#guys my age suck too so in conclusion we just avoid men for the time being | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

If You Ever Wanna Be In Love (I'll Come Around), Chapter One (Branjie) - Athena2

Summary: After a mix-up at work leads to Vanessa pretending she has a wife, she uses this fake wife to get out of work events. But when she runs out of excuses and needs a wife for a party, Vanessa finds herself turning to Nina’s friend Brooke, who just so happens to need a fake girlfriend.

A/N: Doing a fake dating au has been in my head for a while, but I could never come up with a solid idea. I eventually came up with this and I hope you like! Thank you as always to Writ for supporting this idea and betaing for me!

Your comments and feedback really mean a lot to me, and it would be great if you could leave some for this chapter!

Title from If You Ever Wanna Be In Love by James Bay.

Read on AO3

It all starts with a ring.

Vanessa has a thing for thrift shops. She goes every Saturday, teetering between racks stuffed with clothes and shelves overflowing with pictures and books and tea cups, random odds and ends that she can’t help but find charming. Silky always calls it junk, but Vanessa snatched her frog salt and pepper shakers from one of those shelves, and those are the pride of her kitchen, thank you very much.

Part of her likes the excitement, the thrill of turning shirts over and coming face-to-face with the most amazing or weirdest thing you’ve ever seen. It’s like looking for treasure, and maybe it reminds her of the pirate phase she had as a kid, digging for gold in the sandbox, pirate hat perched on her curls and plastic sword dangling from her hip.

And if thrift shopping is a treasure hunt, the day she finds the rings is a definite jackpot. Two simple gold rings on a tray loaded with jewelry, including squirrel earrings that will haunt Vanessa’s nightmares. It’s only two dollars for the set, so she doubts they’re real, but they look good, and who can’t use more rings? One is too big for her, but the other fits perfectly, almost like it was lying on that tray for her finger exactly, eager for its next home. It’s another thing she likes about thrift shops–the chance of it all, whatever has to align in the world for that item to end up at the shop, for her to find it before someone else. It gives her a cozy, warm-blanket feeling, like she’s carrying on the history of these items, giving them a second life. Like maybe their magic would rub off on her life.

Or maybe she just gets too philosophical about thrift shops.

—

“I’m just saying, you’d be prettier if you smiled more–”

Vanessa inwardly rolls her eyes, burning with rage from this specific brand of children’s room torture: creepy men bringing their children and grandchildren inside and using the opportunity to harass the library staff.

The children’s room is supposed to be happy, with a colorful rug and an overflowing toy box and giant posters of books above the computer corner. There’s color everywhere, from the books on display to the neon green armchairs to the construction paper rainbow above the windows, but the man in front of her sucks up the joy and color like a tornado: at least twice her age, with a gray mullet and a bushy mustache littered with crumbs. And he has the nerve to tell her she’d be prettier if she smiled. Sweet Jesus.

Vanessa brushes the hair off her face and flashes the biggest smile she can muster, because they’re not allowed to yell at patrons and that’s the only thing that will hold back her scream. “Sir, do you have a question? We need the desk open for patrons who need help.”

His eyes move to her hand, her thrift shop ring glittering in the light, and he freezes, mouth open. “Oh, no–sorry, miss.” He walks away and Vanessa breathes a sigh of relief tinged with confusion. Their library-mandated words from the sexual harassment workshop never work.

“You okay?” A’keria asks quietly, a knowing look in her eyes. The creepy patrons are something they’ve all had to deal with, checking on each other afterwards just part of the routine.

“You can take a break,” Yvie offers.

Vanessa shakes her head. “I’m okay. I just–he stopped so fast. What do you think happened?”

“He was looking at your ring,” A’keria points out. “Maybe he thinks you’re married.”

Of course, Vanessa thinks. Of course men would respect a fake ring that they think hints at another man before they would respect her.

A’keria comes to the same conclusion and smiles sadly. “It’s awful it has to be like this, doesn’t it? Maybe you’re better off with that ring. Maybe they’ll stop.”

Vanessa shrugs. It’s worth trying out, for sure. Maybe she’ll wear it tomorrow and see what happens. If this little ring stops the endless offers of dates and comments on her clothes, she’ll wear it every damn day.

“Admin,” Yvie hisses.

Vanessa immediately straightens up. Three white men work in administration, doing the business aspects of the library, all interchangeable down to their balding heads and briefcases, copy-pasted from a businessman stock photo. Paul started recently and makes rounds through the building to see everyone.

“Everything all right here?” he asks cheerfully.

Vanessa nods, and notices Paul’s eyes also going to her ring.

“I didn’t know you were married, Vanessa,” he says.

Vanessa’s head spins. She could just say it’s a normal ring, but Paul’s made eyes at her before. Might as well keep the lie going, shut him down. “Oh, yeah, I just had to get my ring resized, so that’s why I haven’t been wearing it,” she says, giving herself a mental pat on the back for such a quick lie.

“Oh,” he says, clearly believing it. Then his face brightens. “Will we meet your husband–”

“Wife,” Vanessa corrects on reflex. Fake marriage is fine, but fake marriage to a man is where she’s drawing the line.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Will we meet your wife? At the dinner party this week, maybe?”

Ugh. The dinner party. Since Paul started, he’s had parties or dinners or drinks nearly every week, evenings of sheer boredom with the other library departments. Vanessa has wormed her way out of them with a careful combination of excuses, “prior commitments”, and fake illnesses, but the ring gives her an idea. If she’s run out of excuses for herself, what if she makes her fake wife the excuse? No one will know.

“I don’t know about this week,” Vanessa says with fake sadness. “My wife hasn’t been feeling well.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You take good care of her,” Paul says firmly. “Maybe next time.”

“Maybe,” Vanessa agrees, slapping high fives with A’keria once he leaves. Maybe this fake ring isn’t so bad.

—

Vanessa sticks her face directly in front of the air vent. Not only does it cool her off, but it also drowns out some of the kids yelling, so it’s a win-win. Summer is always a busy time for the library, but especially in the children’s room, where people dump screaming children like a daycare service and all the story-times mock her with their beach themes and kids slam down summer reading program lists to get their prizes.

Hardly any men have hit on her the last few months, and she knows it’s because of her ring. It’s like a superhero mask, protecting her and warning them not to mess with her. Plus, Vanessa’s been using the wife excuse like a shield. Outdoor party? Oh, my wife has allergies. Sorry I missed dinner, my wife got sick. She’s careful not to give too much away, not to tell any lies about her wife that she’ll get caught in later. Who wants to hear about a coworker’s spouse anyway? It works like a charm, and she’s avoided drowning in boredom at staff parties.

“Vanessa,” Silky and Nina call from the desk.

Vanessa runs in to see Paul at the desk, talking about the party next week.

“You have to come to this one, Vanessa, and bring your wife!” he insists. “I still haven’t met her. No excuses,” he teases cheerfully.

“Oh, sure, uh…” She muddles through excuses, trying to remember what she’s used. Migraine? No, she used that for the Valentine’s party. Stomach bug? No, she used that for the spring party and for drinks last month. At this rate she’ll have to fake her death and move to Mexico.

“We’ll be there,” she says finally through gritted teeth.

“Excellent!” Paul shouts. “I can’t wait to meet that wife of yours, Vanessa!”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

—

“What are you gonna do?” A’keria asks as they make their way to the parking lot.

Vanessa sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll fake my death.”

“I know a guy, if you really want to,” Yvie says, and Vanessa doesn’t think she’s joking.

“Put an ad online asking someone to be your fake wife for a night,” Silky suggests.

“Something that won’t get me arrested or murdered, Silk,” Vanessa says, and Silky shrugs, clearly out of legal ideas.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Nina interjects thoughtfully. “Not the ad part, but the fake wife part,” she clarifies at Vanessa’s open mouth.

“Where am I gonna find someone to be my fake wife for a boring work party?” Vanessa asks.

“Well,” Nina begins, “you remember my friend Brooke?”

Vanessa thinks of Nina’s dinner parties, with fancy French pastries and wine-fueled laughter. She remembers a tall blonde, an old friend of Nina’s, quiet with a shy smile and wry sense of humor. She works in the history museum a few blocks away, if Vanessa remembers correctly.

“Yeah,” Vanessa says vaguely.

“She’s really sweet. I watched her cats for her last month, and she’s been wanting to repay me. If I mention the idea, she’d probably do it.”

“You’d do that for me?” Vanessa always knew Nina is one of the kindest people ever, but this seems a lot even for her.

“Of course I would.” Nina smiles, and Vanessa breathes a sigh of relief.

—-

Brooke turns Nina’s phone call over in her mind.

You remember my friend Vanessa? Well, she has a bit of a problem…

And apparently the solution to this problem is for Brooke to be in a fake relationship with Vanessa for some work party.

She remembers Vanessa from Nina’s parties. She rolled in the door with a smile and excitement hovering around her like a cloud and heels that didn’t make her any taller, and had the whole room laughing before her coat even came off. She even made Brooke laugh with her stories, and Brooke barely knew her. She’s the person who meets your eyes when you talk so you know she’s listening, and Brooke likes that about her.

She asked for the basics from Nina: Vanessa works in the library with her, has a dog and a cat (a point in her favor, Brooke admits), does a lot of the library’s crafts. Nina told her Vanessa is nice, that this will be fine, maybe even fun for her, but still—pretending to date someone she barely knows for a night?

But it’s a favor for Nina, and Nina would never ask her to do something dangerous. Nina, the first friend she made in college, who helped her feel safe and stayed up with her when she couldn’t sleep because she’d never been away from home before. Nina, who helped her quit smoking years ago, made her get the patches and gum and didn’t let her give up when she would have killed for a cigarette. Nina, who she still sees almost every week, trading work stories over pancakes and laughing so loud the whole diner can hear them.

She hasn’t agreed to anything except meeting Vanessa for coffee, but Brooke knows deep down she’ll probably end up going through with it. Nina said she doesn’t have to do it, that Vanessa will understand, but Brooke likes helping people and hates disappointing them. She doesn’t want to let Nina—and by extension, Vanessa—down.

It’s harmless, really. Just a work party. Nina will be there, she’ll eat, talk a little, and leave. She hasn’t been on a date in a few months, hasn’t had an excuse to break out her favorite heels or dress or feel special for a night. She’s been on dates with people she didn’t know, and how different is this, really? She may not know Vanessa well, but she just has to pretend she does for a few hours. And really, most married couples barely know each other anyway. Brooke’s never been one to turn down a challenge.

It’s just coffee, she reminds herself.

She hasn’t decided anything yet.

—-

Vanessa carries her coffee to the back of the cafe, trying not to spill it with her uneasy hands. Brooke agreed to meet her, but she doesn’t dare hope yet. She asked Nina for a basic fact sheet on Brooke, and she delivered. Brooke is a Pisces who loves her cats and works in the history museum as head of the dinosaur department. (All Vanessa knows about dinosaurs is that if some rich white guy brings them back to life, she’s staying far away. She’s seen Jurassic Park. She’s not an idiot). Nina met Brooke freshman year of college when they roomed together, and they meet for breakfast almost every week, because Brooke loves breakfast foods.

It’s just basic information, impersonal, really. But Vanessa can’t see any reason for getting too personal for a one-night thing. She just needs to make sure Brooke’s not secretly a murderer. She doesn’t need to know what cheers Brooke up when she’s upset, or what ice cream flavor she could eat a whole pint of, or what songs she listens to when she drives.

There’s a blonde woman at a table in the back, and Vanessa has to catch her breath, because Brooke is much prettier than she remembers. Vanessa always has a bit too much to drink at Nina’s parties, and Brooke was just a vague blonde shape in her mind. But now she sees the creaminess of her skin, the graceful limbs and focused green eyes, the full lips that make it hard for Vanessa to stop staring.

“Vanessa, right?” Brooke asks, and Vanessa recovers herself enough to nod.

Vanessa sits across from her and Brooke gives a small smile, one that shows the slight unevenness in her two front teeth and makes her even more adorable. She sips from what Vanessa can tell is black coffee, making a mental note in case it comes up during the dinner.

They stare at each other in silence, and despite being called a chatterbox her whole life, Vanessa can’t think of a single word.

“So, um, Nina filled me in,” Brooke prompts to rescue her, “And I’m just being your fake date for the night?”

Vanessa winces. “Fake wife, actually.”

“Wife?” Brooke’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. She rubs a hand across her face and exhales. “Okay. Okay. Cool. I mean, it’s fake either way, right?”

“Right.”

Vanessa takes a sip of coffee in the silence. “I didn’t plan to do this fake wife thing. It just kinda happened,” she says, wanting to explain. “A lot of men hit on me at work, and one thought the ring was real and stopped bothering me. But then my boss thought it was real too and I just went with it, and then I got stuck going to this party.”

Brooke nods, and her expression softens with recognition, eyes knowing that feeling all too well. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that. Happens a lot at the museum too.” She bites her lip and inspects the table before looking back up. “To be honest, Vanessa, you’re a friend of Nina’s and I’d do basically anything for her, so I’m probably gonna do it, but will there be anything enjoyable about this for me?”

“An evening with slightly-above-average food and boring people who think Friends is the best show ever?” Vanessa tries.

Brooke shakes her head.

