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chelseeebe · 1 year ago

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seven minutes in heaven.

a/n: pure self indulgent smut here i really have no other way to describe this lmfao. i wrote this all in about three hours so please excuse any mistakes bc i had to get the idea out while it was still fresh in the mind. don’t get me wrong i love dominant eddie but let’s be real he’s just not, is he? he’s a fumbling little virgin and i love that

18+. smut. alcohol. sex with someone in the room (don’t do this. this is fiction.) eddie is so pathetically down bad for reader and also a virgin! they’re in college rather than hs bc i’m too old to be writing about teenagers here

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eddie’s insanely nervous when the bottle starts spinning, anticipating the dread of having to get in that tiny closet with well.. literally anyone.

he wasn’t exactly well versed when it came to sexual encounters. he’d barely just kissed a girl for the first time last year and had been successful in avoiding any and all games of this nature. it’s not like he didn’t want to, he just didn’t want to embarrass himself nor disappoint whichever poor soul had to stuff themselves into that closet with him.

it spins and spins until it lands on chrissy and some dude he’d just met tonight. breathing a silent sigh of relief as he now gets a further seven minutes to think up some excuse as to why he couldn’t kiss his match.

his ringed finger circles the top of the glass bottle, clinking against it in some unrecognisable beat. maybe he could run to the bathroom as soon as they came out? at least he’d have to miss another go, be free of the embarrassment a little while longer.

eddie’s eyes glide around the circle, eyeing up the potential matches. there’s robin, who absolutely not interested in him and especially not anyone of his gender. nancy, she’s cute but one hundred percent not his type and he’s sure that the fact both of her exes are sat in the room would mean they could get out of kissing. a few other girls that he’s sure would kiss him but they wouldn’t be thrilled about it. then there’s you. sat with your legs crossed, skirt riding up your supple thighs and a shirt that hung low enough that you shouldn’t have even bothered wearing one.

he only notices that he’s staring when steve makes some lewd comment about the noises coming from the closet. tearing his eyes off of your chest and onto the rowdy man.

oh shit, what if it lands on a guy? at least maybe they could just shuffle off and pretend to make kissy noises, see that’d be easy.

before he’s able to jump up and run off, chrissy and the unnamed guy stumble out of the closet, giggling with their cheeks flushed.

oh god oh god oh god.

‘ya have fun in there?’ steve bellows, clearly intoxicated and obviously way too eager to have his turn. why couldn’t he just be more like him, eddie thinks.

steve spins the bottle again. going round and round and round until it stops, the lipped edge facing you.

please no. please literally anyone other than him.

if he was clueless with the other girls he wouldn’t have a fucking clue what to do with you.

‘oh shiiit,’ steve hisses as he sends the bottle flying again.

it slows down just before him, thinking he’d escaped once again until the glass stops. pointing right at his gormless face. he blinks at the bottle, trying with all his might to send it flying again through some undiscovered telekinetic energy or some shit.

it doesn’t. obviously. because he’s not fucking superman.

‘come on,’ you speak, stood before him with your hand extended. oh fuck. he’s not sure he can even take your hand. it’s far too clammy and he’d expose his super-virgin status.

he groans getting up from the floor, gingerly taking your hand and following you through the corridor to the closet. his heart in his throat the entire time. he thinks he might just throw up. unsure of if it’s from the anticipation or just sheer terror of having to try and kiss you.

with your fucking tiny skirt and your perfect tits pressed against him. there’s no way he won’t pop a fucking boner. oh god, what if-

‘you okay?’ you ask, shuffling into the small space opposite with the tiny flecks of light shining on your smile. he hadn’t even noticed you’d shut the door, too caught up in his own head to realise that this was now and he was going to have to do something before you ran out of there laughing.

‘yeah- yeah,’ nodding frantically as he attempts to collect himself. maybe you didn’t wanna kiss him? you’d make some polite excuse about having a boyfriend or something and then you could stand and make small talk for the excruciatingly long seven minutes.

‘good,’ you mumble before closing the already tiny gap between you, pressing your lips to his in a haste.

eddie’s head is empty. absolutely nothing going on inside. frozen in time as your lips move against his. he should do something. he just doesn’t know what.

‘what? you never kissed a girl before?’ you scoff, pulling away slightly. are you mocking him? or is this flirting? fuck, why don’t they make books for this kinda shit?

‘y-yeah i have..’ he mumbles, arms still limply hung around his sides. if you could see his face right now, he’d be comparable to a ripe beetroot.

‘so kiss me back then?’ you giggle, connecting your lips once again, soft hand coming to caress his warm cheek.

okay, yeah. just.. kiss back.

he does what he thinks is right, eyes fluttering shut as his lips move with yours. this is good, he thinks. it feels right.

your other hand reaches out to grab his wrist, moving his hand to rest on your waist. giggling into his mouth, your breath tasting like alcohol and a hint of mint. it’s sweet, addicting almost as he chases the taste with his mouth.

adrenaline racing through his veins when your hand leaves his wrist and tangles into his hair, fingernails tracing along his sensitive scalp. he has to restrain himself from moaning into your mouth. it’s an entirely new sensation for him, makes his cock twitch in his tight jeans. he can’t stop thinking about how much he wants you to just tug it, pull his head back with your delicate fingers.

your knee slides between his legs, thick thigh nudging the growing bulge in his pants. letting out the most embarrassing noise into your mouth. before he even has time to curse himself for it your tongue slips into his mouth, using the opportunity to push your chest further into his.

deciding now to be brave, his hand shakily meets your shoulder, holding you in that exact position. he could stay here forever, he wouldn’t need anything else in life. ever.

your lips pull back slightly and he whimpers. literally whimpers in response to the sudden lack of attention. feeling your smile grow against his now swollen lips. who the fuck whimpers? if he hadn’t already established his virgin-ness, he definitely had now.

‘is that good, yeah?’ you breathe, the words almost sending him into cardiac arrest. they sound as if they’re dipped in honey coming from your sweet lips.

he nods quickly, unable to form a coherent response without looking like an utter fool. opening his eyes just enough to see you staring up at him through your lashes. if he weren’t leant against the wall, he’s sure he’d collapse into a puddle of goo.

‘what if i do.. this?’ palm sliding down over his neck and heaving chest before stopping at his belt buckle, waiting for a sign to continue.

his adams apple bobs as he swallows and you take it as a compliment and sliding your hand on top of his very obvious boner.

he’s a goner.

grip tightening on your shoulder as his breath stutters. willing himself not to cum in his pants right then and there. he would never ever live that down. not with that meathead harrington who would definitely pull him up on it the second you left.

‘oh yeah?’ you remark, smirking in the darkness at his pathetic stature. slowly moving your fingers as you palm him through his jeans. your hardened nipples brushing against his chest because of fucking course you weren’t wearing a bra.

there’s no way he’s making it out of this cupboard alive.

‘h-holy shit,’ he chokes out, eyelids fluttering as he fights off fainting. his head is fuzzy, sorta like how he felt when he got high and jerked off except so so much better.

‘maybe we could.. continue this later?’ muttering quietly so as to avoid anyone outside hearing.

he’s well aware that you only have at most a minute or so left before someone rips open that door and reveals the pitiful mess he is. the sentence doesn’t register for a few seconds until he realises what you meant.

‘y-yes,’ he finally responds, overly eager, ‘please,’ ashamed at how desperate he sounded. he’s sure that he’d kill someone for just one extra minute in here with you. not entirely sure how he would be able to hold on until later.

you don’t reply with words, mashing your lips together one last time before someone hammers on the door, signalling that his seven minutes in actual heaven were over.

‘get out you horny fucks, i want a turn!’ steve jokes from the other side, making you spring apart before he comes crashing into the room.

you smile at him again, seemingly so innocent when he knows you’re anything but.

the bright light of the hallway makes him blink before you bound off back to whoever’s room you were playing him. leaving him with the worlds most awkward stiffy and absolutely no way to hide it from the prying eyes of the fellow players.

‘god damn munson, are you alright?’ steve laughs at his outwardly flustered appearance. eddie is so fucking grateful that the boy is too invested in getting his turn to pay full attention to the obvious tent in his jeans.

sliding into his spot, discreetly moving one of the cushions to his lap. he doesn’t give a shit about the game, too busy wondering just when later would be.

it goes on and on.

robin and nancy head off to the closet, receiving a few woos from the gaggle of people.

then it lands on argyle and jonathan, the larger man having to drag jonathan into the closet with an excited wiggle of his brows.

steve’s fuming at every turn that isn’t his, throwing his hands into the air when it lands on anyone other than him.

and then the bottle goes spinning again, stopping on you. eddie’s not sure if it’s jealousy that it could land on anybody else or desperate hope that it lands on him again.

it doesn’t, goes flying right past him and ends up stopping right in front of steve who jumps up, absolutely ecstatic that he finally gets to go into that damn closet.

eddie’s eyes meet yours, ducking his head slightly and hoping that the searing envy wasn’t so apparent on his features. you give him a little shrug and that same damning smile before getting off the floor.

‘c’mon then big boy,’ rolling your eyes as steve pulls you into the closet.

eddie’s seething with jealousy and he’s not even sure why. you weren’t his like, this wasn’t an exclusive contract that meant you could only play the game with him. near enough drawing blood as his teeth dig into his bottom lip. it’s the thought of it. of steve and his big hands and his exuding levels of confidence. infuriating him to no end.

‘you good bro?’ jonathan nudges his elbow, completely unaware that he had been glaring at the same stain on the carpet for what must have been minutes.

‘me? yeah.. i’m good,’ standing to grab himself another beer. thank fuck the boner had subsided. at one point he had seriously considered disappearing to the bathroom to relieve himself but a few thoughts of his sixth grade math teacher naked had killed it completely.

he pops the top off with his ring, taking a long hard swig of the beer, counting the seconds until you’d reappear from the hallway. this would be the perfect time to grow some goddamn balls and show you how he felt. he could slide right into the spot next to you, maybe even extend an arm around your shoulder. you know, really hammer it home.

‘it’s been seven minutes,’ he blurts out instead, appearing more as a jealous weirdo than the cool, outgoing guy he so wished to be. stupid. internally cussing himself out.

‘you were in there for eight minutes, dude,’ robin laughs, shoulders shaking at his eagerness. great, now everyone in the room knew he was a possessive, jealous freak.

‘hah.. yeah right,’ shuffling back to his spot with the worst attempt at playing at cool that he’d ever seen. swallowing the gigantic lump in his throat and watching the doorway like a fucking hawk.

‘seven minutes stevie.. that’s it,’ your voice echoes and you finally reappear, pulling at the strap of your shirt, readjusting it to its rightful position on your shoulder.

