#Property Hunter Group

[butchladymaria]

HEALING CHURCH CRIMES BINGO!!!

fun fact: you can count enough crimes done by Healing Church & Co. ™️ to fill at least three bingo cards! (this is a joke, don't take this too seriously lol)

[venomnyx]

HOUSE IN NEBRASKA — Logan "Worst Wolverine" Howlett x Mutant!Reader AO3 version Spotify Playlist

WORD COUNT — 15.4k SUMMARY — Reader gets roped into saving the timeline with ex-best friend Deadpool, coming face-to-face with a variant of Logan that uproots memories she'd long suppressed, only to find that this version of him lost her in his universe, too. TAGS/WARNINGS — she/her pronouns (minimal usage), female anatomy, flashbacks in italics, angst, enemies to lovers, alcoholism, smoking, arguments, canon typical violence, cursing/bad language, Deadpool breaks the fourth wall like twice, canon behaviour worst wolverine, religious trauma, honda odyssey scene self-insert, eventual smut, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, dirty nasty talk (logan has a filthy mouth), mentions of cocaine literally once. smut is marked after last divider if you want to skip plot but i'll kiss you if you don't!

You’re smoking a cigarette on your porch when the snowfall happens. It would be normal, you think, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s dead in the middle of July. A group of nanas, elbow-deep in the community garden soil, glance up to the sky and begin muttering prayers amongst themselves.

You’ve lived in this safe house for a while now, up in the mid-west of the Appalachian mountains, surrounded by thickets of pine and opposite a bubbling creek. You grew up somewhere near here and the locals welcomed you back with open arms and a plateful of hot food when the humans started the culling— when the X-men fell apart.

It has plenty of benefits. The smell of lavender, for one, and your cat, Kevin, loves chasing the pigeons, even if he’s not the most successful hunter. The locally sourced produce means you can avoid the poisoned food they’re distributing in supermarkets.

But, most importantly, the humans can’t find you out here. You’re lucky the gossip of your… genetics, so to speak, doesn’t leave Sunday morning church.

Things have been different, lately. The trees are shedding down to dust, people are disappearing at an exponential rate, and there was a time when you’d be on the front lines helping them. You’re on the edge of your seat waiting for the call — a learned habit — but it’s never coming. Charles is dead. Logan is dead. The X-men are dead.

The snow is warm when it lands on your skin. It feels like rot, and your solitude suddenly feels lonelier and more daunting than ever.

You reach to take a sip of your steaming coffee when you hear movement. A zipping strobe light crosses your vision and you flinch against the intrusion, but you’re not afraid. You’ve surely survived worse.

Stryker worse.

A comical and confused looking figure pops out from an orange portal, scratching the crown of his head over the red and black mask on his face. You sip your coffee as you observe him nonchalantly.

He notices you and approaches with a dainty point of his finger.

“Um, excuse me, ma’am.”

“Well, well well,” you suck on your cigarette with a frown. “Look what the cat dragged in. Got a new suit, Red?”

“What, aren’t you happy to see lil’ old me?”

“You’re on my property,” you say matter-of-factually. You had a shotgun stowed away inside for emergencies, but frankly, you never had to use it. You were enough of a weapon yourself. Consider it insurance, if the corn-syrup they’re poisoning ever finally makes it way to you.

You glance sidelong at the old ladies in their aprons, clutching one another with stern gazes in your direction. The deal was that you didn’t bring trouble their way — but it looks like trouble found you. You narrow your eyes and silently hope that this doesn’t turn messy, as it so usually does where he’s concerned.

He sighs heavily and continues approaching regardless. You analyse his stature and take notes of the weapons on his holsters and back. You reckon you could take him if it came down to it, but he didn’t seem threatening.

You and Wade used to be friends, but after isolating yourself from grief, you don’t necessarily consider yourselves to have a close relationship. More often than not he brought trouble; hence your defensive response.

“Listen, ants in your pants, I’ve done this about a hundred times,” he huffs and places a hand on his hip, waving the device around in his hand. You take another drag of your cigarette and perk your brows before rising to your feet.

“I’ve had my spleen shattered by the Hulk, about eighty stab wounds…”

He rambles on about his collection of injuries and you tilt your head with amusement. Must be another one of his famous mental breakdowns. This might be entertaining, at the very least.

“…You’ve even killed me a few times in different universes!” He claps his hands together. “And frankly, I was just going to let you die here. You’re not even canon, so you won’t be missed, but you appear to be of use to me. So I need you to come with me. Now. Please.”

What on Earth was he talking about? What on Earth was he ever talking about?

You bark a laugh. “I ain’t going anywhere with you, Red and Black.”

“Will it change your mind if I add a cherry on top?” He asks with a dry laugh before nodding enthusiastically. Manically. “You’re coming. Kevin’s life depends on it.”

“What are you talkin’ about? Are you threatenin’ my cat? That’s a new low, Wade.”

“Is it? Is it really? I am certain that I can go unfathomably lower.”

You roll your eyes, half-way through turning your back on him.

“You see this?” He holds out a gloved hand and catches some snowflakes. He rubs them between his fingers and they spark and fizzle before dusting away. “That’s not snow. That’s time death. Our universe is dying, womp womp. Stay here, sure! By all means, but—”

Your cat launches out of the door behind you, chirping and meowing to himself before promptly dashing through the portal and disappearing into the blurry void on the other side.

“Well. Looks like he made his choice.”

He sighs and lets you process. You take the final swig of your coffee and huff a breath.

“You literally have nothing left to lose. Trust me. I know. I’ve seen all kinds of you and, believe me when I say this, even though I love and cherish this version of you, this—” he points two fingers at you and gestures towards you judgmentally. “— isn’t the best look on you, honey.”

You want to dismiss him. You want to turn him away, to tell him to get lost. Grief swallowed your heroism whole, turning it into a barren wasteland of bitter indifference. You used to be bright, full of light, love, and hope.

Fucking hope. It’s the reason Logan left you to help Charles in the first place. You just wanted to settle down and disappear, to live a normal life. You lost an intrinsic part of your being when he died; you remember feeling it before you heard the news. Fucking hope.

Hope, hope, hope. Nana Rose chants on about it when she clasps your hands with her wrinkly ones, dragging you to church in spite of your atheism.

“And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts,” she chants, basket of flowers on her hip. “Romans 5:5. You’d do well to do your readin’, tulip.”

You didn’t and don’t ever usually believe a word she says, but you can feel her faith. It’s solid as steel, pouring out of her like blotting light through the gaps in the trees. Undying. And you’ll be damned if you let anything happen to her.

A flicker remains. You imagine what Charles would say to you now, how you’d hang onto his every word and he’d bring out the better of you. You truly do have nothing left to lose, except maybe your cat. Over your dead body.

“Come ooon,” he pokes his fingers together. “Fancy being a hero? One last time?”

You take the final drag before stubbing the cigarette out on your railing. “Alright, Red. I’ll bite.”

“Then suit up.”

Your friendship with Deadpool was a rocky one. There was a time you told him you’d be there for him through everything, and you technically owed him one for saving your life that one time even though your ego insists that, to this day, you could’ve taken the fight. That’s what heightened cellular control of your body is for, right? Accelerated healing? Empathetic abilities? Faster reactions, enhanced strength— you get the point.

Though you didn’t realise that returning the favour meant following him through space, time and alternate dimensions, you were a person who stayed true to their word, and you hated being indebted to someone.

So, here you were, waking up in the middle of a barren wasteland that was seconded as a cocktail soup of abandoned universal relics and heroes ripped from their worlds, accompanying your ex-best friend to restore your timeline.

But, one thing about paying someone back, it doesn’t technically count if they lie to you about the terms and conditions of the agreement. Only a few mere moments after you come to, dazed by the impact and the blaring wobbly heat of the sun, you rise to watch as Deadpool takes six blades of Wolverine to the chest.

You’re still a little dizzy when you stagger to your feet, head throbbing, as you’re trying to process if, yes, that’s exactly what you were witnessing.

“Let’s see you grow your fuckin’ head back!” Wolverine growls.

Deadpool holds his hands up in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait! I can fix it! I can fix it!”

The man in yellow hesitates. “Fix what?”

“Whatever it is that you did, whatever made you so bad—” Wade pants, catching his breath. “Those pricks at the TVA, you heard ‘em. They have the power to end my universe, but they also have the power to change yours. We get back there, and we can fix your world! Together. I promise.”

You stumble from around a pile of debris, clutching your side as a rib pops back into place. Wolverine sniffs the air, face blanching as he snaps to look in your direction.

When you first make eye contact with him, it feels as though you’re resurfacing from water after being on the precipice of drowning. Your heart leaps into your throat, adrenaline boils your veins and your lungs burst with relief of breathing.

“Troubles always gonna find you, baby,” Logan murmurs, kissing his way up from the pulse in your throat as he rocks against you. “But so am I.”

You’ve never loved him more, you think, than when he fucks you slow like this. A snowstorm rages outside the cabin, howling full of glass and needles and rattling the window frames. His skin against yours burns a fire within you, warming you to the bone. He sweeps hair away from your face before capturing your mouth in his, swallowing the sounds of your pants, threading his fingers between yours.

You could stay here forever, you think.

Your fingers shake from the whiplash of the memory. You instinctively reach towards him but you catch yourself. This was the husk of him, not your Logan. The realisation feels akin to ripping open a haphazardly sewn wound right down to the fatty yellow flesh, raw and needling and sore.

He’s broader than you remember. Hair a little darker, wrinkles a little deeper. He smells of alcohol and cigars — that much is familiar. That’s him, flesh and adamantium bone, living, breathing. Alive. The physical shell of him prods alive parts of your inner circuitry that you weren’t aware had fallen asleep, like intrinsic nerves untangling within you.

You can sense that he knows you, too, based on his emotional response. His noise is extremely loud, spilling out of the cracks of whatever wall he thought he’d successfully built up. This version of Logan certainly had a lot of secrets.

“You,” he whisper-growls. It’s almost intangible, leaving him like a breath. He pulls his blades promptly from Deadpool’s chest and kicks him backwards.

You’re starting to understand that faith thing that Nana Rose was knocking on about when he strides towards you, large and tall. You certainly weren’t a believer by any means but you’re sure you’d be the picture of unbridled worship for the way you’d fall to your knees for him.

Your empathetic power lurches for him, seeking him out as you used to — like a flower to the sun — but it physically recoils from the aura that it touches. It was all your Logan but not in a familiar way. It’s tainted, dark, and it tastes like copper and screams.

All colour melts from his face and his body shuffles in a way that indicates discomfort; a dry swallow, tense shoulders and flicking eyes that refuse to meet your gaze. He omits feelings of guilt and shame that linger on the tendrils of your empathetic powers where you connect with him.

You try to zone Wade out, squinting as you attempt to navigate through his cobweb of emotions (seriously, this guy’s aura could do with a cleanup) but it’s like wading through black-tar syrup, feelings negated by years of alcohol-abuse and avoidance. Eventually, you feel something that makes your guts twist and your legs shake: a version of romantic attraction and recognition so carnal and raw that you begin to blush, a warmth that creeps its way up from your belly. A breath escapes you like a punch.

“Well. This feels awkward.” Wade glances between you both and places his hands on his hips. “Why do you both look like you’ve seen a ghost? Do I need to call Egon Splegler and tell him to bring his ghost sucky-sucky vacuum? Oh my god—” He slaps his hands to his face and gasps sharply. “Cross-Universal lovers?”

As inappropriately timed and tone-deaf his one-liners could be, you’d never been more appreciative of an icebreaker. You think you could’ve stood there for an hour, frozen in silence, staring at a reanimated corpse, basking in the noise of his emotional frequency like an addict finally getting another hit.

But then the noise stops, swallowed up like a heaving black hole had split and atomised the tension whole with its unforgiving jaws. He closes himself off from you. Connection severed. You reach out and feel a cold nothingness similar to how, on particularly rough nights, you’d try to reach out to him after his passing. You’d clung onto his plaid shirts until the smell and emotional residue wore off of them.

“You with the mouth? To fix things?”

You nod tightly. You don’t think you can find your voice in front of him.

“Let’s just keep moving. And stay out of my head,” Logan grumbles, crossing you with a cold shoulder and mumbling something incoherent under his breath. When he’s made enough distance, you turn to your old friend with a cold glare.

“Ooh, brr. Anybody else feel a chill?”

“Wade.”

He twists towards you comically slow.

“You. Motherfucker.” You begin approaching him. He backs up slowly and holds his hands up.

“I knew if I told you the plan you wouldn’t have gone along with it!”

“Are you insane? You think multiversally grave-robbing my fucking dead ex-boyfriend is going to save our timelines?!” You yell.

“Technically he’s not dead—”

You push him. “He should be! He- he was— he is!”

“Well, this one isn’t!” He pushes back. “And I’m not sorry for finding a loophole in the plan to fry — not just mine, mind you — but both of our timelines! Did you happen to forget that? No multi-dimensional depressed Logan? Alright then! No more Kevin!”

He’s talking about your cat. Anger flares.

“Don’t you dare bring Kevin into this.”

“You forced my hand!” He yells, mouth moving alien-like behind the mask on his face. “Besides, I’m not doing this for me—”

You blink your eyes closed. You might reach the end of your tether if he said her name one more time. You’ve been in his company for approximately an hour, and he’s already drilled a hole into your brain with his incessant yapping about the “love of his life”.

“Wade, you need to move on. She clearly has.”

“I will not move on from the only people I love in this fucked up dimension. This isn’t just for Vanessa.” He shoves a glossy photograph in your face. “This is for you and blind Al and even that shit-head teenager and her pinkie-pie girlfriend! They deserve their timeline!”

“I literally don’t care about any of those people!”

Even yourself?

“Well, I do! I have people I care about! Aren’t you supposed to be a hero? God, all of you X-men are so depressing. Is it the suits they make you wear? Is that it? Can’t breathe in that thing?” He continues poking at you. “Loosen up a little!”

You straighten your posture and the black leather of your suit crackles. You swat his hands away as he continues poking. “Alright! Cut it out!”

“Think of Nana Rose.” He draws a heart with two fingers. “Little old ladies like her deserve a chance, don’t they?”

And even though humans had done nothing but wage war on your kind for simply existing, you still felt obliged to help them. Besides, the thought of other mutants — kid mutants — dying when you hold the chance to save them in the palm of your hand? You were hardly managing as you were now. You’re not sure you’d be able to live with yourself if you kept going like this.

“Alright, alright!” You huff, heart pounding in your chest. You look over at where Wolverine kicks at rocks in the distance. “Fucking hell, Red. Holy fuck.”

You say it again, only this time you scream it into your hands.

“You should’ve warned me.”

“Are we good?”

“Are we go—” You scoff. You kick his ankle, feel the bones shatter and crunch beneath your foot. He lets out a short, high-pitched yelp. “You deserved that.”

“Motherfuckermotherfucker… oh you’re lucky I feel bad about lying to you or I would’ve twisted your milk bags off for that I swear to God.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, walking forward. “That doesn’t sound like an apology.”

He limps after you, floppy ankle dragging a line in the sandy dirt. “I’ll be dead before you ever get one of those out of me! And too bad I can’t fucking die!”

The difference between this Logan and your Logan is stark, minus the uncanny resemblance. Your Logan was soft and gentle, but this version is sharper and blade-edged, and your fingers bleed when you try to touch him.

Staring at him feels like throwing up a mirror and analysing yourself, a picture of what happens to a person when they make all of the wrong choices. You’re embarrassed, almost. This isn’t a version of you that you ever want him to know, but at least you can say you’re trying.

Him, on the other hand…

“Are we going to keep up the awkward silence?” You snip, awkwardly adjusting the restraints on your wrist.

You’ve been in Logan’s company for all of an hour, and yet accompanying one another through literal time purgatory didn’t seem to irk any feelings of obligation from his end. He’d been cold-shouldering and ignoring you the entire time, even though you kept catching him staring.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he spits, wriggling uncomfortably against a very unconscious Deadpool. “You got us into this mess.”

You frown, small. You can feel hatred pouring out from him, leaving a sickly bile taste in the back of your throat. You’ve lived through enough hate for being a mutant in your lifetime, enough that you’d become accustomed to tuning it out of your radio channel, so to speak, but something about it coming from the man you loved makes it a little harder to swallow.

You’re quiet when you next speak. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

He shoots you an indistinguishable look and grunts to himself. Such a Libra.

“So, what’s the story here?” Johnny asks with a sly grin. He turns to you with a glimmer of mischief in his eye. “You two know each other?”

You cringe. “Sort of. Last I remember, he wasn’t this much of a prick.”

“Oh, trouble in paradise, huh?” His grin grows. “That’s a shame. Not often we get girls like you in the void.”

“Seriously?” You say with a side-eye.

He shrugs, all blue-spandex biceps and charming smile. “No harm in trying.”

Your breath hitches as Cassandra approaches, wide eyes and tilted head aiming for you purposefully. Logan swiftly angles his body so that he’s standing in front of you and she halts as a delighted, implicating smile stretches across her face. Your chest constricts, tendrils of yearning coiling tighter. It appeared to be muscle memory: his instinctual, protective flinch. Just like your Logan used to, despite how capable he knew you were.

“Now, I’ve always wanted a Wolverine.” Her finger moves along the crowd. “Knew I’d get one eventually. But I never even dreamed of having you.”

Cassandra zips behind you and her slender fingers delve into the crevices and valleys of your brain, lips intimately close to your neck and ear. Wolverine snarls territoriality, but he’s unable to move. The urge to reach for him is overwhelming.

“Do you know that there are so few universes where you exist?” She whispers, caressing your deepest memories. “I even asked the TVA about you, in exchange for keeping the peace. I was disheartened when I found out one of you died. But you’re here! Now, I don’t believe in fate, but this almost feels like it was meant to be.”

You flinch when she uncovers a particularly fond memory, one you hadn’t been aware was so prominently in the forefront.

In the back of his truck, a cigar between his teeth, hands sliding under your shirt. In another world, he would’ve taken the time to do this properly, but living in a school didn’t exactly grant two consenting adults any privacy.

“Waited long enough for this.”

He kisses up from your bare foot to the sensitive skin of your inner knee, lips scorching against your skin.

“Logan…”

“Easy,” he murmurs, leaning away for a moment to remove his plaid overshirt, leaving himself in that white vest you could eat him alive in. “Still wanna take my time with you.”

You’re desperate, he can tell— can probably smell it, too, but you’re far too humiliated to ask him if he can.

Logan wasn’t your first by any means, but with the way you were near trembling for him truly felt like you’d be losing all of your innocence in the back seat. You’re shy and quiet, everything he isn’t. You’re infatuated with him — have been since he burst out of the lab in his grey hoodie — and have daydreamed about what it would be like to have him. You certainly didn’t let him know that right away, and with whatever shred of composure remained around his relentless flirting and teasing remarks, you tried to play hard to get.

Until you couldn’t. Because you weren’t. He had you, and with every fibre of your being, you wanted him to.

She pulls her hands from your brain with a shlick sound, rubbing her fingers together as if relishing in the produce of your memories. She grabs a rag from her pocket and smirks knowingly.

“You’re thinking of that at a time like this?” She laughs all witch-like. “Worry not; your secret’s safe with me, naughty girl.”

Wade lowers his voice and leans towards Logan. “She was thinking of me.”

“I can read between the lines, darling,” she potters on. “This isn’t about a sexual fantasy. Deep down, you just want to be wanted. To be loved.”

She steps back and extends her arms. “After all, you’ll never amount to anything in your world. It’s such a shame that your Logan left you so abruptly. Did he break your heart?” She giggles. “Why suppress your powers in his name? For a level-five mutant, you certainly don’t act like one. You can do that, here. Freely!”

Your worn thin tether creaks with exhaustion like a dilapidated bridge under pressure. There isn’t a singular fibre of your being that desires to be stuck here, but the small, angry teenage voice in your head would love nothing more than to just let go. You’d been containing your powers for as far as you can remember, and they'd always been as irresistible as the promise of Pandora's box.

But you know how that story ends.

You take a moment’s pause. “I have no interest in livin’ in a garbage dump.”

She tilts her head and neatly clasps her hands behind her back. “Do you forget where you come from? I think we both know who lives in a garbage dump.”

“You motherf—”

You’d just managed to escape Cassandra’s lair with Alioth’s foggy storm fangs nipping at your ankles when you ran across the abandoned diner.

You’re ravenous, wrist aching from how you dig at the freezer-burned ice cream. It’s your least favourite flavour but you’ve been running on fumes for the past day or so, so you’ll take what you can get, though you begin to lose your appetite when you remember Johnny, and how Cassandra had zipped the skin from him like popping a blood-filled water balloon.

Something is rumbling beneath your surface. A distinct, constant buzzing, like two atoms slowly building up radioactive energy. You’d asked for none of this, and would certainly give Wade a talking to when the time called for it, but, for now, you’re trying your hardest to make this as easy a process as possible.

Your male counterpart, however, was doing exactly what men generally do. He was making this fucking unbearable.

Logan sits across from you, brooding, fingers gripping the medicinal bottle as if it’s anywhere near appropriate to be drinking. He throws you a particularly lingering glare when he notices you staring, but refuses to maintain eye contact when you look back at him

You toss the tub and spoon across the table with a sharp clatter, your patience collapsing.

“What? Can’t even look at me?” You snap. His eyes look exhausted when they finally meet yours. Wade, being the characteristic little fucker he is, pulls a delighted, shit-stirring grin as he glances between the two of you as if watching a tennis match.

Logan gasps as he finishes taking a drink. “Not much to look at,” he says, wiping the back of his mouth.

The words twist like a fist in your gut. For a moment, you’re rendered too stunned to respond, like he’d tossed a flash-bang toward you. His casual cruelty digs deeper than you care to admit— but you’ve had far too much therapy, too much psychological training, to know he’s deflecting.

