#but they’re all not. who they’re supposed to be.

[sunni-stuff]

P1 P3

With the train ride now over, the sergeants ran, scouring the market for two familiar faces. Their footsteps in sync, crunching delicate mounds of white snow. Soap broke through the crowd first, then Gaz and Gary were right with him.

“Where the hell are they?” Gaz pants out, his breaths misting in the cold air.

“You said the marketplace,” Soap huffs.

“Yeah, I said the marketplace, but it's not like I know exactly where they went!” Gaz snaps back.

While the two sergeants bicker, Roach quietly breaks away, scanning the area until he spots the familiar figures they’d been hunting for. Price and Ghost stand outside a cigar shop, deep in conversation. The satisfied grin on Price's face tells Roach everything—he got what he was after.

“They’re over there!” Roach exclaims, snapping his partners out of their lovers' quarrel.

Gaz and Soap go silent, their eyes following Roach’s line of sight until they, too, spot their Lieutenant and Captain.

In a heartbeat, the three of them are sprinting toward their unsuspecting targets. Soap grins like a madman, practically buzzing with mischief, while Gaz shakes his head, both amused and slightly wary of what might unfold. Roach, meanwhile, is simply thrilled to be along for the ride.

They skid to a stop right in front of the two men, chests heaving as they catch their breath in the biting winter air.

“The hell is wrong with you lot?” Price’s voice cuts through, laced with a mix of annoyance and bemusement as he shifts his attention from Ghost to the winded sergeants.

Ghost, arms crossed, eyes them with quiet scrutiny. His winter coat does little to conceal his bulky frame, a silent reminder of his imposing presence as he stands beside Price.

Price and Ghost waited for an explanation, knowing well everytime those three got together, they were definitely up to no good.

Like how they put semi-permanent green dye in Ghost's shampoo for Halloween.

“We… we saw. A kid with your face,” Gaz manages, still catching his breath, pointing straight at Ghost.

Ghost raises a brow, baffled. A kid with his face? What the hell did that mean? Did they think he looked like a baby?

Soap huffs in mock disappointment, shooting a playful glare at Gaz. “Oi, I wanted to say it!”

Predictably, the two dive into another back-and-forth. Gaz isn’t one to shout, but Soap has a talent for riling anyone up.

Price lets their little show go on for only a moment before his stern voice cuts in, slicing through their bickering. “One of you properly explain, or you'll be walking back to base.”

Roach steps up, eager to clarify. “There’s a kid, probably about two, and she looks exactly like the Lt. Scowl, glare, and all!”

Price and Ghost pause, their expressions twisting as they both try—and fail—to imagine a little girl with Simon’s permanent scowl.

Price shudders, shaking the thought from his head. “That is not a face a kid should have.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Gaz chimes in, nodding emphatically.

Ghost throws him an offended look, his usually hardened eyes showing a glimmer of hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” they all exclaim in unison, even Price, who quickly averts his gaze as Ghost’s glare narrows on him.

Ghost huffs, then crosses his arms. “Did you take a picture?”

Soap snorts, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “Aye, right, 'cause that wouldnae be creepy at all.”

Ghost stares daggers Into Soap, rolling his eyes and pushing himself off the wall. “Okay, then where is she?”

The three stooges lead the charge once again, this time with their Captain and Lieutenant in tow. They weave through the crowd toward the train park, where Soap eagerly scans for the woman and kid he’d spotted earlier. But the line they were in is empty, the pair nowhere to be found.

“Shite. I think they’re gone,” Soap mutters, his Scottish accent thickening in his frustration, the words rolling out with a clipped bite. 

“So the imaginary woman and kid don’t actually exist,” Ghost deadpans, unimpressed.

“They exist!” Gaz insists, voice edging on exasperation.

“Sure,” Ghost replies, his tone flat and thoroughly unconvinced.

Roach snickers, then glances over at Price—only to see him staring slack-jawed through the window of a nearby café, his cigar dangling from his mouth, forgotten.

“Cap?” Roach says, touching the older man’s shoulder.

Price doesn’t look away, nodding toward the café. “Found them.”

Everyone turns toward the café, eyes landing on you and Adira. The little girl is happily weaving between your legs, her tiny hands gripping your coat as she entertains herself, all while you order hot chocolates to fend off the winter chill. A soft smile touches your lips as you watch her play, blissfully unaware of the audience gathering just outside.

The barista, with a warm smile, hands over two cups, one with a little extra marshmallows for Adira, her voice bright as she wishes you both a merry Christmas. You take the cups with a grateful nod, handing one to Adira. She immediately takes her drink, sipping eagerly, her small feet bouncing on her heels from the sugar rush.

“Yummy?” You ask, glancing down at her with a soft smile, a wave of motherly pride swelling in your chest as you watch her delight in the simple joy of her drink.

Adira nods eagerly, her eyes lighting up as she pulls away from her straw with a satisfied sigh. “Yummy.”

With a soft chuckle, you both leave the warmth of the shop, stepping out into the crisp air. Hand in hand, you walk back toward the park, the world around you feeling peaceful despite the cold. As you reach the crosswalk, you stop, waiting for the light to turn. Adira looks up at you, her little face filled with contentment as she swings your joined hands back and forth, her sugary energy still buzzing.

Across the way, the team stood frozen, unable to look away from the scene unfolding before them. Everyone but Ghost was struck by how much Adira looked like him—her features unmistakably mirroring his, save for the color of her hair and skin. The resemblance was uncanny, and for a brief moment, it felt like the world had stopped around them.

“She looks nothing like me,” Ghost stated plainly, his voice cutting through the stillness as though it were fact. His expression was unmoving, a wall of stubbornness in his eyes. He was ready to die on that hill.

Then, as fate would have it, a woman walking her dog passed by, and Adira’s cherub-like face hardened into a cold, calculating stare. It was subtle, but unmistakable. 

“Nevermind,” Ghost muttered, his earlier conviction faltering as he watched her shift before his eyes.

“So… you’ve been having fun these past years?” Roach asked, his gaze flicking between Adira and Ghost, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Not that I know of,” Ghost grunted, his eyes still locked on you and Adira, a mix of unease and something else flickering across his face. He couldn’t pull himself away.

“Let’s get closer,” Price commanded, already making his move. Soap and Roach exchanged a shrug, falling in line without hesitation.

“Excuse me?” Gaz sputtered, though his body had already begun moving before his brain could catch up, unable to defy the Captain’s order.

Ghost fell silent, teeth gritted. This wasn’t a situation he was used to, especially not one where he was forced to go in blind. He stood stiffly at the crosswalk, trying to hide his glances, his focus split between the team and you.

Soap ended up the closest, standing just next to Adira. The little girl paused, her big, doe-like eyes lifting from her drink to catch sight of him. The recognition was instant. Her lips pursed into a small line, and her gaze grew heavy with annoyance. 

“Ugee…” she whispered, scooting closer to you.

Soap froze, his mind stuttering for a moment. Did she just—? Did she call me ugly?

Gaz, standing behind him, couldn’t contain himself. A muffled laugh broke through as Soap turned to look at the others, wide-eyed and speechless, completely taken aback.

“Do ye lot think I'm ugly?” Soap asked, his voice thick with disbelief, clearly thrown off by the little girl's words.

“Not the time, Mctavish,” Price said, a tiny laugh tugging at the corner of his lips despite the situation.

The streetlight flickered green, signaling it was time to move. You adjusted yourself, ready to cross the street. Each member of the team started mentally preparing, unsure of how—or even if—they should approach you. Ghost, however, was the first to make a move, determined to intercept you. But Soap, ever the opportunist, beat him to it.

Ghost wasn’t exactly subtle, and having him try anything would probably send you running in the opposite direction.

“Excuse me, aren’t you the lady from the train?” Soap called out, his voice light, though his intentions were clear.

You paused at his interruption, recognition flickering in your eyes. You remembered the man who bumped into you earlier. “Yes? Is something the matter?”

“Do you happen to know where I could find Leslies?” Soap asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice, though he tried to mask it.

“The pub?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Soap confirmed, his face lighting up with a mix of relief and surprise at your easy response.

You look around for a moment, trying to remember and see the street names of your current location. “Uh…it should be about a couple blocks south from here. They have a big sign, you can't miss it.”

Thank God for Soap, because that one question was all he needed to keep you trapped in a conversation, his charm working its magic as you giggled and chatted away easily, the awkwardness of the situation melting away.

Meanwhile, Ghost’s attention shifted to Adira. He looked down at her, and she, almost instinctively, looked up at him. Their eyes locked in a silent staring contest, each of them studying the other. The intensity in their gaze was undeniable, both sets of eyes reflecting the same quiet, unwavering strength. It was like looking in a mirror—a mirror that mirrored back his own hardened stare and no-nonsense attitude.

Adira was, quite literally, his mini me. The resemblance was impossible to ignore.

“How old are you?” Ghost asked bluntly, his voice low as he kneeled down to Adira’s height, his gaze intense but trying to soften.

Adira paused for a moment, glancing up at you for help, but you were still caught up in conversation with Soap. She turned her focus back to Ghost, her small fingers fidgeting with the hem of her coat as she murmured shyly, “Two…”

She was two. Two. Ghost’s mind raced, trying to piece together the details, but nothing clicked. Nearly three years ago… what had he done three years ago? He kept everything categorized, stored in his mind like a well-organized file system, but this was something that didn’t fit.

Then, Soap’s voice broke through his thoughts. 

“You don’t seem like the type of lass to frequent Leslies.”

You giggled, a soft blush creeping up your cheeks at Soap’s question. He wasn’t wrong… at least, not entirely. “I’ve only been to Leslie’s once, and, well… it’s how I ended up with my little blessing.” You glanced down at Adira, the warmth of your smile radiating as you spoke.

Everything shattered in that moment. Ghost’s stomach twisted painfully, his heart skipping a beat as the realization slammed into him like a freight train. Leslie's. Almost three years ago, during that stupid holiday.

His mind began to piece it together, the hazy memories from that night slowly coming into focus. He remembered the bar, the laughter, the way you had caught his attention. You were easy on the eyes, easy to make laugh, and most importantly—unlike everyone else. You didn’t ask questions, didn’t pry, you just let him lead, let him slip into the night with no strings attached.

But now, as he looked at Adira, everything fell into place. The way she stared at him, those familiar eyes, the resemblance he couldn’t ignore. His breath hitched, and the weight of the truth crushed him—she was his daughter.

A knot formed in his throat as he tried to process the fact. Adira. His daughter. The little girl standing before him was his flesh and blood, the result of a moment he'd long since buried in the depths of his mind.

---

Taglist: @auradaniela98-blog-blog @cumsluut @unstqblecvrses @moraxnomora @serafina-nyx @sage-burrow @skylarmitchell @xx-wal1flower-xx @n-y-x04 @gluttonybiscuits @imahugenerdlol @wehrgabriel @blackhawkfanatic @tazuduck @soxocs @jingyuansspouse @cutiecusp @sleepyoriana @forgottensomewhere @puppylikethedog @spongelistener @caged-birdies-blog @bubblegirll26 @misscaller06 @fuckbananas03 @watu2ka @yukisdelusional @redroserabbit

[machveil]

I can't resist the siren call

Roommate!Simon Riley that low-key enjoys fucking with your friends Y/N

subtle foreshadowing… I suppose I can dip into my nsfw Roommate!Simon Riley thoughts

Roommate!Simon Riley who shares a laundry bin with you, it had been agreed a long time ago that just doing a big load would be easier. you takes turns, knowingly stealing each other’s clothes every couple days when the laundry is fresh out the machine. you know Simon took an oversized t-shirt you owned, but that’s okay, you took his favorite gym hoodie

Roommate!Simon Riley who doesn’t get embarrassed about his underwear being in the bin with yours, it’s all going in the machine anyways. that doesn’t stop him from raising an eyebrow though when his favorite boxers go missing. he was sure he put them in with the dirties, well, the cleans now. he figures the machine ate it, or maybe they’ll show up some day by chance - he shrugs it off and separates his clothes from yours, snagging one of your oversized sweaters to lounge in later

Roommate!Simon Riley who freezes when he sees you on the couch that night. eyes wide and jaw slack, he can’t bring himself to move. sat watching something on the tv - he can’t be bothered to acknowledge whats playing - he stares at you, wearing his boxers as shorts. “Hey, come watch this— I’ll catch you up since it just started. I’m not pausing it though so you better pay attention.”, your words are all in one ear and out the other. suddenly his legs are moving on their own, stopping in front of you. he doesn’t register what you’re saying, telling him to move because you can’t see the tv, but then he speaks

Roommate!Simon Riley whose voice is deliciously deep, a little raspy from how his throat suddenly feels dry, “S’that mine?”, he asks, eyeing his boxers. he’s never had such a hard time swallowing before, heartbeat erratic as you casually respond, “Huh— oh, yeah. They’re really comfy, the fabrics nice.”. fabrics nice, yeah, he knows. “You— ya know those are boxers, right love?”, he asks, hands twitchy as you reply, “Mhm, just borrowin’ them.”

CW: guilty wank, man is hopeless [kisses his cheek]

Roommate!Simon Riley who’s a mess after that interaction. you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at him, but he’s losing it on the inside. he’s seen you be audacious with stealing his clothes before, taking his loose-fit tank tops that left little to the imagination on you, stealing clothes you knew he favored and parading around in them, but his boxers? that had him stalking back to his room, quick to turn on his heel before you could see his pants tent

he’s sweating, closes the door to his room a little harder than he meant to. god, he wants to go back out there and see you again, get an eyeful of how comfortable you looked - wearing his boxers like they were yours. you wouldn’t know, and he can’t help but think about it, but you had stolen his favorite pair. they’re plain, a simple black pair, something he bought at the store because he needed new underwear. but when you wear them? they suddenly looked different, makes his heart hammer against his chest. it feels like he walked out into the living room and you wearing lingerie, not something he got for fifteen pounds

he feels a little guilty, shoving his jeans down his thighs as he sits down on his bed. you’re home, sat in the living room just down the hall, and here’s Simon fishing his leaky cock out of his underwear. he really shouldn’t, he should sneak into the bathroom for a cold shower, think about war and blood and bullets to get his boner down. but he isn’t, he’s spitting into his palm and groaning, bringing his free hand up to cover his mouth - he’s never been good about keeping quiet. it’s not his fault you were out there wearing his clothes, you were the one that decided to look so— so cozy and content in your makeshift shorts. domestic

when that word settles at the forefront of his brain Simon’s hips jerk, you looked domestic, wanting to watch some show with him. his leg jolts slightly, hand moving to shallowly pump his weeping head. maybe your friends are right, Simon does take care of you - could bend you over and make you sob his name - he’s basically your boyfriend, often mistaken for your husband. his thighs tense when he imagines a ring on your finger— no, his dog tags hanging from your neck— god, holding you at night as an actual couple—

he’s choking out a moan, muffled and hoarse, as he coats his hand. eyes fluttering shut and breathing heavily, all his thoughts fly out the window as his cum drips down his fingers - all his thoughts except for one. he’s going to have to go back out there later to eat dinner with you, and oh, fuck, he sucks in a deep breath as he chubs up again

[bubbleddisasters]

I’m bored so DORM SET UP HEADCANONS!

———-

Heartstabyl:

-With the stairs constantly moving, most second and third years have somewhat memorized the patterns, yet never tell the first years.

It’s like a right of passage to figure it out for yourself.

-Similarly to how each of the other dorms has their special little extra area (Ex: Pomfieores Hidden Lab, Savannaclaws Colosseum etc) Heartstabyl has a literal courtroom that goes often unused, but sometimes if Drama or Arguments gets too much, they will have a court session to debate it, or just joke debates.

