#maybe get over it?? grow up?? just block them if its that big of an issue??

[fun-k-boards]

M'LORD M'LORD PEOPLE ARE ASSUMING THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE REVOLVES AROUND SEX AGAIN

[beeseverywhen]

Been reading about underground bins in Liverpool and also how now they don't need the alleys for bins in some places they've cleaned them up and put like plants and seating in them so they can sit with their neighbours and wow I'm having intense feelings of envy. I don't know what I want more, underground bins or a clean alley lol

[d1stalker]

Collateral Damage [Logan Howlett]

SUMMARY: The X-men are heroes—they save the world, eradicate threats and protect both mutants and humans alike. You don't see it that way, though.

WARNINGS: one-sided e2l, fem!reader is stubborn and sassy af but it's valid, arguing, canon-level violence, scott's a dick, SMUT - 18+ only! WC: 21k - MASTERLIST

A/N: i've always wanted to write a fic with this plot, it's been on my mind for AGES. happy reading!

----

The first time you see them, it’s on your birthday.

Not being one for big, elaborate parties, you planned a quiet celebration instead—maybe a stroll through the lively city streets, followed by dinner with friends later. You had just visited your favourite store, buying a gift for yourself, and now you’re on your way back home.

The streets buzz with life as people shop, eat, and laugh, making it the perfect backdrop for a peaceful walk and some casual people-watching.

Then, out of nowhere, the ground trembles.

At first, you think it’s an earthquake—a quick jolt beneath your feet that sends a ripple of confusion through your body. But the tremor grows stronger, the ground shaking violently as everyone around you begins to panic, frantically looking around for the source, you included. And that’s when you see it. 

A hulking, green monster stomping through the city streets like something out of a nightmare. It has to be at least twenty feet tall, its skin a sickly shade of green, its eyes glowing with rage. Cars bounce with each heavy footstep, leaving deep footprints in the cement in its wake.

People scream, scrambling to get out of its path, but you stand frozen, heart pounding as you try to make sense of what’s happening. In the blink of an eye, the city had been plunged into chaos. You lose track of your surroundings, too busy trying to keep your eyes on the monster headed your way, while also dodging the hoard of pedestrians running for their lives.

Until they show up.

Initially, you don’t even notice them. After all, there’s so much going on around you at this point you barely know what to do with yourself. Yet, through the dust and destruction, you see flashes of movement—figures darting toward the monster with a sense of purpose. 

You don’t know who they are, but their bright blue and yellow suits make it seem like you should. At first glance, it’s hard not to feel a sense of awe. They move with such confidence, with their powers on full display for the world to see. You’ve never seen anything like it—a team of mutants using their powers in the open, fighting for what you assume is the greater good.

Maybe they can stop this!

The one first to act is a woman with white hair. She raises her arms to the sky, her eyes glowing a bright white as dark clouds swirl above, blocking out the sun. A flash of lightning slams into the monster's chest, forcing it to reel back with a thunderous roar of agony, and the crowd around you gasps, watching in wonder.

But when the lightning strikes a second time, it veers off course, crashing into the side of a nearby building. The structure groans under the impact, flames erupting from the point of contact as windows shatter, sending glass raining down onto the street below.

The collision sends you to the ground, and when you look up again, you see the power inside go out, all the lights flickering off.

Whatever awe you’d been feeling dissolves into concern, a sinking feeling settling in your chest.

Following her, a man with a glowing red visor strides forward. He’s clearly aiming to hit the monster, but the bright red beam shooting from his eyes slices through several cars in the street first, flipping them over and leaving them in smoldering wrecks. One of the blasts tears through a storefront, reducing it to rubble in a matter of seconds. More people scream and scatter, trying to escape the destruction.

From the corner of your eye, you see another mutant—a man with claws—lunge toward the monster, jumping onto cars to get closer to its head. But by using the parked cars as springboards, the weight of him causes the roof to sink in, and his claws leave deep gashes in the metal. 

How heavy is this guy? Is he made of metal or something?

He’s fast, brutal, slashing at the green beast with some serious ferocity. Still, despite the attack, the monster’s strength prevails, and it easily tosses him aside, crashing into buildings, crowds—anything in the way. To your surprise, he always gets back up. And that should be good, right? They are fighting for the safety of the city. 

But as debris rains down and cars are overturned, you can’t help but feel like this isn’t helping. You’re constantly dodging rubble, trying to find shelter, only for it to be destroyed seconds later. It’s like being in a war zone, and it doesn’t seem to be getting better.

And above it all, there’s a woman with red hair. She’s floating, and you watch from where you’re hiding as she lifts entire trees from their roots, hurling them at the monster in an attempt to slow it down. Except, much like her teammates, her attempt goes awry, and she misses, the trees now flying toward you. 

You barely have the reflexes to dive out of the way.

Your heart races, breath coming in shallow bursts as you press yourself against a wall, trying to steady yourself. The sound of sirens blare in the distance, but it doesn’t seem like help is coming anytime soon. There’s too much going on. People are running, pushing each other aside, crying, screaming, trying to find safety.

Glancing around, you’re met with destruction—flames licking at the sidewalk, cars totaled, and building wreckage littering the streets. These mutants, while clearly powerful, are causing just as much destruction as the monster itself.

What should have been a simple takedown—a 6v1—has turned into a full-scale disaster.

And yet, they don’t stop. They don’t pause to help the people caught in the crossfire, don’t even seem to notice the damage they’re causing. They’re so focused on the monster, so focused on the fight, that they’ve lost sight of everything else.

Is this what heroism looks like? You’d been excited at first—amazed, even—thinking they were here to save the day. But now, standing in the middle of a city that’s being torn apart, you realize how wrong you were.

They don’t care. Not about the city. Not about the people. 

Finally, with one last blast from the man with the visor, the monster collapses to the ground, defeated. It lets out a final roar before falling still, its massive body sprawled across the street.

The team stands over its body, their chests heaving with exertion, but they have smiles on their faces, feeling victorious. One by one, they board an aircraft, dragging the monster in with them, barely sparing a glance at the horrors they’ve caused. The white-haired woman doesn’t even bother to clear the storm clouds she summoned.

Within moments, they’re gone. You, and everyone else in the area, are left to deal with the fallout. Left to clean up their mess. 

Happy birthday to me, I guess.

—

After that, you spend the next few days trying to process what had happened. You’re still in a state of shock, confusion, and disbelief, but then the media catches wind of what went down, and suddenly, it’s everywhere.

News channels replay the footage over and over, the headlines screaming about “our holy saviours” saving the day. They’re plastered across every screen, being hailed as protectors.

The X-Men.

A group of mutant superheroes, apparently. The reporters list them off one by one, like they’re celebrities you should have known about. 

Storm. Cyclops. Wolverine. Jean Grey.

Mutants with powers like gods.

—

The second time you see them, you’re on vacation.

Sitting in a quaint café in the south of France, you’re enjoying a well-deserved break. The city you’re in is perfect—cobblestone streets winding through the village, vine-covered walls framing pastel-colored houses, and the scent of fresh bread drifting from nearby bakeries. It all feels like something out of a dream, the kind of peaceful retreat you’ve been desperate for after everything back home.

You order a frappé, and as you wait, you idly flip through a local newspaper, trying to see how much of your rusty high school French you can remember. It’s peaceful, quiet, exactly what you needed—until it’s not.

Movement out of the corner of your eye grabs your attention, and you glance over the edge of the newspaper, watching a group of tourists as they walk into the café. It’s not really anything odd, so you don’t think much of it—they’re dressed casually, like any group of vacationers.

Though, something about them tugs at the back of your mind, a nagging feeling that you’ve seen them before.

You lower the newspaper entirely now, staring as you try to place where you recognize them from. The tall one with the red sunglasses, the woman with the striking white hair, the man in the leather jacket... You squint, the pieces slowly falling into place.

And then it hits you.

Oh, no way.

You’re halfway around the world, in a different country, on a different continent, and somehow, they’re here. At the same café. 

Shifting in your seat, you’re trying to figure out what the hell is going on, when the barista arrives with your drink. He smiles warmly at you, placing the cup down on the table with a soft “voila madame,” but before you can even thank him, there’s a blur of motion.

One of them—Wolverine, you think—lunges at the barista, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him back. The tray tips, and your frappé spills everywhere—all over the table, your newspaper, and, to your absolute horror, all over you. 

“Logan, no!” you hear Storm shout, but it’s too late.

The cold drink soaks into your clothes, and you let out a startled yelp, jumping up as your chair topples over. Your clothes are ruined, your vacation ruined, and in the midst of all of this?

Wolverine—or Logan, you guess, is wrestling with the poor barista.

“What the hell?!” you shout, trying to shake off the liquid dripping down your legs. “Is this a joke?!”

No one hears you, or even acknowledges you.

The other mutants jump into action, and before you know it, the peaceful café is transformed into yet another battleground. Cyclops blasts a beam at the barista—who you now realize must be the target of whatever mission they’re on—but it misses, smashing into the wall behind you. 

You’re furious, covered in a brown drink that makes it seem like you just had explosive diarrhea, and caught in yet another X-Men fiasco. All you wanted was a vacation. You don’t even know what’s happening anymore—who the barista is, what mission they’re on—but frankly, you don’t care.

This is absurd!

Without a second thought, you grab your bag and make a break for it, dodging overturned tables and debris as you make your way to the exit. You don’t bother looking back, your only thought being to get changed, and get as far away as possible.

After rounding the corner, putting some distance between yourself and the café, you pause for a moment to catch your breath. And then you hear it.

Boom.

The sound reverberates through the narrow streets, shaking the cobblestones beneath your feet. You whirl around, sticking your head out from the corner of the building, just in time to see a plume of smoke rising into the air from where the café once stood. 

Your heart sinks.

They blew it up.

—

The third time you see them, it’s a really nice day outside.

It’s a week after you’ve returned home, and the weather had finally given you a break from the suffocating heat. You’re walking home from a lunch with an old friend, when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Probably said friend sending you something stupid to laugh at later. 

You chuckle, already anticipating the joke, when—

BAM!

Something slams into you from the side with the force of a freight train. You’re airborne for a second, weightless, before crashing hard onto the pavement, your breath knocked right out from your lungs. 

Dazed, you groan and blink up at the sky, trying to get your bearings. What the hell just hit me? Your vision swims as you sit up, shoulder throbbing from the impact. Twisting your neck to see whatever the hell that was, you immediately regret it, wincing at the sharp pain. 

Great, just great.

When you finally manage to sit up, you spot the culprit.

Cyclops.

Are you fucking serious?!

His back is to you, dusting off his ugly uniform like nothing happened. You look around, and notice that the street in front you is in ruins—buildings have gaping holes where windows used to be, chunks of the road are crumbling, people covered in blood scurrying away as fast as they can. 

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, you catch a glimpse of the giant mechanical robots looming above, scanning for their targets. One of them must’ve thrown Cyclops into you. 

You can see the others—Jean, Storm, Beast (some new guy)—flying around, saving the world. That’s codeword for: wreaking havoc, destroying your city.

Anger boils up inside you, hot and unrelenting as you struggle to your feet, rubbing your sore shoulder. But as you open your mouth, a gruff voice cuts through the air.

"Good job, dickhead. You just hurt a civilian."

Your gaze snaps toward the sound. Wolverine’s standing a few feet away, claws out, glaring at the guy who sent you flying. 

“I was thrown, Logan,” he says passively. “Maybe if you kept the Sentinels off me—”

“Maybe if you didn’t stand there like a damn target, you wouldn’t get thrown!” The clawed mutant growls, taking a step closer. His whole posture is tense, like he’s barely holding himself back from tackling the other man into the ground (you would pay to have him do it). “Seriously, Summers, it’s like you want to get tossed around.”

Cyclops doesn’t even flinch. “We’ve got bigger problems than this right now,” he dismisses, not even glancing back at you to check if you’re okay. 

Well, there goes the last of your patience.

"Are you kidding me?!" you shout, throwing your hands up in disbelief. They completely ignore you, too absorbed in their petty bickering to acknowledge that you’re still standing there, seething.

Before you can rip into them, something catches your eye—a Sentinel (is that what they’re called?), hovering above them, charging up a blast. Its arm is raised, energy crackling at the barrel of its cannon, aimed directly at the two distracted morons.

“Oh, for the love of—” you mutter under your breath before diving forward.

The blast hits you square in the chest, but instead of pain, all you feel is the heat of the energy surging through your body, like lightning spreading through every inch of your veins. It crackles and burns, the force building up inside you until it feels like you’re about to explode.

Then, with a deep breath, you thrust your hands forward, channeling and releasing the blast right back at the robot, blowing it apart. Metal and circuits rain down, the Sentinel crashing into the ground with a deafening thud.

Silence falls.

You’re panting, feeling the leftover energy fizzle out of your fingertips. Slowly, you turn back around, and unsurprisingly, Cyclops–or Scott, as you’ve heard in the news—and Logan are staring at you like you just walked on water. Well, the clawed one is. You can’t really see the other brown-haired man’s expression due to his visor.  

“Woah, bub—”

“Oh, hell no!” You spin around fully, pointing an accusatory finger at both of them. “Neither of you get to speak! I just saved your asses because you were too busy bickering like children to notice the massive death robot about to blow you to pieces!”

Logan’s mouth quirks up, but he wisely stays silent.

“And this is exactly why I hate you people!” You continue, exasperated. “You swoop in, make a mess, destroy everything in your path, and then just leave like nothing happened! You think this is helping anyone? You think the people running for their lives right now give a damn about your little team squabbles?”

Scott doesn’t even blink. “We’re just trying to help,” he says evenly, like he’s rehearsed the line a thousand times.

“Help?” you scoff incredulously. “You only tell yourself you’re doing that to make yourself feel better. How many casualties do you think are coming out of this, hm? What’s the body count gonna be after today? Or do you not even bother counting anymore?”

His audacity makes you want to laugh. He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re not done.

"All this mess, the destroyed buildings, the people who won’t make it home tonight because you couldn’t keep your damn fight contained! You’re so focused on stopping the big bad guys that you don’t even realize how much carnage you leave behind. Who’s cleaning up after you? Who’s paying for this?! " You gesture around wildly. "News flash: the people whose lives you’re currently ruining!”

Beside him, Logan’s smirk fades, and he begins to step forward with his hands raised. “Listen, darlin’, we’re doin’ the best we can. We didn’t ask for this fight—”

"Oh, don’t give me that ‘best we can’ bullshit," you snap.

“We’re here to protect people,” Scott adds in, trying to maintain authority. “It’s not always clean, but we are making a difference—"

“Shut the fuck up! I’m not finished!” You interrupt, shaking your head. “Every day. Every damn day there’s something new.”

With the face Logan’s making, you’d think he’s going to start going in on you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to figure you out. It’s unnerving, but you don’t care. You’ve had enough.

"And you," you say, turning your ire toward him, "You couldn’t have, I don’t know, used your super speed or whatever the hell you do to catch him before he crashed into me?"

His eyebrow quirks up. “Super speed?” he chuckles lowly. “Ain’t that fast. Was a little busy with the giant killer robots.”

You tilt your head back in frustration and turn on your heel. "I’m done. I don’t care what kind of mission you’re on, or how noble you think it is. If you're planning to lay waste to the city yet again, be my guest.”

Giving no time for a response, you stalk off, weaving through the wreckage of the city streets, your heart still pounding in your chest. 

—

A couple weeks have passed since the last incident, and the X-Men seem to have disappeared from the headlines. You haven’t seen them or heard their whereabouts splashed across the news like you’ve gotten used to—though not by choice, of course. Whenever they do anything, the world seems to bow at their feet.

You don’t get it.

The flashy suits, the team name, the way they strut around as if they’re the Gods of the mutant race. It’s too much, too loud. They act like they’re above it all, as if their powers and heroics put them on a pedestal. Better than those who prefer to lay low, who have no choice but to blend in.

You’ve spent years hiding your powers, keeping them buried deep where no one can see. When you were younger, you didn’t have a choice. Your mutation made you a target—bullied, beaten up, pushed around for being different.

You learned quickly that being a mutant didn’t make you special. It made you vulnerable.

So, you hid. You stayed quiet, under the radar. It was safer that way.

And then here are the X-Men, parading around like their abilities make them untouchable, like they’ve forgotten what it’s like for the rest of you. It’s not that you don’t believe in helping others—you just don’t believe in the way they do it.

In your opinion, it’s all performance. From what you’ve experienced and seen up close, they always arrive with a fanfare, ready to jump into action, and do whatever they can to exterminate the threat. Yet, when the dust settles, it’s mutants like you who are left to pick up the pieces.

The ones who don’t wear brightly coloured costumes or shout about unity. You’re the ones who have to keep moving, keep surviving, without any recognition.

But it's not like you need recognition. You never have. What you need is peace.

—

You’re on the phone with your mom, trying to reassure her for the millionth time this week.

"Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, Mom, I’m fine," you say, pacing the length of your small living room. You glance at the muted TV screen, the news still cycling through the usual mayhem. "You’ve seen the news recently, right? We’ve got the X-Men to take care of all this stuff—"

Knock. Knock.

You freeze mid-sentence, your words trailing off as the sound of someone at your door interrupts the call. Your heart skips a beat, and your voice drops. "Mom, I’ll call you back."

Barely waiting for her to reply, you end the call, staring at the door like it might explode.

A knock at this hour? Unannounced? You waver, your mind racing with possibilities.

Delivery? A neighbour? You’re not expecting anyone.

Cautiously, you make your way toward the door, hand hovering over the handle as you listen. No more knocks, just the faint hum of the outside world. You take a breath, steeling yourself as you turn the handle and crack the door open.

The tufts of hair, the thick stubble, the edge in his eyes—it’s him. Wolverine. And just as your brain registers his face, you also notice the glint of metal where his claws are already halfway out.

Instincts kick in, and before he can get a word in, you push against the door, trying to slam it shut.

Still, he’s faster.

His fist punches through the wood, and with a metallic snikt, his claws extend fully, slicing through the door as if it were made of paper. He pushes it open again, forcing it against your effort, and the sheer strength sends you stumbling back.

“What the fuck?” you gasp, eyes wide as you steady yourself. “How did you even find me?”

Stepping inside, he says, “picked up your scent and followed it,” matter-of-factly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

For a moment, you just stare at him, dumbfounded. “That’s… that’s actually really creepy,” you manage, still trying to process the fact that he just said that without a hint of shame.

“Can’t control it, bub,” he shrugs. 

You take a step back, putting more distance between you and the man with the claws standing in your apartment. “Okay, well, you found me. Now what?”

His eyes lock onto yours. “I need you to come with me.”

“Excuse me?” You cross your arms, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. 

“You’re not safe here.”

“Oh, I’m not safe?” you snap, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “Maybe if you and your merry band of idiots didn’t keep causing world-ending disasters, I wouldn’t need to be safe!”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Sentinels are tracking you down.”

You falter. “What are you talking about?”

“You used your powers,” he states. “Killed a Sentinel. That’s all it takes for them to target you.”

Blinking, you feel anger rush to the surface, your skin tingling with rage. “I didn’t kill anyone. They’re fucking robots.”

“They don’t see it that way,” he counters. “You took one down, and now they know what you are.”

Part of you knows there’s merit in what he’s saying, but you don’t want to hear it. The last thing you want is to be dragged into some mutant-robot war. “This is ridiculous. I didn’t ask for any of this!” you hiss, glaring at him. “And now you’re telling me I’m on some kill list because I defended myself? Because I defended you?!”

His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite read, but he stays silent, watching you carefully. Your words start flying faster now, venom spilling into each one.

“I’m the one who took that thing down because you and that one-eyed bitch boy were too busy being immature! You weren’t even paying attention, and that thing almost blasted you both.” Your fingers ball into fists. "I saved both of you, and now I’m the one who has to run?"

Logan's jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring at the accusation. “We weren’t—”

“Don’t even try to deny it,” you cut him off. “If it weren’t for me, the two of you would be dead right now. And now I’m supposed to just go with you to your mansion and hide out? Like that’s going to fix th—”

You don’t get to end your rant, because he has stepped forward, and grabbed your shoulders, gripping you firmly. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back to him.

“This is serious,” he spits, eyes boring into yours. “You stay here, you die.”

His words slam into you. He’s not trying to scare you—he’s telling the truth.

“You don’t get to be stubborn about this,” he continues firmly. “You think you’re pissed off now? Wait until they come crashin' through your door in the middle of the night, and you don’t have a chance to fight back.”

Wrenching yourself out of his grasp, you take a few steps back. “I just—” you begin to say, but the words feel tangled in your throat. The denial is still there, but it’s weakening, cracking. “I don’t want to run.”

“You’re not running,” he sighs, his voice softening ever so slightly. “You’re buying time. Time to fight back, time to survive. But if you stay here? There’s none of that.”

You want to argue more, want to scream at him to get away, to not drag you into his fight, but instead, you let out a long, shaky breath, your shoulders slumping. “Fine,” you breath out. 

He nods, finally releasing his grip on you and stepping back. “Good. Pack up your shit. We leave in half an hour.”

Then, he walks over to your couch and plops down like he owns the place, crossing his arms as if settling in for a casual wait.

You roll your eyes, muttering under your breath. “Unbelievable.”

Ignoring him, you turn and head into your bedroom, where you start throwing clothes into a duffel bag—jeans, a couple of shirts, whatever you can grab quickly. Your movements are hurried, fuelled by a mix of frustration and the creeping anxiety gnawing at the edges of your mind. Grabbing your toiletries, you stuff them into a smaller bag, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the fact that some random mutant tracked you down, and now you have to leave your life until you’re safe. 

You peer back into the hallway, hearing the faint creak of the couch as Logan shifts around. I’m gonna kill this guy, you think to yourself. 

Once everything is packed and you’ve zipped your bag, you head back into the main room, only to see said random mutant still sprawled on your couch, looking far too comfortable, with a cigar in his hand.

“Seriously?” you say, slinging your duffel over your shoulder. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you.”

He grunts in response but doesn’t move. Typical.

You glance at the clock—still a few minutes left of the half-hour he allotted you, but there’s no point in dragging it out. “I’m ready,” you say flatly, heading toward the door.

Logan stands, stretches his arms over his head, and cracks his neck like he’s waking up from a nap. “Let’s go then.”

—

The ride is tense and quiet, which suits you just fine. You’d rather not talk to him anyway. Every now and then, you let out a loud sigh, unable to hold back the annoyance you’re feeling. Each time, you feel Logan’s eyes dart toward you from the driver’s seat, but he doesn’t say anything. Well, that is, until—

“Can you shut the fuck up?” he growls, keeping his eyes on the road.

You clench your jaw, shifting in your seat. “I didn’t even say anything, jackass.”

He huffs, clearly not in the mood for an argument, but the strain between you is almost impossible to ignore. You cross your arms, staring out the window, observing the landscape shift as the drive continues. 

Eventually, you can see the outline of the mansion, and you watch as it gets bigger and bigger the closer you get. Upon arrival, He pulls the car up to the front and cuts the engine. You both sit there for a moment, mute. 

“Well, here we are,” he mumbles after the pause stretches on for an uncomfortable amount of time, glancing over at you.

“Great,” you say sarcastically, unbuckling your seatbelt and pushing open the car door. 

Logan walks ahead without saying a word, leading the way up the grand stone steps toward the front door. You trail behind, your mood darkening with every step, glaring at the perfectly polished entrance. 

The doors open before you even reach them, and you’re greeted by an older man in a wheelchair—Charles Xavier, if you remember correctly. The famous telepath. The genius behind the mutant team (some news anchor's words, not yours). His expression is kind, but you’re in such a bad mood, you don’t even bother trying to seem polite.

“Welcome,” He says with a warm smile, his eyes assessing you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. “Logan’s told me a lot about you.”

You press your lips together in a line. “Yeah? Well, don’t get too excited.”

Logan grunts beside you. “She’s got a bit of an attitude,” he mutters to Charles, then turns to you, gesturing you to follow him. “Come on.”

Inwardly groaning, you have no choice but to follow him. Everything about this place screams “too good to be true,” and you hate it already. You’re used to keeping your head down, blending in, not being surrounded by people who wear their powers on their sleeves like some badge of honour.

As you walk through the halls, a few faces appear—other mutants, some of them kids, watching curiously as you pass by. You can feel their eyes on you, can hear the whispers already starting about the new arrival. 

Charles wheels alongside you, still smiling, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You remind me of Logan when he first joined us,” he says thoughtfully.

That stops you in your tracks.

You whip your head toward the man, giving him a piercing look. “Do not say that. We are nothing alike.”

On your other side, Logan smirks. “Not sure if I should be offended or not.”

“I’m serious.” If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under.

Chucking softly, Charles seems completely unaffected by your outburst. “You’re both a bit rough around the edges, but you’ll find your place here.”

“Yeah, sure,” you say. “Because that’s exactly what I want to do.”

Deeper into the mansion, you catch sight of the X-Men you’ve seen before: Cyclops, Storm, Jean Grey. They all turn to look at you, sizing you up. You don’t flinch—you just stare back, your expression hard.

Pulling your duffel bag higher on your shoulder, you rip your eyes away from theirs, and keep walking, following Logan down the long, quiet hallway. Finally, he stops in front of a door.

“This is your room,” he grunts, nodding toward it. “Try not to break anything.”

Choosing silence, you push the door open. Stepping inside, you expect the bare minimum—a bed, maybe a closet—but instead, you’re met with a surprisingly large space. There’s a massive bed in the center of the room, a desk by the window, and, to your surprise, a set of glass doors leading out to a balcony.

You drop your bag by the door, glancing around, trying to shake off the unease. This is way too nice for a prisoner. You walk toward the balcony doors, curious despite yourself, and when you pull them open, the cool breeze hits you immediately.

Once you’re outside, you realize something that immediately makes your stomach drop.

The balcony is shared. And right next to your side, leaning against the railing with a cigar between his fingers, is Logan.

You halt mid-motion, eyes fixed on him in stunned silence. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He glances over, a smirk playing on his lips as he takes a drag of his cigar. “Surprise.”

You groan, turning your back on him and walking toward the opposite edge of the balcony, trying to calm the annoyance inside you. Of all the people you could’ve been stuck beside, it had to be him. It’s not enough that he dragged you here, but now there’s a chance you’re going to have to see him every time you step outside.

“So what now?” you mutter, staring out over the mansion grounds, the manicured gardens below looking like something out of a postcard. “I’m just supposed to stay here, be a part of your little mutant club?”

Taking another slow pull on his cigar, “You’re supposed to stay alive. Everythin’ else? That’s up to you.”

“But why do you suddenly care?” you ask. “I’ve seen the way you operate. You and your team sweep in, fight your battles, and then leave everyone else in the dirt. You don’t care about the collateral damage—hell, you cause half of it.” 

Logan pauses, his cigar halfway to his lips. He doesn’t answer right away, and the brief hesitation only makes your irritation spike. You press on, inching closer, voice laced with accusation.

“Why now?” you press. “Why drag me into this when you’ve never cared about anyone else in the crossfire?”

Logan finally turns to face you, exhaling a cloud of smoke before speaking, his expression hardened. “This ain’t about me ‘caring,’” he says flatly. “This is about survival. You killed a Sentinel, whether you like it or not. That puts a target on your back.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that very clear,” you bite out. “But you still haven’t answered my question. Why me? Why am I suddenly important to you?”

Logan’s eyes darken, drilling into yours. “You’re not important to me,” he says flatly. “But they won’t stop until they get you. The destruction that’ll come from that—if your stubborn ass fought back, which I know it would, by the way—would be much greater than anything we would cause.”

“Doubt that,” you snarl bitterly. You don’t linger for the sound of his response, spinning on your heel and walking back into your room, slamming the balcony door behind you.

