#how reality met rogue

[rogality]

Reality asking Rogue to join X-Men

Rogue: I’m here for the cult stuff. Reality: How did you find us? Rogue: I saw your ad on craigslist.

Reality: you want in?

Rogue: only if you do as well sugah

[blue-devil-of-the-lord]

Hey, if you have the time. could you write an X-Men 97 Kurt Wagner x reality warper reader who is Magneto's adopted daughter.

Bound by Reality

Kurt Wagner x fem!reader Words: 1,6K A/N: I kind of feel like this sucks, but I hope it's alright anyway

Kurt loves you. That's the most important thing. He doesn't care who your father is or what he's done or how much he himself agrees with it all. He loves you. As long as you love him, that's all that matters to him.

Your power is the most fascinating thing for Kurt. Admittedly, he was quite skeptical at first. He is an acrobat, a fighter and always had to be able to rely on his senses. Especially when you met on the battlefield and on opposite sides, he was initially very wary of you and your powers.

But now, especially after you got together, you are a true miracle for him.

Sometimes you lie together in a meadow or in your bed and you alter little things, not much and it doesn't cost you much, but each time he is thrilled anew by your abilities. He's not shy about telling you either.

Every time you give free rein to your skills, be it in battle or otherwise, his legs go weak with affection. You're powerful, you're talented and between you and me, you just look fantastic doing it. Kurt could watch you use your skills all day, he wouldn't get tired of it.

However, as wonderful as he thinks your abilities are, he sometimes curses them all the more. Using your abilities, especially on a large scale, usually has severe consequences for you. Both your mental and physical strength are stretched to the limit and it is not uncommon for him to catch you at the last moment to prevent you from hitting the ground.

Should you be that vulnerable or hurt, Kurt becomes quite protective. You are one of the most important things in his life and he will protect you with his life if he has to.

Kurt is incredibly happy when you get on well with Rogue, as you are both equally important to him. However, you both have a habit of conspiring against him and he always gets the short end of the stick.

He also gets on quite well with your adoptive siblings. Admittedly, they didn't make it easy for him at first, but Kurt was quite persistent and got all three of them on his side.

You yourself had tried to delay the meeting between Kurt and your father as much as possible, which wasn't because you were embarrassed by Kurt. You loved him more than anything and you were pretty sure that wasn't going to change any time soon. The problem was your father. You were pretty sure that he would accept Kurt in the end, but you knew your father well and knew that he could be more than a little protective, especially when it came to his children.

"Liebling,“ Kurt murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind as his tail wrapped around her legs. "Calm down. You're walking a hole in our carpet." She sighed as her boyfriend spread light kisses over her neck.

"You know my father, you know how he is. He's never approved of any of my relationships and I really want him to like you." Kurt leaned forward so his mouth hovered over her ear. "Will his decision change anything about us?"

She spun around and looked up at him a little indignantly. "Of course not!" A slight smirk came to his lips and he pulled her closer to him by the waist. "Then I don't see what you're so worried about." Before she could protest, he quickly placed his lips on hers, successfully silencing her.

She didn't respond at first, but then gave in with a sigh and returned the kiss, which Kurt deepened all too briefly.

He couldn't hold her in his arms for long, however, as the doorbell rang and she broke away from him, despite his protesting whimpers. She gave him one last look, half warning, half amused, before opening the door. "Dad!"

She threw her arms around his neck and Kurt could see a warm smile on Magneto's lips as he hugged his daughter. "My love." He released himself from her arms, very gently, and stroked her cheek tenderly, a loving look in his eyes. "Am I mistaken or are you becoming more beautiful with each passing day?"

Kurt could see in his mind's eye how she blushed and smiled sheepishly.

"You're exaggerating." Father and daughter exchanged words for a few moments before his gaze wandered over to Kurt. His smile disappeared in an instant and his expression became cold and distant, his hand pressed against his daughter's back. Kurt understood at that moment why she was so worried. That look alone was enough to kill him. Still, he put on his most charming smile and stepped towards him, hand outstretched as he did his best to suppress the nervous lashing of his tail. "Dad, this is Kurt Wagner, my boyfriend. I told you about him," she pressed, and after looking at Kurt for a few moments, he squeezed his hand.

It was a firm squeeze and Kurt was sure he was trying to break his hand, but he kept smiling. "I'm really pleased to meet you, sir." Magneto let go of his hand and looked at him skeptically for a moment.

"A bit bluer and furrier than the last one, eh?" She stepped forward and wrapped a hand around Kurt's arm, a forced smile on her lips. "Well, my taste has definitely improved."

The next hour was absolute torture for everyone involved—at least, that’s how Kurt felt. As she tensely tried to spark a conversation between Kurt and her father, Magneto's piercing gaze seemed to slice through Kurt. Kurt was fairly certain that this man disliked him on principle, which was a significant problem, because Kurt was pretty much in love with his daughter and had no intention of leaving her. "Darling," Magneto suddenly spoke up, but didn't take his eyes off Kurt felt like he was shrinking into the sofa cushions under that relentless stare. "Would you do me a favor and get me another drink?" Her gaze fluttered to Kurt, who tried to subtly shake his head in protest. She stood up, nodding.

"Sure," she replied, though her voice wavered slightly, betraying her uncertainty. She glanced back at Kurt, worry evident in her eyes. "Please don't kill him while I'm gone," she added, attempting to lighten the mood with a nervous chuckle.

He didn't answer, and Kurt didn't like the look Magneto gave him. The tension in the room grew worse and colder once she left, the door closing softly behind her. As soon as she was out of earshot, Magneto leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. One of the spoons on the table flew into the air, spinning slowly between them.

"So you think you deserve my daughter," Magneto said, his voice low and menacing. Kurt's eyes were fixed on the spinning spoon, his mind racing. He knew that with enough force and speed, even the bluntest object could be lethal. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his nerves.

"I wouldn't say I deserved her," Kurt began, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him. "I love her and she decided to give me a chance. Something she hasn't regretted yet."

Magneto's gaze narrowed. "'Not yet?' I really hope for your sake that she won't regret it in the future." Kurt swallowed and raised his hands. "Of course not. I just meant..."

"Hurt my little little girl," Magneto interrupted, his voice dangerously low, "and I'll make sure not even your god will help you."

"I..."

"I told her to stop dating, but as usual, she didn't listen to me," Magneto continued, cutting Kurt off again. Kurt didn't know where his sudden surge of confidence came from, but he found himself speaking up. "Maybe you should learn to take a step back from your daughter's life." The air in the room seemed to crackle with tension. Magneto's eyes flashed with a mixture of surprise and anger, and for a moment, Kurt wondered if he had pushed too far. The silence stretched uncomfortably long, filled only with the soft hum of electricity from Magneto's control over the metallic objects in the room.

Magneto paused and looked at him, his face a mask of emotionlessness. "What was that?" Kurt, however, didn't let it get him down and returned his gaze with unwavering resolve. "Your daughter is an incredible woman—confident, independent, strong, intelligent. She doesn't need your permission to be in a relationship. You're her father. It's your job to support her, protect her when necessary, and be there for her. It's not your job to intrude on her happiness or make her feel bad just because you don't like me. If I ever hurt her, you can do whatever you want to me. But until then, just let us be happy and back off."

Magneto stared at him, and Kurt was pretty sure he was going to be stabbed with a teaspoon at any moment. The room was silent, Magneto's expression unreadable as he processed Kurt's words. Kurt could feel his heart pounding, each beat echoing in his ears. He had put everything on the line, knowing that one wrong move could spell disaster. Then something unexpected happened: Magneto chuckled and leaned back. "I've got to hand it to you, Elf, you know how to stand your ground."

Kurt didn't know what to say to that and just stared at him in shock. Just then, she returned with Magneto's drink, her eyes flicking between the two men. She handed it to her father and sat back down next to Kurt, her hand finding his and squeezing it reassuringly. Magneto took the drink, his gaze softening slightly as he looked at his daughter. She raised her eyebrow at that. "What did you do?" "Nothing," Magneto replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Kurt just proved to me that your taste has indeed improved, my dear."

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Yandere! Cowboy x New in town! Teacher! gn! Reader

Save a horse, RIDE A WHAT?!

Okay i'm not that knowledgeable about the Ranch life, I only got this prompt from a *ehem* cowboy Ghost (from COD) prompt...

Yandere cowboy name: Knoxx Wyatt

TW: Implied sexual encounter, yandere shenanigans.

The Wyatt family.

They were THE ranchers of the town they live in.

You need cattle? They got them. Dairy? Sure. They even own a winery for goodness sake.

They also protect the town from outsiders and rogues.

But the most impressive part of their ranch is their horses. Their horses are award winning, with the most impressive breeds out there with such powerful legs for jumping, and the shiniest coasts to boast.

So it was clear that their horses are very important to them. So important in fact that every child born into the family gets their own horse once they turn 5.

When Knoxx got born, Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt was immediately smitten with their son. He's a miracle child after all. His mother, suffering from PCOS, considers Knoxx as a miracle child.

So naturally, he was spoiled rotten.

By the time he got to 5 years old, he was given one of the most powerful horse breeds in the world, a Belgian Draught.

The town was shook at first. A Belgian Draught? Even if the Wyatt family is known for their horses, a Belgian Draught is still a very prestigious horse breed none of their family members had handled.

Yet Knoxx proved everyone wrong by wrangling the horse even such a young age.

The horse, named Red, grew alongside the prodigy, Knoxx.

It was almost like Knoxx can talk with the animals with how he can tell what the cattle and the horses need by just a few huffs, belts, and trots. He's also a smart boy, absorbing information and relaying it effectively to the point he immediately got the senior rancher position by the age of 10.

Knoxx was mostly passive, only focuses on the ranch and the school. He's a gentleman, nice, polite, plus the fact that he's handsome, he's a heartthrob in the sleepy town he lives in.

Naturally, by the time he graduated with a double degree of Biology and Agriculture, he's the ideal bachelor of almost everyone.

And yet, he's not settling yet.

He felt like he just can't.

Because nobody can look past his polite smiles. No one can see his bored eyes, his arrogant sneer, his small, annoyed scoffs.

"Do they think they can measure up to me? THE Knoxx Wyatt? Dream fuckin' on."

In reality, he's an arrogant, entitled cowboy who thinks that everyone is below him.

Even going as far as letting his bloodlust win sometimes, silently and quietly killing the people who dared to be stupid around his precious cattle and horses.

Sometimes. It would be suspicious if it happened frequently, right?

He has a reputation to protect, after all.

So with this, all he could do is put the brim of his cowboy hat low, and take care of his ranch, and his ole' Red who's still alive and kicking.

But that arrogance will crumble once he met you.

"Fuck! Red! Where are you, boy?!"

"Red! Come on boy! This is not funny!"

Knoxx ran around the town, his boots clinking as his loud steps disturbed the peaceful town.

Knoxx was panicking. Red, his old horse, is missing. One of the hired ranchers forgot to lock the gate before he left the ranch.

Let's just say that rancher was sure to remember next time, his head almost being lobbed off with a rake that Knoxx may or may not have thrown.

As he got closer and closer to the raging rivers, his heart pounded. All he could see is the hoof marks that's definitely Red's making it's way to the river. He felt lightheaded, almost like he's about to puke from the stress and anxiety.

He may be a... Murderer, but he still has his moments, alright?

He got to the riverbank and his heart lodged to his throat when he saw a person pulling Red to the edge with all their might, their formal clothes wet. A telltale sign they pulled Red all the way from the middle of the river to the edge.

The person, not noticing Knoxx, continued to pull Red with the lead attached to the horse. Their legs were shaking, but they pulled with all their might until Red finally got to the edge.

"Darlin!" Knoxx yelled, running towards to Red and holding the old horse's head to his forehead. "You gave me a scare, boy!"

Knoxx turned towards the person and his cold heart slowly melted as they wrung their outfit from the water.

"Excuse me, your name, sweetheart?"

The person's head shot up, their eyes wide, tired, yet full of vigor. Maybe it was from the adrenaline, but Knoxx swore it was sparkles.

Or was it his eyes sparkling?

"I'm y/n."

"Y/n..." The way your name rolled on his tongue felt so good.

"Well, sweetheart. Thank you for saving my horse here. I'm sorry. You got your cute outfit wet too." You blushed, laughing it off.

"It's okay. I saw an animal in need and I immediately dove without thinking." You reasoned, shaking off the water. "Although, i'm probably late to my class."

Knoxx's heart sank. Are you not of age? A student?

"School? Are you new to this town? I've never seen ya around."

"Oh yes! I'm the new teacher. Well, I don't think i'll give the best first impressions with this outfit." You laughed sheepishly.

A teacher? His mind went haywire. You're an academic, it's quite a turn on.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. You got wet because of me."

Hmm? Why does that sound--

Knoxx bit his lip and rubbed his thighs together at the sudden heat running inside of him. God.

"Oh don't worry. It's okay. I gotta go though, although I don't know how to explain the situation." You smiled softly, grabbing your bag that was discarded to the side. "I'll go then."

Knoxx was upset. He wanted to spend time with you more.

Then there's also the scratching feeling in his chest and throat that roared at the thought of you going out of his sight.

He gulped, and took his hat off and placed it on your head. Sweat riddling his face.

'Please don't know what this means please don't know what this means please don't know what this means...'

Knoxx almost buckled over when you looked at him with curious and ignorant eyes.

"Your hat? Why did you give me your hat?" You asked, feeling up his cowboy hat. It felt high quality and nice. Yet it felt foreboding. You don't know why.

"Don't worry your pretty little head over it." Knoxx said, smirking lazily. "Just wear that. They'll know what that meant."

You tilted your head and Knoxx gulped once more, shaking his head. And ignoring the prominent hardness between his legs.

"You must be cold. Come on, let me give you a ride to the school. I'll explain the situation to them." Knoxx held your waist, his body so close to you that you can smell his musk of pine, dirt, and wine.

And as he gave you a ride to the school, you swore that the townspeople's eyes were glued to you, and the hat on top of you.

"Knoxx! How's the new teacher? Are they settling well here?" The mayor of the town asked, eating his snacks.

Knoxx nodded and sighed. It was already a month, and it felt like a fever dream for him.

A beautiful fever dream he won't let go off.

"They're doing fine. The students love 'em." Knoxx said, chuckling and settling back on his chair.

They were in a saloon right now, drinking and eating the afternoon away. Knoxx just finished his daily patrol so he decided to settle inside the saloon when the mayor sat down with him to eat.

"Well, i'm glad to hear that." The mayor cleared his throat before his eyes widened to the door.

Knoxx followed his eyes and his gaze softened, yet also became predatory as he saw you walk inside.

"School's done, sweetheart?" Knoxx asked loudly, making you jump and clear your throat. A blush on your cheeks.

"Yes. Just finished. I'm just gonna go get a drink before heading home." You said, adjusting the collar of your outfit before going to the bar hastily.

Knoxx chuckled lazily, his bitemarks from last night's love making was visible from here, despite your attempts to hide it.

Yet his eyes went to the mayor's, who is looking at you with a hint of desire in his gaze.

Knoxx gripped his whiskey glass and spun the barrel of his revolver slowly, letting it click softly to the right position.

It seems that his sweetheart is a magnet for bandits ready to snatch them up.

But that's okay.

This cowboy will not let anybody steal you from him.

Save a horse,

Ride a cowboy.

[chaoticbardlady99]

I Don't Wanna Be Your Friend (Astarion x GN! Reader)

  This man has a chokehold on me and I have been plagued by this idea for about a week.

Title inspired by the song "i wanna be your girlfriend" by girl in red

CW: Mentions of violence and gore (not descriptive), bit of angst, comfort

(Not my photo. I believe it belongs to Daily Gaming)

Synopsis- You and Astarion are in the middle of a war to prove who can set the best traps. However, a lack of rules seems to have gotten you into a predicament neither one of you had anticipated.

Sometimes you take it a smidge too far. 

 You would love to tell people you are some cunning, daring rogue, but the reality is that you are consistently flying by the seat of your pants. Occasionally it works really well- this was not one of those times.

    You never felt the need to prove anything to anyone.

Well, until you met Astarion. Within the first three days of traveling with him, your confidence and patience began to wear thin. He would make snide comments when watching you attempt to unlock a chest or when you scare off your prey by tripping over a bush. Then he would smirk at you- with that stupid, beautiful smirk.

He enjoys adding salt to the wound by taking on the task you failed at; usually lock picking, sneak attacks, and Gods only knows what else he could make fun of you for. You are very aware that you are not some fancy rogue and it never bothered you until now. You had accepted long ago that you are just a street urchin moving up in the world after teaching yourself the trade.

  The final straw had been when you had placed traps to catch dinner. Your traps had been successful (naturally- traps were your thing) and you brought back three bunnies for Gale’s stew.

Oh, but of course Astarion had something to say. He always has something to say.

  “Oh look at that- how cute. I’m sure sheerluck was on your side,” he quips, “You’ll get better eventually.”

 Thus began the war of all wars.

It started with small traps- nuisances really. Tripwire, a laughing or sleep rune well hidden, and traps that release horrible smells. Then it quickly took a turn for the worst; what were once harmless pranks turned into trip wires that release a swarm of bees, simple pits began to get deeper, and blasting traps that would send either one of you flying into a nearby object. It was never truly life threatening, just questionable.

  Well, except for the bees. The bees were not the greatest thought in hindsight; considering both you and Astarion had to help each other with the bee stings- Shadowheart refusing to be involved. You both laughed and he even complimented you on your cleverness. You swore you could have exploded in that moment.

