#I LOVE YOU HANK. PLEASE STAY ALIVE

[beheadable]

Wanting to reblog gifs to main but I’m only halfway through the show and I don’t want to be spoiled and also I’m afraid my favorite character might die because of random stuff I’ve seen a while ago

[sacredsorceress]

Scars / Logan Howlett

pairing: dofp!logan howlett x mutant!reader summary: every person has a soulmate. after settling in the future that he saved, logan starts to consider his next mission when a suspicious mark appears on him. word count: 3.2k a/n: good ol'fashioned soulmate AU. this is the first actual fic i've written in a long time so please have some grace. reblogs and replies are super appreciated! warnings: general mentions of logan's past, scars, self-doubt, alcoholism, reader smokes a cigar, mentions of razors, scars, wounds, two uses of y/n

logan masterlist | inbox | full masterlist

It had been a week since Logan woke up in his healed timeline.

For most people, the change would have been dramatic. But Logan was far unlike most people. The initial dreamlike state he was in when he first walked through the mansion- seeing the ghosts he had once known returned to the flesh, unscathed- quickly subsided. Logan had always been a man thrown onto a new path- how he lived life constantly changing to best fit his interests. Now, with his newfound peace he found the most complicated mission of all: what to do with the life he was now free to live?

Even before the sentinels, the battles, the wars- he had always been a man on the run. He was solo, strategic, concise. For a man who was gifted with infinite regeneration, he had solely concerned himself with staying alive. He ate for sustenance, sought shelter for safety, and nursed a bottle to find enough peace of mind to sleep at night.

The professor had once told him that for a person to reach self-actualization they first had to have all of their needs met. Logan had scoffed at the time, assuring the professor that he knew himself just fine. But now, with his problems so solved that they had ceased to ever exist, he wondered if maybe the professor was right.

Who was he? Where did he go from here?

The answer was found in the form of a scar on his hand.

"Well, everything seems to be just fine."

Logan scoffed at the blue man in front of him

"Well it's not." Logan said. "Check again."

Two days after he had come back, a large, circular scar had appeared on the palms of each of his hands. When they hadn't disappeared after two minutes, he rushed to the bathroom and nicked himself with his razor, watching as the wound healed with only blood dripping down his scruff as a remanent of it. Thirty minutes after that he found himself in the lab with Hank, Jean, and the Professor hypothesizing his miraculous marks.

"Logan, the tests came back clear." Jean assured him, leaning against the wall. "Maybe it's time to consider that it's something else."

Logan quirked his head towards her.

"I haven't had a scar in over two hundred years," he reminded her, his voice laced with irony. "I get not one, but two and you... what? Think it's a coincidence?"

Before Jean had a chance at rebuttal, the professor moved to face Logan.

"That's not what Jean's inferring, Logan." Charles reminded him. "We're simply asking that you consider other options. Less... dire options. It could, after all, be a good thing."

"Yeah?" Logan scoffed. "Like what?"

A silence hung in the air.

When Logan had first come to them with news of his scar, the thought had been on all three of their minds. Still, there were a plethora of things that could have caused that. Though, when the tests came back clear and his skin continued to heal from all sorts of abrasions, it felt as if there was only one answer for his seemingly magical scars.

However, none of them were keen on sharing this diagnosis with Logan. One wondered whether he'd handle the idea of his body failing him over fated love.

Hank was the first to speak up.

"Like a soulmate."

Oh that was rich, Logan thought.

Logan wasn't unfamiliar with the idea of soulmates.

Around the time that two fated lovers were destined to meet, there would be a sign for each of them. In some cases they were eyes changing colors, feeling the other's pain, finding their names everywhere they looked. In other cases they were new birthmarks, tattoos, scars.

In some way, the two were inextricably connected.

In his long life he had seen others experience it dozens if not hundreds of times. When the first thirty years of his life rolled around with no one, Logan accepted that he was one of the outliers. He considered it for the best and by now, with everything that he had gone through, the concept of soulmates almost seemed like an old wives' tale.

Logan glanced at their faces. When he realized they were serious, a deep laugh escaped from his gut. There was a lack of light in his eyes that admitted his insincerity.

"So I disappear for a few decades and you all start believing in fairytales?" Logan pulled the needles from his arm, the heart rate monitor going flat as he did. "What a bunch of bullshit."

Jean laid her hand against his chest, urging him back into the seat.

"Logan." She soothed him. "This is a good thing. Scott and I-"

Oh this was real rich.

"Scott and you are... what, huh?" Logan urged. "Soulmates?"

Logan scoffed, swiping Jean's hand from his chest.

"Bet you're so happy with your 'soulmate' and that's why you lead me on, huh? That it? You're happy?" He taunted, a dark laugh escaping him once more. "Spare me-"

"Logan, that's enough!"

The professor's voice echoed against the linoleum walls of the lab, reverberating off of the medical equipment throughout.

"If you want to wallow in your own self-deprivation, be my guest, but spare the rest of us your grief." Charles continued. "I think it would be best if you go back to your quarters and consider the future the universe has offered you."

The energy in the air was thick.

Jean and Hank avoided Logan’s eye contact while the professor’s nearly burned a whole through him.

Accepting defeat, Logan threw his hands up in the air and pushed himself out of his metal chair.

“Fine.”

Soulmates. Logan thought. Who would believe in a thing like that?

-

"It's a pleasure to see you again."

The atmosphere in the mansion was a stark contrast to the lab Charles had been in days before.

Now the school day had commenced: children skipping from class to class, students chatting with their friends in the hallway, teachers grabbing coffee between lessons. Amidst the organized chaos, Charles had arranged to meet you in the foyer: the replacement history teacher for Logan's class.

"You too, professor." You smiled, reaching out your hand. "I was so glad to hear from you."

Your hand hung in the air briefly, awaiting his return. Charles examined it for a moment- a twinkle in his eye- before taking it. His thumbs brushed against the newfound scars between your knuckles as he did.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't always have these scars, did you, Y/n?" Charles asked.

You had not.

You had woken with them a few days before. Despite your powers rooted in chaos magic, it wasn't uncommon for blemishes or wounds to etch themselves into your skin. However, you often knew why. These marks, scars, were not faint, but instead quite profound. Three thick, healed over wounds patched together like a stitch on the back of each of your hands.

"No professor."

He closed his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips. Though you knew he wished to ask more questions, the moment was broken by Logan.

"Ah, the man himself." Charles beamed. "Logan, I'd like you to meet Y/n. She'll be covering your class."

You had seen your fair share of news stories about the Wolverine. Who hadn't? Though the television had never prepared you for just how tall, or broad he was.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan."

"You too." He nodded, taking your hand.

His hand lingered in yours for a moment. Charles cleared his throat.

"We were just discussing the most peculiar scar on Y/n's hand." Charles said. "Appeared just a few days ago out of nowhere."

Charles nodded his head in the direction of your hand, leading Logan to squint. As if a light bulb had gone off over his head, Logan glanced between Charles and yourself and with your hand still in his, he turned it examine the back.

Three scars between your knuckles. Right where his own claws would be.

Though he liked to imagine himself as the patron of remaining suave, Logan's eyebrows shot up at the recognition. He traced his view from your hands, up your torso, to your face where you eyed him questioningly.

He thought back to the way that he woke up in the seventies, wrapped in the arms of another woman. If times had been different and Logan hadn't undergone all the so-called character development in the last forty years, he was sure that a face like yours would have gotten him in a lot of trouble. You were beautiful, and your demeanor highlighted your strength.

Your face radiated kindness, warmth and most of all, sincerity- a trait that was difficult to come by in a trade such as his.

But then Logan recalled that this wasn't the seventies and you weren't at some bar leading him on the entire night: your hand was in his and, according to everyone else, he was yours.

The idea almost couldn't register in Logan's brain.

"Interesting, isn't it, Logan?" Charles asked, breaking the silence. "Almost identical to where your claws are, hmm?"

Oh the professor thought he was quite funny.

Logan pulled his hand back from your grasp and shook his head.

"Not that easy, Charles." Logan commented before turning to you, a spiteful tone in his voice. "See you around, bub."

Before you had the chance to open your mouth, you watched as Logan stomped down the nearest hallway, his boots squeaking against the floorboards as he did. His fists clenched and released at his sides as he disappeared from view.

His reaction had come so far from left field that if it hadn't given you whiplash, it would have hurt your ego. Instead you turned back to the professor.

"Was it something I said?" You asked.

The professor shook his head, patting your hand gently.

"Logan's quite a complicated man." He assured you. "I'm sure you'll come to know that more than the rest of us. Now, to your classroom..."

Glancing over your shoulder to the void-like hallway that Logan went down, you considered the professor's words.

-

A storm had taken over the mansion by nightfall.

As you padded down the wood panelled hallways, the lightbulbs shook in their glass with each thunder clap- wind swatting at the window panes every few seconds. The pitter patter of the raindrops, although harsh, was comforting. It was almost as if the mansion had been engulfed by the storm, trapping everyone inside, while consequently making the outside world feel a thousand miles away.

When you found Logan's door, tucked in at the end of the hallway, you knocked.

"Yep."

The weight of the door fell against the palm of your hands as you pushed it open.

Logan's room was dark. The only light in the space had been from the embers of the cigar that hung in his mouth, cradled between his thumb and forefinger. Despite the darkness, you could make out his figure sitting at his desk chair by the window, feet kicked up on the sill.

Logan only gave you a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to the view.

"What d'you want?"

His voice was thick and rough around the edges.

"I came for your textbooks." You replied, tiptoeing against his floorboards. "The professor said you'd have them."

The hand of his that held the cigar waved around. Minuscule ashes fell to the floor as your eyes remained trained on the light and the faint glow of the moon that illuminated the side of his face.

"Be my guest," he said. "Don’t have a clue where they are."

The professor had given you the lowdown when he saw your scars.

Charles told you that despite everything that you had learned- the history that you had known- the Wolverine you'd meet was not the same person. He was a man from a different time with far different, darker memories and enough baggage to weigh down dozens.

Amidst the silence, you cleared your throat.

"Must be hard to wake up in someone else's life."

By now you had reached his desk, your fingertips tracing the lines in the dark, lacquered wood.

You could smell him and the cigar from this distance- aftershave mixed with smoke.

"The professor tell you that?"

"Mhm."

The chair creaked as Logan flicked his hand towards the window, ushering you to come closer.

Watching your step in the dark, you maneuvered around the furniture and sat beside Logan on his desk- pushing loose papers to the side.

"He give you his whole spiel on soulmates too?" He asked, eyes trained on the rain outside.

Soulmates.

Now that was the last thing you expected to come from the Wolverine's mouth.

You'd heard of them more times than you could count. You once wondered whether every repetitive coincidence was a sign that your person was coming. But, when that never happened, you lost hope.

Who got to tell you who you belonged to anyway?

Leaning over, you gingerly took the cigar from his grasp and replaced it with your own fingers. Sitting back into the desk as lightening struck a tree in the distance, you took a puff.

"So that's what the scars on my hands were all about," You thought aloud.

The window fogged as you let the smoke leave from your mouth in a breathy sigh.

Logan tapped his fingers on his thighs, counting the seconds between a lightening strike and its consecutive rumble of thunder.

"Listen, I'm no prince charming if that's what you came here looking for."

Logan's chair creaked again as he leaned back in his seat. His arm draped against the desk as he met your gaze.

You chuckled and held out his cigar, offering it back to him.

"I came here looking for textbooks." You laughed. "You're the one who keeps talking about soulmates. I think you're more of a romantic than you let on.”

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the cigar back into his own hand. Another lightning strike met the ground in the distance, a clap of thunder following moments afterwards.

"You don't buy it?" Logan quirked his eyebrow. It was a teasing question, one he was curious to hear your answer to.

You shrugged.

"I don't think the universe gets to tell me who to love," you said. "If I fall in love with you it's because I love you, Logan. Not because some mark told me to. I just think of it as... a little shove in the right direction.”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile for the first time.

"A shove?"

"Like a... blind date." You finished. "Ever been on one of those?"

A congested laugh escaped him.

"Sweetheart, do I look like the type of guy to go on a blind date?"

You bit the inside of your cheek at the name.

Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his arm. You wouldn't admit how much it hurt your knuckles to do so. You'd have to make a mental note to remember his adamantium skeleton.

"Gosh, you're cocky!"

Logan shrugged, "You're the one who likes it apparently."

You felt yourself grow hot at his accusation.

Even though he had a mark signalling his future affection for you, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed by Logan's knowledge of yours. You felt like a child who's crush had just been exposed to the whole class. Was he noting ever glance that you gave him? The way you didn't move when his arm brushed against yours?

A brief pause hung in the air until another thunder clap reverberated against the walls.

"So what's your mark?" You asked.

Logan shoved the cigar into the corner of his mouth. The biting motion forced him to flex his jaw in a way that you would refuse to admit made you start to realize that maybe the universe was right.

And that maybe his cockiness was justified.

He laid out his hands for you. The room was still dark, making the ability to discern the details of his scar impossible. Taking Logan's hands in yours, you summoned your magic into your hands, watching as they glowed gold.

Logan had two large, circular scars imprinted into his palms. It was a clear indicator of your own magical power that surged from your hands.

It left a feeling you couldn't describe in your chest to know that someone else was marked for you. They were destined for you. To be with you. You had a future written together before the two of you had met. Even if he rejected you, there was a sign etched into his skin that bound the two of you together in some fateful way.

Gently, you traced your fingertips against the mark, feeling the warmth that radiated from his palms.

When your eyes flicked upwards, you noticed how close the two of you were now sitting. You could feel his warm breath against your lips as the lingering smell of the cigar drifted up your nose.

Although he wouldn’t admit it, Logan was enchanted by the energy radiating from you. Whether people hated or loved him, his ability got a lot of talk. In his mind though, he would never be a hero. He was just some guy who got lucky.

You, though? He didn’t need you to tell him that you were an Omega level mutant. Logan had heard about you from the professor: you could cast spells, read minds, reconfigure reality- to name a few. You didn't need a reason to fight for what's right, you just did. Again, and again, and again. Even here, now, you were picking up Logan's history class when he knew very well you could be on the other side of the world sipping pina coladas if you wanted.

What the hell was the universe thinking putting you with him?

Logan admired the reflection of the magic on your cheeks and the way your eyes stayed trained on his palms. Your touch was so gentle he could have sworn he was in a distant dream until your eyes met his.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, gaze locked.

Then another clap of thunder shook the mansion.

You quickly leaned back, pulling your hands from Logan's touch.

"I should... I should go." You said, pushing yourself off of Logan's desk. "It's getting late and I have my first class in the morning."

Logan leaned back in his seat. He said nothing but eyes remained fixed on your form as you made your way towards the door.

Looking back at him with your hand on the knob you made a mental note to remember the image of him with his feet kicked back on the window as he smoked his cigar.

A soft smile remained.

"Good night, Logan."

When you didn't leave immediately, he nodded.

"Night, sweetheart."

Mustering up the courage to shoot him one last smile, you pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Now, Logan didn't know how much he believed in soulmates, but he could be inclined to consider that it was one good wingman.

Leaning back in his seat, Logan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself drown out his worries with the sound of the rain.

a/n: my inbox is open for more requests! thank you for the request @welcometochilis585

[pandapetals]

ong i love your writing! can i please get a x1 logan fic where the reader is a ballerina? she’s been alive for a long time just like logan with the same regeneration ability. they meet when she is invited to the x mansion for something. but he walks in on her dancing swan lake? if not i totally understand. a girl can dream 💗✨

Hi! Thank you so much and sooo sorry for how long it took. I’ve been busy finishing school and sleep-deprived. Hopefully, i did it justice. Idk what this is lol but i ran with it. It turned into a mini fic....anyway, I always wanted to be a ballerina when I was a kid so this lowkey fulfilled my dreams.

logan howlett x fem!mutant reader - angst, minor fluff, reader has established relationships with x-men especially hank, slight reader description, no y/n used, reader has met logan before but he doesn’t remember, timeline sort of follows X1 & X2, ballet references

You stood in the middle of the mansion’s wide, polished hallway, the faint smell of waxed floors and old books swirling around you. The hum of distant voices, laughter, and the occasional crash of something breaking echoed deeper within the sprawling mansion. You smoothed your palms over your thighs, fingers brushing against the soft cotton of your dance tights beneath your coat. This place hadn’t changed—well, not in the ways that mattered.

Storm walked beside you, her silver hair catching the sunlight spilling through the grand windows, while Scott trailed just behind, his arms crossed in his usual no-nonsense stance. You saw your reflection in one of the hallway mirrors—unchanged. Despite the weight of decades, your skin was still smooth, and your body lithe. This place carried ghosts for you, but not the kind that faded with time.

"Still feels the same," you murmured under your breath, your voice almost swallowed by the mansion's high ceilings.

Storm turned, a small smile pulling at her lips. "The kids grow up, and new ones come in, but the mansion stays the same."

"Right down to the same smell of burnt toast from the kitchen every morning," Scott added, his tone dry. He gave you a sidelong glance, the faintest hint of warmth breaking through his stoicism. "You'll fit right in again. Hank’s been talking about your return for weeks. I think he's been counting the days."

Storm chuckled softly, her voice lilting like the whisper of wind through trees. “You’d think he was the one with a photographic memory.”

As if summoned by your name, a deep, rumbling voice boomed from behind. “Is that—no, it can’t be.”

You turned just in time to see Hank bounding into view, his blue fur almost shimmering in the light. His tailored blazer looked comically out of place over his hulking, beastly form, but the warm smile on his face was the same as you remembered.

"Hank!" you exclaimed, your smile splitting wide as you stepped forward. His massive arms enveloped you in a bear hug, lifting you clean off your feet.

"My dear, you haven’t aged a day!" he declared, setting you back down but keeping his enormous hands on your shoulders as if to confirm you were real.

“Well, you know me. Perks of the trade,” you said lightly, but his words brought a pang you quickly shoved aside. You tilted your head up at him. “You, on the other hand, look fluffier than ever.”

Hank laughed, the sound rolling through the hallway like thunder. “You flatter me.” He released you with a fond pat on the back. "Though I must admit, it’s wonderful to see you again. It hasn’t been the same without you."

Scott cleared his throat, his voice tinged with impatience. “As much as I enjoy a good reunion, we still have the tour to finish.”

You smirked. “Still as serious as ever, huh, Summers? Don’t worry, I won’t let Hank hold us up too long.”

As the group moved down the hallway, your footsteps were light against the polished floor. A gruff voice cut through the air, stopping you in your tracks.

“Who’s the new recruit?”

You froze. You knew that voice—low, gravelly like it had been dragged across gravel and left to smolder. Turning slowly, you locked eyes with Logan. He leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand resting on the frame, the other holding a cigar he hadn’t bothered to light. His eyes raked over you, sizing you up with an air of detached curiosity.

“Logan,” you said, the name tasting familiar on your tongue, like a song you hadn’t sung in years.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do I know you?”

For a second, you almost told him. The memories of a fight decades ago—the clash of claws and fists, the way his grin had split his face after every victory—flashed through your mind. But his blank stare reminded you he wouldn’t remember. Not this version of him. Not after what they’d done to him.

“Not really,” you replied with a shrug, masking the ache behind a practiced nonchalance. “But I’ve heard of you. Big fan of the ‘snikt-snikt’ routine.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners. “Cute.” He pushed off the doorframe, his boots thudding against the hardwood as he walked closer. “What’s your story?”

