#Can i just say I love this art for Hank?

[spideycain]

(Daredevil (2011) #16)

Don't mind me. Just quietly crying over two Marvel characters known for being mentally ill (one of whom is often demonized for it) finding solace in their shared experiences.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

if i said i picked up this issue for anything but drunk erik i fear i'd be lying

(Wolverine (2020) #3)

[timbit-robin-art]

I am loving your x-men art atm!! It is all so good and so cute!! Especially your chibi versions!! And I am very intrigued by your recent band au too! Logan as the reluctant yet supportive teacher is perfect! I'd love to hear more about that!! Xxxxxxx

More about Mr. Logan? Let’s see.

I think it’s a very funny idea that his backstory is the exact same despite it being an X-Men-less universe. He’s still Weapon X and did military work, it’s just that once he decided he was done with it all, he decided to become a teacher at the private school. You find this out when he’s whisked away for S.H.I.E.L.D shenanigans while the band is doing some mundane activity. Cue everyone trying to get Kurt’s chemistry grade up periodically interrupted by Mr. Logan going through actual hell.

I mentioned before that I think he knows the bass. It’s just a hobby of his, mostly to take his mind off of things, so no one else really knows he can play. Except for one specific alumni;

Mr. Logan actually recommended Rogue to Xavier’s mutant education scholarship after having a chance encounter with her. While she refused to take residency up in the Institute, she eventually gave into Mr. Logan’s urges to at least attend the school. This is the start of their delinquent-child-who-gets-adopted-by-the-gruff-old-man dynamic. Mr. Logan eventually teaches her the bass, and she really takes off with it. I can see her being a part of her own southern fem punk band after she graduates.

(I think it goes without saying that Rogue is the group’s vodka wine aunt that makes her occasional appearance. When Mr. Logan is preoccupied, leave it to Rogue to recklessly drive them to their gigs.)

Also, while we’re talking about the band universe, I think I figured out the eventual 5th member;

Meet Kitty Pryde, the freshmen that joins as their second guitar. She also knows how to play piano, but she prefers the mobility guitar grants her (she cannot stand still when she plays music). She probably met Kurt first in the music room while she was practicing for a piano recital. Though Kurt can recognize the musical talent she has, she can tell her heart isn’t into it. So now there’s a montage of Kurt and Kitty messing around with other instruments. Neither of them really know how to play anything besides piano, they’re just trying to see what feels right for Kitty. And that’s how she finds her interest in guitars.

I think it would actually take a while before she gets used to guitar. Hank would try to teach her, but Kitty’s learning style just doesn’t match well with Hank’s teaching style. So everyone thinks that she’s just not meant to play the guitar until some sort of epiphany happens, and suddenly she can absolutely shred.

She rounds out the group quite well, don’t you think?

[splatashahowlett]

sharing is caring

logan howlett x reader (inspired by @keigohawks <3)

you've been a teacher at xavier's school for gifted youngsters for a decade now and you loved everything about it. the kids were wonderful, the place was amazing and the other teachers (that you were lucky enough to call your friends) were the sweetest people on earth. nothing was missing.

well, if you wanted to go into details: settling into a routine was pretty hard for you. you were used to going on adventures, meeting new people everyday, feeling the thrill of getting caught when you where somewhere you weren't supposed to be. so waking up everyday at 7, eating breakfast with ororo and jean, teaching your class all morning, eating lunch with ororo and jean, teaching your class all afternoon, eating dinner with ororo and jean and then going to sleep after showering was draining. again, you loved your life here and wouldn't trade it for anything, but you got used to it. and that was the worst thing that could have happened.

so when he came along, you saw the perfect opportunity. logan howlett was the new P.E teacher and to say that you two got along very well would be an understatement. you loved the dynamic between you two, you were constantly bickering over who the kids liked more (the obvious answer being you) or who could run the fastest considering you had a very similar mutation as his, you could also fight (read flirt) over who knew more about elvis presley biography.

the whole school was waiting for you to get together already. it wouldn't be that big of a deal anyway taking into account that you both already acted like a couple. you would go together at any type of meeting/social event. logan would stand very close to you without even noticing. you would always have each others back when one of the students complained about the other. charles would assign you two on missions together cause you were the only one who could handle him. even a blind lawyer could see the way you were looking at each other.

but of course, you would both deny it.

"logan is just a friend! nothing more!" you would say to jean

"there's nothing between y/n and I, well not in that way" he would say to rogue

and everybody would roll their eyes...

given you were an art teacher, the art studio was probably your favorite room in the mansion. and you loved to spend time with the people you cherished there. so on a sunday afternoon, you decided to bake some cookies, make some tea and paint with scott, ororo, hank and logan who would just watch everybody else (his stubbornness could be seen as a lifestyle at that point). charles and jean couldn't come but you promised to save cookies for both of them.

the afternoon was spent laughing and smiling, you would take quick looks at logan from time to time and your heart will stop when you'd realize he was already looking at you each time. the hours passed and everybody left, except logan who stayed to help you clean up the mess you made.

"you don't have to do that you know?" you smiled, touched by his kind gesture.

"it's the least I can do, you planned everything" he answered, washing brushes.

"you didn't even paint or ate anything" you retorted

"yeah, I was busy looking at you" he joked (flirted?). your cheeks blushed, shy and flattered. before you knew it you were scooping paint from a plate and throwing it on his back. you acted like a fucking teenage girl around him.

logan froze and slowly turned around, a smirk on his face. with the brushes still in his hand he walked toward you while you were stepping back, grinning from ear to ear, and rubbed the still full-of-paint brushes on your face, grabbing you by the waist so you couldn't escape. you laughed and reached for the glass of water you used to paint and threw it on his face. he gasped.

when he opened his eyes he looked at you intensely. logan grabbed a whole paint tube and threatened you with it. you ran on the other side of the room (so not too far away) and raised your arms before you as a shield. you were both moving in circles in the room, smilling and laughing like kids. it was your turn to grab a tube of paint. logan ran toward you and tackled you against the bookshelf. you squeezed the paint in his hair, knowing it would be impossible to get off (you would help him anyway).

"you little shit" he screeched, when he tried to step back, his feet slipped on some paint and he fell on his back, dragging you with him. you landed on top of him and immediately asked if he was fine, worried about his head hitting the ground.

"logan are you okay?" you gasped. he didn't answer.

"logan?"

"logan!" he didn't wake up. you were considering calling someone for help when he burst out laughing and squeezed his tube of paint right into your face. you screamed, both surprised and angry at him for messing with you. but only seconds after you laughed together, on the ground, covered in paint.

"thank you for helping me clean up" you joked, getting up. logan pulled you back to him.

"with great pleasure" he replied, your faces closer than ever. your hair were falling on his paint covered face. you thought he looked beautiful

"you look beautiful" the words didn't come from your mouth but his. you looked away, embarassed. "don't hide your pretty smile from me bub". so you looked at him lovingly.

"come on, I have to get the studio ready for tomorrow" you said, knowing you would need a great excuse for him to let you go. and he did, reluctantly.

you finished cleaning the studio (without any paint fight this time), while chatting, smiling and accidentally touching from time to time.

you were shuffling around in bed. after about an hour of fighting yourself into sleeping you gave up. you sat up, remembering the dr pepper you hid in a fridge of the back kitchen where none of the kids were allowed to go. no one knew of this secret of yours but you didn't feel guilty about it. the worst feeling is definitely feeling your mouth watering at the idea of a soda just for someone to steal it from you.

so you put on some pants and huried into the kitchen. you were met with logan seating at the kitchen isle, reading the newspaper. you walked past him without even giving him a second glance and went to your secret hideout. but you were meyt with pure horror. the last dr pepper was missing. your mouth opened and you audibly gasped.

you could hear logan asking if everything was okay and decided on going back to the kitchen, defeated. you sat down next to logan, sighing. he put his paper down and looked at you. you looked up and widened your eyes.

"where did you get that?" you looked at the dr pepper in his left hand, still full.

"in your secret hideout, why?" he acknowledged nonchalantly.

"how do you even know where my secret hideout is?" you furrowed your brows,

"you go there each time we're in the kitchen together" he chuckled and looked down at the glass bottle. you were also looking at it, pounting unconsciously. he slide it over to you with an amused look.

"no, keep it, I'm fine"

"you clearly aren't"

you smiled and stood to grab two glasses. you poured the soda in both glasses and gave one to logan.

"I don't usually share my dr pepper" you clarified.

"I know" he smiled and added after a moment of silence: "I don't usually let people in".

you grabbed his hand and stroke it with your thumb, a sign of gratitude, support, love?

he placed his other hand on the nape of your neck.

"I'd like to let you in just a little bit more, if that's alright with you" he whispered.

"I'd love to"

logan closed the space between you two, your lips meeting in a delicate kiss. none of it felt weird or strange, you were already used to intimacy with logan, even if it never went that far.

it felt familiar.

it felt right.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 26

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You fall asleep somewhere between the Humphrey Bogart classic and the Tom Hanks-Meg Ryan romcom. It all blends together inside your eyelids as the world glazes over behind the wall of your subconscious. The black-and-white and vibrant technicolor merge and storm around the images of reality; a courthouse, the smell of grass, and a constricting pressure around your middle. 

A rippling sensation spreads down your thigh as you slowly rouse from sleep. The worn couch cushions have you stiff as you lay on your side, one leg extended as warmth rests just above your knee. Your eyes slit as the TV continues to play, an early morning news show localised to another district. You yawn and scratch your ear as the world comes into focus. 

You don’t remember laying down. You only know one moment you were nestled into the corner and the next, you’re waking up like this. You fell another tickle on your leg and look down at the weight there. Steve’s hand lays on your thigh carelessly as his head hangs back over the back of the couch, his knees wide as his body is slack. He snores up at the ceiling, his other hand on your ankle. 

You turn slowly, careful not to disturb him as you pull your leg away from him. He wakes anyway, his head jerking up as he latches onto your calf, squeezing before he lets you go, and grumbles as he rubs his cheeks. He shakes his head. 