   You have a massive, childish crush on the man and maybe the competition was your subconscious way of getting closer to him. However, your other companions were getting sick of it pretty quickly. 

  They had all hoped after the Tiefling party that the two of you would put your silly competition to rest so that you could all travel together in peace and they would just have to deal with PDA.

What a silly thing for them to think. PDA hasn't happened, but the pranks did become less risky and less frequent.  You were okay with this change.

   You feel like you and Astarion have become close friends. Even though your tryst didn’t lead to a romantic relationship as you had hoped, you were happy to have Astarion in your life in any capacity. If that was just as a friend- then so be it. 

  Which brings us back to the beginning- when you realize that your ‘trap war’ had paper thin rules and the lack of rules just might be the thing that actually kills you on this journey.

  All you wanted to do was clean yourself off. It had been one last relaxing day before you set off to the Creche, but you had thought you might treat yourself. Baths were rare and far between these days and you want to enjoy it while you have it. However, you were not planning for a simple snare trap to foil your entire evening. 

  You get hoisted up into the air, slammed against the tree, and drop all of your belongings- including the knife you brought ‘just incase’. You glared at the knife and put your hand to your blood fountain of a nose.

 “Traitor,” you whisper with a pout as you look for a way to escape the trap.

  Suddenly, you freeze as instincts kick in. You hear the Gnolls before you see them. Your bloody nose from the impact of the tree had led them to you. They attempt to claw at you- trying to rip you down from the tree. You feel their claws tear into your back, the side of your arms, and one of them even manages to take a swipe at your abdomen as you scramble to escape. The cuts weren't life threatening, but they hurt. A LOT.

  You manage to use the rope to pull yourself up onto one of the tree limbs; allowing you to hide some of your body from the Gnolls, but you now have an arrow protruding out of your right thigh so obviously that isn’t working well either.

  You bite back tears, frozen in fear. You really did not want to die this way and you certainly didn’t want it to be because of Astarion’s trap. You have a feeling he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if you died because of him. 

  You can imagine the blame and anger the rest of your companions would direct at him if the worst happened. You imagine the bloodshed- knowing full well that everyone (minus Karlach) would not forgive him for accidentally killing you. Lae’zel would be the first one to put a stake in his chest- her fondness for you is no secret. 

   Your heart thumps painfully at that thought and your resolve hardens. You will not die because you will not let that happen to Astarion. 

 You look around, your arms and legs shaking still with the residual shock and fear. You look for any sharp branches, a forgotten knife lodged somewhere, or even something you could cast a cantrip on to distract them. You have no such luck. 

 You resign yourself to your fate- the tears making a reappearance. 

 Unless one of your companions finds you first- you are going to either have to wait for the Gnolls to get bored and leave or they are going to kill you.

You pray to every God you can think of that you will survive the night.

_________________________________________________

 Astarion is trying to not look so desperate as he reads the first page for the hundredth time. 

  You had walked off a little over two hours ago- Lae’zel is on watch while the rest of your companions sleep soundly in their bed rolls. 

 The longer your bedroll remains empty, the more the pit grows in his stomach.

He didn’t know how to navigate your relationship after the tiefling party.

His feelings for you are confusing. The sex had felt different, he enjoys your company immensely, and he likes how warm he feels around you.

Instead of talking to you like a normal person or taking a moment to reflect, he decided to find some common ground- something you could laugh and talk about later. Normalcy.

He set up a snare trap close to the river you were all using to clean off and then a laughter rune trap somewhere on the path to the Creche. Hypothetically, they are very safe traps.

Unless he rigged them wrong? What if you ran into one of them and….

  No, I am sure they are just fine.

 He doesn’t even believe his own lie.

After about another five minutes, the anxiety rolling in his stomach becomes unbearable so he grabs his daggers and sets off in the direction you had gone two hours earlier.

  He walks quickly through the forest, checking his surroundings and looking for evidence that you were close by. As the minutes pass, he feels the hope of finding you safe shrink.

The wind hits his nose and he becomes stock-still.

He smells your blood- an alarming amount of it-in the air as he gets closer to the river. He fears the worst as he goes to look at the trap- hoping you will forgive him- that you are alive. Safe.

 He peers through the bushes and his eyes grow wide as the scene before him unfolds. 

  You are stuck up in the tree- his trap is still around your ankle. You are holding onto the branch like your life depends on it. It probably does since there are five Gnolls circling the tree like vultures.

  He can hear your soft broken sobs as arrows fly over you or hit the tree. He notices the arrow in your leg and watches as a second one lodges itself into your calf. You wince and close your eyes tightly- unknown to you that Astarion’s vision is clouded in red and his whole body fills with destructive, hot rage. He also feels fear, but he pushes it away, not ready to explore the why. 

  He lunges forward, slashing at the Gnolls with so much force that they are practically in half by the time they hit the forest floor. He is a man possessed as he carves his way through all five gnolls and then he climbs up the tree to you. 

His chest aches as he looks at you. He will never be able to forgive himself for causing you so much suffering.

  “Darling,” he says softly.

    You whimper in response and when you look at him- he feels all the air leave his lunges. If he needed air, he would have passed out right then. Your eyes were glassy with traces of fear, sadness, and loneliness- all emotions he is all too familiar with. Then you see it’s him and the biggest smile crosses your lips and you look at him with so much affection he almost feels ill. This was not the plan and he almost made you a midnight snack for a group of Gnolls.

  “You found me,” you say in a raspy, raw voice, “I thought I was going to be stuck here all night until Karlach or Gale found me. Or I was going to die.”

 You chuckle, but Astarion can’t get himself to share your same enthusiasm about his rescue mission as he cuts the rope. 

  He helps you down the tree and safely back on the ground. Astarion winces as you pull the arrows out of your leg. You find a healing potion amongst your things and chug it.

He collects your stuff for you. You give him another one of those brilliant smiles and Astarion tries to smile just as brightly back. You furrow your brows, but he turns away before you can keep analyzing him. 

  “We should head back,” Astarion mumbles.

______________________________________________

  The silence hangs in the air as Astarion walks with you back to camp. After about 15 minutes, you are back at camp and the tension in the air is suffocating.

 “Astarion.”

  Astarion freezes, turns on his heels, and looks everywhere but your eyes. He couldn’t bare to see you smile at him again- look at him like that again- not after he almost killed you.

  You maneuver yourself so you are looking in his eyes.

 “It’s not your fault,” he begins to protest when you shush him, “we didn’t set any rules and the trap itself was harmless. We didn't account for Gnolls when we started this whole thing.”

  “I almost got you killed.”

 “But you didn’t. It easily could have been you in that situation and me saving you.”

  “Will you please stop being so Gods damn forgiving,” he huffs with exasperation as he feels tears prick his eyes, “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I put your life in danger. I almost-”

 Lost you. He chokes on the words. The fear from earlier begins to come back to the front of his mind. Watching you cling to that tree, crying, and in pain had made him realize that you just might be more important to him than he cares to admit. However, that’s a conversation for another time- once he sorts out what that feeling in his chest is whenever he looks at you.

  You look at him sharply, your eyes raw with sadness, “Stop that right now. I am okay. I lived. It was a mistake and I know your intentions were not bad. You don’t have anything to worry about Star.” 

He doesn’t say anything and you hang your head.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I- I should go-“ Astarion pauses as you interrupt him.

“Please don’t leave,” you whisper, “I rather enjoy your company.”

  You look at him with tears welling in your eyes. He stares at you in stunned silence, searching your face for any sign of deception, but he doesn't find it. His body moves before his brain can process what he is doing. 

 Astarion gently cradles your face in his hands and kisses you slowly, softly. He smiles despite himself when a gasp leaves your lips. You're alive and safe. When the warmth in his chest begins to spread throughout the rest of his body, he pulls away and steps back. Your face is flushed, a beautiful blush spreading across your cheeks. You look at him with wide, unblinking eyes before you shyly smile. Astarion could have melted in that moment. He finds himself smiling too.

 “Well I’m assuming that means you are going to stay?” 

  “I suppose I’ll stay,” he says while tapping his chin, “you do need someone to make sure you aren’t getting into trouble like that again.”

 You feign hurt and scoff, “Are you suggesting that this was my fault?”

 “Maybe if you were better with traps that wouldn’t have happened,” Astarion teases.

  You narrow your eyes at Astarion and you try to hold back a smile. You roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at him.

You start towards camp before you pause and turn around. Astarion gives you a confused look.

You run over to him and place a kiss on his cheek. He tenses for a moment before relaxing again. You look at him sweetly, a soft smile on your lips.

 “Good night Astarion.”

  As you saunter towards your respective tents, Astarion takes one last glance at your tent- at you- before he lays down with his book. Except he still can’t get past the first page- he is too anxious for the sun to come up so that he can see your smile again.

[sinsirellaxx]

Five times the Rogue Prince made you cry

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Warning: Daemon being Daemon, mentions of dubcon, angst and heartbreak?

Also: Not proofread – as always. Are we even surprised at this point?

The first time he had made you cry; was the second time you had met him. The first time you had met him was at a celebration at the Red Keep, his eyes had been glued to you the moment they had come across you. You weren’t sure what had drawn him to you, because you and everyone else were aware of his preferences – and you were nothing like the ideal woman that he was surely after. What you were sure of, however, was the feeling of discomfort and dread wash over you as his eyes burned into your skin. You had excused yourself early and parted from your friends and family before he had the chance to approach you.

After that, you saw him as he was invading your city, causing havoc and brutally cutting down everyone that came across him. Your wide teary eyes, filled with grief and hatred, had met his wicked ones before you turned around and ran. Ran until your legs burned – begging you to stop and rest. But you couldn’t. The sound of him hot on your tail haunting you and forcing you to push your muscles beyond their limits, scared of what he might do to you if he caught you.

The only thing that saved you that night was you jumping off a cliff and into the deep dark sea – lucky that you hadn’t hit your head on a stone upon breaching through the water surface. Before the Rogue Prince could reach the waters, you had managed to run into the woods and hide.

The second time he had made you cry was in the free city of Braavos. After having escaped that horrible night, you had not returned home to look for any remaining family – in fear of running across the Rogue Prince and having to face the reality of losing your family. Instead, you had traveled to Braavos to start a new life and to find the faceless men, for the world was not kind to helpless girls or women – you needed to learn how to fend for yourself. After weeks of trying to coax your way into the guild you finally made it into it. Moons pass by, before you cross paths with the Rogue Prince again. You don’t see him until he is just a few feet away from you, his hand reaching out towards you, his eyes filled with the same electric excitement as that night. You turned around just in time, stumbling back a few steps when your brain registered his Targaryen features. When you finally realized you turned around and ran, the blonde prince right behind you.

You felt a wave of nausea hit you at the Déjà vu, the situation so ironic that it made you want to laugh. You were thankful that you had spent a good amount of time exploring the city as you maneuvered through narrow alleys, pushing random objects to the floor behind you to slow the prince down.

Why was he here? Had he been searching for you? If so, why?

When you spotted the temple of the Faceless-Men your eyes lit up, but before you could relax the thought of luring a stranger to the guild to the temple would be fatal. You’d be in trouble with the Faceless-Men, and it was never wise to show your hideout to your enemy. Which is why you took a sharp turn, stumbling in the process. Fuck. Fear consumed your body when a hand shot out, grasping the back of your shirt with inhuman strength, pulling you back into the hard chest of your captor. You had lost. His strong arms wrapped around you, caging you in.

“I finally got you, little bird.” He chuckled into your ear, his hot breath fanning over your cheek like dragon fire, leaving a burning sensation in its wake. You had started thrashing around immediately; kicking your legs, pushing your elbow into his sides but nothing seemed to help – his grip was like iron around you. His embrace would be your personal birdcage from then on. The more you seemed to put up a fight, the wider the smirk on his face grew. As impatient as Daemon was, he quickly grew tired of your tantrum, the elbow that had managed to hit him in the face was the last straw. He quickly turned you around before bending down to throw you over his shoulder, his arm wrapping tightly around your thighs. He wouldn’t take any more chances. He would not lose you again. After walking across the whole city, he had stopped in the middle of nowhere. When you heard the screech of his Dragon you felt tears burn behind your eyes. You truly had lost.

When he heaved you up onto the dragon, a lone tear rolled down your cheek. When he climbed up behind you, his arms immediately wrapping around you possessively the rest of your tears followed.

“Let’s go home, riñītsos.”

The third time he had made you cry was shortly after the second time. Instead of King’s Landing he had taken you to Dragonstone, locking you into one of the rooms before disappearing for a few days. The maids had been the only people you had seen over those days. They had washed you, dressed you and fed you, before disappearing again. On the fifth day, the Maids had entered your room in a rush, carrying a beautiful gown into your chambers before ushering you into the bathroom. A weird feeling had spread through your body; the gown looked like a wedding-gown, the feeling of nausea rushed over you, weakening your knees and if you hadn’t been seated in the hot water you would have surely fainted. The urge to throw up had grown worse when you were seated in front of the vanity, the maids working on your hair and applying some kohl and tint onto your trembling lips. Afterwards you were forced into the beautiful gown, the corset was tied tightly, and you had wished for the corset to completely cut of your airstream and suffocate you. But fate wasn’t that kind.

The maids had left you after that, but you hadn’t been left alone for long as the Rogue Prince entered your chambers with a wide grin on his face.

“Gods – you look beautiful, riñītsos. Have you missed me?” He came to stand behind you, his chest touching your back as he pressed his nose into your hair, taking in your scent.

When you had stepped away from him, he tutted his tongue, pulling you towards him again. You had tried your best to avoid looking him in the eyes, but you couldn’t help but look up when you felt the feeling of cold metal on your neck and chest. Your hand flew up to touch the necklace, looking down to see the beautiful ruby gemstones encased by dragon claws. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He whispered as you examined it silently. “It’s my wedding gift.”

At the word wedding your whole body tensed up again. You had immediately started protesting, your hands frantically trying to unclasp the necklace, but the prince had only chuckled at your pathetic attempt. “No? What do you think will happen, if you start running again, little bird? Do you really think that you can escape me? Escape from Dragonstone?” The silence that had followed was loud, followed by a low, haunting chuckle. He had been right. You couldn’t escape.

That day you had cried in front of the sept as you were bound to the man you feared most in front of his gods. That day you had cried yourself to sleep after he had defiled you – after he had greedily taken everything from you until exhaustion finally took over you.

The fourth time he had made you cry was when Daemon had stormed into your chambers, an unreadable look on his face as he approached you with big steps. You had been scared, your body still sore from the previous night but instead of bending you over as he liked to do most of the nights, he had kneeled in front of you – hugging your body and pressing his face into your stomach.

“My little dragon. Thank you, ābrazȳrys.” He had said, before pressing soft kisses onto your stomach, his hands squeezing your bottom as he took in a deep breath. “The maester informed me you’re with child, little bird.”

His words had made your heart skip a bit, the feeling of anxiety threatening to consume your nerves as your eyes widened in shock. You were pregnant with his child.

“You are mine forever, riñītsos.”

The fifth time you had cried was when you caught him kiss his niece in a dark corridor – the pregnancy hormones had messed with your feelings you had told yourself as you had run back to the safety of the room. You had cried and cried, clutching onto the front of your dress at your heart’s betrayal. You had fallen for your captor. And your captor had cheated on you.

[brucewaynehater101]

So one of my favorite tropes is Jason or Dick going "mine now" and adopting every bat kid to come after them, and turning Bruce into a father in legality only, a reluctant grandfather in reality

See the endnotes of both "Dynamic" by Cant_Smoke_Eggs and " bystander" by greeneyedfirework

And also the Crimelord Tim-Never-Robins AU is making me tear up rn so I'm just gonna kindly take the ideas of that AU and the Carrion Crows and and shove them all into a blender to—

☆・★・・・★・☆

Tim Drake's parents are as awful as they are in the Never-Robin verse but here he—to put things horrifically lightly—convinces himself out of it

Oh yes, what you're describing is abuse and it's wrong! What did you say about his parents? They do everything he agrees is abuse? No! You misunderstand, they aren't abusive they're . . .

When Jason dies and Tim blackmails his way into Robinhood, into making sure his last remaining light in this world lives and stays as via shining as he always sees him, he get's a proper excuse

Not that he could ever tell others of course

But it's just what he personally needed

How could my parents ever be abusive? Batman hardly ever remarks about them and sometimes he even trains me more painfully then whenever my parents are back home!

☆・★・・・★・☆

Thus goes his life until he comes across a girl and her ward

Or maybe baby brother is more appropriate

Introducing Cassandra Cain, League of Assassin's renegade extraordanaire

And who does she have with her? It's only Damian al Ghul, blood son of Talia and Brucie!

