#this would be a nightmare that would never be canon fortunately :|

[carewyncromwell]

I have this twisted image in my head of Carewyn being forced into service as Tyrant!Rakepick’s new Ace of Spades in the Cardverse and it’s making me want to draw Carewyn in some badass steampunk armor. @ariparri >>;

[dollfacefantasy]

I WANNA BE YOURS ♡

pairing: logan howlett x puppy-hybrid!fem!reader

summary: logan finds you, a special kind of mutant, out on a mission. when he takes in this puppy girl, you quickly forms a bond to him. he tries to tell himself he doesn't like his new shadow or want the attention, but it gets harder to deny as the two of you grow closer.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), hybrids, breeding kink, praise kink, dumbification, fluff, canon-typical violence, blood, nightmares

a/n: thank you so much to @gor3-hound and @nexysworld for beta reading <33

Adamantium strains against the skin between Logan's knuckles as his fists collide with his opponents' bodies. His claws beg to come out, to slice through his own skin and into the men he's striking. Despite causing himself pain, it would make this little struggle easier.

Regardless, he reigns in the urge and continues to fight without them. He didn't need them yet. Having a skeleton of impenetrable metal served as the only weapon he needed for right now. These guys taking him on weren't anything special, simple lackeys hired to protect a facility they didn't even understand the operation of.

His unpierced knuckles land a few strikes to one's abdomen, and he pops the other's face with his elbow. He whips his forearm around and slams the first to the ground in a finishing blow. The other man comes crashing down close behind after he connects his fist with the center of his face.

He looks at both of them crumpled up and unconscious on the ground, shaking off the adrenaline from the scuffle with a few rolls of his shoulders. He swipes the set of keys that hang off the belt of one who went down first and reconvenes with the rest of the team at the point of entrance to the next part of this warehouse.

"Did you find a way to open the doors?" Storm asks him. The white-haired woman struts beside him to the large cement doors at the end of the hallway.

Logan holds up the set of metallic keys, giving them a little jingle as his answer.

"Wow, and without shedding any blood. Impressive," Cyclops mocks from behind. Him and Jean walk a couple paces to the back of him, their eyes scanning for any potential hindrances to the mission.

"Night's not over yet, bub."

The four of them reach the door, and fortunately, it only takes a few tests to determine which key is meant for this lock. Before either Logan or Storm can push the barrier open, the door swings back under the force of Jean's telepathy.

They head inside but brace themselves for what they might see. This mission came about after the professor discovered that this building was being used as some kind of location to traffic mutants. The team had dealt with cases like this before, and they were never pretty. Often, the victims were young and struggling, picked up off the street or gathered from false mutant shelters to be sold into a life of experimentation or fetishization.

Upon first glance, this section of the building holds nothing new. The room isn't large in comparison to the others before it and looks more like a connector between the last hallway and another one. It's dark, not much light to get a good look at anything that could be hiding away.

Storm is eager to keep moving along and guides them towards the entrance to the next hallway. His other two teammates overtake him as well and follow behind her.

"I'm gonna sniff around here for a minute. I'll be right behind you," Logan says and waves them forward.

The two women spare him a skeptic glance, but Scott couldn't be more eager to part from him. They head off in the other direction, leaving Logan alone in the quiet between these four walls.

He just wanted to be sure there was nothing here, whether it be something he could help or something meaning to do them harm. Though he kind of hoped it was the latter. He never felt very good at the 'saving' part of being on this team. Let him go in a room full of threats, and he was guaranteed to be successful. He'd take every last one down in record time and not even have to think twice about it. But give him one person to comfort and tell that everything is gonna be ok, and that would have him breaking a sweat. It's not that he couldn't do it; he simply had to work at it. He didn't have to work at being a weapon.

Treading over the pavement cautiously, Logan's eyes sweep over the few vacant shelves and lonely crates. The room truly seemed unoccupied. He could probably only justify a few more feet before having to go join the rest of the team. But then he sees it.

A cage towards the back of the room, a tarp over the top. It sat near a smaller door he hadn't noticed before. He wasn't too concerned with going in just yet. First he wanted to see if anything was confined behind those thin black bars.

It was larger than a simple pet kennel but too small to give the impression that held anything monstrous. He walks closer to it. No sound came from it nor could he see any movement, but his curiosity had been triggered. He had to know why this thing had been secluded.

Once he's close enough, he crouches down and pushes away the rough white material draped over it. His fingers undo the latch and open the door so he could get a better look inside.

He peers in and is met with a pair of eyes staring back at him out of the darkness. His first instinct is to back up and get into a defensive position, but whatever's inside doesn't give him the chance.

You lunge at him and knock him flat onto his back.

He hits the cement with a grunt, and his claws cry out to him again. He could easily unsheathe them and tear whatever you were to shreds. But before he does this, he realizes that this isn't an attack. He's not in any kind of pain. In fact, nothing is really happening to him. All you were doing was... sniffing him?

He could hear your rapid inhales and exhales as your nose trailed along the collar of his white tank top. Straining his neck back as much as he can, he finally gets a good look at you. You were human - smaller than most with wide, curious eyes - but you also had floppy ears erupting from your scalp and a long tail coming from your backside that was whipping back and forth.

Even with all the different kinds of mutants he'd seen, he couldn't help thinking this was bizarre at first glance. He knew it was possible for mutations to express physically even though most were internal. For god's sake he had literal claws and knew multiple people who were straight up blue. But he'd never seen anything like this.

You looked like just a mix of canine and human. In honesty, you were pretty cute. You didn't look like the type of thing someone would shout 'freak' at from across the street. Hybrid was probably a more accurate descriptor than mutant. Either way, he didn't want you on top of him.

"Quit it," he growls before grabbing your waist and pushing you off. Based on the fact that you weren't attacking, he assumes you're a victim rather than a perpetrator. He rises to his feet to stand above you, ready to fight just in case. "What the hell are you supposed to be?"

You sit there, tail still wagging despite his rough temperament. Your eyes have that gleam that likens your appearance to a puppy even more than your ears or tail do. He realizes you might not be able to talk or something, but he doesn't get too far with that thought before you speak.

"A mutant. Like you."

His eyes narrow.

"Yeah? How do you know I'm a mutant?" he asks. He hadn't shown you his claws and you hadn't seen his skin magically stitch itself back together. Maybe you were on the other side of this mission.

"I can smell it," you answer.

That makes his eyebrow slowly raise. "Smell it?" he says.

You nod. "Mutants smell different than humans," you say.

You rise to your feet and stand next to him. Leaning in again, you smell his arm. Your head moves down his bicep and to his elbow and forearm. He pulls his limb away with a scowl, but you'd already had a chance to register the scent that'd caught your attention.

"You smell metallic too," you say.

So your canine traits weren't just physical. Logan knew you weren't lying, having an enhanced olfaction himself. He'd just never met someone else who also had that ability.

"Your mutation is basically just being an overgrown dog then?" he asks with a bemused expression, "You like playing fetch? Want me to call you a good girl?"

You can't help the automatic twitch in your tail when you hear that phrase, but your expression darkens as if a storm cloud had formed inches above those folded ears. 

"I'm not a dog. If I'm a dog, are you like a robot since you have metal in you?" you huff and cross your arms.

A sharp puff of air comes from his nostrils at your attempted retort. "Robot isn't exactly what they call me."

You grumble and roll your eyes. Your tail had gone still behind you and hung between your legs.

He continues to stare down at you, trying to decide what to do next. Even though you were a mutant, you didn't seem to be a fighter or have any skills that would be useful in combat. He wasn't just going to leave you here, but he didn't know how big a risk it would be to let you tag along.

"What are you doing here? Did someone lock you in that cage, or is that just where you spend your free time?" he asks.

"Someone took me and locked me in there," you say, your pout deepening.

"For how long?"

You shrug. Logan has the urge to roll his eyes just as you did, but he can tell your lack of knowledge is genuine.

"You don't know how long you were in there?" he prompts.

"No. Maybe like... a couple weeks or something. I don't know. It's hard to keep track."

Of course. Just like a puppy, you had a poor concept of time. He shakes his head and rubs his hand over his face. It did look like you'd been captive for a few weeks. You weren't in the best shape and had bruises littering your body. Your clothes were dirty and torn at the hems. As annoying as he found you in the few minutes he'd known you, he knew you didn't deserve this treatment. Locking a cute little thing like you in a cage was plain cruelty.

"Alright. Well what's your name? I'm Logan," he sighs.

You tell him, but just as the last syllable leaves your lips, footsteps burst into the room from the direction of the hallway.

Scott and Jean round the corner, clearly looking for their teammate. Logan turns around to see the new arrivals and relaxes when he recognizes the man in the visor and the redhead beside him. 

"There you are. We thought you took off or something," Scott mocks casually.

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words dissolve when he feels a thud against his back. 

You don’t recognize the people who'd just shown up, so you hide yourself behind the man who found you. Pressing yourself against his back, you cautiously tilt your head to his side to peek at Scott and Jean. Your fingers clutch the fabric of Logan's tank top so tight they threaten to poke little holes in the ribbed material.

"What- what are you doing?" he grunts and tries to look over his shoulder at you. The way you were latched onto him prevented him from turning around fully. He lifts one of his arms to see your eyes scoping out the potential danger in front of him.

"Get- C'mon get off. They're not gonna hurt you," he continues, brushing you off by reaching back and lightly tugging your hair.

You stumble to the side, and he manages to grab your shoulders and walk you in front of him. He holds you there, presenting you to Scott and Jean. The way your ears pin back to your head makes him feel a little guilty about making you confront the strangers so directly, but they weren't gonna do anything to you. Assuming they were gonna rescue you and take you back to Xavier's, you'd have to get used to prying eyes and meeting new people.

Both Scott and Jean look at you curiously, Jean with less confusion than Scott. Clearly, he had a similar thought process to Logan while the woman next to him could sense that you were a mutant and what your abilities were.

"I found her in that cage back there," he explains.

The two of them nod. They take a few more moments to simply observe you before they move closer and ask for your name. You give it just like you had to Logan. They nod again and then begin running through a similar routine of questions. Theirs are more detailed though and manage to coax more information out of you.

Your responses give them a quick little rundown of you. You fit the profile of the people they usually found on these missions. You're young, early 20s, struggling because getting a job was nearly impossible with your ears and tail. You had no family. They'd given you up after your mutation began to manifest. Everyone thinks puppies are cute, but apparently, no one wanted a human child that shared features with them. You'd been taken from the shelter you were staying at like most others who found themselves in this situation.

As you answer each one posed to you, Logan feels you subtly sinking back against him. Your back meets his abdomen like two magnets slowly being pulled together. Despite the annoyed look on his face, he doesn't say anything or pull away.

When the brief interrogation comes to a close, Scott relays to Logan that they had found other victims in another part of the facility. Storm was with them now, guiding them to the extraction point where they'd be taken to safety. The four of you just had to follow along.

Scott and Jean lead the way. Logan follows behind and you trot along beside him. He notices you're staying close to him in particular.

"Did the guys who took you say anything else about why they wanted you?" he asks. The fact that you were kept separate was still lingering in his mind. To him it didn't mean anything good.

You shrug and look up at him. "They didn't really talk to me that much unless they were being mean or spitting at me. Or kicking the cage," you say.

You say it like it's casual, but he can tell it hurts. He knows how it feels to an extent. All mutants do. Not many people will openly talk shit about a guy with metal claws, but the sentiment is still there. The idea that you're inferior. That something is wrong with you. That you don't belong in this life.

He just nods, not knowing much else to offer as comfort. "Did you ever overhear them talking about you? Any reason they wouldn't have put you with the others?"

"I think they wanted to figure out if there was more of me. Or if they could make anymore at least," you say after taking a moment to think, "Cause you know. Guys like the whole puppy thing. Makes me worth more I guess."

He cringes at the ugly picture you paint with those words.

The group of you continues walking, footsteps being the only sound in the hallway. Your tail had started wagging again which makes him feel a little better about not offering anything in terms of reassurance. But when you reach the room where the other victims had been, your tail comes to a halt and droops between your legs.

A party of men is spread throughout the area. They walk around scanning the now empty space, visibly incensed at their captives being freed. You slide yourself against Logan's back again, but you don't try to peek at them like you did with Scott and Jean. It doesn't take much to figure out that these are the ones who kept you in that cage.

They hear the team and you approaching and turn to face you. Despite your efforts to hide, they spot you before you're completely concealed behind the bulk of Logan's muscular frame. The one closest scowls at your attempt.

"I'm guessing the three of you know what happened to the things we had in here?" he says, sarcasm lacing each word.

"You could say that. And those people are long gone by now, so it's probably best you move on," Scott answers. His fingers rise to his temple in preparation to operate his visor.

The men don't seem to be threatened. The amalgamation of them tightens, forming a more crowded cluster.

"Yeah, you're probably right. But you're not leaving with that one," the same one says and gestures to you hiding, "She stays here."

"Not gonna happen, bub," Logan responds so quickly it surprises even himself.

His teammates also look interested in his seeming budding attachment to you, but they know better than to squabble in front of adversaries.

You are the only one the words don't strike in any sort of way, but that's because you didn't totally hear them. You're too busy trembling, hoping with everything you had that Logan wouldn't force you in front of him again and then kick you into the group of guys.

But obviously, that doesn't happen. There's more arguing that you don't hear because you choose to tune it out. You can sense Logan becoming more agitated and the air around everyone becoming more tense. Your body grows more rigid, your ears glued back to your scalp. You just want this to be over.

As these thoughts whirl through your mind, the arguing comes to a head, and Logan launches away from you. You feel naked without his large body shielding yours. 

Scott and Jean aid him. Your first inclination is to turn the other direction and just try to stay out of the way. You weren't confident in your combat skills. If you could seriously fight, you probably wouldn't have gotten snatched up. You didn't want to be the reason any of these people who were trying to help you got hurt.

But then you see someone coming up behind Logan brandishing a knife. It's out of your control, the way your muscles go taut and your lip curls back. You'd only ever been in a real fight once before in your life, and you don't remember feeling this vicious. You spring up behind the man, finding where his shoulder meets his neck and biting down hard.

The cries of agony and grunts of anger seem to go on forever. The smell of blood invades your nostrils as you deal with your target. He'd fallen to the floor when your teeth sunk into his flesh. You feel him thrashing underneath you as you rip and tear, but you don't stop until he's gone still. You then pull off and wipe your mouth, twisting around to sit on the abdomen of your incapacitated enemy.

Logan also had no difficulty dealing with the men coming at him. There were just more of them, so he took a little longer. After one last thud of a body crumpling to the floor, only heavy breathing sounds through the warehouse.

Jean and Scott seem fine. They stand there checking each other over, and you see them share a brief kiss. You glance over towards Logan next and decide to return to his side.

He's alone. The sounds of panting are mostly coming from him. His body glistens, muscles lightly coated in perspiration. His scent is stronger to you now, and it only grows more overwhelming as you approach him. Men lie at his feet with pools of blood around them, presumably the same crimson liquid that stains his hands, wrists, and forearms in streaks.

You make your next move without thinking. Coming up to his side, trying in vain to avoid getting your ratty socks soaked with blood, you press your cheek against his bicep and snake your arms around his.

He then looks down at you. His eyebrows raise at the blood that coats your mouth and chin and trails down your shirt. You hadn't seemed like any type of predator before. Your presence was more akin to a puppy that'd be torn apart by wolves than anything that could do anyone harm.

"How'd you do that?" he asks.

Your finger rises and hooks under your upper lip, pulling it back to reveal your canines, sharper than a normal person's.

He nods and watches you with some mixture of curiosity, irritation, and fondness.

"Pretty good," he says simply.

You beam at the praise, blood-stained lips parting into a wide smile. He feels your tail wag harder and brush against the back of his leg.

The touch is nice. It makes him more conscious of the way you're still holding onto him, your hand curled around his muscle and your hip against his. He's not sure what it is. A silent thank you, a note of understanding, or a pledge of loyalty.

But he doesn't need a thank you, someone to understand him or devote themself to him. He's just doing what he's supposed to.

He slides his arm out of your clutches and gently pats you on the head.

"C'mon, let's get going," he says and starts walking towards the exit.

You trot wordlessly behind him, which he's grateful for. But more than that, he's just happy Scott didn't have anything to say about your sudden bond to him.

Once the jet picked you up from the extraction point, the trip back to the school was a breeze. You mostly keep to yourself while trying to stick close to Logan. He sits you next to him and cleans up your face, but you sleep for most of the actual traveling time to the destination.

You hadn't realized how tired you were until the seat hit your back and the buckles of the seat belt latched over your chest. With that manifestation of security, your eyes began drooping and your head was drifting to your shoulder like it was your center of gravity.

Logan's voice is what wakes you up. It's unclear to you how much time has passed, but that doesn't bother you. You feel him gently jostling you before unbuckling the straps across your chest. He calls your name a few times until your bleary eyes open and focus on his face.

"There you are," he says, "C'mon. We're here."

You still watch him without saying a word. Your hand rubs over your face to try and pull yourself closer to being awake. He watches you before offering his hand.

"I'm not carrying you, so you need to get up," he says in a tone you were becoming familiar with. It sounded irritated but not directly at you. Like this man was just in a constant state of being pissy about something.

You take the offer regardless and let him pull you to your feet. The two of you exit the jet together, him helping you out to ensure you don't trip on the gap between the ramp and the ground.

Once you're out, your eyes widen. You expected a boarding school to be pretty fancy, but this was nicer than any place you'd ever been. The walls stretched up the sky, crafted with bricks and decorated with large glass windows. The path there was paved and bordered with kept plants. You could see beyond that though. The large expanse of the property. So much space to run and do things.

