#subtle foreshadowing/JOKE

[m4fios0]

“ i will. i swear.

don't forget you're my friend too – if you need anything, i'm always here. y'know i never fully stay down, ”

> [ he tried making light of the situation, smiling. standing back up, he double checked to make sure the bandages were on securely . ]

??? Ettore is everything ok ?

@wires-for-veins ))

;; “ i feel fine. why wouldn't i, apollo? ”

> [ the tear in his chest and awfully stretched neck said otherwise. also the fact that he didn't even have his sword holstered – he only had his hat. although, the gifted leaves were fastened to it now. ]

[njbdmstc09]

[bfdiwoody]

reblog if you beat your wife 😹😹😹

[yesokayiknow]

are you fucking kidding me

who did this agfjhsjdhs

[lascvitae]

⌗ . ᵎᵎ ⸝⸝ be my baby .ᐟ ೀ

synopsis. after y/n’s school crush has a nasty break up and randomly likes her pictures on instagram, y/n finally gets the confidence to ask her to prom. little did she know, she would be the perfect decoy for sophia’s plan to get back at her (ex) boyfriend. until sophia began to feel things for the girl.

pairing. sophia laforteza x fem!reader

genre. smau, fluff, angst, crack, high school!au.

warnings. profanity, dark humor, underage drinking, smoking, katseye as popular girls, sophia is lowkey mean at first, suggestive themes/jokes, friendly bullying, use of aave, ignore the times on tweets, hair colors etc. in photos aren’t important.

feat. all of katseye, minju of illit, giselle of aespa, hanni of new jeans, heeseung, sunghoon, & jungwon of enhypen, jooyeon of xdinary heroes (+ more!!)

status. ongoing.

PROFILES.

hot nerds. | katdashians. | xtras.

CHAPTERS.

000. prologue.

001. subtle foreshadowing

002.

003.

sold prom tickets (open) — @saysirhc @1luvkarina @fruityg0rl @sunshinez4 @wtfisthisnoclueman @falling-intoo-deep @iisayfa @rdfgfv @rosiehrs @haerinkisser @yazzyminny @tylerthegirlkisser @yeetaberry127 @kristalag @aedollie @peanutbutterlover05 @linnnsworld @firstclassjaylee @sixflame438 @peranoo @gtfoiydlyj @syronns @enhamonsterghoul @ccchuro @pinxeajin @nokpopnolifee @nokpopnolifee @gablmk @wwwlpgs @tamberverse @lafortezalover @skz-xii @yoursweetdeception @tormaa1 @theyseemeroshing @yuyuy90 @the-eaglebearer @iluvyuandme @haeeee-rinnn @lafortezagf @p1hbrook

[alive-gh0st]

˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

….ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨.ـ... ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

⛨ summary: you were in a surprisingly good mood, which should’ve been the first red flag. your coworkers weren’t being annoying, the coffee machine was actually working, and not a single patient had tried to self-diagnose off WebMD yet. the universe clearly saw that and went “hmm, too peaceful.” because hours later, the clinic was rubble, a child was almost lost, and you met invincible for the first time. and of course—you yelled at him.

⛨ contains: sfw. local clinic setting. first meeting with invincible. medical professional!reader. civilian chaos. reader being a bad bitch. immediate tension and banter. subtle foreshadowing of their future dynamic. fire/explosion sequence. hands-on first aid moments. mark being surprised-reader-ain’t-scared. small emotional undercurrent under sarcasm.

⛨ warnings: brief injury description (scrapes, blood). explosion/fire trauma. smoke inhalation. nurse carla. mild trauma response (panic, adrenaline). implied danger to a child (rescued safely). some profanity.

⛨ wc: 1093

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: reader has a license, a savior complex, and zero chill. mark shows up for five minutes and gets emotionally wrecked. enjoy the chaos.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It’s a quiet Tuesday. The kind of quiet that should’ve tipped you off. The kind of quiet that doesn’t last.

Your shift starts at 8:00 AM sharp, and somehow, you’re early. The sun’s out, the sky’s obnoxiously blue, and someone brought donuts to the clinic—for no reason.

You even got your favorite one—the last one—which felt like a small miracle… until you realized the coffee was good.

Not just drinkable. Good. Fresh. Hot. Non-bitter. Suspicious.

You’d joked with Nurse Carla that the universe was trying to butter you up.

“You just wait,” she said, stirring her tea like some all-knowing, scrub-wearing oracle. “It’s always the good days that get you.”

You’d laughed.

Now you’re pretty sure she hexed you.

The clinic hums with calm, the low rhythm of patients being called back and phones ringing occasionally at the front desk. In room three, you patch up a skateboard accident. Room five brings in an elderly man who insists his blood pressure is fine—even as the cuff nearly bursts. You remain patient, calm, even friendly—somehow.

You’re not usually this chipper.

Maybe it’s the sunlight. Maybe it’s the donut.

Either way, you don’t realize you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop—

Until it does.

Loud. Violent. Apocalyptic.

The explosion shakes the floor beneath your feet.

It’s not real at first. Just a sound—an echoing blast that shatters windows and hurls you out of your good mood like a ragdoll. You slam your coffee on the counter (RIP—it was actually decent) and bolt toward the door before anyone can stop you.

Smoke is already curling above the skyline. Across the street, a building is on fire—its middle floors cracked open like a broken jaw. Glass rains down. People scream.

You don’t hesitate. You just move.

“Call 911!” you shout over your shoulder as your feet hit the pavement. Your heart kicks into overdrive. The calm is gone.

The illusion shattered.

“Evacuate the lobby!”

You don’t wait for acknowledgment. Your feet are already pounding pavement, shoes slipping slightly on the sidewalk as your mind flips into crisis mode.

You’re already halfway in before your brain catches up.

A woman collapses near the curb—shock. You steady her, get her seated, check her breathing. Alive.

You keep moving.

A teen stumbles out of the smoke, blood on his jeans. You direct him to sit, tear open your kit.

Tourniquet. Gauze. Stabilize. Move.

You don’t even notice when your stethoscope vanishes off your shoulders—just that your hands are moving and your brain’s already triaging in real time.

And then you see her.

A little girl—no older than nine—trapped beneath a chunk of concrete by the crosswalk. Her arm’s twisted at a bad angle. Blood smears her cheek. She’s trying to cry but doesn’t have the energy for more than a breathy whimper.

Before your brain can even catch up, your legs are already sprinting.

Someone grabs your arm—an older man with watery eyes and a voice wobbling from terror. “Don’t!” he begs. “That’s suicide! You’ll die trying to—”

“Move,” you snap, not bothering to look back. “Or piss yourself somewhere else.”

You don’t wait for a reply.

Your knees hit pavement. You’re beside the girl before the guy can finish a follow-up plea, hands already assessing her pulse, breath, injuries. You try to lift the debris. Nothing. It doesn’t budge. Your arms shake, muscles strain, lungs burning from smoke.

You try again.

Still nothing.

Panic rises sharp in your throat. The little girl’s eyes flutter—too pale, too quiet.

“Stay with me,” you whisper. “Hey. Look at me, alright? You’re gonna be okay.”

You lie. But your voice is steady.

For a horrible moment, you actually think this is it. That you’re about to die here, buried with this kid—and no one will know why you didn’t wait for backup.

The wind shifts.

Fast. Sharp. A blur of motion and force that sends your hair whipping around your face.

And then the weight’s gone.

You jerk backward, pull the girl free, and curl around her automatically—heart hammering like a drumline. You blink through the smoke and ash.

That’s when you see him.

Invincible.

In the flesh. Blue and yellow suit smeared with ash and blood, goggles cracked at one side. Kneeling beside you like some kind of comic book punchline—if comic books ever showed their heroes looking that tired.

“She’s okay,” you breathe, adjusting the girl in your arms, “but you’re not.”

He blinks like you just insulted him in four languages. “I’m—”

“Don’t say fine.” You eye him critically. “You’re favoring your left. Blood. Concussion-level pupils. You probably shouldn’t be standing, let alone flying.”

“…Are you a doctor?”

“Closer to nurse practitioner. Also not blind.”

You stand, legs shaky but functional. He watches you like he’s never been spoken to like that in his life.

“You should go,” you add, motioning to the kid in your arms. “She needs a hospital. Fast.”

He hesitates.

You frown. “What?”

“…Nothing. Just—” He gestures vaguely at you. “You’re calm.”

You actually snort. “You mean I didn’t cry and fangirl? Tragic.”

“That’s not—”

“I’m not scared of you,” you say, quieter now. “If anything, you’re just another bleeding idiot who didn’t let someone check him out before playing hero.”

You’ve seen enough broken ribs and bad priorities to know most capes aren’t invincible where it counts.

His mouth opens. Closes. Still stunned.

You sigh and hand him the girl, a little softer now. ”Take her. That’s the only reason I’m not yelling more.”

He nods, carefully taking the child into his arms like she’s glass. Gives you one last look—

And he’s gone.

Wind howls. The air cracks.

And you’re left standing there, covered in soot and adrenaline, alone in the wreckage.

You don’t know he’ll remember your voice. The glare. The cracked joke.

But he will.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚❤️‍🔥˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌Somewhere, sometime after…

Nurse Carla sits in her living room, lit by the flicker of a dusty lamp and the glow of a muted rerun. A cat—large, black, and terrifyingly still—curls in her lap like it’s plotting something.