Yeah, some time during or after Jason's departure from the League, Cassandra by sheer chance got in the same room as Damian

A fucking child which horrified her, so she snatched that kid and dipped

Damian telling her stories about his father and big brother both from Gotham gave her a clear direction of where to head

☆・★・・・★・☆

Not that they tell Tim this, they've hardly met him

They tell Robin silly! Damian in particular is insistent that the vigilante introduce him to his father as he is the blood son

Tim—wanting to help Batman since his plate is full—says it will take some time but he knows someone who can give a place to stay, they can trust his verified associate

Thus is how the two move into the Drake Manor with Timothy Drake full-time

It's nice, he accommodates for their needs and teaches them whatever they don't know

Cassandra quickly clues in—and informs the latter—on Tim and Robin being one & the same

When Cassandra confronts Tim about this, he does his best to calmly (are you sure about that young boy?) justify himself

He recounts the rise of Batman, of the first Robin turned Nightwing, and the Second Robin until his death

Batman's grief would descend into him transforming his vigilantism into a suicide mission

And Gotham? Gotham may be a horrifically corrupt city now, but before Batman it was hell on earth

It was already slipping back into there, what with lifelong hospital bills, disabilities, and job loss being indiscriminately handed out left and right

Though, Batman's rogues weren't facing the brunt of his rage nearly as much as most desperate criminals he came across, just trying to survive

Thus, to keep Gotham from tumbling back into the days before Batman, and to keep the hero from killing himself (because saying 'get himself killed' is dishonest) he blackmailed himself into the Robin role to act as Bat's leash and caretaker

He realized he may have miscalculated when Cassandra's knuckles go bone white

☆・★・・・★・☆

Cassandra had several moments where she has second-thoughts about bringing Damian to his father, and now they're solidifying

She subsequently informs said baby brother that "holy shit, you're father is a monster" with stories what she learns about him, albeit mildly omitting the nastier details she doesn't want Damian to know at his young age

Doesn't help when they both notice the injuries Tim doesn't even get on patrol but training and he has to go to Agent A or himself for medical aid

☆・★・・・★・☆

Tim Drake always saw himself an exception to justice. His parent love him and he has a duty to Batman

Whe his parents come home he tells them about his new friends staying over for some time

After working it out with the two, they even have their identities legalized and nobody will bat an eye at their presence with Tim

The Drakes come home and one moment he's introducing his parents to his friends

The next he's closing an incinerator room's doors with a lockpick

How . . . ?

☆・★・・・★・☆

during Tim's blackout, Janet and Jack made some classist and other comments towards Damian and Cassandra, and since their legal identities are of orphans, and went as far as to threaten abuse knowing they'd get away with it

That caused something in Tim to break and finally do his parents in

Upon realizing what he's done, Tim is going to be pretty hysterical and grieving and when Cass ask's what's up he immediately breaks down

☆・★・・・★・☆

So yeah, Tim has to hide his parent's death and speedrun becoming secret CEO until he can become one publicly

Step number one? Get Cassandra and Damian adopted by the late Drakes and insert them into their wills

Cassandra and Damian stick with Tim because they care for him, he's also single handedly providing for them, plus they don't want to test their luck with Batman at all

Damian is having an identity crisis because he was taught to take pride in his blood but his father who's been hella hyped up has brutalized his new big brother repeatedly

Maybe Tim stumbles across Stephanie and Duke, and gets them adopted too

Maybe we have a Jason with less of his screws loose and he walks up to Tim and is like "where are you parents" "they're totally alive!" "Holy shit you're an orphan actively distancing yourself from the batman because he abused you *adopts him as son*" or maybe Dick Grayson fathers instead, idk

Or maybe Jason here is still willing to pull a Titans Tower idk

My brain is melting lol

Holy hell. I love this AU. Tim adopting his other family members is near and dear to me. He has the means to and has canonically made up fake family members. He can totally throw someone into his family legally (and technically illegally).

Have you seen Damian Drake? This kind of reminds me of that fic, but with Cass in it and the Drakes dead. For this AU, it would be precious if Damian starts to take pride in Tim's last name instead. That, or they could create a new one for the 3 of them (until Dick, Jason, Duke, and others join [Steph is always weird cause she dated Tim. It's similar to how Babs isn't legally considered family/siblings, but she's still part of the family]).

Damian thus has legal to claim to both Drake Industries and Wayne Enterprises (if he ever chooses to disclose his relation to Bruce). The best part of this is that Tim is building a large family by stealing them all from Bruce (cause fuck that man).

Also, Cass and Damian should interact more in fanwork. I'm so glad that you have them as such in this. Similar to Steph and Damian, I don't see that relationship as much which is sad. They have such great sibling bonds.

Two more thoughts: One, I love the characterization of Tim stepping back into his body to find he had murdered his parents and just rolling with it (besides the mandatory breakdown). He just figures it out cause it is what it is. Two, how old is Tim in this? Does he immediately become CEO or try to pretend his parents are still alive?

I'm also imagining Tim just gathering all these people, and he's not necessarily their leader/boss, but he does provide for them. He guides them and supports them. He's like a family mafia boss, but without any command or orders. The others are free to do as they please, but they tend to run decisions against each other

[invisible-storyteller]

Everybody wants some (Stiles)

(Also on AO3.)

"Dare," Erica grinned after a moment of suspense.

Lydia rolled her eyes, having anticipated Erica's answer ever since the beta had presented her suggestion of a "fun" game to a very tipsy, and very bored group of college students. It had been the fourth pack night in a row after everyone had finally arrived for their summer break and there were only so many movies they could watch, plus it was still better than Scott's suggestion of spin the bottle. 

Speak of the devil.

"Everyone has chosen dare so far," Scott noted with the faintest pout on his lips, clearly disapproving of the humiliating tasks distributed so far.

Erica smacked her lips, giving Scott a taunting smile. "Fine. I changed my mind. Truth."

"Can she do that?" Isaac questioned but Scott only shrugged, not caring about the rules as long as no one else was forced to drink spoiled milk from a bowl like a puppy again.

"Okay, so..." Allison leaned forward, a foreboding shadow casting over her face that Erica met head-on, "If you weren't with Boyd, who would you fuck out of everyone in this room?"

Erica raised a single eyebrow, visibly unimpressed. "Stiles, duh."

It was almost superhuman how quickly Stiles straightened up in an instant, his mind having wandered off to fantasies of a certain socially inept alpha who had excused himself from his own living room as soon as the pack had settled down to play, and now getting jolted back into reality.

"That's boring. Everyone knows you had a crush on Stiles." Malia piped up from where she rested her head in Kira's lap, the kitsune's fingers carding through the locks of her hair absent-mindedly. 

"You say that like you wouldn't fuck him if you had the chance."

"Of course, I would," Malia shrugged like it was no big deal.

Stiles, on the other hand, nearly choked on his tongue.

"That's not a surprise, either, you actually dated him." Lydia pointed out, and Stiles could only snap his eyes back and forth between the two girls, trying to frantically grasp just when he had lost track of the conversation.

"You don't have to sound so condescending," Stiles mumbled out eventually, his eyes finally pausing on Lydia.

"Oh, honey, you can't be this oblivious."

And Stiles totally wasn't imagining the knowing looks on his packmates' faces. 

"About what?" He asked (damn his curiosity), feeling the usual trepidation that came with the whole 'being in a pack with not-so-mythical creatures' schtick.

Erica only snickered as she cuddled into Boyd's side, mischief dancing behind her thick eyelashes and promising no good. "About how everyone wants to breed you in this pack."

Okay, Stiles definitely choked this time (and Scott may have been a bit too enthusiastic with his back slaps) or maybe he fell asleep and was having the weirdest sexy dream without actual sex happening. Although, Lydia's offended yet conceding glance to the side looked pretty real.

"Wha-at?" Stiles wheezed out very eloquently between two consecutive coughs, and got immediately startled by the fact that Mason was the one to answer.

"Everyone in this pack has been attracted to you at one point," Mason clarified as if it was the most common knowledge in the world. Corey's agreeing nod did not help lift the fog in Stiles's mind at all.

"What."

"Say, Lydia, did you ever think of fucking Stiles?" Erica asked, a sadistic grin spreading wider on her firey red lips.

"Of course," Lydia replied, honest and simple, even flicking her hair for extra effect.

"Since when?" Stiles asked, a little outraged. He had spent many years pining after Lydia, so the fact that she hadn't shared this crucial piece of information with him was a bit of a punch into his teenage self's heart. Oh, and there was that tiny detail that Lydia had a boyfriend.

"Remember when we were hiding in the school from a rogue Peter?"

Stiles nodded, eyes squinting in suspicion as he recalled that dreadful night.

"You remember punching Jackson?"

And just like that, Stiles's jaw hit the ground, funny animation movie sound effects and all that. His chest subconsciously puffed out when he heard Jackson scoff indignantly, and continued to stare at Lydia, feeling like he was seeing her in a completely new light. "Wait, you liked that?! That turned you on?"

"Of course," Lydia parrotted with incongruous disinterest, "Still wouldn't have dated you. But I do enjoy a good display of dominance."

This had to be an alternate universe. Or a hyper-realistic dream, Stiles deduced.

"Okay, that makes... wow, three people who thought about getting all up on this," Stiles said in a daze with a half-aborted gesture to his body. Admittedly, the number was impressive (since he had always assumed it to be zero) but, at the same time, it was far from being the entire pack as Erica and Mason had so confidently claimed.

As if reading his mind, Lydia's sweet voice filled the loft once again. 

"Hey, Ally, didn't you consider dating Stiles at one point?" Lydia addressed the other girl out of nowhere, making Stiles turn towards his long-time friend with a look teetering someplace between pure shock and utter horror.

"Yeah?" Allison's uncertain response launched her into a pensive moment, probably rummaging through her memories before frowning in mild amusement. "That was actually your fault I think."

"Wha-" Stiles opened his mouth to say something along the lines of 'what the fuck' but Lydia beat him to it.

"It was before prom," Lydia reminisced with an honest-to-God smile, "You were insufferable and tried to convince me to go with Stiles. I told you that if you think he's such a great catch, maybe you should be the one going with him."

Allison snapped her fingers as if the memory had been at once revealed to her as well. "Oh yeah. I remember thinking that he would be a gentleman in bed."

"Ugh..." Honestly, at this point, Stiles's brain was officially out of order. Dial-up error noise, no signal sign, all that jazz. He seriously didn't think the night could get any more absurd, but then again, this was his life, with the constant motto being 'fuck Stiles's sanity', so what was he expecting, really?

"I would feel so grossed out right now if I didn't have fantasies about Stiles, too," Isaac revealed nonchalantly, and to that, Stiles had to make a face. "What? I just wanted to see if I can shut you up."

"With your mouth," Erica added with a conspiring smirk. Stiles really hated her right now. She was the one responsible for this whole avalanche collapsing onto poor unsuspecting Stiles in the first place. 

"I had the same thought," Boyd added, apparently joining in on the 'let's wreck Stiles's world' plan, "Although I was planning to shut your mouth with something else."

Stiles's mouth decided at that moment that it was just going to assume a permanent open position, gaping like a fish out of water (cause that was exactly how he felt), which didn't help his case, in hindsight.

"Stiles does have an oral fixation," Malia chimed in, everyone else nodding along like that wasn't news at all.

"Seriously, guys? This- okay, Scotty, help me out here," Stiles pleaded, unsure of how to feel about everything that had been spoken so far, but still solid in the faith for his quasi-brother, "You did not have sexual fantasies about me, right? We're best friends. Brothers from another mother."

Stiles really wished Scott wouldn't have pulled the world's most apologetic and guilt-ridden grimace at that.

"Remember when we went to that pool party in eighth grade?"

Stiles didn't like where this was going, but yes, he could sort of remember. That day marked the first time Stiles had drunk alcohol - some cheap booze their classmate's brother had stashed somewhere in his room. It was also the summer Stiles's body had finally gained some definition so he wasn't too shy about forgoing a shirt.

"You asked me to put sunscreen on your back?" Scott continued with hunched shoulders like he could hide from his own words, and Stiles's eyes popped open in realization.

"Dude."

"That's why I had to go to the bathroom," Scott scratched the back of his neck with flaming cheeks, "Twice."

"Twice?" Liam echoed, and Stiles imagined wrapping his hands around that little pup's throat and just squeezing.

"Stiles's swim shorts were very tight when he got out of the pool," Scott answered sheepishly, and much like a volcano, the pack burst into loud cheers. Stiles was seemingly alone in his mortification, mourning the loss of his innocence and feeling oddly betrayed.

"Since we're being honest," Oh God, why was Jackson talking?, "I did have some dreams about Stilinski, and in my defence, I was still in the closet back then and it was a small locker room, okay? I'm not responsible for my thoughts after seeing what he's packing."

"I did think about making out with him when we were on a stakeout," Theo added, a bit too eager to be part of the pack in Stiles's opinion.

This was all too much. Probably a bigger conceptual change than the discovery of the supernatural's existence. Stiles couldn't help it, therefore, in the following silence where everyone awaited his final reaction with baited breaths, he realized there was only one thing left to do: laugh.

"Okay, wow," Stiles breathed out between bouts of laughter, almost doubling over himself as he clutched his sides, "Nice joke, guys. Really. Prank of the year. Picking on the single pringle in the pack. Did you rehearse this?"

There was something unsettling in the look his packmates shared.

Malia looked around then with a neutral expression and exclaimed. Loudly. "Raise your hand if you ever thought about kissing or fucking Stiles."

Everybody's hands, without exception (Stiles checked), shot up high into the air like they were pulled by strings (Mason might have had to nudge Liam in the side but he, too, raised his hand with eyes downcast in shame), and it was the most out-of-left-field reaction at that moment, but Stiles suddenly felt a glimmer of hope that maybe... no. That was and had always been wishful thinking. Even if, apparently, Stiles was the epitome of bonability in his peers' eyes.

Right on cue, a deep rumble came from the bottom of the stairs, startling absolutely no one besides Stiles who was still momentarily lost in adjusting his worldview.

"What is happening?"

It was truly fascinating how reluctant everybody seemed to answer now in the face of that gruff voice. Stiles, for the most part, could only swallow past the sound of his own rabbiting heartbeat.

"Just playing some stupid game," Jackson deflected as his hands, in comical synchrony with all others', dropped to his sides.

"What game?" Derek pried, arms crossing across his chest and making the muscles bulge threateningly, not that Stiles noticed. 

"It's called... 'Who's thought about kissing Stiles'?" Kira replied with a tamer version of the truth, although Stiles had no doubt that Derek had heard the original statement if his 'what brain-dead moron do you take me for' frown was any indication.

Nervous laughter bubbled out of Stiles, and he clapped his hands for lack of a better idea on how to diffuse the situation. The pack was engaging in some creepy version of a stare-down with their alpha, and from Isaac's uncomfortable squirming, it was evident that the others had felt the uncanny chill of Derek's look, too. Even Stiles had the uncomfortable impression of a noose tangling around his neck, awaiting (perhaps) a sentence or an order, and he was eerily reminded of the early days of knowing Derek. Things had been better in recent years so the current tension in the room was all the more puzzling, especially since the pack rarely acted so unassertive around their alpha.

"Well, at least we know one person who hasn't, right?" Stiles joked weakly in the silence, his smile short-lived against the strangely intense leer on Derek's face.

If anything, their alpha's features hardened at the words, his (thankfully still normal) eyes blazing with a heat that Stiles had never seen outside the throes of battle. It was doing some very ill-timed things to Stiles.

Unsurprisingly, Lydia was the first to stand up, the light shake of her head accompanied by a soft "Oh, Stiles" before she made the smart move and left, rousing everyone else into action. Derek kept glaring at the pack until they dribbled out one by one, some sending Stiles encouragement (like Erica with her thumbs up) but ultimately abandoning him in the loft with a displeased alpha to handle. Stiles gaped after his traitorous friends, arms stretched open in disbelief and no clue about anything that had gone down so far. If there was a way to say "???" out loud, Stiles would have done that right then and there.

"Wha- guys?" Stiles asked just as the metal door violently slid shut. It was thunderous in the otherwise empty loft.

He whipped around swiftly and poked his thumb in the direction of the exit because that felt like the next logical thing to do when a murderous-looking werewolf began to move towards him.

"I guess that means pack night's over so I'll just... Umm..."

Stiles could have sworn that he heard a growl before Derek's eyes bled into ominous red, and it was a testament to how fucked up Stiles's self-preservation instincts had become over the years that those weren't the wolfish features that had Stiles's brain melting into syrupy goo. No, that achievement could only be attributed to the sharp fangs poking out from behind Derek's pink lips, and Stiles was like 95% sure that "How would those feel buried in my skin?" was not a normal thought to have in this kind of situation. 

"Has any of them touched you?"

Stiles shook his head - you know, once he had enough blood there to comprehend the question - and his hands came up unwittingly to put some barrier between him and Derek. "Hold on, what? No! It wasn't that kind of game- oh well, some of your pups were certainly touching in ways that I tried really hard to ignore- hey, you should talk to them about that! You know, privacy, I'm sure you heard... about... that..."

Derek's eyebrows gradually sank lower during his rant while Stiles's mouth slightly opened to help regulate his breathing (and why was that so hard all of a sudden?). Something in Derek's look made Stiles itchy to speak, like he had to defend himself for some reason. "It's not like any of them would actually want to fuck me- Hey, what's with the looming, dude?"

Derek's eyes narrowed wordlessly onto Stiles's chest where the human's heart rate spiked from feeling the solid surface of the door hit his back. He hadn't noticed how fast Derek was crowding in on him, and something about that fact made Stiles think of one of those National Geographic documentaries. You know, where the gazelle gets mauled.

"Dude, if you want me to leave, just say so. You don't gotta go all Michael Myers on me-"

"Would you let them?" Derek slurred around his fangs, eyes meandering like he was trying to catalogue all of Stiles's (very straightforward and very communicative) reactions, "Would you let anyone in the pack fuck you?"

Stiles shook his head so fast, he almost felt dizzy afterwards.