Vanessa sighs. It was worth a shot. “Well, I’d definitely owe you one. If you need a favor or something–don’t get dirty now,” she adds, blushing furiously, “—but I’d do it.”

Brooke nods. “I don’t think I–wait.” Her eyes light up, lips stretched into a possibly evil smile. “It’s my mom’s birthday in a few weeks and I’m sick of my whole family asking me why I’m single and why I can’t ever bring someone to things.”

“And I’ll be that someone?” Vanessa guesses.

“Yes,” Brooke says. Then she blushes. “If that’s okay, I mean. Sorry.” It’s such a strange combination, the confidence mixed with shyness, and maybe Vanessa can do this with Brooke. She’s certainly a better option than moving to Mexico.

It’s a pretty fair trade, Vaness figures. Brooke being her fake wife and her being Brooke’s fake girlfriend, a few hours each way. If she’s going to make Brooke put up with her coworkers, she can handle Brooke’s family. Plus, it’s a birthday party, so there’ll be cake, and that’s never a bad thing. It’s not ideal, but eventually she’ll run out of excuses to give Paul, and having Brooke be her fake wife is the best option right now.

She stretches her hand across the table, her arm buzzing when it meets Brooke’s. “You got yourself a deal.”

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #akeria davenport #silky nutmeg ganache #nina west #yvie oddly #branjie #lesbian au #fake dating au #fluff #if you ever wanna be in love #athena2 #concrit welcome #submission #s11

6 notes · View notes

survivingthejungle · 5 years

Text

soft; jerome x reader

ive never written anything this fluffy in my god damn life... hopefully its not a complete flop? idk

You hadn’t committed a crime.

Regardless of whatever conclusion the jury had come to, you would always maintain that you hadn’t committed a crime. Because, what crime is there in justice?

One of the men who had tried to assault you had just been a little too lazy with his knife, and in a moment of instinctual self-defence, you had pushed it back in on himself.

Unfortunately for you, the other man—the one who hadn’t been stabbed—had managed to pay off the jury to convict you of first degree murder, and the only way you would avoid going to straight-up prison would be taking the insanity plea.

You fought it—oh, how you fought it, tooth-and-nail— but in the end, you and your family didn’t have the resources, and the corrupt rich of Gotham once again won the day. The playout of your hearing had caused outrage throughout the city, and no one believed that you deserved to go to an asylum, but the public backlash surrounding your conviction still was not enough to get the decision overturned.

Some of the staff at Arkham were sympathetic to your case and did all they could to treat you like the normal girl you were, not like one of the truly mentally-ill patients who were there for good reason. Of course, not every staff member was this accommodating— Dr. Strange had been wanting to use you as an guinea pig for a while now. The only thing keeping him from doing so was your family’s constant visits and the fact that he couldn’t be sure that the nurses and guards who knew you and your story wouldn’t rebel against him.

About a month into your incarceration— one down, two to go— there was a change in atmosphere. An unusual burst of activity came about one morning; while you were in your cell, brushing your teeth and washing your face, a handful of guards all stormed past, seemingly guiding someone along with them. You peeked out of the small window on your door, but couldn’t see much aside from the guards and a quick flash of a tuft of bright red hair.

To ensure that your safety was never compromised and that all of the staff knew you were no real threat, it had been decided within the Asylum that you were not to wear the same black-and-white striped garments as all of the other inmates. Instead, you had been given a handful of simple, white cotton slips, and you had been allowed to bring some of your own sweaters, shoes, and socks from home. You had been allowed your own pajamas from home, so you decided to bring two pairs of basketball shots, two t-shirts, and a big sweatshirt to sleep in. In addition, yo also brought a handful of your favorite scrunchies and hair clips, and a notebook and pen to keep track of your thoughts and write letters while you were away. To say you stood out like a sore thumb would be an understatement; you didn’t look exactly like an inmate, you certainly didn’t look like staff, and you didn’t look like a normal teenage girl either. You just looked different, and you were okay with that. You were content just keeping to yourself, minding your own business, writing and reading when you had the opportunity, and getting the hell out of this asylum.

Until recently. A new inmate had recently been admitted; around your age, tall, vivid red hair, an unnerving laugh, and arrested on a count of matricide. When they brought him in, he was strapped up in a straight jacket and being wheeled around. He caught sight of you in the rec room and winked, and you, being caught in a trance-like daze, had simply lifted your hand and waved with a straight face. It didn’t help that he was an objectively attractive guy; if you had seen him anywhere outside of an asylum, you probably would’ve heart-eyed him with your friends. But you were in an asylum, the both of you, so you decided to maintain your earlier resolve of keeping to yourself and not interacting with anyone else.

The next day, you saw him come into the rec room. You were sitting in an old, worn-out bean bag reading one of the old hand-me-down books from a shelf in the corner. It was Madame Bovary, a title you’d heard repeated many times but never really looked into until now. You were halfway through and so engrossed with the tragic story that you didn’t notice a presence seat itself beside you until you heard a voice speaking.

“Hi gorgeous, I’m Jerome.” It was the redhead from yesterday, grinning at you.

“Hi. That’s not my name,” you responded, pulling your eyes away from him and back to your book.

“Well then, by all means, spill! What can I call you?” His voice was deep but had a childlike lilt, like everything he said was purposefully over-theatrical. He placed his chin on his fist, staring intently at you.

“My name is (Y/N). I don’t really wanna talk to anyone right now, so can you just leave me alone?”

“Jeez, just trying to be polite… Y’know, a girl could really use some friends in a place like this.”

“No, not really. I’m fine how I am. Thanks, though.”

He paused and looked at you quizzically as though he had just noticed something that he hadn’t before. “Hey, how come you don’t wear stripes like the rest of us, huh?”

“Because I’m not like the rest of you. I’m not supposed to be in here.”

“Ugh, believe me, babe, I tried that line too. Didn’t work. C’mon, what’d you do to get in here? Now I’m curious,” he prodded.

You were silent for a moment. Some people had no problem admitting that they had done something like that; in fact, some reveled in it. But you were not the kind of girl who could just openly declare that I killed a man. “...It was self defense.”

“Oh yeah,” he lightly scoffed, “Then how’d you end up here, and not scot-free out there?”

“This is Gotham,” you shot back, “There’s no justice in this city. If a rich man wants a girl locked up, she gets locked up. End of story.”

“Ain’t that the truth, sister.” He let out a sigh and leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. “Tell me something, though,” he started, staring at you. “Are you being serious?”

“You tell me… I’m already in an asylum. If I was really guilty, I would’ve admitted it by now, right?”

“Huh.” He shook his head, looking away from you. “Huh. You got me there. Well… that sucks for you, doesn’t it?”

“You’re telling me; I’m the one wrongly incarcerated.”

“Hey! That’s perfect! So you really do need a friend in this place, otherwise all the rest of these crazies are gonna eat you up…” he got closer to you before continuing. “Y’know, it’s really not safe for you here if you’re the only sane person. I think we should be friends.”

“If it gets you off my case, then sure, I guess.” A grin lit up his face and he leaned back out of your personal space; he did not, however, show any signs of leaving you alone anytime soon. “Will you leave me alone now, please?” you asked.

“What kind of a friend would I be, leaving you alone out here to fend for yourself? Nah, see, these other guys in here, they’ll do bad things to a pretty girl if she’s all alone. I’m just looking out for you.”

You considered his words for a moment. Although no one had truly tried to harm you yet, you hadn’t been here long. And some of the creepier inmates had been staring you down recently, now that you thought about it… “I’m not gonna, like… talk to you, a lot. I just read a lot. And write. And draw, sometimes. But I’m not a big conversationalist. So if that’s what you wanted from me, you got the wrong girl.”

“Hey, that’s fine by me,” he responded. “You just sit there and look pretty till you get to go home. I’ll be your silent protector.”

Not very silent, you thought. “Why… why do you even wanna be my friend, then? If you’re not looking for someone to talk to… You just wanna ‘help me out’? You’re a wannabe serial killer, you don’t really seem like the kind of guy who tries to help a girl out of the goodness of his heart.”

“What can I say?” he asked you. “I can be unpredictable. And you seemed kinda… Sad. Lonely. I dunno. But a pretty, innocent girl locked up in here shouldn’t have to fend for herself. I may be bad, alright, but I’m not completely souless!” He snickered to himself. “Heh, get it? ‘Cause I’m a ginger.” You let out a soft, breathy laugh at that; one you couldn’t contain. “Hey,” he reached out and nudged your cheek, “There’s that smile. Go on, I’m sorry, read your book. I’ll just chill here… Hangin’ out.”

The asylum was particularly chilly today, so you slipped an oversized, washed-out pastel sweater over your dress, as well as a pair of mismatched thick socks. You slid into a pair of plain brown ankle boots with loose laces and clipped two red barrettes into your hair, a yellow scrunchie on your wrist. According to the little red antique clock in your cell, it was nearly eight A.M.— breakfast, which Jerome would always walk down to with you. He always delayed the guards as much as possible before passing your cell, so that you could be escorted down with him.

It had been about two weeks since your first encounter, and while you were initially wary of the prospect of being chummy with a convicted murderer, there was something about him that drew you in. Maybe it was how charming he could be, or how protective he acted of you or how he definitely wasn’t the most unattractive person you’d ever seen, but you weren’t as opposed as you used to be towards being his friend. You heard the sound of struggling increase as it got closer and closer to your door, and you knew it was Jerome come to “pick you up” for the day. You waited at your door, looking out the barred slot as the guards got closer and closer.

“Excuse me? Could I be taken down to breakfast as well?” you asked them, and one with a key ring unlocked your door and let you step outside into the hall.

“Mornin’, (Y/N).” It was Anthony, a guard that you felt you had a good standing with. He was always respectful to you because he had been keeping up with your trial while it was in the news, and he firmly believed that you had done nothing to end up in this place.

“Good morning. How are you?”

“I’m just well, thanks! Did you sleep alright?”

“Yeah, I did! Do you know what variation of gruel they’re feeding us today?” Jerome snorted at this. “Hey, Jerome. What’s up?”

“Oh, y’know, not much.”

“Sounds fun.”

Breakfast was, in fact, another variation of gruel. You had been given a choice between cinnamon and apple oatmeal, lazily slopped onto a tray before being shoved into your arms with a spoon.

You took a seat at an unoccupied table and began to eat and read— you were rereading Gatsby, now—until Jerome joined you.

“Hey, J,” you greeted him, not looking up from your book.

“Hey there, girlie,” he greets, nudging you when he sits down beside you. “What’s the plan today?”

“They have me in group today. Something about having to ‘act like we’re making progress’,” you slightly mocked.

Jerome gasped. “Well, hey! Whadaya know? I’m in group today, too!” The possibility that you were not in the same group was slim to none; your proximity in age and the fact that both of your cells were on the same floor meant that in any group setting, you were bound to end up together.

“Have they put you in it before?” you wondered.

“Oh, yeah, once or twice,” he told you, taking another spoonful of oatmeal before continuing. “Don’t be nervous about it. All they do is sit you in a circle and give you pens and paper and have you talk about your feelings and why you killed people.” That was still a touchy subject. You’d never verbally say that you ‘killed’ a person; there was a difference between murder and self-defense, and there was absolutely no way in hell you’d ever be convinced they were the same. Jerome noticed a shift in your attitude. “Well, I mean, you never killed anyone. So I guess you won’t have to participate too much.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you agreed. A burly looking man the approached Jerome, eyeing you all the while.

“Jerome.” He looked up and rolled his eyes at the man.

“Can I help you with something, Greenwood?”

“Yeah. Just wondering when you’re gonna share your little lady friend with the rest of us.” He sat down opposite both of you. “She looks tasty.”

In shock, you couldn’t properly formulate a response to the man’s lewd comments, so while you sat there, eyes fixated on your oatmeal, Jerome took the liberty of speaking up on your behalf. “She’s off limits, pal. Don’t touch her,” he told him, grinning all the while. “Or I’ll flay you and feed you to the rats.”

“Oh, little J’s got himself a girlfriend now, huh? What, you gonna chop her up just like you chopped up your mommy?” Greenwood inched closer and closer to Jerome while taunting him, and your friend was getting visibly aggravated.

His fist clenched and he slammed it on the table. You put your hand over his forearm to draw his attention over to you instead. “Jerome. Stop,” you requested.

“What?” he asked you. “Why me? What about him?”

“Because I know you can be rational,” you told him, maintaining eye contact. “It’s not worth it. Don’t give him the reaction he wants.”

He let out a short breath and turned his attention back to Greenwood. “You know what? She’s right. You’re not worth my foot. Go back to playing with your little dolls, Greenwood,” he taunted, gesturing with his free hand. Greenwood snarled, but got up and walked away anyways. Jerome looked back to you. “Y’know, you’re starting to rub off on me. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be a goody two-shoes just like you!” he joked, snickering. You just rolled your eyes, the ghost of a soft smile on your face.

“Hey,” you warned, “Don’t start getting soft. That’s my thing,” you shot back.

“Yeah, I know,” he smirked at you, catching your hand—the one that was on his forearm—in his. “Jeez, (Y/N), why are you so cold?” he asked you. His hands were exponentially warmer than yours, and you appreciated the heat warming up your own.

