Hii! Call me Mavix, i'm not comfortable with sharing my real name unless you're a mutual, i always use femenine pronouns with myself but i also like it when people use other pronouns with me.
Also english isn't my first language so my writing is probably bad lol. I'm a minor, i'm 15 so i dont really feel comfortable talking with people older than 18, the same with people that are 12 or younger, but i dont mind if they interact.
I will use this blog just to talk about my dr's, my main (and only lol) dr's are my TWD and CoD dr :3
βΉ ΰ£ͺ Λ . β ΰΌ DNI ! : Racists, homophobics, Trump, Elon and Milei supporters, sexist people, Melanie Martinez fans (i dont have any problem if you listen to her music), Israel supporters, Hoyoverse supporters, people who support JKR, people who dont respect other people beliefs.
βΉ ΰ£ͺ Λ . β ΰΌ FANDOMS ! : TWD is my main fandom!! Arcane (please let me ignore the 2nd season bc it was hideous π), Kingsman, Craig Of The Creek, CRK, CaseOh, She-ra, Marvel, Slashers (Mostly my bbg Bubba). Also CoD is my other main fandom but i dont support any of the actors (heres why)
β―β² how could you write the j word 4 times and not censor it any time YOU DELINQUENT
I ran out of ideas with the banners sorry, anyways requests still open
O1 β Ghostwriter, so basically you do something (write a song, a book, or just have the concept for a movie/game wtv) and you sell it to someone (like, you write a song and sell it to Beyonce) you can or not get credit publicly, which is a good option if you don't want to be famous in your dr.
O2 β Archivist, basically you collect, organize, and preserve historically valuable records and digital files. But in your dr you don't need to make it about historical stuff, you could make it like, idk, archivist of FNAF? Archivist of Cris-Chan's life? Anything you like!
O3 β Worldbuilder, people pay you to create fantasy worlds, to make the maps, culture, creatures, history. (J.K Rowling needed this but wtv)
O4 β Professional aesthetician(? (I think it has other name) you decorate people's room, or socials, you decorate people's space and it completely matches their vibe and it always satisfies and surpasses their expectations.
O5 β Napper tester, companies pay you to test how comfortable their beds, couchs, or even pillows are.
O5.5 β Second option because the nape gave me an idea, you find weird but comfortable places to nap, example: the top of a mountain where a big rock covered by leaves is comfortable enough to sleep in.
O6 β Pet translator, you don't actually talk to animals (or you could), but you "interpret" their barks or meows for what they want or they're trying to say, you also train them to understand human language.
O7 β Cheer?? Idk what to call this, people who don't have anyone/are alone hire you to show up to their minor achievements (like a small win at a game) and cheer for them and hype them up.
O8 β Taste tester, you just eat weird new snacks and give your opinion on them, if it tastes good, if the texture it's weird, etc etc.
O9 β Gift wrapper, basically you make the packaging of boxes, gifts and stuff to match the theme, you're creative with them and the way you decorate the package it's something no one would think about but it perfectly goes with what the costumer wanted.
1O β Lost item finder, someone lost a single sock? Youβre the person they call to help them look in all the weird places and you always find them in places they had already looked (like a mom lol)
11 β Place hunter (?), ok so someone has a place to hang out with their friends, example, they want an abandoned cabin in the middle of the forest, you explore the area until you find a place like it and tell them about it.
12 β Plant sitter, you get hired to look at people's plants and inspect them to see if they're okay, if they're growing properly, if they need more water, if they need to change it from the spot is in, etc.
13 β Playlist maker, people give you a vibe, moodboard, quotes, ship, characters, situation, anything and you make a playlist based on it, you always make them so nichiterally (niche + literally) acurrate and spot on.
14 β Advicer (??, basically people talk to you about what they're going through, and you give them multiple advice and what could happen/how would it go depending on what they do or what advice they act on.
15 β My name is the wokerr. I think all of us scripted racism/homophobia/misogyny/etc in our dr's, but basically you talk to these people and talk to them about why what they think it's bad and harmfull and make them change their opinions. Also this could work maybe idk, with someone with internalized homophobia to "cure" it??
WAIT THAT KINDA SOUNDS LIKE BRAINWASHING OR INDOCTRINATION, well let's ignore that, like a chill or a woke dictator.
16 β Constellation mapper, you search new patterns in the stars for people, example: a couple hires you and find a constellation that looks like their name initials together.
17 β Letter writer, yk how some people are bad at expressing their emotions? Well, you write their letters for them to explain what they feel and you always understand what they feel.
18 β I have no idea what to call this, basically you help people find other people(?? Like their classmate from kindergarten who they hadn't seen in decades, with only a few descriptions you can find the person.
19 β Storyteller, you go to daycares to tell kids fantasy stories and stuff, you never ran out of ideas, you can turn everything into a story for childs (like reversing the human centipede lore to make it family friendly)
2O β Librarian organizer, people hire you to organize their book/mangas/CDs/wtv for color, date of launch(?, alphabetically, or even organize them so the colors make an image! (If you know what I mean sorry I don't know how to describe shit π)
(Not part of the section just me yapping) I actually did that with a few books that I had! Organized them so they would form my country's flag colors :3
21 β Shadow puppeter, you can perform movies/stories using only your hands and lights, your hands are very flexible which helps you to make any shape you want.
22 β Sticker designer, you draw or edit stuff to make stickers for people, you can also help them organize them, example: someone wants sticker for their laptop and you tell them in what spot each sticker would look better.
23 β This kinda goes with O4, you make moodboards, pfp, banners, etc with specific themes for people.
24 β Aesthetic scout, you find places that match someone likings, example: someone who likes the sea wants places in their city to visit, you find a sea themed club, a sea themed cafe, stores with sea themed decoration, people who also like the sea and want friends who share the same passion for sea.
25 β Workout maker, you give people the perfect workout routine for anything they want even if it contradicts itself, example: someone wants to be skinny but not lose their ass fat, you give them a routine that gives them that. (Ik it sound weird but a naturally big ass with body fat isn't the same as a big ass made with muscle from workout and all that and I'm not explaining more π)
26 β I also don't know what to call this sorry I'm dumb, basically you make the annoying tasks people have, like having to pick up a package, assemble a piece of furniture, withdraw money from the bank, etc.
