#wade's feeling exceptionally confident after this

[mischievous-thunder]

You can't escape Wade's love, Howlett!

[riality-check]

ao3 link

It comes to him in pieces. The slight scratch of worn cotton sheets. The steady whirrs and drips next to his head. The too-clean smell of too-dry air in a too-cold room.

Viktor opens his eyes to the expected sights of a blank ceiling, a too-narrow window, and a smoldering little fireplace too far from his bed to do much good. He has rarely been in hospitals - only when his health was exceptionally poor were they ever deemed worth it - but the few he has seen have all had the same blank, interchangeable features.

He laughs slightly, a brief exhale through his nose, when he realizes that this, the sterility of hospital rooms, is the only constant he has recognized between the Undercity and Piltover.

“Viktor,” someone says from beside him.

He turns his head. It is a slow process, one that feels like wading through honey. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, gritty as sand. 

“Is there anyone you’d want me to send for?” Professor Heimerdinger asks before Viktor can begin to consider forming words. “I would have done so earlier, only… only I didn’t know if you wanted anyone to see you in this state. Or who you wanted. Some people can be sensitive about this sort of thing. I’ve had some students in the past who certainly were. But I can certainly send for your parents-”

“You would be sending for ghosts,” Viktor rasps.

A tool belt and a spoon sold for stale food. Snatches of faded songs in the language most familiar to me. Care in the form of sacrifice, in deprivation for my sake. Holding my hand, pinning me down, propping me up.

And no address to locate any of it.

“Oh.”

Rain begins to patter against the windows.

“I didn’t know,” he follows, after a moment.

Viktor disguises his bitter laugh as a cough.

“Is there anyone-”

“No.” Another beat. “But I appreciate the offer, Professor.”

There are people, back below, that Viktor owes for being here. To say that he is alive completely of his own merit would be a lie. In the years after his parents passed, in the nebulous period before he could completely get his bearings, cooks gave him meals at the end of the day. Shopkeepers permitted him to sleep in their back rooms. Tailors taught him to mend his clothes, clockmakers taught him more about the intricate workings of their machines, and the women at the brothels taught him how to defend himself against stronger opponents. 

It was a lonely existence, no doubt, but to pretend it was a solitary one would deny the fact that Viktor owes a thousand small debts. Most of these, he will never have the opportunity to repay.

A thousand people helped him stay alive long enough to make it here. But none of them ever saw him delirious or incapacitated. To them, he was simply the tenacious, crippled child who required assistance every so often and repaid them by constructing little machines or fixing mechanical problems.

And he has no intention of changing that for them.

Heimerdinger nods distractedly. His nose twitches, and the silence stretches like taffy - distorting the longer it goes.

Viktor knows this feeling. Not well, but enough. It has been confirmed with the slowness of his thoughts, his movements, and his speech.

“They sedated me,” he states.

“Yes,” Heimerdinger says, visibly relaxing at the opportunity to give a certain answer. “You were-”

A mess. A nuisance. A member of the rabble making far too much of a scene for our comfort.

“In a tremendous deal of pain, I’m sure.”

Every conversation with a topsider feels like balancing on ice. The moment Viktor convinces himself that he is confident in the direction, it changes underneath his feet.

“It was bad,” he admits when the silence stretches again. “I could barely walk to class. I was delirious, I suppose, when I finally arrived. I was not in my right mind, and I foolishly thought that I could solve the problem of my knee locking in place if I used my cane for leverage behind it and… yanked it bent.”

As he talks, he twists his hands in the coarse sheets of the bed, focusing on their scratch instead of the way that describing it all feels like gargling glass.

Ashamed is not the word. Viktor is not less than due to his ailments. He has never been something to pity, and he has never, of his own volition, wanted to hide. He did not care before crawling up, before Heimerdinger opened this door and beckoned him inside. Only after blinking aside the glaring topside sunlight and taking in the entirely foreign world in which people still want but rarely need did he consider that these people with their gilded smiles and full stomachs might think differently.

They think Viktor is something to pity. They consider him an oddity. They wish he would limp back down to where all the other trenchers go to die, down to a place without family names or clear air.

He is not ashamed. But he is frustrated, embittered, and a hundred other emotions he must swallow back because he is not allowed to be any of them.

Instead, he must be grateful.

“It was foolish of me, and I apologize for disrupting your lecture,” he concludes, swallowing back anger and bile.

Heimerdinger all but gapes at him. Briefly and ridiculously, Viktor wishes the pain medication would lose its efficacy, and he could lose consciousness again. It would rescue him from this conversation.

“My boy, I don’t care about the lecture,” he says slowly. “I care if you’re alright.”

Bullshit, Viktor cannot help but think.

“How much do I owe for this?” he asks instead, gesturing down at his legs, covered by the sheet.

Heimerdinger’s fluffy eyebrows furrow. “Nothing. It’s included in tuition.”

“I do not pay tuition, Professor.”

I am here on your whim. I am here because you offered an opportunity to me, and I grabbed it with both hands like the greedy creature I am. I know you can take all of this away from me if you wanted.

I know this. Why do you not?

“Don’t worry about it,” Heimerdinger dismisses with a small wave. “You have more important things to worry about, like resting.”

“Absolutely not.” 

Viktor throws the sheets off his legs. Through the haze of the medication, the pain simply throbs, a dull ache akin to hearing sound underwater. It is manageable and distant. Without the medication, he knows it would be agony. Sharp. Consuming.

He could manage it. He has managed it before, without this cushioning, and he can do it again.

Bite down.

His right knee has been heavily wrapped and splinted, neatly and professionally immobilized.

“Viktor,” Heimerdinger says firmly, “you dislocated your knee and sprained two ligaments. Plenty of students have missed for less.”

“I am not the same as other students.”

Heimerdinger frowns. “Of course you are.”

“I am not,” Viktor snaps. “No other student is from the Undercity, and no other student is a cripple.”

When Heimerdinger’s jaw drops open in shock, he recognizes that he has all but abandoned the rules he has set for himself to be polite and adherent and grateful. 

Jump when they ask how high and bite down against the pain. Outwork them for a fraction of the recognition. Be their example, their photograph, their comfortable little abstraction brought to pallid life.

There is only the work until there is not. Until there are unfamiliar rules in a language second to his tongue. Until loneliness wraps its chilled arms around his ribs and squeezes. Until his leg screams in protest of being forced into normalcy. Until his body reels from the adjustment from near starvation to plenty, until the tapping of his cane is all he can fucking hear inside his skull, until it is the only sound they ever associate with him, introduction and trail in every space he will ever occupy.

And they punish him for it, for his habits and his inadequacies, in a thousand small, cutting ways, until he bleeds out and crumples. When he inevitably does, they will step over him like they do every other sump rat.

At least, until he pushes himself to his feet. Again, and again, and again, he stands. Damn the pain. He will hold his chin up and stand on his own two feet, cane firmly planted on the ground. Because fuck this place and what it has done to him. 

Viktor knows what he is: a crippled trencher. Simple and absolute. Resilient with rough edges. This glittering, smooth place was not designed for him.

Resultantly, he was not designed for its rules.

“I am not the same as the other students,” he repeats coldly. “None of them have ever starved or slept using trash to keep warm. I highly doubt any of them ever breathed in fumes smelling of hell itself, or that they had to be held down by their parents when they tried, again and again, to fix a leg that simply refused any and all intervention.”

“Viktor-”

“No,” he snaps. “No, Professor. I listened when you met me for the first time and told me of the Academy. You told me it was somewhere perfectly suited for me. The Academy, you said, was somewhere I could flourish. It would be good for me. I was wasted where I was. I deserved to be there. All of that is what you said. So, now you will listen to me.”

Heimerdinger’s face shutters. After a long moment, he asks, “Did I lie to you?”

“What?”

“Was anything that I said untrue?” Heimerdinger inquires. “You were wasted in the Undercity. You have flourished at the Academy, so it’s been good for you. And you absolutely deserve-”

“I know I deserve to be here,” Viktor snaps. “But the Academy is not suited for me.”

Heimerdinger frowns, clearly upset at being interrupted, but Viktor seizes his opening regardless.

“I experience pain, daily, that would send most students to the infirmary in tears. I have missed classes because they are in locations so inaccessible to me that it is better for me to make up the work than risk the pain of attending them. I had to fabricate my own keys to the library and to classrooms so I could arrive early for comfortable seats.”

“You did what?” Heimerdinger says, missing the point. “That’s against the rules.”

Viktor waves him off. “I am from the Undercity, Professor. We are not known for following the rules.”

“You’re more than that.”

“Correct. I am a trencher, and a cripple.”

Heimerdinger freezes, much like he did that first day in his office, when he noticed Viktor’s cane for the first time. His eyes shift side to side, and he swallows uncomfortably.

“If you tell me that I am not a cripple,” Viktor says slowly, “I will lose every ounce of respect I ever had for you.”

This is not an empty threat. He learned early in his life that empty threats were often violently challenged, and so he never makes them.

The professor is… on thin ice already. Viktor is one semester away from graduation. He lays in an infirmary bed, half-sedated. He has already been incredibly rude.

He has very little left to lose.

“You are not only… your leg,” Heimerdinger finally ventures.

Viktor chuckles, a mixture of bitterness and amusement at Heimerdinger’s discomfort. “That is the first thing everyone sees. It will take a miracle to convince them beyond it.”

Heimerdinger quiets again, but this time, his brows furrow in contemplation, not anger.

Outside, it rains harder. The little fireplace still smolders uselessly. Viktor watches it, and in the time it takes for Heimerdinger to speak again, he nearly falls asleep.

But only nearly.

The professor says, “I’ve been teaching for more than two centuries, Viktor. I have never met your equal. If anyone can make a miracle, it’s you.”

He puts his hand on Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor musters all of his will to not shrug it off.

They remain like that for a few seconds. Then, Heimerdinger rises from his chair and totters out of the room with a kind look over his shoulder.

A week later, the staff release Viktor with a set of well-made crutches and strict instructions for care. They would have released him earlier if he had not, immediately after Heimerdinger’s departure, broken two fingers as he punched the stone wall of the infirmary.

The rest of this series, if you're so inclined: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

[rahuratna]

Okay how about a silly one: player/hunter is out on a hunt with Olivia and ends up getting a concussion or something because they got distracted because "holy shit she's SO pretty" q(≧▽≦q) (this could also be done for the other support hunters as well if you feel like it!) <3 woodworks!anon

Synopsis: [MH Wilds Olivia x Hunter/Reader]

A hunt with Olivia goes terribly wrong when you manage to get yourself concussed ... and possibly ramble about your secret infatuation with her.

Genres: Romance, humour, fluff, crack.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

(My take on the above request, provided by the lovely Woodworks! Anon, this time featuring the one and only Olivia).

This was getting out of hand.

Keeping an eye on the swaying neck of your seikret as it waded through the scarlet-hued waters of the forest, you could freely admit this fact to yourself.

It was your fault, and you knew it. You're the one who had allowed it to get to this point. It had started as a nagging little loose rock that had cascaded into an avalanche of an uncontrollable nature, the moment you'd allowed that first pebble to roll.

The subject of your thoughts chose that moment to speak.

"We're almost at the site. Ready your weapon."

Olivia.

Charismatic captain of the Astrum unit, veteran hunter, your partner on this particular hunt. And the woman who was now occupying your thoughts more than was healthy, considering your increasing infatuation with her.

This needed to stop. You needed to get it under control.

As the trees gathered and the canopy closed overhead, you could rationalise this all in some sense to yourself.

Olivia represented everything you admired in a hunter. She was powerful, exceptionally brave, cool under fire and a born leader. Her track record was singularly impressive, and you'd seen first hand how her experience translated into the field when you partnered with her on hunts.

Somewhere along the line, your professional admiration blurred over into the territory of the personal.

You found yourself listening for her deeper, melodic tones at meetings, watching out for her presence at camp, seeking out her company during the few hours of downtime you got between hunts.

You began to notice the way her hair looked a shade darker when wet, how her stride shifted from confident to purposeful when faced with an important task, the faint creases at the corners of her eyes when she favoured you with a rare smile and the way she smelt of iron, thunder and armour polish after a hunt in a storm.

You tried your best to hide this fascination, and you thought you'd done a fair job thus far. Heaven knew, if Gemma noticed anything, you'd never hear the end of it.

It couldn't be denied, however you examined it though, that Olivia was a very attractive woman, and the way she looked in the heat of battle certainly didn't help things.

Catching sight of her raised fist pulled you from your reverie and you brought your mount to a halt, alert, eyes taking in the forest around you. Although the canopy seemed peaceful, there was something that caught and snagged on your hunter instinct, something that must have struck Olivia too.

Cautiously,  you turned in a circle, listening for tell-tale sounds.

There.

To the left, in the copse of trees that leaned over the water.

You signaled Olivia and she nodded, hand slowly moving up to the hilt of her hammer. You slid from the back of the seikret, planting your feet on the ground, readying yourself.

The Lala Barina's stabbing appendage came rocketing through the undergrowth, spearing the ground with a thud before retreating. You swung swiftly, the edge of your weapon scoring a sliding scrape along the creature's skin.

It shrieked in fury and advanced, trees shoved aside as its bulk, catapulted by deceptively spindly legs, came hurtling towards you.

You dodged, rolling across the loamy earth as Olivia took the opportunity to stagger the monster with her own blow. Occupied as it now was with her, it gave you an opportunity to rush in once again, timing the fall of your strike with hers.

There it was.

That surge of exhilarating sameness that refused to lie without acknowledgement.

You couldn't deny this, the intoxicating rush that came with every blow you landed in tandem with hers, hyper aware of the swing of her waist, knowing exactly when she was going to feint, watching for the slight pivot on her left heel when she went in for a heavier attack.

It was as if even your breathing synced with hers, two predatory organisms that shared synapses, so closely interlinked that your prey stood no chance against the both of you combined.

It was also the reason that you spotted the way the Lala Barina suddenly swept back, taking an unusually short time to launch its body at the earth, the force of which could knock you both away.

And Olivia wasn't going to get out the way in time.

It wasn't that you didn't think she could tank the damage. She'd handled far worse before, and had come back swinging with a vengeance. It was more the fact that your body reacted before your mind could process the logic of what you were intending.

Holding your guard up, you gritted your teeth as you slid towards her, the shockwave of the monster's falling form knocking the wind out of you. You stumbled, foot landing awkwardly, a gasp leaving your throat as you careened sideways and then you were being dragged across the ground by the creature's follow-up attack, your head striking against some hard surface with stunning force.

Vaguely, you heard Olivia shouting out to you.

In the half-haze of your barely conscious state, you were sure you were imagining the panic in her voice.

Olivia never panicked. She was always so calm, so in control that she ...

Oh. You should probably - ah! Yes. There was a monster. It was ... hadn't it been there a minute ago? You could have sworn -

Shining.

The sunlight through the trees looked so pretty overhead. It would be nice, wouldn't it, to lie here on the ground, with Olivia next to you -

What? Yes, moving. Moving would be a good idea. The monster was actually here. Still. How persistent.

You'd have to do something about that. How could it interrupt your nice little daydream about watching clouds with Olivia? Rude.

Rude monsters had to be put down. They had no place in civilised society.

Why did your arms and legs feel like they were moving through water? So slow. So much resistance. So ... unbalanced. Whoa.

Well, at least you'd hit the thing. It was staggering back.

Moving through water. Hmm. How pleasant. Floating until it felt like the world couldn't touch you. Like the world was floating away.

Was that the monster on the ground? Did it also feel the same? Perhaps it did, because it was taking an awfully long nap.

Good. Less bother.

And was that ... was that Olivia running towards you?

But she'd been in the dream, and now she was here? She was kneeling next to you, and oh? When did you end up on the ground? Strange.

Dream Olivia had put her hands on your face. You realised that she'd taken her gauntlets off and was feeling along the base of your skull.

Ouch.

Olivia, stop it. She was poking where it hurt.

She paused and looked down at you in concern. Her lips were moving. Was she asking you a question?

No need to worry. You'd be just fine. A giggle escaped your lips and now Dream Olivia seemed even more worried.

Why so worried? The sky is blue. The clouds are so fluffy. Would you eat a cloud, Olivia? They must be tasty. Maybe they're sweet?

No? But why was she moving again? Dream Olivia was even more impatient than the monster.

Shame on you, Olivia.

She's spoiling everything. Can't she just stay here with you and watch the pretty clouds? Can't she -

Oh wow. Wow.

Did she just sweep you off your feet? Was she carrying you?

Ahhhhh, don't panic. Don't blush. Be normal. Don't kick your legs and laugh like a teenager.

What a dream this was turning out to be!

Oliviaaaa.

Your queen. Your gorgeous hunter. You couldn't  believe you were here, in her arms. It's truly a spectacular day to exist. She's so strong and amazing. She's as ... what's the phrase? Oh, come on, brain. So slow. Everything's so slow today.

Oh! Hot as a Lavasioth's scales.

No, no, Olivia is even hotter than that. When Olivia walks past, it's like being bombed by a Bazelgeuse. Knocks you to the ground and everything feels like it's exploding.

Dream Olivia is staring. Wonder why. Her shoulders are shaking too. Is she coming down with something? Oh no! Don't be sick, Olivia!

She's not? Then why is her face turning red? Her ears too! Oh here, she should let you cool off her ears. You have cool hands from the water.

Isn't that better?

Good! You wouldn't want her to come down with something.

Anyway ... is that ... a wingdrake approaching? Is Olivia going to -

Ahhhhhhhhhh. Olivia! Be careful! She can't just -

You're flying.

And Olivia is holding you so tightly. She can't drop you! She won't? Oh, you know she won't. She'd never let anyone fall and splatter all over the ground below like a fluffy egg.

Eggs.

Would Olivia like breakfast? You're very good at eggs. All kinds. If you made your eggs just right, maybe she'd think that you're beautiful too.

But the camp is already here? No! You were just beginning to enjoy snuggling with Olivia. She was ... well, maybe under all that armour she was comfortable to hold.

Was that ... dream Alma? And Gemma? Why were they running over here? Olivia had everything under control, so there was no need for their services, thank you.

Alma was shouting something.

Ouch. Less shouting Alma.

And why all the lights in your eyes? The only light you needed in your life was Olivia!

Couldn't they understand that? You were going to make her the best scrambled eggs and then she wouldn't want to hunt with anyone else! Ever!

And Dream Alma was pushing up your sleeve and ... injecting you with something? What on earth could that -

Oh. Oh.

How drowsy you felt all of a sudden. The world, and Olivia's tight hold on you was fading, fading like so many nameless hunts, drifting in the wind, and ...

When you awoke, the heavy, slightly coarse folds of the blanket were the first thing you took note of. You groaned and passed a hand over your eyes.

Your head felt like a herd of aptonoth had just stampeded through it. Reaching back, your fingers traveled gingerly over the sizeable swelling on your scalp before you flinched and slowly pulled yourself upright.

Alma was reading nearby. She scrambled to her feet and came over to you, eyes traveling carefully over your form to assess the damage.

"You took quite the hit. Are you feeling okay to sit up?"