“Mm, oh, morning already,” he mutters as he leans forward, reaching back to touch his lower back, “umph,” he leans against the armrest, “good new, at least, my couch is a lot comfier.” 

He chortles and slides to the edge of the cushion. His jaw tenses before he stands, stretching his legs straight under him as he shifts from one foot to the other. He angles so you can only see his back as he rolls his shoulders. He tugs at the front of his pajamas then glances back at you. 

“Sweetie, you okay?” He asks. 

You nod as you hug your knees and stare down at the couch. The old floral pattern is worn out and you can feel the springs poking up. Still, the idea of getting rid of it is unsettling. 

“This was my grandma’s couch,” you murmur. 

“Aw, I know, sweetie, sorry, I didn’t mean--” he nears and sits back down, dragging his knuckle up your pant leg, toying with the fabric as he watches you, “you must’ve loved her, huh?” 

“I... yeah,” you shrug. 

“If you wanna keep it, how about we put it in your room?” 

“What?” you tilt your head, “my room?” 

“Well, yeah, you can take the guest room. Makes sense, right? Lots more room there. We’ll have to toss a few things but we’ll make it work. And you can put your art stuff in the studio, I don’t mind sharing.” 

“Mm, okay, I guess, I...” you look down at the couch then at him. “You can get rid of it.” 

“Hm?” 

“The couch,” you turn, slipping away from him. “It’s old.” 

“If it means something to you.” 

“Not really,” you stand and shuffle away from him. “I’m going to get dressed.” 

“Right, uh, yeah,” the coach groans beneath him as he stands again, “I’ll check on mom.” 

There’s stolid silence lingering between you, as if he expects a response. You just continue on to the doorway and he clears his throat.  

“Got some running around to do today, calls to make,” he says, “gotta get at em.” 

You nod and hum but offer him nothing else. You’re tired and disoriented by the disjointed night. Your head is brittle from the lack of sleep and the uncomfortably thin couch cushions. 

“Make sure you come and have breakfast with us, huh? I’ll be going into town soon to sort out the bill with hospital and ask about nursing options.” 

“Okay,” you utter and turn down the hallway. 

It’s a lot. You don’t think you could deal with it alone. It almost makes you thankful for all of it, yet it all still feels very strange. 

🏠

You offer to clean up after breakfast as Steve gets ready to leave and your mom reclines on the sectional in the front room. She looks out of it, more than you’ve ever seen her. She was quiet as you ate and looked sickened by each bite. She almost begged Steve to let her lay down. 

As Steve grabs his keys, he seems reluctant to leave. It’s as if he wants you to say something, to do something, but you can’t figure out his expectations. That will be a new worry. No longer do you have to keep your mother happy, but her husband will be just another task. 

The front door closes as you scrub and rinse. You forego the dishwasher and make sure to handwash each dish, taking your time if only to keep busy. You dry up and stack the plates away, put the glasses in neat rows, and sort out the utensils. 

You go to check on your mom. Her eyes are closed and her hand is on her chest. She looks so still you can’t even see her breathing. You cross the room and hover just on the other side of the arm rest, staring at her. Your heart patters nervously as you stare at her chest. 

“What do you want?” She growls and opens a single eyelid. 

“N-nothing, just... checking on you. You... want a coffee?” You offer, hoping to appease her with a dose of caffeine. 

“Should,” she yawns and frames her forehead with her thumb and fingers, leaning against the side of the couch, “goddamn, I’m so tired.” 

You briskly return to the kitchen. You use what grounds are left over in the fancy grinder. You’ve never used one before and it kind of scares you. You measure them out and put the water on, waiting before the machine as you bob on your feet. 

When at last you have enough for a mug, you pour the coffee and add the cream as your mother likes it. As you come out, you hear her snoring. Her arm is slung over her face as her mouth hangs open and her breath catches in her throat. You know better than to wake her so you leave the cup on the coffee table and retreat. 

You’re too restless to stay inside. This isn’t your home. No matter how Steve tries to convince you, you just can’t get used to the idea. He might be nice but it just doesn’t feel right. It’s all so fast. Too fast. 

You sit on the top step and stare out at the street. You cup your chin and watch the sky. The clouds are wispy and curl into each other as the sun blazes down. Your vision blurs as the intense lights causes your eyes to water and you stare into the endless above. 

You glance over at your mom’s house. You want to run over and hide away in your room. You can’t. You have to be there for mom at least until Steve comes back. 

As figure strolls up along the walk and your eyes flick up. You brace yourself for the disproving glare of an HOA minion but instead, find a friendly face. Peter smiles as he stops in front of your mom’s gate and puts his hand on the door. He sees you and waves. 

“Hey, what’re you doing over there?” He asks as he jiggles the gate then strides towards Steve’s house. 

“Um...” you drone and shrug, standing as he nears the edge of Steve’s lawn. You meet him at the low gate and stop across from him, “I sort of... I think I live here now.” 

“You think? Sort of?” He muses. 

“Yeah, uh, my mom... got married?” 

“You don’t sound so sure about that,” he chuckles. “Everything okay?” 

You turn your lips downward and turn out your hands, “sure.” 

“Wow, I’m convinced,” he says dryly. 

“Sorry, I--” 

The toot of a car horn interrupts you and Peter turns to watch as Steve pulls into the drive. Your chest thumps wildly. You’re not doing anything wrong but you feel like you are. 

He gets out and puts a hand up. He comes around the corner of the fence and approaches Peter, “hey, kiddo, you making friends?” 

Steve’s eyes are focused on Peter even as he speaks to you. The shorter, younger man faces him and offers a hand, “hello, sir, I’m Peter. Old friend.” 

“Oh?” Steve’s eyes scale up and down Peter’s figure, “she never mentioned.” 

“Well, just moved back to the neighbourhood, you know?” Peter grins, his eyes twinkling as if something’s funny. Steve peers between the two of you.  

“Mm, that’s nice,” Steve shakes his hand and you see his knuckles pale as he shakes it firmly, “Steve.” 

“New dad, got it,” Peter chirps and the older man’s cheek ticks. 

“Mm,” he squints as his square jaw clenches, “well, Pete,” he nearly spits, “her mom’s not doing too well so she’s a bit busy. Aren’t you, kiddo?” 

He looks at you and you look at Peter. You nod and look away guiltily, “yeah.” 

“Well then, Pete,” Steve releases Peter’s hand and claps his shoulder, “think you should be on your way.” 

“Right,” Peter nods and turns to you, “sorry to hear about your mom. Hope she feels better. See ya round.” He puts up three fingers in a half-wave, “see ya, Steve.” 

He steps past Steve, brushing close as he does, and marches off with a spring in his step. The older man turns to glare after him. You don’t know why he’s so bothered, Peter’s nice enough. Well, maybe Peter isn’t the issue. 

“Sorry, mom’s sleeping so I came out here--” 

“Come on,” he interjects as he lets himself through the gate, “did you give her her meds?” 

You frown as you scurry ahead of him. You didn’t. You thought he had. Oh no. 

[positivelybeastly]

Love reading through your analyses and I was wondering if you had insight on something I noticed with Hank/Beast and Kurt/Nightcrawler: writers often use both of them in the visible mutation metaphor and emotional cores, but Kurt's approach is more from faith and Hank's is more from curiosity. Often when one or either are gone/dead/changed, things seem to get worse for the Team overall.

Do you think those two would benefit each other's characters? Even just to have spirited philosophical discussion?

So, this actually touches on a funny thing that I've noticed with Beast and Nightcrawler over time - which is that they're almost never on the same team together, probably precisely because they serve an extremely similar function in a team composition, for the reasons you've kind of touched on here.

They are, after all, both heavily visibly mutated individuals who were, or are, considered figures of great integrity and morality, with a strong code of ethics and a depth of feeling that expresses itself in a deeply vivacious personality - romantic, friendly, charming, and erudite.

Therefore, having them both on a team is, unfortunately, somewhat redundant.

That being said! They do still interact, and they're shown to be sources of great comfort and friendship for one another. Their first meetings were - somewhat inauspicious . . .

See, this is the funny thing about old comics - storylines just flow and flow and flow. Comics didn't stop after ten issues and get restarted with a new #1 every few months, they just ran and ran and ran, and the pacing reflected that.

There aren't usually month long gaps where you can assume nothing happened and people just got to hang out, they're working hard! Hank has been working with the Avengers so much that he literally hasn't even had time to meet the new X-Men properly! Wild.

But, eventually, things did slow down, and they got a chance to properly socialise, and, as expected, they got along like a house on fire.

Like, these two are just born to be friends. They have so much in common. Where Hank leans more to the obscure, the erudite, and the scientific, Kurt leans more to the dashing, the swashbuckling, and, of course, the religious, but they're still both fundamentally cut from the same cloth - acrobatic, charming, philosophical, heroic, fun.

But, that same alike quality means you don't get a ton of interaction between them, so I cling to what they do have. One of my favourite interactions between them is in Nightcrawler's 2004 solo series.

First off, absolutely adore Hank in this art style. The fact that the artist decided to include the detail of his fur poking out of the shirt like that is just. It transfixes me. I really want to go over and just. Run my fingers through his side fur. But mostly, I just like their chemistry? Hank's a great supporting character because he's so emotionally intelligent and reflective, and he's great at giving people perspective, usually with a healthy dose of sarcasm and teasing.

That being said, this scene is always the one I point to whenever I say that the X-Men really have no idea what's going on in Hank's head a lot of the time, because this took place after Hank had been psychically brutalised, nearly beaten to death, and one of his best friends had just been murdered - and he's doing a really very good job of hiding that trauma.

So much so that Kurt thinks he's just fine. He's just fine. There's nothing to worry about. But it's not Kurt's fault, and it's nowhere near unique to him, either. He had no way to know, he had his own stuff going on (the subject matter of this solo series, as it happens), and Hank is doing well enough that it isn't interfering with things, so, let him deal with it in peace, I suppose.

