#day seven: Mutation

[nic-is-the-worst]

Don’t worry he’s ok (no he’s not)

[infiniteglitterfall]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

[jinxificada]

leave it to her.

troublemaker!jinx x people pleaser!reader

summary: for once, you were taken care of.

notes: nsfw, modern au, wc 2,7k. no proofread. Heh, this is for my bottoms out there !! might change the title lmao..

ཻུ۪۪ ༄࿐༉⁎ ⁺

never, in a million years, you would’ve thought that you’d see jinx crying. definitely not in such a… helpless way.

you were on your way to have lunch at the greenery of the campus, if you were lucky you’d find a nice spot under a tree, but the soft grass under the sun would suffice too. you had a red, juicy apple in hand, a novel in the other and your pretty purse on your shoulder. you were planning to do the best you could with that free period.

that is, until you casually find the blue haired girl crying under the bleachers.

it was out of character, way too far.

you’ve known jinx since… forever. though you doubted she ever noticed you, she definitely caught your eye from a very young age.

you didn’t know much about her home life, apart from rumors and gossip full of inconsistencies, her life history was a mystery. but you just knew something happened around the age of thirteen, because that’s when her personality had a huge change.

from the cheerful, creative, social butterfly powder to the obnoxious, short tempered, problematic jinx. it wasn’t from a day to the other, of course not, but you vividly remember when she mutated skins.

it started by her getting weirdly quiet. it was just strange for you not to hear her loud giggles and excited volunteers to participate in class. sometimes, she would even skip them. then you noticed that she pulled away from everyone. her former friends were mindlessly brushed off as she preferred to sit quietly alone.

she started getting in troubles. kids would accuse her from stealing stuff, such as pencils or lunch money. it got messy real quick, after all, they couldn’t ignore it when it was at least six to seven kids assuring it was her who committed the crimes. parents got involved, but apparently her father handled it very well because soon enough nobody cared anymore.

growing up jinx developed a punk, dark style that got you obsessed for awhile. and she played the part, discussing with the teachers and challenging the authorities, she really seemed to hate the system. and her classmates.

now, maybe, just maybe, you had a crush on her. and you could’ve do something about it, if it wasn’t because she scared the shit out of you.

jinx was a walking trouble. wherever she went, whenever it was, with whoever she wanted. her patience was extremely low and it was obvious she found joy in making others miserable. younger kids were more likely to be her victims, but some classmates were unlucky enough to get involved too.

she never messed with you. and your most logical explanation was that she simply didn’t care about your existence. and why would she? you two were… polar opposites.

while jinx was pure chaos, you were an angel.

everyone’s favorite, specially teachers. not that you were exactly a nerd, but that didn’t matter. so what if you weren’t academically smart? you were adorable, enthusiastic and kind. even the most strict and harsh teacher would feel happy to see your hand raising in their class and answer to your dumb questions. in fact, they’ll use you as an example to encourage others to satisfy their curiosity by learning.

socially, you were a bit awkward, but you always meant well! there isn’t a club you haven’t been a member of, or a student council activity you haven’t volunteered for. you gave free tutoring, shared your lunch to those who didn’t bring enough money, helped carry books or homework models from one side of the school to the other.

in conclusion, you were a sweetheart.

this comes from an early age. when your parents proudly bragged to their friends about how ‘quiet’ and such a ‘well behaved’ kid you were. sure you’ve got yourself in a few little incidents. like stealing a chocolate from the store when you accompanied your mom do groceries. bringing stray animals to your house because you were worried they’d have to sleep alone and making your parents deal with them. or getting caught red handed magnetically reading your father’s porn magazine.

silly little accidents.

you were simply the kindest soul alive. of course you wouldn’t ignore someone crying alone.

your shy steps alerted jinx quickly, her head snapped up and her bloodshot eyes stared at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“what do you want?” she aggressively asked you, there was a vulnerability in her tone that squeezed your heart.

“um, i have tissues.”

your hands trembled as you rummaged through your bag, rushing to kneel in front of her and hand them over. you needed to comfort her, but you also wanted this to end as soon as possible.

her already pouty lips formed a frown, hesitating for a long minute before snatching it from your hand to blow her nose. not another word came out from her, not even thank you.

it was awkward, to stare at her while she cleaned up her wet face. your eyes traveled down to the floor, clearing your throat. “it’s a nice day.”

jinx only scoffed. glancing at you for a brief second before focusing on the tissues. then, she threw it away and placed her chin on her forearms as she hugged her knees, going back to that gloomy energy.

you were unsure, because she didn’t quite asked you to leave, but it seemed that her mind was elsewhere. what do you say now? you didn’t want to pry, in fact, you didn’t even want to know what was tormenting her.

then why did you stay?

you moved slowly, as if any sudden movement would make her notice your presence, you sat next to her, maintaining a respectful distance.

well, grass is grass. though neither the sun nor the wind hit your face like you’d want, it was a quiet, calming spot. so you opened your book and read.

it wasn’t like jinx didn’t notice you, or cared. there was something about your mere presence, it brought her a sense of peace. she kept crying, but she didn’t sob anymore. jinx kinda wanted to scoop closer, to make you round your arms around her and rest her head on your chest. that’s how welcoming your vibe was.

she didn’t, obviously. you both just sat there in silence, the noise of your pages turning and her quiet sniffing, along with the distant laughter from the students, were the only sounds heard.

you could tell jinx’s mind was complex, that was clear like water. it was inviting, the complexity of her person. to be the one to figure her out would be a big accomplishment, but ending up harmless was not reassured. if only you could ask her why was she crying.

she wouldn’t tell you, anyway. how could she explain the pain of her memories, the grief and difficulty in her relationship with her sister?

nightmares were easier to manage. one can wake up sweaty in the security of their home and they’ll be alone, with no eyes to judge your trauma. but the nightmares transformed into sudden flashbacks in the middle of a class, the heartbeat quickens at a scary pace and the breathing gets heavier. and jinx thought, only for a second, that she might die right there.

you didn’t ask her, and she appreciated it. because your presence comforted her in a way no one, and nothing, could ever do.

jinx left first. she had spent the majority of the hour looking at the floor, occasionally grunting, muttering stuff you couldn’t comprehend. but she stared at you for quite some time. she found herself relaxing at the sight of your fingers following the words you were reading, paying attention to the smallest details in your actions. like the little puffs of air and the way your chest rises, jinx’s own breathing started to match yours at some point.

it sent shivers down her spine when she realized. neither of you says a word when jinx suddenly gets up, shook the dirt on her jeans and walked away.

you thought it was over, how silly.

next day you were welcomed by stares and giggles, firstly you just thought everyone was being super friendly. until you got to your locker.

the word ‘dyke’ shined in a fluorescent pink, other small drawings filled the free space. it wasn’t strange for students to decorate them, but this clearly wasn’t your doing, and it was extremely striking compared to your quiet personality. that was jinx’s handwriting.

you chuckled to yourself in disbelief, naively tried to brush a hand to clean it with no success and you hear more laughing. you glance away from your locker, just then you notice people made a round to watch you, some even took evidence with pictures. your cheeks reddened intensely, and you tried laughing with them, to pay no mind to the aggression of it all and laugh it off.

you were boiling anger.

escaping the spotlight wasn’t easy, but you make it to the furthest bathroom. you felt like screaming, your breathing was heavy and little tears tickled the corner of your eyes.

what did you do to deserve it? is that how the universe pays you for being nothing but kind to people? you knew half of the students that were laughing at you. you helped them pass their exams, paid for their lunch, listened to their problems when no one else would. and then they laughed at you.

and what was so funny? how did they even know you were into women? were you that obvious?

while you were processing that and much more in you mind, someone else entered the bathroom. your head snapped towards them, scoffing loudly when you realize.

“dyke?” your voice rumbling in the empty room made jinx giggle, she closed the door and swiftly locked it. there was a very different air coming from her, she looked joyful, lively and mean.

her little mocking smile pretended to look innocent as she battled her lashes at you.

“dyke.” she shrugged, approaching you slowly. you felt cornered, like a prey.

“w—why?”

“w—why not?”

you huffed in frustration, stepping back to try and keep some distance, but she wasn’t having it. “did i offend you? yesterday?” you asked, unable to hold back the little tears.

jinx doesn’t answer, but her demeanor softens noticeably. she reached to brush her thumbs on you cheeks, she felt the warmth of your blush and her heart fluttered. she felt so giddy that it scared her, suddenly pulling back.

“what a dumb question.” she scoffed, messing with her hair as she turned to the mirror, fixing her appearance to her liking. you saw how she purposely smudged her eyeliner and you mentally agreed. it suited her. “when will you learn to mind your own business?” she added your name to the end of the question and it threw you off.

“huh?“ jinx looked at you with nonchalance, slightly amused at your confusion. “what do you mean?”

“you’re always behind other people, offering a helping hand and what not— it pisses me off.” her voice got progressively more annoyed. “you’re only losing time, did anyone help you back out there?”

“w—well, no, but—“

you couldn’t think of anything. she was right, she also approached you again, and her closeness affected you quickly, snatching the words from your mouth.

“b—b—but.”

you grunted, hiding your face in your hands as you leaned back on the wall. “stop it, stop.”

“i’m not doing anything!” she chuckled, comfortably placing herself next to you with her shoulder pressed to the cold surface to face you better. you couldn’t see her, but there was little hearts in her eyes as she gazed you.

“what’s wrong with lesbians, anyway…?” you used your last defense, muffling your words softly against your hands.

which you quickly pulled away when you felt cold fingers tickling the exposed skin of your waist. jinx held you with a delicacy that made your breathing twitch.

“nothing~” she purred, getting even closer as she hugged you from the side. “i love lesbians.” she chuckled again, but it didn’t sound like she was making fun of you now. you were bewildered, but you didn’t separate an inch. “i just couldn’t think of anything else to mock you, heh.”

you knew it was wrong for many reasons, but in the very moment you thought that it was cute. she was cute.

“i… i didn’t knew you…”

“hmm?” she hummed with a smile, placing her lips close to your ear to murmur as soft as she could. “that i was into you?”

she wasn’t making things up. you were simply oblivious. why else were you practically the only one unaffected by jinx’s antics? until today, that is.

if you’d have payed attention, you would’ve noticed the constant staring, the quiet steps behind you. you would’ve understood why some ungrateful students came back at you after a tutoring session to offer you money for your time and effort, you never accepted it, but there was jinx threatening kids for you.

jinx fixation only snapped when you finally offered your attention to her. to have you kneeling in front of her with worried eyes, unsure of how to actually help her and not leaving when she wouldn’t even spare you another glance after accepting the tissues. your kindness made her heart race and she wanted it all to herself.

the silence that filled the bathroom was comforting, though the tension could be cut with a knife. or a kiss, whichever happened first.

surprisingly, you made the first move. tilting your head close enough to brush your lips against hers. you felt her sigh into your mouth before reciprocating. the contact was firm, eager and gentle. could’ve been more romantic if you weren’t in the schools bathroom, but neither of you minded.

she didn’t lose time to press herself into you against the wall, her hands roamed your waist and shamelessly explored under your shirt. the kiss quickly heated up, just like your bodies.

your hands clutched her shoulders to keep her close, though you shy away for a second when her tongue licked your lower lip. “god…” you sighed, mesmerized by the feeling. jinx tried again and this time you welcomed her by opening your lips for her.

she treated you so good, her touch both gentle and hungry made your back arch into her. her tongue conquered your mouth with ease, exploring every inch until one of you pull away to breath.

it was intoxicating, thrilling. the voice in your mind warning you when her hand slipped under your pants got more and more distant. her slim fingers caressed you over your underwear and you reluctantly broke the kiss to whimper softly. it was unknown, exciting. your own hand gripped her forearm as you tried to quiet down.

jinx hummed in amusement, “feels good, hm?” she pecked your lips before moving to your neck. it was only a matter of minutes before you pleaded for more. though your words came out slurred and nonsensical, you had to guide her hand under your panties to make the point.

“y—yeah, yeah,” you kept mumbling, praising the softness of her touch. jinx’s own knees trembled when she heard you moan loudly, her middle finger smoothly entering your pussy. she had to kiss you again to shut you up, but she was fucking you so nice.

you greedily asked for more, muffling against her lips. you wouldn’t even be standing if you weren’t holding yourself from her shoulders. she added another one, setting a soft pace, her curling fingers hitting your sweet spot over and over.

you felt the pressure in your lower belly, “ah, jinx—“ you tried to warn her, but she already had an idea. your walls squeezed her fingers harder, and your hips kept twitching towards her, searching for relief.

“i got ya, baby.” she reassured you, murmuring sweet nothings into your ear as you came in her hands.

jinx was a riddle no one bothered to figure out, not even you. it was a pleasant surprise to be the first to feel how sweet she can actually be. you craved more of her.

it was a weird pairing, people noted. you both mindlessly walked hand in hand the next week, jinx’s uncaring attitude gave you the boost of confidence you needed after being laughed at so recently. [jinx apologized profusely for it.] but it worked perfectly, having each other’s back when something went wrong. there was a special, comforting connection between you two that couldn’t be compared.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

In Sickness and Health

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Logan takes care of you when you're sick.

Disclaimer: Mentions of throwing up, getting the flu, flashbacks to exploding boats. Mostly fluff for how Logan takes care of the reader. Couple of swear words. Happy ending. Not Proof Read.

You never got sick. 

It didn’t matter who you were around, or where you had been or what you had been doing. You never got sick. 

You could help ten puking kids, three more flu ridden ones, walk through a room full of adults who had everything from the flu to fainting from it, and still walk away and not have gotten sick. 

Standing by the kitchen door, Logan watched you. 

In all fairness, he’d been watching you ever since he saw you sneeze whilst he was sitting outside teaching a kid outside of lesson times. Sitting in a classroom didn’t help the kid, but sitting outside on a bench, watching the world go by…well, the kids could recite the whole book by the end. 

For three days, you’d been sniffling, sneezing and coughing. No more than anyone else, but coming from you, it was concerning for Logan. 

He couldn’t get sick, but that was due to his own mutation. Not by some miracle act from God. 

So, standing by the kitchen door, Logan watched you. 

Your nose was a little red from the amount of times you’d used a tissue against it in the last few days, your skin was flushed, your eyes heavy and your steps slow. 

For the third time in four minutes, you zipped your jumper back up and shivered. 

“You’re sick.”

Logan’s voice made you jump. He wasn’t loud but it still made your ears ring. 

“I am not sick.”

“Yes, you are.” Logan pushed himself from the door frame and he walked closer towards you. 

“I don’t get sick. I’m not sick. Just…tired. Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“No, neither did I. I could hear you coughing and sneezing from down the hall.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“Sure.” Logan raised his brows for a second. 

“It wasn’t.”

Then you sneezed. 

“Okay,” Logan practically sang, taking you by your shoulders. “Let's get you to bed.”

“I don’t need to go to bed. I’m making food-”

“We don’t need you making everyone else sick. One kid, fine. An entire school? Even Mother Teresa might struggle with that one.”

Logan stood behind you and guided you out of the door and down the hallways. 

“Why is it so hot in here?” Quickly zipping your jacket back down, you tried your hardest to get it off you as fast as you could. Logan helped you for a moment before pressing his hand to the back of your neck. 

“You’re sick.”

“I am not sick.”

“You’re freezing cold,” Logan pointed out. 

“Then why do I feel like I’m on fire?”

“Because,” Logan said. “You’re sick.”

Helping you down the hall and into your bedroom, Logan pulled the covers back from your bed and made sure you got into it. The minute your head hit the pillow, the pouding just became a dull ache. 

“If I’m so sick, why are you helping me? You’ll get sick.”

Logan shook his head as he tucked you in whilst simultaneously untucking your duvet from the frame of the bed. 

“I can’t get sick. My mutation makes sure I can’t.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.”

“But what about the kitchen?” 

You went to get out of bed again but Logan practically ran around the bed to stop you. It didn’t take a firm hand to push you back down. 

He sat beside you, his arms caging you in where you lay. 

“Don’t worry about that. I can take care of it.”

“You can cook?”

Logan nodded. 

“You? You, Logan Howlett, can cook?”

Logan furrowed his brows, a little offended. “Don’t sound too shocked.”

“Just…never seen you cook an actual meal.”

Logan shrugged, “When you bunk with seven other soldiers who don’t know the difference between toast and charcoal, you learn pretty quickly.”

“Huh.” You said, slightly shocked by his admission. Though, come to think of it, Logan was full of surprises these days. 

Your friendship with him hadn’t started out on the best of terms given that you had punched him in the face when you first met him, thinking he was on the other team of people who were hunting you. 

You got a good swing in, too. Made his nose bleed. Which was never an easy feat when it came to someone like Logan. 

Of course, for a while, given that you didn’t want to join either team, or any team for that matter, you and Logan were a bit stand-offish to each other. On the rare occasion you did see each other (usually whenever X-Men came to find you), your communication with him was through glares and grunts. Which he gave back in return. 

Then the first couple of times he, technically, saved your life, you were more adamant on fighting him. Like when he pulled you out of the water when you fell in, even though it had been on purpose and you yelled at him for leaving the boat you’d both been on. 

“Oh, well excuse me for thinking I was saving your life!” He had yelled at you as you walked up the bank and found a log to throw your jacket over whilst you wrung out your hair and the bottom of your t-shirt. 

“I jumped, Logan. I didn’t fall. I knew what I was doing. You should be on that boat right now!”

“Maybe, but now I guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

Funnily enough, it was after that day you decided you hated him a little less. But it wasn’t from the water, it was when he actually listened to you and left the boat when you told him to just before it exploded. 

He was the one to find you back at the bank when you dragged yourself up it and collapsed, catching your breath. 

“You blew up a boat.”

You nodded. “I blew up a boat. And saved your life. I guess now we’re even.”

“Even, huh?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He offered you his hand a minute later and pulled you up. 

It still took a while for you to both become friends, but at least from that day forward, you were both civil and talked. 

A few hours passed after Logan had tucked you in, or at least, you guessed they had, considering the sky was less sun-lit and more moon-lit. 

“Hey,” Logan shook you awake gently and you turned over, your entire body hurting as you did so. 

Slowly you sat up and felt Logan’s hands brush the hair from your face until he could see you clearly. 

“Here, take these. Drink this.”

You swallowed down two tablets but made a small groan when Logan didn’t let go of the cup. 

“You’ve already broken two, this is just safer.”

Then you remembered. 

Logan kept his hand on the bottom of the cup as you held it and drank from it before pulling it away and placing it on your side table.

And looked down. 

“Why am I wearing your shirt?”

“Because I found it in your draw. And it’s easier to get you out of it, if you spill something on it again.”

You furrowed your brows. “You got me changed?”

“It was either that or listen to you keep falling around in here.” 

You grunted a small response as Logan went to lift something else from beside your bed. “Here, you need to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” You tried to push it away. 

“You haven’t eaten in two days. You need to eat something.”

You groaned again. “What is it?”

“Soup.” Logan gave you a small spoonful, the heat from the bottom of the bowl warming his hand. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He managed to get at least half of the bowl down before you rejected it saying you were full. 

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because someone else might actually think you mean what you say while you're sick.”

You were still for a moment, then nodded. Maybe he was right. 

“What time is it?”

“A little after eight.”

You just hummed and slowly lay back down in bed. 

“You just get some rest.” Logan told you, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles of your hand before getting up. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You didn’t know if it was a minute, but he was back. 

With his hand against your forehead, and through the blurry vision of your eyes in the dark, you could tell he looked worried. 

“Honey, you’re burning up.” He told you, slowly peeling back each layer of bedding you’d put on top of yourself. 

You hissed as he pulled the final layer back. “Logan, it’s freezing.”

“Come here, sit up for me.”

And you did. 

Crouching in front of your legs, Logan kept his eyes on you until he checked the thermometer was on. 

“Open up.”

You did so and he stuck the thermometer under your tongue. 

“I’m surprised you know how to do this.”

“Stop talking.”

You waited for a few seconds, but then you had to speak. 

“Logan, I don’t feel so good.”

“I know-”

Within a split second, you pulled the thermometer from your mouth, left it on the bed and a momentarily confused Logan behind as you ran towards your bathroom and flipped up the toilet lid. 

“Okay, okay.” Logan was right behind you, pulling your hair back and rubbing your back as you practically threw your guts up into the toilet bowl. 

Eventually, it stopped but you remained where you were. The puking might have stopped for a moment but the gurgling inside your stomach hadn’t. 

“I think I’m sick.”

Logan gave a fake scoff. “See, now that’s just untrue.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” you told him, feeling a small smile on your face before it was wiped away by the wave of a sick feeling again. 

For a moment, the gurgling in your stomach subsided and you dropped to the side of the toilet against the wall. 

Logan quickly ran a fresh wash cloth under the sink before he wiped your face down, removing some of the sick stains and sweat. Once he ran it clean, he gave it to you to place at the back of your neck. 

Then he stood up again and started searching through the draws around the sink til he found what he was looking for. 

“Lean forward a little.”

You followed his instructions before you felt his hands scoop up your hair and secure it with a scrunchie he had found. 

“Thank you.”

Reaching up to the counter, he pulled down the thermometer he was yet to check and gave a small whistle.

“Well, what’s the verdict, doc? Girl or boy?”

“39.6.”

“That’s a lot of kids..”

“I’ve called Jean. She’s still tied up at that conference in Melbourn but she should be back soon.”

“Hopefully she knows how I can give birth to that many.”

“Think you can stand?”

“After giving birth? Hell no.”

Logan sighed, but you didn’t miss the chuckle that escaped him as he helped you up off the floor. 

“You okay?” Logan asked you if you gripped onto him as you swayed on the spot. 

“Dizzysall.” You drawled a little as you spoke, closing your eyes. 

“Let's get you back into bed.”

Logan helped you from your bathroom, back into your bedroom and into bed. You pulled the covers back over you, only to have Logan pull them off again. You whined a little. 

“We still need to get your temp down, bub.”

You gave in, your strength leaving you as tiredness kicked right back in. Again, Logan brushed the stray hairs from your face as you tried your best to fight off sleep. 

“You’re gonna get sick.”

“Can’t, remember?” Logan’s voice was soft. “Mutation stops it.”

You nodded, remembering, letting out a small; “Lucky bastard.”

Logan chuckled but just sat beside you as your hand held onto his while your eyes closed, giving him a little more freedom to let his eyes wander around your room. 