You nodded and immediately regretted it.

She shot you a sympathetic look before pouring out a steaming healing drink from the vessel on the table beside you.

"Here. This is will bring down the swelling and ease the pain."

You took it and drank deeply, sighing as you felt the effects go to work, stealing through your body with the subtle warmth of sunshine.

"How long was I asleep?"

"We let you rest overnight. You did wake up a few times but you weren't - "

She cut off abruptly, and you squinted at her. Something wasn't right. She wasn't meeting your gaze and her mouth had suddenly pursed into familiar folds that told you she was holding back her amusement.

"What happened while I was out?"

She took the cup from you and set it down carefully, as if making sure not to startle a skittish animal.

"How much do you remember?"

Your brow furrowed as you thought back.

"I remember ... being here at camp. And getting ready for a hunt."

She nodded encouragingly.

"And then I ... rode out to a meeting point somewhere in the forest."

"And then?"

"Then ... oh, Olivia was there!"

There it was again, that flash of hidden mirth. Why was she -

"And you both fought a Lala Barina. A dangerous one. Do you remember anything about that?"

"Hmm. Not much. I think ... I saw it go for Olivia. And then I jumped in and ... yeah. Not much after that, I'm afraid."

She nodded and patted you on the knee.

"That's probably for the best."

"What do you - "

"Oho. There you are. Up and raring to go."

Gemma must have spotted you awake, and you watched, confused, as she sauntered up, a grin you could only describe as 'shit-eating' on her face. Alma prodded at her glasses and shot Gemma a look. The cheerful smithy was undeterred.

"Well now, honey hunter. Ready to get some new helmets made? Might prevent you from hitting your head and turning all smoochy again."

"Gemma."

There was a note of warning in Alma's voice, but you suddenly felt a writhing sensation in the pit of your stomach, a vaguely formed idea that something terrible had happened while you were unconscious.

"What is she talking about?"

"It's nothing! Just lie back and - "

"You mean you don't remember?"

Gemma snorted and slapped her thigh.

"You can't remember a single thing?"

"Well, no, obviously, because I - "

"So you don't remember asking Olivia on a date to eat fluffy scrambled eggs?"

And now the bottom dropped right out of your stomach, the snakes that had been writhing there a short while ago shrieking faintly as they plummeted into an endless ravine.

"I did ... what?"

Alma raised her hands as if to quell the tide of rising panic.

"Look, it's not that bad. She knows you were completely concussed when you - "

You struggled to your feet, eyes darting around the tent.

"What? Tell me now. Tell me everything. I need to know how bad it was."

"Well ... "

Gemma cleared her throat.

"Hmm. Let me see. Hmm. Hmm. Something about how you wanted to cuddle with her. And her armour was in the way. And oh, something about how beautiful and strong and amazing and gorgeous she was. So many words, so little space in my brain. And how you wanted to ... eat fluffy clouds with her? That one confused me, for sure. And yeah, there was also the bit about how you wanted to stay in her arms forever. Hard to forget that one."

Alma sprang in, seeing your expression of growing horror.

"Ah, but like I said, she knows you were not in the right state of mind. Olivia wouldn't - "

You buried your face in your hands.

"My career is over."

"What? No!"

"I'm finished. It's done. I can never face - "

"No! It's not that bad, I promise."

Gemma was polishing her fingernails against the lapel of her jacket.

"Well, that's kinda subjective. I mean, the whole camp did see you kick your legs like a four year old and shout that the only light you needed in your life was Olivia."

"End me now. Send out a request, Alma. Fifty thousand zenny and I'm the target."

"Look, just ... calm down. We can do damage control. Get the word out that you - "

"What's this about damage control?"

The flap of the tent raised, falling behind a familiar figure and the blood froze in your veins. Never, in all your years as a hunter, had you felt so much like a hapless herbivore, about to be snatched up in the jaws of a raging Anjanath.

It was Olivia.

Gemma's grin had almost spread across the entirety of her face. Alma leapt to her feet, almost blocking you from view, and you'd never been more thankful for her.

"Ah! Olivia. We ... weren't expecting you."

The woman in question raised an eyebrow, cool as ever.

"I'm just here to check on them. They took a pretty bad blow to the head."

"Well - "

"I'm fine."

You stood, placing a hand on Alma's shoulder, moving her gently out of the way. As much as you appreciated her attempt to protect you, hiding behind cover had never been your way.

No. You'd face this and take whatever consequences would come your way, no matter how crushing -

"Good." Olivia met your gaze head on, "Got me worried out there."

Oh. Was she going to pretend it never happened?

As much as the thought brought you some relief, you couldn't help but feel the heavy pall of disappointment that settled over your shoulders.

"Well, as you can see, I'm up."

You forced your face into some semblance of a smile and gave her your standard professional response.

"Hope to hunt with you again!"

She eyed you for minute that seemed to grow into an hour. Gemma and Alma were seemingly watching the exchange with bated breath.

Eventually, Olivia shrugged, running a hand through her hair in a gesture that seemed oddly awkward, glance moving somewhere to the region of your elbow.

"Yeah, sure. But I'll see you before that right? You did promise me those scrambled eggs."

"Oh, yeah, I mean ... huh?"

"Fluffy scrambled eggs, right? Said you could make them perfectly."

"Um. Yes. Yes, I can. I can make them really, really well. How about - "

"Tomorrow? I've got to sort something out in the Iceshard Cliffs this evening, but I'll be back at camp after."

"That's ... that's fine. Perfect. I'll see you then, I suppose."

"Then it's settled."

She offered a brief farewell to Alma and Gemma, pausing with her hand on the canvas flap of the tent entrance.

When she turned to face you, your knees nearly caved at the sight of her half-smile, the glance of appreciation that moved like a warm torch over your disshevelled form.

"I won't be wearing any armour. Maybe you should leave yours behind too."

In the profound silence that reigned over the tent after Olivia's departure, Gemma fanned herself slowly.

"Well now. Ain't it hotter than a forge in here?"

Based on previous notes: @pinkiedash101 @mrs-potatocat @rubberroomwithrats

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hi!! I was wondering if maybe you could write a Wade x plus size reader? Maybe she’s an ex pro thief and gets put with him for a mission or smth?? I got no idea man just have fun with it aye

Thank you for the request!!!!! Sorry for the wait!

I wasn't sure if you wanted it to be dirty or not so I sectioned that part off in case it's not what you're looking for :)

You are my first ever request! So, thank you, thank you, thank you, and I hope you enjoy it <3

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Thieving, being exceptionally attractive while doing it. Wade on his best behaviour, Smut is sectioned off.

You haven't accepted a mission in 4 years.

You got out of the business and left those “friends” and “friend circles” behind you after you scored your dream internship. 4 years and you were running your own team and writing a semi successful blog. It was a quiet life, and you enjoyed it immensely. You liked your team members, and you felt they found you a fair and caring boss. Your cat Mr. Sparkles was a healthy weight and had finally committed to using the litter box.

You don't know why you answered when he called you, you don’t know why you agreed to such fuckery. But here you were pulling out a familiar black box out of the bottom of your cluttered closet. You picked it up and placed it on your bed. The dark colour contrasted with your bright and colourful décor. Something you found oddly reflective, once you moved on from that part of your life nothing was dark. Everything in your apartment was covered by color and patterns that made you happy.

You opened the box. You and Mr. Sparkles looked at the contents like there was a wild octopus about to come flying out of it.

“It was the right thing to do.” You said out loud. “And it's going to pay well.”

Pulling the tight outfit over your curves felt better than you thought it would. You figured that it would cause you panic or anxiety. Instead you felt a wave of confidence looking yourself over in the mirror that hung on the back of your bedroom door. Normally you were covered in bright flowy clothes, that's what you liked. Your whole life was built upon being invisible since you were little. Now that you were in charge every day was a celebration in its own way. However this made you feel sexy, the outfit was sleek and left nothing to the imagination. Pulling your long hair into a tight french braid you were ready to get out there and do some thieving.

You kissed Mr. Sparkles and gave your aloe vera plant a light touch on your way out the window. It was a hot summer night and the air was muggy. These were your favorite kinds of nights to sit out on the fire escape, have some drinks, read books, and watch the city. It was lonely, but enjoyable nonetheless.

You got up to the roof and plotted your course to the impossible house. You misstepped a couple of times before falling into your usual rhythm. You contemplated whether you were doing this because the small piece of art should be with the family it belongs too. Or if you were doing this because you had some kind of Ocean’s 11 complex that kept you hungry for such challenges. It was an impossible place to break into, the floor of the old house containing the art work was covered with laser security. A piece of knowledge that should make your stomach flip, but only makes your heart feel funny.

You got yourself into position on the roof of the low building that was across the street, you took a few minutes to survey and eventually came to the conclusion that conditions were perfect. You made your way to the 3rd floor balcony. You knew of the owner’s, an awfully cruel man and his lover. They were asleep on the 5th floor of the house. Well, city mansion? Whatever, the point is it didn't feel like a home, it felt like something a royal family would keep when they came to visit. Lots of expensive art and velvet curtains. Massive gold and crystal chandeliers hung from mirrored ceilings framed with fancy crown molding. You did your research in the few hours you had after the job request had come in, there was a - *insert super fancy techno security laser system name here.* And it was said to be unbeatable. No gymnast or other cat-like thief had been able to tango with it. You had been challenged by its precursors but had got out of the game by the time this puppy had made it out on the market.

You picked the lock on the double doors, and slid past the heavy curtains and disabled the basic alarm system for the floor. Surveying the area you saw the lasers slowly dancing like it was a Pink Floyd tribute at the local planetarium. (something you attend regularly) You took a deep breath and got ready to disco your way across the floor to the small framed painting of a sun set. You put a headphone in and set the song *put on a song you would rob a bank to*. You began the journey. People often felt that your size and shape made you incompetent or ungraceful. You learned early on in life not to listen to stupid people say stupid things. You were the best, perhaps because you weren't afraid to look stupid or ridiculous. You bended and snapped, ducked and dodged, twirled and flipped. And just like that you reached your target. The second you lifted it off the wall, the lasers stopped. You pulled your knife and twirled around ready for a fight. What you saw was not what you expected, across the room none other than Wade freaking Wilson was looking at you.. Normally you hated being stared at like that, but he was a “friend” you found particularly challenging to leave behind. The whites of his mask were wide. After making a whole bunch of strange gestures with his hands, he held up a finger motioning you to be quiet. He disappeared towards what you figured would be the staircase going up to the next floor. If he gave you a clear shot at an exit you knew he had trouble with him. So you took your out.

You got back up on the rooftop across the street, you grabbed the bag you left there and secured the painting. You pulled out a large black piece of cotton and tossed it around your shoulders like a shall. This made your outfit look less stealth and more passion for leather/night out on the town. Making your way down the fire escape on the side of the building you saw the target house explode.

I guess Wade hasn't changed any.

You picked up the pace feeling anxious to get to Sister Margrets. Making your way through the city unnoticed, you went into the shitty establishment through the alleyway door. You wasted no time moving through the hallway into the servers entrance spitting you out behind the bar. You kept by the entrance which kept you out of sight, you didn't want to see any more friends tonight. Weasel jumped when he turned around and saw you there looming in the shadows, spilling the drink he had just made.

“Fuck” He quickly remade the drink then moved back to where you were standing. He had a large envelope of cash for which you handed him the back pack. You felt slightly relieved.

“Hey I know you moved on, but thanks for this.”

“No problem”

You turned around and went out the way you came in. Opening the door that leads back to the alley way, you notice a very large and slightly singed body blocking your exit.

“Stay for a drink?” His voice caused something in you to stir. Something you were not going to explore.

“Sorry Wade but no can do” You pushed past him and began walking down the street.

“Pretty pleaseeeee” he said with a sing song voice. You tried not to smile. He caught up to you so he was walking beside you. “If your not a big drinker anymore we could go for diner, tacos!, Sushi, chicken nuggets, you always loved a good chicken nugget” You tuned him out as he kept chattering a list of every food he could remember eating together. You had to figure out somewhere to go as you weren't leading him back to your apartment. Going in random directions, he spoke up.

“I know you live on *Insert cute street name here*”

“What the fuck Wilson?”

“Well you disappeared and I wanted to make sure you weren't being unalived. This means if we head back to yours we can do take out and homemade drinks, which in my opinion is much better anyway. I make the best margaritas in the city.”

You started the walk back towards your apartment. Trying desperately to come up with a way to leave him at the front of the building. The thought of him in your very personal, very colourful, even bordering on childish apartment made you unbelievably anxious. Every time you looked over at his slightly charred body you couldn't help a strange feeling welling up inside you. You got to the front door to the building and turned to look up at him. There was a long pause as you struggled for words.

“It's alright. It was a nice walk.” You could hear the layers of sadness underneath his tone. You were going to tell him that it was a nice walk and that maybe one day when things were better for you they could get that drink. Then you were going to threaten him into keeping everything a secret.

“I don't have stuff for margaritas.” The wrong words left your mouth but for a fleeting moment you actually didn't want him to leave.

“Are you sure?” Hey sounded very serious which caught you off guard and confused you a little.

“Yeah, normally I just drink stuff out of a can” You were terrible at mixing drinks, they were always way too sweet and strong and lead to trouble. Wade gave a big laugh. “Are you okay to pick up the stuff if I get changed?”

“You betcha.” He did a twirl, blew you a kiss, then headed down the street.

You dashed up to your apartment and started to hide your more personal stuff. Grabbing an armful of clean laundry off the couch, tossing it into an empty bin in the closet. You were so busy trying to hide your stuffed animals and random fan art, that you didn't notice him standing in the fire escape landing looking at you from the large open window.

“Damn. This was not what I was expecting.” He said, sounding surprised. “This isn't what your old place looked like at all”

“Uh” Your face got hot and you refused to look at him. “I ah don't have people over so um yeah. You can go now.”

“Nonononononono. This is a huge bit of progress from everything being varying shades of grey and uncomfortable.” Wade took the place in as he made his way to your kitchen. Placing the big brown bags on the counter top, and sliding the blender out from against the bright backsplash.

"Uh I'm going to get cleaned up. Help yourself to everything." You ran into the bathroom and freshened up and were very grateful to be out of the leather and into your summer pj's. They were more on the revealing side but you never found Wade the type to care or be creepy.

Coming out you found him very comfortable whirling around the kitchen. It looked like he had made a giant frying pan of pad thai and the blender was full. Turning around to see you he picked you up and sat you on the counter top like you were nothing more than a bottle of the many sauces he currently had out. He handed you one of your favorite rainbow glasses filled with margarita. Your brain was still trying to calm down from him picking you up like that.

"Thanks" you said with an even redder face.

"No problem, hot stuff" he divided the food into two plates, you led him out to sit on the fire escape with you. It was a sacred space, it felt weird to be there with a real live person. After the most delicious plate of food ever, many drinks, and laughs about the good old days things quieted down leaving a thick tension between the two of you. You realized you owed him an apology of sorts.

"Wade, I'm sorry I didn't give you a proper goodbye. I just had a life of running and I couldn't risk anyone fucking me over again."

"It's alright babe. I understand why you did it." His voice was low and sad and it made your heart hurt. You didn't want the night to end.

"Thanks for keeping my place here a secret."

"No problem. Do you think mayyybe now that I know about your situation we could do this again sometime?"

"You have no idea how nice that would be." You really meant it having him around was the most fun you'd had in a very long time. You didn't have to pretend or beat around the bush about anything with Wade. Nothing was too dark or silly or messed up.

"Well I guess this is my cue." He made to stand up but you grabbed his knee without thinking.

"Uh if you want to. You could also stay for a while." He turned his head to the side, bright eyes looking you over. "You could take a shower and I've definitely got a shirt and some boxers I could lend you." His eyes got wider. "They're mine. They're really…. comfy…" you would never understand how he made you so embarrassed.

"Uh, not sure about that… it just…" he motioned to the rest of his body.

"I've seen your face. It won't bother me" you looked up at him with empathetic eyes, part of you hoping that maybe they came across as bedroom eyes. You gave yourself a mental slap.

"If you're uncomfortable, that's okay too." You said, giving him a kind smile. You could tell there was an internal battle. So you gave him a minute.

"Alright that sounds nice. It's a fucking mess under here tho."

You went into your bathroom and found your gentlest scent free soap and a soft towel. Then into your room to find a giant t-shirt and your biggest pair of boxer shorts.

You put it into a nice pile in the bathroom.

"Okay there's some nice soap, it's natural scent free, made of angel's tears or some shit and a clean towel and clothes in there for you."

Wade shifted around you into the bathroom. "Thanks"

You flopped onto your bed and looked up at your glow star collection that littered the ceiling. You heard the water start running and you closed your eyes. Until your herd some very loud and off key Britney Spears. You couldn't help but laugh. Soon enough he was out and flopped onto the bed next to you.

"Man this is the best sleepover ever."

"If this has been your best sleepover with a chick I feel sorry for you. And her." You joked.

"Sorry enough for a pity cuddle." You know what the look he gave you meant. He was testing the waters to see what kind of night this was gonna be. You couldn't help but feel the need to challenge it.

"We could cuddle… or we could do other stuff then cuddle." You'd thought of all the reasons this was a bad idea. But voices weren't loud enough over the sound of your heart beating. He leaned in closer, fingers brushing your cheek.

"You sure that's not a margaritas talking?"

"Very sure." You said eyes locked with his.

"Why now?" It was a good question. One you had to think about.

"I don't think I ever was really myself. Like I was as much of myself as I could be while hurting that much. Now I'm happy and I enjoy things differently"

"Hmmm I noticed that. I think I got to know you more in the past few hours than I had when we were friends. You actually laugh now. At jokes and not just crazy like when things are exploding" he moved his hand to run through your hair and you couldn't hold back a soft moan. It had been so very long since someone had touched you.

You felt his lips press into your forehead. You'd thought about Wade before but he was in a relationship, then she died, and Wade wasn't himself for a long time. You'd figured if you were something he wanted he'd make it clear considering the dude flirted with everyone. You'd always had a secret fear that maybe you went his type. Vanessa was short and very tiny, other than her you were only sure of one other and that was Cable, who was serious, fit, tall, and massive. You were a good height and curvy as all hell. Suddenly you felt self conscious. But then he put his hands on either side of your face tilting your head up to meet his. You opened your eyes and they focused in on his lips. They were so close it caused the air in your lungs to get stuck.

"You're pretty quiet. You sure you wanna try to do other things. We can jump right to cuddling if that's better for right now?"

You looked up to meet his eyes.

"Is that what you want?" You tried your best to have it come out casually.

"Not really."

Your eyes migrated back down to his lips and you shuffled closer. You wanted to kiss him so badly you felt like your body was on fire.

"You can take whatever you want baby"

******************PSA: Dirty stuff below ;)*********************

That's all the permission you needed. You moved in and softly pressed your lips into his, then took things deeper. It didn’t take much for your breathing to become ragged, you were trying desperately to take the kiss further.

