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[jaytoons7]

Shifted Timeline Page 10

Sorry for the hiatus. Here's a perspective shift to a group wearing top hats!

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[cy-cyborg]

Writing disability: The Super-Crip Trope, and how to avoid falling into it's harmful elements

The "Magical disabled person" or as it's often called in disability circles, the "Super-Crip" is the name of a trope in which a disabled character has some kind of magic or special abilities, which is used to mitigate or erase the impact of their disability. While not a mandatory part of the trope, many super-crip characters are also stronger than their peers, specifically because of their disability's impact on their powers. So why is this trope so unpopular among many disabled people? There's a few reasons. The main one is because more often than not, Super-crips who are written by non-disabled people are often treated as an easy way out of actually having to deal with a character's disability, and a shortcut out of having to do the research into how a disabled character would deal with certain situations. When these writers encounter something they think their disabled character can't do, instead of actually talking to people with the same disability as their character and doing research, they just write that its not a problem because "magic powers go!"

In some cases, but not all, their powers all but erase their disability completely, at least from the perspective of it's relevance to the story. While, to my knowledge, this was never in the comics or movies, A good example of this is a "fan-theory" I've seen among non-disabled X-men fans who claim professor X could use his telepathy to walk, functionally bypassing his spinal injury (Or his leg injury, if we're going off some of the comics' timelines). This would functionally erase his disability, making it an example of both the super-crip trope and the miracle-cure trope.

ID: An image of Professor X from X-men, a white bald man wearing a suit, sitting in a silver wheelchair, and another unknown man in a suit standing beside him, framed by a circular doorway, both their faces are partially obscured by shadow. /end ID]

Another reason this trope is disliked is because writer's often have good intentions when using this trope, but they actually end up undermining the points they were trying to make. Often, super-crips are portrayed as badasses in an attempt to show that "you can still be a hero/useful to the plot and be disabled", but the way they portray it usually implies that disabled people, as they exist in real life, aren't useful unless they have something that compensates for their disability or have impossible powers.

So should super-crips be avoided entirely? Some folks in the community think so, but personally, I don't agree. Despite all of what I've said so far, I think there are ways to write characters who technically fit the definition of a super-crip, without it being harmful. There's an argument to be made that "super-crip" specifically refers to harmful version of the trope, so not everyone will consider characters who aren't part of it, but I do, and I think it's important to discuss both the harm this trope can bring, and how this trope can be used in non-harmful ways. Humans (and creatures with human-level intelligence) are adaptable creatures, and in a world where magic exists and especially in worlds where its common, disabled people will find ways to use it to help themselves. but help is the key word there. So let's talk about some ways you can write super-crips, without it crossing the line into becoming harmful. The following are some things for you to consider about your character's disability, how their magic/powers interacts with it, how they interact with the world (and vice versa) and more:

Are your character's powers an aid or a cure?

The first, and one of the most important things to consider, is if your character's powers function like an aid or piece of assistive tech, or a cure? If you boil it down, is the magic helping them or "fixing" them? This can be a cure in the literal sense, as in giving an amputee the ability to shape-shift to get their limb back, or a functional cure, meaning the power essentially by-passes the disability, like the above mentioned professor-X fan-theory. It's not literally curing him, but it might as well be. In a world where this magic or super-powers exist, it's perfectly natural that a character might use the magic to lessen the impact of their disability, but it shouldn't erase it entirely. Give the magic a trade off, make it imperfect. You character can cummon a magic prosthetic, but there's a time limit on how long it lasts for, or their magic needs to recharge it. A wheelchair using mage might be able to engrave magic runes on their chair that allow them to pass over rough terrain, but only to a certain extent. It might allow them to go up-stairs, but it can only be used so many times per day (and make sure you show the times where they need to get up the stairs, but have run out of uses!) Things like that.

Is the power directly tied to their disability?

Is the power you're giving the character directly tied to their disability? There's 2 ways you could read this, and both should be considered. 1. The power is something you, as the author, gave to them specifically because it would help mitigate their disability (e.g. giving a character without arms telepathy so they can still pick things up/hold things because you couldn't figure out how they would be a badass swordsman without it) or 2. Does this character, in universe, have their power specifically because of their disability? e.g. Did our arm amputee develop telepathy through sheer-force of will because they really wanted to be a swordsman, and their determination manifested as telepathy/A god gave them the powers because they felt bad for them/a wizard taught them how to do it because they were inspired by the person's perseverance? If the answer to the first one was yes, perhaps reconsider and do more research. If the answer to the second one is yes, proceed with a lot of caution. Generally, if the powers originate from someone feeling sorry for your character, being inspired by them or anything to do with their determination and perseverance, I'd recommend changing that. However, if the powers came from your character having to adapt something to to their disability, that is really a case-by-case basis thing. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. your success with it will depend on the character, the setting and the specifics of how.

Is this power common, or is this character the only person in the cast/only person we see with this ability?

Is the power you're giving your disabled character rare, or even unique? It's fine to give your disabled characters powers that are common within the world, but if they're one of the only people who has that ability (or similar abilities), ESPECIALLY if it directly helps mitigate their disability, you might want to reconsider that choice. In a world where everyone can fly, it would be weird if your wheelchair user couldn't without an explanation. But if no one else in the story can fly except your wheelchair user, it starts looking more like you just gave them that power so you don't have to think about accessibility in your world. If you really must give your disabled character the rare/unique power, consider making another character with a similar disability but no/more common powers so you aren't just avoiding the issue, or making the power not related to/impact their disability directly (e.g. giving your leg amputee super-hearing.)

Does this power solve a wider access issue in your world, or does it just make it easier for your character alone?

As a general rule of thumb, if you are writing a story where you don't want accessibility issues to be a thing (e.g. a story set in a utopia), focus on fixing the environment, not the characters. Instead of giving your wheelchair user the ability to fly upstairs, give the buildings ramps and lifts. That way, its a solution for everyone with that disability, no matter their access to things like magic or technology. When talking about super-crips, this is especially important, doubly so if your character's power is rare! I made a (mostly joking) post ages ago about an idea for an earth-bender character in the Avatar universe, who gets fed up with republic city being inaccessible and starts earth-bending all the stairs into ramps. This solves the accessibility issue for them, but also makes their environment more accessible for others without bending to get around. Of course, not every disabled character will want to help/care to help others, but often when non-disabled people write disabled characters with powers, they kind of forget that their character won't be the only disabled person in this world. It often feels like they honestly think fixing things for their character means there's no problem anymore, and that's not the case.

Avoid, "I may have [insert disability here] but I can still do stuff because of my power!"

By this, I mean give your character other ways to address issues relating to their disability than just their powers. One funny example I remember reading in a writing group I was a part of was this author who was bragging about how their paralysed character could still drive a car because they had electrokinisis (the ability to telepathically control electronics). Aside from the fact that wouldn't work on all cars - including the one their character drove, since not all cars have electronic components controlling their acceleration and brakes, the way they described it was extremely complex, and overall not worth the effort when the real-life solution, hand controls, was much, much easier and the setting allowed for easy access to that kind of tech. When I pointed this out to them, they said they had no idea hand controls were a thing, and they had no idea that real disabled people could drive. They thankfully changed it, but there's 2 things to take from this: 1, double check that disabled people can do the things you assume they can't, your magic solution might very well not be needed, and 2. variety is important regardless. No one device, or in this case, magic power, should act as a one-size-fits-all solution. IRL disabled people have lots of tools to help us, I have 2 sets of prosthetics for different tasks, a wheelchair, a grabby claw (for reaching things on high shelves when using my short legs and wheelchair) and hand controls in my car (or at least I used to but we won't get into that lol). My prosthetics won't "fix" all my problems, I need other tools too. keep this in mind when it comes to magic too - it shouldn't be the only thing at your character's disposal.

There's nothing to compensate for.

Remember, don't treat your character's disability as something they need to make up for (especially if they "make up for it" using their powers). Your disabled character is allowed to make mistakes, they're allowed to have flaws both related and unrelated to their disability, they're allowed to not be good at some things, and they don't always have to be the best at whatever their roll in the plot is. In most stories, they should be on par with the other characters, or at least in the same ball-park, but as I mentioned before, a lot of stories don't let disabled characters fail. In order to justify them even being present, they are often made out to be the undeniable best, almost to mary-sue levels of perfection and super-crips especially fall into this issue a lot. They can be good at things, but balance it out, like with any other character.

You don't have to use all of these points, but they are still worth at least considering. For example, Toph fails all of these points except the first three. Despite that, she's still one of my favorite disabled characters in media, even if she's not perfect, and I'm not alone in thinking that. I've seen lots of other disabled people say the same about her. Which of these points you should use will depend on your story, character, setting and tone. As I've mentioned a few times now, the key is striking a balance. At the end of the day though, these are only general pieces of advice and a lot more factors go into making a character like this work. only disabled people will be able to tell you if you've pulled it off, and that's where beta-readers and disabled sensitivity readers come in!

Also, remember, these kinds of tropes don't just apply to the more common/well-known disabilities like amputations and wheelchair users, that's just what I have experience with! Be sure to research any disabilities your character has to ensure you are not falling into these tropes.

[ichorai]

as it was ; logan howlett.

track seven of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; logan howlett x mutant!scientist!gn!reader

synopsis ; you first met logan as weapon x, wiped clean of any memory of his past life. he had nearly killed you then. and now, almost two years later, he’s pressing kisses over the very same scars his adamantium claws had inflicted.

words ; 9.1k

themes ; angst, fluff, action, mutant au, scientist au

warnings / includes ; descriptions of violence and gore, death, blood and injuries, alcohol, smoking, emotions™, logan calls you 'bub' and 'darlin', reader has the ability to manipulate matter, reader is a scientist, based on marvel comics presents: weapon x issues #72-84, mentions of the brotherhood and the rest of the x-men, charles is your bff :D, not accurate x-men timelines </3

main masterlist.

You pressed your knuckles into your tired eyes, wincing when bright colors exploded behind your eyelids. Gingerly, you blinked to adjust back to the brightness of the laboratory’s artificial lights, stifling a wide yawn with the back of your palm.

It was your shift to watch him. Weapon X.

Everything was deathly silent, other than the rhythmic beeping of the machine in front of you. The machine that told you he was still alive. Still breathing.

You shifted in the leather chair, swallowing the uncomfortable lump in your throat. 