His name is Lucifer. You know this because she whispers it like a prayer when chattering about him.

She sips her tea. Doesn’t flinch when thunder cracks outside, even though it hasn’t rained in weeks.

On the table beside her: a newspaper folded open to an article about the explosion. A blurry shot of Invincible in flight.

Carla hums. Calm. Unbothered. All-knowing.

She sets the teacup down with a soft clink, leans back in her chair, and strokes Lucifer’s head.

“I told her,” she murmurs, half to herself, half to the void. “Never trust a Tuesday.”

She smiles.

Lucifer purrs.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: nurse carla is two steps from world domination. the cat knows things. be aware.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

taglist sign up: 𓉘here𓉝

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ With Love, @alive-gh0st

[thelov3lybookworm]

Cat claws

Day 2: Scarred.

Summary: Maybe he can forgive Nuts.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1177

Warnings: cat being mean to hazel :(

A/n: azzie just loses his mind in tis lmao nd you cant blame him hazel's the most adorable little thing ever 🥹 yall just wait till she begins talking azs going to sob his eyes out (subtle foreshadowing 🎀)

@azrielappreciationweek

ANYWAY ENJOYYYY 🥳

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Azriel watched, amused, as Hazel attempted to crawl towards the black furry creature that sat in the corner licking its paw.

Hazel had only started crawling a week or so ago, and Azriel absolutely loved watching her drag herself around. It was often amusing to see her get angry when the carpet slowed down her movements when it caught on her clothes, or when she bumped into the couch and glared at it.

She would always turn to search for Azriel when that happened, letting out the loudest yell her tiny body could muster as if ordering him to get rid of the offending item.

Even barely eight months old, Y/n always said Hazel had her father’s ability to glare and grumble.

Azriel always scoffed in return to that statement before forcing himself to stop and realise him being grumpy only proved his mate’s words to be true.

Hazel was currently looking at her father with her brows furrowed, and Azriel blinked, coming back to the present as he realised she was trying to move over the carpet. He grinned at the anger on her face and stood, bending down once he was close enough to pick her up.

He set her down closer to the cat Y/n had insisted on getting after Hazel’s birth, her reasoning being that their daughter needed a friend and then named him Nuts.

Hazel and her best friend Nuts.

‘Get it? Hazel-Nuts’ She had giggled.

It made Azriel laugh back when she had suggested it, but soon enough he’d realised she was not joking. At all.

Azriel watched on with a smile as Hazel reached Nuts and tried to grab his fur. Nuts walked away without a look in her direction, which always pissed Azriel off. Who did the creature think it was?

"Azriel, that’s a cat. He does not understand how to act with a baby-" Y/n called out from the kitchen, having peeked into the living room to see what had caused her mate to get so mad that his emotions reached her through the bond.

"Well how long does it take to learn? I swear to the mother one day I'm kicking him out if he continues to bully my daughter."

Azriel heard Y/n sigh and walk closer to him as Hazel crawled towards Nut again. He now sat closer to the hearth, where a fire burned red to ward off the winter chill that was beginning to set over Velaris.

"Az-"

But Azriel did not hear the rest of Y/n’s sentence.

His ears began ringing as he stepped forward as if in a daze, eyes sharp on the raised paw of Nuts, who, having seen Hazel get close to him again, tried to hit her.

The firelight glinted off his claws.

And then Hazel’s loud cries filled the room as her head reared back, eyes clenched shut in pain.

She had a habit of flopping on her back when she was mad. Azriel had never really worried too much about that particular habit of Hazel’s until now, when she was too close to the fire and the tiniest movement would end up with her-

No, Azriel did not want to complete the thought.

In that moment of panic, Azriel did not care that there was a glass covering separating the fire from the room, and that no matter what Hazel did, she would not be able to be burned.

In that moment all that mattered to Azriel was that the fucking cat living in his house had the audacity to hurt his daughter.

Azriel grabbed Hazel, frantically looking over her to check for her injuries. There weren’t any big claw marks, but the tiny scratch on the chubby flesh of her upper arm connecting it to her shoulder made Azriel see red.

He turned to glare at Y/n as he pulled Haze close.

"I am telling you Y/n. If by the time I return, that bastard is not out of this house, I will drop him into the sidra myself."

Y/n’s eyes were helpless, but Azriel did not wait for a moment longer as he walked out of the main door and took flight, his only mission to find Madja and get his daughter healed.

He did not want her to be scarred like the hands cradling her.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Flying back home, Azriel decided that he needed some time alone to figure out why he had reacted so harshly.

He knew Y/n had been right. Nuts was an animal. He did not understand how to treat babies. But Azriel did not want to admit that.

The stars were out, so clearly visible as Azriel flew his daughter back home. It had been over an hour since he’d left the house in such a hurry, wishing he could strangle the cat.

He had taken to the skies after Madja had assured him that Hazel would be fine, and had his emotions not been so high and panicked, maybe Hazel wouldn’t have cried at all. After long moments of being assured by Madja, Azrie finally calmed down and left.

"I’m sorry baby. Did I scare you?" Azriel mumbled, glancing down at his daughter who stared up at the sky with wide eyes. She only giggled back in answer.

The innocence in the sound made Azriel smile.

The smile faded just as quick as it had come when his eyes fell on his hands cradling her head and back.

They once were soft and smooth like Hazel’s. They once had grabbed his own parents hand with as much love as he now grasped his daughters. Only now, they were uglier.

If Y/n heard his thoughts, she would have yelled at him and forced him to say they were beautiful. But Azriel knew better. They weren’t, and they never would be.

The only thing he liked even a little about his hands was the fact that their texture was so different from other’s hands, Hazel always immediately figured out she was in her father’s arms.

Y/n always talked about how the same scarred hands he despised were the reason she and Hazel felt safe. Those words echoed back to Azriel when he began doubting himself. It always made him feel better.

Hazel squealed loudly when Azriel dipped lower, air pushing gently against her back.

She was so pure, so innocent. She did not even know of the cruel world she was born in.

And Azriel swore to keep it that way. He had hoped the world outside his father’s dungeon would be better, once, and quickly realised that there were people in the world that would pounce at the chance to scar innocent souls just for the sadistic pleasure of ruining their lives.

He did not want her soul to turn out as scarred as his too.

As he finally landed on the front porch of his home and heard loud meow’s coming from inside, he contemplated letting the cat stay.

Maybe a cat’s claw scratch was not that bad.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[m4fios0]

*she gasped audibly in a jokingly offended way.* 🌮: us? NOT FRIENDS? THE AGONY ! *she giggled softly before leaning closer.*🌮 : you and i BOTH know what wouldve happened if you laid a hand on me! *she said like she was higher above mafioso!..which was far from the truth.*

> [ hand wrapped around the handle of his sword tightly, he watched her with a blank expression. ]

🐇 ;; “ real shame you fell down that tower in Ten Mou, huh? never figured out if you were pushed or just, toppled right on over ! ”

[sha-brytols]

i DO think weekes is an exceptional writer like. not even just in dragon age like the parts of mass effect they were directly involved with are coincidentally the most fun i've ever fucking had with that trilogy and i hate mass effect LOL.

but i also think they um. their writing very much Drips with self-satisfaction. like they really really really need you to know what this symbolism means and what this dialogue is foreshadowing and exactly word for word what this exposition means and i think that's why they only really seem to thrive in environments with heavy editor oversight. i'm literally constantly thinking about that interview where gaider said solas was literally the most insufferably unlikable character he has ever seen and they had to like. come up with a "rule system" for his character to make his rat bastard side both more subtle and more likable

subsequently i think gaider is a terrible writer LOL but a fantastic consultant. his insufferable know-it-all "well actually 🤓☝️" personality is definitely an advantage when you're working quality control. i feel like his horribly fucking annoying habit of Never Letting Things Go actually kinds of complements his passion for the lore and worldbuilding. his bsky threads where he went into detail about his thought process behind each of the characters he was responsible for was actually incredibly interesting because it feels like his primary concern when writing is balance. "alistair should be the comic relief and can even speak anachronistically. as a treat. but he should only crack jokes during xyz or he'll be annoying" "fenris' hatred for mages has to be contextual to his trauma to avoid coming across as abusively bigoted while still being a character flaw" like he's a terrible fucking writer but he's really good at keeping in mind what is appealing to a Consumer.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Foreshadowing

No one likes a spoiler, but everyone loves a good breadcrumb. When done the right way, foreshadowing brilliantly steers a reader’s journey through a story.

Foreshadowing - a literary device used to give an indication or hint of what is to come later in the story. It is useful for creating suspense, a feeling of unease, a sense of curiosity, or a mark that things may not be as they seem.

How to Use Foreshadowing in Your Writing

Foreshadowing does not necessarily mean explicitly revealing what will happen later in your story. In fact, when it is used effectively, many readers may not even realize the significance of an author’s foreshadowing until the end. Examples of foreshadowing range from the very subtle to the incredibly pointed. No matter how veiled your hints are, there are a few time-honored ways to weave them into your storytelling:

Dialogue: You can use your characters’ dialogue to foreshadow future events or big reveals. This foreshadowing may take the form of a joke, an offhand comment, or even something unsaid that adds personality to your characters while planting the seed for later revelations. A prime example of dialogue foreshadowing occurs in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, when Romeo says, “My life were better ended by their hate, than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.” This line foreshadows Romeo’s eventual fate: committing suicide over the loss of Juliet.