‘holy shit,’ steve remarks, his stupidly perfect hair all messed up, red cheeks to match. eddie longs to grab his collar and pummel his fist into his face. he doesn’t of course, that’d make him look really normal.

instead he chooses to read the label of the beer bottle rather intently, ignoring the feeling of your eyes boring into him. perhaps later would never arrive and he’d just have to move on with his life.

the party dies down and eventually the game gets abandoned, party goers slinking off home or to the bedrooms or as argyle had, passing out on the couch. now would be the perfect time to scarper off to his dorm, not like anyone would notice he was gone. you certainly wouldn’t. not with steve hanging around your feet like a lost puppy.

when the music cuts out, he knows it’s time to go. later was quite clearly not coming. and neither was he. well, he would. just when he got home.

‘well, i’m going to bed,’ you announce, pushing yourself from the couch, staring directly at him. is that a hint? is this later? god, he doesn’t know.

hesitating just a moment too long as steve interjects first, ‘me too.. you don’t mind if i crash here, do you?’

your eyebrows raise slightly, still staring him down. waiting for a response well, for anything from eddie.

‘i-i’ll take the couch, if that’s okay?’ thinking that maybe your lack of response was also a hint? it’s really not clear and he just wishes that you’d directly tell him what to do.

‘sure.. knock yourself out,’ you shrug, a tinge of disappointment in your voice. so it was a hint. you wanted eddie to volunteer to stay in your room, he gets it now! now that it’s way too late.

‘great! well, i guess we’re roomies,’ steve smirks, gazing over at you. disgustingly smug in the way his hand lingers on the small of your back. that should be him. if only he wasn’t such a bumbling idiot he might’ve been the one leading you up the stairs. fingers sprawled out on your back and a mischievous grin to match.

he takes his spot on the couch, shuffling out of the denim jacket that had clung to him all night. he’s sure he can hear a distant banging, some muffled moans and a squeaky mattress. or maybe it’s his subconscious playing cruel, horrid tricks on him. whatever it is, he hates that it’s got him excited. it’s incredibly disgusting and perverted but he can’t help it. he’d sported a slight chub for most of the night which was definitely not helping right now.

tossing on the uncomfortable couch until his head is buried in the cushion and he can’t hear it anymore. certainly rock solid as his eyes squeeze shut. oh fuck. the bathroom seemed like a perfectly valid idea now, that wasn’t weird right?

just before he can convince himself to get up and go the stairs creak and he can hear a soft padding of feet climbing down. freezing in his spot, hips pressed into the soft cushion so as to not give away his precarious position. it’s just someone getting water, at least he hopes.

‘are you a fuckin’ idiot?’ your voice whispers harshly from the doorway, muttering curses under your breath as you stumble across the room to the couch.

‘w-what?’ he speaks, turning his head but leaving his body flat against the back of the sofa. now he definitely didn’t want you to see that.

‘you were supposed to- fuck, where are you?’ groaning as your toe collides with the coffee table, still blindly feeling your way to the couch.

‘here,’ he calls, holding his arm out for you to find.

using his voice to finally find the stupid couch, fumbling around as your leg slings over his sideways turned thighs, ‘why are you lying like that? move,’ speaking in hushed voices, trying not to wake the gentle giant on the opposite sofa.

your bossiness certainly doesn’t make matters any better, his dick straining against the denim as he reshuffles, lying flat on his back. he’s grateful that you’d straddled his thighs and not his raging boner.

‘you were supposed to say that you were staying with me, you idiot,’ sitting tall atop his legs.

his hands are suspended in the air, hesitant to touch you. or touch the wrong part of you even. eddie’s brain reboots when you shuffle upwards, mouth running dry as the cogs turn ever so slowly to formulate a reply.

‘i- wha? i thought.. you and steve.. uh, in the closet?’ his eyes somewhat adjusting to the darkness, just about making out your figure and your furrowed brows. oh god it’s so hot- you’re so hot when you’re mad. his mind flashing back to that dingy closet and how fucking good your hand felt in his hair.

‘no,’ you grimace, ‘i don’t want to fuck steve, i want to fuck you.. are you stupid?’ coming to place your hands on his chest. sure that you could feel his heart pounding through his shirt. ‘he just touched my tits a little and besides, i hid in the bathroom until he passed out.. you are stupid.’

his mouth opens and subsequently shuts again without any words forming. there weren’t any. yes. yes he was stupid. quite clearly. most people probably would’ve gathered what was going on when you’d fondled his balls and very obviously stated that you wanted to fuck him later. well, eddie wasn’t most people.

‘you do?’ is all that he manages to squeeze out, sounding like a small child. eyes shining bright in the little light leaking through the curtains.

‘oh my god,’ you complain, leaning down to connect your lips, wanting to shut him up if nothing else.

even now, he’s still taken aback but he’s not completely brain dead yet as his hands find your hips. see? didn’t even need your guidance this time.

your hips grind down against his, pyjama shorts riding up as you move. eddie’s positively gutted that he can’t see them in this light, he knows they’re soft, can feel that at least. he’s more confident now, a new air about him that just wasn’t there mere hours ago. he thinks that maybe it’s because there isn’t a room full of his friends listening to your every move outside.

that or the sheer level of arousal coursing his veins.

but his tongue is the one to slip into your mouth, noting that you’d definitely brushed your teeth and he wished he’d done the same. your fingers walk the length of his chest, coming between your bodies to his belt buckle.

this is it. he’s going to lose his virginity. and to you no less. oh fuck.

you pull away, tapping on his chest with your other hand, ‘sit up,’ forefinger hooked into one of his belt loops.

he obliges immediately, shifting to sit back against the arm rest. making sure to hold onto your waist as he does. you feel so soft, his fingers melding into your skin perfectly. the cold metal of his rings leaving tiny indentations as his grip tightens. he’d do anything you asked him to, especially if you were poised above him like this.

your hand goes back to working his belt off, unbuttoning his jeans and working them down his thighs. brushing against his length with your fingers. he’s almost panting, head lolling back instinctively, stifling the ungodly moan that had found itself in the back of his throat.

‘look at me,’ you whisper, still tracing the veiny cock beneath you.

his head shoots up, looking back into your eyes. desperate to please you, abiding by any and all instructions that you barked just incase he fucked this up. he would have to pack his bags and flee the country if he did. not sure that he would be able to live with himself.

‘are you a virgin?’ you ask quietly and he feels his cheeks flush immediately.

was it that obvious? the fact that he’d popped a boner the second you’d kissed him was probably a dead giveaway, actually. you don’t seem to care.. he has no reason to lie. unless this is all one big prank and you’re actually about to climb off of him and start laughing.

it’s totally shameful but actually that’d probably still get him off.

‘yeah..’

you nod, taking your eyes off of his to look down at his cock. there’s a tiny wet patch which had actually most likely been there for hours when he thinks about it.

‘you want to, don’t you? we don’t have to.. could suck you off or something?’

‘n-no no, i want to.. trust me, i want to,’ sounding as desperate as humanly possible. over his dead body would he would fuck this up. now he’s not sure how long he’ll last but he’s sure it won’t be long.

‘okay.. good,’ you smirk, bringing the waistband of his boxers down. his cock springs up to his stomach and his eyes flit shut. was his dick small? is that something you cared about? he didn’t have much to go off here except from porn and even he knew that wasn’t exactly realistic.

he can hear you spit into your hand and he’s back to full attention, watching as it drops into your palm and trying his hardest not to cum right now. with your chin shining and your lips wet, it’s all too much.

and when your tender hand covered in your spit wraps around the base of his cock, he chokes on nothing. fingernails leaving crescent moon shapes in your hips, certain that he’s probably hurting you but unable to let go without busting a nut.

you pump your hand a few times, watching intently as he struggles to stay with it. it’s heaven. no no, it’s better than heaven. better than anything he’d ever experienced in his entire life. and the man had gotten creative with some of his masturbation sessions to say the least.

a snore rips through the room and it’s then that he’s reminded of the other man passed out on the other side of the room, ‘shit.. sh-should we carry on?’ nervously taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

‘just be quiet, he won’t wake up,’ ignoring the drunkard and continuing to pump your hand.

eddie’s unsure if it’s you or if he’s feeling things but he can feel a something wet on his thigh. not brave enough to take his hand down there to find out.

‘you sure you want to?’ leaving your hand at the base of his cock to move yourself upwards.

‘y-yes.. please,’ nodding like a maniac.

that’s all the confirmation you need to shift your shorts out of the way, sitting straighter on your knees and positioning his tip at your sopping entrance.

he’s not prepared one bit for how intense it feels. the sensation sends shockwaves through his entire body, sending his head spinning.

lowering yourself down onto him with a soft sigh, hands now finding his shoulders for leverage. eddie’s about to start levitating. you’re so warm, enveloping him inside just right. the second you move, he’ll probably start crying.

his eyes struggle to stay open, rolling to the back of his head. moaning far too loudly when your hips move forward causing your hand to clamp right over his mouth. as if that wouldn’t make him cum ten times faster.

‘shh,’ you hiss, working your hips at a steady rhythm. soft squeaks leaving your own mouth with every bounce but keeping your eyes steady on him. enjoying the sight of him coming completely undone underneath your body.

your hand leaves his shoulder for a second, manoeuvring his hand onto your chest, ‘touch me,’ mewling when he gets the gist and starts palming your tit. the feel of your hardened nipples underneath his palm only sending him hurtling faster towards his already fast approaching orgasm.

he’s one second away from blurting out that he’s in love with you. which he doesn’t think is far off of the truth to be honest.

you trust him enough to not start babbling and take your hand from his mouth, grabbing onto his shoulder again to quicken your pace. clit catching against the patch of pubes he wishes he had time to tame. it was driving him fucking insane, knowing that he was the reason you were panting and cursing under your breath.

there it is. that familiar sensation of something tightening in his stomach, except a hundred times more intense than anything he’d ever felt before. quickly shaking his head to give you some forewarning though it’s pretty useless.

‘f-fuck, oh fuck,’ lifting his hips from the couch to empty himself into you. eddie could’ve never imagined that this is what you would feel like. pure ecstasy vibrating through his limbs, spurts of white hot pleasure exploding behind his eyelids.

his thighs shaking as he collapses back into the couch, still mumbling a bunch of sorries as he attempts to float back down to planet earth. he’d lasted a measly few minutes and for that, he wanted to curl up and die. if it weren’t for the fact that you were so fucking sexy and so warm and so perfect- he probably would’ve lasted at least a couple minutes more.

eddie’s eyes stay closed as you climb off of him, readjusting your shorts as you settle on his thighs once again, ‘you back in the room yet?’ chuckling quickly, leering down at him.

a strangled laugh falls out of his lips, daring to look at you. ashamed even though he knows it’s not that bad. sure he’d lasted longer than at least one other person out there.

‘sorry.. i swear, gimme like.. like ten minutes..’ doing everything in his power to convince you not to leave. because truthfully if you stayed like this, he probably would be hard again in a matter of minutes.

‘hey.. it’s okay,’ you lean down, chest flat against his, ‘don’t worry ‘bout it,’ head perfectly tilted to gaze up into his eyes. maybe he wouldn’t need ten minutes at all. not with the way you’re looking at him like that, doe eyed and whispering sweet words of encouragement into his ear.