At least on this occasion.

Kurt is, after all, an emotionally intelligent and caring individual. You can't stop Nightcrawler from trying to help where he can. And I think that even just the reaching out, just the show of support, can be enough for a character like Hank.

Moments like these matter, in my opinion. It's important to show that teammates and friends care about each other, in the moment to moment stories, otherwise it can all feel very impersonal and like no-one cares about one another. This is how you establish dynamics over years, even between characters who have, technically speaking, never really been on a team together before.

The next big milestone I can think of comes after the X-Men's move to Utopia, where, again, Hank and Kurt don't share a ton of panel time together, but . . .

This is one of the few times you'll ever hear anyone say that Hank was right. And it's not really a surprise that it comes from Kurt, because, again, these men are cut from the same cloth. They come at it from different angles, but they believe in much the same things.

And . . . that's why it hits so hard when Kurt dies.

I don't necessarily agree with the decision to have Hank break from the literal funeral procession to call Scott out for Kurt's death. Some fans of Nightcrawler really appreciate that moment, because it shows how much Kurt's death affected Hank, but I personally just. Don't think it tracks, for Hank to be quite that disrespectful.

After the funeral, or even before, but during it? Nah. Matt Fraction made a good few Hank characterisation choices I don't agree with, and this was one of them.

This felt a bit more apropos.

Remember what I said about how little moments build to dynamics between characters who have never been on teams together? I buy this moment so much more with the context of that moment from Endangered Species, where Kurt is literally positioned as the light trying to pull Hank out of the dark path he's following with obsessive fervour. The fact that he was trying went a long way. Hank felt it, even if he didn't take him up on it at the time. That moment mattered.

And that's why I absolutely buy Hank's reaction when Kurt came back to life.

Hank believes in Kurt. He believes the very best of him. On teams where Hank can often feel alone or isolated, someone like Kurt will reach out, and make him feel connected, and welcome, and pull him back. Temper his scientific pessimism and realism with optimism and belief. Restore his fervour, and remind him of simpler, happier times.

A lot of the best scientists, who have contributed the most to scientific inquiry, were religious, because for a lot of them, there's no real conflict between science and religion, they're both two sides of the same coin, in a way - a belief in a higher power. It's just how they react to that higher power that changes.

And while Hank was explicitly religious for a while, I always interpreted him as losing that faith over the years, becoming bogged down in the real over the sublime as what he went through wore him down. Someone like Kurt was able to spark that in him again. Maybe not his faith, per se, but at the very least belief in the human spirit.

It's important. As you say, massive benefit to each other's characters. Underrated dynamic, these two. Absolutely love 'em.

[exoticb-utters]

May I humbly request for more Harly (Hank x Carly) art please?

This is just a (semi-rushed) colored sketch, I hope you like it! I know I’ve said this before, but I’ve surprisingly gained a lot of followers so I’ll say it again! I do commissions for higher quality and finished pieces! I’ll link my info here:

I would really appreciate it, I’ve been busy with sports and my college classes so the extra cash does help since drawing these can be obviously time-consuming. Thank you sm for the support, love you all 💕💕💕💕

[icarusredwings]

A love with no need for words.

Chapter 3

A sfw young Cherik fic

Art at the end <3

Special thanks to

@joykai

@stucky-just-stucky

and

@capusciara

After struggling to almost drag Charles up the steps, who was giggling far too much to properly concentrate and fooling around, the poor man ended up tripping.

“Tch- Charles come on.”

“I'm sorry! What can I say? I'm just too weak, I'm afraid.” He says, dramatically falling faint against the steps.

“Oh you are not! Now stop acting like a fool. You'd kill me if I let anyone see you like this.” he grumbled, pulling him up again only for Charles to dead weight, forcing Erik down with him.

The color of his face was lovely, perhaps that's what the color of the new carpet would be.

“Charles! What would your sister say about this?”

“My sister..? Raven? Oh, I love Raven, my darling girl.”

Grunting, The stern eyes that stared at him became his new favorite color, staring at him with such an innocent smile.

“She's sleeping. And you should be too it seems. Get up, let's go.” Pulling him by the arms, he manages to get him upright, holding his arm tight so as not to fall a third time.

You should carry me

“Why would I carry you- A-and I told you to stay out of there!” Oh and there was that shade again. The one he adored. The one Charles wished to take him to the carpet seller and show them directly what color he wished to have, and if there wasn't one he would have one made.

“Because that's what team mates do. What if I got hurt and needed you to carry me to safety?”

“Oh like you can carry me..”

“I could, if I wanted. But what if I have no metal on me, Erik? What if I'm wearing nothing at all?!” He says, a little louder then Erik would have prefered.

“C-charles!! Shhhhh!”

Ah goodness, Now look there. A perfect shade of dark rose, the smoothest of petals and sharpest of thorns. The prettiest of blood dripping from the hands that held them tightly like this. Oh how he wanted to plant a rose bush out front, in perfect view of his window, water it with the tears he cried when he felt alone, gift him the personally grown bouquets and then, one day, on a GOOD day, he'd come by and Charles wouldn't be afraid to tell him that he looked insanely pretty. If it wasn't for the fear of Erik laughing or stuffing them in the bin with the garbage? He would.

Finally picking him up, He was quick to wrap his arms around him, gasping, shocked from the sudden movement. “Don't drop me!”

“I won't! J-just stop moving!” The sound of struggle in his voice at first made Charles question his weight. But with these? These strong shoulders that his hand gripped for dear life? No. He was struggling for a different reason. But what was it?

As Erik carried him up the steps, He swallows, trying his best to be careful. He'd never forgive himself if he dropped him and he got injured. Imagine trying to explain that to Hank. ‘Sorry, I broke our team leaders back on the stairs last night-’ Ugh, just the thought riled him up. He prayed to whatever god was up there that Charles wasn't listening, how embarrassing would that be?

“...I wanna buy you pretty little things and never ever lie to you”

“Oh-.. uhm. Okay? Thank you?” He says with a nervous chuckle, but in reality he's not realizing the seriousness in his tone, only noticing how quiet he was after that. How silent the chatty man has become.

Glancing down, He was taken aback to see he was staring up at him with that soft grin. The one that said he was up to something. Blinking, he looks away, suddenly sweating bullets. When he looks back, He's still staring.

“W-what? Something on my face?”

Charles shakes his head; eyes never leaving him.

“Then what are you looking at me for?”

“..You look perfect.. Heh.. pretty boy..”

Coughing a bit, Erik pauses in the hall upstairs. “C-charles, I’m not ‘pretty’! Stop that. Why are you acting so… Different??”

“Hmm??” He hums.

“What are you thinking about? Huh?” He give him a small shake to keep him awake, feeling him melt into his chest. “Are you still wondering about that girl from the party?” He could only hope, it was the easiest explanation, and he feared what would happen to their friendship if he said no.

How delusional do you have to be to hear ‘pretty boy’ and ask about a woman? Very. Unfortunately Erik passed that line weeks ago.

“...Wonder is the most purest form of understanding..”

“What?”

“But I don't wonder about our indifference…We're so different but all the same..”

“Uh- huh…. Okay.. uhm. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“You're quite groovy, Erik.” He speaks softly, as if whispering drunken secrets to him.

Blinking, his head tilts a bit only to roll his eyes. God he was wasted. He was so going to tease him about this in the morning, thinking now that Charles must be spewing nonsense now… right?

“Pft. Oh yeah?” He laughs, nervous.

Charles nods, not a crumb of hesitance.

“Oh….Well..uh..Thanks.. I guess? Come on. Let's get you to bed..”

‘It's just the gin talking.’ He convinced himself. ‘He's had too much. He thinks i'm someone else’ Anything to save his dignity so he wouldn't have to admit what he hoped was true.

“No, it's true. You're my Achilles heel…My

Philtatos..” Charles whispers, leaning against him, limp and if you were passing the hall right about now, you would think Charles was dead asleep against his shoulder.

For a moment, when helping him into his room, Erik smiled, chuckling quietly as he thought about how sleepy he was only to pause, He thought about what this meant. Why must he always speak in riddles?

Laying him down, Erik shakes his head.

‘I should have known. The only other person like me and he's mad. What was I thinking?’

“Goodnight, Charles.”

Sighing, disappointed, Erik began to make his way back into the hall, not wanting Charles to become sober and accuse him of something sinister. Something he could never take back.

You still owe me a game.

His brows furrow, doing a 180 as he stomped his way back to that massive mattress, the kind only rich assholes had. The kind that looked like a single sleep in it would cure all of his problems.

“Charles. Francis. Xavier! How many times-”

“Your move.” He says, sitting upright, a perfectly set up chess board in front of him, a single white pawn moved forward. The man shrugs, guiltily, knowing Erik became frustrated with each time he invaded his mind, but god the way he flushed and the color his ears got was so worth it. Besides..

I could never be afraid of you, my dear friend. Please don't ever think that.

‘How the fuck did he set that up so quick!?’ He thought.

And that is how Erik Lehnsherr ended up in his bed, sitting on the edge with a nervous demeanor.

‘Oh god, oh god, oh god, why? Why!? Why didn't I just leave? Why is he staring at me like that!?’ Glancing at him to see if he was still staring, he sure as hell was, those eyes glazed and sparkling with the water that filled them, his neck and face completely red. He could only imagine how dark his chest was by now.

‘Oh for fucks sake! He's going to hear this and think I'm a massive creep!’

A giggle came from across the board, looking at him so dearly, shifting to lay on his stomach, his feet in the air.

“Your move, Erik.” He purrs, holding a spare piece in his hand, playing with it, fidgeting.

‘I have to go. This is getting out of hand.’ Taking a breath, Erik sits up, straightening his back as he turns to him.

“Charles-” He starts.

“I could get used to this.. having a friend..”

‘Ah come on! Shit shit shit!’ He couldn't leave now… could he? No.. he couldn't..