You mirrored his casual stance, crossing your arms as you looked up at him. “I’m here to teach ballet. Figured the kids could use some culture.”

“Ballet?” Logan snorted, his grin widening. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be real useful in a fight.”

You smirked back. “You’d be surprised. I could take you down in three moves.”

“Three, huh?” He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re confident. I like that.”

“Is that your way of saying you’d like a demonstration?”

Before he could reply, Storm cut in, her voice carrying an edge of authority. “Logan, play nice. She’s here to help, not trade punches with you.”

Logan raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. “Alright, alright. But don’t blame me if she ends up knocking one of the kids on their asses in the Danger Room.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. Logan might not remember you, but some things about him hadn’t changed.

As he walked away, cigar tucked back between his teeth, you turned to Storm, who was watching you with a knowing look.

“Well,” you said, “this is going to be fun.”

Storm chuckled. “Oh, I think you’ll fit right in.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

The room smelled faintly of lavender, likely from whatever freshener Storm had insisted on using, and the golden light of late afternoon streamed through the large windows. You sat cross-legged on the neatly made bed, hands resting on your knees, staring absently at the few belongings you’d unpacked. A duffel bag in the corner. A framed photo of you and Hank from years ago—his arm slung over your shoulder, your face mid-laugh. It felt surreal, almost too heavy to keep looking at.

You shrugged as if trying to loosen the weight pressing on your chest. It was nice to be back, even if it stirred old memories you’d locked away. Memories of laughter, battle, and the kind of losses that didn’t fade with time. But this was temporary. Just another stop along your endless road, you reminded yourself. You never stayed anywhere long enough to leave roots. You couldn’t.

A knock at the doorframe broke your reverie.

“Mind if I come in?” Hank’s familiar baritone rang out, warm and tinged with his usual politeness. He stood there, one hand resting on the frame, his blue fur catching the golden light.

“Course,” you said, a smile pulling at your lips as you waved him in.

He stepped into the room, his hulking frame seeming almost too big for the cozy space. But the way he moved—careful and precise—kept it from feeling intrusive. He glanced around, his sharp eyes taking in the bare walls and the sparse unpacking. “Travel light as always, I see.”

“Old habits die hard,” you said with a shrug. “Besides, I’m not planning on staying long.”

Hank’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t press the matter. Instead, he crossed the room and plopped into the chair at the small desk, the furniture groaning under his weight.

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” you said, your smile softening. “It’s been...”

“Ten years,” he finished for you, his voice quiet but firm.

Your smile faltered, and you looked away, the guilt settling in your stomach like a stone. “I’m sorry,” you said finally in a whisper.

Hank waved you off, the gesture almost as familiar as the amused twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, dear. I know you had your reasons for running off. It just would’ve been nice to know you weren’t, you know, dead in a ditch somewhere.”

That earned a small laugh as you rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah, I guess I could’ve done better on the whole ‘staying in touch’ thing, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he teased, leaning forward and resting his chin on his massive hand. “I missed you, you know. Things have been... quieter without you around.”

You grinned. “Me? I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”

“Oh no,” he said, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “I distinctly recall a certain someone sneaking into my lab at three in the morning to swipe beakers for—what was it—homemade glow-in-the-dark paint?”

You laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. “In my defense, it worked! That mural in the attic was a masterpiece.”

“And I had to spend an entire week re-organizing my lab. You’re lucky I’m so forgiving,” he said, though the grin on his face made it clear he didn’t regret a second of it.

The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet, the kind of silence only shared between old friends.

Hank cleared his throat, his tone turning curious. “So, how are you feeling about being back? I know it can’t be easy.”

You leaned back on your hands, glancing up at the ceiling. “It’s... weird. Good, but weird. This place has so many memories, you know? Feels like I’m walking through a time capsule. Everyone’s so familiar but different at the same time. Even Logan.”

Hank’s eyebrows shot up. “Logan?”

You nodded, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “Ran into him in the hallway earlier. He asked who I was.”

“And did you tell him?”

Your smile faded slightly, replaced by something more wistful. “Just said I was here to teach ballet and that I’d heard of him.”

Hank tilted his head, studying you. “You’ve met him before, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice soft. You traced the edge of the duvet with your finger, eyes distant. “A long time ago. Before he lost his memory.”

Hank frowned. “And he doesn’t remember?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Not a thing.”

“That must’ve been... hard,” Hank said, his voice gentle, always the considerate one.

You shrugged, forcing a small, tight smile. “It’s not like I expected him to. Besides, it’s probably better this way. Less complicated.”

“Hmm,” Hank murmured, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed. “Well, complicated or not, he seems intrigued by you. I caught him muttering something about ‘ballet instructors with an attitude’ after he saw you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Sounds about right. I think I annoyed him within thirty seconds of meeting him. New record?”

Hank chuckled. “Perhaps. Though, if I know Logan, that probably just means he respects you already.”

You snorted. “Yeah, sure. Respect. That’s what I’m calling it.”

Hank grinned at your sarcasm, but his expression softened as he leaned forward again. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. Even if it’s just for a little while. The place feels more like home with you in it.”

The words struck a chord deep in your chest, and you looked down, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve to avoid his gaze. “Thanks, Hank. That means a lot.”

“You mean a lot,” he said simply, his sincerity cutting through any attempt to downplay his words.

The two of you fell into an easy silence again, but this time it was heavier with unspoken things. Things you didn’t have to say, because after all these years, Hank just knew.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Great work today,” you said gently, crouching to pat one of the kids on the head. The little girl beamed up at you, her hair still pinned into a slightly crooked bun from class.

“Thanks!” she chirped before bounding off toward the theatre entrance, where a gaggle of other students waited.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow, bright and early!” you called after them, your voice carrying across the empty rows of seats. A few of them waved over their shoulders, laughter spilling into the hall as they disappeared through the double doors.

The stage was quiet now, the faint scent of resin and sweat lingering in the air. You stood there staring out at the rows of chairs that stretched into a shadow. The polished floor beneath your feet caught the faint gleam of overhead lights, reflecting a ghostly version of yourself back at you.

Your shoulders sagged as you sighed, the stillness pressing around you like a heavy blanket. This place stirred something deep in you, something you hadn’t felt in years. You glanced down at your feet, your sneakers looking almost out of place against the elegant backdrop of the stage. Your eyes drifted, drawn to a battered old prop chest tucked just off to the side, partially hidden by the heavy velvet curtain.

Curiosity pulled you forward, and you crouched to flip open the lid. A cloud of dust puffed out, tickling your nose as you rummaged through its contents. Costumes, ribbons, bits of tulle—faded relics from long-forgotten performances. And then, nestled at the very bottom, you found them.

A pair of pointe shoes.

Your breath hitched as you lifted them from the chest, the ribbons cascading down like silk waterfalls. They weren’t yours—at least, not exactly—but they might as well have been. The scuffed toes, the frayed edges of the satin, the way the soles were worn down just so—it was all so familiar it made your chest ache.

Without really thinking, you sat down on the edge of the stage, untying your sneakers and slipping off your socks. The cool satin of the pointe shoes slid over your feet like a second skin, and your fingers moved on autopilot as you laced the ribbons up your ankles. The motions were muscle memory, older than most of the students you’d taught today.

You rose slowly, the faint stretch and pull of the shoes grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you’d needed. A glance backstage revealed a small sound system someone had left behind, a phone still plugged into it. You scrolled until you found it—Swan Lake.

The haunting strings began to play, swelling and softening as if they were breathing. You stepped back onto the stage, your toes brushing the center mark, and let the music guide you.

At first, you moved tentatively, testing the feel of the shoes and the way your body responded. But soon, the hesitance melted away, and the steps came to you as naturally as breathing. A pirouette turned into an arabesque, which melted into a series of gliding movements that carried you across the stage.

The world outside the theatre faded, and all that existed was the music, the stage, and the rhythm of your own heartbeat. Each movement felt like slipping into an old memory, one you didn’t even realize you’d missed.

You were mid-leap when you caught the faintest creak of floorboards behind you.

The sound shattered your focus, and you landed with a jarring thud, spinning around instinctively.

Logan stood at the edge of the stage, one hand shoved into his jacket pocket. He leaned against the proscenium arch, watching you with an unreadable expression, though something about it wasn’t entirely unkind.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The soft strains of Swan Lake still played behind you, the violins aching as the tension in the air stretched.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked finally, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Long enough,” he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Your eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t think to announce yourself?”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Didn’t want to interrupt. You looked... focused.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise to your face as you turned away and bent to tug the ribbons loose from your ankles. “Well, congratulations. You interrupted anyway.”

“Didn’t mean to,” he said, stepping closer, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor. “You’re... pretty good at that, by the way.”

You paused mid-motion, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Pretty good? Gee, thanks for the glowing review.”

He smirked, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. “Alright, fine. You’re really good. Happy?”

You snorted, slipping the pointe shoes off and flexing your toes. “It’s been a while.”

“Couldn’t tell,” he said simply. His gaze lingered on you even as you busied yourself with tucking the ribbons back into the shoes. “You used to do that, huh? Dance, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, turning the shoes over in your hands. “A lifetime ago.”

The silence hung between while the faint hum of the violins still played in the background.

“You should do it more,” he said finally, his tone softer than you expected.

You looked up at him, startled by the sincerity in his voice. The rough edges of Logan’s demeanor didn’t usually leave much room for softness, and it caught you off guard. But before you could respond, he was already turning away, heading toward the wings, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor.

You just sat there, the pointe shoes resting lightly in your lap. You stared after him, unsure whether to laugh, roll your eyes, or call him back just to yell at him for sneaking in. But something about the way he moved—slow, deliberate, almost hesitant—stopped you.

“Logan,” you called out, your voice carrying across the empty stage.

He paused, his broad shoulders tensing, though he didn’t turn right away. When he did, his expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure what to expect from you.

“How long have you been here?” you asked, gesturing vaguely to the space around you. “At the school, I mean.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and for a second, he looked like he was deciding whether or not to answer. “A good while,” he said finally, his tone gruff.

It wasn’t much of an answer—not something you could work with—but you tried anyway. “Hank tells me you’re just… passing through.” You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “But you’re still here.”

Logan let out a soft huff, the corner of his mouth pulling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but close enough. “He should mind his business,” he said, though there was no real heat in his words. He paused, stepping closer with a glint of curiosity in his sharp eyes. “You talking to Hank about me?”

You shrugged, the movement casual, but your heart was beating just a touch faster. “Me and Hank are good friends. We’ve—well, I’ve known the X-Men almost my whole life.” You hesitated, glancing down at the pointe shoes in your lap, your fingers idly tracing the frayed edges of the satin. “Been around a long time.”

Logan’s gaze lingered on you, and you could feel the weight of it, heavy and searching. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You give off that vibe.”

You frowned, looking back up at him. “What vibe?”

“Like you’ve seen some things,” he said, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. His tone was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that felt older than even his rough exterior let on. “Been through it. Same as me.”

You held his gaze for a moment, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you could explain. Not easily, anyway. Instead, you offered him a small, wry smile. “Yeah, well. Time has a way of kicking the crap out of you if you let it.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, the sound more genuine than you expected. “Ain’t that the truth.” He shifted slightly, his gaze dropping to the pointe shoes still cradled in your hands.

“You’re good at that,” he said finally, nodding toward them. “Dancing, I mean. I could tell. Not just talent—it’s in your bones.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What, you an expert on ballet now?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Nah. But I know what it looks like when someone’s got somethin’ that keeps ‘em going. Something they can’t walk away from, even if they try.”

The words hit deeper than you wanted to admit as you stared at him, unsure how to respond. Finally, you said, “Yeah, well. It’s not exactly something you forget. Even when you want to.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. Something was flickering behind his gaze, restless and uncertain like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t even know he had.

“You seem… familiar,” he said suddenly, the words rough, like they’d been dragged out of him against his will.

Your breath caught, and you stiffened, your grip tightening on the pointe shoes. “Familiar?”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. I dunno. I get these dreams sometimes. Flashes of… people, places. Can’t make sense of ‘em half the time, but you…” He trailed off, running a hand through his dark hair. “You feel like one of ‘em. Like I’ve seen you before.”

Your heart was pounding now, and you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, even as his words pulled at something buried deep in your chest. “Well,” you said lightly, “maybe I just have one of those faces.”

Logan snorted, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Maybe.” But the way his eyes lingered on you made it clear he wasn’t convinced.

You stood abruptly, the pointe shoes dangling from your fingers as you moved to set them down on the edge of the stage. “I should probably get going,” you said, your voice a touch too bright. “Long day tomorrow. Lots of kids to wrangle.”

Logan straightened, watching you carefully. “Yeah. Sure.” He hesitated, then added, “Hey. If you ever feel like you need to talk… about all that time kickin’ the crap outta you…” His smirk returned, softer this time. “I’m around.”

You looked at him, caught off guard by the unexpected offer. Then you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Logan.”

He nodded back, stepping away toward the wings. “Anytime.”

As he disappeared into the shadows, you found yourself standing there, staring at the space he’d left behind, wondering if he remembered more than he realized.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Leaving already?” Hank asked, his deep voice soft but tinged with disappointment as he leaned against the doorframe of your room. His sharp blue eyes swept over the half-packed duffel bag on the bed.

You turned to face him, zipping up the side pocket of the bag before offering him a faint smile. “Yeah,” you said, your tone light, though the ache in your chest betrayed you. “My job’s done. These kids learned pretty quickly. They don’t need me hanging around.”

Hank stepped into the room, his large frame taking up far too much space as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You could stay…”

His words hung in the air like a challenge, and you looked down at your hands, gripping the strap of your bag. The idea tugged at you, and you couldn’t deny it. A part of you did want to stay. It had been a few months—far longer than you’d initially planned—and yet leaving felt harder than it usually did.

Hank tilted his head, studying you. “I know he would miss you,” he said gently, his voice softening. “In his own weird way.”

Your heart gave a traitorous thud, and you swallowed hard, glancing toward the window. The late afternoon sun cast long golden streaks across the walls, the light catching the faint dust motes in the air. You knew exactly who Hank meant.

“Hank,” you said, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” Hank continued, his tone a mixture of teasing and sincerity, “it’s not every day Logan actually lets someone get under his skin.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up, though it was tinged with a bittersweet edge. “Under his skin? Pretty sure he’d describe me as an itch, not a friend.”

Hank raised an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. “Perhaps. But even Logan doesn’t get that annoyed unless he likes someone.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway made both of you glance toward the door. A moment later, Logan appeared, his usual scowl in place as he leaned against the frame, arms crossed.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, his gravelly voice laced with sarcasm, though his eyes flicked to your bag with something far harder to read.

“Not at all,” Hank said smoothly, stepping toward the door. “In fact, I was just leaving.”

You shot Hank a glare, but he only smiled innocently before brushing past Logan and disappearing down the hallway, leaving the two of you alone.

“So,” Logan said, jerking his chin toward the bed. “Packing up, huh?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah. Time to hit the road. The kids are in a good place, and my work here is done.”

Logan snorted, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. “Work? Looked more like pirouettes and tutus to me.”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t knock it, Logan. Ballet’s tougher than it looks. I’d like to see you last five minutes in a pair of pointe shoes.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” he said, the ghost of a grin flickering across his face. “I like my dignity right where it is.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you zipped up the duffel bag. “You wouldn’t know dignity if it hit you over the head.”

“Careful, darlin’,” Logan shot back, his voice teasing but low. “I might actually start to think I’m gonna miss you.”

The playful tone of the conversation faltered for a split second, the weight of his words landing heavier than either of you expected. You looked at him, your smirk fading as your eyes searched his face.

“Well,” you said lightly, trying to brush it off, “don’t get too sentimental on me, Logan. I’ll think I’ve broken you.”

Logan didn’t laugh. His expression grew more serious, his brows furrowing slightly as he stepped closer. “I’m not bein’ sentimental. I mean it.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden earnestness in his voice. “Logan—”

“I’ll miss you,” he interrupted, his gaze dropping before meeting yours again. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Before you could respond, Logan ran a hand through his dark hair, letting out a low huff. “I don’t know what it is about you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But you feel… familiar. Like I’ve known you before.”

You froze, your pulse quickening. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to piece something together. “I’ve had these dreams,” he said slowly. “Flashes of… I dunno, a forest. Snow. And you. You’re there. You’re always there.”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression neutral even as his words sent a ripple through you. “Logan, that doesn’t mean anything,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “Dreams are just… dreams.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “Maybe. But it feels real. Like I’m rememberin’ something I’m not supposed to.”

You took a shaky breath, gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. “Logan…”

He stepped back, giving you space but keeping his sharp eyes locked on yours. “I don’t know what it means, but…” He exhaled, the sound rough and frustrated. “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is… if I ever figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

You managed a faint smile, though your chest felt tight. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Logan nodded once, his gaze lingering on you before he stepped back toward the door. “Take care of yourself, darlin’,” he said, his voice gruff again, though the softness in his eyes remained.

“You too, Logan,” you replied, watching as he disappeared into the hallway.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“He isn’t here,” Hank’s familiar voice rumbled as you stepped through the heavy oak doors of Xavier’s mansion.

You froze for a moment, your breath catching in your chest before you schooled your expression into something neutral. “Who said I came back for him?” you quipped, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe I missed you, you big fluff.”

Hank appeared at the top of the grand staircase, his blue fur catching the soft light streaming through the tall windows. He grinned as he descended, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet foyer. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said, his tone warm and teasing. As he reached the bottom step, he opened his arms, and you moved forward, letting yourself sink into the familiar embrace.

He pulled back slightly, his large hands resting gently on your shoulders. “My dear, I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

You gave him a faint smile, setting your duffel bag down by your feet. “Well, you were right. This place has a way of sticking with you.”

Your gaze wandered, taking in the grand entryway—the polished wood floors, the scent of old books, and faint traces of Storm’s jasmine perfume lingering in the air. It felt the same as it always had, and yet different, as if the mansion itself had shifted in your absence. It had been three months since you’d left, determined to put some distance between yourself and the memories this place stirred up. But the farther you went, the more you felt the pull to come back.

Something about being here this time had gotten under your skin, burrowed into the part of you that you usually kept locked away.

Hank seemed to sense your hesitation. His perceptive blue eyes studied you carefully, the teasing edge to his voice softening. “What brought you back this time? Missing the kids already? Or…” He trailed off meaningfully, giving you a knowing look.

You rolled your eyes, stepping away to avoid his gaze. “Don’t start with me, Hank.”

“Start with what?” he asked innocently, though the twitch of his lips betrayed him.

You bent to pick up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you moved toward the staircase. “I just felt like it was time to come back, okay? No ulterior motives.”

Hank followed you, his footsteps were heavy but deliberate. “Hmm,” he murmured, and you could feel his gaze boring into the back of your head. “I see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gestured for you to follow him toward the sitting room. You hesitated, but the look on his face made it clear he wasn’t going to let this drop, so you sighed and followed him in.

As you stepped into the room, the crackling of a low fire greeted you, the warmth immediately chasing away the chill that had settled in your bones during your journey back. Hank moved to pour himself a cup of tea from the silver pot on the table and offered you one with a tilt of his head. You shook your head, folding your arms across your chest instead.

When Hank finally spoke, his voice was careful but direct. “Logan left shortly after you did.”

You froze, the words hitting you like a punch to the stomach. You forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression calm. “Oh?”

Hank’s sharp eyes flicked to you over the rim of his cup. “He went to Alkali Lake.”

