#i dont respect scott

[the-somwthing]

People can point to Limited Life as the flower husbands divorce season all they want but imo it is THE BEST version of FH. They might have divorced TO YOU. But I see them secretly making out behind a wall

[coniangray]

No bc what was the point of this?

ik the lab reached out to him cus they figured he knows the kids and therefore lead them (and probably their target: el) back to them.

But that doesnt quite add up to the timeline, does it...

I think there was another reason they reached out to him. They were probably planning this for a while now, even before s1 started, and tought clarke was the perfect link to the kids and eleven, but why?

Clarke might be connected to vecna and there is proof.

Either hes one of his followers or simply another puppet or a coverup pawn. I havent really thought this through but i do believe hes heavily involved also thanks to @liebstie (bubble) on twitter who gave me food for thought.

The suspicion began when he first saw el, and his reactions were extremely similar to billys in s3 after seeing her for the first time

hell even their expressions are similar

something something they both looked like they recognized el.

Another scene that kinda bugs me about his arc is this:

Look at his expressions, hes definetely hiding something, He knows theres a gate, and he knows how to get there thats why he didnt tell them the entire truth.

These were also foreshadowing the uds effect in the mest seasons, the "swallow us whole" part covering season 5.

BONUS:

HE KNOWS. He knows abt the lab definetly and he also knows about vecna. hes iffy, i can tell but like i cant yet tell if hes under vecnas control or working with him. Now we havent seen him interacting with brenner at all, which leads me to think this:

What if something happened to force him into a connection with vecna, one different than wills or billys, that actually led the lab lady reach out to him and keep an eye on him?? We know she was sent by brenner, and the whole newsletter thing was bs to coverup why exacly they needed him, Clarke is suspicious at all times, as if hes tiptoeing onto what information hes allowed to share about the gates and the upside down.

My theory is that clarke is somehow paraleling both snape and slughorn from harry potter, as vecna paralels tom riddle/ voldermort. He could have helped him in the past since he was presumably always hyperfixating on science, and maybe they had to exchange services of some sort, i havent seen the play so idk if he was involved at all.

Plus this scene where he told them about finneas' injury is also most likely heavily involved in his arc

And then the camera pans from focusing to will, and then max.. which foreshadowed her injury in st4.

[fazgoo-connoiseur-1987]

The idea of discourse around FNaF theories or interpretations is so funny to me cus this franchise has the plot foundation of fuckin' swiss cheese. Nothing means anything you can literally do whatever you want. Free reign, baby.

[skymaiden32]

Some Tracy bro Draw the Squad nonsense before the end of the year! Original images under the cut.

[thotpuppy]

First & Last Lines

Post the first and last lines of the last 10 fics you posted. WIPs are welcome. Not super strict!!

Thanks for the tag @whimsicalmeerkat <3 This is a really cute game!

Triskelion Reign: The Shepherd, the Lamb and the Wolf

First Line: As the sole heir to his father’s crown and, according to the court healer, a particularly fertile omega, Stiles had always known his hand would be given to a suitor not for love, but for political security.

Last Line: “Inside,” he agrees.

2. Sweating Out Confessions (We'll Build Our Altar Here)

First Line: The dedication of worship has always presented a unique appeal to Stiles.

Last Line: He begs forgiveness to their gods in silent prayers as Scott takes him apart right there on the floor, but he knows his own sins are only of devotion to someone far more important than the faceless gods he’d only ever worshiped in word.

3. 'My Whole Life is a Reference to 1995 Hit Movie Clueless and I Still Don't Know the Plot' by Fall Out Boy

First Line: “I dunno man, that sounds like some real fairytale bullshit.”

Last Line: “Oh,” Stiles says. “I’m an idiot.”

4. Under My Skin

First Line: A sharp ringing pulses through Stiles’ head as he blinks back to consciousness.

Last Line: For now, he’s going to go be a normal teenager.

5. Thirsty

First Line: Dawn arrives with the fading smoke of a hard fought battle drifting into the horizon, melding with the fog of new day sun burning away the dew of night.

Last Line: “Go lock the door, please.”

6. Want You to Want Me

First Line: It’s not easy being a human member of a werewolf pack.

Last Line: “So,” he starts after stranding and pulling Stiles’ to his wobbly feet. “Mine or yours?”

7. Gumusservi

First Line: The stench of chlorine is still an unwelcome, stagnant presence in Jackson’s nose long after he’s shed the last of his scales and learned to embrace his inner wolf.

Last Line: “So, who’s topping?”

8. Touche (Confessions in the Dark)

First Line: The dull thwap of rubber hitting net is soft in the muggy twilight air.

Last Line: Stiles is almost struck dumb at the boldness, and Jackson smirks at him over his shoulder, stepping quickly towards the Jeep and tugging him along.

9. Elementary, My Dear Sheriff

First Line: “Bobby said you didn’t turn in your latest paper on time.”

Last Line: “Me too, kid,” Noah agrees. “Me too.”

10. Get It While It's Hot (Dessert sans Dinner)

First Line: Stiles has never been a particularly talented cook.

Last Line: Oh yeah, he can definitely go again.

Woo! What a list!! I didn't realize how few fics I'd written were like... wholly for me and not at least Partly for an event ehheh,, anyways!

low pressure tagging: @mirrorthoughts @outtoshatter @geekmom13 @one-fandom-became-all-fandoms @lucky-bishop @renmackree

[bericas]

she feels no control of her body. she feels no safety in my arms.

[butch-chastity]

I dont know that man but I've heard of his autism

[fandomhopped]

first love/late spring

pairing: fwb!logan howlett x fem!reader; 2nd person pov

summary: logan and reader have been sleeping together for a while with an unspoken rule to keep it casual, but that goes to hell when logan catches feelings. however, reader is an independent boss bitch and hates men<3

warnings: heavy swearing, hella mentions of sexual situations, substance abuse, brief sexual content(nothing serious fr), creepy guy in a bar, blood, bar fight, mentions of sex trafficking and resulting trauma, daddy issues, fluff, angst asf, lowkey scott slander (i dont mean it i love him)

word count: 9.1k

a/n: reader has light manipulation abilities but theyre not mentioned that often lol, also reader takes a lotta shots at jean just cuz she pisses me off. side note: idk the true meaning of the song i used as the title, there are many different interpretations. i found the song after i had alr written the story and the lyrics resonated pls don’t jump down my throat if it doesn’t align <3

there’s not a millimeter of space between you and logan as he holds you against his body. you’re sleeping soundly, and he watches you breathe all night, not bothering to even think about sleep for himself. the sun came up three hours ago, he felt it on his back.

when you drink, you always wake up early the next morning. you two drank a lot together last night. and like every time you drink with logan, you ended up in his bed.

he tries to block the sun from your face with his body so it won’t wake you up. he knows when you finally do, this little illusion that you're his will all be over. everything you said last night won’t matter. you’ll go back to your room. he’ll stay in bed. you’ll both go back to acting like it never happened.

you always leave him swiftly. you always go downstairs and drink coffee from the same mug and act like nothing happened. without a stutter, it’s a routine.

since he moved into the mansion, he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that the female teachers were attractive. and, of course, he was first drawn to jean. he won’t deny that he still harbored some feelings for her when you came to his room all those months ago, but she made it abundantly clear that she loves scott.

then one night, you slipped a bottle of whiskey into the mansion and invited him to join you in drinking it. you said some things that made him sit closer to you. that was just the beginning. he woke up the next morning to an empty bed but distinctly remembers you falling asleep next to him, so he assumed you woke up and left.

logan is a pro at acting like some things never happen, but he wasn’t expecting you to act the same. he dismissed it as a one-off, drunken night.

then it happened again… and again and again, and you continued to act like it never happened.

which, he was fine with. this wouldn’t be the first time he’s had a with-benefits situation, but there’s something different about you. you’re badass. you’re beautiful. he really respects you. you fit him perfectly.

and you’re mean. you don’t smile all that much, really only when you’re drinking is what logan soon found out. you’re not always outright mean to people, it’s usually deserved. you don’t take anybody’s shit. you’ll let people know when they’re in the wrong or they’re pissing you off. you’re sarcastic and rudely witty.

that was just another thing that attracted him to you. but, God, were you the meanest in the mornings, especially when you’re hungover.

unfortunately for logan, he has developed a small, tiny, itty bitty, barely-there crush on you. just catching a scent of your perfume has him rolling his eyes in the back of his head and white-knuckling whatever is directly in front of him.

the thoughts of you under him, on top of him, in front of him, on your knees for him plague his mind all. day. long. then last night, you had him rock solid from just a few drunken words.