You had a couple pictures round your room, but not many. However, you did have a hefty parcel you were yet to open, on your desk that he could guarantee contained some. Also on your desk you had a small record player, as well as the records lined up beside it. You had everything ranging from Christmas Classics to Movie Soundtracks to 80s rock. Most had been your own that you brought with you when you moved into the school, taking up a teaching position. But some others had been gifts from birthdays, christmases and the last couple had been from one’s Logan had found himself. He thought you might like to add them to your collection so picked them up and brought them back from flea markets and other places he found whenever he went out. 

From what he could see, the last record you had played was one he had found for you. 

When you were sound asleep, Logan stood and walked across your room and opened up your window which let in a cool breeze. 

He was quiet as he moved about your room, shutting the door a little so he could flush the toilet without disturbing you before he tidied up the bathroom a little. 

Then he started cleaning around your room, wiping down any surface you had touched and any that you could have. 

By the time he finished, he woke you up again to make sure you got some more fluids down you all the while feeling your forehead with the back of his hand. 

“You feel cooler.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted to hear.” 

Taking the thermometer from your bedside table, he uncapped it and placed it under your tongue. You stayed quiet this time, waiting for the beep. 

Your temperature had gone down a little, but not by much. 

“Logan? Will you stay with me?”

Logan nodded. “Sure, bub. Lay down.”

You did so and he walked around the other side of your bed, pulling the covers to the floor save for the thinnest and lightest one. 

Almost instantly you curled into him and closed your eyes, his arms holding you close. 

“Thank you for making sure I don’t die.”

Logan smiled. “If you did, who would give me crap from cooking?”

You gave a slight smile before sleep overtook you. You woke a couple of hours later to chuck up the last few remaining ounces of your internal organs, and Logan stayed with you the whole time. 

And when you fell asleep on your window seat, having been desperate for fresh air that didn’t smell like the inside of a toilet bowl, Logan carried you back into bed. 

By the time morning rolled around, you had less of a rough storm inside your stomach but you were no better than the night before. 

So, Logan made you take a shower. 

“I’m gonna keep this door open,” Logan called over his shoulder, between the gap he had left in the door. “Shout me if you need me.”

“Okay.”

Immediately, Logan started stripping your bed covers and sheets, changing them for fresh ones. He was almost done when you came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. Saying nothing, you moved over to sit by the window seat and let the fresh air brush around you. 

Logan found you an extra towel and wrapped it over your shoulders so you wouldn’t get too cold, or even sicker, before going in search of some clothes. 

You managed to pull your arms through the t-shirt and lift it over your head. Logan helped pull it down over the rest of your towel covered body and left you to deal with your pants whilst he shut the window so the gap for air wasn’t so big. 

You pulled the towel undone from underneath you and Logan took it from you, throwing it into the laundry basket by your door. 

You managed to twist your hair into a bun as you walked over to your bed, laying on top of the sheets. 

The rest of the day was spent sleeping, waking up when Logan came back to make sure you were getting enough water and medicine down you as well as keeping it down. And by the afternoon, he had found a couple of old movies. 

And when you asked him to stay with you, he did. 

You fell asleep fifteen minutes in, but Logan still stayed with you. And even if he wanted to leave, he couldn’t. Because your hands had been held above his, over your middle since he lay beside you. 

You turned over, half way through the movie, gripping onto his shirt and he just rested his chin on the top of your head. 

You woke up six hours later and felt better. 

Over the next two days, your fever finally went down and you stopped gagging at every smell that was stronger than laundry softener. Until finally, you were sat up in bed with Logan, able to feed yourself without your arms screaming at you to just not move an inch. 

“I mean it, Logan. Thank you. For everything.” You told him, turning to look at him. 

He had made you some more soup and gave you some added crackers. Your appetite wasn’t back but you were thankful that you were actually hungry for once and not feeling sea sick. 

“Don’t mention it. How’s the soup?”

“Tastier now that it doesn’t smell like everything else did.”

Logan nodded. “Still surprised that I can cook?”

“Oh, yeah. I still need to see you cook to believe it though.”

Logan smiled. You were getting better. 

The conversation flowed for a while longer until you asked Logan one specific question. 

“Do you remember when we became friends? I’m not talking about after the boat. I mean like, actual friends.”

“We’re friends?”

You scoffed, hiding your smile whilst he showed his, and shoved him slightly. 

“I’m kidding. But you remember the river?”

You nodded. “Of course. You don’t exactly forget jumping from an exploding vessel.”

Logan waited a moment and then nodded. “I remember when we became friends. You took care of Rouge. She wouldn’t let anyone in to see her, but she let you.” 

Logan leaned his head back and looked up to the ceiling. “God, I remember that. I think you even called me an ass.”

“Correction; A jackass.”

“Forgive me.”

“Forgiven.” You nodded. “You were so worried about her, and I couldn’t blame you. But you were being a jackass.”

“I just remember racing home and by the time I got upstairs, everyone was in bed, except for you. You stayed with her all night.”

“So you made me a cup of coffee.” You finished for him. 

Logan nodded. “I remember all of that. Why’d you ask?”

“Because I’m glad it happened.” You told him. “Not Rouge getting sick, but…the moment. I’m glad we became friends with Logan, because it made me trust you outside of being an X-Man. And, I’m sorry about all the disgusting things you’ve witnessed in the past couple of days but…I’m glad you were the one to help me. I trust you, Logan. With my life. Both figuratively and literally.”

Logan shifted his hand so it held onto yours. “I’m glad, too.”

A few moments passed and you both broke eye contact when a pair of familiar heels were heard coming down the hallway. 

“Here you both are.”

Jean was finally back. “You’re looking better than Logan described.”

You looked at Logan for a moment before looking back at Jean. “Yeah, it’s been…rough.”

“How are you feeling?” 

“Better now,” you smiled a little. “Logan had a lot to do with it.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. I’m just gonna go and check on everyone else. Make sure they’re not coming down with something, too. Are you two okay here?”

You nodded, “We’re fine.”

Jean didn’t fail to spot where Logan was holding your hand, and she gave a brief smile before heading towards the door. 

A week later you were right as rain and was finally getting to see something you had been begging to witness all week. 

Logan cook. 

You sat by the kitchen island, watching him prepare the ingredients, cook said ingredients, all the while creating a delicious meal that wasn’t just soup and crackers, all without burning the house down. 

“So you really know how to cook?” You asked, bouncing a wooden spoon between your fingertips. 

“I really know how to cook.” Logan said with a small smile as he sliced through the pastry. 

“Why don’t you do it more often?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Pass me that?”

You handed over the wooden spoon and Logan started stirring something. “Come and try this.”

And you did. 

That night, you both sat out on the balcony, watching the stars go by. 

And, as you sat there, watching the stars go by, the music from the record player steaming out from the kitchen, you looked over at Logan and realised something. 

You trusted him. 

You more than trusted him. 

You, in fact, loved him. 

It would be a few months more before something would happen between you both, but you would come to find out that Logan had realised that exact same thing. But rather than realise it out on the balcony, he had realised it for himself back inside the kitchen when you had stood beside him. 

He couldn’t make sense of it at the time. Why, for such a small moment, had he realised then. But either way, he was thankful for it. Both of your lives were lived in higher stakes. 

To have a small moment feels so connected with such a big one…

Looking at you, and having you look back in the same manner…

That meant the world to him. 

In sickness and in health, 

You meant the World to him. 

[spicycinnabun]

“Steve, something is wrong with Christofern!” Eddie entered Steve’s room, cradling the potted plant in his arms.

He’d come home after work, ready to greet his bud-dy, but one look at him had made Eddie gasp. His leaves were shriveled up like sad little green raisins. Usually, they were puffed up like oversized Rice Krispies.

Christofern had been Robin’s, originally. It had been in a very sorry state on her windowsill before she’d left for college—a lot worse than it looked now, under Eddie’s care, thank you—and she’d told him, “I honestly can’t stand the thing. You keep it. It sheds worse than my aunt’s Great Pyrenees, and I’m tired of vacuuming. Just don’t throw it out, or Steve might murder you.”

And that had been that.

Christofern didn’t look like a typical house plant. He wasn’t a fern, which Steve kept reminding him. Steve was more practical. He didn’t give his plants names but called them by their designated labels.

Christofern was a Donkey’s Tail, or sedum morganianum, part of the succulent family. That term meant absolutely nothing to Eddie unless it was referring to a big bowl of pasta—he had no idea there was a whole plant category called delicious.

“But maybe he wants to be a fern, Steven,” he’d argued. “Ever thought of that? He doesn’t have to be a succulent just because he was assigned so at birth.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” had been Steve’s reply.

At first, Eddie had enlisted Steve’s help purely because he’d wanted his attention, and talking about plants was an easy as hell way to get Steve’s attention. Steve was a very passionate plant dad. But later, Eddie grew to love Christofern, and the trials and tribulations of learning how to care for him were almost like raising his own child.

Christofern had not just one but seven long, thickly spiked green tails. Seven tails. He reminded Eddie of a mutated dragon. He was adorable but occasionally grumpy and high-maintenance, like a certain someone Eddie knew. (Perhaps Christofern was more of a prince than a dragon—a dragon prince?)

If he didn’t get enough sunlight, his leaves shed, and he wilted. If he wasn’t rotated daily, he got yellow and sunburnt. And if he didn’t get enough water…

“I swear I watered him... uh, recently.” When had Eddie last watered him? Not the day before, but maybe Wednesday? Or had it been Tuesday? Shit. Eddie pouted. “I just gave him a drink now, anyway. It’s not too late, is it, Doctor Steve?”

He clasped his hands and watched Steve’s attentive eyes rove over his plant, waiting for the diagnosis.

“Eddie, how could you neglect Christofern like this? I should call Plant Protective Services.” Steve grabbed his hand, startling Eddie and his overactive heartbeat.

He took Eddie’s index finger and pushed it into Christofern’s soil right down to his second knuckle. It felt inappropriate. Eddie made a noise, appalled. “Steven, why are you making me violate Christofern?”

Steve ignored him. “What do you feel? The soil is soaked down there, isn’t it?”

Eddie wiggled his finger. It felt goopy. “Yes,” he admitted.

“You’ve overwatered it,” Steve chastised. “Now, the leaves might rot instead of rehydrating themselves. You’ve got to make sure you don’t drown it. Christofern only needs a moderate amount of water every two weeks, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie said meekly. “I’m sorry, Christofern.”

Steve pulled his finger out of the soil and gave him a look bordering on amusement. “Leave him with me for a few days, and I’ll get him back to where he should be.”

“Thank you, Doctor Steve. How can I ever repay you?” Eddie imagined repaying Steve with his mouth, his tongue, his hands (after he washed the soil off)…

“You can clean the bathroom,” Steve said.

Eddie’s fantasy shattered. He whined. “Does it have to be that?”

“Yup.”

“Damn it, Steve, just make me suck your dick next time,” Eddie grumbled on his way out.

He missed the way Steve’s jaw dropped.

[undeadcourier]

Ghouls are, put simply, humans suffering from advanced, prolonged radiation sickness and whose bodies have mutated such that gamma radiation extends their lifespan past natural limits.

The process of ghoulification is outlined in canon sources, but I wanted to make a guide that goes into more detail on the effects of radiation sickness in various cases, since the level and type of exposure significantly affects the outcome.

This is the first in what will be a series of posts exploring both real-life cases of radiation sickness and the sci-fi concept of ghoulification in some depth. Graphic descriptions of the physical deterioration of the body are included for informative purposes; reader discretion is advised.

For this first case study, I examine the effects on the human body of exposure to high levels of radiation in a short period of time, with a focus on the real case of Hisashi Ouchi.

On September 30, 1999, a lack of appropriate safety measures and the proper materials resulted in an accident that caused three workers at the nuclear power plant in Tōkai-mura, Japan, to suffer from severe radiation poisoning while purifying reactor fuel.

Point of Criticality

An uncontrolled fission reaction was produced when technicians poured nearly seven times the legal limit of uranium oxide into an improper vessel containing nitric acid. The men reported seeing a bright blue flash—indicative of Cherenkov radiation—when the mixture reached critical mass, flooding the room with radiation. The workers evacuated to the decontamination room, but already, the two who had been handling the reactive solution were overcome with intense pain from radiation burns, severe nausea, and difficulty breathing. Hisashi Ouchi, who suffered the highest level of exposure, also experienced rapid difficulties with mobility and coherence. Upon reaching the decontamination room, he vomited and fell unconscious.

~1 Hour Post-Exposure

Ouchi regained consciousness in the hospital about 70 minutes after the criticality accident, where doctors confirmed that he had been exposed to high doses of gamma, neutron, and other radiation.

The maximum allowable annual dose of radiation for nuclear technicians in Japan was 50 millisieverts. Exposure to more than 7 sieverts is considered fatal. Yutaka Yokokawa, the supervisor, had received 3 sieverts. The technicians who had been handling the uranium, Masato Shinohara and Hisashi Ouchi, received 10 sieverts and 17 sieverts, respectively.

~1 Day+ Post-Exposure

During the first few days in the ICU, Ouchi appeared to be in remarkably good condition, given the circumstances: the skin of his face and right hand was slightly red, as if by a sunburn, and swollen. His eyes were bloodshot, and he reported pain under his ear and right hand, which had received the most direct exposure, but he could speak normally, and he joked with the doctors and nurses attending to him.

6 Days Post-Exposure

Tests revealed that the high energy radiation that Ouchi had been exposed to had obliterated the chromosomes in his bone marrow. They were unrecognizable—some severed, some fused, all out of order. This damage meant that his body was unable to create new blood cells. The red blood cells that transport oxygen could not be replaced, and Ouchi's white blood cell count was near zero, leaving him extremely vulnerable to infection.

~1 Week+ Post-Exposure

Intensive treatments, including numerous skin grafts, blood and bone marrow transfusions, and revolutionary stem cell transplants were conducted in an attempt to stabilize Ouchi, but ultimately without lasting success.

The skin grafts couldn't hold; when medical tape was peeled from his skin, his skin came with it, and the marks left behind couldn't heal. Blisters like those of a burn appeared on his right hand.

Ouchi reported frequently that he was thirsty.

~10 Days Post-Exposure

By this point, Ouchi's oxygen levels were so low that even speaking required tremendous effort. Ouchi was placed on supplemental oxygen and required sedatives to be able to sleep.

2 Weeks+ Post-Exposure

Ouchi was no longer able to eat and required an IV. By day sixteen, most of the skin on the front side of his body had fallen off.

His low platelet count and lack of healthy skin meant that his blood and bodily fluids leaked through his damaged pores, resulting in unstable blood pressure.

Donor stem cells that were meant to allow his body to create new tissue were also destroyed by the radiation present in his body.

~1 Month Post-Exposure

On the 27th day following the accident, Ouchi suffered from intense diarrhea. The mucus layer of his large intestine had vanished, exposing the red submucosal layer beneath. His body could no longer disgest or absorb anything he ingested; even water was excreted as diarrhea.

The skin of Ouchi's right hand was almost entirely gone, leaving the surface of his hand raw and dark red. Blisters spread across his right arm and abdomen, then over his entire body. Gauze was required to replace his skin, and his fingers had to be individually wrapped to prevent them from sticking together. Without skin to keep him warm, Ouchi required an electrothermic device to maintain his body temperature while his bandages were changed—a daily procedure that took hours. Every time the gauze was removed, more of Ouchi's remaining skin went with it. His eyelids could not shut, and his eyes bled. His nails fell off.

Ouchi's right arm was necrotizing, leading to an increasing amount of myoglobin—a protein in muscle tissue—flowing in Ouchi's blood. Untreated, this could result in renal failure as the kidneys could not process the amount of myoglobin present.

Ouchi's body could not regenerate the platelets that form scabs, meaning the risk of hemorrhage was extreme.

By day 50, more than two liters of fluid seeped from Ouchi's damaged skin each day. The amount of fluid prevented skin grafts from adhering. Furthermore, he began to suffer from blood in his stool, and permeated blood seeped between his inflamed small and large intestines.

2 Months+ Post-Exposure

On the 59th day after the accident, Ouchi suffered the first of many heart attacks. His kidneys and liver were also failing. He no longer showed reactions to stimuli.

By day 63, Ouchi's macrophages—the immune cells that normally attack and consume bacteria and viruses—were attacking his own healthy blood cells.

After 67 days, Ouchi suffered internal hemorrhage. He bled from his mouth and intestines.

Ouchi would continue to suffer from heart attacks, as many as three in one hour. Each time, he was revived, but he suffered increasing brain damage, until multiple organ failure ended his life after 83 days in the hospital.

Ouchi's colleague Masato Shinohara underwent numerous successful skin grafts and a stem cell transfusion as well as radical cancer treatment, but he, too, died of multiple organ failure after seven months. Their supervisor, Yutaka Yokokawa, was treated for minor radiation sickness and was released from the hospital within three months of the accident.

This detailed chronology was referenced from the book A Slow Death: 83 Days of Radiation Sickness by Iwanami Shoten, translated by Maho Harada. My post, of course, focuses on Ouchi's physical condition in his final months, but it’s important to remember him not just as a victim or a patient. He was a loving husband and father whose sense of humor and resilience left an impression on everyone he came into contact with. The book is available in its entirety here and provides a moving, nuanced account of the incident and the efforts to save Ouchi's life.

[areyouwell]

Athazagoraphobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of forgetting. Children or adults with this condition tend to experience nausea, raised heart rate or panic attacks when attempting to remember someone they don't.

Ch.5

Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <--

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, sexual content, talks of suicide, suicide attempt, descriptions of extreme bodily harm, needles, this chapter gets dark, reader discretion is advised

Word Count: 13.7k

A/N: i have been looking forward to this chapter for so long oh my GOD i am vibrating. this is the shit i love, although the absolute BATTLE i just fought to get this post off the ground was long and arduous so rip my formatting tumblr didn't like it :( god gives his hardest battles to his silliest soldiers. also kurt and hank are here because i felt bad leaving them out timeline WHAT TIMELINE?

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside

To say Logan hadn’t gotten much sleep was an understatement. Sure, he’d dozed off here and there, but he would jolt awake every time you held so much as a sleepy breath. He couldn’t shake the image from his mind. Seven of them. The way their heads cocked at an unnatural angle. The way they silently stared, faceless, voiceless, seemingly just watching. Waiting. The way they sank back into the shadows the moment you stirred. They must have been from you, some subconscious product of your mutation. Still, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t creep him out a little. 

Though, he didn’t know what else he expected. You could manipulate and walk through shadows. You were bound to have some creepy quirks, as well as constantly looking tired, apparently. 

Sunlight streamed through the curtains, dust mites floating in the golden beams filtering through the leaves of the various plants near your window. You’d told him a while ago you’d named them all, something about giving them a voice making them grow faster, or something else equally as ridiculous. He still didn’t quite know which one was Molly and which one was Dalia, but he could tell his Herberts from his Judases, which was a start, he supposed. 

Fucking hell he was down so bad.

You still slept soundly against his chest, occasionally a soft snore would melt his heart, or a discontented pinch of your brow only to smooth out when you nestled closer. Part of him wished neither of you ever had to move. Actually, scrap that, he wished you didn’t have to move with his whole being. He silently thanked whoever came up with the idea of Saturdays and the knowledge that the two of you could spend a lazy morning in bed without the approaching threat of teaching a class. 

Maybe he would take you out today, steal Scott’s bike and escape for one peaceful moment. There were a few lakes nearby he wouldn’t mind visiting with you, end the day at a bar or something. The image of you perched behind him on the bike, your arms wrapped around his middle, cheek resting against his back made up his mind. He was definitely going to take you out today. Get away from everything for a while. Away from teaching, training, the possibility that if you didn’t get your mutation under control you could be lost to the shadows for good…

That kind of thing. 

He gazed down at you, your mussed hair and twitching features. He loved you. Logan knew that. Two months and he was already certain. It was just saying it, he struggled with. Admitting it out loud. That’s where the problems started. It was like he was cursed, the moment he uttered those three words, some kind of catastrophe would strike and he’d lose everything for good. 

He hoped you knew. Fuck, he hoped you knew. Hoped you knew that with every waking moment, he burned to be near you, seared with the need to touch you. Even innocently. A hand on your knee, an arm around your shoulder, anything. Sure, he’d happily spend the rest of his life with his face between your thighs or his cock submerged in your cunt, but that didn’t seem realistic. And, if nothing else, Logan was a man of realism. 

A sigh escaped your slightly parted lips, eyes fluttering slightly as you started to wake. He brushed the stray hairs from your face, your features scrunching, blinking awake. 

“Good mornin’,” he smiled, and you groaned in response, closing your eyes again and hiding your face in his chest.

“No.” your response was muffled but audible, and he cocked a brow.

“Bad mornin’?”

You shook your head slightly. “No morning. Wake me when it’s midday.”

If there was one thing Logan had learnt about you, it was that you were not a morning person. ‘Too much light’ was your typical excuse, and he couldn’t say he blamed you. He used to drag himself out of bed with the promise of a strong cup of coffee before he became a teacher. He didn’t know why he was shocked to learn you were a night owl, it made a shit ton of sense considering your mutation. Though he chalked it down to the fact that your smile shone like the sun itself.

“Coffee?” He asked, and that silenced your protests. Your clock was still discarded on the floor, but flicking his wrist up in front of his face, he grinned seeing the time. 8 am. Oh, you were going to be furious. Especially since it was a Saturday. 

“What time is it?” you asked, raising your head from his chest and turning your head to your window as if the sun had personally offended you. You had half the mind to storm over to the curtains and snap them closed. If only you hadn’t been so comfortable, you’d really show the sun what for.

“A little after eight…” he said tentatively, and your head whipped back to look at him, face a picture of utter disbelief. 

“You’re fucking joking.”

“Nope, sorry sweetheart, the clock doesn’t lie.” he showed you his wrist with the time, and you groaned in frustration, your forehead hitting his chest in defeat.

“It’s a goddamn Saturday, not even Jubilee is up this early on a Saturday.” You lamented, pulling the covers up and over your head. Logan chuckled slightly, finding your detest for mornings amusing as you hid from the sun. “Fucking curtains not being closed for the fucking light to get in fucking god fucking damnit.”

“Yeah, you tell ‘em.” His hand rested on your covered head in faux protection, feeling you shift beneath the duvet, your angry huff fanning his chest. 

“I will.” He could almost hear your pout, shuffling forward to poke your head from the covers like the world’s most gorgeous groundhog, the duvet wrapped tightly around your head so he could see only your face. “Did you say coffee?” You asked, and even if you didn’t have the hope of a child being offered a lollypop dancing in your eyes, he still would have nodded. Though with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. 

Couldn’t appear too keen to bend to your every request.

