#Plotting TM

[mossterunderthebed]

oho. ohohoho. now to make it goyuu... i need a knight au

ooh what if they're from different kingdoms. and yuuji is the king's only remaining relative so he is unfortunately the Heir. and was dragged to the palace after his uncle found where his father had taken his grandson away from the palace to live out his days in ignominity because he was once a great general but his son sukuna who was greater even than him instigated a violent takeover and disposed of half the previous nobility

and hes a tyrant but a lot of the commoners love him because to be fair his actual policies arent too bad just bloody as fork and super strict and hes big into conquest which hey makes money and brings their country glory so it works.

enter gojo.

emperor of neighboring empire thats not technically much bigger in terms of land mass but has way more people (this has advantages and disadvantages). and yuuji has risen to the rank of general and is known as the tiger of the west which he thinks is embarrassing. and he hates that that's what the people know about him and what they like about him because he wants to be a good ruler. but he doesnt know how only he doesnt think it should be like sukuna rules

and then gojo who ofc would lead his own armies so he and yuuji end up clashing in an unexpected place. and gojo uses guerilla/ambush tactics they werent expecting bc they thought they had the advantage of numbers and yuuji is captured.

and he expects to be tortured and stuff but this gojo guy is actually... really nice? and insanely smart? and really funny too? and pretty handsome too wow ok. and then they kind of end up becoming friends?? and yuuji confides that he doesnt know how to rule well but he really admires gojo whos so smart and has gathered such good people to him (unlike many people who have critisised him as being honourless because of his tactics but its because he and yuuji both understand the value of a life as opposed to expectations of 'character' which is actually just a load of crap the nobles to make themselves sound/look good)

and yea i dont know things snowball and in the end they have a long-lasting long distance love affair until gojo's heir (yuuta) comes of age. bc surprise surprise gojo never wanted to rule esp not after the betrayal of his closest advisor and best friend in his youth. and finally he goes to live w yuuji who disposed of his own uncle in a very moving morally heart-clenching scene

and they live happily ever after and travel back and forth a lot and every time gojo visits his home he acts outrageously but hes still always just as intimidating as ever and even in his late forties h makes a soldier who spoke out of turn piss himself in a public spar.

and he and yuuji are insufferably chaotic and loving until they die and are buried side by side on the land yuuji rehabilitated (his childhood home w his grandfather that was wrecked by sukuna) and they plant little yellow and blue wildflowers over the graves and years in the future the two crossbreed and spawn a lovely little new breed of flower that symbolizes the powerful kind of love that would wait for years and years. a patient kind of love.

and centuries later records are found of them and the graves are unearthed and little artifacts are found and their letters and etc etc etc and their love story becomes known as one of the greatest of all time and stories and plays and poetry are written about it and their letters are translated and published and are turned into a saying 'i would write you a thousand letters' which basically means 'i would love you with dedication through great obstacles and hardship' or more simply, 'i will love you even when its hard.'

and yeap thats the that.

Bonus: at the very very very end theres a little cutscene of their reincarnations meeting for the first time after accidentally bumping into each other and gojo drops something so yuuji kneels and offers it to him and for a second they both get mad deja vu and just stop and stare at each other like they're the most beaufiful thing the other has seen and for that moment rest of the world doesnt exist

*holds back tears* and then they fall in love and get married and adopt some cats and maybe a kid and live in a cozy apartment and stay together for a whole 'nother lifetime and retire to the Sendai countryside and tend to a garden full of Their Flowers which they find out on the second date are both of their favorites for a reason neither of them can quite describe and ughhhhhhhhhhhh

sorry i got emotional. ok bye.

horniest battle moments:

- taking your ally's weapon out of their scabard to use yourself

- using someone else's shoulder as a rifle stand

- nudging someone's chin up with the tip of your weapon

- freezing with your blades against one another's throats, breathing into each other's mouths

[cuttle-creatures]

Continued my indulgent concept work spree, this time focusing the momentum on updating some concepts from one of my projects (Wind Through the Grass).

[justanotherfanfolks]

I find it funny that in the platinum jacket cards so far, everyone’s face looks like this:

And then there's Rook.

[inspisart]

dick took the news that a strange thirteen year old broke into his apartment while he was away at the circus pretty well, I gotta say

[twilightkitkat]

Part 2 of thinking about the reaction another universe's Logan would have to meeting Wade. To Wade and Logan's relationship.

Part 1 , Part 3, Part 4

---

It'd been a few days since Wade had revealed the truth to Wolverine.

He'd expected things to be awkward, for them to fight over it, for Other-Logan to pull away so that his previous annoyance-indifference would look warm in comparison.

But, shockingly, things had gotten... easier?

Wolverine seemed more comfortable with him, becoming more talkative than before (which wasn't exactly hard to top, but progress is progress). Instead of yanking away the second Wade got too close for comfort, he'd let him brush by him, close enough that Wade could feel his body heat through the seat. Instead of sitting a respectable five feet away at all times, Other-Logan now sat at a friendly distance, close enough to sling an arm around his shoulder if Wade was in a particularly masochistic mood.