Eventually you bit his bottom lip and whimpered, finally he agreed, his hands tightened on your face and your tongues started to battle it out. You wanted to win, so you moved to straddle him. Finally accomplishing some friction between the two of you, you could feel your panties sliding against your wet folds. This only lasted for a few glorious seconds, before he flipped you on to your back quickly moving to pin your arms above your head.

He started moving south leaving a red hot trail of destruction behind him. There was only so much your tank top would allow, Wade seemed very content palming your right breast while biting on the flesh beneath your left collar bone. You on the other hand wanted your goddamn clothes off.

You tried to break his grip and moaned when you realized such a task would only be accomplished by hurting him. He really had you trapped there, a piece of knowledge that only made you want your clothes off more. His grip on your breast tightened and his smirking lips took a long pull on the hardened nub that was poking up benthe the cotton of your top. You couldn't help your back arching. Finally, after paying respects to your other breast, he pulled back to look at you. He squeezed your wrists.

“Stay”

God he was so bossy. Something that divided you internally. A part of you wanted to push it, see how hard he would dig into you, and the other part was desperate to behave and be good. You decided you would be good, for now. He sat up, leaning back on his knees in between your legs. Slowly his fingers brushed across the soft skin of your stomach, then his hands ran up along your torso taking your shirt with them. Feeling his scarred hands trail lightly across you sent shivers through your body. You felt him cup and knead your breasts for a moment before pulling your top over your head. He took a long look at you which made you feel delicious. No one had ever pulled out this side of you before. Kissing down your stomach he stopped at the waistband of your shorts. He took your left leg and used it to flip you over, somehow taking your shorts off at the same time. There you were ass up naked and loving every second of it. His big hands came down to smack your ass, a loud noise of please ran out of your mouth along with most of the air in your lungs. Enjoying the response he did it again then started kneading the flesh.

“Fuck you are so fucking sexy.” You felt his hands slide down to grip the tops of your thighs. You arched your back further resting your head on the bed. “Good girl.” The words hit you like a bullet but before you had time to find your footing his hot mouth was all over you wet folds.

His skilled tongue painting some kind of masterpiece, he was touching you everywhere but where you really desperately wanted it. But this seemed to be the way he operated, and you weren't complaining. After feeling like he had been everywhere, he started to circle that tight ball of nerves and you couldn't help but let out a shout. Pleasure was ripping through your body, things were starting to get hot and tight inside you, when all of a sudden those glorious lips closed in and created some heavenly suction. You couldn't stop your hips from bucking, this earned a heavy slap on your right ass cheek.

“Fuck fuck fuckf cukkkk ah” It quickly became too much, your orgasm hit you like a train, whole body tensing up then finally crashing down. Wade kept up the rhythm letting you ride it out. Finally pulling away when it became too much. He snaked his arm up your front to grab the front of your neck pulling you up on to your knees, angling your face so he could kiss you deeply. Putting on a show of how good you tasted. After a long moment of heated kissing, he positioned you so you were laying on your back again. Giving you a few moments to catch your breath.

“You wanna keep going?” he asked softly.

“Yes please.” you answered politely.

“Alright but, it's everywhere. All over me. So doggy style is generally best for this next part. If you wanna do it that way, I'm also just happy making you scream like this too.”

“Wade, we can stop if you need to. But I would much rather you fuck me like this. Or let me choke on you for a while then fuck me like this. On my back where I can kiss you and love you back. Ya feel me?”

He looked at you with searching eyes. You realized what you said probably sounded a bit off. Love you back probably wasn't the right thing to say, but you were operating with limited brain function at this point.

“This normally doesn't end well for me.”

“Hmmm. What part, how do you like to uh finish?” You asked slightly confused. Wade only laughed.

“That's not the problem, I almost got off just from you screaming like that. No, I just want to make sure you actually enjoy it. It's hard to enjoy things when you are looking up at someone who looks like they lost a fight with an industrial paper shredder that happened to be on fire.”

You snorted.

“Wade I never knew you before, but I’ve wanted you since I met you. Okay? There's no spooky feelings here.” Your words seemed enough to convince him. He leaned in for a soft kiss, one that made you want to misbehave. You pulled the shirt up, running your hands across the well defined muscles of his torso, then broke the kiss to pull it up over his head. You didn't give him a chance to be chatty, you resumed the heavy kiss, palming his erection. He moaned into your mouth. Feeling accomplished, you pulled the boxers off letting his heavy cock slap up against his stomach. You couldn't help but break the kiss, looking down you watched your hand slide over his impressive, throbbing length. You wanted to take him in your mouth, but before you could push him back onto the bed, he was already pinning you in place beneath him.

You felt him slide himself through your heat. Finally lining himself up with your entrance, his thumb set a steady pace on your clit as he pushed into you slowly. You were grateful he took his time opening you up. You let out a strangled sound when he bottomed out, you felt so full. He set a slow pace giving you lots of time to adjust, this only made you more desperate and needy. When he finally decided you’d had enough, you felt his hand squeeze the back of your neck as he set into a ruthless pace.

“FUCK” He was too much, his heavy body keeping you in place as your hips rose to meet every single thrust. you wanted to feel him as deeply as you possibly could. His hot mouth was biting into the flesh at the bottom of your neck. The heat inside you started to build and you were near your breaking point.

‘Wade” You breathed in a high, desperate tone.

“Cum for me baby” And just like that you felt it take over, your hips snapped up and your feet cramped up. You could feel your walls clench around him tightly, and you choked when he pushed through them even rougher than before. That thumb on your clit never gave up, keeping you trapped riding out the waves of pleasure. You felt it take him over, letting out a deep growl you felt him fill you. He held himself deep inside you, moving both his hands so his forearms were on either side of you trying to keep his weight from crushing you.

His forehead pressed against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. Eventually he moved out of you and he flopped onto his back. You got up and quickly went pee and cleaned yourself up. You grabbed another washcloth and went back to clean him up. You realised that getting up might have been a mistake. Wade was on his side with his eyes screwed shut.

“Hey, you okay?” You asked softly and grabbed the sides of his face and kissed his forehead.

“Better now.” He whispered.

“Sorry for getting up, I should have said something. Can I clean you up?” He gave you a strange look, like he was waiting for you to suddenly disappear. He took the washcloth and wiped himself down, you took it back throwing it into the bathroom. You looked down at him hoping that the voices weren't giving him a hard time. You sat next to him holding his hand, giving him some time.

**********************************************************************

“So about those cuddles?” He asked softly, and you wondered how many times people had hurt him or thrown him out.

You got under the light quilt on your bed motioning for him to do the same. He followed you, laying on his back, you tucked yourself into his side, enjoying his big arms wrapping around you. You gave his neck a light kiss.

“I missed you.” you said softly

“You have no idea how bad I missed being around you.”

“I won't leave again, if you wanted to make this either a regular thing… or a proper thing… if you're into that?” You felt a tight ball of nerves in your stomach.

“I’d really like that.” He kissed your forehead. You thought about all the things you would have to do to make this relationship compatible with your new life. But that was a later you problem, right now you were the best kind of exhausted. You both drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

Thank you again for the request!!!! <3

[tascha-schwarz]

Imagine... confessing your feelings for Ben Wade when he thinks he doesn’t deserve you

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Warnings: tooth rotting fluff here and there, naivety of the author's perception.