‘wanna.. uh,’ the words stick in his throat, ‘wanna get you off,’ blushing despite the fact his dick had literally just been buried inside of you. it’s ridiculous really.

‘you can.. don’t worry,’ pressing your lips to the stubble beneath his chin.

his cock twitches at the sensation and he truly realises how completely pathetic he was. fully at your mercy but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader smut #stranger things x you #eddie munson fanfic

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2kiran · 4 months ago

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❛ 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐄 ❜ ➖ ch1.

series masterlist | ghostface x reader | nsfw

syno. ◜˚꩜.ᐟ —— IN WHICH HALLOWEEN is in a few hours, the day that gathers mischievous children and adults alike. They’re all stupidly uncaring of the terrors that await them outside. Maybe it’s a good thing you weren’t invited to the equally stupid party; the bitterness is slipping from your mind—until the phone rings.

content: male!ghostface, male reader, stalking, he touches himself over his clothes, use of he and they pronouns for ghostface, 800+ words, canon timeline genre: dark | v.ao3

October 30th, 11:42 P.M.

Viridescent chlorophyll pigmented leaves rustle aimlessly from the zephyr, manifesting solace amidst the looming witching hour. The perpetual snicking of the timepiece compensated for the lack of engaging noise of your residence, one that is adjudged to be prone to jeopardy. You presumed you’d be drinking away your misfortunes along with your ‘friends’ by now, fulfilling the engraved void of your body with a sense of halcyon.

Alas, you neither inherited the glory of bosom friends nor a staunch invitation. You’re compelled to isolation, idly switching from channel to channel on the television. Majority of programs transmitted great terrors and deaths occurring around your town, doubtlessly emitting dread from your neighbors. One snatches your surveillance in particular, the news anchor no other than Gale Weathers.

“Woodsboro, California was devastated last night when two young teenagers were found brutally murdered. Authorities have yet to issue a statement but our sources tell us—”

Your telephone begins to ring.

Short-sightedly, a twinge of assumption that your friends are calling to address their regret engulfs you in a disposition of sprint. You hasten to answer, stumbling over items scattered across the ground. With palpitating hands, you manage to grab the cordless communicator.

“Hello?”

A saccharine yet mechanical voice lacerated the echoes of silence. “Hello?”

You detect a billow of unfamiliarity, the silk-smooth tone unregistered. You lay your weight against the counter behind you, planting your free hand on the top. “Who’s this?” You interrogate without close scrutiny, tasting displeasure on your tongue from the thought of the other one on the line being a childish prankster.

“What number is this?” The stranger questions in return, downright shrugging off yours. There’s a subtle ascent in timbre, as though they were exhilarated by the odd conversation. Sounding virtually like they were arranging a scheme with you as the heart-rending target. However, you knew better than to generate bland speculations, didn’t you?

This did not mean you possessed the generosity of extending your patience for a mere individual whom you’ll most-likely never meet. Your brows crease, lips twisting downwards into a sullen frown. Glancing towards the clock, it currently read 12:26. You’ve already misused your valuable time. Great, your week’s ending with several scowls. With an aggravated sigh, you decide on a conclusion which is probably the smartest one—or rather the stupidest, but you don’t know that just yet—you’ve made for the past few days. “You have the wrong number.”

You return the handset to the device. You’re able to take only a couple of steps before it rings again.

This day is truly testing your patience. You snatch it, still having the decency to attempt upholding the tender exterior. “Hello?” You repeat, your jaw twitching with intelligible strain.

“I’m sorry. I guess I dialed the wrong number.”

You scoff lightly, not daring to feign anything else besides mild amusement. Frustration began to simmer beneath your skin, fluttering a stream through your veins. “Why’d you dial it again, then?”

“To apologize.”

That one promptly eased the seethe waiting to plunge straight out of your chest. At least this person sustained a quarter of a functioning brain, unlike those you’re unfortunately acquainted with. “You’re forgiv—” You begin, subconsciously lowering the object once more, but they abruptly interject while they’re still within earshot. “Wait, wait. Don’t hang up.” The words were exhaled through a tight breath. They were shamelessly pleading.

“Why?”

“I wanna talk to you for a second.”

You husk out a laugh, dropping your head as your shoulders tremble upwards. Oh good deity above, you’re awfully oblivious to how attractive your appearance is. Ghostface squeezes his thighs shut together, rocking forward to soothe the irritating ache. He’s ridiculously camouflaging behind an ancestral, greening tree. His eyes steadfastly rake over the valleys and dips of your body, your clothes endowed with the ampleness of tease to let his imagination maunder. Finally, he hears your sweet, sweet melody.

“You’ve got a hundred of numbers for that.”

So he’s been well-informed. “Oh, I know,” His gloved palm mindlessly cascade down to his groin, gently rutting to pursue the chase for friction he’s been pining for all these dull, prolong hours. “But I want you.”

They’re flirting with you. Out of every-color-draining people. It’s surreal; the sensation of heat skulking to your face, the pinkish, vibrant hue dusting your cheeks, and the bare bite of adrenaline caused interest to emerge and sweep you right off your rationality. “Right...” you find it skeptical, rightfully so, and yet you’re incapacitated of hanging up this time. “Uh, I’m going to watch a video.” Your nose scrunches from how you spoke the sentence, and in return he hums a low, distorted tune.

“Really? What?” You really weren’t.

“A... just some scary movie.”

“Do you like scary movies?” It must be sleep-deprivation but you cross your soul he sounds sinister. Uncanny and phantom-like but concomitantly mortal.

“Sure.”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

2knote. unfortunately, I’ve been terribly busy so I didn’t have the chance to completely write this chapter out. 1.1 (continuation) will be posted in a few days.

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barblaz-arts · 1 year ago

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Barblaz's Wenclair AU's masterpost

*NOTE: This is sorted by order of chronological events. If you want to see them by date posted, make sure you're in my blog before clicking on the name of the AU in the tags if ur on mobile. If ur on desktop, click on my blog's name first then click on the tag for the AU. Have fun backreading mwah!

Inuyasha AU - AU based on the anime Inusyasha. For the youngsters unfamiliar with it, it's an old anime about a modern Japanese teenager named Kagome who gets magicked to a feudal Japan that is terrorized by demons. She accidentally awakens a half-demon named Inuyasha(literally means demon dog) who was sealed frozen in time by Kagome's ancestor and Inuyasha's first love, Kikyo

Wednesday meets the half-demon Enid

Familiar faces

Kitty the Manticore

Pokemon AU - name speaks for itself i think.

Hex Maniac Wednesday and Cute Trainer Enid want to battle!(over a Mimikyu?)

Cover art

Getting to know Wednesday and Enid's Pokemons

List of Gym Leaders, Elite Four and the Champions

The Balcony Talk: Pokemon AU Edition

The boys awakening some "green-eyed monsters"

Challenging Champions Morticia and Gomez Addams(warning: it's still a WIP)

When you're part of their team...

Fanart by @enidtendo64

"Wenclair in my moot's styles" drawing meme by @kris-6758

Fanfics inspired by this AU by IntrusiveCreativity on AO3

Next Gen Nevermore AU - Wednesday and Enid as wives with a daughter named Vega

Meet Vega Addams

She has (both) her mothers' eyes

Mothers and daughter

Enid the wildlife rescuer

Baby's first wolf out

Vega's love for the extraterrestrial

Domestic Addamses

Full Moon nights are Family Nights

Finding the right 'do

The Heroes of Nevermore

Height Difference

Enrollment

SkyWolf

SkyWolf Meet Cute

Meet Sora Toriyama

Clowning each other like an old married couple

Principal Barclay

Clingy wolf

Family Day

Meeting Mrs. and Mrs. Addams

Full Moon Nights are Family Nights(ft. Sora)

Vega's favorite place: Sora's shoulder

Vega's Uncle Pugsley and his diverse children

Vega's Uncle Pubert, bane of her existence

Pubert fucks around and finds out

Happy Halloween

Regine Ottinger

Voices for Vega, Sora, Regine, and Pubert(ask)

The Mystery Missfits

Get to know Vega's cousins

Sora and Regine's parents

Bonus Vega fanfics by other authors:

Enid and Wednesday have a very important conversation with their daughter (by @eggplant-crusader)

Sora visits the Addamses (by TheVeryGayLouvio on AO3)

The aftermath of Vega's first wolf out by @whitebeltwriter

Vega and Sora's misadventures by @whitebeltwriter

Meet the Addamses AU - based on the movie Meet the Robinsons. Due a magical mishap, Vega Addams accidentally brings teen Enid Sinclair into the future and desperately tries to hide from Enid that the Addamses are the family she will eventually marry into.

Wednesday's daughter is full of woe(and stressed as FUCKK)

Addamses of the future

Enid Addams

See you later

Witchcraft Baby AU - loosely inspired by Lilo and Stitch. Wednesday is a witch who used Enid's blood to make a homunculus. The consequences are dire as their creation is taboo and Wednesday used the blood of a Sinclair to do it. Wednesday wants everyone to leave her and her creation alone, meanwhile all Enid sees is a chance for family.

A deal is made(fic)

Wednesday backstory(fic)

Vega the Homunculus (art)

Jailbreak (art)

#wednesday netflix #wenclair #wenclair child OC #long post #*hunched over my keyboard dead tired*#here yall go #inuyasha AU #pokemon AU #next gen nevermore au #meet the addamses AU #witchcraft baby AU #not art

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goldencithaerias · 1 month ago

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Young Silco x Reader - Modern School AU (not proofread but the Silco brainrot is too real to ignore <333)

CW: SFW, tad bit suggestive near the end.

You two were classmates in high school; one shitty group project together where only the two of you were doing the work was all it took for you and Silco to bond together, mainly from talking shit about the other kids in your group who didn’t do anything.

You visit his house almost every Friday after school, mostly alongside Vander and the two younger siblings down the block. Sometimes, Powder would get you to play house with her, and she’d always coincidentally make you and Silco the parents.

It was awkward at first, but you were too fond of the little prodigy to deny her the joy of seeing you and your friend hold hands.

When it’s just the two of you in his somewhat rundown room, however, it’s much more intimate, in a sense. Just two teenagers geeking off about their hobbies and theories for the upcoming episodes on the show you both were illegally watching off of some shady website.

You had accidentally turned those short hangouts into sleepovers on multiple occasions, having fallen asleep on his bed after spending too many hours yapping about the rumored messy breakup between the class president and vice president. Silco isn’t too keen on sharing his personal space, but he never had the heart to wake you up.

Other times, it’d just be the two of you falling asleep together on the couch while watching Mean Girls, stacked on top of one another like pancakes with abs.

(Vander took a picture once and teased him about it later the next morning, and suddenly Silco was very interested in creating pillow forts between the two of you whenever you went over to continue watching Dexter. Said pillow forts never worked in separating you from his arms, unfortunately.)

During the summer of junior year, after successfully obtaining your driver's license, you drove the group downtown to an arcade you used to frequent as a child.