Logan watches your reaction with amusement. "It's a lot to take in when you first get here," he says.

You nod, and your eyes continue to dart around and absorb the sight of everything. Storm and Jean lead the others who were saved off to another part of the building to be reunited with their families or taken back to their lives or even given verifiable resources. But you don't want to go with them.

You grab Logan's hand and look up at him, shaking your head.

His first reaction is to try and pull his hand free of you, but you have a tighter grip than expected. "What? What's the matter?" he asks you while still trying worm his hand out of your finger's lock.

You don't know how to articulate it because what you want is very simple. You want to stay with him. You want to stay here. You don't want to go back out to the world where people point and laugh at you or turn you away from everything. You just don't know how to say that without it seeming weird.

Luckily for you, Scott gives you a bit of help. You're not sure if that's his intention or not, but either way, you're grateful for the help.

"Maybe we should take her to the Professor. He might want to see about her mutation or ask her about that stuff back there," he tells Logan. You can tell from the way Scott speaks that he doesn't really like him too much.

Logan thinks about it for a moment before nodding. Before leading you there, he uses his other hand to pry your fingers off of him. You frown at the loss of connection and shoot him a glare. That brings an actual smile to his face.

"Follow along, pup. Don't need you getting lost," he says as he turns to guide you down the halls of the school.

The sun hadn't even risen, so not too many people occupied the common rooms. You catch sight of a few. They stare back at you, but unlike what you're used to, they don't look at you with disdain or mocking. It's simple, innocent curiosity. The only thing that seems to worry them is the bright red stain going down the front of your shirt.

Inside the room had been an older guy in a wheelchair. The professor talked the nicest out of all the men you'd been around today. When he looked at you, you felt like he understood you. He didn't even seem perplexed like Scott or Logan had. He'd merely said you were "interesting."

He talked to you for a while. He asked similar questions similar to the ones you already answered, but the third round of them got even deeper than the last two. Once he revealed that he could enter your thoughts if he wanted, that made a lot of sense.

Though he didn't really need his ability to understand you. Your experiences were written all over your face, practically sewn into the seams of your clothes.

He could see how, like every mutant, you led a life dominated by rejection. But in a different way than most others of your kind, you were vaguely familiar. Seeing someone with a tongue ten feet long or with blue skin or claws was jarring. It was weird.

But you - you look like a cute puppy. You walk the line between disturbing and endearing.

Charles can also see how you long for belonging even deeper than most. It's as if your mutation gives you the drive to seek out affection, for someone to devote yourself to. He can tell this by the way you linger around Logan.

If he moved an inch, you followed in the same direction. If he looked away, your eyes followed along. You were only settled if he was looking at you, not in danger of leaving your vicinity.

After talking to you for a while, hearing about your abilities and getting to understand your personality, he offers to let you stay at the school. He tells you it might be beneficial for you, and if you don't like it, you're welcome to leave anytime. It's only meant to give you a chance to understand your gifts and learn to control them and use them for good.

Of course, you accept. It wasn't even a question.

"Wonderful. Scott, show her to the extra rooms she can stay in and the shower so she can clean up a bit," Charles says. He watches as your eyes flit to Logan and then Scott. He also sees Scott's uncertainty as to why he was given this job.

But he nods and gestures for you to follow him, which you reluctantly do.

You trail him silently up the stairs, and he gives you a little guide to where everything is. He gestures at the direction of the student wing and the staff wing and then takes you to the latter. He points out the different bedrooms and grabs you a change of clothes on the way to the bathrooms.

He's nice to you. A little stiff, but he still smiles and laughs softly at quips he makes or your skeptical reactions to things. You want to ask him about his sunglasses, but you figure that'd be rude so you refrain. When he leaves you at the bathroom door, he tells you to just call if you need anything cause he's right down the hall.

Stepping inside, you peer around the expansive room. You'd never seen a bathroom so large. It was nice like everything else was in this place. The counter was spotless and smooth. The tile was sleek with a soft mat beneath your feet at the door and waiting for you in front of the shower.

You undress yourself quickly and turn on the water, waiting for it to heat before stepping inside. There's some products on the shelf inside that you use. You lather the soap on your hands and rub it over yourself fast. It felt really good, especially since you hadn't had a proper shower while being held captive. But you still work at a sped up pace. Although the novelty of everything had impressed you at first, you were beginning to yearn to be by Logan again. It wasn't a need that would make you lose control, just a little itch like a bug crawling up the path of your veins.

Downstairs, Charles kept Logan behind in his office so the two could talk. They briefly recap the mission before moving to the subject that was the true reason for the extended conversation.

"It seems she's quite taken with you," the older man starts simply.

"I guess," Logan responds, his voice unamused with the idea.

Charles huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He goes to say something else, but the other man carries on the conversation himself.

"She'll get over it. She's like a little duck following around the first person she sees," he says and crosses his arms.

"I think you underestimate her intelligence, Logan. She's not a helpless animal-"

"I know that," he interjects quickly.

"She's one of us. She's formed an attachment to you for whatever reason. I would like her to stay here for at least for a little while to examine the traits of her mutation. I've never seen any that so closely mimic an already existing animal," he explains, "But I want to know that you're ok with that."

Logan scoffs. "Why wouldn't I be? That doesn't have anything to do with me."

"While she's here, she's most likely going to want to be around you. I just wanted to make sure that's not something you're wholly uncomfortable with."

"Please. I can handle it," he dismisses.

Charles watches him, ever-entertained by how hard he tries to present the idea that he's unaffected. 

"If you say so," he says, "Just try not to scare off too quickly."

"I'll play nice," he says.

A few more words, and he's dismissed. He turns on his heel and heads out the same doors he entered. Just as he does, you glide down the stairs into his field of vision, tail wagging lazily behind you over the waistband of the sweats Scott gave you.

When you see him, it swishes a bit faster and your ears perk up. His eyes narrow.

"What are you doing down here? Didn't Scott show you where to go?" he asks.

You nod and prance down the remaining steps. Truthfully, you'd been seeking the man before your eyes, but you couldn't just say that.

"Am I not allowed to look around?" you ask.

His eyes remain hard on your face. "Aren't you tired? Mauling that guy didn't take anything out of you?"

A subtle pout forms on your lips, and you consider retreating back to the bedroom you'd been given. He clearly wasn't in the mood for you right now.

Logan sees the reaction his words brought on. He feels that little sliver of guilt shifting around inside him. Maybe his phrasing hadn't been the best... but then again why did he give a shit?

"How about we just get you back to bed? I'll show you around more tomorrow," he suggests.

You take what you can get and nod, your features slightly elevating at the form of peace he offers you. He retraces your steps up the stairs and down the hall with you on his heels. He spots the room Scott had picked for you. The door was ajar from how you'd left it to go find him.

He leads you inside but remains in the doorway himself. There really wasn't any reason to stay, so he should probably be leaving...

"Have you been here a long time?" you ask suddenly.

His eyes land on you again. You were perched on the end of your bed that was still fully made up, the comforter tucked in and everything.

"What?" he asks.

"Have you been here long? Scott said he's been here since he was a teenager," you say.

"Oh. No. Only a little while," he says. "I'm still pretty new here too."

That makes you happy, it's obvious from the hope that gleams in your eyes. "Are you like a teacher too? Or... something else?"

"What would that something else be?" he asks with a smirk, taking a few steps into the room with you, "Having a hard time picturing me teaching?"

"Well I just mean-" you try to justify before laughing a little, giving in, "Yeah. I can't really see it."

"Me neither. I'm not a teacher. I just help out sometimes," he says.

He walks even closer to you, causing your head to tilt up to look at him. Now you really looked like a puppy.

This close, he was all you could smell. You could see every individual hair on his forearm. It felt as though you could hear the strong beat of his heart. His eyes pierced into you from above, and you wondered if he was observing you in a similar manner.

"You gonna sleep on top of these blankets?" he asks.

The mention of something else besides him snaps you out of your little Logan-centric daze. You look around at the bedding and then back up at his head. The two styled points of dark hair look like he has two ears of his own mirroring yours.

"No. I'll fix them," you say and stand up to tug them free, "I don't need you to tuck me in."

"I wasn't offering to. I just don't want you getting up and trying to 'look around' again. Don't need you getting lost and wandering to my bed."

The idea brings heat to your cheeks and neck. It sounded nice for so many reasons. But the bed you had now outmatched the hard bottom of the cage you'd been sleeping on, so you weren't going to try and swing for more.

Once the comforter and sheets are peeled down, you climb back on the bed and sit against the pillows. There's a small pause. A puddle of silence pooling between the two of you. You don't know what else to ask, but you feel if you don't say anything he's gonna leave. So you pull out the first thing you can think of.

"What is your actual mutation?"

His brows rise with interest, and he closes the gap between you by sitting on the edge of your bed. Curiosity shines from his eyes onto you, silently questioning why you wanted to know.

"I know you're not actually a robot, but I can still smell the metal and stuff. What does it do?" you ask.

"The metal isn't my mutation," he says.

He raises his fist about a foot away from your face. His fingers are balled up tight against his hand. You cock your head, wondering what he's showing you.

Before you can ask any questions though, three shining metal claws emerge from between his knuckles. They come out slowly, a pace prolonged enough to be considered teasing. Your eyes widen at the sharp points and you scoot back, smooshing the pillows against your head board. All you can wonder is if he didn't take them out earlier or if you really had missed something so monumental.

His laugh rises in volume. "Relax, I'm not gonna cut you."

The claws come to a halt when fully extended. You wait just in case something else is going to happen, but nothing does. You bring your finger up and poke at the hard surface. They were so beautiful but unnatural too. You'd never seen anything like them.

"But I didn't see anywhere for them to come out?" you say softly.

He flexes his hand and extends his fingers, retracting the claws much quicker than they appeared.

"There is no place for them to come out of," he says and offers you his hand.

You frown at the little cuts the sharp rods left in their wake, but like little zippers, they close up. You blink at his hand. All evidence of his mutation was gone.

"So you can heal? And you have claws?" you say more to yourself than him, "Does it still hurt when they come out?"

He nods and watches you examine his hand.

Upon seeing his confirmation, you can't even help what you do next. You pull his limb a little closer and kiss each spot where a claw had emerged. Every phantom cut gets a soft smooch left where it would soon reappear.

"What are you doing?" Logan asks, her arm tensing up on instinct.

You glance at his face before releasing his hand. "Oh... sorry," you say and shrug sheepishly.

To your surprise, he doesn't scold or chastise you, doesn't get up to leave in a hurry. He simply pulls his hand back and gives you another look before saying good night.

"Get some good sleep. Like I said, I'll show you around tomorrow," he says.

You slip down in the bed, resting your head on the plush pillows and pulling the blanket up over your form. He heads out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

A deep exhale leaves his lungs. He shakes some of that tension loose. What had he been doing? It almost felt like some different person had taken over him in there. Another version of himself that didn't have to be reminded to 'play nice.'

The few weeks you're supposed to stay at the school stretches out into a longer timeframe. It'd now been a few months since that day he found you in the cage and set you free. Though that month or so you'd spent locked up turned out to be worth it because you now had a place that made you happier than anywhere you'd lived before. You had a family.

You had Jean and Storm who were helping you train so you could one day go on missions with them. You had the Professor who taught you more about yourself than you had ever thought to ask. Scott was there too.

And of course, you had Logan.

Logan. As much as he tried to seem reluctant, to appear uncaring and nonchalant, he had grown to enjoy your company more with each passing day that you followed him like a shadow.

It was irritating at first. Before, he'd been able to drift through the school relatively unnoticed. Now, every single place he went, he was trailed by whoosh whoosh whoosh. The sound of your tail going back and forth. Anything he tried to do was accompanied by the feeling of two glimmering eyes trained on him. He'd tried to brush you off, but you didn't waver.

"Don't you have anything better to do than stalk me?" he'd ask, shooting a side eye your way.

"No," you'd respond.

"Well, find something."

"I don't wanna."

And who was he to argue with that?

In a way, the bond you seemed to have formed with him was flattering. It seemed like he could do anything, and you'd never view him as anything but the greatest creation to grace this earth. So he just lets you follow him around. He assumes after a while, you'll see him for what he is and lose interest, or you'll just grow bored of him and find something else to be the object of your obsession. Though so far that day hadn't come.

After a while of you always at his side, he started to cave and include you in his little routines.

One day he was doing sit ups at the foot of his bed while you sat nearby. His body rose and fell, abdomen kissing his thighs in regular intervals. But every time he came up, he found himself looking over at you.

"Hey, pup," he said, the nickname he developed for you coming out effortlessly, "C'mere for a second."

Your ears perked up. You weren't usually involved in what he was doing. You scoot over to him and kneel at his feet, awaiting a command. You could be so obedient sometimes it nearly made him feel guilty.

"You wanna help me with something?" he asked. As he expected, you nodded right away, so he continued, "Just hold my feet down. These only work if your feet stay flat. So just make sure they do."

You gave him another dutiful nod and got in position. Your hands held his feet down as he worked out just like he asked. Each time he came up off the ground, you looked at him with a big goofy smile.

That was just the first thing. From then on, the two of you actually did stuff together rather than just going about your things nearby one another. He'd help you train, and you'd help him clean Scott's bike when he finished using it.

Tonight, exhaustion aches in your bones after running around all day. On top of that, you'd had so much stuff to do yourself that you'd barely even seen Logan all day.

When the sun's finally down and the students have all retired to their bedrooms, you find him in the living room. He's leaned back into the couch, nursing a bottle of something. You assume it's not beer since you're at a school, but with how often he lamented about that limitation, you wouldn't put it past him to sneak one in.

You hop over the arm rest and curl up on the opposite side of the couch from him. He looks over at you, not displeased with your presence.

"There you are. I thought you finally got tired of me and found someone else to bother," he teases.

"I could never do that," you reply with the same playful cadence. You scoot a little closer. "I was just super busy today. The Professor was having me talk to some of the students, and then Scott needed me to grab something for him from the shed. It was really hard to find, so it took a while. Then I had to do my own training, and Jean made me try on some sizes for my suit..."

As you chatter on about your day, Logan finds himself nodding along, even occasionally reacting to what you say. He's not rolling his eyes or telling you to leave him alone. It's weird, but he can't say he wants to feel differently.

"Sounds like they're working you like a dog," he says when your story has reached an end.

Your face darkens like it had on the day he met you, shooting him a quick glare as a reminder not to say the forbidden d-word.

"Right, sorry," he corrects, "It just sounds like they're running you ragged. Don't let 'em work you too hard. Scott can get his own shit."

He still didn't understand your hang up about that word. He could call you pup, puppy, or any variation of that, and you'd react with nothing but joy. But utter d-o-g in your vicinity, and he felt like he was at risk of getting his throat chomped on. Luckily, it only takes his small apology for your normal demeanor to make its return.

"It's ok. I don't mind helping. I like having stuff to do," you say and shrug.

"I thought your 'stuff to do' was watching over me," he jokes and leans forward, placing his bottle down on the table.

You're not sure why, but you take that as an invitation to scoot even closer to him.

"I thought you wanted me to find better stuff to do."

"Fair," he chuckles, "Maybe this is one of those things where I'm not gonna realize I miss something until it's gone."

He brings his hand up from the back of the couch to massage the base of one of your ears. The soft fluff feels almost luxurious against the rough pads of his finger tips. He knew you loved the sensation. It had been an accidental discovery, something he did one time as a joke. But the way you melted into the touch had been more than just funny to him.

You lean into it now and nuzzle his palm.

"It was just one day. It's not like a permanent new routine."

"For now. Then soon enough, I'm gonna catch you trailing somebody else with hearts in your eyes," he says and gently tugs your ear.

You laugh at the tug and the stupid words. "You will not. Plus, I don't have hearts in my eyes for you."

"Oh really?" he teases. He leans in, his face hovering a couple inches away from yours. "I think I can see some now."

The two of you stay locked in a stare for a few lingering seconds. He'd never been this close to you before. You'd never heard his voice lower in that way, sounding almost desiring. Heat starts to crawl up from your belly through your chest to your neck. Before it can reach your cheeks, you turn your head to face the tv.

"Shut up," you huff, choosing to play the interaction off as a joke.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his grin. He chuckles and his arm returns to its place behind you, above your shoulders. Quiet blooms between the two of you, kept from being total silence only by the hushed noises of the tv set across the room. It doesn't feel awkward though even with the sudden shyness he'd brought over you.

You angle yourself and lean in so that you're sitting against his side. No words come from him, he simply lowers his arm to sling around your shoulders and keep you there. His thumb idly pets back and forth over the smooth skin of your forearm.

The heat of his body radiates from his side and into you. Makes you feel safe and comfortable. Like you're where you're supposed to be. It's easy to sink into him further and tilt your head to rest on his chest. Before long, your eyes feel a little droopy. Blinking feels sticky, and your mind just wants to retreat to the soft embrace of sleep.

Logan can tell. He's not sure of the feeling this knowledge brings him. Pride? Contentment? Affection? Instead of thinking about it harder, he just pulls you a little closer and lets you drift off. He considers saying something, letting you know he doesn't mind and that you don't have to try and stay up. But nothing comes from him and the quiet continues.

He watches you slowly slip away. Your neck loses the wherewithal to stay upright, and your breaths soften, blowing in and out in a thoughtless rhythm.

The feeling that flows through him takes him by surprise. Pure endearment towards you, not a hint of anything else. He lets you sleep there for the next hour or so. When you're still out cold after that time has passed, he's unsure of his next move. He doesn't want to wake you and shatter the peace that had settled over the room, but he had to head to bed himself and wasn't going to leave you stranded on the couch in the common room.