“What’ll you give me for it?” He smirked, knowing full well there were very few lengths you’d go through to acquire a fresh pot of caffeine in the morning. And your narrowed eyes confirmed that knowledge. 

“I’ll suck you so hard you’ll see fucking stars.”

Logan choked on his own saliva. He didn’t know what he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t that. “Fuckin’ freak…” he muttered, failing miserably at hiding his smile. You flashed him a toothy grin, knowing you had him in a box. Honestly, you’d do it anyway just for fun and maybe to tease him a little. 

Logan threw back the covers on his side of the bed, waiting for you to move so he could sit up and start his coffee-making mission. Only, you didn’t move, just blinked at him expectantly. “You gotta move, hun.” 

“Why can’t you be telekinetic, so inconvenient.” You grumbled, reluctantly releasing him from your arms and rolling onto your other side, only to huff once again as sunlight invaded your eyes. “Fucking sun!”

Logan watched with no small degree of admiration as you angrily threw one of your pillows and the window, eyes tracking the trajectory as it hit the curtain with a slight thump before falling to the floor. “You showed him.” He quipped, receiving a small kick to his side. 

You looked over your shoulder as he stood, watching his naked body shamelessly. Shit, he was so fucking hot. Your mouth almost watered as he stretched his arms above his head, his back flexing, muscles tensing. You sat up a little against the headboard, sandwiching your thumb between your teeth as he flexed his back again, and this time you knew it was on purpose.

“Enjoyin’ yourself?” he didn’t even need to look to know your eyes were on him. He could feel them, for fuck’s sake. And your maniacal little laugh confirmed it all.

“You’re nice to look at, excuse me for finding you attractive.” There wasn’t even a hint of guilt in your voice. You really were a freak weren’t you? 

Logan slowly turned to face you, watching as your eyes dragged up and down his body, your mischievous smile only widening. He cast his gaze skyward, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Ya done?”

You clicked your tongue. “Not even close. But, I really want a coffee, so I guess I am for now.” You shrugged as if you hadn’t just been fucking the shit out of him with your eyes. Logan huffed a laugh, shaking his head in fond disbelief. As if you couldn’t be any more endearing. Yes, you were a grumpy little shit in the mornings, but you were his grumpy little shit. And he had a sneaking suspicion you might feel exactly the same about him. 

You rolled your eyes as he shrugged on his singlet, pulling up his briefs and jeans before looking around the room, unable to locate his belt. He spun in a slow circle, eyes scanning the floor. He swore it had fallen with his jeans. “Have you seen my–”

Hearing the telltale clink of metal, Logan looked back at you holding up the leather by his buckle. That was not where he thought he’d left it. He raised a brow of questioning, and you shrugged again. “I had it on hand. In case…” you trailed off and his eyes widened in scandal, brow furrowed.

“In case of what?!” 

“Just, in case.” You pursed your lips in an attempt to hide your filthy grin and failed spectacularly. Logan barked a laugh of disbelief, skirting around the bed and snatching the belt from your hands, tossing it on the covers as he trapped you in his arms.

“You,” he started, before pressing his lips to yours. “Are such,” he kissed you again. “A freak.” He finished, moulding his mouth against your own in a lingering, lingering dance. You giggled into his lips, your hands finding the soft strands of his hair. “Only two months in and you already want me to tie you up?” He drew back with a smirk, just far enough to see the perversity in your eyes.

“Who said anything about tying me up…?”

He blinked. How many fucking surprises were you going to spring on him this morning? “Hate to break it to ya darlin’, but if that’s your intention then a thin strip of leather ain’t gonna cut it.” 

Your irises sparkled with the realisation that he wasn’t saying no. “Well, in that case, I’ll just have to get something stronger.” You murmured, closing the gap between the two of you once again before breaking it almost immediately. “Maybe some of those metal zip ties… or just a really thick wire. I dunno, how strong are you?”

“Real fuckin’ strong.”

Your brows furrowed in thought, and he ruffled the top of your head. “Don’t strain yourself.”

You gaped in mock offence. “So rude. Go get coffee, I don’t even want to look at you right now.”

“Weren’t sayin’ that earlier, were ya?”

“Yeah, but now your shirt’s on.” 

“Face not good enough for ya?”

“Not when it’s insulting me, no.”

“And when it’s doing this?” Logan leaned into your neck, his tongue darting out to lick along the side of your throat, teeth gently nipping at your soft, bruised skin from last night. You gasped a strangled moan, still sensitive from where he’d left his marks on you. 

“That’s more forgivable.” You breathed as he drew back, a smug smirk plastered across his face. “Go, before I drag you back into bed and have my freaky little way with you, belt and all.” You wiggled your brows and he chuckled darkly, as if anything you said could be seen as a threat. But he acquiesced nonetheless, feeding his belt through the loopholes of his jeans, securing the clasp. 

“I’ll be back in a few.” He placed a kiss to your forehead and you hummed a soft, contented smile before he turned away and headed out down the hallway. You were right, it was far too early for anyone to be awake on a Saturday. As far as he could hear, nobody was up yet, which just meant he got a good few more hours to spend with you before the rest of the mansion started to think you were either dead or missing. You weren’t a morning person, but that didn’t mean you weren’t up most mornings, just with a face like thunder. 

He loosened a contented sigh, cracking open the door to the kitchen before crossing to the kettle and flicking the switch, listening to the low hiss of the water heating up before he pulled open the overhead cupboards to retrieve two mugs, a glass one for him and your favourite one for you. Logan realised with no small degree of shame that he didn’t actually know your birthday, and come to think of it, nobody else had mentioned it either. He hoped it hadn’t already been and gone, seeing your small collection of mugs had given him the perfect idea. 

He rifled around for a bit, before locating the larger, cáfetier. It was easily big enough for two cups and then some. Popping open the steel lid to the coffee grounds, he spooned four heaps into the glass, guestimating the correct amount. Two heaps each seemed about right…

It had been too long since his biggest worry was something as domestic as how many heaps of coffee should he put in a cáfetier for two. It gave him a sense of peace, despite the events of three days ago. And with nobody else up and about yet, it really did feel like the two of you were alone in the world. 

And honestly, he’d be fine with that.

At least, it did feel like, before the fantasy was shattered by approaching footsteps. Logan groaned internally, knowing that gait and heft anywhere. He didn’t even need to turn around to know it was Scott. Why, of all people, did it have to be fucking Scott.

“Logan… I didn’t know you’d be in here so early.” His tone was curt, stunted almost as if he was allergic to being nice. Logan simply grunted, pouring the freshly boiled water into the cáfetier and placing the lid on. 

“I was just leavin’.” He responded gruffly, hooking his fingers around the two mug handles and carefully lifting the coffee pot, making for a quick escape before Scott cleared his throat. 

“I uh… Look man, I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Logan paused, giving Scott a sidelong glance, a silent suggestion for him to continue. “About what happened the other day. The Professor was right, it wasn’t the time for us to fight.”

Logan grit his teeth. “That’s what you’re apologising for? Not for suggesting we should just get rid of her?” he snarled, his fingers tightening on the mug handles. Scott sighed, running a stressed hand through his hair. 

“It’s not– It’s not that simple, Logan. She’s done this before, and last time it resulted in the death of one of our teammates. Jade was so kind. And she–”

“Loved her, yeah I know.” Logan finished, and Scott started in surprise.

“She told you that?” he asked, disbelief lacing his tone.

“I’m startin’ to think you’ve never actually had a conversation with her.” He bit, keeping his self-control intact. Though he didn’t know how annoyed you’d be if he told you he’d smashed your favourite mug over Scott’s head. 

“She was my teammate before you were, Logan. I– It’s not easy to be the one to make these decisions, or even suggest them. But sometimes we need to do things to protect other people. You know that.”

Logan nodded in confirmation. He did know that. He knew that better than anyone. “And you should know that there is nothing I won’t do to protect her. So you come at her again, spoutin’ bullshit about neutralising a threat, and there’ll be no Professor to stop me from tearin’ you apart. Got it?” He snarled, subconsciously baring his teeth. Scott sighed again. It wasn’t uncommon for Logan to threaten his life, when they first met it was almost on a daily basis. 

“I don’t want to neutralise her. I just want her under control,” he explained wearily. “Sure, the first time this happened and she killed Jade, I’d been the one to suggest that. But we were scared. We were damn terrified of her. It was only thanks to Jean that she came back.”

Logan paused for a moment. He knew Jean was keeping something under wraps. “How? What exactly did she say?”

Scott shrugged, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “No clue. She wouldn’t tell me. She told me to ask the Professor, but we were all a little caught up in grief to ask questions at that point, and by the time we’d all managed to move on, it didn’t seem to matter anymore,” Scott paused, evidently debating his next words. “But she responded to you. We all saw that. So, what I’m trying to say, is keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. None of us want her gone, Logan. We couldn’t help her, but maybe you can.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment Logan had ever received from the man, and he honestly didn’t know what to do with it. So he nodded in silent acknowledgement. It wasn’t exactly an olive branch, but something had definitely shifted in their dynamic. But before he could contemplate it further, Scott piped up again. “I’m happy for you two, by the way. You really complement each other. Or maybe I’m just happy you haven’t been making eyes at Jean for the last two months.”

Nevermind. He hated the prick. “Go fuck yourself, Scott,” he uttered with disinterest, and if he had either of his hands free, he would have flipped him off as he left. Heading back up the stairs, Logan wondered when it would ever just stop. When everything would finally come to a halt and he could have just one day for the two of you and not think about anything catastrophic happening. Yet here he was, climbing the flight of stairs up to the third floor, contemplating your mortality. He fucking hated it. 

And he was having such a nice morning, too. 

Shouldering open the door to your room, he was greeted by an empty space and the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, steam rolling out of the small gap where you’d left the door open a crack. Maybe he could still salvage this morning after all. 

Settling down the coffee and mugs on your nightstand, he left the grounds to soak in the water before briskly stripping off his clothes, leaving them in a collected pile at the foot of your bed and slowly opening the bathroom door a little wider. It was like a sauna in there, steam fogging up the mirror, the walls sweating. You hummed a soft tune, one he recognised after a beat.

It was the same song he’d asked you to dance to. 

His heart inflated as he opened the steamed-up door to step in behind you, wasting no time in wrapping his arms around your waist to your small jump and gasp of surprise.

“‘S’just me, don’t worry,” he soothed, burying his face in the crook of your slick neck. Your hair hung limp, freshly washed as you leaned back into him, holding his arms against you.

“Mmm, was just thinking about you.” You hummed, and if Logan wasn’t already half hard at the sight of your dripping naked body, that low, sultry tone of your voice would have been enough. 

“Yeah?” he loosened his grip so you could turn around to face him, your arms slinking up his body and around his neck. “What about me?” he asked, biting back his groan as you swapped places with him, warm water cascading down his back. 

“‘Bout last night… all the things I didn’t get to do…” You teased his lips with whispers of kisses, barely making contact as you held his gaze hostage, your eyes darkening with each passing moment. He felt lightheaded already when you bypassed his mouth altogether, your teeth instantly biting down against his collarbone. 

“Like what?” he strained, his hands skirting up and down your waist, your lips trailing up the hollow of his throat, over to the side of his neck where you sucked a harsh bruise that, to your irritation, faded instantly. You knew doing it again was a losing battle, but that didn’t stop you from sinking your teeth into his flesh, feeling his rising groan on your tongue as you smoothed over the unmarked skin. Your hands braced against his chest as you rose up on your tip toes to breath into his ear.

“I wasn’t joking earlier.” Was all you muttered, nibbling at his earlobe and leaving the side of his head tingling before you travelled lower down the curve of his fuzzy jaw, back down the path you’d carved for yourself, pressing kisses down his chest, your nails lightly scratching down either side of his ribs, following the curve of his hip bone and to his hard cock. 

Logan inhaled as you took him in your wet palms, squeezing around his shaft, delivering pinches with your teeth around one of his nipples, clamping down around when you teased his already leaking tip.

“Shit…” he gasped as you sucked against his shockingly sensitive bud, the scent of your own arousal heightened in the steamy heat, driving him mad with need. Releasing him from your mouth, you giggled softly as he thrust into your grip, his hands sliding from your waist to your hair as you sank to your knees before him, making sure you kept eye contact. 

  Sticking out your tongue, you waited for what felt like an eternity to him, before you delivered a small kitten lick to the underside of his cock. His jaw fell open as he watched you, all your attention now stuck on teasing the fuck out of him, not going any further than small, short swipes. He didn’t want to push you but holy shit were you testing his self-control. 

“Fuckin’ tease.” He huffed, gritting his teeth when your malleable tongue traced one of the thick, pulsing veins down the side of his shaft. His fingers tightened in your hair, though not to move you, rather just to feel you beneath his fingertips. 

Logan’s head fell back as your lips enveloped his sensitive tip, and he realised he would happily drown in this shower if it meant you didn’t stop, water washing away the sweat from his brow, bouncing off his closed eyes. A gravelly moan bubbled from his chest, echoing slightly off the walls. “Jus’ like that, baby,” he whispered almost to himself as you took him further, your pointed tongue dragging down the underside of his cock, one of your hands pumping what you couldn’t fit, the other braced against his hip to hold him still. 

You bobbed your head slowly, tasting the distinct musk and salt of his ecstasy as you flattened your tongue, hollowing your cheeks and humming lowly. The bathroom became an orchestra of gravelly groans and airy gasps, all drowned out from the outside world by the running water. Sinking into a comfortable rhythm, you looked up at his head thrown back, one of his hands had moved from your hair to the wall as he all but leaned against it.

Opening your throat, you slipped him further in your mouth until your nose was nestled comfortably against the coarse hairs at his naval. There you held him for a moment, swallowing around his cock and he fucking whimpered at the feeling of your throat squeezing him. You gagged slightly, and Logan looked down, his jaw slack as he took in possibly one of the hottest things he’d ever seen in his over a century of being alive. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and he made to pull away to give you a moment to breathe. But the moment he shifted, your nails dug sharply into either side of his hips, holding him against you. 

He stuttered moaning of your name and you knew he was close, so you hummed around him again, the vibrations of your voice travelling his throbbing length. The hand in your hair tightened as he slowly thrust his hips into your wanting mouth, gently fucking your face. 

“Jesus Christ you feel good…” he uttered breathlessly, tensing his jaw as he approached his peak. You smiled wickedly around his cock, dragging your slick tongue down that same vein you were paying attention to earlier as he moved back, your teeth ever so slightly scraping atop his length, and it was his undoing. 

Pleasure flooded his senses, fire coursing through his blood as he went to pull from your mouth, only to have you angrily shove your head forward, swallowing again around his member as he threw his head back to embrace the stream of the shower. “Fuck, fuck!” He stuttered a long, drawn-out groan as he spilled into your mouth, painting your throat white as his hips bucked uncontrollably, the tips of his claws poking through his knuckles as he fought to keep control, stars dancing behind his eyes.

The waves of ecstasy receded with each pulse, leaving him dizzy and gasping, his head falling forward to catch his breath and steady himself. Looking up from your knees, you drew back, leaving a lingering kiss on the head of his cock, your hands gently squeezing his thighs. 

“You okay?” You asked, rising to your feet, palm softly cupping the underside of his jaw and moving his face to look at you. He was stunned, dazed almost, as he wordlessly searched your eyes for an answer to a silent question. You laughed a little, and he drew you in with a thumb and forefinger pinching your chin, claiming your mouth with his lips in a delicately passionate kiss. The way he tasted himself on your tongue almost had him hardening again. 

“You almost suffocated yourself and you’re asking if I’m okay?” he asked with subdued disbelief, and you grinned wildly. 

“You seemed out of it for a moment, wanted to make sure I didn’t kill you.” You responded with airy innocence, and Logan huffed a laugh.

“Murder attempt number two. Not a great track record, huh?” He teased lightly, and you narrowed your eyes at him. But before you could come up with some witty retort, he sank to his knees before you, throwing a leg over his shoulder so bruskly you had to steady yourself against the wall. “Fuck you’re so hard to ignore when you smell this fuckin’ sweet, darlin’.” He murmured, before wasting no time in devouring your cunt until you were whimpering his name and gushing all over his tongue. 

Consider the morning salvaged.

“This is going to be insanely strong coffee.” You called from the bedroom as Logan dried his hair with a spare towel, draping it across his shoulders before padding out the join you. “Someone didn’t want to leave the shower.” You shot pointedly with a small grin. He simply shrugged in response, trying not to be too disappointed that you’d thrown on a baggy t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. 

“Not sure how I’m to blame for that.” He crossed the room to stand behind you, towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips and circled his arms around your waist, setting his chin atop your head. “You started it.” 

You leaned back into his chest, basking in the warmth of his embrace. It was these little moments of soft domesticity that you craved with him. Yeah, the sex was great. Mind-blowing, in fact, and teaching and training with him was a fantastic excuse for the two of you to spend time with each other, but it was these moments you valued. Swaying in the kitchen to whatever song blared from the radio, your head resting on his lap as you dozed off to some shitty reality tv-show, or vice versa. These were the moments you’d remember when you were old and grey and he was–

Still looking gorgeous and young. Fuck, you hadn’t thought about that. How had that only just occurred to you? You pushed the thought into the furthest corners of your mind. Now was not the time to be entertaining such things. 

“Why did you take so long, by the way? I was halfway through the intended length of my shower by the time you got back.” You asked, mourning the loss of his contact as you went to pour the coffee into the two mugs, your heart expanding when you saw he’d picked your favourite one. The one Kitty gifted you. 

“Ran into Scott in the kitchen…” You snorted at the irritation in his tone, clearly not a fond memory. 

“What’d he have to say for himself?” A hand extended behind you, clasping the top of the glass mug between your fingertips as you handed it to him, pouring yourself a mug of your own before you turned to sit on the bed.

“Thanks. He was just runnin’ his mouth, to be honest with ya. Though he did apologise, which felt weird.” Logan returned to his side of the bed, sitting up against the headboard and raising his arm as a silent request for you to join him. You shuffled closer, ducking beneath his arm and cosying into his side, making sure to hold your full mug of coffee steady. 

“He did? What for?” 

“We argued the whole training thing. He was apologising for the timing of it.” 

You snorted a laugh into your mug. “Trust Scott to apologise for the thing that mattered least. But it’s a start, I guess. He say anything else?”

“Not really. Said he was happy for us and that we complemented each other, which also felt weird.” He didn’t think you’d be thrilled about the Jean comment, so he left that in the past like he had his feelings for her. 

“Huh. Strangely nice of him.”

“‘S what I thought.” 

You sipped on your drink, pleasantly surprised it was still warm, savouring the bitter-roasted flavour. “Yeah, a little too long, think the beans are a bit burnt, but it’s still good.”

“How’dya know the beans are burnt?” 

“You can taste it. Or I can. I was a barista for a while, dontcha know?”

He raised a brow. No, he didn’t know that. “How many jobs have you had?” He asked, impressed that you had such a wide range of skills. You thought for a moment, it was actually a pretty good question. 

“Ya know what? I have no idea. What’s funny is that I never remember quitting them either. I’d just wake up one day and bam! New job. I guess I liked to bounce around a lot. Still do.” You elbowed him, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively and he groaned in exhaustion. 

“Terrible.”

“You liked it.” You stuck out your tongue and he huffed in amusement. Yeah, he did. And he wasn’t about to deny it.

Logan paused for a moment, knowing the next topic he wanted to talk to you about was likely going to be a sensitive one. You hadn’t told him for a reason, and if you didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t push you, but he wanted to let you know that he knew. “Can I see your wrist…?”

Predictably, you shot from his side, muttering a curse as your coffee sloshed from your mug and onto your hand. It wasn’t like you’d made an effort to hide your scars, it was more that you banked on the fact that people, generally, were too afraid to ask. But you should have guessed Logan of all people wouldn’t shy away from something like that. Not where you were concerned anyway. 

Tentatively, you set your mug down on the nightstand, turning back to him and offering one of your wrists. He did the same, shifting to set his own mug down before slowly taking your outstretched hand in his own, inspecting the deep, faded scar with the pad of his thumb. “When?” He asked gently.

“Years ago. It’s all kind of a blur really, and I don’t remember much of it. I just– I was terrified of being a mutant and couldn’t see a way out. I think my brother found me, and took me to a hospital. I don’t know why they’re still there, honestly. I’ve used my mutation countless times since, but I guess scars are as part of the mind as they are the body. Or something like that.” It was the only explanation you had for the marks littering your body, not just the ones on your wrists, but your chest, thighs, and neck. You were a scrappy kid, always picking fights with the wrong people. 

Logan brought your wrist up to his lips, ghosting featherlight kisses down the raised line. “I’m so sorry.” He murmured, and your heart bled. He had nothing to apologise for, you hoped he knew that. 

“‘S’okay. I… learned to accept what I am. Rowan helped me with that. That’s his name, don’t know if I ever told you. After he was done being mad at me, that is. Not that I blame him. I don’t know what I would have done had the roles been reversed.” 

“You got on well, didn’t ya?”

You sighed. “Yes and no. We did when we were kids, but as we got older we started to drift apart. I think the grief over our parents changed him, and he got more cautious, whereas I got more reckless. We would fight a lot, but that didn’t mean I loved him any less. I just wish I could remember what our last argument was about. We were so fucking mad at each other, I left and deleted his fucking number.” You huffed a sigh of past frustration, turning to retrieve your mug of coffee. 

That was news to him. He didn’t know your parents had died. He knew they weren’t around during your teen years, but he didn’t know they’d died. But the way you just casually mentioned it told him it was a topic that didn’t need discussing right now. 

You settled back against him, his arm draping over your shoulders, your head dropping to the dip in between his collarbone and neck as silence settled back over you. You appreciated the way he didn’t press you for more. You doubted you’d be satisfied with such a brazen explanation, and you knew he most likely had more questions for you, so when he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, you smiled against his skin. 

“‘M gonna take you out today.”

“Like on a date or with a gun?”

You felt his snort of laughter against your cheek. “Have you always been this dark?”

“I’m a shadow weaver, comes with the territory.” You responded nonchalantly. 

“‘S that was you’re calling yourself now?”

“Nah. I still kinda like Phantom. But who knows, maybe I’ll change my mind someday.” You raised your head to take another sip of your coffee, grimacing as the liquid had gone from piping hot to lukewarm.

“On a date, dumbass. Thought we could get away for a while.” He brushed a strand of your hair back from your face, smoothing over your eyebrow with his thumb. 

“What’d ya have in mind?” You asked, leaning into his touch a fraction. 