Powder beat the absolute shit out of everyone at Target Terror, and Vi got an all-time new high score that caused the boxer machine to almost malfunction. Vander managed to talk the staff out of kicking all of you out after that incident.

You tried out the claw machines after a cute whale shark plushie caught your eye, but ultimately failed to obtain the thing (since all claw machines are nothing but scams.) Silco saw how disappointed you were, and attempted at said claw machine, before being let down as well from his failures.

(He bought you a shark keychain for your car keys a week later. Said it was a congratulatory gift and definitely not because seeing you mopey and sad tugged at his heartstrings in a bad way.)

Silco invited you to homecoming during your senior year. It wasn’t a straight-up confession, but honestly, people were surprised that you idiots aren’t already dating in the first place.

You showed up, of course. Seeing Silco without his iconic side bang was sad, but you’d be lying if you said him with slicked-back hair wasn’t hot as hell.

The two of you spent approximately twenty minutes in the poorly decorated cafeteria room before sneaking off somewhere else. Ended up sloppily making out in the bathroom before you got caught by some poor freshman.

You giggled like a maniac during the entirety of the drive home, while he cringed and grumble for you to shut up. You continued said messy make-out session the moment your foot went past his bedroom door.

Definitely let you wear his jacket during the school day!!! Even if your styles were opposites or otherwise, he’d always leave his cherished leather coat inside your locker first thing in the morning. It smells a whole lot like ink and newspaper.

Silco isn’t the best with PDA, nor is he comfortable showcasing his affection for you or vice versa in any public space, period. Even around your little group, the most he’d do is hold your hands, and even so it is kept to a minimum.

In the privacy of his or your room, however? Better be prepared for a shower of kisses and gentle caresses all over your body.

A forehead kiss a day keeps the sadness away, they say.

#silco x reader #young silco #young silco x reader #silco #arcane silco #arcane x reader #i miss my wife tails #i miss that little rat man

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 11 months ago

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Hello hello!! I was not expecting requests to be open again so fast, but i am DEVOURING your writing, so i shan't complain!

What about Dogday getting saved by a teenager who’s desensitized to the horrors of the factory? Like of course, they’re perturbed, but aside from initially seeing Dogday(because holy shit), the biggest reaction they’ll give is a cringe and a “eugh” or some other mild exclamation of “that’s fucked up.” Essentially just Dogday interacting with a kid who’s weirdly chill with the circumstances and tries to be silly sometimes despite the persisting horrors.

Thank you so much and have a wonderful day/night!!!

Awe thanks! Have a good day/night too!

.......

"You..you're Poppy's angel..come to save us-"

"Eugh..what the hell happened to you?"

While back in the day, Dogday would've scolded you for using profane language...he finds it understandable considering you discovered him in his....erm..current condition.

The initial shock of seeing him would have anybody from outside the factory deeply disturbed.

But he's surprised that you're not fully freaked out and didn't run away.

Instead you manage to get him out of the Playhouse (while curbstomping a few little critters who tried crawling into his body along the way) and found a safe spot to rest.

Despite his insistence that you should leave him, you point out that he mentioned you saving him earlier.

"When you said "us", I thought that included you, too."

"I-I meant the others. The ones who can still walk..and still have a fighting chance. Look at me, kid. All I'm gonna do is weigh you down."

"....I mean, you are kinda heavy. But I've lifted worse with this grabpack. I got you."

He's confused by how oddly calm you are about everything.

If you were able to get down this far in the facility, you would've had to cross paths with Huggy, Mommy, Catnap, and Miss Delight at some point.

By all accounts, you definitely should've been traumatized at least from seeing all the bloody toys laying around.

Yet you're cool as a cucumber as you try your best to fix him (with assistance from Kissy, Ollie, and Poppy, of course, who are stunned you came out of the Playhouse alive)

Dogday remembers how scared the children were during the Hour of Joy, comforting them as he helped them flee the terror...so to be comforted by a kid now felt strange.

Yet your calm demeanor helps ground him whenever he starts to have a panic attack over Catnap finding him or if he feels like a critter or two is already inside of him, trying to take hold and eat whatever organs he had remaining (but it's just a sensation he feels from time to time).

You snap him out of it by asking rather silly questions.

"What if I stuck a flare in your mouth? Would that deter them?"

"...what? Um...I-I suppose that could work, but hopefully it's not a theory we have to test anytime soon.."

Even if Poppy decided to show you the Hour of Joy tape (which he had to look away from and tried persuading you to do the same), your only reaction is a slight grimace and a simple "damn wtf....you guys think any of those workers were running late or didn't go in that day?"

Dogday is shocked you'd joke at a time like this...but she knows you better and tells him you're just like That(tm).

You do care about them. You do wanna destroy the Prototype and save whoever you can along the way--including him.

It just may take some time for him to get used to your personality.

#clanask #poppy playtime x reader #ppt x reader #dogday #smiling critters #teen reader #headcanons #platonic

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soracities · 8 months ago

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Hi, how do you manage to see children as good? I would like to, but I only see them as inconsiderate and terrifing in a way a military robot would be terrifing. Not evil, because they are wired that way and it's just who they are, but everyone would be better off avoiding them. I've been to therapy because I was bullied, but I didn't change my mind. I kinda feel like it's an elephant in the room and I am right. I'd like to hear the good stories as often as possible tho, maybe sth will change

I'm not coming for you, but with all due respect it's not "just who they are".

Children aren't military robots because they aren't lifeless hunks of machinery incapable of thought or feelings; they are human beings (like you were at that age) who are trying to make sense of the world around them (like you did at that age), and who want to be a part of that world and feel welcome in it (like you did at that age). They are not coded to do the same thing over and over with no input from anyone else, they are not machines singly wired for carnage: they watch, learn, adapt, respond and interact with things around them because these are smaller, younger versions of you and me learning what it means to exist on this planet in the first place with barely any filters, impulse control and absolutely no guidance on how to do this except what the environment around them (parents, friends, family, teachers) tell them is and isn't okay.

I don't believe this is a matter of inherent goodness or lack thereof--I don't believe anyone is inherently good or bad: what I believe is that we are all inherently social creatures who desperately want to be part of our communities and involved with other people. Children are no different. They want to learn, they want to help, they want to figure out where they belong in their little social units and they look to you to tell them where that is because they don't know yet. And if they are in an environment where bullying is okay (either because they were treated horribly and no one did anything or they see and hear others being treated horribly and no one did anything or they treated someone else horribly and no one did anything) than that is what they'll accept.

If you follow your logic that everyone is "better off "avoiding children--what then? How do you expect them to learn right from wrong if no one is volunteering to teach them? How do you expect bullying to stop if no one is taking the time to instill it in them that bullying is not okay? How do you expect them to ever learn to be kind and considerate when everyone around them makes it clear they're not wanted? How do you expect them to learn what any kind of care and responsibility looks like if everyone is avoiding them to begin with? How do you expect them to think for themselves and reach their own conclusions if you treat them all like a monolith? Every single adult is an ex-baby, an ex-child, an ex-teenager--how do you expect decent adults to come into this world if you avoid teaching all three of those?

I'm not saying any of this to dismiss what you went through or undermine the horror and the impact of it, and I genuinely am sorry you were put through so much. But the best way I can answer your question is with full honesty: and I think it is going to be difficult for you to find those "good stories" and be open to them if you are already convinced that you are right because of what happened to you, that children are automatically feral terrors and that everyone else is just pretending otherwise or ignoring the reality. I believe what I believe because I've spent years around kids and seen all sides of them. I know they can say horrible things. But I also know they learnt those horrible things from a careless adult, or another child exposed to a careless adult. Children can be terrifying--but they are terrifying to other children. And that terror is coming from a reactive and limited understanding of the world where so much of what happens to you often feels like it's coming from large, hidden, horrible forces you can't wrap your head around (because you can't, because your head is 8 years old). But the fact is adults are also terrifying to children. And which of those are you now?

I can't speculate on what you went through or how you processed it, but I think it's worth considering that you may still be looking at children through the eyes of the child you once were and the horrible experiences you had. Again, I'm not dismissing that pain--it's real and it happened to you, and I can absolutely understand your feelings and conclusions--but that doesn't mean they equate to objective conclusions or generalization about all children, especially since you were a child: would you look at yourself like something similar to a military robot? Would you want to have felt the adults around you thought it better to stay away from you? And what about the people in your life that you care about most? Can you imagine them when they were children, like you were? Would you think the same thing about them?

If you want to change your mind, you need to put yourself in situations where that opportunity arises without expecting that your belief is the default. If you can, ask teachers what their fondest memories are of teaching--what's the funniest thing they've heard, what's the kindest thing they've seen, what's surprised them most about kids? What have they learnt from kids (because you do learn--you learn all the time). Ask people who love children why they love children, or simply see if you can find discussions on forums where people share those stories. As I said, I've heard and seen kids do some awful things--but those are tiny compared to everything I've seen that is the opposite (boys giggling face to face on a hill, a tiny toddler waving at me on a bus, a child naming a slug that crept in through his window, a 9 year old boy trying to teach me morse code after having known me for 2 minutes despite how long it took me to understand). It might also help if you give yourself the opportunity to learn a little about child psychology--if people's experiences aren't enough for you, then maybe getting insights into how children's actual brains and minds work might. If you're curious, there's a documentary series from 2015 or so that follows 4, 5, and 6 years olds as they play and engage with each other here to try and understand what their world looks like.

Sincerely, I don't mean for any of this to sound harsh and I really hope it doesn't--but at the end of the day there isn't a secret, pure anecodte that will magically make you change your mind. Change isn't passive; it's something you decide to do and actively work on and that includes challenging your own beliefs by providing them with new and wider information. I'm not saying you have to become a kindergarten teacher to do this, or start spending all your time around children. But if we are going to survive in this world and forge any kind of lasting connections we have to be able to offer some amount of grace and understanding to each other and the people in our lives--and that goes doubly for the people who have barely even begun learning to be people at all.

#ask #Anonymous #i hope some of this helps anon 💗#notes from elsewhere

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sideeve · 2 years ago

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LOVE TRIANGLE ! ! | with both morales’

— what happens when you have both of the morales boys in love with you ?