Read at your own risk.

~~~~°~~~~•~~~~°~~~~•~~~~°~~~~•~~~~°~~~~•~~~~

Ben left you for just a minute, as he assured, to get another drink. You watched him making his way between the tables packed with loud companies of drunk men and their frivolous girlfriends. About two weeks ago the man offered to escort you to Tucson and set you on train after witnessing a gang of bastards threatening to take you by force. It was an accidental yet fateful encounter. You never stopped thanking God for sending you this brave and generous man when you needed it most. You surely knew he was a criminal, but as such he performed with consideration of a true gentleman which appeared to be more than enough for you to treat him with respect and gratitude.

Tavern whores surrounded Ben as he walked over to the counter. They instantly laid their hands on him, seductively stroking his arms and his shoulders and leaning to his side, openly competing for a chance to stay with him overnight. Ben didn’t seem to mind. He accepted their attention with a smug smile, apparently forgotten what he was after.

There was nothing between the two of you. Ben protected you along the way and you provided him all possible assistance for you journey to be a lesser burden for him. You enjoyed his company, enjoyed your little talks and long conversations as you whiled the time away riding until the last ray of sunshine faded beyond the horizon and spending nights by the fire. But seeing him chat sweetly with those hookers made you furious. A painful prick of anger pierced your heart. What was that? Jealousy? You couldn’t tell, but staying here was no longer bearable.

Straight-faced, showing no emotion, you made another few sips to finish your coffee, pushed the cup aside, and left the table. With a heavy heart you went outside. In search for a quiet place you reached the hitching post and sat on the edge of the trough. A lump came up to your throat. The thought that you were of no interest to him was heartbreaking. You were mad at yourself for painting all sorts of pictures with Ben, mad at him for not living up to your expectations. You’ve become attached to the man and didn’t want your paths to diverge. Realizing how soon your journey was going to come to an end drove you to despair.

Standing at the counter, smiling and flirting with his new girlfriends, Ben didn’t lose the sight of you, not for a split second. During the time while you travelled together he grew overprotective of you, though he never showed it. He wouldn’t forget the day he first met you and the circumstances that came along. Therefore, he was determined to keep you safe as long as you let him stay by your side.

Seeing that you were leaving, the smile on Ben’s face disappeared at once. Paying no attention to the women who willingly offered him their affection, he resolutely followed you.

“Hey,” he called you almost in a whisper approaching you from behind. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you gave him a forced smile. “Just tired of the noise. Have fun, don’t worry about me.”

You lowered your head and started fiddling your fingers, just to avoid eye contact.

Ben set beside and only afterwards he spoke. “Mind if I join you?” Your answer wouldn’t actually change a thing – he would stay anyway. But you didn’t mind.

You sat in silence for a while. You studied your hands, while Ben was studying you.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

He was so gentle with you, so caring. Why hasn’t he even tried to make a step towards you? After all, you’ve never given him a reason to think you didn’t like him.

“It’s okay, really.”

“No, it’s not.” He tilted his head to look you in the eyes. “Come on! What happened during the few minutes of my absence?”

You felt so worthless, so disappointed. Your heartache reached the breaking point.

“Tell me, don’t you find me attractive at all? Not in the slightest?” you blurted out without thinking you might regret it.

The question stunned Ben, his heart gave a jolt.

“On the day we met, you looked at me differently,” you continued. “Do you really think I didn’t notice the way your eyes shone, how much interest flared within? And now you’re avoiding me. Yes, we are together all the time, all the time on the road. But you know what I mean. You seem so estranged the last days, so withdrawn…”

Suddenly his palm touched your cheek, and you instinctively turned your head towards him. Here it was, the look you missed so much. So gentle, it reached your soul. Ben leaned forward and his lips merged into yours. You caught your breath, unable to move, engulfed in thrilling sensation spreading through your body. Ben’s hand slid softly onto your shoulder, and down to your waist. He pulled you closer, tightening his grip and kissing you persistently yet sensually, tenderly, savoring the taste of your lips, relishing the feel of your fragile body in his arms.

“You’re the only woman I desire…” he whispered hotly, resting his forehead against yours. Ben caressed your face, your neck while his eyes admired every inch of your skin he was touching.

“…but I’m not worthy of you,” he admitted with a bitter smile, stroking your hair.

“Ben…” uncertainly, you raised your hands to his chest, reaching out to his unshaven face.

“You are so beautiful, so pure… You deserve someone better... much better…”

“I need you, Ben,” you leaned towards him, afraid that he would pull away. But he didn’t. “Please, don’t decide for me. You’re the kindest man I’ve ever met, the most caring, considerate,” you gently rubbed his temple and smiled lovingly, “albeit rotten as hell.”

He chuckled remorsefully. That was exactly what he told you on the first day of your journey.

“Don’t push me away, Ben,” you pleaded looking him in the eyes.

Even though he had to, against his will, even though he thought it would be better for you, he couldn’t reject you, not now. Not ever. Realizing the power you had over him, he was too weak to resist the innermost desire of his heart. He’d rather change than leave you, rather die than cause you pain.

“I’ll bring the whole world at your feet,” he swore, gritting his teeth, overwhelmed with immense gratitude for accepting him the way he was.

“I don’t need the world,” you assured reaching out for his lips, “just you, Ben. Just you.”

Your words echoed in his head sending shivers down his spine, depriving him from ability to think clearly. He answered your kiss eagerly, selflessly, wrapping you into his arms, still not believing now you were his.

His hold firm and confident, and at the same time exceptionally delicate, not typical for the man of his lifestyle and deeds. No, he wasn’t all bad, you knew that, not once have you noticed his softness breaking through, may he pretend otherwise. Melting into his touch you entrusted yourself to his will craving to know more about this side of him he’s been thoroughly concealing for so long.

[starlightrows]

Exactly The Way You Are

Pairing: Modern!Boba Fett x fem!reader 

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: EXPLICIT self body shaming, potential body dysmorphia, hurt/comfort, body worship, oral (f receiving), soft!Boba 

Summary: You’re feeling insecure about your body and start changing how you dress in attempt to hide from your negative feelings. Boba is not having any of it. 

AN: Requested by @otp-lovers   

Every single one of you is beautiful, exactly the way you are

Early spring is not usually the optimal time for spending the day at the beach. It’s still too cold to swim, and at times too cloudy to tan. But if you’re heading to the coast to enjoy some fresh air, listen to the waves crash on the beach, and enjoy a bowl of clam chowder it’s perfect! You and two of your girl friends decided to drive out for the day to get some lunch, take a nice long walk and catch up on life. Normally you would have liked to do a day trip like this in the company of your boyfriend Boba, but he’s been exceptionally busy with work the last couple days. 

“You’re tempting me to play hooky and just go with you in that sundress baby,” he pauses by the door taking the time to rake his eyes over your form. 

“You could, I don’t think the girls would mind,” you smile sweetly batting your eyelashes for him knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to say yes. You just wanted to tease him. He groans in response, but shakes his head, also knowing he is not at liberty to accept your offer. So instead he tells you to go enjoy yourself, say hello to your friends for him. 

The drive down to the coast is pleasant with good music, your friends singing and talking and laughing, and the weather is actually even nicer than you expected. And there isn’t even a line to get into your favorite restaurant in the area. After a lovely lunch you and your friends take off your shoes and walk down the beach to dip your toes in the water. 

There are a couple groups of people sunbathing, children splashing in the water, playing volleyball. It’s like summer has come early, you almost wish you’d worn your swimsuit. You and your friends decide to kick off your shoes and wade in the water a bit and take some pictures together. Another group of girls a little ways down the beach also taking pictures and laughing approach your group asking if one of you would be willing to take some group pictures on them, and that they would be happy to return the favor. 

As your friend took one of the girls phones to take some nice group pictures, you stand off to the side and can’t help but stare. These girls all have gorgeous hair, long sleek legs, flat tummies with belly rings, and perky full breasts. Not a blemish on their perfectly tanned skin, though you suspected their tans may be less than authentic given the current time of year. Still you couldn’t help comparing yourself, you felt a bit pudgy in your sundress wishing you had ordered something lighter for lunch, and mentally cursing the wind for blowing your dress around you and making you look bigger and more awkward as opposed to windswept and attractive like these girls. You think about the upcoming summer, and your collection of swimsuits at home… true they’re pretty and comfortable but you wish you could wear and feel confident in the kind of swimsuits these girls are wearing. 

The other group of girls finished up their pictures and you tried your best to appear confident and unbothered when they turned the camera on you and your friends. You didn’t want to bring down the mood, so you plastered on a smile and tried to laugh along with your friends for the remainder of the trip. 

After dropping off your friends you head home, anxious to take a shower and get the sand off of your body. Unfortunately you knew Boba would not be home until very late, so it would just be you for a bit. Oh well, that just means watching whatever you want on tv with no complaint. You shower and wash your hair, taking your time to fully feel clean. Stepping out of the shower and ringing out your hair, you feel a lot better now that there wasn’t sad in places it should not be. 

You cross into the bedroom and slip one of your favorite nighties on to relax for the evening, but when you turn around and catch sight of yourself in the full length mirror you stop and stare at your reflection. You frowned at yourself, turning to your side to catch a glimpse of your profile and finding it no better in your opinion. You turn away from yourself and remove the nighty tossing it unceremoniously onto the chair at your vanity table. Instead you dig out an oversized t-shirt and a pair of Boba’s sweatpants. You look back at yourself in the mirror and shrug your shoulders… good enough… before heading back out into the living room to put on some mindless tv and waste time on instagram and tik tok. 

That was a horrible idea. You spent hours down the social media spiral, looking at pictures and videos of seemingly perfect people with perfect lives and perfect bodies that always seemed to know the perfect thing to say. It made you sick to your stomach. Eventually you fall asleep laying on the couch with the tv still playing. By the time Boba gets home you’re lightly snoring and your arm is hanging off the side of the couch. He chuckles at finding you in such a disheveled state, but takes care to carefully lift you up off the couch and carry you to bed. 

In the morning you wake up to the sounds of him moving around in the bedroom, though he is trying very hard to be quiet and not wake you up. He notices you stirring and returns to the bed to sit next to you. He’s fully dressed, ready to head out again. 

“Hey,” he whispers, stroking your hair. You smile sleepily at him, and mumble some kind of greeting. “I’m just about to head out. I’ll be home late again tonight, try to go to bed before you pass out on the couch,” he teases. You scrunch up your nose and nuzzle your cheek into his hand. 

He leans down and gives you a kiss on the forehead, “Only a couple more days of these long shifts baby. You’ll have me all to yourself again come this weekend,” 

“Good,” you murmur “I don’t like going to bed by myself,” 

He chuckles again, and gives your three more little kisses before saying goodbye and leaving the bedroom. It’s still pretty early and you went to bed very late last night, so you rolled over and went back to sleep for another hour or two. When you do get up to start your day, you find that your closet full of dresses, skirts, and generally fun cute outfits does not bring you the usual joy of picking out one to wear. The thought of showing off your figure makes you feel anxious and unwell, so instead you opt for a pair of comfortable joggers and another baggy t-shirt.

The day passes by slowly going about your errands and daily chores getting less work done than you would have liked. You feel a little blah, and just can’t seem to shake off the brain fog that’s plaguing you. You eat dinner by yourself, and turn in early for the night once again wearing Boba’s clothes that are far too big for you. He likes it when you wear them anyway. At some point in the night, Boba comes home and happily slides into bed next to you to catch what little sleep he can before getting up for an early start once more. This time he’s already gone when you wake up, but you can tell he’s been around. His clothes are in the laundry basket, and there’s a coffee cup in the sink. 

To your delight, there is another cup of coffee poured sitting in the refrigerator chilling. You happily mix in ice and creamer, thinking about how lucky you are to have a boyfriend that takes that extra step for you. One of his many little ways to let you know he loves you. It lifts your spirits a bit, but not enough to shake you from standing naked in front of your closet glaring at your clothes. They offend your eyes, and make you long for things you shouldn’t. So you settle for another haphazard outfit that hides your figure, and dampens your mood. 

The day passes you by though you are able to be a least a little more productive than yesterday. You start the laundry, and wash the dishes. Call to reschedule your dentist appointment, and even get in a couple hours of actual work for your job. But this looming cloud of distraction and general sadness prevails, and you don’t get to many of the other things on your list for the day. As you get ready for bed, wearing Boba’s clothes for the third night in a row you took comfort in the knowledge that tomorrow when you woke up, Boba would be there and he would not have to go to work. Surely that would make you feel better. 

In the morning you happily roll over and cuddle into Boba’s warm chest. You had made a reservation for the two of you to go to brunch, but that isn’t until 10:30am so that leaves plenty of time to snuggle. Lazy kisses and whispered good mornings shared across the pillows and under the sheets. Eventually though you do both get up and get ready to go out for the day. You choose a pair of jeans and a nice-ish t-shirt that you tuck in, you feel a little better than you have the last few days and take the time to do your hair and makeup. 

Boba turns when he hears you coming towards the living room, and he has to put in real effort not to let his face show his concern when he observes your somewhat drab outfit you’ve chosen. You never give up an opportunity to get dressed up cute, especially when he’s taking you out on a date. 

“Is that my shirt?” he asks, extending a hand out for you to take, you accept his hand but feel your anxiety rising in your throat and burning your cheeks. 

“Yeah… I’m sorry, I can put on one of mine if it bothers you,” you drop your gaze and shift uncomfortably. Boba is unsure of what to make of this, so he proceeds cautiously.

“Hm… how about that blue dress? The navy one you like so much,” he suggests running his thumbs over your knuckles and swinging your arm just a little to get your attention. But you keep your gaze fixed on his shoes, and give your head a little shake.

“I… don’t want to wear that one today,” you say, pulling your hand away. Now he’s really concerned, you were fine when you woke up this morning, what changed. 

“Sweetheart you love that dress, what’s wrong?” he asks 

“It’s nothing I just… I just don’t feel particularly dressy at the moment” you admit, rubbing your arm and still making every effort not to look at him. 

“And why’s that?” he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him “Come on kitten, there are no secrets between us,” 

Your lip quivers a bit, you don’t want to verbalize what’s been bothering you. But his eyes are so tender and concerned, and his grip on your chin is insistent and firm. So you relent. 

“I spent too long on instagram looking at influencers and celebrities, and me and the girls took some pictures for another group of girls at the beach the other day. They were all so beautiful with their flat stomachs, perfect tans, and full breasts. I’m sure they work hard to look that way, and I’m sure they have their own insecurities, but I look at them and I think… why can’t I look like that?”

“I don’t want you to look like them” he says 

“What?” you jerk your head back just a little and look up at him. 

“I don’t want you to look like anyone else in the world, I want you to look like you. Exactly the way you are” he slides his hands under your shirt, pulling it out from where its been tucked into your jeans, settling on your hips. He takes a step closer and dips his head down to kiss each of your cheeks. 

“I want you to wear whatever clothes you like, especially the sweet little dresses I know you love so much,” be begins pressing kisses down your neck, and sliding his hands down over your ass. “I want you to know that you’re my girl. My absolutely gorgeous, perfect girl” 

He’s leading you back into the bedroom, walking you backwards slowly and carefully, whispering praises into the skin of your neck between hot kisses. The backs of your knees hit the edge of bed, and you lower yourself down onto it. 

Your hands rest on his sides smoothing over his soft tummy through his shirt, you think about his body. It doesn’t fit society's view of an ideal man, not overly muscled, spray tanned and polished. In the same way you’re not like the models and celebrities you’d been comparing yourself to. 

He pushes you down by the shoulder, coaxing you to lay down as he runs his big hands up and down your sides, dipping down under your shirt and reaching up to palm your breasts. His rough thumbs brush over the quickly stiffening peaks of your nipples. His lips drag over your jaw and you moan at his ministrations. 

“Babe,” you manage to get out, “we’re gonna miss our reservations,” 

He releases his hold on your nipples, and strips off your shirt. He hikes you up higher on the bed, and captures your lips in an insistent kiss. 

“Don’t care,” he growls, “this is more important,” he licks a stripe from your chin all the way down your neck and sucks a mark between your breasts. His fingers work to rid you of your bra. When it’s been discarded somewhere into the room, he turns his attention back to your nipples and takes one into his mouth and suckles on it, rolling the other between his fingers. Your soft moans and wandering hands encourage him, and he switches to your other nipple. 

After a minute or two he releases your nipple from his mouth, and comes back up to recapture your lips. His hands trail down, fingers dipping into the waistline of your jeans. He breaks the kiss, as he undoes the button and zipper of your jeans pulling them down slowly over your ass. You kick them the rest of the way off and spread your legs a bit so he can settle comfortably between them.  

“Your cute little dresses usually make this a lot faster, princess. But I don’t mind taking my time,” he rasps. Your breath hitches as he slides your panties down, and drops his head down in between your thighs. His breath ghosts over your core, already beginning to get a bit wet in anticipation. His hands rub up and down the outsides of your thighs as he begins peppering gentle kisses over the soft skin of your inner thighs. Climbing higher and higher until he reaches your lower lips. 

Without warning his tongue darts out and splits your lips, licking a broad stripe up from the bottom and stopping at your clit to latch on and begin sucking. His tongue continues prodding in and out as he devours your wet cunt. His hands cup your ass and squeeze, pulling you apart further. Your chest is heaving and your mind feels like it’s narrowing in on the building feeling of your impending orgasm. 

“Boba,” you gasp out “I-- I’m gonna cum… I-” 

He doesn't answer in words, he growls into your aching cunt and moves his tongue faster to get you over the edge. Your orgasm is blinding in its intensity, sending your mind reeling as your choke out strangled cries of pleasure. As you’re coming down from your high, Boba releases your swollen clit from his lips and kisses his way back up to you, dragging his hands up with him. He whispers the sweetest words into your skin.   

“Mmm you’re my girl. My sweet, perfect girl. I’ll spend the rest of my days showing you how perfect you truly are,”

[fantasticstoryteller]

New Amsterdam Chapter 24

Peter sighed as he stopped for a moment, in front of store with a reflective window, and rubbed his face wearily. There weren’t enough hours in the day. He couldn't be a lab assistant to Dr. Stacey, work on Norman’s research, get pictures and do odd jobs for the Bugle, and patrol as Spiderman. He couldn't do it. He was going to have to cut back on one of them. He couldn't cut back on working at the Tower or the Bugle, because those were the jobs that actually paid. He couldn't cut back working for Norman, because Harry’s life was in the balance.

He stared miserably at his reflection. It didn’t matter how he turned the facts around in his head. He was going to have to quit being Spiderman for a while, and hope that nothing truly terrifying happened while he did.

He continued trudging towards his next job when a thought occurred to him; Spiderman couldn't just vanish. Deadpool would notice—and would likely take the city apart trying to find him. He could just see it now; Deadpool cornering some random thug going, “Are you sure you don’t know where Spiderman is? Let’s see if a little stabby-stabby will jog your memory.”

Peter couldn't do that to his city. All right, the people Deadpool would attack would probably deserve it (and much worse), but he still couldn't do that to his city. He had to protect it.

He slipped into one of the computer’s blind spots and changed before swinging out over the city to find Deadpool. Who was, at that moment, stopping a bank robbery. Not the way that Peter would have done, but stopping it all the same. And, most importantly, managing to stop the robbery without either killing or seriously maiming the culprits. There were some stab wounds (expected) and some bruises (also expected), but no one, during the whole thing, was in danger of dying. Except Deadpool, who was exceptionally careless with his own life (again, as expected).

Deadpool was booted out of the crime scene and he left, muttering to himself as Peter slowly climbed down the side of the building to get close the mercenary. “Stupid—no, you did! Of course we couldn't—shut up!” he growled to himself. “I know we fucked up!”

“I thought you did really well,” Peter called as he hung upside-down on the fire escape.

Deadpool whirled and gave a comic stare. “Spidey! You—you were watching?”

“Yup.” Peter let go of the fire escape and tumbled to where he was standing in front of Deadpool. He ticked off what he’d seen on the fingers of his hand. “You got the attention of the robbers away from the hostages, you restrained yourself to non-lethal means of incapacitation, and you didn’t even maim anyone. You did really well,” he reiterated firmly.

A thought struck his mind. It was a horrible, evil thought. The heroes of New Amsterdam would freak out. The Avengers would hate him.

The Avengers could kiss his ass.

“And this is good news,” Peter said firmly.

“He sounds happy. You sound happy.”

“I am. And I am incredibly proud of you.”

Deadpool didn’t seem to know what to make of that, but he nodded and followed Peter up to a roof. “It feels like I’m about to get news I don’t want to hear,” the mercenary said.

“Probably,” said Peter thoughtfully. When they were out of range of bystanders he turned to Deadpool. “I can’t go into details,” because Deadpool would figure out who he was, “but my civilian life just became—complicated. It’s going to take a while to fix.” He heaved a sigh. “I won’t be able to watch the city while I’m fixing them,” he admitted.

The admission cost more than he thought it would. It felt like he was admitting he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t enough—

And he wasn’t. But he was, as had been forcibly shown to him, only human. He couldn't keep doing all he was doing without breaking.

He moved on with his speech. “So, since you’ve been doing so well, I thought I’d leave you in charge of the city.”

Deadpool blinked at him several times. Peter began to get nervous; what if he didn’t want to? What if he thought Spiderman was ditching him?

“You—trust me?” asked Deadpool sounding shocked and nervous at the same time. “With your city?”

