#he can Finally kill himself and if he didn’t want to the grief would probably push him over the edge anyway

[dayurno]

I really wonder how aftg would change if Kevin was dead

if kevin was dead at the start aftg wouldn’t happen if kevin was dead at the end tsc wouldn’t happen it’s all a very simple matter really

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter fifteen ⭐︎ I thought the plane was going down, how’d you turn it right around?

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, a lot of fluff, alcohol consumption, clingy!reader, drunk!reader

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve gets to know a side of you, you have never shown him before, and he takes the final step towards realization.

Word count: 10k+

Author’s note: SO @hellfire--cult and I have been waiting for this chapter (and especially for the next one). I'm so happy that we're finally here, and as always I'm giving a special shoutout to my lovely Roe, who not only helped with ideas but also wrote the whole last paragraph, the drive home and all the fluff at Steve's house. Give her all the love she deserves ♡ ilysm roe thank youuuu

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next Chapter

♡

Red, white and blue colors flash before your eyes, everywhere you look as you walk through the grocery store with Max. You can’t even bear to look at the holiday themed snacks and decorations on the shelves. All week, people have been preparing for a holiday, you used to love, now it’s nothing but a reminder of what you lost – of what Max lost. 

You avoided going to Big Buy’s all week, for this exact reason. 

But now you were the one who offered to go inside, when Eddie was the one who wanted to get the pre-drinks, you don’t even know why you did it, maybe it was to get away from Dustin’s and Lucas’s banter, or maybe you just wanted to prepare yourself for something much bigger. 

The Fun Fair takes place this year, just as it did, last year. And you friends wanted to celebrate the Fourth of July there. You don’t mind, you really don’t, but every place you turn today, reminds you of a dear friend you lost. 

Max walks beside you quietly. She looks around with heavy eyes and tension in her shoulders, she’s fidgeting with the bracelet that Lucas gifted to her, and keeps her eyes on the ground. 

You didn’t say anything yet, not wanting to trigger any more sadness. You’re surprised that she even offered to go inside with you, she could’ve waited and stayed with the guys, but she didn’t. 

“This day sucks.” 

These are the first words she spoke out loud, ever since you stepped inside the store.

“Yeah,” you mumble, quietly, not knowing what to say, because all you can think about is Billy, and how he died on this exact day, one year ago, when you were still so unaware of the dark truth that lied beneath this town, when you thought that it was the fire that killed him and not one of Vecna’s creatures. 

You weren’t even there, but thinking about it makes you sick and angry. You can’t even imagine what Max must’ve felt like that night. Or what she is feeling now. 

When you stop in the drink aisle, you look around for the beer Eddie asked for, but instead your eyes fall on the one brand that Billy always used to buy. Sometimes he’d bring a six pack over and leave some cans in your fridge for some other time, you are pretty sure that there are still two leftover cans hidden behind all the other drinks in your fridge. 

A sigh falls from your lips, “yeah, it does.” 

She glances at you, sadness settling into her features, when she sees the way your eyes fill with grief. 

“Billy would roll his eyes at us, right now,” she mumbles, trying to crack a joke. 

A small chuckle escapes you, and you turn to look at her with a weak smile on your face, “yes, he would.” 

She purses her lips as she looks at the beer, “are you gonna let me drink tonight?” 

You scrunch your nose, and shake your head, “are you crazy?” You scoff, as you step forward and reach for the beers, Eddie asked for, and the ones Billy would have gotten for himself. “How about you turn twenty one first, and then I’ll let you drink.” 

Max laughs at you and rolls her eyes. 

“You’re not even twenty one, and you’re drinking – oh! And buying the beers with a fake ID probably!” 

“Shush,” you wave your hand at her when an employee walks past you, giving you both a weird look. 

“I’m very close to twenty one,” you whisper. 

“You’re not even twenty yet–”

“I’m turning twenty, this year. Now stop arguing with me, and get yourself a coke or something.”

Max groans at you, “fine,” she murmurs as she follows you, “why are you even getting any drinks now when you can buy some at the Fair?”

“I’m pretty sure that Eddie doesn’t want to buy any of those overpriced drinks that taste like absolute shit.” 

She snorts, “he shouldn’t even be drinking, he’s driving.” 

“Don’t worry, he’ll walk you all home if he gets drunk.” 

Her jaw drops, and annoyance flashes in her eyes, “are you serious–”

You laugh at the look on her face, shaking your head at her, “I’m just kidding, when does Eddie ever get drunk?” You chuckle, “he’ll have one beer tops, no more, he’ll sober up till then, and if not then uh… Steve will drive you home.”

“Okay,” she sighs, as the momentarily amusement leaves her face again, and the sadness begins to sink back in, making you much more aware of your own. 

“Hey, Max?” 

She turns back to you, and raises her eyebrows in question. 

“If you feel overwhelmed at some point, you can find me and we can leave, at any time, okay?” 

She smiles a little and nods her head. 

“Okay,” she whispers, “same goes for you, if you want to leave, I’ll go with you.” 

“Okay,” you smile at her, “now let’s go pay for these and get out of here,” you mumble as you gesture to the beer in your hands. 

You feel relief rushing through you once you are out of the busy store again. The golden evening sun hits your skin, still blessing it with warmth, the air around you smells like summer, like fresh cut grass, hot pavement and honeysuckle. The wind kisses your skin and blows through your hair, it’s warm yet refreshing, it feels nice. 

“Did you buy that for me?” Dustin grins at you, pointing at the beers when you get into the passenger seat. 

Eddie glares at him through the rearview mirror. 

“Very funny, Dusty Bun.”

Lucas laughs at the nickname, nudging his shoulder against Dustin’s, “Dusty Bun,” he cackles, wiggling his brows. 

“Shut up, dude.” 

“You kids are too young to even think about trying beer,” you glare at the three teens in the back, most specifically at Lucas, who’s had some before. 

His smile falls a little, and he clears his throat, “that was one time.”

“Yeah, it better stay that way,” you point at him. 

Max snorts at the glare on your face. 

“Yes, mom.”

Eddie and Dustin chuckle. 

Your jaw drops, and you furrow your brows at the teen who is squished between Max and Dustin. 

“You act like a mom sometimes!” Lucas raises his hands up in surrender, shrugging at you. 

“No, I don’t!” 

“Yeah, you do, you’re mama bear,” Eddie snorts, making Dustin laugh louder. 

“Yeah, you’re not fooling us with your grumpy act.” 

You squint your eyes at the curly head, who is grinning happily at you. 

“Just accept it, Sweetheart,” Eddie chuckles, “you’re the mom of the group.”

“No, I only joined this group a few months back, there has to be a different mom–”

“Oh no, we only had single dad Steve,” Lucas giggles, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “but we got a mom and a dad now, so…” 

The smug look on his face, and the teasing in his eyes, isn’t exactly hard to miss. You know exactly what he is going at, what he has been going at for the past few months now. 

Sometimes, you can’t help but wonder if he somehow knows about your feelings for Steve, if he always knew about them, or if he is simply just teasing and still in the dark about everything. 

You are good at hiding your feelings, you always have been, no one ever found out about your feelings for Steve unless you wanted them to, but if there is someone who you wouldn’t underestimate, then it’s definitely Lucas, he is too smart for his own good, sometimes.

Eddie snorts beside you, mumbling, “mommy and daddy.” 

You elbow him, into his side, earning a groan from him. 

“That wasn’t very nice!” Eddie grumbles as he shoots you a glare, and presses his hand against his stomach. 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Edward.” 

He squints his eyes at you. 

“Who is Eddie then?” Dustin asks. 

“He’s the cool uncle,” Lucas shrugs. 

“Damn right, now stop yapping,” Eddie mumbles as he takes a look over his shoulder, “are you ready to throw up Hot Dogs after going on the roller coaster?” 

All three of them groan in disgust, scrunching up their faces, making him laugh. 

You shake your head at him when he starts laughing. 

“You’re such a menace.” 

Eddie only chuckles at you, he starts the car and turns up the music, and he rolls down the windows before he speeds out of the parking lot. 

You embrace the moments of peace before the chaos of the fair hits you, screaming children, crowds of people, and the overwhelming smell of food on every corner are something you are not looking forward to despite the hollowness in your stomach. You couldn’t get anything down the past few days, you nearly threw up this morning when you walked into the diner with Eddie, and the smell of Bacon hit you. 

The wind weaves through your hair as Eddie drives down the main road. 

The sound of music distracts you from your sad thoughts. 

The thought of him, filling your heart with life and your soul with hope.

He grounds you in your worst moments, and he doesn’t even know it.

-

The fairground is alive with music and screaming children, the sound of the roller coasters moving, conversations and laughter from every corner. The dazzling lights are a stark contrast against the dark sky, the smell of food wafts through the air. 

Robin and Vickie are standing next to Steve, giggling about something as they sip on their mixed beers. He is looking around, trying to catch sight of you, but you are nowhere to be found, and he is beginning to worry. 

Max and El had dragged you away for a roller coaster ride, but that was over an hour ago, and he hasn’t seen you ever since. 

Max had warned him before, when she reminded him of what this day means to you, of what happened a year back, of what and who you had lost. 

Steve doesn’t know how you deal with grief, how you feel on these kinds of days, there are too many of them in your life. He doesn’t know how you cope, he wishes that he could be there for you and give you a shoulder to lean on – but you aren’t very good at showing your true feelings or emotions, he only saw a glimpse of the truth that you hide behind those high walls you built around yourself and he doubts that you would come to him for comfort. 

A dreadful feeling is gnawing in his chest the more time passes without you being seen. 

“Hey Dingus, we’re going on the Ferris Wheel,” Robin nudges his shoulder, grinning at him. 

He blinks, tearing his eyes away from the crowds, he nods at his best friend. 

“Sure, have fun.” 

Robin furrows her brows as she takes in the sight of his frown, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he murmurs and plasters a smile on his face, “go and have fun with your girl.” 

She hesitates, her smile becoming weaker now, “you should go find Eddie or Dustin.”

“Yeah, I will, in a second.” 

“Your feet are not glued to the ground are they?” Vickie asks, chuckling. 

“Yeah, you’ve been stuck in this spot for like thirty minutes now!” Robin exclaims as she points her ringed finger at him, eyeing the way he is leaning against the wall with tension in his body. 

Steve chuckles, and brings his hand up to the side of his face, cupping his cheek for a moment, “I’m just looking out for the kids.”

Robin snorts, though she gives him a suspicious look. 

“Ah, but they’re not around,” she says, tilting her head as she gestures to all the strangers that surround the field, instead of the teens. 

“I told them I’d be here if they needed anything,” he shrugs and waves his hand at her, “now go and have your kiss on the top of the Ferris Wheel.” 

Robin slaps his shoulder, her cheeks taking on a deep red color, as Vickie giggles behind her. 

He chuckles at her, wiggling his brows and smirking at his best friend. 

Robin rolls her eyes and turns away from him, she offers her hand out to the redhead, who reaches for it, though with a blush on her cheeks and a shy smile on her lips. 

“See you later, Dingus,” Robin waves at Steve, not giving him the chance to respond before she drags her girl away and pushes through the crowds with her. 

Steve’s eyes follow them until he can no longer see them as they get lost in the midst of the chaos. Laughing children run around, chasing each other, a group of teenage boys carrying drinks they shouldn’t be allowed to buy, two young women walk past him, giggling amongst themselves as they eye him with interest in their eyes, Steve pays no mind to them, not even bothering to spare them a look despite the very obvious glances he is getting, even as they had already passed him. 

His eyes follow a different sight and his ears perk up at the sound of giggles that sound like yours, his lips twitch at the sound and his heart flutters wildly in his chest. 

He pushes himself off the tree he is leaning against and turns to look around. Steve’s hazel eyes soften the moment he finally sees you. 

You are standing in a circle with Eddie and his bandmates who all keep pestering you over something. Eddie leans closer to you and pinches your cheek, while Gareth jumps around you like some hyper puppy, his curls bouncing and his face flickering with amusement when you keep waving your hand at him. 

Steve smiles at the giggle that falls from your lips when Eddie swats your hand away after you ruffle his curls. 

He watches the way your lips move as you stare at him with a smug look on your face, saying something to him that makes him clutch his chest and gasp dramatically. 

Steve shakes his head as the metalhead lunges at you and you squeal in surprise before you turn around and run off with a giggle, bolting into the crowd with Eddie and Gareth hot on your heels, while Jeff and Grant follow the three of you slowly, shaking their heads in amusement.

Surprise lingers inside of him, Steve had never seen you so playful before, he had never witnessed you letting loose and having genuine fun. You are always on guard, always hiding away behind your brooding act that is slowly becoming less and less visible. 

Something has changed, something in your behavior has shifted in the past few weeks. You seem happier, you seem to smile more, you seem to be kinder to the people around you. 

Your walls are still up, but the foundation has begun to crumble, just like his did. 

You let him see a glimpse of something he never thought was even there, he saw your vulnerable side and your soft one, he saw how lovingly you treated your baby niece, he saw how sweet and gentle you could be – he saw the real you and it only made him weaker than ever before. 

There was always a part of him that left him feeling weak whenever he was with you – it wasn’t a bad kind of weak, but it was one that scared him. 

It doesn’t scare him anymore. 

He embraces the weakness now. 

Something, someone crashes into his chest, making him stumble back from the force, when he looks down, he finds you staring up at him, with your arms now wrapped around his waist and a softened look in your eyes as a smile rests on your lips. The dazzling, colorful lights from the rollercoaster and the ferris wheel only brighten the color of your eyes, making him get lost in them so easily. 

He feels your arms around his torso, and your hands on his back, your chest is now pressed against his and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say that the look in your eyes is a dreamy one as they look into his. 

The warmth in his chest blooms, the smile on his lips grows bigger, something in his stomach flutters when you stand on your tippy toes and remind him of the height difference between the two of you. 

“Hi Stevie,” you say softly. 

He would be lying if he said, he isn’t caught off guard by the tone in your voice and the look in your eyes, by your arms that are wrapped around him and your body that is pressed against his, so tightly and intimately, despite all the eyes that could see. 

“Hi Blondie,” he smiles as he slowly wraps his arms around you and acts on his feelings, when he brings you closer. 

The smell of your perfume is intoxicating and it does nothing to weaken the fluttering in his stomach. You smell like the cotton candy that you had shared with Max earlier and the beer you probably had been drinking all night, which is surprising, considering how much you despise the bitter taste of beer. 

“I missed you.” 

His eyes widen in surprise, and his eyebrows shoot up, the fluttering in his stomach now growing even stronger than before. 

You woke up in each other's arms this morning, you even sat at the kitchen table and drank your morning coffee together before you left to meet up with Eddie. 

But you missed him. 

You missed him, like he missed you.

Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, or maybe not – he hopes not. 

“Yeah?” He whispers. 

You nod, your eyes flicker to his lips, before they move back up, to meet his. 

“I missed you too, Blondie.”

He nearly crumbles when your smile grows even bigger and a blush creeps up on your face, a breathy, small giggle falls from your lips. And then, you surprise him once again, when you bury your face in his chest and hug him tightly. 

His heart rate picks up and his breathing becomes heavy from all the emotions inside of him. 

He certainly never met this side of you before,and he never even knew that you could become much softer than what he had already seen of you. 

Without looking around to make sure that you are away from prying eyes, he wraps his arms tighter around you, and hugs you in a way he wanted to all night. 

Confusion, adoration and happiness floods through him, all at once. 

Here he thought that this day would bring out some darkness in you, that you would hide in a corner and try to drink away your sorrows but instead the alcohol in your system brought something else out in you. 

As Steve holds you in the middle of the fairground and you slide your palm over his chest, resting your hand above the place where his heart beats strongly, he feels himself falling into your embrace, losing all his vision of the people and the things before him, losing all the sounds around him, no longer feeling the ground beneath his feet – all he sees is you, all he hears is the beating of his own heart, all he feels is you, only you. 

And as though, it didn’t hit him hard enough already, you place your chin on his chest and you tilt your head up to look at him, giving him a sweet smile, “kissy?” You ask, puckering your lips. 

He could melt into a puddle, right then and there. 

Despite not wanting to, he lets his eyes roam the space around you, making sure that none of your friends are watching, before he leans in to place a kiss on your lips – one that is way too quick for your liking, the pout that follows your puckered lips makes his heart burst. 

You look at him with literal puppy eyes, glinting with a pleading look. 

He almost doesn’t recognize you – you are not the Blondie that he saw a few hours back, but he is not complaining in the slightest, he really likes this side of you. 

Cupping your cheeks, he rests his large palms against your skin, his fingertips getting lost in your hair as he leans down to kiss you again, smacking his lips against yours, he delivers a loud kiss, one that makes you giggle when he pulls away again and looks down at you with a lazy smile on his face. 

“How much did you drink?” Steve asks, chuckling when you keep staring at him with a big smile. 

“Just a little bit,” you slur, and raise your hand to show him as you furrow your brows and hold your thumb and pointer finger into an L shape, “so much.” 

He laughs as he tucks your hair behind your ears, “alright.”

“I want something else now.” 

“What, more alcohol?” Steve asks, raising his brows. 

You shake your head, scrunching up your nose in a way that makes him smile as he looks at you adoringly.

“No, I think I had too much already.”

“Yeah, I think so too, honey,” he murmurs, the nickname rolling off his tongue easily, almost normal, “you don’t feel sick, do you?” 

“No, just thirsty.” 

“Alright, let’s get you something to drink then,” he says, unable to stop smiling, when you look at him this way. He moves his hands away from your face and he reaches for your hand, sliding his palm against your own, he entwines his fingers with yours, and you welcome his action, happily. 

Steve isn’t drunk, he didn’t have a single sip of alcohol this evening, not a single drag of Argyle’s joint and yet, he feels as though he is under the influence of something strong, his mind is in a haze, that careless and freeing feeling lingers in his chest, happiness and giddiness rushes through him and he feels as though he is floating with you. 

He can’t even find it in himself to care if anyone sees him with you like this – smiling at each other, hugging and kissing one another, holding hands, and acting like a couple. He knows your friends are here, but Steve just doesn’t give a damn – not even when Heidi walks past him with her friends and they all look at you weirdly. 

He hears the hushed whispers, he sees the squinted eyes as they look you up and down and their eyes fall on your entwined fingers. He pays no mind to the way they look at him, but irritation sparks at him when they keep staring at you. He can see the judgment, and the jealousy, it’s so obvious. 

Steve holds back the eyeroll and he grasps your hand tighter as he begins to drag you away from the prying eyes and the whispers of envy. He would rather kiss you and flip them off but he cannot risk this, he can’t risk you two getting caught. Rumors would circulate, words would get twisted and it would only be a matter of time until all your friends would find out. 

And he isn’t ready to get caught, he isn’t ready to lose this, to lose you. 

He glances down at you, seeing the smile that didn’t leave your face just yet. You are unaware to all the eyes on you, to the looks you were given, you are still holding onto his hand as tight as before, stepping closer to him when a group of boys rush past you. 

You turn to him and raise your head to glance at him, shooting him a sweet smile as you squeeze his hand, causing his heart to flutter and his smile to reappear. 

You are so cute like this. 

He pulls you closer and shields you from anyone who brushes past you as you walk through the crowd together, getting lost in the chaotic field, where the music is louder and the people are too. 

Steve looks around, trying to catch sight of the teens or Eddie and his bandmates but he only sees the town people that he couldn’t care less about while you follow him like some lost puppy, clinging to his side and looking up with big eyes, every few seconds or so. 

You both get in line at the drink stall, your hands are still joined, fingers entwined and arms still pressed together. You stumble into him, prompting him to hold you a little tighter. 

“I’m sorry,” you slur as you reach your free hand up to grab his arm. 

“It’s fine,” he chuckles at you, adoring you a little more and more as the seconds pass. 

You are drunk – not tipsy, not slightly drunk, no, you are genuinely and definitely drunk. And as he stands here with you, eying you closely and watching the way you keep looking up at him with your widened pupils and your lazy smiles, he realizes that he had never actually witnessed you being drunk – high and tipsy? Sure. But never drunk. 

“Why’d you drink so much, Blondie?” 

“I didn’t even drink that much,” you shrug, “I’m just not used to drinking that beer.”

Steve raises his brows, knowing how much you despise the taste of regular beer. You only drink it when it’s mixed with something. 

“What kind of beer?” 

You furrow your eyebrows, your eyes flash with confusion, you seemingly can’t remember the name of it. 

You look down and your eyes widen when you find a discarded can on the grass, you point your finger at it, “that one.”

Steve’s eyes follow your gaze and the direction your finger is pointing at, he raises his eyebrows again. 

“You don’t even like beer that much,” he mumbles and turns back to you. 

“Billy did,” you shrug. 

Oh. 

His features relax again and his shoulders slump a little, realization flickers in his eyes. 

You didn’t drink for fun, you were trying to forget about the sadness and the grief that must’ve lingered all day. 

He is surprised that the alcohol didn’t have a negative effect on you. Drinking while feeling sad can worsen those emotions, the alcohol can transform them into a darker sadness or even into anger and despair. 

But you seem fine, happy even. 

If only he knew that he is the reason for it. 

“The fireworks are about to start,” you say, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

He blinks. 

“Yeah,” Steve nods. 

“Do you want to watch them with me?” 

His heart skips a beat at the softness in your voice, at the hopeful look in your eyes and the sweet smile on your lips. 

Of course he does. 

“Yeah,” he smiles, nodding. “I’d love to.”

Your eyes crinkle as you beam at him, stealing his breath away with simple reactions like these. 

Steve is not even sure if anyone had ever looked at him this way, no one has ever even made him feel this way, no one had ever stolen his breath away just from simply looking at him the way you do now. 

You take him by surprise when you stand on your tippy toes and lean closer to him to place a kiss on his cheek, leaving him a blushing mess. 

Your giggle sounds like music to his ears, your touch drives him crazy as you squeeze yourself against him and lay your head on his chest as your arms come around his torso again. 

He could fall to his knees right here, right now. 

Is this the real you? 

Is this the side you’ve been hiding from the world? 

Is this the way you would have always been with him, had you not experienced so much loss and pain? 

Steve wraps his arms around you, unable to hold back from showing and giving you the affection that you are blessing him with in this moment, even when the anxiety of getting caught still lingers. 

He cups your cheeks and leans closer to your ear, “where do you wanna watch the fireworks?” 

“Maybe the woods? Or the big field?” You ask as you look at him with big eyes, “so we can be away from all these annoying people?”

He laughs when you gesture to the loud fairground visitors.

The lights that flicker around you kiss your beautiful face and your skin that he wants to feel on his at any time, your lips that always look so inviting, you look so delicate, so soft, so gorgeous, you look like someone that could ruin his life and right in this moment, he doesn’t even mind it, he would let you. 

It hits him, in this second, it hits him just how bad he’s got it for you. 

Steve Harrington is down bad. 

Down bad to a point in which he almost calls you ‘my girl’ when he is about to order your drink, he catches himself just in time but he can’t hide the blush that creeps up on his face. 

You don’t seem to notice though, you swing your joined hands back and forth and look around with a contentment in your relaxed features. 

He hands you the ice cold pepsi after placing the ten dollar bill on the small desk, telling the teen behind the counter to keep the change. 

“That was nice of you,” you say as you both start walking away from the drink stall and from the crowds.

“What, letting him keep the change?” 

You nod and let go of his hand to open your can. 

“Poor guy has to work on a holiday, he should get a good tip,” Steve shrugs, already missing the feeling of your hand in his, he raises his arm and wraps it around your shoulder instead, pulling you closer against him. 

Your lips twitch at that, a smile forms on your face. 

“Still, that was nice of you, you’re a nice guy,” you giggle. 

“Well, I gotta make up for all the times I wasn’t a nice guy.”

You don’t say anything to that, you can’t. Steve doesn’t even blame you, you witnessed him in his worst moments, you were his target, more than once. 

You shot back at him but your words weren’t hurtful, your insults and your jabs were never personal. You got under his skin, but not in the way he got under yours. 

He truly wasn’t a nice guy to you and that might be one of his biggest regrets. He was mean, awful even and now as he looks at you, at the cute frown on your face as you pop the can, at the way you take a sip of your favorite drink and smile afterwards, he can’t understand how he could ever treat you so unkindly, how he didn’t see you before.  

You might’ve been rough, snarky and unapproachable but there was never denying of how beautiful you are, how beautiful you have always been. 

How come he never asked you out? 

He might’ve never seen this side of you before and he only ever knew one side of you, but your snarkiness wouldn’t have kept King Steve away from you, if anything, your little act should’ve made him more intrigued. 

And now he can’t help but wonder what things would have been like had he not treated you the way he did, had he asked you out and fought for a chance with you. 

Could’ve things been different then? 

Would you have fallen in love with him? 

Would you have prevented the heartbreak that Nancy had cursed him with two years ago? 

The pain from his last relationship no longer matters to Steve, not since you, but this question still lingers. 

“This spot is perfect.”

You pull him out of the past and back into the presence with a tug on his hand. 

Steve looks around, you are no longer surrounded by people, instead it’s the trees that are around you and him, you’re at the edge of the forest, not far enough to drown at the music and the chatter but quiet enough to hear your voice clearer now, it’s much darker out here but he can still see you well enough. 

You close your eyes and drink your pepsi, completely unaware of his unwavering glances. A sigh leaves your lips and you place the now half full can on the ground before you step closer to him and reach for his hand again, taking a look at the watch around his wrist, you squint your eyes and lean down closer, “it’s about to start any minute.” 

He smiles at you, nodding his head slowly, “yeah.”

Steve feels the urge to pull you tight against him, to hold you and kiss you like he never did before. 

You look up and meet his eyes when you notice his staring, a smile appears on your lips, “what?” You ask with a soft giggle. 

He shakes his head and shrugs, “nothing.”

You bite your lip and he wants nothing more than to grab your face and kiss you breathless. 

You raise your eyebrows at him and stare back at him, stumbling over air as you try to take a step closer to him, making you both chuckle at your drunken clumsiness, your hand falls against his body, while he grabs your waist, steadying you on your own feet, “whoa, easy tiger.” 

You giggle at the nickname, making his own smile widen. 

“You’re really drunk, aren’t you?” 

You don’t even deny it, in fact, you don’t even answer the question as you keep staring up at him, keeping your hands against his chest as your eyes flicker from the spitcurl that hangs over his forehead, his eyes and his lips. 

Steve’s stomach flutters just the way his heart does, his skin tingles beneath from your touches, the look in your eyes makes him want to kiss you even more. 

“You’re feeling okay though, right?” He whispers as he slowly brings his hand up to the side of your face and he cups your cheek. 

“Yeah, I’m okay now,” you nod, leaning into his touch, “I-I just… I miss him.”

Steve might never understand the friendship you had with Billy, he only knew the ugly sides of him but you knew more, you saw deeper, you were his friend – something Steve didn’t even know Billy had, he was sure the guy didn’t even know what the term ‘friendship’ even meant. 

“And that’s okay, Blondie,” he says, giving you a sad smile, “it’s okay to miss people and to grieve for them.”