The light of the tv glows across the two of you as he mulls over his options. When he finally decides, he grabs the remote and shuts the device off, cloaking the room in darkness, spare the distant blinking lights that could be seen through the windows. He rises from the cushions that had molded to cradle his weight, making sure to keep a hand on you to prevent you from slumping over.

This time he doesn't shake you or offer a hand. He reaches around and tucks an arm under your legs. His other supports you across your shoulder blades as he lifts you into his arms. He traverses the furniture with caution, making sure to avoid bumping into a stray corner or tripping on a catch in the rug. Then he moves up the stairs. Your limp body bounces with each step.

He nudges the door open to your bedroom and takes you inside. Your scent seemed to fill the entire room. Every time he took a breath, he got a lungful of the heady smell. Your bedroom was so you now. The way you'd decorated it and splashed your personality over every inch, it'd be hard to believe that just a few months ago it had been so sparse.

What had been a blank bed, covered only by a plain duvet and thin pillows, now held your extra fluffy cushions, a nest of blankets, and your steadily-growing collection of plushies. Trinkets lined your shelves and tables, and you even displayed a few posters over the walls. It was you, all around him.

He walks the few paces to the edge of the mattress before laying your body down on the foamy surface. He drapes a nearby blanket over your form. Even though he's technically accomplished what he meant to, he doesn't leave yet. He lingers like he can't seem to help doing around you.

You're still fast asleep, unaware of the change in locations. He watches a haphazard swallow move through your throat before you settle into the familiar setting.

He finds himself not wanting to go back to his room. He'd been at the school longer than you and never made his own so nice. Really, he didn't think he could make it as nice. But that was just because nothing about him was as nice as you.

When the resolve to leave finally surfaces in him, he reaches out and rubs the base of your ear.

"See you in the morning," he murmurs. Unlike before, the rest of what he wants to say doesn't get tangled up in his throat. "My little puppy girl."

That night won't leave your head for the next week. It almost feels like a dream. You'd woken up in your bed the next morning, assuming that's what it was. The undeniable change in location was the only thing that made your mind accept it as reality.

In the following days, things stayed the same for the most part, though you would have sworn, Logan acted a little less grumpy around you. Only by a microscopic degree, but enough for you to note the shift.

Nothing that big happens though. You don't even repeat the cuddling incident again. You kind of just assume that it was a one time thing. A nice experience, but not one to be repeated.

The memory of it floats through your mind often though. The pulse of his heart beating against your cheek, how you could hear it in your ear clear as day. Your stomach flutters at the thought of him actively pulling you closer, wanting you that close. You can feel your dedication to Logan blossoming into something more. It was already rooted so deep inside you that you didn't think it was possible, but you could feel it. The branches of reverence spreading in your chest and growing into something closer to adoration.

You could feel it now, sitting next to him on the bench in the school's spacious yard. He'd been tasked with watching some of the students for the afternoon, so of course, you tagged along. Shade speckled his face with alternating blotches of sunlight and gray. The stray beams of light made his eyes glow, and his hair shine all pretty. The sounds of the students practicing their abilities clouds the background of your focus, and they become even more distant when he suddenly turns to you.

"You're staring," he teases with that little smirk of his.

Your eyes flutter at the accusation. "No... I was not."

"Yeah you were. Even worse than usual."

"I just was thinking and zoned out," you defend, turning to face forward.

He hums in acknowledgement, obviously not believing your excuse. "Were you thinking about me?"

"You wish."

"I don't have to wish, puppy. You're not a very good liar."

You really weren't. Your tail swished with each beat of this little back and forth. Your ears pinned back to your head, folded over by the guilt of being caught. Everything you were feeling was made apparent by your supposed 'gifts.'

"Well whatever. Even if I was, it's none of your business," you say. A smile pulls at your lips. Your tells weren't solely from your mutation.

"If you say so," he taunts, one last jab before he returns his attention to the kids he was supposed to be supervising.

Nothing he said hinted at anything more than playful banter, but the way he spoke had them wrapped around your heart like unbreakable restraints. The way he said them made you feel like he wanted it this way. Wanted you to hear that smug cadence in your mind for the next few days. Maybe he found you entertaining. Maybe your emotions were a new game he discovered he liked to play with.

Hours later, you're curled up in your bed, by yourself as per usual. Everyone in the school had gone to bed, you and Logan had parted a while ago yourselves. 

Sleep weighs you down to the mattress, but your ears perk up automatically when they register a distant sound of distress. It's faint. If it happened alone, you would've just assumed it was part of your dream and not done anything else. But more follow it.

Your eyes crack open, still glazed with drowsiness as you come to. You listen for the sounds that disturbed you. For a moment, there's nothing. Just the gentle breeze outside your room and the crickets chirping in the cut grass in the yard.

Then it happens again. A normal person wouldn't be able to hear these sounds. They were reserved for you with your enhanced senses. It sounds like grunting and groaning though you can pick up the pained undertone of fear. The worst part of it to you is that immediately you know it's coming from Logan.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, freeing them from the fleece warmth of your blankets. Padding out of the room, you cross the hall to his. You open the door in the specific way so that it doesn't creak and then shut it behind you. Your feet are gentle on the hardwood as they bring you closer to the source of the noise.

Once you're in, it's no mystery. Logan lays on his back in the center of his bed, shoulders twitching in agitation. He mumbles to himself, different words you can't make out. Your head cocks at the sight.

Approaching the side of his bed, you just watch him for a few more moments. When he doesn't wake up, you feel the urge to intervene. It felt wrong watching him suffer. Something pulled at your insides to help him.

You reach out and nudge his bicep. There's no effect. You do it a few more times but still nothing happens. Finally, you actually grip his shoulder and shake him gently, whispering into the darkness a simple "Logan."

That wakes him. No mistake about it. He gasps and snaps up. His claws come out from his hands without a second thought and slash at you. You hop back right away, tripping over your own feet and crashing onto the ground.

Your pulse thunders in your ears. The adrenaline coursing through you wasn't so much out of fear but rather confusion. Your mind was still a bit bogged by sleep itself, and at this moment, you're less concerned with Logan's reasoning and more so the logistics of a potential fight with him. Even though you had been training for the past several months, you had absolutely zero belief that you'd be able to beat him in a fight. Or even really compete for that matter.

Fortunately for you, it doesn't come to that. His eyes recognize you not long after his fists took the swing. You watch as his face morphs into a handful of different emotions in the span of about five seconds.

"I- what- how- I didn't-" he starts before getting a handle on his ability to speak, "I'm sorry."

Your body starts to come down from the brief high when it's clear he's not going to attack. You feel less wound up and let out a sigh. Your eyes remain inquisitive while gazing at him though. What did he dream about that made him freak out like that?

You guess it's not the best time to ask, so instead of pushing your luck, you push up off the ground and get your footing back. You step up to him at the edge of the bed and stand between his thighs. You plan on asking him if he's ok, but his arms reach out and yank you to his chest before you have the chance.

His hold is tight on you. The little half-hugs he'd given you a couple times before didn't compare at all. His arms were locked around you like they never intended to let go. You could hear him panting in your ear, and you could feel his heart thundering against both of your rib cages like it wanted to be released from its chamber.

"You're not hurt, are you?" he whispers.

You shake your head and wrap your arms around him too. The gesture relaxes him a lot, you can feel the tension seep away.

"Are you ok? I didn't mean to bother you, you just sounded like you needed help," you say at the same volume.

"You didn't bother me. I'm ok. I'm sorry. You don't have to worry about me like that."

His skin is warm and clammy against your own. You gently pat his back as some form of silent reassurance. Even if he wasn't as distraught as he had been a few minutes ago, you could tell the events that occurred were gnawing at him.

One of your hands drifts up, and you thread your fingers in his hair. It's like pulling a lever. He exhales deeply and pushes his face more against your neck.

"I'm sorry, pup," he murmurs.

You nuzzle the side of his head, and your heart nearly stops because he reciprocates this gesture with a few of the softest kisses you've ever felt, placed on your throat.

"I'd never hurt you on purpose. You know that."

You nod. Of course you knew that. And you would never say this to him out loud, but you felt so deeply for him, you weren't sure that your perception of him would have changed had his claws landed the strike on you.

Pulling back your head a little, you nudge his so you can see him. Both of your eyes connect for a moment before you lean in and kiss him. His lips are softer than you'd expected. His scent permeates your senses, but it's not one of booze or the brand of cigars he smokes. That's there, but your nostrils sense deeper. You could smell his essence. The way his blood runs hot as your tongue swipes into his mouth.

The kiss grows deeper. No words are said. Neither of you need them. Your fingers tighten on the dark locks of brown hair, and you climb into his lap. His hands land on your hips almost instantaneously. The only sounds between the two of you are sharp exhales and shallow inhales.

"What are you doing, bub?" he murmurs against your lips, breaking the silence. Despite his questions, he wasn't stopping you. Not at all. His fingers dig into your flesh and pull you a little closer.

"Wanna make you feel better. And show you that I know."

You weren't sure what you and Logan were after that night. Boyfriend-girlfriend, friends with benefits, or maybe simple companions. You didn't really care because regardless of the answer, you were happy.

Kissing was the only thing that transpired that night, but that was ok with you. It didn't dampen your outlook on your relationship with him in the slightest. You'd made out for a while, tangling up with each other and the sheets before he pulled back. He didn't want to go further when you both were coming down from all that emotion. And you agreed. You didn't need more. You felt elated from receiving that much affection in the first place. Your tail whacked against the mattress as you curled up to his side and put your head on his sternum to rest.

The next morning though, he had been ready for more. Once he fell back asleep, his dreams had been much more pleasant. He woke up stiff and aching for you, and you were more than happy to provide some relief.

You alleviated that throbbing between his legs multiple times that morning, and you'd been taking care of it at least once a day every day since then.

The team could tell something was going on between the two of you, a deeper bond than your initial affinity for Logan. You walked with a faster wag in your tail, and he seemed less jagged at the edges. Others were less likely to get cut now if they reached for him the wrong way.

Each of your steps also came with a small jingle now since Logan had given you his dog tags. You'd been lying against his side, basking in the afterglow of one of your escapades when he dangled the metal chain between the two of you.

"Want you to have these, pup," he rasped.

You'd looked at him with curiosity swimming in your eyes. Excitement mingled there too though.

He chuckled at the look before boosting your head so he could put them on you. 

"I know my pretty puppy doesn't want to wear a collar for me yet," he teased, getting a pout out of you, "I just want you to have something of mine. You don't even have to wear 'em if you don't want to."

You'd worn them every moment since he gave them to you. Wouldn't take them off for anything. The physical representation of your attachment stayed secured around your neck at all times. The way it made you feel had you thinking a collar would be a pretty nice next step.

It'd been just over a month since you became something more with him. Your tail zips back and forth as you clean up the training room, thinking all of this over. A little smile rests on your features too. Jean helps out nearby, laughing gently at your mood.

"You have it bad," she teases.

Your head turns, and you grin, exposing those elongated canines. Shrugging, you prance over to help her finish the area she was tidying up.

When the two of you get everything back into shape, you head out into the sleek hallway back towards the main part of the mansion. Your shoes squeak against the tile as you bound towards the doors.

Entering the primary floor from the rooms below always brought a bit of adjustment for your eyes. The lights downstairs shone bright, fluorescent white. Coming back to the soft lamps of the common rooms had you blinking while your pupils scanned the room for Logan.

You catch sight of him standing near the two large doors that acted as entrance to the school. Right now, you can only see him from behind, but you spot Charles next to him. It looks like they're talking to someone, though the former's bulky frame prevents you from seeing who.

Your legs carry you over to the pair. You come up on the side of Logan that Charles doesn't occupy. Tucking yourself under his arm, you look up at him first before your eyes land on the other person speaking.

The sight of her makes your head tilt to the side just the slightest. Every feature on her embodies beauty. Her red hair, similar to Jean's in color, sits slicked back on her head. Deep blue coats every inch of her body. Seductive yellow eyes flit between the two men she's conversing with, and now that you had appeared, they cast to you as well.

You'd seen her before around the mansion once or twice, and you didn't really trust her. She didn't seem like a bad person, but she worked opposite the team. Even though Logan had assured you she was just offering some information about a common goal, you didn't feel confident that Mystique's motives were of such pure intent.

Still, you don't interrupt the in-progress discussion. You stay quietly pressed to Logan's side, tail coasting against the back of his leg. He doesn't wrap his arm around you as tight as normal or rub between your ears like he often did, but he gives you a little pat on the shoulder to acknowledge your presence.

Mystique finishes listening to Charles' point before directing her full attention to you.

"I knew you all wore uniforms, but you two didn't tell me your team had a little mascot too."

You bristle at the comment but try to remain composed. You were better than a thoughtless animal that snapped at a little poke. Charles hadn't even noticed your presence. He looks over at you and realizes what Mystique's quip referred to. He introduces you briefly.

"She's new to the team and is still training, but she's not a mascot," he concludes.

"So more like a stray then? Cute. I never would have guessed you wanted a pet," she says to Logan.

Tension creeps up your spine, and you stand up straight, pulling away from Logan's side.

"I'm not his pet," you huff and look at her. Your pouty way of asserting yourself probably didn't do much to project the image of independence you wanted. "I'm-"

You go to continue, but she cuts you off.

"You really should teach your dog not to bark, Logan. It's not polite."

That sparks a small growl in your throat before you can shut it down. Her eyes widen in amusement which only makes it feel worse for you. The most humiliating part is that you know all of this is inauthentic. She's doing it for the purpose of riling you up, getting you upset and making you feel bad. You know this, but your reaction gets the better of you.

Before you can do anything regrettable, Logan's hand curls over your shoulder. He keeps you rooted where you stand, quelling the flames of conflict before they have a chance to spread.

"Back off," he says, quick and curt with Mystique. He turns to Charles next, still keeping his voice firm. "You don't need me to hear the rest of this. I think I'll let you wrap it up."

Charles nods, knowing it would be better for him to focus on removing you from the potentially volatile situation instead of being another observer for some intel.

Logan guides you away from them, hand moving from your shoulder to the back of your neck as he takes you upstairs. The anger inside you melts away with the growing distance between you and Mystique. Only the stain of embarrassment remained.

"I'm sorry," you say. Your words sound compressed, the weight of your shame hanging off them.

"Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong. She wanted you to get upset, so that's what she got."

The pair of you move through the rest of the hall without another word. You go into your room. Once the door is shut and it's just the two of you between the four walls, you stomp over to the bed and flop down onto the mattress.

Darkness clouds your vision while your face rests against the blankets. Your tail rests against your thigh limply. You hear him coming over and then feel his hand rubbing your leg near the lifeless appendage. The mattress dips as he sits next to you.

"C'mon. You're ok."

You shuffle around so your head is resting in his lap. "I looked pathetic."

He sighs. One of his hands rubs your back while the other pets your head. "You did not."

"Yeah I did."

"No. You didn't," he says, "You didn't do anything that bad. No one's gonna think less of you cause you got a little mad about someone talking shit to you."

You know he's right. Everyone here had an experience like that. It's how most of them ended up here, reacting even worse than you had. It still doesn't make you feel any less dumb. A deep exhale seeps from your lungs.

"I just don't understand why everyone looks at me like that. We all get it bad enough from humans, but then some of the others look down on me too. I'm the same as all of you. I don't say Mystique looks like a smurf cause she's blue, so I don't see why I have to get called a pet," you huff.

He smiles a little and scratches your ear, letting you vent.

"Even you guys looked at me different at first. I know you did. I'm not the only mutant with physical stuff. Why does it have to be a whole thing with me?"

"You're just a little different, bub. You confuse people, but it's not your fault. Nothing about you is less than any other mutant. Mystique doesn't even think that. She was trying to get under your skin."

"Yeah..." you say with a little dejection in your tone, "I still just wish people would treat me like normal. Or at least normal for a mutant."

"I know you do, baby," he hums and pats your arm.

By this point, you're far enough away from the harshness of what happened downstairs. You sit up and scoot closer to him crawling into his lap. He wraps his thick arms around you and rubs your back.

"There's my girl," he murmurs and pecks your temple.

You nuzzle him like a puppy seeking more affection from its owner. Your backside rests on his lap, your arms snug around his abdomen.

"I'm just curious though, pup. What's the big thing with being called dog? It's not that different than puppy," he says, a hint of caution in his voice. He figured now was as good a time as any to ask. He knew it was the main part of what Mystique said that set you off.

You don't react with anger or defensiveness which pleases him. Instead, you shrug.

"Cause. Puppy sounds cute. Dog is just so... bleh," you say, "It makes me sound like a gross animal that someone has to wrangle."

His eyebrow rises. You can see the amusement in his eyes, but he successfully kills his laugh before it leaves his throat.

"Mmm. Makes sense. Can't have anyone thinking you're gross."

"Exactly," you say and kiss his cheek, "You get it. I just... I don't wanna be your pet, I wanna be yours."

You breathe out the words and push yourself closer on his lap. He appeases your desire for less space and pulls you to his chest.

"You are mine. You don't have to worry about that," he says.

"And I still wanna be your little puppy."

He chuckles. His head ducks down to your neck to lay a few kisses there. One of his palms drifts down to gently knead the dough of your ass.

"You also are my little puppy. My little puppy that follows me everywhere. Mine to hold and love on. Mine to play with. Mine to deal with when she gets bratty."

The last word comes out teasing and brings a happy sound out of you. "I wasn't being bratty before. She started it," you say, playing along.