The man—was he even a man anymore?—laid motionless and limp within the vat. His features, softened with unconsciousness, were still rugged and intimidating, nearly hidden by the hundreds of wires sticking out of his form. 

They brought you in just a week ago, so you were still getting used to everything here. The other scientists in the facility had told you that the man was a volunteer for the Weapon X project—that he needed to be given an adamantium skeleton or his own mutation would kill him from the inside out. Being a mutant-in-hiding yourself, you felt a certain calling to help him out.

So if you were helping this man recover, why did it feel so wrong? 

Biting the side of your cheek, you slipped out of the chair and strode up to the vat, resting a hand on the glass barrier. It was cold beneath your fingertips. 

You could’ve sworn you saw his foot twitch—

The door to the lab whooshed open, and the head scientist, Dr. Cornelius, strode in, shooting you a humorless look, wordlessly telling you that your shift was over. 

Pursing your lips, you pulled yourself away from the glass, sparing the man in the vat one last glance before stepping back to the chair to gather your things. 

“Anything interesting to note?” the old man asked you. 

You clicked your tongue against your teeth. “Nothing at all for the past couple of hours, Doc. He’s responding exceptionally well to the chemical bath.”

He made a disinterested noise, as if the prospect of things going well bored him, before sinking into another chair and heaving a large sigh. 

Hesitant, you stepped forward to ask, “Doctor? Sorry, I was just wondering if I could ask you some questions.” It was about time you knew just what was going on here—there was definitely something that he wasn’t telling you.

The man lifted his gaze to you, seeming annoyed already. “What is it?” A scowl threatened to play by the corner of your lips, but you forced on an indifferent expression. 

“I just… I keep thinking about him.”

“Who? Logan?”

His name was Logan. He had a name. Well—of course he did. You suddenly felt sick.

“Yeah. I keep thinking about what we’re doing to him.”

The doctor narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but wisely chose to remain silent, goading you to carry on.

The machine beeped. You glanced at the unconscious man in the vat. 

“Before I came here… was he—was Logan—here? And I don’t mean him as Weapon X. I mean it like the man before this. Was he here?”

“No,” Cornelius replied, far too quickly for your liking. He averted his gaze, focusing on the machine in front of him. “I don’t know. What are you asking here, kid?”

This time, you didn’t bother to suppress the frown budding across your face. “I mean,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, “did Logan sign up for this?”

“I already told you,” Cornelius gruffed out, “he volunteered.”

“And why should I believe you? Why have you named him Weapon X if all we’re trying to do is cure him? Why did you have to erase his memories? Why have you been forcing him to fight wild animals in the forest? Are you making me attach adamantium to his skeleton because you want to help him, or because you want to manufacture a mindless killing machine?” Your voice had raised several notches in volume, and the doctor seemed to recoil at your words. Sucking in a breath to calm your erratic pulse, you spoke again, “You’re not telling me something, Cornelius.”

The doctor, stunned into silence, took several moments to gather what he wanted to say. A rebuttal was just on the tip of his tongue, but he knew it would be fruitless. 

You’ve figured it out.

And he would have to kill you for it. 

“Was he abducted? Kidnapped?” you asked again, voice strained.

“Congratulations,” the doctor sneered, slowly rising to his feet. “You’ve put together the puzzle pieces.”

Bile rose in your throat. “Logan was forced into this. He didn’t want any of it. You… you’re trying to make a monster but—you’re the real monster here.” Slowly, you started backing up. “You were using me. You knew that I wouldn’t help graft the adamantium to his skeleton if I knew the truth. You’re insane. You’re sick.”

With a mangled cry, the doctor lunged forward, knocking you to the ground as his palms found your throat. Pain flourished through your spine as it thudded against the sleek tiles of the floor, a strangled sound crawling from your lips. You clawed at his hands at first, desperate and losing air far too quickly. 

Then, you grappled at his face, scratching at his cheeks until blood welled in tiny droplets from the red marks you drew. This only seemed to enrage him further, fingers pressing harder into your trachea. Dark spots danced about your vision and you gasped for breath, eyes misting over with unshed tears. 

Fuck. You needed to do something. Quick.

Maybe… your powers—

No. No, you’d find another way. You refused to lose control of yourself ever again.

The chair was right beside you. If you could just… hook your foot around one of its legs and tip it forwards…

Your mouth fell open as your lungs begged for mercy, limbs growing weaker with each passing second. You gave it your all to jerk forward, just enough to shift you down and catch the chair with your foot and yank it forwards. 

The heavy metal seat tipped forward slowly, before giving in to its own weight and crashing on top of Cornelius. The bald man howled with pain, and his grip loosened on you momentarily. You hiked your knees upwards and slammed them into his stomach, shoving him away with a yell. Your chest heaved raggedly, greedily swallowing as much air as you could take. 

The doctor was quick to recover from his initial shock. You thought he’d lunge for you again, but instead, he brandished a walkie talkie and yelled, “CODE RED, GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW! CODE RED!”

Without a damned clue what ‘code red’ meant, you rushed forward and slammed the emergency lockdown button on the control panel. A haggard sigh of relief left you when thick metal slabs slowly lowered down over the doors.

Cornelius, infuriated, grabbed the back of your head and shoved you down, slamming the side of your face into the plethora of buttons. A loud groan of pain ricocheted across the laboratory, blood seeping from one of your nostrils and slipping into your mouth, running a metallic copper taste along your tongue. He did it again, and again, and again, far too quickly for you to even begin to react. Faintly, you registered a whooshing sound in front of you—one of you must’ve accidentally hit the button that released Logan from his chemical bath. 

You spat blood over the buttons with a snarl, reinvigorated, shooting your hands out to stop him from bashing your face in once more. Twisting your body, you kicked at his knee as hard as you could, which made Cornelius collapse forward. You messily drove your fist into his eye socket, pushing him back, away from the control panel. The doctor fell onto the ground and you kicked at his skull with the heel of your shoe. 

There was blood dripping down your chin. Your nose was throbbing. You were disoriented, vision splitting into blurry duplicates. Dizzy, you dropped to your haunches, crawling as far away as you could from Cornelius.

Noises were coming from the other side of the lab. Where Logan was.

Wincing, you were just about to turn to look before Cornelius’ hand wound around your ankle, yanking you to him with surprising strength. He punched you in the shoulder first, trying to aim for your face. You flailed your limbs, attempting to kick your feet, but he had trapped your legs between his. A struggling whimper shook your lips, breaths coming in fast, staccato beats. The second time he punched you, he hit you dead on. Your vision went dark for a good ten seconds. You could tell one of your eyelids had already swollen shut.

Desperate and panicked, you lurched upwards and bit into whatever you could. You sank your teeth in until red squirted straight into your other eye, and copper flooded your mouth once more. An ear-piercing scream rattled through the lab.

As you furiously wiped away the dark ichor from your eyes, you realized that he wasn’t screaming because of you—not really, at least.

He was screaming because there were three adamantium claws protruding from his abdomen.

And just behind him was Logan.

A terrified garble tore through your own throat. A string of nonsensical words fell from you—ranging from cries for help, prayers to whatever god would listen to you, and incoherent sobbing as pure terror ripped through you, whole and consuming.

There were still wires hanging off of the man’s starkly naked form, dragging against the ground behind him. His skin glistened with the residue from the chemical bath, droplets still falling from his damp hair and rolling over his defined muscles. With a near animalistic growl, he threw Cornelius’ lifeless corpse to the side, his adamantium claws streaking down both your arm and your side in the process. Another wail erupted from you and you curled into a fetal position, cradling your injuries and fruitlessly trying to put as much pressure as you could against the wounds. Blood seeped from you, staining the once-pristine floors with a growing pool of liquid rubies. You were light-headed, tilting your head up to look at Logan standing in front of you. Horror painted your insides with a thick, tar-like substance. 

He made no move to hurt you any further, only regarding you with dark, distant eyes, like he just could just barely recognize your face. He remembered you.

You wanted to plead—beg him for mercy.

You cracked your shaking lips open, but the words lodged firmly in your throat, a sob rippling through your lungs. Hot tears streamed down your bloodied cheeks in fat dollops. 

The mutant surprised you, then. 

He spoke.

“I am…” he croaked out, seeming slightly miffed. It took him another couple of seconds to articulate his next words. His brain had been fried over and over again, the English language was something he had nearly completely forgotten. “I am… dead? I remember… death. Dying.”

You were shaking uncontrollably now. Whether it be because of the terror, or because of the insurmountable blood loss, you weren’t quite sure. Most likely both. 

Voice warbling, you croaked out, “No, Logan. You’re not dead.”

His dark pupils darted to the pool of blood by your side, then moved down to his own hands and claws, practically soaked red. His chest heaved. 

Slowly, you raised a trembling hand to point at the winding metal staircase at the back of the laboratory. “Run, Logan,” you hoarsely whispered. “They’ll be here any minute. You have to go before they catch you again. Go upstairs—there’s a rear window you can escape through.”

The man narrowed his eyes at you. 

He stalked away wordlessly, leaving only droplets of Cornelius’ blood in his wake. 

The tension melted away from your body instantaneously. The urge to cry laid heavy on your conscience, but you shoved down the tears and slowly pushed yourself to your feet, placing pressure on your wounds as you staggered onto your feet. With a grunt, you limped to Cornelius’ corpse, kneeling down to rip his belt and shirt off. 

A low groan rumbled from your chest when you tied the belt over the deep gash Logan had inflicted on you, wrapping his shirt tightly over the leaking wound on your waist. Whether it was an accident or a purposeful move, you had no clue. Immediately, blood seeped through the fabric. You decided not to pay it any mind. 

Faintly, you registered shouting from the other end of the barricaded door. You were running out of time. 

Huffing a curse, you struggled to your feet and stepped over Cornelius, bee-lining for the metal staircase. Upstairs, you could see the droplets of blood Weapon X had left behind. You swallowed heavily, before following them to the open window. 

“Fuck,” you coarsely spat out, glancing down to see snow blanketing the ground nearly at knee-length. Trembling already, you hopped off the windowsill and onto the fire escape’s ladder, gingerly placing each foot on the lower rung until you were near enough to jump down.

The wind whispered frost into your ears as you looked forward, into the dark forest. 

They would kill you if you went back inside. It seemed like you had no other choice but to follow Logan. He was your best chance at survival.

Your sigh misted into an opaque fog as you followed the trail of blood on the snowy forest floor. 

It’d been hours. 