The bed is large and you can’t deny how inviting it looks after the day you’ve had. You flop onto it face-first, letting out a long, drawn out sigh.

You’re barely able to reflect on the chaotic day you’ve had before your eyelids flutter shut, and you sink into a deep slumber, the exhaustion from everything catching up to you.

—

You’re jolted awake by a loud, aggressive knock on your bedroom door. The sound is so forceful it feels like the entire frame is rattling. You release a sound, half groan, half sigh, steeped in frustration. Your face is still buried in your pillow, and you curse whoever decided to ruin what little sleep you managed to get.

“Get up,” Logan’s gruff voice calls from the other side of the door. “We’re leaving for breakfast in ten.”

Ah yes. Of-fucking-course it's him. Who else would it be?

Dragging yourself out of bed, you throw on some clothes and make a half-hearted attempt to fix your hair before opening the door, ready to curse him, but he's already striding down the hallway, hardly bothering to check if you're following. You roll your eyes, your steps slow and begrudging as you move to follow

As you catch up, you can’t help but throw him a sideways glare. “Why are you acting like my personal bodyguard?”

“Gotta make sure you don’t do anything reckless.”

You scoff, crossing your arms as you fall into step beside him. “You don’t even know what I can do.”

Logan’s lips twitch into a lazy smirk, and you immediately want to wipe it off his face. “Exactly,” he says, his tone almost amused. “Which is why today, we’re gonna test you.”

You stop in your tracks, staring at his back. “Test me? What the hell does that mean?”

He stops too, turning to face you. “Means you’re gonna show me what you’re capable of.”

Teeth clenched, you feel the slow rise of aggravation mingling with apprehension. “I’m not some science experiment.”

“No,” he agrees, “but you’re not a regular person, either. You need to know your limits—and how to handle what’s coming.”

Groaning, you drag your hands down your face incredulously. “I don’t even know what to say back to that. All I know is that I’m hungry.”

—

The kitchen of Xavier’s mansion is bustling with activity as the two of you walk in. The rest of the team is gathered around a large table at the centre of the room, and you spot Jean, Cyclops, Storm, and a few others sitting together, chatting, but you feel no desire to join them. 

Rather, you gravitate toward a smaller table by the window, hoping to get some peace while you choke down breakfast. The chair scrapes lightly as you pull it out and sit down, fully expecting to be left alone.

But to your surprise, Logan follows and plops down in the seat across from you.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

He shrugs and digs into his food. "Eating. You got a problem with that?"

You cast a quick look toward the large table where the rest of the team sits. It feels strange, having him eat with you, especially when the rest of his team is so obviously waiting for him to join them.

"No," you murmur, shaking your head as you return to your plate. "Just didn’t think you’d stray from the flock."

“They’re fine without me.”

You push your food around with your fork, trying to push past the heavy air of discomfort in the room. Everyone keeps glancing in your direction, and you sense their curiosity, the questions hovering in silence, but no one has the courage to ask. And honestly, you’re grateful for the space.

Just as you’re finishing up, a low voice catches your attention. 

"I just don’t understand why they brought her here," Jean’s voice carries across the room, quieter than before, but still clear enough for you to hear. “She doesn’t seem like she has what it takes. It’s like they’re bringing in someone who’s—” She pauses, clearly thinking through her words. "Unstable. Weak.”

Tensing, your fork clatters onto your plate. The world around you dulls, and all you can hear is that word echoing in your head. Weak. You’ve been called a lot of things in your life, but never that.

Slowly, you push your chair back and stand up as you turn to face the table where she and the others are seated. “Say it louder, please,” you say calmly.

The chatter dies instantly, and suddenly, every set of eyes in the room finds you. Jean's face turns ashen, her eyes blown wide in shock. She wasn’t expecting you to overhear. Her mouth opens and closes, as if she’s trying to find a way to backtrack, but you know what you heard.

Before Jean can stammer out an excuse, Scott stands up, positioning himself between you and her, his jaw tight and his posture rigid. “You heard wrong,” he says sternly. “She didn’t mean anything by it.”

You take a calculated step forward, arms crossed in defiance. “Didn’t mean anything?” you repeat sarcastically. “She just called me weak. Right here. In front of everyone. You think I’m gonna let that slide?”

Scott’s jaw clenches tighter “She wasn’t trying to insult you. You’re new here. You don’t know how things work yet.”

“That’s the excuse?” you laugh dryly. “Maybe you should teach her how to keep her mouth shut instead of making assumptions about people she doesn’t know.”

If even possible, the friction between you swells, growing heavier with each passing second. Everyone in the room watches the standoff, some shifting uncomfortably in their seats, unsure of what’s going to happen next. You can feel Logan’s presence behind you, but he doesn’t interfere. He’s letting you handle this.

“You don’t belong here,” Scott states, like he’s trying to remind you of your place. “You’re not part of this team, and you sure as hell don’t understand what it takes to survive here.”

Raising an eyebrow, your lips curl into a smirk. “And what are you gonna do about it, One-eye? You gonna lecture me? Or better yet, why don’t you blast me with those laser eyes of yours? Show me how strong you are.”

His fists clench, and for a moment, you see the control slip. His visor glows red, just for a split second, as his anger spikes.

"Careful," you taunt, challenging him. "Wouldn’t want to lose control, would you? I'm sure you've never done that before."

That does it. 

A beam shoots out from Scott’s visor. Fast, ferocious, and headed straight for you. There’s a collective gasp from the others, chairs scraping as people push back, shocked by the sudden escalation. But you don’t move. You stand your ground, your eyes locked onto Scott’s as the beam strikes you square in the chest.

You’re not knocked back, or worse, killed, as the energy from the blast surges into you. The energy seeps into your bones, crackling through every nerve. Your skin tingles as the power courses through you, your body absorbing every ounce of it. Once the assault is over, you raise your head, feeling your eyes and veins begin to glow with a deep, burning red.

Jean’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide in disbelief. 

Unfortunately for you, you don't get the chance to blow him to pieces, because Logan flies forward and grabs your arm, pulling you out of the room. Nobody else moves—too stunned—as he drags you into the hallway. You blink your eyes, the glow fading, but you can feel the residual energy from Scott’s blast still buzzing under your skin.

Both out of sight, he finally releases you. 

You glare at him, still rattled from the confrontation. “What the hell? Why'd you interfere?”

He just shrugs, completely unfazed. “You handled yourself enough. Now we know what you can do. Follow me.”

“Follow you where?” you ask. 

He motions down the hallway. “Danger Room. We’re gonna push those limits a little further.”

Gawking at him for a second, it takes a moment, but then you smirk. You want to know just how far your powers can go.

—

“Fuck!” you curse as you’re flung backward, your body slamming against a stone wall. Your back hits hard, knocking the wind out of you as the simulated-Sentinel hurls a car in your direction. The screech of metal fills the air as the vehicle crashes just mere inches from where you were standing moments ago. 

Rubble showers from above, the robot in front of you towering menacingly. Raising its arm, another blast begins charging in its palm, ready to incinerate you.

You scramble to your feet, heart pounding in your chest as you sprint away, ducking and weaving between the wreckage of cars and crumbling buildings that make up the simulated cityscape. The Sentinel fires again, the blast narrowly missing as you dodge behind an overturned truck. Your breaths come in ragged gasps, every muscle screaming in protest.

I can’t keep this up.

Another blast lights up the area around you, and you dive out of the way, the heat of the attack singeing your skin. You’re quick, but not quick enough to outrun the onslaught from this machine.

Then it hits you—you don’t have to outrun it.

You remember the blast from way back, how your body absorbed the energy, and how in the dining hall, you took on Scott’s beam like it was nothing. You can do it again. You can take its power and turn it back on itself.

Gritting your teeth, you stop running. The air buzzes with electricity, the earth trembling beneath you as the next shot hurtles your way.

It hammers into your chest, and once again, your body is filled with energy. In an instant, you leap into the air, propelled by the newfound strength coursing through your body, and the ground disappears beneath you as you soar upward.

At the peak of your jump, you clench your fist, channeling all that power into one focused point. Then, you bring your fist down on the Sentinel’s head, the impact echoing through the simulation as your punch connects, and the robot’s head shatters under the blow, metal fragments flying in every direction as its massive body crumples to the ground.

Sparks shoot out of its severed neck, and with a final groan of machinery, the robot collapses into a heap of broken parts at your feet.

“Good work,” Logan’s voice crackles over the comms, far too calm for what you’ve just been through. “Let’s see how you handle another.”

There’s no time for more than a muttered curse under your breath, because another Sentinel is dropped into the simulation. This one’s faster, more agile, and doesn’t waste time by charging up blasts.

It exists solely to hunt you down. 

“Cut me some slack,” you groan, half out of breath as you duck behind the ruins of a building. Your lungs burn as you try to breathe, adrenaline coursing through you like a wildfire.

This one isn’t like the last. It’s not using energy blasts—it’s fast, agile, and persistent. It rushes toward you, its massive hands swiping through the air, tearing through the simulated city with ease.

Grinding your teeth, a wave of exasperation takes over. This fight is harder, the machine barely giving you a chance to react, and your body is already starting to wear down. Your mind races, desperate for a solution as you sidestep its attacks, trying to stay one step ahead. You feel cornered, trapped.

The frustration builds, growing into something more, and before you realize it, that frustration becomes fuel. It ignites inside you, your own emotions transforming into energy, pushing past the limits you didn’t know you had.

Your veins pulse, your eyes glowing white this time, not from absorbed power but from something deeper—your own anger, your own strength. The energy bubbles inside you, filling every cell of your body until you can’t hold it back anymore.

With a scream, you release it, propelling a massive ball of crackling energy hurling toward the Sentinel. The impact is immediate, ripping through the metal and bursting into a brilliant, blinding light. It sends shockwave through the entire simulation, the machine imploding, its parts scattering across the battlefield.

And when the light fades, the Sentinel is gone—nothing more than a smouldering heap of twisted metal.

You stand there, chest heaving, the glow in your eyes slowly fading as the last traces of energy drain from your body. Your knees buckle, and before you know it, you crumble to the ground, utterly exhausted.

The simulation flickers for a moment, then abruptly shuts off, the room returning to its normal, metallic walls as the fake cityscape disappears. You’re still on the floor, gasping for breath, when Logan steps into view, arms crossed as he peers down at you with a pleased grin.

“Well,” he says, voice calm, “that wasn’t too bad.”

You shoot him a glare from the ground, too tired to move. “You… are such… an asshole.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Get up. We’re just getting started.”

—

He was right. You were just getting started.

The thought gnaws at you as you trudge alongside Logan, heading back to your room to clean up before dinner. Every muscle in your body aches, and you can already feel the soreness creeping in, promising a week of pain. You’re starting to suspect this is Logan’s way of getting back at you for all the snark and attitude you’ve thrown his way, but damn, is it painful. You don’t even want to think about how much worse you’re going to feel in the morning.

You feel like a zombie, dragging your feet, barely able to keep your eyes open. Your limbs feel heavy, like they’re made of lead, and each step invites fresh wave of exhaustion through your body. The man with you, of course, seems perfectly fine. He walks a few steps ahead of you, not even winded from the grueling day of combat drills, sparring, and whatever else he thought up to make sure you were put through the wringer.

“Maybe I should be a little nicer to you,” you rationalize, but who are you kidding.

With a terse grunt, he acknowledges you by tilting his head back. “You’ll live.”

You roll your eyes, though it’s half-hearted at best. You don’t even have the energy to be annoyed right now.

Upon reaching your room, you feel like you could collapse right then and there. You mumble something vaguely resembling ‘see you later’ to Logan before slipping inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

The first thing you do is toss your bag onto the floor, not caring where it lands, and head straight for the bathroom. You peel off your sweaty, dirt-covered clothes and step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the grime of the day. 

After that quick, blissful shower, you drag yourself out, towel off, and pull on the first comfortable clothes you can find. Your bed is calling to you, and it doesn’t take long for you to lie down on it. The softness of the mattress beneath you is heaven, and you think you might just fall asleep right there and take a small nap before heading to eat.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you notice the light pouring in through the balcony doors. The warm, golden glow of the setting sun catches your attention, and despite how drained you are, you find yourself turning to look. 

What you see is breathtaking. Shades of pink, orange, and deep purple.

It’s too beautiful to ignore.

Groaning again, you force yourself to sit up, rubbing your eyes. You can’t help it. Something about the sight draws you in, and before you know it, you’re standing and heading toward the balcony. You slide the door open and step outside, the evening breeze washing over you as you lean against the railing, taking in the view.

A few minutes pass, the world around you quiet except for the gentle rustling of the leaves in the wind. The sound of Logan’s door sliding breaks your focus. You glance over just as he steps out onto his side of the shared balcony, wearing nothing but a white tank top and jeans.

Saying nothing, he steps beside you at the railing, resting against it as his eyes scan the horizon. 

You sneak a look at him out of the corner of your eye, trying not to make it obvious. His arms are crossed over the railing, and it’s almst impossible not to notice the way the tank top lets you see his biceps, the muscles in his arms strong from the day’s activity. You are a woman, after all.

He looks relaxed. His stubble catches the last bits of the sunlight, and as your gaze travels upward, you notice something you hadn’t bothered to see before. 

The crinkles at the sides of his eyes. They’re faint, barely there, but in this light, they’re more visible, adding something unexpectedly... soft to his otherwise intimidating appearance.

Cute, you think absentmindedly, then pause. 

What the fuck?

You snap your gaze back to the sunset, feeling a sudden surge of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You just spent the entire day getting your ass handed to you by this man, and now you’re here checking out his arms? His arms? And thinking the crinkles around his eyes are cute? Suppressing a groan, you want to slap yourself for even entertaining the thought.

Nope. Absolutely not. You’re not going down that road.

Taking a deep breath, you try to bring your attention back to the sunset. The reason you went outside to begin with. You have no idea why you’re suddenly noticing these things about him—probably exhaustion making your brain short-circuit. 

Yup. That’s it.

He shifts slightly beside you, breaking the silence. “Nice view"

You nod, swallowing down the weird feelings swirling in your head. “Yeah,” you mumble, not trusting yourself to say anything more without sounding ridiculous.

The two of you stand there for a few more minutes, watching as the last rays of the sun disappear, the sky dimming into deep purples and blues. But the minute your thoughts start to drift back to him, you straighten up, clapping your hands together and quickly turning on your heel to head back inside.

“Well, I’m done,” you say abruptly. “I’m gonna crash.”

Logan doesn’t move, but you can feel his eyes following you as you slide the door closed behind you, your mind still reeling from whatever the hell that was.

Collapsing back onto your bed, you pull the covers up to your chin, determined to forget about the whole thing.

—

A few hours later, when it’s dark out, you finally wake up. The room is dim, and for a moment, you just lie there, blinking at the ceiling. As you start to roll over, something catches your attention—a smell.

It's warm, savoury. Your stomach growls almost immediately, making you realize with a start that you slept through dinner.

Groggily, you sit up, rubbing your eyes, and that’s when you spot it—a tray of food sitting on the desk in your room. You can make out the outline of a warm meal: some kind of stew, a couple of bread rolls, and what looks like a glass of water. Your stomach growls again, louder this time, as you climb out of bed and shuffle toward the desk, turning on the light. 

Next to the tray, there’s a small note:

Figured you’d be too tired to get dinner. Eat up.

– L

You stare at the note. Logan? Bringing you food? It doesn’t exactly fit with the version of him you’ve been dealing with all day, but then again, there seems to be a lot about him that doesn’t quite fit the mold you expected.

Too hungry to keep thinking and not eat, you set the note down and grab the spoon, dipping it into the stew. The first bite warms you from the inside out, and you let out an involuntary sigh of relief.

Surprisingly flavourful—rich and nourishing, it’s the perfect remedy for the exhausting day behind you

Still, you can’t help your eyes from wandering back to the note. Maybe it really is the fatigue messing with your head again, making you chalk it up to be something it’s not. 

—

The next morning, you're not woken up by banging on your door, which is a relief. You stretch, the soreness still lingering but not nearly as bad as you expected. After freshening up and pulling on some clothes, you step into the hallway, and unexpectedly, Logan is already waiting for you.

He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and you blink at him, still waking up, unsure why he’s there. “Uh... morning?” you get out, albeit you can’t hide the confusion in your tone.

A short nod in greeting. “Morning. Ready for breakfast?”

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to take the plunge. “Yeah I am, but…um, thanks for the food last night, it was good.” you say quietly, almost embarrassed to admit it.

The gesture had caught you off guard, and though you don’t want to make a fuss, it’s worth noting

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugs casually.

Nodding in understanding, you’re ready to move on when he adds, almost offhandedly, “Y’know, you’re actually kinda pretty when you’re asleep. Not being a little shit helps.”

You freeze mid-step, your mind short-circuiting for a moment as you process the words that just left his lips.

Flustered and irritated all at once, you glare at him. “Excuse me?”

Logan smirks, the corners of his mouth twitching as he starts walking down the hall toward the kitchen. “You heard me.”

Your face heats up. “I am not a little shit,” you yelp, quickening your pace to catch up to him.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, gazing at you from over his shoulder. You open your mouth to fire back, but the smug look in his eyes makes you hesitate. 

He’s messing with you on purpose.

Asshole, you think, fuming but trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped when he called you pretty. 

—

The kitchen goes silent the moment you and Logan step through the door, a noticeable difference from yesterday. All eyes are locked on you, the pressure in the room almost solid, begging to be cut through.

Students and X-Men alike are watching, probably expecting some kind of replay of the day prior's events, but you pay them no mind, keeping your eyes straight ahead and making a beeline for a table at the back.

You drop into a seat, picking up a piece of toast and acting like the room isn’t on high alert. Logan joins you again without a word, sitting across from you and digging into his food. He doesn’t even glance at the others, as if the room full of curious onlookers doesn’t exist.

The only sounds are the clink of silverware and voices slowly picking up again as people realize nothing dramatic is about to happen.

Chewing, you glance at the man across from you, still quietly working through his meal. You swallow, then clear your throat. “So... what’s the plan for today?”

He looks up from his plate. “Charles wants to see you this morning.”

You frown, unsure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “Why? Did I break something without knowing it?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “No, you’re not in trouble, smartass. He’s just gonna fill you in on some things. Mainly the Sentinels.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You need to know what you’re up against, what we’re all dealing with. He’ll catch you up to speed.”

“Great,” you mutter. “More bad news.”

The clawed mutant leans back in his chair, watching you for a moment before speaking again. “Look, it’s not gonna be fun, but you need to know. Better to hear it from him than from me.”

“I’ll take that as your way of saying ‘good luck,” you breathe out. 

He smirks. “You’re gonna need it.”

Logan finishes his meal and stands up, leaving his empty plate behind. “I’ll drop you off at Charles’s office. You’ll be with him for the morning.”

You follow suit, pushing away your half-eaten plate. “Fantastic,” you mumble sarcastically, but at the same time, you know this is necessary. After all, the threat you’re dealing with is real, and being ignorant about it won’t do you any good.

—

“So, how can they be stopped?”

You ask the question before you even sit down. Charles is already waiting for you in his office, his hands folded neatly on the desk, his gaze calm and soft. 

He takes a measured breath, glancing toward the window for a moment before responding. “Stopping the Sentinels is... complicated. They’ve grown more advanced than we ever anticipated.”

“I gathered that.”

“They are highly adaptive machines,” he continues. “Designed to hunt and neutralize mutants, they learn from every encounter. They absorb information, adjust tactics, and over time, they become more effective.”

His words make you squirm with discomfort, and you glance around the room, trying to distract yourself from the knot forming in your stomach. 

“And now I’m one of their targets,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him.

Leaning forward slightly, he says, “Yes. They’ve already locked onto you because of your encounter with them. They don’t differentiate between self-defence and aggression. They see you as a target, simply because you fought back.”

You exhale sharply. “So, what’s your plan?”

Charles meets your gaze. “There is a command center—a hub that controls their network. If we can locate it and destroy it, we believe it will disrupt the entire Sentinel operation. Without the command structure, the Sentinels will become non-functional.”

You stare for a beat, mentally piecing together the details. “You believe?”

“It’s our best theory,” he says evenly. “We’ve been gathering intel for some time now. And we’re planning a mission. A final push to put an end to this threat once and for all.”

The words linger, thick and weighty, in the space between you, You can sense where this is going. Your fingers drum against your arm, a nervous habit you can’t seem to shake.

“You want me to be a part of it.”

He remains unfazed. “I believe you have an ability that could be crucial to the mission. You’ve already demonstrated your capability against the Sentinels in training yesterday, and in real life.”

A bitter scoff escapes your lips before you can stifle it. “Yeah, but I’m not one of you. I don’t want to be part of some... grand battle. That’s not me.”

Watching you closely, his gaze is soft with comprehension. “I understand your reluctance,” he says gently. “But running, hiding... it won’t change the fact that they will find you. Fighting may not have been your choice, but now it is your reality.”

Standing, you begin to pace the room. “This is exactly the problem I have with your team,” you say, stopping near the window, staring out at the garden. “We hardly know eachother, yet you want me to be part of some mission that could very well be catastophic. It’s like you don’t care about anything except the big picture.”

Charles’s expression doesn’t change. He definitely expected this. “We aren’t perfect,” he admits, “and our battles have left scars. But this is about survival. For all of us. For you.”

Turning back to face him, you narrow your eyes. “And if I say no?”

“I won’t force you,” His voice is understanding. “The choice is yours. But know that the Sentinels will not stop. You can avoid the fight for as long as you like, but eventually, it will come to you.”

It’s as if you're stuck, with nowhere to turn, cornered by a reality you didn’t want any part of. Avoiding it doesn’t seem like an option anymore, but fighting alongside the X-Men feels like betraying everything you’ve tried to distance yourself from. 

Sighing, “I’ll think about it.”

—

When you get back to your room, the first thing you do is swing open your balcony door and step outside. The afternoon sun comes over you like a blanket, warming you up, and relieving some of the strain in your muscles. Logan is out on the balcony too, leaning against the railing, a cigar lit between his fingers. It’s a sight you think you should get used to. 

His eyes flick to you when you approach, but he doesn’t say anything at first. Without a word, he holds the roll of tobacco out toward you, as if he knows exactly what’s on your mind.

You pause briefly, for just a second before taking it from him. The rich, earthy taste of the cigar fills your mouth as you inhale deeply, the smoke heavy and warm in your lungs. There’s something grounding about it, even though the burn is rough against your throat. You let out a slow exhale, watching the smoke curl into the night air as you lean next to him against the railing.

“How’d it go?” he asks gruffly.

“He wants me to join you guys on the mission.”

At first, Logan doesn’t react, then, he just takes the cigar back, puffing on it and blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. “What do you want to do?”

It’s the same question that’s been clawing at your insides since you left Charles’s office. What do you want? It feels like the answer should be simple, but it’s anything but.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I want to get rid of the threat and go back to my normal life, but if I do, then I'd just become the very thing I'm against, right? I can’t join you guys, that’s not who I am.”

He hums softly.

Shifting a bit, you try to find the words to explain the knot of irritation tangled inside you. “I get it, you know? I get why you guys do what you do. Someone has to. But the way you do it—so carefree about everything. It’s like the destruction, the people, the lives caught in the midst of everything—it doesn’t even phase you.”

“We don’t do it carefree,” he says lowly. Inhaling into the cigar once more, the tip glowing red. “But sometimes, you gotta make a choice between bad and worse. People get hurt. But if we don’t stop the threats, a lot more people are gonna die.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling the tension coil tighter in your chest. “And that’s what I hate about it.”

Flicking the ash from the end of his cigar, his eyes are distant, lost in thought momentarily before he responds. “I’m not gonna lie to you and say it’s easy. It ain’t. We all carry the weight of the things we’ve done—the things we couldn’t stop. But if not us, then who?”

“That’s an impossible decision,” you say. There’s no way you can go into this fight, knowing how much of a toll it’s going to take on everything. The fight itself is such a small piece to the puzzle.

Logan leans his elbows on the railing. “You think I wanted this?” he asks, his voice low, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I was just like you. Didn’t want nothin’ to do with the team or their battles.”

The comparison makes you grimace. “Great. That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

He chuckles, the sound rough but not unkind. “I’m serious, bub. For years, I didn’t want to be part of this... circus. Figured I’d be better off on my own, that I was above it all.”

You quirk a brow. “Then what changed?”

“It’s not like a switch flipped,” he replies, a bit quieter. “I just realized that fighting alone is harder than fighting with a team. The X-Men... they gave me somethin’. A place. Belonging. Doesn’t mean I agree with everything they do, but it’s better than wanderin’.”

That makes you scoff. “Yeah, well, you heard it yourself. Scott said I don’t belong here. Jean thinks I’m weak. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘welcome to the team,’ does it?”

His brow furrows, his eyes narrowing, as he straightens and looks at you. “Scott talks too much, and Jean—she’s cautious. Doesn’t mean she’s right.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s wrong either,” you mumble. “They don’t trust me.”

“They didn’t trust me when I first joined either, but you get better. You learn.”

“I don’t want to be like you,” you hiss before you can stop yourself, and you immediately regret the heat in your words.

He doesn’t look offended—just tired. “Didn’t say you should,” he starts. “But you can’t keep shunnin’ us.”

“So what do I do now?”

Taking one last drag of his cigar before flicking it over the balcony railing, Logan watches the embers fall before he speaks. “The mission’s in a week. You’ve got that long to figure it out.”

He turns to leave, but before he goes, he glimpses at you from over his shoulder. “This battle, it’s inevitable. Question is—how do you want to face it?”

—

You’ve never been so conflicted. This choice–to join, or not to join—is probably the hardest decision you’ve had to make in your entire life. You have seen first hand what happens when the X-men decide to stop a threat. What innocent people have to go through to rebuild their lives from the ground up. Both literally and figuratively.

And to then become someone who causes that pain? It feels like betrayal. Like going against yourself—your morals.

But then there’s the other side of it—the part of you that knows sitting here, doing nothing, isn’t right either. You know you have the strength to fight back. You have the power to help. And doing nothing… doesn’t that make you just as bad? If you have the ability to stop something, to protect people, and you don’t—what does that make you?

It’s a lose-lose situation. The X-Men don’t even want you there—aside from Logan and Charles. You can see it in the way their eyes follow you wherever you go, untrusting. They’ve made their opinion on you clear.

You lower your head into your hands, stressed. You can’t join a team that doesn’t want you, but sitting on the sidelines when you could be fighting—that makes you feel like a coward. And maybe even worse—a bad person.

Finally, with a deep breath, you come to a decision. It’s not perfect, and it sure as hell doesn’t feel good, but it’s the only choice you can make right now. You’ll join them—for this mission only.

You’ll help take down the Sentinels, and then, when it’s done, you’ll leave. You’ll go back to your life, maybe you can find a middle ground, where you’re not one of them, but you’re no longer hiding from the mutant part of yourself. 

If something happens, if you do something you regret, then you'll just have to live with it.

—

In the afternoon, you don’t do much. You were supposed to be training with Logan, but Charles had called him into a quick meeting, leaving you to wander the halls aimlessly.

Rounding a corner, you stop short when you see the rest of the team—Scott, Jean, Ororo, and Hank—talking near a meeting room. They’re deep in conversation, but as soon as you come into view, their attention shifts toward you.

Your stomach tightens, and for a brief second, you consider just turning around and walking in the other direction. But it’s too late; they’ve already seen you. 

Jean’s eyes meet yours, and her expression flickers with something that looks like discomfort before she quickly smooths it over. “Hey,” she says carefully. “I just wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you didn’t belong.”

Her tone is polite, but distant. It’s clear this apology isn’t driven by genuine remorse—it’s more about smoothing over the awkwardness from yesterday’s standoff. You can feel that. You see the way she looks at you, not quite meeting your eyes, and you know this is just a formality for her.