Tears well up in your eyes and your lips curl downwards. 

Steve didn’t mean for this to happen, he didn’t mean to make you cry. 

“Hey,” he whispers, pulling you closer as he catches the first tear with his thumb, “it’s okay, honey.”

You sniffle and roll your eyes at yourself, “he would punch me in the face for crying,” you joke.

Steve can’t help but laugh. 

“And he’d make fun of me for being with you, he would like–” you pause and lean in to peck his lips, “he would smack my head if I did that in front of him!” You say with a giggle, despite the tears that still keep falling.

His cheeks heat up at the kiss, the need for more growing strong in his chest. 

“He really didn’t like me, huh?”

“Not one fucking bit, Stevie,” you chuckle sadly. 

Steve wonders how things would be if he was still here, would this thing between you even work out? 

Would Billy keep you away from him?

“But nothing could take me away from you, he’d just have to suck it up,” you whisper as you peck his lips again, shutting down the worries in his head. 

He almost feels his pulse in his throat as his heart beats faster, your words doing little to calm the beating of his heart. 

“Oh?” Is the only thing he can say as all the other words freeze in his brain. 

You nod as you look into his eyes deeply, refusing to break eye contact. He notices the way your chest starts moving faster as your breathing gets heavier, he sees the way your smile transforms into a nervous frown and your throat bobs as you try to come up with words. 

His breath hitches in his throat when you whisper his name shakily. 

“I–”

Whatever you were about to say gets lost in the wind as the loud explosion in the sky cuts you off and tears your attention away from him. The colors pop in the sky, illuminating the darkened space around you both.

You tilt your head to watch the lights that reflect in your eyes, the smile you wore before makes its way back into your pretty face, the tension in your body disappears and you relax into him again. 

But while your drunken mind gets distracted by all of this so easily, Steve only really sees you. He doesn’t look up just yet, he lets himself admire you for a moment. 

Your eyes light up as they meet his for a brief second, flashing with awe. 

His heart could jump out of his chest from how hard it’s beating, his knees could give out any moment now. 

“Look!” You beam at him as you point your finger at the blue colors. 

His gaze follows yours but it returns to your face so quickly, something about you pulls him in, a magnet, a string, a strong connection – he can’t identify it yet, but he feels like his whole being yearns for you and not just sexually. 

He wants to keep doing this, he wants to keep holding your hand, he wants to keep hugging you, he wants to keep spending time with you like this, he wants to stand under the night sky with you, and he especially wants to do this. 

“Hey,” he whispers as he cups your cheeks with both hands, pulling your attention back to him. 

You greet him with an adoring smile, “hi,” you whisper.

Steve caresses your cheek, he is starting to lean in closer, fading out the colors that flash in his peripheral vision, before his lips can even touch yours, you throw your arms around his neck and beat him to it, pressing your lips against his over and over again before you move on to both of his cheeks and even the tip of his nose as you start showering him in kisses, catching him off guard completely. 

Steve giggles in surprise, his cheeks match the colors that lighten up the sky as they glow red. 

And then, you finally pull him into a longer kiss. 

You close your eyes and he does too, your lips start moving slowly, passionately. You rest your hands on his neck and steal his breath away by deepening the kiss as you slip your tongue into his mouth and let him have a taste of your sweetness, the cotton candy and the pepsi still linger on your lips. 

Your noses bump into each other and you break the kiss with a giggle, giving him a sweet smile before you lean back in again, kissing and continuing to steal his breath away, not knowing what you have just done to his poor heart, how much life, how much hope you have filled it with. 

A smile, a giggle, a simple kiss with you is all it takes for all the defense around him to crumble into dust. 

Something he thought he lost seeps back into his heart, something he thought that stayed in the past and to never be touched again blooms in him. 

Everything inside of him screams in joy, his stomach doing somersaults, his skin prickling from the excitement, his lips tugging into a smile even through the kiss that he deepens more and more. 

This kiss is different from all the other ones you have shared before, this one means something, this one won’t lead to you tearing each other’s clothes off. No, this is just a kiss. 

A kiss that means everything. 

A kiss that changes everything. 

You stole his breath completely and made it your own, you stole his heart, his soul, his whole being. 

And the noise of the fireworks, the sparks igniting from them, match those in Steve's heart. Just exploding, bursting, burning him from inside out.

And he embraces the feeling fully.

He wants more of this, more of you. 

He wants to cross a line, he wants you in a whole new way and he is no longer ashamed to admit it to himself. 

It feels like forever as you stand there beneath the sparkling sky, kissing and staying in each other’s embrace as you both savor every second of this moment, only pulling away to catch your breaths before you lean back in for more. 

The fireworks stop, but only those in the sky. 

Your lips are still moving with each other, your tongues still mingling together, whines and whimpers fall from you – tonight, they don’t fill him with lust and need, no, tonight they fill him with adoration. 

Your arms tighten around his neck, your nose is flush against his as you refuse to break the kiss but the lack of air makes it impossible and it forces you away from him, though you don’t pull away too far, only enough to catch your breath.

Steve leans his forehead against yours, slowly opening his eyes to look into yours, his heart flutters yet again when he sees how wide your eyes are, how they flicker with deep emotions. 

Unable to hold back, he leans in to peck your puffy lips one more time. 

“Steve,” you whisper as your hands begin to slip from his shoulders to his chest. 

“Yes?”

“Can I be with you tonight?”

He furrows his brows at your question, he wants you to be with him tonight, he wants you with him every night. 

“Of course, Blondie.”

You smile at him though it’s a weak one and it makes him frown. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you shake your head, scrunching your nose. 

“Are you feeling sick?” He asks, tilting your head up. 

You shake your head again, “just really tired.”

Your words are still slurred, the alcohol still deep in your system. 

“Let’s go home then.”

“Do you want to go?” You ask, looking at him with a cute frown on your face as you tilt your head to the side, “I-I can still wait if you want to stay here longer.”

Steve smiles at you, shaking his head, “no, I want to go home with you.”

The smile on your lips replaces the frown. 

He brushes his thumb against your bottom lip and stares at you adoringly. 

“Come on, we should tell Eddie.” 

You pick up your discarded drink before you slide your fingers through his, intertwining your fingers with his again. 

“Let’s go,” he whispers, squeezing your hand. 

You follow him without a single word, walking beside him quietly as you make your way out of the woods and back into the fair where the lights are bright and he can see you better now. 

It’s still just as crowded as it was before and just as loud. 

Steve keeps you close, glancing at you, he notices the squinted eyes and how displeased you look by all the noises and the people around you. 

He holds your hand tighter, giving it another reassuring squeeze. 

“I can’t wait to go to sleep,” you mumble, taking the last few sips of your soda before you throw it into the trashcan you pass by. You wrap your free hand around his bicep and squish your cheek against it.

Steve’s smile widens, his eyes glint with nothing but fondness. 

“There you are!” 

Steve turns to find Eddie walking towards you both, throwing his hands up with a worried look on his face that slowly begins to disappear when he realizes that you have been with him all this time, though his eyebrows pull together when he sees your entwined hands and the closeness between you. 

Steve expects you to run away from him and into your best friend’s arms, but you don’t, you stick to his side. 

“Hi Eddie!” You mumble lazily as a smile appears on your face. 

You all halt in your tracks once you meet in the middle. 

“Hey sweets, are you okay?” He asks, eying you up and down one more time. 

“Peachy!”

“Where have you been?” 

Steve clears his throat, “we watched the fireworks from the woods and now I’m gonna take this one home, she’s tired.”

Eddie squints his eyes at him, giving a once over now – the way he has been doing it for some time now, like he is suspicious of his actions, like he wants to figure him out so he can protect you from him and irritates Steve. 

“I can take her home,” Eddie shrugs. 

“No!” You protest, clinging to Steve’s arm, you hold him tighter not wanting to be pulled away from him. 

Steve chuckles softly, he looks down at you adoringly. 

“Don’t worry, Eddie. I’ll take her home to sleep, maybe shove some coffee down her throat, see if that helps. I am sensing I’m having a hungover Blondie tomorrow.” 

Eddie raises one eyebrow at him, he crosses his arms over his chest, defensively. And Steve notices it from the corner of his eye, causing the smile to leave his face as a frown etches into his features instead. 

“I’m not doing anything if that's what you’re fucking thinking, Munson.” 

Eddie raises his hands up in surrender, “sorry, can’t blame me for caring.”

That… Stings. 

That actually hurts his feelings. 

He may not be as close to Eddie as you are to him, but Eddie knows him well enough to know that he would never do anything like this. 

“You really think I’m that disgusting?” Steve asks, not bothering to hide the hurt in his voice. 

Eddie sighs. 

Of course he doesn’t. 

He is just protective of his best friend, of her feelings. 

Neither of you notice the way you keep looking between them, completely lost and confused. 

“I don’t know what kind of deal you both have, Steve, but I’m allowed to care. I would’ve given her the same look if the roles were reversed.” 

“She’s not like that,” Steve argues instantly. 

Eddie sighs again, uncrossing his arms, he drops them to his side as he takes a look at the sky with a long sigh. 

“I know she’s not, I know you’re not. Just… take care of her…”

Steve is still hurt by Eddie’s reaction, by the accusing look in his eyes, like Steve would do anything to hurt you. 

He knows that it might only be because you are his best friend, because he feels protective of you, because he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you – but to know that he was worried about you while you were with him makes him feel sick. 

Steve would never do anything to hurt someone, let alone you. 

“Can we go now?” You ask, looking up at him with big eyes. 

A weak smile appears on his face as he looks down at you, “yeah, we can go.”

Steve doesn’t notice the way Eddie’s squinted eyes linger on him, the way he looks down at your hands, watching as Steve pulls you closer despite you being glued to his side already. 

He can’t help but sigh when he sees the way you look at him, the dreaminess and the love is so evident and it worries him, your feelings for Steve worry him because he fears that he will break your heart, that he will rip it out of your chest. 

Eddie is so focused on his worries, he doesn’t even see the way Steve looks at you. 

“I’m gonna call you tomorrow, Eds.”

Eddie smiles at you, “yeah, alright.” 

Steve nods at Eddie, only giving him a small smile as he starts pulling you away. 

“Bye man,” Steve mumbles as he brushes past him. 

“Bye Eddie!” 

“Yeah, sleep well, sweets.” Eddie smiles, waving at you. 

Walking away from the fairground and leaving behind the crowds of people and your best friend feels like a relief to Steve. He can’t move past the glances the metalhead gave to him, the worried looks he spared you as though you were in some kind of danger with him. 

He can’t confront him, he can’t talk to him about it and tell him how wrong he is though, he would give away his feelings and he can’t do that. 

You walk beside him quietly, not a single word falls from your lips, you just keep holding his hand, looking up at him every once in a while until you make it to his car. 

Steve opens the door for you, begrudgingly letting go of you so you can get inside, he helps you buckle in your seatbelt, a surprised chuckle falls from his lips when you use the opportunity to kiss his cheek and he can’t even help himself but do the same to you, smacking his lips against your cheek to give you a loud smooch, one that makes you giggle. 

He can see the tiredness in your eyes, the way you slowly blink and how you sink deeper into the car seat as you yawn. 

“Let's get you into bed, honey.”

Steve keeps the music on low during the drive home, you keep dozing off as your head keeps falling to the side but every time you open your eyes again, you look at him and you keep your eyes on him, making him blush beneath your softened gaze. 

And then, you make his heart swell and his chest vibrate when you place your hand on his thigh and smile at him sweetly. 

Everything about you drives him crazy today. 

Every glance, every touch, every word, every kiss. 

You have brought something out in him, something that was buried deep inside, hidden and locked away but you have found the key, you unlocked it, you brought something back that he thought was impossible to ever resurface again and you made it yours, you made him yours, all yours. 

And now, he wants to give you everything. 

He wants to take care of you, he wants to shower you with affection, he wants to be the one for you. 

You’re making things complicated but in the most amazing of ways, in the most beautiful of twists that he couldn’t believe would happen again for him. Your small glances are enough to turn a flame in his entire body, your hand on his thigh as he parks at his home enough to send butterflies in his stomach, butterflies that he swore died when Nancy broke his heart.

Your touch is enough to make him tremble and make his knees buckle, when he helps you out of his car, both of you laugh as you almost fall right on your ass, even with his help. He is happy. He is content. He is extremely giddy when he is with you, as if he were fourteen all over again.

Even when you are not like this, when you are not this bubbly uncaring self, he still enjoys his time with you. He enjoys the accidental snorts that make him laugh as you swat him to try to stop him from laughing. The happy delighted moans you give when you try his cooking. The out of nowhere conversations in the mornings that you two now share together. 

He likes it when you put on that strong wall, it makes you look cute, it makes him want to break it down. He loves the small banter, the pretend fights when you two are with the whole group, the way you pinch his side when you walk past him when no one is looking. He adores it.

When he finally manages to get you inside, he immediately urges you into the kitchen, making you drink water, not pepsi, despite your pouts and your teary eyes which almost make him become a puddle on the floor. He also gives you a leftover chicken sandwich he had in his fridge so you would eat something to absorb the alcohol.

“Eat at least half of that.” He commands and you just grumble something, cutely so, underneath your breath as you take a bite. He knew you probably didn’t eat anything at the fair, a possible reason for your drunkenness.

“I’ll eat… if you give me a kiss.” And just like that you pucker your lips his way and his heart can barely handle it. He licks his lips before leaning towards you and placing them on yours in a soft peck, a quick one. You smile before taking the first bite, and when you swallow it seems as if it turns on the hunger in your belly because you devour that sandwich in seconds.

He hopes you keep it down your stomach for the whole night and that it helps you feel okay in the morning. He wonders how you will act tomorrow, if you’ll remember all of this, if you’ll remember how much you kissed him, how you made him feel. He should tell you… He should…

But what if it’s the alcohol doing its thing?

“Okay, let’s go to bed.” And doing so turns out to be a challenge because as soon as you finish your food and water, your eyelids start to drop. Getting you off the stool and dragging you upstairs is easy but keeping you sitting up as he tries to change you into his clothes, that is another issue.

“I don’t wanna…” You mumble as you throw yourself back down onto the mattress, chest bare. He would have gotten riled up, if it weren’t for the fact he felt domestic, fluttery, and his chuckles came out easily out of his lips when looking at you.

“You have to, it’s just the shirt, come on.” His voice is soft as he talks to you, making you raise yourself up again, sitting in front of him and raising your arms up for him to slide his shirt on you. As soon as it’s on, you bounce back and get comfortable in his pillow with a contented sigh. He smiles at you as he takes off his shirt and starts unbuckling his belt in order to get comfortable. His own tiredness is starting to take a toll on his body.

He doesn’t notice that you had turned your head to look at him again, and a wolf whistle is heard in the room, making him turn to look at you. You have a cheeky smile on your face and he feels himself blushing slightly as he laughs, taking his pants off next, leaving him in boxers only. 

“As if you haven’t seen it before.” He says and it only makes you whistle again as he saunters over with a shake of his head, a smile still plastered on his lips.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t adore it everytime,” you whisper. 

And that makes the smile drop, but in shock. Your words went deep, soothing over wounds that had been created long ago, and he doesn’t mean his scars. He has to clear his throat in order to walk towards the bed and get inside right next to you, only for you to immediately crawl on top of him, laying your chin on his chest, looking at him.

It holds so much adoration for some reason, a sparkle that makes Steve’s stomach turn, hope that rose in his throat like vomit, ready to come out, overwhelming him. You are looking at him as if he hung the stars for you, as if he were your only person in the entire world. 

And he knows he is looking down at you in the exact same way.

“What now?”

“You’re just so pretty… It’s stupid how pretty you are.” He chuckles, making his chest rumble and for you to bounce up and down with it. 

You pout but it’s followed by a smile, “it’s true, you are.”

“I’m not told that very often Blondie.” He honestly replies and that makes you raise your head up and look down at him with determination in your eyes. “Wh–”

He can’t even finish his question because your lips start going crazy on his face, but softly, caring, taking extra time on following the lines of moles he has on his jaw. He is startled, shocked, for no one ever did this to him, not even his own mother. No one ever showered him with affection, with kisses. 

And as though that wasn’t sweet and surprising enough, you nuzzle your nose against his, giggling when a big smile appears on his face. 

You are cute. You are so fucking cute. 

It is an overwhelming feeling, one that almost makes him feel like crying. 

Your lips pressed on the tip of his nose as you pulled away, a proud smile on your face, and he wonders what is going through your mind right now. If it it’s all true, fuck, he wants it all to be true. He needs it to be true. He needs and desires that you are doing all of this intentionally to him, despite the alcohol. 

“There, now you know.” 

You really are beautiful, so beautiful. He feels drunk on you, seeing you, feeling you… his hand rises up, not able to contain himself as it runs through the back of your head and pulls you down to his lips, letting him give you a deep kiss. A kiss that made the fireworks he saw earlier explode inside his room again. 

You follow his lips with a hum, and he doesn’t want to pull away. He needs it all. He needs you. Not in the way he has been having you the past month. Not at all, not even close.

He lets you pull away, and his hand caresses your cheek, pulling your head down to rest on his chest again as your legs intertwine with his underneath the sheets. He wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating. If it bangs your head from how hard he feels his chest being hit with it. 

“Sleep Blondie.” He wishes anything but that, but he needs the silence, the time alone.

“Hmm… night Stevie…” And he knows your eyes are closed, that you mumble that with the last bit of strength you had. His eyes remain on the ceiling as his mind starts working, gears going round and round, going overtime.

He had been running from the definition of the feeling, even if he knew it was there, even if he accepted everything else that came with it. He kept running and running, and now he had hit a wall.

So it’s time to stop and turn around to face you.

Steve Harrington decides to stop running as he looks down at you and his lips press at the top of your head while his arms hold you tighter. You whine in your sleep, yet your cheek nuzzles even more into his chest. 

He can’t deny you anymore. Not when you look like this in his arms. Not when you peppered his face with kisses he never received. Not when he saw you in a vulnerable moment of yours. Not when he gets to see you moan in pleasure because of him. Not when he gets to see you have fun with everyone else. Not when you saved his life, going headfirst for him. Not when you already send smiles his way that make his heart stop.

And if you wake up tomorrow with a headache, he will be waiting for you with coffee in hand, an advil, and some food, ready to help you. To take care of you. He will let you lay in his bed all the time you need, all in order to make you feel better.

Because Steve Harrington started feeling again.

He likes you. He terribly and adoringly likes you… and he is afraid because–

It’s nowhere near little. Not at all.

“Can’t believe I fell for you, Blondie.”

♡

tagging friends and mutuals!

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @corrodedcorpses @maroon-cardigan @thecreelhouse @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @sherrylyn628 @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars

[desaturate-worlds]

everyone expected wade to be the overly affectionate one of the two, especially when it came to public interactions. logan was stoic, easily angered, even more easily annoyed. he would probably have a difficult time tolerating wade, much less showing affection towards him.

but everyone who thought this (wade included) did not take into account the fact that the wolverine was safe for the first time in what felt like his entire life. he had spent years burying his grief and loneliness under layer after layer of anger and alcohol - he needed to if he was going to survive it. emotions threatened to eat him alive, he could have gone insane with the grief. he almost did. and the only way he got back to himself (as much as possible, anyway) was to shove it all down as far as he could and cover it with harsh words and whiskey.

he’d never had anybody to share the grief with before. he hadn’t had anyone to make feeling worth while, hadn’t had a family. but here, in wade’s shitty apartment, he was finally home.

logan and althea had gotten along beautifully. sure, in the beginning he still had hard edges and bristled easily, but that wasn’t anything al couldn’t handle. she could hold her own, and each clever insult she hurled at the men had logan grinning privately to himself. as cold as her words could be, he knew she loved wade. and she was letting him stay, too, so he couldn’t be anything but grateful.

althea and logan were quick friends, walking the dog together in the mornings, watching shitty reality tv together, bullying wade together. logan decided very quickly that if anything happened to al, he would kill anyone involved in a way that was particularly painful and torturous.

and then there was the aforementioned dog. mary puppins (AKA dogpool, of course) was the princess of the apartment. logan could only pretend that he was grossed out by her for so long before he caved (you can only get caught kissing her head and calling her an angel so many times before people know that maybe you like her more than you admit). he had become the dad that didn’t want a dog, but was now obsessed. to be fair, everyone obsessed over mary. she got treats, pets, and love every time she walked into a room - with that adorably ugly little face, how could anyone possibly say no?

and finally: wade. wade wade wade. logan would be lying if he said that wade didn’t take up a decent amount of his thoughts at any given time. wade had offered him a home, offered him friendship. and he was quite possibly the only person alive who had the capacity to understand the wolverine. that was something logan didn’t know how badly he needed until he got it.

part two

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Lucifer Morningstar with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario

warning: language, ooc, possible spoilers from the first season of the 2024 show.

Special thanks to @tonightwrites for helping me with this piece! Enjoy :)

All right, maybe he is moving a little bit fast in falling back in love again but…well, Lucifer will admit that he can’t help himself. That’s just who he is. He’s passionate by nature, and it shows in the super amazing ducks he has created and how he helps Charlie in rebuilding her hotel. Not to mention you were so cute!

Sure, you’re a little stoic and didn’t have a cellphone, and he did mistake you for a human, but that was okay! He thought it was amazing that you were able to grow almost anything in the hotel’s greenhouse! He had to see it to believe it; wire racks of pots in different shapes and sizes, all those flowers and fruits. There were even herbs nearly bundled up and labeled on a wooden table. It was all very meticulously, and everything was well taken care of. He couldn’t find a single sign of neglect. And a single person was responsible for it all? Holy shit. 

Charlie did reassure him that you were very much dead and a sinner. Why you still looked like a human and had freaky skeletal prosthetics, she had absolutely no clue. 

But the cherry on the top was how respectful you were towards him. I mean, when was the last time someone saluted and referred to him as His Majesty? And that look on the Radio Demon’s face when she curtsied to him, the king of Hell? Priceless. 

He did appreciate your honesty, not even holding back when you said that you weren’t sure if a rubber ducky would look all right with the new fountain in the greenhouse. But you did anyway, carefully laying it on top of the water. You looked at for a long moment, expressionless and calm before turning to him and saying that his little creation gave the greenhouse…a more peaceful ambience. 

You thanked him for his contribution, and went right to work, dressed in an apron with a watering can in your gloved hands. At least until the little maid Niffty came in with a big frown on her face, scolding you for trying to skip meals again. You looked at him for help…but unfortunately, he couldn’t help this time, gently pushing out of the greenhouse while Niffty tugged you by the hand. 

You might say that you are used to not eating to accomplish your tasks, though that growling tummy disagrees~!

Whenever he had a moment, he made sure you took breaks and would spend time with you in the greenhouse so you wouldn’t be lonely. He’d tell you stories, share what else he created, and how he’s been wanting to connect with Charlie for so long…yet was so scared and unsure of what he could say to her. Especially after Lilith left Hell without saying a word seven years ago. 

“The important thing is that you are here with her now and support her endeavors, Your Highness. I…did not have a family when I was alive…but I had friends. Friends who supported and loved me, for all the flaws I possessed.” You looked down at your hand, clenching it slowly into a fist. “It was because of them…that I understood many things about myself…and emotions I did not know I had. Grief. Gratitude. Empathy. Guilt. I was on fire, and I did not know it. But I killed many people during the Great War. I was a weapon. That will never change. However,” You then looked at him. “If I am able to accept that I cannot change the past, and find the courage to move forward…how can a sinner not be able to find redemption even if they are dead? I believe…in Charlie. What she is doing. You do too. And I am sure…she is grateful that you finally understand her.”

 If he hadn’t already been in love with you, this would definitely be the moment when he realized how felt towards you. And Charlie, his sweet, smart little girl knew too. 

That was probably why she pulled him aside one afternoon to privately speak in her office. She was obviously….a little freaked out. But he waited until she finished inhaling and exhaling deep breaths, eyes closed, clenching and unclenching her fists, whatever helped her calm down. She then looked him straight in the eye.

“Look Dad, I’m…happy that you’re happy. I mean, it’s really, really obvious that you like [First Name]. Now there’s nothing wrong with that, I’m okay!” She added quickly, waving her hands up and down frantically. “It’s…it’s been a long time since you and Mom split up, and I know you haven’t even thought about anyone else until now. Look,” She took in another deep breath. “I know how…enthusiastic you can get, but as the hotel’s founder and [First Name]’s friend slash employer…tone it down. The flirting, the dad jokes, and….the romance. I know, I know you love romance! But try to be considerate of [First Name], okay? She’s finally learning how to be a human and I don’t want her to feel pressured or uncomfortable or not understand what you’re doing because you’re moving too fast! She’s really, really oblivious! She doesn’t even know Alastor likes her!”

Lucifer stared at Charlie. “Wait…ARE YOU SERIOUS?! SHE-SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW -”

“Dad, please!” 

“IS SHE REALLY THAT CLUELESS?!”

“Yes.” 

To his dismay, you were. You had absolutely no idea that the Radio Demon was besotted with you. He tried to help you around the greenhouse too, invite you to listen to his broadcasts or walks around the nicer parks in the Pride Ring, all the boring stuff an old timer would think count as trying to be romantic. Nope. Nope, nope, this is not happening. Not on his watch!

He will win you over and promise Charlie that he won’t overdo it when he courted you. But could he at least show you how to make a super cool rubber ducky in his workshop, or take you out for a flight with you in his arms? That’s not overdoing it, right? 

…

Maybe? Or should he take you out for some caramel apple pancakes? 

Taglist

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[areyouwell]

In Tuto Esse

Ch.4

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

Warnings: None

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant!F!Reader

Word Count: 14k

A/N: so this was ready sooner than i thought it would be. but then again if i did everything i wanted to in this chapter it would probably be one of the longest ones i've ever written soooooo sometimes you just gotta snap the chapter plans in two <3

Taglist: @speeedybaby @ltristessedureratoujours @froggieeez @ayamenimthiriel @daddyslittlevillain @chubbyhedgehog @marifilue @galacticglitterglue @salemslostwitch @m1cky-y-y

What an absolute whirlwind the last few days had been. The last few weeks, Logan supposed as he fixed himself a strong cup of coffee, savouring the brief moment of silence, listening to the sound of boiling water sloshing into the mug, the comforting, burnt aroma rising like smoke from the beverage. He’d taken you back. Of course he had. How could he not? You’d taken a bullet for a child you didn’t even know. You’d saved her life at the expense of your own. Well, almost. That was still up for debate as you currently lay motionless beneath the school, hooked up to various machinery to make sure you didn’t actually give your life for little Wildling, despite Jean’s protests.

“How did you find us?” He asked frantically, cradling your limp body against his chest as he all but ran with you to the Blackbird, Wildling a few steps ahead, turning around now and then to make sure he was following. Jean had fallen into step next to him, glancing down from your pale form to Logan’s panic-stricken distraught with no small degree of suspicion. 

