#how old is she idk but shes middle aged to me

[koszmarnybudyn]

Daisy's been on my brain recently.

[sunnywalnut]

I think it's funny how my introduction to the work force was basically the ice cream man version of working in a sweat shop but my SECOND JOB EVER literally gave me the boss of my dreams.

Like how the fuck did we go from 15yo me being told that I'm no longer getting better to being 20 and being given chocolate covered pretzels and one on one training with a woman who believes in having questions.

Something isn't adding up here.

[thepandalion]

just had to pause mid reading a fic because a character assumed another character's age (as in, assuming they're a kid. which I mean. canonically 14 at the time I guess?) and like. as a person who has that happen to me. I would not allow that to continue to be a conversation

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

All of that said, I do not think Margot’s performance deserves an Oscar bc it was just fine and I also think that the focus on Ken (and Ryan’s nomination) is part of the core point the movie is making and I am shocked at how controversial that seems to be?? It’s good to talk about toxic masculinity! It was a family movie for EVERYONE not just for girls that’s like the whole point!!! And it wasn’t fair that Ken was just Beach all the time! The directing set up Ken to be the symbol for women’s experience… like that was the point of having barbieland be so hostile to men!! And his arc is about discovering patriarchy and exploring why boys are drawn into it even though it hurts them too- the Ken’s bring patriarchy to Barbie land and end up killing each other in a war…. Like feminism is not actually about having women be better than men like that is literally not it and the movie sets up a pretty poignant issue of like okay but the Barbie’s resorted to turning the kens against each other so that they could go behind their backs and vote, not at an equal election! And things return to the status quo of Barbie’s ruling Barbie land and Barbie chooses to leave and become human and live in the real world because she has realized that there’s more to life than Barbie land- the real world is closer to gender equality than barbieland is and she wants that world, the one we live in!! And the dialogue was a bit clunky but I really appreciated how they acknowledged and gave a voice (the teenager I forget her name) to all the valid reasons people don’t like barbies and then bc it’s a movie we were asked to suspend disbelief and cynicism for a little while and essentially play barbies with Greta in her imagination for a couple hours. Like Barbie is hatching the plan to save Barbie land and the girl goes “white savior Barbie!!” And she’s like “nononono we all have to work together and it should be other people who do the actual saving!” Which is pretty damn progressive for the highest grossing movie of the year (or whatever)!!! And I don’t think that any of this makes it immune to critique- that’s very important!!! But the critiques can’t just be about if it perfectly reflected your personal politics or not idk….

[caffeinatedvigilantewriter]

So Danny is older, and lives in Gotham as a mechanic (he could be a We mechanic, a JLA mechanic, whatever) and eventually, he starts dating Bruce Wayne.

Now, Danny knows the Wayne at the bats, it’s kinda hard to hide your vigilantism from a former vigilante. But Danny doesn’t mention it, he knows the dangerous of telling your loved ones.

Jazz is alive and a therapist is Coast City (Jazz x Hal? Could that work? Idk too much about the green lanterns). Dan is undercover to investigate pools of corrupted ectoplasm that’s guarded by an assassin cult, and Dani is still traveling the world, not for pleasure, but for the Realms.

Dani doesn’t age. It’s a side effect of being a clone. She destabilized one to many times and now her ghost half won’t let her age so she won’t die.

Dani can’t exactly settle down in a city likes the others. She looks 12. And while her siblings would take care of her in a heartbeat, she needs to fill her obsession of history and adventure.

So, she starts hunting for old artifacts, especially the magic ones. It’s a great way to learn about history and get a sense of adventure.

She’s been doing this for a couple years, building a name for herself and she gotten very good. (Keep in mind she only looks 12, but she’s actually like 33 mentally and intellectually)

Eventually, she crosses paths with a bat while searching for an artifact. (Even better if its Duke. We need more Duke. Probably won’t work with Cass, we’ll use Duke for the prompt, but can be switched out)

Obviously, Duke is kinda confused as to why a 12 yo is going after a dangerous magic artifact in the middle of but-fuck nowhere and offers to take her to Gotham and drops her off there after taking the artifact.

Dani knows better, she was going to refuse, but the realized she could take this as a free ride. So she agrees.

The reach Gotham and go their separate ways, and Duke goes home immediately, didn’t even take the time to tell anyone about the girl. but when Duke is at home hanging with their civilian stepdad, Danny gets a call and says he’s inviting his younger sister over

Bruce: Jazz? Jazz is older that you

Danny: nope! I have another sister!

Everyone: ???

Bruce: how comes we never meet her?

Danny: you have! She was at the wedding! But you’ll see her again don’t worry! She doesn’t visit often so I’m excited!

They arrives, the bat opens the door and Dani walks in.

Danny: Dani!!

Dani: Danny!!

So people are confused, Duke is like omg my aunt is an artifact hunter?? while everyone else is like omg my aunt is younger than me??

Eventually, Danny opens her backpack and goes:

Dani: so I was in *insert random place in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere* and found this! *pulls out artifact* I thought you would like so I brought it for you!

Danny: aww, thanks Dani, you shouldn’t have

Duke, who put that artifact in the cave for study: 👁️👄👁️

And Dani gives them a wink.

Duke isn’t going to take that lying down and attempts to find out Dani’s secrets while shes thwarting him at every turn.

Dani stays at the manor for a while, but nobody believe Duke when he tries warning them of Dani, because Duke didn’t tell anyone about the artifact

Things become even more alarming when Danny also start thwarting him, despite not know the family secret. (Danny thinks that Duke is onto the family secret.)

Cue crack, angst, fluff, whatever your heart desires.

[archangeldyke-all]

ok hear me out angel, what about reader asking sevika about Isha’s family? Like wondering if they shouldn’t find her family or anything.

Maybe Sevika could open up about her own past with her abusive father and confess that she relates to Isha because she was probably either an orphan or running away from a toxic environment?

idk if you share my vision but I loveee when Sevika is vulnerable.

🖤

god :,) i love this

men and minors dni

as a family, you've all been learning sign language to better communicate with isha.

the girl is young and restless, and she gets frustrated easily when her hands can't keep up with her thoughts. she would rather just use jinx's surprisingly good interpretation of her facial expressions to communicate.

so, none of you are experts yet, but isha is able to tell you all a little bit more about herself the more she learns.

she doesn't know how old she is, but in the mines she was grouped with kids aged 4-6. so she's close to there.

she doesn't have any parents, and she doesn't remember ever having parents.

and when she met jinx, she had made an escape from the mine camps she was raised in, being chased by goons wanting to bring her back. tiny hands are useful in mines. and isha was a for-lifer.

isha explains this all to you slowly, over time, mostly with jinx's encouragement. and living in the undercity, stories like isha's aren't as rare as they should be. so you're all a little numb to the true horror of isha's life before jinx.

it hits you all at different times.

jinx is the first person to shed tears for isha. you wake up in the middle of the night to horrified screams coming from the girls' room, and both you and sevika sprint in, fearing the worst.

it's just isha having a nightmare, but it's still heartwrenching to watch as she sobs and shakes and screams out in her sleep. jinx is the only one who could wake her up, her voice seeming to break through the horrors for poor isha. the girl snaps awake with a gasp, launching into jinx's arms with a relieved cry.

"w-what happened, kiddo?" jinx whispers, her voice shaky.

isha quickly, shakily signs something only jinx can see, and she bursts into tears, wrapping isha up in a hug.

"what was it? what'd she say?" sevika asks.

jinx shakes her head. "'canary went quiet.'" she says, shakily. "she dreamt about the mines suffocating her."

you shiver, and sevika sighs heavily. both of you crawl onto the floor, preparing for a long night of soothing the kids to sleep.

the next person who cries about it is you.

you stumble to the kitchen in the middle of the night in search of a glass of water and catch isha in the fridge, stuffing her face with leftovers from dinner.

"you wan' me to warm that up for you, kiddo?" you ask around a yawn.

isha jumps and stumbles to her feet, her eyes wide and fearful, the food splattering to the floor. sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry-- she signs over and over.

you blink. "no-- what? don't worry about it baby, 's just some spilled rice--"

isha bursts into tears and starts tugging at her hair, worry consuming her, you gasp, darting forward and pulling her in for a hug. she flinches just a bit before she realizes you aren't going to hurt her, and your heart shatters.

"isha, baby, you can eat as much food as you want, whenever you want." you whisper into her blue hair. isha moans against you. "that's a rule here. you'll never be in trouble for taking food. even if it's jinx's 'secret' cookies." isha giggles a little at this, and you start to cry, burying your face against her scruffy head of freshly dyed blue hair.

you both cry until isha's stomach grumbles, and then you burst into giggles.

"c'mon. i'll make you your favorite if you help me." you say, standing from the floor and flicking a light on. isha gasps.

blueberry pancakes? she signs with a grin. when you nod, isha darts forward and hugs your legs. thank you ms. baby. she signs. it makes you start to cry again.

sevika's the last one to crack, but that doesn't surprise you.

what does surprise you is how open she is about it.

isha asks about family one evening over dinner. it's got you all a little emotional, the sweet questions she signs.

is this family? she asks first.

a few forks clatter onto plates, and it's silent. isha's inquisitive gold eyes dart around the table, waiting for one of you to speak. sevika looks at you you look at isha.

jinx speaks. "close enough, yeah." she says.

you grin, and bite your lip. sevika sighs.

is there more? isha asks.

all your smiles immediately fall as the solemn topic of more family, alive and dead, is brought up.

jinx sighs. "you know vi, my sister, the asshole cop." she mutters. isha giggles at the curse. "i... had parents. don't remember much of 'em. mostly, i remember the stories vi would tell me about 'em. felicia and connel. they died when i was young. then i had a few brothers and vander... and they died too..."

isha pouts and darts forward to hug away jinx's far away look.

sevika takes over while jinx starts stroking isha's hair.

"then she had silco. and me, i guess." she says with a shrug. jinx smiles a little.

"do you have any family in zaun, sev?" jinx asks.

you reach out and grab sevika's hand, and she kisses your knuckles before speaking slowly.

"i had a dad. we had a... shaky relationship." she says simply. jinx understands this, and she hums with a nods. isha's blinking at sevika with big eyes, listening intently. "he died hating me, i mean we were always feuding. but then sometimes, we weren't feuding, and..." she shakes her head and huffs. "and after that i kinda thought family was somethin' i just wasn't any good at." a few tears fall down her cheeks, and she looks up at the girls across the table.

but look at you, now, big mama. isha signs with a happy smile.

jinx bursts into laughter at the use of the nickname, and sevika bursts into tears.

you giggle and coo, pulling sevika into your arms to let her cry in your shoulder. "'s okay, big mama." you tease.

"s-shut up!" sevika cries. isha giggles, and sevika lifts her face to smile at the girl, tears streaming down her cheeks. "look at me now, kid. exactly."

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz @strawberrykidneystone

[matchpointfaist]

you’re screwed up and brilliant, look like a million dollar man

dads best friend! art x reader

tw for large age gap but reader is 18!!!, smut, questionable morals! :) this is just filthy yall idk

growing up, your dad had told you all about his childhood best friend, art donaldson. he’d told you how they’d met in middle school and become completely inseparable, always together until the day art left for mrta, flying off to florida and leaving him behind. he’d made him out to be some sort of legend, rambling on with stories about how incredible he was at tennis, how funny he was, how no one in his small town was really as interesting as art had been. by the time your dad got your mom pregnant in high school, young and terrified, art was long gone, halfway across the country learning to become one of the greats.

they’d kept in touch through the years, always over text, always too busy to actually see each other. art was, apparently, traipsing all over the world winning tournaments, checking in with your dad weekly for brief phone calls or text exchanges. when your parents divorced, art had utmost sympathy, having recently separated from his wife as well. a few phone calls and an impulsively purchased plane ticket later, art was knocking at your front door, duffel bag in hand. you’d come home from classes that evening, surprised to see another man in your living room, laughing over a glass of scotch with your father. “dad?” you asked, brows furrowed, “who’s this?”

“oh!” art was off the couch in an instant, extending a hand in greeting, clearing his throat, “art donaldson! it’s so great to meet you, your dads told me all about you,” oh god, he was fucking gorgeous. you shook his hand, eyeing him still, trying to ignore the way your cheeks reddened the second your skin made contact with his. “oh, it’s good to meet you as well,” you smiled up at him, “he’s talked about you a ton, too,” he sat back down on the edge of the couch, watching idly as you hugged your dad’s neck, telling him you were going to clean up and then you’d start supper. his gaze followed you all the way out of the living room and up the stairs, mentally cursing at himself all the way along. you were his best friends daughter, for gods sake. it didn’t matter if you were pretty or not, he was sure you were hardly old enough for him to be giving a second glance.

an hour later, you’d returned with your hair up and yoga pants on, busying yourself in the kitchen as the men caught up in the living room. “she’s been such a big help since the divorce,” your dad was saying, prying him from his thoughts, “i mean, she’s only 18 and she’s taken on so many responsibilities, keeping this house together while i’m working. i couldn’t have asked for a better daughter,” god, he had to push the image of your hips swaying as you skipped up the steps out of his mind. “yeah, she seems great,” he nodded, clearing his throat again, “i’m glad you’ve got such a good family, man,”

right after the three of you sat down for dinner- pasta, art’s favorite cheat meal- your dads cell rang, disturbing the quiet conversation. “shit, this is work. i’ll be right back,” he sighed, leaving the room with the phone pressed to his ear. “this is really good,” art said between bites, hoping to ease the tension that he was sure he’d fabricated, “do you cook a lot?” “thanks,” you smiled around the rim of your glass, “yeah, i do. dad doesn’t really know how to do much, so i’ve been in charge of the cooking and tidying up since my mom left,” “i’m sorry about that, by the way,” he offered you a sympathetic frown, “it must be hard,” you shrugged, averting your eyes, “its fine, dad says its for the best anyway,” “divorce is tough,” he nodded, “i know how it is first hand,” your eyes met his across the table at that, an almost curious undertone in your gaze. “i’m sorry,” you finally said, “my dad told me about your wife,” “ex wife,” he corrected quickly, running a hand over his face like it stressed him just to talk about her, “but it’s alright. these things happen,”

your dad returned a few minutes later, looking irritated and stressed. “i need to go into work for a bit, we have an emergency surgery waiting and there’s no one to cover. art, feel free to make yourself at home in the guest room, please. and honey, will you just make sure he’s settled? i’ll be home as soon as i’m finished, but it may take a few hours,” you’d gotten used to this, the last minute leaving. “sure, dad,” you nodded, standing to clear his spot at the table, “be careful, love you,” “love you too,” he gave you a quick side-hug, “art, i’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” “yeah, of course, man,” he nodded, “go save the world,” he joked, trying not to watch you as you leaned over the sink, scrubbing at a plate. your dad was gone moments later, leaving a stagnant silence in the room, save for the sound of scraping dishes and running water. “do you need help?” he asked after a moment, scratching the back of his neck, “i can dry them, if you want,” “no, it’s okay,” you shook your head, glancing at him over your shoulder, “just relax, i’ll come set out some blankets for you when i’m done,”

he hovered by the door, unsure if he should make himself useful or if you truly wanted to be alone. he finally settled on the former, coming just beside you to dry the dishes as you washed them, ignoring your quiet protests. “so what do you study in school?” he asked after a bit of silence, hopeful to start some semblance of a conversation. “english,” you replied, sounding a little pleased, “i’m gonna be a teacher,” “yeah? that’s a great career,” he smiled over at you, “i’m sure you’ll do great at that,”

the small talk continued here and there until you were yawning, rubbing your eyes. “i’m gonna get your room ready and then go to bed,” you said, leading him up the stairs to a little spare room just beside yours, “the bathrooms down the hall, if you need to shower,” “yeah, i feel like i have airport germs all over me,” he laughed, “i’ll be right out,” he must have been tired, because as soon as he stepped out of the water, he realized he forgot his pajamas. he sighed, ran a hand over his face, and tied a towel around his hips. you’d probably be in bed, anyway. he’d just be quick back to his room. when he stepped into the room, though, you were still there, making the bed with such care that he nearly forgot he was half naked in front of you. “oh!” you look up, eyes all wide, and he flushed immediately. “god, i’m so sorry, i forgot my bag-“ he grabbed the duffel from the end of the bed, quickly turning to head back to the bathroom and get fully dressed. he told himself he must’ve imagined you biting your lip, your cheeks tinged pink as you looked him over. you were just surprised, that’s all!