27 β This one is a little messy (not Lionel), basically people hire you to find out bad/embarassing things about the people they don't like, like idk, they pissed themselves in school, they were a bird for a man, they had a failed career, idk.
28 β Character consultant, sometimes people have problems giving their OC's more stuff that makes them THEM, and you help them with that, "they're kind of guy to..", the kind of music they would listen to, what annoys them, what do they always have in their bag, stuff they liked in the past, 5 things they couldn't live without, etc etc.
29 β File organizer, people pay you to go through everything they have in their phone/laptops and organize them into specific folders, delete stuff they don't need anymore, and organize the folders order (example: the folders they visit more often at the top and the ones they don't at the bottom)
3O β Name consultant, whether its a name for a new shop/brand, or a baby, you find good words with meaning and that sound good, fit the theme, are unique, for whatever your costumer wants. Also make wombos (word + combos) with them to make it more unique, example: Peak + Macho + Nephew = Peakachew.
β ππ₯π²π’π§π ππ«π’π π‘ππ¬ β D.P & O.M.L ( Deadpool VS Old Man Logan comics )
pairing old man logan & deadpool & teen! reader πͺ½.
synopsis π₯§ you're a fairly competent mutant, you just need a little bit of training, which is how you ended up getting put under Old Man Logan's wing, and then Wade tagged along. but disgusting things are still disgusting, and much more if they fly! and that the three of you can agree on.
content π₯§ fem/afab reader.
π¬ : I LOVE THEM IN THIS COMIC GUYS IT'S A TOTAL MASTERPIECE
π· : @mavixgirl , @luna-kait .
The safehouse was, by all accounts, a shithole.
Logan had seen worseβhell, he'd lived in worseβbut that didn't mean he had to be happy about it. The couch smelled like three different kinds of mildew and something that might have been regret. The windows were cracked. The wallpaper was peeling in strips that looked suspiciously like skin. And somewhere in the walls, something was scratching.
But it had four walls, a roof, and a door that locked. These days, that was practically luxury.
He sat on the aforementioned mildew-couch, claws half-extended as he picked at a particularly stubborn piece of grime under his thumbnail. His other hand rested on his thigh, fingers drumming a slow, tired rhythm. The news was playing on the ancient TV in the cornerβsomething about a senator, something about mutant registration, something about the end of the world as they knew it.
Same shit, different decade.
From the kitchen, he could hear Wade's voice, high and conversational, layered over the clatter of opening cabinets.
"and I'm just saying, if you're going to call yourself a safehouse, maybe have some safe snacks. This is a humanitarian crisis, baby girl. There's nothing here but sadness and expired beans."
"And saltines." your voice answered, bright and amused. "Don't forget the saltines, Wade."
"Saltines are just disappointment in cracker form. They're the participation trophy of the snack world."
Logan's lip twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.
He'd been against this assignment at first. He'd made that very clear to Storm, to Scott, to Charles, to anyone who'd listen. He wasn't a teacher. He wasn't a babysitter. And he sure as hell wasn't a trainer for some kid with enough power to unspool the fabric of reality like a loose thread on a cheap sweater.
But they'd insisted. You were special, they said. An Omega-level mutant with time manipulation abilities that were still manifesting, still unpredictable. You needed guidance. You needed protection. And you needed, in their exact words, "grounding influences."
Which was hilarious, considering Wade Wilson was the most ungrounded person Logan had ever met.
"You're the only ones we trust." Jean had said, and Logan had wanted to laugh in her face. Trust? Him? He'd killed the X-Men back in his original universe, before getting sent here as a replacement of sorts for the other Logan, now dead and buried underground. He'd destroyed everything. And now they wanted him to play den mother to a teenager and a mercenary in red spandex?
But then he'd met you.
And you'd looked up at him with those bright, curious eyes and said, "Oh wow, you're even grumpier than they said you were. Love that."
That had been three months ago. Three months of missions and motels and safehouses just like this one. Three months of your endless chatter, your constant affection, your complete and utter lack of fear when it came to him. Three months of Wade's nonsense and your laughter and the strange, unfamiliar warmth that had started to settle somewhere in the hollow of his chest.
He still wasn't happy about the assignment.
But he wasn't unhappy either.
From the kitchen, your voice rang out again. "Oh my god, Wade, look! They have Pop-Tarts!"
"POP-TARTS?!" Wade's shriek of delight was loud enough to rattle the windows. "GIVE THEM TO ME. GIVE THEM TO ME NOW."
"They're frosted."
"I'M GOING TO CRY. ACTUAL TEARS. LOOK AT MY EYES. ARE YOU SEEING THE TEARS?"
Logan shook his head, finally retracting his claws. He let his head fall back against the couch, eyes drifting half-closed.
What a pair you two were, Wade and you. And what a trio the three of you made.
You were something else.
Logan's grizzled features softened almost imperceptibly at the thought of you. A teenager, chronologically speaking. Which, given your mutation, meant absolutely nothing and everything at the same time. Stuck as you were, your body having gently but firmly declined all future invitations to age, while your mind kept right on growing. Charles had explained it to him once, in that patient, professorly way of his: something about your cells existing slightly outside the normal flow of time, wrapped in a temporal bubble that had frozen your physical development in place.
"The child will outlive us all, Logan, probably even you." Charles had said, and there had been sorrow in his voice, the kind of sorrow that came from knowing exactly what that kind of immortality cost.
Logan knew that cost intimately.
Which was why, despite his best efforts to maintain his usual gruff exterior, he found himself allowing those quick hugs you liked to steal so much. Those moments where you'd barrel into his side, arms wrapping around his waist, face pressed into his flannel-covered shoulder, and he'd give your head an awkward pat before gently extricating himself. He wasn't good at this. Had never been good at this. The last time he'd been responsible for a teenage girl, things had ended in heartbreak and his claws spilling blood and a grief that still sat like a stone in his chest.