“Charles was keeping tabs on you, knew the moment everything went south. What were you trying to accomplish?” she asked savagely, ducking as she lunged up the ramp and into the hold, waving her hand to send various duffle bags and parafanalia flying to the sides. “And who’s this?” She continued, gesturing to the little girl running around the floor, pushing what she could to the side, as little as it was.

“No clue, we call her Wildling.” Logan panted, setting you down on the steel before instantly cradling the wound in your side. He was losing you. He could hear it in the weakness of your pulse, the frigid feeling of your skin, the pallour of your face. He was losing you.

“We? Who the hell is we?” 

“Us. Me and Alec. We don’t know the kid’s name and we don’t know if she can talk so we call her Wildling now please, help her.” He begged, finally looking from your fading visage up to Jean, his brows creasing in obvious fear. “Please…”

Jean hesitated, once again glancing between the two of you, before crouching down next to your dull hair, her hands hovering over your body and closing her eyes, grimacing slightly as she took in the state of your whittling life. 

“Logan…”

“Don’t.”

“She’s not gonna–”

“Just fuckin’ help her, Jean. Do whatever the hell it is you gotta do, but don’t let her die. Don’t you dare let her die.” He snapped, taking your cold hand in his own, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles as if it could bring you back. Grief wrapped its bony claws around his throat, lacerations of loss-borne barbed wire ensnared his heart. He could feel you slipping, like sand through his fingers, he could feel you ebbing away. Fuck.

“There’s a bullet lodged in her gut, and I don’t know if I can pull it out without causing more harm,” Jean explained, Wildling peering at her curiously before scrunching her nose up tightly and bounding over to be back by Logan’s side, looking down at you with hopeless prayers.

“Will she die if it’s left in?” Logan asked, still running his thumb over your knuckles.

“Likely yes. Even if she recovers from the wound, the lead poisoning would kill her.” The redhead continued, not even turning to look as Kitty turned back from her seat pilot’s seat, her eyes widening as she saw just what the hell was going on, too focussed on getting the Blackbird back in the air to listen to the conversation properly.

“Wait… is that–”

“It is,” Jean responded curtly before Kitty could even say your name. 

“And we’re trying to save her because…?”

“Ask Logan.” Once again her words were sharp, before she fell into deep concentration, her fingers flexing slightly as she tried to navigate the bullet from your body, while keeping your body functioning. Logan dully admitted how impressive it was, before his focus was entirely back to you, absently placing a comforting hand on Wildling’s shoulder. You didn’t know the effects you had on the people around you. It was clear to see how oblivious you were to it. And he’d be fucking damned if you died before he could tell you. 

He slowly, hesitantly looked up to where Kitty had placed the jet on autopilot, fully turning in her seat to face him, her gaze curiously expectant. Wildling looked between the two of them, her ears twitching slightly as she sensed the tension in the room. But he didn’t have an explanation for her. He really didn’t. How could he explain that after the last day or so, he’d completely changed his tune? He needed you alive. What for, he didn’t know, but he knew that letting you die here wasn’t an option.

He just didn’t know how to put that into words. 

A sickening crunch caught his attention, dragging his gaze from Kitty back to your wound, where, much to his alarm, incarnadine flowed from your side, swiftly followed by a slick, gore-coated bullet. He wished he could feel relieved. He wished he could feel anything other than deathly fear as the bullet floated from your body to the side, clinking against the ground. But it was out. It was out. Maybe you’d be okay. Maybe you’d survive this. 

Maybe…

“Shit… shit shit!” Jean exclaimed, her eyes screwed tight as she concentrated harder on maintaining your life. “Kitty how far out are we?!” She called back, Logan’s heart racing in his chest. 

“Five minutes, think you can hold her til then?” She shouted back, spinning back to face forward, taking back controls to push the Blackbird to its limits. Logan’s breath caught in his throat as he leaned over to cup the cold side of your neck, your pulse barely thumping against his fingertips. 

“C’mon freakshow, you got so much to do. Think of ‘em. Think of those kids, just like you. You gotta help ‘em. Don’t you fucking dare give up now. You gotta fight, Alec. You still got so much fight in you. Use it.” He urged, not particularly caring if you could hear him or not. He knew nothing got you more fired up than injustice. Than the bullshit the MSR put mutants through. If anything would keep you alive, keep you fighting, it was thinking about that. 

‘I’m so tired, Logan…’

Your words rang in his head, repeating like a broken record. You sounded shattered, fragile like glass in his arms, slicing his heart with your words. You’d done so much, suffered so much, and it still wasn’t enough for you. You were so scared of not making a difference that you were willing to risk it all, leave in the dead of night and track down hundreds of mutants alone. 

But you didn’t have to be alone. Not anymore. You’d come to him for help, and somehow you’d wriggled your way through his defences and nestled yourself in his chest. He couldn’t let you go. 

He wouldn’t.

“We’re nearly there. Just hold on for me. Just hold on,” He implored, whispering your name and smoothing your brow with his thumb, Wildling coming up next to him to clumsily repeat the gesture, careful of her claws against your skin. He would have found it endearing if he could focus on anything other than the fact you were dying. 

“Just hold on…”

That was three days ago, and your status has been up in the air ever since. Hank had helped Jean with your recovery, bandaging your wound and in true creepy scientist fashion, acquiring a vial of your blood for studying. Nobody had been permitted to see you, not even him, and it was driving him crazy. Knowing you were a few feet below him, fighting for your life, whilst he was up above, making himself cups of coffee and smoking himself into an early grave. At least, that’s what would happen, if he could die. He’d managed to distract himself well enough, keeping tabs on little Wildling as she settled into her new environment, calmly explaining why scratching up other kids is bad, and playing nicely with them was good. He understood her, possibly more than anyone else possibly could. She had the instincts of an animal, much like him, exhibiting cat-like behaviours when she believed she was being threatened, or someone went a little too far in whatever game they were playing. 

He’d learnt that she could retract her mutation too, but simply chose not to. He’d only seen her without her little ginger tail and pointed canines once, and that was after a fight with one of the other kids where she’d quite badly harmed them. Her guilt forced her to retreat into her new room, pushing down her instincts and hiding her mutation before Logan had to borderline break down the door to get to her. Why oh why the kids’ rooms had locks on them, he’d never understand, but it was heartbreaking in and of itself that she knew how to use it, and understood that it would make her feel safe. How many times had she had to do that in her life?

How many times had you?

“You’re up early…” 

A honeyed voice broke the silence, and Logan looked up from where he’d been staring into his coffee. He turned to the doorway where Jean stood, her hand braced on the wooden frame, looking at him with a gaze softer than he’d ever experienced before. It made his insides twist. 

“Yeah, well, couldn’t sleep.” He shrugged, offering no further explanation. He knew how she felt about having you here, and it didn’t seem to matter how well he retold the story of what happened that night, she never seemed to understand why he’d bring you here. It was a frustrating, repetitive conversation that drove him mad. 

“You haven’t been sleeping at all, Logan. Not since you got back.” She prodded lightly, taking a few steps further into the kitchen, a hand braced loosely on her hip. “What’s going on?”

He shrugged again. “Nothin’ much. Never was a good sleeper.”

Jean narrowed her eyes, sighing heavily. “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out because my opinion differs from yours. She’s dangerous, Logan. Extremely dangerous. Did you forget why we went after her in the first place? Did you forget the scenes of those murders? The savagery?” She attempted to explain gently, but her light tone only fuelled his frustration further, his hand tightening around his mug. 

“If she’s so damn dangerous then why did she throw herself in the path of a bullet to save a kid she barely knew?” He countered with gritted teeth. “You don’t know her, Jean. You know what was on that slideshow and that’s it, you don’t–”

“Neither do you. I know it probably feels like you do, but you don’t. You don’t know somebody after spending twenty-four hours with them.” Her brows pinched in infuriating understanding, and not so long ago he would have fallen at her feet with just one of those looks. Now it made him want to punch through walls. 

“We’re not having this conversation again.” He stated curtly, tensing his jaw to stop himself from lashing out. Jean sighed again, tucking a strand of her red hair behind her ear. 

“You know she can’t stay.” Though her words were quiet, they were laced with more venom than he’d expect from her. “She’s a killer, Logan ––a serial killer, in fact. And you brought her to the school. With kids. You brought a serial killer here and expect us to help her out?” He could tell she was getting irate, her tone pitching at the end of her question, leaning both hands against the table as if she could implant the very idea into his brain.

Actually, she probably could. 

“I was a killer too and you took me in.” He stated flatly, and Jean blinked, any frustration in her face ebbing away as she skirted around the table, placing a hand on his arm.

“You were different. You were helping Marie when we found you.”

“Alecto was helping Wildling. How is it different?” He countered, fighting the urge to swipe her hand off his arm, her touch cold, calculated. Almost manipulative. 

“You called her something different on the jet. Her name isn’t Alecto, is it?” She asked, raising a thin brow as she caught him out. 

“The hell does it matter?” He hissed, defensive walls erecting in his mind, cautious of her prodding and poking around his brain. You’d told him your name in confidence ––a whispered word in the dark, like a lover’s farewell. You’d told him your story. Perhaps not all of it, but you’d still found enough trust in him to divulge what you could. He’d be damned if he’d betray your trust like that. 

“It doesn’t, I’m just curious.” Her eyes hardened as she stepped back, removing her hand from his arm. Had she seen? Had she seen what had happened between you? The shared passion beneath the blanket of loneliness. A bubble of secure pleasure created by the yearning to not just survive but to live. Could she sense his shift? The sudden wholeness of his heart. The new protective nature simmering just beneath his calm façade. And if she could, why did she look like she despised it?

“Good. Stay curious. And stay the hell outta my head, Jean. I mean it. Don’t wanna have to tell you again.” He growled, and Jean drew up slightly, her jaw tense, gaze fiery.

“Is that a threat?”

“Does it have to be?” He retorted, blood pumping in his veins as if he was ready to jump into a fight. Never did he imagine having to fight Jean. Never did he think there would be a time when he didn’t crave her attention. When he couldn’t stand being around her. The flip gave him whiplash, and he exhaled all the tension in his bones, raking a hand through his hair. “Sorry, ‘m just real tired. I’ll be alright in a few days.” He breathed, leaning against the counter. 

The tension fled from the room as Jean’s eyes softened, her lips pulling into an understanding smile. “I get it. But don’t take too long. I miss the old you.” She whispered, and Logan’s heart reluctantly skipped a beat. Fuck, he was so confused. He thought he was over this. Thought he’d moved on from her, but now she wasn’t trying to pry into his mind, and it didn’t seem like she was playing games with him. The look in her eyes was one of genuine loss, and it messed with his head. Her hand returned to his arm, and he didn’t feel that same urge to pull away when she squeezed slightly, before turning away to leave him to his thoughts. 

‘I miss the old you.’

The old him. He thought she didn’t like the old him. The version of him that would skip town at a moment’s notice. The version of him that pined after her like a lost puppy, begging for any scrap of attention she’d throw his way. Was it him she missed, or the way he made her feel wanted? The way he made her feel desirable. Was she being genuine, or was she just really fucking good at lying? Christ, this was a nightmare. 

And on top of everything else, he still didn’t know just what the hell was going on with you and him. Because that was still a conversation that needed to be had. Was that just sex? Or was there something more there? You were extremely hard to read, your guarded expression a constant mask, he never knew what you were thinking. Did you feel what he was feeling? The slight pull at his heart whenever you were near. The gentle curiosity that maybe this could be something? Was that even possible? Could there be something?

Too many questions. Too many damn questions for seven in the morning. The sun had barely risen and his head had already been fucked with. Usually, the ‘old him’ would have just left. Stolen Scott’s bike and headed out god knows where for god knows how long. The freedom that came with not giving a damn. But now he did. And it scared the fuck out of him. But wasn’t that the him that Jean missed? 

Logan groaned against the oncoming headache throbbing just behind his eyes. This was too complicated. Everything was too damn complicated. Why did you have to waltz into his life? With your endless fire and snippy attitude. Your yearning for freedom born of tragedy. Why oh why did you have to go ask him for help? Couldn’t you have asked Scott? Or Ororo? Why did it have to be him? Why did you get him mixed up in this twisted web of blood-soaked passion? Because he was well and truly stuck, and he couldn’t find the willpower to struggle. 

And like a light in the darkness, Wildling came bounding through the door, leaping onto the table, her tail swishing like a metronome, eyes wide as saucers as she tracked every micro-movement he made. Just like that, his turmoil was shoved to the side, lips quirking in a fond smile as the kid’s ears flickered, her claws scratching into the table’s wooden surface. What did Marie call it? Zoomies? As if this kid didn’t have enough energy, every now and then she’d race through the mansion, bouncing off furniture, ducking and diving under tables and between chair-legs like she was chasing a rat. Usually in the middle of the night, when the rest of the occupants were dead asleep. He’d usually be the one to emerge from his room at the shattering of a vase or breaking of a glass, picking up the pieces and taking her out into the gardens so she could work off some of that energy. 

It was exhausting but adorable, so he did it anyway. 

He raised a brow, slowly placing down his completely untouched mug of coffee, knowing exactly what came next. And like clockwork, Wildling's butt wiggled slightly, before she pounced, claws outstretched, her canines glinting in the lights when her lips split into a feral grin. This had become a well-rehearsed tradition, Logan remaining still until the last possible moment before his arms shot out and caught her in mid-air, caging her against his chest for her to wiggle free. Claws met skin as she laughed in delight, ripping through his shirt as she clawed her way to freedom, sinking her teeth into his bicep. He didn’t mind. It was nothing more than a tickle to him, and if she was enjoying herself, then what was the harm? 

Wildling scrambled up to his shoulders, writhing from his hold as he fought to drag her back down. Her resulting hiss held no heat, her bare feet slipping on the fabric of his singlet in various vain attempts to crawl up onto his head. A fatal mistake. With reflexes she wasn’t expecting, Logan snatched onto her ankle, dragging her from his shoulders to dangle her from his grip, her squeals of delight bouncing off the empty walls of the kitchen, little hands swiping and flailing as she attempted to bend up to latch onto his wrist. He huffed a chuckle when she managed to swing herself up, sinking her claws into his wrist to upright herself. 

“You two seem to be getting along well.”

An oh so familiar voice shattered the playful atmosphere, both Logan and Wildling whipping their heads to the opposite doorway, his heart stopping in his chest. 

You were here. You were okay. Not only that, but you were walking around freely…

You looked a little worse for wear, your hair mussed and slightly matted, complexion still a little pallid with dark circles contouring your eyes and a white bandage wrapped around the left side of your face, but you were here.

“You’re okay…” he breathed, gently setting Wildling down on the floor, the girl tilting her head as she looked at you, eyes wide with awe. He couldn’t articulate the relief he felt, the overwhelming sense of calm seeing you alive. But you couldn’t possibly be fully healed yet. Your mutation didn’t work like that. How much pain were you currently in just standing, let alone wandering the school’s halls. “Shit are you– do you wanna sit? How’re you–”

“I’m fine, Logan. Well, as fine as I can be with this bullshit on my wrist…” you held up your hand for emphasis, and the very blood in his veins ran cold. He knew what that was. He’d seen that very same technology on the necks of all those mutants held captive.

It was a suppressant. Not a huge one, but enough to slow your mutation to the point you could barely manipulate a single drop of blood. It felt like your insides had been stuffed into a box, held under lock and key. Uncomfortably full without the opportunity for release. Everything felt slow, sluggish, and it was a feeling you knew like the back of your hand. It had taken a lot of deep, calming breaths to stop your heart from beating straight out of your chest when you woke up shackled to a bed, the fucking suppressant clasped around your wrist like a manacle. But you didn’t need your mutation to pick a lock. Just a small enough blade, which luckily, whoever had been looking after you left lying on a small medical table right next to your bed. 

Sometimes the fates really did shine in your favour. But only after shitting in your dinner. 

“The fuck…?” He growled, crossing the kitchen to take your wrist in his hand, turning it over in his palm to examine the bracelet. “Why the fuck would they do this?” He looked from your wrist up to your face, suddenly struck with a bolt of lightning as he saw you completely raw. No makeup, no ebony mask, just you. Your hair hung limp, you looked as if you hadn’t slept in three weeks. 

Holy fuck you were gorgeous. 

“Haven’t you heard? I’m a dangerous serial killer with a thirst for human blood. Surprised it’s taken you this long to realise it,” you offered him a grin that didn’t quite meet your eyes. You looked defeated, that same expression you wore the night everything went wrong when you realised all your hard work may have been for nothing. It burned him to see it. The feeling of the bracelet on your wrist only fueled his barely contained rage. “I’m glad to see you’re both okay,” you whispered in a rare moment of vulnerability, and it took all of Logan’s self-control not to cup the side of your face in comfort. “I didn’t–”

Your eyes flew wide open, words caught in your throat as you snatched your hand away from his, arms locking tight by your sides. It was only when you started hovering a few feet off the ground did it register in his brain that it might not actually be you doing this. He locked his gaze with yours, your brows pinching as you gasped for breath, completely powerless.

“Logan step back. Now.” Jean barked, her eyes fixed on you, her hand outstretched as Scott filed in behind her, fingers poised on his sunglasses as if ready to strike. Logan gaped in utter incomprehensible bafflement. 

“The fuck ‘re you doin’?” He spat, completely ignoring Jean’s command and instead stepping between you and the assailants, blocking whatever beam Scott was ready to unleash. 

“She broke out. She fucking escaped and started wandering around the school. There are fucking kids here, Logan. And now a notorious serial killer is just walking amongst them. How can you not see that?” Scott spat, his other hand clenched into a fist as he prepared himself for whatever fight was about to ensue. 

“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? How dangerous can she be with that fuckin’ thing around her wrist? She’s defenseless, Scott!” He barked back, little Wildling bounding up to crouch next to him, her teeth bared in a completely different snarl to the one from before when she was just playing. 

“Yeah? Tell that to Hank who’s currently lying unconscious on the same table she was recovering on.” 

Logan blinked, taking a moment to turn back to you with an incredulous look. But you simply snarled, your eyes as animalistic and feral as Wildling’s. He knew that if you didn’t have that suppressant, they’d both be dead. Or knocked out, at least. 

“Let her go, Jean.” He hissed, his tone taking on a dangerous lilt. 

“Logan–”

“Now.”

Surprisingly enough, after a shared look of suspicion between the two of them, Jean loosened her grip on you, and you crumpled to your knees, breathing hard against the sudden release of tension. Wildling raced to your side, her little hands clutching your arm at while Logan crouched next to you, his own hand settling on your shoulder. 

“Y’alright?” He murmured, wary of the two pairs of eyes watching the interaction between the two of you. You grit your teeth, staring unblinkingly at the floor momentarily, before pushing yourself back up to your feet, viciously shrugging off hit touch and even snatching your arm away from Wildling. 

“I’m fine.” You bit, trying your fucking best not to bend double again in pain, the wound in your side screaming at all the movement. You’d injected yourself with 5mg of morphine to numb the pain before you’d started wandering around, but even that wasn’t quite enough to stem the searing agony from your wound. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” Scott accused, taking a step ahead of Jean as if to shield her from whatever attack you may be planning. 

“If you’d just give her a chance to explain–” Logan started before you interjected. 

“I don’t have to explain anything to these chucklefucks. Just get this fucking bracelet off me so I can leave.” Your voice dripped venom, eyes glaring daggers at his two colleagues, and Logan found himself stuck in the middle. He had loyalties to them, of course he did. They’d fought side by side enough times for him to trust the two of them implicitly on the battlefield, but he knew your situation. He knew your story. And if you would just give each other a damn chance, maybe they’d see you the way he did.

Although, maybe not exactly the way he did. Even he didn’t know about that. 

“And the moment we take that off, we’re all dead. So no.” Scott retaliated, and it was a strange feeling for Logan to suddenly be the mediator in an argument, rather than one of the contestants. 

“Everyone just take a breath and calm down.” He breathed, trying it on himself before he expected the others to do it too. Even Wildling took a deep breath, though her tail was still puffed up and flicking like mad, her ears flattened against her hair. And though you didn’t relax your glare, he watched as your muscles stopped tensing so much, your stance straightening out from the slight crouch you’d prepared yourself with. It was only then that Scott took his fingers away from his glasses, folding his arms across his chest. 

“What the hell is this…?” 

You whipped around, your chest constricting as you found yourself cornered, another mutant with bright white hair cautiously entering the kitchen, her perceptive eyes flickering from Jean and Scott, to Logan and you, before her expression dawned with recognition. “Who let her out?!”

“Nobody, she escaped,” Scott explained oh so helpfully. Logan shoved down the instinct to punch him in the face. 

“She escaped?!” Ororo exclaimed in accusation, her eyes narrowing at Logan. “Was this you?”

“How the hell could this’ve been me, you haven’t let me near the damn elevator, let alone in the med bay!” He countered, wary of your increasing heart rate and breathing. He turned to where you’d backed yourself into a corner, your eyes wild with fight or flight. “It’s okay… they’re not gonna hurt ya.”

“Wasn’t Hank supposed to be looking after her?” Ro continued, looking to Jean and Scott for further explanation. 

“Yeah well, he’s currently unconscious in the med bay. Turns out she doesn’t need her mutation to be just as dangerous.” Jean narrowed her eyes as she spoke, a knife rack moving across the counter just as you made a reach for it. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Not gonna hurt me, huh?” You hissed sarcastically, and Logan shot you a withering look that simply said ‘You’re not helping.’

He took a step back toward you as the other took steps forward, hearing your heart thundering in your chest, it broke his own. This was somewhere you were supposed to feel safe, and yet this was the most scared he’d ever seen you. He’d promised you they’d take you in. They’d look after you. He’d look after you. But this was nothing like how he’d imagined these introductions going. However he didn’t know why he’d expected any different. 

Before a stroke of genius came to him in a single moment. 

“Jean, c’mon. You didn’t save her life for nothin’, right?”

That made the room freeze. He guessed she hadn’t told anyone what happened on the jet ––hadn’t told anyone how you were alive because of her. And from the look of betrayal on Scott’s face, and utter shock on Jean’s, this was the perfect moment to bring it up. 

“You saved her life?”

“What the hell possessed you to do that?”

There was a chorus of confused accusations, but over the din he could sense you settle a little, hesitancy shifting your demeanour as you blinked. 

“You saved my life? Why…?” Though your voice sounded small, it was as if you could stop time. The whole room focused on you again, and it was Jean’s turn to huff in frustration. 

“Logan asked me to.” She said by way of explanation, and your gaze shifted from the redhead back to him, conflict raging in your eyes. He offered you a small, knowing smile with a slight shrug. 

“Couldn’t let ya die, freakshow. Not after you saved her life.” He nodded to Wildling who was peering up at you with nothing but awestruck gratitude, her wide eyes glittering with a sense of wonder you’d only seen once before. On someone else. It made your heart clench. 

“Oh, so she has a nickname now?” Scott slashed the sweet moment in half, and the room returned to fighting amongst themselves. 

“Everyone gets a nickname, Slim.”

“Why don’t I have a nickname?”

“Haven’t thought of one yet.” Logan shrugged dismissively to Ororo, who was all but pouting at the realisation she didn’t have a nickname from Logan. 

“I don’t think you should say mine out loud…” Jean confessed though the corner of her lips quirked into a barely concealed smirk, causing Scott to scoff loudly. 

“Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

It was all you could do just watch the carnage, ensuing chaos you didn’t even cause. And remarkably, you felt all the tension in your body melt away at the realisation that these people weren’t as dangerous as you initially thought they were, and they sure as shit weren’t as threatening. You huffed a single chuckle, before another one bubbled from your chest, and it was a few moments before you were genuinely laughing, eyes screwed shut, head thrown back laughter. Wildling looked up at you with visible concern that you were losing your mind, but you couldn’t stop. Tears lined your eyes as you clutched your stomach, the pain from your side doing nothing to quell your amusement. 

“You guys should start a sitcom, seriously. This shit is gold.” You managed to breathe, clutching the countertop for support as you finally regained control of your relentless giggling. “Sorry, sorry. I know the moment is very serious and everything, but there’s a ‘notorious serial killer’ standing in your kitchen and you’re all arguing over nicknames!” You implored them to see the hilarity of the situation, to which they all fell into contemplative silence, only Logan seemed to be looking at you, his eyes bright with something you couldn’t quite interpret. 

“Yeah, well… this ‘notorious serial killer’ doesn’t seem as dangerous as we once thought…” Scott admitted begrudgingly, and you chortled again, snorting a laugh through your nose. 

“That’s just what happens when you collar a beast,” you rolled your eyes, holding up your wrist for emphasis, still finding this whole situation ridiculous. “But, now that introductions are out of the way, how about we discuss getting this thing off me, hm?” You raised a brow, and Logan’s chest inflated with pride. You weren’t lashing out how he’d expected you to. In fact, you’d managed to set the whole room at whatever ease was possible simply by laughing at them. You were constantly going on about the trouble your mouth got you into, but he guessed you never realised how good it was at getting you out of trouble too. 

You really did only acknowledge your own flaws, didn’t you?

“Look, this isn’t personal–”

“How could this not be personal?!” You exclaimed, interrupting Ororo, who took a steadying breath. 

“We just… we don’t know where you stand. With the whole… killing, thing.”

You leaned back, pretending to examine your cracked nails. “It varies from moment to moment, I’ll admit.” 

The whole room eyed you as if they couldn’t tell whether or not you were joking, and Logan had to close his eyes and breathe before he shook your shoulders and begged you not to make jokes at a time like this. But you sighed heavily, dropping your hand by your side. 

“Look, I don’t have a quarrel with any of you. Sure, you tracked me down and interrupted my work which was really fucking annoying by the way. And I may have knocked one of you out, but I won’t apologise for that on account of doing Stray here a favour–” you nodded to Logan, who rolled his eyes playfully, a grin pulling at his lips as Scott spluttered in disbelief. 

“Oh, he gets a nickname too?!”

“And so far, I don’t particularly want to fight any of you, especially with my mutation currently shoved to the side. I already tried to kill one of you and it didn’t go so well for me. At least, it didn’t at the time,” you smirked, sending Logan a provocative, heated look that he knew you did deliberately, just to get a rise out of the rest of the room.

Troublesome mouth indeed.

“But I really don’t wanna interrupt your daisy-chain-making, trauma-bonding, friendship-is-magic bullshit for any longer than I have to, so just get this shit off me, and I’ll be on my way, okay? Because quite frankly, it makes me want to throw up.” 

Logan had never seen a mic-drop like it. You’d completely undermined his entire team’s way of life in one fell swoop. And whilst he would argue that it was much more than all that, you’d kind of hit the nail on the head. He’d had exactly the same thoughts when he’d first arrived. Couldn’t understand why anyone would choose this way of life. But slowly, one by one, these people had wormed their way into his heart.

Just like you had. 

“Well… hard to argue with that. I don’t particularly want her around longer than she needs to be.” Jean commented with an air of snobbery that made you wonder if Logan was completely blind. How the hell could this woman be the apple of his eye? Sure she was hot, but so were many other women, mainly the ivory-haired one standing on the opposite side of her. Now she was hot. 