Derek's eyes faded back to green then, and he withdrew his body heat that Stiles hadn't even taken note of up until that point. With the proximity confiscated, Stiles felt a tinge of disappointment as well as a buttload (hah) of confusion - the same emotions somehow getting reflected back at him in Derek's eyes before the werewolf sculpted his face into his usual neutral look. 

Stiles had never had a more life-changing lightbulb moment before (previous truth or dare game included), and he felt the urge to facepalm at himself.

"I mean, it depends..." Stiles trailed off, Derek's hostile yet curious eyebrows making a reappearance. "I, um..."

Instead of bothering with words, Stiles licked his bottom lip as a test and delighted when Derek's eyes followed the movement with failing restraint. With a sudden burst of confidence, he pushed away from the door and violated Derek's personal space as much as he could get away with without actual touching. 

"Raise your hand if you have a crush on Derek Hale.

Derek frowned, his eyebrows doing some weird high jumps when Stiles sneaked a hand up into the air and wiggled his fingers for emphasis. This time, when the werewolf's eyes caught his, they were consumed by darkness instead of alpha red but were no less promising. And when Derek grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward, literally tripping Stiles into a kiss, that was something Stiles was for once expecting and welcomed with an eager moan. 

As it turned out, nobody wanted Stiles as much as Derek Hale did.

And out of all the reveals that day, that was the only one that truly mattered to Stiles.

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

I Love You, But More Importantly, I Trust You (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers, Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Word Count: 2911 Summary: It's Valentine's Day and Bucky isn't sure what to give you that will adequately express how he really feels. Finally, he decides to give you the one piece of himself he's been hiding all this time... TW: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Past Trauma, Emotional & Physical Scars, Description of Past Injuries, Undressing, Kissing Note: Happy Valentine's Day!!! I thought our favorite traumatized soldier needed some loving today (even if it involves some emotional vulnerability first)

“Hey, Buck. Are you all ready for tonight?”

Bucky glanced up from the television screen, one eyebrow raised slightly, to stare at his best friend as he walked into the room followed closely by Sam. “What’s tonight?”

“Umm, Valentine’s Day?” Sam said. “Damn, I know you’ve been on ice for the last 70 or so of them, but wasn’t that a thing back in the 40’s?”

Steve chuckled. “It was but back then Bucky…well, let’s just say he didn’t usually keep the same girl around for more than a few dates.”

Sinking into the couch cushion, Bucky muttered, “Steve was the romantic one. I was young and cocky and just looking for a good time, not something serious.”

Sam plopped down on the arm of the couch. “You better not let your girlfriend hear you say that or Tony’ll have to build you a new right arm to match that shiny left one.”

“What I have with her is nothing like those girls in the past!” Bucky snapped, but then his tone softened as he stared down at his hands. “I…I love her.” 

He had first whispered those words to you a few months ago when he asked you to share his quarters in the Tower with him, but it was still strange saying them in front of his friends. Neither of you were big on public displays of affection or grand romantic gestures so Bucky doubted either Steve or Sam realized how deeply he truly cared about you. To them, this might just seem like another fling or someone to keep his bed warm, but in reality, nothing could be farther from the truth.

As if reading his mind, Steve placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. “Well, today’s the day you’re supposed to prove that to her. Why don’t you buy her some flowers, a box of chocolate, a stuffed animal or two, and then take her out for a nice dinner? That’s what most people do. Just show her a good time and then let her know what she means to you. She’ll love it.”

Bucky nodded though he wasn’t so sure. That stuff might be fine for most girls, but you weren’t most girls. Far from it. You were unlike anyone he had ever met before and while he did want to do something special to show you how he felt, he knew fancy food and generic trinkets weren’t the way. He would have to find something else, something you would value more than the crap they were selling at all the local stores. 

And as much as the idea terrified him, he thought he knew just the thing.

Dragging yourself into your quarters as soon as the Quinjet landed, you flopped back onto the bed and draped your arm across your eyes. You loved your job and couldn’t imagine being anything other than a SHIELD agent, but weeks like this left you considering an early retirement. Globetrotting and tracking down rogue agents on less than a few hours of sleep had been the dream a few years ago. However, as you got older–and now actually had someone waiting for you when you came home–that life was losing some of its appeal.

You had just started to slip into unconsciousness when you heard a shuffling come to a stop at the edge of the room. Without moving your arm from its place over your eyes, you mumbled, “Hey, baby. Sorry I didn’t come find you but you weren’t around when I came in so I thought you might be out. However–” you said with a tired chuckle “–it would seem as though we’re both home.”

“How was it?”

Noting a slight tension in Bucky’s voice, you began to answer his question. “Ugh, just the same old, same old. Fury is all over my ass about this latest intel. I told him I can’t do anything else until he gives me–” 

You fell silent as you raised your head and got your first glimpse of your boyfriend. He was wearing your ratty, faded pink bathrobe that was stretched taut across his muscular shoulders and arms. The bottoms of the robe hung open and loose–revealing a glimpse of his boxers underneath–but at the top across his bare chest, he clutched the robe closed securely as if his life depended on it. His teeth were clenched tightly, his long hair grazing his pronounced jawline as it fell over his face. And even though his eyes were partially obscured and he was avoiding your gaze, it was impossible not to recognize the fear within them.

Sitting up, you softly asked, “Hey, Buck… what’s going on?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” he muttered bluntly as if that explained everything. 

Quietly, you cursed to yourself. You had never given a damn about Valentine’s Day, even as a little kid in school when you were supposed to pass out the cheap cards all the parents bought for everyone in class. And now as an adult, things haven't changed. In fact, until he mentioned it, the significance of the day had completely slipped your mind. But even now that you had been reminded, it didn’t explain why Bucky was wearing your robe.

“I guess it is. Did we…did we have plans? I can’t for the life of me remember us talking about it but you know how I tend to lose track of everything while I’m gone on a mission. I could–Well, it’s kind of late to get a reservation, but we could try to order in?” 

Bucky didn’t respond. Instead, he just continued to stand in the bedroom doorway, the knuckles on his right hand starting to turn white with how tightly he was clutching the sides of the robe shut. 

Afraid he might be having some sort of flashback and unsure of what to do, you slid to the edge of the bed until your feet rested on the floor. “Bucky? Baby, did something happen? Why are you wearing that?”

Taking a long, deep breath, Bucky muttered, “Steve and Sam said on Valentine’s Day people are supposed to give each other flowers and chocolates and crappy stuffed animals to show how much they care about each other. I started to go to the store to get you those things, but thinking about it, nothing felt right. I’m sure you would act like you loved it, but we both know you don’t care about that kind of shit. Plus, none of that would show you how I really feel about you. So, instead, I decided to give you me…All of me.”

As his grip on the robe slowly started to loosen, you inhaled sharply as it hit you what he was planning. Jumping from the bed, you crossed the room in three long strides and placed your hands over his, stopping the robe from falling open. “No, Buck, you don’t have to do that. I mean, it’s incredible that you thought to offer, but I don’t want you doing anything you’re not comfortable with just because of the date on the calendar.”

For the first time since you came home, Bucky lifted his head to look you straight in the eye. Fear still radiated from him–causing his blue eyes to seem even brighter than usual–but beyond that was a steely determination that you had only seen in the heat of battle. Gently, he removed your hands from his as he said in a strong, clear voice, “I want to. I love you, doll. And more importantly, I trust you.”

Tears began to blur your vision but you quickly blinked them away. Some people might have been slightly annoyed to hear him put trust over love, but you knew that to Bucky, trust was the most important thing in the world. He had been used, lied to, and betrayed so many times that he hadn’t been sure he could ever fully trust someone again.

He had told you as much just before the two of you had slept together for the first time. However, that night had just seemed like a one-time hook-up after an intense mission so as long as he gave you what you needed, you couldn’t give a fuck whether he trusted you or not. But when one time turned into two which turned into three which eventually turned into feelings developing on both sides, it became more of an issue. And while you knew at this point he trusted you more than almost anyone else, there was still one part of himself he hid from you. 

No one but a select few SHIELD doctors had ever seen the place where Bucky’s shoulder met his metal arm. In the locker rooms before missions, he would disappear into the bathroom stall to change into his uniform. He would join everyone at the pool or the beach but refused to go in the water or get wet enough to cause his shirt to cling tightly to his body. And when the two of you were alone and got intimate, he always left his shirt or jacket on the entire time. 

The only few times he had made an exception to this was after he bought a set of triple-layer blackout curtains for the bedroom, and even then it was a rare occurrence he would strip down completely. When he did, out of respect for him, you tried your best not to let your fingers brush against his shoulder in the darkness, but it had occasionally happened. Even without being able to see it, the feeling of the tough ridge of scar tissue abruptly shifting into cold, smooth metal painted enough of a mental image for you to have a vague idea of what it must be like. 

And you understood why he wanted to keep it hidden from view.

But now Bucky was standing before you in the middle of a fully lit room prepared to bare all. All he had to do was drop the robe.

Taking a step back, you nodded. “If this is what you want—if you think you’re ready to show me— then I’m ready. But, baby, don’t do this unless you are positive you’re not going to regret it.”

The smallest flicker of a smile flashed across Bucky’s face as his fingers tightened around the edges of the robe. “I told you…I trust you.”

And he let your robe drop to the floor.

It took everything in you not to react or burst into tears as you gazed at where his scarred, raised flesh melded into shiny metal. The way the arm was fused into his mangled skin made your stomach churn and bile burn in the back of your throat. But it wasn’t its appearance that made you on the edge of breaking down. No. It was the thought of how much pain and torture HYDRA had put Bucky through to do this. How these visible scars were just the beginning of the damage they inflicted on him and how even though he had broken free of their control, there were just as many scars left behind that you couldn’t see as there were on display before you right now.

Bucky’s eyes were laser-focused on your face, seemingly scanning it for any clue as to what you were thinking. Stepping closer to him once more, you wet your lips before asking, “Can… Can I touch it?” 

He nodded slightly but just before your fingers brushed against the metal, you drew your fingers back. “It won’t hurt you, will it?”

“Sometimes it still hurts,” he admitted, “but not when it’s touched. There’s just some leftover nerve damage that flares up from time to time. Hurts like hell, but even that’s nothing compared to how it was at first.”

He had never mentioned still having pain, but even more than that, he had never talked about the transition period from Bucky Barnes into the Winter Soldier, at least not to you. There was a file somewhere that contained all the information SHIELD had collected on him from various HYDRA bases they had raided as well as a SHIELD interview that had been conducted when Bucky first joined, but out of respect for Bucky, you had never sought it out. 

“You remember that? Wha–what they did to you?”

“I remember every second of it.” The venom in Bucky’s words caught you momentarily off guard, but you understood it wasn’t you that hatred was directed at. “They might have wiped most of my conscious memory, but the process never erased the pain. They didn’t want it to. It was left as a reminder of what they could do and as a promise of what would happen again if I didn’t follow their orders.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” Looking at his shoulder again, your own rage bubbled in your chest. “All those bastards who did this to you better be glad they’re dead because if I ever got my hands on them–”

Bucky chuckled softly. “If I remember correctly, you did get your hands on a few of them.”

“Yeah, but that was before I knew what they had done to you. If I had, I would have made them regret every scar and mark they left on your body.” 

But as disgusted as you were at what HYDRA had made Bucky endure, you knew your hatred wasn’t what he needed right now. So, placing one hand on the side of his face, you turned your thoughts to the gift he had given you instead. “But, hey, I know I can’t fix what they did. However, I hope you know seeing this doesn’t change how I feel about you. If anything, it makes me love you more.”

Taking his metal hand, you gently placed a kiss on his cold fingertips. Then you placed another on his knuckles. Then the back of his hand. Then his wrist. 

Slowly, you moved up his arm, peppering soft, feather-like kisses along the way. You knew despite its hard, steely appearance, the vibranium prosthetic was sensitive enough to detect the slightest changes in temperature or the lightest of pressures. And judging by the way Bucky’s eyes flickered closed as he leaned his head back with a peaceful sigh, he could feel each and every one of your kisses. 

You had done this many times before, especially on those nights he was wrestling with his past or consumed with feelings of guilt and remorse. It was always the same: you started at his fingertips and continued until you reached the red star on his shoulder. Each kiss was to remind him you loved him—all of him. 

However, this time, after you kissed the star, you didn’t stop. Bucky’s eyes flew open and his body went rigid as you placed a kiss on the top of his shoulder…one on the silver metal covering his chest…one on the place where skin and metal met. 

You could feel him shaking slightly and you peered up through your lashes to make sure he was still alright. When he caught you staring, he gave you the smallest of nods. With this reassurance, you placed another kiss on his scars and another. You moved diligently from the top of his shoulder down to the very bottom of the metal plating. Once there, you worked your way back up the same path. When you reached the top of his shoulder, you began moving up his neck and then across his jaw.

You only stopped when your lips were hovering a breath above his. Tears were glistening in both of your eyes as you whispered, “I know you thought this would change things or make me feel different about you, and it has.” Bucky’s face crumpled slightly and he tried to pull away, but you held his face firmly in your hand. As you smiled, you continued, “I thought I loved you this morning. But seeing how much I mean to you, how much you truly trust me…I’ve never loved anyone or felt as loved by them as I do right now. This is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me. Thank you, baby.”

You leaned forward slightly, pressing your lips against his as you tried to put all of your love and gratitude into the kiss so he knew what he meant to you. For just a second, he froze. But then Bucky melted into you as you felt the last of his walls crumble around you. He was standing before you as raw and as vulnerable as a person could be, it was the most breathtaking thing you had ever experienced.

Without breaking the kiss, you took his cold, hard hand in your warm, soft one and blindly began leading him to the bed. Once there, you turned so his back was to the mattress and you pressed forward, forcing him down onto his back. 

Finally breaking the kiss, you climbed onto the bed too, straddling his waist as you placed your hand over the damaged part of his arm he had shared with you. Rolling your hips slightly against his, you purred, “It’s still Valentine’s Day and though I don’t have anything half as special as the gift you gave me, I plan on spending the rest of the night showing you how much I love you.”

In one fluid motion, you removed your shirt and tossed it behind you where it landed on top of the discarded robe. 

Taglist:  @tavners, @sunshineflowerchild789, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @merlehs, @princessmisery666, @ohtobeleah, @musings-of-a-rose, @blue-aconite

[certifiedskywalker]

Three Weddings and Your Funeral - Daemon Targaryen

Anonymous asked: Hi ilove ur writings so much ur so talented im so happy that ur back again, if ur taking requests could u please write one daemon targaryen with hightower reader or reader having feelings for him but he marries laena and afterwards rhaenyra also with something like betrayal during the dance i know im just rumbling but i trust you would make a masterpiece ur so good with ideas and words thank you.

AN: Thank you so much! Also, this is a great request with so many possibilities! So great, that I ended up writing two fanfictions for our Daemon boy! Keep an eye out for that and enjoy!

Before the Dance of Dragons, there was another waltz. You and Daemon Targaryen were always drifting in and out, always spinning about one another without moving at all; and your dance of stillness stretched from King’s Landing to the beaches of Essos, even the heat of Dragonstone.

“I despise weddings.”

“You despise this wedding,” you corrected.

When you received no quip in response, you looked over. Daemon’s eyes were elsewhere, skewed toward the center of the Throne Room. There, all around really, gold decor clashed with Velaryon sea green and silver, all while bathing the black and blood red of House Targaryen in warm decadence. But you knew that it was the dot of white at the heart of it all on which Daemon was caught. You were caught on him.

“She seems content.”

You leaned forward slightly as you spoke, allowing your gaze to trace the side of his face as he looked out upon the dance. The corner of his mouth was weighed downwards, expression heavy with a fiery sort of melancholia that was uniquely Daemon’s. You had seen it only a handful of times before, namely whenever Viserys banished him from King’s Landing; though, you liked to imagine that part of the heft had to do with how leaving meant leaving you.

“Seems,” Daemon grumbled, head lulling back to face you. When he saw you, his expression softened and you felt your chest tighten at the sight. “And it seems you, yourself are the furthest thing from content.”

He reached out a hand and brushed a stray strand of hair away from where it had fallen against your forehead. It took every small, burning stretch of will that you had to keep from leaning into Daemon’s touch. You stilled yourself against his gentleness and put on a stiff smile.

“Why do you say that?” You straightened your posture to reach for your chalice and Daemon’s hand fell away from your face as you took a long, hearty sip. 

It was then Daemon’s turn to lean in, his voice becoming a whisper that only you could hear. “For if you were in a wedding mood, you would be charming your adoring masses, jorrāelagon.”

He tipped his strong chin to the right and you followed the gesture’s path with your tipsy gaze. The sight that greeted you was a handful of nobles from across the southern sphere of Westeros, all eyeing you, Ladies and Lords alike. When the masses noted your attention, they dropped their cheer and turned in on themselves, whispering just as Daemon had to you. Letting out a sigh through your nose, you leaned into him once more.

“I believe they are adoring my spot beside the Rogue Prince,” you met Daemon’s eyes as his moniker left your lips. You found fire in the brightness that gleamed in his irises and it shot through you like something wild. 

“Well,” he drawled softly, “then their desire is sorely misplaced.”

You watched as Daemon too reached for his chalice and took a swig. With no regard for decorum, he leaned back in his chair and threw an arm out the back of yours. His warmth licked the back of your shoulders, through the thin garments that you hung on your frame to fit in with the surrounding affair. For a moment, you wish that you cared as little as Daemon did, wished that you could recline and decline the reality of custom.