But you were different.
You were loud where Laura had been quiet. Affectionate where Laura had been guarded. You wore your heart on your sleeve and then some, climbing all over Wade like a monkey, hanging off Logan's arm during missions, chattering away about everything and nothing with an enthusiasm that was, frankly, exhausting.
And yet.
And yet, when things went sideways, when the bullets started flying and the bad guys started screaming and the blood started pooling, you went quiet. Focused. Deadly in your own right, your time-manipulation abilities making you a phantom on the battlefield, freezing enemies in place while Logan and Wade did the dirty work.
The sounds of the kitchen faded into a comfortable background hum, your laughter, Wade's theatrical declarations, the crinkle of foil wrappers.
For a moment, the world was almost peaceful.
You were brave.
Logan had seen you take a knife wound without flinching, had watched you reset a compound fracture with steady hands and a muttered "this is gonna suck, sorry," had witnessed you stare down a room full of armed mercenaries with nothing but a glare and the subtle hum of chronal energy building around your fingertips.
You were brave.
Which was why, when a scream ripped through the safe house, Logan's eyes snapped open and his clawsΒ sniktedΒ out before his brain had even fully processed the sound.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"
Logan's adamanitum spine straigthened up right away.
That was your voice. But not your normal voice. Not the bright, teasing tone you used with Wade, not the soft, earnest one you used when you asked Logan about his past. This was something else entirely.
It was not a battle scream. Not an I'm being actively-going-to-get murdered scream. Not even a Wade-just-showed-me-his-collection-of-disturbing-spideypool-fan-art scream.
This was a sound he hadn't heard since the worst days of the wasteland. This was terror.
Pure, primal, bone-deep terror.
His senses flared to life like a switch had been flipped. Your heartbeat which was usually steady, usually calm, a rhythmic baseline he'd grown used to tracking without meaning to, had shot up to a hundred and fifty beats per minute in the span of a single second. Your scent, normally sweet with undertones of something electric and faintly metallic (like ozone, like lightning, like time itself), was now saturated with the sharp, acrid stench of fear. Thick, acrid, stomach-churning. It was the kind of fear that flooded the system, that bypassed all rational thought and went straight for the primitive hindbrain. And underneath it, layered like a poison frosting on a cake made of nightmares, was disgust. Pure, visceral,Β revulsion.
Logan was on his feet before he'd consciously decided to move, muscles coiled and ready for combat, looking over to the pass-through-window, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening.
"What-"
But he didn't finish the sentence, because then you were screaming his partner's name.
"WADE! WADE WADE WADE WADEWADEWADE WADE!"
Logan relaxed, just slightly, because that wasn't the scream of someone under attack. That was the scream of someone who needed a specific person for a specific problem. And since you weren't callingΒ hisΒ name..
Next thing he knew you were flying through the kitchen, no, not flying, running, but running faster than Logan usually saw you move. Your powers clearly had to be engaged because you were a goddamn blur. And then you were launching yourself at Wade.
"I'M HERE, BABY GIRL, I'M HERE!" Wade's arms were already open, already catching you, already hauling you up against his chest like you weighed nothing at all. Which, to be fair, you kind of didn't. "WHAT IS IT? IS IT A BAD GUY? IS IT MULTIPLE BAD GUYS? IS IT TOM HOLLAND? BECAUSE I'VE TOLD YOU, I HAVE COMPLEX FEELINGS ABOUT-"
"KILL IT!" Your hands were clutching at the back of Wade's shirt, fingers twisted so tightly in the fabric that the material was straining. Your legs were wrapped around his waist. You were shaking. "KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT!"
"KILL WHAT?! BABE, YOU HAVE TO USE YOUR WORDS, I'M A MERCENARY NOT A MIND READER-"
"COCKROACH!"
Logan blinked.
"COCKROACH?!" Wade's voice pitched upward in disbelief. "You're scared of a cockroach? Baby girl. Sweetheart. Light of my life. The love of my life. You can stop time. You can punch holes in reality. You once made a Sentinel cry. And you're scared of a COCKROACH?"
"THEY'RE DISGUSTING!"
"Darlin', I've seen you wade through waist-deep sewer water without blinking."
"THAT'S DIFFERENT!"
"HOW IS THAT DIFFERENT?!"
"SEWER WATER DOESN'T HAVE LEGS!"
Logan sighed. A deep, world-weary sigh that carried the weight of decades and the accumulated exhaustion of dealing with this particular brand of chaos. He retracted his claws. The threat, apparently, was not a threat.
"You gotta be kiddin' me, sweet'eart." he said flatly.
Your head whipped around to face him through the small window in the wall, and Logan felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest at the sight of your face. You were paleβactually pale, your usual warm complexion washed out to something closer to gray. Your eyes were wide, your pupils dilated, your lower lip trembling slightly.
You were genuinely, authentically, profoundly terrified.
"It came out from under the fridge." you said, your voice wobbling. "It was fast, Logan. It was so fast."
"It's a cockroach," Logan said, though some of the harshness had drained from his voice. "They're fast. That's what they do."
"Daddy Lo' s'right, honey bunny, cockroaches are fast but that's literally all they do. They just run around, what else can they even do?"
"Do not call me Daddy Lo' ever again, big mouth."
"IT COULD TOUCH ME, WADE. IT COULD TOUCH MYΒ SHOE."
"Well, yeah, that's what shoes are for, baby girl, walking on surfaces that may or may not contain-"
"IF IT TOUCHES ME I WILLΒ VOMIT. I WILL VOMIT AND THEN I WILLΒ FAINTΒ AND THEN I WILL VOMITΒ AGAIN."
Logan grimaced slightly at the thought, not because of particular repulse towards the image of you puking his mind had just conjured, but because he knew you were capable of vomiting over a cockroach touching your shoe. Very capable.
"That's not how the autonomic nervous system- you know what, I'm not gonna argue with you. You're in distress. You're having a Moment. And as your designated Wade Wilson I am legally and morally obligated to-"
"It's still THERE, Wade, I can SEE it-"
Wade shifted, trying to turn toward the refrigerator without dislodging you, and that's when he saw it.