"Hmmm, you're right. Maybe fussy's a better word," he mutters and nips at the soft flesh of your neck.

"Nuh uh. I was being totally normal," you say and nudge at his face with your nose, getting a little squirmy on his lap.

He responds by flipping you over onto your back. The mattress creaks with the bout of pressure and a squeal leaves your throat. You can feel his length against your hip, half-hard already from how you had wiggled on his lap.

"Oh please," he says, "Why do you think I brought you up here? I can tell when my pup needs to calm down. And I know just how to do that, don't I?"

You whimper and nod. He grins before returning his lips to your neck. He nips a few love bites onto the delicate area, drawing little whines from you. His hands hold you in place and move with your body's wriggling. He gropes at your hips and waist, paws at your tits, and slides them around to massage your ass.

"Such a good girl. So responsive for me," he coos.

The condescending affection sends a pulse down to your clit, and your hips roll up to meet his. One of your legs hooks around his waist to pull his body closer.

"Logan. Don't tease," you pout.

Your whiny plea doesn't garner any sympathy from him though. He laughs against your neck and pulls back to smirk down at you.

"My little puppy needs to learn some patience. You think if you don't get my dick in seconds that it's teasing," he taunts.

You whine again and press your leg down on him. He doesn't make any move to pull his cock out though. One set of his fingers comes up to your jaw, directing your lips to an angle where his can land on yours. He kisses you nice and deep, swallowing up any bratty urges that were springing around inside your head. His tongue is warm and soft, gentle against yours.

Meanwhile, his freehand does start to slide down below. It travels beneath the waistband of your bottoms. His warm fingers glide over the plush skin of your pelvis and slot between your lower lips to find your swollen nub. He flicks at it, instantly getting a mewl from you.

You can feel his smug smile against your mouth, but you don't have much time to react to it before his middle finger starts swirling around your bud. Your leg releases his body as it squirms with your other on the mattress. You moan into his mouth and boost your hips into his touch, wanting more of that blissful friction.

"Sweet girl," he coos. The words are muffled by your skin, but you could pick those syllables out of any lineup. "That's your favorite spot, isn't it? Always gets you wriggling for me like a little puppy."

"Mhm," you whimper with a faint nod.

Your heels dig into the mattress to give you some leverage to push your hips up so he can tug your pants off. He takes the opportunity and flings them off the bed. With you bare to him like that, he leaves your lips and moves down. He pulls your top off next and smooches between your breasts and over your tummy before landing between your legs.

He kneels on the floor at the edge of the mattress. His hands hook around your thighs and pull you in his direction.

"C'mere, baby. Give me that puppy cunt. Gotta get it all wet, so it can take my cock."

With that, he buries his head between your thighs. You gasp and throw your head back. Your hands fly to his head to grab at the two dark points of hair.

Logan gives his all to the task of pleasuring you. Whether it was his cock or his mouth, you were never getting anything less than his best. That's obvious right now as he eats you out like it's all he has to live for. He laps at your poor little clit before sucking it into his mouth. It gets some good suction from his lips before he pulls away and licks a broad stripe over your cunt.

He prods his tongue at your entrance, pushing the soft appendage against your hole. You whine more, and he feels your heels dig into his back as they had the mattress. Little expletives float from your mouth into the air as you experience such a rush of euphoria.

"Taste so good, pup. So fuckin' sweet," he mumbles. His lips open and close over your pussy, making out with it.

You rock your hips back and forth, essentially humping his face. He groans and only works harder. Your cute reactions only spurred him on. He twists his tongue just how he'd learned you liked and uses the perfect amount of pressure to get you gushing for him. Your arousal begins to coat his chin, his dark facial hair glistening with your wetness.

"Nice and wet. I'm just gonna slide right in, huh baby?"

"Yeah," you pant. Your hips buck when his nose bumps your clit, but he keeps you held in place.

He kisses your clit before dragging his tongue over you anymore. The soft touch pulls a whimper from you. Your brain starts to get all muddled and hazy. The dreamy feeling always took over when he had you like this. He knows it's coming on too. He can tell by the sudden softening of your movements. You're less jerky and more fluid in how you fidget.

"Oh, that's it. I think my pretty puppy's ready for me," he says, voice smooth on your ears.

He wags his tongue over your little bundle of nerves a few more times before standing to undress himself. His shirt comes off first, dropped to the floor with your garments. His pants are next to go, crumpled on the ground and kicked off his ankles.

Crawling back on top of you, his larger figure boxes you in on the soft surface. His cock is fully hard by now, red and angry, leaking desire from the tip. He guides it to your center and rubs it through your soaked folds.

A soft grunt leaves him as your nectar coats his shaft and drips onto his balls a little too. He only slides it against you a couple times, not wanting to waste the stimulation humping when he could be nestled deep inside.

He brings his tip down to your hold and pushes it in. Your walls accept the familiar intrusion and he groans at the comfort of your velvet walls contracting around him. He pushes his length in all the way until he bottoms out.

Then, adjusting himself and gripping at your hips, he starts to thrust. The motions start as gentle rocks. Taps of his pelvis against your ass. You flutter around him. Moans leak from you, and he smiles at the obvious pleasure coursing through your body.

He fucks you deep, just how you always asked for it. You weren't concerned with whining for harder and deeper right now. This was enough. The feeling of his cock buried in you soothed you like nothing else. Your eyes roll back and puffs of air come from your nostrils.

"Fuck, honey. Feels like I can barely last with you," he grumbles.

"Can't even think when I'm with you," you babble.

Your arms come up to pull him closer, and he lets you. He presses his body into yours, in-turn, shoving his cock as far into you as physically possible. You cry out with the pressure. It was the best kind. Deep and satisfying. To the point that you can feel it in your tummy every time his belly pushes on yours.

"You may not be my dog, baby, but one day you're gonna be my perfect breeding bitch," he grunts.

Your jaw goes slack, eyes drooping with lust. Your head tilts back and he leans into yours more.

"Gonna have you full of me forever. Always gonna be mine."

You can't even respond. Your mind isn't coming up with any coherent response. All you can do is whimper and whine like the needy pup that you are.

"This is what you need sometimes, puppy. Need me to stretch you out on my cock. Get all those thoughts out of your head. Cause puppies don't have to think. Not when you have someone like me taking care of you."

Your thighs start quivering, a sign you were reaching your peak. He knows this and drills into you harder. His balls slap against you every time he pistons his hips. His heated skin rubs against yours. He occupies all your senses, overloading you with him.

"Logan... gotta... gonna cum," you whine.

"Then cum for me," he mumbles simply, "Cum all over my cock, and I'll be right behind you."

You nod. Your back arches up. It takes you a little more, but when you get there, you crash into the throes of release. A sharp yelp bursts from you. Your feet kick a little and your legs press against his sides in an attempt to shut him out.

You get so fucking tight when you cum. Your hole clenches around him, calling out to him to spill every drop of his seed inside your wanting orifice. He growls and drops his head in your neck. He feels it building between his hips. The pressure grows until he can't take it anymore. It snaps and the flood gates open.

He bites at your neck, not hard enough to break the skin but with enough need to leave a little mark. Hot, sticky cum shoots out of him in thick ropes. Warmth fills your insides and you feel like you're sinking into the mattress below you. Both of you are panting with the intensity of the high.

You've already come down by the time he's starting to. After he nuts, Logan tends to get a little sappy. His arms pull you in tighter and he pecks at your neck a few times more muttering something unintelligible about his baby puppy.

"So what do you think?" you ask and twirl into the room, showing off your new outfit.

It matched his. Black leather snug on your body, lined with the same gold on the seams of Logan's. The bold X that shown on his belt could be found on the zipper of your top, dangling against your chest.

He smiles at you, standing from the bed to walk over and get a better view.

"Looks pretty good," he says upon approaching, "Seems a little tight though. You got room for your tail in that thing?"

You laugh at his joke and spin around again, showing the back where the suit had accommodated for your tail to poke through. It whips back and forth before you turn to him again.

"Just perfect for you then," he says and pulls you close, patting your ass and kissing your forehead, "Look at you. An official member of the team."

You nod and struggle not to bounce all around the room with the excitement vibrating through your cells.

"We're gonna be like so totally cool together," you say.

"Yeah. Totally," he imitates affectionately. He cups your jaw, watching your cheeks squish in and your lips puff out. Leaning down, he puts his mouth on yours in a soft kiss. "You're gonna do great."

The words come out as a whisper against your lips. One of your canines slips over your bottom lip as you take it between your teeth. But the display of timidity only lasts a second.

"I know," you beam.

Locking your fingers around his palm, you drag him to the door and out into the hall. Your arm makes his swing as he walks along behind you. He rolls his eyes lovingly at your confident display, but he can't keep his gaze off your happy self. He lets you pull him without resistance.

Now it would be his turn to follow you.

[lucisfavoritedemon]

Through The Portal: Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Stan finally learns what really happened to Y/n back in 1973. Stan realizes the sweet girl he once knew isn’t as bubbly as she used to be, but is determined to bring her back however he can.

Pairing(s): Stan x reader (platonic present, romantic past), Ford x platonic!reader, Dipper x best friend!reader, Mabel x best friend!reader Bill x reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of hopelessness, mental manipulation, unrequited love, flashbacks.

A/N: The events and ideas are based on a theory I have about the Nightmare Realm. This is in no way canonically true, just my theories based on what we canonically know about the Nightmare Realm.

“Wait, New Jersey?” Mabel and Dipper questioned simultaneously.

I nodded as Stan gave me a look of, ‘don't tell them just yet’. I guess in a way Stan was right, I probably shouldn’t tell them about the fact I technically am 61 years old. So I decided to tell them a little white lie.

“Yeah, I grew up in New Jersey. Just like Stan and Ford did.”

“So, how did you end up here? Did you work with Ford?” Mabel asked curiously.

“Don’t be silly Mabel, she’s not old enough to have worked with Ford on the portal.” Dipper interjected.

“Then you must be his daughter!” Mabel beamed.

“No! I-I’m not Ford’s daughter.” I quickly tried to correct her.”

“Then are you Stan’s daughter?” Mabel questioned.

“No, I have no relation to them at all. It’s a long story that I’m not ready to share just yet.”

“But, you do know Stan. You said that you were sorry you left. So, what happened?” Dipper asked, ready to write it down on a notepad as if he was interviewing me.

Stan walked up behind the two kids before I had the chance to protest, “why don’t you two go wreak havoc or whatever somewhere else. I need to speak with Y/n.”

Mabel and Dipper groaned, but didn’t protest as Stan shoved them out of the gift shop. Stan walked back over to the chair he was sitting in. He gave a questioning look before he finally spoke up, “so, now that the kids are gone, tell me what you meant by you didn’t mean to walk through that stupid portal.”

I take a deep breath before speaking, “look, Stan, it was an accident. I was just doing some test runs on the mechanics. I was not prepared for it to start up and suck me in. I spent years trying to get back to you. I knew you’d be upset with me…I didn’t want to leave…” I answered.

“Then why were you building it in the first place!?” Stan was agitated.

“I…I wanted to win a Nobel prize or a huge patent so you and I could get out of that town. I wanted to give you the one thing you always talked about…to sail around the world on the adventure of a lifetime.

“I-I know I’m not the person you wanted to do that with…but I wanted to make you feel like you finally had someone who cared about you. I did care about you, more than you knew Stan.” I finally confessed.

Stan couldn’t even think of what to say. All these years he had blamed me for leaving him alone in the world again, but he didn’t know I had planned it out thoroughly. He felt like a jerk for judging me without knowing my true plan.

“Y-you were doing it…for me?”

I nodded, “I knew that either you could use the money to sail around the world, or bring the fortune to your family and make up for your mistake. Either way, I didn’t want the money or the fame, I was doing it because I thought it would make you happy.”

“And now I’m the jerk for blaming you after all these years…and I never really asked why you were doing it.”

I smile softly at hsi response. It wasn’t completely wrong. I wanted Stan to be able to rid himself of his guilt and move past his mistake. I had also been tricked into doing so, but I wasn’t ready to confess to him that if I had succeeded that he never would have gotten what I wanted him to get out of it.

“I think I was more upset that I lost the girl I was crushing on more than anything…” Stan confessed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“W-wait…y-you were crushing on me?” I was taken aback by his confession. I knew Stan liked me, but I never imagined he thought of me in that light.

He just nods, “that seems like a lifetime ago though. I’m different now than I used to be.”

“You and me both…” I look down at the floor knowing I probably opened a huge can of worms that I won’t be able to stick back in.

“I could tell. Whatever you saw in there, whatever you went through, must have been rough for you.”

“You have no idea.”

I floated in a daze. This place had no gravity, no sense of time, it was utter chaos.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t dear ol’ sweet Y/n. What brings you here sweetheart?” Bill’s voice seemed to boom as it had really nothing to bounce off of.

“B-Bill? Where am I?”

“You’re in my dimension. Too bad your invention failed because if it hadn’t this would be released upon your dimension, and you and I could rule over everything! I could just imagine it.”

“Y-your dimension? This is where you live?” I was horrified at what I saw.

Bill was surrounded by strange and weird beings of chaos. I couldn’t believe I had been tricked. Had I truly succeeded, it would have meant the end of the world as I knew it, everyone I cared about would have been put in danger, and It would have been all my fault.

Bill starts to laugh his demented laugh, “yes! Welcome to the Nightmare Realm! A place where chaos reigns! Too bad you failed med, I could have used a partner in crime to help create chaos with me.”

“You tricked me! I trusted you!”

“If I told you my true plans you would have backed out of it. I had no choice, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not your sweetheart anymore, Cipher! You tricked me, and almost made me destroy my world!”“Not my sweetheart anymore huh?” He looked like he was starting to get angry.

I knew I needed to get away. I started to float away from him as he called his henchmaniacs to catch me. I floated towards an asteroid field and was able to avoid getting caught. I slipped into the hole looking for sanctuary. That’s when I realized I wasn't alone.

After Stan and I talked things out, I needed to find something mindless to get my mind off of everything. I decided to try and get to know the young Pines twins better. They were both sitting in the living room watching TV.

“Hey kids.” I say softly, announcing my presence.

“Y/n!” They both exclaimed excitedly.

“I thought Stan was going to tell you to stay away from us or something?” Mabel blurted out.

I giggle softly, “no, Stan doesn’t mind me trying to get to know the two of you. Just, no questions about where I came from or about the portal, okay?”

“Ah, come on, just one question each, please?” Mabel begged.

“I’m sorry, but I’d rather not talk about what I’ve seen or been through. Not to mention, Stan and Ford both think it’s best you two stay away from that subject.”

“One question each, and then no more after that, please Y/n?” Mabel begged harder, flashing the biggest puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen.

I sigh and give in, “okay, okay. One question each, but if I think it is too personal, I have the right to refuse to answer it.”

“Deal!” Dipper and Mabel exclaim enthusiastically.

“I’ll go first, how do you know Stan?” Mabel blurted out.

“Stan and I were friends at one point,” I see Mabel go to say something, but I stop her, “no Mabel, you cannot follow up with a question. The truth I’m sure will be revealed in due time.”

“Okay, can I ask how you knew I was going to ask that?” Mabel questioned.

“That’s an appropriate question and allows you to get to know me, so yes, that’s okay. I am a very perceptive person, I can read a person by just looking into their eyes.”

“That’s so awesome!”

“Okay, Dipper, which one of your billion questions are you gonna ask me? I can tell you’re the curious one.”

Dipper smiles and flips through his notepad, “where were you before you came out of that portal?”

I had to think about how to answer that without revealing too much. Luckily it was a fairly broad question, so I felt like I could answer this without revealing too much about myself, “I was in a place that I wish no one else to see, not even my mortal enemies.”

“Yeesh, that sounds horrible. You seem so…optimistic, how did you maintain that?”

“Is that too much of a revealing question!?” Mabel yelled as I went to answer.

“No, again it helps you two better understand who I am and how I function in difficult situations. Well, to be straight to the point and sort of sappy, the thought of returning home kept me optimistic. I’ve always been that way I guess, so maintaining that mindset was fairly easy considering the strain I was under.”

The kids continued to go back and forth on questions to get to know me as a person, the person I was before I went into the portal. The person I hoped was still in there somehow. In turn, they told me more about themselves, and I felt like I was really starting to bond with them.

“So, did you go to college?”

I shake my head, “as egotistical as it sounds, I felt like I was too good for college, like there was nothing it was going to teach me that I didn’t already know, you know? So, rather than spending thousands of dollars on education I felt was futile, I spent time doing what I loved, and looking for grants in other ways.”

“That’s possible?” Dipper questined, intrigued.

“Uh…sure. I definitely think you should pursue higher education. Don’t end up like me.”

Mabel went to ask another question when someone behind us cleared their throat. I turned to see who it was. Ford stood there and gestured for me to come with him. I nodded and stood up, “sorry kids, we can finish this later. It’s been really good talking to you two.”

The kids waved as Ford and I walked back into the gift shop and down to the basement. He didn’t say anything the entire walk down, and I was getting concerned. “Did I say something too revealing to the kids?”

Ford shakes his head, “no, I know you would try to protect them as much as Stan or I would. No, this is something much more serious. I found this while dismantling the portal.” Ford shows me a base and globe containing colorful glowing matter.

“I-is that what I think it is?”

Ford nods, “an interdimensional rift. I contained it, but I’m afraid that Bill may know about this…and will do anything to get his hands on it. I think this may also be the cause of your vivid dreams.”