— love triangle trope , best friends with miles , miles g being that annoying brother , best friends brother type thing , no smut but heavy heated making out … with miles g IF YOU ARE OLDER THAN 17 , GO AWAY ! THEY ARE BOTH MINORS ! !

best friends since the womb. your mama and mrs. morales with best friends before they were pregnant, which made you and the morales brothers become close.

well…only one morales brother.

miles g. was closed off and never wanted to be around you.

when the both of you were younger, he’s cut up your toys and your favorite clothes.

but miles?

he was an angel. your partner in crime. the both of you were always together at any given moment.

car pooling with mama morales? he would sit next to you. at a restaurant with them? miles was there next to you.

fast foward to teenage years

nothing has changed. well, except that they both have an alter ego. but miles still made it his job to still hang out with you.

and miles g….was just there.

he wasn’t really that mean anymore but he still teased you.

lightly punching you, pinching you, holding stuff over your head, tickling you out of nowhere.

deep down, you thought it was cute. he finally changed.

you couldn’t lie, you had feelings for both brothers. but you showed your feelings more for miles. he was your best friend.

then things changed drastically when miles started talking about gwen a lot.

you’d just be sitting in his room, trying to chill with him but he would just keep talking about gwen…while drawing her in his journal.

one day you had enough, you needed to get out his room. “i’m gonna watch tv in the living room.” he didn’t even notice what you said. he just kept ranting about the girl. you shook your head, leaving the room. there was miles g. “don’t you have a room with a playstation?” you lean on a wall, looking at him. he puts his controller down, looking at you. “this is my house, right?” you scoff, sitting next to him, “i think i can actually take watching you play this. better than listening to your brother.” you cross your arms. “whatchu mean?” “he won’t stop talking about some girl. like every time i’m with him, it’s about that girl.” he laughs, “he don’t know how to treat a girl.” you swing to him, “and you do? you just stopped terrorizing me after all these years.” you laugh. “want me to start again?” his hands grab your waist, flipping you on the couch where he is above you. “miles…?” he didn’t respond. he was too focused on your lips. he’s wanted to kiss them since was 13. “fuck.” he curses before pressing his lips on yours. in instinct, you wrapped your arms around his neck, telling him this was okay. he pulls away, a thin line of saliva connecting from both of your lips. “that’s new.” you laugh. “been wanted to do that, ma.” he pulls you on his lap. “you’re fine with this, right?” he wanted to kiss you once more. he needed to. “yeah. i’m good with it.” this time, you went in for the kiss. he was shocked at first but quickly loosened up. his hands rested on your thighs, squeezing them from time to time. “[ name ]? where’d you—” miles finally noticed you were gone and wanted to find you. but the scene he saw you in would burn in his mind forever. “what the fuck, miles?” miles pulled you off of his brother, pulling him up from his collar. all miles g could do was laugh, “all you did was talk about that white chick, what was she supposed to do?” you knew a fight was about to stir. you had to leave. your pillows were soaked with your tears. you almost had lost your best friend. but your phone was blowing up from the both of them. what were you gonna do?

#miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales fanfiction #prowler miles #miles morales #spiderman across the verse #atsv x reader #atsv #atsv x you #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse fanfiction

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glitter-stained · 1 month ago

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Jason Todd Meta: My opinion on the csa headcanon

Does Jason's behaviour suggest he was a victim of csa?

There is very little, in terms of clinical signs, that’s going to point to csa specifically, because most symptoms, for psychiatric disorders, aren’t specific to one disorder or cause. One thing that’s usually a good hint would be children making very sexual statements/references/jokes/behaviours that are very inappropriate in context (a good example of this would be Roman Roy from Succession); night terrors are bed wettings amongst children/teenagers over a certain age. But that is absolutely not necessary: many, if not most victims of csa don’t display these specific signs, and a twelve years old that suffers from night terrors is not necessarily a victim of csa. The one thing that tells you for sure, in a person with trauma, that they have been a victim of csa, is that they’re telling you they have been a victim of csa. I’m insisting on that part because there’s a whole bunch of therapists (cough cough psychanalysts) that will tell you confidently that your psychiatric symptoms stem from a childhood sexual trauma (cherry on top of the shit cake if it’s incestuous) that you didn’t know about because you’ve repressed it. I repeat, that’s bullshit. If you meet a clinician who tells you that, RUN. So, a warning: this is probably the least “psychological analysis” of my “Jason psychological analysis posts”, because Jason’s symptoms do not allow us to conclude formally for or against a history of sexual abuse. But that doesn’t mean we can’t do some meta, make sure we're on the same page with what's analyzed here, some textual analysis, discuss what the csa headcanon does and does not imply in terms of his behaviour. I think it’s a good idea to start with it so we know where we’re standing with our analysis, regardless of the fact it’s maybe not the most interesting in terms of psychopathology and neuropsychology.

A couple of disclaimers:

I only talk about the comics I want to talk about. This is for two reasons, which are that 1) I do what I want and if I don’t like/don’t find something interesting, I’m not gonna waste time on it; and 2) I’ve been reading comics for a couple of months only, and there are, like, a lot of them. If there are comics you wanna see analysed under that lense, feel free to suggest them! I might not want to, but it also could be that I haven’t read them yet. Additionally, I'm not interested in questioning the morality of Jason's actions here. Ethics are fun, and I like talking about them sometimes, and morality sometimes has a place in talks about demonization but largely speaking this isn't the space for that. I separate talk about morality and psychology stuff as much as I can for a reason, so if you are looking here for excuses for his behaviour or arguments as to why he is a bad person, you're in the wrong place. Moral judgement is irrelevant here for the most part.

On the events of Red Hood: Lost Days:

Jason has, at some point in the comics, been a victim of csa. When Talia kisses Jason before pushing him off a cliff right after he got out of the Lazarus Pit, and when she initiates sex with him in Lost Days, that’s not consent!! That’s a grown woman taking advantage of a traumatized teenager who is, on top of that, deeply indebted to her. That’s a predatory act, with a steep power imbalance, it’s sexual assault, and on top of that there’s an element of suggested pseudo-incest. That decision was retconned, and thank god, because it was a brutal assassination of Talia’s character based on a good bit of racism, and also because the way it was portrayed doesn’t make it clear that Jason is a victim in a situation rather than that super annoying trope of “teenage guy gets to bang a hot MILF and hahaha lucky him”, writing a male character in a situation of SA without acknowledging it as SA or taking it seriously is one of the tropes I hate most, it reinforces stigmatisation and isolates victims. For all of these reasons, I’m not gonna include that element in my analysis, but it’s important to note that if you do include those scenes in your conception of it, then Jason is undeniably a victim of csa and everything discussed about it applies to him.

What if it were a lie?

I’ve said it before (and I’ll say it again), I deeply, violently hate headcanons/tropes where a character lies about being a victim of csa (whether it’s for manipulation, personal gain, any reason really I don’t care). It’s rare as fuck in real life, however it’s a common trope that feeds into fear of being wrongfully accused that causes push-back and increases social stigmatization. CSA is a painful thing associated with intense feelings of shame and already a deep fear of not being believed. Imagine making a considerable effort to seek help after something terrible happened/is happening to you, and you have to brave your fear of not being believed on top of that, and once you’ve made all that effort you get rejected and villainized because it’s just easier for the person you’re reaching out to not to believe it. So I’m awfully weary of this type of headcanon, and I think a general rule of thumb is “if your interpretation of what the character is saying is that he’s talking about how he was abused, especially if he’s talking about sexual assault, then it happened.” If you don’t like that, if you don’t feel like that’s good representation, then you can question the story, think it should be retconned, or rethink your interpretation of what the character says if it’s ambiguous, but hcing that the character lied about his assault is not a hypothesis we’re going to accept here no matter what. So we can start by scratching that one out: Jason never lies about being a victim of csa, or wilfully hints at it even though that’s untrue, at any point.

Two other ideas I’ve seen floating around that I think are worth mentioning:

No, just because Jason lived in the streets as a kid doesn’t mean the only way he survived was through underage prostitution. I genuinely don’t understand that idea, yes being a street kid makes you extremely vulnerable, yes it makes the risk of resolving to underage prostitution to survive higher but it’s absolutely not a fatality. That idea is, quite frankly, weird. Do you automatically assume if a real life person tells you they were in the streets for some time at a kid that they are a victim of csa? Also, I've seen the idea go around that because some people have a strong reading/hc of Jason as bi (which I have no problem with I love bi Jason), that would be an argument in favour of the csa hc. Please don’t do that. There’s no link between queer sexual orientations and childhood sexual abuse, that’s a harmful myth that we should work to deconstruct or, at the very least, not continue to vehiculate.

Another important thing to keep in mind: childhood sexual abuse =/= childhood sexual trauma.

Now, a traumagenic situation is a situation that might induce trauma (so development of, acute stress disorder, ptsd, cptsd, derealization, any traumatic pathology really). These situations exist on a continuum of probability to be traumatized by this situation. For example, a flood, a car accident, witnessing a murder and being sexually assaulted are all traumagenic situations, but the probability of developing trauma from them are very different. It hinges on personal, situational, social, and environmental risk factors (that have nothing to do with being weak, anybody can develop trauma). A definition for traumagenic situations can be found in the diagnostic criteria for ptsd in the dsm-5:

A. “Exposure to actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violence in one (or more) of the following ways:

1. Directly experiencing the traumatic event(s).

2. Witnessing, in person, the event(s) as it occurred to others.

3. Learning that the traumatic event(s) occurred to a close family member or close friend. In cases of actual or threatened death of a family member or friend, the event(s) must have been violent or accidental.

4. Experiencing repeated or extreme exposure to aversive details of the traumatic event(s) (e.g., first responders collecting human remains; police officers repeatedly exposed to details of child abuse). Note: Criterion A4 does not apply to exposure through electronic media, television, movies, or pictures, unless this exposure is work related.”

Note that the this last criteria has been added from the DSM-5 in order to explain cases of PTSD observed in at-risk jobs like cops exposed to repeated detailed child abuse, first responders collecting human remains, or, crucially, vigilantes repeatedly exposed to brutal crimes. This means that Jason, when he works on the Dumpster Slasher case, when he is horrified to find Gloria in the immediate aftermath of her rape (and later finds her dead body, because witnessing the consequences of these traumatic events is also an important component of that second-hand trauma), is being exposed to a very traumagenic situation. As I said before, that doesn’t necessarily mean you will experience trauma (thank fuck for that), but there are factors that influence that. SA related situations has an already pretty high probability of inducing trauma. On top of that, age is a big factor in that: the younger you are, the less resources, emotional regulation, development and coping mechanisms to face the traumagenic event you have (though there is such a thing as “too young to have PTSD" -when your memory is simply not developed enough for the memory to traumatize you because you will not remember the event.) At fifteen, with his memory fully developed but his brain going through so much changes because of teenagehood and his past history, Jason would be at risk. On top of that, you’re more at risk to get traumatized if you’re already stressed out when the event happens, so Jason’s mental state at this point in his robin run is also a risk factor. All to say, it’s very plausible for Jason to have sexual trauma without being a victim of sexual abuse in relation to canon events. Besides, in headcanon territory when it comes to Jason’s childhood before Robin, there are so many ways to be exposed to sexual violence : witnessing/finding his mother being a victim (considering the position of extreme vulnerability Catherine was in), witnessing assault in the streets, being the victim of attempted SA and escaping, watching street kids get picked up and later find their bodies/being told by other kids, as a cautionary tale, in excruciating detail, testimonies of their own assault… Or for example, if we’re thinking about Arkham Knight, being constantly threatened with SA, it being hinted and joked about and hanging over him like a sword of Damocles is something I could see Joker and other inmates do that could definitely induce sexual trauma even if it doesn’t happen ; what matters most, in trauma, is that the fear is real. Mechanically, when we’re looking at the way trauma works even on a biological level, the overwhelming fear is at the core of the pathology. (This is also why you can develop PTSD after a psychotic episode.) Like, my point isn’t that one of these things happened to Jason, or that he has to have sexual trauma from the events of the Diplomat’s Son or anything -mostly just that this is a possibility, something very serious that happens and an important nuance that I never see in discussions on the csa headcanon, and while it’s not exactly what the debate is about, I think it’s something important to ponder.

