#I wrote this in a day

[sleeplessdreamer14]

𝔅𝔢 𝔙𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔄𝔣𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔡

fandom: my hero academia

relationship: class 1a x gn! reader (platonic)

summary: you don’t typically use your quirk as to not frighten people, but you wind up using it when Mineta is bothering your girl friends.

contains: mineta being a perv, y/n being terrifying yet beautiful, maybe a little rushed at the end sorry

Upon first getting your quirk at age four, you and your parents initially thought they were merely angel wings. By junior high however, you came to realize there was more to it than that, and after a few small incidents that included you inadvertently making a classmate nearly pass out, you opted to keep your power on the down low most of the time. But your quirk still needed to breathe, so to speak, so you let your first pair of wings out.

Once you reached high school and enrolled in UA, you were still hesitant to use your power to its full extent, and not just for the sake of not frightening anyone, but also because you were fairly certain that if you did, Bakugou would see it as a challenge and become bent on one-upping you. And you didn’t have the time for that.

Either way, it actually didn’t take too long for the truth to come out. From day one, your shortest classmate made a pretty solid impression as a little pervert, and it had you on your toes a lot, not just for yourself, but for your friends. You had gotten used to using your wings to create distance between Mineta and the girls, but you were getting real fed up with it real fast.

There were only a handful of scenarios wherein you deemed it necessary to go the whole nine yards, and when you spotted him trying to sneak up on Momo, Ochako, and Mina, you didn’t even think twice as you speed walked towards them, sliding your jacket off of your shoulders and tying it smoothly around your waist.

You put yourself between him and the girls, activating your quirk so quickly that a gust of wind blew through the room, making the girls jump in surprise a bit and causing Mineta to stumble and fall back and several other heads to turn in your direction.

There they saw you hovering a couple feet off the ground, all three sets of wings out and a soft halo of light surrounding your head. You had opened a few extra eyes, all glowing like the sun. But there wasn’t a trace of mercy in your gaze as you stared Mineta down. You almost didn’t hear the soft gasps of your other classmates as they stared at you in awe.

“Be afraid. Be. Very. Afraid.”

It took a moment for Mineta to snap out of his horrified state, before he quickly scrambled to his feet and booked it away from you, stuttering apologies as he scurried off. And with that, you lowered yourself to the ground and sighed, your halo fading and your extra eyes closing back up. Looking over your shoulder, you looked at your girl friends and offered them a tender smile, in complete contrast to the death stare you were wearing just seconds prior.

“Be not afraid.” you said sweetly before Mina gave you a big hug which you returned.

“(L/n), you’re the best!” she exclaimed joyously. “Thank you so much.” Momo said.

“No worries. I’ve been wanting to do that for quite a while now.” you said, mumbling at the last part. Ururaka went on about how she was sure that you would be an awesome hero some day, beloved by girls everywhere.

Midoriya was already flipping through his journal to add on to the entry he made about you and Jirou had a proud smile on her face, glad that someone was able to scare Mineta off like that. Iida was stunned, but honestly amazed by how gracefully you handled the situation, and Kaminari was simultaneously terrified and impressed as he made a mental note to never mess with you or your friends, even if he was one of them.

Kirishima’s look of shock turned into a beaming smile as he went over to compliment your quirk and how strong you were. Bakugou… wasn’t sure what to think. He was impressed, though he probably wouldn’t tell you that to your face, and maybe slightly intimidated by you upon realizing how much you must have been holding back during training and sparring. Aizawa on the other hand, made a mental note to try and explore this side of your quirk in future training.

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Survivors

theo raeken x reader

summary: people are being kidnapped and tested, and one day, you wake up with the startling realization that you're next. luckily, your captor releases you after something about you reminds him a little too much of himself.

tags: kidnapping, implied s3lf h4rm, implied child abuse, non-graphic

word count: 1.1k

a/n: i apologize in advance

also, i wrote this a month ago and haven't been able to title it! i've also had to rewatch parts of s5 bc i was so confused the first time around. this takes place before the chimeras start dying / when they're still being tested on and all that.

A dark cloth is pulled tightly around your head, and your hands are bound in rope. A metal pole supports your back, though it is uncomfortable between your shoulder blades. Two of your senses are rendered useless, forcing you to rely on the other three for support. Unfortunately, they aren't much help in a situation like this.

You sigh. There's no telling how long you've been here. You know you've faded in and out of consciousness three times now. This is the first time you've fully woken up and realized how endangered you actually are.

Even with the blindfold, you know you're in the dark. The hard and cold ground suggests a garage, storage building, or maybe even down in the tunnels, is where you're being kept. Who knows? A pill was forced down your throat the minute you were grabbed, your kidnapper rendering you completely unable to fight.

Speaking of which... Your kidnapper...

You wonder who they are. It's probably the doctors; they've been damning people for weeks now. Turning humans into creatures and throwing them back out into the world. Killing them if they're failures, but doing more tests if they seem to succeed.

Fear shoots down your spine as you realize you're next. You're captured, you must be their next test. You struggle against the ropes, but there's no give.

A heavy door is pushed to the side, and footsteps make their way towards you. You stop fighting immediately and prepare for the worst.

Someone crouches in front of you close enough that you can hear their breathing. They're calm in a way that horrifies you. They're not here to save you. No, no one knows you're here. No one is coming to save you.

You're startled by a gentle touch as two hands meet the sides of your head. Your blindfold is pulled down slowly, finally revealing the person on the other side. Their identity shocks you; a chill ices your body.

"You."

He sighs, glancing at the floor. "Sorry about this, Y/N. You're the one they wanted most."

"Really? And when'd you become their little errand boy, Theo? I thought you wanted Scott to trust you. Thought you wanted to be a part of his pack."

"it's all about survival, Y/N. There is a war, and I am loyal to whom I think will come out on top."

"You're wrong. The bad guys always lose, even if not in ways you'd expect. You will lose."

"Have that much faith in Scott, now do you? I don't see him coming to save you. You're all alone here. There's no getting out." You gulp visibly before you can stop yourself. "How's that for being the loser?"

"You're sick."

"Maybe. But at least I'm a realist."

You roll your eyes, looking away from him. Right now, his face is pissing you off just to see it. Two days ago, you'd admit you thought the little fucker was hot, but now, he's just a pain in your ass.

"Whatever," you snap, "have it your way. Just make it fast if you're going to kill me."

"Baby, if you've been following along, I'm not killing anyone. And the doctors aren't yet either. They're testing you all."

"For what? And don't 'baby' me."

He smiles. "To make the perfect monster. The best one for the cause."

"Which is?"

"Can't say."

"You're insufferable."

"And you're adorable when you're mad."

"Ugh!"

Theo takes a deep breath, then unties the cloth that was once around your eyes. He reaches around the side to undo the ropes, working at them for a good thirty seconds before unraveling the strongly-made knot.

"I do mean it when I say I'm sorry. Wish they picked anyone else, but they said you were special."

"I don't care, Theo. I already know this is the end for me. You're just drawing it out."

He slouches his shoulders before taking your wrists in his hands. He sits up on his knees, prepared to pull you up with him, but stops suddenly. Even in the darkness, the chimera can see the scars. Thin, white lines decorating the skin on your wrists. Some are more faded than others, but others look more recent. He stares at them for a moment, while you remain none the wiser, avoiding his gaze.

For a second, he's transported back to his childhood - kidnapped by the doctors at an early age, forced to undergo tests and experiments, and to live under their care. Forgotten by his family and haunted by his sister. The doctors didn't know how to raise a child, but they clearly didn't care. The torment he suffered still hurts every passing day, and even now, in Beacon Hills again, the pain hasn't ceased.

Theo bears plenty of scars of his own. Some are made by the doctors, some he brought on himself. It took him years to learn to not hate his body, to see the scars as a reminder that he's a survivor, not a failure.

His are littered around his body in places not well seen. The first time one of the doctors discovered them, he was punished accordingly. It's as if they're the only ones allowed to abuse him; how dare he bring it upon himself.

Theo looks at your scars and wonders what trauma is buried beneath them. What are you hiding? What emotional pain lies under the physical? Who knows your secrets, if anyone? It's none of his business, so he doesn't ask, but he closes his hands over your wrists and gulps.

"Run."

You look back at him, then at your clasped hands. "What?"

"Run. Run far from here and don't look back. Follow the pipes on the left side of the wall, and let them take you back above ground. Don't tell Scott anything I told you, it will only get you hurt. Just run, and don't let the doctors find you."

"Wait, why? I don't understand."

Theo pushes your hands into your chest and finally releases them. Fear floods through you as realization hits. He's seen you, seen your wrists, and your scars, and he's taking pity on you. But... he's letting you go.

"Just go, Y/N!" He yells in a whisper. "Go, before they come back. Any minute now, they're expecting you."

You scramble to your feet and look towards the pipes. The pipes on the left lead out, he said.

"But what about you?" You don't know why you ask. You don't know why you care. But, something deep inside you does.

"I'll be fine, I'll make up a lie. Just go!"

And so finally, you take off in the direction he points, still a little confused, but incredibly grateful.

Maybe there is some good in him. Maybe he's just as manipulated by the doctors as the rest of the chimeras. Maybe there's hope for him after all.

[theolsuspendisbelief]

Deflection of Air

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationship: Orym of the Air Ashari/Dorian Storm

Rating: G

Spoilers: Up to episode 105

Words: 3,255

Status: Complete

Orym and Dorian take a flight.

"The creature, the mount he guesses, which flew to Dorian’s side in the temple of another sort of dragon earlier that day has returned. It’s wings are folded in the tight space between the buildings and, in the washed out colours of the night, it might almost pass as a regular horse. Almost. With the flick of it’s head, arching it’s strong neck back with a soft snort and then nuzzling closer to the comfort of Dorian’s touch, blue and silver scales glimmer in the moonlight. The mane, not hair, but a pale gossamer membrane of tissue, ripples with the pure static energy radiating from the mount; a buzz that Orym can feel in his fingertips all the way from his perch above. "

[crime-wives]

probably running away (from the feelings I get)

They make eye contact across the OR. Addison’s eyes soften just a smidge. Her head tilts in a slight nod, an acknowledgment. Cristina’s motionless body laying on the table. She’s being cut open. Her person, her best friend, and Meredith can’t do anything about it.

1/1. 1.1k. Meredith Grey/Addison Montgomery

read on ao3

[penultimatestalematewithdeath]

“Hunter was better than the rest. Or, he was at least more liked. Or, perhaps, more valuable? Either way, Belos would hurt the others, but never him.

And he couldn't figure out why.

(alternatively, four times Hunter Needs a Hug and one time that he actually Gets One)”

I am deep in Owl House mode so have a second fic as a treat!

(I am severely behind on University work)

[eupheme]

— sugar, sugar

[part ii] | [part iii] | [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 6.5k

tags: asshole friend!wade, (sorta soft) roommate!logan, baker!neighbor!reader, flirting, mutual yearning, immature humor, a reference to while you were sleeping, wingman!wade and the worse way to meet someone, light angst, oral sex, swallowing, fingering, v. light ass play, unprotected PiV, appearance of The Claws, what’s a refractory period, sorta audible voyeurism (brief/humorous)

a/n: includes spoilers for deadpool & wolverine (which omg I loved - what was your fave cameo?)