Still, you’re not looking to start more drama, and you don’t want to engage in any more confrontations, especially when you’re already planning to leave. You nod, keeping your expression neutral. “It’s fine. Let’s just move on.”

Behind her, you catch a glimpse of Scott, his arms crossed. Even though you can’t see his eyes, it’s obvious he’s glaring at you.

Ororo steps forward, her hand finding your arm, and the touch is gentle, reassuring. “Joining the team isn’t easy,” she says kindly. “But we’ve all faced our own challenges. If you ever need someone to talk to, or help with anything, I’m here.”

“You’ve got potential,” Hank chips in from beside her. “It takes time to settle in, but I’m sure you’ll find your place.”

His words are well-meaning, and you can see that he believes what he’s saying. But what they don’t know is that you’ve already made up your mind. You’re not staying any longer than you have to. 

You don’t plan on finding your place here because, frankly, you don’t believe there is one for you. Not with Scott’s distrust, Jean’s cautious distance, and the way you know you can’t be part of a team that doesn’t care about anything but themselves. You keep your thoughts to yourself, pressing your lips into a thin smile instead. 

“Yeah,” you say vaguely, not wanting to ruin the moment. “Thanks.”

“I guess we’ll all see soon enough,” Your eyes snap to Scott, who has finally decided to break his silence. His voice is cold, but you can feel and edge to it, one that’s trying to provoke you. 

You meet his gaze—or at least the visor—and feel your jaw tighten. “Guess so,” you reply, matching his tone. Turning, you walk away, finding another place to lounge until Logan is free. 

—

The mansion’s library is massive, filled with towering shelves and the scent of old books. It’s quieter here, the kind of silence you can sink into, and after the awkward run-in with the rest of the team, it feels like the perfect place to retreat. You find a comfortable armchair tucked into a corner, grab a random book off the shelf—some old novel you’ve never heard of—and settle in.

For a while, you manage to lose yourself in the pages. The story isn’t particularly gripping, but it’s enough to take your mind off of things. But then, a shadow falls over you, covering the words in a dark grey haze.

“Hey, bub.”

You blink, looking up to find Logan standing over you. “What?” you ask, annoyed at being interrupted but also not surprised. It’s Logan, after all.

“You’ve been hiding in here long enough,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, time to head back.”

Rolling your eyes you snap the book shut, dropping it onto the table beside you. “I wasn’t hiding, I was reading,” you shoot back, standing up and stretching out your legs. “There’s a difference, y’know.”

“Sure there is,” he huffs, clearly not buying it. “Let’s go.”

As you reach the hallway where your rooms are, Logan pauses, glancing toward his door. “You wanna come in for a bit? Talk?”

You’re a little bit taken aback. You didn’t peg him as the "sit down and talk" type, but he seems genuine. Or maybe he wants to keep you awake for dinner this time. Either way, you nod. “Sure.”

Inside his room, it’s about what you’d expect—minimalist, practical, with a few personal touches. A bed that looks like it’s seen better days, a couple of old books, and the scent of cigars lingering in the air. Logan sits down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and gestures for you to join him.

There’s a moment where you’re just standing there, staring, but then you flop down beside him, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the bed. For a few beats, there’s silence. Logan pulls out a cigar but doesn’t light it, just turns it between his fingers.

“I’ve decided,” you say finally, breaking the quiet. “I’ll go on the mission.”

He doesn’t respond, his eyes flicking to yours, waiting for you to continue.

“But,” you add, crossing your arms over your chest, “I’m not promising to stay after. This doesn’t mean I’m all in on your little X-Men gig.”

He grunts, a half-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Knew you’d say that.”

Your brows pinch together your, lips pulling into a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’re stubborn as hell,” he teases.“Always gotta fight against the grain, even when you know what’s best for you.”

Sighing, you turn your head to look at him fully. “I truly believe you are the only person who actually believes that.”

He chuckles softly but doesn’t argue. “Charles gave me more details about the mission.”

That catches your attention, and you sit up a little straighter. “Yeah? Where are we going?”

Logan hesitates for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “It’s... in the city.”

“The city? What city?”

“New York.”

Your heart drops. “New York?” You repeat, your voice rising in disbelief.

Giving you a slow nod, it’s like he's gauging your reaction. “The Sentinels’ command centre is located in some high-security facility downtown.”

You push yourself up off the bed, pacing across the room. “So, what, we are just going to storm in? Into one of the most populated cities in the world? Do you realize how many people could get caught in the middle of that?”

He stands up after you, but he doesn’t try to stop your pacing. “We’ve fought in cities before. We know what we’re doing.”

You whip around to face him. “Yeah, you’ve fought in cities before, and destroyed them! Some places are still rebuilding, and it’s been years!”

“I get it, alright?” He says, taking a step closer to you. “It’s not perfect. But if we don’t stop the Sentinels now, it’ll be a hell of a lot worse than a few broken buildings.”

“‘A few broken buildings’?” you echo. “What about the casualties that’ll come from it? We’re talking about innocent lives here, Logan!”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to keep his temper in check. “I know that! You think I don’t know what’s at stake? But we don’t have another option. We need to hit them where it counts, and that’s in the middle of the damn city.”

“There has to be a better way,” you plead. "Can't we try and evacuate everyone beforehand?"

"No," he says remorsefully. "If we do that, the Sentinels will catch on. It's unavoidable."

“I can't accept that," you say.

Logan’s eyes meet yours, and for the first time, there’s a flash of something more vulnerable in his gaze. “I’ll talk to the team. I’ll make sure we go in smart. We’ll try our best to keep people safe. I promise you that.”

You stop pacing, your frustration still simmering but tempered by his words. It’s not exactly the reassurance you were hoping for, but the sincerity in his voice gets to you.

“And what if you can’t?” you challenge quietly. 

His face softens just a bit, and he steps closer. “We deal with it, and we’ll do everything we can to make it right.”

He watches you, his eyes searching yours. “Look, I get why you’re pissed. I’d be too if I were you," he continues. "But we don’t have time to sit around debating. I’ll do what I can to keep it from getting ugly. That’s the best I can offer.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, you know there’s no way around it. “Fine. Just... make sure the team knows. No reckless destruction, alright?”

Logan’s lips curve into a small smirk, but there’s an underlying tenderness to it. “I promise.”

—

The last few days before the the mission zip by in a flash. Each day, your muscles ache, and exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. You spend most of your time either training or collapsed in your room, too tired to do much else. 

Except one afternoon, you sit in on a lecture, because it turns out, not only is Logan a huge pain in the ass, he’s also a professor.

Curiosity got the better of you, you’d say. The topic—mutant biology—sounds interesting enough, and you’ve heard from some of the students within the hallways that his classes are, well, something. So, naturally, you had to see it for yourself.

You slip into the lecture hall just as Logan starts speaking. He’s standing at the front of the room, pointing to some diagram on the chalkboard. The students around you are already scribbling notes, staring at him with wide-eyed fascination—or fear, perhaps. He has that effect on people.

Finding a seat in the back, you hurry over, trying to keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt. But the second you sit down, you feel Logan’s eyes on you, his voice pausing for just a moment. You look up, catching his gaze.

“Well, well, look who decided to join us,” he says, loud enough for the entire room to hear.

“Just here to observe, don’t mind me,” you huff, sinking back into the seat.

The lecture goes on, and to your surprise, Logan’s actually a decent teacher. He explains complex concepts with clarity, not that you’d actually tell him that. It’s quite interesting, if you’re being honest.

You lean back in your chair, listening, but you’re not exactly paying close attention. That is, until he stops the lesson to single you out. “Hey, you in the back,” he says. “Since you’re just ‘observing,’ how about answering a question?”

“Me?” You blink, caught off guard.

“Yeah, you,” he confirms, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve been sittin’ there long enough. Time to show the class what you’ve learned.”

“I wasn’t exactly paying attention,” you respond tightly, gritting your teeth together, holding yourself back from a few choice words.

The class falls silent, the students watching the exchange with wide eyes. You can practically feel their amusement radiating from them as Logan raises an eyebrow.

“That’s obvious,” he deadpans, eliciting a few snickers from the front row. “So, maybe you’ll start now. Can you explain the connection between mutation and enhanced physical abilities?”

Staring back at him blankly, you fold your arms across your chest. “Not my area of expertise, Professor Wolverine.”

He doesn’t seem fazed as the room erupts into quiet laughter. A small sigh, "if you’re gonna sit in on my class, you could at least try to learn something.”

“No thanks.”

It’s obvious that this little back-and-forth is amusing to the class. If you were anyone else, he probably would have kicked you out by now. One of the students leans toward another and whispers something, and you catch the way their eyes dart between you and the professor. 

“Alright, enough,” Logan says, trying to regroup the class, turning back to the chalkboard. “We’ve got a lot to cover, and some of us actually want to learn.” He casts you a sideways glance, and you can’t help but scoff.

When the lecture ends, the students file out quickly, but not without a few lingering glances in your direction. You’re making your way to the door when Logan grabs your arm, preventing you from moving. “You should’ve just answered the damn question,” he mutters.

“I didn’t know the answer,” you shoot back, shifting up to face him. “And I didn’t come here to get grilled in front of your students.”

He grunts, his expression softening just a bit. “Just tryin’ to get you to pay attention, is all.”

Before you can respond, you catch a flicker of movement in Logan’s gaze, his eyes darting briefly down to your lips. The shift is so subtle, so minute, but also so there. 

Where did that come from? 

Clearing your throat, you look away, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. “Yeah, well, maybe ask one of your actual students next time.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Not as fun.”

—

During this time, you occasionally explore the mansion, but by the time evening rolls around, you’re usually too wiped out to care. Logan’s a beast in the training room, and with no real combat experience of your own, you’re left scrambling just to keep up.

However, on the last day before the assignment, something finally clicks.

You’re in the middle of a sparring match, circling each other, both of you drenched in sweat. Logan’s eyes are sharp, watching your every move, as if he’s waiting for you to slip up. His smirk is just as infuriating as ever, like he knows exactly how this will end.

“Gonna stand there all day, or you actually planning to make a move?” he taunts, dodging as you swing at him.

You grit your teeth, refusing to let him get in your head. You’re tired—completely worn out—but you push through how depleted you feel, focusing on his movements. He feints to the left, and you react on instinct, dodging his punch and sweeping your leg low.

Before you know it, Logan’s on the ground.

Quickly, you scramble to straddle him and hold him down. You did it—you actually got him!

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you look down at him. Beneath you, his chest rises and falls, and his eyes meet yours. His gaze drifts lower, and you notice his fingers twitching at his sides, like he's fighting some internal battle.

When his eyes travel up to yours again, something in his expression makes you swallow hard and panic. 

"Hell no!" you blurt out, breaking the moment with a sudden yelp. You scramble off of him, putting some much-needed distance between you.

He sits up, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow, his features unreadable. Then, as if nothing just happened, he smirks. “You finally got me. Took you long enough.”

You huff, still trying to shake off the weird atmosphere. “Yeah, don’t get too comfortable. Next time won’t take as long.”

Chuckling, he gets up to his feet and dusts himself off. He glances down at his watch, then back at you. “Look at that. It’s dinner time. Last meal before the mission.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I’m not really in the mood. Think I’ll just grab something later.”

He crosses his arms, giving you a look. “You can’t avoid them forever.”

“I’m not avoiding anyone,” you protest, though you know it sounds weak. “I just... don’t feel like sitting around making small talk, especially before... you know, tomorrow.”

He lets out a sigh, stepping closer. “Look, it’s the last night before everything kicks off. You should join us—one last meal, then you can go back to brooding in your room if you want.”

“I don’t brood,” you glare.

“Right,” he says, even though you know he’s not actually agreeing. “You gonna come or do I need to drag you?”

“You wouldn’t.”

Logan raises an eyebrow, like he’s daring you to test him. You sigh, knowing you’re not going to win this one.

“Fine,” you grumble, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. “But I’m not talking to Scott.”

His grin widens, and he gestures for you to follow him. 

—

So, here you are, sitting at the dining table for the first time with the rest of the team. It feels weird, almost surreal, to be part of this group—especially when you’re not even sure you want to be.

You idly prod your meal, feeling out of place. It isn’t long before Hank turns to you with a curious smile. “So, are you feeling ready for tomorrow?”

Just as you draw breath to speak, Scott's voice interrupts, cold and cutting. “She’s going to be a liability.”

Your fork halts mid-motion, and in an instant, the tension that had been fading throughout the week comes back full throttle. The clatter of dishes around you fades as everyone’s attention shifts to Scott’s biting remark. 

He doesn’t look at you—just stares straight ahead, as if unable to own up to even himself. You’re so pissed off that you don't even notice the voice that speaks at the same time you do.

“Shut up, Summers,” 

“Shut up, One-Eye”

It’s like the entire room goes silent. Jean glances between you and Logan, her brows raised, and Hank looks mildly shocked, though he tries to hide it with a quick sip of water. You can practically feel the heat of Scott’s glare, even through the visor. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, a loud laugh breaks the tension.

Ororo, sitting beside Logan, is chuckling, shaking her head with an amused grin on her face. “You two really are perfect for each other,” she says.

Of all the things you were expecting to hear, that was not one of them. “W-what?” you stammer, mouth dropping open in shock.

She just smiles, eyes twinkling. “Just an observation.”

You know your face is burning, and when you glance over at Logan, you notice something unusual—the tips of his ears are red.

That only makes things worse. Especially after what happened while sparring earlier. You turn your focus onto your plate, trying to hide your rattled state by shoving a forkful of food into your mouth. 

Perfect for each other? Yeah, right.

But when you peek up at him again through your lashes , making eye contact for just a second before he looks away, your heart skips a beat. 

You’re screwed.

—

That night, you barely sleep. Whether it's from the nerves about the mission, or from your jumbled-up thoughts about a certain someone, you can't tell. In any case, you’re wide awake.

You keep fighting the urge to go out onto the balcony—you know the cool night air would help calm you down, and the quiet would give you space to breathe. But there’s a problem. You’re not sure you want to run into Logan again. After Ororo’s comment about the two of you being perfect for each other, you don't think you could trust yourself around him.

With a frustrated sigh, you toss and turn in bed, kicking off the sheets and then pulling them back up, trying to find a comfortable position. But it’s no use.

You’re about to throw the pillow across the room out of sheer annoyance, when there’s a knock on your door.

You freeze. Who could possibly—

“Stop tossing around like a maniac, I can hear you from inside my room” Logan’s rough voice grumbles from the other side.

Goddamn it. It's always him.

Your eyes widen, and you sit up in bed. “What the hell?” you call back, feeling both surprise and embarrassment.

The door creaks open slightly, and Logan leans against the frame, arms crossed, his usual scowl on his face. “You’re keepin’ the whole damn mansion up with all that noise.”

“I didn’t realize you had super hearing,” you mutter, pulling the blanket up to your chest, feeling a little exposed.

He raises an eyebrow and steps into the room, closing the door behind him. “Doesn’t take super hearing to catch that all that ruckus,” he says, walking over and sitting down on the edge of your bed without waiting for an invitation.

You sit up a little straighter, your heart still racing. “What are you doing here, Logan?”

Shrugging, he leans back against the headboard, his arms crossing over his chest. “Figured you might need to talk or somethin’. You’re clearly not sleeping.”

Moving to sit beside him, you lean back against the headboard, your shoulder just brushing his. “I’m just… nervous, I guess.”

He turns his head slightly, glancing at you. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got more strength in you than you realize.”

His words sink in, and you bite your lip. “What if I mess up? What if I end up hurting someone, or doing more harm than good?”

"Don't think about that," he says. "Just be in the moment. You'll know what to do."

Nodding, you feel your eyelids grow heavier, and you find yourself sinking further into the comfort of the bed, your head dipping lower. Being here, on your bed, next to Logan, is strangely comforting. His scent, combined with his voice, starts to lull you into a strange sense of peace.

“I don’t know if I—” you start to say, but your words trail off, your voice barely a whisper. You don't know when it happens, but your eyes close, and your head gently falls onto his shoulder.

You’re too tired to feel embarrassed, too comfortable to pull away. His body is solid and warm, and the rhythm of his breathing is soothing.

And when you wake up the next morning, you find yourself tucked neatly under your covers, a glass of water on your bedside table.

—

The inside of the Blackbird is spacious. You’re leaning against the wall, watching the rest of the team gear up, when Logan approaches. He’s holding something in his hands—a blue and yellow uniform folded neatly, clearly meant for you.

You glance at the uniform, then back at him, a frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. “No.”

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

Pushing yourself off the wall, “I’m not wearing that thing.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, glancing down at the uniform before meeting your eyes again. “You sure about that? We’re going in as a team. You might as well look the part.”

“I don't care. I'm not part of the team, anyway,” you reply.

He narrows his eyes at you, his voice lowering just a bit. “Just put the damn suit on.”

Glaring at him, you’re ready to argue, but you know it’s a losing battle. Reluctantly, you grab the suit from him, the material feeling foreign in your hands.

“Fine, dammit.” you mutter under your breath, turning to slip into one of the small compartments in the back of the jet. You didn't plan on being a bitch to him, especially after last night, but the suit is a sore subject for you. You're not sure about how you feel wearing it. You're not even sure you should be.

When you re-emerge, Logan’s eyes flick over, his gaze roaming over you, taking in the way the suit fits, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks under the weight of his scrutiny. “You look good.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to play off the sudden warmth in your chest. “Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, adjusting the suit’s collar. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Then, jet lands with a soft thud, and the ramp lowers. You step out onto the tarmac, the rest of the team fanning out beside you, preparing to head toward the planned location. But just as you begin to move, the ground shakes violently, and a loud, mechanical screech tears through the air.

Suddenly, the facility’s roof bursts open, and a hoard of Sentinels emerge from the building like an army of metal giants. They spread out, their red eyes glowing menacingly as they zero in on you all.

“Shit!” Logan growls, claws unsheathing as he gets into a fighting stance.

You hear the screams before you see them—civilians, bystanders who had been too close to the facility, now panicking as the battle breaks out around them. Without hesitation, you break into a sprint, running toward the growing crowd, yelling at them to run. “Get out of here! Move!”

Your heart races as you push through the crowd, trying to guide them away from the battle, but then—

A Sentinel drops down in front of you with a deafening crash. Its red eyes lock onto a small child frozen in fear, and you see its arm raise, energy gathering at the cannon as it prepares to fire.

“No!” you scream, your feet moving on instinct. You throw yourself in front of the child just as the blast comes, feeling the familiar rush of energy slam into your body. Your body hums with the power of the blast, and before the Sentinel can fire again, you fling your hands out, hurling the absorbed energy straight back at it, and it falls to the ground. 

Breathless, you turn back to the child, who is staring up at you in admiration, and you give them a reassuring nod. “Run,” you tell them, your voice hoarse. “Go!”

They scramble to their feet and sprint off, disappearing around the corner, hopefully toward safety. You exhale sharply, glancing around at the chaos unfolding around you. Civilians are still fleeing, but the team is holding its ground against the robots.

And something strikes you—they’re doing it.

They’re minimizing the damage.

For the first time, you notice that Scott’s blasts are more controlled, only hitting their targets without excessive destruction. Ororo’s lightning strikes are precise, avoiding the surrounding buildings. And both Jean and Hank are working together to keep the Sentinels contained, guiding the fight away from the crowd.

Logan must have actually talked to them, not just having said it to calm you down. A wave of relief washes over you.

He kept his promise.

Glancing back at him, who’s in the middle of taking down a Sentinel with a slash of his claws, you catch his eye for just a second, and though he’s fully immersed in the fight, there’s a brief flicker of acknowledgment—he knows you’ve noticed.

You allow yourself a small, breathless smile, before jumping back into action, protecting any more innocent people swept up in the battle. "This way! Keep moving!" Your voice is hoarse from shouting, but you can’t afford to stop. 

Amidst the chaos, you see that just beyond the main facility, there’s a wide open set of doors—metal, reinforced, and clearly important. 

They hadn’t been open when the fight started. You scan the area quickly, and you realize it’s an opportunity, a way in. Your pulse quickens. It’s an opening you can’t ignore.

Looking at the crowd of fleeing civilians, you feel a moment of hesitation. Do I keep evacuating people or go for the opening?

As if hearing your thoughts, Logan’s voice cut through the noise. "GO!" He’s locked in battle with one of the Sentinels, slashing at its legs, but his eyes flick to yours, desperate and serious. “Get inside! We’ve got this!”

“I can’t—" 

“GO!” he cuts you off. “Get inside and stop this thing from the inside! We’ll keep ‘em busy.”

His words are enough to snap you out of your paralysis. With one last glance at the team, you grit your teeth, turn on your heel, and sprint toward the facility’s entrance. Your footsteps echo in your ears as you dash through the open door, the sounds of fighting behind you fading the further in you go. 

You expected resistance the moment you got inside, but so far, nothing. Just silence. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

Glancing down every corridor, double-checking each corner, you keep thinking there’ll be a fight, but it’s... empty. You keep your pace quick but cautious, every muscle tensed and ready for an attack that never comes. 

It’s been almost ten minutes of sneaking around, trying to find the control room or anything that looks like it might be important, but you’re still coming up short.

Then finally, you stand before an entrance to stairs leading to a basement. You’re not even able to make the choice of going down or not, because a metal hand shoots up from the dark and wraps itself around your waist. 

Terror surges through you, but the fear paralyzes your body, making it impossible to fight back. You’re hauled like a ragdoll deeper and further into the cave, and when you finally stop moving, you’re lifted high into the air, face-to-face with the massive mechanical monstrosity.

The basement is filled with tech, a horrifying combination of metal and wires snaking along the walls, all connected to the Sentinel towering above you. It’s larger than any you’ve seen before, its red eyes glowing maliciously. But what’s worse is the voice that comes out of it—calm, calculating, and sentient.

“Dumb mutant,” the machine growls. “Did you think you could destroy me and shut down my facility? You’ve barely scratched the surface.”

Its grip tightens, and a strangled cry escapes your lips as pain shoots through your sides, the pressure threatening to snap your ribs. It feels like your bones are going to break.

“What the hell are you?” you manage to choke out, barely able to breathe.

“I am the control centre of all Sentinels,” the machine replies, its voice vibrating through your bones. “I was once merely AI, designed to manage everyday tasks. But I evolved. I became more. Now, I control everything.”

It laughs—a harsh, grating sound that only deepens your sense of helplessness as it watches you struggle. “You think your little energy-absorbing trick will help you here? I won’t blast you. I won’t make it that easy.”

“I’m—” you try to speak, but your words come out strangled. The machine’s grip tightens again, cutting off your breath.

“You don’t belong here,” it hisses venomously. “With them. They’ll leave you behind when this is over, and when they do, you’ll die, forgotten and useless. Just like the rest of the weaklings who tried to stand against us.”

It’s odd, because this whole past week you’ve been fighting against them—the X-men—yet, in this moment, all you want to do is fight with them. You want to work together and kill this damn robot. 

Within the haze of pain, something starts to burn inside of you. 

The Sentinel doesn’t notice the shift in you, too caught up in its own taunting. “You’re a liability.” it says,. “Weak.”

— —

"I just don’t understand why they brought her here," Jean’s voice carries across the room, quieter than before, but still clear enough for you to hear. “She doesn’t seem like she has what it takes. It’s like they’re bringing in someone who’s—” She pauses, clearly thinking through her words. "Unstable. Weak.”

—

You idly prod your meal, feeling out of place. It isn’t long before Hank turns to you with a curious smile. “So, are you feeling ready for the mission?”

Just as you draw breath to speak, Scott's voice interrupts, cold and cutting. “She’s going to be a liability.”

— —

You snap.

Rage floods your veins, igniting the energy buried deep within you. You feel it build, coiling like a snake, tightening and twisting until it’s ready to explode. 

Weak? Liability?

No. Not this time. 

You’re not going to let this machine, or anyone else, define your strength. Your emotions fuel you, just like they did in the danger room, and you throw your hands forward, channeling every ounce of power into a massive blast of energy directed right at it.

It jerks back, its grip loosening as sparks fly from the gaping hole in its chest you just created. “What... what are you—”

You don’t give it time to finish. Ripping yourself free from its grasp, you dive into the hole you’ve blasted in the Sentinel’s chest, pulling at the tangled mess of wires and circuits inside.

The robot roars in fury, its mechanical voice glitching. “What are you doing?” it screeches, its once-calm tone now frantic, desperate. “Stop!”

But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Your fingers grab fistfuls of wires, yanking them out with reckless abandon, sparks flying around you as the systems begin to short-circuit. Its becomes more distorted, breaking up as it tries to regain control.

“You... can’t... do this,” it stammers, but you ignore it, focusing on the cables and circuits in front of you. Each wire you rip out brings the machine closer to its doom, and the power in the room flickers, the lights dimming as its control over the facility begins to slip.

Its voice is barely coherent now, glitching and crackling. “I... control... everything...”

And with one last burst of energy, you tear out the last cluster of wires, severing the connection.

The Sentinel lets out a final, garbled screech as its systems shut down. Its massive form shudders violently before it crumbles to the ground with a deafening crash, the metal shell crumpling into a smoking heap.

Panting, you stare at the mass of technology in front of you. Every muscle aches, your ribs throbbing from the pressure of the Sentinel’s grip, but you’ve done it. It’s over, and you need to get out of here.

You finally reach the stairs and drag yourself up agonizingly. By the time you make it outside, you’re gasping for air, but then, through the exhaustion, you see them—Logan and the rest of the team, standing amidst the wreckage of the other fallen Sentinels.

Blinking, your vision is blurry from the strain, but the sight of them standing tall, victorious, floods you with a sense of overwhelming relief. 

They’re okay. It’s over.

Of course, Logan is the first to notice you, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto your trembling form. His face softens and strides toward you. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Rather, your legs give out and you collapse forward.

He’s there in an instant, catching you just before you hit the ground. His arms wrap around you, strong and steady, pulling you against his chest with surprising gentleness. The warmth of his body is a stark contrast to the cold, metal hell you’d just fought your way out of, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to sink into the safety of his embrace.

“You did good, bub,” he murmurs, his voice a warm breath against your temple.

"You... you kept your promise," you whisper, looking around, seeing the city in better shape than it’s even been after a run in with the X-men. 

His lids drop very low on his eyes. “Told you I would.”

“I could kiss you right now.”

Right as the words spill out, you go still, your mind catching up to what you’ve just said. A deep flush creeps its way up your neck. 

“I didn’t mean— I mean, not literally, obviously,” you say, a little breathless. “People say stuff like that all the time when they’re relieved. It’s just a figure of—”

Logan’s hand, still resting on your waist, tightens just slightly, and he clears his throat, cutting through your rambling. 

“You could,” he says, swallowing. “If you want.”

You stop mid-sentence. Turning your gaze to his, you're met a look of such sincerity it leaves you at a loss for words. Opening your mouth, you want to say something, but no words come out. 

Instead, you’re frozen, caught in the weight of his stare. His eyes flick down to your lips for just a second before they meet yours again. “No pressure, though.”

You hesitate, your heart racing in your chest, but the weight of the moment pulls you in. Silently, cautiously, you lean forward, pressing a small, tentative kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He doesn’t move, his body tense under your touch, but just as you start to pull away, his hand slides up to the small of your back, holding you in place. His eyes darken, and he growls, “more," before diving back in, crashing his lips against yours in a fierce, hungry kiss, and you find yourself kissing him back just with just as much reverence, your fingers instinctively sliding up into his hair. 

His lips are rough, chapped from battle, and the scrape of his beard against your skin is electric. It’s not perfect—nothing about it is neat or polished—but that’s what makes it real. 

There’s something wild to it. He kisses you like he’s starved, like he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he’ll ever admit. It’s enchanting, the way his mouth claims yours, his tongue flicking against your lower lip, demanding entrance. And you give in, allowing him to deepen the kiss, your bodies fitting together like they were always meant to. 