But that wish lasted only for that moment as Daemon turned back to look towards the center of the room, to the white dot, and you saw that you were wrong. His chest heaved with a deep inhale that finished with a shudder, and when he set his chalice back down, his hand immediately curled into a white-knuckled fist. Daemon cared too much.

Just you were about to reach for his hand, in the hopes of melting his anger, of easing whatever ache, the Rogue Prince moved. Your outstretched fingers fell to the carved tabletop as you watched Daemon clamber to his feet. 

“I need more wine,” he mused, craning his neck to the side to give you a smile. “In the name of contentment, of course.”

You could not help the mirrored smile that spread across your lips. “Of course.”

Daemon gave you a wink and set off. You watched him, as much as you could, as he cut through the swirling crowd of clashing color. When you lost sight of him completely, you let your eyes fall back to the table where Daemon’s still half-filled chalice sat. Alarmed by the lingering pool of Arbor Red, you looked back to the crowd, eyeing the gaps between bodies.

The last clear glimpse you caught before retiring for the evening was one of Daemon circling Laena Velaryon, who was a vision in her gown of silver and gold.

You clung to Daemon, your arms wrapped desperately tight around his taut torso and face pressed into the space between his shoulder blades. He smelled of sun, freshly poured wine, and dragon. Though, you blamed Caraxes for the ladder. 

The Blood Wyrm writhed beneath you as he soared against the Narrow Sea. You did not dare to look out across the blue vastness, knowing too well that the sight would send you tilting to and fro. No, you much preferred the dark behind your eyelids. Your stillness also had the benefit of an excuse to be so close to Daemon.

For that alone, some part of you, not knowing fear, wished Caraxes would never land.

Eventually, he did, with his spindly limbs sinking slightly on impact. You jostled, with the front of your body pressing entirely against Daemon’s back. Heat spread to the farthest reaches of your limbs and whipped back to your face where it burned beside embarrassment. Yet, you clung to Daemon still as Caraxes wiggled about. 

You opened your eye a crack and were greeted with the strong slope of the Rogue Prince’s shoulder. Peeking just over that, you saw what was to blame for the dragon’s unusual unsteadiness. Sand.

“Paez sir, Caraxes. Paez, syt ��lva jorrāelatan mēre.”

With your closeness, you felt the low rumble of Daemon’s voice as High Valyrian fell from his lips like a song. Or perhaps like a lullaby as Caraxes, hearing it, seemed to set himself into a balance on the shifting sands. He lowered his worm-like body and the sun-soaked ground rushed up toward you with the movement, tricking your senses into a false fall.

Your hands curled into fists, fastening Daemon to you as your body braced for impact.

“Ao sagon ȳgha,” you heard and felt him say, accompanied by one of his hands reaching around to rub your back soothingly. “You’re safe.”

Daemon held you steady until Caraxes settled entirely with the gentlest of thuds. The dragon let out a nasally, high-pitched cry as if to tell his riders to dismount, and, based on how quickly his hand fell away, Daemon was quick to appease his beast. 

“Here, hold here,” you felt his hands guide yours. The skin of his palms was rougher in comparison to yours, with years of battlefield callouses and countless burns. He folded your fingers over something hard and your barely open eyes saw the red, horn-like scale you then held. “You have him?”

You nodded and Daemon huffed, his hands racing up your arms to your face. He cupped your cheeks and tilted your head up so that, even through the sliver of your eyelids, you could see his seriousness. 

“I need to hear you say it.”

His tone had you open your eyes more fully. “I have him.”

Daemon smiled and then, with practiced ease, slipped down off of Caraxes. You saw him, how small he looked standing on the sand from where you were, still sat on his steed. Once he too found balance, Daemon threw his arms up to you. 

“Come now, I have you.”

You were too in your head to call back down. Instead, you focused your efforts on swinging your legs off to one side of Caraxes without letting your hands slip from his bumpy scale. When you finally positioned yourself for your descent, you saw Daemon’s grin widen.

“I have you.”

The tilt of his tone sounded like his smile and you nearly forgot that you were perched upon a fire-breathing beast. Only when you tried to take a step toward Daemon did you remember that fact. Your foot slid along Caraxes' smooth scales until you landed on a protruding bone or some other growth. You had to bite back a yelp at the slip.

“Paez, slow, issa jorrāelagon,” Daemon called up and you shook your head.

“I’m no dragon, I don’t understand.”

“Oh, jorrāelagon, you understand more than you know,” Daemon said, his grin widening. “Now, fall to me.”

Forgetting again and, seeing only Daemon, you fell, really fell. Immediately, you felt his hands, warm and large, on your waist as he guided you to the sand. Your own hands gripped his upper arms as you fought to find balance, and you felt the muscle there, even beneath the thick fabric of his tunic sleeves. Though, when Daemon dropped his touch, you did too.

“I recall you enjoying rides with Caraxes. You’ve grown stiff since it seems.”

“We were both younger then,” you pointed out, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, “and, yes, less stiff. But one factor in my flying hasn’t changed.”

Daemon raised a silver-blond brow at you. “And that is?”

“You. My flying is always at your behest.”

“Yes, well,” Daemon raised his hands for Caraxes and, like a loyal hound, the dragon turned his snout into his rider’s touch. “I always have good reason. Here, give me your hand.”

“Daemon-”

“Here.” His hand was already on yours, spreading your fingers out to pet Caraxes. Under your palm, you felt his massive, heated breath, like a living flame. If it were not for Daemon’s hand lingering atop yours, you would have stared at the Blood Wyrm in awe. Instead, your eyes were fixed on Daemon, how bright his expression turned, no melancholia in sight, at your appealing to the beast. 

“If I did not know better, I would think you a Targaryen for how Caraxes bends to you.”

In unison, your and Daemon’s hands fell once more as you both turned towards the voice. Walking down from a dune, Laena, still sea green and silver, walked over. Her curls bounced and blew in the breeze, her stride like waves. She was part of the beach, pulled right up from the sea and sand.

“My dear,” Daemon said, moving to meet her while you stalled by Caraxes, who cooed like a saddened pheasant. “I’ve returned with our witness.”

Your brows furrowed at the term, at their tight embrace, how Daemon held her. “Witness?”

Even with a handful of paces between you, you could see Daemon’s smile. It was not bright or breath-catching, but it was there all the same. Just as his arm was there, snug around Laena’s waist, holding her to his side. How far from you Daemon seemed.

Even further when he answered, so painfully simply, “you the witness to our elopement.” 

You thought your legs gave out for a moment like you were falling yet again; but when you reached out to brace yourself, your palm met the bumpy head of Caraxes. He nudged you with his huge red snout and a glint in his amber, serpentine eye reflected the ache that suddenly claimed your chest. Tears sprang from your eyes at the beast’s sympathy, but when you looked back to Daemon and Laena, their worried faces, you smiled through it.

“I’m honored.”

You should have known that accepting an invitation from Daemon Targaryen was a mistake. Seemingly ceaseless years of heeding his call had acquainted you with the subsequent pains of your dutiful answer. Yes. Yes, Daemon, I’ll meet you there.

Once there, Daemon would tear out your heart and skewer its still-beating flesh on the sharpest edge of Dark Sister. So routine this waltz was, that your chest had begun to ache whenever you caught sight of the shining, Valyrian Steel of the ancestral House Targaryen blade. It had started long before you first noticed it, when Daemon dragged you to Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding to Laenor, and had endured in the years after Daemon’s own wedding to Laena. Yet, despite this rife history and your better judgment, you always answered. Yes, Daemon, I’ll meet you there.

“It's been too long since my last visit.”

As the words left your mouth, you cringed at the taste of them. It was the sentimentality of them. How many times had you met him here, on the heated shores of Dragonstone? Apparently, enough times to remember it like a far-off home to grow misty-eyed over. You hated it, this tie, but you loved it too. Such a duality also applied to the very man who had called you back to Dragonstone. 

“It has. The halls have missed you nearly as much as myself,” Daemon said, inky charm dripping from his tongue. His smile loosened any tightening ache in you, in the sore core of your chest. When he extended his hand to help you off the dock, it was as if you never ached at all.

“Dolling out the flattery already? My, I must be in for it.”

The brightness of Daemon’s expression wavered for but a moment, a fall undetectable to the untrained eye. You knew him better than most. 

“Daemon?”

He dropped your hand as soon as your shoes hit the sandy shore. “Let us walk the beach and…talk for a while.”

“Let’s,” you said through slightly gritted teeth. 

Naturally, you fell into step beside Daemon and tread quietly for a few paces. As the noise of the dock grew softer and softer, you grew anxious. With Daemon, silence was like a sin: pervasive and punishable by sharing the hard truth caught in his mouth. His words were like knives sometimes.

When only the sea could be heard, you spoke up. “How are you faring? Your daughters?”

“They are well, well enough to send me ravens about their exploits, their lessons. I am well enough to read them, sometimes enough to write back.”

You nodded, remembering fondly the feel of parchment between your fingers. “Baela sent a raven to me, a fortnight ago now. She asked if I had heard from you after Laena-”

“She has always thought the world of you,” Daemon interrupted. “Whenever I told her how you fly with me on Caraxes, Baela needed to fly with me too, right then, to be like you.”

“She is her father’s daughter, with all that impulse,” you quipped, knocking your shoulder teasingly against Daemon’s. “And all that feeling. She is worried for you, she wrote me so.”

Daemon went quiet then, stalling in the sand as you continued on. You took only two more steps past him before you realized he was caught on your words. When you looked back, Daemon’s eyes were focused downward, brows furrowed in thought maybe. Or feeling.

You took a step back to start the close the distance between you. “Daemon, what are you not telling me? Please, I have not heard from you in months.”

“Feeling. Impulse,” he seemed to spit out the words. “It is all fire, it is all my blood.”

“Daemon,” another step and you were reaching for him. He let your hands fasten about his forearm, pulling it straight against his side. You clutched him, trying to ground him. “Tell me.”

“You have not heard from me for you are one of the few I fear judgment from,” Daemon said at last, his crystalline eyes meeting yours with such a heavy, sad seriousness that his very irises appeared darker. “I do not fear lightly.”

You shook your head, “you have nothing to fear from me.”

Daemon’s fear hand rose up then, as you clung to his other arm. His fingers moved, brushing over the peaks of your face with such delicacy that your nerves abated. As if Daemon were right about the pre-Doom Valyrians and their magic touch. His hand fell before you thought to tell him as much.

“Yet I do and it is infuriating,” he growled, “because you should be nothing to me…but you are everything.”

Then, it was your turn to drop your hands. A renewed ache claimed you and heat rose to your face with a vengeance. You took a step back and watched Daemon’s face twist in a way you had never seen before. Fear.

“I am to wed Rhaenyra.”

There was that sin of silence again, accompanied by the subsequent pains of answering an invitation from Daemon. “Rhaenyra.”

“It is a union-”

“This has been a long time coming,” you said, the ache embittering you. “Am I here to be your witness again, like some beck-and-call hound?”

“Jorrāelagon,” he shook his head and continued quickly, “ao se eman issare umptan va se egros hen jēda, va moriot māzis se jāre. Iksā tolī sȳz naejot sagon tied naejot nyke-”

“Speak plainly, Daemon,” you snapped. “Do not hide behind that godsforsaken language.”

Seemingly fueled by your own anger, Daemon lunged towards you, closing the gap once more with his hand grabbing at your chin. Despite the rushed roughness of his movement, his very touch, like before, was gentle. It bordered on careful, even as he made you meet his eyes.

“Love,” he paused, his tone cold; an objective translation. “You and I have been stayed on the edge of time, always coming and going. You are too good to be tied to me…kesan daor ivestragī ao zālagon. I will not let you burn.”

He held your chin still as the last words fell from his lips. His lips. Daemon was tantalizingly close and with the music stopping, your dance together finally ending, the urge to lean up the last stretch to kiss him was overwhelming. It washed over you like the tide, the very one that nipped at your heels as Daemon held you; though it did nothing to quell your rising anger as you realized…

“And you knew of my feelings for you, this- this entire time?  You lead me along with invitations to be at your side while knowing You bid me attend your wedding while knowing, and you tell me of another on the horizon?” You wrenched yourself from him, “How dare you?”

“Like you said, all that impulse. I did not think, I only wanted.”

“Now you aim to control by wedding your niece and directing my fate? You will not let me burn, but you will turn yourself to ash over a throne that will never be wholly yours? It will be Rhaenyra that sits it, not you.”

The truth incensed Daemon, who charged at you, hands reaching once more. His fingers dug into the fabric and flesh about your hips as he pulled you flush to him. You had nowhere to look but at him. You had nothing else to feel but his heat.

Then, his lips. His lips were closed about yours in a rushed, manic union of flesh. Daemon’s hands squeezed at you, pulling you impossibly close as the kiss grew deeper. His tongue knocked against yours wildly. Wanting. Wanted.

Daemon wanted you, but you ached still, and the ache drove you away.

You leaned back, your lips falling from Daemons. He chased after them, pecking the corner of your mouth, entreating you for more. You gave him a taste, a softer kiss, but it wasn’t enough. At least, not enough for you.

“What does this mean, Daemon?” You opened your eyes but saw that his were still closed. His breathing was still sharp, still quick. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours, “just as it doesn’t matter who sits the Iron Throne. Like fire, it is my blood.”

You swallowed, hoping to distract yourself from the stinging tears behind your eyes. “And it will be your funeral.”

Daemon opened his eyes then and met your gaze. “I know.”

You pressed your forehead against his a touch harder, a not-quite-a-kiss-kiss, before you pushed his hands from your hips and turned away from Daemon Targaryen for the last time.

[thevulturesquadron]

can i request a rogue and Magneto scene

hold my beer! 🧃

If anything, thank you for asking! It's so nice to see people show more interest in the pair since the new animation came out! There is enough space for everyone in this bubbling cauldron of feels for them so join me, let's marinate together! 💜

While I still prefer their Savage Land encounter in the comics over the animation, I think the new series managed to give a good spin of how they met in the 'Age of Apocalypse' universe.

As for this particular line, the way I see it, it's meant to explain that they were both in a place where their attraction and feelings for each other were not enough to sustain a healthy relationship, and that they both acknowledged it. 

Magneto was haunted by his own past. In that shot he is shown dealing with clear signs of ptsd: he's probably having nightmares about the concentration camps, about losing Magda, about losing family. And if we know anything about Magneto is that his anger and pain, his thirst for punishing those that wronged him are a real blocker on the path to his own healing. He refuses to let go of his demons, of his hate because it’s what fuels him and because it's the only way in which he knows how to function. He learned a couple of lessons from his oppressors and he internalised them.

That is what Rogue starts to notice after a while and one scene (a kinder one where he is shown more vulnerable than aggravated) is all that the show needs to deliver in order to let the audience fill in the gaps. The reality of it is that sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, love and care are just not enough; (something that I wish writers for Rogue/Gambit would have also understood a long time ago instead of beating that dead horse and pretending it’s still moving. sorry!)  In this case Magneto's fragile mental state could have absolutely overshadowed and even dragged Rogue down. When someone’s own battles end up taking most of the space in a relationship that can be shattering because you love them but you are unable to help them and, worst of all, they can end up taking you down with them.

There is a song by Leonard Cohen that always makes me think of Magneto and Rogue and it goes like this: ‘I was dying to get back home, And you were starting out// They oughta give my heart a medal For letting you go’ - In TAS, same as in Savage Lands, (and to some extent in the Legacy run as well) Magneto had the weight of so much (negative) experience, while Rogue, because of her condition, had a limited understanding of what commitment required. And I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE  that they both saw that, and, even if it hurt, they recognized that it was for the better to step away from each other. At least at that moment in time.

One of them (Rogue) went and looked for help in an attempt to overcome her struggles (which arguably are of a different, more personal matter). The other… well... based on how Magneto was introduced for the first time in the series, was still finding comfort in dancing with his demons. 

[honey-minded-hivemind]

X Men Animated. Yandere Rouge and Gambit and adopted child reader who can wrap reality (meaning they can change it so that Rouge's powers only affect her enemies)

Aaaaaawwww! That's such a sweet idea! I'll do it:

She never thought there'd be a day she could touch someone again.

Rogue didn't think she'd be able to hug anyone, to kiss them, to hold hands with...

And now she could.

All thanks to Reader.

It turns out the little possum's mutation was to warp reality. And they'd warped it so her mutation only worked on her enemies. Not on them. Not on her friends. Not even on her swamp rat, who was now trying to take advantage of that newfound change-

"One kiss, chere," Gambit says, staring at her with loving eyes. A sharp grin was on his lips, and were trying to kiss her face. "C'mon! Don'tcha want Gambit? Even a little? Petit made it so Gambit can kiss ya, and now yaw don't even want it?"

She blushed a little, noticing they were being watched by Reader, who was giggling behind their hands. And then she got a brilliant idea.

"Well, let's see now... How about a kiss for sugah?" she hums thoughtfully, being met by a squealing Reader who rushes over, almost knocking Gambit over.

"Yay! I'ma give you the biggest kiss ever!" you cheer, and with all the love you can muster, you plant a peck on her cheek, pulling away and waiting patiently as Rogue in turns kisses your forehead.

"Now... Should I reward swamp rat here with a kiss, too?" Rogue asks you coyly, and you happily nod. " 'Kay... Seems like you got lucky today, huh, Gambit?" And with that, she pulls him into a kiss, leaving a lipstick stain on his lips. The Cajun sputters for a minute, soon recovering and giving the two of you a smile bright enough to rival a firefly.