Your eccentric neighbor Wade may drive you a little up the wall… but, you’re willing to put up with him if it means he’ll introduce you to his new, grumpy-looking roommate.

“You gonna introduce me?”

You’ve cornered Wade in the apartment’s laundry room - the door to the front-loading washer hanging open as he holds a bundle of red fabric up to his chest.

“You think this will wash out?” 

The suit in question looks like it had been run over by a truck and then set on fire, with the rips criss-crossed in the leather and the numerous charred holes scattered across the chest.

“Definitely.” Your eyes flicker down, and then back up, “So, will you?”

He bundles the suit up - flinging into the back of the washer, the laundry basket still tucked under an arm.

“Really? Not even ‘hello, Wade’? ‘Looking good, Wade’?” His voice pitches up, imitating yours, “Does our friendship really mean nothing to you?”

You wouldn’t necessarily call Wade Wilson a friend.

In fact, he’s honestly the worst neighbor you’ve ever had. 

Loud, obnoxious. Persuasive - the first night you met you had been banging on his door at three in the morning, yelling at him to shut up as music and a caterwauling voice blared through the shared wall.

Ten minutes later you were playing the drums on his late night session of Rock Band, using a banana and a wooden spoon in place of sticks. Only for Althea to stomp out of her room and shut everything down, scaring both of you out of your skins.  

But sometimes, you think - remembering the times he came through for you, a shoulder to cry on, helping him this slump he’s been digging himself out of - he might just be the best, as well.

And maybe that was friendship, after all. 

You sigh, leaning against the row of washers. Eyes flicking over him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You do look good, Wade,” There’s a tilt of your head, the smile widening, “Glad you lost the toupee, that really wasn’t your color.”

“Ah, ah. Repurposed,” He chides, cupping his crotch, “You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed-”

“Ew, stop.” Your face scrunches, a hand covering your eyes as you shield your vision, “Will you please just answer my question?”

He throws a handful of shirts in the washer, “Which was...?”

Your head shakes - a hand on his arm as you reach for a glint of gold in the pile of clothes. Cringing as a handgun appears, held gingerly between thumb and forefinger as you set it on the side table.

“Good call,” He nods, “Dry clean only.”

You can't help a laugh then, even as your hands brace on your hips, “I want to meet your roommate.”

He frowns, “You’ve met Blind Al.”

“Jesus, Wade. Not Al." A hand waves, " I mean Mister Tall, Dark, and Brooding.”

You’ve seen the stranger in the hallways a few times in the month since he’s moved in. Scruffy and scowling the first time, a silent shadow behind Wade’s endless chatter. 

But in the weeks following, that look had softened. You’d stopped by twice with cookies to welcome him, but every time you’ve just gotten Al.

Not that you dislike Al, that’s not it at all. She’s sweet enough to you when it’s not 3 a.m. or if Wade doesn’t have her annoyed half to death.

But you certainly weren’t harboring a crush on her. Maybe even secretly hoping that maybe the new neighbor will get a little lost and end up at your door, instead of his new place.  

“Ooh,” The syllables draw out - detergent flung in, before he’s leaning against the washer too, facing you. “Yeah, Logan. He's great, got a mean ‘Hugh Jackman’ vibe, just without the singing. You’d like him.”

Something like hope flutters in your belly, but then he’s raising a finger - wiggling it at you, “Just one question though. What’s in it for me?”

That has you scowling, “What do you mean? You owe me. I covered for you when you had that barqueue in the stairwell.”

“God, that was great sausage.” Wade groans, thinking back, “Mmm, but I think Peter covered for me.”

“Who do you think got Peter?”

“Well, I don’t remember seeing you.” He shrugs.

“I was right-,” You pinch the bridge of your nose between thumb and forefinger, a sharp exhale of breath, “Fine. If you do this for me, I’ll do that thing you keep asking me to do.”

Wade gasps gleefully, “You mean you’ll make the triple decker-”

“-chocolate caramel cheesecake chimichangas. Yes.” You finish with him, arms crossing over your chest, “You’re lucky you heal fast because that should put you right into a food coma.”

“Right. Lucky me,” He smirks. A second as he thinks, before he snaps his fingers, “I’m having a little get-together tonight! You should come. Was gonna invite you anyway.”

The pounding in your head ratchets up at the thought that all this could’ve been avoided.

“Logan sleeps on the couch, though,” He adds, sagely, “So just letting you know that if the two of you decide to get your fuck on in my bed, according to the state of New York I am legally allowed to join you.”

“Thanks for the warning,” You grimace - even if you’re certain that cannot possibly be true, “But I do have my own apartment.”

“Oh, right.” There’s the faintest edge of disappointment in his tone, paired with a sigh.

You give him a sideways look, then.

“I saw Vanessa leaving yesterday. Things getting better?”

He sobers at that, eyes moving towards the sliver of a window. The glimpse of the street outside.

“Yeah.” Wade manages, “Yeah, I think so.”

There had once been a flicker of something. In-between your annoyance and exasperation, there were tendrils of tenderness. Long snuffed out, when you had seen just how banged up his heart was. How it’s always belonged to another. 

You had gotten over it. Gotten to a place where seeing him now, like this, makes you smile.

“I’m really glad to hear that.” 

He smiles, then.

“Thanks. Me too.”

“Hey, hold on.” Wade darts in front of his roommate, a leg kicked up high to block the doorway, “Where are you going? You can’t go out.”

Logan scowls, an arm already shoved into his leather jacket, “Sure I can.”

The blow against his shoulder might move a lesser man, but Wade’s fingers just grip the frame even tighter, “But I promised-, I got a friend that wants to meet you. There is some really important shit at stake here. I can’t let you go.”

An eyebrow cocks, “Can’t? I think we both know how that would go if you tried to stop me.”

It would be easy to get into this right here and now, but his suit is still in the dryer and he’s not about to spend another hour cleaning up blood.

“Wait, wait, wait,” He throws a hand up, “Aren’t you listening to me? A girl wants to meet you. She’s hot, she has a job, and she has an apartment. You’re only one outta three there. Can’t you see what a good opportunity this is? This is totally in your favor!”

Logan scoffs, his tongue tucking against his teeth. Hesitating for just a second, but it's enough that Wade knows he’s got him.

“I’ve met your friends,” He eventually acknowledges, “They’re good folk and all, but there isn’t anyone there I’d like to ‘get to know better’, yeah?”

“You haven’t met this one. She lives next door.”

The pause stretches longer this time. Dark eyes dart out into the hallway, and Wade can practically hear those rusted gears turning.

“Apartment 16 or 18?” Logan finally rasps, his arms crossing. 

Oh, he’s definitely got him. Just call him Wade Wilson, New York’s own personal Cupid. New life goal - get his friends laid. 

He nocks a mental arrow - aiming, and then firing with his answer. 

“18.” 

Another beat passes, and then a sigh. 

“Alright.” The leather sleeve slips from his arm, drooping in his fist.

“Five minutes. That’s all I’m staying.”

Wade’s fist pumps. 

Bullseye, motherfucker. 

The apartment is packed and it’s been well past the allotted five minutes. Logan’s been nursing a beer for the last fifteen, eyes flicking over the people he’s grown to know well.

Offering a tight, half-smile when the big man claps him on the back, followed by Opposites Attract. Almost tempted to find that damn dog, just to have something to do. 

Or maybe, just bail all-together.

Starting to think this was all an elaborate prank. Some fucked up aspect of this Earth, unknown to him until now.

He’s too old for this shit. If he heads for the bedroom now, he might make it out the fire escape before anyone notices.

Logan is still entertaining this new thread of thought until he hears his name - called out over whatever fuck-face bullshit boy-band music Wade’s been playing. 

Ambiance, his ass.

The muscles of his crossed arms flex. Catching the way his roommate hauls a girl across the floor - the look of panic on her face as she tosses a container onto the nearest surface.

Wade hadn’t been lying, after all. It was Apartment 18 - that was about as much as he knew about you.

Other than the color of your eyes. The smell of your perfume in the hall. Your hair, your schedule - waking in the mornings to hear your door opening at 5 a.m., five days a week.

A baker. A damn good one, from the bits of cookie he’s snuck when no one was home. 

Had never thought to introduce himself, because he’s been through all this before. Knows better than to reach out in the first place - still nursing the old wound of heartache, one that still flares to life in his chest.

Better not to hope, or even think, at all. 

You stumble when he lets go, and Logan’s hands only curl tighter. Afraid to touch, now that you’re so close. 

A pretty young thing compared to him. This was a fucking stupid idea, his eyes darting away as Wade claps, his hands spreading wide. 

“Logan,” Wade’s tone is cordial, as if discussing the weather, “This is our neighbor, Sugar. She bakes a mean penis cake and likes emotionally unavailable men.”

A dejected sigh as he regards you, “Which is why it’s never worked out between us. I am just too available.”

Penis cake?

Logan shoots you a sideways look, an eyebrow cocked. Caught off guard by this unexpected intro, and it seems you are the same - gauging by the way your mouth drops open. 

Your face swimming with regret, as you hiss, “Oh my god. Wade. It was one time. Why do you have to put it like that?”

Wade’s smile widens, his tone still innocent, “Just skipping over the ‘getting-to-know-you’s, so you can know if you’re compatible.”

Already pivoting to face Logan with a little wink, his own scowl already deepening. Something like nerves flickering to life - as he wonders if this will all be over before it ever begins.

“And this is Logan. He’s from another Earth, is two-hundred years old, and has a metal dong.”

Jesus Christ. 

Logan’s teeth grit, before he snarls, “It’s not made of metal-”

Out of the corner of his eye, catches the curious dip of your gaze. Past the folded twist of his arms, the flannel, down to his thick belt buckle.

A knock rings out then, interrupting him from any further clarification.

“Ooh! Door,” Wade thumbs over his shoulder, “Go on now, we’ve got some good energy going here. Sugar and spice, I love it.”

A spin on his heel, and he’s leaving them alone. Silence a lingering companion for a long moment, before Logan turns.

“Nice to meet you.” He seethes, jaw working as he shoots daggers at Wade’s back. A hand extended - he’d manage that much at least.

Waiting for you to make an excuse and run, but all you do is fit your hand into his. Soft and strong and a near perfect fit.

Logan doesn’t touch people much anymore unless it’s a hand around a throat, or claws buried deep into a chest. Had almost forgotten what it was like, even if this meeting is close to his own personal version of hell.

“Nice to finally meet you, too.” Your smile is wry. Hands still clasped a moment longer, until he’s withdrawing. 

Your hands shove into your back pockets. The tilt of a head as you regard him, and he lets his eyes meet yours. 

They’re pretty, like the rest of you. Captivating even, if he could use such a word, and Wade’s words ring out in his head. 

She wants to meet you.

He’s wondering if that’s still true. Maybe you’re wondering the same, with the way you look at him. 