“you’ve ruined all men for me,” you said as he kissed down your neck.

“hmm?” he hummed as his hands roamed your body under your shirt.

“nobody could ever fuck me like you do,” you told him, pulling at his hair roughly. he lets out a deep groan at the feeling.

he’s never picked up his pace of getting someone’s clothes off so quickly. he ripped your favorite pair of pj shorts in the process, mumbling that he’ll buy you a new pair.

with him deeply inside you, one hand wrapped around your throat and the other sending you over the edge with his mouth leaving marks all over your chest, you say breathily, “fuck, you’re perfect for me.”

the moment hasn’t left his mind since.

“i’m hot,” you mutter, pushing the sheets from your legs. “you’re hot.”

“oh, yeah?” he whispers in your ear, his lips turned up.

“i’m about to have a heat stroke,” you return, squirming around and shoving his arms from around you.

he lets go of you and gives you some space, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. a deep sigh leaves him.

“i’m gonna throw up,” you tell him, groaning and curling up into the fetal position.

“are you serious? don’t puke in my bed,” he says, leaning up to look at you.

you roll your eyes. “no, i’m not serious,” you snap at him.

“‘you wanna take a shower?” he asks, his lip curling up at the thought of you ruining his sheets (and not in the way he usually prefers).

“i feel like shit right now, logan. i don’t want to fuck you in the shower,” you tell him roughly, sitting up and glaring over at him.

he watches you stand up out of his bed and put yout shirt on. “‘s not what i meant,” he grumbles, looking away from her. he throws the sheets off his body and grabs his jeans from the night before.

he runs his hands down his face and then looks up only to see the door closing behind you as you leave him. again.

“whew, late night?” ororo asks you as soon as you walk into the kitchen, changed into some presentable clothes rather than the ripped shorts and oversized tshirt you walked back to your room in.

you ignore the woman as you open the cabinet to grab your mug. the same one you use every morning.

but it’s not there.

“where’s my mug?” you ask, glancing around the kitchen to see it’s not just ororo but also jean and scott there.

“is this yours?” scott asks, holding up the mug in his hand.

your gaze darkens. “yes,” she grits out, tightening her jaw.

“that’s my bad. i didn’t know this was yours,” he says, standing up and walking over to the sink. “i’ll wash it and you can use it.”

you feel your skin crawl as he turns on the hot water. “stop,” you say lowly, walking to him and turning off the water. “you can’t—.” you stop yourself as you breathe heavily. you rip the cup from his hands.

“hey, it’s just a mug,” ororo says to you, “what’s up?”

“it’s not—,” you cut yourself off again and take a deep breath, shaking your head. you turn on the cold water from the sink and carefully wash the mug.

“seriously, what’s going on with you?” jean asks as scott rejoins her side.

you roll your neck. “i’ve been here for years, and you don’t know which one is my mug?” you ask scott, not looking anywhere but your mug until you’re sure it’s clean.

“i never noticed before, ‘sorry,” he says then turns to jean with a shrug.

the light beaming in through the window shines a little brighter as you continue to shake your head, muttering things under your breath that the others can’t make out.

“it really is just a mug,” ororo says carefully, looking over your figure in concern.

“except it’s not,” you retort, attentively drying off the ceramic with a towel. you then pour some coffee into the mug and hold it close to your chest, turning back to the other mutants.

“what—,” jean begins but logan walks into the kitchen just as she starts and she stops herself.

her surveys everyone’s demeanor then looks at you. “what’s wrong with you?” he asks, walking to the cabinet and grabbing whichever cup is closest to his hand when he reaches in. he pours himself some coffee and turns back to them expectantly.

“scott was using my mug,” you tell him, leaning against the counter.

“why?” he asks scott, eyeing the man.

“to drink coffee. why does it matter?” he asks in return, scoffing.

“it’s hers,” logan returns, his stare hardens and he looks at scott like he’s an idiot.

ororo laughs humorlessly. “what does that mean? it’s just a mug,” she asks, looking between you.

you glare at her. “it was my father’s and now it’s mine.”

“the same father that sold you?” jean asks, her face contorting. you shift your weight uncomfortably. “why would you want that?”

“why don’t you just back the fuck off, bitch?” you snap at her, stepping toward her.

“woah, girl, calm down,” ororo intervenes, holding her hand toward you like you’re a wild animal. you scoff. “we get it. it’s special to you. that’s all you had to say.”

you roll your eyes at them. you leave the group and return to your room. logan watches you go then turns back to the others with his eyebrows raised. “did you say sold her?” he asks jean.

“when he found out she was a mutant—,” she begins.

“jean,” ororo interrupts her, shaking her head at the girl.

jean continues, “—her father sold her into a mutant sex trafficking ring,” she reveals, looking only at logan, “that’s where we found her and then brought her here.”

his face contorts, and he looks down into his coffee. “shit,” he comments.

“she doesn’t talk about it to anybody, and, out of respect, we don’t talk about it either,” ororo says pointedly at the telepath.

logan is seething all day over the new information. he hates to think you went through that for God knows how long.

after the incident, logan doesn’t see you for a while. he doesn’t know how. you’re a teacher and you live down the hall from him, yet he still doesn’t even catch a whiff of your perfume.

“logan, meet me in my office,” he hears charles’ voice in his head. he obeys and within a minute, he’s standing before the professor. “you should leave her alone for a bit.”

her brow furrows. “come again?”

charles says your name and logan clenches his jaw. “she’s destructive right now. you should let her be.”

“is she okay?” the wolverine asks, concern growing in his stomach, and it makes him feel sick.

“she’ll be just fine. this happens from time to time,” he tells him, pressing his lips into a thin line. “you know of her circumstances.”

“her circumstances?” logan growls, scowling down at the old man, “you knew what she went through and didn’t think to tell me? you know what’s going on between us and didn’t think maybe i needed to know that? what if she had a breakdown when we were together? i wouldn’t have known what was happening.”

charles’ lips turn down into a small frown. “that’s not my information to tell.”

logan storms off in a huff, muttering under his breath.

that friday, he’s smoking a cigar in his bed, looking out the window at the moon, which is shining rather bright tonight. he hears a few quiet knocks on his door. he opens the door, expecting it to be a student.

“hey,” you say, waving a bottle of jack in his face before pushing past him into the room. “'hope you don’t mind, i got started without you.”

“you always do,” he comments, closing the door, putting out the cigar, and following you to sit on his bed. “listen —.”

“i think i like that vodka more than this. this one makes my mouth taste weird,” you tell him, taking another sip out of the bottle before handing it to him.

he holds it and sighs. “look, we should—.”

“—take our clothes off?” you finish his sentence, smiling darkly at him. “i mean, it’s a little early, but i agree.”

“that’s not what i—.”

“—was going to say?” you guess his words, cutting him off again. “look at us finishing each other’s…” you trail off, looking at him expectantly. he sends you a deadpanned glance. “this is the part where you say ‘sentences.’ i think i’m better at this game than you are.”

he takes a long sip from the bottle before he looks at you. “can you be serious for a second?” he asks.

you scoff and take the bottle from his hands. “i don’t come to you like this to be serious, logan,” you say, putting the whiskey to your lips again.

“why do you come to me at all?” he asks quietly and gruffly.

you take another sip and place the bottle on the floor, scooting closer to him. “because you’re hot,” you say in a sultry voice, putting a hand on his thigh and slowly dragging it up, “and you call me ‘princess’ and ‘darling’,” you continue, reaching for his belt buckle. he doesn’t do anything to stop you, “and your hands.” you push the buckle out the way and unbutton his pants, dragging down the zipper slowly. “and your tongue.” you reach your hand into his pants. “and this.”

he breathes heavily, completely lost in the euphoria that is you.

he forces himself to snap out of him and shakes his head. he pushes your hand away and stands up, taking a few steps away.

“what’s wrong?” you ask him, grabbing the bottle and standing also. “do you need some more?” you ask, holding the drink out for him, confusion written all over your face.

he holds his hands out in front of him as if to deny the offer. “it’s…,” he trails off, pushing a deep breath through his nose.

your shoulders drop along your face. you tilt your head in disbelief. “oh, my fuck. they told you,” you conclude. you turn around and sit back down on the bed. he stays silent, just looking at you. “okay, so what now? you don’t want me anymore ‘cause i’m used up?” you ask, slurring your words a little.