Clearing his throat, his eyes softened.

“W-what… what do you mean?”

“I don't have any friends, Erik..” He whispers, frowning as he looks down at the piece in his hand.

“Sure you do, you know you do.” He tries to reassure him, but the emotional man shook his head softly. “No… None that know me like you..you water down what I call being grateful.” l

“What?”

“You weaken my intensity of gratitude, make it the standard of all who call themselves a friend of mine… now if only they were like you. Maybe then I could keep them..”

He swallows again, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh of defeat. No.. he couldn't leave him like this.. it was simply cruel. Even if he is just a spoiled rich kid. That's all he is.

“Alright… but just one game. Understand?”

“And another drink.” He says, stretching out with A smug grin because here he was, getting his way- again.

Erik scoffed, laughing through his nose as he shook his head, knowing exactly what he was doing. Stalling so he couldn't go to bed, like a child at a sleepover who wished for it not to end. Like a brat. A kid child throwing a tantrum when not given a toy they wanted.. and here Erik was.. being that toy.

“Fine.. And another drink.. but if I win you have to tell me your plan from earlier. Deal?”

“What plan?” He asks, innocently laying His cheek in his arms.

“Of course… Nevermind.”

And so- Charles gets his tea, Sitting up once again as he sits close to him, cross legged and patient, holding his cup in both hands.

“Wow…You're Incredible.” Charles whispers, watching as Erik casually uses his mutation to put just the right amount of sugar into his second cup of tea, swirling the spoon around as if it were something he did daily. So effortlessly and thoughtful.

“I would say the same for you but I doubt you'd accept the compliment.” He mutters, pushing a piece on the board with a single finger.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” He asks, Moving another piece directly after as if he had anticipated that move. Erik was predictable in times like these. Perhaps it's why it brought Charles a sense of calm serenity.

“Oh, As if you'd actually accept it. Besides.. nevermind.”

“How about this. You go first and then I'll say something. That's fair.. right?” He questions as if he truly was asking him if it was equal.

‘Yeah right, so you can tease me more And make fun of me in the morning?’ He thinks, Shaking his head, moving A piece a 2nd time. “I suppose… But how will I know if you're telling the truth? For all I know you're just laying down charm on me that's complete nonsense”

“Opinions simply can not be truth without evidence behind it… in which case makes the truth and opinion both factually correct.” He mutters, moving his bishop.

Another sigh comes from Erik, who honestly wasn't sure how he can be so drunk but still such a wise prick. Even with his ears red like this he still was getting lectured.

“Your mind is truly something worth being studied.” He says to him, complimenting what everyone says about him, adding his own personal twist. “And by that I mean cut open and dissected to see what causes such insanity.”

Charles, mid sip, spit out his tea, coughing a little over the silk sheets only to burst out laughter, throwing his head back and giggling his little heart out. He was smiling so wide that almost all his teeth shown, his eyes bright with stars despite being so full with joy. His already dark crimson cheeks lighting up as if he successfully just told him a pick up line, similar to the girl from the party.

Staring, Eriks eyes widened, seeing what joy he got from such dark humor. Contagious like the plague Or perhaps scarlet fever, His laugh harmonized with his, chuckling at how ridiculous this was, I mean come on, he wasn't supposed to find fondness in this terrible joke but here he was, losing his breath over it.

The warmth that he felt ran deep in his stomach, the harder he had to press down on the pillow in his lap, the sparks that run up his spine like that of a vintage lighter trying its hardest to light a flame.

‘Be still my foolish heart don't ruin this for me.’ He thinks, feeling the hard quickened beats knocking on his ribcage, trying to escape its captive cell.

“What else?” He asks through attempts to re catch his breath and small giggles that lingered.

“Oh.. uhm.. I wouldn't know where to start..” Erik starts, stricken from his spell of laughter so hard that he had already forgotten the deal of it being Charles�� turn to compliment him now, the words trying their best to form in his head but instead fell off his tongue, past his teeth and out into the open air.

He thought about what he should say.

‘The very thought of you banishes my blues. Your voice Is like music playing, leading me from the dark. I got along just fine without you-Or at least I thought so before those baby blues came into my life. Like A colorblind man who hadn't known what he was missing until he saw you.’ He thinks. ‘Ah but that's all too corny isn't it?’

Oh no, not at all.

He thought, hearing each and every word.

“Your laugh alone is music that constantly rings in my ears.. like a favorite song you can't seem to get out of your head.… is that your doing? Are you putting that song in there?” He asks, laughing nervously, but Charles dosn't laugh.

He just… stares …with those massive wet eyes. Once he wished he could ethically scoop out and give back to him as a gift, what more beautiful things could he possibly give him?

“No..not purposely.” He whispers, slowly as he blinks, watching Erik tug at his collar and swallow, fearing he's said too much.

“...what else?”

“Hey isn't it your tur-”

“Tell me what you want, Erik…”

"I wish I'd had a chance to walk with you to parties. You would wear that dress shirt, and I would say, "I'm sorry" for something, I don't know what but you'd say, "it’s okay" and smile at me. You always smile at me. I want you to smile at me. Even when I say things that upset you, you smile at me. I wanna sit around and watch you do your hair. I want to watch you write. I want to watch your lectures. I want to watch you get dressed And compliment your godly expensive taste even though you would look just as nice in something much simpler.. or nothing at all."

Blinking, It was as if time had skipped, like dozing off and waking up seconds later.

“I-... I'm sorry.. I seem to have forgotten myself.” He says, sweating as he watches Charles start to make his way closer.

“Y-you should lie down. It's already quite late, it seems I'm getting tired myself, a-and I believe you have a lecture tomorrow so you need a good sleep for that-” he blurts out, becoming more and more nervous, hands pressing into the pillow that stayed on his lap.

Charles was mindful of the board, careful not to ruin their little game as he crawled over, slowly pulling his hands away, intertwining them as he sat up on his knees.

Oh Erik..

..My good lookin’ boy

He kisses him.

He on the edge of the bed he bouta fall off :0

Not finishing this btw :)

[epicqtefail]

I get so much joy whenever I go through the games scenes and notice just how often Connor uses his sad puppy eyes on Hank. The highly advanced deviant hunter, who can end the game remaining a persistent machine, constantly pouts and pleads to get his way, and it only really works on one man.

:''D connor is so hilariously shameless isnt he, he's got a haughtiness about him where he obviously wants to be viewed as stoic and professional in a way where you'd believe he'd find pouting and pleading to be degrading to that image but he really doesn't give a shit if it gets him his way. He's so funny with how he flip flops between being aggressive and assertive to "pwease lieutenant 5 more minutes 🥺" he says "PLEASE" quite a lot and never out of politeness.

I think hank really threw him for a loop with how unpredictable he is which forced connor to gracelessly stumble through all his persuasion tactics until falling back on unsubtle puppy-eyed pleading which is just so funny, even funnier that it works (..maybe he saw the dog hairs on hank's chair and knew it would work).

and i have trouble imagining it working on anyone but Hank. every other human is too wary of him which is such an interesting thing because i would have assumed Hank would be the only one immune to connor's bullshit where everyone else falls for it, but its the reverse :''D

and by the time he gets to jericho he's either playing Tough Guy or is a legitimate lost puppy but i would have loved to see him try the puppy eyes on Markus.. makes me think of this hilarious art by Connorsjorts :'') not puppy eyes but way funnier <3

[gelu-the-babosa-multiversal]

can you elaborate on bigender hank please?

Sorry for taking so long, I was doing other stuff and it took me longer then I wanted. So also have as compensation these doodles with Bigender Hank and Transfem Tony + their friendship

Anyway, my reason for hc Hank Pym as bigender/agender is simple, BECAUSE I CAN!!!!! But also, because it feels very like in his character. He is a very close individual preferring to stay in his comfort zone than try something that he would theme ¨dangerous¨ ¨not so importing¨ ¨is not my thing¨. That's why Janet is such a good match for him, someone who will make Hank do more stuff outside his comfort zone but still respect his boundaries.

And it would be so cute if the reason why Hank discovers that he identifies as a woman too is because of Janet and Janet would still love her!!

If you wanna know why I hc Tony as transfem I'll just say that it happened in the comics like two times and in one she was happier.

@blueishyellowish I'm not much of a writer so have this art because of that cool fic!! @shapeshiftingcloud I think that you will like this 😏

[dd-is-my-guiltypleasure]

David Duchovny: ‘The X-Files took up my life, but it was a miracle’

It's behind a paywall so if somebody has access I would love to read the article

Update : got it, thanks @aimsies-mctaymellburg

David Duchovny: ‘The X-Files took up my life, but it was a miracle’

As Fox Mulder in the hit sci-fi show, the actor and singer peddled fringe conspiracy theories. Now the 63-year-old says Mulder’s paranoia is everywhere.

In hindsight it wasn’t a great idea for me to kick off an interview with David Duchovny by suggesting that he was a musical dilettante. You’re most likely to know Duchovny, of course, as Fox Mulder, the conspiracy-theory-guzzling FBI agent in The X Files, one of the biggest shows of the Nineties, watched at its peak by 30 million in America alone. Perhaps you saw him as the womanising writer Hank Moody in Californication or the 1960s detective Sam Hodiak in Aquarius. You may even have read some of his five books.

Duchovny, a New Yorker living in Los Angeles, is less known for music, although he’s been making rather decent folk-rock for a decade — songwriting, playing guitar and singing in a honeyed drawl. His 2015 songHell or Highwater has been streamed more than a million times while Layin’ on the Tracks, from 2020, has pointed lyrics about a certain politician (“It’s a killing joke that no one laughs at/ A stupid orange man in a cheap red hat”). He has released three albums, with a fourth due next year, and this month plays Latitude festival in Suffolk and the 2,000-capacity Shepherds Bush Empire in London.