Title: The title of a novel or short story can be used to foreshadow major events in the story as well. For instance, Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Fall of the House of Usher” foreshadows not just the destruction of the physical house, but the demise of an entire family.

Setting: The choices you make about the setting or atmosphere of your story can foreshadow events as well. In Great Expectations, Charles Dickens uses descriptions of foreboding storm clouds and inclement weather to foreshadow the dark turn Pip’s story will take: “So furious had been the gusts, that high buildings in town had had the lead stripped off their roofs; and in the country, trees had been torn up, and sails of windmills carried away; and gloomy accounts had come in from the coast, of shipwreck and death.”

Metaphor or simile: Figurative language like similes and metaphors can be effective foreshadowing tools. In David Copperfield, Dickens uses simile to foreshadow the betrayal of David by his mother, comparing her to a figure in a fairy tale: “I sat looking at Peggotty for some time, in a reverie on this suppositious case: whether, if she were employed to lose me like the boy in the fairy tale, I should be able to track my way home again by the buttons she would shed.”

Character traits: A character’s appearance, attire, or mannerisms can foreshadow that character’s true essence or later actions. On second reading, Lennie’s death at the end of John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men comes not as a shock but as an echo of a moment much earlier, when George must put down a dog. For George, the two events are not directly linked, but the reader learns that he is willing to do something gut-wrenching in a moment of greater need.

Foreshadowing is a key tool for writers to build dramatic tension and suspense throughout their stories.

It’s a quiet flag from the writer to the reader to pay close attention, and it’s also a great tool to prepare your reader emotionally for big reveals.

For instance, if an abrupt revelation or plot twist is not adequately set up via foreshadowing, your reader may come away from your story feeling annoyed, disappointed, or confused, rather than surprised and satisfied.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[anythinggoesbutme]

First Glint

Chapter one of the White Rose & Coal Dust series

Peacekeeper!Coriolanus Snow x Everdeen!Reader

Previous Chapters: Click Here

Warnings: Power imbalance, class tension, mild language, canon-typical dystopian themes, foreshadowing of emotional manipulation, underlying political commentary, references to poverty/starvation, stalking behavior (mildly but intentional), mentions of death, slow burn, subtle manipulation.

Synopsis: Before he was President Snow, he was a Peacekeeper sent to District 12—where a coal-dusted girl with defiance in her spine caught his eye and changed everything.

Word Count: 2,984

The train sliced through the barren winter of the Seam like a silver scalpel, gleaming under the pale, ash-laden sky. It was a Capitol model, of course—smooth, sleek, and designed for power. Just like everything Coriolanus Snow had ever touched.

He sat alone in the last compartment, a luxury even higher-ranking Peacekeepers rarely received, though no one questioned it when he boarded. They didn’t question his spotless white uniform, pressed crisp against his tall frame. They didn’t question the way he carried himself—like he already owned every inch of Panem.

Because one day, he would.

His gloved hand tapped against the side of a polished flask, untouched. The flask was more for show than need—a gift from a superior officer, embossed with a mocking rose and filled with expensive Capitol whiskey he had no intention of drinking. He didn’t trust anything he hadn’t prepared himself. Not anymore.

Snow’s blue eyes narrowed as they caught the faint outline of coal smoke rising in the distance. District 12.

He had read the files. Of all the districts, it was the poorest. Starved, broken, irrelevant—except for the black lungs it produced to fuel the nation’s endless fire. Most Capitol citizens couldn’t find it on a map if you paid them, and that suited him fine. He preferred forgotten places. It was easier to make an impression when no one saw you coming.

The train screeched into the station like it was protesting its arrival, steam hissing against the tracks. Snow stood without hurry, adjusting the gleaming belt around his waist. Everything about him was regulation: the leather gloves, the knee-high boots, the neatly combed blond hair. But nothing about him was ordinary.

As he stepped onto the platform, the cold bit through his uniform like it had teeth.

District 12 looked exactly like he imagined.

Bleak. Smoky. Smelling of soot and desperation.

The buildings—if you could call them that—leaned like old men waiting to die. Children darted between crumbling brick and wooden doorframes, their cheeks hollow from hunger, their eyes too old for their age. Women stood in lines that led to nowhere. Men shouldered the weight of invisible shackles, heading toward the mines with heads bowed.

Snow’s nose wrinkled behind a polite smile.

They called this a district, but it was a graveyard. And he had come to be its warden.

“Peacekeeper Snow,” a gruff voice greeted, interrupting his assessment.

Snow turned to see a man in standard uniform approach—older, with grizzled stubble and a gut that suggested more time at a desk than in the field. Commander Brant, if memory served.

“Sir,” Snow replied, offering a crisp salute.

Brant’s eyes flicked over him, skeptical but amused. “We don’t get many Capitol boys out here. Let alone ones with… pedigree.”

Snow’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not here for comfort, Commander.”

Brant snorted. “You’ll be lucky to find a dry cot, let alone comfort. Welcome to hell.”

He said it like a joke, but the bitterness was real. Snow heard it, and logged it.

Brant led him away from the station, boots crunching through a mix of snow and soot. They passed the Hob, the black market disguised as an abandoned warehouse, and the Seam, where the poverty was so thick it clung to the walls like rot.

“We’ve had trouble,” Brant said, more as a warning than a statement. “Miners organizing. Kids stealing. A couple of families we think are running old rebel bloodlines.”

Snow raised an eyebrow. “You’ve allowed that to continue?”

Brant shrugged. “We’ve kept the peace. Barely.”

Snow didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The disgust was in his silence.

Brant stopped at the base barracks—a squat, concrete building that looked more like a bunker than a home. “This is where you’ll be housed. We rotate shifts, but if you want more patrols, more control—well. Be my guest.”

“I intend to,” Snow said smoothly.

Inside, the air was warmer but no more welcoming. Other Peacekeepers loitered, playing cards, cleaning weapons, some glancing up at Snow’s arrival. None of them greeted him. Not with words.

But they noticed. They always noticed him.

Snow moved into the room assigned to him—a corner cell of sorts with a narrow bed, a metal desk, and a single window that overlooked the heart of the district. Or what was left of it.

He didn’t unpack. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he sat at the desk and opened a fresh file. He began to read.

District 12 wasn’t just coal and hunger and hopelessness. It was fractured. Fragile. And if there was one thing Coriolanus Snow understood, it was how to control something once it broke.

That’s what they didn’t understand in the Capitol. That’s what they’d forgotten.

Power wasn’t about extravagance. It was about proximity. Visibility. Presence.

Let the rebels think they had privacy. Let the poor believe their voices weren’t heard. He would hear them all. He would remember their names, their faces, their patterns.

He would build his empire one chokehold at a time, and District 12 would be the beginning.

Snow reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a single white rose. Perfect. Untouched.

He placed it on the desk beside the file.

The room was quiet.

But in the silence, he heard it all.

District 12 was not known for its surprises.

Coriolanus Snow had walked the same bleak path from the barracks to the town square each morning for nearly a week. His boots left no lasting print in the soot-laced snow. His presence, however, did.

Every day, eyes followed him—some curious, some resentful, some just afraid. That was fine. Fear, after all, was fertile ground. Easier to plant control than resistance. And District 12 was already wilting.

He knew the patterns now: which families sent their children to the fence line for kindling, which miners coughed the worst, which houses traded stolen bread behind boarded-up windows. The district was a wound, and he’d memorized its every scab.

And then, on a morning of no particular note, he saw her.

She was standing near the edge of the square, her arms folded beneath a faded shawl, a basket hanging from one wrist. Coal dust streaked her cheek, as if she’d wiped her face mid-chore and forgotten to check for the smear. Her coat was threadbare, her boots cracked at the seams, and her hair—

Her hair was the color of rich soil after rain. Not Capitol-slicked or curled, but long and thick and braided simply down her back. Practical. Plain.

And yet something about her pulled him to stillness.

She wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t begging for anything. She just stood there—like she belonged to this place, but didn’t bow to it.

And then she looked up.

Their eyes didn’t meet. She didn’t notice him. But he noticed her.

And that was enough.

Snow didn’t speak to her. He didn’t alter his pace. He didn’t twitch a muscle, not even a flicker of recognition across his polished expression. He simply walked past.

But from that moment on, his route changed.

He began walking by the square twice a day instead of once. Sometimes at dusk, sometimes just after the miners were released from the shifts. He’d pause near the bakery, pretending to inspect security. He added patrols by the Hob. He claimed interest in the fence line watch and the ration queue organization—all of which passed near the places she moved.

She had a routine. He made it his.

It was almost disappointing, how easy it was to find out more.

Her name wasn’t in any formal registry—not in a district like this. But she was known. Referred to in murmurs. Everdeen. The Everdeen girl.

She lived on the edge of the Seam, in a house that should’ve collapsed five winters ago. She walked to the market with her older brother sometimes, carrying goods wrapped in cloth. Her father had been killed by a group of Peacekeepers over rumors of him planning a rebellion. She sang, occasionally, though never in front of Peacekeepers. She bartered better than any man twice her age. She never stole. She didn’t need to. People gave her more than she asked for.

And the more he learned, the more he looked.

At first, it was observation. Tactical. Strategic.

But Snow had always been honest with himself, even when it was unflattering.