My eyes widened, “you think that Bill might be heightening my connection to him and tormenting me into possibly making a deal so he can possess me to break the rift?”

Ford chuckles lightly, “it’s like you took the words right out of my mouth. I always forget how perceptive you are. Unfortunately, because of the connection Bill has with you already, encrypting your thoughts is going to be a difficult task to undertake.”

I take a deep breath, “I want to erase my memories then.”

[always-just-down-the-street]

Some Misc. Thoughts I've Had With The Misremembered Lanes AU

It's about 3AM and I wanted to just put up some more crumbs for people who like the Misremembered Lanes AU! (Yes it's an AU now, see here.) These are compiled from random Discord convos I've had on Discord and so they're gonna be a tad disconnected, BUT if you stay to the end I got another small writing for y'all! So feel free to nom on all this, do whatever. Have fun. :)

~ 0 ~

While not an intended part of the AU, an interesting analysis that ended up occurring was "What would the timeline have been like if Taco actually got to win vs. how OJ feels in this AU after winning".

For the "Taco Wins" timeline, consider that nobody was really rooting for her besides Pickle, and she wouldn't have seen everyone as genuinely coming to like her after OJ would've turned heel- a point was made that they would've sided with her because they didn't like OJ betraying Paper. Compared to OJ, who puts up a facade to keep a bunch of fake friends, Taco would've happily left them behind to have a great time with her real friend. Get away from them, get away from the show, and never worry about that treadmill.

But OJ? OJ the Winner in the canon (for this AU) timeline? He feels trapped, and the worst part is he can never figure out or articulate why. Or maybe even that the feeling is there at all, at least consciously.

That's why he has to insist upon himself, his ego, because that's deep down the only thing that's real. He fears everything could be taken away if he doesn't but he doesn't know why. He doesn't know that he is trapped in a paradise never meant for him. Took the luxuries and created his own gilded cage out of someone else's dreams and hopes.

Everything else is fake, it's just a matter of if he realizes it or not.

It's a nightmare that he never knows to wake up from, and the moment he does he wants to go to back to sleep. Because the only thing worse than making a cage for yourself without realizing is realizing you're in the cage at all. Cause once he learns the truth? He can't go back. Otherwise everything he put himself through- everything he put Taco through, if indirectly- was all for nothing.

But now he sees the world outside of the cage. Now he sees her outside of the cage, looking in. They both want what the other has, and it breaks them because they're two sides of the same coin.

They're too far in what they've become.

~ 0 ~

“Why aren’t you happy? You’re a winner, aren’t you?”

“You have everything you could have ever wanted. Friends, fortune, fame, glory. Everything you could have wanted, and you still feel empty. Everything he gave you, and you still feel empty.”

“The only empty thing in the gilded cage you filled with everything never meant for you.”

“You see her out there. You finally see how alone she looks, you recognize it like it was your own face. It should have been your face. It’s the same face.”

“You can’t face yourself in the mirror anymore. You just see her.”

“Why aren’t you happy? You’re free, aren’t you?”

“You escaped everything. The show, the contestants, your host. Your creator. He made you. He made you wrong, and now you’re left to pick up the pieces.”

“But no matter how much you try, you could never fit the pieces back into the shape they used to be.”

“You see him in there. You finally see how trapped he looks, you recognize it like it was your own face. It should have been your face. It’s the same face.”

“You can’t face your reflection anymore. You just see him.”

[jynxpsiche]

OMG SWEETENER IS AMAZING. Loved it. The way Tangerine would be such a good dad, oh man. I'm in love with him.

YES YES YES!! DAD!TANGERINE SUPREMACY🛐🛐

Sweet dreams

part of the “Sweetner” series

💌. Summary: sometimes it’s difficult to sleep when a child has nightmares, but fortunately Tangerine helps the baby in every way possible…

or

…when Tangerine shows how he’s daddy material.

💌. Warning: fluff, just tangerine being a dad, canon curses. I don’t know many British slangs. English is not my first language!

A gentle silence occupied the entire house, only downstairs could be heard the faint snore of Lemon, sleeping comfortably on the sofa.

The soft moonbeams illuminated the house, making it even more comfortable and reassuring. The cool summer breeze cooled the silent house.

The silence was sometimes interrupted by the rustling of the sheets, caused by the fairly warm night air.

Despite the coolness of the evening, the unique fairly warm air often returned for a visit.

The evening continued quietly. It was deep into the night and the occasional car could be heard on the street. Everything seemed so peaceful, like a paradise on earth.

But even the most beautiful things have an end. It was sudden, nobody expected it, but it happened. The heartrending cry of a child echoed through the house.

A small baby flailed frantically in its cradle, shaking the light blankets with its tiny legs. A groan from the nearest room instantly followed the continuous weeping.

A young couple slept in a room not far from the little one's, faint breaths echoed in the air but that little peace of night was interrupted by sudden crying.

The young woman in the king-size bed softly groaned, starting to move her legs between the sheets. Her hands lazily reached her eyes, trying to remove those traces of interrupted sleep.

She softly yawned and as she was about to get up from the comfortable bed, a strong but gentle hand grabbed her waist, dragging her body close to another.

Her hip made contact with the man's, his hand still clasped on her hip. Her eyes remained closed, but a sweet smile appeared on her relaxed face. Her face lit by the gentle moon.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take care of it” he gently mumbled, his moustache gently brushed her jaw. After leaving a sweet kiss on her forehead, he got out of bed, trying to make the least noise, even though he didn't have to worry about his brother downstairs, who was sleeping like a stone.

With quick steps he reached the nursery, where the baby's cries continued incessantly.

His figure paused only for a few moments in the doorway of the room, a small smile on his lips and his eyes soft at the sight of the child.

“Hey, it’s okay buddy…you don’t need to cry…” he gently cooed, picking the baby in his arms and lulling him slowly.

The little one, once picked up, ceased his crying, but a few cries of frustration still left his small mouth. His eyes watery and on his cheeks trails of salty tears now dried up.

Tangerine held the little one to his chest, stroking his back. His figure involuntarily began to rock from side to side, as if to simulate the movement of a cradle.

“There’s no reason to cry, little lad. Your daddy is here.”

Even though he knew that he was not actually his real father, he could not help but feel a deep connection with the child.

The idea of finding a partner, let alone starting a family, had never crossed his mind. But this change in his life had completely thrown him off balance.

He had never thought he could be a decent father, due to his messed-up childhood.

But that day... on that train...When his eyes rested on the helpless little thing, he had felt something change in him.

His expression always wrinkled when he thought of the child's biological father. How could he have abandoned a new mother and her child?

Child who was also his own flesh and blood.

A choked cry from the child awakened the man from his thoughts and brought his full attention back to the little one.

His body had not stopped moving, noticing how the child was slowly calming down.

Tangerine gently laid the infant's head on his chest, caressing it as gently as if it were made of glass.

It was strange how all his brutality left his body in an instant.

“Ya surely had a nightmare, didn’t you?” He whispered softly. His voice lulled him like a lullaby. A soft noise came from the baby and this pulled a smile on the man’s face.

His big, gentle hand caressed the baby’s hair. “I remember tha’ I always comforted ma brotha when he had a nightmare.” He explained, as if the child could fully understand what he was saying.

“After he always wanted ta watch that stupid cartoon. Said it made him happy.” Tangerine said, smiling softly at the memory.

He was always there for his brother and when he was younger he had always helped him through some difficulty or cheered him up when something bad happened.

And Tangerine could only behave in the same way with the child he held in his arms. “He's just waiting for ya to grow up a little more so he can finally watch that cartoon with you." He snickered with gusto.

His blue eyes rested on the little one in his arms and once again his face softened at the sight.

The child's deep breathing was audible, fortunately he was able to calm down and return to the world of dreams.

Gently Tangerine placed the little one back in his cot, trying to make as little noise as possible.

However, once he was placed on the soft mattress, the child began to fidget, as he missed the warm body of the adult.

A nasal giggle came from Tangerine, but his gaze remained enamoured at the sight of the little creature.

After sitting on a stool, he slipped his hand close to the child, who promptly grabbed one of his fingers, seeking comfort.

When he felt his small, fragile fingers around his hand, his heart tightened from the sweetness of the scene and he felt his body melt.

He had never been used to receiving much affection; the only one in his life had only ever been his brother's playful affection.

But this new addition to his life seemed like a dream, for he thought that never in his difficult and complicated life would he deserve a few moments of domesticity.

Usually, people like him, who kill without remorse, for a living and especially in truly brutal ways, did not deserve even a small amount of joy in their lives.

But Tangerine had been proved otherwise. And he could only be grateful for that.

“I’ll always protect ya, little one” he murmured, his eyes slowly closing in exhaustion.

After a few minutes, Tangerine's breathing was added to the quiet breathing of the child in the room.

The creaking of the wooden floor resounded through the house. Morning had come and the warm rays of sunlight were sneaking in through the cracks in the shutters.

It was still early, you didn't need a watch to tell, as silence still reigned outside.

Light, graceful footsteps quickly descended the stairs of the house. The woman had just woken up and, still slightly sleepy, she walked downstairs quickly, as if in search of something.

When she walked down the last step, her attention fell on the figure lying on the sofa. Light dyed hair peeped out from one end of the furniture and the girl's sleep-dulled mind identified the figure in an instant.

Lemon was still sound asleep, snoring lightly. He seemed to have entered a kind of lethargy.

Her brother had often mentioned to her how, of the two, Lemon was the one who slept the most.

And a sweet smile appeared on his face at the memory.

But if that was Lemon on the sofa, then where was Tangerine?

When he woke up, the other half of the bed, the one in which Tangerine slept, was empty and cold. This meant that he had not recently left the bed.

At first she thought that the twins had left for a new job and that she, due to being too tired, had not woken up to the boy's normal greeting: a soft kiss on the forehead.

Confused she returned upstairs, now left in the silent hallway. Where was he?

Dragging her feet, she headed still slightly sleepy towards her son's room. It was strange that the little one had not yet woken up.

Her feet creaked lightly on the cool parquet, a good contrast to the summer air.

When she reached the doorway her eyes widened in surprise, amazed as she could not believe her eyes.

Tangerine was sleeping blissfully on a small stool, placed beside the cradle.

His hand dangled inside it and the girl noticed a smaller hand clasping the man's fingers.

Without making a sound she approached the sleeping man, a sweet smile was present on her face.

Her hand passed gently through his unruly curls and then placed a light but loving kiss on his temple.

Then in a voice as sweet as honey she whispered gently:

“Good morning, my love.”

[cerealboxlore]

heyheyhey what if some villain or something uses an ability to show a physical manifestation of how the heroes see their powers (maybe they want the world to see them as selfish/vain?) and captain marvels just covered in chains tying him down

I LIIIIVE!!! so sorry for being late to answering this, hun <3

First of all, I am going wild and feral with that image of Captain Marvel seeing himself that way! The immense burden and responsibility alone in carrying the powers of several gods and ancients is astonishing, beyond the normal human mind, but nowhere near the level of being the Champion of Magic. Imagine that. Being a child who has no one to depend on, and then suddenly becoming a figure of such intense magical power that millions depend on you saving them. Billy never wanted to become a superhero, he never intended to be one, but someone made that decision for him and he can't escape his fate.

Not that it's a bad thing, Billy is more than happy to lend a helping hand to anyone in need, whether it's as himself or as Captain Marvel. He isn't pure of heart for nothing, after all.

Old lady crossing the street? Billy will be there to help. Dr. Sivana stealing from the museum? Captain Marvel is on his way to put an end things. Someone is in a burning building and needs help getting out? Either of them wouldn't hesitate to run in.

It's when he fails to save someone that it sticks to his mind and poisons him with nightmares and guilt. Billy has canonically mentioned before that when he fails to save people, they haunt his nightmares and he looses sleep over thinking about what he could have done differently or better to save them. Sometimes he thinks he shouldn't have been chosen to be Captain Marvel, and that his powers would have been better suited to someone else, anyone else besides himself. Billy is a kid for crying out loud, and yet he's filled with so much survivors guilt, imposter syndrome, PTSD, and more.

The responsibility and power of being a superhero, Champion of Magic, and guardian of the Rock of Eternity all weigh heavy on his small shoulders. Let's not forget Billy's personal life either; a homeless orphan living day to day, working tirelessly to survive and hide away from people who wish to hurt him. It's a miracle this kid hasn't burned out yet. He has too many responsibilities to care about!

Billy is fortunate enough that when he transforms into Captain Marvel, he can forget about his anxiety and worries for a while thanks to his powers giving him a healthy mindset to think with. However, deep beneath the surface, the vessel for the Champion of Magic is just a scared little lost child, crying for his mom and dad, never voicing his concerns or woes to people as to not burden them.

This is why I love your idea of the physical manifestation of how Captain Marvel sees his powers being chains. He feels trapped by his roles in life and doesn't think he can escape them. He doesn't even know if he is allowed to want these burdens and chains gone from him. The chains may seem to tie him down but he is ultimately the one with the key to put an end to it, to never say the magic word again and live a semi normal life. But that's just not the person Billy Batson is. Billy Batson will always do his best to try and save people, no matter what he has to sacrifice of himself in the end.

Maybe the chains seem to be on him unwillingly, but are actually there to represent how he is forcing himself to be a hero to the world.

[eldritchelfwriter]

What might have happened for Shadowheart & Florwyn after Reaching For You?

Massive spoiler zone for Reaching For You, the Dark Justiciar redemption one shot over on AO3, so don't read if you haven't read that!

Originally I was just going to type up some thoughts about things that might have happened next but instead I've ended up stream of consciousness writing the whole plot of a sequel story that I strenuously advise that I will never write. Don't consider this 'canon', it's just thoughts that flowed out, have your own head canons for sure.

Apologies that there are a couple of REDACTED's where there's something that hasn't been revealed in Shadowheart Begins yet that I don't want to spoil, but I think it would be relevant here.

There are 3,000 words coming so grab a cup of tea.

* * *

Florwyn and Shadowheart have finally reunited, but they have a long way to go, to find their new way as a couple and as individuals.

Florwyn is mindful of not wanting to push too hard and fast after everything Shadowheart’s been through, and they are both a little awkward with each other at first. Shadowheart has her own room in the castle and space to rest. She sleeps a lot, in the first couple of weeks after her ordeal in the Harper safehouse.

Shadowheart is privately a little afraid to be alone, but doesn’t tell Florwyn. Fortunately, Cirrus the dog, of his own accord has taken to sleeping at the end of Shadowheart’s bed, rather than Florwyn’s.

She has a lot of nightmares about Shar, and every day she wakes up wondering if being here, with Florwyn, is real, or if she’s dreaming. Then, a soft knock on the door each day at the same time reminds her it’s all real, and she sees Florwyn bringing her tea in bed with that patient and loving look in her eyes … every day, tea and a chaste kiss while Shadowheart recovers and starts to make the first steps toward being a person without Shar. They are very polite with one another, still trying to find their way. And for Shadowheart, receiving any kind of kindness at all feels overwhelming. Frequently she is secretly in tears when Florwyn leaves, just to be cared for.

One day, Florwyn pulls open the curtains in Shadowheart’s room and the light that pours in doesn’t scare Shadowheart any more. She greets Shadowheart, gives her her morning tea and leans in for her kiss, but this time, Shadowheart asks her to wait a moment. Placing the cup of tea on the bedside table, with nervous hands, Shadowheart pulls Florwyn in for a kiss that is anything but chaste and leaves them both dazed.

“I love you,” Shadowheart whispers. It’s the first time she’s said it since that moment in the Harper safehouse.

And Florwyn can see, there’s new life, and new spark in Shadowheart’s eyes.

“I love you, too,” Florwyn whispers back, heartened.

It’s a new day in every way, and this time, Shadowheart and Florwyn spend the whole day together, as Florwyn shows her properly around both the castle, and some of the grounds, Cirrus gambolling along at their sides.

That night, they resume their old habit, of reading together with a drink, but this time it is in front of a fire in the lounge – a room that is covered in books from wall to wall, save for the fireplace. Their eyes wander over the top of their books at each other frequently.

As much as Florwyn is mindful of Shadowheart’s recovery and the big personal journey she has ahead of her, Shadowheart is also mindful of how much she hurt Florwyn all those years ago. Florwyn’s heart is still tender both from that hurt, and the loss of her wife. She doesn’t want to push too far and crush the fragile thing they have between them, any more than Florwyn does. Just holding each other and a few kisses feels like a great deal as it is, given how affection-starved Shadowheart (and Florwyn) have been for a long time.

Night time reading and drinks continues for a while, the space between them growing ever more electric, and then Florwyn leaning herself comfortably against Shadowheart turns into a fierce desire in Shadowheart to kiss her that she cannot and does not ignore. The stories they had been reading soon topple to the floor as they kiss and slowly, almost gingerly allow their hands to roam and relearn the feel of each other. And then they are holding each other for so long, that they fall asleep on the sofa and wake up in each other’s arms to Cirrus licking both of their faces, wondering where his breakfast is.

The next night, it’s even more electric and neither can read at all. They once again end up making out but suddenly stopping when things are about to get frisky. And Florwyn asks, “can I ask, why you stopped?” and basically, Shadowheart is like “I was stopping for you because seemed like you wanted to take things slow,” and Florwyn is like “oh I was being extra respectful of you” and they both realise they absolutely want to fuck each others pants off and there is no reason not to, so they do just that right there and then in front of the fire, and all is wonderful in the world as they both realise just how much they still love each other, after the intensity of the time with the Harpers and then the sudden change to being just alone together.

They move into the same room together and wake up beside each other every day now, because there’s no need to hold back from the fact that they’re both utterly besotted with each other.