“no,” he denies without hesitation.

your sober personality is back even though you’re still drinking the whiskey like you’ve been in the dry desert for weeks without water.

“then what is it, logan? you don’t wanna do this ‘cause my hair isn’t blood red?” you ask next, raising your brow and looking at him expectantly.

his face contorts. “what’re you talking about?” he asks gruffly.

you chuckle at him. “i’m not a fucking idiot, old man. i know you want jean so bad, but she doesn’t want you so i'm second choice” you say, then you shrug with one shoulder. “i’d’a gone with ororo, to be honest. have you seen her? i’d show her a good time,” you add.

“that’s not what this is,” he tells you, taking a step forward but not within arm's length of you.

“then what is it? just fucking tell me,” you say loudly, the room lights up as the moon shines brighter. “d’you want me to tell you ‘bout how i was a good, little daddy’s girl until i almost blinded my brother when i first got my powers? how about how my dad gave me away like he didn’t love me? d’you want me to cry in your arms about how i was passed around by mean men like a blunt when i was 14? why do you think i can only let you fuck me when i’m drunk?” you ask him sarcastically, but your voice breaks on your last words. you let out an unsteady breath. logan watches you cautiously, unsure of what to do. “is that what you want, logan?! you wanna be the big, strong man here?!” you ask him, crying now as you yell at the man in front of you.

your body slumps forward as you let the tears drop from your eyes, and you grip the bottle in your hands like a lifeline. you feel the bed dip beside you and the bottle pulled from your hands. you move your hands to your face, trying to pull yourself together.

you feel his big arms envelope you and pull you into his chest. that’s when the waterworks really break out.

logan’s never been to best with tears. he hasn’t had to deal with them too much, but his first instinct was to hold you as close as you would let him. he hates to see you like this. in all honesty, he wants to hunt down every man that ever put a finger on you and rip them to shreds. but, for now, he’ll hold you. as long as you would let him.

you wake up with araging headache. you’re hot, burning up, actually. you kick the blankets from your legs and turn over in the arms of the incredibly attractive man in bed next to you. you look at his sleeping face and sigh.

this is the part where you leave, but this time, you just snuggle into his chest and fall back asleep.

logan wakes up later than he usually does after nights like the last one. it’s normally the sound of the door closing wakes him up. but, this time, he sees your cute face smushed against his pec. he doesn’t fight the smile on his face.

you stir quickly after he wakes up. you rub your eyes and look around the room, then to logan. “i’m gonna puke,” you tell him, the remnants of the smile fall from his face. you pull away from him as your face blanches. “seriously,” you add and sit up quickly.

he reaches for the trash can beside his bed and holds it in front of you just in time. he holds your hair back with a look of absolute disgust while you clutch the bin close to your face and your body jerks with each gag.

once you're done, you wipe your mouth with the bottom of your shirt. you groan loudly and stand up from the bed. “i’m gonna take this with me,” you tell him, holding the can in your arms and moving toward the door.

“keep it,” he remarks, his lip curled up.

monday morning rolls around quicker than anybody wants. you walk into the kitchen and grab your mug, pouring coffee and looking around at others in the kitchen.

they’re talking amongst themselves, mentions of grading papers and some stupid answer a kid put as their answer on an assignment.

you just listen and sip your coffee peacefully. that is, until logan walks in. you move from in front of the coffee pot for him to get some. he nods in thanks as he joins your side.

“this coffee is awful,” you comment, pouring it out in the sink next to you. he chuckles at your comment but doesn’t say anything. “scott, did you make the coffee this morning?” you ask him. the three look over to you, almost as if they didn’t see you come in.

“yeah,” he answers.

“don’t do it again,” you tell him, filling the mug with water and leaving the kitchen.

as you watch a group of students take a test, you see logan walk back in his jacket he usually only wears when leaving campus.

“hey,” you call out. all the students look up at you. “keep taking your tests. i’m going to the hallway for a second,” you tell them and move into the hallway. “logan,” you call and he turns around, walking back toward you. “where are you going?”

“to pick up some more cigars,” he answers, gesturing over his shoulder.

“will you pick me up a pack of cigarettes?” you ask him, reaching into your pocket for some money.

his brow furrows. “you smoke?” he asks.

“sometimes, yeah,” you reply, handing him $20.

he shakes his head. “i’ll cover it,” he answers.

“thanks,” you reply, placing a hand on his forearm before returning to your classroom.

he looks down to his arm and blinks. that’s new.

“brad, i know you’re not talking during a test. are you begging for a failing grade?” he hears you say before he turns back toward the front door of the mansion.

logan returns a while later, after the school day is over and the students are training. he finds you in your classroom, grading papers.

“hey,” he greets. you look up at him.

“hey,” you return, eyes dancing all over his body.

“these are for you,” he says, holding out the page of cigarettes.

“right, thanks,” you say and reach for them, your fingers brushing his as you grab them.

“‘you need any help?” he asks, looking at the papers before you.

“do you know anything about math?” you ask him, pursing your lips.

“uh, no,” he answers, shaking his head. “don’t you have an answer key or something?”

“i have to check their work to make sure they didn’t just get the answer from the person beside them,” you reply, looking back down to the papers. “some of these kids are dumbasses.”

he chuckles. “no kid wants to do math,” he comments.

“how would you know? weren’t you born before there were schools?” you ask him without looking up. there’s a beat of silence before you eventually glance up at him. “was that insensitive?” you ask instead.

he just shrugs. “i’m not that old,” he says, sitting in the desk in front of yours.

“sure,” you respond and go back to grading.

the two of you sit in without a word as you grade, and he watches you in complete admiration. after a while, he stands up and walks toward the door.

“you’re leaving?” you question.

“‘didn’t think you wanted your room smelling like cigars,” he replies.

“i’ll join you,” you say, grabbing the pack he bought you and putting the tests in a drawer. he doesn’t object and you two walk outside, to a bench in the gardens, away from the students.

the two of you sit in silence as you inhale smoke and slowly release it from your lungs.

“i’ve never seen you smoke before,” he comments after a while.

“i only smoke when i give up drinking, i only drink when i give up smoking,” you answer, tossing the burnt cigarette onto the ground and stepping on it, then picking another one from the pack.

you pick up your lighter and flick it a few times but it won’t light. you put your head and lighter inside your shirt to block the wind, trying again and failing again.

“motherfucker,” you mutter as you try to cover the lighter.

“here,” he offers his lighter with the fire shining brightly above it. with the cigarette between your lips, lean toward the lighter, looking up into his eyes as you do. he meets your eyes and clears his throat, closing the flame into the top of the lighter and shifting his eyes to the cigar between his fingers. you let a small smile rest on your face afterward.

“so you’re not drinking anymore?” he asks you.

“figured i should go on a sobriety cleanse for a bit,” you reply, “‘t’s probably for the best.”

“probably,” he adds and silence takes over again.

he glances over at her for a second and he sees you bite at the skin of your bottom lip the way you always do when you’re thinking, contemplating. he’s tempted to ask what’s on your mind but before he can break the silence, you let out a hard sigh.

“i don’t apologize for things,” you begin and pause, biting at your lip again.

“okay…?”

“i don’t apologize for my actions or words because i stand by every decision i make,” you continue and pause again. he’s looking at you and you’re looking directly ahead of you. “i’m not good at apologizing,” you sigh again, “but i’m…sorry for some of the things i said the other night. there’s no excuse. i apologize. take that how you will.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” he replies.

you huff. “so i just said all that for nothing? you could at least accept the damn apology,” she snaps at him then rubs the crease between her eyebrows out.

“you called me an old man. i don’t know if i want to accept your apology,” he teases with a crooked smile. you send him a look that turns into a hint of a smile before turning your head away.

“i need to get back to grading those tests. i’ll see you later, logan.” you stomp out another cigarette and stand up from the bench.

“see ya, sweetheart,” he says lowly but you still hear it.

as you look over tests, ororo enters your classroom. “ooh, what’s got you all smiley?” she asks as she strolls in.

the previous smile you didn’t even realize you were wearing falls when you look up at the mutant. “huh?”