After the fourth day, he started watching her for reasons he didn’t put in reports.

It wasn’t just her face, though that was lovely enough in its quiet way—sharp eyes, the curve of her mouth always looking like it was mid-thought. No, it was the contrast. The contradiction.

She looked like she belonged to nothing but herself.

And yet she was entirely his district. All coal smoke and hard-won breath. A survivor, he thought, and not by accident.

Snow never followed her past the square. That would have been obvious. Sloppy.

But he’d linger near wherever she’d been. He’d stand in places she passed just to breathe the air she left behind. He told himself it was about power—knowing what mattered to this district. Who mattered.

Still, he kept a list.

Her name, in his private log. A note beside it: Seam blood. Connected. Sharp. Valuable.

And another beneath it, scrawled after a long pause: Pretty.

The word looked foreign on his Capitol-script page.

He told himself it didn’t matter.

He told himself he wasn’t here for attachments.

He told himself she wouldn’t mean anything.

But Coriolanus Snow was a man who didn’t believe in coincidence. And her presence here—now, while he was beginning the first move of his long campaign—felt like something just short of fate.

One evening, after the sun had sunk low and the mines released their ghosts back into the district, he found himself walking toward the square again.

He had no reason to. No duty. No excuse.

She wasn’t there.

But her brother was.

Tall, rough around the edges, carrying a bag of coal and something sharper in his expression. The protective kind of man, Snow thought, who believed his fists were stronger than the world’s leash.

Snow stood still. Observed.

When the brother glanced in his direction, their eyes locked.

It was brief.

But it was enough to tell him that the Everdeens—both of them—had teeth.

He returned to the barracks that night colder than when he left.

He lay in bed, staring at the low ceiling, and wondered if she had ever seen the Capitol. If she would hate it. If she would survive it.

If she would survive him.

Snow wasn’t one to act on impulse. He wasn’t ruled by want. He ruled it.

But he felt something shifting. Quietly. Under his skin. Like a slow, inevitable thaw.

She didn’t know him yet.

But she would.

The rain fell like it had every evening for the past three days—relentless, unyielding, drenching everything in its path. The sky, a swollen bruise, hung low above the district, and the wind swept through the streets, chasing people indoors like mice seeking shelter from a hawk’s eye.

Coriolanus Snow stood under the awning of a poorly-kept building near the town square, his figure leaning against the rotting wood, sharp eyes scanning the deserted street. The only people still braving the storm were the ones too poor or too stubborn to heed the weather’s warning. He didn’t mind the rain. The wetness made the dirt on his boots easier to wipe off, the slant of the storm left him feeling shielded, as though the world might not see him if he didn’t want to be seen. His thoughts were a little clearer in the rain—fewer distractions, fewer voices from the district to interrupt his focus.

He could hear the distant clatter of the Hob—a place filled with all the district’s stolen dreams—and the occasional murmur of a miner trudging through the mud, on their way home after another soul-sucking day in the pits. But despite the usual sounds, his focus had already shifted.

There, emerging from the fog of the downpour, was her.

She was just a shadow at first—a dark figure darting from one awning to another, her steps quick and purposeful as though the rain were a nuisance rather than a comfort. He recognized her immediately, of course—he had spent weeks learning the shape of her, memorizing the way she carried herself, the set of her jaw, the purposeful strides she took when she was certain no one was watching her.

Her hair—wild and unruly in the wet—curled in a way that made her look younger, more delicate than she really was. He noted the way it clung to the back of her neck, a few strands falling damply over her shoulders, the color now richer, more vibrant than it had ever appeared in the dry heat of the day. The effect was oddly disarming, like something precious—and as she passed just beneath his awning, for a brief moment, he caught the scent of the earth clinging to her clothes.

For a second, he almost wanted to smile.

But he didn’t.

She wasn’t looking his way. Of course she wasn’t. It had been weeks since he’d started keeping track of her movements—weeks spent calculating her routine, learning the length of her days and the hours she spent in town, how often she lingered outside the bakery, her stops at the market, her brief exchanges with the miners who frequented the square.

There was no reason for her to notice him. Not yet. But still, he had watched her long enough to know that she’d caught sight of him before. Those moments when she looked up, and their gazes met—however fleeting—he had been certain. She knew who he was, even if she wasn’t brave enough to speak his name. But that was a feeling he could foster. She was the sort who despised Peacekeepers, and he was their representative in this district. His arrival had been unwelcome, and the animosity she felt was practically instinctual.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

The same instinct that led her to avoid him, that same coldness he’d come to expect from these districts, only fed his curiosity.

She stopped abruptly, a few feet away, ducking into a small shop to shelter from the rain. He hesitated. There was no need to approach her. He had no real business with her—at least, not yet. But it was hard to shake the feeling that if he didn’t act now, if he didn’t make some kind of move, she’d slip away and be just another ghost in this dying district.

With a soft exhale, Snow pushed himself off the doorframe and made his way toward the shop where she’d entered, making sure his footsteps were quiet in the wet mud.

He waited for a moment under the eaves, watching the shop as the door swung open slightly, just enough for him to see her reflection in the glass, the shadow of her face framed by a pale lamp within. She didn’t notice him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew he was out there, watching.

Minutes passed, and when the door opened fully, she stepped back out into the rain.

Snow was already in motion before she could walk past him. He stood in her way just as she took the first step out from the shop’s awning.

The rain fell heavier now, a sheet of cold slicing down between them. When Coriolanus reached her, the girl’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing with mistrust, fury rippling in her gaze. The girl had fire in her—he could feel it even at this distance, burning in the depths of her stare. He hadn’t expected anything less, but it intrigued him, nonetheless.

“Miss,” he said, slow and low, as if she were a wild thing that might bolt at the wrong move. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

She stared at him, her expression unreadable.

He didn’t move.

“I wasn’t startled,” she said finally, her voice flat, as if dismissing him entirely.

“Then I’m lucky,” he replied, voice smooth but carrying just enough warmth. “I would’ve hated to be mistaken for a threat.”

Her eyes flickered toward his, full of disdain. She looked at him like he already was a threat, and maybe he was—just by virtue of who he was and what he represented.

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, broken only by the persistent drumming of rain against rusted gutters. The atmosphere hung between them like a palpable tension, his every breath carefully measured as he assessed her, the girl who hadn’t yet run but hadn’t given in, either.

After a beat, she shifted, seemingly weighing the risk of staying against the discomfort of speaking. Her fingers flexed against the fabric of her coat, as though preparing for something—anything. “Is there a reason you’re standing here?” she asked, her voice as biting as the cold wind.

“Yes,” he said, without missing a beat. “You.”

She blinked, startled by his directness. Once. Twice. “What?”

He let a small smile curl at the edge of his mouth—slow and deliberate, just enough to be disarming, though he could feel the storm still raging behind her eyes. “Forgive me. That sounded worse than I meant.”

“I doubt that,” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut.

He chuckled, genuinely. It was rare for him to laugh like that, but there was something about her that drew it out of him. “And you have teeth.”

“Sharp ones,” she replied, her tone deadly serious.

He believed her. But that only made him more intrigued.

“I’m Coriolanus Snow,” he said, testing the waters, hoping for some crack in her walls.

She didn’t blink, but her jaw tightened. “I don’t care.”

“Not even a little?” he asked, leaning in slightly, trying to bait her. He wanted to see her crack—just a little.

She didn’t respond right away. Her eyes flicked away, scanning the wet street beyond them, as if she might find an escape route.

“I don’t like Peacekeepers,” she said, her words cold and final.

Coriolanus held her gaze, unflinching. “I’m not like the others.”

She scoffed, the sound like gravel scraping against metal. “They all say that.”

“Fair,” he admitted, his tone light despite her venom. But then, he saw it—just the slightest shift in her eyes. Maybe it was the smallest trace of curiosity, maybe confusion. But he’d seen that look before in others. It meant he had her attention, if only for a moment.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice suspicious, but almost weary.

“Nothing,” he said, his words steady. “Except maybe your name.”

She paused. He could almost feel her deliberation—whether to deny him, to walk away with the last of her pride intact, or to give him something, even if it was just a name. “Y/N,” she said, her voice barely above the storm.

It felt like a rush of heat inside him, though he could never explain why. He shouldn’t feel that way—he had no right to. But hearing her name, in this quiet moment between the two of them, felt like theft. Like something he shouldn’t have.

He held her gaze a beat longer before speaking again. “I’m sorry about what happened to your father.”

“I don’t care that you do,” she snapped, the words biting like a lash. But there was something in her voice, a crack in the ice, as if his mentioning her father had touched a deeper place.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant,” she cut him off, her tone harsh and unforgiving. There it was again—the bitterness, the wound that would never heal. He could hear it in her voice, feel it in the air between them. She would never forget.

More silence. Longer this time. She shifted again, her eyes looking away first, searching the rain for something—anything—to break the tension between them.

“I need to get home,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“Let me walk you,” he said before he could stop himself. It was an offer, not a request.

“No,” she said, her voice firm, refusing him instantly.

“I insist,” he pressed, even though he knew it was futile. She wouldn’t go with him. Not yet. But he needed her to understand—he wasn’t leaving without some kind of answer, no matter how small.

“I don’t care,” she replied, her words heavy with finality.

