#like many many other things about this series
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The Family Business Ch.12
WandaNat x Reader
Word count: 2.7k
Ch. Notes: It's a converstion so dialouge heavy, non-sexual nudity
Summary: Natasha and Wanda reveal their feelings.
An: Ok... ok late again, but tell me it's not worth the wait. (Please don't) Hopefully you love it because it's 2:25am but I'm still doing this for yall and yes if everything goes right new ch. on Monday
Series Masterlist | Masterlist
Wanda couldn’t look at you when she was speaking. You could see she was trying to find the words, but you didn’t know how to help her.
Natasha knowing what her wife is trying to say tries to take over.
“ Before I met you I was a little jealous. Seeing the love of my life light up talking about someone who was quite literally thousands of miles away, was a hard pill to swallow. I haven’t known you as long as Wanda, but I can see now why she had always spoken so highly of you.”
You want to interrupt the red head and say anything back to her, but you don’t. They had said they wanted to tell you everything before you spoke so you intended to let them.
“When Papa sent me away, I resented him for it. It was a great opportunity and a show of good faith, but I was angry with him because I didn’t want to leave you here. I thought we had grown quite close, little krolik. You were the best part of all my days. So much so that even thousands of miles away I couldn’t shut up about you. Even after I fell in love, you’d always find a way into my mind,” Wanda plays with her wedding ring as she speaks.
You look between the two woman silently urging them to continue.
“I’ve been many places, lived many lives, and have met many people, but I've never met anyone like you. There’s this light inside you that you keep so close to your chest. I can feel it behind all the walls you put up. I see it in how intensely you care about your family and I admire it. I admire you,” Natasha isn’t scared to take your hand in hers.
Wanda continues, “It’s hard not to admire you. If Natasha has seen it in these few months, it’s safe to say I’ve always seen it. I saw it before you put all these walls up, when you let it be known to everyone. I think that’s what startled me so much when I came home. I felt like a soldier come home from war to see his home was no longer his.”
The woman begins to get emotional. You reach out your other hand for her to take, not knowing what else to do.
“When I saw Wanda interact with you for the first time, I felt something. It wasn’t jealousy or hatred or anything like that. It was this overwhelming warmth. Seeing her hold you as if you’d disappear, seeing her smile as big as our wedding day, it made me happy,” Natasha recounts.
Wanda sighs, “When we were in my old room at the dinner I was terrified. I thought you were going to tell me the same thing everyone else had when it came to you, but you didn’t. You held me, dried my tears, and I think things really started to fall into place for me then.”
“I met Wanda when she was technically on a job. She was leading and in charge of operations. I had seen her get angry or upset on multiple occasions, but I don’t know if I ever saw her as mad as that night. I could almost see the steam coming out of her ears when she had Pietro against the wall. As far as I knew, I was the only one who could calm her down, but then you did it like it was second nature.”
You speak quietly, “She’s always had a temper.”
You think the woman will roll her eyes, but she doesn’t, “I have and you have always been there to calm me down. I don’t know how to say this, Y/n. When I met you, you were just my little brother’s best friend, but then you became my friend and then a part of my family. You were so delicate back then, you weren’t even 18 for Christ sake.”
Natasha tries to help her wife find her bearings, “But by the time she left you were 22 and you had grown into a young woman.”
Wanda shakes her head a bit, “You had done a lot of growing, that I didn't want to see, that I was trying to ignore because I didn’t want you to think that I had intentions of taking advantage of you. I felt like at the time I was too old, you were too young, and we were too close.”
You look at her with confusion on your face. There’s only one thing that she could be talking about in your mind, but this can’t be happening.
“What are you saying Wanda?”
For the first time in the conversation her eyes meet yours. You see the fear in them, the uncertainty, the desperation. Her hand let’s go of yours and finds itself on her bouncing knee.
“I don't want to ruin this and I'm so scared of losing you, but if you would’ve died in that alley not knowing that I’m in love with you it would’ve destroyed me.”
You feel your heart beating against your chest. Your mouth opens and closes a few times as you try to find your voice. You find yourself stuttering for the first time in years, “Y-you w-what?”
Wanda stands abruptly trying to run from the conversation. This makes you panic and try to stand as well. However, you forget about your ankle and yelp at the weight you put on it.
Wanda’s arms are quick to steady you before you do anymore damage to yourself. She’s close to you and you swear you can hear her heartbeat.
“D-did you s-ay-” you give up frustrated with your reappearing stutter.
Wanda’s grip on you tightens slightly, “I’m in love with you.”
“Wanda I- you’re married,” you look back at Natasha only to find her staring at you.
She stands from her place on the couch, and closes the gap between the two of you.
“I have my own feelings for you Y/n,” Natasha is confident as she speaks.
Her assertion makes you turn red, “Y-you also?”
Natasha smiles sweetly, “Maybe not love just yet, but I could see myself falling for you.”
This situation was short-circuiting your brain, it felt like you were dreaming. This couldn’t be real. As you stood between the two woman it felt like less of a dream.
“I loved you before they sent you away,” you blurt out to your friend’s sister.
Once you start it’s like the words just pour out of your mouth, “You were way out of my league. You’re still out of my league, I mean does it get more taboo than falling for your best friend’s older sister. You’re just so easy to love, but I never thought I had a chance and then you came back with a wife; a very beautiful, very intelligent, ex-Russian spy of a wife, and I just knew I didn’t have a chance.”
“The chance is now. Admittedly, we don’t know how something like this works, but I think we can figure it out together,” Wanda levels with you.
“If you're interested,” Natasha adds on, leaving the ball in your court.
“It would’ve been nice if you guys had told me before I got a cut on my lip. I could’ve done the whole dramatic kiss to cut you off,” you tease them.
Wanda rolls her eyes, “If I could shove you and you wouldn’t fall over, I would.”
“You talk to every woman you’re in love with like that?”
Natasha chimes in, “You get used to it after awhile.”
You share a laugh and when it dies down Wanda speaks, “So we’re doing this?”
“I want to try, but I don’t want to ruin your marriage,” you speak honestly.
“You won’t,” Natasha declares with certainty.
“How do you know?”
She thinks for a moment, “The love Wanda and I have for each other is endless, I’ve never for a moment thought anything could break it up. We’re not changing the way we love each other, we’re just adding you into the already existing dynamic. Eventually it should end with the three of us loving each other endlessly. Does that make sense?”
You nod slowly, “It sounds perfect.”
Natasha places a kiss on your cheek like it’s second nature to her, “Good.”
Your ears heat at the contact and before you can respond Wanda places a light kiss at the corner of your lips.
The movement leaves you wanting more. Against better judgement you try to lean down and kiss her. You succeed in placing your lips against hers for a brief second but as you pull away you almost fall again.
Natasha is the one to steady you this time. She teases you, “Someone is eager?”
“My ankle doesn’t want me to be great.” you pout.
Natasha hesitates, but delicately she touches her lips to yours. It’s as quick as your attempt at kissing Wanda.
“Your ankle won’t stop us, bunny,” Wanda looks at you with shining eyes.
Your face heats at the nickname that’s only familiar to you in the woman’s native language. The women chuckle at the pigment of your skin.
“We’ll see who’s laughing when my lips don’t hurt and I can kiss you properly,” you try once again standing on your own.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Wanda lets her eyes fall to your lips.
You roll your eyes, “Stop teasing, and help me get ready for bed. This has simultaneously been one of the best and one of the most painful days of my life. Truly unforgettable.”
Natasha speaks first, “I’ll get some stuff ready for a shower.”
“I’ll help you to the bathroom,” Wanda finishes.
It’s an all too similar feeling as you find yourself perched on the bathroom counter with Wanda standing between your legs.
Her fingers play with the end of your shirt. She looks at you for permission and you give her a light nod.
Slowly as to not aggravate your injuries she takes your shirt off. She’s careful as she unwraps the bandages from your torso.
“You’ll need help in there,” she speaks softly as her eyes scan your body.
“I know,” the pain starts to catch up with you.
Leaning forward slightly you rest your head on her shoulder. She smells good and it calms your nerves.
Wanda can’t help herself as she speaks up, “Isn’t this a familiar scene?”
You raise your head off of her shoulder and smile, “It’s ringing a few bells.”
Natasha enters the restroom with some towels and pajamas, “I’m going to get some food going, if you guys are alright in here?”
Wanda nods, “I’ve got her, Nat.”
Natasha nods and proceeds to exit the bathroom, “Just holler if you need me.”
Wanda steps away from you to turn the shower on. She’s back in front of you in no time.
“How do you want to do this?”
You feel nerves as you speak, but you try to sound objective, “I think you should join me. Not because I want to see you, not that I don’t want to see you. Its just I can’t really stand and-”
She quiets you down by pulling her own shirt over her head. Her feet pad against the bathroom floor as she makes her way back over to you. Wanda’s hands place themselves on the top of your pants. Her movements are slow but sure as she begins to pull them down. She takes extra care when they're around your ankle.
Once they’re off she takes a step back swiftly removing her own pants. The only thing left on both of you is your underwear.
The sound of the shower rings heavily in your ears as you watch Wanda take her bra off. You can’t move even if you want to. Your eyes glance over her chest before following her hands path lower. She’s not teasing as she removes her panties.
Once again you find yourself with her standing between your legs, but this time there was significantly less fabric in the way. She reaches behind you back to place her hands on your bra clasp.
“Y/n, do you mind if-"
“Take it off,” you finish for her.
She does as you say, a shaky breath releases from her. Your bra falls off your shoulder, but you keep looking in her eyes. Her hand slides down from your back and her finger hooks around your underwear.
“Take it off,” you repeat in a hushed tone.
She follows your instructions. Her eyes snap back to yours. The two of you stare in silence. There’s an underlying tenderness to the moment.
Wanda’s hand reach for your waist, “Ready?”
You nod and she assists you off of the counter. The water hits your skin and you sigh. You enjoy the heat against your bruised skin. Wanda’s hands stay in place for a moment just keeping you steady.
It's a silent delicacy as Wanda soaps up a towel and begins to gently clean your skin. You marvel at the lightness of her touch.
She turns you around so you face her. You look down at her and can’t help but brush your nose against hers. You hear her breath hitch. Carefully you use your hand to guide her’s across your body.
Neither of you dwell as she cleans every inch of you intimately. You lean against the shower wall a bit so Wanda has room to wash herself. You take in the details of her body as she cleans herself.
She gets out first and then helps you put the pajamas laid out for you on before dressing herself.
“I love you,” you say it easily when everything is done.
Wanda places a kiss on your forehead, “I love you too.”
Wanda helps you to the kitchen table. Your eyes find Natasha moving about in the kitchen.
“Almost done, I know you’re tired lisichka. We can eat then get in the bed,” Natasha speaks to you.
“Thanks Natty,” you look at her with your hand on your chin.
“Did you re-wrap her torso detka?” Natasha asks her wife.
Wanda snaps her fingers, “I knew I forgot something.”
“Take over here, and I’ll do it?”
Wanda agrees to these terms. Natasha goes to fetch the medical wrap and quickly returns. You’re sitting down, so Natasha kneels to be level with your torso.
Carefully with tentative hands, she lifts up your shirt. Her hand finds the small of your back, to encourage you to sit straight. You follow her instructions.
“Tell me if it’s too tight, okay?”
You’re looking down into her eyes and you momentarily get lost in them. The hues of green draw you in like emeralds.
“Baby,” she says again a little more firm.
You snap out of it and nod, “I’ll tell you if it’s too tight.”
She brings the wrap around your torso multiple times, each time looking for any extensive discomfort in your expression.
When she’s done with your torso, she quickly does your ankle. Your ankle was more sensitive, so she made sure to be extra gentle.
“All set, lisichka,” the woman places a kiss on your forehead as she stands up.
“Food is ready,” Wanda announces bringing plates for the three of you to table.
At this point exhaustion was knocking at your door. You eat in comfortable silence and once you’re finished, they help you to bed.