“Our city,” Peter said firmly. He reached out and put a hand on Deadpool’s shoulder. “You’ve been looking after it too.” Deadpool stared at the hand on his shoulder and Peter wished, for just a moment, he knew what was going through the other man’s head.

“What about the other heroes?” asked Deadpool finally. “The Avengers, the Four, good old Double D?”

Peter shrugged. “What about them?” he asked curiously. What did they have to do with anything?

“Well—they’re not going to be happy about me watching the city for you.”

Ah. Peter leaned against the edge of the building. “Tell me something; how many of them did you see while you were helping with that bank robbery?”

“I didn’t—none?”

Peter nodded. “Exactly. The Avengers move when the planet is threatened. That’s kind of their thing. The Four only mobilize for Dr. Doom. And Daredevil doesn’t poke his nose out of Hell’s Kitchen. What I do, what you’ve been doing is much, much smaller. The muggers, the carjackers, the rapists, the bank robbers—they’re all outside of everyone else’s notice. You and I are the only ones looking after the streets of the city.”

“Our city,” breathed Deadpool.

Peter nodded in encouragement. “That’s right. Our city. If they don’t like it, they can move their asses to help take care of it!”

Deadpool leaped to his feet, suddenly energized. “That’s right!” he shouted. “This is our city bitches! Bad guys beware!”

Peter grinned under his mask. “Exactly,” he said with satisfaction. “Want to do one more patrol before I have to focus on civilian life?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” As they headed towards the edge of the roof, he asked, “Am I—am I the only one who knows?”

Peter thought quickly and then told a half-truth. “Peter knows,” he said to the mercenary. “I saw him before I saw you,” he said, thinking of that reflective window. “Sometimes I think the only reason he eats is the pictures he sells of me,” he added with absolute confidence.

“Aw! You’re such a softy Spidey!” chirped Wade happily before they dove off the side of the roof, Peter catching Wade before swinging them up to another one.

[dragoqueen]

Whoops! Wrong Way 5/8

Summary: Peter has been living at Avengers Tower for 2 years, known to the workers and Avengers as Peter Parker-Stark-Rogers.  When his teacher announces that they're going on a field trip to Avengers Tower, or SI,  he's going to have to attempt to survive a day of embarrassment and keeping a secret identity.

Words: 2068

“Go away you old man! You’re ruining the moment!” Peter shrieks at Steve. Steve only chuckles and finishes walking over to Peter’s table. Turns out, Bucky is with him too, and they've brought food. “Chill out kid, we were just bringing some more food.”

“Yes! Give it to me then git.”

“That’s kind of rude. We’re providing food.”

“Yeah but you’re ruining the field trip! I just want to live normally please.”

“Fine kid. We’ll see you soon.”

“Wait, what do you mean ‘soon’”?

“Your tour is going to the training room. Must I say more?” Steve asks. 

“No!!! Please don’t let them kill anyone too much,” Peter groans. 

“Alright. See you kid.”

They leave with Wade after placing a small bag of cookies. Peter grumbles something about “boyfriend stealer” while munching on more of the cookies and sliding a few over to MJ and Ned to let them try them. Just as Mars announces that it’s time to go onto the next part of the tour they’ve finished all of the cookies. They line up at the elevator and step in once Mars has finished the head count. “FRIDAY, take us to the training room please,” Mars asks.

“It appears that you do not have clearance to go here.” 

Mars sighs, “uh, Peter can you tell FRIDAY to take us to the training room. Apparently they didn’t fix my clearance to take you guys there and you’re the only one that’d be able to bring us up.”

“Oh, sure. Uh, FRIDAY? Can you bring us up to the training room please?”

The elevator lurches up in response causing a few kids to stumble at the sudden movement. Peter chuckles, reminiscing of the time he did the same thing the day he met Bucky in the elevator. He was too busy fanboying to remember how fast the elevator traveled. He ended up falling into Bucky, leaving both of them apologizing up until they made it to the intern labs where Peter got off red as a tomato. Stark often reminds them both of it because Bucky had entered the penthouse freaked out that he had accidentally hurt a child. 

His laughter results in a few embarrassed glares, but he still thinks it’s worth it. FRIDAY announces that they’ve aived on the training food so they all step out and travel down the exceptionally long hallway to the end where there’s a glass door, Mars peers through and goes pale, “uh… it appears that some of the Avengers are currently training in here so give me a second to make sure it’s okay we come in.” He slowly cracks the door open and peers his head in, “umm… I’m here with the tour group from Midtown, Our schedule has been changed and we were supposed to come here after lunch, is that okay?”

“Midtown? Isn’t that Peter’s school? Sure you guys can come in!” Steve announces from inside. 

Peter sighs, knowing that they’ve definitely had this planned all along. The class lines up against an empty wall, watching in awe at the battle taking place. At the moment, Natasha is in the middle of sparring with Clint. They go back and forth, exchanging hits and blocks. Eventually Natasha manages to swipe Clint’s feet from underneath him. She traps him on the ground and a few seconds later he taps out. “Alright guys, that was a successful spar,” Natasha says to the class in between sips of water, “no one got hut… too badly. Bird Brain over here could obviously never beat me without a few injuries on both of our parts. Anyway, because you are here and because you are the class of our favorite маленький паук (little spider), we are going to teach you some basic self defense and give some of you the chance to spar with one of us. To start I’ll show you what to do, then partner up and practice. MJ, can you come up here please?” 

MJ smirks and slides off her jacket and hands it to Ned before stepping into the small ring. Many of the students wondered why Natasha knew MJ by name and was asking her for help. MJ often sparred with Nat and was actually quite good at it. Peter was sure that if she was enhanced like him she could easily take him down. 

Since they’d previously sparred before, MJ knew exactly what to do. Natasha first demonstrated a punch, knowing that MJ would show the proper way to block. Afterwards, she showed a kick. After they're done MJ returns to the group, punching Ned on the arm when he keeps staring at her, amazed that she just “fought” Black Widow. Natasha tells everyone to partner up and announces that the four of them would be walking around and making sure everyone was doing good. Peter pairs up with MJ, which Ned is actually happy about because he knows that they would easily be able to beat him. He spent most of his time at SI in the labs with Bruce rather than learning to fight so he partnered up with someone who also didn’t really know what they were doing. 

Natasha walks by while Peter and MJ are practicing the different punches and kicks and tells them that they can practice with the bo staff in the arena if they want. Nat had been giving them lessons on different fighting techniques and weapons and currently they were working on the bo staff. They take turns practicing different blocks and strikes, and even a few spins to show off. They end their mini-practice session with a spar. Both start on opposite ends before they begin circling each other. 

Peter makes the first move by making a jab motion with the staff aimed at MJ’s chest. She blocks it and twirls his staff with her own before knocking it to the ground. She follows that by using the staff to pole vault herself towards Peter and kicks him in the chest. He falls back with a grunt, using her moment of appreciation to quickly analyze the situation before standing up and flipping over her to regain possession of his staff. He spins around in time to block a hit from her. He follows that by spinning in the air and kicking her mid-air. She stumbles backwards, trying to regain balance. He moves forward to continue but suddenly stops when he hears Natasha talking, “alight guys, that’s enough. Time for some of you guys to spar with us. Get some water if you need it, then line back up.” 

Peter turns around and becomes suddenly aware that everyone has been watching him and MJ fight. He offers a sheepish grin before following Nat’s instructions. He puts the staff away and grabs some water, sipping on it as he rejoins the group of students, who have stopped staring at him and have returned to paying attention to Natasha. “Alight, this is how this is going to go. You’ll raise your hand if you want to spar with one of us. I’ll call on you one by one and you can stay who you want to spar and we’ll go from there. Sound good?” she’s met with a bunch of nodding heads so she continues, “okay who’s first… how about you right there,” she points to Flash, “who do you want to spar with?” 

“You.”

“Alright then, step up,” 

He walks into the ring confidently, “don't go easy on my, I can take it. In fact, I’ll try to go easy on you, don’t want to hurt a girl.” 

Peter, who up until this point had been trying to hold in a laugh, knowing fully well that Flash was going to get absolutely pummeled, couldn’t contain his laughter and ended up choking from laughing so hard, Flash glares at him while Natsha sends him a playful grin, knowing exactly why he was laughing, “маленький паук (little spider), hush now, see what he can do!” 

Flash, assuming she’s telling Peter off, immediately returns to smirking, he turns back to Natasha and sees that she has assumed a fighting stance, he gets into a fighting position of his own, waiting for Steve to tell them to start. Natsha notes all the incorrect things about his pose from the beginning. As soon as Steve says, “start,” she’s ready. Flash runs at her, expecting to be able to tackle her immediately. Instead, she grabs him and swings him around before slamming him down onto the ground. He ends up with the wind knocked out of him. He lays there for a few minutes, struggling to catch his breath. Then, finally, he stands up and limps out of the arena. 

After that, most of the students are afraid to volunteer. However, oce the next person goes and the Avengers go much easier on them, more people are willing to try. Once everyone who wants to has gone Natasha begins scanning the coed of students for Peter. Sheinds him near the back and smiles, “Peter! Why don’t you come up here and show your classmates what a real spar looks like.”

“Uh, no thanks Nat. I’m good.”

“Come on маленький паук (little spider), pleasee? For me?”

“Seriously, тетя таша (Aunt Tasha), I’m fine.” 

“Хорошо, тогда ты просто присоединишься к нам в битве с твоим хулигано (Fine then, you'll just join us in a nerf battle against your bully there).”

“мама паук, пожалуйста, нет (Mama Spider, please no).” 

“Она права, Пит. нужно за себя постоять, да к тому же это то или мы сами его избиваем (She's right Pete. You need to stand up for yourself. And besides, it's this or we beat him up ourselves) , “Bucky adds, having been listening to their conversation that no one else understood. 

“Хорошо, но я могу выбирать команды (Fine, but I get to choose teams).”

They turn their focus back to the rest of the group and realize they’re staring, again. 

Good freaking job, Peter. Now they all know you speak Russian. You freaking idiot.

Don’t start thinking like that again Peter.

What? Wanda? What are you doing inside my head and where are you?

Outside the training room. Natsaha connected to me via our private mind link and told me to send a group of us down for a nerf battle. 

Oh no. How many of there are you? 

Me, Clint, Sam, Scott, Wade, Nebula, and Pietro.

Oh, this is going to be awesome. 

Indeed. 

Peter feels her leaving his mind and is thankful that she doesn’t bring the comment back up. Natsha begins explaining to the rest of the class that they’re going to see one of the training exercises that the Avengers do. She also explains how she’s going to choose two people who each can create a team of 6 people, a mix of Avengers and students, to take part in the training exercise.

As she finishes her explanation, the group of Avengers that Wanda mentioned walk through the door and join Bucky, Steve, and Natasha at the front of the room. Natsha smiles at the room of star-struck children before calling out the  team captains of the training exercise, “Flash, Peter. You two are going to be the team captains of the training exercise. Peter, you can choose first. Come up here, the both of you, and go back and forth choosing. 

“I want Nat.” Peter says. 

“I’ll take Hawkeye,” Flash chooses. 

“Bucky.” “Captain America,” 

“Nebula.”

“Falcon.” “Wanda.” “Pietro.” “MJ.” Peter says, leaving Flash with a confused look, wondering why Peter would choose a student over an Avenger. 

“Ned.”

“Deadpool.”

Wade gives his boyfriend a hurt look. Peter gives him puppy dog eyes and mouths,” he’d be sad. You’re fine.” Wade sticks his tongue out but joins Flash’s side of the room. “Alright guys these are the rules- if you’re enhanced, no using your powers. If you get hit you’re out, leave the arena and join the tour group in the spectator section. Don’t cheat, FRIDAY will be reffing and will call you out. 

With that, she presses a button, revealing an entire arena of parkour and bunkers. There’s nerf guns spread out all around the arena, as well as more ammo. The closer to the center you get the better guns there are. Each team has a starting base where each person has a pistol with two bullets to start. 

“To your starting bases! FRIDAY announces. 

[itsthejuggernautbitch]

cut + burn, chapter 1

Pairing: Colossus/reader -  Playlist

Summary: Wade decides that sixteen years of mutual pining is long enough. He's appointed himself your new wingman, and he's the best in town (or so he likes to think). Or, how the compound effort of Wade Wilson and total romantic frustration gave way to getting exactly what you've been waiting for.

Chapter 1: Suzanne

Part 2

Author’s Note: This is part one of a 5-part series. I’d like to tell you that this is something other than the introduction to a ton of smut, but that’s exactly what this is. Chapter title is Suzanne by Leonard Cohen.

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection  @emma-frxst  @this-that-and-every-thing-else  @ptite-shit  @lesbianyondu  @chromecutie  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @hazilyimagine  @lenavonschweetz  @nu-tt  @rovvboat  @i-write-fanfic-not-essays

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You stepped off of the X-Jet onto the manicured green lawn of the X-Mansion and breathed deeply, struck by sweet relief and a feeling of inner peace that only comes from stretching your legs after being squeezed into a cubicle for eighteen hours. The mansion was just far enough away from the city that the fumes and funk from the crowded streets didn’t quite reach the immaculate stonework. Even better, there was no smoke, no fumes, no filtered air from the X-Jet vents - just clean, cold October air that smelled faintly of cut grass and sunshine. For that, you were exceptionally grateful.

Mostly because you were tired of smelling everyone else’s stank on the cramped X-Jet, but, you know, small favors.

As you stepped off of the ramp and onto the impeccable grass, it finally hit you that today was your Retirement Day, all caps, fanfare trumpeting in the background. Sixteen years of jetting around the globe and cleaning up everyone else's shit had led to this final, glorious day. In your line of work, sixteen years without a full-on mental breakdown was a major win.

As reigning HBIC of Professor Xavier's cleanup crew, you’d seen a lot of messes over the years that would have left anyone feeling hollow inside - kind of like your guts had been scooped out and dumped on the ground. The scenes were always ugly. You were the one running off to go coordinate transports of rogue mutants to holding facilities or clean up the bodies left behind from a particularly ugly villainous rampage. Those were your everyday, small-scale chores. The large-scale mass tragedies were the catalyst that really forced your retirement.

Your duties weren’t limited to your obligations to the X-Men - you cleaned up behind everyone. You’d dealt with the fallout from everything the Avengers had ever touched: you'd disposed of the alien corpses after the battle in New York, scoured Sokovia for salvageable lives, cleaned up after Thanos. You'd cleaned up behind all of Dr. Doom’s rampages and Magneto’s tantrums. Everywhere you'd been sent was overrun by the kind of wreckage that left an everlasting mark on your brain. And these mass impacts had only been occurring more and more often lately.

The aftermath of your Last Hurrah as a trademarked Active Duty Hero was bittersweet. There would be a fun party that night with everyone who wasn’t on some covert mission in attendance. Your team had come home with you, and your friends were waiting. They'd make you a cake and pour you a beer and maybe, just maybe, coerce you out into the city for a night of fun. There would be streamers with “Happy Retirement!” written on them, obviously meant for someone much older than yourself. Everyone would congratulate you for sixteen years of impeccable conduct and efficacy.

And tomorrow you would wave your team off on their next task - a task they would complete without you. You’d already chosen your replacement, a new graduate with the power to microwave the air around whatever she targeted. The girl had only been part of your team for a year, but she had great leadership skills and showed real promise. You had confidence in her for sure, but confidence in her abilities wasn't enough to help you sleep at night.

You'd come to find out that passing the torch was much harder than you’d been led to believe. While you had no reason to be unsure of your choice, you had a major problem with relinquishing control. Seriously, it had taken sixteen years for you to decide that enough was enough and you were tired of cleaning up every nasty scene imaginable. You weren't the kind of person who just let shit go.

Nevertheless, you'd finished your last active mission and made it home safely, no worse for wear and no more traumatized than before you left. You'd have to figure out how to handle it on your own time.

The welcoming committee stood off to the side of the small airfield. There were friends and mentors crowding the field, Professor X and the like. Some people you were only acquainted with, like Wade and his buddies. And while you enjoyed seeing each and every one of them, you were only looking for one person in particular - and he wasn’t difficult to find.

Colossus stood head and shoulders above the crowd, the tallest of the tall. He'd taken time away from his duties that day to welcome you home. Not that you expected any less - you’d been friends since you arrived at the mansion twenty years ago. He’d already “retired” from active duty himself, nearly six years earlier than you, if you remembered correctly. Said he liked teaching more than beating the shit out of people. Since he was going to be the one teaching you how to be a teacher, you were going to see firsthand if that was actually true.

Your team disembarked from the jet in a steady wave of mutants. They were the weirdest of the weird - graduates whose powers weren't optimal choices for task teams or active combat but were still “active” abilities. At its heart, your team was a squadron of people who could decimate wreckage or do something weird enough to make disposing of ickiness a little easier. You, as the leader of this squadron of weirdos, must have had the weirdest skill-set of all.

Your former team (that would take some getting used to) mingled in with the group on the airfield, hugging and high-fiving, yelling greetings and (playfully) rude comments. You stopped to greet Professor X, but that was where the fanfare for you ended. You systematically squeezed past everyone separating you from Colossus and, upon reaching him, grabbed him in a tight hug, much to his embarrassment. (He wasn’t great with public displays of affection - never had been.)

Behind them, Wade howled like a hyena.

You stepped away from Colossus, staring sheepishly at the ground, at the same time he stepped away from you. He stared at his feet, which meant that he was still pretty much staring down at you since he was a good foot and a half taller than you. You’d meant to embarrass him on purpose, not really taking into account that your face would probably turn red, too.

Colossus gave you a short once-over, almost too quickly to notice. You smoothed out the creases in your suit, feeling quite self-conscious. You hadn't thought about how you must look returning from a mission before you'd stepped off the jet - probably disheveled, a little ruffled, like you needed a good week of sleep and a hot shower. He, on the other hand, was impeccably clean in his uniform, gleaming chrome in the late morning sun and rippling with muscle. You could have drooled just looking at the line of his forearms, but he was simply too shiny to get a good look at.

He straightened up and stood up a little taller, trying to maintain a look of composure. “Welcome home!”

You tried to mirror his composure and found it to be too troublesome. You were tired and there were too many people crowding around. Wouldn't this be so much better if it were just Colossus welcoming you home instead of this unending crowd of people?

You knew it sounded forced, but you said it anyway. “I’m glad to be home for good this time!”

Colossus raised a glinting silver eyebrow. “Are you really?”

Sometimes he knew you a little too well. You couldn't truthfully tell him that you were ready to come home - just that it was time to come home. Really home - not living in a constant state of perpetually ready to leave at a moment’s notice, not waking up with the sounds of explosions or falling wreckage, not squished into a tiny box on the X-Jet or sleeping on a cot in a safehouse somewhere. You knew where your three square meals were coming from, where you would be sleeping at night when you had to wake up in the morning. You had weekends off now. Getting used to it was just going to take time.

Colossus sensed your apprehension but didn’t comment, though you could practically hear him thinking we'll talk about this later. You forced a grin. “It’s time to come home.”

“If you’re sure…” he replied, still incredulous. Yeah, he was going to make you talk about your feelings.

“I’m sure.”

He was obviously unsatisfied with your answer. “In any case, I’m glad you’re home."

Desperate to talk about anything else other than being home, you changed the subject. "Are we still meeting later?"

He'd mentioned in a mission brief that he wanted to meet to talk about your first day of teacher training. You suspected that it was more so a cover-up for his responsible adult questions about your mental health so that he could assess you before your retirement party. You appreciated that Colossus cared and made you talk about things, of course, but it didn’t change the fact that feelings were hard to talk about. Especially with him - it always seemed to be harder to show vulnerability with someone who truly cared.

He brightened. "Yes! After you settle in, of course."

"How about you come to get me after I take a nap?" you laughed. "You haven't given my room away, have you?"

"Your room is exactly as you left it," Colossus replied, just a little quieter than usual. He shifted and seemed just on the verge of saying something else, but instead, he said, "I'm sure you would rather get to bed than stay out here. Come!"

Colossus ushered you towards the mansion where everyone seemed to finally be meandering. You knew you couldn’t leave to go to your room just yet - still too many people to greet. You'd do absolutely anything to get in the shower and take a nap. Your shower sang a promise of warmth, and your bed called to you louder than any siren song, the promise of rest and safety like a hymn drifting down from your third-floor room. Maybe you could just fuck off and no one would notice...

As you stepped past the threshold of the mansion, you felt Colossus' hand on your shoulder. He leaned down close to your ear, and you fought back a shiver.

"Go. I will make an excuse for you," he said, nudging you gently towards the stairs.

You clapped your hands over your heart. "My hero."

You would swear on your life that he smiled his soft smile at that, but you'd already leapt onto the first stair and run out of sight.

Colossus was right - your room was exactly as you left it. Pillows arranged in a simple pattern at the head of the bed, navy blue comforter clean and unwrinkled. A desk was shoved into one corner, old and creaky but well-loved. An equally ancient dresser situated up against the wall, the dark wood cracking and hardware knobs oxidizing. You'd left a spare uniform on a chair next to the dresser and a stack of blankets neatly folded at the foot of your bed. Your bathroom door was wide-open, calling to you like a prayer.

You stripped down and turned on the water to let it heat up. You showered longer than you ever had, letting the scalding water beat down on your head and rinse shampoo suds out of your hair. When you were acceptably clean and shriveled up like a prune, you finally got out. The water had started to run cold anyway. You wrapped up in a towel, laid down on your bed, and before you knew it, you were out cold.

-----  -----  -----

You awoke an hour later to a knock at your door. Your hair was still wrapped up in a towel as you searched for a bathrobe (you could have sworn you left that on the chair instead of your uniform). You could pretty much guess who was at the door, so the desire to stay mostly undressed was pretty intense. Nevertheless, you covered up so that you could at least appear to be a presentable excuse for a human being.

You opened the door to find - who else - Colossus. He made a pointed effort not to stare down at you in your robe and wet hair. Not that you minded if he did. You'd have answered the door naked if you weren't afraid he'd run away.