You had lost nearly all sensation in your feet, numbed by the frigid cold. You supposed that was one upside of the frost—you could no longer feel the pain of your wounds, despite the large blooming of crimson seeping through Cornelius’ shirt. The lids of your eyes were heavy, drooping closed every few seconds before struggling back open. You wrapped your arms around yourself lethargically, struggling to keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

Logan was only a couple minutes in front of you. At least—you thought he was. Hell, he could’ve been five hours away by now, considering how out of it you were. 

You swallowed your throat, dry and scratchy from the whipping wind of the forest. 

Not even ten steps later, you found yourself tipping forward, succumbing to the exhaustion. 

The snow was suddenly flush against your cheek, the world now angled vertically. Black spots danced about your sight. You only barely registered the pain of hitting the ground, a wooden stick poking uncomfortably against your leg. You couldn’t be bothered to move. You couldn’t feel anything—yet it felt like you were burning alive. Perhaps it was the blood loss. Maybe the shame of failure. Or it could’ve simply just been the fact that you’ve been wading around in the snow for hours. A small breath slipped from your lungs and your eyes fell shut. 

A nap wouldn’t hurt… would it?

Just as the corners of your vision waned dark, the shadow of a figure loomed over you. 

The last thing you felt right before you succumbed to the cold were a pair of warm arms winding around you.

Lights—far too many, far too bright. Your heavy eyelids narrowed as soon as they blinked open, and you gingerly turned your face to the side to avoid the glare of the harsh luminosity. 

There were a couple things you registered in your early stages of rousing. You were no longer cold, bundled in several layers of woolen blankets on what you presumed to be an infirmary bed. You could feel the slight pressure of a proper bandage around your waist, which still throbbed but wasn’t nearly as painful as you remembered. 

And there was a man in a lab coat beside you.

You stared at his back as he busied themself with colorful pills and bottles. Your throat was so dry, it took you several moments to muster yourself to croak out a warbling, “Hello?”

The man seemed to jump out of his shoes, turning abruptly with wide eyes behind thick, rectangular spectacles. “Oh, you’re awake! How are you feeling?” He shuffled to your side, watching you with evident concern.

You winced as you propped yourself up on one arm, slowly pulling yourself to sit up on the bed without putting too much weight on your wound. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

He pursed his lips. “That’s unfortunately quite expected—you’ll be feeling that way for a little bit before you get better. You took quite the beating out there—I tried my best to patch you up but I’m afraid the lacerations you got on your abdomen and arm will scar forever. Those bruises on your face, however, will be gone in a week, two tops.” The man paused, as if wanting to ask you a question, but thought better of it, shaking his head. “I’m gonna call somebody here to come talk to you. And I’ll go get you some water and food. Is that okay?”

Still reeling over everything, you nodded slowly, watching as he strode out of the infirmary. 

Not a minute later, you heard the smooth rolling of wheels against tile. A bald man on a wheelchair swiftly entered the room, greeting you with a genuine smile and a bow of his head. 

“You must be Doctor L/N,” he said, stopping just by your bedside. “I’m Charles Xavier. Now, I’m sure you have many questions—so let me try to answer them. You’re currently in Xavier’s School of Gifted Youngsters. I sensed your distress through my own telepathic mutation and had some of my X-Men go pick you and Logan up.”

At the mention of Logan, your muscles tensed, and your gaze snapped upwards to meet his. 

“Logan… he’s here?”

Charles tilted his head, thinking back to the burly, pacing man in his office. “Yes, quite.”

“Is he okay?” you asked softly. 

A wisp of a smile graced Charles’ lips. “He’s fine. A bit disoriented, but his memories are steadily returning. You, I’m more worried about. I know you’re a mutant, Y/N.”

Something dangerous flashed behind your irises. “I’ve never purposefully used my powers on anyone, if that’s what you’re asking. What happened to Logan—was because I was foolish enough to trust bad men.”

“I’m not blaming you, Y/N. You thought you were doing the right thing. Besides, the group who tricked you have been apprehended by the X-Men. They won’t be conducting anymore experiments on mutants,” he said, not unkindly. “I wanted to give you the liberty to explain what your mutation is… and if you can control it.”

“It’s only happened once before,” you whispered, fiddling with your nails anxiously. “I can manipulate matter, I think. Rearrange atoms and molecules in space. Once I start, I can’t control it—so I don’t ever intend to use it again.”

Charles regarded you for a moment, before nodding. “That’s quite the commitment. Would you mind me asking why?”

You hesitated, your teeth worrying into your bottom lip. “The first time I found out about my powers, someone died because of me. There was a car crash and my friend tried helping me and I… I panicked—” Tears quickly blurred your vision and you hiccuped, stopping to furiously wipe them away. “Shards of glass flew everywhere and…”

You trailed off, releasing a frustrated sigh. 

“The cops ruled it as an accident, but I knew it was my fault. I moved out of town, started doing research with a university in molecular biology in hopes of finding out more about myself, when I got an offer to work with this company that ‘helped’ mutants. They lied to me. They were experimenting on them—and I should’ve known better. I thought I was saving Logan’s life.”

Charles hummed in thought, before shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. It was an accident—you didn’t know how to control your powers. But we can help you with that. If you stay, that is.”

Mouth parting in surprise, you leaned forward slightly in confusion. “You… you want me to stay here? After everything I’ve done? What will Logan think?”

“He knows it’s not your fault. There’s a reason he didn’t kill you—and a reason he carried you through the snow until we found the two of you. The deal is still on the table—just think about it. You’d make a valuable asset to our team.” A genuine smile etched over his face before he asked, “Would you perhaps want to see Logan?”

“No!” you exclaimed, a little too quickly. Charles’ eyebrows rose. Arms wrapping around yourself, you gently shook your head, repeating in a quieter tone, “No, thank you.”

The man observed you rather pensively before humming, “Alright, then. I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Thank you.” Despite the tautness of your tone, Charles knew you were wholly grateful. He bowed his head, and wheeled out of the infirmary room, leaving you with your thoughts.

To none of his surprise, leaning against the wall right next to the door, was Logan.

There was a cheap cigar wedged between his lips, hands clutched over the dog tags around his neck. He cocked his head to Charles as a greeting, gruffing out, “Are they alright?”

It was rather amusing to see such a brooding, stoic man lose his wits over a person he barely knew. Logan cared about you, and that made Charles all the more curious.

“I think Y/N’s going to be just fine.”

Logan huffed in something akin to relief, blowing out a puff of opaque smoke. After a long stretch of silence, Logan queried in a strained voice, “Can I see them?”

“It’s best if you give Y/N some time. They’re still a bit rattled over everything,” said the professor, patiently. “Have you gotten your memories back?”

“I think so. I remember most of my life before getting kidnapped. I taught self defense here, right?” Logan muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t entirely sure of himself. When Charles grinned and nodded, Logan spoke again, hesitant. “I remember Y/N. Their face, watching me through the glass. Talking about curing me—helping me. I remember the doctor there trying to kill them once they found out the truth.”

A low growl rumbled within the grizzled man’s chest, and he slumped further against the wall. “What are you going to do with Y/N now?”

“Well, that’s up to them. They are a mutant after all—I offered them a place here. Whether they stay or not is not for me to say.”

This seemed to pique Logan’s interest. “Y/N’s a mutant?”

“Yes,” Charles stated matter-of-factly. “Though, they don’t use their powers because it’s far too dangerous. Which is why I proposed that they stay so we can help. Now, if you excuse me, Logan, I’ve got to grade some papers. Have a good night.”

“Yeah,” replied Logan, distant. He saluted Charles with two fingers as he wheeled away. “G’night.”

The rest of the X-Men warmed up to you rather quickly. Hank would joke around with you while he did your daily check-up, and Jean, Ororo and Anna introduced themselves with sweet smiles and baked goods that they made just for you. They’d stay with you in the infirmary until late at night, playing boisterous rounds of Uno and exchanging stories of their own childhood mishaps with their mutation. Kurt Wagner was a delight to speak to—you quite enjoyed your conversations with the lively teleporter. Scott Summers was a handsome fellow, who had acquired a broken arm from a training accident, which gave him a good excuse to hang around you. Charles often visited you as well, each time asking once again if you were planning on making your residence here permanent. He even offered you a job to teach the kids here some science—which you kindly declined.

The friendly nature of the mansion and the people residing there really made you want to stay. 

But you knew you shouldn’t. 

Especially not when Logan was so clearly avoiding you—it was a tell-tale sign that you were definitely overstaying your welcome.

You’d only seen him a small handful of times since you arrived. Lingering in the hallways, passing by the door, and once in Charles’ office when you dropped by to ask him a question. He had stalked away with nary a sound, not even bothering to spare you a glance.

So it was quite the surprise when he stepped into the infirmary while you were packing a small duffel bag with travel necessities nearly two weeks later, practically bristling at the thought of you leaving. Leaving when he hadn’t even said a single word to you. His jaw clenched.

“L… Logan?” you asked, nearly dropping the shirt you were holding out of shock. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”

He stared at you for a long while, unsure of what to say. The man was on his way to a bar for a beer or two before he caught sight of you practically flying across the room in a rush to pack. He was not prepared for this conversation at all. A part of him wished you could just read his thoughts like Charles could, because his mind was running a mile a minute. There were just too many things he should’ve said, too many things he waited too long to say. And none of it seemed to want to come out.

So he opted to heave out a grand sigh, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, not once breaking eye contact with you. You had awkwardly resigned to folding the last few pieces of clothing, stuffing them into the bag. 

The action prompted Logan to husk out, “You’re leaving.”

It was more of a statement than a question. Your muscles tensed at his voice. He seemed angry—frustrated—and you weren’t entirely sure if it was directed towards you, or himself.

“I have no place here,” you whispered, words nearly lost to the deafening silence. 

Logan’s brows furrowed. “This is a school—a home for mutants. You belong here.”

Fixing him with a curious expression, you zipped up your bag, shaking your head. “It’s not fair to you, Logan. I can’t just keep pretending that me being around doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“So you’re leaving because of me.” Logan pushed off the wall, stalking towards you until he stood just in front of you. This close, you could smell the faint cigar smoke on him, accompanied with a fresh pine-like aroma. He smelled like the forest, like sitting in front of a fire place with a mug of coffee cradled in your palms. A lump formed in your throat, grip tightening on the strap of the bag.

“I’m leaving for you,” you corrected. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did all those awful things to you. I know it doesn’t absolve me of anything but—I really did think I was helping you. Oh… and thank you. For coming back and saving me.”