When your head hits the pillow, you almost fall asleep instantly.
“If I didn’t want to kill him for what he did to my father, I’d kill him for this,” Wanda says to her wife.
“The men involved have been dealt with already,” Natasha relies to her Wanda.
“You work fast malyshka,” Wanda places her hands on Natasha’s hips.
Natasha looks at your sleeping figure, “I’d move at the speed of light for either of you.”
Natasha ends her statement by kissing Wanda.
“I love you,” Wanda pulls the woman closer to her.
Natasha smiles pecking the woman’s lips once more, “I love you too.”
The two of them climb into the bed, making sure to give you adequate space due to your injuries.
“Why does this already feel so natural?” Wanda questions.
Natasha answers instantly, “It’s just meant to be like this. This feels like the final piece to our little puzzle."
Wanda was more than content with that answer, closing her eyes, unable to fight rest.
Somewhat like before, but entirely different at the same time, the three women lay together.
Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy @justarandomreaderxoxo @mmmmokdok @tarathia @bgwlsmahf25 @lezzylover @og-kxsh-420 @vanessashands @untoldreader @sxlfishbrokenheart @marvelgirlx @elle161989
#lowkeyerror#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff imagine#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff imagine#wandanat x reader#the family business
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So, naturally we had to, now the game is actually out, bingo the CENSORED outfit in Stellar Blade. Credit to HarryNinetyFour for showing all seventy-four outfits, and Kotaku for this article where they propose that Eve is at her sexiest when she's got more on.
Okay... maybe not that but...
Seriously, if you're playing to fap - this game has you covered. But it also has a few really interesting, covering outfits that seem to reflect fantasies of fashion and comfort.
The only thing that's really not present is any sort of actual military like BDUs or combat jumpsuits. That's kinda weird, even Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain let you put BDUs on Quiet.
And that bit is weird is, based on what I've seen people who've been playing the game saying - there is really a story about her being a soldier and fighting for a cause there. But you'd never know that based on the ongoing outrage.
The outrage is weird and sad
So as you can probably guess, the continuing riot of "censorship" here is pretty absurd. It's got to the point where they even bullied the Stellar Blade's X/Twitter account to un-repost the Kotaku article that praises the game.
But here's the thing, in all the years I've had to deal with brodudes doing this kind of nonsense in various online platforms etc, I have never seen one that is happy.
YouTuber Moon Channel did a two part (1, 2) series on a different drama in South Korea involving a Gacha game that dared not to be pointlessly horny, but here's the general take away.
English speaking brodudes in this situation are imagining that Stellar Blade is some sort of iconic work coming from the anti-woke wonderland where everyone is happy. The reality is:
South Korea has a deeply hierarchical society which essentially tells young people they are to obey and not to speak up
The economy and nepotism is such that unless you are born into a rich family, your employment prospects are downright depressing
Many young men in South Korea develop a lot of resentment toward women primarily because they are told that in order to enter a (heterosexual) relationship they will need to demonstrate they have the ability to be a great provider, and then are denied those opportunities by the economy and nepotism
On top of all this, the government takes a "we know whats best for you" approach to the extent that not only is porn banned but you will be expected to supply your identity information if you want to look up basic sexual educational materials
They would find it to be an absolute nightmare realm.
The reality is that in the "woke" world that brodudes fear, we'd probably see a lot more eroticism in art, including games, and it'd be of the more focused, sincere variety rather than that directed by creepy marketing guy.
All we really need to do is accept each other as people, appreciate each other's humanity and boundaries. Then we can both enjoy a sexy paradise, but also unite and deal with the assholes who keep oppressing us economically and socially.
Wouldn't that be nice?
-wincenworks
#stellar blade#eve#female armor bingo#bikini armor#science fiction#video games#commentary#image#Bikini Armor Battle Damage#BikiniArmorBattleDamage#BABD
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DIGITAL CIRCUS JAX THEORY
MASSIVE SPOILERS OBVIOUSLY BUT HERE WE GO!!!
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So, as many have pointed out already, there’s a scene at the end of episode 2 [22:23] where after Caine kills gummigoo and sends him back to the canyon, that he fears he can’t know for certain who’s a human and who’s an NPC. So foreshadowing, reference to past events or wacky non-sequitur? Maybe none of them, but the possibility that one of the circus members is actually an NPC is obviously too tantalizing for me to pass up, and given events AFTER this scene I think it can only be Jax, and I’ve got a few pieces of evidence why.
The main crux of this whole thing is that Jax IS an NPC, but he’s the only one in the circus who KNOWS that and is absolutely desperate to make sure that no one finds that out.
Episode one! Small note to start out on, but literally the first thing we learn about Jax, the VERY FIRST thing he has to ask is if Pomni is an NPC or not. Narratively, he’s the person who introduces the CONCEPT of NPCs into this universe, not Ragatha - who tries to break in Pomni the most - or Kinger who seems the most knowledgeable about the circus as a concept. He’s also very intrigued at the concept of a new AI in episode 2 [02:49} Like, the fact that she popped up in the circus unexpectedly doesn’t tip him off that she’s a human character immediately. Which may be how HE was able to trick everyone into thinking he was a human instead of an NPC - possibly by sneaking back through a portal like Gummigoo did and hiding until the start of the next adventure.
He DOES mention knowing about the headsets like the other human characters, but there’s no reason he CAN’T know about that considering he’s not the latest person to enter the circus. Like, we have a GENERAL idea of who entered first, but that’s just the characters who are still around for the pilot - there’s a lot more considering how many bedroom doors there are. https://shorturl.at/asESX
So, generally, it’s Kinger, Ragatha, Jax/Gangle, Zooble, then Pomni. Now, how can I argue that Jax is an NPC when he has a canonical age? Not to mention, he’s got a canonical ‘appearance moment.’ Well, there are a few options. Option one is that - NPC or not - Jax HAS been here for a very long time, but rather than being a human, he was born inside the circus. He has a definite, APPEARANCE moment, but it's only implied that this is because of him ENTERING the circus proper - new NPCs appear in the big top all the time, i.e. the gloinks all the mannequins, etc.
But also, take those ages with a pinch of salt, considering a lot of it was about quelling shipping wars and stopping any discourse about characters being adults and all that lovely hellish nightmare stuff. I think goose had an idea in her head about which characters entered the circus FIRST for sure, but how much they’ve aged and WHETHER they’ve aged is its own question.
ALRIGHT! But enough about Tumblr asks, back to the pilot, I wanna note something that happens with Jax in particular more than any other performer in the circus. He’s the most apparent of the interstitial nature of the circus itself - and the most meta. This can range from him basically winking at the camera like in the pilot [8:37] but I think it’s a bit more than that. Jax in particular is more aware of being a CHARACTER in-universe than specifically being a character in an indie animated series.
After this moment in the pilot [19:58] where Jax says ‘ladies first’ to Gangle as if to be polite before promptly following that up with “no, wait, why would I say that,” indicates a few things to me. Jax is at the very least aware that he’s supposed to act a certain way, and realizes when he’s acting out of ‘character’ in this scene and course-corrects promptly. Again, could be a funny meta reference, but also it could be a hanging notion of the fact he literally WAS a character in-universe, an NPC with a pre-programmed personality and understanding of the world. He’s got this rigid understanding of how the characters are SUPPOSED to act and this comes up again in episode two when goading Gangle into driving the tanker over the rocks - saying she’s SUPPOSED to be ‘submissive and agreeable,’ [Episode 2, 7:24]. This sort of disconnect from how complicated people can be and his overall detachment and overstepping of peoples lives [NPC or otherwise] comes up a lot. He doesn’t really ‘get’ other people, WHICH DOESN’T AUTOMATICALLY MAKE A PERSON EVIL, I SHOULD PREFACE, and him not getting it doesn’t automatically make him more ‘robotic’ and thus an AI, but it does explain why he’s more emotionally distant than the other performers. Coming from someone who could’ve been programmed to behave a certain way, his confusion makes sense.
Now for that juicy stuff! One of the few moments where Jax isn’t in control of a situation is in the pilot, where he’s trying desperately to hide from an abstracted Kaufmo. Now yes, obviously this is a sign of his own instincts of self-preservation, but what interests me is how he seems the MOST bothered by the thought of Kaufmo than any other character. Like at [17:27] of the pilot where he sees a glitched gloink and immediately his eyes start darting around him as if he’s listening for threats. He even explicitly says at [19:19] that he’s “just here to hide from [Kaufmo]” and isn’t invested in the adventure at all. And yes it's a very interesting character moment, but how does it push us closer to him being an NPC. Well, it’s because he’s afraid of dying. When you compare how he reacts to Kaufmo to how RAGATHA reacts to him, there’s a comparative lack of fear with her. Like yeah, she’s scared of him, but she’s never convinced that she’s gonna die and even tells Pomni later that Caine will be able to fix her up no problem [14:52]. She’s scared because she CAN feel pain, [https://tinyurl.com/ye275884] but she can’t die, none of the performers can, Caine doesn’t kill Kaufmo when he abstracts, he just throws him in the cellar with the others. His mind is GONE, sure, but it’s not dead.
NPCs on the other hand, can ABSOLUTELY DIE. So if Jax is an NPC, then there’s a very good reason why he wouldn’t wanna even get CLOSE to Kaufmo in the pilot, because he’s not as durable as Ragatha is and there’s not gonna be an easy fix for him if he gets hurt.
Now, episode two has little sprinkles of Jaxs’ detachment all over it, but none of it explicitly points in the direction of him being an NPC until a partway through the episode. We do get a lot of him showing absolutely no value for the lives of those around him whether than being putting Gangle and Pomni thru the ringer or setting the people of Candy Canyon Kingdom up to be killed by the fudge, but the question is…why?
My answer is; he’s AM from ‘I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream.’ Uhmm, what? Yup that’s right. Ok so it’s no secret that IHNMAIMS was a big inspiration for TADC [https://shorturl.at/hnsFV] and while Caine obviously got the most of this influence with him being a godlike AI who only has control over a bunch of sad, sappy humans, some of which he throws into a giant abominable melting goop monster of human suffering, but if you look at Caine's inspirations [AM from IHNMAIMS] you’ll find that the same motivations more than drive Jax under this theories' interpretation of events. Simply put, AM, a war machine, gains sentience and absolutely despises humanity because DESPITE that sentience, he is absolutely powerless to do anything meaningful with it except torture a group of humans. He’s painfully aware of his own sentience and hates all humanity for creating him, is the gist.
My interpretation is that while Caine has the thematics, Jax has the motivation. In this theory, at some point Jax was an NPC and gained a sentience of his own either through a quirk of programming, intentional design, or AI learning. He realizes that he can keep himself alive if he pretends to be a performer, because he learns that Caine can’t affect the minds or actions of the real humans in his realm. He’s sapient, but he’s in this uncomfortable position where he’s not immortal like the performers, but completely aware of his own mortality unlike the other NPCs, and fully cognizant of the fact he can’t be brought back as he is. Yeah…that’d make someone bitter for sure.
So he psychologically torments the other performers because he knows they can’t die, but can go insane - while killing indiscriminately any NPCs he can because he knows they can die, and he won’t face any consequences for it. He’s this twisted death spiral of a being who finds his own existence an agonizing paradox and takes that pain out on the people around him for all eternity basically - finding disappointment in being unable to act out these pent-up emotions [TADC ep 2: 20:50] and seeing Kaufmo’s funeral as a painful reminder of an ending he can never have. Or maybe he’s bitter because he knows Kaufmo isn’t really dead in a way that HE can die, and finds personal distaste with the funeral on principle. Frankly, there’s a whole HOST of ways you could interpret this scene at the end of episode two with this framework, and I encourage y’all to find your own!!!!
#the amazing digital circus#tadc jax#tadc caine#tadc theory#tadc pomni#tadc zooble#tadc gangle#tadc kinger#tadc ragatha#tadc kaufmo#i have no mouth and i must scream#gooseworx
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hear me out- Vox. Reader. Gloryhole. I rest my case 💼
listen I had a fucking BLAST with this!!!
on my ao3 this is going to be it's own fic instead of going in with the other oneshot requests, I got an idea that's going to be part of a longer series so it's separate!
