keeps kissing Regulus like this he will reveal things that Regulus does not want to know. Knows all of this is a terrible idea but he is anchored to Regulus, the little points of contact they share tying them together too firmly for James to break.

With every slide of his tongue or gentle tugs at Regulus’ hair there is a little breathy noise falling from Regulus’ mouth onto James’ tongue and it is the sweetest thing James has ever tasted, intoxicating and alluring, and he never wants to taste anything else again.

It’s the fact that Regulus is still not touching him that disorients James enough to make him think clearly again. That tethers him the slightest necessary part to reality. To a reality where this kiss is nothing more than a means to an end. Nothing to Regulus. Not the way it is to James. It is that which finally makes him pull back, every fibre of his being screaming at him that this is wrong, that kissing Regulus is the only thing he was ever made for.

Pulling his hand from Regulus’ hair, putting a distance between himself and those soft lips fitting so perfectly against his feels like an impossible task. He has to keep thinking of those hands balled into fists. The glare Regulus regarded him with. The get it over with already.

It takes him a moment to open his eyes again when he’s sat back. A moment to prepare himself again for that cold glare on Regulus’ face, or the indifferent expression.

When he does open his eyes he realises he should have taken one more possibility into consideration. The possibility of Regulus looking dazed and flushed, tousled hair, red bitten, swollen lips and glazed over eyes. The possibility of Regulus looking exactly as James feels. He should have prepared for it, because it takes him so completely off guard that he nearly leans forward again, pulling Regulus back into a kiss he only wanted to get over with.

James clears his throat and looks away. Anywhere but at Regulus. Anything to keep his head mildly clear. “Well,” he says and his voice comes out only a little croaky. “I think that should be good enough for our friends.”