“It’s the middle of January and I have terrible circulation. Plus, no one in this place cares enough to turn the heat up.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he laughed. Then he was putting his head on top of yours, so you leaned your head onto his shoulder.

“What time is it?” You yawned. He told you that it was roughly eight-thirty. “Gross.” Jerome chuckled and gave a murmur of assent. He took his hand out of yours and put his arm around your shoulders instead.

“I’ll wake you up when they make us leave,” he assured you as you closed your eyes, thanking him. Then you were off to sleep again, catching up on all of the hours you had missed since you had been incarcerated. He grabbed your book off of the table and began reading it for himself. He kept one hand lightly trailing through your hand while the other was used to flip the pages until, at 9:20, the nurses came to inform the both of you that it was time for therapy.

If someone would’ve asked you what had been discussed in that session, you wouldn’t’ve had a clue. You sat next to your only friend in the place, of course, latching onto the only person you’d truly felt comfortable with since you’d been brought in. The two of you had passed notes back and forth the whole time, decorated with goofy little doodles and cartoons to entertain one another. When Jerome had cracked a joke to you following one of the other inmates’ comments, you could barely suppress your giggle, and you both had ended up making a bit of a scene.

“Jerome. (Y/N). Cut it out,” the therapist had reprimanded you. Jerome just gave her a nod, but you had verbally apologized and promised that it wouldn’t happen again.

A few seconds later, another note was passed onto your lap. SORRY FOR BEING A BAD INFLUENCE, it had read. You flipped it over to respond on the other side.

we balance each other out

like a negative and a positive

Two months later, and you were finally free to return to the rest of the world. You were overjoyed; you couldn’t wait to get back to your friends and family. You couldn’t wait to get back to school, something you never thought you’d say to yourself. You were also surprised at how well Jerome had responded when you’d told him that you were finally going home.

“You’ll write to me, right?” he asked you.

“Of course,” you verified.

“And visit?”

“I’ll try my damndest,” you promised.

He had seemed like he was making so much progress when you were around. At least, that’s what the nurses and therapists had all noted. For his own sake, they all secretly wished that you would keep coming back to help him out.

After another month, the whole city was erupted into chaos.

There had been some sort of gas leak at Arkham, followed by a breakout; your friend among the escapees. The next time you saw him had been on the T.V. in the midst of attempting to blow up a school bus full of cheerleaders from Gotham High.

You felt your heart break in your chest as you sat on your bed that morning watching the news. You’d really, truly let yourself believe that he wasn’t as bad of a person as the media had portrayed him, especially during his trial. You knew him firsthand! He was such a good friend to you, and was always watching your back. It was hard for you to believe that the boy who passed you notes in therapy and made you laugh all day was the same boy who had just kidnapped and murdered seven dock workers and attempted to blow up a bus full of cheerleaders the same age as him.

But, sadly, this was the reality that you lived in. I guess he really fooled me, huh, you thought to yourself.

Around noon that same day, while watching some documentary on Netflix and sending texts back and forth with one of your best friends, you heard a loud knocking outside of your window. “Holy shit!” you exclaimed, heart nearly leaping out of your chest. When your adrenaline rush finally slowed, you looked to see what had caused the noise, and—

“Holy shit!” Lo and behold; it was none other than Jerome Valeska. He grinned at you, waving emphatically.

“Open up, wouldya?” He spoke through the window. “Let’s catch up!”

You walked over to your windowsill but didn’t open the window, instead choosing to lock it. “Why should I let you into my house, Jerome? I’d be harboring a fugitive. That’s a crime. Just like kidnapping, murder, and arson,” you glared at him. “Why would you do that, J?” you asked, hurt evident in your eyes, even through the glass separating you.

“Let me in, (Y/N), I really wanna talk. You know I’d never hurt you.” You immediately believed him, having to consciously remind yourself that you might’ve been being led into a trap. That was, until he held up a fist and extended his pinky. “I pinky swear.” Damn, the boy knows I love me a good pinky swear. You gave up your resolve and cracked the window just enough to reach your own hand through, locking your fingers together before opening it the rest of the way.

“Okay. Talk,” you told him as he climbed through and stepped into your room. You took a seat on the edge of your bed, and he followed suit.

“This guy, Theo… he’s the one who broke us all out,” Jerome began to explain. “Kinda boring dude. But also kinda cool. He’s like the weird, rich uncle I never had,” he joked, making you crack a small smile. He smiled himself at that, nudging you playfully. “Anyways, he gives this whole speech about how we all have ‘vision’ and ‘talent’ and yada yada yada… So I know he gets me.

“Says he wants us to just go crazy, right? ‘Paint the town red’, other junk like that,” he continued. “The last guy who tried to leave, Sionis… He had him stabbed to death. Right in front of us all.” Your eyes shot up to his, shocked. “I can’t very well follow in his footsteps,” he told you.

“Oh, Jerome… That’s awful. I’m sorry.” You wrapped an arm around his side, implying that you’d mostly forgiven him for what he’d been doing recently. It’s not his fault, you reasoned, he’s scared for his life. “What if I call the cops so they can keep you safe from him? You don’t have to keep hurting people,” you offered.

“No, (Y/N), please don’t,” he begged. “They’ll just send me straight back to Arkham, I don’t wanna go back there, I hate that place—”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I understand. I won’t call anyone. Be safe, though? I mean… try as much as you can to not hurt anyone if you can help it.”

“I will. You were right, y’know. About balancing each other out. I think we make a good pair,” he told you, a smile that looked genuine on his face.

“Best friends,” you offered back. Then you gave him a solid hug, burying your face in his chest.

And you’d never have seen it, but that genuine smile suddenly became cunning and devious once more. Gotcha...

542 notes · View notes

romaniassexdungeon · 5 years

Text

Our Souls Briefly Touched in Tallinn

Pairing: OzEst

Rating: Lemon

Summary: It was by chance they met, on a warm summer's night in Old Tallinn, a fleeting moment they shared together, never to be recreated. But, in the end, it was exactly what they both needed. The heartbreak, the yearning, the anticipation, it was all worth it, just to be together.

Notes: Written with @tikola-nesla. Tbh we’ve just been sitting here laughing at our own stupid jokes. Yeah pay no attention to the title or summary, this is 8000 words of absolute jack shit wrote by two sleep-deprived idiots. Every line only served to get a laugh out each other. This was supposed to be cute and fluffy, something we'd come up with while walking around Tallinn at like midnight. Yeah, it quickly descended into piss, but please enjoy.

Logan - Australia Fabrice - Cameroon Angie - Seychelles Hunapo - New Zealand

Read on AO3

...

The cobbled streets of Old Tallinn shone under the lights of restaurants and shop windows. A violinist played for tips by a wall, a family laughed over a late meal outside of a restaurant, and three drunk tourists were chasing down their friend.

“Logan, come back!”

Logan started walking backwards, purely to flip the other three off. “Eat my ass, Febreeze!”

One of the three nudged him. “Go on, Fabrice,” she laughed, “Take one for the team.”

Fabrice glared at her. “Don’t encourage him, Angie.”

“What’s so wrong with my arse?” Logan cried, “Got some juicy melons on me!”

“Oh my god, Lo-”

“Logan, I swear-”

“He’s gonna do it, isn’t-”

Logan pulled his shorts down to his ankles and continued to run ahead, then immediately toppled over onto the cobbles.

“Fuck! What are these made of?”

“Stone.” Fabrice stood over him, offering him a hand up. “Think you’ve had a little much.”

Logan pulled himself up and blew a raspberry into his face.

“Logan, I can see your whole dick.”

“Aww, Huna!” He blew a kiss at them. “You’re welcome!”

He cackled, kicking his shorts off and dancing wildly to the violinist’s gentle tune.

Huna picked up his shorts and chased after him. “You’re gonna get arrested!”

“If they can’t handle my fat balls, my juicy, juicy, nutsacks, that’s on them!”

Angie ran along with them, taking the lead, and jumped onto his back.

“Hey! Piss off me!”

She held onto him tight. “Put your shorts on, dumbass.”

“What are you doing!?”

She thought about it for a moment. “Fuck knows. Put them on before children see.”

“It’s two in the morning! It’s on their parents for not putting them in bed!”

“You can’t talk parenting with your dick out!”

“Watch me!”

Fabrice sighed. “Logan.”

Logan grumbled and prized Angie off his back. “I’ll put them on but only because it’s cold.”

She steadied herself on his shoulder. “Good boy.”

“Not because you told me to.”

“Good enough for us.”

“We can’t let him out of our sights,” said Fabrice.

...

“You let him out of your sights?” cried Fabrice, the moment he stepped out of the men’s room and found Logan missing from the group of faces at the bar. He wasn’t trying to win on the quiz machines, or the condom ones, and he wasn’t flirting with anyone, or everyone. He was nowhere to be seen.

Hunapo and Angie shrugged. “It’s just easier,” said Hunapo.

“He’s just so annoying,” she added.

“Yeah, it’s our holiday too.”

“He’ll start taking his clothes off again!”

“But at least this way, he does it far away from us and people don’t assume we’re with him.”

“We are with him!” Fabrice protested.

“Do we want the police knowing that?”

Fabrice shrugged. “They’ll find out when we pay his bail.” He looked out of the tiny window. “Poor Logan, off by himself, wandering around lost and alone. I hope he’s okay.”

“He’ll be balls deep in something by now,” Hunapo nudged him, “he’s fine.”

...

Eduard sat by himself, as usual, in the corner of his local. His top hat lay next to his collection of pint glasses: one full and several empty. He was drinking too fast for the bar staff to collect them all. His traditional outfit, the one he’d been wearing for two days now, was still neat, but his hair was starting to get in a state, wisps sticking up all over where he’d run his long fingers through it. The main sign that he was not alright, though, were the bags under his eyes and grey tone to his scarily pale face.

Second place.

His choir - the best in Europe, probably, almost definitely - had come second to a group of 50 schoolchildren. He’d been beaten by children. No wonder his parents were never proud of him.

He sighed and downed half his beer in one go.

The rest of his choir were celebrating, but he couldn’t. He was going to drown his sorrows, then plan for next year. With a head start, there should be no reason for them to lose again. It wasn’t second place, it was first last place, and not good enough.

This was why his choir never wanted to drink with him.

“Same again?” the waitress asked, and he nodded, finishing the second half of the pint. “Okay, but I’m getting worried.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. “I’m- I’m fine.”

“You should be. Second place! We’re all really proud of you.”

He pulled a face. “We should’ve won. It was my job to make sure we won. My dad was right, though. I’m useless.”

“He said that?”

“No, but he implied it. A lot. Never proud of me. My mother neither. Nothing I did was good enough.” Maybe he should’ve told those kids they’d reached their peak, that it would be all downhill from here on out and, eventually, they’d come to the sad conclusion that they weren’t “gifted” but average after all. But apparently that was “being a sore loser”.

She looked very uncomfortable. “Sir, I’m not sure you should have any more alcohol.”

“Aw, Maarja. Don’t cut me off, maybe I’ll feel something soon.”

“Sir, do you need me to call you a cab?”

“I’m fine. I- I’ll be good.” He drank his next pint slower, slouched and miserable. Maarja nodded and went to take the order of a tourist who’d just walked in. Eduard could immediately tell he was Australian, by his loud, annoying voice that started up like a foghorn the moment he locked eyes with someone. Every Estonian in the bar looked very uncomfortable.

Hopefully, he’d be left alone.

The Australian got his own pint and looked around for someone to talk to. Eduard avoided eye contact like he was a teacher asking the class a question, or an Enderman.

No such luck, as usual. He heard the chair opposite him scrape against the knobbly wooden floor.

“Terry!”

Eduard blinked at him.

“You know, Terry! Hello!”

“Tere,” he said, with the passive-aggression he learnt from his mother.

“That! Terry! Anyway, can I-“ He stumbled over his feet trying to sit on the table, tipping it over and sending pint glasses falling in the process. “-can I try on your hat, mate?”

Eduard glanced up at him. “Might as well.”

Logan got it onto his head - with a little difficulty fitting it on - and sat down next to him. “How do I look?”

“Like a man in a hat.”

“But like… a sexy one?”

“Like a hat-wearing one.”

“Shoulda seen me earlier. Had my whole dick out. It was great.”

Eduard honestly, truly, genuinely, had no idea what to say to that. But he knew he hated Australians. Especially if they happened to be tourists.

“What’s with the... “ Logan gestured vaguely at him.

“Air of crushing defeat? It’s the crushing defeat.”

“Nah, the… clothes. Big coat thing.”

“Oh. It’s my choir’s uniform for the music contest.”

He gasped. “You’re one of the singing boys!”

“Mm. We lost.”

“Still performed though, ey? Did your funky funky tunes.”

“We were beaten by children,” he scoffed.

“How old?”

Eduard shrugged. “Small, I guess. I don’t know baby ages. More than 3 but less than 16.”

“Bit of a range there.”

“Yeah, but the point is, our choir sucks.”

“You performed in the… the big thing, though!”

Eduard shrugged. “Still lost.”

“What place did you even get?”

“Second.”

“ Second ? That’s fucking amazing!”

“We were supposed to win.”

“You must be pretty fuckin’ good anyway. Or- or you wouldn’t be in second. Maybe you’re just not cute enough.”

“This is a choir festival, not a cuteness contest.”