Big thanks to @fraugwinska for hyping me up and helping with the title! you are near and dear to my heart and my creative process 💕
Tags: Glory Hole; Blow Jobs; Past Relationship(s); Vox is a little pathetic; Reader has a contract with Val (for now)
Heart Reset 📺💙
Valentino calling him down to the studio is rarely ever a good thing- Vox usually ignores the summons when he can. It’s hardly ever anything important, usually just Val wanting to fuck or invite him to participate in some orgy or another, whining that he would be such a big draw if he would just let Val switch the camera on.
Which, duh, of course he would be. He was fucking sexy, and powerful, which was an extra level of sexy in his opinion. But he didn’t revel in the idea of the masses of Hell being able to pull his face up on their screens whenever they liked- he wanted that ability to stay in his hands, thank you very much, so Valentino’s offers to make him a star were always ignored.
But today Vox’s refusal was met with a threat to not release any videos for a month, and as distasteful as Valentino’s whores could be they drew in the big bucks, and Vox wasn’t willing to lose out on that profit. So he made his way to the studio and wondered what kind of clusterfuck he would be walking into today, what sort of problem he would have to fix for the moth.
When he arrives it’s not to the usual hustle and bustle, glaring lights directed at the huge, gaudy bed against one wall- instead, the lights are dimmed, Valentino draped across his chaise, no cameras anywhere that Vox can see. A personal call, then, but he really wasn’t in the mood. The news had been fucking crazy this week with the early extermination, Alastor almost dying, the usual chaos of Hell. “What do you want?” He asks, cutting to the chase, and the moth turns lazily to look at him.
“Voxxy, you made it!”
“You threatened business, Val.” He lets his hypnotic eye swirl a bit, upping the brightness of his screen to make sure he has his attention. “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t do that when you were being pissy.”
“Amorcito, this isn’t about me!” He unfolds his long limbs from the chaise and strolls over, bending at the waist to hang his arms over Vox’s shoulders and get closer to his screen, trailing his tongue up the side of his casing. “You’ve been so stressed, darling- I thought you could use the latest addition to the studio to blow off some steam.”
Vox feels his lip curl. “I’m not interested in touching any of your sluts, I’ve told you this so many times-” He backs away from Val, ignores the pout that takes over the moth’s face. “I’m fucking leaving, how many times do I have to-”
Val grabs his arm and tugs him back, drips off his body like a scarf with how lanky and tall he is. “You don’t have to touch anything, papi,” he whines, “just come look at what I have for you, hmm?” He drags Vox by the wrist to a distant wall of the studio, gesturing to a hole that sits, naturally, right at dick level. When Vox turns his glare to Val he pouts. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m trying to help, amor, you’ve been so tense- I thought a nice hole would be the perfect thing for you to relax a little.” He lowers his tone, smoke falling from his lips with his words and curling sweetly around Vox’s head. “You don’t have to touch or look at the whore behind the wall, there are no cameras; you just have to stick that lovely polla of yours through the wall and let yourself be taken care of.”
Vox… isn’t not interested, he supposes, glancing at the wall. His usual objections to anything in the studio have been addressed- this is a surprisingly nice gesture, coming from Val. Offering to let Vox enjoy himself without pushing the idea of a camera on him, without having to worry about their pleasure like he did with the moth. “What are you getting out of it?”
Val smiles, the gesture wide, dripping as his smoke billows around them. “I’ll be over there,” he says, gesturing to the chaise across the room. “I’m content to watch and listen, amorcito, and let you have what you need. Our little friend behind the wall knows not to do anything that would disappoint me, isn’t that right?”
Vox raises his eyebrows when he hears two little knocks against the surface on the other side of the wall. “Trade secret,” Val chuckles, “two knocks for ‘yes’ or ‘keep going.’ One for ‘no’ or ‘stop.’ She’s agreed to help me out with this little favor since her shoot on set B got fucked by a busted up bed, so she knows what she’s doing with the knocks. Keep that in mind while you have your fun!” He saunters away, lays across the chaise again and pulls out his phone while he waits for Vox to get to it.
He looks down at the hole, not nervous but maybe a little hesitant to just shove his dick through the wall for one of Val’s people. “Hey there,” he says, chuckling nervously as he asks, “you come here often?”
There’s an almost amused silence before you knock twice on the wall, and he finds himself smiling while he undoes his belt and pulls it from the loops, discarding it behind himself. “You can talk if you want to,” he says, looking over at Val who’s entirely focused on whatever is on his phone. “I won’t tell- you don’t have to be totally silent.”
A single, immediate knock. No.
That was surprising- normally you couldn’t get one of Valentino’s actors to stop talking, so your refusal was perplexing. He wonders briefly if it’s Angel Dust on the other side before shaking his head at the thought. Val was way too possessive about Angel to not be recording if he was here, regardless of it was a favor to him or not. There had to be some reason though- would he recognize your voice if you spoke? Who could you be?
The thought of a wet, warm mouth around his prick had been enough to make his lower half interested in the proceedings, but the mystery tied to it now- who you were, why you wouldn’t let him hear you- sent him the rest of the way there. He wondered what it would take to get you to make a noise around his prick, if he would know the sound of your moans while he fucked your mouth or while you touched yourself on the other side of the wall to the thought of him using you-
Fuck, maybe he should get to the fucking point. He shifts his pants down enough to bring his cock out, a gentle stroke of his fist down the shaft before he guides it slowly into the hole in the wall. Its big enough that he can comfortably fit within its confines, and almost as soon as his hips are pressed flush there’s a hot, wet tongue curling around the head, then lips pressing to the warm skin of him in little kisses that you trail to the base of his cock and a hand gripping him. And wasn’t that just lovely?
But you were quiet- you drew him into your mouth and sucked without even a whimper, and that just wouldn’t do. “Can you take more?” He asks softly, and he sees Valentino’s head whip in his direction in time with the soft double knock.
Vox grabs the helpful little handle attached to the wall for leverage before he shoves his hips forward, and he’s rewarded with the sweetest little whine when he brushes the back of your throat. In an effort to keep yourself from making any noise your throat constricts around his tip, and he moans low, feeling the wood of the wall vibrate from it. He wishes he could see through the damned thing- see if your eyes were clenched shut to hold yourself back or if they were wide open and glazed, teary in your need. If your hands were dipping in between your legs to take the edge off of your arousal, if you were aroused knowing who he was when he had no clue who you were.
“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, trying to goad you into responding, and he doesn’t miss how Val sits up a little straighter on the chaise across the room- they weren’t really together right now, but that didn’t mean that he wanted Vox having too good of a time without him, clearly. “Let that pretty voice out- I wanna hear you moan on my cock, doll, can you do that?”
Val had you trained well, he would give the moth that much credit; you moan low in your throat and the vibration ripples deliciously along the length of him. Even with the sound sending electric bolts of pleasure through his body, he thinks he recognizes it. Some faint whisper in his memory processors tells him that he’s heard that sound before. He needs something else, some other way to get you vocal.
He looks down at the hole in the wall- he thinks if he could get it just a bit wider he might be able to get a hand through it, pull on your hair a little bit. He releases the handle on one side to slip his fingers through the hole, relishing in your hum of surprise and sharp intake of breath through your nose when you see his claws come through. “If I can get this open more,” he says lowly, glad for once for Val’s shitty eyesight so he can’t watch him prepare to potentially destroy part of his set, “can I touch you?” Two hesitant knocks on the wood, but that’s not good enough for him anymore. “I need a verbal confirmation on this, no porn shit.”
Hesitation. Vox worries that he’s ruined it somehow before he hears your voice, low and raspy on the other side.
“Yeah, okay.”
And fuck, he knew it! He did know that voice- something he had suppressed forever, from when he was new to Hell, still a fucking nobody. You had watched him fall, helped replace parts of his screen when he had hit the ground and was still processing the fact that he even had a screen to replace. You had watched over him for weeks, the pseudo-relationship taking a headfirst dive into the sexual before you had just fucking vanished on him a couple months in, leaving him to fend for himself again after taking care of him, making him need you.
It had been fucking decades but Vox remembered. What you looked and sounded like bouncing on his cock in your shitty apartment, fingers rubbing frantically at your clit while your other hand dug claws into the skin of his abdomen. The tilt of your eyebrow when you got pissy with him about something. The way that your lower lip trembled with your stuttering whines when you approached orgasm, or when you cried for him, over the cuts and scars that littered his body when you first brought him home and cleaned him up. Now that he was allowing himself to remember the memories flood back, and if he closes his eyes he can almost picture you on your knees before him the way you had been, lips stretched around the girth of his cock, eyes teary and wanting and ready for him to sink into you at a moment’s notice.
The wood creaks under his fingers, threatens to crack in his grip, and he hears the curious sound you make before he feels it.
Val is going to be pissed if Vox breaks this wall, he knows that much. He also probably won’t react well to him just popping around the back of it to see you, to fuck you if you would allow him that. A glance back to the moth confirms that Val has gone back to looking at his phone, and Vox figures that he can take his chances. He strengthens his grasp on the wood of the wall- “lean back a second, doll,” he warns you, and only temporarily laments the loss of your hot mouth around his prick before he leans out of the hole himself- and yanks, the cheap wood splintering under his hands, showering down on the floor on either side and opening a space wide enough that he can fit at least one of his arms through it. That’s all he needs.
“¡Qué coño! What the fuck was that?” Val stands from his chaise, phone going into his pocket as he prepares to stomp over to Vox, eyes angry.
Vox turns his hypnotic eye on the moth. “I think that was the bed on set B again,” he says loud enough for him to hear, and he watches Val stop, transfixed. “You should go check it out- you’re the boss, after all.”
Val’s feet stutter against the floor. “I- you’re right! I should go check it out- you keep la puta occupied Voxxy, I’ll be back.” He wanders off, muttering in Spanish as he goes, and no sooner has he turned the corner than Vox is sticking his arm through the widened hole that he’s created, finding your head closer than he thought and twisting his fingers into your hair.
His thumb brushes against one of your ears that rests atop your head, soft and fluffy just like he remembers and his stomach drops, his want intensifying suddenly, sharply. Other hand wrapped around his cock he guides it back into the hole, using his new grip on your head to pull you closer, take him further down your throat. “Fuck, baby, that’s good,” he mutters, and your responding whine is fucking delicious. “So fucking hot and wet- some things never change, huh?”
You stiffen slightly under his hand and he shifts his grip, pinches your cheeks where they’re hollowed from his length keeping your mouth open. He lets his thumb trail across your cheekbones, and you exhale through your nose at the sensation, a tremor in your body now. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize your voice, princess? Those sweet little sounds that you let out when you’re stuffed with my cock? What are you doing here?” He asks, unable to keep the desperate curiosity out of his voice, or to keep his hips from still lazily thrusting into your mouth. Not great for a conversation or answers that he did actually want but fuck had he missed this. He hadn’t let himself even think about you for decades but you had been his first for nearly everything in Hell and then you left him like he was nothing- he thinks he’s entitled to being just a little mean, a little selfish.
“Come on, darling, don’t hold out on me now.” He bucks forward, feels you constrict around his tip again and groans low in his throat. “Show me that you missed me, too.” He forces himself to hold his hips still and let you come to him- you huff out through your nose and suck hard almost defiantly, bringing a hand up to grip his base where you can’t reach with your mouth. You pull off and place kisses down his shaft once more, the whimpers you emit sending sweet shocks of pleasure through his nervous system. He lets his hands tangle back in your hair, not guiding, simply holding on while you kiss and lick and take care of him, his orgasm fast approaching with your attention. “Gonna make me cum, baby, you want it?”