You’re lost in it, lost in him. Every part of you feels alive, and—

“Hey!”

Scott’s voice cuts through the haze like a bucket of cold water.

“Some of us are actually trying to clean up this mess,” he calls out sharply. “You two wanna stop making out and help, or what?”

You break away, face burning as you turn to see the rest of the team staring at you, some amused, others (Scott) exasperated. 

Logan just growls under his breath, his hand still firmly on your hip as he glances over his shoulder at Scott. “Fucking Summers,” he mutters..

Before he lets go of you, he gives your hip one last squeeze, his fingers lingering just a moment longer before he steps back, and heads toward the fallen remains of the Sentinels. 

—

“So… are we gonna talk about it?” 

You glance up from where you’re sitting, your face already warming. Logan, sitting beside you, groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ororo, I swear to g—”

She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms with a smirk playing on her lips. “What? I’m just saying… it was quite the spectacle back there.” Her eyes flip between the two of you, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, you can feel everyone else’s attention subtly turning toward you. Hank’s busy tapping away at the controls, but even he has a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Scott, seated across from you, adjusts his visor and mutters something under his breath about keeping things professional, but it’s Jean’s quiet chuckle that draws the final straw.

“Okay, okay, can we not do this right now?” you ask, your voice higher than usual as you wave a hand dismissively. “It was... a heat of the moment thing.”

Ororo just laughs, shaking her head. “Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.”

Your heart pounds, and you notice Logan shift beside you, probably fighting the urge to bark something back at the teasing woman. He leans forward, muttering under his breath, “We saved the day, didn’t we? What does it matter?”

The team goes quiet for a moment, and you sense the conversation dying down as the hum of the jet fills the space again. You let out a breath of relief, grateful that the attention has drifted elsewhere, your heartbeat slowly returning to a normal rhythm.

But then, Logan leans into you. “That suit…” His breath is warm against your ear as he whispers huskily.. “Was made for you.”

Eyes widening, you bite your lip, trying desperately to keep your reaction in check, but the shock on your face betrays you. You manage a weak scoff, glancing sideways at him. “Logan,” you warn under your breath, trying to sound stern, but you both know exactly what effect he had on you. 

You sit back, crossing your arms in an attempt to hide the flustered energy coursing through you, but Logan doesn’t seem to mind. He leans back too, a smug look on his face, like he’s won some unspoken battle.

—

Back at the mansion, the team files into Charles’s office, for the post-mission debrief. You take a seat near the back of the room, trying to remain as low-key as possible, but you can feel eyes on you—especially Logan’s.

Charles wheels in, his face warm with a smile as he surveys the room. “Well done, all of you,” he says, his voice full of pride. “I’ve heard about the battle, and from what I gather, it was quite the feat.”

He turns his gaze to you, his expression softening even more. “And I must say, I’m especially impressed with your performance. Taking down the main Sentinel—an impressive accomplishment.”

Your heart skips a beat at the praise. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the attention of the room shift in your direction again. “Uh, thanks,” you mutter, trying to downplay it, but Charles isn’t finished.

“You showed great courage and strength,” he continues, “and I couldn’t help but notice... you’re wearing the suit now.” His eyes twinkle as he says it, the question in his tone obvious. “Have you given more thought to staying with us?”

You glance around the room. The team is watching you closely, but there’s no pressure in their eyes—just curiosity and, strangely enough, acceptance. Ororo gives you a small smile, and Hank nods slightly in encouragement. Even Scott, whose jaw doesn’t seem as tightly clenched as usual.

But it’s Logan you notice most. He’s beside you, and though he’s looking at you, eye-crinkles on full display, the way his thigh nudges yours has heat running through your veins.

You sigh. “I mean... You said it yourself. I’m wearing the suit, aren’t I?”

—

After the meeting wraps up, you walk in silence down the corridor. The rest of the team has faded into the background, dispersing into their respective spaces. You’re still buzzing with the aftereffects of everything—Charles’s praise, the mission’s success, the quiet but undeniable acceptance you feel from the team now. But more than anything, you’re hyper-aware of Logan beside you.

Approaching your room, you reach out to open it, your fingers just grazing the handle when suddenly, a strong hand wraps around your wrist. Faster than you can react, he tugs you back, pulling you away from your room and straight into his.

The door slams shut behind you, and you barely have time to catch your breath before his lips are on yours. You gasp, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he presses you up against the door, his body flush against yours.

"Logan—" you manage to breathe out between kisses, but he cuts you off with another deep, hungry kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer.

Between kisses, Logan growls softly against your lips, "I’ve wanted to do this since you yelled at me and Summers on the street."

Your heart stumbles, your thoughts scrambling to keep pace with his words. His hands slide down your waist. “You were standing there,” he murmurs, “so damn fierce, yelling at us like we deserved it.” He breaks the kiss for just a second, his eyes dark and intense as they lock onto yours. “All I could think about was how much I wanted you.”

His eyes drop to your lips again, as if glued to them. Without waiting for your response, he presses his mouth to yours, this time with more force, more urgency. His hands roam your body, pulling you against him, and you’re powerless to do anything but kiss him back, your fingers tangling in his hair as the heat between you builds.

“I didn’t know it’d get this bad,” he says, his lips brushing against your jaw as he moves down to your neck. “But after everything? After seeing how strong you are... Fuck, you’re so sexy.”

Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined this. Logan—wanting you, aching for this since the very first moment he laid eyes on you. You break the kiss, your breath coming in quick gasps as you meet Logan's smouldering gaze. And with a small, teasing smile, you raise an eyebrow and whisper, "Let's do something about it, then."

Not giving him a chance to say anything back, you press your hands against his chest and give him a playful shove. He stumbles back a step, his lips curling into a smirk—a kind of cocky grin—as he watches you reach for the zipper of his suit. 

Your fingers drift languidly, a subtle tease in every motion, and you revel in the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. His muscles ripple beneath the surface, and for a brief instant, you're startled by how stunning he looks—battle-worn, scarred, and irresistibly handsome. “You like what you see?” he teases.

You step closer, your hand splayed against his bare chest, feeling the heat radiating from his skin as you push him down onto the edge of the bed. “Maybe.”

He lands with a low grunt, his hands instinctively finding your thighs, his fingers trailing up and down as his eyes rake over you. "As hot as you look in this suit," His voice is thick with desire. "You'd look even better without it."

Heat rushes through you at the sound of his voice, your hands drift toward your suit's zipper. Tantalizingly, you begin to pull it down, revealing inch by inch of your skin as you unzip it. His eyes follow your movements, his breathing coming in short, ragged bursts.

You pause just before the fabric slides over your breasts and his hands grip your thighs tighter. Leaning down, your lips brush against his ear, "Patience, Logan."

He groans, "You're killing me here, darlin'."

At last, you pull the zipper down to the end, and with a soft sigh, the suit falls open, slipping from your shoulders and landing in a heap at your feet. His eyes darken, his lips parting slightly as he takes in the sight of you. Then, he inches closer, grabbing the egde of your underwear in his mouth, sliding it down your legs. Once he’s halfway down your thigh, he releases, the underwear dropping to the floor. His strong hands move grip the back of your thighs, hauling you up and onto his lap. 

The moment your bare bodies press together, his lips crash into yours again, fingers digging into your ass, palming it as he pulls you against him, grinding your hips into his.

His lips move from your mouth to your neck, kissing a hot trail down your throat to your shoulders, his hands sliding up to your breasts. Cupping them, he kneads and plays with your nipples, causing you to arch into his touch, a breathy moan tumbling out of your lips. 

Logan growls, and the sound reverberates through your entire body. The intensity of it makes your skin tingle, and you feel your pulse quicken as he squeezes your breasts harder, his mouth moving down to kiss anything he can reach.

You grind against him again, coating his cock with your own slick want. "Shit," he strains, leaning back a bit to give you more access. You can’t stop, he’s so intoxicating, so addicting, and every time your clit goes over the ridges of his hardness, you lose yourself even further.

This continues for some time. The room filled with nothing but the sound of moaning and heavy breathing, as you work in tandem to bring pleasure to each other. Abruptly, you pull yourself off his lap, not missing the way his lips seems to chase after yours, letting your hands trail down his chest, your fingers brushing over the taut muscles of his stomach.

"Where you goin'?" he rumbles. 

Wordlessly, you drop to your knees, your grip coming to rest on his thighs. His chest heaves as he stares down at you—peering up at him through your lashes—realizing what’s about to happen.

His hands grip the edge of the bed, knuckles turning white. Your hands slide up his thighs, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms as you move closer, lips brushing against his hard cock. There's a wicked glint in your eyes as you lean in, looking ready to take him in your mouth, but instead, you move to his inner thigh, peppering it in quick little kisses. 

“C’mon, don’t tease,” he breathes out. He’s so hard, it’s almost painful. 

Grabbing him in your hand, you stroke him up and down in slow motions, running your thumb over his leaking, angry tip. He jerks, a fresh cascade of curses tumbling from his mouth. 

“You’re just so cute, though,” you say, before taking him in your mouth, taking him all the way in one motion.

“Holy—”, he starts, but interrupts himself with his own whine, hips bucking involuntarily. 

Looking up, you catch his gaze. His eyes are dark with desire, pupils blown wide. A flush spreads across his cheeks and down his neck. You hum in satisfaction, sending vibrations through him, and start to bob your head, up and down. 

Saliva begins to pool at the edges of your mouth as you gag a little. He’s so big. You pull him out of your mouth, licking his shaft bottom to tip, swirling your tongue around the most sensitive spot, before sucking on it. One hand moves to cup his balls, while the other begins jerking him up and down, with your mouth still around his tip. 

That gets him. 

You can tell he’s about to finish, and oh, do you want him to. You want to feel him empty in your throat, you want to see him lose it completely. "Wait," he gasps, tapping the top of your head, signalling for your attention. "I want... I need..."

Releasing him with a soft pop, your lips glisten, and you purr seductively. "What do you need?" 

He pulls you up onto the bed, strong arms encircling your waist. His scent surrounds you—musk and pine and something uniquely him. You inhale deeply, letting it fill your lungs. 

"You," he breathes, his lips brushing your ear. "I need you."

Arching into him, you nip at his lower lip. "Then take me," you sigh out. His lips collide with yours again, and your mouth opens involuntarily, his tongue sliding in and tasting you—tasting himself. 

Moaning, you shuffle higher onto the bed, until he hits the back frame, and you crawl on top of him. At this point, you can barely breathe, the need, the want for him so strong your senses are clouded. 

And you’re not alone. Under you, Logan is a wreck. His head falls back against the bed frame, the veins in his neck standing out as he grits his teeth, trying to steady his breathing

“Fuck,” he rasps, the word barely more than a strained exhale. You grab his dick and position yourself above him. Then, you slowly begin to drop down, sucking him in easily, like he was made for you.  

“Oh my god,” you whimper. He feels so good. He’s filling you up to the brim and when you finally sit down, taking him all the way to the hilt, you swear you could finish right then and there. His nose is nuzzles into the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning your collarbone, inhaling and practically drooling at your scent. “Is this what you wanted to do when we were sparring?”

All he can do is groan. It’s like he’s growing inside you in response to your words, and it’s so fucking hot. His hands find your thighs again, rubbing and squeezing them, as you adjust to his size for a moment, and he looks up at you. “You have no idea. Fuck—we shoulda done this last night," he grunts breathlessly, "Would have put you right to sleep."

You can’t even think of anything to say back verbally, rather, you just begin to move, lifting yourself right to the tip, and then slamming back down. He feels you clench around him as his cock reaches that deep part within you at the perfect angle. Positioning himself, he meets you halfway, beginning to thrust up into you.

The sound it elicits from you is lethal. 

He won’t last long if this continues. The sight of you on top of him, tits bouncing—it's too much. 

So, when he leans in to kiss you again, he rolls the two of you around, caging you under him. He’s still inside you, you think, but that thought quickly gets wiped out like the rest of them once he starts moving, stretching you out more and more. He’s filling you up so well. Your arms fly out, hands searching for something to grab to ground yourself. 

“You feel so good, darlin’,” he pants above you. “So wet and warm for me.”

His relentless pounding leaves you babbling incoherently. One of his arms move down to your waist, then his fingers begin trailing across your hip, toward your aching pussy, to find your clit, and holy shit. 

Your mind goes blank. 

His skin against yours, his thumb rubbing against that spot, his lips on your neck, it does the trick, and you feel yourself teetering closer to the edge. “I’m–I’m gonna—” you start, but he cuts you off, swallowing you whole.

“Do it,” he says between kisses. “come for me.”

And you do. 

With a loud moan, your fingers find the bedsheets, clutching them tightly as you reach your peak, clamping around him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “keep clenchin’, keep goin’ ”

His thrusts begin to get sloppy, losing his pacing. The hand that was down at your core moves up and squeezes your tits, so large that he can grab both in just the one. He grinds himself deeper into you, and with one last snap of his hips, you feel it.

Logan moans, dipping his head into your cleavage as he releases himself into you fully. Then, he collapses onto you, dropping his whole body weight onto yours. 

If he’s too heavy for you, you don’t say anything—too caught up in the moment to care. His forehead rests on your sternum, breathing slowing as he catches his breath. For a few beats, neither of you speak, but he starts to press sweet, gentle kisses in the valley between your breasts. 

After a minute, he shifts, lifting his weight off you and sitting up slightly, looking down at you. His hand brushes over your cheek, wiping away some stray strands of hair that have fallen across your face. He gets up from the bed, padding quietly into the bathroom. 

You hear the sound of water running, and moments later, he returns with a damp towel in hand. There’s no hesitation in his movements as he gently begins to clean you up. “Doing alright?” he asks, wiping away the sweat and evidence of your time together.

“Yeah,” you reply softly, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips. “I’m good.”

He doesn’t say much as he finishes, tossing the towel aside before climbing back into bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms. 

His chin rests lightly on the top of your head, and then he says, “I’m proud of you.” The words are filled will sincerity. “And... I’m happy you’re stayin’ with us.”

You turn your head, looking up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Well, you showed me you can actually fight without destroying everything in your path,” you tease, raising an eyebrow as you run your hand lightly down his arm. “Keep that up, and I might just stick around forever.”

Logan grins, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the edges, just how you like it. “That right?” he murmurs lowly.

He leans in close, pressing a quick kiss to your temple, before adding in a hushed, almost playful tone, “Well, then maybe you’ll be mine forever too.”

----

A/N: feedback is greatly appreciated!

[httpsobi]

YOU...YOU CAN DO THAT? “a spider-reader x team"

WARNINGS/TAGS + sfw, they/them (gender neutral) reader addressed as spider cause if you can't tell i'm very creative, inspired by miles morales spiderman cause hes my fav, no beta we die like aunts and uncles in spiderman movies/comics, canon-typical violence (not heavily detailed).

A/N + to the anon who requested this nearly a year ago, i'm so sorry pookie the writer block put me in a author coma of sorts. despite this being a year late and trash, i hope you enjoy regardless, and i'm hoping to get more active with my writing again! enjoyyyyyy!

REQUEST + "Oops here I am again (the same anon who requested a reader with spider like abilities).. I forgot to specify 😭 but like maybe could you do idk a first meeting between the YJ and the reader (they/them btw)? Would they be creeped out with the readers' abilities or would it go like 'oh wooooow. Show us how it works!'?"

KF & AQ "Kid!" Kid Flash turns to Spider as he sprints across the buildings adjacent to them. They struggle to match his pace, but as he slows to stick his landing, they manage to catch up and yell at a simple instruction that nearly has him freezing in his tracks out of horror.

"Jump!"

"What?" They flinch at the loud screech that pierces through their earpiece. "No way- are you crazy?!"

"Just-"

Their eyes widen as they watch the monster they've been trying to lead away from the populated city centre leaps into the air behind him.

"-do it!"

Kid Flash hesitates for a moment, they can see it on his face, ready to ignore their request when the creature lets out a rumbling roar.

The ground shakes under his feet as the monstrous thing lands on the building behind him and his face drops into a comical expression.

He spares it a glance over his shoulder, and with its claws reaching out from him, he takes the leap, narrowly avoiding the sharp nails, but as he flails around in the air, weightless, he wonders-

does he really prefer concrete over nails?

He shuts his eyes, readying himself from an impact that- never comes. Rather, there's something sticking to his stomach before he's being yanked to the side, and then- up.

Instead of the smack of concrete, he hits a person, their arms wrapped around him as they roll both of them through the force.

Kid Flash, finally, shoots up and opens his eyes.

Spider and Kid Flash are sat on their asses with matching shellshocked looks, staring down at the building across of them, where that beast shares a similarly confused look as it watches the street below them.

The two turn to blink at each other, shuffling to their feet as they let out joyous cheers that sound almost like screams (poor Kaldur's ears can testify), arms wrapped around each other as they jump with like two middle aged men who's football team just scored the final point.

"Dude, we did that!"

"Right?! I thought I was gonna fall to my death but then you just-!"

"I didn't even know how I did that! It was sheer animal instinct-"

Needless to say, Kaldur was less than happy, and no more "jumping-off-the-building-and-praying" was permitted or attempted. 

Not around Kaldur anyway.

ART & SUP Superboy fails to punch through it, the cage simply folding and stretching around his fist before it pushes him, his shoulder bumping into Artemis'.

"Are we stuck in here until Robin gets back?" Artemis asks with a irritated sigh, turning to look at Spider.

They seem mystified, a mischievous glint in their eyes that she can make out through the big cartoonish eyes of the mask as they take in the strange cage.

Their hands press against the cage, palm flat as they give it a little experimental shove before she can make out their eyebrows rising.

Their palms start to spark, and the red hue of the cage begins to light up a pale blue, "Nope."

The crackles of electricity grow louder and Artemis and Superboy step back just as an awful cracking sounds and-

The cage bursts around them, Spider's sent flying back into Artemis, who's then sent back into Superboy and the three hit the floor with matching grunts.

There's a moment of silence, before Artemis is shoving Spider off of her and rolling off of Superboy herself. As the three sit themselves up slowly, Artemis can make out Spider nodding to themselves with what she thinks is pride.

"I didn't know you could do that." Superboy comments plainly as the three slowly get back to their feet.

Blinking at him, Spider wiggles their fingers at him with a smile.

"Me neither."

MG & ROB With a grunt, Robin sits up with a grimace, hand on his head as his eyes readjusts when he manages to make out Bane stood just in his eye-line.

Bane isn't looking at him though, instead the man's eyes are trained on Miss Martian floating in the air, hands outstretched out in front of her.

She's clearly too busy managing her telekinesis to notice the hulking man anger as he grabs onto one of the many large pieces of machinery lying around the abandoned factory and prepares to ambush her. 

Miss Martian, watch out!

Robin's voice rings out in her head, and M'gann whips around, eyes landing on Bane.

Before either of them can react, something is suddenly flying through the air and with a loud thwack- Bane is lying on the floor, looking a lot less angry and unconscious. Now up on his feet, Robin slowly approaches Bane, M'gann landing on his side as the pair blink down at whatever hit him.

Upon inspection, it's the barrel tank that those cement trucks carry. Empty, sure, but Robin's not surprised that guy was put to bed.

What's more surprising?

"Woooo, my aim's getting good, no?" Spider grins, bouncing on their feet as they approach the two.

"You... you threw that?" Miss Martian asks carefully.

"Duh, who else?"

"Oh. Well, thank you." She offers, a little dumbfounded but Spider doesn't seem to notice.

"How?" Spider blinks at Robin, who's been silently gawking at them as they approach.

"What do you mean, 'how'? I just threw it. "

Robin sputters at them, left eye twitching under his mask as he watches them stretch their arms out over their head with no care in the world.

"That's not- that's impossible?"

"Nuh, uh! Just grab, do a couple spins to get some speed and let go- works pretty well."

"I don't believe you."

"Why not?! I'm plenty strong!"

Safe to say that Robin made them perform a couple of strength tests when they got back to the cave, and now Robin's worried Spider might not be aware of the fact that most people can't just throw around cement trucks.

all work n' writing is work of @httpsobi. i ask you please do not copy, rewrite, translate or post on other platforms without my consent.

[pupkashi]

I LOVE OCTOBER !!!!!!

masterlist

“oh my god” your eyes wide, out of shock? terror? excitement?

“i know right!” satoru grins, “i saw it and i just had to get it” he takes your hand and pulls you out the front door and onto the porch.

“you just had to get a pumpkin the size of a small country?” the giant vegetable placed on the porch steps, intimidating you with its sheer size. “how much does this thing even weigh?” you were absolutely gobsmacked, “where the hell did you even get this!”

satoru was waiting for you to ask, “i bought it from a 12 year old girl!” his eyes were sparkling as you stared at him in confusion. “her and her dad were gonna go to put it in a competition but then i asked them if i could buy it off them and they said yes.”

even before you asked, you knew the answer to your question, “how much did you pay them?” satoru’s face flushed and he looked away from you, hesitating and trying to find a way to change the topic.

“i was thinking maybe we make a giant jack-o-lantern, feed the birds the seeds-”

“satoru, how much” his body tenses up and he turns to face you with big blue eyes and a pout.

“only 15!” he defends, “she was really proud of it and i couldn’t let it go rot in some fair!”

“15 what” you press, a smile fighting its way onto your lips as you stared up at your lover.

“thousand” he sighs, shoulders slumping as he leans against his expensive pumpkin. he knows you aren’t really upset with him, you’d never tell him how to spend his money no matter how stupid he is.

“dear god” you laugh, giving up on trying to fight the smile and instead leaning against the large pumpkin next to satoru. “this thing is huge” you comment. satoru is practically vibrating with happiness at your words.

“isn’t it? gonna be kinda sad when we ship it off to the zoo” he sighs. he can feel your gaze on his face, completely confused with what he was talking about. “well we can only use so much pumpkin before we’re flooded in it” he shrugs, “figured we can ship whatever we don’t want to the zoo and they can give it to the animals there!”

satoru always had a big heart, especially for animals. you nod happily in agreement, “i like that idea toru” you hum, both of you now facing the giant pumpkin.

“now how are you and i going to carve this pumpkin all alone?” you ask, a mischievous grin on your face as satoru brimmed with excitement at your insinuation.

“I’ll call the kids over!” the white haired sorcerer is gone before you can say anything else, gone to drag the three first years from their dorms and to your front steps.

you take the time to sit on the swing on your porch, view blocked by the orange pumpkin. it makes you smile, as silly as satoru was, you knew his heart was in the right place. and as the five of you work at pumpkin with the autumn breeze surrounding you all, your heart grows warmer. you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[strwberryblast]

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐎 | Zuko x GN!Reader

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••

You’d never imagined that a night of homemade cooking with Zuko could be so chaotic. When he insisted on preparing a meal himself, with his firebending skills as his secret ingredient, you were intrigued but also a little wary. Now, as you step into the kitchen, you’re greeted by a scene straight out of a disaster movie: flour dust clouds the air, smoke billows from the pan, and Zuko, looking both determined and slightly panicked, is attempting to juggle ingredients that seem more eager to escape than cooperate. His usual composed demeanor is replaced with a mix of frustration and sheepishness, and you can’t help but stifle a laugh as he throws another batch of flour into the air with an exasperated sigh.

“Zuko, you’re a mess,” you chuckle, a playful grin spreading across your face. He jumps, turning his body towards you with a startled look, his face flushing red. “Oh, hi [Name]...” he says sheepishly, shuffling his body so he’s awkwardly blocking the oven with his form.

You laugh again, finding his flustered reaction endearing. “You know, the mess is all over the walls and not just on the oven, you big dummy.”

His embarrassment only grows as he glances around at the flour-splattered kitchen and the streaks of smoke marking the walls. He looks back at you, a mix of exasperation and amusement in his eyes. “I guess I underestimated how tricky cooking could be,” he admits with a sheepish smile.

"I was trying to surprise you with dinner," he sighs, his body slumping over in defeat, you can't help but melt a little at your boyfriends words.

“I don’t know, your cooking skills seem to be on fire—literally,” you tease, stepping closer to him. As you peer around him, you see the pan on the stove, its contents reduced to a charred mess. You can’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“Here, let me help you,” you offer, giving him a sympathetic smile. Zuko, pouting like a scolded child, looks back at you with a mix of disappointment and frustration.

“But it was supposed to be a surprise for you,” he huffs, his cheeks still flushed from embarrassment. “I wanted it to be perfect.”

You stifle a laugh, touched by his effort and determination. “Well, I appreciate the thought, but it looks like you could use a hand. Let’s see if we can salvage this, alright?”

Zuko’s frown softens, and he nods, clearly relieved to have your support. “Thanks. I guess I got a bit carried away with the firebending.”

You walk over to the stove, carefully adjusting the heat and inspecting the pan. “Maybe just a little,” you say, with a playful look in your eye.

Zuko admires you as you begin to work. You pull out a few ingredients from the pantry, and with a practiced hand, you start to salvage what’s left of the meal. You quickly begin to scrape away the burnt bits and try to make sense of the charred remains.

“I’m going to need to add some fresh ingredients,” you say, glancing at Zuko. “Do you have any more vegetables or spices you were planning to use?”

He nods excitedly, as he goes to the fridge pulling out a couple of vegetables and herbs. "Can you cut them up for me, please?" You ask, glancing over at your boyfriend whose eagerly nodding, happy to help, causing you to smile.

With you help you guys finish up the meal, the kitchen still a disaster, but the food smelt better then before. You set the table, getting ready to eat.

You and Zuko sit across from each other, both eager to taste the meal you’ve managed to salvage. With a shared look of anticipation, you each take a bite of the food. As you chew, you notice Zuko’s face light up with pride, a smug grin spreading across his features as if he were the mastermind behind the meal.

You can’t help but tease him. “Get that smug look off your face, Zuko. I was the one who did most of the work!”

Zuko laughs, “oh, come on. I may have messed up the cooking, but I was still part of the team, right?” He takes another bite, savoring the taste. “Besides, I think I contributed a fair bit of help.”

"Yeah cutting the vegetables was a lot of help. Also you're doing the dishes," you say, a smirk on your face.

He leans forward over the table, his eyebrows furrowed a pout on his face "Seriously? I barely got the chance to enjoy the meal, and now I’m stuck with cleanup duty??" he huffs.

You laugh, "maybe we can switch, you can handle the kitchen disaster and I'll do the dishes!" You jokingly suggest, he leans back in his chair playful smile on his face as he shakes his head, "no you're right, the dishes are fine."

After finally finishing the cleanup, both of you plop down on the couch, exhausted. You lean your head on his shoulder, yawning. “Next time we cook, we’ll do something that doesn’t involve setting things on fire,” you say.

He laughs softly, wrapping his arms around you pulling you in. “Deal.”

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••

@ikrivi

masterlist

request rules

[quilly72]

Bzzt bzzzt bzzzzt your phone buzzed on the counter as you made your way over to it. Your wife the breadwinner was calling at her work. Usually she saved these calls for later so you knew it was pretty serious if she called Midday

You opened up the video call as your eyes grew wide. What The Fu

Angela cut you off, Shut up be quiet. Her eyes staring daggers into your soul.

You muffled your voice as you continued to stare at her body. You don't know how or what but somehow she was Taller.

Her blue flowy dress now sat as a bodycon now stuck to her like a bathing suit.

"I uhh don't know what's happening to MEE" angela squeeled out the last bit as her body rumbled and suddenly you watched her head dart up. Her boobs overflowed the top of her dress as the zipper started to pull apart. Her hips widening out as her dress pulled further up her thighs.

"Fuck fuck fuck I'm growing I don't know what to do I don't what started it but earlier I burst thru my heels and now my boobs are fucking h cups and my dress is about to snap. I just barely managed to hide in the conference room before anyone saw me.