Your breath caught for a fraction of a second before you forced yourself to shrug casually. “Is that so? I guess he's still looking for answers.”

Hank hummed, setting the teacup down with a quiet clink. “Indeed. He seemed… restless. More so than usual. Charles sent him there.”

You shifted your weight, pretending to be absorbed in the crackling fire, but you could feel Hank watching you, his gaze pressing against the cracks in your carefully constructed mask. “Well, you know Logan. He’s not exactly one for sitting still,” you said lightly.

Hank didn’t respond immediately, but when he did, his voice was softer, more concerned. “You knew he’d leave, didn’t you?”

You frowned, turning your gaze to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hank leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded you with that gentle yet unyielding intensity that only he could pull off. “You care about him,” he said simply. “And don’t try to deny it. I’ve known you too long.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. Instead, you looked away, your fingers tightening into fists at your sides. “It doesn’t matter,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “He doesn’t even remember me.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it,” Hank said gently.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. You cleared your throat, straightening your shoulders. “I think I’ll talk to Charles,” you said abruptly, moving toward the door.

“Of course,” Hank said, his voice soft and understanding. “But if you need to talk…”

You glanced back at him, offering a small, strained smile. “Thanks, Hank.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You found Charles in his study, the quiet hum of his voice reaching you before you even entered the room. He was finishing up a conversation with Storm, who nodded at you in greeting as she passed by on her way out.

“Ah,” Charles said, his warm smile appearing as he gestured for you to come in. “It’s good to see you back.”

You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, closing the door behind you. “Why did you send him there?”

Charles raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained calm. “Logan?”

“Yes,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Hank said you sent him to Alkali Lake. Why?”

Charles sighed, folding his hands in his lap as his gaze turned contemplative. “Because he was searching for answers. And I thought he deserved a chance to find them.”

“At that place?” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

Charles’s gaze softened, his eyes piercing yet kind. “You know as well as I do that Logan’s past is complicated. He came to me, searching for guidance. I simply pointed him toward where I believed he might find what he was looking for.”

You turned away, pacing to the window as you tried to steady your thoughts. Memories of Alkali Lake clawed at the edges of your mind, and the idea of Logan going back there made your chest tighten.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” you muttered.

Charles was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was gentle. “He’s stronger than you think. And, perhaps, finding the truth is the only way for him to heal.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for,” you said quietly. “He doesn’t remember.”

Charles tilted his head, studying you carefully. “And yet, it seems to me that you do.”

You turned to face him, your arms folded tightly across your chest like a shield, but you couldn’t keep the vulnerability from your eyes as they met his. He was right, of course—he was always right. You did remember. You remembered everything.

And that was the problem.

“Sometimes,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray you, “things happen for a reason. Sometimes it’s better not to remember.”

Charles’s expression softened, his piercing gaze never wavering. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his hands folding neatly in his lap as he studied you. “Perhaps you feel that way,” he said gently, “but Logan doesn’t. He wants to remember—he longs to, even if he doesn’t realize how painful the truth could be.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening against your arms. The lump rising in your throat made it difficult to speak. “You shouldn’t have sent him there,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “You could’ve just told him. You could’ve looked into his mind and shown him.”

Charles sighed, his expression tinged with a sadness that only came from decades of making impossible decisions. “I could have,” he admitted, his voice as calm and steady as ever. “But sometimes it’s best to let one discover the truth on their own. To take the journey themselves, rather than having it handed to them.”

You shook your head, pacing a few steps toward the window before stopping, your hands bracing against the ledge as you stared out at the sprawling gardens. The sky was painted with the fiery hues of sunset, the warm colors stark against the shadows creeping across the grounds.

“You don’t know what he’s walking into,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less strained. “Alkali Lake isn’t just some mystery to solve—it’s a wound that doesn’t close. Whatever he finds there… it’ll destroy him.”

Charles’s chair creaked faintly as he shifted, his voice still calm but tinged with something deeper, something more insistent. “Logan is stronger than you think. He has endured more than most men could even imagine. And while you may see Alkali Lake as a wound, for him, it may be the key to healing.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Healing? Is that what you call it? Ripping open the past just to bleed all over again?” You turned to face him, your voice rising slightly. “You think that’s going to help him?”

Charles remained unshaken, his steady gaze meeting yours. “I think,” he said carefully, “that Logan deserves the chance to decide for himself. To understand who he was, and who he could become.”

You looked away, your jaw clenching as the weight of his words settled over you. “He doesn’t need to remember everything,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Charles. “Some things… some things are better left buried.”

Charles regarded you silently for a long moment, the silence between you heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, he spoke, his tone gentle but resolute. “You could help him.”

The words made your heart jolt, and your eyes snapped back to his, wide with surprise. “What?”

“You could help him,” Charles repeated, his gaze unyielding. “You know him. You understand his pain in ways others cannot. Perhaps you are exactly what he needs.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to protest, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you stepped back toward the door. “No,” you said firmly, though your voice cracked slightly. “That’s not my place. He doesn’t even remember me.”

“Perhaps not,” Charles said, tilting his head slightly. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the connection. And it doesn’t mean you don’t care.”

You froze in the doorway, your hand gripping the frame as you glanced back at him. “This isn’t about me caring,” you said quietly, though even you could hear the lie in your voice. “This is about you sending him to a place that’s going to tear him apart, and expecting someone else to pick up the pieces.”

Charles’s gaze softened, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m not expecting anything, my dear. I’m simply reminding you that you have a choice. Just as he does.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as the weight of his words pressed against the walls you’d so carefully built around yourself. Without another word, you turned and walked out, the faint echo of your footsteps fading down the hall.

Later that night, you found yourself sitting by the window in your room, the pointe shoes you’d brought with you resting in your lap. The moonlight spilled across the polished floor, painting the room in silvery shadows.

You hadn’t danced since the day Logan had interrupted you in the theatre, but now, your legs ached with the restless energy that only movement could soothe. Setting the shoes aside, you rose to your feet and began to move, the quiet hum of your memories guiding your steps.

But no matter how hard you tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, his words echoed in your mind.

“I’ve had these dreams. Flashes of… I don’t know, a forest. Snow. And you. You’re there. You’re always there.”

You faltered mid-spin, your movements slowing until you stood completely still, your chest heaving with shallow breaths. The memories he didn’t fully understand were ones you couldn’t forget. The snow, the forest, the way his eyes—wilder, more broken than—had locked onto yours as if you were the only thing tethering him to the world.

You sat back down on the edge of the bed, resting your head in your hands. You had told yourself that coming back to the mansion was about the kids, about the familiar comforts of a place you’d once called home. But deep down, you knew it was about him.

And now he was gone.

You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or heartbroken, but one thing was certain—if Logan ever truly remembered everything, you weren’t sure either of you would survive it.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You descended the staircase beside Hank, nodding absentmindedly as he launched into an animated explanation of his latest research—something about neural pathways and genetic mutations. It was fascinating, you were sure, but your thoughts had drifted. A week had passed since you returned to the mansion, and yet it still felt strange to slip so easily back into the rhythm of this place, like stepping into an old pair of shoes you’d forgotten you owned.

“Logan! You’re back!”

Rogue’s excited voice cut through the air, and you froze mid-step, your hand tightening on the polished wood of the banister. Your eyes darted to the entrance below, where Logan stood just inside the door, a worn duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He looked as gruff as ever, his jacket unzipped and his hair slightly mussed, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as Rogue darted across the hall to embrace him.

You lingered on the stairs, watching the exchange with a small smile. Rogue stepped back, saying something too low for you to hear, and Logan responded with a grunt that made her laugh. The sight of it tugged at something in your chest—something you weren’t ready to name.

“Wonder why he’s back,” Hank said beside you, his voice low and tinged with curiosity.

You didn’t miss the knowing look he gave you, and you sighed, swatting his arm lightly. “Don’t start,” you said, your voice teasing but edged with a hint of nervousness.

Still, your heart raced, betraying the calm exterior you were trying so hard to maintain. The thought crossed your mind—fleeting and impossible—that maybe Logan had come back because you were here. But no. That wasn’t how things worked. You had left before him, made it clear you didn’t intend to stay, and Logan… well, Logan wasn’t the sentimental type.

As you descended the last few steps, Hank still at your side, Logan’s gaze lifted. His smirk faded as his sharp eyes found yours, and for a second, something flickered across his face. Surprise? Relief? It was gone before you could name it, replaced by his usual guarded expression.

“You… made it back,” you said, your voice softer than you intended as you offered him a faint smile.

Logan’s brow twitched, and he set his duffel bag down by his feet. “Looks like we both did,” he said gruffly, his voice carrying that familiar gravelly tone that always sounded like he’d just woken up.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you admitted, stepping off the last stair. “But, you know… this place has a way of dragging you back.”

“Yeah,” Logan said, his lips twitching as though he might smile. “Does that.”

There was a beat of silence, not quite awkward but heavy enough to feel like the air between you had changed somehow. Hank, ever the socially astute one, cleared his throat and patted you lightly on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll leave you two to… catch up. I have some experiments to check on.”

You shot him a warning look, but he just grinned and disappeared down the hall dragging Rogue along with him. Leaving you alone with Logan.

“So,” you said after a moment, folding your arms casually. “Alkali Lake. Find what you were looking for?”

Logan let out a low huff, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Nah. Nothin’ there but snow and bad memories.”

You nodded, though your chest tightened at his words. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let this get to you, wouldn’t let your emotions bubble to the surface. But it was hard. You knew what Alkali Lake meant, not just to him but to you as well.

“Well,” you said lightly, forcing a smirk. “Guess you can cross that one off the list.”

“Yeah,” he said, watching you carefully. “Guess so.”

There was a pause, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were working up to something. You shifted under his gaze, feeling the weight of it settle on your shoulders.

“What?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Had another dream,” he said suddenly, his tone casual, but there was an edge to it, something unspoken lingering beneath his words.

You froze, your smirk faltering. “Oh yeah?”

Logan nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “You were in it again.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, but you forced yourself to play it cool. “You sure it wasn’t Rogue this time? Or Storm? Maybe I’m just a stand-in for all the women in your life.”

He huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. It was you.” He stepped a little closer, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly, studying your face as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle. “This time you were… dancin’.”

The breath hitched in your throat, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. You broke eye contact, looking down at the scuffed floorboards. “Sounds like a weird dream,” you said, your voice quiet.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone softer now. “Weird thing is, it felt… familiar.”

You looked back up at him sharply, your stomach twisting. “Familiar how?”

Logan shrugged, the movement almost too casual, but his brow furrowed as though he were trying to make sense of something. “Don’t know. I just… felt like I’d seen it before. You, up on some stage or somethin’, spinnin’ around. There was music. Somethin’ old… Swan Lake, maybe?”

Your throat tightened. The memory flashed in your mind—the theatre, the faint strains of Swan Lake, the way you’d let yourself get lost in the dance only to find Logan watching you from the shadows.

“Well,” you said finally, forcing a smirk. “Maybe you’re just jealous of my skills.”

Logan snorted, his lips twitching upward. “Yeah, sure. That’s it.”

He held your gaze for a second longer, and you thought you saw the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—something uncertain, almost vulnerable. But then he stepped back, picking up his duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Good to see you back,” he said gruffly, his voice dropping just enough that you almost missed it. “Place is better with you here.”

Before you could respond, he turned and started walking down the hall, leaving you standing there, your chest tight and your thoughts swirling.

Logan might not remember everything, but the pieces were there buried just beneath the surface. And whether you liked it or not, it seemed those pieces included you.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Charles suggested I… help him,” you said, your tone sharp as you leaned against Hank’s lab table. The polished steel was cold under your hands, grounding you as you tried to organize your thoughts. “Can you believe that? The old man won’t use his powers to look inside Logan’s mind, but he expects me to do it—in some weird, roundabout sense.”

Hank hummed thoughtfully, his attention divided as he adjusted the burner beneath a bubbling beaker. “Charles has his methods,” he said evenly. “Though I suspect he thinks you’d be a better help because you… knew Logan. From before.”

Your stomach tightened, and you crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “Hank, I’ve known almost everyone. I’ve been alive longer than any of you. It doesn’t mean I have all the answers.” You hesitated, then added in a softer voice, “And you can’t expect me to just… spill my guts to him. What if it triggers something in him? The feral side?”

That made Hank pause. He looked up from his work, concern creasing his blue-furred face. “I’ve heard about that side of him,” he said cautiously, “but I’ve never seen it in person.” His voice lowered. “Have you?”

The question made your chest tighten even more, your heart thudding against your ribs. You turned away, your eyes settling on a shelf of meticulously labeled vials, pretending to study them.

“We’ve seen it, haven’t we?” Hank pressed, his tone gentler now.

Finally, you nodded, the memory bubbling to the surface unbidden. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’ve seen it.”

Hank tilted his head, his expression shifting from curiosity to quiet concern. “My dear,” he said carefully, “you’ve always made it seem as though you knew Logan in passing… like acquaintances from a battlefield. But…” His voice trailed off, and he straightened, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as realization dawned. “You’re not telling me something, are you?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “Hank, it doesn’t matter. It happened a long time ago. Just let it go.”

“What happened a long time ago?”

You gritted your teeth, frustration flaring in your chest. “It’s complicated,” you said, your voice low.

“I’ve got time,” Hank replied simply, leaning against the counter and folding his massive arms across his chest.

You threw him a look, but the patience in his gaze—the quiet, unyielding kind that Hank was so good at—made you falter. You pushed off the table and started to pace, running a hand through your hair as you tried to organize your thoughts.

“I met Logan decades ago,” you began, your voice tight. “During a war. A different one from the ones the X-Men are used to. He wasn’t like he is now. He was wilder, more dangerous. Barely in control of himself. A weapon, not a man.”

Hank’s brows furrowed. “Weapon X?”

You shook your head. “No. This was before that. This was… something else. Something darker.”

You stopped pacing, your arms falling to your sides as the memory gripped you. “I was passing through this remote town in the Canadian Rockies. Just trying to stay out of the way, you know? That’s what I did back then. I didn’t get involved. Didn’t put down roots. And then…” You swallowed hard, your voice dropping. “Then I heard the screams.”

Hank’s ears twitched, his expression unreadable as he watched you.

“There were bodies,” you continued, your voice distant now. “Shredded. Blood everywhere. And in the middle of it was him. Logan. He wasn’t himself—not the man you know now. He was… feral. An animal. He couldn’t even speak. Just growled and snarled like a beast.”

Hank adjusted his glasses, his expression turning grim. “And you fought him?”

You let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. “I tried. I had to. He was killing anything that moved. I thought I could stop him, but… I underestimated him. He tore through me like paper.”

Hank’s eyes widened. “But your healing—”

“Exactly,” you cut in, nodding. “He saw me heal. Saw me get back up when I should’ve stayed down. I think it… confused him. Maybe even snapped him out of it a little. He stopped attacking me, but he didn’t calm down completely. He just… stared at me. Like he didn’t know whether to rip me apart or run.”

“And what did you do?”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting to the window. The late afternoon light spilled into the lab, casting long shadows across the floor. “I didn’t run,” you said softly. “I stayed. I talked to him. Calmed him down somehow. It was like he recognized something in me, though I didn’t know what it was at the time. I stayed with him for weeks after that. Helped him regain some sense of himself. Taught him how to fight his instincts. We… we bonded.”

The last words came out quieter than you intended, and you felt Hank’s gaze sharpen.

“You didn’t just know him,” Hank said slowly, as though the pieces were finally coming together. “You cared about him.”

You looked away, your jaw tightening. “I left when he got better. Disappeared. I thought it was for the best. And now he doesn’t even remember me. So, yeah, Charles wants me to help him, but I don’t know if I can. And even if I could… I don’t know if I should.”

The room was quiet for a long moment, the bubbling of the beaker the only sound. Finally, Hank sighed, his voice softer now. “Perhaps you underestimate how much of you he might still remember, even if it’s not clear to him yet.”

You shook your head, the weight of your thoughts pressing down like an old, familiar burden. “He doesn’t remember. At least, not the whole picture. And honestly? It’s better that way.” Your voice softened, but a bitter edge crept into it. “He shouldn’t have to remember all the pain he caused. All the blood.”

Hank froze for a moment, his hands stilling over the set of vials he was arranging. The soft hum of the equipment filled the silence as he carefully chose his words. “I understand—”

“No, you don’t.” You cut him off, the sharpness in your tone surprising even yourself. You turned toward him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Hank, if you had lived as long as we have… seen the things we’ve seen, done the things we’ve done… You’d want to forget too. You’d want it wiped clean, all of it. Trust me.”

Hank straightened, his broad shoulders rising slightly as he considered your words. “You’re speaking for Logan,” he said slowly, his voice calm but firm. “You’re deciding for him.”

Your eyes flicked away, focusing on the far corner of the lab. It was easier than meeting his gaze.

“It’s not like Logan was given a choice back then,” Hank continued, his tone softening but losing none of its weight. “And now he has one. A chance to choose for himself who he wants to be—what he wants to know. You’re taking that away from him by deciding for him.”

The words hit harder than you wanted to admit, threading a knot of tension through your chest. You opened your mouth to argue, to say something to push back against Hank’s steady reasoning, but no words came.

Instead, you closed your eyes, exhaling slowly through your nose. “I’m not taking anything away from him,” you said finally, your voice tight. “I’m just trying to protect him.”

“Protect him?” Hank asked, his eyebrows rising slightly. “From what? From himself?”

“From the truth!” you snapped, your voice rising before you could stop it. The words hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered, and you took a step back, shaking your head as if to banish the emotions bubbling to the surface.

Hank studied you carefully, his blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t believe he deserves the truth, do you?”

Your laugh came out bitter, almost hollow. “Deserve? What does that even mean? Deserve doesn’t matter when it comes to this. What Logan’s been through, what he’s done—he deserves peace. And that’s not something he’s going to find at the bottom of a memory.”

Hank tilted his head, his expression a mix of empathy and challenge. “You think peace is ignorance?”

“I think…” you said slowly, your voice faltering. “I think there are some things you can’t come back from. Some things you shouldn’t have to come back from.”

“And yet he keeps fighting,” Hank said, his voice quieter now. “Every day, Logan fights to be better. To be more than what he’s been through, more than what was done to him. But you… you’re standing in his way.”

His words struck like a blow, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not standing in his way,” you said finally, but the words felt hollow.

“Are you sure about that?” Hank asked, his tone gentle but unwavering.

You turned away, gripping the edge of the lab table so tightly your knuckles turned white. “He doesn’t need to remember me,” you said after a long pause, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or what happened back then. He doesn’t need to carry that weight.”

Hank hesitated before stepping closer, his voice soft but unrelenting. “Maybe. But are you sure this is about what he needs? Or is it about what you don’t want to face?”

The question hung in the air like a loaded gun, and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer it.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Later that night, you found yourself sitting alone on the stage, the empty theatre shrouded in silence. Your legs stretched out in front of you, the ribbons of your pointe shoes loose around your ankles. Though the music had long since stopped, the soft strings of a violin still lingered in your mind, weaving through the restless thoughts you couldn’t escape.

Dancing used to help, used to be your escape when the weight of everything threatened to crush you. It felt like it only made things worse. The memories, the what-ifs, the fears you’d buried so deeply—all of it rose to the surface when you moved. Hank had been right, and you hated it.