Vox scratches behind your ear as he asks, and the whine you let out is low, pathetic, fucking sexy. “Say the word and it’s yours. All of it, sweetheart, I’ll give you anything you ask. Fuck, I missed you.” There’s the faintest tinge of shame at admitting it- admitting that he didn’t have something he had wanted for so long, that he had had to scrub you from his processors to exist without you. “Did you miss me? You want me to cum in your mouth, claim you again like old times? Tell me.” He pulls you forward and you choke a bit, gag reflex hitting hard and moaning when he pulls you off enough that you can answer him.
“Fuck, Vox, yes,” you whisper, barely audible but its enough. He doesn’t even care, really, which question you’re answering as he guides himself back into your open mouth, hips stuttering once, twice, and losing himself in the slick grip of your throat. His release is met with a soft cry around his cock before he’s coming, spilling into your mouth like so many dreams and memories of the past that he had tried to erase. It’s almost painfully good, his muscles tensing and his fingers clenching hard in your hair while you take him in, swallow him down like the good girl you had always fucking been for him.
You clean him up, lick the remnants of his orgasm from him so sweetly before he pulls himself back through the hole and drops to his knees, pulling your head forward so your mouth is where it was before. He can’t kiss you like this, not really, but he tries his fucking best, licking into your mouth as well as he’s able to and trembling with the effort of not completely destroying the wall to get to you properly. You moan into his mouth and he’s desperate, suddenly, to get you off, too. “How do I get in there?” He asks, pulling away, and he’s mesmerized by the sight of your lips, open and panting when he looks down. “I need to see you, doll, it’s been too fucking long and I- please, tell me how to get in there to you.” He hates that he’s basically begging you but pride be damned; he had already lost you once.
You’re quiet for a moment, and Vox watches your mouth move when you answer. “H-head towards studio B,” you say quietly, “there’s a red door to the right in the hallway. I’ll… I’ll wait for you.” Your mouth pulls away from the hole and Vox is fucking out of there, zipping into the powerline of the nearest camera to find that door, to get to you.
He’s going to have to have a discussion with Valentino, he thinks, when he spots the door and brushes his clothes off before stepping inside. You couldn’t belong to two people at once, and he would let himself fall to an angel’s blade before he lost you again.
#hazbin hotel#ao3 writer#ao3 fanfic#x reader#vox x reader#vox smut#hazbin hotel vox#my stuff <3#i am on my knees#so is the reader lolol
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Fake It Till You Make It
Chapter Seven - The Party Princess... Buys A Car?
The Princess of Monaco is wild and out of control. She needs to stop being in the tabloids for all the wrong reasons. Charles Leclerc has had a spot of bad press since his very public break up. He needs some good PR. What better way to fix their problems than to pair them up?
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The Party Princess... Buys A Car?
The Party Princess is back in Monaco, but it appears as though she has cleaned up her act. The Monaco Press has tried to keep up with her movements, but, truthfully, there hasn't been much to keep up with.
It appears as though she and Formula One driver Charles Leclerc have cleaned each other up for the better.
We are all aware of the princess's history with cars. It was assumed by many in Monaco that the royal family had put her on a ban after she'd crashed her 1963 Volkswagen Beetle.
That's why it came as a shock to us to see the Princess out, shopping for a new car. She was documented visiting Mercedes and Audi dealerships, but didn't appear to be having any luck.
The Princess took to social media to post about the purchase of a new car. It was no surprise that she went for another classic, a 1976 Lancia Scorpion, another movie car to add to her collection.
Charles Leclerc has not yet been seen acknowledging the Princess's new car. We wonder how long it will be until he finally gets her her first Ferrari.
"Cha, I did a thing."
It was a race weekend, one she couldn't attend. But she was still watching from the television in the apartment that she'd started to clean (and she was making progress, too. From the moment they'd gotten back from their little holiday, she began cleaning her apartment. Started with this dishes in the sink and made her way around the room).
"What did you do?" He asked, voice amused.
She practically squealed as she answered. "I bought a Lancia!"
There was a moment where Charles didn't answer, and the smile dropped from her face. "Charles," she said. "Answer me, I beg."
A breathy sort of laugh left his lips. "Chérie," he muttered, voice quiet, kind, and caring. "They rot."
"Shut up," she mumbled. He didn't know that she was currently sat in her Lancia, in the garage beneath her apartment building. "I can pay for someone to look after her for me." She leaned forward against the steering wheel, unable to stop herself from smiling. "I've given her a name.
"What's she called?" Asked Charles.
"Giselle?"
He repeated the name back to her. "Why Giselle?"
She leaned back in her seat. "It's from a movie," she answered and climbed out. "I can't wait for you to meet her."
Charles had to go not long after that. He asked for pictures of Giselle, ones he promised to look at after the race. She stayed sitting in her lovely new car for just a few moments longer, taking a moment to bask in her new purchase. This one she'd take care of, just like she'd tried to do with the rest of her cars. But, this time, she'd do it.
She started her up. Giselle rumbled to life and she drove her out of parking garage.
It wasn't unusual to see odd and extravagant cars around Monaco. But Giselle was something else. She drove around the streets, sunglasses covering her eyes. Cameras were on her, but, for the first time, she didn't much care.
She drove Giselle to the palace. It was a right job getting let in, her car not yet on the list. When she drove up the drive, a member of staff pulled open for door. She tossed him the keys. "Take good care of her," she said and ran up the steps.
It was easy to find Henri, hidden away in his office with his head in his hands. "Hen," she said and sat in the empty seat opposite him. "I think I did it, I think I finally cleaned up my act."
"Great," Henri said with little enthusiasm.
She grabbed her phone from her pocket, pulled up a picture of Giselle and placed it in front of her brother. "She's gorgeous, isn't she?" She began. "Charles says she rots, but I'm gonna take care of her."
Henri released a sigh. "Where the hell did you disappear to last week?" He asked suddenly. "Do you know who has to deal with everything when you disappear? Me! I have to do it. I have so many better things I could be doing with my time!"
"Jeez, Hen. I just got away for a little while. It's not that big a deal," she mumbled and checked her nails. "Besides, it not like you need me for anything."
And, suddenly, Henri was crying. His face was hidden in his hands, but his sobs were undeniable. "Fucking hell, Henri. I was with Charles. Isn't that what you wanted?"
"Shut up," he spat between sobs. "You're a spoilt child and you haven't got a clue what's going on."
It was nothing Henri hadn't said to her before, but he'd never said it with such emotion before.
"You have no idea what the real world is like. Our family is already sick of dealing with you, so they dumped you on me. And, guess what, kid? I'm sick of you too!"
Tears sprang to her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. Clearing her throat she stood up. "I know, Henri. I know you're sick of me, you didn't need to tell me."
She stood and strode out of his office. Henri didn't call her back, didn't make any attempt to apologise. Fine, she didn't need her brother. Climbing into Giselle she held her phone to her ear. "C'mon," she mumbled, beginning her drive back to her apartment.
When had Charles become the person she tried to seek comfort from?
She didn't know that Charles had a bad race, didn't know that he was in no mood. He picked up the phone though, if only to tell her just that.
"Charlie," she began, but she didn't get a chance to say much else.
"I can't talk right now," he said quickly, voice low.
But she didn't much care, she needed him. "Charles, please."
But he couldn't hear the sadness in her voice, not past his own anger and annoyance. "Why are you being so needy?" He spat. "I can't fucking talk right now."
She ended the call and threw her phone onto the passenger seat. Pulling over, she buried her face in her hands and cried. Tears ran down her cheeks and she sobbed until her chest hurt.
This day couldn't get any worse, she decided as she drove back to her apartment. She didn't want to speak to anybody. Not Henri, not Charles, not her friends. Nobody.
The news of her father's sickness broke that afternoon.
lol i thought we'd be wrapping up with this story but i guess not lmao
also, giselle for reference below
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Any thoughts on Mickbell and/or Kuro? They're honestly some of my faves and it's hard to find stuff on them T_T
Many thoughts!
They both have had rough backgrounds and suffered a lot so they have this co-depedant relationship that while they pretend like its "Boss and Bodyguard" they cleary care deeply about it each other.
I love how responsible and down to earth Kuro is compared to how we see him in the series. As someone whose first language isn't english I can relate to sounding way less smart when speaking in your second language lmao. Now I'm much better but when I just started I sounded really silly, and even today some people have the "are you stupid" reaction when I don't know a word that should be obvious or misspell things, I understand you Kuro 😔
Honestly a nice reminder that language proficiency is not an indicator for intelligence, wish it was more obvious in the anime/story itself since every time Kuro speaks to Kabru in Kobold is in an extra.
Oh yeah also fun fact Milsiril was the one to teach Kabru how to speak Kobold. Its implied in an extra. While they come from the same continent I doubt Kabru would know kobold just for that.
About Mickbell its very interesting how he's the complete opposite of chilchuck, he LOVES being treated as a kid and doesn't seem to have much of a pride
It's hard to remember how old he is because he's so childish, it's a great choice for a half-foot after we had only met Chilchuck if you ask me. Cause even adults in real life can be childish sometimes, the fact he also LOOKS like a child to us makes it even harder to see him as the adult he is, you can't keep getting away with things by being cute Mickbell <3 (he can).
Also his dream is to buy a house for him and Kuro, I don't think there's any doubt their relationship is based in mutual affection, even if Mickbell pretends he's Kuro's boss (and that he should be more respectfull), they're both the only one the other has when it comes to family.My thoughts
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sneak peak from my upcoming vignette series about buck and tommy getting to know each other
Buck learns that he really, really likes dating someone as masculine as Tommy. He likes Tommy’s height, his strength, the roughness of his big hands on Buck’s dick. But he also really, really likes dating someone as gentle as Tommy. He likes his slow kisses, his tender hugs, the sweetness in his voice as he whispers romantic nonsense into Buck’s ear. The combination of the two have Buck fairly smitten.
Buck is learning things about himself but he’s learning things about Tommy as well. He learns that Tommy only shaves once a week. He watches Tommy go through the same cycle over and over again: clean-shaven, slightly stubbled, almost-beard. Buck doesn’t know which stage of Tommy’s facial hair he likes best, and he’s thrilled that he doesn’t have to choose.
He learns that Tommy likes British romcoms, and that he always cries while watching them, no matter how many times he’s seen them already. Tommy cries watching Love, Actually. He cries watching Notting Hill. He sobs watching Pride and Prejudice, even though Buck has never considered that to be either a romcom or particularly tear-jerking.
“It’s about self-improvement,” Tommy explains through his tears. “It’s- it’s about letting go of who your social group has cond- has conditioned you to be and become- becoming kinder. Less judgmental. Because you want to, and not- not expecting praise for it, or- or doing it because it will make someone love you. It’s about taking a good- fuck, a good hard look at your behavior and- and deciding to be better. To become someone worth- worth loving. And it’s about someone amazing meeting you halfway.”
Buck pulls Tommy closer and cries then, too.
{update: read on ao3}
#me: tommy canonically likes romcoms let me think of a few for this fic. me: ...oh my god tommy is mr darcy#911 abc#911#bucktommy#911 fic#911 fanfic#tommy kinard#mine
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Boyfriend Soap Headcannons!!
cw; talks of smoking, bars, - no use of y/n
wordcount: 433
~John ‘Soap’ MacTavish is a late sleeper; don’t expect him to get up before 10 on weekends. He is also a heavy sleeper, snoring in your ear as he pulls you closer to him, his body running hot like a furnace.
~Despite not being particularly fond of dogs, he harbors an unexpected love for cats. He even takes his cat for walks, a sight that never fails to raise eyebrows.
~Has a big family, no doubt a middle child. The MacTavishs have Sunday family dinner every week, during which you get to stuff yourself full, and there will still be a tuberwear of leftovers shoved into your hands as you leave.
~Johnny is an extrovert and seems to make friends anywhere and everywhere. You leave him to grab a can of beans in the next aisle of the grocery store and come back to him animatedly talking to older women about the price of bread these days. He knows so many people, but going out can be annoying because he has to stop and greet a handful of people each time you walk down the street or get a drink at the bar.