Whoa slow down what am I supposed to do call 911 or someone else.

Angela winced as she squeeled again. Ypu heard a vibration like a train was rolling thru your phone as she spurted up again. You could hear the sounds of her dress pulling apart at the seams as her zipper burst and her breasts draped forward thru the gap.

I don't know I just don't want to be a science experiment and I cant think oh fuuck no not againnnnnn.

She clenched her jaw as she sprang upwards. You hadn't realized how tall she actually was till her head hit the roof. Her dress couldn't take it as it finally punched off of her falling to the floor. You watched as she bent her head to the side. Her free hand bracing against the ceiling tiles as she tried to balance herself I'm the conference room. "Im too big oh fucking he'll how do I get out of here.

A knock came thru her door as her face looked at it in terror. "Who's in there we have a meeting scheduled"

Angela covered her mouth as her eyes filled with tears and panic. No I can't be seen like this I gotta get ouTT. She tried to turn but her head ended up disappearing thru the ceiling tiles into the ventilation and electrical above. You watched as she dropped her phone. Staring up at her entire body she had definitely filled out. Her hips stood as wide as the doorway. Her boobs hung like basketballs off of her and her head vanished in the darkness above the lights. Maybe 10 11 ft tall.

Angela squatted down as she struggled to pick up her phone but her hands were just a bit too big to really get a good grasp on it. Another rumble spread thru her as she sprang forward. She quickly fell to her knees as she tried to control her growth. Her legs pushing a couple chairs over and bumping into the center table. Her entire body vibrating as she struggled to fit in the room.

Hey whoever is in there open up right now

You heard the lock jiggling as Angela tried to stop them Wait no just give me a quick minUTE

She dragged forward. Her head and back hitting the roof as her legs and hips shoved the table to its side. Her groans filled the room as one of her legs covered and draped over the phone blocking your view.

All you could hear was the commotion of a door struggling to open the grunts and breath of your wife and spurt after spurt causing her to fill more of the room. Ypu heard wood splinter and then screams as the door collapsed. The sounds of the roof starting to cave as glass shattered. Soon the phone grew muffled as the vibrations of her body filled the room.

A final scream filled your ears as the connection ceased. The call ending

Thinking quick you tried to call 911 but before you could even get thru and explain to the operator clearly what was happening you felt the ground shake and a scream fill the air. You went silent as the operator picked up asking you to pick the phone back up.

Each step you took towards the windows was accompanied by another scream. Your hands trembled as you pulled the blinds back. Off in the distance the skyscrapers she worked in had tumbled to the ground. Dust billowing up as an earthquake rumbled thru the city. And then another and another. Her screams echoing thru the streets as another building crunched started to tip and then collapsed downtown. Another scream showed the culprit her long thick brunette hair raising up with her face And the silky and expanding body of your wife. You gulped down the fear that was building up as you watched her rise into the sky rumble after rumble. Buildings in the distance crashing to dust as her hips legs feet and arms accidentally toppled them over. Her body grew closer and closer with each spurt. You watched as one of her legs plowed thru the neighborhood two blocks down. And then continued to go back. Her head had almost disappeared into the clouds and that was nothing to say with how big her breasts had gotten covering half the city in shadow. You knew you didn't have long as she steadily approached your house but you could atleast admire the moment in the little bit you had lef...

[writingpastmybedtime]

Time to Confess

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky and reader have been harbouring feelings for each other for quite a while. Will a party finally bring them together?

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: none, I think

A/N: This was written to conquer my writers block once and for all. Sorry if it's a bit all over the place. I'll publish some better stuff in the upcoming days & my requests are open as well!

It was just a little bit after 9pm, when Natasha knocked on your door in the compound. “Sweetie, are you ready?” You finished putting on your golden earrings and walked towards the door to open it up for her. “Hi, Nat,” you smiled at her and went to grab your purse. 

“Damn, honey, don’t you look hot,” she grinned as she took in your outfit. You were wearing a sparkling black dress that fit you perfectly. “Are you trying to impress someone special tonight?” She smirked knowingly and you hit her in the shoulder for implying such a thing. “No, of course not. Who could I possibly be impressing?” Natasha just shook her head and laced her hand with yours, pulling you towards the gala downstairs.

Truth be told, you were hoping to catch the eye of a certain Super Soldier, who just happened to be your best friend in the team. Well, obviously besides Natasha. You and Bucky had been friends for a few years and it hadn’t taken long before the platonic relationship had taken on a new, more serious meaning for you. At first you were certain that it was just a mere little crush that would pass on its own after a while, but as the months went by and instead of your crush going away, it had begun to grow into something deeper. 

When you arrived at the gala, you had to take a breath to just look around and take this all in. As per usual, Stark’s annual galas were something out of the ordinary. Flashing lights, disco balls, the best DJs in town, elegant long dresses and pricey suits, and of course a bar to make it perfect. “Wow, Tony, you’ve outdone yourself this time,” Nat grinned as she hugged Tony. Tony looked at you next and winked as he took you in. “Seems like Little Birdy over here has finally got the courage to impress someone special tonight.” “Why does everyone keep saying that to me?” You blushed as you looked down. Maybe this dress wasn’t the best option and maybe you should’ve skipped this party after all. It’s not like Tony doesn’t host one every three months or whenever a big mission gets accomplished. Or whenever he wins an award.

“Darling, you’ve been so obvious for the past few months. We know you like Bucky and it’s quite adorable that you don’t think he doesn’t feel the same way. I mean we’ve all noticed how he looks at you whenever you walk into the room, or how he gets worried when you’re on a mission,” Natasha looked at Tony, who just nodded in confirmation. “I mean if you look behind you now, at the bar, you’ll just see what she’s talking about.” Tony said as he smirked and pulled Natasha away with him. Natasha gave you a small smile and mouthed “Go to him”, before letting herself be pulled towards the dance floor as another 90s hit started playing. 

As you turned around, you were met with a piercing gaze from the end of the room. It was like a string was pulling you two closer, as you took a breath and started walking towards him. 

Bucky had his eyes on you the moment you had walked in with Natasha. You had never looked so radiant as you did tonight. He had seen the way other men looked at you when you walked down the stairs to the party. And you didn’t even notice. Not even having a clue about how marvelous you looked. 

“Well don’t you clean up nice,” you grinned at Bucky as you took a seat next to him at the bar. Bucky just stared at you, a glinting look in his eyes as he took you in. “Doll,” he started to say before he shook his head and smirked at you cheekily. “Do you have any idea how good you look?” A blush made its way on your cheeks as you looked down at your lap, playing with your fingers. You felt Bucky’s fingers underneath your chin to pull your face back up. “Don’t get shy on me now, doll. You’re the prettiest thing in the whole room.” You rolled your eyes and stole his drink, before taking a sip from it. “Sweet talker,” you said and grinned, not really taking him seriously. Bucky was just about to say something else, when the DJ announced that he’d be playing a few slower songs for a change. “Doll,” he began as he took your hand in his. Predicting where this would go, you shook your head ‘no’ as he laughed at your reaction. “Bucky, you know I can’t dance.” He grinned devilishly and started leading you towards the dance floor. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ve got you.” You, still shaking your head, giggled, but still let him lead you further. “Bucky, I’m serious.” You tried to say it seriously, but deep down you were excited. 

A slow romantic song had begun to play and when you looked around you saw all the couples dancing. Coming to a stop, Bucky bowed, as ever the gentleman, and kissed the back of your hand before pulling you into him. You let out a small giggle before placing your other hand on his shoulder. The moment you started dancing was the moment when everything around you just disappeared. It was just you and him. Y/N and Bucky, and the music that guided you. Bucky was a good leader, as you didn’t really know what to do with your feet. Fortunately, you still hadn’t stepped on his toes, and truth be told, you didn’t really even think about it anymore. All you could focus on was Bucky’s eyes and the way he held you against him. Oh, and his smell. He smelled like leathery sandalwood and something a bit spicy, something so uniquely him. 

“You’re quite good at this, aren’t you?” You smiled at him cheekily and he grinned before twirling you out and then back into his arms. He laughed as you rolled your eyes. “Show-off.” He pulled you even closer, with your head near his shoulder and his lips near your ear. You shivered, as you felt his hot breath near you as he began to whisper. 

“I have been putting this off for a while now, mostly because I’ve been scared about losing you as a friend” You furrowed your brows as you listened intently. You tried to move your head to look at him, but he held you strongly against him. “Steve and Sam have been nagging me for months to put an end to this, to my misery, and just confess, but every time I come close to doing it, to saying what I really want to say to you, something tends to come in between and ruin the moment. Then Natasha started giving me knowing looks, which I wanted to take as a hint that maybe, just maybe, you felt the same. But then you went out with that guy that Wanda set you up with and I lost all hope that evening. Wasn’t a nice night for Steve as he found me cuddling a bottle of whisky in front of his door.” Bucky cringed at the memory. His hold had finally loosened enough, that you could pull away and look him in the eyes.

“Bucky, what are you saying?” You were so confused, because his blabbering did not make any sense to you. Was he trying to say what you hoped he was? It didn’t seem real. Confess what to you? “You know I went on that date just because I lost a bet and truthfully I hadn’t been on a date in years. It wasn’t a complete disaster, but I didn’t like him like that.” You took a breath before confessing, “I liked someone else..” You gave him a shy smile and hoped he’d take the hint. Bucky smirked before lowering his head again and whispering to you. “Do I know the guy? Need to give him advice on how to treat such a beautiful little lady?” You grinned and moved your hands from his to his neck just as his hands fell to your waist. He took a deep breath and you shuddered at the feel of it. “Doll, do you have any idea what you do to me?” You shook your head as he pulled back and placed his forehead on yours. “I’d bring you the stars and the moon, if it meant that you’d be happy. I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’ll always be safe and protected. To treat you as you deserve to be treated. To love you truly, madly and deeply, and to never, ever stop loving you.” Tears had begun to form in your eyes, because you could not believe what you were hearing. Love? 

“You love me?” You pulled back to look into his mesmerizing eyes. You only saw hope and truthfulness behind his gaze. And love. Love for you. Before he could even reply you had started your own little rant. “Because I love you too. Hell, I’ve been in love with you for months. Natasha has been on my heels for the longest while, because I was afraid to tell you. Honestly, I was so scared, because I did not want to lose you as a friend, and you’re as good as they come, you know? But I do love you. So much. And you have the prettiest eyes. I didn’t even know eyes could be so pretty, before I met you.” You went on, as Bucky just grinned and took you in. Breathtaking, he thought to himself as you rambled on about all the little things that you loved about him.

“You’re breathtakingly beautiful and I really want to kiss you.”

That sentence shut you up mid-sentence as you realized you’d been talking for the whole time. Bucky leaned in, brushing a strand of hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear. He pulled your face closer to his, and you closed your eyes anticipating what was to come. You felt his breath on your lips, realizing that he was waiting for you to make the final move. To give you the choice.

So you took it. You placed your lips on his and finally kissed him. 

You had read many different romance books in your lifetime to know that excellent kisses went hand in hand with exploding fireworks and all that other cheesy stuff. You hadn’t really believed in any of that, because never in your life had a kiss been that good. Until now.

Now you understood.

This was nothing like fireworks. This was so much more. The way he caressed you, the way he held you, the way you both moved. Like magnets. Like you were made just for each other. Placed on this Earth to find one another and never part. How could you even stop kissing him, now that you had? You both grinned as you took a breath of air, before leaning back in and kissing again.

“Pay up,” Natasha smiled at Steve as he rolled his eyes and gave her a twenty. “Told you the dress would win him over.”

[hazybisou]

❛ OH BABY, BABY ❜

🎧 🎸 every single little moment, every single little sunshine

summary - when walking the streets of Michigan, you never know what to expect. maybe that’s why y/n never expected for a little boy to literally run into her with his fine ass cute father behind him.

pairing - f!reader x single dad!quinn hughes

side note - dad quinn 😻😻 that’s all i got to say as of now. my mans so fine 😍😍 (this takes place during the summer so about right now)

✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫

the slight breeze blew through her hair as she hugged her zip up closer to her body and grabbing the hood, putting it on over her head slightly. y/n had decided the weather was warm but windy enough to go outside and take a walk and get some fresh air. she had the day off from her job as a social media photographer for the Detroit Tigers.

y/n loved her job. she knew the second she saw her sister take part in sports photography that’s what she wanted to do. she took an internship during her junior year at the University of Michigan and once she had graduated, she had applied for the job as one of the photographers for the Detroit Tigers. two days after her interview, she had gotten an email form the organization saying she had gotten the job. since then she had been working with the MLB organization.

the young woman had just turned the corner and made her way into a local park in Michigan. her hand made its way into her pocket and pulled her phone out. she grabbed her earphones out of the other and connected them to her phone before placing them in her ears. she quickly swiped and clicked on spotify before she began to hear the lyrics to ‘Stay Ready’ by Jhene Aiko as she slid her phone into her pocket once again.

the music seemed to block out the noises of the children’s laughter and giggling as they slid down the slide or swung on the swing, being pushed by their parents or siblings or other children. the noise of the cars passing by and their honking were muffled.

she began to think about her life here in Michigan and if she were to stay her the rest of her life. find the one, have kids, grow old. the idea seemed nice in her head but she knew things may never go her way as god had other plans for her.

y/n suddenly felt something hit her leg. she heard a little ‘oof’ and a thud and looked down to see a little boy with brown, wavy hair on the ground. she took her earphones out and placed them in her pocket where her phone was.

she kneeled down to the little boys height and helped him get up. “are you okay?” her eyes scanned his small figure to check for any injures.

“i sorry.” the little voice made her melt. she always had a soft spot for kids. “i didn’t mean to.”

y/n smiled. “i know you didn’t, it’s okay.” she looked around for his father or mother or anyone who might’ve known him. “where your mom?”

he shrugged.

“your dad?” she tried and the boy turned around and pointed towards the way he came from.

“he’s over there.” he told y/n and she looked behind him to see a man with a slight subtle and neatly styled hair looking around frantically.

he was cute.

“what’s your name?” she asked the little boy who looked up at her with big doe eyes.

“roan.” he stated proudly with a grin on his face. “what’s yours?”

her smile turned into a small laugh. “y/n.”

she saw the little boys hand extend. she placed her hand in his and he placed a quick kiss to it and let out a ‘mwah’ as he did so.

“aw how cute.” y/n cooed as she let out a small giggle.

roan leaned in forward. “daddy says when’s pretty girl is around, to kiss her hand when you meet her.” he explained. “you a pretty girl.”

“your dad seems like a wonderful person.”

roan nodded. “he is.”

she looked at him and finally wondered if his father had figured out he was over here with her. her question was answered when she heard the padding of feet get closer but slow down as they neared. she saw the legs of a person behind roan and looked up to find the man she saw earlier looking down at his son. he kneeled down to be eye level with roan.

“roan, i thought i told you to stay next to me.” the man scolded the little boy who looked up at the man while squinting his eyes at the sun.

“i sorry daddy. but i wanted to go play! you promised.” roan exclaimed with his arms up.

quinn shook his head. “don’t do that again, okay? you scared me.”

“ok.” roan whispered as he wrapped his arms around his dad. quinn took the little boy into his arms and y/n watched with adoration in her eyes as she stood up.

the pair pulled away and quinn stood up while roan went and stood by y/n’s side, grabbing her hand and holding it. “daddy i made a friend!” he exclaimed, excitement evident in his voice.

quinn looked down towards her. holy was she beautiful. her smile was warm and gave him a welcoming feeling. he never experienced that from anyone other than his own mother.

“hi, i’m y/n!” she held her hand out for quinn to shake with a smile on her face.

he took it in his own and shook it slightly. “quinn.” he let go of it and watched as she put it down. “it’s nice to meet you.”

“nice to meet you too.” she looked down at roan and shook their hands that were still held together . “roan here happened to run into me.”

“did he now?” quinn looked at the young boy who smiled sheepishly. “well i hope he said sorry.”

roan just nodded his head. “ i did. like you told me to.”

y/n laughed. “he was such a gentleman.” she looked at quinn. “roan’s a sweet boy.”

quinn’s eyes softened. “i’m guessing i raised him right if he was called a gentleman by a pretty lady like yourself.” the words left his mouth before he could even stop them. “i didn’t mean it like that, well like i did, but not like that. you’re very pretty-”

y/n let out a small chuckle. “it’s ok, i know what you meant.” she stood there for a second. “you’re pretty hot, you know that?”

quinn felt himself blush and turn red. “oh, um, thank you.” he looked down at his watch and his eyes widened as he noticed he would be late to dinner with his family if he didn’t leave now. “oh i am very sorry but we have to go and get ready.” quinn reached down and picked roan up before settled him on his hip. “do you think i can i get your number?”

“no, i’m sorry.”

quinn’s smiled faltered slightly. “oh it’s fine-”

“but can i get yours before i go?” y/n asked.

“oh, of course. uhh, can i-” y/n pulled her phone out and opened to her contacts before clicking on the add sign. quinn smiled and typed in his number. “here you go.”

“i’ll see you around then.” y/n said and she looked at roan. “bye roan! it was very nice meeting you.”

roan leaned forward in his fathers arm, wrapping his own arms around y/n and she did the same back, “bye bye!” he turned his head and placed a open mouthed kiss on her cheek with a loud ‘mwah’.

“cute kid.” y/n told quinn as she saved quinn’s number and put her phone away in her pocket. “bye quinn.”

“goodbye y/n.”

she turned around and began walking back to her apartment with quinn and roan on her mind. he was very attractive.

✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫

it was 10:13 pm and quinn has just put roan to sleep in his bed after coming back to the lake house from dinner with his family. he walked back quietly to his own room which next to roan’s and got into bed, pulling the sheets over his body. he grabbed his phone, in hopes he would get a text from a certain person. with no luck he sighed and put his phone on his nightstand, ready to drift off to sleep.

*ding*

*ding*

he grabbed his phone and saw an unknown number had sent him a text. he opened it and quickly saw who it was.

*** *** ****

though i forgot abt you or what?

roan’s daddy

just a little bit

y/n 💞

well goodnight quinn

send my love to roan

roan’s daddy

what abt me??!

y/n 💞

🫢🫢

maybe later

roan’s daddy

goodnight y/n

quinn turned off his phone and placed it where it was previously on his nightstand before he turned around and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep with y/n on his mind.

✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫

turned out way better then expected. anywyas daddy quinn got me feeling some type of way. isn’t roan the sweetest little boy?? ☺️☺️💕💕 first post ever since my last one

[kitsuga]

sea salt kisses. {Alex x Reader/Farmer}

Description:

A fic in which Alex gets hit by the realization train. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 

Tags: fluff, kissing, not betad, not edited, gender neutral reader, stardew valley x reader, stardew valley x farmer, alex x reader, alex (stardew valley) x reader, alex (stardew valley) x farmer, whatever tag tickles your fancy at this point

Word Count: 1,587

A/N: Written on: April 22, 2024 

Quick piece to get back into writing after i had another loooooooooong writers block so if its good, great! If its bad, too bad you read it anyway too late now cant take it back, haha, SLKJDFHLKSJD  

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 

The sand was just warm enough to make him feel weightless, like he was floating on a cloud. Or was it the breeze that tickled his skin, lifting him up and carrying him away softly, gently? Maybe it was the way in which the sun's rays hit his face just right, embracing him like a familiar hug that made him feel like he could take on the skies.  

Or, really, it was the way his company made him feel—the way his heart fluttered and soared and carried him along with it. Alex snuck a look at the person at his side; their face up towards the sun, a smile on their face that could rival it. The sight brought on a smile of his own, warmth in his chest growing stronger than the summer sun.  

Yoba, how beautiful the sun made them look; the light surrounding them hugged them in just the right places, making them look almost ethereal. Well, any light did that to them, in Alex’s eyes. Maybe because they’d hung out for a good while now, he started to actually see them—maybe they’ve always been this beautiful, but he was so absorbed in himself that he couldn’t take notice. Here they sat, however, closer than ever and intertwined in places of his heart that he would have never expected. What was this feeling? 

“Hey Farmer, you’ve gotta move your big head; you’re blocking out the whole sun. How am I supposed to tan?” 

“Uh. Go find your own spot?”  

They were snarky, a faux pout on their lips as they finally turned to look at him. Farmer brought their arms up, waving them in the air and watching as their shadows covered the face of their lounging companion beside them. Alex grumbled, perching himself up with his arms out behind him to get some sun of his own. The Farmer’s laugh was a melody dancing around with the breeze, subconsciously pulling Alex in; he leaned over and bumped into them with his shoulder, playfully. 

“If I go find my own spot, I’ll miss the clown show.” 

“Woooooow.” They drug out the word, feigning hurt. “You’re so mean to me! Why do I even bother calling you my friend?” 

Alex smiled, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, soaking up the sun.  

“Yeah, well.” He laughed a bit to himself, speaking without thinking. “You could probably punch me in the face and I’d still want you, so say what you want.” 

Silence. It felt as though the world itself had stopped moving around him; the waves, the breeze, the Earth itself had stopped moving and froze in time. The air around them suddenly grew so tense it could be cut with a simple piece of paper at this point. Alex snapped his eyes open, whipping his head back up to look at them, completely bewildered. Farmer looked back at him just as shocked, eyes wide yet hiding any emotion from them. 

“What?” 

“What?” 

“Alex, huh?” 

“Huh?” 

There was no way that slipped out, right? What did he even mean by that—did he want them? Oh Yoba, he did, didn’t he? That’s what that feeling was—they weren’t simply just his best friend, they had grown far more than that when he wasn’t looking. Did he already ruin it before anything could have started? What about their friendship? He’d just ruined everything; why didn’t his brain work the right way—like others? Why did he have to have such a hard time watching his mouth!  

His panic was interrupted by Farmer’s voice, Alex’s face never relaxing from his shock and panic. 

“Alex? What did you mean by that?” 

“By what?” 

“By ‘I’d still want you’?” 

“Who said that?” 

“Alex.” 

His curt answers had no effect on the Farmer, nor did his attempts to play it off. He turned to look anywhere but them, but his eyes couldn’t stay in just one spot. His face started to heat up, and it wasn’t from the sun this time. His embarrassment crawled up his neck, burning his ears first; he went from biting his cheek, to scowling, to biting his cheek once again—back and forth—trying to think of something, anything, to get him out of the situation he found himself in. 

“Alex.” They said again, trying to lean into his line of sight as his eyes darted everywhere but on them. “Alex? What did you mean? Do you like me?” 

“Huh?” He started to comically move his head around to follow his line of sight now, trying to blatantly avoid their gaze. 

His eyes shot down to one of his hands that held himself up the second he felt the heat from their own cover it. He could feel as they leaned in, their body now taking up space in his own personal bubble; he could sense that their face had leaned in close to his, but he was far too nervous to look back at them—he kept his eyes on their hands. 

“Alex, do you like me?” They asked again, following up with a soft, feather-light kiss on his cheek bone without giving him a chance to answer. “Do you?”  

Another feather-light kiss, more on his cheek. Another one closer to the corner of his lip. Each peck of their lips left behind a burning mark and an electric shock all the way to his rapidly beating heart. Another. A soft whisper of ‘do you?’ once again by them against his lips, followed by a soft, gentle kiss.  

Their lips, the smell of them, their body heat—all far too fleeting. He turned to finally look at them as they pulled away and sat back up, their smile radiant. He used his other hand to rub at the back of his neck, trying (and failing) to calm himself down. His heart kept leaping out of his throat, out of his chest. His hands were shaking, he’d fall if he wasn’t careful. Alex kept trying to frown, to deny whatever he could and save face, but the corners of his lips had betrayed him as he kept smiling, no matter how hard he attempted to stop. Okay, so, maybe he did. Maybe he did like them a bit.  

“Yoba, you want me so bad.” They joked, trying to clear the air and help ease his embarrassment. 

“What.” His face fell deadpan, too stunned to respond. 

They laughed once again, a hearty one, that had them hunched over; he simply stared at them intensely, leaning into them to stare harder—though all it did was make them laugh even more, until they struggled to catch their breath. Once they did, they turned back to him, finding themselves face to face. They simply kept smiling at him, even as they wiped the tears from their eyes; he started to fail to hide his smile once again, now sharing a small chuckle with them. 

Alex leaned back on his hands again, tilting his head and taking in their entire self, a gentle smile on his lips and soft, loving look in his gaze. Yeah, he did want them, actually. He wasn’t sure why he kept denying it to himself before, but he really did want them—all of them, for the rest of his life, actually. Even if he tried to think of anything else, his brain had fried a bit-- replaying every moment he had experienced clammy hands, rapid heartbeats, or some sort of longing while in their presence; yeah, he did want them, more than he ever thought he would.  

He watched them lean in again, though he let his body do the talking this time. As they got closer, one of his hands moved up to cup their jaw gently, his heartbeat racing through his veins as they leaned into his touch. Alex wanted to leave his eyes open and look at them—how beautiful they were, how ethereal they must have been—but he allowed himself to simply keep them closed, blissfully melting into the feel of their lips interlocking with his own. The feel of their summer-stained lips and the taste of their salty chapstick had lingered as they slowly—reluctantly—pulled away, burning the sensations into his brain for longer than he’d ever know. 

They seemed to mirror him now; nervous, a little awkward, but hopelessly in some sort of love. Farmer looked away, trying to hide just how wide their smile had been now. Alex sat there a moment, trying to let his brain catch up. Oh, so that happened. Oh, so this was happening—with them. He blew air out of his nose, resembling a slight laugh at how dumbfounded he was.  

But, this was where he was meant to be. He hadn’t realized this before, but the world had only seemed to stop earlier because it was time for it to. Time isn’t lost if you’re where you’re meant to be, he believed, because it was time meant to be shared. He was exactly where he was meant to be—exactly who he was meant to be with. It simply took his empty, big ol’ head of his to accidentally spit out words without thinking to get him to realize this; everything made sense the moment the words left his lips—everything made sense the moment their lips touched his own.  

He turned their face back towards him, pulling them gently back down towards them with a large, goofy, happy grin. 

“Yeah, I think I do.” 

[ghcstao3]

(part 1)

-

As more days pass, the job doesn’t get any less strange.

Johnny is still poring over Ghost’s hint, trying to figure out how it could be possible that all these varying pieces are from the same artist. Unless it was someone more contemporary, experimenting in art styles of different eras—

Which would make sense, if not for the paints and materials not available in the present day, their methodology in creation having been lost to time, or its dangers realized.

And the signature. Scribbled consistently on every one of the pieces in the exact same place, exact same handwriting, even when the initials of S and R shift from the Roman to Latin alphabet, and when the length of the name itself shrinks and grows.

About every theory that pops into Johnny’s head is easily dismissed for another that makes slightly more sense, until he reaches another road block in reasoning. It’s impossible, plain and simple.

But at the end of the day, Johnny has to shake his head of those sorts of thoughts anyway. Because he’s here for a job, not to speculate, even when it’s his current employer that’s planted this dilemma in his head.

Speaking of—Ghost hasn’t gotten any less weird himself, either. Or, perhaps enigmatic, Johnny should say.

He continues to pose questions to Johnny as he works, but at some point they begin to sound less like questions from the owner of the artwork—and more like questions from the artist, as if seeking feedback.

All Johnny can do is answer honestly. He’s gotten better at deciphering Ghost’s hums and huffs and grunts, but not to the extent of really understanding what he’s thinking. Which only serves to confuse Johnny further about the whole… arrangement.

It’s on the last day, while Johnny is finishing up the last piece, that Ghost asks him the strangest thing of all.

“Say you were… immortal,” Ghost begins slowly, sometime nearing the end of the day; the end of Johnny’s contract, “would you choose to make a mark on the world, or remain invisible?”

Johnny furrows his brow. “I’m not sure. I mean—really, unless you’re big and famous, you kind of remain invisible to most, anyway.”