“Yeah, or you’d’ve won.” He winked.

“I should have.”

“But you are... “ He paused for a long moment, then patted his face. “You are cute enough to win everything.”

“Can I help you?” he asked, bordering on the border of passive aggression.

“Just wanted to make friends! You look all... Lots of drinks and one guy-y.”

“I am one guy.”

“Well maybe we can be two guys.” Logan winked with both eyes. “And even more drinks.”

“You don’t want to get drinks with me. I’m a has-been. I’ve peaked.”

“You’ve come in higher than second before? Like… gotten all win-y?”

“Does it matter now that I’m nothing?”

“Hey.”

Eduard looked up from his drink. Logan was uncomfortably close to his face.

“I think you’re a lot of things.”

“Like what? Nothing. That’s what.”

“I think you’re cute, and talented. And a little sad.”

“A little?” asked Maarja.

“Yeah, I’m very sad, all the time.” Eduard bit his tongue to stop him oversharing. He hated oversharing, and getting emotional, but it happened sometimes. Usually at the worst moment, like 10am at the Rimi he’d wandered into for potato salad and painkillers to cure his hangover.

“You’re too pretty to be sad,” Logan stroked behind his ear and gently dislodged the arm of his glasses. Eduard wanted to sob from the human touch, and may have leaned into it. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks, I’m cured,” he said flatly, fixing his glasses.

“Can you sing for me, sing-y boy?”

“Why not just listen to a tumble dryer full of cats, it can’t be that different.”

“You came in second!”

“I’ll ne- never sing again, ever.”

“So you’re not performing next year?”

“Well, our choir is, every year, and I’m in our choir, and I’m not missing it, but I’m still never singing again.”

“Ah, I’ll get that song out of you! I bet you sing good.”

“No.”

“You sing good. Like a good singy boy. You make songs.”

“You haven’t heard me.”

“Well, your talky voice is nice as well. Pretty. Such a pretty accent. Like your pretty face.”

“My singing voice is clearly my downfall.”

“Aw, singy man! Don’t be sad! You’re the singy man!”

“I was. I can’t call myself that anymore.”

“Well, I don’t know your actual name, sooo… singy man.”

“Eduard.”

“Logan. What y’doing after this, Eduard?”

“I’ll probably drink more, and then go home, and then drink even more, and then eat some potato salad.”

“Sounds hot. Mind if I tag along?”

“Do you have anywhere else to be?”

His face fell as he remembered. “Aw, shit. My friends. I’m here with them, but they were making me put clothes on and stuff so I kinda… went my own way. Guess you could say I’m a wild card. A real rebel, you know? Can’t be tamed.” He winked again, with both eyes.

“Are you staying together? Just reconvene.”

“Oh, yeah. Reeky… that. We’re staying in a place. Big pink building. Orangey roof.”

“We’re in Old Town. That doesn’t narrow things down.”

“Well, I’ll un-narrow your butthole.”

Eduard sighed. “You’re lost, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I don’t know where they are.”

He scratched the back of his head casually. “I guess I’ll help you out, if you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, might was well. I can’t leave you out here, can I?”

“No, I’ll end up fucking something.”

“Up?”

“Maybe. Either way, nudity happens. That’s the point, yeah?”

“The point of what ?”

“Dunno. All of it?”

“Very philosophical of you.”

“You’re full of sofical.”

“You’re full of alcohol.”

Logan nodded. “Yes. So are you.”

“So I am.” He took his hat back and stood up. “Come on, Australian. Let’s get you home.”

Logan made a weird, probably happy, face. “Wow, you’re in such a rush to get me home.”

“The sooner you’re away from people the better.”

“How can you say that, mate? I’m a gift.”

“Do you have a receipt?”

“You’re cranky when you lose.”

Eduard glowered at him.

“Come on, walk me home, and I’ll cheer you up.” He spanked Eduard’s ass and stumbled out of the pub. Maarja gave Eduard a look as he shuffled out after him.

The summer air was as cool as his father’s heart after Eduard came home with a bad test result that one time. Logan struggled on the cobblestones, looking around at everyone in wonder. There were a few locals about, but it was mostly drunk tourists. People sat outside restaurants and pubs, and groups of friends walked past them.

Logan took Eduard’s hand and set off in a random direction. Eduard immediately began sweating up a storm at the touch. People didn’t touch him, and he didn’t hold hands in public. He squirmed at the stares, but Logan was so big and tough and no one would mess with him. He was warm, too.

Eduard told him all about the Old Town, about the different buildings and the history of Tallinn, and when Logan started to panic over the lack of familiar buildings, Eduard sang to him softly. Logan seemed to appreciate it, even if it didn’t help his overall mood.

The two of them stood in the square as Logan ran his fingers through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“Maybe I’ll remember when I’m sober, but right now, my brain’s completely fried.”

“Have your friends replied yet?”

Logan checked his phone. “No. Nothing. Dickheads.”

Eduard sighed. “Look, you can stay at my place, if you like. I can get you a blanket and you can sleep on the sofa.”

“Sounds cold,” Logan whined, rubbing the back of Eduard’s hand with a thumb.

“Okay, you have the bed and I sleep on the sofa.”

“I mean…” Logan glanced at him, “if there’s only one bed… we could always… share it.”

Eduard’s heart stopped for a moment. He’d never shared a bed with anyone, romantically or platonically. He couldn’t even imagine what that would feel like to lie next to another person. Cuddle them. Maybe even kiss them. Feel warmth and affection for once in his life.

“That’s ridiculous,” he spluttered, “unless you’re serious.” He hoped Logan was.

Logan squeezed his hand. “Very serious.”

Eduard felt things tingle in his spine. “Well, it’s- it’s not far. Just around the corner.” He reached a hand in his pocket to begin fumbling for his keys; he wasn’t letting Logan go. It had been a while since he’d had another person stay over, and he was terrified Logan would change his mind.

Logan only seemed to have one thing on his mind, when they got to Eduard’s front door and he wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, chin resting on Eduard’s shoulder. Something poked at his butt.

This was the closest he’d come to doing a sex in his entire life.

He lead Logan across the hallway and upstairs, shushing him every time he tried to talk in that booming, accented voice he could barely understand. He was convinced that someone would come out to tell them off any second now. He unlocked the door to his flat and pushed Logan inside.

When he opened the door, an overly-pampered Pomeranian started barking at him, annoyed at being left alone for most of the day.

“A baby!”

Logan dashed over to the doggy and started stroking her face, making kissy noises and speaking in gibberish. Siiri looked utterly terrified at the intruder, glancing at Eduard for help. Logan picked her up and let her lick his face, before kissing every inch of hers.

“Oh, you’re baby! A baby baby! Beautiful baby baby! I love you!”

“Siiri.”

“Like the… phone?”

“No. But also yes.”

“I love her so much, I’m going to steal her.”

“Don’t!”

“Okay, okay. But I love her. She’s the best, aren’t you Siiri-wiiri,” he smushed her face and rubbed her belly.

Eduard just shook his head. “So, you’ve been immersing yourself in Estonian culture?” asked Eduard, hanging up his coat neatly.

“You could say that,” Logan replied, kicking off his crocs. “Or, at least, immersing my di-”

“Yes, thank you.”

“In Estonians.”

“Alright! Tried any Estonian food?”

“Pu-”

“No!”

“Di-”

“No!”

“But yeah, been eating weird Estonian food.”

“Estonian food isn’t weird.”

“It is, but I kinda like it. Good potatoes, and meats. Lots of meats.”

Eduard decided to pretend he didn’t pick up on the innuendo. “Have you tried kohuke?”

“Like when a bunch of guys nut on someone’s face?”

“That’s bukkake. I mean no, shush. I don’t know what bukkake is. Kohuke is the best and you need to try it.”

“I will! I’ll make a note of that.” After several attempts to unlock his phone, Logan finally opened up his notes and Eduard saw him type “eat cookei”. He decided to move on.

“And the sauna?”

“Never got to one.”

“Your flat doesn’t have a sauna?”

“Yours does? Doos? Doe? Your doe? Anyway, you have a sauna?”

“Of course. What kind of Estonian would I be without one? Would you like to try it?”

“I don’t have my swimming trunks.”

This man got his dick out in public, but wanted to wear swimming trunks in the sauna? Westerners baffled Eduard.

“You go in the sauna naked.”

“Really? Well, I wouldn’t want to disrespect the local culture.” He took off his shirt.

“Yeah, it’s not a weird thing for us. You have public saunas, and families sauna together.”

“So you’ve seen your dad’s dick? Your mum’s snatch?” Logan cackled.

“It’s a normal thing.”

“So Estonians see all the dicks they want, then.”

“Do you want to go in or not?”

“Nah, I will, if you go in with me.”

“Of course.”

“Can I pee in it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“So it’s not like a shower, then?”

Eduard didn’t dignify that with a response, and wandered into the bathroom to get the sauna running. Nice and boiling hot, just how he liked it. The tourist wouldn’t be able to stand it; there was no way he’d be strong enough. If he was still conscious by the time he got out it was too cold.

Logan followed him, taking off his jorts and boxers, and Eduard realised he’d made a terrible mistake.

This man’s penis was at least 6 inches longer than his own.

It looked like a kohuke, actually. But bigger and veinier and rounder. And covered in hair. And Eduard couldn’t take his eyes off it. He wanted it in him like serotonin. Was there any polite way of asking this man to fuck him? He looked like he’d be up for fucking anything.

“I knew you Europeans were all perverts!” Logan covered his junk, and Eduard blushed. “Am I just a piece of meat to you? A hot, foreign piece of quality Australian meat to object-iffy?”

“Sorry, I- sorry. I just… I’ll get naked too, so it’s less weird.” It would probably make things even weirder, and he was a little self-conscious about the 3-inch punisher, but the alternative was having a naked man trapped in his flat and that was just dodgy.

It was weird, being attracted to men with big dicks. It was hot, definitely, and the thought that it might rupture his internal organs and kill him was a nice bonus - not in a freaky way, just in a sad one - but he was as insecure as he was horny. What if they were judging him? What if Logan went back to his friends to laugh at him?

He also got nervous about taking it, but that never stopped him. Hypothetically.

At least it wasn’t cold in the bathroom, he decided as he took off his trousers. That might give him an extra centimetre.

The two of them sat down. He tried to look at his face and make conversation, but the only thought his brain could come up with was along the lines of “it’s three times your size, six inches bigger, a whole three times the size of your dick, it might even be seven inches bigger, maths isn’t happening right now, you could line three of your dicks up and it would be approximately the size of his, please, for the love of god, do not get a boner”.

Too late.

Logan looked at it. Eduard pointedly looked at the glass. He wanted to evaporate into the steam. There was a long period of silence. And then Logan let out a fart: fat, long, and moist. He shut his eyes and smiled, relishing in it for its 10-second entirety.

“That was a good one.”

Eduard was too busy trying not to gag to reply. The smell was fucking rancid, like a skunk had crawled up his arse and died like a week ago. And in the sauna, it was ten times worse.

Logan got himself up and checked the seat. “Just… don’t want to have shat myself. I mean, I can usually tell when I’ve shit, because I start screaming, but it doesn’t hurt to check. We good? Yeah, we’re good. Shit-free this time.”

“Great.” Well, Eduard no longer had a boner.

“Smells fucking ripe though. Take a whiff of that!”

Eduard was trying very hard not to.

“She’s a wet one!”

“Indeed.”

Logan poured water onto the coals. “You ever fuck in these?” he asked. Eduard wasn’t sure whether or not this was an improvement.

“No. That’s disgusting. We’re shedding dead skin; the last thing this water vapor needs is syphilis.” No one fucked in his bed either, but that was beside the point.

“I don’t have siff… that. Anymore. I don’t think.”

Eduard had the disgusting thought that Logan’s dick was that size due to being stuffed full of STDs like a poorly-made teddy bear, or the desired state of his butthole, then he realised that was the kind of anatomical thinking from a guy that didn’t get laid, and hated his surgeon dad enough to refuse to learn about biology.

“Would you even wanna try fucking in this?”

“No, never. The sauna is sacred. I have a bed, though.” He didn’t know if it was the drink or his dick that said that last bit.

“We’re fucking in that, then?”

“Y-yeah,” he squeaked. Was it really that easy? He looked at Logan’s penis and his butthole quivered in anticipation.

Logan took his hand, and squeezed it reassuringly before kissing him, tenderly and lovingly. Just like how Eduard had imagined Harrison Ford doing to him as a teen. Eduard tried not to immediately start crying.

“Thanks.”

“Are you okay?”

“Can you kiss me again, maybe, please, if it’s no trouble?”

Logan laughed at him and kissed him again. He was so warm. He wrapped his arms around Eduard in the hug his parents never gave him. Then again, if Eduard’s parents had given him naked hugs he’d be a different kind of messed up.

“Bed?”

Eduard nodded. “Yeah, it’s in my room.”

They got out of the sauna. Eduard didn’t bother to get dressed, but Logan went out of his way to put his socks back on. Then his crocs and fanny pack, which had “the best almends in tawn” scrawled in tipex, upside down too. Implying Logan didn’t take it off to write that. He knew the reference: the almond cart a few streets down. They were some good-ass almonds, but were now ruined.

“My nips are cold,” he whined. “They need warming. With your mouth-hole.”