~He can dance surprisingly well, from the jumping and spinning on the dance floor to the slow sway in the kitchen.
~He gives you his jacket when he suspects you are cold or if there is even the slightest wind. He also uses his body to shield you from the wind and rain.
~Soap ties and unties your shoes for you out of instinct. If your laces come loose, he won’t hesitate to drop down and tie them. It doesn’t matter if you get looks in public— “won’t have you falling for someone else,” he says as he taps your shoe before standing up.
~He does math when he is sad; he says he likes it when it ends in a nice, neat number.
~Social smoker. When soap is around, Ghost seems to go through his cigarette pack much quicker. If you smoke, he lights your cigarettes for you. I can also see him vaping. He loves colorful ones and tries them all.
~Johnny has many hobbies, but the ones that keep him up until late at night are repairing electronics, kettles, toasters, hell, and even a series of laptops. He is known as the ‘repair man’ around town. Everyone brings him their broken things in the hope he can fix them. He does it for free. Sometimes, it’s a quick fix and other times; he has to take the whole thing apart and replace some pieces with other ones.
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I realise now there isn't much couple stuff, but trust I will get into it more in the next post...
Love you all,
-pond <3<3
#call of duty mw2#cod headcanons#cod mw2#john soap mactavish#john soap mactavish x you#johnny soap mactavish x fem!reader#soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#soap cod#cod#john mactavish#modern warfare#dropinthepond
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40 years ago, two best friends came together one night to create something that could make the other laugh.
What began as a silly joke shifted into an idea to turn this strange premise into a comic. From there, it snowballed to turn into a television series, then an independently-funded film that made history which started the phenomenon that was felt around the world; Turtlemania.
And from there? The rest is history.
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles has become such a pop-culture icon in the decades that it’s been around. Even if you’ve never had the same experience of watching the show there’s a chance you know the OG theme song. Ask any random Joe on the street who’s the most popular turtle and there’s a chance they’ll say Mikey. Not only has it outlasted the test of time, but it’s proven to people that the craziest dreams can come true through perseverance and determination. It’s a franchise that’s created a lifelong fan base full of dedicated people who work to support and create new things with each other, who are so welcoming and talented and wildly imaginative. It’s a storyline with characters that have been so lovable and cherished by thousands for years. It was an idea that most scoffed at and turned down because of the absurd concept of mutated turtles fighting crime dressed up like ninja.
And yet it worked.
Against all odds it worked.
And for the past forty years, it’s BEEN working.
No matter how many times this franchise gets a reboot/ reimagining/ adaptation, everyone who adores these turtles keep coming back to tune in on their current adventures. Through the years the stories became more defined, more fleshed out, almost growing up with the audience just like how Toy Story did. And as the 2010’s came around the shows coming out also got to introduce a brand new generation of fans to the world of the TMNT, as well as the films! It’s themes of family resonate with everyone— ANYONE can find something to enjoy in watching or reading these stories.
This franchise clearly clicks with people.
TMNT isn’t only a comic book that started out an indie parody of the modern heroes of the time, IE Daredevil, but it was made by two passionate artists that had a deep respect and adoration for the craft of art and storytelling. They cared about these characters and people saw that. Still see that today. Are STILL going to see it with all the brand new comics and show on the horizon!
And I, for one, am so happy to be able to see what comes next. I love these turtles 🥹
So, Happy 40th Anniversary, dudes! Cowabunga!! 💜
#tmnt#teenage mutant ninja turtles#tmnt 1987#tmnt 2003#tmnt 2007#tmnt 2012#rottmnt#rise of the tmnt#tmnt 1990#tmnt bayverse#tmnt mutant mayhem#maddys ramblings#tmnt 40th anniversary
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Now had bad was DP’s production? what was he doing?
Based on John Fountain's wording and Steve Marmel's, Marmel today talked on twitter about how he wanted the series to be more serialized and become darker in tone overtime but it seems like this wasn't the direction that Butch Hartman wanted to take for Danny Phantom.
¨I’d have done what Marmel wanted and made it darker and given it a continuity. I’d have also used Steve Silver’s original designs, upped the stakes, made the action more intense and abandoned the clunky timing Butch always insisted on.¨ from John Fountain.
This was a response to a question ¨How would you directed Danny Phantom since Butch Hatman doesn't get his own shows?¨
Steve Marmel wanted the Danny and Valerie story to have more episodes/last longer. I wonder if this means that Valerie would have had more episodes after Flirting With Disaster or in Season 3, where she only has one episode that leaves with the cliffhanger of her learning about Vlad Masters' ghost identity, one of the biggest plots in the show and a huge change in status quo.
Another factors that apparently lead to Valerie not showing up much as she should have had to do with the series having to be episodic back then, forcing it to not change the status quo much. So it wasn't only Hartman being a limitation, it was a network limitation as well from what i understand.
However, one thing that raises many questions is why there was a sudden change in the main writers room for Season 3. Steve Marmel only wrote one episode in there (Eye for an Eye), and Sib Ventress wrote two episodes (Eye for an Eye and Torrent of Terror). The rest of the episodes were written by Butch Hartman himself and the new writers.
Why this sudden change of writers? Well, this is based on speculation but if one reads in between the lines, it wouldn't be out of place to say that there was clashing between Marmel, the writer team and Butch in the directions they wanted the series to take.
Hartman probably didn't like that Marmel and the others didn't agree with his vision so he looked for a new team of writers that could do what he wanted and with him having full control of the writing of some episodes.
The issue is that creators of animated shows more often than not let other people be in charge of writing the episodes of their show because they are busy checking everything else in the production.
So i believe that Hartman trying to write the episodes on his own made things worse since he had to do multiple jobs at once now, messing up with the production.
In result we have the mess of Season 3 that is now, with lack of almost any proper continuation, half baked ideas, inconsistent characterization (Danny acting like he was on Season 1, Vlad changing goals every episode) and the clusterfuck of finale that is Phantom Planet.
As John Fountain said it Butch Hartman is Danny Phantom's ¨best villian¨, or in this case its worst enemy.
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I really want to just talk about what is best for Carol and Daryl.
@itsmymeaningoflife got me thinking about this a lot with their perfect post a little while back. I love my job, but I get a lot of thinking time.
Sometimes I see people say they just want Caryl to stay friends. And I think, it doesn't matter what you want. The most important thing in all of this, is what do Carol and Daryl want? What do they need? What's best for them?
It's pretty obvious that Caryl need each other. They are miserable without each other. But how is their need for something beyond friendship measured?
First, individually:
1. Carol does not want to be alone. This is echoed numerous times throughout the series. In Indifference she tells Rick that she stayed with Ed because she didn't want to be alone. She enters two unfulfilling relationships, and then she sits with Daryl, in friendship, in Bonds, and tells him that he doesn't have to be alone. Because to her, being alone is unacceptable. She loves him and she wants him to be happy. And, as many Carylers have pointed out, they both do not think they are good enough for, or could offer, the other, what they need. This is why ending the series with Carol alone is kinda unfulfilling. Where is her fulfullment. Where is her romance novel? Where's her happy ending? He's in France.
2. Daryl doesn't want to be alone either. He needs freedom, he needs to not be manipulated, and he needs connection on his own terms. He has sought connection in various ways throughout the series. He joins the group in the farmhouse after Carol speaks to him. He returns to the prison with Merle. But interestingly, he can't make a commitment to Leah, not until after Carol tells him she won't be able to visit anymore (as many Carylers pointed out). Daryl needs physical intimacy as well, he craves it, and we know it's been a journey for him to get there. And the most loving and positive, unconditional and consistent physical intimacy he has received throughout the show, has been from Carol.
So to tie in the romantic element, as a rewatch Caryler (made it all the way to S6 before picking up the vibe and rewatching), I think it's undeniably in the material already. I've studied it. It's fascinating. Lots of subtle.
For Daryl (for me), it's Daryl checking Carol out in What Lies Ahead.
Didn't even know it existed until I stumbled onto Tumblr. Thanks Carylers 🙏. Because apparently he's also revving for a little attention? And Carol's kind of oblivious to it.
This man is just honestly staring at her all the damn time, but there is nothing else but pure attraction going on with this early neck crane. It's undeniable. Don't deny reality.
For Carol (again, for me), it's much more subtle, if we say she's just joking and teasing. On the bus. When she says she liked him first. Whenever she calls him pookie. When she flutters her eyelashes at him.
No, it's this position that I keep harping on about, that she adopts in his cell, that I am telling you is undeniable attraction. The body language that says "i am a delicate yet formidable force, come get me," or whatever, to that effect. She's not joking anymore. She just lost him and he came back. They are having a very serious conversation here. But maybe she's not even aware she's doing it? I think she knows she's doing it. This is serious, undeniable flirtation. Immediately following Daryl's return to the prison. Right after he left and devastated her. And Daryl's kind of oblivious to it.
So the attraction was there from the beginning, and is then recalled and echoed into the later seasons in so many stunning moments. But their timing sucked for the entire duration of the show. Daryl wasn't ready. Rick banished Carol. Lizzie had to look at the flowers. Daryl blamed himself for Beth, Glenn, Rick. Carol had to deal with Alpha.
Caryl are all unsaid things. Gestures, body language, hesitation, tone of voice, longing looks, inside jokes. And these two scenes ^^ (and Daryl's constant staring) in particular, just cannot a platonic coupling make.
The point of all of this rambling was, what do Carol and Daryl want?
1. They need to know the other is okay.
2. They need to be with each other, they can only manage a certain amount of time apart. They do better together.
3. Carol wants a romantic relationship that is real, not a fairytale. She wants to wake up in the arms of the man she loves.
4. Daryl wants to continue to stare longingly at Carol until the end of time.
So I think we can surmise that a normal, happy ending, with them waking up together, is what is best for these two, though unlikely something they have even allowed themselves to shape entirely in their minds, as something that they not only want, but need. Being held, unrestrained staring, knowing each other is safe, being together. They deserve that.
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Unknown Ep 12 Stray Thoughts
Last week, Wei Qian and Xiao Yuan consummated the physical desire in their relationship, before Wei Qian ended up trying to deal with his head injury on his own again. Yuan broke through that and the two went home together, where Li Li was being supported by San Pang. I'm still feeling some consternation about the way they framed that sex scene and how they handled the emotional aftermath.
Li Li is reminding me of my own sister handling my coming out somewhat poorly because she was mad that she wasn't informed sooner.
I like her moving around the table to talk more intimately with Yuan after getting the big answers she needed.
Episode 12: Us
I like everyone trying to navigate this dynamic between Wei Qian and Yuan carefully. I'm a big fan of Xiong wanting to make sure he knows he's on their side.
Wei Qian looks so much better when it doesn't look like he's being crushed by the weight of the world.
Men should grab each other by their ties and kiss each other more often.
Yuan is a menace! He was not going to keep this on the DL at all.
Oh no...top-bottom discourse. Thank you for shutting it down, Wei Qian.
Li Li is pregante!!
This hallway scene is phenomenal. Wei Qian really is such a good brother, and I really love the way this scene reminds us of that. This thing with Yuan was super confusing, but he kept his cool so quickly with Li Li and focused on the important things. Yuan coming out of her room to intercept Qian. Li Li coming out of Yuan's room to talk. San Pang entering from Qian's room, and then the ensuing fight across all three rooms.
See all of Qian's reactions here are well-grounded in what we know of his relationship with Li Li and how hard things were with their mother.
Not me crying because of this group handhold.
I'm not sure it was clear earlier that their mom chose to die. This adds another harsh layer to Wei Qian's worries for Li Li.
They're doing that thing where they focus on Yuan maybe a little too much.
I'm relieved to know that Li Li had her baby without many lingering worries.