There are good days and bad days for Shadowheart. Sometimes she is so filled with grief and regret she cannot get out of bed. On others, she finds Florwyn on the castle rooftop experimenting with sorcery, or takes Cirrus on rambles through the countryside, or tries her hand at baking and other little domestic thing, trying to take care of Florwyn and be as thoughtful of her as much as Florwyn has been of Shadowheart.

Florwyn can see that this life here is a little lonely for Shadowheart, but they have to be pretty careful about going out given Shadowheart has a lot of enemies and did essentially just abandon the Sharran church which has now indeed been decreed illegal. Florwyn sends out letters to Karlach and Astarion who each visit separately. (Karlach incidentally, did not have her heart fixed as per Shadowheart Begins, because Shadowheart never met Yrre. She went to Avernus with Wyll and they eventually found a cure there).

Things are a little frosty at first with Karlach, Shadowheart still feeling hurt by her sense of rejection in the aftermath of her decision at the Gauntlet. But Karlach is nothing if not forgiving and loving and also just incredibly proud of her for finally choosing the light, and it’s hard to stay mad at Karlach, so things melt between them fairly quickly. It feels even easier with Astarion, because he is a person who made a fair few questionable choices in life, so she feels like she isn’t being judged by him, for all that she is facing up to the enormity of the consequences and loss her decisions have brought about.

Eventually though, it becomes clear that Shadowheart needs a life of her own, not just being inserted into Florwyn’s. She feels useless without her power, and her religion, and is still trying to build up her sense of self. She needs something of her own, to fill the gap where her old life use to be.

Jaheira comes to stay and while her and Florwyn are catching up, Shadowheart goes on a walk on the rocky shore by the castle, just thinking about stuff. And there she finds an osprey with a broken wing. It breaks her heart that she cannot heal any more. And something in her needs to see that osprey fly again. She gathers it up, paying no mind to its slashing claws leaving deep cuts in her arms as the frightened bird is taken to the castle, to Jaheira.

Florwyn is immediately freaked out to see how badly Shadowheart’s arms are bleeding, but Shadowheart is only interested in whether Jaheira can heal the bird – not her. She isn’t even bothered by the pain, what is pain to an ex-Sharran, anyway? Jaheira seems to understand what is going through Shadowheart’s mind better than Florwyn. She heals the bird first, and Shadowheart’s arms second.

The bird picks himself up, and Shadowheart watches him fly off, until she can’t make him out any more, feeling teary. She had needed to see that broken things could be healed. She is a broken thing that needs healing herself. And she wants to be able heal again, somehow. That was the only thing that had felt good, under Shar. Perhaps in healing others, she can start to heal all of her own wounds. People have burned her time and time again … but animals don’t judge. Perhaps she could start there. Only … she isn’t a cleric any more, and she’s not in any shape to commit to any gods right now.

Jaheira doesn’t seem surprised, when Shadowheart asks her if she can teach her druidcraft. And when she learns to talk to animals it’s as though a whole new world opens to her. The osprey becomes her friend, as well as other creatures that roam near the castle. Every time Jaheira visits, there is more to learn, and she spends the time in between working hard to master what Jaheira has taught her, with Florwyn’s proud encouragement.

As she works, she begins to come to terms more and more with the darkness she was not only involved in, but actually helped propagate. She wonders what became of the cloister, and who is in charge now. She has a feeling will be XYZ, her former ruthless deputy. And as she works through the things she ordered and was part of as the head of the Baldur’s Gate church, eventually, everything comes back to where it all really started – the decision that changed everything, killing the Nightsong, Selune’s daughter. No apologies she makes can ever take back everything she’s done, everything she’s part of, but she needs to start somewhere.

On a moonlit night, by herself, she tearfully apologises to Selune. And she feels a sense of a mother’s grieving heart understanding the grief she herself feels for her own, fucked up life and everything she’s done. And she feels forgiveness. “Why? How could you? After what I did? What I’ve done?” She asks, weeping. Selune shows her the true memory of what happened the night she was taken which kind of breaks her, but now she knows the truth, and Selune tells her that it is remarkable that she has been able to turn to the light after all that was taken from her, all the brainwashing she was subjected to. Selune, too, is sorry for what happened to her as a child and what she was subjected to since. Selune tells her to find her own path and as a result of the meeting, she is a circle of the moon druid multiclassed with life domain cleric.

There comes a time though, when the sporadic lessons with Jaheira aren’t enough, when Shadowheart needs more. She needs to find what she is capable of, and who she is, and to do that, she will need to go out into the world and leave Florwyn behind for a while, not just slot into Florwyn’s life. It will be a risk to be out in the world, when there will be Sharrans with a grudge, but staying safe and isolated isn’t going to help her grow.

Their farewell lovemaking is desperate, their parting heartwrenching, and Shadowheart leaves the castle and joins Jaheira and the Harpers, so that she can learn “on the job” with Jaheira. It feels good to do some good in the world – she wants to do some good in the world, after all the darkness she once spread. It feels like she’s starting to pay off a debt by putting some good into the world.

But she can’t be known as Shadowheart, out in the world where there are angry Sharrans. Jaheira asks her to pick a new name and she shrugs and says the first name that comes to mind.

“Call me Jenevelle.”

She doesn’t even know where she’s heard the name before, but it has a familiar ring to it.

Gradually she rises through the ranks of the Harpers, gaining respect. She doesn’t see Jaheira as often as time goes by, but when they do there is a fair bit of banter and jokes that she had better not piss off her “mother-in-law.”

For a few years Shadowheart and Florwyn’s relationship is long distance, seeing each other for odd weekends or weeks here and there where their reunions are desperate and intense and buoyant until the inevitable crushing moment of departure. They send each other regular, heartfelt letters, each savouring the arrival of a new letter, and treasuring the letters and rereading them often.

Meanwhile, Shadowheart realises the strange patterns she is seeing in the work the Harpers are undertaking follows a plan that had been devised by her deputy in the cloister that she had shelved. She knows who took over at the cloister after her now.

While she and the Harpers are working to take down the (now illegal) Sharran organisation, Florwyn is reflecting on what she wants in life too. She had been living a life of almost complete solitude for so long, something that Zeera couldn’t handle (hence frequent travels to visit friends), and it obviously isn’t suitable for Shadowheart either. She realises she has become what she has always despised – she’s become a bit like a wizard in an ivory tower but a castle instead. REDACTED.

The castle and its everchanging weather is brilliant for a storm sorcerer, surrounded as she is by an ever-chorus of wind that never leaves her feeling alone, but it’s gloomy and lonely for anyone else. Perfect if she wants to be alone all of her life. But she doesn’t want that, she loves Shadowheart too much. They’ll need to come up with a new dream for life together, if this is going to work.

The letters continue, and Shadowheart is becoming more confident. She can’t change her past, but the future is in her hands, and she’s shaping it herself now.

Shadowheart and the Harpers manage to fight and disband the Sharran organisation, and Shadowheart can only pity her old deputy. She can’t believe she used to be part of all that.

Then one day, Shadowheart receives a letter from Florwyn telling her that Cirrus has died. And something in Shadowheart knows that she is done here now, and it is time to move forward with something new. She and Jaheira, whom she is quite close to by now, talk long into the night.

Florwyn runs out to greet her when she returns home, flinging their arms around each other as Florwyn weeps, Shadowheart feeling rather weepy too, but not just because of the dog. Because Florwyn’s arms are where she belongs now. She feels worthy of Florwyn, and like she can be an equal partner to her now.

Florwn exclaims over Shadowheart’s new hair cut and style, which felt like an important step for Shadowheart in defining the new her, and for a few days they are caught up in the excitement of being together again, of kissing, and holding and making love and all the wonderful little things about each other. It feels like their love has only deepened through their time apart.

Florwyn is of course expecting Shadowheart to leave again soon. But she can see how much more confident, and happy Shadowheart is. She likes these changes in her, she can see that this time she has had has been good for. But it also makes her heart hurt to think that perhaps she is too unexciting for Shadowheart, because she feels deep in her heart that this visit is the end of something, though she doesn’t know what yet.

Then Shadowheart gets up the courage to tell Florwyn that Jaheira has given her a job offer, something different to what she was doing before. Something she would enjoy, and would enable her to keep doing good. But it would mean moving closer to the city … would … is there any chance … would Florwyn come with her?

Florwyn’s tears make Shadowheart think the worst until Florwyn flings her arms around her and says of course my love, anywhere you are is my home. And Florwyn explains she had been thinking much the same sort of thing, and that she’d like to dream anew with Shadowheart, something for both of them. And so they leave the castle behind.

To the small farming community nearby, they know they can go to ‘Jenevelle the healer’ any time – whether for themselves or their livestock. But to Harper trainees, the little wildlife rehabilitation centre she and Florwyn run is a secret training centre for twelve weeks of the year. Here they learn about subterfuge, and spying and all the things that Shadowheart learned as a Sharran that were intended for dark deeds but which she teaches both for good, and so that the Harper trainees can understand the enemies they are up against. Here, also, Shadowheart trains animals as messengers for the Harpers.

Here also the arcanists among the Harpers learn to spot arcane traps and the like from Florwyn. REDACTED.

They go into the city sometimes, to purchase more books of course, but also to visit Alfira’s school. Alfira doesn’t say anything, but she has suspicions about who Florwyn’s druid/healer partner ‘Jenevelle’ might really be.

One day when there are no Harper trainees, and Shadowheart is outside planting vegetables, while her dogs and other animals play around her, a voice calls out in greeting.

It’s a surprise visit from Jaheira, who has become as much a mother to Shadowheart, as she has to Florwyn. For the first time Jaheira doesn’t just seem old, she seems frail. But she is pleased to see Shadowheart. She is ushered excitedly in by both Florwyn and Shadowheart, and eventually, after the initial catch ups, Jaheira gives them her news. She is retiring from the Harpers – for good this time.

She is proud, so proud of them both. Her stay with them is short, but somehow, it feels like she is saying goodbye without saying goodbye, as she hints that there is only one last great adventure for her now, and it’s nearly time.

They are both try not to weep and cling to her when she leaves, but she puts up with them. But she seems excited for a new adventure again, something completely different. It is clear from the way she talks that she is looking forward to being reunited with Khalid.

Things would have gone very different for both of them, if not for Jaheira. Two orphans who were lucky enough to have someone take them under their wing and give them a guiding hand and a bit of love. Is that something they would want to do for others one day, too? Something to think about …

Holly, their silly Irish setter bunts her head into them, wanting a pat, breaking the moment. And then Shadowheart takes Florwyn’s hand, and says, “come on, love. Let’s go inside.”

They are both home. Because home will always be with each other. But perhaps, there could be room for more, in the home of love they’ve built.

Once again it is the end of something. But perhaps, it could be a start to something else, too.

* * * * * *

For the record I felt very teary when it came to saying that Florwyn and Shadowheart were having time apart, and I straight up started crying at the Jaheira bit at the end.

If you have guessed the parts that are redacted, I'd appreciate if you could keep them to yourself and out of the comments for the moment so that it will hopefully be a surprise for readers of Shadowheart Begins when the reveal comes. :) (I have no intention of revealing or confirming in advance what it is).

[dragoneyes618]

Random Guardians of Ga'Hoole Headcanons I Have That I May Or May Not Have Posted Here Already

Noctus and Marella suspected that Kludd was behind the disappearance of Soren and Eglantine, but they didn't do anything because 1. they were afraid of him and his friends (the Pure Ones) who stopped by whenever they were out hunting, and 2. he was still their son and they loved him and they didn't want to believe he was capable of killing his siblings.

Kludd didn't push Eglantine out of the nest like he did to Soren. A couple of Pure Ones just stopped by one day and took her straight out of the nest. Kludd told his parents and Mrs. Plithiver that she'd fallen and probably been eaten by something.

Kludd killed Noctus and Marella, or at the very least was involved in their deaths. (This might be implied canon, I don't remember.)

The rogue smith, who was also an informant for the Great Tree, who the Band found dying in The Journey, was killed by the Pure Ones because he refused to make weapons for them. (This might also be implied canon.) He was killed before he could get word to the Great Tree about the new evil rising in the owl kingdoms.

Otulissa's parents and aunt were picked off by St. Aggie's forces, who were attempting to kill as many adult owls in the region as they could, in the hopes that when they came for the owlets and eggs the nests would be nearly undefended. Fortunately for Otulissa, a Ga'Hoole patrol found her first.

Silver and Smutty are brothers.

Eglantine was haunted for the rest of her life by the events of The Shattering; the betrayal of an owl she believed to be her best friend, the lost hope that her parents were alive, her being essentially mind-controlled. She has nightmares.

Bell was haunted for the rest of her life by the events of Exile; her father's exile, the vanity cult, the book burnings, the owl burnings, the Striga - an owl who had once saved her life and who she saw as a trusted mentor - threatening to kill her, the loss of Otulissa's eye. She blames herself for all this, since she brought the Striga to the Great Tree. She also has nightmares.

Sometimes, Bell and Eglantine talk about this.

Between Exile and the War of the Ember, Coryn and Bell had a talk about owls you trust (in her case, a trusted mentor, in his case, his own mother) betraying you.

Eglantine always wanted a mate and owlets of her own (she especially wanted to name owlets after her parents) but she never found the right owl to become mates with. She compensated for this by being the best aunt ever to her nephew and nieces.

Pelli is 401-2.

Soren and Gylfie had nightmares about St. Aggie's for the rest of their lives. To their dying day, the sight of the full moon made them uneasy.

[dokidokitsuna]

Inventor/Invention

-In case you didn’t notice, I’ve been trying to make most of the characters in this AU look like they’re age 50+...which is something I’ve never done before, and it might explain why the designs have been so hit or miss. ^^;;;  Fortunately, Susie seems to be a hit; I like how this drawing came out. ^^ I think this body type + clothing aesthetic + age demographic is a particularly rare combination; personally I’ve never seen a character who looks like this before. And yet, I managed to make it work~.

-Susie (the current ‘President Haltmann’, btw) is basically Magolor’s right hand, and helps him with all the technological aspects of his conquest-- not only did she create Auto-Nightmare, she also had a large hand in cloning Blade, and studies the progression of her disease throughout the story. In return for playing the tech support role, she’s allowed to have the Haltmann Works Co. drain resources from all the worlds that Magolor conquers-- which he would agree to, of course, since it would be an easy way to keep his new subjects in line (read: oppressed and afraid) while he’s off looking for more heroes to murder.

It makes me wonder, though, what would happen if the “player” chooses to have Magolor become nicer over the course of the story…like, if he really does turn himself around, he and Susie would have to come into conflict over this deal eventually. ^^; Maybe I just won’t let him get to that point; maybe the best he can do for the purposes of the story is learn to love Blade and take care of her…while completely ignoring all the evil he’s done to the rest of the universe, and simply not giving a damn about letting the HWC consume everyone and everything he left behind. XD

-P.S. Susie basically has two main designs: she’d appear in this physical form for certain cutscenes, but fight exclusively with her mecha (which I totally will draw at some point…I promise…⚆u⚆; )

-Auto-Nightmare is the result of me wanting to finally use Nightmare in an AU for once, but wanting to do it in an unorthodox way. ^^ Besides, I can’t really see a more canon-esque Nightmare willingly being subservient to someone like Magolor…and in terms of traitors/fickle allies, Mags already has his hands full with Marx. I don’t need another character in the party who plays the same role…

So Auto-Nightmare was born, combining the Power Orb with some of Nightmare’s accessories to create this cuter, more unassuming design. Which eventually informed his character concept.

-”Auto” is not really Nightmare; not even an amnesiac-reset version of Nightmare. Technically he’s just a machine that was designed to force Nightmare’s Power Orb to awaken…but ultimately failed, and now simply draws from its power to create his own identity and abilities. The result is this walking bundle of anxiety who feels inferior to his “former self”, and tries to make up for it by doing everything his bosses tell him to do. ^^; However, over the course of the story, he befriends Blade, and starts to become more assertive. He may not be able to stand up for himself, but he quickly learns to stand up for his ailing friend, even to the point of openly criticizing Magolor for his treatment of her.

-As you might have guessed, this is where his “death” comes in. ^^ Soon after I decided he should be Blade’s only real friend, I kinda knew he had to die, because he would end up getting in Magolor’s way. Isolation is a large part of what makes an abusive relationship work; a victim with a staunch supporter who genuinely wants what’s best for them will escape your control eventually... …Besides, Magolor is terribly petty, and would probably be offended by this ‘magic tin can’ talking back to him…enough to snap and shatter his face while Blade is unconscious, if the "player" so chooses. =T

Because Auto isn’t really alive, he doesn’t exactly die…the Power Orb itself can even reform on its own. But breaking it in the first place causes his whole system to reset: he reverts to a silent, emotionless shell who just stands around and follows simple commands...and this is a devastating, soul-crushing event for Blade. Especially if you go one step further and choose to have Magolor lie about what happened to Auto, and/or imply that she killed him accidentally during one of her Malady flare-ups.

-On that note, if you don’t choose to have Magolor go down ^that sickeningly cruel path and just leave Auto alone, Blade actually does kill Auto accidentally, leading to a similar outcome. But at least then, it becomes an opportunity for Magolor to help Blade through this traumatic experience, and start to form a genuine bond with her. Again, if the "player" so chooses~.

[polar-equinoxx]

🌟Canons shoot ships but not this one

My fics that could fit into the canon timeline of both tg and tgm!

The big ol’ masterlist :)

🌟Ten Past Twelve (763 words)

Rated Teen, hurt/comfort, angst

It's seven minutes past twelve when Iceman gets a glass of water. It's ten past twelve when he checks on Maverick.