"Sorry - just woke up."

He shifted, looking a mite uncomfortable. “I will be down in the kitchen whenever you are ready.”

You nodded, inching the door closed. “I’ll get dressed and be right down.”

Colossus started making his way down the hall. He called back over his shoulder, “I will make tea.”

“Coffee for me, please!” you called after his retreating back. You peeked out after him and watched him walk away. Man, his ass looked great in those pants.

“It will be decaf!”

“I want real coffee, Piotr!”

He might have replied to you, but you'd closed the door already. You grabbed the closest clean pair of pants and shirt that you could find. The clothes you grabbed may have been workout clothes, but after weeks and weeks of wearing your uniform, anything else was better than your uniform. And you’d make an attempt to look nice for the party tonight since everyone would be there - one person in particular, of course.

Speaking of that particular person, you scurried out of your room to join him down in the kitchen, locking your door behind you.

As you walked through the halls, you passed by the residents of the mansion milling around the dorm halls. Some you knew, but most were foreign to you. Your friends were either off on missions or had left the mansion a long time ago. Some were dead, memorialized on the walls. The few who had chosen to stay at the mansion were teachers now or stationed at a base far, far away.

The kitchen was on the first floor, just off to the side of the main hall. It had been remodeled, you remarked offhandedly as you sat down at the table. Colossus hunched over the new stove, fussing over the teakettle and a pair of mugs. The coffee pot next to him hummed and dripped black gold into the pot. Next to the coffee pot, the bag of coffee (not decaf!) was still open.

Colossus grabbed the mugs and sat down in front of you; his chair squeaked in despair but held steady. He passed your mug off to you. “I found some regular coffee you left last time you were home.”

“And here I remember you scolding me for drinking coffee so late in the afternoon,” you teased. You took a healthy sip from the scalding mug - thankfully, hot temperatures didn’t bother you (thanks, mutation). "Why the sudden change of heart?"

“I suspect that the party tonight will last much longer than anticipated,” Colossus replied, smirking. He blew on his mug of tea and took a ginger sip, grimacing. Unlike you, scalding temperatures sucked for him. “Your team makes a habit of partying until dawn.”

“Hey, we clean up dead bodies,” you said. You’d downed almost half the mug already and decided it was probably better to sip for the rest of the meeting. “Work hard, play hard.”

"They learned it from you," Colossus hummed. He sat his mug down. As suspected, he had an ~adult conversation~ planned. “You do not seem excited to be home.”

“Oh, no, I’m happy to be home,” you insisted. Your fingernails were suddenly more interesting than anything else in the room, particularly the man looking at you like a stray puppy. “It’s just hard to let go.”

“Adjusting to a less stressful situation is not easy, but you will have teaching to occupy your time and that’s certainly stressful,” Colossus agreed. His hand twitched as if he meant to stop you from peeling off your cuticles until your fingers bled, but he kept his hands on his tea mug. “And you have me - I have been through this already. Everyone in the mansion is your family, and we are all here for you.”

“I’ll adjust,” you replied shortly.

“And you know if you need to talk about it…”

“You know you’re the first person I’ll run to,” you said softly, cutting him off. You sat up straighter in your chair and took another sip of coffee. “Enough with the counseling session, today is supposed to be a happy day! Let’s talk about teaching!”

Colossus eyed you thoughtfully but conceded. “We will go over the lesson plans in detail later. You will start by teaching the middle-grades age group beginning next week. I want you to teach the little ones, but they are a bit rowdy and I don’t want to scare you away from teaching on your first day.”

“I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

“You will also be assigned a trainee,” Colossus continued. “I have not finalized who will be assigned to you, but I have a solid idea.”

“Anyone I know?”

"I do not think so," he hummed. “She arrived while you were gone last time. She has similar abilities and a similar temperament. It is likely she will be assigned to cleanup upon graduation.”

“So, I’ll be training my replacement?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

Colossus looked away, sheepish. “It was not intentional, but yes.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

You pushed your mug away after draining the last bit of coffee. Colossus always kept a bag for you in the pantry, but you were pretty sure he didn’t know you knew. You knew you hadn’t left a bag of your regular brew behind - a bag of coffee grounds was one of the first things that went into your luggage. Hell, you’d started bringing your own coffee pot onto the X-Jet because your team would throw hands over the coffee pot. 

“I will come and check on you periodically,” Colossus said. “But I expect that you will be fine. Do you have any questions?”

You’d have questions when you actually started teaching, but you didn’t at that moment. Really, you just wanted to sit at the table and talk to him. Not about your feelings or teaching - just talking.

“No questions,” you replied. “Not about teaching, at least. You are coming to the party tonight, right?”

“I would not miss it!” Colossus said. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, grinning proudly. “I made the cake. And helped decorate.”

You laughed. “Of course, you did.”

“I am glad that you are home,” Colossus said simply, “and I wanted to be the one to welcome you back. Also, the cake is chocolate.”

“It’s not that protein cake stuff you made last time I was home, is it?”

“No," he smirked. "We will have plenty of time for protein cake after training tomorrow.”

You paled. “You’re not leading the workout, are you?”

Colossus could never be described as sinister. Intimidating, maybe. Scary, sometimes. But never sinister. Yet, his answering grin toed that line. “What better way to welcome you back than by leading your first workout?”

You could think of several ways to welcome you back that were better than suffering through one of Colossus’ workouts, naming locking him in your bedroom with you. You guessed that he was probably on the same page, but he wasn’t going to say it.

As long as you’d been friends, you’d been back and forth with the unspoken thing - that stupid mutual attraction that neither of you addressed because your respective lifestyles were explosive and hectic. Once Colossus had retired from missions, the unspoken thing had gotten more intense - a pining for you that you could sense without him saying it. It had gotten worse for you, too. It’s just that you weren’t ready to come home - until the day that you decided it was finally time.

Basically, last week. Damn your stubbornness.

“You’re going to run me into the ground before my first day,” you whined, though it was half-hearted.

“Tough workout is good for you!”

“Right, okay,” you replied. You stood up, grabbed both empty mugs, and marched to the sink. “I’m gonna go get ready for this wild party.”

"Leave the dishes. I'll get them."

"Too late - I beat you to it."

-----   -----   -----

You'd never seen your name written this many times. Everything had your name scrawled on it. The streamers hanging from the ceiling, resplendent black and gold, all spelled out your name and “Happy Retirement!” Your cake spelled out your name in Colossus’ careful block lettering. Even the wrapping paper on the handful of gifts in the center of the table spelled out your name (how the hell did they find that?). You really weren’t thrilled about the “retirement” part, but you could deal with it for the rest of the night.

You were greeted by a round of screaming and applause as soon as you walked down the stairs, started by none other than your own rowdy team. They'd already been drinking and had probably started as soon as the jet landed. The younger X-Men joined in, mostly just looking for a reason to cut loose and cheer. Your older friends joined in, much more subdued than the rest, but much more sincere with their claps on the back and gently pointed age jokes. Colossus’ team, headed up by the Man of Steel himself, presented you with a giant slice of cake and an even larger can of beer.

You knew your face must have been red from all the attention, but as soon as you dug into the cake and chugged half your beer, the embarrassment started to fade. The attention was awkward, but this was your party for your retirement, and damn it if you weren’t about to have a good time. You’d always enjoyed a good party, and that night was as good as any to get splendidly plastered with your team after a job well done.

You were two sheets to the wind in when Wade Wilson handed you your third can of beer. He, like most of the people in attendance, had elected to wear his uniform (you had chosen not to - you had to retire your current suit anyhow). He was wet from where he’d spilled beer all over the fake leather.

“I say we do shots after Shiny Jesus goes to bed for the night,” Wade cheered, offering his drink in a toast.

“Sounds like a plan to me!” You tapped his can in toast and took a long drink. “You’d never believe it, but he can out-drink everyone here. Shots go down for him like water.”

“You’re shitting me!”

You shook your head. Bad idea. The world spun topsy-turvy and took its sweet time before it righted itself. “Nope. I convinced Logan to smuggle me a bottle of straight vodka for my eighteenth birthday. Couple hours in, Kitty and I were puking in the corner - man, I got sick that night - and Piotr was still taking shots with frickin’ Wolverine like it was nothing.”

“That Colossus? Giant metal boy scout?” Wade stared, slack-jawed, over at Colossus, who was picking at the greens on his plate (not a single dessert in sight). “What happened? And what do I have to do to get him to cut loose like that?”

You shrugged. “If you figure it out, lemme know. I think that was the last time I’ve ever seen him do that - not that either of us has really been home long enough at the same time to party like that. He’s always been so responsible. I mean, I’m responsible too, but he’s just cut from a different cloth.”

Which was true. You had your irresponsible moments, but for the most part, you had your shit together. You couldn’t remember a time when Colossus had been anything less than poised and organized.

Wade leaned against the wall next to you. He had to be at least a full case in already. “So, uh, does he know?”

“I assume you’re talking about my feelings," you snorted. "Can’t imagine why people keep talking to me about that - it’s not like I’m an emotional disaster right now or anything. Yeah, he knows. He’s always known. It’s mutual.”

Wade paused. “And why are you not,” he gesticulated wildly, like he was working through some weird, cosmic math problem, “a thing? Like, why are you down here at this party instead of getting the Metal D?”

“Kind of hard to be a thing when you’re never home at the same time,” you replied, glancing over to where Colossus had set up camp. He was currently entertaining Professor X and a younger X-Man that you didn’t know, still stabbing at the salad on his plate. “Or only home for a couple of days at a time.”

“You know what you should do?” Wade asked, a sparkle in his eye. He chugged the last of his beer, crushed the can against his head, and tossed the garbage off into the corner.

“I have a feeling I know where this is going…”

“Sneak away, take the Tin Man upstairs, and get a real homecoming,” Wade said like it was some fantastic revelation or a particularly scandalous secret. “And if you get loud, we’ll all pretend tomorrow that it was the guy with the pigeon wings.”

You laughed. “I’m not opposed to the idea, but I’m pretty sure he’s not gonna go for that.”

“You won’t know unless you try!”

“Except I do know,” you replied, idly watching the way Colossus' muscles bulged every time he flexed his arms. “I think he thinks I’m going to run off on a mission and be gone by morning. It’s going to require finesse to show him that I’m home for good.”

“In that case,” Wade pushed off from the wall and draped his arm around your shoulders. He reeked of cheap cologne and trashy beer. “I hereby offer my services as your wingman, and hearing no objections, appoint myself to the position.”

Wade stuck out his hand for you to shake.

You peered down at his leather-bound hand. Wade was still something of an anomaly to you, but he seemed invested. Goofy and mildly annoying as he was, he obviously meant well. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have a little help…

You took his hand and shook. “It’s a deal.”

[the-desolated-quill]

If You Don’t Like My Story, Write Your Own - Watchmen (TV Series) blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. if you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

If You Don’t Like My Story, Write Your Own feels like a tale of two episodes. One has well written characters, emotive storytelling and exciting possibilities, whereas the other contains ham-fisted, painfully obvious subtext and annoyingly long infodumps told to the audience with all the grace and subtlety of a brick to the face. 

Let’s start with the positives. At the beginning of the episode, we’re introduced to the character of Lady Trieu, played by Hong Chau, who buys a farmhouse from an Oklahoma couple by offering them a genetically engineered baby. I love this scene so much. It’s by far the most tightly written and engaging scene so far this series, and serves as a perfect introduction to a genuinely interesting character.

Lady Trieu is a Vietnamese born trillionaire industrialist who absorbed Adrian Veidt’s company after his disappearance and seems to take heavy inspiration from him, even going so far as to have a gold statue of him in her complex. It’s unclear whether she knows about his involvement with the squid (how could she possibly know?), but she clearly shares his vision of making the world better. 

Or... does she?

That’s precisely what I love about this character. Trieu is clearly the secret mastermind behind whatever is going on here (more on that later) and it would have been easy to just simply have her be a carbon copy of Veidt, but she isn’t. There’s a subtle, but clear distinction between the two. In my review of Look Upon My Works, Ye Mighty, I talked about the paradox of a liberal capitalist and how it’s often not enough for Ozymandias to simply save the world. He needs to be seen to be saving the world. He wants something with spectacle in order to appeal to his own vanity. This is true of Trieu as well, except, despite all his flaws, Ozymandias clearly at least wanted to help people, albeit in an incredibly flashy way for his own aggrandisement. Trieu doesn’t even want that. She just wants the attention and the good will. 

The opening scene is a perfect illustration of this. Giving that married couple their own DIY baby was one thing, but all the crap with the hourglass and the silly monologue and everything, there was no need for any of that. And lets not forget, she didn’t give this couple a baby out of the goodness of her heart. She did it solely because she wanted their land so she could claim a fallen object from space. The same is true of this Millennium Clock she’s building. I’m pretty sure its purpose isn’t just to tell the time, but that’s not the point. It’s described by her daughter as not the Eighth Wonder of the World, but rather as the First Wonder of the New World. Plus, of course, she is a trillionaire. If she just handed out even a small portion of her vast wealth, it would make a huge difference, but then there would be nothing in it for her. Nothing to gain. Unlike Veidt, Trieu is a character driven by pure cynicism. She has no interest in saving the world, but rather the attention and adoration of the world around her. She wants the world and the people around her to rely on her to save them. Basically if Ozymandias is an altruist tempered with narcissism, then Lady Trieu is a narcissist tempered with altruism. It’s a beautifully realised character and one I’m most excited to see more of in the episodes to come.

I also like the connection she has with Angela. Both were born and raised in Vietnam, except Trieu’s mother was a native to Vietnam before the US invaded and absorbed the country, turning it into the fifty first state. This puts Angela in an interesting position. Being an African American, her family obviously has history of being the victims of colonial oppression, but in this alternate history where Vietnam is part of America, Angela is also now in the role as one of the colonial oppressors. A settler in a country stolen and plundered from the natives. It’s an interesting position for her character to be in and I’m very curious to see where the show takes this.

After taking a backseat in the previous episode, Angela mercifully gets to take the lead again this time around and she’s great. With the FBI breathing down her neck, Angela continues to get to the bottom of the mystery involving her grandfather, the murder of Judd Crawford, and the Seventh Kavalry, and I really like where this is taking her character. She privately confides in Wade about what she has learned, even asking him to hide Judd’s Klan robe. This is the kind of character stuff I wanted to see in the previous episode during the funeral. How do you react to the knowledge that one of your closest friends was a hateful bigot? And from the looks of things, it seems as though Angela is doing her level best to protect Judd’s memory, at least until she gets to the bottom of what the fuck is going on here. I love this because it feels totally believable.There’s still a part of her that doesn’t want to accept Judd’s racist ties to white supremacy and clinging onto the idea that he might be misunderstood or that there’s something else going on underneath. This is an excellent internal conflict that has so far been handled exceptionally well. You don’t think less of Angela for not wanting to accept the truth because it’s totally understandable and believable.

Also I just want to briefly talk about what we learn about Wade, aka Looking Glass, in this episode. The man’s a doomsday prepper, living in a bunker in his back garden, preparing for another squid attack. I LOVE this so much. It makes total sense in the context of Watchmen and, like with Lady Trieu, it serves as a really nice inversion of an existing character. Like Rorschach, Looking Glass is a paranoid conspiracy nut, but unlike Rorschach, there’s actually some truth and logic behind his paranoia. Again, it’s a subtle distinction, but it’s enough to allow the character to go off in his own direction.

Here’s the thing. The bits I like about this episode, I really like. Unfortunately the bits I don’t like, I really don’t like.

Let’s begin with Laurie. What is she even doing here? Not only is she so utterly divorced from the character in the graphic novel, she doesn’t even contribute anything meaningful to the plot, other than to bicker constantly with Angela (which, considering this is the first time in Watchmen that we’ve had two female characters together interacting with each other, it feels immensely disappointing that this is the best the writers can come up with) or to spout gratuitous fanwank and pop psychology. The pop psychology in particular irritates me because it simply doesn’t gel with the tone and themes of Watchmen. I’m really hoping all that stuff about trauma and wearing a mask to hide the pain doesn’t in fact apply to Sister Night, otherwise I’m going to be extremely annoyed. Not only is that cliched beyond belief, it also stands directly against the whole point of Watchmen as a concept. Alan Moore’s intent was to scrutinise the reasons behind why someone would put a costume on and fight crime. Some just want the attention, others want to compensate for their own inadequacies, and some just want to live out their own violent, hedonistic fantasies. Only Rorschach fits the trauma model proposed by Laurie, and even then it’s not really accurate. Rorschach uses his trauma more as an excuse than a motivation. Watchmen serves as a deconstruction and criticism of superhero archetypes, so to potentially give Sister Night an obligatory tragic backstory would feel like a grave disservice to the source material.

The pop psychology also represents another problem this episode has. It seems to spend an awful lot of time telling its audience about its themes and commentaries rather than just showing them. One of the things I loved so much about the second episode was that it respected the audience’s intelligence. The connections it was making between the police and mob psychology, the superhero genre and its roots in US propaganda, and the KKK and the moral absolutism of most comic book heroes were apparent in the episode’s visual language and symbolism. It didn’t try to highlight them in fifty foot high neon lettering, instead trusting the audience to make the connections themselves. Here, however, completely the opposite. At numerous points, it feels as though the episode is sitting me down like a naughty school child and straight up telling me the plot, rather than trust that I’m a grown man who is perfectly capable of following this by himself, I pinky promise.

Take the whole subplot with Adrian Veidt for example. By watching the previous episodes, you can deduce that he’s trapped in a prison of his own making and is trying to escape (although admittedly it turns out that the clones aren’t in fact his creations, which is a pity because I think that’s less interesting, but still). Awesome idea. Love it. But showrunner Damon Lindelof is clearly worried that the idiots sitting at the back of the class didn’t get this, so Adrian spends his limited screen time here just explaining his subplot to the audience. It’s really annoying.

Or what about the Millennium Clock? The Seventh Cavalry are clearly in league with Trieu for some unknown reason, and in their video message to the police in the first episode, they say ‘tick, tock’ a lot, which is clearly a reference to the Clock. All a bit goofy, granted, but do you know what’s even goofier? Will getting up out of his wheelchair, staring dramatically into camera and saying ‘tick, tock’ for no fucking reason whatsoever other than to spell out the connection for the slow people in the audience who didn’t make the link. Dude, I promise you, we are following this. It was just pointless. But not nearly as pointless as...

Good God, do I hate Lube Man!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against there being humour in Watchmen. The original graphic novel had moments of dark humour, but there’s a time and a place. It just feels weird and kooky just for the sake of being weird and kooky. And again, it serves as a less than subtle reminder to the audience of the themes of the show. The police are abusing their powers and letting smaller crimes fall by the wayside, but rather than let that come up naturally in the story, we get a random excerpt from the Silver Slider here. All I can say is Lube Man had better play a vital role in the episodes to come, otherwise I’ll be pissed.

See, when Good Lindelof is writing the scripts, I’m enjoying this show immensely. When Bad Lindelof takes a turn at the keyboard, however, that’s when I start to get worried. 

[happymetalgirl]

Nile - Vile Nilotic Rites

Holy shit! Nile really came the fuck back, hard! Sorry I know that isn’t much of an introduction so let me back up. Nile, one of technical death metal’s justifiably most respected names, a few years ago (mid-2017) parted ways with longtime guitarist and vocalist Dallas Toler-Wade, much to the surprise and disappointment of many fans who have appreciated his role in Nile’s early days and their ascent to their golden era that began with Annihilation of the Wicked. His not-so-gruff, yet convincingly sardonic vocal delivery, in tandem with Karl Sanders’ deep, bellowing incantations, became a staple of Nile’s already otherwise distinctly middle-eastern-influenced signature sound, with which the band really hit their stride in 2009 with my personal favorite album of theirs, Those Whom the Gods Detest, an album whose impeccable technicality was paired with similarly sharp songwriting that highlighted the enthralling capability of extreme technical death metal when channeled into finely crafted banger after banger. For me, it’s one of technical death metal’s best albums, of not the genre’s very best.

The ancient-Egypt-obsessed band, unfortunately, have been in a bit of a slump since then; 2012’s At the Gate of Sethu was a respectable, but inevitably inferior follow-up to Those Whom the Gods Detest; it had its fine moments, but it was definitely an album that felt like a band at least somewhat exhausted after such a strong peak.

2015’s What Should Not Be Unearthed was a further slide down the hill creatively, being the band’s stalest album to date. Granted, I’d probably take even a stale Nile album over the majority of the techdeath crop, but the band were obviously in a creative dry spell on those two albums, and it perhaps makes sense that Dallas Toler-Wade felt it was time for a change.

While the loyal guitarist/vocalist’s departure by itself might have been seen as a chilling premonition for a fractured future for Nile, the arrival of Brian Kingsland in Toler-Wade’s position has been a revelation for Nile, as his more traditionally aggressive death growl has provided a newly energized angle to the band’s live performances since then, and he has shown what a refreshing impact his newly fiery approach to vox/axe pairing with Sanders could have in the studio on Vile Nilotic Rites. Indeed, Kingsland really takes charge on this album, and his fierce presence and committed performance behind the microphone takes a lot of spotlight; while Sanders’ and Toler-Wade’s pairing became a signature aspect of Nile’s sound, with Kingsland, the band finally have a vocalist as punishing as their instrumentals. Sanders himself even sounds more emboldened and putting more gusto into his normally casual bellow. With that, everything that Nile has succeeded with on the past just kind of falls into place. The production is impressively crisp for an album as potentially suffocating as this one and highlights the technical instrumental work and the killer guitar tone finely (my only wish being that George Kolias’ drumming was brought up a little higher in the mix).