The wind picked up, sending sheets of rain sideways, soaking them both in an instant. She cursed softly, pulling her coat tighter around her. In that moment, something inside him shifted, something unexpected, and he shrugged off his coat. It was a gesture—an offer, perhaps more than he’d intended, but one he couldn’t quite stop himself from making.

“I’m not taking anything from a Peacekeeper,” she said, her voice resolute, eyes fixed on his coat like it was poison.

“It’s not a Peacekeeper’s coat,” he said with a shrug, his voice low, attempting to make the offer sound casual, though he was painfully aware of the weight of it. “It’s mine.”

She stared at him, long and hard, the rain still pouring, her body frozen in indecision. Then, without a word, she turned and walked away, shoulders squared and determined, the wet fabric of her coat clinging to her as she faded into the downpour.

He didn’t follow this time. Not immediately. But he would.

Oh, he would.

—��——————————————————————

Author’s Notes: this story has been an idea in my head for over a year so i’m really excited to finally share it with the world!! i would love to know what you guys think so far xx

[reidingandwriting]

Dog Days Are Over > w.w. & l.h.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Pairing: Wade Wilson (Deadpool) x Reader x Logan Howlett (Worst!Wolverine)

Warnings/Contains: Alcohol, average language usage for Deadpool universe, suggestive reference, some referenced violence, allusions to murder, references to Logan's background, Logan's a little emotionally constipated and doesn't cope Well, nightmare, hurt/comfort, a little angst, reader gets a little sad in this one, Logan also gets sad in this one, but happy ending!

A/N: I swear this ending feels so conclusive but I Promise there will be more coming soon for the boys. Working on a NSFW chapter and I am. So So Normal (lies) about these guys so I want it to be Perfect, but I should have it up SOON.

Previous chapter / Next chapter

You’re not sure when exactly the dynamic between you, Logan, and Wade shifted. It was subtle at first and suddenly you realized. You realized just how much time you spent with the two men. Realized that you all of your free time was spent with at least one of them, and the times you weren’t with them? You missed them like crazy. You yearned to be around them.

They had recently gone on some work trip, and you could barely stand being without them. You texted the both of them frequently, even with their minimal responses due to… whatever work they were doing. You were vaguely aware of all they did when they were gone, knowing who they were, but they tried to keep you separated from their less than legal occupation.

It had been about a week since you had seen them (six days, twenty hours, and approximately thirty six minutes) and you were convinced you were going to lose your mind. And then finally, god fucking finally, when you were laying on the couch, you heard the familiar knock on your front door. You jumped up, almost tripping over the coffee table in your haste to open the door. “Shit!” You groaned, rubbing your shin before opening the door. There stood Wade and you were on him before he could say a word.

Wade picked you up, supporting you by your thighs as he held you. He was uncharacteristically quiet as he carried you inside, kicking the door shut behind him. You started to tug his mask off, frowning when you saw him.

“Damn, did I get uglier out there?” Wade joked but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

“You look upset.” You paused for a moment. “And you’re alone. Where’s Logan?” Wade tightened his grip on you before he sat down on your couch with a sigh.

“Drinking. It,” another sigh. “It was a hard week.” As Wade talked, he rubbed his hand up and down your back, a grounding method he often used. Needed to feel you, knew you were safe. If he was with you, he was safe. You were safe. “We almost had him. He was almost okay.” Wade dropped his head to your shoulder, and it was your turn to rub at his back, leaning your head against his. “Fuck knows I wanna be shitfaced right now, but you’ve domesticated me. Turned the stray into a pet. And no, readers, that is not foreshadowing any pet play from me in future smut. Not kink shaming, just kink asking why.”

“You sure you’re not drunk right now?” You asked and Wade pouted up at you. You brought your hand to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his lips. Wade pressed a gentle kiss to your finger and you smiled, heat blossoming across your cheeks. “We should probably go get him, shouldn’t we?” You asked and Wade gave you an apologetic look. “Let’s give him a little longer before we start the wolf hunt.”

“While we wait, I demand spooning. Having depravations, actually. I think I could die.” With a soft laugh, you fell back against the couch with Wade, welcoming the way he immediately buried his face in your hair. One of your boys was home. Time to get the other one where he belonged.

-

You were grateful Logan was a creature of habit, when you found him quickly after walking into the bar you worked at. You walked towards the table he sat at, his back to the wall in a quiet corner and you scuffed your foot against the ground when you got close. You knew he didn’t need the warning, knowing he likely heard you and Wade speaking the second you walked in. But he looked so out of it, you were worried. You took a seat across from him, observing him.

You wanted to talk to him solo first. Hoping seeing you would be enough to get him home, at least. You could smell the whiskey in the air around him, noticed the way his shoulders were hunched. He looked like the version of himself that walked into the bar a couple months ago. Your heart clenched in your chest when he finally looked up, there being a look in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. He looked… distant. Detached from himself and everything around him.

“Yes?” You flinched at the tone of his voice, the roughness of it.

“Just wanted to come check on you. Wade made it home and you weren’t there. I’ve missed you.” You kept your voice soft and Logan sighed.

“‘m fine, bub. Just needed a moment alone.” Logan set his glass down, gaze shifting towards the table. “Just a minute.”

“You ready to come home? Or do you need a little longer?” You wished you knew what was going on in his head. You could see the gears turning, knew he still wasn’t quite there with you. Physically, sure, but mentally? He was gone, and you were unsure if he was trapped from a week ago or back even further. You hadn’t seen him this stuck before and you didn’t know how to proceed. You should’ve brought Wade over. As different as the two were, they understood each other. He’d know what to do.

“Yeah.” Logan exhaled as he stood up, startling you. “Let’s go home. ‘m pretty tired. Know Wade’s gotta be, too.” And that was that. Logan held his arm out, an invitation, and you tucked yourself into his side. Together, you walked to where Wade was watching, and you shot him a worried look. Wade nodded, a barely perceived motion. He fell into sync with the two of you, and all three of you headed home.

-

You woke up to mumbling. You continued to lay there, eyes closed, thinking it was Wade sleep talking again. Then you heard the rustling of the covers, felt the thrashing. You opened your eyes, blinking as you adjusted to the darkness- only a faint glow from the hallway nightlight (after a few too many late night face plants after tripping on something in the hallway)- lighting up the room. The mumbling grew louder and you looked over at Logan. His brows furrowed, his chest quickly rising and falling as his sleep talking became more urgent. Panicked.

“Logan?” You whispered. You glanced over to where Wade was out cold; wanting to wake him, but hesitating. “Logan.” You reached out. Your hand barely touched his arm before he woke up, grabbing your arm. “Lo-“ You were cut off by a gasp as he flipped you over, straddling you. The sound of his claws unsheathing as his fist landed just a couple of inches from you.

A few seconds later, you watched as recognition hit Logan, awareness taking over his hazel eyes. He looked less frantic, less like a cornered feral animal. The calm lasted all of three seconds until his gaze traveled to where his fist laid- claws buried in your pillow.

“Logan,” you whispered when you finally found your voice again, but it was too late. Logan was up and out of your room before you could even sit up, and you took a few deep breaths to settle yourself. It was a nightmare. He’d never, ever hurt you. You knew him, trusted him. This thought would’ve been reassuring, until you realized. While you knew him, knew he wasn’t a threat. You also knew him. You knew how he viewed himself. Knew that he’d blame himself.

“Ev’rythin’ okay?” Wade mumbled, the commotion starting to wake him. You leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Be right back. Nightmare.” Wade seemed to wake more at that and you gave him a sad smile. “If I’m not back in a few minutes, come on out. I need, need to talk to him for a minute.” Wade nodded and squeezed your hand once before you got up. You walked to the living room and frowned at the sight in front of you. Logan sat on the couch, leather jacket on and struggling to tie his boots on. His hands trembled as he cursed under his breath, muttering something you couldn’t quite decipher. “Lo.. where are you going?”

“Not sure. I need- need to get out of here. This was a mistake, all of it.” Logan’s words were jumbled, his breathing erratic. “I’ll have Wade get all my things.”

“Get your things? Why do you-“ Realization hit you like a bucket of ice water and your mind was screaming with panic, desperation, but most of all, hurt. “You’re leaving.”

“I am.” Logan’s eyes wouldn’t meet yours as he stood. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“You, you can’t just leave. Talk to me, Logan. I can help-“

“No, you can’t! You don’t understand anything, and you never will.” Logan had never raised his voice at you, and you felt frozen in place. The room felt so much bigger, colder, and you felt small under his gaze. “How could you? How could I ever think this would be worth anything?”

“You don’t mean that. I, I know I don’t get it. I’ll never completely understand how your brain works, how Wade’s works. I’ll never understand everything you’ve been through and everything you still deal with every day. But I want to try. You’re worth it to try.”

“I can’t. I can’t do it, bub. It’s not worth it. This,” he gestured between the both of you, “isn’t worth it. I was deluded to think it was.” You couldn’t do anything but watch as he walked towards the door, opened it, and closed it with a quiet click without looking back.

“Sweetheart? I heard the door, is everything- hey, what happened?” You turned to Wade, cheeks wet with tears, and you slowly sat on the couch. “Where did Logan go?”

You didn’t respond; you couldn’t. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. A choked sob left you and you buried your head in your hands as sobs racked your body.

“Come ‘ere,” Wade said as he sat beside you, pulling you into his lap. “I gotcha, princess. I got you.”