The hardness to Logan’s features seemed to soften just a bit. He watched you keenly, studying the genuine tenderness to your eyes, the way your lips screwed to the side in a fruitless effort to stave away the tears. 

“Hey,” he said, stepping even closer. “I forgive you, bub. I forgive you, alright? Stop beating yourself up. Charles told me you thought you were helping me—and I believe it. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, the man truly responsible is dead, thanks to you. You helped me escape, remember?”

Your eyes flickered from the ground to meet his. “Of course I remember.”

A low rumble resonated from Logan’s chest. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing for damn near killing you. I found you passed out in the snow and I—I was terrified. I carried you, worried to death the entire time, thinkin’ you were going to die on me. But Charles found us—and you lived. We both lived. I want you to stay. Hell, if you want to leave, then go ahead. The door’s wide open. But don’t let it be because of me.”

He watched as your shoulders trembled ever so slightly, then sagged as you loosened your hold on the duffel bag. Relief seeped through his bones. For a moment, he was scared you were really going to leave.

Without another word, Logan nodded, stepping back. He turned to walk out of the infirmary, itching for nice, cold beer. Or two. Probably five. Oh, who was he kidding. He could blaze through twenty bottles and barely feel buzzed.

“Logan,” you called out.

He stopped by the doorway without turning.

“Thank you,” you croaked, wiping away a stray tear. A happy one. Maybe you could even ask if the job Charles had offered you was still on the table. 

A minuscule smile played by the corner of his lips. He ducked his head, and strode away.

ONE MONTH LATER.

The snow was thicker than ever before. Nearly everybody was outside, either making rotund little snowmen with carrots for noses or playing a game of dodgeball. You caught sight of Kurt teleporting just above Rogue to dump a large armful of snow atop her head. You huffed out a laugh from behind the window when she started spewing out a long string of curses, cheeks tinted red from the cold.

Movement from your peripheral vision made you turn your head to look out the other window. You were met with the lovely sight of Logan hauling lumber nearly double his size from just over the hill, a layer of snowflakes icing the top of his dark tresses. You shook your head, wondering why he hadn’t asked anyone for help.

Ever the lone wolf, he was.

Commotion from the other window made you turn once more, watching with a snort when the kids began pelting Logan with dozens of snowballs, laughing with unbridled glee. The chuckles died away when the burly man dropped all the wood he was carrying, rolling up his sleeves with a wolfish grin. They screamed, scurrying away whilst hiccuping with laughter. 

“Quite chilly outside,” Charles’ voice broke out from beside you. “Come have a hot chocolate with me.”

“If this is your way of bribing me to grade your classes’ papers, I’ll have you know I’m not easily swayed,” you teased, though fell into step beside him as he led you into his office. “I’ve got my own class to attend to.”

Despite only knowing Charles for around a month now, the two of you have grown very fond of each other. He was like a big brother to you—just as the rest of the X-Men had gradually become your family. 

The professor scoffed. “That was one time! I just wanted your expertise, was all.” He gestured to the array of mugs on his desk, then to the thermos right beside them. “Please, help yourself. Paper grading wasn’t really what I wanted to discuss with you. I have another proposition to make you.”

You arched a brow while pouring the both of you a generous serving of thick, creamy hot chocolate. “Always with the propositions, Charles,” you said, sipping on your drink with a hum. “What is it?”

“I want you to join our missions.”

The lighthearted nature of your conversation visibly seemed to sour. “What?” you asked, placing your mug down. “Charles, I thought we made this clear—”

“You don’t use your powers, yes. I’m well aware. Let me rephrase. I want to help you… er, reacquaint yourself with your abilities. Just to try it out. And perhaps if all goes smoothly, you’d make a remarkably valuable member on our team. I promise, if we try it out and things go south, I’ll let it go. Never speak a word of it to anybody.” There was an earnest tone to his voice, hopeful and contagiously optimistic.

Your finger traced the rim of the mug, pursing your lips in thought. “Just to try it out?”

He nodded. “Just to try it out. I’m curious for you, Y/N. Haven’t you ever wanted to be able to control your powers?”

“More than anything in the entire world,” you murmured quietly, voice cracking. 

It took me a while to control my powers, too, Charles said, but his lips weren’t moving. It took you a moment to realize that he was speaking to you telepathically. The key is patience. And I do believe with enough time, you can gain control of yours as well. Imagine how many children who are struggling with their own mutations you’d be able to help if you had a grasp of your powers. 

“You’re one hell of a motivational speaker,” you snarked after a moment to mull over his offer, despite the smile fiddling at the corner of your lips. “Alright, Charles. You convinced me. When do we start?”

The large, antique grandfather clock in your office merrily trilled thrice just as the hands turned to three in the afternoon. You glanced away from the homework papers you were grading, before filing them away for you to finish off later. You were in need of a long overdue break. Rising from your chair, you groaned softly as your bones popped with the stretch, rolling your shoulders to ease the mild tension. 

Training all night with Charles yesterday certainly took both a physical and mental toll on you.

You needed to get out of your office for a bit—take a walk to clear your head. As you donned your coat and a dark yellow beanie to tuck just over the top of your ears because they grew particularly cold in the harsh winters, you strode out the doors. 

Before you could make your way to the snowy outdoors, you passed by one of the training rooms, where you heard a familiar gruff voice.

Logan was teaching a group of about a dozen kids—self-defense class, if you could recall. He was moving his arms about animatedly, demonstrating with a dummy that seemed to be a brush away from falling apart. The kids were watching with rapt fascination, gasping in unison when Logan speared the poor thing straight through the abdomen. 

A small grin splayed over your features as you leaned against the doorway.

A young boy raised his hand, asking, “When are we gonna be able to practice?”

Logan sheathed his claws and crossed his arms. “I’ll let you practice with your own dummies next week. But for now you just watch and learn—Y/N? What’re you doin’ here?”

Blinking at suddenly being shoved into the spotlight, you sheepishly stepped forward and waved to the kids. “Just wanted to see what all the fuss is about with Mr. Howlett’s famous self-defense class. Heard it’s the students’ second favorite class.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan chuckled, arching an eyebrow to the rest of the class. “And what would be their favorite, then?”

You grinned. “Mine, of course.” The kids groaned in protest, though laughing at your blatant sarcasm. You waved them away with a roll of your eyes. “Oh, hush. You guys love science.”

Snorting, Logan propped his fists onto his hips and directed a roguish grin towards you. “It’s not a competition—even though they obviously like me better.” He turned back to the dummy with a nod. “Anyways, where was I—er, yes, Rogue?”

The student’s arm was stuck up in the air, an excited grin painted over her lips. “Why don’t you and Professor L/N try dueling each other? I’m sure it’d teach us a lot more than that dummy,” Rogue drawled in her thick Southern accent. The rest of the students murmured their agreement, bobbing their heads to the idea. Besides, they were all curious about your infamous mutation—they’d never seen you in action before.

Immediately, your stomach dropped and you were quick to shake your head just enough for Logan to see. His features seemed to soften with understanding. 

“That’s enough, settle down,” Logan gruffed. “Professor L/N came here to watch, it would be unfair to spring an entire demonstration on them without any warning. The dummy’ll do just fine. Look, it’s in tip-top shape!” His burly fist wrapped around the dummy’s throat.

And the head popped right off.

Logan blinked, stunned. The class burst into laughter. You joined them, hiding a smile behind your palm. Logan watched you keenly, before a crooked smile broke through his rough features, chuckling lowly under his breath.

“I’m sorry about them,” he said, making his way to you once he had dismissed all his pupils (though not before assigning them a butt-load of homework that made all of them groan exasperatedly). “I know you weren’t expecting that.”

Waving his words away, you were quick to shake your head. “No, no, it’s alright. I’m just… not entirely comfortable with using my powers yet. Charles and I are still working through it—I’m not really at the stage of combating an experienced mutant as yourself. Anyways, I don’t want to keep you. I’m sure you’ve got a ton of school-related errands to run.”

You crossed your arms with a hesitant quirk of your lips to assure him that you were okay, watching him keenly as he tried to mirror your expression. It came out more as an awkward stretch of his mouth, so he dropped it soon after. 

Logan sucked on the rooftop of his mouth, before stoutly nodding, and turned around to walk away. You’d mentioned he probably had school-related errands to run. Hah. As if Logan ever worked outside of the classes he taught. All he had in mind was to head over to a bar and drink as many beers as the barkeeper would allow him. 

By the time he reached the doorway, Logan abruptly stopped in his tracks. He could feel your eyes watching him go, practically searing the skin on the back of his neck.

“God damn it,” he whispered quietly beneath his breath. He couldn’t just leave you alone. Not when his class thrust you into the spotlight like that. Definitely not because he felt an irrepressible urge to spend more time with you. And especially not because he thought that little grin of yours was so darned cute. Of course not. 

He turned back to you with a set expression, jaw clenched tight. If you didn’t know any better, he appeared to be angry. Or constipated. One of the two.

Either way, you were surprised to hear him addressing you by the doorway, in a brusque tone.

“The school day’s over. I’m heading out to grab a drink. You wanna come with?” 

It took you a moment to respond, a little too frazzled to formulate a coherent thought.

“Yeah,” you finally answered, slightly breathless. Logan pointedly looked away when you beamed at him. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

His thigh was pressed up against yours. You could feel the heat radiating off of him through his jeans. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, which leaned against the bar’s countertop, palms cradled around his tenth (or was it his eleventh?) frosty mug of beer.

You were slowly nursing your fifth drink, snorting into the rim when Logan made an off-hand comment about how stupid Scott looked on one of their most recent missions. 

“I take it you don’t like him?”

“Who?” Logan asked, turning his head so he could look at you. Beneath the dim amber-glow of the bar’s lighting, your skin appeared flushed, eyes just a tad brighter. You were too damned close to him. 

Nose wrinkling, you nudged his shoulder with yours. “Scott, dummy.”

His eyebrow rose. “Why, do you want me to like him? Do you like him?”

The questions made you splutter beer all over the counter as you choke-laughed, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. “You’re not answering my question, Lo.” You began giggling again, before downing the rest of your mug, swaying slightly on the leather stool. Logan had half a mind to clamp his palm over your thigh to keep you from tipping over. 

“I like Scott, yeah. He’s nice. I know he has a thing for Jean though—I’ve been trying to convince him to ask her out but Scott keeps saying it isn’t the right time. Jean likes him all the same, too. They’re just really stupid.” A fond smile grew on your lips and you began laughing once more. 