It was nice to feel like he had companionship in a world where he knew no one. It was comfortable. It reminded him of his own Logan sometimes, when he could close his eyes and drown out his thoughts and pretend that he was on a mission with Logan in his world instead of in the middle of fucking nowhere with a shitty knockoff.

Well, "shitty knockoff" is a harsh way to put it. This Logan wasn't that bad (he was certainly less anger-prone than his counterpart). It just... wasn't the same. It's like wanting a bowl of Lucky Charms at 2am so you go to a Dollar General and buy a copycat brand to satisfy your craving. Yes, it's similar, but no, it isn't the same.

And fuck, did Wade feel his Logan's absence.

It'd especially hit at night, when Wade was used to curling up on the pull-out couch with Logan beside him and pretending that he was shuffling closer so he wouldn't fall off the edge.

(They both were able to sleep in far more precarious positions. A perk of the job. But under the veil of darkness, they were able to pretend that they weren't vying for touch just to have it. To feel the warmth of someone else next to them. To know that they were both alive and safe and, despite everything, here with each other.)

But, even if Wade curled in on himself at night, feeling the chill in his bones despite the luxurious blankets in the mansion or whatever insulating sleeping bag he was using, he was fine.

So fine, in fact, that it didn't bother him at all that it'd been nearly a week since he arrived in this universe. Not that he was counting. (He was.)

Logan was probably fine. Wade would send him a message or something, let him know that he was okay and that the mission was just taking longer than expected, but interdimensional texting hadn't yet been invented. Or, at least, the TVA bastards were cheap enough to not let him access it.

Besides, they'd been making progress. They were finally working their way up to beating The Big Bad, to telling whatever evil organization was plotting to destroy this timeline to fuck off and go to hell.

As a matter of fact, they were on their way to a particularly promising lead right now. All the henchmen they've managed to get information out of seemed to point their fingers to the same place, some discreet nuclear power plant that had been shut down a decade ago. (Real original, guys. Why don't supervillains ever set up base in a less stereotypical place? Like a public park or an Olive Garden. But nooooo, it always had to be the shady abandoned government facilities.)

"You seem to be thinking real hard over there, bub," Wolverine remarked, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Oh, y'know, just the usual, like what your abs would taste like if I covered them in whipped cream. Would it be more salty, or sweet? Do you think they'd taste metallic if you'd been roughed up lately?" Wade slid back into his typical persona instead of lingering on his unhelpful desire to mope around until he could go home.

Other-Logan snorted. "I think you're thinking way too hard about my abs when you should be focusing on your plan for when we get to the base."

Wade pouted, "Awwww, c'mon, Wolvie, don't you know that my pleasure comes before our job? You only live once, fuck capitalism and all that."

"Without capitalism, you wouldn't have the money to get 'pleasure,'" Logan deadpanned.

"Ah yes, you're right. I'm but a humble servant to the almighty Capitalism King. I shall kill and show no mercy as long so long as my king asks for it." Wade clutched a hand over his heart dramatically, voice imitating sincerity but a few pitches too high.

Logan just shook his head and chuckled, trying and failing to suppress the grin that threatened to stretch across his face.

It looked good on him. A far cry from the serious, no-nonsense, version he'd first encountered. Who knew all it took to have someone open their heart to you was revealing you were besties in an alternate universe?

"We're here," Logan grunted, smirk falling off his face as he climbed out of the vehicle.

"Fucking finally! One hour longer and I think I'd puke all over your shiny yellow suit," Wade whined obnoxiously. Logan elbowed him harshly in response. Ouch. Manners.

The base was exactly what you'd expect. Just run down enough to not attract suspicion but just well-kept enough to be home to some freaky villain technology.

And, also as expected, as soon as they entered a blaring alarm went off. Flashing red lights and all. Just great, exactly what he needed today. Wade was definitely going to end up with a headache by the end of this raid. They're lucky he didn't have epilepsy or he'd sue them.

Wolverine didn't seem to be faring much better, judging by his furrowed eyebrows and how he was barely holding back a grimace.

They make quick work of whatever lackeys they find as they tear their way through the halls. They'd definitely improved their synchronization during the time they'd spent fighting together (mainly on Wolverine's part).

Finally, they arrive at some sort of convoluted metal dome with a suspiciously alien-looking machine in the middle. It didn't seem to be an exact replica of the Time Ripper Wade knew, but it was close enough to make an educated guess about its purpose. (An educated wish, some may say.)

Unfortunately, it wasn't left unguarded.

Some old-looking bald guy (never a good sign) with a metal arm (again, never a good sign) was holding a suspiciously futuristic gun. (Who is this, Cable's long-lost twin with a receding hairline gene?)

Deadpool unsheathed one of his katanas, gripping his gun tightly with his other hand. Wolverine shifted into a battle stance beside him.