by the time he returned from getting dressed, you were gone, an extra blanket folded on the bed and the smell of your perfume lingering in the air, the door next to his shut tight. he sighed, running a hand over his face and climbing into bed, scrolling through his phone to pass time until sleep came. he was restless, unused to sleeping in a bed that wasn’t his own or some overpriced hotel, the sounds of your house settling keeping him up. he’d finally adjusted to the noises, the creaking of old wood, the wind tapping limbs against the window, when he heard a new, softer sound. quiet moans and whimpers, coming through the wall. he sat up, slightly concerned that you were hurt, or having a nightmare. he quietly got out of bed, pressing against the wall to the source of the noise. that’s when he heard it, a quiet, almost imperceptible, “oh, art,”

blood rushed in his veins, nearly dizzying him with the intensity, and he was straining against his flannel pants in seconds. “right there,” you whimpered, and he nearly fainted. he knew he shouldn’t think any harder on it, knew he should just put in earbuds until he fell asleep, but then his hand was on the doorknob and he was out in the hallway, just a pace away from your bedroom, from you. he waited, contemplated, but your sounds continued, only increasing in frequency, paired with the sounds of rippling sheets. before he could stop himself, he was twisting open the door, stepping into your dimly lit room. you gasped, yanking the blanket up to your chest, face flushed in the glow of your nightstand candle. “art, i-“ “i heard you,” his voice was hoarse, shaky, “you said my name,”

“i’m so sorry,” there were tears welling in your eyes, your voice wobbly, “i shouldn’t have,” “don’t apologize,” he sat just at the edge of your bed, hands trembling, “come here, alright?” you hesitated, pulling the blanket down just enough to reveal your skimpy pink pajamas, crawling towards him. he was a goner, a dead man, if your dad ever found out about this. he knew it in the back of his mind, knew this wrong wrong, he was 16 years older than you for god’s sake. some small part of him didn’t care, was reckless enough to pull you into his lap, “what were you doing, baby? show me,” your face flushed even darker, and you shook your head, eyes shining, “i can’t, we can’t-“

“you wanted it so badly a few minutes ago, what happened? hm?” it was so unlike him to be so forward, so demanding, but you’d taken over his mind, making him flush and greedy with want, “show me how you like to be touched, sweet girl,” your hands trembled as they slowly slipped beneath your shorts, your thighs spread against his own, and he nearly snapped as a soft sigh left your lips, your eyes falling closed. “oh,” it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, and he was indescribably desperate to pull more from you, to make you cry for him. you gasped softly, and all his restraint broke, his own hand replacing yours, cool against your feverish skin. “oh, baby,” he nearly groaned, “you’re drippin’, you know that? what did this, huh? what got you so worked up?” you shook your head, whimpering incessantly as his fingers worked you open. “come on, tell me,” he dragged his lips across your jaw, “be a good girl,” “you,” you finally managed, voice cracking, “it was you, art, god,” “atta girl,” he grinned, satisfied, “you’re shakin, baby. you gonna come for me? gonna put on a show?” “art!” it came out half gasp, half moan, your thighs falling closed as you came around his fingers, body shuddering, “oh, oh my god,” he worked you through it, fingers slowing until he pulled out of you, bringing his fingers to your lips, “open up, baby,”

you were so greedy for it, opening your mouth instantly, sucking his fingers in like they belonged there. your tongue swirled around the digits, lapping your wetness off of his skin with a contented hum, the sound going straight to his cock. “greedy thing,” he murmured, pulling his fingers from your mouth only to grab your jaw, pulling you into a messy, hot kiss. you moaned against his lips as he bit at your bottom lip, your hands resting on his shoulders. “you wanna do something for me, pretty?” he asked, trailing his lips down your neck, “wanna make me feel good, hm?” “yes, please,” you sounded so eager, so sweet, it nearly made him rethink this entire thing. maybe he could’ve turned around and left, packed his duffel and apologized to your dad in the morning, if you hadn’t looked so fucking beautiful. maybe if you didn’t feel so good, so natural, in his arms, he could’ve run away, back to his normal life with his normal desires. but you were calling to him like a siren, your eyes wide and shining as you sank to your knees on your carpeted floor, pulling his flannel pants down with you. “oh, god,” he clenched his jaw, watching as your hand wrapped around him, slow and tender, like you were nervous, “there you go, baby, good god,”

if the view, or your the feeling of your hands, was good, then your mouth was fucking heaven. you were hot and wet and everywhere, taking him like you’d practiced, like you needed to impress him. you looked up at him with teary eyes as he fucked into your mouth, down your throat just enough to have you gagging, his hand holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail. “god, best fuckin’ mouth i’ve ever had,” he panted, thighs tight as he held his orgasm back, “takin’ me like a little slut, baby,” he pulled your hair just hard enough to get your attention, grinning at the whine of protest as he slid out of your mouth, leaving a shining trail of spit from your lips to the tip of his cock. “come up here, sweet girl. let me fuck you,”

you laid out on the bed before him like a signet of damnation, a culmination of all his repressed desire, your pajamas long gone, thighs spread and cunt gleaming in the candlelight. “prettiest thing i’ve ever seen,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your thigh, tracing a finger over your clit just light enough to make you shiver, “bet you’re gonna feel so good,” you just made a soft, preening sound, a lazy smile on your lips at the praise. he kissed you, soft and slow, taking his time as he pushed your thighs further apart, making room for himself. he had to choke back a groan at the feeling of you stretched around him, kissing you harder just to busy his mouth, his hips bucking. “oh!” you pulled away to bury your face in his neck, biting at the skin, needy and incessant, “oh, art, you’re so big,” “you’re takin’ it so good,” he choked out, thrusting deeper, one hand coming to cradle the back of your head as he pulled you up to meet his chest, “oh, baby, like you were made for me,” you were a mess, babbling and incoherent with lust, alternating between kissing over his shoulders and biting just enough to have him groaning. “the college boys fuck you like this, huh?” he pulled your hair back, tipping your head up to face him, “tell me, sweet girl,”

“no,” you shook your head, eyes wide, “no, nobody does,” “good girl,” he pulled you back into his neck, holding you tight as he fucked you harder, leaving you breathless with each snap of his hips, “letting me fuck you like a whore,” he was nearing the edge, dangerously close to filling you up, fucking you full. “art, please,” you didn’t even know what you were begging for, nails digging into his back as he fucked you senseless. “go on, come on my cock,” he panted, holding your hips tight enough to leave bruises, “let me feel you, baby,” one hand slipped between your bodies, pressing against your clit just right, and you came with a gasp, clenching around him tight enough to have him filling you up, moaning breathlessly as he fucked you through it.

you shook slightly as he pulled out, whimpering at the emptiness, a soft moan leaving you when he ran his fingers over your clit soothingly, “did so good for me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “you alright?” “mhm,” you nodded, resting your head on his chest, “just sleepy,” the reality of your situation crossed his mind-him, in your childhood bedroom, in his best friends house- and he laid you back down, covering you with your blanket. “gonna run out and get you a plan b,” he ran a hand over his face with a sigh, “wasn’t thinking,” “i’m on birth control,” you yawned, “it’s okay, art,” his shoulders relaxed slightly and he nodded, tucking the blanket around you, “need to get back to my room before your dad comes home,” “right,” you nodded, eyes shifting, “goodnight, then,” “goodnight, sweet girl,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, clumsily pulling on his pants, unable to locate his shirt, before returning to his room next to yours, laying across the bed with a huff. he was so fucked, wasn’t he? he was an idiot, completely reckless.

the next morning, he woke to the smell of coffee and chatter downstairs. he pulled on day clothes, descending the steps, his eyes landing on you and your dad at the kitchen table. art’s abandoned sleep shirt hung over your frame, paired with shorts, a lazy smile on your lips. “oh, good morning,” you smiled up at him, waving him over, “i made you a cup,” he sat down across from his best friend in the world, and all he could think of was the way you looked when you came undone for him. god, he was screwed.

[pandapetals]

ong i love your writing! can i please get a x1 logan fic where the reader is a ballerina? she’s been alive for a long time just like logan with the same regeneration ability. they meet when she is invited to the x mansion for something. but he walks in on her dancing swan lake? if not i totally understand. a girl can dream 💗✨

Hi! Thank you so much and sooo sorry for how long it took. I’ve been busy finishing school and sleep-deprived. Hopefully, i did it justice. Idk what this is lol but i ran with it. It turned into a mini fic....anyway, I always wanted to be a ballerina when I was a kid so this lowkey fulfilled my dreams.

logan howlett x fem!mutant reader - angst, minor fluff, reader has established relationships with x-men especially hank, slight reader description, no y/n used, reader has met logan before but he doesn’t remember, timeline sort of follows X1 & X2, ballet references

You stood in the middle of the mansion’s wide, polished hallway, the faint smell of waxed floors and old books swirling around you. The hum of distant voices, laughter, and the occasional crash of something breaking echoed deeper within the sprawling mansion. You smoothed your palms over your thighs, fingers brushing against the soft cotton of your dance tights beneath your coat. This place hadn’t changed—well, not in the ways that mattered.

Storm walked beside you, her silver hair catching the sunlight spilling through the grand windows, while Scott trailed just behind, his arms crossed in his usual no-nonsense stance. You saw your reflection in one of the hallway mirrors—unchanged. Despite the weight of decades, your skin was still smooth, and your body lithe. This place carried ghosts for you, but not the kind that faded with time.

"Still feels the same," you murmured under your breath, your voice almost swallowed by the mansion's high ceilings.

Storm turned, a small smile pulling at her lips. "The kids grow up, and new ones come in, but the mansion stays the same."

"Right down to the same smell of burnt toast from the kitchen every morning," Scott added, his tone dry. He gave you a sidelong glance, the faintest hint of warmth breaking through his stoicism. "You'll fit right in again. Hank’s been talking about your return for weeks. I think he's been counting the days."

Storm chuckled softly, her voice lilting like the whisper of wind through trees. “You’d think he was the one with a photographic memory.”

As if summoned by your name, a deep, rumbling voice boomed from behind. “Is that—no, it can’t be.”

You turned just in time to see Hank bounding into view, his blue fur almost shimmering in the light. His tailored blazer looked comically out of place over his hulking, beastly form, but the warm smile on his face was the same as you remembered.

"Hank!" you exclaimed, your smile splitting wide as you stepped forward. His massive arms enveloped you in a bear hug, lifting you clean off your feet.

"My dear, you haven’t aged a day!" he declared, setting you back down but keeping his enormous hands on your shoulders as if to confirm you were real.

“Well, you know me. Perks of the trade,” you said lightly, but his words brought a pang you quickly shoved aside. You tilted your head up at him. “You, on the other hand, look fluffier than ever.”

Hank laughed, the sound rolling through the hallway like thunder. “You flatter me.” He released you with a fond pat on the back. "Though I must admit, it’s wonderful to see you again. It hasn’t been the same without you."

Scott cleared his throat, his voice tinged with impatience. “As much as I enjoy a good reunion, we still have the tour to finish.”

You smirked. “Still as serious as ever, huh, Summers? Don’t worry, I won’t let Hank hold us up too long.”

As the group moved down the hallway, your footsteps were light against the polished floor. A gruff voice cut through the air, stopping you in your tracks.

“Who’s the new recruit?”

You froze. You knew that voice—low, gravelly like it had been dragged across gravel and left to smolder. Turning slowly, you locked eyes with Logan. He leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand resting on the frame, the other holding a cigar he hadn’t bothered to light. His eyes raked over you, sizing you up with an air of detached curiosity.

“Logan,” you said, the name tasting familiar on your tongue, like a song you hadn’t sung in years.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do I know you?”

For a second, you almost told him. The memories of a fight decades ago—the clash of claws and fists, the way his grin had split his face after every victory—flashed through your mind. But his blank stare reminded you he wouldn’t remember. Not this version of him. Not after what they’d done to him.

“Not really,” you replied with a shrug, masking the ache behind a practiced nonchalance. “But I’ve heard of you. Big fan of the ‘snikt-snikt’ routine.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners. “Cute.” He pushed off the doorframe, his boots thudding against the hardwood as he walked closer. “What’s your story?”

You mirrored his casual stance, crossing your arms as you looked up at him. “I’m here to teach ballet. Figured the kids could use some culture.”

“Ballet?” Logan snorted, his grin widening. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be real useful in a fight.”

You smirked back. “You’d be surprised. I could take you down in three moves.”

“Three, huh?” He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re confident. I like that.”

“Is that your way of saying you’d like a demonstration?”

Before he could reply, Storm cut in, her voice carrying an edge of authority. “Logan, play nice. She’s here to help, not trade punches with you.”

Logan raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. “Alright, alright. But don’t blame me if she ends up knocking one of the kids on their asses in the Danger Room.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. Logan might not remember you, but some things about him hadn’t changed.

As he walked away, cigar tucked back between his teeth, you turned to Storm, who was watching you with a knowing look.

“Well,” you said, “this is going to be fun.”

Storm chuckled. “Oh, I think you’ll fit right in.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

The room smelled faintly of lavender, likely from whatever freshener Storm had insisted on using, and the golden light of late afternoon streamed through the large windows. You sat cross-legged on the neatly made bed, hands resting on your knees, staring absently at the few belongings you’d unpacked. A duffel bag in the corner. A framed photo of you and Hank from years ago—his arm slung over your shoulder, your face mid-laugh. It felt surreal, almost too heavy to keep looking at.

You shrugged as if trying to loosen the weight pressing on your chest. It was nice to be back, even if it stirred old memories you’d locked away. Memories of laughter, battle, and the kind of losses that didn’t fade with time. But this was temporary. Just another stop along your endless road, you reminded yourself. You never stayed anywhere long enough to leave roots. You couldn’t.

A knock at the doorframe broke your reverie.

“Mind if I come in?” Hank’s familiar baritone rang out, warm and tinged with his usual politeness. He stood there, one hand resting on the frame, his blue fur catching the golden light.

“Course,” you said, a smile pulling at your lips as you waved him in.