It wasn’t just about Logan. It was about you. About the things you didn’t want to revisit, the things you’d worked so hard to leave behind. The terrifying truth was, if Logan ever pieced it all together—if he ever remembered everything—you weren’t sure either of you could handle it.

The quiet creak of the double doors opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You froze, your hands resting on your ankles as Logan stepped into the theatre, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his face. He looked more relaxed than he had when you first saw him after returning from Alkali Lake, like some of the tension he always carried had finally eased. Maybe his trip had given him some kind of closure. Maybe it had only left him with more questions.

You didn’t know which possibility scared you more.

You dropped your gaze to your pointe shoes, fingers fumbling with the ribbons as if untying them could somehow distract you from the way Logan’s gaze lingered on you.

He snorted, the sound soft but amused as he moved farther into the room. “Didn’t feel like dancin’ tonight?” he asked, his gravelly voice carrying a faint teasing edge.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at your lips. “What do you want, Logan?”

He shrugged, stepping farther down the aisle until he was close enough for you to feel the weight of his presence. His expression shifted, the smirk fading as his sharp eyes narrowed. “Figured I’d check in. You’ve been avoidin’ me since I got back.”

“I’ve been busy,” you said quickly, tugging your pointe shoes off and setting them beside you. The excuse sounded thin even to your ears.

“Yeah,” Logan said, his voice flat as he folded his arms over his chest. “Sure you have.”

You sighed, pulling your legs up onto the stage and crossing them in front of you as if the position could shield you from the intensity of his gaze. “What do you want, Logan?”

His gaze dropped to the floor before lifting again to meet yours. “I think we both know the answer to that,” he said quietly, stepping closer to the edge of the stage. “You’re keepin’ stuff from me.”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” Logan said, his voice low and firm. He stepped up onto the stage, closing the distance between you. “You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.”

You looked away, focusing on the empty rows of seats stretching out into the shadows of the theatre. “Logan, I—”

“Cut the crap,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “Every time I get close to somethin’, you shut me out. Every time I try to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on in my head, you’re there, lookin’ at me like you already know the answers.” He paused, his voice softening just enough to make your chest ache. “You do, don’t you?”

Your hands tightened in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to steady your breathing. “It’s not that simple,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan snorted, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Nothin’s ever simple with you, is it?”

“Logan, please,” you said, finally meeting his gaze. “Let it go.”

He shook his head, stepping even closer until he was standing right in front of you. “No. Not this time.” His voice was quiet but resolute, the kind of tone that left no room for argument. “I went to Alkali Lake and found nothin’ but ghosts. I keep havin’ these dreams, these flashes, and half the time, you’re in ‘em. You tell me to let it go? How the hell am I supposed to do that when I know there’s more? When I know you’re holdin’ somethin’ back?”

You stared at him, your chest tightening under the weight of his words. “You don’t want to remember,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “Not all of it. Trust me, Logan. You don’t.”

His jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “That’s not your call to make.”

“Isn’t it?” you shot back, your voice rising as the emotions you’d been suppressing finally broke free. “Do you have any idea what’s buried in your head? What remembering could do to you?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. “What’s buried in yours?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut, and all you could do was stare at him. Finally, you looked away, your gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not about me,” you said weakly.

“Bullshit,” Logan said, stepping closer until he was towering over you. “This is about you just as much as it’s about me. You’re scared, aren’t you? Scared of what I’ll remember. Of what it’ll mean for you.”

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, fighting back the sting of tears. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Logan crouched in front of you, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were sharp, but there was something softer, almost pleading. “Then tell me. Tell me what I don’t know.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill over as you whispered, “I can’t.”

“Why?” Logan’s voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability beneath his gruff exterior. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because it’ll break you,” you said, your voice trembling. “And I can’t be the one to do that to you, Logan. I won’t.”

The two of you just stared at each other, the silence between you heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Logan stood, running a hand through his hair as he stepped back.

“I’m not gonna stop,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’m not gonna stop until I figure it out. Until I figure us out.”

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the determination in his eyes. “Logan—”

He shook his head, cutting you off, his tone low but firm. “No more runnin’, darlin’. Not from me. Not from this.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, blinking hard to fight the tears threatening to spill. “You—you can’t just expect me to tell you everything,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Why not?” Logan said, his gaze piercing as he stepped closer. “Is it a long story? I’ve got the time—we both do.” His voice softened slightly at the end, but the determination in his tone didn’t waver.

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. “It’s not that simple.”

“All I hear are excuses,” Logan snapped, his frustration bleeding into his voice. “Excuses from Chuck about my mind bein’ too fragile. Excuses about how I’ve gotta ‘find the answers myself.’” He gestured toward you, his movements sharp. “And now excuses from you about dreams bein’ just dreams. Do you think I can’t handle it? You think I don’t deserve to know what the hell’s been bouncin’ around in my head all this time?”

“It’s not about what you deserve, Logan!” you shot back, your voice cracking as you stood suddenly, your body tense with emotion. “It’s about what you can survive. You don’t know the weight of it—the guilt, the anger, the regret. You think finding all the pieces is going to fix you, but it’s not. It’s just going to break you more.”

Logan stared at you, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides. But something in his eyes—something raw and pleading—made you falter. His voice softened, the edge fading. “Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. But it’s not your call to make. It’s mine.”

The truth of his words cut through your defenses like claws, and you sank back onto the stage, your hands gripping your knees as you tried to steady your breathing. The silence between you stretched, heavy and charged.

Finally, you broke it, your voice quiet but resolute. “Fine.”

Logan’s head tilted slightly, his sharp gaze narrowing as he tried to gauge your meaning.

“I’ll tell you,” you said, swallowing hard as you looked up at him. “But I can’t promise it’s going to be pretty. And I can’t promise it’s not going to hurt.”

Logan’s posture relaxed ever so slightly, and he exhaled, his shoulders dropping as he moved toward you. He sat down beside you on the stage, the movement slow and deliberate. His elbow brushed against yours, and the quiet warmth of his presence steadied the storm inside you, if only for a moment.

“I ain’t lookin’ for pretty,” he said quietly, his tone gentle now. “And I’m not afraid of hurtin’. Just… tell me the truth. That’s all I want.”

You stared at the floor for a long moment, your hands twisting in your lap as memories you’d buried for years rose to the surface, raw and unrelenting. Finally, you took a deep breath, your voice shaking as you began. “We crossed paths again a long time ago.”

Logan frowned slightly, his brows furrowing. “Again?”

You nodded, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “It was…after everything happened when I first found you.” You hesitated, your voice dropping. “I thought I’d never see you again. Honestly, I hoped I wouldn’t. Not because I didn’t care, but because… because you deserved a fresh start. You needed one.”

Logan didn’t respond, but his silence was expectant, urging you to continue.

“I was in New York,” you said softly, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “Dancing. There was this small theatre, nothing fancy, but it was mine. I was performing that night—Swan Lake, actually. I remember being backstage, nerves eating at me like they always did before a show. And then the curtain rose, and I…” You paused, shaking your head at the memory. “I saw you. In the audience.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “Me?”

You nodded, your smile fading. “You were sitting in the second row, staring at me like you’d seen a ghost. I almost stumbled through my first few steps because I couldn’t believe it was you. You looked… different. Cleaner. Put together. But the way you watched me—it was like you remembered something. Something buried.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to the floor as if searching for the memory.

“When the performance ended,” you continued, “I went backstage, thinking you’d leave. That maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me. But when I came out, you were still there. Waiting. I didn’t know what to say, but then you said it first.”

Logan glanced at you, his voice quiet. “What’d I say?”

You hesitated, the memory sharp in your mind. “You said, ‘It’s you. You’re the one who helped me.’”

His expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as though trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle. “I remembered you?”

“Some of it,” you said softly. “Not everything, but enough. Enough to know we’d met before. Enough to know I’d helped you when you weren’t… yourself.” You exhaled shakily, your hands trembling in your lap. “We went out afterward. Got drinks at some dingy little bar down the street. You asked me why I helped you back then, and I didn’t know how to answer. So I told you the truth.”

Logan looked at you, his voice rough. “What truth?”

You met his gaze, your eyes glassy. “That I didn’t want to. That I’d seen what you were capable of, and it terrified me. But there was something about you, Logan. Something human buried under all that rage. And I thought… I thought if I could just reach you, maybe you wouldn’t be lost forever.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your confession settling between you like a fragile thread. Logan’s gaze didn’t leave yours, his expression unreadable but his eyes impossibly soft.

“You were right,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, your breath catching. “What?”

“You reached me,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t remember all of it, but I know one thing: you didn’t let me go. You could’ve, but you didn’t. And that…” He shook his head, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “That’s somethin’ I won’t forget, even if the details are gone.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked away, wiping at them quickly. “I don’t know if I helped you, Logan. Not really.”

“You did,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “You still do.”

The words hung in the air but they carried a weight that settled deep in your chest. Logan reached over, his rough hand covering yours briefly before pulling back. The touch was fleeting but enough to let you know he meant it.

[urdreamydoodles]

Love your works!!!! And I love Mr. Pickles!!!

May I ask for headcanons if reader dies in their arms?

Asking for: Emma Frost, Charles Xavier, Jean Grey, Piotr Rasputin, Beast, and Illyana Rasputin

No pressure ofc!!! Thank you!!

And have I mentioned that I fucking love your works?!?!

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You die in their arms (Part.1)

In the heat of battle, you succumbs to fatal injuries in the arms of your partner. Each X-Men, torn apart by grief, reacts to the devastating loss, facing the crushing reality that their greatest power cannot bring back the person they love most.

Characters: Emma Frost, Charles Xavier, Jean Grey, Colossus, Hank McCoy & Magik

First of all, thank you for this message, you are my first request and you have no idea how much it touches me. And secondly, your compliments make me blush, I'm glad you like my work, because personally I've never had as much fun as writing about something as this. Get ready for a LOT of headcanons because I have a lot in store. Above all, don't hesitate to ask for other requests <3 And thanks to you, you inspired me to make your request for other X-Men and X-Women. PS: MR. PICKLES WILL RETURN

Emma Frost

The battlefield was littered with chaos—explosions, screams, and the metallic scent of blood filled the air. You and Emma had been fighting alongside the X-Men, as you had countless times before, but this time was different. This battle had been brutal, and even though you had faced danger before, nothing had ever felt this dire. You had always fought by her side, both of you in sync, but as the fight raged on, you felt your strength starting to wane.

Emma’s voice was sharp and commanding in your mind, as always. “Stay with me, darling. We’re almost through this,” she had said, her mental link giving you strength. But when the blast came—one you hadn’t seen coming—it sent you flying, the pain immediate and overwhelming. You crumpled to the ground, clutching your side, feeling the warmth of your own blood seeping through your fingers.

Emma’s scream tore through the battlefield, her telepathic wail so fierce it silenced everyone for a moment. In the next second, she was at your side, her diamond form shimmering as she knelt down, her hands trembling as they reached for you. The moment her fingers touched your skin, her diamond exterior shattered, leaving her vulnerable in a way she never was on the battlefield.

"Y/N," she whispered, her voice breaking. "No, no, no... this can’t be happening."

You struggled to stay conscious, your vision blurring as you looked up at her, the love of your life, her face twisted in anguish. "I’m sorry," you choked out, each word a struggle. "I tried... I really tried."

Tears fell from her eyes, something she rarely allowed herself to do. She pressed her forehead against yours, her voice shaking. "Don’t you dare say goodbye. Not yet. I won’t let you go."

But you could feel it. The life slipping away, your heartbeat growing fainter. You reached up weakly, your hand brushing against her cheek. "Emma... I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Emma’s breath hitched as she gripped your hand, holding onto you as if her sheer willpower could keep you alive. "I love you too," she whispered back, her lips brushing your forehead. "Please... please stay."

But you couldn’t. Your eyes fluttered shut, your body growing still in her arms.

For a moment, Emma just sat there, her mind refusing to accept what had just happened. Then, with a heart-wrenching scream, she unleashed a wave of telepathic energy so powerful that it swept across the battlefield, knocking down enemies, sending shockwaves through everyone’s minds. She cradled your body, her chest heaving with sobs, her mind desperate, reaching out to you, trying to find any trace of your consciousness.

But you were gone.

And for the first time in her life, Emma Frost felt utterly, completely broken.

Charles Xavier

The fight had been relentless, and despite the X-Men’s best efforts, the battle had taken a terrible toll. You had always been the calm in Charles’ storm, the grounding presence he could rely on when the weight of leading the X-Men grew too heavy. But today, everything had gone wrong. You had been separated from the team, cornered by enemies, and though you fought bravely, you had been wounded—badly.

By the time Charles found you, the world had already started fading around the edges. He wheeled towards you with a speed and desperation you had never seen in him before. His voice echoed in your mind, trembling with fear. *"Y/N, hold on. Please, just hold on."*

You could barely open your eyes, the pain in your body making it difficult to even breathe. But you heard him, and you smiled weakly, your heart aching as you felt his mind reaching for yours, trying to steady you, trying to keep you present. "I’m sorry, Charles," you rasped, your voice so faint it barely carried over the sounds of battle. "I wasn’t strong enough."

"No," Charles said, his voice firm, though you could hear the fear beneath it. "You are strong. You’ve always been strong. Don’t leave me, Y/N. I can’t lose you."

You felt his hand grasp yours, his grip trembling. You had always marveled at how Charles carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, always keeping his emotions tightly controlled. But now, there was no control. There was only fear, and love, and desperation in his eyes.

"You were always my strength, Charles," you whispered, your hand squeezing his as best as you could. "I love you. So much."

Tears filled his eyes, his voice breaking as he spoke. "And I love you. You are everything to me."

You could feel his mind wrapping around yours, trying to hold you there, trying to stop the inevitable. He was begging, pleading with you to stay, to fight, but your body was failing. You felt the warmth of his love in your mind, a comfort even as the world started slipping away.

"Please, Y/N," Charles whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Please, don’t leave me."

But you couldn’t hold on any longer. The pain faded, the world grew silent, and your grip on his hand loosened.

Charles sat there, his hand still holding yours, as the battlefield around him seemed to blur into nothing. His heart shattered, and in that moment, all the strength and control he had maintained for years crumbled. He lowered his head, his tears falling onto your lifeless body, and he sent out a silent scream, a wave of raw emotion so powerful that it resonated across the minds of every living person on the battlefield.

Charles had lost many people in his life. But losing you felt like the end of everything.

Jean Grey

The battle had taken its toll, not just on the X-Men but on the world itself. You and Jean had fought side by side, your powers complementing each other in ways that made you an unstoppable force. But this battle had pushed you both beyond your limits. You had been caught in an explosion, your body thrown against the rubble, the pain blinding and all-consuming.

Jean was at your side in an instant, her telekinetic powers lifting the debris off you, her hands trembling as she reached for you. "No... no, no, no," she whispered, her voice cracking as she cradled your head in her lap. "Y/N, stay with me."

You could barely keep your eyes open, the world spinning as you struggled to breathe. "Jean..." you whispered, your voice so weak, so broken. "I... I don’t think I can..."

"Don’t you dare say that," Jean said, her voice fierce but laced with panic. "You’re going to be okay. I won’t let you go."

You could feel her mind reaching out to yours, wrapping around your consciousness, trying to keep you there with her. Her love flooded your mind, a warmth that soothed the pain, but you could feel your body slipping away, your strength fading.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, your hand weakly reaching for hers. "I’m so sorry."

Jean’s tears fell onto your face as she held you closer. "Don’t apologize," she said, her voice breaking. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You’ve always been there for me. Please... just stay a little longer."

You could see the anguish in her eyes, feel the desperation in her mind as she tried to hold on to you. But the pain was too much, and your body was failing.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"I love you too," Jean said, her voice shaking as she pressed her forehead against yours, her tears falling freely now. "Please... don’t leave me."

But you were slipping away, the world growing darker, quieter, as you took your last breath. Jean’s sobs echoed in your fading consciousness, her mind screaming out for you, trying to pull you back. But it was too late.

Jean held your lifeless body in her arms, her chest heaving with sobs. She let out a scream, a psychic wave that shattered the air around her, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. Her grief, her agony, her love—they all collided in that moment, her powers surging uncontrollably as she held onto you, unable to let go.

In that moment, Jean Grey—one of the most powerful beings in the universe—felt utterly powerless.

Colossus

The battle was at its peak, and the sounds of war echoed around you. Explosions rocked the battlefield as Colossus, in his full metal form, fought valiantly beside you. His towering figure was always a source of comfort, an indestructible wall between you and the chaos. The ground shook beneath your feet as you moved to join him, your heart pounding with adrenaline.

But then, an enemy blast caught you off guard, the impact throwing you off your feet. You hit the ground hard, the pain immediate and overwhelming. Blood seeped from your wounds as you struggled to breathe, your vision blurring. You tried to push yourself up, but your body refused to respond. The sound of heavy metal footsteps reached your ears, and you knew Piotr had seen you fall.

His metallic form glimmered in the firelight as he ran toward you, his eyes wide with terror. You had never seen him like this, even in the most dangerous situations. He dropped to his knees beside you, the cold steel of his hands cradling you gently despite their immense strength.

"Y/N!" His voice was thick with fear, a sound you'd never thought you'd hear from someone as powerful as him. "Please, no. Not you. Not like this."

You tried to smile, but the pain was too much. "Piotr..." you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I... I can't..."

He shook his head, his metal features twisting in agony. "Don’t speak. I’ll protect you," he promised, though the pain in his voice told you he knew there was nothing he could do. He tried to stem the flow of blood from your wound, his massive hands shaking.

His metal body was usually unyielding, but now he seemed so vulnerable, so afraid. He held you close, his cold arms pulling you against his chest. "Stay with me, please," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. His entire body trembled as he struggled to maintain control.

Your hand reached up weakly to touch his face, the cool metal of his cheek sending a shiver through your fingers. "I love you," you whispered, the words catching in your throat as darkness closed in around you.

He let out a sob, his steel form shuddering with grief. "I love you more than anything, Y/N. You’re everything to me."

But it was too late. Your breath faded, and your hand slipped from his cheek, falling limply to the ground. Piotr let out a roar of anguish, his voice reverberating across the battlefield. He held your lifeless body close, his tears mingling with the blood and dirt that stained your skin. Even in his indestructible form, he felt more broken than ever before.

Magik

The battle had spiraled out of control, and you found yourself separated from the rest of the X-Men, the air thick with smoke and the sound of clashing metal. You had always admired Illyana’s ability to remain calm in the face of chaos, but this time, the situation was different. The enemies were relentless, and no matter how hard you fought, it wasn’t enough. Then, out of nowhere, a blade struck you, piercing through your side, and you collapsed to the ground.

Before you could even cry out, the world around you warped, and you found yourself in Limbo. Illyana stood before you, her eyes wide with horror as she took in the sight of your bloodied body. “No...” she whispered, her sword clattering to the ground as she rushed to your side.

You tried to speak, but the pain was overwhelming, your vision flickering in and out of focus. Illyana’s hands shook as she pressed them against your wound, trying to stop the blood that poured out of you. “I’ll fix this,” she said, her voice trembling. “I can fix this.”

You had always known that Illyana was powerful beyond measure, but in this moment, she looked small, fragile, as though she was trying to hold onto something that was slipping away. She stared down at you, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she knelt beside you, her hands glowing with the dark magic of Limbo.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispered, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes. “Not like this.”

You reached up with what little strength you had left, your hand brushing against her cheek. “Illyana,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I love you.”