“Take a drive, head to one of the lakes in the area, grab a drink after. Things normal couples do.”

You huffed in amusement. “We’re not a normal couple, Lo’.”

He smirked slightly. “Yeah, I know. You’re a freak.”

“And you’re not? Mister ‘I can smell your arousal and it gets me going’.” You poked the centre of his chest and he flicked your forehead in retaliation. 

“You up for it?” 

“I get to spend the day away from the kids and visit a super scenic lake with my second favourite mutant in the mansion? Followed by an evening of drinking in a bar? You might as well have asked me to marry you here and now.” 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, we’re n– wait second favourite?”

You nodded, looking at him like the answer was obvious. “Well yeah, Kitty bought me my favourite mug so she reserves favourite person rights.” 

“S’that how it works?”

“Bit slow on the uptake aren’t ya?” Logan pushed you off him, careful not to shove you too hard so you spilt any more coffee on yourself.

“I take it back. We’re gonna spend the day here.” You gasped dramatically, setting your drained mug to the side before trying to cosy back up to him, only for his arm to hold you at bay.

“I lied, I lied! You’re incredibly smart and quick and my favourite person I’ve ever met ever!” You exclaimed through fits of laughter as you tried to fight through the wall of sinewy muscle. 

“Didn’t hear ya. Come again?” He held you off with one hand, the other effortlessly raising his mug of coffee to his lips. It was a testament to his strength how he could keep you back with just one arm.

Maybe metal cable ties weren’t strong enough after all…

You conceded, flopping down onto the pillows next to you, bubbles of laughter still popping from your chest. “When do you wanna leave? What time is it actually?” you asked, taking him by the wrist only to see he wasn’t wearing his watch. Must have taken it off to shower.

“Lemme check, hold on.” Logan leaned down off the bed where the poor alarm clock still lay completely abandoned, retrieving your lamp at the same time and setting them both on the nightstand. “Just gone nine. Leave in an hour? I think it’s roughly three hours by car, but Scott’s bike shaves off at least half an hour so…” He shrugged with a cheeky grin, and you laughed at the mischief in his eyes.

“Gives us around six hours to ourselves, minus the journey. Sounds perfect to me.” Being unable to withstand a lack of physical contact with you for any longer than three minutes, Logan lifted his arm for you again, and you returned to the home you’d built next to his heart.

“We should get out more…” he lamented softly, his hand holding your shoulder, thumb stroking your soft skin beneath the short sleeve of your t-shirt. 

“If we had the time, that would be great.” You sighed, feeling his slight despondency. If only your circumstances had been different, and you were just a normal couple that could do normal couples things. But now, you had to teach younger mutants how not to accidentally kill the wrong people, and how to effectively kill the right people. Not only that, but you had to train to ensure you didn’t accidentally kill yourself in the process.

Fuck’s sake.

A fist knocked at the door three times, and you braced for Kitty to simply let herself in. But the longer the silence after lingered, the surer you became that, whoever was on the other side of the door, wasn’t Kitty.

“Come in!” You called, not making any efforts to obscure either yourself of Logan. The whole mansion knew by now, it wasn’t like you were trying to keep it a secret. The door opened to reveal Ororo, her white hair neatly tied back from her face. 

“Morning! Just wanted to– oh. Hey Logan…” she eyed the two of you suspiciously and you shared a glance with him. The fact he was only dressed in a towel and you in a loose tee and boxer briefs didn’t exactly help your case of innocence. “Right… anyway, I guess this saves me two trips. Xavier has a conference in Connecticut, Jean’s going with him. They’re giving a talk on starting up a new school for both mutants and humans to start coexisting, so you’re both on babysitting duty.”

Your heart sank. “What the hell are you and Scott doing?!” You asked accusingly, sitting up from Logan’s chest. Storm’s brows pinched like she seemed genuinely remorseful this was how things had to be.

“Tying up some loose ends for Kurt and Hank before picking them up. They’ve been away for a while now, but they’re back today. That and Scott has some errands to run, so we’ll be back late.” She explained sheepishly, and you groaned in frustration. The one day off you thought you could have and you’ve been stuck with babysitting.

The gods really like shitting in your dinner, don’t they?

“Alright… but you owe us.” Logan piped up, and you whipped your head to him in exasperation. He read your face instantly. ‘Are we really going to do this?’

‘Like we have a choice.’ he silently communicated back, and he knew you’d understood what he’d said when you sighed heavily, dragging a hand down the side of your face.

“Fucking fine, but Logan’s right, you owe us. And I was wondering where those two had got to, how long’ve they been away?”

Ororo loosened a breath of relief. “Thank you. And next Saturday? All your’s, I promise. As for Kurt and Hank, around a year or so? Xavier sent him off on a private mission not even we knew about until a couple months ago, just before you came back. We’re going to pick them up just to make sure they get here safely.” She didn’t seem too confident about wherever Nightcrawler and Beast had been.

“That dangerous, huh?” As if the mere mention of a dangerous mission set him on edge, Logan’s arm wrapped back around your shoulders protectively. Neither of you had been required for one since your return, and he was honestly dreading the day. 

“Kurt’ll explain more when he gets back I’m sure, but yeah, that dangerous. Hank doesn’t like to go on missions like these, but apparently, Charles needed his diplomatic expertise and Kurt’s quick getaways, so who knows?” Ororo shrugged, before looking pointedly at Logan’s bare chest and then your bare legs. “Do I even wanna know what you guys were up to before I knocked…?”

You laughed, waving off her concerns. “Having a coffee and chatting about the day we did have planned before being landed with babysitting duty, nothing exciting don’t you worry.”

“Unless you wanna talk about the shower…” You shot Logan a scandalised look, mouth and eyes wide in utter shock.

“Ew, no, I’m good, see you later.” Ororo shielded her eyes as she left as if she could unsee the mental image Logan had just planted there. As soon as the door shut you smacked his arm with the back of your hand.

“What was that for?”

“Did it look like she was gonna leave anytime soon to you?” You took a moment to think about it, and Logan’s expression shifted to self-satisfaction. “Exactly.”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that. You offered him a little, defeated smile. “Guess our day off will have to wait.”

He leaned forward, tucking you into his side before relaxing back against the headboard. “I’ll take you out soon, ‘kay? Promise.”

“Like, on a date or w–” You couldn’t even finish the sentence before he clapped his hand over your mouth, stopping you midway through.

“Enough. It wasn’t funny the first time, why did you think it would be funny again?” 

You stuck your tongue out to lick his palm, a foolproof method of removing someone’s hand from your mouth. Or, at least it had been foolproof in the past. But you raised your eyes to his face, and he looked at you with disinterest. “Not gonna work, firefly.” 

You adored that nickname. He never explained where it came from or why he started it, but it didn’t matter to you. As long as he never stopped. 

Thick black boots pounded the floorboards as you raced through the hallways of the mansion, vibrations humming up your legs with every step, your breath like fire in your lungs. Shouts and screams echoed in every corner, flashes of torchlight illuminating cones of white against the walls like searchlights. The Professor was away. Why was the Professor always fucking away?

Sliding to a halt as you heard footsteps around the corner, you quickly slipped into the shadows, hushed voices muffled as if underwater as you jumped to the ceiling. Light separated the shadows, and four silhouetted figures walked cautiously beneath you. You could make out the outlines of their guns as the torch shifted before the hallway was again drenched in darkness as they continued their search.

Morphing to the floor, you reformed from the black, stealing a quick glance behind you to where they’d disappeared. There were no students that way, Logan and Scott had made sure of that. The moment Logan had sensed something was off, the evacuation had begun, escorting the students silently from their beds and through the hidden channel behind the panel wall. You knew there were stragglers, but you focused on the knowledge Ororo and Kurt were with them.

How had things gotten so out of hand so goddamn fast? You’d woken up on Logan’s chest this morning feeling like a whole new mutant, comfort wrapped around your heart like an embrace. Now, the opposite couldn’t be more true. You cursed the fact that Jean followed Xavier around like a lost soul. You could really use her help right about now. 

A piercing, shooting pain rushed through your head as you clamped your hands down over your ears, crouching to the floor. Your eardrums throbbed as you recognised that ability, gut knotting at the realisation that Theresa was still inside somewhere, her sonic scream sending waves of agony through your mind before it stopped abruptly. Fuck.

With a new sense of urgency, you sprinted through the entrance hall, taking the stairs two at a time. If you’d been a little more focused on your surroundings and less hellbent on saving the girl, perhaps you would have noticed the line of guns pointed in your direction. One moment you were racing full speed down the first-floor hallway, the next you’d frozen solid as torches flared simultaneously, erasing any easily accessible shadow. You braced, knowing after they “killed” you, they’d turn away and leave you to sink into the darkness and reform. 

But they held fire, your strained pants the only sound in the eerie silence of the bedroom corridor. 

“They were right…” you whipped your head back to the voice behind you, knees bent in anticipation as two figures stepped from the room you knew to be Jubilee’s, and you prayed to whatever sick, twisted gods above that Logan or Scott had got to her first. The torches behind you revealed a man you thought to be in his thirties, a pair of thick, round glasses perched on the end of his crooked nose. He was taller than whoever was next to him and unnaturally thin. “We missed you dearly.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Come again?” You spat, eyes darting between the two.

The man just laughed heartily, opening his arms as if offering you a hug. “Of course, how could I be so rude? I’ve read the reports… Subject Five, if you could be so kind.”

Panic surged through your body as Subject Five stepped forward, a golden glow emanating from beneath its clothes. Your eyes closed instinctively as the hallway lit up as though the sun had risen, your hands flying to shield your face. 

“That’s a bit better. You look good, Eight, but you always were the resilient one.” You were barely listening, still caught up in the dawning revelation that you knew that mutation. You’d know that mutation anywhere. “We’re here to take you home. Subject One isn’t here, sadly, so I’m afraid you’re just going to have to take my word for it, but we really have missed you.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” you managed to grit, your eyes adjusting to the light as you cracked them open a little.

“I have to say, when I received word you were a teacher now, it almost made me laugh. You hated kids! Why on earth would you surround yourself with them? But then it dawned on me. A mutant school. If only my great-grandfather had thought of that at the start.” He continued as if you were engaging in nothing but a pleasant conversation in the park.

“Ya know, for someone who talks so much, you really are saying very little.” you quipped, finding a nugget of solace in the fact that this man didn’t want you dead, at least as far as you could tell. “Let’s start with introductions, yeah?”

He chuckled again. “You’re absolutely right. My name is Doctor Kreva. This man here, why you should already know him, even without Subject One to help out.” he was almost condescending in his tone, and you hated the fact he was right. You did know the mutant. And your heart bled for him. What the fuck was he doing here? Why was he raiding the school with this chucklefuck?

“Means nothing to me. The fuck do you want?” you snarled, to his further amusement.

“Were you not listening, darling? We want to take you home. My father was so stupid for letting you go,” it was the first emotion you’d seen on his face beyond sadistic joy. His eyes filled with frustrated hatred. “He never had the stomach for science. And after Seven somehow managed to kill my mother, a problem you so kindly took care of, he started to pity you all.” He spat like the word was venomous before he took a breath of collection. “Seven years it’s taken to track you all down and rebuild what he destroyed. Seven long years. But we’re nearly there. All we’re waiting for is you.”

Your breath got stuck in your throat. Seven years ago, you and Jade were picked up by Jean and Ororo on the side of that highway. How could he possibly know any of this? “You got the wrong gal, sorry bub.” Oh, you’d been spending way too much time with Logan. Dr. Kreva sighed, holding out his hand expectantly. Like a king’s attendance, one of the guards stepped up from behind you, making sure to keep his shadow far from your reach, before he slung a heavy pack from his shoulder, dropping it into Kreva’s waiting hand. 

The doctor took a knee, removing one of the thickest folder’s you think you’d ever seen, and holding it up. It was old. Incredibly old. Whatever colour it had been originally had faded to a pale grey, the edges frayed and splitting. He placed it on the floor face up, and your eyes caught sight of a label, though it was too far away for you to read accurately. 

“Everything you think you know is a lie, Phantom. Didn’t you think it strange your memories are jumbled? Important moments of your life scrambled or forgotten. Loose ends never tied, arguments never resolved? But this, this holds everything. Your entire life, in one folder. All eighty-two years you were with us.”

You scrunched your face, slightly offended. “I’m thirty-two, asshole.” You spat back, your skin starting to burn under such intense lighting, those threads in your body begging to be released into the shadows to escape. 

“So that’s the age he decided before releasing you. Interesting. Well, I’ll have Subject One rectify that when you’re back with us. Tranq her. Now. Subject Three, begin evacuation.” Before you could even turn around to defend yourself, a sharp pain spiked the side of your neck. You froze, blood draining from your face as you realised you’d been pierced with a needle. Heartbeat rising, you fought the urge to throw up. You didn’t know where your fear stemmed from, but you assumed it was when you were taken for blood tests as a child.

If… if that even happened. Because if you were to believe anything this dickwad said, maybe you didn’t even have a childhood. 

Your vision started to swim, and you angrily blinked the grogginess away. “Rowan… wh– what’re y– what’re you doing…?” You could barely finish the sentence as the tranquiliser entered your bloodstream, taking quick effect on your mind as you struggled to stay upright, your knees buckling as you threw your arms out to catch yourself. Shadows. You needed a shadow. But there was nothing to morph into. Nothing you could reach to rid yourself of this feeling. Everything became muffled, as if you were underwater, only barely able to hear a gut-wrenching roar before your vision went dark, and you were out cold. 

Logan raced up the stairs, fury pumping through his blood. He’d been looking everywhere for you, crashing through doorways and slicing through skin and muscle to find you. Hank had mentioned he’d seen you sprinting toward Theresa’s room after she’d screamed, and he didn’t wait to hear the rest of what he’d said before he took off at a run. He crested the first flight just in time to see three figures halfway down the lit hallway, obscuring your unconscious body. He didn’t even take a minute to acknowledge the light was emanating from the figure on the right, rather than the lights themselves. The man in the centre turned just as Logan bellowed a cry of pure, unadulterated rage, offering him a curious tilt of his head before the one one the left took hold of each other their shoulders, and they disappeared before his eyes.

He didn’t care. They were gone and you remained. That was all that mattered. Racing to your side, he saw the cause of your condition, pulling the tranquiliser out from your neck and cautiously lifting you into his lap, checking your pulse just to be sure. 

You were alive. Your heart was still beating. He almost shook with relief. 

“It’s okay, I got you firefly, I got you.” He soothed, brushing your hair back and cradling you against his chest. “You’re safe now. You’re okay.”

“Logan?” He turned his head back down the hallway, heightened sight able to make out Kurt and Scott by the stairs, Kurt wringing his hands with worry. “Is she–”

“She’s fine, just out cold. Theresa’s still in her room if you wanna make sure she’d okay.” He gestured to the room a few doors down, and Kurt jogged passed him, pausing as he saw the file on the ground. 

His eyes widened slightly, gaze flickering from the file name to your unconscious form, then back again, before looking at Logan. Crouching down, he flipped the folder so it was facing him, before continuing to Theresa’s room.

Logan froze as he read the scrawled, ink-smudged handwriting on the front of the file, his blood turning to ice in his veins. 

NLMO. Subject Eight. “Phantom”.

Logan paced as he waited outside the med-bay, chewing at the cuticles of his thumb. Scott, Jean and Charles were having a heated debate in the room to his right, he could hear raised voices even with the doors closed. Ororo and Kurt had chosen to wait with him, Kurt crouched against the wall opposite and Ororo fixed her hair every two minutes. A nervous twitch, he noticed.

Since Jean was currently held up in the furious discussion, Hank had offered to perform the routine checkups on all the mutants they’d managed to tranquilise, yourself included. It had been four hours since the attack, and he still hadn’t shown his blue furry face. Then again, there were quite a few students who’d been targeted, not just you. 

The meeting to his right went quiet before the doors slid open and Scott stormed out, a face like thunder. Logan couldn’t blame him, he had his own anger on a tight leash, simmering just below the surface. What the fuck was going on? Who the hell were you? Did Charles know about this? Did Jean? Was that why she’d been so strange lately after the training incident? The idea of the two of them knowing and not telling anyone made him want to tear apart the whole fucking mansion, and it seemed Scott was on the same wavelength as him for once. 

“Scott wait!” Jean called after him, running after the furious man, but not before casting Logan a cautious glance. He just glared at her in response, before she hurried to catch up with Scott.

“You should have told me, Jean. I’m supposed to lead this goddamn team, how can I do that without knowing who I’m dealing with. No wonder she can’t control her fucking mutation, and I’ve been made to look like a monster for wanting the situation sorted when you knew about this the whole time!” He heard Scott rage, and it was the first time he’d actually heard him raise his voice to her. It would have almost been refreshing if he hadn’t just answered one of Logan’s most burning questions. 

She did know about it. Oh, he was going to have a little chat with her later about that. 

There was a beat before Charles wheeled from the room, his face a grim picture. He loosened a breath upon seeing the three of them still waiting, his eyes lingering on Logan, the file held in his lap. Logan grit his teeth.

“Did you know?” Was all he asked, and Charles said nothing, moving his gaze to the med-bay doors. That just pissed him off further. “Did. You. Know?” he spat every word like venom, balling his fists in an attempt to keep his anger in check. 

“Yes,” Charles replied softly, as if speaking any louder would set him off. But Logan didn’t need him to raise his voice. That was all he needed to hear for his trust in the Professor to shatter completely. “Some memories are better off forgotten, Logan. You of all people know that.”

“Not her entire life!” He clamoured, causing both Ororo and Kurt to jump a little in surprise. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t their fault. They were as in the dark as the rest of the team. Except, it seemed, team telekinesis. “What’s in that folder, Charles? And tell me honestly. No more bullshit.” He seethed, though, to his subconscious surprise, Xavier held the file out to him. 

“That’s for you to find out. If you wish. But I’ll warn you, Logan. Nothing in that file is good. Nothing is happy. Everything that’s happened to her in the last eighty years or so.” He explained sombrely, and Logan didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream. Eighty years? How was that possible? You were thirty-two. You’d said so yourself. None of this made any goddamn sense. How could you just forget the fact you’d lived at least eighty years of your life? As if Charles had read his mind, which he most likely had, he spoke up again. “A powerful mutant with a focus on memory altering known as Subject One, or Obscurity. From what I could gather, he could alter and re-alter memories, planting ones that never existed and pushing those that deep to the farthest reaches of their minds. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best they had at the time.”

The best they had? The best they had? Logan wanted to punch something. Or someone. Preferably someone bald and in a wheelchair. But he refrained himself when the doors behind him whooshed open, and Hank stepped through. 

“All stable. Took a little longer than I thought it would. I think Jones will be out for another few hours, maybe a day or so. The poor little guy barely sleeps as it is, so a tranq knocked him for six.” Hank explained before sensing the tension in the room. Logan said nothing, almost knocking Beast to the ground as he breezed past him, uncaring as he was once again greeted by yet another sight of you lying unconscious on a metal table.

This was becoming a bad habit of yours.

“She should wake within the hour. The tranqs weren’t too strong, only designed for short knockouts rather than extended periods of unconscious.” Logan was barely listening, his heart clenching as you slept peacefully, hooked up to another fucking machine. How many of these have you been hooked up to in your life? How many other machines have you been monitored on? Was that how you received the scars? Or had that part of your story been true? Did you know anything about this? Or had you been lying to him the whole fucking time?

He had too many questions for you, but he knew how he could answer them. He extended a hand behind him. “Hand me the file.”

“Logan, you should–”

“Hand me the fucking file.” His arm shook impatiently, and there was a beat before Ororo took the folder from Charles and placed it in his waiting hand. Christ, it was hefty. Though, he supposed there was eighty years worth of information within its pages. Storm hovered next to him, sparing him a worried glance as he opened the first page. 

Well, any hope that it was another Phantom was quickly dashed as the faded type described you perfectly. From the texture of your hair and the colour of your eyes to the size of your feet and the length of your legs. His heart caught in his throat as he flipped a few pages, hearing Ororo’s gasp of horror next to him.

4th September. 1932 Ex.3 – 12 pm - 9 am. Deprivation / Indulgence Subject 8. “Phantom” / Subject 5. “Solaris” Observer: Doctor R. Kreva.

Removed all objects from Sub.8’s and Sub.5’s observation chambers, and installed flood lighting on all surfaces. Sustain peak lighting in both chambers for 24 hours and record findings. Since 8 and 5 have similar DNA, they have both been selected for this experiment. Their mutations, whilst similar, are opposites. Two sides of the same coin. Will repeat experiment with darkness at a later date. 

Hour 1 – No change in any subjects. Sub.5 seems extremely content with the change of atmosphere, it’s skin emits some kind of glow similar in colour and frequency to the light around. 

Hour 2 – Still no notable changes. Sub.8 raised its head to look around the chamber, perhaps seeking refuge from the light. Only movement in the last two hours.

Hour 5 – Sub.8’s behaviour has become noticeably erratic, its eyes flickering all around the room, has yet to make a move. Sub.5 has remarkably begun creating its own lights, I have included a sketch of my findings below.

Hour 8 – Due to the lack of shadows, Sub.8’s movements have become peculiar. At times, fast and frantic, searching the room for refuge, whereas other times it would be slow and sluggish, barely able to lifts its head to look around. 

Hour 10 – Much the same as Sub.8 in the dark, Sub.5 had disappeared completely. We can only assume, due to the similarity in their DNA, that Sub.5’s body has disintegrated into the light. Sub.8’s vitals are spiking and dipping seemingly randomly. Its body lags when it moves, almost glitching into shadow with every movement. Is this the molecules trying to release?

Hour 17 – Sub.5 has returned, its hair is now elevated above its head and its eyes no longer resemble that of a human’s. Where there should be an iris and pupil, there is now nothing but smouldering light. Sub.8 has begun writhing, parts of its body disintegrating and reforming where it lies. Is it in pain? 

Hour 19 – Sub.8 has started to scream. It’s interesting. With every breath, its entire body shudders as if trying to phase through the fabric of light itself, like Sub.5 can do. Its fingers bleed from frantically clawing at the ground and blood is leaking from its nose. Will need a cleaning crew in hereafter. In contrast, Sub.5 Is now levitating approx. 5 inches from the ground. 

Hour 20 – Sub.8’s condition has rapidly declined in the last hour, its skin seems to have veins of black spiderwebbing across its face, hands and feet. Must make notes to strip both subjects next experiment, but for now I must assume this continues across its body. 