He stepped into the room, his hulking frame seeming almost too big for the cozy space. But the way he moved—careful and precise—kept it from feeling intrusive. He glanced around, his sharp eyes taking in the bare walls and the sparse unpacking. “Travel light as always, I see.”

“Old habits die hard,” you said with a shrug. “Besides, I’m not planning on staying long.”

Hank’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t press the matter. Instead, he crossed the room and plopped into the chair at the small desk, the furniture groaning under his weight.

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” you said, your smile softening. “It’s been...”

“Ten years,” he finished for you, his voice quiet but firm.

Your smile faltered, and you looked away, the guilt settling in your stomach like a stone. “I’m sorry,” you said finally in a whisper.

Hank waved you off, the gesture almost as familiar as the amused twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, dear. I know you had your reasons for running off. It just would’ve been nice to know you weren’t, you know, dead in a ditch somewhere.”

That earned a small laugh as you rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah, I guess I could’ve done better on the whole ‘staying in touch’ thing, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he teased, leaning forward and resting his chin on his massive hand. “I missed you, you know. Things have been... quieter without you around.”

You grinned. “Me? I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”

“Oh no,” he said, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “I distinctly recall a certain someone sneaking into my lab at three in the morning to swipe beakers for—what was it—homemade glow-in-the-dark paint?”

You laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. “In my defense, it worked! That mural in the attic was a masterpiece.”

“And I had to spend an entire week re-organizing my lab. You’re lucky I’m so forgiving,” he said, though the grin on his face made it clear he didn’t regret a second of it.

The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet, the kind of silence only shared between old friends.

Hank cleared his throat, his tone turning curious. “So, how are you feeling about being back? I know it can’t be easy.”

You leaned back on your hands, glancing up at the ceiling. “It’s... weird. Good, but weird. This place has so many memories, you know? Feels like I’m walking through a time capsule. Everyone’s so familiar but different at the same time. Even Logan.”

Hank’s eyebrows shot up. “Logan?”

You nodded, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “Ran into him in the hallway earlier. He asked who I was.”

“And did you tell him?”

Your smile faded slightly, replaced by something more wistful. “Just said I was here to teach ballet and that I’d heard of him.”

Hank tilted his head, studying you. “You’ve met him before, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice soft. You traced the edge of the duvet with your finger, eyes distant. “A long time ago. Before he lost his memory.”

Hank frowned. “And he doesn’t remember?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Not a thing.”

“That must’ve been... hard,” Hank said, his voice gentle, always the considerate one.

You shrugged, forcing a small, tight smile. “It’s not like I expected him to. Besides, it’s probably better this way. Less complicated.”

“Hmm,” Hank murmured, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed. “Well, complicated or not, he seems intrigued by you. I caught him muttering something about ‘ballet instructors with an attitude’ after he saw you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Sounds about right. I think I annoyed him within thirty seconds of meeting him. New record?”

Hank chuckled. “Perhaps. Though, if I know Logan, that probably just means he respects you already.”

You snorted. “Yeah, sure. Respect. That’s what I’m calling it.”

Hank grinned at your sarcasm, but his expression softened as he leaned forward again. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. Even if it’s just for a little while. The place feels more like home with you in it.”

The words struck a chord deep in your chest, and you looked down, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve to avoid his gaze. “Thanks, Hank. That means a lot.”

“You mean a lot,” he said simply, his sincerity cutting through any attempt to downplay his words.

The two of you fell into an easy silence again, but this time it was heavier with unspoken things. Things you didn’t have to say, because after all these years, Hank just knew.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Great work today,” you said gently, crouching to pat one of the kids on the head. The little girl beamed up at you, her hair still pinned into a slightly crooked bun from class.

“Thanks!” she chirped before bounding off toward the theatre entrance, where a gaggle of other students waited.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow, bright and early!” you called after them, your voice carrying across the empty rows of seats. A few of them waved over their shoulders, laughter spilling into the hall as they disappeared through the double doors.

The stage was quiet now, the faint scent of resin and sweat lingering in the air. You stood there staring out at the rows of chairs that stretched into a shadow. The polished floor beneath your feet caught the faint gleam of overhead lights, reflecting a ghostly version of yourself back at you.

Your shoulders sagged as you sighed, the stillness pressing around you like a heavy blanket. This place stirred something deep in you, something you hadn’t felt in years. You glanced down at your feet, your sneakers looking almost out of place against the elegant backdrop of the stage. Your eyes drifted, drawn to a battered old prop chest tucked just off to the side, partially hidden by the heavy velvet curtain.

Curiosity pulled you forward, and you crouched to flip open the lid. A cloud of dust puffed out, tickling your nose as you rummaged through its contents. Costumes, ribbons, bits of tulle—faded relics from long-forgotten performances. And then, nestled at the very bottom, you found them.

A pair of pointe shoes.

Your breath hitched as you lifted them from the chest, the ribbons cascading down like silk waterfalls. They weren’t yours—at least, not exactly—but they might as well have been. The scuffed toes, the frayed edges of the satin, the way the soles were worn down just so—it was all so familiar it made your chest ache.

Without really thinking, you sat down on the edge of the stage, untying your sneakers and slipping off your socks. The cool satin of the pointe shoes slid over your feet like a second skin, and your fingers moved on autopilot as you laced the ribbons up your ankles. The motions were muscle memory, older than most of the students you’d taught today.

You rose slowly, the faint stretch and pull of the shoes grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you’d needed. A glance backstage revealed a small sound system someone had left behind, a phone still plugged into it. You scrolled until you found it—Swan Lake.

The haunting strings began to play, swelling and softening as if they were breathing. You stepped back onto the stage, your toes brushing the center mark, and let the music guide you.

At first, you moved tentatively, testing the feel of the shoes and the way your body responded. But soon, the hesitance melted away, and the steps came to you as naturally as breathing. A pirouette turned into an arabesque, which melted into a series of gliding movements that carried you across the stage.

The world outside the theatre faded, and all that existed was the music, the stage, and the rhythm of your own heartbeat. Each movement felt like slipping into an old memory, one you didn’t even realize you’d missed.

You were mid-leap when you caught the faintest creak of floorboards behind you.

The sound shattered your focus, and you landed with a jarring thud, spinning around instinctively.

Logan stood at the edge of the stage, one hand shoved into his jacket pocket. He leaned against the proscenium arch, watching you with an unreadable expression, though something about it wasn’t entirely unkind.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The soft strains of Swan Lake still played behind you, the violins aching as the tension in the air stretched.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked finally, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Long enough,” he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Your eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t think to announce yourself?”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Didn’t want to interrupt. You looked... focused.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise to your face as you turned away and bent to tug the ribbons loose from your ankles. “Well, congratulations. You interrupted anyway.”

“Didn’t mean to,” he said, stepping closer, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor. “You’re... pretty good at that, by the way.”

You paused mid-motion, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Pretty good? Gee, thanks for the glowing review.”

He smirked, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. “Alright, fine. You’re really good. Happy?”

You snorted, slipping the pointe shoes off and flexing your toes. “It’s been a while.”

“Couldn’t tell,” he said simply. His gaze lingered on you even as you busied yourself with tucking the ribbons back into the shoes. “You used to do that, huh? Dance, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, turning the shoes over in your hands. “A lifetime ago.”

The silence hung between while the faint hum of the violins still played in the background.

“You should do it more,” he said finally, his tone softer than you expected.

You looked up at him, startled by the sincerity in his voice. The rough edges of Logan’s demeanor didn’t usually leave much room for softness, and it caught you off guard. But before you could respond, he was already turning away, heading toward the wings, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor.

You just sat there, the pointe shoes resting lightly in your lap. You stared after him, unsure whether to laugh, roll your eyes, or call him back just to yell at him for sneaking in. But something about the way he moved—slow, deliberate, almost hesitant—stopped you.

“Logan,” you called out, your voice carrying across the empty stage.

He paused, his broad shoulders tensing, though he didn’t turn right away. When he did, his expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure what to expect from you.

“How long have you been here?” you asked, gesturing vaguely to the space around you. “At the school, I mean.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and for a second, he looked like he was deciding whether or not to answer. “A good while,” he said finally, his tone gruff.

It wasn’t much of an answer—not something you could work with—but you tried anyway. “Hank tells me you’re just… passing through.” You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “But you’re still here.”

Logan let out a soft huff, the corner of his mouth pulling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but close enough. “He should mind his business,” he said, though there was no real heat in his words. He paused, stepping closer with a glint of curiosity in his sharp eyes. “You talking to Hank about me?”

You shrugged, the movement casual, but your heart was beating just a touch faster. “Me and Hank are good friends. We’ve—well, I’ve known the X-Men almost my whole life.” You hesitated, glancing down at the pointe shoes in your lap, your fingers idly tracing the frayed edges of the satin. “Been around a long time.”

Logan’s gaze lingered on you, and you could feel the weight of it, heavy and searching. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You give off that vibe.”

You frowned, looking back up at him. “What vibe?”

“Like you’ve seen some things,” he said, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. His tone was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that felt older than even his rough exterior let on. “Been through it. Same as me.”

You held his gaze for a moment, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you could explain. Not easily, anyway. Instead, you offered him a small, wry smile. “Yeah, well. Time has a way of kicking the crap out of you if you let it.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, the sound more genuine than you expected. “Ain’t that the truth.” He shifted slightly, his gaze dropping to the pointe shoes still cradled in your hands.

“You’re good at that,” he said finally, nodding toward them. “Dancing, I mean. I could tell. Not just talent—it’s in your bones.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What, you an expert on ballet now?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Nah. But I know what it looks like when someone’s got somethin’ that keeps ‘em going. Something they can’t walk away from, even if they try.”

The words hit deeper than you wanted to admit as you stared at him, unsure how to respond. Finally, you said, “Yeah, well. It’s not exactly something you forget. Even when you want to.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. Something was flickering behind his gaze, restless and uncertain like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t even know he had.

“You seem… familiar,” he said suddenly, the words rough, like they’d been dragged out of him against his will.

Your breath caught, and you stiffened, your grip tightening on the pointe shoes. “Familiar?”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. I dunno. I get these dreams sometimes. Flashes of… people, places. Can’t make sense of ‘em half the time, but you…” He trailed off, running a hand through his dark hair. “You feel like one of ‘em. Like I’ve seen you before.”

Your heart was pounding now, and you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, even as his words pulled at something buried deep in your chest. “Well,” you said lightly, “maybe I just have one of those faces.”

Logan snorted, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Maybe.” But the way his eyes lingered on you made it clear he wasn’t convinced.

You stood abruptly, the pointe shoes dangling from your fingers as you moved to set them down on the edge of the stage. “I should probably get going,” you said, your voice a touch too bright. “Long day tomorrow. Lots of kids to wrangle.”

Logan straightened, watching you carefully. “Yeah. Sure.” He hesitated, then added, “Hey. If you ever feel like you need to talk… about all that time kickin’ the crap outta you…” His smirk returned, softer this time. “I’m around.”

You looked at him, caught off guard by the unexpected offer. Then you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Logan.”

He nodded back, stepping away toward the wings. “Anytime.”

As he disappeared into the shadows, you found yourself standing there, staring at the space he’d left behind, wondering if he remembered more than he realized.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Leaving already?” Hank asked, his deep voice soft but tinged with disappointment as he leaned against the doorframe of your room. His sharp blue eyes swept over the half-packed duffel bag on the bed.

You turned to face him, zipping up the side pocket of the bag before offering him a faint smile. “Yeah,” you said, your tone light, though the ache in your chest betrayed you. “My job’s done. These kids learned pretty quickly. They don’t need me hanging around.”

Hank stepped into the room, his large frame taking up far too much space as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You could stay…”

His words hung in the air like a challenge, and you looked down at your hands, gripping the strap of your bag. The idea tugged at you, and you couldn’t deny it. A part of you did want to stay. It had been a few months—far longer than you’d initially planned—and yet leaving felt harder than it usually did.

Hank tilted his head, studying you. “I know he would miss you,” he said gently, his voice softening. “In his own weird way.”

Your heart gave a traitorous thud, and you swallowed hard, glancing toward the window. The late afternoon sun cast long golden streaks across the walls, the light catching the faint dust motes in the air. You knew exactly who Hank meant.

“Hank,” you said, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” Hank continued, his tone a mixture of teasing and sincerity, “it’s not every day Logan actually lets someone get under his skin.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up, though it was tinged with a bittersweet edge. “Under his skin? Pretty sure he’d describe me as an itch, not a friend.”

Hank raised an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. “Perhaps. But even Logan doesn’t get that annoyed unless he likes someone.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway made both of you glance toward the door. A moment later, Logan appeared, his usual scowl in place as he leaned against the frame, arms crossed.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, his gravelly voice laced with sarcasm, though his eyes flicked to your bag with something far harder to read.

“Not at all,” Hank said smoothly, stepping toward the door. “In fact, I was just leaving.”

You shot Hank a glare, but he only smiled innocently before brushing past Logan and disappearing down the hallway, leaving the two of you alone.

“So,” Logan said, jerking his chin toward the bed. “Packing up, huh?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah. Time to hit the road. The kids are in a good place, and my work here is done.”

Logan snorted, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. “Work? Looked more like pirouettes and tutus to me.”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t knock it, Logan. Ballet’s tougher than it looks. I’d like to see you last five minutes in a pair of pointe shoes.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” he said, the ghost of a grin flickering across his face. “I like my dignity right where it is.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you zipped up the duffel bag. “You wouldn’t know dignity if it hit you over the head.”

“Careful, darlin’,” Logan shot back, his voice teasing but low. “I might actually start to think I’m gonna miss you.”

The playful tone of the conversation faltered for a split second, the weight of his words landing heavier than either of you expected. You looked at him, your smirk fading as your eyes searched his face.

“Well,” you said lightly, trying to brush it off, “don’t get too sentimental on me, Logan. I’ll think I’ve broken you.”

Logan didn’t laugh. His expression grew more serious, his brows furrowing slightly as he stepped closer. “I’m not bein’ sentimental. I mean it.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden earnestness in his voice. “Logan—”

“I’ll miss you,” he interrupted, his gaze dropping before meeting yours again. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Before you could respond, Logan ran a hand through his dark hair, letting out a low huff. “I don’t know what it is about you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But you feel… familiar. Like I’ve known you before.”

You froze, your pulse quickening. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to piece something together. “I’ve had these dreams,” he said slowly. “Flashes of… I dunno, a forest. Snow. And you. You’re there. You’re always there.”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression neutral even as his words sent a ripple through you. “Logan, that doesn’t mean anything,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “Dreams are just… dreams.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “Maybe. But it feels real. Like I’m rememberin’ something I’m not supposed to.”

You took a shaky breath, gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. “Logan…”

He stepped back, giving you space but keeping his sharp eyes locked on yours. “I don’t know what it means, but…” He exhaled, the sound rough and frustrated. “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is… if I ever figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

You managed a faint smile, though your chest felt tight. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Logan nodded once, his gaze lingering on you before he stepped back toward the door. “Take care of yourself, darlin’,” he said, his voice gruff again, though the softness in his eyes remained.

“You too, Logan,” you replied, watching as he disappeared into the hallway.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“He isn’t here,” Hank’s familiar voice rumbled as you stepped through the heavy oak doors of Xavier’s mansion.