Do you consider the csa hc to be canon?

So, there are a lot of Jason stories, and I’m very pro “not take in account what is said in comics you dislike in your conception of canon” because if I did that absolutely no bat character would be readable, I have to believe that no character is defined by their worst writers. And boy, does Jason have a lot of bad writing… On top of the personal retcons, there are also the canon retcons: like Battle for The Cowl is retconned… Unless someone decides to reinject/revamp it into the narrative (please don’t please don’t it’s irrecuperable let it lay with the Flying Todds where it belongs). So, let’s see. There are three writers/arcs that imply/mention the csa hc: Starlin’s writing of Jason’s post-crisis Robin Run (canon though some stuff in it seems to have been retconned), Winick’s writing in Green Arrow: Seeing Red (canon as far as I know), and Battle for the Cowl (retconned). It’s worth noting that one of those are considered to be foundational works for Jason’s character (Jason’s post crisis Robin Run and Starlin’s part in it), and another was written by Winick, who wrote the other two foundational Jason stories: Under The Red Hood and Red Hood: Lost Days. On a personal level, I’m very mitigated about what I like and accept about it. I base my whole love and characterization of Jason about his post-crisis Robin Run, I love that little guy so much, Starlin’s take on Jason’s Robin Run is absolutely canon to me (which does not mean I like Starlin as a writer, thank you very much). On the other hand of the spectrum, the only reason Battle for the Cowl isn’t my least favourite comic ever is because The Killing Joke exists, absolutely not canon, get this thing away from me. And then in the middle, my feelings on Seeing Red (on the entirety of Winick’s Jason really) vary depending on the day, because I do like a revenge story that challenges the status quo with tropes of “bad victim” and it sets up Jason as a character based on love rather than morals which I adore, but there are also some elements of psychophobia in the writing that I (who approach stories through the filter of psychopathology first and foremost) can’t just look past, and also the way it intertwines with classist stereotypes. So do I consider Seeing Red to be canon? In good faith, yes, but whether I’ll accept it as such really depends on the day. In terms of the csa headcanon: it’s heavily hinted in BTFC but not outright said, it’s there as a undercurrent in Starlin’s run because of his intention (to make Jason die of AIDS). And then we have Seeing Red. Basically Jason lists elements about Mia’s life, including her past with underage prostitution (so, just to be very clear, csa), and says they’re very similar, having both lived on the streets, and understand having to do bad things when it’s necessary. This is not the same as saying “I was a victim of csa”, and what he’s saying could be interpreted differently (we know that he was stealing tires, and “only what he needs to survive”, so he could have been referencing small-time theft.) So, it could be a reference to something else, I totally understand why some people want to interpret differently. It just… Feels like such a weird and weak argument to be equating boosting tires to underage prostitution, to me it’s very ooc (in comparison to UTH Jason), and it would feel like weak writing from someone like Winick. Aka it’s not technically canon, and you don’t have to accept it as such(I understand the mentality of "I'm rejecting this interpretation because it feels like demonization of csa victims" perfectly), but personally I think it takes a lot from Jason’s character in Seeing Red and from this story in general.

#jason todd #dc #jason todd meta #the csa meta part 1 #because tumblr is being annoying #red hood #dc comics #dc critical #tw csa mention #tw csa #tw suicide #robin #robin ii

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howlett-n-morgan · 2 months ago

Text

More Than Words

1. Familiar Stranger

Logan Howlett x OC!Reader

Series Summary: Having lived for over two hundred years and never having the privilege of skin to skin contact is the biggest burden imaginable, until someone comes along with the healing ability to withstand the touch of death.

Chapter Warnings: This might be a lot for the start of a series but: mild language, canon typical violence, mention of a witch trial, burning at the stake, death, mutant experimentation, and a depressive episode briefly described. Logan's claws come out lol... I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything.

Chapter Summary: Nightmares that were long forgotten come crawling back, seemingly without meaning, until everything falls into place with the arrival of a familiar stranger... and he gets nightmares, too.

Word Count: 6.5k

And now there was this Logan character. “Bulletproof, huh?” he didn’t seem skeptical, just unimpressed. “And fireproof,” you added with a small smile, turning and going down the hall to find the next open room. It was the one besides yours, and yes, you absolutely did that on purpose. “Forgive me for being forward… but I think I know you.” “You know me? Doubtful.”

The X gene - typically found in people with mutant family history - begins showing itself around the time of adolescence, usually blossoming in young teenagers. You remember the first time you realized there was something wrong with you. The year was 1780.

You were only thirteen, and were showing signs of something no one could put a finger on. The first instance was doing laundry with your cousin, Sarah, and dipping your hands into the water the same time that she did. Her hands started to burn, and she pulled her fingers from the basin quickly, only to find her hands were fine, and the water wasn’t even that hot. You thought that maybe it was a fluke, but then the second occurrence took place.

You’d been playing near the lake with some of your friends on your twentieth birthday, when a bolt of lightning struck you. Your friends gathered nearby to see if you were alright, but were baffled completely to find you standing there as if nothing had happened.

That was the day that time stopped, and you never grew older.

These were things that told you there was a difference within you, but you never knew how lethal it actually was until it reached its full potential. You only wish you’d been given a warning.

The day it all went for worse, and your life became hell, was actually a very sunny day. You woke up the same, got dressed the same, even went out back to milk the cow… but the second you touched her, she fell limp, collapsing to the ground. Your eyes widened in terror when you realized the lovely farm animal had lost her life in that split second, unable to move, or breath.

You ran back inside to tell your mother, but you were not careful, because how could you have known it was your fault? How could you have known your body was capable of this?

Your mother laid a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, and you brought your hand to meet hers. She too fell instantly, and it was then that you realized.

Your touch is death.

You clung to your mother, the last person you were able to touch, crying and wailing out.

That was the first of your crimes, but many men made the mistake of coming into contact with you that day, and it stands to reason why you have been sentenced to death. Witchcraft being their assumption on your methods, and mass murder being the charge.

You almost believed them. Almost thought that something evil was possessing you, making you do wicked and unholy things…

Standing tied to the stake by a man with thick leather gloves, all eyes were on you, waiting for your atonement. You saw every torch that was burning, closing your eyes and accepting the punishment. You killed your mother, and eleven men. There were enough witnesses to send you straight to your grave. You waited for the flames, and felt the heat when they finally set the fires, quickly approaching you. When your eyes opened, you could see the wall of fire over the hay bales, nearly ten feet tall and at every corner. It crawled up by you and then-

You sat up in your bed, sweat dripping from your brow, and the digital alarm clock going off in your peripheral vision.

It’s just another dream… but you haven’t had it in years.

You treat it like the rest, going about your morning like it never happened. You’d discuss it with Charles later, he seemed to know what your nightmares meant most of the time. He knew your mind better than most, and could enter with a single thought.

Downstairs, the commotion was rowdy, but you went ahead through the crowded space carefully and slipped on your favorite pair of forest green gloves, buckling the cute straps on the back as you made your way to the kitchen. Ororo had just brewed some coffee, and Scott was carrying two plates towards the doorway when you entered.

“Smells good,” you said, smiling at them both, and going for a mug from the cabinet.

Scott stopped short, turning on his heel to ask you a question.

“I forgot about this yesterday,” he started, looking over in your direction through his red shades. “Can you take a look at the School’s Enrollment system when you get a chance? I couldn’t add a new student and I’m not sure why.”

You nodded, pouring the coffee and giving him a look of confidence. “I’m sure I can fix it, probably just the computer again.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, going to leave again, but then remembering one more thing. “Oh, and Jean loves that book you lent her, she’s been up late reading.”

“I knew she would… if she wants anything else, my library is always open,” you replied jokingly.

He left afterwards, taking his plate of breakfast and his wonderful girlfriend’s out of the room.

“You do too much, y’know?”

You looked at Ororo, her eyes just barely peeking over her own mug.

“I like to keep busy,” you shrugged, taking a sip of the coffee and finally letting yourself settle into the morning. “And it’s not too much if I can help you guys.”

“You know that’s not what I mean… you’ve been looking exhausted.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“I’m not being critical, I’m concerned,” she said, stepping to lean against the kitchen island so she could look at you straight on. “If there’s something going on, you can tell me.”

Yes, you could tell her. She and Jean were the closest thing you’d had to a sister in years.

“The nightmares are back again… the last few nights have been a little rough.”

She pushed away from the counter, the look on her face reading confusion and worry. “I thought you were doing better.”

“I was,” you drank more coffee, eyebrows raised. “I don’t even know where they’re coming from. Some of these dreams I haven’t had for over fifty years. Usually they’re only about…”

“Charlie,” she finished for you when you trailed off. You nodded, your head falling forward a bit at the mention of his name. You hadn’t dreamt of him for a while, not even good things.

“I need to visit the professor after class, he can usually tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s probably best. Those dark circles will only get worse, believe me,” she joked, gesturing to her own eyes, a bit worn with exhaustion from working late this week.

“I’ll let you know how it goes,” you spoke with a small grin, finishing off your coffee in a big chug before rinsing the mug out in the sink. “Have a good class.”

“You, too.”

Looking out the window of Professor Xaiver’s office, you recalled the events of your nightmare, trying to put yourself back in the situation to see it clearly. It wasn’t easy, to relive these memories, even worse when they plagued your unconscious state… but Charles would know what it was about. He always did.

“Tell me again, first the cow, and then your mother?” He squinted, trying to put pieces together.

“Yes, I went out to milk the cow in the morning, like always,” you paused, the green grass outside the mansion reminding you of the pastures you lived by. “I touched betsy first, then my mother inside the house.”

All the little details should have painted a very vivid picture, but for some odd reason, nothing was coming together for Charles. He couldn’t see how this dream equated with your life as it was, and why it plagued you now.

“I’m sorry to say it, my dear, but this may just be a regular nightmare. I cannot, from what you have told me, recognize any pattern or significance.”

“There has to be something… I haven’t had this dream in years,” you argued, unwilling to give up when you know he’s the only one who can tell you.

He paused, closing his eyes and raking through the files of your mind to try and feel the impact of a cause… but found none. “I’m afraid the only thing I can offer is a theory. Your mind is subconsciously reminding you of your powers, what they mean. You’ve long since learned to control them, so I cannot imagine it is because of self doubt. Whatever it is, you may just have to wait and watch for more signs.”

“More signs? Like more dreams?”