Hour 21 – Sub.8 has ceased all activity and now lies motionless. Vitals have dropped well below human sustainability, heart rate of 20 BPM, and blood pressure of 90/60 mmHg. How is it still alive? Sub.5 has begun wielding the light from its body. It seems as surprised by this as I am. It has been able to form duplicates of itself, objects, and what could be interpreted as a pair of wings. Could Sub.8 be capable of such things?

End of Hour 21 – Leaving the lights on for 24 hours would most likely be the death of Sub.8. With the slow decrease of light intensity, Sub.5 settled back to the floor, its eyes dimming before returning to what we shall now call the default state. Sub.8 remained motionless for another 2 minutes and 42 seconds before their body disintegrated. Interestingly, it couldn’t disappear before the lights were off completely. Saved footage of Sub.8’s disappearance, the infra-red camera pinpointing the moment its body broke apart. Fascinating. Placed them both back into the observation house, and monitored them for the next few days. Sub.5 is already up and around, behaving regularly. Sub.8 still rests in bed. How will this affect its interactions with other subjects?

Ex. Duration: 21 HOURS Ex. Outcome: Success Findings: See above. Memory erased: Last 21 hours Replacement memory: Cooking lesson, NLMO bonding Comments: Must remember to use the same memory for Subjects 2,3,4,6 and 7

Logan felt sick, bile rising in his throat as he blew out a shaky breath, checking the date three times to ensure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. Ororo whimpered a small sob next to him, her eyes scanning the page, her hand covering her mouth in utter devastation. Kurt looked between the two of them, not knowing if he wanted to be involved in whatever horrors lay within that folder. 

He couldn’t stop reading, some pages had notes about the life they made you believe you were living, a simulation world with the other seven, not dissimilar to the danger room. Only, every time you ‘went out on an errand’, or ‘went to work’, it was just a replacement memory for when they pulled you out for experimentations. Those were the pages that had shattered his very soul. What they did to you… How could they have been getting away with this for so long?

He continued flicking through, thumbing stacks of pages at a time before he settled on a less faded sheet, dated much more recently. He only read the first line before Ororo looked away, her head in her hands, Kurt bamfing next to her to hold her as she sobbed.

22nd September. 2008 Ex.1,243 6 pm-6:50 pm Pain Tolerance / Resilience Subject 8. “Phantom” Observer: Dr. J. Kreva

It has been noted that Sub.8’s tolerance for pain is exceptionally high. It can easily disappear with surface-level wounds and reappear as good as new. I want to test its durability to its limits and discover how deep we can wound it before we start leaving scars. In order to accomplish this without endangering Sub.8’s life, it will be stripped of clothing and strapped to the operating table and I have given us ten-minute windows. Using the same light-flooded room as Ex.3, a team will be entering the room with various appliances, following the strict instructions of careful harming, before leaving for the lights to be shut off. Sub.8 has been known to fight back, unlike its counterpart Sub.5, and we have lost good people to its unpredictability. So we will be using Sub.5 as a bargaining chip. It has been noted these two have some kind of relationship similar to that we would typically see in siblings. If Sub.8 refuses to cooperate, the team has permission to harm Sub.5 to whatever they deem necessary.

Each ten-minute window will be referred to as a cycle, due to the nature of the lighting we are implementing here. 

Under no circumstances should either Subject be killed.

Cycle 1 – Team TS8 managed to coerce Sub.8 onto the table, strapping it down with efficiency. It has yet to fight back, but it has noticed Sub.5 in the corner. It likely knows the terms already. A small cut has been made on its left arm, with no visible response from Sub.8, however, Sub.5 flinched. Interesting. Team TS8 left the room, lights still on. Nothing to note, Sub.8 disappeared and reappeared with the lightning, with no sign of the small cut. Though it is no longer strapped to the table. I am glad we brought along Sub.5. After seeing its capabilities in the mirrored experiment of Ex.3 (please see Ex.4), Sub.5 will be an excellent bargaining chip to ensure those abilities are not put to use.

Cycle 2 – Team TS8 has already threatened to harm Sub.5 to get Sub.8 to cooperate. Nothing physical yet, only threats. It understood and climbed onto the table itself, allowing itself to be strapped down again. It has said nothing in these moments, simply stared. Due to our already collected knowledge and the two-hour time limit on this experiment, I have had to jump a few levels of pain. I have provided Team TS8 with a conical flask of concentrated hydrochloric acid. It seems the jump was necessary, Sub.8 reacted with subdued screams and desperate tugging on restraints. With the skin tissue of its right calf burned away, I can see its muscular system is almost identical to our own, tendons working in the same way. Though this is no groundbreaking discovery, it is still important to note. Team TS8 left the room along with Sub.5, who seemed reluctant. Sub.8’s breathing is erratic, and it claws at the table in a similar way it did during Ex.3. Does this have any practical benefit or is this simply to ease the pain? It disappears once again along with the lights, a burn scar remains on its leg when it returns.

Cycle 3 – Sub.5 had to be harmed. I didn’t want it to come to this, but Sub.8 wasn’t cooperating as well as I hoped it would. We removed Sub.8 and Team TS8 from the room and turned out the lights. Sub.8 thrashed against restraints as it watched Sub.5 be beaten from behind the door. It agreed to continue swiftly after. Sub.5’s wounds healed as the lights returned. Their bond is a fascinating one, and one I would like to explore further. Sub.8’s Trypanophobia has been noted in its records, having an extreme reaction to the sight of needles. I have provided Team TS8 with various sizes of serrated needles with a diagram of its body. The idea was to see whether Sub.8’s mutation could remove things from its body by disappearing and reforming, or whether obstructions could prevent this. Sub.8 seems panicked by the sight of needles, surely triggering its trypanophobia. Once again it thrashes on the table with each insertion, though it only cried out when pierced in the side of its neck and its inner thigh. Perhaps these are somewhat erogenous zones? Or particularly sensitive places? I will have to make comparisons to Sub.5. Team TS8 left along with Sub.5, who seems to be doing very little to stop the process, though is exhibiting signs of great discomfort. Once again, Sub.8 disappears along with the lights, and interestingly, the needles are left behind on the bed, along with copious amounts of its blood. Not sure the cleanup crew could get those stains out. 

A sob wracked from Storm behind him, though Logan couldn’t find it in himself to tear his eyes away. They exploited your fears and used you to record responses for their sick, twisted gain. He grit his teeth, his jaw threatening to crack as his eyes continue to scan the page. 

Cycle 4 – We have recorded Sub.8’s behaviour on the brink of death in Ex.3, however it was due to lack of shadow. There were no threats necessary to encourage Sub.8 back onto the bed, the needles having been carefully removed. The next stage is incredibly simple. Team TS8 sliced through each radial artery on either side of Sub.8’s wrists. I am not a man easily haunted by much, however I do believe Sub.5’s scream will live in my memory for quite some time. I have made sure to set the cutting of the lights long before Sub.8 has time to bleed out. Sub.5 had to be dragged from the room, however, I can observe Sub.8’s body performing the same motions as it was in Ex.3 around hour 19, however, there is a complete lack of vocal response. Its body keeps attempting to disappear, though it has nothing to dissolve into. It’s fascinating to watch, parts of its limbs shimmering jet black before settling again. It’s like the molecules want to disperse. The lights have dimmed far quicker than the last three times. Sub.8 has not moved from the table. It has not disappeared at all, but it is simply lying in wait. Does it wait to die? Perhaps we underestimated its resolve. I have sent Team TS8 back into the dark room, a knife held against Sub.5’s throat. If it doesn’t dissolve, I have instructed them to make a small incision against Sub.5’s neck. It didn’t need to get that far, Sub.8 saw the consequences and immediately dissolved, though it took far longer for it to return. Perhaps the more severe the wound, the longer it takes to reknit the body back together. Will have to perform further experimentation on this. Two more scars have reformed on either wrist. Interesting. Will need to inspect needle incisions later.

Cycle 5 – It’s dead. I’m certain. Due to the ignorance and fear of man, I have lost one of my most valuable subjects. A terrified guard shot it in the chest several times and burst into the experiment. He didn’t exactly aim for it, but rather for Sub.5. It seems the bond between 5 and 8 ran deeper than even I could comprehend, 8 didn’t think twice about putting itself between the guard, taking several bullets to the chest. Four, to be exact, before he was apprehended. I couldn’t get the lights off fast enough, having to override the system I’d set specifically for this experiment. I wasn’t fast enough, and 8 suffered for it. It’s been here for the last 80 years, and one man ruined everything. Its body is still in the room. I haven’t found the heart to move it yet. Sub.5’s memory of the incident has been erased by Sub.1 once again, and replaced with a severe argument between it and 8, resulting in 8 leaving. I will most likely be dead before I find a subject as valuable for mutant research as Phantom. 

Ex. Duration: 50 MINUTES Ex. Outcome: Failure (subject fatality) Findings: I fear Mutants and Humans can never coexist Memory Erased: Experiment above, Sub.8’s death (for Sub.5 only) Memory Replacement: Severe argument. Comments: A devastating turn of events

Logan swallowed as he reached the bottom of the page. Was that how you escaped? Was that how you got out? They thought you were dead only for you to be able to heal from bullet wounds? Did you slip through the shadows? It took him a moment to think it over. No, that wasn't possible. The dates didn't add up. He turned the page over, seeing further notes scrawled on the back in pen rather than type.

22nd September, Ex.1,243 – Continuation. 1932, 11:42 pm.

The body has disappeared. I have kept the lights off since the incident at 6:50 and made the mistake of closing my eyes for a few minutes. When I opened them again, Sub.8 had disappeared. I sealed the doors immediately, hoping this meant it had somehow found the strength to dissolve back into shadow. Looking into the infrared camera, I have noticed the projectiles of bullets scattered where Sub.8 had fallen. Does this mean it’s recovering? Is it possible for it to recover from four bullet wounds to the centre of its chest? 

12:08 am

Sub.8 has returned. Remarkable. Though there are clear scars on its chest and wrists, it seems to have almost completely healed from the incident. This is a staggering discovery. Will need to alter Sub.5’s memory once again.

Logan dropped the file, pages still spread apart as he took a step back. This couldn’t be real. None of this could be real. What you’d endured, what you’d suffered. The scars that remained. You were right, what you’d said this morning. Mental scars leave the same marks as physical ones. Your body had altered to the memories they’d forced into your mind. They couldn’t remove the scars, so they made you think you’d attempted to take your own life. Made you think you remembered getting into fights as a kid. He knew what mutant experimentation was like. He’d had a firsthand experience. But this was on a whole other level. What the fuck was this all for? 

Now Charles’ words made sense. Some memories were left forgotten. He glanced back to the Professor, who nodded grimly as if to confirm all he’d seen. “My first act as headmaster of this school is to tap into the minds and memories of its students and teachers. Logan, trust me when I say, some things are better left in the past.”

He didn’t know what was right or wrong. Keeping this from you felt wrong but at the same time, you were happy with what you had. Was it already too late? Was that glasses-wearing motherfucker Dr. J. Kreva? How much had he told you? How much did you know?

“They were looking for her, weren’t they?” It was the first phrase he’d spoken since reading the file, pieces of your puzzle clicking into place. Charles simply nodded again. 

“It’s not safe for her to be here anymore. For the students and her. They know where to find her now.”

“Then what to we do?” Ororo asked through heavy sniffles, teary eyes looking between you and the Professor. 

“We take her off grid,” Hank said, setting down his glasses. He’d picked them up to read whatever was in that folder but quickly decided against it after seeing Storm’s reaction.

“But we can’t do that without good reason?” Kurt chimed in, casting worried glances around the room.

“Two years ago, I received signals from an environmental research facility we all believed to have been destroyed in a freak accident seven years prior. I sent Jean and Storm to assess the situation after the explosion, and that’s–”

“That’s where we found her and Jade… Oh my God, that was the site?” Ororo finished, her voice dripping with dread. “But… how did they escape? What happened?”

Charles sighed with resignation. “We don’t know. It would take searching her locked memories and risk pulling them to the surface to answer that question, and that wasn’t a gamble I was going to bet on, not after what I’d glimpsed in the past.”

Logan could barely hear any of this. His ears were ringing, white noise clouding his senses as he just stared at you. Your whole life had been a lie. A jumble of nonsense knitted into your memories by another mutant, reality locked away within the darkest depths of your head. He didn’t know what to do. His urge to protect you from this new threat fought with the urge to protect you from your own past. 

“The decision should be hers.” He interrupted the ongoing conversation, moving to take your hand and press a kiss to the scar on your wrist. “Whether she remembers or not. Explain to her what you said to me, and let her decide.” It was the only course of action he could see. The room fell into silence, all contemplating the suggestion before Charles moved forward to the file on the ground, picking it up and closing it. 

“Wherever you take her, wherever you hide her, take this with you. You can’t tell me where you’re going, and I won’t search for you. The less people who know, the better.” He instructed, and Logan nodded, setting the folder to the side. “When she wakes up, we’ll–”

“When she wakes up, you’ll what?” 

The room had been too caught up in their conversations to notice you stirring from your tranquiliser-induced nap. “You know, I seem to spend a concerning amount of my time unconscious these days.” You sat up slowly, the heel of your palm braced against your forehead as if to help the slight pounding at your temples. 

Logan was at your side in a single stride, his hands cupping the sides of your face delicately, as if holding you any tighter would cause you to break. Your relieved smile when you saw him broke his heart. “Hey Lo’.” 

Though that smile faded as he didn’t return it, his eyes brimming with an emotion your groggy head couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He responded, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, and it was as if that was all you needed for your headache to fade. You held one of his palms against your cheek, leaning into his touch.

“How long was I out?”

“Around four hours or so. You feelin’ okay?” Concern. That was the emotion you couldn’t pinpoint a moment ago. Concern and… heartbreak?

“Yeah… ‘m fine. Who died?” You asked, trepidation lacing your tone as you stole glances at the others in the room. Ororo had tears in her eyes, Kurt’s arm still wrapped around her shoulders in comfort. Hank looked more bleak than you’d ever seen him, his hands clasped together as if in mourning. You continued scanning the room, Charles offering you a look of sympathy before your eyes landed on the folder Logan had set down. It was like a trigger had been fired in your brain, hazy memories of before you fell unconscious rushing back to you in one big hurricane.

“Oh.” Was all you could say, and Logan wrapped his arms around your head in response, smoothing gently touches against your hair as you basked in the comfort of his embrace.

“How much do you know?”

[americanwh0rerstory]

KINKTOBER DAY SEVEN

inappropriate use of mutation - quicksilver

stalker!peter maximoff x f!reader

SUMMARY: after months of obsession, he finally claims what he saw as ‘his’

CONTENT WARNING: SLIGHT NONCON, drugs (weed), sorta stalking? p in v, hair pulling

A/N: I AM SORRY FOR THE DELAY. it unfortunately will happen sometimes but i’ll post the fics asap <3

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT BELOW. CONSUME AT OWN RISK

Peter wasn’t controlling, he was far from it. but whenever he thought of Y/N he found that he couldn’t help but feel that way. he wanted you all to himself, he wanted you to be his.

he couldn’t help but feel jealous whenever he saw you talking to some of the other guys around the school, however he wouldn’t know that if he wasn’t following from a distance. he always thought of it as ‘protecting’ you, just incase anything happened but deep down he knew what he was doing

he craved those brief moments of eye contact, the way you obliviously smiled and said hi to him whenever he made his presence known to you. he always wondered what it was that he saw in your eyes, so innocent yet he could see that hint of desire beneath the surface; he had to act on it

“sooo… wanna go out one time?” peter blurred out when you greeted him, his lips moving faster than his brain. when you accepted a grin overtook his face, his plan truly was coming together with you being completely oblivious

the date went smoothly: he used his mutation to take you wherever you wanted to go, he made the date as perfect as possible for you. it wasn’t about his enjoyment, it was all about yours.

he brought you back to his place, sharing a joint with you whilst you sat perfectly on his lap. he chose a strain of weed he knew to be an aphrodisiac, just wanting to boost his chances of you giving him that ‘yes’. he had you sat on his lap, which you happy obliged with, whilst the two of you shared a joint.

“i can tell you want it y’know” peter murmurs softly, one hand gently trailing up your thigh whilst his arm snakes around your waist. you went to protest, not wanting to give away your feelings but you was cut off by his cocky and amused scoff “don’t deny it, i can feel you dripping through my jeans”

his hand snuck under your skirt as he spoke, rubbing small circles on your clit through the dampening cotton of your panties, causing your breathing to become heavier and your eyes glazing over with lust. the effects of the weed were hitting you hard,

he gently tugged your panties to the side, the sudden chill hitting your slit caused you to shiver against him. he smirked and slowly began to push his index finger into your tight hole, his middle finger soon following

“i know you like it” he mumbled, his warm breath hitting your ear. he wasn’t wrong though, your body betrayed you and only made you even wetter around his fingers. he scissored them back and forth within you; stretching you out and scoffing with amusement whenever you let out one of your ‘cute little moans’ as he’d call it

he kept fingering you, using his mutation to turn his hand into a human vibrator and bring you just to the brink of orgasm before pulling out. he bent you over the foot of his bed, making sure you could see your fucked out face in his mirror headboard whilst he slid into you and resumed the fast pace

“c’mon babygirl, it’s me. thought you’d know it’ll be fast” peter taunted as he pulled your hair, yanking your head back whilst he mercilessly pounded into you from behind; forcing your back into an arch. his mutation made his movements so fast you couldn’t tell whether he was pumping in or out of you anymore

your walls squeezed around his dick which caused him to let out a whine of pleasure, blabbering curses of euphoria. he threw his head back in satisfaction, letting out shamelessly loud and lewd moans which coincided with your own pleasure filled mewls.

his thrusts remained fast but occasionally grew sloppy as he neared the edge, his tip ramming against your cervix with each thrust that only brought you closer too, until your joint orgasm

white-hot flushes of pleasure crashed over you in waves, your eyes squeezing shut as tears of satisfaction began to prick in your tear ducts. you felt the warm ropes of his milky seed spurt into you and paint your insides white.

peter felt that intense euphoria too, low moans escaped his lips whilst occasionally letting your name spill. he felt his release pump out of his tip and into you, satisfying his desire to claim you which he had felt for so so long

“youre mine now, babycakes” he grinned before planting a kiss to your forehead “if you want to be, that is” he said despite already knowing the answer

A/N: once again i’m sorry for the delay, i hope this was worth it <3

[juqtier]

₊˚╰ 𖣠 MERCY ✧.* SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: During one of the most detrimental and devastating outbreaks this world has ever seen, the BAU had spent countless hours trying to bring in the man responsible, dead or alive. When they seek help from a minacious mercenary, and personal feelings somehow get involved, the situation quickly becomes much more complicated and difficult than anticipated.

GENERAL WARNING: ANGSTY and horror (somewhat), weapons, violence, descriptions of viruses and diseases, death, kissing of course, zombie like creatures, apocalypse, outbreak, descriptions of mutations

CHAPTER WARNING: descriptions of violence and viruses, reader is kinda an asshole. THIS CHAPTER MAY SEEM BORING BUT PLS the story will get interesting as it progresses! just gotta explain the basic concept!

A/N: the first chapter, yay! this is clearly inspired by resident evil (my fav game series). i thought it’d be interesting and unique to combine my two fav hyperfixations. i made the virus names and effects, and im clearly not a scientist so if they are scientifically inaccurate ignore it or im gonna cry. also, I wrote this with early spencer in mind (3-5) but if you imagine him from a different season lmk! ALSO sorry if any of the writing is bad, my english is terrible!

ACCOMPANYING SONG : SMELLS LIKE TEEN SPIRIT, NIRVANA

. . .

CHAPTER 1

January 15th, 2009

- 985 days since the outbreak

You had been caught. You had finally been caught.

Of course, you were well aware of the risks that came with being a mercenary, being caught was one of them. Yet, this didn’t diminish the anger you felt, sitting in a dingy, dark interrogation room, cuffed to a table.

It felt as if days passed by. Your eyelids felt heavy, you couldn’t manage to find a comfortable position to rest in. A metal folding chair would quickly prove to be a poor place to even attempt to relax in. Sitting in silence for so long, your ears could perfectly hear the buzzing of the flickering bulb above you, and it drove you crazy.

Just before you could drive yourself insane, focusing on each bothersome aspect of the interrogation room once more, the door opened.

Two men, two entirely different vibes.

One was an older, tall, stoic man wearing a suit practically devoid of color.

And while the man that stood beside him wasn’t wearing the most colorful outfit, his blue shirt and purple tie were a stark contrast to the other man’s outfit.

His long, wavy brown hair stood out as well. A part of you wanted to just stare at him, he was so pretty. But the other part of you, the majority of you, wanted to knock both officers unconscious and attempt to run away.

“I’m Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, this is Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” The older man explained as both of them took a seat across from you.

The words practically went unnoticed by you, your mind had been more focused on the discomfort caused by the tight cuffs around your wrists. Your eyes met Hotchner's, and he could tell exactly what you were feeling.

Angry.

“Wanna take these cuffs off?” You request.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that until you cooperate with us and give us the information we need.”

“What information?”

Your eyes naturally rolled, gradually growing more annoyed by the second. Even with how frustrated you were, you weren’t going to cooperate easily. You were a mercenary, and the FBI was well aware you had only ever been motivated by payment.

It sounded selfish to everyone else. It was selfish, but to you, it was the only way to survive.

Hotch extracts papers and files from a manila folder, spreading them out onto the table in front of you. Your eyes watched his hands as he displayed each paper for you.

“For the past seven months, me and my team have been observing your every move.” Hotch’s eyes are glued to you. “Several times in these past months, you’ve been employed by Luca Ansaldo.”

The name has been drilled into your ears by this point.

Luca Ansaldo, a wealthy, ‘brillitant’ virologist and CEO of the virology company SynX. And, unbeknownst to you, the creator of the Lazarus Virus.

Ansaldo had employed you many times before, and with the pay being more than generous for a seemingly easy job, you didn’t think twice about accepting his offer.

But now, just hearing his name was enough to enrage you. Yet, you remain calm, returning Hotch’s eye contact. You barely even noticed Reid beside him, merely observing the interaction between you and Hotch.

“He paid me well for a simple job, is that what you wanted to hear?” You mutter.

You knew that wasn’t what they wanted to hear, but you also couldn’t tell what they wanted.

The past officers that had come in, aggressively interrogating you, never made it clear what exactly they wanted from you. All you could really understand was that they wanted his whereabouts, and you couldn’t tell them that. You didn’t even know.

“What jobs did he pay you for?” Hotch inquires.