You froze for a moment, your breath catching in your chest before you schooled your expression into something neutral. “Who said I came back for him?” you quipped, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe I missed you, you big fluff.”

Hank appeared at the top of the grand staircase, his blue fur catching the soft light streaming through the tall windows. He grinned as he descended, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet foyer. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said, his tone warm and teasing. As he reached the bottom step, he opened his arms, and you moved forward, letting yourself sink into the familiar embrace.

He pulled back slightly, his large hands resting gently on your shoulders. “My dear, I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

You gave him a faint smile, setting your duffel bag down by your feet. “Well, you were right. This place has a way of sticking with you.”

Your gaze wandered, taking in the grand entryway—the polished wood floors, the scent of old books, and faint traces of Storm’s jasmine perfume lingering in the air. It felt the same as it always had, and yet different, as if the mansion itself had shifted in your absence. It had been three months since you’d left, determined to put some distance between yourself and the memories this place stirred up. But the farther you went, the more you felt the pull to come back.

Something about being here this time had gotten under your skin, burrowed into the part of you that you usually kept locked away.

Hank seemed to sense your hesitation. His perceptive blue eyes studied you carefully, the teasing edge to his voice softening. “What brought you back this time? Missing the kids already? Or…” He trailed off meaningfully, giving you a knowing look.

You rolled your eyes, stepping away to avoid his gaze. “Don’t start with me, Hank.”

“Start with what?” he asked innocently, though the twitch of his lips betrayed him.

You bent to pick up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you moved toward the staircase. “I just felt like it was time to come back, okay? No ulterior motives.”

Hank followed you, his footsteps were heavy but deliberate. “Hmm,” he murmured, and you could feel his gaze boring into the back of your head. “I see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gestured for you to follow him toward the sitting room. You hesitated, but the look on his face made it clear he wasn’t going to let this drop, so you sighed and followed him in.

As you stepped into the room, the crackling of a low fire greeted you, the warmth immediately chasing away the chill that had settled in your bones during your journey back. Hank moved to pour himself a cup of tea from the silver pot on the table and offered you one with a tilt of his head. You shook your head, folding your arms across your chest instead.

When Hank finally spoke, his voice was careful but direct. “Logan left shortly after you did.”

You froze, the words hitting you like a punch to the stomach. You forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression calm. “Oh?”

Hank’s sharp eyes flicked to you over the rim of his cup. “He went to Alkali Lake.”

Your breath caught for a fraction of a second before you forced yourself to shrug casually. “Is that so? I guess he's still looking for answers.”

Hank hummed, setting the teacup down with a quiet clink. “Indeed. He seemed… restless. More so than usual. Charles sent him there.”

You shifted your weight, pretending to be absorbed in the crackling fire, but you could feel Hank watching you, his gaze pressing against the cracks in your carefully constructed mask. “Well, you know Logan. He’s not exactly one for sitting still,” you said lightly.

Hank didn’t respond immediately, but when he did, his voice was softer, more concerned. “You knew he’d leave, didn’t you?”

You frowned, turning your gaze to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hank leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded you with that gentle yet unyielding intensity that only he could pull off. “You care about him,” he said simply. “And don’t try to deny it. I’ve known you too long.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. Instead, you looked away, your fingers tightening into fists at your sides. “It doesn’t matter,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “He doesn’t even remember me.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it,” Hank said gently.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. You cleared your throat, straightening your shoulders. “I think I’ll talk to Charles,” you said abruptly, moving toward the door.

“Of course,” Hank said, his voice soft and understanding. “But if you need to talk…”

You glanced back at him, offering a small, strained smile. “Thanks, Hank.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You found Charles in his study, the quiet hum of his voice reaching you before you even entered the room. He was finishing up a conversation with Storm, who nodded at you in greeting as she passed by on her way out.

“Ah,” Charles said, his warm smile appearing as he gestured for you to come in. “It’s good to see you back.”

You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, closing the door behind you. “Why did you send him there?”

Charles raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained calm. “Logan?”

“Yes,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Hank said you sent him to Alkali Lake. Why?”

Charles sighed, folding his hands in his lap as his gaze turned contemplative. “Because he was searching for answers. And I thought he deserved a chance to find them.”

“At that place?” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

Charles’s gaze softened, his eyes piercing yet kind. “You know as well as I do that Logan’s past is complicated. He came to me, searching for guidance. I simply pointed him toward where I believed he might find what he was looking for.”

You turned away, pacing to the window as you tried to steady your thoughts. Memories of Alkali Lake clawed at the edges of your mind, and the idea of Logan going back there made your chest tighten.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” you muttered.

Charles was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was gentle. “He’s stronger than you think. And, perhaps, finding the truth is the only way for him to heal.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for,” you said quietly. “He doesn’t remember.”

Charles tilted his head, studying you carefully. “And yet, it seems to me that you do.”

You turned to face him, your arms folded tightly across your chest like a shield, but you couldn’t keep the vulnerability from your eyes as they met his. He was right, of course—he was always right. You did remember. You remembered everything.

And that was the problem.

“Sometimes,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray you, “things happen for a reason. Sometimes it’s better not to remember.”

Charles’s expression softened, his piercing gaze never wavering. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his hands folding neatly in his lap as he studied you. “Perhaps you feel that way,” he said gently, “but Logan doesn’t. He wants to remember—he longs to, even if he doesn’t realize how painful the truth could be.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening against your arms. The lump rising in your throat made it difficult to speak. “You shouldn’t have sent him there,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “You could’ve just told him. You could’ve looked into his mind and shown him.”

Charles sighed, his expression tinged with a sadness that only came from decades of making impossible decisions. “I could have,” he admitted, his voice as calm and steady as ever. “But sometimes it’s best to let one discover the truth on their own. To take the journey themselves, rather than having it handed to them.”

You shook your head, pacing a few steps toward the window before stopping, your hands bracing against the ledge as you stared out at the sprawling gardens. The sky was painted with the fiery hues of sunset, the warm colors stark against the shadows creeping across the grounds.

“You don’t know what he’s walking into,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less strained. “Alkali Lake isn’t just some mystery to solve—it’s a wound that doesn’t close. Whatever he finds there… it’ll destroy him.”

Charles’s chair creaked faintly as he shifted, his voice still calm but tinged with something deeper, something more insistent. “Logan is stronger than you think. He has endured more than most men could even imagine. And while you may see Alkali Lake as a wound, for him, it may be the key to healing.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Healing? Is that what you call it? Ripping open the past just to bleed all over again?” You turned to face him, your voice rising slightly. “You think that’s going to help him?”

Charles remained unshaken, his steady gaze meeting yours. “I think,” he said carefully, “that Logan deserves the chance to decide for himself. To understand who he was, and who he could become.”

You looked away, your jaw clenching as the weight of his words settled over you. “He doesn’t need to remember everything,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Charles. “Some things… some things are better left buried.”

Charles regarded you silently for a long moment, the silence between you heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, he spoke, his tone gentle but resolute. “You could help him.”

The words made your heart jolt, and your eyes snapped back to his, wide with surprise. “What?”

“You could help him,” Charles repeated, his gaze unyielding. “You know him. You understand his pain in ways others cannot. Perhaps you are exactly what he needs.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to protest, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you stepped back toward the door. “No,” you said firmly, though your voice cracked slightly. “That’s not my place. He doesn’t even remember me.”

“Perhaps not,” Charles said, tilting his head slightly. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the connection. And it doesn’t mean you don’t care.”

You froze in the doorway, your hand gripping the frame as you glanced back at him. “This isn’t about me caring,” you said quietly, though even you could hear the lie in your voice. “This is about you sending him to a place that’s going to tear him apart, and expecting someone else to pick up the pieces.”

Charles’s gaze softened, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m not expecting anything, my dear. I’m simply reminding you that you have a choice. Just as he does.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as the weight of his words pressed against the walls you’d so carefully built around yourself. Without another word, you turned and walked out, the faint echo of your footsteps fading down the hall.

Later that night, you found yourself sitting by the window in your room, the pointe shoes you’d brought with you resting in your lap. The moonlight spilled across the polished floor, painting the room in silvery shadows.

You hadn’t danced since the day Logan had interrupted you in the theatre, but now, your legs ached with the restless energy that only movement could soothe. Setting the shoes aside, you rose to your feet and began to move, the quiet hum of your memories guiding your steps.

But no matter how hard you tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, his words echoed in your mind.

“I’ve had these dreams. Flashes of… I don’t know, a forest. Snow. And you. You’re there. You’re always there.”

You faltered mid-spin, your movements slowing until you stood completely still, your chest heaving with shallow breaths. The memories he didn’t fully understand were ones you couldn’t forget. The snow, the forest, the way his eyes—wilder, more broken than—had locked onto yours as if you were the only thing tethering him to the world.

You sat back down on the edge of the bed, resting your head in your hands. You had told yourself that coming back to the mansion was about the kids, about the familiar comforts of a place you’d once called home. But deep down, you knew it was about him.

And now he was gone.

You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or heartbroken, but one thing was certain—if Logan ever truly remembered everything, you weren’t sure either of you would survive it.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You descended the staircase beside Hank, nodding absentmindedly as he launched into an animated explanation of his latest research—something about neural pathways and genetic mutations. It was fascinating, you were sure, but your thoughts had drifted. A week had passed since you returned to the mansion, and yet it still felt strange to slip so easily back into the rhythm of this place, like stepping into an old pair of shoes you’d forgotten you owned.

“Logan! You’re back!”

Rogue’s excited voice cut through the air, and you froze mid-step, your hand tightening on the polished wood of the banister. Your eyes darted to the entrance below, where Logan stood just inside the door, a worn duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He looked as gruff as ever, his jacket unzipped and his hair slightly mussed, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as Rogue darted across the hall to embrace him.

You lingered on the stairs, watching the exchange with a small smile. Rogue stepped back, saying something too low for you to hear, and Logan responded with a grunt that made her laugh. The sight of it tugged at something in your chest—something you weren’t ready to name.

“Wonder why he’s back,” Hank said beside you, his voice low and tinged with curiosity.

You didn’t miss the knowing look he gave you, and you sighed, swatting his arm lightly. “Don’t start,” you said, your voice teasing but edged with a hint of nervousness.

Still, your heart raced, betraying the calm exterior you were trying so hard to maintain. The thought crossed your mind—fleeting and impossible—that maybe Logan had come back because you were here. But no. That wasn’t how things worked. You had left before him, made it clear you didn’t intend to stay, and Logan… well, Logan wasn’t the sentimental type.

As you descended the last few steps, Hank still at your side, Logan’s gaze lifted. His smirk faded as his sharp eyes found yours, and for a second, something flickered across his face. Surprise? Relief? It was gone before you could name it, replaced by his usual guarded expression.

“You… made it back,” you said, your voice softer than you intended as you offered him a faint smile.

Logan’s brow twitched, and he set his duffel bag down by his feet. “Looks like we both did,” he said gruffly, his voice carrying that familiar gravelly tone that always sounded like he’d just woken up.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you admitted, stepping off the last stair. “But, you know… this place has a way of dragging you back.”

“Yeah,” Logan said, his lips twitching as though he might smile. “Does that.”

There was a beat of silence, not quite awkward but heavy enough to feel like the air between you had changed somehow. Hank, ever the socially astute one, cleared his throat and patted you lightly on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll leave you two to… catch up. I have some experiments to check on.”

You shot him a warning look, but he just grinned and disappeared down the hall dragging Rogue along with him. Leaving you alone with Logan.

“So,” you said after a moment, folding your arms casually. “Alkali Lake. Find what you were looking for?”

Logan let out a low huff, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Nah. Nothin’ there but snow and bad memories.”

You nodded, though your chest tightened at his words. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let this get to you, wouldn’t let your emotions bubble to the surface. But it was hard. You knew what Alkali Lake meant, not just to him but to you as well.

“Well,” you said lightly, forcing a smirk. “Guess you can cross that one off the list.”

“Yeah,” he said, watching you carefully. “Guess so.”

There was a pause, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were working up to something. You shifted under his gaze, feeling the weight of it settle on your shoulders.

“What?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Had another dream,” he said suddenly, his tone casual, but there was an edge to it, something unspoken lingering beneath his words.

You froze, your smirk faltering. “Oh yeah?”

Logan nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “You were in it again.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, but you forced yourself to play it cool. “You sure it wasn’t Rogue this time? Or Storm? Maybe I’m just a stand-in for all the women in your life.”

He huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. It was you.” He stepped a little closer, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly, studying your face as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle. “This time you were… dancin’.”

The breath hitched in your throat, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. You broke eye contact, looking down at the scuffed floorboards. “Sounds like a weird dream,” you said, your voice quiet.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone softer now. “Weird thing is, it felt… familiar.”

You looked back up at him sharply, your stomach twisting. “Familiar how?”

Logan shrugged, the movement almost too casual, but his brow furrowed as though he were trying to make sense of something. “Don’t know. I just… felt like I’d seen it before. You, up on some stage or somethin’, spinnin’ around. There was music. Somethin’ old… Swan Lake, maybe?”

Your throat tightened. The memory flashed in your mind—the theatre, the faint strains of Swan Lake, the way you’d let yourself get lost in the dance only to find Logan watching you from the shadows.

“Well,” you said finally, forcing a smirk. “Maybe you’re just jealous of my skills.”

Logan snorted, his lips twitching upward. “Yeah, sure. That’s it.”

He held your gaze for a second longer, and you thought you saw the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—something uncertain, almost vulnerable. But then he stepped back, picking up his duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Good to see you back,” he said gruffly, his voice dropping just enough that you almost missed it. “Place is better with you here.”

Before you could respond, he turned and started walking down the hall, leaving you standing there, your chest tight and your thoughts swirling.

Logan might not remember everything, but the pieces were there buried just beneath the surface. And whether you liked it or not, it seemed those pieces included you.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Charles suggested I… help him,” you said, your tone sharp as you leaned against Hank’s lab table. The polished steel was cold under your hands, grounding you as you tried to organize your thoughts. “Can you believe that? The old man won’t use his powers to look inside Logan’s mind, but he expects me to do it—in some weird, roundabout sense.”

Hank hummed thoughtfully, his attention divided as he adjusted the burner beneath a bubbling beaker. “Charles has his methods,” he said evenly. “Though I suspect he thinks you’d be a better help because you… knew Logan. From before.”

Your stomach tightened, and you crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “Hank, I’ve known almost everyone. I’ve been alive longer than any of you. It doesn’t mean I have all the answers.” You hesitated, then added in a softer voice, “And you can’t expect me to just… spill my guts to him. What if it triggers something in him? The feral side?”

That made Hank pause. He looked up from his work, concern creasing his blue-furred face. “I’ve heard about that side of him,” he said cautiously, “but I’ve never seen it in person.” His voice lowered. “Have you?”

The question made your chest tighten even more, your heart thudding against your ribs. You turned away, your eyes settling on a shelf of meticulously labeled vials, pretending to study them.

“We’ve seen it, haven’t we?” Hank pressed, his tone gentler now.

Finally, you nodded, the memory bubbling to the surface unbidden. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’ve seen it.”