Eduard had no idea how to respond, so put his mouth on one of Logan’s nipple’s like a fish, and just kept it there.

“Fucking hell, you never sucked a titty before?”

“I have! Several!” He’d sucked no titties in his life. His mother never even bothered breastfeeding him. He tried to suck Logan’s.

“I think maybe we should just get to the butt-peeing.”

“The what ?”

“I’m just kidding, haha, unless you’re down?”

“No!”

“Okay, just kidding.”

Eduard realised he was going to have to suck this guy’s dick. This monster schlong had to somehow fit in his mouth. And it might have pee on it.

He also realised that this meant someone liked him enough to let him do that, so he let the thought go.

Logan picked him up tenderly, and Eduard curled up against his warm chest like one of those hairless raw chicken cats. Logan kissed the top of his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut to hold back a tear of loneliness.

"So, mate, where's your bedroom?"

"Second door on the left."

Logan carried him into the bedroom and gently set him down on the bed.

“Now, I know you’ve probably heard your first time is supposed to hurt, but it won’t if we prepare properly.” He kissed his forehead.

“This isn’t my first time! I fuck frequently!”

“Okay, I believe you. Still gonna take it easy on you.”

“Please dick me to death.”

“Still sad about the song contest thing, yeah?” He stroked his hair.

“I have clinical depression.”

“Want me to choke you?”

“ I have clinical depression . And daddy issues.”

“So, yes?”

“ Please .”

“I got something else you can choke on. Unless you can unhinge your jaw like a snake. That would be hot.”

“I can’t. I can devour almost a whole bottle of vodka in one go though, so… close enough?”

“So I just have to nut a vodka bottle’s worth? I can do that.”

“I mean. You don’t have to.”

“No, I’m gonna.”

“Look, I’ll try if you nut like a human being and not a fire hose.” Eduard took this incredible, magnificent penis in his hands - both, because it was thick - and gave it a lick. It was warm, and rubbery. He liked the warmth of another human being.

“C’mon,” Logan groaned, “Your dog licks better.”

“Fuck her then. No wait, don’t!” Eduard looked at the purple baton. “I’m just… out of practice. I’ll get the hang of it.”

“How out of practice?”

“Do I look like I’ve been counting the years?”

“Yes. You wear glasses. Surely it would only be one hand’s worth anyway.”

“No. And I can’t count on the other one, I’m using it for other things.”

“Jacking off til you pass out? Whilst crying?”

“Shush.”

“Take that as a yes.”

“Also drinking. But… not far off.”

“You gonna suck this dick or what?”

Eduard’s distaste for being bossed about flared up, and he wrinkled his nose. “Suck your own dic- I mean yeah.”

“We can stop if you want.”

“Fuck no.” Eduard swallowed the dick like he frequently swallowed his pride. He slowly put the whole thing in his mouth; that’s what you were supposed to do, right? It’s what the beautiful women on pornhub did. Was he supposed to fit the balls in too? Logan’s were fucking massive, so he hoped not, but maybe he should, just to be on the safe side.

“Christ, mate, let yourself breathe!”

He pulled off of him. “I’m good.”

“You’re gonna do yourself some damage.”

“You’re flattering yourself.”

“You seen this thing? I’ve earned it.”

“And I’ll suck the soul outta you.”

“So did your dad leave or just not love you?”

“I’ll bite your dick.”

“Hot.”

“How do I threaten you without you being horny about it?”

“You can’t.”

Eduard sighed and sucked his dick like it was the titty his mother denied him. Every time he made a choking sound, Logan groaned, but Ed had no gag reflex so all was well. Sometimes, he sounded like he was coughing up a hairball, but it was endearing in a way. Logan stroked his hair, and Eduard closed his eyes at the touch like a loving, affectionate cat. He tried to meet his eyes, but it felt weird so he stuck to staring at his bellybutton.

Eventually, Logan pulled his head back. “Okay, I think it’s your turn.”

“I can carry on if you want.”

He just chuckled. “Get up.”

Eduard awkwardly arranged himself on the bed, his legs a little apart. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Logan rested his cheek on Eduard’s knee, giving him a caring smile before going down.

Eduard’s soul left his fucking body at the feeling of having his dick sucked. Logan wasn’t shy, looking him right in the eyes as he milked his little yoghurt machine. He’d clearly had practice, licking it like it was ice cream and sucking like a vacuum cleaner. If Eduard hadn’t already blown at least 40 loads into his hand during the week, he might have nutted right then and there.

He heard the clattering of claws, and a series of barks.

Logan had forgotten to close the door.

“Siiri!” cried Ed, “get out! Bad dog! Go to bed!”

Logan stopped sucking his dick, and it flopped onto Eduard’s stomach with a wet pop. Logan’s spit quickly cooled, and he didn’t like the feeling.

“Aww, let her stay.” Logan reached over and lifted her onto the bed. He fussed over the little dog, with the stupid, high-pitched voice and rubbing her belly.

“We can’t let her stay in my room! We’re doing sex!” He covered himself self-consciously, as if Siiri was judging.

“So? My dog watches me.”

“That’s just weird.” Eduard got to his feet, picked up Siiri, and bowled her gently out the door. “No watching, and go to sleep.”

Siiri barked at him.

“Yeah, yip to you too.” He shut the door and sat back down on the bed. “I think I have a condom.” He reached for his wallet; there was a condom he kept there, for miracles. It was probably older than Siiri, but its day had finally come.

The moment he took it out, it disintegrated in his hand. Miracles were hard to come by.

“That’s okay,” Logan kissed his neck, “bareback’s better.”

Eduard was going to get every STD known to man, and a few undiscovered ones too, but, at that moment, he was too horny to care. “Alright, how- how do you want me to do this?”

“Maybe…” Logan thought about it, “we start with missionary. Then we can gayly gaze into each other’s eyes.”

“A gay’s gaze.”

“Yes! Then after, maybe doggy cause then it’s like we’re mating.”

“We’re sticking to missionary.”

“Aww, you like these eyes?”

“I like not being compared to animals.” He did have nice eyes though.

Logan tenderly placed a hand to his chest and pushed him back on the bed. He held Eduard’s hand, and leaned in for a kiss. Eduard couldn’t remember the last time he’d had his hand held.

“Thank you.” His voice cracked.

Logan blinked. Was that the wrong thing to say? He didn’t comment on it, though, and focused on kissing Eduard’s neck.

“Ya got any lube?”

“I have lotion. Will that work.”

“Of course you d- yeah that works.”

Eduard reached into the bedside table for his bottle of lotion.

“This is nice stuff, for jacking-off lotion.”

“I like how vanilla smells.”

“It does smell nice,” he agreed, sniffing the bottle.

“Use some if you want.”

Logan rubbed it between his hands. “Nice. This why you so smooth?”

“Mm.”

“Like a shark.”

“Please don’t fuck a shark.”

“I won’t. Not until I’m done with you.” He spread Eduard’s legs as he spread lotion over his fingers. Eduard shuddered as Logan circled his butthole with a finger before slipping it in.

Eduard swore, but in Estonian so Logan wouldn’t know. It felt like taking a shit, but in a sexy way.

“You know sharks have two dicks?” said Logan for conversation.

“A weird thing to say when you’re fingering me.” Eduard gave a groan, and then a rattling breath as Logan added another finger. “Could you slow down, please?” he whimpered. Logan nodded and took out his second finger.

“Sure thing, mate. It’s okay.” He massaged Eduard’s shoulder as he fingered him with one finger.

“Your hands are so big,” he whined. “It feels like I’m getting a rectal exam from Jason Momoa.”

“Shit, mate, I ain’t even put me dick in yet.”

“Yeah, gonna need you to prepare me a lot more.” Eduard was having a good time, but his butthole had been so empty lately it was tighter than a nipple clamp and gathering dust.

Logan fingered him like a bowling ball, slowly opening up his tight bootyhole in a way his dad never did when he was little. A wee fucking ghost that had been forgotten there just came out of the butt, yelled “WOOOO” and flew out the window. Okay, Logan made that last part up, but his shitter was dusty af.

He lubed that asshole up like a slip n’ slide. He fingered it until it looked like a canyon in the middle of a very flat plain. When Logan spanked Ed’s cheek, it sounded hollow.

Even though Eduard had a normally deep voice, it went all high and bottom-y as he moaned from the spank. Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Shit, think ya ready?”

“I- yeah. Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Logan put his fanny batter splatterer into Eduard’s red dwarf and Eduard’s mind hit reset. It was bigger than any shit he’d ever taken, but still moved against his rectum like one. Logan put his dick halfway in, then paused.

“You okay,” he clutched Eduard’s sweaty hand.

He nodded.

“Are you crying?”

“What? No. Don’t let go of my hand though.”

Logan nodded, then stuck his wingwang in down to the balls. The balls weren’t meant to go in too, right? Eduard was sure it was about to come out of his mouth it was so big. He felt like a kebab.

He moaned from the dick and cried from the handholding, but this was the best he’d felt in months. He never wanted it to end. But knowing how long he lasted, it would all too soon. He mentally congratulated himself for lasting this long. He had been expecting to nut in the sauna, the second he undressed. Logan went slowly at first, letting him get used to the feeling, but when Eduard gave the word, he picked up the pace, hips and nuts slapping against Eduard’s arse and making the noise of someone slapping a raw chicken with a raw fish. He wondered if he’d get salmonella from Logan’s dick along with the 30 or so STDs he’d have after this. It also sounded a bit like using a toilet plunger on a turd-blocked shitter. Eduard now wished he’d hurry up and orgasm so maybe his brain would turn off for a second and he’d stop thinking stupid shit.

“You like that? You like my chunky thundermeat?”

Eduard wished he could say he didn’t. But he did. His butthole wouldn’t later, but for now he was groaning like that time he discovered autoerotic asphyxiation. And egg-mayo sandwiches.

Logan went harder. Not insanely hard, just enough to have Eduard moaning and whimpering and begging for more. His soul felt like when you hold the start button on a computer instead of shutting it down manually because it was broken. His soul was healing, becoming reanimated. Or maybe he was just really, really horny and touch-starved.

“Big,” he mumbled, trying to get words out of his mouth semi-coherently.

“Yeah? You like the big meat, then?”

“It’s lovely. Thank you.”

“No… no problem.” Logan kissed him to shut him up. Then choked him and Ed came like Jesus. Shortly after, Logan bust a chunky nut in Eduard’s bootyhole. He moaned at the moisture in his colon, and at the cold rush on his back as Logan pulled out and collapsed next to him. He arranged his duvet so that the cold air could hit his aching hole as he held onto him. Logan cuddled him gently, wrapping the rest of the duvet around them.

“Was that good? Did I do good? Tell me I did a good sex.”

“You did a great sex.” He kissed his forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

Eduard was definitely crying now. No one had ever been proud of him before. Maybe it was the alcohol, and being in the arms of a naked man, but he felt exposed. Vulnerable. Like he was about to start oversharing at any minute.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, “I want you to stay with me forever.” Well, at least he wasn’t talking about his childhood.

“I have to go in the morning, I’m afraid,” Logan mumbled, “but I’ll be back. And we have tonight.”

Eduard nodded. “Yes. Please hold me tonight.”

Logan kissed his temple, lips warm against cold sweat. “I will, baby.”

...

The sun filtered through the curtains the next morning, hurting Eduard’s eyes through his eyelids, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret drinking. He woke up in Logan’s arms, held tenderly to his chest in a way his touch-starved self had only fantasized about before.

So this was what affection felt like. He wanted more.

For the first time in his life, Eduard didn’t feel like getting up right away. He let a sleeping Logan hold him. He was so lovely and warm, like a sauna, he didn’t want him to go.

When Logan woke up, he didn’t seem to be in a rush either. He opened his eyes halfway, smiled at him, and let out a long fart. Lovely.

“Sleep well?”

Eduard nodded.

“Sorry,” Logan eventually prized himself away, “I’ll be back to spoon, but is it alright if I just give my dick a quick wash? Gotta keep it clean. Do it after every root, just to keep the infections at bay.”

Eduard nodded weakly, and Logan disappeared.

What the fuck kind of moron just nutted in him? The kind that thought tap water got rid of gonorrhoea? He’d have to be tested for everything now. And disinfect the sauna. Or just burn and rebuild it. Kill their airborne herpes, and the probable skidmarks on the wooden bench. Eduard couldn’t believe his beloved sauna now resembled some disgusting Polish sauna.

Not to mention he'd have to bulldoze the sink, shower and anything else his penis had touched. Then the toilet, judging by the distant screaming.

Logan came back, drying his cock with toilet paper. “Sorry bout that. Found out the hard - heh - way that you’re not allowed to use an airport sink to clean your junk.” He climbed back into bed and cuddled up to Eduard. The guy was so lucky he was warm and nice and had a massive dick. Eduard wouldn't have minded a round two. It wasn’t like he could get infected twice. “I’m not allowed into so many airports.”

“What time do you have to leave?” he asked, deciding he didn’t have time to unpack all of that, no matter when he had to leave.

“Not til this evening, baby,” Logan kissed the back of his neck.

“Great, we can do like a hundred sex.”

“You want me to pee in your butt all day or what?”

“Maybe do something else.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, literally anything else.”

“I mean… I could shit in your butt.”