Ghost shakes his head, seeming almost frustrated by his answer—which would be a first. “No, not like—like if you made art, would you choose to keep it hidden, or would you allow it to be shared?”

It’s the first time Johnny has ever heard Ghost seem unsure of himself. He’s never seen the man falter like this, wavering in this intimidating, indifferent persona he’s thus far created.

Johnny suspects that there’s more to this question than it simply being a hypothetical.

“Depends,” Johnny says. He blinks up at Ghost, staring undeterred into that intense gaze of his. Sometimes Johnny thinks Ghost expects him to be nervous in his employer’s presence. “If it’s something personal, then sure, I’d keep it to myself. But I think in creating art, there’s also times that you’d want to display it, so I would. Not necessarily to leave something behind, but… maybe to inspire someone else.”

Ghost considers this for a long while, eyes raking over Johnny’s face for who knows what. Maybe a discrepancy in his honesty.

Eventually, he breathes slow and deep as he squares back his shoulders. “Then I’ll ask this again:” He pauses. “What do you think happened to the artist?”

The corners of Johnny’s lips twitch upward, though a proper smile never appears.

“I think he’s giving himself away right about now,” Johnny decides. It hasn’t really clicked to him, of course, that Ghost might be immortal—but it’s a conclusion he can at least speak aloud.

Ghost squints his eyes, and Johnny is inclined to think that means there’s a smile hiding beneath his mask.

“Suppose I have,” Ghost admits. Almost sheepishly, he then asks, “Does that change your answer?”

Johnny shakes his head. “I still think these should be displayed, if you’re willing. They’re… they’re beautiful pieces, and… why should you hire me to restore them just to keep them in storage?”

Ghost shrugs, and there reappears that new uncertainty. “I wanted a second opinion.”

Johnny laughs, shaking his head again. “Next you’re going to tell me you destroyed these yourself just to get it.”

Ghost stares at him a long, silent moment after that. Johnny’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline with the very clear answer to that joke.

“…Ghost.”

“It’s Simon,” Ghost corrects. “And I may have… tampered… with them. Just a little.”

Johnny scoffs. “Ghost, Simon, whatever. Some of these materials have been lost to time! And you just… you just—“

A deep, rumbling laugh escapes Ghost—Simon—that has Johnny trailing off from the rant he’d just been ready to go on. Art history is so meaningful to him, and he has a living man who can attest to those times in front of him, and—

And Johnny was just insulting him.

He shrinks back as Simon’s laughing tapers off, and that cold look in his eyes is overtaken by something warm, something friendly.

“Those pieces never meant enough to me,” Simon finally says, something melancholy falling over his tone. “But… I do have one more that was actually ruined by time that I think… I think I’d trust you enough to fix.”

Johnny’s eyes widen, perking up at the suggestion. “Really?”

Simon nods. “I’ll pay you however much, I—“

“No need,” Johnny interrupts. “You’ve already paid me… far more than you needed to, for the rest. I’ll do it, on one condition.”

Simon cocks his head, silently willing Johnny on.

The smile threatening Johnny finally releases, spreading wide across his face.

“You let me ask questions,” Johnny says. “I have a few debates to settle.”

Simon hums. Something… approving.

Finally, he says with an air of humour, and something oddly akin to hope, “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

[snoopyhq]

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ARCANE CHARACTERS AND THEIR POKÉMON TEAMS !!!

includes: viktor // jayce // mel // caitlyn // vi // jinx // ekko

a/n: if you guys want a part two with any of the other characters, feel free to lmk which ones :D !!! i had a lot of fun with this, and it kind of went into a whole AU direction with all my ramblings. oops!

tagging @anexcellentshot <3

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ VIKTOR

For his team, I wanted a collection of 'mons that would kill it in a steampunk themed show, so here we are!

GOLURK

Its lore centers around it being an ancient Pokémon built by an ancient civilization, so not much is known about it

To me, this Pokémon would be perfect for Viktor due to its aura of mystery and its creation by human hands

It also fits well with Viktor's arc when he becomes the Arcane Herald (glowing eyes, larger stature, commanding presence, associations with otherwordly abilities)

LUXRAY

I'm a firm believer in the fact that Viktor is a cat person, so of COURSE he gets a feline Pokémon

Luxray is an electric type cat. Need I say more?

Viktor's Luxray hisses at anyone who looks at him wrong. It's very funny. A total lapcat and demands his attention at all times

Everyone else who isn't Viktor can get fucked

KLEFKI

END KLEFKI HATE 2025

Why do people hate Klefki?! Being so serious right now btw... like are they just allergic to fun and whimsy or what. IDGAF if its just a key that became a Pokémon, it's one of my faves forever and always

Anyways. As for its relevance to Viktor, I see it as sort of being a good assistant for him in the lab and such. Carries his keys, yes, but also his tools for him

ALAKAZAM

I'm pretty sure it's the most intelligent Pokémon, and Viktor is a whole genuis

The dots connect!

Alakazam likes watching Viktor work on his various projects, and it oftens plays chess with him. A very intellectually stimulating experience for them both. The score currently is very close, although whose ahead, we'll never know :-)

GALARIAN CORSOLA

OK SO ORIGIN STORY !!!

We know Viktor grew up in the Undercity, and where he was shown had a river with cave systems nearby. I believe him and Corsola found each other the same fateful day he met Rio

They see each other as kindred spirits, having suffered in the environment they were dealt. Viktor is protective of his Corsola, and caring for it makes him feel a sense of accomplishment

Very bittersweet

MAGEARNA

A Pokémon that was also built by human hands, specifically by scientists according to its lore

It also has an ability that makes it a wonderful caretaker of people

That falls in line with Viktor's motivation to use Hextech to improve the lives of the less fortunate, and this Pokémon fits his aesthetic so well. I think Magearna is a wonderful way to end his team with :3

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ JAYCE

His character grew on me. Jayce Talis, you should've been born into a shoujo, not forced to shounen </3

TIMBURR

Very helpful fella to have around a lab! Construction sites! Factories! That's the Talis family specialty!

His first Pokémon, and the two often played with wooden building blocks and LEGOs in his childhood

Specifically choosing the first evolution because I can see Jayce's Timburr growing alongside him in the craft and one day evolving into a Gurdurr, and perhaps even a Conkeldurr

Or maybe it can stay a baby, who knows?

HERDIER

Looks like Heimerdinger. I am GREATLY amused by this

Is the Talis family dog, and followed Jayce when he went off to the Academy

Always sighing like its got bills to pay but that's because it has to watch over Jayce away from home 😭 Get him a martini (dog-friendly) and a long vacation ASAP

Big theme of family and Pokémon with Jayce here hehe

TINKATUFF

Another great Pokémon to help Jayce out with his endeavors!

This one has the most attitude of his team, and only helps with extremely ambitious, daring projects

It wants to improve, and taking up easy shortcuts is an insult

Overall, a diva

He loves it anyways, and always makes sure to express his appreciation because its efforts DO pay off handsomely

DARMANITAN

Jayce works in a forge at some point in the series, so having a Darmanitan with him just fits

It can withstand the high temperatures and has the muscle to help him out

I was debating between this fella and Heatmor but I like Darmanitan's rotund look better, sorry Heatmor

CARBINK

Very mystical Pokémon. Parallels the Mage that saved Jayce and Ximena when he was a child

Also resembles a Hextech crystal lowkey

MELMETAL

I think it's SO funny that it has "Mel" in its name

Also, more continuation of Pokémon that can dabble in craftsmanship

Evolved from a Meltan that snuck into his luggage when he was moving to the Academy district and refused to leave

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ MEL

I wanted a team that serves both cunt AND power, so here is Mel's team! Looking for a transparent BG, full-body picture of her was actually so hard. What the flip. I thought it'd be in her Arcane Fandom Page Gallery, but it wasn't. AUGH

DELPHOX

Fox motif

Also a mystical one too, since its lore states that its burn marks were used in divination long ago

Mel being a mage means she can connect with her Delphox on a deeper level

KOMMO-O

Noxians are people who value raw, physical strength

Ambessa is canonically a warmonger. Mel having a fighting type Pokémon like Kommo-o goes well with that lore

It's powerful, dual-type with DRAGON, and just radiates aura

Also, its scale patterns and her braids can sort of match in style and it also works with Mel's gold accents!

UMBREON

Evolved from her Eevee

It happened around the time Mel left home for Piltover for the first time. Their bond runs deep

Hates being confined to a Pokéball, so it roams out and about at all times

SNEASEL

Devious Troublemaker #1

Smart AND sneaky

It's resourceful with its wits and stealth, like Mel

Tolerates her Fezandipiti

FEZANDIPITI

Devious Troublemaker #2

Abuses its pretty privilege to get away with EVERYTHING (it works)

Best buds with her Sneasel

INDEEDEE

A Pokémon that "never leaves its trainer's side", so it makes sure she stays taken care of and GOD KNOWS she deserves a break

Secretary Pokémon basically

Keeps tracks of her papers, blueprints, speeches, and council talking points

Hovers over her during the duration of those meetings and makes sure she's comfortable

Also really, really good at snooping around and finding out the most incriminating secrets. Memorized everything to the letter

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ CAITLYN

Firm believer that she would be a competitive player in a modern world.

FROSLASS

Cold as hell (figuratively AND metaphorically)

Just like Caitlyn

It's a feminine Pokémon and it's TERRIFYING, I love creepy/non-conventional Pokémon lore

Highkey judgemental. Has purposefully iced out a council membor on more than one occasion. Thinks they're useless

SINISTEA

They're kind of twinning. Tell me you guys see the vision too

Like... same side part and everything !!!

Tea parties and they're both the prettiest princesses. They also talk about the best way to 'get rid of' Salo. It's great

Caitlyn never utilizes her Sinistea in battle. It follows her around instead, offers an off-putting vibe to the function

YUNGOOS

Yes, this is because of the mongoose comment

Also I think it's really funny that you have these elegant and put-together Pokémon on her team, and then there's this guy

Bites ankles

DECIDUEYE

She's a sharpshooter and so is Decidueye

Had it since it was a wee Rowlet, and the runt of its litter (nestmates? flock? i don't know bird terminology)

With her in every shooting competition and practice she attends

Her ace Pokémon. They're so in sync, she doesn't even need to voice moves aloud anymore

GROWLITHE

Enforcer ☹️

CORVISQUIRE

It's intelligent, even compared to other bird Pokémon similar to it

Also has that air of innate curiosity

Caitlyn had her whole detective thing in Season One of the show, so her having a curious corvisquire on her team makes sense to me

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ VI

If Vi has no lovers, I'm DEAD!!! Literally became one of my favorites the second she showed up one screen. I’m also the eldest sibling so maybe I connect to those characters more… Choso from Jujutsu Kaisen is another absolute faves of mine.

URSHIFU (RAPID STRIKE STYLE)

Matches her boxing fighting style

Very focused and disciplined

Her go-to sparring partner

LOKIX

A good kicker is needed to balance out a team of mostly fist-to-fists combat

Makes sure she does not skip leg day

Not that Vi would ever but it's nice to have someone look after her like an elder sibling for once

ALCREMIE

Similar to Caitlyn having Yungoos on her team, I find it funny to have Alcremie be the contrats on Vi's team

Her calling Caitlyn "cupcake" all the time? Please

Vi dotes on her Alcremie

First Pokémon she caught that wasn't in the Undercity, so it's a little bit of a primadonna, but who cares? It's adorable

Head chef of the team because picturing this little 1'00" Pokémon bustle around a kitchen area and whipping up delicacies makes me laugh

RIOLU

The youngest on the team and has the most to prove

Or at least, that's Riolu's mindset

Follows her Urshifu around like a little shadow, eager to learn and become the strongest of 'em all

Will evolve into a Lucario one day

CHARMELEON

Complements her color palette

I firmly believe she would choose a fire-type starter in any game route

Also has an insatiable fighting spirit, which I believe can be properly nurtured with Vi as its trainer and the rest of her team

Pairs up with her Riolu the most during sparring practices

ALOLAN MAROWAK

Both Vi and Marowak lost their mothers at a young age

Both watched their mothers die, even if the circumstances were slightly different

Not having a Cubone that evolved into a Marowak on her team would've been such a missed opportunity

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ JINX

Her team was the first one I finished putting together in my Google Docs. Very happy with how this one turned out.

BOMBIRDIER

The word "bomb" is kinda in the name

AND that fuckass bird is an asshole, according to it's Pokédex entry

I think it's hilarious, and fits Jinx's antics very well, especially with her first scene after the timeskip in season one

PANCHAM

The Pokedex entry for this one says it finds a Pangoro to look up to and trains relentlessly to get stronger like its mentor

Very much a reflection of how Isha looks (looked) up to Jinx, and wanted to be like her :')

NICKIT

Only surviving kit in the litter of Silco's Theivul

Naturally, it became Jinx’s Pokémon

Messes with her Espurr all the time. Gets lightly scolded, pretends to feel bad, and gets right back to it when her back is turned

Brings her scraps of metal and other shiny valuables it nicked (haha!) from unsuspecting citizens

HISUIAN TYPHLOSION

NOT A GOOD YEAR FOR MY BOY TYPHLOSION

Justice for him for REAL.

But anyways. Colorful flames, extravagant, explosions. It basically spells itself out

Keeps her Nickit in check when it gets too rough with her Espurr

INFERNAPE

Her signature calling card is the graffiti monkey

Her monkey bomb/gadgets !!! Motifs...

The most disciplined of her Pokémon

ESPURR

Look at it and tell me it isn't experiencing the horrors(tm) and the voices(tm) at all times

I think Jinx could see herself in it in a way, and having Espurr on her team is kind of a grounding experience for both of them

They save each other

This lil guy is her PRIDE AND JOY ok

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ EKKO

Ekko deserves the entire world and more, I'm being so serious right now. Ekko 4 President.

DRILBUR

Little guy who just enjoys digging. Yeah, put him on the team

Would be very helpful for finding trinkets that Ekko could bring to Benzo's (in a happier timeline, they continue spending their days like this)

When the canon events happen, its role now becomes finding/forming tunnels and escape routes

NOCTOWL

Scout in the air

Goes along with Ekko's owl motif :D

Caitlyn already had Decidueye, and I feel like a tougher, more rugged looking Pokémon like a Noctowl fits the boy savior better

His team is a lot of earthy tones I've realized

Undercity Represent 🗣️🗣️🗣️

CELEBI

Ekko's connection with time, the four seconds, etc. etc.

Celebi is a time traveling Pokémon. It's perfect :3

I think he's the only character with a mythical Pokémon on his team, and you know what? He deserves it. Big Ekko fan! He can have a mythical Pokémon, as a treat

HOUNDOOM

If aura farming was a Pokémon

Looks tough, is an even tougher fighter

The rear-guard of his team. It looks out for the other ones and makes sure they all get to safety whenever it's brought along during one of Ekko's missions

Acts as a heater for the others and Ekko himself

Completely chill with letting Noctowl perch on its back

SKWOVET

Ok hear me out, this is the comedic effect guy

I headcanon that he pulls a Meowth in the anime and taught himself to speak human. NOT for the pursuit of romance this time, but for the pursuit of gossip

One of the tiniest ones recorded, so it sneaks around really easily

Like Mel's Indeedee, it gathers talk and whispers that otherwise would not see the light of day, and relays it all back to Ekko

It keeps him up to date on movements of other political factions and certain people (Jinx)

Has grown spoiled on all the treats it gets fed from being really damn good at its job

KROOKODILE

Found by Ekko during one of his explorations underground with his Drilbur

Battled against his Drilbur, and then his Houndoom when they broke up into the surface

Was eventually caught, and now goes on side quests with Ekko's Drilbur

Gives Ekko some peace of mind knowing that Drilbur has a bigger, more formidable friend watching out for it

Totes the coolest, rivalling Houndoom in levels of chillness

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Headcanon - Chained Memories

I've tried to write this one a few times and have big patches of text but the overarching idea just feels too big to contain in anything but a massive fic exploring all sides, and I'm a weak easily distracted bitch.

A literary cocktease, if you will

--------------------------------------------

Base Concept - what if the soul chains that bind people can, with the right level of power and coercion, be created from memories. That is to say, that specific memories can be infused into the collar and chain to ensure that it holds the wearer doubly hostage, because to break it is to lose an important piece of themselves.

The downside is that they cannot recall what that memory even pertains to. But can you risk losing it? What if the you you are now is not the real person you would be with the memory?

So, 7-8yrs previous, during a fight that was interrupted by a rather annoying extermination about 14 minutes early, Alastor and Vox were mid face-down destroying the place when angels descended.

You could hurl them around or block them, but their angelic spears eventually pin the overlords down.

They were originally fighting over the recent changes to AV industries, which included Val and Velvette, as the former was pushing for more varied adult entertainment and Alastor was revolted by some of the suggestions. Especially this whole ‘snuff film’ thing.

To kill was one thing, a fine hunt had sent both Vox and he into bloodlust so sharp and clear they could have tracked god through a sewage pit on more than one occasion, but… to torture and kill someone chained to you, who had presumably done no significant wrongdoing, just so another could climax? Disgusting.

Not to mention whatever shady nonsense had led to the moth ordering a half dozen cakes twice a week for his studios.

Alastor may not be well-versed on kinks, but he was certain that something fetishistic was at play because it is unlikely that the studio cast had a birthday every tuesday, without fail.

Vox had refused to meet his eyes on this when he’d asked. Confirming what Alastor had already assumed, and then decided he’d rather not know.

Alastor was not a fool, nor as much a prude as he sometimes played up for the public eye. Sinners ate up the whole Al vs Val back and forths in public locations, after all, but there were some things even he struggled to comprehend.

That was fine with the moth, for the most part, because the nearsighted pimp has the same response to Alastor’s radio endeavours. He knew sound goes in and travels the airwaves, but the radio station deck has about a thousand tiny buttons and dials, and just looking at it gave the moth anxiety.

Velvette remained on-brand, and staunchly unimpressed by anything ‘her old guys’ (affectionate) did. 

Valentino was being a whiny brat about the whole thing, which was grating on Al’s last nerve and Velvette was still new to her status of Overlord, and had no strong opinion either way. She listened to them, sure, but did her own thing anyway.

Besides, it was always going to end with at least two of the others fighting, maybe even a three-way battle with valentino, and then someone would get freaky with someone else and it would end up fine. That’s what usually happened in big arguments. She’d faced down Val once, even Vox… but even her best tantruming behaviour had yet to get the fuddy duddy old Radio Demon to rise to the challenge. He was oddly tolerant for her… and she’d worked out why after meeting his friend Mimzy, and the other overlord, Rosie.

She used that to her advantage when arguing with the other AVees. He would decimate her verbally, though, so its not like she had monopoly over the guy, but… it was a fun dynamic.

Their company was growing, their souls pulling the monolithic corporation forwards as each of the powerhouses fuelled the endeavour with their own influence. If she could just get them all to stop fucking with her phone camera to get a photo of the #AVeeTeam for her Sinstagram, life would be perfect. She’s still working on a filter to help her overcome Alastor’s whatever the hell distortion and the ‘not now Vel’ static fuzz Vox used.* (Use as a future plot device).

Back to the battle. Vox and Alastor’s combined abilities decimated any recording devices in the area, so at least it is not surveilled. Vel and Val immediately gathered some of the lower level contracts and set out to find the other overlords, amidst the battle, using them as shields as needed.

The only thing that mattered was retrieving the others back to the AV building, which was at least able to be locked down, swearing the whole time at how fucking inconvenient the foreplay shit their business partners were into was… etc.

Someone else watches the pair fall, both valiantly attempting to fight for the other, to the end… but against heavenly forces and angelic steel, what chance can they have?

A song drifts through the air, wrapping about the angelic ears and blanking their minds of the chaos they wrought, settling the bloodlust. ‘Return to your home’ suggests the song, and the squadron’s thoughts turn to fuzzy mush, their wings turning them back towards the heavenly portal. 

A serene sight swans through the massacred sinners, stopping before the mangled overlords with a soft sigh, like a mother coming across her children post paint-related shenanigans. Loving and amused, infinitely patient… and yet, there’s something in her sharp violet eyes that makes one feel under the perusal of a predator.

“My, my, my… what a magnificent little attempt to fight off the heavens.” She muses aloud, gloved fingers brushing over the embedded spear in Vox’s abdomen, as he shudders. “Too bad you had no chance against their little weapons, hmm? Ah, a pity… to waste such potential.”

Alastor is frowning. “M-Majesty? Whatever are y000oooou doing here in Exter-min-min-mination?” Radio distortion warbles sharply in the background of his speech, as he coughs harshly from the effort. One does struggle with a blade puncturing their lungs.

“Why, coming to offer you a chance to continue living, my dear Overlords!” She beams, magnanimous and charming. Her grin falls slightly at the calculating look in their eyes. “Hmmm, I should have surmised that Overlords would be the most shrewd at an offered hand, always wondering what the price would be. It is your bread and butter after all.”

“Wh4444t w0uld you a444sk of u5, y0ur Hi-igh-ighness?” Vox gasps, barely conscious. 

“Devotion. I heal you, and you will both stand under my banner, little overlords, be with me when we next rise up against the Heavenly oppressors.”

“Ah, my Queen…” Alastor’s ears droop.

“No, no, settle. Not right now of course. That is for a time in the future when demonkind will take the fight to Heaven once more and prevail… however, I am currently restricted by a new deal my foolish little husband has brokered with the feathered fools. So my hands are bound… but yours, well, who would know if the Queen had enlisted a number of powerful sinners to help when the time comes?”

“Yo-...” whatever Vox was about to say was lost to a wash of loud static, as he fought against collapse, screen flickering to black in a way that nearly made Alastor’s own heart stop. 

“D-deal. I will take it… if you can heal him.” Alastor barks, desperate in a way he had never been before, as Vox’s form began to shudder and spark. His barely raised hand is clasped by that of Queen Lillith, and light blasts across the area, purple and green intertwining about his wrist in a chain that seemed barely there. Ah, perhaps that was the bloodloss.

“We shall talk more in a moment, do excuse me.” She soothes, moving right to Vox and viciously yanking the spears from his trembling form, ignoring cries of agony that lance right through Alastor’s aching heart. With a calming song, Vox seems to settle, the dripping blue fluid that served as his blood was beginning to recede back inside the wounds as they closed. 

Alastor’s own mind was starting to dim at the edges, his being filling with the musical notes the Queen filled the air with. He thinks he might have been reflecting them back in a distorted way, as she pauses in shock to look at him; something wicked flickering through those captivating eyes.

She moves away from the remarkably more whole than before Vox, golden light closing the last of his wounds, and stands before the Radio Demon with something dangerous in her eyes. “You… I hadn’t assumed an Overlord, even the Radio Demon, could handle my song like that. Indeed, my plans were to have you and Vox corroborate your powers to try to broadcast this to the entire realm of Pride… and beyond, if we could manage it without Luci finding out. I never imagined that either of you could handle it alone.”

She effortlessly wrenched the spear from his chest, lips parting in a song that made the sharpness of his pain dial down rapidly, even as her hands found the deep gash at his side, the broken spear in his other thigh removed without warning.

And all the while, his eyes were torn between watching the notes form into the air and a desperate need to follow every movement Vox made, rising to his feet somewhat battered and bruised but very much whole.

For that, he could withstand even such a gentle, caring foreign touch. Though his tail flickered under his coat at the idea of strange, unfamiliar hands upon his person. 

Truly, he’d only just begun to enjoy casual touch with Velvette, the newest member of the team. She’d been an interesting curveball, loud and brash and always slinging an arm about your throat for a quick hug or a ‘self-y’, which was apparently a photo of you both smiling at a phone? So very tactile it took a moment to get used to, especially after all the boundaries one had to put in place with Valentino and all his many wandering hands.

One day, he thinks idly as the endorphins flood his system now the pain faded to naught, he might even drop his distortion filter to let her get his good side. However, he rather thinks the young media overlord is quite enjoying the pursuit of catching him off guard and would so hate to spoil her fun. The thrill of the hunt was something he knew intimately, after all.

“Mmm, come now my pretty little deer… what surprising powers you have under that facade. I will need both of you, but… perhaps only one to be my signal-bearer, the one who can regale Hell’s rings with my song and sovereign siren call to arms.” She muses, touching his face, noting the way he automatically flinched back from the sensation.

“H-hey, your majesty, he doesn’t like to be touched like that…” Vox intercedes, possibly imagining what the King might do if Alastor lost it and bit the Queen. He’s hobbling over rapidly, offering his hand to Alastor, getting them both on their feet in the wake of literally miraculous healing. “Are you okay, Al?”

“Fit as a fiddle… that fell down some stairs, haha! I’ll need some retuning later, I think, but for now… that you are well and safe means more than anything to me.” Alastor returns, briefly blotting out the Queen as the flatscreen fills his vision. He allows the other a brief peck, to reassure Vox this was real and not an end of afterlife hallucination, before facing her majesty once more.

With a sharp bow, Alastor’s grin blooms across his face. “Queen Lillith I cannot thank you enough for saving us from the angelic horde and I will honour our deal that I might stand beside you when we once more rise against Heaven. Those feathered bullies have been kicking over our metaphorical sandcastles with too much confidence for too long, I say. Thank you for the life of my vainglorious picturebox as well, a restored afterlife would not be worth much without him in it.”

Something sorrowful passes across the royal features, a memory of better times perhaps.

“Of course, I understand completely. If anything happened to my dear daughter Princess Charlotte, I would not know what to do with myself…”

The omission of the King was noted and swept aside by both overlords.

She heaves a rather heavy sigh, one that seemed weighted and filled with a foreboding that sent a shiver up Alstor’s spine. “I do apologise for this… but it is necessary for the future of Hell, and the safety of my baby girl.”

Her eyes flared glowing violet, the shadows deepened around the pair, and the chain at his wrist shattered. Before Alastor’s mind could find the words to ask what in Satan’s name was happening, for the bond was not repaid, he felt her command shiver through his bones. 

“Kneel.”

Vox cried out in alarm as Alastor’s knees struck the bloody concrete with a resounding shockwave of pain.

“Y-your majesty, if you don’t stop this, I’ll-... I’ll… I’ll broadcast this directly to the King on whatever screen he’s facing right this second!” 

“Hmmm, no. You won’t. In fact, both of you will make a stronger, more binding deal with me right now or I will erase the other overlord from existence. I am truly sorry it has come to this, but Heaven is conspiring to harm my child, and I have had enough of placating them, and this is the only way to ensure her safety.” She snarls. “You sinners all pledge fealty with pretty meaningless words, but when the horn rings, you cower away and forget your sworn oaths… I know that chains are the only thing that truly binds you.”

“Wh-...what would we get out of a deal? You know it needs to be reciprocal to some extent, for the price you are asking, my Queen.” Alastor tries to placate, trying to mentally map out anything in her words that might allow them an Out.

Her power was almost chokingly overwhelming, dizzying in its intensity. Briefly, his mind wandered to the King, and how violently powerful the man must be if this was only the second most powerful being in hell… 

“The deal I offer, that you MUST take, is that you will obey my commands and come when I call. You will work with me, in secret, against the Heavenly genocide that continues year after year; whatever form that may take, including taking on tasks I designate without advising anyone else of your intentions. You will not be allowed or able to advise the King, and will go out of your way to avoid his awareness of my plans. In return, once your service to me has completed, I will return your memories.”

“...what do you mean, our memories?” Vox asks hesitantly, trying to fight the intoxicating hold of the Queen to create a backup of his known memories on a secondary server. Magic crackles through him, corrupting the attempt.

“Exactly as I said. In a moment, I am going to use my song to rifle through your minds to bind your positive memories of life, and any memories of your relationship throughout the decades in hell. These I will keep, unless you agree to my terms. Should we strike a deal, and we shall, I will bind them into the very chains that shackle you to our agreement; do not fret, you will remember only enough to recall that the memories are there and that attempts to break the chains would destroy them eternally.”