But you wouldn’t doubt for a second that there was a more beautiful version of you somewhere.

“What, you comparin’ me to someone?” You ask. You can tell you’ve struck a nerve by the way he goes for another sip. “That it?”

He grimaces.

“Do I make you feel sick? Am I making you feel sick?”

He stares at you hard, but silently. He takes a long swig of the rubbing alcohol and you cringe as his throat bobs. His silence and feigned indifference light a fire of indignation.

“You know, you’re not the only person who’s suffered. Who’s lost people.”

He laughs like what you’re saying is funny. “Yeah, right, bub, you have got no idea what loss is.”

“Oh, you are such a fucking cunt,” you spit, slamming your hands on the table as you rise to your feet. “You know what, Wade? You’re right. I can’t do this. So fuck you and fuck his timeline and fuck every timeline that had anything to do with it! I’m done.”

A wave of uncontrolled psionic energy born from your anger blasts from you upon your final words, slamming them back into their seats and sending the cutlery, nearby debris and weapons flying. The neighbouring windows smash, shattering explosively and sprinkling outside of the diner.

The simmering stops, replaced by a stifling emptiness.

“I wasn’t finished with that!” Wade cries, crouching down to scoop up what remains of the gelatinous spam.

You pause for a moment, glance at your hands, and then grab your jacket in an aggressive fit.

Wade whines your name, halfway through gagging down a forkful of cold spam off of the floor (one of which resonates with a particularly distinct crunch, but you don’t stay to find out whether or not he just truly ate glass), and he doesn’t attempt to get up and follow you as you storm off.

You take a heaving breath of hot desert air when you leave the diner. The sandy breeze tousles your hair, and with the prickly energy of an incoming nervous breakdown, your legs kick and you’re running.

“Stryker got you, too?” Logan asks, eyebrows flicking up.

You don’t look him in the eye when you nod. You cross your arms and slouch a little, caging your heart in. Stryker — the ex-militant with a fetish for experimenting on mutants — had held you captive for several years. He’d brainwashed you into using your empathetic abilities for nefarious purposes, like seducing other mutants, and sometimes important political and militant figures.

“You like me?” He questions, quieter this time.

“No… no, not like you,” you reply. “I don’t have the fancy bones. I heal fast, but I wouldn’t survive that kinda procedure.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t remember everything. Just bits and pieces. Feelings, mostly. Nightmares,” you explain. He nods understandingly. “I’m always on edge.”

“You always seem so calm,” he observes. “Nothing seems to phase you.”

“I have to be. It took a lot of pain and damage to get this level-headed,” you respond quickly. “If I don’t manage my emotions, all the emotions that I receive, touch— it all comes out. Explosively. It has to come out somehow. I could hurt people.”

“Funny. School therapist ‘n’ you’ve got the most issues,” he teases light-heartedly.

“You got no idea, lumberjack.”

You hated killing.

You’re on your knees, arms and hands and chest soaked crimson, sobbing. They’d come out of nowhere, the raiders, and they were hungry for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. All you know is that you felt their need, their desperation, their willingness to do anything to get it.

The flash of harrowing horror someone feels before they die isn’t a unique experience. It simply varies in strength — sometimes it’s a feather-like touch that careens over you, a shuddering realisation that they’re taking their last breath, and sometimes it’s like a crack of lightning. Bloodied hands gripping your biceps with fear in a final attempt to survive. They’d rather cling to you than die alone.

You hate killing. Especially this up close.

You don’t cry for them. You don’t even cry for yourself. It’s a small emotional space where they cry vicariously through you.

You were black-out when it happened, you tell yourself, and suddenly regress to the student you used to be, sobbing on your knees in front of Charles as he tries to teach you serenity and control after an outburst had caused you to kill a nest of birds. He’d done it for Magneto, he said— so he could certainly do it for you.

You should have meditated more.

The sound of a car gurgles somewhere behind you, but you haven’t the energy to look or use your powers to seek out who’s approaching and what their intent is. You’re exhausted enough that whatever they wish to do with you — turn you to processed dog kibble, send you back into the jaws of Cassandra’s lair, kill you — whatever. Just let it happen.

A slamming car door and then the crunching of boots on gravel.

“You’re easy to track.” A pause. “You look pathetic. You done throwing your tantrum?”

Logan. Of course, it’s him.

“Leave me alone, prick.”

“As much as I’d like to, you and the Mouth still have to hold up your end of the bargain,” he quips, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Now get up.”

You glare up at him and his arms unfurl as he notices your tear-streaked face. His expression drops, softens, before it quickly ticks back up into an incredulous, irritated look.

“Are you crying?” He asks with a scoff. He pauses before dragging his hand down his face and rubbing his scruffy jaw. “Jesus Christ. Get up. Get in the car.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ around, Logan. Piss. Off.”

He mumbles a string of incoherent curses and turns on his heel. You think, for a moment and a breath of relief, that he’s truly going to give up on you and leave. He could finish this without you. It’s easier this way.

Instead, a thick bicep wraps around your middle and you’re flung over his shoulder with a yelp.

“Quit your squirmin’.”

“Then put me down!” You yell, thrashing in his grasp. He promptly ignores you, unphased by the jabs you strike at his back. You quickly unsheath the small knife from your jacket sleeve, winding up your arm before you drive it into the muscly pocket by his kidneys.

“Ow! Cheap shot, you little fucker!”

Wade sighs and clutches his hands in front of his chest romantically. “Oh, the newlyweds.”

Logan dumps you into the front seat of the car carelessly, grumbling something as he slams the door shut and applies the child locks. Petty motherfucker.

You rub the sore spot on your tailbone where you landed on a seat buckle funny. You want to bite your tongue but you’re flared up.

“We should switch places. I’m a better driver than you are.”

Logan doesn’t bother looking at you as he starts up the ignition. “Just shut up.”

“You can go on ahead and smoke a cat turd in hell, then.”

“So fuckin’ immature. Grow up.”

“Mom and Dad can you please stop fighting!” Deadpool cries out from the backseats.

You just roll your eyes, resigning into your chair and folding your arms.

At some point along the ride, Wade falls asleep, snoring soundly to himself. You’re silent in the front, drumming a beat on your knees, awkwardly thinking of something to say. You have the impulsive need to fill the silence, even if you were trapped in a crappy car with a man who had made it vehemently clear that he irrevocably hated you.

“So, if they can fix your world, what’s the first thing you’ll do?”

Logan rips his eyes towards you. “What did you say?”

“I said when you get back, what’s the first thing—”

“No, no, no— before that.”

You hesitate, wondering if you’d landed yourself in a trap based on the sharpness of his tone and the way that anger crackles off of him like static lightning.

“If… they can fix your world?”

He slams his foot on the brake and you just about catch yourself before your nose goes flying into the dashboard. Wade is thrust out of the front window, smashing through and promptly falling unconscious underneath a tree, neck broken at an awkward angle.

Your eyes widen.

“What do you mean: if?”

“That’s what Wade said—”

“I don’t give a fuck who said what. He promised me he would fix things—”

“Well, I didn’t promise you shit!”

He laughs, low and devoid of humour. “You don’t have a clue if they can fix things, do you?”

Well, no. You’ve been operating on a hunch the entire time and had half come to accept that you might be stuck in the TVA void forever. Who knows how much time has passed elsewhere?

Regardless of the fact you truly had nothing to do with whatever came out of Wade’s mouth, you weren’t about to let Mr. Worst Wolverine shit all over him and his plan to save his friends.

“Is it really that far-fetched? We made an educated wish!”

Something dark flashes across his face. You can feel hate pulsing off of him in dizzying waves, doubling with each passing moment.

“You made… an educated fucking wish?”

“What’s your problem with me, huh? Got a stick up your ass?” You reach for the car door handle, but he snaps up your wrist, holding it high. “You better let go of me right now, old man—”

“Or what, huh? Gonna run away again?” He threatens.

“You geriatric, alcoholic motherfucker. I’ve done nothin’ but try and be civil with you and you treat me like I’m the one who ruined your life! I don’t know what version of me you knew but you need to stop actin’ like I ain’t worthy of being here because of what you did!”

“Listen, I’ll tell you what my problem is with you—” he leans closer, eyes roving over you with a disgusted look on his face. “I mean, you are a ridiculous, emotional, immature crybaby. I have never met a sadder, more attention-seeking, foul-mouthed little bitch in my entire life and that says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than two hundred fuckin’ years.”

“And I’ll tell you, that bald chick was right about one thing: you will never amount to anything. You’ll never save the world. You couldn’t even save a relationship with me. I’d say you should’ve died alone but it’s one of God’s best jokes that in this universe you didn’t seem to fuckin’ die, except that ones on the rest of all of us!”

He breathes heavily when his rant finishes. You’re taken aback, jaw slack, eyes warm with the onset of tears born from shock.

“What, you got nothin’ to say, empath?”

You suck in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you flick the emotional switch off in your head.

“I’m going to hurt you now.”

He snorts. “Oh, are you?”

In a swift manoeuvre, you raise your slap him around the face. You knew better than to punch a metal skull, but you still wanted him to sting. His eyes slit, nostrils flaring in challenge.

“That all you got?”

“Not even close,” you snap back, knuckles whitening from the way you curl your fingers into your palm. “You want to play this game, Logan? Fine— but I’m not gonna sit here and keep on provin’ myself to you. I’ve had enough of your Christ-born-again superiority complex. Did you forget that you’re the worst Wolverine?”

“Oh, yeah? Well, at least I’m honest about who I am. Look at you— you’re a fuckin’ joke, pretending to be some hero in a suit made for a dead team,” he barks back, voice rising with each word. “I don’t need your bullshit “wishes”— you should know, I’ve buried people for less.”

“Yeah, because you’re so perfect, ain’t that right?” You yell, voice cracking from the power of your anger. “The almighty Wolverine— the unkillable bastard who can’t seem to hold onto anythin’ good in his life! You’ve had centuries to get your shit together, and look at you—” You look him up and down with disgust. “—still just a bitter, lonely, broken man, takin’ it out on everyone else and a goddamn bottle.”

His eyes narrow, muscles in his jaw twitching as he appears to fight and keep his temper in check, but there’s an obvious crack forming, the dam of his unbridled rage near overflowing.

“You think you know me, huh?” He murmurs, voice a deadly whisper, the calm before the storm. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I’ve been through. You’re nothing but a lost woman playing make-believe and hiding in the shadow of a fuckin’ merc. You’re pathetic.”

Something inside of you breaks. “I’m pathetic? Look at yourself! You’re so goddamn desperate to feel anythin’ that you’ll lash out at everyone around you for some semblance of warmth. There’s a fine line between hate and love, after all! You think you’re so strong because you can heal, because you’ve lived forever? Yeah, right— you’re the weakest, most cowardly man I’ve met in a loong time.”

The blades between his knuckles shoot out with a shink! For a moment, you think that he’s going to attack you. Hell— you even hope that he will, just to diminish some of the unbearable, stifling tension. Instead, the blades retract with a deep breath, and he grabs you forcefully by the collar of your suit, yanking you so close that you can feel the heat of his breath on your face.

His voice is low and rough, each word dripping with venom. “Go on, keep psychoanalysing me. You wanna talk about cowardice? How about leaving people who need you, just because it’s easier to run? Better yet, how about the fact that you abandoned the X-men to hide away in the mountains, huh?”

Your eyes widen with recognition.

“Yeah… Wade’s got a big mouth. Told me everythin’. You’re no hero. Hell, you’re just a selfish, reckless hillbilly who failed at pretending to be human.”

Your heart palpitates in your chest, each word coiling and slicing like blades in your intestines, but you refuse to let him see how much it hurts. Instead, your lips curl into a cold, bitter smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And you’re just a sad, angry old man who can’t handle the fact that he’s lost everythin’. Go ahead: keep pushing people away! Keep hidin’ behind that anger o’ yours! It’s got you this far, ain’t it?! I’ve treated kids with trauma worth double yours and they were nothin’ but kind and selfless. I won’t let you project your failures onto me. I’m done with this.”

“Yeah, why don’t you walk away!”

The argument reaches a fever pitch, tension sizzling in the air between you. You’re so close, glaring at each other with so much anger, so much resonating heat, that it feels like something’s going to break. And then, suddenly, it does.

Before either of you can think, you close the gap between you, lips crashing against his. It’s not gentle, it’s not soft— the kiss is rough, violent, a clash of lips and fury. His grip on your collar tightens, and for a moment, you’re both frozen, caught in the shock of what’s happening.

But then something more fiery in nature than anger ignites, and he kisses you back just as fiercely, and maybe a little more desperate— like he’s trying to pour out all of his pain and resentment, into this one moment. Your tongues slide against each other and his teeth catch against yours as he groans into your mouth. Your hands thread through his hair, yanking him closer as if trying to hold onto something real and tangible in the chaos of the kiss, reeling from the sudden spinning in your head. It’s angry, raw, filled with all the things you’re not capable of verbalising: grief, love, yearning, reconciliation.

The result of a painful reunion.

The world falls away and all that’s left is the taste of him, the feel of his lips against yours, rough and demanding. You hate him right now— hate him so much that you can’t help but want him. The sheer intensity of it all overwhelms you and makes your fingers shake against the nape of his neck, but you can’t pull away— not now, not when you’ve tasted the wine. You’re too far gone, caught up in the storm of his intoxication, fantasising about ripping that yellow and blue suit off of him and riding him until there’s nothing left for him to regenerate.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the bubble of the moment bursts with the sound of slow clapping coming from outside the car. You jerk back from Logan, breath coming in ragged gasps. Logan is equally as stunned, still tight-gripping your collar as if he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.

You both see Wade sitting up, hands together, eyes wide as saucers as he takes in the scene.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did I just wake up in a telenovela?” His voice is laced with amusement. “I mean, I know you two clearly had some unresolved sexual tension— but this? Oh, this is gold. Please don’t stop on my account, just let me get the camcorder first!”

You’re too stun-locked to respond, lips parting and closing as your brain scrambles to formulate a response as you’re still reeling from what just happened. Logan (for once) seems equally as lost for words, his typical scowl replaced with a look of confusion.

“Shut up, Mouth,” Logan barks, but there’s no real heat behind it. There can’t be, really, not when you’ve both been caught red-handed. He releases your collar at once.

Wade, however, is having none of it. “Oh, no, no, no! You don’t just get to brush this off like it’s nothing! That was a full-on makeout session! I only interrupted because I thought you were about to rip each other’s clothes off.” He sighs wistfully and crosses his legs. “Here I was thinking that you two hated each other— but I guess all that anger was just foreplay, huh?”

Your face burns with a mixture of shame and something else you’re not quite ready to admit. “Wade— cut it out.”

He grins, not deterred in the least. “Oh, but I’m loving this. All that pent-up aggression finally coming to fruition. It’s beautiful, truly.”

Logan shoots him a look that could melt iron, but Wade just simply shrugs, unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. Everyone being me.”

“Wade,” you warn through gritted teeth.

“Well, unless you want me to watch (which I am not opposed to, by the way) maybe next time the two of you should get a room,” he tilts his head. “Or, you know, a couples therapist.”

He then turns to address Logan directly.

“And I must’ve missed the AO3 tags because I did not peg you for the enemies-to-lovers type, Mister. Who knew all it took was a bit of hate-kissing to get the sparks flying? Don’t look so ashamed! I’m just jealous I didn’t get to you first.”

He stumbles towards the car and collapses into the back seat. “Next time you wanna bump uglies, just ask for some privacy! You can save me the broken neck!” He gets himself comfortable, man-spreading and laying his hands on both of your shoulders as you stare dead-forwards, unable to look at each other.

“Gosh, you’re both so tense.” He begins massaging. “Look— props to you both for not letting all that angst go to waste. This is a safe space, and there’s no shame in a little hormone-induced—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Logan interrupts, revving the car back to life and shoving his prodding hands away. “Just be quiet back there.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll keep the commentary to myself. But just so you know— got that bad boy playing on repeat, right here.” He says, tapping the side of his head.

You bury your face in your hands. This was going to be a long car ride.

As the car starts moving again, you muster the bravery to risk a glance at Logan. His expression is hard to read but his energy thrums with uncertainty. The boiling hatred seems to have dialled down to a gentle simmer, mostly redirected towards himself rather than you. There’s something else— something that wasn’t there before. You rip your eyes away quickly, mind racing.

For somebody so in tune with emotions and the literal ability to manipulate them if you so desired, you were horrendous at navigating your own. You don’t know what this kiss meant, or if it even meant anything at all.

If there’s anyone you didn’t expect to come across in the void, it’s X-23— Laura. She’s taller, now, with hair down her back, but she’s still got that stern, mean look on her face that intimidated you the first time you met her.

The weak front door squeaks when you open it a crack. A girl, maybe in her small teen years, blinks up at you.

“Can I help you?” You ask, wiping your flour-dusty hands down on the front of your cooking apron.

“Are you—” she says your name.

You attempt to swing the door shut, but she jams it with her boot. You flick your eyes up, glance around for any signs of threats, and then lower your gaze to her. You wrap your cardigan around your mid-section.

“I don’t go by that name anymore. Who the Hell are you, kid, and what do you want?”

“I’m here about Logan,” she says, matter-of-factly.

Logan. A name followed by your own, both of which you hadn’t heard in years.

“He’s not here, kid. He died years ago.”

“I know,” she answers, unwavering. “I was there when it happened. Your name was the last thing he said.”

You’d let her in for a glass of sugary sweet tea that day, but once stories were exchanged you told her not to come back. She respected your wishes— she said she simply wanted to put a name to the face, to get closure, but you’d felt her desperation. Perhaps she was seeking out respite, or family, but you were in no position to be sharing your space with someone who could put another target on your back.

After introductions were made with the others who had been ripped from their timelines (Elektra, Blade and oh my god a Gambit variant with muscles so huge he could pop your head between his biceps) you excused yourself to sit outside. The buzzing emotional energy made your collar feel a little tight around the neck, your head a little fuzzy with noise, so you decided to reignite the small campfire a few yards away from the safe-house and rest there, instead.

You hadn’t realised you were being followed.

“It’s not safe here.”

“It’s not safe anywhere, Logan.”

He looks defeated, raising and clasping his hands behind his head.

“I gotta leave, baby.”

“If you leave, I ain’t lettin’ you back,” you whisper. “You don’t heal the same anymore, Logan, and you promised me—”

“I know what I promised,” he rebuts, but not angrily. You can already see on his face that he’s made his choice. He’s not coming to you to discuss it. “But I owe it to him. To Charles. He gave me everything.”

“So then what did I give you?” You ask. “Not a home, not my love, not everything?” You slam the tea towel down and turn away from him as the tears form. He’s quiet, perhaps processing everything, but you’re too impatient.

“If you’re just gon’ get up and leave, do it now. I won’t beg you to stay, Jimmy.”

“I love you.”

You don’t say it back.

You wake up with a start, damp clinging to your forehead. You immediately sense another presence and glance over to see Logan watching you with a steady gaze. His expression is soft and almost reverent at first, but his facade hardens with a quick tick of his jaw.

“You talk in your sleep.” The bottle in his hand sloshes as he takes a drink. “Nightmare?”

You sigh frustratedly when you realise it’s him. Of course, it’s him — his energy reeks of whiskey and self-loathing. You prop yourself on your elbows, massaging the sore spots on your temples where sleep fog forms.

“I can’t even get some rest without you botherin’ me? You’re leakin’ self-hatred everywhere.”

“Quit hogging the fire then.”

“Fuck you,” you murmur, but it’s without bite.

A moment passes before he fills the silence again. “What are you even doing out here, alone? Trying to get yourself killed? Pretty stupid.”

“Do you know how hard it is to sleep when nobody shuts up?”

His brows knit. “They’re all dead asleep.”

His hand runs up and down your back.

“Can’t settle?” He asks after you sigh.

“No.” You turn so you’re lying on your back, shoulder touching his, staring up at the ceiling. “Everyone is feeling so loud. It’s like a frequency I can’t turn off.”

He hums. “They’re grieving, I s’pose.”

“Even you and you always said you hated the guy.” You shuffle to lie on your side, facing him. You place a hand on his bare chest. “I can feel it, you know.”

“I didn’t hate Scott. Just found him… obnoxiously irritating.”

“Tough guy.” You giggle and stroke his cheek. “You’re turnin’ soft, old man.”

He pulls you flush against him and presses a kiss to your hairline. You lay in verbal silence for a while, soaking up his presence (god, you were so in love), but you’re interrupted when he abruptly sits up and grabs the white vest he discarded somewhere near the bed.

You lean on your elbows. “Where you goin’?”

“Let’s go for a ride.”

“What?”

“You can’t sleep here. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

“But Charles said—”

“Screw Charles. You comin’ or what?”

He hadn’t told you he loved you yet, but at that moment you felt it.

And so you do, clinging to his mid-section on his motorcycle, head stuffed into the helmet he affectionately forces you to wear. It’s a warm night in New York, soupy with heat, but the further you get away from the compound with him by your side the more you feel you can breathe.

“’Course, you don’t understand.”

You reach for the small pouch on your hip and retrieve a cigarette. You light it between your lips, taking a seat a few paces away from him, hands still shaking a little with the aftershocks of the night terror.

“Since when did you start smoking?”

You perk a brow. “I’ve always smoked.”

He seems to realise something and simply shakes his head before returning to the vice in his fist.

“Right.”

You stare at him for a long, passing moment, before pulling out your lighter again and offering it towards him. He perks a brow.

“I know you got a cigar in there somewhere,” you say. He pauses, sighs, and then retrieves a thick cigar from one of the pouches on his suit. You lean closer, flick the lighter, and cup your hand to protect it from the breeze, shamelessly glancing at the dancing glow that bathes his face amid the firelight. You feel the urge to kiss him again, and when his eyes flick up to yours, you think for the briefest second that he wants to kiss you, too.