-Due to it nearly breaching capacity, the third years do not have their own dorms, but share with one other student, of their choice if mutual or random otherwise. Trey and Cater share a room, which has been jokily dubbed the Leprechaun room. (Clover suit with green hair and goldenish eyes + Ginger with soul sucking bright green eyes)

-There is a confiscation room that only Trey and Riddle are SUPPOSED to have access to. Unfortunately for them, Che’nya does exist and can be bribed into robbery with (good) cheese, (good) cheesecake, or cool trinkets as long as the confiscated item isn’t overly dangerous or too illegal.

-Ace and Deuce’s room is known for being the loudest and has received an unorthodox amount of noise complaints.

-Some students make the hedgehogs outfits and little hats.

____________

Savannaclaw:

——

-As it’s literally made of ROCK, there are many incidents and injuries from running into walls or tripping.

-If food goes missing, their is actually war fare and it is taken personally, but Ruggie has managed to escape suspicion for his entire stay so far.

-Not a goddamn vegetable in sight, Jack has a stash of them and is so far one of three students to do so.

-Dumbest dorm in the club with the highest drop out (usually for pursing a sports scholarship at another school) , expulsion and injury rates.

-Due to fights, sports and literal brain damage from being hit in the head with a discus one too many times, the dorm members are often at the nurses office.

-Sometimes gets ABO jokes from (mostly) Ignihyde students, and has literally no clue what they’re talking about unless directly explained. Jack didn’t say anything to the majority of the school for about a week after Ortho explained it to him.

-From what we see in Leonas Room atleast, all the windows are glassless, so some students will straight up jump out the windows or fall through them on the regular.

-There actually IS a vice housewarden, atleast on paper, since it was required, but nobody knows who it is, not even the vice themselves.

Leona picked a student from his dorms name at random, and Crowley never checked in with the student, and has been under the assumption they’re constantly busy or just neglectful thanks to Leona gaslighting.

The only thing he has told Savannaclaw is that he can confirm it’s not Ruggie, since he didn’t know he existed at the time.

-Rook has crawled through Leonas window ATLEAST ONCE to bother him, and after that he put up drapes so he had a better chance of hearing him coming.

___________

Octavinelle:

_____

-ALL the drama and ALL the blackmail. Literally a dorm of Regina George level dramatics. Pomefiore has nothing on them.

-Gaslighting and Manipulation extraordinares

-As Ursula herself is based on a Drag Queen (Divine), I imagine they have Drag Nights at the lounge, and they’re extremely popular.

-Alot of the non-mer students make jokes about drowning if the barrier ever gets removing, and as most of the mers likely blush blue instead of pink/red, usually many first year humans think their literally choking/ can’t breath for a hot sec.

Also alot of strange incidents and firsts for them, like finding out your roommate is bioluminescent.

-24/7 Elevator music in the lounge, so it drives them absolutely INSANE if played around the dorms too.

-The music was never actually turned off during Azuls OB, as Jade, Floyd or Azul himself probably had the key to the audio room, or was already locked into the bluetooth, so everyone was losing their shit whilst spa music was playing in the background. Sort of like that one Markaplier quote:

“If purple guy is the creator, then what does it all mean- CAN WE CUT THE CASUAL BONGOS?!!”

-I KNOW we see the beds aren’t this way from the Octatrios beds but I hate the basic ass design of Octavinelles actual inner dorm, so y’know what? Clamshell and/or Oyster beds that can open and close like the ones Ariel and her sisters have in the movies.

I’m also changing the color scheme because where the fuck dId they get MAJORITY WHITE AHD LIGHT FUCKING LAVENDER FROM?? URSULAS COLORS ARE BLACK, SILVER/PEARL AND PLUM??

So yea fuck you, Plum, Pearl/Silver, Black, Blue and dark teal color schemes with alot of corals, underwater cove and ocean themed furniture.

-If the dorm were to ever run out of transformation potions, things would get wild real quick.

-They have a pool that is basically just an aquarium you can swim in. Floyd was banned for a month once for trying to drown someone. (Jade was infact not only an accomplice, but the one who gave Floyd the idea in the first place, and immediately threw Floyd under the bus when Azul caught them)

-Azul has a secret private pool hidden behind a door wall thing.

-Jade has a Room of Shrooms that is locked off to the general students.

-Many of the students learn serving tricks to get extra tips.

-Will spitefully bring someone who came laters order first if you’re being a pain. Repeatedly if you really earned it.

-A student once brought heelies, and Floyd immediately jumped on the idea. So yes, some students will heelie over to your table for the sake of “convenience”

______

Scarabia:

—-

-Introverts: Welcome to hell.

-As another dorm with open windows, there are some falling issues.

-Jamil does that mom thing where internally he’s like “Nobody helps me in this fucking house” or will passively aggressively say something like “Well if you want to do this more often, maybe you could start helping out.” but when the dorm students actually offer to help 9 times out of 10 he’s like “absolutely not you’ll mess it up.”

-Schemers canonically but both negatively and positively. Like would say the most sweet and positive plans like their planning a mutiny.

-Like that one “If Antinious was actually a sweet guy” remix of Hold Him Down from Epic :

“Haven’t you noticed who’s missing? Don’t you know the prince is not around?

I heard today is Telemachus birthday, and I heard today he comes back to town so-

I say we gather near the beaches, I say we wait til he arrives~

I’ll slip away while you all distract him so I can go PREPARE THE SURPRISES.

Hold him down…While I’m in the kitchen~

Hold Him down…While I start to bake~

Hold him down while we slowly bring his buddies his family and Favorite Cakeeee~

Cut it down….into tiny pieces

For the prince…Serve it Alamode…

When the prince wonders what his gift is…ONLY HIS MOTHER AND I WILL KNOWWWWW”

Yea thats Scarabia student planning core.

-Steal one thing from this dorm and you can probably feed a family of four for a month.

-You can get a medical pass to be exempt from being in the dorm during the day if you’re sensitive to heat.

-Not all the students actually like the parties, but participate in them for the free food regardless.

-Its concerningly easy to lockpick most of the treasuries, but nobody has done it sheerly because they would feel bad if Kalim still forgave them.

-Its common for first years unused to the heat to straight up pass out before even making it to the dorm since from the map, its a concerningly long walk, so they had to install a mini secondary teleporter sheerly to avoid constant heat stroke.

_______

Pomfieore

——

-Smells like a Sephora and Bath and Body Works with a side of Chanel Perfume

-Many of them are very invested in celebrity drama.

-There is what has been nicknamed “The Garden of Death”, which is a small garden in the back of Pomfieore containing many poisonous plants used to create, and this may come as a surprise, poisons.

-Second highest drop out rate, mostly due to struggles with pursuing a budding career in the entertainment and/or artisic industry and balancing school aswell.

Vil usually does try to dissuade them, but unfortunately it is a good point that he was, even if he did his career work on his own, still had the Schronheit name behind him, creating a high bias with many directors and companies, so he already had higher chances then the average budding actor since the start, and I can imagine alot of the students pointing that out if they didn’t have the same.

-Some students, when they think Vil is not looking, will sit on the throne as a joke.

-The amount of makeup and mirrors in this dorm is crazy.

-Epel has, on more than one occasion, jumped out of windows to escape Vil/Rook, so 80% of the common area windows are locked.

-The walls and carpets in the main areas actually have very thin sheets on them to prevent makeup stains.

-As one of the chonkiest dorms, both in length and width, walking around can be hell if you’re in a rush. So many stairs, so little time.

-The Secret Lab has a Emperor’s New Groove like lever system that only the dorm students know which is which, but sometimes mistakes are made.

_____________

Ignihyde:

——

-When I say you can HEAR the electricity moving through the wires EVERYWHERE.

-Actually blinding to walk into at night due to the amount of screens.

-The kitchen is actually souped up and super clean because it’s nearly never used.

-They have Streaming Parties whenever a new season of a well liked anime or show among the students comes out, and on very rare occasions, Vocaloid Raves when a new album comes out.

These are the ONLY parties Idia attends and actually assists in the setup of, so you know it’s absolutely wild. Its a unanimous agreement that nobody is allowed to tell any other dorms about it (Ramshackle excluded)

-Ortho is the world’s nicest hall monitor at night when he’s bored and Idias actually asleep for once, but it can give students whatever the equivalent of FNAF is flashbacks.

-It’s a dorm joke to say “I’m tired, i’m heading home to Hell” or “I’ve got to catch the Ferry to the Underworld, see ya later”

-The projects the students are cooking up in this dorm makes Elon Musk look like a toy maker.

-These motherfuckers are also nocturnal sometimes. The main room is more active at night then during the day.

-They have a constant cat visitor that they’ve yet to realize or find out is Che’nya in a cat form. Trey once noticed Idia walking to a vending machine with a purple and pink cat on his shoulder and simply aggressively sighed.

-The Cat is lowkey pampered, and it actually started when Che’nya was making a getaway and accidentally ran into Ignihyde in his secondary form.

-Least Magic using dorm. Literally that one meme where it’s a few characters using normal weapons and then it’s a character from the same series with a gun. Ignihyde is that character.

The Genya of the NRC dorms.

________

Diasomnia:

——

-Will practically go into nuclear reactor evacuation if Lilia manages to get into the kitchen.

-They have an entire armory of everything but firearms. However there is a bazooka that Lilia donated for comedical reasons.

-Nearly everyone in the dorm despises Sebek for a multitude of reasons. It’s unfortunate but by god is it true. He is mostly unaware of this and the fact they were near ready to throw a party when he started hanging around Ramshackle more.

However, The only thing keeping Sebek from being literally mass jumped is the fact they don’t want to risk pissing off Lilia or Malleus and thats about it.

-Very Pointy furniture. Everything is VERY POINTY. Poke at your own risk.

-When leaving their room at night, their constantly on guard because of Lilias jumpscaring streak.

-The bridge is the worst thing ever if you have a fear of heights as it’s extremely cracky and thin.

-Some students genuinely think Silver is dead when they find him in random spots asleep.

-Lilia can turn into a bat and you cannot convince me otherwise, therefore alot of the students will eye bats on the ceiling with suspicion trying to see if A: Lilias among them. Or B: If they’ll snitch to Lilia if they’re doing something they shouldn’t.

-Sometimes they’ll polish the gargoyles and grotesques for Malleus.

_____

Ramshackle:

_______

-Yuu/MC has a string of Polaroid photos taken with the Ghost Camera in their room.

-Creakiest couch known to man, and everything within the dorm has some scorch or scratch marks from Grim Zoomies.

-The ghosts become cool Great Uncles, and Knit like crazy during october, since they can’t really touch things afterwards, so MC ends up with a pile of blankets, sweaters, scarves, hats and more.

-They also tell MC the tea with the other school ghosts.

-Skully actually haunts Ramshackle, but the secret area below it, which used to be the main dorm, but nobody dares go into the basement, so nobody really knows about it anymore. If MC were to find it, he would be BEYOND thrilled.

-Everytime a new idiot is initiated into the first year squad, they usually end up with their own “room”, since Ramshackle has way too many empty ones anyway.

-Originally Ace and Deuce just shared one since most of the rooms were broken down and they weren’t taking chances, plus there was only one next to MC and it would feel weird if they were an entire dorm apart.

-This came in useful during Book 5 because alot of their stuff was already kinda just…there anyway.

-Jack just uses his room for Cacti. Thats really it, since the last time he tried to store weights in there, it didn’t end well.

-Epels is excess Apple Storage and a Vil-Free Safe zone, which is often raided by the rest but mostly Grim since Apples.

-Orthos is just a charging port and some movies and games. It does look very strange compared to the rest with all the near SCI-FI theme going on.

-Sebeks is just more of a reading and training room now then anything else, and there are swords in there that Yuu/MC is permitted to use for self defense.

But it used to be, for awhile, jokily named the Room of Shame, because Ace consistently managed to trick him into going in and would lock the door when he made one too many human discriminative comments and wasn’t allowed out until he apologized.

-Ramshackles outer doors and windows actually use a super old enchanted lock with only 5 keys in existence (Yuu’s and the 4 extra you can give in the guest room) , so its unable to lockpick, to Rooks dismay, he’s banished to only looking through the windows

-Unfortunately, Ace did get his grubby little hands on one of the key’s at some point, so he is a constant B&Er of Ramshackle (truly best friend core) and often drags Deuce with him.

-Ramshackle has a themed mess of items, as many are gifts from the other dorms, a Kettle from Ramshackle, Rug from Savannaclaw, “Accidentally over ordered extras” of chairs and a table from Octavinelle, Silks and Culinary equipment from Scarabia, etc etc.

-Sebek did fall through the floor once because he was stomping around like he was kinda used to in Diasomnia, and overestimated the durability of Ramshackles Floors.

-This happened multiple times to Floyd aswell during their occupation of Ramshackle in Book 3.

-A ton of random trinkets from Malleus exist within the dorm, some found, some not.

-Lilia will sometimes follow Malleus and MC on their midnight walks as a bat, and Grim once tried to fight him, telling MC a random bat he saw on the porch was being fishy.

_______

I’m tired so thats about it.

Enjoy

[princessefemmelesbian]

Maybe I’m just being dramatic but it does legitimately scare and sadden me to see that a lot of transandrophobia truthers are literally just…young boys. Like, actual children. Like you’re not even old enough to vote yet and you have your whole life ahead of you and yet you are being manipulated into joining an mra group that hates trans women with a passion and thinks that men are oppressed in society for being men, and constantly uses Black men as their talking point in order to sound diverse and inclusive, meanwhile they’re also appropriating and misusing terminology specifically created by Black women to talk about our own oppression in order to get their misandry point across…to say nothing of the fact that the largest people in this group(including but not limited to its creator!) have misogynistic rape/detrans kinks centered specifically around preying on lesbians and trans women and this is something that is normalized and defended by the vast majority of transandrophobia truthers, or at least defended viciously by every single transandrodork that I’ve ever encountered who argued with me(a lesbian!!!) that actually there’s nothing wrong with getting off to the corrective rape of women because two consenting adults can do whatever they want in the bedroom(yeah right)! Not to mention I have yet to come across a transandrophobia truther who wasn’t also a raging die-hard Zionist.