“So,” You begin, awkwardly - another unconscious flick of your eyes,“How does-”

“Uh-uh.” Logan’s head shakes. He’s picked up a couple things living with Wade. Never used to be a bargaining man, but he has to admit it has its uses. 

“If you wanna know, you gotta go first.” 

He hates you.

He must, with the way he’s scowling. Thighs spread wide as he sits on the couch you had gestured to, fingers in a vice grip around the bottle. No doubt plotting a dozen ways to ditch you the second he can.

Who wouldn’t, with a meeting like this? You could kill Wade, cheeks burning as you sink into the worn cushions next to him.

That is, until your knee knocks against his. The muscles in his thigh flexing - but Logan lets it rest, instead of pulling away. 

“You gonna-?” His voice is gruff, a low rasp that makes goosebumps raise across your skin. 

“Uh, sure.” Your fingers twist, “Which part did you want to hear about?”

His eyebrows lift. Those dark eyes beneath, almost a hint of amusement in them.

“Right,” The little laugh that bubbles from you is self-conscious, “Well, I don’t really like emotionally unavailable men, they just have a habit of finding me.”

His voice is low, “How would Wade know that?”

“Mm, how would he know about your-?” Your eyes flicker down for the third time, and he shifts. 

“You first.”

“Alright.” You huff, but you’re smiling now. Some of your discomfort easing. 

Logan is even more handsome than you had thought. You like the way his eyes dart away, only to come back and linger. 

It’s starting to make you think that maybe it’s not dislike that has so much of him hidden away. Maybe it’s just been a long time since someone tried to peel any of him back. 

Maybe he’s as nervous as you are.

“Well, he’s had to scare an ex or two away.” You shrug, “He only knows because I told him. And the cake, oh-, that was him, too.”

You turn then, to face him. A shoulder brushing the arm he has thrown across the back of the couch, a flicker in his eyes as you get comfortable beside him.

“Well, Wade had gotten ripped in half a couple years ago,” You nose wrinkles, a wave of your hand, “And it all like, has to grow back, right? It’s so creepy.”

Logan grimaces at your explanation, and you wonder if he understands. You think he must - you had thought he was like Wade, in some ways. 

Different. Special.

“Well, he uh, finished growing everything in,” You make a sweeping gesture over your lower half, “And the next year to celebrate his dickiversary, he ordered a penis cake from my shop.”

“His… dickiversary.” Logan repeats slowly.

The heat is back in your cheeks, but you nod, “Yeah, because it like, it came back and all. And he paid in cash, I couldn’t say no.”

There’s the smallest twitch of Logan’s lips, and it feels like a victory.

“Right. What flavor was it?”

Your smile widens with relief, “Strawberries and cream. It was so good. I’ll have to make it for you sometime.”

A second before you cringe, adding, “I mean, a normal one. Not…”

He hums then, close to a laugh.  

“Sure. You do that.”

You smile, letting your shoulder bump his, “And with that… I think it’s your turn.”

The bit of humor in his expression flattens. A searching look thrown your way, before he inhales a breath.

Setting it free. 

“I’m a mutant.”

Logan waits there, as if expecting something. You only nod, thinking of the ones you know. Colossus, Ellie, Yukio, Domino. Wade. 

“Wade said you were similar to him. I had assumed-” You encourage, waiting.

“Right,” He seems relieved, some of the tension ebbing, “My powers are regenerative, like his. But unlike him, I have these-”

There’s the jerk of his wrist, and three sharp metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. Your gasp is caught in your throat as you cling to his flannel shirt - the surprise bleeding into worry. 

They glint in the light, as his fingers flex. 

“Adamantium instead of bones. All of me is like this.”

The claws sheath themselves inside him again. His wounds smoothing over seconds later, as he scrubs his knuckles across his jeans, wiping away blood. 

Offering out his hand, after. Letting your grip unwind from his shirt, and press against his skin instead. Feeling the tendons in his hand, his wrist. The skeleton beneath utterly unyielding, a weight to his limb that is so unlike your own.

“Metal…” You trail off, as pieces click into place, “I get it now. So does Wade really think there’s like, an actual bone-?”

Logan huffs again, “Guess so.”

You laugh then. A thought sobering you after, as a fingertip drifts up to the dip between his fingers. 

“But doesn’t that hurt?” 

It makes you wince to even think about it. Much less how casually they sprung from him, no different than breathing. 

He shrugs, and it’s heartbreaking.

“Doesn’t even phase me anymore.”

“And, the two hundred years,” Another facet you put together out loud, “You’re still alive because you keep healing? Will it be that way forever?”

His hand flexes in your grip.

“Not forever. Apparently my powers will run out, at some point.” His eyes meet yours, “The Logan in this world is dead. Wade pulled me from another.”

Your brow furrows - always trying to keep up with the snippets that Wade has told you across the years - stories about time-traveling and mutants and even how he came to be. But this seems too deep. Surely Logan must be joking.

“Another world, huh?” You ask, head tilting - trying your best to roll with it, “Won’t they miss you in yours?”

Only now does his face falter. That sharp mask cracking, as his hand pulls from yours. Resting again on the back edge of the couch - his answer low and rough. 

“No. I don’t think so.”

Another jolt racks through your heart. You don’t know him know him yet, but you already can’t believe that could possibly be true. Your fingers fan out, hovering - before it folds into a fist.

“Well then, I’m glad you’re here.”

He doesn’t reply. 

The room is darker now, dim with the setting of the sun. Street lights outside pouring in a golden beam that cuts across his face. 

His eyes are hazel, you can see that now. A fading rim of green spilling into the brown, beneath the near-permanent furrow of his eyebrows. 

Yours caught in the glow of the flamingo string lights that curl out from the kitchen, stapled to the walls.

He breaks the silence, the words coming slowly. 

“Let me ask you one more thing.” 

“Sure. You know some of my worst secrets already.” You smile, a shoulder lifting.

His hand twitches, where it rests near your shoulder. The tip of a finger ghosting against skin.

Just the slightest brush but it feels like it radiates out, lingering after.

“Why’d you tell Wade you wanted to meet me?” 

His voice is still low, rough. But it’s lost that sharp edge. The combination has your stomach tied up in knots, suddenly more nervous that you’ve been the whole night.

Surely he must know? 

“Well…” You hedge. It’s your turn to look away, but then there’s the brush of his fingers again.

“Because I did want to meet you.” You admit, “You, you seemed like someone I wanted to get to know. In whatever capacity you’d like.”

“Is that right, Sugar?” Logan husks, and the nickname sounds even sweeter on his tongue, stealing your breath.

All you can do is nod, as his eyes darken. 

Voices rise behind you, ripping you out of this little bubble you’ve found yourself in. Nearly forgetting just how many people are here, how many eyes have been glancing your way since you’ve arrived.

“Not strip poker Wade, please.” The rough rumbling plea of Colossus’s voice rings out above the others, “You never wear anything under the suit-”

You didn’t even realize when he had changed, but he had - patches of bare skin on his ass showing through the holes. Your nose scrunches, before you turn back to realize that Logan’s eyes are still on you.

Dropping when your tongue peeks out to wet your lips - your words coming out in a soft hush. 

“You want to get out of here?”

You want him. You can only hope that he might just want you, too.

The corner of his lip twitches.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

It’s strange to have someone like Logan in your space. You can remember the last time you’ve wanted someone here.

His fingers still entwined with yours, from where you had reached back for him. Leading him through the dim corners of the room.

Thinking you had made it, only for the rousing cheers to rise when you had cracked the door open to slip through.

His grip tightening when you made to tug your hand free, in an urge to press it against burning cheeks. Letting you fumble with one hand, to open the lock next door.

It’s quieter here. A low echo of the music next door, as the darkness wraps around you again.

Here, his fingers move, but it’s only to skim up your wrist. To tug you between him and the front door, until your back presses against it. 

His nose brushes yours as he steps into your space, your lips already parting. Holding himself there for a moment, inhaling the scent of you as his arm braces above your head.

Leaving you to be the one that closes the gap. The tilt of your head and the press of your lips against his.

A rough hum when your arms wrap around his neck, fingers buried in his hair. His hand gripping at your waist, pulling your hips against his.

Tugging and pushing. A messy path from the front door through the small living room - a mirror-image of the apartment next door.

Through to the bedroom, wandering hands and the brush of his tongue against yours as he deepens the needy kiss. Until his knees are hitting the edge of your bed, and he’s letting you nudge him back onto the mattress.

He brings you with him - your hips cradling his as you settle yourself astride him. Hands flatten against his chest as you rock down - drawing a rough, mumbled “fuck”.

Grinding yourself down where he’s hard, the curve of his cock straining against his jeans. Letting your hands follow, as his own cup your ass. Squeezing, before slipping to press the heel of his hand against the seam at your clit.

You moan into his mouth, as your fingers curl around him. Eyes blown wide when you pull back, scooting your hips down. 

It’s here that he comes back to himself. 

Going tense as you fit yourself between his thighs, fingers at this belt as the other still cups him.

“You shouldn’t want this.” He rasps, those eyes glinting in the dark, “A man like me. You know that, right?”

Propping himself up on an elbow, so he can see your expression. So you can see the way his jaw grits, nostrils flaring. 

It’s a warning, wrapped up in silk. A last ditch effort to scare you away - knowing that once he has you, he won’t want to stop.

Your fingers slow - his zipper half-undone, baring skin and a dark shadow of hair beneath. 

The other pulling away, “You want me to stop?” 

He catches your wrist, jerking your hand back. His hips bucking into your palm, grinding himself into your touch. 

“The last thing I want to fucking do is stop.” It’s almost a growl, “But on my Earth, I-”

You sigh then, impatient, “Logan, this Earth isn’t all that great either. I lost five years of my life to the blip.”

He frowns, not understanding - but your head shakes as you continue, “I’m tired of being too scared to take chances. I’ve been trying to live each day to the fullest, and I’d like to end this one with you.”

And out of everyone - Logan knows a little something about second chances.

“Yeah,” He manages - the grip of his fist leaves you, “Yeah, okay.”

"Thank you,” You answer primly, just as you finish yanking the zipper down. 

His hand beats you in the race to ease himself out, fingers curling around the base. You can’t help it - you inhale a breath at the sight of him.

Heavy, with the way the flushed tip bobs in his grip. Thick enough that you’re already wondering if you’re going to be able to take him. 

The huff he makes turns into a groan as you start small - engulfing the leaking head with your lips. The first inch turns into another as his hips lift, feeding his cock into your waiting mouth. 

Only when he’s halfway inside you, bumping against your throat, does his hand drop. Letting you replace it with your own - squeezing, as drool slicks up his shaft. Your head bobbing in time with the twist of your fist.

That brief hesitance is quickly forgotten. Fingers brush at your cheek, curling around the base of your head as he guides you.

Leaving you eager for more. Another hissed groan when your mouth leaves him, your hand loosening as you strip your clothes away.

“Oh fuck yes,” He coaxes, when he realizes what you’re doing, “Let me see you, baby.” 

Your shirt and pants left to pool on the floor. A second of boldness as you unclasp your bra next, leaving you in your panties as you focus on his cock again. 