It was tiny, probably just an inch or two at max. It's antenas flickering harmlessly. Totally harmless.
"Baby girl, breathe. It's just a cockroach. A tiny, insignificant, probably-not-even-fully-conscious cockroach. It's not gonna-"
"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!" you shrieked, fingers twisting in the back of Wade's shirt with enough force to make the fabric strain. "IT COULD HAVE PLANS! IT COULD HAVEΒ AGENDAS! IT'S BEEN WATCHING US, WADE, I SAW ITS LITTLE EYES-"
"Cockroaches don't haveβyou know what, never mind." Wade shifted his grip, hoisting you higher against his chest, and Logan could see your legs kicking uselessly, like a child trying to run away while suspended in midair. "Logan! Old man! A little help? The baby is having a crisis!"
Logan just looked at you through the window in the wall between the living room and kitchen, claws still extended, and stared at the two of you with an expression that was equal parts bewilderment and exasperation.
"You're screaming about a cockroach."
"NOT JUST A COCKROACH!" you practically sobbed, because you were still in the throes of cockroach-induced trauma and couldn't be expected to form coherent arguments.
"It's not even aΒ bigΒ cockroach, honey." Wade continued, using a playfull cooing tone of voice that just made you want to disappear. He was bouncing you slightly like one might bounce a fussy infant. Which, given your current state of clinging and trembling and generally acting like the world was ending, wasn't entirely inaccurate. "Like, it's just small, baby. it probably doesn't even know it exists."
"I DON'T CARE HOW SMALL IT IS, FUCKING KILL IT OR I KILL YOU!"
"Wow, rude."
Wade started moving toward the kitchen, still carrying you, and you immediately tightened your grip and let out a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a warning.Β
"You're gonna scare her evern more, Wilson."
"I'm just going to kill it, step on it, while holding her, exposure therapy, old man!" He called back.
There was a beat of silence.
One second. Two. Three.
Logan heard it a split second before you did. That distinctive, horrifyingΒ bzzzzΒ of something taking flight. Something that should not, by the laws of nature and decency, have been able to fly.
And then-
Wade's heartbeat spiked.
Logan heard it as clearly as if it were happening right next to his earβthe sudden acceleration, the stutter-step rhythm of genuine fear. And your heartbeat, already racing, somehow managed to climb higher. And the scent of fear in the air doubled, tripled, became almost overwhelming as both you and Wade started screaming.
"IT HAS WINGS?!" Wade's voice cracked on the last word, climbing several octaves into territory that Logan had never heard him reach before. "WHY DOES IT HAVE WINGS?! COCKROACHES SHOULDN'T HAVE WINGS! THAT'S A VIOLATION OF THE NATURAL ORDER!"
"So what?" Logan called back, sighing in exhasperation. "Just kill it already before you give the girl an anneurysm!"
"IT HASΒ WINGS, LOGAN, IT CANΒ FLY, NOBODY SAID ANYTHING ABOUTΒ FLYINGΒ COCKROACHES-"
"WADE IT'S FLYING! WADE"
"I KNOW, BABY GIRL, I KNOW, I'M RIGHT HERE WITH YOU, WE'RE GONNA- OH GOD IT'S COMING THIS WAY- "
"WADE, WADE, WADE,Β WADE-"
"RUNRUNRUNRUNRUN-"
The screaming, at this point, was deafening.
You and Wade had apparently formed some kind of mutual terror feedback loop, each of you feeding off the other's panic until the combined volume could probably be heard three counties over, and then you were both barreling out of the kitchen, with you still in Wade's arms like a very terrified koala and Wade sprinting toward the living room with his surprisingly long legs eating up the distance.
"LOGAN!" Wade shrieked, skidding to a halt in front of the couch. "LOGAN, MY GUY, MY BEST FRIEND, MY GRUMPY UNCLE FIGURE, THERE'S A FLYING COCKROACH IN THE KITCHEN!"
Logan stared at you two.
Wade stared back, chest heaving, eyes wide behind his mask. You peeked out from where your face was still pressed against his shoulder, one eye visible, looking like you were about three seconds from passing out.
In fairness to Wade, Logan hadn't expected that either. Most cockroaches had wings, technically, but they rarely used them. They were more of an evolutionary leftover, a design feature that existed in theory rather than practice.
Apparently, nobody had told this particular cockroach that.
Still.
"You." Logan said slowly. "are Deadpool."
"I'M AWARE OF THE BRANDING!"
"And you." Logan continued, turning his gaze to you. "can literally stop time."
"I'M NOT THINKING ABOUT MY POWERS RIGHT NOW, LOGAN, THERE'S A FLYING COCKROACH!"
Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. He counted to ten. He considered, briefly, walking out the front door and never coming back.
Then he sighed againβlonger this time, more resignedβand pushed past both of you toward the kitchen.
"Stay here." he said.
"OH, WE'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE," Wade assured him.
"Both of you-" he said "are a disgrace."
"BE CAREFUL!" you called after him, your voice still wobbly. "IT'S CRAFTY!"
Logan didn't dignify that with a response.
The kitchen was small and cramped and smelled vaguely of the expired beans Wade had been complaining about. The fridge hummed in the corner. The counter was cluttered with Pop-Tart wrappers and Wade's half-empty coffee mug and your abandoned jacket.
The cockroach had landed on the counter near the sink, apparently exhausted by its brief flight. It was cleaning its antennae with its front legs, utterly oblivious to the fact that it had just sent two highly trained mutants into screaming hysterics.
You and Wade had screamed. You had fled. You were sitting in the other room right now, two of the most powerful beings Logan had ever met, reduced to terrified children by a single insect.
And that was⦠honestly, that was kind of funny.
Logan looked at it.
It looked back at him, if cockroaches could look at things, which they probably couldn't but it definitelyΒ seemedΒ like it was looking at him.
"Sorry, pal." he muttered "You picked the wrong place to visit."
Snikt.