Jean’s eyes narrowed to you, and you tilted your head in faux innocence, knowing exactly what she’d just done. You’d left your thoughts wide open for her, not that you could do much against her mind-prying anyway. But you revelled in how she drew herself up and puffed out her chest slightly, drawing Scott’s eye. And you revelled in the way her jaw tensed in frustration when Logan continued looking at you.

Oh, this would be fun. Maybe you should stick around for a while. 

“We should take her to the Professor.” Ororo mused thoughtfully, and you rolled your eyes emphatically. Could these people do nothing without their precious Professor’s permission?

“He’s already aware of the situation. He’s waiting in his office.” Jean said stiffly, folding her arms beneath her chest to emphasise her breasts, and you barely managed to stifle your laughter, wondering what the female version of a dick-swinging contest was. 

Scott and Ororo made to step towards you but were stopped by a savagely hissing Wildling, her claws scratching against the ground, back arched defensively as if to strike if they got any closer. Logan couldn’t suppress his smirk. 

“Well, that told you.” He uttered, and you snorted as you recognised your exact words from the cabin, catching a look of bewilderment on Jean’s face. You were enjoying this far too much.

“Alright then, let’s go see the man himself. Not sure what good it’ll do…” You huffed, holding up your hands in surrender as you walked past Wildling, Logan falling into step by your side, following Scott and Jean’s lead. 

“That went well.” He murmured sarcastically, and you had to control yourself not to chuckle again. 

“One good thing came out of this whole debacle though,” you glanced up at Logan who simply raised his brow in question. “Jean could barely keep her eyes off you.”

Your self-satisfied smile didn’t quite seem genuine, and Logan wondered, if only for a moment, whether or not you were irritated by that. But what felt more pressing, was the fact it didn’t boost his ego like it would have done weeks ago. If anything, he wanted to reassure you. To tell you she was just stressed in the moment, since he was the one closest to you. 

But he couldn’t seem to find any truth to his thoughts. 

You felt like you were under complete scrutiny, which you supposed made sense since you likely were. Every pair of eyes trained on you, tracking each micromovement you made, readying themselves for some kind of master plan of attack. Not sure what they expected you to do, considering you didn’t have half of your vision and your mutation was suppressed, but you took a little pride in the fact they felt like they couldn’t relax around you. Good, keep it that way. 

Charles Xavier wasn’t quite what you were expecting. With the way his reputation had grown, you were more expecting some imposing, intimidating-looking man, possibly wearing a nice suit with a white cat on his lap, but that was more likely because of how much you’d villanised him in your head. But this man looked… kinder. Understanding. And though he looked at you with the same sort of scrutiny, it wasn’t in the same way a prey animal would observe a predator. This was more like he was trying to understand you. Who you were and why you were here. 

As if he didn’t know.

And you had a horrible feeling he would try and poke around your head, which wouldn’t be a fun time for anyone involved. 

Some new faces you hadn’t met yet had gathered in his office, two younger-looking girls, one with a white streak in her hair and the other who wore a graphic t-shirt of a band you’d never heard of before. You’d heard them referred to as Shadowcat and Rogue, which you couldn’t help rolling your eyes at. You knew everyone else’s names, why only now were they getting cagey?

You’d refused Charles' offer to take a seat, choosing instead to stand opposite his desk, arms folded across your chest, trying your fucking best not to scratch and rub around the bracelet on your wrist, its effects now taking an extremely uncomfortable toll on your body. It was the same feeling as holding in a scream you desperately wanted to release, your entire body taut and tense, muscles twitching irritably. How the fuck did you spend years with this feeling and not go crazy?

“You’ve caused quite the stir around here, Alecto.” Even his voice was laced with knowing, like he was reading your life story in an open book, dumped straight onto his desk face up, and you had to fight not to roll your eyes again.

“I aim to please.” You responded flatly, eyes hard as you tried to imagine his head exploding. Maybe if you concentrated hard enough, you’d siphon what little you could of your mutation despite the bracelet. But, predictably, nothing happened, and he only smiled in infuriating understanding. 

“I apologise for our unorthodox methods of keeping the school safe,” he nodded to your wrist, and you had the urge to hide it behind your back. “But you must understand, this situation was rather difficult to predict. As are you.” 

Your eyes narrowed, head tilting to the side every so slightly. “You have two telepaths. You could know my every move if you wanted to.”

“We don’t like to exploit our mutations in that way.”

“Why? It’s your only advantage in this world. You especially.” You jabbed, looking pointedly at the fact he was in a wheelchair now. It was a low blow, you knew that, but at the same time, fuck this guy. 

“Alec…” Logan grumbled a subtle warning for you not to press. And you responded by completely ignoring him, something he tried really hard not to take personally. 

“It’s alright Logan. If I recall, you said something similar when you saw met. Called me ‘Wheels’, I believe.” Charles sent him another one of those knowing looks, and you snorted a laugh, clamping your lips together to stop yourself from laughing harder. 

It was nice to see you smiling, though it may have been at his expense, and he knew why Charles had said that because it had worked like a charm. You were already more relaxed than you were when you walked into his office. He wanted you to feel like you weren’t alone. Like you had some kind of kinship here, surrounded by people just like you, and he struggled to see how your relationship with either Tisiphone or Magaera was anywhere as close as his was to the rest of the team.  

“Can we stay on topic, please?” Jean interjected, her tone as impatient as her tapping foot. Getting you out of here seemed to be the only thing on her mind, and if Logan hadn’t spent twenty-four hours getting to know you and working alongside you, he had no doubt he’d be agreeing with her without much thought. 

But he had his own agenda. One that had nothing to do with sleeping with you, surprisingly. Despite that night being nothing short of incredible, Logan wanted to keep you around for more than just that. He saw how lonely you were. Saw how you faced the world with nobody by your side. You were different to Tisiphone, who seemed ready to melt his very bones without so much as a second thought. And whilst yes, you had tried to kill him once, he was also hyper-aware of the fact you felt as if you had no choice. You were trapped in a life chosen for you. And he’d be damned if he let you rot in a cage. 

“Very well. Your injuries were severe when you came to us–”

“I had no choice in that, by the way. I didn’t come here, I was dragged.” You interrupted sharply, sending a glare in Logan’s direction, and his gut twisted with the realisation he’d contributed to that cage. Once again your choices had been taken from you. Somebody who valued freedom above all else. He dragged his eyes from yours, choosing instead to focus on the floorboards.

“When you arrived, then. Jean and Hank managed to patch you up and monitor your well-being until you woke up a few hours ago. You have them to thank for your recovery.” Charles nodded to Jean in the absence of Hank, who you presumed had been taken to some kind of bed to sleep off the harsh hit to the back of his head. Honestly, you hadn’t planned on hitting him so hard, but without the use of your mutation, you sort of overshot. But even the implication that you needed to thank any of these people burned your very blood. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask for any of this. If anything, you’d never regretted asking Logan for help more than at this very moment. You should have just knocked him the fuck out and walked away. 

“Once again, something I didn’t ask them to do. You expect me to be grateful for what you’ve all ‘done for me’. Are you out of your fucking mind? You’ve done nothing for me, apart from get in my way. You’ve taken me from my team, suppressed my mutation, insulted me, berated me, and now you want me to thank you?!” You barked incredulously, letting out a bitter laugh as you turned to each mutant in the room individually, assessing the situation and the likelihood of you getting out of here not busted up. 

And Logan could sense it. Could sense how you’d shifted once again, your eyes carefully examining the room and its inhabitants. You knew most of their abilities, maybe only Marie and Kitty being the only two loose cannons in the room. At least, to you. 

“If we hadn’t done what we did, you’d be dead,” Scott said flatly, and you laughed again. 

“So what? People die all the time. Mutants die all the time. Why am I any different? I should have died in that field and yet here I am, forced into a room with ignorance screaming at me from every corner. You have no idea what’s really out there. You have no idea what these people are doing to us. Only Logan knows because he had the fucking decency to listen, which is the bare fucking minimum if you ask me. You tried to kill me,” you jabbed a finger in Scott’s direction, and Jean stepped a little closer to him. “You immobilised me in a kitchen whilst I’m borderline completely defenceless,” you continued, now turning that finger on Jean, who simply raised a thin brow in challenge. “And you,” you whirled back to Charles, eyes bleeding venom. “You abandoned me. Deemed me too dangerous for your little school because my powers were beyond my control. A man who’d sworn to help teach the young and vulnerable turned his back on me. Well, I’m in control now, except you’ve fucking collared me.” 

Logan watched as grim recognition dawned on Charles’ face. So he did know you. And Logan knew everything you’d said was true in how Charles lowered his head and whispered your name. 

“I didn’t know–”

“Bullshit. You’re one of the most powerful telepaths in the world. Of course you knew.” You spat, barely allowing the room to breathe before you turned your attention back to Logan. “This is the man you look up to? A man who’s lied to you since the beginning. He knew who I was from the start, yet sent you all after me knowing what I coud do. He sent you to your deaths, only you can’t die, so that worked out pretty well for you, huh? 

You’re all just weapons to him. Weapons to point toward his enemies so he can claim victory over them. Don’t you get it? You’re just as much a part of a system as I was. Only your cycle of violence doesn’t stop.”

“And yours stops when every human is dead, right?” Logan countered, his patience waning rapidly. “When there’s nobody left but us mutants.”

“Doesn’t that sound ideal to you?”

“It sounds like genocide to me.”

“Who’s side are you on? You heard what they were saying about us. About you. Fucking breeding programmes, Logan! They treat us like cattle and you’re saying you don’t want that to end?!”

“I’m sayin’ there’s a way to end it without massacring millions of innocents.” 

“They’re guilty by association.”

“What about the mutants with human parents? We got a few of ‘em here. You gonna explain to those kids why their parents had to die?” He countered, watching you fall into furious silence. Whilst he found the bracelet inhumane, he was currently a little thankful for it, because he had the feeling you wouldn’t have been so up for the argument if you could silence him with a single thought. 

And neither of you had noticed the rest of the room readying themselves for action if needs be. Scott had his fingers to his glasses, Storm’s hands outstretched by her sides. Rogue had removed a glove from her hand, Kitty crouched down to the floor. And Jean? She hadn’t taken her eyes off you, only barely glancing at the Professor now and then, her brows furrowed. They were arguing as well, and it looked like she was losing. 

Charles uttered your name to catch your attention, and holy shit did it work, your head whipping back to where he was sitting at his desk, eyes narrowing. 

“Don’t call me that.” You hissed, and he held up his hands in apology. 

“Alecto, then. I’m going to give you a choice here. You can stay with us for a while, see what we do here, understand our methods and our way of life, and remove the bracelet. Or you can leave and go back to your team and see if they have any way to remove it. But you’ll find it can’t be merely slashed off.” 

Logan blanched, eyes widening in barely concealed bafflement. Scott spluttered in protest, and it finally became clear what Jean’s silent argument was about, her jaw tense with subdued rage. She was very clearly against this idea. 

“I could just agree to your terms, get this bracelet off, kill most of you and walk out of here unharmed.” You shrugged as if it were the obvious thing in the world. Which it probably was.

“You could. But you won’t.” Charles explained, and your eyes narrowed again.

“And why’s that?”

Xavier glanced at Logan, a small knowing smile pulling at his lips. “You just won’t. Now, let’s get this thing off you. Jean?”

“Woah woah woah, I haven’t agreed to anything yet!” You took a step back as Jean took a reluctant step forward, fishing in her pockets for the circular key, grabbing your flailing wrist in her hand. 

“You put one foot wrong, you’re dead.” She hissed, and you rolled your eyes at her dramatics. 

“Right back atcha, toots.” You said it before you’d even thought about it, realising you’d never fucking said that before in your life. But the man who had and seemed to say it regularly threw an amused glance in your direction, and you bit down your smile. At least, while you still had the control to do so, because all at once, the bracelet fell away, and you felt like you were breathing for the first time. 

The tension in your body melted away as you felt your powers surge through your nerves, your blood singing with freedom as it danced through your veins, eyes glowing with a sanguine song, so strong it was almost overwhelming. You gritted your teeth as you fell to one knee, fighting not to unleash your mutation on the people. They’d taken a risk, and you could appreciate that. And if this were to truly work, you’d have to pay back their borderline misplaced trust. So you'd fight your instincts, let your powers run riot in your blood and your blood alone, your muscles pulsing with strength, your senses sharpening with adrenaline, your pulse like a beating drum in your ears. 

Logan didn’t bother to fight the urge to crouch by your side, watching as your pallid complexion regained colour, the light returned to your eyes. It was spectacular, though a little worrisome as you appeared to be in pain. He’d never experienced one of these collars, and he truly hoped he never would because it would most likely kill him, but the way your eyes focused on the ground demonstrated that this was not the first time you’d dealt with the sudden surge of power. 

“Feelin’ better?” He asked lowly, his hand settling atop your shoulder. You really couldn’t figure him out. One moment he was fighting you on moral ethics, the next he was asking you how you were feeling and putting a comforting hand on your arm. You didn’t understand him, and you didn’t understand your body’s reaction to him either. Why did you want him to keep that hand there for eternity? Why did you never want him to move away from you? Why had you come to him for help?

“Yeah, thanks.” You relaxed your jaw, moving it around slightly to loosen the muscles as you stood, Logan following your lead. You needed to get out of this room. You needed time to think, to process. You had no idea what just happened, or why. Why Charles had offered for you to stay. Maybe it was some fucked up shot at redemption, hell if you knew. But you’d entertain it. For now, at least. Until you got bored or the pull of your team became too much to bear. They were technically your family after all. But Monkey would be safe while the others thought you dead. 

At least, you kind of hoped they thought you were dead. 

“Hey Jean…” You kept your eyes on Logan as you called for the woman who had once held his heart. You’d seen how she’d looked at him, and there was definitely some kind of confused longing there. So why not stir things up a little? 

Your wicked little grin set Logan’s heart aflame and his teeth on edge. As Charles had said, you were unpredictable, so just what the hell were you about to do? And when you sent him a wink before turning around and heading towards the door, he knew he was screwed.

“You’re really missing out on that one.” Briefly meeting her eyes, you watched in sick satisfaction as her brows creased in confusion before the fury of realisation flared in her face. And you didn’t stick around long enough to decipher the roaring cacophony of voices as you left the room, accusations flying left and right before the door closed behind you.

It was late evening by the time the argument in Charles’ office had settled down enough, Jean having stormed out with an accusatory Scott hot on her heels, his arms flying in all different directions. It had been a dirty move from you, but Logan couldn’t deny he enjoyed watching the chaos unfold, despite the argument being focused around him. He didn’t confirm anything, but at the same time, he didn’t deny anything either. And the entire team looked exhausted by the time they filed out, Logan borderline pushed Kitty out the door as he closed it with his back, leaving just him and Charles alone. What you’d said had been stuck in his head, replaying your words like a carousel in his mind. And if he didn’t confront Charles about it now, it would keep him awake. 

“I suppose you have questions.” Charles broke the silence first, turning to face the window, the orange light of the sunset bathing him in a glow of hellfire. 

“Yeah… a few. Why didn’t you tell us?” He thought he’d start easy, since jumping into a slew of accusations hadn’t exactly worked for him in the past. It had been a learning curve for him, but one he was more than accustomed to by now. Charles’ heavy sigh fanned the window pane, fogging the glass before it cleared away in moments.

“I wasn’t sure. There aren’t many blood manipulators, but I met one a long, long time ago. Some twenty years, I think.” He mused almost to himself, and Logan folded his arms, pushing against the door he was leaning on to cross the office and sit on one of the sofas, his elbows leaning heavily on his thighs as he once again stared at the floorboards. 

“You said, before this whole thing, you didn’t get to her in time. Assumin’ she’d the same one, what happened?” He asked a little sharper than he’d intended to. But he wanted answers. Too many truths had been concealed, and some could have got his friends killed. So yeah, he was a little fucking frustrated. 

“The same thing that always happens. Her mutation awakened. But with devastating consequences. By the time I arrived, nothing was left of her family but bloodstains on the walls. It was much like those images in the slideshow. And she couldn’t have been older than five.” His voice was filled with so much regret it made Logan wonder if he was telling him everything. And, knowing Charles, he probably wasn’t. 

“So… what? You just turned your back on her?” Logan hissed, his jaw aching from how hard he was gritting his teeth. The thought of you wandering around the world at such a young age, terrified out of your mind of what you could do… 

It hurt. 

“I worked with her for almost a year. Taught her what control I could, but it’s like her mutation calls to blood. It wants to manipulate, to bend, to control. With every drop, she couldn’t seem to help herself. She was growing more and more frustrated by the day. I only took my eyes off her for a minute…” Charles trailed off, his eyes trained on the younger students playing a game of tag in the gardens, shrieking giddily as the one who was ‘it’ chased them all around. A touching scene, and one you could have been a part of if he hadn’t been so damn careless. “She was gone. Took off. I tried to track her, but I taught her how to hide her mutation from others, and now she was using it against me. By the time I had Cerebro… 

“It was my failings that got her into this life ––my neglect. I couldn’t help her the way she needed and it cost her a life of freedom. But you can, Logan. There was one reason and one reason alone she didn’t kill us all and walk out of here.”

Logan wasn’t stupid. He knew he was the reason, but he also knew it wasn’t just him. He’d told you how much his friends meant to him. How close of a family they were. You’d understood almost immediately they weren’t just colleagues or associates. Even Scott. These people saved his life, and offered him friendship, a home. And what stray dog doesn’t want that?

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be…” he mumbled, the weight of Charles’ words heavy on his shoulders. As much as he cared about you, he didn’t want your fate to be on his conscience. He wanted a better life for you. Fuck, he didn’t particularly want you to leave, but having that whole decision riding on him…?

It really made him want to skip town. Just disappear and return after a couple months, maybe a few years who knows. Isn’t that the version of him Jean said she missed?

“You’re right, it’s a lot of responsibility.” Charles agreed, to Logan’s chagrin. 

“Outta my head, Chuck.”

Charles rumbled a chuckle, turning from the gardens to regard Logan where he was sitting. “Apologies, your thoughts are often quite loud. But the mere fact you care for her means I don’t have much to worry about. You’re a good man, Logan. Maybe you could make an honest woman of her.”

Logan rolled his eyes dramatically, standing from his seat and glancing out the window, his heartwarming as he watched those kids change the game in a split second, now engaging in some imaginary fantasy battle. If only your childhood could have consisted of things such as this. Maybe you wouldn’t be so hellbent on the destruction of humanity…

Or maybe you would. Who was he to say?

With a heavy sigh, he nodded goodbye to Charles, running a hand through his hair as he stepped out into the hallway, his mind a whirlwind of emotions, thoughts and intentions. To the point where he didn’t even see Jean lingering in the lounge, pretending to tend to a fire that had already been lit. The warmer months were finally over, and the weather had finally crossed into the rainy, cold season. Wind picking up, clouds overhead. Only today had been a nice midpoint between sunshine and storm clouds. Marie was always going on about that literature technique where the weather reflects the mood. He felt she’d go crazy with pride if he brought it up. 

“You really want her to stay, don’t you?” Jean broke the silence, finally setting aside the poker now the flames were climbing to her satisfaction. “It doesn’t matter what she did, because you spent twenty-four hours with her and she completely changed you.” She spoke absently as if not speaking to him. But since nobody else was in the room, a nice change from the usual hum of life, he assumed he was the only one she could be talking to. 

“Yeah, I do. But she didn’t change me, Jean. I’m still me.” He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. He didn’t want to have this conversation so soon after the meeting. He didn’t even know where you’d run off to, and he needed to find you. He couldn’t explain why, he just did. 

Jean sighed, sitting back on her heels in front of the hearth. “I suppose sleeping with random strangers is very reminiscent of the old you.” Her tone was airy and careless, but there was an underlying spitefulness that Logan really couldn’t understand. He could get her not liking you because of your methods and ideology, but not liking you because he’d slept with you? That made absolutely no sense.

“Don’t see how that’s any’ve your concern.” He grumbled, crossing the room to lean against the wall next to the fireplace. It was a low blow, and one he refused to rise to, but it sure as shit irked him. So what if he slept with you? Sure, maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but in the moment, he didn’t give a shit. And truthfully, he still didn’t give a shit. 

“I just wonder why you really want her around. Sex is a good distraction, after all.” She sent him a look over her shoulder. A look that would have made him weak at the knees a month ago. And whilst it still made him feel warm, he didn’t have the same ‘I want to jump your bones’ reaction he used to. He wouldn’t spend the rest of the day in a bad mood because of Scott’s existence. 

“I’m not discussin’ this with you.”

“Oh come on, Logan. The entire mansion knew how you felt about me. Even the students. And suddenly you’re not interested anymore because someone new and exciting walks through the door?” Jean stood from her knees, smoothing down her t-shirt of any creases she may have created. 

“‘S that what this is about? You’re mad because I no longer want to sleep with you?” He accused a little harsher than he meant to, and Jean scoffed in response, folding her arms across her chest. 

“I’m just saying it’s not hard to see the correlation.” She retorted dismissively. 

“Don’t you always say ‘correlation doesn’t always mean causation’? I never understood what that meant ‘til now. I was right here, for years. And you wanted nothin’ to do with me. An’ now all of a sudden you’re all torn up cuz I’ve moved on?” Whatever he said about not rising to the bait had been thrown out the window.

“You moved on to a girl you’ve known for less than five minutes!” It was almost cathartic to see her get as worked up as he was, her collected façade fraying at the seams. 

“I haven’t moved on to her, Jean, Christ! We had sex, it meant nothing.” He huffed in exasperation, the scent of frustration heavy in the air. Frustration, lavender and–

“Aww, you wound me, Stray.” 

Copper. 

Your voice wove through the tension, curling around his anger like a flute soothing a snake. And whilst he found himself relaxing, he watched as Jean tensed further, her spine straightening tenfold. 

He’d never seen you so at ease, leaning against the doorframe with a lazy, entertained smirk, nursing a mug of god knows what in both your hands as if you were trying to warm up. You’d changed into a pair of low-hanging sweatpants he’d seen on Kitty a few times, and a graphic shirt he knew belonged to Ororo. Considering nobody was particularly happy with you hanging around, they all seemed surprisingly accommodating towards you. 

“How long have you been standing there?” Jean asked sharply, her eyes narrowing in a way that made Logan want to step between you. But for who’s sake, he couldn’t discern. 

“Not long,” you shrugged, standing up straight and heading over to sit on the arm of the couch. “But long enough to hear that our little midnight tryst meant nothing to Claws. And here I was hearing wedding bells and sending out invitations. Guess I’ll put the florist on hold.” You sighed with faux dejection, peering into the contents of your mug longingly. 

Jean ground her teeth together. “You’re incredibly grating, you know that?”

You just snorted a laugh, eyeing her with that same lazy smirk. “Oh honey, you think this is bad? Just wait til you see what else my mouth can do,” you paused momentarily, pretending to think. “Although… I suppose Logan could fill you in on that.” 

Logan almost choked on his saliva, his eyes blowing wide before he had to clamp his lips together to stop himself from cackling.

“You’re disgusting.” Jean sneered, looking you up and down with an appraising eye, her nose scrunching in revulsion. 

“And you’re jealous.” You shot back with a sing-song tone, swirling your mug in your hands, raising a curious brow at her. 

“Of you? You’re insane.” Though she did take a step back from you, her eyes flaring with the realisation that you could see right through her. 

“Disgusting, insane, c’mon. You can do better than that. But you might want to get some air and cool off. Your blood’s boiling.” You glanced at her up and down, giving her a look of venomous innocence. Jean clamped her mouth shut as if internally debating whether or not to bind your limbs to your body again, but one quick look at Logan’s face of warning and she seemed to decide against it. 

“Fucking psycho bitch…” she hissed as she stormed out, and you didn’t bother to dodge to the side as she deliberately shouldered past you, your hands moving quickly to save the contents of your mug that Logan was only now able to smell was tea. 

“That’s more like it,” you gave her a wink over your shoulder, and Logan released a heavy sigh. Of relief or exhaustion, he didn’t know, but at least that conversation was over. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He raised a brow as you sipped your drink, humming absently at the flavour. “Yeah? For what?”

“Saving you from an argument that looked like it was about to turn nasty. Trouble in paradise? I’m not about to pretend I wasn’t eavesdropping the whole time.” You grinned unapologetically, and though Logan knew he should be irritated, but he couldn’t find a lick of frustration with you. 

“Not about to pretend I didn’t know you were there.” He didn’t. But he wasn’t about to admit that. And the way you narrowed your eyes told him you knew he was lying. Neither of you decided to bring it up.

The room fell silent, your eyes focused on the crackling of the flames, finding comfort in the non-conformity of it all. You couldn’t predict the patterns of fire. Didn’t know where the next ember would pop, or the next spark would rise. Didn’t know when it would flare to life or decide to die down. There was comfort in chaos. 

It was where you thrived. Not in places like this, where the quiet was stuffy and suffocating. Not when your senses didn’t have to constantly be alert. You didn’t like the feeling of so-called “safety”, which was part of the reason you enjoyed riling up Jean so much. She was dangerous, and as much as you didn’t like her, you certainly enjoyed that much about her. 

“How’re you holdin’ up?”

“About what I said…”

You both broke the silence simultaneously, even the hearth joining your voices with a sudden crack. A small smile graced your lips, huffed laughter rippling in your tea as he cleared his throat a little awkwardly. It was cute, you thought, the way he slightly shifted from foot to foot. 

“Charles, uh. Charles told me. What happened when you were a kid.”

And just like that, your good mood soured. Barely able to disguise your shocked rage, your spine straightened, defensive walls locking down around your heart and soul. “He had no right to tell you that.”

“But he did all the same.” Logan attempted to soothe. He didn’t want to lie to you, and though this conversation was about to be just as painful as the one he had with Jean, this one needed to happen. “Look, he failed you before. Didn’t know where to look, didn’t know how to find you. But give him a second chance an–”

“It wasn’t just him, Logan. Sure, Charles was the first, but in time everyone turns their backs on the kids they can’t help. And if they can’t help them, they try to tame and use them. After a while, you just come to expect it.” You avoided his gaze, choosing instead to stare into the murky brown liquid in the mug you held as if it would somehow yield the answers you sought. 

“Not everyone is like that.”

“No? You never had somebody turn their back on you? Or you turn your back on them?” You asked, and Logan tensed his jaw, giving you the answer you needed. “Exactly. This world is cruel. And whilst I know I can’t put a stop to it completely, trying to stem that cruelty where I can became a purpose. And if that means the eradication of the human race, then so be it.”

“What makes mutants so different? You were a street kid, I know you’ve seen some fucked up shit from both sides. Mutants can be just as cruel, so why are they so different?” He urged, fighting the instinct to set your mug aside and take your hands in his own. He had to hold onto the hope that you didn’t actually think this and that you were holding onto resentment because it was all you had. 