“Easy jobs. I’ve done that plenty of times before for others, why does it matter now?”

Hotchner adjusts in his seat, probably finding it just as uncomfortable as you were in that moment.

“It’s important because we’re not currently after the other individuals you’ve worked for, we’re after Ansaldo.” He explains, sliding a document toward you.

Your eyes quickly scan the words on the paper, taking in all of its details.

“Under SynX, Ansaldo has managed to manufacture one of the deadliest viruses known to man, the Lazarus virus. You can see the results of his work walking in the streets.”

“Lazarus Virus?” You question. “Like, from the Bible?”

You clearly knew about the outbreak, every human did. You just had never been able to put a name to the virus responsible.

Reid took this question as an opportunity to share every bit of knowledge he had about the virus.

“Yes, actually. The name derives from Lazarus of Bethany, mentioned in the Gospel of John. The story claims Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, only four days after his death.” He hadn’t even noticed your eyes locked on him as he rambled. “We believe the virus attacks the brain stem, destroying the brain's basic functions. However, while mental capabilities deteriorate, physical capabilities are enhanced, explaining why they’re rather strong and violent. Those infected by the virus are called ‘Revenants’.”

You couldn’t help but be impressed at his ability to speak for so long without even losing his breath. He had spit out each word with urgency, as if he had been waiting to share this information with you.

“You seem to know a lot about the virus, why am I here?”

“We don’t know enough.” Hotch replies. “Without a sample of the virus, we won’t be able to produce an effective antidote. Ansaldo is currently the only man we know of that has any samples, and you know more about him than any of us. You may be our only chance at finding him before it’s too late.”

He leans forward, an even more intense stare accompanying his statement.

For a moment, for a brief moment, you allow yourself to absorb his words. It was as if a switch flipped in your brain, allowing yourself to prioritize others before yourself.

And again, this sounded so incredibly selfish. You could recognize that, of course. But you couldn’t blame yourself. And quite frankly, neither could Hotch or Reid.

The outbreak was and is devastating. Major cities were overrun and filled with chaos, with millions dead or missing. Trusting people wasn’t as common as it was years ago. Especially for you. You had been alone, fighting to survive, for years. It was all to protect yourself. You had the right to protect yourself, right?

“How much?” Hotch’s words bring your attention back to him, back to the situation you were in.

You weren’t sure if you misheard or misunderstood him, and it seemed as if Reid shared that same thought. His eyes widened as he snapped his head towards Hotch, questioning him with his eyes. Hotch, however, doesn’t even seem to notice Reid’s shock.

“What?” You stutter just a bit, clearly confused.

“How much do we need to pay you for your cooperation?” He repeats.

“You want to pay me to work for you?” You reply, skeptical about the offer.

Reid visibly shared the same sentiment. It was as if he couldn’t close his mouth. You didn't expect this, and neither did he.

“You are the closest connection we have to Ansaldo.” Hotch ignores the shocked faces of you and Reid, “If we have to pay you for your cooperation, then we are willing to do that.”

His expression shows that he’s serious. You consider the offer a bit longer before spitting out the first number you can think of.

“Two hundred thousand.”

You wait for any change in his expression, you wait for him to simply refuse. But he never does.

“We can arrange that.” He gives you a small nod before rising from his chair, Reid following. “I will assign an agent to keep an eye on you. You will be kept under supervision at all times as you work alongside my team. If you even attempt to betray our agreement, I promise you will not see a single dollar.”

“Wait.” You blurt out before they can even make their way to the door. “Can I choose what agent gets to follow me around?”

The way you word it makes it sound like a privilege, like it was an honor to have to watch over you. In reality, it most likely wasn’t.

The FBI considered you a dangerous, difficult mercenary. Asking you for help was a last resort, one they tried to avoid. But as they watched the virus spread across the country, unable to stop it, they knew they had no other choice.

“Do you have an agent in mind?” Hotch raises an eyebrow, confused by your question.

You nod in response, your eyes landing on Reid.

You couldn’t explain why, but his quiet, shy demeanor drew you to him. He wasn’t standoffish like the other officers and agents, he was actually quite the opposite of you.

Reid furrows his eyebrows. Neither he nor Hotch had expected the request; their looks expressed that. Hotch looks over at Reid, as if he were contemplating whether he could handle such a job. It was a silent conversation between the two; you were just an observer in that moment.

“Reid will watch over you as you work the case with us.” Hotch proclaims.

“Hotch, are you sure?” Reid whispers, just loud enough for you to hear him. He sounds nervous as he speaks, causing you to smirk.

“If she causes any problems for you, I will assign a different agent for the job.” Hotch responds, going for the door. His hand lands on the door knob, twisting it and pulling the door open with Reid behind him.

“Can you take these cuffs off me?”

Hotch and Reid turn their attention towards you once again before Reid digs in his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. Hotch watches as Reid walks over to you.

Your gaze remained fixed on Reid as he fumbled with the keys. You observed his shakey hands, finding all of it almost humorous.

When he finally managed to remove the cuffs, he let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding in.

You stand up from your seat, rubbing your wrists where the cuffs had previously been.

“Thank you so much.” You say with a teasing, playful tone.

His eyes never meet yours as he steps back, allowing you to stretch, glad to be free from the metal chair you were held down to.

“The team is gathering to discuss our next steps in the case. You’ll be joining us, since you’re working alongside us now.”

He explains the situation quickly as he leads you out of the room, still avoiding any eye contact.

“Exciting.” A smirk was still plastered on your face as you walked behind Reid.

While Reid was more nervous about the situation, and you clearly found it amusing, there was one thing the two of you had in common at the moment.

You had no idea what you were getting into.

. . .

pt. 2

a.n. : again sorry if the writing is bad, but i’m excited for this series to play out! it’s a concept i haven’t seen done before so i wanted to make something cool with it! i believe even if you aren’t a fan of resident evil, criminal minds x mercenary is still kinda cool. also, if you want to be on tag list im more than happy to add you!

[imagineinside]

Eternal Claws (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

A/N (PLEASE READ): Hey guys! This is my first time writing for Wolverine... so please be nice, I am at your mercy lol. This is also an A/O/B fanfic, where the mutants also have a secondary gender that would have developed at the same time as their mutations (this is not the main part of the story though). My intention is for this to be a longer running fanfiction, as well as a verryyyyy slow burn :). If that doesn't sound like your cup of tea, then I will also be working on some oneshots soon, which you are more than welcome to give me some ideas to write about! Please let me know your feedback, I sincerely appreciate it!! :D

Summary: At a young age of 16, you find yourself saved from a group of hunters by no other mutant than The Wolverine, who reluctantly becomes your protector during your first heat. As weeks pass and you recover, a complex bond forms between yourself and the powerful mutant who had saved you.

Seven years later, now a confident young woman with refined mutant abilities, you encounter Wolverine again. Despite your growth and newfound strength, old feelings resurface as Wolverine returns from a secretive mission. As you navigate the challenges of your powers and your unspoken connection with him, you must come to terms with your past and the burgeoning feelings that might redefine your future.

Current Applicable Warnings: 18+ (not an explicit story yet, but there are hints of things in the upcoming chapters), canon-typical violence, age gap (like 200+ with a 25 yr old), Alpha!Logan, Omega!Reader, a/o/b universe, more to come.

Word Count: 2,884 we just getting started pookie

It was your unlucky day that The Wolverine was the mutant to find you alone out in the woods.

But it was lucky he got to you before the four hunters found you first, the sour tang of their arousal burning his sensitive nose. When he saw you laying in the fresh layer of snow, your body coated in sweat from your first heat (at least he guessed it was your first by how small and frail you were at the time), and your own honey-sweet scent drifting through the trees, he knew he was already in too deep with you.

“No,” you groaned, pushing against his chest in an attempt to protect yourself. The Wolverine would never admit it, but he actually felt a surge of empathy for the frail thing he held in his arms. 

He would definitely give Professor X a piece of his mind for selecting him of all mutants to go on this fetch quest to get you. Of course, there was no way of knowing you were on the brink of heat with a hoard of hungry men after you.

“The snow…” you mumbled as you grabbed onto the collar of his shirt with what little strength you had. You were so precious, your face flushed a bright pink, an image he would never forget. “It’s too hot…”

The Wolverine groaned in frustration as you pushed yourself out of his arms and flopped back on the cold, hard forest floor where the four hunters' dead bodies lay not far from you now. He watched as you slowly made a circle of snow around yourself, most of it melting to the touch with the heat of your body temperature. He had seen this dance too many times to feign ignorance.

“Hey, bub,” he called out as he squatted on a nearby fallen tree, “I need to take you out of here before more charming men come to find you.”

It was as if you didn’t even hear him as you continued your work on the ground, bunching the snow up to help with your heat.

The Wolverine sighed and hung his head, accepting his fate as your caretaker for the next week in the unforgiving Alaskan wild…

* * *

It’s nearly an exact week later by the time you are back to your full senses. And it isn’t alone, either. From behind you there’s a rhythmic breathing and a cold presence sedating the still-burning embers inside you. All your joints are sore and there is still an empty aching from deep inside you, though you do your best not to focus on that specific ache.

In one quick flourish of movement, you quickly grab your shirt that you had at some point ripped off from excess heat and shuffled away from the… beast laying next to you.

“Relax,” the giant man groaned, rolling onto his back, “I was just here to prot-”

Acting on pure instinct, having just woken from a daze, you reached out and slapped him–hard–across the face. Enough to make the man, who is at least a good foot taller than you, stop dead in his tracks.

You watched as the muscles in his jaws flexed over and over before he slowly flicked his eyes back to you, “Fuck you sure got a powerful slap on ya there.”

Catching your breath, you looked around at your surroundings. There were deep gouges in sets of three on the nearby trees, on the ground, markings left in the general area… the smell of a strong male everywhere. “You were protecting me…” you mumbled more to yourself than him, yet he still caught the comment from under your breath.

“Glad you caught on, sweetheart,” he grumbled as he stood and slung on his leather jacket that was laid across a nearby stump. “Listen, I chased you and those four guys,” he said, gesturing with his shoulders to a group of four very dead men on the outskirts of your nest, drawing a gasp from your lips, “through these woods to save your sorry ass. And now I’m going to take you back so I can be done with this mission.”

“I am not going anywhere with you,” you all but growled as you slung on your shirt in as much grace as you could muster with how your legs and arms still felt as if they were made out of Jell-O. 

“Uh, yes. You are.” The man insisted, quirking his thick brow at you.

“Listen, whatever you came here for, you obviously got the wrong person–” a sharp pain to the back of your head is the first thing you registered as you were shoved up against a nearby tree at what felt like the speed of light. Despite knowing it’s futile, you fought against the hold he held across your chest, wriggling to be free.

“I’m gonna cut right to the chase. You just presented as a young Omega, which also means you are a mutant. Now I don’t need ya’ to show me what you do or whatever, I don’t really give a fuck, I just need to get you to safety since. That. Was. My. Job.” He growled back at you, spit flying in your face with each punctuation.

He must have watched as the fire in your eyes died out, since his grip loosened and he set you back onto the ground, turning slowly to retrieve the rest of his belongings.

“You’re The Wolverine, aren’t you?” You called out after him, just as you moved to gather the remaining's of your bag’s contents which had been spilled out across the ground–a hairbrush, tampons, two small bottles of shampoo and conditioner, and you’re only reminder of the life you once had before your mutant abilities took it away from you, a picture of you and your brother. 

You heard a deep grunt sound off behind you before an even rougher, “I am.”

A shiver ran down your spine at knowing who you were in the presence of… who had taken care of you during your first heat.

“We didn’t,” you cleared your throat as you turned to look at the mutant behind you, “we didn’t… do anything, right?”

“No,” came the quick response as The Wolverine lit a cigar and leaned up against a tree. He must be waiting for you to follow him, most likely. “I don’t find satisfaction in taking advantage of people. Not like those four over there.” He once again gestured towards the four rotting corpses lying face down in the snow.

A gag threatened to spill what little food and water you had ingested over the past week all over the ground.

Heaving your bag over your shoulders, you took a few steps towards your savior–captor?–and began following him through the dense trees, out towards either your salvation or your doom. You weren’t sure which it was going to be yet.

* * *

It ended up being about an hour walk to a beat up old Chevy that was parked on the side of the road. Following your captors lead, you slipped into the passenger seat and watched as the world you knew went by in flashes of snow and trees.

It took another three or four hours–you weren’t really sure how long, since you were in and out of sleep for a lot of it–to reach one of the few airports in Alaska. Along the way, you also learned The Wolverine was taking you to a school for young mutants like yourself, where you could learn more about your abilities and how to use them. 

You weren’t sure you really liked the idea of using your powers ever again…

“Does it ever get easier?” You asked quietly with your head resting up against the window as you pulled up to the rental car return.

You heard him pull the parking brake and let out an exasperated sigh. Yeah, well I’m not a huge fan of you either, you wanted to snap at him. “What does?” He asked with a sidelong glare.

“Killing,” you whispered, as if the mere mention of it would bring death upon you. Flashes of your brother's screaming face play behind your eyelids every time you blink.

There was a long beat of silence, so long that you ended up looking over at the driver seat just to make sure he hadn’t gotten out of the car and left you there alone. “No, it doesn’t,” he whispered back.

You grabbed your only belongings and followed after your captor onto the tarmac, where the classiest and sleekest silver plane you have ever seen was waiting for you. If you weren’t so damn terrified of flying, this would probably be one of the coolest moments of your so-far short life. The second you boarded the private jet, The Wolverine beelined for the crystal jar full of some type of whiskey. You mentally gagged at the mere thought of the terrible taste of that amber liquid.

“Want some?” your captor asked as he poured himself a generous quadruple shot.

You shook your head violently as you took a seat towards the front of the plane against the wall, so you had a clear line of sight of the rest of the aircraft. The Wolverine sat on the opposite side of the small cabin. Or maybe he just made it look small with how his head scraped the top of the ceiling, and his broad shoulders were spilling over the seat.

“What will happen to me when I get there?” You dared to ask.

“Professor X will take care of you.” Perhaps he heard how your heartbeat picked up its pace as your hands gripped the armrests tighter, making the leather squeak under your sweaty hands. “Relax, not like that.” The man sighed in frustration as he chugged down his liquor and went for a second glass. “Here’s what will happen. Professor X will give you a chance to go on special mutant-safe inhibitors for your new…” the man flicked his gaze to you, “secondary gender, if you so wish. He’ll ask to see your abilities to see the extent to which we will need to keep you and others around you safe.” Once he finished pouring his glass, he returned to his seat, staring at you from across the cabin.

“There’s no one around me that I care to keep safe anymore, sir.” You whispered to him. “I failed all of them.”

The Wolverine seemed at a loss for words after your admission, instead he simply said, “Best for you to get some rest.”

And flicked off the lights.

* * *

You weren’t necessarily sure what you were expecting, but a giant mansion that looked like it was born for the Old-Money-Rich generation was not it. It felt like your head was on a swivel as you drove towards the complex. You saw people–mutants, like you–out playing in the spacious yard, in the pond, others in the sky. Which made you suddenly jealous of your own powers.

An even greater surprise were the friendly greetings thrown your way, or rather to The Wolverine standing beside you. You knew he was a well-respected mutant, but you thought it was in the way of “don’t cross me and I won’t kill you” way. Not in the, “six year old's love me” type way. Which was very much the case with the way the younger mutants were running up the grisly man and crawling up his legs.

“Not now, alright,” he grumbled as he peeled them one-by-one off his legs and proceeded to guide you towards a large door hidden in an alcove to the right. “Professor X is just through that door.”

He said it in a way that had your alarm bells ringing, and as he turned to walk away you reached out and grabbed his arm without thinking. “Stay.” You demanded, and then thought better of yourself and added, “please.”

You watched the debate go on behind his eyes, but with a deep sigh, it appeared this gentle giant decided to be your protector a little longer. Reaching forward, you balled your hand into a fist to knock. But before you could, a gentleman's voice called from behind the door, “Come in.”

Swallowing, you reached for the handle and strode into a quaint office room. The man who sat behind the desk was not at all what you had expected. You were expecting the monsters… the men who had taken your best friend… You shook your head to rid yourself of the thought. “Professor X, I’m–”

“I already know who you are,” the elderly man said, moving a joystick on his wheelchair to maneuver around his desk. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod.

“I can sense your unease, but I promise you do not need to hide here. We are mutants, just like you.” The Professor moved his wheelchair further forward, until he was within reaching distance. “I know you have a power that is greatly sought after. May I see?” He asked, and tapped his head.

You quickly pieced it together he must be one of the psychic mutants, and you dully nodded your head. You closed your eyes as he reached forward, his pointer and middle finger coming to rest against your left temple. For a brief moment, you are fearful you will have to relive all the memories he is about to see. But when nothing comes flashing behind your eyelids, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding.

After a couple moments passed, the Professor dropped his hand and opened his eyes, “I am sorry for the pain you have experienced in your short life so far.”

“I didn’t know at the time…” you began, but a sob threatened to come up your throat.

“You don’t need to talk to me about it, only if you are ready.” You nodded to him in gratitude before he turned back around to grab something from behind his desk. “I believe Logan should have told you about this,” Logan, that must be Wolverine’s real name, you thought to yourself, “but these are inhibitors for your secondary gender which would have presented the same day as your mutation. Please, only take these if you are comfortable. If not, we can make separate arrangements for your safety from other mutants.”

You reached forward and grabbed the small silver tin of round white pills and stuffed them in your bag. “What do you mean for my safety from other mutants?”

Professor X let out a sigh and eyeballed Wolverine–Logan–from over your head, “I see you left some of the harder questions for me to answer.”

“She wasn’t asking these questions to me, Professor,” was the snarky remark Logan bit back.

Professor X began calmly, “Well, you see, other mutants will have also displayed a secondary gender. Most of us are Betas, we do not experience heats or ruts and we are normal for everything but our mutant abilities. However, others are Omegas and Alphas. Omegas, such as yourself, need extra protection such as the inhibitors or being placed in a separate wing from the Alphas. The Alphas may also go on inhibitors, like Logan there, so an Omegas heat will not affect them.”

You shook your head violently, the words becoming jumbled in your mind. “I don’t understand. So I’m some fucked up other breed?”

“You are not ‘fucked up’, you are an additional step to evolution. Omegas are…” the Professor clears his throat, “meant to be very fertile, same with the Alphas.”

“I don’t want this,” You murmured, a single tear sliding down your face before you were able to swipe it away.

“I know,” the Professor replied solemnly, as if he could feel your pain and still-fresh grief. “All I want is to keep you safe.” Your mouth felt like it was running dry, your brain throbbing with all the information. “Now, would you be willing to show me what you can do?”

* * *

You had agreed to show the Professor your ability. He and Logan had taken you out to the courtyard, where a dead and brittle rose plant lay amongst the foliage.

“All I need you to do is revive the rose plant.” The Professor called out to you. Him and the Wolverine had stayed a good few yards away, upon your request. You didn’t need another person standing near you while this happens.

“Surely she can’t revive a dead plant…” came a response from Logan that had you gritting your teeth together. “That would mean she could revive a dead person.”

“With enough power and training,” you heard the Professor reply calmly, “perhaps she could.”

Little do they know, you thought spitefully.

Kneeling down to the ground, you placed one hand on the grass beside your feet, the other reaching upwards towards the rose bush. You let your mind fall somewhere between your burning rage and the feeling of cold serenity. As the flow of life began pouring through your arms, you saw flashes--images--of a younger Professor X. A younger garden. When this rose bush would have still been alive. You saw flashes of a blue girl with red hair and…

You felt your connection snap before your eyes opened, the rose bush now blooming with flowers and life. Revived from its grave.

But underneath you… the ground was withered and dead. The dirt like rough sand to the touch.

Your power. A life for a life.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Rita Moreno (Singin' in the Rain, West Side Story)—She’s an EGOT, an absolute legend for how she navigated her career as a woman of color in the fifties and sixties. Her performance as Anita in West Side Story is why I go back to that movie so many times. She is an icon and she is the moment.

Elizabeth Taylor (Cleopatra, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof)—iconic actress with purple eyes and a double row of eyelashes, the real ebony dementia ravenway of old hollywood. known for her stunning tastes when it comes to jewelry and her incredible, incredible advocacy during the AIDS crisis.

This is round 6 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Rita Moreno propaganda:

"Amazing showstopping actress in her one big memorable role as Anita in West Side Story. She sings and dances with unmatched joy and energy, and then breaks your heart with her acting. Rita took a role that felt as a stereotype to latina women and made it compelling and multifaceted. Her subsequent career was filled with mostly side roles, but she still managed to excel in whatever Hollywood threw at her."

"It’s Rita!! The EGOT herself! She can act, she can sing, she can dance, a triple threat. Obviously absolutely iconic as Anita in West Side Story (her part of the Tonight Quintet is the sexiest part of the film, fight me). But before that she was the amazing Zelda in Singin’ In the Rain!?! Thanks Zelda, you’re a real pal."

"She continues to be amazing but also she's got legs for days."

"THEE iconic rita moreno, EGOT winner, civil rights activist, theatre legend. watch her documentary "Rita Moreno: Just a Girl Who Decided to Go for It". also her rendition of "fever" on the muppet show"

Elizabeth Taylor:

I've been trying to steer clear of the absurdly-big names, but damnit, those violet eyes got me. The *talent*, the *presence*, the string of marriages and (temporally out-of-bounds) work in combating AIDS and pioneering in the concept of the celebrity fragrance line.

Not only did she have gorgeous violet eyes and lashes for days and one of the hottest voices ever, she was also a big supporter of the gay community

Child actress turned starlet, Liz dominated films as one of the greatest screen legends of classic hollywood. If your protagonist has violet eyes, they're imitating hers.

A Legend. She was serving milf rage in Whos Afraid Of Virginia Woolf. A Star in every sense of the word.

She was renowned for the beauty of her eyes; they were a dark blue but could look violet in certain lighting, something that photographers would actually touch up to look even more so in pictures. But even more striking was a genetic mutation that gave her a double row of eyelashes. She was also famed for her string of husbands -- 8 marriages to 7 men. Two-time hubby Richard Burton once said she was “a wildly exciting love-mistress… beautiful beyond the dreams of pornography.”

Her EYES. Early and loud support for gay rights and AIDS victims. Married a bunch of hot dudes, Burton twice!

just look at her. she's gorgeous. there's a video somewhere of her applying her eyeliner in the mirror and I think about it all the time

THE Hollywood actress of all time. Not only was she known for her long dark locks and blue-violet eyes, she also had one of the wildest life stories ever….. She’s Carrie Fisher’s stepmother because her father Eddie Fisher cheated on Debbie Reynolds with Liz. She was knighted as a dame of England. She was married to seven different men, one of them twice. She was also very kindhearted and did a lot of charity activism.