Hank tilted his head, his expression shifting from curiosity to quiet concern. “My dear,” he said carefully, “you’ve always made it seem as though you knew Logan in passing… like acquaintances from a battlefield. But…” His voice trailed off, and he straightened, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as realization dawned. “You’re not telling me something, are you?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “Hank, it doesn’t matter. It happened a long time ago. Just let it go.”

“What happened a long time ago?”

You gritted your teeth, frustration flaring in your chest. “It’s complicated,” you said, your voice low.

“I’ve got time,” Hank replied simply, leaning against the counter and folding his massive arms across his chest.

You threw him a look, but the patience in his gaze—the quiet, unyielding kind that Hank was so good at—made you falter. You pushed off the table and started to pace, running a hand through your hair as you tried to organize your thoughts.

“I met Logan decades ago,” you began, your voice tight. “During a war. A different one from the ones the X-Men are used to. He wasn’t like he is now. He was wilder, more dangerous. Barely in control of himself. A weapon, not a man.”

Hank’s brows furrowed. “Weapon X?”

You shook your head. “No. This was before that. This was… something else. Something darker.”

You stopped pacing, your arms falling to your sides as the memory gripped you. “I was passing through this remote town in the Canadian Rockies. Just trying to stay out of the way, you know? That’s what I did back then. I didn’t get involved. Didn’t put down roots. And then…” You swallowed hard, your voice dropping. “Then I heard the screams.”

Hank’s ears twitched, his expression unreadable as he watched you.

“There were bodies,” you continued, your voice distant now. “Shredded. Blood everywhere. And in the middle of it was him. Logan. He wasn’t himself—not the man you know now. He was… feral. An animal. He couldn’t even speak. Just growled and snarled like a beast.”

Hank adjusted his glasses, his expression turning grim. “And you fought him?”

You let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. “I tried. I had to. He was killing anything that moved. I thought I could stop him, but… I underestimated him. He tore through me like paper.”

Hank’s eyes widened. “But your healing—”

“Exactly,” you cut in, nodding. “He saw me heal. Saw me get back up when I should’ve stayed down. I think it… confused him. Maybe even snapped him out of it a little. He stopped attacking me, but he didn’t calm down completely. He just… stared at me. Like he didn’t know whether to rip me apart or run.”

“And what did you do?”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting to the window. The late afternoon light spilled into the lab, casting long shadows across the floor. “I didn’t run,” you said softly. “I stayed. I talked to him. Calmed him down somehow. It was like he recognized something in me, though I didn’t know what it was at the time. I stayed with him for weeks after that. Helped him regain some sense of himself. Taught him how to fight his instincts. We… we bonded.”

The last words came out quieter than you intended, and you felt Hank’s gaze sharpen.

“You didn’t just know him,” Hank said slowly, as though the pieces were finally coming together. “You cared about him.”

You looked away, your jaw tightening. “I left when he got better. Disappeared. I thought it was for the best. And now he doesn’t even remember me. So, yeah, Charles wants me to help him, but I don’t know if I can. And even if I could… I don’t know if I should.”

The room was quiet for a long moment, the bubbling of the beaker the only sound. Finally, Hank sighed, his voice softer now. “Perhaps you underestimate how much of you he might still remember, even if it’s not clear to him yet.”

You shook your head, the weight of your thoughts pressing down like an old, familiar burden. “He doesn’t remember. At least, not the whole picture. And honestly? It’s better that way.” Your voice softened, but a bitter edge crept into it. “He shouldn’t have to remember all the pain he caused. All the blood.”

Hank froze for a moment, his hands stilling over the set of vials he was arranging. The soft hum of the equipment filled the silence as he carefully chose his words. “I understand—”

“No, you don’t.” You cut him off, the sharpness in your tone surprising even yourself. You turned toward him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Hank, if you had lived as long as we have… seen the things we’ve seen, done the things we’ve done… You’d want to forget too. You’d want it wiped clean, all of it. Trust me.”

Hank straightened, his broad shoulders rising slightly as he considered your words. “You’re speaking for Logan,” he said slowly, his voice calm but firm. “You’re deciding for him.”

Your eyes flicked away, focusing on the far corner of the lab. It was easier than meeting his gaze.

“It’s not like Logan was given a choice back then,” Hank continued, his tone softening but losing none of its weight. “And now he has one. A chance to choose for himself who he wants to be—what he wants to know. You’re taking that away from him by deciding for him.”

The words hit harder than you wanted to admit, threading a knot of tension through your chest. You opened your mouth to argue, to say something to push back against Hank’s steady reasoning, but no words came.

Instead, you closed your eyes, exhaling slowly through your nose. “I’m not taking anything away from him,” you said finally, your voice tight. “I’m just trying to protect him.”

“Protect him?” Hank asked, his eyebrows rising slightly. “From what? From himself?”

“From the truth!” you snapped, your voice rising before you could stop it. The words hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered, and you took a step back, shaking your head as if to banish the emotions bubbling to the surface.

Hank studied you carefully, his blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t believe he deserves the truth, do you?”

Your laugh came out bitter, almost hollow. “Deserve? What does that even mean? Deserve doesn’t matter when it comes to this. What Logan’s been through, what he’s done—he deserves peace. And that’s not something he’s going to find at the bottom of a memory.”

Hank tilted his head, his expression a mix of empathy and challenge. “You think peace is ignorance?”

“I think…” you said slowly, your voice faltering. “I think there are some things you can’t come back from. Some things you shouldn’t have to come back from.”

“And yet he keeps fighting,” Hank said, his voice quieter now. “Every day, Logan fights to be better. To be more than what he’s been through, more than what was done to him. But you… you’re standing in his way.”

His words struck like a blow, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not standing in his way,” you said finally, but the words felt hollow.

“Are you sure about that?” Hank asked, his tone gentle but unwavering.

You turned away, gripping the edge of the lab table so tightly your knuckles turned white. “He doesn’t need to remember me,” you said after a long pause, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or what happened back then. He doesn’t need to carry that weight.”

Hank hesitated before stepping closer, his voice soft but unrelenting. “Maybe. But are you sure this is about what he needs? Or is it about what you don’t want to face?”

The question hung in the air like a loaded gun, and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer it.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Later that night, you found yourself sitting alone on the stage, the empty theatre shrouded in silence. Your legs stretched out in front of you, the ribbons of your pointe shoes loose around your ankles. Though the music had long since stopped, the soft strings of a violin still lingered in your mind, weaving through the restless thoughts you couldn’t escape.

Dancing used to help, used to be your escape when the weight of everything threatened to crush you. It felt like it only made things worse. The memories, the what-ifs, the fears you’d buried so deeply—all of it rose to the surface when you moved. Hank had been right, and you hated it.

It wasn’t just about Logan. It was about you. About the things you didn’t want to revisit, the things you’d worked so hard to leave behind. The terrifying truth was, if Logan ever pieced it all together—if he ever remembered everything—you weren’t sure either of you could handle it.

The quiet creak of the double doors opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You froze, your hands resting on your ankles as Logan stepped into the theatre, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his face. He looked more relaxed than he had when you first saw him after returning from Alkali Lake, like some of the tension he always carried had finally eased. Maybe his trip had given him some kind of closure. Maybe it had only left him with more questions.

You didn’t know which possibility scared you more.

You dropped your gaze to your pointe shoes, fingers fumbling with the ribbons as if untying them could somehow distract you from the way Logan’s gaze lingered on you.

He snorted, the sound soft but amused as he moved farther into the room. “Didn’t feel like dancin’ tonight?” he asked, his gravelly voice carrying a faint teasing edge.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at your lips. “What do you want, Logan?”

He shrugged, stepping farther down the aisle until he was close enough for you to feel the weight of his presence. His expression shifted, the smirk fading as his sharp eyes narrowed. “Figured I’d check in. You’ve been avoidin’ me since I got back.”

“I’ve been busy,” you said quickly, tugging your pointe shoes off and setting them beside you. The excuse sounded thin even to your ears.

“Yeah,” Logan said, his voice flat as he folded his arms over his chest. “Sure you have.”

You sighed, pulling your legs up onto the stage and crossing them in front of you as if the position could shield you from the intensity of his gaze. “What do you want, Logan?”

His gaze dropped to the floor before lifting again to meet yours. “I think we both know the answer to that,” he said quietly, stepping closer to the edge of the stage. “You’re keepin’ stuff from me.”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” Logan said, his voice low and firm. He stepped up onto the stage, closing the distance between you. “You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.”

You looked away, focusing on the empty rows of seats stretching out into the shadows of the theatre. “Logan, I—”

“Cut the crap,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “Every time I get close to somethin’, you shut me out. Every time I try to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on in my head, you’re there, lookin’ at me like you already know the answers.” He paused, his voice softening just enough to make your chest ache. “You do, don’t you?”

Your hands tightened in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to steady your breathing. “It’s not that simple,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan snorted, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Nothin’s ever simple with you, is it?”

“Logan, please,” you said, finally meeting his gaze. “Let it go.”

He shook his head, stepping even closer until he was standing right in front of you. “No. Not this time.” His voice was quiet but resolute, the kind of tone that left no room for argument. “I went to Alkali Lake and found nothin’ but ghosts. I keep havin’ these dreams, these flashes, and half the time, you’re in ‘em. You tell me to let it go? How the hell am I supposed to do that when I know there’s more? When I know you’re holdin’ somethin’ back?”

You stared at him, your chest tightening under the weight of his words. “You don’t want to remember,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “Not all of it. Trust me, Logan. You don’t.”

His jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “That’s not your call to make.”

“Isn’t it?” you shot back, your voice rising as the emotions you’d been suppressing finally broke free. “Do you have any idea what’s buried in your head? What remembering could do to you?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. “What’s buried in yours?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut, and all you could do was stare at him. Finally, you looked away, your gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not about me,” you said weakly.

“Bullshit,” Logan said, stepping closer until he was towering over you. “This is about you just as much as it’s about me. You’re scared, aren’t you? Scared of what I’ll remember. Of what it’ll mean for you.”

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, fighting back the sting of tears. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Logan crouched in front of you, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were sharp, but there was something softer, almost pleading. “Then tell me. Tell me what I don’t know.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill over as you whispered, “I can’t.”

“Why?” Logan’s voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability beneath his gruff exterior. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because it’ll break you,” you said, your voice trembling. “And I can’t be the one to do that to you, Logan. I won’t.”

The two of you just stared at each other, the silence between you heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Logan stood, running a hand through his hair as he stepped back.

“I’m not gonna stop,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’m not gonna stop until I figure it out. Until I figure us out.”

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the determination in his eyes. “Logan—”

He shook his head, cutting you off, his tone low but firm. “No more runnin’, darlin’. Not from me. Not from this.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, blinking hard to fight the tears threatening to spill. “You—you can’t just expect me to tell you everything,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Why not?” Logan said, his gaze piercing as he stepped closer. “Is it a long story? I’ve got the time—we both do.” His voice softened slightly at the end, but the determination in his tone didn’t waver.

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. “It’s not that simple.”

“All I hear are excuses,” Logan snapped, his frustration bleeding into his voice. “Excuses from Chuck about my mind bein’ too fragile. Excuses about how I’ve gotta ‘find the answers myself.’” He gestured toward you, his movements sharp. “And now excuses from you about dreams bein’ just dreams. Do you think I can’t handle it? You think I don’t deserve to know what the hell’s been bouncin’ around in my head all this time?”

“It’s not about what you deserve, Logan!” you shot back, your voice cracking as you stood suddenly, your body tense with emotion. “It’s about what you can survive. You don’t know the weight of it—the guilt, the anger, the regret. You think finding all the pieces is going to fix you, but it’s not. It’s just going to break you more.”

Logan stared at you, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides. But something in his eyes—something raw and pleading—made you falter. His voice softened, the edge fading. “Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. But it’s not your call to make. It’s mine.”

The truth of his words cut through your defenses like claws, and you sank back onto the stage, your hands gripping your knees as you tried to steady your breathing. The silence between you stretched, heavy and charged.

Finally, you broke it, your voice quiet but resolute. “Fine.”

Logan’s head tilted slightly, his sharp gaze narrowing as he tried to gauge your meaning.

“I’ll tell you,” you said, swallowing hard as you looked up at him. “But I can’t promise it’s going to be pretty. And I can’t promise it’s not going to hurt.”

Logan’s posture relaxed ever so slightly, and he exhaled, his shoulders dropping as he moved toward you. He sat down beside you on the stage, the movement slow and deliberate. His elbow brushed against yours, and the quiet warmth of his presence steadied the storm inside you, if only for a moment.

“I ain’t lookin’ for pretty,” he said quietly, his tone gentle now. “And I’m not afraid of hurtin’. Just… tell me the truth. That’s all I want.”

You stared at the floor for a long moment, your hands twisting in your lap as memories you’d buried for years rose to the surface, raw and unrelenting. Finally, you took a deep breath, your voice shaking as you began. “We crossed paths again a long time ago.”

Logan frowned slightly, his brows furrowing. “Again?”

You nodded, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “It was…after everything happened when I first found you.” You hesitated, your voice dropping. “I thought I’d never see you again. Honestly, I hoped I wouldn’t. Not because I didn’t care, but because… because you deserved a fresh start. You needed one.”

Logan didn’t respond, but his silence was expectant, urging you to continue.

“I was in New York,” you said softly, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “Dancing. There was this small theatre, nothing fancy, but it was mine. I was performing that night—Swan Lake, actually. I remember being backstage, nerves eating at me like they always did before a show. And then the curtain rose, and I…” You paused, shaking your head at the memory. “I saw you. In the audience.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “Me?”

You nodded, your smile fading. “You were sitting in the second row, staring at me like you’d seen a ghost. I almost stumbled through my first few steps because I couldn’t believe it was you. You looked… different. Cleaner. Put together. But the way you watched me—it was like you remembered something. Something buried.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to the floor as if searching for the memory.

“When the performance ended,” you continued, “I went backstage, thinking you’d leave. That maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me. But when I came out, you were still there. Waiting. I didn’t know what to say, but then you said it first.”

Logan glanced at you, his voice quiet. “What’d I say?”

You hesitated, the memory sharp in your mind. “You said, ‘It’s you. You’re the one who helped me.’”

His expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as though trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle. “I remembered you?”

“Some of it,” you said softly. “Not everything, but enough. Enough to know we’d met before. Enough to know I’d helped you when you weren’t… yourself.” You exhaled shakily, your hands trembling in your lap. “We went out afterward. Got drinks at some dingy little bar down the street. You asked me why I helped you back then, and I didn’t know how to answer. So I told you the truth.”

Logan looked at you, his voice rough. “What truth?”

You met his gaze, your eyes glassy. “That I didn’t want to. That I’d seen what you were capable of, and it terrified me. But there was something about you, Logan. Something human buried under all that rage. And I thought… I thought if I could just reach you, maybe you wouldn’t be lost forever.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your confession settling between you like a fragile thread. Logan’s gaze didn’t leave yours, his expression unreadable but his eyes impossibly soft.

“You were right,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, your breath catching. “What?”

“You reached me,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t remember all of it, but I know one thing: you didn’t let me go. You could’ve, but you didn’t. And that…” He shook his head, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “That’s somethin’ I won’t forget, even if the details are gone.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked away, wiping at them quickly. “I don’t know if I helped you, Logan. Not really.”

“You did,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “You still do.”