“Because the only people who’ve given me any sense of belonging are those mutants. You may think we’re cruel, and our methods are fucked up, but those people saved my life. They took me in after the world turned its back on me. After the human who claimed to love me branded me a slave and sold me off as fucking cattle. I was passed around humans like a fucking joint. Sold from this family to that, from one organisation to another. Fight pits, prostitution, thievery, bounty hunter. You name it, I did it. All for somebody else’s profit and never for me.” You drew in a shaky breath, cursing the burning of your eyes, the damp on your lashes, the tremor in your hands. You could feel the collar’s weight on your neck, the itch of friction burn on your collar bones. The blood down your back from where you tried time and time again to claw it off, nails sinking into soft, scarred flesh. “Mutants freed me from that hell. Mutants like Tiss and Mags. They freed me and whilst we’re not quite the same as your cushy little family here, they’re all I have. Monkey is all I have. So don’t sit there and tell me mutants can be just as cruel because, from my experience, they’re not a patch on the suffering a human can inflict.”

Having had enough of ignoring his instincts, Logan stepped forward, bending down on one knee to take the mug from your trembling hands and set it on the coffee table. 

“You’ve been dealt the shittiest deal, I know that,” he finally took your hands, his thumbs smoothing over the bones of your scarred knuckles. “But there are other ways of puttin’ a stop to this. Not everyone has to die. There are innocents too. There always are.”

You stared at the way his hands had enveloped yours, the gentle caress of his fingers, a touch you were so unfamiliar with and yet already crave so much more. “How do you do it?” You whispered, still unable to meet his gaze.

“Do what?”

“The right thing. All the fucking time. Doesn’t it drive you crazy? How fucking shit this world is? Don’t you want to make them suffer? For everything they’ve done to us? For everything they’re doing to us? To kids?” Your question hung in the air, caught in the static tension between you. 

“Yeah. I do. But if I started, I’d never  stop.” He answered honestly, ducking his head to finally catch your eye, his breath stilling in his lungs as he saw right through your furious façade and straight into the terrified girl beneath.

“Maybe that’s a good thing…”

“I’ve stained my hands enough times to know it isn’t.” 

You fell silent, contemplating his words. Had he been in this position before, right where you are now? Had he felt this same kind of all-consuming rage? “Fuck…” you muttered, knowing he had a good point. 

“I know. It’s frustratin’ when someone forces you to see a different perspective.” He knew all too well how it fucks with the mind.

“I haven’t seen anything yet.” You pointed out, though your glare held no actual heat. 

“‘Yet’ is good.” His lips quirked into a small smirk. Maybe Charles was right. Maybe he did have a shot at saving you from yourself. And if the way you rolled your eyes was anything to judge by, he was succeeding. 

“Shut up…” You forced yourself to look away from his suddenly strikingly handsome face, choosing instead to find interest again in the fire. A tobacco-scented huff of laughter fanned the side of your cheek, and regrettably, you couldn’t find the will to continue staring into the flames. Your gaze dragged reluctantly back to his features, suddenly hyper aware of his hands in yours. Of his face barely inches from your own. 

“How’s the wound?” He murmured, eyes flickering over your features, drinking you in as if to memorise the valleys and plains of your face, gaze lingering on your lips for longer than you’d dare admit. 

“It’ll heal in around a week or so. I’ll be fine.” You whispered back, dragged from your internal debate over whether or not you should pull away by the borderline gravitational tug of his intentions. This felt different to the logger’s cabin. This wasn’t two people finding comfort in each other after surviving a battle together. There was no threat here to excuse your actions. No rush of adrenaline to explain them. 

“Good.”

Logan couldn’t be bothered to argue with himself. He didn’t care if it was a bad idea. Something about you drew him in, and like a damned moth to an open flame, he welcomed the doomed desire that came with it. The first touch of your lips was electrifying, and he sucked a gasp through his nose as you too gave in. Eyes fluttering shut, your fingers dragged from his hands up over his arms, nails lightly scratching up his neck to weave into his hair, making a home in his thick locks. 

You hadn’t realised how badly you craved his touch. You were mildly aware of it, sure. But when he kissed you like there was nobody else on the planet, when he savoured your lips the way one does with the last bite of a meal, you couldn’t deny it. And when you parted your mouth for him, you felt a surge of something burst through your chest. A searing, agonising thrumming in the centre of your chest. 

Logan’s fingers gently pried at the bandage you’d haphazardly wrapped around your left eye, softly pulling at the fabric until it came loose in his hand, falling away from your face. A stuttered exhale flew from your lips as he drew back a fraction, just enough for your breaths to mingle as one as he traced the outline of the scar with his fingertips, hazel eyes meeting yours. 

“Pretty…” he murmured absently, and your eyes widened, a bashful smile of pure, unadulterated beatitude pulled at your disobedient lips. Logan drank in your expression, a surprised smile of his own gracing his features. “Yeah? Like it when I call you pretty?”

You wanted to slap the self-satisfied grin from his face, but the butterflies in your stomach prevented you from doing so. “I just… don’t hear it very often.”

“Better get used to it, Alleycat.” You barely had time to register yet another new nickname before his lips were sealed back to yours, an unmistakable urgency now fuelling his movements and a pace change you were more than happy to dance with. 

With a slight push against your chest, you let yourself fall into the sofa behind with a soft thud, your hands never leaving his hair as he fell forward with you, fingers roaming beneath Ororo’s graphic t-shirt, careful to avoid the wound still raw in your side. You thought it would hurt more, but maybe you were just too drugged by his attention to notice the pain. Goosebumps prickled your skin, your thighs caging his hips as you locked your ankles around his waist, dragging a low, breathy groan from his chest. 

He separated from your lips, the taste of his tongue still lingering in your mouth as he littered kisses up the side of your jaw and down your neck, igniting a heat within you thought had long since faded. But then you remembered the cabin. You remembered the way he could make you feel with his fingers alone. That spark definitely hadn’t faded but was just waiting. Buying its time. 

“Logan…” you breathed, the scruff of his beard lightly scratching the soft skin of your neck. He rumbled a hum of acknowledgement, his hand sliding from your waist to grip the meat of your thigh. 

“Thought I lost you for a moment… scared the hell outta me.” He confessed against your skin, the side of your head tingling slightly with each lover’s caress. 

But you couldn’t focus on the feeling, not after what he’d just said. A cold pit of dread opened in your stomach, and you pushed against the centre of his chest. “What?”

Logan’s brows furrowed in confusion, his head tilting to the side. “When you were shot…? Forgot already?” He grinned a little cockily, but you drew back as far as you could with the couch cushions behind your head. Your legs unlocked from his lower back, your hand now pushing a little firmer against his chest until he was off you.

“What do you mean ‘you thought you lost me’?”

“You almost died?!” He stated it as if it were obvious, but that wasn’t what you were asking him. 

“You wouldn’t have lost anything, Logan. I’m not someone to lose. I’m not even someone to mourn. Me dying would have meant nothing.” How couldn’t he see that? How couldn’t he see how little you mattered? There would always be somebody to take your place. There always had been and there always would be. 

You stood abruptly from the couch, the heel of your palm pressed over the scar on your left eye, as if you had only just realised it was uncovered and you hastily tried to fix your hair to cover it. 

“I don’t understand.” Logan squinted at you, as if looking at you harder would help him come to terms with whatever the hell just happened. Would explain to him why you were suddenly pushing him away. 

“I don’t expect you to–”

“Then help me to. Help me to understand you. Because I’m a little lost right now.” He huffed irritably, and you tried not to let your temper flare. 

“Everyone around you matters, Logan. Everyone around you has people who look at them differently. Who love them, care about them, would miss their conversations at breakfast if they weren’t there. That’s why I don’t expect you to understand. Because I don’t think you’ve ever met someone who doesn’t matter before.” You explained with muted frustration, and Logan rose intending to take your arm.

“I still haven’t.”

You sighed heavily, raising your gaze to meet his, and your very heart stopped beating at what you saw. It was a look you’d never experienced before, but one you knew all too well. How could he? After everything you’d said. Your intentions. The very core of who you were, carefully crafted to be a cold, hard killer. The core he was well aware of. So how could he?

“I’m not somebody to be loved, Logan.”

Your words struck him like a bullet straight to his chest. The harsh reality of your upbringing, the lessons your life had taught you were all here for him to see. The thought of getting through to you earlier was almost laughable now. He wasn’t a professional; he had no idea how to deal with this. 

And he was struck with something else. The acknowledgement of a familiar blossom, barely withstanding the crushing weight of his situation.

It seemed he’d stayed silent for a little too long. You fixed your tee, and fiddled with your hair slightly to make sure it was at least somewhat covering your scar, before offering not another word. He was completely powerless as you walked away, leaving him to sit with whatever the fuck had just happened. Because, in truth, he didn’t know how to explain his feelings in words. He was at a complete loss as to how he could convince you otherwise. Because you were wrong. Oh so very, very wrong. 

But now you've walked away. You’d pushed him back and shut him out. Again. Only this time, it felt final.

This time, he didn’t know if he could get back in. 

[vodika-vibes]

Okay, silly ask and you can decline if you don’t do the pregnancy stuff! But I was thinking a Crosshair x reader where they were an item pre-O66, and then the Kaller and brainwashing happened and they went separate ways because, ya know, chip went: “yo kill your brothers those hoes ain’t loyal.” While they’re separated, reader finds out she’s pregnant, and Crosshair only finds out when he lures the rest of the batch back to Kamino and they’re in that training room.

(Bonus if the rest of the batch only found out semi-recently too because reader’s mentality was “okay, I’m pregnant, no biggie. I’ll tell them later when it actually becomes an issue” and Tech figured it out right away but never said anything either)

That's What Family Does

Summary: Being pregnant sucks. Being pregnant with the baby of a man who’s actively hunting the people keeping you safe is worse. The fact that you still love him is just the icing on the “bad year” cake. Still, you probably should have listened to Hunter when he told you to stay on the Marauder rather than risk Crosshair seeing you. Ah well, you’ve never been the best at listening.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 1771

Warnings: Pregnancy and Childbirth, and complicated relationships

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly @kimiheartblade @mire-draws-things

A/N: So, I know next to nothing about childbirth, on account that I'm both childfree and infertile, so it's never been something that I had to worry about. So I did almost no research on this topic. Also, I've still never watched TBB, so I played around with...everything. But this has also been half-written for the better part of two weeks, and I just needed inspiration to strike me. Anyway, I hope you like it!

“You just had to come with us, didn’t you?” Hunter hisses as he shoves you behind Wrecker, “Why don’t you ever listen?”

“Because you’re not my mother,” You hiss right back at him, as you grab the over-large shirt that Echo’s been trying to shove over your head for the last five minutes and pull it on. It does…very little to hide your stomach. But then, the boys, and Omega, have only recently found out about your pregnancy. And only because you finally started showing and couldn’t hide it anymore.

Needless to say, Hunter and Echo weren’t thrilled about the sudden surprise. Wrecker was torn between excitement and dismay. And Omega…well, she’s been bubbling with excitement since she found out.

“Great, now we have to keep anyone from finding out that you are 8 months pregnant with a clone baby.” Hunter grouses, “Omega, stay with her.”

Omega nods rapidly, and wraps her arms around you, “I’ll bite anyone who tries to touch her.”

Absently, you pet Omega’s head and glare at Hunter, “Well, if you don’t say the words ‘clone’ and ‘baby’ next to each other, no one will ever know.”

“Yes, because your relationship with Crosshair was the best-kept secret on Kamino,” Hunter replies, deadpan, “there’s absolutely no way that anyone will ever figure out that you're pregnant with his baby.”

“Okay, tone down the sass, Mister. It’s not helping.”

Hunter grabs your shoulders, “You irk me. You’re irksome.”

“Hey! I’m pregnant, you can’t talk to me like that!”

For a moment, you think Hunter is going to shake you, but he stops when Tech taps his back, “He is here.”

Abruptly, you’re shoved back behind Wrecker and Echo, nearly tripping over Omega who’s still wrapped around you, and you only manage to catch a glimpse of Crosshair. 

His face is pinched and angry-looking, and you see his hand twitching towards his blaster.

Oh, you really hope that this doesn’t turn into a firefight. You don’t want to have to explain to your baby how they don’t have a dad because he got himself killed.

That would be awkward.

The nice thing is you’ve sped through all five stages of grief, and have just accepted that Crosshair isn’t the man you thought he was. And here you thought you were going to need, like, so much therapy to come to terms with it.

“Hunter.” Crosshair’s voice is cold. Colder than you’ve ever heard before. 

“Cross,” Hunter sounds tense, and you feel a pang of guilt. He wouldn’t be half as stressed if you and Omega just stayed on the ship. If you get out of this alive, and, you know, not a prisoner of the Empire, you should make him some apology cookies.

There’s a tense silence and Wrecker adjusts his weight slightly. You can tell by his body language, Echo’s too, that if this turns violent, the pair of them will remove you and Omega from the scene. Then again, that does tend to be their job most of the time.

“I assume you’re here to surrender.” Crosshair says. You know him better than anyone, you can tell he doesn’t believe a word coming out of his mouth. 

Hesitantly, you peek around Wrecker and Crosshair sees you immediately. His sharp gaze lingers on you for a moment, and you see something like regret flicker across his face, though it vanishes as soon as Echo shoves you back behind Wrecker. 

“You have to leave the doctor behind,” Crosshair says flatly.

“No,” Tech says immediately.

“She belongs to the Empire.”

“Technically, my contract is with the Republ—” You counter, indignently.

“Stop talking!” Hunter, Tech, and Echo say in unison and you close your mouth without finishing your thought.

Hunter glances at you, and then at Crosshair, “She’s not a slave, Crosshair. She can come and go as she pleases.”

You can hear the argument continuing in the background, but you’re not really listening anymore.

Something doesn’t feel right.

And then you’re slammed with a cramp so intense that your legs nearly buckle. Your hand lands heavily on Omega’s shoulder and you exhale sharply. “Are you okay?” The little girl whispers, doing her best to not draw too much attention to herself…or you.

“We need to get back to the Marauder.” You say though clenched teeth.

“That’s the plan, but—”

“Meg.” You interrupt her, “I’m pretty sure I’ve just gone into labor.” You keep your voice very, very calm, not wanting to scare her, but she stares at you with wide eyes.

“WHAT!?” The men stop arguing at Omega’s panicked shout and turn towards her. “You…you can’t! It’s too early! You’re only 8 months!” Omega continues, her voice pitching high in her panic.

You don’t answer her. Can’t answer her, really, because you’re too busy trying to breathe through the waves of pain that kind of make you want to cry, scream, and throw up all at the same time.

You’re pretty sure you’d sell all of the clones on Kamino for some pain medicine.

You’re also pretty sure that that’s the pain talking and you’ll feel bad for having that thought as soon as you’re no longer in labor.

The waves of pain fade enough for you to recognize that your boys are in the middle of panicking around you. Panicking and not helping you.

Great.

Lovely.

Super.

You reach out and grab Wrecker’s forearm, “I need to get to a bed, preferably on the Marauder, because if I have to give birth in a training room, I’m going to murder all of you.” You say through gritted teeth.

And then Crosshair is there, his gaze lingering on your stomach, and if you were feeling even remotely charitable you’d say that he looks guilty and hurt.

But, you’re in so much pain right now that you really couldn’t care less.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” He asks.

You grab him by the collar of his armor, “I am in the process of pushing a watermelon out a hole the size of a lemon. And it’s all your fault.” You snap, “I need to get to the Marauder.”

“...you know it takes two people to make a baby, kitten—”

The string of curses that fall from your lips after his comment, is enough that the boys push themselves into high gear and then rush you back to the ship. 

24 hours of hard labor later, your babies are finally here.

And you finally know why you went into labor early.

Turns out you were pregnant with twins. Twin girls, to be specific.

Right now they’re sleeping in a cradle that Echo stole from Kamino, wrapped in a black and a red blanket specifically.

So far, Hunter, Echo, Wrecker, Tech, and Omega have come to meet the babies. But no Crosshair, though you know he’s still on the ship.

Hunter said that Crosshair refused to leave while you were still in labor. And now that they’re born, he wants to raise them with you.

It’s a nice thought, you suppose. Aside from the whole “wanting to kill his brothers” thing.

Plus, he still hasn’t come to meet the babies.

You tilt your head to the side as one of the babies yawns widely and then falls back to sleep. You hear the door slide open and then shut again. When you look up, you see Crosshair standing, awkwardly, at the door.

He’s dressed in his blacks and isn’t armed.

Hunter probably told him no weapons in the medbay. He’s a good brother-in-law, you’re lucky to have him.

“They’re cute.” Crosshair says as he walks over to the babies and peers down at them.

“They look like wrinkly potatoes.” You correct.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to say that?”

“I just spent 24 hours pushing them out of my vagina. If I want to call them potatoes, then I’m going to call them potatoes.”

“Ah,” He’s quiet for a moment, “Are you…okay? There was a lot of blood, Tech said.”

“Yeah, well…he had a bunch of my blood stored up for this scenario. Just in case.” You admit with a shrug, “I’ll recover. I’m going to be weak for a while though.”

“What are you naming them?”

“...I dunno. I was only expecting one baby, not two.” You pull your blanket up higher, “You’re such an overachiever.”

“...I’m sorry?”

“Whatever. I’m too tired to be properly angry.” You pause, “We are going to have to talk, Crosshair.”

He rubs the back of his head, “Yeah. I know.”

“You walked away.”

“I know.”

“And it was easy for you to do. How could it be so easy for you to walk away?”

He sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“Would you have even come with us if I didn’t go into labor?” You ask.

Crosshair shakes his head, “I don’t know.” He pauses, “You’re mad.”

“I think I have good cause to be mad, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He’s quiet for a moment, “A condition of me staying with you and the twins is getting the chip out. And no weapons until they’re sure that I’m not going to try to hurt anyone.”

“Let me guess…Hunter?”

Crosshair nods, “He’s very…protective.”

“He always has been. But Hunter was the one who let me cry on his shoulder when you walked away. He might be a bit angrier at you than anyone else.”

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

You shrug, “Well, you did.”

The pair of you fall into a, slightly, awkward silence, and then you sigh, “Luna.”

“Sorry?”

“The twin with the silver hair, I’m going to call her Luna, I think.” Crosshair blinks at you, and then glances at the babies, finally noticing that one of the babies has his coloring, while the other one has yours.

“And what about her sister?”

“Don’t you want to name one?”

He looks momentarily surprised, and then he glances at the baby who looks like you, “Willow. I want to name her Willow.”

You tilt your head curiously.

Crosshair doesn’t acknowledge your silent question for a moment, and then a small smile lifts the corner of his lips, “The first date we went on was a picnic under a willow tree.”

“...I’m surprised you remembered that.”

“It’s important.”

You watch him for a moment, and then laugh softly, “Alright. Luna and Willow, then.” You allow your gaze to linger on Crosshair as he looks over the twins, and your smile widens.

The both of you aren’t okay. There are a lot of wrongs that need to be righted. But…well, he’s here. And you can’t help but think that that’s a step in the right direction.

[lyraa-kill]

Here’s a little ghost x gaz fic I wrote at midnight lol. TW for mcd(soap) and grief

If you’d like to read this on ao3 instead, here’s the link!

Johnny’s death devastated the whole team, but it killed Simon and Kyle the most. They were his lover and best friend, after all. There’s a Johnny sized hole in their universe now, and neither of them know how to deal with the grief, the immense loss they never prepared themselves to one day have to deal with.

It takes a few weeks before either of them come off of auto pilot, stop going through the motions of their day and of missions without feeling like theyre robots being controlled by an automated system. When they do, they end up bumping into each other more, taking more notice of the other. Noticing the same emotions in the other as the ones they’re feeling. The same tired, sunken eyes and lifeless skin, the same horrible posture and fidgets when things just get too quiet.

It’s late at night, Kyle’s grabbing a late night drink when Simon waltzes into the common area kitchen as well. He stands there and stares for a minute before he moves past Kyle and gets to the fridge. He tries not to think of the similar nights he had with Johnny like this, tries not to think of the time he picked him up and put him on the counter and kissed him like he never would again. God, he wishes he had kissed him just one more time.

“Can’t sleep either?” Kyle asks, his voice light and a little gruff. He hasn’t been speaking much the last few weeks, so his vocal cords are out of tune.

“Nope. Usual, though,” Simon responds, grabbing a jug of apple juice and pouring it into a cup.

Neither he nor Kyle comment on the fact Johnny was the one that had bought this jug, had loved this specific brand of apple juice probably more than he loved Simon. But they both notice it. They always notice the little things Johnny’s left behind that they hadn’t before.

“Don’t I know it,” Kyle jokes, breathing out a small chuckle.

Simon laughs a little too, joining Kyle in standing with his back against the counter top, glass loosely held in his hand at hip level.

There’s a lot of unspoken words between them. They don’t know what to say, don’t know if they should bring up how much shit sucks and what they’re feeling or pretend like everything is okay. But they both have an innate knowing that the other person is just as lost as they are, that their world is a little darker now. That nothing makes as much sense as it did before. Seriously, how can they be living and Johnny just be gone? Gone? It seems about as ridiculous as the sky being green and the grass being blue.

“You holding up alright?” Simon asks, breaking the silence after a few minutes.

Kyle swallows the rock in his throat. Takes another sip of his glass of water. Finally, he manages to answer, “Best as I can, sir.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your lieutenant right now.”

“Hm? What are you then?”

Simon sighs and rubs his eyes. “A friend, I hope.”

They sit in silence again, until Simon notices that Kyle is crying. He’s silent, but tears are still rolling down his cheeks. His throat is bobbing with unreleased sobs. His left hand is gripping the counter top so hard his fingers are losing color.

Simon immediately sets his glass down, striding over to Kyle and wrapping his arms around him. He was fine to deal with his grief alone, had already done it for everyone else that had mattered to him, but he didn’t want Kyle to suffer by himself. Someone as good as him didn’t deserve that.

Instantly, Kyle melts into the hug and all the sobs and wails he had been holding back are coming out. He grips onto Simon’s t-shirt like he’s going to go away too, like he’ll lose another person he cares for. Simon keeps his grip steady. Letting Kyle cry into him for as long as he needs. He sheds a few tears as well, but not that many. He’s more of a suffer in peace kind of man.

“Fuck- s-sorry, I-“ Kyle stammers, wiping away his tears while Simon continues to hold him.

“I know,” Simon says, “You don’t need to apologize.”

“This just really fucking sucks, you know?” Kyle laughs while releasing a few more sobs.

Simon answers with sorrow, “Yeah. It really fucking blows.”

They stand there in silence while Kyle tries to compose himself and fails, and Simon awkwardly keeps holding him because he doesn’t know how to help someone through the loss of their best friend when that person was also your boyfriend and almost fiancé.

“I miss him too,” Simon mutters, “Captain does too, I’m sure. You’re not by yourself.”

“I-i know, I know. But it’s different. To cap, he was another soldier, really. Sure he cared for him, but he wasn’t his friend. He- he didn’t- he wasn’t close with him like I was. And you, fuck- you loved him. Like, really loved him. And I kinda didn’t. It’s probably so much worse for you and-“

“Don’t say that,” Simon interrupts, “You love him too. Maybe different than I do, but you do.”

“I know. Fuck- I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Kyle.” Simon says before he ends the hug and stands there in front of him, one hand on his shoulder.

In his mind, Simon imagines Johnny watching them. Not as a ghost, but more as just… energy? A presence? He doesn’t know how to describe it. But it seems like he can feel Johnny, so close and yet so far away, like he’s right there but he just can’t reach out for him. How would Johnny feel, watching his boyfriend and best friend cry together and be so consumed by the pain of losing him?

Then he remembers that Johnny can’t feel anything, that he’s dead and gone, and there’s nothing left of him in the world anymore. Just some ash in a fucking lake and a near expired carton of juice.

He starts to cry too, and now it’s Kyle’s turn to pull him into a hug and comfort him.

They stand there, holding each other as their cries fill the other wise silent room. Neither of them had thought that crying it out with someone would feel so nice, so freeing. Like the grief wasn’t all consuming and could be dealt with. It felt like through their shared feelings, Johnny was alive in some way. Is a person dead once they’re no longer here, or when people stop caring that they’re no longer here?

After that night, when either of them are feeling too overwhelmed, feeling the inky darkness of loss wrapping around their heart, they seek out the other. It doesn’t matter what’s happening or what they’re doing. They’ll make the time. Whether it’s Kyle dragging Simon out of office hours where he’s doing paperwork to be held and cry or Simon finding Kyle at the gun range and bawling into his t-shirt, they’re there for each other. Price too, when he opens up about how much he misses Johnny. But it’s different with him. He didn’t care for Johnny as much as they did.

Eventually, Simon and Kyle hang out together when they’re not crying and spiraling into a hole, becoming friends in their own right outside of their loss. They’ll sit in the common area and watch a movie together, side by side on the couch and sharing a blanket and popcorn. It felt weird to laugh at first, but they got used to it. Smiles no longer felt like betrayal after a while, it just felt like the warmth of friendship.

It continues into them eventually being able to talk about Johnny. Share their memories. Laugh about that crazy, damn near feral Scot and all the fun they used to have together. Kyle recounts the time they snuck off base in the middle of the night to get drunk in some field. Simon tells how Johnny one time stole all his t shirts because Simon refused to tell him what his birthday present was going to be.

They share what they missed about him. Simon wishes he could’ve yelled at him about leaving his hair all over the sink when he shaved one more time. Kyle misses hearing explosions go off when they were out in the field and knowing Johnny was having the time of his life. Simon misses waking up and seeing the golden rays of sun dance across his skin so perfectly, like a painting. Kyle wishes he could’ve played one more game of cards with him over lunch.

One day, Simon starts to feel strange. He notices when he’s trying to fall asleep that he hadn’t thought of Johnny at all that day. Not once. Most days he’s consumed with thinking about him. Wait, it wasn’t just that day. It was the day before too. Wait, what?

He sits and thinks. What was he even doing? Everything reminds him of Johnny, because it’s like he can see his ghost all around base. Everywhere he looks is somewhere he had once stood. What was he thinking of instead?

Then, he realizes. Kyle. His mind had been consumed by Kyle instead. He was thinking of how he looked the night prior when they were watching a movie in the dark living room and the blue highlights from the film looked beautiful contrasted next to his dark skin. Thought of running to the store to grab him more of that ice cream he likes. Thought of seeing him later and being excited for it.

His blood runs ice cold. He remembers when he was falling in love with Johnny and he felt the same way. Couldn’t get him out of his head, couldn’t stop recounting every second they had spent together. Just like he was doing with Kyle.

That- no. He can’t. He can’t love Kyle. He loves Johnny. Loved, whatever. Johnny is his boyfriend. Was. Fuck.

He rolls around and buries his face in a pillow. He thinks of Kyle’s face, and he thinks of Johnny’s Side by side. Which would he pick?

He ponders it before he gets angry. He can’t pick, because Johnny’s dead. He has one option and a bunch of discarded ash.

He briefly thinks of kissing Kyle the way he did Johnny, and cringes before he bolts up right and starts to breathe like he’s losing air. Not because the thought disgusts him, but because it excites him. The same way he was excited when he thought of kissing Johnny for the first time.