Swallowing, you collapse your lighter and clear your throat. You sit quietly, smoking and drinking in a silence only negated by the distant sound of chittering bugs around you. Once you’re finished with your cigarette, you toss the butt into the fire.

“We’re infiltrating tomorrow morning.”

He laughs dryly. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Your lips tighten into a thin line. “We won’t make it without you.”

“Sure you will. I’m not him, you know,” Wolverine grumbles, slugging another shot of alcohol.

You scrutinise him from across the log. You wonder if he feels as pathetic as he looks.

“No— you got that right,” you answer. You pry the liquor from his hands but the grip he releases from the neck of the bottle must have been a mercy on his part because you knew he was extraordinarily stronger than you. “He was much braver than you.”

His eyes flicker from the flames to you as you take a long swig.

“Although probably just as stupid.”

A pause. Crackling and popping firewood fills the silence.

“But, he was a hero. And so are you.”

A beat before he spits a dry laugh, “what gave you that idea?”

You give him a once over and offer a half-smile. “That suit, for starters.”

He looks down at himself like he’d forgotten he was wearing it and wipes away a stray speck of blood from the bright material that you’re sure you might be responsible for.

“What, you like it?” He grunts.

You can’t help but smile. “Yellow suits you.”

“This is all I had left to remember you— them by,” he says, tone turning more sombre as he reminisces.

You decide it’s not the time to make another jab, so, instead, you play back and forth with the bottle for a while until the alcohol stops stinging your throat.

Something small shatters inside of you when you watch him muster the strength to look into your eyes, and his look a little glassy.

“Did you love him?”

Woof, that needed a healthy drink of courage to answer. When you hold his gaze, there’s a hollowness to his expression— an unasked question. Was there truly a version of him worth loving?

“Yeah.” You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth to cover the crack in your voice. “Yeah, I did.”

He’d insisted he hadn’t wanted you around yet he’d kissed you and now followed you to where you’d been sleeping. That had to count for something, so you extend your arm and gesture the bottle towards him— an olive branch in the form of shitty Jack Daniels. Your fingers touch when he accepts it and the brief glimmer of eye contact you share sends shivery energy zipping between you.

“I loved him,” you repeat, as if convincing yourself. A repeated balm to soothe the pain of letting him leave.

“He’s an idiot for leaving you.”

You bite back a sob-laugh, imagination caught somewhere between wondering who you’d rather beat up more: him, or yourself.

“Maybe I’m an idiot for not followin’ him.” You sniff deeply to push back the incoming sob-induced mess. “Not that he woulda let me.”

He hums resignedly.

Clearing your throat, you tuck your hands between your thighs. Swiftly moving on. “What was I— she like?”

He takes a long drink and sighs thickly when he comes up for air. He looks down at his hands when he talks as if choosing his words thoughtfully and carefully.

“Strong, smart. Stubborn. Far too fuckin’ stubborn.”

You force a smile over the flinch of pain in your chest. “Guess we got that in common.”

You reach up and twist the dog tag around your neck, feeling for the ring you’d slipped around the chain. You were never married legally but were in all the ways that mattered. Your heart aches for the brief moment of domesticity you shared with him. You expect him to be finished, but he once laughs, a smile cracking on his face.

“She loved kids— had a soft spot for the weird ones.” He squints and rubs at the flesh between his knuckles where the blades typically protrude. “Put me in my place. Stood up for what was right.”

His words strike a chord in your heart, playing the familiar tune of yearning and guilt and grief. A swelling sensation rises from your stomach and you’re not sure if you’re going to scream, cry or throw up.

“Were you—?”

“In love with her? What, like you can’t tell?” He interrupts, face hardening. Another drink. “It doesn’t matter. We argued one night and I refused to follow her back to the school, ‘bout the same time the humans went mutant hunting.”

Logan takes a moment to catch himself.

“When I came back, shit-faced from the bar, I realised I’d gotten my version of you murdered, along with the rest of them. Laid up like a fucking log pile. That’s what loving me got you.”

The gruesome imagery sours the liquor in your stomach. You push the nausea down with a hard swallow.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wh—” He jolts back, face pinched. “I got you killed, and you’re fuckin’ sorry?”

“There’s a world where you didn’t make that choice. You know, I’m not proud of who I am, either,” you answer, softly. “After you left and I lost you… I got bitter, stopped pulling my punches.”

“You never liked hurting people.”

“I didn’t.” You take a deep breath, willing away the warmth that pools behind your eyes. You quickly regain composure with a short cough. “Whatever woman you’re comparing me to, I stopped being her a long time ago. Like you told me— I’m no hero.”

He grunts, looking like he regrets saying that now. Checkmate. You’re not what either of you expected or yearned for in one another, but maybe you’re exactly what you both need.

“You know, your accents thicker.”

He says it as if to draw a line of separation, but you take it as an invitation. Your head swims from the alcohol, and against what probably is your better judgement, you inch closer to him until your knees bump against each other.

“That’s what I get for hidin’ in the mountains. Got adopted by a scary old lady and her church friends. I reckon she rubbed off on me. You’d like her, I think,” you tell him fondly. There’s something wistful about it, imagining a life with him. You grieve a life you never had but somehow, in his company, the melancholy loosens its grip.

“Maybe we got lucky,” you add flatly.

He lifts the bottle with a dry laugh. “You have a very funny idea of what lucky means, bub.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure. Y’see, they didn’t get lucky. They died, ‘n’ we lost each other,” you explain, glancing up at the stars as if either version of you would ever be in heaven, as if it was as loving enough as a mother’s womb to stretch wide enough to allow space for mutants.

God probably hated you just as much as they did down here.

You lower your head onto his shoulder. “But, we’re still here. Maybe there was always space in my universe for you.”

“You’re drunk,” he observes flatly, but he doesn’t move.

“A little.” You get more comfortable against his tense bicep and close your eyes. “Humour me, why don’t you?”

He sighs, but it’s gentle. “Just for a while.”

“Good, because you’re not very good at keeping your feelings quiet. I know you like this.”

“Keep that to yourself.”

You sigh, eyes remaining closed. “We ain’t gonna talk about it, are we?” You ask, in reference to the kiss.

“Nope.”

A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, vision blurring as if lying underneath a rippling river current. Paradox has just explained the stakes to you — to stop Cassandra, somebody would have to lay down on the wire and make the sacrifice play. This wasn’t a matter of regeneration anymore— it was being ripped apart from the seams, atomised.

It just so happens that your cat, Kevin, has been loving his little journey around the TVA. Cheater.

“You won’t survive it,” is what you say in response to Logan offering himself up for the job. What you really meant was: I don’t think I can survive losing you again.

“I know,” Logan answers. His eyes drip to where you palm at the slow-healing wound on your side, courtesy of the Lady Deadpool variant. You’re winded, running on fumes, and know you’re in no position to start throwing yourself out there as a suicide volunteer. You’d never make the journey, let alone succeed in your venture.

“That’s why it’s gotta be me,” Deadpool interrupts, peeling the mask from his face to address you both. “Neither of you asked for any of this. You were right. I lied. I lied right to both of your faces — just to get you to help me, and you did.”

“You didn’t lie,” Logan replies, throwing you a glance. “You made an educated wish.”

He reaches into his pocket and slaps the bloodied Polaroid of Deadpool’s friends against Wade’s chest. The gesture is a final, silent acknowledgement of why any of you are here in the first place, and everything that’s led to this moment.

“I got nothin’ back in my world,” he explains, the sharp arrow of his words striking a sting straight through your heart. “Let me do this. For you.”

You could see that this meant more to him, that he would only deem himself worthy and die a peaceful death if he could do it knowing he saved at least one variant of you. This is more than just a mission. This is his only chance to redeem himself, and you know you’re in no position to start trying to convince him that you’d have him either way. Fuck redemption.

You’re parallel from one another, standing just outside of touching distance. It was a cruel existence— reaching out and never quite being able to hold on. It’s inevitable, the pull you feel. You’re dictated by his gravity but cursed by the narrative.

Your chest rises and falls with shallow, laboured breaths as you attempt to process what’s happening, what he’s asking you to let him do. The pain in your side ebbs only from the comparative pain of watching another version of the man you love sacrifice himself for you.

His voice is a quiet whisper. “Give me this.”

But I love you. The words are there, hiding behind your clenched teeth, gnawing at the bars like a feral animal caged in the reminder that this isn’t — shouldn’t be — the man that you love.

Something shifts and as you’re running on the delirium of your battery running low, healing resources drained, you decide that you don’t actually care to make the distinction any more.

You’re in no condition to fight; you barely had the energy to argue with him, let alone stop him. But you can’t just let him go.

One wobbly step forward. You poke his chest, mustering whatever energy remains to express your feelings in the only true way you know how. “I…” you stammer, but you suddenly can’t find the words.

His hand reaches up and he splays yours flat against his chest. Faintly, buried deep behind the armoured layer of his suit, you feel the distinct thunk, thunk of his heart. He exhales deeply when your empathetic energy transmission reaches the other side. Your eyes connect, and even through the sharp whites of his mask, you can feel the psionic pulse resonating between you two— strong enough that the wound on your side begins to sew itself together.

“I know,” he whispers.

And you believe that he does.

He nods shortly, releases your hand, and turns on his heel. You collapse against the control centre, eyes needling through the camera footage, desperate to watch the final moments and know that his sacrifice was worth it.

It’s about the same time that Deadpool yanks his mask back on and barrels down the hallway after him.

“Wade!”

You glance back at the party as you creep towards the apartment door to leave. Your consciousness has only recently slipped back into place, having hovered somewhere above your body for the entire time you witnessed your friends atomically ripped apart, only for them to return mere moments later.

You think it might’ve been witnessing Wolverine sweaty and shirtless that was finally the last straw for you. You’re not sure you’ve recovered since.

You thought you were being sneaky about your departure, but a flat hand reaches from out of view, splays and then holds the door closed.

“You sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Logan asks, voice slow and tentative.

“I ain’t runnin’ this time, I promise,” you answer. He rests his arm on the beam above him, making him appear even taller and maybe even more imposing. Your pulse quickens as you look up at him, trying to find the right words, ones that you hope won’t give you away. You nearly squeak. “I um— just—”

He arches a brow, a hint of a micro-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He shifts, getting closer by just a fraction. “Yeah?”

Trying to keep your distance is proving to be immensely hard when he’s gotten himself this deliciously close. His energy tastes of confidence, a stark contrast to the self-loathing only a mere few days prior. It’s magnetic. If you make eye contact now, you’re not sure you’ll be able to control yourself.

The atmosphere crackles with tension, like the static energy right before lightning strikes. His gaze is intense when you look at him, and with the way his eyes glance purposefully down at your parted lips—

Jesus. Pull yourself together.

You gently pull away from him and feel the spell of the moment dissolve. “I just… need time.”

Recognition flashes on his face, as well as a tick of disappointment, but he seems to understand.

A beat, then he taps the door before stepping aside. “Alright. Don’t be a stranger.”

Wade bursts around the corner, arms wide and voice booming. Vanessa hangs off of his arm, white teeth gleaming with mischievous joy.

“Whoa, hey there, lovebirds! What’s going on here— a secret rendezvous? Looking for somewhere to sneak off? Should I cue the romantic music or just give you two some privacy?”

You jump in surprise at his sudden entrance, flinching away from Logan as if you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Logan’s expression shifts from whatever tender moment was brewing, spell broken, to a mix of exasperation and resignation, jaw tightening.

“Wade,” he grumbles, voice sharp, but you can acknowledge there’s a level of begrudging affection beneath the steely surface. “Timing, as usual, is impeccable.”

“Um, actually, I was just leavin’,” you answer, tugging on your bag.

“WHAT!” Wade exclaims, face dropping. “We haven’t even gotten to our favourite part yet!”

You tick a brow. “Our favourite part?”

“The cocaine part,” he says, matter-of-factually.

“Wade, that was one time,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry. Thank you for inviting me. I just can’t miss my flight.”

Dogpool jumps at your ankles, whimpering and chewing on the hem of your jeans. You give her a gentle scratch on her head, deftly avoiding the lick of her impressive tongue. Wade scoops her up, holding her against his shoulder and kissing her affectionately on her wet nose.

“You, ah, need a ride?” Logan offers.

Your heart stutters at his chivalrous attempt. “Oh, um. That’s okay— I called a cab. So.”

That was a lie. You hadn’t— not yet. You just weren’t sure if you were going to make the right decisions if you were alone in his company for an hour. Probably wouldn’t make it to the airport without fighting or crying or making stupid choices.

He rubs his jaw. “Right.”

“I’ll… see you around?”

“I better!” Wade yells, using two fingers to gesture that he’s keeping his eye on you as Vanessa yanks him around the corner gleefully.

A magnetic tether — or red string, whatever you want to call it — seems to strain when you walk away from Logan. You feel the pull in your chest, a fluttering of electricity, but you swallow the urges and ignore the way they scratch like glass on the way down.

You call an Uber, squeezing your bag tightly for a source of comfort as you crowd yourself into the back seat. You spare one last glance at the apartment and think for a brief moment you see a silhouette of someone watching you from the balcony, but they slip away into the light before you can discern it.

You know, though. Of course, you know.

You expected relief when you arrived home, but, instead, the aching, gnawing black hole in your chest seems to grow exponentially. You go through the motions— feed your cat, tend to the garden, eat the food with no appetite, go to Church.

The fixture of Jesus pinned to the cross gives you pause for the first time. You wonder if he was a mutant.

You weren’t sure how much of this “time” thing you were going to need to heal or make a decision on where you and Logan stood after everything, but only after your second night, sleepless and alone, do you start to doubt that this will be an easy process. You communicate like you know what you’re doing, but you haven’t stopped shaking since he kissed you, like a newborn foal traversing ice.

You want to do things right. You’re not trying to replace any missing pieces or live up to any expectations he might have of you. The girl he knew seemed to be a softer, sweeter (less traumatised) version of you, and you worry that you’d be constantly comparing him to a ghost of himself.

The rain lulls you as it patters on the window by your bed, but sleep doesn’t take you.

You hear thunder, you think, and wonder if the chickens are frightened in their coops. However, the distant grumble continues to grow, reverberating through the floorboards of your rickety cabin. As it creeps closer you discern that it’s not a brewing storm— but the growling engine of a motorcycle.

Awash with a deep sense of knowing, you throw yourself out of bed and knot a silk robe around your middle. The sound of the engine dissipates, replaced only by the hammering rain and the rushing pulse in your ears when you tear your door open.

You see him— all leather jacket slick with rainwater and tight jeans, brows pinched against the onslaught of the weather as he dismounts his bike.

Logan.

When your eyes meet, there’s a palpable shift in the air, and the storm, angry as a howling spirit, mirrors the turbulent emotions within you. You don’t speak, you don’t think, you just act.

Barefoot, dressed in your slip of a robe, you race down the short path and meet him halfway.

“Logan? Logan?” You call out. “What are you doin’ here?!”

“Had to see you,” he calls out between strides, voice nonchalant as if what he’s said was obvious.

You’re closing the distance. “That’s a day’s ride, and the weather—”

Instead of letting you finish, he grasps your face, kissing you suddenly and with a reverence so sincere that your knees feel gelatinous and weak. His thumbs brush away the raindrops— tears? —that drip over your crystallised lashes. His touch is both grounding and electrifying; the warmth of him pressed against you is a stark contrast to the chilling downpour.

Your fingers curl against the front of his jacket, clinging with equal fervour as if it’s the only thing keeping you anchored from floating someplace else. The strength of his body crowds over you, arm sliding down to capture you by your waist as you lean into him, syrupy-decadent and entirely reliant on him to keep you upright.

The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding over yours tasting both bittersweet and intoxicating in equal measures, like cigar smoke and peppermint gum. There’s a distinct sharpness of liqour and you wonder if he had a shot (or bottle) of courage before coming here. You breathe deeply against his skin, smelling rainwater, musk and gunpowder; your senses are completely overwhelmed by him and you’re not sure that anything could pull you away.

The red string knots.

When you both eventually take pause, gasping for air as the rain continues to pelt, his eyes lock with yours. He radiates relief, desire, and a raw vulnerability that makes your heart ache.

“You’re freezin’,” he murmurs, peppering kisses against your lips, your cold nose, and pulling one of your hands to his face to peck along your palm. You feel dizzy in his embrace, drunk on his lips.

“You should come inside,” you whisper, “before the neighbours start askin’ questions.”

He quietly nods, kissing your fingers before following you inside and ducking away from the rain.

Once inside, he shakes the rain from his hair with a flick, eyes immediately roaming around the innards of your respectable (tiny) house, the size of him immediately proportionally shrinking the interior. He absorbs your surroundings, chivalrously pretending like he can’t see every curve of you in that wet material.

You lead him towards the heath, lighting a small fire to help dry you both off. You leave, pottering around to gather some towels for your hair, and arrive back to see he’s peeled off the top layer of his clothes, leaving him half-exposed, his back an impressive marvel of rippling muscle. He glances at you over his shoulder.

You’re lost for words, but can’t just stand there ogling him. “Um, I don’t think I have any spare clothes that’ll… fit…”

When he turns to face you, his rain-slick torso shines in the firelight, skin glistening on the taught muscles of his biceps as he accepts a towel from you. Your words lag, entirely distracted by the realisation of one thing when you glance down at his v-line and dark, coiling hair that creeps down into his jeans: you’re absolutely going to have sex with this man.

You might’ve decided that when you watched the way his jeans clung to him when he dismounted his motorcycle, but that’s beside the point.

“That’s alright,” he answers, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes roving shamelessly over the damp, silky robe that clings to your silhouette effortlessly. “Don’t need ‘em.”

Your mouth dries when he steps closer to you, head angled, lips centimetres apart.

“Logan…” you breathe, tone edging toward a warning.

He presses against you, tilting you back. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop. I’ll get back on that bike and I’ll leave.”

You creep further away, trying to catch your breath. “I—”

The words don’t manifest, simply because you don’t have it in you to lie— to deny yourself of this.

He cages you in against the wall, shrinking you underneath his frame, eyes narrowed and dark as they search for yours through lowered lashes. “Tell me you don’t feel somethin’, and I’ll walk away. You won’t see me again.”

His bare-chested proximity was overwhelming you. You’re acutely aware of every inch of his skin that touches yours, pebbled nipples hard against his warm flesh, stubbled jaw nuzzling against your neck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You feel like a teenager again, anxious and hormonal, a ball of puppy fat and unrequited crushes. The space between your thighs positively aches with heat, throbbing like a second heartbeat.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you that I feel something.”

He leans back, lips quirked with a flash of disappointment.

You blink up at him. “Let me show you instead.”

He ticks an eyebrow.

You use your empathetic influence to decrease his heartbeat, relaxing him down to the bone. He sighs, nosing against your shoulder, arms flexing as he holds himself up against you.

“Just with a little influence…” you stroke your way up from the slow pulse in his neck to his jaw, capturing him swiftly. You use your mutation to increase his heart rate this time, hiking it up to an excitable level. His cheeks begin to flush, pupils dilated, lips parted with the anticipation of your kiss. His eyes darken with something intrinsically primal and hungry.

“Does it excite you?” You ask, innocently.

He shakes his head all dog-like as if to regain control, canine showing as his lips curl into a wolfish grin.

“You’re not the only one with… tricks. I can do that, too— in other ways,” he says, tone low and suggestive. He lifts a hand, tracing a knuckle over your exposed collarbone, shifting the soft material of your robe just an inch. Your breath hitches.

“You know I can hear your heartbeat, right?”

You blush. You hadn’t known that.

You challenge his eye contact, feigning self-control and authority. The stare-down has your pulse spiking, arousal ricocheting down your spine and sitting low and syrupy in your belly.

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast, too.”

Oh, Hell. He’s got you melted like butter in a pan.

You rest your head against the wall, breath quickening. “If we do this, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Good,” he growls. “I don’t like to stop.”

The teasing back-and-forth game of teetering towards nearly touching finally gets the better of you. You’re weak, as malleable as soft dough, so you invite him against your mouth with a sigh-wine and a tug on the nape of his neck.

He positively devours you, a hand palming at your breast as you kiss desperately and feverishly. The shoulder of your robe slips and you’re half-exposed, the slip barely holding itself together by the loose knot on your waist. He pulls you impossibly closer, the skin of his chest flush against yours as he reaches and digs fingers into the globe of your ass, hips twitching together.

You fumble between your bodies, yanking on his belt buckle and zipper impatiently. He pulls backwards, a wet string of spit snapping between your lips as you separate, helping you with steadier fingers to remove his jeans. With equal passion, he swiftly tugs on the waist-tie of your robe and discards it somewhere on the floor.

When you’re both bare, nude silhouettes sharp and soft in the firelight, he stumbles you over to the plush rug in the centre of the room. He nods to the couch.

“Legs up.”

You obey without hesitation, taking your seat and spreading decadently for him. He kneels below you of you, hips between your ankles, and gazes at you like a hungry, stalking animal. You feel impossibly sexy and dangerous.

He peppers kisses along the bone of your ankle first, foot hiked up onto his shoulder, only breaking eye contact to flutter his eyes closed. He moves along the inner length of your leg, pausing keenly against the sensitive parts— the thin stretch behind your knee, the soft plush of your thigh. He lowers himself, scruff tickling between your legs, and then licks a molten stroke between your folds, parting you with his tongue and burying his face deeper.

You clench around his skull, mindfulness of your heightened mutant abilities long forgotten. You can’t crush metal between your thighs. Or can you?

He groans into you, varying suckling and kissing you on your clit with long strokes on the blade of his tongue to your hole, lapping up the nectar of your arousal, fingers digging bruisingly into your hips. The sting of his grip and the relentless lave of his tongue entice moans from you, fingers raking into his hair for some semblance of reality grounding in your pleasure-lapsed consciousness.

Jesus. With as filthy as his mouth was, you should’ve known he would be this good at eating pussy.