Her breath hitched as she leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours. “I love you too, more than anything,” she said, her voice shaking. “You can’t leave me. I won’t let you.”

But you could feel your life slipping away, the pain becoming numb as the darkness closed in. You wanted to stay, to hold on, but it was too late. Your hand fell limp in hers, your chest rising for the last time as your heart stopped.

Illyana let out a scream that echoed through the very fabric of Limbo, a sound so filled with grief and fury that it sent shockwaves through the demonic realm. Her magic surged uncontrollably, her power crackling through the air as she cradled your lifeless body in her arms. In her rage, the demons of Limbo cowered, the sky itself trembling in fear.

But no amount of power could bring you back, and that realization shattered her. She held onto you, her tears falling onto your skin, whispering your name over and over again as the world around her grew dark, consumed by her grief.

Hank McCoy

The battlefield had turned into a warzone of destruction, and even though you and Hank had fought together many times before, this battle was unlike any you had experienced. You had always admired how composed and intellectual Hank was, even in the most dire of situations. But this time, the enemy had been too quick, too brutal, and before you could react, you had been struck by a powerful blast.

Your body hit the ground hard, pain shooting through you as you struggled to breathe. Blood spilled from the wound in your chest, and every breath felt like a mountain weighing down on you. Through the haze of pain, you heard Hank’s voice, panicked and desperate, something you had never heard from him before.

“Y/N!” He shouted, rushing toward you, his blue fur standing on end as he dropped to his knees beside you. His large hands were gentle as he cradled your head in his lap, his eyes wide with terror as he took in the sight of your injuries. “No, no, this can’t be happening.”

You tried to smile up at him, but the pain was too much. “I’m sorry, Hank,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t... I couldn’t...”

“Shh,” he said, his voice shaking. He pressed his hand to your wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was no use. His eyes were filled with panic, his normally calm and collected demeanor completely gone. “You’ll be alright. Just stay with me.”

You could feel the life draining from you, the world growing darker around the edges. You reached up weakly, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

Hank’s eyes filled with tears, something you had never seen from him before. “I love you too, more than you’ll ever know,” he said, his voice breaking. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his tears falling onto your face. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t... I can’t do this without you.”

You wanted to stay, to hold on, but your body was failing, your heart slowing with every passing second. You looked up at him one last time, your vision blurring as you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

And then, everything went dark.

Hank let out a strangled sob, his entire body trembling as he held you close. His mind raced, trying to think of a solution, something that could bring you back, but he knew it was too late. You were gone, and nothing could change that.

He sat there for what felt like an eternity, holding your lifeless body in his arms, his tears falling freely as he whispered your name. The battlefield raged on around him, but for Hank, the world had stopped. You were gone, and with you, a part of him had died too.

[w1w2]

Stay A Little Longer

Part 2 - Number One Girl

Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 5k

Synopsis: Two lovers face the bittersweet end of their relationship, navigating heartbreak, lingering love, and the fragile hope of what might still be.

Rosé - Stay a little longer "Don't leave me in pieces Already having enough trouble breathing Please won't you stay, stay a little longer, babe?"

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The apartment once felt alive. Now, it was a graveyard of memories. Y/N sat cross-legged on the living room floor, the warm glow of the late afternoon sun spilling across the floorboards, but it did nothing to ease the chill in her chest. Around her, the remnants of a shared life lay in limbo: half-empty boxes, scattered keepsakes, and pieces of furniture that suddenly seemed too big for the room.

The walls were bare, the vibrant polaroids and posters that once defined their space packed away. Y/N caught her reflection in the blank TV screen across the room and almost didn’t recognize herself. Her face, usually lit with easy smiles, now wore the exhaustion of sleepless nights and unspoken heartbreak. She folded a lavender-scented sweater with care, trying to keep her hands moving, anything to distract her from the weight of the moment.

Behind her, Rosie leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if trying to hold herself together. She wore an oversized sweatshirt Y/N had bought her on a whim, claiming the mint green shade was perfect against her skin. It still was. But the warmth Rosie carried so effortlessly now seemed muted, her shoulders slumped, her expression unreadable.

“You’re moving too fast,” Rosie said quietly, her voice breaking the heavy silence.

Y/N stilled, her fingers hovering over the sweater. For a moment, she considered pretending she hadn’t heard, but that wasn’t fair—to either of them. Slowly, she turned to face her. “Too fast?” she repeated, her voice careful, not angry, just… tired. “Rosie, it’s been weeks. If I don’t go now…” Her words faltered, the end of the sentence refusing to form.

If I don’t go now, I’ll never leave.

Rosie shifted her weight, her fingers tugging at the hem of her sweatshirt. She looked fragile, her usual air of quiet confidence buried beneath layers of unspoken pain. “I know,” she said softly. Her almond-shaped eyes shimmered as if she wanted to say more, but the words didn’t come. Instead, her gaze dropped to the floor, where Hank’s favorite chew toy lay discarded.

The silence stretched between them, thick with things neither wanted to say. Y/N turned back to the next box, needing the distraction. Her fingers brushed against something hard and smooth. She pulled it out and froze.

It was a photograph, slightly bent at the corners but otherwise pristine. Y/N stared at the image as if seeing it for the first time. It was a snapshot of a simpler time. Her, Rosie, and Hank, all seated on the couch. Hank sat proudly between them, his dark, expressive eyes gleaming with trust. Rosie had her arm wrapped around Y/N, her cheek pressed against her shoulder, their smiles wide and unburdened.

“I remember that day,” Rosie’s voice was closer now, soft and raw. Y/N hadn’t noticed her move.

Y/N traced the edge of the photograph with her thumb. “You said it was the first time Hank trusted someone right away,” she said, her voice distant.

Rosie nodded, a ghost of a smile flickering across her face. “He doesn’t trust easily, you know. He still doesn’t. But with you…” Her voice cracked, and she looked away, blinking rapidly.

Y/N placed the photo gently on the counter, afraid to hold it too long, as if it might pull her under. “He knew better than we did,” she murmured, her laugh hollow, brittle.

For a moment, they stood there, two people who once knew each other better than anyone, now divided by an invisible chasm.

Rosie cleared her throat, her voice hesitant. “Do you… want help?”

The question hung in the air. Y/N turned, catching Rosie’s gaze. It was a simple offer, but the weight of it pressed down on her like a thousand unsaid things. “If you help,” she said with a faint, bittersweet smile, “you might ask me to stay a little longer.”

The words hung there, uncomfortably raw, but neither moved to soften them.

Rosie’s lips parted as if to say something, but she closed them again. Her hands dropped to her sides, and she stepped back, letting the offer fade.

Y/N’s chest ached as she turned back to her boxes. She folded another shirt, the rhythm mechanical, her fingers trembling. Every item she packed felt like a piece of her heart, a piece she’d leave behind.

Her mind screamed for her to stop, to turn around and close the distance between them, to beg for another chance. But she couldn’t. If she stayed, the pieces of her might never fit together again.

Rosie lingered in the doorway a moment longer, then slipped back into the shadows of the apartment. And Y/N, left alone once more, pressed her hands against the box, willing herself to keep going.

The afternoon sun dipped lower, painting the room in hues of gold, but its warmth couldn’t touch the cold emptiness settling in both their hearts.

Y/N sat back on her heels, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on her chest. The photograph still sat on the counter, its glossy surface catching the fading sunlight. Her eyes lingered on the image of Rosie’s smile, wide and carefree, so unlike the guarded expression she wore now. How had they gone from that to this?

Her fingers itched to pick up the photo again, but instead, she let her eyes close. Memories rushed in, unbidden but welcome, pulling her back to the beginning, when everything had felt so effortless.

The party was a sensory overload, music thumping, glasses clinking, and voices overlapping in a cacophony of celebration. Y/N wasn’t one for large crowds, but tonight she had caved, allowing her friend to drag her out in the hopes of shaking off a dull week.

And then, she saw her.

She wasn’t the loudest person in the room, but she stood out in a way that made Y/N’s heart skip. Perched on the armrest of a couch, Rosie’s blonde hair tumbled over one shoulder, her delicate fingers wrapped around the stem of a wine glass. Her laughter was light and melodic, cutting through the noise and pulling Y/N’s attention like a magnet. She glowed, not from the dim party lights, but from something inside her, something warm and radiant.

“Go talk to her,” Y/N’s friend hissed, nudging her toward the couch.

Y/N hesitated, nerves thrumming under her skin. What would she even say? Her feet moved before her brain caught up, and before she knew it, Rosie’s almond-shaped eyes locked onto hers. Y/N froze.

“You look a little lost,” Rosie said with a teasing lilt, tilting her head as she studied Y/N.

“Maybe,” Y/N managed, forcing a smile. “But that’s probably because I just found someone worth getting lost for.”

Rosie blinked, and for a split second, Y/N regretted every decision that led her here. Then, to her surprise, Rosie laughed. A bright, musical sound that hit Y/N like sunshine breaking through clouds.

“Cheesy,” Rosie said, her lips quirking into a smirk, “but I’ll give you points for effort.” She patted the cushion beside her. “Come on. Let’s see what else you’ve got.”

Y/N sat, her heart hammering in her chest. But as they started talking, the nerves melted away. They clicked in a way that felt natural, their conversation flowing from music to travel to favorite childhood snacks. Y/N’s animated energy drew out Rosie’s reserved side, and Rosie’s calm presence grounded Y/N’s excitement.

As the party began to wind down, Y/N leaned in, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Stand a little closer,” she said, “so I can decide if I want to see you again.”

Rosie arched a brow but leaned in, close enough that Y/N could catch the faint scent of her perfume. Floral, with a hint of something sweet. “You already know the answer,” Rosie replied, her voice soft but confident.

The first time Y/N visited Rosie’s apartment happened a few days later, she was more nervous than she cared to admit. What if this was where the magic faded? What if it turned out they had nothing to talk about without the party’s buzz to cushion them?

Those fears evaporated the moment the door opened.

Rosie greeted her with a smile so warm that Y/N forgot her doubts. But her attention quickly shifted to the cautious pair of eyes peeking out from under the coffee table.

“This is Hank,” Rosie said, crouching down to coax the dog out. His fur was slightly unkempt, his ears twitching nervously as he eyed Y/N. “He’s... not great with strangers,” Rosie added apologetically.

Y/N knelt beside her, their shoulders brushing. “Hey, buddy,” she said softly, extending her hand palm-up, giving Hank space to decide.

To Rosie’s amazement, Hank sniffed Y/N’s hand, his nose twitching curiously before he stepped out and nudged her palm with his snout.

“Wow,” Rosie breathed, sitting back on her heels. “That’s... rare. He doesn’t even trust most of my friends.”

Y/N grinned, scratching behind Hank’s ears as his tail gave a tentative wag. “Guess he knows I’m the good kind of trouble.”

Rosie chuckled, her eyes softening as she watched them. “Looks like even Hank wants you to stay a little longer.”

Hank became an unspoken bridge between them, a constant in their budding relationship. Y/N would bring him treats, play fetch in the hallway, and even sneak him scraps during dinner. Rosie often joked that Hank liked Y/N better, but deep down, it only made her fall harder.

Their happiest moments weren’t grand but wonderfully simple.

There were the karaoke sessions, where Y/N would grab a hairbrush and belt out cheesy pop songs while Rosie clutched her stomach, laughing so hard tears streamed down her cheeks. “You’re terrible,” Rosie would say between giggles, but she never once asked Y/N to stop.

There were nights spent decorating their apartment, a tiny space with too much personality for its size. Rosie insisted on pastel throw pillows; Y/N argued for bold patterns. They compromised with a mix that clashed wonderfully, a reflection of their relationship, messy but perfect in its own way.

And then there were the quiet nights. Rosie would come home exhausted, her voice hoarse from hours of singing. Y/N would pull her onto the couch, wrapping her in a blanket and humming softly.

“Speak a little softer,” Rosie would murmur, her voice a mere whisper as her head rested on Y/N’s shoulder, “so I don’t have to answer.”

Y/N would oblige, her whispers filling the room with warmth until Rosie’s breathing evened out, her exhaustion giving way to peace.

Y/N’s eyes opened, her heart heavy as the memories faded back into the present. The photograph on the counter seemed to glow in the fading light, a painful reminder of all they had shared. Her fingers twitched, tempted to pick it up again, but instead, she rose to her feet.

The apartment around her was quiet now, empty of laughter, arguments, and whispered confessions.

The Y/N and Rosie in the photograph felt like strangers, smiling and unbroken. And for a fleeting moment, Y/N let herself wonder. If they had known then what they knew now, would they have still smiled like that?

The photograph had been Y/N’s companion all afternoon, a persistent ghost of better days. She tried to shake off the memories as she taped up another box, but they clung to her like shadows. Every corner of the apartment whispered of what they once were and what they couldn’t be anymore.

The laughter, the quiet comfort, the gentle warmth of their love. It had all faded into the cracks of the walls. All that remained was silence, heavy and unrelenting.

But the silence hadn’t always been there. It had crept in slowly, like a winter chill seeping under the door, unnoticed until it was too late. At first, it was easy to dismiss. The occasional missed text, the quiet evenings spent apart even when they were in the same room. Y/N told herself it was normal, a temporary lull in the rhythm of their relationship.

Yet, as days turned into weeks, the spaces between them grew wider. Conversations became shorter, their once-effortless connection weighed down by unspoken frustrations. Y/N found herself clinging to the moments they shared, trying to breathe life into something that felt increasingly distant.

It was in the small things that Y/N began to feel the shift: the way Rosé would linger at the studio a little longer, the hurried apologies for missed plans, the growing stack of unopened messages. And though Y/N tried to bridge the gap, her efforts often felt like shouting into an empty void.

Y/N sat on the couch, staring at her phone as the minutes ticked by. She had texted Rosie hours ago, a simple “Are you coming home for dinner tonight?” but her screen remained stubbornly blank. Across the room, Hank lay curled in his bed, his dark eyes fixed on her as if he could sense the weight of her frustration.

The apartment felt cavernous, its silence deafening. Y/N used to cherish this space, their shared sanctuary. Now it felt like a holding cell, trapping her in her loneliness.

When the phone finally buzzed, her heart leaped but the excitement faded as soon as she read the message “Sorry, late night at the studio. Don’t wait up. Love you.”

Y/N sighed, tossing the phone onto the cushion beside her. She glanced around the room, her gaze landing on the polaroids still pinned to the wall. Each photo captured a moment of happiness, late-night desserts, beach days, lazy mornings in bed. Now, those memories felt like distant echoes, taunting her with what she’d lost.

“I can’t stand these four walls without you inside them,” she murmured to herself, her voice cracking as the words spilled out.

When Rosie finally came home that night, Y/N was still awake. She sat on the couch, the TV flickering in the background. Rosie entered quietly, her steps tentative, but Y/N could sense her exhaustion.

“Hey,” Rosie said softly, setting her bag down and ruffling Hank’s fur as he trotted over to greet her. “You’re still up?”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, her tone clipped. “Didn’t feel like sleeping.”

Rosie hesitated, the tension palpable. “I’m sorry about tonight. I meant to call, but—”

“You didn’t,” Y/N interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended.

Rosie flinched but nodded, her expression guarded. “I didn’t,” she admitted. “It’s just been… a lot lately.”

Y/N closed her eyes, inhaling deeply to steady herself. “It’s always a lot, Rosie. That’s the problem.”

The words hung between them, heavy and unyielding.

The fights started small, over things that didn’t matter: dishes left in the sink, forgotten dates, missed texts. But each argument seemed to dig deeper, uncovering wounds neither of them knew they had.

It was during one of these fights, a few weeks later, that everything boiled over.

Rosie had been away for a string of back-to-back events, leaving Y/N to fend off the loneliness creeping in. When she finally returned, she seemed distracted, her focus slipping as Y/N tried to talk to her.

“You’re not even listening,” Y/N said, exasperated.

Rosie looked up from her phone, startled. “What? I am.”

Y/N shook her head, bitterness seeping into her tone. “No, you’re not. You’re here, but you’re not here. You haven’t been for a long time.”

Rosie’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not fair, Y/N. Do you think I want to be away? Do you think I enjoy this?”

“I don’t know what you enjoy anymore,” Y/N shot back. “It feels like I’m not even part of your life.”

Rosie’s jaw tightened, her calm demeanor cracking. “You think I don’t feel the same? You think it doesn’t kill me to come home and feel like a stranger in my own apartment?”

“Then do something about it!” Y/N’s voice broke, her frustration spilling over. “Stop leaving me here, waiting for scraps of your time!”

Rosie stood abruptly, pacing the room with her arms crossed. “I feel like I’m suffocating in this silence,” she said, her voice low and raw. “But what do you want me to do, Y/N? Quit? Give up everything I’ve worked for?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, tears burning her eyes. “I’m not asking you to quit, Rosie. I’m asking you to fight for us. Because right now, it feels like I’m the only one trying.”

Rosie stopped pacing, her gaze heavy with unspoken emotions. “And what if my best isn’t enough for you?”

Y/N’s voice softened, her anger giving way to despair. “I’m not asking for perfection. I’m just asking for you.”

They tried to repair the damage.

Rosie made promises, more date nights, fewer late texts but they felt like band-aids over a broken bone. Y/N wanted to believe things could get better, and for a while, she held onto hope.

But the cracks were too deep.

One evening, after another failed attempt at a date night, Y/N sat on the couch, staring at Rosie as she scrolled through her phone. The sight of her, so close yet so distant, was too much.

“Maybe you should give me a reason to hate you,” Y/N said suddenly, her voice trembling.

Rosie looked up, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Because then,” Y/N continued, tears streaming down her face, “I wouldn’t have to miss you like this. I wouldn’t have to keep hoping things will change when they never do.”

Rosie’s face fell, her expression crumpling under the weight of Y/N’s words. She didn’t respond. Instead, she stood, retreating into the bedroom without a word.

Y/N stayed on the couch, her own words echoing in her mind like a cruel taunt.

By the time Y/N realized she couldn’t keep doing this, the decision to leave felt inevitable.

Back in the present, Y/N stared at the boxes piled around her, each one a chapter of their story. The apartment felt emptier than ever, its silence heavier than any argument they had ever had.

She glanced at the photograph on the counter one last time. It was a relic of a love that once burned brightly, now reduced to embers.

“I tried,” she whispered to herself, though the words brought no comfort.

The storm they had both been avoiding finally reached its peak on a quiet Friday evening. The golden hues of the setting sun painted the apartment walls, starkly contrasting the suffocating tension that filled the room. Shadows stretched long and dramatic, mirroring the growing distance between the two women.

Y/N and Rosie sat on opposite ends of the couch, their bodies angled away from each other but close enough for their knees to almost touch, a cruel reminder of the intimacy they once shared. The weight of everything left unsaid hung between them, heavy and impenetrable, like a dam on the verge of breaking.

Rosie’s fingers fidgeted with a loose thread on the hem of her sweatshirt, her usual calm replaced with nervous energy. The silence stretched on, pressing down on them until Rosie finally spoke. “I don’t want to fight anymore,” she said softly, her voice trembling despite her efforts to sound composed. “But I don’t know how to stop.”

Y/N’s gaze snapped to her, her heart lurching at the vulnerability in Rosie’s voice. Her own emotions bubbled dangerously close to the surface, her vision blurring with unshed tears. “I don’t want to fight either, Rosie,” she said, her voice breaking. “But I don’t want to feel like I’m the only one left in this relationship.”