“Please just have sex with me and don’t talk for the entire time.”

“I can do that. And after that maybe I should get home and get packed. I’m meant to leave.”

“Do you know how to get home?”

“Toldja last night. Pink house. Orange roof.”

“Do you have an address?”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

“Feel like you should know the address of your own airbnb.”

“What are you, my dad?”

“I hope not. You wrecked my butthole last night.”

“And I’ll wreck it again today if ya want.”

“I do, we already established that.”

Logan climbed back into bed and kissed him, scrambling for the lotion. He lubed Eduard up then clapped those cheeks like white people when the plane lands. Eduard lay on his stomach, too lazy to do anything else, just enjoying this guy’s fat nuts hitting him like a wrecking ball as his ass got drilled for the second time.

He knew his neighbours could hear him - he could always hear them - but he didn’t care. Revenge time. He moaned like a hungry cat as Logan choked and kissed him, stroking his hair. Even when he was being rough, he was gentle with him. Caring. Tender. His hand was tight on his throat but his lips were gentle.

Eduard moaned as Logan ate his ass like a rack of ribs, then put the dick back in and put him in a load of different positions whilst Eduard tried not to fart. Or nut early. When he did nut, Logan wasn’t far behind. He collapsed next to him, pulling Eduard into a hug and kissing his cheek lazily. He was so warm.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbled, “you got nice eyes.”

Eduard blushed. “So do you. I’m not sure I have, though, I mean, my glasses sorta get in the way-”

Logan took them off, then stroked his fringe back. “Beautiful.”

“Blind.”

He smiled and handed his glasses back, after wiping droplets of nut off them. “Wow, you’re an amazing sniper.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“One time I sniped a spider on the ceiling with my nut. Proudest moment. Glad I’d had a wank instead of bothering with kids.”

Eduard nodded, because he had no idea what to say to that. He didn’t want to leave Logan’s arms, but he needed to get up. But then the spell would be broken, and reality would set in and Logan would be gone.

“I need to shower,” he mumbled, making no attempt to move. Logan caught on.

“We can shower together.”

“But then we’ll see each other naked.”

“Ed, baby, we’ve already seen each other naked. We’re naked now.”

Eduard gasped. “Then maybe we can walk around naked and shower naked together!”

“And have a goodbye fuck in the shower. Nice and warm.”

Eduard nodded. “Nice and warm.”

...

Logan’s violet vuvuzela looked like it had been microwaved after it’s third nut in 24 hours, and Eduard’s hole looked like the Darvaza gas crater in Turkmenistan. He could barely stand up, his legs were shaking from his latest orgasm. He clung to Logan, who kissed his neck lazily. The shower still rained down on them, warming Eduard’s shoulders. Logan’s now sported tiny bruises where Eduard had clutched them, and scratches all down his back.

“I’m gonna fucking miss you,” Logan growled in his ear, huskily like Balto, “and I’m gonna miss fucking you.”

“Me too,” Eduard buried his face in his chest, trying not to cry again. He’d done his crying for the year now. “Come on, we gotta find out where you live.”

“Oh, Fabs texted me while I was on the shitter earlier,” said Logan, “they’ve got all my stuff packed and I can meet ‘em at the airport. Means we have a few hours before we gotta go there. We can do anything you want.” He played with Eduard’s nipples.

“I think we’ve been cooped up in here long enough, also my hole needs a rest. I’ll show you round the city, now you’ve sobered up.”

Logan thought about it, then nodded. “I’d like that. Be nice to go home having actually learnt something. Other than Estonians hate it when I try and talk Estonian.”

“It’s the accent. It butchers all languages.”

“To be honest, people don’t like it when I speak English either. Or any language.”

“Maybe it’s what you say, rather than how you pronounce it.”

“So are you gonna take me sightseeing or what?”

...

Eduard didn’t want him to go. He wanted Logan to stay and hold and raw him forever, but, instead, he pulled away like he didn’t pull out and left to go through security with a wave, leaving Eduard, heartbroken in the middle of the airport.

Their day together had been magical, even if everything Logan said out loud was horrendous. Sometimes, he’d even managed to make Eduard laugh. Sometimes.

But he’d asked questions, about both Eduard and Estonia, and Eduard appreciated that. He also giggled at any Estonian word that sounded vaguely rude (depoo? Really?), but Eduard could look past that. Most importantly, he’d had fun with another human being for the first time in forever.

But Logan was gone, without so much as a number.

Eduard could look him up, stalk him on every social media, but he’d be too afraid to follow him. Besides, this weekend hadn’t meant anything to Logan. He’d move on. He’d probably sleep with half the plane before it made it back to Australia. Eduard was nothing to him.

So he might as well move on.

...

The sounds of laughter filled the bar. The whole of the choir sat around a table, struggling to find empty places to put their beers down among the sea of empty pint glasses. Eduard sat with them, sipping his beer, listening politely to the conversation but not contributing a word.

One of their sopranos stood up from her seat, holding up her glass. “Congratulations to all of us! We worked really hard, and if any of the choirs performing tonight earned it, I think it was us. Who wants another round?”

Eduard cheered with the rest of them. He had won! Well. Him and the rest of them. But he’d had a solo, so technically him.

To think this time last year, he’d been at this very bar, - alone because everyone found him unbearable - drinking away his sorrows, and now he was with his whole choir, celebrating their latest win. He still thought about that night every now and then.

He took a moment out from the festivities as the choir launched into a drunken reprise of their songs to use the toilets. As nice as they were, it was nice to celebrate in his head, silently, to relish in his victory without screaming it from the rooftops. He replayed that moment, the cheers of the crowd as they were announced the winners, the nearest singer tackling him into a hug with excitement.

And then someone took the urinal next to him, rolling his jorts down to his ankles. He glanced aside bitterly, but-

Oh, shit. He’d know that meat hammer anywhere.

He almost pissed all over him tripping over his own feet, but he composed himself, zipped his jeans back up, and turned to look at him.

“Logan?”

He grinned back at him, not ceasing his piss. It was like a water cannon. “Long time, no see.”

Eduard gazed at him, not sure what he was meant to say. “Very.”

“Small world.”

“Mhmm.”

“Kidding. I was actually hoping I’d bump into you.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“I mean… why are you here, not,, that sounded self-pitying.”

He leaned on the wall seductively, still peeing. “Well, you know, I read somewhere there’s this legendary song festival going on. Thought I’d check it out.”

Eduard grinned. “Oh, yeah. Heard that’s good.”

“And there was this guy on one of the choirs who had… well, in my opinion, at least, the guy had the voice of an angel. He looked kinda familiar, too. Couldn’t quite place him.” Logan flicked twice for Jesus and put his dick back in his pants.

“How did he do in the competition?”

Logan tilted his head at him, glancing between Eduard’s eyes and lips. “I think his choir won, actually. They’re in some bar now, belting out folk songs.”

Eduard laughed. “Yeah, they were good, weren’t they?”

“They were amazing.”

“Did you… come all the way to Estonia to see me perform?”

Logan scratched the back of his head. “Well, it’s a nice country. I sort of saw all the sights in one morning last time I was here, and… well. I guess the men here really are something.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Maybe.”

“You think I’m a good singer?”

“You won, didn’t you?”

“I guess we did.”

“Actually, there’s another reason I went to Estonia.”

“Mm?”

“Well, there was this really nice little sauna. Really relaxing. I used it on my last night there. Really sweated me out good. I was wondering if I could have another go in it. Just for a bit?”

“You inviting yourself over?”

“Uh-”

“Into my sauna , no less? You realise that’s like… Estonian equivalent of asking if you can rob someone’s house?”

“Sorry.”

Eduard laughed at him. “I’m kidding. Come on, let’s get home.”

#ozest #APH Australia #APH Estonia #hetalia #Hetalia fic #APH Seychelles #APH New Zealand #aph cameroon #tikolanesla #this is the stupidest thing written #oneshot #hetalia estonia #hetalia australia #aph #Hetalia Fanfiction

10 notes · View notes

fantasticworldoffanfics · 6 years

Text

PETER/STILES

——— (part 4) ——–

Fandom: TeenWolf

Even a longer list of fanfics :)….

top favourites, more top favourites, part 1, part 2, part 3

Bittersweet Creek

Author: Guede

Summary: When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

The Glade

Author: makingitwork

Summary: We do what they want and what we want they make us want.

Hollow Moon

Author: Bootsrcool

Summary: What if Stiles got bit instead of Scott?But wait! Is that Peter? The man he gives flowers to in the hospital cause he never sees anyone give the comatose man flowers? Peter? Your awake?!Its a fix-it, cause I cant resist!

The Shepherd Boy and the Wolves

Author: Guede

Summary: After Derek’s nearly seduced by a hunter into betraying his family, his mother thinks it’s a good idea to send him out into the world and learn how not to fall for traps like that. Peter comes along, because Peter likes exploring, and that’s why they decide to explore a haunted mountain.Stiles lives on that mountain. With his sheep. They’re very tasty-looking, and well, Derek and Peter are werewolves.Hah.

Temporary Claim

Author: run_for_me

Summary: Some, of course, are off limits. Queen Talia and her husband have their special favorites who join their marriage bed from time to time. Laura has several young strapping men that are hers and hers alone. Even Derek has a few favorites—the quiet ones, the sweet ones.Peter? The Duke only has one.

Hooked

Author: Udunie

Summary: The car stopped right by him, so he pushed himself away from the wall, walking up to it, licking his lips as he saw the window being lowered.“Hey there,” he said. The first contact always felt awkward, no matter how many times he did it. But at least he knew that he would be A-okay once he was on his knees, sucking the guy like there was no tomorrow.He was a bit taken aback when he saw the driver, because… well, the man was hot as burning. Older, around forty, with a goatee and eyes so blue they sent a shiver down his spine.Stiles had the instinctive urge to back away. It didn’t add up. The guy oozed confidence, had money and was handsome. Absolutely no reason to hire a hooker, when anyone would have wept in joy to get on his dick.“How much for a night?” he asked, giving Stiles a long, calculating look.He should have just sent him away, he knew it. But the deadline on the rent was scratching at the back of his mind, not letting him think clearly. Stiles bit his lip. Fuck it.

The Pack Comes First

Author: RebaK1tten

Summary: The Hale Pack and the McCall Pack have bordering territories and both can benefit from being affiliated with each other. And the surest way to do that is for a mating between a member of each pack.

Soul Hates

Author: TriscuitsandSoup

Summary: Stiles always knew that Peter Hale was his soulmate, he just didn't expect that Peter's was somebody else.“I found the documents, Peter,” Stiles said, his teeth grinding together in a hiss. “I found them. My name was never on your arm. You. Lied.”

Wrong But You’re SO Much Fun

Author: sneksonaplane

Summary: The first night Stiles added Ian on snapchat, they sexted for half the night and he came three times. And now Stiles was...here. He’d been talking to the older man for three weeks now and was officially hooked. It wasn’t like they had anything official going, there certainly weren’t feelings involved, they were just friends who sexted a lot. And talked every night, usually until Stiles passed out from exhaustion. And he called Ian Daddy sometimes when they messaged each other. No big deal.

the one where Stiles runs a porn blog and has a major daddy kink, and he starts anonymously sexting with Peter without either of them realizing it. Both of them use nicknames to avoid giving out their real names on the internet, and Peter's fake name/nickname that he uses when he first starts talking to Stiles is "Ian" because I'm garbage. Expect errors and poor formatting because I'm betaless.

Worn Out Shoes

Author: moonstalker24

Summary: When the dead rise, and the world comes to an end, the McCall Pack must learn to live in this new world, or die in the attempt. This is the story of the end, and of the year that follows.

Taste, Touch Fuck

Author: about_two_cats

Summary: Peter comes home to the smell of Omega filling up the apartment. He knows it can come from only one source, the adorable little omega he’s with, Stiles. He follows his nose and finds Stiles ready for a good fucking.

Not Meek, Not Biddable, Too Unconventional So Very Stiles

Author: ladyoneill

Summary: In a world where Betas have become the norm, but Alphas are still the leaders, the wealthy, the powerful, Omegas are very rare and the only ones who can birth or sire Alphas with other Alphas. Born to two Betas, raised as a Beta, of course Stiles presents as an Omega on his sixteenth birthday because his life sucks that way. One month later is his ceremony where technically he chooses an Alpha as his mate for the rest of their lives, and Stiles is given three options. One isn't ever going to happen, a second doesn't really want him, so he chooses the third--a man twice his age, scarred and just out of a six year coma. Scared, because he has very few rights and this stranger can do anything to him, control any aspect of his life, and Stiles isn't a stereotypical submissive Omega happy to be home ironing shirts and suckling babies, he's surprised to find that Peter isn't a stereotype either (for one, he's a damn good cook). Is it possible that his life won't suck that much after all?

Whose Woods These Are

Author: moonstalker24

Summary: Stiles chooses the house simply because it’s far enough out in the wilderness to be away. His… reticence for human contact on any given day coincides entirely with how much pain he’s in when he wakes up the morning. His patience is limited, and he has more bad days than good… So Stiles moves into an old house out in the woods like a creepy serial killer. Reminds himself that other people suck on a regular basis and just sort of gets on with it… It isn’t until after several sightings that Stiles realizes that the wolf is following him. If the wolf decides it wants to eat him, Stiles would be a pretty easy meal….