Logan watched you in amusement, just before ordering another beer for himself. You were a giggly drunk, Logan realized, as you buried your face into your hands as uncontrollable laughter shook through you.

“Alright, that’s enough drinks for you. What’s got you crackin’ up, bub?” Logan sighed in part-exasperation and part-mirth when you leaned back so far your stool began to capsize. He was quick to shoot his arm out and yank you back forward. This only made you laugh harder, for reasons unbeknownst to him. 

“I just—” You had to pause to heave a breath through your cackling. “Your hair just looks so funny—why does it stand up like that?” 

God, you were so drunk. Your hand reached out to pat down the tufts of hair sticking upwards, but missed the mark and instead brushed over his jaw, slightly prickly with day-old stubble. 

Logan watched you carefully as your laughter died away, a strange look shadowing your once gleeful one. His eyes flickered down to your lips, which were parted ever so slightly in thought. “You look much younger than you used to—back in that tank.” 

Gently, he captured your wrist and stroked his thumb over your palm once, before setting it back down by your side. “Let’s go home. You’re drunk.”

“Yes, sir. ” You mock-saluted as he helped you off the stool and offered his arm when you nearly toppled over your own feet. 

You swayed to and fro when walking back to the mansion, hiccupping between every giggle as you told Logan about this one time Kurt teleported into the kitchen and scared you so badly you hit him with a frying pan. Logan let himself laugh at that one.

By the time the two of you reached your room, a good night was right on the tip of his tongue before it was yanked away from him when you grabbed him by the shirt collar and tugged him towards you in a drunken fashion, emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your system. A startled noise fell from his lungs, and the corner of your eyes wrinkled as you smiled. You swiftly planted a soft kiss to his cheek, nose slotted right against his cheekbone. He was frozen to the spot, unsure of how to react. 

“You’re a sweetheart. Good night, Lo,” you murmured into his skin with a lopsided smile. 

You were drunk. So very drunk.

Logan had to remind himself of this when you pulled away. You wouldn’t have done that if you were sober. 

The door groaned as you pushed it open, moonlight spilling over your features. You promptly slammed the door in his face, and he heard you giggling behind it just a second after.

He wasn’t able to snap out of his reverie until an entire minute later. 

“G’night, bub,” he mumbled, knowing full and well that you were probably passed out on top of your bed by now. No doubt you’d have a raging hangover tomorrow. He shook his head, before heading off to his own room, a warm sensation clawing at his chest.

The familiar voice of a certain professor rang out across the kitchen, and you groaned at the sudden noise. The hangover headache pulsating through your skull wasn’t nearly as bad as it was when you had initially woken up, but it was still there. And Charles most certainly wasn’t helping.

“Morning,” he exclaimed with a knowing smile, eyeing you with a look you misliked. You grumbled under your breath, before shoveling a spoonful of scrambled eggs into your mouth so you didn’t have to respond to him. Charles didn’t seem to mind, continuing his amiable chatter. “I noticed you weren’t in last night.”

Humming in confirmation, you lifted your mug to guzzle down more apple juice. 

“Funny coincidence,” Charles quipped, wheeling up right beside you. Without even looking at him, you just knew that his eyebrows were raised suggestively. “Logan was also nowhere in the mansion yesterday.”

You scowled, then set the mug down. “We just had a couple drinks together.”

“Mmh, right.” Charles narrowed his eyes, clearly in disbelief. “Well, nice to see that the two of you have… warmed up to each other. I’ve got to head back now but don’t forget about our session at three—just because you’re hungover doesn’t mean you can skip out on me.”

A discontent noise erupted from your lungs and you stuck your tongue out at his back when he turned away. 

“I saw that,” said Charles, amusement lacing his tone. “Well, I didn’t actually see it. I know you did it, though.”

And with that, he left. 

You groaned, before lowering your head to rest against the cool kitchen countertop. 

A moment later, a voice disrupted the rare-found quiet. Logan. 

“You alright, bub?”

When you lifted your face up, you blinked away the colorful blurs spotting your vision, Logan coming into view. He was wearing a simple white tank top tucked into a pair of faded jeans, hands shoved into his pockets. You eyed his biceps warily, which glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. You swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat. 

“I’m good. What’re you up to?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Logan replied sheepishly. “Was in the training room all night.”

He leaned against the doorway, a mild smile itching at his lips upon observing your disheveled state. Your hair was mussed, wearing a simple wrinkly white shirt and a pair of grey shorts. The expression on your face told him that you were still working off the hangover.

“Wanna talk about it?” you asked, patting the seat beside you.

Logan pursed his lips, before moving towards you. “Yeah,” he said, swinging his leg over the chair. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

The cold of the porcelain sent a shiver up your spine as you slumped against the toilet seat, grumbling under your breath. Logan watched you keenly as he dampened a towel, bunching it up in his hand, kneeling down in front of you. 

Your first mission as an X-Man was nothing short of disastrous.

You’d warned Charles—told him you weren’t ready to use your powers in an uncontrolled setting—but he’d assured you that you’d be fine. Besides, the rest of your teammates were there for you.

Except the Brotherhood had taken down everybody else and you were the last person standing—and you lost control of your powers. Again.

It wasn’t until Logan stumbled towards you, pushing through the tornado of glass shards whirling around your hyperventilating form, barely even noticing the cuts appearing over his skin. His healing factor was quick to weave together the broken skin—all that mattered was getting to you. Your explosive powers were enough to severely alarm the Brotherhood, and they thankfully retreated soon after your outburst, though he doubted they’d stay away for too long. 

Logan had grabbed you, pulling you close until your face was flush against his chest, cradling you atop the cold, hardened dirt, mumbling sweet nothings that you couldn’t really make out into your hair. When the air stilled, you pulled your face away, tear-stricken and bloodied. 

The incident was far too similar to the first time you used your powers—when your best friend’s life was taken as a consequence. 

A single, searing tear meandered down your face at the memory, and you bit down on your lip to quell the sob rising in your throat. 

“Hey, bub.” Logan took your chin between his fingers, grounding you back to reality. It was just him and you—in a small bathroom. He was close, so close that you could see the buzzing lights reflected in the burnt umber of his irises, or how he had a small, faded birthmark just beside his left eye. He tilted your head up so you’d meet his concerned gaze. “It’s okay. You did good. You drove ‘em away. We would’ve all been in hot shit if it weren’t for you. Storm was knocked unconscious, Kitty and Rogue had their powers stripped away, Scott was no match against Quicksilver, and the rest of us were this close to being ripped apart. You did good.”

Your stomach lurched uneasily. “Feels more like I fucked everything up. I told Charles I wasn’t ready.”

Instead of a reply, Logan merely sighed, shaking his head. Softly he swiped the damp towel across the bloody gashes on your face, his fingers on your chin moving to cup your other cheek. His palm was cold against the flushed heat of your face.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he whispered, the usual gruff tone of his voice nowhere to be found. “Wish you had the healing factor instead of me.”

“Nah,” you replied softly, wincing as you leaned forward, closer to him. The large slash over your abdomen from a broken metal pipe Magneto sent hurtling your way burned with every shift of your body. “You’d be dead a thousand times over if it weren’t for your healing factor. And I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

The towel on your cheekbone paused for a second. Logan scrutinized you for a moment, before returning to the task at hand. “Yeah, I guess I’m glad, too.”

A comfortable silence thickened between the two of you, only interrupted by your quiet groans of pain, which were always followed up by Logan’s sheepish apology.

“I still haven’t graded the kids’ homework papers—they’re expecting it back on Monday,” you gritted out, hand shooting forward to grip Logan’s shoulder, nails digging into his collarbone when he moved down to clean up the shallow wound across your torso. 

He quirked an eyebrow towards you in amusement. “You’re crazy, you know that? Almost died today and all you’re thinkin’ about is grading papers. Pfft.”

“That’s not all I’m thinking about,” you weakly protested, smacking his hand away when he playfully pinched your thigh.

After wiping away all the crusted blood and dirt on your brand new X-Men suit, he was satisfied to see that your gash wasn’t deep enough to need stitches. He hauled himself onto the edge of the bathtub so he was sitting right across from you. “Yeah? What else are you thinking about?”

“You.” The single word came out as nothing but a low mutter. 

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or worried,” he replied with a roguish grin, pupils darting between your eyes and your raw-bitten lips. 

You huffed out a laugh. “Maybe both.” His forehead leaned against yours as you breathed him in, relishing in his calming presence. “I really like you, Lo.”

Those five words were what spurred him to push forward, slanting his lips onto yours, stealing your breath away. You made a small noise of surprise, before practically melting into him, looping your sore arms over his neck and tugging him all the closer. He kissed you slowly, careful about where to place his hands, because your body was littered with fresh scars. He settled on just above your waist, smoothing his thumbs out over the back of your ribs, as if to constantly reassure himself that you were here. You were okay.

His nose bumped into yours, and it hurt to smile—oh, it practically burned with each kiss—but you smiled into him anyway. Because for Logan, it was worth the pain.

“Ow,” you lightly complained when he accidentally knocked his knee against your busted one. “Watch it, old man.”

A growl caught in his throat. “You know, I was gonna say I really liked you, too, but I don’t think that applies anymore.”

You burst into a fit of laughter, clutching at your stomach a second later, moaning out with pain. “Don’t make me laugh! You ass!”

He could only smile at that, roping you towards him once more with his fingers anchored over your jaw. This time, the kiss was hot and heavy, more confident. Your hands ran through his hair, gently tugging at his roots, which made pleasant shivers spider down his spine. It was needy with want, his kisses wandering from your lips to the apples of your cheeks, to your trembling throat. 

The hand on your back was only starting to traverse downwards when the door flung open, revealing a smug Rogue and an awfully mortified Kurt just behind her.

“I knew it! I knew y’all were a thing!” Rogue called out, clapping her hands excitedly. “Scott totally owes me twenny bucks!”

She scuttled away gleefully, leaving the blue elf staring at the two of you with wide, amber eyes, completely still.

“You can close the door, Kurt,” you hesitantly told him, before Logan could snarl out something unsavory. You were uncomfortably perched halfway between the toilet seat and Logan’s lap, with his hand flush over your ass. 

“Er… right… I’ll just use the bathroom upstairs,” he breathily stumbled, before teleporting away in a hazy cloud of sulphuric fumes. 

“Damn elf didn’t close the door. Of fuckin’ course.” Logan groaned, pulling himself away from you with a scowl. “You alright, darlin’?”