No no no- no. He can’t do this. He can’t betray Johnny, especially with his best fucking friend. What sort of despicable cheating fucking monster is he to do that to him? He can’t. This is ridiculous. He can’t love Kyle. He can’t do that to Johnny.

He does the only thing he knows how to do in this situation. He ignores Kyle. Moves past him in the mess when they would normally sit together. Says he’s not feeling well when Kyle offers to watch another movie or play a dumb card game with him. Flat out ignores him when he offers to go down to the range and practice shooting.

He thought it would be easy, thought that if he refocused his mind back on Johnny he could forget all about Kyle, forget about the bubbling feeling in his heart when he sees him from across the room, how pretty his full lips and walnut eyes are. How beautiful his muscled arms look slightly bulging from the sleeves of his shirt. His well his pants fit over the whole of his legs. How his voice sounds like bells and lemonade on a summer day back home.

It goes on for weeks. Simon can tell Kyle is upset, frustrated, and confused. But he just can’t betray Johnny like that. He needs time to be away from Kyle so he can forget about those ridiculous feelings. Try and remember how Johnny’s voice sounds and how his body felt wrapped up in his, before he forgets for good. He would forget it all if he got with Kyle. And he doesn’t want to forget Johnny. He wants to keep him nestled safe in his heart forever, lock it down and declare it his and only his. But there’s a crack in the chains he’s binding, his heart too full to be contained to what he wants to limit it to. And it’s hurting him.

It all comes to a head when he gets back to the barracks of the 141, the common area unlit until he switches on the light to take his shoes off and he notices Kyle sitting with his arms crossed and a sour expression on his face on the couch.

Simon begins to take his boots off, going to pretend Kyle isn’t even there, until the man gets up and strides over to him, kicking his shin to make him look up at him.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Kyle asks.

“Busy.” Simon answers.

“Don’t lie to me.” Kyle’s words are full of venom and pure rage. He’s fucking furious at having been ignored.

“‘M not lying.” Simon mutters, kicking off his shoes with his boot and trying to brush past Kyle.

Kyle grabs his arm and pulls him back with force Simon didn’t know he had.

“You’re not going to ignore me anymore, Simon. Tell me what’s going on.”

Simon looks at Kyle, really looks at him. Notices the way his eyes are dark with rage, the dark bags beneath that are the worst he’s ever seen them. Notices the way he’s biting the inside of his lip, probably to keep himself grounded because of how intense his emotions are. The way his fist keeps clenching and unclenching, how he’s standing on the tops of his feet rather than the whole.

And fuck, he really can’t deny that he loves it all anymore. Really can’t deny that everything about Kyle draws him in and makes his heart want more and more, to take all it can possibly get. And it’s so strange, because Kyle is nothing like Johnny. He doesn’t tease as much. He’s not as crazy or wild. Doesn’t laugh as much, doesn’t compliment him as much. Isn’t so sure and defensive of all his opinions, doesn’t insult. Doesn’t laugh when he jams a knife into an enemies neck and blood goes flying everywhere. What does he see in Kyle that he wants so goddamn badly?

“I can’t,” Simon mutters, his voice cracking as his eyes drop to the floor. Tears start to form, but he tries to hold them back.

Kyle looks at him for a few moments. “Simon?” He asks, not angry anymore, “Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t.” Simon says again, his voice filled with the tears he’s refusing to let come out of his eyes.

“Why not?”

“You’re going to hate me. I hate me.”

“I won’t hate you,” Kyle says, gripping Simon’s arms and tugging him closer. “Just- please. Tell me. So I can fix it. I- I don’t- I don’t want to lose you too.”

Simon’s heart breaks. It never occurred to him that he was all Kyle really had. Johnny was his only friend and Simon a strange “more than acquaintance but not really friend but also a friend”, so after he was gone and he and Simon started to become closer, that was all he had left. These last few weeks he’s been completely alone with no idea of what the reason why could be. Simon is such a piece of fucking shit for doing that to someone he claims to love, apparently more than he did Johnny.

He starts to cry, fat tears falling down as his lips release bawls and sobs. He’s never cried like this before, not since he was a small child. Not even the first night he spent alone without Johnny. He’s always stayed silent and cried on the inside. Let his heart do it instead.

Kyle grabs him into a hug, wrapping one arm around his waist and the other holding his head into his neck. It’s awkward, since Simon is so much taller, but they make it work. Eventually Simon wraps his arms around Kyle’s waist and holds him as close as he can, almost lifting him up off the ground.

Kyle holds him while he cries, whispering that it’s okay and that everything is fine. That he’s not angry anymore, he just wants to talk. That whatever it is, he won’t hate him for it.

“I’m sorry, Kyle,” Simon chokes out, “I shouldn’t have ignored you. I- I just- I didn’t know what to do.”

Kyle soothingly rubs the top of his back, over his muscled shoulder blade. “It’s alright. I forgive you.”

Simon pulls away a little bit and looks Kyle in his eyes. They’re beautiful, but not in the same way that Johnny’s were. Kyle’s are soft, calm, like a gentle breeze in a forest that carries the scent of the wood and the leaves. Johnny’s were bright, loud, like a raging, unforgiving ocean. Strong.

“I don’t know how to say this- but- i-“ Simon stammers. How can he even go about admitting this? With Johnny it was easy. All it took was looking at each other a certain way one night when they were alone doing some late target practice and they were on top of each other, their mouths connecting and hands searching for whatever skin they could find. All the emotions came later, when they were more comfortable with whatever they were and what they had. How do you start with the feelings first and the passion second?

“It’s okay, Simon,” Kyle whispers, “Take your time.”

“I- I can’t say it. I can’t betray Johnny like that.”

Confusion flashes across Kyle’s face, before it dawns on him.

“Oh.” He says. Oh.

Kyle looks absolutely struck, like he doesn’t know how to process what Simon just told him.

Simon pinches the bridge of his nose and grimaces. He’s such an idiot. He shouldn’t have fucking done this. God- he’s so stupid-

He turns to walk away, muttering apologies when Kyle grips his arm again and tugs him back again. Instantly their lips are connected, locked together in a kiss that makes Simon completely melt inside.

It lasts for only a few seconds before they break apart, panting and looking wildly into each others eyes.

“What would he think?” Simon whispers, “I can’t do this to him.”

Kyle nods, a few stray tears falling from his eyes. “I know. I don’t know what to say to help fix it.”

“I love him,” Simon says, “I think I always will. It’s not- it’s not fair to you or him. I- I don’t know if I can love you both. I don’t want to lose him.”

“I understand,” Kyle says. He runs his hand up and down Simon’s arm, the one covered in tattoos of flames and skulls. “I wouldn’t know what to do either. I’ve never- I haven’t experienced something like that before.”

“I’m sorry, Kyle.”

“It’s okay. I forgive you.”

“You sure?”

“I am. We can just be friends. I want that.”

“Do you- feel the same?”

“As you do?”

Simon nods.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad.”

They stare at each other for a few more minutes. Simon hugs Kyle and kisses him on the forehead before he mutters a good night and stalks off to his room, pretending he doesn’t hear the soft cries coming from behind him.

Simon lays in bed, staring at the ceiling as tears keep rolling from his eyes. At least Kyle knows now.

He turns to the side, looking at the empty space where Johnny always slept. He still wishes he was there, would do anything to hold him one more time, but now he also wishes Kyle were there. Wishes he could hold Kyle to sleep and wake up next to him in the morning. How could he want both? It doesn’t make any sense.

He drifts off to sleep, his body and mind exhausted from all the crying. Once he falls under, the strangest feeling over takes him.

Someone is holding him from behind, wrapping their arms around his waist and nuzzling their face into his upper back, the same way Johnny always did.

“Si?” He hears someone say, in a voice that sounds oddly like his Johnny.

Excitement floods his bones. He goes to turn around, but Simon finds he can’t move. “Johnny?” He croaks out.

“‘M right here, love.”

Simon can’t cry in his dream, but if this were real, he’d be a puddle on the floor.

“Don’t cry, angel. I hate seeing you cry.”

“I’m so sorry,” Simon says, his voice breaking so badly he sounds almost inaudible. It feels like a weight is crushing his chest and caving in his ribs, smashing his heart into pieces.

“You don’t need to apologize for anything baby. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I- I promise I don’t love him. I only love you.”

“You know that’s not true. You do love him.”

“Not as much as I loved you.”

“You do. Just in a different way. I know you do. You always forget you can’t hide things from me, Si.”

Simon shakes his head. “I- I can’t do that to you. I won’t. I’m only yours, Johnny, I promise.”

“Maybe you used to be only mine, but you’re not anymore. You’re Kyle’s now too. I’m gone, Simon. I can’t be there anymore.”

“I really wish you weren’t.”

“I know.” Johnny presses a kiss to his back. “But that’s the way things are. I wish I could fix it, but I can’t. I want you to be happy, and you’ll be happy with him. He’ll take care of you now that I can’t.”

Simon wishes he could move so he could grip Johnny’s arm, feel his hands in his one more time.

“Go love him, Si. Go have fun. Go make memories. Go do all the things you want with him and do everything we couldn’t do together. I’ll be waiting right here for you when it’s all over, and I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Simon chokes. “I want you there. I don’t want to do it without you.”

“I’ll be there love, I promise. I’ll be right there.” Johnny kisses Simon’s back one more time.

“You promise?”

“Aye, I do. And when your time is up and you come back to me, I’ll be there to hug you and hold you and kiss you again. I don’t mind sharing with Kyle.”

“You sure?”

“I am. Just don’t forget about me, baby.”

“I won’t. Fuck- I won’t, Johnny. I won’t ever forget.”

Simon feels the presence shift, and suddenly Johnny is in front of him, gripping his face and kissing him one last time.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Johnny.”

“Go have fun with him, for me.”

Simon wakes up gently to the sun caressing his skin that peeks out from under the blanket. For the first time in months he doesn’t wake full of aching and grief. He’s… calm. He’s not entirely happy, but the pain is manageable today. He’s better than he has been in a while.

He doesn’t know if that truly was Johnny speaking to him or a strange dream his mind conjured up to help him feel better, but he’s going to choose to believe it was whatever presence he’s been feeling that seems like Johnny.

If Johnny wants him to be happy, he can be happy. He can be with Kyle. He’s… god, he’s excited for it. He can’t wait to fall more in love with him.

He rushes out his room, not bothering to throw any other clothes on other than what he slept in, and finds Kyle making his morning tea in the kitchen.

Kyle notices him and quickly glances away in fear. “Morning,” he mumbles.

Simon grabs Kyle’s shoulders and kisses him with everything he has.

Kyle looks at him in shock. “I- Simon?“

“I’m sorry, Kyle. I didn’t mean what I said.”

“What?”

“I love you. I love you so much. God it- it fucking hurts how much I love you. I- I’m going to have to try and figure out how to love you both, but I want to try. It’ll hurt but I want to try because I want you, and- and I want to fight for you.”

Kyle looks at him with pure shock. Then a big grin spreads across his face. He throws his arms around Simon’s neck and hugs him as tight as he can. Simon’s arms find their home around Kyle’s waist, tugging him close.

It’s going to hurt. When Simon does things he never got to do with Johnny, it’ll hurt. When he realizes he’s been with Kyle longer than he’ll have ever been with Johnny, it’ll hurt. When he retires with Kyle and lives out the rest of his life with him, something he wanted with Johnny but now can never have, it’ll hurt. But his pain is just his love for him persevering. And Johnny said that he’ll be right there with him, so he won’t feel like he’s truly leaving him behind.

He kisses Kyle again, and for the first time in a while, his pain is all gone. There’s only joy, and the familiar presence of a soft kiss pressed into his back.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

hi! can i ask another part for male demonic vessel reader cus i absolutely love the plot😭

so like what if one day y/n & Atropos magically split (but only a few days)

but unexpectedly instead of causing destruction & carnage to everyone and thing in the universe,Atropos just stays the whole time sticking by y/n's side,like an protective dog,cus after all those centuries of being in one body,Atropos has to have even a little bit of care & affection for y/n?(even if he cause 99.9% of y/n's trauma)

& y/n is there just hating Atropos as atropos annoyes & torments him,

and Atropos would outright flirt with [love] to mess & stress out y/n even more & [love] is very weirded out seeing atropos a being that's probably choes itself flirting with them & looks identical to y/n,and there's poor y/n trying to stop Atropos from flirting with [love],and i feel like Atropos would be the type to also flirt with y/n himself for shits & giggles just to mess with the already stressed out god.

and finally how would y/n, [love] & the other god's & humans, handle & keep the chaotic being at bay?.

-It was an accident, an attack that went wrong in many different ways. There was an attempt on your life, trying to kill Atropos, but when you were hit the magical attack, rather than killing you and Atropos, it split the two of you apart, giving Atropos his own body.

-This caused a lot of yelling and panicking, seeing Atropos was free, but for some reason only known to him, he didn’t attack, he didn’t go on a rampage. He just stayed by you, pulling you into his arms, hugging you close, “You look so cute like this Y/N~”

-You weren’t expecting him to flirt with you- and you definitely weren’t expecting him to look exactly like you, just with bright red eyes. You put your hand on his face, trying to push him back, “Get offa me!!”

-Atropos whined, trying to keep his arms around you, “Y/N~ Don’t you love me? We’ve been together for so long~~~” he was irritating- of course you didn’t love him! He caused you so much grief and heartache!!

-(Love), when he heard about the attack, ran to you, worrying only to find… another you pinning you to the ground, flirting shamelessly with you.

-He froze, not really sure what he was seeing, looking between the two of you before Atropos noticed him and turned, beaming as he leapt up and leapt into (Love)’s arms, “Hello my love~~”

-You scrambled to your feet, “Get away from my (Love)!!” Atropos just wrapped his arms around (Love)’s neck, grinning like a little gremlin, “But the three of us have been together for so long~ I wanna hug him too!”

-(Love) was very confused at what was going on until you grabbed Atropos by the back of his pants, pulling him off your lover, “Get off him Atropos!!”

-(Love) was stunned, realizing this other you was Atropos- the two of you splitting into two bodies- nearly identical to one another!

-Your attacker had been quickly apprehended, with (Love) demanding he was brought to justice, something Zeus and Odin took care of, because what if Atropos wasn’t peaceful and being a gremlin to you and (Love)- what if he attacked- your attacker would be at fault.

-You were beside yourself when you learned that this situation you were now in was going to be for at least a week, meaning you had to deal with a gremlin flirting with not only your lover, but you as well, until he would return to his place inside you.

-(Love) wasn’t happy with this situation either, seeing you so upset, and he had to be careful to not mistake Atropos for you when he was flirting or trying to get handsy with him- not wanting to upset you any further.

-It was strange, to have Atropos being so…so calm- he wasn’t causing any mayhem- no trouble, no violence, no revenge- no anything! Other than teasing you and (Love).

-By the time the two of you became one again, Atropos thankfully, knocked out and was asleep and you hoped he would stay that way. You collapsed into (Love)’s arms with a deep sigh leaving you, making him laugh as he picked you up, “I’m glad to have you back to myself. Although~~ it was kind of interesting seeing Atropos flirting with you.”

-You smacked his chest lightly, making him laugh as you felt so drained, hugging him as he sank into your shared bed, the two of you both exhausted, glad for things to be back to normal.

[thatgaymerguyb]

Rook Ask Game I Just did them all because I needed the exercise.

Kalen “Rook” Thorne, is 26 years old.  He’s not used to people really fawning over him so celebrating can be hard for him.  The gift that meant the most to him was the first staff that was ever given to him.  This ends up being the first one he has at the beginning of Veilguard.

The most painful injury Rook received was the ritual scarring that is now all over his body.  He was captured by a cult shortly before becoming a Warden and was meant to be used as a sacrifice to an ancient unknown god.  The scars haunted him for several years and he even sought to use blood magic to reverse them, but he learned to accept them as part of himself.

Rook and Davrin fought before Tearstone Island and they promised to both come back afterwards is how they resolved it.  (Anything more and I might spoil of future chapter of A Life After so I’ll leave it here but I have plans)

Rook does not have any siblings or close friends as he was brought up in a chantry orphanage before he transitioned and chose to forget the people involved because of the pain they caused him.

If a demon were to try and take over Rook, the one that would be most likely to succeed would be a Despair Demon since he has difficulty dealing with grief.  (Read Part 3 of A Life After)

Rook only ever tried to trust one person before Davrin and they didn’t understand his body often being too rough with him and not listening when Rook protested. The man was controlling and the relationship ended once Rook began to understand his power as a mage. It took a lot for him to trust Davrin with his body when he finally let his guard down.  (Read Part 2 of A Life After)

Spite Voice “It smells like lavender and rain water!”

To relax Rook would go to the and Davrin’s little cabin in Arlathan (after Veilgaurd).  During he would likely go to Rivain to just be on the beach.

In the regret prison, he’d probably see his family that he couldn’t save from the Darkspawn as a child because he was the only one who survived the attack.  For a long time, he had survivor’s guilt.

Rook does not have any “irrational” phobias, other than being alone.

The near-death experience he had was as a child when his parents and family were killed in a Darkspawn attack.  He hid under his bed at his father's order paralyzed with fear as he watched the Darkspawn torture and kill them.

Since Rook went to Weisshaupt originally as a servant, the first Warden hardly knew he existed for a long time.  He had to beg them to let him join at first.  Once they found out he was a mage they were impressed with his talents and let him join.  The First Warden eventually became like a father to him but was incredibly disappointed that he disobeyed orders to save that village.  Their relationship wasn’t the same after that.

Rook had a favourite stuffed bear that survived the darkspawn attack on his village and he kept with him through his ordeal with the chantry orphanage and the cult.  It was lost at Weisshaupt.

Rook has several tattoos mainly from his time as a Grey Warden, his favourite is the one on his chest. (you can see his pictures)  He used some of the larger body tattoos to cover up his scarring.  He was reluctant to disrobe for the first couple because of his scarring and issues with his body.  That was overcome because the person who did it for him was very encouraging but also didn’t care about his past.

The first time Rook killed someone was very emotional for him, it was the man he was with before Davrin.  He had had enough of being treated poorly at the hands of someone who told him he loved him.  He lost control of his magic during a rough sexual encounter with the man and before Rook knew it the man was burned to death on the floor in front of him.  Rook cried over his body naked on the floor for a couple of hours before finding the strength to get up and leave.

Link to A Life After if this character interests anyone or if you just want a Rook X Davrin read.

https://archiveofourown.org/series/4581508

[darrys-laundry]

i’m so sorry, someone sent me an anon and i accidentally deleted it.

i was trying to do far too many things at once while i was at work, but i did read what you said! and i have thoughts!

darrel curtis’ self-flagellation is so important to me, because he loves his brothers. he does.

there’s a stretch of time following everything that’d happened in windrixville, bob’s death, johnny’s, dally’s, etc. that darrel would let either of his brothers tear into him. he’d think he’d deserve it.

pony blames himself for their parents' death.

…if he’d just gotten that frosting for darry’s cake.

darry thinks, i’m the one that killed them. they brought me into this world, and i’m the one that took them out.

in trying to celebrate me, and the anniversary of my birth, they died.

if pony needed to take his anger, or his grief out on darry, darry would let him. he’d think he’d deserve that too.

he’d be still. because he’d hit pony first, after all, back in the middle of the dining room. it’d only be fair. an eye for an eye.

there’s a song off the twisters soundtrack i really like, by jake kohn and wyatt flores:

‘the clouds start caving in, and these walls are paper-thin,

counting all of my sins, like it’s judgement day,

locked in a household war,

battleground’s the living room floor,

i’m not sure what i’m fighting for,

but i’m tired of trying to be who you need me to be’

(in case you want to know, later lyrics include, ‘let the rain come pouring down, i’m not afraid to drown, just hope you make it out before i do,’ which i think is true. we know darry feels like he’s treading water, we know he thinks he’s ready to throw in the towel, but for as much as he’d blown up in runs in the family reprise, he’d still get his brothers into the lifeboat first, you know what i mean?)

wyatt flores’ discography actually goes very hard.

he has a couple songs that remind me of pony and darry’s dynamic:

‘you woke from a dream last night,

thought we had had that fight,

i finally said goodbye,

like you think i will,

you saw it clear as day,

backpacks in a chevrolet,

i can tell by the look on your face,

it’s still killin’ you,

i hate that you wonder,

if i still love you,

well, i don’t say it all the time,

god knows i never say it right,

right now feels like a damn good time to start,

i’d rather drown in the darkest water,

i’d rather burn in the devil’s fire,

than to ever think of tearing us apart,

i’d rather break my bones,

than break your heart’

which, like, in the book darry is haunted by the fact that pony has nightmares. he’d hate to be the reason. he’d hate to know that all of those things he’d said in the heat of the moment continue to terrorize pony in his dreams. and he’d fucking take it all back if he could.

(also, like, the parallel of ‘i’d rather burn in the devil’s fire,’ and ‘i try to keep you from the fire, but it’s me who’s getting burned.’ darrel says that shit because he’s mad, because he knows it’ll hurt, because it’s this voice in the back of his head that he’s tried to keep quiet, because he won’t let himself feel a goddamn thing, and then boom. he’d never leave his brothers like that.)

wyatt’s featured on ANOTHER song that’s so fucking darry:

‘another day, another regret,

try to remember how the night went,

oh, this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me it didn’t go well,

lost a couple of my friends,

and in the morning try to mend,

can’t fix what’s in pieces for my selfish reasons,

tryna run from myself,

i let a lot of people down,

they’re not surprised this time around,

they say i’m a ticking time bomb,

way too fucking far gone to probably get some help,

take me as i come,

or don’t take me at all,

i’m gonna let you down,

i’m gonna lead you lost’

anyway, yeah.

i hope this finds you anon!! sorry i deleted your ask, but yeah.

those are my thoughts.

[cels-not-so-secret-love-affair]

only survivor (barty crouch jr)

a/n: back with barty! i’m still not totally confident with him but all practice is good practice so we write anyways. the way i’ve been bothering my friends for inspo recently is by asking them for an emotion, a character and a colour, and this one was despair + barty + red so. foreshadowing! heads up for death and angst and what’s probably a very implausible car crash

The crash is entirely Barty’s fault. There’s no way around it, in the end. He’s the one in the driving seat, he’s the one who’d been putting off the MOT and going round recklessly without a valid license, and he’s the one who swerves on the ice. Barty is the one who crashes the car. Pandora’s the one who gets her ribs smashed in.

A little while after Barty’s woken up properly, bleary-eyed and panic-stricken in the hospital, the curly-haired nurse at his bedside tells him it’s a miracle he survived. She runs him through his list of injuries, winces when she gets to the bit about blood loss, and - with a very soft voice that Barty immediately despises - gently tells him what happened to the other passenger. That’s what she says, verbatim. The other passenger. It takes him a while to connect the dots in the state that he’s in. When he does manage it, he reckons he’s about to be physically sick. He isn’t. The curly-haired nurse futilely attempts to reassure him that it’s not his fault she’s dead.

No amount of bodily harm can hurt him after that. The fractures and the bruises and the sharp wrathful knife in his lungs that twists every time he breathes all fade away into inconsequence, unable to contend with the insurmountable, indescribable pain of grief. He spends long, aching days lying in bed with nothing to do but blame himself, and long, aching nights wandering through nightmares with nothing to do but scream. He’s exhausted. The walls of the ward press violently against his temples and the stale air feels solid in his throat. He thinks shamefully of Evan, who - he’s been told - cannot bear to face him. They’d phrased it more politely than that when he’d asked, but he knows very well that that’s what it boils down to. He believes fervently that Evan would rather he go on and give into his injuries and just bloody die already. Barty can’t even condemn him for it. That was his fucking sister I killed, he thinks. The thought writes and rewrites itself into his eyelids until it’s all he can see when he tries to fall asleep.

It’s late into visiting hours when Regulus comes to see Barty. He’s dressed with less care than he typically is, his shirt creased with the buttons done up wrong, and he seems tired as he approaches.

‘You’re awake,’ he says softly, drawing up a chair.

‘Yeah.’

‘I’ve come to visit twice already, but you were sleeping both times. I didn’t want to wake you - I thought it would be better for your recovery.’

‘Very considerate.’ Regulus studies Barty intently.

‘You hate it here,’ he says, finally, and it isn’t a question. Just an observation.

‘Who doesn’t?’

‘No one, I suppose. But it’s worse for you. Being stuck in bed.’ Barty doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t really have to. Silence is admission in and of itself. He just gazes at Regulus’ pale, gaunt face. He looks harried, and sad. Barty doesn’t have to guess why that is. The guilt that’s been pooling in the bottom of his stomach since the accident swirls viciously.

‘How have you been?’ Regulus inquires quietly. Barty feels nauseous again.

‘Not as bad as Ev’s been, probably.’

‘I didn’t ask about Evan. I asked about you.’

‘Fine. Awful. It doesn’t matter. I deserve worse either way.’ Regulus frowns at him.

‘Are you in much pain? Are they attending to you properly? I’ll talk to them if they aren’t. I could get you moved rooms if you wanted.’

‘They’re too fucking nice, if anything,’ Barty spits bitterly. A helpless silence falls. They’re both lost in their own ways.

‘Do you miss her?’ Regulus asks after a while.

‘Do I get to?’

‘It’s not a matter of asking for permission.’

‘I don’t buy that,’ Barty mutters darkly.

‘The only person you could possibly ask for permission right now is dead. I know you loved her. We all loved her. You can miss her - should miss her.’

‘She was the very best of us, Reg. She was miles better than any of us could ever be, and I’ve fucking killed her. It’s my fault she’s dead.’ Barty’s voice is thick and strained as he speaks. It’s hard to breathe. If he had any more mobility he would smash something, but he can’t. He’s stuck in bed in a hospital, and there’s nowhere to run.

‘Maybe. Maybe you are to blame. But it doesn’t matter any more. Pandora is gone. She’s just gone, Barty. You’re not going to change that, believe me, I know that much.’

‘It should have been me.’ Regulus sighs wearily.

‘Well, it wasn’t. Whether you like it or not, you’re the one that survived. Do me a favour and just… try. Try to want to live. Don’t let me lose two friends in the same month. You know Pandora wouldn’t have wanted that.’ Barty stares at Regulus for a while. His expression is pained. Then he shifts away from him as much as his injured body will allow and closes his eyes without speaking. Regulus rubs a hand across his forehead and stands up.

‘I’ll be back tomorrow at seven again. I’m a bit less busy, at least for now. Evan probably won’t come. He doesn’t hate you, though. He’s just grieving.’ He pauses.

‘Look after yourself, Barty. As best you can.’