So does the 63-year-old feel that he should no longer be seen as just a musical dabbler? “That’s part of a lazy person’s perception,” he says, bristling slightly. “It’s a lens through which people want to see me. I think music is an innocent art form — you listen to it and you have a response. To bring any kind of baggage to bear on it in the beginning seems to me to be dishonest, but that’s the way things go.”

YouTube clips of recent shows suggest people were having a lovely time, I say. This doesn’t have the soothing effect intended. YouTube footage lingers “because of the horror of the cell phone”, Duchovny says. “It’s a pet peeve of mine.” Is he tempted to ban them at his shows, as artists from Prince to Bob Dylan have? “I don’t know that I can enforce that view on anybody.”

For Duchovny, it’s as much about phones limiting his performance as it is about the audience not living in the moment. “To do something unique or for the first time, to reach for a note or play a different melody — all these are chances you might take if you weren’t inhibited by the fact that somebody is [recording] it,” he says. “You’ve got to be able to fail and the ubiquity of cell phones makes failure scarier than it needs to be.”

Failure is the key to another of his jobs: podcasting. In his series Fail Better, he adroitly interviews guests including Bette Midler, Ben Stiller and Sean Penn about their failures. “I feel like I’ve been failing my entire life,” Duchovny said on launching it in May. That may sound strange from a man with English degrees from Princeton and Yale, who has won a Golden Globe for The X Files and another for Californication.

Is he familiar with Elizabeth Day, the British journalist who has hosted a successful podcast called How to Fail since 2018? When Duchovny announced Fail Better, Day tweeted: “I might invite David Duchovny on @howtofail to discuss his failure to be original.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” he says. “If she wants to be rigorous in her thinking, she would investigate what my approach to failure is. I don’t know what her approach to it is. My sense, since failure is universal, is that there’s room out there for more than one discussion.” This is a rather po-faced response to what seemed like a playful comment from Day, and surprising because Duchovny has a wicked sense of humour. He can also afford to be more magnanimous, given that his podcast is at No 12 in the UK chart and hers is at 54.

Gillian Anderson, his X Files co-star, certainly likes his podcast, writing this week on Instagram that she had listened to all of the episodes and found them “intimate and vulnerable … very smart questions, although I wouldn’t expect anything else from you [David]”.

“It’s very sweet,” Duchovny says. “I will email her and thank her. I’m sure somebody running my social media is … I don’t really like to be on social media.” Later that day his Instagram account replies to Anderson’s post: “Thank you for listening, you have an open invite [to appear on his podcast]!”

That encounter would be worth hearing because his relationship with Anderson is fascinating. Despite their chemistry in The X Files there were rumours of friction — although they looked to be getting on swimmingly when they appeared on Jimmy Kimmel’s talk show in 2016 to publicise the return of the show, which ran for two more seasons.

When asked by Kimmel about frostiness between her and Duchovny in the Nineties, Anderson collapsed into giggles, laid her head in Duchovny’s lap and put any froideur down to the dampness of Vancouver, where the series was shot. Her hair kept going frizzy, she explained, and “for every single take we’d have to stand there and blow dry my hair again”.

“And I got pissed at that?” Duchovny asked.

“Well, I think it added to the tension,” Anderson said.

“It kinda makes me sound like an asshole,” Duchovny replied.

Anderson had nothing to do with him leaving The X Files in 2002, he says now. “That was just me wanting to have a family, but also to try other things. It had kind of taken up my life. There was no animosity with the actual show and the people that I worked with. I am proud of the show — it was culturally central in a way that it’s very hard to do these days in a fragmented landscape. There’s so many lightning-strike aspects to it that I can’t help but think of it as some kind of a miracle.”

The X Files gave conspiracy theories a kind of nobility — “the truth is out there”, as its tagline ran. Now they are more widespread and pernicious. “Mulder’s way of looking at the world was through conspiracy and that was the fringe at that point,” Duchovny says. “It doesn’t seem to be so fringe any more. It’s really the world that [The X Files creator] Chris Carter foresaw happening almost 30 years ago. He’s almost clairvoyant in that case.” Is Duchovny more evidence-based than Mulder? “Not at all. I’m an artist — I am associative-based and I see poetry as science and science as poetry.” So are there some conspiracy theories that he buys into? “No, I’m talking about art. I think conspiracies are mostly just lazy thinking.”

One failure that has shaped Duchovny is that of his marriage to the actress Téa Leoni, who starred in Bad Boys and Deep Impact. They married in 1997 and have a daughter, West, 25, and a son, Kyd, 22, but divorced in 2014. “That darkness does deepen you. It makes you more empathetic and humble,” Duchovny says. One of the themes of his podcast is “the difference between humiliating and humbling. Often we focus on humiliation in our culture. I don’t see any positives coming from humiliation, but I see a lot of them coming from humility.”

One wonders if the reference to humiliation has something to do with Duchovny checking into rehab for sex addiction in 2008. Could him playing the bed-hopping Hank in Californication be a case of art imitating life? “People never tire of trying to figure that out,” he says with a sigh. “But to me, that’s not what acting is about. I don’t look for things that are mirroring my life in any way.”

Well, there are parallels in Reverse the Curse, the 2023 film that Duchovny directed, starred in and adapted from his book Bucky F***ing Dent. He plays a would-be novelist who has “sacrificed his artistic dream to put food on the table”. His father, a publicist, did the same, publishing his debut at 75, the year before he died. The film has some really funny scenes, including one where Marty and his son have a farting competition in a motel room that ends up smelling like “an aquarium that fed a sock”. That may have come from a line in Aquarius where someone says something similar about a police station. “I might have ripped it off, I’m not sure,” Duchovny says. “ You can ask Elizabeth Day about that.”

David Duchovny will perform at Latitude festival, near Southwold on July 25 and 02 Shepherd’s Bush Empire, W12 on July 27

[yallemagne]

Finally posting my feelings on season 3 of X-Men: TAS. Ughhh.

Episode 1 & 2: Out of the Past

Looooove Gambit and Jubilee’s continued sibling relationship. 

Yuriko: “You killed my father!” Logan: “I didn’t!” Yuriko: “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Don’t got much else to say other than ugh this leads into the space shenanigans and I haaaaate that. 

Episode 3, 4, 5, 6, 7: The Phoenix Saga

This saga is a drag but that doesn’t mean I didn’t get emotional when Jean and Scott parted. Seriously, when they kissed?? And Jean’s hair lit up like it was aflame? Fucking sexy as hell can I be them? These two are romance incarnate. 

Episode 8: No Mutant is an Island

Scott is so fucking done and I love that for him. He deserves a chance to go apeshit. Says he’s sick of playing “den mother”??? Oh my god. Speaking truth to power. Especially since Logan’s absence clearly marks that he’s already gone off to sulk, Scott deserves some sulk time for himself. 

THE ORPHANAGE. RUSTY!!! RUSTY COLLINS!! My darling Russell. 

“He’s just not used to the loving discipline a boy his age needs.” Kill this pervert. “After only two days I already love you like a son.” SCOTT KILL THIS PERVERT!!

Killgrave’s using these fucking kids as a scapegoat and the crimes they’re blamed for in his stead are what keep them from getting the help they need. I fucking hate this cunt. 

THEY DUMPED SCOTT IN THE POOL??? DOG?? What are y’all gonna do when a man is found drowned in your pool? Say “whoops guess he couldn't swim”??

I don’t like this Sarah chick. I’m sorry but like Killgrave is the most suspect guy ever, and she endangered the lives and futures of those children because “no one else would take them”. All that bullshit about her seeing the mutant kids as family? Girl, you got rid of them. She’s just gonna sell them to the highest bidder again because that’s what she did last time. 

I don't like that the message is "acceptance and tolerance is earned not forced" no, tolerance is NOT earned. Under no circumstances should a child be forced to EARN the right to live. Killgrave is wrong because he's a human trafficker using children to commit crimes. And obv his plan to groom the kids to become politicians would have never worked because his actions have gotten the kids in trouble with the authorities before, meaning they are distrusted by society because of HIM.

Episode 9: Obsession

I’m just gonna take a wild guess and say the Ming Dynasty scroll was planted to lure Archangel in. 

Warren is a fucking prick. Worthington is a dumb cunt and I hate him. “Deep down, he is still Warren Worthington!” Well, Warren Worthington is a bit of an angsty prick, so that ain’t saying much Rogue. Rogue and her sympathy for bitter blue bastards is gonna be her downfall. 

“Xavier was right, it is sentient! We can speak to it!” Uhh… or the ship just has Siri, McCoy. 

“Ship, you are a work of art.” “Thank you, Henry McCoy. You have no idea what a pleasure it is to interface with someone who appreciates the subtleties of my programming.”  Okay damn. I stand corrected. And Hank is about to wine and dine a ship. Jioegpoi Hank getting shocked for attempting to hack the ship and the ship apologizing. Wolverine and Cyclops are just standing there like “why are we here playing voyeur to this weird shit?”

I knew it, the scroll was planted. I fucking called it.

They need to stop giving Hank compelling love interests and then getting rid of them by the end of the episode. 

THEY SHOT APOCALYPSE INTO SPACE LIKE KARS. 

Episode 10: Longshot

Logan teaching Jubilee to drive!!! And he’s wearing a fuckin’ cowboy hat and a bolo tie. Why is he dressed for the rodeo? And he’s just such a dad for the rest of the episode, he recognizes Jubilee’s crush on Longshot and IMMEDIATELY goes into Dad Mode. 

“Bad doggie! No biscuit. We got leash laws in this town, mutt.” I fucking Love Wolverine. 

“Allowing me to scan his mind must be Longshot’s decision.” We love a king who respects consent. 

I fucking love Domo’s nicknames for Mojo. 

Yeah, I think I love Longshot. And I think most of the reason is just that I’ve read Exiles but ya know. He really is a heartthrob. He’s cliché but it’s a fun cliché. 

Honourable mention: that ram guy who threw away his gun to pull out a knife. 

Jubilee outfit without the coat is cute. Lol but they kept accidentally animating her with the coat on. 