A bitten-back moan when your tongue slips across his swollen shaft - an low throb between your thighs as you rub them together, clenching around nothing. Resisting the urge to slip your hand beneath the hem to ease the ache. 

Instead, your keep your hands on him. Goosebumps raising as your nails scratch against the deep v of muscle at his hips. The others working him into your mouth, as he slowly comes more undone. 

His hips flex with each bob of your head, lips parted as he pants. The words a rough mumble, becoming almost desperate. 

“That’s it sweetheart.”

Another moan when you take him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, “Oh fuck, gonna fill that pretty mouth.”

His hand cups your jaw, holding you steady as he bucks into your mouth. Those dark eyes fixed on you in wonder, all that pretty skin bared for him to touch, to taste. He’s mesmerizing like this - the weight of gaze. Jaw slack with pleasure, eyes aflame.

You did this to him. 

It sends something warm flooding through you, as his eyelashes flutter. The tipping back of his head, muscles ticking in his cheek as his teeth ground down. 

A sound still slips between them, as he floods your mouth with the next flex of his hips. Pulsing between your lips as you swallow him down, a choked sound ripping from his chest when you cup his sack to gently squeeze out every last drop. 

Logan melts into the mattress after, an arm thrown over his eyes as he catches his breath. His gaze focusing on you when he feels you squirm - dark, and hungry.

A lithe stretch of muscles as he moves - legs easing from beneath you. 

“Hands and knees,” He commands, head tipping towards the bed next to him, as he rolls off. Kicking off his jeans as you listen, watching over a shoulder as the flannel and white tank underneath joins your clothes on the floor.

Your eyes widen at how toned he is - muscles rippling, the bed dipping as he fits himself behind you.

His broad hand at the small of your back, pushing your torso down against the mattress. A pleased hum then, fingers trailing just along the elastic edge of your underwear.

“Could smell how much she needed this.” The tips of two press against the damp fabric between your thighs, making you gasp, “Even next door. You want it that bad?”

It should be embarrassing that he could tell how much you desired him, but at the moment all you can think about is him touching you more.

“Yes,” You agree, “Please, Logan.”

“So fuckin’ polite,” The fingers withdraw; but only so his nose can replace them. A ragged inhale, just before his tongue drags against your clothed slit.

A groan against your skin as you cry out, before a finger hooks around the fabric, baring you for him to taste.

The heat of his tongue flattens against you - lapping at where you drip with need, a rough rumble in his chest. 

“Sweet, too.” Another flick of his tongue, “Your name. ‘s fitting.”

You can’t manage words. Only his name, muffled against the sheets as your fists twist in them. Back arched as you resist the urge to grind yourself against his tongue, as it flicks against your clit.

It’s messy, how he eats you. You don’t think you’ve even had someone take you like this. Hungry, desperate even, as he devours you. The rumble of a groan against your cunt as his tongue delves inside you, stretching you open. Letting your slick smear into his beard, with how close he presses his mouth.

That need inside you thrumming. Winding tighter as he yanks your panties down your thighs. His palm flattening against your ass, holding you open as he licks you from clit to hole, then higher. Humming as you squeak, when his tongue flattens against your tight rim. 

A thick finger nudging against you then, as his tongue dips back to your clit. There’s no resistance as it slips deeper, into slick walls that clamp down around him.  It’s what you needed - that little bit more.

Unable to help rocking into the crook of his finger now. Whining when a second joins it, spearing deep and curling. Dragging against your walls, loud and wet and filthy with each plunge. 

Your whimpers only grow louder. Needier, as his lips wrap around your clit. Fingers pounding deep, stretching you out. Leaving you babbling, your words slipping together. 

“Don’t fucking stop.” Tears prick at your eyes, each breath a rattling gasp, “Oh my god you’re gonna make me come-”

He has you gushing, with the next flick of his tongue. A pleased groan as he feels your pussy tighten around his fingers, hearing the wail that is muffled into your pillows. That sharp pace slowing, his thumb replacing his tongue to draw your orgasm out until your legs are shaking. 

His fingers sticky when they pull from you, only to slip between his lips - tongue curling around his knuckles, sucking them clean.

It leaves you floating above yourself. You can’t remember ever coming this hard, even by yourself. Only the tintest thread of disappointment as you drift, and it’s only that you won’t get the pleasure of his cock filling you tonight.

You would’ve liked to see what he can do with the rest of him. 

Perhaps you can convince him to stay until morning.

But he moves behind you, instead. His knee pressing against yours, spreading your legs further. The rhythmic shuffle of skin against skin, as his hand slips from between his lips to fist around his cock. 

“Tell me I can fuck you.” It’s not a plea, not with the harsh rasp of his voice. But it’s as close as you’ve heard, as he swipes the tip against your leaking pussy.

Smearing your slick on him, teasing at your waiting hole.

You don’t know how he’s hard again, but at the moment you really don’t care. Not sure if you’ve ever felt a need like this, your back arching further as you present yourself to him. 

A twist of your neck, so your eyes can meet his. 

“Fuck me, Logan.” 

He groans, broad hands squeezing at your ass. Slipping up to sink his fingers into the flesh at your hips. Holding you steady as he lines himself up. 

Your breath held, when you feel his cock start to breach you - muscles stringing tight.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He grits out, though not unkindly, “You can take it.”

Trying to hold himself back from filling you with a single thrust, with the way you’re already gripping him.

Easing himself into your heat. Two inches forward and then one back, and with each one you think you’ll feel the press of his thighs against yours. A low whine as your cunt makes room for him, that sharp stretch as it feels like he’s reaching into your belly.

Feeling full when he finally is flush, the weight of his sack kissing against your clit. His shoulders following the curve of your back, as a hand slips up to plant next to your head.

“Feels fucking incredible,” It’s mumbled against your skin, almost as if it hadn’t meant to say it. 

“Mm,” You grin, your face tipping up to his, “Should’ve met you weeks ago.”

He smirks, a low sound in his throat as his mouth presses to yours. Starting a slow rhythm that drags his cock against your walls. Slipping until he’s halfway out, only to sheath himself again. Pushing the air from your lungs as he flattens himself, knees digging into the bed as your thigh spread wider - forcing him deeper.

It’s almost too much. 

You hand shoots out, reaching. Wrapping around his wrist, nails biting against his skin. 

It feels like he’s surrounding you. Each thrust a heavy weight that presses you into the bed. Splitting you open, until all you can do is squirm beneath him.

That pressure in your belly building again, as his hips pound. His breath, hot and panting in your ear as he chases his own end.

“Fuck, Logan.” You sob, “Harder-”

His tendons flex under your grip. Knuckles pressing flat against the sheets as he makes a rough sound in his throat. 

Those claws unsheathing with his next thrust. Punching down into your mattress. Anchoring as he loses himself to the feel of you beneath him.

How tight and wet and warm you are, your arousal still sweet on his tongue. Fighting the urge to sink his teeth into your throat, as everything tightens up inside him.

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning, rasped out. 

“Come in me,” You whine, “Wanna feel you.”

He does growl then, at the thought of filling you to the brim, until he's leaking out of your pretty little pussy. Hips snapping faster, pinning you to the bed as he ruts into you. Each squeak of the bed paired with the sharp rip of fabric as his claws dig in. 

Feeling how your body strings tight beneath him, how you clench down in anticipation. Wanting to feel you once more, before he gives in to his own desires.

“Come on, baby,” It’s hushed, murmured against your skin, “Fuckin’ give it to me-”

The sharp point of a canine scraping against your skin, his groan rough and throaty in your ear. 

Your fingers work down to wedge themselves between your thighs. The tips brushing where you’re speared open, before circling your clit like his tongue had.

He has you mindless. Fucked out - that soft glow from your earlier orgasm shining bright as he tips you towards a second.

Burning at that tightly wound thread inside you, until the ends fray, and then snap. 

It has you coming with his next thrust. A wail ripped from you as he buries himself deep, feeling the way your pussy clenches down around him. 

Fingers still swirling, drawing out the deep pulses that fan out from your core as your toes curl, vision going hazy.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” He rasps, those sharp thrust slowing to a sloppy grind, “Make a fucking mess for me, there you go-”

Panting, as he groans. Another roll of his hips before he’s coming with you - teeth bruising skin as they sink into your shoulder. The sound he makes is broken as he spills into you, muscles clenching with each pulse that paints your walls.  

Marking you thoroughly with teeth and come, the saw of his hips slowing until you both finally go still. A breath finally caught. 

Blissed out, when he rolls you both to the side. His thighs still mapping yours, cock still notched deep. A thick arm thrown across your waist, his breath ragged in your ear as he catches his breath.

Your fingers drift, as you bask in your afterglow. Dipping into the rips in your mattress, knuckle deep.

There’s a grunt as you wiggle, the words low in your ear, “I’ll get you another, sweetheart. Just lost control for a moment.”

The thought doesn’t bother you as much as you’d think. In fact, you wouldn’t mind if happened again.

Only as your imagination runs wild, do you hear the muffled moan from the brick wall behind you.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

Dramatic and drawn out, paired with faint rhythmic noise. 

A beat - before you hear mumbled protesting. The voice of someone talking with their mouth full, “No. Back the fuck off Peter, I’m not going to share.” 

Eating. The fucker was eating his end of the bargain, ear pressed to the wall.

The next louder, “Alright, pay up everyone, Operation ‘Get Sugar Some Sugar’ was a success!”

You grimace, eyes rolling. Logan grunts behind you, the words mumbled out sleepily.

“Wish I could sew that goddamn mouth shut.”

There’s a faint “they already tried that!” before Logan’s fist bangs on the wall, shutting him up.

But you can’t help the smile. Your fingers fitting between the ones that rest just below your breasts, squeezing.

“He’s not so bad,” You admit, “Wade, I mean.”

Logan groans, “Don’t say his name while I’m fucking you.”

“You’re-” You start - but then you can feel him.

Still hard - as his hips cant slowly against yours. Your joined hands slip up to cup a breast - as his lips press against your neck, stubble scraping you skin.

“Again?” You breathe, disbelieving that he’d be up for a third time - your hips rocking back to meet his. The sound lewd with how he drips from you - but it only has him grinding himself deeper, “You sure you’re two hundred?”

“Regenerative powers, sweetheart.” Logan husks, the flash of teeth with a knowing smirk.

“Can’t say it doesn’t come with perks.”

I used to have the biggest fucking crush on wolverine, haha - so fun to watch a new movie with him!! 👀💕 thank you so much for reading! And please me know if you'd like to read any more for him! (like more one-shots,etc!)

[glassynights]

master of illusion vs master of reality

- duel between two very powerful mages

- they’re former friends

- i wrote this in a day

- who will win 🤔🤔

story info:

word count: 1444

tw for body horror ig? and like reverse vore? the thing is a paragraph so it’s fine i think uhhh the rest is epic fantasy story or something

……

the battlefield was still. not even the wind dared to whisper through the air, already thickened with tension. it seemed as if the entire world had come to a halt, waiting with tense, bated breath for one of the two lone figures in the centre of the ruined colosseum to speak, to move, to do anything.