Asides from being an iconic actor, she did a lot of philanthropy and co founded the American Foundation for AIDS research. She’s sometimes considered one of the last great stars of old hollywood

[consultingskeletondetective]

Virginal, chapter 3

Michael is stalking you now, there's nowhere you can go to escape from the devil.

You just have to convince yourself to hate his visits, because you do... don't you?

masterlist ❤️🖤 ao3

chapter tags: serial killer, murder, death, violence, blood, gore, weapons, knife, female reader, non con, stalking, hair pulling, forced orgasms, choking, squirting

You’d become an anxious little creature.

Everywhere you went, you looked twice, constantly checking over your shoulder for something you couldn’t see. You were living behind yourself, because that was where he lurked.

It was nearly two weeks this time, fourteen days, since you’d last seen Michael Myers, since he’d broken into your home and destroyed your one place of refuge, where he’d laid you out on your living room floor, spread your legs and torn you apart as he’d torn apart innocent bodies across town - twenty-seven, now, by the way.

He fucked with the same unkind and uncaring ferocity that he killed with, gentle was not a word in Michael’s vocabulary. Not that he had a vocabulary at all.

You wore the remnants of his brand on your body. The bruises on your hips had yellowed out by now, and the deep bone ache in your thighs and pelvis had lessened to the point where you could walk and sit without limping and wincing, but you were still tender.

Used, your brain reminded you.

You’d had to lie to your co-workers, you’d pretended that you’d attempted an intense crossfit routine the day before and that was why you were sore and swollen and bow-legged, little did they know that the killer being discussed on the radio perched on the bar, the seven-foot goliath who was dwindling your local population like he was born to do it, was responsible for the devastation to your body.

Your boss had tried to send you home at first, but you’d refused - the last thing you needed was to be alone with your thoughts any longer than you had to be, sat on your threadbare sofa and staring at the patch of carpet that you’d stained with your own release when you’d come hard and dreadful on a murderer’s cock.

Though you tried your best to keep your mind blank of the memory, however, you often found yourself straying to it. You felt changed by the experience, somehow. Ruined, maybe.

You felt complicit in the gruesome murders your grisly bedmate had committed, like if he hadn’t have found you that night, then he would have moved on and no one would have died.

You knew it was stupid of you, a demonic beast like Myers couldn’t be stopped or swayed or persuaded, all you could do was run and hide and hope he didn’t find you. Why he’d taken such an interest in you was anyone’s guess.

You’d surmised, unconfirmed of course, because it wasn’t like you could fucking ask him, that Michael was a virgin. Was, you shivered.

It explained why he didn’t fuck you that first night, and why he’d investigated you so thoroughly on your living room floor. It made sense, the man - ghoul, demon, beast - had been institutionalised practically his entire life, now he knew what the long cock between his legs was for and he couldn’t get enough.

Why he’d come back for you, that’s when things began to make a little less sense. Perhaps he hadn’t realised yet that he could fuck literally anyone, that seemed silly, but you had no gage on Michael’s intelligence. He’d escaped, twice, and tracked you down, and evaded capture for nearly a month - but was that just down to brute strength? A lion tearing through a herd of gazelles that were unprepared and weak, you were all mere defenceless prey against whatever stronger mutation of life Michael was.

You couldn’t even entertain the idea that he might like you, it was absurd, and something you highly doubted he was even capable of. What were you, a speck? A nothing? And what was he? Magnificent. Terrible. Extraordinary. Your living nightmare.

You didn’t like thinking about what he thought about you, because it always led traitorously to what you thought about him. You hated him, obviously, he was a monster. He was your abuser. You’d accepted his presence in your life as some sort of inevitability, you had no way of stopping him. Except for contacting the police or luring him into some sort of trap, but was doing that just inviting some poor officer to his or her death? At least if you were quiet, the only one that died was you. It was a flimsy excuse, but it was all you had.

It was still light out when you left work that day, shucking off your apron and leaving it on the hook. It was only a small bistro pub where you worked, but it paid the bills and you enjoyed the friendly regular customers and the fast-paced working environment. It was especially useful lately. You said goodbye to your friends with a smile before pulling on your cardigan and slinging your bag over your shoulder.

The front of the bistro opened onto the town's high street, filled with other shops and people walking around and enjoying the afternoon, cars passed leisurely by and kids skipped, holding dog leads, chatting and laughing and arguing. A perfectly normal afternoon.

Michael was stood waiting across the street, directly in your line of sight as if he’d somehow known exactly where you would stop. His bone white mask and dark boiler suit stood out in stark contrast against the green trees of the small park behind him, tucked back a little behind the high street so that passerbys didn’t notice him.

But you did.

You shuddered in fear just at the sight of him, gripping the handle of your bag with a clammy hand. Your cunt twitched entirely without your consent.

You didn’t know what to do, feeling like you were in stalemate with the murderer, eyes locked on his fake ones as he stared at you, as still as marble, and making no attempts to move.

The first thought that popped into your head was to turn and head straight back into the bistro. There were too many people, customers and staff alike, for him to follow you without being caught. Once you were safely inside, you could call the police and end this once and for all. Surely he couldn’t kill that many people between then and now?

Your eyes hadn’t left him, but they did begin to waver as you noticed the people walking not five feet away from him, as if they were suddenly coming into sharp focus over the mist Michael made in your mind. They had no idea they were bypassing a murderer. If you turned and went back in, if you deviated from what Michael expected you to do, it would take nothing for him to yank anyone walking by, a child perhaps, behind the trees and bury his knife in their neck. You felt your eyes glisten just at the thought. If he followed you, which you highly suspected he would, then maybe no one would get hurt. No one except you.

You kept your bag clutched to you as if it could provide some sort of comfort as you turned and began walking shakily home. You knew he was following you from a distance, but every time you anxiously threw your head over your shoulder, he was nowhere to be found. That was the scariest part, that you couldn’t see him but you could feel him, your silent stalker, wearing you like a second skin.

You thrummed with fear, or anticipation, you didn’t know at this point. Was this the day you died?

Michael finally made himself known to you when your key slotted into the lock of your front door. It was a quiet street, most of your neighbours nine-to-fivers who hadn’t returned home yet, so no one saw him when he appeared like a shape from the mist.

You felt him before you saw him, his warm, rough hands on the tops of your arms and his solid front pressed against your back, caging you from behind and shoving you face first into the wood of the door. His mask was against the crook of your neck, that steady breathing in and out, in and out, breathing you in, sounding almost ragged in its metronome.

You could smell him, too, blood and fire and dirt, as if a scented map of where he’d been the night before. What he’d done. You shivered, trapped utterly within this killer's body and the stench of death.

“Michael!” You gasped out.

Perhaps he’d already been planning it, or maybe it was a lightning strike reaction to hearing his own name stuttered from your breathless mouth, that his hands surged forwards and wrapped around your hips, his fingers settling instantly into the thick grooves of your body that he’d left there for himself before.

You hissed immediately as pain coarsed through your body from your already abused hips. His breathing didn’t change, nor did the strength of his grip on you, instead he responded by sliding his large hand down your side and yanking until your jeans bit painfully against flesh, like he was trying to ruck your trousers down there and then against the door, right in the middle of the street.

“Michael, fuck, wait.” You gasped, wriggling against his tugging hands, already feeling and hearing your trousers rip at the waistband. It thrilled you as much as it scared you, how desperate he was, in his own stoic way. You could tell pretty well from the thick lines of his prominent cock pressed hard against your back.

You just managed to shove the door open before he fucked you against it, Michael’s body weight pressing against yours made you tumble inside, crashing painfully into the arm of the sofa and vaulting you over it.

His heavy breathing was like a lion’s pant as he crowded you again, you doubt he even lost his footing, looming over you from behind like a gargoyle. His hands curled under your thighs and shoved you up and over the couch and you squeaked in shock and discomfort as your thighs were forced over the arm of it, your face pressed into the couch cushions and your ass up and on display.

There was no exploring this time, no confusion or hesitation, there was just the rip of your jeans and the scorching heat of Michael’s thick fingers between your legs, searching for what was his. You were utterly breathless, he was insistent today.

His large fingers sank inside you, two at a time, right up to the knuckle. Your position with your back bent over the couch meant that his fingers were surging upwards, stretching you open with immediate pressure against your spongy walls. You gasped, your hips bucking against the intense sensation, away from the intrusion.

Michael didn’t like that.

His free hand came down hard on your hip, holding you like a brick would hold down a scrap of paper, rendering you utterly immobile as he twisted his meaty fingers disinterestedly inside you. He was playing with the vulnerable flesh of your core with the same ferocity he would crunch a bone, but your insides weren’t a bone, they were soft and pliable, vulnerable, and your mouth fell open and your hips tried to buck, for an entirely different reason this time, but they couldn’t. The helplessness overwhelmed you and the only thing your eyes saw were the back of your skull as Michael forced you to take him, prodding cruelly at that place inside you that soaked his fingers with your traitorous desire.

How did this killer give you more pleasure than anyone else you’d ever been with? How did those hands that killed bring you to life in ways you didn’t even know you could experience?

You moaned, soft and low, your head resting near-comfortably into the couch cushion. Michael’s fingers stilled inside you and you felt like you were dying, but you dared not move. The nightmare of stillness lasted mere seconds, his presence within you solid and heavy, before he was moving again and you gasped again, biting your lip to stop yourself from making any more noise. He didn’t seem to like that, but if he was truly angry with you, he wouldn’t have carried on, would he?

Michael pulled his fingers from you with an obscene squelch and you buried your face in the crook of your arms, wondering if he got some sick satisfaction from what he was doing to you. Maybe that was why he’d chosen you, because he could see the darkness in you that enjoyed what he did to you. Monsters together.

No, you ground your teeth together, you weren’t a monster, you were clutched in the claws of one.

Michael only had one hand gripping your already bruised hips, hard enough to bring tears to your eyes, and you shuddered in arousal when you realised where his other must be, gripping the base of his thick and burning erection as hs crown kissed at your seam, running up and down your sopping opening and making you clench desperately, your animal brain couldn’t wait another second to have his cock in you again even though you knew it would hurt, even though you knew it might kill you. Everything zeroed down to that moment when he forced himself into you, breaching you wide against his unforgiving length, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. The only thing that made sense to you.

You wailed desperately and gratefully, his cock sliding into you actually weighing you down to the arm of the sofa in its heft. Your feet kicked uselessly at his shins, your thighs spreading desperately around his thighs and oh yes, this was so much better. Michael sunk deeper into you immediately, until his clothed hips were pressed against your bare ass, then his mask was in the cleft of your neck again. If he’d not had his face covered, you would have been sharing the same breath. His weight was like a comfort blanket, warm and safe, but you knew it wasn’t, it was a body bag, killing you from the inside.

He kicked your ankles apart wider and you shrieked, the thin bone bending dangerously under his steel-capped boots. Your scream was muffled by the couch cushion but it turned into a continuous molten yell as his hips began that brutal, familiar pistoning, fucking up into you until you thought his huge cock was prodding at your spine.

The pain was a familiar ache now, blossoming inside you like a bruise, like a mouse not meant to take the cock of a tiger. You realised you were waiting for the moment his breathing sped up in your ear, like an ex boyfriend, but that never came. He was silent, stoic, fucking you like a machine whose only purpose was to plough you to stupidity. It made you throb and clench as your thighs were forced painfully against the hard arm of the couch but you just didn’t care. Stupid, indeed.

You felt so fucking good in your core, pleasure spiralling inside you like deadly spikes, sending ice-cold shivers through your nerves that were burnt out by each scorching line of Michael’s body against yours. He made you feel so much, too much, with the enormous length of his hard cock pulsing into your poor cunt again and again. The pink flesh of your seam was stretched white around his veined girth, the wet squelch of your whorish liquid spend lubing him up to go faster, harder, gliding into you.

You imagined what you must look like from the outside, his body dwarfing yours as each one of his hard thrusts scraped your couch across the carpet. If the wood of your floors was juddering, imagine what was happening to your insides, being pulverised like fresh meat.

Michael’s hand pushed up your spine, as if pushing the air out of you like a tube of toothpaste, until his fingers were curling around the back of your neck like the first night. It took you a moment, in your delirious haze, to realise that he was holding you down, in place, keeping you submissive. You gasped, pained and dizzy, you couldn’t understand why he was cutting off your air, holding you immobile, you weren’t struggling, you were being good -

Michael’s free hand tucked under your hip and pulled your ass flush against him, sinking him even deeper still inside you, before he began to pound you relentlessly. There was no space between you this way, just glorious, intense, delirious, inescapable pressure.

You yelped and surged forward from shock more than anything, trying desperately to expel this new, deep sensation, but the hand on the back of your neck rendered you utterly immobile.

You sobbed as he fucked your poor hole for all that it was worth, each brutal thrust of his hips sending electric shocks of pain and pleasure through you, lifting your feet fully off of the ground until you were being held up off the floor entirely by Michael’s cock inside you. The thought made you quiver with heat.

There was nothing in the room for a few long moments except for your muffled cries and his heavy breathing, and the squelch of desire quite literally between the pair of you. You felt yourself going hazy, your mouth fell open and drool soaked your cushion as any notion of holding back your orgasm this time went completely out of the window.

Your cunt clenched uselessly around him and your liquid release spurted around Michael’s cock so forcefully that he slipped out a couple of inches and lost his rhythm, cock nearly completely expelled from you with the intensity of it.

The hand on your neck squeezed painfully and you knew he was furious, fingers curling and gripping until he cut off your oxygen supply and you wheezed. The relentless pounding began again, aggressive this time, so deep in you there was no chance you’d push him out again, his front pressed so tight to your back that your lungs were crushed as forcefully as your windpipe.

The fingernails of Michael’s free hand dug viciously into the skin of your ass as if to anchor himself, and the pain combined with the dripping pleasure and you wailed, high pitched and helpless, as your hips bucked up and back uselessly, escaping or chasing, you didn’t know. You just fucking didn’t know.

The obscene stretch, the overwhelming fullness of his monster cock in your small little opening, the constant pressure against your sweet spot, and your rapidly deflating lungs, were making you hazy and humbled and delirious. Your eyes fluttered and your collapsed exhaustedly, even your pitiful attempts at breathing in seemed to have ceased.

Oh yes, your brain hummed, what a way to die.

Michael’s hips snapped forward and then stilled deep inside of you, you felt the hot heat of his erupting orgasm slathering your cervix and boiling you from the inside. His hands left your throat and you desperately sucked in air, half-mad with the live wires of electric pleasure surging through you.

Michael’s large hands clamped down on your hips, reigniting that familiar pain you were beginning to associate with him, as he held you utterly immobile on his coming cock. He was spearing you open with it, stretched wide and wrecked around his throbbing length, like the good, warm little hole that you were.

Your senses returned to you agonisingly slowly as air returned to your pained lungs, you became aware of your body - sore and stiff, and Michael inside you. He was still coming, you registered somewhat numbly, you could feel it spraying you like blood sprayed the walls when he went on a spree. It burned you the same.

You were sure your stomach was going to bulge with his seed, but of course that space was already taken by the bulbous head of his monster cock practically making a home for itself against the soft flesh of your belly. You reckoned if you could snake your hands beneath yourself, you’d be able to feel him.

All you could do now was shiver and spasm as you lied there and took it, feeling his cock with every involuntary spasm of your spent cunt. It was too much for your overworked nerves.

“Michael, please let me go.” You begged quietly, voice half-muffled by the cushion beneath you. “I can’t take it. Hurts.”

Michael was still impossibly hard inside of you, despite having just come, and either he didn’t hear you or ignored you completely as he kept you pinned firmly on his cock with the vice-grip of his hands, like he was enjoying himself too much to release you. You’re not going anywhere .

You didn’t even know why he was doing this, did he just like how warm and wet you felt? He wasn’t even moving, he was just rock solid against your core. Was he preparing to kill you?

You clenched, maybe from fear, or arousal, probably both, and your mouth curved and your back bowed in utter surprise as you vaulted over that edge again, liquid spend dribbling pitifully around the base of his length, stoppered by the sheer size of his cock.

Well, that’s embarrassing, you registered hazily, you just came on Michael Myer’s cock and he wasn’t even moving, you desperate slut.

Suddenly, Michael pulled himself free and you gasped as you felt the gush of warmth as your come sprayed out onto him, your cheeks burning in glorious release and embarrassment alike. You couldn’t gauge Michael’s reaction because he didn’t give you any time to. In a matter of seconds of hearing your own squirt hit the carpet jesus christ, Michael had flipped your small frame onto your back.

You saw him, sweet god you saw him, his boiler suit was unzipped but still shrugged over his shoulders so you could see nothing beneath, his white mask was staring sightlessly down at you, but a pair of very human, if deadly, looking hands curled under your knees (you didn’t know why that ignited something white hot and molten inside you) and hauled your ass up onto the arm of the sofa, bringing your core level with his. Michael held your legs, which looked positively tiny in his calloused hands, against the brickwork of his chest, sliding his fat cock right back home again.

Your eyes fluttered and your shoulders shook, thighs quaking in his hands from oversensitivity of the stretch and the burn you couldn’t handle yet utterly craved. God, you were fucked.

Michael didn’t wait, not even for a second, before he began to build up that pace again. His hips pistoned until they became a jackhammer, his hands under your knees bringing your useless and spent body down onto his cock as much as he was fucking forward into you. Your head was tipped back, your hands scrabbling for anything and latching into the cloth of the couch as the delicious rubbing against your walls had you seeing stars.

“Michael-” You tried weakly, wincing as your cunt contracted and flooded him again, orgasm-loosened and pliant and sending waves of endorphins and exhaustion through your body. “I can't-”

You lost your words, you were coming again, uncontrollably, blushing when you could feel how wet you were, how you’d soaked the front of his boiler suit, you could feel it in every squelch. A part of you that your fuck-drunk brain allowed through liked the way you were almost marking him as he marked you, that he’d have something to remember you by when he inevitably left you again. Or killed you.

Michael didn’t care, he seemed as unaffected as always, but his hips sped up just as you came, as if enjoying the challenge of fucking you mercilessly through your abortively clenching walls, or maybe he enjoyed the tight grip, the vice-like milking of his cock.

Michael didn’t make a sound as he stilled, pumping you with his seed again, boiling hot and excessive like he was just producing this stuff. You could hardly believe it.

He softened a little after the second orgasm and you breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t react as his cock slipped freely from your absolutely drenched opening, too wet and fucked open to hold anything in. He didn’t move back any either, nor did he release his grip on your legs that was making you shiver, he just let his cockhead rest thick and twitching against your clit, his half-hard cock still lazing coming on your folds and dribbling down obscenely to join the wet heat that, you realised with scarlet and shameful cheeks, was beginning to drip from your ruined hole.

Michael dropped your legs and stood back, his cock hanging heavy and spent and swollen between his legs from his twin orgasms and you knew then he wasn’t human, not now, he was something else.

Your exhausted head hit the cushion beneath you but you sort of just left your legs hanging in the air for the time being, you knew your muscles would be sore and pulled and you just couldn’t face that right now.

You could feel yourself begin to disassociate as you looked up at the cream paint of your living room ceiling, feeling the tears leaking from your eyes.

You’d played this game before. Michael would leave, the beast having had his fill, until he wanted you again, whether that was days or weeks or even years, you didn’t know. You’d dread the day he returned and you’d miss every single second he wasn’t inside you.

You heard his measured albeit heavy footfalls on your carpet and you didn’t turn your head, you didn’t want to watch him leave.

Then, rather unexpectedly, thick and wet fingers were tangled in your hair and yanking your head to the side with enough force to make something pop that probably (definitely) shouldn’t have.

You hissed in pain, eyes widening when you were greeted with Michael’s thick cockhead pressing against your lips and you had no time at all to ponder before he shoved the whole thing cruelly down your throat.

You coughed and screamed as you felt the skin of your throat tearing as he shoved himself deep into your oesophagus. Your nose was tickled by the dark pubic hair at the base of his cock.

You thought you might pass out, from the pain and the cock so thick and deeply jammed down your throat that no oxygen could fit around him.

He didn’t fuck your throat like you expected him to, he just held your head immobile on him, watching down on you almost expectedly as you spluttered around his rude and painful intrusion.

Your survival instinct kicked in and you did the only thing you could think of, and began to lap desperately at the underside of his cock with the flat of your tongue. He didn’t move or react in any way except to keep his gaze level down on you, his hand strong and unmoving against your scalp. He didn’t hurt you or pull you or shove you, which you took to mean you were doing the right thing, so you continued.

You could feel your eyes welling with tears and your vision going hazy as you choked on him, but still your tongue lapped at him, tasting his flesh, his come, and, shamefully, yourself too. A needy whine ripped itself from your stuffed lips before you could stop it.

Michael ripped free from you then, it was harsh and immediate, and when you coughed and spluttered, your spittle-slicked chin was shining with red. Your throat was on fire but you could still taste Michael there.

He let your hair go but you kept your head turned, watching as he tucked his wet, but now clean, cock back into his boiler suit and zipped himself up, readying himself to perform his usual nightly activities.

Your whole body was shaking as you watched him, used, devastated, he didn’t look at you.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked hoarsely.

He didn’t answer you, he didn’t even look back as he walked into your kitchen, probably from memory of where the back door was. You heard the door opening and shutting and then you felt nothing but your own company in the house.

After the eerie presence of Michael over your shoulder all afternoon it felt kind of lonely.

You stared up at the ceiling as the tears and blood and spit dried on your face, and suddenly you didn’t feel so sorry for Michael’s victims, not the same way you had before.

They didn’t know the living hell it was when he kept you alive.

link to chapter 4

[maybe-im-dark]

INT. X-MANSION MEDICAL WING - DAY

Logan walks into the pristine, high-tech medical wing of the X-Mansion, his face twisted into a mix of discomfort and annoyance. His signature leather jacket is unzipped, and for once, the once rock-hard abs are nowhere in sight—his belly has grown soft, bulging over the waistband of his jeans. He’s felt bloated for weeks now, and the morning sickness is becoming unbearable.

Hank McCoy (Beast) looks up from his clipboard as Logan enters, raising an eyebrow.

HANK: (smiling, curious)

"Logan, this is a surprise. You look... different."