-

Wade felt helpless and he fucking hated feeling helpless. You were miserable. You flipped between borderline manic- keeping yourself busy with work, picking up extra shifts, going on runs, baking like crazy- and catatonic. Wade would order in dinner, try to coax you into eating, and basically acted as your literal support system. Helping you shower, practically attached to your side as you walked.

It had been almost two weeks since Logan disappeared, the only communication he’d had with either you or Wade being a text to Wade with an address for him to drop his things off. And Wade waited. And waited. And waited for Logan to show up, katana in hand. Ready to turn the bitch into a kebab and drag him home, kicking and screaming all the way. He wanted an explanation, if nothing else.

But Logan didn’t show that night. Wade had waited hours, had almost fallen asleep waiting for the brunette to show up. Wade eventually went home and dropped by the next morning- all of Logan’s things gone. Al hadn’t seen him, he hadn’t been at your bar. The Wolverine had disappeared just as quickly as he had reappeared in this timeline, the only physical traces of him being the bottles of whiskey in your fridge and the now discarded (after Wade managed to pry it from you) pillow he had punctured. The mattress would have to be replaced later, Wade didn’t think you could handle parting with it yet.

It was the middle of the night, sometime in his third week of going MIA, when Wade caught a glimpse of him again. Logan lingered in a dark alley, ever the fucking lurker, and Wade stalked over to him.

“Hey, furry!” Wade called out. Logan barely had time to react, eyes flashing briefly with recognition before Wade’s fist collided with Logan’s nose, the crunch echoing.

“Fuck!” Logan cursed and Wade shoved him against the alley wall.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t cut your fucking head off and splatter your pretty little blood all over this wall,” Wade’s voice went rough, threatening. Wade’s mask was off in the safety of the alley, and Logan stood still as the blade of his katana pressed against his throat. His eyes were bloodshot, the dark circles under his eyes reappearing. He looked rough, and not in the hot and rugged way.

“How is she?” Logan rasped and Wade pressed the blade down further, a sliver of satisfaction hitting him when he saw the slight cut on Logan’s neck.

“How do you fucking think, dipshit? Miserable. Have to carry her to bed every night because she sits there. Staring at the front door, waiting for you to walk in the front door.” Wade dropped his weapon, kicking his boot against the wall as he tucked the katana back in its sheath. “She misses you. We miss you, peanut. Fucking furious with you. Worried about you, too. Mostly just want you home where you belong. Even if you’re in trouble with the missus.” Wade walked over and leaned back against the wall and let his head fall against Logan’s shoulder. Logan wrapped an arm around Wade’s shoulders and both men exhaled, a little shaky.

“Missed you, bub. Missed the both of you. Was at the house earlier,” Logan admitted. Wade, for once, stayed silent and let him talk. “I was just about to knock on the door, and I couldn’t. Not after how I left.”

“She may bitch slap you when you come in. Rightfully so.” Wade nudged his head against Logan’s shoulder. “But it’s not home without you. We’ve missed you so much.”

“As long as you’ll have me, I’ll be back.” Logan tilted his head to look at Wade. Wade’s gaze turned soft and he leaned up, slowly, giving time for Logan to shove him off. He didn’t press his luck, kissing the corner of Logan’s lips, letting his own lips linger.

“Come on,” Wade whispered against his cheek, and Logan shivered. “Let’s go home.”

-

Well, that wasn’t the welcome Wade expected. He had walked inside first, leaving Logan outside as he greeted you with a quick kiss. He told you someone was waiting to see you outside, and you felt your stomach begin to twist. It couldn’t be…

But it was. Your mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water, as you stared at the man you loved. The man who broke your heart. The man you wanted to slap the absolute shit of, but also the man you couldn’t wait to hold again and kiss the breath out of. After.

Your hand moved through the air faster than he could react, the contact echoing throughout the room. Your hand stung and you could see the red glow blossoming on his cheek. You looked between Wade and Logan once, twice, three times before you ran down the hallway and locked yourself in the bathroom. Was it a foolproof method to keep them out? In theory, no. Either one of them could bust the door down like it was nothing. In practice, however, you were a fucking genius. You sat with your back to the door, knowing they wouldn’t risk hurting you.

You had been in the bathroom for a while, your joints aching slightly at how long you’d been on the cold tile floor. You were growing tired and you wanted to lay in your bed, but doing that meant facing Wade and Logan. Fucking Logan, you thought and your head thudded back against the door. Moments later, you heard the sound of someone on the other side slide down the door.

“You don’t have to talk to me, but I hope you’ll listen,” Logan said. “I’m not the good guy who gets to have a happy ending. And god, I feel so close to having one. With you and Wade. God, that felt weird to even think about.” Logan chuckled. “So I did what I did best and I ran. Like the dangerous guy I am.” You sat in silence, listening as he spoke. “You mean… so much to me, and that terrifies me. I would do anything for you, no matter what it cost me. And then I almost killed you that night.”

“I try so hard to keep you away from that part of me. I’ve always been a weapon, it’s what I know. It’s all I knew. They saw the animal I am, and they used me. I did horrible things, unredeemable things, and then suddenly I meet you. Someone who tries to help me see that maybe, just maybe, I’m more than the violent dog I was born to be. You’re showing me a new chapter of my life that I was too afraid to want. And in my attempts to avoid fucking it up, I hurt you. I fucked up.” Logan’s head leaned back against the door with a soft thud. “I’m not asking for you to forgive me. Not asking to be welcomed back, or to get another chance. Just needed you to know it wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you the way I did. I’m sorry.”

A long stretch of silence passed. Logan wasn’t sure if you heard him, if you had listened. The door opened, Logan bracing himself as he started to fall back, the door having supported most of his weight. A shuffling sound followed and suddenly, you were in his lap. You wrapped your arms around him, your grip on him tight as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“You ever do that again, I’ll find a way to castrate you.” A huff of laughter left Logan and he hugged you close.

“I’d deserve it.”

“You would.” You looked up at him, hazel eyes finally meeting yours again. “Think I need one last thing before I can forgive you.” You looked down at his lips then back up at him. A silent question.

“Fuck, yes,” Logan whispered as he leaned down, lips brushing against yours. A content sigh left you the moment your lips touched and you ran your hands up to his hair, gripping slightly. Logan groaned, a low noise, as your lips moved in tandem. He deepened the kiss, relishing in the whine you made as he explored your mouth, a needy little noise.

“If you two are fucking, I think I deserve to be a participant!” Wade called from the living room and you pulled apart, giggling as you looked up at Logan.

“Missed you,” you said after a minute. Logan tightened his grip on you before he stood, carrying you back to the living room.

“I missed you, too.” Logan took a seat beside Wade, you positioning yourself so you could sit with both of them. You stayed in Logan’s lap but stretched your legs out onto Wade’s. The three of you talked for what felt like hours, eventually moving to bed.

You weren’t sure when exactly the dynamic shifted. When you, Logan, and Wade became You, Logan, and Wade. When the casual flirting became more. When the not so secret longing turned to lingering touches, kisses and breathy laughter, and officially moving in. God, you’d always remember the look on Logan’s face when you gave him a house key the next morning.

Logan stared at the key, a million different emotions hitting him at once. He could feel yours and Wade’s watchful eyes on him, until he finally look up. His eyes stung with tears that threatened to spill as he choked out a ‘Thank you’ that had your eyes watering as well. He had a home. He belonged somewhere. Belonged to two people he’d destroy the world for, one of them being an obnoxious merc who would burn the world down for fun, and the other being a human who was just as stubborn as him, determined to make him see that maybe. Just maybe. He deserved the home he was given. He deserved the love he was getting.

And for once. Maybe he started to believe it.

-

Taglist: @flower-majesty-anon @scarlettsoldier @asdorlia

[heathsuii]

Senior Year

「 Suna Rintaro x Reader 」

₊˚ෆ synopsis. you reflect on how quickly autumn had arrived, mirroring the swift changes in your own life as you enter senior year of high school.

cw. fem reader, fluff, slight angst, highschool!au, seatmate!suna, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, reader is emotional, not proofread !

words. 975

a/n. happy belated four years to this blog! the urge to write caught up to me. i'm thinking of actually making a masterlist for this. let me know your thoughts and i hope y'all have a great day <333

autumn air and hues of orange leaves work alongside to guide the new season. fall had snuck in like a shadow at sundown, and while you hadn't noticed it until now, everything seemed to have change over night.

yesterday, the trees were still holding on to their green, hesitant to let go. today, there were amber streaks, and the wind carried a definite feel that you hadn't felt in months. it seemed to be moving too quickly.

it felt like it was just yesterday when he made the decision to sit next to you. becoming one of many interactions you'll share. you let out a quiet sigh, thinking back to those days that felt like they would last forever. alas, life never seemed to work that way. now, here you are—senior year. the last one. the year you had been waiting for, yet now that it was here, you weren't sure where the time had gone.

you're sitting on a bench outside the inarizaki school gymnasium. waiting for a certain someone to finish volleyball practice. this was your routine for who knows how long almost three years.

what started out as a punishment for losing to a game of rock, paper, scissors gradually turned into a habit of waiting just to walk home together. life was silly that way.