Rosie flinched as if struck, her hands stilling. “That’s not fair,” she murmured, her tone defensive but weak.

“Isn’t it?” Y/N shot back, her voice rising before breaking into a whisper. “I’m here, Rosie. I’ve always been here, waiting for you to come home, waiting for you to look at me like you used to. I’m waiting... and I’m tired.”

The rawness in Y/N’s words hit Rosie like a tidal wave. She tightened her grip on the couch’s edge, her knuckles white. “I never meant for this to happen,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t realize how much I was asking you to wait for me, how much I was asking you to give.”

Y/N’s expression softened, her anger giving way to sorrow. “It’s not just about waiting, Rosie,” she said, her tone quieter but no less painful. “It’s about feeling like I don’t matter anymore. Like I’m just... here because it’s convenient.”

Rosie’s eyes welled with tears, and she turned her head sharply, unable to meet Y/N’s gaze. Her focus landed on the bare wall where their favorite photograph used to hang, a candid snapshot of laughter and love that now felt like a distant memory. “You’re wrong,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You matter more than anything. That’s the problem. I don’t know how to balance you and... everything else.”

The honesty in Rosie’s voice was like a dagger. Y/N’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of her. This woman she had loved so fiercely, so completely, reduced to a trembling figure weighed down by guilt and exhaustion. She ached to close the distance, to hold Rosie and promise that it would all be okay. But the part of her that had spent countless nights alone, feeling like an afterthought, held her in place.

“Maybe,” Y/N began hesitantly, her throat tightening as the words clawed their way out, “maybe we need to let each other go.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Rosie froze, her lips parting as though to protest, but no sound came out. Her wide, tear-filled eyes searched Y/N’s face, desperate for any sign that she didn’t mean it. But Y/N’s expression was resolute, even as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“No,” Rosie said finally, shaking her head vehemently. “No. We can fix this. We just need more time.”

Y/N’s lip trembled, her voice barely a whisper. “We’ve had time, Rosie. Time hasn’t fixed anything. It’s just... made the cracks bigger.”

Rosie leaned forward, burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as a sob escaped her. “I can’t imagine my life without you,” she said, her voice muffled and broken.

“And I can’t imagine my life like this,” Y/N replied gently, her tone filled with an aching sadness. “We’re hurting each other, Rosie. And I hate it too.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The weight of the truth settled over them, suffocating in its finality. When Rosie finally lifted her head, her cheeks were streaked with tears, her eyes red and puffy. “I don’t want this to be the end,” she said, her voice trembling. “But maybe you’re right.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her tears spilling freely now. She reached out, her hand trembling as it covered Rosie’s. The contact was electric, a bittersweet reminder of all the love that still lingered despite the pain. “I’ll always love you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “But sometimes love isn’t enough.”

Rosie’s hand tightened around hers, a silent plea to hold on just a little longer. They sat there like that for what felt like an eternity, their fingers intertwined, their hearts breaking in tandem. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them and the devastating reality they couldn’t escape.

When Y/N finally pulled her hand away, it felt like losing a piece of herself. Rosie’s hand fell limply to her side, and she watched helplessly as Y/N stood and took a step back, putting a physical distance between them that mirrored the emotional one.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye to you,” Rosie admitted, her voice barely audible.

Y/N’s lips curved into a sad, bittersweet smile. “Maybe we don’t have to,” she said softly. “Maybe this is just... goodbye for now.”

The words were meant to offer comfort, but they only deepened the ache in their hearts. Neither of them believed it, not really. But in that moment, it was the only thing keeping them from falling apart entirely.

The apartment was quiet, its silence overwhelming in a way that felt almost sentient, as if the walls themselves mourned the life they had once held. The last box sat on the table, its edges worn from being packed and repacked as Y/N wrestled with the reality of leaving. She stared at it now, her hands trembling as they hovered over the edges. This was it. The final piece of a shared life, boxed up and ready to go.

Y/N’s gaze swept over the empty space. The walls, once adorned with photos, mementos, and a chaotic mix of pastel and bold décor, now stood bare, stripped of personality and warmth. In the corner, the faint outline of where their bookshelf had stood was visible on the floor, a ghostly reminder of the hours spent curled up together, lost in books and whispered conversations.

Behind her, Rosie stood in the entrance. Her eyes, swollen and rimmed with red, were fixed on Y/N. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something, but the words caught in her throat, drowned by the weight of everything unspoken.

Y/N reached for the box, her fingers brushing against the taped flaps. The moment felt unbearably final. “I think this is everything,” she said softly, her voice breaking the stillness but failing to fill it.

Rosie shifted her weight, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if bracing herself against the inevitable. She took a hesitant step closer, her voice soft but laden with emotion. “It feels like you’ve already left,” she said, her words trembling. “You’ve been pulling away for weeks. I just… I didn’t know how to stop it.”

Y/N paused, her hands gripping the edges of the box she had just taped shut. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to steady. “I wasn’t pulling away, Rosie,” she replied quietly, turning to meet her gaze. “I was holding on for as long as I could.”

Rosie’s lips parted as if to respond, but she hesitated, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Then why does it feel like I’m losing you all at once?” she whispered.

Y/N’s breath hitched at the rawness in Rosie’s voice. She wanted to answer, to explain, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Because you are,” she finally said, her voice breaking. “But it wasn’t all at once. It was slow and quiet, and we both let it happen.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, the weight of her words settling heavily between them. Rosie looked down, her hands falling to her sides. “I don’t want this to be goodbye,” she said softly, the admission barely audible.

Y/N stepped closer, her chest aching with every breath. “Neither do I,” she said, her voice trembling. “But maybe it’s the only way we can stop hurting each other.”

“But it feels like the moment you walk out that door... everything we had will vanish.”

“It already has,” Y/N said quietly, tears glistening in her eyes. “Not all at once, but slowly, piece by piece. And now we’re left with this.”

Rosie shook her head, her jaw tightening as fresh tears spilled over. “What if we’re making a mistake?” she asked, her voice trembling, the vulnerability in her tone cutting through Y/N like a knife.

Y/N inhaled sharply, her heart aching at the sight of Rosie. This woman she had loved so fiercely, now unraveling before her. She placed the box back on the table and turned fully to face her. “Maybe we are,” she admitted, her voice raw. “But we’ve run out of chances. We’ve been trying to fix something that’s been breaking for months, and all we’ve done is hurt each other more.”

Rosie took a hesitant step forward, her gaze locked on Y/N’s. “I don’t know how to let you go,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Y/N reached out instinctively, her hand cupping Rosie’s cheek. Her thumb brushed away a tear as she whispered, “You don’t have to. Not completely.”

Rosie leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if trying to memorize the feel of Y/N’s hand. “I want to believe that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to believe that there’s still a way to make this work.”

Y/N’s lips trembled as she forced a bittersweet smile. “Maybe one day,” she said, her voice tinged with hope and sorrow. “But not now. We’re not ready.. Not for each other.”

The weight of her words settled over them, suffocating in its truth. They stood there, a breath apart, neither willing to move, as though prolonging the moment might delay the inevitable.

Finally, Y/N stepped back, her hand falling to her side. The warmth of Rosie’s skin lingered on her fingertips, a cruel reminder of what she was leaving behind. She turned back to the box, lifting it with trembling hands.

As she moved toward the door, Rosie’s voice stopped her. “Stay a little longer,” she said, her tone desperate and pleading. “Please.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She froze in place, the box heavy in her arms. Her mind screamed for her to turn around, to drop the box, to run back into Rosie’s arms. She squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear slipping free. “If you ask again,” she thought, “I’ll stay. I’ll stay and we’ll break all over again.”

She forced herself to take another step, then another. Her heart thundered in her chest, each beat screaming for her to stop. But she didn’t.

Rosie watched as Y/N reached the door. Her hands trembled as she clutched Hank’s favorite toy, the one Y/N had left behind for him. “Don’t leave me in pieces,” she whispered, her voice breaking, though she knew Y/N couldn’t hear her.

At the door, Y/N hesitated, her hand resting on the knob. She glanced back once, her eyes meeting Rosie’s. The weight of their love, fractured and raw, passed between them in a single, silent moment.

“I’ll miss you,” Y/N said, her voice soft and full of pain.

“I’ll miss you too,” Rosie replied, her tears falling freely now.

Y/N opened the door and stepped out, the sound of it closing behind her echoing like the final note of a tragic song. She stood in the hallway for a moment, her chest heaving as she fought the urge to turn back.

Inside, Rosie sank to the floor, clutching Hank’s toy against her chest. She stared at the empty apartment, her heart shattering all over again. The faint sound of Y/N’s footsteps grew distant, then disappeared entirely.

The possibility of reconciliation lingered in the air, fragile and faint, like the final embers of a once-bright flame. Neither of them knew what the future held. For now, all they had was the silence and the lingering ache of goodbye.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 37

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,220ish

Summary: You and Logan return to the mansion to continue with your lives.

Warning(s): return of a dead character, character(s) death, coma, couple fights

Notes: This chapter is set up a little differently, as there's gonna be a lot of time jumps. (It will cover 2015 to 2026.) This is definitely a choppy chapter... Hopefully, it's not too terrible.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

2015

The mansion was exactly the same as you and Logan drove up to it. Your fingers were anxiously tapping against your knee as Logan pulled up to the front. After parking the car, he reached over and took your hand.

“We can turn around,” he offered. “It’s not too late.”

You looked at Logan. “Do you not want to do this?”

He sighed. “I think that twelve years is a long time, and none of us exactly stayed in touch.” He brought your hand up and kissed the back of it. “But, I think we need to try to be here.”

“Thank you. You know I—“ 

You cut yourself off as a familiar wheelchair wheeled out of the mansion. Your full action fell on it as you gasped. There, waiting, was Charles. He was alive and seemingly well.

“Fucking hell,” Logan muttered.

Still in shock, the two of you exited the truck and stepped around it. 

“Charles?” You questioned.

“I knew you two would eventually return,” Charles said with a smile. “Welcome back.”

“How…?” Logan questioned, coming up to your side to take your hand.

“It’s a long story. Why don’t the two of you come inside? Everyone will be happy to see you.”

~~~

Charles had been right; your friends were happy to see you and Logan. Ororo, Hank, Bobby, Marie, and Kitty were all there in Charles’ office to greet you. Apparently, they had been thinking about reaching out when Charles informed them that you were already on your way. Yes, it was a bit awkward; so much time had passed since you all were last together. 

During your reunion, Charles explained how he survived his supposed death by Jean’s hands. His consciousness had jumped into another body that was in a pro-mutant doctor’s care. The doctor and Charles found several mutants that worked for years to piece Charles’ body back together. Charles came back to the mansion about seven years ago, immediately resuming his role as headmaster. 

Bobby and Marie shared the news that they were married, while Hank told you that he had retired from politics and was now back being a full-time teacher. Ororo was still teaching with Bobby, Marie, Kitty, and Colossus also teaching now. 

“If you would like, we have positions for both of you,” Charles added.

You looked at Logan. You could see that he was hesitant. “We would like to stay a while,” you responded. “Could we get back to you on that?”

“Of course,” Charles smiled. “Your rooms are still available. Though I suspect you will only be needing one.”

“Thanks,” Logan muttered. “I’ll go get our things.” He kissed your head before leaving.

You sighed, starting to feel like you were forcing this upon Logan. Charles rolled up to you and took your hand.

“Why don’t we go talk?” He suggested. “Just us two?”

“Okay, lead the way,” you said. 

You followed Charles out to the garden, to a bench you once frequented often. You sat as Charles moved his chair in front of you.

“He won’t run,” Charles stated, clearly reading your mind.

“I know that. I just… I was ready to come back, but maybe he wasn’t.”

“Logan’s ready. It’s just a lot at once.”

You nodded in agreement, glancing around. “It doesn’t seem like you have as many students as you once did.”

Charles sighed. “That is true. Unfortunately, fewer and fewer people are showing mutant abilities. Hank has done some research on it. He thinks something is being put in the food that prevents the x-gene from being passed on.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yes, but it is something we cannot control. So we will do the best with what we have.”

“I’ve missed you, Charles.”

“I missed you, too. It seems like the time alone with Logan has done the two of you well.”

“Yes, it was much needed.”

“You should go rest. Unpack. I’m glad that you are back, Y/N.”

“Me, too.”

~~~

You found Logan in your old room, standing at the window. You walked over and wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his back.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“What?” Logan questioned, turning his head to try to look at you.

“I’m sorry if I forced you to come back.”

“You didn’t force me to do anything. I wanted to come back.”

“Are you sure?”

He grabbed your hands and pulled them off of him before tugging you around to his front. “I’m sure. You know how I get around people. I’ll be fine. Just give me some time.”

“Okay.”

He pulled you closer. And allowed his forehead to rest against you. “You know I love you, right?”

“Of course. I know you, too.” You kissed his nose. “Wanna see how squeaky the bed got?”

Logan smiled before tossing you onto the bed.

~~~

2019

Logan looked into the mirror with a scowl. His graying hair was laughing at him, showing signs that he had begun to age. There was also the fact that he had begun to feel more aches and pains in his joints. He was doing his best to hide it from you. He didn’t want you to worry.

You leaned against the bathroom doorway, arms folded. You have been noticing that Logan was grunting and groaning with certain movements and spending more time glaring at himself in the mirror than usual. He was graying, and while you found it attractive, you knew that Logan hated it.

“Stop that,” you finally spoke up. His eyes snapped to yours in the reflection.

“Stop what?” He mumbled.

“You know what.” You pushed yourself off the doorway and pulled his arm. He slowly turned to face you. You gave him a smile as your hands cupped his cheeks. Your thumbs moved across his greying facial hair. “Stop getting mad at your body.”

“I shouldn’t be greying.”

“Everyone grows old, Logan. Even you.”

“Yes, but… what if… well… do you… I mean—“

You pulled him in for a kiss, shutting him up for a moment. “You’re still sexy to me, honey. Always will be.”

“But—“

“Stop it. When my grays and wrinkles become more apparent, are you going to change how you see me?”

Logan’s hands found your waist and tugged you closer. “No… you’d still be gorgeous.”

“Okay. Well, it’s the same with you… You are handsome.” You pulled him in for another quick kiss. “If you need another reminder, please come to me.”

“Okay.”

“What else is on your mind?”

“Nothing. I’m good.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Logan,” you sighed. “I know you. What’s going on?”

“Just tired. Overworking.”

“Maybe less training exercises then.”

“If you’re in the Danger Room, I’m in the Danger Room. You know the rule.”

“Yes, but—“

“I’m fine, sweetheart.” He pecked your lips. “Thank you for the pick me up. I’ve got a meeting with Hank I’ve got to get to.” He let go and slipped past you.

“Meet me for lunch?”

“Always.”

~~~

“I wish I had better news for you, Logan,” Hank said. The two were sitting in the lab alone, with Logan’s test results on the screen.

“So, you’re telling me that the adamantium is poisoning me?” Logan wanted to clarify.

“Unfortunately. It wasn’t meant to be grafted to anyone like this. The only reason you’ve survived this long is because of your healing mutation. But I guess it’s even caught up with that.”

“How much time do I have?”

“There’s no telling. You have already complained of aching joints and the graying of your hair as well as the occasional slow healing. I guess that all of that will only get worse, but your mutation is still fighting against it. You could have a good ten to twenty years. Maybe even thirty if you take it easy.” 

Logan huffed, leaning forward as he ran a hand down his face. “Is there anything you can do?”

“Nothing that would last long enough with your mutation… You should tell Y/N.”

“No,” Logan shook his head, sitting up. “I can’t do that.”

“Logan—“

“No one is telling anyone about this! Got it? Especially Y/N. I can’t have her worrying about me… Not yet.”

“You’ll want to tell her sooner or later. She’s known you for a long time. She’ll be able to figure it out.”

“Not if I have any say.”

~~~

2024

As the years passed, Logan continued to keep the secret from you. You kept questioning him as his movements and healing continued to slow. You never got a straight answer, which was frustrating. But you knew that Logan would tell you eventually. Well, at least you hoped.

Logan grunted as he fixed his tie, annoyed that his shoulders were bugging him.

“You okay, honey?” You asked from the bathroom as you finished getting ready.

“I’m fine,” he replied.

You peeked your head out, unbelieving. “You sure?” You noticed how he was struggling with his tie. “Here.” You walked over and took the tie from him. “I got you.” He huffed as he dropped his hands and let you take over. “There.” You straightened and patted his chest. “All done.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Look like a homeless man.”

“Hey!”

“Don’t worry. I’d love you anyway.”

“Good.” Logan pulled you in for a kiss. “You ready to go?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Take me on a date, handsome.”

~~~

2026

“You need to see Hank,” you were fed up.

“I’m fine,” Logan retorted.

The two of you were standing in your shared room. You were by the door, blocking it, as Logan was across the room near the window.

“Bullshit!” You exclaimed. “You’re clearly in pain, and you’re not healing the same. You’re scarring. You don’t scar.”

“I do now. It’s no big deal.”

“Yes, it is, Logan! You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“Or what?”

The challenge silenced the room. The two of you glared at each other as the tension thickened.

“What do you even want me to say to that?” You questioned. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing! I want you to do nothing,” he spat. “Trust that I’m fine.”

“But you’re not! And it’s killing me to see you like this and not know how to help you. I can’t stand by and watch you kill yourself.”

“Then don’t.”

“What?”

“Then don’t stand by and watch.”

“Do you… Are you telling me to walk away? Are you serious?”

“If you can’t handle it, then—“

“I don’t even know what’s going on! Logan,” you took a step forward, “please, honey, please be honest with me. I want to help. I want— AH!” 

A high-pitched noise rang out, piercing your brain. You froze, unable to move. Logan, though it was extremely painful, could move. The mansion was rumbling. Something was going on, and Logan needed to figure out what. Each movement he made felt like he was fighting against a strong current. Logan reached you, only to not be able to get any words out to call to you. He groaned as he silently promised to come back to you and headed out in the hallway.

Everyone else in the mansion was in the same situation as you. As he headed downstairs, the force pushing against him grew stronger. His claws released slowly as he used them to anchor himself against the wall as he continued downward. Once he was on the main level, he used his claws to crawl his way to where he could feel the force coming from: Charles’ office.

From the doorway, Logan could see Charles writhing in his wheelchair, groaning in pain. The force was so strong that it took Logan over ten minutes to get to Charles. Logan gripped Charles’ legs, trying to do what he could to gather Charles’ focus. But there was nothing he could do. 