Episode 11: Cold Comfort

BOBBYYYYY. Gay boy what are you doing here? Lol Bobby was the golden child, that much is obvious. At the same time he’s like “I was never good enough for you!” Dude Xavier let you get away with everything and that bred resentment in your teammates. 

Scott’s been wearing a bomber jacket recently and it just makes me miss Morph more

“What’s with those two? I’ve never seen the Professor so angry.”Daddy issues. “It’s a surrogate father-son dynamic with unresolved issues of dominance.” Wow damn I was right. 

Bobby: *insults Scott* Logan: *unsheathes claws* “Only I can call Cyke a goody goody.”

Jubilee looking up the records <333

FORGE???

QUICKSILVEr????

…Havok? oh gee.

Love Logan calling out that the government is employing mutants to police mutants. Forge says they're helping but like... Jaguars. Faces.

WHAT THE FUCK POLARIS. Polaris you absolute piece. “You wouldn’t have supported my decision so we faked my disappearance.” Who does that? Imagine needing to have absolutely no pushback in your decision-making, so to avoid having an argument with your boyfriend you fake your own kidnapping and start dating someone else without ever breaking up with the first guy. I wouldn’t hold it against her if it were just a simple misunderstanding, like if she left a note but he thought she wrote it under duress, but she purposely led him to believe that she needed to be rescued. 

They need to stop introducing characters that could be permanent additions to the team and then squandering that.

Episode 12 & 13: Savage Land, Strange Heart

Who is this chicken lady? I can’t take her seriously, she looks like a chicken. 

Rogue and Storm are lowkey dating and I love it. 

NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO CLOSE THEIR EYES. Who knows? Maybe it isn’t as simple as closing your eyes or looking away… but then why have Sauron repeat the phrase “look into my eyes” if you don’t actually have to look for him to control you? It’s stupid. 

“Well, next time Storm is kidnapped, I’ll make sure they take her someplace nice.”

The Savage Lands are fucking boring oh my god. 

I’m guessing… Sinister was in the soil when they last left… they’re saying Garokk is in the soil… hmm?? I’m probably wrong tho… it actually is just Garokk, that’s boring.

WOLVERINE TACKLING AND PETTING ZABU!! Fucking adorable.

Episode 14, 15, 16, 17: The Dark Phoenix

This whole saga gave me the ick. It made me sick to watch. It’s is just a very disgusting storyline. First, Phoenix invalidates Jean’s free will, then the motherfuckin’ Rape Syndicate drops in and invalidates Phoenix’s free will. It’s just very gross and I felt like I was playing voyeur to some gross man’s fantasy. OH WAIT I literally fucking was because of that creep character I refuse to remember the name of.

“Ohoho! Looks like you’ve been having fun without me! Where’s the Cajun?” kinky

Who the fuck are these silk-stocking wearing hoes? “Tradition demands that this power be wielded by us” Ah, so they’re white supremacists. 

Every woman wants a piece of Scott. Callisto wanted a piece, Dazzler wanted a piece, The Phoenix is staying in Jean’s body because she wants a piece. “Dark pleasure of destruction” Fancy words for saying you want to peg that man. 

KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER. GET A JOB. STOP FUCKING TOUCHING HER YOU CREEP. I scream. They do not listen. But hahahaha Scott’s beautiful eyes broke her out of the creep’s rape fantasy. 

DAZZLER YOU PIECE. I know it’s hard to resist Scott’s charms but you do NOT spring a kiss on a man. Literally this whole thing is caused by people not respecting consent. The only reason Scott and Jean’s psychic rapport was broken was because Dazzler couldn’t fucking keep her hands to herself. And it's SOOO forced bc he could have just sent Gambit to play bodyguard.

These guys are fucking governing Genosha in ’97. Whose bright idea was it to put the Rape Syndicate in charge of a sovereign nation?

“I know what you’re thinking, bub. Question is: “Can I get Wolverine before he turns me into shish kabob with his claws?” Well bub, seeing as these claws are adamantium: the strongest metal known and can slice through vanadium steel like hot butter, you gotta ask yourself: “Do I feel lucky?””

“Lousy year.” *drops wine bottle on man’s dick*

I just love unhinged Wolverine quotes.

“I need no help from a woman to destroy the X-Men.” What a surprise. The head creep is a misogynist. Question: if Shaw can absorb any energy, can he absorb the energy of me ripping his spinal cord from his back? Asking for a friend.

Just when I think it’s over this damn saga still won’t end. Lilandra I thought I was done with you, woman. You come back into my life to fridge Jean Grey a second time, you piece. 

Scott/Jean has captured my mind and soul. They’re perfect. I love them so much. 

Episode 18: Orphan’s End

What an on-the-nose title for an episode where Cyclops learns his father is alive. Oh by the way that was mentioned before, his father is a space pirate. 

Cyclops mockingly calling Corsair “dad” fuels me. Let him tear his father a new one. 

Corsair says that if he’d known his children were alive nothing could have stopped him from coming back. Girly you never even looked, deadbeat. Just assumed your sons were dead for convenience, motherfucker. 

Episode 19: Love in Vain

We need a codeword for when Rogue gets dragged into some bullshit by toxic people from her past. Girl has had too much. Cody gave me bad vibes from the beginning. 

The fact that they defeat the Brood by talking to their sentient fish space ship? Two for two on sentient ships saving the day this season.  

Logan trying to comfort Rogue but her gravitating toward Gambit, the one whose affections she spurned going after the one that got away… I just got a lotta feelings, okay?

Season 1

Season 2

[sparklingelectricblue]

From the Ashes: Marvel Infinity #13

For those who don’t know, Marvel has a subscription service where you can read back issues of comics digitally. This service is called Marvel Unlimited. I really enjoy it. I’s nice to read comics without handling my comics or comics that I have not yet gotten ahold of.

Another part of unlimited is their infinity comics. These are short weekly comics that are online only. They tend to be silly short stories or they explain some missing back story from a main comic book. This week’s issue focuses on Magneto and is meant (I think) to fill in some back story on how Magneto went to young and powerful after being resurrected and fighting Orchis to now old and wheelchair bound.

I know not everyone has access to this so I thought that I would write up a summary about it.

There’s not going to be a lot of screenshots because the comic is meant to be read on a tablet where you scroll down through the story. It makes it so that it’s hard to capture a whole scene. But I’ll try to add some good ones. Plus, I don’t want Disney coming for me. I'm not going beat by beat but I do the major points. Anyways, I talk too much…

We start with this image:

Only to see Max scream “no” as he wakes up. He was having a nightmare. He looks over to the hover chair that he has been using in the new X-Men series. The helmet sits on the chair and seems to be daring him to wear it. “But he is Magneto… …he dares.”

Next scene, Max is hovering around in the chair as Hank is bouncing around him, asking Max if he plans to going Merle. Max confirms, “not that it’s any of your business, but yes”. That’s when Hank asks him if he could not go wearing his helmet and floating chair.

Max has a good response:

Honestly, I just love that Max calls his helmet gaudy. Hank responses that the helmet sends a signal that might be distressing given Max's "checkered" history. “At least try to put our new neighbors at ease.”

Next scene is Max in town in a normal wheelchair sans helmet. He compares the townspeople of Merle who worked or ignored the sentinel factory to the “neighbors” who willingly ignore the concentration camps outside their towns or the trains that passed through during the Holocaust. Honestly, a pretty fair comparison. “And so he will never trust a “neighbor” again.”

At this point someone bumps into Max causing him to drop what he was holding. The person is saying sorry but Max is calling him an idiot. A random girl picks up what Max dropped and gives it to him. Girl: “Here you go Mister Magnet. You dropped your pretty hat.” The art makes the girl look preteen but the dialogue makes her seem younger.

Max responds like this:

The girl’s dad says to her, “Don’t worry about it Anna. That old man’s probably just having a bad day.” Anna responds, “*sniff* he seems so sad, Daddy”. None of that seemed sad to me. Just angry and cranky. Maybe justifiably cranky given how things have changed for both him and mutant kind and he is stuck in a town where people worked towards the eradication of mutants. And it's cold. And someone bumped into him.

Maybe the writer was trying to reference that scene in Son of M where Luna says that Max is not a bad man, just sad.

But look at this face! It just makes me laugh.

Why does Max have a kippah? He’s going to a temple. Maybe the dream made him decide to go to temple.

Once inside, there’s a person who approaches him, “I was wondering when you’d drop by”. Max says he's been busy and that Merle was the last place he expected to find a temple.

The person is Rabbi Rachel Sagan and she offers Max a cup of coffee and to listen to him. She calls him "Mr. Eisenhardt", which I didn't know Max's real name was public knowledge or not. I guess it is now.

Max takes her up on it and over coffee he lists all the various places that he's seen destroyed: "Asteroid M. Utopia. Avalon. Genosha... Oy, Genosha. And now Krakoa."

So Rabbi Sagan asks how this brings Max back to temple.

It's really understandable why he would feel this way and everything he's been through.

"When Genosha fell, I looked out over the ruins and I knew we only had one or two chances left to marshal our factions together in the pursuit of a common dream. That chance will never come again."

Rabbi Sagan compares Max to Moses, leading his tribe though the wilderness. Max states, that was Charles. "The bald schmuck with the eyebrows? No, he never saw himself as an instrument. You can tell. It's you. It's always been you. But there's a problem..."

The show Rabbi Sagan put her hand on Max's, "Moishe was a humble man, Max. Are you?"

Pfft! No! He's the Master of Magnetism!

Max responds. "I... have been humbled. Over and over."

Rabbi Sagan says that's not what was asked, and prompts him to remember his Torah; how Moshe was was commanded to climb and was told him he would not live to cross the River Jordan.

Max: "What are you insinuating, Rabbi?"

Rabbi Sagan: "I'm suggesting that your fear is a consequence of your pride. Do you really fear that there is no promised land for your people, or do you fear that they will not be able to reach it without you?"