"Gambit sure did, chere. He sure did."

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

I Love You, But More Importantly, I Trust You (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers, Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Word Count: 2911 Summary: It's Valentine's Day and Bucky isn't sure what to give you that will adequately express how he really feels. Finally, he decides to give you the one piece of himself he's been hiding all this time... TW: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Past Trauma, Emotional & Physical Scars, Description of Past Injuries, Undressing, Kissing Note: Happy Valentine's Day!!! I thought our favorite traumatized soldier needed some loving today (even if it involves some emotional vulnerability first)

“Hey, Buck. Are you all ready for tonight?”

Bucky glanced up from the television screen, one eyebrow raised slightly, to stare at his best friend as he walked into the room followed closely by Sam. “What’s tonight?”

“Umm, Valentine’s Day?” Sam said. “Damn, I know you’ve been on ice for the last 70 or so of them, but wasn’t that a thing back in the 40’s?”

Steve chuckled. “It was but back then Bucky…well, let’s just say he didn’t usually keep the same girl around for more than a few dates.”

Sinking into the couch cushion, Bucky muttered, “Steve was the romantic one. I was young and cocky and just looking for a good time, not something serious.”

Sam plopped down on the arm of the couch. “You better not let your girlfriend hear you say that or Tony’ll have to build you a new right arm to match that shiny left one.”

“What I have with her is nothing like those girls in the past!” Bucky snapped, but then his tone softened as he stared down at his hands. “I…I love her.” 

He had first whispered those words to you a few months ago when he asked you to share his quarters in the Tower with him, but it was still strange saying them in front of his friends. Neither of you were big on public displays of affection or grand romantic gestures so Bucky doubted either Steve or Sam realized how deeply he truly cared about you. To them, this might just seem like another fling or someone to keep his bed warm, but in reality, nothing could be farther from the truth.

As if reading his mind, Steve placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. “Well, today’s the day you’re supposed to prove that to her. Why don’t you buy her some flowers, a box of chocolate, a stuffed animal or two, and then take her out for a nice dinner? That’s what most people do. Just show her a good time and then let her know what she means to you. She’ll love it.”

Bucky nodded though he wasn’t so sure. That stuff might be fine for most girls, but you weren’t most girls. Far from it. You were unlike anyone he had ever met before and while he did want to do something special to show you how he felt, he knew fancy food and generic trinkets weren’t the way. He would have to find something else, something you would value more than the crap they were selling at all the local stores. 

And as much as the idea terrified him, he thought he knew just the thing.

Dragging yourself into your quarters as soon as the Quinjet landed, you flopped back onto the bed and draped your arm across your eyes. You loved your job and couldn’t imagine being anything other than a SHIELD agent, but weeks like this left you considering an early retirement. Globetrotting and tracking down rogue agents on less than a few hours of sleep had been the dream a few years ago. However, as you got older–and now actually had someone waiting for you when you came home–that life was losing some of its appeal.

You had just started to slip into unconsciousness when you heard a shuffling come to a stop at the edge of the room. Without moving your arm from its place over your eyes, you mumbled, “Hey, baby. Sorry I didn’t come find you but you weren’t around when I came in so I thought you might be out. However–” you said with a tired chuckle “–it would seem as though we’re both home.”

“How was it?”

Noting a slight tension in Bucky’s voice, you began to answer his question. “Ugh, just the same old, same old. Fury is all over my ass about this latest intel. I told him I can’t do anything else until he gives me–” 

You fell silent as you raised your head and got your first glimpse of your boyfriend. He was wearing your ratty, faded pink bathrobe that was stretched taut across his muscular shoulders and arms. The bottoms of the robe hung open and loose–revealing a glimpse of his boxers underneath–but at the top across his bare chest, he clutched the robe closed securely as if his life depended on it. His teeth were clenched tightly, his long hair grazing his pronounced jawline as it fell over his face. And even though his eyes were partially obscured and he was avoiding your gaze, it was impossible not to recognize the fear within them.

Sitting up, you softly asked, “Hey, Buck… what’s going on?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” he muttered bluntly as if that explained everything. 

Quietly, you cursed to yourself. You had never given a damn about Valentine’s Day, even as a little kid in school when you were supposed to pass out the cheap cards all the parents bought for everyone in class. And now as an adult, things haven't changed. In fact, until he mentioned it, the significance of the day had completely slipped your mind. But even now that you had been reminded, it didn’t explain why Bucky was wearing your robe.

“I guess it is. Did we…did we have plans? I can’t for the life of me remember us talking about it but you know how I tend to lose track of everything while I’m gone on a mission. I could–Well, it’s kind of late to get a reservation, but we could try to order in?” 

Bucky didn’t respond. Instead, he just continued to stand in the bedroom doorway, the knuckles on his right hand starting to turn white with how tightly he was clutching the sides of the robe shut. 

Afraid he might be having some sort of flashback and unsure of what to do, you slid to the edge of the bed until your feet rested on the floor. “Bucky? Baby, did something happen? Why are you wearing that?”

Taking a long, deep breath, Bucky muttered, “Steve and Sam said on Valentine’s Day people are supposed to give each other flowers and chocolates and crappy stuffed animals to show how much they care about each other. I started to go to the store to get you those things, but thinking about it, nothing felt right. I’m sure you would act like you loved it, but we both know you don’t care about that kind of shit. Plus, none of that would show you how I really feel about you. So, instead, I decided to give you me…All of me.”

As his grip on the robe slowly started to loosen, you inhaled sharply as it hit you what he was planning. Jumping from the bed, you crossed the room in three long strides and placed your hands over his, stopping the robe from falling open. “No, Buck, you don’t have to do that. I mean, it’s incredible that you thought to offer, but I don’t want you doing anything you’re not comfortable with just because of the date on the calendar.”

For the first time since you came home, Bucky lifted his head to look you straight in the eye. Fear still radiated from him–causing his blue eyes to seem even brighter than usual–but beyond that was a steely determination that you had only seen in the heat of battle. Gently, he removed your hands from his as he said in a strong, clear voice, “I want to. I love you, doll. And more importantly, I trust you.”

Tears began to blur your vision but you quickly blinked them away. Some people might have been slightly annoyed to hear him put trust over love, but you knew that to Bucky, trust was the most important thing in the world. He had been used, lied to, and betrayed so many times that he hadn’t been sure he could ever fully trust someone again.

He had told you as much just before the two of you had slept together for the first time. However, that night had just seemed like a one-time hook-up after an intense mission so as long as he gave you what you needed, you couldn’t give a fuck whether he trusted you or not. But when one time turned into two which turned into three which eventually turned into feelings developing on both sides, it became more of an issue. And while you knew at this point he trusted you more than almost anyone else, there was still one part of himself he hid from you. 

No one but a select few SHIELD doctors had ever seen the place where Bucky’s shoulder met his metal arm. In the locker rooms before missions, he would disappear into the bathroom stall to change into his uniform. He would join everyone at the pool or the beach but refused to go in the water or get wet enough to cause his shirt to cling tightly to his body. And when the two of you were alone and got intimate, he always left his shirt or jacket on the entire time. 

The only few times he had made an exception to this was after he bought a set of triple-layer blackout curtains for the bedroom, and even then it was a rare occurrence he would strip down completely. When he did, out of respect for him, you tried your best not to let your fingers brush against his shoulder in the darkness, but it had occasionally happened. Even without being able to see it, the feeling of the tough ridge of scar tissue abruptly shifting into cold, smooth metal painted enough of a mental image for you to have a vague idea of what it must be like. 

And you understood why he wanted to keep it hidden from view.

But now Bucky was standing before you in the middle of a fully lit room prepared to bare all. All he had to do was drop the robe.

Taking a step back, you nodded. “If this is what you want—if you think you’re ready to show me— then I’m ready. But, baby, don’t do this unless you are positive you’re not going to regret it.”

The smallest flicker of a smile flashed across Bucky’s face as his fingers tightened around the edges of the robe. “I told you…I trust you.”

And he let your robe drop to the floor.

It took everything in you not to react or burst into tears as you gazed at where his scarred, raised flesh melded into shiny metal. The way the arm was fused into his mangled skin made your stomach churn and bile burn in the back of your throat. But it wasn’t its appearance that made you on the edge of breaking down. No. It was the thought of how much pain and torture HYDRA had put Bucky through to do this. How these visible scars were just the beginning of the damage they inflicted on him and how even though he had broken free of their control, there were just as many scars left behind that you couldn’t see as there were on display before you right now.

Bucky’s eyes were laser-focused on your face, seemingly scanning it for any clue as to what you were thinking. Stepping closer to him once more, you wet your lips before asking, “Can… Can I touch it?” 

He nodded slightly but just before your fingers brushed against the metal, you drew your fingers back. “It won’t hurt you, will it?”

“Sometimes it still hurts,” he admitted, “but not when it’s touched. There’s just some leftover nerve damage that flares up from time to time. Hurts like hell, but even that’s nothing compared to how it was at first.”

He had never mentioned still having pain, but even more than that, he had never talked about the transition period from Bucky Barnes into the Winter Soldier, at least not to you. There was a file somewhere that contained all the information SHIELD had collected on him from various HYDRA bases they had raided as well as a SHIELD interview that had been conducted when Bucky first joined, but out of respect for Bucky, you had never sought it out. 

“You remember that? Wha–what they did to you?”

“I remember every second of it.” The venom in Bucky’s words caught you momentarily off guard, but you understood it wasn’t you that hatred was directed at. “They might have wiped most of my conscious memory, but the process never erased the pain. They didn’t want it to. It was left as a reminder of what they could do and as a promise of what would happen again if I didn’t follow their orders.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” Looking at his shoulder again, your own rage bubbled in your chest. “All those bastards who did this to you better be glad they’re dead because if I ever got my hands on them–”

Bucky chuckled softly. “If I remember correctly, you did get your hands on a few of them.”

“Yeah, but that was before I knew what they had done to you. If I had, I would have made them regret every scar and mark they left on your body.” 

But as disgusted as you were at what HYDRA had made Bucky endure, you knew your hatred wasn’t what he needed right now. So, placing one hand on the side of his face, you turned your thoughts to the gift he had given you instead. “But, hey, I know I can’t fix what they did. However, I hope you know seeing this doesn’t change how I feel about you. If anything, it makes me love you more.”

Taking his metal hand, you gently placed a kiss on his cold fingertips. Then you placed another on his knuckles. Then the back of his hand. Then his wrist. 

Slowly, you moved up his arm, peppering soft, feather-like kisses along the way. You knew despite its hard, steely appearance, the vibranium prosthetic was sensitive enough to detect the slightest changes in temperature or the lightest of pressures. And judging by the way Bucky’s eyes flickered closed as he leaned his head back with a peaceful sigh, he could feel each and every one of your kisses. 

You had done this many times before, especially on those nights he was wrestling with his past or consumed with feelings of guilt and remorse. It was always the same: you started at his fingertips and continued until you reached the red star on his shoulder. Each kiss was to remind him you loved him—all of him. 

However, this time, after you kissed the star, you didn’t stop. Bucky’s eyes flew open and his body went rigid as you placed a kiss on the top of his shoulder…one on the silver metal covering his chest…one on the place where skin and metal met. 

You could feel him shaking slightly and you peered up through your lashes to make sure he was still alright. When he caught you staring, he gave you the smallest of nods. With this reassurance, you placed another kiss on his scars and another. You moved diligently from the top of his shoulder down to the very bottom of the metal plating. Once there, you worked your way back up the same path. When you reached the top of his shoulder, you began moving up his neck and then across his jaw.

You only stopped when your lips were hovering a breath above his. Tears were glistening in both of your eyes as you whispered, “I know you thought this would change things or make me feel different about you, and it has.” Bucky’s face crumpled slightly and he tried to pull away, but you held his face firmly in your hand. As you smiled, you continued, “I thought I loved you this morning. But seeing how much I mean to you, how much you truly trust me…I’ve never loved anyone or felt as loved by them as I do right now. This is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me. Thank you, baby.”

You leaned forward slightly, pressing your lips against his as you tried to put all of your love and gratitude into the kiss so he knew what he meant to you. For just a second, he froze. But then Bucky melted into you as you felt the last of his walls crumble around you. He was standing before you as raw and as vulnerable as a person could be, it was the most breathtaking thing you had ever experienced.

Without breaking the kiss, you took his cold, hard hand in your warm, soft one and blindly began leading him to the bed. Once there, you turned so his back was to the mattress and you pressed forward, forcing him down onto his back. 

Finally breaking the kiss, you climbed onto the bed too, straddling his waist as you placed your hand over the damaged part of his arm he had shared with you. Rolling your hips slightly against his, you purred, “It’s still Valentine’s Day and though I don’t have anything half as special as the gift you gave me, I plan on spending the rest of the night showing you how much I love you.”

In one fluid motion, you removed your shirt and tossed it behind you where it landed on top of the discarded robe. 

[7grandmel]

Character Archives - [FILE-04]

Wood Man

"but i can't say i havent had fun screwing with the channel in siiva's absence.

not to mention, im always free to just... hop out and chill in other universes.

its always fun to see other worlds and other versions of characters, right? maybe purgatory ain't so bad."

With SiIvaGunner himself in a deep slumber [FILE-01] and Chad Warden gone [FILE-02], the finale of Season 1 seemed like a perfect place to let the story end and for our heroes to rest easy. Yet ever since The Reboot, the seeds of something bigger had been planted, a growing mystery, awaiting to sprout into something far greater. In The Voice's [FILE-03] final moments, he placed a curse on SiIvaGunner's computer, part-virus, part-figment, and all organic, taking the form of the nicest robot master in town - Wood Man.

Wood Man's directive was simple: wait for SiIvaGunner to leave his computer, then allow The Voice to be resurrected from the code to SiIvaGunner's reality. Yet since his inception, Wood Man has been laid-back, independent, and unruly. Before resurrecting The Voice, he chose to take over the SiIvaGunner YouTube and Twitter account just for the hell of it, interacting with fans on Twitter, and just posting whatever was on his mind across both platforms. Despite being created as merely a tool, being given access to the SiIvaGunner channel made him realize how much fun there's to be had in the world - and eventually, through interacting with the figments which The Voice sought to terrorize, Wood Man called it quits and went rogue.

Part Proto Man and part Deadpool, through his virus/figment properties Wood Man has been able to communicate directly with us in the audience on several occasions, a voice chiming in from time to time just to talk in the midst of whatever story the channel may be undergoing. Althewhile, those same properties have given him the ability to move between dimensions and parallel worlds at his own behest, letting him take part in or even lead channel events over the years. With his trademark lower-case speech, he remains chill and lightherted in any situation, aware of his abilities to escape from any danger he may encounter - a trait that, eventually, began taking a mental toll on him. Season after Season, Wood Man realized more and more that his love of short-burst fun and escapism was keeping him from resolving the connections he'd left behind in his original universe - procrastinating that which truly matters to him under a facade of unbothered adventuring.

In many ways, Wood Man acts as a voice for the SiIvaGunner team themselves, a battle of many creative artists wanting to at once have fun, whilst living up to the expectations set so long ago. Yet Wood Man's story is not a tragedy: Though his sudden awakening at the start of Season 2 was initially met with a lot of backlash and resentment from fans (see here), the fans eventually grew to love him - and Wood Man, in turn, loves the SiIvaGunner channel and everything it does, with his face proudly adorning the SiIvaGunner Art Team and SiIvaGunner Fusion Records logos. Toward the end of Season 6, Wood Man came to terms with his need to face his demons, and passed the mantle of inofficial SiIvaGunner figurehead onward. Though our guide-in-spirit for the channel for close to six years may have left, the lessons and values that Wood Man taught are here to stay: and the spirit of SiIvaGunner, both in the team and with us as the audience, burns brighter in kind.

nice >:]

[ivylation]

Love in Chaos (Carlos Olivera x Reader)

Tws- mentions of blood

2nd post, hope you enjoy <3 ill be writing alot carlos in the future so lmk whatd you want you want to see with him !!

-----

You and Carlos both faced the dangers of Raccoon City side by side, Carlos's confident flirtatious tendencies and your quiet self created an almost movie like relationship. He would throw cringey pickup lines your way, met with bright red faces, small giggles, and occasional eye rolls at his worst lines. Amidst the chaos he never stops throwing jokes at you, he lives to see you smile, you just didn't know that.

One evening, as the setting sun painted the broken skyline in hues of orange and pink, you and Carlos found yourselves on the rooftop of an abandoned building. The air is thick with smoke and an almost calming sensation, which is rare in the chaos filled time.

Carlos, true to his nature, leaned in with an exaggerated flourish. "You know," he began, both gazes kept locked on the setting sun in front of you both. “You look really cute today” you turn to him caught off guard by the sudden compliment,  “you say that everyday” you roll your eyes, ears pink. Carlos still looking at they sky, his dark shaggy hair blowing in the soft breeze. “Thats because youre cute everyday” he shrugs and turns his head to look down at you. “Bullshit” you smile softly “im covered with mud and blood” you look down at your bruised body thats full of a mix of yours and the victims of your knife.

His gaze softens as he takes in the sight of you. "Even with the mud and blood, you manage to be the most captivating thing in this city," he says, his tone sincere. Carlos reaches over, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a gentle touch. You always assumed he was joking but something felt different this time,the look in his eyes, he was being serious. 