And that’s why it disturbs me so much to see young trans boys jumping onto this transmisogynistic hate train like you guys realize these men don’t have your best interests at heart, right? They’re only going to manipulate you into being a sexist entitled asshat who shuns and bullies the trans women in your community and sees them as oppressing you. Like I know you’re still in middle/high school but you can still think for yourselves, you can choose to be better than this, you can choose to actually learn about feminism and realize that it’s not actually misandry that oppresses you, it’s transphobia. Misandry doesn’t suddenly become real because you slap a trans paint over it that’s not how it works that’s not how intersectionality works that’s not how any of this shit works. There are better trans men to talk to about trans issues who know that the patriarchy is real and don’t shit on trans women in order to speak out about trans topics, so go seek them out, okay? You absolutely do not have to listen to shit that the “male supremacists but trans” group of lowlives has to say. Hell, tell them to fuck off instead! Please, I promise you that there are much better options, there are ALWAYS better options, and you still have time to escape before they fully radicalize you into basically being an incel. There will ALWAYS be another way. ❤️

[creamflix]

toji fushiguro x female reader; heavy, heart-crushing angst, not a lot of comfort. reader is toji's second wife, megumi's step-mom. concept inspired by @/yunymphs nsfw fic, off your shoulders — masterlist here ☆

marriage is supposed to be a blessing, a bond that seals two lives into one, a promise of belonging.

you’d always dreamed of it.

sharing every first moment with someone — the first kiss as newlyweds, the first lazy morning dance in the kitchen, the first time lying side by side, tangled in each other. you’d imagined a life full of firsts, a life that would feel like you’re writing a story together, each page a piece of both of you.

but with toji, the man you love and who loves you, it feels like stepping into the middle of a book already written.

he’s had his firsts, some so precious that traces of them linger like shadows in your home. and you try — god, you try — to let that be enough, to love him and his son, megumi, with all the warmth and devotion you can muster. yet some days, you feel like you’re just outside their world, looking in.

it’s in the everyday moments, these small interactions that remind you of everything they had before you came along. moments like this morning, when you’re up early making breakfast, hoping to surprise toji with something special. you’re chopping vegetables, humming softly to yourself, trying to imagine the look on his face when he comes in, maybe pulls you close and says you don’t have to go through the trouble. you’ve seen couples do that — little gestures to remind each other they’re together.

you want that, too.

but as you start to crack an egg into the pan, you hear megumi calling from down the hall. “dad, where are my soccer cleats?”

your heart clenches. before you can even move to help, toji’s already calling back, voice easy, like it’s a scene they’ve played out a hundred times. “try under the stairs, where your mom used to keep ‘em.”

his mom. megumi’s mom.

the woman who came before you, whose shoes you will never be able to fill.

the words hang in the air, chilling. you place the egg down and pause, the silence settling heavy on your shoulders. you don’t hate her, not in the slightest — you’ve only ever heard lovely things about her. if anything, you’re grateful to her for the habits, routines, the sense of belonging she built with them, for raising megumi to be as kind as he is.

but still, there’s a sting every time she’s mentioned, a reminder that no matter how much you love toji, a part of him will always belong to her.

maybe that’s normal, you tell yourself, shaking off the thought. you grab the spatula, focusing on the way the eggs sizzle in the pan, trying to calm the knot that’s forming in your stomach.

“i’m… making breakfast, by the way,” you call out, trying to keep your voice light. maybe this will be the moment toji notices, realizes you’re trying to make him smile in your own way.

“yeah, thanks, babe,” he says from the hall. he’s already moved on, ruffling megumi’s hair as they laugh about something you can’t quite hear.

right, you think, fighting the wave of hurt that sweeps over you.

maybe that’s just the way it is.

you stare down at the breakfast you prepared, feeling a pang of something deeper than you’d care to admit. you’re doing your best to fit in, to add to the life he’s built, but sometimes, it feels like nothing more than an afterthought. it’s silly, really — you know they care about you, know toji chose you because he loves you.

but love doesn’t always erase what came before.

and it’s not his fault that his past is so deeply woven into their present, into your present.

by the time they wander into the kitchen, you’ve already set out the plates, adding a smile to mask the ache twisting inside you. megumi gives you a small nod, a muttered “thanks,” while toji walks over, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. “looks good,” he says with that lazy smirk, and you feel the flutter of warmth, the one that always ignites when he shows even the smallest affection. but it quickly fades as he moves back to his son, launching into an old joke that you don’t understand.

you sit down across from them, feeling the laughter spill around you, each chuckle a reminder of the bond they share. you know it’s unreasonable to feel left out; after all, you’ve only been a part of their lives for a fraction of the time.

and they are good to you. they include you in most things, make an effort to make you feel like part of the family.

but there are these subtle moments, these glances, these familiar gestures, that you can never quite touch.

you watch as toji reaches over, ruffling megumi’s hair, that same fond smile lighting his face. and it’s like watching them dance to a song you can’t hear. a piece of you aches to ask, where do i fit into this?

“you two are adorable,” you say, almost to yourself, hoping they hear the love in your voice despite the sadness resting there.

you can’t say the words that sit heavy in your chest, the longing to belong to them in a way that feels real and whole. instead, you keep your gaze on your plate, focusing on the small bite of eggs you’ve managed to lift to your lips, the only sound in your head the quiet plea that maybe one day, this feeling will pass.

maybe one day, watching them from afar will stop hurting so much.

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[mikkomacko]

Different anon! but uhhh might we get a scene of reader and Nico with the stache? 👀🫣 love this little world so much, thank you!

“Up.”

“What?”

“Budge up.”

Nico smacks at the back of your thighs, palming your bare skin as urges you to slide up his body. You falter, awkwardly slumped against his pushing hands as you blink down at him in confusion.

He widens his eyes expectantly.

“Uh, what?”

He rolls his eyes, licking at his swollen lips you’ve bitten red. Then he’s pushing at you again.

“Sit on my face.”

Like it’s no big deal, something casual you two do all the time. Which, it’s not like you haven’t done it before, multiple times, but you were literally two seconds away from sinking onto his leaking cock when he stopped you.

It’s just little abrupt.

When you don’t move he puffs out a sigh, squeezing at the fleshy part of your thighs. “Put the mustache to good use,” he urges, amusement sparkling in those dark eyes of his.

“Nico you don’t need a mustache to make that face a good seat.”

If he’s caught off guard by your words he doesn’t show it. Though you suppose he’s used to hearing things like that from you. Licking his lips, he motions for you to get a move on. And who are you to deny him twice?

Pausing, you press your naked chest to his again, capturing his mouth in a wet kiss. He palms at your ass, moaning softly. He doesn’t let you forget the plan however, biting at your lip and shoving your hips up his torso until you’re folded awkwardly.

Forced to pull back, you sit up straight and rise to your knees. You can hear the way his breath hitches as you shuffle up onto the pillows, knees on either side of his face.

“Fuck me,” he sighs heavily, breath hot and sticky when it reaches your pussy. Whatever witty remark was on your tongue gets bitten back when he tugs you down until you’re sitting flat on his tongue.

Instinctively, you rock into his face, chills running up your spine when his tongue dips into your walls, wet and prodding. His nose tickles your clit, just light enough to have you desperate for a little more. More than you don’t even have to ask for because-

Oh, oh that stupid mustache is doing it all for him.

You’re used to the feeling of his usual beard, how it’s scratchy and warm on your thighs. Rough where his fingers and mouth are always so soft.

But you’re not used to this. That feeling all concentrated in one spot, teasing at your clit each time you shift on Nico’s tongue.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, one hand latching onto the headboard and the other finding Nico’s hair, splayed out on the pillows. He hums his approval, the sound purring perfectly against your hole.

Daring, you peer down at Nico. He’s already watching you, the only part of his face that’s really visible being his eyes. They’re blown out and dark, a beautiful contrast to his skin and the white pillows below him. They’re also unyielding, thick lashes barely fluttering when you experimentally grind into his tongue and mustache.

Encouraging, Nico wraps his thick arms around your thighs, hands pawing and grabbing at your ass. Then he’s pushing you, guiding you into riding his face.

You don’t need to be told twice.

Unashamedly, you rock back onto his tongue and then shift forward into the rough scratch of his facial hair. Nico’s hands are strong, blunt nails digging into your skin as he guides you into using his face to get off.

It’s so hot, he’s so hot and that damned Movember mustache does more than you’d thought it would. It doesn’t take long for you to get lost in the feeling of Nico’s mouth, head tilted back towards the ceiling.

“Nico,” you cry, tightening your hold on his hair and grinding down on him. He doubles his efforts, his mouth and hands feeling like they’re everywhere as the hot coil in your belly tightens and tightens until it snaps.

You cum hard on Nico’s tongue, slumping forward into the headboard as blood roars in your ears and your muscles tighten and twitch. Distinctly, you hear Nico make some sort of noise of approval, the sound boarding on a whimper.

He eases up, softly and gently prolonging your orgasm for as long as possible. Large hands rub at your thighs, soft and soothing before they’re nudging you up. Numbly, you rise to your knees and then Nico’s kissing at the inside of your thighs, the coarse hair of his mustache scratchy and tingling on your skin.

“God you’re beautiful,” he mutters between kisses, and you blink your eyes open, panting as you look down at him.

Fuck he’s beautiful, you think in response. Dark eyes and messy hair, lips and nose red and damp. He looks absolutely filthy, and yet his hands and lips are touching you so sweetly, his eyes watching you with so much love.

“Ok,” you agree, quietly. “The mustache can stay for a bit.”

You feel his smirk on your thigh. “That’s my girl.”

[puck-luck]

15 of spades w/ Jack Hughes where they’re simply just roommates that like to flirt and this time it goes beyond a few flirty words and gestures

Warnings: unprotected p in v, pining Jack, soft & sweet, roommates to lovers WC: 1,406

You like to say that your life has become a New Girl situation. After a messy break-up, you moved in with your (now) friend, Jack. He’s cute and charming, way too into sports, and he’s got a great job as a bartender in downtown Newark. Your shared apartment is in North Kearny, so it’s an easy drive anywhere. The rent isn’t crazy. Plus, with all of his downtown connections, Jack can get you into any bar or club or party.

You were wary at first about living with a boy, but Jack is neat and king. He always does his dishes and his laundry, always cleans up after himself, and he often offers to make dinner for you since you work all day and his shifts are usually at night.

You like Jack. You think he’s a really good friend, but you can’t deny that you find him attractive. There’s something about his monotone voice and sarcastic smile, paired with his brown hair and his pretty blue eyes. He employs casual physical touch, delivering dinner to you with a hand on your shoulder– since he won’t dream of letting you stand and serve yourself. He’s a gentleman, after all, something he reminds you of whenever you try to help Jack with something he said he could do for you. Usually, he’ll steer you back towards the couch or towards the dining table, pushing you down and telling you to stay there “or else.” It’s an empty threat, because Jack would never do anything to actually harm you. He wouldn’t hurt a fly (he would, however, try and chase it out the front door with a rolled up magazine because the buzzing was annoying him). His behavior does nothing to drive away the butterflies in your stomach that are breaking out of their cocoons. You’re falling for Jack.

You think he’s falling for you, too. He’s a lot harder to read, but he always wants to hang out with you. He wants to watch movies with you and try and teach you how to play his favorite games, always inviting you out with him and his friends or trying to merge your friend group with his own. He’s had one success: one of your friends has been loosely “seeing” his friend Alex when their schedules align. They’re not labeling it, but they’re spending more and more time together. 

Your friends swear Jack wants to integrate the groups so that he can see you even after you move out. You only signed a year-long lease, so you’ve been trying to decide what to do. You could stay with Jack, who is very sweet and very perfect, or you could live alone. The downfall of living with Jack is that you share a bathroom with him. The other downfall is that he doesn’t work set hours and you feel… well, awkward when you try to invite someone to spend the night and Jack gets off work early. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, and you’re not committed to Jack, but you don’t want him seeing another guy in your bed. You feel a little bit like you’re betraying him, but mostly you just want to be a courteous roommate. It was his apartment first.

Things are coming to a head. It’s been weeks since you’ve gotten laid and you’re getting antsy. Jack was supposed to have a shift tonight, so you had invited one of your Hinge matches over, not expecting your roommate to be back until about 2 or 3 in the morning. That would give you plenty of time to fuck this guy and send him on his way. 

Jack comes home at 11:30. The other bartender needed to make rent tonight, so he offered to switch cuts and close for Jack. Jack made rent last weekend after working a Saturday double– you’d had a girl’s night that night, so your one good chance to fuck a man was lost– so he accepted and returned home.

You’re pissed. You texted your hookup and told him that your roommate came home early and you’d have to reschedule, knowing that he’ll probably end up ghosting you since this is the second time you’ve deflected a meetup. You could just go to his place, but you really don’t want to be trapped in another person’s apartment. You like to kick them out. You don’t like to be the one getting kicked out.

You’re sat on the couch with Jack, who’s talking about his night. He’s talking over your TV show, which is arguably the worst season of the show to be released, but it’s new and you want to pay attention. You can’t while Jack’s yapping. Your responses have gotten shorter and shorter, and your arms are crossed over your chest, and your side-eyes are becoming more and more like a glare. 

Jack finally notices.

“What’s up?” He says. “You seem mad.”

You sigh and pause your show, deciding to be frank with your roommate. You turn to him. “I need you to work a full closing shift one of these days, buddy.”

Jack makes a face. “Why?” He asks. He shakes his head slightly, squinting at you. “You don’t wanna hang out with me?”

“I need to get fucked.”

Jack’s jaw drops at the suddenness of your words.

“And I don’t want to have sex with someone else while you’re in this apartment,” you continue without pause. “So I was supposed to have a guy over while you worked tonight, but I had to cancel because you came home.”

Jack blinks at you, speechless.

“So, yeah, I’m a little mad, Jack.” You stand from the couch. “But it’s whatever. I’m going to go to bed.” You leave him in the living room.

You get all the way to your bedroom door before Jack scrambles after you.

“I could make you feel better,” he offers, his cheeks growing red with a blush. 

Now it’s your turn to be taken aback. “What?”

“I could make you feel better,” Jack repeats. “I’ll fuck you.”

You rub your eyes like you’re waking up from a dream. “What?”

Jack comes closer to you, reaching out to touch your hip. “I want to fuck you. I didn’t think we’d ever– well, that doesn’t matter. I’ll fuck you. I want to fuck you.”

That’s how you fell into bed with Jack. You’re surprised it didn’t happen sooner with the way Jack is bearing his soul to you– how pretty he thought you were the first time he saw you, how he’s wanted to touch you for so long and he can barely hold back sometimes, how much he likes doing things for you because he feels like your boyfriend. He tells you how he’ll prove to you that he’s worth more than just a fuck when you’re frustrated at him, but for now, he wants to show you what he’s been dreaming about.

His fingers bring you to one orgasm. His mouth, lapping at your first release, brings you to a second.

Then his cock. It’s straining in your palm once you’re finally able to get your hand on him, guiding him through your folds. 

Jack’s eyes are hooded and dark like he’s drunk on lust. He moves at your pace, allowing your cunt to draw him in slowly. He inches forward, savoring it, and it’s then that Jack leans down to kiss you for the first time. His lips are soft against yours, insistent in a way that portrays his desire for you. 

“Wanted to do this for so long,” Jack whispers into your mouth. “You have no idea.”

“Fuck me,” you reply, voice soft and imploring. 

Jack starts to move his hips, his head dipping so that his forehead touches yours. After a few minutes, he’s panting and making soft noises of pleasure. His eyelashes are fluttering, but it seems like he doesn’t want to close his eyes completely and lose you. He’s holding back, sounding like he’s close to coming.

You roll your hips up against him. “C’mon, Jack,” you say. “Want you to come.”

He shudders, seconds away from letting go. Your fingernails against his scalp are his undoing, making his eyes roll back and his inhibitions to disappear. He’s finally got what he wanted– his cock inside of you, filling you up. He sleeps in your bed that night.

And every night after.

You renew your lease the following week.

[lucygraysboy]

“thank you, lucy gray. if anyone can help me out here, it’s definitely you.” it means the world to him to know that she’s not only letting him try and get close to joe again, but also offers to facilitate that process. he knows just how protective she can be over the people who are dear to her and appreciates the trust that she’s putting in him. “oh, you so are. you barely had two drinks and it was game over. also, not to embarrass you, but i didn’t know you were so handsy while drunk,” he continues to tease, wondering if she’ll smack or pinch him eventually. that would be just like the good ole days. “please, great mind think alike.” it’s yet another thing that he missed terribly. this connection. the ability to read each other’s minds. soulmate telepathy. “manuela will be so happy when i tell her ‘bout your mom’s quilts, i just know it. she hates big corporations and fast fashion and all that stuff.” she’s one of those people who actually shop very responsibly and always tries to support small businesses and cruelty-free, organic brands. billy’s certain she’ll fall in love with the handmade quilts, and with lucy gray, too.