Max doesn't respond well to this.

Everyone has probably seen the scene where Max is then zooming out on his wheelchair while stating, "This was a mistake. I should never have come." so I'm not going to include it here.

The next scene is him outside in the street. He's angry about what the Rabbi said. A caption box says, "The Gall! Why if he was still himself, he'd..." . When suddenly, a truck sliding at full speed in the snow with a loud "Skreeeeee". Someone yells, "Billy, get outta the road! It can't stop!" and Max is surprised.

Bam! The truck hits him throwing him from his wheelchair before hitting a telephone pole and bursting into flames.

There is a close up of Max's face with blood on it. A caption box says "Yes, in dreams, he is a founder and feller of nations."

Then we end on this scene.

What's going to happen? We'll find out next week!

[libertine-past]

I wanted to do something for Rogue/Gambit week, but all I have is this unfinished *gambit lives* WIP. So here goes.

When the rest of the team finally gets clearance to touch down in Genosha, Rogue is still in her tattered dress, wearing Gambit’s coat, muscling through rubble. They hold her and she barely flinches, as if it’s happening to someone else.

It’s her third day without eating or sleeping—just searching. Clawing.

The last place anyone saw Gambit was at the bar.

Magneto and Madelyne succumbed to the green flash.

The Godzilla sentinel was defeated by one of the dancers in the marketplace, a humble Omega named Exodus.

Mutant art, Rogue considers.

They sift through the fledgling nation’s ashes with the other helpers.

Survivors are found, but not enough.

They freeze in their tracks when a young girl and her winged mother ask the searchers if they’ve seen “the card trick man.”

A shrill gasp. Rogue bolts to her level, holding her shoulders as gently as she can. “When did you see him, sweet thing?”

“At the Xavier. He saved me and my mom. He said ‘be brave, Cher’ and I said ‘I’m not Cher but I know her songs.’”

A blip of a smile breaks through on her lips for the first time in days. “We’re gonna find him, babygirl, I promise.”

This promise carries her until she finds a charred Queen of hearts in the wreckage of the Xavier Regency’s courtyard.

Then she goes feral in her search.

Every now and then she calls out his name. Sometimes it’s barely audible, sometimes she screeches like a tea kettle.

It still was possible he’d been vaporized to a green mist after saving the girl, but her vague awareness of this means little.

If she never accepts it, maybe this effort will never shift from rescue to recovery mode.

Storm moves her knotted hair away from her face. “Rogue, love—you have to stop and rest. Let us take over.” Storm knows this won’t be easy. She remembers Hank’s account of Rogue peeling open the Asteroid escape shuttle like a can of sardines to find Gambit at just the sheer possibility of him being hurt.

Rogue’s shakes her head in a barely visible twitch and clutches the lapels of the coat. “Rogue always comes to Gambit’s rescue,” she quotes, choking on tears. “I know he’s out here. I feel him.”

“As do I. But he needs you to come to your own rescue first.”

Rogue shakes her head with a trembling sniff. “I have to tell him the truth. I don’t care what happens to me if I can’t.”

“We do. We love you. Here.” She hands her a canteen and Rogue submits to it with dribbling gulps. “There. For Remy, right?”

“For Remy.”

The afternoon shadows get longer and Rogue relents to sleeping against Kurt’s blanketed shoulder for a little while, her face streaked with dried tears.

Jubilee accosts them at full speed, her boots kicking up dust. “The telepaths, they found someone alive!”

Rogue’s voice is like static, but audible. “Oh my lord, please.” They rush after the clusters of people standing around the site.

“It’s a low level empath,” Jean says. “Mind is very hard to breach—”

“If that ain’t Gumbo, I’ll eat dirt,” Logan says.

Rogue holds her breath. Jean raises the figure from the wreckage, his white suit battered but intact, his eyes closed as if asleep, his body glowing pink as if charged.

Rogue squeals through her tears with a hand over her mouth, feeling like this is all a fever dream. “He’s—”

”Fascinating,” Hank says. “A latent mutation triggered by duress. A biokinetic shield that protected him from the falling building–”

He doesn’t get to finish as Rogue plows through and bridal carries Remy in her trenchcoated arms, sobbing. He’s breathing, slowly but surely, like he’s suspended in time. “I knew it. Goddamn you, sugar. This is your best trick yet.”

The rest of the team indulges in their own delighted tears. Storm breaks out with a triumphant laugh.

Jubilee flips her glasses over her eyes from the brightness. “How do we wake him up out of the glowy shieldy chrysalis thing?”

Wolverine groans at Rogue, who looks like she’s going to zip herself inside the chrysalis thing. “Uhhgh. Let me guess, with the power of love?”

Morph rolls his white eyes. “We can discuss your affinity for Celine Dion later, Canuck.”

“We have to proceed carefully,” Beast says. “We don’t know the extent of his injuries before the shield kicked in.”

A shield, Rogue muses. The aura around him beckons her, like a certain electromagnetic energy once did.

Her glove drops to the ground.

She follows her sudden instinct and slowly grasps Gambit’s face, spiking up not a single vein, absorbing nothing. Everyone gasps.

“Stars and garters,” Hank says. “Gambit has held the link to nullifying your touch all along.”

“C’mon, Sleepin’ Beauty. Make a gal feel welcome,” she trembles, and kisses his lips tentatively, then with all the determination on this broken island.

And he blinks awake, still glowing.

“…gambit not even gonna question this.”

She pulls him in close by his violet scarf. “Makes two of us. I love you, you damn fool,” she shivers through her tears, kissing him desperately.

And there it is, light as a flutter of cards. Nothing close to a burden.

“Something tells me our friend is never turning that shield off,” Beast says.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Promises Five: The Hunt

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Dream of the Endless had been promised a bride.

A/N: I'll offer song recs to folks who are interested in asks! Still dealing with some mental health issues, but pushing through. HOLY SHIT THE NEXT CHAPTER. 0,0 Liking is sweet, commenting is divine. Talk to the lonely hermit, people. Her dog is tired of her shit.

The hounds sang after the hinds, and their masters followed them under the trees.

In the distance, the high castle sat like a toy house from which all the dolls had escaped, spreading their games and pageantry through the forest with bells and horns to warn away the deer and fox. Huntsmen released other deer, fox, and fowl from prearranged cages out of sight of the king and his swarm of courtiers, so the dolls could play pretend at feats of skill.

The bard kept to the back, holding a tight rein on her grey mare – who didn’t understand why she couldn’t stop and graze if the bard insisted on moving so slowly – in the company of the ladies Alder. Eilwyn, who’d visited the bard’s chamber two nights past, glimmered and glowed, illuminated like a piece of art in the dappled sunlight and the eyes of a few dozen would-be suitors. Officially, no one could pay court until the Endless had his pick. Unofficially, Eilwyn had received six declarations of love, five bad poems about her eyes, one good poem about her hair, and an uninspired puzzle box containing a gaudy necklace without a single gem of value.

Eilwyn loved it all, of course.

But as the younger woman amused herself snaring hearts for her collection, the bard conversed with the Dowager Alder, Eilwyn’s grandmother.

“The city lights are unbearable,” the elder Alder insisted. “My eyes are bad enough as it is, but when every street and tavern glows like the moon, I can hardly make out the planets with my telescope, let alone the fainter stars. With the travel time, I’ll lose whole weeks of work, and gods know if I’ll be alive to note my calculations this time next year.”

Manly shouts and howling dogs suggested something ahead had died, or was about to. The bard wondered how many of these fools in their fine furs would discover the material cost of bloodsport when they couldn’t scrub the stains from their velvets in the morning.

“You say that every year.”

The Elder Alder, on her aged palfrey, squinted at the green canopy shielding her beloved sky and tutted.

“And one year I’ll be right, like I always am in the end.”

The woman was an astronomer, a mathematical magician, and the idea of death hadn’t scared her since the bard first met her as a young maid. The wheel of the heavens moved before her, and it would move after, and that was well enough if she could just understand the damn thing before she shuffled off this mortal coil. She’d written books, and papers, and more books, and the bard wondered if Death would really hold off until the universe held no more mysteries. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Of course, Lady Alder.”

Arthritis had long-since gnarled the lady’s hands, and they twisted over the saddle pommel and a hank of her horse’s main like knobby cypress knees, straining with the roll and sway of her palfrey’s gait.

“How far is the damned camp?”

Another lady – one of the fools hoping to wed her daughter to the Endless riding very far ahead near the king – seized the reins of her precious child’s horse and passed the odd trio. She did not look to the side. She did not look at anything. She lifted her nose far too high. And she nearly trotted over her own servants in passing.

The bard waved, and the daughter gawked with wide eyes as she was spirited away from poor influences and dangerous words. Really, any damage was already done, and fleeing the scene of battle only showed weakness. What kind of lesson would the girl really learn besides the fact that her mother enjoyed making a spectacle of her piety? Parents really had the strangest ideas about children.

“Grandmother!” Eilwyn exclaimed, clearly delighted.

The bard, equally delighted, couldn’t help herself. “Such language from so fair a lady. Shocking.”

The Dowager shifted in her saddle, face puckered in discomfort. “Hush, the both of you.”

Oh, if only she could. She laughed to imagine how much pain and trouble might’ve been saved. And how many adventures missed. They never would’ve been friends at all if the bard kept her own counsel.

“You expect a bard to hold her tongue?”

“The sun will freeze first.” The Dowager made a point of staring down her granddaughter, though, and her granddaughter made a point of smiling very prettily in reply. A lord several lengths ahead called for Lady Eilwyn’s attention, and she brokered an armistice by riding out of her grandmother’s line of sight entirely, leaving the two old companions to fight their own wars.

“My old bones are not made for riding.”

A jolt of pity seared the bard’s belly like the pain after eating a rotten fish. She’d rather purge it and be done, but the prickling discomfort would only grow with age. There was no course but to swallow it down and imagine it hurt much less than it would in time.