"And what do we have here?" The man drawled, his piercing gaze sweeping over them both. "Deadpool and... Wolverine? An interesting team-up." Despite this, he didn't seem too surprised. If anything, he seemed to be glancing warily at Wolverine beside him.

"I don't have time to listen to your monologue, how about you just undo whatever fucky-wucky stuff you did to the timeline and we all head our separate ways, yeah?" Wade was nothing if not merciful for offering this fucker a chance to stand down before it got ugly.

"I don't think so," the man huffed, as if he found it amusing that he'd even suggest that. He was starting to get on Wade's nerves.

"Then let's cut the chit-chat and get straight to the ass beating." Deadpool nodded at Wolverine, who smirked almost imperceptibly.

They both lunged at the same second, Wolvie swiping at the bastard's head while Deadpool fired at his legs and torso.

Oh fuck, this guy has a regenerative healing factor too, Wade groaned internally when he saw the bullet wounds stitch themselves up. Just his luck.

The battle was more difficult than expected, but they managed to hold up fairly well by bouncing off each other's attacks. When Wade moved in, Logan moved out. When Wolverine sunk in his claws, Deadpool fired his gun or slashed with his katana.

That was until the bastard injected himself with some sort of serum, like a heroin addict stopping to shoot up during a fight.

That better not be what I think it is, Wade grimaced.

It was exactly what he thought it was.

Fighting a meaner-looking, more equipped version of Cable was hard enough, but on steroids? Wolverine and Deadpool soon began to lag behind. Even their teamwork couldn't help much when the opponent was that much stronger and they both were becoming exhausted.

However, Deadpool saw an opening. The fucker wasn't guarding his flank properly. And so, without warning, he flipped over the asshole's head and slashed at his side at the same moment Logan sank his claws into his neck. (Yay, teamwork!)

It seemed to hit some sort of weak point because the man slumped down onto the ground, unconscious. Wade sighed in relief and walked over to Logan.

"Hey man, I don't know about you, but when we get out of here I think we should get some chimichangas to celebrate—"

Bang.

Wade was flung into the wall with the sheer force of whatever futuristic weapon the man shot him with. Fucking rat bastard.

His head began spinning with the force at which he'd been full-body slammed against the wall. His vision was blurred and it was hard to make out shapes, but it seemed that Logan was having the same issue, given the red, blue, and yellow spot on the wall opposite him.

His vision was dancing with black dots and colors bled together, but through the haze he could make out the man they'd fought getting up and limping away, seemingly talking to someone as he did so.

Wade groaned and tried to lift his hand up to feel the wound on his head when he noticed. There were fragments embedded in his suit where he'd hidden it.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

In his haze, he managed to yank the tattered remains out of a device from his suit. Oh shit. It was broken.

How the hell was he supposed to get home now?

He didn't have time to linger on the question before darkness overtook his vision.

---

Logan paced back and forth on the shitty hardwood floors of their one-bedroom apartment.

Where the hell was he?

Wade was supposed to be back a month ago. Hell, the mission was only supposed to take a day and he said he'd be back for dinner that night.

But then that night passed, and Wade didn't show. Logan had waited at the table, bouncing his lex anxiously (although he'd deny it if anyone asked) long after Al reluctantly went to sleep and Mary Puppins settled down for the night. He remembered waiting, staring blankly at his plate but unable to stomach a bite, until he finally decided to put their food in the fridge to reheat later. He felt vaguely nauseous at the idea of eating peacefully while Wade was still frolicking about, fighting bad guys (and potentially getting hurt).

Logan fell asleep in that position, his head resting on his arms, hyperaware and jolting awake at the slightest sound. Waiting to hear the jingle of the doorknob and the sound of Wade shuffling in.

When Wade came back, Logan would tell them that he didn't care what the mission was about or what type of universe it was, he'd come with him next time. No room for arguments. He'd rather be bleeding and bruised by Wade's side than feel the gnawing emptiness and anxiety of being apart from him.

Logan never dealt well with separation. Not when it came to Wade. The only person who made this universe he'd barged his way into a home. The one who'd looked at him—a pathetic, miserable, drunk, mess—and still asked him to come home with him. The only person to make him feel like he belonged somewhere, to someone. That he wasn't just an unwanted, shunned monster who could only be loved for the destruction he could cause.

When Wade was gone, it felt like he was alone again. Like he was back in that shitty universe where even the fucking bartender refused him service unless he begged. Where everyone mocked him or shied away but nobody looked him in the eyes.

Wolverine was used to being alone. He'd been alone, in one way or another, for as long as he could remember.

But that's why he latched violently, viciously, desperately, onto the first lifeboat he could. The first person to yank his head above the water and welcome him onto their raft without expecting anything.

The next morning came and Wade still hadn't come back.

Logan tried to convince himself that it was just taking a second longer, that maybe he'd encountered an obstacle, that everything was still okay.