You come quick, orgasm pulsing on his lips. The burn of overstimulation seizes your muscles, writhing against his onslaught, but he shoves your hips down.

“Not done with you yet,” he murmurs possessively, leaning back to wipe his chin. “On all fours.”

You bite your lower lip, suppressing the humiliation of the intimacy (vulgarity) of it. You turn, belly still clenching with the aftershocks, arching with the anticipation, whining moments later when his mouth reconnects with you. His hands palm at your ass, spreading you wider, tongue slipping dangerously close to the tight ring of muscle.

He slides a finger knuckle-deep, miming fucking you in a rhythmic pulse. His other hand massages you, thumb sliding down until you jerk sensitively against his nudging intrusion.

You feel impossibly full and tingly, clenching around the burn of his thumb and the velvet of his finger, second orgasm surging and bubbling over with your face pressed against the couch cushion, lips agape. You’re slick, drip-dropping onto his cupping palm, every nerve in your body burning raw as his wrist works you through the pulses.

You turn over, relishing in the sight of his scruff glistening with the aftermath of your orgasm, his eyes dark with lust— a hellish man, seraphic on his knees for you. Your insides clench at the sight as he quite literally shatters and redefines what worship means to you.

“Tired already?” He hums, massaging your hips.

You perk a challenging brow. “That was just the warm-up, old man.”

“Alright,” he seethes, sucking on his lower lip as he lifts himself up to your level. “Show me what you got then, baby.”

When you kiss, his mouth slides against yours, drenched with the taste of yourself. His cock steels against your belly when you pull him close, tip pearl-smooth with precum when you reach down and grasp him with a hollowed fist. The feel of him, heavy and warm in your grip, fans to life the flames of your briefly quenched arousal, and you hungrily pull him down onto the couch beside you.

Moisture pools on your tongue as you rub him. You spit on your hand before stroking him from the base to tip, lathering him silky with your drool. You tuck your hair behind your ears, narrowing your cheeks as you slide your mouth up and down his length, fisting the inches that remain.

“Christ.” He twitches in your mouth as you gently massage the warm weight of his sac, lewd sounds emanating from where your lips and tongue meet him. “Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl,” he snarls, gripping your hair in a fist at the crown of your head. Your engine purrs with his encouragement, revving with newfound enthusiasm.

You always gave as good as you got, after all, and you’re certainly not one to back away from a challenge.

His head lolls onto the back of the couch, thighs tense beneath you, cock hot and hard on your tongue. He growls when he comes, pulsing strongly in your mouth as you lap up the produce of his orgasm, salty and molten down your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Put those regenerative powers to good use, why don’t you?” You ask, working him through the over-sensitivity with your wrist. His eyes don’t once leave yours, even as they glaze over and flinch from the pleasure burn. There’s a sharp look of challenging determination on his face— a grit of his teeth, the furrow in his brow. He remains hard in your hands and you perk an impressed brow. Not bad for an old man.

There’s a sweet moment of vulnerability when you crawl over him, a brief sobering in the cloud of lust, a clarity of two not-quite strangers and their shared grief and yearning.

You’re not sure where this moment will take you, but the love of somebody scraping together the shards of a shattered heart for a brief time, even as it cuts their hands, holds you with a semblance of human connection so sincere that you’ll carry it with you for a lifetime.

His thighs spread to accommodate you. You hold your fingers against the thick chords in his neck for support as you fumble between your bodies, slotting him against the catch in your cunt before lowering yourself entirely.

You hiss against the intrusion and he steadies you with a hand on your hip.

“Easy. Don’t hurt yourself.”

You laugh-moan, laying your palms against the coils of hair on his sweat-shimmering chest.

“I can take it.”

The fire, intended to help dry you off, creates a heated environment that beads sweat on his temple. The only brain cells that remain coherent bounce around on lust in your skull — so you lean forward, lick the salty droplet clean, and sigh-whine as you begin rocking against him.

You fall into sync quickly, a desperate rhythm of desperate bodies. The delicious ache of him inside you is a masochistic thrill, similar to the irresistible press on a day-old bruise. The squelching shlick between your bodies is an animalistic reminder of your flesh and blood as you chase the pleasure, bouncing with vigour.

“Christ— I can feel you…” his jaw clenches with resolve, fingers digging into the meat of your ass. “…dripping all over me. You wanted this bad, huh?”

“Wanted to ride you in that fuckin’ Honda,” you straighten your posture, leaning away from him to hold your breasts, panting words between bated breaths. “Thought it might shut you up.”

His hand snaps up and grabs you roughly by the chin. “Mm… mouthy, aren’t ya?”

You grin. “You got no idea, lumberjack.”

He pulls your face against him, meeting your mouth halfway in a sloppier, fever-driven kiss that shoots arousal to your core like a shot of his favourite whiskey. Something feral stirs within you: a primal, cellular-deep need to connect with him further. Your empathetic power roils off of you like steam on a hot spring, surging into and merging with him until there’s nothing but one feeling, a black hole of unquenchable desire.

You suddenly feel as though you are him: navel-deep, a throbbing muscle with an aching desire to dive further into the serpent-clutch of your cunt, gliding through tingly, honey-silk velvet, blades hanging onto a tether of self-control as they threaten to slide out of your knuckles in ecstasy.

Well. This was certainly new. Add “voodoo sex doll” to your list of mutations.

You gasp, ripping away from the kiss, your powers recoiling back into you at whip-lash speed, dizzying in its ferocity. His eyes meet yours with darkened curiosity.

“Did you—”

“I felt that,” he grunts, tongue darting out to roll over his lips. “It always like that for you? Feelin’ so fuckin’ full?”

You half-laugh blissfully. “Only the good times.”

“I’ll show you a good time, alright.”

He isn’t gentle when he manhandles you, forcing you into an arch as he repositions and aligns himself behind your thighs, one foot planted firmly on the floor, the other bent to accommodate the new angle. He reinserts himself inside of you with ease, hands palming your hips and ass.

You feel him nudging cervix-deep and you reach out, clawing at the couch to hold your jerking body steady against the relentless slap of his hips. There’s no need to tell him faster or harder when you feel the metal plate of his adamantium hips pressing against your ass, pounding and vulgar with the sound of sweat-damp skin-on-skin.

It’s involuntary, the way you pant and cry out, intoxicated by the relentless drag and pull of his cock. He says something to you but you either don’t hear him or have enough conscious space in your sex-drunk fog to process words and respond. He slides a hand down your spine and pulls on your hair until you’re upright, breath hot when it fans against your neck.

“Where’s that mouth gone?”

You lick the drool from your lip, throwing him a glance over your shoulder. “Fuck you.”

The half-lidded up-and-down look he gives you as satisfaction grows slowly on his lips turns your bones to jelly. “There she is,” he growls back, offering a sharp slap of encouragement on your ass as he drops you back onto your front. You involuntarily grip around him, puffy clit throbbing with the almost-but-not-quite-there anticipatory build. “You gonna come for me? Yeah? I can fuckin’ feel it.”

You slide a hand underneath yourself, reaching for the swollen nub with two fingers. You’re overwhelmed with kinetic energy akin to a fizzy champagne bottle— two more shakes until you’re ready to pop.

You hear a Snikt! behind you, accompanied by a throat-caught groan, and then the distinct ripping shred of blades impaling your couch. You finally come, hard, when you feel him throbbing inside of you, followed by the decadent syrupy flood of his orgasm filling you up. He ruts into you one, two three more final times, milking himself dry, before collapsing over your body in a sweaty heap, sparing you the weight of his metal bones with a forearm propped next to you.

Shared fluids drip to the couch when he eventually pulls out of you, blades retreating into his clenched fists. The fluffy innards of the chair spill out beside you, and, while you were in no financial position to afford another, the sight entices a humoured smile from you.

“Sorry,” he says with a wince, helping you sit up when your unreliable legs shake beneath you.

“That’s alright. It’ll make for an interestin’ story,” you retort, fanning yourself with a hand. You both let out a shared laugh, mostly from the relieved delirium of it all. After a beat, you lean into him, massaging a hand across his belly. “So. We really doin’ this?”

His face softens. “If you’ll have me.”

You cup his face and kiss his cheek. “I’d take any version of you I could get.”

divider credits: @/vysleix and @/cafekitsune tag list: @bearwithegg, @uhlunaro, @sseleniaa, @jxssimae, @autumnsymphony

[chongoblog]

Things That Happen In Hunter X Hunter Without Context

The main character can't fight for a month because of math

There's a trans character who can grant wishes (but watch out!)

The most powerful villain in the show dies peacefully surrounded by a loved one.

Bungee Gum has the properties of both rubber and gum

There are two blonde pretty boys who love to smile all the time. They are both evil and fucked up, but one of them is definitely more fucked up and evil.

A guy gets killed by they/them pussy and then resurrected as a bug girl

Yes, the show is about a kid finding his deadbeat dad. His dad is such a tool that a random guy punches him in the face and almost becomes president as a result.

His dad left to make a video game.

One character is so pissed off at a group of 13 people specifically, that his powers only work on them

Literally everyone in the fandom agrees that departure is the best opening. It is 100% unanimous.

A man is so scared of a butterfly that he goes bald

Stabbing yourself with a phone antennae will make you go super saiyan

There's a nuke

The main character almost kills himself playing Rock Paper Scissors on multiple occasions

The superpowered transformation sequence is one of the most heartwrenching moments of the show

The world is saved by a blind girl who's really good at Go

Leorio

[yellydany]

LIONROSE 🌹💐 (Leophantasma Floralis) or Xóchimiztli

"An unusual parasitism between a flower and a lion that evolved into an undead-like species. The Lionrose displays a beautiful mane akin to dahlia petals varying in color but in usual red whereas the rest of the body has a more ghostly appearance and properties. The cubs resemble rose buds and once they ‘bloom’ the skull becomes visible. Unlike their lion counterparts they don't show any sexual dimorphism and if anything have a more hermaphroditic approach like flowers. They are known to be able to phase through objects and some rumors even suggest other realms, adding to their mythicism.

They are astute hunters and usually live in small groups. Instead of relying on photosynthesis this parasitic species steals nutrients from other plants and living beings employing their root-like tendrils. Their beauty and ferocity has made them known and valuable across the land, for many folk wish to acquire their petals even if it is a deadly task."

One of my favourite personal designs so far!

[edgeray]

Custody Battle with a Dragon

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Hi 🏹 anon! Accidentally deleted your ask when I did dragon! Arle part 3😅. Uhh… mbad. Reader just kidnapping three random human children is so funny to me, I will never not find this funny. Anyways, just wanted to say the only reason why I’m fulfilling both parts of this ask is because I already have to work on part 3. If I get an ask giving me more than 1 prompt, I will choose only 1 prompt to do. If you want me to do more, feel free to request from me, but with school starting soon, I probably won’t be able to get to many requests until I get used to the first semester.  By the way, since I’m lazy and don’t want to think of more/different worldbuilding, this will be like an alternative universe of my ‘dragon hunter mother' series and it will just be a role reversal. the lore with the hoth though is different from the series, i have a completely different backstory for arle and the hoth hehe. Sorry, this is really awkward and I didn't know how to not write it awkwardly since the reader decides to adopt them just impulsively and I doubt arlecchino would be happy about it. Naturally, they would clash but I tried to get them to get along. Not my best work... :( Content warnings / info - in arle's pov majority of the time, reader is referred as 'it' a few times, 1.6k words

Arlecchino likes to consider herself a successful and (justifiably) proud dragon hunter, among the best for the Tsaritsa. Dragon hunting has been in her veins since she was born into a well-known generation of dragon hunters. She's been trained and has performed the best out of her class in the kingdom’s most renowned dragon hunting academy, the House of the Hearth. Now, as the new head of the House of the Hearth, as ‘Father,’ she's able to change some things. 

For how rigorous and demanding the old House of the Hearth, underneath Crucabena (that despicable woman), it was also quite the precarious and perilous, though that was to be expected with what came with dragon hunting in general. It was easy to get into the House of the Hearth if you had enough money, and by then, you had basically paid for an early grave. Arlecchino remembers that the majority of her peers died, one way or another, before graduating. Families that were wealthy enough and had enough children were happy to enroll some of their children as an investment; being a dragon hunter paid immensely well given that they were paid by the kingdom themselves. 

Now, the classes were fewer due to the rigor requirements. Arlecchino has no need for people that want the job just for the money or to roleplay–with that mindset, they'll get themselves killed. For those seeking glory with none of the gore, for wealth without wear, dragon hunting is far on the list for what Arlecchino would recommend. It is daunting and never safe or relaxing. For this reason, the House of the Hearth takes very few individuals, often strays that she deems worthy and resilient enough for the task. A year is all it takes for her to train the small batch into formidable dragon hunters, about three times more valuable and efficient than the average hunter. 

This year's batch is particularly small, but that does make for more personalized lessons and unique opportunities. It's much easier to allow three children to accompany you on a dragon hunting mission than it is ten. 

Today is one of those days for the children to witness how a real dragon hunter deals with a dragon. Most hunters work in a group to hunt a singular dragon, though the best can do it alone. Today's dragon has been reported to have been killing some livestock occasionally–a few chickens here or there. At the very least, the dragon hasn't destroyed any other property besides the chicken pens, nor has there been any assaults on the people but the kill order is set in stone. Pity has no place among this job, but it is a shame to have to kill an innocuous dragon. 

“Children, maintain a good distance as we have always done. This dragon has been reported to be a two-paired dragon, so be cautious. I trust that you three will be able to handle yourselves during your observing?”

Lyney, the leader out of the three, nods. “Of course, Father.” 

The order should have been simple. It is. A two-paired-winged dragon is usually of little difficulty for Arlecchino, even with how volatile dragons are. Baiting them with fire as well as a large portion of fish is enough to draw the dragon out without waiting for it. With the help of the children, the preparations were done quickly, and all there is left to do is to ignite the fire and wait. 

Except, Arlecchino waits for quite some time. In fact, an hour has passed, and there are no signs of a dragon. Perhaps the villagers were mistaken on the dragon's whereabouts, though instances like these are rare. Nonetheless, it seems like that case, and the dragon hunter heads towards where she last left the trio. As she does, she hears a muffled outburst, recognizing it as Freminet’s, and rushes towards the direction.

Did the dragon target her children on the assumption that they were food? Did she make a mistake, bringing them here? Are their deaths on her hands once more, innocent lives lost because of her again? Her thoughts press her on as she increases her pace, fueled by fury and anxiety for her children. With each child she takes under her wing, with each soul she gently guides, with each hand she teaches how to wield a blade, a bit of her heart has parted and latched onto them. With the three, they are no different, except they are.

Lyney, the ever natural-born leader with a persistence like no other. Lynette, with a placid and rational demeanor to balance her brother's personality and fiercely loyal. Freminet, although timid, holds more potential and skill than he credits himself, and his kindness never fails to shine through even in his conscious actions. These three are endearing, as she has found all children she's taught in such a way before, but perhaps it is these children whom she'd like to call her own finally.

Drawing her sword once she spots the familiar silhouette of a giant, scaly beast, she approaches, only to halt as she takes in the sight. 

A sleeping dragon lays on their stomach in the middle of the forest, curled around Arlecchino's children, their tail hugging the children to the body. Instead of the two-paired-winged dragon that the villagers said, it instead has three-paired wings. That makes the dragon twice as dangerous. 

Against the dragon, Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet sit against the dragon's back. Once they spot the dragon hunter, they noticeably perk up.

Why the dragon is like this, the hunter is not sure, but she knows that it has taken her children. 

“Father!” They simultaneously cry for her. The dragon’s head lifts as they're awakened and turns their head towards the dragon hunter, snarling. They whip their tail upon the grass, and they stand on their legs.  

“Are you hurt in any way?” Arlecchino inquires as she prepares to lunge at the dragon. 

“Wait, Father, don't kill it!” Lyney states as he ducks underneath the dragon's tail, escaping from its vicinity quite easily. “It hasn't hurt us!”

“No? Then why did it take you three?” Arlecchino questions, her blade still pointed at the creature. Their slitted eyes glare at the swordswoman in response, also tensing for an assault. It spun its body the other way, this time standing in between Arlecchino and Lyney, and Lynette and Freminet. They maneuver their head to be beside Lyney, using their head to almost shield him from the hunter. 

“I don't know, but… it–they clearly have no intentions of hurting us. See?” Lyney hesitantly reaches out, running his hand on the underside of the dragon's mouth, and the dragon coos from the action, before opening their mouth to lick his hand. 

“I think…” Freminet states outloud, though his appearance is obstructed from Arlecchino’s view thanks to the dragon. “That we're their young. They have been offering us fish, and they're doing this right now.” 

Arlecchino contemplates the situation. The dragon had essentially adopted her children as their own, perhaps even imprinting them already, claiming them as their own. Trying to take the children away would not do any good, especially if it feels threatened, there is no saying what it would do to the nearby surroundings when enraged. But the dragon has been hostile, and given the children's defense for it… it seems that it is rather docile. The hunter narrows her eyes on the dragon, sending a nonverbal warning before sheathing her blade. The dragon relaxes. 

“Even though you three remain unharmed, you still are my children, and under my care. I cannot simply give them away to you,” Arlecchino addresses the dragon, placing a hand on Lyney's shoulder. “Do you not have any young yourself? Why take human children?” 

The creature growls, before shifting away from Lyney. Abruptly, the dragon's form is outlined with a blinding light, and when the light dies down, you stand in place of the beast. The three children gap at you, but Arlecchino remains unfazed, already aware that you have a human form. 

“I cannot bear any children without any mate,” you gruff, your tail flicking behind you in an agitated way. “Why can't I keep human children? They look so small. I can feed them better.” 

Arlecchino steps closer, her eyebrows furrowed slightly in vexation. “My children's diets are fine, and they are not in need of more.” 

“The little ones are tiny even for just hatchlings. You cannot feed your young better?” 

Never did Arlecchino think she’d have to fight a custody battle with a dragon. Should she kill you? No, the children have already rejected it. Though, she cannot deny that you are much more appealing now that you are in a human form…

“Children, what do you think of this?” Arlecchino questions, and all three, expectedly, hesitates. None of them could ever expect a predicament like this, and not surprisingly, a definite answer is hard to come from them.

“I will come with you,” you suddenly suggest, eyes gleaming with determination. “And you will feed me and not harm me. In turn, I will protect and parent the little ones, and I will not destroy another human’s building. Is that enough for you, dragon hunter?” 

“You will do that for human children you just met?” 

“I’ve been wanting children for over a decade. If they come in the form of another species, then so be it,” you assert, and your stubbornness only makes Arlecchino sigh. This is a headache. Though, it was nearly winsome of how protective you are over them, and Arlecchino can do nothing but surrender.

Arlecchino, proud dragon hunter, ‘Father’ to three, and now sharing custody with a dragon. 

[nahoney22]

🌺 Orchids Tech 🌺

Medical Flora

X Female Reader

word count: 1.2k

🌸 💐 Flower Fic Event 💐 🌸

My second fic for the clone flower event 🌸 read my Commander Fox one here 🌺 Check the tag #cloneflowerficevent to see more! 💐

warnings: None, fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers 🌸💜

Other writers for this event include (will add links to each ficlet once writer has posted):

🌸 Myself - Tech | Fox

🌸 @jedi-hawkins - Kix | Echo | Crosshair

🌸 @moonstrider9904 - Howzer

🌸 @photogirl894 - Hunter | Wrecker | Fives

🌸 @eyecandyeoz - Waxer

🌸 @arctrooper69 🎂- Tup | Rex | Gregor

🌸 @l-lend - Wolffe

🌸 @dragonrider9905 - Hardcase

🌸 @totallyunidentified - 99 | Cody

“I appreciate you coming with me, by the way, Tech. Herbalism isn’t for everyone.” You chuckle as you bend down to inspect some nearby plants, using a scanner to check their properties.

After some members of your group had fallen ill, you asked Tech, quite reluctantly, to accompany you in finding a remedy. With credits scarce, medicine wasn't readily available to any of you.

“I do believe our best choice is to go to Felucia and seek out some Nysillin,” he says, looking around as he follows you. “But you are welcome.”

“We don’t have the time to go all the way to Felucia,” you sigh. While you partly agreed with him, it would take at least three rotations to get there from your current location, and none of you knew if the illness would spread or worsen in the meantime.

You stand up, and the two of you continue walking through the dense foliage, the air humid and slightly sticky. “If you see any flowers, point them out to me.”

Tech adjusts his goggles, scanning the area meticulously. “Understood. Though I must point out that identifying medicinal plants without a proper botanical reference could be inefficient.”

“I know, but we have to try something,” you reply, keeping an eye out for any potential remedies.

Your reluctance to Tech coming with you was simply from a place of feeling, precisely, your feelings for him. He made you both nervous and giddy but you knew nothing would ever come from it. So, instead you just relished in the time alone with him.

A few minutes later, Tech halts, his attention fixed on a cluster of vibrant orchids nestled among the greenery. “There,” he points, “those orchids might have some medicinal properties.”

You walk over to the orchids, marveling at their beauty. “Good eye, Tech. These could be promising.” You carefully gather a few specimens, making sure not to damage the stems and petals. Tech goes ahead and takes your scanner, beginning to analyse their chemical composition.

You crouch down beside him, looking at the scanner, curiosity piqued. “Can you tell me anything about them?”

“It states here that orchids have been known to possess a variety of medicinal compounds. With any luck, these might help mitigate the symptoms the others are experiencing,” he explains. Truthfully, some of his words go in one ear and out the other because you can't help but quietly admire him.

He turns his gaze to you, his eyes curious. “Do you believe these orchids will suffice?”

You snap out of your reverie, clearing your throat and looking down at the pile of scattered petals. “O-Oh, of course,” you say swiftly, helping Tech gather some into his backpack carefully.

You look back at the orchids, the soft mix of pink and purple flowers filling your senses. “These are so beautiful. Seems a shame to pick them.”