An embarrassed grin replaced the initial shock of being found. “Yeah, I think so. You?”

“Worst night of my life. The entire school’s gonna know by tomorrow,” Wolverine grumbled, before fondly glancing towards you. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, though.”

You hobbled up with his support, pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to his cheek. “You think the entire team bet money on us?”

“Oh, yeah,” Logan chortled as he helped you out of the communal bathroom, heading upstairs to your bedroom. “Charlie bet a hundred bucks on us. I heard him talking to Storm about it.”

You side-eyed him with amusement. “So did he win?”

“Nope,” Logan said, popping the ‘p’, looking far too smug to be ripping away a hundred dollars from his old friend. “Thought neither of us would have the balls to confess until next month.”

“You’re sick,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “Did you kiss me just to spite him?”

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” countered Logan, shoving the door to your room open with his shoulder. “Professor losing a hundred bucks was just the cherry on top, you know?”

You sank onto your bed, dragging Logan with you, barely giving him enough time to slam the door shut. “Yeah,” you mumbled, pulling him into yet another kiss. “You’re awful, Lo.”

“Love you, too.”

Placing your hand on his chest, you pulled away hesitantly, unsure if you heard him right. “Yeah?”

Logan smiled, all warm and genuine. “Yeah.”

[gilly-moon]

Vlad Redemption Real (a glitch in time)

I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS AAAAA putting them under a read more because major spoilers (there's a lot under there I'm so sorry I got carried away this comic is just really incredible)

Vlad coming to this decision on his own is what really makes it for me. The main crew never really asked him or expected him to change. For a lot of the comic, he's the butt of the joke and it's what he deserves. But then he witnessed Danny having his own emotional breakthrough. Being able to see how powerful Danny became after embracing his emotions and letting go of his inner turmoil...like, that did it. He finally let himself look inward too, recognizing his own faults and the hurt that he had caused himself all these years. The focus of the scene is Danny, but I love how clear it is that Vlad's entire perspective just shifted, too

The moment where he tells Dark Danny that because he's part-Plasmius too, that means he's full of emotions, and that he's full of fear......my jaw dropped. Vlad admitting that he's deeply afraid of being alone, and that he pursued ultimate power in the hopes it could fix his loneliness. Doing so hurt all of the people he wanted to have in his life, and made sure he would never recieve the love he so desperately wanted. He says this in front of all of the people that he hurt the most, and he doesn't ask for forgiveness from any of them.

(Also fear being Vlad's driving emotion behind his power, just....ruin me.)

BUT HE TAKES IT A STEP FURTHER. No one is suggesting that Dark Danny needs to overshadow someone as a solution to his unstable form. Vlad comes forward unprompted and offers himself up, as an apology. An apology to the people of his timeline that he hurt, and to Dark Danny. He isn't the Vlad that created Dark Danny, but he knows the potential to be that guy was always in him, so he takes the faults of that other Vlad on his own shoulders. And still, he isn't seeking forgiveness, just a second chance. More time, to do something good with his life before it's gone. Danny tells Vlad he still hates him, but thanks him, and the smile Vlad responds with is everything to me. They're not friends. The wounds he caused aren't healed. But that little thank you is proof that Vlad is already making a difference in the world

He gets to be a guardian to Dark Danny!!!! He gets a family!!!! And it's broken, and hurt, and kind of fucked up, but this is all he ever wanted, and he has the chance now to do better for himself and for Dan. He already understands the root of his problem, the pain and fear that has been driving him all these years. The path forward is gonna be messy and hard for him & Dan, but the first steps are the hardest, and he's already taken them.

All that being said, he better continue being an insufferable fruitloop. Never let the sass die, you silly vampire ghost man.

Sjfkxnskd wow sorry this response turned into a whole essay. This is what happens when you prompt a neurodivergent to talk about their hyperfixations. And I didn't even get into the pompep potential in all of this. Anyways I love Vlad more than ever and agit is perfection.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think it is possible to adapt the events of Twisted Wonderland for manga someday?

As much as I’d personally love for the event stories to be adapted into a full-blown manga, I really don’t think it’s feasible outside of maybe one-off specials (similar to the anthology comic) or references (like how the Episode of Heartslabyul features Master Chef Riddle as he’s making an apology tart). There are many reasons for this (these also apply for why I don’t think vignettes would be fully adapted into “full” manga):

Firstly, event stories are purposefully limited time in the game; this is to induce FOMO (fear of missing out) and creates a psychological incentive to get in on the hype while the associated story and banners are available. This time exclusivity does not “translate” well into manga, which can be consumed at a far steadier pace.

To add to the last point, TWST is constantly coming out with new events, and at a rate far faster than the main story releases, even if each event is typically short in length. This means a hypothetical event manga may never be able to “keep up” with the new content (assuming the manga’s pace is 1 new chapter per month), unlike the main story which gets far larger gaps of time between major updates. If TWST were to start an event manga at this point, they already have 20ish events and counting to adapt compared to 7 books of the main story (and that’s not even counting minor ones like Master Chef/Culinary Crucibles) 💦

When you really think about it… not a lot actually happens in some events, which wouldn’t make them that exciting to read??? This is most noticeable in hometown events where the bulk of what happens is the characters going around and eating the local foods. Once we have that trivia the first time (via the game), it loses some of its impact in another format.

The stakes are not high enough (most of the time) to warrant dedicating entire volumes to a single event and resolving its conflict. (The main exceptions to this would be the Halloween events.)

There could be some confusion associated with timelines and/or could spoil the main story for som people. For example, events like Fairy Gala: What If have some ties to the ending of book 6.

Lastly… what would we do about the Yuus? The manga adaptation introduces a new Yuu for every main story episode; is there supposed to be a new Yuu for each event…? Do we bring back the manga!Yuus and distribute them among the events? But then what’s really the point when Yuu’s role is greatly diminished in the majority of events??? (Again, this is most notable whenever they visit a new area; Yuu just randomly pops up to each group of students and says/does nothing of note before walking away again. They typically also do not contribute to the resolution, whereas you can at least say Yuu is somewhat involved in the main story.)

As I said at the beginning of this post, I think the events being relegated to short anthology chapters and/or cameos in the main manga, as these formats would resolve many of the issues I identified for a “full” event manga. The anthology chapters thus far do not feature Yuu and instead focus on the boys, and the chapters are short enough that it can cover multiple events in the span of one volume. The cameos would also allow for event outfits to appear without the focus shifting so much into events where not a lot may happen story-wise. Those are my thoughts! 💭

[bogkeep]

sorry i'm still SSSS blogging today. i meant to draw but instead i reread adventure 2 and. hm

like, it starts out fun, you have characters interactions and dreamsharing and interesting locations and new outfits and hotakainen backstory!!!! that's the stuff i think fondly of when i think of adventure 2. it sets up for an emotional throughline for the hotakainens that would be so so tasty to follow and explore, especially considering what happened to tuuri in the last adventure!!!

but then... nah. when tuuribird shows up, something that should've had a BIG impact, especially on lalli - there's almost no reaction among any of the characters. it's just "oh okay." and like, i get that the whole deal with the finns is that they aren't very open about feelings but come on. come on!!!!!!

i think that is the point in the comic where things start to feel off for me. it SHOULD be exciting, you have connected all the characters and you're digging into the main plot and not just fighting small fry along the way, but........ ?????????

it's also around that time where minna starts working on the infamous bunny comic, and some of the author comments from that period of time made me wince. the whole ssss reading vibe gets Weird!! it's really hard for me to extract the experience of reading the Comic from the experience of witnessing its creator getting converted and baptized in frozen lakes and following a higher calling to create a comic whose message is frankly rather stupid!!! also i don't read the comment sections but clearly shit went down in some of them, maybe because minna said some awful stuff in her streams??? i don't know!!!!!! i don't really need to know!!!!

and then the comic just gets boring and drags on forever. look, the worldbuilding and the monsters are cool, and the art is always lovely, but the true joy of ssss for me has always been the characters. and then they don't really... do or say very much with each other for the rest of the story. like they're following the plot beats, but so much of the comic us just monster fights, beasts fighting each other, the plot HAPPENS but there's no emotion tied to it. the most egregious example is when lalli and onni have the spirits of tuuri and ensi with them, and they have a conversation - and we don't see ANY of that. it happens off screen. we get NOTHING. there's ZERO emotional reward. the characters are for all intents and purposes unchanged. there has been no arc or change in their dynamics. WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE!!!!!

it feels like the beats of the story were all planned out, but not fleshed out at all, and when minna got this far she no longer cared about these characters, or like telling this story served any purpose. the potential is there! it's easy to imagine another timeline where this story is rich in character interacton and growth. instead we get a hollow shallow shell of a comic. welp!

i so badly want to admire minna's decision to end the comic "properly", but i really feel like it might've been better to have just abandoned it when her priorities shifted. it's so sad to see the characters getting neglected like dolls in a dusty toybox. it really breaks my heart that she doesn't believe ssss has any value beyond "empty entertainment" when it meant so much to so many. SIGH

people who couldn't be bothered to finish reading adventure 2 are right actually. there's nothing there.

[ladyloveandjustice]

It’s so funny when people are like ‘superhero comics don’t sell because they’re too leftist’ (comics have leaned left from the beginning, often not radically so and they still don’t, but yeah,that’s what happens when most of the writers from New York) rather than like, the much more obvious reasons of constant reboots and being unable to read any one story without either buying a million comics or spending hours on wikis because of all the crossovers and constant shifting timelines.

The reason manga is selling better is because when you pick up my hero academia or yona of the dawn or something, you get the whole story and it’s consistent and able to build on it’s characters. Even if it ends up being a million volumes, you don’t need a dedicated research team to figure out the story, and even if it ends up being consistently mediocre like my hero academia you can still follow along pretty easily and won’t have to worry about the character suddenly being erased from the story or becoming unrecognizable because of a crossover in some other title. or the writer changing halfway through, or a new company wide initiative. The artists have a little more freedom to tell the complete story they want to tell, to actually pull off a good ending or plot twist that won’t be undone in a few years, there’s usually just one main editor, and they also have anime adaptations to hype them up that are much more similar to the source material than marvel/dc movies are to comics and simpler to get into.Also they’re less expensive. Manga is just more accessible, especially to kids.

 It’s just a solid business model (though it has it’s own problems, mainly the endless greed and enforced overwork from those at the top), while comics run around in circles with constantly changing editors and writers and making snap business decisions. Like isn’t that obviously the culprit here? It’s not rocket science.