🌟Midnight Jetty (1148 words)

Rated Gen, post-canon, grief/mourning

It was on nights like these that Maverick missed them most.

🌟The Lower Bunk (1364 words)

Rated Gen, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, first kiss

It’s the night of the last mission. They were wingmen, the two of them, but Ice can’t get to sleep alone on his top bunk.

🌟Nowhere Else To Go (1252 words)

Rated Teen, fluff, hurt/comfort, seasickness

A storm out at sea is a bad remedy for a nightmare about drowing with your RIO, even if it did happen 10 months ago. But at least there’s space in the bed where he goes.

🌟The Fourteen (828 words)

Rated Teen, grief/mourning, hurt/comfort

"You say to me it isn't anyone's fault... 'anyone' includes you," Where Maverick finds Ice sitting on his jet enraptured in his thoughts of Goose.

🌟It's The Little Things (1491 words)

Rated Gen, angst, fireworks, fourth of july stuff, loneliness

It's the third of July, 1987. Tomorrow is the fourth, and it's Maverick's first without Goose, and he feels sad and lonely because it just doesn't feel the same. He thinks he's done a great job masking his feelings and pretending he's a-okay, but unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on who you ask) Iceman can see straight through his mask.

🌟My Little Dove (1023 words)

Rated Teen, angst! pain! nothing but hurt!!!

But it’s like a clock. Every breath is a second closer. It’ll tick down to morning. The sun will rise. Tom will have seen his last sunset. Or, Maverick's goodbye to Iceman.

🌟A Year To Think (1846 words)

Rated Teen, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, nightmares

29th July, 1987. Goose has been dead a year. It doesn't feel like that. Maverick doesn't know if he's okay or loved, but Ice is sure to show him just that.

🌟It's Okay Not To Be Okay (1112 words)

Rated Teen, survivors guilt, grief/mourning, hurt/comfort

Maverick didn’t blame Ice for what happened on Hop 31. He never would, no matter how much he overthought the whole thing. Charlie blamed Ice. She said that she did and made it obvious. Ice just listened.

🌟Almost Gone (2099 words)

Rated Gen, hurt/comfort, that's literally it.

Ice leaves the locker room, bitterly regretting what he's said. That was it. That was the last time he'll ever see Maverick again and he messed it up. Then Maverick leaves the locker room.

🌟Atelophobia (1601 words)

Rated Teen, physical hurt/comfort, panic attacks, Ice needs all the hugs ever

“They were abused children” Maverick didn’t think much of Goose’s quip he made back when he’d first been introduced to his now-partner, assuming it was a joke, not until he hears a smash from the kitchen and goes to investigate.

🌟Every End Is A Beginning (3175 words)

Rated gen, nightmares, panic attacks and hurt/comfort

The thing about Iceman, as Maverick had discovered, was that he didn't have 'feelings'. He didn't have issues like nightmares, and he kept his anxiety under wraps so tight Maverick would have thought he needed a hacksaw to get through to him. That's until he witnesses him lurch up into a sitting position in the dead of night. / Or, Ice has a nightmare and Maverick helps him through it

[dearmizumi]

Okay so I was discussing this with one of my friends earlier and I wanna ask... Have any of y'all like— Actually ACTUALLY wondered how these "Revert AU's” would work? Specifically with the Murder Time Trio n all...

"What's a Revert AU? What's it like?" Well if you ask me, I sorta assume it's when the AT/AU returns back to normal (or at least, the closest it can get to regular Undertale), where the bad things that made that specific universe how it is gets fixed due to specific scenarios or events that happened.

I kinda wanna ramble about a Something New Revert timeline rn but I'll yap a bit first hbsjsbdns

If we follow the canon, then realistically there is no way in hell a Revert AU would be possible for Horrortale UNLESS some big miracle happens. There would need to be a very specific line of fortunate events seeing as— well... How messed up everything is.

Dusttale on the other hand would be a lot more possible if we assume the player finally decides to give up. It would be a long process, but it's honestly possible. Murder would've already fallen into the routine of killing everyone before the player catches up, but imagine... Waiting in the corridor or hiding somewhere so that you can ambush the player, but they just— never arrive. And when you try to check where they are, they're simply at the beginning of the game, laying there, doing nothing. Yeah, sure, Murds would definitely kill them the first few times this happens but wouldn't he at least be a little bit intrigued by this change of behavior?

OKAY UHM MOVING ON... I'll rant about a Revert Dusttale au later but what about Something New? What about Killer? How would that work? How would Killer handle it? Well, lemme tell you this pal. I genuinely do believe that this is possible.

If we follow the canon events of the timeline, then I'm sure you'll know that by the end of it, Killer would get interrupted and kidnapped by Nightmare either way whether he'd like it or not, and even if Nm didn't interrupt, then Killer would've already deleted himself from his AT longgggg ago. BUT, what about that timeline where Color saves Killer, taking him away from Nm's grasp? The Revert timeline could always start from there.

Imagine being Killer's Papyrus, still searching for your brother for probably years ever since he disappeared on the day he says goodbye? Imagine finding him again, returned but different, in a way. But you couldn't care less. He's still alive even after all these years and you genuinely couldn't care about finding out where'd he'd been this entire time that you can't help but embrace him in your arms, choked sobs escaping from the both of you as you ignored the stares and gazes from everyone around you. And honestly, none of them probably cared because they're equally as happy as you are. "Sans" was finally back.

Color likely helped (and accompanied) Killer to return to his timeline, despite his hesitation.

Killer would definitely have a difficult time adapting to this new life. And oh boy— Papyrus couldn't be more concerned for him ESPECIALLY with all the trauma he's endured for all these years😭

Imagine Papyrus getting him a bottle of ketchup, maybe even multiple of them as a treat for Killer because he thinks he deserves it, only for Killer to just... Back away, visibly trembling from just the sight of the bottle alone. Imagine cooking him spaghetti, wanting to show how much you've improved your cooking skills and trying to get your brother to at least eat something, only for him to just stare at it, breathing heavily as his entire body trembles from even just the smell. He looked like he was about to puke, and ultimately you decided to go with something simple for him instead, like a bowl of warm soup.

Imagine having to feed him yourself because his fingers won't stop shaking every time he picks up the spoon. You listened as he kept mumbling apologies when you grabbed a handkerchief to wipe the spilled contents. You notice how he seems to be out of touch with reality when you bring up the spoon towards his mouth, having to wait a second or two before he finally accepts the food.

Imagine having to bring your brother to your bedroom instead of his because he kept refusing to go to his own, to the point where he was begging not to. And when you do let him sleep in your bed with you, you keep waking up due to him having nightmares or having a breakdown in the middle of the night. But you don't mind comforting him, sitting with him as you let him cry on your chest, as long as you're able to help him in some way.

And oh boy, I haven't even started on how the others would react to Killer.

Like how Grillby would notice how Killer rarely ever visits. And even if he did, he would either not eat at all or order literally anything BUT his usual. Undyne, Alphys and the other would literally notice how Killer became extremely clingy to Papyrus, rarely ever seeing them separated (which is pretty understandable considering how long they haven't seen each other for...). Imagine how off putting it is going for an entire day without hearing a pun, and whenever he finally does make one, you can't help but feel a little glad.

Color definitely visits Killer on a daily basis to check on him and accompany him for a while. The others would definitely question how they knew each other or where Color came from, and the two would just brush it off like it always has been like that. Although they definitely don't mind letting Color stay for a bit since he and Killer are close. (And because he's the closest to a therapist that they can afford right now)

How would they react to the existence of Killer's other stages though? And how would the underground change ever since Killer's absence?

Will be discussed next time I feel like ranting!! Cya later folks because I am thirsty and need to eat

[badassbutterfly1987]

Vortalis lives AUs

Thinking about how central Vortalis's death is to the narrative. With him alive, the Danes don't take power. With him alive, Holland doesn't become the mess we meet in canon, right? Let's experiment:

The Danes attack. They fail. They die.

Vortalis and Holland survive. They continue with scars and nightmares and it takes a while before things feel normal again.

There are still assassination attempts. White London still starves. But things do get better. Communication tentatively reopens with Red London, they offer advice to make living in Makt a little better.

It's not perfect. It's not quite what they hoped for, but maybe it's enough for now.

---

Vortalis lives.

The memory of nearly dying doesn't fade. White London doesn't get better, no matter what they do. The damage doesn't heal.

Vortalis becomes a harsher ruler to keep his city in line. It breaks Holland a little every time they have to be cruel, every time things they once would never do become necessary.

Their grip tightens on Makt even has it slips between their fingers. Desperation can turn even good men ruthless and, for all his grand plans and hopes for a better world, Vortalis has never had any illusions about the kind of man he is.

Perhaps Holland would disagree. Would he disagree enough to stand in his way?

Perhaps they find a black stone. Perhaps they start considering how to take all of Arnes' good fortune.

---

Holland is scared and desperate. He gets Vortalis out of the city and, because hiding him isn't enough, he smuggles him into Grey London where even the Danes can't reach him. Maybe it's part of their plan or his own last desperate attemtp to protect his king.

The Danes come. They don't kill the king because the king is gone; he was never their main focus anyways. Holland fights them alone.

Vortalis lives, for a time.

Maybe it takes a few months, the Danes want to make sure their new weapon is fully broken in after all, but they've rung every possible truth from him and of course they can't let a previous monarch live. They send Holland to deal with that problem.

Holland is given only one choice: he can decide the manner of death. He knows how to make it quick.

(Or maybe that doesn't happen. Vortalis was a hunter; he knows not to let an injured animal suffer, knows how to make a clean kill. Plenty in White London killed for power or cruelty; how many could say it was done out of love and mercy?)

One of them dies. Either way, the world is lesser for it. Either way, the Danes turn their attention to Red London next.

---

Vortalis lives because Holland won't let him die.

The Danes come. Vortalis doesn't die when he should, Holland binding their lives together. It doesn't save them.

An aging magician with fading magic isn't nearly as fun or durable as their new Antari pet but the Danes find a use for him. It amuses them, taking a would-be king and collaring him.

Hurting Holland is effective. Hurting Vortalis works just as well.

They're trapped together. They share the same pain. And in some ways, that just feels like another cruelty.

[citrus-cactus]

I think an interesting interpretation of Digimon Survive’s multiple endings is that of a time loop: one that the main characters are never consciously aware of, but whose echoes intrude upon the present and create ripples that can be glimpsed or felt during certain moments in the story.

Additional discussion under the cut due to spoilers for ALL OF Digimon Survive.

I don’t have many screenshots of moments in-game where you could interpret this as happening, but I’m specifically recalling Kaito’s comment to Aoi in Wrathful (about how if Miu had died, he would be going through the emotional wringer instead of her), some of Ryo’s dialogue in Truthful after his near-death experience in Part 3, Takuma waking up from his nightmare about Ryo in Truthful Part 4 (which, thanks to dialogue reuse, makes it sound worse than what actually happened in Truthful), and even this moment with Miyuki, which hints at a “bad end” for Takuma that (fortunately) we never have to witness:

“You would have been captured, just as I was. No, I think you would have gone even deeper. All of your soul, life and existence… gone.”

I realize attributing certain dialogue to “time loop visions” may seem like it takes away some of the characters’ self-awareness and diminish the game’s message of knowing thyself and others, but I also don’t see why it can’t be both. They begin to know each other so well that it grants them a window into what is (to them) an alternate reality, in a double-edged sword sort of way. Glimpsing the what-if at the right (or wrong) time would possibly influence their decisions, add additional horror, plus it’s one more thing in this strange world to overcome. And for us as the audience, it also makes all the kids’ “if only we had done x” musings that much more impactful and full of dramatic irony, since we do actually see some of those what ifs play out in different endings of the game.

The only explanation I can think of for why a time loop could exist is some combination of the Master’s influence and Yukiha’s.

The Master greatly desires to cross over into the human world, in order to take his (Haruchika’s) revenge. In most of the endings we witness, he fails to achieve this (and we can only guess at what happens in the Bad Ending).

If his rage and hatred is so great, perhaps he is resetting the timeline to the point just before this most recent influx of sacrifices, hoping that they will all succumb and his true goal is achieved.

Meanwhile, the spirit of Yukiha has been trying (and failing) to reunite with Haruchika and save him. She has (canonically) moved metaphoric mountains in order to achieve her goals, and it’s possible she knows her descendants (who are still tied to the Kemonogami World) need help, and these other children are her best hope.

I do think it’s kind of a cool theory (though obviously, it’s only a theory), given the nature of the game, the carryover of digivolutions, and the fact that you HAVE to play it more than once before you can unlock the Truthful route. Witnessing multiple endings and the cumulative effect of your choices across playthroughs makes the ending of Truthful route feel all the more significant in regards to breaking the cycle of hatred and violence that existed in the Kemonogami World, and with these characters being written to exist against a backdrop of psychological horror, having more significant flaws and interpersonal issues to overcome, and overall being a bit further away from the “let’s save both worlds” idealism of other groups of chosen children, it’s an interesting thing for the game to suggest they require multiple attempts to get it “right,” while also giving them the opportunity do so. The idea that the characters are catching glimpses of past loops in which things went differently also makes some of the storytelling choices in the Truthful route feel a bit more genuine… the most significant example of this (to me) is Minoru’s reaction to Lopmon and his temporary split from Falcomon in Truthful Part 6, which plays out the same as it did when Lopmon ACTUALLY dark-digivolved in the Moral/Harmonious/Wrathful routes. Maybe Minoru’s overreaction starts to make more sense if he had an impression of one of those OTHER times when Shuuji met a much darker fate. IS Minoru fated to mistrust Falcomon, even if it’s temporary? Can THAT ever be changed…? 🤔

Anyway, I think this stuff is neat to think about.

[wishing-stones]

(R&R) What would the gang do if Ren became corrupted/overwhelmed with darkness/dark magic? Does Nightmare have any plans for if/when it happens?

Fortunately, Nightmare is pretty good at keeping on top of that. Their power is derived from his, not coming from the same source, so it's unlikely that it would try to take over and fully corrupt them as it has him.

However, for the sake of devil's advocate, if they somehow got their hands on one of the original black apples (there's a couple floating around, but they're shriveled up and lack much of their power, since Nightmare effectively has it all) that could effect them.

How this sudden change effects a human... might not be great. The physical changes would probably be darkening of the hair (to black, if you see them with a different hair color than that) and making it extremely glossy with that same sort of teal, oil-slick iridescence that Nightmare's goop has. (Or... a different color, depending on what you think their soul color is.) They'd get black sclera, and pupils that reflect their soul trait color, probably black veins visible on their skin... and not a lot else. They'd struggle with the constant barrage of negativity, freak out, try to get rid of it, and outright panic.

Nightmare's been there. He knows what to do.

No one's going to see either Nightmare or Ren for a while. A week or two. Long enough for Nightmare to explain how to come to terms with and sync up with their new powers and sensitivity to darkness.

Their ability to use umbrakinesis would be cranked up, and they could move about like Nightmare does-- through shadow. They'll never be quite on his level of power, but a lot of what Ren could do would be in line with what Nightmare can do, complete with being made stronger by negativity and weaker by positivity. They'd be less sensitive, but it's a new sensation that takes getting used to nonetheless.

The boys would freak, too, when it first happens-- Killer would be the most level-headed and approach it with the air of taking control of the situation so everyone else doesn't panic as hard. Or try, anyway. Dust would fly through the stages of grief in about five seconds and then settle on anger rather than acceptance-- how had they gotten an apple? Did Nightmare wittingly let this happen? Does he know? He wants answers. Axe is extremely concerned, and wants to try and comfort them through this, and doesn't do well with writhing, screaming, crying humans. He has to remove himself from the situation. Cross is in the same boat as Killer, trying to comfort them and soothe them. Killer is the one talking while Cross has them wrapped up in his coat or a blanket, whichever is more readily available, holding onto their hand and stroking the back of it. Baggs is on emergency duty, quickly moving from his lab to where they are to get various things-- a sedative, so they don't have to be awake for this, a painkiller to help try and abate the agony that the change brings on. Their soul is in too much of an uproar for him to be able to get a hold of it properly, and he'd get pushed out by foreign magic besides.

No one handles it well until Nightmare shows up to help. It doesn't take long, because he knows intimately what that sudden stab of pain and horrible negativity is. No matter where he was in the multiverse, he's there within three seconds to help deal with it.

This would catch Dream's attention, too, and despite how Nightmare might hiss and snarl, his presence is a good thing here-- it helps combat the immediate, angry onset of corruption by having him dull it, and allow his brother to help it incorporate properly. Both of them know there's no going back from this-- the best they can do is make sure it doesn't irreparably hurt Ren.

Interesting idea to play with, for sure, but not something that'll happen in canon.

And no, they wouldn't get tentacles. That's a Nightmare only thing.

[tanjir0se]

As the World Caves In--Part 1 of 2

Pairings: Rengiyuu Words: 2.3k/? Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Everybody Lives AU Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Canon-typical Violence, Medical Procedures, Blood

It felt like he was in a dream. No, a nightmare. Any moment now he’d wake up screaming, heart pounding in his ears until it settled back to a normal pace. Any moment now he’d be back in the mansion gardens with Rengoku by his side, wisteria on the breeze, warm from the sun and the sound of Rengoku’s laughter. All he could hear now was his own heartbeat, all he could smell was the sharp copper scent of blood. His entire field of view had gone red. 

Summary: Giyuu was fortunate enough to be on a mission just South of the Mugen Train crash and the site of Rengoku's battle with Akaza. Now he's all that stands between Kyojuro and death.