Logan stared at the remains for a moment, then walked over to the sink. He turned on the faucet and carefully cleaned his claws, watching the dark smear wash away down the drain.
Cockroaches were disgusting, he'd give you two that.
He dried his hands on a dish towel that had definitely seen better days, checked the floor and behind the fridge one more time to make sure there weren't any more of the little bastards hiding in the shadows, and then walked back to the living room.
You and Wade were exactly where he'd left you. You were still in Wade's arms, though you'd shifted slightly so you could see the kitchen doorway. Your eyes were still wide, your grip on Wade's shirt still white-knuckled.
Wade's mask eye holes were huge, huger than usual, which was saying something about how his real eyes must be the size of dinner plates behind it.
"Is it dead?" you asked breathlessly.
Logan held up one hand. The claws were clean, but he kept them extended just for effect.
"It's dead." he said.
"DeadΒ dead?"
"Very dead."
"Are you... Are you sure? Like, really sure?"
"I killed it."
A pause.
"With my claws." He flexed them, deadpan.
"Did you- did you make sure it was really dead? Because sometimes they play dead, Logan, I've seen videos, theyΒ play deadΒ and then they come back and they'reΒ in your bedΒ and-"
"I made sure."
"How?"
Logan stared at you.
You stared back.
"I killed it," Logan repeated, with no change in tone or expression, still deadpan, like explaining something to a slow child. "With my claws. It's in multiple pieces. It's not playing anything."
The relief that flooded your face was almost offensive. You sagged against Wade, your whole body going limp, and let out a shuddering exhale.
"You're my hero, Lo'" you said.
"Don't push it."
"No, seriously. My hero. I'm going to tell everyone at the X-Mansion that Old Man Logan saved me from a terrifying winged beast."
"It was a cockroach."
"Thank you," you said. "Thank you thank you thank you-"
"Yeah, yeah." Logan finally retracted his claws and crossed his arms over his chest. "It was a cockroach, kid. Took two seconds."
"A flying cockroach," you corrected, and Logan saw Wade nod vigorously in agreement.
"Flying cockroaches are a different breed," Wade said, his voice still pitched slightly higher than normal. "They're the special forces of the cockroach world. The Navy SEALs. You can't just step on a flying cockroach-"
"I clawed it, Wilson."
"-because they have tactical advantageβwait, that's so much cooler." Wade sounded almost jealous. "I can't believe you got to claw a flying cockroach. I've been wanting to do that for years."
"You've never seen a flying cockroach before today and you were scared shitless of it."
"THE BABY WAS IN DANGER! I WAS IN FEAR FOR HER, NOT ME!"
Logan shook his head and started walking back toward the couch. He'd barely made it two steps before something in your face crumpled, just slightly, and suddenly you were reaching toward him with one hand, the other still locked around Wade's neck. Your fingers stretched out, grasping at empty air, and your lower lip did that trembling thing again.
Logan knew what you wanted.
He also knew that he was old, and tired, and had just killed a cockroach with the same weapons that had ended the lives of actual threats, and that this was ridiculous, and that he should just pat your head and tell you to get over it and go back to his spot on the couch.
But you were looking at him with those big eyes, and your scent was finally starting to settle back into something resembling normal, and Wade-
Wade was already moving.
"Here," Wade said, and before Logan could react, he was transferring you from his arms to Logan's with the smooth efficiency of someone who had clearly been planning this exact maneuver. "Your turn to hold the baby. I've done my shift. I need to go sit down and process the fact that I just saw a cockroachΒ fly. That's not- that's not natural, Logan. That's a violation of the Geneva Convention. That's a crime against God and man and every decent insect that crawls on its belly like it's supposed to."
And then Logan was holding you.
"Wade what the-"
"I've been holding the baby for like ten minutes. My arms are tired. You take the baby."
"She's not a babyβ"
"She's our baby. We adopted her. It's legally binding, I already filed the paperwork."
"There's no paperwork."
"That you know of! I forged your signature."
Logan pinched the bridge of his nose again. He was going to give himself a headache. "Wilson, i swear to god-"
You had transferred from Wade's arms to his with minimal disruptionβyour legs now wrapped around his waist, your arms around his neck, your face pressed against his shoulder. You were still trembling slightly, but less than before. Your breathing was evening out, the panicked gasps giving way to slower, deeper inhales.
"Thanks for killing the cockroach." you said softly.
Logan stood there, frozen, arms hovering awkwardly over your back.
He was not a hugger.
He was not a cuddler.
He was not the kind of person who held teenage girls in his arms while they recovered from insect-related trauma.
He was Old Man Logan. He was a killer. He was a survivor. He was a man who had lost everything and everyone he had ever loved, who had watched the world burn and been forced to keep living anyway.
He did not doΒ this.
And yet.
And yet, your weight against his chest was not unpleasant. Your hair smelled like the shampoo you'd used that morningβsomething fruity, possibly strawberry, definitely too sweet for his usual tastes but somehow fitting for you. Your fingers were curled into the fabric of his flannel, right over his heart, and he could feel your pulse gradually slowing to match his own.
"I'm never gonna recover from this," you mumbled into his shoulder. "I'm traumatized. For life. I'm gonna need so much therapy."
"It was a bug, kid."
"Don't." You pulled back just enough to glare at him, and Logan was struck, not for the first time, by how young you looked. How young youΒ were, frozen in time at sixteen, forever caught between childhood and adulthood. "Don't minimize my trauma. That thing hadΒ wings. ItΒ flewΒ at us. I saw its soul, Logan. It had aΒ dark soul."
Wade, who had collapsed onto the couch in a dramatic sprawl, threw an arm over his eyes. "She's right, Logan. Don't minimize her trauma, that's bad."
Logan looked between the two of you, Wade on the couch, clutching his chest like a Victorian maiden who'd just seen an ankle, and you in his arms, still trembling but clearly on the mend, your indignation slowly overtaking your fear.
He sighed.
It was a long sigh. A deep sigh. A sigh that carried the weight of decades and apocalypses and the particular exhaustion that came from being the only functional adult in any given room.
Then, slowly, grudgingly, his arms came up.