“well, i’m not sure if i’m worthy of such honor, but let me think on it… if the mom’s name is moon, she needs something matching. star? aurora? polaris? give me some more time and i’ll come up with somethin’ good,” he promises, taking his job very seriously because he knows how special naming a new life is. “are you serious right now?” he chuckles, his pinky finger brushing against her own once they’re on the sidewalk, hesitating before curling around it and gently pulling her toward the entrance. the steakhouse is located on the 34th floor of the marriott hotel, offering 360-degree views of the nashville skyline, and the food’s supposed to be top notch as well. which is one of the reasons why billy picked this place. “so, you will nurse wild mustangs back to health but ridin’ a motorcycle is too dangerous? have some faith in me.” maybe she’ll warm up to the idea eventually. “i’ll make that happen.” both those things, of course. having her on set will be so exciting. “you’re very welcome, bambi doll.” 

“i’ll talk to him.” even though she already reassured that, she still will make an effort to do so once she’s back home. knowing it won’t be easy but she will do whatever it takes to see a brotherly bond re-established as long as billy doesn’t abandon them both, since it’s not like she entirely trusts him. “who, me? i ain’t.” the songstress fibs, amusingly smiling as she looks out the window not wanting to admit to it. hiding her smile this way. “oh, i was just gettin’ ready to tell you that!” it excites her because he basically just read her mind, “she’s made a lot of nursery quilts. so, yeah, you definitely can.” let manuela know, she means. “we’re still decidin’. maybe you should help name her.” the brunette suggests, then frowns because she doubts a helmet is enough to stay safe on a motorcycle. of all things he went and did— he of course had to go get one of those contraptions. “i’m not sure i will.” take him up on that offer, she means as she gently smiles to not be rude. “well, i’d love to. and i’d love to come and visit the set.” that genuinely sounds so exciting, she hopes they can do it soon even. looking out the window once they come to a stop, she grabs her backpack and steps out when the door comes open for her. “thank you, darlin’.” lucy gray chirps, smiling gratefully as she looks up at him then steps to the side to let him lead the way.

[certifiedsexed]

hey there! i don’t mean this in bad faith at all, and i’m not trying to use a term that’s a fascist dogwhistle. i promise i’m just confused😭

so i’m not a guy, nor have i ever been perceived as one, but in one of your recent posts, you said that men can’t experience oppression solely based on the fact that they’re men. which was kind of confusing to me — i don’t think you’re wrong, i think it’s me but i don’t know how to get to how you see it like that.

because in my experience, men can experience oppression because they’re men, although i don’t know if i’m saying that right or conflating the meanings of certain terms. i’m probably wrong, and would just love some clarification?

for example, my brother and i were always held to different standards growing up — it was expected of me to always cry and be emotional, and i was a ‘stone cold bitch’ if that wasn’t the case, but if my brother wanted to show negative emotions like sadness he was treated like there was something wrong with him too. and i know it wasn’t my brother — i spend a lot of time working with my high school’s diversity team, and in a lot of the events we organise, guys talk about how they feel enormous pressure to be angry and never sad, and to have stereotypically masculine interests and never deviate from that norm.

i also know men who’ve struggled to get jobs such as teaching as those are viewed as ‘female’ jobs and it’s a common view that men who want those jobs are ‘only in it to be around kids’. i’ve heard many women around me perpetuate sentiments like that, so i know they’re not making it up, even if it isn’t equal to the systematic oppression women face in almost every aspect of their careers.

i’m not providing these examples to prove you wrong, since i do think you’re right. i’m hoping that a window into the way i’ve always thought might help you clarify this in a way that can help me to change my mind, since i just think i’m lacking some clarity or context here. i think i’m conflating abuse and stereotypes with oppression, but i’m really not sure. any advice would be really appreciated!

i’m so sorry if this comes off badly, i don’t mean it that way. i’m just trying to learn, i promise i’m not trying to promote the kind of hate and close mindedness you’ve been seeing in your inbox as of late.

Hi! As always, I do not mind answering genuine questions!

The things you're talking about growing up and seeing boys around you pressured to present only certain emotions, that's part of the patriarchy!

Certain emotions are supposed to be "feminine" and thus boys shouldn't show them, while girls are often always considered "emotional" in some fashion. That's not oppression based on those boys being men that you're talking about.

It's the backlash that the patriarchy, and by addition trans/misogyny has on men. It's boys being pressured not to show certain emotions because those emotions are "feminine" and they're supposed to associate feminimity with weakness and shit.

What you're talking about there is also trans/misogyny!

The idea that men who do things perceived as feminine are predators, the idea that specific jobs are "female" jobs [while even in those specific female jobs, men are generally paid better and find it easier to get into those jobs than women trying to get into traditionally "male" jobs"]

[Though obviously this varies based on race and whether they're trans, etc, etc.]

To be a little more clear, all of the things you're talking about don't primarily affect cis men/boys. They fuck up transfems, because it's trans/misogyny.

You're right! It's not systemic oppression.

You might wonder if it's social oppression, which is also a no. Social oppression would require a historical/systemic oppression behind it. But that doesn't exist in this case.

What it is is the common issue oppressors run into. While they benefit greatly from oppression, there is also backlash they face from their own systems of oppression.

Like white people who fall into suicide cults trying to work towards white supremacy, or TERFs who fall into groups where they slowly pick each other off as they discover they're not all exactly the same and wind up accusing each other of not being "real" women, systems of bigotry simply do not work out perfectly even for the oppressors.

They never do.

To create the patriarchy, you must establish trans/misogyny, you must establish intersexism and you must push people to conform to those ideals, even if they hurt your own.

It's similar to how white supremacy can harm white people, despite white people obviously not being oppressed racially. The backlash of oppression hits even the oppressors sometimes.

Suppression, as a term, would honestly work far better to describe what you're talking about.

So yes, it's stereotyping, yes it's abusive to tell your children not to show/feel their emotions but it's not oppression based on these guys in your life being men! It's part of how trans/misogyny, transphobia and intersexism are enforced.

I understand exactly where you're coming from! It doesn't sound bad and I genuinely don't mind answering questions! Especially since you've got some good ones!

I'm not sure if I rambled too much to explain this properly but I hope this helps! Let me know if you have any other questions and/or need me to clarify anything here. <33

[crimsonwolf715]

Used as Bait

Jason and Tim, who have been goofing off since getting out of the Batcave, finally arrived at the GCPD building thirty minutes after they were supposed to be there. 

“Got anything for us, Gordon?” Jason asks. 

Gordon looks up from his file, then looks back down. 

“What is he doing?” Jason asks. 

“Ignoring us for the mandatory five minutes because we wasted his time,” Tim answers. “He put it in place when B got into the habit of making a meeting and then being late for it.” 

“And B hates having his time wasted.” 

“Yup. And to be fair, we’re like thirty minutes late. Gordon does usually have some grace if we’re not too late.” 

Jason takes his helmet off and starts messing with his hair. 

“Is something wrong?” Tim asks. 

“Nope,” Jason answers. “We’re just gonna be seeing Maria before patrol’s over.” 

“You have got to be kidding me.” 

“No, of course not. You’re the only one that will let me.” 

“You have to do something for me.” 

“Fine.” 

Gordon offers the file to Tim, so he takes it. 

“Maria your girlfriend?” Gordon asks. 

“Nah, she’s just a friend of mine. But she lives and works in a bad part of town, so I like to try to walk her home,” Jason answers. “She can handle herself, but I literally take out bad guys at least twice a week.” 

“That didn’t work with Barbara,” Gordon says. 

“Yeah, your fiercely independent daughter didn’t want your protection. Maria isn’t a fan of me feeling obligated to walk her home, but she likes that I like to walk her home. We get to talk.” 

“Huh.” 

“We’ve got a possible meeting of gangs?” Tim asks. 

“That’s the thought. We have two officers over there you can meet,” Gordon says. “I want this dealt with tonight if you two can.” 

“Will do, boss. I’ve got something to do at midnight,” Jason replies, “and Red’s got a date with Spoiler.” 

“I already said that I’m not dating Spoiler,” Tim says. “You’re just telling people to get a rise out of me.” 

“Maybe. We’ll come back when we’ve got something for you.” 

“Just call,” Gordon replies. “I’m gonna be in a meeting and then two briefings for the rest of the night. If you really need anything from me, just call.” 

“We will,” Tim says, then the two of them head towards the location in the file. 

They get to the location and there’s an undercover cop car there, just like Gordon said there would be. Tim’s phone rings, so he looks at it. 

“I need to take this. Can you get the info from the officers?” Tim asks. 

“Yeah, of course,” Jason answers, “but it’ll cost you five dollars.” 

“Shut up and go over there.” 

“Whatever.” 

Jason walks over and knocks on the window. He looks inside and nobody’s in the car. 

“Weird,” Jason mutters. “Where did they go?” 

“Red Hood?” 

Jason turns and there’s an officer standing with two cups of coffee. 

“Gordon sent me and Red Robin to help you guys with the incident,” Jason says. “Where’s the other officer?” 

“He’s not in there?” 

Jason shakes his head. 

The officer quickly strides over and looks in the window. “Oh shit, where could he have gone?” 

Jason shrugs, then turns in the direction to check on Tim. Tim’s not standing where he was a minute ago. Jason goes to look around when he feels a needle in the back of his neck. 

“Nighty night.” 

Jason swings his elbow and manages to hit the guy in the face with it before he passes out. 

Tim wakes up to complete blackness. 

“You’ve failed me,” Batman’s voice says.

“What?” Tim asks. 

The scene around him turns from black to a full color image of the city in flames. 

“What happened?” Tim asks. 

“You failed, and we all paid for it.” 

He sees his entire family, bleeding out while the villains are close by celebrating. 

“No, no,” Tim says, shaking his head. “This can’t be real. I… we hold each other up. I can’t be the reason they’re dead.” 

“The most pressure on you to succeed,” Cass says. 

“The most pressure to get everything right,” Dick adds. 

“It’s your fault we failed. Your plan went south and we paid the price for it,” Damian says. 

Tim tries to calm himself down so he doesn’t hyperventilate, but the scene changes to the manor and Tim sees Jason sitting on the couch, reading a book. His blood is still pumping from the stress and anxiety, but he feels a small amount of comfort in the sight of his brother. Tim runs over. 

“Jason!” 

Jason doesn’t look up or acknowledge him. 

“Jason?” 

“I don’t want to be around you,” Jason says. 

“Why?” 

“Because who would want to? You’re annoying, uninteresting, and unable to hold a conversation.” Tim opens his mouth to argue, but Jason continues. “The only reason that Bruce took pity on you was because he was a basket case. If I hadn’t died, you wouldn’t be around. Not even Dick likes being around you, and he likes being around everyone.” 

Tim can’t help the rage that floods him at that moment, especially hearing it from Jason. He was the only one around to help when everything was going up in flames, and any of them feel like they have the right to complain? 

“You’re utterly useless, Drake,” Damian says, appearing out of thin air before Tim can get any farther in his thought process. 

The world goes back to black as Tim tries to figure out what’s going on. 

“Time for you to sleep now.” 

Tim recognizes the voice and he searches for Mad Hatter. He feels himself starting to lose consciousness, but starts thrashing around when he feels something with a similar feeling to a mask being pulled over his face. He passes out without succeeding in getting the mask off. 

Jason wakes up to complete darkness. He hears a familiar laugh that sends a chill up his spine. Jason struggles against the restraints, starting to hyperventilate. Joker comes into view with a bloody crowbar. 

“Ready for round two, little bird?” 

Jason breaks the restraints and throws a punch at Joker. It goes right through him and he starts laughing again. 

“Batman’s favorite toy, how does it feel? You almost caused the downfall of Batman with your death. It must feel fantastic to know that you almost succeeded in your goal solely by getting your head bashed in and then inhaling a little smoke,” Joker says. 

Jason throws another punch at him and it goes through him again. Jason gets his feet untied in enough time for the scene to disappear. Something knocks Jason off balance and he lands on his back. He blinks and when he opens his eyes, he’s lying down in a wooden box. Jason starts trying to bust the box but no matter how much force he uses, it doesn’t break. 

He can feel the oxygen getting thinner. He’s panicking too much and while he knows it, he can’t seem to get his breathing to slow down. He can’t seem to stop panicking. No matter how hard he tries, he’s stuck in this coffin of dread. He squeezes his eyes closed. 

“Dad!” he cries out, hoping that Bruce is right outside to save him. 

“No father to save you. There never was,” Joker’s voice says. “You really think that Batsy ever loved a little screw-up like you? No, he only pretended to. His savior complex made him take pity on you.” 

Jason shakes his head, refusing to believe it again. 

“My dad loves me!” 

Joker laughs, taunting and mocking Jason. 

“Time for you to sleep now.” 

Jason doesn’t recognize the voice and he searches for the person attached to it. He passes out as it feels something go over his face, like a mask. 

Dick’s watching TV, waiting for Damian to call him to discuss the details of Damian spending the weekend with him. Currently he’s watching a rerun of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but he’s only half-watching it. The screen goes black, drawing Dick’s full attention back to it. The screen glitches, then shows a close-up of Scarecrow’s face. Dick sits up. The camera backs away from Scarecrow’s face enough that you can see more of him. 

“Hello, Gotham,” Scarecrow says. “This isn’t for many of you, so feel free to ignore. Batman, on the other hand, we have your little birds.” 

The camera moves to show Jason and Tim in full uniform, clearly in distress. They’re fighting hard against the restraints, but in a wild and restless way that Tim would never normally attempt to get out in. Dick gets and starts searching his coffee table for his phone. Right on cue, it rings. 

He answers. “Hey, Dami. Are you watching right now?” 

“I’m watching,” Damian answers. “Barbara’s trying to figure out where the signal’s coming from and Father’s getting suited up. I’m already suited up before you ask.” 

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.” 

“Thank you. Father’s panicking.” 

“Yeah, I figured.” 

Dick grabs his keys and rushes out of his apartment. He heads to his safehouse to change into costume then gets on his bike and makes a beeline for Wayne Manor. Once he hits city limits, his comm crackles. 

“Grayson will be here when he gets here,” Damian says. “Nothing we’re going to say is gonna make him get here faster.” 

“Hey, I’m at city limits,” Dick says. 

“Hey, Nightwing,” Barbara replies. “I’m sending the location to your bike now.” 

“Thanks, Oracle. How’s Batman?” 

“I’m fine,” Bruce says gruffly. “I’m heading to the warehouse now. How long will it take for you to get there?” 

Dick checks the location. “Five minutes. It’s closer to the city limit than I thought it would be.” 

“We’ll meet you there. I’m here with Orphan and Robin. Spoiler’s out of town.” 

“Alright.” 

He gets there at the same time they do and runs over. 

“Hey, what did the scan of the building indicate?” Dick asks. 

“Four heat signatures and their trackers are still transmitting from inside,” Bruce answers. “Alright, remember that our top priority is getting them out. If one of them gets away, we can deal with it at a later point.” 

Cass and Damian both nod. Dick notices Mad Hatter and Scarecrow leaving the building. Cass notices them too and looks towards Bruce for instructions. Tim and Jason jump down onto the roof and ready their weapons. Bruce nods at Cass, and she goes after Scarecrow and Mad Hatter while Jason and Tim attack the rest of the Bats. Tim viciously attacks Damian with his bo staff and Damian barely dodges. 

“What the hell?” Damian asks. 

“The masks belong to Mad Hatter,” Dick says, trying to grab Tim so he can get the mask off. “He’s probably controlling both Hood and Red.” 

Tim grabs Dick’s wrist and flips him onto his back. Tim jams a batarang into Dick’s arm, pinning him to the roof in the process. Dick hisses and tries to figure out how to take it out without hurting himself worse. After watching Jason beating Bruce and Tim beating Damian for several minutes while trying to think, he finally just pulls it out as fast as he can and runs at Tim. Bruce can hold his own a little longer. Tim drives a hard kick to Dick’s shoulder, which was slightly injured in a battle earlier that week. 