“don’t try to deny it. i saw that smile,” she says teasingly. you just roll your eyes lightheartedly. ororo’s brow furrows as she sniffs the air. “are you smoking again?”

“yeah, i quit drinking,” you answer, “what’s up?”

“i was coming in here to ask you if you wanted to go out with the rest of us friday night. we’re planning on going that bar we always go to,” she says, “but if you’re not drinking, i don’t wanna make you go.”

“yeah, no. that’s okay,” you decline the offer.

“alright, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to join us. sober or not,” she adds before leaving out.

the week drags on painfully slow. it’s a week of tests and starting new units in all your classes and you really just want to bang your head against a wall and tell the kids class is canceled.

by the end of it, you actually do want to join your colleagues in going out to that bar in town that they love so much. you offer to be the designated driver, not trusting anyone but yourself to drive you anywhere.

“are you going with us to the bar?” you ask logan as he rummages around the cabinets for something to eat.

“no,” he answers, opening the fridge, “are you?”

“yeah, i’m driving,” you tell him. there’s a beat of silence before you add, “you should come.”

he turns toward you at your words with a crooked smile. “oh yeah?” he questions, “why? ‘you want me there?”

you scoff with no heat behind it. “i was just trying to be nice,” you say.

“you? nice?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

“what? you don’t think i’m nice?” you ask him defensively, crossing your arms.

“no,” he replies, not skipping a beat.

“i’m very nice,” you counter.

“no, you’re not,” he denies again, also crossing his arms.

in his white beater, crossing his arms makes his arms flex and you can’t help but let your eyes wander to the veins of his biceps.

“you have nice hair. there, nice,” you compliment, then add right after, “you’re not balding or anything, which is quite common for men your age.”

“you’re not good at this,” he tells you, looking at your plate to see what you're eating.

“do you want some?” you ask him. you hold your plate across the counter for him to pick off of. he grabs one of your chips and eats it.

“thanks,” he mutters.

“look at me being nice,” you comment and he chuckles deeply.

“shut up,” he returns playfully.

the five of you go to the bar that night, logan joining at your request. he sits at the bar, ordering drink after drink and scanning the bar every so often to make sure you’re alright.

you spend most of your time at ororo’s side. before long, you’re accompanied by a couple of men. you and ororo share side-eyes as they continue to tell stupid jokes. ororo excuses the both of you to go to the bathroom only to move next to logan at the bar.

“having fun?” he asks sarcastically, looking at you then glancing to ororo.

“they could’ve at least been funny, but they weren’t. there terribly unfunny,” you tell him, sitting next to him on a barstool and ororo laughs.

“yeah, that was awful,” she comments and sips her drink. “oh, i see jean and scott. i’ll be back later.” she leaves the two of you. you order a club soda and turn to logan, who is hunched over his drink.

“you have really bad posture,” you tell him as the bartender hands you your drink. he just shrugs and refills his glass with the bottle the bartender left in front of him. you dig your finger into his spine and he straightens up, looking at you wildly.

“why?” is all he asks.

“it’ll help you look more presentable. you’re not looking for anybody tonight?” you ask and glance around the bar for women.

“no, i’m not,” he answers and slumps back down. you dig your finger into his back again and he looks down at you. “stop,” he says seriously.

“oh, what’re you gonna do? stab me?” she asks him challengingly. he looks back down to his drink and shakes his head dismissively. “oh, come on. you’re good-looking, you’re good in bed, you’ve got this hot, animalistic thing going on. why not look for somebody?”

“‘cause i don’t want anybody,” he answers. “did you say i’m good in bed?”

“well, yeah,” you confirm with a one-shouldered shrug.

he stares at you for a beat. this is the first time you’ve ever mentioned it before. you don’t talk about the things you two have done. ever.

“i would know,” you add after he stays quiet.

“you would know what?” ororo asks as she rejoins you, along with scott and jean. they all stand directly behind the man, looking at you expectantly. logan’s waiting for you to make up a lie.

“that logan’s good in bed,” you answer, gesturing to the man next to you. his eyebrows raise and he looks directly in front of him, a smirk playing on his lips as he drinks down all of what’s left in his glass and refills it again. you surprise him more and more every day.

“he’s what?” ororo questions, shock written all over her.

you roll your eyes. “you don’t have to do the clueless bit. jean reads minds and i know she’s told you two,” you state, pointing between ororo and scott.

“what? i haven’t—i didn’t—,” jean stutters over her words, laughing through them.

“liar,” you clock it in a high-pitched tone, sipping your drink. “i’ve heard you talk about it before. i’m just surprised you haven’t mentioned it yet.”

the three of them exchange glances. “okay, yeah, we knew. we thought you would deny it anyway so we didn’t bring it up,” ororo admits.

logan stays silent, drinking like he’s been thirsting for days. why are you doing this? “so…you two are…,” scott trails off. you shrug as your answer. “hmm.”

“hey, sweetheart, you never came back,” the guy from early comes up behind you and wraps an around your shoulders. you tense up at the feeling.

you remove his hand from you. “don’t touch me, and don’t call me sweetheart,” you tell him. he laughs and looks at your colleagues.

“why not? looks like everybody’s got a matchup here but you. let me help you fix that,” he says and runs the knuckles of his finger across your collarbone. he points at scott and jean, then logan and ororo. “i can make you feel good,” he whispers in your ear.

“seriously, don’t touch me,” you tell him firmly, pushing his hand off your shoulder and shifting your seat away from him.

logan doesn’t watch the encounter but he’s squeezing the glass in his hand so hard it’s about to shatter. he feels the red-hot rage crawl up his neck as he does every time he encounters some asshole in a bar.

“don’t be like that, sweetheart,” the man continues and reaches for the strap over your shoulder. chills cover your arms and legs and a shiver runs down your spine. you grab his hand roughly and shove it away from you.

“touch me again and i’m gonna break your fucking nose,” you tell him.

“ooh, i got a feisty one,” he comments to the rest of your group, laughing. “i like that.”

scott takes a step forward. “you need to lay off, man,” he tells him, trying to keep this civil and contained.

the man only laughs harder. “what are you gonna do, glasses?” he asks him and slings his arm over your shoulders. “come on, baby, let’s get out of here. i got a real nice spot for you in my bed.”

“she already told you not to touch her, bub,” logan chimes in, still looking straight ahead and not sparing the boy a glance. there’s a tightness in his shoulders as he uses all his self control to stay in his seat.

“woah, tell your bodyguards to stand down,” he says to you but your only response is to rear back and deck him directly in the nose.

he stumbles back, holding his nose as blood drips into his hand. “you dumb bitch—,” he lunges toward you but logan whips around and grabs him by the front of his shirt, shoving him up against a wall.

“what’d you say?” the mutant asks him lowly, a growl deep in his throat.

“hey, take it outside!” the bartender yells at the man.

“why don’t we do that? you wanna take it outside?” logan asks the scared man in his grasp, shoving him harder into the wall.

“logan, let’s go,” ororo tells him as she walks with you toward the door. he doesn’t move. “logan!”

he drops his hold on the man and turns his back to him. he doesn’t even take a step before the dumbass says, “yeah, listen to your bitch.”

logan turns back around and absolutely socks him in the jaw. the man falls to the ground. logan walks after his friends, rolling his shoulders.

when logan gets out to the car, he sees you in the driver's seat, holding your hand closely to his body. he sits in the passenger seat and looks at you.

“are you okay?” he asks you carefully.

“did you kill him?” you ask him flatly without meeting his gaze, and he shakes his head. “you should’ve,” you say coldly and start the engine, driving out of the parking lot and back to the mansion as quickly as possible.

when you arrive, logan accompanies you to the lab for jean to look at your hand. he wasn’t going to say anything but watching you cradle your hand makes him change his mind. “are you alright?” he asks you.

“fine,” you reply sharply, clenching your jaw tightly. he watches you bite at your lip.

“speak your mind,” he tells you, just outside the hidden elevator. you just shake your head at him. “if you don’t, you’ll take it out on jean.”

“why can’t i just do that?” you ask lowly.

“‘cause she doesn’t deserve it,” he reasons.

you take a deep, frustrated breath. “what happened tonight was stupid,” you say, “dumb fucking men thinking they can get whatever they want whenever they want. now my hand might be broken because i couldn’t—,” you cut yourself off and take another deep breath to steady yourself. “i’m done talking about this,” you say and open the door to the hidden elevator.

he blocks your path. “no, you’re not,” he says and waits for you to continue. that’s when the dam really breaks and you last out at him.