A Little Too Ironic

Author: RebaK1tten

Summary: Stiles is an omega who needs to find a trusted alpha, purely for legal reasons. Peter Hale is probably not his first choice.

Love What is Behind You

Author: KouriArashi

Summary: Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

Misconception

Author: TriscuitsandSoup

Summary: After weeks of trying Stiles is still unable to get pregnant. He struggles with depression and anxiety, and worries his alphas might choose to leave him for another omega.“Oh god,” he breathed, fumbling out another test from the box. He almost dropped it twice. Twenty minutes later he had another result, just as conclusive as the first. Not pregnant. Not pregnant. Not pregnant.

I Don’t Like You, But I Love You

Author: sweetbutterbliss

Summary: He smells him before he sees him, the scent competing over the sticky smell of stale beer and sweat. It smells like burnt sugar, a little bitter mixed in with the sweetness. He leaves the paperwork on the desk and steps out of his office, passing the bathrooms that he can tell Erica still hasn't cleaned.A lithe, what Peter could only describe as a boy is standing in the middle of the empty bar, one hand gripping the dolly's handle full of boxes of Hair of the Dog; one of the few werewolf beers that doesn't taste of ass. (And Peter would know.) His mouth is slightly parted as he surveys the bar and Peter suppressed thoughts of what he could put in that mouth.

Stiles the Strange Pet

Author: TriscuitsandSoup

Summary: Peter welcomes a strange new house guest.

All Hale

Author: dornfelder

Summary: Stiles wakes from the absence of warmth at his back and the sound of a toilet flushing. He moves his tongue from where it’s stuck to his palate and filling his mouth with the taste of stale death. Blinking gritty, itching eyes open, he finds the world too bright, too real to deal with just yet. He snuggles up closer to Derek, burrowing into his bulk. Derek’s reaction is a content rumble. He pulls Stiles closer. Beard stubble grazes his neck as Derek opens one sleepy eye.Wait – wait. What. The fuck?Stiles sits up. Derek’s arm falls from his waist and he watches Derek’s eyes grow wide with dawning horror that mirrors his own.“Good morning, my lovelies,” Peter’s cheerful voice announces from the doorstep. “Rise and shine. Early wolf catches the deer.”

Starverse

Author: Green

Part 1: All My Stars Aligned

Summary: Stiles needs to find an alpha ASAP. Actually, the doctors say he really needs two. Damn biology.Chris and Peter are two alphas in hopeless, doomed love with each other.

Part 2: Starcrossed

Summary: That was where it started, when their eyes met, and Chris smiled. Peter melted and fell in love in an instant, and kept falling in love every single time he dared to look again.

^sidenote: nearly made it to my TOP FAVS list

The Sphinx of Beacon Hills

Author: Guede

Summary: Stiles is a sphinx, and he’s winging his way to visit his buddy Scott when a storm drops him in Beacon Hills, the craziest, crankiest, coldest place ever. And somehow, he ends up with a bunch of werewolves.

Talia’s Master Plan For Love

Author: Irukashi_Narukib

Summary: Basically Peter wants nothing to do with this but can't avoid it. Same with Stiles but shit happens anyway. HAHA fuck them both.

Born Of Shadows

Author: xxxillusionxxx

Summary: Something is strange about Stiles and Peter is the only one who seems to notice.

Wake Me Up

Author: ToAStranger

Summary: Stiles has been in a coma for six years. Now he's awake.

The High is Worth the Pain

Author: thegirlwhoknits

Summary: Stiles is an emissary-in-training whose teacher has sent him to Peter for his first-level initiation tattoo. The only problem is, Stiles has a kind of embarrassing reaction to pain...

Suppressants are Dumb Anyway Series

Author: vaudevillian_villainess

Part 1: Good Little Omega

Summary: Stiles is such a good little omega for his Alpha.Series

Part 2: The Price of Love

Summary: Peter and Stiles have to tell everyone about their mating...fun times!

A Welcome Arrow

Author: 1001cranes

Summary: The wedding is small and grim, because Stiles is being carted off to parts unknown, married to a thirty-something year old dude who wants to marry a seventeen year old dude - totally not creepy at all. Regency AU.

Name

Author: Corpium

Summary: When Stiles goes back in time to save Paige and stop Gerard, he doesn't expect Peter Hale.

Pigments and Pentacles Series

Author: SushiOwl

Part 1: Magic Needle

Summary: “One--” He stabbed the needle right through skin and cartilage, pulling a loud squawk out of Stiles.Stiles sucked in a few quick breaths then started to laugh. “You son of a bitch,” he snorted. “You said on three.”“I lied,” Peter replied, smiling down at him.Series

Part 2: You Give Me An Oral Fixation

Summary: "So, I want more piercings.""Oh? And where would these piercings be?""Guess."

Part 3: Time To Improvise

Summary: "Want to hear something weird?""From you, I've come to expect it.""Well, this time it's about your penis.""Do tell."

Part 4: Pillow Talk

Summary: “You’re going to have to move if you want to fuck me, y’know,” he murmured in Peter’s ear.Peter smiled. “I don’t plan on moving,” he told him. “I’m so comfortable.”“Then how are…?” Stiles asked, sounding adorably confused. Peter gave him a moment, and he let out a soft ooh. Peter looked at him over his shoulder and saw him lick his lips. “You serious about this?”“I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise,” Peter told him, before he snuggled back into the pillow. “Think you can handle doing all the work?”

Part 5: Back In Black (Fur)

Summary: “What are you doing?” Stiles asked as the backs of his legs hit the bed and he flopped down on his back. “You’re not seriously going to molest me in my father’s house, are you?”“The concept absolutely tickles me,” Peter admitted, climbing over Stiles and bracketing him with his arms and legs. “I want to make you scream in your old room and know that I’m the first.”Stiles snorted. “Narcissist.”“Most definitely,” Peter agreed, leaning in to kiss him.

Part 6: Mark My Skin

Summary: There's a new wolf at the shop.Series

Part 7: Moon High

Summary: “You did that purposely, didn’t you?”“Of course I did,” Stiles said, putting his arm around Peter’s shoulder. “I know about that possessive streak of yours, and I like to see it come out.” He started to pull Peter back towards the bar.“Do you now? Do you want me to stake a claim? I could jerk off on your face right here, but we’ll probably get arrested.”Series

Part 8: And Then There Were Three

Summary: "You okay, Carina?" Stiles asked, sitting down in his chair.Carina chewed at her bottom lip a second. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just wanted to ask you guys something," she said, straightening up. "Formally."

Part 9: You Two Are Dorks (But So Am I)

Summary: "I need an apprentice," he said as he lined up his ink cups. He wanted someone to make everything ready for him so he could focus on just the tattoos."You should make Stiles do it," Carina said, not lifting her eyes from the Plants vs Zombies design she was working on. "Since he doesn't contribute.""Hey," Stiles said, turning away from his studying to look at her. "I'm doing very important work here. So nyeh." He stuck out his tongue.Series

Part 10: Alliances

Summary: “Aw, Peter made a friend,” Stiles cooed.

Part 11: For You, For Me, For All Of Us

Summary: A few days later, the doorbell jingled, and a familiar scent hit Peter’s nose. He turned, already smiling, and there was Vince at the door, grinning ear to ear.

Part 12: Red Splash

Summary: "Can we keep him?"

Part 13: Wild Run

Summary: “I can’t just get naked in front of you guys like that, jeez,” he said, turning and heading for the trees. “I need some privacy!”“Performance issues?” Carina called after him.“It happens to everyone!” Reggie added, before he and Carina started to giggle.

Part 14: Hold Me Down

Summary: Some birthday cake and a birthday dance.

Ecosystem Engineering and the Werewolf

Author: Guede

Summary: Stiles and his dad work for the U.S. Forest Service, which sends them to Beacon Hills. It’d be nice if Stiles could stop running into the Hales. He’s got bodies to get rid of.

more fics: part 5

#teenwolf #fanfiction #fanfics #fanfic #fanfic rec #steter #peter hale #stiles stilinski

75 notes · View notes

valamerys · 7 years

Note

I really enjoy your blog so is it okay if I ask you top 10 pet peeves in novels? It can be tropes or even a niche moment in a particular book. I like writing myself and would appreciate the help.

hmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM sure, I can come up with some things! bear in mind I read almost exclusively fantasy, and mostly “low” ie not game of thrones fantasy at that, including a loooot of YA, so my items will reflect that.

Top (YA, Fantasy) Fiction Pet Peeves:

1) Unnecessary post-apocalyptic setting WHY THE FUCK. DO PEOPLE KEEP DOING THIS. WHAT DOES THIS GAIN ANYONE. WHAT IS THE POINT. Red Queen, The Selection, The Queen of the Tearling, and that weird TV show The Shanarananaharahahananaaa Chronicles all do this. It’s, frankly, a cheap-ass bid for Dark and Gritty points, and also an excuse to set things in America But Fantasy, and it’s always bad and awkward. This isn’t planet of the apes, just make your damn fantasy world; you don’t have to try to make it more ~realistic~ by putting the ruins of the statue of liberty in the background. That’s stupid and you’re stupid.

2) One-note characters Mostly present via The Bitch or The Bully stereotype, but also seen in The Bratty Brother, The Sweet Sister, The Spacey DGAF Parent, and the Eccentric Wise Elder. I get that there’s not time to flesh out every single person your protagonist comes into contact with, but certain archetypes are so fucking boring and done to death that I tune out immediately. It’s not 2004 anymore. The game has evolved. We can do better. We can be more interesting.

Related to the sweet sister trope, I’d like to bring up this text post from my other blog:

3) When the protagonists’ actions/ choices do not affect the plot Alright, this one isn’t even a pet peeve, it’s basic narrative construction. Your story is supposed to be about your protagonist (or your two or three protagonists, in a multi-pov story, but for simplicity’s sake we’ll talk about one) and their arc, how they change and grow. a) If their actions never have consequences, how the fuck do they, like, learn things? and b) if their actions have no bearing on the climax of the story, how the fuck does the story demonstrate that they’ve changed, or come to a meaningful conclusion that’s related to that? Sure there’s weird literary exceptions, and certainly some fantasy in particular is more plot than character driven, but if your character is honestly never proactive, particularly through the ending of the book, uh, i have a major problem and so should you.

4) The Mandatory Feminism Stuff we should all know these by now. “Not Like Other Girls” is bad. Hating on corsets and other femme paraphernalia is bad (and moreover i personally resent it because I love corsets). A book with a female protagonist and no other important female characters (or only evil female characters) is bad. A high fantasy series that builds its worldbuilding on a raging patriarchy for the purpose of elevating a few specific women into positions of power for superficial RAH RAH FEMINISM points while not addressing systematic oppression is really, really bad. Defining female empowerment as only one thing (IE picking up a sword and Proving Yourself just as badass as all those scoffing men!!!) is bad. I’m very tired and I want to read about women-- different kinds of women, with different moral alignments and interests and abilities and ethnic backgrounds and ages and sexualities and beliefs-- helping each other and being forces in the world and in each others’ lives. That’s it. That’s all I want. I have no clue why that’s so elusive.

5) Characters being flippant to the point of stupidity because........ that’s cool, i guess? Homygod, I am so sick to my teeth of characters who would get their asses kicked IRL for being obnoxious and overly glib be appraised with “wow, you’ve really got some nerve! I like you, kid!” or some variation therof. Mouthing off to superiors/ royalty? Charging into a fight on a stray heroic impulse despite everyone with a brain and their mom telling you you’re going to die because you just picked up swordfighting on tuesday? flagrantly and thoughtlessly disregarding engrained cultural things because they don’t align with your conveniently 2017 sense of social justice despite you living in an analogue-medieval world? Not cute. It will get you fucking killed. If your character doesn’t seem to grasp that, I’m going to think they’re a dumbshit, and if the book rewards rather than punishes that, I’m not going to take it very seriously. (obviously there are exceptions to this, particularly if your world doesn’t take itself very seriously, but if you expect to instill a real sense of danger in day-to-day life, your protagonist doesn’t get to be exempt from that because they’re hot and witty.)

6) Also, characters being stubborn. This goes with my last point, because it’s another trait people seem to think is like cool, or something? That stubborn people are stubborn because they’re Strong? that it’s a flaw but it’s actually a Cool Flaw, like in job interviews when they ask your weakness and you say “i’m just TOO hard of a worker, ha ha ha”? U see this a lot in female characters written by people who are uncomfortable writing female characters, i think because, again, it mistakenly reads as Strength on some really superficial level, and because the banter and petty conflict that arises from it temporarily distracts from weak overall characterization. If you’re going to write a character being stubborn, that’s great! But understand that a) it’s a real flaw that can genuinely blind them to good ideas and cause unnecessary friction that shouldn’t be treated as endearing, b) it’s not a replacement for other elements of characterization!! and c) it’s the flipside of being assertive, which is a good thing: no trait is only a flaw or a strength, and so any trait a character possess in abundance should both help and hinder them at different times, with maturity level tempering the bad, to a degree. stubbornness is no different.