“oberon.” one of the pair finally spoke, cold voice thrumming with amusement. “do you really think you will prevail against me?”

the enchantress spreads out her arms, expression hidden by her grey helmet. the robes of her ash coloured clothing ripple behind her, almost water like in their consistency. “do you see the ruin we have caused already? the swaths of destruction we have carved throughout this land? stand down, and i promise you no more harm will be done to this world.”

the red glow of flames lick the night sky behind her outstretched arms, framing the crumbling walls of the colosseum in an ethereal, otherworldly glow. the stars, usually bright and twinkling, are now dim and faded, no longer the strong guardians of the sky they once were.

in the short silence between the two fated foes, distant screams can be heard.

oberon scoffs, fists clenching involuntarily. most of his body is hidden in his vibrant blue cloak, white, star-like pinpricks cascading down the back of the elegant material. his own face is hidden by the shadow of his hood, but he pushes it back, revealing a set of stormy-grey eyes, shining with anger. “your promises mean nothing to me. do you realise- your- your twisted mission to remake this world in your image, your views is wrong. you are going to destroy this land as we know it, as well as the good people that inhabit it. do you really want the deaths of a million more people on your conscious?”

his raised, strong voice rings out with conviction, echoing back to the two figures. the firmness of his tone almost masks the desperate naivety, the futile hope running threadbare through him.

“i don’t want to kill you,” he whispers, shoulders dropping and eyes softening slightly as he stares at the expressionless mask that he once called friend. “please, kinan. if you have any soul left, if you haven’t burnt it away in your mad quest for power, please. lay down your weapons and join me.”

oberon stretches out a gloved hand, trembling slightly as he gazes at his former friend with barely constrained hope.

a heartbeat passes as the enchantress seems to consider his final offer for peace.

she cackles mirthlessly, summoning her mage’s staff with a snap of her fingers and, with a wave of the twisted, tarnished metal, oberon is sent flying back in a swirl of blue fabric, slamming into one of the crumbling pillars of the formerly glorious colosseum.

kinan watches impassively as the concrete, now at the end of its tenuous battle with gravity, gives a small wobble before collapsing onto the blue heap at its feet with a thunderous roar. a cloud of dust shoots into the air, a shockwave of air rippling through the arena in the wake of such destruction.

pebbles settle, the world goes quiet, and the evil enchantress is left standing alone, preening in self assured victory.

before she could take a step forward to ensure her mortal enemy was dead, an almost blinding blue light shines through the cracks in the pile of rubble, illuminating the dust mites still hovering tentatively in the air.

an explosion of rock bursts outward, and the glowing, angelic form of oberon rises from what should’ve been his tomb. the former pile of rubble, now spread out across the battlefield and hovering in the air, glows with blue light from within, each chunk of rock outshining the dulled stars in the night sky above.

“i see you’ve made your choice now.” oberon’s voice booms as he continues to levitate, light dimming enough to reveal a halo of blue flames surrounding his floating body. “you are beyond redemption, enchantress. i realise now that you must die so that the rest of the world will continue to thrive, even in your absence.”

the powerful mage holds out his hand, flames enveloping his skin painlessly. the fire extends into a thin line, forming the outline of a staff topped with a crescent moon. the blaze travels up toward the moon, leaving behind a solid staff made of rough blue wood. the flames congeal in the centre of the crescent, beaming more bright blue light before fading, revealing a glowing crystal, swirling with magic, suspended in the air.

without waiting for a response from the evil enchantress, oberon sends the rocks in the air hurtling toward her, the weaponised chunks of the former building hurtling toward her at a near indiscernible speed.

kinan’s form flickers and fades from view, the rocks smashing where she just was without a split second to spare.

whipping around, oberon is just able to block another magical blast from behind. the wood of his staff creaks under the strain of pushing the magic away, but he manages to redirect it away from his body and into another pillar, sending it crashing to the ground.

the enchantress is still invisible to his eyes, so he closes them. the moon touches all, and with her rays, he is able to sense everything she caresses.

unfortunately for kinan, her true body is in the path of a moonbeam. oberon grabs at intangible strings in the air with a raised fist and pulls.

letting out an outraged shout, the enchantress is tugged violently into the air, staff clattering to the ground below.

without any hesitation, oberon moves his fist downward, and the moon obeys his command, slamming the enchantress into the ground with a violent smack, cracking the floor further.

a sheen of sweat glistens on oberon’s forehead, the toll of exerting control over such a powerful force for even a sliver of time already wearing on his magical reserves. despite drawing strength and power from the moon, attempting to control any aspect of her taxes him.

before he can make his next move and ensure that his former friend is down for good, another evil cackle rings out, and his vision is thrust into darkness.

he falls, air rushing by him.

he never feels an impact if his body hits the earth, only cold. only despair.

images of the broken bodies of his family, the charred remains of his cottage, the countless corpses he has left behind play across his mind.

he shakes his head, face wet with tears. he pleads to deaf ears as he stumbles backward.

another laugh sounds, this time behind him, and he turns to see the skeletal face of his child staring back at him, mouth open, eyes rotting.

“you call yourself a hero?”

the voice is small, but it echos over the screams of the people he’s doomed to die.

“you call yourself a saviour?”

he tries to protest, to defend himself, but something is in his throat. reaching in with bloody fingers, he chokes as he slowly tugs out a severed arm, fingers grasping at his jaw as he struggles to get it out.

“you have failed. you were doomed to this fate from the beginning.”

the arm melts as soon as he drags it out of his mouth, turning into shackles that bind him to a metaphysical floor. he struggles against his bindings as his wrists age, skin wearing down to bone. he screams soundlessly, pleading for forgiveness.

“oh, how selfish of you to assume that you are deserving of anything.”

the black fog shrouding his mind lifts, revealing that he is stood hunched over, trembling from exhaustion as if he had completely drained his magic.

he raises his tear streaked face just in time to lock eyes with the expressionless mask of his enemy as she drives a sword directly into his heart.

oberon drops to his knees, shaking hands reaching out, grasping at something, at the sword in his chest, toward the hem of his murderer’s robes.

it’s futile. all futile.

kinan puts a foot on his shoulder and impassively shoves him over, watching in amusement as he gasps for breath. red blooms out from the mortal wound in his chest, contrasting his robes like a rose in the snow.

the once great mage stares up at his former friend, betrayal glistening through unshed tears.

crouching before his body, the enchantress cocks her head, a smug smile in her voice.

as the light from the fallen man’s eyes fade, the last thing he hears is a small chuckle.

“goodbye, oberon.”

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[melblancscream]

(x)

[aftgscenes]

It’s so funny going from Neil’s asexual pov to jeans definitely NOT asexual pov

Neil: Kevin is tall and has a tattoo

Jean: pretty boy with a soft smile and beautiful green eyes

Neil: Renee is a women and has hair

Jean: a force of hope and beauty, an anomaly in a world that’s ugly and bleak. She is the sun.

Neil: Jeremy is the captain of the Trojans and he smiles a lot for some reason

Jean: his bleach blonde hair frames his tanned freckled skin, his broad shoulders and tiny waist give way to his thicc thighs and ass

But also the reverse

Neil: Andrews strong unwavering frame and honey colored eyes

Jean: the tiny goalkeeper

[bixels]

Learning that fans hated Applejack and called her "boring" is crazyyy to me because I genuinely, unironically believe AJ's the most complex character in the main six.

Backstory-wise, she was born into a family of famers/blue collar workers who helped found the town she lives in. She grew up a habitual liar until she had the bad habit traumatized outta her. She lost both her parents and was orphaned at a young age, having to step up as her baby sister's mother figure. She's the only person in the main gang who's experienced this level of loss and grief (A Royal Problem reveals that AJ dreams about memories of being held by her parents as a baby). She moved to Manhattan to live with her wealthy family members, only to realize she'll never fit in or be accepted, even amongst her own family. The earlier seasons imply she and her family had money problems too (In The Ticket Master, AJ wants to go to the gala to earn money to buy new farm equipment and afford hip surgery for her grandma).

Personality-wise, she's a total people-pleaser/steamroller (with an occasional savior complex) who places her self worth on her independence and usefulness for other people, causing her to become a complete workaholic. In Applebuck Season, AJ stops taking care of herself because of her obsessive responsibilities for others and becomes completely dysfunctional. In Apple Family Reunion, AJ has a tearful breakdown because in she thinks she dishonored her family and tarnished her reputation as a potential leader –– an expectation and anxiety that's directly tied to her deceased parents, as shown in the episode's ending scene. In The Last Roundup, AJ abandons her family and friends out of shame because believes she failed them by not earning 1st place in a rodeo competition. She completely spirals emotionally when she isn't able to fulfill her duties toward others. Her need to be the best manifests in intense pride and competitiveness when others challenge her. And when her pride's broken, she cowers and physically hides herself.

Moreover, it's strongly implied that AJ has a deep-seated anger. The comics explore her ranting outbursts more. EQG also obviously has AJ yelling at and insulting Rarity in a jealous fit just to hurt her feelings (with a line that I could write a whole dissection on). And I'm certain I read in a post somewhere that in a Gameloft event, AJ's negative traits are listed as anger.

Subtextually, a lot of these flaws and anxieties can be (retroactively) linked to her parents' death, forcing her to grow up too quickly to become the adult/caregiver of the family (especially after her big brother becomes semiverbal). Notice how throughout the series, she's constantly acting as the "mom friend" of the group (despite everything, she manages to be the most emotionally mature of the bunch). Notice how AJ'll switch to a quieter, calmer tone when her friends are panicking and use soothing prompts and questions to talk them through their emotions/problems; something she'd definitely pick up while raising a child. Same with her stoicism and reluctance at crying or releasing emotions (something Pinkie explicitly points out). She also had a childhood relationship with Rara (which, if you were to give a queer reading, could easy be interpreted as her first 'aha' crush), who eventually left her life. (Interestingly enough, AJ also has an angry outburst with Rara for the same exact reasons as with EQG Rarity; jealous, upset that someone else is using and changing her). It's not hard to imagine an AJ with separation anxiety stemming from her mother and childhood friend/crush leaving. I'm also not above reading into AJ's relationship with her little sister (Y'all ever think about how AB never got to know her parents, even though she shares her father's colors and her mother's curly hair?).

AJ's stubbornness is a symptom of growing up too quickly as well. Who else to play with your baby sister when your brother goes nonverbal (not to discount Big Mac's role in raising AB)? Who else to wake up in the middle of the night to care for your crying baby sister when your grandma needs her rest? When you need to be 100% all the time for your family, you tend to become hard-stuck with a sense of moral superiority. You know what's best because you have to be your best because if you're aren't your best, then everything'll inevitably fall apart and it'll be your fault. And if you don't know what's best –– if you've been wrong the whole time –– that means you haven't been your best, which means you've failed the people who rely on you, which means you can't fulfill your role in the family/society, which makes you worthless . We've seen time and time again how this compulsive need to be right for the sake of others becomes self-destructive (Apple Family Reunion, Sound of Silence, all competitions against RD). We've seen in The Last Roundup how, when no longer at her best, AJ would rather remove herself from her community than confront them because she no longer feels of use to them.