LOGAN: (grumbling)

"Yeah, yeah. Don’t start. I’m not here for a chat. Something’s wrong. I’m sick in the mornings, can’t keep food down, and I’ve… (gesturing to his belly) ... put on weight."

Hank's expression shifts to concern, motioning Logan to sit on the examination couch.

HANK: (slightly teasing but professional)

"Take off your jacket and shirt, and let’s see what’s going on."

Logan does as he’s told, lying down, shirt lifted to expose his swollen abdomen. Hank applies gel to Logan's belly and picks up the ultrasound device, pressing it against Logan’s skin.

The screen flickers to life, and Hank’s eyes narrow in concentration, moving the wand carefully across Logan’s stomach.

HANK: (after a long moment)

"Hmm… there’s definitely something here. Alive, even."

LOGAN: (snapping, a bit panicked)

"A parasite?! Goddammit. Figures. Just cut it out of me, Hank. I’ll heal up fast."

Hank holds up a hand, continuing to study the screen, his face serious but calm. He moves the ultrasound wand slowly, taking his time.

HANK: (softly, almost in awe)

"No, Logan. It’s not a parasite."

He glances up at Logan, eyes meeting his with an unreadable expression.

HANK:

"Congratulations, Logan. You’re… pregnant."

Logan stares at him, his jaw going slack. For a moment, he doesn’t seem to comprehend the words, but then—

LOGAN: (stunned, almost laughing in disbelief)

"You’re joking, right? I mean, I don’t have the parts for that!"

HANK: (shaking his head, still serious)

"It appears that your mutation allows your body to adapt and create what’s necessary to carry a child when the situation demands it. You’re capable of impregnating others, and it seems, under the right circumstances, of being impregnated yourself."

Logan blinks, utterly taken aback by this revelation.

HANK: (pause, delicate but firm)

"I have to ask, Logan… Did you have intercourse with a man recently? Without protection?"

Logan exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair, and nods, a slight smirk tugging at his lips despite the situation.

LOGAN: (soft chuckle, resigned)

"Yeah. I slept with Wade. I mean, we’re both immune to diseases. Didn’t think there was any risk…"

Hank nods thoughtfully, continuing with the examination.

HANK:

"You’re about two months along, but since your mutation derives from wolverines, I estimate you’ll carry for only around 215 days—about seven months in total. The child is developing quickly. You’ll need to make a decision now."

Logan’s eyes soften, and for once, the tough exterior fades.

LOGAN: (tentative, vulnerable)

"Can I… Can I hear it? The heartbeat?"

Hank offers a small, reassuring smile and adjusts the machine. A soft, rhythmic sound fills the room, quick and steady, and Logan’s breath catches. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of that tiny heartbeat, and Logan feels something bloom inside him.

LOGAN: (whispering, a gentle smile forming)

"I’ve always wanted a kid. Never thought… (laughs softly) Never thought I’d be the one carrying it, though."

He looks at Hank, eyes shining with emotion.

LOGAN:

"But I’m keeping it."

Hank places a hand on Logan’s shoulder, offering him a moment of silent support.

HANK:

"Then we’ll make sure you and the baby are taken care of, Logan. You won’t be alone in this."

Logan nods, eyes drifting back to the screen, his hand unconsciously resting on his swollen belly. For the first time in weeks, the nausea, the discomfort, the fear—all of it melts away, leaving only the quiet, overwhelming joy of hearing his child’s heartbeat.

[angel-calypso]

oh i need one with erik🫦 where y/n thinks he and raven have something and she gets really sad and heartbroken… (I leave the ending to you) (srry english not my first language)

i hope this is sorta what you were asking!!! i did my best 😽

Mistaken part one

i really loved writing this. but be mindful it's my first work in probably over two years since school ended for me. i tried my best so sorry if it's not up to standards i'll get back in soon. I also don't have a laptop, so this is all being typed out in my phone and edited. I'm so sorry if there's mistakes i'm trying my best i swear

part two

erik lehnsherr x reader. not sure if there's any warnings or triggers. just a heartbroken reader for a tad. hope you all enjoy. it is part one, i'm working two jobs right now and im going to try and put out part two soon

It had been a few weeks since you moved into the mansion. Charles had invited you to stay with the team after you had helped them on a mission. You hadn't known there were other people like yourself. Mutants. You always thought it was a derogatory word, but when you had stumbled upon the team fighting some lunatic, you had seen how beautiful and powerful the word mutant could be. You were seven when your mutation appeared. It allows you to control plants, dirt, small pebbles, you could feel the Earth in your veins. Since moving in, Hank has studied you, absolutely fascinated with your mutation, as he is with all of theirs.

The first couple days, you kept to yourself. Keeping quiet during dinners, just observing and listening. occasionally someone would ask you a question. Normally Erik, who seemed to always be wanting to know more about you. He would smile at you, always ready to start a conversation. Eventually, with time, you found yourself invited to Charles' office at night, having a drink and watching him and Erik play chess. You grew incredibly fond of these nights. The three of them were laughing and talking into the late hours of the night. Sometimes you would fall asleep there, but seemed to somehow always wake up in your bed. As you grew to love those nights, you found yourself falling in love with Erik. His beautiful eyes that followed you everywhere you went, the way he would catch your eye and walk over to you every time. The morning tea and lunch picnics. You had just barely started convincing yourself that maybe, he felt the same. that maybe you had a real chance at something with him.

“you know, we outta teach you how to play darling.” Charles pulled you out of your thoughts one night. They had been in silence for a few minutes, awaiting his next move. You had been watching intently trying to balance your thoughts, the game, and if you were honest the occasional stare at Erik. The way he sat calmly in the back of his chair, holding his drink in one hand and tapping his armrest with the other. Plotting his moves. He always looked so handsome in the warm light of the office. The drinks are always getting to you, always having to stop yourself from reaching out and taking his hand.

“I'd much rather watch you two play.” You had finally pulled your eyes off of Erik to look at Charles with his knowing smile. you blushed slightly, hoping charles wasn't in your head, always forgetting of the telepath. Erik laughed unaware of the interaction between the two.

“I think y/n would have you beat Charles” Erik chimed in. You smiled, sometimes you thought he thinks too highly of you.

“Yeah right, she'd be too distracted,” Charles playfully scoffed. At this you asked if they needed another drink. She got up, noticed the bottle was left in the kitchen tonight, and walked out with hers and Erik's cup. When you came back, you noticed a new arrival had joined them for the first time. You hadn't met her yet but assumed it to be Raven, Charles’ sister. She had been on a mission for the last couple months. you would've loved meeting her, if it wasn't for the sight you walked in on leaving your heart in your stomach. Raven was hugging Erik, her legs wrapped around him. You didn't hear anything being said, the blood rushing through your ears a loud roar. But you had seen enough. You walked over to your seat. Charles knew something was off, you begged him not to be in your mind for this. you hoped he wouldn't. You didn't notice upon seeing you, Erik grew the biggest smile, almost immediately letting go of Raven and whispering to her. She also smiled, putting her hand out to you.

“you must be y/n!!! I'm Raven, I've heard so much about you. I'm so glad to meet you! “ Under other circumstances you would've loved meeting her, finally meeting charles’ sister he would always talk about. But the tinge of seeing her all over Erik tainted the meeting. You told her it was nice to meet her, sending her a small smile while shaking her hand. It wasn't her fault. You let go and hand Erik his drink.

“Thank you Meine Liebe” You would normally love and melt at this, Erik had fooled you. You just nodded your head. you were willing yourself not to cry just yet. The stinging in your eyes daring to disobey you. A few minutes go by and you excuse yourself off to bed. Before anyone could say anything you were out the door.

translations Meine liebe- My love in german

I know i know, it's pretty short. I'll work on part two as quickly as i can. Let me know if you would like to be tagged in part 2!!!

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 4

While trying to figure out how Jenny was the Fifth Doctor's daughter, the Nine suggested he might be her father or her mother.

The Nun once shot and imprisoned the Tenth Doctor on her TARDIS, using a psychic shroud to take on his appearance temporarily before "regenerating" into her own body.

The Eighth Doctor has traveled with both a Cyberman and an Ice Warrior before (albeit not at the same time).

Jasper and Stewart are a pair of Fledershrews (a type of bat) that took residence in the TARDIS. The Doctor considered them to be good friends.

The Doctor had at least one grandfather and seven grandmothers.

Horses can be cyber-converted.

The Seventh Doctor took Ace back in time to kill the would-be dictator as well, but they were also unable to go through with it.

At the same time the Fifteenth Doctor and Ruby were dealing with goblins (24/12/2023), the Seventh Doctor and Ace were in a Los Angeles toyshop.

Wilfred Mott enlisted while he was still underage.

Orlando Bloom stars in Indiana Jones movie remakes.

Sam Jones knew what the Doctor's name is.

By some accounts, the Doctor removed his name from time, meaning only they and the Master (as well as anyone they later told) remembered it.

Ian Chesterton was taught how to ride a horse by Alexander the Great.

The TARDIS once dematerialized with a Nazi (played by David Tennant) half in, half out, leading to his incredibly gruesome death.

On Harmony, an idyllic planet, the locals harvested any visitors for food as the other animals had all died out.

Sometimes, the Doctor has worked to actively change history, like the time the Second Doctor tried to save Horatio Nelson from dying in the Battle of Trafalgar.

As the First Doctor regenerated into the Second, the TARDIS also somewhat regenerated, shrinking around fifteen centimeters.

River Song has eleven siblings such as Brooke, Stream, Lake, Creek, H-One, H-Two, O, etc. All of them are clones created by Madame Kovarian from River's DNA.

Speaking of River, she's been married to both Bernice Summerfield and Jack Harkness before.

Amy Pond was once mutated into an almost butterfly-like creature.

The Master does not like David Attenborough.

At one point, the most wanted criminal in the galaxy was the Master, and the Rani was second most wanted.

Snow White and the Seven Keys to Doomsday was a Gallifreyan bedtime story the Eleventh Doctor recalled enjoying.

In this story, Rassilon would ask the Matrix daily: "Matrix, Matrix that sees over all, who has the power to make Gallifrey fall?" The Matrix would always respond with: "Only you, oh Rassilon. Only you, through the Eye of Harmony have that power." One day, the Matrix added: "Snowana the Fair, using the Keys of Doomsday, she has the power to destroy all of Gallifrey." Rassilon was greatly angered by this and banished Snowana to the wastelands, expecting her to die, but instead, she grew into Snow White. Selendor had created a great weapon that could be used to destroy cities and fashioned seven keys to it, one for each sin of the Time Lords. He gave one key to Snow White expecting her to get some revenge, but she instead ran away and created a force field around her and the keys. Selendor died of grief for his lost keys

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

[faellain]

The Accidental Baby Trap Incident

Summary: About four years after the events of First Class, Erik arrives at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters with two little twins who he didn't know existed. Thinking he doesn't know what to do, he runs to Charles, not knowing the state his old friend is in.

Snippet 3

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the next morning, erik tiredly takes the twins down to the kitchen, providing them a breakfast of orange juice, apple slices, and toast with butter. he drinks three cups of black coffee and eats a single apple slice. without him there, and with charles in a state, hank has forgone actual coffee for instant like a savage. it might as well be mud as far as erik is concerned.

"i hate toast," pietro tells him and briefly erik wonders how anyone could hate toasted bread.

erik sighs beleagueredly, "when i was young, i'd be grateful for any meal- wanda, do not turn your brother's toast into something else."

"yeah, i don't if i can do that again," she admits sheepishly, pulling the hand that was about to tap her brother's toast away, "i kinda don't know how i did it to the cookies."

"you're young. i didn't know how to master my own mutation till i was older and even then, sometimes i still needed help," erik assures her. wanda happily munches on her apples after that. pietro rolls his eyes.

he cleans up everything, wondering just how to start this day. it wasn't as if his children were full grown adults who he could toss into the danger room. he did not know where to begin training seven year olds. most mutants didn't even manifest until puberty... but his kids were early bloomers.

as he picks up breakfast, he hears footsteps coming around the corner. at first, he assumes it's hank. perhaps the other actually decided to emerge out of his lab at a reasonable hour. but hank walks with a heavy footstep from his mutation. these steps are light, stilted.

"oh!" he hears charles say, "well, uh, hello you two."

"you're the guy who punched dad!" laughs pietro, "you got 'im good!"

erik turns, "pietro-"

charles kneels down to speak with the children at eye level in their chairs, "he told me you have mutations of your own. what can you both do?"

"i run fast!" pietro exclaims before dashing out of his chair, leaving charles' hair whipping against his face. after a mere moment, he comes back with an empty glass which he offers to erik, "here, dad, you can wash this too."

"very impressive," charles tells him and pietro beams.

erik takes the glass as charles stares at it briefly before turning his attention back to the children. most likely it had come from his room. he turns and smiles at wanda.

"and you, little one?" he asks her.

"my powers are kinda funny," she admits, "i usually just use them to hold pietro in place or make things float when i get upset. but i turned snicker-whatevers into chocolate chip cookies yesterday."

finally, charles looks at erik, clear realization of just why erik has come to him finally dawning on him. pietro would grow to be an ordinary mutant, one who would need training and would excell, but not right away. wanda was like nothing they had ever seen before. charles turns back to her, nodding, and squeezing her little hands.

"that's very special. you both are," he tells her and then turns to pietro before moving back to look at both of them, "how about you two go and play in the yard? i have a tire swing out there you might like."

they both cheer and wanda looks at erik, "can we, papa?"

"go ahead. just don't go past the tree," he says. they promise, not that he trusts pietro to abide by that promise. but they both take each other's hands and dash off at wanda's speed.

charles stands, moving to make his own coffee, "they're lovely children… you never told me."

"i didn't know," erik replies, "magda didn't want my life for them."

"doesn't surprise me. vengenance, death of humanity and all that," charles murmurs as he pulls out a mug.

erik notices that he did shower at some point between their arguement and now. his hair lacks the grease and the smell has disappated in favor of the soap charles prefers. even years later, he could smell that soap and know charles was near.

"i don't understand her power," erik cuts to the chase, "i assumed she was telekinetic. and then one day she changed the color of her shirt by wishing it. and now the cookies."

"…you're scared of her," charles says, looking at him again. erik wants to die beneath that gaze.

"i'm scared of what others might do to her."

charles digs out one of the chocolate chip cookies from the pantry, erik resisting his desire to glibly remind charles that those are not a breakfast food. he sniffs it, stares at it before taking a bite and nodding in odd approval. at least his daughter didn't turn them into cookies that tasted bad.

"i suppose we shouldn't be surprised considering just how powerful her father is," charles says absently.

"perhaps only surpassed by a child of yours," hums erik, tiredly. imagning a child with equal or greater telepathic ability to charles is rather insane. he is perhaps the strongest telepath they know, even more powerful than emma.

charles laughs dismissevly, "that will never happen. i was careful before and i don't want one. i never did."

"you opened a school."

"yes. for school aged children with mutations like your children," he reminds erik, tone clipped as he stares at the coffee carafe filling up, "not babies. i shouldn't- it's one thing to teach children, it's another to raise them."

erik goes quiet. that he at least agrees with. at least he had a good example, but he knows a little about charles and raven's upbringing. mostly, frustratingly, from raven. charles knew everything about erik, yet charles hid his life, his pain from him constantly. even raven didn't speak much on their life outside of their inattentive mother who charles loved deeply anyway.

"hank invited me to stay the night after wanda changed the cookies," erik explains, quietly, too awkward. it's so strange to lack the helmet, but have charles in his arm's reach, yet not feel the other sharing his mind, knowing his thoughts. he would never let anyone else do that, "but we can leave."

charles shakes his head, "no. clearly we at least need to figure out what wanda's mutation is. do your- does raven know about them?"

"no," erik explains, "i haven't told any of them. to be honest, i've gone totally radio silent on them. i need to rectify that. give them some lie to keep them passive."

"you're the one who divided us," charles huffs, "it's not like they can tell you no. are you telling me you don't trust angel and raven with your kids?"

"i do," erik assures, "but we have other things on our plate. riptide is… missing. i had him investigating some possible mutants in vietnam and he's disappeared."

"disappeared?" reiterates charles, "should i be concerned? sean and alex were deployed early into this mess."

erik feels his heart speed up, "deployed?"

"sean got drafted," charles explains, "alex decided to enlist so he wouldn't have to go alone."

"and you let them just go? with the military?" erik snaps, "well, of course you did. you would. you and your peace."

"don't turn this into something it isn't," huffs charles, "i hadn't been taking the serum them. i asked sean if he wanted me to try and get him rejected. he told me no. they wouldn't be in any danger if you hadn't turned a million missiles on the government in cuba!"

"what you have always failed to see charles is that we were always in danger!"

charles turns on him rapidly, "not every human is the kind that hurt you."

"it is only a matter of time before they become them," erik snaps, leaving the dried dishes in a rack so he isn't tempted to throw them.

he can feel every knife in the shelf. their fields pull at him. the fridge feels like an atomic bomb, each little component awaiting his command. feeling the push and pull of the fields is his life, its his very nature. just as minds were charles'. but he's shut them out. where normally his feelings would be blaring loudly in charles' mind, he imagines himself as a giant black void to the former telepath.

how can it not be like losing a limb? then, of course, charles lost his legs. erik has lost so many things in his lifetime. his home, his safety, his parents, his autonomy… even charles himself. but he has never lost part of himself. even if they put him in a plastic cube, he could feel the push of magnets where the could not reach them.

"if that's true, then it is because you believe it so," charles replies, taking the carafe and pouring it into a mug.

instead of going for sugar or cream, charles grabs whiskey, angrily dumping it into the bitter drink. erik snatches it fromt he counter.

"i think you have had enough," erik tells him before dumping the entire mug down the drain.

"erik! goddamn you!" charles growls, shoving him almost childishly. his punch had been lucky and he never really had the stomach for true violence.

he takes charles' wrists, holding them tightly as he glares, "i said i think you've had enough."

"you do not get to waltz in here and pretend like we're still friends," charles writhes his wrists angrily, "you stopped being the erik i knew the minute you killed shaw!"

"shaw had to die!" erik replies, baring his teeth. sean had once teased him for his smile being shark-like, but he certainly feels it now. he feels like an angry animal with prey between its jaws, "you will never understand! do you think an absent mother compares at all to things he did to me?!"

charles attempts to kick him in the knee, but erik is stronger and while he doesn't let go, he does fall forward, pressing himself against charles and the counter. as he goes to start shouting again, he notices charles is shaking. he does not look like a frightened doe as one might expect from a doe-eyed man.

instead, he is defiant. there is fear in his eyes, something old, something that has nothing to do with erik. but in the face of erik's anger, charles does not waiver. his body betrays him, but he holds a brave face, a stalwart indignation like an immovable ship, anchored to a seafloor.

the first time erik had kissed charles, they had been sharing a bed as they went to meet sean. all of the two-bed rooms had been booked which left them with either one of them on the floor or both in the bed. originally, erik had planned to take the floor, but charles had pulled him up into the bed.

"you don't think about me the way most people do," charles whispered, the only light coming the street lamps flickering outside, "i don't mean to pry. i can't help it sometimes."

"what do you mean?"

charles smiled softly, rolling his eyes, "you'd think it very silly i imagine. but you always think my eyes are a different shade of blue. it's like you can't decide how to describe them. but you notice them when you think i'm being particularly clever."

erik had blushed, his very obvious feelings being laid bare by the telepath in bed with him. he had admired charles from the minute they had met. how could he not admire the first man to tell him he wasn't alone? the man who had saved his life?

"it helps that you are usually particularly clever when you're not being particularly foolish," erik managed to reply.

this time charles blushed, looking away. his teeth pierced those already pretty red lips slightly. oh. that bastard. he knew what he was doing.

"are you going to do anything about it if i am?" charles asked, apparently not realizing he was reading erik's thoughts. or, if he did, he clearly did not care.

they were so young then. their powers still felt so fresh and untrained, even when they had more control than most. a few items shuddered at that moment when erik did.

ignoring them, he ran a hand up charles' neck to cup his cheek, "i think i'm going to kiss you."

"oh, i very much hope you do."

kissing charles xavier had been so soft. both of them had considered sex that night, but had instead enjoyed the gift of exploring the other's mouth. later, erik would realize charles had been hoping for this because he tasted particularly like gum. he had pressed kisses along soft lips, nipped until charles' lips were swollen, they had gone for each other until both were breathless.

charles had let out soft little gasps and moans. erik had worshipped his lips, his cheeks, his neck. they were like two demigods, entangled, high priests of the other's temple. erik had wanted to devour charles whole. he'd been smooth, kind, gentle, but mischevious. that moment was a fairytale.

this is not like that.

this was a nightmare. from the minute erik's teeth had clicked against charles' own, he knew that it was. there was none of their old kindness to be had. erik hated charles' scratchy beard. he hated that charles clearly no longer knew what he wanted, instead fighting for dominance of the kiss. erik had at first pulled away only for charles to pull him back, bruise his lips, bite his tongue.

erik presses charles back harder, taking back his tongue and shoving it down charles' throat. he wants to choke him with it, he wants to make sure he can't breathe. their teeth click again when charles mirrors the tilt of his head as they both try to deepen the kiss.

did charles want to suffocate as much as erik hopes to do so?

erik pulls back when charles' breath doesn't stop despite that, tugs fiercely on his lip with his teeth. those paled lips look almost back to their former glory, but he even such ferocity has not revived their blushed hues.

"i hate you," charles whispers, voice cracking, bitter, "i hate you."

"the feeling, old friend," erik snaps mockingly, "is mututal."

they dive back in anyway, charles finally breaking a hand free to claw down erik's back. nail marks redden beneath erik's shirt. the action also earns him a hardening in erik's pants, making him smirk against the larger man's lips. instead of giving him what he's asking for, erik wraps a hand around charles' throat.

"if i did not need you," he snarls before trailing off, "do you know how easy it would be?"

it would not be easy. erik isn't even pressing down against charles' neck. all he is doing is holding it, the grip barely there. but- but it changes something in charles' expression. the fear that had disappeated returns. suddenly nails claw at his hand.

"let go, erik, let go."

"i thought you hated me. didn't you expect this?" asks erik, voice mournful as it settles in once again that charles simply does not know what he thinking. how he could never hurt charles like that again.

"please," charles suddenly begs, voice desperate, "please, erik, let me go."

erik backs away like he's been burned, charles turning quickly on his heels as he gasps for air as if erik had been truly choking him. he's running as best that his legs, still stilted, still obviously not walking the way humans with functional spines walk, can take him. without meaning to, he shoves past hank who has finally emerged for breakfast.

hank looks at erik, "what the fuck did you do?"