Charles’ seizure lasted exactly twenty-four minutes. As soon as it stopped, Logan was rushing back to you, ignoring all the bodies that lay around the floor. When he got back to the bedroom, you had collapsed to the floor. Logan fell to the ground and pulled you into him.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” he called, “wake up.” His heart was sinking as blood trailed from your nose and ears. “Baby, please.” He could hear your heartbeat, but there was no sign of consciousness. “Wake up… wake up.”

~~~

Logan stood by your bed at the hospital, not willing to sit down or touch you. All the information was rotating through his mind.

Charles had a seizure. 

Charles has Alzheimer’s. 

Hank, Ororo, Bobby, Marie, Kitty, and two others died due to the incident.

Charles’ abilities stretched far beyond the mansion, causing over 600 other injuries.

You were in a coma with no sign of waking up anytime soon.

Charles’ mind was now labeled a weapon of mass destruction, and the government was coming to detain him.

Logan wasn’t about to let that happen. His hands were trembling as he took your hand, his other hand stroking your face.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I have to protect Charles… I have to protect you… I hope that you’ll forgive me one day.” He held a kiss to your forehead as he closed his eyes, letting a tear slip down. “I love you so much, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Then Logan left… without even a second glance.

next chapter > 

[multi-fandoms-posts]

In the Storm of Love and Rage

X Men Masterlist:

The mission is dangerous, as it often is, but this time something feels different. Y/N, Charles, and Erik are heading out together to stop a dangerous mutant faction threatening a secret facility. The air is electric, and the tension weighs heavily on their shoulders. Y/N fights as always, side by side with the two men who share her heart, but she feels that something ominous is in the air today.

"Stay close to me," Erik murmurs, his voice quiet but intense as they approach their target.

Y/N rolls her eyes slightly, casting him a quick glance. "I can take care of myself, Erik. We all know that."

Charles, standing calmly beside them, looks from Erik to Y/N and smiles gently. "We know you're strong, Y/N, but he’s just worried about you. We both are."

Erik grumbles in agreement, his eyes still focused on the mission ahead. Yet Y/N can sense the underlying worry he’s trying to hide. She knows him well enough to understand that he views any danger to her as a personal enemy.

---

The fight breaks out faster than they expected. The enemies are well-organized and skilled. Charles coordinates their attacks mentally, keeping their opponents at bay, while Erik uses metal structures around them to neutralize enemies from a distance. Y/N dodges blows, fighting with strength and precision, but suddenly, the unexpected happens.

A mutant, faster than she anticipates, sneaks up from behind and stabs a knife into her side. She gasps, the world around her blurring for a moment. The pain is overwhelming, and she drops to one knee.

“Y/N!” Charles screams in her mind, and Erik whirls around, his eyes widening in shock and fury.

“No!”

With a furious shout, Erik loses all control. The metal around him shatters and tears through the attackers nearby. His power is unleashed without restraint, while Charles tries to reach his thoughts.

"Erik, calm down!" Charles rushes to Y/N, who clutches her side, her face contorted in pain, blood dripping through her fingers. But Erik is beyond hearing, his rage boiling over.

"I’ll kill them all," Erik growls, his eyes burning with uncontrollable fury.

Charles knows words alone won’t be enough. He steps in front of Erik, blocking his view of the enemies. "Erik, listen to me! She’s alive! Y/N is hurt, but she’s alive!"

But Erik doesn't stop. Metal shards swirl around them, and Charles sees Erik sinking deeper into his anger. Without thinking twice, Charles grabs Erik's face, forcing him to look into his eyes.

"Erik, please! You’re losing yourself in your rage. She needs us both right now, not your anger!"

For a moment, Erik seems trapped in his fury, but Charles doesn’t hesitate. He pulls Erik into a deep, calming kiss, his lips firm and demanding. It’s an attempt to pull him back from the darkness, and slowly, Erik’s body begins to relax. The floating metal falls to the ground with a dull thud, and Erik breathes heavily as he finally comes back to himself.

“Charles…” Erik whispers, his voice rough. He pulls back, his eyes searching and filled with pain.

"It’s okay," Charles murmurs softly, leaning his forehead against Erik’s. "She’ll make it. We just need to stay calm now."

Erik takes a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly, but he nods. The storm inside him has subsided, at least for now. He quickly turns and rushes to Y/N, who lies on the ground, trying to stop the blood from her wound.

“Y/N,” Erik whispers, kneeling beside her and taking her hand. His voice nearly breaks with worry. “I’m sorry, I should have protected you.”

Y/N slowly opens her eyes, her face twisted in pain, but a small smile appears on her lips. “I knew you’d freak out as always,” she says, her voice weak but with a hint of humor. “Charles has everything under control, right?”

Charles, who has also come over to them, smiles slightly, his hand gently resting on Y/N’s forehead. “Always,” he murmurs. “But you should rest. Hank will take care of you soon.”

Y/N closes her eyes briefly before opening them again, looking at the two of them. "You two..." She sighs and then laughs quietly, though it makes her wince in pain. "If I weren’t in so much pain, this would be the perfect moment for sex."

Charles and Erik exchange a glance, both smiling slightly despite the tension. "At least she hasn’t lost her sense of humor," Charles says softly, while Erik gently strokes her hand.

“You’re incredible,” Erik murmurs, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

Y/N weakly winks at them before closing her eyes, exhausted but with a smile on her lips.

[pocket-watcher]

Hello friend! I have a request, please!

Betrayal. Specifically, one of the hero’s sidekicks had previously been kidnapped by a villain and hypnotized to lead the rest of the group into a trap. They’ve been brainwashed to the core, and now that the rest of the group is trapped, the villain can finally take them as well, their loving, hypnotized pet sidekick at their side. Smiling. Maybe they even lightheartedly apologize to their doomed friends. Lots of resistance attempts and “snap out of it!” stuff.

Hi friend!! This is such a deliciously evil concept, you mastermind. I hope this does it justice…

Day number 57 since a member of the team had been captured by the villains.

And man, it was just eating up everyone inside.

Lacey had giant bags under her eyes, Hank had gone through the security footage at least 100 times, and me?

I was… fine.

I mean, I’d be better if we had Petey back, but, it was fine. I was fine.

“You don’t look so good, Elle.” Lacey put her hand on my shoulder.

“Really? Because I feel great! Super, even. Aha, pun intended.” I laughed weakly, before clearing my throat.

The warehouse echoed with it.

We’d ran the data. And then ran it two more times. Petey was here, all we needed to do was our jobs.

We just had to save him.

Hank scanned the room and gestured for us to move forward. Stopping and scanning, every few feet, until he faulted for a moment.

“…Petey…?” He said, with relief, running out into the open.

The man tackled Petey into a bear hug.

“Oh thank the lord.” Hank mumbled into his shoulder.

Lacey stood back whilst I joined the two.

“What happened? Are you okay? Where were you?” I asked, checking his face for any distress.

No new wounds, that was good.

“I’m okay.” He said, truth in his eyes. “I promise you I’m okay. I’m just happy to see you guys again.” Petey was smiling between the two of us, when his face turned to confusion.

“Lacey?” Petey asked.

She was still hanging back.

“I’m just… this feels a bit too convenient, right?”

We all stared blankly at her.

“Lacey, I’m fine -“

“How did you escape? How are you even standing in front of us, we all know that -“

Her voice broke.

We all know that hostages don’t make it out alive.

“Can’t you just be grateful?” Hank shoved her shoulder. “You always gotta be some sorta conspiracy theorist.”

“Guys, enough.” I yelled. “Let’s go home, come on.”

I grabbed Petey’s hand to walk out the door when -

“I’m sorry, I can’t let you do that.”

Petey’s feet were planted on the floor. He was smiling, sweetly at me.

I looked at him in confusion.

“You wanted to know how I escaped? I didn’t.”

His tone was all wrong. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

That was when Lacey shifted into a fighting stance, when Hank staggered backwards, and I pushed Petey behind me to see someone walking out of the shadows.

A villain.

“Ah, so these must be your friends?” The voice asked.

“You stay away from him.” I growled.

“Petey, be a good boy and come here, won’t you?”

I watched as Petey, without a hint of resistance, casually joined the villain at their side.

Lacey’s teeth were bared. Hank looked broken.

“How could you?!” Hank yelled.

“Don’t blame dear Petey, he was just doing what I told him. And now he’s brought me some new toys to break in.”

I started at that. I had to get Petey away from this monster. Away from whatever was making him act this way.

The other two jumped into action, ducking and dodging the villain’s attacks.

“Come on Petey!” I yelled, being batted away from him by a large mechanical arm that had sprung from who knows where. It tried to pin me down, but I wrestled. “Fight it!!”

Hank went flying past me.

Petey stood there, smiling, muttering something. I read his lips.

“Just give in. It feels so good. Stay with me.”

I shook my head and snapped the robotic arm, throwing what I had at the villain to distract them from Lacey.

“I know you’re still in there Petey! Just hang on, I’m coming.” I started, before I felt arms pulling me back.

Except this time, they were human.

“Hank?! What the hell are you doing?? Let me go!”

He had some sort of helmet on him, controlling him.

This must be what they did to Petey, I thought.

I turned to see Lacey’s terrified eyes lock with mine as she too had a helmet forced onto her.

I pleaded with Petey. He smiled warmly at me.

“Don’t be sad. We’re together again.”

He walked over to me and carefully placed the helmet on my head.

And I dropped.

[kboo1999]

Chicago P.D. Season 12, Episode 2: "Blood Bleeds Blue"

yaeah forgot, how still big mad i am at them for this

oh ruz

this is not what to do sir

is this going to be the "new" actual officer

oh wow...if this is her, she's showing her toughness

ahhhh!!! yessss!!! atwater!!!!

i love that kev was the first from intelligence to come to adam's side

i guess i did kinda miss patrol being more involved...it was just different when it was burgess & atwater or even burgess &

yes for telling him to grab it

cook. lol.

oh no. ruzek is going silent deadly mode...

anyone else find it interesting how anytime that they've introduced a new female character, kim has NOT been in that particular episode...

ugh. hate this.

"he's just a tiny little thing"

officer cook is pretty hilarious it seems

boys? plural?? hold up. whatttt??????!??!!??!

oh yeahhhhhh torres!!!!

lol. dante. hank calls him dante now???!!!?!?!!?!!!

i really hope that next epsiode 12x3 brings the same that 11x3 brought with all the. domestic Burzek

i love all this multi team up between units, teams, etc - patrol, all of platt's people, and more - people being concerned about martel

yeahhhhhh, this officer cook is funny as fucking hell. she really said, "dumbass"

oh..no...kevin's face. it says it all.

omfg. i guess martel really had a lot of people that liked her..

ugh. poor ruzek.

really hank???

OCD teams...

these kids trip me fucking out!!!! like immediately taking defense against the cops just because

this kid is very knowledgeable, though

yyeaaahhhh. this dad, daryl. he screams bad news frf

lol. not i didn't want to know. that should tell you all that you ever need to know about someone.

yes officer, yessss!!!

oh no.

i forgot he even had the blood on his hands to begin with

yes. see officer cook. yes. good.

um...so the kid grabbed a gun.

exactly why the hell. ohhhhh. yep. so the kid is going after his dad. at least that's what I'm assuming

bruh. these people and aiming guns at the cops like that ...

ugh. and these damn kids.

really kid?? really?

yes, torres yes!!!!!

lol. not the my dad's crazy.

"until you hear direct word from officer ruzek" agh!!!! ⎯ i love that, adam deserves to be in charge of these things again, he's more than earned it, and been in intelligence the longest.

lol damn - adam was mother fucking ready

and boom. it all goes boom.

aww, hank's little run up to adam and trying to get through to adam is wild.

really dig officer cook.

sooo, maybe it's adam that's going to get his gold shield then?

um interesting. so we're going straight into a atwater centric episode.

ADAM RUZEK

oh ruz

god. poor ruz.

and kim is not here to be with him.

this is not what to do sir

ruzek goes crazy when. in vengeance mode, we know that

aww, the way that adam says, "he's just a tiny little thing"

soooooo, is he ever going to at least give kim like a quick call or text to let her know that he's at least alive??

awww, kim is calling!!!!

but seriously, lol wow, it's like i just knew there connection would lead to kim and adam

i am curious as to if makayla stayed with adam, or if she's with kim at her little conference

not adam knowing it's hank before he even pulled into his peripheral

and she calls againnnnn!!!!

awww!!!!! the pic of Kim & Makayla as Kim's contact pic

lol your wife. the fact that she assumed it was his wife. like yes duhhhhh!!! DEFINITELY HIS WIFEY!!!!

soon to be.

awwwhhh.

you can't!!! you just can't???

OMFG. ADAM. DO NOT BE THIS VERSION OF ADAM AGAIN. please!!!!!

oh hell. adam!!!

yes. this reminds me of OG ADAM RUZEK!!! ⎯ the adam that i feel in love withhh

oh no. ruz. he's shaking so bad

so based on the progression and word usage of this episode, I'm going to go out on a limb here, and assume that it's adam that's going to be promoted to detective

OFFICER COOK

the toughness

she really without hesitation dove into partnering up with adam

officer cook is pretty damn hilarious it seems

this chick is funny!!!

she really without hesitation dove into partnering up with adam

"dumbass", lol i cannnnooooottttt, she's funny lol

yes officer cook, yessss!!!

that was a nice little love tap to the side of the car there officer cook

oh hell!!!!!!

he really drove off with her ass on the hood.

and then she still hung in there and got a damn shot off

she's a badass. i like her. i like her a lot!!

ATWATER

love that kev was the first to get there for adam from intelligence

kinda hate that atwater seemed to have been "stuck" (can't really think of any other word for it then that)

DISTRICT 21

i love that they finally showed us some of the rest of the district

it's been a really long time since they've all been keyed in and involved

TRUDY (MF) PLATT

oh trudyyyyy lol. i missed ma ladyyy, hardcore!!!

yessssss, platt heard intelligence, and was like hell fucking nah.

platt heard the ruzek part and was hell nah bruh

god. seriously. i love a trudy platt.

the way that trudy loves adam is just ahh.

BURZEK

soooooo, is he ever going to at least give kim like a quick call or text to let her know that he's at least alive??

i am curious as to if makayla stayed with adam, or if she's with kim at her little conference

and she calls againnnnn!!!!

lol your wife. the fact that she assumed it was his wife. like yes duhhhhh!!! DEFINITELY HIS WIFEY!!!!

soon to be.

awwwhhh.

you can't!!! you just can't???

OMFG. ADAM. DO BE THIS VERSION OF ADAM AGAIN. please!!!!!

OFFICER RUZEK & OFFICER COOK

lol wife!!!. the fact that she assumed it was his wife. like yes, YESSSSS DEFINITELY HIS WIFEY!!!! - adam's little "soon to be", i am loving this whole thing

“officer cook you alright?” - the slight desperation in adam’s voice there

the way that adam gave props and recognition. a wonderful man.

HANK VOIGHT

the way that hank walks when he's rushing. lol.

DANTE TORRES

aww, dante torres. one of the best additions to the team..

seriously just mmmm. another torres sighting.

torres and this car crack me tf up!!!!

it's a good way to stay undercover though

god. the way he talks. *sigh* i love him.

i love torres and all his tats

i also just love dante torres as a whole. he's an amazing and delicious man

forgot how amazing and quick torres is. such an on your feet thinker….

you can tell he cares soooo much too...

DEPUTY REID

Deputy Reid…yeah. seems like he's going to be a good addition, fr fr. maybe we can actually keep him

PADDY

well damn paddy. what did you do turning your off break?? cause babbbbyyyyyy, them muscles are yelling 💪🏼

[bisharp-that-likes-chips]

Can we get a reader that was born and grew up on an island/archipelago with either the main 3 or 4. For example, Philippines or Hawaii?

People in the madcom x reader section when I post

Not only that, but the boys are going on vacation or something better (also slight nsfw warning for Deimos cuz he’s a bit of a perv) Hank:

He wonders what your life what like in what is considered to be a paradise according to the majority (perhaps he’d like to go there as well)

If you offer to take him to your home country, he has so many wonders

When you first arrive at a sunny beach, he feels like he just escaped hell and what feels like to him, heaven. Oh wait.

I hope you agree with his pleas to stay (apparently, this scary ass mf tries to act all cute and gives you the puppy eyes cuz he really don’t wanna leave)

Shia LaBeouf voice: DO IT! JUST DO IT!

Sanford:

Sanford always dreamed of leaving Nevada and staying at an expensive apartment by a warm sunny beach for the rest of his life so he’s jelly

If you plan to leave Nevada with him and go to your childhood home, he’ll be the happiest man alive

He flops down on the soft hot sand and breathes out a heavy sigh. He finally had his dreams come true

He’s more playful and enthusiastic. Also splashing you with water when you least expect it and swimming around the shoreline like some professional swimmer (headcanon that this dude’s athletic. After all, he’s jacked up)

After the day ends and you’re both tired. He holds you very close to him and peppers your face with kisses. This is his way of saying “thank you” and that his love for you skyrocketed higher than Snoop Dogg

Deimos:

“Wait if you’re from an island? Could you take me there?! Please! Please! Pleeeeeeease!” (Yea Deimos is the most childlike out of the main four)

If you take him to your home country, he’ll be more ecstatic than a sugar addicted kid who drank 5 bottles of Coca Cola.

Bro saw you in your swimsuit and he’s just there staring at you and drooling like damn (his mind: Lemme smash)

He is very rowdy and wild when you guys visit the beach and he acts like a child all day until the sun sets, then he’s knocked out after his excitement rush

2BDamned:

Like Sanford, he’s also jealous. He has to work for 3 annoying, psycho men in a crazy and corrupted environment while you got to relax at a beautiful beach

If you tell him that you and him are gonna leave to go to your home, he’ll love you forever cuz he is so ready to be done with his old job for good

He has a foodgasm when trying exotic foods native to your homeland (he’s tired of eating that stale metallic mush that’s basically the only food he’s allowed to eat in Nevada), and he doesn’t take his eyes off the views of the beaches for more than 2 hours

If you rent an apartment with big cozy beds, best believe he’s holding you extremely tight when you’re sleeping with him

[cowgurrrl]

Heya. Love the work, could we please get some Joel with the twins?

Hi! Thanks for the sweet words!! I hope you like this!!

Beautiful Girls

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: oh I love them

Summary: Your first night at home with your twins

Warnings: slight description of birth complications, NICU stay :(, new parent exhaustion, mention of Sarah’s husband!!, breastfeeding, idiots in love

When Sophia and Violet are born, they're small. Of course, you knew they would be. They're twins, and they were likely to be born earlier. Besides, Sammy was small too. You thought you had it handled. Sophia is born first at a whopping five pounds three ounces. Small but not too scary. She cried on your chest the second she entered the world, her little hands feeling your skin for the first time as she got acquainted with being outside your body. But Violet weighed four pounds eight ounces, and she didn't immediately cry. Your doctor put her on your chest, rubbing her back, as the nurses suctioned fluid out of her mouth, but she was silent. You looked at Joel, terrified, before looking down at her and watched those big brown eyes open and heard her wail. You sighed in relief and kissed her head, and you thought that was it.

To make a long story short, Violet spent a day and a half in the NICU because her lung function wasn't what it was supposed to be. Chump change compared to some of the babies that have been there for months, but seeing her hooked up to oxygen to stabilize her breathing ate you and Joel alive. Meanwhile, Sophia wouldn't breastfeed because she had a lip tie which made the entire process difficult for both of you and required intervention. You both cried for a long time, bouncing back and forth between the NICU and your recovery room as you scrambled to make the best decisions for your daughters. Needless to say, by the time you're discharged to go home a whole four days later, you're both exhausted.

Sammy falls in love with the girls and takes turns holding each of them even though he barely looks big enough to hold a baby. Daisy cautiously smells the girls' heads before giving them the gentlest kiss on the cheek and lying back down. She never was very interested in Sammy when he was this small. You give it six months before the three of them are partners in crime. Sarah, Ethan, Ellie, and Dina come home to meet the girls, which is no small feat considering how busy their own lives are. Hank and Lucia are scheduled to fly in later next week to help around the house and meet their newest granddaughters. Your house is a mess, and there's basically nothing in your fridge besides dinosaur chicken nuggets and apple sauce packets, and you would stress out about it if you didn't watch the love of your life interact with the lives you created.