“Why didn’t you take the coach then? It could’ve brought you in comfort.”

Swollen knuckles flexing, the lady scoffed. “With the rest of the invalids? Don’t insult me.”

“But it’s so much fun, old friend.”

“Old,” Lady Alder muttered. “Yes. I am that.”

The bard shifted in her own saddle, wondering if she could stomach any of the inevitable banquet awaiting them.

“That wasn’t the word I’d hoped you’d echo.”

An eye sharper than any hawk’s pinned her from the side, and she felt like a child caught sulking. “If you need reassurance as to that, then you are not half so clever as you make yourself out to be.”

She seized on the opportunity for levity and smiled with all her teeth. “You’ve known me for a fool many years, have you not?”

“Aye, but a clever one.” The lady considered. “Most days.”

“Such praise you give me.”

“You fished for it so often the lake is empty.”

“Unfair but not untrue.”

The lady hummed her affirmation, welcoming in a moment of calm as they road in the wake of the hunt’s chaos.

Ahead, those most eager to prove themselves brought down smaller prey on their way to the day’s camp. Once all had a chance to refresh themselves with wine as their horses grazed, most would sally out again in the name of dead beasts. Dusk would bring them back, and they’d spend the night drinking, feasting, and debauching one another just outside the safe ring of torchlight, pretending to be very daring and wild for fucking someone in a bush.  A bit more hunting in the morning for those who could still sit straight in the saddle, and then all would return bloody and victorious to the castle.

The bard struggled to understand those who found the prospect of a royal hunt… thrilling. None worried to go home hungry, and the creatures they met in the wood came hobbled, with teeth filed and tusks blunted.

Rushing down a winding stair risked greater peril.

Bored by the day’s excitement, she let her thoughts spin out in wider and wider passes, circling the crux of the drama.

What did the King of Dreams dream of?

Revenge, she suspected. Vengeance on the king that may boil over on the land he ruled, and she must guide her favorites out of the flood’s path. Those practical answers satisfied the part of her that always craved a direction, a purpose, the next challenge to conquer, but the Dream King’s retribution sat like a wax seal over a longer letter. She would very much like to read that letter, even if it was dangerous, and unwise, and entirely reckless.

The Prince of Stories must have depths unfathomable, millennia upon eon of secrets and experiences carved into his bones. She wanted to dismiss her curiosity as nothing but interest in a vision of her future. Would she be like him in another thousand years? No. She’d still be human, and he was Endless. All the lifetimes of the Earth couldn’t teach her to understand one such as him.

But that didn’t mean she had no desire to try.

From farther up the line, a runner came jogging, peering up at the faces of the mounted company. He looked from one to another, seeking the right address to receive his message. The bard paused, recognizing the Everard house colors on servant’s tabard. Her horse stamped, whickering around the bit as her rider leaned out of the saddle to catch the young man’s eye. He saw her and darted to her side quick as an arrow.

“Is all well?” the bard asked.

“My lady Alis Everard and my lord Tomas Everard request you ride with them.”

The bard looked to Lady Alder. She hardly needed her friend’s permission, and none of the Alders were the sort to cherish grudges over perceived slights. But the bard didn’t want to leave her to ride alone, either. She needed good conversation and someone who cared enough to notice if she swayed on her horse.

“Oh, go tend to your nervous foal.” Lady Alder waved her off. “My own proud filly will see you pass and return to keep me amused. We favor different arts, but she has a sharp enough eye to see trouble riding by.”

“Thank you.” The bard pulled out of the column of riders, careful to avoid the servant at her side. “I’ll see you at the camp.”

Whatever Lady Alder replied was lost to the wind. Finally given her head, the bard’s mare leapt into a canter, her hooves thumping a second heartbeat that rattled up and through her rider. Old loam and the sharp green scent of freshly broken twigs gathered around her like a cloak as she moved just left of the path, removed from the rock and dust of the road.

The bard knew what colors to look for, and she let all definition blur as she moved past lords, ladies, knights, and their scores of attendants. They all looked so strange and out of place in the tunnel of green woods, dressed to stand out in a part of the world where blending in more often preserved life.

Near the front of the cavalcade, she found the Everards. Alis stared with wide eyes as the bard pulled even with her, mare prancing and snorting in frustration as her run came to an end. Her dramatic entrance pulled other eyes, and the king – only a few riders ahead – glanced back with frustrated disgust. Perhaps she should apologize that she wasn’t a stag. For all of the ruckus she’d heard from afar, she saw precious few carcasses dangling from the hunters’ belts.

“Thank you for coming in such haste,” Lord Everard said. Stifled amusement plucked at his lips, trying to lift them into a broad, laughing gale. It would be bad manners to laugh too loudly too near the king over a jest to which he wasn’t party, but Everard clearly struggled.

She answered with the grin he’d tried to school away. “Best way to travel. Now, what is the matter?”

Lord Everard gestured to his daughter, and she in turn tried to sink into the mud of the forest track. She hunched low, like she could melt into her boots. Her complexion had gone pale, despite the flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, and her gloves creaked as her dainty hands squeezed into fists. The bard let the merriment fade, looking and listening beyond the girl’s silence.

Alis’s doe eyes flicked towards the shadow who rode beside her king, and the bard understood.

Dream of the Endless wore his customary black, with the blood-red ruby shining on his breast like a heart he’d ripped from his prey. His nightmare mount had teeth where it ought to have eyes, and it laughed with a man’s voice. He carried a raven on his shoulder rather than a hawk on his glove, and anyone who hadn’t met his sister may mistake him for an aspect of Death. Or something worse, perhaps.

Lord of Nightmares indeed.

“He frightens me,” Alis whispered, leaning close. “I’ve had nothing but bad dreams since I came to the castle.”

As she should. A glance at her father confirmed he thought the same. Just because he’d been forced to bring his child to this storm didn’t mean he didn’t fear the lightning. He had too much sense for this farce and too big a heart to let the girl suffer. If his wife were not busy running the estate, she’d be here to shelter and comfort their little girl, but in her absence, he must ask the bard to fill the role, and she gladly pulled Alis’s attention from bad dreams to simpler truths.

“And you’ve never had a nightmare before?” She didn’t chide. She reminded. Even in the security of her own bed in her own home, the girl had touched the darker shores of the Dreaming. Its king would not reach out to swallow her now, even though he prowled so near in the Waking. “Alis, believe me, you are safe.”

Alis pulled her spine straight, taking a deep, intentional breath that shuddered on the way in and trembled on the way out.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise that if I’m wrong, I’ll find a convenient sword to fall on, and you can say you told me so. Does that make you feel better?”

“A little.” Realizing what she’d said, Alis blanched and rushed to add, “But only because I know you’d come back!”

This time her father did laugh, and the bard reached to reassure her with an honest to gods giggle, when chaos erupted at the front. The king and his companions came to a dead stop, and without warning or order, those who rode behind struggled to halt in time. Rearing horses and shouts of alarm rolled down the line like a breaker, and in the wave of confusion that followed, the bard once again left the road to circle forward.

They’d reached the camp.

A glory of golden stitching over swaths of emerald, the vast tents might cover an entire town, and smoke rising with the smells of rosemary and stewed venison hinted at the delights within.

The display paled behind the entity waiting at the edge of the woods, however.

Golden eyes like licks of flame from the sun’s heart smiled over ruby lips. Welcoming and menacing and all-too pleased with themselves.

Power perfumed the air, like honeysuckle and ambergris, clashing with the winter-cold snap of Dream’s clear displeasure. The King of Dreams had lost the veneer of humanity, and he set himself against the intruder like the deepest hour of the night resisting the dawn.

Few creatures could stand up to the king’s guest. Even fewer commanded the presence of function beyond personification. The bard did not know who the stranger was, but she knew what they were.

Another fucking Endless.

Every inch screamed of passion, romance, obsession. Golden hair and loose-fit silks that flowed like water into a garment that was neither tunic nor gown inspired sensual curiosities. They rode a unicorn, a bay mount with cloven hooves, a lion’s tail, and a goat’s beard. The russet horn glinted with flecks of gold, like treasure winking through a smear of blood.

The King of Dreams sneered, lip curling as he shared a frigid greeting.

“Sibling.”

The Endless in their path laughed, bright as bells and smooth brandy. It sounded to the bard’s ears like trouble. “I hope you don’t mind if I join in your hunt. Big brother.”

[l3-800]

Connor - In Case you don't Live Forever (AI)

(if you have troubles seeing this video you can check the YouTube link: https://youtu.be/EXOD-lxUIwM)

ʚ Happy Father's Day ɞ

to all you Dads, Fathers, Step-Fathers, Adoptive Fathers, father figures of all kind! Either you are winning or feel like losing in your hard role, I am sure you are doing your best! Don't give up! There is always someone who sees you as a hero! ʚ♡ɞ

For this opportunity I've made Connor sing a song Ben Platt written for his father. Thank you so much @julientel for inspiration to find and choose this awesome song! I didn't know it exists and now I totally love it! If you are interested in Connor and Hank as a family art, check Julientel's gallery, it's the Top Tier! I hope you will enjoy this piece just as I do! This time I added an EasterEgg again :D

(it really deserves much better picture than this but no matter how I tried I just didn't manage to draw them nicely so I had to go for photomanip again... if somebody wants to ilustrate this song, I am all positive for it!)

For more songs check "L3-800 music" in the searchbar. = Disclaimer = This video contains making a real person appear to say something they didn't say. Please, don't use it for further remixes or claims! = Credits = -I spend quite the time and effort to create these but please be sure to also support the original artists of my reworks! Original song / Ben Platt Original performer/ Ben Platt, Adam Paddock, Calvin Zarnack AI voice / Bryan Dechart (Connor) AI voice model / made by me and Nodomatic Art / edited screenshots from the original game Detroit: Become Human = Use AI art with care and caution! = It's surely an amazing tool which must not be used in the wrong way! I promise my usage of AI voices will be only used for harmless fun and peaceful art like this.