One hand settled on your back, right between your shoulder blades. The other cradled the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. It wasn't a hug, exactly, at least not the kind of hugs Wade gave: all-encompassing and theatrical and slightly too tight. It was something more restrained. More careful. The kind of hold a man might use when he was afraid of breaking something precious.
You made a small sound against his shoulder. Something pleased. Something relieved.
Something that sounded, impossibly, like the beginning of a giggle.
"You're warm," you mumbled. "Like a human heater. Except you're not human, so... like a... mutant heater? maybe?"
"Flattering."
"I mean it as a compliment."
"I know you do."
There was a pause. A beat of silence. The safe house settled around you, creaking and groaning in that way old buildings did, as if it too was sighing with relief that the cockroach situation had been resolved.
Thenβ
"Logan?"
"What, kid?"
You pulled back again, just enough to look up at him. Your eyes were still a little red-rimmed, your cheeks still a little flushed, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth now. You looked at him for a long moment, something soft and warm flickering across your face.
And then you leaned forward and pressed a quick, impulsive kiss to his cheek.
Logan's expression didn't change.
But his hand, the one cradling the back of your head, tightened fractionally. His thumb swept across your hair in a motion that was almost, almost gentle.
You glanced toward the kitchen, and a visible shudder ran through you. "I really, really hate cockroaches."
"Noted."
"Like,Β reallyΒ hate them. It's not rational. I know it's not rational. I've seen people die, Logan. I've seenΒ youΒ kill people. I've seen things that should have broken me. But cockroaches-" Another shudder. "Cockroaches are where I draw the line."
Wade sat up on the couch, his earlier drama apparently forgotten. "You know, statistically speaking, cockroaches are actually quite clean. They spend like ninety percent of their time grooming themselves. They're basically the cats of the insect world."
"Wade."
"I'm just saying! Maybe we misjudged him. Maybe that cockroach was just trying to live his best life. Maybe he had a wife and kids at home. Maybe-"
"Wade, I swear to God, if you don't stop talking about that cockroach like it was aΒ person, I am going to freeze you in time and draw a mustache on your mask."
Wade's hands flew to his face. "You wouldn't."
"Try me."
There was a beat.
Then Wade grinned, Logan could hear it in his voice even if he couldn't see it, "Fine, fine. I'll let the cockroach thing go. But only because you almost died of fear and I'm contractually obligated to be supportive. It's in the Deadpool Handbook, chapter seven: 'Comforting Traumatized Teenagers Who Can Manipulate the Fabric of Time.' Very specific guidelines."
"You made that up."
"I absolutely did not. Logan, back me up here."
Logan, who was still holding you, who had not yet put you down, who was beginning to suspect that he might have to carry you around for the foreseeable future because your grip on his shirt had tightened again, just sighed.
"I'm too old for this." he said.
"Too old and too handsome." Wade agreed. "Truly, a tragedy for the ages."
"I'm too old forΒ this," Logan repeated, with emphasis. "The whole.." He gestured vaguely with his chin toward the kitchen. "cockroach murder shit. I've fought Sabretooth. I've fought the Hulk. I've foughtΒ myselfΒ on multiple occasions. And now I'm killing bugs in a safe house that smells like death and regret."
"Welcome to parenting." Wade said cheerfully.
"I'm not her parent."
"You're literally holding her like a baby."
Logan looked down.
You looked up.
He was, indeed, holding you like a baby. Your legs were still wrapped around his waist, your arms still around his neck, your head now resting against his shoulder with an air of complete and total contentment. You looked, for all the world, like a child who had been scared and was now being comforted by someone safe.
Someone trusted.
Logan's chest did something complicated. Something that felt uncomfortably likeΒ feeling things.
He cleared his throat.
"Kid," he said. "You gonna let go sometime today?"
"Nope," you said, without opening your eyes. "This is my life now. I live here. In your arms. You're my new home."
"The couch is right there."
"The couch doesn't have adamantium claws."
"The couch also doesn't have back problems from holding a sixteen-year-old who refuses to walk on her own two feet."
"You love me," you said, with absolute certainty. "You love me and you think I'm adorable and you're gonna carry me to the couch and then you're gonna sit down and I'm gonna sit in your lap and we're gonna watch something stupid on TV until I fall asleep."
Logan stared at you.
You stared back, completely unbothered.
"TheΒ audacity." Logan muttered, rolling his eyes.
"TheΒ confidence." Wade corrected from the couch. "It's called confidence, Logan. She's confident in your love for her. It's actually very healthy. The therapists would approve, no arguments."
"I have arguments." Logan said.
"Your arguments have been noted and dismissed."
"I'll stab you."
"Stabbing is just aggressive cuddling, baby boy."
Logan opened his mouth to respond, probably with something cutting, probably with something involving his claws and Wade's face, but then you laughed.
It was a small sound, barely more than a huff of air, but it was bright and genuine and it cut through the air like a knife through butter.
"You two are soooo weird." you said, still smiling.
"Weird is a spectrum, honey" Wade said. "We're on the far end. It's called evolved."
"You're called insufferable."
"Says the man who's holding a teenager like a baby!"
"She asked me to kill a cockroach for her!"
"So you're her knight in shining armor?"
Logan made a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a groan and buried his face in your hair.
Logan wanted to argue.
He wanted to point out that he was not a knight in shining armor, not a comforting presence, that he was dangerous and broken and had done terrible things, that he was the last person who should be holding anyone, let alone a teenage girl who looked at him like he was something worth looking at.
But you were warm in his arms, and your scent had finally returned to normal, honey and vanilla and that faint electric hum, so instead, he sighed again.
And he carried you to the couch.
And he sat down, you still in his lap, your head tucked under his chin, your body curled against his like you belonged there.
And when Wade immediately draped himself across both of you because of course he did, because Wade Wilson had never met a personal boundary he couldn't violate, Logan didn't push him away.
He just shifted slightly, making room, and let his chin rest on top of your head.
"Don't get used to this," he grumbled.
"Too late!" you and Wade said simultaneously.
He was too old for this.
He was too tired for this.