“Something of that sort, yes. Until then, I’m sorry I could not help you.” He rolled his chair towards the door, following you out and into the hall. He had a meeting with Hank, and couldn’t afford to miss it.

“It’s not your fault… I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m always annoying you with problems that don’t have anything to do with you,” you joked slightly, walking alongside him until he met his destination.”

“And I am always happy to assist you.”

“I know,” you ducked your head, stopping at the door way he entered. “But I am grateful.”

“Take that gratuity and focus it on yourself. You need to rest, you look like a raccoon.”

You chuckled, closing the door for the man, and walking down towards the kitchen again. You only needed a small pick me up before you would inevitably take a very long nap. You’d been going on a few hours of sleep each night due to the grading of homework, and the bad dreams only made the nights worse. You were somehow thankful not to wake up screaming before your alarm went off this morning.

You headed upstairs to crash, only to find a note in your room from Jean.

Thanks for the book, I finished it today… gonna need the next one soon. - J

A small smile spread across your face when you saw the book had already been put back on your shelf, neatly placed among the organization you normally kept it in.

Your bookshelf spanned an entire wall, nearly becoming like a second library to the mansion for whosoever needed it.

You didn’t necessarily love reading, but you did love knowledge, and books were one of the only ways to obtain such a tricky thing.

Truth be told, you didn’t like a lot of learning methods, but again, you craved to know everything you could, to be not only educated but able to have a brain that could stand the tests of time. So far, it’s done a pretty decent job. Having been alive for over two hundred and thirty years came with some perks, one being, you can go to college as many times as you want, with only a different ID, and practically nothing can stop you from earning as many degrees as your heart desires.

When Charles first met you, he knew you were a mutant, but more than that, he knew you had the aptitude of a scholar. It was no wonder you excelled in his training. If only you just attained his powers of neurological exploration, there would be no stopping you.

You flopped backwards on the bed, looking up to your wall of diplomas and degrees. Master’s in Technological Sciences, Bachelor’s in Archival History, a silly little Associate's in Music Theory, mainly because you were feeling artistic, and lastly, the certification for practicing Law in the state of New York. You didn’t even go to law school, you’d just been bored for a while in the seventies, and the bar wasn’t that hard to pass for someone that’s been around since the first laws were written into the constitution.

All these degrees, all these years of mastering different types of knowledge, and yet you felt completely in the dark about your own mental state. You couldn’t even figure out what your own dreams meant, or why they were back in the first place.

You passed out cold while raking your mind for possibilities, finding none along the way.

It was a dreamless sleep this time, and for that you’d be grateful, earning some uninterrupted rest for the first time in weeks, not having to worry about waking up in a panicked sweat again.

You were supposed to take a thirty minute cat nap… maybe an hour at most. Looking at the clock as you came to, it was 6 pm, meaning two and a half hours had come and gone, and you had missed much of the after school activities..

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself, climbing out of the sheets and running to the bathroom to become a bit more human looking.

You'd run down the stairs to find the usual amount of commotion, but none of the adults were here, just the kids.

“Bobby?” You asked, making him halt his walk towards the next corridor. “Do you know where everyone is?”

“They left about a half hour ago. Something came up,” he turned to leave but stopped throwing a line over his shoulder. “Almost forgot… they left you in charge.”

“Great,” you mumbled, nodding to him in thanks for the information.

You were fine dealing with the kids, but being the sole adult present in a room full of on edge teenagers put you under some stress. The one person in this entire mansion that could kill someone with a single touch was left responsible for the safety of these younglings? It was a bad idea to begin with, but you took a deep breath, knowing you had to until they were back.

You only wondered what happened that they were gone so quickly, without a chance to tell you themselves.

The only way to control a mutant child is to just not even try, so with knowing you were now heading the household until everyone returned, you decided to just go and kick back in the main entertainment room. The more authority is pushed, the more the kids would resist. So you didn’t push at all, just started a game of uno with some of the kids.

“This isn’t that serious, just lay down a card!” John scolded the younger girl beside him, watching her shuffle through practically half the deck that she had in her hands.

“I have them organized, I’m looking for the blues,” Kitty explained, ignoring his futile attempts at winning faster. “If I’m gonna lose, I’m gonna take my time.”

“If you had a four or any color, that would have worked, too,” you shrugged, but ultimately let her keep shuffling through until she found a card she was satisfied with.

“Aha, reverse. And I know you just played your last blue card,” she mocked John, watching him roll his eyes and begin to draw new cards.

You laughed and little, seeing his deck grow bigger until he found a blue one.

“Well, that’s uno for me,” you said, laying down a blue five and waiting for it to circle back to you again. “Sorry, John.”

“Kitty I swear, change the color,” he begged, hoping there was something that could salvage the game for him. “She’s gonna win if you don’t.”

“I’d rather let her win, then we can start over,” she gestured to the large amount of cards in her hand, completely stacked with practically every color of the deck.

“Don’t be so competitive, it’s just uno,” you laughed, trying to lighten his mood over such a silly thing.

“It’s not just uno, you win at everything…” he trailed matter of factly, giving you a slanted look through his eyebrows. “It’s impossible.”

“I’ve been around a while longer than you have, maybe I’ve just picked up some tricks.”

“With uno?” He scoffed, finally coming to his senses and laughing a little.

“Maybe,” you smirk, laying down your last card and going out. “But there’s another game for ya.”

“Like I said, impossible.”

You smiled, watching them throw their hands into the pile so you could reshuffle and deal again. This may or may not have been the third game in a row. And yes, you tended to be good at the other board games kept in the entertainment room’s cabinets.

“Wanna go four for four.?” You asked, already knowing they would play with you, though you beat them every time.

But then you could feel something in the air, a tension that was coming from outside somewhere. You wondered if it could be a possible intrusion, so you stood up and looked out the window, the sun completely down by now.

“What’s wrong?” Kitty asked, standing up alongside you to try and figure out what you sensed.

It was growing, more anxious, and you realized then that it wasn’t an intruder at all, because the anxious energy was radiating off of familiar presences.

“Something happened,” you rushed to the back door, watching as the jet landed, sinking back into the earth where it usually came up from. The basketball court closed over top of it, and you could see the trees and grass and bushes become still when the winds calmed down. “You’ll have to play this round without me.”

“What happened? Where did they go?”

“I don’t know, let me find out. Make sure no one burns the house down, I’ll be back.”

And you rushed to the elevator, going down beneath the mansion to find the X central base. You heard the commotion as soon as you stepped off, all things pointing to the medical bay at the end of the long lit stretch.

Your legs carried your faster than they normally would, getting you there in seconds.

“Scott?” you called as soon as you saw him. “What’s going on?”

“Two new mutants, one in critical condition,” he began, pointing to the outline of a man on the surgical table, Jean doing her best to work on him with the help of Ororo on the side. “The other is with Charles, he’s trying to help her calm down, but she’s pretty shaken up.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Tell the kids, make sure they don’t panic?” he offered, and you nodded. You can’t touch anyone, so it was unlikely you could aid in either of their situations currently. “Maybe leave out the part where there’s a mutant in critical condition. We still don’t even know why they were attacked.”

“Was it a human group?” You asked, eyes flitting between both corners of the med bay. The chaos was still going on, everyone’s movements were rapid, and the girl in the corner was still crying in fear.

“No, it was them…”

“Oh,” you understood right away what he meant. Eric and his small gang of misfits that refused to coexist with the humans. They believed mutants were superior, and therefore should not have to conform to any nation’s rules or mandates. You partially understood them from a fear aspect, not wanting laws against mutants to be passed, or mistreatment of mutants for their abilities, but the way they go about it is always wrong, and harmful. They are clearly even willing to hurt other mutants to get what they want. “Are we any closer to finding them?”

“Nope,” he sighed, scrolling through the tablet in his hands and trying to find out if the tracker he placed actually amounted to anything. He would bet not, since the signal wasn’t even coming up. “Lost ‘em in the snow…”

“Snow?” You turned to him quickly, “where the hell did you guys go?”

“It’s a long story, you missed it when you were napping,” he partially joked, going back to his task. “I’ll fill you in later, just go make sure the kids know we’re fine.”

“Okay,” you nodded, turning on your heel and leaving. You didn’t run to the elevator this time, shaking off the feeling that something big was coming. You didn’t know what or why you felt it, but it was creeping up on you since you stepped off the elevator.

The next morning, the entire house was buzzing with the excitement of new recruits. You’d yet to meet them, but felt their energy in and around the house, coming and going from different rooms when you started to go about your day.

You knew that the time for introductions would come eventually, and likely when classes were over.

Everything had been nearly the same as the day before, except Scott didn’t have a computer problem that needed solving, so you actually got done with your other work pretty quickly. You went to get the mail that Hank always just left on the entryway table, trying to sort through so you could drop it off at each person’s individual rooms.

“Alice?”

“Yeah?” you mumbled without turning around, hearing Jean’s voice.

“I want to introduce you to some people. These are our new guests. Rogue, and Logan.”

You’d turned around during Jean’s introduction of the two new recruits, however short it was, like she needed to leave them with you. You understood this was a vital time for the team, and distractions weren’t welcome… but she’d only just now handed off said distraction, and boy was it one to behold. The girl was sweet looking, about fifteen if you had to guess, but the man? You look him over once and immediately you have a flash of deja vu. Dark hair, a soft grin, and pretty hazel eyes. He’s much taller than you, and you have to look up to meet his stare.

You smiled to them, giving a nod and placing your hands behind your back in the case they might want to shake one.

“Rogue has a mutation with similar effects to yours. If she touches someone for even a few seconds, they could die.”

You furrowed your brows when looked down at the sweet girl before you. What a sad thing to share with someone. You can see her whole life ahead of her, and the things she will have to endure just as you did, and it makes you feel compassion.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, I know how hard it can be,” you told her. She smiled and nodded this time, just as you did but in return. She seemed to be a shy thing, head dipping every so often to appear smaller than she was.

“Could you show them the open rooms? I’ve got to be back with Charles in a moment,” Jean rushed through, seemingly pressed for time. You were only all too happy to take them off her hands.

“Of course. Let me know what happens in there, will you?”

She nodded, squeezing your clothed shoulder before turning on her heel and heading down the corridor.

“So you’re like me?” Rogue asked, trying to make conversation now that she knew you had something in common.

“A bit, yeah,” you cocked your head in one direction, getting them to follow after you. “My body is made up of a few types of radioactive energy. One is regular matter, the other is anti-matter, but the third is something completely unknown to the human or mutant race.”

“How does it work?” She followed you up the stairs, and Logan did, too. He was listening, but didn’t give off the vibe that he was interested.

“Well, the instant I touch anyone, they die. The professor was the one who finally helped me learn to control the energy, though. Now I can use it to shield myself and others from dangerous attacks.”

“Attacks… you mean like guns and stuff? Are you bulletproof?!”

You smiled at her endless curiosity, boundless in asking questions that you barely even knew the answers to.

“Pretty much, yeah. Bulletproof, fireproof, everything really.”