(Don't be overbearing, Logan. If he sees what a needy, writhing, mess you are then he won't want to be around you anymore. He'll finally wise up and leave you behind like everyone else. Like how you deserve. He'll finally see you for the pathetic creature you are instead of the delusion of a man he's been holding onto.)

But then that day turned into two. Turned into three. Turned into nearly a week in which he hadn't heard a word from Wade.

(Accept things how they are, Logan. Take the warmth you can get and savor it, clutch it so tight to your chest that your fingers bleed, and don't ask for more. Don't ruin this.)

Blind Al had tried saying something, once, about how Wade might just be running that. That he was having troubles, you know how it is (but even she had a worried crease to her brow, the slightest bit of hesitation that spoke volumes). Logan had grunted something he couldn't remember and kept pacing.

It felt like every day was an endless loop. Wake up, choke down what food he could, and wait anxiously. Wait to see if Wade would stroll through the door.

Until one night, he snapped. He'd just gotten out of the shower (the first he'd taken in a while, with how difficult it was to focus on anything but Wade Wade Wade Where is Wade Where—) when he noticed Wade's shitty music box was playing. The one he had of him.

He saw red. The next thing he knew, he stood in a completely trashed living room. Chairs were knocked over and splintered, bottles were shattered, and blood was splattered across the walls from where he'd raked his claws up and down his arms in a desperate attempt to get out of his skin because it was burning so badly and he just wanted to crawl inside Wade instead of being trapped in a useless fucking husk of a mindless animal—

He barely scraped the room back together by the time Al got back. He knew she was able to tell, but she didn't say anything. Just sat down on the tattered couch and murmured something that suspiciously sounded like Wade's name.

Logan was barely functioning. It was a Good Day if he managed to eat, shower, and not drink himself into a stupor by night. Every day that went by made the knot in his stomach twist further until he could barely remember what it felt like to not be on edge constantly.

(He knew it was pathetic. That he should be better than this. That he shouldn't need Wade to babysit him to make him want to eat and sleep and shower and do all the things that normal people were expected to just do. He knew that he shouldn't revert back to a state of depression and anxiety when he was gone but Logan didn't know what to do. He'd been fucked up for so long that he didn't know what okay meant anymore, didn't know to just breathe without clenching his teeth and forcing his lungs to expand and contract.)

(The only time he got relief from the reminder of who he was and what he'd done was with Wade, who knew him and still somehow wanted him. Who made him feel normal, like he could just be Logan and live a domestic life as a borderline househusband in their apartment. Who made him feel like he had a future and a chance at happiness again.)

At first, he could convince himself that it was just the mission holding him up. That he was being unreasonable. (Why didn't Wade just take him along to begin with? He'd let Wade talk as long as he wanted, take the lead, and annoy him however he liked as long as he could be with him.)

But then doubt began creeping in. What if Wade realized that he really was the Worst Wolverine? What if this universe's Wolverine was better than him—nicer, stronger, less fucked up—and Wade preferred him. He wouldn't blame him. Hell, he knew Wade only settled on him because of a time crunch and the fact that he didn't claw his eyes out immediately. If Wade had more time, he would've gone with a better option.

(Logan chose to ignore the instinctive dread he felt at that thought. What if Wade hadn't come for him? What if he found another Wolverine and he was left to be drunk and miserable for the rest of his life, never knowing Wade's presence? The thought made him physically ill.)

But Wade, despite what people said, was a man of his word. He kept his promises and tried to avoid lying. Even if he did decide to fuck off and find another Logan, he'd tell him first. He'd let him know, at least.

As the time crept closer to a month, Logan's anxiety reached an all-time high. If Wade was taking this long, something must've gone horribly wrong. He's in danger.

Logan couldn't pace back and forth anymore, listening to the TVA rattle excuse after excuse when he called them to ask for an update. (It's confidential, they said. Don't worry, they said. Eventually, they got so used to him calling—without fail, twice a day, once in the morning and once at night—that they'd immediately forward him to the line he needed. And they'd always give the same excuses.)

Not anymore.

Logan was going to find Wade, even if he had to rip the whole fucking TVA or multiverse apart to do so.

---

Wade groaned, slamming his forehead against the counter before eating another spoonful of cereal.

The X-men still hadn't found a way to fix his universe-hopping device. To be fair, back in his universe it'd taken a while to fix Cable's time-jumping one, and Wade's sure that dimensional travel adds a whole new level of complexity. The TVA does not fuck around with their technology.

That being said, at least the rest of the X-men were starting to take the timeline issue seriously. They'd finally all decided to pitch in and try investigating on their own time.

"Look alive a little, bub, we're going on a mission today." Logan eyed Wade as he continued to eat his high-protein classic bacon and scrambled eggs breakfast.

The other X-men eyed them curiously. Logan had been acting differently as of late. Ever since Deadpool had come to their world and began hanging around him, he'd softened around the edges. He'd become a little more open, actively engaging with conversation instead of tuning in and out.