After the older kids settle in their bedroom and Sammy begs to crawl into bed with Sarah and Ethan, you and Joel stay in the living room where you've sat since you came home from the hospital. He's holding Sophia on one knee and Violet on the other, and he just looks at them. You don't say anything because you're watching him watch them, but you wonder what he's thinking about. You wonder if he's memorizing their features to see if they're truly identical or not. You wonder if he's remembering when Sarah and Sam were babies. You wonder what he sees when he looks at them. Does he see the way their noses curve exactly like his? Or the way their cupid's bow bends like yours? Or the way that you can already see the wavy pattern in what little patch of dark hair they have?

He's gorgeous like this. His hair is a beast from all his worried tugging and playing, and the bags under his eyes are dark even though his frames cover them. He's wearing a loose flannel so he can unbutton and do skin-to-skin with the girls if he so chooses, and his soft smile is almost gentle enough to make you forget about the pain throbbing through your body.

The trance breaks when Violet fusses and wakes up Sophia. Like clockwork, you and Joel step into action. You take Violet in your arms, already unbuttoning your shirt to feed her, as he snuggles Sophia to his chest to get her back to sleep. There's a mess of tangled limbs and caught fabric, making Violet cry in that shaky newborn tone you were so used to when Sammy was born. You shush Vi and get her latched while Joel hums a song you can't make out. In seconds, both girls are content and quiet again, but Joel is still humming. You tune into the melody and try to place it, smiling when you can, even through the baby-shaped fog in your brain.

"Are you humming Van Halen to our daughter?" You ask, and he smiles, all bright and shy. You can't help but smile too.

"Gotta start 'em young, right?"

"Whatever you say, Miller."

Being a family of seven was never on your radar when you met Joel, but now that it's here and it's real, and you're each holding a perfect baby girl while your other three kids are sleeping upstairs, you can't imagine anything else. You're almost positive you would take this as sleep-deprived and pain-ridden as you are over anything someone could ever offer you. How could you not when Joel looks at you like you made the oceans and the stars while holding one of your newborns, his wedding band catching the lamplight as he hums Van Halen to her? And you're almost positive this is what love is meant to look like— not just perfect dates or surprise flowers but the long, hard nights spent rocking babies to sleep and still finding ways to hold each other even when you're on opposite sides of the couch.

[qomrades]

welcome to season 2 of twin peaks

"you alright down there?" he is visibly bleeding out

"warm milk" THANKS MAN

"thank you" DALE STOP SIGNING HIS GRATUITY BILL YOU ARE STILL BLEED9NG OUT

first 5 minutes of this season the longest of my life oh my fucking god. Is That A Ghost.?

thank you for the omens ominous french man. are you an alien of some sort or perhaps a mason

"you will require medical attention" yeah man i think he fuckin noticed

AUDREY I FORGOT YOUR DAD IS A PERVERT

what thr fuck jerry did u kill blackie or something

SCARIEST SCENE ALIVE STAY AWAY FROM HERRRRRRRRRRRR

"i would like to make love to a beautiful woman who i feel genuine affection for" implying you haven't before 🤔 curious

dale my goofster how i missed you and your autistic cadence

oooh please don't kill ronette poor ronette

why the fuck is his hair grey. leland palmer is an insane man i am a little bit obsessed with his mental decline

and Maddy's too hello?

WHY ARE THEY DANVING INSANE MEN??

really beginning this season with the kookiest shit they could imagine

intense and insane tension between dale and albert. i don't think they've known each other carnally but i do think a part of them has wanted to

james look different this season idk why

donna and her insane winona ryder slay. why is she seducing her boyfriend in prison. i feel like donna and james are going through thr craziest teen nancy drew light spice drama investigation novel ever and everyone else is doing whatever the fuck theyre doing in twin peaks.

what the fuck is up with the jazzy ass music. "Is it not okay for me to want you" WHAT ARE THEY ON. WHY DID SHE BITE HIM

ive become so lost these last few days without the show i need to be put back in thr boiling pot

why are dale's lower eyelashes so long and luscious

why are there so many pointed shots at the terrible hospital food

why are bobby and shelly genuinely cute. all i got is questions

loving the nadine/ed/norma/hank backstory. just the kind of drama im looking for

daddy issues conversation slightly messed around by bobby's crazy eyes. no hate to the guy but his overt facial expressions and large eyes scare me on occasion

hank did you just poison bobbys dad or some shit

andy's sweethearted nature makes its return. i missed your tears king

beginning to doubt that manslaughter of hanks was quite as manslaughter as he was saying it was

what the fuck are ben and jerry's deals

AUDREY DONT TELL THE HOT EVIL LESBIAN(?) YOURE NOT INTO HER

love the beautiful presentation put on by the hayward sisters. and then we pan across the table and the doctor looks disquieted, leland looks like the fucking godfather, Sarah looks as depressed as possible and donna and Maddy are just sitting there ominously.

leland there is something so fucking wrong w you babygirl

is audrey praying to dale? girl me too

THE GIANT FRENCH GHOST MAN IS BACK

DID HE JUST CAST FIREBALL

ronette is getting possessed like the girl from thr exorcist. why is some guy there. what the fuck is happeningggggg

[poetoflawed]

The Mission

NOTE: ok so this is based on the oc that @v-cain Writes about. I love their toothless mutant-inspired reader fics and had an idea of one for one and thought i'd give it a shot.

Edit: I'm not adding more to it because i have writers block now but i hope you enjoy this drabble <3

Fandom: X-men

Warnings: Swearing (probably), fighting, hurt/comfort, fire, let me know if there's more.

Pairings: (All Platonic) Logan Howlett x gn!teen!reader, Hank McCoy x gn!teen!reader, Scott Summers x gn!teen!reader, Kurt Wagner x gn!teen!reader, Jean Grey x gn!teen!reader, Jubilation Lee x gn!teen!reader, Charles Xavier x gn!teen!reader, Erik Lenhsherr x gn!teen!reader

Finally my first mission, I'm still not where the professor would have liked for regular missions but Apocalypse isn't our regular villain. To defeat him we needed everyone, and I was one of the only people on the team who could come at him from the air. When we left we were too sure of ourselves, to cocky.

Well not anymore, the fight is raging around me, and I find myself on the ground. rocks digging into my back. I look around and there are bodies littered everywhere. Both sides of this war obviously having taken hits.

As I'm trying to get up, I let out a hiss of pain, there's a long deep gash down my ribs.

As i'm there assessing the wound i hear a voice, "Stay Down, y/n"

"Professor?"

"yes, stay down. we can handle it.."

before he can convince me I look over and see Logan rushing Apocalypse before he's caught and thrown. I watch as I see his body crumple to the ground. the fear and anger is unbridled now, I wasn't gonna let this bastard get to anymore of our people.

Against orders, I rush Apocalypse, just as Logan did, grab him with my claws, and shoot us straight up before anyone can stop us.

"You meek human, you think you can stop me?" he's taunting me, I have to ignore it and just focus on producing my fire breath.

"Was he your friend? Father maybe?" he smirks.

"Ignore him. Focus." i think to myself.

I'm pulled from my concentration as a knife is plunged into mu stomach, i start to falter and we start hurtling towards the ground however at the last moment i send my fire straight to his face.

I drop him, losing blood as i quickly approach the ground.

There’s fires raging everywhere, out of the corner of my eye I see Jean. She’s unconscious, she must have been air support. I dive for her and then everything goes black.

Third POV

Logan’s body crumples against the ground, and y/n immediately gets the advantage on Apocalypse, pulling him upward. Logan’s just getting up in time to see them fly above the clouds.

Everyone is still as they watch the sky. With the enemies slowly dropping.

“They did it…” Charles is looking up in awe and fear.

“What did they do,”

“Logan-”

“No, professor. Tell me what they did. Please.” Logan can feel his anxiety rising.

“They ended it. But not without consequences consequences. ” he said gravely, “they have little strength left.”

Jean immediately shots up to help, but is knocked out by one of the last soldiers still alive. She’s careening to the ground before everyone sees you fly out of the clouds and grab her before you smash into the dirt.

“Kid…” Logan runs over to where you fell. Wings, tail, and body wrapped protectively around Jean, who is unharmed. Jean gets up and is pulled away from you by Scott. You are left there groggy, and barely lucid.

“Kid, what did you do…” Logan’s face is set in fear,anger, and sadness.

“Is everyone ok?” Y/n asks as they breathe shallowly.

“Everyone’s fine.” The professor assures. “You on the other hand are a different story.”

“Kid. Goddamn it. Why did you do that. What did you do.” Logan is moving you of the ground to lean against him now. Their breathing to slow for his liking.

“I k-knew i could d-do it. I had to t-try.”

As he watches he notices the gashes and blood stain their suit.

“You’re fine… you’ll get better.” He’s applying pressure. But the stain is steadily getting larger.

Everyone is to shocked to move, until the professor talks.

"get them to the jet."

[bloughjobs]

RIP to my friend, Hank, who had to be euthanized yesterday.

Hank was found wandering around town last summer, presumably an escapee from a slaughter truck considering his breed, as well as size/age upon intake.

Turkeys like Hank are intentionally and selectively bred to grow as fast as possible in the shortest amount of time possible. This is, of course, to save time, money, and resources for the “farms” raising them.

After only a few weeks, these babies are already too heavy for their own bodies, and they are sent to slaughter. Yes, probably every turkey you’ve ever eaten was still a baby.

A VERY small number of these babies get *super* lucky, and despite all odds, end up at an animal sanctuary like the one I managed last year when we first found Hank. Here, they must be kept on a very strict diet and exercise regimen. Because, even though no one plans to eat them anymore, their biology still betrays their will to live and causes them to carry an excessive amount of weight that puts stress on their legs and organs.

And despite all of the love and effort their sanctuary caretakers put into improving and extending their lives, most of these birds will still die from conditions directly caused by their selective breeding… because, according to the meat industry, the only thing that matters is that these animals can stay alive long enough to reach “slaughter weight.” Whether or not the rest of their bodies can handle that weight is of no concern to an industry that views them as objects, and has no plan to see them live beyond those few weeks.

This is exactly what happened to Hank. His legs and his heart could no longer carry his weight, and despite veterinary intervention, he was no longer able to stand at the end of his life. His heart and breathing were labored, and he was suffering. Hank did not deserve to have his life stolen from him so soon… The only thing to take solace in is that he got to spend 10 whole months in the sun with friends, and got to pass surrounded by those who loved him, a much different fate than 99.9% of all other “meat birds.”

Hank was a sweet, sensitive, handsome boy full of love and hope. He would follow me back and forth all morning while I did the chores, and was never shy about showing off his feathers and strutting his stuff for anyone watching (including himself in the mirror!) He had a best friend, Timmy the rooster, that he cared for and spent all day and night with.

He was a sentient being, no different from the cat or dog you share a home with right now. No different from you or I in any of the ways that matter. We have so much to learn as a species and as individuals when it comes to what really matters in this life…

Please try to remember the individual that once carried around that weight next time you buy a package of meat from the grocery. And remember that every day each one of us has the chance to make a difference in the world through every little decision we make. Choose compassion.

[positivelybeastly]

She's kicked back on one of those fancy, overstuffed Xavier couches--shoes off, of course. Her legs dangle over the side, and she's propped comfortably on a pillow, gazing at the ceiling. A battered, paperback copy of Murder Ballads--one from Booker's library decades ago--is in her hands.

All at once, she lets out a "fuck," tossing the book onto her stomach. It lands with a little flop and rustle of cover and paper.

"I just remembered James Horner is dead."

The swear has Hank glancing up from his own book - a rather tattered but well loved copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, gifted to him by Logan a good many moons ago - and blinking at Tess. He would ask what's wrong, but he knows her answer will be forthcoming.

Tess isn't the type to misuse her swears, after all. Deploy them in a cluster pattern for maximum efficiency, or with the deadly efficacy of a long range tactical nuclear device, absolutely, but misuse? Not usually.

Then she speaks, and his face falls, too. He brings his book down and taps at the spine, thinking for a moment before sliding his bookmark into place and leaning over to take her hand and squeeze in a way that's the kind of intimate only best friends can manage.

"Have I ever told you the story of when I decided I wanted to be a scientist? I was . . . eight years old, at the time. My father brought home a copy of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan on VHS, because that was in the time period when VHS was actually dominant media and not merely an artefact of the before times. I was absolutely enraptured from moment one. The opening narration arrested me - in the 23rd century. I was in. And then, Main Title."

"Enterprise Clears Moorings!"

"Kirk's Explosive Reply!"

"Incredible track after incredible track, set to the single best Star Trek story ever told. William Shatner's single best acting performance, achieved only through sheer bloody persistence by director Nicholas Meyer. A performance of the original Spock by Leonard Nimoy that was good enough that it made him want to return to the role! But. More than anything else, it was the quiet scene in the middle of the film."

"Kirk has nearly been killed by a son he had almost forgotten he had, who is so very much like him, and yet not. Has just seen a man die, pointlessly. He believes he's been marooned on a moon, buried alive, buried aliiiive . . . he lets out a primal scream of agony. He's near the end of his rope, and then, Doctor Carol Marcus appears."

"The entire film is about . . . life, death, birth, rebirth, age, youth, revenge, letting go. And she and Kirk have this incredible conversation. I've never forgotten it, in the twenty nine years that have come since I first heard it."

He puts on his best subdued, mature William Shatner.

"'I did what you wanted. I stayed away . . . why didn't you tell him?'"

And then he shifts his voice. He can't do Bibi Besch, but he can replicate the tones of her voice, the exact moment he fell in love with what science was, with what it could achieve, with what it represented.

"'How can you ask me that? Were we together? Were we going to be? You had your world and I had mine. And I wanted him in mine, not chasing through the universe with his father. ... Actually, he's a lot like you. In many ways . . . please, tell me what you're feeling.'"

Switch back to his Shatner. It's - passable.

"'There's a man out there I haven't seen in fifteen years, who's trying to kill me. You show me a son that'd be happy to help him. My son. My life that could have been ... and wasn't. And what am I feeling? ...Old. ...Worn out.'"

There's a certain mistiness to his eyes. He clearly holds this moment very dear to his heart. These are the words. This was the moment.

"'Let me show you something ...that'll make you feel young, as when the world was new.'"

There's an uncharacteristic crack on the word young.

". . . And then she takes him by the hand, and they walk into the Genesis Cave. The hollowed out interior of an asteroid, turned into a veritable Garden of Eden. Paradise. 'You did all this in a day?' 'The matrix formed in a day. The lifeforms grew later at a ... substantially accelerated rate.' And Carol has this look of absolute pride, and honour, and accomplishment on her face.

Can I cook or can't I?"

"That, was the exact moment I decided I wanted to be a scientist. James Horner gave me that moment, with those strings and that flourish and that sense of wonder. James Horner, and Nicholas Meyer, and William Shatner, and Bibi Besch, every part of it, made me the man I am today."

There's no 'for my sins' or twinge of self-deprecation. This is a moment of pride, and surety, and happiness.

He squeezes Tess' hand again.

"Another Doctor McCoy pointed out, at the end of the film, 'he's really not dead. As long as we remember him.' So. Let's remember him together, Tess."

[simping-for-kamski]

12 Steps of Christmas - ch 2

2. Shock

“Today, we welcome a new member and a returning member into our group,” the therapist said. It was another therapist, and another group.

Leo was the returning member, and coming back felt both like an admission of defeat, and a step in the right direction. He knew he had to get through this, do it for himself this time, because he was the last one left alive. Dad wasn’t there anymore. Leo had no one left to please, and it gutted him. All he wanted was love, affection, and now, he was never getting that. All chances were gone, and he felt like it was all his fault too. Absolutely everything he’d done the night Carl died had been a succession of every worst possible choice.

In a way, it was all too surreal, and a part of Leo still thought it might all just be a very long bad trip.

He sat on his chair and blankly looked at the middle-aged man in front of him. Same unkempt silver hair and scruffy beard, sad blue eyes, old leather jacket and funky shirt. Hank had a problem with alcohol.

He didn’t speak much this time. Leo on the other hand talked.

“I stopped coming and… I guess I just didn’t see the point in trying to stay clean anymore. It wasn’t that I lacked the willpower, it’s that… nothing was changing. The stuff that drove me to this. Even when sober, my dad, he never got it—never got me . He did drugs because it was fun and artsy. He thought I was a loser for using Ice as an escape from all the shit I couldn’t deal with. And frankly… I felt like, why bother? If being high is the only way I can get a semblance of function in my life, if being sober doesn’t make me feel better… Why bother? So, yeah, I stopped coming, I relapsed, everything went to shit, I spent all of my money, got back to begging my dad for cash…” He fisted his fingers hard enough that his knuckles whitened. “I just wanted him to give me a reason to care, but…” He bit his lips. “I pushed the provocation, I got fucking mad at him and his fucking android—my own dad! He-!” He exhaled loudly and massaged his temples. His eyes were pricking again but he wasn’t about to cry in front of others. “All he ever cared about was himself, his plastic toy—that fucking machine that doesn’t feel a goddamn thing, and now… Shit.” He took a long inhale, a long exhale. “I’m not sure what even happened. Argument got heated. I fought with the android. Next thing I knew my dad was on the floor, clutching his chest, clutching that fucking android, talking to him to his last fucking breath, like I wasn’t even there, and police was there and they shot the android. I don’t fucking know.”

“Shit, mate…” one of the seniors of the group whispered—Dino. “You mean… your dad passed away?”

Leo merely nodded but held up his hand. “No condolences or sympathies, please, don’t…”

He didn’t deserve any of that.

“Have you come to take the pledge again, Leo?” the therapist asked.

Leo nodded slowly. “He’s the demon that led me into this hell and now he’s dead, so I… I guess I just gotta bury him once and for all, right?” he said and met his peers’ approval.

The session went on but Leo found himself spinning in a haze. He’d give anything for a smoke. His skin itched and he felt sweaty. He was thankful when it all ended. He didn’t feel all too well and rapidly left to join the bathroom. He just had the time to bend over the toilet before it all came down, burning acid through his throat and nose, prickling, scratching. The sounds he made were godawful and reminded him of the reason why he needed to quit the habit.

“Fuck…”

He wiped his face with toilet paper in an attempt to look just a bit representative before leaving the stall, for the sake of the other person who’d entered the room. He flushed, exited the small cabin and dunked his face with tap water by the sinks. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was still red; he looked just great .

“You’ okay?”

Leo turned to look at the guy washing his hands a sink away from him. Hank. He nodded.

“Yeah, yeah… Y’know… or maybe you don’t…”

“I know.” Hank gave him an apologetic smile. “I know what that shit does to your system. Not from personal experience, but…” He shrugged. “Sorry you have to go through this—Leo, right?” he checked the name. “It’s a brave choice you’re making.”

“I dunno nothing about being brave, man.” Leo sighed, dabbing his face with paper towels. “Head’s all a fuzz even when I’m sober. …Do you like art, by the way? Know people who like art?”

“Why you ask?”

“Got a whole museum’s worth of paintings and sculptures I need to get rid of,” Leo said.

“Your old man’s stuff?” Hank guessed. “Do you need money or—?”

“I need to get rid of it all,” Leo stammered. “It’s okay, forget I said anything,” he apologized and moved toward the door.

“Huh, yeah. See you next time,” Hank replied with a short nod.

Leo nodded back, feeling awkward as fuck. “By the way… sorry you got stuck with that plastic thing at work. I mean… Until next time.” And then a second too late: “Hank.”

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