“it’s stupid. all of this is fucking stupid. i could’ve handled myself back there. i didn’t need you to step up and be my big, strong savior,” you tell him angrily, voice rising.

“i know,” he returns.

you’re shouting now, “then why couldn’t you just let me do it? i could’ve stopped him. i’m stronger now. i know how to fight now. i don’t need anybody to save me. i can save myself. i don’t need you. i don’t need any of you.” your voice cracks as the anger starts to shift into the feelings you hate to feel. “i’m not gonna let anyone take advantage of me ever again. and i’ll break every bone in my body before i let some drunk narcissistic man ever put his hands on me again,” you say your peace and breathe heavily and unsteadily.

there’s a long pause, the weight of your words hanging between you. logan doesn’t interrupt, giving you the floor to get it all out.

“i know,” he repeats himself deeply, “but you shouldn't have to.”

you feel that familiar ache in the back of your throat as tears threaten to spill out. you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, pushing all the emotions back down. “my hand really hurts,” you tell him quietly, not trusting your voice. he puts his hand gently on your back and leads you into the elevator then into the lab.

by the time you’re in front of jean, you’ve pulled yourself together and let her examine your hand. you did break your hand. she wraps it up for you and sends you to your room with some pain meds.

logan doesn’t leave your side until you’re at your bedroom door. “i don’t want you to come inside,” you tell him quietly. he stays silent. “it’s just that you’ve never seen my room before and this is mostly where i use my abilities and it’s messy right now and—.”

“‘t’s fine,” he interrupts your rambling. “i don’t have to come inside.”

“right,” you mumble, hand gripping the doorknob. “good night.”

“‘night.” he doesn’t make his way to his room until you slip into yours, locking the door behind you.

the next mid-morning, logan walks into the kitchen to see jean scolding you like a child. he’s surprised you’re just sitting there and taking it without a word.

“i’m serious,” jean says, finishing her tongue lashing.

“i know,” you mumble before jean offers logan a soft ‘good morning’ as she leaves.

“what was that about?” he asks you, moving over to the table where you sit with paper spread in front of you.

“i need to grade these papers but my hand is broken and dr grey told me it would only cause more damage,” you explain, sighing heavily and holding the pen in your healthy hand.

“let me help,” he says, snatching the pen from your fingers and the paper from in front of you. the numbers on the sheet are all greek to him. he doesn’t know what the hell he’s looking at.

“you can’t,” you tell him, pulling the paper from his hands. “you don’t know how to do it.”

“then tell me,” he offers, moving his chair next to yours. “tell me what’s wrong and i’ll write it down.”

you shake your head a few times before giving in. “fine,” you cave and look over the student’s work. you place the page in front of the man and point a certain part of a problem. “okay, so he should’ve foil’d here but he didn’t so the rest of the work is wrong. put a line through it and write ‘foil’,” you instruct him and he follows your orders.

“like that?” he asks, showing you. you nod in approval.

“your handwriting actually isn’t that bad. i was expecting a lot worse,” you comment, leaning into him as you look over the next problem. “that one’s right, so put a check,” you tell him and he follows.

the process continues on. every time there’s a gap of silence as you examine the math that he would never even try to understand, he watches you in complete admiration. there are practically hearts in his eyes while the gears turn in your brain.

as the next few days progress, you and logan spend more time together than you ever have. whether he’s in your classroom during your free period or you watch whatever movie’s on tv together on the couch, if someone’s looking for logan, you’re right beside him and vice versa.

of course, the others have taken notice of it. it’s new and after you confirmed you had been sleeping together, they draw their own conclusions about the two of you.

“‘y’know what i would like to see?” you prompt logan as you watch a show with a lumberjack in it.

“what’s that, darlin’?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“you chop wood,” you tell him, looking up at him from your spot under his arm.

“chop wood?” he questions.

“yeah, like, axe, wood, outside, shirtless, sweaty, and muscly, chopping wood,” you tell him, “lumberjack style.”

“lumberj—.”

“with the cigar,” you add excitedly, cutting him off. “maybe add in a little dehydration too.”

“i think you’re drooling a little bit,” he tells you, pointing at your mouth as a lazy smile rests on his face.

“probably, that’s hot,” you tell him, looking back at the screen.

as the credits roll, logan looks down to see you sound asleep with your head resting on his chest. he carefully picks you up in his arms and carries you to your room.

he opens the door and pauses his movements, eyes dancing across your room. there are no personal touches on the walls or shelves. it looks exactly like his did when he first got to the mansion. well, except for one obvious difference.

your room looks completely dilapidated, like an abandoned home that the sun and time have destroyed. the dark color of the wooden floors and furniture has faded, every surface dry and brittle. in some parts, mostly near the window, the wood is completely bleached of its color.

he lays you in your bed and covers you up, taking in the room once more before he leaves.

“why don’t you have another name like everyone else?” he asks as you sit next to him on the bench where you now regularly take your smoke breaks on.

“like a last name? i do have one,” you answer, flicking the butt of your cigarette onto the pavement.

“scott has cyclops, marie’s got rogue,” he elaborates, glancing over at you. you’re sitting right beside him, his arm thrown over the back of the bench in a way that your head rests on it.

“i don’t know. i guess i never understood why i have to change my name just because i’m a mutant. i am who i am, human or mutant,” you answer, messing with a loose thread on your pants. “plus, seeing the way you made fun of the others when you first got here for their names—i’d never even try to think of one now,” you tell him, making him chuckle. you smile proudly at making him laugh. “you looked so cute when you first got here.”

“are you saying i’m not cute anymore?” he asks in mock offense, looking at you sideways.

“i mean, when i first saw you, you had that big jacket on and you were so clueless. a little less muscle too,” you recount, poking his toned stomach to which he curls to the side. your jaw drops. “are you ticklish?” you ask him, a smile growing on your face.

“no,” he replies sharply and gruffly, straightening his posture.

“oh, my fuck. you so are ticklish,” you accuse and dig your fingers into his ribs, attempting to tickle him.

a deep laugh leaves him, and he grabs your hand in his, his facial expression dropping quickly. “stop,” he tells you in warning. you just laugh in his face, reaching toward him with your other hand, cigarette still between your fingers. he grabs your other hand before you touch him, cigar between his fingers. “no,” he denies you.

you look toward the mansion and see the sun reflecting off a window. you bend the light so it’s shining directly in his eyes, almost burning them. he shuts his eyes tightly and brings one of his hands up to his face. as quickly as you can, you reach back into his side.

he quickly stands up and looks down at you. “enough,” he says and points a finger in your face.

you stand up also, but you’re shorter than him so he’s still looking down at you. you decide to stand on the bench, now a little taller than he is. you don’t say anything, just look down on him with a straight face.

logan can’t help the smile that breaks his scowl. “you’re an idiot,” he tells you, raising his eyebrows at you.

you mimic his gesture then flick the cigarette butt onto the ground. “you are cute, wolvie,” you say and ruffle his hair. “i get the whole towering over people know. this is a power trip for sure,” you comment.

“oh, really?” he questions and puts the cigar between his lips. he grabs you around your waist and throws you over his shoulder like you’re as light as a feather.

you let out a surprised squeal as he walks away from your bench with you in his hold. “put me down. bad boy, bad dog,” you chastise him hitting his lower back. he doesn’t listen so you just hang over his shoulder as he drags you into the mansion.

you grab his ass abruptly and he stops in his tracks. he places you on the floor and tilts his head as he looks into your eyes, taking the cigar from his mouth. “‘bad dog’?”

“yeah, wolverine,” you say, gesturing to him.

“a wolverine’s not a dog,” he tells you, smiling down at you.

your brow furrows. “yeah, it’s like a small wolf, right?” you wonder and feel like an idiot when he laughs at you.

“no,” he answers, shaking his head.

“liar,” you accuse.

he tells you, “go to the zoo. there’s some there.”

you look up at him in disbelief. “you’re fucking with me,” she states and he shakes his head in complete amusement. “if you’re lying to me, i’ll—.”

“what? try to blind me again?” he asks, cutting you off.