But he still liked it.
So he exhaled slowly, let his head fall back against the couch, and closed his eyes.
"Ten minutes." he said. "Then we're done."
"Ten hours." you corrected.
"Ten minutes."
"Ten days."
"Kid-"
"I'm not moving. You're comfortable. I'm staying."
"You're stubborn."
"I learned from the best."
And Logan, despite himself, felt his mouth twitch into something that was almost, almost, a smile.
Wade noticed, of course. Wade always noticed.
"HE'S SMILING." Wade announced in a stage whisper. "HE'S SMILING AND HE THINKS WE CAN'T SEE IT. I'M DOCUMENTING THIS MOMENT FOREVER. THIS IS GOING IN MY MEMOIRS."
"Y'r memoirs aren't even a real thing, bub."
"MY MEMOIRS ARE AN EXTREMELY REAL THING AND THEY'RE CALLED 'THE WADE WILSON STORY: HOW I SAVED THE WORLD AND LOOKED GOOD DOING IT.'"
I saw that you allow requests for things to script, and I am always greedy for some things to script lmao.
I wanted to ask if you can give me any unique attention related things to script--like "it girl" stuff or if you look up "toxic attention things to script" on tiktok.
I find your posts extremely innovative and funny, thank you in advance ππ
βπ srry that I'm making this post almost like 3 months late lol I had took a 'break' from social media and that :p, anyways my requests are open!
I feel like I went out of the theme with some of these and I also I feel like my english is worse than ever :'c
Also tysm for the compliment, I feel like my posts are pretty basic but I'm trying to get better :3
O1 β yk how when a very famous person does a popular joke/trend people are like "well, trends over", that never happens to you, when you do it, the joke becomes even funnier and the trend becomes more famous, people who said "that was cringe" don't think it's cringe or unfunny anymore just because YOU did it, you make everything better.
O2 β People glaze you so hard that even other fanbases admit youβre the best, they admit you're much better than their fav and no one could never compare to you, even other celebrities recognize it.
O3 β Celebrities ALWAYS bring you up in interviews talking of how you inspire them, etc. They don't even get criticized by it, no one calls them bootlickers or dick hoppers bc everyone agrees that you're the best at everything you do.
O4 β Celebrity parties are fun, no illegal stuff (maybe drugs but wtv), they're like those party movies like 'project x' and (if you want) the things that happen there never get leaked.
O5 β Even the most experienced people take advice from you, you can change the perspective of any director for the better, you can give a designer an idea and they'll admit that you're better at this than they are, everyone in the industry know you're better at them that they are.
O6 β (related to last one) Instead of people getting mad because they recognize you're better than them, they just admire you and idolize you even more, to them it proves how fantastic you are (FANTASTIC 4!!)
O7 β On your birthday a lot of people reunite, example: on your birthday thousands of people reunite to sing your songs and practice your choreographies (if you're a singer), make a marathon of your movies/shows and cosplay your characters,and also recreate your scenes (if you're an actress), make art inspired of you (if you're an artist), compete or play sports (if you're an athlete). Also that they make the food you like, do small activities that you said you did or you like. Script that is safe and there's no fights (unless you want some drama..idk)
O8 β ALSO IF YOU WANT DRAMA, when another celebrity says something negative about you, everyone starts unfollowing immediately and turns their back on them, people start 'realizing' how that celebrity was never that good anyways. Idea: James Charles said you makeup was ugly and they lost ALL his followers in less than an hours and also missiles fell on his house?? Idk
O9 β If you're a nepo baby, people don't recognize you as it and don't call you that because you're not comparable to other nepo babies, people are just glad that you were born with famous parents so you could become the greatest celebrity of all time and have the recognition everybody knows you deserve, people feel guilty and wrong for even suggesting you had help.
1O β If you say a brand is 'mid' r a song is 'boring' that brand or artist instantly loses their cool factor. People look up to you to decide what is actually worth liking.
11 β Your projects (music, movies, etc) popularity lasts forever and overshadows other projects from other celebrities, your projects keep getting mentioned centuries after they come out (I'm writing this bc you know how a meme dies after 1 week or the hype of a new movie ends just days after it comes up??)
12 β Fans get overly excited when they see you, they pass out (like Michael Jackson's fans, BUT SCRIPT THAT THEY DONT GET ANY DAMAGE FROM IT), can't stop blushing and giggling and getting nervous when they see your face, Michael Jackson's biggest fan has the same intensity as your least intense fan.
13 β Wtv your signature anything is (Charlie xcx with THAT shade of green, Ariana Grande and her ponytaild, etc etc), people ALWAYS think of you when they see it, example: your signature animal is a owl, everytime people see an owl or something that mildly sounds/looks like an owl, they think of you, and people never say "omg not everything is about yn", basically no one complains that owls are now always associated with you.
14 β Anything you touch becomes a big trend. If you mention a song, it hits #1 on the charts. If you wear a specific type of jewelry, that jeweler gets millions of orders overnight (Tyler catastrophe reference), AND the people that follow those trends for you never get called a larper or a fake fan.
15 β When people talk about a 'talented singer' or a 'good actor' they are thinking about you even if they're talking to another person. Example: Someone is complimenting a singer about how their song is so good but they keep thinking 'yn's song is so much better anyways'.
16 β Related to the signature thing, if some other artists tries to 'take' your signature (example: a certain shade of red is your signature an am artist uses a similar shade for their album cover) people start saying how they're just try to hang up on your fame(? I'm using the translator and probably that's wrong but what I mean is that they get accused of copying you or making it just to get more popularity.
17 β People make subliminals or manifestate to look like you, but they never quite look like you, the maximum they can get is a few facial features (like your eye color, nose shape, etc) but they can never fully imitate your vibe.
18 β Nothing you do 'wrong' is seen as a flaw, when you're accidentally wearing mismatched socks, having messy hair, or smudged mskeup, it makes you messy but in a captivating way, people recognize that the thing itself may be weird or ugly but in you it looks so cool and extravagant in a good way.