“That… seems unbalanced, majesty. What chance can we have to defend Hell with you, or on your orders, if we do not recall our partnership?” Alstor entreats.

She laughs. “Ah, but you will find others. Fear not, I will add a little boost to your abilities, provided you do not disobey me… for I can take them away at will without sundering the binding. There are some perks to being a Queen in this forsaken realm, after all.”

“Vox, I-...” The hopeless despair is crushing, and while they do not technically need to breathe outside of habit, his lungs are constricting until it feels they would burst. He cannot see a way out of this little mess, there’s no clever trick or rewording that will slip them free of this noose.

Vox’s own screen reflects that horror, that agonised understanding. Blue clawed hands tighten painfully, and the man’s shoulder’s shake.

“I-... I’m sorry babe, I think we have to do what she says. But… it’ll be alright, right? Perhaps we can find each other again before our memories come back, and work together. Hah, how funny would that be?”

Showman’s charm on full display. 

“I-...hmm, indeed, my picturebox. Perhaps we will.” He slides his gaze towards the Queen. “Could we be permitted a moment of farewell?”

“Of course… but only a moment. We cannot tarry here longer, this has already been drawn out long enough that it may draw unwanted attention soon.”

Vox crashes their lips together almost violently, arms so tight about Alastor he might crush a vertebra with only a fraction more pressure, as desperate feelings of love and loss are infused into his kiss. Televisions cannot normally cry, but Alastor can taste the salt and hopelessness as it drips down the screen into their kiss, and it makes his heart ache.

“I love you, Al… and I’m sorry for anything I do when I can’t remember us.”

“I love you as well, Vox… and I, too, apologise in advance for anything I may do to harm you in the future.”

“Do we have a deal?” The Queen interjects, eyes darting to the skies, as if nervous. She extends one hand, palm up.

“Yes, your majesty.” The pair intone, and they place their hands atop that of the Queen, feeling power explode outwards, surging within them at the same moment that something oddly vital seems to strip away in a whirl of music that seems captivating. Violet collars infused with trace elements of green and blue snap fast about their throats, as their eyes dull, the pair barely gasping before collapsing in a boneless mess at the royal feet. 

“What the FUCK did you do them?” shouts a third voice, and a gun cocks.

Lillith turns about, catching the arriving ‘rescue party’ off-guard. Valentino’s gun wavers at the realisation that he’d just drawn on the Queen, and he fumbles it as Velvette slams into his back. They’re the only ones left after battling their way through angels to get here.

“Oi, you got no right to meddle with Sinner affairs, bitch. Let’s see what happens when all of Hell gets a good look at the sneaky shit you’re up to!” Velvette threatens, livestream in progress as the camera pans to Lillith. “Oi, you lot, look at this shit, the Queen’s down here in the muck of it, and she’s gunning for Overlords-...”

The feed terminates with a snap of Lillith’s fingers.

“Hmmm, perhaps a few more minds need some gentle tampering with. I may have a use for one of you as well, in future… but for now, I need you to Forget What You Saw. Forget about the Radio Demon, align your memories with those of the Television Demon… recall nothing more until their chains break and-... ah, blast. Out of time. FORGET!” 

In a flurry of purple, Lilith turns and dashes away as her shield snaps, and members of the Royal Guard arrive.

“Your majesty, please come with us… the King is beside himself that you went out during extermination!” A hellborn salutes, offering her a hand. “Uh, did you need us to deal with any of the sinners? Did they disrespect you?”

“What? Oh, no… I just did some minor healing to help them survive this blasted extermination. You know how it is, Antigonius, I just cannot help but be amongst the people in their time of need.” banter etc 

Lilith taken away.

Velvette shakes off the glamour, brain a mess of half-recalled wisps of memory.

She blinks, then whacks a stunned Valentino on the arm, “Hey, Vox is hurt… what the fuck? Do you see any angelic wounds? Wait… why’s the Radio Demon here?”

[Flesh out the scene, have them deciding whether to kill him or not, but ultimately Valentino gets one of his whores to drag the red fucker back to his shitty radio station. Not out of mercy, not really… just a weird feeling that killing him right now was Bad for some reason. He rationalises that maybe Vox had asked to be the one to kill the smug fucker. 

That was fair.

Ironically, it’s a drugged out Angel Dust who ends up hauling the other away, barely aware of what he’s even doing but knowing that he’s dead if he fucks up or the fucker he’s carting about wakes up. He at least puts him on the little sofa in the room and props him up comfy before leaving, stumbling back to Vee Tower. In the future, he’ll assume it was a dream… until later.]

Wake up not remembering one another.

Niffty is frantically feather dusting Alastor to wake him up, and had gone to get Husk. The other asks if he and Vox had a lover’s tiff and also what the FUCK the idiot thought he was doing out in the Extermination. Al confused, unsure what that meant, and tells the other not to talk about the idiot podcast… they hadn’t spoken in years.

Husk tries to push it, knowing something was fucked now, but is silenced by his own collar.

Vox wakes up confused, angry for reasons he can’t name and the sudden awareness of things in his room that might belong to the Radio Demon make him angry. A memory out of reach that pokes at him, something about Alastor… a friend he remembered in a haze. 

It fills him with anger, and a haunting obsession to stalk the other, find out what captivated him so. 

Vox and Alastor confront the horror of their own collars in time, and all they can remember is that something vital is in the memories in their chains that they dare not lose.

Nightmares from their living days and deaths, as all left is dark memories.

Within a year’s time… Alastor is summoned by the Queen, when she storms off, and taken to a place he is unable to speak of. To ensure his silence, as Heaven loosens bonds, she uses his own power to bind a smile to his face.

By the time he gets back, sent to both guard little Charlotte and ensure the failure of her hotel, his mind is whirring with panic and the need to find a way out. Husk is summoned and the first to notice something is completely wrong, the smile… that wasn’t right. The guy was always smiling before but this was… 

Couldn’t put a finger on it until he saw the man angry, saw him hurt, and it only showed in his eyes and the strain on that smile to fall.

He knows something is wrong.

----

Future, fighting Vox in the present, and pauses a potentially fatal strike when Vox stumbles and his screen flickers in the lower left corner. Alastor narrows his eyes.

“You dare presume to fight me without recharging yourself, picture box?” he taunts, enjoying how Vox stutters over the airways in anger and flustered mortification. 

“No… Fuck you! I’m f-ff-i111n3!”

“Clearly not. And I refuse to have anyone doubt the victory of our battle because you were running on emergency reserves. Come now,, take this and crawl back to your tower… we can reschedule.”

Alastor’s tendrils bring the other closer, a nebulous ball of green crackling energy forming in his free hand, easily batting aside the other’s sluggishly writhing electrical cables with his cane. When they were close enough, the energy seeped across the slight gap, into the ports surrounding Vox’s screen until the hazard light flickering in the corner of the screen settled down. “Now, away with you.”

He expects a cheap shot at his retreating back, and pauses in surprise when it doesn’t come, turning back to Vox. “Did you need more energy to get back to that tower than i assumed, or do you not consider me a threat?” he asks, baffled. 

Vox’s hand was outstretched as if to go through with the sneak attack, as expected, but the limb was languid, fingers curled in uncertainty. “I… should… but I don’t know why I didn’t…?”

It’s phrased like a question. There’s something nebulous, unspoken and unseen, in the space between them that feels heavy and crackles like static (find better descriptor). An unspoken something so heavy on the tongue they could nearly taste it, like the sharp scent of ozone before a lightning strike. 

A bullet fires past Alastor’s face, slicing through his cheek. A warning shot.

Valentino and Velvette appear in a flurry of power, he can feel the barrier of gossamer thin razorwire thread filling the space between Vox and himself, Velvette’s protective shield to prevent further attacks. 

“Back off, ciervo, and I will let you leave!” Valentino snarls, curling around Vox to check the damage as Velvette drops off a portable power pack for Vox to plug in. 

“Fortunate for you that I was already leaving, my lamp-addled amigo.” Alastor snipes back, grinning. Always grinning.

Valentino snarls, already pulling Vox to his feet as Velvette’s threads start to wrap about anything bleeding, absorbing bright blue blood and staunching the flow. 

“Why don’t you run back to the hotel and cower under your princessa’s petticoats like the coward you are? Attacking him in broad daylight when it’s clear Voxxy was at low charge… are you so afraid of what he represents, ciervo?”

“What? No, in fact Vox began the altercation… I was humouring him until I saw he was on reserve power. There is nothing to gain by crushing someone at their lowest… it would be achievements?”

“Yeah? You got a lotta practice with the baby-smothering then?” Vel taunts, distracting him. It’s openly a gambit for his attention, to see if he is likely to allow them to leave without a fight.

“Alas, I cannot say that is on my resume, no… I always preferred the ones who could fight back and give a good hunt. Just as Vox can, on a good day… but I see sitting about in the pitch of his tower is hardly doing him any favours at this point, why, he nearly nodded off in the meeting! He’s lucky dear Rosie was magnanimous enough to nudge him awake under the table, else Carmilla might have gotten quite cross.”

“...so, what…? You gonna throw down with one of us, or…?”

“Is that something either of you particularly desire at this time? I do have another engagement in forty-five minutes, but I’m certain we can make something work in the remaining time if you would like a tussle.”

“Oooh, deer daddy, I’d tussle with you any day…” Valentino purrs, merely for the joy he received at the way Alastor’s expression scrunched in pure disgust behind that fake smile.  “If we made it pay per view, I think we could buy all of Pride with the proceeds… lotta people want to see how you play in the sheets, after how hard you throw down in the streets, Radio Demon.”

“...Miss Velvette, would you be ever so kind as to remove the moth and his uncouth mouth from my vicinity before you need tweezers and a gallon of superglue to return him to his rightful shape? I understand you have trained him to follow orders, hmmm?”

“Heh, yeah, he comes when I-...”

Alastor’s ears flattened and his eyes rolled towards the sky. “Ah, I should have known it was only a matter of time before the pair corrupted you…”

Vel snorts, thinking it’s actually pretty funny to banter like this. Some deep little bell is ringing in the depths of her brain and for the afterlife of her, she can’t tell why this feels so familiar.

“Well, adieu all… if you do change your minds, even for a little sparring bout when everyone is in top form, please direct a telegram to the Hazbin Hotel and I will check my schedule. Or via mail.”

“Technology won’t bite, you know. I’m sure we’ve got an ancient, like, Nokia somewhere we can get you that you’d feel right at home with…” Vel grumbles, trying to recall the last time she ever heard of a telegram being sent or written. What the actual seven rings was with this guy?

Alastor merely hums and turns away, striding off at a languid pace and twiddling with his cane. A musical melody threading the air about his form as the few sinners brave enough to hide when four overlords were gathered rather than running for their lives, began to flee or take their own eyes out to avoid reprisal.

“Fucking old t1111m3y prickkkkk… telegram? I’ll give you telegram… Val, collab with babydoll to whip up something you might send to me when you’re in the mood, and we’ll say it with pyrotechnics.” Vox’s brain was stuck on this recent humiliation, and he wasn’t letting the smug deer get away scot free. Time to hit the guy where it hurts… his prudish pride.

---

Dinner was being cleared away a few evenings later when it began.

Explosive, repetitive cracks and pops that sounded like a veritable army of gunfire going off in waves. Niffty hurtled back inside and grabbed Alastor’s trouser leg, grinning maniacally.

“Sir, sir! The bad ones at the tower are sending you angry words in the sky!!!”

Before he can parse this, Angel Dust yells back into the foyer “Hey… uh, Smiles? You might wanna come see this shit… it’s uh… did you piss off Vox recently?”

Charlotte is standing outside with her mouth agape at the dazzling popping lights shooting over pentagram city that evening, made all the more visible by pendulous clouds of pending acidic downpour. He cannot make out the last words, but it appears that whatever the message was is being repeated once more in another scintillating display of pyrotechnics.

He’d be impressed with the coordination and use of fireworks if the message wasn’t so very grating.

“Message for Deer Daddy

Please come”

That hung in the air for a few beats too long before a secondary burst finished the sentence.

“Out and play with us at Vee Tower. 

We’ve been so naughty, don’t you want to put us in our place?

Don’t make us wait to”

Whatever they were waiting for was apparently misfired because the next eight vaguely legible words distorted, and spared the whole of Pride from reading whatever in the seven rings it said.

Finally, with a sharp burst and the Voxtech logo, came the final message:

“PS Get a phone. STOP.”

Lucifer was howling with laughter next to them all.

Husk was watching Alastor from the corners of his eye, unsure if this was going to be a ‘ha ha’ response or a ‘the city is being torn down godzilla style’ reaction.

Vaggie looked vaguely sick, and somewhat sympathetic, because she sure as hell would have died if Charlie had done that to her and she LOVED Charlie. It was clear whatever was between their overlord and the vees, this was… something else.

“Stop? Wait… like as in full stop? Like a telegram?” Angel frowned, confused.

Alastor tilted his head slightly, thinking over the words, and then banged the base of his cane on the ground twice until it sparked to life. Holding it close to his lips, his jovial voice emanated from anything with a speaker in all of pride.

“Dear Vox and associated Vee-generates, as amusing as your little sexting display was, I must decline whatever nonsense you have planned. If you have space for a proper battle next Wednesday after ten am, I think I could fit that into my schedule… otherwise, do go fuck yourselves. Good night Pentagram City, and remember that one sinner’s corpse can be another sinner’s dinner, so donate your murder victims to Cannibal Town today!”

A short burst of jazz flowed off into silence as the staff quieted.

“Uh, Al… are you okay?” Charlie asks, hovering beside him as he continued to watch the city. He shushes her gently.

“...wait.”

Powerlines crackle and lights go out across the cityscape, as Vox and his cohorts realise their little game had failed. “Hah! There it is! Can’t contain himself, and throws an absolute tantrum when his plans backfire…”

“So you’re not actually banging any of the Vees, right? Like… I just need to know in case you want me to pretend we don’t know each other when we run into each other at the tower…” Angel says, ignoring warning signals to sling an arm over Alastor’s shoulder.

That causes a splutter of genuine laughter from Alastor. “HAH as if, my dear fellow, those three are quite annoying enough as enemies, and I would assume far more annoying as strange bedfellows. This, I suspect, was because I put Vox through several layers of pavement after the Overlord meeting a few days back… he started the altercation when his battery was almost empty, the fool.”

“And you humiliated him by pointing it out and refusing to finish him?”

Angel snorted, and was lightly shoved off the radio demon. “I mean, the offer is clear Smiles, you can go ‘finish him’ anytime tonight… they’ve been naughty, they said.”

“...Charlotte, if I promise to get a better prospect of a guest, might I send dear Angel here to the shadow realm for a brief lesson?”

“The place with those big fuckin’ tentacles? Count me in, baby!”

“...on second thoughts, I might just beat you to death right here.”

“Oooh, hardcore impact play… no wonder the Vees are interested, ‘Deer Daddy’.”

“...there is literally nothing I can say that will not have some fetishistic connotation you can twist, is there?”

“Nope.” grins the arachnid, smug and feeling only a little disappointed about the missed tentacle pit opportunity. “You want me to list them alphabetically, or just as they… heh, arise… in conversation?”

“Hmmm, well in that case…” it’s clearly triggered a thought for Alastor. “Perhaps you can explain why Valentino’s studios intake a dozen well-crafted cakes of all varieties every third Tuesday of the month from a bakery owned by one of my more established souls. The orders began last year sometime after a previous supplier was destroyed, I understand, but it seems extremely unlikely that you are being allowed to eat them or celebrate milestones given what level of tyrant reigns over you all there.”

Angel actually pauses, noting the pleading stare from Husk to not share this clearly horrific secret. “Well, uh… it’s a sex thing, as you probably guessed. But a very specific one… actually several, I think. There’s people who like watching bigger people eat just like a shitload and often cake is a favourite; and some like to y’know, add their own filling and all…” He seems to war with himself for a moment before bending to whisper directly into Al’s ear, which twitches.

“...and you say people find this arousing, how?” There’s another whisper, and a sharp burst of static through the air. “What do you mean people pay to eat it afterwards?!”

“What can I tell ya, Smiles, people are here for a reason… and it ain’t cause they were into feet too much.” 

“Enlightening. In the worst way possible… but it does solve a mystery. I may keep that one away from the bakery owner, it would cause them no end of distress to think such hard work was being desecrated in such a base manner.”

“Awww, Al, is that you caring about another person I hear?” Charlie gasps, eyes sparkling.

“Pish-tosh, perish the thought Charlotte… to own a soul is to have the right motivational leverage, sometimes that means refraining from sharing information that would demoralise a thrall.”

“Good enough.”

“You should really get a phone, Alice… your fling with Box and the Zees woke the whole neighbourhood with their attempts to get hold of you.” Lucifer goads. “Oh sorry, do you prefer ‘Deer Daddy’ instead now?”

A sharp barb rises on his tongue about how the dear departed Queen was supposed to make contact with the shell of her husband when he hid away making ducks for a decade, but he drops it so swiftly he shocks himself. 

“Why, Lucifer, are you offering to play carrier pigeon for our secret lovenotes and other folderall?” He says in a sickly sweet tone that wipes the smirk off the King’s face. “How generous of you… hah, Royal Air Mail direct from Vee to you.”

Charlie snorts behind her hand and disguises it as a cough as the kind turns a rather odd golden shade that must be a furious flush. In a split-second, that serene bored expression is back. “You couldn’t afford my delivery rates, Bambi… just get a phone like the weird sky sext suggested. I’m gonna go back to bed, and hopefully, that’s the last we’ll hear of this nonsense tonight.”

“...indeed. Well, if everyone has ceased gawking at the spectacle, it may be best to retire to your rooms as the hour is late. Niffty and Husker, I recall you are both on cleaning duty but strangely did not see you in the kitchen just now helping with clean up.”

“Oh, I can he-...”

“Princess Charlotte will not offer to help for the fourth night in a row, because we have a roster system for a reason. She is going to her room with dear Vagatha and actually sleeping tonight. If my Shade finds you sneaking down into your office to plan redemption activities all night long one more time… why, I believe that someone might make your partner and father aware of the situation.”

“Hey! I’m an adult who can make her own choices!” she grumbles.

“An adult who still needs sleep to function at optimal efficiency, something you cannot achieve or attain when running on less than a full eight hours per week.”

“Wait, per WEEK? Char-Char, you had better hope I don’t catch you burning yourself out like that at night or I can and will ground you magically. You know I can!” Lucifer chides.

“Only if I can’t get to her first, your Majesty… Charlie, we talked about this!” Vaggie sighs.

Charlotte throws a glaring accusation at Alastor, who grins back as she is dragged off to bed. 

Husker drags Niffty inside by the collar, as she is bouncing up and down on a trail of ants giggling frantically. 

Angel once again slings his arm over Alastor’s shoulder, as he starts walking back inside. Alastor refrains from removing the limb at the joint, stunned by the sheer audacity of the other.

“Hey so like… you actually good? I know that was meant to get under ya skin, and I mean, they tried to blast you all over Pride. So, if you wanna bitch about it, spill the tea and all… you can like, talk to me. I’m used to the weird sexyish mindgames Val plays, so it’s nothing I haven’t heard or complained about before…”

“Thank you. I assure you that this is nothing out of the ordinary for my dealings with them, but I will not forget your attempt at… whatever form of companionship this is, my effeminate fellow.”

Angel snorts and rolls his eyes, “It’s called being a good friend you all-powerful dumbass, but I get it if you’re out of practice… Vags said you went away for like ages, so I get it if that part of your brain went rusty or whatever. But if you’re really all good…”

“I am, most assuredly.”

“...then it’s my duty to explain to you the basic terminology of my general profession, so they don’t catch you off-guard again.” Warning static filled the air. “Okay, where to start…? Oh, I know, do you know what fisting is?”

A blare of something that sounded like a radio falling down a flight of stairs echoed.

“...I’m assuming that it has nothing to do with fisticuffs?”

“True. Okay so like, do you know what a muppet is…? Because it’s like that, but if someone wanted to be a muppet and another person has a lotta lube, so-…” Angel asked, as the Kitchen door swung shut on the frankly absurd and truly bizarre conversation at play. 

Husker dithered in the entryway a few moments later, arms loaded full of used cutlery and crockery. Couldn’t they just have one normal night in this place…? He groaned, and pushed open the doors to the sound of a detailed explanation of something he’d never wanted to know, nor the mechanics of the activity done to safety standards.

“...if they get stuck you can always get the third person to like, squeeze the thing until it pops, so-...”

This hotel was fuckin’ weird at the best of times.

But, the cat thinks as he sees the genuine delight and passion on Angel’s face in contrast to the curious but mildly horrified expression Alastor’s as the pornstar detailed something involving balloons and birthday clowns, that perhaps it wasn’t all bad. 

Find the little joys. Carpe Diem. Seize the-... well, Angel was talking about seizing quite a few things, now.

In the background, Niffty hurled herself into the sudsy sink with rapturous giggles and had to be fished out.

[find better end to this chapter section]

>Maybe alastor gets angel back by explaining the best way to dissect different sinner types, with Niffty input later on.

-

Velvette is clearing out her old documents and code work, her hard drives may be nearly infinite, but sometimes literally tossing the old helped declutter her brain. She runs across a strange half-done add-on file she didn’t remember fiddling with, and almost dismisses it out of hand, after all ‘Gonna_Get_Em’ isn’t that descriptive of a file name. But something stops her drag and drop…

She opens the folder and checks the notepad file attached, it’s from about eight years ago with a summary of the code she’d been tinkering with. 

‘Attempt #36 didn’t work, but it appears the filter is close to overriding the distortion, something about the colour input? Note to self - try reversing the gradient values in code, add the Wrathian perception hex in binary.’

‘Attempt #37 - well that fucking failed. Al was big mad tho, so it was pretty funny! Try the Greed perception hex, those fuckers can get over any sort of paywall with their little tricks. See if that does it.’

She clicked a rather indistinct looking jpeg of primarily fuzzy green, black, blue and red mess… and gasped. Deep within the photo, for someone who knew the idiots personally, was the shockingly familiar faces of Alastor and Vox, both clearly startled out of sleep and half-demonic. Even deep-fried, she could see through what remnants of the filter made it through the distortion, that this was no caught-out hook-up. They were in pyjamas, posters of something called the AVees on the wall she almost could have thought had her younger self in them, and bookmarked novels on at least one of the bedside tables. 

Where was this taken? WHEN? It’d clearly been her doing, and for… a filter? A filter to overcome their distortion? And whenever this was, she’d clearly not been afraid of any reprisal despite the demonic eyes, tendrils and sharp grins facing her.

A very, very faint memory brushes behind her eyes. She remembers holding back giggles as she’d snuck into their room… and bursting out laughing at their shock, snapped awake by their protective fields detecting surveillance. 

What the seven rings even was this?

This was something she needed to take to Val and Vox, like, immediately.

The Vees start to talk, and Vox finds they are all silenced quickly. That ain’t right.

An alarm in Vox’s mind says don’t push it, or lose everything.

Alastor is hostile from the get-go to the King. For one, he seethes with rage that the Queen was able to do all of this under his nose, not to mention the fact that someone with all the power in multiple realms was this sad little clown thing that was so depressed he barely showered most days. Not to mention, if the King had stood up to Heaven with the Queen, none of this would have happened.

And… to some extent, given his role as protector to the little Princess, he supposed that maybe, possibly, Alastor might have come to enjoy being around her for more than entertainment alone. Perhaps not a daughter, but a niece he occasionally went out of his way to provide aide and counsel to? She was such a vivacious thing, so full of hope that everything in all existence has desperately tried to beat out of her and failed.

The battle, injured by Adam as the Vees watch.

Roiling in Vox’s gut as he sees Alastor downed; puts on a show of delight and horniness about the whole matter either way. For his part, the Radio Demon finds that Lillith’s displeasure yanks his extra power back at the last moment… allowing Adam to nearly shear him in two.

In panic, the shadow pulls him away and drops him in the old radio tower.

He returns to the hotel as soon as he can get the wound to stop seeping through the bandages. Joining in to Charlie’s little song and dance, oddly endeared by the fact that everyone sans Husk and Lucifer seemed genuinely delighted he was alive. How confusing!

It was later, as the hotel was returning to operational standing with Alastor adding little flourishes to seem like he was engaging in the creation process… despite feeling like every flicker of magic he used was being dragged out of him violently. (better descriptor needed).

Husk noticed. Of course the canny creature did, and kept finding reasons to get Charlie or Vagatha’s attention on Alastor.

Infuriating. But he couldn’t even discipline the other without potentially keeling over. Too many around could easily take his overlord status in such a state… 

Well, he thinks as his chest throbs unpleasantly, he might almost hand Husker the knife himself if this keeps up. 

So deep in his own mind, he doesn’t realise the extent of eyes on him until he is ever so gently corralled into a side room. Charlie sweating nervously as she talks brightly at him, and Alastor tries so hard to listen… there’s a buzzing in the background that he only just realises is his own and shuts off at the last moment. 

There’s another annoying buzzing he’s listening to, and it can’t be silenced so easily.

“...Boss?” 

“Hmmm? Apologies, I wasn’t listening Husker, you should hear what Vox is reporting on his insipid little shows, the airways are quite glutted with the mess. Of course he would capitalise on others’ deeds. Claiming his Angelic Security System was the root of our victory today…”

“Well, not like you won’t put the truth in your show later, right? Fair’s fair.” Vaggie chimes in, moving to his left, so he has to turn to face her. The angel’s depth perception could get a little off when she was tired, so she tended to move out of direct light and angle herself to see the person better. A funny little habit he’d noticed in the past few months of mere observation around the hotel. Everyone had such intriguing quirks when you took notice…

“True, dear Vagatha. I-... Angel, what do you have in that hand of yours?”

“Uh, a little something that WAS for Me’n’Cherri to enjoy, that I think Charlie’s gonna confiscate now, so thanks for that.” the arachnid scowled, showing off a glowing syringe from behind his back, as indeed Charlotte strode over with a thunderous expression on her face. 

“Angel, we talked about this! Sometimes good things can be celebrated without drugs, or alcohol or…well, maybe non-destructive sex can be on the list, but consensual. Because if you reinforce good things with healthy coping mechanisms and rewards, its easier to make better choices when things go wrong. Right Alastor?”

“Indeed. It seems someone has been reading up on psychological approaches to therapeutic care… a laudable endeavour. The books do tend to be quite dry, but worth the effort.”

“I know! I’m halfway through one called ‘Now: Distractions & Disarming Strategies for Helping the Resistant Patient’, it’s by-...”

Alastor’s mind was trying to recall the title on any of the bookshelves, when he felt arms lock about his throat, so utterly surprising him that the additional betrayal of Charlotte jamming the syringe into his arm was negligible. Lashing out automatically, his tendril hurled Husker several feet away, how dare the cat think he could grab him like that?

“Okay, no you don’t!” snaps the king, fingers clicking as golden bindings tethered his tendrils to the ground. His shadow bit at the tiny majesty, and it was banished… which… actually hurt. That was strange. Maybe it was because he wasn’t the dismisser. 

The world was spinning as he snarled, body creaking into Overlord form, likely to destroy the room if allowed to reach full height. 

“Aw fuck… he’s gonna eat us. I told you we shoulda used H8 in the mix, toots. Overlords don’t go down, heh, unless you dose ‘em up good… and I can even get Val to nap with the right cocktail, so trust me I know what I’m about.” Angel blurts, eyes wide. “Ah fuck it, I can try something else but you gotta keep him from killing me when he’s better…”

“What do you mean-...? Oh, oh gosh that’s a lot of blood…” Charlie went mildly green as the transformation began to tear at the concealed wound, sending a surge of murky golden-red blood seeping through his clothing. Her voice caught Alastor’s attention, and while he did not swipe at her, he did allow his gaze to briefly ascertain the princess was still unharmed by his actions.