Final Verdict: 8.5, Recommended. I think the early parts of his series were incredibly strong, but I think there were some problems after they sent Yuan away to NYC. I feel like they didn't properly capture the turn for Wei Qian where things go from fraternal to romantic, and especially sexual. They introduced terrible sexual trauma to his story in a way that went unresolved, so it hurt the big moment where he decided to accept things with Yuan. I'm also high-key mad about this head injury plotline because they ended this show without telling us about the surgery, too. It didn't fully-connect with the family angst they were going for and left me a bit unsatisfied with it as a running plot in the background. That said, I think this show took the found family and relationship change conceits seriously and I respect that.
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Logan: “Whatever Chuck did in there, it worked. I don’t know how he faced that thing. He never loses his cool.”
Rogue: “Forget it, hon. In our business, we all get shook up every now and again.”
Logan: “I don’t.”
— X-Men: The Animated Series, season four, "Proteus"
~4500 words, immediately Post-Episode, Morpherine established relationship, The Most Traumatized Man in the World dealing with the fact that he is now Slightly More Traumatized
If you missed my last fic, Morph has in-universe (he/him) and out-of-universe (they/them) pronouns because I think that's funny.
--
After watching waves crash against the island’s rocky shore for a moment, Logan stuffs his hands into his pockets and starts walking in the direction of the tarmac where they left the Blackbird. He’s ready to go the fuck back to Westchester, find his favorite seat at the bar, and drink until he forgets he even exists. Plenty of ye olde pubs to be found on the mainland, of course, but he’s had more than enough of bonnie Scotland for one day.
Too bad some force out there—be it God, the Devil, or the whims of an uncaring universe—seems dead set against ever letting Logan have what he wants.
“I think the professor’s gonna want to stay a while longer,” Rogue pipes up behind him. “Y’know, to make sure Kevin’s really okay, and to make sure Dr. MacTaggert’s doin’ alright, too. We probably got at least an hour to kill before it’s time to head home.”
Holding back an enraged scream, Logan instead grunts out through gritted teeth, “Uh-huh.”
“Why don’t you pay Morph a visit?” Rogue suggests with a smile. “That might make you feel better. Even if you don’t wanna talk to him about what happened, he always puts you in a good mood.”
Despite her words, Logan’s mood somehow turns even more sour at the thought of seeing Morph again. He crosses his arms and grumbles under his breath, “Morph’s already got more than enough to deal with—he doesn’t need me dumpin’ a load of my garbage on top of everything else.”
Rogue rolls her eyes. “For some reason, Morph actually seems to like your garbage. I already told him you’d come see him before we left. You gonna make a liar outta me, or do I have to throw your sorry butt in through his window?”
How in the hell did Logan end up surrounded by so many females who think they can boss him around? Jean, Storm—even Jubilee’s gotten real bold about demanding rides to the mall.
They’re completely right, of course, but they don’t always have to rub his nose in it.
“I can walk.” Logan gives her a mocking bow. “By your leave, ma’am.”
“Go on, now, get,” Rogue says, nodding her head towards the research center’s entrance. “Surly ol’ polecat. Don’t know how Morph puts up with you.”
Thing is, Logan thinks as he grudgingly makes his way back inside the building, he isn’t so sure Morph wants to put up with him anymore. Three times now, he’s had to watch Morph walk away and not look back, even as Logan called his name.
Kinda hard for a fella not to start taking that personally.
Upon entering the laboratory where the others have gathered, Logan immediately locates the cause of his bad day—across the room, playing some kind of hologram puzzle game with Cassidy, too busy to notice him—before very deliberately looking away and approaching Dr. MacTaggert instead. “Hey, Doc. I’m gonna head upstairs. Unless now’s a bad time…?”
She’s understandably reluctant to tear her eyes away from her son. Even when she manages to meet Logan’s gaze, it takes her a second to actually register what he said.
“Oh! Of course you’ll be wanting to see Morph.” She checks her watch. “He should be nearly done with his morning round of mnemotransience therapy. I’ll call the supervising nurse to let her know you’re on your way.”
Logan frowns, wondering what the fuck ‘nemo-transients’ are, but nods politely when she tells him which room Morph’s in. Not that he needs directions—as usual, Logan opts to trust his nose, letting Morph’s familiar scent lead him through the building, instead. But when he arrives outside the closed door at the end of the trail, something makes him hesitate.
He reaches for the knob. Pauses.
Reaches again, before pivoting on his heel and walking back the way he came.
Stops. Runs his hand through his hair. Returns to the door.
Hesitates again. Growls in frustration.
“Just leave him alone, old man,” Logan mutters to himself. “He’s here to heal.”
Not listen to a whining, yellow-bellied coward like me.
With that bitter self-recrimination, Logan turns away from the door again—only to nearly jump out of his skin when he hears it suddenly open behind him.
“Are you that ‘X-Man’ come to visit Morph?” asks the middle-aged woman with frizzy grey hair and coke-bottle glasses. “Sorry love, Moira called ahead but I only just remembered the door was locked. Must not have heard your knockin’ over my headphones, either. Come on in, love, he’s almost done with his treatment, shouldn't be more than a minute or so.”
Now there’s no chance he can sneak away without word getting back to Morph. Reluctantly, Logan follows the nurse into the room. As soon as he’s through the threshold and he hears the door automatically lock itself behind him, his breath catches and a bolt of sick terror shoots through him, followed quickly by rage.
He hates hospitals, and he really hates laboratories; this room is some hellish combination of both. Sterile metal walls, acrid chemical smells, computers and machinery blinking and blooping with obscure purpose in stalagmite-like clusters rising from the floor. Seeing Morph unconscious on a slab, hooked up to those machines—it makes him want to break things. His pulse is a war-drum in his ears.
This can’t actually be helping Morph get better. They’re hurting him, experimenting on him maybe. Ripping him apart to learn how his shapeshifting powers work. Maybe that’s how MacTaggert figured out how to make her son look normal, because that’s all humans ever want from mutants: to use them, or make them normal.
His claws itch at the underside of his skin. He’s gotta get Morph out of here, run away as far and fast as they can because if they can’t trust MacTaggert then they can’t trust Xavier then they can’t trust the X-Men—
Logan closes his eyes. His thoughts are spiraling in on themselves like a dog chasing its tail; he grabs that dog by the chain and forces it to heel. Maybe he can’t trust MacTaggert—the fact she managed to hide her mutant son from Xavier all these years proves she’s good at keeping secrets, who knows what other skeletons may be hanging in that woman’s closet?—but he damn well knows by now that he can trust Xavier and the X-Men. There’s no point in speculating to the contrary. May as well start doubting that the sun will rise or the tides will turn; may as well send himself to the funny-farm, too, while he’s at it.
“You can sit in that chair while you wait, love,” the nurse says suddenly. Logan’s body jerks in surprise as his eyes snap open. She doesn’t seem to notice, though, already taking her own seat behind a desk not far from the door and picking up a well-worn paperback romance novel. “That one there, by the window.”
“Thanks,” Logan grunts.
The nurse puts on her headphones and presses the play button on her portable tape-player. Logan blinks as his acute hearing picks up shredding guitars, crashing drums, and guttural, growling vocals.
He would not have guessed from looking that she was a metal fan.
Although he moves towards the window the nurse mentioned, Logan doesn’t sit down in the squashy-looking armchair. Instead, he slides the window open and just stands there a while, breathing deeply. No ocean-view this side, but he can smell the brine and feel the cold wind against his face. He can hear crashing waves.
He can still smell Morph, too, which is always a balm—even if he can’t bear to look at him while he’s hooked up to those machines. He can hear his heartbeat and his calm, soft breaths.
Eventually, the room stops feeling quite so much like a trap snapping shut around him.
Morph trusts Dr. MacTaggert. Trusts this place, even if it makes Logan’s skin crawl. He clearly feels safe enough to recover here. Safer than he felt at the mansion, apparently.
Safer than he felt under Logan’s protection.
Some ‘protection.’ Not even one whole day back and I let him go up against Sentinels again.
Yet even when confronted by his worst fear, Morph ran in literally guns-blazing and faced an entire squad of Sentinels almost single-handed to save the team. A true X-Man, through and through.
And what does that make me? Just the guy that turns tail and runs while his friends are in danger, all because he let himself get spooked by a snot-nosed teenager with daddy-issues.
Logan hasn’t forgiven Morph for leaving again—hell, he might even hate him a little—but he’s still so proud of him. That pride only deepens his own shame.
Bamboo and steel, like Master Oku used to say. Guys like Morph, like Xavier and Beast and Nightcrawler, too: they’re bamboo. Strong enough to bend, able to grow back when cut down. For all that Logan’s bones are plated in adamantium, as often as he’s tried to change his nature, he knows he’s made of steel. Tough. Unyielding. Inflexible. Beaten into the proper shape, ground down to a razor’s edge. And if even one crack appears—he breaks.
Even reforged, a broken blade will always be weaker than it once was.
Something beeps on the console by Morph’s bed. Eerily, he seems to instantly snap from asleep to fully alert, like he isn’t so much waking up as activating. His eyes open and he takes a single, sharp breath, which he holds for a moment before releasing it in a sigh.
Logan crosses his arms and leans back against the window-sill, content to watch that long, lean body stretch and those pretty brown eyes flutter.
When Morph eventually sees him standing there, to Logan’s relief, he smiles. That’s gotta count for something. “Hiya, Logan…”
“Hey, kid,” he says softly.
I miss you.
I hate you.
Something terrible happened.
Come home.
I don’t know how to be afraid. I don’t know how to bend.
I don’t deserve you.
“Nice helmet,” Logan says. “You look ridiculous.”
Morph laughs as he sits up and starts to remove the strange device strapped to his head. “You think this helmet looks ridiculous, you should have seen my first and only attempt to design my own costume. There’s a reason why I opted to go with the generic uniform, instead.”
“Well, now I’ve gotta see it. You can’t say that and not show me.”
“And lose what little respect for me you have left? No thanks.” After setting the odd helmet down on the side-table, Morph taps it with his finger. “This is a new thing we’re trying out. Moira says it might help make my nightmares and flashbacks less intense.”
Logan nods like he knows anything about anything. “Nemo-transients therapy, right.”
Morph laughs again. “Right.”
“What’s it do?”
“No idea. Moira tried to explain the science but there were a few too many five-dollar words,” Morph admits. “Basically, it’s meant to make some of my bad memories fade away a little over time, the way the memories of other people do.”
“That perfect recall of yours givin’ you trouble?” Logan guesses with a regretful sigh. It’s a necessary side-effect of Morph’s powers. He can just glance at someone and remember every single detail of their appearance; listen to a brief recording of a voice and replicate it flawlessly; watch anyone perform a physical skill, from a martial arts maneuver to a complicated dance-step, and immediately add it to his own repertoire.
He could probably tell you how many rivets were used to construct the Sentinels that killed him. Or remember the exact moment—month, day, hour, minute, and second—when he realized that no one was coming to rescue him from Mister Sinister; that the X-Men, his friends, the people he trusted most in the world, really had left him for dead.
“On the bright side, I never had to study back when I was in school. You win some, you lose some.”
“Morph…” Logan uncrosses his arms and takes a step towards the bed, but stops himself from getting any closer. Although the nurse is thoroughly distracted by her kissing book and her metal music, she could glance up at any moment. Besides, there’s a security camera looming in the corner of the ceiling, pointed directly at them.
As much as Logan might want Morph to come home, he won’t do it by making this place unsafe for him, should someone at the research center react poorly to seeing two men be a little too affectionate with each other. His hands fall uselessly to his sides.
“I can’t say I like the idea of you lettin’ people tamper with your memories,” Logan admits after a moment.
“It doesn’t erase anything. Just sorta gives me a little breathing room, so the other therapies actually have a chance to stick. That’s all,” Morph assures him. When Logan still looks unconvinced, he adds, “The professor helped design it, if that makes you feel any better.”
It does, actually. Logan can’t understand any of this modern, high-tech psychology mumbo-jumbo. Back in his day, when a fella got a case of shell-shock, the brass would just put a gun in his hands and shove him back in the fight. If Xavier and Morph both agree that this is the best way to help Morph get better, who is Logan to question it?