It was... nice to see him close to someone. To see him look at someone with an odd sort of affection visible in his eyes. Even if it was a little jarring.

(A few wondered what Wade had done to earn his affection. How a single man could swoop in and do what they'd been trying to do for years. What was so special about him? Why couldn't they reach him earlier? What were they doing wrong?)

It was good to see him be close to someone. Even if it stung a little that Wade made more progress in a month than they'd made this entire time.

Aside from that, the X-men had been able to interact with Wade more ever since he started spending a bit more time at the mansion.

When he'd gotten knocked out and his dimensional travel device broken, it'd taken a few days for him to fully regenerate (and mentally recuperate). During that time, him and Logan seem to have developed an odd kinship. A casual, friendly relationship where they eat meals together and occasionally, in between missions, watch shows together, or just... talk.

It was a little unnerving to see Logan so willing to act almost domestically with someone else. Of course, the X-men had managed to coax Logan into hanging out with them more casually. And sometimes, they'd gotten the privilege of seeing how his shoulders would relax and he'd become content to just listen and soak up the company. But those occasions were few and far between, and Logan's default state was to keep a certain degree of distance.

Wade had begun to interact with the other X-men, too. He'd taken to teasing Colossus to pay him back for the many headaches he'd given him in his world. Logan often trailed a few steps behind, trying and failing to pretend to be engaged with something else while keeping an eye on Wade. It'd be endearing, almost, if it wasn't so out of character for him.

Unfortunately, after the villain had escaped, their luck seemed to dry up. They'd only gotten a few leads since, and all were dead ends. With too much time to spare and too much pent-up energy (and anxiety to some degree over being away from his world for so long), Wade accompanied Wolverine on a few of his other missions.

Wade sighed and pushed away the remainder of his cereal. Well, there went his appetite. Thinking about his world and his Logan was a surefire way to kill his mood.

(It made him feel sick to think about how Logan was faring without him. To question when he'd get to see him again. To remember that this wasn't His Logan. It was always uncomfortable to be away from him for too long, to feel the same loneliness settle inside him like an old friend. What a joke. He saved the world just so he could whine about how he wanted it to revolve around him.)

(Logan never made him feel that way. He understood how it felt to lose everyone and still tremor at the thought. He understood the struggle of knowing you'd outlive everyone you love. He understood because they'd been through it together. Because they'd shared their pain and their feelings and their hearts and bared themselves, raw and vulnerable and bloody, before each other and still sacrificed themselves for each other anyway.)

"Not in the mood?" Logan asked. "Y'know, we have other types of cereal. Think they keep Captain Crunch or Cheerios or some shit around here."

And Wade almost screamed in frustration.

It was so stupid. Logan was trying to help. But Other-Logan wasn't His Logan.

His Logan knew that he hated that type of cereal. That he drenched his pancakes in syrup. That he was a picky bitch with food and would only eat certain brands. He'd learned to cook food just for him so that he could eat comfortably.

He was about to take a few centering, deep breaths (never claim he doesn't know how to be zen) before an alarm blared.

"There's been a break-in in the main lobby of the mansion!" someone shouted.

Huh. That's a convenient way to get information. A very good way to move the plot along.

The X-men around him were tense, drawing their weapons and preparing to investigate who dared intrude. Wade got ready too, drawing his baby knife just in case. (Not that he really can take the moral high ground here, considering he did the same just a month ago.)

Other-Logan glanced at him from the corner of his eye and Wade nodded. The two slinked along the walls, braced for an attack.

Loud crashing noises could be heard from the lobby. Furniture slammed against the wall, shattering into a million splinters (strong ass motherfucker, it seems). There was yelling and screaming and... growling?

The cacophony got louder as they drew closer. Except, Wade began to recognize the sounds. They were distinct, clear, and... familiar.

Too familiar.

Holy shit.

"Logan?" he breathed, and then he was darting out from behind the wall even as Other-Logan let out an aborted shout and attempted to grab his arm.

He slipped through his grip and turned the corner, and lo and behold, there he was.

His Logan.

He was snarling, claws unsheathed and raised to attack the people who swarmed him. They all seemed terrified and incredibly confused (given that he had the same face as one of the X-men themselves), but seemed to recognize him as an enemy and were making a quite frankly pathetic attempt to fight back.

He was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his forehead and eyes darting around anxiously. He had a feral look on his face, like a cornered animal that had just escaped his captors.

His eyes were somehow distant and hyper-focused, as if he was running on pure adrenaline without really registering anything.

He looked furious. He looked serious. (He looked scared.)

It was the sweetest sight he'd ever seen in his life.

"Peanut!" Wade shouted, pushing through the people who crowded around.

Logan's head snapped in his direction immediately, body trembling.

"Wolvie! Babygirl!" he continued to yell out nicknames as he drew closer, finally elbowing past the last line of unhelpful bystanders.

"Logan," he murmured breathlessly, reverently, at finally getting to see him again. To see him up close and personal.