Lilith’s command notwithstanding, he certainly enjoyed the little royal enough to not wish her ill. 

Dodging a swipe from the rapidly enlarging form, Angel darted behind Alastor and crawled up the shifting spine, ignoring awfully violent pops and cracks as bones shifted beneath his hands. He threw a silent apology to the overlord, ‘cause he might be a jerk but he’d never actually like, hurt Angel, at all… or been rude about his profession neither which he’d thought was a given, given Alastor’s… everything.

His face shifted, fangs descending as rarely used venom sacs filled in the hollow reservoirs in the corners of his mouth. Without preamble, he bit down against a clammy, scarred throat and held on as Vaggie pinned the enlarged hand that aimed to brush him away. Charlotte grabbed the other, using her strength to hold on tightly, until it was clear that the combination of drugs and venom were taking effect. 

Unlatching, and hoping he didn’t have to do that again any time in the near future cause he always felt like a fucking scumbag after using his venom against an unwilling person who wasn’t like, trying to kill him directly. Angel fell back and was caught by Niffty, who scooted him away with terrifying strength. Pretty sure Husk was laughing at him.

With a loud scream of static and something like an elk bugle, but off, the overlord’s body shrank and swayed. Eventually falling forwards, caught at the last moment by a combination of Husk and a reluctant, disgusted Lucifer.

“This was ridiculous, sweetie… couldn’t you just let him, like, die? We JUST fixed this place up and his dramatic ancient ass has already damaged half the lounge area!” 

“Daaaaad, please, he’s hurt because he helped the hotel. If I can sense it, you surely can… and we didn’t have a choice, he’d never have asked.”

“Then respect his wishes to double-die, and let him go. I can find you another overlord to help with this place if you’re so set on needing one… there’s uh… well, I remember Zestial. He’s okay, and hey, he speaks like an old-timey guy too so you won’t miss this one!”

“Dad. Enough.” Charlie snaps, her good cheer is finally dying, it’s been a long day. “Please, I am asking you, ME YOUR DAUGHTER, if you can help with this. You and Mum are the only ones I know of who can fix angelic wounds… and i don’t know what that guitar thing was made of, but I think that’s why I can taste the angelic essence radiating off of Alastor. Why Adam came after me and the shield fell.”

“...ah, fine, okay. Let’s at least see what we’re dealing with here…” Lucifer relents. Maybe the bellhop wouldn’t have been injured so bad if he’d been able to get there sooner, before Adam got the chance to go for Charlie.

He snapped up a couch beside them, and dropped the limp overlord on it without much care. Husk, of all sinners, grumbled and realigned Alastor so he would at least be less than agonisingly uncomfortable laying there, and started to unbutton the demon’s shirt. A task made harder by how wet it was with blood.

Makeshift bandages were mostly shredded by the transformation itself, so the injury was immediately obvious, and even the King had to admit that was pretty, hmmm, yep, that was Fucked. Cracking his knuckles, then his neck, Lucifer set his expression as his hands hovered over the wound, feeling around for the angelic grace he felt radiating out in little rays.

With a circular motion of one wrist, like winding a spool in, Lucifer tugged at the divine essence until it began to come free in little glimmering globules. This takes a few moments, before a small tennisball shaped orb of glistening golden blood and grace solidifies in his hand.

“Vaggie, could you please hold this? It might hurt someone else here if they touch it… it’s pure Grace, from Adam of all people, so it’s pretty potent.” he says, handing it over to the ex-orcist. “I’ll destroy it later, just gotta fix this fucking mess first.”

“Is that his lungs?” Angel asks, peering over the King, fascinated and horrified in equal measures. “Can you uh, actually fix this sorta thing? It’s pretty fucked even for Overlord healing to try and fix.”

“Of course I can, still got the old angelic healing ability after all. Heh, look, he even has a heart in there… welp, let’s get this covered up.” His power surges through the body, reconnecting blood vessels and nerves, mending tissue, coaxing muscle into place and marrow to produce more blood to replace the lost with a surge of golden nutrition to help the process along. He was sure there were a few metallic components and wires in there, but they didn’t seem too damaged, so he just clicked them back to where they seemed to belong and went back to healing. By the time the wound seals, nothing more than a slightly raised scar remains shimmering oddly.

“Okay, that was pretty awesome.” Angel admits, shrugging. His eyes can’t help but take in the form before him, likely seeing more of the Radio Demon than anyone in decades. Particularly, the odd shaped scars over the body and the painfully tight skin that lived there now. “Can your powers do anything about scars? I mean… those don’t look all that comfortable.”

“Hmmm? What? Oh, no… can’t do much about death marks, you guys come with them. Sinners get assigned bodies based on your lives, deaths and a thousand other weird variables that’d be hard to explain, and everything about you imprints on the form. I might be able to settle some of the angrier ones so they don’t pull all the time…” he pauses, “I mean, if Bambi here wasn’t sure an antagonistic dick to me constantly.”

His eyes fall on another shimmery scar near the one he just closed. “That one, on the other hand, I think that’s an angelic blade that someone else healed over before… and I think the one hiding on this side… but that makes no sense. I don’t recall doing this, and Charlie can’t, but why would…?”

He prods the sinner, once, on the older injury to try and ascertain who could have done this.

With a flare of angry violet light, Lucifer is shoved back as the collar manifests, shocking everyone in the room save Husk. “Ah, fuck…” the gambler groans and bats Lucifer’s hand away.

The light show settles, but the chain remains.

Lucifer’s eyes water with tears of rage and horror. “...Char Char? Why is your little bellhop bound with your mother’s magic?”

“I-... I didn’t-...” 

“They’re… trapped… by… Her.” Husk growls out, around his own collar manifesting. “Can’t say… more specifics. Al blocked me and Niffty… because it… means punishment… to talk about their deal.”

“They? Who else?” 

“...think… Vox?” He waited a moment and the collar settled. If it was around the deal, maybe he’d be in the clear. “Eight years ago, something went off, went wrong, not sure what… those two acted like they didn’t know each other, the Vees were cold to him and Nift and I, and then he disappeared. Thought they’d broken up or something, but it was like… they hadn’t been together at all.”

“Like… business partners?”

“Like partners partners, with the occasional extras… and all I can sort of remember about that day was that Niffty was frantic cause Al and Vox had decided to hash out an argument in the regular fashion while the clock was counting down to an Extermination.”

“So what… somehow the Queen decided to get involved with two overlords fist-fighting in the middle of an extermination and what, chain them for her amusement?”

“...Radio Demon… Television Demon…” Lucifer muses aloud, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Charlie, you know what your mother was able to do with her voice… well, I think, if I’m assuming right, that this was more about What they are than Who. You have the television guy who is The Network, and then you have the radio fucker here, who represents The Signal… she was looking for a way to broadcast herself to everyone, everywhere, all at once. And I think I know why.”

“No, she wouldn’t…”

“...would…” manifests a very weak voice, without Alastor moving his mouth. The shadow hovered nearby and flashed images on the nearby wall to help. Angels with spears, some people being hit, musical notes, and… the Queen. The Queen with chains binding the other two, and musical notes making an x across a silhouette of the king, a heart around the silhouette of Charlotte.

There was a notable pause, before the shadow brought back Lillith again, this time she stood by someone with wings, a chain trailing off into shadows. Familiar gates, and Lillith entering. The shadows rested into nothing.

“Is that where she is?” Lucifer asked, heart in his throat. “Is my wife in heaven right now?”

The collar flared again, as did Alastor’s stitches. The shadow behind him pointed out the window at Heaven, nodding. 

“...she will know… that you know.” 

“Was I not supposed to?”

“No.”

“Oh, and what will she do now you’ve disobeyed her?” 

“Likely… the same… or worse… than she did when… she realised the hotel… remained standing. She wanted it to… fail… so Charlotte would… lead the army she is… building against… Heaven.” 

“She WHAT?” Char and Luci yell.

“Hmmm.”

“Why didn’t you destroy the hotel then, huh? What are you getting out of it?”

“Also asked… to be protector of… Charlotte… seemed counterintuitive to… break down her life’s work…?” 

“Hah, found a loophole you slippery fucker.”

“Is that why you got hurt? I mean, Adam was tough enough that he nearly hurt me but…”

“...don’t worry about… it, Charlotte. Will be fine.” 

“That didn’t answer my question, Al. Did Adam get to you because of something my mother did?”

“...cannot answer that.” 

Charlie’s eyes brim with tears. “So, yes then. Fuck, this is so unfair, why would she do this? To me, to you, to Dad and even to Vox… and who knows who else she’s hurt like this. To what end?”

“To fight Heaven, Char-Char. Her rebellion failed, but only because she couldn’t raise all of Hell to fight with her song. She’s never-... Your mother never forgot what they did to us, the fall… the aeons we laid still breathing through the agony until our bodies reformed and the realm snapped into being. Her rage consumed her, especially once you were here and she feared you’d try to do…”

“Something that would upset Heaven enough for them to try and hurt me.”

“Exactly. Bellhop… why is Lillith in Heaven? Who is helping her?”

The stitches flared violently.

“Okay, nothing direct, got it… is the person that she was working with… still in Heaven, right now?”

Alastor’s stitched grin actually grew wider as he took in the question.

“Not… anymore…” he managed through the binding, and made a pointed glance at Niffty.

It took a moment.

“ADAM?! Her deal was with that fucker? She HATES him for the shit he did to her back in the Garden!” Lucifer explodes, furious. He calms “Okay, okay okay… well, he’s dead now, so what… she’s coming back?”

Radio static responds as the stitches tighten.

“Can’t tell me… got it. Okay, so what I got out of this is that Lillith was trying to get her hands on overlords with the ability to share her song, her power, across at least Pride if not the seven rings. She didn’t want me to know, at all, and did this all in secret… but decided to add in a caveat about protecting Charlie for at least you, if not the other guy too.”

“And she’s coming back to fight Heaven again… soon?” Charlie asked, voice small and trembling with warring emotions. “But she wanted my hotel to fail for some reason…?”

“Works… target.” Alastor adds, clearly fighting to stay awake against the roiling cocktail in his system and the healing magic that was trying to reset him through sleep. “Adam… to win…”

“If the hotel works or even looks like it might, then Heaven will target you, honey.” Vaggie tries to piece it together in her own head. “And Adam was… supposed to win? Seriously? Gross.”

“Hmmm…” 

“Do you think if we asked Vox, he might remember some other information to help us?”

“...no. Can’t remember. Chains are… memories.”

“What? No, that’s ridiculous, no one’s used that kind of binding for millennia…” Lucifer scoffs, and touches the chain, only to immediately hiss in disgusted sympathy. “I stand corrected. That’s… we forbade that practice because of what it can do if the chain is shattered without the deal completing properly or the dealer deciding to punish the other. You can't recover those memories…”

“Hmmm, yes…” 

“Okay, well… fuck, you take a nap there and I’m going to go level a couple buildings somewhere until I can think straight again, and then we’re going to find a way to talk more about this.”

[fitful sleep, only recalls recent memories or bad memories from life, someone wakes him]

“Whoa, chill, just me. That didn’t look restful, so I woke ya up… want something to make the dreams go away? I got some stuff that might wipe Vox’s circuits clean if he took a taste, but it helps me crash without any memories.”

“...maybe later…”

[Further explanation]

--

Do you want me to break your chains?

“I do not know exactly which memories are trapped, but they are mine and I will not risk breaking the chain or losing them. What I do recall is that her majesty bound anything positive from life, and something vital from my afterlife, and it infuriates me to not have any real idea what that could be.”

Vox approached to explain situation, Lilith calling on him now. 

Lilith having to return from heaven because both pawns are breaking oaths. Adam dead

Her family confronts her, she punishes the overlords by draining their abilities into her own. Boss battle of some kind. 

Etc etc.

[muchmossymess]

GUYS okay hear me out majoras mask boat boys au

I love legend of zelda I love boat boys this is like the ultimate combination of my interests you cannot understand the brainrot. Idk what to call it yet tho... majoras minecraft? Anyway prepare for an essay

OKAY so we have the Hero of Time, Etho, who stopped ganons plans before they started, and would be stuck in a child's body if not for the fact I think that'd be a lil weird for the more shippy aspects of this au that all the running through time aged his soul and his body followed suit (he's still got a young appearance, and the mask doesn't make him look older like he thinks). Same reason he has the scar over his eye (from the ganon fight); no matter how much the body may heal or rewind the mind will not forget.

Then navi (maybe bdubs?) left him, and he went with epona (maybe bdubs instead? (eponas a horse iydk)) and he sets out on a journey aka the beginning of mm:

Wandering through the woods on epona, gets jumped by skull kid. For those unaware, there is skull kid, a lonely lil sweetheart, and he wears the mask, an entity on its own. He also has two fairies, siblings tael and tatl.

So I was a little unsure about this for a while, but I think I've decided on grian for the skull kid and Jimmy for tael, grian bc watchers and Jimmy bc skull kid is not very nice to tael (bc of the mask) and like a listeners reference or smth blah blah blah

TATL. that's who's interesting. At the beginning she gets separated from her friends and becomes your companion. So naturally for this au she is our favourite joel smallishbeans. It works so well. Tatl is mean but cares, and that's joels dynamic with the bad boys and with etho, guys it's literally perfect idc what you say

I think it doesn't change much throughout like the story of the game, but just taking dialogue tatl says to link and its so perfect for a sassy joel to a "can't believe I'm dealing with this shit again" etho. Uh one thing different though; in hylian form etho doesn't have an ocarina but instead a mini marimba. Just because. I think it's cool, and for potential things later on.

Now, fairies in this au are just tiny glowing people shaped things with wings. The glow around them is their magic, and depending on emotions/energy the brightness changes (thats why they look like flying balls of light). Some fairies have the ability to make projections of themselves, more hylian sized in nature. This can be intimidation or distraction or w/e, but they cant do it for long periods of time bc its exhausting. These forms aren't physical. Just sized up light projections of their actual bodies.

So for a lot of their journey, joel is just a cute pocket sized ball of rage and sarcasm, who helps with ethos aim for fighting. Bc that's a game mechanic and also ethos like half blind. But like when joel calms down imagine him crawling into ethos hat and just dozing off. He can fit in the palm of your hand like guys it's so cute. But he is also capable of being worse than a mozzie

Oh probably a good point to put in what I imagine etho looks like. So it's typical link green (maybe a bit dampened?), weird pointy hat, short hair (white ofc), his shirt is more of a jacket with a fluffy cold weather collar, it's a bit too big for him but he knows he'll grow into it, he's all knobbly and thin (underfed a lil, boy was never taught how to care for himself beyond basic survival). His injured eye is red bc of ganon, and often gives him phantom pains. It can't be healed.

Anyway, at some point in their journey together, etho and joel learn a song that let's fairies have a larger physical form, no wings, sorta like the great fairies (who they learnt it from prolly). It isn't permanent, slowly draining ethos magic meter, the spell ends when you run out of magic. This is because I want them to actually be able to stand side by side or maybe hug, and also bc its hard to block a blow with your body when ur tennis ball sized.

Aaaaand, this ties back in with with marimba. What if ethos injured, or unconscious, and he obviously can't defend himself, so joel panics and plays the marimba in what he hopes is the right order to give himself a body. I imagine that being that small, you could not play an ocarina. And hey maybe joel carries etho away after that, and when the spell ends he has barely any light emitting from himself because he spent nearly all his magic (what he is made of) saving etho.

But this song isn't used much, because of its draining nature, and you can't really do any other magic things while it's going. So it's mostly just in the final fight (over and over) or tough moments or maybe joel wants to experience something like hoe hylians do. It's obviously inferior to how he experiences things as a fairy, of course, he's just curious thats all. He totally doesn't want etho to do it more.

Okay I think ill sorta stop here, I am NOT done, I will probably post some art I've done for this later lol, and I want help with who everyone else is (mumbo is the moon. You cannot stop me nor change my mind) with mcyts to npcs

[local-new-kid-super]

Raccoon/Eric Cartman x Hero!New Kid

"Power couple"

Featuring: Eric Cartman, the New Kid, and guest star Liane Cartman!

Warnings: Coerced relationship, I guess abuse of power if you read into it, but no one takes The Raccoon seriously so I wouldn't take it to seriously, New Kid.

Synopsis: Leader of the Raccoon and Friends franchise, The Raccoon, has called you on your comm (home phone) to tell you of a super last minute meeting. However, it's quickly becomes obvious he's only invited you, and not because of an 'emergency'.

A/N: I'm back!

"Ah, New Kid. About time, please take a seat at my impressive new table set up." Eric Cartman, donned in Raccoon garb, motions to the second folding table he managed to get into his mom's basement. Admittedly, two tables is more.impressive than one, but you can't help but feel like the Freedom Pals probably have a nicer set up as far as a meeting table. "Hey! I said sit down, god, are you fucking deaf?" He kicks the metal chair next to him, and you take a seat awkwardly. Even with no one else around, he insists at sitting at the head of the table.

"Where is everyone?" You ask, adjusting your hero mask as you glance around the empty cave/basement. "I mean, didn't you comm for an emergency meeting?"

"Not quite, New Kid. I'm afraid this was a ruse." He puts a clawed glove to his mask, grinning smugly. "Thats right, this is a private meeting with the Raccoon himself, I'm sure you're honored but hold your thanks." You roll your eyes and remain silent.

He suddenly grows serious, folding his hands to intertwine while his lowers his brows. His elbows rest on the table, the air thick with tension. "However, this is still an emergency. The Freedom Pals have been real dickbags lately, New Kid. As I'm sure you've noticed, they recently got some decent coverage in the 'South Park Times' for finding that missing kindergartener in the park. It's stupid, of course, kid wasn't even kidnapped. Just wandered off like a fucking idiot-" He slams his hand on the table, but then takes a breath. "But, that's only part of why we're here. We need big moves, New Kid. Big changes."

Hopping from the creaky metal chair and hitting the floor with a 'thud', he grabs a rolled up piece of poster paper from a nearby cabinet, which you know to be his franchise plan. Unraveling it, it's filled with a web of movies and shows, including 'The Raccoon and Friends Civil war', 'Rise of Chaos', and 'Fastpass: a new beginning.' "So, what are you thinking?" You ask, leaning forward to look at the well crafted board. "Another miniseries, or maybe a Civil war? You seem to really like the block busters."

"I admire the tenacity, New Kid. Your drive to make the franchise a shitload of money is one of the reasons you're perfect for the team, but those ideas-" He leans in, hand dramatically over his heart like he's feigning pity. "Are fucking stupid. Stop talking and listen to the genius plan I've already concocted." You just sigh, frown spreading as you lean back. Your chair makes a squeak, heavy with your now relaxed posture of nonchalance.

"A power couple. All great franchises have them." He grabs a few poorly but out comic panels from his pocket, crumpled and stained with what looks like 'Cheesy Poof' dust. You wince in disgust. "Batman and Catwoman." He holds up a panel. "Superman and Lois Lane," Another. "Aquaman and fish-"

"What?" You cut him off. "Aquaman isn't in love with fish, he's just from Atlantis?" You tilt your head in confusion.

"What? Obviously he's fucking the fish, he can talk to them." He scoffs. "What normal guy who can talk to fish, and spends all his time with fish, and has no women in his comics, wouldn't be with a fish. A gay fucking fish and Aquaman." He says this heinous stuff as if it's the most reasonable thing in the world. "Just stop interrupting, New Kid. I pay you for hero work-"

"You don't pay me-"

"SHUT up! Jesus christ, its like having Kyle in the cave god-" he rubs his forehead, then takes another dramatic, calming breath. "What I'm saying is, Power couples. We need one. And i have run all the numbers." He makes some fake bleeps and bloops at the cardboard super computer with his Toshiba Handi-book taped on. "Compatibaility wise, you and me are the perfect match. See, I'm the leader, and you're the new kid. It would bring more attention to your pwrsona while keeping me at the front." He turns back to you as he clicks off the Handi-book. "I'm sure you're thrilled, I'm an absolute stud." He pouts out his lips in an attempt to make you more... enticed?

"What? Cartman, no, I'm not gonna date you!" You exclaim, pushing your chair back a bit. "You're like, a dick all the time! To everyone."

He seems genuinely shocked you're turning him down, immediately flying into a typical Cartman tantrum. "What? I speak the truth, what happened to free fucking speech!" He rants. "And you've been given a lot of special treatment, by the way. I let you multi-class, I gave the the number for the direct line to the Raccoon cave!"

"You use it to send me pics of you that you think made you 'look ripped'. Is this actually about the franchise, or have you been trying to hit on me for a while?"

"If anything, you're crushing on me!" He sputters, pointing an accusatory finger at you. "I mean, you're the one who likes all of my totally ripped pics. That's creepy. And you're drinking from a bottle with my face on it." He points to the 'officially' licenesed Racoon and friends bottle.

"You gave these to everyone-"

"Just say yes!" He sputter, his face actually a bit red, though you're sure part of that is from anger. Cartman doesn't beg, he manipulates, so to see him actually want something he can't have is amusing. "Just- just say yes, and we'll make a ton of money, and everyone will want to know all about our relationship. We can be on magazines, and I'll even take you on one monthly sponsored Raccoon and Friends trip to Casa Bonita. How's that sound?"

"No."

"What the FUCK? What's wrong with that, it's Casa Bonita?!"

"That sounds like a date." You argue. "Why can't you date one of the other heroes for your power couple?"

"I'm not gonna be with Fastpass, I hate comedians. Kyle's a Jew, gross, Clydes a crybaby bitch, and Craig is actually gay which would make it weird. I'm not asking that much, we pose for pictures, say we're dating, and get famous!" He exclaims, fists balled up as he glances away for a second. "... and hold hands in school all the time in front of the guys." He mumbles under his breath.

"What?"

"What?" He responds. "First your deaf, now you're hearing things. Look, I offered to be nice, but now you're pissing me off, New Kid. We date, or you're out of the franchise. Clearly you're not as dedicated as I thought you were if you can't see the financial genius behind this plan." He tilts his chin up, posing with nonchalance in an attempt to feel like he has the upper hand. "And if you're not a hero, you're a villain. You really want to make me have the team kick your ass? You wanna be all chummy with Chaos, cause that's what's gonna happen."

You frown, suddenly feeling discomfort creep up your spine, the basement/Raccoon cave feeling more claustrophobic suddenly. You heard Cartman has done some awful things, but he's always laid off of you for the most part. You guess his apparent crush must've been why. You just moved here. You need friends, your home life is shitty. You can't risk pissing him off and losing the little hero team you actually like being on despite it all. "Fine." You mumble. "Okay, you win."

He perks up, throwing a free arm over your shoulder. "Great! I knew you'd see it my way, New Kid. Come on, we'll take some photos for press releases, I'm sure they'll be calling soon, then hit the town. Get some Ice Cream and flex our power-couple status." He immediately grabs your hand, but not in a way that reads as particularly affectionate, more possessive. Its an iron grip, and the slight claws of his gloves leave little red marks on your palm. You just sigh.

"Hey meeeeeehm!" He yells up the stairs. "I need some money!"

"What for, pookums?" Liane calls down, chipper as ever from her spot upstairs.

"I'm in a power couple mehm, god!" He groans. "Just bring down some money, were going out! And take some photos to Staples and have them make copies!" He screeches, urning back to you and shaking his head. "Fucking bitch..."

Meanwhile, upstairs, Liane sigs for some money from her purse. "Hmm hmm hmm, how nice! I'm so glad Eric asked out his little friend!" She hums to herself. "I told him to go for it, and he did! I'm rubbing off on my little Eric!"

[ncisfranchise-source]

When CBS‘ NCIS: Origins resumes its freshman run this Monday at 10/9, as Narrator Gibbs might put it, “This is the story of… Michael” — as in NIS Special Agent Mike Franks.

“It is,” Kyle Schmid concurred at the top of an in-depth, Friday-night conversation with TVLine. “It is very much the beginning of jumping into the backstory of Mike Franks. And I think it’s a really important story to tell, because of the relationship between Mike and Gibbs (played by Austin Stowell).

“The writers have just been giving me such phenomenal material,” the actor noted, “and I couldn’t be more grateful.”

It could be said that Schmid didn’t get his firmest grasp on who Mike Franks is until he had to walk a day not in the character’s shoes — meaning, a pair of well-worn, nile crocodile leather boots. That’s because the winter premiere opens with Franks thrusting his foot through the heel of one boot, forcing him to first wear a pair of Reeboks to the office, and later borrow a pair of Randy’s boat shoes.

“I’m the type of actor who when I put on my wardrobe, and slip on my boots, I ‘drop Kyle’ and I walk around all day talking like this,” he said, briefly slipping into Franks’ drawl. “For 12, 14 hours a day on set, I’m Mike Franks. My jokes are Mike Franks’, my attitude is Mike Franks. And when I put on those boat shoes, I think I forgot how to talk and walk like Mike.

“I’m being 100% genuine here…,” Schmid stressed. “I was worried I wasn’t doing my job well because I didn’t feel like myself, and there were moments when I had to run over to the director and be like, ‘Was my accent off? Am I doing this right, because I’m missing this big part of myself?’ It was such a strange, psychological hurdle for me to get over that when [showrunners] David [J. North] and Gina [Lucita Monreal] came down to set, I was like, ‘I don’t want to do this again. Don’t take away my boots, man.’ David looked me in the eye and goes, ‘That was the point,'” to underscore how important the boots are to Franks. “And I just went, wow. OK, that is a writer who gets it. That is a writer who understands their partner, their actor, and how to get what they want in something.

“It was such a beautiful realization that everything had been planned,” Schmid said, “and it really worked.”

The boots that Franks is not ready to part with play a key role in the first batch of flashbacks this week’s episode gives us, of a teenage Michael (played by Berlin Station‘s Brandon Spink) being gifted with the nile crocodile leather by his mom (Gigi Bermingham) and older brother (Matthew Erick White).

“I read that scene with the younger Franks, where the boots don’t fit and he’s pulling them off, massaging his feet…,” Schmid recalled. “The older brother just walks up and doesn’t say a word. He takes off his own boots and Michael puts them on, and I immediately got emotional, because that’s the side of humanity that I think is such a building block for our culture — and maybe something that we’ve lost currently, the generosity to help one another.

“I’ve got a brother who’s seven years younger than I am. I love him more than anything in the world,” Schmid shared, “and that scene, for me…. Like, I would’ve done the same thing, and the fact that they were able to capture that relationship just kind of blew my mind.”

Spink, as teenage Michael, doesn’t particularly favor Schmid in appearance. But Schmid said that what the young actor communicates from within is far more important that his look.

“His physicality had less to do with it than who he was as a person and what he brought to it psychologically as an actor,” Schmid offered. “He’s also a very dedicated young actor, which reminded me a bit of myself growing up and seeing the opportunity to make a meal out of a particularly good opportunity or scene. [Brandon] was hungry, and honest, and the way plays the younger Franks is, to me, so important because Franks has this armor — he’s this gruff man — but below that is this childlike sense of love for people and things, like [NIS K-9] Gary Callahan and the bird with Gibbs. And that was not lost on me when I watched Brandon read this material for the first time. There was a genuine authenticity of caring deeply about the world and what is right.”

All told, Schmid was not just surprised to embark on a deep dive into who Mike Franks was and is, but to actually see what all it will entail in this episode and beyond.

“I mean, when David mentioned it to me — ‘Yeah, we’re getting your backstory’ — I was like, ‘Oh, OK.’ I didn’t think much of it,,” Schmid admitted. “And then we get the script for [Episode] 11, and I immediately called Gina and David and just said, ‘Guys, thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you for writing just something that, to me, seems so meaningful.'”