[milramemo]

Some lore rambling. I copied this from my twitter thread so the continuity might be a bit weird pspsps:

This is mainly going to be about Noelle and Caiden's story which is kinda like a prequel to Fallout New Vegas, spaning around 2278-2282 I'll try to stick to the details that are already confirmed but some pieces might still shift.

It was inspired by (aka rewritten from) one of her old alt routes where she went AWOL and became a fugitive. Both Noelle and Caiden started out as NCR soldiers from different units Noelle was a First Recon sergeant and a famous war hero who was used as a political puppet.

Meanwhile Caiden was part of the NCR black op unit, which is a headcanon detail we added. They utilize a lot of stealth gear including salvaged stealth boys and Hei Gui stealth armors. An internal party attempted to assassinate Noelle and Caiden who had been on edge with his superior for a while betrayed his unit and helped her escape. However her "death" was still made public as a propaganda move. Her memorial can be found around the NCR camps.

Most people believed Noelle actually died, including Manny and Boone who were her closest friends at the time. She couldn't contact them because there were influential folks in the NCR still actively hunting for her and Caiden.

o support themselves while keeping their low profile, the duo started working with a merc company at an HQ located not far from Freeside gate. If you remember the Colleague OCs from last timeline, they are the proprietor of this establishment.

Noelle and Caiden's main goal is to clear their names while trying to decide what they want to do with their lives, and over time they just became inseparable. The story still has some serious part but since it spans over a few years there are also a lot of relaxed time.

I still wanna make comic for this one but I'm planning to do more like separated one-shots or miniseries from different points of their journey, as well as our usual silly skits. ♡

Going back to Manny and Boone a bit. The three were best friends back in the service and also part of the same team and will meet again later by chance in Novac around 2280. I love this trio so much. I really want to draw them again both in wholesome and angst moments.

Like other worlds, in Fallout Caiden and Claire are also half-siblings. They share the same mother. Claire was experimented on which resulted in her mutation. She later teamed up with Quantum and their adventure circulates around the east coast. But that's for another time.

I'm still working on a proper introduction for the Fallout version of my OCs. This is more like a rambling thread lol. Still thank you everyone for reading! I'll be going back to work now. 🫡

[cupcakeslushie]

What if you had the rottmnt episodes happen more out of order? Like the season finales or major story beats are more or less the same. But in the original story the show started out lighter and got more serious (kind of). In the seperated AU it's kind of the opposite, because they're healing. Anyway I just thought of Post emperion Leo still not being able to use his ninpo and going through the Minotaur maze really funny (like it happens before his vision quest while he's still recovering.)

That is very basically the general idea. With a little addition of also pulling certain story lines from 2003 and 2012 that I liked as well, if I can manage to get even that far. But yes, eventually the boys will grow more comfortable working together as a team, which will allow for them to be less serious and more silly!

And I should say as well, Shredder will not be taken out in one big final battle right away. He’ll be more of a consistent threat that comes and goes. So this will also allow for the tone to shift back and forth. …and suppose y’all can always look at the little side sketches I do, to act as the funny filler, and the comic is the more serious plot heavy stuff? Most of those sketches—in my head at least—take place after Leo’s 2nd rescue, well the more lighthearted ones certainly do.

But I am planning some organizing and putting of everything on ao3, once we’ve wrapped up Three and Leo’s quick intro and the prologue is all tied up. Then a year time skip and Leo’s main story starts.

I’m not at all familiar with actually using ao3 to upload stuff, but I’m starting to realize tumblr is just not very good at allowing me to keep organized. So bare with me pls 😅. Maybe that’s on me for being horrible at tagging, but I think if I can just get the prologue done, I can set everything up in more of a structured timeline for everyone! 🤞

[lazlolullaby]

justifying a "failed timeline" aka: let's give Batman Beyond a distinct event that sets it apart from the DC multiverse

So. As we all know. Comics are nuts. They are constantly shifting timelines and labels. They created Elseworlds and alternate timelines to deal with that, to sort and return to it if they wanted to.

Technically the DCAU world is Earth-12, a world set decades in the future from the world we follow. The current Batman Beyond run of comics is set there. It's also inside the "cartoon rim" a group of worlds that are/are close enough to the animated series and animated movies.

The designation "12" has been used multiple times so just be aware when you are researching.

But Batman Beyond has this different tone that the original shows have, even Justice League Unlimited never really dove into. Batman is isolated, Bruce Wayne is in a dusty manor, the Justice League is short about 20 members at least...the list goes on.

tl;dr: Batman Beyond world is so cyberpunk, desolate, and isolated because in the Near-Apocalypse of '09, Wonder Woman dies.

At the time of Batman Beyond in the DCAU, they didn't have the rights to portray Wonder Woman. Instead they used Big Barda in their Justice League episode (which, happily, was proof of concept for the Justice League series) . They only got her in the Justice League series proper. And if the DCAU is a connected universe...what happened to Diana?

(yes I know she shows up in the follow up comics. But again - alternate timelines.)

so. speaking of alternate universes. Earth 50, the Justice Lord universe as seen in JL s2 eps11 and 12 "A Better World".

Wasn't it implied in Justice League that the Flash's death caused the Justice Lords to take over the world? That Flash's personality and interactions with the League prevents them from going too far? Stopping them from becoming too serious?

I submit to the Fandom that the main divergence point of the DCAU (or at least, post JLU into Batman Beyond) timeline is Wonder Woman's death. Presumably in this "near apocalypse of '09", which was mentioned in s3 ep 4 "Out of the Past" but not followed up on.

This explains why Diana never shows up to talk with Bruce. That the Future Justice League is so small compared to the ranks in their self titled show. Once their heaviest hitter was gone, it broke the trust in keeping them together. The lack of magic in the world. The loss of heroes that actually don't have trauma, that just want to help. The lack of Truth, the reliance on lies and masks to make a difference.

anyway: Fandom Homework/Class discussion:

What would the DC universe look like if we kill off one of the Seven Founding Justice League Members? That is Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Martian Manhunter, Green Lantern, and The Flash (we did that one, but you can redo it if you want.)

What does each of the Core 7 bring to the team? What do they guard against? How does the team fall apart without their input?

And if you have a super team you like, i.e. Teen Titans, Young Justice, Avengers, ThunderCats, the Gaang, etc. Use your creative muscles to push them around and see what makes them tick. It is fun. It will hurt.

(bonus points if you reference Community s3 ep 4: Remedial Chaos Theory. All those relationships collide so beautifully in that ep.)

Thank you.

[basil-appreciation-comic]

IMPORTANT UPDATE!!

the comic is cancelled. you probably already assumed that since i havent posted anything about it in a while but yeah the things dead now lol. mainly because i dont care much about omori anymore, the comic sucked, and it was too much effort. i feel kinda bad about leaving you guys in the dark for this long tho, so i thought id go ahead and include all the scrapped stuff for the comic that never got finished

while i was writing the comic i started a google doc that laid out ideas i had for future pages. heres that if you wanna know how the story ends

it was written over several months and (most) things are in order of where they go on the timeline not when i wrote them so it might be a little hard to follow

also some art i never posted

(at least i dont think ive posted the last one)

i quoted not liking this comic as one of the reasons i stopped so let me explain that with a list of things id change about this if i were to remake it (which i wont)

remove the swearing that was so stupid

make omori mute (and probably use sign language)

omori does not express fear or stress in-game, thats sunnys job. quit it

he also does not cry and generally shows emotions (even the big ones) in more subtle ways (which i think i was trying to shift towards later in the doc) idk why he was so emotional all the time

literally everything about how i portrayed omori actually that was all just awful

the panic attack scene is fucking embarrassing i have no clue what i was thinking. im so sorry for writing it like that i did 0 research beforehand

make it shorter why did i think that would work out

id probably just make it a fic, comics take way too much outta me compared to just writing things

it does not need a big epic ending and probably shouldve ended not long after they escaped black space

the romance is horrible but thats the foundation of the comic so idek what id do about that

stop making everyone talk like therapists 24/7

and yeah it has a lot of problems but i still do care about this due to the ammount of effort and love ive put into it, i just cant and dont want to continue it

so yeah thats where this story ends ig. i had a lot of fun along the way, and thank you so much for all the support. bigger thanks to that one sunflower discord server (if you came from there you know which one) for being my main motivation and support throughout this journey. sucks this comic never got to see its full potential but im relieved to finally lay it to rest. the blog will stay up for archival purposes but i will not continue the comic any further obviously. the ask box will remain open if you wanna say anything or if you have a question about the story or whatever. thanks for reading.

[jaytoons7]

Shifted Timeline Page 7

Sorry I haven't posted a page in a month, I don't really have an excuse. Have Dave's first appearance as an apology.

Prev | Start | Next

[mischief-lies-and-stories]

Why Kid Loki's Backstory in Loki Proves (More Than Anything Else) That the Writers Don't Understand Loki's Character

I've mostly already talked about this in a theory around Kid Loki, but now I'm going in a comic-heavy rant direction with it. Spoilers for Loki, Journey into Mystery, Immortal Thor, King Thor, and possibly more.

So Kid Loki in the show says he's taken in by the TVA for killing Thor. It is not clear whether Thor is also a child at this point in the timeline, or (as in my theory) this is Kid Loki from Journey into Mystery, a Kid Loki from our Loki's future (a future that hasn't happened yet in the main timeline of the MCU). Which would mean that the Thor he kills is an adult (probably. The future MCU option could deviate from Journey into Mystery and mean Thor is also a younger, reincarnated iteration of himself).

In the comics, the closest Kid Loki comes to killing Thor is 1., in Journey into Mystery, when he influences events during a battle to end the bloodshed by helping bring about Thor's sacrifice for the greater good. If he had not died, the battle would have gone on and led to more terrible destruction for Asgard. 2., In AoA, after "Kid Loki" ages up in Young Avengers, when he stabs Thor with Gram in order to free him from Loki's evil future self, who has hitched a ride inside Thor as a symbiote-like parasite.

In JiM, Loki privately and very deeply mourns Thor's death. (He also does so publicly, but in a way to avoid the suspicion of Asgard that he had something to do with Thor's death. But then the Asgardians go away and he's left alone, and he cries.) He knows what needed to be done, but he has lost his brother, his protector, his friend. He loves him. He is often shown throughout JiM to care about Thor. He calls for him instinctively when something he summons turns on him. He tries to make Thor promise to kill him if he goes bad again. He names his dog after him.