As soon as he muttered the word, Logan pounced.

From behind him, Other-Logan and a few of the X-men yelled for him to move out of the way, that he was hostile.

But Wade knew that face. Knew those eyes.

This wasn't just A Logan, this was His Logan.

(His Logan, who knew how he liked his pancakes. Who listened to him rant about stupid conspiracy theories and children's shows. Who had gone through hell and back with him just to help him save his family. Who he'd slowly, painstakingly built a home with.)

And so Wade simply opened his arms and offered a shaky, wet, smile as Logan barreled into him, wrapping around him like he'd die if he let go for a second. Digging his fingers (with the claws retracted, luckily) into his back and gripping onto the fabric of his suit like a lifeline. Shivering against him as if he were a man stranded in a blizzard, finally able to huddle up against a fireplace.

And oh.

Logan was crying, hot tears trailing down the curve of Wade's neck and soaking his suit as Logan nuzzled closer, desperately.

When Wade went to stroke the back of Logan's head and brushed against his own damp face, he realized he was crying too.

He'd been trying so desperately to push down his feelings. Of frustration, of anger, of sadness (of fear). To pretend he didn't miss Logan like he missed air, to pretend that the separation wasn't putting him on edge.

He knew that Logan would worry about him. Wade wasn't that oblivious. But he didn't think Logan would be nearly full-body sobbing against him, rocking back and forth, trying to convince himself that Wade was real.

"Please, never do that again. Don't leave."

And oh.

Wade knew that Logan cared. Knew that Logan would be upset, would miss him, if he disappeared or died. Logically, he knew that.

But Wade was used to being seen as annoying. To being someone people could begrudgingly tolerate, maybe occasionally find funny, but never actively want. Was used to being seen as lesser.

Physically, he was a freak. Mentally, he was a wreck. Emotionally, he was one bad day away from trying (and failing, yet again) to end it all.

He didn't understand how someone could want him. Could need him. Could make him their whole world and cradle it in their hands like his absence would be the collapse of their very foundation.

And yet, here Logan was.

When Wade considered it, it was obvious in hindsight. Logan may respond to his insults, and may be up for a fight, but he never actually seemed to be bothered by Wade. When Wade called him stupid nicknames, he may grumble out a response, but never showed actual annoyance. When Wade slung an arm around his shoulder, he'd let it rest there or lean in closer instead of pushing it off. When Wade goaded him into a fight, he'd rise to the challenge but never unsheathe his claws unless Wade drew out his knives, too.

In fact, he'd only shown true irritation when they'd first met. When Wade had kidnapped him and turned his life on his head. When they were struggling under high-stress situations while Logan grappled with grief.

Logan... more than cared. More than tolerated his existence. More than reluctantly put up with him.

The realization was so obvious and yet it hit Wade like a freight train. This whole time, he'd been trying to convince himself that his feelings were one-sided, that he was abnormal for latching so hard onto Logan while he only humored him in response.

He'd let his self-hatred blind him to the most obvious fact of all: Logan needed him too.

He clutched Logan's back tighter, murmuring reassurances and apologies into the top of his head.

"I'm not leaving you, Wolvie," Wade whispered, "you'll have to kill me to get me to stop haunting your ass."

Logan grumbled, "You aren't allowed to die on me. You can't leave. Ever."

"I won't, I won't. You came and got me. I'm not going anywhere."

While Wade and Logan had their reunion, the crowds were herded away until only a few X-men remained. They stared at the two, bewildered.

"...Is that seriously Logan?" Jean murmured to Scott.

"It looks like him... but..." he gestured to the scene in front of them.

They'd never seen Logan break down before. Had never seen him so vulnerable. He'd never let anyone as close as he was to Wade, right now. Not even a fraction as much.

They cast contemplative and vaguely concerned glances at their world's Logan. He was staring hollowly at the scene in front of him.

It was so... odd to see himself like that. Open. Emotional. (Safe enough to let himself be that way.)

Wade had never acted that way with him, either. Tears welling up in his eyes, looking at Logan as if he hung the stars in the sky and set his universe back in balance again.

(Logan looked back at him with the same fervency, as if Wade was his universe. The stars and the sun and the planets all in one.)

It made that familiar envy curl in his gut. Before, it'd been muted by the fact that Wade's Logan was just a story. He was the one physically with him, able to get to know him and learn about him and get his undivided attention and time.

It felt nice. To be understood. To be able to treat someone as an equal, a companion, without worrying about them pulling away if he revealed too much. He'd gotten used to Wade's presence, to the comfort it brought.

However, it looked like he was going to have to confront the version of him that made it all possible.

Wade and Logan had finally calmed down, holding each other more loosely and letting the tension bleed away. Logan nearly collapsed onto Wade as he came down from the adrenaline high, feeling the exhaustion and anxiety of the past month hit him all at once. He was in Wade's arms and finally able to process his emotions now that he was home.