“Shit,” Dick mutters, grabbing his shoulder. “That hurt, bud.” 

Tim swings his staff at him again and Dick grabs the other end. He uses the momentum to throw Tim on his back. Damian grabs the mask and rips it off. 

Damian checks his pulse. “He’s alive. You should probably go help Father with Hood before he makes him cry.” 

Dick looks up and the two are sparring. 

“I knew that Hood could reasonably fight Batman but seeing it is something else,” Dick mutters, “but I’m gonna go help Batman.” 

Damian nods and starts checking for injuries on Tim. Dick flips over to Jason and kicks him hard in the side of the head. Bruce rips the mask off and stomps on it repeatedly. Dick checks Jason’s pulse while Bruce finishes destroying the mask. 

“His pulse is there. Little weak, but steady.” 

“Good,” Bruce says. “Let’s get them home.” 

Bruce watches his kids as they rest and recuperate. Cass is patching up Damian’s injuries while Dick is patching himself up. Bruce notices that Tim starts shaking. Before he has a chance to get up and get him another blanket, Tim wakes up and sits up, looking concerned. 

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re home,” Bruce says. 

Tim’s facial expression is flat and hard to read. Bruce notices that he seems concerned, but can’t tell about what exactly. He sees everybody and seems to ease a little, but still gets up. 

“You should be resting,” Cass says. 

“I’m gonna go rest in my room. I don’t… I don’t want to be here right now.” 

“Hey, Tim,” Bruce says. 

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Dad,” Tim says, rushing through the words, then hurriedly heads up back to the manor. 

Jason wakes up not long after. He looks around but his fear and anger are completely visible to Bruce. He gets up to walk over and Jason seems to calm down a little, the anger seeming to disappear. 

“Are you alright?” Bruce asks. 

Jason opens his mouth, then closes it again. He thinks for a moment, then shrugs. 

“I don’t want to talk about it… right now. I’ll talk to you when I feel up to it,” Jason says. “Does that work, Dad?” 

Bruce puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder and nods. “Of course it does.” 

Jason nods. “I’m gonna head upstairs and try to sleep off this migraine that’s hitting me.” 

“Make sure to take something.” 

“I will.” 

Jason heads upstairs as Damian walks over to Bruce. 

“How are you feeling, Damian?” Bruce asks. 

“I’m fine,” Damian answers. “Cassandra stitched up my injury. I’m going to speak to Timothy if you don’t need anything else.” 

“Go ahead.” Damian heads upstairs. 

At least someone can get Tim to talk. If Damian can’t, I think I’ll talk Dick into trying.  

Dick walks up. “Hey, you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Bruce says. “You?” 

Dick sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t like fighting my siblings in such a setting. It hits the edge of that line I swore I’d never cross again. I’m physically fine, but they could have not been. Mad Hatter had them pushing us full strength. The strain that would have put on their brains…” 

“I know. Don’t worry about that right now. Full brain scans show no signs of damage and we’re gonna keep up with scans until we’re completely in the clear. I won’t let anything happen to them without doing everything that I can to stop it,” Bruce promises. 

Dick nods, then hugs Bruce. Bruce hugs him back and they stay like that until Dick’s phone starts ringing. Dick looks at it, then smiles. 

“Hey, babe. What can I do for ya?” A pause. “I’m gonna take this outside, then probably head home.” 

“Goodnight, Dick,” Bruce says. 

“ ‘Night, Dad,” Dick replies, waving as he walks upstairs with his jacket. 

Bruce heads upstairs after a little while and goes to his room. He leaves his door open a crack, a sign that the kids can come in if they need something, then gets in bed to get some much needed sleep.

[areyouwell]

Memento Mori

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Violence, slight body horror

Word Count: 8.1K

A/N: Took me long enough. New long-fic comin' in from the left! i know i teased this around three weeks ago (ish) but here's chapter one. not sure this is gonna be as long as Phobophobia but i'm really excited about this one. it's a little darker (yeah i know) but i already love this MC. if anyone wants tagging in this pls lmk, i don't wanna assume everyone who i tagged in Phobophobia wants to be tagged again so i'll start a new list <3

Dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics

“So, as detailed here, there have been a string of these… murders, I suppose.”

Logan sighed heavily. When he woke up this morning, the one thing he didn’t expect was to be called into Charles Xavier’s office so soon after having breakfast, let alone be greeted with grainy photographs of some of the most horrific murder scenes he’d ever had the displeasure of looking at. Entrails, bones, flesh, eyes. None of it was where it should be, which most of the time, seemed scattered around the floor rather than attached to whichever poor, unfortunate soul who’d had the shitty luck of running into their silent assassin. Charles pointed the telescopic stick towards the mangled jacket of one of the equally mangled victims. Logan couldn’t even tell what gender they were, their face nothing but a bloody pulp.

Almost as if it had been exploded from the inside out. 

“This symbol here is the only string that connects the murders, and after doing a little digging,” he nodded thankfully to Ororo, her white hair bobbing with her dip of acknowledgement. “We found they all belonged to the same company, here.” With a click of the remote in his hands, the projection flipped to the next slide, a map of San Fransisco, a large red circle drawn around a location Logan was only somewhat familiar with, only because he’d walked past it a few times. 

“It’s a warehouse,” he offered, several heads turning to look at him. “I’ve walked ‘round there couple times. Nothin’ special, s’always buzzin’ with life.” He shrugged thoughtfully, tugging a cigar from his jacket pocket and flicking the Zippo lighter open and shut with his other hand. Charles gave him a slightly irritated look, but he pretended not to notice.”So… What? Our killer’s just popping caps in the head’s underpaid workers? Doesn’t make much sense.” 

“That’s what we thought too,” Ororo continued, placing down a few pieces of paper and spreading them about the table. “Until we started to notice a pattern. They’ve been picking off specific shift workers, mainly those on the late shift. But it’s never new members of staff either. Always those who’ve worked there for at least two years. Lately, their security has increased, but once they leave work, they’re basically on their own.” Storm took the remote from Charles and clicked to the next slide, a list of names and hours flaring onto the screen, the names of victims having been crossed out, though their hours were still visible on the row of the rota.

“Ya don’t think this has anything to do with that orphanage incident, do you?” Kitty piped up, cupping her mug of tea in both hands, either for comfort or for warmth, Logan couldn’t tell. She had a good point. It must have been around a month ago now. A fire had started downtown in the dead of night. Officials had said it was a discarded cigarette from one of the employees, but that didn’t explain why all the windows and doors had been locked.

Everyone within burned. Children included. 

“It’s certainly a theory…” Scott mused, rubbing his hand against his jaw in thought. “A terrible accident sounded far too much like a cover story. Think this killer had something to do with it?”

Charles sighed heavily. “Ordinarily, yes, I’d have some kind of suspicion, if it wasn’t for the fact our killer was elsewhere at the time.” He nodded to Ororo, who clicked the remote once again. “This was taken not an hour beforehand, on the other side of the city. Unless the killer can teleport, there’s no way they could have made it across town in such a short amount of time, let alone take all the precautions and set alight to the building. Though I do not believe it was merely a terrible accident, I don’t believe they had anything to do with it.” Charles finished before Ororo leant over the pages she’d spread on the table, spinning one to face the rest of the team.

“Though we do have this. A pattern of all the attacks and locations,” Logan stood up to skirt around the table, standing between Kitty and Marie as he inspected the red pen. With every X, the attacks almost formed an exact circle around the warehouse, almost as if the killer could predict which ways those victims would take home. Especially after the first attack. “We think the next one will happen here,” Ororo pointed to a side street far between the locations either side. “The most recent one being here, it’s logical to think they’d take the opposite side. At least, that’s what we’re hoping…” She trailed off, and Logan returned to his seat, having an idea as to what this meeting was actually about.

“You want us to lay a trap, right? Trail several employees home and jump in before Killer McGee can get their hands on ‘em.” He clarified, and Charles nodded a little too darkly for his liking. 

“Exactly. Which is why I won’t be asking you all on this mission. We need to avoid detection and sending all of us would be too much of a risk. Whoever this is, we must assume they’re a mutant. These attacks happen quickly and viciously, and to cause such damage in such a short amount of time, we must assume they possess some sort of ability.

“Scott, Ororo and Logan, I trust you can handle this task? I will be in Cerebro with Jean on hand, and the rest I want you on standby in the Blackbird in case backup is required.”

“Wait, we’re doing this tonight?” Marie squeaked, casting a wary glance to Kitty who returned her expression. Logan was relieved neither of them would be actively on the mission, he’d come to care for them both deeply, and whilst that didn’t mean he didn’t care for either Ororo or, though he’d never admit it, Scott, he was glad the two girls would be on standby rather than active duty.

“The attacks seem random, as if they flipped a coin to see if they would head out each night, but when you look closer, they’re only on the days the older members of staff are on shift. We think they’re looking for something, or someone, specific.” Ororo explained, pointing back to the projection on the screen. “These three here have been working at this specific warehouse for three, four and seven years respectably,” she clicked the remote again for each of their work ID cards to flash onto the screen. “Scott, you’re tailing Alec,” she gestured to the string bean of a man, blonde hair styled into several spikes atop his head, two silver snakebite piercings adorned his lower lip.  

“Logan, you’ve got Manuel, he’s been there for four years,” Logan didn’t think they could have found such a different-looking guy to the previous one if they fucking tried. Manuel was built like a brick shit house, a buzzcut of dark hair dusted the top of his otherwise bald head, ears like fucking cauliflowers. Of course, that’s who he’d be tailing, probably because a punch from this guy would send anyone else across the damn room. 

“And I’ll be tailing Henry, he works in the office upstairs but is still very much a likely target. We’re hoping to locate and pin down the killer before their shifts even finish, but in the eventuality The Professor can’t get a lock on them, this is the backup plan. Got it?”

Both Logan and Scott nodded in unison. It didn’t seem too much of a problem mission if this killer was cowardly enough to be picking these guys off one by one, he didn’t think they had much in terms of fighting prowess. Taking an enemy by surprise was the coward’s way out, in his opinion, though he supposed not everybody could heal the way he could. 

And taking this killer by surprise was exactly the plan…

Maybe he should rethink his principles. 

“Be suited up and ready to head out at ten. Gives us at least an hour to locate and set up.” Ororo gathered the papers on the table, tapping the small stack against the surface before tucking them beneath her arm. “Right, I’ve got a class to teach, pretty sure you do too, Professor.” She turned to Charles who simply smiled and nodded, ending the meeting just like that. With a huff and a stretch, Logan stood from his seat, instantly reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a thick cigar, earning himself a sharp look of disapproval from Xavier, the Professor glancing pointedly to the chilly air beyond the window. Logan knew what he was saying, and usually, he’d tell him to go fuck himself and smoke indoors. But he needed a breath of fresh air after that stuffy, slightly nauseating meeting, and if he could kill two birds with one stone, why wouldn’t he?

With an acquiescing shrug, he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel to stalk from the boardroom, shoving the door open with his shoulder and almost walking chest first into Jean. His heart skipped a beat or three, lips pulling up into a small smirk to hide the fact he was borderline giddy to be running into her outside the meeting. She’d been the object of his affection ever since he was brought to the mansion and she checked his vitals. He couldn’t help it. There was just something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that drew him to her the instant he was in her presence. He didn’t find himself thinking of her much outside their interactions, but when they were in the same room, all he could think about was her. It would be frustrating if he cared about anything said in those meetings. 

“Watin’ f’me now are ya?” He teased lowly, savouring the way her lips pursed to stop herself from smiling. There were times Logan thought she felt the same magnetic pull toward him that he felt toward her, times like this, where she didn’t look away from his gaze, and entertained his relentless teasing. 

“You know Scott’s still in there. We have plans,” she responded, feigning an attempt to look past him and back into the room where Scott was discussing various strategies with the Professor. Logan raised a brow as he followed her wavering line of sight, keeping that brow raised as he looked back at her. 

“Plans? Hope you don’t mean dinner, doesn’t look like he’ll be out anytime soon.” If she could just see how terrible Scott was for her. If he could just make her see how he would be so much better. Would suit her better. Would take care of her better. He wasn’t willing to change for many people, but if Jean asked, he would do it in a heartbeat. He’d change himself for her.

“Yes, Logan, dinner plans before the mission. And you know this is a tradition because you comment on it every time.” She huffed, her hair bobbing slightly with every emphatic move of her head. Logan chuckled lightly, his eyes briefly glancing from her gaze to her lips, how perfect they looked, and how perfect they would look wrapped around his–

“Then we both have our little traditions, don’t we? C’mon, doll. Why don’t we stop this dance?” His fingers curled through a strand of her hair, feeling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Haven’t I shown ya I can be the good guy?”

Jean sighed, and Logan half expected her to move away, but instead, she just closed her eyes, shaking her head softly. Was she mournful? Disappointed? It was hard to tell. 

“Logan, I don’t–”

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Scott’s voice slashed through the charged atmosphere between them, and Logan found his hand falling away from Jean’s hair almost instantly. 

“We were jus’ talkin’, Scotty.” Logan shot back, trying to keep the defence from his voice. There was no need to let Scott know just how irritated the interruption made him feel.

“Yeah, like hell you were. Back off, Logan. I don’t wanna have to tell you again.” Placing his arm around Jean’s shoulders, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way she shrank slightly, looking almost humiliated. He tensed his jaw. If she hated Scott’s attention this much, she knew what he had to do. Logan didn’t know how much more obvious he could make his interest in her. All she needed to do was take the leap. “Yeah yeah, ‘stay away from my girl’, I know.” He mocked, sending Jean a wink before continuing on his path to the courtyard. Now he really fucking needed that cigar.

The city was so pretty in the twilight. Silhouetted buildings scattered with twinkling lights against a deep blue sky, it almost made up for the lack of stars. And there was nothing like watching the city skyline descend into darkness that had you more prepared than ever for your latest chosen victim. You hadn’t learned nearly as much as you should have by now, nobody you’d tortured knew anything about what you were looking for and it was starting to piss you off. But you didn’t bury those feelings. Instead, you harnessed them. Used your frustration to your advantage and honed yourself like a forged weapon. Every burn of urgent irritation sharpened your slices, focused your fileting, and pinpointed your precision. 

For the greater good, you reminded yourself as your watch beeped ten, and you spun the small knife in your palm before sheathing it in your boot. Your specific target of the night finished early every other week on Thursdays, hence your change in schedule today. In fact, a good few of them did. You assumed it had something to do with specific shipments on the warehouse floor but you didn’t bother yourself with the details. You knew his schedule now. You’d been watching for weeks. And you had every single detail of his various ways home. He was a bus-taker. Though, to avoid you, he’d been taking different numbered busses to other parts of town, before heading home. But the moron used the same three in rotation. There was no cause to wonder why he worked in a warehouse…

Although you had a good feeling about this one. You’d already scored one victim of the night, who was currently unconscious in your chosen location. You were one hundred per cent sure he knew what you were looking for, and you had a fantastic feeling about this one too.

Standing from where you’d been lounging against a rooftop balcony, you stretched your arms high above your head, listening to your bones and joints crack slightly before securing the steel mask over your features, cursing the phantoms of your past for providing you with such memorable makeup, and, shrugging the hood of your short-sleeved jacket over your head. Your hands dipped into the various sheathed across your waist, double checking the various blades in your belt. You were thankful you never needed to go through any kind of metal detector, because it would likely take you the rest of the night to remove every weapon dotted about your body, from the little holsters on your biceps to the sheathes in your boots, to the retractable blades in the bracers on your wrists. A wise woman once said you can never have too many knives.