“maybe i will,” you challenge, crossing your arms.

he pauses for a moment, considering. “maybe i want you to,” he says and his tone drops, like, two octaves when he says it.

you’re suddenly aware of how close the two of you are, how his hands gripped your waist just a moment before, how effortlessly he carried you. the playful atmosphere shifts and you feel heat creep up your neck and across your cheeks. you don’t blush, especially not around him.

“logan,” is all you say softly. he notices the change in tone. he notices everything about you, every detail, every flaw, every perfection.

for a moment, neither of you speak. the air between you is charged. your eyes travel all over his face. he really is such an attractive guy. and when you peel back the tough guy layer, he’s a sweetheart.

“thanks for the ride,” you say lightly, trying to break the tension.

he nods, gaze still locked on you. “anytime,” he remarks, his voice rougher than it was a moment before.

you both stand there for a few more seconds, not really sure where to go from here. his eyes shift from yours to your lip as you chew on it. his jaw tightens and he looks away from you, taking a step back to give you some space.

your heart pounds against your chest unfamiliarly. everything about this feels so new to you.

“see you around, pup,” you say, your voice back to its teasing tone.

“yeah,” he adds, watching as you turn away and walk back toward the mansion.

more days pass and you spend more time with logan. he notices that you make fun of him more, teasing him for small stuff.

it’s only when he’s in the laundry room that ororo catches him alone. “hey, logan,” she greets. he mumbles something of the same. “so…you look pretty cozy with a certain mutant.”

“huh?”

“you know what i’m talking about,” she says, leaning against a washing machine.

“it’s nothing,” he tells her, starting the machine he threw his clothes into haphazardly.

“‘doesn’t look like nothing,” she returns.

“leave it alone,” he grumbles, turning to leave the room.

ororo steps in front of him, placing a hand on his chest. “please, don’t hurt her, logan,” she requests.

“she doesn’t want me the way you think,” he tells her.

“you can’t seriously believe that,” she says, looking back and forth between his eyes.

at that very moment, you turn the corner and your eyes widen. you ignore the sting in your chest as you let out a loud “woah.” ororo quickly turns around and takes a step away from logan. “i didn’t mean to interrupt,” you tell them with your hands up in surrender, but that was exactly your intention when you spoke up.

“you weren’t interrupting anything,” logan tells you, watching you move past him to grab a laundry basket.

“i’m not judging,” you reply, walking back to the door. you turn back last second and look at ororo. “hey, if he asks you to wear a red wig, say no,” you tell her with a wink before leaving.

“i never—,” logan cuts himself off, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. “i never did that,” he says to her.

“God, i hope not. what the hell,” she remarks, shoving his arm. “she was jealous. you need to go tell her nothing happened.” he sighs deeply and takes a step forward. “‘you really still think she doesn’t want you?”

he doesn’t reply and follows after you. you’re walking as quickly as you can up the stairs when he catches up to you. “hey,” he calls after you.

“don’t worry, buddy. secret’s safe with me,” you tell him, picking up your pace as you reach the top of the stairs but he keeps in step with you.

“there’s not a secret. we were just talking,” he says.

you place a hand on your bedroom doorknob. “really, you don’t have to defend yourself to me,” you say and open your door, slipping inside. before you can shut it, logan stops the door with his hand. you look at him through the crack in the door, pushing your lips into a thin line. “uhm…”

“there’s nothing going on between me and storm,” he tells you.

“i’m not gonna tell anybody,” you return, frustration rising in your tone. you push against the door but your strength is in no way comparable to his.

“i’m serious,” he tries again, almost pleading. “i don’t want her, i want—.”

“jean? look at that, finishing each other’s sentences again,” you cut him off with a false laugh.

“come on, darlin‘,” he says, tilting his head to the side.

you groan. “i just thought—,” you stop yourself, sighing. “it doesn’t matter what i thought.”

“it does matter,” he tells you, pushing the door a little wider. you move into the space between the doorway and the door, trying to block his view into the room. “tell me,” he encourages, getting closer to you.

“i thought you weren’t a whore,” you retort, giving him a hardened look.

“that’s not what you were gonna say,” he states lowly, looking deeply into your eyes. “what was it?” you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, biting into the skin. he reaches his hand to your jaw, his thumb pulling the lip from between your teeth. “don’t do that. you know it drives me crazy.”

“i thought maybe you wanted me for more than sex,” you admit, feeling embarrassed as the words slip out. you clench your jaw, preparing for the rejection. a smirk slide onto his face and you drop your head. “okay, bye.”

you move back and push against the door again, but this time he pushes the door all the way open. your eyes widen as he takes a long stride toward you and pulls you back to him by the back of your neck. he presses his lips against yours feverishly to which you obviously reciprocate.

he pulls away and rests his forehead against yourself, breathing heavily. “i want you in every way possible, sweetheart,” he says.

you swallow thickly, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him away. “you don’t want me,” you tell him. he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you back into him, your chest pushing against his.

“i do,” he counters.

“you don’t,” you respond.

there’s a beat of silence. “i do,” he says again. you just look up into his eyes. “i want you. i’m not the best person for you, i know that. i’m older and unhappy and i probably can’t be there for you emotionally,” he lists then shakes his head at you, looking at you like you make the world go round. “but i want you, i want every part of you—the good, the bad, the hot and sexy, and the rude and snappy. everything.”

you’re quiet. you don’t know what to say, what is there to even say? in your head, he’s always wanted jean and you were just a place filler. you’ve been under the impression that you caught feelings and he didn’t reciprocate them at all. maybe you’re wrong just this once.

“i want you too,” you tell him in a whisper. he watches your brow furrow as you look away from his eyes. his face falls. “but—.”

“no ‘but.’ don’t say ‘but’,” he begs, loosening his grip on your waist.

“logan, i can live with you not being there for me emotionally, but i don’t know if you can live with me not being for you sexually,” you tell him. dread takes over your body. this beautiful, morally grey, perfect-for-you man is in the palm of your hand and you’re letting him slip through your fingers.

her visible confusion deepens. “you’ve been perfect for the past few months,” he tells you, misinterpreting your words as insecurity.

you shake your head. “i meant it when i said i can’t fuck you sober,” you tell him slowly, avoiding his gaze completely. you feel his hands move from his loosened grip to a hover over your hips. you can’t read his mind like you usually can. logan wears his thoughts on his face, perfectly readable when he’s mad or happy or just his normal grumpy. but now, it’s like trying to read a book in a language you didn’t know existed. “i’m sorry,” you add when his silence becomes too much.

“i don’t care,” he tells you as soon as you finish the last syllable.

“you know i don’t apologize for shit and you don’t care that i’m sorry?” you ask him. you go to push him off again but he pulls you back in, this time wrapping his around your neck, smothering your face in his burly chest.

“i don’t care about sex,” he tells you as he rests his head atop yours. you return the embrace and hold him around his ribs. “i don’t care if you never touch me again. i love you.” your eyes widen and he feels your body tense up. he chuckles, pulling away and smiling at you. “too soon?”

“a little,” you tell him, nodding. you then smile back at him.

———

a/n: i haven’t written in a long time . pls don’t rip me up if u hate this🙏

[improvapocalyps]

"Okay, yeah. If you kill a red name, killed a red name-" "I'll give you a life for that. That's the deal." "We'll be back together like buddies again, Bdubs."

In participation of Extreme Timed Challenge Gift Exchange hosted by @extremetimedchallengeexchange!

[gifs, full storyboard, behind-the-scene rambles under cut]

past 48h animatics: MCYTETC2023, ETC2023

[Red Lives-Suspicion; Prayer-Determination; Fireworks]

Fiddled with gradient maps this time for some additional colors :D I would have colored in the eyes as well, but I didn't have enough energy left when the event hit the 47th hour xD

Also played around with camera movements. Respect to people who do fan edits and other forms of video/ assets editing 'cause keyframes are so 😭

13 hours to draft storyboard this time! Last year I used 16 but with waaay more frames idk how I accomplished that. Probably bc this year I'm drawing more than three(3) characters lmao

Progress Timeline:

[13th hour] finished storyboard/ draft (plany off time...) [25th hour] lineart for the first 10 seconds (wuh oh) [36th hour] lineart for the first 25 seconds (oh shit oh fuck gotta shorten it) [45th hour] finished Bdubs' part (NOOO I DONT HAVE TIME FOR ETHO)

ngl kinda glad i cut it in half rn 'cause i'd have to spend time figuring out shadowDog's design /lh

Designs I used for Lizzie and Joel (old art from 2022 and 2021 respectively) (holy shit i've been here for 3 years???)