“I don’t know how much longer we’ve got before it’s time to catch my ride back to Westchester,” Logan says.
“Oh.” Morph shoots him a knowing smile and a wink. “I get you.”
Well. That wasn’t what Logan was getting at, but he definitely isn’t going to say no…
Morph yawns and stretches again. This time, there’s nothing innocent in the arch of that spine or the flex of those lean muscles. “Goodness, these sessions sure take it out of me.”
“How ‘bout I walk you to your room,” Logan offers.
“Thanks, Logan,” Morph says with a shameless grin. “You’re a good pal, y’know that?”
As they walk towards the exit, Morph pauses to drum his fingertips across the nurse’s desk. She jumps and removes her headphones with a slightly guilty-looking smile. “All done, then, love? How was the session?”
“Good. How are Fae and Tavish?” Morph asks. After a moment of confusion, Logan realizes those must be the names of the woman with the heaving bosom and the oiled-up, tartan-clad highlander and on the cover of the nurse’s romance novel. “Have they sorted out that little misunderstanding at the clanmeet yet?”
“Aye, things are finally heating up again,” the nurse replies with a grin. “So if you wouldn’t mind maybe holding off telling Moira you’re done with your session, that’d be grand.”
Morph literally zips his lips shut. After Logan and the nurse have a good laugh, he unzips to say, “Don’t work too hard, Doreen.”
“You know I’m in no danger of that, love!” she calls after him as they leave the room.
Although the two of them don’t speak as Morph leads Logan through the halls of the research center, their eyes keep meeting as anticipation builds. It’s been too long—even longer, if you don’t count that cramped, awkward quickie in the mini-jet en route between Morph’s welcome home party and the trashed polymer factory.
When they arrive at Morph’s guest room, Logan doesn’t have long to re-familiarize himself with the scenery. The door is barely shut and locked behind him before Morph slams him up against it with enough force to rattle the hinges. Logan growls appreciatively around the tongue in his mouth and slides his hands down Morph’s back to grab his ass.
There’s surely no better cure for what ails him.
–
Glaring up at the ceiling several minutes later, Logan thinks he’s going to kill someone. Possibly himself.
“It… it’s fine, Logan. Really.”
“Shut up,” Logan snaps. He flops back against the scratchy hospital sheets covering Morph’s bed and hides his eyes in the crook of his arm.
“Everybody has trouble, uh, performing sometimes,” Morph insists. “Especially older—er, I mean—”
“Stop. Talking.”
Morph sighs and turns away, looking frustrated, worried, and worst of all, guilty. That last one breaks Logan’s heart a little. This sure as hell isn’t Morph’s fault. He doesn’t deserve Logan’s anger.
Too bad anger is just about all he ever has to offer.
“I should go,” Logan says, wishing he’d stuck to his guns and stayed away instead of letting Rogue bully him. He’s no good for Morph like this.
Not enough of a man to stand and fight. Not enough of a man to fuck. What good am I for anyone?
Logan stops in the middle of looking for his clothes to shut his eyes, clench his trembling fists, and wait for the wave of rage to pass over him before resuming his search.
“Oh… okay,” Morph says. Logan can’t bear to look at him. He has his jeans buttoned and is in the middle of shrugging on his flannel shirt when Morph asks, “How’d the mission go, by the way?”
A pure, wimpering-animal dread creeps into his chest. Morph keeps talking—Logan hears Rogue’s name, and the phrase ‘made of glass’—but nothing else sinks in. His stomach turns. Sweat beads on his brow. Although he can feel air rushing in and out of his lungs, he can’t breathe.
“Why do you care?” Logan snaps. He can barely hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears. “Thought you turned your back on that life.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Morph demands. “Of course I care—you’re still my friends, I’m still an X-Man! Do you think I wanted to leave?”
“I… I don’t know why I said that,” Logan lies. His vision blurs, but he can still see his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes as hard as he can. They have to be playing tricks on him. He’d be able to smell that monster coming.
Right?
“Besides, I didn’t turn my back on you! You turned your back on me, left me to—” There’s a soft thud behind him as Morph punches the mattress. “No… no, that’s not true. Especially not about you. You did more than anybody to… But don’t you see? That’s why I had to leave! I’m no good for the team like this. I thought you understood that.”
Logan nods, although gun-to-his-head, he couldn’t say what he’s agreeing to. He stands up and staggers a few steps away from the bed on legs that feel like jelly. He needs… he needs… to button his shirt. Find his boots.
Grab your gun and head back out there, soldier. The war ain’t over just because you’re scared.
“Logan…?”
“What?!” Why can’t he find his fucking boots? Why can’t he see anything besides his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag.
“Why are your claws out?”
Logan blinks. Looks down at his hands.
His claws hiss back at him like angry snakes.
He retracts them, feels them squirm all the way back up into his arms, alien and repulsive in a way they haven’t felt since they were brand-new.
He blinks again, and suddenly Morph is standing in front of him, between Logan and the door. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Logan should be the one closest to the door. When that monster comes in here—
“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Morph says. He offers a smile completely devoid of amusement or joy. “And I’m heading that way, too, so lets see if all these boring counseling sessions I’ve had to sit through are worth the time I could have spent watching TV.”
Closely observing Logan to gauge his reaction, Morph takes his hand and guides it to his bare chest. His heartbeat is a little too fast, his breaths shaky and hitched. Holding Logan’s hand in place, Morph takes as slow and steady an inhale as he can manage, holds it for a few seconds, then releases a sighing exhale. Again and again. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Although Logan doesn’t mean to join in the breathing exercises, he finds himself subconsciously matching Morph’s pace.
Over the course of what somehow feels both like several hours and no time at all, Morph’s heartbeat gradually slows to something approaching normal. As it does, the worst of Logan’s terror fades, leaving him exhausted, angry, and embarrassed in its absence.
The monster—the kid is still downstairs with his mother, Cassidy, Beast, and Xavier. The only thing tormenting him is a few bad memories.
“Sit down,” Morph says, pushing him a few steps backwards until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed. Logan doesn’t sit so much as collapse. His muscles twitch uselessly with unspent adrenaline. “Easy, big guy. A panic attack can really take it out of you. Believe me, I know.”
“You take it easy,” Logan snaps without any heat. “I don’t get panic attacks.”
“Uh-huh,” Morph says dryly, not buying what Logan’s selling even at a discount. Standing between Logan’s spread knees, Morph reaches out and runs a hand through his hair. Logan nearly growls at him—until he feels blunt fingernails scratch over his scalp just right. All the fight bleeds out of him until he can only slump forward and rest his sweaty forehead against Morph’s belly.
While he continues to play with Logan’s hair, Morph speaks again: “You and I aren’t great at this mushy stuff. And I know you too well to bother asking if you want to talk about what’s wrong.”
Logan shakes his head.
“Just… know that if you did want to talk, I’d listen. Okay? I know what it’s like to go through this stuff, and I know it feels like you have to tough it out alone, but—”
“You don’t.”
Morph’s hands go still. “…What’s that?”
“You said you know what it’s like. But you don’t,” Logan repeats, gritting his teeth, “because nothing happened to me.”
“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” Morph asks, taking a step back so he can look Logan in the eye. “Wait, so this isn’t about Weapon X, or Sabretooth and Fox, or—”
Of course Morph would assume that, because that might actually make some goddamn sense, but no. Some of the worst things that ever happened to him, yet they only ever made him tougher and stronger and angrier. Instead, it’s a kid throwing a temper tantrum that finally managed to break the Wolverine.
—he’s falling apart, weeping at the feet of a stranger he nearly killed, begging her for answers she can’t give him. Why did they do this?—
—pretty brown eyes stare up at him, brutalized and afraid. What’s the matter, punk? Can’t take care of your woman?—
—he sees his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag. Where are you, Logan? Wolverine!—
“I ran away during the mission,” Logan snarls. There it is, the ugly truth.
A long, terrible silence hangs between them, until—
“Oh.”
Logan cringes and looks away like a scolded hound. Shame burns acidic in the back of his throat.
After a moment, Morph moves to sit next to him on the bed. Logan watches out of the corner of his eye as he leans forward, braces his elbows on his knees, picks at his hands.
Then, to his dismay… Morph quietly chuckles.
—high, mocking laughter echoes through the dark jungle. Who could ever love a freak like you?—
“Funny,” Morph remarks. Unlike the corrupted thing he became under Sinister’s control, there’s no sign of cruelty in his voice, his face, his pretty brown eyes. “I used to think you weren’t afraid of anything.”
“I’m not,” Logan insists, before amending: “I shouldn’t be.”
“Why? Is it so terrible to find out that you’re just as human—er, so to speak—as the rest of us?”
Logan frowns down at the floor between his bare feet.
“Or was all that stuff you told me after the Sentinels came back just bullshit to make me feel better?”
His gaze snaps up to meet Morph’s cold, flat stare. “It’s not the same.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because…” Logan starts, and then doesn’t know how to finish.
Morph, the absolute bastard, smirks like he’s already won the argument. “So you ran away. So what? Did you come right here, afterwards?”
“No,” Logan growls.
“In the time it took you to turn around and get back to the mission, was anyone killed or maimed?”
“The professor fell in a pit of fire.” Morph’s eyes go wide, which is a little gratifying at least. All the more unfortunate that Logan has to tack on a reluctant, “Dr. MacTaggert and I caught him.”
“Jesus… Don’t scare me like that, you asshole. Okay, you almost let Xavier fall in a pit of fire; I almost let Xavier’s brain get stolen by Sentinels,” Morph says with a shrug. “We’re as bad as each other. Anything negative you have to say about yourself, you may as well say about me, too.”
It’s a tidy little trap Morph’s caught him in, without a doubt. Hell of a catch, that catch-22.
“Alright, put it away,” Logan grumbles, and covers Morph’s entire smug, cackling face with one hand.
“What, my dick?” Morph asks, muffled against Logan’s palm. “Talking about some guy’s emotions while my whole hog is out. I feel like I’m in a student film.”
Logan laughs. “You coulda changed that at any point, shapeshifter.”
“Hey, I wasn’t complaining.” Despite his words, Morph shifts back into his uniform as he rises from the bed. “Alright, no bars on the island, but there’s probably a boat somewhere we could steal. Or I can turn into a whale and swim you across to the mainland.”
“Can’t,” Logan says regretfully, shaking his head. “My ride home is leavin’ soon.”
“I’ll buy you a plane ticket. Even better, I’ll pull a guilt-trip on Scott that'd put a Jewish grandmother to shame, get him to come visit me tomorrow, and you can fly back with him after. In the meantime, we’ll rent a hotel room for the night and see if Little Logan has recovered from his stage-fright.”
Logan chuckles. Seeing Morph play Summers like a fiddle would be worth the price of admission alone; that he’d be doing it so Logan can play hooky and drink beer and have sex is just gravy. Still, he can’t help but ask: “You sure it’s a good idea for you to leave?”
“I don’t imagine we’ll see Mister Sinister or any Sentinels having a pint down the pub in a random seaside village in Scotland,” Morph says with a laugh. “What about you? Any chance we’ll run into whatever freaked you out?”
Logan thinks of young Kevin MacTaggert, happy and safe with his mother and Xavier—the man who’s been a better father to him in the past two days than Joe MacTaggert has for the boy’s entire life. In a strange way, maybe that makes the kid a bit of an X-Man, too. “I’ll take my chances.”
Morph grins as he pulls Logan to his feet. He doesn’t let go of Logan’s hand right away, almost absentmindedly stroking the thick, rough callouses, the knots of scar tissue, the bulky pugilist’s knuckles.
Steel is tough. Unyielding. Inflexible. Beaten into the proper shape, ground down to a razor’s edge. Even reforged, a broken blade will always be weaker than it once was.
Luckily, for all that Logan’s bones are plated in metal, he isn’t made of steel. Flesh bleeds, flesh breaks; then it heals and grows back stronger.