But I guess it is kinda weird that AJ has "masculine" traits and isn't interested in men at all. It's totally justified that an aggressively straight, misogynistic male fandom would characterize her as a "boring background character." /s

At the time of writing this, it's 4:46AM.

[so-long-soldier-writes]

the dog

kai hates the family dog.

warnings: physical & emotional child abuse (including small mention of abortion), dog bite, blood, gore, death of an animal / pet

word count: 5.8k (this was supposed to >1k 💀)

a/n: in no way do i condone animal abuse at all, but this is an idea that came to me about kai’s abusive childhood & development into a sociopath. two things inspired this work. (1) a post that said he must’ve had small killings before eradicating most of his immediate family. and (2) comparing him to michael langdon (ahs), who also killed little things before mass murdering. that being said, here is the (very dark) fic, below the cut

Growing up, Kai hated the family dog. It was brown and white with a stubby nose and an intense glare. It was rather tall, and used its feet to play with the kids. It would be sweet to them, but produced a low growl to people it didn’t like. 

It’s a Boxer, his dad had said upon bringing the dog home, bred to hunt boars, and very protective of their family. 

His siblings, of course, immediately began to fawn over it. Like they needed another friend. And now his parents had another thing to take care of, as if eight kids weren’t enough. 

Kai didn’t always hate the dog, though. In the first few weeks of it being there, he tried to engage with it like his family did. He’d give it attention, and pets, and every once in a while, a snack in the kitchen. Fat from pieces of meat he was cooking would go to the dog instead of the trashcan. It would sometimes eat the ends of fruits and vegetables, too. They got along well. 

Until they didn’t. 

One day, Kai had come downstairs to cook dinner as he did multiple nights a week. It was one of his only freedoms, and something he loved doing. The dog heard him in there and came over, little tail wagging. 

“Hey, Bandit,” he acknowledged, earning more wags. 

Of course his siblings named the dog Bandit. Of all the names to pick from, the most common sounded appealing. 

After an eye roll to himself, he got to work. Bandit watched as he got out the knife and cutting board, plus the pan and all the ingredients he needed. Kai then picked up a carrot to cut, but hesitated first. No one else is in the kitchen; no one is watching. With a deep breath, he undoes the velcro on his glove, really not wanting to cook with it on. One glove is off and he’s peeling back the velcro on the other, when Bandit suddenly goes insane. He’s barking and lunging at Kai, nipping at his pants’ leg. He can feel nicks to his skin a few times, and quickly moves away. Bandit only follows. With a glance to the aggressive dog, then back to his workspace, he grabs the glove. In one swift motion, he puts it back on, and then the dog stops entirely. It walks a few feet away, sits, and then stares at Kai. 

“Umm…”

What had triggered the dog to attack? Full of confusion, Kai tried again. He undid the velcro and started to pull, but only got it halfway off before Bandit was back at his heels. A little terrified, the boy climbed onto the counter to get out of his reach. 

“Okay, okay,” he panted, out of breath from the scrambling. He secured both gloves back on his hands, then slowly lifted himself off the counter. Trying to avoid the dog’s gaze, he turned back to the carrot, cutting it into small pieces. Only a couple seconds later, he felt a bump on his knee. Looking down, Bandit was there. The dog bumped him again. Kai gently took a carrot end and brought it to the dog’s mouth. Tail wagging, he ate it immediately, then went back to begging. 

That was the first incident. 

If the gloves - or lack thereof - were the only thing that triggered the dog, Kai could live with that. But as time went on, the dog got worse. Eventually, there were only so many things he could do without enraging it. If Kai got too close to any of his siblings, Bandit would step in between them and growl. If he made any sudden movements, he’d lunge in response. And at night, if up for too long, the dog would herd him up to his room. If he’d resist, he’d snap. In two months’ time, Kai’s arms and legs became covered in little bites and scratches from Bandit. 

A few times, Kai would bring it up. 

“Dad?”

Joshua Parker, a few feet away, ignored him.

“Dad?” Silence. “Dad?”

“What?” He finally answered, tone bitter. 

“The dog bites. I just want you to know.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“It’s bitten me several times.” Kai rolled up his sleeve to show his arm: red, littered with scars. 

“Doesn’t bite anyone else. That means you’ve been out of line.”

“What? What do you mean?”

His dad didn’t answer, and turned back to his youngest instead, “What were you saying, Lizzie?”

“Can Joey and I take Bandit on a walk?” She said in her broken English. The kid’s only five. 

“Of course, sweetheart. Just stay on the trail and keep him close.”

“Thank you, daddy!” 

The man faced Kai again, “don’t ever talk bad about the dog in front of the kids again. They don’t need to hear your false accusations of it being aggressive again. If you would obey, it wouldn’t have the need to correct.”

“Fine, but Dad-”

“What?!”

“You just admitted it only bites me, so why? Why me?”

“This breed of dog is meant to protect. And as long as you’re around, my family is in danger. I can’t watch you twenty-four seven, so the dog is their guardian for when I’m unable to be there. And like I said, it only bites when you act up.”

“But yesterday, I was talking to Jo and it bit me. And we were only talking about fucking coffee!”

“First, don’t use that language with me. Second, if it bit, you were standing too close. The dog is to protect Jo just as much as the rest of your siblings. So if you’re getting bit, you need to step back. Is that clear?”

“This is bullshit,” Kai muttered without thinking twice. He clamped a hand over his mouth but it was too late. 

Not half a second later, his dad’s hand connected with his face. The sound echoed through the Parker house, but it wouldn’t alarm anyone. It wasn’t unusual to hear. 

“Go to your room, I don’t want to see you for the rest of the day.”

After the altercation, Kai didn’t leave his room for two whole days. He didn’t want to see his dad or his siblings, and certainly not the dog. Downstairs, he could hear the commotion of the youngest playing with the dog, rough-housing, squeaking toys, and giving him a headache. If he had magic, he’d immediately silence himself in the room to block it out, but there wasn’t even anything he could siphon. Not like he’d know the spell, anyway. So, he sat on his bed, twiddled with his pager, and munched on the single bag of pork rinds he’d gotten from the last time he got out of the house. 

At seven on the dot, there was a knock on his door. 

“Malachai, you need to eat something.” The soft voice of his mom carried under the doorway. Every time he got sent to his room, his mom came up at seven in the morning and four in the evening to bring him food. Dad hated it when she did it, saying he needed to learn to behave and that she’s rewarding him, but he loved her too much to correct her on it. 

“No.”

“Sweetie, please.”

“Go away.”

She didn’t, and lingered at his closed door instead. “You know he loves you, don’t you? He only wants to protect you.”

Kai bit his tongue to not reply, bullshit, which is the word that, this time, got him locked up. 

“We both love you,” she continued, “and you need to eat something so you don’t wither away.” There was a pause, “I missed your cooking last night. You always make such good meals, and it takes such a weight off my shoulders.”

“Madeline,” The sharp voice of his dad came in, “leave him alone. He’s serving punishment.”

“He needs to eat, honey.”

“He’ll be fine for a day. If he’s hungry enough, he’ll start to behave better.”

Kai heard his mom swallow hard, then both his parents’ footsteps retreated. 

All day, he didn’t leave, and no one else came. Technically, he was allowed to leave at noon, but cringed at the thought of seeing his dad again. So, at four, his mom was back. 

“Malachai, you need to come out at some point.” She always called him by his full name, never just Kai. As if she were proud of her name selection. When he didn’t answer, she changed her approach. “Dad said Bandit bit you? Let me in, let me check on the wound.”

“I’m fine.”

“Baby-”

“He’ll come out when he’s ready, Madeline. Come on, Lizzie’s asking for you.”

In reality, he was not fine. His stomach panged with hunger and his body shook from a lack of nutrients. The numerous nips and cuts on his arm and legs stung. Of course, the pain was nothing compared to what he felt when his dad was the one inflicting it, but it still hurt. 

Several times, he considered grabbing the food left at his door, but he knew better. His mom may have good intentions in leaving it there, but if his dad knows he ate it, he’ll take it as submission. And as much as he just wants the man to accept him, the two terms are not interchangeable. 

The following day at noon, Kai couldn't take it anymore. He had actually slept through his mom’s seven o’clock visit, but around ten, the hunger made him nauseous. So as soon as most of the noise cleared out of the first floor, he slowly crept out and down the stairs. It was a Sunday, so his family was out on their weekly day trip, and as it seems, Bandit went with them. For the first time in weeks, Kai felt comfortable enough to take off his gloves to cook a small meal for himself. He then ate it in complete silence at the kitchen table, no thoughts crowded in his mind. 

From this day forward, life went back to normal. Well, as normal as the coven would ever get. 

Kai would stay a good six feet away from his siblings at all times. If they came closer to him, Bandit would still stand between them. Somehow the dog could recognize when the kids came close to Kai versus Kai going up to the kids. Like his dad said, the dog never bit them, only the eldest boy. The “bad one”. Oh well. He’s been called worse. 

Additionally, he went back to cooking on his days of the week. He’d keep his gloves on the whole time, and Bandit would stay by his feet, waiting for handouts. Though, one time, Jo was digging in the pantry as he was cutting the ends of green beans. He gave a couple to the dog, and his twin whipped around at the chewing noise. 

“Don’t feed the dog, you’ll make him fat.”

“I feed him all the time.”

“Well don’t.”

“He’s not fat, he’s fine. He gets enough exercise with all these kids around here.”

“If you don’t stop, I’ll tell Dad.”

Kai stopped feeding the dog. Bandit would still come to his side, poke him with his nose, but he wouldn’t feed him. Their tiny sliver of relationship was gone. 

Despite obeying what the dog wanted him to do, Kai still got bit at times. It was like there were always new rules for him to follow, but he didn’t know the rules until he got the correction from breaking them. The most recent happened when Kai had accidentally dropped a metal bowl while Lizzie was studying at the table. The bowl had slipped through his gloved fingers and clattered to the ground. Lizzie cried out at the sudden sound, yelling at Kai for disrupting her focus. Apologies spilled from his mouth, but it didn’t stop Bandit from nipping his ankle. He jumped, and at the same time, his Dad came barreling down the stairs.

“What did you do?!”

“Nothing! I accidentally dropped a bowl. It slipped. I’m sorry.”

“Did you touch her?”

“No! I promise!”

“What happened, Lizzie?”

“Loud sound,” the girl replies in between sniffs. Thank god the child told the truth.

“Go,” Dad points for Kai to go to his room.

He nods and listens immediately. If Lizzie had said anything else, his punishment would’ve been much worse. 

Another instance was when Kai was at the kitchen table, reading the book assigned to him by his mom for homeschool - he was pulled out of school two years ago after an incident (which wasn’t entirely his fault) - and his siblings were around him, studying, doing their homework for school. He was at one head; Jo was at the other, and their four younger ones occupied the other chairs. Bandit was underneath the table, eyes trained on Kai’s barely exposed ankle. He knew the dog was watching, so he was very careful to not move. 