You gained a small crush on the large man over the weeks of being together, how could you not? He had dark eyes that seemed to only soften on you, he was funny, determined and kind and holy shit was he hot. His large arms as he held his gun to fight off the zombies that suddenly caught you off guard, his pretty skin that is coated with shine due to the fires. His large hands as they gripped your wrists to pull you out of dangers way. He was hot. Like really hot.

You never pursued the crush and pushed it out of your mind as there was a literal zombie apocalypse happening and there was no time for a silly little crush. That was hard when you see the man everyday.  

You can't help but blush at his words, a mixture of embarrassment and appreciation filling your chest. The apocalypse had left its mark on both of you, physically and emotionally, yet Carlos's unrelenting flattery remained a constant; it made you feel validated and loved even when you're at your lowest of lows.

"I mean it," he continues, his eyes tracing the contours of your face. "You're like a survivor goddess amidst all this chaos. Mud and blood included."

You chuckle, couldn't help but cringe a little  at his use of words, still a bit bashful under his gaze. "Survivor goddess, huh? I'm not sure about that."

Carlos nudges you playfully. "Oh, absolutely. You fight off zombies and still manage to look adorable. It's a rare talent."

You shake your head, smiling at his antics. "Well, if I'm a survivor goddess, you're the charming rogue who keeps distracting me with compliments."

He grins, leaning in once more, this time planting a soft kiss on your lips. "Guilty as charged," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. You just stared at him, taken aback, your face bright red and hot. You knew there was no passing over this crush. 

 As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the broken city, you couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth in your heart. In the midst of the apocalypse, amidst mud, blood, and chaos, there was an unexpected connection that transcended the grim reality--one Carlos Olivera himself created.

_____

[wolvbrattxx]

Family matters (part two)

Summary: After the horrible introduction to each other, Logan wants to find Loren and to talk to her privately. However, when the two of them meet in the laboratory, a heated conflict ruins the attempt to rebuild a lost friendship. Loren's prejudice holds her, not allowing Logan to get close. Tags: Hugh Jackman!Logan, Ororor's sister!Loren, angst, self-doubt, regrets, conflict, oc x canon, alcohol, smoking, swearing. Word count: 4164 Previous chapter

More than a week passed since Logan has last seen Loren.

Surprisingly, nothing much has happened during that time. Jean remained in coma, but her condition improved day by day. Scott's physical state was the same, as he was struggling to walk and perform primary abilities. Only Ororo seemed happier than ever - a dazing smile never failed to leave her face, making her the embodiment of the sun itself. It seemed like even the biggest tragedy couldn't affect her bright mood. How else can one feel, when your beloved one is always in your sight? Henry was less seen, as he spent most of his time in the laboratory working with dear friend - Loren.

For Logan, each day of the week was bland and depressing.

Something turned in inside, making his world spin round and round, ever since Scott took revenge on Logan. Though he couldn't hide his grumpiness from the suffering one, his features seemed softer as their eyes met in the hallways. He tried to help Scott rebuild the damaged body, but his efforts were discarded into the void, as Scott always pushed his help away. Hell, the old man even tried to apologize for his actions, but it didn't reach the other. Scott didn't even want Logan to come near him, let alone help him. He still felt pain and disgust after seeing Jean cheating with Logan. He couldn't possibly bear it, his feelings (perhaps pride, disappointment, betrayal, self-pity) didn't allow it. Soon enough, Logan gave up and found the weight on his shoulders too heavy to handle. He couldn't erase the past, but even the attempt to fix and make up for it didn't provide any help whatsoever.

Here he was, sitting by an old oak tree, which wasn't any special than others that surrounded him. He let out small puffs of his cheap cigar's smoke and drank his even cheaper beer in the middle of the night. Stars shone like tiny pearls through the veined leaves, irritating his already red eyes. They were the only ones that were trying to comfort his mood in this evening, even attempting to invite him to get some rest. Logan wished to get drunk at least once in his lifetime, so it could provide at least any ease to his heavy mind, but it was impossible with regenerative powers. Being alone didn't really bother him, as anyone else seemed to annoy him, even though he secretly dreamed to meet Loren again. He wanted to make up for the horrible introduction, prove her that he isn't just some kind of scum. After all, Logan was just a lost man in a terrible world that either took everything from him or wanted to destroy him.

The days went off fine as Logan trained with his team members or students in the danger room. It made him forget everything that happened for the week, as training required full concentration and attention, leaving no time to focus on harsh thoughts or regrets.

Most of his evening were also occupied with a couple of his drunk buddies: Rogue and Remy. Both of them made Logan's gloomy feelings disappear, surrounding his mind with carelessness, laughter and annoying chattering that made him out of touch with the reality. Yet, he always had to act as a father for the two, helping them to reach their beds while carrying jelly-like bodies into their rooms. Overall, both provided comforting company, as they weren't judgeful. Rogue and Gambit still saw Logan as a member of their strange family and wanted to make his depressing days happier even in a slightest bit.

"Suga', we all do somethin' stupid once in a while'. No need to beat ya'self up like' that. Heck, even I made plenty." Rogue used to say, patting Logan's shoulder with a hiccup interrupting her words.

"Exactly, mon ami, don't let it get to you. Time will help you, only time." Remy added, nodding his head to Rogue's words.

Sadly, that wasn't enough, as dark thoughts were making him fall into a deeper pit of sorrow. Sleeplessness creeped in and once again, every night was filled with nightmares.

Logan rubbed his tired face, massaging the tensed facial muscles. He wanted to disappear again, like he did once before. At least for a year or so. Then everyone's lives will go back to how it was before his arrival: peaceful, flowing, progressing. Scott and Jean could make up for the past, start their own little family together and Logan would move on. Perhaps. At least that's what he wanted to imagine, though it seemed impossible, realistically speaking. He felt so tired of feeling lonely, forgotten or left out over someone else. He wanted to feel something softer, something that would make him feel lighter and happier, but was it truly possible?

His eyes wandered at the mansion that proudly stood in the middle of nowhere and noticed the bright lights in the laboratory. Hank must be working on something, Logan smiled at the idea. It wouldn't hurt to give him a visit, would it?

Logan stood up on his feet that were paralyzed by stillness, trying to get them back to work while stretching his entire body. He picked up the empty bottles, knowing that Charles would definitely give him some comments if he'd leave them, as if the professor was Logan's own father, and threw them out into the trash can. The fog rose above the pond and slowly swallowed everything that got in it's way, but the light still showed the way into the mansion. And so, he dragged heavy feet inside, making his way into the laboratory.

Hank was a good listener, was maybe opening up to him could ease thoughts? After all, he had a baggage of wise words, once said by the famous philosophers of the past or written by the best novelists/poets.

The automatic door slowly opened, recognizing Logan as a member of the institution and the part of the X-Men. Firstly, his ears were met by the unnerving sound of computer's keyboard clicking, clacking and pop hits of 2000's, supplemented with soft melodic humming. The last two sounds didn't even remind him of Hank's usual repertoire, as it was necessary to play classical music at such a time to keep him focused on the task.

Logan took a single steep inside and curiously looked to the side, where the working table could be found. He was slightly shocked to find Loren sitting in front of the computer, though it was late already. Out of all times, it was this one that they had to meet. She clearly didn't expect visitors as well, and her pajamas made sure to notify that. She wore loose black pants and a tight white tank top, hiding her short white hair in a black silky bonnet. The look of her face seemed worse since dark circles surrounded those icy eyes, making her look as if she hasn't slept for days and her dark skin slightly paled, hinting that she was probably malnourished in the process. Her state tried to tell him that she was about to go to sleep, but it was far from truth. The amount of mugs told another story: the strong black coffee's scent in the air hit nostrils' so deeply, that it made his head spin.

Loren's head turned to greet the stranger that interrupted her work in the middle of the night. She couldn't erase the annoyance off her face since the intruder made her lose an incredible thought. Her eyes fluttered in shock as she witnessed Logan staring at her, but quickly relaxed and her brows faintly furrowed into their natural state.

"Oh, it's you, Logan. Need something?"

Logan blinked for a couple of times and cleared his throat. "Was searching for Hank, is he on a break or-"

"Sleeping." She cut him off, turning back to work, clearly screaming from her posture: 'leave me alone'.

"I see." Logan mumbled silently, but his feet didn't move from where he stood.

Loren typed something fast on the computer. Logan peeped his head to the side to see what's she was doing. It looked confusing, he wasn't sure of what he saw: programming, science, equations, scales, diagrams. So many things that he couldn't wrap his head around, but it made him feel respect to the hard work that she was obviously putting. Logan wanted to converse with Loren, at least for a little bit, try to rebuild something. There couldn't be harm in trying.

"What you've been up to?" Logan started, his voice not as confident as he wished.

"Solving problems, trying to make our gear better." She replied, not breaking her eye contact with the screen.

"Must be hard."

Loren hummed in response, agreeing with his words.

Another minute of silence passed. Logan bit his lip, trying to get something in his mind, but it was harder than it looked. He took careful steps closer to her, glancing over her shoulder.

"What you've been studying?"

"Look," Loren flipped her chair to Logan's side and her expression was brutal. Her tired eyes narrowed to slits, glaring without a single blink and her eyebrows pressed closer to one another. Her voice was loud enough to put one into place. "I don't know if you can see, but I'm working. I'm really not interested to talk right now. Go bother someone else; I'm sure you'll find company."

Logan stumbled back after such an attack. It caught him off-guard. He wondered was it something that he said that made her mood turn. Sure, she was absolutely tired, but was such attitude necessary? He felt his defense rising up slowly, as he confidently placed his feet on the ground.

"What's up in your ass?"

"Thought that I've made my stance clear last time we saw each other, no?" She sneered at Logan, still not backing down her ground.

"Oh, that I'm a shameless brute?" Logan replied, his jaw visibly tensing. "Heard that before, no worries, bub."

"Bub? Who do you think you are to call me that?" Loren stood up and took fierce steps forward, making the chair almost fall down from her powerful moves.

"What? Don't like it?" Logan crossed his arms against the muscular chest. "Want me to call you princess instead?"

Loren's eyelid twitched.

"I don't have a problem with the nickname. My only problem is that you're calling me that," she stood right in front of him, almost spitting those words in his face. "I hate infidelity and I hate those, who take part in it."

"So that's your problem," Logan felt his eyes flickering from the anger and sorrow building up on his tongue. "Infidelity." He laughed, almost mockingly.

"Laugh all you want, asshole, but I will support Scott in this."

"Oh no, that made me shiver!" He raised his hands up in defense, trying to ridicule her.

"Don't mock me. You don't understand how it feels to see your friends breaking up over a tiny interest. Trust me, you mean nothing to Jean, no offense," Loren pointed a finger at his sternum and poked it. "I've seen them go through heaven and hell together. They've been through too much, seen too much, talked too much, dreamed too much of their future together, so your presence in Jean's life is a mere adventure to her. I'm saying this not only for their good, but for your own as well. Have some self-respect for god's sake; don't dip your fucking feet into an established relationship. You act like there are no other women in this world."

Logan took a step back again, hardly believing that Ororo's sister had such a sharp tongue. Gambit wasn't lying when he said that Loren could be a bigger storm then her own sister. His head spun from the emotions that were starting to choke him.

"Jean was to first one to understand me."

"So you'll fall for any woman who will understand you, is that it?" Loren's voice rose into a shout.

"You don't choose who to love, y'know?" He replied slowly to her harsh words.

"But you can choose to step back." She talked back, not even trying to hide her disgust.

"You don't get it." Logan turned to leave. It wasn't worth to continue this pointless conversation.

"Don't get what?" Loren scorned, pacing after his footsteps.

"You don't get that I understand what my stupid ass actions made me pay for," he faced her once more, stopping at the door that has already opened. "I understand that what I did was wrong. Hell, I did it from impulse and must admit: it was a dumb decision. I've tried to make for it."

"How? You're talking like it's possible to change the past... It's something hard to forgive for, you know."

"I look like a dumbass, that's a fact, but as a smart woman, you shouldn't forget that there is more to people than past mistakes. Try to look deeper sometime, not just at the surface," Logan cut off the conversation with those last words and walked out of the laboratory. "Night', Loren."

The door closed behind him in a perfect timing.

Logan took few steps forward and felt weak in his knees. He leaned against the metallic wall and slid down to the ground, feeling defeated. That woman definitely caused a storm in both mind and heart. For the first in the whole week, he felt sleepy in his dreadful thoughts that were trying to drown him deeper in sorrow. Thankfully, Loren didn't rush after him with her cruel remarks, he was sure that she would poke fun of his current helplessness. Logan sighed into his hands that were rubbing the fatigue out of eyes. Finally, his body gave in to the efforts to stand up and reach his bedroom. He planted heavy steps ahead under duress, his eyes fixating on the cold ground. At such a minute, he felt like blacking out by the chronic fatigue that followed him for the entire week.

Luckily, Logan managed to reach his destination and collapsed on the bed, fully clothed, as all of his energy suddenly disappeared.

The morning started slowly, but as per usual. The night provided refreshment once again. Fatigue can do something nice once in a while, it seems.

Logan washed up; dressed differently today, only changing his flare jeans into tighter ones and tank top into a flannel shirt, but the leather jacket had to stay on as a rule.

This morning he felt the need to talk with someone of the things that bothered him for a while now. Out of all options, he chose the professor, who will surely try to understand his concerns. So, Logan rocked forward through the hallways, being friendly around kids that looked up to him and friendlier with those, that caught his heart dearly.

However, surprises can't be unseen at some times.

Once again, out of all days, it was this one that Loren finally walked pass him in the hallway. She looked better than yesterday, but still tired, hurrying somewhere. She carried a ton of books in one hand, constantly checking her clock, while her shoulder was leaning down from the weight of the papers.

Once Loren realized, that Logan headed right before her view, she quickly grasped his arm.

He glanced at the side where he the sudden touch and cocked a brow at her. The pleasant smell of tobacco caught his senses, as it rose directly from her rich dark skin.

"Logan..." Loren started, immersing her gaze on to the creaking wooden floor, which was ornamented with brilliant symbols. Suddenly, she snapped out of her daze and looked at the clock on her hand, hissing silently at it. "I have to go, let's catch up later, okay?"

Loren ran away without giving Logan a chance to reply, just to follow her figure with his eyes that was slowly fading away in the corridor.

Soon enough, Logan knocked on Xavier's door, making sure that he was alone before entering the office. Then a familiar raspy voice, with a calm accent spoke in his head: 'come in'.

Professor sat in front of the large window, absorbing all of the sunlight. Ororo's happiness expressed itself in a delight: the sun barely left the sky after the reunion of two sisters; of course, sometimes the days were rainy, in order for the earth to regain strength from golden sunshine's influence. The dust flew from one bookshelf to another in the large room, becoming the stars it. This picture transferred the tranquility that was searched for.

"I sense that something is bothering you, Logan?" Charles turned his head to Logan and offered him to rest in the brown-leathered armchair with his inviting gaze.

Logan nodded, as he sat down.

"It's just... That lately..." He scratched the back of his neck, not even knowing where to start, leaning his elbows against knees. He wasn't used to opening up to anyone, not even to someone as wise as the professor. He sighed heavily, regretting his choice to come here already.

"Take your time." Charles interrupted his thoughts, recognizing how hard it must be for Logan to show his true emotions.

The silence that provided comfort at first soon enough became too loud to handle, squealing in his ears. Logan rubbed his palms together, nervously stroking the harsh skin. The intensity of professor's stare into his soul made him search for a way of how to open up faster: how to destroy the walls that were ready to break. All he needed was a little push and so, he leaped into the unknown.

"I don't know what's gotten into me... I want to run away for some time. From everything." Logan spat out those words in a single breath.

"And why is that?" Charles rolled his wheelchair closer to get a better sight of Logan's pained face.

"I feel like I've matters worse here."

"Nonsense, you have made our future brighter. You us helped to conquer heavy tasks, have you not?"

"But maybe they happened, because I was there. It feels like wherever I'd go, somethin' horrible might happen..."

"However, all goes well each time, because you know how to stop it, do you not?"

"Not like I have a choice to stand back. I just think that everything was better before I got here. I don't wanna' cause trouble or somethin'."

"And you are a gift to us, Logan, not a burden."

"How can I be a gift to y'all, when all I do is ruin things?"

Charles chuckled while the sunrays danced in his eyes.

"My students have always had their own personal struggles and the same doubts as your own. The fate of a mutant is to feel that you might become dangerous to those around you. You know how to control your gift, but you do not understand how to propel the danger that comes into your life, your bubble, from the outside world. Logan, you are no danger to us, our lives are already in danger each time we try to prove the world that this cycle of abuse is wrong. You happened to be in the process and yet helped to overcome those hardships. All has happened not because you are here with us; it happened, because you are here with us. But I believe that your concerns grew after the events with Jean, am I right?"

Logan huffed, hanging his head lowly. A reflex kicked in: a hand lowering to his pocket, searching for a cigar, but he forgot that professor sat in front of him with a warning look written all over his face.