The words hung in the air but they carried a weight that settled deep in your chest. Logan reached over, his rough hand covering yours briefly before pulling back. The touch was fleeting but enough to let you know he meant it.

[pretty-circa006]

I guess your bio clearly states you write for Negan, but it doesn't explicitly state you write only for Negan. So I'm thinking I should just ask. Are you open to writing a dadsbsf!Rick and dadsbsf!Negan x reader fic, they have a rivalry and are always trying to one up eachother to get in the readers good graces, but little do they know you already want them (both) and you get them (both). Ik this isn't something you normally write and it's totally fine with multiple partners. But you're clearly a great writer and I just had to ask. It's totally fine you don't take this request or even ignore it. But if you were to write could do something with an age gap and a minx reader and mean Rick and Negan but only during steamy, but otherwise they sprinkle their lives on you.(Maybe this could be series or something it doesn't have to be oneshot and you could your time exploring the idea, idk why I'm so passionate about this lol)

Thanks, for hearing me out, believe me ik this a tall order. Again it's totally fine if you ignore this!!!

P.s idk why I added the photos I'm sorry 😭😭😭😭(them trying to mark their territory trying to make the other back off of you???)

dadsbsf! Negan x F! Reader x dadsbsf! Rick

summary Negan and Rick are over at your house, joining your dad for a game of poker. tags gambling, mentions of smoking and alcohol consumption, age gap (reader is college aged and Rick and Negan are kinda old...like late 40s early 50s?)

wc 2.3k

note i really liked this request and i hope i interpreted it correctly, if not, i sincerely apologize! just fyi, i plan on making this multiple parts, which is why there's no smut....YET! :P

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

She loves summer. It's more so what comes with it, rather than the season itself. Being back home from college and finally having her own space in her own room and her own bathroom with her own shower. Most of all, she loves the late nights in her backyard, swimming in the pool beneath the bright stars, cicadas buzzing and crickets chirping in the background. 

Tonight's one of those nights. The dark, starry, cloudless sky accompanies her she floats on her back around the pool, enjoying the peace of the summer night. All she's missing is a nice midnight snack. The warm, humid nighttime air feels good against her wet skin as she climbs out the pool. She forgot to bring a towel with her when she came out earlier, but that doesn't matter since she's getting right back in anyway. Barefoot, she saunters across the soft grass to the sliding glass door that leads into her house. 

"Honey, where's your towel? You're dripping all over the floor," her dad complains as soon as she steps inside. Feeling the freezing air conditioning on her wet body also has her wishing she brought a towel. 

"Sorry, I forgot, but I..." She trails off, finally noticing that her dad isn't alone and that he's at the dining room table with his best friends, Rick and Negan, in the middle of a game of poker. 

"Hi, Rick...Negan," she awkwardly greets, folding her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling naked in front of the two. 

"I'll be right back, gonna go grab her a towel," her dad explains, excusing himself from the table. 

"Late night swim?" Negan teases while shamelessly eyeing the freezing girl's half-naked body. Her face grows hot as she feels his hazel eyes undressing what little clothing she has on. 

"Why don' you join us for a game?" Rick suggests with a pat to the seat beside him. 

"But I dunno how to play." Despite this, she takes the seat anyway. Rick pulls the chair closer to him until he can't anymore. 

"I'ma teach ya how." This earns a scoff from Negan. 

"Doll, you don't want this fuckin' prick teachin' ya how to play poker." 

"This comin' from the idiot who lost five hundred dollars last time we played," Rick fires back. Negan rolls his eyes and flips him the bird. 

She bursts into a fit of giggles at their rivalry. "I think I'll stick with Rick. I don't have much money to lose." 

Her dad finally comes back into the room, towel in hand. He tosses it at her and it lands over her head like a ghost costume. 

"Hey!" she huffs as she fixes the towel properly around her shoulders. Her father just huffs a laugh at her plight. 

"Rick's gonna teach me how to play poker," she tells her dad excitedly. He grimaces which earns a snicker from Negan. 

"If ya want any chance at winnin', you'll have your ol' man to teach ya, but hey," he raises his hands in mock surrender before taking his seat. 

“I’m stickin' with Rick.” Rick gives her a soft smile and places his large hand on her thigh. Shivers run down her spine, and she’s sure it’s not from the air conditioning. 

“You can jus’ watch this game and we’ll deal you into the next.” She nods in agreement and leans over Rick’s shoulder to look at his cards -a three of clubs and a three of spades-, ignoring the water droplets dripping from her hair onto his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind either. She has no idea what’s going on since she joined in mid-game, but by the looks of everyone’s faces…she still can’t tell what’s going. Her father’s face is blank and Negan’s has an air of mischief to it, but then again, it almost always does. Rick looks calm as his eyes move from his cards to the three that lie in the table’s center. 

“Wha’s goin’ on?” She whispers in his ear. He leans down to her level and explains to her that the three cards in the middle are the flop and that things are looking good for him. She nods and leans closer to get a better look. The three men all slide more chips into pile. Negan reveals another card next to the three, which Rick informs her is called the turn. They bet again and Negan reveals one last card - the river, Rick tells her- before they all reveal their hands. 

“Two pair,” her dad dejectedly reveals. 

“Three of a kind,” comes Negan’s reveal. 

“Full house,” Rick calls out smugly as he takes the pile of chips

“See, I knew Rick was gonna win!” She cheers, causing the two other men to groan in annoyance. Rick squeezes her thigh, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Negan who’s glaring daggers at the blue eyed man. 

“You playin’ this round, hon?” Her dad asks, shuffling the cards. She happily agrees and deals her in. 

“Ya sure ya wanna stick with Rick? He was just fuckin’ lucky last round,” Negan bargains. 

“Lucky and four hundred dollars richer! I’m stickin’ by him.” Rick flashes Negan the smuggest look ever before wrapping his arm around her, pulling her closer. 

“Got my good luck charm right here.” 

“See if you get so lucky this time ‘round,” her dad challenges as he deals out two cards to each player. She looks at her cards, still not fully sure on how to play. She slides in a chip alongside everyone else, which Rick explains is the ante. Her dad reveals the flop and she looks from it to her own cards, not knowing what plays she has, if any. She glances over at Rick who’s immersed in his own cards. 

“Rick, what do I do?” She whispers. 

“C’mere, I’ll help ya out,” he offers with a pat to his lap. She climbs onto his lap from her own chair, leaving her towel behind. Her dad doesn’t bat an eye. Rick is one of his best friends, basically a brother to him, and in turn like family. At least that’s the way he sees it, like a simple loving action between good family friends. 

But Rick can hardly focus on either of their cards. Having her on his lap is distracting. Her plush ass sits directly on top of his crotch and he can feel himself getting hard as she shifts around to get comfortable. If she can feel it too, she doesn’t move away or say anything. He rests his chin on her shoulder as he looks at her cards -an eight of diamonds and an eight of hearts- his beard prickling against her soft skin. 

“See that eight of spades on the table, you’re close to havin’ a four of a kind,” he whispers. 

“Is that good?” 

“Very.” Nobody’s looking, so he presses a quick kiss to her shoulder. She stifles a giggle at the ticklish sensation of his beard against her skin. They all bet again and the next card is revealed. She shifts around excitedly once she sees another eight on the table.

“Keep still, sweetheart,” Rick warns, growing harder in his pants. She doesn’t say anything, but Rick can see her shoulders shake with more stifled laughter. Everyone places another bet before the river is revealed and they all show their hands. 

“Full house,” Negan says as he reveals his cards. 

“Flush,” her dad reveals. 

“Two pair,” Rick shows his hand. 

“Four of a kind,” she apprehensively says, showing her own hand. 

“Maybe she is some kinda goddamn good luck charm,” Negan grunts. 

“Did I win?” She asks, noticing the proud but somehow simultaneously disappointed faces around the table. 

“You did, sweetheart, good job!” Rick says, hugging her from his position behind her. She gets up and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to his lips before skipping into the kitchen. 

“That was fun, but I’ma head back to the pool now.” Negan watches her struggle to reach a snack in one of the cabinets. She jumps a few times, her ass jiggling a bit each time she lands. He stands up and joins her in the kitchen, watching her pathetically try a few more times before standing behind her and effortlessly grabbing the bag of chips. He even opens it  before handing them to her. 

“T-thanks,” she says turning to face him and taking the bag. Her whole body feels like it’s on fire as she stares up at him. He’s standing so close to her, basically pinning her against the counter. His tongue glides across his bottom lip as he hungrily eyes her up and down, eyes lingering on her tits that her bikini top could hardly contain. 

“You’re welcome.” She doesn’t know what to say or even if she should say anything. Her eyes wander down to his strong arms that are folded across his chest, his tattoos on full display. She bites her lip when her eyes graze over the slight bulge in his pants. She can’t tell if he’s hard or just big, but either way she desperately needs to take a dip in the pool to cool the heat building up inside of her. 

“I’m gonna go back out now, bye!” She slips away from him and hurries out to the backyard before jumping into the pool. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

She had about thirty minutes alone until she hears the sliding glass door open. Out comes Rick in nothing but his swimming trunks and a beer in hand. He doesn't seem to see her as he makes his way to the hot tub. He gets in, letting out a sigh of relief as he feels the hot water relaxing his muscles. He rests his arms around the ledge and tilts his head back, relaxing and the sight is delicious. She climbs out the pool and carefully steps into the hot water beside Rick. 

"Hey darlin'," Rick greets once she's sitting beside him. 

"What're you still doin' here? Isn't it past midnight?" she asks. 

"Me 'n Negan wanted the hot tub for a bit, but your old man's done for the night." 

"Oh. Okay." She's looking at Rick in a way he can't decipher. Her eyes hungrily trail across his body as she scoots closer and suddenly, she's in Rick's lap like before. 

"I can still sit here, right?" 

"Of course," he reassures, his hands resting on her thighs, fidgeting with the waistband of her bikini bottoms. He rests his chin on her shoulder, just relaxing and enjoying the feeling of her against him. 

The sliding glass door opens again, a jarring interruption to their peace. She flinches, scared one of her parents were about to come out and see her and Rick in a compromising position, but Rick, seeing that it's only Negan, holds her tighter. He joins them in the hot tub with a beer in hand and cigar between his lips. In nothing but his swim trunks, his hairy chest and tattoos are on full display, taking all of her attention away from Rick. If looks could kill, Negan would have murdered Rick with his hazel colored death glare. The tension in the hot tub is so thick, it's almost suffocating. Negan being there somehow makes her feel guilty for being so close to Rick, but leaving his lap isn't something she wants to do either.

"Hey, Negan," she says in a weak attempt to relieve the tension and kill the awkward silence. 

"Hey doll," he takes a drag from the cigar before blowing out the smoke, "congrats on winnin' your very first poker game." 

"Thanks...couldn'ta done it without Rick, really." She subconsciously leans further into Rick and he presses a few scratchy kisses to her shoulder and the back of her neck. Negan rolls his eyes at both her and Rick. 

"C'mere," he commands with a come hither motion. She swallows nervously, looking from man to man. Rick can feel that she wants to get up so he unravels his arms from her waist so she can, which she does, albeit apprehensively. Even though he didn't tell her to, she sits on Negan's lap, her cunt right atop his growing boner, the only barriers between them being his swim trunks and her bikini bottoms. His beard tickles the side of her face as he leans down to whisper in her ear.

Rick watches the two with an intense gaze, almost as if he was daring Negan to try something with his girl. Negan's arms are around her now as he whispers something in her ear. Rick is sure he's just talking shit  but jealousy still twinges in his chest. 

"Anything that asshole thinks he can teach ya, I can do it better," Negan whispers. Rick sees her giggling and she turns her head to whisper something back to him. 

"Yeah? Then why'd ya lose both games earlier?" she teases. He lets out a laugh which catches Rick's attention. His blue eyes glare daggers at Negan who only spares him a smug glance. 

"Didn't wanna embarrass poor Rick over here by beating his ass in front of ya," he says loud enough for Rick to hear. His voice returns to a whisper. "As for the other game...you just got pretty damn lucky." 

"Mmhmm sure," she replies sarcastically with an eye roll. She stands up and wades her way to the hot tub's stairs. 

"G'nite y'all," she wishes them as she exits the tub. 

"Goin' to bed already? Night's just started?" Negan complains, already missing having her on his lap. 

"It's almost three in the mornin'," Rick comments looking at his watch. "Night, sweetheart!" 

"See you both at the barbecue tomorrow!" She blows them both a kiss before skipping off toward the house. She can feel their gazes boring into her, particularly her ass as she does so. 

[mommyslittlebird]

A Superhero Like You

Mommy!Wanda x Little!Reader

After a weekend trip with your friends takes a turn for the worse, you have to explain to Wanda why you broke the rules.

CW: hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol and drug use, substance mixing, bad drug reactions, mentions of punishment, spanking. No explicit smut but still 18+.  All characters are over the age of 18.

Word Count: 2k

A/N: My trip this weekend went fine, idk what you’re talking about 👀.

You were in trouble. Big trouble, if Wanda’s stern, displeased look was any indicator.

You’d spent the weekend on a small cabin vacation away with your friends; your older friends. Not as old as Wanda, of course, who was easily a decade older than you, but friends that were 2-5 years older than you. Just old enough to make you feel cool for getting invited to hang out with them. 

The cabin you were staying in was nearly two hours away, not to mention in the middle of the woods with shoddy cell service. Wanda didn’t like the idea at all, but after plenty of conversation, and establishing several rules, she’d reluctantly agreed to let you go. 

You’d promised you wouldn’t drink any alcohol (even though you were 21), nor any drinks you didn’t make yourself. You promised to call her every night, and text her throughout the day with updates. And, most importantly, you promised to call her to come get you if anything made you feel uncomfortable.

By 9pm the first night, you knew coming was a bad idea.You should’ve called Wanda then and there, admitted your mistake, and let her take you home where you’d be safe with her, but you hadn’t. 

Instead you’d waited until things got so bad, the party was busted by the cops, and Wanda had to pick you up from the police station. 

And that’s how you ended up here, with a very upset Wanda looking down at you while you cowered on the sofa. “Would you like to tell me what happened, little girl?”

“I’m sorry,” you cried, tears already falling from your eyes. You hated this feeling; Wanda’s disappointment after you’d done a bad thing. You always tried so hard to be good. Slip ups were honestly pretty rare, but you had never ever done anything to mess up this bad. You didn’t know how Wanda was going to react. 

“You’ve said you’re sorry. Now I need you to tell me what happened,” she scolded, her tone still harsh and unforgiving. “Or I can take you upstairs right now and we can just skip straight to your punishment.”

You swallowed, wrapping your arms around yourself in a desperate attempt at comfort. “Do I still get hugs and cuddles after my spanking?” you asked. You always did get comfort after your punishments, but you needed the extra reassurance that this would be no different, even tonight.

Wanda finally softened slightly, crouching in front of your trembling body. She was upset, but she could still see that you were scared and in desperate need of comfort right now. Regardless of what you’d done, she was always going to take care of you when you needed her. “Of course, detka. After your punishment all is forgiven. But mommy really needs to know exactly what happened first, okay? So I can know what kind of punishment you need. Does that make sense, malyshka?” You nodded weakly. “Is there anything I can get you right now that might help you tell mommy what happened?”