It’s rare that their parents had all the kids together at the table. Kai often didn’t even eat with the rest, so it was always hair-raising to have to co-exist with them in that manner. Anxiety flooded his body with the fear of messing up. If he moved to flip the page, Bandit might sense the movement. If the air conditioning kicked on one more time and he shivered. If he cleared his throat and a sibling flinched. Thinking of all the possibilities made his mind cloudy, and he forgot to pay attention to his body in the current state. His leg, bouncing up and down, heel tapping on the hardwood floor. 

“Kai-” Jo called. He didn’t hear her. “You’re making too much noise, I can’t think.” She snapped her fingers in an attempt to get his attention. Nothing. “Bandit.”

Instantly, Bandit lunged forward and bit his ankle. 

“Shit!” Kai awakened from a trance to get away. He scanned his siblings’ faces as he came back to reality. Two staring at him wide-eyed. Two others holding back a laugh from the curse word. Jo, glaring disapprovingly. “I’m sorry.”

“Be quieter, or I’ll call for Dad.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

The girl said nothing in response, then turned the page in her book. 

There was also the incident of the left-out grimoire. The book had been abandoned on the kitchen counter, perhaps by Jo, one day that Kai was left home alone. Immediately, he opened it to read. These books were kept away from him, lock and key, preventing any access to magic. Not like he’d be able to perform a spell, anyway. When he touched it, there wasn’t even magic to siphon. Sometimes, grimoires kept a little magic inside of them, but this one seemed to be sucked dry. Maybe that’s why it was left there. Still, magic was magic, and Kai was desperate. He flipped the pages one after another, admiring the thin paper adorned in inked spells and potions. Stories accompanied some pages, as well as annotations from the witch who wrote it. 

After a minute, though, Kai realized the owner would be back for the book. He probably only had a few seconds left with it. Taking a napkin and pen from his pocket, Kai wrote down some of the short spells he found, with the intention to try them if he were to ever get magic. He collected about five different ones until a low growl came from behind him. 

Shit, the dog, he thought, swallowing hard. How does it know?

“Hey, B.” Trying to stay calm, he turned around. Bandit was crouched down in an attack position he had become rather familiar with, and his lips were curled in a snarl. “I’m just leaving, okay?” He moved to the left, shuffling away, but his gaze followed. 

Then, because of course, he could hear Jo yelling from outside, and he knew she’d be inside in a moment. This was not the situation to be caught by his sister. With a deep breath, he makes a desperate decision: run. He ran past Bandit, making a mad dash for the stairs. The dog chased him all the way up until he escaped behind the safety of his door. He hadn’t bit him this time, but the fear was all the same. Not to mention the threat of Jo finding him with her grimoire, even if the magic was absent from it. The hit he’d surely receive from his dad if she caught him; the tense jaw of his mom as she would watch it all happen. Fear kept Kai in his room for the rest of the night that day. When his mom came to the door at four, he lied and said he was tired from homework. To be fair, Beowulf did take a lot of his energy. 

◇◇◇◇

A year later, Kai had one final incident with the dog that brought him over the edge. He had had encounters with it that continuously frustrated him, but none had made him as scared and angry as this one, and it had finally caused him to snap. 

Over time, Bandit had gone from watching, to herding, to always eyeing him, never letting Kai leave his sight if he were nearby. It had been this way for a couple of months now, and he was extremely careful not to trigger the dog’s bite reaction. Though the Parker house had recently gotten ten times more chaotic than it had been, and everyone was feeling it. 

His mom had recently given birth to twins. The family knew she was pregnant, but they had never disclosed this particular detail to Kai. Two sets of twins in the coven couldn’t mean anything good, and the eldest was growing increasingly suspicious of his dad’s intentions. 

One day, Kai had come downstairs that evening to start preparing dinner. It was around four, primetime for sibling chaos, because the twins were just waking up from their midday nap. The middle four had been outside with Bandit all afternoon, and Jo just came home from work. Their dad was arriving back from a coven meeting, which sometimes took place during the day rather than at night, and their mom was exhausted from juggling six kids for several hours. Kai, of course, was in his room the whole time, practically threatened if he dared to come out at all. He was, however, expected to come down to cook. That’s how he found himself amidst the crazy on that particular day. 

As soon as he came downstairs, the four pre-teens came barreling through the front door, Bandit on their heels, giving him barely any time to get out of the way. Jo and his dad came through the side. Their dad yelled for everyone to stop running, but his words were drowned out from the noise. The twins, in their crawling months, began to cry as sounds piled on top of each other. Their mom covered her ears and shrieks, tired of it all. Kai tried to stay close to the wall on his way to the kitchen. The last thing he wanted was to be in the center of all the mess. However, fate and fuckery had other plans for him. 

Joey ran through the hallway just as Kai was crossing through, still attempting to be quiet. His little brother didn’t know he was there and ran straight into him. In a sick and twisted domino effect, Kai lost his balance in that moment and tripped over Luke, the seven month old scrambling across the hardwood floor. He had reached his hands out to the nearby chair to stabilize himself, but somehow eight-year old Sarah ended up there instead. His hands connected to Sarah’s shoulder, and instantly, she cried out in pain. Trapped between Kai and the actual chair, Sarah couldn’t move. Kai couldn’t get up with Luke still in the way, and because he had luck just pouring out of him, he had forgotten his gloves upstairs that day. His sister continued to cry, tears pouring from her eyes, as he siphoned from her. Magic left her body quickly, making her weak. Though through the chaos, he can’t find his balance. 

After nearly a minute of everyone being frozen in fear, Bandit was the first to act. The dog lunged at Kai, somehow missing both of the younger children, and sunk his teeth into his arm. He shook his head ruthlessly, breaking the siphon, but still didn’t let go. He then dragged Kai away from the kids, hurting Luke in the process, but separating them all. It wasn’t until Sarah stopped screaming that Bandit let go. 

Silence. It was absolutely silent for a whole minute as everyone comprehended what just happened. Then, outrage.

Luke began to cry. Sarah’s eyes began to water, again. Bandit snarled a warning, but Kai wasn’t getting up anytime soon. That was, until his dad grabbed him by the unbitten arm and pulled him to his feet. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He yelled, two inches from his face, “you hurt her! Where the fuck are your gloves? Why can’t you follow the one simple rule we give you?! You goddamn abomination of a child can’t do one thing right!”

“Joshua,” his mom said gently. Kai wondered if she’d tell him to ease up, but he doubts it. “Careful, you’re scaring the babies.”

His dad looked up to find all seven other of his children staring at him, wide-eyed. For a moment, horror took over his face. “Stand up,” he ordered Kai. Terrified, he obeyed. His arm went limp at his side, gushing blood. A piece of skin hung loose, torn from his body. His dad spared one glance at the injury, went into the kitchen, and threw an ice pack and a paper towel at him. “Clean yourself up with this and follow me.”

Shaking with fear, Kai ducked his head and listened. 

The minute his bedroom door was shut and his dad placed a silencing spell over the room, the madness continued. 

“You fucking waste of space,” he spat. “Fucking abomination of a child. Can’t make his own magic and has to steal it from others. In a process which hurts his family.”

Being brave for a moment, Kai defended, “it wouldn’t hurt so bad if I didn’t have to steal it.”

“You don’t fucking get to speak. In fact, don’t talk to me at all until I say that you can.” His dad goes to his bed where his gloves are, “you’re supposed to be wearing these. You wear these for a very good reason: so that shit like that doesn’t happen. I’d think you’d know that by now.”

“I don’t like to wear them when cooking! They’re the only pair I have and they get dirty, and it’s gross.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me! I’m your father and I tell you when to speak!”

“I’m sorry.”

Immediately, the man slapped Kai across the face. “Do you choose to not listen, or are you so fucking stupid that you constantly defy my orders?”

This time, Kai stayed quiet.

“Finally! You can listen to one itty-bitty thing I tell you! Now, shut the fuck up, while I explain to you how bad this is.” He squared the boy up as if planning where to hit next. Kai knew that was exactly what he was doing. “You siphoned your sister. You drained her body; you made her cry, and collapse in pain. And you hurt Luke. He’s a baby.” Then he laughed. “I should’ve seen this coming - of course you’d try to hurt Luke! You think we’re taking this leadership from you, don’t you? If your mom and I have more twins, you won’t take over this coven, right?” His voice mocked Kai’s. “Guess what? Maybe your mom and I just like having kids. Maybe we’re hoping that if we have enough good kids, it’ll cancel out the bad one. Maybe the coven will forgive us for raising you, instead of aborting you, or killing you as a baby. Which is what we should’ve done. But noooo, your Aunt Maisie thought you’d grow up and mellow out. Thanks, Maisie, now we all have to live with you, and look at you. We, as a coven, have to deal with a magic-stealing siphon on our hands. And of all the bloodlines in the coven, it just had to be mine! You,” he prodded a finger in Kai’s chest, “are a freak. You’re worthless.” He pushed the boy’s shoulders. “Useless to the coven, to this family,” he pinned him up to the wall, “to the world.” Finally, he gave up his hold. “But if you die now, I look even more like the weak link in my family. And I am NOT the weak one. I was a perfect son, a perfect brother. Had perfect grades, a girlfriend that my parents respected, and obeyed every rule set before me. When I was twenty-two, I performed as I was told, and then went on to lead this coven. At twenty-six, me and that same girlfriend began to raise a family. And somehow, it went so, so wrong, because we had you. You fucking failure.” By the end of his rant, he had cornered Kai back up into the wall. He glared at his injured arm, still dripping with blood, then again at his son’s face. “Don’t come down for the rest of the night. And clean that up, too. You’re still going to make dinner tomorrow, and I don’t want your blood in my food.” Then, he spat in his son’s open wound and left the room. 

Kai stayed in the corner for hours after that. He was too terrified to move; too disgusted with himself, too broken. Eventually, the bleeding eased up, leaving a stain on the carpet. He sank to his knees and cried. 

Sometime around midnight, the sadness turned to rage. Anger towards his father, hatred towards his coven, repulsion to himself. Slowly, he rose to his feet and inspected the wound. It was still open, but with some antiseptic and bandages lying around his room, he was able to clean and wrap it up. He had stolen the materials from under the sink months before, and now they were coming in handy. With a little of the magic he had accidentally siphoned, he was also able to make a lot of the pain and infection go down, but he was careful not to use too much. While performing the spell, his stomach grumbled. He debated fighting the hunger, but then a dizziness came too and he knew he needed something in his system after the dog bite. 

Hesitantly, Kai left his room for a snack, just something enough to satisfy his body. In the kitchen, he dug one-handedly through the pantry, pulling out crackers, as well as an apple from the counter’s fruit basket. He was in the middle of filling a glass of orange juice when his blood suddenly ran cold. Something was wrong. A low growl came from the darkness, raising every hair on his body. Bandit slowly came into view, crouched low, teeth bared. 