Thank you to @babykirara for the amazing header she made for me that I can't stop using to decorate my various putting of Giyuu in Situations

UPDATE: read part 2 here!

Giyuu rarely put much thought into where Rengoku was headed on his missions. Being a Hashira seemed as easy for him as breathing, swordplay coming as naturally as the ease of his conversations. As much as he missed their walks in the gardens, their one-sided conversations, the hot flush on his face while they sparred in the training grounds, the idea of Rengoku facing genuine danger was foreign to him. 

As for himself, quite a few times Giyuu had awoken in the Butterfly mansion, bandaged and bleeding and bruised, always with Rengoku waiting by his side. He’d chide him for his recklessness, extol his strength as a demon slayer, and offer to help him train during his recovery. Their positions had yet to be reversed. Rengoku was…well, he was Rengoku. The flame Hashira would return with a few scrapes here and there, but they were easily outshined by his bright-as-the-sun smile. It was easy to ignore them. 

Until it wasn’t. Until that day. 

Giyuu sheathed his sword and exhaled, watching the demon he’d just decapitated smolder apart, ashes drifting into the early dawn sky. He’d been on the case of a demon at a local theater for a few days when he’d received a raven with a letter from Rengoku, telling him all about the latest mission he’d been assigned to: investigating the Mugen Train. It never took very long for Rengoku to return from whatever mission he was on, so Giyuu figured he’d hear all about it once they both returned to the mansion. 

The piercing cry of his crow nearly made him jump as he was turning to find his way back to the mansion. 

“Backup urgently requested! Backup urgently requested!” His crow was screeching as it fluttered down onto his shoulder. “Flame Hashira Kyojuro Rengoku requires urgent assistance in his pursuit of the Mugen Train demon!” Giyu leaned slightly away from its shrill voice directly in his ear. His eyes widened. 

“What happened?” He gripped his sword hilt with white knuckles. Rengoku never requested assistance, not in all the years they’d been Hashira together. His stomach clenched tightly, nearly painfully, Giyuu readied himself to run. 

“The train has crashed just north from here! An upper rank demon has appeared in the fight!” The crow reported. 

All at once Giyuu couldn’t breathe. His throat clamped shut, chest heaving, and all he could manage through the strangling grip of fear was three words: “Take me there.”

***

Giyuu could recall only one time he’d run so fast in all his life: nearly twenty years ago. Cold air had torn through his lungs but he hadn’t slowed. He couldn’t. The more distance he put between himself and the strangers he’d been left in the care of, the more likely he’d find someone who would listen to him. He couldn’t save his sister, but maybe if he kept running he’d find someone who could help him save someone else. The last thing he remembered that night was collapsing into the snow, exhausted, throat raw. In his exhaustion he remembered seeing her standing there, watching him with her sad eyes and raven-black hair. That was his last image of her. 

He couldn’t save his sister. All his life he’d never forgotten that helplessness. Now, following his crow toward the ever-growing plumes of smoke on the horizon, he felt it growing in his gut again. Not him. Anyone but him. 

The sun was beginning to rise as Giyuu came to the scene of the train crash. Aside from the murmur of survivors helping each other out of the wreckage, and the distant crackle of flames, it was eerily quiet. Whatever upper rank demon had been here would be long gone. The impending sunlight made sure of that. Perhaps Rengoku had simply defeated the upper rank before the sun rose, leaving the battlefield in silence. He certainly wouldn’t put it past him. And hoping was easier at the moment than despair. 

A surprising streak of pink caught his eye in the shadow of one of the train cars. Giyuu jogged toward it, picking up his speed when he realized what it was. 

“Nezuko.” he said stupidly, finding it to be the only thing he could think to say. The blond-haired kid that was always hanging around her was kneeling beside her with Tanjiro’s box open, ushering her inside. She looked up when she saw him, her magenta eyes glistening. The blond followed her gaze and gasped when he saw him. 

“Mr. Tomioka--”

“Where is Rengoku?” Giyuu interrupted. The blond just shook his head at him, eyes wide with fear, and pointed toward a grove of trees on the far end of the wreckage. Giyuu wordlessly followed his direction. 

He heard the sobs before he saw anything. The sky was thick and hazy with clearing smoke. Just over a small ridge he found a clearing before a large grove of trees. The ground was scarred with slashes from a sword, footprints in a fighting stance, trenches were a body had been blown back by some great force. The dirt glistened with blood, for a moment it was the only color in the gray-brown haze of smoke and dirt kicked up from battle.

Giyuu stumbled down the hill into the smoke. The sobs were getting louder, his chest was getting tighter, he doubted he’d be able to breathe even without the caustic cloud around him. After a few seconds of searching, Giyuu’s eyes fell on a flash of yellow, bright as the sun. Rengoku. 

“Kyojuro!” Giyuu managed. Hope and relief carried him forward through the smoke, but he slowed once again when the full scene appeared before him. 

Tanjiro, on his hands and knees, looked up at him as he appeared through the smog. Tears cut sharply through the grime and blood on his face. Behind him was the kid with the boar’s head, trembling violently, unable to look at him. Kneeling before them both was Rengoku himself. 

“Kyojuro.” Giyuu said, ignoring the look on Tanjiro’s face, the blood, the smoke. Rengoku didn’t move. His haori spilled out around him, soaked from the waist down with a halo of blood. There was a long beat of silence before Kyojuro abruptly, grotesquely slumped backwards, deadweight, hitting the dirty ground with a loud but hollow thump. 

“Mr. Rengoku…!” Tanjiro whimpered. “Please, Mr. Tomioka, help him!” 

Giyuu stared, disbelieving. It felt like he was in a dream. No, a nightmare. Any moment now he’d wake up screaming, heart pounding in his ears until it settled back to a normal pace. Any moment now he’d be back in the mansion gardens with Rengoku by his side, wisteria on the breeze, warm from the sun and the sound of Rengoku’s laughter. All he could hear now was his own heartbeat, all he could smell was the sharp copper scent of blood. His entire field of view had gone red. 

“Mr. Tomioka!” Tanjiro was shouting. Giyuu wasn’t listening. He was staring instead at his friend’s blasted-open abdomen, an ocean of red pouring out from the mangled flesh beneath his torn uniform. Something snapped inside of him, the fragile scaffolding he’d built around his heart shattering into pieces like Kyojuro’s body. Not him, not him, not him--

“Tomioka!” Tanjiro screamed. Giyuu blinked and found Tanjiro had stood and was tugging desperately on his haori. “Please!”

Giyuu looked at Tanjiro and inhaled. There he stood between his friend and oblivion. If he did nothing else for the rest of his life, he would reach into that oblivion and yank him back. Hands shaking, Giyuu finally moved. 

Quickly but gently, Giyuu took Kyojuro--Kyojuro’s body?--by the shoulders and lowered him to the ground, where he hit the blood soaked dirt with a heavy and sickening squelching sound. Long ago, when his hands were too small to hold a sword and his body too weak to swing it, Urokodaki had made sure to teach him how to force a heart to beat, how to fill another’s lungs with air. How to reach into oblivion and yank someone back. 

Back then he’d warned him it didn't often work, even when done perfectly. Back then he’d seen that firsthand, as he’d uselessly pumped the heart of a lifeless body crushed beyond repair. Giyuu remembered the blood soaking through the patterned robe and splattering onto the crushed kitsune mask beside him. 

He couldn’t save his sister. He couldn’t save Sabito and Makomo. Kyojuro now stared sightlessly up at him, his eyes half-open and splattered with blood. Giyuu knelt beside him, placed the heel of his pale hand against Kyojuro’s ruined chest, and pushed down with everything he had. 

Immediately he heard the crack of ribs snapping, felt them collapse inward like twigs beneath his hands. Giyuu sucked in a surprised and disgusted breath but continued anyway. He had to. He counted in his head the best he could but kept losing count as he watched blood flow up from Kyojuro’s chest and throat and onto his hands, soaking his uniform sleeves. Even counting took huge effort; all he could think about was his friend’s voice, his smile, the heat that came to his face whenever Kyojuro drew close to him. 

1, 2, 3, 4–Ah, Giyuu! My friend, how nice to see you again!—6, 7, 8, 9–Hah! You always know how to make me laugh. I always enjoy your company. 

Panting with effort, Giyuu found a rhythm, bending at the waist to throw his weight behind each artificial beat of Kyojuro’s heart. All those kind things Kyojuro had said to him and he’d never returned any of them. Not for lack of trying, and he knew Kyojuro understood…Each silent upward tilt of his lips, each time he drew a little closer, handed him something he was reaching for without him asking, remembered his order at their favorite Udon cart—I love you I love you I love you—but he’d never actually said it. 

It wasn’t as easy for him as it seemed to be for Kyojuro. That strangling grip around his throat seemed to never lessen, and the harder he tried to summon the words to express what he felt, the further they retreated back into his. The tighter the grip became. He swallowed.

“Come on, Kyo,” he spat through his teeth and the tightness in his throat, far beyond caring if the boys heard or noticed his use of the nickname he’d never said aloud. “Please…”

When he reached thirty, or felt like he’d gotten to thirty, Giyuu stopped and leaned down, tilting Kyojuro’s chin upward, pressing his lips to Kyojuro’s and breathing into him. Kyojuro’s chest—what was left of it—rose with the breath and fell again. The air escaped his cold lips in a loose gurgle. Another borrowed breath, another rush of blood, another long and frightening silence. Giyuu came away tasting blood and resumed pumping his chest again. 

He lost track of time. For that matter he’d lost track of space, too. The earth had fallen out beneath them. In that moment the only thing that could pull him back into orbit again was Kyojuro. He didn’t realize that the Kakushi had arrived and we’re taking over, not even when Tanjiro’s voice managed to reach him again.  

“Mr. Tomioka…?” He was calling. Giyuu ignored him and continued. His chest was beginning to heave with coming sobs; they became so intense he could barely move or breathe. Still he continued. Someone else was calling his name. Still he continued. I love you I love you I love you.

“Master Tomioka, we will take over from here.” A voice said. His shaking hands were so soaked with blood they were beginning to slide off of their position on Kyojuro’s sternum. “M-master Tomioka, please…” Someone was pulling on his arm, pulling him back and away from Kyojuro. Giyuu set his jaw and tried to continue but the hands continued pulling into finally they managed to get him off of Kyojuro, though his eyes did not move from Kyojuro’s face. 

“That’s enough, Mr. Tomioka.” Tanjiro was saying. The moment Giyuu stopped yanking against him in an attempt to get back to Kyojuro, Tanjiro released his arm and let him watch while Kakushi descended upon the scene, his vision blurred with tears he hadn’t realized had been falling from his eyes. The Kakushi swarmed him as they took over, their training clearly much fresher than Giyuu’s. 

His breath caught in his throat as it ripped in and out of his shattered chest. Giyuu felt faint, he felt his own heart stop, ears ringing as if he’d just been in an explosion. His own ribs were imploding too. The cliff edge of oblivion stretched out before him, the reality of the rest of his life without Kyojuro’s smile. It was everything he could do to keep himself upright.

Through the haze he heard one of the Kakushi speaking. 

“I have a pulse!”

Giyuu blinked. To his shock, Kyojuro’s chest was moving slowly up and down even without his intervention. Each exhale brought a small flow of blood from Kyojuro’s mouth, but he was breathing. His heart, somehow, was beating. The world resumed its spin. 

“You did it, Mr. Tomioka!” Tanjiro whispered in disbelief. He watched them load Rengoku onto a stretcher and take off toward the medical camp they were still setting up. Tanjiro pushed himself into a standing position, wavered, tried to remember how to breathe. Beside him, Tomioka remained motionless on his knees, his face even paler than usual. “Mr. Tomioka?” 

He was surprised into silence as Tomioka abruptly bent forward and vomited onto the bloody ground. Tanjiro’s hands hovered uselessly over Tomioka’s back, wanting to comfort him, too frightened to touch him, too worried he might vomit, too. Before he could decide what to do Tomioka jerked upright again and stood, shaking, blood dripping from his fingers.

Giyuu was not a praying man. It had never worked for him before. But for one moment, exhausted and faint and feeling the world tilt as it attempted to find its orbit again, Giyuu allowed himself to offer not a prayer, but a bargain. 

If you let him live, I swear, I’ll tell him everything.

[yup123abc]

Yup! it's Fanfic

Disclaimer: I have not done this before LOL. Anyway, depending on how wild and wacky I am this may (probably) be long-ish (that is to say multiple chapters). I hilariously had the “hmmm, today I shall write fanfiction for the first time in my life” thought right before the latest S2 trailer dropped so please excuse me trying to work around that. I will also say I’m “playing with” canon here (isn’t that what fanfiction is? IDK I’m uneducated). That said, interpretations of characters, timeline, and events are all from my own perspective and likely tweaked a bit for what I consider uhhhh more interesting? for this story.

High level summary: post-accident Fizz deals with his relationship to what happened to him and what it means for his career. Along the way he is introduced to Asmodeus and the two get to know each other through the trials of recovery. Mostly serious business fic but some fluff is inevitable. Rating: PG-13? However, F-bomb will probably happen due to source material.

Thanks for lookin’!

Ch 1

Fire. Noise. Heat. Pain. Blistering, agonizing pain. Green tongues blinded and blurred as the fire stripped skin from flesh, flesh from bone, unsalvageable bone disintegrating into ash and dust. The limbs that had moments ago been embracing family and friends reached out now for help only to plummet to the ground, no longer a part of him. Never again to be a part of him…

Fizzarolli’s eyes gleamed as they shot open, his heart racing. A quick scan of his surroundings showed not the reds and greens of the circus flames, but instead hung shrouds of ghastly white. It had been a nightmare, another from that night, only a few days ago. The pain was dull now, kept in check by a cocktail of drugs that forced Fizzarolli to fight for consciousness. He wouldn’t mind the balm of sleep if not for the recurring playback of that wretched scene.

A hiss at his side, a bit of movement, the voice came in on muffled tones, “Shit...this’s worse than I thought.”

Lolling his head to the side, Fizzarolli regarded the silhouette standing in his hospital room door. A flash of the nightmare came to him briefly as he saw Blitzo standing there, watching him burn, running...running to find help?

“B-” Fizzarolli’s voice cracked as it came out of parched windpipes, surprising him with its roughness.

“What the hell am I going to do now? You were our ticket to high cotton! Leave it to that stupid son of mine to fuck this up for us too.”

Fizzarolli’s eyes adjusted to the light as the circus manager and his adoptive father, Cash Buckzo, stepped in. Fizz cast his eyes down in disappointment, but still held onto hope that the rest of the family would soon be there. Cash ran his hands over the end rail of Fizzarolli’s bed and squinted as he looked the injured imp over.

“Ya lose all the limbs?” Cash asked bluntly.

“I...y-yes,” Fizzarolli grappled with the affirmative, the phantom feeling of searing pain radiating from his torso yet with him despite nothing to inhabit.

“Shit…” Cash lifted the blanket, studying Fizzarolli with critical eyes. Mortified at the state of his body, Fizz instinctively flinched but no arms or legs drew up to surround him. Instead bandages were all that enveloped him, scarred skin evident in the gaps they left.

Cash at last let the blanket fall back down in disgust, “Just a tail to work with…”

Walking away, Cash stroked his goatee and sighed, looking to the ground. Fizzarolli watched anxiously. That night had been a celebration. Finally, after years attempting to catch Mammon’s eye at the annual Clown Pageant, Fizzarolli had risen from a nobody to a champion performer, bringing fame and fortune to the little family circus he had grown up in. He could hardly believe it. Cash had been overjoyed (well, as much as he let show) with the offer from Mammon to take Fizzarolli under his wing and make him a star. Their little circus would be on the map, royalties would flow back to the family, it was their big break!

And now, not even days after the contract had been signed, there lay Fizzarolli, hardly in any state to perform let alone be the new face of Mammon’s entertainment enterprise.

Fizzarolli’s stomach twisted and turned; he had worked so had for this all his life, only for it to be snatched away at the last moment so quickly. He had let Cash down, let the family down. And what would Mammon think? Fizzarolli could almost cry thinking of how the Sin would take one look at him and then move on to the runner-up as his protege. Not like he could blame him.

“Can you move that tail?”

Cash’s murmuring voice broke Fizzarolli’s reverie. Move his tail…? Concentrating, Fizzarolli tried to get the appendage to swish as it used to. Pins pricked along the base of his spine and he sweat, begging at least that one limb to still be with him. It twitched, then shifted. Each movement came with an electric shock up the spine as the stiff tail curled and lifted. Such a simple movement, but Fizzarolli was breathless with the effort. He looked to Cash who nodded and hummed.

“Maybe we can work with this.”

Fizzarolli stared at Cash, uncertain what he was thinking. A nurse entered, bringing a fresh bag of narcotics. Grabbing her attention, Cash slipped her some money and instructed her to have Fizzarolli put into physical therapy as soon as possible, with however many painkillers it took to get through. And to focus on building up his tail strength. The nurse gave him a quizzical look, but shrugged and pocketed the money before hooking up the drugs and allowing double the dose to flow into Fizzarolli’s veins.

Mildly panicked and confused, Fizzarolli’s vision blurred as he choked out to the receding figure of his old manager, “Wh-what about Blitzo? Did he come?”

Cash turned and sneered, “Are you kidding? He did this to you.”

Fizzarolli’s eyes widened as Cash turned and let the door close behind him, a disquieting coolness spreading through his body as his head collapsed on the pillow and darkness took him once again to that night, Blitzo standing over him, running, running...away.