You thought for a second. Cuddling or any intimacy with her would just make you feel more guilty. You didn’t feel like you deserved it right now. “Maybe a blanket?” you requested. “And maybe Thomas too.” You added at the last second. Thomas was a little stuffed triceratops, your favorite stuffed animal.  

Wanda nodded. “Do you want your dinosaur blanket or a different one?” 

“Dinosaurs please.”

“Okay detka, you stay right here and I’ll be back in just a minute.”

You nodded, curling up against yourself as you heard her head up the stairs. Just a moment later you felt the soft fabric of your blanket on your shoulders, and the stuffed dinosaur pressed into your lap. You hugged the plush animal into your chest, rubbing your face against its head. “Thank you, mommy,” you said, muffled by the dinosaur. 

“Of course honey,” she said, sitting down cross legged in front of you. She tried to put her hand on your leg, but you shied away. “Do you need another minute or are you ready?”

You slowly lifted your head, feeling much more comfortable now with your favorite things. “I’m ready.”

She nodded. 

You took a deep breath and then started. “We were having a lot of fun at the beginning. We were being silly in the hot tub, and it was really pretty outside, and everybody had already started drinking but they were just being a little goofy. Then when we went inside and dried off, one of the girls I didn't know so well started talking about drugs. Nothing too bad, just some Xanax, maybe Ambien, a couple things I didn’t know about. But I started to get that bad tummy feeling, so I went on a little walk, just like we talked about. It was really pretty out there mommy. You would’ve loved to see all the cool plants and rocks I found. And the sunset was so pretty.”

She noticed you getting a little off topic, likely avoiding something you didn’t want to talk about. She attempted a gentle redirect. “I’m sure they were beautiful, detka. I’d love to hear all about them later. What happened when you got back to the cabin?”

You went quiet for a second, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You started crying again, darting your eyes around the room to avoid looking at Wanda. “It wasn’t the same when I got back. My bad tummy feeling got really big. They weren’t just being goofy anymore. They didn’t look right, like their faces looked all dizzy and they weren’t acting right either. They couldn’t really walk right and I tried talking to them but I couldn’t understand them at all.” You paused for a few seconds. “I was so scared.”

She tilted her head and cupped your cheek, making you look at her. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you call me? We talked about this, I would’ve come to get you. You promised you would call if anything like that happened. Mommy just wants you to be safe, but I can’t always keep you safe if you don’t follow the rules.”

Your bottom lip trembled. You felt terrible. You’d been so stupid thinking you could handle something like this alone. “I wanted to be a superhero like you, mommy! My friends were in danger and I wanted to be brave and save them like you do! But I’m not like you and I didn’t know what to do and I messed it all up and got everybody in trouble!”

“Oh detka.” She jumped onto the couch and wrapped her arms around you. You struggled against her for a minute, but she held you tight, gently running her hands through your hair. 

“Everybody was getting so sick and I didn’t know what to do, and then I found Kate passed out…” you cried. The words left your body like water through a busted dam. Kate was your best friend, the one who invited you to the party to begin with. “I got so scared I panicked and called 911 and came and took us all away.”

“Honey, I know that must’ve been so scary to see all your friends like that,” Wanda soothed.

“It was the scariest I’ve ever been in my whole life!” you cried.

“I know malyshka. But it sounds like you did everything right. I wish you would’ve called me, but you did everything you were supposed to do in that situation. Even though it was really scary, you were so brave. You made sure everyone was safe and you saved the day.”

You shook your head. “No I didn't, I got everyone in trouble! They were so mad at me, mommy. I messed it all up so bad.”

 “You didn’t mess anything up. They got themselves in trouble. I’m sorry they couldn’t see that, detka.”She positioned you on her lap and rocked you gently against her chest, shushing the sobs that tore through you. It was several minutes before you spoke again.

“Can we go ahead and do my spanking and then we can cuddle again when I’m all forgiven?” You asked. You needed so desperately to be relieved of your guilt and to know Wanda wasn’t mad at you anymore.

“No spankings for you tonight, sweet girl,” She soothed. 

Your heart sunk. You didn’t think you could sleep a wink until your punishment was over and you were forgiven. “No, please! I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore! I can’t wait for tomorrow to be forgiven, please!”

“There’s no spankings tomorrow either, detka. You don’t need to be punished. You’re already forgiven sweetheart,” she reassured.

You frowned, leaning back to look at Wanda. “I don’t understand. You were so mad.”

Wanda nodded regretfully. “I’m sorry I was being so cold when I picked you up, detka. When I got that call for the police, I was so scared something bad happened to my sweet girl. All I knew was that you got in trouble with the police and I assumed you did something bad before I even heard the whole story. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were a very brave girl. I’m sorry I got you worked up about a punishment before I even knew you needed one.”

You paused cuddling back into her chest. She tucked your head under her chin. “Are you sure you’re not still mad at me?” 

Wanda shook her head. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“Not even a little bit.”

You shifted uncomfortably in her lap. You believed Wanda, but you were still swirling with guilt. Maybe she had forgiven you, but you hadn’t forgiven you. “Maybe I can have a really little spanking? Just a small one before bed.”

Wanda sighed in resignation. She wished she hadn’t gotten so upset with you. It broke her heart to see that you were still so mad at yourself after you’d done something so brave. “If it’ll make you feel better, we can do that, malyshka. But you have to promise to forgive yourself afterwards. You know the rules: after your punishment all is forgiven.”

“I promise,” you swore, wrapping your pinky around hers. 

“That’s my good girl. Now go take your blanket and Thomas upstairs and get ready for me. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

—----

It was truly less than five minutes before Wanda came up to find you sitting naked on the edge of the bed, your blanket wrapped around your shoulder while you anxiously played with the fabric spines along Thomas’ back. 

She sat down next to you, guiding you over her lap. She knew it made you more comfortable to be so close even when you were being punished. “I’m gonna give you 10 my hand, okay? I want you to count out loud for me. You can hold Thomas if you’d like.”

“Yes, mommy,” you said, grabbing the stuffed animal and pulling him under your chest. 

You obediently counted each smack. They were hard enough to hurt, but not so hard you would feel them tomorrow. You started crying around number three, more out of emotional relief than physical pain. Wanda rubbed your now bare back, but didn’t stop. 

The whole ordeal only lasted about two minutes, but she let you cry in her lap for about ten more. “Shh detka. You did so well. It’s all over honey. All is forgiven. Mommy’s not mad at you.” She cooed repeatedly. 

When you finally got your voice back, you whispered “thank you, mommy. I feel better now.”

She tucked you into bed with Thomas, leaving the room to quickly grab some cream. By the time she got back you were already half asleep. She smiled as she watched you rub your face against the soft pillows. She applied the cream before crawling into bed next to you and allowing you to snuggle back into her chest.

“You wanna know a secret?” she whispered. 

“What?” you mumbled sleepily. 

“I think you might be the bravest girl in the whole world. You’re my superhero.”

[literallyjusttoa]

On a quiet night, my lord, my love, you came with tears in your eyes, and told me your son had been slaughtered.

For hours you wept at my side, before sorrow turned to rage and innocents were brought to dust by your bloodied hands.

I held our child close as Olympus shook. I felt his breath, I heard his heartbeat. I held him and watched as the clouds filled with thunder. I imagined our child dead in my arms as your son had been, and it felt like the fates whispering in my ears.

I saw ruin in your eyes that night, love, and I saw it every night after. He was doomed from the start, wasn't he? And we were doomed as well. They'll storm our walls soon, as well. They'll tear us apart before your eyes, as well.

I want to ask why, but I know you don't have an answer either. It's alright love. I can't blame you. The years pass, and the ruin stays in your eyes, in mine, in my husband, in our sons. The Greeks make their way to our Scaian gates.

On a quiet night my lord, my love, I came with tears in my eyes, and told you our son had been slaughtered.

(explanation under the cut!)

Real quick explanation time! Since Asclepius is an Argonaut alongside Nestor, a man who is still alive (though old) by the time of the Iliad, and Asclepius' sons fight in the Trojan War, is seems possible, if not likely, that Asclepius was killed within a decade of the start of the Trojan war. This means that Hector, who was middle aged by the war, had to have been born before Asclepius' death. If you follow the versions of the myth that call Hector Apollo's son, this means that Apollo had already been with Hecuba, and seeing as they had a second son, Troilus, after Asclepius' estimated death date, they were likely still close. How might Hecuba have felt when she heard the news? When Apollo was punished and she could not pray to him? When a man who was her children's half-brother was killed by the king of Olympus? Especially when at this point, multiple prophecies had been made that foretold her kingdom's destruction? Idk I think about her a lot and I think about them a lot and I think about Troy a lot, so I made this.

[bloodstainedsapphic]

guitar teacher!ellie x smartass!reader thank you for all the meet-cute requests @thatdammchickennugget -- they are my absolute favorite and this one is a classic. i plopped a lot of my real life into this lmao. i kinda wanna do a spicy part 2 here. idk. we'll see!

you wait with bated breath inside the cramped, soundproof lesson room at your local music store, where you signed up on a whim to learn the guitar. it’s an impulse decision, really—all but doomed to be just another tick off the ever-expanding list of random cool skills you’ve tried. at the very least, you hope maybe you can whip this one out to “impress the ladies.” maybe even serenade them with some songs and actually sound good doing it—lord knows many have endured the clunky chords of a red hot chili peppers song from some mediocre man already.

you clutch your new guitar semi-awkwardly, plucking the strings and lightly tapping the cool basswood. you can tell that the tune is off, but damn if you know how to fix it. you wonder if you’ll abandon it after the first 40 minutes, just like most other hobbies you’ve sampled.

in your hasty decision-making, you hadn’t even requested a specific teacher. you’d only ever seen middle-aged men employed here, which is fine. you trust their experience, picturing some warm-hearted old rocker coming in and showing off his tried-and-true tricks. what you don’t expect, then, is when the door opens and a girl your age enters the room, extending her hand to shake yours.

“hi, my name is ellie. you’re the one here to learn guitar, right?”

you shake her hand, eyes glancing over her form, trying not to seem like a dumbfounded creep. jeez, she’s cute. she has reddish-brown hair in a choppy bob, freckled cheeks, green eyes, and a dorky smile. she’s adorned in a faded blue jacket rolled up to her elbows, revealing arm tattoos, and a ragged t-shirt with a band you’ve never heard of. and this is the cutie who will watch you fiddle with out-of-tune strings and act like a complete dumbass? you half hope the ground will swallow you whole.

“yeah,” you manage to reply once you remember how to speak. “that’s me. word of warning: i really don’t know what i’m doing, so i’m, like, a total beginner.”

ellie chuckles reassuringly, likely having heard that tired statement a million times over. she gently picks the guitar up from your lap, inspecting its quality. of course, in her hands, the instrument looks like it was made to be held by her. “hey, that’s fine. everyone starts somewhere, right?” she gets to tuning the strings as naturally as breathing.

“so, what’s got you interested in learning?” ellie suddenly asks, just to fill the dense silence of the room. your mouth runs dry, struggling with a response that doesn’t sound as idiotic as “i’m an obnoxious flirt.” she catches onto your fumbling, adding, “what? wanting to look like a badass guitar god, hm?”

“calling yourself a badass, then?” the tongue-in-cheek question escapes before you can rein it in. ellie pauses her tuning to look up at you, and your heart drops to your stomach. she’s going to kick you out, you reckon.

“i mean… you are staring at me with your mouth open. must be in awe of my guitarist badassery or something. i don’t mind,” ellie replies with a knowing, smug smile, then returns to helping your sorry ass tune up your guitar.

yep, you definitely need that hole in the ground right now.

after that rocky introduction, the lesson takes on a more professional atmosphere, with ellie explaining the basics. she teaches you about the body of the instrument, the strings, and some basic history—you name it, and she knows it. it’s clear that ellie is enthusiastic about the guitar, her interest rubbing off on you, which does not help your case with how cute you already find her.

you try your best to be a good student, which isn’t the energy you typically bring to all your other short-lived courses. there is something special about ellie’s passion—how her lips move as she speaks about it, how her eyes light up, her fingers curling against the strings while demonstrating songs—it compels your attention. you listen respectfully to the multitude of rambles she embarks on and cuts short whenever ellie realizes she has led you too astray from the basics.

at approximately the 38th minute of the 40-minute lesson, you realize that you haven’t attempted to actually play the damn thing. ellie must have come to the same realization, flashing a tilted smile, hoping you aren’t too annoyed that this instructional course devolved into a ted talk, a worry she couldn’t possibly be more wrong about.

ellie assists your clumsy self in positioning the guitar onto your lap, showing you how to hold it correctly. the closeness has your heart racing, and every touch sends shivers through you—you hope the internal gay panic doesn’t translate outwardly. ellie takes her time helping you press your fingers onto the correct strings and frets to play a simple “c chord.” her fingers guiding yours with such precision causes your thoughts to veer into thousands of inappropriate possibilities. the pose feels a tad contorted, your fingers placed in a way totally foreign to you, but her reassurance builds your confidence to try. she crouches before you, making final adjustments before her greens glance back up to you expectantly, waiting for you to try.

you strum the one chord—a passable sound that resonates throughout the guitar. it gets the job done but, of course, lacks the flow that ellie could have had. but ellie is proud, her genuine smile and silly applause flustering you.

you find yourself feeling more accomplished in this single instance than in the last three skills you’ve tried combined.

“good start, guitar god. i’ll show you another one—if you think you’ll stick to a second lesson,” ellie then suggests, an endearing smile on her face as she watches you absent-mindedly fiddle with the individual strings a bit more. an effective bargaining tactic for sure.

“yep, no problem.” easiest commitment you’ve ever made.

"hell yeah," ellie rejoices, reaching out one last time to high-five you. she looks delighted. just happy to have a new, consistent student, of course--that has to be it.

you sign up for another lesson after—and maybe another. and another.

[l3monlem0n]

Some Murder Drones Episode 7 screenshots I thought were interesting and my thoughts on them :>

SPOILER WARNING!!!! is spoilering

Nori, despite being a middle aged woman with a child, appears to be an Otaku or otherwise likes "edgy" and "scene" stuff, as well as listening to nightcore, very much like her daughter. Good for her tbh you're never too old to have fun

She also has a photo of Khan and what I can only assume is baby Uzi, though it appears to have blue eyes, but maybe it's just the lighting. Still very cute she has a pic of her husband

As well as all the previously mentioned Otaku stuff, she also drew herself as an anime character. She has a skinsona. Phenomenal (pos)

Nothing much here, just Uzi coughing up blood. Girl got the goop (gore) inside of her already

Lab Space. Apparently the Church was just down there and not even the humans know why. The canonicity of this is questionable; it could just be a joke

OT, as per google, stands for "Occupational Therapy". Makes sense for the context, and makes the bottom text funnier

"Fun Time To Universe Big Crunch: 87". The Big Crunch is a hypothetical way the Universe could end, where the universe folds on itself and shrinks into a single point. 87 "what" I don't know. If it's months, that 7 years and 3 months

Honestly the Murder Drones lore is super confusing. I think what this is trying to say is that every other Zombie Drone is doing poorly, (Except for Yeva), they are trying to reactivate 002 (Nori) via the USB. I'm not sure what this means. Maybe they only got the results they wanted from the two of them, and are trying again with Nori since she was the only other one that worked (also why they got Yeva when she failed; this may all be referring to how the episode opened up) Also, the date says SER. As revealed in the episode Cabin Fever, Copper-9 has months that Earth does not. SER most likely stands for Seramorris, the month revealed in that episode

Looks like the "bad event" wasn't the first one. Certainly was the last one though lol

Just a good pic of ghost/hologram V with the scary stuff. Might use this as a wallpaper

You can literally see the hole in his neck where N bit him in...