Tech looks at the flower and thinks for a moment. “I suppose they are nice on the eyes, yes.”

The next few moments feel like a dream as you watch Tech pluck a small strand from the bush. Your skin grows warm as he takes a hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger, turning your head towards him. Breath catching in your throat, you watch as he brushes your hair behind your ear and tucks an orchid into it. “I hope this will suffice,” he says softly.

You blink at him, taken aback. Where had that come from? Had he hit his head? Your silence lingers, and Tech suddenly realises his gesture was nothing short of flirtatious. “We,” his voice squeaks adorably, and he quickly clears his throat, “we should head back to the ship.”

You nod, still processing what just happened. “Yes, of course.”

As you walk back to the ship, the orchid in your hair has you recalling back to Tech did. His gentle words, his lingering touch on your skin… it was lovely. Tech walks beside you this time rather than behind, his usual composed demeanor slightly rattled, and you can’t help but smile at the thought of the brilliant, logical man having a tender, spontaneous side. Just for you.

You steal a glance at Tech, and your eyes lock. He looks slightly flustered, the tips of his ears turning a deep shade of red. As the Marauder comes into sight, you decide to take a gamble and stop. “Tech?”

He stops too, looking at you with curiosity. “Yes?”

“Thank you for coming with me. I know I already said that before, but I really appreciate your help.” Your voice is soft, and your fingers fidget nervously behind your back. “And for the flower in my hair… it was sweet of you.”

Tech smiles, taking a step closer. “You asked for my help, and I gave it. There is nothing to thank me for,” he says. His eyes flicker to the orchid in your hair and then back to you. “I apologize if this is forward, but I have always secretly favoured orchids. Both for their medicinal properties and, as you said before, they are beautiful and…” He trails off, his fingers flexing as he takes a deep breath, “and so are you.”

Your heart feels like it might burst from your chest, and your eyes glisten with unshed tears at his sweet words. Does this mean he likes you back? The possibility makes your heart race. But it could just be Tech being straightforward, yet you had never seen or heard him act this way with anyone else.

“Really?” you ask, the question sounding silly instead of just thanking him.

“Yes.”

You realize that you both have stepped closer to each other, your chests almost touching as he gazes down at you with gentle eyes. His gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips, but he’s nervous, and truthfully, so are you. Tech isn’t easy to read sometimes, making it hard to decide if he wants to kiss you or not.

You can feel his ragged breath on your face, his posture straight and stiff. So, you take the lead, standing on your toes and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. You let it linger, smirking as you feel him take a sharp inhale of breath.

When you pull back, you gauge his reaction. He’s bewildered and quite in awe. Eventually, he breaks out into a grin, and reading the situation correctly, he places a hand on your cheek and slowly leans in. His nose brushes against yours, and his lips are about to meet yours until…

“Are you two back?” A voice calls from the ship, and you both jolt back, alarmed. You look to see Wrecker coming into view, rubbing his tired eyes. “Any luck?”

A wave of relief washes over you both, thankful that the intimate moment wasn’t fully interrupted, but both a little disappointed it didn’t happen. Tech gives you an apologetic look before following Wrecker, who retreats back inside.

That afternoon, you make a remedy with the orchids and hand cups to each of the batch, making sure they drink it all and monitoring their progress through the rest of the day. By the fourth hour, they are looking better than before, and you feel immense relief.

You and Tech don’t have time to speak about what happened that day, but when he is asleep in his bunk, you notice you still have some leftover petals. So, with a small thought, you retrieve his helmet and begin placing the flowers along the edges of the visor, scattering them along the top.

The next morning, your heart swells and you realise you’re completely smitten with him as you see Tech wearing his helmet, the cute still flowers adorning it. He doesn’t seem to mind them at all.

Tags: @littlefeatherr @Kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @Jesseeka

@theroguesully @ladykatakuri @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone

@ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog

@pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora

@ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani

@tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi

@greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur r @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420

@ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater r @sithstrings @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @the-bad-batch-baroness @lulalovez @thiswitchloves9904

[bubvy]

(Welcome to the sanctuary au!!)

In this world people with any sort of magical/ supernatural properties are hunted down.

Missa and Tallulah are currently trying to find a sanctuary people have been talking about

The only problem is it's said to be protected by something murderous and inhuman

But what choice does Missa have?He has to get Tallulah somewhere safe

So Missa and Tallulah end up on the edge of the forest of where the sanctuary is rumored to be, but they're being chased

The hunters caught up to them, there's no time to go in calmly

So Missa grabs Tallulah and just starts running in. He knows whatever is protecting this place knows he's there

But all he can do is run.

The hunters are right on their tail.. only as he keeps running he can hear as their screams turn from those of anger, to fear.

And then silence

In that moment, Missa knows he's the next target

Missa hears the flap of wings and knows it's approaching, before he can even really think hes pushing Tallulah into a small hollow under a tree.

Before he can even turn he's hitting the ground

As his head is reeling from the bounce off the ground, he can distantly feel his mask being pulled

As his eyes focus he comes face to face with the creature who just took out the entire hunting group after him and his daughter

It's his daughter who ends up saving him. Jumping out of the hiding spot and throwing herself ontop of her Papa

As missa frantically tries to put her behind him, he watches as the bird locks his eyes on her

Then steps back before beckoning the two to follow

Missa cautiously picks up his daughter and starts after him.

(Missa doesn't miss how his mask was not returned)

As missa follows behind the bird, he can't help but wonder why he was allowed to live

[captainkirkk]

I can't stop thinking about m!ik so please have some AUs from the shower

AU in which the demon world find out about humans' healing properties, resulting in a surge of humans kidnapped from the human realm to be used as healing blood slaves - including Iruma. I'm undecided who would find Iruma in this AU, but they're going to find One Traumatised Boy

AU in which Iruma's status as human is revealed very publicly and becomes a huge political blunder. People are screaming about cover ups and fake accusations, so Iruma and Sullivan's trial is opened for public viewing (and you best believe the WHOLE demon realm is following along at home). Every demon that's ever spoken to Iruma is dragged in for questioning. Multiple members of the Misfit Class have had to be restrained. They delve deeper into just HOW Iruma has been able to get away with pretending to be a high rank demon for so long - and find the ring of Gluttony. And Ali. And the magical expert inspecting the ring is quick to realise - on live TV with the entire demon world watching - that Ali is the lost demon king Derkila, and he's NOT happy about everyone putting his partner through this media circus.

AU in which Iruma's parents sell him to Sullivan a decade-ish earlier. I know this is an AU that's been thought up before, but I can't get over it. Sullivan is SO STINKING PROUD of his squishy little grandson - who is much harder to embarrass than 14yo Iruma. Toddler Iruma is happy to be shown off to the entire demon world. Sullivan carries him all around Babyls and Iruma becomes an instant celebrity around campus. The students all become No 1 Iruma stans and call him "the little lord" and always want to say hello and play with him. Also please picture rookie student Kalego being saddled with baby Iruma as the Junior member of staff and seething in rage, while Iruma giggles and covers him in stickers.

Demon Hunter AU in which Iruma is sold to an abusive church when he is younger and becomes an exorcist-in-training. He's lead to believe that demons are monsters..... until his exorcist teacher captures a bunch of demons that are HIS age, who just looked terrified at the sight of them (I keep going back and forth on who is in this group - Clara, Lied, Azz? Some of the Misfit Class for sure). Iruma decides to rescue them and return them to the demon world, and along the way the demons and Iruma learn more about each other (including how incredibly fucked up Iruma's life at the academy is). Sullivan has been leading the charge, trying to get his young students home, but he was NOT expecting his students to wonder back into the demon realm by themselves with a baby exorcist?? Or for them to start loudly defending said exorcist and trying to protect him from Sullivan??? It doesn't take long for Sullivan to decide that this wide-eyed baby exorcist (demons' mortal enemies) is his new grandson.

[freesia-writes]

Bad Batch Prompt Event #1

Much love to @arctrooper69 for making this official, and I can't wait to see what anyone else has written for these prompts! I'm gonna post the SFW part one here and NSFW part two over on @spicy-clones.

Hunter x F!Reader WORD COUNT 3000 my bad! Content: some basic medical descriptions, reader gets her butt smacked at 79s, and a wee bit o kissin. GONNA USE MY SEXY DIVIDERS WITH @pinkiemme's art since it's HUNTER! :D

“Seriously?” you sighed. “This again?”

“This is completely different than last time,” came the smooth reply, earning both a snort and an eyeroll from you. 

“It’s almost exactly the same.”

“Different arm.”

“Oh my gosh.” Your almost-laugh was overshadowed by concern and frustration as you made quick work of the injury and carefully wrapped the gauze around his bicep, trying not to pay too close attention to the gentle curves of the muscles and tendons, the light dusting of hair, the scars and bruises… You cleared your throat, shaking your head minutely and looking back up to his face. That wasn’t any better. His sharp eyes gazed steadily at you, framed by his distinctive nose and the strands of hair that brushed the sides of his face.

“Well thanks as always,” he said quietly, the hint of a rare smile touching the corner of his lips, which were almost always curved in the ghost of a frown from the burdens he carried. You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest, instead nodding and picking up your datapad abruptly to see what else was on the agenda for the Kamino medical bay that day. You looked back to him, offering a small smile and an honest exhortation.

“Take care of yourself, Hunter.”

* * * 

You were surprised to see him only a week later, stepping into line behind you in the mess hall with the rest of his squad. They were normally a boisterous bunch, but there seemed to be a heaviness upon them as they moved rather listlessly. Perhaps a mission gone awry, perhaps the regular wear and tear of being mere property in a seemingly endless war. You caught Hunter’s eye as he moved to the front of his group, setting his tray on the shelf beside yours as you slid down the food line. 

“You alright?” you asked softly, startling yourself with the gentleness and vulnerability in your own voice and cringing at the fact that you didn’t even lead with a “hello”. 

“Yeah,” he said automatically, his flat affect provoking more anxiety than you’d like. You left it at that, unable to stifle the simultaneous warmth and concern emanating from you. You didn’t know what it was about his mere presence, but he exuded both competence and compassion, intelligence and wit, and you perceived the weight of responsibility that hung over his head, both a gift and a curse of his engineered fate. 

You’d come to enjoy his med bay visits more and more, although it was never the ideal circumstances to meet. The elaborate fantasies you concocted as you drifted off to sleep were far more appealing, consisting of stargazing cuddles, fancy galas, coffee shop chats, and many other situations you’d want to share with him. As corny as it seemed, more than all of it, you simply wanted to know him, to know the inner workings of his mind, his joys and worries, the things that made him laugh, the way he liked his caf… It wasn’t the first time in your life that you’d harbored a crush for someone who was as unattainable as they were oblivious of your affections, so you settled to daydream and enjoy the times you did get to share. 

It helped that your occupation allowed you some quiet moments and gentle touches here and there. Although, perhaps “helped” was the wrong word. 

* * * 

“We need you in room 6 immediately,” crackled the voice on your commlink, and you set aside the instruments you’d been cleaning and adjusting, heading that way with urgency. When the door slid open, you felt a jolt of electricity run through your body at the sight of a hulking clone on the exam table, covered in dried blood and haphazardly-wrapped bandages. You knew who it was without seeing his face, which was almost entirely obscured, and before your emotions could catch up, you snapped into work mode.

“What are we dealing with?” you asked the others, who were moving in smooth synchronization to free his head and scan him head to toe. 

“CT-9903. Explosion and shrapnel, blunt force trauma, multiple lacerations…” your assistant reported, eyes flitting across the scanner screen.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” your other colleague said, stuffing the wads of bandages into the garbage and pulling on a fresh set of gloves. 

“Let’s get to work,” you muttered. 

A few hours later, he was cleaned up and sleeping comfortably, one eye closed serenely beneath a spiral of neatly-wrapped gauze that covered the rest of his head. You slipped into the room and tapped the screens, confirming the notes your assistant had entered, then rested a hand on his broad forearm, watching his chest rise and fall and sending out all the comforting and healing vibes you could muster. 

“He seems alright,” came a smooth, low voice from behind you, making you jump and emit the tiniest squawk. You whirled around to see Hunter in a chair in the corner, reclining with his legs crossed out in front of him. He’d phrased it as a statement but the inflection of his voice indicated a question, and you exhaled in an attempt to regain your composure.

“First of all, hi. Next time, can you greet me when I come into the room instead of scaring the crap out of me?” you said, accompanied with a little laugh that sounded forced. 

“We’ll see,” he returned evenly, keeping his face straight despite your smirk.

“That’s an order, Sergeant,” you attempted, delighting in the slight spark in his eyes as he raised his eyebrows.

“Oh really,” he said, lowering his chin just enough to bring some hair across his forehead as he regarded you with a stare that you could have sworn held a hint of smolder. But perhaps you were seeing what you wanted to see. Your fingers twitched at your sides, yearning to stroke the tufts back from his face… and other stuff…

“Yeah, anyway…” you said suddenly, clearing your throat and turning businesslike all of a sudden. “He should be fine. We’ll run some more tests when he wakes up to check on his hearing. The lacerations should heal easily, and he was lucky enough to avoid any serious contusions, somehow. I don’t know what you all were doing out there but this guy needs a thicker helmet.”

“I’ll make sure to request that from the armory.”

“I’m sure they’ll be wildly helpful and accommodating.”

“Always.”

A silence fell for a moment, then he rose to his feet, stretching to his full height and picking up his backpack.  He slung it across his shoulders, along with the concerns and duties that awaited him, and gave you a cordial nod. 

“Thanks for taking care of him,” he said with genuine sincerity, regarding you with fondness as he stepped closer. Your heart skipped a beat and you felt frozen to the spot, mind racing with a million scenarios you’d envisioned that started out just like this. 

“Just doing my job… sir,” you said feebly, swallowing hard as he moved the tiniest bit nearer. You gazed at his eyes, brown at first glance but peppered with pale green and gray upon closer inspection. You could swear you felt the sparks flying between the two of you… until he spoke, shifting slightly to your side. 

“Gotta… head out…” he muttered, and you suddenly realized he had actually been trying to get past you. Flushed with hot embarrassment, you moved aside in a flash, turning away to hide your reddening cheeks. 

“Sorry, I didn’t sleep too much last night,” you explained quickly, trying not to stutter. “The old brain isn’t working quite so well today.”

“I’m glad you performed cranial surgery on Wrecker, then,” Hunter observed, and you buried your face in a hand.

“I mean, it wasn’t really surgery, but good point,” you laughed, thoroughly mortified now.

You didn’t see the pursed lips hiding his smile as he turned and disappeared out the door. 

* * * 

You were deeply saddened at first when you were transferred from the Kamino medical bay to the general medical center on Coruscant. But, as your fellow clone-obsessed friend reminded you, you would be able to go with her to 79s on your nights off, where you could enjoy the company of the types of men you’d come to prefer. It had been a hellish week, with too many patients and too few staff members, and you had worked yourself to the bone. It was as good a time as any to blow off some steam, so it took only a little urging from your friend for you to change into some going out clothes, fix up your hair a bit, and hit the town with her. 

Typically one for softness and gentleness, you felt an edge to yourself that night. Perhaps it was the build up of all of the frustrating situations at work, but whatever the cause, you didn’t feel like putting up with any kind of BS. So when the first trooper you walked past tried to smack your butt, you turned on him with the raging fury of a thousand suns and gave him a piece of your mind. Your friend stared at you, dumbfounded, and you heard some chuckles and comments from the crowd. Turning away before you melted into an apology, you stalked off to the corner booth you had left your stuff in.

“That was brutal,” a smoky voice said, and you were floored at the sight of Hunter sliding into the booth next to you. Your friend winked at you from where she stood at the bar, still flirting with a couple of troopers. You stared at him, speechless, and he held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll clear out if you’re going to chew me out like that guy. Just wanted to say hi. Haven’t seen you in the med bay in a while.“

“No, stay!“ You said, more eagerness in your voice than you would like to admit. “They transferred me here…”

“And you just had to get your clone fix?”

You blushed, palming your face before taking a long swig of your drink. It was a stiff one, and a fitting way to end your week. 

“Just kidding,” he continued, “We both know you just miss yelling at people.” 

“Oh, I’m such a yeller,” you rolled your eyes. You had never been anything but gentle and kind with him and the other patients. And he knew it.

Before long, you both found yourselves lost in conversation, and it felt as though your dreams were coming true. Details of his life and thoughts were flowing freely, well, as freely as possible considering the covert nature of most of his experiences, and the two of you settled into a comfortable rhythm as you nursed your drinks and regarded one another. You shared about your training days, mishaps and mayhem, and your goals for the future. He was happy to listen, answering questions but also content to simply sit. You didn’t want to admit just how much you were thrilled by the entire situation. 

“Refills?” You asked, gesturing to the empty glasses on the table. He nodded, but then followed you out of the booth. As the two of you leaned against the bar, waiting to be acknowledged, you tilted your head at him, feeling slightly emboldened for a moment, but it quickly melted when his eyes met yours.

“Yes?” He asked, a smirk on his own face. 

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he teased. “Looks like you’ve got something you want to say.”

“Maybe there’s lots I want to say,” you clapped back, putting your hand on your hip. “But I don’t think I’m going to.” You gave him a sassy smile in an attempt to hide the complete and total whirlwind of thoughts raging for consideration within you. 

He took a step closer, coming into your personal space, and his hand that rested on the bar counter was dangerously close to your waist. You could almost feel his touch, without any contact being made at all. His eyes were dark beneath his brows, his sharp profile illuminated by the colorful lights all around, and your heart skipped a beat. 

“You sure?” he purred, a smug look on his face as though he knew the effect he had on you. “Nothing at all?”

“You’re the worst,” you stammered, dropping your chin and fixing your stair on the ground beside you.

“Yeah,” he conceded with a snort. “Well, you still like me.”

Your head flew up faster than a ship jumping into hyperspace, and you stared at him in utter shock as your stomach plunged. Your mouth fell open a little bit as you frantically searched for words, coming up with none and snapping it shut again. He shifted the tiniest fraction closer, looming over you now in a way that would be intimidating if your veins weren’t coursing with adrenaline and the sheer desire to grab his shirt and show him all that you couldn’t say. 

“Thought so,” he said with a satisfied rumble of laughter that made your knees weak.

“I don’t… I mean, I couldn’t…” You fumbled hopelessly, turning away a tiny bit as you grappled for any kind of response.

“Hey lady,” a clone voice said from behind you. “ This guy bothering you?” You turned around to see a trooper with his head closely shaved except for some intricate designs along the sides. He was standing tall, an inch or two over Hunter, and had a warm intensity to his gaze that showed genuine concern more than creepiness or bravado.

You looked back to Hunter, who was still leaning on the bar, relaxed and unbothered. He lifted his eyebrows at you, uncharacteristically playful, and said, “Well?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you said to the blue-armored clone, who gave you a polite nod before leaving with one last suspicious glare at Hunter.

“So… you were saying?” Hunter poked, tilting his head at you and fanning the flame. Was he flirting? For real? Or just trying to make you flustered, for his own fun and entertainment? 

“Now you’re just being cruel,” you whined, and he laughed, an authentic, deep sound that made you swoon. 

“I would never.”

“Hunter, we’ve got to go,” a pert voice broke through your fantasy, and you turned to see a bespectacled man with a serious face standing beside Hunter, who looked at you with an unreadable expression as your heart sank and disappointment lay heavy over the two of you.

“Well. Hope I see you again,” he admitted, a wistful tone to his voice as he brushed his fingers across the back of your hand, sending a jolt of electricity through you, and dipped his head in goodbye before disappearing out the front door. 

You went home to your “personal massager” that night. 

* * * 

You were finishing the patient notes for the day as you bent over your screen at work, tapping away with diligence as you looked forward to freedom for the evening. It had been nearly a week since you’d seen Hunter at 79s, and you’d been kicking yourself for not speaking up more, or flirting more, or making a move, or something. You doubted your paths would cross again, as your friend shared that she’d only seen Clone Force 99 at the bar once before, and she was quite the regular. Bringing your thoughts back to the present, you groaned inwardly as your comm pinged with an incoming message, and you considered not looking at it to avoid any calls to stay late. But curiosity got the better of you, and you took a look at the screen. 

//18:42//-ENCRYPTED- {Chewed out any regs lately?}

Your mouth fell open, brow furrowed, as you studied the message. It wasn’t an internal memo, nor was it from any sort of source you’d seen before. It couldn't be… Could it? You smirked, curious to try something that might seem inconspicuous if it were, in fact, an error, but might be playful if it were him.

//18:43// - {Unfamiliar source number, identification needed.}

The response seemed to take ages.

//18:47//-ENCRYPTED- {Identification can be provided in the maintenance alleyway of the med center.}

You were embarrassed how quickly you got there. 

The door swung open into a long, narrow gap between the large hospital buildings, filled with random parts and trash chutes, and your heart leapt in your chest when you saw his gray and red armor.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, positively thrilled and unable to hide it.

“I… Well… I don’t know,” Hunter admitted with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since we had to leave… So I thought it might need some medical attention.” 

Now it was your turn to laugh, the sheer delight of it all cascading over you. “Oh, and a crusty alleyway seems like a very sterile environment.” He grinned, shaking his head, and you caught a glimpse of his own vulnerability, realizing that he, too, was fairly out of sorts when it came to smooth talk and flirtation. Somehow, that made you feel better, and all the regrets and “what ifs” of the last number of days began a relentless protest in your mind. “Well, let’s see what I can do,” you murmured, stepping closer to where he leaned against the wall. His eyebrows climbed up his head, giving away his utter surprise, and the sight gave you tingles. 

“I… ah…” he began, but you leaned into him a little, fueled by months of daydreams and a lifetime of self-loathing for all the opportunities you were too cowardly to take hold of. Plus, his sheepishness and his admission were all you’d needed to hear, and there was an undeniable affection in his eyes that melted you to the core. 