Joel *shakes fist* i hate u and ur stupid beard

[Lyrics vibe/scene planning; hours before disaster]

I think most of the drawn parts didn't deviate from the initial idea. Mostly timing adjustments and building upon the vibes. The parts that were changed the most was the "And you caused it (×3 combo)".

Went from "vague flashbacks" to "following Etho and co. out of the cave and back to Scott's base while implying who Etho blames with single character focus shots".

The first one is Scott because he suggested the idea. Like, obviously he's to blame. It's not like Etho went along and cemented the deal himself. Scott totally peer-pressured him into it.

The second one is Etho because... well the scene ends up kind of being like. The sight of the Snow Fortress triggering a flashback. (EthosLab the content creator deliberately turned his camera towards the Snow Fortress and holds it there for a second instead of looking at the huge lava pillar right in front of him. What is WRONG with him.)

But also like. Clocks are kind of special to Bdubs right. Whoever gave him a clock basically has his (temporary) loyalty or at the least earned a favor from him. So like. If he hadn't gifted Bdubs the clock, which signifies a closer(?) bond, maybe Bdubs wouldn't be so devoted to him (wrong). Also serves as a call-back/ reference to the "Prayer-Determination" shot ("pray with clock" in the scene planning screenshot). I like to think that Bdubs weighted his options and thought about "if he will kill/ who to kill" a lot while following the other Red Names. And in that scene he's like, convincing/ motivating himself. Remembering who/ what he's doing this for.

(It is also meant to be part of my giftee's other prompt: "an exploration of the doubt one or both of them felt during the heart transfer that didn’t happen after Bdubs killed Lizzie, and the following guilt Etho felt." The Etho section starting from "we're setting fire to our inside for fun" til the end of the animatic is based on that prompt.)

After a brief period of self-blame, it's time to shift it onto someone else! Because you're in denial! If Bdubs hadn't gone red, then Etho wouldn't have to offer the deal. If Bdubs hadn't want to stay as teammates, then he wouldn't agree to the deal. If Bdubs wasn't so devoted to Etho, then he wouldn't have attacked Lizzie and gotten himself killed.

Then the animatic ends with the end of the session :D

...That's longer than I expected but also not that long. If you read through all that, tysm :] Tell me your thoughts! Have a good day/ evening/ night :D

[iheartliquor]

the thing w that on self respect essay by joan didion is likee , sometimes it doesnt count , sometimes you do fucking crazy things and get away with it , like get off scott free .... maybe this makes more sense if like you kno u have like , idk like the luck of when ur in dire need and at times it just comes to you ... yes youll be spiritually sick in other waays but sometiems you get away with things and they dont count or matter or come back to you And its okay to let go of the fear that you'll eventually be caught .... i like the essay and all this is just my opinion ... live fast drink liquor yes it catches up to you but its okay to pretend for as long as u can that it wont ever mean anything

[darealsaltysam]

one of the things thats making me rly excited for the fnaf movie is the amount of respect being shown to the community and the source material yknow. the way they made actual, physical animatronics instead of falling back on cgi. the way theyre showing so much love for the community that got the game so far - with cory in the trailer and all of the people on the employees of the month board (and lets be honest mark is definitely gonna be in this movie too. i dont believe a word hes saying). also scott himself being involved with the script and the direction instead of just taking the franchise out of his hands. idk i think !! this will be good !!! i have lots of hope !!!!!!!

[nyuuronfly]

quick doodle showing how you draw perspective, if that's ok?

i really like your art btw, you're one of the few people i usually go to for reference for drawings and actively follow

i'm definitely not the best teacher haha! this may not be useful. in general, my approach to perspective is the basic stuff: horizon lines are the most important, and vanishing points are placed along it. I am working on a drawing right now which is pushing perspective, its my first very extreme fisheye lense one. I could use it as an example of somethings.

the horizontal line in the middle is the "horizon line" or "eye level." It shows that anything above the line is above the viewer, and anything below it is below. So below, you are looking at the top of things, and above, you are looking at the under-side of things. The other points are the furthest possible point down an axis. In this extreme perspective, you can see all the way to the right and left (or east/west) of the viewer. So it is very distorted. Anything that is getting further away from a viewer along a certain axis is moving closer to a respective vanishing point. so as we go further right, they converge toward the right point. upwards is converging into the upwards point. etc. The guides are there mainly as reminders of how to keep certain dimensions in mind. But the most important thing is to think of things 3-dimensionally and visualize. I'm freehanding this, so its imperfect. But hopefully that illustrates some of the idea. Normally, perspective does not have to curve. It curves when there is two vanishing points for polar opposite directions like up/down etc. but for lower field-of-view "camera," where just one point on an axis is visible or relevant, i dont need to do that.

If you're interested in learning perspective properly, the two books you might want to look into are either Perspective Made Easy by Ernest Norling, or How to Draw by Scott Robertson. The later is more advanced, but is basically the best resource. I probably could learn a lot from it myself.

[binomech]

this is another long meta post about kim kitsuragi. mostly.

i just talk about shared themes with scott summers (x-men) + matt murdock (daredevil) because 1) i like those characters 2) i really do think they're a good parallel lens -- feel free to engage, or not. i realize the overlapping audience for these three dudes is 0 people as far as i'm aware

i find myself once again haunted by the recurring Themes of the characters that i like and i worry that in my search for intertextual relations i might accidentally tropeify and corner these beloved blorbos into a collection of traits separate from their circumstance and medium. which would be very un-historical-materialist of me. but this is a fandom post, so here's a disclaimer about it.

things that i could have made into a shitty venn diagram graphic but didn't:

they're all repressed assholes

whose repression is so big they're only capable of getting into relationships with people that are mildly to severely psychic

eye-related trauma

their childhood was taken from them

their personal and societal value comes from the ability to enact violence

their moral code is held together with duct tape

scott + kim

here's a quote from uncanny x-men (2013) that haunts me

[WHAT WAS THE REVOLUTION SCOTT?] OUR LAST CHANCE. OKAY? We have nothing left but threats! We fought for them and they hate us! We fought alongside them and they kill our children in the streets! We pack up and move to an island and they destroy it! We move to another island and the fucking avengers storm the fucking beaches. We’re supposed to be the next step in human evolution yet we’ve become an endangered species. We’re everything they are not and we’re a shadow of our former selves. All we have left is threats. The threat of revolution. The threat of a fight we hope they dont want. So, yes, I got in front of any camera that would show my face and I looked their world in the eye and told them – they better leave us alone. I stood on the bridge of the helicarrier and I threatened them. because nothing. else. has. worked.

thinking about the RCM in le retour as a sort of liberal intermediary between revachol and the coalition being sort of like the x-men mediating between humanity and the mutant brotherhood, and generally how both kim and scott are Finally fucking ready to admit that maybe their own contributions defanged the negotiation. by cooperating with the liberal mediator they took all the leverage the revolutionaries had to liberate all of the mutants/revachol.

i have mentioned before that i think kim's itchy trigger finger is an overcompensation: "if i work hard enough my eyesight won't make me a target. if i have a lethal weapon i can hit back" -- and he's in a permanent state of alert about everything and everyone because he has painted a target on his back (through his enlistment) only to be able to say I Told You So. and then scott being left behind because of his disability denying him control over his own destructive power. both xavier and the RCM recruit with the promise of control and the upper hand and scott and kim, respectively, destroy their sense of self over and over for The Cause because the cause is synonymous with personal worth and safety from their own failings.

user @askaniritual has expressed an idea that i find relevant as well very eloquently:

i think the ppl [Scott] attracts to him tend to be people who like. believe themselves to be monsters and see how hard scott is trying and how much he cares about doing the right thing. and tend to pin all their hopes for salvation onto him. like i think jean and emma and logan all believe that if they follow scott, and if they help him achieve his goals then they'll achieve some sort of partial redemption by association. (...)