A phrase you really should copyright before anyone else claims it. 

Five past ten. Go time. Taking a few steps back, you broke into a sprightly run, leaping like a dexterous cat across the rooftops, every step measured in surety. You’d done this too many times to start second-guessing yourself now, and it wasn’t like you were a stranger to the city’s rooftops and sketchy alleyways before you started doing this. With little effort, you crossed blocks in a matter of moments, skipping over crowds and traffic like it was child’s play before you landed with a deft roll above the side street tonight’s victim would take in a matter of five minutes. 

Like you said. Child’s play

You crouched low, removing the serrated knife from your belt, and flicking it in your palm over and over. It was a habit you’d developed when waiting in anticipation for something. It kept your hands occupied whilst your mind focused on the events to come, picturing exactly how you wanted things to play out. It was difficult. Capturing and torturing these assholes was like shooting fish in a barrel. 

“Fourth clear, no signs of our guy.”

You ducked low on the rooftop, an unpredicted obstacle walking into view wearing some shitty leather getup, fingers delicately perched at the side of his horizontal glasses. Though they weren’t exactly glasses. How would you describe it? Eye-guard? Some weird single glass as opposed to glasses? Whatever the fuck they were, you didn’t exactly want to find out what they did. He was holding them as if they were some kind of weapon. 

Shit, this really wasn’t good. If he didn’t move on now, you’d have to take him out and risk alerting your victim to your presence. Fuck, fuck and fuck again. And just as luck would have it, Alec appeared at the other end of the alleyway, nervously looking about before entering hurriedly. People didn’t watch enough movies. Did they really not know that entering dark alleyways with a killer on the loose was practically the same as signing your own death certificate? In any case, this actually worked in your favour. With Mr Visor patrolling the other end, you sliced open your hand, your blood humming as you pulled it from your veins to wrap around the metal drainage pipe before you swung off the rooftop, the crimson rope twisting and writhing as if it were alive as you descended, landing quietly a few paces behind him.

Now, if he wasn’t on such high alert, he would have most likely chalked the slight thud of your landing to the sound of a street cat, or perhaps a fox. But the way Alec jumped with a yelp, staggering as he turned to face you, didn’t exactly scream discreet. You held your hand up in front of you, contorting your fingers as your mutation felt for his pulse, slowing down the blood flow in his veins as quickly as you could. Not fast enough, a strangled yell flew from his now pale lips, and you swore viciously as your latest obstacle jogged back into view between the alleyway’s walls. 

“Shit, HE’S HERE!” He called to nobody you could see, and you barely had time to duck before a searing red beam of pure energy shot above your head, illuminating the dingy street in the crimson glow. You thought it slightly ironic, as your knife slashed through the palm of your hand, the colour of his mutation and who he was up against. Curving your arm in a wide arc, you manipulated your own blood cells into a wide blade, propelling it forward whilst you took a few steps toward your now collapsed victim. With Glasses now distracted by what you assumed was him discovering your own mutation, you felt around his veins for his heartbeat, tracing the blood flow back until you found the source, and you poured all your energy into slowing that one too. 

“He can manip… manipulate bl… blood.” Once again he spoke aloud to nobody you could sense, his knees giving out before he crashed to the floor. You huffed out a breath, fishing a small bandage from the pouch on your belt before wrapping up your hand and pulling the tie tight with your teeth. The one thing you found frustrating about your mutation was your inability to heal. How fucking helpful that would be, if every time you had to slash yourself open, you could just reseal the wound? Instead of running the risk of bleeding out. But you guessed everything had its drawbacks. Even blood manipulation. 

You bent to pick up Alec’s ankles, dragging him a few feet back the way he came, before you stopped, and looked back to the unconscious mutant at the alley’s mouth. You should kill him. Things would be easier if you did. And so, dropping your victim’s feet without much care, you strode over, finding a small gap in the wrappings around your palm, you extended a small spear from your flesh with the intention of jabbing it through his head and silencing what he saw here forever. 

But there were little voices calling out from a small earpiece nestled in his ear canal. You tilted your head, plucking the bud from the side of his head and holding it up to your own ear.

“Scott? Scott can you hear us?!”

“We’re tracking your location, hang tight!”

“I’m en route, stay alive asshole.”

A kaleidoscope of voices blended together, though the last one had you dropping the earpiece and crushing it with the heel of your boot. Someone was coming. A big someone. Someone whose voice you really hoped didn’t match his body. 

You should kill him. You really should kill this Scott guy, but something about the concern and fierce loyalty of those in the earpiece stopped you. This man was loved. He was cared for. Most of your victims didn’t have anyone. No family, very little friends, and all with some kind of penchant for criminal activity. Alec, for example, was finding himself becoming a little too familiar with the gates of a primary school. The more you watched him, the more you found yourself utterly repulsed by the way he would try and get the attention of those kids. Those children. 

But Scott had people who would care if he died. And so you let him be, pulling and pushing him upright against the wall before jogging back over to your actual victim and resuming your strained attempts to drag him off to your chosen location for the night. 

An ancient, local church, ironically enough. 

Logan raced through the streets, across busy roads and through closed parks, leaping over fences and gates effortlessly. He knew Scott’s location, Jean begging him over coms to do what he could. He was still alive, The Professor could sense it, but how the mission had immediately gone south, he had no idea. But at least Scott was still alive. At least, he was for now. 

“SCOTT!” He called, slowing his steps as he closed in on his location, his claws sliding from his knuckles. The metallic scent of blood flooded his senses, but it wasn’t Scott’s. He knew what Scott’s blood smelled like, having punched him in the nose a few times for the scent to be memorable. No, this blood was new, unfamiliar, and reeked of mutation. Which he supposed made sense.

Blood manipulator. That was the last thing Scott had said before he fell silent and before his channel died completely. And stalking up to the mouth of the alleyway, he could see why. Scott’s earpiece lay crushed on the concrete, little pieces scattered across the floor. Peering into the alleyway, Logan’s heart raced as his eyes cut through the darkness to find Scott himself lying slumped against the wall, his head hanging low. Logan bent to one knee, placing two fingers against the side of his neck to feel his slow yet strong pulse. The same pulse that would be associated with someone unconscious. But there was no head wound. Nothing to indicate he’d been completely knocked out. 

“Is he–” 

Logan looked back to see Ororo landing behind him, her hair slightly wild from the wind. She must have flown her way over, avoiding the nightlife altogether. 

“He’s alive. Unconscious, but alive. You heard what he said, right? Blood manipulator. I think our guy must have slowed his heartbeat or somethin’. There’s no wound anywhere…” Logan gently moved Scott’s head in search of any kind of blunt force trauma but found none. Not that he was expecting to find anything, since the only blood he could smell was unfamiliar. And it lead right down the alley and out the other side. “Gonna need ya t’stay here, Storm. Make sure Scott’s alright.” He kept his eyes focused on the darkness ahead, and the small sliver of light beyond. 

“And where’re you going?” Ororo asked, crouching beside him as if to physically demonstrate she’d stay with Scott. Logan sniffed the air again, almost able to see the blood trail the scent was so damn strong. 

“Followin’ our man. We don’t know if he bagged his victim, but if he was here with Scott, then he was after Alec, and I don’t see him anywhere, do you?” He asked, raising a brow to the woman by his side, who shook her head. 

“No. And I didn’t see him from above either. Alright, you go. But be careful, Logan. He’s unpredictable and now we have an idea as to how dangerous. If he can knock Scott out cold like this, he shouldn’t be taken lightly,” Ororo implored, watching as he rose from his crouch. Logan huffed an irritated sigh, having to restrain himself before he rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll be fine. Look after Cyclops.” Was all he said, before taking off down the alleyway at a light jog, following his nose and turning left at the end. 

“Logan, this isn’t a good idea. You can’t charge into the unknown with no information other than blood-manipulator.” Jean’s voice echoed in his ear, and he once again felt his lips pull up into a small smirk. 

“Why, you worried about me?” He provoked, chuckling when he heard her deep sigh, pinching the earpiece between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll send up a flare if I need ya.”

“Logan don’t–” 

Whatever Jean was about to say was lost when he tossed the coms unit onto the ground, leaving it and all methods of communication behind as he continued on toward his target. He couldn’t believe his eyes when his nose led him to a looming church, stained windows dark from the inside, spires towering high into the night. This couldn’t be right. Either his nose had failed him, which was unheard of, or the killer had a wicked sense of humour. It must have been the latter, the stench of blood increasing tenfold as he crossed the neatly mowed lawn outside, taking the stone steps two at a time and up to the wooden double doors. 

His ears twitched as he caught distant screams from inside, deep enough that anyone passing by would be completely oblivious to any goings on within. Once again, he released the hold he had on his claws, razors slicing through his muscles and flesh as they slid from his knuckles. He took a breath, bracing a hand on the centre of one of the doors before he pushed slightly, the hinges’ echoing screech causing him to freeze, letting the sound settle before he moved. The screams continued, and as sick and twisted as it was, he used that to gauge whether or not he’d been heard. So far, remarkably, so good. 

Stealth wasn’t his strong suit. Never was, but he cursed every heavy footstep that bounced off the wooden beams and stone walls, even the stained glass seemed to be mocking him, some ridiculous depiction of a halo-wearing baby with the proportions completely incorrect, being carried by an equally disproportionate-looking woman who seemed to be bathed in holy light. Once upon a time, he may have found comfort in the frieze. Now he simply thought it ridiculous. How could there be a god when mutants like him walk the earth? When mutants like this killer were allowed to wander around completely free? 

He shook his head of the thoughts. Now was not the time to contemplate divinity. If he wanted to discuss religion, he’d have a conversation with Kurt. He followed his senses, down the aisle between the pews and up to the lectern, his head snapping to the right and through the door to the sacristy. Once again measuring his steps, Logan crossed the altar and into the shadows behind the pillars, that same coppery scent of blood lingering on the slightly crimson-stained doorknob, the faint smokey smell of mutation told him this was the killer’s blood. Had the victim fought back somehow? He assumed he’d done the same thing to them as he had to Scott, knocked them out before dragging them away. 

Shoving the door open, Logan took a moment to look around. Nothing much, other than a large closet, a chest of drawers and a small bathroom sink with a mirror. A rug covered a large portion of the floor, the patterns almost psychedelic in nature, but this was where the scent was strongest so far. Here, in this room. Then where the hell was all the screaming coming from? He could still hear it, in the distance, beyond several walls of stone, or deep beneath–

Logan paused, his eyes flickering from the bare walls to the rug on the floor, one corner ever so slightly raised from the ground. With determined curiosity, he tugged on the fabric, pulling it back from the ground before tossing it completely into a corner. There, now revealed, a wooden trap door. He couldn’t help but think it was a little cliché, to have a trap door leading down to some kind of torture chamber, but if the chosen location told him anything, it was that the killer had a flair for the dramatic. 

To hell with stealth at this point. Logan crouched, gripping the large brass handle and throwing up the door so it clattered loudly against the floor. He was glad he had excellent vision, as the darkness beyond would be enough to turn away even the bravest of souls. And yet, here he was, taking step after step down into the pitch black, his eyes reflecting what little light there was. Perhaps the setting was more fitting than he originally thought because it truly felt like he was descending into the pits of hell with each careful step. The scent of blood now fused with the acrid scent of urine, and the musk of sweat. It was enough to have him almost gag, but he kept on going, led by the sounds of broken screams. 

Until those broken screams were cut viciously short. 

Logan stopped in his tracks, bracing a hand against the damp wall, a crippling sense of failure weighing heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t been fast enough, and now Alec was likely dead. He couldn’t think of another reason why the killer would just cut off his screams like that. But what unnerved Logan further, was that now one voice had been silenced, another was rising up the dark, dank tunnel. There were two. The motherfucker had managed to grab two victims in one night. What the fuck was he using them for? Why torture them? What was he looking for?

A pinprick of flickering light teased him from the distance, the literal light at the end of the tunnel winking in the distance. How far down had he gone for the exit to only now be visible? Had this guy really dragged two bodies down these stairs already today? A picture was forming in Logan’s mind. He had to have some kind of muscle on him to be able to carry weights such as these. But he couldn’t let himself get comfortable in his predictions. That would only lead to chaos. So he kept his mind open, the only thing he was fairly sure about was the fact this killer was a man. 

Not that a woman couldn’t be capable of this kind of thing, but he’d seen the size of some of the victims. Either she was some kind of bodybuilder or a man. One seemed more likely than the other. 

He felt like he’d been in this stupid fucking tunnel for years by the time his eyes needed to adjust to the flickering torchlight, the steps levelling out to a long, claustrophobic stone hallway, the low arch of the ceiling barely high enough for him to stand up completely straight, the tips of his brushed up hair lightly brushing the damp brickwork. He continued creeping forward, a cone of more flickering torchlight illuminating a doorway ahead of him and to the right. 

The secondary voice gurgled another agonised scream, and Logan felt a decent amount of urgency fuel his steps, half jogging the remaining feet up to the archway, peering around the stone.

His stomach clenched, eyes widening. Well, that would show him not to make assumptions. The killer wasn’t a man. 

You were a woman. 

The two victims were strapped to chairs, back to back, a knife in the mouth of one, the other’s head– Alec’s head, hung limp. In the lap of the other, you held a map, blood dripping from both your palms.

“Point.” You spat, delivering a harsh slap to the side of his face. “And so help you, your answers better match up.” 

With shaky movements, your captive craned his neck down, pointing the quivering tip of the knife against a random point on the map you’d lay in his lap, tears flowing down his face as he whimpered in utter terror. Logan watched as you raised your hand over Alec’s head, contorting your fingers as he groggily returned to consciousness. He couldn’t see his face before, and Logan would spend a long time wishing he could return to that ignorance. Two dark, bloodied holes replaced the sockets where his eyes should be, tears of sanguine had rolled down his cheeks, staining his flesh until it bled into the exposed muscle of his cheek. 

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” You took a step back, snatching the map from your second victim and drawing a circle with the bloodied tip of your finger. After so many deaths, the cacophony of screams that kept you awake at night, finally you had a lead. “And what is it exactly th–”

You stopped, your nerves alight with alert. 

Logan whipped back behind the archway, pressing his spine against the wall and keeping his breathing steady. He didn’t hold out hope you hadn’t seen him, and he was incredibly thankful for that, clenching his fists when your voice echoed in the expanses of the chamber. 

“I can feel it. The mutation in your blood. Scott’s friend, I assume?”

With a long sigh, Logan stepped out from behind the archway and into the light. 

“Friend is a strong term. Associate.” He responded, his eyes flickering to each of your palms as crystals of crimson extended from the two wounds in your flesh, taking the form of jagged blades. Your head tilted to the side, hood shifting slightly for the light to catch your eyes. 

“Scott’s associate…” you mused lowly, striking out with surgical precision to the two captives, keeping your wince locked away as your two blades crunched through their skulls with a sickening squelch. 

Logan clenched his jaw, keeping his chin held high. “No explosions this time? Entrails seem far too organised for you.” 

“A fan of my work? Sorry, I don’t tend to do meet-and-greets. Although I’d be willing to sign your corpse for you.” You held your blood blades tight in your palms as you bent your knees. You wouldn’t be getting out of here without a fight. And whilst you could feel the mutation in his blood, you had no idea what it was exactly that he could do. The claws were an obvious giveaway, but was that it? You’d come to learn to put all assumptions to the side and be prepared for anything. 

Years on the streets had taught you that.

“Why?” Logan asked, taking a steadying breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why?” He repeated with just as much conviction. “Why do this? What’re you looking for? Why’re you doing this?” He watched you falter slightly as if genuinely taken aback that he was interested enough to ask. “You coulda killed Scott, but you didn’t. Y’not afraid of causing pain, but you left him unharmed. Why?”