7) Sexual assault (or the threat of it) all over the fucking place. Do i have to explain this one? Of course ownvoices books about sexual assault survivors are good and necessary but we are all sick to death of "fun” fantasy worlds where the female characters exist under the constant and unending threat of rape, where sexual assault is common as window dressing and the love interests are Super Special Feminist Snowflakes for being so revolutionary as to take consent into account. fuck that. that should be the bare fucking minimum. i am so tired.

8) The Six-Pack Sex Appeal Golem Honestly, I am not here to hate on love triangles, because I am ALL ABOUT the romance and the more the merrier. But what i do really, really loathe is the incredibly narrow parameters that have come to exist for male love interests, to the point where they all tend to feel like the same guy in need of anger management: a little broody, smart, serious, jealous and protective to a fault, if we get his POV we get real creepy sexual thoughts out of nowhere while he acts vaguely standoffish and probably a little patronizing to a woman whose Attitude gives him a boner. This man does not experience emotions that can’t be interpreted as darkly sexual, or possibly A Little Bit Vulnerable, just for that one scene of mandatory backstory reveal. I recently reviewed a real bad romance novel and described the hero as “a barely-consistent golem of toxic masculine ideals” and that’s what I’m talking about here. MAKE YOUR LOVE INTERESTS WELL-ROUNDED AND UNIQUE CHARACTERS LIKE ALL YOUR OTHER CHARACTERS. Forget what’s “sexy,” I wanna see the male love interests be Soft and Weird and cry in an unattractive way. For further reading/ a great case study of the Masculine Golem, please just read this article about how abysmal the romance in ROAR is. (For what it’s worth, I actually think SJM manages to avoid this in the ACOTAR series. Rhys and Tamlin suck but they are still mostly consistent characters, not just shells inhabited by the spirit of heterosexuality. your mileage may vary, though.)

9) Secret Superpower/ She Was The Missing Princess/ Queen All Along I think this is a trend that’s slowly but surely passing from YA, but for a while you couldn’t throw a rock in a bookstore without hitting a trilogy where a long-lost missing princess was established in chapter 1 and you spent the whole fucking first book knowing the orphaned heroine with a murky past was gonna turn out to be the princess and you were always right. Queens are also a huge fucking thing right now, although they don’t tend to follow that exact formula. See also the character’s discovery of a superpower catapulting them into a new exciting life-- basically any discovery of a Cool Sexy birthright as a catalyst for a plot is kind of played out and boring, at this point in time? This ties into my earlier point about wanting characters’ choices to shape the plot; it’s so much easier to have them reacting to external forces, especially dramatic, aesthetic ones, i get that, but you’ll get a more original and interesting story the more you resist that urge. And everyone is fucking tired of secret princesses and can spot them a mile away, y’all.

10) OMG magic is outlawed!!! BUT WAIT THE PROTAGONIST HAS SECRET MAGIC! CAN SHE RISE ABOVE PERSECUTION AND HER PROBABLE ROMANCE WITH THE PRINCE OF THIS POORLY-THOUGHT-OUT TOTALITARIAN REGIME TO LEAD ALL MAGIC-HAVERS TO FREEDOM AND ACCEPTANCE???? If you do this i’m going to come to your house and pour a cup of soda on your head. This is dumb and I can’t believe I’ve seen it multiple times. I’m not even explaining this it should be obvious.

Honorable mentions go to: Excessive mentions/ descriptions of eye color, really tired ways of describing kissing, elemental magic is super fucking overdone, instalove, and Training Montages

115 notes · View notes

chrismaverickdotcom · 7 years

Text

The Logan Supremacy.... (no spoilers)

I’ve kind of gotten sidetracked away from doing movie reviews for a bit here. Sorry about that. I’m still not quite sure if anyone cares. People say they want my take, but it always feels like there’s far more people interested in my political stuff. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to write one for Split for a while (saw it a few weeks ago) and didn’t get to it. So now I’m not sure if anyone is interested anymore. Let me know.

That said, there’s a new superhero movie out. Logan. And of course I have to review that one. So here we go.

I’m kind of wondering if the post award season hard-R superhero movie spot is just going to become a thing with Fox. After last year’s Deadpool (which I liked a lot) and this year’s Logan, Fox seems to have something. Certainly something beyond what they did with Fant4stic and X-Men: Apocalypse, both of which pretty much royally sucked. I’m actually quite happy to say that with Logan, they actually had something going here.

I always try to avoid spoilers in these as best I can. Here it’s going to be quite easy because my thoughts on what made Logan work really don’t have much to do with the movie at all. It’s more about what they DIDN’T do that really works for me.

I’m actually kind of starting to hate movie franchises. It’s not just that they’re cash grabs. All movies are cash grabs. All products are cash grabs. That’s just how it works. Everyone wants to make money. And I understand that you need big tentpole films in order to make Hollywood work. And that’s the honest truth of it. For anyone who likes to say that they don’t care about these big budget extravaganzas, you need to understand that they keep Hollywood running. Without big budget superhero films, there is no La La Land or Moonlight. It’s a sharing of the wealth. That’s just the business. And movie franchises have always been a big part of that. I mean literally always. Go all the way back to the Golden Age of Hollywood. We have Casablanca, Citizen Kane and Singing in the Rain because your great grandparents sat through a shit ton of really godawful Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan movies and that’s not to mention Ma and Pa Kettle or Andy Hardy. Because no matter what you like to remember about the Golden Age of cinema… no matter what La La Land and Hollywood want you to believe… most of it was basically a big shit show. Just like now. In fact, in those days — Code Era Hollywood — it was even worse.

But one of the things that the franchises understood back in those days was that they weren’t TV (or maybe more accurately they weren’t radio). The Tarzan films are not high art, but they all stand alone. They are related, but only nebulously. The order of them doesn’t even really make all that much difference. So long as you saw the first one and know the origin story, you’re good to go with any of the. Frankly, if you missed the first one, you’ll basically figure shit out. White dude with the accent of a caveman, swings from vines and yells a lot. Hell, if for some reason you want to make a Tarzan movie without Johnny Weissmüller, just throw in Buster Crabbe. Who the fuck will know the difference?

And this is how franchises have always worked. After the days of movie serials (which were weekly, like TV shows), Hollywood learned that you couldn’t expect everyone to see every film in the franchise and certainly not to wait a year or two for the next installment of a story. This has been the way of franchises for movie history. Even serialized films like Star Wars didn’t require all the parts to tell the story. That’s why they were able to start with EPISODE FUCKING FOUR and most people never even noticed. James Bond is theoretically one ongoing franchise, but it doesn’t make sense in the slightest. Actors change. Events contradict each other. There’s a soft reboot for the most recent Daniel Craig films which takes them back into being prequels to most of the other ones (or a replacement in the case of the Casino Royales) but even those don’t make sense, because they retain the M (Judi Dench) that was hired in the final Pierce Bronson pictures. But it all just kind of works. Because there’s just an understanding by the viewer that continuity in the Bond Universe only matters when it does. The individual films are consistent in themselves and that is is enough. You can watch any Bond film and its fine. The others may or may not have canon that happened. It doesn’t matter. No one cares. If you’re doing a Bond marathon and you happen o hate Octopussy. Just skip it. I doesn’t matter. The same is true of Tarzan, Andy Hardy or (to a lesser extent) even Star Wars.

But somewhere along the way, this broke. Maybe it was Empire Strikes Back that broke it. Even though i remains the best Star Wars movie, it really doesn’t have a beginning or an end. It’s all middle. But it was certainly broken by he time we got to Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. Hollywood figured out that they could make us pay to see episodic TV in theaters. And frankly it kind of sucks.

Not all franchises are like that. The success of the Marvel films is that even though they’re sort of episodic, they don’t really rely on each other much. At least not really Avengers: Age of Ultron kind of did, and it’s one of the things that I really don’t like about that movie. It’s one of the big problems with Batman v. Superman. That’s not really even a movie. It’s a lot of set up for other movies that hasn’t been earned yet. What makes the Marvel films work is that when I walk out of the theater, I (usually) feel like I’ve seen a complete and conclusive story — even if it is a story that is part of a larger one. What makes a franchise not work is when each installment is more concerned with locking the viewer in for the next installment OR PREVIOUS ONES than it is with telling it’s own story.

What made Logan work is that it just didn’t give a fuck.

And it was great because of it. Like Deadpool, this is a movie that exists within the X-men universe. But only in the most superficial of ways. It matters in the same way that it matters that any Bond films related or any Tarzan films. Instead of trying to tell an X-men franchise story, James Mangold directed a simple and compelling action movie that happens to be set in the X-men world. In effect it isn’t really an X-men movie at all. It’s a Jason Bourne movie. It’s a John Wick movie. It’s Léon, The Professional, where the part of Léon will now be played by Wolverine.

And it was fucking awesome.

Ot at least it was awesome for what it was. If you like Jason Bourne style action movies, you should love this. It is the story of a reluctant hero, put into a situation which he didn’t choose, where his only way out is to kill a lot of people. REALLY a lot of people. And kill them… like a bunch. Like so much killing. Like if you’re into a movie where dead fuckers are stacking up left and right. This is the movie for you. If you don’t want to see that, you will not enjoy this. Because there is so so so so so so very much killing going on.

And I’m trying to review this for what it is. This is a franchise movie. It is not high art (which The Professional inexplicably is). It doesn’t want to be. It is trying to be the best franchise movie it can be and the best killing spree movie it can be. I am judging it on that merit. The action was fun. The killing was gory. It gives movies like Bourne and Wick a serious run for their money. At the same time, there is enough of a compelling story to gesture towards something like The Professional to make it something more than a mindless action spree. It has heart and soul in a way that most movies in this genre really don’t. There are real stakes for the character and between the killing… oh so very much killing… the film gives you a reason to care for the characters and want them to succeed. I mean, a reason beyond wanting to see them survive to kill some more.

But it didn’t rely too heavily on it’s franchiseness. What you need to know about the other X-men/Wolverine movies. Logan is a guy with claws and a healing factor. Professor Xavier is a guy with mental powers. They’re mutants. Nothing else matters. These things aren’t explained. Much like it’s never explained why Tarzan is in the jungle or talks funny after the first movie. Why does John Wick have a gun? Cuz he’s a dude with a gun. That’s who he is. Let’s move along.

Beyond that, the other movies don’t matter. Frankly, a lot of the events of the other movies are kind of contradicted by this one. And that’s fine. It just doesn’t matter. Like Bond, continuity only matters in this film when it does. And when it doesn’t, Mangold just doesn’t give a fuck. In fact, probably my least favorite part of the film are the time (relatively few times) that Mangold tries to address the ongoing X-men continuity just to keep the geeks off his back. It’s done with a bit of a wink. He lets you know that the film doesn’t really “fit” and he doesn’t care. The Wolverine character pretty much tells you that directly. It’s too much. I don’t need it and it took me out of the movie. It’s a double edged sword I guess. If he didn’t do it, there’d be a bunch of assholes on Twitter saying “but this doesn’t work, because the events of X-men: The Last Stand say this other thing. Mangold is explicitly saying “I know. I don’t care. That movie fucking sucked and this one is better. Deal with it!” And he’s right. He did make a better movie. But it would be even better still if he didn’t have to say that in the film itself. Bond films never apologize for being Bond films.

The particulars of the film are pretty good. Hugh Jackman and Patrick Stewart are excellent in their characters… and they should be since they’ve had 17 years of practice. Dafne Keen is also very good in the role of Laura. She’s not going to be getting Natalie Portman/Mathilda style accolades… but she was good and I hope she has a future in it. Seeing her fight as an 11 year old girl was cool, though there were some points where it was kind of obvious that she was stunt doubled or CGI’d out in a way that it isn’t as much so with Jackman and that makes her seem a little more artificial in an otherwise very gritty film. The rest of the cast is basically “okay.” I don’t feel like there is anyone else I can really rave about, but no one is offensively bad (and that’s a positive in a movie like this).

So I recommend seeing it. Especially if you’re a fan of Bourne style movies. It is an excellent entry into that genre (generally not one of my favorites) and, assuming this really is Jackman’s final time in the role as he has said, a great send off to his version of the Wolverine character. Just don’t look for much else out of the film than that. Instead, appreciate it for all he things that it doesn’t do.

And it is the best there is at what it doesn’t do… well… maybe not the best… but pretty damn good.

★★★★☆ (4 out of five stars)

Logan ‘Sunseeker’ Promo: Wolverine Drives a Limo Now

The new ‘Logan’ trailer shows off female Wolverine with Hugh Jackman

Logan review: Hugh Jackman’s last turn as Wolverine is the real, shotgun-toting, limb-lopping deal

‘Logan’ Won’t Have a Post-Credits Scene After All, But May Still Have Something Extra

Every ‘X-Men’ movie ranked worst to best

LOGAN Review: Farewell, My Lovely

Logan Continues to Mutate into Johnny Cash Music Video With Possible B&W Version

Logan Photos: Hugh Jackman Says Goodbye to Wolverine

Asriyati liked this post

(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = "//connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1&appId=1449198322001470"; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, "script", "facebook-jssdk"));

The Logan Supremacy…. (no spoilers) was originally published on ChrisMaverick dotcom

#franchises #Hugh Jackman #James Mangold #laura #Logan #movie review #Patrick Stewart #Professor X #X-23 #X-Men (film)#X-Men Origins: Wolverine #X-Men: Apocalypse #Xmen

1 note · View note