kim and scott being isolated from the world, yes, but also from their own desires in their sublimation of their selfhood for the x-men/the RCM = only a mind reader can see my true self = the only self i have is what is reflected to me by the mind reader = the reflection is dehumanizing and it fits poorly into my sense of self = oh god i'm hollow there is no real me

and of course, the obvious reading of Harry as someone who in many ways believes Kim to be a beacon of justice and kindness and in that way dehumanizes him and feeds into the 'my self is an empty hall of mirrors.' but also, I think, different because Harry can come to understand Kim as someone flawed who's trying to do good, breaking the illusion of saintly behavior and pushing through the friction. Maddy is a flawed parallel to Jean, and Harry is a flawed paralel to Ambrosius Saint-Miro: it's their flawed humanity and not the psychic quality that allows for genuine connection.

matthew + kim

[note for the hypothetical daredevil fan reading this: i do not think catholicism is a core of matt's moral code, much like i don't think moralism is at the core of kim's adult morality. i think both of them spent enough under spaces that valued it to realize its limitations which is precisely why they turn to violence-as-a-means and view it like some kind of slightly cringe-but-fond memory. i think the important remainder of its influence lies in their incapacity to reconcile their mistakes with their capacity to do good -- when i say they think of themselves as just, i don't think they believe themselves to be just. i think they are in a sunk cost hellscape where they can't tell themselves anything else unless they want to have an existential crisis.]

the violence of dogma and the alienation from your body due to disability and, in kim's case, race sits at the core of this parallel.

i don't think moralism and christianity have a clear-cut parallel but i think the beliefs that guide them as they do most religions of unity, redemption, collective identity and moral guidelines are blatant traumas for these two.

when matt gets interested in law depends on the timeline just like his sight loss but my timeline of choice is sight loss - law interest - dad death. like sure, yes, you're raised casually catholic and everyone tells you about god's mercy and all-encompassing justice beyond human action and then you get blinded by essentially an OSHA violation.

i don't think that warrants enough of a faith crisis especially when you're like, 12, but certainly it makes you think a little bit about cosmic justice and why me and we could do things better by the book because by the book is the bible and the bible says the world is just and magnanimous thanks to god. and also workplace safety sounds like an extremely good idea right now. so you sink yourself into law as a moral arbiter.

and you start noticing like, hey, uh, my dad is doing some shady business huh -- and you're a 12 year old boy so you go: dad this whole mob bribe thing this whole... selling your body as a weapon. sounds a lot like harlotry to me. and your dad is like. this is the only reason we have enough to eat, ever think about that?

and then he gets killed because he didn't want to be a disappointment to you, because he was also catholic and he did not want to feel guilty for selling his body to survive.

and you're taken into a catholic orphanage so you're mulling this shit over until college. was dad's death divine punishment? is god kind? does god exist? if he doesn't then my dad's death was senseless. if he does my dad's death was cruel. is the universe just? can i make the universe just?

i'm going to gloss over all the Mentor plotlines because they are different depending on the universe and largely irrelevant except for the way they all have the 'give matt moral OCD' common denominator.

now imagine kim kitsuragi in a potentially-dolorian definitely-coalition approved orphanage thinking: were my parents really terrorists? why does the theory of communism and the reality of the war clash? will it happen to me? will it happen to people i love? can i change this? am i part of something good?

so matt goes and studies law and starts a bureau because he has faith in doing things by the book, until the book fails him, and then he decides he has to do right by his values, so he turns to vigilantism and violence in the name of the law. / so kim goes and enlists in the rcm and climbs through the ranks because he has faith in the collective, in being a piece of the sky that approaches justice with a slow step until the collective shows him again, and again, that it's counterproductive and then he turns to vigilantism and violence in the name of the law.

and both matt and kim are in a perpetual crisis of faith, and they know. matt goes to confession booths and sardonically tells priests about him beating people to death. kim smokes a cigarette and tells you about stealing hubcaps and the electric chair and the dire consequences of handing a fine with a smile on his face saying he doesn't think he's a moralist anymore.

but after matt gets out of the church, he is at ease, he does it again because if he doesn't, how can the world go on. but after, kim will tell you he believes in the RCM because he has to believe that he can do something, anything, or the world falls apart.

matt murdock isn't matt murdock, he is daredevil, he is justice. / kim kitsuragi isn't kim kitsuragi, he is a lieutenant of the rcm, he is justice.

if you're not matt/kim, you can't get it wrong when you do your best. god is wise. the coalition is wise. and if they aren't, you are. because if no one knows what to do then the world falls apart.

so what if you're blind and/or seolite? you can beat people up. you can shoot them. you can ruin their lives in two seconds. it's not personal, and they can't make it personal. you didn't do it because you're human or because of your trauma, you did it because you're justice incarnate.

you know what's good and what's more, you can make things good again, if you do it by the book. if their book is wrong, tweak it. if your mistakes haunt your dreams, make better ones.

[staticpour]

yakui banging out the tunes

this is where my art peaks nothing i make will ever be better (hope i jinx this) dont ask me whats going on w the background

yeah i put yakui in the fuckin scott pilgrim pose it was the first one that came to my mind lmao anyway here are some older yakui fanarts below the cut. its interesting seeing how my stuff has evolved

made in jan and last july respectively, i hold the one on the right with such deep hatred its so shit

their music is banging im so glad i found it

[lanadelray100]

Intro:

She/her/

I am 15, I do not use my actual name to refer to me as Ivory.

Interest: TCC, my chemical romance, creepypasta, Hunger Games, twilight, vampires, Scott Pilgrim, Gilmore Girls.

Hobbies: painting, drawing, reading, writing, crafting, listening to music, studying, researching

More thingz about me:

I am obsessed with zombies, and I have an obsession with studying and learning and STEM is essential to me.

Movies: zero-day, elephant, Twilight, Hunger Games, corpse bride, Beetlejuice, scream

I love horror movies, anything spooky is my go-to.

I am 2000s-obsessed with anything associated with emo and scene

I enjoy punk/emo/pop music mainly, I love Gerard way.

I am obsessed with Adam Lanzy, if you have any questions or wanna know about me feel free to message me.

Star sailor

I am obsessed with lolcows internet things are my pride and joy

The world so ugly but you so beautiful to me

Mastering millions of subjects

Everyone tells you to be a leader and not a follower, I say fuck it, be a potato and lead a life you wanna live, pick your poison, whatever feels lively to you, dont follow others and their ways, brainwashed, and dont do the same to others, no one is perfect, we all make mistakes, and have problems, be open-minded, creative, live life the way you want to, dont drink the cool-aid, I love TCC, because that's what I'm interested in, and if you don't, then respect, but leave.

[mysterybutknown]

GUYS, PEOPLES HOT TAKE-

I don't think Scott was in the wrong for the MAJORITY of his actions. I SAY 75% AT BEST.

How you may be thinking, tf? BUT what I've been heard and saw, Scott realistic is just being a mature adult who doesn't understand what is wrong BECAUSE we're from different generation AND because we all just think differently.

I'VE HEARD ABOUT THE SK8 THE INFINITY THING, and we're he's from (the UK) the legal age of consent is 16, is the fanarts still icky YES, is it illegal NO. So you can't call him a Ped0.

Furthermore, an artist who lives off of/works for commissions can not control the commission that get sent, can if you're REALLY struggling, are you gonna reject $100+ to draw to FICTIONAL character?

And the whole situation about MCC being on a Jewish holiday, I'd like to remind you that he only pick the teams and goes through the application, he DOES NOT pick the date. And if YOU are upset with the date RESPECTFUL tell them.

Don't just send death threats until someone breaks.

NOW do I think he was wrong? NO, not at all. BUT he does need to address the matter, he doesn't need to apologise or justify his actions, just explaining the situation.

Because goodness forbit someone make fanart and make a living off of art. GOODNESS FORBIT SOMEONE BE OBLIVIOUS FOR ONCE.

HES HUMAN! PEOPLE MAKE MISTAKES. LET THE MAN MAKE A MISTAKE AND MAKE UP FOR IT. DON'T RUIN HIS LIFE.

And for the other (not so nice) allegations, if it's TRULY a problem, then the person can seek legal action themselves. If you claim someone is doing something ILLEGAL the you don't take LEGAL ACTION (or at least an effort to be heard) , then it'll make it hard for people to believe you. Digital evidence doesn't really hood any weight anymore because of how advanced technology is.

IF THEIR IS SOMETHING WRONG SAY SOMETHING! and I don't mean ruin someone's career, if you're accusing someone of a serious crimes, take it straight to your local police department and seek support from either School, foundation and family if possible.

Also DONT FAKE SERIOUS CRIMES PEOPLE!