...And it's to the point his HEAD FALLS OFF. (including because I didn't notice the first time around)

Yup, the idea that Uzi became the Admin for N and V is completely true. I wonder what would've happened if she didn't, since Cyn didn't react whatsoever

friggin bug (very pos)

You would not believe how difficult it was to get a good pic of this (I'm using snipping tool lmao). Always a pleasure to see Uzi's doodles. Things her gun can do (upper right):

NOT judge her

Forced prom date (?)

Allows her to say she had friends before she frickin murdered them with sci-fi machinery

The cut off text at the bottom: Plan B: Normal gun + Shoot really fast

This is while Tessa is looking for something in the lockers. Claws, chains, magnets, Wings, and scribbled "HELP". Looks like the lockers were all specifically to hold the infected worker drones. Oof

We are in the future now baby. We have rererererereCAPTCHA. Funnily enough, it still couldn't stop a robot

There is a message board where someone who doesn't like robots is talking. They also are scared. Also no one else is using this system, which is unsurprising. "Ur aight ;)" Wait is the winky face intentional foreshadowing? Or unintentional?

We get the names of a bunch of other Worker Drones. Unfortunately for all 029 fans, her name was not visible. (also can someone tell me what "JWEB" could be short for?) And Yeva is said to have a patch. That may be the crucible thing idk

Cyn (which I will be calling this version Skyn [Skin + Cyn]) apparently took of the space suit just to give Doll the Withered Foxy jumpscare. Honestly really terrifying. If this photo was teased before release I think the fandom would've exploded

Just N being a good boy :3

The MDs, Cyn's pets. Nori refers to them as "Nerfed" so the "Entity" can ensure control, and says they were made to destroy other hosts. I don't know why Cyn would want them dead, but I'm not the loremaster here. YouTube line is there because I couldn't be bothered after the Railgun image

Probably already confirmed, but doubly confirmed that a symptom of the Solver is giving Drones organic insides. A Worker Drone body with a rib cage and guts. I wonder what would happen if the infection continued uninterrupted (also R.I.P. Doll I loved you :frown:)

I'm sure everyone noticed, but when Uzi tried to manipulate Tessa, the ERROR noticed appeared. Already hinting Tessa is not all she says she is

Apparently the Solver can create Black Hole Saws. Interesting development (Blackhole Blitz)

I know most people (I think) see this as a joke and N just being a bit of goofball. But honestly, I think he did it intentionally to shock Cynuzi and give Nori a chance. In the Pilot, he licked V's sword to surprise her too, which means he isn't unfamiliar with doing something weird and surprising for the advantage

Skyn eating Doll's core. R.I.P. Doll again. Seriously, was that Doll in Core Form like Nori was? Or was Nori a fringe case because she was "Exorcised" and this is just a regular core? Questions, questions. Also yeah the Solver also gives you a Core. Fun

This tag makes me think that this body is Cyn's actual body. Not longer a hologram, but her actual body from the mansion. The reason Tessa gave N, J, and V their names was because that was the first letter of their Serial Designation (she's very uncreative). However, Cyn's tag was slightly faded, which meant her SD couldn't be seen, so Tessa gave her the name "Cyn" after her P/N, even though the other 3 already have the same P/N as Cyn (Tessa, again, is very uncreative)...

...and for some reason, Cyn or the Solver, which ever theory you subscribe to, decided to wear Tessa as a skin suit for some twisted reason. It did help her with the Captcha. Also scary because this doesn't have the right proportions for an adult (unless Cyn really forced that skin on), which leads me to believe that this is a Younger Tessa, and she faked having an older voice. Maybe I shouldn't call her my wife... I'm sure Eldritch J is still available :^)

(Seriously, the eyes are burnt out, leaving two eye holes over the visor, so she gives herself two X eyes so it looks better. Also yeah we found out what that thing on the "It Came From Copper-9" poster came from. It really was Cyn or Skyn)

Just a frame of the final...frame... for coolness. I'm probably also going to use this for a background. Also, this is definitely Copper-9. You can see the ring and ringless moon together on the right. Uzi somehow got sent to orbit after falling in the meat hole

Well that was all for now. This series has consumed me entirely, body and soul, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Goodbye and goodnight

[ak1chi]

Obsessed with his birdie. Golden Cage.

Warnings: MDNI, fem!reader (afab!reader), yandere behavior, suggestive (a dirty fantasy is mentioned), OOC, the reader is assumed to be an adult (19-20+ years old), age difference, teacher/student, unrequited feelings, english is not my native language. idk how to write warnings :P

I will also insert the introductory part on ao3 (not required reading, but recommended. It was created so that there would be no misunderstandings in the future. There is also an explanation about fanfics.)

—I met her on the milky way

[Song: Dunkelbunt – Cinnamon Girl]

Who she was I could not say

I only knew I wanna stay

Together we spent night and day

We used to fly trough summer trees

The air was full of blossom breeze

Deep inhale this tasty smell

Thoughts of you (thoughts that are far from pure) have haunted him for a long time. They are burning, reaching right to the depths of his soul, tormenting him with unhealthy love. And now, as you step into his office, it does nothing to ease Crowley’s inner turmoil.

How many stories does it tell?

Once again, he has to play his role. He’s tired. Truly. But there is still so much to do before he snaps, like a wild raven catching sight of something shiny.

Crowley is well aware of the mixed feelings his saccharine-sweet smile stirs within you. And he understands why you’ve come to his office for the fourth time this week. Not that he minds—far from it. He enjoys seeing his birdie, especially when that annoying familiar isn’t by your side.

"Prefect, I’ve already told you—I am doing everything in my power to find a way to return you to your world!" Crowley exclaims in his dramatic way, appearing beside you in the blink of an eye. "Ah, so much work has piled up for poor, kind me... If only someone would help me with these documents."

Crowley sighs, ready to shed a tear at being so poor and unhappy. His arm drapes around your shoulders, and you barely notice how swiftly he changes the subject, not giving you a chance to say anything.

"It’s a good thing I have someone like you, Prefect, who can lend a hand to their poor, unfortunate Headmage. You’ll help me, won’t you?"

A question that doesn’t require an answer—he already knows what you’ll say. After all, you’re such a good little bird, aren’t you?

"Um… I guess I will," you reply uncertainly, not even sure why you’re agreeing. Perhaps it has something to do with his hand, the way it strokes your shoulder so gently, his claws somehow avoiding the fabric of your shirt. The touch is soft, almost caring, and it makes you forget the real reason you came here in the first place.

"That's a good girl! I knew you’d say yes!" Crowley’s mood shifts instantly, his smile widening just enough to reveal his fangs. He pulls you into what appears to be a friendly embrace—if one ignores a few telling details and, more importantly, what Crowley himself is feeling. His eyes gleam behind his mask as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, leaving behind a faint trace of his lipstick. The beak of his mask brushes against your hair, firm but not painful. If he had his way, he would have kissed you on the lips.

Releasing you, he turns away, heading back to his desk where his cane rests, leaving you standing in the middle of his office, rubbing your forehead with your sleeve.

"You may begin reviewing the teachers' reports, Prefect," he calls out, his voice loud, cheerful... and satisfied.

"Alright…"

Your voice makes him exhale, and for a brief moment, his self-control cracks. If you could see his face, you’d notice the way his lips curl into a grin, the faint flush on his cheeks—but your gaze is fixed on his back. Even the round eyes of his mask seem to glow oddly.

That familiar desire stirs again, the one he has fought so hard to suppress. Vivid images flash before his mind’s eye—you, cheeks flushed, whimpering under his kisses and touch. The way you’d take him like a good girl, tears rolling down your face, dripping onto the wooden desk, staining the documents and everything else beneath you. He swallows hard, fingers tightening around his cane.

But he quickly regains control, settling into his chair to conceal his obvious arousal, acting far too innocent and charming for someone who has just made you do his work for him. For someone who, mere moments ago, indulged in such indecent fantasies about you.

It’s still too soon to show you his true self.

And though Crowley has managed to lock you inside his gilded cage since the moment you arrived—showering you with money, clothes, everything you could possibly need, because really, who else would take care of such a lovely dove if not him—he can’t guarantee you won’t try to escape. Escape from him once you realize what feelings you’ve awakened in him. Once you understand what he truly wants to do to you. No, no—it's too early for you to know that he has forbidden you from searching for a way back on your own, that he has hidden everything related to it in a place no one could ever find. That he has never once intended to send you home.

You are his mate, and if necessary, Crowley is prepared to keep you in a cage until you accept his love and return his feelings. After all, he has already clipped your wings, tying you to him.

—Hey my little honey bee

He’s just in love, after all.

You're far away that´s hurting me

I miss you darling far away

Your warm sweet smile this summerday

[lucimaaie]

ellie as spiderwoman hcs ✧.* au

a/n- honestly was just an excuse for me to watch spiderman again and i took it, kind of switch between would’ve and did idk babes im just having fun atp

playlist | spidey masterlist

she'd have lost her mom at a young age and been placed with joel, who she never gets along with at first, thinking he's just a bil ol meanie who wanted an extra check every month.

that was until he showed he cared, not through hugs and affection in the traditional sense, but making sure she did her homework, picking her up everyday, getting her out of her room, checking on her when she'd been too quiet. "you okay, kiddo?" and "i heard talking helps." he'd say as he leaned on the door frame. eventually, she couldn't help but love him.

absolutely a nerd. though, when she got teased, she didn't exactly back down as expected which landed her in the detention a few times and some talking-to's. but she won and defended herself. no one could be mad at her for that. still, she was smart. she was going to be an astronaut after all. though that dream died in middle school.

high school came and she tried to straighten up. no more fighting bullies, even if they deserved it. she was better than that. she would get an internship, the internship that would line everything up, get her a scholarship so she could study aerospace engineering, get rich and get joel out of the old house on a patch of land with however many sheep he wanted. the same internship that got her bitten by a radioactive spider and shooting webs out her wrists.

words could not describe how much she worried joel when she woke up the day after, crushing her alarm clock, breaking the sink, the shower rack, everything. she skipped that day, hanging out on the rooftop of the house while joel was away stuck between having a panic attack from the sensory overload and telling someone, anyone. she decided on testing them out which earned her quite a few bruises joel luckily chalked up to another fight. "we gotta talk about this fighting thing sometime." she'd roll her eyes, saying something snarky before limping up the stairs. "say what you want but i win," "i heard that!"

also sidebar: ellie as a new yorker...whew. honestly ellie as anything- anyway.

hours or research ensue on cross-species genetics, spiderbites, different types of spiders, everything that made her feel disgusting. she slammed her laptop closed, crushing the poor thing.

it felt like there were a million things to do with her newfound powers but the only two on her mind was impress dina and swing from the rooftops. c’mon, she was 16 with the powers of a freaking spider. who said saving people would the first thing on her mind? she felt powerful, even weirder than she already felt but still powerful.

it was terrible, watching joel get more and more disappointed in her as she got distracted. “i’m a good kid! i just got distracted, gimmie a break.” “i have given you plenty. more than i should’ve. and that’s on me. that's my mistake to make you think that coming home late and fighting and blowing me off is okay.”

“i can't help how i turned out! don't blame me for being a shitty dad.” she yelled before slamming the door and stalking off into who knows where. she didn't even mean it, she was just stressed, she never meant any of it. hours later, she’d wish those words never came out her mouth.

she'd hoped she was having some cruel nightmare when she saw joel laid out on the pavement. "some help me! c-call an ambulance. don't just fucking stand there-" her voice was raw as she screamed out. "c'mon, don't die on me. y-you can't. i'm sorry? is that what you wanna hear? i'm sorry."

she hated the looks of pity, everyone's soft voices. people who never once talked to her suddenly caring. it was all fake. they didn't know her and they sure and hell didn't know joel.

she became another person for a while. quieter, more closed off. sometimes snappy. laser focused on finding the low-life took joel from her. that's when she started wearing the mask. the basic concept of it anyway and it caught on with the people, more than she imagined. ellie scoffed at the name spider-woman at first, thinking it was ridiculous. she wasn't some circus performer, she was just trying to find the killer.

dina as her mj, reaching out to her after joel’s death, inviting her over for dinner, talking to her in class, all of it. it wasn’t the same disingenuous pity she hated, she could feel she cared. so she allowed her feelings to fester. being with her actually helped. it was one more thing to balance with school and the internship and her mission, but it was more person in her life. she needed that.

one day ellie went running towards the trouble. not because joel's killer was there or cause of some adrenaline rush, but because she needed to do something. to not be helpless for once. she wasn't helpless. she hadn't felt completely in control of her body as she webbed a whole bridge back together and pulled cars back onto the surface, but in the end it was a like a high. it still ached to see kids running to their parents and everyone running to their families, but they were all safe. she did that. and that felt better than getting revenge and letting it suck the life out of her. so she'd wear the spandex and the mask and go by the stupid name. only cause it meant something now.

thank you for reading!

[stirpicus]

Hello :)

I was wondering, how do you figure out how to connect fleshed out plot points? I feel like when I write, it’s very easy to come up with the scenes that give me the most brainrot, but when it comes to “now how DID blorbo get from accepting their feelings about cake to fighting the bad guy?” I struggle. What IS the middle of a story? Is there something we're supposed to do with it or is it just.. idk😭

..also (im so sorry: i know its like ten years old and u literally have 5k backed up questions but i only found out about it a few months ago) ellegaard was making a command block? thats very cool and very scary, how do u think she wouldve used it, versus soren?

There's a storytelling rule I learned ages ago that applies here, and it's the power of two very simple words:

BUT and THEREFORE

When you're constructing a story, every scene/plot point should be followed by BUT or THEREFORE. Ideally alternating.

Like so!

Mx. Blorbo wants to bake a cake BUT

They go to the kitchen and discover they have no sugar! THEREFORE

They go to their nice neighbor to ask for some BUT

The nice neighbor is not home! THEREFORE

They have to go to the store. BUT

On the walk to the store they're attacked by ninjas! THEREFORE

They have to run away from the ninjas to hide BUT

And so on.

The other piece of this puzzle that you may be forgetting is that every plotpoint or scene needs to ALSO have structure. So "Mx. Blorbo wants to bake a cake" isn't as simple as writing a scene that starts with them saying "Time to bake a cake!"

That scene would probably go:

Mx. Blorbo is feeling sad and realizes it's because they're hungry

What they're craving is cake, but that seems like a lot of trouble.

They go through some other options of what they'd like to eat but nothing sounds appetizing.

They finally realize that nothing else will match the craving for cake. Therefore, they'll just need to make one.

See how even when just breaking down that simple scene we had a few BUTs and THEREFOREs?

That's because all story needs to be driven by what a character WANTS and the OBSTACLES and RESULTS connected with that want. Start thinking about your story that way instead of disconnected plot points and it'll go way smoother for you I bet!