This time, though, the dog had come at a bad time. Kai wasn’t in the mood for cowering. He stared the dog down while grabbing a knife from the drawer. Bandit crawled closer, not surrendering. He was three feet away, and Kai’s heart was racing. His mind was in a debate: run, or fight? In a split-second, he made up his mind. As soon as he muttered a quick silencing spell with the magic still flowing in his blood, Bandit charged. The dog went for his thigh, jumping up with its mouth open, but Kai was ready. Seeing a clear shot, he stabbed the knife into the dog’s shoulder. It yelped, but the sound was drowned out by the spell. The dog wasn’t giving up so soon, though. It made another lunge for Kai, but he stabbed again. This time, through the other shoulder. Finally, Bandit collapsed. He was breathing heavily, flailing what muscles he still could, as Kai stabbed again and again until he was no longer moving. Soon, he knew the dog was dead. 

When Kai came to, what he did hit him. There was blood everywhere in the kitchen and on himself, already staining. Kai swallowed hard and thought up a quick plan. He dragged the dog out the door to the edge of the woods and left it for the crows. Then, he went back inside and deep cleaned for hours until the sun began to rise. Around the time Jo would be waking up for work, he went back upstairs, taking a certain bag with him. The bag was full of the dog’s blood that he had cleaned off the knife and other surfaces. He hid it in his closest, then fell fast asleep. 

The next morning brought a different kind of chaos. When the kids woke up and couldn’t find Bandit anywhere, they spent hours crying. Their dad, who assured them the dog was surely okay, made a deal with them to spend the day inside, and then they’ll look for their missing dog after work. So that’s what they did. Unfortunately, this deal led to them waking up Kai, because no one is capable of sleeping through the sounds of six screaming children, and when he remembered what he did the previous night, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad. Life kicks me in the ass every day and you idiots can’t deal with one day inside??

Kai then wondered to himself who he thought was going to find the body outside, and made bets with himself who’d cry hardest. 

At two, his mom came to the door unexpectedly, knocking softly. “Malachai?”

“What?” He replied flatly, not in the mood.

“So, um, I know the kids are being loud today, but Bandit’s gone missing so Dad wants them to stay inside just in case she’s hurt somewhere.”

“Okay.”

“At four, when he gets home, he’s going to take them out to go look for her. And he wanted me to let you know that the house will be empty at that time so that you can cook while they’re all out, and we can avoid another… incident.”

“Whatever.”

“Okay, um, good. I love you, Malachai.”

Kai didn’t answer. 

Two hours later, the house erupts with sound when Jo and their dad return home. The commotion is even worse than yesterday because they’ve been inside all day, but at least they leave quickly, wanting to get out. In thirty minutes’ time, it��s the most silent it’s been for hours. Kai waited five minutes to be sure no one was coming back in, and then he began to act on his secret revenge. 

The meal he was planning was a simple crockpot dinner. Beef, potatoes, carrots, onions, and a broth were the only things needed. Feeds a lot of people and makes it easy to slip in secret ingredients. Everything was out in front of him as he chopped them up and put them in the pot. Something sinister inside him laughed; he felt like a witch performing dark magic, like those ones you read about in fairy tales. Adding different things to a pot, most of them edible, but something else that’s not supposed to be there. Kai glanced at the bag of blood beside him. That’s it. That’s the dark magic. 

I don’t want your blood in my food, his dad said the night before. 

“Okay,” Kai mutters to himself, “it won’t be my blood in your food.”

He dumped the animal blood over top of the rest of the ingredients, and watched how the redness seeped into them, staining them. He dragged a finger through the uncooked stew, stirring it, then bringing it to his tongue. The taste of raw meat and fresh blood sent a tingle down his spine, making him feel oddly powerful. Then, he put the lid on top of the pot and pushed the ‘on’ button. Only a few hours until he can taste it cooked.

Kai buried the bag in the bottom of the trashcan just in time for Joey to come racing through the front door. 

“Kai!” He cried, “Bandit’s dead! He’s dead! The crows are eating him outside! It looks like he got hit by a car, daddy says! Sarah found him on the side of the road by the woods!”

Kai tried his best to fake emotion, but for some reason, found it extremely difficult. “That’s horrible. Who would hit and run a dog?” 

“I don’t know, but I’m sad!” His brother was a snotty, blubbering mess. The child just stood in front of him, crying uncontrollably. “Can I have a hug?”

“I don’t think your dad would like that very much.”

That only made Joey cry harder. Thankfully, Jo came bursting through the door seconds later. “Joey, come here, sweetheart, it’s okay! It’s going to be okay!”

“I’m sad, Josie! How will I go on living?!” 

Josette walked the boy away from Kai so they could both cry, but not before she glared at him for standing so close to the boy. He tried to gesture that Joey had walked up to him, but she just rolled her eyes. 

One-by-one, the family entered through the front door, all weeping miserably at the loss of their dog. The only one to look at Kai - who was still trying to find an emotion to share - was his dad, who looked equally upset and fearful, as if he knew Kai had something to do with it, but was too afraid to ask. 

The rest of the night was uncomfortably quiet for a family of ten. The only sounds to be heard for hours were quiet sniffles and the occasional sob. When dinner rolled around, there was no arguing about where to sit, nor any he-said-she-said about anything that happened during the day, it was just silent. At one moment, their mom cleared her throat to thank their eldest for dinner. 

“Stew is the perfect dish for mourning,” she said. It made the hairs on the backs of everyone’s necks stand up, Kai’s included. 

Nonetheless, he replied, “my thoughts exactly.”

No one seemed to pay mind to the fact that he was already done preparing the meal when Joey had brought the news, or if they thought it, they didn’t bring it up. In fact, no one ever really discussed the night again afterwards. 

As for Joshua, who, by the look in his eyes, suspected Kai was guilty, he never did ask if Kai took part in ending the dog’s life. The topic went cold after it happened, never to be brought up either. The family never got a new dog, and his dad was always lighter on his threats to Kai after that. He still hurt the boy, physically and emotionally, but some part of him knew he had crossed a line that night. Kai, on the other hand, knew he, himself, had crossed some kind of line, too. He knew it the minute he stood in front of his brother and tried to form an emotion to relate to the sad boy, but came up with nothing. Something inside him had been broken, or altered, and it was never coming back. 

[an-established-butt-dent]

Soooooo after the new details that have been revealed about Veilguard, how do we all imagine a Solavellan reunion is going down? Trapped in the fade together? Lighthouse makeout sessions? A very sad mural dedicated to his Vhenan? My brain is infested with new headcanons.

[this-bumblebee-commands-the-sea]

Thunderstorm

When Warlock was six his nanny left. When he turns eleven, so do his teachers. But he finds them.

I just wrote a little fanfic about Crowley's time at the Dowling residence and his bond with Warlock. I just find it hard to believe he'd break off contact just like that.

[tekehu]

if you're european, you can go to this site, click on your country at the top bar, and it will tell you how to reach your representatives and also provides an already written script which you can simply copy and paste. alternatively, this google doc also provides scripts for different countries.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC "Pick Me Up"

The stream goes live on the first day of the school year. It's the usual song and dance - mad laughing, threats, poor jokes, terror, and about thirty kids huddled together in a classroom behind Joker's back. Tim recognizes it as one of the Gotham Academy classrooms. Dick can't imagine the horror those kids' parents must be feeling right now. Jason jokes about middle school traumatic experiences. Damian is feeling very justified for skipping classes today.

Bruce, all suited up in his Batman garb, is making his way to the Academy as fast as he possibly can. Those are kids.

Gotham is once again anxiously kept on the edge of their seats, watching as Joker decides to interview the kids on their learning experience so far. Something about leaving a good first impression on the new generation or some other bullshit. Most kids stutter over their words - it's true that Gothamites are way more composed when facing life-threatening events, but those kids are only fourteen or fifteen for the most part. They are not old enough to keep their cool in the face of a murder clown.

That is, until Joker points his camera at one of the girls. Black hair in a high ponytail, blue eyes without a trace of fear, a slightly displeased, even bored expression on her face. She looks straight into the camera, not even waiting for the laughing madman to finish his question, and deadpans:

"I don't think I like school. Pick me up, please."

Joker sputters.

"Not so scared, I see," he sneers, and, in the next moment, a comically large gun painted in purples and greens is pointed to the girl's forehead, "How about now?"

The girl scrunches her nose and makes a so-so gesture.

"It's kinda meh," she admits, "Like, yeah, points for style, but you know, size doesn't matter. It's all in the technique."

Dick snorts over the comms. It's a bad time for laughing, sure, but the phrase caught him off-guard. This is not what you'd expect to hear from a teen, and definitely not something you'd expect anyone to say to the Joker. Jason's comms are muted, but Barbara knows he also laughed a little.

"Technique, you say?" Joker hisses, pressing the gun closer to the girl's head, and she winces, leaning away from it, almost as if she is disgusted by the touch.

"Yeah, I mean, guns are not that scary anyway. What are you gonna do with them, blast my brains all over the floor? Been there, done that," the girl shrugs, "Kinda nasty, but overall, it's just like slime, only sticky." She pauses and looks to the side, seemingly lost in thought, "Huh, maybe we should have added Borax to it. Or was it baking soda?.."

"Listen here, you little brat," Joker's fingers catch the girl's chin, and his voice becomes sickeningly menacing. Bruce is almost there, just two more minutes. Tim is already grappling onto the wall.

But none of them get to finish.

"Put your dirty fingers away from my sister," a low, cold, and even in a way that speaks of barely contained fury, voice comes from out of the screen.

The camera spins, like whoever is holding it turned really fast, and everyone watching the stream sees a fairly normal guy standing by the window - a turtleneck and ripped jeans, same black hair as the girl, same blue eyes... Wait, they are not blue.

And that's not a guy.

The camera falls down to the floor, and there are a lot of panicked screams coming from the broadcast now, but none of them sound like children's voices. It's the screams of adults, of grown-ass men, and later, someone even claimed they heard Joker's scream among them, too. The picture on camera glitches a few times, and the angle is awkward, but everyone still gets to see how shadows in the room morph into eyes, wide open and green, and how the darkness grows sharp teeth, countless grinning mouths that don't belong to any faces.

Screams turn into gargling and then to quiet whispers, filling the ears of all those listening with countless words in languages they don't know.

Red Robin turns off the recording and looks to that same guy from the levestream, sitting across him on the couch. The guy - Daniel, or Danny, as he introduced himself - looks him in the eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, and?"

"How did you do it?" Tim asks for the third time this evening. Danny blinks.

"Did what?" He asks, completely incomprehending. Tim groans. He's been trying to get his answers, any answers at this point, from the guy for thirty fucking minutes already. So far, he's got nothing. Danny, whoever the fuck he is, proves to be the most annoying human being on Earth.

"Seven people in a coma, including Joker himself, with no physical injuries and none of the children remember a thing! How?!" He demands, and a girl's face peeks from around the corner:

"I remember!"

Tim snaps his head at her, "What do you remember?"

The girl pauses, blinks, and looks to Danny. Then shrugs, "My brother picked me up from school."

Tim drops his head down and breathes out in frustration. He can't force the information out of civilians, he is a vigilante, not a mafia.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise not to do it again?" Danny asks, and his voice is way too innocent for Tim to believe him. He raises his head to look the guy in his shameless, amused eyes.

"I hate you."

"Thanks," Danny grins.