[sukifoof]

its 6 in the morning and ive been up all night so now u all have to listen to me be insane about flowey. anyway i really really love how undertale portrays flowey’s trauma as i’ve said plenty of times before but the thing that’s getting me today is how well it touches on the subject of feeling trapped or stuck. he has this constant theme of isolation that’s extremely prominent to his whole character-- the only one who’s neither human nor monster, the only one capable of taking control, the only one who directly talks to you about your time shenanigans, the only one who’s. Like That. everything about his character sets him apart from everyone else and i love it so much. there’s several other characters who have a similar isolation theme going on (toriel, mad mew mew, alphys, etc) that parallel flowey’s loneliness, but he’s too stuck in his trauma to be able to see that he’s not alone. which makes a lot of sense!! trauma can leave someone feeling like no one else would Get It, especially the kind of grief flowey has been dealing with.

first, he wakes up as a flower. no one is there. he’s numb, and who knows how much time has passed. his mother has left. his father has killed six people he died to protect. chara is gone, and that’s really the biggest thing. the one person who he lived through that trauma with is gone. he’s literally alone with his memories of what happened. he sits there and has to question what’s real, probably replaying everything over in his head who knows how many times. and chara’s still gone. and oh, he can return things to the state where he first woke up-- and chara’s still gone. no matter how much he tries to go back, he’s trapped in the present. he has this distinct separation from his family, because his parents could never understand how he’s feeling, and the person who could is gone and isn’t coming back. when frisk fell, i’m sure he was just living through everything again. of course he tried to take their soul; it’s what chara would have wanted, right? it’s like this is his chance to make up for what he failed at in the past, and in a way he sees both himself and his sibling in frisk.

flowey’s situation in particular gives such a clear view into what ptsd is like. constantly reliving your trauma and looking at what could and can be done differently to prevent it from happening. waking up and suddenly realizing that so much time has passed, but you still feel the same way you did when it first happened. thinking that you have more control over everything than you really do, which leads to even more self blame about what happened. lashing out because of how lonely you feel, and realizing just how different you are from everyone else. frisk falling down forces flowey to realize that he’s not in control. he couldn’t have controlled chara’s actions or thoughts, and he can’t control everything else, no matter how much he wants to or think he can.

i think a lot about how flowey could have just let everything go on. he didn’t have to keep resetting, and yet he did. because he can’t accept that he’s living in a world where he won’t always know what’s happening next and how to perfectly lead everything to the happy end that he wants. so instead he chooses to live in a loop because at least he knows what will happen. he says it’s boring and that he has to know everything that will happen because he’s bored, but it’s likely because of his Various Control Issues born from his ptsd. when he’s given the time to properly grieve and show that he can be understood, it’s like he can finally accept what happened in his childhood, and that he had no control over chara. he’s been stuck in this weird limbo of feeling like he knows better than everyone else, and that everything that happens hinges on him and his decisions. that kind of thinking and his isolation definitely lends to how he has a hard time viewing people as people, which further throws him into his isolation.

i really like that the true pacifist end allows him to say goodbye to his past and chara and to finally get out of this pit he’s been stuck in, metaphorically and literally lol. i’ve never seen anything else portray that specific kind of grief as well as undertale has and i appreciate it so much cuz it’s a very lonely thing to live through. i think kekkai sensen, live a live, and omori handle grief in a similar way that undertale does, which i also really appreciate... it’s a very sensitive topic that toby has written extremely well and i’m so excited to see what he does with deltarune cuz his writing is just. always so good. i keep saying this but flowey feels so much like a traumatized burnt out gifted kid who tried to go to college and immediately dropped out cuz he completely freaked out when he realized everything was just gonna continue happening and chara still isn’t there i need someone else to understand this i am begging. i hope this post is at least mildly coherent <3 i love flowey hes my Big Favorite

[cabezadeperro]

Friend as you know I am in the codybly blender rn, may I please request them with 💘 or 💛 whichever you like best!

1 codyblynder for len.

i chose the second one because 1. yellow!, and 2. i do love a good reunion kiss

💛 reunion kiss / relief

---

The sky has yet to lose Bly’s interest. He sits on the tarmac, the base buzzing all around him and his back against one of the many crates waiting to be loaded on a ship and off-world. After so long in space stations and capital ships and conference rooms, Bly’s slowly but surely remembering how it feels to be out in the open. He leans his head back and follows the wispy white clouds with his eyes, the vibration of ships landing and taking off making his bones rattle.

He knows better than to think himself unguarded, but they leave him the hell alone, and he’s come to the conclusion that that’s what matters. The birthers don’t quite know what to make of him; his brothers pity and fear him in equal measure. Bly’s tired: tired of himself, tired of awkward silences, tired of vigilant eyes, and too tired to do anything about the whole thing, so lately he just tries his best to find himself a place to sit and look at the clouds that’s out at the way and think of nothing.

He’s thought more than once about leaving. It wouldn’t be easy, but it wouldn’t be too hard either: the rebels are a paranoid, suspicious bunch, but Bly was trained by the best of the best, and he’s been doing this for a very long time. 

They would hunt him down. They would find him and they would probably kill him, and—and.

There’s a certain kind of bitter, awful pleasure in thinking about that. About being killed, about dying. He has outlived not just his purpose but everything else as well: he’s but a living fossil, slowly ossifying, worn down by time and weather. He doesn’t think he wants to die, not really, but he doesn’t quite know if he wants to keep on living. What’s left to live for?

If he lets himself, he can almost intellectualise the whole thing: what he’s feeling is some kind of compound, overcomplicated grief. He’s grieving nothing and everything at once: the world has ended, and he helped end it, the world keeps on keeping on.

In a way, he misses the simplicity and ease of mind that the chip gave him for the first few weeks, the first couple months: it didn’t last, but while it did, it didn’t let him think. Not about anything that mattered.

And then: Cody’s favourite captain, aiming the business end of his blaster at Bly, and then waking up in that shitty medbay, and then, and then. And then.

Bly exhales. His ass is falling asleep, so he stands up with a groan and shakes himself.

For a supposedly secret base, it sees quite a lot of traffic. Bly leans his elbows on a crate and watches with something that’s not quite interest a ship trying its best to navigate the narrow space between full landing pads. It’s an old GAR model, an ancient larty, the paint on the sides chipped and washed out, the bright colours of the nose painting cheerful and awful under the clear morning light. 

The pilot knows what they’re doing, but it takes them some time, and Bly watches all the while, amused despite himself. 

By the time they finally touch down, he’s sitting on top of the crates, cross-legged, his right elbow on his knee and his chin resting on the palm of his hand, and he’s not that surprised to find out that the shuttle was mostly carrying clones.

What he did not expect is for one of those clones to be Cody.

At first he’s just one of them: he’s wearing an awkward mix of civvie clothes and thermals, his dark hair overgrown, patchy stubble on his jaw, and he looks stiff and angry and out of place. He exits the larty and stop to the side, blinking half-blinded in the bright sunlight, and Bly doesn’t quite realise he’s on his feet until he’s half-way to the ship, his body moving without his input, his legs carrying him closer and closer until it’s too late and Cody has seen him too.

Cody’s on him in seconds. He launches himself at Bly, his arms going around Bly’s neck and his legs wrapping around his hips, and Bly holds them both up the best he can, stumbling on the cracked tarmac, the sun in his eyes and Cody warm and smelly and alive and heavy in his arms. Cody has hidden his face in Bly’s neck, he’s holding Bly so hard it hurts, and Bly would take it and take him forever and a day, if Cody let him.

“I thought—” Bly croaks. Cody peels his face off Bly’s neck. He’s flushed and scowling and his eyes are bright.

“Shut up,” he says, and kisses him, off-centre, their teeth clacking together. Bly snorts. He allows himself to be kissed quiet, and this doesn’t fix anything, this doesn’t fix him, but he kisses back anyway and holds on.

[irondad-defensesquad]

To be yourself is all that you can do

Also posted on AO3!

TRIGGER WARNINGS - self-harm (not explicit), past temporary character death, anxiety attacks, and grief/mourning.

DO NOT SHIP PETER AND TONY. P/ROSHIP DNI.

--

Someone falls to pieces, sleeping all alone Someone kills the pain, spinning in the silence She finally drifts away Someone gets excited in a chapel yard, catches a bouquet Another lays a dozen white roses on a grave Yeah, and to be yourself is all that you can do Hey, to be yourself is all that you can do - Be Yourself, Audioslave

Peter forgets where he is, until he hears a little girl’s concerned voice.

“Petey, did you get hurt?”

That’s when he realizes he hasn’t covered his arms under his sleeves, and Morgan is seeing all the ugly cuts filling his skin. Peter also goes cold when he remembers that Tony and Pepper are home, though they don’t seem to pay attention. They’re bantering in the kitchen. In fact, they were all cooking together when Peter lied that he was tired so he would go to the couch. Tony could always read him like an open book, but he was having a good time with his family, and Peter at least didn’t ruin it.

So, Peter went to the bathroom. And then he went to the couch, silent as a rock.

But now the worst outcome has come true. Peter has tainted Morgan’s innocence. How is he going to explain it to her? She’s so young to know about self-harm and how little sense it makes.

“I’ll get Daddy-!” Morgan is about to jump out of the couch to run to the kitchen and he’s going to ruin Tony’s happiness–

“No! I-I mean-!” Peter lets out, thankfully not too loudly. “It’s fine, I swear.” The cuts still burn a little, wearing the knit sweater Tony got him is quite itchy. “I have super healing, remember? They’ll be gone soon.”

If anything, they’re not healing properly.

Morgan can probably tell.

“Do you need ice? Band-aids?” She suggests. “You’ll need a lot of them though…”

“I-It’s okay, Mo. I can handle it.”

Peter gulps, glancing at the kitchen. He can hear Neil Young playing. It’s not like the AC/DC Tony would blast in the workshop… Peter might miss it, but this little life he built here with Pepper and their daughter is nice.

“Just promise me you won’t tell your parents, okay?” Peter asks (begs). He knows it’s unfair to do this to Morgan after what she has just seen. “I don’t want them to freak out or anything.”

She doesn’t look as shocked anymore but she looks very sad for him.

“Okay,” Morgan replies simply. Meaning it.

Peter doesn’t know why Morgan isn’t asking anything. She doesn’t question where the cuts come from. She doesn’t ask why Peter did this to himself. She doesn’t get mad. She doesn’t cry.

Instead…

Morgan wraps her small arms around Peter’s neck. That makes the boy’s eyes tear up, but he has to swallow them for now.

“There, there,” Morgan pats his back. That action makes him snort. She’s imitating Baymax, since they watched Big Hero 6 the other day.

“T-Thanks.”

Morgan really does love him. He’s her “super big brother”.

Then she lets go and smiles at him. Morgan is so cute. Peter would’ve squeezed her but his arms hurt and he doesn’t want to hurt her, too.

Suddenly, her eyes sparkle.

“You wait here!” Morgan says, suddenly sprinting away.

It seems like she’s running upstairs.

Peter frowns, trying to figure out what she’s up to. At the same time, he sees his cuts again, glaring at them. He feels so stupid for relapsing, but he had such an awful night of sleep and he needed to distract himself, he couldn’t have an anxiety attack when everyone else wants to have fun–

Morgan has returned with a fuzzy blanket that she probably got from Peter’s room, as well as a little stuffed bunny that she gave him.

“Here! Now you’re warm and you’re not alone!” Morgan says proudly.

Peter laughs, rather broken. He hugs his bunny. “Aww, thank you.”

“Now one last thing!” The girl runs again, but she goes to the kitchen instead.

Morgan is likely looking for something as she runs all over the kitchen to get specific things. She’s even panting at this point.

“Whoa there, speedy, what’s all the rush for?” Tony questions, teasingly.

“I need choco milk!”

“Nice try, young lady, dinner will be ready in less than five minutes,” Pepper points out. She must be crossing her arms, even if she’s not too serious, either.

“No, it’s an emergency! Petey is sad, so he needs choco milk so he doesn’t feel so sad anymore!”

Oh f…

Okay. Okay, at the very least Morgan didn’t tell them Peter is hurt.

And is it really her fault? Morgan just wants to help. And she’s doing the right thing getting the adults, too. No child should be forced to take care of a teenager who can’t handle his own brain.

Anyway, the happy environment is definitely over. Peter can sense the tension coming from Pepper and Tony. They might even be looking at each other to figure out what to do next.

Peter stays quiet.

“Hey, Morguna,” Tony resumes his sweet dad tone, “how about you and Mom get Peter a really nice book while I make the choco milk?”

“Yeah! Story for Petey!” Morgan loves the idea.

Two people leave the kitchen. “I’ll be back, Petey!” Morgan reassures from afar.

With the mother and daughter upstairs, the floor seems awfully silent. Save for the music.

Peter can also hear Tony sighing to himself.

He hates that.

The man seems to handle both the chocolate milk and dinner. Peter knows his mentor is going to confront him soon, and his heart is beating faster. And the teen knows he can’t run to the restroom again.

Peter spends so long overthinking that when the steps are coming towards him, he hides in the blanket to pretend he’s not there. Wow, he used to do this so much as a kid. Especially when he was sad and Uncle Ben would come and find him…

“... Hello, strange lump. I’m looking for my teenager who could use some chocolate milk right now,” Tony jokes. “Can you get him for me?”

Peter pretends he didn’t feel warm when Tony called him his teenager.

Gulping again, the boy comes out.

“Um, hi.”

“Hey, kid. Brought you milk.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

As Tony hands him the cup, he’s actually cupping both of Peter’s hands, too. Tony is kneeling down in front of him. Peter doesn’t dare look up.

“What happened?” Tony whispers.

“I dunno. I had a bad night.” Peter is not completely lying.

“Nightmare?”

The teen shakes his head. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh, Pete, you can let me know when you can’t sleep.”

The gentle reminder, without a hint of annoyance, certainly won’t help Peter hide his tears. He looks down, staring at his hidden lower arms.

“It was stupid and… I didn’t want you to know.”

Peter doesn’t want to see Tony’s sad face. He doesn’t want to be reminded of someone who looked out for him that bore the same expression. The sadness of unconditional love, despite all of Peter’s mistakes.

“Hey,” Tony calls, “look at me.”

The teenager almost shakes his head, knowing it would be rude.

Knowing he’ll just regret avoiding Tony, too.

The man is smiling.

“I love you, Peter. Pepper and Morgan love you, too. We’re here for you through anything, including your lows,” Tony tells him.

With that, he kisses Peter’s forehead without a second thought.

Tony has always been affectionate, but now, it’s like he’s opened himself more. That likely has to do with Morgan.

Everything has changed so much…

“Now, I just want you to get warm and get ready for a story,” the man breaks him out of his trance. “Does that sound good?”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

Soon, Morgan and Pepper are back with quite a handful of books.

“Whoa, that’s a lot you got there,” Tony comments.

“I didn’t know what to pick! There are so many good ones! Maybe Petey can tell us which one he likes the most,” Morgan suggests.

“Okay, you kids settle down now. You leave the stories to the pros.”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “I’m obviously the pro here.”

Morgan joins Peter on the couch, snuggling against him, the two protected by the blanket. Tony and Pepper sit on the floor, all the books lying around. They show Peter some of them. Of course, the one about the spider that couldn’t web attracts him.

The spider could stick to the walls like any other spider, but she couldn’t make any of the beautiful webs. She felt lonely and alienated. Eventually she finds a group of spiders that have other “flaws” that accept her the way she is.

Tony and Pepper will make silly voices together. Morgan always laughs or gives snarky comments like her parents do. Peter doesn’t really say much, but he feels his body relaxing more and more.

They don’t read all the books, mostly because they still have to eat dinner which has gotten cold. They reheat it and eat together. Peter can feel their eyes on him but he can’t blame them. Other than that, it’s pretty calm.

Morgan is tired after doing everything to make Peter feel better, so she goes to bed rather early (even if she tries to convince them otherwise). Once Pepper and Tony tuck her in, Peter shows up. Morgan is already with her eyes closed, breathing in and out…

Peter grins, kissing her forehead.

“Thanks, Morgan. You’re my hero, too.”

“You’re welcome, Petey-pie…” the girl says sleepily.

Peter smooths her hair gently, soon turning off the lamp for her.

When he leaves, he can tell Pepper and Tony were watching them.

The two plus Peter hang around in the living room. The adults are talking more. Peter is actually in the middle of them, like he’s their kid, too.

Sometimes they ask him stuff to include him. Peter might unintentionally make funny comments every now and then. Pepper laughs out loud, mostly because Peter is just telling her an embarrassing thing Tony did years ago. The man’s look of betrayal makes it all the funnier.

Peter faintly hears Harvest Moon by Neil Young in the background.

The whole time, the spider-teen tries not to scratch his arms and likely tear them apart again. It must mean that his wounds still haven’t healed. And he feels like he can’t just leave to go to the restroom again. Peter is really bad at hiding things and Tony is more than familiar with it.

Millions of “what-ifs” race in a loop inside Peter’s head, which has him not realize the snapping fingers in front of him.

“... hello? Peter?” Tony calls him.

“Oh? Hey. Hi. Sorry. I totally spaced out right now.”

“You’ve been scratching your arm for a bit… Is the sweater bothering you?”

“No! No, it’s just a tic.”

Tony and Pepper eye each other again. Peter wishes he could hide in the blanket lump and never, ever come out again.

“I’m, uhhhh… going to get some water,” the boy panics, leaving the couch even though he doesn’t want to. But he does need a glass of water.

Neil Young is the main thing he hears in the kitchen. Peter, however, can tell the adults in the living room are whispering to themselves. He tries to distract himself with his phone; there aren’t new messages from Aunt May or Ned. They’re both out of town, the former is with her friends she hasn’t seen in five years, and Ned is spending time with his family as he should. Peter doesn’t know about MJ since she doesn’t often open up about her personal life.

Maybe some part of him wants to run away right now. Literally right now. He can do that. But Tony and Pepper are going to look for him. Morgan is going to blame herself because she can’t heal Peter’s wounds – the mental and the physical.

Peter finishes the water in one swallow, nearly choking. Thankfully, that doesn’t happen.

Thus, he returns to the living room. Pepper is standing up while Tony remains on the couch. She sees Peter and smiles.

“I’m going to bed,” she announces. “You two don’t stay up too late, alright?”

“I would never,” Tony jokes.

Peter smiles nervously.

Pepper approaches him and gently kisses his head.

“Good night, honey.”

Honey…

“Hey, don’t I get a kiss, too?” Tony whines.

Pepper rolls her eyes but she kisses her husband, too.

“Um, good night, Pepper,” Peter waves awkwardly and she waves back.

Finally, she’s going upstairs, leaving Tony and Peter on their own.

“So kid, wanna spend some ‘us’ time now?” The hero wonders.

Peter, for some reason, cannot answer right away.

He knows that if he goes to bed, he won’t be able to sleep.

But he doesn’t want Tony to know about his arms.

He has no way out.

“... you okay?” Tony softens his voice a lot more.

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, Mr. Stark.”

“Hey now, I don’t bite.”

“I-I know.”

Tony is trying to be that jokey man from before, but his worry only grows. Peter knows that Tony is not going to bed anytime soon BECAUSE of Peter. He’ll stay there forever. And ever.

For once, the boy returns to the couch, but this time he sits on the other corner of the couch, away from Tony. He’s hugging himself as a pathetic form of comfort. And he knows that’s only going to hurt Tony further. Why is Peter like this?

Regardless, the man is stretching an arm, inviting Peter to come closer.

The latter wants to cry.

“Kid?” Tony urges. “What do you need right now?”

Peter gulps. “I-I…”

He can’t hide the sniff.

“I dunno. B-But I don’t want to go to bed,” he replies. “I-I don’t want to go home, either.” I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be alone again.

“It’s alright, buddy. You can stay here.”

“I-I feel like I’m getting in the way.”

“You aren’t.”

“It’s like I don’t belong here, Mr. Stark.”

These last words feel like a stab to the heart.

“I’ve been away for five years and- and when I come back, suddenly I find out you have a daughter and you’re not living upstate anymore, and our workshop is gone, and there isn’t hard rock playing in the house… a-and it’s not like this life you built here is bad , it’s just… I wasn’t here for all of it. And you look so happy, Mr. Stark. You have an actual family. And I’m just…��here.”

Peter’s vision is blurring.

“... you miss the life we had, right?” Tony whispers.

The teenager nods, trying to contain his sobs.

“Like the nights I spent at the Compound… the movies we watched together… that awesome, open view… all those big rooms… Happy, Rhodey, even Vision who didn’t always show up… When we built stuff together and we had all the bots with us, and when we couldn’t sleep we would just stargaze…” the more Peter talks, the more he breaks. “But now? Everything’s changed. A-And they’re not bad changes! ‘Cause this place here is nice, I-I love Morgan, I love Pepper, but it’s not the same and I feel like I–”

Tony has slowly scooted closer, still not touching Peter.

“... I came back wrong. I… I’m still the same sixteen-year-old from before, but somehow I’m not. You still grew up without me and it doesn’t feel right.”

The man is completely silent, but Peter can tell he’s listening, and every word that comes out of the boy must be killing him inside.

“You guys look so happy together, and with me here… I dunno, I feel like I’m ruining everything.”

“Peter…”

“... I ruined Morgan specifically.”

Tony frowns. “What do you mean?”

Peter freezes and swallows. Now he has to tell the truth.

“Mr. Stark, I… I did… I did something stupid. Something really stupid. The thing is, what happened last night… is that suddenly this dread will fill my gut and it’s like I’m”– he knows it’ll be awful to say –“I’m going to turn into dust at any moment.”

Tony’s tension rises even if he doesn’t say anything.

“And I usually just distract myself, and I can’t sleep anymore because what if I never wake up again?” Peter argues. “But then it happened again in the kitchen when you guys were having fun, and I rushed to the restroom before you noticed and I…”

He sighs deeply, clutching his own arm.

When he pulls up his sleeve, the cuts still look ugly. They don’t look any more healed. The sweater is probably making it worse.

Sensing the horror coming from Tony, Peter cries harder.

“M-Morgan saw this! She saw all of this, and I was so stupid, she’s just a child, she wasn’t supposed to know. S-She didn’t ask any questions but I know she probably wondered why I did this. She just wanted to make me feel better. And she can’t, and it’s not her fault. But what if she blames herself? I even told her to keep this a secret from you. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have done this in the first place. I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark.”

As Peter sobs, quiet enough so Morgan and Pepper won’t hear it upstairs, he can sense Tony leaning closer. What is he going to do?

“... It’s not healing,” Tony observes.

“I-I don’t know why. It should’ve healed by now.”

“Hey, I can help my way. You don’t have to force yourself to feel pain.”

“B-But I did this to myself–”

“You don’t deserve it. You’re suffering, Pete. You did it because it made sense at that moment. But even if it wasn’t the best choice… you don’t have to beat yourself up for it.”

How is Tony not angry with him?

While he looks broken, he’s also determined.

“Alright, follow me, kid.”

Tony stands up and heads to the kitchen. He tells Peter to sit on a chair as he likely grabs a first-aid kit. He takes a piece of cotton and likely applies salina.

“You let me know if it burns, okay? I’ll do it slowly.”

Peter may wince, but it’s quite familiar. He used to get hurt pretty often as a kid. Guess that hasn’t changed since.

“After this, you should change into something more comfortable. That sweater isn’t doing good for you.”

“I didn’t want to take it off because you made it.”

“I’m not going to get mad over a sweater, kid. If it’s bothering you, then you don’t have to keep wearing it.”

While saying all of this, Tony’s entire focus is on his arms.

Peter realizes something and tears up again. Some tears might fall.

“Does it hurt?” His mentor asks, concerned he might be making things worse.

“N-No, no, it’s just… I-I don’t remember the last time… we had this.”

I don’t remember the last time you took care of me like this.

Definitely five years ago. Those late nights where Peter came from a bad patrol and Tony had to treat him, along with the doctors he trusted to help Peter. But most of those nights, it was just mentor and mentee, both trying not to mess up but still messing up, and yet learning better.

Peter feels so childish for this. It’s like he hasn’t had parental affection in forever.

Tony chuckles sadly. “Yeah, me neither.”

He looks mournful.

Peter tries to be quiet.

“... I missed this, too.”

The teen looks at Tony, finally.

“I mean, obviously I don’t like that you’re hurt, it’s mostly… I do this all the time with Morgan. I would never trade her or this life here for anything. But in the back of my head… I miss our workshop too, buddy. I miss our sleepovers. Everything seemed so simple back then, right? And all these years, I always had you in my mind. When we bought this cabin… I made sure to have an extra room. Not a mere guest room, but a place for you.”

Tony has stopped treating Peter’s cuts for now, as they’re sharing a meaningful gaze.

“My family… Pepper, Morgan, Rhodey, and Happy were all here. But you weren’t. It never felt complete to me. To any of us, honestly. I didn’t want you to be forgotten. That’s why I told Morgan all about you. We still celebrated your past birthdays. I hoped you’d be here again so we could be together again.”

The hero’s eyes are filled with water.

“I’m glad you’re here with us, Pete. But I understand how you feel. You haven’t had the time to mourn what you lost. You just suddenly returned and all that life you knew was gone.”

Peter tenses. “I-I hope I’m not being ungrateful or anything–”

“No, you’re not. You’re right to feel sad.”

Tony stares at him for a while, until he resumes his job. Peter just watches him in the meantime, looking more exhausted. The boy replays all the things he said…

Somewhere in the back of his head, Peter always had the impression Tony didn’t miss him and would’ve probably been okay without him. And he only welcomed Peter again because Tony didn’t want to ignore him. Or he did it out of pity.

Now, Peter feels stupid for even feeling this way.

After drying his arms with the cotton, Tony seems to apply some ointment onto the injuries, slowly massaging Peter’s arms. Not a word is shared between them.

When the man is over, he sighs in relief.

“You should let them breathe now,” Tony tells him. “If they don’t get better in the morning, we’ll figure something out.”

Peter looks at the cuts, which are still red. At the very least, they’re not burning and itching like before.

“Thanks…” he mumbles.

“You want me to get you another sweater?”

“N-No, no… I'm not cold.”

Peter takes off the one he’s currently wearing, revealing an old t-shirt beneath. The kind that has science puns.

Tony takes the knit sweater for him, folding it neatly. Following that, he puts away the first-aid kit. Peter waits in the chair. Later, they return to the couch. This time, Peter is glued to Tony. The music has been lowered but it’s still there.

The teen, however, wants to cry again.

He knows he can’t change the past and that he has to accept it at one point. But it didn’t have to be this painful. There wasn’t any point. And while he may be with Tony now, Peter will never know if something will separate them again. He doesn’t want to deal with that again.

He can’t stop thinking about it.

Tony, of course, notices. With his arm wrapped around Peter, he rubs the latter’s up and down.

“It’s okay, buddy. You can let it out.”

That way, he cries what is still repressed inside him. Tony allows him, making sure Peter doesn’t cry alone.

Eventually, Peter is lying his head on Tony’s lap, the latter smoothing the former’s hair. Peter has relaxed significantly, though knowing that anxiety is going to bite him back later. In fact, he’s already wondering what time it is. He assumes it must be late.

Tony senses it. “It’s alright, kid. No rush.”

“You should go to bed…”

“I’m not sleepy. Are you?”

“Not really. There’s too much in my head.”

“Same here.”

Peter doesn’t want to be selfish and take Tony down with him, but he figures that’s not true. Tony Stark can do whatever he wants.

“You want to stay like this?” The man asks. “Or maybe we could watch something. Your choice.”