19 β Every social media algorithm prioritizes you. It doesn't matter if somebody has never searched for you, never interacted with your content, somehow your content or stuff that your fand make about you, still finds them. Even people who actively try to avoid your content keep getting recommended stuff about, they could block you and a million of your fan accounts block thousands of your tags and they would still be seeing stuff about you.
2O β (this is a reach ok I'm running out of ideas pls) Teachers and professors use you as an example for literally ANYTHING, A math problem will somehow involve calculating your concert attendance (? (Did I write that right?), a language class analyze your interviews, a history teacher will compare historical figures to you, etc etc. Even teachers who aren't fans accidentally bring you up because you're just so iconic and you're in everyone's mind all the time.
21 β Other celebrities measure their success based on how you acknowledged them. Winning awards, breaking records, getting critical acclaim, selling out stadiums, none of that feels as impressive as getting a compliment, follow, interaction or even a mention from you.
22 β A random edit of you made by a 13 year old gets many more views than any official page of any other celebrity, some edits, fanfics or compilation videos of you become more famous than other albums, movies or any other piece of media that ever existed.
23 β Everytime a major event happens, people always first think "what does yn think about this?", people feel like they need you validation for everything even if they don't admit it, and even if they do admit it people don't call it weird or parasocial. And the second you give your opinion everyone gives more attention to what you said, the amount of videos/anything that were made about the topic, it increases 100Γ after you give your opinion.
24 β People never call you overrated, everyone knows that even being the most known person on earth, they still feel like you aren't praised enough by all the talent you have, all the recognition you have still doesn't feel like enough, everyone agrees you deserve more.
25 β Ending it here, no one ever gets creeped out, scared or uneasy by the popularity you have or how it affects people, I mean sure people are practically obsessed with you but it doesn't feel weird, and also about the 'everyone agrees with you' thing doesn't make you look like a dictator, people don't get scared or badly intimidated when they want to say something that contradicts what you think, it makes them a little nervous but they know they won't get any damage from it. And people being so 'devoted'(? to you and glazing you so much isn't like, cult like.
hey there I just wanted to let you know that the link in your pinned about the CoD actors doesn't work, it just leads to nothing.
Tysm for telling me!! Here's another link https://x.com/MinksStinks_/status/1731142774022426954?lang=es basically most of the voice actors are zionist, I mean what else can we expect from a military propaganda game but anyways
i had took a break from shiftblr bc i was struggling with my life so much vro, all I could think about was attempting and I didn't even have motivation for nothing, im back now because um trying to get better and it's kinda helping tbh I missed Tumblr so much :33
i was making my face claims board in Pinterest and I just realized I put all the east asian face claims in the south asian board, I'm so fckin stupid π₯
i had a little break bc i was SO happy with my life and felt like I didn't need shifting anymore, now I'm coming back to shiftblr bc my life is genuinely SHIT omfg I'm so desesperate to shift π₯
And this causes children to be perceived as failures (either by themselves, their parents and/or society at large) when they are not successful according to the logic of capital. It's one of many ways capitalism has commodified our relationships.
Engels expressed the general idea of this in "The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State"
Don't post online about what protests you plan to attend.
Be safe. Be smart. Don't fall for the weird pressure to liveblog political actions when we live in a surveillance state.
And for fuck's sake, stop posting unredacted pictures of people at protests. It's not a fucking party. It's a political action and you could get someone killed. I have a personal friend who was doxxed and harassed for MONTHS in 2020 after their photo at a protest got passed around by neonazis. Do not be a part of that happening to someone.
Anyways, my request are open! So if you want me to do something relationed to this series of "x thing to script" just send them to my inbox
O1 β people get results faster when exercising, people who do those 10 minute "results in 1 week" workout videos DO get results after doing that 10 minute workout.
O2 β SHOWS/MEDIA IN GENERAL CANT HAVE A BAD ENDING, I'm writing this one day after st ended π
O3 β this is a personal mine that I script in almost all dr's, usa, uk and israel don't exist, and in some dr i also scripted spain out.
O4 β ong script that asmr feels WAY better than it does in this reality, that is 100 times more relaxing that it is here.
O5 β electronics devices and stuff actually last, bc why are modern electronics devices so ass? They break after 2 years i hate it sm.
O6 β ts is just something i script to make my country look better, script that your country invented x thing, wifi, cars, a plastic that is not harmfull, anything, srry not sorry i just love making my country look good.
O7 β things are not more expensive that they should be, bc wdym brands are selling shoes at more than 200 dollars??
O8 β this one may be a little controversial, but for the people that dont script bad things out bc "i want it to be realistic", just script that those things happen but not as bad as in this reality, and that after x year of after you shift there, things will get better to the point theres no racism/xenophobia/homophobia/etc anymore.
O9 β SCHOOL ACTUALLY TEACH KIDS PROPERLY, bc why are schools either "yeah we let our kids bring their ipads and talk about brainrot π" or "if you don't get a 10 in this exam we will cut out your nipples", script that kids/teens wtv learn and that the teachers are respectful, kind and teach in ways that make kids like their subjects.
1O β kinda similar to the last one, people are empathic enough, because nowadays every person is either hitler 2.0 or the kind of person that could feel bad for a murderer if the murderer shows the smallest sign of regret.
11 β again this is a little similar to the last, people can take different opinions, and with this i dont mean different opinions like racism or stuff like that, i mean just normal different opinions, because weird fans be doxxing or sending death threats to anyone who doesnt praise their favorite celebrity.
12 β talking about celebrities, people dont have dont have those parasocial relationships with celebrities, "x would never" YOU DONT KNOW THEM, THOSE ARE PEOPLE YOU DONT KNOW AND NEVER WILL, that celebrity is not your best friend.
13 β Every x day, you hang out with your family/friends, example: every saturday you and your family hang out to eat pizza.
14 β ALL fanfics are actually good written, and the author keeps writing and updating the fanfic, the author never goes into hiatus.
15 β Public transport is reliable AND comfortable, it's clean, quiet, not with creeps or just annoying people. Also, you could script that public transport is entirely free and the drivers are payed by the government with the money of rich people taxes.