“Whoa…” she trailed, and luckily, to stop the flow of questions, you turned down the hall and opened a door to an empty room.

“This one’s for you,” you smiled at her and let her walk through the doorway, almost immediately becoming more settled now that she had a place to stay. “Let me know if you need anything, I’m at the end of the hall.”

“Thank you.”

A smile, and a small dip of your head as you closed the door allowed her to relax.

And now there was this Logan character.

“Bulletproof, huh?” he didn’t seem skeptical, just unimpressed.

“And fireproof,” you added with a small smile, turning and going down the hall to find the next open room. It was the one besides yours, and yes, you absolutely did that on purpose. “Forgive me for being forward… but I think I know you.”

“You know me? Doubtful.”

“No, I definitely know you,” you opened the door for him, but didn’t intend on leaving yet. You didn’t say anything in front of the girl, but the moments you turned around downstairs, you recognized him from somewhere. The downside of living for over two hundred years is that maybe you didn’t always remember people years down the line. “The question is, how did I meet you?”

“Look, doll… I only have the last fifteen years of my memory, and all I really know is that I’m not human, and I can’t die either,” he paused, taking a step closer, but keeping a safe enough distance as to not make contact with the previously mentioned radioactive skin. “But even if I remembered before that, you’re too young to have met me.”

“Young?” you raised your eyebrows, not to mock or belittle him, but just shocked he would make such an assumption, especially knowing the school that he’s at right now.

“Yeah, young. What are you, nineteen?”

“Two hundred and thirty three this year,” you answered with a dull expression of normalcy.

For a minute, he didn’t know if you were being serious, but upon searching your face for more indications, he found nothing that told him otherwise.

“Really…” he reacted skeptical this time. “Got an ID?”

The joke was mildly entertaining, but if what he said was true, he wouldn't be able to tell you when or how you met. It was a dead end, and there were much more pressing matters downstairs.

“Let me know if you need anything. That's my door,” you pointed to the one beside his, and he nodded with a smirk. You absolutely did that on purpose.

“Will do.”

He didn’t bother you the rest of the evening, but you kind of wish he had…

Your cell was cold and binding, your claustrophobic tendencies getting worse with every day you spent here. Your body was broken, your legs crumbling beneath you whenever you would try to stand.

There was nothing you could do to help the pain, your energy was depleted from everything they took out of you, and you couldn’t even summon the strength to shield them if they come again. You know you'll die. The next time they come, opening your cage and dragging you through the halls in their self righteous futuristic looking uniforms. They always scoffed at your mistreatment. Mutants were the scum of the earth, and by torturing you and your kind, they thought they were doing mankind a favor.

The sirens that suddenly blared in your ears brought about a sense of danger that hadn’t ever settled in the cell block before. Something that was foreign and unknown. This had never happened before. It was always silent as mutants were taken and used for their abilities, experiments falling over most of them.

You thought that maybe the government had finally gotten ahold of Striker and his plans, ready to shut down the program and finish the job. Humans these days hated anything that was different from them, most of all the mutant race.

You braced yourself, curling into the corner of the cage and closing your eyes. It would come any minute now. The blow of death while you were unable to shield yourself.

You heard the cage squeak on its hinges, but there was no blow of death, only kind words from someone you've never met.

“C'mon, get up… we're getting you out,” he said, pulling you from your feared bracing and making your eyes shoot open. Your arms and legs were bare in the clothes they gave you, meaning your skin was open to be touched.

He grabbed at your arm, and you couldn’t even stop him… but he didn't fall, he continued to help you up, shouldering you out of the cell and onto your own two feet. By now the adrenaline kicked in, and you were able to walk through the pain, knowing this was your only shot to be free.

“Who are you?” You asked in wonder. You met his eyes, and they were the most beautiful you think you've seen. Hazel, with gold in the middle.

“Just someone that wants to help,” he said, letting you fend on your own now that he could feel your legs carrying you on their own. He went to help more, and you had to try and shake him from your mind just for the moment. There would come a time when you could ask questions, but now was for you to run.

You caught up with one of the groups heading for the exit, and came across a few guards. You wondered if you even had your power anymore. That man, he touched you and survived. That's never happened before. Your skin is death, and no one escapes the reaper…

You touched one of the guards with your open flesh and he instantly died upon contact. And that could only mean one thing. The mutant who was saving everyone was immune to your powers, and nobody else was.

You have to find this man, but going back would almost mean certain doom for you, and you can't bring yourself to die yet. There's more life left to live.

Once you escape the bunker, coming outside to a clearing, there waits a man in a wheelchair, rolling down from a hovering jet… and you know that jet. It belongs to-

“Charles?” You murmur, and within an instant, he was back in your head for the first time in over ten years. “Is it really you?”

“It's really me. I must look different than last time we met,” he smirked, handing you a pair of gloves and letting you lean on his chair to walk up the ramp. The others followed, and then the jet took off, no time to waste. “But you haven't changed at all.”

You collapsed into the seat closest to you, and then -

You sprung up from your pillows.

This nightmare wasn't even a nightmare. It was still a memory, but not a bad one. It was something you tried to forget, but of course there was a single detail that could not be wiped from your memory if you tried.

Logan.

He's the man that saved your life all those years ago. And more than that, he's the only person in the world you've met for over two hundred years that can touch you.

It’s late, and when you turn to find that your clock says three in the morning, you hesitate… but things like this never happen, so your ability to wait until the sun at least rises is completely destroyed. You throw the sheets and comforter off your bed, and forget modesty in your haste. Wearing only the tiniest shorts from your dresser and the only clean shirt on hand, you made a quick trek from your room to the one next door.

Knocking was out of the question, obviously. He’d be asleep, right?

When you barged in, he seemed to be having the same conundrum as you only a few minutes ago. His brows were furrowed, his mouth twisted in a look of something painful. Perhaps the very reason you were awoken from your slumber was to assist him with his… or maybe you were delusional and needed to go back to your room.

“Logan?” you approached gently, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out for him. You wanted to calm him down if you could, he looked so scared in whatever dream he was having.

He startled awake with lightning speed, his reactive senses making him sit straight up in bed, claws out and ready to attack. You yelped and fell off the bed, leaving a loud thunk on the ground. The amount of terror rushing through you suddenly left for the oddest reason.

Looking down, your arm had been cut in three parallel lines. Not deep enough to severely wound you, but enough that you could feel the sting, and see the blood rising to the surface of the skin. You didn’t think you could bleed.

“Alice?” He calmed down, immediately worried over what he’d done. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” you looked up at him, a look of utter joy on your face and he had no idea why. His confusion soared even more when instead of running from him you pulled yourself back up onto his bed, leaning closer.

“Are you… alright? What’s going on?”

“I remembered you. Where I met you,” you explained, getting even closer and making him nervous, considering your specific mutation he’s heard so much about. You completely forgot about your arm, leaving it for later.

“Where?”

He was eager to remember anything about his past before the blank space. He wanted badly to know where he comes from, and if you had anything to do with how he got here. He knows it’s probably a slim chance, since you had to try hard to remember him upon his arrival.

You closed the gap and reached your hand out to his arm, and he flinched away. “Are you crazy? You could kill me.”

“No, I can’t,” you told him, watching his eyes as you finally reached again and touched his skin. He didn’t drop dead, or have any other side effects for that matter, and you breathed out in relief, a smile spreading across your face.

He was again confused, and more so shocked. His features couldn’t comprehend how this was happening if what everyone said was true. You’d killed people even accidently with the brush of an elbow, so how is he still living and breathing, your hand on his forearm?

“How did you know?” He wondered, his full focus now on what you could tell him.

“Does the name William Striker ring a bell?” You squinted, knowing it was a longshot, but hoping he might know, anyway.

“It sounds familiar, but I don’t recall a face or a history to go with it.”

“He gave you these,” you reached for his other hand, claws still drawn from his nightmare. “And he gave me these…”

You gestured to the scars on your legs and raised your shirt slightly so he could see the ones on your torso. All healed over by now but still reasonably protruding if you stare at them too long.

“He’d held so many mutants captive, but you set us free,” you watched as his claws retracted back into his skin, and then you took his unclenched hand. “You saved my life.”

“I don’t think that was me,” he shook his head. He doesn’t remember who he was, but he knows who he is now, and it couldn’t be that far from his past self… yet you spoke of him as though he were some caped figure with an agenda for fighting bad guys. “I don’t do things like that.”

“Logan,” you huffed, unwilling to let him negate himself, especially when you’ve waited all these years to talk to him again, to give him the gratitude you felt he deserved. “I have been alive for over two hundred years. During that time I have been all over the world, met as many mutants as there are stars in the sky… and not one could touch me, until you. I know it was you who saved me.”

“I’m no hero, kid…” he shook his head, his eyes falling to the cuts on your arm, the blood getting thicker and threatening to run down the expanse of your arm and onto your shirt.

“You were to me,” you smiled sweetly. “You saved my life that day… and so many other mutants. Scott being one of them, he just doesn’t remember.”

“I saved Scott?” he cringed, and you laughed, having gotten notes of their instant rivalry in the energy around the mansion.

“Yes, you did… and I never got to thank you for it, so… thank you.”

He nodded, still unsure of this past exchange and how much he had to do with it. You clearly remembered being helped by him. Enough so that you were willing to bet his life on whether or not he could touch you. He feels bad, now, seeing the red begin to run down your arm, he certainly doesn’t feel like a hero, and his actions don’t show him being one, either… but he can do something about that.

“Can I help you with that?” He pointed to the bloody open wound, which had been ignored until now.

“I’ll take care of it, it’s not too bad.”

“No, I wanna do it… I’m the one that put it there,” he sighed when he stood up from bed, going into the hall and finding the bathroom. He’d seen a first aid kit in there somewhere.

When he comes back he looks clueless on how to even open the box.

“It has a child lock on it, lemme see,” you reached, and he batted your hands away softly, figuring it out himself.

“I’m not a child,” he retorted dryly, reaching into the box and finding the proper supplies.

He did decently, you’d have to say. Started with the cleansing wipes, then moved on to the antibacterial treatment and gauze wraps. Finished it off with a good layer of medical tape, securing it with a soft movement of his hands. They looked rough, but had been nothing but gentle.

“You do this a lot?” You asked, wondering if perhaps it might trigger a memory.

“Not to myself, and not to anyone else I can remember.”

“Well you did a good job.”

He nodded in thanks, and you went to stand up. Going back to your room seemed like the thing to do, and you wanted to let him get back to sleep.

“You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to.” His words halted you in your step, making you sit back on the bed where you’d been since arriving, minus the brief trip to the floor. “I usually don’t sleep after…”

“Nightmares?” Your soft question had him giving a small dip of his head, slightly embarrassed. “I get 'em, too. Not usually so much as lately, but I get 'em.”

And when he reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, you had no longing to go back to bed. You’d stay up the rest of the night with this man to ensure he didn’t let go of you. It was here that you decided he could touch you for a reason, and you weren’t going to let it go to waste.

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