“Let’s see if we can help you out a bit?” you offered, simultaneously cringing and delighting at the complete and total ridiculousness of it all. But then he tilted his head and lifted a single, curled finger to your chin, tipping it up toward his face and sealing your fate as hopelessly enthralled. His dark eyes glittered with warmth and trepidation, and the next thing you knew, your lips were pressed against his, eyes closed, arms around his neck. 

It was so soft, so absolutely mind-blowingly perfect; your entire body was electrified as his own arms wrapped around you. You felt him exhale, his nose against your cheek, and you were overwhelmed with joy at his closeness, his vulnerability, his all-consuming presence that filled your senses. His body formed around yours, his mouth still gently nestled against your own, and you melted a little further into him, wishing that it would never end. 

When you finally did separate with a soft smack of the lips, you left your faces close, your eyes darting to his, which remained closed for an extra second before slowly opening with a relaxed warmth that had you feeling weak all over again. You couldn’t resist leaning your forehead against his own, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek for a moment before begrudgingly pulling back a bit. 

“Thank you,” you whispered lamely, and he exhaled through his nose.

“Thank you,” he echoed, sheepish and disarmed. 

“Please contact me anytime you need any sort of medical attention,” you continued, wrinkling your nose at just how terrible it all sounded, but he snickered, slowly releasing you with a nod.

“My job is quite harmful.”

Are you 18+? Interested in a smutty part two? Click here. ;)

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[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Saved And Fucked By The Moth Man.

Pairing: Mothman x F. Reader (Cryptozoology).

Word Count: 3.6k.

TW: Death/Gore, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Inhuman Anatomy, Generalized Monster-Fucking, Car Crashes, Reader's Pretty Questionable In This One, and Blood.

Based On The Results of This Poll.

You thought it could’ve been a bird, at first.

A raven, or a crow – you weren’t entirely sure. Something big and black that flew so quickly, you hadn’t been able to make out anything more specific than a dark blur and the vague impression of feathers before it was gone, vanishing into the shadows of the forest before you could realize that you'd reflexively swerved to avoid it, before you could do anything to stop yourself from crashing into the base of an oak so tall and so opposing, it wouldn’t so much as shake under the force of the collision. By the time you stumbled out of your wrecked car, the windshield shattered and the engine utterly decimated, whatever threw you off-course had been gone, and you’d been left alone on a country backroad in the middle of nowhere - bruised, sore, and miles away from the nearest city. Really, the only way your night could get worse was if—

Thunder cracked somewhere in the distance, quaking through the otherwise silent forest. You glanced up, searching for the sky through the dense canopy of overlapping branches and finding it overcast. It’d rain, pretty soon, and you’d be left lost, injured, and drenched.

Well, at least now, it really couldn’t get any worse.

You fished your phone out of your pocket and pressed your back against the most in-tact side of your car, checking if you had reception for the millionth time. Of course, you didn’t, and of course, your battery was in the single digits – too low to justify using your flashlight and risking leaving yourself alone in the dark with a dead phone and no way to call for help if you did, somehow, manage to make it to the border of civilization.

You considered crawling into what was left of the backseat of your car, turning off your phone, and hoping someone else drove down this godforsaken road in the morning, but before you could let exhaustion dampen your better judgement, you heard something in the woods rustle, the sounds of displaced leaves and cracking twigs standing out against the stillness of the woods. Somewhat hesitantly, you turned towards the disturbance, half-expecting to see wolves or coyote or, as unlikely as it was, the same over-sized bird that’d gotten you into this, but instead, much to your relief, you found a group of three men – hunters, judging by the riffles slung over their backs, the dirt caked into their shoes. None of them were wearing visibility gear, and you couldn't say it seemed like a great idea to go skulking through the forest in the middle of the night, but you were already out of your comfort zone. You couldn’t be sure what people walking around in the woods at night were supposed to look like, and at that point, you didn’t really care.

You grinned, moving to call out to them, but the oldest of the group was already addressing you, already stepping out of the forest and onto the road. “What do you think you’re doing out here, darlin’?”

Your expression faltered, but you kept your spirits up. It was fine. This was fine. You could deal with a little backwoods chauvinism until you got to a mechanic. “Got into an accident,” you said, nodding towards where your car where it bent around the oak’s trunk. “No service, either. I guess I wouldn’t be able to bother one of you kind people to call a tow truck, would I?”

There was a long, silent pause. The two younger men exchanged a glance. Again, the oldest spoke to you. “This is private property, y’know. Not a lot of folks come through this patch of woods.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know. I… I’m just in town for the convention.” One of the younger men slid his rifle off of his shoulder, taking it in both hands. The other followed in-suit. “It’s a beautiful area. If I had to get stranded, I’m glad it was here.”

“So, no relatives nearby? Nobody who’d notice if you didn’t get home in the mornin’?”

You pressed yourself against the dented metal, your smile now strained. “You know what?” You asked, forcing out an airy chuckle. “I think I’ll just walk for it. How far could the next town be, right?”

He held up a hand, signaling to the rest of his group. You heard something click, caught boots scraping against rough pavement, and watched a broad grin form across the older man’s features. “Looks like there’s gonna be a hunt tonight after all, boys.”

Your first reflex was, somewhat counterintuitively, to laugh. The sound was jarring, too loud and too stilted, cutting your lips and catching in your throat like pieces of broken glass.

Your second, triggered when one of the younger men moved to step toward you, was to run for your life.

Without thought, without hesitation, you broke into a dead-sprint. There was a holler behind you, a round of hollow clicks and earth-shaking thuds, and then, they were chasing you.

You couldn’t be sure how far you made it. It felt like you ran for seconds, or days, or years. It felt like you traveled miles, or feet, or just a few steps. Everything looked like the same repetitive blur of trees taller than your eyes could follow and roots that jutted from the earth like pikes. Their footsteps remained constant, never growing closer or farther away, always lingering somewhere just behind you, always just barely breathing down your neck. Fuck this. Fuck your car. Fuck this entire goddamn town and their stupid convention. If you made it out of this alive, you’d spend the rest of your life as far from this state as you could get. Coming here had been a stupid idea to begin with, a spontaneous trip planned at the last minute and based on a half-baked desire to see something that probably didn’t even exist. You just thought you might’ve been able to see—

Your foot caught on a half-buried stone, and you were sent crashing into the earth, your shoulder taking the brunt of the fall. You were left on the ground, cursing under your breath and holding your aching arm as you scrambled to get back on your feet, to keep moving before your would-be murderers caught up with you. You weren’t fast enough, though – you couldn’t be, not when they’d always been on your heels, not when you’d already given them an opportunity to put their quarry out of its misery. You’d barely started to push yourself up when they emerged from the tangle of trees, guns cocked and hunting knives drawn. You shrunk into yourself, threw your arms over your face in a last-ditch effort to protect yourself, despite knowing that a bullet would tear through your skin like paper, despite being able to picture your body lying lifeless on the forest floor, bleeding out in the dirt like a wild animal. The last thing you saw was the oldest man, raising his riffle and aiming towards your chest before you shut your eyes.

You heard a shot, sudden and deafening, but the impact never came.

You felt something whip past you. There was a scream, wordless and torn and cut short with a ragged screech and a wet, visceral sound – like flesh being carved open, like teeth tearing into raw meat. It was all you could do to curl into yourself, sinking into your self-made shelter as the forest descended into the sounds of carnage, only falling silent when there was nothing left to cut down. Even then, it took you long, agonizing seconds to open your eyes, to take in the gore splattered across the grass and dirt, the guns that’d been bent and twisted into shapes they weren’t meant to hold. A disembodied leg laid to your side, the torso it’d been ripped from impaled on a branch nearly twenty feet off of the ground. Clumps of torn muscle and split entrails shined reddish-silver in the limited moonlight, but you could only focus on the gore for so long.

Only a few yards away, a man stood in front of you. Only, it wasn’t a man, not really, not when you looked beyond its – his? hers? theirs? – vaguely humanoid form. Its long legs and lanky arms were coated in a thin layer of grey, shaggy fur that grew shorter and finer over its defined chest. You could make out curved talons extending from its massive hands, a pair of ringed antennae curled back along its scalp, a pair of tattered wings folded against its back. Its head might’ve been the strangest part of its anatomy; low and stooped, too round to resemble anything human and too featureless inspire anything but an uncanny sense that you weren’t supposed to be here. From a distance, the only thing you could really make out was its eyes. They were gigantic, nearly spherical – orbs of pure crimson that seemed to glow in the dim light.

Before you could stop yourself, your attention drifted downward, to the space between its legs. It took you an embarrassingly long moment to recognize what you were looking at – the shaft absent of all veins or definition beyond a perfect spiral ridge that coiled from the base to the flushed, lilac-shaded head. The tip was tapered, ending in a sharp slant and budding with something white and thick. The entire thing looked almost painfully erect, inflating it to a size that, even when compared to the rest of its massive body, sparked a raw, preservationist kind of terror inside of you. Fear took root in the pit of your stomach, sprouting up and into the hollow of your chest, making it difficult to breathe, to resist the urge to curl back into yourself and never come out.

Second to only your fear, just as pervasive and twice as instinctual, was your arousal.

It would’ve been impossible to read its nonexistent expression, but as it shifted its weight, turning to face you, you could’ve sworn the creature was looking at you with as much interest as you held for it. Its scarlet eyes were wide and unfaltering, its gaze only growing more intense as it took a step in your direction, then another, approaching you in slow, tense increments. Despite its stiffness, it didn’t seem awkward or nervous, let alone afraid of you. If anything, it seemed like it was trying not to scare you, even if you couldn’t say there was much weight behind the gesture when you were sitting among the viscera of its last three victims. Still, you held your ground, not daring to so much as blink until it was standing in front of you.

From a distance, it’d been inhumanly tall. Now that it was close enough to touch, it seemed downright monstrous.

With jerky, unpracticed movements, it reached down, towards you. You waited for a beat, then another, and when it failed to pull away or bury its talons in your chest, you hesitantly placed your hand in its palm, a knot forming in the back of your throat as its claws folded and everything up to your wrist was completely encompassed. With a sharp tug, it pulled you to your feet and held steady you when your legs, still shaking, proved too weak to hold your weight. You let out a fleeting, nervous laugh, and in response, it chittered – the sound high-pitched and tittering. It was cute, in the way seeing a lion play with a ball of yarn would’ve been cute. You were still eminently aware that the creature in front of you could end your life, but still.

“Hey,” you managed, eventually, unable to think of anything else to say. You didn’t even know if it could understand you, but you weren’t sure what else to do. “Did you… did you save me?”

Another round of chittering, a slight glimmer in its otherwise blank stare. You smiled. “Thank you, I— I’m not from around here, and I didn’t know I’d have to look out for people like that.” You bowed your head, attempting to let your eyes fall to the ground, but rather, your eyes found its cock again, pressed against its abdomen and leaking. The adrenaline that’d coursed through your veins a few minutes ago was already starting to fade, making room for something else, something closer to an anxious sort of zeal. Something that made you want to do something less than advisable.

Slowly, doing what little you could to stop your hands from shaking, you reached out, your fingertips barely brushing against its soft cheek. It nuzzled into your touch, earning a small smile, a trickle of a laugh. “Poor thing,” you mumbled, almost comforted by the fact that it couldn’t respond, couldn’t mock your poor-excuse for a seductively saccharine tone. “Do you need help with that?”

You saw its talon’s twitch, its wings flutter almost imperceptibly against its back. You weren’t aware that you were moving, not until your back was pressed against the rough bark of the nearest oak, until you felt the clawed hand that it’d wrapped around your waist drop to your hip, then your thigh. The tips of its curved talons scraped against your skin as it ran its claws from your waist to your knee, cutting through the delicate fabric of your shorts and panties and discarding the material without a second thought. The open air was cold against your exposed skin, but something quickly replaced it – a gentle, oppressive warmth that seemed to sap the chill from your skin. Your legs were thrown over its shoulders, held in place by its massive hands as it buried its face between your thighs. You barely had time to straighten your back, to brace yourself before—

Oh.

Oh.

It was more tongue-like than you’d expected.

Not to say that it was a tongue – you weren’t really sure what you should call it. Long, split at the tip, just rough enough to earn a breathy gasp, a new wave of heat rushing from your core to your head, obscuring your few remaining rational thoughts with a shimmering haze. Its tongue (tendril? proboscis?) ran over the length of your exposed slit, leaving a trail of thick, viscous saliva dripping down the inside of your thighs before jerking its head upward and finding your clit, the tip of its tongue circling the sensitive bundle of nerves as soon as it recognized the airy sounds now falling steadily from your lips for the unabashed moans they were. It was almost experimental, the way it bent and curled its tongue, clearly working towards a quickly approaching goal but constantly looking for a way to get there that much faster, to make your legs twitch that much harder, to force the coil writhing violently in the pit of your stomach wind up that much tighter.

It was all you could do to arch your back against the oak’s trunk and clench your eyes shut, your hands falling to the softened ridge between its curved antennae. Only half-consciously, your attention dominated by the feeling of its coarse tongue swirling over your clit, you raked your fingers through its cropped fur, doing what you could to show the creature your appreciation, your gratitude. You tried to be gentle, but the curling tips of its tongue slipped into your tight entrance and the world burnt white, your body jerking forward and your nails biting into its scalp. There was a deep, guttural sound from somewhere deep in its chest, and its hands rose to your hips, claws scrapping lightly against your skin as its tongue fucked into you. It was thin, but long and so flexible – twisting and coiling against the sensitive walls of your cunt, never repeating the same blissful pattern of thrusts and thrashes more than once. You found yourself grinding into its mouth, seeking out whatever friction you could with the clumsy movements of your hips. The pressure, the weight, the sensation – it was more than you could handle. You could already feel it, a certain tightness in your chest, a tension in your core that—

Without warning, without satisfaction, it pulled away from you, leaving you empty and quickly coming down from a high that you never quite reached. You let out a long whine, more desperate than disappointed, and as if to apologize, the creature nuzzled against the inside of your thigh, chirping softly. Thankfully, your reprieve was a short one. With its hands still on your hips, your body still held aloft by its inhuman strength, you were dragged away from the oak and into its chest as it stood to its full height. Your chest was slotted against the creature’s, the pointed head of its cock pressed flush to your dripping cunt. Its wings fanned out, its hips rolling against yours, and a sharp, aching moan was drawn from your lips as it thrust into you, finally filling you to the brim.

For a long moment, it was all you could do to bury your face in its chest and try to put together a coherent thought. Only half of its length was inside of you, and yet, you could practically feel it pressing into your core, rubbing against the walls of your cunt, the cork-screw ridge that ran from the tip to the base threatening to split you open. It didn’t, though, and even if it had, you couldn’t be sure you would’ve cared. Before the creature could even begin to move, to fuck into you from below, you were grinding against it, mindlessly and desperately trying to chase that fullness, that peak. It didn’t take long for the creature to answer your fervor. There was a raised notch just above the base of its cock, a notch that caught on your clit as it beat into you with heavy, rough strokes. A talon was dragged down the back of your top, tearing the fabric away and allowing its tongue to lave over your chest. All of its gentleness, all of its restraint was thrown aside as its claws dug into your hips, cutting through skin and tinting your pleasure with an intensity that wouldn’t have been possible without a drop of pain.

A scream, wild and euphoric, was torn from your throat, and you wrapped your legs around its waist, dragging your own nails over its back as you fought to keep some part of yourself grounded. Even that was an effort made in vain. You heard its wings shift, felt the air rush against your skin, and suddenly, you were breaking through the canopy – speared on the creature’s cock mid-air, being fucked against the backdrop of the dark, velveteen sky.  The shock, the adrenaline, the thrill was enough to leave you clenching around the creature’s cock, your vision burning white as you came undone. You might’ve been able to come down, to melt back into its thrusts and its affection, if something hadn’t clicked in its chest, if its wings hadn’t started to move a little faster, if something hadn’t happened and the creature hadn’t started to emit a sort of reverberating droll – the sort throbbing vibration that only seemed to make the friction against your clit, the feeling of it stretching you open more perfect. You couldn’t be sure how long you stayed in that hazy, half-conscious state – limp and moaning in the arms of a monster, always either spilling over your high or riding out the aftershocks. It only came to a climax – a real climax – when the creature stiffened against you, its cock twitching violently inside of your cunt. It pulled you as close as it possibly could and, with one last wave of pulsing reverberation, released something thick inside of you – viscous and warm and translucent. Like sap. Like nectar.

Light-headed and blissed-out, you buried your face in its chest as it began to descend, the sound of your giddy laughter muffled by its fur. This time, when it pulled away from you with an apologetic chirp, you didn’t complain, only pressing one more lingering kiss into the curve of its shoulder and letting it draw back. Your legs were too weak to hold your weight, so you braced yourself against the nearest oak as the creature disappeared into the dark of the forest, returning a few moments later with a bundle of bloody fabric in its arms. A shirt – a little torn but mostly in one piece, taken from one of the hunters’ corpses, clearly meant to replace your own ruined clothes. You smiled as you slipped it over your head. It was a size too big, and it was sure to raise a few questions, but it would do until you could find help. Whatever ‘help’ meant, at that point.

When you were finished, the creature took you up again; wrapping an arm around your waist and catching you under your knees, pulling you against its broad chest. This time, as it soared over the forest, you were able to admire view, the star-lit sky and sprawling woodland before it landed where the forest had started to thin and give way to the outskirts of a small town. Slowly, carefully, it lowered you to the ground, keeping you upright when your unsteady balance wavered. You laughed and, for longer than a moment, you held its unblinking gaze, Eventually, your hands fell into its claws, your smile turning bitter-sweet and sentimental. “Will I ever see you again?”

There was a slight chittering, a gentle squeeze to your hand. You felt its tongue against your cheek and let your eyes fall shut. By the time you could bring yourself to open them again, Mothman – because it was Mothman, you could only deny it for so long – was gone, barely a silhouette in the distance. You heard the crack of thunder, and watched it fly away as the sky broke open and rain spilled out.

The next day, you would learn that a bridge about twenty miles outside of the city the creature left you in had collapsed the night before, killing hundreds.

[yaut-jaknowit]

So I saw the post about Gawtin doing anything in her power to increase the readers lifespan. So I am thinking perhaps she is researching ways on how to do that when she stumbles upon something about their blood being able to increase a humans lifespan by quite a bit. So she goes and gets permission from the council (maybe a bit of arguing cause I don't think giving blood to a ooman is looked well upon) then ya giving blood to the reader

- 🥤

Forever At My Side

Pairing: Gawtin (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2118

Summary: With your time around Gawtin, she has come to dreadful thoughts you lifespan compared to hers. You will only live at most for a hundred years. That is far too short to experience your love and passion. Gawtin sets out to find what she can do to help. This gains unwanted attention.

Author Note: This made me do some worldbuilding and I love it! We get to see who is part of Gawtin's life and hear about a city on Yautja Prime as well. Of course, the city I've created isn't part of canon. I can't find much about Yautja Prime so I just get to worldbuild about it.

Masterlist

Ao3

There are special properties within Yautja blood. Many of them helpful to other species. Yautjas are seen as a superior species among the universe. The research of what their blood could do for others has been dove into. Not deep, but enough to know.

When Gawtin came to conclusion that she wants you till the end of either of your lifespans, she calls upon a favor.

Amongst the Yautja as a whole, the scientific side is reclusive. Not many will give up their life for science, believing the hunt is everything to them. Yet, despite this group being so small compared to the amount of Yautjas alive to this day, they’ve discovery plenty. This includes their main way of travel: their spacecrafts. Or their biomasks when a planet’s atmosphere doesn’t fit their own needs. Or even for a ooman living on a planet who’s air would suffocate you. All this done by those willing to sacrifice their livelihood to further the advancement of the Yautjas.

This is where Gawtin shots a message to a scientist in Kov; a major city on Yautja Prime. Someone who owes her favor. One she’s cashing in for you. Always for you. If there’s a chance to extend your life, she’s willing to do it. Anything to keep you with her longer.

In the beginning, Gawtin knew of the risks of taking on a ooman mate. Mainly their short lifespan. That was a concern. Of course, it was. But, she’s never seen a ooman like you before. So willing to put yourself between the scum who captured and hunted her while heavily pregnant. You even killed for her, protecting her from said scum. Though, she was forever in debt to you. She’s not doing this to repay such debt. She’s doing this for you to be at her side until her heart gives out.

Until Voth-ocheb gets back to her, Gawtin has wait as the patient hunter she is. The moss green Yautja has a feeling this won’t fail her. She feels it in her blood.

On one of the many days the two of you are relaxing, you find yourself in your mate’s lap. With your butt between her thighs, legs thrown over one thigh while your back rests against the other. It’s a seat you would die for. There was nowhere better to be.

One of the advancements you were extremely happy Yautjas have was the fact you could connect with earth’s internet. Even if you were hundreds upon hundreds of light years away. It was only one tap away. You find yourself tapping away on your tablet to fill the day. Today, you didn’t feel like drawing and wanted to snuggle up to your mate until sunset. Not that Gawtin minded. Not one bit.

In the middle of her reading, she turned her head towards the front door. Someone was coming. A little unusual. Yautjas are known to be mainly solidary. You knew you would be forced to get up so Gawtin could answer the door. In preparation, you shimmed off of her lap and next to her. Gawtin pressed a quick kiss to your forehead and began to make her way towards the door.

Halfway towards the entrance, Gawtin hesitated then cursed lowly under her breath in Yautja. Your burrows furrowed at the strange antic. Never have you ever seen the female act such a way. In all honesty, she almost looked… nervous.

Yet, that apprehensive expression was washed over by a neutral expression. Years of training falling into place.

On the couch, you peeked over and watched as Gawtin opened the door. Your eyes widened at the sight of a massive female standing a couple of inches taller than Gawtin in the entrance. What adorn her told you exactly who this is; only having met the Yautja once before when Gawtin had make her case to keep you.