In Immortal Thor, we are reminded that Thor sought out Kid Loki, Thor awoke the piece of dormant soul inside him, Thor brought him back to himself and home to Asgard. Kid Loki would never kill Thor. Unless he had to.

Likewise, in King Thor, most of the comic is Loki, armed with the Necrosword, fighting Thor. Yet even here, even influenced by the elder god of the symbiotes themself, he cannot bring himself to annihilate Thor. (Now, he certainly does a good job of trying, even when he isn't as much under All-Black's influence. He makes an effort, I'm not discounting that. I'm not saying he's pretending to kill him, but in the end there's a shift.)

At a certain point, it stops being about Thor vs. Loki and the fight of an Asgardian lifetime. At a certain point, Loki very nearly gives it up, and Thor lets him. Loki says that it's too late, but not for their bond, not for a truce between them. It's too late to end this fight, because Loki has unleashed All-Black back into the universe, and it is too powerful even on its own for Loki to contain or control.

But the important thing here is that Loki stops. He stops fighting Thor. He stops trying to kill him. And when all hope is lost, as All-Black devours them, drowning them in despair and its own viscous, all-consuming darkness, Thor reaches for Loki, and Loki reaches back.

And this is a comic. We can make assumptions based on what we know about these characters, but at the end of the day, this is a comic, a stationary form of visual storytelling. Meaning that the panel portraying this moment does not display the first reaching hand, and so we cannot truly know who reaches for whom first. The important thing is that Loki reaches, too, but he could easily have reached out first.

Therefore, if Loki can reach for his brother, for comfort and peace and a promise of tomorrow, when all hope and light is dying around him, when he's about to die himself in a universe-ending disaster of his own making, centuries and millennia into a future of antagonism and villainy and sibling rivalry played out on a cosmic scale, then why the hell would he ever truly kill Thor as an eleven-year-old?

Aside from the shock factor (for both the main Loki and the viewers), it makes absolutely no sense. And if the writers cannot even comprehend that this would never happen, not in any universe (JiM and King Thor have nothing to do with each other, yet are connected by this one truth), no matter what Loki may claim, then why should they be expected to know anything else about Loki's character?

[findyourflame]

Who knows how long it's gonna take me to finish the other characters I wanna design for this AU so I'm just gonna get these nerds out instead of waiting until everyone's done

Anyways these are my designs for Team Sonic for my AU I've been working on, called Decade AU! Everyone is aged up by a decade from their ages (and relative ages) that were given in Sonic Heroes.

This means that Sonic is 25 years old, Tails is 18 years old, and Knuckles is 26 years old!

All the events that have happened between Heroes and Frontiers (and the comics) happened across the span of those 10 years, with Frontiers being the most recent occurrence(this will include whatever DLC they're planning unless it's smth abt returning to the islands or what have you, we'll see how it goes)

Since everyone's aged over the course of those years, I may shift their personalities within certain games depending on what feels like would make sense. I'll probably make a timeline to help sort things out too!

I'll be introducing some OCs into this AU too, for fun OC x Canon shenanigans. I'm working on a ref for the main OC I'd be using, so her ref will probs be dropped next whenever it's like. Done.

[lokiondisneyplus]

After the climactic release of the historically successful Avengers: Endgame – the 22nd film in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the penultimate release in their “Infinity Saga”, the culmination of 11 years of brand-building, the second-highest-grossing film of all time – Marvel decided what the world really needed was more Marvel.

Armed with classic Hollywood hubris – the misguided conviction that the public would never tire of what they were selling – Marvel Studios rolled television production into their main business model, with “Phase Four” delivering more television shows than movies. The effect was a flooding of the market and a dilution of the brand, not to mention the release of the worst MCU movie, Eternals.

Forcing narrative crossovers between television shows and movies had the adverse effect of turning the former into homework and the latter into ads for the former. This practice was an act of artistic self-sabotage, ruining what could’ve been Marvel’s most sublime film, Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, by burdening it with a host of tonally-off, studio-obligated B-stories crowbarred in to promote upcoming television titles.

After a run of disappointing films that weighed down once-fun franchises with po-faced gravity – Spider-Man: No Way Home, Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 – and a slew of ordinary television shows – The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Moon Knight, She-Hulk: Attorney at Law, Secret Invasion – we’ve officially reached a state of Marvel fatigue, with questions looming around the state of the superhero industrial complex.

It’s in this cultural moment that Loki, the acclaimed solo show for the titular character, arrives for a second season. It doesn’t just have to live up to an inspired first season but also has to push back on all the bad vibes, a difficult task given the heavy presence of Jonathan Majors, the breakout star who was arrested in March on domestic violence charges.The great charm of this season is that it cultivates the feeling that it could head anywhere and be anything. Loki doesn’t just explore free will as a theme, it actually feels as if it artistically possesses it.

The good news is that, whether or not it can be spun as state-of-Marvel narrative correction, season two is a worthy successor. Blessed by the fact its titular character, Tom Hiddleston’s charismatic God of Mischief, remains a slippery figure, Loki is allowed to move forward with no clear lines drawn between good and bad, protagonist and antagonist, hero and villain. Characters hold convictions until they don’t, make choices that will have ramifications, agitate for themselves, then for the greater good, and try to navigate a world whose rules shift beneath their feet.

It’s largely set, once again, in the Time Variance Authority, a comic bureaucratic labyrinth charged with policing multiversal time lines. Offering obvious symbolism at a time when Marvel is struggling to retain coherence in the midst of its “Multiverse Saga”, the TVA prizes the one true “Sacred Timeline”, pruning infinite possibilities back for the sake of cosmic narrative purity.

The TVA is an inspired retrofuturist space steeped in Eastern Bloc mid-century design and early Terry Gilliam films, satirising the pernickety dictums of workplaces and government offices – “limit your lunch break to 17 minutes!” proclaims one poster. From its dated tech – ’70s-style computer monitors, reel-to-reel tape machines, chrome hi-fis – to its curved surfaces, coloured floor tiles and lurid-emerald key lime pie, it’s a rare work of inspired production design by a studio otherwise synonymous with green-screening its way to rush-job eyesores built by an army of non-unionised offshore digital effects artists.

Everything in the TVA looks shabby and neglected, evoking its place as an office lost to time. The plot machinations of season one found an Avengers-adjacent Loki commandeered by the authority – Agent Mobius (Owen Wilson), upper-management Ravonna Renslayer (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) and others – to pursue a variant of himself, Sylvie (Sophia Di Martino), through time and space.

It ended with an explosion of multiversal time lines and revelations about the true history of the TVA: its top-down system of authority a matrix of illusion, its mind-wiped employees existing in a state of suspended limbo, its time line-culling operation seeming a lot like a morally questionable act of mass slaughter.

In the fallout from that climax, season two finds characters questioning whether the TVA is an entity worth preserving or destroying, not to mention the meaning of their own existence and the ramifications of choice. It’s a study of free will and moral responsibility, housed in 45-minute episodes of action-oriented television. Its chief writer, Eric Martin, both lionises liberty and weighs up its gravity, while happily dealing in the all-American fear of governmental oversight.

The collapse of the TVA’s artificial reality – “everything you’ve been doing is wrong and all your gods are dead”, Mobius deadpans in classic Wilson fashion – leads characters to their own convictions. Mobius seeks peaceful resolution. Renslayer seeks to preserve her power and the authority’s agency (“all that matters is order versus chaos”). The once-bellicose B-15 (Wunmi Mosaku) has a moral reawakening. The dogged Dox (Kate Dickie) is more committed than ever to the cause. The weaselly X-5 (Rafael Casal) wants to explore his new-found independence and maybe become a movie star. The oddball tech guy with the on-the-nose name, Ouroboros (Ke Huy Quan), is there to both provide comic relief and to save the day from a temporal calamity that may destroy all worlds, or something to that effect.

Loki’s playful riffing on time means every benign use of the word pops – “it’ll take some time”, “remember that time”, “take your time”, “time to go” – and its first four episodes dance along the Earth’s time line at various points of history – 1868, 1893, 1977, 1982 – with plentiful hijinks, dabbling in genre tropes, meta use of Loki’s skills of illusion and misdirection, and creepy fast-food-franchise sponsored content.

Looming over all is the presence of the big bad of Marvel’s Phase Five, Kang the Conqueror, played still, to this point, by Majors. He’s seen here in two variants: a squirrelly 19th-century nutty professor named Victor Timely and the all-powerful end-of-time figure met at the end of last season, He Who Remains. These twin characters are connected but separate enough that they symbolise the series’ focus on free will. One may be fated to become the other, but does that mean that he – and the future – can’t change?

The great charm of this season is that it cultivates the feeling that it could head anywhere and be anything. Loki doesn’t just explore free will as a theme, it actually feels as if it artistically possesses it. While it may not be enough to combat the waning influence of comic-book screen output, this season does feel like a disarming counterpoint to recent Marvel Studios product. Rather than feeling conscripted or forced, a puzzle piece that exists solely to build a bridge between branded content, Loki remains its own thing: a nimble exploration of big themes in a colourful, comic, oddball package.

This article was first published in the print edition of The Saturday Paper on October 21, 2023 as "Changing times".

[dysfunctionaldogdude]

Hannimals Hannigram dynamic

Slight blood warning + teeth lots of teefs

Art + dynamic explanation under cut

I finally finished my Hannigram page. So it's time to indulge their dynamic in my comic.

*fawns over teeth*

They obviously are down and dirty. They're canon in my comic, but it's more so a complicated progression. They start out how in the show, they slowly become friends and get more intimate.

The comic will still show Hannibal *technically* manipulating Will, but it's somewhat consensual. Will wants to be a bit feral. Well, he wants to control more, so control it. This yice when I do certain scenes in the comic, you'll see shifts from him really being feral and him just putting on a front.

This note is VERY important to the story btw for context of character reactions and finding the foreshadows.

Behaviors between Will and Hannibal remain the same, Will is sassy, and Hannibal adores him. There will be certain times things shift in the dynamic. Those are during drastic scenes and a scene I HOPE to include. I might not. If I don't I promise to make a panel of if for y'all and myself since it's a drastic shift and I REALLY REALLY want to include it I just don't know where or when.

I'm still re-watching Hannibal so I bet could find a place in the main timeline to do it.

I have an idea where I can place a similar scene, but Hannibal's reaction would NOT be drastic.