Other-Logan approached them carefully, schooling his face into the typical mask of calculated indifference.

However, despite that, there was a sharpness to his tone as he tersely spoke to his counterpart, "Nice to meet you, other me. It seems you've managed to find your way into our mansion."

"Yeah, well, the mansion was holding something of mine, so let's call it even," Logan near growled, glaring at himself.

It'd almost be funny if not for the tension crackling in the air between them.

"Woah, woah, woah," Wade placated, "we've all made our mistakes. I'm guilty too, your honor. Let me just have some time alone with dear Wolvie here and we can all have a group therapy session later to talk about our feelings."

Other-Logan looked at Wade, a searching look in his eyes. Wade met his gaze steadily, smiling slightly to reassure him that it'd be OK.

Finally, he sighed and moved away to let the other X-men gawk.

It was going to be a long night.

[kinnbig]

I'm sorry.

[rhiangalaxy]

Working on my Binghe designs! (Some design notes under the cut :p)

Edit: Had to reupload the image because I forgot his demon mark 😭

[ID: A Scum Villain Drawing. There are three half body shots of Luo Binghe in books 2-3, book 4 to post-canon and Luo Bingge. The left most Binghe from books 2-3 wears a tired, upset expression with less fluffy hair and primarily red and black clothing. The middle Binghe from book 4 and post-canon is wearing a remarkably happier and lovestruck expression, with much fluffier and curly hair. He is wearing a green hair ribbon around his throat, green jade earrings and light green inner robes. His outer robes are dark grey and red. Bingge is wearing an angered expression. His hair is noticeably straighter and has a small braid on the left side. He is wearing black and dark red robes. End ID]

[ID: Notes from the illustration above. In the book 2-3 version there are notes stating that his hair piece is from Huan Hua, and that his hair is less fluffy with the quote 'what no shizun does to a mf'. The second Binghe has notes that his side braids are done by Shen Qingqiu and that the hair ribbon around his neck was given to him by SQQ during his disciple days. The notes about Bingge state that the braid is from the Bingmei vs. Bingge Extra and that his hair is straightened. End ID] 

[idadood]

oh thats actually just flat out b3313

giant dark hallway, with only red peach's castle hallway floor

creepy distorted peach's castle music

offputting atmosphere, infinite loop, inescapable castle grounds

oh and youre trapped here being tormented by some ai

[spacedace]

Been doing a plot overhaul of Ghosts of Gotham and the time line is getting wild but at least I have the general vibes of each of the four big plot lines figured out:

(shoutout to Brennan Lee Mulligan's portrayl of Tula on Burrow's End for making me realize what Dan's story was gonna be lol)

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

Mitsuru perches on one of the cushioned stools in the command room with her hands clasped primly together on her knees. Shinjiro and Akihiko sit across from her on the couch.

Earlier she had sent them each a message requesting that they meet her here after classes were finished for the day. It would be best to talk about what had happened in Kyoto sooner rather than later, after all.

They had arrived promptly, but thus far none of them have said a word.

Mitsuru is hardly surprised to find herself so tongue-tied. She has been all day– truth be told, she’d had the invitation carefully composed before the first bell had rung, but it was well past midday before she could work up the nerve to send it.

Her initial instinct is to scold herself for her hesitation– why should she be so anxious over the idea of having a conversation with her first and oldest friends? That self-critical impulse is irrational, she knows this. She is well aware of how much is at stake for all of them.

Based on how, and how strongly, Akihiko and Shinjiro had reacted to Mochizuki’s speculation, it’s undeniably clear that there’s something here, between the three of them. They wouldn’t have looked so embarrassed if there wasn’t a grain of truth to it. But to actually name the beast–

It is an… intimidating prospect, to say the very least. It shouldn’t be, not after everything she’s faced, or that they’ve faced together.

The catalogue of things they have faced together, however, rather notably does not include matters of the heart. She’s at a loss at how to even begin.

All she can say for certain, is that her approach thus far has been agonizingly incorrect. The atmosphere she’s created feels more like a particularly grim business meeting than a frank and open discussion of emotions between friends.

She entertains the thought of retreat. They could limit this conversation to merely acknowledging the elephant in the room, and then agree to decide what they actually wish to do with it at a later date. Rarely, if ever, has she been so tempted to indulge in cowardice. Perhaps her future self will be braver…

Shinjiro, with a barely discernible grimace, rolls and adjusts one shoulder– his bad one. The one bearing record of the wound that had come so close to killing him.

It is far, far too late for that, but–

Shinjiro laughs once, very softly. Mitsuru is too bewildered to be even slightly offended.

He nudges Akihiko with his elbow, perhaps a tad more forcefully than necessary. Normally this would serve as a thrown-down gauntlet and lead directly into a fight, but today Akihiko merely laughs.

Akihiko rubs sheepishly at his bicep, looking down at his other hand as it fidgets in his lap.