“Hmm… maybe.”

Tony snorts as Peter melts in the touch.

“You really needed this, huh?”

“Yeah…”

Peter faintly hears a remote and the TV speaking at a lower volume. He supposes Tony turned off the music for good. Some goofy cartoon might be airing judging by the noises. Tony switches channels for a bit. Meanwhile, he keeps running his fingers through Peter’s curls, not losing any concentration.

If he’s not mistaken, Tony might have put Finding Nemo. Which they already watched years ago. And it’s right on the scene where Marlin finds the only remaining egg from the barracuda attack.

The soundtrack for this movie is nice.

As well as Marlin’s reassurances and Tony’s presence.

Those two aren’t too different from each other, honestly.

Peter doesn’t actually see the movie now, but he hears the whole plot. He remembers it well.

His eyes are closed.

It’s only the movie, Peter and Tony.

It’s just them again.

Even if everything else has changed… that at least hasn’t.

Peter is home.

He finally feels home.

When he wakes up again, he realizes Tony has lied them both down on the couch. And the man is snoring.

Honestly, as loud as it is, Peter doesn’t mind it.

He just falls asleep once more.

Eventually, Morgan joins them, lying on top of Peter.

Pepper might take pictures.

And Tony complains he’s being crushed.

Peter’s cuts have gotten better. They haven’t quite disappeared, but they’re not red anymore.

As he eats breakfast with Tony, Pepper, and Morgan… Peter realizes he’ll be okay. And sometimes he won’t be okay. But he’ll get through.

[bells-of-black-sunday]

Allow me to be unhinged on main and finally write the post where I break down Tar's lore and how I interpret it. It's most certainly not cannon, but it's how I view and write my Tarhos until we actually get things that talk about him as a person. Something something there's a joke here about me not having reading comprehension and it's okay to disagree.

Part one: His Store Page Lore

I’m going to start with the lore on his profile. It’s quite a long read as he’s from the era where they started transitioning to longer and longer backgrounds for both survivors and killers, but inside of it there’s not actually much of substance. I mean… what does it actually tell us about Tarhos as a person? Let’s dive into it.

“ Tarhos K.ovács didn’t remember much about his childhood, but what he did remember he would chase his entire life. He remembered the cries and screams in the village. He remembered his mother forcing him to swallow a thick, black fluid like medicine. He remembered collapsing to the hard floor only to awaken in a mass grave, buried under a crush of bodies, with the sound of the village burning in his ears. He remembered pushing, pulling, and climbing to the top of the bloody mass only to be seized by the death, destruction, and silence—the indifferent and impenetrable silence. A high-pitched whine suddenly sounded in his ears and his skin began to prickle as he realised he was in the presence of something he couldn’t possibly understand. And though he couldn’t articulate what he was experiencing, he knew it wasn’t pain, grief, or fear. It was something else. Something closer to— Awe. “

Putting the entire paragraph here since it’s the opening, but Tarhos is already a deeply traumatized man. He was thrown into a pile of bodies that he had to physically claw himself out of as a child, it’s natural for anyone to freeze in that kind of circumstance. There’s also the first hints that he may have already been touched by the entity in there with the line: “ A high-pitched whine suddenly sounded in his ears and his skin began to prickle as he realized he was in the presence of something he couldn’t possibly understand. “ While I don’t necessarily think he was, I think this is just his mind reframing what he saw and experienced as a literal child to cope with what happened to him. Reframing something he never could even begin to understand at that age as him being in awe of what he’s witnessing especially when we get into his later philosophy in life that he talks about in his tome where he thinks life is about violence from your birth til you die.

There’s also the mention of his mother, which put a pin in her; we'll get to that later with his tome. His mother unsuccessfully tried to poison him to save him from the life he would later have which is tragic in itself, but he woke up. He was probably still feeling numb from the effects of whatever she had him drink when he did wake up in that pile which can dull the senses which also can lead to this “awe” like numb feeling that’s described. I don’t think he’s nearly as violent and heartless as keeps getting hammered in over and over again in the text, because it just doesn’t support it at least in his pre-entity life. In fact… we know next to nothing about it. Not even from add ons and in the cosmetics that do talk about it, they say quite the opposite. Most notably his moth cosmetic where he lets a moth go instead of killing it despite looking at it like it’s weak and helpless in his palm. 

We know he has restraint. I do also want to call attention to some quotes that still talk about when he’s being shipped off to Italy.

“ He didn’t even react when they carried him off to a horse-drawn buggy and locked him up in a small, wooden cage with other slaves. ”

“ And even as they rode away telling him he was headed for Italy, Tarhos stared through the wooden cracks with eyes wide open and a heart wanting to understand what could not be understood. “

Again. This lack of reaction from a child who is coming back from a near death experience, this to me reads less as him being mesmerized by the situation around him and more like the second quote. He’s trying to understand. That’s the last we get of his childhood even in his tome it just expands a tiny bit on what we already know. There’s no sympathy for him. There’s no mention of anyone pitying him and trying to comfort him. He is just another piece of cargo to be traded and sold. He isn’t human. That feeling can also lead to that sort of dissociation where you’re just a passenger in your own body, not reacting to anything and certainly not being able to even understand what’s going on. I know I keep harping on it, but it’s important. He’s not an evil mastermind who was born that way, he’s a child. 

Moving onto the midpoint in his lore where it again doesn’t talk about him as a person, but instead talks about other things. How he belonged to the Guardia Campagnia where he trained under “Kadir Hakam” whose role is literally not stated, but judging how privileged Tarhos is as a slave (he gets granted a literal title of nobility that is “Knight”) I’m going to assume he’s either close to the captain or the captain himself. And I do write him like he is, because as stated Tarhos gets this title that I’ve literally never read about being given to foot soldier slaves, not that it never happened I might not be looking in the right places, but it certainly wasn’t the norm and to grant that title you have to be a member of nobility yourself. 

That and it’s unusual to name drop a person and never bring them up again. Usually if someone is named dropped they hold some sort of importance. Regardless, in the same paragraph it mentions Tarhos learned how to fight, forge weapons, repeat a code of chivalry and obey whoever employed him obediently. This is probably where his hatred for authority comes from. In his tome he talks about how he hates people that are cowards. People who lie to themselves about what they’re doing to justify it, he says that he’s been raised around knights and lords his entire life and they’re all that way. He despises them, but we’ll get to that in a bit. This is backed up by his normal lore where in his own eyes he sees other mercenaries, probably free men, as hostile and competitive only finding a small friend group in the faithful three who see him as their ticket to freedom. These are the only people Tarhos seemingly trusts and some of the only people he later comes back for.

“ Years passed. Blood flowed. And yet, all that killing still didn’t bring Tarhos closer to what he had experienced in his village. Nevertheless, for his bravery in battle, Tarhos was granted knighthood and freedom. The Hungarian slave was now liberated, his brutality rewarded, though his heart still longed for something else — something he could not name or describe. “

I do want to point out how he was granted knighthood for his bravery in battle immediately followed up with it being a reward for his brutality. Not that they’re opposites, no, it’s just odd when we’ve never been told anything about him being brutal in his campaigns or mercenary work before. Just again with the faithful three, him being courageous and efficient in battle. You’d think for someone whose so evil and brutal and obsessed with death what he’s done a majority of his life would be talked about more, no? Why would it only be brought up now when he’s free? Bhvr writing aside, Tarhos takes no pleasure in what he does. His heart still longs for the silence and awe that he experienced in his childhood, he’s never gotten that from what he’s done despite being in probably countless similar situations. 

This is when Tarhos takes up his long contract with Vittorio that’s just escorting him on his hunt for relics so he can get the money to buy his friend’s contracts out. While we don’t know anything really that happened on that expedition we do know it wasn’t something short. This is the medieval period. They’re traveling by horseback, foot, and boat that often requires you to follow waterways just to keep your horses hydrated, especially with Vittorio being nobility he’d want to keep them well conditioned as they’d be high quality. This made them travel no matter what even if he met him in Vittorio’s town from Italy to France, crossing mountains into Spain, and into Portugal. That is not a short trip. It is utterly insane to have no info on this massive part of both their meetings, but with how long they were together and the artifacts Vittorio was searching for being relics to summon the Entity.

This brings us to the very important question that I honestly cannot answer. That is, how much is it him utterly despising Vittorio for something that happened on that trip and how much of it is Entity influence that we see with all the killers? The truth is probably somewhere in the middle, but we do know from his tome that Tarhos does hate him. Again we don’t know for what exactly. If it’s just him being a coward in his eyes, him being nobility or something that happened, there is no info on it, not even an add-on talks about it. Which I will constantly complain about until we get even a cosmetic that talks about it, because it's such a massive piece of his lore that not even his tome touches on. Back to what we do know, we do know being told to “find another way” sets him off to kill the native people guarding the catacombs and grab the Lapis Paradisus. After he gets the entity, summoning stone is the only point in his lore and tomb that we ever read about him being unnecessarily cruel and brutal.

This is where we get him imprisoning Vittorio in his own dungeon, torturing his townsfolk which strengthens the Entity connection to the land, him riding on the Guardia Compagnia and killing everyone except for the faithful three, and then coming back and torturing Vittorio psychologically to try and figure out what’s so important about the stone. Then the Entity scoops him up after lords raid the town calling Tarhos “the embodiment of evil”. This is what I talk about when it comes to his written lore where it’s very “I want to have my cake and eat it too”. He is this violent and brutal man who's done so much, trust me guys, but the only times it’s ever written about him being unnecessarily cruel and evil it’s when the Entity is already in his head and I think his tome only further exacerbates it. I also find it really funny that his store lore brings this great importance that Tarhos is torturing Vittorio, because he won’t tell him what the artifacts are for, but that gets completely lost in his tome. Speaking of which—

Part 2: His Tome

So I’m going to say the most obvious thing people have pointed out about it: it is literally his store page lore. I’m not going to go over the narrative beats of it like I did in part one, I’m just going to talk about what I find extraordinarily interesting about it, because unlike his store page lore, we actually get insights into Tarhos as a person and what his ideals are. Memory 151 is all about the first part of his lore except it puts greater emphasis on how much he respects and cares for his mother and puts even greater context as to why he is so calm waking up in a body pile:

“ His father fighting outside. His mother preparing something on the small wooden table. The screams rise to a crescendo. He stares at his mother. No concern. No panic. No fear. Her face is hard and determined as she prepares a thick black elixir that she says will help them sleep through the madness. She is their strength. She is his strength. He has never seen her in this way and he feels safe despite the chaos and carnage outside their small, thatched home. “

“ She turns to Tarhos with a reassuring nod. She helps him drink his share and tells him everything will be as it is supposed to be. Bitter and thick, the elixir oozes down his throat as the cries and screams and clangs rise and fall outside. Then he feels it. The numbness spreads from his lips to his feet. Faces blur. Sounds fade. And an inky blackness spreads over his eyes as he falls asleep in his mother’s warm embrace. Then there is silence. “

Tarhos’s most fond and only memories of his childhood are of his mother and this poison that she fed him. This does come up again, but it’s important to say that she made him feel safe. His father is only a footnote, he never gets brought up again, but his mother does. Safe to say how she made him feel before he passed out is why he woke up so calm and collected despite waking up in a body pile and staring at his uncle's dead face. This is further supported by:

“ Tarhos knows he should be scared. He knows he should feel sad, but he doesn’t. And he knows he should feel guilty for not feeling sad, but he doesn’t. What he feels he doesn’t understand or cannot put to words. He just stares at the horror before him without flinching. “

He knows what he should be feeling, but he’s just numb. He’s calm and numb just staring out in wonder over what happened to the village he grew up in. Now we don’t know how old Tarhos was when he was taken, but the typical squire at the time tended to start their apprenticeship at age 12 and going by how he grew up into having the skills for knighthood, he probably was around that age to be able to learn those skills if not maybe a year or two younger. He wouldn’t be able to process something like that happening to him, especially not with poison in his system numbing everything. And again you have to remember this is a memory re-contextualized by how he feels about life now. He is constantly searching for that numb feeling, the quiet with the ringing in his ears where he can just bask in wonder. He never got that working for the Guardia Compagnia. It states it pretty clearly in his storage page lore. 

Memory 152 is him traveling through the mountains of Portugal, so this is literally just the final few paragraphs of his lore. Nothing about him when he first got the contract. Nothing about when he started, nothing about the faithful three or his time as a slave. No mentions of how brutal and “evil” he was, truth be told I don’t think Vittorio would’ve hired him given his own ideals if Tarhos was really as evil as they try to hammer it in that he was. I don’t get why if they keep harping on him being this insane and brutal man who was cruel to be cruel why don't they show it? Don’t tell me he is. Show me he is otherwise those words mean literally nothing and are just how others perceive him while also contradicting others calling him brave and courageous which are both very positive traits.

It's also kind of really funny that his tome contradicts his lore again in that Tarhos knows what the relics are for, but I’m going to combine that quote in a block with the ones about his own personal philosophy, because I want to talk about them both together:

“ Lord Toscano claims he isn’t after riches, but hope. Hope that this stone can lead him to another world that holds knowledge that can save this one. He prays that this lost knowledge of the ancient guardians might bring peace, harmony, and order to a world plagued by cruelty, violence and imbalance. Tarhos scoffs at the idea of a world without violence. Life is violence, from birth to death, and everything in between is a futile attempt by cowards to hide from the horror that is living. The only plague in this world are the lies, the unnatural codes and laws created by nobles and lords for their mutual benefit. Unnatural laws and codes and books that deny the truth of the world by trying to make it something it's not. “

“ Tarhos believes something else. It's all good, or none of it is. It’s all evil, or none of it is. It’s all part of the same cosmic mud—the mystery that transcends the world and all its dualities. A mystery he never pretended to understand but affirmed all his life with his sword and his disdain of those who used their laws to make their slaughter pious. Hypocrites, all of them. Not him. There’s no guilt, no shame, and no need to hide from life. ”

Why would Tarhos hate the laws and codes that enable the violence that he allowed to commit and uphold his life philosophy if he is this violent and cruel to be cruel man? Time and time again where he is supposed to be this “embodiment of evil” is contradicted not only by his own words, but also by what’s written about him. He hates the church, he hates chivalry, he hates everything that is used to justify violence and human suffering, because they’re all trying to shelter themselves from what their lives are. Tarhos has experienced “nothing but darkness” his entire life. The earliest memories he has are of his mother trying to poison him to keep him out of that life and watching his childhood village being burned to the ground. His entire life he’s been treated as nothing, but another animal.

He is a slave. He isn’t a person with bodily autonomy, he had to learn to be obedient to the nobility he hates and swallow the codes that justify their human atrocity. He thinks Vittorio is an idiot. Another naive man who wants to change how the world works. 

Memory 153 is where we really see Tarhos “snap”, but it makes sense for someone in his position and again, we literally have no idea if this is a build up of things happening over and over or if it’s just random. Just going by how he already seems to hate Vittorio more than other nobles he’s been around, I’m going to assume it was a buildup of things. Probably him talking about his pacifist world view and his goals of “hope” and “good for humanity” that Tarhos genuinely doesn;t see value in. He hates it:

“ Find another way! Disgust strikes him like a sword. He feels the blade pierce his chest, smacking the breath from his lungs. He has no words for this order. All he can do is stare defiantly. Find another way? Why? So Toscano can sleep at night? So he can waste more of his time with his foolish notions of right and wrong, of good and evil, of noble and barbaric. Toscano’s entire fortune was secured with violence and slaughter justified by highly imaginative codes and laws. His fortune was secured with nothing but darkness. Tarhos grinds his teeth as disgust darkens toward hate.

And he feels something else. “

“ He’ll take his stone and his relics and his town, and he’ll show this bloody coward the truth of the world—the truth that has always lived in his heart. And no one will stop him. Not the guards in the village, and certainly not the three knights Toscano left behind. Without hesitation, Tarhos dismounts his horse and unsheathes his sword with a terrible ring. “

Tarhos is a free man who is just trying to earn money to buy out his only real friends he has contracts with. He has been riding through all of Europe for months. The last thing they need, the entire point of him going on this trip is right there and now Vittorio wants to “find another way”? I’d be mad too. It’s understandable for Tarhos to be upset given his own world view and how long he’s been traveling. I know bhvr is allergic to even trying to put it into perspective for how long he would’ve been traveling but it probably would’ve been 6+ months depending on where they started in Italy and how they traveled to France, into the mountains to Spain and then across Spain into Portugal. That is a lot of traveling and depending on when they left it could be in less than ideal conditions especially once you get into mountains. 

And this is something Tarhos doesn’t even care about. It’s just another job to him just to get money for something else. He does not care about Vittorio’s goals. He thinks they’re stupid and who knows what else Vittorio has been saying on their trip that drives him up a wall when he hates nobility to begin with. But I also want to highlight the important note that can easily be brushed over. “He feels something else.” To me this is when the Entity really gets her claws in him, we know she does this with most killers to influence them. We know that’s why Rin’s dad randomly snapped and killed her family as stated by the devs he was originally the target of the Entity before it took her instead. Tarhos I don’t think is like a Trickster or a Ghostface.

He doesn’t actively enjoy the violence he commits like they do, it’s just a part of life to him. Violence is part of living and he has to make money to live and to make money he has to kill for other nobility who hide behind laws and codes to justify the atrocities they have others commit in their name. Also after this point is the only time we ever get actually shown him being cruel and unusual. This is when he starts torturing people and mutilating innocent people’s bodies in accordance with the book Vittorio had. The beginning statement isn’t cruel and unusual, it is him being upset at everything he has hated before, it only became cruel and unusual after he “felt something else”.

Memory 154 - 156 is just him killing the people guarding the catacombs, not all that important, but he’s not being extremely cruel there either. He’s just efficient. What we’ve already been told in his normal lore, so I won’t talk about it took much. Memory 157 is a bit more interesting, but not much to talk about besides it being more clear evidence that the Entity has some sort of effect on his life at this point. It allows him to evade death blows and kill the knights that he really shouldn’t be able to. Vittorio steps in and hands himself over to Tarhos to stop any more violence that kind of thing. 157 is just more of him killing people for the most part, they dedicated way too much to it, but you know. Memory 158 is him psychologically torturing Vittorio, nothing too interesting other than him wanting to open the passage to the “perfect world” Vittorio kept speaking about, but only, because he thinks it's just a world free from the lies and pretenses of civilization. Interesting to note that unlike his store page lore, he knows what Vittorio’s relics do, he’s just torturing him to find out where he hid the rest.

But memories 159 and 160 are extremely interesting. It’s where we get Tarhos monologuing and lamenting to Vittorio about his life and what he does. Lots of quotes coming up, because these two memories are why I love his tome:

159:

“ The nobles are preparing to attack me. And why? Because I am doing what they do, only without the lies. They say… they say I am mad.

Tarhos scoffs.

Do I seem mad to you? Life is madness, and I accept it for what it is, and so perhaps in that way I am mad.

Tarhos opens the door, enters slowly, and crushes several maggots as he paces around the small dungeon.

I remember a village we destroyed because a man had stolen food from a noble. The entire village in ruins and everyone hacked to pieces because of a few stolen apples. So much suffering and death because of one man’s hunger and another man’s ego. That's the history of the world right there.

Tarhos fixes his gaze on Toscano who says nothing.

I didn't mind the killing. But I did mind the praise and honours we were given for our just and pious deeds. That kind of talk is true madness. “

160:

“Paradise will come when you make peace with life as it is and not the way you imagine it should be. When you embrace the horror instead of running from it. Only when you can do this will you see the madness of your ways. Your futile search for knowledge. Your foolish refusal to take a life — even the life of a grovelling maggot.”

“There was a village quite far from here. A small army advanced on this village on a mission, I suppose, to butcher the barbarians… to make this world a better place. Rather than be killed by a stranger or be taken as a slave these villagers had chosen to die by their own accord.

 Tarhos scoops a few more maggots and tosses them into the mouth.

I remember one mother had poisoned her family without hesitation or remorse. The love and strength of will it must have taken to do that is something I’ve yet to see in all my experiences on the battlefield and off. I have been around nobles and knights my whole life and all I’ve seen is cowardice steeped in the rotten stew of lies and hypocrisy.

Tarhos tosses one last maggot into the festering mouth, stands upright, walks through a thick cloud of flies, and pauses in the torch-lit doorway.

I have yet to meet her equal.”

There’s a lot to unpack in these two memories. Tarhos doesn’t mind what he does, because he has to. It’s the way life works to him after his entire life being steeped in blood, because he just so happened to be born in the wrong place at the wrong time. You have to become jaded to it or your brain will kill itself with the guilt, but most importantly and in stark contrast to how Bhvr describes him: He doesn’t take pleasure in it. He hates being praised for it. Life to him has been nothing, but violence committed against him and by him, he’s seen the more horrific acts imaginable made pious. He hates it. He hates that he’s being called crazy for doing what other lords and nobles do every week over something as stupid as food being stolen. He also talks about his trauma as if it’s happened to someone else that much is obvious.

He’s clearly talking about what his mother did for him and sort of implying that his mother was brave for trying to save him from the life he has now. It’s clear that those memories are the only comfort he really has and that’s why he had to reframe his own trauma to make his existence bearable. No one can blame him for that, but I also don’t think he’s this overly cruel monster Bhvr and others try painting him as. We just don’t see anything aside from when the Entity is already in his head that was overly cruel or inhumane on his part. He is from the early 1400s. Life back then was incredibly violent and death permeated everything. Infant and child mortality were so high it knocked the life expectancy statistics down to you’d die at 35. Lords and nobles were constantly squabbling with each other on who owed who what. Blinding was a common form of punishment for prisoners of war to the point where people were bartering with it. 

You cannot say anything that we’ve been shown currently is any bit more violent and cruel than what was normal for the time until we get to when the Entity starts influencing him. 

So how does this impact how I write my Tarhos? Well- I take his lore as him being a deeply traumatized man who normalized everything that he's done and has happened to him as a coping mechanism to just be able to have a semblance of happiness. Violence is a coping mechanism for him, he is constantly chasing that feeling of being half dead and numb to the world, but he can’t ever achieve it. The battlefield was the only place he ever got close to feeling it, it was the only place where he was let off his leash and allowed to do what he wanted. It was kill or be killed, so why feel guilty about what needs to be done? He’s very apathetic to human suffering. He’s not going to stand defiant against a lord or noble who wants him to cut off a child thief's hand and he’s definitely not going to bat an eye watching it when he’s not on duty. It’s the way life works. Life is violence. You can never be free of it and trying to justify it and treat human atrocity like it can be morally pure is utterly stupid to him. 

I think especially in his childhood he was still half-dead from the poison he was made to drink and disassociating partly because of what he was witnessing and partly because of it as well. He was a child who couldn’t understand what was happening and since then he has reframed it in his mind as him being happy and in awe of everything. In his adult life he’s very jaded, he’s used to being called a rabid dog, because he’s had to fight to get contracts all his life and thus will take anything. He’d rather be called a rabid dog than have to sit through the praises he’s gotten from others over the atrocities he commits. He’s not a good person. He is well aware of that and there’s no real changing that about him. He is fine with killing, maiming and torturing, because that’s how his life works. He will never meet someone he holds in as high regard as his mother, because she will always be the bravest person he knew for trying to save him from the life he has now. Tarhos has little faith in humanity, but he especially hates nobility and the church. He despises how they’re all built on the blood of innocent people and then they try to justify it with laws and passages to make it righteous. He especially hates Vittorio for being a pacifist. He thinks it’s extremely hypocritical for a man who probably owns serfs and slaves to be a pacifist when he is actively the reason so many people’s lives are awful. His entire fortune was built on the blood of others and now he’s going to choose to be a pacifist and act like he’s better than everyone for it? 

He absolutely would horrifically maim and torture Vittorio endlessly even if he doesn’t really remember the exact reasons anymore. Tarhos is a man shaped by his environment and then exploited by the Entity until he starts acting out after realizing the fog isn’t paradise, it's the exact same as everything else outside of it. A bunch of made up codes and laws that justify the suffering happening and the cowards that revel in it.

[literaphobe]

hello!! i remember you said a while back that you liked rick and morty! just wanted to know what you thought of this last season because im a fan of the show too :]

oh thank god and also jesus HI ANONNN I’ve been dying to talk about rick and morty. I’m so so SO obsessed w the finale like I’m still thinking about it and can’t wait to rewatch. did u know I’ve been watching this stupid show since 2014? I’m a NINE YEAR LONG Rick and morty fan. I can’t believe one of the only shows I’ve been EARLY to watching is goddamn Rick and morty. ok back to the finale

i have been FROTHING at the mouth RABID and WAITING for diane content. it’s crazy to me that diane was like. a part of rick’s backstory that they didn’t have from the start but the fact that she existed and the place she had in his life made him go from random asshole grandpa who’s a megagenius dickhead that cares more than he’ll admit to All Those Things BUT a man who’s madly in love with his wife…

i think about the tragedy of it all sometimes and how it could have easily been this super generic Yeah Yeah Guy Has A Dead Wife Thing whatever BUT the way we found out she was ERASED FROM EVERY UNIVERSE? he was the ORIGINAL Rick who had his wife killed. The other dudes just like. Idk. i guess she just vanished for them. and because of his grief he invented the very item he rejected -> inter dimensional portal gun. only to be unable to find even a VERSION of her that exists

and he’s like. despite his flings and exes and people he fell in love with (birdperson and unity) it’s become so much more evident especially in recent seasons that diane is his whole sky and stars and he’s so madly in love with her that. Rick prime calls him the WIFE GUY. and when we found out the AI running his garage and car is modeled after Diane’s voice… HE CANNOT LET GO -> she haunts the narrative

and then when we saw diane in Morty’s version of the hole? it was so fascinating bc her portrayal is like something that u can hate or love all u want! u can choose to believe that diane was similar to/exactly like how morty envisioned her to be, or u could think she was entirely different, and you’d have basis for it. she’s shrouded in mystery still but at the same time we’re learning more of a version of her. and because morty knows Rick so well you just KNOW that how hole!rick behaved around hole!diane WOULD be how actual Rick would be like. because that was him!! a guy so deeply in love with his wife and family that he didn’t care about traveling the multiverse. he just wanted to spend time with her :(

this show that started from a place of random cynicism became this like. found family of family members who aren’t exactly from the same universe but are the family u choose and love and all that? yeah anyway i really really hope we get more diane content ALSO um summer content ❤️ i want more summer development

Idk if i want real diane to be brought back or the omega device to unerase her bc the whole point of Rick’s arc is that he has to deal with losing diane and become a better person and get healthier etc etc but… i am interested to see what else we get. NEXT SEASON I GUESS. cries forever

oh also when he ran back to the hole after hearing morty saw diane in there? and his face dropping when he internally reminds himself she still wouldn’t be REAL and it’s just not something he would survive probably. and he takes a picture of MORTY OUT OF HIS WALLET and pins it to the board of people who survived the hole :((((((( HE HAS A PICTURE OF HIS GRANDSON IN HIS WALLET BC HES THE MOST SENTIMENTAL RICK EVER .