"our streak is not streaking anymore."

a familiar voice entered your mind. you then remembered hearing his voice for the first time, back in freshman year, where everything felt new and exciting, with years ahead of you. presently, there was a bittersweet edge to it. each golden leaf that fell to the ground seemed to whisper that things were changing, and not just the seasons. college applications, farewells, the uncertainty of what would come next. it all hung in the cool autumn air.

"is this subtle foreshadowing? don't tell me.. you streak with someone else..."

your heart ached. not from what he said, but because this would be the last year you'd spend together like this, walking the same halls, sharing late-night study sessions, the same jokes. after graduation, your paths would diverge. it's inevitable, really.

suna brushed away a strand of hair stuck on your forehead. successfully snapping you out of your thoughts. successfully making the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

he took out a 500 yen coin from his pocket, and held it infront of you. "a penny for your thoughts?"

wanting to rid of the worry, you sighed. "it's nothing, i just started dwelling over the fact that we'll be graduating."

"if you're scared of graduating you could be a repeater." suna answers, trying to lighten the mood.

you gently hit his arm before proceeding to knock on the wooden bench. "that is so not a funny thing to say, rin!"

"alright, alright. jokes aside, there's nothing for you to be afraid of. you don't have to be alone, you know? i'm here for you." he proclaims while simultaneously soothing your back in a circular motion.

"how can you be so sure?" you mumbled, your forehead crinkling in the process.

"i know so," suna replies. giving you an assuring smile, pressing his thumb on your forehead. "trust me."

a smile spread across his face, and for a moment, everything else faded away. feeling a warmth spread through you, like the sun breaking through the clouds. you felt the warmth on your face.

it was in those smiles you saw the promise of what could be, the warmth of a friendship that felt so much deeper than just friendship.

"you're my best friend, what choice do i have?" you winced internally at your choice of words.

"what if i want more than that?"

your breathe hitched. words seemed to be stuck inside your throat. were you hearing him correctly? was this another faux flirtation? maybe this was your mind playing yet again its awful tricks on you—

"i really really like you. i like you a lot... for the longest time." suna adds, cradling your face ever so gently.

or maybe not. maybe it was never casual. maybe he does likes you.

"i like you too." you exclaim, your mouth had a mind of its own. then again, you were never one to hesitate when you're with him.

suna rintaro gave you a boyish grin. a grin that spread across his face like a ray of sunshine piercing through the gray clouds of your thoughts.

in that moment, it felt as if the world had stopped; everything faded into the background, and it was just him, glowing with pride and happiness. it was infectious, drawing you in, and you found yourself unable to resist smiling back.

he always had that effect on you, even on days when you felt heavy with unspoken fears. that grin had the power to chase away the clouds that hovered over you, if only for a moment.

each time he smiled or grinned at you, it was as if he were speaking a language only you could understand. a soft whisper of reassurance that told you everything would be okay, even when you felt like your world was crumbling.

in those fleeting moments, the weight of everything���college applications, impending goodbyes, and the uncertainty of your futures—seemed to lift. it was as if his smile casted a spell that made everything else go away.

a soft breeze rustled the leaves above you both, showering you with a sprinkle of gold.

the future is uncertain. yet, you chose to brace the unknown.

you laughed, caught off guard by the sudden flurry. “it’s like nature agrees!” you exclaimed, your heart dancing in tune with the fluttering leaves.

you made the decision to stop thinking of the uncertainties ahead. it comes soon enough.

“nature definitely approves of us,” suna said with a lovesick grin, shifting closer to you. your hands intertwined, fingers lacing perfectly together.

[forsaken-headcanons]

7n7 and c00lkidd stuff because people don't seem to talk about these guys that much (/j) (/lh)

7n7's glasses weren't just for his eyesight, but also functioned as computer glasses. without them, he quickly gets awful headaches whenever he looks at a screen. part of the reason why the c00lgui takes so long to use is because his head is killing him the entire time (don't mind me just projecting a bit).

although 7n7 doesnt recognize c00lkidd, sometimes when he hears c00lkidd get hurt during a round, he instinctively goes into dad mode and starts running towards him to check on him. it takes a few seconds for him to "realize" he's running straight towards a monster for no reason

(both 7n7 and the other survivors are aware that 7n7 isn't very physically fit or strong, and overall isn't actually that intimidating outside his old hacker persona. all the more reason why shedletsky will never admit he felt pure, unadultered terror that one time he hit c00lkidd with his sword and saw 7n7 BOOKING it towards him with murderous intent. he's taking that image to his grave.)

c00lkidd would always try and sneak off with 7n7's c00lgui, despite his dad's best efforts to keep him away from it. eventually, 7n7 gave up and decided to make a downgraded c00lgui that was safer to mess around with. (c00lkidd eventually figured out how to access the more powerful and undesirable features anyways, but 7n7 didn't need to know that.)

pre-forsaken, 7n7 mostly used the clones to watch over c00lkidd while he was at work. he HATED relying on them for childcare and knew the kid deserved to have his actual father around, or at least a real human being in general, but he literally had no choice; he was working multiple jobs, he couldn't afford babysitting, and there wasn't anyone he could turn to for help. it was one of his deepest regrets while taking care of c00lkidd.

anyways c00lkidd thought the fact that his dad could clone himself was the coolest thing ever (cue subtle foreshadowing "i wanna be just like him one day"). nowadays, his only gripe is that 7n7 keeps using them to cheat at "tag".

(his name is 7n7 he made the clone. sorry but 7n7's getting a jackie's box skin soon, you are Not escaping jackie's box)

Excuse me. He is getting a what skin. You're joking.

Oh God you're right. Why did you tell me. I wanted to stay blissfully unaware.

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

Hi mom!!! (Yes I'm gonna call u mom everytime I request smth) So what if namgyu (or) Seowan joked about smth but that made reader cry???

Yes, my child.

The joke

Characters: Kim Seo-Wan x Fem!reader, Nam-Gyu x fem!reader, Roh Jae-Won x fem!reader

Summary: as above

Warnings:

KIM SEO-WAN

Seo-Wan had always been good at making you laugh. His humor was dry, sometimes self-deprecating, but it always felt warm, like a soft blanket on a cold day. Even on the rougher days, when the weight of his mind pressed down on him, he still found ways to lighten the mood with a small joke or a playful quip.

So, when he made a joke today, he didn’t expect you to react the way you did.

You had been sitting together in the hospital courtyard, the faint warmth of the afternoon sun filtering through the trees. He was telling you about his session earlier that day—how he had been talking to his therapist about feeling like a burden sometimes. You had been listening carefully, nodding along, giving him that soft, patient look that always made his heart feel a little steadier.

But then he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Maybe I should just disappear for a while, give everyone a break from me.”

It was supposed to be lighthearted. He didn’t mean it. But the second the words left his lips, your expression changed. Your lips pressed together, your hands gripping your sleeves. Your eyes, once warm and full of quiet understanding, were suddenly glassy.

And then, to his horror, you started crying. “Wait—wait, Y/N,” Seo-Won panicked, his voice rising slightly as he scooted closer. His fingers hovered uncertainly near your hands, not sure if he should touch you or give you space. “I was just joking, I swear. I didn’t mean it like that.”

You sniffled, shaking your head. “That’s not funny, Seo-Wan.”

Guilt settled into his chest like a heavy stone. He had seen you sad before, but this was different. This was because of him. “I—I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I wasn’t thinking. I just—” His voice faltered.

You wiped at your eyes, exhaling shakily. “I know you don’t mean it, but…” You looked up at him then, and the rawness in your gaze made his heart ache. “What if you did? What if, one day, you actually did disappear? What if you decided everyone really would be better off without you?” (subtle foreshadowing?)

Seo-Won felt his throat tighten. He knew what you meant. He knew why that joke wasn’t funny.

“I don’t want you to joke about things like that,” you murmured. “Not when I—” You hesitated, then reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Not when I love you.” His breath caught. You had said those words before, but somehow, right now, they hit differently. They weren’t just a declaration—they were a plea.

Seo-Won swallowed, interlacing his fingers with yours. His grip was firm, as if holding onto you kept him tethered. “I’m sorry,” he said again, softer this time. “I won’t joke about that anymore. I promise.”

You nodded, squeezing his hand again before releasing a trembling breath. “Good.” For a moment, you both sat in silence, letting the weight of the conversation settle. Then, in true Seo-Won fashion, he cleared his throat and muttered, “Guess I really need to work on my comedy routine, huh?” You let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes. “Yeah. Maybe stick to bad puns.”

His lips curled into a small smile. “Duly noted.”

And as the sun continued to warm the courtyard, he silently promised himself that he would never joke about disappearing again. Because he had you. And no matter how dark things got, he wanted to stay.

For you.

For both of you.

NAM-GYU

Nam-Gyu had always been a jokester. It was one of the things you loved about him—his ability to find humor in almost anything, to make you laugh even when life wasn’t going your way.

But today, his joke didn’t land the way he expected. You had been telling him about a mistake you made at work, something that had been bothering you all day. It wasn’t a huge mistake, but it made you feel embarrassed and frustrated with yourself. You had been hoping for comfort, or at least a distraction.

Instead, Nam-Gyu, ever the comedian, had smirked and said, “Wow, maybe I should start calling you ‘Clumsy-dumb Y/N’ from now on.”

The nickname was meant to be lighthearted, but something about it—maybe the way it reminded you of your own insecurities, maybe the fact that you were already feeling raw—made your chest tighten. Your throat ached. Before you could stop yourself, tears welled up in your eyes. Nam-Gyu’s grin faltered the moment he saw your face change.