Mitsuru delicately clears her throat. Even though the situation hadn’t been allowed to become entirely unchaste, and even if Akihiko had relayed it in a minimally lurid manner– the thought of him speaking of it aloud makes heat sting under her skin. The fact that he had only disclosed it to Shinjiro does nothing to make her feel less embarrassed– indeed, it may actually heighten her mortification.

…She does recall that Akihiko had shown a particular uptick in enthusiasm for his morning jogs– and afternoon jogs, and evening logs– throughout the month of July. She also remembers the behavior's occasional brief resurgences in August and– as a matter of fact– early September, right after Shinjiro had returned to the team. How foolish of her to not make the connection.

Then again, her own state of mind immediately after the incident had also been rather… preoccupied. Perhaps it’s no surprise at all, in that light.

Shinjiro slides his gaze over the meet hers momentarily. Despite her simmering nerves, Mitsuru cannot help but smile.

Akihiko actually looks a little taken aback. She may not know exactly what Shinjiro is referring to, but it’s certainly having an effect on the intended target.

[zs-starwars]

WaT Spoilers:

Okay but is anyone else occasionally thinking of how scared poor little Gav must have been for years? Like one moment Gram has him and then she doesn't. ;-;

Like yeah Todium probably did some level of "trustworthy grampa" shit at some point if he actually meant for a "winning" Gavinor be king and wanted him to trust him but... like? In the beginning? Did he think they would come back for him? </3

[noirnil]

[rincewizard]

thinking about the sequence of scenes in sourcery that are cut together like:

- rincewind and conina’s “I take after my father” talk, in which conina vents about how she (given her inherent skillset), isn’t seen as someone who could be a hairdresser, to which rincewind specifically responds that he gets how it is, he wanted to be a wizard,

- coin turns the walls of the UU great hall to glass. as the light filters in, all the rich gilded tapestries and ornate wizard robes are revealed to be tattered and old and fading,

- conina cuts rincewind’s hair for him. rincewind likes the way the cut looks on himself. (AND off the top of my head, this scene is the origin of rincewind declaring that the fact that he’s a wizard is the only thing he’s sure of),

- carding twirls about in new super fancy shiny robes, talking about how well they suit him. spelter hand stitches a decoy of the archchancellor’s hat. carding asks why? spelter says he wasn’t able to magic a copy up, but look how good this one is! see how much these common ankhstones look just like octarines! and we get some limits on what magic can do. on the way that it cannot make spelter look younger, cannot change spelter into something he is not.

and i am just. thinking.

about the way that the first thing coin reveals about wizard society is how it is mostly artifice. about how the first thing the wizards do with unlimited access to magic is to double right down on that artifice. about how when i flailed these thoughts at @potatoobsessed999, she immediately hit me back with the observation that rincewind, frequently described as wearing robes that are old and tattered, just. isn’t performing Being A Wizard in the way he’s expected to. coin reveals everything in the university for what it is, and all of it is tattered. rincewind isn’t less than any of it, he’s just… not performing.

and thinking about the gesture of conina cutting rincewind’s hair. about the two of them both being people who aren’t looked at and seen for who they know they are. about conina getting to do the craft she sees herself in, and in turn caring for rincewind’s physical appearance, a thing that is important to wizards but that rincewind himself doesn’t really keep up with. and, perhaps it’s worth noting that she doesn’t mess with his hat or his robes - just his hair. none of the things that have been textually associated with wizards and their idea of how a wizard should look and what a wizard should be, but something that’s been associated with what conina wants to be. someone who can relate to rincewind in this particular way taking an action that coaxes rincewind’s image of himself out, rather than forcing rincewind into the mold he has no interest in performing as.

and then for all of THAT to be chased immediately with that conversation between spelter and carding??????

very very normal about everything going on with appearance and identity and performance here.

[browhyihatethis]

Your Honor, In Defense Of The Neobeasts, They're Just A Little Silly (7389 words) by I_am_anidiot Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Cookie Run (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Made this in the car. Beast Ancients AU, and all it's characters, belong to @cuppajj

[crimeronan]

so thrilled about daniel getting turned because in any other story his arc would be about coming to terms with the mundane humanity of terminal illness and accepting his human lot in life or whatever. & in this story he's instead like i have a dick like a red sequoia and i fuck like a bullet train. let's go drink some BLOOOOODDDD 🥳😈👅🙌🕺

like. thank god. no one in this story has a healthy relationship with mortality and they ARE going to make it everyone's problem

[irenespring]

Me: This fic needs plot.

My brain: Okay, I understand. The fic needs more wallowing.

Me: No. We need to cut back on the wallowing to get to the plot so this doesn't like three more weeks to write.

My brain. Got it, got it. The fic needs Wilson to have free time so he just walks around and contemplates. Nice long chunk of Wilson's depression and trauma.

Me: No. Not at all. It needs less time reflecting on the past.

My brain: Understood. I have the solution. The fic needs...flashbacks.

Me: Okay fuck it. Fine.