Too many thoughts were running through your head. Truthfully, you didn’t want to admit that you couldn’t. He had nothing to do with this, and whilst yes he got in your way, he was innocent. None of these people were. None of your victims were. Least of all, you. 

“Why ask? Did you want me to? Yikes, that’s some rivalry you got there.” You deflected, twirling one of your blades in your hand. “Tell ya what, I’ll finish the job for you, free of charge.” You grinned behind your mask, taking a step toward him, dragging the tips of your crystalised blood blades along the ground, leaving little crimson trails as you walked. 

“Got a lotta lip, ya know that?” He growled, watching you like a hawk as you slowly stalked forward, step by careful step. 

“If only you knew the trouble my mouth gets me into…” You paused for a moment, crouching low. Anticipation crackled in the air, sparks of adrenaline igniting the room before you launched forward, keeping low to the ground. 

Logan tracked your movements, bending his knees and bracing his claws in front of his body before your blades cracked against his, literal sparks flying from the contact point as you stay low, your other hand braced against the floor, leaving bloodstains on the stone. Your leg swept toward his, and he wrenched his claws from where they’d tangled with your blades, taking a quick step back to avoid your jab.

Using your momentum, you pushed off from the ground, spinning upright just in time to parry a slice from his claws, your blood thrumming with the impact. He was strong. Really fucking strong. Annoyingly strong, in fact. You hated having to manipulate the vessels and cells within your body, but the moment his fists arced down toward you, you had no choice but to increase the blood flow to your biceps, wincing slightly as they shuddered and flexed in response, but it was just enough to catch him off guard, your two blades crossed between his six claws. 

You didn’t let the moment linger, delivering a harsh kick to the centre of his stomach and using the almost rock-like surface to send yourself a few steps back, sweat already trailing down the inside of your mask. 

Logan bent double, grunting in discomfort before lowering into a similar crouch to your own, watching closely as your blades dragged along the ground once again, leaving little slices of crimson. You raised your head in challenge, the flickering torchlight catching two sparks of sanguine red eyes, pulsing slightly as your mutation shimmered from your hands, veins bulging up your wrists. Something tugged at his chest, and he stilled for a moment. It looked almost… painful. The way he could see every pulse of your heart thumping within those bloodborne blades. 

His head tilted to the side, and you felt discomfort crawl over your skin. Was he… studying you? In the middle of a fucking fight? And not the ‘I’m studying you to see your next attack’ kind of way. You grit your teeth, irritation flaring in your gut as you launch forward, anger and frustration now fuelling your movements. How dare he. How dare he try to read you like this. He didn’t even fucking know you. But the way his features slackened slightly, the ever so small tilt of his head. You wanted to tear him to ribbons. 

Logan shook himself from his thoughts as you surged forward, once again bracing himself for the flurry of swipes he could sense was coming his way. Only–

You ducked to the side.

Your blades retracting back into your palms as you slid past him, grazing the centre of your hand against the floor in a wide arc. What the hell were you doing? What the fuck was with all the acrobatics. You’d done nothing but flip and spin around him, barely going in for any hits. He whirled around, claws still held before him in closed fists, but you looked… done. 

Like you’d already won. 

“Well, this has been a pleasure. But I’m afraid I’m a very busy woman,” you paused, placing a hand on your hip as if you were having a casual conversation in a shopping centre. “And you’re wasting my time.”

Logan barely had time to think before the bloodstains on the ground shifted, and in every place you’d dragged your palm across the stone, a sharp spear shot from the marks towards him, impaling through his suit and into his chest, his legs, back, and shoulders with a sick, wet crunch.

Through agonising pain, he finally understood what you were doing. Setting up a fucking trap. Any attempt to move resulted in tearing fire through his body, a rough cry of pain flying from behind his gritted teeth, before it became too much as he sank to his knees. Your sigh almost sounded disappointed, and he watched through hazy vision as you brought out a bandage from your belt and started to wrap up one of your palms with a slight hissed wince. 

You’d expected him to be dead by now, and yet somehow he was still clinging to life like a tenacious limpet. An irritated huff warmed the interior of your mask as you flicked your unbound hand, another jagged spear of ruby sailing from your palm and through the centre of his stomach, wrenching another agonised cry from his throat. 

“Fucking hell… still here? Most would be dead by now.” You folded your arms across your chest, wandering over to where he was still bent double on his knees, heaving rasped breaths. 

“Most of ‘em can die.” He snarled back, his strength slowly returning as his regeneration worked overtime to remove the whipping spears from his body. You watched as they shifted in response to the resistance, fascination curling like smoke in your head. What the hell was this guy?

“And you can’t, I presume?”

“Nope. Not yet, at least.”

“Huh,” you shrugged, your eyes flaring as you wormed those tendrils back through his flesh, something twinging in your chest as you did so. “That’s… unfortunate,” you crouched in front of him, running your fingers along one of the tendrils of blood holding him still, your eyes falling to the little X symbol on his leather collar, recognition striking you like lightning. “Wait… I know you. You’re one of Xavier’s, right? Never thought he’d meddle in simple human murders,” you thought for a moment, regarding him. “Doesn’t it bother you? Being nothing but a weapon to him? Just a gun to point at the enemy whilst he’s the one who claims the victory?” You provoked, finally garnering a response as he all but growled at you, bloodied teeth bared. You had half a mind to use his own blood to sew his mouth shut, but you were curious about him. A mutant who couldn’t die, running around playing soldier for someone who would never walk the battlefield himself. 

Sure he should be the one pulling the strings. 

Logan knew you were trying to get under his skin. Metaphorically, of course. Physically, you’d already achieved that, the sharp bolts of agony with every slight movement told him that much. But he needed to get under yours. 

“I know what these people did,” he breathed, chest searing with each fiery inhale.  “The ones you choose. I know why you kill them, but why torture them?” He continued through gritted teeth, tugging against the lashing spears through his body.

“You think that’s what this is? Me cleaning up after this world’s scum? I should add myself to that lengthy list.” You growled back, gesturing wildly to the walls around you. “These people know something. The fact they’re all child predators is simply luck. But don’t you think it’s strange? An orphanage burns down and none of the bodies are found?” 

Logan stopped his struggle. “What…? How d’you–”

“Nothing. Not even skeletons. Doesn’t that make you wonder where the hell those kids went? The disappearances throughout the city, all kids. All mutant kids.” You could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what you were saying, and what it meant. 

“Y– you’re looking for information…” He muttered with understanding, and you nodded.

“The men at that warehouse… they’re always hanging around schools and –before it burnt down– the orphanage,” your eyes flickered to stairs beyond the archway, and the distant shouts echoing down the hall. “It’s a slave trade. A mutant slave trade.”

“How d’you know?”

“I… I can’t tell you that.” Something twisted in your gut as his expression shifted to something softer, despite the obvious pain he was in. You didn’t want to hurt him. It was a sudden realisation that you’d acted too hastily. Assumed he was here to eliminate you after the series of events you’d caused. But you should have known the moment he started asking questions. Sure, he was probably here to put a stop to what appeared on the surface to be a sequence of grizzly murders, but he’d asked. He wanted to know why. Not many others had done that. And there was something else flickering in his strikingly haze eyes. 

He didn’t want to kill you. Not now he knew. 

Your head whipped back to the archway, where those distant shouts had increased in volume and, terrifyingly enough, proximity. You could clearly catch the repeated calls of a name. His name. 

Logan. 

“Look, if you want to help, there’s a gala happening at Thornbury Hall, west of the city. Saturday the 18th. Meet me there or don’t, it’s your choice. But you come alone. I’ll know if you don’t.” You hissed hurriedly, flicking your fingers to withdraw the countless spears from his body, and he screwed his eyes shut as his wounds immediately began to knit back together, muscle and tissue reforming with an unbearable itch, the crystalised blood liquifying once again, staining the stone red. 

“Logan?!”

Your breath quickened as you looked back to the archway, and Logan could just see the fear reflecting in your barely visible eyes as you took a few steps back. He wanted to stop you. Wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to take this on alone. They could help. He could help. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wasn’t going to take the olive branch you’d just extended. 

“How’ll I know it’s you?” He asked as he stood to his feet, eyes narrowing in suspicion despite himself. He hadn’t seen your face. Just two scarlet eyes behind a rather unnerving, featureless mask. Your head flipped between looking at him and looking past him to the archway skittishly, hurried footsteps growing louder as his other associates honed in on your location. 

“When you get there, look for a man with a runic tattoo on his neck and ask for Alecto.” You explained, continuing backing up into what looked like just a regular wall. But the greatest thing about ancient buildings such as this was the secret little entrances and exits installed for servants, refugees. Criminals.

“Alecto?” You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at the slight smirk on his face, the amusement lacing his tone despite your efforts to try and kill him not moments ago.

“Look it up.” Was all you said, before slipping through one of the cracks in the wall the moment he turned around as two other mutants rushed through the archway. You barely caught sight of Scott and the other before you were gone. 

“Logan! What the hell? You can’t just go dead like that, what happened to your coms?” Storm ranted before falling silent, panic entered her eyes as she registered the state he was in. “What… what happened to you?”

Logan looked back to where he’d last seen you, finding an odd kernel of relief to see you’d completely vanished into seemingly thin air. “I found our gal. Put up a good fight. Slipped out when she heard ya comin’ and I was immobilised.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just let the very same killer they’d come here to hunt slip away.

“She– wait, she?” Scott asked, clearly having recovered from whatever Alecto had done to him. 

“Yeah, she,” he nodded, before sighing heavily. “Look, no point in standin’ round here ‘n chattin’ about it. Charles is gonna wanna know what I know.” 

“And what is it exactly that you know?” Scott asked, suspicion lacing his tone, his arms folding across his chest almost in accusation. Logan rolled his eyes.

“A helluva lot more than you, Slim. Let’s go.”

[alatushours]

☆ STARS, SNORES & SAKE, feat. roronoa zoro — after a long day of celebrations, all zoro wants is to spend some quiet time with his lover.

contents. gender neutral reader. established relationship, fluff. use of y/n + pet names (zoro calls reader baby, you call him birthday boy). zoro birthday special! ♡ word count. 1.4k

notes. guess who’s back from the dead… that’s right it’s me! and just in time for zoro’s birthday too ♡ (watch me disappear after posting this) lowk zoro might be ooc but who cares i just want soft zoro maaaan. i haven’t written in so long but i really hope you guys enjoy! follows & reblogs are appreciated!

ZORO WAS EXHAUSTED. it had been seven in the morning when he’d been ambushed by the straw hats with party poppers and balloons as he was on his way towards the crow's nest for his daily morning workout. all day, he’d been surrounded by noise, confetti, and luffy gum-gum-rocketing into him every five minutes. now it was nine in the evening, and the crew was still partying the night away. 

he didn't understand why they made such a big deal out of celebrating it, really. his birthday was never that important in the past, so why should it be now? but he supposed that everything was different here than in shimotsuki village, out on the grand line. 

well, at least they had booze. 

he picked up a new bottle of sake from the counter and made his way back over to the table, avoiding luffy and usopp chasing each other around the kitchen with chopsticks stuck up their noses. he’s surprised how they still had so much energy after devouring the feast that sanji had made for dinner. (actually, he was more surprised that the shitty cook spent so much effort on the food, considering it was him they were celebrating.) 

he couldn't help but glance over at you, who was chatting with robin across the table. as he sat down, your eyes met his for a brief moment, and a silent conversation was exchanged between the two of you. 

i'm tired of this. come with me? 

give me just a little longer, 'kay? wanna finish this piece of cake. 

he sighed and made himself comfortable in his chair, his eyes never leaving you. taking a few sips from his bottle, once glancing at nami across the table, who was staring at him. 

what? he mouthed. 

nothing, she mouthed back. 

as soon as zoro saw you eat the last bite of your cake, he stood up and and was beside you at the table before you could even put the fork down.

“come to the deck with me.” he left the question mark out of his sentence; he knew you would come whether he asked you or not, anyway.

you giggled and pushed back out of your chair, taking his awaiting hand. “sure, birthday boy.” 

“don’t call me that.” zoro grumbled at the name, but there was just a tiny hint of a smile on his face. 

“oi, zoro! where are you and y/n going?” luffy asked, mouth half-full of meat. 

“out for some quiet time,” the swordsman replied. “you guys are too noisy. you can have the rest of the cake if ya want, captain.” 

luffy laughed in approval as zoro turned away, ignoring the cook’s grumble of “ungrateful marimo” as he made his way out the kitchen holding his bottle of sake in one hand and your intertwined fingers in the other. 

the smell of sea salt was fresh on the breeze. gentle waves rocked against the hull of the ship, and the stars peeked out in the clear night sky.

“perfect weather for stargazing tonight, isn't it?” you asked him, the sound of your shoes clacking against the wooden deck of the sunny. 

zoro nodded, finding a comfortable place to sit at the bow of the ship by the sunny's masthead. he patted the empty space next to him, which you gladly settled down into.

"finally, some peace and quiet," he sighed, arm instinctively curling around your waist. “i love the crew, but they’re noisy as hell.” 

you nodded your head against his shoulder, listening to the sound of the waves. then suddenly you jumped up to your boyfriend's surprise with an "oh! i almost forgot." you turned and smiled mischievously at him. "wait here for a minute." 

before he could answer, you were scurrying off towards your shared cabin. zoro exhaled, taking a swig from his bottle of alcohol. you were always like this, spontaneous in everything you did. he'd stopped asking you what you were up to a long time ago. most of the time it was just you surprising him with things, anyway. he figured it was probably the same this time too. 

before you long you came back up to him, holding a paper gift bag with a green ribbon tied around the handles. "here," you smiled down at him, and he swore he was seeing the sun. "it's your present. it isn't much, but i hope you like it!" 

"for me?" he took the bag tentatively as you sat back down next to him, wondering what it could possibly be. he wasn't one for gifts, really; but if it was from you it was sure to be something thoughtful. he started pulling things from inside the bag; there was a fancy bottle of sake; he was sure it had to have been expensive. and there was something else. a full-color drawing of himself, held in a wooden picture frame. 

"when did you draw this?" zoro asked. he already knew it was you who made it; the art style was the same as the doodles you liked to draw of him for fun.

"a few days ago, when you were training," you replied. "i sat n' watched, remember? i was drawing the whole time. i tried to be sneaky about it, but i still think you noticed." 

now that he thought about it, he had seen you sketching something in your notebook when he was training. he thought you were simply passing the time with him, but it was really for a different purpose.

"well, it looks just like me." he was impressed at the likeness of the drawing to himself; you'd captured his intense stare, the miniscule droplets of sweat rolling down his face. you'd even drawn the metallic sheen on his swords reflecting in the sunlight. 

"are you sure you like it? it looks okay, right?" you asked him nervously. you had spent extra time afterwards making sure it looked just like him, and even more time perfecting the colors and shading. 

zoro chuckled and leaned over to kiss your forehead. "more than okay, baby. it's beautiful. thank you." he pointed to the unopened bottle of sake. "and thanks for this too. i'm sure it must've been expensive." 

you shook your head. "not really. i just borrowed a bit from robin, that's all." 

he laughed. "at least ya didn't borrow from nami. that witch would probably be all up in your face to pay her back already." 

"yeah, i guess." you leaned against his shoulder, and it was quiet for a while; just you, him, and the gentle lullaby of the ocean waves. 