"You are driven by your impulses, Logan, desires and secret wishes. It is only natural to act in such a manner, but we must control ourselves at all costs, as self-restrain may provide us a brighter path to our destiny. Though I cannot interfere with your relationships and your hopes of the future, as I do not have such a right to do so, but I want to give you an advice, because I care for you. You are dear to me, Logan, so allow me to speak further," Charles drew closer to the armchair where Logan sat silently and took his hand, making him look up. It felt like Charles was older than Logan, like a father, even though it was quite the opposite. "I believe that you can now see that Jean is not meant for you, as she has chosen another. Love is a strange thing, I know it from my experience, but you must not be blind to everything else in life. If she is not destined to be with, it does not mean the end of your world. There is so much more to your life, so please: explore it. Find peace with your friends, find joy in the outside world that is awaiting for you and move on from your heartaches, as they cannot change a thing. Furthermore, have you not seen more women that would even outshine Jean in your life? You deserve to be a first option for someone, not a second one. Find someone who will appreciate you, celebrate you and choose you firstly, even if you would not be the best option. Silly, is it not? However, I believe that someone in this world could understand you better than Jean. Yes, she has helped you to witness a glimpse of your past and discover yourself, but she will never help you to understand yourself better. Give love a second chance and be sure: you can find someone better in your life. I truly love Jean as my own, but I know her far more than you do and I understand that only Scott can be her equal. You are far from that, Logan, and that is not considered a bad thing, because you all are different. You must find the puzzle piece that will fit you in life. If you must travel, then go and rest, but please know that you are more than welcome here. You are a part of our big family and we shall always celebrate your existence."

Logan listened to Charles patiently, forgetting to breathe at times or to blink. Silence covered the both of them. He was in awe of professor's words, feeling inspired, even motivated, as demons retreated from the back of the mind. His chest still felt a pang here and there, but it was far better than before. A soft, relieved smile drew his lips up, as Xavier looked divine in the gleaming sunlight, shinning behind him and over his figure. Logan couldn't understand where his wisdom came from and felt the irony on his tongue since he was far older, but surely stupider.

"Did I do a good job?" Charles laughed to a certain extent, breaking the long pause.

"As always, Chuck. As always."

"Good, now go, I have to prepare for a class with Miss Loren." Charles turned around immediately and strolled towards the chalkboard.

"So she's a teach' as well?" Logan spoke up again and he slowly stood up from the comfortable armchair. "Oh, about her... Did you tell her of what happened?"

"Yes, but I can sense that Scott made an impact on her, with his revenge taken upon you." Charles took the chalks from the desk, masking his fingers with the white powder, and dragged his hand up and down, drawing lines and figures in order to explain some sort of laws of physics to his students. "Therefore, it makes sense why the two of you had an argument yesterday."

"How'd you know?"

"I know everything, Logan," Charles chuckled, as if it should be obvious already. "You must understand that I hear all heartaches and complains of one another. Every week. Even though you all are adults, sometimes you act as children and I suppose that someone has to take the role of a parent, no? Well, Loren came today just before you, and I have done my best to prove her my point, that her prejudice against you is more than wrong. Give her some time to rethink. She is a remarkable woman, but sometimes a sense of pride can overshine her inner beauty. Please, be sure that she is not against you. Loren has strong principles and follows them by heart, but someone must remind her from time to time that there is more to the surface."

"You took my words from yesterday..." Logan pointed his finger at the professor's back with a tiny grin.

"Those are wise words. I can learn something from you too," Charles turned back, with an audible snicker escaping his slim lips. "Now, be gone. I need to prepare for the upcoming class."

Logan drew his hand up to express his farewells and walked out of the office. A glimpse of hope shone inside of him, leaving space for new beginning.

[fandomzwriterk]

Stars in Your Eyes

Pair: Gambit/Remy Lebeau x Fem!Trailblazer!Vidyadhara!Reader

Warnings: canon lore of how “Trailblazer” works + the lore of Vidyadhara’s + canon character death + Semi-Amnesiac!Reader + yes Reader can shift paths and elements + slight Genshin inspiration too + love triangle (?) + Canon episodes of X-Men ‘97 + Rouge and Jean fight over Trailblazer’s life choices

Pt: 3/?

(Don’t worry the gif has nothing to do with the chapter😁 I just need one of Remy being hot as fuck😋)

This chapter is brought to you by the song “Killer Queen” by, you guessed it, Queen!

The dream made you wake up, your body slowly coming back to reality as your eyes blinked over and over, trying to un-blur what you had seen. It was morning already, how much sleep had you gotten?

“I will never understand what that is.”

You’ve had this dream before, you’ve remembered those details though you wish you could forget. It was like you lived it a thousand times over, and you knew there would be no running from them, no matter how hard you tried.

“Ello there Blaze! Time to wake up! Everyone wants to meet you.” You heard the muffled voice of Jubilee say

You got up, walking to the bathroom to see yourself. The light bags under your eyes showed how tired you were and how much sleep you hadn’t gotten. Wait, when was the last time you slept? So, you begrudgingly went to the door and opened it, seeing Jubilee turn to face you, looking you up and down.

“Gee Blaze you okay? You like you haven’t slept at all.”

“I’m alright Jubilee. I just need something to eat.”

“Oh good! You’re gonna like Gambit’s cooking then!”

Gambit cooks? Well somebody has to in this house and between him and all the other X-Men… he looked like he was the only one who had any sort of cooking skills. Logan might as well have eaten an animal he hunted, Beast looks like he doesn’t eat all that much, and even Cyclops looked like he relied on Gambit to keep everyone fed.

“Hey everyone! Good morning!” Jubilee shouted as she walked into what looked like a living room

Everyone sat at a table, Scott and the woman named Jean sitting at the counter as you saw Gambit wearing a crop top and had his tied back, cooking something over what you believed like a stove.

“Hello there Blaze it’s nice to met ya.” A woman with dark hair and a couple strands of white hair said

“Oh um… hello.”

“Shy thing ain’t ya? Don’t worry sugar I don’t bite. A friend of the X-Men is a friend of mine.”

You nodded at the woman, using your one hand to grab the bicep of your other arm, showing a sign of confusion and worry while the woman guided you to a spot at the table.

“Anyways I’m Rogue.” She said as she put a hand on your shoulder

“N-nice to meet you Rogue. It’s nice to meet you all, on better terms.”

The man called Logan sighed, stabbing into the food that sat on his plate. An unfamiliar woman with white hair sat across from you, letting Rogue sit next to her.

“My name is Storm. It’s a pleasure to have you here at the manor Blaze.”

You nodded, waiting for something to happen.

“Bon Appetite!” You heard Gambit say next to you

He places a plate of some sort of bread-like food in front of you, the top covered in some sort of white fluffy powder. You tilted your head in confusion as you grabbed a fork to gently poke it. What was this thing? It sure looked good though.

“It’s just a beignet mon âme. It’s not gon’ jump at you.”

He’s standing right behind your chair, a hand gently patting your head as you stabbed into one with the fork. Brining it to your mouth, you saw the fluffy powder fall off a little. Once you tasted it, it felt like a sweet heavenly piece of bread. You had to have more, so you dove in to eat every single one… and there was 10 while everyone else had about two or three on their plates.

“Goodness gracious you sure are hungry ain’t ya?” Morph asked

You could only nod, the food filling your belly slowly like you hadn’t ate in years. You could feel every eye on you, seeing a tiny smile on Gambit’s face out of the corner of your eye.

“I guess somebody likes your cooking Remy.” Rogue replied

“Hey, ca c'est bon.”

Gulping down a full one, you looked around the room, every pair of eyes on you like you were someone foreign that they needed to study.

“What? Is something wrong with my face?”

Morph, Rogue, Jubilee, and Cyclops started laughing.

“We’re glad to have you Blaze.” Jean added as she walked up and put a hand on your shoulder

You turned to look behind you, catching the glance of Jean’s blueish eyes staring at you. One second you were in the kitchen… and now you sat at an empty table somewhere on the Express. About five feet away stood a different red haired woman, in a long dress that went down to the ground. Her eyes… you felt like you recognized those eyes.

“I know you…”

And you were back in a second, putting a hand to your head to stop the spinning that you could feel inside your body. Immediately, Scott and Jean held you up from slumping onto the table.

“Blaze? Blaze!” You heard Scott say as your eyes closed a little

“Blaze wake up. Come on I know you’re in there.” Jeans voice spoke inside your head

You opened your eyes, slowly sitting straight as you shook your head and felt the feeling of spinning go away. You blinked a few times, back in the kitchen with your plate still in front of you.

“You okay?” Jean asked

“Yeah… just peachy. Augh that hurt more than last nights.”

Your eyes opened wide, rendering yourself fully awake. You hadn’t realized you said that out loud after a few seconds until Rogue gave you a puzzling glance.

“I mean I’m fine. Just a bad dream. That’s all it is.” You added

“Are you sure?” Scott asked

“Mhm. I need a second outside.” You answered

You stood up, a hand still at the side of your head as you took a few steps outside the door, feeling the sun on your face as you let go of your head and letting your arm fall, closing your eyes as you stood in the sun and felt the light breeze around you. It was quiet, the silence calming you as you started to feel a little better.

“You okay there Blaze?” You heard Rogue’s voice say next to you

“Yeah… I think so. Just a bad dream I had last night.”

There was silence between you two, deciding to sit down on the grass where the two of you could oversee the woods from yesterday.

“I know what it’s like to hurt yourself… with your own powers. Mine relies on touch… so I can’t touch anyone unless I have the gloves on.”

“I just want to remember what I was before I came here. Where are my friends? Do I have a family?”

You looked up, your vision aimed at the sun. Your eyes became clearer, seeing and feeling the sun on your face as the feeling of warmth slowly came back to you. The sun felt… safe.

“I wish I could help you Blaze. It’s a shame, I know. If I was you, I’d do anythin I could to get home as well. Granted, I’m sure you will one day soon. Maybe for now you need to focus on yourself and slowly take time to get familiar with yourself.”

You could only nod at Rogues words, feeling the weight of your situation setting in. You were stuck… stuck in a place you had no idea about.

“I’ll let everyone know you’re-“

“No no. I’m okay. I just needed some air.” You said standing

Rogue stood up as well, following behind you as you walked back inside. Gambit, or Remy as you’ve learned so far, leaned up from his spot against the wall.

“I got it from ‘ere Rouge. Good ole Cyclops said maybe we should do a training exercise in the Training Room.”

“Is that wise? She just got here and it’s barely even been 24 hours. How sure are you that she’ll even live through one drill.”

“I have faith in ‘er. She can do this. Even Cyclops and Jean agree.”

Rogue sighed, turning to look at you as she stood by your side. She then looked to Gambit, walking past him as you felt more eyes stare at you. You turned your head, staring into Gambit’s crimson-black eyes, his eyes seeming to stare into yours, a sign he was looking for something in them, anything.

“Come on cher. Let’s get you there.”

Most of the walk consisted of you walking behind Gambit, staring at the walls and ceiling around you.

“Ain’t much to look at eh?”

“Hm?”

“There’s not much to look at inside this mansion, unless you’re big blue furry man down the hall. Ain’t much here.”

You followed Gambit down some stairs, walking into a steel hallway with different doors around you both. He walked up to one, putting in some sort of code in what looked like a lock pad. Huh… that felt familiar to you.

“Oh come on Fille there ain’t anyone here.”

You looked at him up and down, trying to understand what he just said to you. His words didn’t sound normal every now and then. Gambit just grabbed your hand and pulled you in with him, your eyes quickly spotting Logan, Scott, Jean, Jubilee, and Storm.

“Good to see you’re alright Blaze. Do you know what this room is for?” Scott asked

You shook your head no. You felt anxious, your hands feeling shaky in this large metal room with only one way out, the way you came in.

“This is how we train. Don’t worry, Jean and I have something easy planned for you.”

“Alright! Come on Blaze over here!” Jubilee shouted as a fully destroyed city was built in seconds

You run, sprinting as fast as you can just before diving behind Jubilee and a mini wall, both of you sitting there.

“Alright Blaze it’s yo time to shine!” Gambit shouted

Jubilee pushed you, making you roll into an open area where a giant mechanical robot stood tall above you.

“Oh crap!” You shouted as it fired beams from its eyes, making you run around while your teammates hid

“This isn’t helping!” You shouted as you jumped on top of a train on its side, slightly broken as if it had seen war

“Storm!” Scott shouted, stretching out her name as a sort of warning

“Blaze! I can’t see you!” Jean shouted as you ran through the fire and smoke slowly clouding your vision

You ran, jumping over flaming objects and dodging the beams being shot at you. Why did it seem like you were getting targeted?

“Why are you running? You are stronger than it, so fight back.”

Your brain clicked off for a second, feeling your body turn as you closed your eyes, feeling your legs sprint for their life. As you opened your eyes, you noticed you were running up the robots long arms, about to cross the threshold of its made-up elbow. Ferocity filed your veins, a burning desire to fight back and destroy anything in your path was what drove you now. You jumped high into the air, feeling lighter than the air itself. Your veins burned as your fingers grew talon-like nails, the spark of a flame burning around your first as you struck the robot where its heart would’ve been. It wasn’t just the will to fight back… it was the desire to kill and destroy.

“Rise hidden-sun… world condemning dragon!”

An echo was heard around you, booming off the robot itself and the half destroyed buildings as well. Wind kicked up around you, feeling every single ember, grain of dirt, and metal part hit you like how a meteor strikes a planet. Your strength felt amplified by a thousand percent, the single strike you made tearing apart the robot and reducing it to pieces on the ground. You barely had time to register what had happened as your body felt weak, falling to the ground from the air, landing into something much like steel. The strength was gone in a matter of seconds after the hit, now you were reduced limp trapped under tons of metal and cement.

Meanwhile…

Gambit pov

“Shit! Jean! You and I will go restart the program! Jubilee get out of here in case it gets worse! Logan, you and Gambit look for her! Storm see if you can calm the fire in any way!”

Scott took off, Jean flying right over him and through the metal door and off to the side of the frame, Jubilee going through in a rush to look for someone to get Blaze out while good ole Wolverine helped me scale the destruction.

“Crap. I can’t smell anything except ash and burning steel.”

“Come on Logan we can’t give up now. She needs help, and that’s what we X-Men do.”

Logan only sighed at my response, quickly scaling up the overturned buses as I went diving through windows to find her. The smell of ash and melted rubble filled my nose. Wherever she was, Blaze had destroyed every single thing around her. Heck I didn’t even get to see what she did. All I saw was the flame rise, the Sentinel burning from top to bottom as Blaze came falling from midair.

“Blaze!” I shouted through the rubble

Nothing. I hated that silence. Surely she couldn’t die that easy right? She survived a damn fire once before so surely she could do it again.

“Come on, come on Blaze where are ya?”

Through the smoke, I saw the crumpled form of a young woman, long grey hair covered in ash and slightly burned at the ends. Her form was motionless, trapped underneath iron pillars about a hundred times bigger than her. I couldn’t even see her breathing…

“Blaze!” I yelled as I ran up and over pillars and broken down walls

She was silent as I stopped by her side, pushing two fingers against her neck right below the jawline, feeling a faint pulse.

“Don’t you dare fucking die on me now Blaze!”

I quickly tried to pull her out from under the rubble, to no avail. I had two options, go find help and hope I found her in time or I wait this out and try to get her out myself.

“Fuck it. I have to-“

Blaze started to stand up, pushing off the rubble like it was mere paper, stopping as she used her hands to prevent herself from falling forward while she was on her hands and knees. She shook her head, long silver hair flowing as she came back from being unconscious.

“Gambit? That you?” She asked as she pushed off the rubble easily

“Yeah. It’s me. Scared me there for a second Blaze.”

“Oh. Did the thing go away?”

“It’s done. Let’s get ya out of ‘ere.”

She walked slowly up to, slowly climbing behind me as we scaled a large overturned bus. I could hear her behind me, faintly, but managing to keep up with my pace.

“Gambit! Blaze!” I heard ahead of me

Logan came rushing, Cyclops and Beast right behind him. It took a couple of seconds, but Logan was right next to Blaze and be a crutch for her. I could see the faint color in her eyes, but she was still hanging on.

“Sweet god how did she survive that?” Logan asked

“Don’t know. Was that a fluke Scott?” Jean asked

“No! I made it so it would stand still and just move a little!”

“Well CLEARLY it decided to otherwise.” I answered

“Enough. We have to get her to the lab.” Beast spoke up

We all walked down the hall, Scott walking behind us all as he closed the massive door to the room. He looked around in hesitation, something the great leader of the X-Men never does.

Some time later…

You sit at the table, holding some ice against your skull. Whatever you did, it hurt like all hell. Heaven forbid you even do it again, maybe that’ll hurt more than this one.

“Gee that looks awful. Do you need anything Blaze? I’ll get you whatever you need.”

Rouge’s kindness could be felt somewhere inside your heart. Although… did you have a heart? You felt lost, abandoned, forgotten, hell maybe even empty. It felt like something was missing from you… but you couldn’t remember what or why. Is this why couldn’t you feel anything from anyone else?

“Oh I’m okay Rogue. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’ll be okay in a little while.”

“Oh hey Rogue how’s the rookie?” You heard behind you as you turned in your seat

“Easy Remy. She’s had a rough couple of days. Scott doesn’t wanna strain her body and mind.”

“Gambit wasn’t gonna do that to the poor girl. Was just wonderin’ how she was feeling.”

Rogue sighed and crossed her arms, leaning against the table by your side as you both stared at Gambit.

“It’s da’ truth!”

Rogue took a few steps, pushing Remy out of your way as she ushered you forward go to bed and rest. Reluctantly, you decided to go up to bed. Would you even fall asleep tonight? Would those nightmares leave you alone at all?

“Maybe it can’t be helped…”

To be continued…

A/N: sorry this took so long I’m just starting the third week of college on Monday plus I’ve been going out to do things with my bf every now and then too. Hope you enjoyed!