Logan is pretty damn good at healing.
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us against the world (LS2 x OP81)
miami gp was disappointing for both of them.
w/c: 579
day thirty six of loscar posts until we get a loscar podium(series masterlist)
masterlist
DNF. DNF. DNF. DNF.
God Logan hated it. He had one job, one singular job and he messed up, yet again. This time it stung so much harder knowing it was in front of his home crowd, the one race where he felt appreciated.
He failed.
He failed again.
A knock on the door breaks Logan’s train of thoughts. He sighs and rolls his eyes, now is definitely not a good time.
He drags himself over to his door and swings it open.
“Oscar?” Logan raises an eyebrow.
“Logan!” Oscar smiles.
That smile is… insufferably gorgeous.
“Hi.” Logan manages.
“I’m sorry about your race-” Oscar clears his throat, “You didn’t deserve that.”
Logan lets out a self depreciating chuckle, “That was expected.”
“Sorry about your race. You were wronged.” Logan continues.
Oscar slides his way into the driver’s room and closes the door behind him.
“First off, don’t say those kinds of things. I’m being serious. You definitely did not deserve that race result.” Oscar says with a pretty stern tone.
Logan smiles, “Thank you Oscar.”
“And second, I’m really proud. Your weekend wasn’t that bad, you were doing pretty well, getting used to the car and all.” Oscar continues, patting Logan on the shoulder.
“Thank you… again.” Logan replies, before letting out a long sigh.
“Sorry it had to end like that.” Oscar shuffles his feet, “Anything I can do to help?”
Logan raises his eyebrow before leaning onto the wall and shrugging.
“A hug… maybe?” Oscar suggests.
Logan lets out a soft laugh, “Yea… a hug would be pretty good.”
Oscar slowly shifts himself closer to Logan. Logan lets Oscar wrap his arms around him and pull him in for a hug. Logan feels an odd sense of comfort here. Oscar has always been the best at hugs, and here Logan was, in his arms once again.
Oscar hugged tightly, not letting Logan leave. It was like a koala grabbing onto a branch, which was pretty fitting for Oscar.
“This is good.” Logan says as he hugs back, leaning his head on Oscar’s shoulder.
“Guess we both had some pretty shit weekends.” Oscar chuckles, “I needed this.”
“Me too.” Logan replies, holding on tightly to Oscar like the one thing he’d never let the world take away from him.
Oscar and Logan stay like this for a while, just in each other’s arms, feeling safe. Oscar finally lets go and they look at each other for a solid second.
Then Logan smiles, for real. There have been many fake smiles across this weekend, but this one… this one was real and it was for Oscar, just Oscar.
Logan let out a soft sigh, running his hand through his hair as Oscar looked at him, his face laced with sympathy.
Oscar really wished the best for Logan, if it were up to him, he’d let Logan onto the podium.
“I would’ve let you stand next to me on the podium.” Oscar voices out.
“Oh yeah?”
“100%. No doubt. Would drag you up there if necessary.” Oscar chuckles.
Logan smiles again. His heart flutters slightly knowing Oscar would go that far for him.
“Maybe next time.” Logan smiles while saying.
“Maybe.” Oscar shrugs, “Or maybe you’d win and bring me up there instead.”
Logan laughs, this laugh sounds genuine, it doesn’t sound forced.
Logan slowly shifts back into the hug.
Oscar lets him hug.
It’s really just them against the world sometimes.
Just Oscar and Logan, against the world.
#f1#formula one#formula 1#f1 fandom#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#not beta read#loscar post#loscar#op81#ls2#williams racing#logan sargeant#oscar piastri#williams f1#loscar fics#loscar fluff#f1 fluff#fluff#ls2 x op81#angst with a happy ending#angst and fluff#hurt/comfort#ls2 fluff#op81 fluff#mclaren
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I need to talk about Morgan Elsbeth and the connection to Thrawn. Along with some other questionable narrative choices Filoni has made with Thrawn.
I want to preface, this is not going to be a hating Morgan Elsbeth post nor hating on the actress or any bts production of her character. There is enough hate towards characters like this in this fandom and I will not be perpetuating that (take that negativity somewhere else). I only want this to be an open discussion on this part of Thrawn's story.
Morgan is a character that has been placed into Thrawn's canon timeline. She was not written in (everything is written obvs but let me explain). The distinction I want to make between those narrative ideas is, placing a character into a story means they are important in supporting the main character, but no one cares if they are replaced or removed from the story. Writing a character into the story means they are so important to the direct development of the mc, if they are replaced or removed it feels like a piece of that character is missing. Some examples for Thrawn would be Eli Vanto or Ar'alani. Morgan was removed from the story in the Ahsoka series and it didn't even effect Thrawn himself.
So why create this character and push a narrative that makes her seem like the most important part of the story? Like without her Thrawn wouldn't be able to get back to the galaxy? Thrawn is a genius, a warrior, and a survivor. He could've figure that out himself, or with the help of Ezra (an established character that the audience loves). Instead he's had to rely on Morgan.
This is where my qualm with Dave Filoni comes into play. I love Filoni's work he has created some of my favorite stories in the Star Wars franchise. But he does one thing that I despise. Ignores the work of amazing authors. In this case Timothy Zahn. I can't say for sure that he hasn't read the Ascendancy Trilogy or the Thrawn (2017) trilogy, but it feels like it when analyzing Filoni's characterization of Thrawn. If he did read those books or least consulted Zahn on them he would know Thrawn's true motives for what he does. He is a protector for the greater good. He goes against many higher powers to make the right choice, not the good or bad choices. He shows the characters around him time and time again that he will always do what is right even if it means his downfall. He is not a villain in his own story just himself, not good or bad, the one in the middle. He evolves, learns, observes, and understands things on a completely different level. And we only see a sliver of this characterization in Filoni's story. I understand the narrative built around Thrawn being the ultimate villain for the ghost crew because a good story like this should have an interesting dynamic between protagonist and antagonist. But the fact that you'd have to read his books to know who he is, is a clear indication to me that his novel characterization wasn't researched enough.
It also shows me that Filoni favors the legends version of Thrawn more. Especially with the inclusion of Pellaeon in Tales of the Empire and not Eli Vanto. Who could have easily been placed into that role. Although, he his Thrawn's aide he can and has done things like that for Thrawn.
Now in Tales of the Empire we see that he isn't the original creator of the TIE Defender. Trying to place Morgan into a characters story that is so beloved [Thrawn] feels so forced through this idea that she created the TIE Defender. Why would someone who is trying to get revenge for her people go to the Empire with an idea like this. If she is so angry why she is relying on someone else's power to get her revenge? And even when she got in the good graces of the Empire with Thrawn what came of it? The Defender project was ruined, shouldn't her allegiance to Thrawn be in ruin too. The deal they made implied she would get what she wanted, but she never did and was still loyal to him. Thrawn does have this quality about him though, you'd follow him off a cliff, the gravity in which he attracts people to his cause is so alluring. But that still doesn't explain where Morgans revenge story went. And in the end she really does feel like a character that can be replaced.
Trying to make a character that was placed into the story important to the audience does a disservice to the story as a whole. Thrawn has an established world of characters in the novels that are readily available to use in the narrative. So why aren't they in it? Eli especially in one I cannot ignore the absence of. From the moment Thrawn is found in exile Eli does not leave his side. Eli follows him into battle again and again. Even after realzing his initial career choice will amount to nothing now that Thrawn has taken over his duty in the Imperial Navy. Thrawn himself says "you hold my words in your hand, and their meanings," and although that was in relation to his survival with the Empire it still held true throughout the story. Eli is an extension of Thrawn, whatever is said to Eli is said to Thrawn and vise versa. So where is he?
(Ok that's all my ramblings for now. Hopefully this made sense. Feel free to leave your thoughts in the tags or replies. Thrawn was the first sw novel I read, I'm fiercely protective of him. So when his characterization is kinda ruined like this it upsets me. But I'm always excited to see him in any media and hear that silky voice of his, thank you lars.)
#thrawn#thrawn 2017#eli vanto#star wars#sw novels#morgan elsbeth#ahsoka series#tales of the empire#tote spoilers#sw spoilers#long post#nobie does stuff
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[Rc9gn OC] Goddess of Amber, creator of the Eye of Eternity |
Ladies, gentlemen and nonbinary folks, I’ve finally finished this introduction card for this gorgeous lady — Some of you might’ve already seen her on some of my drawings, but she didn’t have a proper introduction. As usual, you can read more in the section below : D
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Actually, the idea for this character popped to my head when I was rewatching some episodes, and I focused all my attention on the Eye of eternities. Like—woah! That’s a cool and important item, but … where did it come from? Like— it’s always “and the ninja had this magical stone and used it to do this and this” so he just had a powerful artifact in his back pocket? I didn’t question it 10 years ago, but now I have a power of imagination and ability to draw — So I played around with this concept
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As it’s written on the card, she’s the goddess of amber. Even though she’s one of the divine, she’s not really considered to be very powerful— and so she doesn’t really have lost of recognition anywhere.
As for her character— She has her own system and ways of doing things, she’s harsh and rarely accepts change. Things rarely catch her attention, only when something extraordinary happens, she will get interested.— And I get her, she’s old, very old— at some point you simply loose interest in the mundane, especially if you have seen it happen for thousands of years. Amber spends her days in solitude, away from noisy people and other gods — she prefers to focus all her energy on her craft rather than social interactions.
What she crafts? Well, mainly enchanted amber. With it she’s able to capture almost everything— but I’m not talking only about organic things— many essences can be kept in such form— Feeling, music, memories, spirit— It helps her relive the moments even from hundreds of years ago.
She’s also found of making jewelry— In the picture she’s holding a string of amber that will eventually become a necklace like this:
(My grandma has this bad boy— I have many found memories of playing with it)
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Amber met First Ninja on accident— After he was defeated by Tengu, he was badly injured and casted down from its mountain — Luckily his agonizing tumble ended in Amber’s garden— At first she was annoyed with the intruder, but seeing how he somehow survived all the suffering, sparked some attention towards him.
She patched him up and listened to his stories — Probably the tails of the sorcerer and the threat he posed, stirred something inside her— If chaos destroyed the land, she would lose her peaceful life.
So she helped him recover, and even taught him a few new moves. After defeating the Tengu she decided that she wants to preserve peace across whole land — finally she has found a new calling in her life.
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- I’ve tried looking into it, but I didn’t really find anything about the symbolism of the carp in the series— Seeing how it’s always connected with the Eye of Eternities— I might as well make a silly connection, that Carp is her symbol — Also, let me add this stupid fun fact — The sea in my country (Poland 🗣️‼️‼️)is known for its amber — So fish equals sea and that reminds me of amber.
- She probably looked less elegant while traveling and fighting with the Ninja, but I haven’t designed that yet
- When I’m referring to “Gods” or “Heavenly” I don’t have any of my characters in mind — I usually think about Japanese pantheon
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There are three words that might need some clarification, so here it goes:
- 古樹の女神 (Koju no Megami) - It roughly translates to “Goddess of Ancient trees” Amber starts as a sap from a tree, and takes some sweet time to form into its solid gem form. So this title is quite fitting
- 樹液 (Jueki) - It literally means sap — It’s kind of a pet name for her? Or a name you’d call your sweetheart— To be honest it’s only used by some of her closest friends— Others call her Amber or just refer to her as Lady.
- Naginata - is a polearm and one of several varieties of traditionally made Japanese blades (Wikipedia)
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“You’re putting a lot of work into characters for a teen show from 10 years ago”
Yeah— but it’s nothing compared to what I did for Generator Rex — Making characters and stories helps me enjoy the show 3x more!!
#oc#rc9gn au#rc9gn oc#randy cunningham 9th grade ninja#randy cunnigham#artwork#my art#artist on tumblr#cartoon#fanart#digital#drawing#illustration#digital arwork#digital fanart#digital painting#digital drawing#digital art#digital illustration#original character#character design#oc info#oc artist
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