"i'm glad you like it, though." you whispered after a while. "i was worried…" 

"the hell you'd have to be worried about?" zoro straightened up to look at you then. "you know i don't give a damn about what you get me, as long as it's from you. though… next year, i wouldn’t mind if you drew the two of us. so i can look at it when i miss you."

you blushed. "zoro, you see me almost every day." then suddenly, you laughed. "wait a minute, is the hard-as-steel swordsman of the strawhats being romantic?" 

it was his turn to blush. "i don't know what the hell you're talking about, you idiot." he cleared his throat, then continued. "but really, y/n. don't worry so much 'bout these things, got it? you know i keep all your gifts, anyway." 

“okay.” you kissed him under the pale moonlight, with just the moon and the stars to bear witness to it. his lips tasted like sea and sake and home. “happy birthday, ‘zo. i love you.” 

“love you too, baby.” 

you made yourself comfortable in the warmth of zoro's arms, gazing up at the bright stars above. before you knew it, the rocking of the ship and the soft lull of your boyfriend's chest was enough to send you drifting off to sleep. 

zoro sighed contently, the sound of your soft snores peaceful in his ears. careful not to disturb you from your rest, he stood up. carrying you with one arm and holding your gifts to him in the other, he slowly walked back towards your room. 

he was never one for birthdays, but you made them worth celebrating.

end notes. damn i haven’t written something this long since last year. it took me like a month to type 500 words and then i finished the other 900 yesterday… lowk dunno how i feel about how this turned out but i hope you guys liked!

© alatushours 2024. please do not copy, modify, or translate my work in any way, nor upload to any other platforms. in the meantime, if you enjoyed, please like, reblog, and consider leaving a follow! it helps a lot ♡

[vigilskeep]

there are so many things in veilguard that have made me go "wait what??? okay i guess i have to totally rethink the character i'm roleplaying now" that it's literally impossible to guess what thing you're referring to as The Thing That Happened. obviously extremely curious to hear what it is once you've detangled it

it’s kind of like that but it’s also less that and more... okay i should probably just say it, i’m being weird and unhelpful and i need to write it out anyway so i can think

MASSIVE SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT for a companion quest, do NOT say i didn’t warn you. also please don’t respond to this if you know more than me i am in distress but i still don’t want spoilers

so i just finished lucanis’ “a murder of crows” quest. and lucanis. first talon. for some reason. (this is the writing choice i’m ??? on. also i’m ??? on lucanis’ whole storyline, frankly. the writing was. well. like i said, we’re not unpicking that right now, i don’t want to get into it at this point, not the conversation i’m having.)

lifelong trauma of being in the crows and fighting to get someone in a talon’s position and keep them there -> the thing that gave sol all their diseases and made them, to be frank, fairly suicidal

viago: ultimately can handle it without them, especially with teia’s backing.

lucanis: CANNOT handle it without them. holy fuck. for like twelve hundred different reasons, unthinkable, completely laughable, that he can handle this. who is going to protect him. the only reason this could be better at keeping sol mentally stable than watching viago’s back is that they will never feel purposeless or need to go looking for an adrenaline rush, because forget crows, an ambitious blackbird could eat that man alive. he can’t scheme. he can’t even SCHEME and the very fact that he trusts sol DE RIVA demonstrates this. sol is a crow! from another house! does he have no memory at all of the fact that his own parents died in crow infighting? sol could have been playing him this whole time, it wouldn’t have even been hard, and if they were that kind of person, then right now the first talon’s house would have just fallen directly in their hands like a gift from the maker, and they can’t even say a part of themself they can’t shut off isn’t thinking about it that way! how is sol supposed to keep someone like that alive?

you see what it’s like trying to sleep while sol is having this discussion in my mind.

ahem. anyway. pathways for sol’s life assuming they indeed make it through the game:

becoming lucanis’ guard dog the way they were for viago, which (even if they could mentally handle that, which they can’t. or can they??) means switching house loyalties which would surely destroy them eventually -> bad

somehow trying to persuade lucanis to give this up, as if that wouldn’t be throwing house dellamorte completely to the dogs, which at least sol can’t imagine any crow is capable of, let alone someone so dedicated to clinging to what remains of his family that he couldn’t even kill a traitor -> bad

going ahead and leaving the crows, but sol now has to leave BOTH viago and lucanis behind and also lucanis is going to die in there because they left him to do this alone -> bad

solution: sol is back on their original “if a blighted dragon eats me by the end of this, i don’t have to experience consequences” train

and maybe they’re right and i should not worry about this because i’m painfully aware it’s VERY bold to start deciding what happens after the game at this point, when they might still get trapped in the fade or turned into paste or something. and admittedly they did know and dread the possibilities from the first moment they felt something for lucanis, which was why they so wanted it to be anyone else, because anyone else in that lighthouse could have given them a different world, and he is the one who regardless of his best or worst intentions can only tie them tighter to a burning building. and SURE, i see the solas/mythal breakup parallels of sol still leaving, i’m looking at them, that doesn’t mean i have to LIKE them

he hasn’t even kissed them. they’re doing all of this unkissed. lucanis dellamorte when i get you

again please absolutely do not respond to any of this with even the vaguest of hints if you know more about the rest of the game than me 🙏 it’s probably best if no-one responds to this at all lmao i am just thinking out loud. you can reply with a “that’s rough buddy”. for sol

[nickssidewitch]

hate and rumours get to a point where i am genuinely worried for the triplets mental health and safety, a fanbase is suppose to be supportive and feel like a family but it’s all jst wreck

From using my energy channeling, yeah they’ve been pretty exhausted lately when it comes to their relationship with their fans. They thought that they could have a good relationship with them even though they knew of the risks and inevitable bad people who could arise from their growing celebrity status.

Nick feels overwhelmed because he has to hold his tongue. There are a lot of things he wish he could say, a lot of people he wishes he could curse out, and a lot of posts he’d like to post. But, he knows it can backfire because people will twist his statements or call him “rude” or “disrespectful”, even though he’s call out the actual “rude” people. He also has this older brother energy where he wants to protect and defend Matt and Chris from everyone and everything, but unfortunately he knows he can’t do that. He also is afraid of being vulnerable because there’s this homophobia that exists within the fandom that he’s aware of, and some fans may call him “weak or not good enough” for even crying or expressing his distraught feelings publicly.

Matt is overwhelmed and disappointed in people. He feels that he should have been able to have a sense of vulnerability with his fans, since that was his sort of individual goal with becoming an influencer. He could update his personal YouTube channel or even post more Instagram photos, but he feels that he’s unsafe to do so. He wishes he could update you all more on his mental health and just become more of a big brother to a lot of people. But the invasion of his privacy turned him away. He’s truly so disappointed that his supporters who he views as a sort of second family aren’t who they say they are or who he thought they’d be.

Chris… aw, baby Chris :( He is the most “innocent” when it comes to the relationship with the supporters because he truly just wanted to be everyone’s friend. He has this thing in his head where he wants everyone to get along, even in times of conflict. But, with all the fights the fandom, and ex-fans spreading lies and hate about them personally, he feels lost and heartbroken. I also feel like he’s similar to Matt in the sense that he doesn’t feel like he can be vulnerable anymore.

This has really taken a toll on them. They won’t quit because YouTube is something they’ve always wanted to do. But they definitely do have moments where they’re like “damn we should take a break or chill out a bit.”

[rhiannonsknife]

Would you ever write dom Jackie? I feel like she would have two moods: mean dom and soft dom

nsfw content. mdni. soft & mean dom jackie taylor. fem!reader. should i start beta-reading? probably. am i going to do that? i doubt it.

jackie would definitely…evolve over the course of your relationship. she’s only ever ‘been’ with jeff before and even though they never actually got to having sex, the little experience obviously influenced the way she thought things were supposed to be done.

she’d be rather shy at first, i think, assuming it’s her ‘job’ to take, rather than give. it’s not like she doesn’t enjoy it, don’t get me wrong!! jackie loves it when you first touch her, when she -for once- doesn’t have to fake it like she’s used to but instead has a mind-blowing orgasm during your first time with her. so, yes, jackie does like it when you touch her. she likes the feeling of your body on top of hers and the way you’ll grind against her until she’s seeing stars.

and, still, she feels like there’s just something missing. or rather something she’s missing out on.

jackie doesn’t figure out what that certain something is until, one night, where she’s propped upon your thigh, grinding against you in ways she hadn’t done before. she’s still fully dressed too, while you’re almost completely naked beneath her. exposed, jackie can’t help but think as she rocks back and forth, at her mercy. pathetic, she thinks, too, then instantly feels embarrassed for the way that thought makes her throb.

to push the thoughts away for good, she leans down and kisses your mouth. with every stroke of her tongue, though, jackie feels another surge of that strange sense of possessiveness. blame it on the way she’s been socialized all her life, but she didn’t even think it would be possible for her to feel this kind of want until she finds herself rocking against you harder, kissing you deeper, feeling a constant pulse of mine, mine, mine that shoots straight between her thighs. she’s certain she’s soaking through her jeans.

you obviously notice the change in your girlfriend’s demeanor, but -god- you’re not going to complain with the way she’s riding you, head thrown back in pleasure, moans spilling from her parted lips freely.

when you reach out to touch, jackie bats your hands off of her without thinking. “no” she hisses, not even bothering to look at you. “don’t you dare.”

the facade falls just seconds later when she realizes what she’s said. anxiously, she glares down at you. she’s blushing furiously, trying to apologize and stumbling over her words. “i didn’t mean to” and “i don’t know what i was thinking, we can stop”

it takes a lot of reassurance but, finally, you’ve convinced her that it’s okay, that you liked it. after that night, which ends with jackie cumming multiple times as she pins your hands down onto the mattress (using you) and tells you to ‘shut up and take it’, she slowly becomes more confident in her sexuality and the way she wants to express it around you!!

i think she starts out as the soft, tame type of dom which only becomes meaner over time. but, while it does take a while for her to give in to her wants, oh boy, is it worth the wait…

mean!dom jackie who loves to make you strip out of all of your clothes for her without ever taking off a single item herself. who makes you get on your knees naked and shoves her fingers in your mouth, then chuckles softly as you gag on them. who forces you to look back up at her when you break the eye contact and grabs your cheeks so harshly that they’re all smudged between her index and thumb. who loves the way it makes her feel to tower above you and see you so willingly down beneath her.

mean!dom jackie who loves to hold you in place. whether it’s by actually tying you up somehow or by simply holding you in place. she gets so turned on from having you however she wants to. she’ll either eat you out for hours, to a point where you’re so overstimulated you’re trembling. you’re trying to close your legs but jackie won’t have that. instead, she is forcing them apart again harshly, lapping up your wetness with a broad tongue against your raw pussy. or she’ll use you for her own pleasure instead, completely ignoring the aching between your thighs. she’ll ride your face, or finger fuck herself right above you but just a little too far out of reach. and she will do that until you’re at a point where you’re babbling nonsense, sticking your tongue out and craning your neck for just a taste of her that she’s depriving you of.

mean!dom jackie who discovers strap-on sex….maybe she’s on a trip to a bigger city and actually dares to go into one of the sex shops there. not knowing any of the people and not having the risk of getting caught definitely makes it easier. she would probably be so shy to bring it up to you the first time :( that is until she’s got you on all fours for the first time…

mean!dom jackie who never got the hype of blow-jobs until she’s on the receiving end. saying she didn’t get the hype is an understatement, actually. with jeff, she hated everything about it: it was uncomfortable, he was too demanding, too messy about it. everything just seemed wrong. but that was before she got you between her legs, preparing her length for your cunt with your mouth; licking along the shaft and taking the tip in, sucking it gently. she can’t even feel it and she’s losing it already, fighting against the urge to just grab your hair and fuck your face right then and there. or maybe she does. her painted nails scrape your scalp as she grabs a fistful of your hair and forces the toy down your throat until you’re gagging around it <3

mean!dom jackie who loves to edge you!!! she knows exactly what to do to get you worked up and painfully close to the edge, only to pull away last minute. she’ll laugh when she sees you struggling and makes fun of the way you desperately grind your hips against nothing to chase the friction of her fingers. (guys…mean!dom jackie who spanks your cunt and makes you count the slaps then giggles each time you gush around her fingers…)

mean!dom jackie who, at the same time, likes to overstimulate you too. when you don’t stop rocking your hips up, she’ll suddenly force her fingers back into you. she doesn’t let up after the first orgasm, fucks you through two in a row, and shakes her head when you start shaking from the overstimulation. “oh but you wanted this, didn’t you?” she pouts. “you wanted this. now take it”

guys i feel like this has become an exclusive jackie taylor/rhiannon lewis stan blog…(i mean, hey, nothing wrong with that! but just in case anyone was wondering: i do write for the other yellowjackets as well! 😭)

[runraerun]

darling, dearest, dead

written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge for November | prompt: guard | wc: 532 | rated: G | cw: major character death (but not really?) | tags: angst with a hopeful ending, Ghost!Steve Harrington, GhostHunter!Eddie Munson

There’s a legend that the first person who gets buried in a cemetery becomes the guardian of all the other souls buried there after. They become a reaper of sorts, ferrying the newly dead from this world to the next—a place they can never go.

This is what happens to Steve Harrington, aged just eighteen when he tragically dies in the Starcourt tragedy in ‘85.

Steve, who dies but doesn’t move on. Doesn’t go peacefully into that good night, or however the hell the saying goes. He can’t.

Steve, who attends his own burial, but despite how loud he screams into the faces of his loved ones, goes entirely unheard.

He eventually gets it, of course. Despite what everyone thinks (thought? Do they still think of him?) Steve isn’t stupid. He catches on quickly when the first few souls come wandering up to him, lost and alone. Steve can see the path they’re supposed to follow, even when they can’t. So, Steve takes the time to explain to them what he knows, tries to comfort them, before guiding them towards the afterlife.

It’s a curse, really. Eternal isolation. Decades pass but Steve remains. The few souls he speaks to are always so eager to leave him. In the end, Steve’s left alone.

And then one day, Eddie Munson comes stomping through his cemetery.

—🛡️—

“What’s with the get up?” A dark haired stranger asks, startling Steve, “there an anime convention going on or something?”

Steve’s eyes trail up and down the newcomer. He wants to make a comment about the strange attire he died in, but upsetting the newly departed usually isn’t a good idea.

“It’s my work uniform. I didn’t have time to change.” Steve explains, a well-rehearsed response. The Scoops uniform that he can never shed was always a point of interest for people. “Sorry, I didn’t see you come in.”

This is the first time Steve’s missed a burial. Strange.

The guy snorts, “don’t apologize. I’m the one intruding. You visiting someone? I can wait to do my shit.”

Steve frowns, brows creasing where they come together. “No. I’m just… waiting.” He answers.

“For the ghost?” The stranger asks, his interest clearly piqued.

Steve blinks. “The ghost?”

“Yeah, y’know. The ghost that supposedly haunts this graveyard. Legend has it it’s some guy who died way back in the 80’s—there've been sightings for like, thirty years, but no one’s been able to actually record anything decent. All the pictures are super blurry. But I intend to change that. I’m Eddie, by the way. Ghost hunter and semi-professional psychic.” Eddie grins, giving a strange little bow in his introduction.

Wait…

“1985?” Steve asks.

“Yep,” Eddie pop’s the ‘p’, “The year Starcourt burned down and old Steven Harrington bit the dust. You know the story?”

Steve didn’t need to breathe—not anymore. And yet, he still felt short of breath. Lightheaded.

“It’s just Steve.” He clarifies.

“Yeah?” Eddie snorts, “how would you—”

A light seems to go off in Eddie’s head. He pales, eyes widening.

“You can really see me?” Steve can’t help but laugh, tears stinging his eyes.

“Yeah, I can see you, Steve.” Eddie mumbles, stunned, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

—

tagging: @sleepy-steve because they let me rant about reaper Steve to them<3 check out her reaper!eddie fic: here!💘