The band break out plenty of the quick, direct technical firestorm tracks that showcase their impressive high functionality at the highest tempos, from the blisteringly fast “The Oxford Handbook of Savage Genocidal Warfare”, to the exceptionally vocally vicious title track, to the mercilessly erratic hyperspeed thrashing of “Snake Pit Mating Frenzy”. The thunderous “Where Is the Wrathful Sky” breaks out a tribal percussion section and an acoustic solo over it, and George Kolias really gets to shine here more than he does on most of the album’s songs. These songs are the kind the band can always churn out and show off with, but they are also the kinds of songs that can be vulnerable to feeling like the band is going through the motions; here though, they sound alive and tenacious, like they have something to play for, like they’re a young unsigned band again trying to catch a label’s attention with their sheer instrumental power.

The band also showcase their ability to weave in the various middle-eastern elements that have shaped the Nile sonic identity and their more proggy, cinematic side like with the theatrically scored, choir-backed “Seven Horns of War” and “Revel in Their Suffering”, the slave-driving-chants that open the percussively ripping and also choir-backed “That Which Is Forbidden”, and even the horn-supplemented opening track, “Long Shadows of Dread”. It’s these kinds of songs that showcase what lies in the Nile creative barrel that the band weren’t able to quite click with on the past two albums but surely are feeling quite good about themselves here. The band further channel that slower-churning Ithyphalic-esque grandeur on the multi-sectioned eight-minute epic “The Imperishable Stars Are Sickened”, which fixates more on the band’s menacing aesthetic than their raw speed, and they close the album out on a shorter, yet still climactic, cinematic, and gloriously brutal “We Are Cursed”.

After losing a key part of their creative core to a bit of a creative drought for the past couple of albums, Nile have returned with a bountiful harvest this year, with Brian Kingsland’s guitar work and added vocal intensity being a driving force in kicking this band back into high gear. It’s certainly not just his more powerful vocals that have enhanced Vile Nilotic Rites; the band seem to have broken through a creative barrier with the consistently well-arranged firepower of the tracks on this album. But it’s impossible to ignore, and hard to overstate, the impact Kingsland’s energy has had on this band live and in the studio. While there is no diminishing of the incredible work Dallas Toler-Wade did with this band for so many years, it’s hard not to see his replacement by Kingsland as an upgrade on a strong, but creatively aging, legend for the band, like the honorable, timely replacement of an aging team captain who has won everything with their club with fresh eager blood, hungry to prove themselves and win the same honors. Nile sound as dominant and confident on Vile Nilotic Rites as they did between Annihilation of the Wicked and Those Whom the Gods Detest, and it sits right up there alongside those masterpieces. It’s undoubtedly the best technical death metal album of the year, and hopefully it’s the beginning of a vibrant new reigning era over those lands for the pharaohs of technical death metal.

Hotepsekhemwy/10

[timeisacephalopod]

Skate

Uh, I’m testing a new pairing so have fun with Rhodey/Tony/Bucky! An AU in which Bucky is a figure skater and Tony and Rhodey are supportive even if they think the cold should be illegal.

Rhodey and Tony sit huddled in their thick coats watching Bucky somehow manage to not freeze to death in a onsie that looks like its bonded to his skin its so tight. Yeah, sure his ass looks fantastic but is Tony really willing to get frost bite to look at it?

The fact that he hasn’t moved says yes and he’s accepted that he’s a fool.

“Okay, I understand we gotta be supportive and all that but can’t we just watch his stuff on TV where it's warm?” Rhodey asks, shivering.

“That would require not being there when he does his actual competition stuff and I’ve been reliably informed that that’s a dick move,” Tony tells him.

Rhodey wrinkles his nose, unhappy about this. “My people were never meant to be this cold, we are from a warm climate,” he mumbles and Tony rolls his eyes.

“I’m Italian, that’s a Mediterranean country. My people weren’t meant to be cold either. Blame Bucky’s Romanian ass for this situation,” he says.

Rhodey lets out a long sigh. “Can’t you invent something to keep us warm? You’re slacking,” he tells Tony.

“Oh like you don’t have the capability to invent something yourself. Take responsibility.” They’re both smart enough to do it but usually they both have other things to that precent them from being able to watch Bucky practice. Rhodey’s usually not in the country and Tony usually has business shit that he hates almost more than the cold. So there’s no real need to invent something.

He leans into Rhodey and Rhodey frowns down at him. “If you think I’m putting my arm around you you’ve got another thing coming. I remove an extremity from my carefully constructed ‘keep warm’ position and it loses all heat. I love you, but not that much,” he tells Tony.

“Rude,” Tony mumbles.

They both jump when Bucky taps on the glass separating the audience area from the rink. “My favorite part about this little argument is that Rhodey has risked actual war to track you down. Like missiles and bombs and terrorists and stuff too. But some cold? Time to die, I guess,” he says, snickering.

Rhodey squints at him, “is that sweat on your forehead?” he asks, shocked. He shakes his head, “hell no. White people are going to survive climate change and the rest of us will all die I guess,” he says, picking himself up and walking off.

Tony rolls his eyes, “I can assure you white people like me will be just as dead as everyone else!” he calls after him. Italians weren’t meant for this shit either.

Bucky snorts, “I don’t think he realizes how much work not dying out here is. The stuff on the ground, not so bad. The jumps? I land wrong and my ankle is busted and also my career is toast. Requires a lot of mental energy out there let alone the athleticism.”

Yeah, Tony knows. He’s run simulations on Bucky’s movements in videos and frankly its impressive, what he can do out there. Tony doesn’t even know how to walk on ice let alone do it with blades strapped to his feet backwards and spinning around in the air. But Bucky does that kind of thing all the time and claims most of it is easy. Tony’s talked to other skaters, most of what Bucky finds easy isn’t. He just happens to hold a natural talent for the sport and the stuff he tries at is the stuff most skaters work exceptionally harder than him to be able to do.

“You look good out there,” he tells Bucky, attempting to be encouraging. The cold puts a damper on his mood but still. He thinks he does ok.

“Tony, I love you but you have no clue what to look for,” he tells him.

True, very true, but he thinks this might be one of those situations where you know bad work when you see it. Like movies- sure he can’t name what makes a movie good but boy does he know when one is bad.

“I mean. You’re graceful,” he says, trying to offer some kind of compliment that gives Bucky a vote of confidence.

“You mean my ass looks great,” Bucky says, breaking Tony’s observation skills down to its bare essentials.

He sighs. “Yeah.”

*

When Rhodey returns he has coffees and a cashmere scarf wrapped around his neck. Its Tony’s and he’s mad that Rhodey remembered it and didn’t even bring it back for him. He hands Tony his coffee and sits down beside him, wiggling in close to avoid body heat escaping at least on one side. “Thanks,” Tony murmurs.

“Is this going to take much longer? We all know I love Bucky but my ass was frozen when I left. Human beings were not meant to live in conditions like this. Its why Russians are like that,” he says. “And Canadians. You ever met one of them? They’re not right.”

Yeah, Tony has met Ryan Reynolds and Wade Wilson. Both were weird and he doesn’t really get either one of them. And he’s met Natasha so he knows the Russians are a little off too. “I think he might be here for awhile still,” he says and Rhodey lets out a long groan.

“My family never should have moved from Haiti. I’m sure they were fine there.”

“How do you think I feel about Italy? We’ve been there, its beautiful. Why the hell did my idiot grandfather go to America, land of the fucking frozen for way too many months of the year?” Sure, he likes America fine in the summer but the winter? Fuck that. And he doesn’t want to go down south on account of too much Christianity and Walmarts. Okay, New York has the Walmarts too but still.

“That’s true. He made a mistake, lets move to Italy,” Rhodey says.

“If we’re moving I would prefer we buy an island so the population is us. Also, media will have a hard time getting there,” he says.

Rhodey considers it for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, ok.”

*

By the time Bucky finally finishes Rhodey has been complaining about cold hands for an hour and Tony is so cold he’s certain his lower body has ceased to exist. “ You two are so damn dramatic,” Bucky tells him both but he yelps when Rhodey sticks a cold hand on his body. He smacks Rhodey’s hand away. “Stop that!” he says, nose wrinkled.

“Oh, we’re dramatic but you don’t like cold hands on you? Okay,” he says, giving Bucky a look.

Bucky looks to him but Tony snorts, “don’t expect me to save you, Rhodey’s right. You might have worked up a sweat but we were freezing our asses off. Literally I think because I can’t feel anything below my waist.”

“You two are dramatic now lets go. I need to shower and I know you two won’t stop whining until we get home.”

He’s right but he shouldn’t say it, its rude.

*

Bucky rolls his eyes when he finds Rhodey and Tony under a thick comforter, heads poking out the top. “Make room for me,” he tells them and Tony wrinkles his nose because he’s a blanket hogging ass but Rhodey opens his end for Bucky to climb in.

He does, settling in while Tony whines about the cold air. “Shush, it wasn’t that bad,” Bucky tells him. Tony curls closer to Rhodey so clearly he thinks it does. Rhodey shakes his head at them both and wraps an arm around both of them.

“I would rather go back to an active war zone than do that again,” he says and Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What? If I die there it’ll probably be quick,” he reasons.

“Not with your luck it won't,” Tony says. “But I agree. I know how to handle weapons. Cold? I was wearing three sweaters, long johns, five pairs of socks, and a coat that’s supposed to be able to withstand arctic temperatures and I was still cold. Fuck that.”

“Bucky is clearly half yeti,” Rhodey says. “Because only some abominable snowman type shit could sweat in the cold like that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “its more a matter of being in constant motion practicing a pretty difficult sport,” he points out.

“Uh huh sure freaky yeti person,” Rhodey says, shaking his head.

[initforthelongrun2019]

I Got You Potatoes

I had been contemplating whether or not to do the Vietnam Mountain Marathon (the third race in the Vietnam Trail Series) for weeks. When I finally made the decision to run, I then deliberated long and hard about whether to sign up for 70km or 100km. I listened to my tight hips and continuously aching shoulder; I considered the work trip I had before and after the race, which meant that I would be exceptionally busy and would also require use of my feet for long periods throughout the day. I thought about the time I had to prepare for the 100km; was I able to take time off work to travel the day before, would I have time to prepare enough items for a second drop bag? I also thought carefully about the cut off times for the 100km; I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to maintain a good pace for such a long distance, in order to meet those tight cut offs. In the end I made a ‘sensible’ decision and decided 70km would be the best option for this race.

In hindsight, this was most definitely the right choice, although perhaps an even shorter race would’ve been the better option this time round. For the first 20km I wasn’t in the right headspace, and for the remaining 50km, I felt sick and nauseous, unable to keep food inside me, with sickness and diarrhoea plaguing me throughout. For once, I wasn’t affected by injuries, but everything else was letting me down. Even my shoulder, which had been giving me sleepless nights in the run up to the race, was relatively pain free, thanks to two physio sessions that week; one with my regular physio, Flavia, in Hoi An, and another with Wade from ACC, at the race expo, just a few hours before flag off.

I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to understand why I had such a bad race, and have come to the conclusion that there were many contributing factors.

Firstly, I wasn’t able to eat or hydrate properly the day before the race. I am always careful not to drink too much water during bus journeys as I don’t want to be THAT person who keeps asking to stop. I also didn’t bring any food with me as we were leaving Hanoi early, around 7am, meaning that we would arrive in Sapa just in time for lunch. Or so I thought. Nine hours after getting on the bus; a journey which is only meant to take 5-6, I finally arrived. This was the first time I was truly happy about the decision I made, as the 100km started at 9pm, whereas the 70km began the following morning at 3am. Although it was still an early start, it meant that I had time to have dinner, which I desperately needed after missing lunch, as well as enough time to prepare my bag and attempt to sleep.

After a quick catch up with friends at the expo, a few needles in my painful shoulder and a lovely dinner with Em J and W, I headed back to my hotel, ready to prepare my things and get some sleep. I was staying in a very small guesthouse with an adorable elderly man who spoke very little English. I spotted the large padlock next to the main door and worried that I wouldn’t be able to get out at 1am the next morning, so using google translate, I tried to explain that I needed him to keep the door open so that I could leave on time for my race. I was still worried that the message hadn’t got through, so I called a friend who explained to him in Vietnamese, exactly why I had to make him set his alarm and get out of his warm cosy bed at 1am. When I got to my room (still worrying that I wouldn’t be able to get out and eyeing up windows which I might have to climb out of) I began the long process of packing my things. I knew that we had a drop bag at CP4, but since I’ve never had the opportunity for a drop bag on a 70km race, I decided that I wouldn’t make use of this opportunity now, mainly because I didn’t have any time to prepare any additional items, so I was desperately hoping I wouldn’t need them. I then contacted my parents, who earlier that week, told me that they were waiting for the results of their Covid test. During the call, they told me that they had been diagnosed with Covid, so after a very long conversation consisting of me worrying and both of them trying to reassure me, I climbed in to bed but got zero hours sleep. I rarely sleep well the night before a race anyway, but this was possibly one of the worst night’s sleep I have ever had.

I climbed out of bed the following morning feeling terrible; even worse when I realised I got my period. This didn’t come as a surprise, but still wasn’t particularly pleasant, especially as I was already feeling run down and exhausted. Normally I try to avoid having my period on races, but this time I didn’t plan so well. Another reason why I decided against 100km this time round. Anyway, there wasn’t a lot I could do, so I got dressed, used my head torch to find my way out of my room as the lights weren’t working, and left the hotel. There was no sign of the elderly man, but there was a key next to the locked door, so I let myself out.

My stomach felt funny before I even crossed the start line; at the time I thought it was a combination of period pain and nerves, so I wasn’t too concerned. What was worrying me most was the fact that I couldn’t seem to get myself in to a good headspace. Running through the night is something I always find quite challenging, but normally when I start in the dark it’s not too bad, as I know that daylight isn’t too far away. This time it seemed like it was very far away, and I hadn’t even started yet.

For the first 20km I struggled with a painful stomach and exhaustion; I passed two runners sleeping between two checkpoints, carefully being watched by one of the volunteers, and I thought about grabbing my emergency blanket out of my bag and joining them. Yet for some reason, I didn’t; I kept thinking about the 100km runners, especially my friends who were running this race, and the fact that they had been going all night. I knew they wouldn’t have given up, so I didn’t either. I wanted to keep going until at least checkpoint two, so that I could run at least a half marathon; my plan was to call it a day once I reached this checkpoint. Normally when I have thoughts about DNF’ing I’m absolutely devastated but this time I really didn’t care; usually I worry about having to tell people that I quit, and also the impact it might have on my confidence for future races, but all I wanted this time was to go back to bed and call my parents once they were awake. However, just before I reached the second checkpoint, I heard someone call my name. It was my friend Duy, who I finished VTM with back in January, and have been bumping in to at various different races ever since. I saw him running in his 100km bib, still looking so strong, and I realised at this moment it would be hypocritical of me to give up. So I carried on going.

After this, the race all kind of blurs in to one. Usually I would put this down to leaving it so long to write my post, but I normally have such a vivid memory and this time the race itself felt like a blur. Luckily, I was well enough to enjoy the devastatingly beautiful views that Sapa has to offer and, thanks to my brand new camelback from the Activ Store, I was able to keep my phone in a front pocket so that I could easily access it to capture those striking moments. I have completed all of my previous runs using a Salomon camelback and I have to say it’s honestly one of the most frustrating things; no front pockets, so no access to gels, snacks – anything – and one of the reasons why I have so few photographs from previous races. Anyway, I digress. But the new bag was probably one of the highlights of the entire race.

Unlike VJM in Pu Luong, this race was a little busier and so I met some fantastically interesting people and had some wonderful conversations. I remember running with a lovely lady named Ly; I was feeling silently terrible, but I tried to match her pace as I was finding it really motivational to run with her. The sun was finally rising as we ran and she told me to take it all in, and expressed how lucky she felt, knowing that she was able to enjoy this. She was so right, but at the same time I couldn’t shift those feelings of guilt; knowing that I was running while my parents were sick and so many people weren’t even allowed to be out and about. I suffer from anxiety which has been even worse this year (no surprises there) but normally when I’m running I can overcome these negative thoughts. This time I couldn’t, and I felt waves of anxiety and depression crashing over me throughout the entire race.  

I also had to battle with my iffy tummy which, as it turns out, wasn’t just due to period pain and nerves. I still have no idea why, but I wasn’t able to consume any food (I had just two lecka bars and a few oranges throughout the entire race), I threw up twice and I went to the toilet so many times I lost count. I also had a terrible ‘bathroom’ experience; if you’re squeamish I would recommend skipping to the next paragraph, but if you’re not, then here goes. After having way too many wild poos (hey, we’re in the mountains, it’s normal), I decided that I would treat myself to a proper bathroom break at the next checkpoint (checkpoint 4, I believe it was). The toilet turned out to be a squat which didn’t deter me as I’ve lived in Asia for long enough now, however, what was slightly off putting was the fact that the bathroom ‘wall’ consisted of a very thin piece of wood, which didn’t actually cover the entire area. So, as you squatted, your knees would be on show, and as you stood up, well, EVERYTHING would be on show. All of this while a man was stirring soup and making noodles in the kitchen RIGHT next to me.

You’ll be pleased to know that, after my bathroom experience, I don’t really have many other memories. I got to a point where I couldn’t even really contribute to discussions with runners and so I opted to run alone for the most part. I felt so weak and spaced out; I remember leaving one checkpoint and I honestly don’t know which one it was, but I didn’t really understand that I’d left it, until I was on my way. As I was running as I was looking at the map on my bib trying to decipher which checkpoint I had just left, which checkpoint I was running to, and how long I had left. I asked these questions to a runner who passed me, he sort of laughed as though I was joking; then when he realised I wasn’t he slowed down to give me a full overview of who I was, where I was and what I was doing there.

Some point after that I threw up, for the second time, and I left voice notes with Gareth and Em J, telling them I would call it a day at the next checkpoint. Injuries are one thing, but sickness and dehydration were causing me a lot of worries, and I really felt like I might pass out on the trail. However, after hearing that Em J had a very similar experience, but still finished, I powered through, knowing that she would have been running at her absolute maximum intensity, and still managed to complete. Her voice notes got me through the last few km’s, especially the long and winding tarmac road (which we created our own song about - Tarmac is a WANKER) which eventually led to the finish line. Somehow, I managed to find my legs (and a tiny bit of energy) to power walk the last few km’s and even run the last two. As I crossed the finish line I apologised for making them wait (ever so British, I know) and thanked them for the potatoes they had waiting for me. I was sad that I didn’t have my post-race food cravings, and I was also slightly disappointed that I couldn’t enjoy a post-race beer, but honestly, potatoes dipped in soup were an absolute game-changer. I felt absolutely fine once I’d finished; no aches, no pains; the next day I was walking fine and even went for a recovery swim. But I couldn’t shift the sickness, and felt ill for the next few days. As I still haven’t gotten to the bottom of this, I’m a little concerned about future races, but I have many to look forward to next year so I’ll just try and power through as normal.

[marvelhead17]

Miracle (Original Female Character x Cable)

Chapter 33

Summary: “How did you fix it?” he asked. “Ask Ellen the Teenage Warhead,” Wade shrugged as he stood up, “As for baby Hitler he ended up having a diaper change, funny story I was actually going to call Cable since he was so keen on killing Russel, I thought this would be like taking candy from a baby, if that means replacing it with a bullet that is,”

Warnings to cover the whole fic: Graphic depictions of violence, use of weapons, mild to strong language, mentions of rape, mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage, referenced torture and psychological abuse/manipulation, nightmares and night terrors, sexual humour, sexual content.

Word count:  1.6k

“Nathan, please,” she wheezed, “I- can’t-”

He let go of her and scanned his eyes over her, she was covered in blood, the most of it being on her clothing was dry but there was fresh blood oozing out of a wound right by her heart.

He kissed her lips softly before scooping her into his arms and laying her onto the bed, immediately darting to the bathroom to get hold of the miniature first aid kit that he knew would be there thanks to Colossus and his safety rules, he returned to her side and tugged her shirt up and over her head gently before tossing it aside.

She half groaned from having to move and he tenderly ran his fingers down her arm, half checking that she was really there and half reassuring her that he was there himself. He washed the wound with a bit of water from the cloth he had wetted and then made sure to use an antiseptic from the bag.

  Nathan noticed the wound was already significantly smaller than what it probably had been, considering the dark purple skin that surrounded it, he watched closely as the skin healed itself slowly. He grabbed for a wound covering and placed it on, then put the sticky plasters down to keep the material down; he left his hand firmly on the spot and watched her breathe.

Hayden’s chest was still heaving slightly but he reckoned it was from the shock of being stabbed, especially in the case of someone who hasn’t been able to be stabbed for just over a decade, his thumb gently skimmed over the bandaging. He didn’t dare to look away from her in fear that he was imagining all this, that it was some dream his mind was creating to give him false hope and that he would be startled away by reality.