“Hey, wait—” He reached for you, but you had already turned away, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes.

“I—I know it was a joke,” you sniffled, embarrassed by your reaction. “I just… I already feel stupid about it, and that just made it worse.”

Nam-Gyu’s stomach twisted with guilt. He wasn’t the type to upset people on purpose, especially not you. His jokes were supposed to make you laugh, not cry.

“Ah, Y/N…” His voice softened as he moved closer, his hands landing gently on your shoulders. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I don’t actually think you’re dumb, right? You’re, like, the smartest person I know.”

You took a shaky breath. “It didn’t feel like that for a second.”

Nam-Gyu frowned. He hated this—hated that he had made you feel bad, even for a second. He rubbed the back of his neck, then sighed, pulling you into a hug.

“I’m really sorry,” he murmured against your hair. “That was a dumb joke. If it helps, I’ll never call you that again. I’ll just go back to calling you the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Despite yourself, you let out a small, watery laugh. Nam-Gyu pulled back just enough to see your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek to wipe away a stray tear.

“There it is,” he said with a relieved smile. “I much prefer making you laugh.”

You sniffled again but leaned into his touch. “Maybe stick to funnier jokes next time.” “Noted,” he said, then, after a beat, added, “Can I still call myself ‘Clumsy-dumb Nam-Gyu’ when I do dumb things?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Fine.” Nam-Gyu grinned and kissed your forehead.

“Deal.”

ROH JAE-WON

You and Jae-Won were lounging on the couch, scrolling through your phones, the warm hum of the TV playing in the background. It was one of those lazy evenings where the two of you just existed in each other’s space, comfortable and easy.

Jae-Won chuckled at something on his screen and nudged your arm. “Hey, look at this,” he said, showing you a meme.

You grinned but didn’t laugh, your mind preoccupied with the stress from earlier in the day. Work had been overwhelming, and you were already feeling a little fragile. But Jae-Won didn’t seem to notice.

Instead, he playfully bumped his shoulder against yours. “You’re so serious today,” he teased. “What, did I finally make you lose interest in me?”

It was meant to be lighthearted, a harmless joke. But something about it hit differently. Maybe it was the exhaustion, the creeping self-doubt, or just the weight of everything you hadn’t voiced out loud. Before you could stop yourself, tears welled up in your eyes.

Jae-Won’s smile faded instantly. “Wait… You’re—?” His voice softened as he sat up straight, eyes scanning your face with concern. “Oh no, no, I was just joking, baby. I didn’t mean that.”

You quickly wiped your eyes, embarrassed. “I know, I just… I don’t know why I’m crying.”

Jae-Won frowned, then gently pulled you into his arms. “No, it’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong.” He rubbed soothing circles on your back, his warmth grounding you.

You took a shaky breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “I just had a hard day, and I guess I’m feeling kind of insecure. Your joke just… hit me the wrong way.”

Jae-Won exhaled, holding you a little tighter. “I’m so sorry, love. I was being stupid. You know I’d never joke about something if I knew it would make you feel like this.”

You nodded against his chest. “I know.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. “From now on, I’ll be more careful, okay? And if you ever feel this way, you have to tell me. No bottling things up.”

You sniffled and let out a small laugh. “Okay.” Jae-Won pulled back just enough to see your face, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. “But just so we’re clear—you losing interest in me? Impossible.”

This time, you really did laugh, and he grinned in relief. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s do something to make you feel better. Ice cream? A bad movie? Or do you just want me to hold you?”

You looked up at him, warmth filling your chest. “Just hold me.”

And he did, for as long as you needed.

[asha-mage]

WoT S3, Episode 1 Assorted Thoughts

One fun detail about the opening scene that leapt out to me on re watch is that the camera takes time to linger on all the members of Liandrin's evil girl posse as their entering the Hall. Nice subtle bit of Foreshadowing.

Shout out to that one Yellow Sister who is just loving the drama. Hope she survived and is doing amazing.

One thing that's fascinating about this moment from an adaption perspective is that in the books, none of the Wondergirls ever get a moment of confrontation with Liandrin the way Nynaeve does here- in fact it's one of the original injustices that despite their heroism and everything they've been through their punished for supposedly 'running away'- a ruse meant to protect them from suspicion that might arise if it was none they where tied to Liandrin post her Darkfriend reveal. This is a bitter pill for all of them to swallow and is part of what motivates them to join the hunt and bring down Liandrin. But here Nynaeve gets that moment of confrontation- a chance to stand and accuse Liandrin in the Hall itself, lay bare her crimes for all to see. And it doesn't play out at all like Nynaeve or anyone else probably imagined it would- because of course it doesn't. The world is more complicated then that, and their are precious few moments of true triumphant justice to be had. I think it's a credit to the show's writers that it feels like it fits in the kind themeatic schema Jordan used.

God the effects and the combat in this scene just rule so HARD.

The way Tsutama just fucking WASTES Jeanie's warders is so hardcore

As an aside man Maksim's 'Thank the light! Jeaine! Chesmal!' is so freaking heartbreaking, because it's not like these are random sisters- their ones Ihvon and Maskim (and likely Alanna) know and probably like. Same with Nyomi's cold blooded 'I don't have to listen to your bullshit anymore' next scene. It really drives home the horror of the Black Ajah.

What if a friend you've known, maybe for decades or even centuries, was secretly working to kill you and destroy everything you believe in- you have inside jokes and a working rapport and yet they have committed their entire soul to destroying everything you hold dear, and would kill you in a heartbeat. God it's so awful and it rules.

I really hope we get more of Ispan. Her actress is so pretty and goes so hard despite not having any diaolge.

The cut in half Amyrlin seat framing Siuan as she and the others rush to cut off Liandrin's Evil Girl Posse is so *chef kiss* in terms of Foreshadowing.

It's so on brand for Alanna that she's ready to take on Liandrin's entire evil girl posse in front of the gates of Tar Valon with nothing but her Warders for backup.

Alright new content time, let's goooooo!

Holy FUCK Alanna you GO. Also bye two sisters I couldn't place in my id round up!

Bye Ivohn! Knew that was coming but still, you ruled. RIP a real one.

God Moiraine and Siuan in this scene are just so augahuaghuaga!

Woof that's a lot of dead Warders.

I really love the stone dust and debris on Nynaeve here, it really sells the raw carnage and destruction.

Two things- I really love that the show gives time to the Two Rivers folks as just a unit, and I also love Moiraine taking this moment to highlight one of the always present tensions in the books: who knows what, and who is telling who what. People like to boil down a lot of the conflict in WoT to 'miscommunication' but the truth is Jordan was fascinated by how people trust, and how they communicate and the things that poison that well. Glad to see the show picking up that theme.

Man if it aint peak Wonderboys behavior to UTTERLY and immediately ignore Moiraine's advice, at Mat's urging no less.

I am really glad their ruminating on the fact that killing Renna didn't make everything right with Egwene- it doesn't undo her trauma or lessen the burden of what she went through. However a triumphant it felt in the moment, violence can't heal or build, and that really is just a straight up central theme in WoT.

God. Mat's random bouts of the Old Tongue really are just incredibly unsettling aren't they?

SNAKES AND FOXES

Lanfear and Moiraine's scene is so so good. Exactly the kind of 4d mind chess I adore about this series.

Siuan is in such an interesting position right now contrasted with where she is in the books at this point- especially in her relationship with Egwene. In the books Siuan has all the leverage because it's not yet a question of if the Wondergirls want to be Aes Sedai or not. Moiraine has essentially passed custody of this trio to her, and the power dynamic is very clear. But with Siuan and Moiraine divided, and the Wondergirls very clearly in Moiraine's camp, she has far less leverage. She can't force Nynaeve and Egwene where she wants them. It's a good bit of set up for the later nuances of Egwene and Siuan's relationship.

Elayne is REALLY popping off in these back to back scenes.

I have to admit to a bit of disappointment at the arches being so truncated, but it's the same problem with Nynaeve's trip last season: to fully adapt these chapters you'd need devote a whole episode to them each a piece. And that just isn't feasible.

DELICIOUS Moiraine and Rand power struggle scene followed IMMEDIATELY by a Siuan and Egwene power struggle scene. So many kids disrespecting their mentors.

Everyone conituning to make progress Rizzing up Rand's LIs except for Rand, meanwhile Mat is playing knife based kissing games. They must both think Perrin knows what he's doing, and yet I know that Faile is on her way.

All of which is to say- the loser Wonderboy energy is entirely on point.

I love the mirror with Egwene and Rand's scene here about the arches, to their season 1 scene about the Women's Circle test.

Nynaveve and Mat's scene is so good.

BUBBLE OF EVIL SCENE AW YEAH

OHOHOHOHOH the symbolism of the axe destroying the ring, the cards being heroes of the horn! Not to mention all the deliberate juxtaposition of sex and violence.

Moiraine and Lan deliberately letting the situation get Worse before they help in order to push their point.

All the parting of ways are so gooooooood! Also can't wait for Faile to get her girl gang.

Nynaeve and Lan just killing it in every scene their in.

Moghedian freak behavior continues I love it. Also hi Jaichim! Wasn't expecting to see you! Believe it or not this probably a better fate then you got in canon, so rejoice!