Gawtin’s mother: Ma’tan-Aih. Ruler of this tribe. The War-ak’ox tribe. Baroness Ma’tan-Aih. It’s the closest title that could translate into English from Yautja.

An expression you were famialir with was etched into the moss green Yautja’s face as she looked down at her daughter. “Gawtin, may I enter?” Her voice was commanding in every sense, causing you to shutter. Her Yautja accent heavy and thick, nearly making it impossible to listen to her words. You jerked down to hide behind the back of the couch from her steely gaze. The last thing you wanted was for those purple eyes to be directed at you.

“Yes, Baroness Ma’tan-Aih,” Gawtin allowed and called her mother by the proper title. You tensed up, white knuckling the tablet at the knowledge Ma’tan-Aih was entering your safe space. Before either of them could come into the living you, you attempted to look busy on the tablet so the attention was off of you.

Their footsteps were light on the soft wooden floor. Both of them made their way into the living room. Right where you were. Gawtin returned to her seat next you and even scooped you into her lap. Your muscles refused to relax under the scrutinizing gaze of the baroness. This couldn’t be happening. Why did she even want to speak with Gawtin? The two of them rarely even say a word to each other. Now, her mother wants to have a sit down in Gawtin’s cottage.

Your hands trembled holding onto the device. Gawtin was quick to cup both of them in one of hers. It took all of her might not to purr. She despised the fact you were uncomfortable in your own home due to her mother’s sudden, unannounced appearance. Yet, this is her mother she was talking about. Unless she challenged for the baroness title, there was nothing Gawtin could do in this situation.

Despite your eyes glued to the screen, you felt the laser focus of the baroness’s gaze zoned in on you. Your chest rapidly moved with each intake of air. You attempted to focus again on the tablet, anything to get your mind off of her. That unfortunately failed.

Baroness Ma’tan-Aih sat down gracefully on a chair across from the two of you. Gawtin watched each twitch, each movement made by her mother closely. She knew this was farthest thing from a catchup. This was business.

“Daughter,” Baroness Ma’tan-Aiu started with, “It has come to my desk you are fiddling with something you shouldn’t be wasting your time on.” With her heavy accent, it was hard to know if you heard right. Your burrows furrowed while gazing up at your mate’s beautiful face. Questions whirled to life inside of your scattered mind.

“Dam, what I do in my free time is none of your concern,” Gawtin stated and laid down a firm boundary. Not that her dam had to listen to her at all. “I have my favors. I can use them to my liking.”

A single studded brow rose due to the borderline rude words of Gawtin. “Yet, you use them in a foolish way. Why waste such a favor on trivial matters? Things can be replaced for good riddance.”

Though, you didn’t know what the subject was about, you instantly felt the tension in the air grow increasingly taunt. You gnawed on your bottom lip and watched as one of Gawtin’s mandibles twitched.

“It can never be replaced,” she grounded out in a tone you felt yourself fear. “I will never replace such a thing.” Her hand clenched down on yours, causing the bones in your hands to creak under the sudden pressure. “My mate is here to stay. I have already completed the challenges you laid before me.” Wait, what? This has something to do with you?

The Yautja before you waved off Gawtin’s words with a flick of her wrist. “Yes, yes. I know,” she scoffed. “But to ask someone in Kov to research such a dangerous topic? Daughter, you are a fool. You must know to go through with this, you must go to the council of Cu'stouirll before you go to the monarch herself. Cu'stouirll is known not to be pleasant.”

Gawtin sat up a little higher in her seat. “I will do what is needed to follow through with this.”

It was all too much information at once. They were supposedly talking about you and either someone or something named Cu'stouirll. Which sounded to be a bad thing. You gazed up at Gawtin in hopes for an explanation but received none from the focus hunter.

Baroness Ma’tan-Aih bristled at her daughter words. “As much as I loved your sire’s stubbornness at times, this is not the time to flare it. You must know what this could mean… Especially for those who have also taken an ooman as their mates. This could be opening pandora’s box for the worse.”

It’s not hidden that many of the other Yautjas in this tribe dislike your presence. If it wasn’t for the fact you saved Gawtin and Qui’oky from death, your case would’ve collapsed before your very eyes. The baroness does not want other ooman mate’s to have the same opportunity to whatever Gawtin is planning. You knew whatever Gawtin was fighting for was for the good of you.

Yet, Gawtin didn’t change her stance on the subject and kept the same gaze upon her mother. “Then, let that happen. I will do whatever it takes to keep my mate at my side for as long as possible.” Even with that, you couldn’t piece together what was still happening.

On the other side, the green Yautja sat up from her seat to tower over the two of you. In that moment, you didn’t feel scared or intimidated by the baroness. Not with your mate at your side, prepared to do anything to keep you safe and out of harms way.

“Lady Gawtin, when this falls upon my court, you will have to ensure your case is concrete. I can already tell you, I will not accept this. Letting an ooman be injected with our blood?! It’s an abomination!” Baroness Ma’tan-Aih snapped then spun on her heel and marched out of your cottage.

Your lungs seized with a sharp gasp. Your eyes snapped up to Gawtin with uncertainty swirling inside of them. “Gawtin? What does she mean?” you asked immediately after her mother’s departure.

Her dark purple eyes watched the closed door for a few more seconds before she gazed down at you. One of her hands cupped your cheeks and gingerly ran a coarse thumbpad over your cheekbone. “I had wished not burden you with this theory until I have received the results,” she whispered, this time in English.

“What do you mean, love? I’m completely confused,” you begged for answers and hoped she could soothe your worries.

A sigh escaped the female Yautja. “Ooman’s do not like as long as Yautjas. It is a known fact. A fact that I have come to terms with. But, you, my mate, are everything to me. If I can do something, anything in my power to ensure you stay with me longer, I will go to the ends of Yautja Prime to make sure that happens. Even if I have to fight my mother for this, I will. She nor anyone else will not stop me from reaching my goal.” You smiled softly up at her, eyes closing to nuzzle into her hand.

“Oh love, that’s so sweet of you.” You reached up and cupped the back of her massive hand against your cheek. You carded your fingers through her own. “You don’t know how much I appreciate all that you do for me.” When you reopened your eyes, you glanced down at the couch cushions. “Your mother wasn’t very happy about that though.” A statement but made to be open as a question.

Gawtin shook her head, tresses swaying with the movement. “No, she’s never happy. I could care less about her opinion. Yours is the only one that matters. If wish for me to stop, I will. But if you are wanting to continue, I will let this go on. The choice is yours,” she offered wholeheartedly. Every step you’ve made in her world has been at the hands of you. You are in charge. As always.

You opened your eyes to look directly into hers. “If it means I get to stay with you longer, then the answer is yes. Anything to be with you longer is an easy choice.”

The Yautja burst out purring and leaned down, practically breaking her back to rub her head against yours. Vibrations raced along your skin. You giggled and nuzzled with her. A life by Gawtin’s side is a life you would never trade for.

[big-tiddy-bi]

Without ao3 I became inspired. Ok so being tired of the justice league not helping/believing brakes into the tower while a meeting is taking place to show one of the heroes what is happening I.E. you failed and don’t come here we don’t want you, we don’t need you. You come here and you will be treated as a super villain and dealt with as such.

—————

Danny was sick, tired and powerful. A dangerous combination for most peoples. Myths and legends written throughout every religion every people every and every world based on gods feeling those exact things, and that is the thing Danny closest too, not ghost, not human, but a god. Even if he does not himself as such.

Today was the justice league’s last chance, Walker had decided to change up his tactics. Instead of going after Danny directly he was going to play dirty. Imprisoning 300 living for ”harboring a fugitive”. The justice league was called, one last chance before thing got out of hand. 300 people held captive in another dimension should be a priority for a group called the justice league.

Their response “the justice league contact system should only be used for emergencies, pranks will not be tolerated”. a simple response. directed and to the point. A metaphorical death sentence for the justice league and the people of amity’s faith in them.

No one died, thank the ancients, but blood was spilled. Red and green fell to the floor like water from the large cuts on Danny’s arms and the side of his torso, he was mostly fine, a couple stitches, about a gallon of filtered ectoplasm and a trip to the nasty burger had fixed him up. Meaning that every time he tried to move his arms he felt like he was being stabbed and he could not breathe without pain, which in all fairness was kind of normal for him, it sucked but it was normal.

The real problem was the 300 people I’m the hospital, ecto contamination, not to the extent of being fatal but extremely painful. That could have been avoided if Danny had more help than just his team of 4 other teenage vigilantes and his adult sister.

So after that fiasco Danny did something, else, something more political, he mad deals. With permission from the most important people in town the ones who keeps everything running, IE Mr lancer and Jazz. He also got permission from the mayor, bribed with Danny going to a Green Bay packers game with him.

Johnny 13 and kitty could joy ride before 12 am and after 9am as long as property damage stays at a minimum, a couple smashed mailboxes, broken windows and spray painted cars/buildings paid for by the mayors office was better than bad luck to the entire town and people disappearing.

Skulked got to hunt Danny in a building made for that purpose, Spector-cameras installed in it so people could stream it live to “witness the greatest hunter of the ghost zone”.

Ember got to play her music and travel on tour as she pleased as long as she didn’t mind control people.

Some wouldn’t take the deals but most of the heavy hitters did, it calmed down a lot, but as they say it the calm before the storm.

With the viewers of the “ghost battles” (it was basically a game of extreme tag) and embers fans talking, the ghost situation became a known thing

And again the justice league responded. “we will be there in a month”

No apologies for not believing them no apologies for not helping, just a we are on our way 8 months after the incident and they were going to be there 9 months after. All the people where health again, Walker was punished, locked in his haunt for the next 100 years. The justice league has nothing to do. They have no point in coming to amity. Where they just going to show up, say “sorry for not helping you, welp peace” and then just leave.

Maybe that was the point, that though crossed Danny’s mind as he read the message out loud to his team. They didn’t have any to do, a vanity project, help the small community that they abandoned so that the people don’t go blabbing to the papers, a pr move.

Sam and Valerie had voiced the same opinions on what the justice league was doing. The rest of the team agreed after a short conversation.

This led to Tucker hacking the league computer system to find the next meeting date and we’re it would be held. “Unhackabal my ass” and a plan was made.

So here he is, invisible, intangible and floating above the justice league. Batman walked up to the podium and began to present.

“8 and a half months ago the league got a report of 300 people being kidnapped and sent to the ghost dimension, this was believed to be a prank and filled as such, we were wrong” he said while clicking through slides, some of medical reports of the victims, some of the photos taken of him helping people out of the portal next to the hospital he mad to help the victims faster. Then he said “ this is the city’s resident hero team” the next slide showing the picture of Danny, Sam , Wes, Valerie, tucker and jazz receiving the key to the city. 

“We one know of this misstep because of videos posted online of phantom pictured here” he pointed an Danny receiving the key, another picture of him helping a man to the hospital appeared “and here”

“Do we know who trained them they don’t look older than sixteen” Wonder Woman asked. Before batman could answer Danny revealed himself, though he made his skin slightly translucent to show his bones, it was all part of the plan.

He floated down to the floor and looked directly at her “we trained ourselves”

He turned to face the whole room. “ I am not here to fight you” he said as a couple of hero quickly moved from their seats. “ I came to warn you”

He took in a breath “ I came to warn you, stay out of amity and stay in your lane.” He put a small amount of his ghostly wale into his voice, just enough to shake up their hearts. “ we don’t need you. We don’t WANT you” he cold the room slowly a couple degrees a word. “ do not ask around for us ghosts, do not look for us, if you find one of us. RUN.” He dropped his voice louder as emphasis. “ if you find one of us causing trouble, send us a message, but otherwise don’t acknowledge us or amity, the dead have nothing to give to you” his eyes became fussy staring at nothing green tears fell out of his eyes,and his Lichtenberg scars began to glow Ice blue, but his voice did not waver,.“ you may not have killed us yourself but you signed our death warrant long ago, you have ignored us far to long” is voice soften at the last word.

Then his eyes turns red, as fast as he could he pulled Superman out of his chair and pushed him to the wall. Danny’s hand went intangible as he pushed in into Superman’s chest. His hand wrapped around Superman’s heart, Danny soften the intangibility so Superman could fell the hand but not get hurt. “I can rip your heart out without a single fight” his skin became entirely invisible to show his skeleton. “To all of amity” Superman’s breathing quickened “to me” he move close to Superman’s ear “you are villains, and will be treated as such” he dropped Superman to the floor.

“Stay in your domain and I’ll stay in mine” ice began to form at his feet, looking mor like crystals than ice. “Come to us with please of forgiveness is as pointless as asking of it from your god” ectoplasm dripped from his mouth onto the floor. “Do not come to amity” and with that he went invisible again and watched the room in amusement. He was kinda freaking out at how awesome he sounded.

A couple minutes of silence followed. As John Constantine entered the room, “what did I miss?”

———————-

Hope y’all like it <3 Sorry for spelling mistakes. I don’t think this need trigger warnings but if you think so please comment so I can add them. I started writing this and I couldn’t stop. If only I had that energy for the original story’s I want to write lol Have a nice day/night and drink some liquids that aren’t caffeinated and/or poisonous <3

[palesweetscherryblossom]

Vampire Shigadabi and child reader!?! Do you perhaps read minds? You witch.

I'm sat and listening

Concept is still fresh but I’ll give bare basics

So basically Shigadabi are lords (or some higher form of aristocracy) who are mysterious fellows who live in a large estate outside of Reader’s village. They are feared by the surrounding communities, for Shigaraki’s cruelty and Dabi’s diverse nature. Don’t let their seemingly immature/apathetic approach fool you, they’re ruthless killers. Their manor is your tomb Not to mention the various legends detailing exploits ranging from mass murder of villages, to Dabi’s murdering of his father. I’m currently stuck on two concepts of how Reader ends up in their care. One is that the villagers have a deal with Shigadabi to give a group of people every night to quell their hunger and poor Reader ends up being lumped in. Or: Reader is the little sibling of Izuku, a monster hunter. While your big brother is with his group investigating Shigadabi’s alleged crimes, Reader accidentally ends up on the property

And it just so happens that the duo have been longing for a little child of their own

[ernestinapickman]

What is a Hunter? Whatever the Blackwick group is, I think

Nen ability thoughts under the cut!!

Pickman is an Enhancer whose main power is Big Gun. It's very short range but very effective. She also enhances her armor for extra defense.

Duvall is a Manipulator, or are the bugs the Manipulators? Similarly to Ponzu, he and the bugs protect each other. Unlike Ponzu, he stores them in his body rather than his hat.

Lyke has a large suite of powers a la Kurapika, but his main one is his ability to conjure portals to random places. Watch out though! One of those places has a God that eats people in it.

Virtue is an Emitter whose aura, when she releases it, takes the form of Darling Malice. She's also a vampire, but that's unrelated.

Es is the Nen residual Nen of a dead Manipulator (consensually) piloting the body of a non-Nen user. She specializes in manipulating body parts, her own and other people's.

Marn started out as a Nen genius. Her main thing is fixing tools. When she mends something, it becomes more useful and durable than it was before it was broken. She also has a knack for picking up new skills quickly without much practice.

Chine is a Transmuter who spec'd into Enhancement in order to be able to eat whatever he wants. When he eats something, his aura gains its properties.

Hazard is a Specialist and Nen exorcist who is able to swap out any Nen effect on them or another person for another random effect by having the target draw a card. Sometimes this ability is helpful. Sometimes it very much is not.

[evidence-based-activism]

Ik this isnt a data based question, but what are the main theories on patriarchy’s origin? There’s the marxist feminist one where agriculture was the main instigator, but most hunter-gatherer societies are not completely feminist and gender equal either. Is it a matter of physical strength + motive + opportunity for men? I was just wondering what you thought about the literature on this topic (of course much of it is purely speculative).

Hey! Okay, so I want to start this out by acknowledging that history is not my field. I am in awe of historians because they're essentially making coherent theories out of a patchwork of surviving evidence. Add to that the language barriers (so many modern languages! exponentially more extinct languages!) and the fact that people just lie (in translations! about primary sources! in! primary! sources! I cannot fathom having to figure out whether or not a primary source is reliable or not because Ancient Guy #24232 lies – but only sometimes) and I am amazed the field is as coherent as it is.

(Yes I am aware many of these things apply to both "hard" and "soft" sciences. The difference is I know how to identify the problems in the sciences :'))

So, with that disclaimer, here is some information! (All sources at the end, this time!)

---

The theories:

I found a bunch of different theories about the patriarchy's origins, but it's unclear to me the extent to where these fall on the "vague possibilities" to "generally accepted as fact" scale. They include:

Agriculture: The theory that the invention of agriculture led to permanent human settlements, at which point hierarchies including the patriarchy emerged. Often connected to the ideas of land rights and defense of land rights (warfare) and the ideas of property rights and inheritance of property (i.e., male control over resources and/or the treatment of women as property).

Fire: A similar theory as the agriculture theory, but centered around the invention of fire. Connected to the idea that the movement of women started being restricted around the time fire/cooking was invented (i.e., that women "stayed at/close to camp" to cook while men left to hunt).

Mobility: A theory emphasizing the differences in freedom of movement (i.e., that the division of men hunting and women gathering). Connected to the invention of fire and agriculture, both of which likely restricted women's movement further than before.

Reproductive capacity: The theory that the differential amounts of investment in reproduction (i.e., men need to ejaculate sperm and women must grow the child, give birth, and nurse the child until weaned) resulted in the patriarchy. Sometimes linked to Marxist feminism, by the suggestion that men regard and treat women as a "means of (re)production". Either way, this theory emphasizes the exploitation of women as a resource.

Physical dimorphism: Linked to the reproductive capacity theory but focused more on other physical differences (e.g., men tend to have greater absolute strength, be physically larger, etc.). Focuses on the fact that men have the physical capacity to assault and control women. Often supported with comparisons to other mammals.

Choice: The theory that men (or some men or multiple groups of men) intentionally started the patriarchy to obtain individual benefits and have since (intentionally and/or passively) perpetuated it out of a desire to maintain those benefits.

Others: Some people may divide out theories in different ways. For example, some may contend that the patriarchy followed the invention of a private property/a class system, in which men controlled these resources. (I have lumped this in with agriculture.) There are likely other theories I am unaware of!

Poking holes in these theories:

All of these theories have inconsistencies and challenges that challenge their explanatory and (particularly) predictive validity. Here are some:

Agriculture: If this theory is true we would expect pre- and non-agricultural societies to be consistently (or at least mostly) egalitarian. But, (as anon indicated) this is not necessarily true. There does appear to be/have been at least a partial division of labor by sex (i.e., men hunt and women gather), although it very likely is not as strict as it's been made out to be (i.e., women sometimes did hunt). Further, the idea that land-rights emerged with agriculture ignores the possibility that early societies formed gathering/hunting "territories", as many animals do. The aspects concerning and effects of land-rights (and possibly even property-rights) could then also be applied to pre-agricultural societies. And, indeed, there is some evidence of warfare in pre-agricultural societies. An even bigger outstanding question is the recent evidence suggesting complex societies/social structures prior to agriculture (Gobekli Tepe). That is, if the theory is that agriculture led to complex social structures which led to the patriarchy, how does one account for evidence of complex social structures prior to agriculture.

Fire: A lot of the same criticisms from the agriculture section can be applied here. But in addition that, this theory neglects to consider the fact that, in at least some of these societies, the majority of calories were provided from the women's gathered food. In addition, it doesn't consider how cooking was the (potential) impetus for advancements in human intelligence and society. I'd then ask: if both of these vital components (food source and food modification for further optimization) were being provided by women, why would this social structure result in patriarchy? Another good exercise is to try and see if you could apply this same argument to the opposite outcome. In other words, if (in some other timeline/reality) society was structured around matriarchies, could this theory be used to explain that? I'd argue, yes, it could (and would arguably make even more sense than the current theory). For example, one could argue: "because women were the primary providers (i.e., provided most calories and tended to fires that allowed for further optimization of resources) in early human civilization, while men's contributions (i.e., hunting for meat) often separated them from the larger group, early human societies developed around women's relationships naturally resulting a matriarchy as these society's grew larger/more complex." The fact that this same theory could be so easily applied to the opposite outcome suggests it may be a post hoc fallacy.

Mobility: I'd apply the same criticisms here as I applied to the agriculture and fire theories. In addition to that, it seems as though this may be conflating a current observation ("patriarchal cultures limit women's movement") with a prehistoric explanation ("differences in men's and women's movement resulted in the patriarchy").

Reproductive capacity: The biggest contradiction to this argument is the fact that we don't (always) see this pattern in non-human animals with complex social structures. As much as 43% of primate (lemurs, monkeys, and apes) species exhibit either female-dominant or egalitarian social structures. The most commonly referenced example of this is the bonobo; this considered significant because humans and bonobos are as closely "related" as humans and the male-dominated chimpanzees. There's a number of other mammals (where the female always carries the young) where this is true, including: elephants, hyenas, orcas, lions, and many others. It's true that these social organizations appear to be less common than male-dominated species, but this challenges the predictive value of this theory (i.e., if reproductive differences were the origin of the patriarchy we would not expect there to be female-dominated mammals). (There is an important note here, that any attempts to categorize animal behavior by humans standards runs the risk of anthropomorphizing. That being said, it would also be biased to completely disregard this evidence.) Again we could also try the "applying this theory to the opposite outcome" approach, and again, I'd argue that the resulting theory is even more logical. Consider, for example: "in early human civilization women's natural control over reproduction afforded them disproportionate social power; as societies grew more complex this natural division of power was codified into society, with women's influence over the family unit ultimately being reflected in, first, cooperative social groups and, later, governments." (Again, this exercise demonstrates that this theory may be an example of a post hoc fallacy.)