  He stared into her eyes, soaking in every detail he could of her, saving it in his mind for later. Her eyes glowed violet for a brief moment before she sighed and reached out to touch Nathan’s arm, he moved his free hand to run up her arm to finally meet with her hand, he intertwined his fingers with hers and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

Her eyes returned to their beautiful blue that he adored, he moved the hand that was on her chest to the empty space of the bed and leaned over her, pressing his lips moderately against hers to which she complied. When they pulled apart after a few moments she spoke.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Shhhh,” he ran a hand through her hair, then brought it to her face and stroked her cheek tenderly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Not another word, do you hear me?” she nodded a little tiredly.

He kissed her lips again, fervently so, and she felt as though he was giving her some kind of high as she eagerly wrapped her hands around his neck and tugged him closer to her. He moved to hover over her body and deepened the kiss, the desires igniting from inside them; she tugged at his shirt and lifted it to touch his bare back underneath.

                                  He moaned at the sudden touch, they’d never done anything like this together, despite sharing a bed from time to time. They had been taking things slow because of Hayden’s last relationship leaving her insecure and uncertain about how these things worked, adding to it Nathan’s own insecurities about their slight age difference and his lack of partners; and his willingness to wait for when she ready. It was nothing but holding each other close, usually on those nights when either of them experienced their nightmares.

They pulled apart so that Nathan could breathe, Hayden only ever so slightly taken aback by not breathing normally for some time; she took the opportunity to speak up despite Nathan’s words earlier.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered again.

“No, I’m sorry,” he muttered back after taking a final good breath, “I should’ve been protecting you but-”

“You know damn well that my clone would have killed you, and Hope would be stuck here, knowing some version of me killed her father, there’s no way in hell that I was going to let her go through that,”

He sighed knowing she was right, “I still can’t fully believe you’re here right now,”

“I’m sorry,” she kissed him softly; letting her lips linger as she pulled away, bringing up some confidence in Nathan that he forgot he could have in himself.

“I really need you, now,” he grunted and kissed her roughly before pausing, “If you’ll let me,” she responded only by pulling him into another kiss.

  One of his hands found itself tangled in her hair while the other gripped firmly at her hip, hers rested on his exposed skin and she ran her fingers up and down his spine, causing him to moan once again and she smiled in the kiss. His hands moved to her sides and he pulled her up and onto his lap, her legs rested on either side of his hips, she moaned as she felt him hardening against her.

He moved his lips from hers and she gave him an irritated look, he chuckled and pecked her lips, “Don’t worry darlin’ I’m just getting started,” he moved her off his lap and she whined softly.

He moved to kneel behind her as she stayed seated on her knees patiently waiting; he grazed his fingertips up her thighs, passed her hips and along her sides before moving them behind her back. She closed her eyes at the feeling which only drove the feeling in her core to grow hotter. His fingers brushed along the tops of her shoulders before travelling back down, they unhooked her bra and he slid it off her arms and tossed it aside, he pressed himself closer to her backside as he moved his hands up her sides to her chest, his large rough hands cupped her supple breasts easily.

She moaned softly and leaned back into him; he smiled and placed soft kisses from her shoulder all along her width to pass the top of her neck and to the other end of the other shoulder. In doing so he kneaded her breasts subtly, every so often rubbing the hardening nipples and giving them a soft pinch and tug, before rubbing them gently and starting the whole process over again and allowing him to press kisses into her neck.

  “Hayden?” he asked while kneading her breasts again, her chest heaving slightly from the arousal of all the precise contact all at once.

“Mm?” she barely managed as she focused her mind back to reality.

“Will you show me all your scars?” he pressed a harder kiss into her neck than previous ones.

“Mm, why?” she asked tilting her head.

“Because I want to show you how much I love every part of you, damaged or not,” he kissed the same spot again softly this time.

“O-okay,” she felt a bit uncertain but he gave her a reassuring kiss on her cheek, her body glowed a dim violet and he moved back slightly to get a better look at her, his eyes widened slightly at how many overlapped and were clear purple against some of the unaffected skin.

                          Her backside for instance, was covered in hundreds of markings, from whippings or beatings no less; he leaned down and placed soft kisses from her lower back all the way to her neck, before moving around and taking both her arms, which were hardly scarred at all in comparison. He moved his kisses from her hands to her shoulders, then her neck, she made soft breathing noises with each kiss that only urged Nathan to continue.

He kissed her neck several times, understanding that it was sensitive from recent injuries from being choked by her brother and her clone, each time softer than the last. He sat further back once again to take in her nude upper half for the first time, she had stretchmarks on her sides near her stomach that was plumper than he expected, with a dark scar across it and smaller stretchmarks around her breasts, and Hayden squirmed a little uncomfortably under his gaze and moved her hands to cover herself.

He caught her wrists and moved them back down, “You’re beautiful Hayden, don’t be self-conscious, I just want to take in every detail I can,” he kissed her firmly on the lips and she relaxed a little and allowed him to continue.

He looked to her breasts once again and realised that they both had dark purple circular markings around the nipples, he glanced at her with a raised brow and she touched her neck nervously.

  “Barnes, exceptionally rougher than what anyone wants their first time-” she stopped herself and avoided eye contact.

“It’s okay,” he cupped her face and kissed her softly, “We don’t need to talk about this now, not until you’re ready,” she smiled softly, “I love you, I’ll never hurt you the way he did,”

“You- you love me?” her eyes widened as she repeated the words for herself.

“Of course I do darlin’,”

“I love you too,” she said softly and pecked his lips; he grinned about the fact that he finally got to hear the words said out loud and clearly.

“And I’m honoured that you’d sacrifice yourself like that for me, but can you not do that again, ever?” he teased.

“Oh my God, you actually heard me, and then I- God I’m an awful person, you could do so much better,”

“Thing is, there isn’t anyone better than you Hayden, I told you I’m taking you along with everything else you have, and I meant it. I wouldn’t change a damn thing about you.”

_______________________________________________________________

>> Chapter 34 <<

[biofunmy]

Artemi Panarin Has Been the Player the Rangers Wanted and Needed

Artemi Panarin’s ever-present smile and polished scoring prowess are now firmly part of the Rangers.

With 12 goals and 21 assists in his first 25 games with the team, Panarin has been the high-scoring star with electric skills and a cheery demeanor that the Rangers wanted when they signed him as a free agent to anchor an exceptionally young, rebuilding team.

“In my lifetime as a center, he’s the best winger I have played with,’’ said Ryan Strome, 26, who has resurrected his career with the Rangers since a trade from Edmonton early last season. “Just the skill, how long he has the puck and holds on to it. He’s a game breaker.”

Panarin, 28, provides the Rangers with a brand of offensive firepower they have not had in years, since Marian Gaborik and his two 40-goal seasons almost a decade ago and Rick Nash’s 42 goals in 2014-15.

He was the marquee off-season signing of the Rangers’ new team president, John Davidson, who came from Columbus, which Panarin led in scoring the past two seasons.

He is on a pace for 108 points over 82 games. The Rangers have not had a 100-point scorer since the Czech superstar Jaromir Jagr in 2005-6, when he scored a team-record 54 goals and accrued 123 points.

Panarin has points in 16 of his last 18 games, including a 12-game points streak from mid-October to mid-November. He has often played on a line with Strome and Jesper Fast while also skating on the team’s top power-play unit. His dynamic play has been one of the few constants on the Rangers, who improved to 13-9-3 with Saturday’s road win against the Devils. The Rangers are 5-1-1 in their last seven games after an inconsistent first six weeks of the season.

David Quinn, the second-year coach who has the task of melding a roster that on several nights has dressed seven players 21 and younger, has needed a player of Panarin’s stature, especially with the first-line center Mika Zibanejad missing most of the past month with an upper body injury.

“Every time this guy is on the ice, it’s fun to watch,” Quinn said of Panarin, who, similar to his Russian countryman Alex Ovechkin of the Washington Capitals, positions himself at the top of the left circle, waiting to strike. “He’s so elusive. He’s got such great vision, such a smart hockey player. He’s feeling more and more comfortable. He’s just in a really good place.”

Part of that good place is the New York life Panarin is crafting with his girlfriend, Alisa Znarok, and their Jack Russell terrier, Riziy, which means “redhead” in Russian. That includes a home in Greenwich, Conn., and a Manhattan apartment near Central Park, where Riziy can playfully confront squirrels and pose for photos for his own Instagram account.

“I love dogs,’’ Panarin said with a broad grin. “Maybe more than humans.”

Panarin grew up in Korkino, a coal-mining town of about 40,000 people about 1,100 miles east of Moscow. He was adopted and raised by his maternal grandparents after his parents divorced when he was an infant.

His grandfather Vladimir Levin, a former amateur player, supported and motivated young Artemi. His earliest ice lessons were at the Traktor ice hockey school in Chelyabinsk, about 25 miles from Korkino. Panarin eventually played parts of seven seasons in the Kontinental Hockey League, including a 2015 championship with SKA St. Petersburg.

“There is nothing like, ‘O.K., I’m just going to stop here and this is O.K. for me,’” Znarok said of Panarin. “He puts pressure on himself to get better and better. It makes me proud.”

At 23, Panarin signed with the Chicago Blackhawks, with whom he won the Calder Trophy as the N.H.L.’s best rookie in 2015-16 playing alongside Patrick Kane. After two seasons each with the Blackhawks and the Blue Jackets, Panarin was an unrestricted free agent last summer, and one distinct option emerged.

“I just sat down for 10 minutes and really thought about it, and my heart told me that New York would be the better place for me,” Panarin said after signing a seven-year, $81.5 million contract with the Rangers in July. “I dreamed of playing for the Rangers. I like the people here. I feel the energy.”

Panarin, after being in the shadow of Kane and Jonathan Toews in Chicago and lacking national news media attention in Columbus, has embraced the spotlight in New York. He even criticized President Vladimir Putin of Russia in an interview published in July, shortly after he signed with the Rangers.

Few Russian sports stars have waded into those waters. In the wide-ranging interview, Panarin said it is unfair that Putin’s government has been focusing on economic development in Moscow and St. Petersburg at the expense of the rest of the country, including his home city.

After games, Panarin prefers to speak through an interpreter, even as the scrums of reporters grow along with his point totals. After a two-goal outburst in a 4-1 win over the Washington Capitals on Nov. 20, he spoke briefly about his impact on the Rangers’ roster.

“I am confident,” he said. “I try to play hard every game. Nothing changes. I do what I do every day the same.”

Znarok, whose father, Oleg, had a lengthy hockey career playing in Latvia and Germany and then coaching the Russian national team and in the K.H.L., is looking forward to the day Panarin’s grandparents see him play at Madison Square Garden during what would be their first visit to the United States.

“I have a deep feeling of respect for them and what they have done for Artemi,’’ she said. “I will probably be crying for the whole game.”

Sahred From Source link Sports

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[theinquisitivej]

‘Deadpool 2’ – A Movie Review

I’ve felt conflicted about this movie for a while now.

Even before seeing this sequel to a crass yet thoughtfully put together send-up to superhero movies which ended up being one of the most pleasant surprises of 2016, my excitement and positivity for Deadpool 2 waned with the tragic news of the death of stuntwoman S.J. Harris during filming. No movie will ever be worth a human life. I won’t say I didn’t laugh and enjoy the film, because I did. I laughed loudly, and I laughed often. But my sense of unease was still there just below the surface throughout the runtime, never quite leaving me. Whether it’s callous to watch the fun superhero movie and forget the real cost that went into making it, or if S.J. Harris was the kind of person who would have wanted people to keep working and finish the project she worked on is a question I don’t know the answer to. Any discomfort I felt during the film was especially prominent whenever T.J. Miller was on screen, as the discovery that he choked and raped a woman in college and his intentional false report of a bomb threat on a train more recently has somewhat soured my opinion of the man. On paper, a lot of what he does in this movie is his usual brand of humour which has really worked for me in the past. But any time I see him or hear that voice of his which once made me smile and laugh, I just feel sick in my throat. All this context results in a movie I had complicated feelings about before I even sat down to watch it.

         But wouldn’t you know it, Deadpool 2 is a pretty decent film with some strong emotional moments and ideas that have caused me to reflect on it in a satisfying way, but at the same time, it goes in a direction I really hoped it wouldn’t and makes some decisions which have left me feeling uncertain. So, I guess I would’ve been conflicted about this movie no matter what happened.

         One concern that many people had is fortunately not a problem, and that’s whether Deadpool 2 could still make the character and his humour work a second time around. Wade ‘Deadpool’ Wilson is a character with flexible ethics who gets wrapped up in superhero antics and has a sense of humour that relies on undermining or subverting the familiar tropes of dramatic stories from the genre which take themselves too seriously. He does this either by showing an awareness of the story he’s in and the medium being used to tell it, making direct remarks to other real-world movie properties he should really have no knowledge of, or going in a wildly different direction to what’s typically expected of superheroes. It’s remarkable, then, that in the two years since the previous film, the superhero movie industry has progressed so much that he has tons of new material to work with in this film.

         Whether this kind of referential humour will hit as hard in years to come remains to be seen, but it’s written in a way that makes it work with each situation Wade finds himself in. The references don’t come out of nowhere, but they still take you back enough to make you laugh. It also helps any future audiences to situate when this film released, and what kind of environment it was in when it decided to offer its humorous take on superhero movies as they stood in 2018. This approach directly tells the audience “we’re taking a look at where things are right now, and we’re going to have a bit of fun with it”, which is hard to argue with and lets viewers know where they stand, no matter when they watch it.

         Even if that conceit isn’t enough to get you on board and the referential humour is a problem for you, Ryan Reynolds is exceptionally talented at delivering every line in a way that somehow manages to come across as both unbearably sassy and disarmingly sincere, perpetually making Deadpool a fun character to be around, even when he’s going through some hard times in this film. Between that and the hilarious new places they go with Deadpool’s powers of recovery as he is bent, impaled, and bisected throughout the film which results in some terrifically cartoonish scenarios, Deadpool 2 still understands the humour of its protagonist and how to make it work.

         But as the opening and closing narration makes clear, this film is not just about Deadpool, but the ensemble of characters who join him. Many of the old characters like Dopinder, Colossus, and Negasonic Teenage Warhead return. While the film could have benefitted from more time being spent on the newer characters, the familiar faces continue to be fun, especially this depiction of Colossus, who is steadily growing into one of the best straight-man foils Deadpool has ever had. Yukio is introduced as Negasonic Teenage Warhead’s girlfriend, and while she doesn’t get any development, Shioli Kutsana’s friendly peppiness plays amusingly against Yukio’s dour girlfriend, and Yukio and Deadpool’s positive friendship throughout the movie is delightful. Julian Dennison plays a kid named Russell who is overly aggressive for much of his time on screen, but the young actor has some incredible talents and puts them to good use by making Russell surprisingly sympathetic. Zazie Beetz plays Domino, a character with the superpower of being incredibly lucky who swings in about halfway through the film and makes you wish she had come in even sooner. Her confidence, chemistry with Deadpool as none of his jabs even phase her, and her generally relaxed attitude as she goes through the movie knowing for a fact that everything will go exactly right for her is hugely enjoyable to watch. Josh Brolin is an inspired pick for Cable; I only wished that him and Deadpool shared more time together on screen, as the combination of his cliché hardman storyline with a tragic past and Deadpool’s irreverent attitude towards undermining anyone who takes themselves too seriously is a perfect match. While Deadpool takes the lion’s share of the film’s focus, the rest of the cast and the characters contribute a great deal to Deadpool 2.

         But there is one character who gets the short straw, and this is where I start to feel conflicted on this film. Fair warning, there’s going to be full spoilers from now on until the last few parts of this review. Just look for the SPOILER SECTION ENDS HERE line.

         What makes the first Deadpool work as well as it does is that it has a keen emotional heart to it which makes you care about Wade Wilson as a character. He’s fleshed out enough and played with such genuine warmth by Reynolds that you become deeply invested in his story, making him much more than just a vehicle for the film’s comedy. A key component to the first film’s heart is the relationship between Wade and Vanessa. The connection between these two immensely likeable characters is genuinely sweet and uplifting to watch, going beyond their infectious sense of humour and being most intensely felt when we see their moving dedication to one another when Wade is diagnosed with cancer. Wade’s motivation in the first movie is almost entirely fuelled by his love for Vanessa, and because of the strength of Marena Baccarin’s performance as this funny, charming woman with a fierce will, you completely empathise with him. Vanessa is her own character in the first Deadpool, and one of the biggest successes of that film.

         And then Deadpool 2 starts with Vanessa being killed off to provide Wade with his motivation for the rest of the film. As the opening credits played, I was seething at how the film had went and gone exactly what I had hoped they wouldn’t do, throwing away not only one of the most mature, well-handled relationships I have ever seen in a superhero film, but also a terrific character who brought so much to the table. It felt like a misguided waste of storytelling potential, and the gag of the opening credits themselves being just as upset about this as I was didn’t help matters. Yes, it’s a fun joke that fits the tone and comedic style of these films, but it also felt a little galling, as if the film itself was saying “don’t you hate it when films kill off characters you like unnecessarily?”, as if it’s not doing exactly that and expecting you to be on board with it. Just because you’re pointing out the trope doesn’t mean that you’re not doing that exact trope.

         And yet strangely, while the narrative of Deadpool 2 hinges on this initial decision which I still feel upset about, the emotional journey it takes is actually a very considerate and effective story about processing grief and finding something meaningful to do with yourself to make up for the immense hole that losing someone close to you can leave behind. That’s a remarkably nuanced journey for a character to go on, perhaps even more so than the revenge quest Deadpool was set on in the first movie. Reynolds nails the vulnerabilities of the character, conveying the bitter sadness that Wade is feeling and has no idea how to resolve whenever the mask is off and the pain on his face is there for all the world to see. When the mask is on and Wade is fully immersing himself in the persona of Deadpool, there are multiple occasions where Reynolds makes the character’s humour feel bittersweet, as if constantly acknowledging that this is all just a movie and making irreverent jokes is a coping mechanism to make the reality of the situation he’s in sting a little less. I’m unhappy with the decision to kill off Vanessa, but I do appreciate how they handle the effect this has on Wade’s character.

         Then, at the very end of the movie after Wade completes his emotional journey, we see Deadpool use Cable’s repaired time-travel device in a mid-credits scene to go back in time and save Vanessa, undoing her death. So, we have a character death I wasn’t happy about but accepted once the rest of the film showed that it had some ideas of where to take this story, and then in the film’s very last moments, we’re told that the inciting tragedy has now never happened. Of course, there’s arguments for why this shouldn’t be an issue; we see Deadpool go on to break the internal logic of the film by killing the embarrassing interpretation of his character from the mess that was X-Men Origins: Wolverine, as well as the real-life actor Ryan Reynolds before he took on the role of Green Lantern, so we have to presume at least some of these time-travel mid-credits scenes are fun ideas that we shouldn’t think too hard about in the context of the film’s story. Also, if there was any character who would break his own story in order to get the ending he wanted, it would be Deadpool.

         But despite these two reasonable points, this ending still bothers me. Both the director David Leitch and Reynolds (who is credited as a co-writer on the film) have said they believe that Vanessa is alive and well by the end of Deadpool 2. If that is the case, then does the quick, undiscussed and not-at-all unpacked resurrection of Vanessa undo a lot of the hard-hitting pathos of this narrative? What does this film about Wade struggling with who he is, what he should do, and whether he should carry on without Vanessa become when we know that Vanessa is alive by the end of the movie? Is it a case of Deadpool getting to live in a world where he hasn’t lost the person he cares about, but he still remembers losing her so all the emotions he felt and the lessons he learned are still there? Should I not think about it too much because it’s Deadpool, and he’s always walked the line between dramatic stories and self-aware comedy that doesn’t take itself too seriously? Maybe, but the first film managed a balance between the two in a way where I laughed at the comedy and took the drama completely seriously. This time, I’m not entirely sure that the comedy and drama fits together as well as it did the first time around. It goes for a decent joke at the last minute, but this comes at the expense of complicating the legitimately powerful story it just spent 2 hours putting together. My emotional response to Deadpool 2 feels completely confused and tangled up, and I’m not sure how to unpick it.

SPOILER SECTION ENDS HERE

         Much like Deadpool himself, I’m feeling torn in two different directions with this movie. Deadpool 2 tries to have it both ways at times, going for introspective, dramatic storytelling that has consequences and leaves you feeling emotional and contemplative, but also feels indebted to the meta-humour which, this time around, goes in a direction that undercuts some of the dramatic impact this film could have had. Even now, I don’t know what to think about this movie. It tells a story that gets to me and makes me feel honestly quite soulful and reflective, and it does so with a cast of great characters played by (mostly) charismatic actors who consistently make me laugh. But the occasional bum note joke, lack of the same tight focus the first film had, and, most importantly for me, the questionable storytelling decisions taken at the start and end of the film result in a sequel that leaves me feeling more uncertain than it does delighted.

6/10.

A film that honestly fascinates me in how uncertain it leaves me feeling. This is a decent sequel to Deadpool; it occasionally stumbles, but it doesn’t disappoint.