Physical dimorphism: The criticism for this theory is almost identical to the one for reproductive capacity. In particular, for primates, sexual dimorphism "does not necessarily constrain intersexual power relationships unless it is substantial". This is notable, because modern (and probably early) humans are considered to display – relatively speaking – limited physical dimorphism. Other matriarchal species (e.g., elephants, orcas, lions) also display physical dimorphism despite having larger males.

Choice: One of the biggest holes in this theory is that patriarchies appear to have emerged independently of each other in various locations. Even if you could conceivably imagine a scenario where one group of men in one location intentionally created a patriarchy, it's difficult to imagine this happening many, separate times, without some other influencing factor. I think this theory also falls victim to the current observation ("many men actively and/or passively uphold the patriarchy") for a past explanation ("a group of men chose to create the patriarchy").

Others: There's likely some other issues/counter-arguments for these! (There's probably also counter-counter-arguments as well!)

---

Conclusion:

So, where does this leave us?

I'd argue that it's most likely that some combination of all these factors ultimately led to the patriarchy. I doubt, however, that we'll ever know exactly what factors were involved or how we got from "there" (i.e., some biological and social differences between the sexes) to "here" (i.e., with a complex social organization favoring men and oppressing women).

It's an interesting thought exercise to consider how these factors could have interacted. I'd like to provide and example, but to be explicitly clear, I am not suggesting that this is the "correct" theory (or even a necessarily likely one) this is purely an example of one way these factors could have, potentially, interacted:

The biological differences between women and men (i.e., reproductive capacity and physical dimorphism), resulted in a generalized, but not completely restrictive, division of labor by sex in early human societies (i.e., men tended to undertake long hunts over large areas and women tended to remain in a smaller area, gathering and cultivating plants and hunting/trapping smaller animals while tending to children). In addition to this, men's greater-on-average strength meant they were primarily responsible for defending early territories (i.e., from animals and/or other groups of male humans). These factors advantaged men who were disproportionately inclined towards aggression (i.e., increased the personal survival and mating success) of such men. However, these differences did not ultimately result in organized social oppression of women (i.e., the patriarchy) until these early civilizations started to grow in size around the advent of agriculture. Once this additional factor was added, women's previously reduced mobility became even more restricted and more formalized. Defense of territory (now agricultural land with far denser resources) and the increase in private property (as increased food production allowed for diversification of labor) also resulted in increased warfare. Again, men inclined towards aggression tended to survive longer and have more success in finding a mate, due to the expansion of conflict over land/property. In contrast, women were increasingly treated like the property of men, as something that provides a resource (e.g., babies) and requires protection from other men looking to obtain that resource. This status change was realized in laws and religions restricting women's movement and behavior (i.e., which also indicates a degree of choice in the process – some men, at some point, must have decided to (unfortunately, successfully) try and codify the policies). As time passed these laws and social norms became more and more ingrained, ultimately leading to the patriarchy we know today.

Again, please recognize that I am not suggesting that this is the "correct" theory of the patriarchy's origins. I add this primarily to showcase how many factors may have interacted, but also to demonstrate how any theory will have problems. For example, holes in the above theory include:

We know women have been, and are, involved with the defense of their families and homes. So, why hasn't this also favored women with naturally high aggression? If it actually has, then at what point did society start emphasizing docility in women? What factor resulted in compliance with this new norm? We also know that men are primarily "protective" of women they consider "their own (property)". So if men were primarily protecting "their" women from other men ... then men were already thinking of women as a resource, implying evidence of a patriarchy prior to this initial time point. If this is the case, then what factor came before this?

Further, if women were treated like a resource (i.e., for reproduction) following the invention of agriculture, what is to say they were not also treated this way prior to the invention of agriculture? If they were treated as such, why are there are other species in which this does not happen? What factors result in these differences?

How was the codification of women's oppression successful when there was, presumably, a point in time in which these norms did not yet exist? We can only assume that early women – as fully realized, independent people – would resist obvious attempts at such restriction, so how were these laws initially created and proposed? To assume there would be no resistance implies that women were either already oppressed en mass prior to the codification of such policies or that they generally supported such policies. Both of these assumptions are likely erroneous: how could there be organized, ubiquitous, oppression of women in complex societies without any centralized organization, and why would one assume early women were any less likely to advocate for their own self-interest than early men?

What degree did choice play? If the patriarchy truly did emerge independently in many different places, and the creation of the patriarchy included at least some element of choice, why do we not have strong evidence of any societies fully rejecting patriarchy? Alternately, do we have any evidence of societies fully rejecting patriarchy (either implementing a matriarchy or true egalitarianism)? If so, are there any other factors that differentiate these societies? Was men's choice to codify laws the ultimate factor? If so, what made them so inclined to codify such laws? If it was purely self-interest, then why were no early resistance movements successful?

Those are only a portion of possible critiques, so clearly the proposed scenario is flawed. My central point is really that any theory will be flawed.

To me, the more important question is what perpetuates the patriarchy now (e.g., patriarchal religions, patriarchal laws, commodification of women's bodies, gender stereotypes, etc.) and what we can do about these factors (e.g., legal opposition, gender abolition, etc.). Most importantly, in modern society, the patriarchy is perpetuated by both active choices (e.g., men choosing to pass laws that restrict women's bodily autonomy, men protecting sexual predators, etc.) and passive actions (e.g., compliance with restrictive gender stereotypes, ignoring sexist rhetoric in organized religions, etc.). It is therefore these choices that we must work to shift.

I hope this helps you! It was an interesting topic to research!

References below the cut:

Hansen, C. W., Jensen, P. S., & Skovsgaard, C. V. (2015). Modern gender roles and agricultural history: the Neolithic inheritance. Journal of Economic Growth, 20, 365-404.

Lerner, Gerda, and Gerda Lerner. The Creation of Patriarchy. Oxford Univ. Press, 1987.

Saini, A. (2021). The patriarchs: The origins of inequality. Beacon Press.

Kraemer, S. (1991). The origins of fatherhood: An ancient family process. Family process, 30(4), 377-392.

Wrangham, Richard (2009). Catching Fire: How Cooking Made Us Human. Basic Books.

Potts, M., & Campbell, M. (2008). The origins and future of patriarchy: the biological background of gender politics. Journal of Family Planning and Reproductive Health Care, 34(3), 171–174. doi:10.1783/147118908784734792

Goldberg, S. H. (1974). The inevitability of patriarchy.

UCL. “Analysis: How Did the Patriarchy Start – and Will Evolution Get Rid of It?” UCL News, 20 Sept. 2022, https://www.ucl.ac.uk/news/2022/sep/analysis-how-did-patriarchy-start-and-will-evolution-get-rid-it.

Engels, F. (2001). The origin of the family, private property and the state. Wellred Books.

Venkataraman, V. V., Hoffman, J., Farquharson, K., Davis, H. E., Hagen, E. H., Hames, R. B., ... & Stibbard-Hawkes, D. N. (2024). Female foragers sometimes hunt, yet gendered divisions of labor are real: a comment on Anderson et al.(2023) The Myth of Man the Hunter. Evolution and Human Behavior.

Kaufmann, J. H. (1983). On the definitions and functions of dominance and territoriality. Biological reviews, 58(1), 1-20.

Allen, M. W., & Jones, T. L. (2014). Violence and warfare among hunter-gatherers. Left Coast Press.

Curry, Andrew. “Gobekli Tepe: The World’s First Temple?” Smithsonian Magazine, https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/gobekli-tepe-the-worlds-first-temple-83613665/.

Gibbons, Ann. “The Evolution of Diet.” National Geographic, http://www.nationalgeographic.com/foodfeatures/evolution-of-diet/.

Novak, Sara. “Females Dominate Males in Many Primate Species.” Scientific American, https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/females-dominate-males-in-many-primate-species/.

Lewis, R. J., Kirk, E. C., & Gosselin-Ildari, A. D. (2023). Evolutionary patterns of intersexual power. Animals, 13(23), 3695.

Novak, Sara. “Females Dominate Males in Many Primate Species.” Scientific American, https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/females-dominate-males-in-many-primate-species/.

Pare, Sascha. “6 Animals Where Females Reign Supreme.” Livescience.Com, 4 July 2024, https://www.livescience.com/animals/animals-where-females-reign-supreme.

“In Real Life, Simba’s Mom Would Be Running the Pride.” Animals, 8 July 2019, https://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/article/lion-pride-family-dynamics-females.

Larsen, C. S. (2003). Equality for the sexes in human evolution? Early hominid sexual dimorphism and implications for mating systems and social behavior. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 100(16), 9103-9104.

*Please note that some of these sources are books that I have not read in their entirety. I also don't necessarily agree with all/any of the content, as I am merely presenting them as sources for the various theories/counter-arguments. They should all be read critically.

**Please also remember my disclaimer ... I did my best, but there are probably more/other/better sources on these topics out there.

[starlit-crossing]

A Ghost of Yourself Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - A Feeling of Dread

Welcome and enjoy! All characters are of course owned by their original intellectual properties and this story is in no way canon.

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Danny wasn't sure what to think when his parents said they would be collaborating with the Guys in White for a contract. He knew nothing good would come from it. Jazz had even voiced her concerns, citing the times the GIW had tried to steal their work. His parents just brushed off their worries, stating the project was research focused rather than weaponry. It relieved some of Danny's worries, but he couldn't shake this nagging feeling.

"If its focused-on research how much harm could it cause?" Sam reassured as the collection of herself, Danny and Tucker settled in for movie night in Sam's home theater. The theater was in the basement, red curtains hanging by the large movie screen.  A few chairs and piles of pillows were strewn about for the group to chill on. There was even a popcorn and soda machine in the back of the room next to a few classic arcade games.

"Yeah, Danny, what if they finally find evidence to support your side? Y'know the fact ghosts are the same as people and there is good and bad." Tucker piped in as he plopped into the cushiony seat with a bounce, extra-large popcorn and soda in hand.

"I don't know, Tuck. They've found stuff like that before, and they always find a way to twist it to fit their view on ghosts." Danny rambled, running his hand through his hair. "I just hope they'll be careful around the GIW and maybe let some research spill at home so I can eavesdrop."

"You could always follow them." Sam suggested. She watched confused as the boys just stared at her.

"You think Danny should follow his parents into the base of a bunch of ghost hunters hired by the government to research and destroy anything undead?" Tucker asked. "Are you insane?"

"Sorry Sam I'm with Tucker on this one, I don't think I could get close without catching someone's attention, human or ghost." Danny sighed, "Let's just get the movie started, what's on the menu?"

"Femalien 2: Predator vs Prey, Terminatra 7: Back to the Present Again, or Nightmerica: Dreams of Terror." Sam listed off just as Danny felt a cold wisp of air leave his lips.

"FEAR ME! I AM THE BOX GHOST!" screamed the Box Ghost, the cry making its way in from outside.

"Raincheck you guys, boxy shouldn't take me too long." As a flash filled the room and Danny flew through the walls disappearing.

"Ten bucks says Skulker shows up before he can come back." Tucker bribed.

"You're on, we took out his suit last week. Meanwhile, Kitty and Johnny 13 have been fighting again." Sam accepted, starting up a movie knowing it would be done before he got back.

- -      -

The following weeks were surprisingly uneventful, a sign Danny took to heart. His parents had been extra careful not to leave out any notes or research in the house, not even in the lab. Refusing to give any hints as to what they were working on. Ghosts had been scarce, nothing except ectopuses and blob ghosts. The GIW agents had been the complete opposite, they were at an all-time high. You couldn't go more than ten minutes without spotting a white van. He was glad he didn't need to save anyone from those agents, but he had a really bad feeling that something was going to happen. School was his only time away from the ghost hunters it felt like.

"Calm down, Danny. So, you have had a few good weeks, you've caught up on homework and Lancer isn't on your back nearly as much." Sam soothed as they took a seat outside in the courtyard for lunch. The hustle and bustle of students drowning out any chance of being overheard.

"Yea, dude even Dash has been picking on you less. Though that could be due to the championship coming up." Tucker added his mouth full of sloppy joe. The bully in question was across the court passing a football with his teammates, Paulina and her socialites sitting on the table watching them. Dash caught Danny's gaze and gave him a smirk dragging his finger across his neck.

"Don't remind me, I still remember last year when we lost. Dash was bully all nerds on sight that week." Danny grimaced as he ate. "But my parents have been really excited this week. Apparently, something big is coming." As if speaking it into the universe the Fenton GAV made its way barreling down the street, some white vans in tow.

"Spoke too soon, dude." Tucker whispered as they watched the GAV dodge and swerve to miss any pedestrians. The vehicle finally came to a stop on the grass with Drs. Fenton and the GIW rushing out to follow a gadget in Jack's hands.

"He's here somewhere, I just know it! Come out ghost scum!" Jack exclaimed barreling straight to Danny. The whole group of hunters stared at the young boy and his friends. "Aww. It didn't work, Maddie. It’s still stuck on Danny-boy." Now that they were closer Danny was able to see the Fenton Finder in his father's hands. It looked like it had been upgraded, it was bigger with handles on the sides and no voice stating where the ghost was. The screen showed simple faces on the screen next to the GPS. The current emoji was a shocked face as the map was pointing and beeping at him.

"That can't be possible, we tested it on other simple ghosts. The upgrade to the Fenton Finder was supposed to show and locate the emotions the ghosts project in order to fool and feed on the humans around them. Even that simple ghost with the boxes was able to show signs of disappointment as he failed to scare his victims." Maddie explained, grabbing the device. With it in hand she fiddled with the settings of the device, swapping it between ghosts till it landed back on the name Phantom. "We had tested this last week; Phantom's emotions reflected his actions time and time again in a hostile environment."

"Well, there's no ghost here, probably still has a few bugs, right?" Sam offered, trying to distract them and keep the focus off Danny. Danny's mind raced with the implications of what was happening. Of course, his parents would find out that ghosts tend to be more emotional than humans and would twist the fact to fit their biased theory that all ghosts were evil. It’s not like ghosts were moody on purpose, when your entire being is based on your mental state emotions tend to play an important part. Not only with obsessions but when interacting with each other, being able to read the emotions of the ghosts you interreacted with was as important as social cues and body language with humans.

Sure, you could go without them and function as fine as anyone else, but they were still a great help with communicating if you were good at understanding them. With this they'd be able to tune into any ghost no matter the distance and translate it into coordinates. Not even the ghost zone would be completely safe as they could probably filter through the other emotions using the ectosignature of a previously known ghost. Danny's breath started to pick up, he could feel himself spiraling as he started to think about what that would mean for him in the hands of the GIW. They would never stop looking for him, they would be able to find him anywhere in the country.

"Look Mads, the ghost kid has to be near the emotion changed again." Jack exclaimed, jumping with excitement.

"I see that Jack and it would make sense with the transition of shock to confusion to panic. Though he's nowhere to be seen, Agent O do you have confirmation that Phantom isn't in the area?" Maddie turned, addressing the agents that had been standing by waiting for orders.

"Affirmative, there are no spectral entities in the viscidity on any energy spectrum. Could it be possible that the spectral entity is hiding among the student body? You said yourself that your device is focused on your son and that it’s a common occurrence. Could the ghost have caught wind of your contract with our organization and tried to find out more by hiding amongst your family?" Agent O suggested, eyeing Danny closely, the color draining from his face.

"That's preposterous, our family has ways of protecting ourselves!" Jack boasted, his voice carrying across the schoolyard. "Besides Danny knows not to trust any stinking ghost scum."

"Jack, honey..." Maddie called, eyes glued to the screen. "The emotion just turned to scared." Danny felt like all eyes were on him, going straight through him to his core. It felt like no one was looking at Fenton anymore, no matter where he looked, they all stared at him like they saw a ghost; like they only saw Phantom. Danny even had to look at himself to make sure he was still human. No gloved hands and red sneakers, he was definitely human still. Danny looked at Tucker and Sam, his best friends, looked at him with matching expressions. They both looked as shocked as he felt; they all knew they couldn't do anything, not with the GIW and student body all around them.

With everyone's attention on him, he could only think of his sister who wasn't even at school. She was shadowing a therapist and had a college interview later that day. She probably wouldn't hear anything till late that night. It's not like they weren't prepared for it, for Danny to have to disappear without a trace or a goodbye. So long as they were unable to control the narrative, Danny would have to disappear. Danny knew they always thought it would be into the ghost zone, he had allies in there. People he knew would keep him hidden if anyone came looking; that Sam and Tucker would be able to sneak in if need be. They could still see him, bring him homework and food. This, however, meant goodbye and he didn't know for how long.

"Danny," his mom smiled at him with worry filled eyes. He searched them for something, anything that showed she wasn't about to drag him home and put the specter deflector on him just to make sure no ghost was using him as a meat puppet. Her arms reached out to him, as the GIW surrounded their table ready for action. "You have nothing to worry about, sweetie. We're just going to head home."

"Yea, Danny. We'll help ya out, run a few tests and make sure you don't have any evil spook haunting you." His dad tagged on, wrapping an arm around his wife's shoulder. Of course they'd want to fix this, to fix the ghost within him. One test would reveal the truth, and everyone would know his secret. Then it would be more tests, biopsies, trying to cure him of his powers. That was if they still loved him after learning the truth. The thoughts surrounding the lab became darker in his mind, nightmares he dared not to tell anyone becoming fresh in his mind.

"I'm sorry, mom. Dad. Goodbye." Danny disappearing from everyone's sight as he turned invisible and flew off towards his house. His parents’ cries fading into the distance, a mix of worry and anger as the ghost boy stole their son. Tears stung his eyes as he flew across the sky, Sam and Tucker would know what to do. They would stall for him, as long as they could. The road raced past him, he went through cars and buildings not bothering to fly high in the sky. The less time he wasted the better. As he floated into his room, he had to take a moment. The reality of it all crashing into him, he felt another wave of stress come over him.

Choking on sobs he fell to his bed, clinging to the sheets. He had to calm down, he didn't have time to cry or pity himself, his parents were probably still tracking him. Which meant the GIW were still following behind, his parents he could one day convince, could one day explain how it all happened. The GIW wouldn't stop though, so long as they were getting paid and had the government's support he would have to run. He ran to his closet wiping away snot as he phased his emergency supplies from the wall. Extra clothes, a burner phone, and couple hundred dollars thanks to Sam's allowance all stowed away in a backpack. An extra belt with a Fenton thermos, ghost rays, and a pair of Fenton phones for any specters along the way. Finally, five letters addressed to Sam, Tucker, Jazz, Valerie, and his parents.

Sam and Tucker didn't know about these, he didn't know if he would ever need them but knowing his friends would drop everything to follow him, he needed to make sure Amity would be safe. Sam and Tucker's letters were a warning to not follow him, to stay and protect Amity at all costs, even revealing him to Valerie to gain her help if necessary. He couldn't trust his parents or the GIW to not torture any ghost that came into their hands. For Jazz, it was a letter to not look for him and to keep an eye on his parents. If anything changed with his parents, she would be the first to know. He needed her to be the fly on the wall, to make sure he still had parents at the end of it all. If there was ever an end to the running, he thought another wave of sorrow hitting him.

He swallowed the hurt and pushed himself to keep grabbing what he needed. Valerie and his parents were the only letters not mentioning his secret. Valerie's was from Phantom explaining he would be gone, and he didn't know for how long. She would probably be thrilled at the thought of Phantom going away, but if she saw anything that had happened today, she might try and follow him too.  He knows she cares about Fenton and would probably want him safe but if anyone could protect Amity while he was gone it was her. If she needed any help handling the ghosts she could call the number provided. It went straight to Sam and Tucker's burner phone. Only one for the two of them in case either of them had to hide it for the other.

 For his parents, it simply stated that he was sorry and that could explain everything if they ever became open to the truth about ghosts. He did not explain what the truth was or how he would know that they were ready. That was for Jazz to tell him with a single message, she held the final burner phone the group of them had. They would be confused, not sure why phantom would kidnap their kid. Their hatred would grow much to his displeasure, but maybe one day they would give up on hate. They would find him and just ask why, and he could finally let them know the whole truth about him.

As Danny left the letter for his parents on the kitchen table he heard the stomping of feet, the whine of ecto-guns and slamming of doors as his father led the charge into the house. He was gone before they even reached his room. Leaving with what letters he had left to deliver and flying away as quickly as he could. He stopped at Tucker's house first, then Sam's, Valerie's and then flew as high as he could into the sky. He looked down at Amity Park, his home, his entire life, and afterlife.

It always looked so peaceful from up above the clouds, he watched the GAV ram its way through the city. It was good to know there was a slight delay on the GPS, the emotions were able to update in real time but could only follow his trail not his exact location. They had moved on from Tucker's neighborhood and onto Sam's. He took one final breath and tried to steel his nerves. If they were searching for him with emotion, then he would just have to have no emotion. He wouldn't be able to think of home, his friends, his family, or he would start to miss them, an emotion.

He couldn't think about how close the GIW were to him, or he'd become anxious, scared or even angry that they had forced him to flee. He had to stay calm and focused on running, to where he had no clue. If he headed west there was a chance of running into Vlad and he didn't need all the emotional baggage that would come with that. So that just left heading to the East coast and hopefully out of the country. He'd have to stop using his powers at some point to make sure he was untraceable.

"Goodbye, Amity. Hello worst road trip ever." he spoke softly flying off into the night.

- -      -

Hello! Author here, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! It’s intended to be sort of a prologue and set up the rest of the story. This is a crossover, but I wanted to get some establishing chapters in focusing on Danny and why he is running. I am still very rusty when it comes to writing so feel free to recommend any fixes and critiques. Let me know if I miss any typos!

The goal is to try and update weekly on Fridays or Sundays, so if I don’t post on Friday that probably means it will go up the following Sunday. Thank you to those coming over from Tumblr, loved the hype for another Dannymay fanfic! I’ll be trying to get more stuff posted there!

Let me know what you think through the comments, even if it’s just a simple one word so I can know you’re enjoying the story! See you next week, byee!

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